Thursday, May 12, 2011

Disney princess make it look easy

Last week I cleaned the house mostly from top to bottom. I've been making sure to tidy up a bit each day and o far I'm doing well. Everything is mostly clean again, and I've only been working for about an hour and a half. The worse part is sweeping and mopping. I have to save up a little money for a new broom and mop. The mop is on it's last leg, and I have no idea how old my broom is, it was here before I was.

I'm only taking a break to let the kitchen and the hall way floors dry. I sort of left my paper towels and my cleaner in the hall, and I'm not able to walk on my floor. I'd have to kill myself. I'd kill anyone else that stepped a toe on them.

Alight, so this is going to be a random change in topic but Angel's at his appointment and it's the first time since I moved here I haven't been with him. It makes me feel all the more useless and like I'm going to be replaced. I hate those feelings, but it's hard not to feel that way a little. I do everything around the house, I cook, I clean, I take care of the brat, and I try to keep my school work up to date. I'm failing to do that because I'm stuck on math, but that's beside the point. I feel like if Angel gets better, there will be no need for me. What else can I offer? I'm a house wife. It's what I do. I don't know if I do it well, but I do do it. I'm pretty good at cleaning, I'm okay at cooking, and I do an okay job with the Brat.

I don't want to be replaced, and no longer needed.

Last night I finally told him this, but I'm not sure he understands. That's okay I guess, but it's a little rough. To feel this way, and to worry about him at his appointment. I want him to get better. I do. I want him to stand by my side in everything that we want for ourselves. So am I allowed to be fearful? I don't have the answer to that.

I'm finally done with all the cleaning. I had to go take out trash and beat the cats up for trying to tear the bag open. Well. I'm tired and sweaty. I think I might take a shower.

- Punky

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Bathtime laptop

I sort of need one. The bath is where I do my best thinking. When I'm soaking away the aches and pains in some hot water, I think of all the things I want to blog about. That's when I reach sudden clarity about my feelings, what I'm thinking about, etc. Of course, by the time I get out, dry off and run a brush through my hair it has all gone away.

It was a little overwhelming this morning to see all the updates on the many blogs I follow. And, it shamed me a little for not being better at this. It's not like I don't want to be, I just happen to fall into a lot of routine ruts and cycles. I'll see someone blog about something that inspires me and instead of being able to do the same, I'm off on a google hunt for a new camera so I can use it to blog with pictures. Not that when I had one I did much with it. I think it's just an excuse I make up, " Oh, I can't blog today, I don't have a digital camera. "

A few weeks ago I cooked with the brat. I took pictures of the steaks after seasoning them, and again after they were done. And I never posted them. I didn't think they looked good enough. So, I fear I'll always have an excuse not to get on here. It's because I feel like I don't have much worthy of sharing. I'm not a Martha Stewart type guru of cooking and crafts. I'm just a dreamer with too high standards.

It wasn't too long ago that Aine helped me make sense of those feelings, wanting to be the tv-prefect embodiment of something that doesn't really exist. Except, that I stubbornly do believe in the existence of those perfect people. My mother was one of them. She was a single mom with a spotless apartment, fabulous cooking skills, she could sew and knit, she taught me history, legends and myths and folklore. She could dance, and craft, and interpret dreams. She was as close to perfect as any human can get. When I walk around her neighborhood once a week I am stopped at least three times by random people who know her, who want to tell me how great she is.

So why can't I be more like her? Why can't I wake up at six thirty, do a little reading, bathe and dress, make breakfast for the brat and pack him off to school ? Why can't I follow that with cleaning and grocery shopping, and meal prepping and have her life? I rarely ever saw her do those things unless it was a weekend. She did it all behind the scenes like a magician. And still had time to go out, explore, etc.

Sure, part of it is that I'm sick. Hard to dance and cook and clean with too little blood and not enough air, but I always feel like she could have done it anyway. It's a very harsh standard. It also makes me feel like I won't get to do some of the grander things I want to do in life, if I can't so much as keep a blog and a neat home.

I think it should be called Cleaver Syndrome, and Aine should get royalties from it.

In other news, I will finally be seeing a hematologist tomorrow who will hopefully help me get healthy enough to strive for Perfect June-itis. After that, it's off to see Priest on Friday with Punky and The Raven. The theatre is close enough for us to go and get back all before the boys are out of school. Very convenient, that. To top it off, the weekend shall also be filled with much adventuring. It's officially Bronx Week, and there's much fun to be had. Trolleys, carnivals, canoes, and more.

I have to go make dinner now, but if someone pokes, prods, and reminds me, I'll blog a little more later.