April 2009

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I know I’ve been woefully absent from the world-wide-webz lately, and I hope to remedy that soon.  There’s so many wonderful things (and some not so wonderful ones) that I want to share with you, but alas, my overwhelming desire to sleep has soundly trumped my desire to write as of late.

I did, however, want to share that today was one of those days that disintegrated quicker than I could shake a stick at it.  And boy, did I want it to shake a stick at it (still do, but my ever-efficient husband cleared all the yard debris over the weekend).  All was well this morning, but a poorly timed phone call, a disgruntled repairman, and my kid dropping her drawers and li.te.ra.lly taking a crap on my kitchen floor squelched any possibility of ending the day on a particularly high note.  I can laugh in disbelief now, but I cannot tell you how livid I was when my very well potty-trained child just squatted and unloaded one on the floor.  Oh, and did I mention that she stepped in it, too? Because that’s what happens when there’s crap on the floor.  Someone ALWAYS steps in it.  But seriously, what kind of household does she think she lives in?  I heard myself yelling “We DO NOT poop on the floor!  EVER!”  That should be an unspoken rule!  It IS an unspoken rule at our house!  Poor monkey.  I’m pretty sure she’ll never do it again, and I hope she’s not terribly traumatized by the whole ordeal.  But for now, per a friendly suggestion, I will post a sign on my door in case anybody else mistakenly assumes we allow that kind of thing around here.

Here’s hoping the evening is a little less filled with cleaning up crap.  Literally.

© 2009, OneShoeOff. All rights reserved.

You ever have one of those days?  Scratch that, one of those weeks?  Or two?  Where everything feels a little…upside down?  Like you’re wearing something that just doesn’t fit right.  But not like a pair of ill-fitting pants, more like an ill-fitting…skin?  Not sadness, but awkwardness and discomfort…with yourself.  Where the things you say don’t quite fit what you’re thinking, where the things you do don’t quite reflect you.  Work doesn’t feel right, family doesn’t feel right, nothing feels  like it belongs.  And yet it’s all there; it’s all yours, the same as it’s always been.

I think the word “discombobulated” describes it perfectly.  The sound of those syllables rolling off my tongue resembles the feeling I have to a tee, and I suppose naming the problem is half the battle.  And yet, how do you fix being discombobulated?  I’m not really sure.  I’m sure I’ll snap out of it soon, and I know this is likely a period of growth for me.  But like all growth, this is a little uncomfortable and disconcerting.

So in the mean time, I’m spending a lot of time in my head sorting things out, trying to be kinder to myself and to those around me, trying to get some extra rest when I can (exhaustion may be playing a significant role in this), letting myself have a good cathartic cry when I need it, I’m planning to make a visit to my family practitioner to make sure there’s no underlying biological reasons for feeling this way, and I’m indulging myself when I feel like I need something yummy, or yummier.

Tell me, what kinds of things do YOU do to take care of yourself when you feel discombobulated?  Do you have any tricks for snapping out of it?

© 2009, OneShoeOff. All rights reserved.

Dear Driver of the Souped Up Red Truck with the Bumper Nuts,

Although I am certain your intention is precisely to the contrary, your gas-guzzling beast of a truck adorned with anatomically correct, red testicles dangling from the hitch only assures me that you are greatly over-compensating for a wee little willy.

Yours from many car-lengths behind,

One Shoe Off

© 2009, OneShoeOff. All rights reserved.

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The weekend was a rousing success from start to finish, and Louisville really is charming in so many ways.  I have pictures and stories to share in due time, but those can wait until morning.  In the mean time, I wanted to tell you a bit about the joy that was coming home to my sweetest baby girl.  I was missing her dearly on my way home, and I arrived just in time for her to wake up from her nap.  She started calling for the hubby to get her, and I slipped into her room instead to surprise her.  She was standing in her crib with messy bed head, and when she saw me, she looked as though she couldn’t believe her eyes.  I told her how much I missed her and asked if I could pick her up (I didn’t want to alarm her too much).  She simply said “uh huh” with wide-eyed wonder.  When I pulled her to me, she wrapped her arms and legs around me as tightly as she could and simply squeezed.  I squeezed her back as my poor heart ached in happiness, and we held each other for a long while.  She snuggled her face into the sweet spot on my shoulder that she has loved since she was an infant, then, her little hand started to ever so gently pat me on the back and stroke my hair.  She peeked up from snuggly bliss, looked at me, smiled, and settled back in for several minutes.  Then, she looked up once again to plant the sweetest of kisses on my lips, only to tuck her arms in to her body and allow me to hold her close.  We stayed that way for a long, long time, a definite deviation from her normal boundless energy, and oh, let me tell you between that and the warmth of the husband’s reception, it was all I needed to know that I was loved and missed.  If I could just bottle that feeling and share it with you I would, because it’s pure bliss.

As someone who’s home with my daughter every day, I’m happy and proud that she is confident enough to be just fine without me around all the time and to know that we each thrived in having a break from the routines that we quickly tire of and take for granted.  It is, on the other hand, so very GOOD to re-connect with her and know we both missed each other and the dance that is our day-to-day life.  I think that we will both find comfort and warmth in our routines this week as well as a fresh sense of appreciation for one another that can only come from time apart.  I’m ready now; bring it on.

© 2009, OneShoeOff. All rights reserved.

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Is it Loo-ee-ville?  Loo-ah-ville?  Well, I pronounce it “vacation” because I’m off to enjoy a girls’ weekend there with two beautiful, clever ladies I’m happy to call my friends.   There will be spa-going, dining, chatting, and bonding.  By all accounts, Louisville is a great town, and I can’t wait to report back on all the fun things to see, and do, and eat (although, really, the company alone will be worth the trip).  In any case, have a delightful weekend, and I’ll see y’all back here in a few days.

© 2009, OneShoeOff. All rights reserved.

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This article documents new research showing that daily napping is associated with an increased risk of death in older women.  Are you friggin’ kidding me?!  I’m putting in all kinds of hours now between work, and the kidlet, and the husband, and you know, LIFE, and some researcher comes along and tells me that when I reach a point in my life where I will want very desperately to enjoy luxurious naps and will also have ample time to do so, I probably shouldn’t because it could very well kill me.  Let’s just file that under craptastic, shall we?

© 2009, OneShoeOff. All rights reserved.

Our home, our home which we adore, our home which was remodeled a short year before we moved in, which we have only lived in for a year and a half, our beautiful home in our lovely neighborhood is an appliance-killer.  In the past 18 months, every single major appliance (except for our dryer, and you damn well better believe I’m knocking on wood right now) has failed in some way.

First, we noticed our delightfully energy-efficient front-loading washing machine had mildew stains in the rubber boot.  We had that replaced on our own dime because my neat-freakish, Type A, I-hate-everyone’s-dirt-except-my-own-and-I-think-I-hate-my-own-dirt-too personality couldn’t stand to wash clothes in a mildewy washer.

Then, the microwave just…quit.  No letter of resignation, no protests of unfair wages and excessive hours, it just died.  We used it to heat up lunch, then five minutes later the husband went back to heat something else up, hit start, and…the light inside came on, but nothing happened.  No carcinogenic microwaves to heat our food to blistering temperatures.  Just the light.  As if it were all “Oh, hai! Iz just gonna pretendz to cook your food.”  So we replaced that, too

Next to go was the control panel on our built in oven.  First it was the buttons on the outside edges of the panel that wouldn’t work, and I thought, no biggie, I don’t need to use the “BAKE” function, I can use the “CONVECTION” function instead.  Except I don’t really know how to use the “CONVECTION” function so I obviously had not choice but to avoid doing so and promptly go into denial about my oven on the fritz.  By the time I went back to use it, most of the other buttons, including the convection button didn’t work either.  All that was left was the option of broiling all my oven-baked delicacies for either 1 minute,  11 minutes,  111 minutes.  The repairman anticipates we may need to have the control panel replaced again in about a year and a half.  Maytag FAIL.

Next to die was the dishwasher.  This is the first time in 8 YEARS of marriage that we have had a functioning dishwasher.  It’s a spectacular piece of German innovation that cleans the crusted oatmeal off our bowls WITHOUT ANY PRE-RINSING.  We love it, and on the right day we  could probably be persuaded to divorce each other and both re-marry the dishwasher.  Although that would make the dishwasher a polygamist, and I’m pretty sure there’s laws against that kind of thing.  Imagine my broken heart when I receive a letter from Bosch stating that our model of dishwasher, our dearest Sudsy, has a glitch in its electrical system and is prone to setting kitchens on fire.  Sudsy, an arsonist?  Say it ain’t so!  Bosch quickly sent a repairman out to fix the issue (ironically, the same guy who fixed the boot in the washing machine), and we thought our woes were over.

Then two days ago, I’m browsing online and come across a headline announcing Maytag’s biggest recall ever, and when I look at the picture next to the headline, I think “Huh.  That looks like our fridge. No, that IS our fridge.”  And it turns out, our fridge is ALSO prone to setting kitchens on fire.  I start laughing because it’s all just too unbelievable, and really, you just can’t make this shit up.

When we moved in, all our appliances were under a year old.  They’re all NICE appliances from respected manufacturers,  but by sheer dumb luck on the previous owners’ part, they managed to pick an entire set of appliances that fail and fail spectacularly.  I’m predicting, nay, expecting that our dryer will be the next to go, although now that I’ve said that, watch that thing outlive us all.

© 2009, OneShoeOff. All rights reserved.

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