And so we plod along, making our way through these final weeks of the long, drawn-out summer break, made exponentially more mind-numbing by a post-operative recovery. I think we're all going to lose it some days. It must feel like a special kind of hell to a nine-year-old boy to have to spend his summer days sitting sedately, when he'd rather be running, jumping, climbing, just plain moving around. At least the catheter is out; I don't miss my pee-decanting responsibilities one bit. And we're down to only three medicines per day, and that will be down to two, just the normal ones, in another ten days. So there's that to look forward to. In the meantime, our days have taken on a restless sameness; there's plenty of time and I'm getting a lot done, but I'd rather be doing just about anything else. In a heartbeat, I'd trade all the creative meals and the current spotlessness of my home for an afternoon at the pool with some friends. I'm not depressed, exactly, but I am restless and bored, and I feel badly for both of my kids.
I shouldn't complain. I keep telling myself not to complain. Last week, in the thick of our post-op chaos, I found myself getting irrationally angry at an article about the writer's longing for a gigantic family and feeling unfulfilled with the numerous healthy children she already has. I actually had to walk away from the computer, just stood up and exited the room and went and emptied the catheter bag. We all have our crosses to bear, but it was precisely the wrong time for me to read about that one and it reinforced for me the pointless negativity of complaining.
We did make it out to the library this week, which was nice. It was the last week of the summer reading program and there was a demonstration about the life cycle of butterflies. I remembered that we have a mesh butterfly house in a closet somewhere around here. I think we'll try to find some caterpillars next spring. I remembered while I was watching the demonstration that we hatched butterflies in elementary school, maybe around fourth grade. The teacher had these big boxes with clear plastic windows in the sides, and we could watch the caterpillars form their chrysalises inside. When they hatched, we released them in the field behind the school. It was fun. What I remember best, though, was when a boy in my class pointed to a drop of reddish fluid on the floor of the box and said that the butterfly was "on her period." The same boy had drawn genitals on my Cabbage Patch Kid eraser the previous school year. He was not what you'd call a nice boy.
I have to repair Maggie Rabbit. I had a feeling when I gave her to the GB that this would happen. One of Maggie's legs is hanging off by a thread, and she has a hole in her neck seam. Right now she's sitting forlornly on top of my sewing machine. She wasn't even played with much; she sat on the GB's nightstand and was really just decorative, or so I thought. I probably should have kept her for myself.
I had my hair cut this morning. I couldn't take it anymore. I meant to have a haircut weeks ago (you may recall that I complained of having Meatloaf hair). It was getting progressively worse. I could barely comb it. I have the kind of hair that can look pretty nice if I take my time with the blow-dryer and big round brush, but I haven't been doing that lately, needless to say. The stylist cut off about five inches of scraggly, dry blah and I'm happier now. It's just to my shoulders so I can still put it up in a short ponytail but it has some body and can look nice with just a brushing at this length. When I got home, I washed my hair in the kitchen sink using the spray nozzle. My kids watched me in awe and I realized that I hardly ever wash my hair in the sink now. I used to do it all the time, though. Did you? Maybe it was an effect of living in a house with six people - three of them girls close in age - and one bathroom, but I washed my hair in the kitchen a lot.
It's taco night here. I feel like eating something really crappy. I don't want to go out for it and I don't have enough cash on hand to have anything delivered but I do have tortillas, meat, veggies, cheese and Old El Paso seasoning. Tacos, it is. Later, it will be a hard cider and stove popcorn with something mindless on TV. I can't wait.