Join Me in Snarkville

There’s nothing like a wee bit of stress for Prince and I to start declaring that the other one can go live in the yard.  I know you are all jealous of the crazy love around here.  Here’s the short list of stupid things that bring about the panic:

We have a front loading washing machine.  Did you know that when you move them you need to have shipping bolts installed so that the drum doesn’t move in transit?  Neither did I until Wednesday.  When I looked it up and confirmed, sure enough they do (which I ought to note, I didn’t learn this from my moving company) — I called Prince in a panic.  I called to price said bolts.  I freaked out that our moving company didn’t have clue how to move my precious washer.

Update: On Friday the moving company called to confirm that they have hired the right person to prep our washer — which come to fine out includes draining said washer — a panic I totally missed.

I had more examples — but for the life of me, I can not remember them.

[I know it has been a long time, things have been happening -- but something happened tonight that reminded me why I did this once.  While this may be disjointed (and perhaps not funny), sometimes there is a new beginning inside a goodbye.]

About 7 years ago, I left a job to go to a new job.  The old job was one I’d grown to hate and the new job held a little excitement and a HUGE pay increase.  So, at my required farewell lunch (required because I’m not sure the people at my old job liked me anymore than I’d come to like them), one of the girls I did happen to like said something truly odd.  Despite the fact we’d hardly ever been social outside of work and there seemed to be no reason to believe what she was saying, she said, “I refuse to say goodbye.  I just have this feeling that we will see each other again.”  I have no idea why that stuck with me.  I can say that the lunch we had was the very last time I ever saw her — in fact, I can not remember her name. Maybe I liked her hope or her lack of experience, since I knew I would never look back and move on without regret.

At one time that story would not have phased me.  I would have felt sorrow for the young woman so mis-guided to not understand that saying goodbye is just a part of life.  At one time in my life I said goodbye with ease.  I’d change jobs and never look back.  I’d move across the country without a thought to the people I left behind.  I once giggled how I knew no one from high school anymore or really even college.  I kept no long term connections with anyone.  I would just pick-up and move on to the next spot and start anew.  At this point in my life, other than my family, I have ONE long distance friend — that I keep up with regularly.  I don’t know exactly how I pulled that off, but weekly phone calls helps — along with her understanding that my gifts will arrive at some point.  You’d think with my abilities to be hyper-connected on the net, I’d be better at it — but sadly, I’m not.

Then, I pulled my head out of my butt and saw that I was not in fact the center of the universe.  I know, I was shocked too.

Less than a year ago, I walked to pick Duke up from school with the Queen Mum.  We spoke of moving and changes and I said something I never thought I’d say, “I’m tried of being temporary.”  I moved to the District of Snark (DoS) knowing that I would move.  Six years later I moved to the Snark state.  Now, I face another move, but this is the first time I’m feeling both the excitement of the move and the loss of the people I’m leaving behind.  You see, this was the move I did something radical — I made friends.

This wasn’t the move that all was permenant from the beginning, I live in a temporary home (Frankenhouse) and I live with half my stuff packed (thanks, Frankenhouse), but I had something that would get me out of the house and bring me to be around people, good people.  Months before we left DoS, I learned to knit.  As a baby knitter, I moved 3,000 miles away from the only yarn store I’d been to and found people — People I like.  People who at least act like they like me.

I often say that I’m not like the people here, but in a shop filled with yarn, projects in our laps, we were all the same and yet vastly different.  I met women who are the type of people you want to just hang out with.  I have been in awe that these women even speak to me.  They are the biggest hearted group (you know the type — they knit for other people); they make the world a better place.  I don’t think they even know how much they inspire me.

So, the long way around this is that it is time I say goodbye again.  Tonight I was at knit night and there was cake (which was BEAUTIFUL) and laughter and teasing and everything I could have wanted in a goodbye — except that it had to end.  I held it together and didn’t cry, until I sat alone in my car on the way home.  For the first time in my life, I’ve been inspired to do something I’ve never been good at, keep my long distance friends.

The thing is this group of women gave me the one thing I never thought I’d find here in Snarkville — something that wasn’t temporary.  I know they will help me as I forge new ground in this — heck, there’s already talk of video during knit night.  So, as hard as this is to admit and harder knowing that I’m going to be doing it — for the first time in my life, I said exactly what I mean:  “I *WILL* keep in touch.  I want to be a part of your lives more.  I want you to be a part of mine.  I will miss you.  You have been the highlight of this part of my journey.  And thank you — for the laughs, the tears, and the constant encouragement for me to be better: a better person, a better knitter, a better friend.”

And with that, I bring you a return of Snarkville.

I have a few, wee minutes to share the BIG plan for the Queen Mum’s birthday and the aftermath.

As most know, the Queen Mum lives too far away from Snarkville.  So, we video chat often to keep in touch and it is wonderful, except for that part that she’s drinking wine at 2pm my time and I’m wondering if it would be ok to join her.  Anyway.

So, for her birthday, Duke asked if we could get cupcakes and have a party.  It took about 2 seconds for all parties to agree.  So, we bought cupcakes in Snarkville and cupcakes were purchased in Far, Far, Away From Snarkville.  Then we met online.  Well the joy didn’t end there — it seems that the Queen Aunt joined us too online and there was a video party full of cupcakes, candles, and songs.  I’m pretty sure it was the best long distance birthday possible.

But, I have to tell you that my son picked out the cupcakes here in Snarkville.  He picked out “2 bite cupcakes.”  They were little and cute and he wanted those.  Ok, no problem.  We had our party and I put them away and didn’t think about them again, until I came home from knitting last night.  Prince declares — “You can not call it a cupcake if it takes you longer to peel the wrapper off than it does to eat it.”

Maybe we will have to do Cross Country Cupcakes again — this time with REAL cupcakes.

Or alternatively, Bah-Humbug!

First, it appears I only can post these days on holidays, for this I’m sorry.  I have something highly stressful going on and rarely can vent without a massive need to talk about it — which doesn’t make me good to be around.  Until this passes (and it will SOON), I’ll look forward to the day when I’m back with you all more often and more snark. Anyway, greener thoughts…right?

Now, I’m going to admit something here that I’ve never said out loud.  As much as I dislike the Hallmark holiday of Valentine’s Day and it’s forced love, I don’t care for St. Patrick’s Day more.  I know that the vast majority of people think this is a happy go lucky little day in which you wear bright green and drink oddly colored beer.  I however do not.  Allow me to outline (in my favorite form) the reasons.

1. I wear a lot of green.  It happens to be my favorite color.  I believe it to be nature’s neutral (look outside — nature uses green as much if not more than browns) and there is a shade of green that looks good on everyone.  Yes, even you in the back row who is scrunching your face up and declaring that green looks horrible on you — you just haven’t found the RIGHT green.  But despite the fact I can be found wearing green most days, it appears that I’m hardwired to be contray and always want to wear red on St. Patrick’s Day.  I also forget this odd rule about wearing green until someone happens to mention to me that I’m not in fact wearing green.  Oh, well.
2. I do not get the point.  Is the point to go on a pub crawl, get incredibly drunk, and act stupid?  Well, then I’ve celebrated a lifetime of St. Patrick’s Days in college (Sorry, Daddy), and I grew up (a little) and don’t find it much fun anymore.  Is the point to celebrate some connection to our Irish heritage, then why is it that I rarely seem to find actual Irish celebrating?
3. What’s the deal with the leprechauns?  When I was younger and learning about these little guys, we were taught how they were tricky and mean.  Why are they now suddenly leaving candy and goodies for kids?  Don’t we really have enough holidays where we hype our kids up on sugary goodness.  Pots of gold are all nice and all, but I’m not building a trap any time soon.
4. So little is actually known about St. Patrick, the man, that we end up celebrating horrible stereotypes and cute cartoon of the Irish people.  On one level it is mildly annoying, on another, it is downright offensive.  At least some part of me is Irish, and I’m not a drunk, a cartoon, or cheap — I do however, really like potatoes — so that’s something, right?
5. Finally, all this craziness means that much of the US is missing the real holiday that is occurring today.  Today is the Queen Mum’s birthday!  She has been forced to endure countless combo birthday/St. Patrick’s day cards, green cakes/pies, and perhaps a pint of beer or two.  The poor woman has suffered enough.  I declare the silliness with a St. Patrick’s Day to end and the celebration of a birthday to begin!!!  Happy Birthday, Mum. We all love you and this afternoon we will have cupcakes together!

Now, in other thought provoking radical ideas.  I’d just like to mention that I happen to hold on of Time Magazine’s “10 Ideas Changing the World” — Idea number three in fact.  In the words of the article: “Calvinism is back.”  Who would have thought that 50 is the new 30; Pink is the new Black; and Calvinism is the radical idea??  (I do love being ahead of the bandwagon.)

In a few simple steps.

1. Do not read the directions about NOT putting the names on the Valentine’s that were to be sent in.
2. Hand=make all the Valentine’s and COVER them with glitter.
3. Keep your child out of school, forcing the volunteer to pass out the glitter covered, named Valentine’s.

Add to this that at least THREE of the other students’ parents failed the “No Name” rule.

Add in 18 SCREAMING, sugar starved children who are just too excited to be still.

Finally, stir in the slow, sad realization that the glitter covered mess will be entering my house in a few short hours.

I can just picture the mom reading the directions while holding the jar of glitter and thinking….’ohhh, something shiny.’

I’ve made no secret that my family does not DO Valentine’s Day.  (And I ought to note that the “my family” I’m referring to here is really just Prince and me — but still.)  We sit on our high horses and claim things like “It is a Hallmark Holiday.” “Seriously, we can say ‘I love you’ without overpriced flowers and candy.” “Do these chocolates make my butt look fat?”

I take great joy in the conversations Prince has with his buddies from work. “Dude, what did you get your wife for Valentine’s Day?” “Nothing.” “OOOOHHHH, You are gonna be in trouble.” “You think?  Want to bet $10 that she doesn’t even say ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ to me?”

But, we can not opt our darling from the Valentine’s Day fun.  When we were little we loved those little coversation hearts too.

Now, I do have basic rules around the day — first, we don’t do store bought cards (see above about Hallmark holiday).  Now, I’m not against store bought cards, but I prefer to do something that is more personal and fun.  Second, we believe in forcing any amount of sugar on other kids as possible — and the more the school begs us not to, the more my hard heart wants to send in chocolate covered sugar bombs.

So, today, we were home from school and prepping for Valentine’s Day.  I looked for some craft ideas — and happened upon this one. I hate to admit this, but I do love the Martha craft thing.  This was incredibly easy.  I cut out a billion hearts, punched a hole and inserted a lollipop.  Um, hello!!! This couldn’t have been easier or cuter.  Duke is working on putting his name on all of them and they are done and awesome.

Best part: Since I had the construction paper, the hole punch, and the tape to hold it all together.  This craft took us 1 hour and $1.99 to complete.  TOTAL.

…according to Duke:

Take One:
“It is the King’s Birthday.”

Take Two:
Martin Luther King got shot. They didn’t like what he said and they shot him. Then he died.

(So, what did he say that they didn’t like?)

That we were all the same on the outside, even if we are different on the inside.

Does he go to the best school or what???

Tonight I have a horrible headache. The kind that makes me want to poke my eyeballs back into my head, since they just must be poking out. So, I go to the cabinet and pull out two pills for my head. Duke follows and says:

“My head hurts too. I need Medi-Care.”

“huh, what?”

“I need Medi-Care. Actually, I need a ’scription plan.”

That’s it — no more TV for that kid.

(In case you needed to know, I gave him a vitamin — which according to him, didn’t make his head feel any better. I do hope this will work until he’s old enough for Medi-Care.)

Sometimes, you need just a small record of the incredible things that come out our mouths. Today — it seemed we were on a roll.

“Well, I’m mad too. And I’m the Dad, so *MY* mad is better than your mad.”

“I’m just channeling my inner Lucy.” (Said as I literally turned on the mixer with the better covered in chocolate cake was NOT in the cake batter and it sprayed my kitchen.”

“Ok, fine. When you get the cake out of the oven and let it cool then you are GOING to come back here and read me the one about the vans.” (Said as I explained that I had to get the cake out of the oven and thus could not read him yet another story before he went to sleep — kiss me and go to sleep.)

“But Mama, it is SUUUNNNNDDDDAAAAYYY. We have pancakes on Sunday.” “Honey, I know, but we overslept and I have to get in the shower before we go to church. I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you pancakes for lunch AFTER church.” “No, we can’t have pancakes AFTER church, we’ll need to have LUNCH then and pancakes are for breakfast.” (I share this one to share the last one….)

“Mama, make pancakes for dinner.”
(Apparently pancakes are a breakfast or a dinner food — but not a lunch food.)

You know when you may have lost your mind a bit, you get upset, you move on, then realize that it is kinda funny and you want to share it on your blog, then you write it all out (honestly believing that you have taken the insanity label), and then you get a call that you hurt someone else? Oh, wait, is that just me?

Blogs are funny things. On one hand the blogs I love to read the most are witty and fun loving and well, self-deprecating. Since my own personal sense of humor is rather sarcastic and self-deprecating, I try my best to do the same. The problem is that sometimes I am not all that good at it. On the other hand, blogs are windows into our lives and perhaps pulls back the curtain on how less than perfect we all are.

I’m normally ok with people knowing how not perfect I am. I know this is utterly shocking, but I’m not perfect and I’m pretty ok with sharing my weaknesses and failings — provided two wee points: 1. I’m the one sharing; I doubt anyone appreciates being told what their shortcomings are* 2. I’m ready to laugh at myself a bit.

I write this blog for lots of reasons, only one of which is to laugh at myself a bit. I’m willing to let you laugh at me too while I’m laughing — but I find more often that I’m told “you aren’t the only one” or “that’s not so bad” — so maybe I’m more normal than I thought. The bigger reasons I write is because I love the attention — hey, I’m honest; occasionally I think I have something to say; and perhaps, just perhaps, I’ll find something meaningful in it all.

The final problem is the blogs are public. Blogs are open to people we may not want to know that we are human and have faults. Done right the blog is the window into what someone is truly thinking or feeling when the public world they’d never show it. This is truly sad since we know in our hearts that all are human, but horribly some people in this use our own faults against us (can we say grade school?). Perhaps they think that pushing others down they lift themselves up — but you know someone who is like this. They may not be the top of your party invite list, but you avoid sharing anything that would make you seem less than perfect with this person.

A great case in point is that in a former life I used to work with a woman who I nicknamed “WonderMommy.” She was that mom — her pregnancy was perfect (often speaking of the glories of a life growing inside her); her baby was perfect (smarter than average, better than others, most assuredly better than your child…whatever), and her life was perfect. Well, the thing is after talking to her twice, I began to want to chip away at her all too rosey view of mommyhood. I firmly believe that parts of being a mom suck and her “everything is perfect” attitude made me sick. It became a game and frankly the only way I could speak to her and not want to run away screaming. After some time, I was talking to another co-worker and she summed it simply, “Wow, she must be really miserable to want to make us think everything is so great.”

That stuck. It dawned on me then and I still have to remind myself, that it is because I’m not a miserable person that I can bring up the negative bits of myself. Oh, you could talk about being secure in your own skin (something I really don’t think of myself as being), but I think it is more that I don’t have to convince myself everyday that this is ok; that life is ok. I have found in the years since dealing with WM that red flags go off when I hear someone being too positive or too rosey — even when that person is me. When I’m stressed or things look gloomy, I get in that mode of reminding myself (and those unfortunately around me) how good it is.

So alas, this is a long way around saying I was ok with telling the world that I have a pet peeve or nine, this either makes be highly comfortable in my own skin or totally in denial.  I’m going with the former — since if it is the latter, I’ll never admit it.  Ah, finally a Win-Win.