One of my old friends — who is no longer a friend at all, I am sad to report — became a real hotshot. Got the fancy job, moved out of the country, then to another country, then to another country — became a big dog with her company. Married, sooooooooooooooo happy. Allegedly. Has two adorable children. Not allegedly — they’re real.
(Does she read this blog? I think not. Do I care if she figures out this is her I’m kvetching about? No, not really. I’ve told her all this before, in person.)
Am I jealous? No. I hate flying, and she flies constantly. My kids are also adorable. And we’re all allegedly happy. (Joke — we’re for-real happy.) My husband is, you know, a honey. And plays hockey and is a big strapping guy. Wall of Hockey God, I call him. Also, I actually get to hang out with my kids, whereas she works 50-60 hours a week. Yeah, I need to stop going around calling people “asshat” (thank you Snickrsnack Katie for a new list of insults — “asshat,” “asstroll,” pretty much anything with the word “ass” attached heh heh heh).
Where was I? Am I ADD? Possibly. All I know is that most people, when they take Sudafed, get jittery. I get focused and am able to complete tasks in an orderly fashion. Sudafed: Mommy’s Little Ritalin. We were talking, this former friend and I, it’s been ages ago, and she’s all “blah-blah, my exciting life, blah-blah, off to important meeting at the Consulate… What’s your schedule like this week?” It was a Tuesday, and she’d caught me in a Zen-like (probably Sudafed-induced) moment, so I said:
“On Tuesdays I usually bake bread.”
Feeble, so feeble. My daughter and husband love my homemade bread. We have a breadmaker, it’s easy. Takes five minutes to throw the stuff in the bread pan…
1 1/2 cups warm water
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
3 tablespoons honey or sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup oatmeal
2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup + 1/3 cup white flour
2 teaspoons yeast
Put on wholewheat setting, light crust. Takes four hours and 10 minutes until it’s done. If you want to make it the “real way,” follow the instructions on a wholewheat bread recipe for the kneading and rising times. Bon fucking appetit from the little mousy housewife. The little mousewife.
I don’t know what I said to her after that. (No, I didn’t give her the recipe — I just put that there for you.) I probably made something up about manuscripts in the works, a bevy of agents beating on my door, sorry gotta go, who knows. All I know is that I let my own, inane remark make me feel feeble and like “oh what a good lil housewife” for quite some time after.
Then Wacky Girl came along one day and saw that I was trying to find my way blindly through my day. Dishes undone. Laundry in heaps. Dog, kids, cats unfed. Hair? Yeah, a mess. Some days just are a disaster around here. She made me a list:
1 Make brid!!!!!! (She then crossed off the “i” and turned it into a “e”)
2 Wash dishis!!!
3 Take a brak for 8 menet’s
4 Plea’s go to bed
Then she worried for awhile. Would it overwhelm me, The List?
“Mommy, is eight minutes a long time? Because I wanted you to have a long break.”
There is nothing feeble about me, or my life. I taped her list to the cupboard and it makes me smile, everyday.
This is a wonderful life. It’s Wednesday. I baked some bread today. And wrote.