Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Problems and Peonies




At the risk of repeating myself, I knew I was in for some real trouble today when I woke up in cold sweats because I had casually not gone to a single class all semester and tomorrow was finals and I had to race to the Registrar's office to find a handbook on the policy for these situations but they were all out of handbooks so I raced to the bulletin board where all the syllabuses (I can't do "syllabi" when I'm in stone-cold REM sleep. You understand.) but some rude jock had taken them all down and sprayed them with graffiti, rendering them illegible.

(For what it's worth, I don't remember ever visiting the Registrar's office in real life, and there was no such bulletin board.)

But the more pressing question is, WHAT ON EARTH IS MY PROBLEM? And even more compelling, why does my brain, at the very least, not know to switch to a more seasonally appropriate recurring nightmare?

It's not like I'm behind the eight-ball or drowning in a pile of deadlines or tasked with doing anything even vaguely productive right now.

Nope.




I'm baking muffins, reading on lounge chairs, refereeing arguments, eating Popsicles, getting groceries (< this would actually be a more logical nightmare. Will she ever get out of Kroger? Will she have forgotten her Plus card at check-out again? For the love of all that's holy, will she ever remember to buy Worcestershire sauce? Or learn to pronounce it???)

Mostly, my full-time job is keeping my wits and repeating my mantras and clawing for perspective and patience like my life depends on it.

Mostly, my job is waving it off when my kids decide they are "tired of grapes" and would rather have a cache of perfectly ripened mangoes at their disposal.



Mostly, my job is to listen to hours upon sun-soaked hours of this:

Si: Mom, how much hours is it?
Me: How many hours for what?
Si: No. How. Much. HOURS. Until the thing.
Me: What thing, buddy? You need to give me more than that.
Si: Why do I need to give you something? Just how much hours???
Me: (gives up)

And this:

Si: Listen, Mommy! I'm going to say all the numbers but like they start with F. Fun Foo Free Four...Fenty-fix...Fifty-five! Hey, that worked!...Feighty-feven...
Me: (retreats to a happier place around fixteen)

And this:

Ruby: When do we get to go back to that one place?
Me: I need more info, Rubes.
R: 'member? We went that one time? Never-mind.
Me: Just give me some details! I don't like it when you guys never-mind me. Just try again!
R: Well, we like went there and...like...stayed at the house and played with...like...our friends.
Me: Think about what you're saying and try again (simultaneously dies a small soul-death).
R: We went to that one place and like, I mean, sorry, we went there and played with...(trying so hard not to say "like") our friends?
Me: Who? Or where were we? Describe the place! (Miraculously opts not to pick the battle of ending statements with a question mark because Jesus died, rose again, and sits at the right hand of God.)
R: I don't know! We went on a tube in the water.
Me: Melinda's house at the lake?
R: Yes!
Me: Oh. I don't know when we'll go back.
Si: Wait. Go back where???

Let's just say I catch myself saying things like, "You're going to have to do your best to not be annoying on purpose or we'll all lose our minds."

I'm not proud of it.

Let's just say, hypothetically, that my youngest child padlocked the closet where I keep the broom then LOST THE KEY.

Enough about me, how's your summer going? (She asked, brightly.)

Here's the thing, and I don't want you to throw a cream pie in my face (please actually do throw a cream pie in my face) or egg my car (we might not even notice.) I hate to be too ridiculously optimistic and I suffer daily the impulse to rebrand myself as a staunch alarmist. But all things considered, I'm still landing on this is the good life.

And I say that as a woman who knows.
I say that as a woman caught in a speed trap this afternoon after spending hours in the 90-degree heat at a pool with 3 children and a neighbor girl, a woman issued a ticket by an officer younger than her oldest son who dared to say, "I have to do this, Ma'am. Please watch your speed", a woman who was greeted at home fifteen minutes later by a fine for an unpaid toll which she strategically missed after carefully weighing her options and deciding against the one that would have threatened her very life along with the life of countless other motorists.

Sue me.




Actually, please don't. Not with the streak of bad luck I'm dangling from today.

Because today's mail also brought a notice for a parking ticket incurred last month in an unknown city wherein myself, Cory, and two equally-educated friends stared at a street signage long enough for our eyes to cross and unanimously decided it was a safe public parking space.

HELP A SISTER OUT, LAW ENFORCEMENT.

I retreated to my room and cried for a solid hour, which did strange things to my heart, and I'm not just referring to the fact that God and I had a come-to-Jesus moment (??) or the fact that Silas crept in and fought back his own tears over my sadness while silently rubbing my back.

>> This just in: The Martin kids now believe a speeding ticket is just one degree removed from death itself.<<



Tomorrow is a new day. We'll pick berries and remember how much we love each other. We'll land softly in a new place of perspective. I'll remember how impossibly wonderful Cory is, how widely I miss the "deserving" mark.

 
 


I'll remember the no-brainer-good days, like the one a few weeks ago when we tooled around Oscar Morse Peonies, just a few miles from our front door and in full bloom. The owner's daughter took her time showing us around that afternoon and let Si and Rubes pluck as many petals off the ground to make perfume (eau de Rotting Raccoon Carcass?) I'll remember how, before we left, she opened a giant refrigerator in the garage and handed me two bundled of dormant peonies that bloomed in my kitchen the same afternoon and in my soul for the next two weeks.

As with all of life, this is summer.
We get to live the weird, the wonderful, and even the grim. We get to call it all Good.



PS - Early next week I'm sending out a Super Scoop newsletter where I answer a bunch of questions my email-friends have asked me, and y'all, they went straight for the guts, light, simple fare like, "how do you survive in marriage," and "how do you deal with fear?" and "What do you do when you feel alone?" and, easiest of all, "How do you discern God's will?" Gah, I LOVE MY EMAIL FRIENDS! They got the memo that I hate small-talk and it blesses my murmuring heart. Make sure you've subscribed to the Super Scoop newsletter so you don't miss out!