Monday, August 07, 2006
A Summer Painting
There is nothing as satisfying as pulling blue painters tape off a wall. I spent a good half of the summer with the blue plasted on each delicated dividing plane. It's a new addiction: while some are in it to transform a room with color, me, nah, just a good tug of the tape.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Home is Where the Heart Is
We are HOME! and I couldn't be more excited! After two weeks and few days more later we head back down I-35 to home. I didn't tell you this part, but two days at M&D's is enough for me. It's not my house anymore. My kids do not have rules. They get anything they want. Will shops on e-bay, plays WarCraft with Grandpa until 11pm, drinks Sprite with cherries hourly, and requests to eat where there are waiters (no, it's NOT McDonalds anymore for this gourmet eater). Avery wakes up and asks for COPPPEE and SpongeBob. If she has anymore "fruit snacks" she might become one. And if, she doesn't go to sleep without me laying right next to her with "LIGHT OFF!" I might be forced to take sleeping pills, lots.
I actually feel disgusted and guilty because I have no control and all I can think is that my parents could have retired until they had gradchildren, okay, children! But, these kids are so over indulged. There are people starving and my kids order milkshakes at RedRobin! And this isn't really a legitimate complaint.
Anyway, it was a working (mostly on my frailing nerves)visit. I reorganized a few closets, weeded flower beds, and wondered mostly how I got out of M&D's house alive.
I'd like to set the stage:
My mom has a very funny sense of humor, mostly sarcastic and sometimes cynical, but when she's happy it's infectious. She is a very patient person which is a blessing with the crew she was delivered. And she loves her granchildren. One of my favorite memories was when Avery a few months old. Mom flew down to visit and Will, Avery, and I picked her up at the airport. We'd gotten out and were standing as close to the arrival gate as we could. She rounded the corner and Avery peeked out of the leopard print sling just in time. With tears in her eyes, and Will running so fast to hug her, she really looked happy. Love it! Growing up, we knew Mom loved us, she would listen and let us mull over our teenage problems, never criticizing. She would repeat her mantra :If you don't have something nice to say don't say it. Or you should have lots of friends, you don't need one boyfriend. Everything in moderation. And other snippets of motherly wisdom. However, she talks so little, sometimes you wonder if she's really in there. Sometimes, she's so patient you wonder what the heck she really wants to say - like, Stop Whining You Brats!!! No, not really, Amy and I would be crushed. But anyway, this might be overthinking on my part and because I'm so different I might not understand.
The other player is my Dad, who bless his big heart, flys by the seat of his charismatic pants. He is the talker and the spender. He's the one who cries when you leave and gets all choked up when you tell him you love him. However, he can go into a store and $300 later and 6 shirts identically the same, he realizes he forgot what he went for. He is no dummy though, my Mensa dad, but for the love of goodness, put that down and walk away. I can tell him that after the 5 cookie you just aren't tasting them anymore, and Mom is a good cook we don't have to go out to eat all the time, and No, you don't need to keep the newspaper from 1982 anymore. But controlled by something defecient in his brain, he simply isn't hearing you and you are wasting your time. I worry about him though, it's seems so stressful to be a hoarder and a gimmie more-er.
But really who am I to judge? These are my parents, and they have made LOTS of sacrifices for me, I can let them spoil my children, I can appreciate the life they have given me, and I can be thankful that I don't live in that house anymore!
As I squeal for joy entering San Antonio, our car is showered in butterflies. Literally, thousands of butterflies are covering the car. It's amazing, and I realize I AM HOME. I have choices in this life. I am not bound to certain doom. I can float like a beautiful butterfly and I'm not coming down, until I have to change the dirty diaper that's been stinkin' up the car for the last hour.
I actually feel disgusted and guilty because I have no control and all I can think is that my parents could have retired until they had gradchildren, okay, children! But, these kids are so over indulged. There are people starving and my kids order milkshakes at RedRobin! And this isn't really a legitimate complaint.
Anyway, it was a working (mostly on my frailing nerves)visit. I reorganized a few closets, weeded flower beds, and wondered mostly how I got out of M&D's house alive.
I'd like to set the stage:
My mom has a very funny sense of humor, mostly sarcastic and sometimes cynical, but when she's happy it's infectious. She is a very patient person which is a blessing with the crew she was delivered. And she loves her granchildren. One of my favorite memories was when Avery a few months old. Mom flew down to visit and Will, Avery, and I picked her up at the airport. We'd gotten out and were standing as close to the arrival gate as we could. She rounded the corner and Avery peeked out of the leopard print sling just in time. With tears in her eyes, and Will running so fast to hug her, she really looked happy. Love it! Growing up, we knew Mom loved us, she would listen and let us mull over our teenage problems, never criticizing. She would repeat her mantra :If you don't have something nice to say don't say it. Or you should have lots of friends, you don't need one boyfriend. Everything in moderation. And other snippets of motherly wisdom. However, she talks so little, sometimes you wonder if she's really in there. Sometimes, she's so patient you wonder what the heck she really wants to say - like, Stop Whining You Brats!!! No, not really, Amy and I would be crushed. But anyway, this might be overthinking on my part and because I'm so different I might not understand.
The other player is my Dad, who bless his big heart, flys by the seat of his charismatic pants. He is the talker and the spender. He's the one who cries when you leave and gets all choked up when you tell him you love him. However, he can go into a store and $300 later and 6 shirts identically the same, he realizes he forgot what he went for. He is no dummy though, my Mensa dad, but for the love of goodness, put that down and walk away. I can tell him that after the 5 cookie you just aren't tasting them anymore, and Mom is a good cook we don't have to go out to eat all the time, and No, you don't need to keep the newspaper from 1982 anymore. But controlled by something defecient in his brain, he simply isn't hearing you and you are wasting your time. I worry about him though, it's seems so stressful to be a hoarder and a gimmie more-er.
But really who am I to judge? These are my parents, and they have made LOTS of sacrifices for me, I can let them spoil my children, I can appreciate the life they have given me, and I can be thankful that I don't live in that house anymore!
As I squeal for joy entering San Antonio, our car is showered in butterflies. Literally, thousands of butterflies are covering the car. It's amazing, and I realize I AM HOME. I have choices in this life. I am not bound to certain doom. I can float like a beautiful butterfly and I'm not coming down, until I have to change the dirty diaper that's been stinkin' up the car for the last hour.
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