My biological clock

I am physically unable to sleep in on a Saturday morning.

My eyes pop open at eight am. And then I attempt to fall back asleep because why in the name of heaven am I awake at this hour? For the next hour or two, sleep eludes me, even as restful as it is at my quiet childless home. And if it weren't for the warmth of my sweet husband's arms, I would probably get up and start doing something, but I don't want to leave that cocoon of snugly softness. So I fight my roving consciousness, pushing down thoughts of plans for the day and my ever growing to do list, while I squeeze my eyes shut and force out the sunshine playing at my window. And eventually, I get tired of laying there listening to the soft oblivious snoring of my darling Scotland, and my conscience gets the better of me, so I get up and putter around my quiet little house.

Right before the horrid daylight savings screwed me all up, I was waking up right before my alarm went off every morning. My body sensed the light in the room and the pattern of sleep, and I was automatically (and pleasantly, might I add) lifted from my drowsy state with ease. And really I was quite enjoying it until we had to "spring forward" an hour and wake up while it is still dark. But I digress.

And then today, while sneaking in a quick lunch hour nap, I awoke for no reason, exactly five minutes before I needed to leave to go back to work. I had no idea what time it was, I didn't know when I had rested my head on the pillow or how long I could sleep. I just knew that it was time to get up.

So my rapidly forming theory is this. Sometimes, your body just knows what is best. Sometimes you have to listen to what your body is doing in order to have harmony. And that is probably what is the most difficult for me.

As specified in this post I am having obvious control issues with my body right now. We are in a power struggle of sorts, me demanding that it conform to the schedule that I have for it while, like a rebellious teenager, it defies me at every point and then sulks in the corner until I relent. And while I am not giving up on it by any means, I have realized that at this point in my life, I need to pick my battles. I need to learn what I am willing to fight for and what I must give up for now.

A project of control

Scotland is working to empty out the pink room today.

All of the office items and papers are going upstairs to the blue room. And he will be working on removing the pink shag carpeting so that we can refinish the wood floor beneath it.

I am sooooo excited.

After we refinish the floor, we are going to paint it too.

A whole new room, just full of exciting possibilities.

I am working on a neutral based color palate, with varying shades of browns. I want a large brown area rug and a lighter brown rocking chair. And for now, that will be the only piece of furniture in the room. Until there is a reason to put something else in there.

***

I am a project oriented person by nature. I thrive on projects. Sometimes this is a beneficial trait, and sometimes it is something I have to fight against.

When I am passionate about something, I go for it with all the intensity and energy I can muster. But that means when something is not working out, or if I cannot throw everything I've got at a project, I get frustrated and give up.

Yes. Sometimes I am a quitter.

But it is not as simple as just that. I (usually) analyze the situation and then make a decision as to whether or not I am interested in continuing.

And honestly, sometimes the answer is no.

***

Which is why I was originally so very afraid to get married...and have kids. Not really things you should be quitting on, willy nilly, right?

I was afraid because I know myself. I know how I typically react to certain situations. And I was afraid of getting all excited about these new and wonderful life changes and then running when things get tough.

Because, lets face it. When things get tough, I get going.

Fight or flight response? Always flight. 100% of the time.

Getting married was a really big thing for me. Because I had to decide if I was going to be able to fight that knee jerk reaction of wanting to run away when it is hard. Pursuing children is another hard thing. Because at the end of the day, a baby is not going to convince you not to run away.

But I work on it. That's why we are here right? To learn to be better people, more Christlike and to learn to make better choices here on earth.

***

And so I continue to find projects that I can throw myself into.

Like a little pink room that needs a little TLC before it can become a nursery. Even if it is not used for quite a while. Even if we have to wait to have it's first tiny little occupant.

Because it can be a mini project within the larger project of "having kids and becoming parents". And ultimately, at a time when there is absolutely nothing that I can do to move toward that goal because of my uncooperative body, there is something that I can do, something I can control, something that will bring us a tiny step closer.

And I can be grateful for a project that I can control.

Sunshine and Rainbows

I have officially watched
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
eight times in the last five days.







Because I love it, that is why.



I love that there is not a single ounce of this decade in it.
It is clean and pure from the vile things that fill up movies today.
It is just that wonderful.
It is music and dancing, it is love and laughter.
It is cute and fun and nothing like most of the movies we watch today.



Last night we went to get a redbox movie. He chose.



And I asked
(because I always ask)
"what is it rated?"


and he said he didn't know.

And then he said that it was a movie about teenagers with super powers
so he didn't think it would be that bad.

Yet there we were,
in the middle of a teenage super power movie
where the main character is 13 years old,
and I felt like I didn't want to continue watching it
because of the things in that movie.
Because I couldn't trust where it was going.



Now, please don't get me wrong.
I love movies.
And I am by no means innocent of the things that go on in this world.
But right now,
I just want to watch a movie that makes me feel good about life.
That makes me happy.
I need happy right now.
I don't even want to watch something
that is going to make me cry because it is good, but so sad.
I just want sunshine and rainbows.



And when I get home tonight?
I will watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.
And I will revel in the happy get up and dance feeling that it leaves me with.
Because that is what I need for today.

Broken

The cell phone has been on self destruct mode for over a week now. Systematically, it deletes my music, my pictures, and pretty much everything else it can.

The tv is broken. We decided to bring the TV upstairs to our bedroom (gasp I know, we didn't have a tv that was plugged in at all!) for the first time since we got married. But somehow, I broke it. It is stuck on one screen and will not move at all. So I was all excited to start watching tv again, just to be very disappointed.

The garage door is broken. I fought with it for about five minutes this morning while it would not let me out. Track, motor, who knows? I just know it is non-functshee-ohh-nado.

I have had a very broken week. . .

Please send help. Repairmen. And cookies.

*sniff*

Green...Envy green....

Yesterday evening I arrived at the mall early for my walking date with KJ. So, being the glutton for punishment that I am, I went into Motherhood Maternity, a cute little clothing boutique for those who are...expecting. The store was empty when I went inside, with the exception of the clerk. She looked up from the counter when the bell chimed loudly announcing my arrival. Maybe it was just me, but I swear it chimed “Infertile!” as I stepped inside the doors. I felt like a fool.

What am I doing in here?

Why do I feel the need to

browse through maternity clothing

when I am not pregnant!

I subconsciously placed my hand on my stomach, wondering if everyone else could sense my lack of child. Wondering if it was written across my forehead in crayon. And then, as I walked a little closer to the checkout counter, the clerk smiled at me and said “welcome to motherhood!” And then I died a thousand times and thought:

Moron! Why did you come in here!

She thinks you’re expecting...um...something!

She is probably thinking

“Look at the freakshow that decided to bother me”

or even

“we don’t want your kind in here”

and she is soooo right!

So I made what I hoped was an inconspicuous u-turn, and started browse-heading back for the doors.

Did you need help finding anything?

No, thank you I am fine.

Well, what are you looking for?

Uhhhh...(now what was I supposed to say here? That I was missing my embryo and thought I might find it in her maternity store? That I hoped to have a drink of whatever it was that all the pregnant models and customers were drinking?)

And then she moved out from behind the counter. And her visible bump moved out from behind there too. And like a train wreck, I couldn’t look away. I stammered and stuttered and hemmed and hawed like the freakshow I am, trying to back away from the scene I had stumbled into.

And I backed into the clothes rack behind me. Hard. Hard enough that I thought the whole thing was going to topple over. And then I would have to try and reassemble the mountain of clothing and the cute little pregnant model posters that were on top. And all the while, pregnant clerk just kept smiling at me, expecting an answer to her question that she asked, I don’t know, eons ago!

I’mGoodThanksButIGottaGoNowThanksAnywaysBye.

...and the mad dash to the front of the store commenced. Like a swimmer coming up for a long overdue breath of air, I raced out of there as fast as my lungs could handle. And at the door, there was KJ, ready to rescue me from drowning in Motherhood Maternity. We immediately got down to the business of walking, and she graciously let the topic of my temporary insanity slide, bless her lil' heart.

After we were done with our bazillion laps, I headed home to Scotland, seeking relief from my waltz into babydom. And while he was sitting there at the laptop, he pulled up his facebook page, and who’s friend request was staring me in the face? His ex girlfriend from Kentucky. With her brandnewbabygirltwins. And then I died a million more times, and went into the bedroom and cried.

And I may or may not have screamed into a pillow while I was in there.

Red eyed, but (mostly) composed, I came back out of the bedroom to find my bewildered husband who, wisely, chose to avoid the subject for the rest of the evening.

And so did I.

The prowler ~ A true story

You might say that I have been a bit of a worry-wart lately.

Just last week, I did an online search for sex-offenders in my neighborhood as well as pretty much every other person's neighborhood.

I have a tendency to stress about this sort of thing. But I am usually able to remind myself that things will be ok, and that we are safe.

Such was not the case this morning.

I was in my pink bathrobe. Scotland was leaving for work, and I was standing there eating toast in the kitchen. Lil Sugar pie was at my ankles, thanking me profusely for accidentally dropping a teaspoon of butter on the floor. I was looking out my kitchen window into my backyard.

I saw someone in the alley way behind my house. And as I watched, they lifted a pair of binoculars to they eyes and peered at my house.

Horrified. Frozen with fear. Rooted to the spot.

Then they ducked down behind my five foot fence, and a second later, I saw my neighbor's fence moving. And then, all sorts of calm and nonchalant, they walked back past my fence in the direction that they came from.

My mind was racing.

Who was that! Why were they staring at my house?

Were they trying to get a glimpse of a housewife in her bathrobe???

I am wearing a bathrobe! Peeping tom!

Were they casing the joint?

Are they looking in my windows for valuables

and to check that my husband has left for work?

I'm not safe here!

They are going to break in and hold me at gunpoint!

Hysterical crying ensued.

I called my mom.

What should I do? I wailed to her.

Call the police. Report the prowler.

So I did. I cried as I gave the dispatcher the description of what had happened. I told them my name. I told her about my neighbors fence. She said "It's ok honey. We'll get someone out there right away."

I called Scotland. I cried and told him what had happened. He said he would call our neighbor who's fence was messed with. I told him he didn't need to come home. He sounded like he was unsure as to whether he should believe me.

I watched from the kitchen as a police SUV drove down the alley in the direction that the prowler had headed.

Then Scotland sent me a text telling me that the neighbors phone number was disconnected. So I got dressed, put on my shoes, and locked every door in my house so I could go next door to tell him. I knocked on his door. He didn't answer.

I considered telling the other neighbors. I thought about crossing the street and telling dear sweet Mrs. Adams, our little old lady. No, I decided. I wanted to wait until I had dealt with the police first. I would tell the neighbors after the report was filed.

I thought about calling work, letting them know that I would be late because I needed to file a police report regarding a prowler in my neighborhood. No, I remembered. I needed to wait until after I had worked with the police.

I called my mom back. We theorized on what that person wanted, and what they could be planning. And then my call waiting beeped and I saw it was the police calling me back.

I have to go mom. It's the police, I will call you back.

Hello?

Yes hello is this Kristi?

Yes this is she.

Hi Kristi, this is officer somethingorother from the IF police department. We found the individual you called in a report on.

Oh good *sigh of relief*.

Yeah, that person is a meter reader for the city of IF.

~~

*silence*

~~

I'm sorry, what was that officer?

That person is a what?

I called the police on a what?

*Chuckle* Yes ma'am, looks like they were using the binoculars to check out your electricity usage meter.

~~

*silence*

~~

Huh?

My post traumatic brain was apparently unable to process the information it was receiving. I thought I was having a stroke.

Are you sure?

*pause* Yeah, we're sure.

Slowly, my brain started firing again. Trickles of understanding leaked into the forefront of my mind.

That person was a city employee.

They were reading the meter,

located right next to your kitchen window.

They did not want to see you in your bathrobe.

They were not checking out your house before they broke in.

Oh for the love of all that is holy.

I called the cops on a meter reader.

I apologised to the cop and hung up the phone. I jumped when the phone rang again. I answered to discover another cop calling to tell me the same thing. I let him know they had already contacted me and thanked him.

I called my mom. She laughed. Then she reminded me that there was no way I could have known that, since I am never home at that time of day.

Scotland called. How is everything, he asked. Fine.

I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to admit that I had just had a major freak out over nothing at all. It will simply reinforce the psychosis that he already believes I have.

I am a nut job.

And just watch, my bill is going to be three times as much as it usually is. Because meter reader person is pissed that some crazy in the yellow house called the cops.

Although I don't know if I blame him.

Weekend fun

Five things

Birthday cake with yellow frosting

Coupon class with KJ

Sweet corn tamalitos

No work on Monday

Alice in Wonderland in 3-D

Poor little Trixy

Trix-a-deliah's funeral is today. She didn't survive the calici feline virus.

She died quietly in her sleep, curled up on her favorite little chair.

She will be buried in the backyard today.

The chair will be buried too.

I will be singing Amazing Grace.

At least the first verse.

Well, ok just the parts that I can remember.

A little kitty headstone will be laid at the head of her little kitty grave.

Her name will be inscribed to forever commemorate her short life.

Or at least until the weather washes away the permanent marker.

She will be surrounded by family and cats.

She is proceeded in death by Kiki, who she never even got to know.

She leaves behind one very verklempt papa and his wife who didn't like to be sneezed on.

She leaves behind her sister kitten, Sugar, who will miss her, but won't miss sharing the food bowl.

She was a good cat. She never bit the hand that bathed her, like Sugar does.

Funeral procession from garage to the back yard will happen at 5:23 pm.

Rest in peace, little one.

*sniff sniff*

Wheel of (un)fortune

Yesterday I had the privilege, no honor of manning a booth at the IF high school job fair for my esteemed employer. My Vanna White aspirations come true. It was (not) a wonderful experience that I will relive nightly in my (horrible) dreams.

Mixed feelings aside, I suppose it was beneficial (in a way) to my company.

After shaking innumerable sweaty hands, handing out copious amounts of applications to under qualified individuals and enduring the deer-in-the-headlights look as soon as people hear what the job description entails, I ended up with about 45 resumes to peruse.

And to add to my delightful experience, the night before said event, I felt the tell-tale signs that my forehead was starting to build pressure as Mt. Vesuvius formed in the middle of my forehead, threatening to erupt during my time being "the face" of CBS? Run for your lives applicants, lest you are buried in the volcanic ash!!! So much for my starring role as Vanna White.

I was even (un) fortunate enough to be on the local news with that face. My cup runneth over! *sniff*

A few (horrible) highlights for your pleasure. Shall I turn the cards over, Pat?

1. The guy that kept telling me that he would not do anything unethical. Yes, I understand that you need to protect your integrity. But there is nothing on the job description that includes breaking kneecaps, child labor, or sleeping your way to the top. The fact that you automatically assume you need to establish those boundaries the very first time I meet you is insulting to me.

2. The guy that cheerfully handed me his resume and said, "Hey, you call me all the time! If you gave me a job I might pay those bills!" followed by the resounding chortle. NotGoingToHappenBuddy!

3. The woman that decided the best way to convince me to give her a job was by telling me I looked tired (thank you), and proceeding to an uninvited shoulder massage. Stop. touching. me.

4. The woman who came back, not once or twice but three times to borrow my pen to fill out an application for another company, and then didn't return it. *cough*companytheft*cough*cough*

And how do I feel about the experience as a whole? It was freak-tastic in every sense of the word.

And now? In the aftermath? I get to play resume roulette and hope I don't chose the wrong person to come in for an interview so they can irritate me once again! *Copious amounts of (fake) joy!* It's like spinning the wheel of (un) fortune where one wrong spin will say "bankrupt" or "lose a turn".

Oh the overwhelming joy of it all!

Sorry to interrupt....

Fifty million things on my mind. Right. Now.

A list.

1. Work. Crazy, mad, bizarre work. Where no one ever comes into my office unless it is to heap buckets o' problems on me. Buckets my friend. Bucketssssss. Buckets that make the last ten days the very longest set of ten days in the history of ten day sets. Whatever that may be.

2. Scotland. Crazy, cute, cr (ok I can't think of another c adjective) Scotland. Love of my life. Whipping up the most insane ideas ever. His brain works so much faster than mine. Or rather I should have said his brain works. Period. End of sentence. Scotland, who keeps me up till all hours of the night with his ideas and thoughts and who knows what else. But no funny business. Because we are not trying to have a baby. Got it? Got it?

3. The movie Babes in Toyland. Annette whats her bucket in all of her fluffy brown hair goodness. It was on VHS back in the good old days when you could tape the free Disney channel preview movies. Yes kiddies, tape, not the sticky kind, this was like cds but better! Babes in Toyland was every nursery rhyme you had ever heard rolled into one musical comedic genius movie.

4. Blueberry pancakes. Which always make me think of camping, whether I am camping or just pretending to camp. In my living room. With blankets for tents. . . Wait, what was I talking about? OH PANCAKES! Drizzly maple syrup. Swirly melting butter. ***Pardon me while I wipe the drool off my keyboard.

5. Comfy chenille socks. Pink and purple stripped. Warm little tootsies. Cute, but certainly not as cute as widdle biddy bwaby swocks....Socks for tiny, perfect little toes, attached to adorably scrunchy feet, atop fat little legs! I can feel my ovaries are doing back flips as we speak...I have no idea how I got to thisplace.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled lives.....

Forever residing in the land of maturity,
~K~

The breakup...

All right Winter, we have to talk. Enough of this bitter cold attitude. Enough of your constant loitering around when everybody knows your time is up. Enough of your whipping winds and biting temps. I am through with you. You have done nothing but abuse me for the last four months and I am not going to take it anymore. I deserve better than you. I deserve lush green grass and blossoming trees, not muddy lawns and dirty snow. I deserve some respectful sunny days and weather that I don't have to hide my frigid hands in gloves to protect from you. This is it, I mean it! I am sick of hiding inside the house hoping that you don't smack me in the face when I open my front door. This is no longer the mutually agreeable relationship it was back in December, so I am ending it with you. If you would kindly remove yourself from my presence, and get out of my face, I would appreciate it. You can go sulk somewhere up north for the next seven or eight months, but I don't want to see you around here until you have learned your lesson. You're outta here buddy.

Sincerely, ~k~





Heeeellloooooooooooo Sprrrriiinnnnggggg...........

Stream of Consciousness

My forearms hurt today. Probably because I am about to have a stroke. No probably not, but I really don’t know why they hurt. No strenuous exercise in my little world. No push ups, pull ups, or left hooks. Just a whole lot of ache. Aching arms. Aching empty arms. Maybe it has something to do with my husband and his horrible sense of irony for making me sit in the pew directly behind a three week old baby on Sunday. Ask me what was said in that meeting. Ask me. Don’t know. Do know that baby has blue eyes, a green pacifier and crinkles up his nose right before he starts to whimper-cry. Do know that baby has a light blue and brown blanket and matching carrier cover. And all of these things were noticed within the first ten minutes of church before mommy started giving me the evil eye for drooling over her infant, and decided to hold him for the rest of the time. Empty aching arms…

I showed people at work my pictures of my homeboys today. The homeboys that actually belong to my husband and his BFF from the mission, TB. Good ol’ boys from Oakland. They came up to see me (no not really me, really husband and TB, but if they had known I was going to be there, they would have said it was to see me… After they met me that is…) on Saturday, and we had such fun. And when Scotland hangs around them, he loses a bit of his Kentucky drawl and replaces it with some Oaklun’ slang. Cracks me up. Anyways, one of them, Lo, he has two munchkins and one on the way back home, and he promised that if I drank some of his homebrewed baby juice, I would have one on the way too. Said that it worked for his wife, and they have only been married three years….But maybe I won’t drink quite as much as she had…

Dropped off some checks at the bank today, and since I had my camera with me, I snapped a quick picture of the drive thru window because it had a cool reflection on it. Turns out, bank people get a little irritated when you take pictures of their people working. Guess they think you are casing the joint or somethin’. A bit of an overreaction if you ask me. But I got this one before they asked me to stop. Can you see the reflection?

Then as I was driving home contemplating how handy it was to carry around my camera in case any photo opportunities presented themselves, I realized I had better stop paying attention to photo opportunities that were not directly on the road in front of me or I would get into a wreck. But wouldn’t it be handy if I had that camera with me if I did get into a wreck? And then a car pulled out in front of me and I almost got into that wreck. But I slammed on the breaks and did a sandpaper skid to a stop (thanks to the studded snow tires) and was glad that I didn’t have to take pictures of my smashed up car that had narrowly avoided being smashed up. (did that even make sense?)

Going walking with KJ tonight. KJ and her sweetest ever baby boy. (Oh my arms!)We like walking at night a lot more than in the morning. We tried the morning thing on Saturday and were constantly reminded of the amateur mall walkers we are. Hello! No one told us that you have to go in all the little inny hallways of the mall! We were just walking the long hallway and thought that was good! And boy howdy those mall walkers are serious about their game! When we turned a corner before the yellow wet floor sign instead of after where everyone else was turning, I thought one lady with bulging eyes was going to chew my leg off. And after nearly missing the exact same corner five times in a row (what did it move on us?) we determined that the sharply pointed nature of the corner was to blame. And by the way did I mention that those mall walkers were stretching all gathered together like a pack of warmed up wolves ready to devour the weaklings like us? Balanced on one leg as they do that crazy flamingo stretch staring us down while the peach fuzz on their tracksuits start to curl. I have never been so intimidated of senior citz in my life!

I do have one never ending joy of mall walking though, no matter what time we go. The general freakshowness of the population at the mall never fail to amuse me with their homeslice gangsta attire (even Saturday morning at nine am there were loitering teenage boys lookin’ for a little bit o’ action) or their inappropriate-to-be-seen-in-public-attire (pajama bottoms and a halter top? Really?). As KJ so thoughtfully reminded me, it’s like going to a carnival freak show that you don’t have to pay for! Silver lining? No honey, this one’s gold…