Saturday, March 9, 2013

Saturday Mornings At House Turberville


So VERY Saturday.

And since I woke up at around 6:15 this morning (due to two hungry cats who KNOW which of the humans always gets out of bed first and is, therefore, the provider of Breakfast), I've been trying to decide exactly what my hopes and goals are for this day.

My first goal was coffee.   And that was accomplished simply enough.

Then I sat here while Took snuggled in my lap and nibbled on his pop-tart and we checked the interwebz for important news of the day.  (Turns out nothing really big was going on.)

A couple of mild toddler-meltdowns, and I brandished the Spanking Spoon.  (He is walking around with it now, chewing on the end.  So far he's only been swat with it once, so I guess he hasn't really learned to fear it yet.  But I can be patient.  Oh, I can BE PATIENT.)

The baby tried strawberry milk.  . . .then tried it some more.  (In OUR house, this is HUGE.  Branching out on the list of preferred beverages.  Really can't overstate the importance.)

Then Pad woke up, got his own strawberry milk, and retreated to the couch to snuggle under afghans and soak up some Spongebob.

Daddy got up.  And not 10 minutes later disappeared outside.  Muttered something about watering the lawn.  The better to soak up the weed killer he's about to put on it.  Pad asked what he was doing and I told him Daddy was playing with plant poisons.  He was unimpressed, and has since gone back upstairs to play video games.  (Which I do not intend to let him spend ALL day doing. . . but it's fine for now.)


The bed is made.

The clothes are washing.

The coffee has been consumed.

. . .what do I want to DO today??

. . .I NEED to clean the house.

(I guess.  It feels pretty filthy.  But everytime I think it feels filthy, I just tell myself "Maybe you're OCD and you just don't know it yet.  Maybe this is one of the ways your sickness presents itself.  Do you REALLY want to raise your child in a household where both Mommy AND Daddy are obsessive-compulsive neat-freaks??  Do you REALLY want to instill in him ideals of unattainable perfection??!?  . . .yeah.  Better just wait to clean house.  At least a week.  Maybe longer.  . . .just to be safe.")

I probably also need to drag the stroller out of the garage and take the little Boo on a walk around the neighborhood. . .

It is something that I was going to do yesterday, but didn't realize that it was warm enough outside until it was too late.

Yesterday I was VERY MUCH in the mood to do it.  VERY MUCH of a mind to go out there and get some sunshine and some exercise and just wear myself out.

But today. . . today I find that this "go get 'em!" attitude is nowhere to be found.  Curious.  Perhaps it is at the bottom of my coffee cup.

I push onward.

A realization smacked me in the face yesterday.  It was the realization that I have put on several pounds.

(I had already had my coffee, and so I did not cry.  Still. . . I wanted to.)

It seems like in a period of about 2 weeks, all of my clothes have grown constrictive.  Nothing looks good, nothing feels comfortable.  There's just too much extra ME.  EVERYWHERE.

(My husband has assured me countless times that he LOVES it.  I am easily the curviest that I've been, not counting pregnancy, since I met him.  And he likes it.  Of COURSE he likes it --- my boobs have become quite epic.  But I'M the one that has to lug all this jelly around.  And I am NOT pleased with it.)

I think lots of people probably put on "winter weight."  I'm actually pretty sure that I've always done it, too.

Still, I don't want to let myself become too comfortable in this new curvy body.

And so I have begun to refer to myself as "The Sausage."

. . .I'm sure a therapist would have a field day with this new nickname, and give me an earful about how self-defeating this behavior is, and how I should just learn to love myself no matter what, and how what REALLY matters is what's on the INSIDE, and blah blah blah.

But I KNOW what's on the inside.  And there is substantially MORE of it than there used to be.

But. . . am I really FEELING a walk around the neighborhood right now?

The answer is no.  No, I am not.

Am I really in an "I WANT to clean the house" kind of place?

Again, sadly, no.

I would LIKE to maybe take a super-hot bath, put my hair up in Leia-buns, drag the easel out of the garage, and just paint like a woman possessed.

But there are two little man-cubs running around this place that are looking at me, very clearly, like THAT IS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.


. . .

So I'm sitting here.

I'm stressing over it.

Do this?  Or do that?


Mr. Michael walks in.

Mr.:  "Hey baby.  After the boys finish their breakfast, do you wanna get dressed and go to Lowe's?"

Mrs.: ". . . Go to Lowe's for what?"

Mr.:  "To looks at plants."

Mrs.:  "Yes!  Yes.  I would like that very much."


So Pad will finish his pop-tart.  (At the KITCHEN TABLE, even though he grumbles about it.)

And Took will get a fresh change of clothes, because the shirt I picked out for today is like a lightweight, zip-up, windbreaker thing.

And no matter how many times I zip it up, whenever I turn around he has it pulled down to his navel, looking like a pastier, pudgier little Jack Tripper.

So. . . I guess we're going to Lowe's.

On a Saturday morning.

For FUN.

Egad.  I LOVE my life.  And I think maybe the BEST thing about it is that, every once in a while, I turn around and look at it and. . . I'm just amazed.  At everything that changes, and everything that stays the same.  And every moment of flawed perfection that just smacks me in the face and renders me STUPID with gratitude.

Grateful, and stupid, and pleasantly, wonderfully amazed.

No comments:

Post a Comment