Making it All Better

There is a need to improve that is universal and ever-present in today's society of bigger and better. I have found myself tapping into my own need to make improvements in my life, internal and external.
Finally, finally the mint green walls of my living room are gone. Though I had toyed with the idea of actually knocking down the walls, it turns out that load-bearing walls are sort of a necessity in a home, so the walls were painted instead. I had auditioned a whole rainbow of colors and found myself addicted to the websites where I could go and test out colors on the walls of someone else's virtual home. Finally, I decided on a bright (warm) color called Sassy Peach. Light doesn't just reflect from the walls now, it seems to come from within the walls. My momma and her good friend, Bev (both suddenly unemployed after 30+ years of working for the same company) drove down while Jeff and I were working and spent the whole day painting for us. (This was a week and a half ago -- I am terribly behind on my blogging.) Then, at the end of the day, we decided to rip out the carpet and got to see the hardwood floors that had been hidden underneath our pathetic, stained carpet. The hardest part of not having carpet is the realization that every piece of furniture in our living room -- including the chair in which I am sitting -- has wheels. So, consider this a big "thank you" for the paint job. Of course, making one room better has fueled my need to do the same to the other rooms in this house.
Better. That's a concept that I -- like most people, I suppose -- have been surrounded by since very early age. Trying to do better. Trying to be better. Trying to make things better. (I know, I know: Do or do not. There is no try.) And having children fuels that desire to not only do better, but to be better. In fact, when one's baby is crying, it is natural to run to the baby, to pick up him, snuggle him close and gently shush him, soothing him with "It's okay. Mommy's here." And sometimes just the nearness of Mom does make things all better.
The need for improvement in my life resulted in my taking a new job a couple of months ago. I don't write about my job much; for me, it is a way to make money -- nothing more. I've found that more money means more stress, though, even to the point of causing insomnia. It seems selfish to complain, though, in the current economy when there are many people without jobs (see above) so I will just leave it at that.
And here they are, the reasons for making it all better.



And, speaking of bigger and better, little Sully Bean had his check up this week. He is up to 17 pounds and over 27 inches. Growing at a great rate and looking very healthy. I am always relieved to hear so after having problems during my pregnancy.
And Jude . . . ah, Jude. What a kid. I didn't realize the impact that all of this love of superheroes was having on his ever-developing mind. Earlier today we turned on the tv and there was a horse race on. Jude glanced at the tv, then looked at me and asked "Which ones are the bad guys?"
It doesn't get much better than that.

What is the Purpose?

I have discovered my purpose in life: I am here (here being anywhere I physically happen to be) to make other people feel better about themselves. Not, so much in a motivational-speaker kind of way, but in a wow-am-I-glad-I'm-not-her kind of way. Why would I ever say that about myself? Well, let me provide an example.

I work in a professional office and strive to project a very professional image (those who know me can stifle their laughter right now and wait until the end). Earlier in the week, I drove home for lunch so that I could pick up a package I have been expecting for Jeff's birthday. I enjoyed a leisurely lunch on a very pleasant afternoon before driving the 20 minutes back to my office (I have an hour and 15 minutes for lunch, so going home is something I can do now and then when I need to).

I got back to the office parking lot and as I was getting out of the car, became overwhelmed with an I-can't-believe-this feeling. I glided across the parking lot and sat in my chair (which is nearest the back door by the parking lot) and immediately got back to work. A few times I had to get up to the copier or scanner or fax machine and I ran downstairs once to the kitchen to refill my glass of water, all the time, shaking my head. After a couple of hours, I said to the coworker who sits closest to me, "I can't believe I did that." "Did what?" she said, seriously. She really hadn't noticed -- nor, it seems, had anyone else in the office. I pointed to my feet. "I forgot my shoes." I really wish that I was just joking about this, but, sadly, am not. I always drive in the spring, summer and fall (any non-boots months) without my shoes on and I tend to keep my shoes in the car for when I get to my destination. But, when I went home Monday, I must have taken my shoes with me and left them right on the living room floor. So, there I was, not wanting to leave work to go back home (another 40 minute drive) and I didn't exactly want to be barefoot (well, not at work anyway). At least I had my blackest tights on so my legs and feet weren't entirely bare. Still, quite humiliating.

I choose to think that this type of forgetfullness is actually a sign of genius. In fact . . . what was I talking about?

Song of the day: Red House Painters "Have You Forgotten" Because, apparently, I have. I shouldn't, though. Great song.

Sullivan's purpose: to read big books



Jude's purpose: to conquer the world (a little at a time).

Interiors and Exteriors

In order to be efficient, I am attempting to consolidate two very different issues into one blog; hence the title, which is very vague so as to encompass various topics.

First: Interiors
I touched upon the Elliot Spitzer scandal in my last blog. When I saw the story on television, I have to admit that I felt indifference. It didn't really catch my interest. Then, I read a magazine article in which a family friend is quoted as saying (and I am paraphrasing since I don't have the article with me) something along the lines of "This is just the worst thing the family could imagine." Really? The worst thing? Really? I am not getting into some men-will-be-men discussion here, but if having your husband or father (since he has a wife and daughters) pay a prostitute is really the worst thing you can imagine, I submit that either you have no imagination or I had a really overactive imagination. Just sitting here not even trying, I can imagine 20 things that are far, far worse. Even if my husband and father were both paying the same prostitute for sex, it wouldn't even make my top 50 of horrible things I could imagine. Sure, it might be humiliating -- for a moment -- until I realized that having my husband pay for sex isn't about me so much as it is about him. But am I cursed with a vivid imagination because I can imagine far, far worse fates to befall those I love (and even those I like)? There could be photographic evidence that said husband paid someone to put him in a spiked leather dog collar and paint his toenails pink and still, I can think of far, far worse things. Want to hear some one them? No? I didn't think so.

Second: Exteriors

Once, I was on a serious quest and again am on that quest. My quest connected with one of Jeff's quests a few years ago. Let me explain. Jeff decided that he was going to show me all of the James Bond movies as I have only seen a handful of them. I think it was in Dr. No that my attention drifted away from the Bond action and onto the interior of Bond's house. His walls were painted a very fetching green and I mentally catalogued that shade since I had been on a quest to find the perfect shade for my living room.

Sidenote: We ended up watching a few Bond movies, but never quite finished, just like the quest Jeff had to show me all of Akira Kurasawa's films. We hit all the big highlights, but never watched the last few films.

We have lived in this house for more than five years now. In that time, we have had two babies and changed much of our furniture, but we have yet to paint the living room. When we moved in, it was this light green color, the most awful shade of green to ever grace a living room ever and I was determined to paint it right away. Now, I still stare at that putrid green and finally, I am saying "no longer". April will be the month that the green changes. My arms have grown weary from holding up paint sample after paint sample to the furniture and my indecisive nature has caused me to change my mind time and again. I had only two rules:

1. No white walls. I lived in an apartment for many years and grew weary of staring at that plainness; and

2. No minty, pasty, nasty green.

So, I think I have committed to a color -- and it isn't even the dark hunter green of the suave Bond house. It is:

Green. But a good shade. A lovely shade that goes with the furniture and isn't too dark or too light or too boring or . . .red. I actually grabbed red paint samples. Why would I do that?

So, by the end of this month, my living room will be painted one way or another. Now, I just have to decide on a color for the bedroom . . .

What Do You Have to Say For Yourself?

Well, it turns out that I have a lot to say, only not so much time to say it. I am at least four blogs behind, according to the mental list I keep in my noggin. Every time something happens, I intend to blog, but always get busy with something else. And really when faced with the choice between lying on the floor and playing with a smiling baby or blogging, there really isn't a choice at all. Baby wins every time. I have tried to be uber-mama and blog while holding baby, but that just isn't possible. I get too distracted and Sully can push the keys -- though he gets frustrated when he realizes that he can't get them into his mouth.

So, there is no way to fit four (that's four) blogs into one, so I will just hit some highlights.

First, there was the awful night Jude couldn't stop throwing up and my father-in-law and I took Jude to the emergency room since it was one of the two nights a year that Jeff has to work overnight. After waiting for four hours just to be seen, the doctor waltzed in, spent three minutes examining my poor dehydrated son, then gave him a pill that made him feel better within about five minutes. I was beyond angry thinking that Jude had been suffering needlessly for four hours when the doctor could have spared three minutes much earlier. Did I mention that I had been crying about the state of healthcare in the US just weeks earlier? There is a huge difference between being saddened by a documentary and seeing the sorry state of an emergency room in person, Jude's pale face and his eyes wide and sad, his voice so small and pleading "Mom, please don't leave me." His small body getting sick again and again while we are being ignored by nurses and doctors alike. The fact that there were only two doctors on duty at this large hospital's er. Enough of that. I am just getting myself angry all over again. The important thing is that Jude is feeling much better now, back to his usual hyper self.

Then, there was to be the new blog ("Some Like It Hot", as I have mentally referred to it) regarding our pursuit of someone to fix our water heater, as the pilot light would not stay lit. Last Sunday, we ended up just buying a new one and having it installed that day. It felt like a luxury to be able to use hot water again.

I have mentally blogged about my job, as well, and about the fact that I have made a new friend at work and not like a work friend, but a real, live actual friend-friend with whom I can talk about things that have nothing to do with work. She is smart and very funny and I am just geeked to have someone to talk to who doesn't get a really scared look on her face every time I talk. I had forgotten the importance of work friends. The other women I work with are very nice as well, but J and I just bonded. It has been very cool (don't I sound a bit like I am sixteen years old again? I can't help it!).

And, naturally, I have mentally blogged about my babies. Beautiful babies.


I used to think it was sheer narcissism that led people to talk incessantly about their children, but I know now that it is something much deeper than that. (More on that in my next blog -- I promise.) Also on the blog-agenda: a bit about the phrase "the worst thing I could imagine". I want to blog about a lot of different things. I think I will get to them all in time.

Now I am tired and my bed is calling. Tomorrow will be a very busy day, but I will blog again soon (and hopefully more coherently). I have visited my Facebook site only a handful of times, as I like this format better. I just don't know when I will have the time to write. Babies and friends and the seduction of a hot bath are all keeping me busy.