Couldn't you have waited until 5:55 am?

L woke me up a few minutes after 5in the morning, "Mom, please come down to the kitchen."

Sigh... I am very suspicious.  Right away, I knew he was "sick" and, in my heart of hearts, I thought he was acting.  But I followed him down and discovered the mess. 

He had vomitted everywhere - disgusting, right?  But I am suspicious.  It didn't seem like the same food he'd been eating last night... Still, what was I going to do?  Taste it?  No, I cleaned it up and was kind and loving to L - but not effusive.  I was also disgusted by it.  I showered afterward.  (Even as one has doubts... cleaning up vomit is disgusting even to think about.  I bet reading about it is awful too.)

Anyway, about an hour later:  L is back in bed (zzzz) - and I have just started my work day... Have I mentioned how sleep deprived I've been?

Anyway, I turn on the laptop that L uses to write a few e-mails to students.  I had decided that I'd cancel office hours, so that I could leave later, because L was sick.  On the main screen of google chrome there's a tab that says recently viewed sites (or something to that effect).  I said, "huh..."  I put my cursor on it and among the recently viewed sites were two that had titles like this,  "How to fake sick to stay home from school.  With photos."  

Sigh... sigh sigh sigh.  I do love that kid.

It is tough being a mother.

P.S.  The vomit??  I suspect a can of soup.  And, what also made me a little suspicious is that the "mess" was in the perfect spot - the kitchen floor - no dirty walls, no dirty cabinets,no dirty rugs. 

PPS  Too tired to write about how I dealt with it.  Sigh

really?

couldn't come up with a better title... 

      After you read this post, say the title outloud; you should sound like Seth and Amy (SNL) except younger and hipper.  Maybe you'll sound like my older son who was the first person I ever noticed saying "really".  And, yes, I do know that nobody says "really?" like that anymore.

So, during my hubby's vacation     

we had this one fight where I lost it (not the fight, my mind).   In what I saw as a non-sequiter, he started with the old, "You always complain that I don't do anything around the house."  

That was enough to set me off.  I don't want to describe my drama queen performance.  Actually it was very PG-rated (no violence, nudity or profanity); I just went on and on along these lines: "No es justo", but I did it in the best hysterical operatic tradition of the pre-Stepford wife-robot swap.  ha ha ha.   I have just a vague recollection of either the movie or the book, so I'm using the comparison because I like it, not because it's valid.

But I digress.  Why was I all hysterical about the fairness of it all?  Because I had long since basically decided to just live with my hubby's lack of cooperation in the house.  He's old enough to retire and collect his social security, but he still has to work to sustain the family - main bread winner and all that.  He's also from a different generation and country, which shape his paradigm (although, I don't want to exaggerate this aspect) and, mainly, he just doesn't care much about these things... and that means he doesn't complain about or notice too many home-related things. 

So, H does very little around the house... and I accept this arrangement as a logicalish division of labor.  Thus, when he says, "You always complain that I don't do anything,"  how can I respond?
     a)  "You DON'T do anything, you #%*#@"... would just confirm his complaint and then he would go on and on about how he cooks dinner and takes care of dry-cleaning his work clothes... and he cleans the drain in the bathtub when it fills with hair.  I find that discussion so pointless and frustrating because... nevermind.
      b) "COMPLAIN??? You don't know the meaning of the word!"  ... that's just an impossible argument to settle because the mere act of becoming embroiled in this debate adds to my hubby's impression that I am constantly harping at him.

Sigh - double sigh - So, that day my response was just, "NO!  This isn't fair.  This wasn't what we were talking about.  I wasn't complaining.  This isn't fair.  This isn't fair!  yadda yadda yadda"  (Even capital letters wouldn't express my passion at that moment, so I didn't bother - just try to envision it).

But, here's the kicker... the really moment.  After my melt-down, I went to the basement, pulled myself together, and quickly came back and apologized, sincerely.  So, we went back to the conversation and it stayed very civil.  I probably tried to explain some of what I wrote here above.  H. had to go back to my supposed blindness to his real contribution to our household and, in spite of how I didn't want to go here, we got back to the topic of our relative contributions.   Our conversation ended when he said... are you ready for this?

He said, "Ask how many of your friends' husbands take care of their own laundry?"  When I replied something like, "All of them.  Trust me... "  hubby just kind of let the whole thing drop.  I think, in his heart of hearts, he knew what that sounded like.

Now, before you read the title of this post again, it's important to know my husband's definition of "laundry."  It means taking one's own work clothes to the dry cleaners and picking them up.  (You don't really have to know this next bit, but it does make it a bit funnier:  when I asked him to take on his own dry-cleaning about 5 years ago, he was shocked.  It was a heavy blow to him and I only got his collaboration by stubbornly sticking to my guns).  

 

Ahhhh, refreshing. . .

It is sooo hot.
    It is so hot that the other day as I was cleaning the kitchen I saw a jar of flax seed that somebody had left me when she moved away.  (V's mom) and I had a terrific idea for some relief from the heat.
You see, I noticed that below the English word "Flax seeds" on the label, it had the Spanish word, "Linaza." 
    Hmmmm.... Linaza, I thought to myself.  Didn't I used to see a refreshing linaza drink when I lived in Costa Rica?  I remember that it was a clear liquid with small black seeds floating in it.  I sincerely don't remember what it tasted like (did I ever try it?  Probably).  But, suddenly, a nice cool fresco de linaza sounded like it would really hit the spot.
    So, I took the flax seeds and boiled them for about three minutes (my instinctive"feel" for cooking led me to this technique rather than any actual research).
     Then I put ice in a glass and a touch of sugar and poured in my fresco... Flaxaide, anyone?

     What's this?  It's slimey.  Surely a little more water to thin it out and a little more sugar will do the trick!  Nope, it's still slimey; no, it's still disgusting.  Frugal me tried to drink it up - but I couldn't get down more than half the glass.
       Just then - - - a flash of memory... It wasn't fresco de linaza that I used to see in Costa Rica, it was fresco de HORCHATA. 
        Oh well, I think, maybe I can still use the slimey mixture for something... I pour some oatmeal in the mucous-like substance, oh, and some old raisins.  Maybe I could throw in an egg and try to cook it?  Breakfast????
       But, here's the clincher.

        A little while later I'm sitting next to my hubby and I tell him about the linaza; before I really give him any details - he says to me, "It's slimey isn't it?  In Colombia they use it as a laxative." 

     Ha HA HA HA - I was trying to get down a nice refreshing ice cold glass of laxative. 
Not to fear - I seem to have stopped myself before doing any damage.  I'm going to say that you'd probably have to be really desperate to drink enough of that stuff to have any effect.

    I threw out the mixture (sorry, world). 

She's a keeper

That's how my teenager described this girl he'd clicked with at the park last night in our town's Fourth of July celebration.  He went down with his friends.  H. and I didn't feel like leaving the house.  It was too hot.  What a change; every other year we've kind of gone just to keep an eye on our son.

Anyway, why is she a "keeper"?  Because she has watched all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. 

close call

The most idiotic thing that I have done for a long time... Fell off a stool* and gave myself the most painful bruise I've ever had (about 6 inches diameter).  I couldn't sleep well and, in fact, it hurt to walk - I had a limp.

I was painting the living room and wanted to reach the top of the wall so that I could paint a neat seam between the wall and ceiling. 

On the bright side, I'm almost all better now and it's only been two weeks!  Oh, and my living room looks very nice.



* The stool was placed on a chair; so, technically speaking, I feel off of a chair and a stool.


*  I fell off more than once.

Wow, you'd think he was getting married.  Sigh... I've always said that he'd be the one to make me a grandmother, and now I worry that I may have been right.

you know you're sleep deprived when. . .

You shower before bed and when you have to wake up, your hair's still wet. 

... the rest are too embarrassing.
... I've forgotten any that aren't too embarrassing because of sleep deprivation
... zzzzzzz  I need to get more sleep. 

I've been so desperate, I've even gotten mad enough to finally force people at home to help more.  But, it's not enough.  I have to work more efficiently.  (Seriously, the sleep deprivation contributes to working less efficiently and illogical time allocation - then, I stay up late to "get caught up", but I never do).

Nightmare

Night before last I woke up from a nightmare (I wanted to write TERRIBLE nightmare, but by the light of day, the adjective seems overwraught). 

L. has taken me to a store... there seems to have been a "backstory" because I think, for some reason, L was in charge of finding a good place to change our money.

He heads into the store ahead of me and goes directly to a section that's partially hidden by shelves.  The owner says samething about "L knowing that the ..."  I didn't really catch the end, but I was assuming video games or something.

 I reluctantly go back there.  Anyway, the guy starts handing me dollars and saying something like, "Let's see if they're okay..."  I say, "?Nos estás pasando dólares falsificados?"  He denies it, but his explanation makes me sure he is. 

So, I say loudly, "Give me back my 3000 dollars." Well, I mean to say it loudly but suddenly my lungs seem to close up... I try again to say it loudly and it's suddenly terribly clear to me that I've suddenly developed a serious asthma attack.  It's such a terrible sensation to be in a confrontation, be helpless, need help... and then, of course, have L on my mind.

To me, this dream is about how scarey it is to give L more autonomy.  He wants it, and I sincerely want it for him also... But, what will happen to him if he screws it up... And, certainly whatever happens to him affects me also.

It's also about my being a terrible mother.  How could I have let L take on this responsibility without doing my part of the job - the due diligence? 

So... I may be taking this a tad too seriously.  It's strange how much the dream weighed on me.  But - I know, I know... it's only a zzz zzz

adrenaline rush

Took L. to regional choir practice today.  It was hours of waiting around and it was sooo cold out.  Got very hungry so I left to have dinner.  Ate at the super market - I just hate eating out when I'm alone.  Then I couldn't find the school when I tried to drive back... dark out.  Sigh... Got back just in time to wait another hour.
But here is the sweet thing.  L was so excited when he got out and so high energy when we got home.  Papa had made some soup, and L sat down to eat a bowl with no complaints.  (His father's soup... and no faces).  Then he started talking about the last song they did at practice and  he described the intensity of the piece and how all of the guys have started to keep the beat with their feet and how the tempo builds.  He was really on a music adrenaline rush (he used the word adrenaline).  I miss that feeling and I'm so happy for him that he has it: being in the very middle of tight harmonies and great singers.  I always tell L that my fantasy is to be the worst singer in a choir and he's never agreed with me, but now maybe he gets it a little.
     The good mood got him through cleaning the kitchen after dinner with me.  It was a treat to be with him.
      Then he hardly complained when he only got to watch about 15 minutes of an episode of "How I Met Your Mother"  (He had started it already - so he watched the end).

Papa and I watched an Italian movie "Mid August Lunch,"  I think.  There was something very charming about it and something a tad depressing - It was very Italian: sons who feel an incredible obligation to care for their mothers... It's dependence and take-chargeness (?) mixed in a strange way.  Speaking of charming, H snored through about one third of it.  ha ha

PS papa's soup?  Not bad, but he always lets the veges get sooo mushy.  But, he was very sweet about our getting home at 10 pm