the ride

My poor neglected blog...

Of late, I have began wondering if I am experiencing early onset Alzheimer's. I believe it may be too much on my formerly empty plate.

T-Ball. I am one of two coaches and the other coach, she is awesome. She is excited and inspiring and fun. It continues to be touch and go, continuously, with the team, as in, if we even have one. One of our kids left on Thursday, taking our team number down to 6. Well, we need 7 to play, so we're kind of on tenterhooks and our first game is on Thursday, the 3rd. BzBiff, the game will be held in your town. 5:30 p.m. I figure you will be working. Other than all the worrying and stress over having to crush these little guys' hearts over having to dismantle the team, I am having a blast with them. They are so cute, playing.

The daycare. I am on the board that sponsors (? for lack of a better word) the daycare. So we are in charge of writing grants and dispensing funds to the provider and finding a new provider and making sure everything is in order for the new provider and finding $$ for carpet installation and so on and so forth... Some days, it feels like too much. But I prevail because the one other person that has been there, on the board, with me for so long, just the two of us, has a MUCH busier and much more chaotic life than I do and serves as inspiration for me to do my best. I love those people that motivate you to be a better person. She is one of them and kudos to her.

The boy. He is so mean and ornery and growing so fast. Sometimes, I am caught, unexpectedly, marvelling at how big his hands are or how well he reads. I hate that it all goes so fast and wish that I could just grab him up, crawl into bed and laugh the day away with him, but... there is no time for it. So I grab my moments with him when I can, watching "Happy Feet" on the couch with his slumbering head making a sweaty mark on my arm. Laying in bed with him on Saturday morning, laughing about everything and nothing. I swear, tomorrow he will be 18.

Illness. Between my channeling of dead rock stars and experiencing my first black out and the stomach flu, and the allergies and Tyler's first migraine, we tiptoe around with sanitizer strapped to our hips and the water heater constantly refilling the hot water because we go through one jug of soap a week, washing our hands. The illness - it is madness. I can't remember us ever being so sick, so consistently. And we are healthier! We are exercising (T-Ball) and eating healthier. I don't get it. I am starting to wonder if it is just us being run down. I know I am feeling it a bit. I'm sure he is, too.

Hell, he is outside until 7 - 7:30 at night, just playing, playing. Some days I worry that people are going to call child services on me, thinking I may have locked him out of the house. Not that I haven't been tempted, but really, I don't. He just prefers to be outside, playing. And I definitely do not want to nip that particular habit in the bud. I think kids SHOULD be outside playing as much as they can. I know that it is particularly beneficial to their parent's mental health.

Take a deep breath, Lori and recognize that right now, this moment, is everything you want. You have a healthy (some days), happy (at various and sporadic moments) child, a full life, a good job and a roof over your head. Sit back and enjoy the ride, even though nine-tenths of the time, you are driving and would rather be kicked back with your feet on the dashboard, enjoying the scenery. Just be thankful you haven't run out of gas.

Ahem...

P.S. Just in case you all didn't realize, I am an evil, wicked person who is gratified by the pain and misery of others, only in the case where the bitch has done me wrong (TWICE!) and really, seriously deserves it. The end.

You made your bed

I just passed the one whose name shall not be mentioned here. I had heard that she had lost a bunch of weight and now she is living with her former "best friend"'s husband and that she was in town. Normally, this strikes fear into my heart, 'What will she destroy this time?'

But, as I drove past her, I noticed that she was all hunkered down in the seat, trying as much as possible to appear unnoticible. I wonder why she doesn't want me to see her?

And a strange thing happened. The waves of rage I was expecting to feel when I saw her devil face never came. In their place, I felt a dollop of smugness and I felt pity.

Smug that I have come to this place and feel so good and content about my life, my world and my place in it (which, after this weekend is in and of itself a small miracle!). The seeing of her shrinking against the seat cushions really pushed it home that I have nothing to feel enviable about where she is concerned. If anything, she should be envious. And i REALLY DON'T CARE. While she may be trying to convince all in the free world that she is gloriously happy with herself and her best-friend's-husband-stealing ways (and her 100 pound body, done wonders for by drugs of all sort of illegal-ness), I know that by that showing me that simple act of trying to disappear into her seat covers, that she is not. And while it may be a baser instinct and completely un-Christian like, I really don't care. I feel like thumbing my nose at her. God, it feels good. Who knew that I was secretly enviable of the trollop? I mean, I knew, but I didn't KNOW. And now I'm not. Neener, neener.

If I had the chance to talk to her, really sit down and tell her, I would tell her that "you can NOT go around making the world a WORSE place than when you found it without some of that shit sticking to you. Paybacks are a bitch, and I'm glad that you are starting to reap your just reward."

I did experience pity. Because I am human and compassionate and really, she has nothing to fear from me besides truth and who am I to judge? No reason to be scared of ME when your life is so delicious. It just seems like such a waste. I feel sad for her mom, that Snaily's reflection might be cast upon her mom. I feel terrible for her children, that she doesn't care and leaves them willy-nilly with whomever, whenever, just so long as they don't get in the way of her good time. But her, feel sorry? not necessarily so.

She made her bed, may she long lie in it.