Summertime Sadness…to some degree

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Today was really, really, sticky. If there was an aerial view of us driving around in the Costco parking lot, – it would have brought absolute embarrassment to me. Shameful. I stopped in the middle of the shopping mayhem and screamed at the top of my lungs, realizing soon after my back window was wide open. I parked. Only to move to another parking spot to scream again. Then I cried. I cried and cried and screamed. I moved again to a different parking spot further from the mega box store, removed my glasses, turned to my kids and asked them with streams of tears running down my face, “How are we going to fix this? What are we going to do?” In the hopes my three children could provide some sort of child like faith answer or at least some kind of divine insight, but the only thing that came out of Nola’s mouth was, “We can’t.”

We can’t. We can’t fix this. So after apologizing, I put my sunglasses back on, reapplied my lipstick…and we went into Costco as if nothing happened. This is how we do it. We move through the motions, the noise, and the blurry expressionless faces of endless shoppers, collecting and gathering for their families, themselves, or for others maybe. Habitual cruise control. Habitually cruising through life, with the mistake of thinking we are in some-what- some-sort-of control…but we’re not. I can’t control my outbursts, my moods, or the continual chatter in my head. I can’t control the random looks my children give me, glancing secretly from the corner of their eyes to see how I am doing, questioning amongst themselves why I have inhaled or exhaled more deeply than normal, or what I  am doing when I place my head against the wall or lie myself on the floor to try to ground myself. The film script I see, read, and hear continually in my head…I try to silence it. I try…

But silence doesn’t really exist. To somehow numb the relentless scenarios or wordplays in my head, I decided to run this evening. I ran fast. I ran hard. I ran with head phones blaring songs of bubble gum and pop culture,  hoping it would somehow break through the depths of my dark thoughts or the endless questions I have incessantly entangling themselves like a morning glory nightmare, but it was all to no avail. I can’t run from this. I am in this untamed mess, being reshaped, repaired, and my God I pray, some-how, being restored.

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The Pink Solution.

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When I hear the preciously annoying words, “I’m done!” I know it means one of two things. If it comes from Sean, it means he is done with the triple pandemonium running around in our living room, throwing mammoth-sized cushions off the couch for the 100th time, because a fort is in the making, or the nonstop feet smashing against the kitchen cupboards as the children try to hoist themselves up on the counter top to rummage through our ever fading and perishing of goods. If it is the third crying out, “I am done,” it means he has had bowel movement, or what I would call it, a boone, and needs help wiping. As I was preparing tonight’s salad, getting ready in a hurry for 2’s pre-school graduation, I could hear 3 crying out, “I’m done! I’m really done!” I asked Sean if he was going to tend to him or if he would like me to…well not so pleasantly or smooth like that, more so, are you going to deal with him? As I look at my feta cheese infested hands and chopped veggies all around…Well, 2 comes down the stairs and informs us, as Sean is making his way upstairs, that 3 has actually booned all over their bedroom area rug and is sitting in it. And sure enough, smudged in his toes, foot prints all over the white area rug, and a half naked little boy, is sitting in a liquid mess of goo, not poo, but really, goo. Ugh. Not tonight, not right now, really? Sean’s says, ‘let’s roll this rug up and chuck it.’ However, as I lift 3 from the goo and carry him to the bathtub, I know there has to be another solution…to throw that rug out, would be a shame. I remember getting such a good deal on it from Urban Barn a few months before 2 was born, there are memories, there is a sentiment to that crazy poo stained rug, I can’t just throw it out, indeed there just has to be a way around this, and that is when I thought of my friend, I call BFF. I thought in a sci-fi millisecond, what would BFF do in this situation? The solution…Pink Solution, of course! Oh man, I have never used it before on anything, other than clothes with stains, but this stuff works! White area rug! Cleaned of brown goo!! NO WAY! But it is true; Pink Solution really works, and like it says on its container…”The one cleaner that is only limited by your imagination!” FOR SURE!