Brain Dump.

Let me state up front that this post is not guaranteed to make any sort of cohesive sense whatsoever. (Not that they usually do, but - you know - this one might be even more disjointed than usual. You have been warned.)

It's hot this morning.  This is East Coast heat, though, so it's really the humidity that grabs you and wraps you in sticky cobwebs.  The cloying damp of the air clings to your skin and gives your face that "dewy" glow that was all the rage with Hollywood not so long ago, before getting pregnant became the newest fashion-of-the-moment.  My clothes - such as they are on a muggy Wednesday morning, consisting entirely of a "Singapore: It's a Fine City" T-shirt and a pair of yellow maternity underwear with a rubber ducky on them - stick to my soft frame and look like claustrophobia.  

I reheated a mug of yesterday's coffee, which isn't so bad when you drown it in as much Creme Brulee-flavored creamer as I tend to.  The meagre caffeine wasn't enough to sufficiently lift the fog before I had to vacuum up an entire package of saltine crackers stomped into the carpet by my 3-year-old.  Why isn't the vacuum picking up?  Oh.  I turned off the agitator bar again.  Fixed.  There, now the room is only as messy as it was before the kids got to it this morning.  That's not so bad, really.  There's too much furniture in here, though.  

Why do my eyes feel so funny? ... Oh, right.  I went on a date with my husband last night.  We hired our first honest-to-god babysitter, a darling girl who leaves for college in a week.  She's going to nursing school. I wonder what that must be like, being young and knowing what you want to do with your life.  Really? You want to be a labor and delivery nurse? That's what I want (wanted?) to do.  Well, before pregnancy and layoffs and working two jobs got in the way.  No, it's okay. I can go back later if I want to.  No, I haven't decided for sure yet.  For now I'm making cakes.  We'll take the baby with us tonight, so it's just the older two.

The baby made it through the previews and about 10 minutes of the movie.  He's always done great at theaters before, but not this time.  We fed him sweet potatoes.  That bought a few minutes. I tried nursing him again, safe in the darkened theater.  He bit me. Hard.  So much for that.  Then he cried, so my husband took him outside.  That was the last I saw of them for the rest of the movie.  So much for a date.  I might have cried a little on the way home.  I might have cried a lot.  I might be PMS'ing, though, so don't read into it.  No, Baby, it's okay. I'm happy - I really am.  I'm just... working through it.  "IT". You know. All of it.  I'm sorry you're stuck with me.  Ok. I'll shush, I promise.  No, I won't say that any more.  

So that's why my eyes feel funny.  Now I remember.  Oh, look. The dog found a jumping beatle.  Every time he paws at it, it starts leaping around in the air.  What IS that thing? It jumps and clicks.  Google? ... Ah! A click beetle.  Cool.  I mean, not cool that it's in my living room, but cool that it can jump like that.  The dog is freaking out.  Here, I'll get rid of it.  I think we'll take the dog to the dog park today.  How did I just find out about the dog park?  Well, we'll take him.  As long as this humidity dissipates soon, anyway.  Is it supposed to storm today or something? ... Oh.  Yeah. Forecast for today: Thunderstorms, 100% chance of precipitation.  So much for that idea.

Thunderstorms out here in the sticks are unlike the ones I have experienced anywhere else.  Even out west, amongst the Rockies and the Wasatch, where the thunder would echo off the mountains and ricochet around your head like a subway tunnel.  Out here it's the wind that scares you.  It howls and moans as it shears off the mountain and dips down over the Shenandoah river. It whips between the houses, peeling off vinyl siding like  candy-bar wrappers, and litters the sidewalk with orphan roof shingles.  And then there's the rain.  Even with our insulated roof the rain can be marbles falling on tin.  At the best of times, though, it's the sound of the shower against the sliding door. Who needs an ambiance fountain when you have rain like that?  Of course, when the thunder does crack too nearby, it's a slamming iron door. Makes you wonder what the gods could be arguing over, and whether they'll make up or just end the world.

I think I'll just mop the floors today, and then run the vacuum again.  The kids sheets need changing, and I swore I'd check out the 30-day-shred on on-demand.  I can't believe I'm still fitting into some size 18's.  What happened to that size 8 figure?  Oh. Yeah. 3 kids in 5 years, that's what.  Sorry, Body.  I don't mean to be so hard on you, especially since I'm the one who keeps feeding you those cupcakes.  

Maybe one of these days I'll really get to open that bakery.  Somehow it seems like it would be easier to resist the charms of cheesecake-filled chocolate cupcakes with lemon chiffon frosting if I could only see other people enjoy them.  I do love the baking.  Or rather, I love when it's done.  The cakes especially; they're like childbirth.  Miserable in the moment, sometimes, but then it's done and look! Look what I made!  Of course, the cakes go off into the world and done is done - the kids not so much.  They're  a work in progress, of course.  How do perfectionists parent? How can I be a perfectionist and still have so much dirty laundry?  

There's no manual for all this, is there.  I'm great with manuals; I am the Ikea master.  Why is there no allen wrench for life?  Insert tab A into slot B, use screw Q and don't over-tighten.  But I don't know anyone who has built my life before; I feel like an ottoman in a room full of arm chairs.  Also, I use entirely too many metaphors.  I know you don't mind; you're understanding like that.