Sitting on go

I am unacquainted with standing by.


Since I have finished school, I've found myself at kind of a loss. For…well, anything.

I sit at home and listen to the alternate fighting and love of my children. I think of all the things I should be doing – laundry, writing, reading, cleaning. Making things to hang on the walls since they are all presently blank. Also, there is a strange conglomeration of 8-9 nails on the wall above my couch and I spend more time than I care to admit sitting and wondering what could have possibly ever hung there.


I've thought about grad school. But…what? What could I do? I'm thirty four damn years old and really I have no more idea of what I want to be when I grow up than I did when I was nine.

I thought about teaching. Praxis testing is expensive. And what happens if I do all that work and find myself in front of however many kids…and then I hate it?

Problem is, I got used to school. I got used to being occupied. I also have the fortune/misfortune of being married to a man who is always on the go, so many nights the kids and I find ourselves at home, existing through the night. I don't mind it, though. I have time to watch King of the Hill, talk about movies and games with Max, play 4,000 games of various substance with Lucy, or decipher Pretty Little Liars with Ava.

Then I think about what I'd want to do, given the chance.

I'd be creative, I'd have a different outlook on every day. I'd solve and make and do and be.

Or I'd be Beyoncé.


Enough. Enough with the thoughts.


Fix it. Or I will.

Look out, I’ll fix your shit

It’s well established that I fancy myself a bit of a crafty wizard. If by no other standards than my own. That’s okay with me, because if you have ever met my dad…well, let’s just say that MacGuyver and my dad head to head? Mr. Popsicle Stick and Chewing Gum would be Dad’s bitch.

So when things break around my house, well, sometimes I fix them. Sometimes I fix things that no one else realizes are broken, but really they are.

If I feel like it.

And if it doesn’t take too long.

I blame Pinterest for making me think I can do things.


Josh, Lucy and I sleep on what is, technically, two beds. There is one normal, full sized mattress and box springs. Next to them, a smaller single bed that was once Ava’s. Back before we all lived together and she had her own room. She’ll hate us thoroughly for her lack of personal space one day. Or now.

Anyway, did you guys catch that? I just publicly admitted that my husband, toddler and I sleep on what is essentially Crackhouse Chic. Mattresses and box springs on the floor. Someone go find my mom, I heard her fall over just now. Also, we have so much crap stuffed into this room that I don’t think we could sort things out into any sort of presentable order. Not for any length of time.

Please don’t report me or anything – I swear everything is clean. It’s just crowded.


So we sleep on our two smushed together beds, and it’s really been okay. Except now Lucy takes up more room than Josh and I combined because while she MUST have me to squash against to go to sleep, once she’s asleep she flails around with all the reckless abandon of a….well, something that flails.

And when she flails, things shift. When things shift, the crack between the beds widens and Muno or Foofa or Buzz or any of the menagerie we keep in our beds can get lost. And die a horrible stuffed character death.

So I decided I would fix it.

By sewing it together. With fishing line and an upholstery needle, which I have no idea why I own.

I legit did it, people. Crazy thing is, though – it worked!

Kind of.

See I didn’t really engineer things very well, and once I did my sewing (masterfully), the corresponding corners of the fitted sheets didn’t stay on very well. Which left us with crumpled up cream sheets, peeling purple Tinkerbell sheets (oh did I not mention that? Yeah, the little bed has Tinkerbell sheets), and exposed mattress. Mom fell over again.

So, after about a week or so of trying in vain to make the sheets stay, I admitted defeat and cut the tangle of Paul Bunyan’s dental floss that was holding my beds together.

We have a gap again. I’m going to have to fix it.