booknboob.com Blog

Yeah, I wish I were writing this because I did, indeed, demolish something.  A junk car, perhaps.  With a can a kerosene and a hot match.  A pile of sexist propaganda.  The smile off of Sporticus of Lazytown’s too-handsome superhero face.  (Even though I did catch myself in the middle of a fairly indecent display of my inner groove-thang during the ‘Let’s Bake a Cake’ song as I searched for the remote so I could –reluctantly???-turn the creepy show off.)  Or, even better, maybe I could take claim for the demolition of our kitchen using only my two practiced hands, a hammer, and a putty knife.

But, no.

Instead, this evening, I ate dinner out of a Zoo Pals turtle bowl cross-legged in a pile of mashed flax flakes on the Oriental rug on the living room floor.  And, yeah, I was drinking organic french wine from a Burt and Ernie cup.

I swear, things haven’t been this bad since college.  By the sounds of it, you’d think I’d been doing lines off the counter top around the bathroom sink.

No such luck.

But, before, you judge me too harshly, let me say:  our kitchen has been demolished.  Yes, with a hammer and I don’t know what the hell else by my husband and his brother while I was spending the weekend with my grandma and grandpa in Connecticut.

No, I wasn’t made aware of the destruction plans.  Yes, it was a complete surprise (shock?!?) when I came home.  Yes, the refrigerator is in the living room.  No, we don’t have a kitchen sink or a stove.  No, we don’t even have walls or floors, or a friggin’ toaster.   Yes, that means I’ve been doing dishes in the bathtub and cooking in the microwave.  And, bonus for you, you did remembered correctly.  I also have a toddler running around.   And, holy shit,  there are nails on the floor in the pantry.

Talk about throwing ideals out the window.  I just hope Broccoli Bites are, as promised by their propaganda, a good source of iron and a healthy substitute for a home-cooked meal.

I can’t speak for my husband.  So, I can’t tell you what was going through his head when he started tearing our kitchen apart appliance by precious appliance.  I mean, yeah, it could have used some remodeling, but I’m now questioning whether or not mouse spent the weekend running back and forth from the meth house while the cat was away.
(Meth happens to be our county’s drug o’ choice.  Not a habit of ours.)

So, uh-huh, you guessed right, I’m back to an anti-anxiety pill every evening before I return home.  And, you know what,  I’m okay with that.

You may have noticed, if you’ve read my earlier posts, that clutter–not excusing piles of sheet rock ash and old cabinet splinters– sets me just a bit on edge.  I can barely handle a pile of unfolded laundry never mind a absentee kitchen.

So, aside from my leaning on the little blue ones– which allow me, for better or worse, to enjoy my homemade pizza (okay he got the oven working last night, but we still have no counters or sink, or dishwasher, or table, or floor…) in a pile of crushed flax flakes– I’m pretty proud of the way that I have been handling the situation. I mean, I’m writing now aren’t I?  I could very well be a puddle on the bathroom floor.  (Yes, we still have one… for now anyway.)  I even made my daily trek to the gym before work this morning.  (Yeah, I just threw that in for a round of damned applause!!!)

Well, maybe applause is what I’m after.  Maybe not from you per se, but from myself.  I know I don’t often take the time to celebrate my accomplishments.  But, in this case, the fact that I haven’t gone off the deep end (and I know I was expected to as my family about freaked when they hadn’t heard from me in eight hours…) is an accomplishment.  And, I am proud.  I’m so proud I’m going to crawl into bed early and read Eclipse. (Yeah, it’s the third book in the Twilight series.  And, no, I’m not ashamed.  Well, not very ashamed…)  Because, despite the INSANITY around this place, I seem to be chillin’ like a villain.  And, it’s damn nice.

So, excuse me while I go cross my fingers that two seventeen year old fictional characters might actually “do it” someday and leave the corn flake clean up to my over-energetic husband.

Maybe I’ll even take a bath if I can scoop all the sippy cups out of the tub.

Wish me luck.

I’ll be in touch soon.

This entry was posted on Monday, February 2nd, 2009 at 9:31 pm and is filed under On Amityville & Spousal Breakdowns. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.