Pants on Fire

I'm a liar. There I said it. A full on pants on fire liar. It's a miracle I don't burst into flames right now. Right now. Miracle.

Biggest lie? Or most frequent lie? They're the same. What is it, you ask?

I'm okay.

Say it all the time. I won't say that every time is a lie. Because, well, that would be a lie. But, like a lot of stressed out women I say it all the time. When I don't mean it.

Because, guess what? I'm not okay. I'm tired. So fucking tired. All the time. And stressed, and rushed and busy. Not to mention frazzled, frustrated and a whole lot of other things that also start with 'f'.

The house needs cleaned, the dogs need walked, I need my run, the kids are hungry, we need groceries, laundry. Oh my God, the laundry. Soccer practice, dance, projects. Oh, and we both work. Which I don't really complain about because I do like it and it's better for me to be out of the house 10 hours a day. Or I'd be doing God knows what all day long. But, it most certainly wouldn't be 'okay'.

The other day, a friend asked if I was grumpy. I was. I was really fucking grumpy. And kind of sad. When she asked, I made a joke and moved on. Wouldn't want anyone to know. Can't ever be not okay.

I'm sitting here kind of mad at myself. What is with me? And then I justify with: Everybody does it.

Isn't that true? Jesus. Everyone says that they're okay. It's the universal lie. It's like cheating in the most famous bicycle race in the world because everyone else does. Cough, cough.

When you boil it down though, my public face is pretty damn happy. A few people have seen me not happy. A smaller subset of that has seen me actually angry and/or sad. 

That is not recommended. Nope, non emotional is best. Put my broken smile on and fake it.


Okay?

Doing Time on Cedar Street

In 2007 I started watching a house.  Let's go with 'watching'. Stalking is a such an ugly word. Said house looked perfect. From the street.

The asking price was high. A two comma price tag.

Time went by and it sold and I kind of forgot about it.

About three years ago, it was back on the market. Short a comma this time. But, still too much price.

Around then we actually started getting serious about moving. We loved our house, our first home but we'd outgrown it. We bought it when we had no children. Now with two, the two small 'kid' bedrooms and open floor plan were killing me. There were toys everywhere. No guest space. As much as we loved it there, it was time.

And so, we met an agent. Told her - new house please. Must be new. No projects.

But, while we're looking, there's a house down on Cedar Street. I just want to go in. It's been in the back of my mind. Let's go in, see that it's a wreck and then cross it off our list.

We did that. Except for the crossing off our list part.

But, price was still too high.

Looked at other houses for almost a year. She sat there on Cedar Street. Stoic. Waiting for a family. I would stop by and visit every once in awhile. She was vacant. I don't like to use the term breaking and entering but I was sans agent quite often.

Finally, with a stroke of luck for us and a worn down previous owner we bought her.

Oh, pink tile. How I don't miss you. At all.

Matching exactly zero of the requirements given. We bought her.

No projects? How about infinity projects?

New? How about 106 years old?

She had character - moxie, if you will. She was ugly. Oh, boy was she ugly. But, under all that green carpet and the pink and orange walls, there was potential. She was the girl with the good personality.
The girl with suchaprettyface.

I named her, Stella. It fits. I yell at her a lot. When I'm not yelling at one of the previous owners. Mentally of course. Although I'm pretty sure I catch glimpses of one of them wandering around the driveway from time to time. He's no longer of this earth, so to speak.

So, I got out some tools and carefully burned the house down.

Here's the thing about old houses. They stand the test of time. They're standing there crooked, but they're standing. Everything is crooked around here. Even the floor. It's a little disconcerting to walk down hill to the kitchen. It honestly drives me crazy(ier) but I'm working on letting it go. Which is very difficult for me to do. When my eye twitch acts up, I try to make a note of the needed repair, add it to the list and walk away. If I didn't walk away at least some of the time, I'd need additional mental healthcare.

With all that's been done, there is still much to do. It keeps me out of trouble, mostly. Five rooms of green carpet removed, three to go. 16 rooms have been painted, I think. Four to go. Plus the basement. The leaky basement. A new sump pump on the list - because sump pumps are fun! Wait, what? In the least, a new sump pump will make me less bitchy. And that's good. For all of you.

And then there's the outside. The sun has faded some of the pink. It's kind of salmon colored now. It's due to be painted. There will be much scraping, scrubbing and painting.  And then the re-staining of the sidewalks because you can't have pink sidewalks if the house isn't pink anymore. Right? RIGHT?

The projects won't end unless I win a large lottery. And even then, they won't end, they'll just be larger in scale.

So, this will keep me busy for a long time. Probably for forever. At least until I'm the one wandering around in the driveway...

The Boy

The boy turns 11. At 3:20 on the 19th. Double ones. Time is traveling at a rate I don't want to acknowledge.

Birthday.

The shoulders are getting broad. The last couple baby teeth are trying to hang on. The retainer is in. The braces are on the way. The clothes are coming in adult sizes now. Everything is moving so, so fast.

He's funny and sweet and kind too, I think. He's quick with an, "I love you." And he'll follow it up with a hug. I hope that never changes.

When he got home the other night he asked me if I had heard about the kidnapping in town. My mom heart sank. What a terrible thing.

And then he followed it up with, "It's okay. He woke up."

Good stuff, that is.

We've had our challenges. He's had to fight hard to get where he is in school. He tries really hard and I couldn't be more proud of him. 

I know that those challenges are just the beginning. He's a strong willed stubborn beast. I have no idea where he got those attributes. I fear the teenage years. The social challenges, the mean kids, feeling left out. Those things were terrible enough when it was happening to me. Happening to my boy, that is unfathomable. 

We'll go through the challenges, he'll get busted on a couple things and get away with a few more. He'll use those blue eyes and his charm to get out of trouble. At least a few times.

The girls will come - they are starting to be noticed. Which makes me more than a bit uncomfortable and I'm sure that will result in less sleep.

The next 11 years will produce some major change. Height, weight, voice. He won't actually live here any more. If all goes as it should. A lot of milestones coming at us soon. I'm excited, terrified and sad all rolled into one. 

No matter what happens, he'll always be my little guy. Even when he's too big for my lap.

Ladies man.

Mans man

Man about town.

Running!

So, I don't know, five or six years ago I ran a bit. Did a couple 10k's. Not very well. I enjoyed the competition of it, even though I wasn't very good. My times were terrible. And then, a bunch of stuff happened. I had a pretty stressful year and I just sort of quit.

You know what? It's way easier to be heavy and out of shape. Way easier. Just sink down into that couch and let it all go. It's so, so, so easy.

And then, one day, I just sort of snapped out of it. Years later. And in terrible shape. Terrible shape.

Started 'running'. And by running I mean staggering down the streets of the Grove. Intermixed with walking and limping. There may have been some crying in there too.

Signed up for a couple runs. Had a little fun. Got a little more motivated, ran more. Which leads to even more running.

Last weekend I ran a 10k. The whole thing. For the first time. No walking. I'm not sure if it was the course or the weather or just my mood that day. As far as the course goes, there were some rolling hills and a mile or so that was gravel. Felt very much like home. Right down to the broken down barns and beer cans in the weeds along the way. It was sunny too. Which makes the average Oregonian pretty happy. We get damn near cheery.

About midway through, I had a thought. "I'm actually running.”

It was a very 'What About Bob?' moment.

I run. I'm a runner.

And, if you don't get that reference, Lord help you, because I can't.

I run.

My best mile time since high school. 9:59.

Now, for a real runner person that's not a very good time. But, for a nearing 40 sturdy farm girl/clydesdale - that's a really freaking good time. I'm not exactly built for speed. 

My legs are very different lengths, which gives me a very strange gait. I have the 'family walk'. It's sort of a staggering, shoulders slumped, hands cupped backward, limp. Not the moves of an efficient land animal, by any means. Generally speaking, if you see anyone from the family running - you should too. Seriously. There is danger near. You don't have to run faster than the bear/murderer/zombie - you just have to run faster than one of us. But, some how I've taken all that disaster, for lack of a better word, and made it work.

I'm looking forward to the next run. Can't wait to challenge that mile time. 15k is in less than a month. And, oddly enough I'm excited about it.

Exited? About running?

Yup.

It's the damnedest thing. 

Doing Nothing

One of my goals for 2015 was to do nothing more often.

So far, I'm kind of failing. Even a friend called me out as 'clearly failing'. Failing is not a thing I enjoy. (But, I'm pretty sure she really enjoyed telling me I was.)

One of my favorite things is Gem Shopping. Hitting the thrift stores, antique shops, etc to look for 'gems'. Sometimes they stand alone, but most of the time I am looking for a project - something to paint or stain or take apart. I'm always out there looking for something to upcycle.

So a thing I enjoy is colliding with a goal to do less. Not just less, the goal is to do nothing.

Takes a lotta time to make it look bad. Er, shabby.

This past weekend, I painted and waxed two pieces of furniture and spray painted two light fixtures. I hadn't really planned the spray painting as it's the husbands project but it turns out that I am a superior spray painter. Farm kid for the win.

And because the painting, waxing, distressing and buffing on the furniture all took longer than I expected, I didn't get in the miles on the treadmill I wanted - wanted five but ran out of time and only got in two. A collision with another goal for the year: more miles.

It's all really because the Superbowl was on. I had to be on the couch by 3:30. Which was technically 'doing nothing'. I was just sitting there, I guess. And, ate so much junk my stomach hurt for two days. Felt like I was punished for doing nothing. And the game and commercials weren't really all that great. Other than the brawl at the end.

Not a good investment in my do nothing time.

This week I've been out of the house four of the five nights. Two for runs, one for a party and one for tap dance. Three of those nights directly correlate to goals for the year which is good. Trouble is that I've been out of the house so much this week it looks like meth heads have moved in. There's enough dog hair on the floor to knit a new dog. (A project?!)

Which means the weekend won't have much 'do nothing' time as I'll be cleaning up and motivating the small humans who also occupy the space to help.

Turns out that takes twice as much time as just doing it myself.

I'm not ready to throw in the towel on the goal so early in the year. I know that I can do nothing.

I CAN DO NOTHING!

Or will stress myself into a heart attack trying.