Thursday, December 08, 2005
Yesterday, while we were checking out at the grocery store our bagger lady kept acting really strange. She was talking to our groceries as they journeyed down the conveyor belt. And every so often she'd call out, "Uh oh, time to bend over" and would then bend over and lay her head down on the checkout counter. I couldn't tell if she really was crazy or just acting like it, but Denver was intrigued and kept staring at her, probably thinking, "Oh my goodness! She's crazy!" I looked at the cashier, sort of looking for an answer, who smiled at me (she wasn't going to confirm or deny anything) and said, "She's just crazy but normal, right Dolores?" and then she continued scanning my items. And I never figured out if Dolores really was crazy or normal but she kept talking to the groceries and kept repeating the phrase, "I'm crazy but normal."
For some reason that phrase stuck with me and as I drove home from the grocery store, with three crying kids in tow, I thought, "I'm crazy but normal too." There is nothing about my life that is not crazy anymore and it's gotten to the point that crazy IS normal for me. If things aren't crazy, I don't know what to do with myself. Here's what I mean:
Yesterday I went to the grocery store to pick up a prescription for Denver and pick up three things: saran wrap, juice boxes and onion powder. An hour later I left with saran wrap, juice boxes, onion powder, cornbread mix, grapes, apples, pears, bananas, five boxes of diet soda and three 2-liter bottles of diet soda, eggs, bread, shredded mozerella cheese, some fuzzy blue slippers, and three crying kids. Denver was saying mean things to Noah. Noah covered Denver's mouth to make him stop. Denver bit Noah. Noah screamed and carried on for 30 minutes, which eventually woke up Caleb and started him wailing. What should have been a 10 minute, $30 stop ended up being a $120, aggravating and frustrating trip to the grocery store--that's the crazy bit. The normal part is, this is how it is anytime I have to go to the grocery store.
Monday, I decided to get the kids away from the television and interact with them a bit. So, we made some bread in the bread machine and started making some pumpkin roll. The kids love to mix and dump and I feel better about spending some time with them doing something constructive. So, we got the batter mixed up and in the oven and had just enough time to get it baked before we had to pick Hunter up from school. Or so I thought. I got the kids' shoes on and bundled them up, because we were planning on staying at the school to play on the playground before karate, and then took the pumpkin roll out of the oven. Not done. So, we went to get Hunter and I left the pumpkin roll in the oven, since it only takes us 3 minutes to pick up Hunter and they needed just a few more minutes to bake. Well, Hunter wanted to stay and play and he was really angry when I said we had to hurry home so the pumpkin roll wouldn't burn. So, he picked up a nice big icy snowball and with all the fury he could muster he threw the thing at me. If being screamed at by your 6 year old kid isn't humiliating enough, the stupid snowball hurt more. So, I grabbed his arm and dragged him home while he screamed at me the entire way, while I tried desperately not to drop Caleb and keep one eyeball each on the other two kids. The crazy part is, we very easily could have walked back to the school after I saved the pumpkin roll if Hunter hadn't landed himself in timeout. The normal part is, this happens almost every day I pick Hunter up from school.
Friday, Kathy invited the boys to have a "mega sleepover" at her house. We had this great plan to meet Kak at the mall and eat McDonald's together and then send the boys home with her (minus Caleb). They would get to spend the night with her and the following day we would pick them up and take them to Daddy's gigantic family Christmas party at the Harboryard arena where the kids get presents and we watch this great ice show and all sorts of fun things. The kids were excited about all of it and had been praying for days that Friday would get here fast. Well, Friday showed up pretty quick and the boys were pumped--the day they'd been waiting all their lives for had finally arrived. Mark called to tell me he was on the train and would need picked up in about 15 minutes. I had been trying to help Me-me make some Christmas c.d.'s and hadn't packed the kids' bag yet. So I started scurrying around the house throwing pj's and blankets into a suitcase while I shouted at the kids to get their socks and shoes on. Well. . . Denver was having fun playing something else and did not want to cooperate. So he decided to tell me he hates me. Yup! He hates me for telling him to get his shoes on so I can take him to McDonald's for dinner and so he can spend the night at Aunt Kak-Kak's house. That's the crazy part. Now I know kids do that. We did when we were little and at that very moment I heard my mom saying, "I'm sorry to hear that, but I love you" which would send us on an immediate guilt trip. So, I said it to Denver in almost the exact same tone as my mother which didn't phase Denver for a second because he was too angry to care about how I felt at all, which only made me feel worse. I just wanted to go shut the door to my bedroom and cry. That's the normal part.
Lately I've been having these psycho dreams. I've had several dreams that Mark is gay, which for any of you that know Mark is about as far-fetched as they come but are still disturbing all the same. I wake up feeling really rotten because in my dreams, Mark is choosing to be with these other men (and women) before me and I hate feeling second best. And last night I had a dream that our neighbor,Elizabeth, came over and knocked on our door with her cane (which she does in real life and it always freaks me out) to tell us that our chicken Lucky, was lying outside in a pool of blood, dead. That upset me because just last night I was reading my past blogs and feeling rather attatched to the silly bird and all that I've experienced because of her. Weird dreams becoming a normal part of my sleep pattern--that's crazy.
So, this week I started exercising again in the hopes of losing a couple of pounds before I have to face the Henrichsen clan at Christmas and accept the title of heavyweight champion again. So Monday, despite a freshly sprained ankle, I decided to do the "Firm" workout which combines some serious weightlifting with aerobics. I struggled my way through it and managed to survive long enough to feel my muscles begin to ache. Tuesday, I decided to give my muscles a break and give my heart a workout instead. So, I popped Step Reebok into the VHS and strapped Caleb into the carry pack and started stepping. The added 13 pounds on my chest about broke my back but it kept him from crying (which is usually what keeps me from exercising) and I thought for sure I'd lose an extra pound or two because of it. Well, Wednesday morning when I got up to weigh myself I had gained two pounds. That is the crazy part. So I didn't exercise yesterday and I had a big bowl of chocolate peanut butter ice cream and about six chocolates right before I went to bed and I felt much better. That is the normal part.
And then there's my haircut. I cut it with the hope that I'd look a little neater and nicer on a daily basis, maybe even a little more mature. I know I don't look any sexier but I was hoping I'd look nicer and definitely not younger or "cuter." Well, the first crazy thing is, right after I cut it Mark said, "I liked seeing you with your long pony tail across the food court tonight." Which means he really wanted me to keep it long but never could say it for fear I'd take offense or think he was being controlling or something. It was always, "Whatever makes you feel better" or "Whatever makes you happy." But if he'd just said, "No! Don't cut it! I love how it looks long!" I might not have cut it. But I did and now it's too late. And the next crazy thing is, I thought the haircut looked more mature but all I'm getting is "cute" and that was the last thing I was shooting for was a "cute" haircut. I might as well put it in a couple of piggy tails and suck my thumb. I mean, I'm thirty years old and I'm still being called cute which really is crazy but then again, I suppose that's normal for me. I still get mistaken for a college student who really shouldn't have four kids, and I suppose I should be grateful for that because everyone wants to look young nowadays, but I just want to look grownup and be treated as such.
And last night, Mark got home really late. He had a dinner to go to and then an Elder's quorum meeting. So I fed the kids alone and got them ready for bed and struggled through scripture reading with them and tucked them in bed and then proceeded to clean the house and try and wrap a few Christmas presents. Of course I had Caleb with me which made everything 10 times more difficult and take 10 times longer. So, when Mark got home I handed him Caleb so I could finish wrapping his Christmas present. Five minutes later I came out of the guest bedroom and sat down by Mark and Caleb on the couch and there was Caleb laughing at his daddy. Now normally I'd be thrilled about it but on this particular occasion I was green with envy. Here was Caleb, smiling and laughing with his Daddy when he'd been home all of ten minutes and had done nothing with him all day. While I, on the other hand, had spent all day feeding him and holding him and bathing him and changing him and singing to him and reading to him and talking to him. And yet, Mark got the first laugh. And yet, as crazy as that is, it's normal too. Mark always outdoes me, even when it comes to parenting. Afterall, who do you think they call for first--mommy or daddy?
There are so many crazy things like that in my life. My skinniest kid is my biggest couch potato. I have to threaten my kids with a spanking to get them to go and play. Caleb always poops two minutes into nursing him. The only way I get to blog nowadays is with one finger while I nurse. The laundry is never done, nor are the dishes despite very hard efforts on my part. No matter what I cook, dinner is never good enough for everyone. The worst part of it all is that all this craziness is a normal part of my routine and I keep smiling despite all of it. Perhaps the real crazy person here isn't Dolores, but me.
posted by Shana # 9:25 AM 
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