Mairsy Dotes

“Tomorrow” from Annie also works.

I’m outta here, folks. We’re headed for our annual vacation to the Oregon Coast in the morning. I’ve rented us a minivan (whoo-hoo, a spankin’ sweet Mom-mobile!) and come sun up: we’re gone.

So, have a good week without me. I’ve stepped up the blogging this week so that you’d have something to read while I’m gone.

See you next week!

When I had my own refrigerator to decorate, I always made sure there were a few key things on it. M’s sumo wrestler magnet, with the fortune cookie slip that read, “Sometimes love has a mean face.”; A Christmas ornament that SaraSoup made for me years ago; various and sundry pictures of our nieces; a little handprint mold of Linnea’s 11-month-old hand; and a little card pringed with the word: ESPECIALLY BLESSED.

That’s how I’ve been feeling lately. Especially blessed. Life tastes good. Life IS good.

Lucky me!

…if you don’t cry at the end of Field of Dreams when Kevin Costner asks his dad if he wants to have a catch.

My brother left the movie on when he went to work. I got sucked in. And now I’m crying.

So I shall use bullets! I love bullets!

• I saw a little VW Golf this morning. It made me miss Jules.
• For you mamas out there: check out Walgreen’s diapers. They are, no joke, the BEST diapers I’ve used in almost 5 years of diapering. I’ve never had one leak on me, and they beat the pants of Pampers, Huggies, Luvs, Target brand–anything. You can get 56 diapers (size 4) for $11.99, and they frequently have “Buy one, get one 50% off” specials on them.
• I bought new nailpolish for my vacation toes while I was picking up diapers for Sarah’s vacation bottom. It’s called “Poppy”. It’s nice. I can’t wait to try it.
• I found a swimmy suit. I’m not 100% happy with it, but it was less than $20 at Ross, and since I’m hoping to only be able to fit in it this summer, it seemed silly to plunk down much more $$ than that for a suit that I liked better. Although, now that I’m going to Clover’s, I might want to reconsider that. Not that she cares what I look like in a bathing suit, it just doubles the amount of time I planned on spending in a swimming suit.
• I’m off today. I have to: work on some pastor-type paperwork, clean our bathroom (there are five people that use this bathroom. FIVE. And I am, apparently, the only one who is capable of cleaning it), and wash the plague sheets on our beds. I’m toying with the idea of drying them on the line. Then, Nea is getting a vacation haircut this afternoon.
• Speaking of cleaning: I’m totally digging Mrs. Meyer’s Clean Day products. I like the lemon verbena one.
• Linnea figured out this morning that we get to go on vacation in 5 sleeps. Which causes her to tell people, “We’ll be on vacation in one hand.”
• I was in love with Tim’s Cascade style Wasabi potato chips. I think they’ve been discontinued. I KNEW I shouldn’t have gone on Weight Watchers!

Ummm…I think that’s all. For now.

So, M went down to Texas (not unlike the Devil going down to Georgia). He had it out with his mom.

She broached the subject by asking if she’d done something to offend me. He let her have it, stating he thought it was incredibly rude and hurtful that she only invited him, and how on earth was I supposed to feel when she kept insisting that he could be a priest, etc. This led to all sorts of other revelations about M’s past relationship with his mother, which I’m not going to share here because they are his, and I want to be respectful of that. I’m all kinds of willing to share the chit she pulls with me, though.

So anyway, they have a long talk, they both end up crying, and MIL asks M to tell me that she’s sorry for anything she’s done to hurt me.

Which pissed me off.

Why?

Because, if she was truly sorry, she’d come to me and express her apology. This way, she’s not out anything. She doesn’t have to face me, she doesn’t have to actually talk to me, she doesn’t have to be made uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form. If I were in her shoes, I’d at least try and reach out in a letter or an email–SOMETHING. Some sort of show of personal effort on my part to communicate my true repentance and desire to salvage what I can of the relationship.

M told her he’d relay the message, but he couldn’t guarantee anything, because forgiveness can only be requested. Not demanded.

I told him that I’d probably forgive her if she’d come to me in person, instead of sending him to do it. Because if she was truly sorry, she’d want to express it to the one that she hurt. Not send a message through the one person she knows I can’t say “no” to. What she doesn’t realize (still) is how badly her relationship with M had deteriorated and I can and did say, “No, I’m not forgiving her like this.”

(Does that make me a bad pastor? A bad person? Or just someone who’s fed up with all her shit? I don’t know…)

So then, she starts sending me emails as if nothing ever happened. As if nothing was ever said. As if she doesn’t know that I’m hurt (and before anyone points out that I can’t get all pizzed ’cause she didn’t ask me for forgiveness because I didn’t tell her she’d done anything that needed to be forgiven–which is a big thing with me–I DID tell her the things that she’d done that bothered me, before M told me that things were getting too bad, and he was going to handle things with her and let me off the hook). Chatty, breezy little emails, asking my opinion on various things, asking about the girls, etc.

Which makes me think that all that emotional upheaval that M went through during his visit was for nothing. She didn’t listen. She doesn’t care. She only cares about herself, and her ability to go through life however she wants, without thinking about how her words and her actions affect those around her.

I’m really not sure how to respond to the latest email. She’s wanting to make the girls sundresses, and wants their measurements. Part of me wants to email back, “F*ck the sundresses“; part of me wants to point out, “Gee, if we’d been invited to the birthday, you could have gotten the measurements yourself“; part of me wants to just tell her not to bother, that the girls have plenty of clothes, and they don’t need anything with crazy sewn in it instead of love; part of me wants to let her sew the damn dresses and just let her be a grandmother who sends stuff in the mail (like yesterday? Linnea got a package from Meme. A stuffed hermit crab. Linnea is TERRIFIED of hermit crabs. Has nightmares about them.) but that they rarely see.

I’m torn. I don’t want to deprive the girls of their paternal grandmother. But I also want to protect them as much as I can from her mental issues that she seems unwilling to address. *sigh* I don’t know.

It’s so friggin hard.

So last night, I had one of the worst things happen: I couldn’t sleep.

I was tired–nay, exhausted. My body hurt, my head hurt, and I was ready to sleep.

But I couldn’t. I laid there in the dark…under the covers…on top of the covers…fan off…fan on…tried watching telelvision…got sucked into a Family Guy marathon…then got sucked into “I love the Millenium” on VH1…then got sucked into the “Shot at Love with Tila Tequila” reunion show…then I tried to fall asleep while listening to the Daily Show…then I took some nighttime cold medicine…still not working. M was having a hard time falling asleep, too, so we rocked one another’s world in hopes of exhausting ourselves. Worked for him. Not for me. Finally, I got up, peed, put in earplugs, and read until my eyes crossed. Finally I fell asleep around 2AM.

I hate it when the mind won’t stop. It’s not fixating on anything important. It was just like a 2-year-old with ADD–”ooo…let’s think about this–nope, this! Oh! That’s pretty! What’s that? Let’s think about sleeeeeeeeping….soooooo sleeeeeeeeeepy LOOK! A CHICKEN!” Sad.

Now I’ll be sleepy all day.

So, I’m going to gloat a little bit. It seems like I come here a lot when I need to complain, whine, vent, verbally flay the skin off of someone who will never read this blog, etc. But I rarely come here when things are looking pretty damn good in the little corner of the world I like to call “Beegetopia“.

Like last Friday? I had a girl date with my parents’ financial planner. She’s so cool. Her oldest son is like 4 days younger than Linnea (and ooooo, he’s CUTE. He’s going to be a total hottie when he grows up). When I was prego with Nea, we lived clear out in Kans-ass, so Mom would go and visit Michelle, and then call and say, “We saw Michelle today, so now I know what you look like!” Yeah, Mom, I don’t think it works that way, but if seeing Michelle makes you feel involved with me: go for it.

When we moved here, Michelle and I started hanging out, and found we really like one another. So last Friday, she came into the store and did a “personal shopper” appointment, which really meant that she and I got to shop together and I didn’t have to worry about any other customers. Then we went to Starbucks and had some tea, and then we hit two wineries. These wineries…oh! So wonderful! The first one had great atmosphere that was immediately ruined by the crappy-ass DJ playing hits from the 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and Today! making conversation nigh impossible. So we walked (yep, within walking distance!) to the next one. I adored this little winery. The building was crafted to really work well with the environment, and they had all sorts of little nooks and crannies where you could sit and drink wine and chat and eat outrageously priced appetizers. We found a little outside seating area that looked out over the vineyards and the mountains, and closed the place down. I got eaten alive by mosquitos and learned that I like my chardonnay oaked. I also learned that Michelle is truly one of the coolest people I know, and that she and I should go wining more often.  I also learned that there is a whole list of people that I need to take to this winery, because I love it everso and want to share the goodness (Jules[both of you], Clover, Cyn: you’re on that list).

But bring bug repellant. Seriously.

In other good news: this time next week, my family will be on our annual vacation at the Oregon Coast. We go nearly every year, and it’s sort of moved out of the realm of “luxurious tradition” to a ”dammit, man, give me my beach house, man! I need it! Don’t you get it? I’ll be better in the beach house, man. Really. Just give me the damn beach house!” sort of a monkey on our backs. We stay at the same beach house every year, right on the water, with a hottub, every bedroom has an ocean view, and our bedroom has bunkbeds for the girls. It’s perfect. We cook our own meals, walk on the beach, hit the Factory Outlet stores, cook some crab, drink a lot of wine, last year we played a lot of Scruples (and let me tell you: I could have lived a long and happy life without playing that game with my drunk “boundaries schmoundaries” mother). Usually lots of cribbage, book reading, movie watching, beach combing, etc. And we all love it. Last year, Linnea pretty much summed things up for us with this prayer:

Thank you, God, for
making us stay
at the
beach house.

A-freaking-men, sister. (This was my contribution to the prayer)

Plus, this year, Mom wants to go to someplace in Portland called the Fabric Depot, and I’m totally jonesing for an Ikea run. Now we just need to win the lottery and we’ll be set.

And, finally, to complete the “it’s good to be the Beege” trifecta: I’ve got a girls weekend coming up. Several years ago (pre-children, though I was newly and greenly pregnant with Nea at the time) a group of friends and I descended on a cabin in Idaho. A good time was had by all–even me, even though I couldn’t 1) stop wanting to throw up, 2) maintain consciousness for more than a 2 hour stretch, and 3) drink–the trip is one of my memory highlights. In fact, at one point, some of us got a shirt off of a firefighter–I’m not sure how. I’m hazy on the details, because I was sleeping. Again. But somebody came back to the cabin with sweaty fireman tshirt, which is sort of awsome, when you think about it. Anyhow, some of us are doing it again. A few of the same group, some new people, and all organized by the ubercool Clover, who has (in the intervening 5 years) managed to acquire her own cabin on her favorite lake in the whole wide world, and is throwing her doors open to us. The only rules? No men. No kids.

When I got the invite, I told her I orgasmed a little.

Plus, if you know Clover, you know that this little cabin in the woods has been a lifelong dream of hers. She grew up going to this lake like I grew up going to the Oregon Coast. She’s got memories woven into the geography of this place like you wouldn’t believe–so no matter where she’s at, she can tell a story about it. And now, she’s got her little dream cabin. I’m so happy for her, and so happy for me that she’s willing to share it with some additional hooligans.

The local firemen better look out. Beege isn’t knocked up, this time around.

Cyn commented that the font is too small on this new theme I’m using. From my end, it looks to be the same size as the other theme, and all the other themes I’ve used over the time I’ve been on WordPress.

Is anyone else having trouble reading due to font size? Or is everything coming through A-OK for you? If there’s a problem, I’m willing to change themes, so let me know, ‘k?

So, I was dinking around with my blog a few days ago, and I found a place where I can choose the icon for people who don’t have an icon already.

Like me? I’ve got my little baby self as the icon. Jess has a pic of herself as her icon. But pretty much everybody else was just showing up as the outline of a head and shoulders–which feels a little “chalk outliney” to me.

So now, if you don’t have an icon selected, you show up as a little monster in my comments. Cute monsters. I’m curious to see if you’re always the same monster, or if it’s randomly generated.

Technology is fun.