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If you read my other blog, you know that life has been rough lately. Actually, rough is a bit of an understatement.
The other day, as I was sitting around bemoaning my situation, it dawned on me that maybe the reason joy was lacking in my life was due to the fact that I was sitting around, waiting for joy to come to me.
So I packed up the kids, headed to a local park, and went looking for joy. And you know what?
I found it.
I found joy in his beautiful baby blues
In her fearlessness
In the fact that she actually let me put jeans on her today, and declared, "you know, I don't really mind wearing jeans."
In his adorably, crazy hair
In open-mouthed looks of wonder (a fire truck was driving by with lights and sirens)
In her smile
In trying new things, and liking it!
In seeing just how big she really is
In swinging...
Swinging...
Swinging! And loving it!
Even in trying new things and hating it (not a big fan of the grass)
In seeing beauty, everywhere.
I have never seen any of the Mad Max movies, so I don't know what they're about, but I like to use the title from one of them in my crazy vernacular. It's Beyond Thunderdome and you use it when you are so far past a certain emotion/feeling that there really is no description for it. For example:
When you are so hungry that your stomach feels like it has started eating itself, and the idea of gnawing on your own arm sounds heavenly; you are Beyond Thunderdome Hungry.
Or when you are so angry that your entire body is shaking with rage and everybody better get out of the way because you're going to start throwing crap. Not literal crap, but whatever is within your reach, including a 42 inch LCD flat screen TV. That is called Beyond Thunderdome Mad.
Got it?
Well friends, I am Beyond Thunderdome Tired. I swear to you, I'm not sure what decade we're even in anymore. I think my brainwaves are so screwed up that my dog has started communicating telepathically with me. I forget what I'm saying, as I am saying it, and I can't remember what a toilet is used for. I am so far past Beyond Thunderdome Tired, I can't even see it anymore.
All of it has to do with Elise's diabetes, but if you want to read more about that, then you need to visit my other blog. But seriously, these days 4 hours is a good night's sleep for us.
Some of it is our own doing... most nights we don't crawl into bed until midnight, mostly because we check Elise's blood sugar at midnight and sometimes it's not worth it to go to bed, only to have to wake up in 45 minutes.
But the other might we truly outdid ourselves. I don't know how Al Gore managed it, but he has somehow reversed global warning because Texas is in the middle of an Arctic freeze. And when we have any sort weather event, the local meteorologists have orgasms and decide to start freaking their viewers out. Which leads to all necessary supplies within a 100 mile radius being sold out.
You know those water faucet cover thingies (we call them boobies)? Well, the other night we couldn't find our second one, which according to the weather people OUR OUTSIDE PIPES ARE GOING TO BURST AND THERE WILL BE WATER ALL OVER YOUR HOUSE AND IT WILL FREEZE AND THEN YOU WILL DIE.
Or something to that effect.
So at 11:00 at night, Fred sets off on his intrepid journey to find us another boobie. Being Ms. Practical, I told him to call and make sure the store had them in stock. We finally found some in the devil's emporium, Walmart (I personally will not step foot into Walmart, but have yet to convince Fred to follow suit), about 20 minutes away. Except that when Fred got there, they didn't actually have any, the person who answered the phone was just too lazy/stupid to check.
Fred tried again, only to have the same thing happen, and finally made his way home at 1:00 am, boobie-less. Upon further inspection of our outside premises, he found the missing boobie under a bush in our garden. I don't even know what to say about that.
The only positive part of this whole meandering, go-nowhere story is that Fred now agrees with me that Walmart is the worst place in the world and should be avoided at all costs. I told him if he ever regresses, I'm going to do a little classical conditioning on him and kick him in the groin while yelling, "Walmart!", so that if he ever gets the urge to shop there, he will feel pain in his nether-regions (à la Pavlov's dogs).
The moral of this story is three-fold:
I am tired
Walmart sucks
Look for lost boobies in the garden
