honesty*rain

I’ve never had a dedicated printer. That is to say, the printer in this household has never been attached to my computer because I have a laptop and what with the carrying around of the laptop it made little sense to constantly have a printer slung over my shoulder. Instead, the printer has always been attached to Dan’s desktop computer and when I need to use it he has to climb under his desk, unplug it from his USB port so that I could pop it into mine. This has been less than a spectacular system. In the beginning he was sort of patient about it but lately he’s downright snarly. Once he even poked me in the eye over it which I think is just rude. Printing should not lead to a fisticuffs.

About a month ago I decided I would get my own damned printer. Just a little thing. Not a 3 in 1 or a 5 in 7 or a 64 in 238. I was thinking a 39 dollar dealie from Walmart so I could print up the little things I need for the kids. Maybe an ocassional recipe. Or, you know, whatever. Just not photos. Cheapass printers don’t do so well with photos and that’s a fact.

Well I’m on the phone with my dad the other day and lo if he’s not getting all braggy about some printer he just bought. It’s, like, the best printer ever. It’s better than some stupid 39 dollar printer. It’s better than chocolate. It’s better than watching TV uninterrupted during a britcom marathon on PBS.

Come on, Dad. That good? Nothing’s better than britcoms.

Turns out it was a printer I’d seen in a magazine recently. The Kodak EasyShare 5300 All-in-One Printer Print, Copy, and Scan’s ad campaign caught my eye: everyone else’s ink cartidges cost a million dollars and ours don’t, so there*. Sounded good and as soon as my dad put me back on this printer I was off to the office supply superstore faster than you can say she’s makin’ copies.

I’m not going to bother with a play by play of what this thing does. It’s a 3 in 1 and it’s rock star. I had to have dan drill a hole in a cabinet in the kitchen so I could house the thing. It ain’t tiny, lemme tell ya, but it’s all worked out. We had a party the other night and ask me how much I loved taking pictures of drunk friends at 330am and printing them right from the memory card on to ready and waiting 4X6 high qulaity photo paper. While drunk. Both me and the people in the pictures. And do you know what? It went off without a hitch. If that ain’t a testiment to how easy this thing is to operate, I don’t know what is.

*paraphrasing

My sister has had a shit year. A shit decade, to be honest. Her husband has some rather major issues and is no longer living with the family. He is not allowed to see his two kids (16 and 11 year old girls) and his life is falling apart. My sister has had a tough row to hoe but she’s definitely come out on top.

(applause)

Now, given that, she’s also being a bit of a jackass. She’s still got a lot of stress (single mom! money! laundry! dishes! ack dating!) and she’s taking some stuff out on her 16 year old. A 16 year old who is a downright remarkable girl. This is a kid who reads an entire book in one day and spent three days last summer baking cookies to give to homeless shelters. Just because her and her friends thought it would be a nice thing to do. No one told them to do it. They just did it.

So what the hell? Why is my sister so hard on her? So critical and hard to please? Granted, the kid forgets to to the laundry sometimes and might not do the dishes one night becuase she’s pissed at you and wants to make a point. The child KNOWS what her father has done, she KNOWS everything and has been given load no child should ever be asked to carry. She’s coping well but holy shit, mom, help a kid out. Don’t crap on her head every time you see her.

It’s a case of stress affecting behavior on both sides. My sister isn’t completely recovered herself and has never, to be honest, been very good at considering how other people feel. There is nothing to which she is not central. When the Queen of England takes a shit the backward swirl of her toilet gives my sister a headache.

I’m always somehow in the middle of it when my sister’s life takes turns. She bobs, I weave, we wind our way through the minefield that is her perceived existence. I’m happy to do it because otherwise, frankly, people would be losing limbs and whatnot. I offer my advice and give direction intended to feel gentle but meant to be absolute and as I do so I take personal stock of my own life, my own actions.

I hate the way she treats her teenager. I hate it with every breath I take. This child was the first among my siblings. I remember when she was born as though it was a few weeks ago. I still see in her the possibilities of a future unmarked by the mistakes of her family. I am angered that she is being treated the way she is and it makes me really think. How often have I let my own moods, fears, stresses, anxieties etcetera affect how I treat my own kids? Could I revisit my own behavior to see if there is perhaps room for improvement. Because anyone giving advice had better been willing to take it themselves else they have no business opening their mouths.

Every step along my sister’s path has been a learning experience for me as well. I have expectations of her that I must also demand of myself. I respect her need for moments of weakness that I must also be willing to grant myself (and those around me).

I hate that my sister is being an asshole but if she wasn’t I probably wouldn’t be thinking about how I’ve been treating my own kids and I may not have taken the time to give them a picnic on the driveway today. I’m not feeling well and probably would have put them in front of the TV and asked them to leave me alone. It’s thanks to my sister I remembered to think beyond myself and be the mom I mean to be and not the mom I am by circumstance and accident. I’m grateful for that. So are my kids.

Oh I am in a GOOD mood. I am tickled the color of something absolutely gone TICKLED. Because if there is ONE thing I long for at this time of year it is a WINTER BLOODYWELL STORM WATCH with amounts of snow neighbouring in the area of IT’S SPRING FOR SHIT SAKE STOP WITH THE SNOW!

There is only one thing to do. I will make a quick stop at the Liquor Store today and stock up on things that will get us through. These things are of the ALCOHOL variety. Also, we will need CHIPS and DIPS.

Winter, you are an evil snot of a bitch and I have never hated anyone or anything more than I do you right now. It is unlikely that I will ever be friends with you again. You blew it, jerk.

but shockingly lacking. show me what’s interesting to you out there in the tangle of wire and WiFi. i fucking signed up for twitter because i figured, okay, this is interesting. ? not so much, really. same old, shorter sentences.

The surgery was a success. Insofaras, he did not die. I worried that he may have when he did not return from surgery as swiftly as I thought he would do. Imagine my relief when I saw him finally sitting there looking as though he’d been robbed of his brain and all I had left to take home was a zombie-like being. My zombie-like being. Oh how I missed him that one point five hours we were apart.

Seriously, I did.

He had some trouble breathing during the surgery but we did not get any more details. Like did they check his band for a DNR order and, seeing none, called a code blue! and crash carted him back to life? Or was it more of a hey, buddy, you alright or what? I bet the peeked over at him, shrugged and went about their business. Hernia doctors are not in the business of worrying about whether or not you can breath. For heaven’s sake, you have to book a Breathing Doctor for that. But we’ll never know what happened, either way. The surgeon sliced and dashed as Dan was his last patient before a three week holiday. I guess if Dan had not survived he may have taken the extra minute to come speak with me but who knows for sure. I’m glad I don’t.

He’s being laying in bed all day reading magazines brought in from the far reaches of some stupid pharmacy I could not find my way around. Also, he’s being fed. And watered. He’s like a pet, really. He lays in a sunbeam and I open doors for him when he needs to pee.

I had a hard time walking away as they rolled him into surgery. I wanted to crawl up on his bed and hug his be-gowned body. I didn’t really think I’d never see him again but you know, things happen. Besides, I’m supposed to be with him when he goes through stuff. I am not supposed to be in the cafeteria selecting an egg salad sandwich for late lunch. But thank goodness I was able to find one on whole wheat. I do not eat white bread. Gross.

Later today I’m going to tell you all about how I can’t wait until both of my kids are in the same school so I don’t have this major daily commute.

Oh wait. That’s pretty much the whole of it. Consider yourself told.

Dan is having hernia surgery this afternoon. Not in his groin. In his chest kinda. Between his ribs. He’s had this hernia for at least 20 years, maybe even for his whole life. But it’s getting worse and so now they will operate.

Madison burst into tears last night.

Will they cut Daddy’s skin open?

Yes!

Waaaaaa.

Awwwww.

What will they cut it with?

A super duper very very VERRRRY sharp knife called a scalpel!

Waaaaaaaa!

Awwwwwww.

I don’t want Daddy to get cut.

Ah, heck, it’s nothin’ Did I ever tell you about the time they ripped open my bikini line to yank out a rather large human being? Here, I’ll show you the scar….

I can’t see anything.

Hmm, well lookit that. It’s gone. Nice!

Keep a thought for Dan today that they do not mistakenly do the groin operation once he’s out (ha! no! don’t!) and that he feels next to no post surgery pain. We’d like him to recover quickly because of course, that’s what’s most desireable for him but ALSO I hate layabouts. Passionately.

Secretly, I feel the way Madison does. Don’t cut my honey open with a sharp sharp knife. Waaaa.

I’m not drunk but i might as well be. It takes a fair bit for me to be actually what you would call drunk. I’m not 19 anymore. There’s more than a glass of vomit inducing white wine involved.

That being said, I’m hardly sober and the delete button is in high use the eve. because of typos.

White wine makes me sick if i even drink a drop, by the way. i only drink red.

Here’s what happened:

Dan looked after my neighbour friend’s son while we went running because the boy’s father was away for the day/night. I run with the boy’s mother. We get back and I want to offer friend glass of wine but we have no wine. We are lame assholes. Friend gets wine from her own house.

And beer for Dan. We are out of beer. We are seriously lame assholes.

But I made cookies today. I have that going 4 me.

Blah blah blah (the details are finally boring) and two bottles of wine are drunk. pizza is ett and lo bu the children are weary.

the point is, I can post semi drunk and it does not matter because I am almost alone in this enterpise of blogging.

also, Jacob ripped the new family room curtains off the wall. we did not even give him wine. that’s the kind of GOOD FRIDAY i’m talkin about.

the hell, did i have a point?

dan has gone to bed and i no longer care. i want bed with dan. i wuv dan. dan, i wuv you.

(waves hi to people behind us becase Jacob ripped the fucking curtains off the fucking wall) (seriously) (OFF THE WALL)

SO SLEEPY AM I.

Some days drive over you and then back up. This one isn’t as bad as all that but it’s got the stink of something on it. Probably having a four year old shoving me off my pillow all night got it off to a rocky start. I can’t handle anyone fucking with my sleep anymore. I don’t know, I’m probably dehydrated too. When was the last time I had a glass of water? 1972?

I went to bed last night thinking today would be a breeze. One kid had the day off school (no 1.5 hours of preschool commute!) and the other would be away all day with his own thing going on. I had visions of tackling laundry and laying on the floor in a sunbeam next to the dog. He and I never lay around together anymore. We hardly ever talk. I can’t remember the last time he scratched my belly.

Well one thing after another, you know how it goes, and today was just like the others. Busy, running around, no one had any clean socks and the dog - well - he didn’t have to share his sunbeam, did he? He got to sprawl out all over the place and you know he wasn’t missing me. Living the life, he is. It’s me who’s got issues.

I think the cummulative effect of the draining days are what is really draining. Because okay, today was this thing, that thing, an hour at the hospital, no time to get the car cleaned, talk a friend off the ledge for two hours before bed, load the dishwasher and fold some dirty socks to pass for clean because nope, didn’t get to it. That was today and that’s okay. I liked today. Thing is, look at tomorrow. Not any slower. Faster even. Maybe I can cram it all in Sunday. Until voila, Sunday pulls the plug on clean socks too.

What is it that conspires to keep us in dirty socks forever?

I should have already gone to bed because my eyeballs are doing that thing they do when they’ve already gone to sleep. But I’m not going with. Where they won’t see anything properly in definance of my definace. We’re in a roundabout. Neither one of us wants to give in. Very mature.

I am never more inclined to sit down and get to work than when I am sick or tired. Fever of a hundred and seventeen? Excellent! Time to bang out that novel! Haven’t slept in days? Well, saddle up, we’ve got some words to get down on paper.

And they will be brilliant! These words penned in times of mental deficiency. Oh how they will impress.

I can’t think of anything I did today that I feel really good about. I mean, I feel good about my day and the person that I am in the general sense of it. I did not drive over anyone’s dog, I did not shout at the Contact Lens people despite their need for a good sound shouting at. But I never did find a minute to really accomplish anything. It’s more that the day got accomplished while I was in attendance. Which is the way most days go and maybe they’re supposed to. But I can’t help thinking I should have more of an impact on it. I should be more of a participant than the residue of a day gone well. Or not well, as the case may be. This day, this draining day, happened more in spite of me than because of. Or it feels like.

This is not me complaining. I am far more direct when I complain. I say things like ‘fuck’ in ALL CAPS forty four thousand times when I am complaining. There is no mistaking my dissatisfaction.

This is me prattling on to you the way I do to Dan every second of his life. I think he enjoys it. Or he is skilled at pretending to. Either way, I am content.

I’m not sure where this has got off to - which is apropos of the prattle - and will now come to an abrupt and unsatisfying end. Best to finish on the same note with which we began, I say. No sense leaving you will a sense of satisfaction this late in the game.

Adieu.

You put on your jeans fresh from being laundered. They fit well, you can sit in them without wanting to smash someone in the head with a stick, you see your butt and think your butt looks good, you go out into public and are not constantly tugging at them to cover your godforsaken tummy.

And after wearing them once you think eww, they’re so loose now, i need to wash them again so they accentuate my ass and fit snug against my thighs.

You wonder who said that. Snug against my thighs? Who talks like that? And you realize, people who are finally thin enough, that’s who.

Finally.

When we first moved in here in 2005 my kids were 4 and 2. Jacob was in preschool five afternoons a week but other than that, nothing. No swimming lessons, no hockey, no dance class, nothing, nada, zilch. It was easy to keep my brand new 2400 square foot house clean despite my mother-in-law’s concerns to the contrary. I dusted constantly, vacuumed daily. Never was there a thing out of place. We lived in a Metropolitan Home photo shoot ready house. I was damned proud of myself.

Little did I know that my lack of existence beyond the four exterior walls of our new housing structure were what kept me living this life of tidy. How could I expect that a blossoming social life for not only the kids but also me was about to get in the way of my happy little world? I was not expecting to suddenly be so busy that I would step over a rotting carrot in the front hall and think oh who cares???*

*there has never been nor will there ever be a rotting carrot in my front hall. In my fridge, mind you, well that’s plausible.

It’s not for lack of trying. I make every attempt to maintain a degree of perfection. At this point we’re talking about a ratio of 1:a billion in favor of more imperfection than perfection and while intellectually I go, that’s okay, you have a life and a life is good. Because it is. I like having friends and taking my kids to dance and hockey respectively. I like the social circle we’re a part of. I like that when I turn forty later this year there will be a lot of great people we can invite to my party.

But I hate not having a clean house.

We’re talking about getting someone in. Every two weeks or whatever. Which will absolutely send my siblings and their spouses off the deep end because hello, I don’t have a job. Why can’t I clean my own house? Princess that I am. Only I would prefer to clean my own house but I’d prefer to have a life and write a novel more. No one aims to have their eulogist brag that-

good old jane, she kept a damn fine house. thank you for coming.

I don’t want to be poor old jane. I want to live in technicolor! And 3D! Three dimensional technicolor! Whatever that means!

For now I think I’ll train the kids to do some of the jobs I really don’t like. I’ve already got Dan doing the dishwasher because I’d sooner poke my eyes out. Now if Jake will wash the floors and Madison can vacuum…that’s a step in the right direction.

And I’ll need someone to fan me with grape leaves while I’m eating bonbons and perusing the entertainment magazines. (raises wine glass for refill)