Posted in Home, Life, NaBloPoMo, Writing

Sick Daze

Currently watching: Antiques Roadshow

Sipping on: jasmine tea

Saturday evening, I started feeling kind of shitty.  I chalked it up to the quick change in the weather. Fall in the South typically means 75 on Monday, 45 on Wednesday, 62 Thursday…. on and on it goes, until BAM. It’s full blown winter and there’s talk of “snow.”  Actually, I read somewhere that getting sick due to weather is complete and total bullshit.  Who knows.

Sunday I did nothing.

NOTHING.

Laid on the couch, watched movies, snacked, slept and that’s about it.  We all participated. It was glorious.

Until I woke up sometime before five with a raging fever, unable to swallow and feeling worse than ever.  I managed to get up, pack MD’s lunch and drive him to school.  It’s what Mom’s do.  Unless you’re actually heaving up a kidney in the toilet, you still do stuff. And yes, it sucks. However, you somehow have flash backs to coming home with your child for the first night and you stop bitching.  Because there is nothing more terrifying than being left alone with a tiny screaming human.

If you can survive that, you can survive a “cold.”

So I prevail.

And after a early morning nap, I was up, cleaning the house a bit (even if I was shuffling about).  Then I was back to being sick. Back on the couch. Back sweating out the sick.  I haven’t had make up on in three days. My lips are chapped. My hair is bigger on one side than the other.

Yet, I had to get my shit together and go pick up MD from school.  It wasn’t until I was half way there that I realized I’d be an hour early due to drama practice till five.  I swung into a little coffee shop, got a drink, headed to the back corner booth and worked on some drawings.  The girl next to me had to laptops going. TWO.  I wanted to ask her, “Why? What is so super important that you can’t use just one?”

The guy to the right of me had a stack of books on photoshop and he kept scratching his balls.  No, really.  And sometimes, he would stick his hand down the front of his pants and give a good, long scratch.  I watched the relief on his face as I pretended to check my email on my phone.  I wanted to tell him they make a cream for that, but hey, it was already kind of weird in there.

So I left.

Now all the homework is done, supper has been cooked up (crepes and bacon) and eaten and I managed to fold a load of laundry while listening to Frank Sinatra.  I haven’t been doing very well with my posts of the day.  I may have to go back and repost them, because today’s post is about the best birthday ever.  This is a topic dear to me! I love birthdays and have been fortunate enough to have some seriously rad ones the past ten years.

But that will have to wait.

I’m tired, I need more medicine and I’ve been wiping my nose on the sleeve of an old flannel shirt I’m wearing for about twenty minutes.

I know you understand.

Till then loves!

Posted in Life, NaBloPoMo, Writing

Day 15: My Dreams

Dream:

a series of thoughts, visions, or feelings that happen during sleep

something that you have wanted very much to do, be, or have for a long time

Each of us have a dream, either while we slumber or when we stare off into space.  Some can be lofty. Others, simple. Some of us are better at putting a little bit of oomph into making our dreams a reality, while some of us sit quietly on ours; incubating them until they are ready to hatch.

Questions about “What is your dream this, this or this” piss me off.  I usually greet them with an eye roll.  Mutter under my breath. Sigh. Shift my weight. And then, in the cruelest way, I go back to where I was before the question was asked and stew. My entire life I’ve been labelled a “dreamer.”  It’s a curse really. I am indecisive. My head is constantly floating up into the clouds.  There are journals filled with ‘dreams’ (ie: goals), that have yet to be accomplished, let alone discussed. I haven’t completed a one. Routine has taken place of my usual fly by the seat of my pants behavior.  It’s a drag really, I’m working on bringing that part of myself back into play.

But, for the sake of writing this post, I will tell you one of my “dreams.”

It’s a simple one, really.  One that doesn’t have an expiration date, time stamp or age bracket. I tell myself that this dream is not too late for me. It’ll happen. Patience is what matters most in a situation like this, isn’t it? I’ve started to slowly push this dream into motion with conversations and I know it’ll continue in motion.  Eventually building speed and propelling me into a slightly unknown. It’s an exciting time for me and a smidge terrifying.

In being true to myself and what I want most-

I will be returning to school to obtain a history degree, in the hopes of working in preservation, research and museum studies.

Lofty, no? I’m a history nerd and have been since I heard a history professor & archeologist speak at a career day function in sixth grade.  I was hooked. I was drawn in. The dream for me became more intense when I was in Europe.  I actually cried while walking down the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles in Paris. I spent an entire day, open to close, at the British Museum and never became bored. I was once removed from an art gallery by security because I was leaning too far over the velvet rope to get a better look at the brush strokes of Van Gogh. In Boston, I had a hard time focusing in on the present, because my mind instantly went to the past- who walked this street? What happened here on this spot? THIS VERY FOOTPRINT.  That’s how my mind works you guys. I can’t even pick up an old book at the thrift store without thinking about it’s past.

The study of people, the places they lived, the lives they created, the monstrosities and how all this affects us today sucks me in.  I lose myself in books. Museums. Artifacts. The back story- you guys, the back story!  It gets me every time.  The attention to little details fascinate me.  Touching objects that are aged beyond comprehension. Understanding the reason (or not).  Seeing the same excitement in another person’s face when you compare notes on places and experiences.

For years I thought that maybe I shouldn’t go back to history.  That it’s a waste of time.  I’d convinced myself I should go back to college for my marketing degree. IT. Graphic Design. Welding.  Yet, nothing seemed right. I’d read over course descriptions, talk to people who have these same jobs and walk away with an empty heart.

If I truly think about what it is that I want to “do”, it’s always history.

In any fashion: teaching, working in a museum, preservation of historical sites or documents.

This is what it is.

This is my dream.

Posted in NaBloPoMo, Writing

Day 08: A Moment

I got drunk and fell asleep

on the tops of two blankets

in a bed unmade

as the night tapped at the window

My mind dreamt of

f shaped holes on my back

like the violin

instantly

i wanted you to play me,

but my body is broken

like my spirit

lifeless

i sleep-

drunk

on the top of two blankets

in an unmade bed.

Day 6: Your Day

Quarter to nine in the evening.

I’m listening to N.W.O.  by Ministry

My day? Hella busy.

Last night, somewhere between cooking supper and math homework, MD looks at me and says, “Oh yeah! Don’t forget I have to bring doughnuts to school this morning.”  I stopped stirring the quiche mix and said, “The whole seventh grade or just your class?”

Blank stare.

Once a month students are assigned a specific day to bring in breakfast to enjoy after mass.  It was eight p.m. when my son realized it was his turn.  When Bill headed in the kitchen, I mentioned it- as we were already heading to the grocery.  You know that’s some serious love when you plan a date night to the grocery store.  The only downside to that, is no one gives free samples at quarter to ten on a Tuesday night.  Get your shit together grocery stores!

We decided that we’d pick up a couple dozen doughnuts from the bakery up the street from us.  Hands down, best doughnuts I’ve ever eaten.  At five this morning, Bill was placing the order, by five thirty he was out the door to pick them up.  In the meantime, I was scrambling to dry my hair while also screaming down the hall for MD to get up.

Every Wednesday without fail, we can’t locate his tie for his mass uniform.  Today however, MD knew it was on the hall floor under the new pack of toilet paper I bought.  It’s the little things people.  Little things.  The two of us were dressed and coming down the stairs, clock running.  I am a stickler for the schedule in the morning.  I never leave the house after 6:30 a.m.

Ever.

Today we were out the door, lunches in hand (thanks to my awesome husband) and in the car by 6:24.  We pulled into the school parking lot at 6:52. I helped MD carry his gear in, as he had another ingrown toe removed earlier in the week.  One giant back pack, one small duffel bag for Drama clothes, his lunch and 4 dozen doughnuts.

And I’m in heels.

After I drop MD off, I sit in traffic for an hour.

I work.

I go to lunch.  Sometimes I eat food.  Sometimes I sleep in my car.  Sometimes I write (like today).

I come back and work some more.

I go home.

I sit in traffic for close to two hours.  Unless of course, MD has tutor.  Some days I pick him up and take him. Or Bill. Or my brother in law. Everyone coordinates their arrivals and departures. We even discuss the ebb and flow of traffic.  Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursdays are the long days- as we won’t get home till 7:30 p.m.

Then it’s homework till nine or so.

Then we watch a movie or cut up.  However, because MD is in drama, he’ll have practice till six. Then tutor. Then home.  Or if there’s a band concert, we scramble to beat traffic, eat food and then watch him kick ass in a concert. That lasts till 8:30. Then we go home. Then there’s homework. Then we all collapse. Most days I think about doing the laundry- but to be honest, I am so wiped out, I just go to bed and snuggle with my husband.

As I was writing this, I actually started to get a little stressed out.  When you are in constant go mode, you don’t realize how much you’re doing until you write it all down.  Hell, half the time I feel like this:

That’s probably where the heart palpitations started.  Thinking about all the driving to and fro I’d be doing. So I did what I thought was best:

I closed WordPress and left this post alone.  Until now.

Do you know what was awesome today? Not the fact that traffic was moving at a decent clip or even that the sun wasn’t in my eyes the entire time.  The nicest part of my evening was sitting outside on the patio of a coffee shop, sipping Chai tea with my husband while the sun set.  We chit chatted about our work days, the game plan for the weekend and just general stuff.

It was relaxing.

Refreshing even.

Then I realized that it was quarter till seven.  One of us had to get home, let the dog out and start supper.  The other would stay and wait for MD to get out of tutor.

Rock. Paper. Scissors.

I headed home, Bill stayed back.

While I was in the kitchen, I felt the wave of Mom guilt wash over me.  Should I work? Should I stay home? Am I involved enough at school? Does everyone have clean underwear? Will they like what I’m making for supper? I took a deep breath and kept chopping veggies while the garlic sauteed in sesame oil.

Once supper (mushroom and chickpea stew) was simmering and the house was smelling delicious, the crew started stumbling in.  Everyone carries a back pack, a lunch bag, a laptop. We all kick our shoes off by the back door, even though we come up from the garage.  We all hug and kiss each other hello because quite frankly, we’ve missed each other.

Then, the evening begins and unwinds.  Eventually I’ll go to bed.  Maybe it’ll be before one a.m., although lately I’ve been waking up around 2:30 in the morning to jot down poems.  Then I go back to sleep for another two hours.

Rinse. Repeat.

Life.

There is still laundry to be folded, but right now, I’d rather spend time with my family than fold socks.

Posted in Cooking, NaBloPoMo, Writing

Day 4: What I Ate

I know, it’s only 10:05 a.m. and here I am, already telling you what I ate.  In my defense, it’s pretty cut and dry and I can even tell you what I’ll snack on tonight, because I’m that good. 

Morning:

1 mini Hershey’s bar

1 mini Kit-Kat

1 cup French Vanilla coffee, 2 mini creamers, 1 Splenda

2.5 stalks celery, cut

2 Tbsp peanut butter

1 tsp cream cheese

1/2 a banana

That’s what I’ve eaten so far.  I once heard on the radio that people who eat a small piece of chocolate in the morning are generally nicer and have their shit together by time they get to their desks. Any reason to eat candy sounds good to me. I am addicted to candy. ALL of it. That’s no joke either. I do not discriminate against any candy. Even rock hard Tootsie rolls that I discover in my glove box.  Yep. I eat those too.

How about lunch you say? I eat lunch at 12pm, here’s what I’ve got:

1.5 cup chicken tortilla soup

This recipe is awesome and it also calls for the use of a crock pot.  Which I never use. Well, I do, but only if it’s to fill it full of rotel dip and chips. It’s not very large and I often wonder if I should break down and buy a larger one. I mean, I am an adult now and that’s what adults do. They cook food in crock pots because they don’t get home from work at a decent hour and there’s only so many nights you can say, “We’re going to have breakfast for supper! YAY!” No. There is a problem though- I panic about leaving it on.  What if the plug shorts out and catches my house on fire? Then what? No chicken tortilla soup for you! Or clean underwear. Or a place to live.  I know this is probably an irrational fear that I should get over. I’m thirty five. Crock pots don’t start your house on fire.  Dry Christmas Trees with “vintage” lights from 1985 do.

So I made the recipe without the crock pot.  I boiled the chicken first, then chopped it up.  While the chicken was boiling, I chopped all the veggies, added extra jalapeno’s, the spices and left that to marinate.  I brought the 2qts chicken stock to a rolling boil, added chicken, added marinated veggies and cooked it all for a bit (maybe an hour on low).  Right before we sat down to eat, Bill sliced up some tortillas and dumped those in, which really soaked up the juices and made the soup a little thicker.

I didn’t have avocados because I didn’t want to pay $1.99/lb for them

I did add sour cream though.

Afternoon snack:

1 honeycrisp apple.  I am in love with these apples.  To me, they are the Glenda the Good Witch of fruit (the Wicked Witch would be Red Delicious. Blech).

1 cup plum, blueberry greek lite yogurt (low carb, low sugar)

Then I’ll probably try and score some candy from some department here in the building that has left overs.  On the ride home, I’ll eat another apple or one of those round cheese bites that comes in the red waxy coating. Which, I love to keep on the side so I can mold it into something else when I have time.  Because I’m weird. In case you were wondering, I also chewed the waxy glue that was left on my Hi-C juice pack as a kid.  Okay, I did it last week too.

Supper:

More chicken tortilla soup (I made a massive amount)

Probably split some popcorn with my husband and son while we argue about what shitty movie to watch on Netflix (I got vetoed on Valley Girl last night. SAD)!

2 fingers of bourbon, no ice. NO ICE PEOPLE.  Ugh.

I’ll also sneak another piece of candy from MD’s Halloween stash.

 

So there you have it.  What I ate and what I will be eating.  It’s not complicated. It’s just food.  Now if I could schedule some work outs as well as I schedule what I eat, I’ll be set.  Patience, patience! I’ll be hitting the gym soon, seeing that I can’t really use my stair stepper since the man cave flooded.  Disaster. A project for the dead of winter. 

I’ll probably make a hearty beef stew that day.

And tell my husband he’s so super awesome for being a brilliant handy man around the house.  Then we’ll eat stew in the ripped up man cave and laugh at the work ahead of us.