This morning I hopped
out of bed, not so bright eyed
or bushy tailed
Girlie finally settled to sleep
on the beanbag next to the bed
Sleeping with a five year old
the size of a six year old
who must hold onto a body part
my body part to feel safe
and not have a
separation anxiety meltdown
in her sleep
Is like sleeping with a puppy
a big one, no- that’s worse
Sleeping with Girlie
is like going for a run
down a flight of stairs
but you forgot you have bifocals on
and you miss the step and proceed to
avalanche yourself down the remainder of stairs.
AVALANCHE: Verb. To flail uncontrollably while falling gracelessly (down a flight of stairs, or down a hill.)
Origin: Thursday January 31, 2019 5:12am
(Hey, I was joking, but got the idea to look it up. ASR)
Holy, sexual connotations Batman!
Do NOT look up the word Avalanche
in the Urban Dictionary.
Those definitions shocked me and
I’m not that innocent.
This is a safe G rated dictionary site.
Hey! What’s the deal with information websites being trendy with newsflash pop ups about word usage in the news and trending words and comedians filming videos about words. That’s actually a pretty clever way of learning new vocabulary. I should give these sites to my kids, they might actually enjoy learning new words verbally from a comedian (click here) instead of my dry suggestion that they read an unabridged dictionary. Yes, but I like words and books, so that challenge seems fun for me, but really not for them. I need to know my audience.
I got up and ventured out of my room at
zero dark thirty (actually 4:30am)
to find that my kitchen had been rearranged again
by the fudgeking nicknack
(how the hell do you spell nickknack paddy whack give your dog a bone)
No, they did not put away the clean dishes
wash the dishes
clean the inside of the refrigerator
or the microwave
sterilize the cabinet handles
(hey, I’m sick of passing germs around)
They rearranged the clearer surfaces
I had just cleared and sorted.
Cause, you know, why do something
I’ve asked them over and over to do
that would be appreciated.
Helpful fairies who know the
Mommy of the house has an
eidetic memory who was repeatedly pranked
by her Ex who used to wait until she
was out of town to throw her things away,
then lie about it when she came home and
screamed things like:
“WHERE’S MY STUFF?” I yelled.
“What stuff?” He replied.
“THE CONTENTS OF THE ENTIRE BOOKSHELF”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
“The color coded folders that the kids were supposed to put their homework in so we could make sure they’re doing their homework and actually learning, their drawings, crayons, glue, markers and kids books.”
“Oh. You didn’t really want that stuff in the kitchen.”
I’m staring at him wondering, what conversation he thinks he had with himself to justify undoing the work I had done to try and keep track of three boys mounds of paperwork that was coming home everyday from three different schools. (You have to sort it everyday or it becomes a living pile of field trip notices, lunch money requests, book order forms, school calendars, progress reports, conference reply forms…yada yada yada)
“Did I ever say that to you aloud?”
“Did I ever tell you that I didn’t want the stuff in the kitchen? You just said I said that.”
“Why are you yelling?”
“Can you answer the question?”
“You’re a collectaholic!”
“Did you read any of it before you threw it away?”
“It was all junk.”
“Where is the bag?”
“You know, the one with the school stuff in it? The one with their immunization records, school pictures and grade cards in binders with their names printed on the sides? All the MULTI-COLORED FOLDERS WITH TITLES LIKE: MATH, ENGLISH, SCIENCE, HISTORY, RETURN TO SCHOOL. WHY DID YOU THROW ALL THAT AWAY WHILE I WAS OUT OF TOWN?”
“It went out with the garbage.”
“Garbage day is Friday. Today is Thursday. Is it outside in the can?”
(Silence) “You love clutter. The kids didn’t need that stuff.”
“HOW WOULD YOU KNOW? YOU NEVER HELPED ME SORT IT AND YOU JUST SAID YOU DIDN’T READ ANY OF IT BEFORE YOU THREW IT AWAY. GO GET THE BAG!”
“From the can?”
“How else am I going to get the stuff back on the shelves?”
This was not a one time event.
From then on, I planned my trips to
always return before garbage day,
so I could fish my stuff
out of the garbage can.
Back then, I was organized.
He used to make fun of me for
alphabetizing the kids
videotapes, bookshelves and
the kitchen spice rack.
He would also intentionally
undo my organizing
on a regular basis.
You know, when you
clean all the cabinet surfaces
in the kitchen, rearrange the dishes,
then the next morning,
the dishes are re-reorganized
and when I ask what happened,
he says, “I cleaned the cabinets”.
So, yeah. I got triggers.
Since this summer
I have been on the chore of
not decluttering but sorting and
categorizing my house and stuff
I even bought small containers to
help me reign in the little things that
almost get thrown away that
I can’t replace that my child loves
I didn’t get any help when we moved in
so I’ve been working slowly and
making a lot of progress
over the past few months
At no point did I ask
the fairies to come in and clean
by throwing all my stuff in the garbage.
That causes a
visceral reaction from me.
I want to scream
at the top of my lungs and
wake the whole house up
Asking, “Where is my pancake spatula?” and
“Why is it in the oven?”
Out of context
it sounds pathological
but when I only have
control of my surroundings and things,
not my health or the people in my life
I find that I cling to my items very tightly.
I really don’t care if it is
perceived as some form of illness
I need something to make me feel
like I’m not lost
and I have a place where I belong
My nostalgia for items
and having fond memories of my stuff
is compensation for having a shitty childhood
that contained frequent trauma
and a marriage that started out rocky
and went downhill from there.
So, I wrote notes to
the illiterate fairies and
left them on the fridge.
No one reads notes in my house so
after a couple days I announced
that I had a list of
alternative things they could do
instead or rearranging the kitchen.
I know I wrote those notes to make me feel as if I could make a request and someone would do as I asked.
Futility looks like this