Brain musings

   It's hard to sit and try to think of something to blog about when I'm so tempted to walk around the house and clean up. Thankfully, I don't spend all day at my tablet, although I should be writing more. This particular week I managed to get sick after substitute teaching for about six weeks into the school year. I'm really surprised I lasted this long, really. My daughter is grateful, I think, because I don't feel comfortable smooching her when I could get her sick. "Yuk, Mom!!", is something I get a lot these days.
   It is about seven weeks into the school year, as of this writing. I'm a bit surprised I haven't gotten sick before this. I've been substitute teaching for more days this year than I did all of last year. I was called in to try to come in to work this week but I had to decline. It's depressing to acknowledge that I'm getting older and actually have to take time to get over illness. I used to just load up on otc crap and power through unless it was almost pneumonia. My iron woman status is rusting. My body has a lot of guts trying to force me to take care of myself!
    It could just be my age or newer, uglier germs but this illness crap feels like it hangs around a lot longer than it used to. Most likely, it's just getting more of my attention. My timing is impeccable, as always. I managed to get sick close to the time I'll be traipsing around my neighborhood with my daughter. My spouse has been sick, too. It's also supposed to rain this year on Halloween.
   I knew this wasn't going to happen. Do I have meteorological information that the average bear doesn't?  No. I spent most of my time two days before searching creation for a clear plastic rain poncho my daughter could wear over her costume. Trick or treating went off without a drop or clear plastic. You're welcome, Gloucester  County. Despite feeling crappy, I worked my *ss off getting my daughter's costume together. Regrettably, the sewing didn't survive the evening for some of her outfit but I'm trying to let some things go, especially since the mission is to look ok for a couple of hours.
   What I really enjoy about the whole thing is the leftover candy, of course.

The Letdown

   It happened again. I worked my *ss off to clean the house and set up our garage for another birthday party. The attendance was underwhelming. It's the turkey's fault. We had a medium sized turkey sitting in our freezer for God knows how long. The freezer it was sitting in was in desperate need of defrosting. I got a small idea of what it was like to go on an arctic expedition. We found a lot of frozen artifacts and it was a miracle I was able to get the bird out at all. What do you do with 15 to 18 pounds of defrosting meat when your family has only three people? Throw a party, of course.
   The party in question needed to happen in the fall but not too far into the fall. We put people in our garage and since the doors stay open, we need warmer weather. Picking a date was a huge pain because a lot of our guests were continuously busy until finally, I just picked a date and stuck with it. Once the invitations went out, people started dropping like flies. I got several texts from people who were going to be hours late! I began to be grateful they were still showing up at all. The whole thing became ungodly frustrating and almost felt personal, although I have no idea why.
   I had enough fun racking my brains for gift ideas leading up to this and now I'm not I'll even see them and half the suggestions were ignored anyway. I really need a better game plan. I am never sorry when I get the house clean, despite the fact that it never lasts. It would feel like there was more of a payoff to all that effort if it was for a grown up gathering. Kids, and my spouse, are oblivious to whetther the house looks good. The birthday princess in question is also a huge fan of sleepovers. I'm always late to the party on these things but it looks like we will be going the small sleepover route for next year.
  It all worked out in the end, of course. The only drawback was a stupid amount of leftover turkey.

This, dear reader was written pre pandemic. Hilarious to think of the things I kvetch about that seem like such small potatoes now. This year, we will have to deal with our first quarantine kid birthday. Now There's a kvetch waiting to happen! 
 

And another thing!

    I mentioned previously that I was looking for something from my spouse that was a little better than feeling up a bowl of jello. Those who have seen my hubby would probably say he looks ok for a guy his age. He is not what I would call "fat as a house" but has a belly. So what's so wrong with that you superficial bastard? Well, yes, I  am, in fact, a superficial jerk but I have my reasons.
   First, I have always been a gym rat. The problem for me is that my husband could care less about fitness. He does care about sex. This is one problem for me in that while I know he is fond of my boobs, I'm not fond of his. I work hard to keep myself in some shred of shape and I get resentful that I'm the only one. I am not looking for Mister Universe, just respectable will do. It's almost impossible to feel like you want to snuggle with someone you don't want. I am not ready to give up on having a decent sex life while I still have a decent body.
   It's also a question of health. The more you move, the more you can move. I have no interest in becoming my husband's nurse because he refuses to take care of himself. I saw my Mom go through this with my Father and it's nothing I want any part of.  It's bad enough I do most of the cleaning up like she did.
   Then there is buyer's remorse, in a sense. My brain told me that this marriage would be a good thing for me. I married a person who loved me, was a good person, and made me feel wanted (something I had deperately missed for years). There was also the compatibility issue. I'd swear, frequently, that we share a brain. The only thing lacking was a physical attraction. Should I have taken a pass for just that reason? These days, I wonder. I'm also baffled that my spouse, knowing how I feel, doesn't seem to want to bail.
   My guts are telling me that I'm ok where I am. That is to say, I was engaged once before and it never "felt right". I don't have that uneasy I-need-to-leave feeling I had back then. The problem is having the unmitigated gaul to want more when I have a lot already. Yes, I am that greedy, and stubborn, for that matter.
    A friend wisely advised me, given my utter lack of diplomacy, that I go at this from a health perspective. We know his job opening would be out faster than his obituary. There is also not enough vodka on earth to help me get our daughter through the teen years by myself. I need my spouse to live a long healthy life. So how do you talk to someone when you're as tactful as a brick? I'm open to suggestions, dear reader!

The teapot is boiling again!

  I may have mentioned this previously but we, as a couple, use a therapist. This has been going on for about a year now. Things have gotten better but I have zero patience and even less diplomatic skills. I may have mentioned that I'm a lot like my father in that I tend to keep things that bother me quiet until it finally explodes. I will admit that recently I've been stressed out and I know when that happens I get even more prickly than usual. When there's too much I can't control around me I can get overfocused on the piddly things I can.
   I believe this is only part of the problem. My spouse thinks it's the whole issue, or seems to, anyway. It reminds me of when a guy would blame something on your pms when in fact No, you're an asshole AND I happen to have my period. I believe that a lot of what's bugging me is, in fact, minor. My husband is an oblivious slob but still a good husband and father. While I see no reason to throw the baby out with the bath water, so to speak, I could use to learn to ask for help Before said water boils over.
   Knowing that I'm dealing with someone who doesn't see a damn thing when it comes to mess should make it easier in a sense in that you know you need to tell them everything. That still gets old quick and the bad example it sets only further aggravates me. I will admit I could also probably use to chill out about the house, among other things. If you quote me in public, I'll deny it.
   His parents have been gone for years. I wish I could ask his mom if she taught him any life skills. Do we, as parents, create problems for other women to deal with later? Is this largely a problem with males? My spouse is better than my father was but I am still baffled by the high tolerance for crap everywhere. I joke the reason we don't have a pet is that I've barely got my husband house broken, much less a dog. I'm also lucky to be working part time, what happens if I start working full time?
   I understand why my mom was such a miserable person growing up. Marrying a slob and staying there had a lot to do with it. My parents didn't really have the physical end of things to deal with, either. What happens when only one of you cares about self maintenance? I am the victim of the "I'm  married, I can let myself go" mentality. Most likely, I'm in the minority here. I have a lot of friends who, one could argue, are proponents of this philosophy. My reasons for being into fitness run long and deep. I'm not expecting my husband to become something he never was, but I  am asking for a little more muscle tone than jello. How are the chores divided at your house?

Happy Fall?

   I have all the motivation of last week's pancakes to continue adulting. It's nothing new, certainly. You'd think I'd be relieved that it's fall. My daughter is back in school and I have regained a bit more freedom. There's some mommy guilt over not living La Vida Facebook, as I call it. We did manage to get her to the beach for one week this summer. We still managed to swing Summer camp. It was rough when camp ended and the last few weeks were slow for us. I'm guessing the problem is isolation.
    We don't have a large family and there aren't a lot of kids in our neighborhood for her majesty to play with. The other issue was that we do not have any pets for company. Too many of our friends have allergies and frankly, l barely have my husband housebroken. I'm drowning keeping up with our house as it is, I can't imagine having to vacuum like a nut on top of it and adding vet bills to boot. Someday there will be a dog in our family, but my ADD kid has to get a little older and more responsible.
   We, as a family, are also still recovering from the massive depletion of our savings that resulted from a year of cobra payments. We didn't just scrape the bottom of the bottom of the barrel,  we were starting to see through it. Here's what's wierd. I have been fighting a lot of Mommy guilt for the Summer despite the fact that it would have been so much worse for us had we not lived the way we had these last several years. It's yet another example of guilt defying common sense.
    The fall is really a nice time of year, if I could just relax and enjoy. That seems to be about as easy as leaping over a tall building with a single bound for me. I'm guessing the biggest stressor is getting my ass back to work. The substitute teaching gig last school year wasn't pretty. There was no training and I got thrown into some really tough rooms. I also haven't noticed any aide jobs up yet. I didn't , and still don't feel prepared/qualified to teach a full day flying solo. What do you do when your school district could care less?
   I freaked out a lot last year. I could really use to learn how to keep my trap shut. You get mighty comfortable being home as long as I have. I need to put some "Professional Teacher Pants" on. Unfortunately,  I'm finding out that I have a lot of company. This whole lack of training thing is apparently par for the course in substitute teaching. What's also scary is that I haven't actually taught a class yet. I signed up to try it in a coteaching classroom. Oddly enough, it's one of my daughter's teachers from last year. Stay tuned.......

The Malfunctioning Gumball Machine

   I have reached that "certain age" in which the hormone fairy has waved her magic wand and frequently I don't know what the hell is going on. Welcome to the malfunctioning gumball machine portion of the program. My body used to be some shred of predictable every month, or at least understandable. Now, despite my calendar tracking, I'm still clueless. Some months the eggs come down, some months they don't. Place your bets, folks! I don't wear white pants because they're too risky. I didn't bother with them even when I knew what to expect since I'm too lazy to coordinate underwear when I'm trying to get the hell out of my house.
   Irrational moods are par for the course, as long as I remember to step back and remember whose fault this mess is. I blame that b**ch the hormone fairy. What's funny is that things could be a lot worse. I have not had my first hot flash yet, they can be handy in the winter, I've heard. My friends have told me that I don't look my age, thank God! I know some of it is lucky genetics but I'm guessing that the rest of it is hard work. My current theory is that as long as I keep working out like a nut I can fool my body into thinking that I'm younger than I really am.
   That's peachy for the physical end of things but it doesn't help the cuckoo's nest upstairs. I get to feel the beginning of the downhill slide to old ladyhood. I'm  pretty sure my brain will remain in denial until they close the lid. Pictures of myself seem to be the only things that show me the truth of how I actually look. I hate those bastards.
   I've also found that the older I get, the higher maintenance I become, and the less I feel like doing said  "maintenance".  The various hair that needs to be dyed and/or plucked, the seemingly permanent fanny pack that's impervious to situps, and sudden need for push up bras while other body parts have decided to start jiggling are just part of the fun.
   It's getting harder to be around younger people because I'm so much obviously older that I'm invisible. If my ego wore pants, they've been kicked. Allegedly I have plenty of company. That's true in a general sense. The actual depressing reality is that there are fewer and fewer of us as the years roll on and we weren't a big crowd to begin with! Halloween is becoming a way of life as we approach the age of the funeral. JHC, could this get any more cheerful?!?! While I'm on this side of the daisies, I should probably consider expanding my network. Yes, dear reader, I will have to become more extroverted to find more friends. Perhaps there's a Facebook group for bitter, sarcastic, fellow malfunctioning gumball machines, or I could start one. Who's with me?
   P.S. Get Off My Lawn!!!

Old Fart"s Lament

Not long ago, this body was young, 

No stretch marks, no scars, there was nothing but fun.

It could run, jump and climb, twirl, bend and flex,

Can’t do those things now, without sound effects.

It needs glasses to find glasses and is frequently sore,

the brain often asks, “What’re we in this room for?”.

The hair on the roof is thinning and grey,

and the pipes either leak or back up every day.

The ears, which can hear, don’t like today’s tunes,

‘so called’ lyrics when they get it, still seem like runes.

The stomach hates spices, the liver can’t drink

the colon is due for a check up, I think.

To the shop for repairs! Is it deemed cosmetic?

Insurance said no, you’re stuck feeling pathetic. 

Squinting eyes can’t read texts without a translator,

it’s phone is turned on, now it needs a third grader.

We’re surrounded by bodies with young, perky asses.

You’ve still got it, you’re still hot! but it’s only in flashes!

Some parts are sagging and others won’t work

The mouth spews lines from its parents - that jerk!

Frequently, sometimes loudly, it emits putrid fog

Better lay off the broccoli, we don’t have a dog 

Childhood punishments have now become aims,

Going out? No, thanks, this body naps just the same.

The brain ignores all, says ‘We’re fine! Keep trying!

The body says ‘You’re f**king crazy!!, I’m dying!’

The neighborhood pharmacist knows it by name,

There’s a new, growing copay for each ache and pain.

Aging’s not just a pain, it’s a pantload of ills,

It’s expensive, frustrating, and tough without pills.

This body is like an old building my friend,  

The tenant’s long gone and the sign says ‘condemned’.