Friday Before Lunch

I volunteered in my daughter's 5th grade class this morning.
We discussed art.
All the paintings were done by black artists and featured black people.
We looked at a painting depicting a parade.
A boy raised his hand. He said when he lived in California, there were lots of Spaniards.
And Mexicans.

I told the class about my friend Connie who was my childhood neighbor.

She did not speak english.
I did not speak spanish.
I did not tell them of my other neighbor. Her name was Fanny.
I knew this fact would get us off track.
I said goodbye.
I went to the fabric store.
I picked out 2 patterns for aprons.
I perused the fabrics.
I noticed I had cut my finger and it was bleeding.
I held my finger in a funny position, afraid I would get bits of blood on a bevy of materials.
I was wearing an Addidas track suit that makes me think I probably look like the lady in Glee.
I have never seen Glee, so I don't know how I know there is a lady on the show that wears Adiddas track suits.
I found cute, coordinating cottons and made my way to the counter;
Where I apparently flipped the cashier off, unbeknowst to me.
I started home and remembered how the other night, just before we fell asleep, my husband farted the funniest sounding fart and we both laughed until we couldn't breath.

I'm on my 2nd double gulp of the day.

That's the Glory of, That's the Story of Love

I first saw my husband at the tender age of 12.
I was at Kelly's house. We were probably talking about how much we missed Sara N. and when, if ever, we'd need a bra.
Kelly's brothers and sisters had friends over, too. Presumably with better topics of conversation.
I was perched quietly in corner when a boy walked through the room. A teenage boy. The most beautiful teenage boy. Ever.
He didn't notice me. I didn't make a peep and away he went. I never saw him again.
But attractiveness like his is powerful and must be discussed.
And that's what Kelly and I did.

For 7 years.

"So, ummm, where's that Bryan guy? You know. The really cute one."
I don't remember how often I asked that question over the years. Often enough to get answers like, "Singapore" and "Switzerland".
He sort of became that dream guy in my mind.  When I fantasized about falling in love, he'd magically appear. When I wondered who the doctor would hand my brand new, fresh-from-me baby to, he was the stand in until I had a real love. Because we no impactful interaction, it didn't take long for his features to blurr.
As much as I imagined him, I couldn't describe his eyes or smile if you'd have asked me to. But that never stopped the wondering.

Flash forward to 1993. Imagine my surprise when Kelly called and said, "Guess who wants to go out with you?"
"Me? I don't know. Who?"
"Bryan (Insert fake last name except I can't think of one cool enough to match his real last name)", she said.

"THEE Bryan ( insert fake last name except...)" I squealed.

"Yes!"

Skip ahead a few days when I met Bryan.

He didn't look familiar. At all.

But he felt familiar.

Our first date was in San Fransisco. The first thing we did on our date was walk in Cartiers. To this day, neither one of us know how we ended up there. He asked me what I liked. I passed out.

We saw each other everyday for the next week and then he left to go back to school.

Two weeks later, he showed up on my doorstep- very early in the morning. He had driven all night long, making the most of a 3day weekend.

Before he left Sunday night, he told me he loved me and I was the one he wanted to marry.

I'd know him for about 3 weeks.

7 years and 3 weeks.

I find it funny, all these years later, how our story came together.

Kelly is still in it. There are a few other characters, too.

Mostly they look like me, but they have his sense of humor and love of peanut butter.

I've thought about all the little connections and intersections that brought us together.

What if I hadn't been at Kelly's that day?

What if he hadn't walked through the room I happened to be sitting in?

What if Kelly hadn't shown him a picture of me while they were hanging out at school?

I've asked how it came to be that he asked Kelly to set us up. He saw my picture and says, still, "I just wanted to kiss you. As soon as I saw your picture, I just wanted to kiss you."

15 years, 5 children, several jobs and countless moves later, I still daydream about him. And now, like that day he told me he wanted to marry me, he makes good on those dreams.

Happy Valentine's Day to THEE Bryan.

Groundhog's Day? Yes, please.

I got a diet coke today at 6:45am.
Don't judge me.

By noon, I had listened to a friend's sadness, refereed 13 fights, done all manner of housework and started to make homemade bread.

I was still in my gingerbread man pj pants and the XL bright orange t-shirt the YMCA gave my husband when he coached a little league team for them. I had on a bra, but only because I fell asleep in it the night before.
My teeth were brushed. I don't even go downstairs without brushing my teeth.

My husband wanted me to call Comcast. Supposedly, the bill is wrong.
I called. They explained.
I called my husband. He said, "Those frickin' guys. I hate Comcast. Call them back. They charged our American Express for last month."

Boring to tell you about. Aggrevating to do. I explained it all to my husband and ended up in tears because I H.A.T.E. calling and doing this kind of stuff. Turns out Comcast was right. Husband, wrong.
He felt bad and now I was at my wits end and the kids were walking in the door.

Things were pretty normal. Hectic, but normal. I had plans to meet some girlfriends for dinner so I kept thinking, "Just get to 7:30."

I made a delicious dinner for the kids, an intoxicatingly delicious dessert to share with the ladies and bread for my sad friend.

Then my daughter realized that I took the Aeropostle shirt she left on her floor ("If you leave clothes on the floor, I will take them.") She pouted. It was a fabulous pout face. Once for the record books.

My littlest was running through the house yelling "butthole" and enjoying my anguish.

My older boys were being lame.
This post is lame.

My husband called. He felt so bad about the phone call fiasco he enticed me to go to dinner with him.
I ditched my girlfriends for a boy. A cute boy. I felt so highschool. Except that I didn't worry they'd be upset. They all have cute boyfriends, too.

I cleaned more surfaces.
Reffed more arguments.
I wondered what I should wear on my impromptu date.
I went upstairs with a basket of clean laundry on my hip.

My door was locked.
I used the old meat thermometer to try to pop the lock open.
Nothing.
I tried a bobbypin.
Nothing.

The kids were suddenly so loud and annoying that I imagined going into my backyard and screaming a swear word at the top of my lungs.
No, not that one. I can't remember the last time I said that word.
Just the S word. But still. In my mind, I WAS LOUD!!!!

Husband called, excitment in his voice.
I said,  "We aren't going. I'm locked out of the bedroom. 9year old took a dollar off my desk and tried to keep it. 10 year old broke a bowl, 12 year old yelled at 9 year old and 2 year old took off his diaper.
I can't find 5 year old. I have to go."

This post is much longer than it should be.

Just know this, nobody listened to me.
Wait, not true. My daughter was delighful once she knew she could earn back her over-priced t-shirt. She played with the 5 year old that suddenly reappeared.

My husband came home.
Set the naughty kids straight.
Tried to go into our bedroom and burst out laughing.
He thought I was just upset and over exaggerating things when I told him we weren't going out because I was locked out.
He popped the lock in about 3 seconds.
He ate leftovers and yummy dessert.

I left a post on Kelly Foote's FB wall and he read over my shoulder and made a suggestive remark.
I said he was a dork and went up to shower. I had been in the same clothes for 23 hours.

I came downstairs and found him listening to Claire De Lune.
He apologized for it being so loud. He said it helps him relax.

I hated parts of today.



But if some of my days end with that guy listening to classical music and whispering apologies against my skin while he kisses my neck, you can bet that I will be starting tomorrow with a trip to 7-11 and hoping for a repeat.

P.S. This looks like me in the orange YMCA t-shirt after I've eaten all the dessert that I meant to share.

February 1st, 2010. 3:30-4:30 pm. Lame.

This is my email to my husband about how one measely hour has the power to bring down a whole day.
I'll add commentary for your enjoyment.


My efforts to make today nice and simple and great are fruitless.


On the way to dance (my daughter's dance class), I checked the mail.
Direct TV says they have reviewed our complaint and our bill is legitimate.
If we don't pay on time we will be charged a fee.
My husband and I have an ongoing battle with Direct TV over $62.87. I refuse to pay a bogus charge and would just as soon watch my good FICO score tumble than pay these stinkers. I want to stand on my pile of used swiffer dust clothes and mismatched socks and declare, "Just because I'm not somebody doesn't mean I'm nobody." They will not get me $62.87.
Ever.



I asked my daughter if she had all her dance stuff. She did have both of her jazz shoes (last week she had only one).

She didn't have either of her ballet shoes. She doesn't know where they are.



On the way in from dance, I saw my 9 year old son run, run, back to the table where his homework is.

I asked him what he was doing and that he better not lie. He was watching TV.

This is after he came home and went down to is room to play legos instead of starting his homework.

I told him he's going to bed when the little kids do. And tonight, because both of them are looking/feeling sick, is 7pm.

I also told him not to get up from the table w/o asking me first. Not even to go to the bathroom.

I went upstairs to put away laundry.
This is my son who could care less about doing anything that takes effort. If it requires enery, effort or concentration, count him out. I have told him he will end up a bum on the streets or an inmate at a cold, poorly run prison. Nothing matters. Nothing sinks in. He may end up like his grandfater who drove a Hostess truck for a living. As a perk, he was allowed to eat whatever he wanted. He quickly made friends with the milkman. They shared their free,endless bounty. And then my father-in-law got into technology stuff and has had a string of successful companies. Even the UNIBOMBER took notice and used said father-in-law's company as a return address on one of his delightful packages.
But my son can know none of this. Laziness=cardboard boxes and/or orange jumpsuits. Period.



The phone rang and my 12 year old son answered. It's Noah E. (from boyscouts) calling to say the scouts have a fundraiser at the the local dump at 6pm.

Noah doesn't know when it's over or what they are doing.



I came downstairs to get more details about the fundraiser and 9 year old  was running to get back to his chair.

12 year old is wondering why there is yeast spilled all over the floor and inside the fridge.



I'm wondering what happened to my well made plans for a happy night.

And I'm wondering if I can have a shot of Nyquil as a nightcap tonight.

Guilt-free booze.

I don't drink. At all. Not a drop. And this mess is far beyond the healing powers of diet coke. But don't think I would really drink NYQUIL for a buzz. I wouldn't. It just an cheap metaphor demonstrartimg my pain and anguish over the happenings from 3:30 to 4:30.