Wild World

When I started this blog, it was about being a newlywed and a newly-stepmommed. Then there was deployment, and it became many musings and tribulations on that. A home was bought, and I figured out by trial and error all the home-related stuff I was passionate and moderately talented at. Now I am getting unmarried, and I write a lot about unmarriage, single parenthood, grief and surviving this sh*tstorm with heart and a laugh. Eventually, I'll be selling my house and moving somewhere, so I'll be back on the discussion of dwellings, where my heart sings, one day. Someday I'll date. But let's keep going with unmarriage for now. Because, really, this blog is life evolution.

We are the children

I’m one of those mothers who walks around fairly confident that my kids are smarter than yours. Not that my kids make better grades than yours, or read faster than yours, or perform better than yours on standardized tests. I’m not competitive about this. I do not need to wave report cards and test papers around bragging about the academic brilliance of my kids. Because I’m also realistic about the fact that one of them is lazy, like moi. Sure, he could make straight A’s if he wanted to, but he could also watch more TV if he just settled for above average B grades, so he’ll just go with that option. But thanks so much for your input, because he really loves input. The other one has a brain that is difficult to control, and it does not always mind when someone says he needs to learn, retain, or complete information. There’s only so much you can do, with what you have, where you are.

What's the story, morning glory?

Full disclosure: Because my OCD, which is caused by intense anxiety, over this stupid "For Sale" sign in my front yard that shows no signs of leaving, raged out of control, I had to go back on a med I have not taken in a while. I really believe I have traded creativity for calm. So I am registering lower on the Basketcase Meter, which makes me a better mother and sleeper, but I fear I have lost the wit to write about it.

 

So here is some of the sitch, of late.

 

I mentioned in this post about my fireplace facelift that I would be spending the weekend with a bunch of cousins. For a concert. At a casino. You might opine that this is the perfect setup for trouble, and you would be right. Somebody fell down, but it was not me. I almost fell down, which in my thirties means I need to go to bed. In my twenties, it meant an eventual emergency room visit, not a reason to be concerned or curb bad behavior in the slightest. The older I get, the longer the hangover, well, hangs, so I am not the excessive libator (that's a made-up word) that I once was. Casino wine is cheap. Cheap wine is more toxic to the system. It's biology and chemistry, people, which is why I threw up, had room service, threw up again, and slept through breakfast. I am way too old for that sh*t. Sometimes you just need to go balls to the wall and have more fun than your system can handle. It's okay. Jesus still loves me.

There is no song that goes with "Fireplace"

Did y'all know that summer is NOT the time to put a house on the market? While I wait, and wait, I've started removing things. Things I really love, like the Chinamen and the ginger jar from the mantle, and the groups of prints that hung all the way around the living room. Wine-induced introspection has led me to conclude that I am either highly anxious (duh) and wanting less stimulation, or I am trying to depersonalize Misty Hollow so giving it to someone is not the soul-eviscerating experience I expect it to be.

 

So I painted the upstairs bathroom, which was a pain in the arse, but the results make it look taller and less devoid of personality. I have a backsplash plan for the kitchen that will commence once the materials come in. And the handy man is coming to work on a storage solution in the kitchen I'm hoping to God works.