Even as a small child, each night I would tuck my hairless cabbage Patch kid into bed next to me (she was a girl and her name was Genevieve and she came with waist length hair). She didn't have hair because our 12 year old foreign exchange student from Italy decided to hang her by her hair from the bare lightbulb In a bedroom at my grandparents' farmhouse.
I'm pretty sure I could write a memoir about that one experience and how it has affected my psyche in ways such as:
I hate hair cuts
I don't like to look at Genevieve for too long, even now.
2. Tell her that boba fett demanded she wear a mask
Anywho, Genevieve. Yes. I think Italian schoolboys should be forced to go through sensitivity training before being recruited as gondoliers.
What am I even trying to write?
Yes, my parents loved to take random children in. If my mother were questioning our decision to foster (for the record, she never has), I would drop my drugs and say, "I learned it by watching you, OK?"
I don't really do drugs. That was a reference to an 80s commercial. Unwad your panties.
So, anyway. The unliked thing.
The weekend before last we went to Cincinnati to see how bad Lucy's kidneys were looking. I cried a lot, and there were many trips to the cafeteria for Diet soda that willl give me bladder cancer and Starbucks lattes that were way overpriced.
They were my way of dealing with a crappy situation, of watching my girl undergo painful tests and having nothing to say other than, "how much is the intravenous Diet Coke drip, and can I get a lumbar massage with that?"
Last weekend we went to my cousin's wedding in Detroit. I got to ride shotgun with Star Wars mask sister in law (yes, she and my brother ... they're really that cute..I kind of wish they were ugly so I wouldn't have to even attempt to try...)
And I watched my nieces and daughter be flower girls and there was a bar open from 5 to 10 and lots of frivolity and at one point In the middle of the party I tried my cousins dress on and fell in a bathtub:
(Link will appear here after scott gets home from work because it is recorded on his phone)
While you wait, here's an attempted selfie. I'm not sure why we both have wandering eyes.Just for the record, she was already 15 minutes late walking down the aisle, but no hurry. I love this girl. The night before the wedding she offered my nephew the ring bearer gig. Now that's MY kind of planning.
Sometimes it's nice to be the me that's not the holder of hearts and hands; the me who dresses funky and doesn't worry about what to cook for dinner or catheterization schedules or why my double chin is growing at an alarming rate. Sometimes I like to not constantly be wondering what the guest in my house will see in the toilet or if the hand towel is something other than a threadbare Hello Kitty washcloth.
Some nights I want to be the college me who goes to Bath and Body Works in Des Moines with my crazy friend Lisa. We go not because I have a shopping list full of pressing needs, but because we had two hours to kill between classes and I'm absolutely dying for a new vial of Happy Daisy body splash. I haven't smelled that stuff for about 13 years.
Yes, poor me. Poor me.
I think what I'm trying to say but really not saying is that life is full of pressing needs and I want to punch them individually, each one of these needs.
I don't want to return phone calls or pick up prescriptions or take notes or make dinner because I'm on to those tasks. I'm on to them like cheap frosting on pancakes at the Cincinnati Waffle House.
Once you knock one of those to-dos out, another one pops up in its place. Minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day.
Then you're 87 and wondering where your life went.
So, I guess maybe I'm not sure how other people do weekly MOPS and get togethers with friends and field trips. How do you handle cooking dinner and still leaving room for sexual healing at 9pm, when you'd rather just snooze away?
No, my husband is not offended. He knows night time is my time for sleeping.
So. How do you do it? How do you cope with everyone's pressing need and still live a sanguine life?
I'm dying to know.