"Why're you so grumpy all the time?"

How many times have you been asked that question? For me? It's almost daily. It's true most of the time. I admit that I get grumpy on a regular basis. However, I feel it's my duty as a mother and wife, as well as my God given right.

Why am I consistently irritable?

Let me preface my answer by saying that since I am writing this in the non-existent gap of time between what's left of late evening and bedtime, so it's going to be fairly short, skimming over the main points of interest, or rather, the main points of why Ruby is her usual crotchety self.

You've read my writings. You know me. I'm just like you. I work a full-time job. I am a wife. I am a mother of four children - three of whom should be principally self-sufficient. I get up in the morning and get myself ready, pack my bag with coffee, lunch, etc. Sometimes I need to get the kids up and around. Sometimes not. Go to work. Come home from work.

Like I said.... skimming the surface. So far - so good.

Now, on this particular evening (and thank God it's hump day (Wednesday)), I come through the door to my son jumping out of the closet to scare me. It worked. Okay.... That was funny. But in trying to get him back, the two younger girls decide it would be fun to let the cat out of the bag and blow Mom's cover. I give up and set to unpacking my work bag, taking off my boots and coat and try to make my way down the hall to my bedroom so that I can change into my sweatpants.

Simple enough, right?

I walk into my room and begin undressing. As a ritual, someone's going to walk in and start a conversation. Or maybe I'll get lucky this evening and actually make it to the bathroom before someone comes in to tap on the door and ask me a question, that A. could have been asked later, or B. could have been asked to someone other than me.

My room is a mess. Typically I feel guilty about this. I feel like I should spend a few minutes and pick it up. I try not to think about it, because thinking about this type of thing is dangerous. Here is where I can walk to the edge and clearly see all the way down, including every spiky rock and shrub sticking out of the side. I look at the mess: the vacuum not put back where it belongs so I can stub and possibly break another toe (I think I might have one good one left); I see the pile of dirty laundry and wonder why nobody but me can return the dirty clothes bin to the proper place, I see the open closet doors and the kids toys and a pile of tealight candles and a stack of cd's. My bedroom is the official dumping ground for things when the kids are just too lazy to actually find the correct spot for displaced items.

My bathroom: the top is once again off the can of shaving cream, leaving a sticky ring on the counter top. The lid is off the Q-tip canister. Toothpaste in the sink. Wet towel on the floor. Enough said.

I have been trying to make plans for this weekend with my sister. And common sense tells me that to move towards this goal, I should make some nightly progress on the laundry. I remind you that there are six of us in this family so there is a lot of laundry. I have accepted that it's just a way of life. However, when I am the only one who can throw a load in the washer, then throw it in the dryer, then carry it upstairs and fold it - and nobody offers to help - nobody will even help when I ask them to, it's very disheartening, especially when they all want something.

I've changed my clothes, I've started some laundry, now I heat up some leftovers for dinner. But trying to maneuver around the kitchen to do this is another episode of too many bodies in a small space. Trying to get around this person or that person, while finding a clean spoon is never easy...... And now we're just about to the point where the onslaught of Mom's moodiness creeps in. A simple "Excuse me", or a polite "Get out of the way" never accomplishes what it is so simply meant to do. In fact, just the opposite happens when these types of phrases are spoken. They are typically answered with a sarcastic tone of voice, or an adverse action of the one desired.

They can never simply get out of the way. There's never just a peaceful dinner. It's a million questions, or a burp-n-fart fest, or somebody is whining about where they are sitting.

"Oh Mom. You need to give me your tax info and create and pin and sign off on my Fafsa, because the deadline in tomorrow."

"Hey Mom, are you gonna wash a load of darks, 'cause I need some boxers washed."

"Mom, I need you to sign this permission slip because it was due yesterday."

"Mom, can I play with Moonsand?"

Whoever invented Moonsand should have their toenails nibbled off by rabid mice.

So, excuse me if I'm a little tense, grumpy, out of sorts, frazzled. I don't know who planted the fantastical idea in my silly little head that when I get home from work I should be able to relax. Please forgive me. I don't know what I was thinking.

I look over at my clock and see the time. Usually by now I've got my things laid out for another day at work; my coffee maker is set and the pre-measured amounts of water and coffee are in their proper places; my teeth are brushed, notes are signed, plans are made for tomorrow, the last of the laundry is folded and put away - and then typically it's way past the time I ineffectively designate as my bedtime.

So I suppose, tomorrow, we'll do it all over again. (yippee!!)

A few weeks ago I believe I touched on the subject of lists. More so in regards to Spring cleaning tasks.

Now, however, I am beginning to panic. It really has just occurred to me that March is literally just around the corner and I have a child who is graduating from high school this June. That leaves me only a few short months to plan, plan, plan. And if you've stuck around long enough to learn anything about me - aside from the manners controversy - you'll know that I love planning. I am very lucky that my sister has agreed to help me with this. I just hope she remembers that she did indeed say that. We've said repeatedly that we need to schedule a coffee so that we can start our conspiring. Well... It's most definitely time.

On a completely different note... I've been thinking quite a bit about starting a Bucket List. Not because I'm old. Not because I have an incurable disease. Actually, in all honesty, it's probably because of this thing called Mid-Life that I'm going through.

In these short gray days and long dark nights of winter, I find myself longing for summer days, sunshine, warmth. My mind begins to wander and I think about being a blonde again... still thinking about getting a tattoo... Did you know I've never actually done a cannonball? Small potatoes, right? But it's something I've been wanting to try for some time, so Doing A Cannonball will definitely be in my top ten. I probably won't even number my items. That might be too much pressure. I'll just start listing and start doing when I'm able.

Sad that Procrastination is one of my biggest downfalls. Any suggestions for a magic giddy-up?

So if you know anything about me at all, one thing is for sure, I seriously dislike people who have no manners. To me, and I believe most of mankind, having manners is just natural, normal, common-sensical.

But there's always those folks who just can't seem to get it through their heads, that if they just thought, just for one measly second, about anyone, anyone else around them....

Now here I pause. I would naturally have ended that sentence with "they would live a happier life.", however, because they are so ignorant about their own obtuseness and disregard, I believe them to be already quite content with their illusory lives.

Now most of these dense mortals aren't mean. They aren't harsh, at least not on purpose. They're just simply oblivious to the very real feelings of everyone around them.

For example (and the very reason I thought I would again write about manners), at my place of work, we have restrooms, as do most businesses. I happened to be using the restroom, one toilet behind a locked door - not the kind that multiple ladies could walk into and choose a stall. So I'm in the bathroom, doing my business, when all of a sudden, I thought someone was having an emergency and trying their hardest to break the door down! The handle not only jiggled, but convulsed several times back and forth. Not only that, but the door itself was being pushed and pulled extraneously, alerting those* within earshot that there may be someone in dire need of a toilet. It not only startled me, but angered me instantly. Having sound judgment, and realizing that it may be a customer, as well as a fellow human being, I called out "Just.A.Sec!"

"Ooh! Sorry" I hear from the other side of the door. Oh yeah, I bet your sorry. But as you stand there, because you now realize that someone else is utilizing the facilities and that your going to have to wait, the idea of "Sorry" has already wafted out of your head. You're not standing there feeling guilty that you've just scared the daylights out of someone, or thinking of how you should phrase an apology for your savage attempt at entering the bathroom while it was occupied. And you're most certainly not thinking about how, in the future, you should definitely try to knock first because you're so embarrassed. No... your thoughts are already elsewhere, most likely on something to do with yourself.

Please tell me what ever happened to knocking, and listening for a response before trying to break the door down? I don't get you people! I'm sure the restroom doors of most establishments are kept in perfect working condition, therefore, there really is no need to use such muscle to try to force your way in. Let me assure you, there is no need, except for your own pure selfishness, to wrench the handle off the door trying to get in and scaring the #$%#$% out of the occupant!

*those: meaning the non-existent people who care when they hear a racket such as described above.

**Dear reader, I am going to bypass the topic of Manners While Driving, in part, because this is a subject that, for me, would take many, many posts for me to iterate my true feelings. Funny... I enjoy the act of driving, even if every other person on the road is a nitwit, driving too fast or too slow or pulling out in front of me or not using their turn signal... but like I said... I will spare you, for now, my rants of irritation that I have regarding my fellow drivers.

In summary: Be Attentive! When you are in need of a restroom and see that the bathroom door is closed, please knock softly and wait for a response before trying the handle gently. Then if someone responds to you from the other side of the door an "Excuse me. I'm sorry." might be in order. Wait patiently outside - there is no need to knock again.

And I should probably add: When you finally get to use the bathroom and you wash your hands (because everyone washes their hands when they're done, right?), don't, DO NOT flick your wet hands to rid them of excess water before using the supplied paper towel. This results in a very inconvenient and irritating spray of water on the counter top, toilet seat, etc. Who wants to sit on a seat to find out only too late that it was wet? Who wants to lean against the counter top to check your makeup or your teeth to find when you pull away that you now have a great big wet spot on the front of your shirt? Come on people, it's just plain old common courtesy. Join in the fun! Let me put it this way.... Have you ever heard of Karma? What comes around goes around. To each his own. You'll get yours.

Hopefully you get my point. Have a good day!

My cycles are off. True statement. I read a blog about the writer's Spring To-Do list. My urge to clean up for Spring usually starts the hard push in early January. You know, out with the old and in with the new. I start writing the lists of what exactly needs to be done room by room, and of course at least one list for what needs to be done outside.

And since, typically, the room in the basement that we use for storage (that's the nice way of saying: the room we use to put all of the extra crap in) is full up with unpacked Christmas storage boxes, piles of craft items and wrapping paper, stacks and boxes of the infamous yard sale items; and also, because this time of year, there is usually about three feet of snow outside, it's extremely difficult to start the listed tasks. There is simply no place to put anything we clean out. I refuse to simply throw stuff away - unless of course it's broken, ripped, colored on or otherwise. I do junk the junk. But the good stuff... stuff that's grown out of, not played with anymore, put aside because it simply isn't liked anymore... that's the stuff that I try to sell.

My yard sales, though well-organized and priced and clean - also with an offering of baked goods, tend to make less than I would have made if I had just donated the items in the first place. So the cache of awesome items - just not so awesome to us anymore - is stacked in our junk room. The Christmas decorations eventually get put away; as does the wrapping paper, tape, stickers, stockings...

Don't get me started on the garage.

So you see? The lists I have made for the good intentions of cleaning and organizing the interior go to the wayside because I don't have anywhere to put the old stuff and cannot afford the new stuff until the old stuff is sold, which, in reality, might amount to a grand total equal to megapack of toilet tissue at the local warehouse club.

The gardening magazines come out during the winter evenings. The same pages are dog-eared that were dog-eared last year. And I continue to dream and list and dream and list, knowing full well that I cannot afford most of the pretty pots and gazebos and Adirondack chairs and patio tables and umbrellas. But I'm certain to make lemonade from lemons - because certainly, that's something I can purchase without going bankrupt... right?

And here we are, mid-February, lists aside (er, lost in the stack of incoming junk mail and bills), gumption gone. Cold, dark nights have me in their grasp and I cannot fathom Spring, let alone muster the smallest grain of imagination to even begin seeing what my front porch and back yard will look like this year. My Spring list has fallen to the wayside - nothing checked off, no sub-lists/shopping lists made. It's over before it's begun.

What I have right now....

What I would so much rather be doing... aaaahhhh...

I think I just need a few shots of sunshine on my body and some green grass underfoot and I'll be back to normal. Sorry to be such a downer.



p.s.
Is it too sad that I looked forward to the day after St. Valentine's Day simply to load up on clearance candy?

Went to mom and dad's today. Took the kids. Had dinner. Played Chinese checkers. Had a good time.

Now we are home and, while I am unwinding and trying to get mentally geared up for Super Bowl XLVI and tomorrow morning, the kids have immediately upon arrival at home base, left things in a shambles and have gone outside to blow off some of their pent up energy. With the mild winter season we've been having, they have been itching for going running and for walks and sidewalk chalk, and I have just seen a blur go by the patio door that suggests that my son has gotten his bike down from the garage ceiling.

There is always something about these grey days, the over-abundance of grey skies, that puts me into a melancholy state of mind. I would prefer to just sit, with tea cup in hand and get lost in a good book. I would prefer, rather than admit how bored I am, to envelop myself into someone else's story. To hear and see what they are doing, smell what they are cooking, feel their solitude or their joy.

Yep. Nothing better than a good read.

I never really enjoyed reading when I was a child. It always seemed much more boring to read about someone else's doings rather than actually just doing. My sister was always reading it seemed. Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, The Hardy Boys and I'm sure many others.

My own love of stories didn't develop until after I'd had my first child. It was my intention to raise a well-developed child and everything I had ever heard about raising smart children pushed hard in the direction of books; picture books, easy-to-read books and reading books to your child. Every Scholastic book order that was sent home from school was a treasure trove of 26-page gold nuggets. I loved reading to my first born, probably much more so than she enjoyed listening to me.

Then I ordered the set of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House on the Prairie books. I was pregnant again when I began reading those books to myself. The discomfort I experienced at night kept me up well past bed-time, and I soon discovered that this was the perfect time to plunge into several chapters of another identity. After flying through the Little House books, I found a more childish story called Rabbits Rafferty by Gerald Dumas. It brimmed with exciting detail of a cute, miniature world of small animals. Now off to the races, I discovered John Grishom's King of Torte's and that was it. I was, without a doubt, in love with books, bookstores, book clubs, libraries.

My husband has learned, grudgingly, to live with my love of reading. He just comes to bed later than me, knowing that I will not willingly give him any attention until I've read my fill for the day. It's my daily get-away, my own personal reprieve from daily stress, my reward for putting in a full day.

So even though I've read it before (and have seen the movie(s)), I can't wait to feel Jane Eyre's reactions to Lowood and Fairfax and Rochester, etc. I thank my lucky stars for having found the Bronte's, Jane Austen, John Grishom, Daphne DuMaurier, Maggie O'Farrell, Robert Alexander, Penny Vincenzi, Nora Ephron, Frances Mayes, Wilkie Collins, and etc., and etc. I find it extremely difficult to fathom what I would ever, ever have done if I hadn't discovered my faithful love of stories. Scary to think about.

Good Night and Good Reading!

Smells Like Teen Spirit

First some small talk... idle chit-chat:

The winter has been warmer than usual. Forty degree days rather than minus ten. I don't think, even as a child, I've ever experienced anything quite like this. Wuh-eird.

Also, there must a constant full moon rather than the moon going through its' normal cycles. The kids are just being consistently at war - with each other - and me! In fact, I think I've developed a possible ulcer due to the super-extreme stress that I've been under. Being a temporary single mother of four is not for the meek. It's a constant struggle to "stay calm and pick my battles", because you know? Every so often (and by "every so often" I mean at least once a day) at least one of the kids crosses the line and I get angry.

I believe myself to be a fair mother. I don't pick out any one child to take out my wrath on. In fact, it's usually dragged out of me. The usual spiral effect... It goes something like this:

Allow me to paint you a picture: A mother of four (don't forget that she's temporarily single, dealing with the children, her job and all household matters completely on her own), tired after work as she drives to the high school to pick up her two oldest children. One of which has been told repeatedly to stay at a specific entrance so that he can utilize the windows giving himself the capability to watch for his mother to pull up so that she will not have to wait for him or park and get out of the car to go into the high school to look for him.

After two teens are in the car (finally), it's now on our merry way to Nona's house to pick up the youngest child, "Princess". Please also keep in mind that third child is waiting at home alone, which makes me very uncomfortable, but second child does not seem to ever register the urgency in mother's tone and body language.

Princess is secure in her carseat and we are now finally on our way home. Princess has already exhibited signs of crank-itis, which in most cases, would warn anyone within a 15-foot radius (or the closer proximity of a Honda Pilot) to steer clear and stay out of her face. Teenage son decides for whatever reason, to lean over and put his face within two inches of Princess's face (literally). Well of course that what he does. After experiencing this exact type of phenomena repeatedly over the past several years, really since he discovered the immense joy of screaming sisters, I've come to realize that this is simply human-boy nature. So, of course, I calmly say "Stop!" Wishing with all my might, but knowing that it's not going to stop there.

She smacks him, with a very padded, mittened hand.
He bellows back at her (he still thinks his deep voice is cool as he has not quite grown into the mental maturity of coming to grips with getting older).
"Stop!" I yell, this time a little louder.
"No!" he answers (yells) back. "I'm just supposed to let her hit me in the face?"
"She wouldn't feel the need to hit you in the face if your face weren't in her face. Just leave. Her. Alone!"

... And like I said.... here comes the spiral...

Our lovely evening is now a mother-son verbal brawl. I know I should just send him to his room, right? Easier, oh so much easier said than done. The kid just doesn't back down. Quite often I can get him in his room, but not without several attempts, from both of us, at getting the last word. He just doesn't quit. I hate that I'm the one that needs to secede. I'm the one that needs to ignore the last comment and be content with the fact that he's in his room.

He simply won't accept that when I'm yelling at him, it's not because I hate him, it's not because he's a boy and I don't like boys, it's not because I like hearing myself yell. Rather quite the opposite I think. I would very much prefer that we all have a nice quiet evening actually. I'm yelling to get his attention, to try to make him listen - so he will know in the shortest amount of time possible that I'm disciplining him for his disrespectful behavior.

Bad behavior = punishment!

It's so, so simple. I don't understand why kids need to make this punishment thing so complex. Mommy wants to come home from work, have dinner, relax and actually enjoy the evening. Mommy doesn't want to argue about anything with anybody. But neither does Mommy want to hear her children terrorize each other, and Mommy doesn't want to hear disrespect being hurled from their mouths, and Mommy really doesn't want any throwing, door slamming, feet pounding, yelling, etc.

I've tried to reason with them. They aren't two years old anymore so naturally I figured they could understand reasoning. I've reminded them that I, too, was a teenager. I have a sibling with whom I shared not only a room, but I also shared a closet, a bathroom and a bed with her until we were young teens. I've told them that there were times my sister and I fought, but more often, because we were for the most part, pretty decent kids, we silently hated each other. So, as I said, I've tried to reason with my kids.

Sadly, they really don't seem to care that Mom once went through the teen angst and anxiety and peer pressure and greasy hair and b.o. and ... well, you get the picture.

No matter what easy-to-understand terms and phrases I use, they are still very deeply rooted in their belief that they are being picked on, that I'm treating them unfairly, that I'm yelling at them because I can't stand them, that I'm sending them to their room because I don't want to see their faces.

It's all very ugly... and sad... and things are said that hurt my feelings....

And then we go to bed... get up the next morning, get the kids to school, get to work, and the day goes on from there. Hopefully this evening will be better than yesterday. I'm not holding my breath.