The Fly Swatter debacle

A fly-swatter.

That is all I needed. One item. I am going to walk into Target,no basket or cart necessary and grab this one single fly-swatter and walk back out. That was the plan.

I walk in. Briskly. Eyes straight ahead. On a mission for a fly-swatter. But where oh where would one be placed? It's an insect, it's annoying. It needs to go away. It would be by the ant killer, mouse traps, rodent spray...yes. Where would that aisle be? Ah-ha there it is. Eyes go up and down and all around. No swatter here.

Hmmm.... guess I'll just comb a few aisles and see if I can find it.

This is where the trouble starts. Oh? Clearance items at the end of the aisle here? Well....I do need some nail polish remover. Oh? Sale? What's this buy 3 get one free over here? OK I'll just grab a little basket since they're so conveniently placed at the end of every aisle....

Fly swatter. I still need this. Would it be by camping items? People probably need a swatter in their pop-up, bet those flies are annoying in a tent right?! That's where they will be! Found the section, found no swatter in sight. Had to pass through the grocery section to get to the camping section and my basket has now turned into a cart and suddenly I'm buying a new brand of granola bar, but hey it's organic and non-GMO so what the hell. Now that I have my cart in tow I may as well text the hubby and see if he needs anything..... My cart fills up and my will power goes down.

Where is the damn fly swatters in this joint?! Is this some sort of trick? A hunting game? Are they discreetly hidden in the very back corner of the store surrounded by impulse buys and shit that's on sale but I have no need for but I'm a sucker for a deal so.... And where the hell are all the red shirted people asking me if I'm finding everything ok?! They are no where in sight! I bet they're by the fly-swatters.....

I finally see a red shirt in the distance and lightly jog over. "Hey! I have combed this store from top to bottom, please tell me you know where the fly-swatters are." He does. Score! I happily trot after him curious to see where this hidden gem could be....what aisle are you hiding in?

Kitchen supplies. Huh? I said "So the fly swatters are by the can openers and slotted spoons?" I mean, I know the fly swatter is shaped a bit like a spatula although they have entirely different purposes. Do people think flies only set up residence in the kitchen? Because my particular annoyance of the moment has been buzzing around the master bath for 3 days straight and has been playing ping pong with his head in the light fixture I'm sure of it.

He says he knows the fly swatters are here. He's in a red shirt and khakis so I trust him. Our eyes are in unison trying to find the needle in the haystack here. Colanders, forks, oven mitts, no swatter. He pulls a gadget out of his back pocket and starts punching buttons. I envision him typing in "WHERE THE F*#K ARE THE FLY SWATTERS" as that is the only thought in my head at this point and the fact that my frozen items are probably melting....

"Oh. That's why," he chimes. "We're out." Out. Out? OUT?! How can one be out of stock in flyswatters?! They should be dangling from the ceiling at this time of year! They should be hanging from those little strips at the end of every aisle. They should be by the gum at check-out and peeking out from behind boxes of tampons and bags of Cheetos. But they are not, they are stone cold out-of-stock.

Do you realize that I now have a cart full of unnecessary items and 30 minutes of invested time under my belt? A $2 purchase that should have taken 2 minutes has turned into me using an actual cart and grabbing things strategically placed to practically jump aboard the red wheeled money maker without a coupon in sight?

I think I rambled some of these thoughts out loud as he smiled kindly and backed away as a fly came out of nowhere and started flaunting a victory around his head like a halo.

A whispering bzzzzbzzzzz singing it's praises in the air. Cocky little suckers aren't they? I could only shake my head at the little fly guy and push my cart of "the plan that came undone" to check-out.

A fly-swatter. One thing. It was all I needed and yet the only thing I left without. They should have a sign at the entry that says "Check your will power at the door" and an even bigger sign out front that says "WE ARE OUT OF FLY SWATTERS"for which I then would have spun around, went back to the car and drove home. Free of frustration, no money spent and no time wasted. I would have then seen that the fly who was driving me batty had died peacefully on my bathroom counter-top. Maybe it was a brain injury from banging his head on the light-bulb. Maybe he fried himself in it. Maybe he was old. One can only speculate.

Nonetheless the swatter can wait another day....

Junk Drawers and other Mysteries

I decided to walk into the lion’s den today and tackle our “junk drawer.” Everyone has one. It’s the catchall for loose change, packs up gum, legos, objects that fall into “what the hell is this? It might go to something, better keep it” category. Old keys. Receipts. Buttons. Paper clips. You name it.

So I did it. I emptied it and cleaned it and put all the shit back in it although now it is in organized “sections” of which I give less than a month to be ripped into one big hurricane of junk again. Some things I tossed. Some things made me cry. Some things I swear are not ours but yet made their way into the Schmidt junk drawer. Anyone missing a pair of Oakley aviators by the way?

So how do drawers end up like this? Who takes a piece of gum and throws the wrapper back in the drawer? Why keep buttons when the world knows I can’t sew to save my life. If the button needs replacing, consider yourself the owner of a new shirt.

Anyhow. I thought it remarkable that I found over TEN pairs of sunglasses in this drawer. Ridiculous. I have a pair in the glove box, a pair in my purse, and 3 pairs in my closet. I’m sure there are beach bags with shades in them from last summer and my kid has at least 8 pairs floating around from school functions or b-day party gifts. It’s like a sunglass hut up in here.

And keys. My god the keys! Spare keys to my Mazda I sold 2 years ago. Random keys to everything under the sun and none of which I know go to what. Keys that look like diary keys, jewelry box keys, and lock box keys…none of which I own. Where does this shit come from?!

Amongst all the loose change (of which I’m hoping can cash out to be enough to buy me a few drinks at the bar), breath mints, gadgets, lint rollers, playing cards (the rest of deck is where?!), marbles, whistles, flash-lights, nail polish, chap-stick, and old receipts… I found no less than 20 bic lighters. No shit. Who needs all these?! Who bought them? How did they end up in this drawer? Better yet, why did I put them back in the drawer?! It was towards the end and what else does one do with them?

My apologies for finding wedding invites that never had the RSVP returned (so cringe worthy!!) I never do that and all I can say is “IT WASN’T ME.”

Rummaging through my drawer of junk made me realize how quickly our lives fly by. How this drawer is the collecting hub of all the makings of our days. The sunblock from last Summer that I tossed in the drawer after coming back from the water park parched and fried. The old Crayola sunglasses that Landon wore when he was 4. I can still see him smiling in his car seat, thinking he was Mr. Cool. The mocha lip balm I had to buy because it tasted like hot chocolate and coconuts and I wore every day in Orlando…and then forgot about. The key chain from Landon’s fun run that he thought was cool for a day and then not so much. Old pink erasers purchased for school but never made it into the backpack, one day he’ll be too big for those big pink erasers. The old photos of everything that makes you melt…baby announcements of kids that are now eight and pictures of Landon as a toddler wearing clothes that has been sold and playing with toys that have been lost along the years. You see how quickly life slips by. What you remember. What you forgot. What you can’t bring yourself to throw away for fear of losing a memory that could be tied to it.

So maybe it’s good to let the shit build up for a few years again. Maybe it’s good to look back and go through some memories while organizing.  Maybe we need that? A junk drawer.

We probably don’t need 3 though and that was just drawer #1. Lord help me. I don’t know if I should move on to drawer #2, start a bic-lighter stand out front (screw lemonade) or cash in my change and hit the pub.

Decisions decisions.

Things I’ve learned since I quit my job (Part 1)

I quit my job, but that’s another blog. I swear to you I can feel a pair of wings sprouting out through the muscles in my back from the freedom that has swept over me since I made that decision. That’s another blog too.

This blog is about the things I’ve learned since the day I chose to end one chapter and start a new one. I’m allowing myself 10 minutes on this blog since the sun is shining and I have a hammock and new book calling my name (witty novel, hardcover, pages with ripped edges, smells of ink and wood….OMG the things that excite me) This is going to come quick and from the tip of my tongue and I’m going to be done. Ugh, even the birds are singing, they’re beckoning me I swear.

OK here goes:

1.)  Music is much more meaningful when all you’re doing is listening to it. I’m not talking about background noise at work, or jamming in the car, or kickboxing to the tunes. Just listening. Lying on a fresh from-the-dryer comforter with some eucalyptus oil pumping out the diffuser. Eyes closed. Window slightly open. And music. Just listening for the purpose of “feeling” the song. It’s meditation. It’s therapeutic. It’s what music is intended to do, evoke emotion, yet there were no distractions to the pure enjoyment of it. Deep shit I’m learning here right?

2.)  I am addicted to coco-whip. No really. It’s like cool whip but coconut style. Dairy free but not guilt free. Especially when you consume a tub in 12 hours and immediately go to the store to buy another because you cannot, will not, live without it. It goes with coffee. It goes with hot matcha tea. Hell, it goes great on oreos. But what I really discovered is that it is best consumed straight up spoon style. Like a bowl of soup really. I am not proud of this one but I haven’t time to delete it. Time is ticking. Birds are calling.

3.)  I have a voice. I am not afraid to use it. I used to be afraid to speak my mind (Hard to believe I know) but I did always hold just a teeny tiny bit back. Not anymore. Now that I have removed the skid chains from my tongue and lost the fear of using this voice of mine I can’t seem to shut it up. Ask me anything and I will tell you. My feelings are in full on “say it like it is” mode and that’s just how it’s going to be. Deal with it. (Got myself a new found ‘tude as well)

4.)  I have too many lipsticks. I do. I wear 10% of them and the rest just sit. I peek at them from time to time, consider the color, then recap them and reach for the same old trusty neutral pink. I have decided that I am going to make myself wear every single one of them on an organized rotation and if I absolutely hate the color by the end of the day I’m getting rid of them. So if you see me at the beach with Gwen Stefani red lips just know I’m trying to justify my senseless beauty product purchases.

OMG 10 minutes up already!! But I have so many more lessons to share. I was just getting warmed up. Oh well. Time to warm my toes instead. Sunshine be mine.

(To be continued….)

He Wants Something

You know your kid wants something when he's up at 6 a.m. cleaning off the kitchen counter tops and trying to straighten up piles of mail and magazines into neat little stacks. The dog is fed. The pillows are straight and I think, if I'm not mistaken, the dirty glasses on the counter are in a nice straight line although completely unnecessary.

He wants something.

He has that spark in his eye. That little light of anticipation mixed with a not-so-subtle determination. It's the glimmer of hope.

He wants something.

As I'm debating what kind of coffee I'm going to brew, this kid is rambling on about how "even though it isn't Father's Day we should make Daddy a surprise breakfast!" I'm half listening to him shoot out ideas of concoctions we can create, something about sausage and a fripatta (frittata?) Whatever. I need a coffee.

He wants something.

I know this.

I made this brain. I think his thoughts before he thinks them. Mommy brain trumps baby brain. I take advantage. I got this.

"So we'll need that brown wooden serving tray then. Oh, but it's holding 5000 of your legos in the basement. Better go clean that off." He's determined now. Yay!

Then we'll need counter space! Why is your Valentine's day box still on the counter? Those piles of mail, old coloring projects and comic drawings will have to find a place. He says "but the magazine rack is overflowing." Well then we need to clean the magazine rack and throw away anything you don't love or want. Yay! Old papers have been bursting from all angles out of this wicker magazine holder for years. He now sees a need to clean it out- whoop whoop! Toss that crap!

I'm going to sit here and drink my coffee like a wise puppeteer and belt orders til everything I want done is done. Shoes will be picked up. Furniture will be dusted. Ironing will be....ok well maybe not quite ready for that yet.

Foot rub though. I am getting a foot rub out of this kid before 9 a.m. I am sure of it.

He wants something. And like his Mommy when he wants something he is going to get it. His mind is on a one way track to goal town and ain't nothin' getting in his way.

It's brain vs. brain here. If I check the history on his ipad I can tell you he's quite fond of a particular Police lego set. I know this because he googled it approx 85 times within the last 24 hrs. I know he will ask for this eventually. He wants it. He's got his eye on the prize.

I'm going to use his energy and gusto while I got it and who knows....maybe that lego set will be well earned. Or maybe he gets bored and starts playing with the dog or watching sponge Bob (please no, that voice is like a knife in my brain) or perhaps decides to begin playing with the 10000 legos he already has?!

Time will tell how long it will take before the fuel of wanting something is emptied from the tank.

But I'm going to ride this out until he quits.

Hate to run but I'm being beckoned to my foot massage.

The blog of improv

It’s not like I gave up blogging or writing or thinking for that matter I just haven’t done it in a while. Well, besides the thinking. Over thinking actually. I probably do a little too much thinking and little less articulating  lately.

I may implode because of this.

So here I am at far too early in the morning (why the hell was I up at 4?!) forcing myself to sit down , turn on the computer and allow these fingers to tap something onto the keyboard so I can release whatever my little heart desires. 

I have so many thoughts, ideas, wonderment and visions that I cannot even figure out what the hell to write about these days. My brain has been a cumbersome puzzle of cobwebs and stress and the idea of even trying to fit the pieces together makes me feel like I have one foot dangling over the tipping point of a mental explosion. I don’t know why. It just is.

I haven’t a clue what this blog is about or if it will even have a topic so allow me to ramble until I figure out what it is I’m writing about.

Let’s start with this: The anniversary of my Mom’s death was the other day. It’s been 4 years. It likely prompted me to be at this computer right now since I blog about her every year on this date and realized “why don’t I write anymore?” I was going to create a whole piece about how I am still and shall forever be affected by her absence from my life and of all the things I’d like to tell her that I never got to but honestly, the pain I feel this year is too deep, like really deep to the core so much it makes my bones ache and the thought of even expressing it immediately makes my eyes well up with tears and then there’s a lump of coal that magically slips into my throat and my glands ache and my nose starts running and ashes to ashes we all fall down.  I can’t even do the ring around the rosie this year because I just can’t. I. Just. Can’t. God I miss her. I can’t even put it into words this year and I’m a wizard at vocabulary.

Which brings up a funny story, the lump is going down now so let me see if I can get this out. 

I’m good at spelling. I don’t know why I just am. Born that way. So I remember one day in grade school, I’m guessing it was 4^th grade because I was wearing a teal colored waffle knit sweater and a pink beaded necklace and I relate my outfits to my age (it’s the fashionista in me) anyway, I had an A+ on my spelling test per the usual (not bragging, it just is) and it was lying on the counter. My Mom said something like “Well you must really study hard in Spelling you always get them all right.” And I said “What do you mean study?”  I really didn’t know what she meant. “Well study the words. You must read them over a lot or practice writing them down since you get them all right.” 

I was baffled. I didn’t realize people studied their spelling lists. I would briefly skim it and throw it away wondering why the teacher gave us the list of words. I remember having this epiphany. I can tell my Mom did too.  When she realized that I would see a word once and somehow remember how it was spelled she thought that was pretty neat. Sort of shook her head and smiled.

I ‘m 38 years old now and I haven’t thought about that day in a really long time but I can say that it stuck with me because I remember sitting at the yellow counter-top and looking at the twisted up jelly bracelets on my arm (definitely 4^th grade) and she softly said as she walked away (I remember the back of her white sweatshirt, that’s all she wore black and white), “Well maybe that means you’ll be a writer someday.”

Maybe that means you’ll be a writer someday. Maybe it does. Maybe it did. Maybe it still does? I am a writer. It’s what I do. I think and write and think and write and yet I have neglected this for a while now because life got in the way. Time doesn’t slow down enough for me to catch my thoughts before they slip away into the stress of the day.

What am I blogging about again?

Who the hell knows. What I do know is this: I feel complete when I write. I feel like a loose thread when I don’t. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been unraveling lately. Writing feeds my soul. A soul that is so mysteriously complicated that even I can’t understand it. So that is why I sat down today. To realize that I NEED to write. I BLEED to write.

And I really miss my MOM. Fiercely.

*Please don’t judge my spelling errors in my blog, I’m a wizard not a genius and I haven’t had my coffee yet.

Color me Calm and Carry On...

Did you know that colored pencils can sell for up to $179 per case? And did you know that people actually buy them? They do. I know this because I asked the store clerk at Blicks Art Supply shop. And the people that buy the $179 pencils appear to be sane. I know this because I asked that too. Sane individuals (or those who hide their crazy well) purchase a colored pencil for over $10 a piece because the package says they’re high-quality and that they’re made in England, and well let’s face it that kind of ups the cool factor. “I only buy designer colored pencils from England” sounds much more posh than “I got my Crayola color pack at Target.” 

I like to be cool. I love quality items. I’m sane. But the hell if I’m going to buy colored pencils at that cost. I mean, if crazy and ridiculous had a baby it would come in the form of a $14 colored pencil in Ruby Begonia. No?

I’ve been learning a lot lately since I decided that there was an inner artist in me that needed to be recognized. Her name is Savannah (aka multiple personality number 3.) She’s quiet. Mysterious. Subdued. Curious. Sweet. Innocent. Child-like. She doesn’t like high heels or loud chatter and resides in the introverted corner of my mind peeking out every so often to be sure she’s not forgotten and then slips away just as quietly. Like a soft sheet being pulled over my head.  She is the calm to my storm. My little tap on the shoulder reminding me that age is timeless and sometimes I need to embrace the 10-year old inside of me because she never really left.

She likes to shut out the noise, put a bubble around me and say “Shhhhh” to the world . Breathe. Exhale the negative vibes that this earth is suffocating us with. Shut out the violence, the terror and the injustice and just be one with the mind. Focus on one thing. Breathe steady. Feel peace in my heart. Savannah is my inner artist who understands the benefits of a calm meditative state. Peace, serenity, love ....shit like that.

I planned to buy an adult coloring book after I read an article about their multiple benefits for calming the active mind but my co-worker beat me to it and bought me one. Yay! Random Christmas presents are the best. Or perhaps he too believed I needed to calm the hell down and color something to relieve the stress.  Either way, I accepted it with the glee of a 10 year old.

I wanted to get some fancy pencils to go with it hence my trip to the art store. I got a beautiful set of 24 and did not blow over 100 dollars on them either because I’m not crazy and my other 2 personalities were thinking of all the shoes they could buy with that money. Anyhow, I colored my little heart away.  Had my honey matcha tea to sip on, the sounds of waves crashing in the background and heated slippers on my feet. I found my Zen. Savannah was happy.

I plan to continue doing this. I like this introverted side. It feels hopeful. Proud. Real.

However, if I had bought the $179 pencils I would have been coloring so carefully to not break a tip and judging every stroke wondering if it indeed was that wonderful of a color pencil to be worth the money and trying my damndest to make the picture perfect and not go out of the lines so that my art would look like it was worthy of the hundred dollar lines of colors splayed around the angles. Good-bye peace and hello stress. There would be no calm to my artistry; it would be a tension grip on an expensive stick of wood mixed with tight muscles and a pair of shoes taunting me in the back of my mind.

Instead I have my cute little not-too-expensive but not-too-cheap pencils that work just fine and a nice little coloring book that has no agenda or expiration date. It will be there when I need it and sit peacefully when I don’t. It’s therapy in the form of bright shades of color mixed with effortless magic. It’s trans-formative to the mind and nurturing for the soul.

Go buy one. You won't regret it.

We can all calm the hell down together. Yay!

And if you decide to get the designer high quality fabricated -in -England colored pencils don’t tell me about it. I refuse to believe anyone I know is that crazy.

                                                                   

Run Run Away

Back when I was rebellious and felt a need to express my rebellion (I kindly tuck it inside now where it’s safe), I used to crank music just to let everyone know I was in that “I don’t give a shit” mood. I’d usually put in a Heavy-Metal cassette tape (remember those?) it was a “mixed tape” actually (the special ones) and crank the volume on my stereo as loud as I could before the speakers cracked just to be sure my parents reached the max level of irritation. I was a fun one.

Anyhow, back to this mixed tape. It was one a past boyfriend made for me which included various rock songs that we listened to together. I’d always forward the tape (remember when we had to do that?!) until I got to this specific song that I loved. It hit the “rebellious” part of my heart that freed my soul and loosened my bones a bit. It brought back memories of my skipping school to hang at his house (he was a bit older) and we’d lay on the couch eating potato chips for breakfast and smiling at each other for hours. It was a time when I didn’t give a shit what people thought (ok I still have a little bit of that in me) and I had no respect for authoritative figures and an impulse to break rules that didn’t cater to what I wanted to do at the moment. (I know. Can you believe I used to be that way?!) The song was called Run Run Away by the group Slade. You’ve probably never heard of them but I’m telling you, it revved me up like no other. It was like a gust of wind would sweep up my insides and give a therapeutic shout at the world, a bigger than life but giddy F-YOU. Bright eyed. Alive. Careless. FREE.

Some things you never let go of, music is one of them for me. So when I’ve had a grueling day and I want to revert back to the carefree attitude of that teenage girl who would skip school when her heart desired and  sneak out at midnight with the current boy toy to drink beers at the cemetery, I throw on a little Run Run Away by Slade. For a moment I smile and feel alive. I laugh how much I’ve changed and yet remain the same. The school uniform has turned to work attire and the boom box is now itunes on blue tooth, but the spark of that heavy metal I-don’t-give-a-shit feeling in my heart stays the same.

And I still belt it out at the top of my lungs.

And I still don’t care who sees me.

And I STILL think there’s a 16 year old trapped somewhere inside. Thankfully :)