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Musings from the Laundromat: Mops, Larks and Clowns edition
The thing about blogging on any consistent basis – is you end up with something akin to a journal that anyone can read.
Good days and bad – you’re basically reading my diary.
That’s fine by me – but I find it a little eye-roll worthy sometimes when I’ve had a bad day, to read a previous very upbeat post.
If you find your eyes rolling with mine, just know that at that moment, when I’m typing, every fiber of who I am and what I feel and know to be true is being transcribed upon the screen through my fingers.
No one can be completely happy and upbeat ALL the time. “Even the best of souls” which, is what I heard last night when I stumbled upon ‘Lark Rise to Candleford’. I’ve only seen one episode, so to any devout fans reading this, my apologies.
Dawn French’s character, Caroline Arless, had returned from a stay somewhere, with new resolve. She was going to watch her mouth, keep her skirts down (that cracked me up) be grateful and humble. I saw myself in her immediately. And my lips twitched into a smile watching her exuberance for her metamorphosis.
As she was telling this to a woman who, it seemed had mastered those skills to some degree, the woman remarked (and I’m paraphrasing) that was a tall order ‘even for the best of souls’.
I thought of my day – I thought of my last post … the juxtaposition of the two not lost on me – and then, I thought of clowns.
Yesterday: I am sick again. And for someone who never gets sick, this is getting annoying. This is twice now in 3 months.
I woke up, watched a couple of movies in my bedroom and did something else I never do. Went back to sleep.
I crawled out of my infirmary after 2 in the afternoon. I had cleaning to do that night at the offices.
I really almost put it off until today – but needed to go into that neck of the woods anyway – and you know, two birds, one stone.
So I’m cleaning, and feeling rotten – and I’ve said some unkind things to Nic in the car on the way over.
Things that needed to be said, but did not meet the rule of three that I try to live by.
It goes a little something like this – Before you speak, ask yourself:
1. Is it kind?
2. Is it useful?
3. Is it true?
It was useful and true, but not kind. And in my depleted state, I had no right venturing into conversations that required a positive attitude.
I poured my last energy into cleaning, while my head wouldn’t shut up about the things I’d said to Nic. You know, I don’t know if it’s a bad thing that I realize I’m doing something wrong and still do it? Or if it’s a good thing as I’m clearly growing and learning?
Then my mop broke.
(Insert Metaphors here)
Rust particles spilled onto the freshly vacuumed floor and tile.
I did the best I could with a smaller, less absorbent mop. Then, having decided I was as done as I could be, I excited the building.
It was then I noticed I had lost my car key. I stomped back into the offices, accidentally set the building alarm off, then proceeded to stand in a door jamb crying my eyes out.
Nic came to me as I stood there, arms up, head buried, I could have been counting for ‘hide and go seek’.
I broke. “I am tired! I can’t do this! The floors look horrible and I need help! I don’t feel well!” This was not about the floors. Not just about the floors. And we both knew it.
Still, I knew I couldn’t leave without being satisfied with my work – but I only had so much to work with.
I tried again, with a new floor cleaning device, making the best of what I had, into something I was willing to leave for the night.
I had promised Chinese food. Of course, thanks to my mouth, I had knocked any hunger Nic might have had for it right out of him.
He was still hungry, but his feelings weren’t in the mood for food.
We got it anyway and I tried to mend the wounds.
There’s still a heaviness in the air today – residue from yesterday.
Once again, I almost put off my chores in favor of staying in bed. But I got up, and went to the laundromat.
This is when I thought of clowns.
I’ve never liked them. For two reasons I think, one being the mask factor. Hiding behind a facade … The other the impossible constant smile.
I’m funny and mostly happy, but I am not a clown.
No one can smile all the time – and no matter how often I remember that, I can’t seem to cut myself a break when I don’t feel like smiling.
Of Boys and Branches
My heart grew today. I know it.
I was so completely aware of how amazing my son is.
For me, the measure of my success as a mother is the fact that he not only wants to spend time with me – but that he’s such a pleasure to be around.
We laughed so much, we always do – we waxed philosophical and we worked side by side.
He took me along to feed and water his girlfriend’s horses – with care and diligence for the animals and the task.
While there, he showed me his ‘fort’, which was actually an amazing puzzle of branches in the most photogenic wooden criss-cross of brush.
“Put your foot there – the other one there … sit here, on the trunk. Lay back, look up. Isn’t the sky beautiful through the branches?”
“Yes.”
When did he become such a good driver?? I found myself not watching the road.
We spoke while he drove … of the moon, whether sperm have souls, road rules and safe sex.
“I want to teach you what I can before my time runs out – before you stop needing me.”
“I still need to learn how to ‘adult'”
My thought pattern stuttered and tripped over itself. The sentiment behind those words wasn’t lost on me. I was still needed. I recovered with a “Me too.”
We’ve become this team – unbreakable.
On one of the drives home I made a distracted sound.
“What?”
“Having so many thoughts right now, I couldn’t even pin one down for you under my thumb to look at – not even by a wing.”
“I’m definitely growing up weirder than most …”
“That’s a good thing – don’t let your weird go.”
Musings from the Laundromat: College and Hypoallergenic Tortoises Edition
Ah college … the smell of new books, freshly sharpened pencils purchased lap tops, and visions of professors and libraries …
Nic’s first day of classes went well. I came home to him smiling – feeling confident – a sheen of ‘eau de higher education/grown up’ glistening on his skin.
Then he had math.
I received a call at work approximately 10 minutes before it was time to leave.
“That math class is so stupid! The teacher doesn’t explain and I have no idea what PAGES we’re supposed to do!!”
“OK, calm down – we’ll talk when I get home.”
My little bundle of college joy was freaking out.
The entire way home, all the cogs in my mind were turning.
Tutor … I could find a way to get a tutor. He can find his math teacher before the work is due and ask for clearer direction. He has to pass or his grant will be due and payable! Who do I know that’s good at math?? Why does he stress out so quickly? What did I do wrong? He used to be good at math.
Considering the fact that my drive home is 10 minutes, these were a lot of thoughts. And now that I’ve typed them out, I think I answered my ‘why does he stress out’ question.
Came to the conclusion though, that unless he wants to succeed – it didn’t matter what idea ‘Momma’ came up with.
We sat and discussed this. He said he would find a way.
I have to let go. I can’t solve problems for him anymore. I can steer him back to the crux of the situation though.
“Do you still want a degree?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you’ll find a way. If you want it, you just will.”
Inside I was agreeing with him though, that math does suck.
Now another bundle of joy story.
Friday, it was planned that I would accompany one of my nearest and dearest friends to collect her grand baby for the weekend.
I was happy to go along for the ride – besides getting to sniff baby head and bite little toes, the 45 minute drive was a great way to catch up with my friend.
We arrived at my friends mothers house and … OH! Look at this tree! It lives in her moms yard and when I saw it, I thought of Harry Potter, then of course, I had to take a photo.
Back to the story.
We enter the house and I headed straight to baby after saying ‘hello’ to friends mom.
You may only see a foot as I don’t know if the baby’s mom would be okay with some random person posting photographs of her daughter online.
I thought we were heading back to our town, but it turned out we were going to dinner.
I’m always up for dinner.
Long story short …
OK!
So we’re at the restaurant, and I’m remembering that not so long ago, the baby’s foot was a lot smaller. And the baby was doing all kinds of things baby couldn’t do last time I saw her.
“She’s getting so big!”
“Well, last time you saw her she was 3 months old.”
No way. Couldn’t be.
“It can’t have been that long!”
Apparently, yes it could have been that long – and my friend had proof.
Friend and friends mother exchanged glances and I knew, there was a very good reason they were certain of the last time I saw baby.
“That’s when we found out she’s allergic to animals.”
OH NO!
Butters.
Color me guilty and embarrassed … but then, I turned it around.
“So! I will always be part of her story! She had a ‘first’ after being at my house!”
*groan* I know! It’s not a good first! I was trying to stay positive.
I looked at my friend and said “You’re welcome.”
The drive home was filled with more catching up – and baby fell asleep.
My friend and I were yawning – but she had one more stop.
“I’ve got to see if the tortoise is outside of the chamber.”
“Oh my gawd, we’re those old people who stop and look at things like ‘Worlds Largest Ball of Yarn’ on road trips.”
Then: “It’s dark, how are we going to see a tortoise?”
I needn’t have worried.
“What’s it made of?!?”
“Metal I think, get out and touch it.”
“I’m not touchin’ it. You’ll leave me here.”
“No I won’t.”
“Well, I’m not touching it.”
“You’re going to blog about this aren’t you?”
____________________________________
Yes, Denice – yes I did.
It’s ‘Fine’
Yesterday, for a myriad of reasons – I was upset. Physically hurting and my emotional nerves exposed.
I was shamefully aware of my negative attitude.
I tried to sequester myself as much as I could, tried to limit the words that came out of my mouth – because I knew they were being tainted by my mood.
I still had to interact though – when people came to me. I kept my responses short – bit down on the bitchy verbal Tourette’s that strained to come out of my mouth.
I failed a couple of times – but owned it. I said to one person, ‘God, I’m sorry – I am being a completely unreasonable bitch.’
To be fair, (to myself for once), my responses were not completely unreasonable. But if there’s one thing I’ve practiced to a fairly consistent level of aptitude – it is choosing to filter my responses and to find a positive way to respond, rather than react.
Then my son called.
Why, oh why do we hurt the ones we love?
I think it has a lot to do with having more interaction with them than anyone, mixed with the arrogant assumption that our loved ones will forgive us. Also, lashing out stems from fear, and where there is great emotion – there is something that we care greatly about behind it.
The phone call came at a bad time, (Okay, any hour yesterday was a ‘bad time’) and unless he was calling to tell me he loved me and by the way, the house was clean, laundry done and a cake magically appeared in the fridge, there wasn’t anything he could have said to his advantage.
I was upset that he stayed up most of the night before – I was upset that our conversations about him doing more around the house had not resulted in him actually doing more around the house. I was upset that … let’s face it, I was just upset.
I spat words at him – and when he reacted – I struck again. Verbally. I reached a point where I could not be a part of the conversation any longer and … CLICK!
I hung up.
I’ve told him one of the worst things you can do is hang up on someone. It’s rude – it’s unkind – it’s immature. Apropos response on my behalf I suppose, considering I was being rude, unkind and immature.
5 O’Clock finally arrived.
I drove home – with my tail between my legs. (Which is a quite uncomfortable to sit by the way.)
When we finally spoke – I apologized. I calmly expressed my frustrations and we spoke eye to eye.
I apologized for the way I spoke to him and he said, “Mom, it’s fine.”
That didn’t sit well with me.
“No,” I said, “no it’s not fine. It may be forgivable – perhaps even to some degree understandable – but it is NOT ‘fine’ for someone to speak to you that way. Don’t you go through life thinking that it is.”
No matter how hurt, angry or exposed I feel, I will keep practicing the choice to respond positively – and if I can’t – I’ll practice removing myself from the situation until I can.
Because negative reactions are never ‘fine’.
fine1
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1.of high quality.“this was a fine piece of filmmaking”
synonyms: excellent, first-class, first-rate, great, exceptional, outstanding, quality, superior, splendid, magnificent, exquisite, choice, select, prime, supreme, superb, wonderful, superlative, of high quality, second to none; More “fine wines”antonyms: poor -
(of a person) worthy of or eliciting admiration.“what a fine human being he is”
synonyms: worthy, admirable, praiseworthy, laudable, estimable, upright, upstanding, respectable More “a fine citizen” -
good; satisfactory.“relations in the group were fine”
synonyms: all right, acceptable, suitable, good (enough), passable, satisfactory, adequate, reasonable, tolerable; More informalOK“the initiative is fine, but it’s not enough on its own”antonyms: unsatisfactory -
used to express one’s agreement with or acquiescence to something.“anything you want is fine by me, Linda”
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synonyms: impressive, imposing, striking, splendid, grand, majestic, magnificent, stately More “a fine old house”
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1.in a satisfactory or pleasing manner; very well.““And how’s the job-hunting going?” “Oh, fine.””
Musings from the Laundromat: Simple pleasures & silver trolleys edition
It has been a perfect morning.
I walked into the laundromat today with happy in my heart and relaxed in my step. ‘Midnight Train to Georgia’ was playing on the laundromat’s radio. I greeted the lady who works behind the counter – noticing her bright pink top. “Hi” I said, “I like your top!” “Thank you” she smiled.
She walked away with a hint of a smile still on her lips as I grabbed my cash card with the yellow wrist coil. I always pick yellow if it’s available.
I loaded five dollars onto the card and toted my laundry over to my favorite machines.
And here I sit at my favorite spot about to share my morning with you.
I’m reading an amazing book ‘The Glass Castle’ by Jeannette Walls. My friend Betty gave it to me to borrow last week.
I love that I have friends who enjoy a good book. I love the fact that they think of me when they’re finished with that same book.
I woke at 7 this morning. I slept in. After making a pot of coffee and letting the dog outside, I crawled back into bed to read.
A little while later, after retrieving a cup of the freshly brewed coffee, feeding the dog and laying back down on my bed – Nic appeared in my room.
“Hey” I said, as I let my book holding arm flop down onto the bed.
He joined me and rested his head on my chest. I put my free arm around him, patting his back.
We lay there, quietly, as he blinked at the wall.
“What are you thinking about?”
“The words on the painting … looks like it says Edward Woot”
I shifted my gaze to the painting as he continued,, “I think it is Woot”.
We both knew it wasn’t. But we considered the painting until we were joined by the dog.
“Aw! Now the whole family is here!” I said.
We focused our quiet gazes on Butters. Then back to nothing. Just enjoying the moment.
Not a thing was lost on me. I held carefully and quietly in my heart the following thoughts, not wanting them to disappear.
I held the gratitude that my son still looks for me in the morning. That he likes me and wants to have a moment with me. I held the joy that we were both looking at a painting together – one he gave me for Christmas – that we both appreciate art. I savored the fact that I was holding a book – that I get such immense pleasure from reading. I was grateful for my ‘boy’ in my arms and my dog at our feet.
I digested everything about that moment – while managing to stay in it.
Our silence gave way to laughter when Butters started nibbling on her leg and I announced it was obviously bath day.
By the look of the sky, I needed to take care of that quickly. The clouds outside were grey and looked heavy with rain. I suggested to Nic that we could just pour her shampoo over her and put her out when the rain began.
I got up instead and carried my 70 pound, hairy, leg nibbling manatee into the tub.
What began as a bath for Butters gave way to cleaning – I threw myself into the task, taking the large rug from the kitchen outside so I could wash the floor. Of course, Nic took that opportunity to make himself something to eat. His timing is impeccable. I worked around him – so very grateful to have a kitchen to clean. And too grateful for the food and my son to be annoyed by his timing.
Satisfied with the clean dog, the clean house and my fed and occupied son I took my turn in the tub. So grateful for the soothing stream of water on my back.
I’ll be making a small pork roast today – and enjoying my son in between his games and the book in between time with my son.
And speaking of that book – the friend that loaned it to me finished a particularly difficult book this morning (due to the content.) She commented to me:
“By the way, I finished the horrible one I was reading this a.m. I had to see how it ended and be done with it. I learned a grocery cart in Great Britain is a trolley. I was trying to find some lil gems in it to get through it :)”
I love that she said that. That’s what we do isn’t it? Look for the gems when things are tough? Well it’s what we should do.
I replied to her:
“There’s always a silver trolley if you look hard enough.”
Debauchery Soup 