Cereal Monogamy

I discovered recently that it doesn't pay for me to try new cereal. The new just isn't as good as the tried and true.
CoCo Wheats will never be as good as Chocolate Malt-O-Meal.
Store brand quick oats are not superior to Quaker.
Marshmallow Matey's beat Lucky Charms, both on price and sugar content.
And there simply isn't a substitute for Cinnamon Life.

So all you other shiny seductive cereal boxes - give it up. I'm not bringing you home no matter how big your advertising budget was.

Still waters

It's a truth of my life that when there are many things of high importance occuring in my private inner circle of life -- the outer circle of my life becomes livelier with humor and mischief. It's a neat trick of emotional misdirection.

Oh look - funny things! Nothing see here, no need to worry! Move along, folks. No dilly-dallying.

The people closest to me already know the worry or the crisis. The people on the periphery don't need the added burden of care, and so can just appreciate the humor of my own self-distraction.

I've given up trying to decide if that makes me strong or weak. I recognize it as my own method of coping with the parts of life I can't control. I would rather share laughter in hard times than enter a game of one-upping the misery.

Snowblind in August

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnbYsUIO3ic

I think we're snowblind, we've had a hard time, and we can't see where we are.
Spending our whole lives walking in straight lines, and it doesn't seem to stop.

This is our life, it's all that we get
the days are all numbered, and the nights are all spent
losing our focus, and we're starting to drag,
we're running in circles and we start to feel bad.


Snowblind - Rob Thomas - (C) Warner Music Group

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The poetry of this lyric speaks to my heart, in ways that are not easy to explain. I know what it is to be snowblind, and the metaphor is so very apt for what I experienced when my marriage was failing. Everything swirling around you, until it's impossible to see anyway forward. Eventually the storm passes, but the landscape looks nothing like it did before the snow.

There's wisdom, and pain, and beauty in this song. It's almost hard to share it. My own story doesn't end the way this song does...

oh, but when the night falls down on this place
i will be the one to hold you
when the tears run down your face

but for a long time... I hoped it would. I no longer expect that reconciliation to occur in this life. And perhaps every August 26th, I will remember the frostbite from being snowblind.

Genetic Humor

I'm telling a deep dark secret here - no, not really. Duh. This is the internet.

I think fart jokes are funny. All gaseous humor, really. Until now, it's never been something I'd share with more than my friends and family. It's just a funny sound. And slightly embarrassing. And it happens to everyone. It's just funny. I give up trying to analyze why it makes me giggle. It just does.

Guess what else? I get to laugh about it A LOT. My children recently discovered their own joy and humor at pretend farts and burps.

AAAAAAAAAARP!!! followed by "excuse me" and raucous laughter. Or
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPTTT , I tooted!!! excuse me.
and more laughter.

Truely, is there anything more fun than sharing silly dorky humor with your children and laughing together until your sides hurt? I think not. I'm so glad that trait got picked up in my kids.

Trainwrecks

Anyone who drives knows about "gawker slow-down" - that phenomenon where if there's an accident, people feel the need to stop and look.

I feel that way about Craigslist personals. I can't help myself, I have to stop and look. It's my own version of gawker slow-down. And of course, I can't keep this knowledge to myself - no, I must share it to save you from having to learn the painful lesson on your own.

Craigslist is all about categories... putting things where they belong so visitors can easily find what they want. In the personals, visitors apparently want lots and lots of acronyms. M4W. W4M. M4MW. W4M. FWB. SDM. SBM for BBW. DDF. Until all you can think is WTF? Don't these people know how to use words? Sadly, the answer is no.

And then there's posts involving pictures.... which I have also learned to categorize:
- Not a real person
- I don't know you, and I don't need to see that.
- Is that supposed to make you seem romantic?

Then there's the people who post. I'm sure some of them are very normal people, with normal and busy lives. But there's also these people:
- I want to get laid.
- I'm bitter about my ex
- My spouse can't find out
- Not from around here

There. You now know what I know about Craigslist Personals. Which leads me to the conclusion that it's better suited to finding furniture and garage sales than potential partners. I think I'll stick to meeting people at IKEA, or the coffee shop, or the library.

Boring thoughts

"I'm so bored!"

"There's nothing to do!"

"That's boring!"

Not so long ago, I thought boredom was a terrible thing. It has a negative connotation - Merriam-Webster defines boredom as : the state of being weary and restless through lack of interest.

These days, I'm starting to see boredom as a luxury item. There's just not time to be weary. Or restless. And there are too many interesting things happening somedays that lacking interest is simply not possible.

Kids with fevers. Multiple software releases in the same month. Emptying a storage unit. School starting. Figuring out visits with family and friends.

Being bored means there's no emotional turmoil or urgent events that require immediate attention. Being bored means that life is calm. The routine is working, and life is about as normal as it will ever get. Today, I think I'd like that kind of boring.

Adrian Cronauer

I loathe the wet heat of August in Minnesota. It makes me crabby and out of sorts. I can't think of anything good to say or think about it. But then I remember this quote, from Good Morning, Vietnam:

The weather out there today is hot and shitty with continued hot and shitty in the afternoon.

That movie was from a summer when I had no job, no responsibilities, and the freedom to spend every weekend hanging out with friends and being young. It makes me smile to remember, even while I wish for the coolness of an autumn night.

Before you begin....

I feel that I must preface this post with a disclaimer: I do not work for IKEA and as much as I might wish otherwise, I'm getting nothing from mentioning them so often in this post.

So you saw my new bed. I am rather fond of it already. I picked it up at IKEA, bastion of inexpensive furnishings to assemble on your own. In case you've never been to an IKEA.... Saturday's not usually the best time to shop there - but it was the day I had time to go, and so, I went. At least I was wise enough to use the product finder on the website, so when I arrived, I could go directly to the self-serve warehouse and pick out what I needed. Aisle 30, Bin 24 & 25. Aisle 28, Bin 3.

A small problem - apparently, IKEA does not expect you to be a single woman shopping alone for a queen size bed. The box was big, and rectangular, and over my head.
Workaround for small problem:

1. Walk to end of aisle.
2. Press "help" button.
3. Wait.
   

See cute tall guy who had previously held door open to self-serve warehouse. Smile.

"Do you need some help?"
"Yes, actually, I do. The bed I want is too large to take down from the shelf by myself"

Cute tall guy helps manuever 63-lb rectangle from shelf onto unwieldy cart, with combination of head, arms, deftness, and commentary on the difficulty of shopping at IKEA alone.

I politely offer my thanks for his help, and another smile, and proceed to the checkout. While standing in line, I mentally kick myself for not even asking Cute Tall Guy his name. Because he was helpful. And cute. And oh well, it's too late now because I'm paying for my bed and I need to go home and put it together and OMG would I *really* ask for someone's number at IKEA?!

Home again, I work on a variety of other house related projects through the afternoon. After dinner, I decide I should put my bed together. I open up the 63 lb rectangle, look for the helpful assembly instructions, and discover that - yes, I really should have asked for Cute Tall Guy's number:

See that?

• Flat head screwdriver.
  
• Phillips head screwdriver.
  
• Bed assembly buddy.

IKEA... why didn't you put that on the outside of the 63 lb. rectangle? Why?!

Lesson learned - if a nice, cute, tall guy offers to help with a bed - it's probably a good idea to at least get his phone number.

Home, at last.

Since I moved into my house, I've been sleeping on various surfaces that aren't always comfortable... air mattress & hide-away couch... I'm talking to you.

It's a survivable method of sleep, but I can't recommend it as a long term solution. It just feels temporary to sleep on transitional surfaces, like crashing at a friend's place, or borrowing a couch for cheap lodgings while on vacation.

This weekend though was another milestone of sorts. I have my own bed. My own place of sanctuary and rest. My house doesn't feel like a place to crash... it feels like home.

Love affair

Hot. Dark. Strong. Steamy. Rich. Exotic.

Coffee. I love coffee. I love the sensual experience of opening a fresh bag of coffee beans, the first scent of Guatamalan or Sumatran beans. The texture of just the right grind. The aroma as a the pot brews. The deep rich brown of a freshly poured cup. The heat that leaks through the ceramic into my hands. The whole experience wakes me up.

It's a simple pleasure, and an affordable luxury, and I cherish that.

I enjoy the memories of working in a coffee shop, and coming home smelling like espresso. It took me forever to learn the proper technique for foaming milk for cappucinos.

I remember being pregnant with my babies, and the smell of coffee making me want to vomit. I remember how long it took me to be willing to try coffee again after that.

Coffee... you've been good to me.

On and Off Weeks

I've just switched over to an "off" week, when my perfectly fabulous and completely exhausting (at times) children go to their dad's house. As custody arrangements go -- this one is not so terrible. They have equal time with both of us. I get time to myself to work on projects around the house and go in early or stay late at work as needed.

But I hate the first night they are gone. I hate how quiet the house is. I hate not getting to snuggle them to sleep, or sing their songs, or listen to those bedtime tales about their days. My heart aches, my arms ache, and I regret every cross word I spoke in the last week. I know I can't change the past, and that controlling the future is really more a general guidance than absolute control - but on these nights when I switch to an "off"' week - it's hard to not wish things were different.

But I can't go back - I can only go forward, and must do so knowing that sometimes it's just going to feel "off."


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Related:
This write-up has informed a large part of the separation and agreements about the life we want for the kids: http://www.divorcehq.com/billrights.shtml