Not a Wasted Word

As I predicted I didn’t get to bed until 1am and was up later than I wanted this morning. I did a shit job packing, forgetting a number of important things, like the kids’ headphones, and my meds! (My husband had to overnight them to me.) I’ll be spending much of tomorrow buying the other stuff I forgot.

The whole flight was like amateur hour. I kept making stupid mistakes. My brain was fried and my body was exhausted. It was all just too much.

Clearly leaving the house in decent shape for my husband and a cleaning lady, and making an early flight was too much. I just couldn’t do it all.

I’m glad my Colombia flight is late in the day. I hope I’ve gotten all the bad travel mojo out of my system. Anything is manageable for a 3.5 hours flight, but the mistakes I made today would be awful on a 15 hour international red-eye.

I still need to call and confirm the cleaning lady is even coming (another fail from today), and write a list of things I need my husband to bring. It feels like I’ll never just be able to relax.

Well, whether I’m done or not, I’ll probably go to bed tonight around 1am, and it will be over.

Except I have to change my kids’ beds in the morning, before we leave. They are super hyped right now, which means it will probably take them a long time to fall asleep, and they will probably be super grumpy in the morning. Unless they wake up super amped tomorrow too.

So tomorrow morning, by 7:30am, it will be over.

I’m so tired, and stressed, that I can’t really appreciate it yet. My husband keeps talking about how amazing it looks. He can’t believe how much I’ve done. The garage, especially, is transformed.

And it is. So much stuff has left this house. So many things are no longer cluttering corners and closets. There is just space. And more space.

There is a still a lot of stuff though. Man we have so much stuff. I wish we didn’t have so much stuff, but it’s hard to get rid of it.

Right now I will focus on what we did get rid of, because it’s a lot. And it makes the house feel light and airy in a way it hasn’t in a long time. Maybe ever.

And everywhere I look, I know that behind or underneath, it is CLEAN. Everywhere is clean. Even under my bed (under my bed was a mess), and in the freezer (what happened in the freezer?!) and behind the couch (holy shit, behind the couch…) I never realized how much they affected me, all the messes I couldn’t see, or didn’t see very often. But they did. They caused a layer of stress simmering underneath it all. And when I come home, that layer of stress will be gone.

Oh my god was a it a lot of work though. SO MUCH WORK. I’m assuming next year it won’t be that much work, and if it is, I don’t know if I can keep AirBnBing my house. I don’t know if I can ever do that again.

I got a lot of other stuff done this past week and a half too. We got our yellow fever shots, and I got fitted for my contact (when it’s aligned properly I can see things so clearly, more clearly than I ever have before, but when it’s not aligned properly (most of the time) things are just as blurry, if not more – I am learning to turn it on my eye so it lines up right, and that is cool, I just wish it would stay there when I blink!). I had my prolapse appointment (more on that later I hope) and got a new pessary that will at least allow me to run again. I wrapped up six years at our day care (took the uniforms back today and sent the nap mats to my friend last Saturday) and helped my daughter pass her deep water test (so happy she got the experience of failing, working to get better, and then passing the next time). It’s been a crazy 10 days. And now we’re going to St. Louis!

I can’t really believe we leave tomorrow. I’ve been so focused on the house, and the experience our guests will have when they are here that I’ve hardly thought about the experience we’ll have when we’re away. It’s supposed to be really hot, and the cousin we spend the most time with won’t be there for half our stay, but the kids are excited and it should be fun.

Thank you for all your support as I wrote about this massive cleaning and purge. I know other, much more important things are happening in the world, but this past ten days I needed to put my focus on home. Thank you for indulging me.

My son can ride a two-wheeler now! (My daughter can too!) But we still need to find safe, bike-friendly spots for them to ride. It was driving me crazy to take the car so I could throw the bike in the back, so I figured out how to take his bike on my bike.

A couple of weeks after I figured that out, I took his seat off; he didn’t need it anymore and I’ve been jonsing for some cargo bags back there. Now I haul his bike like this.

Technically I can put my daughter’s bike on the other side and haul both kids and both bikes that way. I’ll take a picture when it happens.

The bike has been especially great as I get rid of things, because I can ride it right up to wherever I’m going and unload it. That makes all the difference in a city where sometimes you need to park a couple blocks from your destination.

There is a Thomas the Train pop-up tent under that suit bag!

I started the second season of The Handmaid’s Tale last week. I’m quite a few episodes in.

I watch it by myself, but frequently my husband is in the room while it’s on. He can’t understand why I like it. He thinks it’s the saddest show, devoid of any kind of happiness of hope. He calls it Misery Porn.

(I have to admit, I love that name. It is fitting.)

I wonder sometimes, why I watch it. It is hard. Sometimes very hard. (There was one episode that triggered the pregnancy loss survivor inside me in a way I didn’t think could be triggered anymore). With all that is going on in the real world, you’d think I’d want something lighter during my free time. But maybe it’s all the crazy shit happening that makes me want to watch something as intense as The Handmaid’s Tale. Maybe I appreciate seeing the fucked-upedness of reality reflected in what I watch.

Maybe I’m just a masochist.

I am struck by how my… fertility history colors my feelings about the show. I’m especially conflicted in my feelings surrounding Serena (June’s “Martha,” who cannot have children of her own). Sometimes I express empathy toward her, and her past, but my husband is always quick to correct me. No sympathy for fascists! It’s a fair point, and yet… life is complicated.

I know I could (should?) say more about the show, but if I try I may never publish this post…