Delusions of Grandeur

Is it bad to admit that this week has been tough?  Every day has been filled with struggles, however insignificant,  that has left a gloomy cloud residue sitting over our heads.  

 I'm waiting for the sunshine to break through bringing happiness abound- and some cute woodland creatures singing songs of encouragement wouldn't be bad either.  Oh, and is it too late to request that they clean too?

So to get rid of the gloomy-glooms I writing down most of my frustrations form this week in hopes that spilling my guts will ward off future grumpy spirits from invading my home.   I'm sure after reading a sarcastic version of each incident, I will find them and myself insignificant and remarkably silly.

First of all, Steve had a disappointing week at work.  I don't usually write about his professional life, but he brought his gloomy cloud home and shared it with the rest of us all week long, so as far as I'm concerned, it's fair game.  Steve had an 8-unit bridge scheduled for today.  He was excited to tackle it.  He loves challenges and he was looking forward to this one.  The patient called Monday and wanted to "shop around" at other dentists offices to get a better price.  This means...Steve will never see that patient again.  His week has been tainted with the dental work that never was.  

Along with this dental disaster, I have squelched Steve's outdoorsman fantasy of owning a monstrosity of a pop-up-tent.  (at least for now)   It is the king of all superfluous camping equipment.  Steve has been pining over this treasure for months now.  I liken his attraction to this tent to my lust over owning the entire Dillard's shoe section (granny orthopedic and teenager skank shoes excluded of course).  He yearns for this tent like a pregant woman yearns for ice cream and salt.   We have had many discussions about this purchase and how it has to wait until other things are taken care of.  (Its not a cheap tent)  He understands this, but is still disappointed.  I can see it in his posture, his speech, his eyes, and it makes me sad.

To pour lemon juice in his emotional wound, the Pine Wood Derby was this week.  Now, by no means am I writing that Carter participating in the Pine Wood Derby was a downer for our family.  I was proud of Carter's sportsmanship and overall good attitude that evening.  He had a wonderful time and loved working with his dad on this project.  He even got to eat a massive frosted sugar cookie after everything was said and done.  I asked Carter when he brought me the cookie so I could "carb" him with insulin, 

"Did your Dad give yo permission to eat that ?"

"No..." (insert huge smile) "I did!"

However...Last year, Steve (uh, I mean Andrew) took first place.  He smoked everyone.  So this year Steve (uh, I mean Carter) worked especially hard on his car.  He had a title to uphold.  The Red Flame (we had to talk Carter out of calling it The Flamer- kill me now) was cut, sanded, polished and painted with great care.  All of Steve's (Carter's) greatest (legal of course) tricks were brought to the table.  The Red Flame (Flamer) was destined for greatness.   It had a legacy to uphold.   Steve (Carter) took fourth overall and third in his den.   Carter was thrilled, Steve was disappointed.

The Red Flame(er)

Carter waiting to race

One of the heats he did win.

Carter being proud of his car.

Thank you Carter for teaching us all a little about sportsmanship.

I'm finding myself busier than I ever planned on being.  I promised myself not long ago that I wouldn't be one of those mothers that had her children signed up for everything under the sun.  I was going to enjoy my children as the social lepers they were bound to be under my stifling tutelage.   I have since caved and become what I most feared...the crazy taxi driver mom that spends her afternoons and evenings carting her well rounded children to activities that make them stronger and smarter.  Dang it!  Andrew is in swimming, piano, scouts and plays the trumpet at school.  (I have to hound him to practice so it counts.)  Carter is in swimming, scouts, piano and guitar.  The rat race is taking it's toll when I include my church schedule and Steve's.   

Steve looked at me the other night, sighed and said, "I'm getting a little tired of all the comings and goings around here."

I answered, "You mean you coming home and I going somewhere else?"

"Yes."

We did this to ourselves and we have no one else to blame.  

Lastly, Steve came home yesterday and exclaimed,
"I scheduled myself to come home early next Friday for our anniversary.  But, I can't remember why.  I know that I planned something and you were going to be impressed because I actually planned something!"   I was of course thrilled!  He took off the afternoon for me?  Did he find a sitter?  Were we going somewhere?  Was he going to buy my diamonds? (I have a tendency to blow things up dramatically.)  

 An hour later Steve came to me with a sheepish grin on his face.

"I remembered" he said, "And your not going to be impressed."

The truth was, he only scheduled himself to come home at four, not the entire afternoon, and he planned an elders quorum party at the bowling alley. 

Happy Freak Show Anniversary Weekend to Me.