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.

I am Trapped in a Bad Marriage.

Us In Good Times

I am struggling.

You see, I am married to diet coke.

Vows have been made; commitments kept.

And still...I fantasize about being health conscious.

I can vividly picture myself, frolicking on the beach. Trim, toned, vegetarian.

At times, I have even gone so far as to imagine what it's like to be vegan.

I know, I know.

It's wrong.

Unnatural.

Disgraceful.

I know what would happen if I acted on these crazy impulses.

I'd get all ready. I'd look forward to my nutritional rendezvoux.

They say anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac.

 When the time is right, would I really go thru with it?

In that moment, would I order from the Chili's "guilt free" menu?

And then what?

Wash it down with citrus water?

I could try. I want to try.

But then what?

I can't live like that.

I mean, really.

I could do it for a meal. Probably even a day. And I might even enjoy it.

But live like that?

It would never work.

I would feel ashamed.

Hungry.

I'd yearn for what I had.

I'd thirst for the ease and comfort of my former life.

Sure. Discipline and exactness and non-dairy milk seem enticing.

But I have made promises.

And I will keep my word.

I will fulfill my duties to this liquid that disgusts and enslaves.

But the fantasies...

Will they ever go away?

5,4,3,2,1.

I just heard this. It's delightful.

The most improtant 5 words in the english language are:
"I am pround of you."

The most important 4 are:
"What's your opinion?"

3:
"If you please."

2:
"Thank you."

The least imortant word in the english langauge is :
I.

Happy Sunday.

Geometry Never Was My Thing

I'm at a cross-roads.
Here I am, 35, wondering who I am, but knowing myself better than I ever have before. And just when I think I get me, I surprise even myself. During my morning meditation session (ie: folding laundry) I was thinking of one thing that led to another (think: "If You Give a Pig a Pancake) and I thought of the phrase, "Life is one eternal round". And then, almost to debate my internal dialogue, I thought about going to my friends house on Saturday. They are professional photgraphers and it's always fun to take pics of the family but how this time I want to do some campy housewifey type shots (FYI: do NOT google campy housewife pictures. there are no good ideas in that word grouping).
Where was I?
Oh. Yeah.

I was thinking about all the different sides of me. The mom who digs making homemade everything.
The wife who puts on dark lipstick and high heels to properly greet my husband.
The daughter who calls to say hi and tell funny stories to grandma.
Then there's the girlfriend whose a goodie-goodie to one set of friends and somehow, without being different, I am the irreverent trouble maker in another group.
So I was thinking that there are many sides to me. And you. But if life is one eternal round, what does that mean??

It means I hated geometry, that's what.
Mr. Chen, bless his soul, couldn't save me from the pain and horror that is geometry. Oh, wait. I had Ms. What's Her Name. She had shortish brown curly hair, She never wore make up and Mark Robestelli always got me in trouble. And Stephanie Dabo always wrote cutsie sayings on the chalkboard like, "Happiness is like jam. You can't spread even a little without getting some on yourself."
How can I remember all these details and not know the taechers name?
Ms. Mullin? Mullen?
Huh.

What was my point?
Who cares.
How can there be a point if life is one eternal round?
I don't know it all. Surprised? Yeah, me too. Except I do know that my nickname is Rae.
Not ray.
You know. Like a line which starts at a point and goes off in a particular direction to infinity.

Aren't you glad I'm not going to go on for forever?

Wednesday Highlights

I found a booger on the wall in the TV room.
My husband is working late. Again.
I found a great idea for a service project to do in the community. It's based on the children's book, "100 Dresses". It's were you invite your friends to go thru their closets and find something nice and clean and gently used and donate it to a women's shelter. Love the notion. I'm all over that. Got the ball rolling with a couple emails.
I found some neat stuff my kids can make and take to the firestation so when the fireman go on a call involving a child, they'll have a blanket or doll or bear to give to the child. When my son, Ethan, was whisked away by an ambulance, I caught up to him in the ER and there, by his side was a plush white polar bear. Time to return the favor.
I'm starting to like dark chocolate. Didn't see that coming.
Just before bedtime, I read "Ferdinand" to my youngest boys. It was my favorite as a child. I called it, "Ferdinand and the Flowers" and even though I couldn't repeat the story to you until I started reading it to my kids, when I picked it up and looked at the art work, I almost cried. Like seeing an old, beloved friend. Frankly, it isn't a wonder people
think I'm nuts. I wonder what that says about little 4 year old Rachel that that was my favorite story. I vividly remember the illustrations from "The Pokey Little Puppy". But I have never gotten verklempt over that book.
My daughter just called name. She's out of shampoo so I told her to use her brother's AXE shampoo. I smiled as I walked away listening to her moan and groan.

So, I think that's it. Everyone is tubbed and scrubbed. I'm going to read. Or watch tv. Maybe the Flight of the Conchords were they think Bret is bulemick. I have no idea how to spell that word.
Then, I think I'll greet my husband with an innapeoppriate kiss.
Perfect.

4:49 pm

Here is my life, right now.

*My hands sting from lime juice that has seeped into teeny, tiny cuts I didn't know I have.
*My daughter is dancing around the house singing, "Be Our Guest" from Beauty and the Beast. All hail expensive musical theatre classes.
*My son is asking what his homework means when it asks to write the differnece as a sum. All hail integers.
*My husband is asking me to email so and so and remind her to have her son bring his boy scout book to tonight's meeting. All hail scouting.
*My husband is asking me to call Direct TV and tell them something about something.
*My husband wants to know if I'm wearing his favorite apron and high heels. All hail flirting.
*My other sons are down stairs reenacting the fall the Death Star. All hail Luke Skywalker.
*My cell phone keeps going off with calls, emails, texts and questions about all manner of planning and service projects.
*My diet coke is sitting quietly in the corner of my counter, smiling a subtle smile that says, "I understand. I am here for you." All hail ridiculous, semi-harmful addictions.

Nice to See You.

Hey. Wow, it's been a while. How are you? How did that one thing work out? Did you sue the plastic surgeon?
If it happened to me, I totally would.

(tee,hee) I want to put that on a t-shirt...

"You should sue the Plastic Surgeon."

Wouldn't that be awesome? But then I worry I might hurt someone's feelings and the thought makes my stomach hurt. So I keep my sarcastic thoughts to myself. So when you see me with a little bit of a naughty grin on my face, it's probably because I thought of something wicked to say, but know I have to keep it to myself.