The vision receded in time. It took its leave for good when the girls arrived on the scene and rewrote my life plan in crayon scrawls and lipsticked walls and princess squealing. Still, sometimes I wonder who those little boys were, who was on the phone, how I knew I was alone, that my sons were solely my responsibility. I wonder whom they went to, which mother has those handsome little guys now. I do feel like they are out there somewhere—change of plans, sorry, fellas, you’re headed to Cleveland—although this is a silly thing to admit. But my charm lies in admitting the silly things. Someone has to. So.
Pushing the curtains aside I saw white. Snow everywhere. Power out! The terrible succession of thoughts, collapsing like Dominoes and crushing a Candyland route of brain cells:
No furnace!
No heat!
No stove!
No coffee!
No DVD player or TV (this one made me gasp aloud as I heard H-Bomb stirring in the next room and thought MY GOD SATURDAY MORNING WHAT WILL WE DO WITH THE CHILD)!
No email (another gasp)!
No phone (okay, not bad).
I give it two weeks. But it gives me great joy right now. Sometimes, it takes so little.
I just hope Mrs. Kitchen likes it. We are thinking of hanging a sign for her: “Mrs. Kitchen’s Kitchen.”
I know many of you are home improvement voyeurs, as I am. This one goes out to my fellow twisted paint-chip droolers and paintbrush fondlers.
Get your Death and Ghosts on! Get your Rocks off! I update because I love you.
I see faces when I go to sleep at night. I have met a few other people who see faces too. But not too many folks.
My job (the one that feeds the family and pays for vet bills) requires that I stay on top of the latest trends in home decor, which means I spend a lot of time browsing “shelter” magazines.
Which, if you happen to meet the definition of poverty for the state you are living in, is about as good for you as eating three cups of Jawbreakers immersed in a bowl of Coca-Cola for breakfast every morning.
But knowledge is power. I hereby pass the savings down to you.
‘Twas six mornings before Christmas (and four mornings into Hanukkah)
And in the squalid bathroom of a house
Two humans were tooth-brushing
When the smaller (age five) spied a mouse
Voting ends tomorrow night, and thank you thank you thank you to all of you intrepid b’eaw readers who are keeping me in the running, despite the fact that I do not have the word ‘rock’ in my blog title. One last time…with feeling:
VOTE HERE VOTE HERE CLICK CLICK CLICK, AS SANDS THROUGH THE HOURGLASS, SO ARE THE VOTES OF OUR LIVES
Originally my mother was hoping that I’d be successful enough at this stage of my life to buy her a shore house with a Polish immigrant pool boy and enough space for impromptu polka parties. But faring well in a blog contest could buy me another 10 years on the shore house.
