Sooz is right. When life is, as a coworker calls it, “in session,” it’s hard to get a post written. Apart from being humdrum busy, there’s nothing of interest to share. And so the blog becomes one more thing to feel guilty about. Like my pile of hand-washables, I think about it a lot and don’t ever do it. But the blog must go on so I’ve decided to share what’s been happening lately chez moi.
Things have been breaking. My cell phone won’t hold a charge, our gutter fell off, a routine oil change revealed nails in two of my tires, an altered pair of pants is now silly short and our air conditioners – both of them – have leaky coils. We’re $500 in with about $2400 in repairs to go. J. (aka Hubs) is seeing stars. I’m unnaturally calm. As Dad (I refuse to call him Joe since that isn’t even close to his real name and I don’t know why he wants his grandchildren to call him this) says, “It’s just money.”
In other news, J., bowing to the pressure of my sighs every time I opened the door, cleaned out the refrigerator.
J: Honey, check out the fridge. It’s clean!
Smash: Nice! Did you actually clean the shelves too?
J. (undaunted): No. But I threw away a ton of stuff. Freezer too.
- Smash opens freezer.-
Smash: Where are my potstickers?
J.: You haven’t touched those in at least a month so I threw them away.
Smash: But I was going to eat those! I thought I could have them one night while you are out of town. (An outrageous lie. I hated those potstickers. )
J.: That’s an outrageous lie. You hated those potstickers. And besides, you know we shun buying in bulk.
And that’s true. We do shun buying in bulk. I let it go and showered him with praise.
It’s finally consistently warm/hot here in Atlanta so we went to the pool this weekend, which was nice. My stomach got burned and I’m convinced it was because I made J. stop at the Publix beforehand for a grilled Italian sausage which I accompanied with chips and a soda. My stomach was thus enormous and entirely too close to the sun, hence the burn. The whole pool experience is humiliating anyway because we (“we” used loosely as not to hurt feelings) are too cheap to buy a membership somewhere so we have to sneak into our old apartment complex, which we call our “Swim/Tennis.” It involves lurking around the front gate and then dashing in on foot behind the first car that drives in. I hate it. Am convinced we will be thrown out and possibly arrested for this. We’ll go again next weekend.
The hot weather has also, inexplicably, drawn a crowd to the bird feeder and I am very frustrated by the birds’ lack of self regulation. I’m running through a 20 pound bag every other week! Sometimes I put them on probation and don’t fill it up for a day, but then feel so bad that I get anxious and drive home from work super fast so I can fill it up before the sun goes down.
The last bit of news is the best bit. J. surprised me with tickets to Bruce Springsteen and the concert was Sunday night. We met up with some friends – friends that I always love to see and never see enough of – and then headed onto the floor of the arena for what I thought was an incredible show. It was so. much. fun. The title of this post is actually a nod to a favorite Boss song – “These are better days.” 100% agreed. Best days even.