Adulting

Is it really that funny?

Oh my goodness.  So much has changed since I last posted a blog in October.   We have a new president, a new dog, and a new found appreciation for store bought goodies.   I want to apologize to my dear readers as I have been extremely lazy and have not posted.  I have been diligently been trying to finish up my bachelor’s degree while also channeling Laura Ingalls Wilder, but more about that in a minute.

First, let me address the current political climate.  One of the reasons I have not been active on social media is because of the three ring circus that we currently have and have been under since the primaries took place.  I am not going to make this a political blog and have found it difficult to not express my opinions on the situation but the reality is:  it is just my opinion and I have enough family and friends to argue with that I do not feel the need to include my cyber posse as well.  So, that is it for my political statement on this subject.

Secondly, my school work.  These are the last few classes remaining before I am awarded (hopefully) my B.A. in Human Services.  It has been incredibly intensely tedious and boring and takes every bit of concentration I have to just plow through it.  It feels like I have been taking classes for about 10 years and I am completely happy that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  A dim watery light but a light none the less.

Thirdly, Laura Ingalls Wilder (happy belated birthday, Half-Pint!).  So, living in the farmhouse, out in the country, I have learned that you have to be prepared for times when it is not convenient to run to the grocery store or order food.  Which is to say, every day.  I am not the most prepared of people on a good day so you can imagine the things that I have had to do.

I have had to use food that has been in my deep freezer for an indeterminate period of time.  One time I cooked pork chops, turned out to be flattened chicken breasts.  Yum.  I have mastered the art of baking bread.  I can turn out a mean white bread or wheat bread but had a disaster of epic proportions when it came to trying to make a cinnamon-raisin bread.  It does make a nice doorstop, however.  I have never professed to be a baker and each warm, yeasty, loaf that I pull out of the oven makes me appreciate Walmart like never before.  I have made cookies, cakes, and candies when I have a sweet tooth.  I really really need to work on following exact ingredients and cooking times.  I long for the bakery at our store in our old town and have a new found respect for anyone that makes baked goods from scratch.

Introducing Miss Luna Lovedog

Fourth(ly), our new dog.  We had a dog.  He was great.  He died.  We have a new dog.  I love her to pieces.  She is sweet tempered, loving, and cute as a button.  My husband hates her.  She chewed up the cord to my laptop, chewed up the cord to my carpet shampooer (after thoughtfully pissing on said carpet), ate his sunglasses, ate #6’s glasses, and S.O.’s glasses.  She has eaten two pairs of my yard shoes, one face off of a Baby Alive, and may or may not have been responsible for the great toilet paper fiasco of 2017.   She refuses to play with her chew toys, isn’t food driven (uhm, hello?), and only wants to be constantly petted and scratched.  I am open to suggestions before my S.O. decides that my wonderful little Luna Lovedog (such a HP nerd) needs to be in permanent mode as a chicken coop dog.

The cats have grudgingly accepted her, except for our female kitty in residence Phyllis.  She hates her with a passion that equals my distaste for laundry so it’s pretty intense.  The other cats ignore her and look down on her for being a well, a dog.  The chickens do not interest her so we have that going in our favor.

So, fearless reader, it is on that note that I am signing off for the day.  I’ve missed you and hope that you have room in your hearts for a tired, sugar starved, and sleep deprived blogger.   Good night, John Boy.

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I have had a pretty okay week. That’s bad when it is just pretty okay. Not horrible but not great. I however, cannot really complain because two of my siblings are having a much worse week.  So, in tribute to one of their worst weeks ever, here’s to you C & M.
My older sister’s car decided to stay in alarm mode and refuses to start. She sucked it up and decided to just ride her bike to work.  Upon examination of said bike, flat tire. She is very into walking so she walked to work. In Mississippi.  In the summertime. Good times.  And as if having a car that has decided to lock you out is not bad enough and a flat tire on your bike isn’t an absolute joy, came the medical emergency.  Her daughter and granddaughters went camping and her youngest granddaughter tripped and fell into the fire pit full of embers. She was sent to the Children’s Hospital in Mobile with 2nd degree burns on her poor little hands, arms, and neck. She’s a trooper though and isn’t letting her bandages, lack of eyebrows or bangs bother her.   C, you have officially won the unofficial Worst Week Ever award and no, it’s not transferrable.

My youngest sister, M, learned out that her beloved oldest daughter moved to Arkansas over the weekend.  Without stopping by to say goodbye.   Bad start to the week.  Kids have got to find their own path but that path really should include letting your parents know when you’ve decided to move very far out of state.  Then, her husband’s brakes went out on his truck on his way to work.  He managed to careen into a ditch and avoid hitting others but now they get to look for replacement vehicles.  She was edged out of winning the unofficial Worst Week Ever award by not having a child trying to spontaneously combust.  Better luck next time.

I feel bad about having a cruddy week involving #6’s inability to ever not talk, #7’s bad attitude, #5 thinking that being a teenager involved being disrespectful, and the continuing saga of attempting to move an entire household.   All in all, it’s not cruddy at all compared to my sisters.  So, here’s to me for not having a vehicle crap out, a child not move out of state without notice, and not having a child lose any hair to a camping trip.  And here’s to my sisters for not completely losing their shit.  I love you, I’m here for you, and I’ll gladly take 3rd runner up in this contest.

 

 

 

 

 

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You know how they say you should never go to bed angry?  I call b.s.  You should never write a blog while angry though.   I have started out this morning but getting into it with my darling dear S.O.  The love of my life, the man I share a bed and life with, is a huge jerk.  Not all the times but the times that he is he makes up for all the times he wasn’t.

I was going to write about all the ways that he is a jerk and inconsiderate and basically an a-hole.  I was going to pour my hurt and anger into a diatribe because it would be better than engaging him.  Except it wouldn’t.   It would be out there for everyone to read and make assumptions and judgements about.  And I wouldn’t be able to take it back when this all blows over.

Arguing with your S.O. can be cathartic.  It can be constructive and actually help your relationship.  It’s called communicating.  But it also can be damaging and petty.  I don’t want to damage my relationship.  I want it to be stronger and to always continue to work on our relationship.  I am on the path to becoming a licensed family counselor so I should know how to talk to my husband without it dissolving into an argument, right?

If I were a mechanic, I would still have car problems.  If I was a doctor, I could still get sick.  Why is it that because I am a mom and a wife I think that I have to constantly calm/fix things with my husband and because I am in social services that I should know how to communicate with him without fighting?  It’s silly.  We are humans and we have feelings that get hurt and we say things that make that hurt transfer to someone else.  It’s hard to avoid and I’m not always going to be able to not do it.

So, instead of writing about what a jerk he was this morning I will try to focus on why we got into it at 6 in the morning.  We were both tired, him from working so many hours and me from staying up late and having the kids for so many hours without help.  Today is a rough day for me, what would have been my mom’s 68th birthday.  My feelings are already on red alert and I am sensitive today.  My S.O. may or may not remember what today is and he certainly has no idea how I’m feeling today because I haven’t told him.   He is not a mind reader and although he is pretty good about picking up when I’m upset he is not inside my head.  He couldn’t find his wallet or favorite work shorts and I thought that was his own problem of not being organized.  Which it is.  It is also my job to help my family find things, because obviously I have a tracking device in my uterus (classic Roseanne Barr joke pre-Roseanne.)

I am not mad at him anymore even though my plans to have a birthday lunch with my sister is now on hold.  I am not going to try to hold on to the anger that I felt this morning when he dismissed my feelings and did not acknowledge what today is.  I am not going to be held hostage by feeling mad and angry and sad and hurt.  I want to enjoy this day and enjoy the kids (at least for the first few hours) and not spend it sulking.

When he gets home from work tonight, we will find time to talk about it in between feeding kids, bathing kids, and attempting to get kids to sleep.  I will let him know how much my feeling were hurt and he will let me know how much he needs help to get organized because he is stretched thin with work.   I know this because we make an effort to talk about why we were fighting.  Sometimes it works and sometimes it’s best to let it go.

What I have learned about fighting with my S.O. is that it is normal, it can be healthy to have open disagreements, and that it will not last forever.  We married for better or worse and all days cannot be sunshine and roses.  Also, go to bed angry.  Fighting while tired is stupid.  Waking up in the morning and not remembering what you were arguing about is better than rehashing everything until you go to sleep.  Plus, I really need my sleep.

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