Metaphor for Life

I’ve been feeling a bit glum this week…just one of those times when life seems unfair and unfun.

I was driving to my weight-lifting class at the YMCA – yes, I lift weights; no, you can’t tell because my muscles are safely hidden beneath my chub – and as I was approaching a stop light, a giant flock of birds was above me in the sky, just ahead of my view.  They were soaring and diving, circling around and diving some more.  It looked as though they were chasing each other in a fun bird-soaring game.

My radio was on and the birds seemed to be flying and diving in rhythm with my music.  Their feathers were a beautiful palette of blue, gray, and white, and as I sat there watching the majestic show, I began to feel better.  Sure, life is challenging and tiresome at times, but it’s not all bad.  Look at these lovely, graceful birds relishing their gift of flight.

Just as I was about to completely switch my attitude from dull to delightful, I gazed up in awe one final time at the birds and…

SPLAT!

Sliding down my windshield, directly in front of my face, was an oozing reminder that life is simultaneously beautiful and full of crap. 

So there it is, my new life motto.

With the birds come the turds.

Happy New Year

What did you do to celebrate the arrival of January?

We went to the zoo.  They have lights and animals around the holidays.  It’s very exciting.

We bundled up and hit zoo town.  Eva brought along her kitty Alassia to join in the fun.

We saw the lights…

We soared like condors…

And we roared like lions.  Some of us very frighteningly. 

We were tired and freezing after wandering through the zoo for a few hours, but it sure was fun.  And we timed it so we were making our exit right as the big crowds started filing in.  This lioness knows what she’s doing.

Here’s to a happy 2019!

Lackadaisical Approach

My laziness as a parent is steadily climbing to its pinnacle.  Being childless for so many years, I had gobs of time to think about all the faults of other parents, and how I was not going to be like those lazy weasels.

Now I have a kid and I’m like those lazy weasels. And I only have 1 kid – can you imagine the depths of my lazy weasely-ness if I had multiple children?  I shudder.

When Eva first started Kindergarten, I was fervent about getting out the door on time.  School starts at 9:15, we were in the car at 9:00. Sometimes 8:59.  Those were especially good days when I was running the morning like a four-star general. 

Now it’s January.  Can you see the weasel fur growing along my spine?  It’s there and it’s coming in thick.

School still starts at 9:15 but now we’re shuffling to the car around 9:08, sometimes 9:10 if I’ve spent too much time putting mustache wax on my weasel whiskers.  I’m basically driving Eva up to the school, slowing the car down to a crawl, and shoving her out the door while shouting, “Tuck and roll, baby!  Tuck and roll!” 

I partly dawdle getting Eva to school because I hate having her leave me every morning.  All of these months later and my heart still aches when I watch her walk through the front doors of the school.  It’s sad driving back to my empty burrow with only a geriatric dog for company.  I mean, I love the old canine but he pees on the floor and doesn't respond when I ask for his opinion on the way I’ve coifed my fur.   

Getting to school is not my only struggle.  Sometime during the week, my eyes will widen and I’ll think, “Hmmm…when’s the last time Eva had a bath?”  I usually can't precisely pinpoint the day.  Eva never volunteers to bathe herself and she never knows the last time she was washed either – a right weasel-in-training.  I’ve now had to write on her calendar the days she needs to bathe.  But even then I don’t always follow through – it’s hard to wash her hair with my tiny weasel arms. 

You’d think I’d be more together since I only have 1 child and no job. 

You’d think that, but you’d be wrong.

That’s a lazy weasel for you.

Nutcracker

I was poking around through my camera roll recently and realized I had failed to mention Eva’s ballet recital.  What kind of mother am I?

The easily-distractible kind. 

Wait.  What were we talking about?

Oh, yes, Kitty’s recital.  It was the Nutcracker and my baby was a gingerbread girl.  She was the cutest little gingerbread girl you ever did see.

Like most things in life, the whole ordeal was a mixture of happiness and grumpiness.  First of all, the recital didn’t start until the evening, and then it started 30 minutes late.  Michael and I ran to get dinner beforehand at the closest place we could find.  It turned out to be KFC – terrible choice – and I spent most of the recital wishing I could open a hatch and empty out my stomach contents. Seriously.  Worst meal ever.

BUT - Kitty was adorable onstage.  There was a part where her little hat fell off and she spent a good amount of time fiddling with it instead of dancing; kind of a bummer.  Bad call on having hats on 6-year-olds.  Just sayin’.

It was after 9pm by the time the show was over, and you can guess how Kitty reacted. 

She was a tired grump.

So was I.

And Michael took approximately 32 blurry photos.  I didn’t say anything rude to him about it.  Or maybe I did.  No matter.

But even as a tired grump, she’s so darn cute.

I love her! (And the blurry-photo guy too.)