Tunnel vision

Just when I start looking for light at the end of the tunnel — and think I’m spying a glimmer of it — it hits me. I’m not even in the right damn tunnel! So the backtracking begins as I grope my way through all that slimy darkness.

Yes. Yes. It could just be that I’m living under a rock. But it mostly feels like I’m in an underground labyrinth. And I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that this is my life.

So whether I’m finally getting around to calling the mother-in-law back while shopping for silver stretchy string for a client at Michael’s, or attempting to write while picking out Miss 6 (now 7)’s clothing, ignoring the other “mommy” I hear from behind the closed door, and trying to pretend that I won’t have to deal with the dog being skunked YET AGAIN…at least I’ve finally accepted that this is just how my life is.

Last night I went to meet a client (and old friend) at Tahona. We ate chili rellenos, discussed work and caught up. Other friends joined. And before I knew it, I needed to G-O. The hubby was sending ominous messages about watching Lost without me. So it was time. I grabbed some gelato from the new place on Pearl (yum, a triple treat of banana date, malt chip and dulce de leche…all organic, all divine) and headed home. When I walk in, the spazmo dog of the century is whining. W-H-I-N-I-N-G. And it’s no surprise to those of you who know my dog. So I let her out. She was obviously pining for it. I grab two spoons and go park on the couch beside the hubby who’s in pjs and folding clothes. Not 5 minutes later I say, “S**t. Do you smell skunk?” This sends us into a tailspin. The GD dog is in the GD yard…(you know the drill). And sure enough. Spazmo is now officially Dumber-than-Dirt dog. I mean, really. What creature can’t put it together after THREE times?! So off we go, yelling at each other. Yelling at the dog. Dropping f-bombs for the whole neighborhood to hear. And me in heels. I change and race to King Stupids for a big ole bottle of Dawn (which is not only the grease fighter but also apparently knows a thing or two about skunk oil/grease — or so we’ve heard after umpteen times of getting sprayed). This all goes so much against my paraben-free, dye-free, chemical-free bent. But damn. It’s frickin’ skunk.

I return home and proceed to goop the blue stuff all over the dog. All over the deck where she sat, etc. When the hubby starts to rinse, I get that ole evil eye that I’ve come to know oh-so-well. Dawn does not rinse. Especially when applied in LARGE quantities. (Really, I’m mostly concerned about getting skunk on my Uggs at this point.) So here we are, at almost 11 at night, fighting off nature and suds. Standing in it all up to our elbows in fact. Time for plan b.

I pull the car out of the garage. Do a quick scan on what could be skunk permeable/dog edible. Spy the BOB stroller. Decide it has to go. Then notice it’s chock full of Bunny Love cereal from when we went on our run earlier and handed bean the bag. So then I have to empty that out so it doesn’t spill all in the car. (I’m getting tired just writing this all.) Blah. Blah. Blah. I soon hear the hubby knocking on the back door. “Uh? Hi? What’s taking so long?” Don’t even get me started.

So the dog spends the night locked in the garage, still coated in suds, and throwing herself against the door to the house all night. Not barking. Just making sure we stay as subtly miserable as she is. Thanks. I have to take her to the groomers at 1. And I hope the hubby didn’t forget to take the hastily stowed stroller out of the car before he left. Eek.

Today is my day off. How ya likin’ me so far? I’ve sent 1 million e-mails. Helped bean put on Miss 6 (now 7)’s shoes 100 times. Shushed the whiny dog who’s relegated to the backyard until groom-time. Put in another load of laundry. And pondered when the time off would actually come. And how.

True Blue sent me this awesome book for Mother’s Day: I Was a Really Good Mom…Before I Had Kids. It has really kept me going this week. The chapter on judgment had me secretly muttering “judge” to myself every time someone did it to me or I did it to someone (sadly, the latter being the more common of the two scenarios for me). Now it’s on to guilt. Boy-oh-boy. Very good stuff and funny writing style with these hilarious “dirty little secrets” sprinkled throughout. Like, “I secretly dream of having my own apartment.” We could all use some grounding in our lives. A reality check. A flashlight in the tunnel.

Here’s a great quote from another mom who wrote me this morning, “Capable hands? I feel like I'm wandering around in the dark without a flashlight. My capable hands are outstretched to keep me from running into a wall. Meanwhile my feet are tripping on whatever has been left on the floor!” And isn’t that just it?

I pull the gob of mango out of my hair to race out of the door to meet a client. I race home from said meeting just in time for the skunk spray. Or the baby blow out. Or the Miss 6 (now 7) blow up (luckily a little less common for now). Or the hubby to run out to another meeting. We’re in perpetual tag team mode. Then throw in trying to keep up with our beloved family and friends, the many activities that entails, a house that produces untold mountains of laundry and dishes —and appears to erupt toys from whence we cannot know— and trying my damnedest to be a good mom, wife, friend, daughter, sister, niece and citizen of the Earth and I may just decide that tunnel-livin’ is the life for me. At least it’s quiet down there. And cool. And skunk free. ☺

Happy Mother’s Day to one and all. It’s a lot of work, but such a lovely thing to be. Really.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: What Light. Wilco. If you think you might need somebody. To pick you up when you drag. Don't loose sight of yourself. Don't let anyone change your bag.