An Open Letter to my vacuum

Dearest Purple Dyson DC14,

I love you. You know that. We've made it through a lot, me and you.

Through it all, you've been there to pick up the pieces and the bits and dog hair.

Remember that one time I went to empty your canister and I ended up spilling a bunch of the debris you just vacuumed up? Did you say, "I told you so"? Did you rub it in my face that you tried to warn me I was pushing your fill capacity too far?

No.

You just laughed along with me and vacuumed it back up all over again. Good times...

Today though, I believe I may have pushed you past your limit.

I don't need to tell you how much mess two kids and two dogs make. You've been right there in the trenches with me.

Maybe I didn't notice the way you're always gently nudging me toward the couch cushions. Maybe not. Perhaps you wanted, like a good teacher, to let me figure it out all on my own.

And what a lesson it's been.

The horror of what I forced you to endure under those couch cushions (and then the chair cushions!) wasn't for the faint of heart.

I won't blame you if you don't speak to me for a little while. I know when to give a vacuum some space.

I'm leaving for a week soon, so it'll just be you my husband. Have you met him? No, I didn't think so. Perhaps some day you and he can make some sort of passing acquaintance.

He isn't on very good terms with the washer and dryer yet either, but I have hope he'll venture down to meet them someday as well.

But I digress.

Know that I feel terrible about our experience today and it's unlikely to happen again anytime soon. It truly hurt me more than it hurt you.

I expect some sort of class action suit from anyone who's ever sat on my living room furniture to start proceedings any day now. I'm guessing PTSD or mesothelioma.

You may never lose suction, but it is I who is doing all the sucking today.

Yours forever and always,

The Bacon Lady

She's already planning her escape

Mina wrote this note to Jim and left it in the mailbox for him to find this moring (without any help from me):

Mom is Varry crase TOday
DaD WD You Help me
P.S. I luv you.

Still no word

I haven't heard back about my "inquiry" about that long lost acquaintance yet.

I'm not stressing about it or anything. I'm just really curious to know if it's really him.

In the interest of full disclosure (because that's, as the kids say, how I roll), this person I am curious about was the first person I had sex with.

Eep.

I know. Am I weirdo? Don't answer that.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that even though it was a sad affair; the whole business of our coupling, it pretty much colored the rest of my carnal history.

I was 15 years old. FIFTEEN.

Granted he was only 16 at the time, but still. When I meet 15 year olds I question whether they are old enough and responsible enough to babysit my kids. I don't like to think that I was their very same age when I 'gave it up'.

And give it up I did.

No fanfare. No professions of undying love. No promises of commitment.

I just wanted to get it over with. And, looking back, that is really really sad.

I know it wasn't just me who wanted to unload the imagined burden of being a virgin. Talking with my friends, it's almost a running theme.

Occasionally I'll meet someone who tells a pseudo-romantic tale of a long-term boyfriend. There's prom or a parents' vacancy. There's trust and teenage love and they actually stay on speaking terms after the big event.

I didn't get any of that.

I wouldn't change much of my growing up years. I had a good time, and most of my experiences made me the person I am today.

But this. This I'd change.

It made me wary of boys and closeness in general. I think I'm allowed to make that assessment now that I am in my 30's.

It's entirely possible that I would have been this way anyway what with all of my natural born tendencies toward the crazypants, but losing my virginity in the way I did probably didn't help matters much.

(cue my paranoia that my Mother or anyone closer than a third cousin is reading this...)

In my perfect world I could sit down for a nice chat and dinner with all of my past conquests, a round table of sorts. Well, it'd have to be more oblong than round...or a banquet hall.

But I digress.

Part of me just wants to know if I was truly as wonky back then as I thought I was. Was it glaringly obvious that I had what bordered on a phobia of getting close to them?

I was a big fan of the 'preemptive strike' with most if not all of them. In my mind, they were going to dump me/cheat on me/talk shit to their friends about me anyway, so why not walk away before they had the chance?

Of course, a lot of them did do some or all of the above, but not all of them. I'm pretty sure I stomped a few hearts during my college tenure.

I think, if this person really is who I think it is (and the resemblance is uncanny from what I can remember from almost 20 years ago), and he really is dead, then I'll just have to make peace with the fact that I'll never know.

I don't think I'd really want to sit down and rehash the sordid details, but I just want to know what kind of person he turned out to be. And, naturally, I'm curious about how he died. I'm not trying to be disrespectful. Wouldn't you want to know?

From what I can tell from the posthumous myspace profile, he was an artist (not surprising) and deeply loved by his friends and family. I'm not being snarky when I say, "Good for him".

I had to change to layout of this thing because it was bothering me that it was so damn ugly. The only thing that sucks is that all those Italy pics (and probably any others I put up) are cut off.



Oh well. I'm a very visual person, and the ugg factor was bothering me.



In other news....



Sometimes, as I think I've probably mentioned before, I like to scour the internets for old acquaintances. Sometimes I get a laugh, sometimes I get to reconnect with a long lost friend and sometimes, like today, I find out they're dead.



At least I think I have the right person (this time).



I thought I had found this particular person some time ago, but after a few emails back and forth, found out that my memory isn't as reliable as I thought it was.



But today I think I actually found the correct individual. And he's dead.



Someone, his wife (girlfriend?) has a posthumous Myspace profile set up for him. I sent her a message to see where this person went to high school. Haven't heard back yet. We'll see.



I don't know why I care. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that knowing someone my own age and who I had some fleeting "history" with is dead kind of bothers me.



I'll let you know how this turns out.

I'll go ahead and apologize first

'Cause someone's bound to get offended. If you happen to be a friend of mine, and you fit or have ever fit the description below, don't think I don't like you. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't hang out with you. And why do you care if I like you anyway?

There. I said it.

A couple of days ago Mina, as she does on an almost daily basis, asked me a hard-to-answer question completely out of left field.

Sometimes she wants to know what would happen if our house caught on fire.

"...but what if you and Daddy were asleep and couldn't save us?"

"...but what if you didn't wake up in time?"

"...but what if all my toys burned up? I like my toys!"

..."but I DON'T WANT NEW ONES!"

Neurosis is hereditary, and her future therapist(s) are going to hate me.

Her latest was, "Mama, what's a hippy?"

I try to keep it clean and, when necessary, clear cut and simple around the kidlets, so I told her it was someone who cared a lot about the Earth.

She thought about it for a moment.

"I care about the Earth! And Jesus."

Always with the Jesus, that one.

Then she wanted to know if Jesus was a hippy, and the more I thought about it the more I felt I could honestly answer in the affirmative.

"Mama, am I a hippy?"

I went through a more extensive checklist in my head:

-cares about the environment: check

-likes to run around naked: check

-doesn't brush hair: check

-listens to crappy music: not when I can help it

-smells like patchouli: negative

-feels superiority over everyone else: sometimes

-follows overrated bands around the country: not that I know of

-sleeps with everyone's boyfriend: presently, no

"No honey, you are not a hippy. And if I have anything to say about it, you won't ever be."

In no time at all, I'll be bitching about the snow

All of a sudden, it feels like the summer is almost over.

Strange.

June was filled with Italy and recovery. July is filled with our 4th gathering, birthday parties every weekend (my friends and I apparently all decided to give birth in July), and catching up on bills from June. August is our family trip to Orlando, then it's school supplies and another start to the school year.

Tuition is due at the end of July for my fall class, and I start on the 19th of August. I'm beyond excited about it.

This school year is going to be super busy between my class, the girls' activities (Mina starts soccer soon), being the class rep. for Audrey's class and the room parent for Mina's, and all the other 4 million things that inevitably come up in day to day life.

Throw in the freelance hair I'm still doing on the side and upcoming (hopefully) house projects and I don't think I'm going to be sitting around anytime soon.

Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.

I get antsy when there is nothing on the agenda. I end up wearing my pajamas all day and forgetting to make lunch.

I don't know how to be lazy.

Scratch that. I'm actually quite accomplished at being lazy.

I just don't like it.

So, what are you doing for the rest of the summer?

Thistle

As a parent, the things you will do for your children makes for a very long list.

It begins with the whole letting another human being take up residence is what was once a firm taut belly and ends somewhere around...well, it doesn't ever truly end.

I've wiped heinous poop explosions off of many surfaces (including the wall, my shirt and underneath my fingernails). I've caught puke in my bare hands. And I even had to put a fever-reducing suppository into my wee baby's butt.

But there is one thing I cannot bear (aside from watching Dora): loose teeth.

Mina is at an age where she is losing them faster than a meth addict on a bender.

The squick factor is high, not helped by the fact that she wants me to actually wiggle the hanging on by a thread fuckers myself.

Excuse me. I had to stop to retch for a moment.

The only saving grace of the whole experiment is that she looks even cuter with missing teeth. More like a goofy little imp than a hillbilly.

Her adult teeth are starting to come in around the remaining baby teeth and I can already tell that she is going to have my teeth.

Mine may look fine now, but as a kid I had truly awful teeth. The first time I got braces put on was in third grade if that tells you anything.

At least she doesn't have the horrid overbite I did. I'll go ahead and thank Jim's bucky-balancing genes for that.

Jim is out of town, so I need to figure out how to get something from the tooth fairy on the DL. Our tooth fairy has brought small gifts for each tooth so far. Might be time for her to start making with the cash money.

A few weeks ago, while visiting the inlaws for Father's Day, my father-in-law mentioned that they would be happy to help with the cost of braces for the girls when the time came.

Small miracles, people. Small miracles.