Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Too Dead For Dreaming

Never build over cemeteries, Mr. Chance!

Is it Friday yet?  I swear, this has been the longest week ever. I've been so focused on Mini's first week of Kindergarten that I'm staggering around zombified from stress and lack of sleep. Who ever came up with the idea of taking three days to do boy/girl/parent orientation is fucked in the head. Honestly, I don't know how the local parents who are working outside the home can manage this without wanting to strangle someone by the end of the day. For reals.

I drove Mini to class this morning, and when I got home, I sat down with a cup of coffee. Before I could take one sip or get the computer turned on, the phone started ringing. It was my mom. She wanted to know what I wanted to do this weekend, and started going into 50 questions plus she was tossing out ideas for an elaborate Saturday BBQ.

I'm listening to all this (my mom talks very fast when she gets a wild hair, just saying) and I'm wondering wtf is the holiday? About five minutes into this conversation, I start eyeballing my desk drawer, wondering if maybe I should take out my calendar to figure out what  the heck we are planning this for. Finally, mom takes a breath and says, "So, what kind of cake do you want for your birthday?"

My poor was like someone let all the air out of a balloon. Pppppfffflllllpt. Now I get it. We're discussing my birthday. Of course!

I have been so busy with school/edits/life that I didn't realize my birthday (that bastard festival of "happiness") is going on this weekend. Joy. I'll be 35. Pass the Depends and a bottle of whiskey, that's kinda how I'm feeling right now. Hubby says it's because I'm tired. (And bitchy - although he didn't say THAT.) I, on the other hand, think it's because I'll be turning thirty-fucking-five and my Oldest will be turning 19 the day after. Oh yeah, I remember when I was a hot, nineteen year old idiot. I had a kid by then, but whatever. I wore a size 0 then and still had great tits that hadn't met Mr. Newton's law of falling apples yet. I'll have that for my birthday, kthnxbye. Or heck, you want to really thrill me? Let me sleep in late. That includes no kid's asking me to find something, no hubby rifling around in the dark for socks. No phone calls from family before 10am. Shall I go on?

Maybe that's the true gift that comes with getting older. You want non-gift gifts, like less crow's feet and someone to do your laundry. Makes sense to me.

And of course, since I didn't think about my birthday this week, it slipped my mind also that I have to plan something for Oldest. Oh, dear God, why can't he think of anything he wants that's less than $500 or requires a trip to Japan? Maybe I should get him a gift certificate to my favorite salon. For waxing. No, no... Total man-scaping. It's not terribly expensive, there are pretty ladies that work there, and he can reflect on what it means to be a man when he's getting his chest hair ripped out by the roots. If he doesn't look at the family finances and get with the program, this might be worth looking into.

Tomorrow I'm tossing Mini into the shark tank. In other words, he's riding the bus to school.This morning, I made him walk me to his classroom. He's dying to ride the bus. He says he's a big boy and wants to ride the bus "just like bubba did", but I wanted to make sure he knew where to go once he got there before I turned him out into the wilds. He knew right where to go.

Too, when I picked him up from school today I saw Oldest's old bus driver, and asked her to swing by our route. She didn't think she had to take our road anymore because Oldest graduated, so now that's all settled. I'll pick Mini up in the afternoon, but I've been burning the candle at both ends to the point of chest pains - which I have NOT mentioned to hubby. He would shit his knickers, I imagine, although he might better understand the bitchiness if I did tell him.

At any rate, it's time to slow it down a bit, and to do that I have to let some things go. Let others help. Delegate some of the responsibility. Jesus Christ on a bicycle I'm such a control freak when it comes to my home turf. Nevertheless, I'm easing back. I'm starting by putting Mini on the morning bus. If he does okay there, he can possibly start riding the bus home. It will really depend on how well he can control that Gemini chatterboxy-ness. Miss M is brutal when it comes to the no talking on the bus rule, and I'm not sure Mini could keep his trap shut for a solid hour on the ride home. (An hour long bus ride and we live exactly 4 minutes by car from the school. No kidding.) I'll probably continue to do the afternoon pickups, and save myself the hair pulling. But for now...we have a plan.


  1. Oh, Cora, it could be worse. I just turned 52! Thirty-five didn't bother me all that much. I think the worst birthday was 46. I felt as if someone had put me on a downhill slide and given me a push, but I survived that one, too. Here's to you and many, many more birthdays to come.

  2. Thanks, Lucinda

    I know it's just a number, honestly I do. And for some weird reason I feel more at ease with the idea of turning 40, than turning 35. Then again, I'm not really all that perturbed about it, I guess I'm a frump. I know I'll get over it. ((hugs))


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