Keeping it Zen, Jen

I’m a day early for such carelessness. Vacation is TWO days away, not one. Oh well. Too late.

I’ve stolen the only fan in the house from the baby’s room and it’s swirling hot air around the kitchen right now, settling on my stickiness for much too short a moment before passing on to the kids, and derailing the flies that have skated in through the quite WIDE OPEN back door. Yes, we live in a barn. Complete with children who mimic every animal noise and, more importantly, every behavior.

I’m drinking watermelon vodka with seltzer out of my favorite plastic pear cup. The baby is sitting in the high chair helping to finish off the box of fancy Italian Ice Pops their dad got me as a parting gift after my surgery on Tuesday. His cohorts in Ice Pop consumption are outside. No, wait, here they come. Shit! My moment of peace is…. aww, shit, who am I kidding? Moment of peace?

Anyway. Kelsey cooked a very yummy Dream Dinners dinner for everyone but alas, it’s a bit spicy, and the hooligans are refusing and, though it’s very unlike me, I am not forcing them to eat it or eat nothing. So. Max had frozen waffles with ice cream. Not just any frozen waffles, mind you. These were Krusteaz – if you haven’t tried them, do it! They make the whole house smell like vanilla love. I cut them up and topped them with dabs of not just any ice cream, but Edy’s. Whole fat. Mmmm. He doesn’t know how lucky he is.

Jamis had bite-sized corn dog nuggets. Even better than your average corn dog on a stick because they are double the fat, double the sugar, half the mysterious “hot dog” meat. After that? Ice pops. Then ice cream. Mmmm.

(This is what I just heard: “Mom, Maxie licked my arm.” Great. Moving on. Because does anybody care? Um. And. NO.)

The baby had a variety of everything. Some waffles. Mandarin oranges. Spicy Kelsey chicken with the spice scraped off. Some leftover pasta dinner with the spice NOT scraped off. And an ice pop, with a little help from Mom. (It really helps when you keep cutting it down so they don’t gag on the plastic.)

Okay, it wasn’t my intention to give a run-down of the night’s menu here at Chez Sarah. I don’t think many people have that much of an interest in our food failures, or do they? I know that I’M always curious about what YOU’RE eating. But most of the time I don’t think I’m normal.

What’s my fucking point, people? Help me!

So it’s Thursday. Vacation starts on Saturday. We pile our bodies and our STUFF into the not-big-enough-van and head to the lake house and meet up with the fimly. I’ve got to work tomorrow. One.More.Day to get through. And yet I have clearly already let go of house rules and policies in a vacationesque way. Leaves me wondering what on earth the penis flock I’m raising will eat tomorrow night. Or if they’ll even be wearing clothes or speaking English. We are already bordering on No and Maybe answers for those last two; there’s not much further to go before we’re living in a nudist colony in Sweden.

Here’s the real, REAL point. Vacation is important. But with three kids, and six cousins (9 kids under the age of 6!) there’s not a whole lot of beachside relaxation. We are three grown siblings who are all so very, very different. We have to make it through. Make it through happily. We have to be zen. Take one small moment at a time. Leave the rules. Let the word YES leave our lips more often than No. Let naps fail and popsicles overcome. Let water and sand and sun and cousins’ happy voices be the most relaxing sights and sounds of the year.

So, I’m practicing. I’m going to get a good buzz on, forget about my increasingly painful lip crisis, and do the dishes. Woot Woot.

And then? Then I’m going to teleport a message to Jen to do the same – do it Jen-style. (Note: “Jen-style” does not mean leave OUT the booze. Just maybe the dishes. Clean your freaking desk instead. Or, maybe just put the kids in jammies. Any sort of accomplishment will do. I know, I know…make a list! A vacation list! That’s both productive AND fun!) Why am I doing this you ask? Well, you see, because Jen needs a little ZEN, and I’ll be damned if it’s gonna just come to her naturally. I mean, she’s working on it people, but I’ll be nudging her all through our week of beachdom chaos to remind her. Om! Zen-it! Be groovy! What’s a sister for, right?

And maybe, just maybe, we’ll get to write something TOGETHER. (I think some drunken writing would be particularly fun. Just saying.)

*Update: Now I, myself, am in need of some serious Zen. In the midst of trying to help my husband start his day with the kids tomorrow on a good note by prettying the house and putting things where they ought to be, I DROPPED MY MACBOOK ON THE GROUND. It nearly hit my foot but I pulled it away. Now I’m wondering if I had let it hit my foot would I have a broken foot? Would my Macbook still be working? The only thing worse would be broken foot AND broken Macbook. These thoughts are silly. My foot is fine. My Macbook is not fine. I am weeping. That’s one iPhone dropped in the toilet and one Macbook dropped on the kitchen floor. I’m weeping PEOPLE! Do I just have bad luck with Apple? Seriously! I am so depressed about this right now that I don’t even know what to do with myself. The kids are all asleep and I’m nervously pacing the house, sending emails off to Jen every few minutes in the hope that she’ll have something ZEN to say to me in my moment of need. Another very costly mistake on my part. HOUSEKEEPER FAILURE. Better to leave the house dirty than cause yourself over $1000 in damages.

Seriously, THIS SUCKS!

Tagged as: zen