cojones

Sometimes three days sans children creates too much time for reflection. I've been thinking of what a wimp I am. And no, I am not saying that in an adolescent, attention seeking way. This week marked the dreaded 'communication black-out', which means Skip and all the other soldiers turned in their cell phones for a couple weeks, which means I can no longer do my dependent texts about everyday newsy stuff, or perhaps things like, "Where is the cordless drill? ....and how does one use it?". Or, perhaps the occasional, inappropriate comment that I hope he is reading in the midst of generals and other military leaders.

I am such a girl. Growing up with two brothers and an always present dad meant never having to mow the grass or do any home maintenance whatsoever. This summer I was expertly taught by a friend, and I am fully capable of mowing. However, now a couple other friends are wonderful about making sure it is done for me, for which I am so grateful. One less thing on my plate. Saturday I awoke after a 10 hour sleep, ready to tackle the disgusting, moldy caulking around my bathtub. I ripped that crap out with vigor, while wearing my nightgown and Japanese robe, and maintaining a hearty game of fetch with Toby. When it came time to load the caulk gun however, I faltered. I literally spent more time trying to figure out the contraption and may or may not have googled 'how to load caulk gun', before I broke my pride and called my neighbor over. As it turns out, puncturing the inner seal with a bobby pin, in lieu of a 10 penny nail...it doesn't do the trick. Even if one doesn't know what a 10 penny nail is, or where to find one, it still needs to be located and utilized. When the job was all said and done, I lacked the satisfaction I expected. I sulked on that rainy, cold day. I decided my friend was right in saying A.S. Byatt's new piece,  The Children's Book was esoteric. After moving on to Anne Lamott's Imperfect Birds, I found myself horrified and nervous about my kids someday being teenagers with teenage issues. I had to do what any 35 year old lonely, grumpy woman does in these scenarios; I curled up with my dog and took another nap for lack of anything else I felt motivated to do.

There is half of me missing. Or, at least an appendage feels absent. I am walking around functioning, but hurting and nothing is quite what it was. Marrying as young as I did means moving pretty much straight from your parents home, to the safety and assurance of your husband, with in my case, only a brief stint of autonomy. Of course I don't regret marrying at a time when I still looked 12 years old. However, besides just the 'missing', and the particular sadness of doing those once shared daily rituals alone, I know that I have hid behind someone who could protect me and do all kinds of unsavory tasks for me. Last month I got the oil changed for the second time myself. I know!! The guy cautioned that my tires were all at 32, but the manufacturer recommends they be at 40. Did I want them to fix that? Absolutely not- No Thank You! No one is going to rip me off or take advantage of my gender. Weeks later, I have no earthly idea what that tire talk was all about, but it felt good being assertive. (?)

I need to put on my big girl panties. This I know to be true. Having a couple days alone was therapeutic in many ways, and I am all for taking a solitude day, a day to silently feel like a martyr and get it out of my system and move on. Do you ever feel sick of yourself? That's where I am at. I'm done wallowing for a while, ready for a new week full of challenges and opportunities, and hopefully not any house/car/medical issues for a while.

My little chickies are tucked in their beds, and some narcissistic sewing awaits me.