Janna and the terrible, no-good, awful, horrible day

I should be happy today.

Today, I finally got to put my family room back in order. The week of Thanksgiving, we sprung a leak in the boys’ bathroom shower. It leaked through the ceiling in the family.

The repair was finally finished YESTERDAY. I know, you’re doing the math in your head right now and saying, “WHAT? That’s 11 WEEKS!!”  Yes. I am aware of that.

This morning, I vacuumed while my Roomba worked her tail feathers off. I made the boys help me move couch, chairs, tables, piano, rug and more chairs back to their original locations. I steam cleaned. I vacuumed some more. I was happy. My family room was back in business. No more piano at the front door. What’s more, the boys are no longer sharing a shower with us. Nothing says fun like having your boys use your special, curly-haired, fancy conditioner…

But I am not. I am mad. I am getting upset over the least little thing and I am about to cry.

What’s wrong with me?

Last night, I cooked a whole chicken my Christmas-gift pressure cooker. I probably won’t do that again, because it was mushy. However, after we ate the chicken that we wanted to, I took the rest of the meat off the bone (I hate that job) and then placed the rest in my stockpot with a teaspoon of vinegar. I even used my meat cleaver to chop the bones so the marrow would escape. I was so Nourishing Traditions.  After bringing it to the boil, I let it simmer away for hours. I was going to let it simmer all night long, but that idea scared me so I transferred the whole thing to the crockpot and let it do what it does best all night long. (Now, if you aren’t singing Lionel Richie’s All Night Long by now, I don’t know what’s wrong with you!)

Just about 30 minutes ago, I carefully strained every last piece of whathaveyou out of the crockpot (it took longer than I thought with the broken bones) and turned off the crockpot so it could cool and I could remove that layer of fat that settles on top.  You see, I have big, big plans for that stock tonight. Or, I did. I was going to introduce my family to Matzo Ball Soup.

When we lived in California in the 80’s, most of my classmates were Jewish. I was able to spend time at their houses, at their grandparent’s houses as well as go to Passover and many, many Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. I am so thankful to have these experiences in my memory bank. At one house, I was able to try Matzo Ball soup for the first time. YUM!  Now, I am bought a Manischewitz box mix, but my plans were to just use the matzo ball mix inside. We were going to have this amazing family moment. It was going to be epic. My oldest would write about it on facebook and we would be the coolest people on the block. Mmm hmmm….

While getting out our other leftovers for lunch, I started looking for my chicken. No where. I asked my three precious angels. They didn’t know where it could be. “Maybe Dad took it” said one. I called Mr. Darcy. He did not take the chicken. I searched the fridge like there were solid gold bars to be found in there. No chicken. I shut the door, then re-opened it as if something might change in my line of vision by that motion. No chicken. I searched the pantry (gross, I know, but I had to see) and the freezer (not there, either).

Our boys have rotating kitchen cleanup jobs. Every week, one loads the dishwasher while another handwashes while the other one puts the food away.  Or something like that. The only conclusion is that one of the boys threw the chicken (several cups worth) in the trash.

I was angry. Then sad. Then anger won. I resisted the urge to yell, but I did manage to let them know how I felt. UGH. I am still mad. They still don’t get it. I hate wastefulness. I also am not fond of knowing that they don’t really care that I am upset. In their minds, they are thinking, “wonder why Mom is so mad about leftovers. She didn’t get this way about the leftover rice…”

I should also take a moment to mention that the table clearer from breakfast threw out my cup of chai latte I was still working on. Grrrr.

I’m done complaining. I am going to gather my boys and read Hinds’ Feet on High Places and pretend the chicken debacle never occurred.  Then we’ll go to basketball practice. Then we’ll eat delicious, nourishing broth.

The end.

~Janna

Night time madness

It’s Saturday night and I just finished wrapping what seemed like 46,098 Christmas presents. It’s not that I don’t like wrapping presents. It’s just that I don’t like handling the paper, measuring, cutting, taping and ribbons. That’s all. I love the gift-giving part, though. The boys will surely be surprised when they come downstairs tomorrow morning and there are gifts under the tree. Let the imaginations begin! I’m pretty excited because I have most of the shopping done! Yeah for me!

On a sad, mad, really sad, really mad note….I just went outside to turn off the Christmas lights. We just put them up today. It was a sweaty ordeal and I broke two fingernails.  Anyhow, I opened up our three front doors (no kidding) and noticed that SOMEONE HAD RIPPED OFF SOME OF OUR NEW LIGHTS. I’m really, really angry. I hate that. I just hate it. I hate that someone thinks they have the right to do mean stuff. I’ll probably cry later on – it bothers me so much. I keep wondering, “is this a taste of what’s to come in this house?” I felt pretty safe. We are on a cul de sac, hardly any traffic. Man, I am steamed.

I am not going to be able to blog anymore tonight because of the fact I am so mad. Really.  Seriously. Really.

 

~Janna

This that and the other

I woke up missing. Missing my parents, Tommy’s parents, our sisters. I went from people to places. I was missing our old church, (including our sweet friends), my Kroger and even Highway 114. I don’t know what came over me. Was it the thought that we are about to close on the old house; was it the stress that the closing and roof repairs are causing us? I didn’t know.  I went downstairs and began to get ready for my meeting and turned on some Keith Urban on the Ipod. He knew just how I felt. I just wanted to cry. Unless you have gone through something similar to this journey that began in March, 2008 you might not understand. It seems as if I might be caught between knowing that this is His will, and therefore the best thing for me, and our old life. The familiarity of our old life was as tempting to me as the Hot Now sign at Krispy Kreme. Yet the thing is, I would never want that for Tommy. He no longer feels displaced. He is walking on the very path he was always destined to walk upon.  I wonder how long I’ll feel this way. Will I always have a draw to where our family lives and we do not? I don’t miss any of the other places I used to live. I have fond memories, but that’s it. It has to be the gravitational pull of our family that is tugging at my limbs and heart and mind. I am feeling every fissure from this stretching in my soul, I think.

In other news, I hated the salmon I made tonight.

~Janna