Still Learning. And Perspective. And Other Stuff. And maybe Earworms. And Coffee. Aren’t You Happy You Stopped By?

Most of you have been hanging out with me for eons.  This is a straight catch-up, brain dump.  You’ve been warned.  Also, I feel like maybe, one of these days I will have it all together and then I am reminded that no, I probably won’t, and I should totally practice what I preach instead.  Be the best of who you are and let the rest go.  No, that doesn’t mean let everything else go to hell, or be lazy or quit trying or anything like that, for you read-into-everything-ers in the bunch.  I mean, mentally let it go and put your energy into something more productive.

I should know this lesson already because my two year old sings Let It Go approximately 47 times a day.  It is indelibly on my brain.  You have to be the world’s luckiest blog readers.  You get an earworm!  You get an earworm!  You get an earworm!  Everybody gets an earworm!  Elsa and Anna 4-lyfe.  What!  What! 

When something bothers me, my first inclination is to "right" whatever injustice has occurred.  This is multiplied by oh, ten million, when it concerns either of my children.

First, I want to fix it.  Then, I want to write about it. 

Because there are things that I won't write about in this space, I sometimes have to just shut up.  I'm learning to do that, because I know this is going to shock you, but I wasn't born with the shut up gene. I was born with the shout it from the rooftop gene until the world's ills, real or implied, are cured.  Plus, shutting up is excruciating for me. 

Sometimes the bullhorn is effective, but not always.  I'm learning, at thirty-eight, that there are also ‘quietly put right behind closed doors’ meetings that can remedy a situation just as well.  Who knew?

It's a hard lesson.  One that I needed desperately to learn.  Which is probably why I keep getting myself in situations where I’m forced to learn the same lesson over and over again until one day, it clicks.  I’ve been upset and preoccupied and this morning I woke up and BAM… Perspective. 

In fun-ner news, we’re spending the long weekend doing things that are all OH. My. God.  Becky.  Look at her butt.  She’s like one of those rap guy’s girlfriends.  Summer is almost here and it’s a long weekend and the weather is crazy beautiful!  Cedar Point and Flower Days at the Farmer’s Market await. 

I’ve told myself that before we’re doing anything fun, I need to get through the mound of crazy burying my desk and clean our room since my suitcase is still sitting in the middle of our bedroom floor from three weeks ago.  It was funny when Dave was tripping over it, but now I’ve done it twice myself.  I always tell Tate that she can’t do anything until she cleans up her crazy two year old toy messes, so I’m imposing the same rule on myself.

It’s harder when you’re the grown up and you know that you can totally pull the airplane chute, pop a beer tab, and say see ya later, Suckas!  Except, I don’t drink beer out of cans, so I’d probably have to go searching for a bottle opener, but you get the point.

Coffee and cleaning our room, it is. 

What awesomeness do you have planned for this weekend?

The Mother-In-Law Clean.

I am a maniac when my mother-in-law comes over to our house.  Certifiable.

Sue, you should probably stop reading now.

Regardless if it’s planned or an unexpected visit, three minutes before, you’ll find me running through the house with a vacuum.  Usually, I’m simultaneously hurrying the kids along to pick up whatever mess they’re currently concocting and yelling for Dave to please grab a broom.  This is usually followed by an entertained look from him, possibly followed by an eye roll because he knows his mother, but he grabs the broom anyway. 

Sue didn’t raise a fool.

She really doesn’t care what our house looks like on a Wednesday at four in the afternoon.  Not even a little bit.  My brain knows this.  My brain also knows that my own mother cares WAY more than my mother-in-law does. If Janet walked in to a spotless house, she’d walk right back out and ask where her real daughter is being held captive… then, probably tell Clean Michelle to stay instead.

You hear that, Dave?  It’s YOU who should be caring about a mother-in-law clean.

It’s me, though.  I care.  It’s as if the house being clean is going to make her think, “Well, I’m certainly glad he picked a girl who can keep the house clean!  What a good great choice for a wife to my beloved son and such a pretty mother of my grandchildren!  Have you tasted this pot roast?  It’s delicious.” 

When the house is a disaster, in my head, she knowingly glances at Dave with raised eyebrows while stepping over Legos and spit-fixing Finn’s wild, too-long hair and slowly shakes her head in disbelief.  “There are toys from one end of the house to the other, isn’t she home all day?  That’s what happens when you marry a mouthy Democrat who talks to her imaginary friends on the internet for a living.” 

Stop smiling, those imaginary friends… that would be you.

The reality is, when she calls to say she’s stopping over unexpectedly and hears me start the launch sequence of DEFCON MOTHER-IN-LAW, she tells Dave, “Tell Michelle not to worry about it!  I don’t care!” 

But, I do.  Now, be a dear and run outside and cut some lilacs for the table.

Am I the only one that does the mother-in-law clean?

Clingy.

Before now, I really took our relationship for granted.  We’ve been friends for so long, but I’ve started to… well, I have feelings for you.

I mean, I know.  I know your friends think I’m clingy.  It’s like I can’t control how much I love you.  And no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop humming our song.  I’m trying not to stifle our love affair, I swear.  I just want you touching me, near me, holding me tight.

It sounds so cliché, but I just want to soak you up. 

I’ve never felt this way.  And even though, it’s been a long, hard few months, my love, I’m willing to look past all of that.  I can’t even talk about January, but you know, you already know.  Please promise me that will never happen again.  I don’t think I could take it, Sunshine.

My only Sunshine. 

You make me happy. 

You, and all 82 degrees of you.

Am I the only one having a love affair with the thought of summer?

Outside Kind of Girl.

Outdoorsy.  Nature lover.  Frolicking in the great outdoors.

If someone were to describe me, these phrases wouldn’t ever be a first choice. 

No ma’am.  I was never an outside kind of girl.  You wouldn’t catch me camping, sleeping under the stars, or just communing with nature for the fun of it.  Or hiking.  Or canoeing for fun, playing in the dirt, climbing trees, or really, anything super nature-y.  

I was the brainy, bookish girl over there in the corner.

So you can imagine that I have no idea where she gets this…

 

Ever since she could walk, the second she was outside, she’d grab a leaf or run her hands through the mulch.  Every moment of every day, she wants to be outside.  Digging in the dirt, carrying a stick, laying in the grass, and jumping in puddles, it’s her jam.

Outside kind of girl.