My apologies. This is my serious face. This is what happens when I finally stop goofing around and thinking about doing stuff and just do it. And for the record, so far, the story is going well.
But there's so much I want to tell you. There's the blow out I had with Nate. Major. Later, when he was sure it wouldn't result in physical violence, MathMan told me that watching was like that scene in Brighton Beach Memoirs. I'm not sure who was the workhorse and who was the pretty one, but the point is we both felt like we weren't getting what we needed from each other. The argument was cathartic and now we seem to be closer than ever.
This being a mom gig is so not my thing and yet......well, I love them and they love me and want to be around me anyway. I don't get it, but I'm glad for it (mostly).
Then there's Chloe who has put me in the unfortunate role of sounding like my own mother who once, upon having had enough of my tearful pleas to pleeeeeeease be fetched from Ball State and taken back home where I belonged, said to my father "Do not answer that phone or I'll kneecap you." You see, Chloe is having some transition issues and I feel like I'm standing on the edge of the nest kicking at her every time she tries to fly back in and rest her troubled soul. My poor darling. I want to fix things for her, but that's not my job or role now. And it hurts.
There's Sophia who's not off the rails but who is coming into her own and she's different from both siblings. She's artistic and sensitive and smart, but there are just some things she doesn't care about. Until it's too late, that is. Let me just say that playing Good Cop/Bad Cop with Mathman starring in the Bad Cop role during our parent/teacher/principal conference last week was interesting. So far it seems to have been effective, as well.
Also - were I to have the chance, I would love to say sweetly to the smiling teacher that it's bad form to lecture a parent about all the resources available online only to have that parent discover that you have not, in fact, put those notes on the web. Unhelpful.
Work is work. Writing is where my heart is. I want a passport. I want gigantic piles of money. I want a cabana boy who can vacuum better than I can and who loves to fold laundry. I want world peace and for average Americans to understand that we're all fucked as long as money controls our elections.
Veering back.....I want to have the cats laminated after they are de-fleaed. I want more time for everything. I want to drive up I85 without dodging dead deer parts. I just realized that I look like I'm dressed for a funeral today. Oh the irony. I want the passenger side window of the car to stop sounding like a wind tunnel. I want my friend Diane to start writing some of those stories she tells me. The one about the old guy who asked his daughter to take him to he doctor for a prescription for viagra so he can up the fun quotient of his visits with his girlfriend in the nursing home deserves to written, don't you think?
I joined the gym. I am going to get so fit it will only seem natural that when I keel over of a heart attack people can say "Well, how ironic, when she was fat and thought an ice cream and Oreo lunch with an M&M chaser was a bright idea, she was in great health."
Until next Wednesday,