Tired ass mother

Excuse the language.. gheez. It’s the best I can do after a week of consoling two flu-afflicted children, preparing and serving 40 plus barbeque dinners for the wanting monday night masses, launching a new internet cafe, laboring to meet a story deadline in hopes of landing a writing contract, and preparing for a visit from my beloved mama.  This matrix of events has been overlaid across the backdrop of my own sputtering immune system, a grant funding rejection notice, estrangement from a few clusters of trusty friends, and an unusually crisis-filled dockett to navigate as the high-school counselor.  Ahhh… but the sun has been brilliantly shining.  Even after 5 sleepless nights spent soothing a fevering baby, my bleary eyes brightened with every opportunity to absorb the late morning sun.

Just to update, Matt – the unknowing object of my laundry-based obsession – Sears repair man did finally re-visit me. And, he fixed the hell out of my washing machine. After three plus months of staring at the thing, it finally spun us some sweet smelling sheets and jammies. Our reverie, however, was short-lived. The hot water heater gave up the ghost just 36 hours after the washing machine was revived. Turns out, the washing machine won’t work when there is no hot water pressure …even if you beg it to wash things cold. So , here we are again… belaying down bluffs of crumpled laundry while scratching dirt off our unbathed skin. I’m, of course, being unnecessarily dramatic. It’s all to say that things like bathing and washing dishes are taking a little longer as of late and that compounds the tired-assedness of this mother.

Ossian astounded us two nights ago by letting us know that her peach colored plastic baby doll, Emma, was “not impressed” by us (her parents and baby sister).

Yesterday, I noticed the back door open and then shut. Intrigued, I ventured closer to find it had been opened by a speed crawling baby Nola on her way to greener pastures in the great outdoors.

Our dear friends, Justin, Amy, and Violet recently spent the weekend here and introduced us to Guitar Hero. Thank god I don’t have that apparatus permanently available to me in my own home. I could easily spiral into a tv tethered, power chord hammering addict.

Thank goodness for the luxurious solace of unfettered sunsets and leaping lambs.

an ode to sears

I’ve been drafting angry letters to Sears in the middle of the night when I’m up nursing the baby. I’ll say this and then that and something else and something else and then.. the topper. I’ll threaten to talk dirt about Sears on my widely read, very high-profile, super powerful BLOG. That will scare them silly. Their entire profit margin will flash before they eyes just thinking about Jenoa Briar-Bonpane’s blog exposing their dirty laundry along with her own…

Haven’t written the letter on paper yet but here’s a little ditty that made me feel better.

AN ODE TO SEARS

Though my warranty is paid, the bed cannot be made –

for the sheets have joined our dirty laundry parade.

From piles they formed heaps and then mountains – with sheep,

The only thing dirtier are the clothes in which I sleep.

Sears has left us out here, turned it’s head to avert those corporate eyes

The repairman won’t come, despite offers of pies.

Week after week until six have now passed,

I tell them first sweetly then firmly with sass,

the diapers are skunky and my pants are too.

they should pay us a visit, it’s not like we live in Corfu.

It’s farther than some but not as far as could be,

A nice drive, I tell them, plus you’ll get to see me.

Kuntrywife with the kids and the laundry and dishes,

just out here throwing pennies in a sink full of Sears focused wishes.

“Maybe next week says dispatch,” then “maam” to be nice,

don’t maam me, i think but then beg him again twice –

to come see this washer and the family that feeds it,

to come see these socks and these jammies that sit.

The laundromat’s fun when your 28 and childless –

not such a blast when there’s two and your my age.

An hour and a half we commute with the backlog,

the sweatshirts with mud and the turtlenecks with eggnog.

I’m spoiled – I know it as this ode will show

to be honest the stink is not the thing that has to go.

It’s the but it’s my turn-ness –

the waiting in earnest

for the warranty that i bought

so responsibly fraught

with high hopes for a machine that would spin

So, perhaps writing this ODE opened a channel that was stagnant because just this morning, the Sears serviceman came. It was touch and go with last minute calls claiming UPS hadn’t come and the washer was old, then too new, then too far…. but he came here. He did. And we gave him a hero’s welcome.

He plunged his experienced hand into the rubber “boot” that seals around the door. His brow scrunched severely as he said, “you have to really check you pockets cuz nails and things can really mess these things up.” Oh yeah, I said, of course. Then he pulled out a sock hanger – you know those black plastic devices that hang socks on store racks??? Yes, he pulled that out of the “boot” and proclaimed – “this is your problem, right here.” I guess for good measure he swept around some more and produced 3 nails, one screw, a dollar thirty in change, two barrettes and a watch. “Wow, this watch is still working!” he said and we marveled together. Maybe my next ode will be to Timex – they really DO take a licking (and speed spinning) and keep on ticking.

But that wasn’t it… there were more problems. He was shocked and dismayed and vowed to return in a week or a few days. But not before telling me about his drug past, legal run-ins, relationship history, christian conversion, divorces, family estrangement, suicidality, new girlfriend, her drug history, mental health issues, treatment status, and christmas plans. He also told me how grateful he was that he’d been able to change his life after so many hard knocks. I wanted to hug him when he left – I was so touched by his deep concern for my washer and thoughtful attention to it’s needs. Don’t tell Sears, but he’s throwing in new “boot” for free. Sears doesn’t like that, he mentioned.

The clothes are still running around wild but I’m satisfied. I had my visit with the repairman and I know he’ll be back.

a weekend in the kuntry

Just had a little earthquake. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good evening shake. This one was brief but felt a bit stronger than it’s reported 4.1 magnitude. In those humblings moments when the earth and house shake in and around me, I freeze with a flood of conflicting instincts. Do I cover Nola or whisk her with me in to cover sleeping Ossian. Do I whisk them both downstairs to find Blase or just hold still and hope for the best. When they start, you never know how long or raucous the ride will be… how freaked out to get and survivalist to go. Invariably, the shaking stops before I’ve finished reviewing my options. Everyone says that if it’s the BIG one, you won’t be able to do any of that stuff anyway.

Speaking of survival instincts, we’re in our 7th day without hot water. And, in an unrelated water event, our washing machine flooded the floor a week ago and is on sabbatical. Since none of the hoses are leaking, we’ve turned to our beloved Sears repair team. They, however, are somewhat less than enthusiastic about trekking out to Petrolia to fulfill our warranty and liberate us from mountain ranges of soiled clothing, diapers, and dog towels. Obviously, the Sears repair person hasn’t driven an hour and a half with two kids to wash 9 hefty bags of filthy laundry – as I now have. Ignorance is bliss. Hopefully, they’ll make it our here next week.

What is the deal with laundry and kids?  They aren’t very big people and it’s not like they are working in the mines or anything – so what’s with the volume and intensity of the dirty laundry?  We do an army of laundry many days of the week… where does it come from?  It feels too american for my own comfort.

Tomorrow I am doing a career exploration group with the kids at the high school as part of my counseling gig, so I decided it was important to model good employment skills by showering before going to work. This is only noteworthy due to the aforementioned waterlessness in our household and the fact that I haven’t showered for a week. My dirtyness really is harder on other people than it is on me.

I was open to taking a cold shower but there isn’t enough pressure to get the shower to work at all, either. Come to think of it, the toilets aren’t flushing and the sink just trickles…thus, the heap of crusty dishes. So, all told, it’s a bit of a mess around here. Anyway, back to my hygiene mandate. I resorted to a lovely, bare essentials rinse via a pot of water boiled on the stove. It reminded me of “toilettas” which is what my mom fondly called our version of a shower on the boat when I was a kid. We spent several months sailing each year when I was growing up. Though we did hit the coin operated marina showers from time to time, the onboard “toiletta” was our mainstay. It involved boiling water in a teapot on the kerosine stove, mixing it with cold water pumped by hand from the tank and pouring it on yourself with a little cup while standing in a dishpan in the galley. In warmer weather, we had the luxury of an above deck sun shower. This allowed for more of a shower-like experience from a plastic, water filled bladder – a hydro bagpipe of sorts – that we left on the deck to sun all day before hoisting it up in the rigging so we could stand beneath it, soap in hand. The downside of the sun shower was the lack of privacy… when we were anchored in the middle of nowhere with no other boats, it was not an issue. But in a busy anchorage, it made for a bit of a show. My favorite bathing method while sailing was the salt swim. We had a floating bottle of salt water soap which we’d take with us as we dove from the deck into the sometimes frigid waters. In rare warm waters like those of desolation sound, this was heaven.

My writing of this post was interrupted by the squawk of an awoken baby… so I ran upstairs to quiet the little one in hopes that she wouldn’t wake the bigger little one. Mission accomplished. The water, however, has taken a turn for the worse. Our trickle has gone dry. We are waterless but not humorless. I can only hope that our highly anticipated and very loved houseguests-to-be this weekend can find it all amusing, too. Justin, Amy, and Violet – bring your own water, it’ll be a real weekend in the kuntry.