And It's Not Even My Birthday

I had a bunch of things running through my brain that I was thinking of writing about.

1) I learned sheetrock is heavy. I was almost crushed to death by sheetrock this afternoon and how I felt like the old lady in that infamous television commercial, "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!" I had no idea that 5 pieces of sheetrock could totally knock me to the ground and trap my foot underneath. Makes me wonder if the one legged man lost his leg in a sheetrock accident.

2) I picked out a paint color, an actual color not in the white family, for the kids' powder room and it turned nicely out despite my hyperventilating panic attack when I first put the paint on the walls, because ohmygod it's so dark and so brown and I feel like I am trapped in a turd. But, hey what better place to feel like you are trapped in a turd than a bathroom.


3) When I go to the library it is as though all knowledge is sucked out of my brain and I cannot remember a single author I like or books I want to read. I wander through the library looking over all the shelves and can't find a damn thing. Interestingly enough the opposite seems to happen at the bookstore, where I find way more interesting books than I can afford to buy on a single trip.

So those things were going through my mind as I walked through town today, trying to keep up with my running children, while trying very hard not to run myself.

Then something else happened that made be cry. And I am not really the crying type of person. I knew this is what I'd have to go home and write about.

I went to the post office today and there was a package for me. A package from someone I only know through the internet. A really cool someone.

Kathy and her family sold all their stuff, gave up their "normal" life, and took to the road with their four children. They just returned to the states after spending 7 months traveling through Mexico. A part of me, a large part, is jealous of their lifestyle. A dream of mine is to take a year or two and travel around the world with my children.

I'm not sure that I even have the words to express how thankful I am. I never really get presents from anyone. When I was a kid my mother used to give me money to go buy my own Christmas presents and then she would wrap them up and put them under the Christmas tree. Then on Christmas morning I would have to get up and unwrap them all. What sort of messed up craziness is that?!?

And my husband, as much as I love him, is not a great present giver. He is famous for buying me nothing, but telling me what he wanted to get me and then providing excuses for why he wasn't able to get it. There is a reason Father's Day is after Mother's Day, I say. He will never live down the Christmas he gave me a stack of yellow legal pads (don't you need those for law school?) and a box of Junior Mints (I thought you liked those?). I need and like tampons too, but I don't want them wrapped up under the Christmas tree, even if they are the ones with the silky plastic applicator.

Today, I opened up the package and wrapped inside was the most gorgeous piece talavera pottery. I have been walking around the house clutching it to my chest. No where seems special enough, or high enough, to put it down. It has a place on the back of it for hanging it on display on a wall. I may just thread a string through it and wear it around my neck. That way I can show it off to everyone.

Kathy, thank you for your friendship, your kindness, and for a kick ass piece of pottery.

A Rare Photo
Originally uploaded by the big yellow house.

And shortly after the photo was taken I shoved the children off the couch and told them to stay away from my pottery.