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May 2014

What Have You Broke(n) For Me, Lately?

If I had to choose one super power, something that I'm really, really good at -- better at than the average mom, even -- most people who know me (both virtually and IRL) would probably agree: I break things, a lot.

In fact, I even blogged about my  being a total KLUTZ back in 2008 for a Thursday Thirteen meme. Remember those? No? Well go and Google it, then. G'head, I'll wait.

[cracks knuckles, stretches and...GAH!!!!...Charlie horse...CHAR...LEE...FRIGGIN'...HORSE!!!]

Today, however, I was in rare form, even for me:

 

 
My youngest daughter heard me hollering from the shower (because, she's almost 13 and is well aware of the fact that her mama is a KLUTZ!) and, after finding out that I did NOT in fact slip in the shower (I think she secretly wants to be able to dial 911, just once, on purpose or something), her driver-personality kicked in.
 
Hope: You can use our shower. It's clean! In the meantime, I'm going to text Dad and ask him to stop at the store to pick up a new shower head on his way from work.
 
Me: NO!!!!!
 
Hope: Why?!?
 
Me: Because he's going to demand an explanation.
 
Hope: Ummm, actually, he probably won't.
 
I'd still be frowning, if the kid weren't correct in her assumption: if it's broken, then mom most probably broke it, too.
 
Aaaaaanyway, the broken shower head got me thinking: wouldn't it be fun to revisit the 13 Things I haven't managed to kill or break yet from 6 years ago, you know, to see how many are broken or not?!? She asked, rhetorically:
 
Fullhousedryer
 
1. The blow dryer I bought at CVS back in I don't remember when: DEAD. Also, the wallpaper? GONE!!! Because, honestly, who wallpapers a bathroom?!?
 
Fullhouseviolets
 
2. My husband's grandmother's telephone table: in need of a good oiling (aren't we all?), but not broken. The African violet, however, GOOD AND DEAD.
 
Fullhousevacuum_2
 
3. My Dyson vacuum cleaner: RECENTLY DECEASED; we bought another one, but an older model; because college tuitions...YO!!!
 
Fullhousecactus
 
4. My husband's grandmother's Christmas cactus: my son was sick with mono last year, got up too fast to answer the front door, passed out and knocked it over (I can't find that blog post, but probably Facebooked it) and my husband's grandmother is probably taking bets on what I'll be breaking, next. 2-1 it will be this plant (see #5, below).
 
Very nearly dead Christmas Cactus
 
However, I managed to save three stalks, but they too are most definitely VERY NEARLY DEAD.
 
Fullhousefridge
 
5. The refrigerator: This sucker lasted more than 15 years...which is like forever in appliance years...and I think that is my finger, but can't be sure, sooooo moving on...
 
Fullhousewanderingjew_2
 
6. Creeping Charlie: DEAD. Good thing too, I never really liked it all that much and it was sort of creeping me out, hanging out in the corner like that, anyways.
 
Fullhousecabinet1
 
7. China cabinet filled with pretties from Hungary: Still here, unbroken (knocking on wood until knuckles bleed) I'm still not allowed to touch it, enough said.
 
Fullhousecabinet2
 
8. Matching china cabinet filled with even more pretties: see number 7, above.
 
Fullhousefig
 
9. Sir Fig Newton: DEAD! However, I can't take the blame for this one -- the cat insisted on peeing in its pot and it drowned, I mean the fig tree not the cat -- stupid cat!
 
Fullhousecookiejar
 
10. The Cookie Jar: It was a present given to us on our wedding day and...although you probably already figured it out...I am NOT allowed to touch it, either.
 
Fullhousefeet
 
11. My sneakers: Mysteriously disappeared after the original post published back in 2008, I think the dog may have ate them.

Fullhousedoofusdog

12. Doofus-dawg: He is a canine version of my dorkish self, so we've both grown MUCH more patient with each other, enough said.

Fullhousegeraniums

13.  These are My geraniums: ALIVE!!! All of these pots are from cuttings off of a plant I received after our oldest was born, nearly 21 years ago. There's an interesting story behind these geraniums. 

Geraniums were my grandmother's favorite flower and she kept pots on her balcony. My father escaped from Hungary when he was 18 (he told his mother that he was going out to get bread) and they never saw each other, again -- my grandmother died the year after we were born.

Her death nearly destroyed my grandfather (Dad, too) and, in turn, he neglected the geraniums, but never had the heart to throw them out. 

My brother and I were two years-old when my parents were granted amnesty and were finally allowed to go back.  When my grandfather received the telegram, the geraniums started to bloom. 

I believe that she is the reason why mine look so beautiful, today.

Because tomorrow is my 50th birthday (but I still look good, DAMMIT!) and Nagy Mama knows, that I know, a little divine intervention goes a looooooooooong way, especially for dorks like me.

Soooooo, in celebration of my making it to half a century (seriously, that's a long a friggin' time in KLUTZ years!), re-read the title of this blog post, but sing it out loud, while I dance like this:

 

This is where all you youngster/hipster-types are all like...but WE want to wear over-sized men's clothes and gold-plated triangular earrings, TOOOOOOO...that's right, be jealous.

**Aaaaand, this is where I would totally flip my hair and pivot from one hip to the other, if I had hair and my hips weren't permanently locked in the downward dog position, dammit**

Stupid menopausal hair, dumbass locked up hips.

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3 weeks; 21 days; 504 hours; 30,240 minutes and a pair of fake eyelashes.

Heather Prom 2014
so, this happened. the girl formerly known as thing two (when i started blogging 11 years ago) looking all growed-up and beautiful for her senior prom.

To everyone else, it's just a very lovely capture of another milestone reached in the life of a teen. To me? It is one more bittersweet reminder of just how quickly the years have gone by or how they're sort of speeding up and beginning to make me feel a little like throwing up, even.

Long story, short: I've been working a lot of hours, lately. Like, if I'm not sleeping...then I'm pretty much working...and the kids have been awesome about helping out...I mean...as much as can be expected, their being kids and all.

Which means there's a lot of debating on whose turn it is to: change the dishwasher, feed the animals, switch the laundry, walk the dog, take out the garbage, mow the lawn, and forget to take something out of the freezer for dinner.

Okay, that last one was probably me, but one of the really GREAT things about raising teens is when THEY start remembering things for you.

"I'm taking Heather to get shoes for the prom, after I pick her up from work."

Then they get old enough to drive and can take their siblings to work and stuff -- that's just all sorts of awesome, right there.

"Don't forget, I get out at 12:55 today, so we could get my hair and makeup done!"

Even longer story, short: seniors are let out early on prom day, which is also all sorts of awesome, except the buses still run on a regular schedule, so I glanced down at the timestamp on the spreadsheet I happened to be working on and...DAMMIT...but spreadsheets can be evil little time suckers.

"I'm leaving now!"

My oldest daughter was working (because, you know, eventually I'm going to need to allow her to have a life, too) so I was left in charge of picking up my middle girl.

"Mom, you'll never make it."

Here's the thing. My middle girl does not drive. The vocational school she attends is 30 miles away and it does not have a driver's ed class, but since she was hoping to go to a city college, she was perfectly okay with putting off getting her driver's license for a while.

"We'll get there in time, don't worry."

20 minutes later (give or take a minute, or another 20) I pulled up to the school, she got into the car and then 3 weeks worth of stress (both hers and mine) boiled over, words were exchanged and, well, it wasn't pretty.

30 minutes later, we walked into the hair salon all puffy-eyed and emotionally spent.

To her, the last 3 weeks, of what should have been an exciting time of announcing college decisions and preparing for her senior prom, have become nothing more than 21 days, 504 hours, and 30,240 minutes of disappointment.

To me? It was yet another reminder of just how far I have come to feeling like an absolute failure at all the things...especially, not knowing how to make my kids happy...anymore.

"Mom, she forgot her eyelashes." 

I watched my daughter's eyes move from her reflection in the mirror to mine, as our hairdresser asked the make-up girl to take me to the beauty supply store, a few doors down.

My hairdresser is also a very good friend of mine and she has a teen, enough said.

"I picked these, they sort of flare out like wings, I thought these would look cool."

My daughter nodded her head.

"Yeah, I like those."

We both stared at the fake eyelashes for a few more seconds, before our eyes met and we smiled at each other, at the same time...even.

My oldest daughter got there soon after that and we both sat there together for the next 90 minutes, while folks continued to fuss over her sister, both of us content with watching her enjoy each and every minute of it.

Heather Prom Primped

And then it hit me, as these sort of parenting-type things often do, like a brick upside the forehead.

"Why don't you go home with your sister, while I settle up the bill."

Parenting teens is sort of like being strapped into a roller coaster...all day...every day...and whose success SHOULD be measured simply by our ability to walk away without a) throwing up and with b) all your body parts still attached. 

"Nah, I'll just wait and ride home with you...Momma."

Then again, we could all just throw our hands up in the air and screeeeeeaaaaaaammmmm...allllllllllllllll...the...frig...waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay...dowwwwwwwwwwwn.

Happy prom day, Heather. I love you. I'm glad it turned out to be a good day, after all. 

©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!   

© This Full House 2003-2017. All rights reserved.