Trouble Adjusting

We have been back from CA for a week and a half, now, and I am still having trouble adjusting to being home.

Vacations are supposed to refresh you. You are supposed to return from a good vacation (and it was wonderful) feeling recharged and ready to take on life. Instead I feel.... disjointed. Everything is familiar and safe and special, but the actual pace of life seems just a little beyond me.

My garden is in shambles, and the weather hasn't been conducive to working out in the yard. Everything here is the same, and so am I.

With this inability to re-adjust to home life has come a wave of terrible depression. I want to "get it in gear", but the gears seem to be slipping.



I will keep trying. I seem to be incapable of giving up, so I will just keep on keepin' on. Eventually, something will happen to break this spell of blah that I just happen to be under.

Eventually.

Until then, lets all go out and wiggle our bare toes in the mud. I always did kinda like that feeling....

Packing Is Misery

Ugh.

I am trying to pack for our trip. This means I have to wash all the laundry that has backed up over the last week or so. Which means that I am sorting through piles and piles of clothes, not knowing what clothes would be best to bring.

The biggest issue right now is Big Sprout's apparent inability to put clothing away. I keep finding bits and pieces of her clothing in the oddest places, and most of it needs washing. This results in me pulling my hair out by the handful as I try to find all the summer clothes that fit her and pack the nicest stuff. That child will wear clothes that are two sizes too small, and stained so badly you can't tell what the original color was, but I want her to look halfway decent while we are in a different state.

Or I could just let her look like a poorhouse reject. I suppose.

Nah.

I am also fretting over the yard and house. I want everything be-yooooo-tiful before I leave, so that a) Loop and Mr. P don't have to wade through our crud to take care of Mighty Cat and the gardens; and b) I don't want to come home to a mess after being on the road for 3 days. I know that will make me super-cranky.

At least Mr. Barefoot and Big Sprout did the majority of the cleaning while I was resting yesterday. Now all I have to do is the sweeping/mopping/dusting/bathrooms. And change all the sheets on all the beds. And wash off all the counters. And clean up the mess that Little Sprout is already making. And water the plants. And make a list for Loop and Mr. P about where the things they need are.

Oh, help.

I Just Might Give In This Year

Mr. Barefoot and I have had a gentle disagreement going over the issue of air conditioning for.... well, forever.

My official reason for not really wanting A/C is that we live in MN, and the really unbearable hot weather only lasts for a very few weeks in high summer. It is hard to justify the expense of an A/C unit that will only be needed for such a short amount of time. Besides, humans have lived for thousands of years without A/C. Why shouldn't we be able to do the same?

My real reason for not wanting to have it is that I am an A/C addict. I know that if we have one, I will have it cranked from May till September and our electric bill will skyrocket. We had A/C when we lived at the apartments, and I never had the willpower to shut the durn thing off on days that weren't miserable. I just loved that crisp, cool air that came with the touch of a button and a turn of a dial. I swore, when we bought Barefoot Manor, that we would not have any A/C units because of this.

I might be caving in this year, though.

Yesterday, the temps in my corner of the world reached 85 deg F, and it is humid. Swampy-humid. And it is only May. I shudder to think what the rest of the summer is going to be like. I have visions of the Barefoot Family slowly melting into the carpet as the house heats up like a solar oven in late July.

Oh, help.

Now I am envisioning a window unit for the Master Bedroom (the sauna of the house), and one for the living room. The Sprouts would still suffer, but if things get really bad they can always camp out in the living room to stay cool or sleep in the basement where it is never terribly hot.

Or maybe I could just win the lottery and buy a house with central air.

Loudly Losing My Mind

The garden still isn't in here at Barefoot Manor. I spent the entire day yesterday running away from Little Sprout, and since I couldn't take the garden beds with me as I ran.... *sigh*

Little Sprout, I do believe I have mentioned about a million times, is a much more demanding child than Big Sprout ever was. She needs constant supervision, constant stimulation, constant everything.

I thought I had finally found the key to better behavior from her when things warmed up enough that I could start taking her to the park. It worked for about 2 weeks. I would take her to the park twice a week, let her run off her energy and play with other kids, then take her home and race to get the yardwork and housework done.

The honeymoon is over. Now it is a daily struggle, her yelling that she wants to go to the park and me repeating my "no"s so many times that I start sounding like that old song "Nobody But Me" by the Human Beinz. Take a listen, the beginning and end where the guy keeps going "no-no-no-no-no" is so what I sound like these days. Don't worry, I'll wait while you listen.

Nobody But Me



It's a good tune, isn't it? Ahhh, that brought back memories of singing into the empty toilet paper tube and dancing all over the living room....

Oh, wait....what was I talking about? Little Sprout being a pain, that's it. Sorry, that little stroll down memory lane just totally derailed me.

Well, never mind I guess. It is too hard to be grumpy when I am listening to such groovy tunes....

Lost and Broken-Hearted

Remember when I made myself a crochet hook case? I was so proud of it! I loved everything about it, and used it all the time.












I am so depressed. My beloved crochet hook case has gone missing. I had it one day at work, I remember that. I remember putting it in the tote I use to haul my various projects around. I had a few days off, and when I looked for my case about 5 days later, it was gone. Just gone. I have looked everywhere.

I tore apart the house.

I tore apart my car.

I tore apart both my places of work.

It's gone.

I am not so much upset about the case. It was cool, and I was proud that I made it all by my lonesome, but the case was really nothing more than a bit of yarn, elastic, and plastic canvas. Nothing special.

Replacing the hooks isn't a problem. Crochet hooks aren't really all that expensive, and I can just pick up the various sizes as I need them.

What breaks my heart is that these were my Grandmothers' crochet hooks. No, that is not a grammatical error (though I make plenty of those). I got some of the crochet hooks from my mother's mother, and others from my father's mother. So losing these hooks is, in a way, losing my inheritance.

I am so bummed. There aren't even words for how crappy I feel about this.

You're Kidding, Right?

I am looking out my dining room window at big, fat snowflakes falling from the sky. I checked the calender, just to make sure, and was pleased to note that I have not lost all sense of time. It really is May 7th.


K, just so y'all are getting this: There is snow falling on my gardens in May. We didn't have any snow for the last two months, but there are these ugly white snowballs falling from the sky in May.


I am so glad I didn't actually plant out my garden early, as I was tempted to do. I went back and forth on the issue so many times, since the weather has been so nice. I was worried that I was going to regret not putting my garden in early, losing out on these early growing days. Now I am glad I was cautious.


*sigh*


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In other news, Little Sprout is broken-hearted. She forgot her "sky-goat" at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Oh, the horror!


Wait, you don't know what a "sky-goat" is? Well, neither did I. It took me almost an hour of her crying and whining about it before I figured out she meant her kaleidoscope.

Curses On You, Sunny Day!

How dare it be sunny and beautiful when I am so tired that I have toothpicks propping up my Barefoot little eyelids, and grey and cold when I have a day off and can actually accomplish something in the yard?! I call foul!

Hiding In The Shower

It's a good place to hide. Really.

Frantic to Garden

Ugh.

Double Ugh.

It rained all day yesterday, and today is overcast and damp.

I am miserable.

Ugh.

We need the rain, so I am not complaining about that. Much, anyway. I just want so badly to be out in my garden, working away at things. The tulips that grew so well indoors (an accidental experiment in forcing, I guess) now desperately need to be out in the yard. I have hostas growing on my window sill that need a home. Weeds have grown up in my veggie beds that I want pulled before I plant. I have mulch that needs spreading, and a compost pile that needs moving. There are irises and daylilies to transplant, and a plum tree that needs a place to live.

And I can't do any of it.

The soil is wet, and our dirt here at Barefoot Manor is easily compacted already (a situation I am working on fixing with tons of compost, but it's a work in progress) so I am reluctant to mess with it while it is wet. The "experts" keep telling me that disturbing your soil while it is wet destroys the composition, so I will listen to them.... for now.

I look around the house here, and I see so many chores that could be done. The kitchen is a mess (our island counter top is a positive dumping ground!), and laundry needs to be put away. There are piles of magazines and misc junk on the dresser outside our bathroom. There is so much I could be doing, but I don't wanna do any of it.

I wanna dig.

It is windy, so I am hoping that as the day goes on the soil will dry enough for at least some small jobs to be done. I can always hope.

In the meantime, I am trapped indoors with Sprouts who have entirely too much energy for indoor play, yet refuse to go play in wet grass.

I am trying not to scream. Is it working?

*Sigh*

I took a nap today. I have gotten older, and need that nap now. I used to be able to go for 36-48 hours without sleep, but I think those days may be over.

The nap was good, it really was. I was so grateful to Mr. Barefoot for taking care of the Sprouts and dinner.

But I missed seeing Big Sprout again today. I didn't get to eat dinner with the family. I am awake at 3am on my blog while every sane person is sleeping.

*sigh*

I just can't seem to get it right today.

I'm Gonna Quit Complaining

Fuelling my pity-party, I stumbled across this.

For those of you who don't feel like clicking, here it is... but the comments are worth reading if you wanna click on over.

Being Poor
Published by John Scalzi at 12:14 am
Being poor is knowing exactly how much everything costs.
Being poor is getting angry at your kids for asking for all the crap they see on TV.
Being poor is having to keep buying $800 cars because they’re what you can afford, and then having the cars break down on you, because there’s not an $800 car in America that’s worth a damn.
Being poor is hoping the toothache goes away.
Being poor is knowing your kid goes to friends’ houses but never has friends over to yours.
Being poor is going to the restroom before you get in the school lunch line so your friends will be ahead of you and won’t hear you say “I get free lunch” when you get to the cashier.
Being poor is living next to the freeway.
Being poor is coming back to the car with your children in the back seat, clutching that box of Raisin Bran you just bought and trying to think of a way to make the kids understand that the box has to last.
Being poor is wondering if your well-off sibling is lying when he says he doesn’t mind when you ask for help.
Being poor is off-brand toys.
Being poor is a heater in only one room of the house.
Being poor is knowing you can’t leave $5 on the coffee table when your friends are around.
Being poor is hoping your kids don’t have a growth spurt.
Being poor is stealing meat from the store, frying it up before your mom gets home and then telling her she doesn’t have make dinner tonight because you’re not hungry anyway.
Being poor is Goodwill underwear.
Being poor is not enough space for everyone who lives with you.
Being poor is feeling the glued soles tear off your supermarket shoes when you run around the playground.
Being poor is your kid’s school being the one with the 15-year-old textbooks and no air conditioning.
Being poor is thinking $8 an hour is a really good deal.
Being poor is relying on people who don’t give a damn about you.
Being poor is an overnight shift under florescent lights.
Being poor is finding the letter your mom wrote to your dad, begging him for the child support.
Being poor is a bathtub you have to empty into the toilet.
Being poor is stopping the car to take a lamp from a stranger’s trash.
Being poor is making lunch for your kid when a cockroach skitters over the bread, and you looking over to see if your kid saw.
Being poor is believing a GED actually makes a goddamned difference.
Being poor is people angry at you just for walking around in the mall.
Being poor is not taking the job because you can’t find someone you trust to watch your kids.
Being poor is the police busting into the apartment right next to yours.
Being poor is not talking to that girl because she’ll probably just laugh at your clothes.
Being poor is hoping you’ll be invited for dinner.
Being poor is a sidewalk with lots of brown glass on it.
Being poor is people thinking they know something about you by the way you talk.
Being poor is needing that 35-cent raise.
Being poor is your kid’s teacher assuming you don’t have any books in your home.
Being poor is six dollars short on the utility bill and no way to close the gap.
Being poor is crying when you drop the mac and cheese on the floor.
Being poor is knowing you work as hard as anyone, anywhere.
Being poor is people surprised to discover you’re not actually stupid.
Being poor is people surprised to discover you’re not actually lazy.
Being poor is a six-hour wait in an emergency room with a sick child asleep on your lap.
Being poor is never buying anything someone else hasn’t bought first.
Being poor is picking the 10 cent ramen instead of the 12 cent ramen because that’s two extra packages for every dollar.
Being poor is having to live with choices you didn’t know you made when you were 14 years old.
Being poor is getting tired of people wanting you to be grateful.
Being poor is knowing you’re being judged.
Being poor is a box of crayons and a $1 coloring book from a community center Santa.
Being poor is checking the coin return slot of every soda machine you go by.
Being poor is deciding that it’s all right to base a relationship on shelter.
Being poor is knowing you really shouldn’t spend that buck on a Lotto ticket.
Being poor is hoping the register lady will spot you the dime.
Being poor is feeling helpless when your child makes the same mistakes you did, and won’t listen to you beg them against doing so.
Being poor is a cough that doesn’t go away.
Being poor is making sure you don’t spill on the couch, just in case you have to give it back before the lease is up.
Being poor is a $200 paycheck advance from a company that takes $250 when the paycheck comes in.
Being poor is four years of night classes for an Associates of Art degree.
Being poor is a lumpy futon bed.
Being poor is knowing where the shelter is.
Being poor is people who have never been poor wondering why you choose to be so.
Being poor is knowing how hard it is to stop being poor.
Being poor is seeing how few options you have.
Being poor is running in place.
Being poor is people wondering why you didn’t leave.

Nothing Says "I Love You" Like A Clean Toilet When You Have To Throw Up

Seriously. Too bad Mr. Barefoot doesn't do toilets, huh?

I have picked up (yet another) bug from work. I am blaming the newest client, since I have worked there 5(?) years now, and NEVER got sick this much or this badly. Of course, it could just be that I am getting old and run down. Maybe my body is just tired of fighting off all the germs and has gone on strike.

I dunno.

I DO know that I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. As I slept on the living room floor AGAIN last night (so as to not disturb Mr. Barefoot with my moaning and groaning), I decided that I would rather be unemployed and starving than ill all the time from my job.

Anyway, that's about all I have to say about that....

Barefoot the Red-Nosed Gardener

Little Sprout has learned the fine art of sharing, and started practicing her new skill with the world's most miserable cold. So here I am with nose raw and red, blowing my nose until my ears pop and worrying that my left eyeball is going to just abandon ship due to the pressure in my sinuses.

I am not a happy camper.

Normally, I try to be stoic about being sick. I have kids. I work in a situation where germs are EVERYWHERE. I don't take really good care of myself, so I am vulnerable. I figure there isn't much reason to get upset about the various illnesses that come my way. This one, however, is truly awful, and none of the meds I have tried so far are doing a single thing to relieve my misery.

Which brings me to the question of the day: I wanna know what the HECK those idiots in the field of medical science have been doing for the last couple hundred years. Seriously.

We can turn men into women (and vice versa), we can take organs from one body and put them in another, we can re-start hearts that have stopped. We have lasers and robots and machines that take pictures of our insides. We can have painless childbirth. We can clone sheep. And yet THERE IS NO REMEDY FOR THE COMMON COLD!

I am tellin' ya folks, I think someone has their priorities all messed up. I mean, I understand the whole "gotta let the virus run it's course" thing. Really I do. But couldn't we have a decongestant that actually works? Or tissues that don't rub all the skin off my nose? Or at least something that stones me out enough that I don't care I am miserable? With all the medical advances we have made, there is not one single product out there that actually helps with my colds/flus/whatever. I wanna know why.

So, medical scientists....how 'bout you get on that, huh?

kthanxbye

Why Bother?

As we all know, this Barefoot Gardener really goes all out when decorating for the holiday season.

Usually.

This year, I just can't seem to get excited about it. I would like to blame it on the argument that Mr. Barefoot and I had on Thanksgiving (the same one we have every year) over how to decorate and what belongs where, but....

The truth is that I just can't bring myself to care this year. Well, that isn't true either. The thing is, I am irritated by it this year. Maybe it's because my Barefoot wallet is suffering from malnutrition this year, maybe it's the annoying holiday commercials on the TV that started weeks ago. I dunno.

I put the decorations back in the garage today. Really. I put up one tree, some garland, set up a tree in the kitchen for the Sprouts to decorate, let Big Sprout deal with her tree, and still have Little Sprout's Ducky Tree sitting in the living room to be moved to her room...... that's it. Oh, and I set up the snow village. Well, part of it anyway.

I guess when I write it out like that, I did a lot. But compared to what I normally do, this is small potatoes.

I just want the season to be over, already.

I tried going into one of the local stores the other day, and there were so many people there! I hate that part of the season, even on my best years. Really, where are these folks the rest of the year, and why aren't they there now?! Why do they have to get into my space?

Ugh. I give up.

I am going to crawl into bed.... wake me the first week of January.....

Gratitude? Please.

I got home from work yesterday with the calm assurance that I would be able to sleep an entire night away in my own bed. I held that assurance close throughout all the Sprout craziness and general daily tasks I have to complete every day. I would start to get cranky or overwhelmed, and that sweet little thought would pop up in my mind. It was such a giddy feeling to know that I would be enjoying a full 8 hours in that wonderfully wacky world known as Dreamland.

The headache started around 7pm. I ignored it, for the most part, cuz that's what I do with pain. I just pretend it's not there in the hopes that by doing so, it will go away.

It didn't.

By the time I finally went to bed (a little after 10pm), the headache had reached monster proportions. I was feeling a little nauseous, and couldn't complete a thought. I drifted off to a fitful sleep praying fervently that all I needed was a full night's rest to ease the headache. A couple hours later, Mr. Barefoot came to bed and I was woken from the terrible pain-induced dreams.

Around 2 am, I finally gave up on laying in bed. I got up, found the Tylenol and ibuprofen, and took a hot (HOT) shower. I whined. I cried.

Finally, sometime after 3am, the pain eased off enough that I thought I could sleep.

Then the baby woke me at 7:10am.

I still have the headache. I am still exhausted.

But I am grateful for those few hours of sleep.



kinda.

It's Not the Heat, It's the Humidity

You know, I always thought folks who said that were a little cracked in the head. OF COURSE it's the heat that bothers you! Who cares about the humidity?!

Today, I care. Here in my humble little town the temperature is sitting at just over 80 degrees F, and the humidity is 70%.

My hair looks a little 'fro-ish, and when I got home from work this morning and went to take a nap the bed literally felt wet.

Yuck.

At least the plants are gonna like it.

Time Marches On

Here it is, July. The year is over half gone, and I feel as if I have been missing it. Except for those few bright days I took off from work while Mr. Barefoot was in CA, I have been wandering around in a fog.

Depression kinda sucks that way.

I feel a helpless sort of frustration. I know that there are so many things I want to be doing right now. I know that if I do them, I will feel better. Doing it, however, seems to be just out of my reach. Not that I am giving up on trying. Every time I lay down to catch a few hours of sleep, I vow to myself that when I wake I will shake off this sense of numbness and inertia. I just never seem to wake up with the juice to get it done.

Dishes are piling up, Mr. Barefoot did the laundry. Weeds are growing, and my peas crapped out on me earlier than they ever have before. The broccoli is doing well....it is sweet this year. I feel a frantic sense of hurry, hurry underneath the terrible lethargy that has me in its grip. The days of summer are slipping away, and I am wasting them fighting a stupid illness that has no business existing at all. The crappy economy has crept a little closer to our lives, and is beginning to effect life in Barefoot Manor more deeply. I feel like time is running out.

Like I said, depression sucks that way.

On the other hand~

I am going to be okay. I know this because I have always been okay, and I am a tough little scrapper when I need to be. Cheesecake is on the menu, and chocolate is chilling in the fridge. Things will be fine.

I look forward to spending some time in the cool shade, weeding my flower beds that are horribly overgrown right now. It will soothe me, I am sure. Tomorrow night, I will have the most rare gifts ever given to a mother: an evening in the house alone. No children, no husband, no need to do anything but soak up the silence.

It will be wonderful. I will not feel guilty as I watch Big Sprout mope around the house, suffering from the summer 'blahs'. I will not feel hounded by Little Sprout's constant bids for attention. I will not feel torn by the two of them fighting over who gets more of my love. I will be free to breathe.

The best part is that in a week or so I will look back at this post and wonder what in the world was so important that it drove me to feel this way. I will feel a little disgust at my own weakness, and a little embarrassment that I even posted this, and life will go on.

This, too, shall pass....

Finding Peace

It seems that I no more than finish a task and it needs doing again. I sweep the floor, and after one meal Little Sprout has spilled enough that it needs sweeping and mopping again. I wash the dishes, and as I am setting the last pan in the drying rack someone is coming into the kitchen to make themselves a snack. I finish the laundry, feeling great joy that I have finally conquered the mountain of dirty clothes, only to find that Big Sprout has another load (or more) stuffed under her bed and in the corners of her room. I no more than finish making a meal before I have to start thinking about what I will make for the next meal.

I am trying to be calm about it. I know that housework is never done, and that I need to learn to take joy in the doing of the chores, rather than the finishing of them. But it is hard. I want to go to sleep without first running through the endless list of chores that still need doing in my head. I want to wake and be able to make my way to the kitchen without having to step over toys and blankets and shoes left wherever they may fall. I want things to stay where I put them....

just once.

I am losing patience with the Sprouts, as well. It is so frustrating to clean a room, move on to the next, and return to the first only to find that they have managed to make a huge mess out of the first room.

It doesn't help that Mr. Barefoot has been busy with the band. He just got home from CA, and already he is not coming home for supper because the band needs him to rehearse, or to pack for a gig, or to play a gig. I think I do a damn good job of being a 'band wife' and not complaining about it, but today I don't care about being a good band wife. It sucks to not have your hubby around. It sucks to have him out pursuing a dream of becoming a rock star while I am home cleaning up after kids and cat. It sucks to know that nothing is going to change.

I want to be one of those women who is calm and strong in that secret way only women have. I want to be stoic in the face of my husband's absence and a hard worker. I want to have that quiet strength that has carried women through hardships since the dawn of time.

I am finding myself lacking.

So, I breathe. I remind myself that life will go on, and that I am doing good with what I can. I sweep the floor one more time, put in another load of laundry, wipe the dust from one more shelf. There is a kind of peace that comes from knowing that I can keep on doing what needs to be done, no matter how hard it is. It makes me feel strong to push beyond my anger and frustration and continue to provide the home, meals, and support needed by my family.

And someday, maybe, it will be my turn. My turn to follow a dream, my turn to have things done for me, my turn to be taken care of.....my turn to matter.

But I won't hold my breath

It Started With A Little Sneeze

Soon, it was here a sneeze / there a sneeze / everywhere a sneeze, sneeze. The back of my throat started itching. Not just a little bit, but the kind of itch where you would gladly shove a screwdriver down your throat if it would give you one single moment of relief. Now, for the crowning glory, my sinuses feel like they are full of concrete block.

Allergy season is upon us.

Fortunately, some frantic searching in the medicine cabinet resulted in an almost full package of OTC allergy meds. Un-fortunately, they don't last long. So while I had a blissful hour of only blowing my nose every 10 minutes instead of every 2 minutes (and even fell asleep for a bit), the meds have now worn off and I must wait patiently for another dose to kick in.

I am not a naturally patient person.

Obstacles

Today I got myself all worked up about the stuff that is getting in the way of me living my life. All the clutter, all the things I am just sure I need to have around. I stumble over it every day in my attempts to keep up with the housework and take care of the kids. It makes me so angry to have to move things in order to clean behind them, to have to work around all the junk, to have to work on this to make room so I can clean that.

I got so worked up that I began looking at the items in the house and thinking about our nice, empty garbage can out in the driveway. I kept thinking about all the stuff I could dump before Mr. Barefoot got home. I started getting MAD. Steaming, furiously angry. Why should I have to work so hard at night, and then come home to a house that just seems to breed messes and clutter?

So I went and took a shower. A long, hot, relaxing shower. Because Mrs. Barefoot should not, under any circumstances, clean while in that frame of mind.

Then, while I was trying to nap in preparation for work tonight, it hit me. An apost.... epist... epipha....... ummm, a paradigm shift. Hit me like a bolt of lightning. It actually made me sit up and stare into the darkness, slap myself on the head, and say "Duh".

What if I quit complaining, and just do a little bit every day? What if I quit feeling so overwhelmed and just take it one little chunk at a time? What if I quit feeling martyred because of my lack of sleep, and just be grateful that I get the few hours I do? What if, by just getting on with it already, I can get rid of the nasty voices in my head that keep me awake by telling me about all the work that still needs doing?

What if, by doing all these things, I could come home to a clean house every day and still have time to relax AND sleep?!

It's a radical idea, but one I am willing to try. You all had better cheer me on....