I’m itching for changes.

I want to paint my living room, or maybe get a dog. I chopped five inches off my hair. I’m thinking about taking up golfing.

It’s not that I’m bored- my life is too chaotic to allow for that. The kids grow too fast, and the days are about ten hours shorter than I need them to be. No, boredom is not the issue. All the years of therapy under my belt are telling me that I’m looking for manageable changes to help me feel less worried about the “big things.” We’ve had a few “big things” come up in our family that have completely derailed us. It’s not like we’re in a crisis of any sort, just suddenly confused and unsure of our place in the world. Are we living in the right house? The right neighborhood? The right state? Is Ammon plugging away at the right job, are we practicing the right faith? Who are we to parent these amazing little creatures? Are we doing right by them, or do they deserve something more from us?

These questions have left me reeling, unable to complete normal, everyday tasks- anything that needs a decision. Skim or 2%? Um… uh… I don’t- Leaded or unleaded? I’m really just not su- Channel four or five? I’m sorry, I really can’t deci- Mild or spicy? Jeans or slacks? Bathorshowerbookormoviewalkorjog? I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know!

Deciding to cut my hair was a simple and manageable task. It was something I could easily control and complete with success. Painting the living room would also be an easy change with a definite finish. Golfing, I’m not so sure. Last night I scored 75 on a par 57 putt putt course, and that’s only because I stopped counting after 6 putts per hole. My husband would rather have Elmo tattooed on his forehead than get a dog, so I doubt that will be happening either. But maybe with each small change I sail through smoothly, I’ll gain the confidence I need to tackle those bigger issues.

Hmmm, speaking of tattoos…

Second grade was boring. Mind-numbingly boring. My teacher was just horrid, too. First of all, she would never let me go to the nurse when I suffered from Not Wanting To Do An Assignment Syndrome. Which is just cruel. Plus, she kept getting on my case about how dirty my fingernails were. I was quite sure that this was none of her stinking business. But I soared through the curriculum nonetheless- I was utterly non-challenged. Math was a breeze, spelling was a piece of cake, and reading? Are you kidding me? I could plow through three chapter books in the time it took my classmates to stumble over one story from the textbook. Basically, I was awesome, and I knew it. This was probably the only year of my life I have ever been cocky. It was also the year in which I performed a little experiment that involved a thumbtack and some very unrealistic expectations about the resiliency of the human body.

One afternoon, as the minutes drew on and the seconds ticked by ever slower, the rest of my classmates were sitting at their desks working quietly on an assignment. I of course had finished my work within the first ten minutes, and sat back in my seat smugly surveying my feeble-minded peers. The poor fools. I imagined them all groveling at my feet, their hands grasping at my ankles as they pleaded and begged to be rescued. “Help us, Karli!” they would cry. “We can’t spell ‘because’! You must help us spell ‘because’!” I would stand straight and tall, the wind blowing in my hair, and spell out proudly: “Because! B! E! C!–”

Wham!

I was rudely pulled from my daydream by the sound of Justin, the class jock, stomping out of the room with the hall pass and slamming the door behind him. Now he was a real jerk. It was because of him that I religiously remembered never to wear a dress on “Friday Flip-up Day”. I scowled at my feet, fuming at the injustice of idiotic second grade boys, when something caught my eye. An errant thumbtack had fallen off the bulletin board and rolled underneath my desk. As I stared at it, the sharp metal tip glinted under the fluorescent bulbs of the schoolroom. In that small flash of light I saw an opportunity, and I wasted no time.

Calmly I sauntered over to my teacher’s desk. I smiled at her and broke off a couple pieces of tape from her dispenser. “My paper ripped,” I told her, and she returned my smile. Back at my desk I bent low over my paper, using one of the pieces of tape to repair the non-existent tear. Watching my teacher out of the corner of my eye, I waited a few moments until I was certain she wasn’t looking, then I slipped under my desk and landed on all fours on the floor. Carefully grasping the thumbtack and tape in one hand, I crawled between the desks until I reached Justin’s empty chair. Silently, methodically, I rolled up the tape and stuck it to his seat. Then I placed the thumbtack pointy side up on top of the tape.

Oh, this was genius. I pictured Justin coming back to his seat, sitting down and yoweeeeeeee! flying up into the air! Quietly chuckling, I started to crawl back to my desk when Justin’s seatmate suddenly caught sight of me. “What are you doing?” he snapped, and slammed his hand down on the seat as he bent over to look at me. I saw his face go white. And at this point my memory gets a little fuzzy.

I remember seeing the puncture in the palm of his hand and I remember my teacher shaking her finger at me furiously, ordering me to write fifty lines about what I had done wrong. I remember being so mad that my plan had been foiled. It would have been so perfect…

The very last thing I remember (and this is the part where all of my junior high teachers are nodding their heads and murmuring ‘ah, so that’s where it all began’) is handing my teacher a sheet of paper on which I had drawn fifty literal lines in a final moment of reckless defiance. I was too scared to look at her, so I didn’t see her expression when she told me to go back and do it again. But oh, to be able to go back in time, and be a fly on the wall so I see the look on her face. I bet she had a little twinkle in her eye. Because I was undeniably in top form that day. Absolutely genius!

Thing One

So today is the fourth day in a row I have woken up with a swollen upper lip. Not to be confused with a stiff upper lip. No stiffness, just unexplained swelling. Behold:

It’s kind of hard to see it in the picture, but my top lip isn’t supposed to stick out so far. It’s like it’s rebelling against my face. Or maybe just trying to get some attention. I guess I haven’t been paying my top lip much heed lately. I mean, we used to be tight. Buddies. But lately, things have been different. I guess we’ve just… drifted apart. I’m sorry, upper lip. I don’t want things to be this way. Can you forgive me? Can you… uh, deflate, now? Please?

Thing Two

We live in a very tightly packed neighborhood. All the houses are lined up one by one, brushing shoulders with each other. I can hear my neighbors vacuum. There are also a lot of young families with baby monitors. With the close proximity, and so many monitors going at the same time, there are bound to be some… overlaps.

Last night my husband was working late, so I put the kids to bed by myself. Things went pretty smoothly, and I had been back downstairs for fifteen minutes or so when I realized I had forgotten to turn the monitor on in Zibbit’s room. I flipped the switch, and the room was suddenly filled with the most blood-curdling scream you have ever heard. Sometimes she gets her foot stuck between the bars of her crib, so I figured that’s what was going on since she was fine when I left. I started up the stairs when I heard a man’s voice come over the monitor. “What’s the matter?” he asks. “Why are you crying?”

I froze. And almost peed my pants.

My mind started spinning. Had Ammon snuck in without me noticing him? Not possible, he would have had to walk right in front of me to walk up the stairs. Why don’t we own a gun? A knife. I could use a knife. Or maybe the fire extinguisher. Yeah, I could spray it in his face like Mace. It must be an intruder, who else could it be? A crazy, kidnapping, evil… well, and sort of… kindly… I could hear the man crooning, calming Zibbit down, and the screams quieted to a sad little whimper. “Do you want the light on?” the man asked. “We’ll just leave the light on until you fall asleep.” Well that’s, uh, thoughtful… I tiptoed up the stairs, not sure exactly what I was going to do when I got to her room, just knowing I had to do something. “Goodnight, Audrey,” the man said and I heard a door close. Ok, good he’s leaving, now I can— wait. Audrey? Her name isn’t… ohhhhhhhhhkay. This was all starting to make sense now. I peeked in Zibbit’s room, finding nothing but my sweetly sleeping child. Back downstairs, I switched channels on the monitor, and I could hear her deep breathing. Back on the other channel I could hear Audrey, the little girl who lives across the street, finally settling down and speaking softly to her sister who shares her room.

There was no intruder coming to take my children and sell them on the black market. Thank goodness. But I think I might buy some Mace, just to be prepared. Either that, or stock up on more fire extinguishers.

Thing Three

I know I have a few readers in the Idaho area. Are any of you free the third weekend in May? Would you like to meet up for dinner? Let me know.

Things are slowly moving in the direction of London. Ammon will be meeting with his manager today to discuss the career side of things. Since Ammon will be leaving his team here, we’re assuming his boss won’t be highly enthusiastic about the idea, but he’s a good guy so hopefully he’ll be supportive. I’ve been looking into what to do with our house while we’re gone, since we really don’t want to sell. We might list it with a real estate property management company so they can deal with leasing it for us. I’ve also been researching places to live in the London area, but I’ve run into a few snafus. The apartment listings are full of cryptic messages and secret codes. For example:

Spacious ff detached hs with 4 db b/rooms in immac cond in gd area.Master b/room with en-suite,lg bathroom,lg lounge with dining area,lg kitchen,w.c,reception area,cloakroom,gdn,garage&lg driveway.Fit with security system.Profs only.Avail May.£1400 ono

What’s ff? Fantastically Freaky? I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that. And what in the world is an en-suite? I guess they’ll only rent to you if you speak French. It says there’s a lg bathroom and a w.c. which confuses me to no end, since I thought a WC was a bathroom. And Profs only? I have to be French and a professor? They’re really narrowing down their options here. And I have no clue what £1400 ono means. My only guess is they missed the “B” in Bono, meaning you have to be a French professor Bono look-alike.

These people are seriously picky.

Wow, a lot happening around here lately. Zibbit has been sick, and we took a trip to the ER on Monday night because she was having a hard time breathing. Croup again. Every time she gets a cold, she gets croupy, and it is miserable! She has been feeling so yucky. No appetite, no sleeping… It’s been no fun at my house the last few days.

I had such great plans for yesterday’s Self Portrait Tuesday post. I was going to take a nice, long bubble bath with some candles and soft music, and take a picture of my feet sticking out of the water. The title would have been “time for me”… Well, reality swooped it and smacked me upside the head with the cold, hard truth. There is no time for me. I do not get to take leisurely bubble baths. My kids are lucky if they ever get bathed these days. So I drew you a picture of what it would have been like, if I did get to take that bath:

Ahh, looks so peaceful…

In other crazy news, we found out today that my husband might have an opportunity to go work in London for a couple of years. Our whole family could move over there and spend two years living in Europe! I am excited and scared at the same time. I don’t know what to think! Has anyone ever done this? What would your concerns be? What would we do with our cars, our house, our cats? My brain is on overload and I am tired. Sorry for the disjointed post, be back with some better stuff soon.