Food and Books

Early on in the pandemic, I fell into a routine, as one does. Every Tuesday, I’d go and pick up our grocery order. That actually wasn’t new, as I had done that before the earth was ignited in a fervent blaze of stupidity and sickness. Tuesday was the day because I didn’t want to waste my precious kid-free days slumming it with the peasants at the grocery store, and I usually had my little one on Tuesday/Thursdays. Not that you care, and I digress.

So Tuesday-Food-day were the same, but Pandemic Melissa got to go forage for food sans little people because the husband was (at the time) working from home, and presumably there in case violence broke out. Or the need for more snacks. Buuuut, (I’m getting to it, I swear) once the library opened back up for holds pickups, it was like Christmas morning come early. Books! New books! Books that weren’t mine! Anything novel (pun intended) was most welcome, indeed. It was then that I added the library to my epic Tuesday pandemic outings.

I remember the last day the library was open before it closed for about four dreadful months. I hurried over there when I heard the news. (Note that I didn’t make a run to the grocery store when everyone was panic buying toilet paper and kale, but you bet your ass I hauled over to the library to grab as many books as I could carry.) When I got there, people were skittering around like scared mice. The shelves were disturbingly bare. Fear echoed throughout the extra open space. My oldest had just learned to read, so I went to the children’s room and filled my bag and arms with as many picture books and early readers as I could. I had to ask what the limit was for checking books out. “I hope we don’t die of boredom,” I said to the librarian checking me out. Her head still down, she raised her eyes to look at me over her glasses and said, “Or anything else.” We shared a smile that only lovers of dark humor can share.

By the time those four unspeakable months were over, we were all long done with our library book piles. And so it became my weekly Tuesday ritual to first dart into the library, masked and moving with the speed of your typical neighborhood super hero, to grab my previously selected treasures off the shelf, check them out via machine with zero human interaction, and then take refuge in my car where I’d bathe in hand sanitizer before moving on to grocery pickup. I have an even better example for how this went: picture Foxface when she hid at the cornucopia to grab her lifesaving loot first and then disappeared into the woods, deft and swift as her nickname. Only I don’t die from eating the wrong berries. Oops, spoiler alert. (Actually, if you haven’t read that book yet and actually need that spoiler alert, you can stop reading right this second. If you don’t know what any of this is in reference to, this blog also may not be for you.)

Another little pandemic side habit (ritual? obsession? maybe she’s born with it) I developed was in stalking and raiding local Little Free Libraries. It began when I started to walk laps around parks while my kids played because gyms were closed and so was my heart. As I passed these LFLs, each one looked as if a raccoon shoved books in there every which way, spines covered, upside-down, fucking anarchy. My compulsive need to impose order would not let this go, so I began to organize the tiny book houses. While organizing, I’d often find a gem that I liked or one of my kids would like. Mmm, dopamine. The next day, I’d come back and glance over to see the LFL ravaged again. I answered the call. And so the almost daily dance began. It’s a combo of needing control and tidiness to feel safe, and the primal urge to scavenge for treasure (read: books. play on words INTENDED!) when I felt an overwhelming sense of end-of-the-world scarcity of resources. At this point I can’t pass a LFL and not tidy it whilst looking for books to take home.

Once the library began to open up even further (good lord, the gloriousness of browsing the stacks cannot be conveyed with words) its little used bookstore also reopened. While the bookstore doesn’t need constant organizing, it does require that I visit it weekly so that I may continue to hoard books build my own private library with colorful paper word bricks that bring me such joy.

The book hoarding has continued, and I began shoving them into my already full shelves. It recently got bad enough that I could no longer find what I wanted, so I was forced to reorganize and create some meaningful categories. (I now have a World War Two Female Spy section that makes my ovary do flips and I’m pretty sure I now own every publication and cocktail napkin Brene Brown has ever written on.) During the course of said organization, I found that I had bought used copies of Quiet twice (I really enjoy introvertism, y’all), and I had two copies of Hillbilly Elegy for unknown reasons. Several books I didn’t even remember acquiring; surely I brought them home in a pandemic-stress-fueled fugue state.

Back to my weekly Tuesday adventure! (tangents and graceful transitions are my specialty) I’d venture to the library first, partly because books are more important and partly because food of the perishable and frozen variety needed to be picked up last. Once at the grocery store, a kind stranger would load up my trunk with my pre-selected goods and I would begin the journey home, ready with food for my family’s bodies and nourishment for our minds. It was a supply run, and I was returning victorious with the things that mattered most.

For quite a while, those two errands were the only direct contact my nuclear family had with other human life. It was what was the most important for our survival; worth the risk.

Every Tuesday.

Books and food.

Food and books.

Bow to the napping gods

I don’t have much time to write this so we’ll see how far I get. I may have to post this less polished than I’d like, but that’s what today is like, I guess…

So, my youngest is pretty ready to kick naps. And I’m fucking not. That’s the gist of it.

I’ve been a SAHM and have known naps for 5 years now. I’ve planned my life around them. When I had two active nappers, my whole day revolved around getting the naps to happen simultaneously.

Especially as an Introvert Mama, I’ve worshiped them. NAPS ARE EVERYTHING. I BOW TO THE NAPPING GODS! I need downtime planned into almost each and every day in order to feel sane. If I don’t get enough sleep, to which I’m particularly sensitive, I often nap right along with my kids. I find myself getting suuuuper irritable and snippy if I don’t get some kind of break during the day. In those cases, I end up locking myself in the bathroom or going, yet again, on Facebook and let the scrolling numb all the feels.

Today, both of those things happened because my Little Miss didn’t nap. Guys, I’m frazzled.

I totally get and readily admit that these transitions are harder for me than they are for my kids. My kids are growing fast and when she’s ready, she’s ready. It’s just that, the difference between one sleeping child/one TV watching child versus two awake children is very different. When these two get together with any kind of energy, they’re madness. They are loud, and they rip the house apart, and they are just starting to become independent, but not enough to do all the things they want to on their own. Aaaand I really don’t want them watching TV for hours on end as the only way for me to manufacture a mommy break into my day.

Like now, I’m trying to write this with two awake kids. The TV is on, I got out markers and paper and stuff, but they are still asking me for shit every few minutes, or they are fighting, or they are going to break something, or they are making a huge mess and I am freaking gonna lose it. No amount of telling (or screaming) that mama is BUSY and that this needs to be QUIET TIME means anything. And trust me, the irony of that last sentence is not lost on me.

Another layer of why naps are so incredibly important to my daily mental health is that I have no family around to help. I don’t get regularly scheduled breaks. It’s all me. Thank freaking goodness for school because I need breaks from these kids and these kids need breaks from me.

I feel like there’s more to say, somehow, but if I keep typing it’ll probably just circle back around to the points I’ve already made and eventually devolve into some ALL-CAPS delirium along the lines of WHERE ALL THE SAHMs AT?! YOU ALL KNOW WHAT I MEAN, RIGHT?! FEEL MY PAIN!!!!

And yes, the upside of no naps means more freedom in our daily schedules. For sure. We won’t have to hurry home after lunch to avoid a meltdown and we can stay out all day and join friends for fun afternoon activities. The kids are getting older and they are entering a really fun stage. All of this is true. Absolutely. But with every new stage of parenthood comes with that bittersweet feeling of loss, of grief.

My husband asked me why I’m fighting this so much, and I said BECAUSE SHES MY BABY AND I NEED NAPS AND IM NOT READY.

My babies are growing up, and that’s hard. It’s all hard.

Just tell me I’m going to be okay without naps. I know my kids are going to be fine. It’s me I’m worried about.

nanopoblano2019

A Quiet Hotness

A few preliminary disclaimers:

This post may not be funny to any of you, and I suppose I’ll have to take that chance. It was pretty funny in the moment, though. Oh man. You had to be there. But that would have been weird, because this took place in my bathroom at, like, 11pm last night. I’m so glad you weren’t there.

Also, MAJOR SPOILERS for the movie A Quiet Place, and possibly the sequel, because I’m just that good.

Now onto the post.

Me, to Brian: So I saw a headline for the sequel to that one movie, A Quiet Place.

Brian: Ah, yes. A Quiet Place 2: Even Quieter.

Me: That very one! I was just scrolling quickly past and the headline was paired with a still pic of that one hot guy.

Brian: John Krasinski, the guy who’s married to that one hot lady.

Me: Yes! Right again. So I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But one night as I was lying in bed trying to go to sleep, it hit me. The picture with that movie doesn’t make sense because he totally died in the first film being all loud and shit.

Brian: Maybe it’s his twin.

Me: Ooh, A Quiet Place 2: Double the Loud Hotness. No, wait. Not double, cuz the first one is dead. Hotness Again? Loud Hotness? Return of the Loud Hotness!! Only hopefully this twin is much, much quieter and hotter than the first one.

Brian: Or maybe it’s a prequel.

Me: Oh yeah! Because they had to survive for several/I-forget-how-many-months before the first movie begins. Perhaps this prequel could show the hot husband and wife having a thoughtful conversation about wanting to have hot, quiet sex but maybe not wanting to get pregnant because babies are effing loud. She’ll say, do you think we should go in search of birth control first? Then he’ll say, naw, it’s ok, babe, we’ll just roll the dice and put the oops baby in an airtight, padded box if we have to. What could go wrong?! Except that is everything the experts tell you not to do with the sleeping space for babies. No padded bumpers, they say. No blankets or stuffed toys, they say. Give them air to breathe, they say. That poor baby would immediately die of SIDS.

Brian: No, I think that baby would die as soon as the hot mom goes into labor or gives birth, because that’s loud in my experience. It’d die of Sudden Alien Death Syndrome. SADS, for short.

quiet-place


I can confirm that Brian’s experience of seeing babies be born was quite loud because I am excellent at expressing my needs. Also, we are in no way making light of the awful, real condition that is SIDS.

Hey, John – give us a call. We’ll totally help you write this new movie. As you can see, we have many realistic ideas. As payment I’d only require a whiff of your heavenly man scent.

Bridezillas are made, not born

I am exhausted, you guys.

Seriously, people keep asking me if I am excited about my upcoming wedding, and…I’m not.

I mean, I want to get married and I feel like I have been waiting for this for forever, but the planning, ooh the planning, has just sucked the life out of me and I have no energy left.

What energy I do muster up is spent on my clients, and after that, I have nothing left.

It doesn’t help that my dress was 5 weeks late and I just got to see it yesterday for the first time since ordering it in January.  And now I have to bend over backwards to get this thing altered in time.  And it’s great that the bridal shop is compensating me with reduced fees, but you know what I really want?  I want them to erase the anxiety I went through.  The anxiety I still have and can’t seem to shake.

Which brings me to another subject….

I’ve been reading Quiet by Susan Cain, and even though I am not finished yet (I have much less time for reading these days), it’s been soooo validating.  While I always knew that I was on the introverted side of the spectrum, I never knew that all these things about my personality tied into all those introvert personality traits.  Since introverted traits are often pathologized, (“She just needs to come out of her shell,” and “Why are you so quiet?  Are you mad at me?”) it was awesome to read a different spin – that I groove better with a lesser level of stimulation, is all.

I plan to blog more about my introversion later, but this brings me back to the wedding stuff.  In theory, I like being the center of attention, but in reality I often shy away.  And at weddings, the bride is the center of attention.  Let’s face it, I’m going to look smashing in my fluffy white dress, so can you blame people?  There’s also a shitload of stimulation going on at a wedding, especially at your own.  I’ll be going around talking to everyone, which don’t get me wrong – it’s going to be awesome – but it’s also going to be taxing.

I suppose I just wonder how I am going to handle it.  I guess that’s what my groom is for, to help me get through this…I mean, he’s an introvert, too.  Maybe we need to have a safety word or something for when it’s time to go hide in the bathroom.  It’s ok, because people will just assume we’re going in there to bang.

Speaking of hiding in the bathroom, I totally understand how bridezillas are made.  That’s right, they aren’t born, they’re made.  The evil wedding factory takes in perfectly rational, in-love (oxymoron?) engaged females, throws them into the fires of Mt. Doom and cranks out bridezillas like evil furby dolls, except less hairy and with more lace.  Their fiances won’t recognize them anymore.  The bridezillas will burst into tears because they stepped in cat vomit that morning and their poor gentlemen will be at a loss as to how to console them.  And then the bridezillas set fire to the house.

So, this is where I am right now.  Maybe a tad bit of an exaggeration, but you get it.  And I am going to a wedding this weekend…mixed feelings about that.  On one hand, it’s a break from planning, a break from stress, a break from my life.  I’ll get to watch people in love (!) and I’ll get to eat and drink and dance.  But it’s also time away from planning, which let’s face it, may make me even more stressed.  And, I mean, it’s a wedding, so it’ll kinda remind me of my own and how it just needs to GET HERE.