Archive for April, 2010

Published by PaintingChef on 22 Apr 2010

I thought I saw you.

I thought I saw you yesterday.

In my head I KNEW it wasn’t you. That would have been impossible. But I stood there, motionless, in the produce section yesterday and watched you. The way you looked over the tomatoes. Your delicate hand fluttering over every single one, never quite touching them, as you picked just what you were looking for. I stood there, transfixed by the way you stopped at the bakery and poured a cup of coffee. I watched you grasp it with both hands; your eyes closing as you drank and I knew, instinctively, that whether it was 9 degrees outside or 90, you would still be drinking coffee.

My feet were frozen as my eyes followed you. My heart was pounding and the lump in my throat made it difficult to breathe. I wanted so desperately to come up to you. Say hello. Touch your hand. I wanted to thank you for being there. For looking like her. For your delicate grace. I wanted to tell you about her. What she meant to me. How I hoped with all my heart that you had a granddaughter who loved you the same way.

Instead I left my cart and went to the ladies room, hid in a stall and cried.

Everyone says it gets easier. They say you don’t stop missing someone but you learn to live without them. When will that happen? My heart can only break into so many pieces before it just crumbles into dust and disappears. You’ve been gone more than a year but for a second, I thought I saw you yesterday. And it felt like losing you all over again.

Published by PaintingChef on 19 Apr 2010

I was trying to get all my helpfulness out of the way in one shot. Once I start those drugs again, he’s going to be out of luck.

I signed the little card today. The one accepting delivery of an overseas package. The one accepting delivery of a new round of fertility shots. Which means that it is, indeed, that time again kids. Have you missed the infertile bitch? Because baby… she’s back!

While my ass has been VERY much pleased with the break it has had from various serums and liquids and oils being injected (WITH NEEDLES) into its various layers of fatty fat, I suppose I’m ready to get this ball rolling again. Very soon my life will once again be measured in cycle days and ultrasound appointments. I won’t be able to tell you the date but I’ll probably write CD12 on that mortgage check (again…). Truth be told? I’m excited… I’m ready.

My two month break has stretched into almost three and, if you’ll recall, I had a few things I wanted to accomplish while I was busy NOT trying to get pregnant. I would love to revisit those and tell you that I passed with flying colors but I would be, as the kids say, full of shit.

The garden is up and running. And it is TRULY magnificent. I got dirty and crawled in the dirt and planted and dug and did all those wonderful nature-y things. I got gardening boots and a sunburn and only stabbed myself with a garden implement once. I consider that full-on success and WIN!

Patrick and I also DID go to photography classes. Until the teacher got sick and fucked up the whole schedule and we haven’t actually been back. I’m hoping to pick up where we left off once the next cycle comes around. So while not a TOTAL win, I’m not willing to chalk that one up to the FAIL category just yet…

No, the “I’m going to paint more” resolution gets the gold star FAIL sticker for today. I was in the room that was intended, at some point, to be part art studio a few times over the past few months. Most recently to go through all our CDs on a mad hunt for my Madonna Immaculate Collection CD (that I NEVER found) after last week’s episode of “Glee” when it became apparent that I was going to need to be following the “All Madonna All The Time” regimen this week in order to keep the Sue Sylvester Vogue awesomeness going.

Before that, I think I was looking for markers, a cat and a checkbook. In that order. But what I noticed about this room that was originally intended to be half office and half art studio is that, inexplicably, we have become people who require an entire room of their house be used to store extra chairs. CHAIRS. I cannot explain it to you in any simpler terms than that. We live in a three bedroom house and one of those bedrooms is being used to store extra chairs. Dining room chairs, kitchen table chairs, bar stools, office chairs, upholstered chairs, you name it… my cats have sat on it.

Apparently… this is what happens when you move to a smaller house. A problem I was very ready to solve. OBVIOUSLY, we need to just make the house a little bigger. I’m certainly not proposing anything drastic like MOVING… good lord. Just a simple weekend project of knocking out a wall and making the house bigger. An undertaking for which I have a very clear plan! Drawn in crayons! Yet for some reason this plan is only met with eye-rolley-ness and heavy drinking.

Fine. See if I try and be helpful again. But if I do disappear… I suggest looking under a chair first…

Published by PaintingChef on 13 Apr 2010

She is my sunshine.

Nobody chooses their family. And let’s be honest… the balance of the sucky vs. awesome family meter is probably cosmically way out of whack somewhere because it does seem that once the sucky family vibe invades your territory, you’re kind of screwed.

And if you are one of the people who got smacked by the sucky family stick or fell out of the shitty family tree and hit every branch on the way down, I am TRULY sorry but you probably just want to stop reading right now because… fair warning… I’m about to gush about TEH AWESOME of my family.

My younger sister, Betsy and I have had our rough patches. Two in particular, that I can remember and what’s amazing is that looking back on them, they can both be attributed much more to MY suckage than hers. Which is to say that she has no suckage. Because she is made of awesome and Care Bears and cotton candy and little tiny chocolate chips. But like everyone most people growing and learning and figuring out how to be adults, we came through that just fine.

Betsy is just cool. There is no other way to describe it. The kid personifies cool. She is laid back and fun and easy going and the smartest cat you will ever lay eyes on. She’s an ACTUAL rocket scientist. Are you impressed? You should be. She’s very important. She has many leather bound books. And her bathroom (she has no study) smells of… well she’s human. I’m assuming her bathroom smells like the rest of our bathrooms. But you get the idea. (Plus I think she keeps her cat’s litter box in the bathroom… so there’s that…)

Without a doubt, Betsy is the bravest person I’ve ever known. Her own personal comfort zones have no definition. The child knows how to follow an opportunity, regardless of how scary it may be. She moved to Atlanta, not knowing a soul (except some weirdly quiet yet stalkerish boy that my mom kind of accidentally set her up with which just turned into an awkward situation for EVERYONE) to go to Georgia Tech. She’d always been kind of the quiet one and suddenly we were moving her to the middle of this huge city. But she hit the ground running and hasn’t ever looked back.

Then about 6 years ago, she moved to Seattle. Again… the jaw-dropping bravery. But she saw an opportunity and she grabbed it and committed herself to it 110%. Without fear or hesitation. Because of the awesome… did I mention the awesome?

I know that as the older sibling, we are supposed to set examples. We are supposed to be a guide and someone to come to for advice and encouragement. But I think the only example I ever set for Betsy was what NOT to do. I admire everything about her. She is strong and fearless. She is good and kind. She is loving and honest. She is fierce and loyal. And if she was the only person in the world I ever had in my corner, I know I could scale giant buildings with one hand tied behind my back. On a bad hair day.

And this kick ass chick? Well… she’s turning 30 today. And there is nothing more I’d love to do than put on my party pants and knock on her door with a cake full of candles, several bottles of wine and a box full of Peeps. You know… because after cake and wine, there is nothing us Hall girls like better than blowing up marshmallow chickens in the microwave. Really. Try it sometime.

But she lives on the other side of the country. And while a visit that-a-ways IS long overdue, for today we will have to do with my first attempt at a celebration via skype. And while that webcam may not be flattering to me or the rest of the world for that matter… I DEFY you to try and find a camera that doesn’t love this pretty lady…

Happy birthday kid. I love you.

Published by PaintingChef on 08 Apr 2010

Maybe I should have gone with the Reese’s Tower instead…

A few years ago, in my non-religious observation of Lent, I decided to give up Tabloid Gossip Magazines. I know… I should have gone with cake. My hips don’t lie… but I was trying to find something that, the absence of which, might make me a better person. Patrick can tell, I’m kind of a bitch if you interrupt me while I’m taking in my dose of gossip but when has LESS CAKE ever made anyone HAPPIER?

Please. Religion. I KNOWS IT.

And maybe it was a time passage thing or maybe it really is true that the first few weeks of a new behavior are the most difficult but I very rarely buy them anymore. You know… unless there is something REALLY important on the cover. Like all that damn plastic surgery Spencer performed on Heidi while he had her locked in a closet.

But today I was standing in a rather long and slow moving line at Target and faced with the three options I had available to me for time passage, I went with perusing the tabloid magazines. Terrorizing the baby in front of me was the obvious choice but he was kind of snotty and boogery and I’m sure that MY child’s snot and boogers will be fill of cupcake icing and cotton candy but YOUR child’s nasal emissions? Kind of gross me out. Also I’m pretty sure Target would have frowned on my other option which was to open up all the Reese’s cups and make a tower and then eat it like a mean and conquering dragon.

Plus? I’d left my Blackberry in the car so obviously a quick game of Brickbreaker was out. CURSES. In my perusal, I discovered something. I’ve been out of the damn loop kids! So with that in mind… I present to you my itching, scratching, burning questions of the day.

1. Jersey Shore? Really?
2. What is a Justin Beiber and is it housebroken?
3. What is a Ke$ha? Does it smell as bad as it appears it should?
4. Who let Miley Cyrus be an actress? Was someone supposed to be watching that one?
5. Do we have enough “Real Housewives” yet?
6. Heidi also “scooped” her back? Did you? You don’t think its maybe a result trying to balance all that shit cantilevered off your chest and your ass?
I would also like to take this opportunity to announce my vendetta against DISH Network. You cannot take the STYLE channel away without warning. I NEED Clean House. There are very shows on the air that make me feel better about my housekeeping abilities. I can’t watch “Hoarders” what with all the crying and actual serious psychological problems. But Clean House, I could handle. Let’s not even get into how you have also taken away the Biography channel AND National Geographic.

DISH Network… you are dead to me.

Seriously though… Justin Beiber? How did this happen and why does the sight of him give me immediate stabbing and searing eyeball pains?

Published by PaintingChef on 02 Apr 2010

I have green paint left over from painting the kitchen. Can I just stick my thumb in that?

Now that it is finally getting warmer, I can see just what kind of damage shockwaves this whole “I want to garden like a cracked out Martha Stewart” episode has caused. Other than the obvious massive FAIL at my first attempt of sprouting seeds, of course.

(I was briefly rewarded with some lovely seedlings from the green beans and the broccoli until they inexplicably fell over and grew mold. Overnight.)

We have now moved onto SEEDS 2.0! THE RECKONING! Only in smaller batches because I used almost all of my little dirt disk thingies and have not yet been back to the store for more. There are also random plastic baggies littering my counter. Something about germinating the seeds before burying them in dirt? I think it looks like college but with less pot. Lilly thinks it’s Disneyworld.

Something occurred to me last night. A potential flaw in the great gardening plan of 2010. A very basic part of my psyche that I have possibly overlooked. As Patrick pointed out to me so kindly last night while I was swatting away bugs and trying not to step in dirt. Gardening? Takes place outside. In NATURE. And I have very specific feelings about OUTSIDE and NATURE. Feelings that are best summed up by a refrigerator magnet that I’ve had for about 10 years now…

“I’m outdoorsy in that I like getting drunk on patios”.

Regardless of that stance though, this gardening thing is going to happen. I have a very large wooden box in my backyard that says so. (A large box that Patrick very awesomely built while in the midst of preparing for a half marathon. Because he is wonderful and crafty and has SKILLZ) And it was my idea so dammit, I’m excited. (I AM excited… but more about the concept of grocery shopping for fresh herbs and vegetables in my own backyard than I am about the actual… GARDENING and LABOR and WORK and DIRT)

But in spite of my very clear feelings about nature and getting dirty and outdoors in general, I’m looking forward to this. I’ve failed once at seeds already but that will NOT deter me! I SHALL GARDEN! I SHALL GROW FOOD! And then? I’ll pick (gather? harvest? collect?) it from the garden while wearing a cute hat. Hats are an essential part of gardening, right? OH! I need a good basket too! Fresh garden-y things should go in a basket…

Also? Archie wonders what these weird dirty sticks with metal crap on the ends are for. Sadly, I cannot help him as all I know is that they are too large to be pedicure tools…