A Hedonist at Heart

We've settled into summer nicely.

Every day we sleep a little later, our bodies slowly adjusting, I guess.  It takes a while to catch up.  Eventually we'll even out. 

Yesterday Rachel tried to talk me into going running with her, for social reasons.  She needs someone to distract her from the pain.  I was momentarily tempted (I like socializing with her) but then she used the words "pain" and "misery" and I got ahold of myself.  Instead, I told her what time I got up that day and tried to tempt her into a life of hedonism.

It's a pretty good life, actually.

The girls and I are slowly moving through the musical section of our local video store.  Earlier this week it was Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, bless your beautiful hide.  (Which I would watch just for the quilts--even in the skirts!--not to mention the fist-fighting and stubborn men in multi-colored shirts falling in love against their better judgement.)  On tap next, The Sound of Music.  I like the delusions musicals teach about love and marriage.  (I was a June bride myself, you know, and I've been a bride for the rest of my life.)  It's time to start indoctrinating my girls, I say.  Past time.

I spent an afternoon making fairies with Olivia and her friend out of nylons and crepon, and then we spent another whole afternoon buying doll hair and gluing it on.  Life cannot get any better when the only thing on my to-do list for an entire day is:  Buy doll hair.

We have started our third 1000-piece puzzle.  And here is something really great:  When David comes home from work and asks what I did that day and I have to really think about it and then remember, well, we finished the puzzle.  I cannot stop smiling at that.

Ethan and I are making our way through A Dog Called Kitty one chapter at a time, with me reading and him pressed up against me and making gasps and sighs at all the right places.  Best job in the world.

Most days when David comes home dinner has not been started and the table is full of puzzle pieces or game boards.  We kiss for a bit and then I go to the store for corn-on-the-cob and fruit.  It's already dark when we start eating.  We eat and talk for a long time, until Ethan curls up on my lap and asks for a bath and tucking in.  David does the dishes while I start the bath and turn on the reading lights.  And neither of us hurry.

Then there's the reading and the swimming--the sunscreen alone is enough to make me take up a life of riot permanently.  I've decided I'm going to start wearing sunscreen in the winter just for the smell.

I like life as a hedonist.  And weddings for twelve in the spring. 

So far our summer has plenty of both.  Come and join us.

Entropy, Repentance and Me

Last night David and I stayed up late watching a movie and Jimmy Kimmel's monologue.  (Quit halfway through because it was a rerun.)

And then David put the clean sheets on our bed as I walked through the house cleaning up the bits and pieces of our evening and putting another couple of pieces in the puzzle we are working on.

As I passed the laundry room I sighed. 

Last week my washing machine died.  And could not be resurrected. 

The repairman said to go shopping.  I did so grudgingly.  Partly because my budget doesn't have room for a new washer and dryer and partly because I found out that in an effort to make washing machines more energy efficient, the government instituted new standards (none of which included anything about making clothes cleaner which seems like a gaping hole in standard-making if you ask me [which nobody did by the way]) which only resulted in making the machines more expensive and less effective. 

(Whew.  That might have been a run-on sentence just now.  Too bad.  I've done enough repenting already today.)

Now don't get me wrong.

I like the earth. 

But why are saving the earth and having clean clothes mutually exclusive?

And (dang it) the machines I can afford don't match my laundry room like my old one used to and they also stick out way past my countertop and since my laundry room is really just a hallway anyway, it is really bothersome to have them sitting out so far. 

The guy who came to install them could tell I wasn't happy.

He said, "I can tell you're thinking something.  Do you have any questions?"

"Only the unanswerable kind."

"Try me."

Bless him.  I smiled.  "What do you know about entropy?"

He cocked his head.

I continued.  "I mean I just want to be able to wash my clothes, you know?  And in the meantime entropy is slowly destroying my washing machine bit by bit with every load, and at the same time the government thinks they know better than me and they are secretly conspiring to make me buy a machine that is more expensive and less effective than my current machine, which was slowly falling apart by the way.  And both of these things were happening simultaneously, until we reached this moment, when I have to buy a new machine that requires special laundry detergent and it takes twice as long to wash and doesn't match and costs a lot of money that I had planned on spending at the beach this summer." 

He looked a little nervous at that point, and in his defense, I may or may not have gotten a little teary by the end of it as well. 

Clearly at a loss he asked, "How many kids do you have?"

I told him, belligerently.

"Yeah.  That's a lot of laundry."

Starting to feel a little soothed, and slightly chagrined, I whined quietly, "And they stick out."

He could tell he was starting to make some headway and perked up.  "I think this is a great room.  Yeah, they're a little bigger, but there is still plenty of room to walk and you have a great little laundry room here."

"Okay."  I felt a little better.

But by the time David left for work I was fired up again.

He asked for clarification.  "So are you mad at me?"

"No, I'm just mad."

I gave him the same rant I gave the delivery guy.

A little too buoyantly, he said, "Yeah, but they're more energy efficient."

Which was clearly the wrong thing to say.  (Let's be clear.  There wasn't a right thing to say at this point.  Just walk away, darling.  Which is what he did.)

By the time he came home from work, I had repented.  I had remembered the millions of women washing their laundry in a dirty river, or over a washboard, or with nothing to wash at all.  And I got a little humble. 

And as the day wore on and I folded load after load, I got a little more.

And I remembered that I am not entitled to life without entropy.  I live in a fallen world.  And I could save myself (and my husband, yes please) all kinds of grief by simply accepting this one principle of the plan. 

I spend entirely too much energy fighting the fall.  And I do mean fighting.  Not to mention the exertion of repentance afterwards.

Perhaps I should start implementing my own energy efficiency standards.

Don't worry.  I can already hear RIM and CIM.  It'll never make it out of committee.

What I've Been Waiting For

I realized today that I haven't published a single post in the month of May.

I've written quite a few in my head.

Most of them unfit for public consumption.  Thankfully, RIM intervened on your behalf.  Count yourself lucky.  

(Believe me.)

I know I should start where I left off.  But I'm convinced that will take too much energy and I will never write again.  (Which would be a tragedy.  And how.)  So I'm starting with today.  Maybe someday when my iron count is higher and my blood sugar is steady and my heart is softer, I will fill you in on the rest of the month.  (Let's be honest, an impossible trifecta.  Never gonna happen.)  Suffice it to say, my dress was fabulous (I mean really fabulous), my shoes were spectacular, the quilt was amazing and raised close to a billion dollars for the cancer program, and the spring tea benefit was such a smashing success that David was awed and amazed (once again) that I am his wife.

And then I went on a little trip to Washington, DC to clear my head and support my brother.  (Mostly the latter.)  And while I was there I got rained on every day and rode the metro and took lots of self-portraits and ate soft-shelled crab at every meal because they were in season.

And in between all that we did all the end-of-the-year-school activities, like concerts and recitals and softball tournaments and awards programs which filled me with pride and made me humble to be mothering these particular children.

Which brings us to today.

One of the best days of the entire year.

The day my children are returned to me.

I went out for the necessary supplies.  A cartload of sunscreen and puzzles.

And then stopped at the bookstore for reading material.  For long, empty afternoons.

And while I was shopping, I felt my insides loosening.

This is the beginning.

Eighty-two days of freedom. 

Eighty-three if I count today.  And I do.

Eighty-three days of sleeping late and eating late and retiring late.  Eighty-three days of games and puzzles and swimming and sunscreen and sea shores and road trips and books and afternoon naps if we want one.  Eighty-three days of washing towels and bathing suits and eating popsicles and pasta salads.  Eighty-three days when they are all mine.  Undivided and unscheduled and (gasp) maybe even unproductive.

Just try and stop me.