Or even just a little warm; enough to be uncomfortable, even if not enough to make you say anything outloud?
Is it the same thing(s) as me?
Is it testimonials about Marie Kondo on facebook?
Is it teenagers?
Is it feeling like a complete failure-of-a-mother, even though you KNOW that is so passe, because now we're all feeling super upbeat, and realizing that failure is a GOOD thing?
Is it that Blogger doesn't automagically put a little accent line over the 'e' in passe like Siri certainly would, bless her?
Is it Instagramers who you are afraid are sowing seeds of doubt and desperation into the hearts of women by making them believe they must casually buy an ugly $270 sweater on a whim for an apple-picking excursion with their family, and needing to tell allthewomeneverywhere NOT TO BELIEVE IT?
Or do you not get annoyed?
Are you one of those rare humans who can find the unannoying in everything?
Do you see everything as an opportunity for growth and perspective and love?
And the worst part (okay, that is only a figure of speech; obviously the WORST part is the pain and debilitation) is that I don't have a cool story.
EVERYONE and their monkey's uncle, when faced with the information that you are now crippled by a back injury, immediately asks,
"How did you hurt it?!"
And they do it with a little gleam in their eye, like they expect a juicy, interesting story.
And every time, I feel a tiny moment of panic as I go through this process in my mind:
Oh no! I have nothing interesting to offer!
Stupid Back. WHY couldn't you get hurt in some unique, death-defying or, at the VERY least, respectable way like you're supposed to?!
Maybe I should lie.
Can I think of something fascinating and brilliant before this pause grows uncomfortable and suspicious?
No.
Shoot.
Guess I'll just make this person wish they had never asked.
Like always.
Thanks a lot, Back.
And I shrug and say, "I don't know. It wasn't any one thing."
and watch as the listener looks around for someone with a much more considerate back. Someone whose back understands its role in social interactions; a back that goes out with a bang and a flourish. A human with a purpose-driven back; a back that makes goals and knows how to achieve them.
And not me and my dumb ol' boring bulging disk that can't be bothered to have even an ounce of dramatic flair.
The other night we wanted to watch a show together as a family.
Which usually means a cooking show.
Which reminds me: we watched a show about America's obsession with cooking shows. The host's opinion was that the reason we love watching other people cook is because we, as a society, have moved away from cooking, but it is still such a fundamental part of our lives that we crave the comfort and familiarity and love we associate with cooking.
Meh.
I think it's just because cooking shows are the only shows we can watch with our little kids without being bombarded with profanity and nudity.
At least that's why WE watch them.
Anyway, I got a show going and then stepped into the kitchen to finish cleaning up dinner (which I cooked, thank you very much TV personality!).
Five minutes later, I went in to join the family, and they had switched over to a science show.
I asked Ty why, and he told me that the cooking show had used the "F word" four times in the first few minutes! Well I never...!
Anyway, we watched a science experiment show instead.
It wasn't the greatest, but Sylas was enthralled.
The guy on the show had all sorts of ways to make things catch fire or explode, which just happen to be Sylas' favorite things in the world right now. Besides shooting guns.
I grew increasingly uneasy.
But it was his,
"Dad, if I put suchandsuch and soandso together, would it explode like that?"
that made Ty and I glance at each other and bust into nervous giggles.
Do you ever watch your child do something hard that you would/could never do, do it well, and just feel your heart grow eleventy-five times stronger with hope and faith that everything is going to be okay?
That is how I feel.
Especially since I was a nervous wreck (I vascilated between wanting to cry and wanting to jump out of a window) because I hadn't seen Saylor practice anything, or been to any of the many meetings and trainings she attended. This was all her.
ALL. HER.
ALLLLLLLLLLLL.
HERRRRRRRRRRR.
She does not overshare (we are lucky to get two words/day out of her. no exaggeration.), so I had no idea what they were (supposed to be) learning or doing. All texts and instructions were hers alone, and I was completely out of the loop every night. Most nights I didn't even know where she was, and would text her and get a short response, "DYW". (Distinguished Young Women Scholarship Program)
(*returning home*
Me: So what did you do?
Saylor: Oh, you know. Just practiced. Good night!")
And guys, she never practiced her actual talent performance.
And she has never danced a step in her life.
And there were three dance numbers.
(And I have never attended one of these events before, and there were no parents allowed at dress rehearsals or back stage, so I was literally clueless)
Can you imagine how scared that made me?
(a pox on my decision to wear a Hand Wash Only shirt on such a sweat-filled night! Nice knowing you, shirt. See you in the afterlife. Which is when, I can only assume, I will finally get around to washing all my hand-washables...)
And then she was awesome. And hilarious. And unflappable.
And the stage hand, you guys.
THE STAGE HAND who saw the easel falling (we discovered later that the chain that extends to hold it up was tangled, so when the guys set it up, it was already super unstable, dang it) and ran as fast as he could behind the stage to the other side to try to save the day, but got there too late and still sacrificed his body to do all he could to help. I want to bawl every time I think of him. God bless him, wherever he is!
And then, she told me, all the girls were like, "Oh, Saylor! Are you all riiiiiiight?!", expecting her to cry after her talent went awry, and she was like, "What do you mean?! That was AWESOME!!" cause she had so much fun.
I have a bad mothering habit of assuming my kids are like me, and have the same weaknesses, and expecting less of them than I should.
It is strange and beautiful to realize that your child is perfectly capable of navigating things without your (overbearing and) constant supervison/control.
I am allowing myself a few days to feel excessively, punch-drunk proud.
Beware.
(and also be aware, because we were not until it was too late, that the spot light made it impossible to see what she painted, *sad face*, but that she is going to finish it and refine it, now that she has longer than 90 seconds, and it will be for sale soon)
I do not like them, and yet I feel forced to put them in this house because we build to sell, and a house in this price range must have granite.
(you wouldn't believe how many buyers we lost over the granite-less state of our last house)
(by the way, I loved my inexpensive laminate countertops with a love that rivals the top three love stories you can think of right now)
And I know what you're thinking:
"Then do quartz! Or quartzite! Or marble!
Shut it. You don't think I've thought of that? Give me a little credit, people.
Those are MORE EXPENSIVE than granite. By quite a bit, actually.
I tried to talk myself into some gorgeous quartz, but THAT PRICE! I could buy a new car (granted, the cars I buy are not fancy, but still)! And like I said, we build to sell, so I don't want to invest my life-savings on countertops that I don't get to enjoy. On the other hand, you might be saying to yourself, "If you're not living there long-term, why not just suck it up and put some cheap, ugly granite in that sucker?" Well, we build to sell, but we also realize that the market doesn't care about our plans. The last time we built to sell, we lived there eight years. I cannot look at spotty, dotty, gold-swirled granite for eight years. I just can't.
Especially when it's (let's stop beating around the bush here and tell it like it is) REALLY expensive! I mean, really. It freaks me out that granite is my "inexpensive" option! When did we start thinking it is okay to spend that kind of cash on countertops?! It feels a little (lot) wasteful to me. Do people in Africa even have countertops?
Bleh.
Anyway, back to the story:
So today I went to the third granite yard in as many months, and fell in love.
It really happened, you guys! I never thought I could feel that way about granite. I might see, just a tiny bit, what all the fuss is about.
(not really - I could have found a lovely laminate in so much less time and with so much less anguish)
I made them put my name on it and everything!
I am feeling so encouraged and excited.
If I can find true love in a granite yard, there really might be a friendly solution to all global issues!
Probably not, but I have hope!
Now I wait for the bid to come back...
(but even if it's too much, at least I know I can find something I don't detest)
