I’ve just been paged by Michelle and, as I have stated before, when Michelle McMillen asks, I answer.
Once again, I have been neglecting the blog, that in addition to my knitting, spinning, and any and all responsibilities I can. Instead, I have been reading A LOT and not my usual erudite fare but varying-degree-of-trashy romance novels. You know, the kind on display in the drug store between “Us” and “In Style” magazines. They don’t have nice soft covers like “The Emperor’s Children” by Claire Messud which sits by my bed unopened despite its New York Times Book Review “Best Book of the Year” award seal. Most likely, they are not going to win any awards at all. This does not diminish their nose-in-a-book/ ostrich-in-the-sand conflict-avoiding power. Right now, I’d much rather read about the seemingly-plain-woman-who-inexplicably-falls-for-the-conceited-stud-who-turns-out-to-be-not-so-conceited-after-all-and-realizes-the-potential-in-this-lady-who-turns-out-to-be-lovely-once-her-potential-is-revealed than deal with my warring family. TNT = teenagers and toddler.
You know, I’m a fairly peaceful person. I rarely get truly angry, disappointed yes, mad (except in the head) no. Yet, somehow I germinated three beings who insist on fighting about any and everything from who is allowed in whose room to whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher to who drank the last Coke that they bought with their own money. And heaven forbid someone rearranges someone’s box of teas. For some reason misunderstood by me, this elicits screaming and yelling which escalates to shrieking and cussing. As a parent, it is important that I do my best to stay out of this whirling dervish of ridiculousness. Otherwise, anger can and usually will be volleyed my way. I do not like this; it makes me cry. I feel like frickin’ Rodney King; i.e. “Why can’t we all just get along?”
I realize someday soon I am going to have to figure out a way to manage this powder keg called home. For now though, you’ll find me with my nose in a romance novel and, depending on the time of day, a glass of spirits in my hand.
It’s funny; all this time I thought teenaged drinking was something they did but I now realize it is something they cause. Wait until Brian hits adolescence, Michelle, your teetotaling days could just be in jeopardy.