The Edge

So I am waiting to go on a "date" with my hubby. Which sounds goofy and makes me feel totally old and decrepit ... but that's just the truth of life, I guess. When you have a hubby who works gosh-awful hours and a little kid in the house, "dates" are few and far between.

And I had all these plans. I was going to pick the kiddo up from school, help her with her homework, and shower so I could change into something nice and ... you know ... "date-like". (If my ancient brain can even remember what one wears on an actual date. >.O) Even though the kiddo has an after-school thing today, I knew I would have plenty of time for this. And I needed it after having done grocery store duty with my mom today (where, somehow, I continued to be sucked into the produce section of the store; I swear, I thought I was NEVER going to get out of there), and, then, taking Fae to the vet (which involves hauling all 50+ pounds of her over the tailgate of my SUV because she pretends she can't jump that high -- what a crock -- and, then, being slobbered and shed upon the whole time we are at the vet's because she is nervous as hell about being there; at least she didn't try to bite anyone today).

Anyhow ... run-on, rambly sentences aside, the point is that I wanted a shower before my date. I NEEDED a shower before my date. Did I get a shower before my date? Um ... no.

(And I'll explain why later ... as hubby has just arrived home. Woot!)

EDIT: THE REST OF THE STORY ...

So, where was I? Oh yeah: vet visit, grocery store, dog-hairy clothes, and the NEED for a nice, hot shower.

Once I got home from picking up kiddo, I had a few things to do outside. I had to finish cleaning some miscellaneous trash out of the car, pick up some stuff in the front of the house, and bring a few things inside. In the meantime, kiddo and the mom unit went inside without me -- presumably to get kiddo started on her homework for the evening.

I got inside from my chores only to find ... Chocolate Milk EVERYWHERE. o_o

My mom included chocolate milk with the kiddo's snack that morning. And kiddo didn't finish all of it, so she decided to bring the rest home. She put the lid on and tossed it into her backpack. Which is all well and good, except she didn't put the lid on straight or all the way. With the result being ...

Chocolate Milk EVERYWHERE. Ugh. o_o

It got on her agenda (where she records her daily homework assignments). On her library books. On her homework folder. On her vocabulary words. On all the miscellaneous bits and pieces of paper she hauled home last night. It even leached through to the front pocket of her backpack to get onto the extra clothes I store there in case she needs a change while in school. It leached through the bottom of the backpack and got all over the car seats, too -- which I didn't discover until way after the fact, when I saw it dripping from her backpack and onto the floor. Where, incidentally, Fae was doing her best to lick up the spoils without anyone noticing what she was doing. Sneaky dog. >.O

You have no idea what a freaking mess chocolate milk can make! It's not only wet, but it's also incredibly sticky. One of the library books was a goner; the pages were so stuck together that we couldn't separate them without messing them up. I felt awful about that. The kiddo's agenda, also, has given up the ghost. I was able to clean off most of the pages, but it's a spiral notebook. The milk got down inside the spiral part, which means I couldn't clean that sticky mess out. And the pages are all coming out of the binding now. I was able to save her homework folder, vocabulary words, and the worksheets she had to do for homework last night. They are stained but still legible and usable. We tossed the backpack into the washer. I wasn't sure whether or not it would fall apart, but there wasn't much choice. With all that sticky, gross chocolate milk seeping down into the seams and crevices, there was no way I could clean it with just a wet cloth. Luckily, the backpack came out of the wash nice and clean and still in perfect condition. Who knew they were washable?

Ironically, the only thing in her backpack that didn't get hit with the chocolate milk bomb was her lunch box -- probably the one thing in there that chocolate milk wouldn't hurt, since it's made specifically for carrying liquids and such. Go figure. -.-"

At any rate, once I got done with all the cleanup -- which took forever -- I still had to sit down and supervise the homework. Which also took forever. We got done about five minutes before hubby came home. I had just enough time to yank on a pair of jeans, brush the dog hair off my shirt, and pull my hair into a ponytail. All my plans of getting to wear my new, cute pair of shoes and a cute blouse -- out the window. Not to mention my desire for clean hair and nice, girly-smelling body spray. The best laid plans and all that, I guess ... *sigh*

And that's the end of the story. =)

Oh, well ... not quite.

Today (Friday, Oct. 29), I took kiddo to school and parked so that I could go inside and complete the chocolate milk saga. I talked to her teacher, explained what happened, and asked if we could purchase a new agenda. Luckily, her teacher said she thought she had some extras. She said she would just get one for the kiddo and not to worry. She was very understanding, and laughed. "These things happen," she said. I appreciated that -- not only because it made me feel better about the whole incident, but I think it just exemplifies the understanding, calm, collected way in which she conducts class. I feel lucky that my kiddo has a good teacher for the year.

After that, I headed off (filled with dread) to the library. I felt the worst about the library book. Just the thought that we had ruined something that belonged to the school was awful. And my kiddo felt terrible about it, too. I was a bit worried the librarian would be upset about the book. Luckily, she is a very nice and understanding lady -- who has kids, too. She said pretty much the same thing my kiddo's teacher had said: "These things happen." I told her I felt awful about the book being ruined, and that my kiddo did, too. And she told me she could imagine that my kiddo felt bad because she was such a nice and responsible child. That made me feel good. I don't often get to see that "responsible" side of my kiddo. I mostly see the goofy side, so it's nice to know "responsible" comes out to play with others. The librarian was in the middle of subbing for an absent teacher that morning, so I left my email address with the book on her desk. She said she would email me the cost once she had a chance to look it up. Before I left, she told me she really appreciated me coming in and offering to pay for the book. I didn't think about it at the time, as there was never any question that I would do exactly that. It's the right thing to do, after all. But, once I got to my car, it occurred to me that, maybe, the right thing is also rather unusual. Maybe others wouldn't have taken the book in and offered to pay for it. I hope that's not the case; if it is, that makes me kind of sad for the world we live in.

And THAT really is the end of the story! ^.~

Or "Girls' Weekend", really. Hubby is out of town until Saturday. And kiddo has no school tomorrow, so I told her she could stay up late tonight. We just finished her bath routine, and now we are settling in to watch Howl's Moving Castle. I so love this movie, but it's been quite a while since I've seen it. I promised her yesterday that we would watch it together tonight, and I've really been looking forward to it. I think kiddo has, too. She's pretty excited about it. (She loves this movie, too.) I really want to watch Spirited Away, but she got scared the last time we tried watching it together. The part where the parents turn into pigs really freaked her out. I'm kind of tempted to try it again, but I'm not sure she's quite old enough yet. Maybe in a few more months we'll give it another try.

We got a new water heater today. New water heater, expansion tank, new shut-off valves, and quite a lot of nice, new pipes. It really ended up being quite a nice upgrade, and I think it'll be a nice thing for the house, overall. It was expensive -- and an unexpected expense, at that -- but I guess it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Of course, if I had known the water heater was going to give up the ghost, I wouldn't have done the custom closet upgrade that's scheduled to happen on Sunday. Ah well.

Gotta run now. The movie is starting!! =D

Had to get up at 0:dark-thirty this morning, but we made it to the airport. The line to check luggage was HUGE, but security went quickly once the luggage was all checked in. Sitting at the gate now, surfing some free wireless internet and waiting for the flight to board.

I'm halfway there. One step closer to our destination and one tiny step closer to being officially "done" with the holiday. Ho, ho, ho.

To everyone on the F-list: I hope you all have a wonderful holiday, however you choose to celebrate. I wish for you to have peace, rest, and relaxation. And I'll probably catch you guys on the flip side of 2009.

So my daughter is dawdling over her breakfast this morning (of course, since she has to be at camp by 9 AM, as opposed to all the days when she has nowhere to be and eats quickly >.O). Every day that my mom was here, she would tell me about this HUGE breakfast she ate -- well, huge for her, anyhow: fruit, cereal, two cups of chocolate milk, yadda, yadda, yadda. This morning, though, it was a struggle to get her to eat even a part of a banana and a handful of cereal. In total frustration, I ask her: "Why do you eat so well when Nana is here, but this morning, you don't want to eat at all?"

Her reply: "Because I like Nana better than you."

zOMG. Knife, meet Heart.

It made me want to cry. Seriously. I had a hard time holding it together, but I managed. I was honest and told her that hurt my feelings, but that it was OK for her to feel that way.

And I can understand it. I mean, I have my own issues with my mom, but she is totally different with my daughter. She is fun and funny and just ... different.

Still, there was this little part of me ... this little kid inside my head screaming: "HOW COULD YOU LIKE HER MORE? YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT SHE'S LIKE!!!"

*sigh*

You know how, in Princess Bride, the whole thing was not "to the death" but "to the pain"? Like when Wesley and Prince Bad-Guy-Whose-Name-I-Can-Never-Remember (even though I've seen the movie umpteen times >.O) fight, and Princie tells Wesley they will fight "to the death", but Wesley says no, he wants to fight "to the pain".

Yeah well, my saga 'o' shredding has turned out to be something like that.

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Which sounds rather depressing, doesn't it? I don't feel I'm particularly depressed. Or particularly anything. Except tired.

Hubby is out of town for his grandfather's funeral. The funeral and cremation were today. I think the interment will be on Monday. He's scheduled to come home on Monday, simply because that was the first chance he could get a non-stop flight. I'm totally selfish, but I really wish he was coming home tomorrow. I miss him, and I hate it when he's out of town.

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We dropped the parental units off at the airport this evening. Another visit survived. I enjoy seeing them, but there are also things about them being here that are difficult for me. I'll just fall back on my old, stand-by mantra: "You can't go home again," and leave it at that. 'Nuff said. Overall, I think it was a pretty good visit. They enjoyed being with the child unit, and she always loves seeing them. I never really had grandparents, so I think it's important for my kiddo to spend as much time as she can with them. It's something I always feel like I missed out on, and something I wish I would have had. And, in spite of my own emotional difficulties with an extended visit, I enjoyed seeing them, too. They're my parents. At the end of the day, I love them. I may not understand them most of the time, but the love is still there.

I'm looking forward to life, in general, getting back to normal around here. After waving them through airport security, I felt this sense of calm settle over me. It's hard to explain, but sort of a feeling of peace and well-being that had been lacking over the past few weeks. Just this feeling of everything once again being all right with the world. Once more, I could walk into my home and feel it was truly mine. I could put things where I wanted. I could speak my dreams aloud without anyone telling me I was silly or that it would never work. Just, overall, relief at the idea that things would be "normal" again. I don't think you can put a price on that, really. I've come to realize it's one of the most precious feelings in life -- so precious that we often take "normal" for granted. And yet, "normal" is beautiful. It means something. It counts for something.

Tomorrow, I should get busy on some of the projects I want to do around the house. I need to clean (again) our bedroom. Hubby is a world-class clutterer. I need to pull the books off the shelves here in the office and restack them. I need to do the same thing to my big armoire, which was supposed to be my "clothes closet" but has ended up as the repository for most of the things I hold dearest in life. Any little thing or treasure I get finds its way in there ... "for safekeeping", I whisper to myself. I guess I'm a hoarder at heart. I do the same thing with my desires and dreams. I hoard them away in my heart and mind, too scared to speak them aloud, lest I watch them float away and pop in thin air -- no more substantial than the soap bubbles I played with when I was a kid. I need to write. I so, so, so need to write. Like a burning ache inside of me, all the more painful for having been kept from it for so many days.

Yet, I know it's more likely than not that I won't do any of these things. Instead, I'll curl up with Fae on the sofa in the downstairs family room. If it's chilly, we'll turn on the heater and fight over who gets to sit closest to it. I'll have a Coke or a glass of iced tea handy. I'll listen to the rain patter against the roof and slush down the gutters. And I'll spend the fleeting free moments of my day flipping through the Tivo selections recorded there -- deleting some and watching others. And, in that way, reclaiming my space.

Bleh. I am definitely not as young as I used to be. We had pizza for dinner last night. In my younger years, I was a pizza-holic. I mean, I could have lived on the stuff. But, over the years, things change ... and tastes change. The upshot of all that being that we rarely have pizza any more. Last night, though, it sounded good. Plus, I had a rough day yesterday with the kiddo, which meant I wasn't able to slip into "writing mode" until pretty late in the evening. Having to cook dinner would have left me totally screwed. So, I agreed to the pizza quite readily.

Man, was that a mistake. It made me So Sick. I only ate three pieces, but I can't remember the last time I felt so awful. Maybe the cheese was bad or something. I kind of prefer thinking that to having to face the realization that I truly am an "old fart". What they say is true: Getting older isn't for sissies.

Needless to say, I did not sleep well. I wasn't able to get to bed until around 5 AM. Usually late nights don't bother me, but it pisses me off when I'm forced to stay up late because of something like this ... particularly when I don't get anything constructive done with the time. If I'm going to lose sleep, I want it to be worth it, you know? But, no ... I was feeling too bad to concentrate on anything other than mindless web surfing or anime watching. I settled for anime watching, and saw the first DVD for Full Metal Panic!TSR. I finally fell asleep around 6 AM, and got up at 10, still feeling a bit "ick". I'm not a happy camper today.

I did manage to get most of chapter 3 written yesterday on my latest project. I have to finish, I think, two sections on it and it'll feel "done". I remain excited about this project, which is refreshing. As I mentioned before, it's been a long time since I was excited over any of my original story ideas. I'm trying to milk that feeling to keep my enjoyment of the process and my story momentum going. At the same time, I can't help but worry about the story a bit. I worry I'm doing things all wrong, or that I'm being too boring, or that the pacing is just completely off, or my characters are complete duds, or my story is a complete dud. Yeah, basically, worry over everything you could possibly worry about with regard to a story. It's not that overwhelming, in-your-face kind of worry -- just a constant niggling in the back of my mind. I'm not dwelling on it, by any means. But, it's still there, which is an irritation. At this stage of things, though, I feel it's important to dismiss those worries and just get the story out there in a first draft.

Speaking of "worry" ... My mom called yesterday. Just your average, wanted-to-see-how-you-were-doing call. And, then, in the middle of the conversation, she drops the bomb that she's going in for surgery on Thursday. She found out that her renal artery is severly blocked, and her doctor is going to put in a stint to clear it. I hate that she does this to me. Just drops shit on me like this out of the blue. It's like getting whacked upside the head with a two-by-four and no warning at all. I had known she had gone in for a checkup because of her blood pressure acting up, but, when I asked about it, she told me everything was "fine", and that they hadn't found anything. Obviously, that was an untruth. To say the least. -.-

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Well, the title says it all, doesn't it? I'm so tired that I can't even manage to be creative with my LJ entry title today. Now, that is sad. Very, very sad.

My kiddo made it home safely yesterday. She seems really happy to be back, and I know I'm thrilled to have her home. Man, I missed her funny, little face. Isn't it strange how that works? She's only three, which means I lived 35 years of my life without her. But now, I can't even imagine a life without her in it. I have no idea how I managed to get along all those years before she was born. But I guess life is like that. Some things ... you don't know how much you need or want them until you actually have them with you. I guess it's good to take stock sometimes. Remember what is truly important and what is truly necessary in life.

I had a rough week. I was up till 5 and 6 AM pretty much every night over the past week, working on my latest writing endeavor. I'm hoping it'll turn out to be a book, but, at this point, I don't know yet. I did get the first chapter done, though. It's a far cry from any kind of "finished" product, but I felt so great about accomplishing that. I felt like I had a nice, solid start on the story. At this point, that's all I can hope for.

I was so tired last night and intended to go to bed early. But, nope. 5:30 AM rolled around to find me still up ... sitting in front of the computer and watching Peacemaker Kurogane. Because I HAD to finish it. I HAD to know what happened at the end. I came to the final moment of the final episode and realized, with a sinking feeling, that I like this show. Really, really like it. This is, in general, a bad thing for someone who collects production art, as it inevitably signals future suffering for my wallet. My wallet -- it BLEEDS!!

Sometimes, I will love a show and have no desire for the artwork. But, more often than not it works the other way around.

The one saving grace in this situation is that this is a Studio Gonzo show, which means there is likely to be very little art out there on the market. I've noticed Studio Gonzo shows seem to be like that, and I've been told they don't release much of the art from their productions. Heck, I'm still looking for more Samurai 7 art, with no luck. There was a Sam7 auction on Mandarake a week or two ago, but I wasn't able to bid on it at the time. I'm still so bummed over that. *deep&heavysigh*

So, early this AM, I decided to cruise YJ, just for grins -- to see what was out there (if anything) for Peacemaker. Lo and behold ... I ran across one auction for a fairly decent-sized lot of sketches. 15 sheets, if the auction info was correct. The pics were not great, but the sketches looked original, and the auction listed them as originals (or, rather the "babel code" used for original art). But I couldn't tell if they were super rough partials or what. I'm so spoiled by Sayuki artwork, and I often feel reluctant to spend large amounts on partial and/or very rough sketches. This is one big reason I don't collect sketch work from very many shows. Anyhow, I decided to put in a small bid. Mainly because I really did love the show and I still feel the sting of regret for having to pass on those Sam7 sketches. And, I won!! I got up this morning to find the winning bid notice in my inbox. I'm totally shocked, as I expected to get outbid. Now, I just hope there are at least a couple of decent images in the lot so I'll feel like I got my money's worth. *nervous laugh*

Goo Goo Dolls concert tonight! Whoop!! *happeh vibes*

I spent an entire day this week cleaning my house. I know there are people out there who spend several days every week doing nothing but housework. I'll freely admit I'm not one of them. Never have been. Never will be. I don't enjoy housework. I don't get any sense of fulfillment from it. Maybe I could, if not for one simple fact -- people live in the house. It's hard to find satisfaction or fulfillment in a job well done when you know everything will be a wreck about ten minutes after you finish. Fifteen, on a good day. I have a messy family. A husband who doesn't make the slightest effort to pick up after himself, and a three-year-old daughter. My daughter tries, but, really, she is only three. She is definitely on the right track, though. My hubby, whom I love with all my heart, is from the "everything needs to be visible" school of thought. His idea of organizing things is to put them in piles. Lots of piles. Everywhere. I kind of like things put away, so the piles ... well, they don't work for me. I look it as kind of an ongoing cold war between the two of us, or something. Hey, we're "old married" people. We have to do something for entertainment. =P

The funny thing about housecleaning, though, is that there is this feeling of ... Well, I'm not sure how to explain it. It's not satisfaction with having a clean house. It's not happiness over getting the job done. It's this sort of peaceful-ish feeling that can descend upon me in the midst of my "house cleaning rage". Kind of like a "zen", but not really. Maybe the best way to describe it is this feeling of connection with the house. In the midst of crawling around on my floors dusting the baseboards, or climbing the stairs on my knees in order to vacuum them, I will suddenly remember why I love this house. It's a house that feels good. One of those buildings that you put on when you walk into it, just one of those places where you feel at home as soon as you walk in. Or, at least that's the way I've always felt about it. And, looking into every nook and cranny reminds me of that. It reminds me of the hours I spent painting the walls ... of the love that went into the wooden floor my dad laid for us ... of the hopes, dreams, and anxieties I had on the night I painted the mural in my daughter's bedroom -- the night before she was born ... of the happiness and excitement my hubby and I had upon getting this place, our first home ... of the joy and, yes, fear I felt the first night we brought our little daughter home from the hospital ... of the hours spent laying on the floor with her, reading books and talking about her favorite things, like elephants and the color pink ... of the last moments I spent on Earth with my precious dog Tex, right there on our family room floor ... and so many more things, I don't think I can even begin to list them all here.

And then it hits me. A house isn't just brick and mortar. It isn't just four walls and a roof and windows and insulation. It's a living, breathing thing. It's love. Love that makes us take this step and buy into the "American Dream". Love that makes us plan on new cabinets and new flooring and new paint -- "someday". Love that makes us overlook a leaky window in favor of how good a house feels when you walk into it. Love that makes us sense that happiness, in the first place. Love that makes us want to paint and paper and put in new floors and countertops, all with our own hands. Not just because it's cheaper than hiring someone to do it, but because it's that important. Too important to miss out on the experience.

Yeah, I'm not much for cleaning. But I do love this house. And the family that resides within it. Sometimes, it's nice to remember the "little" things, don't you think?

(Cross-posted to my GJ ... because I can.)