Peace of Me

I just finished reading James Dickey’s son’s memoir, so I’m feeling a little poetic. Or maybe it’s prosaic. Either way, I just lived through a marathon day that can only be culminated by a true blue blog entry. Trusty glass of wine in hand (a nod to my roots that have been well-preserved by generations of alcohol), I begin...

The hubby is there losing it while bathing the girls. Miss 6 has been talking/singing/yelling/bouncing off of the walls for what seems like hours. (And I was gone all day.) Ever notice how noise echoes in a bathroom? Yea. It does. She’s adorable and sweet, but just so NUTS. “Mommy! I get crazy when I’m tired!” I feel like buying those sound erasing headphones so I can just sit here and smile in oblivion. It’s funny because I just had this conversation with my mom. She thinks the hubby and I are so weird because we like things quiet. (She’s the queen of five TVs and three dozen fans running full throttle.) I think she has senility or perhaps selective memory. Brother Brownnose was loud as hell. I remember. And I also remember how many times she yelled at him to “be QUIET!”

And I think that’s why — to this day — I can only handle so much noise before my blood pressure shoots up and my face turns beet red. The hubby’s low tolerance comes from a childhood spent in a house full of brothers. Four total, including him. He’s scarred for life. He can’t even make it through routine family reunions without completely shutting down and leaving me to make conversation with his family. And that was before he swore off large family gatherings completely. He can’t even handle Whole Foods when it’s too crowded — so proximity to three-to-four brothers, two sisters, two parents, and the associated spousal and offspring energy and noise level is enough to send him into orbit. His brain shuts down and he starts looking for things like utensils on the ceiling. When standing directly in front of an open drawer full of them. The last time, he stood in the kitchen calling, “MA!” until his younger brother, full of disgust and frustration, said, “What in the hell is your problem dude?” It may have been “bo” since said brother has spent his lifetime east of I-95 and south of South of the Border. But you get my point.

As I’ve mentioned, we’re already strangers in a strange land when we go back for visits. Add to that the fact that we actually consider shipping ahead certain foods items like organic baby cereal and Fair Trade coffee and we are bona fide freaks. Hence the disgust and disdain. It’s already there without the hubby going into mental meltdown. So okay. If he came wearing those headphones next time, just think what they’d say after he left. He might as well wear a helmet and ride the short bus.

The visit. We are gearing up for going away. It’s no fun being the sole person running a business just as you are trying to organize and plan for traveling with an infant, a six-year-old and a 40-year-old. All of the travel restrictions and rules designed to keep us safe make me want to steal a credit card and charter a jet. I mean, I’m trying to figure out how we are going to wrangle two car seats, a stroller, two laptops, a diaper bag, luggage for four, enough non-produced in China/healthy organic snacks to last 12 hours, baby bottles, formula, sterilized nipples, a purse, and about 100 stuffed animals that Miss 6 can’t live without — and the airlines think I have the bandwidth to package every liquid substance we’re taking into 3-oz. containers that will fit into a total of four 1-quart clear Ziplocs. As if.

I always like to pretend that IF I didn’t have to work, this would all be a snap. But by saying that I just pissed off half of my friends who are reading this and snorting, “As if!” It’s just a fantasy people. I know it’s hard on both sides of the mommy wars. It’s hell no matter how you slice it. But I can dream, can’t I?

Today I kicked off the day by going on a run with Miss 6. She got new running shoes yesterday and as she was admiring them on her feet in the store, she announced, “These look more like a third grader’s shoes.” Ever since she’s been pleased as punch with herself and won’t take them off. So this morning it was fitting that she would beg to come along. I resisted my strong urge to say no and relented. I even took the dog — expecting it to last all of 10 minutes. But she surprised the hell out of me! She all but ran the whole four miles without missing a beat. Sure she stopped here and there, but finished up by saying, “See, I can even still talk!” The blessings never cease.

I then took her along to proof a brochure, make my quarterly fed tax deposits for the biz, purchase a travel bag for our jog stroller, go to the b-partner’s house to retrieve and then edit said brochure file (she keeps extensive archives — lucky for me since she is currently caravanning around the wilds of New Mexico or Utah with a husband and three kids), and then back to the printer to drop off the updated file. It was then a sprint across town to drop her off at home, grab a sandwich (delivered to my car by the hubby — love him!) and get two towns over for a meeting. I had set it up at Starbucks at the mall not giving a single thought to the fact that there are THREE Starbucks at the mall. Poor meeting-with-guy. He got a quick insider’s guide to working with a crazy person who’s burning the candle at both ends. Then it was a quick stop at Old Navy to buy some extra pants-that-zip insurance. And as I’m leaving, the crackberry rings and the brochure proof is ready again. So it’s back across town to do a final proof and stop off for shampoo. (I’m newly obsessed with all things PHYTO.) Then home. And to work. I’d been gone all day, but the work didn’t stop while I was gone. I just don’t get it. ☺

A day in the life. Livin’ la vida loca. And you’re probably as sick as I am of hearing about how insane I am. But it is what it is.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: In the Colors. Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals. I heard it on the radio today on my eternal drive and thought, “Yes.”