Thursday, December 11, 2008
Jimmy's in Texas for four whole days. Probably golfing, but pretending to be at a medical conference. That's the life. Except for golfing it lame, and Texas doesn't have any snow (not that we do either), and you have to sit in classes all day...
That means I get the bed all to my self. I sleep on about 6 inches of the bed. I know you are thinking that's not possible because I am at least 50 inches wide, but I am telling you the truth. I sleep on the very edge of the bed and I rarely move. So, why do I like the bed to myself? I have no idea. But, every time Jimmy leaves town, the first thing I think is --- yeah me, I get to sleep in my big fat bed all by myself.
This leads me to questions. I have worked hard so that all of my kids have their own space. Devon has a bedroom bigger than most master bedrooms, he has 6 or 7 cages with various creepys in them. He has two closets and a bigger king size bed than I do. The rest of the kids aren't far behind. So... the question is this--- why do I have to share my room and my bed? I'm the parent. I should have the biggest space of all, with all my stuff and my big bed. Why do I have to share a bed? Why do I have to share my bathroom? Why do I have to share my closet? ( I actually don't, but I have before.) Am I wrong in my thinking?
Don't get me wrong. I like Jimmy sometimes, but my bed just feels so much more free when I'm in it alone. What's a pretty girl to do? (I am the pretty girl by the way) Maybe I should look for a few sister wives. They can share their beds. I could be the oprah watching wife. You know, I could have a babysitting wife, a cooking wife, a cleaning wife and I could be the oprah watching, fun shopping (no grocery shopping), sleep in my own bed wife. At the end of the day I could catch all the wives up on the T.V. and the great sales at the local outlet mall and then I could go to my own room, with my own stuff, that no one else touches and I could go to sleep.
I feel like this is a strong plan. The problem with sister wives is the hair and the dresses though. Does any one have any ideas that will solve all my huge problems? Maybe I could say I had chemo and my hair was the only wig that they make? Or that allergies made me not be able to wear creepy dresses... although if you've seen my great nightgown it may nix that one. Hmmmm... These are some real questions I'm going to need to sleep on before I head to Colorado City.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
When Jimmy and I first got married I spent my days asking him what was wrong. If he came in quiet, I'd run and be all over him asking and asking what was wrong. He of course would say nothing was wrong... but I am persistent and I would keep asking and finally he would snap at me "now something's wrong, leave me alone."
So, 15 years later, I've gotten more clever. I ask one time what the problem is and then I leave it alone. Sometimes I'm sure there's a problem and sometimes I just want there to be a problem. Most of the time I hear later that work sucked or someone was a bad driver (it's never Jimbo though).
Most of the time when I ask my short friend Keegan to clean a room and I have asked more than once, he will start crying and saying " why are you yelling at me?" For some reason this really sets me off. Because, I feel that I am the most patient, bestest, calmest, nicest mom ever. I don't beat anyone with belts, scream at them, throw their friends out. I am calm. Okay every once in a while, I yell, but not very often. After 15 years the yell is going out of me. So... when ever Keegan says that I'm yelling. I scream right next to him "I'M NOT YELLING". I understand that this is very mature of me. I feel like he should know the difference though. So, I feel very mature while I'm doing it.
So... to make the longest story ever short. Here's me being mature again... My dad called and wanted Jimbo to sign some Dr. stuff to release Grandma to drive. So, I says to the man "I don't know how much longer grandma should be driving."
the man: "I'm not taking away her drivers license she's fine"
mi: "have you seen her car lately? It looks like she was driving in downtown Baghdad. She has a huge dent in her bumper from last week... she has no idea how it happened."
the man: "I'm not taking her driver's license"
mi: "I didn't say you needed to today, I'm just saying she shouldn't be driving much longer, a 90 yr old man just killed someone because his family felt bad taking his license"
the man: "She's not 90"
mi: "okay a 75 yr old lady killed 5 people last year driving into a post office"
the man: "why are you yelling?"
okay here's the part where I stop for about 3 seconds and think "am I yelling?" Nope, I'm not...
mi: "THIS IS YELLING" (which by the way was at the top of my lungs) and then very calmly "that was yelling, this is not."
Then I promptly hung up on him. I'm not going to lie... it felt great to actually yell and even better to just hang up the phone. Does this mean I'm ultra hormonal or super right? Or should the man just learn what I learned 15 years ago... which is don't make someone mad when they aren't?