the childless vacuum

I always joke that I'll get rid of Izzy at the first suggestion. Want to practice having a child? Take her! Want to pick up chicks? Take her! Need entertainment for your next party? Take her! Usually someone chimes in and says "awww, you know you would miss her". And I always say "please, give me the chance!"

Mom took Izzy for the weekend because she was dead-set on her seeing fireworks this 4th of July. We are lazy, it's hot as hell and Austin traffic with a toddler is not our idea of a good time, so she felt we could not be trusted with her granddaughter's Independence Day festivities. Once Mom found out that Barbers Hill (a neighboring upscale community) was having a fair on July 4th, complete with pony rides, moonwalks and enough junk food to make up for 2 years of a healthy diet, she was packing their bags. When she mentioned it to Izzy, Iz walked to the car and tried to move her carseat from our car to hers. Suffice to say, she was on board. In fact, it's all Izzy's been saying for 24 hours ("Izzy go bye-bye with Grandma" over and over and over).

I was so excited I could hardly stand it. I could clean house and keep it that way. I could sleep all day and stay up all night. I could sleep naked*. The possibilities of a child-less weekend were unlimited!!

And then they left. Izzy was sitting in her carseat ready to go before we even got the car loaded. She waved and blew me kisses as they were pulling out of the driveway. I lowered the garage door, walked inside and sat down. It was eerily quiet. As if a vacuum had sucked the life out of the house. Chris had mentioned the last couple of times Izzy and I have gone out of town how quiet the house gets. Every time he said it I felt a little bit of resentment stirring. As it turns out, he's right. The house gets very, very quiet. And honestly, it's unsettling.

No doubt I'll get over it in the next couple of hours. No question I'll enjoy my quiet, clean house tonight while running around naked. But the truth is, I'm really going to miss her. A quiet house just isn't the same once you have children. Sure, you enjoy it. But there is a lack of life that you just don't experience before you have kids (although, those with pets would probably understand as well). And it's a reminder that I wouldn't go back to the way it was before her. Despite what I say or my deprecating remarks, my life is so much better with her than without. And I will definitely think twice before trying to give her away to the first bidder...

* While this most definitely falls into the "too much information" category, I really grew to love sleeping naked BC (before child). Once we had Iz, I realized how much I hated getting "wrapped up" in clothes while sleeping. Yet for the first year sleeping naked was just unreasonable. You're up at all hours and getting dressed and undressed was just a pain in the ass. Once she started sleeping through the night, I then worried about the time factor in case of emergencies. Would I have time to get dressed, THEN get my child in case of a fire or zombie attack? My answer was no. And I didn't want to face those situations in the buff. Now that she's older, it's just creepy. While Chris and I have been known to 'hippy-it-out' in certain parenting situations, being naked around our child just isn't one of them. I wish I were "cooler" about this, but I still remember seeing my dad and stepmom naked in bed and how uncomfortable it made me feel as a kid. So naked time has become one of the many treasures of a childless evening...

Funeral Plans

I've been meaning to post this for awhile.  Since the age of about 10, I've been planning my funeral.  Obviously the details have changed from time to time (I no longer wish to hear Boys II Men played upon my death), but the general idea has stayed the same.  Maybe this is morbid.  But I'm a planner.  So it would only make sense that I would plan my own funeral arrangements, right?

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I don’t want to be buried in a dress.  In fact, I’m not sure I want to be buried at all.  Actually, I don’t care.  Do whatever with me.  (But if I’m buried, don’t do it in a dress.  I want to be buried in Calvin Klein jeans.  I look good in those.  Or did, anyway.)

But I do want one hell of a funeral.  A big, sappy flowery funeral.  Spend a chunk of my life insurance money sending me out in style, please.  It should be known that I DO NOT want an open casket.  I do not want people standing over me discussing how blue and puffy I look.  More importantly, I do not want people taking pictures of my dead body (a practice common in my family).  No, leave the casket closed.  And on top I want a big picture of my once beautiful self.  In fact, I have the picture picked out already.  It was taken several years ago and hanging in the hallway.  I don’t give a damn if I don’t die until I’m 85 years old, use that picture.  I was happy and full of life and it represents one of the happiest moments of my life (it was taken at Boykin Springs when Chris and I first started dating).

I want no fill-in-the-blank preachers speaking at my funeral.  I don’t want someone saving souls.  Save souls on your own time.  This is MY time.  My last time, in fact.  I’d like for someone to step up and give me a proper eulogy.  And by proper, I mean real.  None of this “she was a kind and beautiful soul” crap.  I mean, hopefully by the time I die I will have attained that worthy description, but no doubt I will still be “me”.  Feisty, outspoken, and opinionated.  And all up in everyone’s business.  Mention that.  Throw in the W.H. Auden poem as well.  Play an incredibly sappy song (might I suggest Ray LaMontagne’s “A Falling Through”?)  Work everyone into a good cry.  Then, end the funeral with a good smudging.  No matter what form you decide to leave me in, I’d like one last good smudging before I go.

From there, I’d like a wake.  Actually, I'd really like a Nine-Night.  But with everyone's busy schedules, I feel a little bad asking for that much of everyone's time.  So I'll take a wake.  With BBQ and liquor.  Throw in a keg.  From this point forward, be happy.  Laugh, joke, hug, kiss, tell good stories, have sex* and appreciate the fact that you are not dead.  Too many people use death as an excuse to end their own lives.  I hate excuses and I hate victims.  Using me as an excuse to be a victim is the grandest way to disrespect my memory.  Don’t mourn me for too long because I am quite confident I am enjoying my dead self.  When I was a small child, I asked my grandmother what happened when we died.  Her response was that we go to Heaven and God answers all of the questions we’d ever had.  I am dying (literally by this time) to find out what the deal is with UFO’s, who shot JFK and whether or not Elvis, Tupac and Jim Morrison really died when they say they did.  That’s just the beginning of my book of questions.  God’s gonna be busy for awhile. 

Speaking of the weird, I’m going to make a Houdini claim as well.  If I can come back, I will.  I’ll try not to scare the hell out of anyone in the process.  But if I can hang around spying on people, you better know I’m going to do it.  If I accidently knock over a glass in the process, I’m sorry.  Didn’t mean to scare ya, it’s just the downside to being a ghost.  Otherwise, I’ll try to check in periodically.  If you randomly smell Clinique Happy, you’ll know I was there.  I’ll play songs on the radio when I get a chance.  All that general dead-people-checking-in business, I’ll try to do.

In regards to my "stuff", chances are I won't have much worth keeping.  For the love of simplicity, do not become a hoarder in my honor.  There isn't much stuff in my life that I'm attached to.  A small amount of jewelry (left to Izzy, of course), some antique furniture (passed down through the family), and by that time, hopefully a pretty nice car.  The rest should go to charity or be "auctioned off" amongst friends and family.  Izzy's going to be an only child, so I guess there won't be anyone to fight with over my things (a HUGE plus to NOT having any more children).   But so help me, if people start fighting over my things and/or money, I promise I will come back and haunt you.  And not in a cute way.

As for Chris (who I’ll hopefully still be married to at the time of my departure), be supportive of him.  Feed him for a while, maybe wash a few loads of clothes (he’s not used to doing it himself) and help with his general well-being.  I’ve already expressed my desire that he be a widow for a year.  After that, get on with it.  Men generally have an easier time moving on, so don’t be angry when he brings home another woman.  Granted, she won’t be me.  No way will she ever measure up (I’m a tough act to follow).  But as long as she has his (and Izzy’s!) best interests in mind, cut her some slack.  However, if she’s a pain in the ass, I do expect one of my lady friends to have a talk with him.  I won’t be here to communicate his ignorance, so I expect one of my ladies to do it in my absence.  In the event he doesn't move on after a year, sign him up for an internet dating service.  He's a fan of that sort of thing...

Last, but most definitely not least, Izzy.  This is where I really expect the most from my friends.  No matter what her age (hopefully she’ll be an old lady herself), I feel like she’ll need to retain some kind of connection with my friends.  My friends will be most able to speak in my absence.  My friends know best what I would say or do in any given situation.  My friends know better than anyone (besides Chris) my absolute love for her.  And no doubt that will need to be expressed on a regular basis for a while.  As time goes by, she’ll surely adjust (for goodness sake, don’t let her pine over me and become a victim!)  It will be important for my friends to stand in my place during those important or difficult life moments.  I’m an only child, so she’ll have no other support from my side.  So I pass that responsibility to my friends.  It’s a big job, but know that I would do the same for you.  Were I still alive, of course…

Undoubtedly, you think I’ve gone off the deep end with this entry.  But I’ve been around long enough to know that death can really fuck people up.  People don’t do or act like they should.  And in my typical manner, I’m trying to micro-manage a situation that I obviously won’t be here for, yet has everything to do with me, so I want to make sure it’s done right.  Call me crazy, but it’s important and I wanted to make sure I had it in writing for others to pull up in the event that things get crazy.  I don’t want to have to “roll over in my grave” if I don’t need to.  Just saying…

 

*  It has been discussed in a few of my social circles the need to have sex after a tragic funeral.  In most cases, people share how guilty they felt by that need.  Personally, I think it’s the purest form of connection and appreciation for life, which is why we are often struck with that need.  Go for it! I say.  Orgasm it up in my honor!

going dark

I won't have much to say for the next few days.  We are leaving for the second jaunt of our trip and headed to the ranch in East Texas.  Call me a pessimist, but I don't have much hope of this trip improving during this half.  Izzy is still reacting to whatever-the-hell she has (it's actually contact dermatitis that warranted a trip to the ER), and though she is better, I'd rather be putting in her a bubble as opposed to a mice-infested ranch.  But whatever.  In addition, I will be spending time with family that I haven't seen in over 7 years and that makes me nervous. But at least it's new family.  Different family.  Family that I will be able to take a break from at the end of the day.  (Have I mentioned that I am over family?)

But just for fun, let's make a tally of this vacation's events:

- Witness a relationship meltdown - check

- Trip to the ER - check

- Heat exhaustion at the zoo - check

- Waste 2 hours of my life watching Lost in Space - check

- Break a lamp and secretly glue it back together  - check

- Dislodge a crown by chewing on a gummy orange slice - check

- Go 10 days without watching TV - check

- Go 10 days without putting on makeup - check

- Teach Izzy to swim - check

- Run from not one, but TWO cockroaches - check

- Develop an addiction to Xanax - check

- Fall in love with my husband all over again - check

- Gain weight due to an excess of fast food - check check

My 30 Days of Write has been downright depressing so far.  I swear I'm not usually this much of a mess.  I mean, don't get me wrong.  I'm a mess.  But these last 9 days have been much messier than usual.  In real life I've kept quite a sense of humor about it (I think...), it just doesn't seem to make it to my blog.  One thing is certain, I have a whole new appreciation for my home.  And things are bound to be better once I make it back to Austin (provided my cat and plants are still alive.  Oh please let them still be alive!!)

30DoW - Putting today in a bottle

My energy has been sapped lately, so instead of staying on topic I was going to write about Izzy's time capsule that we've been working on and have every intention of burying sometime this year on our ranch in East Texas.  But I just read Chris' blog and I am actually speechless on the matter. There is nothing I could say that could come even close to what he wrote.  So I will just stand behind that entry and leave it at that.

Instead, I'd like to relay my very eventful day.  Let this be a snapshot that goes into the time capsule, as it were.  For those who haven’t been following along, Izzy and I are staying with my Mom in Baytown, a town east of Houston where I grew up.  My mom and her boyfriend/ex-husband recently moved into an apartment together (much to my chagrin).  She just had what was supposed to be the last of 5 surgeries in a year (she found out yesterday she needed “just one more”), so Izzy and I came down to visit, along with my Aunt and 12-year-old cousin from Mississppi.  This, in addition to my mom’s boyfriend/ex-husband’s 2 grandkids, ages 9 and 13.  Oh, and two small yappy-ass dogs.  It’s an apartment-full to say the very least.

Now let me stop for a second and explain my usual day in Austin.  It always starts early, Izzy makes sure of that.  But if I’m honest, the day doesn’t actually start until around 10am.  That’s when we get out and about to do our activities (library, park, shopping, whatever).  We both eat lunch around noon, take a nap from 2-4:30, dinner at 6:30 and in bed by 8pm.  It’s routine, it’s structured, it’s quiet and more times than not, I’m in control.

Baytown, it should be mentioned, is the exact opposite of Austin.  It’s dirty, there are no trees, everyone is driving leased trucks or SUV’s, people think recycling involves tires only, in fact, the only thing green in this town are the stoplights.   And as it turns out, my visit here is becoming the mirror image of our lives in Austin.

I wake up at 7am to a 69-degree apartment.  There are people everywhere.  Floors, couches, and blowup mattresses.  This morning we went out to the pool for the first time by 10am.  Guns N’ Roses “Appetite for Destruction” was playing (on repeat) for at least 2 hours before we headed back in for lunch.  Making lunch was like an Excedrin commercial.  I was tripping over dogs and kids in the kitchen, the boyfriend/ex-husband was angry that I wasn’t paying enough attention to him, the TV is blaring Paula Dean, we eat and then back out to the pool.  Kids fighting, screaming, running, falling, coughing.  Dinner, rinse, repeat.  We come in for the last time around 9pm.  It’s an assembly line by now.  Pile the swim toys by the door (comprising of 3 large innertubes, 1 small swim ring, 1 pair of floaties, 3 boogie boards and 1 wagon carrying 3 pairs of goggles, 2 snorkels, 2 balls and a Backyardigan figurine), throw the towels and bathing suits over the banister on the patio (at which point my Mom always makes a comment about how the neighbors will judge) and stand in the shower assembly line.  By 10:30 everyone is showered and wanting “snacks”.  Which means more dogs and kids in the kitchen arguing about what everyone else is eating.  Then we watch a movie that everyone talks through until the toddler is curled up in a corner sucking her thumb actually begging for “nite-nite” (the 2 previous attempts do not work due to “snack” sugar highs).  By 2am the apartment finally hears silence.  By now, I have realized that silence is an actual sound.  In fact, after 3 days of the same routine chaos (with 2 more to go), it is the most beautiful sound in the world.

I realized at around 5pm today that I had become delirious.  A trip to the store needed to happen and I was the only one up for the job.  The two older kids wanted to come so we loaded up and went for it.  At one point they started fighting in the store and I lost my temper and yelled like a crazy lady.  I turned and saw myself in the pharmacy mirror and realized I had no makeup on, my clothes were a mess and I was standing in the grocery store at 5pm on a Friday in my hometown.  And I did not give a shit.  It was a major turning point for me.

It’s all been so truly insane, I had to get it all down here.  On the upside, we’ve spent so much time in the pool Izzy has learned to swim in 2 days time (with floaties, of course).  She was timid in the water on Wednesday, but by yesterday evening she figured out that she had better get in the game or she was going to have one lame ass time.  Now she gets “in the loop” of going in on one side of the pool, leisurely swimming through the chaos of kids to the other side, only to do it all again, and again and again (for hours in fact.)  I’ve enjoyed the time spent with my mom and aunt and the kids have been fabulous when they aren’t all arguing about the most mundane bullshit.  I am however now thanking God that I was an only child and have decided to share that gift with Izzy (seriously, I treasure silence far too much to have another child.  I think the decision has finally been made once and for all.)

And once I get back to the calm, green, quiet of Austin I am going to try to never complain again.  I know it’s a stretch, but I’ve never appreciated my life “before” as much as I do now.  I know there’s a lesson in here… I just hope to hell I don’t forget it.

30DoW - First assignment FAIL

This morning I was writing on today's assignment and was rather impressed with my creativity. But then I had to walk away to make our trip to the Dirty Bay, and then I walked in to chaos soup and now I'm just not feeling it.  And while I feel somewhat bad about it, I'm still writing today so all is not lost in 30 Days of Write.

I do have this to say in regards to my day:  Time marches on but things stay remarkably the same. If silence is golden, then I am obviously tarnished silver, but this time I'm going to work on becoming at least a cheap 9-carat gold.  I'm certain I'll never make it to 24-carat, I'm not driven enough for that kind of silence.  I'm going to end with the good 'ole Serenity Prayer, because that will be my motto for this entire trip...

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can; 

and the wisdom to know the difference.

A-fricken-men.

:::censored:::

I have recently started a bad habit of writing blogs and deleting them.  I'm not sure if I like my newly imposed self-censorship or not.  Perhaps it's a sign of all around self-censorship, for which I would be much grateful (as would many others, no doubt).  

Oh well.  As long as I'm on the right side, I guess it's worth it.

My ears are ringing.

Is it possible that I've run out of things to say?