The Simple Life

If only life was as simple as the highlight of your day being taking the jack-o-lanterns to the compost bin in the backyard. Seriously. And to then be excited enough about that that you tell everyone you see all about it for the rest of the day. Being two is so, well, two.

And then, she stuck a raisin up her nose. Just as I was leaving for a meeting a couple of weeks ago. I happened to glance at her and saw a missing index finger. Split second take-in of raisin box + missing-finger-rammed-up-nose = Mom clarity. “Did you put a raisin up your nose?” Her big-baby-blues all watery, her head nodding slowly “yes, I most certainly did and I’m just now realizing it wasn’t my brightest idea ever.” After a moment or two of panic (me) and frantic searching for the nose plunger (Rock Star), she sneezed. Then raised her fist skyward and said, “Yes! Got it!” as the dried interloper flew out of her nostril. And stuck to my shoe.

Having a two-year-old again is just, let me say, quite a shock to the system. This Bean is a FULL-BLOWN-NO-TWO-WAYS-ABOUT-IT-TWO-YEAR-OLD. Miss 6:7, well, she was a 30-year-old in a tiny little package. Even her tantrums were more like mine. (Well, more like mine now that I’m 38 and under siege by a constant stream of nasty-ass hormones that make me a total maniac...but still.) It’s that face that saves her. Or the things that just keep coming out of her mouth, keeping us all on our toes. Waiting for the first f-bomb.

For now, we are regaled with a constant stream of various phrases and utterances like, “Oh-My-GOSH! No-WAY! AWE-some!” This is in the car while she holds my old cell phone up to her ear. This past week she added, “What tha’ HECK?!” to her repertoire.

I seriously thought my sides would split on Turkey Day when she needed a diaper change (of the particularly dirty variety) and said “Ted do it.” To which T Rocks replied, “Oh no, honey, not me.” And she looked at him squarely with a very emphatic, “Oh YES IT DO!” (She lost the stand-off, but that was mostly due to the fact that we don’t generally require our Thanksgiving guests to fulfill diaper duty. I guess I’m still a polite, manners-minding Southern Belle at heart after all.) ☺

We’ve just come off a week of vaca and I’m just not happy about it. My mamacita came out west for her first ever T-giving away. (I’m not joking.) My mother has spent every single, solitary one of her 55 Thanksgivings right there in ole Flo-town with the exact same meal choices (give or take) and that same way of cooking all day, eating in five minutes and then jumping up to do the dishes before everyone has even finished. But her 56th was tres different. First, we dress up (a little) and take a million pictures. We also drink. All day. And cook food that hasn’t already been canned (mostly). And chopped. And frozen. We also dump wine and bacon into almost everything. I think we nearly killed her. She almost killed me with the forks when I corrected her placement of them on the table. (Ha.) By 5:30 p.m. she was about to fall over.

I like to call it character building. She may never be completely the same. She did keep that jump-up-after-she’d-picked-both-turkey-legs-clean routine the same. But instead of dishes, she retreated to her room —post-haste— to tell everyone back home how weird we are. (As if they didn’t think that already ☺.)

Our visit was really great though. She got in that first Saturday and we headed (Miss6:7 in tow) straight to Ten20 for pedis. The hubby had dinner waiting when we returned. (Good boy.) And then we headed up to Nanners’ house for orientation (and wine). We spent Sunday walking to breakfast and just chillin’ then Monday we took the bus downtown for brunch at Dushanbe. Mom and I stayed and walked the length of downtown before heading home. Much later. We went for walks, drives, had lots of cocktails and then packed up to spend the rest of the week at Nanners’ house. We picked up their dog from the kennel and —in exchange— their family offered us the use of their beautiful, gorgeous house while they were away. It was an amazing setting for a close-to-perfect Thanksgiving.

At this house-cum-resort, we had a hot tub (put to good and often use), fireplaces, steam shower, trampoline, and a Wii. Not to mention a kitchen that didn’t require toes to be sacrificed just for trying to share the space. And even though the house is only a few streets away, the fact that it’s at the top of a rather steep incline means the views are panoramic. Epic even. We really felt like we were a world away.

T and L Rocks (and boy) joined us for the big feast and we spent the day cooking, drinking bellinis/merchants of venice/bloody marys with sangrita, spinning vinyl and just laughing our heads off. (See Bean story with T Rocks above.) We wound down fairly early and pronounced it to be one of the best days ever.

It seemed like the week just flew away after that. We hit the Switch on the Holidays celebration downtown on Pearl. It was raining, but mom and I both welled up when we saw Santa coming down the street. The holidays always get to me. And now I see where I get it. After that, we had the most amazing time ever at the Most-Favorite-Restaurant-in-the-World, The Kitchen. Apps and vino by the fire. It was just perfection wrapped up in a bow.

Saturday started with packing, followed by me hearing Bean say, “Oh! Hair!” to which I turned around to see her holding a razor and covered in blood. I screamed. Which scared the sh** out of her. Yelled for the hubby. Spent the next 45 minutes trying to staunch the fountainous flow of red. Heart attack. It ended up being a smallish gouge out of the tip of her thumb. But she wore her blood-stained shirt for the rest of the day as a badge of honor.

That debacle was followed up by a three-hour wait/brunch at Lucille’s followed by a visit to Santa and Mrs. Claus on the mall. Miss 6:7 explained the 100 Webkinz that she really must have and I saw ole St. Nick start to glaze over a bit. We had to take Bean back for lap-sitting later —after her pants were fully dry from her diaper overflowing at brunch. Then dinner that night with Purse Girl and fam. (In which I proceeded to begin my un-hinging that always seems to happen around the holidays. To call me uptight would be a sore, sore understatement. I scared them off good and early.)

Now it’s back to it. Miss 6:7 started school today. Bean is calling me from her crib. And my time is now up. Man-oh-man, where does that time get to?

THOUGHTS IN CRIMSON PHRASES
I was writing the above around this same time over two days ago. It really never ceases to amaze me how out-of-control-crazy life can be. Why just yesterday, I went in to the gyney for my annual woo-whoo. Saw that my blood pressure was through the roof. Explained what stresses I have in my life. Started crying. And left with a stack of therapists’ cards and a Rx for Lexapro. (And I was convinced it was only hormones.) Did I mention that mental illness runs in my family?

I proceeded to spend the day being totally depressed by the fact that my doctor thought I was totally depressed (in the anxiety manifestation of it). And as we were walking to the vet to get crazy dog's stitches out, Miss 6:7 asks, "Mom? Did the doctor tell you what you have?" "Uhhh. Huh?" "You know, today? When you went? Did they tell you what you have? That makes you get so annoyed?" Ouch. Doc? I may need a few of those stitches when you're done with crazy dog...

Today, I’ve been breathing more, yelling less, getting my zen fix with my miracle healer called Swanee (my nickname). (He’s a doctor of osteopathy and I’ve been going to him off and on for over 10 years.) He reassured me in the way only he can that, “Yes, you’re a little jumpy. Yes, you do seem stressed. But, no, I don’t think you need Lexapro. Yet.” So being the true Boulderite that I am, I settled for a good, old-fashioned energy re-adjustment followed by a healthy dose of sepia (and piece of chocolate for the road). And I feel better already.

See how much can happen during what only feels like a few minutes? Ah. Me. Oh. My.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Pain Killer. Turin Brakes. Losing my attention, I'm taking the world on. So batten up the hatches, here comes the cold. I can feel it creeping, and it's making me old.