Funny insight into my life part 2- Pysco Killer

So, we last left off with the strange concoction of smells making its way through the house. Fine, that part is now over. Let’s move on, shall we?

After dinner that same night, I am doing the dishes and the girls are upstairs getting things ready for bed. From where I am at in the kitchen, I can look upstairs (again, Family Room is 2 stories) right over the cat walk and into Belle’s bedroom. I can see the crazy mess that has taken over her space- and to be honest, this is no fault of her own. After cleaning out the garage to make room for the beer fridge to resume its rightful place, I moved some of the large boxes of toys into her room. It had been so nice over the summer that the girls never wanted to be inside, and now that there has stated to be a chill in the air it was time to finally unpack these boxes. As a side note, we have never lived in a house before without an instant playroom, better known as a basement. When moving in, it was decided that Belle would have the bigger bedroom and, therefore, house all of the toys in her space. Hence, the large boxes of dress up clothes, Polly Pockets and God only knows what else is now sprawled out in the middle of her floor. Anyway, I am standing downstairs, looking up to her room and telling her its pajama time, and that’s when I saw it.

The cockroach.

OMG people- I just got the chills again having only typed the word.

Let me put this into perspective. I am on an entirely different level and I can see that thing as plain as day. On her ceiling. Taughting me. DARING me to come and kill it.

Now, let me explain that never in my life have I seen a cockroach (or, nicer word, “palmetto bug”, but heck, they are all grossly disgusting) until I moved south. Everyone tells me that they are just a part of life here, and as the weather is starting to get colder, like any disgusting outside creature, it is looking for warmer climate. All I want to say is how about Florida? I hear that’s where all the cool cockroaches go this time of year. Please, anywhere but my house.

I realize as I am looking at the large cardboard boxes that I have just moved in from the garage that I am most likely the one that transported that thing inside. Nice way to hitch a free ride you freaky little thing. And maybe not so little, as I am still downstairs staring up at what looks to be about the size of a silver dollar, realizing that I am going to have to take care of this.

Time to call in reinforcements.

So, I tell Belle that she needs to go downstairs and repack her bag for school or some nonsense like that because the last thing I want is for her to see it. Then I tell GG to come into Belle’s bedroom. She’s no dummy- she hesitates as she gets to the door. She can smell my fear.

“Look,” I say, “just keep an eye on that thing and I will get a cup and kill it.” She could not physically be any closer to the room without actually crossing the threshold and gave me that look like “I’m not going in there!” I of course, don’t blame her. I don’t want to be doing this any more than, well, anything. But I tell myself that I have to set the example, that girls can do anything, that it’s only a bug- no reason to be afraid. That is what I am saying on the outside. On the inside I want to close my eyes, click my heels, and for all of this to just go away. No luck. So, I get the cup and the step ladder, cautiously position myself at the right angle to capture it, but not really sure what I am going to do after I jail it with the large plastic cup… on the ceiling. But, I go after it anyway, and that’s when it happens.

The thing flies right at me!

OMGI have never moved so fast in all my life! I am convinced it’s in my hair (aren’t there stories about a cockroach getting into some woman’s hair or something? Maybe that’s a bat… at this point it’s all relative…) I am jumping up and down, flinging my hands through my hair, and whipping off my shirt all in about 1.3 seconds, convinced it is on me (it never was. Let’s just go with that.) GG and I run out of the room. The beast is now out of sight.

Crap. Now what? I can’t put Belle back in there, and I certainly can’t tell her about it- she would be sleeping in my bed until the age of 17. I seriously thought about closing the door and taking the Scarlet O’Hara approach- deal with it another day- but then I know I may never be able to go back in there- the creature would own the room. So, I face my fear and tiptoe back in. You know, to take it by surprise.

I sneak around, and then suddenly spot it on the top of Belle’s dresser behind a picture frame. Think you can hide, do you? Ha! I hesitate for a few seconds; I have lost my cup to capture it, and don’t have anything else with me. But I can’t lose this opportunity, and realistically, I just want this OVER with. I move in for the kill- that sucker is fast and starts to make his move, and I crush it with the shirt that is in my hands that was on my back only minutes earlier. I am not taking any chances here- I make GG get the biggest book she can find and then I smash that on top of the shirt- just for good measure. I am still convinced that it might have survived the assault, so I bundle up the shirt- take a quick peek at the dresser to make sure that I didn’t leave it there by accident, and then promptly throw the whole thing away.

Done.

But know what the sad part is?

I really liked that shirt.

Funny insight into my life #1- What’s that smell?

So, as I have mentioned, this life is pretty crazy. 

I am good, until I am not.  The “not” usually occurs when something- any significant thing- happens out of the norm and causes the juggling act to loose its balance and then something  topples to the floor.  From there, it is just a comedy of errors that follows as I try to regain some sense of normalcy. 

With that in mind, I have entered into the next phase to try to get the house together.  The first occurred prior to the girls getting here, and I was on a proverbial rampage trying to update the basics and make this a place we could call our own.  After the girls arrived, the focus has been on settling into our new routine, getting involved in school and just trying to make the best out of every day.  Now, the dust has settled some, and the next phase is underway.

Phase II started with getting some paint work done.  The family room is two stories, and there was no way I could have done this myself, so I saved up the money to hire a painter.  They came in and did a nice job, although in my haste I realized I chose the wrong shade of green for the accent wall surrounding the fire place.  The painters agreed to come back out and re-do the wall for me, which was very sweet.  I had Monday off work, so it was perfect timing.  They finished the job (which would have taken me about 3 hours) in about 20 minutes, but on their way out, they accidently left a large green paint spot… on the back of the white couch.  I immediately whipped off the slipcover and broke out the bleach.  Needless to say, that spot is there to stay.

Since I had the day off, I figured it was also perfect timing to have the new fridge delivered as well.  When I moved to Georgia I took what I had in the moment, and that would have been our beer fridge that we used to keep in the garage.   This fridge, bless it’s heart, is just not cut out to be the everyday fridge for a family; it is small in size, has wire shelves that promotes a lot of items being tipped over, and the door barely seals.  I found a floor model on clearance and was excited about the delivery.  That was, until the crew left behind a huge stain on the carpet from where they let the hand truck rest mid-move.  Ugh.  Time to break out the hydrogen-peroxide (this works great as a carpet cleaner, by the way) and get to work.  This was a nice combination with the paint/bleach smell already circling in the air.

Now that the fridge was in place, it was time to unload all of the fridge contents that I had placed in laundry baskets.   The items had been out a short while, and it was rainy that day, so the bottles and jars were covered in condensation.  Mid way through my hands proved a little slippery, and therefore I should not have been surprised when the large jar of pickles fell from my hands and shattered all over the floor. There were definite swear words that followed.  The strong scent of vinegar that permeated through the kitchen to connect with the paint/bleach/ hydrogen peroxide combo that was already simmering like a witch’s brew in the family room soon took over the entire downstairs.  

Nice.

Did I mention it wasn’t even dinner time yet?

In Her Shoes

Everyone has their favorite room in their house.  It could be the place where you have your favorite chair, or created a tranquil space all your own where every Sunday you read the paper.  It could be due to the color scheme, or that it is typically alive with the energy of the family, or maybe you like the way the light shines into the space during the early morning hours.  I love certain places in my house for all of these reasons and more, but there is a place that truly expresses who I am-

My closet.

OK- more specifically, the shoes in my closet.

I am not even embarrassed to admit this.  Anyone that knows me knows that I love shoes- they are the icing to any outfit, and can take you from dull to daring in 3.2 seconds.  But if you were ever to come over and stand in front of my collection of shoes all lined up in a row, there is something else that you would see if you just look a little closer… all of the facets of myself that these shoes represent.

I love how my career shoes are all together (organized by color and then style, of course).  Their long heels hanging over the edge, just looking intimidating and powerful.  Move down a little more and you will see a nice collection of high heel sandals and wedges, dressy and fun, just waiting for the right evening out.  Then we will move onto pairs that are a little more practical- the lower heels, and the many, many pair of flip flops.  Fast.  Efficient.  Low maintenance.  They cover my feet in a flash for when I am ready to be on the go.  Eventually, you will come to the last section, which is functional.  Here rests my running shoes, outdoor work shoes, and hiking boots.  And yes, the one pair of snow boots that I diligently hung on to- just in case.

The point of this is, like so many women, I have many facets of who I am as an individual.  Who I am in one situation may change as to who I need to be in the next, but all of these characteristics never go away- I just pull them off the shelf as needed to help carry me through the moment.

So in this I find a very interesting quandary; if we, as women, acknowledge that we are all complex creatures, and can share a love for something as simple as shoes, then why are we so judgmental and hard on each other?

This has really been on my mind over the past few weeks.  Personally, I struggle with the feeling of being judged- I will admit that I am sensitive to it, and feel that I am probably more than actually happens.   Take in point an incident that occurred a few weeks ago.  I was stranded in the O’hare airport due to delayed flight (over 5 hours delayed, but that is another story).  It was challenging enough to try to reschedule conference calls and due dates that I would miss due to being mid-air when I thought I would have been long since home, but the real challenge was trying to arrange child care for my girls.  I thought I would be the one to get them off the bus and where they needed to be that evening, but as sometimes happens, life got in the way of my well laid out plans.  After multiple frantic calls to family, I thought I had it figured out.  When I landed, I called my mom, and the line went to voice mail.  I then called my dad, who picked up the phone and said he was at Church.  He was the one who was supposed to have my kids.   I immediately imagine them stranded, all alone.  I took a quick inventory and suddenly I was the crazy woman screaming into the phone “WHO HAS MY KIDS!?!?!”

Oh…. The looks I had from the other women around me.  I am sure the thoughts of “What kind of mother doesn’t even know who has her kids?” flashed as fast as lightening in a summer storm through their minds.  Or maybe it didn’t, because it was too busy going through my own mind. 

 But even if it didn’t happen, we all know that it does happen, and we women tend to be the guilty party.  In the end my situation was a simple misunderstanding and everyone was safe and sound, but the bystanders never see that side of the story.

Here’s the ironic thing- we, as women, know that we all struggle.  We struggle to be everything to everyone, to find time, to find balance, to find ourselves.  We expect perfection from ourselves and certainly from others, and are disappointed when this unrealistic expectation can’t be met.  We should be the community that lifts each other up, and instead we are the first ones to cut each other down.   I think this is one reason why we are so fiercely loyal to our friends, and rely on them so heavily for support.  We know that we will never have to worry about that with these comrades, we will have each other’s back in any battle big or small.  In this group we are not working against each other, but instead come together as a band of sisters that are there for each other, no matter what.

I saw a facebook posting the other day from a mom who was commenting about other girls being cruel to her young daughter.  It was not the first time I saw something like this, and I am certain it will not be the last.  It is heartbreaking to have an outward reminder that this behavior starts so young, and realize that this girl will one day be the woman trying to undermine another female co-worker, make the flash judgment of the mom with the screaming child in the grocery store, or perhaps the crazy lady in the airport. 

I would never say that I am not guilty of this, but I do think that I have gotten better over the years to realize that there is no one way to do something, but I do the best I can with my way.   I would be the first to admit that my way is not right for everyone, just as your way may not be right for me.  But I have committed that before I make that judgment of another woman, before I snap to thinking about how she is doing it all wrong, I will take a step back, and think about her shoes, and all the other ones she inevitably has at home.  I will take a moment to realize that maybe today just isn’t her day, and this is the best she has in this moment, and most importantly, that I myself have been there.