Me: “I’m standing right here. What’s up?”
Testiclese: “Mama, I was wondering if, uh …”
Me: Patience. Patience is a virtue. “Yes. You were wondering what?”
Testiclese: “Hey Mama, I, um, I, well.”
Me: Sigh. “Spit it out, son.”
Testiclese: “Uh, Mama, how long ago was 2001?”
Me: Easy one. Whew. “Let’s see. 2013 minus 2001 is 12 years.”
Testiclese: “And, Mama?”
Me: Taking deep cleansing breaths. “Yes dear?”
Testiclese: “Was that in Medieval times?”
Me: “I’m gonna go in the other room now. Stop wiping your face on your shirt.”
Why do they always have to say Mama? Every time? In each sentence? Even when they are looking right at me? Can’t they just make eye contact and start talking?
I hit the wall today. I’m burnt out from being available 24/7.
What? I should carve out some “me” time? As a matter of fact, I do it every morning when this appears at my bedside between 4:45 and 5:45 in the A.M. It could be worse, he didn’t burp in my face this time.
Oh wait, that isn’t me time. That’s Early Rising Asshole Dog time. I benefit greatly from Blue time, but it ain’t me time.
There is nothing I like more than to hear my boys call me Mom, and I’d probably smack the shit out of them if they ever called me by my first name, but I need a little break from this mom stuff. I don’t need to spend $200 at the spa to do it, either. I just want to read a book or clean my house and have it stay clean for a day. That would be so nice.
The boys have been very interested in what I’m reading these days. I just finished up The Passage and The Twelve, two out of three books from a vampire apocalypse trilogy by Justin Cronin. They are awesome reads but not for you if you like sexy vampires. Definitely not sexy vampires.
There was a fascinating passage in the first book where our hero is a child and goes to the zoo. The animals have a bizarre reaction and I was so moved by the writing that I read it aloud to the boys. Since then they have wanted me to keep them posted on what’s been going on with the story. All 1400 pages so far.
It’s exhausting. I dig it that they are into big stories but it’s one of those tales told in a non-linear fashion so sorting it out into an easy to follow format is nearly impossible. Not to mention deciding what is appropriate for them to hear or simply too scary, too boring or too convoluted. It hurts my head. But each night they pile into my bed and want to know how the end of the world is coming along.
Will these tortures never cease?!
Ah, it sure felt good to get that off my chest. I feel so … s0 … cleansed. Just kidding. That didn’t do dick for me.
School starts in 29 days. Perhaps I should start a count-down.
Time to cut the crap.
Customs forms. I have no idea why we have these. RECYCLE.
Queen sized chenille bedspread. Great condition. $25.
A larger view, folded.
Linen pants of dubious ownership. DONATE.
Mesh. Giving it back to the owner.
These are two very large pieces of cotton upholstery fabric. I think I bought them years ago to make a slipcover or something. I have no idea what drew me to these colors, I’m sure I spent at least $200 on this stuff new. FREE.
Migraine inducing slot car set. Lonny wants me to hold onto it because, “Someday they will be really into it.” Well maybe they will and maybe they won’t. I am sick and fucking tired of stepping over this damn thing every time I got down to the basement. Or worse, the guy get into it, pull all the pieces out, set up some of them and abandon the whole thing in my living room. $20 and it’s yours.
Featured image courtesy of www.neatorama.com