my boring week and it's only Tuesday

So I just listed my motorcycle on craigslist in high hopes that it sells, thus providing me with the money needed to (please, God) send in and pass all NARM stuff.

Bittersweet. But when do I ever get to ride? My alter ego is screaming to ride again. But my alter ego isn't so good at finding a sitter.

Greg came home for a bit. Long enough to grill some burgers before work called and asked if he wanted to work an evening shift. He asked me what I thought and I grumpily consented. We need the money. Grrr. Yesterday I didn't get to see him because he went to bed at 3pm. He went to bed at 3pm because the night before he didn't sleep til 10:30 and woke up at 1am for work. So he was dead tired and I pushed him to just go to sleep. So today he's well rested and working a double. So I won't see him til tomorrow afternoon really. Haven't seen him since Sunday. At least we spent time together then. We took a really long walk with the kids and Agnes all over the park and downtown. Then we had Dalat take-out. That was Mother's Day.

I'm still all strangely vulnerable feeling. I don't like it. It's annoying but I can't help it. And if my cycles are continuing to do its weird thing, then I am probably about to start my period (they're getting closer and closer together). Which, obviously contributes to the vulnerability thing.
I'm trying to trust whatever process is going on right now. Namely, trying to be patient yet efficient about getting my own clients and starting this business. We went from 2 practices in town to 8 all in 6 months or so. It's very frustrating to me to be financially struggling and yet doing nothing to contribute. I feel like a schmuck. But I am patient and being as proactive about marketing as I can be in the moment.

Friday I'm attending a nearly free cranial-sacral workshop for newborns, for midwives. I'm pretty excited about it. I don't totally get the cranial-sacral thing on adults because it's just different pressure on the skull. But for newborns whose skull bones are not fused together and have just experienced the trauma of squeezing through their mama's pelvis, it just makes good sense. Because if their heads are molded in an asymmetrical way, or they were crowning forever, it makes sense that they would have a greater chance of nursing difficulties and even pain. I've seen babies who went through long pushing stages react almost magically to some Arnica 200C. They stop fussing and crying and latch on. Amazing. Midwives would benefit from this knowledge, surely. Besides, you can never have enough tricks up your sleeve.

We borrowed the original Herbie Goes Bananas from the library and both Sarah and Eamon think its hilarious! Eamon doesn't focus in on much, but loves to see a car somehow communicating. I never got into it as a kid. I think I remember it as being boring. But it was fun to watch the kids giggle throughout the whole movie.
I also got a John Waters film (the name is escaping me right now), with Tracey Ulman, Chris Isaac, Johnny Knoxville and Selma Blair in it. John Waters is goofy and twisted but his films are just so dumb and funny. You either love them or despise them. Ah whatever. I'm waiting for some time where Greg and I are home and awake at the same time the kids are sleeping to watch it. Don't know if that will happen this week. Also got a French movie called Fat Girl, which looks dark but interesting.
Our library rocks. Someone in there must have a lot of fun ordering all the music and movies.

What else in my long, boring day? The sun came out! Yes it did! After 10 days of rain or whatever its been, it was glorious to see sun! I'm so sick of rain. My grass must have grown 12 inches in one week. The dandelions have all expired and look hideous in their 8 inch tall, spindly, bald-headed way. I'm itching to mow the lawn but felt the grass was still too wet. Saw a lot of people mowing today though. Had Greg been home I would have. Mowing is my self-proclaimed job. I think it must have started when Sarah was a wee babe and it was my only opportunity to make Greg watch her so I could have some down time (that was rough 2 years). Nobody can talk to you and you can't hear a baby fussing when you're pushing a mower. Its like meditation. I really enjoy mowing. What a dork. Taking the garabge to the curb along with the recycling also became my job because I'd volunteer to do it for the same reason. We generate so much recycling that the job takes a good 10-15 minutes to gather and drag to the curb.

Oh, one more thing. I came to a veryfunny realization today. Sarah went (yet again) to the Scrap Box as someone's dumb idea for a field trip. I realize it's not so dumb because the kids love it, but it's my blog and I can say what I want... for those of you not in the know, The Scrap Box is this place where businesses and I guess people in general take just about anything not dirty or destroyed to be craftily recycled. Things like 3,000 binders that say "Go for the Gold in 1984!" or little cardboard tubes, thousands and thousands of them. I've actually never been because Sarah has been with other people in the past, and today with her Brownie troop. She came home with the dreaded (at least I dread it) bag of crap. Seriously, she has about 23 paper clips, 4 stamp wetting sponges, about 10 very wrinkled ugly fabric scraps 4" X 8", an ancient looking Christmas stocking that someone in 1963 glitter wrote the name Chuckie on (this thing was hideous, why it was "recycled" is beyond me), a long strip of stickers covered in bar codes and a couple of mailing labels.
In the past she has brought home huge grocery bags full of crap. And I mean crap. I have no use for bright orange cardboard tubes that are 1 inch long. I have no use for rolls and rolls of stickers that are covered in UPC codes. And I definitely have no use for a ratty Christmas stocking that belongs to Chuckie.
The Scrap Box epitomizes everything I hate. Rat-packing crap that I have to try to find a temporary home for. Crap that despite my prodding, no one will ever craftily create a darn thing with and will end up with me hauling it to the curb in our red Ypsi recycling box 3 months later.
I am far too anal to find joy in useless business garabage. I clean our closets every few months to get rid of things no one has used in a year. Excess crap makes me crazy. Like, really crazy.
And believe me, we have junk. We're not perfect. But the Scrap Box is my nemesis.
I swear I could feel a facial tick developing as Sarah dumped her bag of goodies onto the table. As Eamon swept 23 bent up paper clips all over the floor and into the radiator.

But I said nothing. I feigned joy at all the goods (except the stocking, which I sneered at and said that it looked dirty) and we had a nice time talking about the field trip. I will say she made a nice rocket out of cardboard tubes (I don't know which company makes so many of these, or makes so many mistakes of these, but there's always tons of them there) and bits of foam that's sticky on one side. It's a very nice rocket. We of course, had to immediately put it way up high before Eamon destroyed it. But we enjoyed it.

All right. Off to bed.
If this rain stays away I have high hopes of finally planting our garden this weekend. Can't wait to play in the dirt!