Time to PAH-TAY

Friday I made a call that was borderline surreal. It was to Miss 6:7’s old preschool to inquire about fall for...bean. Even as I’m writing it, I still can’t believe it. My baby is ready for school. It’s just not right. Don’t get me wrong, she is THRILLED beyond words. She ran right up to the door when we toured and made herself right at home. I know she’s ready. More than ready. But I’m just so not.

There’s also the potty issue. In which case the opposite readiness scenario is in play. I’m so past ready for her to be potty trained and she’s just not. I’ve used the ‘gotta be a big girl and use the potty before you can go to school’ trump card. And it works for few minutes. At least until she changes her mind and announces, “Mommy? Just one diap-ee [to school]. That’s all.”

And it’s as if I’ve gone temporarily insane —throwing potty training in the hodge-podge, incredibly insane mix of my life at the moment. What in the hell was I thinking? (Other than proper, pre-school-style childcare, that is.) When I went to pick up Miss 6:7 from school today, big-girl-panty-clad Bean in tow, we made not one, not two, not three but five potty trips. During a 10-minute pick up.

And then, when we got home, Bean proceeded to squat right over Miss 6:7’s Ugg boots and unleash a pond-sized puddle of pee. Which then elicited shrieks and tears from Miss 6:7 who ran into her room pronouncing, “I’ll never wear those Uggs again!” as she slammed her door. Oh the injustices of life.

And I wonder why I yell at the postal worker when he’s taking too long?

My life is my life. Like it or leave it. And since I’m a mostly positive person trapped in the brain of a persistent pessimist, I’m not going to leave it. I’ll just live it and complain like hell.

Part of the problem is that the b-partner, after many meetings and much consideration, decided that a sabbatical was in order. Yes, it’s been that long since I’ve written a post...

Let me assure you that all is well. It wasn’t splits-ville. She finally just realized that she needed some time to re-group and re-assess. (Her life that is.) And crazy work hours, etc. just weren’t allowing her time to get a grip. (Boy can I relate.) So we spent a couple of months preparing for her Q109 absence —lining up resources, bringing in a lovely consulting partner who I have on retainer, transferring files. And so forth and so on. On the face of it, it seemed so unbelievably doable. And it wasn’t until around Christmas that I truly started to panic. Smack in the middle of my holiday. That just happened to be the moment that the weight of the world that had been held aloft by holiday/vacation bliss decided to lower the boom.

I’m not sure what it was that freaked me out the most. But I can guess it’s that I simply feel really, really vulnerable and so responsible. For everything. Sure, I can bring in the consulting partner or the freelancers for help. But the onus is on me to decide when/how/to coordinate it all. I feel like a train conductor staring into the big ole blaring bright eyeball of an oncoming train. What I want to feel like is a zenned out conductor of an esteemed orchestra. And maybe I will. Maybe I will. But I know me. And what I usually do is go at it —head down and stressing the whole way— until I finally stop singing at top volume, look up and realize, “Oh. Concert’s over.” And everyone’s staring at me like I have two heads.

So whether she’ll decide to sell out and move on is beyond me. I do miss her. But there are nice things about doing your own thing too. Not having to check in every minute about every little thing. And getting to spread your wings a little. I have also realized that we were coming at the business from two very different ideals: being successful vs. being comfortable. That’s something that only staring into the headlamp of an oncoming speeding train will illuminate for you.

But, overall, I really can’t complain. Miss 6:7 is about to turn 8 and is becoming more and more confident as a human being. We’re trying to figure out what to do since the hubby has been called away for her entire birthday week. She is completely distressed and he’s not thrilled either. But what is one to do? His company just went through layoffs and kept him, so we’re not in a position to complain. It’s just sad. I never thought either of us would ever have to miss something as important as a birthday. But then life deals you one and you just have to go with it. And —since it’s always all about me— I’m already freaking out about how to make it an oh-so-special-day while flying solo. Again. (What is it with the universe? I guess my shoulders look really beefy since I’ve been doing push-ups.)

And Bean. Bean is full of herself and makes me laugh a hundred times a day. Today it was (after walking back to the car in 50mph winds). “Windy, huh?” Last weekend we had a car full of Nanners and Miss 6:7 and Bean. And the two olders were going at it. Being nuts and really loud. Bean says, “Guys! Guys! Guys! Enough! I’m driving!” Huh. Wonder where that could’ve possibly come from. So odd...

I just need to focus on all of those platitudes of what I have to be thankful for (yes, Mima, I am listening) and remember to savor and saunter even when my pants are clearly on fire. Besides, my boyfriend is president now and in the words of one of my old friends via Facebook, “[He’s bound to start] shooting rainbows and gumdrops out of his ass.” Any minute now. Because, you know, he’s magic. And that wand should come in pretty handy in the job of erasing the wrongs of 8 solid years...

And even if we are burning the candle at both ends —about to flame out— it’s better to burn out. Than just fade away.

Peace out. Gobama. America finally got it right and showed it has it’s brain back.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Combat. Flobots. Sans paddle we swim the long laps. Swans flap to get the pond packed. (Just because I like it.)