Mundanity Analysis. Dissection of a To-Do List.

In the interest of pointing and laughing at myself, I thought I would dissect and analyze a To-Do list of mine from earlier this week:

Bus
At 6:45, see onto the bus 5 fed, dressed, hair-combed, teeth-brushed, dishes-put-away, backpacks-and-lunches-packed teenagers.
Laugh maniacally as I wave to the busdriver.

Critter Care
Water to the rabbits-let Annabelle out of the barn-scoop worst of manure out of barn-let chicks out of hut into Chick Shack-top off chick feed and water-check swelling of Finn's nether-regions.

Drop Off Daniel
At 8:20, see into the car 1 fed, dressed, hair-combed, teeth-brushed, dishes-put-away, backpack-and-lunch-packed preteen.
Drive to school 20 minutes away.
Laugh maniacally as he disappears into the building.

Walk
In a woefully inadequate nod to the exercise this ol' body so desperately needs, I planned on walking a few laps at the park with a friend. Unfortunately, it began raining most of the way through our first lap. As the rain fell upon us, our saunter turned quickly into a stroll, the heartrate equivalent, for us, of running a 5k.

Pet Store
Buy 50 lb bag of rabbit feed, 3 boxes of crickets, 20 lb bag of cat food, 20 lb box of cat litter, 3 - 35 lb bags of dog food, 50 lb bag of chick feed.
Wonder to self why it is chick feed but dog food.

Grocery Store
Buy (cough, cough) dollars worth of groceries to pour down the throats of my 6 bottomless pit kids. Bring all groceries into house-put all food away-dispose of all questionable leftovers-flatten and put in recycle bin all the cardboard packages. Silently marvel at what a non-stop fiesta my life has become.

Make 2 Pies
Make 2 banana pudding pies. One for my brood to devour in about 5 minutes after school and one for neighbor.
Lick pudding and Cool Whip from my fingers.
Giggle while watching goats fight over banana peels.

Get Eggs/Drop Off Food
Buy weekly 4 dozen eggs from neighbor Sarah.
Drop off chicken noodle casserole and banana pudding pie to her.
Recall last night's conversation with husband:
Fred: What are you making that casserole for? We already had dinner.
Me: It's not for us, it's for Sarah. She just had a baby.
F: Sarah the Amish neighbor?
Me: Yes.
F: How many kids is this for her?
Me: 5.
F: Well since we have 6, shouldn't she be making YOU a casserole?
Me: That's not the point, she .... oh never mind ....

Pick up Daniel
Drive 20 mins out to school to pick up youngest. Listen attentively while he regales me with tales of his day.

Make Dinner
Since hubs not home, make "kids dinner" on autopilot: mac-n-cheese, hot dogs, carrots and applesauce .
I know, I know, I could make this meal blind-folded with one hand tied behind my back.
On rollerblades.
With a fork shoved in my ear.
With 6 kids making demands of me every third second.
Oh wait. That's every time.

CCD
Take James and Julie to CCD. Silently send up prayers of thanks to the Almighty that religious education will soon be a thing of the past for us.
What?
Tonight is what?
Parent visitation night?
Yes, I so had that on my calendar. Which is apparent from my hairstyle (finger-in-the-electric-socket-look), my make-up (as in, not a scrap), and my style of dress (ancient brown corduroys with splashes of green paint flopping soggily above my nasty barn shoes).
Get literature and lecture on the Lent Triduum, with "Ideas for My Family to Celebrate" Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday, including but not limited to
prayer and scripture reading, evening masses, Adoration with family, silence between noon and 3pm, acts of charity, fast and abstinence, afternoon masses, be peaceful....

Bad Catholic Bad Catholic Bad Catholic Bad Catholic

And where the hell did I leave my self-flagellation cat-o-nine-tails?

Decide: guilt or laughter.
Choose: Laughter.


Click the brown button. It's on your to-do list.



Clip art from Google Images Clip Art:
http://www.idratherbewriting.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/taskstornup.png

Wordless Wednesday

From here on in I will be cheating.

But just on Wednesdays.

I've seen where some other bloggers do a Wordless Wednesday thing, and I've decided to follow suit.

So my Weds posts from now on will simply feature a picture of some sort.

Perhaps artwork of one of my kids.

Perhaps some old artwork of mine.

Maybe even a photo I like.

But enough talk. This is turning into a pretty wordy Wordless Weds.




Self-portrait of Daniel, circa 2007 (age 7)





Don't speak. Just click.

Party Time

I made a decision long ago that I would not attend any of the housewife parties where the purpose is to sell products. By excluding all, it would be nothing personal when it came time to decline yet another invitation from a well-meaning friend hoping to score a few dollars and a complimentary pizza stone.

Some of the little postcard invitations I've received in the mail over the years....

Pampered Chef
As I am neither pampered, nor a chef, I see no point in wasting anyone's time.

Tupperware and the like
Can someone please explain to me the wrong in using sour cream containers, peanut butter jars, yogurt cups and pickle jars to store my leftovers in?

Discovery Toys
Discovery. My idea of a kid discovering something would be to set him on the floor with a carboard box, some markers and some TP tubes. I'm not sure what has ever been discovered by a child pushing a button to hear the ABC song or the naming of all the colors or counting to 20 in Spanish.

Passion Parties
I'm no Dr. Ruth, but seems to me if you need facilitative devices in order to have fun during S.E.X. (sorry, that's how my Mom always spoke the word and old habits die hard) then you might be doing something wrong. Isn't the whole idea of sex is that it's supposed to be fun? OK, I mean aside from the whole procreative thing. The need for devices, toys, aids, what-have-you .... kinda like giving a kid a DS to play with when he's riding the Serpent at Six Flags.
Wait. Maybe The Serpent wasn't the best roller coaster name to use to illustrate my point here.



Clicking the button is like hitting the pinata. You know you want to do it!

First Sleepover

I know I generally give chick updates only once a week, but yesterday was too monumental a day to wait.

I moved them into the Chick Shack!

There was only a minimum of overnight tossing and turning by Yours Truly, and when I checked on them this morning we were still at 100% survival rate.

Yay chicks!
Yay me!

They seem to like the surplus of room their new digs offers them and they're strutting cockily about, scratching and clawing at their bedding and pecking at the odd spiderweb looking for snacks.

Now if I can just get Rosie's bathroom cleaned up we'll all of us be happy.

Chasing Normal

Running.
I was running. Running fast.

I was faster than everyone at my old school. They never could catch me.

In my old school, worlds away in New Jersey, I ran with fear. I ran to keep from being caught.
But I was fastest and they never could catch me.

Because my name sounded Indian,
Because I was quiet; different,
Because I was put in a reading group with the Big Kids,
Simply because they could,
They teased, they taunted, they chased. But they never could catch me.


Smiling
I was smiling.
Smiling because I was running in a group on the playground at recess.
In a group.
Part of a group.
The kids at my new school in Kentucky didn't know they were supposed to tease me.

I was smiling to feel the wind in my face, my long hair streaming out behind me. Smiling to have children all around me, all running, all doing something together. No longer apart. No longer chased.

I looked around me at the others, these new friends of mine...
This group that, in their ignorance, thought of me as one of their own.

But they were not smiling. They were scowling. They were yelling.
They were teasing, taunting... chasing.

Why were we chasing? Who were we chasing?

I looked forward. Saw a black-haired boy, fast as the wind, running 10 paces ahead of the others.
He was being chased.

I heard the group of children
my group of children
yell out ....Indian!

Indian? Indian! The boy, 10 paces ahead, fast as the wind, Indian?

No doubt we were chasing him because we wanted to talk to him, to bow down in worship and admire him. Indians were my whole life. I read every book I could find on them. Every birthday I wanted a bow and arrow set and an Indian headdress. In my play and in my dreams and in my soul I was an Indian. A hunter, a warrior, a brave, I was the legendary Hiawatha...

From his lodge went Hiawatha, Dressed for travel, armed for hunting; Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings, Richly wrought with quills and wampum; On his head his eagle-feathers, Round his waist his belt of wampum, In his hand his bow of ash-wood, Strung with sinews of the reindeer; In his quiver oaken arrows, Tipped with jasper, winged with feathers; With his mittens, Minjekahwun, With his moccasins enchanted.

I lived, breathed and dreamed Indians. And now there was one right here in my school! Was he in my class? I had so many things I wanted to ask him!

But we were chasing him.

We were chasing him. I was part of this group.

Not chasing to talk, to worship. Chasing to taunt, to tease, to chase.

And suddenly my head was swirling with thoughts, emotions, options.

Should I shout out for everyone to stop? Explain to them how miraculous it was to have someone like this at our school? Make them understand the beauty and the richness of the Indian heritage?

Should I run to his aid?

Should I simply drop out of the mob?

I did not know what to do. The only thing I knew for certain was that, no matter what, I could not switch sides. I could not become the chased again.

So I stayed with the mob.
Chasing acceptance.
Chasing normalcy.
Chasing the sense of belonging.

Running.
No longer smiling.
Overwhelmed. Knowing what was right, what was wrong, but the cost to correct things, so high...

In my confusion my legs started churning faster. I was moving to the front of the pack.

To catch up to the boy? To help him?
To get away from the others?
I didn't know.

I broke away from the pack.
I was fastest.
I was close to the boy.
Would I run with him?
My head was spinning with uncertainty and confusion.

And then, pain.
Pain in my gut from where the boy, so close, had reached back to swiftly kick me.

Grass scratching at my face as I stared up at the clouds, as I struggled to take in some air.

Shame consuming me.

Shame that I had not acted according to what I knew was right.

Shame in that moment. Shame for the weeks and months ahead. Shame decades later.

My shame welcomed the pain, embraced it, wanted to hide beneath it.

But, fast as I was, I could not run from the shame, could not escape it.

The others had been chasing the Indian boy.
I had been chasing normalcy, chasing acceptance.

But all I had caught was a lifetime of shame.