Ramble
How did I manage to post on LJ almost every day when my computer was in the shop, yet now I have nothing? For one, I’ve been super busy catching up on all my computing tasks. Plus, I guess I feel like I don’t have an excuse to write a super short, crappy little entry. I need to ramble! Somehow I think people prefer the short little crappy entries. My rambles can be hard to follow, even for me.
Erik had a playdate at a classmate’s house this afternoon. I looked up the address on google map and went down a rabbit hole into these people’s lives. Holy shit. No wonder they live in a huge, double-fancy house that I can only dream of. The woman invented an e-mail system before the internet even existed. They are both completely brilliant, which gives me anxiety about my own lack of brilliance.
I’ve volunteered to take over our PTA website and get it updated. Why the hell am I doing the webpage with my hodge-podge, make-due approach when we have freakin’ internet geniuses that have won major global awards for their computery excellence? I suppose they don’t have time to throw together a silly PTA webpage.
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I’ve had major problems with my back since Elsa was four months old. Sometimes it gets better, but then sometimes it is so bad I can barely stand up. This week I think I have found the culprit. Brooks shoes! I ordered my first pair when Elsa was a baby. I wore them to the ground and got a new pair. I like them better than New Balance simply because the colors are prettier.
My back had been fine this week (no gym time, Elsa’s nose won’t stop running so she can’t go to childcare) but then we went on a big family walk yesterday. Five minutes down the trail and my back was on fire.
I hope the Brooks are the true culprit. I just ordered a pair of New Balance and can’t wait for them to arrive. Three years of pain caused by shoes? And here I thought it was because Elsa was so heavy when she was a baby.
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Speaking of shoes, I got a new pair if Mary Janes in the mail yesterday and they are too big. TOO BIG! You people with your normal feet have no idea how bizarre it is for my giant Fred Flintstone feet to be flopping around in a pair of clown shoes. I wear an 11WW. I tried these shoes on and started laughing at the ridiculousness of it.
I am sending them back and trying a size 10W. I haven’t worn a 10W since fourth grade. Hopefully they fit because they felt incredibly comfortable, except for the whole swallowing up my foot thing.
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I have been unhappy with our paint since we moved into our house four years ago. The colors are lovely, but the company we hired did a TERRIBLE job. Absolutely terrible. We shouldn’t have even paid them.
Four years later with two kids and regular playdates with upwards of a dozen toddlers running around and the paint is a complete wreck. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I’ve been spackling and sanding walls all day. The idea of painting is completely overwhelming when I think of the WHOLE FREAKIN’ FIRST FLOOR. Instead, I’m trying to force myself into thinking in parts. I could totally spackle and sand a wall one day, then paint that wall the next day. It might take a few weeks, but I could get it done. I don’t know how efficient that would be, but it is the only way I can even consider doing this project without giving myself an anxiety attack.
I want to have the painting done before spring break because. . .
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My mother is coming and she’s a terrible painter.
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Mom thinks she is going to move out to the Maryland panhandle (much more affordable than here, but close enough to visit regularly). She is flying in for a month to check it out and rent a place, then she’s going home to collect her belongings and move out here. Her house is on the market. My sister is approved for HUD and just needs a house (though supposedly her husband is going to live in the house and she is going to a rehab program in CA [I really hope that is true but you know their life never works out]). My mom says her plans are set.
I am not convinced this is going to work out. I am pretty irked that she told Erik about this harebrained scheme and now he’s excited. She was mad at me because I told her not to tell him things because he gets very disappointed when they don’t happen. She thought I was saying she is unreliable.
Ummmmm.
Yeah, pretty much.
It’s not really her fault, but she is my sister’s enabler and the only one who provides a stable life for my nephews and niece. She needs to stop telling my kids things are going to happen. Maybe they will (ha), maybe they won’t. Just keep it under your damn hat, lady.
I am not thrilled about this whole idea. It’s her life and she deserves some happiness. She shouldn’t have to be my sister’s keeper (my sister is 37 years old. She needs to grow the fuck up and get her act together, but she’s a meth head). But who is going to be watching out for the kids? That’s the part I can’t reconcile. I haven’t been writing about this because it upsets me so badly and there’s nothing I can do. The state of Oregon is going to have a lot to answer for when my nephews and/or niece turn up dead or sold as sex slaves.
I guess that’s all I’ve got tonight. I need to be in bed right now. I’m supposed to get up at 7:15 every morning, but as soon as Mike pops out of bed at 6 am, I become Elsa’s lovey. I can’t sleep with a child fondling me. Why is this child still in our bed? She starts the night in her bed, but when we wake up in the morning she’s in with us.