Taking annual leave during the school year is almost impossible in my job as an administrative assistant at the local university, so other than a day or two here and there, I save it all for the summer. The thing is, there is rarely money for any long, exciting vacations, so I don’t have much need of my annual leave in the summer either.
Several years ago, my co-worker and I had been doing our usual Monday-morning grousing about how quickly the weekend flew by and we didn’t even remember what we’d done other than the cleaning, and the laundry, and the grocery shopping, and, and, and…
I was busy working the payroll deadline at work last month when I grabbed the phone, groaning out loud as I saw the name on the caller ID. It was my 13-year-old, and I could already guess what she had to say.
“Mom! I’m locked out of the house… Again!” she huffed, without even a “hello.”
I could practically see the eye-roll through the phone. The fact that she was locked out was somehow the fault of her dad and me rather than her own for always forgetting her keys. This type of phone call was becoming a regular occurrence. We’d even gotten one of those outdoor hide-a-keys, now locked inside somewhere, along with her own.
We lived in a little farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Dad was on the road as a truck driver, so it was mostly just mom, my little brother, and me. Mom’s life was not easy, especially with a constantly squabbling 13-year-old and 5-year-old.
I don’t remember the particulars, but I know my mom was having a Very. Bad. Day. We were unloading groceries, some of us more willingly than others. I’m pretty sure it was Forrest who whined about something – that’s all the kid ever did, in my opinion – when the gallon of milk exploded, slammed down by mom as the last of her patience disappeared.
Milk ran in rivulets off the counter and to the floor, drops cascaded down cabinet doors, plunking the counter before joining the white waterfall, and a light rain of milk drip-dropped from the blades of the ceiling fan.
“GET. OUT. NOW.” Mom said in that certain mommy-meltdown voice.
EACH FRIDAY I HIGHLIGHT OLD FAVORITES FROM MY NOW-ABANDONED BLOG, “FROM THE TOP OF THE STAIRS.” I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE RE-RUNS AS MUCH AS I DO!
“THINGS I MISS”
A hairbrush, gray.
Another hairbrush, pink.
Kitchen knives: 20 or more; the latest set less than 3 months old.
The door to a kitty carrier.
These are just a few of the things that go “missing” around our house, absconded by my wonderful children (also known as the famous “not me’s”) never to be seen again. But of all of them, it is that last one that I miss the most.
Each Friday I highlight old favorites from my now-abandoned blog “FROM THE TOP OF THE STAIRS.” I hope you enjoy the re-runs as much as I do!
In honor of Valentine’s Day yesterday which was — you guessed it — another flower-free day, I just had to share this post that still makes me smile at my dear hubby’s proof of his love for me. In the spirit of full disclosure, I must admit that he did send me some very beautiful (live) flowers about a year ago, breaking his long-standing streak. I’m just hoping I don’t have to wait another 13 years for the next bouquet (hint, hint honey!)
Photo courtesy of Flickr Creative Commons: All rights reserved by Pkots
The last time that Tom sent me flowers was roughly 13 years ago, back in that first magical year of marriage. We were living in the first of many small towns we would inhabit; a town filled with many inbred ummm… colorful characters. The local high school in said town held fundraiser after fundraiser throughout the school year; I swear one every-other week. Unfortunately, this small-town school was not known for being imaginative, so they used the same fundraising idea over and over and over and… Yeah, you get the idea.
Anyway, being a newly-married man in love, every time one of these students’ came into his shop peddling their “One Dozen Long-Stemmed Roses – Only $5.99!” fliers, Tom would pony up his six Washington’s and place Continue reading →
Please excuse my lateness for posting my week-3 photos, but at least I’m only a week behind instead of my usual months or years…
As is usually the case, I am buried up to my eyeballs in homework, barely a few weeks into the new semester, and struggling to find a balance between all my roles. One thing I’d really like to learn to do is still find time for myself – even just 5 minutes! – in the whole wife-mom-worker-student juggling act I’ve got going. Hopefully, I can sneak working on my photography in as one of those quickly-whirling balls.
So, without further ado, here’s last week’s assignment from my friend, the Iotamaker (as always, you can follow the links to see others’ interpretations of the weekly theme):
Now that it’s (temporarily) down to just the three of us, we all tend to scatter to our own corners of the house after dinner: Tom to his “man cave” in the basement, Savannah to her own messy cave dwelling, and me to my soon-to-be-vacated “craft room” which has only had about 5 minutes worth of crafting done in it.
Taking pictures of the other two was a little more challenging, as neither of them would comply with my orders (See: our normal, nightly routine!),
Today was “burn your field” day at our house, something most people around these parts do every year or so to clear out the overgrowth and to make way for new life (or new weeds, if you happen to live … Continue reading →