Tuesday, June 28, 2011

My Life, Day 10: Clean Day

Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day

Day 10 Clean Day. ALL day.

It could be slightly more accurate by calling itself "Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day, All Day" because that's what I did. Cleaned all day. Boy, this daily life photo documentary really makes me feel like my life has meaning!

Ooo, look.

Day 10

Seashells. Exciting, huh? Can you honestly keep yourself from jumping on Twitter and saying, "Look! Heather has seashells!"?

I don't know why I took a picture of those damn things. Except it's the first time I've decorated my kitchen sideboard table since...well, since Then. I'm one of those cutesy annoying housewives who likes to have a small place in the house that changes with the seasons/holidays - Halloween, Christmas, Easter, summer, etc. You probably want to friend divorce me now. 
(Do I get palimony? Heh. Get it? Pal? Friend?)
(Oh god, save me from myself. I obviously NEED HUMOR HELP.)

Since Halloween, the table has been either completely bare or cluttered with useless crap - an outward reflection of the in, huh? It sounds stupid, really, but walking into the kitchen and seeing the table decorated again feels like maybe a part of me is awake again.

Day 10 Payton

Maybe this daily life photo documentary does make my life feel like it has meaning after all.

Monday, June 27, 2011

My life, Day 9: Best Omelets

"Mom, you make the best omelets."

Day 9 "Mom, you make the best omelets"

Why, thank you, son. Making an omelet is very complicated, with the all the cracking the egg, the whipping it, the grating of the cheese. Sigh. Exhausting, really. I'm so glad you appreciate the extreme effort I go to in the morning to make you a gourmet cheese omelet, complete with KRAFT cheese. 

You're welcome.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

My Life, Day 8: Photo Not Found


Photo Not Found

Because I didn't take one. Not. A. One. So yes, I lasted all of six days to my commitment. See, let me explain how things work around here. I make rules for myself. I follow them diligently for days. Say, six days for example. And then I'm like, FUCK THAT RULE SHIT! 

Let me give you another example. We joined a pool club this summer. Have I mentioned it? In, like, twenty dozen hundred pictures on instagram? I tell myself I will eat very healthy, having only fruits and vegetables for snacks, because I will look good in a tankini and not like a mom in a swimsuit, DAMN IT. I follow that rule diligently for days. Say, six days, for example. And then I'm like, FUCK THAT RULE SHIT, I'M MAKING SOME GODDAMN BROWNIES. 

And then I gobble half a pan of brownies because I broke my toe at the pool and can't go as frequently anyway. 

And now on top of that I'm bloated with perimenopausal PMS bloat, which, holy mother sperm whale, what the fuck? Is gray hair not enough? Saggy boobs? Wrinkles? Cellulite on my ass? Obviously this whole aging process isn't glamorous enough, so now Mother Nature demands an additional week of bloated belly brought to you by flatulence.

Ugh. I told myself if I started back with this writing thing, I would be more sophisticated and refined and not drop the F bomb so much or talk about farts. Well, we see how that fucking went. NOT WELL. I also told myself I would post the pictures daily. But I've been post-dating them instead when I finally steal my computer back from my children. I'm not only breaking my own rules, but then cheating too. I'm clothed in awesomeness.

I also told myself that if I didn't take pictures, it would be okay because that would mean a day I'd have to sit down and actually write. Because forced creativity is always awesome! So I pick a meme to write! How original! And I will write something nice and funny and light and....wha? 

What the hell was that fucked up mess? Putridness came out instead, not light, funny memories. It's all very confusing, because while I was completely honest about those parts of my early life, it's not like my childhood was all bad.  But twelve adult years of ripping a family unit apart bit by bit is enough to storm across a lifetime of memories, leaving it all clouded in shadow. 

We parents...we never stop touching, shaping, and influencing the lives of our children. Never. There is no moment when "our job is done" and our actions don't color our children. We're forever intertwined, perhaps even after death. 

After I wrote that, my dad came to me in a dream that night. That first sight of him - I have no words to describe how it feels.

He was trying to tell me something.

I still can't hear him.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

My Life, Day 7: Slave Driver

This is how I have fun on Saturdays.

Slave labor
Slave labor.
It's the only reason I had kids, I swear.

Slave is not happy.
Slave not happy
This is my problem how?

Slave Driver is manically happy.
Slave driver IS happy!

Friday, June 24, 2011

My Life, Day 6:

Perfect pool day

And when I say perfect, I mean the boys went four straight hours without fighting. This must have been a divinely ordained Summer Vacation Miracle, granted by the Virgin Mary, of course. Because she raised a boy. 

Later that night a certain eight-year-old kicked our asses in poker.

I had to buy another set of poker chips just so Wally and I can hang in the game with this kid. 
It's embarrassing, really.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

My Life, Day 5: Toes Beware

Returned to the site of trauma

I'm brave, ya'll.
More like bored out of my mind. 
How did I EVER get through summer vacation in the deep South without a pool club membership? 

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

My Life, Day 3: This is "Something," right?

It turns out nothing much happens when you're laid up with a broken toe, except playing poker and losing to an eight and ten year old.

I decided three days ago I was going to do Something.

It's been almost eight months now. How much longer will This go on? How much longer will I stay like This? I don't like This. I don't want to fight and resist This, because I understand This is all part of The Process. There are no rules for grief, after all. But neither do I want This to become a permanent state, my main mode of existence. When your kids begin asking, "Mom, are you okay?" a couple of times a day, This has to begin to change.

I need Something. Something to propel me forward.

Over the weekend, I stumbled across one of my old Mouthy Housewives post and read it and immediately thought...

Heh, I was funny!


Then I realized I've lost almost eight months of recording memories. Granted, it's eight months of memories I don't want to remember, so I guess it's okay. But my writing/blogging - it was never about money or attention from the internet. Okay, so maybe it was a bit about attention from the internet. But it was also about remembering.

Remembering to laugh at life as I raise two boys. Remembering to record the ridiculous. The insane. How the fire alarm became the way the boys knew dinner was almost ready.

I miss being funny. I'm not sure I know how anymore.

I miss capturing those little moments that add up to Life. I want to read back over our life in 15 years, 20, 30, and say, "Look boys. We lived."

So I decided on Something.

I decided I would begin recording our life in pictures, until words could come to me again...until I find who I am after tragedy.

Stand like a flamingo. It's all the rage in my house

And apparently this "new me" resembles a flamingo since this is how I currently stand 75% of the time I'm upright. At least every time P is near me. He has a propensity for stepping my toes anytime he comes within three feet of me.

P.S. My knee, which used to look like a smiling face, now looks like an old man without his dentures. Thank you, middle age.

Monday, June 20, 2011

My Life, Day 2

The pool lunch assembly line

The pool broke my toe. And not because I was staring at a lifeguard.

Chief Toe Pity Party-er. 
(Added bonus: Best Summertime Freckle Winner)

Chief Pity Party-er's holy grail

Working on next school year's curriculum.

Bed Buddy

Two sweeties.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

My Life, Day 1

In the beginning...
of cinnamon roll pancakes

and a helper

plus a brownie mess

and then laundry

God, the laundry

and last, a lucky nature find