This post could also be titled 'When Worlds Collide' or 'Mona's Many Personalities".  We arrived home from Arizona yesterday with me in a Xanax induced haze.  Our flight had a bit of turbulence, which led to me taking some extra Xanax.  Somehow I managed to stay somewhat lucid through the airport, a quick visit with Phil and Megan on the boat and an early dinner at Red Robin.  My Blue Ribbon burger was the last thing I remember.  I went to sit in the car to wait for Charlotte and Dave and dozed off.  And by dozed off I mean that I was sound asleep.  I don't know how I got out of the car and into our house.  I don't remember sleeping in a chair by the fireplace.  I don't remember sleeping on the couch while Charlotte watched a movie or later moving to bed, which is where I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to go at 6:30 this morning.

Coming back from vacations where you stay at hotels (or in our case time share condos) where there are things like room service and cleaning service, can be hard, especially for someone like me.  See, I really, really like things to be clean.  I want everything to have it's place.  I am never more motivated to clean than the day after I come back from vacation because I want my house to have that magical, clean hotel feeling.  Like when you come back from the salon and you want a new hairdryer and a forty dollar bottle of conditioner.

The problem is that I have three very distinct personalities when it comes to cleaning.  Personality number one is my OCD.  I don't just clean when I'm in one of these moods, I CLEAN.  So I start in the kitchen.  I put dirty dishes in the dishwasher, but then I notice how dirty the dishwasher is.  So first I clean the inside of the dishwasher.  While I'm cleaning the inside of the dishwasher, I notice the underside of the cabinet next to it.  Gross.  So that needs to be scrubbed.  While I'm scrubbing underneath the cabinet, I'm really close to the wall.  Are those grease splatters?  Wall must be cleaned.  Then, while I'm scrubbing a stubborn spot on the wall, my sponge gets a corner between the wall and the stove.  Hmmmm, you mean that part wasn't supposed to be brown?  Before you know it, I'm scrubbing the inside of the microwave and using q-tips to get every vent sparkling clean.  So far I have managed to clean one tiny section of the kitchen, but that section of the kitchen looks brand new.

I'm about to unscrew the knobs on the cabinets so I can really clean underneath them when my A.D.D. starts to kick in.  I notice how unorganized our cookbooks look and while organizing them in order of smallest to largest, I pull out an old Betty Crocker cookbook and started to thumb through it. Oh, look at that adorable Easter cake.  It doesn't matter that I've recently gained 10 lbs (I could write a whole huge whiny post about my old lady hips and how I had to stop exercising, which of course has led to pity eating.), it doesn't matter that I have pulled out all of the dishes and they are currently scattered all over the other counter.  No, I now must make this Easter cake and have abandoned cleaning the kitchen in favor of looking at Easter cakes on the internet.  So, part of the kitchen looks showroom new and the other part of it looks like a tornado hit it.  The tornado part is the part that I will later point at Dave and say "Could you pick up the kitchen?  I did half of it already."  I'm mean that way.

Also, in one of these OCD induced fits, I removed the doors from the front cabinets.  Why? Because Dave doesn't shut cabinet doors.  I don't know if it's genetic or what, but he is unable to open a cabinet, remove what he needs, and then shut it.  And I am unable to walk by an open cabinet door without cringing, cussing and slamming it shut.  So, in the interest of peace in our house, I simply removed the cabinet doors.  Okay, I didn't remove them...I stood around offering encouragement while my super handy friend Michelle removed them.  If you have a partner who cannot shut cabinet doors, I highly recommend removing the doors.  That's Mona's Marriage Tip of the Day.  

The third problem is that though I adore clean houses and cleanliness, I'm a pig.  A lazy pig, at that.  I  make myself a latte in the morning.  Yes, I make myself a latte.  No, not because I'm fancy but because I'm cheap.  My espresso machine was a gift from my friend Michelle (wow, Michelle, you've come up twice in this post.  You're practically famous!) who had an old one that she never used so she sent it to me.  So, I make myself an espresso and I leave the steamer cup, the spoon and anything else I've used on the counter next to the espresso machine.  The sink is two steps away.  Why can I not put them in the sink?  I don't know, but I can't.  I'm like Dave with cupboard doors.  There's some part of my brain that just won't let me finish the job.  When I'm done with my latte, do I bring the cup back down from my upstairs office?  No.  How many times do I go up and down the stairs and to the kitchen sink?  At least twenty times a day.  And yet my latte cup often stays up there until the next morning when I grouchily go upstairs to get it and wash it out for that mornings coffee.  Or when Dave goes around picking up dishes that I've left scattered about the house.

Now if only I could come up with a way to solve my messiness the way we solved Dave's not shutting cabinet doors problem....in the meantime, I'm going to go make a latte in the squeaky clean corner of our kitchen.

This is Turtle's first year of kindergarten.  Now that I've typed that sentence, I realize how dumb that is.  It's not like college where you put in four years.  There is ONLY one year of kindergarten.  Sigh.  Just when I got used to relating about baby stuff and preschool, Turtle goes and grows up and goes to kindergarten.  After this will be a whole new set of terms about grade school and homework and why I won't let her date until at least third grade.

Today Turtle brought home her first report card.  First of all, I think the fact that they no longer do A-F grades SUCKS ASS.  Why did they change it?  Why?  Why?  Now there is a number scale from 1-4.  One meaning you aren't even trying and your teacher thinks you're lame and four meaning you have bribed the teacher with Starbucks cards.  It just doesn't sound as cool tosay that Turtle scored 4s on a whole bunch of stuff.  Ooooh, 4s.  They could have at least gone from 1-10 so that the kids who got 10s would be like 'IN YOUR FACE ALL YOU PEOPLE SCORING TWOS!'.  But school these days is not about competition.  And, at least in kindergarten, it's not about academics either.  This is evidenced by Turtle's report card, in which she scored all 3.5s and 4s for Math, Science, Reading etc. etc.  but only scored 2.5 for Working with Other's and Work Ethic.  

I laughed out loud.  Work ethic??  Work ethic!!  It's kindergarten.  What the fuck kind of work ethic should a five year old have?  I suppose the little troopers that scored 4s in work ethic probably also make their beds, eat all their vegetables and are ready to go work the line in China making iphones.  Turtle however, doesn't always want to draw a picture of something with the letter U.  She doesn't see the point.  She can already draw, she already knows what an umbrella looks like and isn't that interested in making sure that her umbrella uses multiple colors and has more detail.  Yes, she got a note that said she needs to use colors and more detail.  Of course, her kindergarten teacher didn't see the attention to detail that Turtle made on a drawing the other day that she brought home.  It was wrapped up tight in her folder so her kindergarten teacher couldn't see it.

'What's this?' I asked as I pulled it out.

'Oh, that's a secret.  I couldn't show it to Ms. Kindergarten Teacher.'

'Can I look at it?'

Turtle shrugged as I pulled the paper out.  There was a drawing.  A VERY detailed drawing.  Ms. KT would have been proud of the amount of detail in this drawing.  There was a number 1 and a number 2 next to each picture.  Picture one was of a person falling off a bridge.  Behind the person falling was a little person with a big smile.  Picture two was a picture of a mug with an X on it and a person lying next to it, covered in blood.

'Wow, what're these?'

'Oh, those are my plans to kill Ms. KT' Turtle mentioned casually.

'What?  You plan to kill her?'

'Yeah' said Turtle 'I was really mad.  So I made this secret plan.  The first one is me pushing her off a bridge and if that doesn't work, I came up with a backup plan to poison her coffee.  See?  The X is for poison.'

'Huh.  Nice attention to detail.'

'Thanks, Mommy.'

Now I just need to direct her homicidal tendencies to some worthwhile activity like working for the FBI and being a sniper.  And maybe send her teacher a copy of the plans so she can change that whole work ethic grade.  My baby's got a work ethic alright, it just may not be the kind of work they're looking for at the elementary school.

 

p.s. don't worry, Turtle and I had serious discussion about killing people and why it's not good.  Also, I took an online quiz for 'Is Your Child a Serial Killer' and we only scored 4 out of 10 so I think we're safe.  And if she is a serial killer, I totally blame her dad.

 

At some point in 2011, I cleaned off the pictures from my computer and put them somewhere for safe keeping.  Yeah, I lost them.  So I managed to steal some from my Facebook.  But I had an awesome idea for my pictures.  I take REALLY bad pictures of myself and of Turtle and I was going to post a year in review of awful pictures.  Damn!  If I find the pictures again I will do that.  Because bad pictures make me laugh.

January 2011 - the very first day.  At a cabin on Orcas Island with friends.

February 2011 - Wig Party because I'm contemplating changing my hair color.

March 2011 - I get my two front teeth knocked out by a horse.  Dave provides an ice cream buffet.  Edited to add:  Wait, there I am looking goofy and WITH my front teeth.  Which means I have no idea why we have so much ice cream.  Maybe this was Valentine's Day??  

April 2011 - We visit more ponies and find a place called Sweet Mona's that sells chocolates.  

June 2011-  Wedding!  Aren't the bride and groom gorgeous?!

August 2011-  Another wedding, with a photobooth and fun hats!

December 2011-  Charlotte designs and builds an Arabian castle gingerbread house which we subsequently destroy on New Year's Day. 

And pink is NOT the new black.  Now that I'm forty, I'm bombarded with messages about how to fend off ageing.  The forty year olds I know that are trying to compete with twenty year olds spend a LOT of time working on it.  Sure, I can spend three hours a day at the gym, six hours a month at the hair salon, an hour a week getting my nails done, my toenails done, my skin waxed and exfoliated and lasered, my eyebrows plucked and shaped, my eyelash extensions glued on.....seriously, the list is long and quite frankly, exhausting.  

I'm blessed with good genes.  I can hardly remember to wash my face every day and I've never had a facial or a body scrub.  Though I did go to a spa once with my mom where they did some sort of herbal detox thing that involved being wrapped in wet sheets that smelled like herbal tea and then covered with a thermal blanket.  I didn't notice my skin looking better, but I did smell like a cup of tea.  Beyond that, I just don't put much effort into competing with the twenty year olds.  They're twenty.  Your life is so confused and worrisome and everyone gives a shit what everyone else thinks when you're twenty, that the least I can do is give them the edge on me with their twenty year old skin and their cute butts in skinny jeans.  Besides, what exactly are we supposed to be competing for?  Men?  Jobs?  Cool Points?  Honestly, I don't know what the point is.... What I know is that the person I want to be the person I am doesn't want to be twenty again.  

The things that lasers and injections and scrubs would take awayare a part of having lived a life.  That wrinkle between my eyes?  Yeah, that's where I worried for friends in hard times.  That's where I concentrated on learning a new skill.  That wrinkle was formed from conquering fears, solving problems.  Those lines around my eyes?  Those come from smiling.  Same with the deep groove next to my mouth.  Smiling.  WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU WANT TO LOOK LIKE YOU'VE NEVER SMILED?????  These wrinkles will get deeper as I get older.  It's proof of nights spent laughing with friends.  Sometimes, the shadows under my eyes are proof of nights spent crying, friends lost, sick children, heart break.  Wrinkles, spots, less than perfection is all proof that I have more going on than a quest for perfection.  I'm not saying I don't put on some makeup and actually blow dry my hair every once in a while, cause I do.  But I'd rather spend my time living my life, sailing, riding horses, enjoying friends and my family than take that time to try and get back to an age that wasn't nearly as enjoyable as it looks in the pictures.  

Also, if I ever get THAT vain, that's why they invented Photoshop.  Just hang out at home and post Photoshopped pictures on Facebook and nobody will ever know right?  That's my back up plan.  p.s.  These photos are not photoshopped, mainly because I don't actually have Photoshop and I don't know how to use it....yet.

I love Christmas music.  There.  I said it.  I love Christmas music.  Okay, there are a few songs I don't love but those are always the one written recently.  There's a horrible, horrible song called something like Living in Seattle's Latte Land.  Ugh.  There's another painful one called Christmas in the Northwest.  But mostly, I love Christmas music.  Without irony.  Without being hip and vintage.  I love Christmas music.  

I Know that I should have some sort of epic story about Christmas music or a hilarious vignette to share with you about it, but I don't.  I just wanted to wave the flag of Christmas music.  I'm standing up and letting the world know "My name is Mona Sterling and I love Christmas music!".  Next thing you know I'll be wearing one of these sweaters.....but without the cool factor.

 I'm okay with that.  Really, I am.  And it's okay if you sing your favorite Christmas song to me.  I can spend all day humming Little Drummer Boy and not be angry about it.  Because...one last time....I love Christmas music.

Our third and final anniversary celebration is a trip to the ocean for the weekend to watch the storms.  We have done this every year since we got back together.  We have stayed at the same place every year.  It's the same stretch of beach that Dave got down on one knee and proposed to me on.  The same tub overlooking the waves.  The same towels?

See the beautiful blue sky?  Yeah, not so good for storm watching.  Not a goddamn cloud in the sky.  Stupid weather.

We forgot to take pictures of the amazing French toast Dave made for me.  I think it had Bailey's Irish Cream, pecans, cream cheese, spiced peaches and was topped with whip cream and boysenberries...or were they blackberries.  Yummy goodness is what they were.

 It was epic to open the wine since the wine opener broke.  But Dave, being the handy man he is, managed to fix it.  I would also like to point out his shirt (I Heart Sad Songs).  It's funny because, though we have no photographic evidence of it, we BOTH packed the same t-shirt.  Awkward?  Hilarious?  Awesome?  All of the above.

 Cup of dark chocolate with Amaretto?  Yes, please.  I can pretend it's dark and stormy outside.

 Dave made a pot roast that was amazing.  Super amazing.  The best pot roast ever.  We ate it for three days after the initial pot roast and I still miss it.

The last bottle of Zolo, the Malbec we served at our wedding.  Red wine and pot roast are perfect for stormy fall nights.  We had to pretend it was a stormy fall night, but it was still perfect.

Trying to open a bottle after the top came off the bottle opener. Did he get it?  Of course he did.  Dave is the man.

Third bottle of wine Dave and the bottle opener stuck in the last cork.  So Dave goes in with a knife.  It works.  Sort of.  He gets the bottle open, but manages to spray himself and the entire kitchen with wine.

This is the amazing bottle of Pinot Grigio that my neighbors gave me for my birthday.  So. Good.  So. Damn. Good.  I drank this while laying in front of the fireplace reading a book that I also got for my birthday.  Perfect.

 It's always hard to get kissing shots because Dave is so much taller than me.  But every time I give him the camera he takes it at the most awkward angles.

Because every one should have an awkward beach jumping shot.  This is one where my hand went missing.  Thankfully the coffee cup was empty.  

And finally, my favorite road sign.  Most road signs have one animal, but here there are four animals to avoid.  Deer.  Rabbit.  Geese?  And I think that's a raccoon.  We only saw deer but we also spent most of the time inside doing the things that couples do on anniversary weekends.  You know, eating and drinking wine right?  Happy Anniversary Dave!

October is a crazy month for me.  It always seems like I'm laying in the sunshine in August, sighing a big sigh of relief that summer is FINALLY here and then it's Septem...what, it's Octob....huh?  November???  

September was kindergarten transitions.

October is almost over.  October is my anniversary, which must be celebrated at least three times to be official.  We also chose to celebrate my birthday in October since nobody ever wants to party on my real birthday, the week before Christmas.  Pictures of those events will be coming soon.  

So in the meantime here are some photos.  First up:  Halloween cookie project fail.  Don't you hate it when these magazines lure you in with adorable pictures of cute cookies and cakes?  It happens to me ever year.  See what the evil little ghost cookie is saying?  "So easy it's scary"  Well, that little ghost is a jerk and a liar.  So, this is the picture of the magazine's ghosts.  

And these are what mine looked like.  They're not as bad as they could have been but still, they don't look like the picture.  Also, they did not taste yummy.  The Nutter Butter cookies I ate while making them though were quite delicious.  

(download)

Click here to download:

to-appease-the-masses-qbJmJJwGgauefcqykhnJ.zip (9.37 MB)

The other day, Dave came home for lunch.  I don't remember what we ate but I think it was  reasonably healthy lunch.  Maybe some soup and a half a sandwich kind of lunch.  When we were finished, he headed towards the freezer for the ice cream container.

"Want some?" he asked.

I raised an eyebrow at him.  Okay, I totally didn't because I have NO control over my eyebrows and can't raise only one eyebrow, but if I could have raised one I would have.  I had the emotional experience of raising an eyebrow at him.

"Nah. I'm pretty sure if I wait ten minutes I'll be full.  You should wait and see if you're full too."

And I sauntered off full of self righteousness and patting my 'just so' full stomach.  See, I didn't need ice cream after lunch and I'm better than those people that have to have ice cream after lunch.  I will be thinner.  I will live longer.  I will be a paragon of restraint!

Dave had a few bites of ice cream to satisfy his sweet tooth and left back to work.  I returned upstairs to my home office.

Ten minutes later I was in the kitchen loading a bowl up with three scoops of ice cream, a waffle cone bowl, hot fudge, whip cream, maraschino cherry and even chocolate sprinkles.  It was a mountain of a hot fudge sundae.  It was guilt and desire and goodness in a bowl and I savored every bite while I watched bad reality television on the internet.  So much for self righteousness and restraint.

So Dave, I owe you an apology.  What I should have said when you asked if I wanted any ice cream was "You go right ahead.  I like to do my bingeing alone."

One of the surprising things about Kindergarten whe we live, is that the Kindergarten kids ride the bus.  Those of you who don't have kids are probably thinking that's not a big deal.  Those of you who have older kids are probably thinking that's not a big deal.  But to a mom of an only child who just turned 5 in May, this is a big deal.  It means that in the morning, I put my five year old on a school bus and for the next half hour she is somewhere in the void.  Okay, maybe not the void....but my imagination is ripe and I am a teensy bit anxious about these things.

At the school assembly they assured us that our Kindergartners would have no problem with the buses.  They would color code the buses and color code the kids hands with markers just to make sure.  They would give the Kindergarten kids name tags for the first two weeks to differentiate them from the older kids.  It was the Leave No Kindergartner Behind bus program.  I was on board.

Last week went fine, despite the fact that Turtle rides one bus in the morning and a different bus coming home.  She seemed to enjoy hanging out and chatting with the other kids and always came bounding off the bus full of stories.  So I'm waiting at the bus stop for her today, talking to the other moms and waiting for the bus.  The bus pulls off and the line is forming of kids to disembark.  I don't see Turtle.  I scan the line.  No Turtle.  I scan the bus.  No Turtle.  I peek inside the bus.  No Turtle.  I ask our neighbor's girls as they are coming off the bus "Where's Turtle?"  "I dunno" they say "I think she got on the red bus maybe?"

Panic.  My child, my five year old, my baby who still has cheeks that make you want to gnaw on them is NOT ON THE BUS.  After a few minutes of frantic phone calls, they locate Turtle.  Yes, she is indeed on the red bus.  Fifteen minutes later, the bus pulls up and lets off it's lone occupant, Turtle.  Here's the story the bus driver told me:

They were driving the route, Turtle happily chatting up her new neighbors.  The bus got to our bus stop and turned left (since it wasn't our bus) instead of stopping.  At that point Turtle jumps out of her seat and yells "You just passed my stop!  I'm freaking out back here!  Am I on the wrong bus?"  The bus driver calms her down and tells her that she will get her back to her stop.  So Turtle says "Phew.  Mommy would be so worried." and then proceeds to tell the other kids "This is not my usual bus so we probably won't be seeing each other again until we're all adults.  It's been nice talking to you, but I'm not supposed to be on this bus."  Then she waves at the bus driver as she gets off and says "Thank you for getting me home safely.  I was really worried fora minute."

Although I had a few moments of worry, I'm so glad to know that Turtle can take care of herself and make new friends while doing it.  

Some nights, I sprawl like a toddler in my bed with arms and legs akimbo, breathing deeply.  Face upturned to some sun I cannot see, I imagine I am already asleep and dreaming of puppies and kittens or whatever it is that toddler's dream about.  I try to hold perfectly still, imagining my limbs have grown roots and are as heavy as tree trunks growing down through the bed, through the floor and into the earth.  

Other nights I curl up, wrapping my arms around myself tightly.  I try to remember what it feels like when you're so broken that all you can do is wrap your outsides around your insides and sleep.  I try to conjure up memories of hearbreak, despair and loss while I contort my body into shapes of sadness.  I long for the heavy limbed, swollen eyed feeling after a good cry.  I try to re-create that sadness just so I can shed a few tears.  I'm hoping that this will exhaust my mind, fill it with cotton balls of sadness, shutting down the racing thoughts and covering my tension like a heavy, wet blanket.  

Most nights neither of these work and I lay in the darkness, listening to the deep, even breathing of my husband as he drifts quickly and calmly into sleep.  Sometimes I'll start to fall asleep and my body will jolt awake suddenly, my mind angry and betrayed that sleep has crept past it's gates.  The clock will have barely moved, my husband will have drifted from breathing into snoring and I'll feel the frustration building and sending energy into every limb.  Limbs that kick out whenever my husband lets out a particularly egregious snore.  Oh yes, I'm not above kicking, shoving and sighing dramatically when he's snoring.  It's not even really the snoring that gets me.  It's that he's ASLEEP and we've only just gotten into bed.  See, he lays down and he closes his eyes AND THEN HE GOES TO SLEEP.  This, to me, is a miracle.  How the hell do people do that?  

I have tried all the usual insomnia tricks.  The warm bath, the warm tea, melatonin, meditation and warm milk.  I keep routines.  I don't exercise after 6:00 (that makes it sound like I actually exercise doesn't it?), I don't eat late snacks.  I turn off the computer and the TV at least an hour before bedtime.  I don't keep electronics in my bedroom.  I keep it cool in the bedroom.  I run a fan for white noise.  It's dark in the bedroom.  And so on and so on.  And still, I lay down in bed and my mind jumps into action.  Sometimes I will count backwards from 100.  I usually get distracted somewhere around number 78 and my mind veers off into solving more problems, worrying about more things, thinking up new ways that tomorrow might be better.  

Then there are the times where I get so worn down from not sleeping that I am a constant ball of anger and unhappiness.  I'm like a two year old who missed their nap, all tantrums and tears and DON'T TOUCH ME and PLEASE HOLD ME but DON'T TOUCH ME.  On those nights, I give in to some medical comfort in the form of Nyquil or Tylenol PM or Unisom.  I cannot express the amazement I feel, the incredible deep happiness when the drugs kick in and my body sinks into the bed like an anchor aiming for the bottom of the sea.  When my brain can't fight any longer and every thought is simply noticed before it floats away, a floating lantern drifting away from me as I slip into darkness and sleep.  Glorious, wonderful sleep.  I imagine this must be what it feels like for those of you who just 'fall asleep'.  You just drift off and without even knowing it, you sleep.  Lucky, lucky you.  And for your safety, you better not fall asleep next to me because I just might kick you.