Change clothes and go. . .

February 4, 2011


Last evening we had a wonderful surprise.

Just as I was making the finishing touches for supper, a car pulled in our driveway.

Jerry.

He said he got in his car and just started driving, ending at our house.

That was perfectly fine with me.

Set another place at the table, because there has never been a night yet where, if someone showed up, we couldn't feed them.

There is always enough.

Mer was with us, having completely run out of clean clothes, so the laundry machines were chugging away in the basement attempting to make a dent in the 5 garbage bags of laundry we transported to the house.

Em was sent home from school yesterday for being so congested she had to breathe through her ears.

Keith wasn't working or at Mer's because she was at our place.

And she wasn't going to make him supper.

It was a full house on a Thursday night.

THAT is what family is about.

And when you include Keith standing in front of our fridge, arms stretched outward, telling Mer she's not going to eat everything in our house cause then he'll starve. . . .

. . .things almost seem normal.






A couple of days ago, the day of the Frankie-barf-a-thon, I returned from work feeling the same way I feel every evening when I come home from work.

Exhausted.

As soon as I remove my winter gear, hang it up, put on my slippers all while trying to avoid stepping on the prancing canines at my feet, I go upstairs and change into my jammies.

Usually accompanied by the prancing, leaping, cavorting puppies.

Much like the bathroom, getting dressed, at least for me, is never a solo activity.

For some unknown reason, Frankie and Tikka have this urge to accompany me on my daily transformation from work-Dawne to Mummy.

Fine.

I haven't struck either of them blind by the sight of my semi-self so I figure we're okay.

The other night, however, in the middle of my transformation, Reilley pushes through the half closed bedroom door.

Takes one look at me in my state of semi-dress and vomits.

And then promptly leaves the room.

Now, I realize I do not, nor will I ever, possess the body of such lovely women as Megan Fox or Jennifer Lopez.

I'm closer to Dawn French, or Roseanne whateverherlastnameisrightnow.

But vomiting at the sight of my semi-dressed self seems a bit extreme.

At least in my opinion.

Plus I had to clean up the vomit before Frankie ate it.

Nice.

From now on, I'm closing the bedroom door.






This week has been difficult.

But, I did all of the things I was supposed to do.

Teach my classes.

Meet with students.

Write reference letters.

A task I understand is necessary, nonetheless, one I do not particularly enjoy.

Get the Faculty Fund application administration started.

I'm the Chair of the Faculty Fund Committee.

Actually, right now I am the committee.

The only thing I can't seem to get myself to do is mark assignments.

And resume data collection.

Those are my tasks for today and tomorrow.

I have to.

Because more assignments will be coming in today, meaning the pile of unmarked assignments will only get higher and higher, like Jack's beanstalk, unless I take the axe to them.

And the data analysis has to be completed because I'm supposed to be giving a paper about this data in May and writing hasn't even started yet.

So, I have to get back into my groove.

Whether I want to or not.

Today is back to the Community Kitchen.

Taking Mer grocery shopping.

Perhaps squeezing in a much needed nap sometime between coming home after my class, marking and data analysis, and going to the kitchen.

The new normal, a phrase coined by a friend.

Forced new normal is closer to the truth.

But a sense of normality nonetheless.



Title Lyric: Change Clothes by Jay-Z