When Legos Take Over

My son, the Boy, is a Lego fanatic.  I cannot think this is merely a normal interest in Legos.  When he has spending money, he spends it on Legos.  He wants Lego books and figurines.  He wants to buy Legos for other people.  He checks out Lego books from the library.  Not just the stupid Ninjago or Lego City books with crappy plots and photos of Legos in various poses to support the crappy plot.  No, he checks out books on building new Lego creations.

I, on the other hand, think Legos are cool...but in a general way.  I love that he is interested in Legos over, say, football, or Pokemon, or Nintendo DS.  I love that he can look at a picture of a Lego creation and figure out how to build it, and sometimes adapt it to his wild and crazy 6 year old point of view.  (Why wouldn't a Lego dinosaur have wheels that fold down out of his tail?)  He says he wants to be a Lego Creator, or an engineer.  No arguments from me.

The Boy has been dying to have girl Legomen (that's what he says). So, the Husband, being at a mall in Detroit, visited a Lego store.  You can build your own Lego people to spec!  So, he came home with a Valentine present for his boy... not one, not two, but THREE Lego girls built just for him.  He also bought me a Lego Forest Warrior Maiden...which the Boy covets.  I put her on the shelf, since he rarely lets me play Legos with him.  And I would love to.  Building is cool!

But, I gotta tell you.  I hate how they spread.  The Boy builds something crazy cool, and then it must be left up.  On display.  And then he builds another wild creation, which must be left up on display.  Soon, there is an entire shelf full of colorful flying machines, wheeled vehicles, and buildings resembling a pot-smoker's mushroom garden.

So, before you know it, he's reduces his stock of available pieces by half, and is desperately unhappy because he doesn't have enough spare pieces to build his new creations, because he needs the flat blue piece that has a connector on the side.  And nothing else will do...  And heaven forbid I suggest he look at his museum of creations.

I am a mean mommy sometimes.  If I have been getting on his case with too much frequency, and he still won't clean up, I will warn him that I will wreck his creations.  And if I have to make that threat too many times, I do it.  There is wailing and gnashing of teeth for twenty minutes... and then new creations begin to emerge from the replenished loose Legos bin.

He has a million pieces.  I am not exaggerating too much.  He has gotten big kits and small ones, general collections, and specific pieces.  He inherited his father's collection, which included some of his grandfather's collection.  The organization was killing me.  Seriously.  So, I looked around for a sorter-- this cool sifting box, which organized by size.  It was too small.  I got him a BIG craft sorter with three slide-out bins and a huge open top.  It is kinda cool.  Not big enough.  He now has two.  TWO!!  Almost big enough.  Legos are now sorted by COLOR...

But, I finally found what I've been looking for.  It is a four sided cloth bin, with zippers at each of the four corners.  You unzip it and then it folds flat to be a rectangular floor mat.  When it is clean up, you zip up the corners again, and yay! The mess is already contained!

The Boy doesn't understand why I call that a Lego accessory for me. Anything that means I am not yelling at him to clean up his building materials is a win to me.

Moving Sucks

Moving sucks.  You go through everything you own, and wonder why you own so much shit.  You throw stuff away.  You pack the items you know you want to keep.  You make huge piles of items to sell or donate.  Then you pack up everything else, knowing that you probably don't need it all, but loathe to toss it before you have a chance to go through it all carefully.

And then you move.  And the unpacking begins.


Me:  So, we have like 8 quart size storage containers without lids.
Hubby: Should we get rid of them?
Me:  I dunno.  We might use them.  Maybe?
Hubby:  Maybe we should toss them.
Me:  You may be right.
Hubby:  Did you find the yellow cups yet?
Me:  No.  I hope they didn't get tossed.  They were a matched set!
     (These yellow cups are 32 oz. yellow plastic with the logo for a coin operated laundromat in Nacogdoches, TX.  They are tacky as hell, but they are big and perfect for a big glass of water.  Plus they are dishwasher safe.  Oh well.  Then there were fourteen boxes marked "Master Bath".)
Me:  So, what is in this box?
Hubby:  What does it say?
Me:  Huh.  There are four different labels.  Mather bath.  Kitchen.  Hubby shoes.  Misc.
Hubby:  I am pretty sure that kitchen one is from when my grandmother moved.
Me:  So, Master bath or shoes?
Hubby:  I think my mom packed that box.
Me:  ...Oh.
Hubby:  What's in it?
Me:  I haven't opened it yet.  I lost my screwdriver.
Hubby:  (whipping out his pocketknife)  I'll get it.
Me:  Nonono!  My screwdriver is here somewhere!
Hubby: (opening box)  Huh.  I guess I didn't need to buy another package of razor blades.
Me:  (looking in box)  You bought more blades?  So we have eight thousand blades for you.
Hubby:  Where were these?
Me:  It says master bath.
Hubby:  Huh...
     (And then there was the kitchen I spent hours organizing early one morning when I couldn't go back to sleep.)
Hubby:  Where did the plates go?
Me:  I moved them to the cabinet over there.
Hubby:  But I thought you put them over the dishwasher.
Me:  Well, I did, originally.  But then I thought it made more sense over there.
Hubby:  So where did the Boy's medicine wind up?
Me:  Over the coffee maker.
Hubby:  Okay.  Hmmm.
Me:  What?
Hubby:  I cannot find the silverware now.
Me:  (exploding)  I just put everything where it was in the old kitchen!  It makes perfect sense!
Hubby:  (backing away) But the layout is different than in the old kitchen.
Me:  Well, yeah.  But the order is the same.
Hubby:  Okay, look, I will try to figure this out.  Now where did the cereal go?
Me:  In the pantry.
Hubby:  I don't see it.
Me:  It is right in front of you!  (looking)  Huh.  Wait, I know where it is... It was in that box marked Kitchen items.

I have made enough trips to Salvation Army that the old guy, who seems awfully reserved when he takes your bags and items, actually smiled at me the last trip.  I think he is gonna smile again when he finds me buying back the yellow cups that we cannot find and are certain wound up inadvertently in the 'Donate' box.

Stress

I am stressed.  I need to learn to let things go.  Seriously.  I am cranky, and unable to sleep, and don't enjoy my meals.  I enjoy my wine, but that could also be the company.  I am daydreaming constantly, and reading to escape.

Supposedly, writing a list of stress factors can help bring them to manageable proportions.  Here is my list of things that are stressing me out.  I hope that writing them down will set them loose into the internet, where they can spawn and create a worm that will infect the very lifeblood of Monsanto.

1. Sleep-- I am not sleeping well, and taking lots of pills to try to make sure I am sleeping.  I am not sure the pills are getting me good sleep, but they do make me sleep....if I've taken enough of them.
2. Medical-- I had an ER visit recently.  I had some chest pains-- probably not heart related.  I have a stress test soon, and my regular GP put me on anti-heartburn medication.  In addition, I need to get to the eye doctor (18 months since last visit).  The Husband probably needs some dental work done.  My son's belly is still distended, and it should have healed by now.  And we keep having minor medical expenses to the tune of $200-$500-- they add up.
3. Move-- I am moving in about 60 days.  Have not packed a single damn box.  Why?  Well, I didn't want to live with a bunch of boxes, thinking a normal looking household would be a better choice for living.  Yeah, it looks pretty, but it also stresses me out...all those empty boxes, just waiting to be filled.  "Fill me!"  On top of that, the house we are in is about to be on the market for rent... which means I have to have the house nice for that.
4. Money-- I have no right to be stressed about it, I guess.  There are people in this country who are un- and under-employed.  People are buried in underwater mortgages, credit card debt, student loans, and no savings.  We have no debt, are downsizing, and have a decent sum in savings.  But we used to have LOTS more in savings.  We have two cars which are 15 years old, and groceries are more expensive than ever.  A lot of my clothes are old (ie, don't fit, have little or big holes, etc) and then there is the medical stuff.  So, I am stressed about it.
5. IRS-- We just got a letter from the IRS, claiming that we owe like $8K in unpaid taxes and penalties.  We were sensible in 2010 and finally rolled all our various retirement accounts into a single account.  One of the rollovers was reported as taxable income to the IRS... so it looks like we got a huge sum of money.  And we didn't.  I understand it is all a matter of filling out the forms and such, but FUCK... You get a letter from the IRS demanding more than I have earned in any year since my son was born, and tell me that your heart isn't leaping out of your chest.
6. Book-- good god, I want to finish my book.  If I can edit 15 pages or so a week, I will finish by the time school ends.  But after that, I will get NO regular writing time until September.  Unless I can manage to begin writing at night again.  I just don't know how, especially with a move looming, and a summer camp planned in July.  I really want to finish-- I know it can be published, and will be good.  
7. Volunteer-- I am still active in the community, but it is hard work, and I am not enthusiastic about it right now.  I really should make this my last time... but then what am I doing for the community?  And what else do I have to show for myself in this time.  Everyone says motherhood is noble/ necessary/ etc.  But no one PAYS you for it, and potential employers look down their noses at it.  And I have to do something until the Boy is in school full time... unless my book sells.
8. App-- The phone app is fun to work on.  But it is work.  And it is unpaid work for now, and maybe forever, unless we can increase sales.  So, all that writing and entering is free.  And after the move, I will no longer be able to just walk two houses down to work with my partner.  I will have to drive across town.  
9. Work-- My theatre class is not stressing me exactly, but there is a lot of work to do that requires me to focus and be creative... and I can neither well until I can let stuff go. 
10. Politics-- The War on Women, the attack on the environment, the economy... I actually have to make myself STOP reading the news sometimes, or logging on to Faceborg.  I try to have a wide variety of friends- they range from libertarians to socialists, radical feminist lesbians to religious conservatives.  It used to be nice, because I would be exposed to a lot of different ideas and perspectives.  Food for thought, ya know?  Now... I just get scared.  The hate and anger and fear have reached terrifying levels.  Where are all the moderates?  Running scared, just like me.

So, there they are.  All my stress factors.  Not a terrible list, I guess.  I mean, I didn't actually HAVE  heart attack, did I?  I don't have to get a transvaginal probe, and the IRS issue will be resolved without having to write a check for $8K.

But I am still stressed.

Conspiracy Theories

Wow.  It feels like a conspiracy.  Life, the universe, and everything is against me working on my book.  It is almost eerie.

(I like conspiracy theories.  I visited the alien museum in Roswell, New Mexico and became a member for a year.  I loved it.  It was hilarious.  Really.  I bought a cute t-shirt for their espresso bar.  On the other hand, I do believe Kennedy was probably just shot by Oswald, and Ruby was just irritated and had a gun, being a Texan.)

So, this is why I think there is a conspiracy working against my brain being in a work mode.

1) VIRUS FACTOR:  My son caught a cold...which he then passed to me...which eventually got my husband sick as well.  There is also a stomach bug flying around the neighborhood that has hit no fewer than three households with children my son's age.  I have actually done some cleaning--Clorox wipes are a mother's friend.  Really.  The urge to clean increases exponentially in presence of snot, diarrhea and vomit.

2) BEST FRIEND FACTOR:  My Best Mommy Friend and I got into a political disagreement.  (Not to be confused with Best Friend Actress--she and I have one complete brain between us, in that we might as well share it, since we have never disagreed on a single idea or issue or opinion.)  Anyway.  I was being my typical self and hyperbolizing, and got BMF going.  She and I don't see eye-to-eye on a number of political issues, which is fine, but I shoulda known better.  It is all good now, but it left me with an unhappy feeling, obviously.  Next, I actually had the opportunity to socialize this weekend... and GASP... I took it.  I met the Husband and some of his co-workers for Happy Hour in DC, and then we had dinner with Male Best Friend.  The next night, I met up with my two Arts Council Best Friends... or Best Friends Formerly of the Arts Council? We only groaned about the arts council for five minutes.  We laughed most of the rest of the time.

3) WEATHER FACTOR:  Okay, really?  The weather guys must fear the legions of school-age children burning them in effigy.  They keep teasing us with snow.  I want snow.  Everyone keeps saying that I am tempting the gods, but at this point, I would sell my gods to the highest bidder if it would get us even 4 inches that would stick.  Instead it has been bloody cold or bloody warm or bloody wet.  Huh, kinda sounds like winter, when I think about it.

4) CREDIT CARD FACTOR:  Our credit card got hacked this Friday.  We found this out while we where supposed to be in DC having a wild and wonderful time.  Thanks a lot, thieves.  Not only did you fucking spoil my night out, you also stole my credit card and forced a lot of phone calls, account checks, and tummy rumbles.  May Astomach virus find you and cause spew from both ends.

5) HUMAN RIGHTS FACTOR:  Oh, hell, I talked about this here.  Let me congratulate a bunch of white guys in Richmond, Virginia for choosing to lay off the minority populations for a bit and concentrating on suppressing the majority.  Yeah, morons-- women make up 51% of the population.  We know where you live.  We live with you, we take care of your households.  We are legion.  Or something.  Anyway, you don't want us to have birth control?  Fine.  You guys are officially cut off.

6) BAD SEED FACTOR:  Okay, the Boy isn't the Bad Seed.  But he has been so bad at his Friday after-school program that he probably won't be going anymore.  He got in serious trouble and that took quite a lot of attention.

7) APP FACTOR:  Well, this is kinda cool.  My neighbor and I have designed, developed, and launched a phone app.  It is cool, but it takes time to do the content.

8) STUDIO TOUR FACTOR:  I know, I know.  I volunteered.  But it is getting rolling now.  And my work is increasing.

9) SLEEP FACTOR:  I lasted with the up-at-5AM for like three days.  The Boy was getting up even earlier, and then I was having my usual trouble sleeping some nights.  And then there was the whole getting sick thing.

So, whine whine whine.  I know.  Poor me.  But seriously-- these things have majorly intruded.  I want to write.  I would love to write.  I am still writing, but only during the normal times, when the Boy is not here, and when I don't have a meeting, or am too upset about life, the universe, and everything.

Things are going well, however.  I finished the storyboard, and a list of tasks for each chapter.  I am making progress.  I am doing good work.  I guess I just feel like I am doing good work more when I have time to think about it.  I love it when ideas are simmering all day, or when I dash out the shower to grab my notebook or phone to make a quick note.  Now, it is taking me time to get there, and I am thankful that I have the edits to do, versus having to create.

I sometimes wish I could be alone for even a week, and just work on it, without thinking about my family, my outside projects, illness or anything else.  Just me and the computer, with a timer set to remind me to take a break to eat.

Destruction and a Hard Cider

I sit here before the computer, on a rainy Tuesday evening. I have half a hard cider remaining, and I just read the fucking funniest blog in the world. Probably the most offensive too, to about 33.3% of Americans. Mostly the Morman and Muslim ones. Oh, and maybe the Southern Baptist ones. Oh, and maybe the Catholic ones. Okay, so maybe it would be offensive to more like 66.67% of Americans.

I am pretty darn close to being ready for my touring class, which begins on Monday. The Boy is sleeping sweetly in his bed (I know 'cuz I just checked), and the Dog is done with her Chicken Dog routine, since the thunder is passed. The Husband is probably sitting in front of his laptop in the Windy City, or maybe enjoying a rare evening actually watching TV on the television. (He can only watch DVDs on on the TV at home. We didn't ever get around to purchasing the whatever you have to have to get television for free now.)

My one-act plays are cast, and I have read several pages of our final issue of Newsweek. Not that it is especially newsy, now. I am considering a switch back to Time.

Again, the mellow woman speaketh. However, don't worry. Was I mellow before? Just ask the Dog Cabinet. I threw away about seventeen pounds of shit. I found an expired can of dog food, rock hard dog biscuits, several old sippy cup lids.... (Just the lids, mind you. Why?) I recycled even more. Why did I keep just one plate of a stupid set of paper plates? Why did I find three bags FULL of plastic knives? Does anyone use plastic knives? Really? Do they cut?

Calming down. More cider.

So, after I cleaned out that cabinet (WHY DO I FUCKING HAVE THREE DOG PRESCRIPTIONS THAT EXPIRED IN 2006???), I next tackled the Boy's closet. I don't know why the top of his dresser was completely covered in over a foot's worth of stacked and semi-folded clothes, but it was. I don't understand. When I fold the laundry, I put everything in the drawers. So what was this stuff? I found a pair of girl's pants, a hanger without the hanging bit, and two opened containers of baby wipes. And that was all before I tackled the mess on the floor. I found a red sweater with clowns on it... the Boy won't fit it for maybe another two years, and would probably slit his wrists before being seen in public wearing it. Clowns, I ask you... Anyway, I filled a ginormous bag with items that the Boy cannot wear anymore, and are now in the basement awaiting the looming yard sale (or moving truck to Salvation Army).

And for the coup de grace, while the Boy watched his evening videos, I tackled the master bathroom. I am not sure why I found four empty bottles in the shower, other than the maid sucks and needs to be fired.

[That is a running joke in the house. I tell the Husband that the kitchen looks like ass, and that our maid sucks, and he needs to fire her, the joke being that I am the maid. He just gives me one of his patented "That's my Gracie Lou" looks, and ignores me.]

It was kind of funny. I honestly had NO idea that the glass doors to the shower were NOT frosted glass. (giggle) And I had forgotten what how shiny the floor tiles look when not covered in a soft cushioned carpet of black dog hair.

So, yeah, I went a little nuts today. I know that many people consider cleaning to be a Useful Task and Necessary. I think of cleaning as destructive. Honestly. There is nothing better than throwing shit out. I LOVE aggressively scrubbing something. When the Husband's boss was acting like Stalin, I tackled the heavy saute pan with a scrubber, and imagined that the stained and scummy surface was her face. My pan is awful purty now.

So, I have a clean Dog Cabinet, a clean closet in the Boy's room, and a clean Master bathroom, and I am now out of cider...

Does emptying the bottle of cider count as a destructive or a constructive act?