Near miss with catatonia

If the snow had not begun to melt and the sun hadn’t decided to shine and the kids weren’t returning to school tomorrow, I dare say that Tom would come home from work tomorrow night and find me in the basement doing a puzzle, catatonic from craze. Drool would be seeping from one corner of my mouth, a wine glass with a straw long enough to reach my lips would be on the table just to my right, and my left hand would be obsessively rubbing nutmeg’s head, a cat lady gone way-crazy wrong.

Fortunately the sun is melting, the sun is shining and the kids are going to school tomorrow.

We have already been to swimming lessons, Party City for decorative shamrocks and other 6th-birthday needs, and PetSmart for a new Sunburst Wag Platy fish to replace the one who is with us no more. Like all SeaWorld orcas are named Shamu (I curse you and your lies and ill-treatment of those orcas, SeaWorld), our Sunburst Wags are all known as Lightning Strike.

As you might recall, our previous Lightning Strike was struck with Dropsy, put into fish hospice and tended to by Tom, seemed to be on the up and up once back home in the tank and then perished suddenly, just after our new black Molly (the first was named Black Swimmer, this new guy is Darth Fishious; I don’t know why they are treated differently in the name department than are the Sunburst Wags) moved in. We found Lightning Strike stuck to the filter’s intake tube: as if he’d given up in mid-swim and just gone with the tide, right smack into the suction.

Because the sun is shining, I am “spring” cleaning like a lunatic and, once home from this morning’s marathon, even scrubbed the fish tank until its glass walls gleamed. We bought a new plant for our marine friends and things in there are sparkling. Hopefully Darth Fishious and Lightning Strike 2 will be with us for a while. Creamsicle (the orange guppy) and the two neon tetras are strong as steel. I admire them.

The kids are, shockingly, more in love with each other than ever despite having been housebound together for four days. As such, T and I really felt like assholes when, about two hours ago, we looked at each other with wild eyes, realizing across thought waves that neither of us could even stand the boys’ tinkling laughter anymore. We have all had too much togetherness.

I sent T to the gym, escaped to my US Presidents puzzle in the basement and threw the iPad at the kids. If they’d asked to streak the neighborhood, I’d have agreed because they’d have left the house and that equals quiet.

The merciful Saint of Babysitting answered my 911 call to all sitters I know. She who should now be canonized, Alex, arrived twenty minutes ago and whisked my children to the playground. As they left, I thrust a credit card in her hand and begged her to “run their faces off and then take them to dinner.” She agreed, and I am grateful.

She came just in time because I’d started throwing away or vacuuming everything in my path because CONTROL. I am now in my home by myself feeling something remarkable. I think it’s called bliss. 

The cream! The cherry! Not.

I have been feeling woefully incomplete because despite all the snow and sleet and missed school and shoveling and salt this winter, we have, thus far, been deprived of an ice storm. Seriously, what is late-winter fun without everything around you freezing inside a capsule of clear ice within two hours?

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Of course you've been wanting to ice skate down your sidewalk sans skates. It makes you feel so coordinated and secure; you are an effing gazelle.

Naturally you've felt glum that you've not experienced the magic of an ice window for your car. It's an igloo on wheels I tell you! Super cool.

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You have been dying for a twenty-four hour Winter Alert that ends on Monday at 3am, mere hours before your kids' school decides on whether to open, delay or cancel and that coincides with sending your husband off to sunny California for four days and realizing that your Ice Melt doesn't contain sand. No, this fine product melts the ice which then immediately refreezes in the sub-freezing temps with zero traction therein. You have unwittingly made an ice rink out of the fourteen-stair exit from your home. You will be an über-gazelle come morning. Except that you probably won't need to leave anyway because #snowday.

Your dog, sassy and fancy in his old age, will NOT pee outside except for against the one non-brick side of the house, and you will love to look at his splotchy yellow stains frozen in place on your home as if Canine Jackson Pollock took to your deck.

You thank all merciful gods and feline spirits for the fact that, inexplicably, your cat seems to believe he's a snow tiger and begs to go outside at regular intervals. You think, "That cat is mofo crazy, but he doesn't whine, he appreciates leaving the house, he doesn't fart AND when he snuggles with you, he doesn't stink." Much to be said for that delectable combo. You will start to favor him with unbecoming openness.

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You will scurry over to the market and spend exorbitant sums on convenience foods and flowers because FRUIT! COLOR! Who gives a shit where it was all grown? Buying local is so #springandsummertime

You'll cook a vat of pumpkin ravioli in sage butter for dinner because your husband doesn't like it and his absence is an opportunity. Also, carbs.

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You will light a fire with the minimal amount of kindling you have and then use every bit of newspaper in the house to augment because you deserve that festive freaking fire. Not least because 1) you'll fall and die if you go outside for more kindling which is a gauntlet-walk away in the garage, and 2) you are an awesome, whacked-out-from-fatigue-and-talking mother who gave your kids small amounts of melatonin at 5pm, fed them a beautiful, well-balanced meal, bathed them quickly and tucked-threw them in bed at 6:04pm so you could rest for a few. Hey, that shit's natural!

You will really wish you'd had the foresight to buy dessert while you were buying bouquets like you're an effing bride because no one is making anything now. #wine

Happy March, peeps! ~~~~ Please, for the love of all things holy and comedic, find the effing humor in this. It's funny!