Tuesday, March 13, 2007

So.

I met with Drew's teachers today.
They ganged up on me and suggested I get my home straightened out ...
Didn't even get a chance to go off on my WHY SO MUCH DRAWING? rant.
Left there with my tail between my legs. Figuratively speaking because of course I don't have a tail.
Just a huge tail end.
And a dysfunctional home, apparently.

When is summer?

I hate school.

Which is weird to hate it now, because I loved it when I was a student.
Whose children am I raising?
How can I carry these boys in my womb for, like forever, and have them pop out with no evidence that I am their mother? I might as well have given birth to aliens.

So.

I read the first two chapers of Robin McGraw's book (Dr. Phil's wife) last night in the bathtub at 2:00 am and it left me feeling inadequate. People who have "it" all figured out are obviously the type of people who write books - they want to share their knowledge. But.
But instead of being motivating, it can be discouraging. Especially when you read a book and try the thing you are to try and your husband or kids do not respond like the book says they are supposed to.

For example, a couple years ago (wait, it was probably a dozen years ago) some guy wrote in some book that the most powerful way of communicating your feelings was to use word pictures. Don't just say "I feel sad when you do that", instead say, "Do you remember that time when that thing happened and then you said this and imagine if that was the outcome - well, that's sorta how I feel." Apparently a light bulb will come on and a breakthough in communicating will have occured.

I can say word pictures have never ever worked with any of the males I have ever lived with. Ever.

So when Robin says, "I was insistent that the men in my house (her husband and sons) respected my feminity" I say good for you. But it turns out you married an exceptional man, one who makes a living at communicating well with women.

I sound bitter, don't I?
Maybe I shouldn't bother reading the rest of that book. Perfect lives don't really interest me anyways...


So.

I have prepared a stupid list, 50 items long, of things I have to do before I leave on Thursday. WHY do I do that to myself?

I can remember my dad doing the same thing. Before we could go to Palm Springs one year, he wanted to fence the top 5 acres of the property. He hand-augered the holes, and built the fence as he went along.

Do we think we have to work extra hard in order to deserve a holiday? Probably.

The one thing I thought I'd do last weekend, but never got around to doing was buy a paper shredder. Because I am going to shred 8 years worth of journals. No one needs to read that crap. I certainly don't need to re-read it. Well, some parts might be insightful, but most of it is broken heart ooze.

What if I die on this holiday? (If you've been reading this blog for awhile, you'll know I do this 48 hours before I leave EVERYTIME. Not so endearing the 12th time...) I've just cleaned my bathroom, so no one can say mean things about that. But the garage. The pantry. This drawer over here on my desk. My closet. Way too many journals in that closet.

I guess I could buy that shredder tomorrow. Tomorrow night, instead of blogging thoughts and dreams, I can shred my old ones. If I try harder I bet there's some deep symbolism to be found in this paragraph.

Moving on.

So.

I did a scary thing.
I packed my suitcase without trying on a single item. Bathing suits, shorts, tank tops, not one thing did I check to see if it still fit. This would be an ostrich head in the sand move. If I don't try them on, I won't know for sure that they don't fit. So maybe they will.

If they don't, I'll be wearing my track pants an awful lot in 90 degree weather.


So.

I've tried re-creating my Jim Belushi dream every night when I go to bed. You know, to see if things will pick up where they left off. But you just can't force these things, I guess.

So.

Three things I'm thankful for:
1. My house is completely silent. All three kids in bed (and asleep?) by midnight? Who says I'm a bad parent?
2. God loves me.
3. Post It Notes

Shalom,

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