What? Oh, hi! I didn’t see you there waiting. I’ve been busy looking for ways to upend my life. Because that’s what I do when I’m nervous. I’ve got some Guillot in me – Guillot was my grandmother’s name – and thus am a direct descendent of the Nerveenas, a group of women like my mother who worry with equal fervor about constipation, burnt roux, uneven fingernails and nuclear proliferation.
Cymbalta helps temper the Nerveena in me, but still sometimes I find myself peeking around the corner in fear of what’s next. Traditionally, what I do when this happens is change directions completely. So instead of following the signs marked THIS WAY TOWARD EASY STREET, I veer off at the sign reading ADVENTURE BLVD IS CLOSED FOR REPAIR. PROCEED THIS WAY TO CALAMITY AVE.
That’s why we have the Tyrant. NOT THAT I REGRET IT! But seriously. Three kids is too many.
Anyway. So I went to pick up Damn Gem at the boarding camp after our Vacation Odyssey, and I met Veruca, a 5-year-old deaf Great Dane in need of a home. SHE IS SO SWEET! And very gentle and graceful for an animal the size of my van. I totally wanted to bring her home! Even the Tyrant was enchanted when Veruca lowered her head to sniff her hair. Enchanted, or frozen still in fear.
The whole ride home, I thought about adopting Veruca the deaf Great Dane. How cool it would be to have a huge deaf dog! I sought out advice from my Facebook peeps, who responded in far greater numbers than I EVER get for my blog posts, and the reaction ranged from OY VEY and CRAZY WOMAN and GREAT DANES MAKE GREAT POOP to DO IT! ADOPTING IS WHAT YOU DO! and WHAT’S ONE MORE BEING THAT DOESN’T PAY ATTENTION TO YOU WHEN YOU TALK? Ultimately, I decided against it. Honestly, I was slightly fearful about the poop size. Also, Hot Firefighter Husband was completely mum on the subject, which means it is Not Up For Discussion. But he couldn’t stop me from doing random research on AREA GREAT DANES UP FOR ADOPTION and HOW TO RAISE GREAT DANES and ETHIOPIAN ORPHANS IN NEED OF HOME.
Then I moved off of Great Danes and decided we need to move. I thought of a dozen reasons why I hate my house and can no longer live in a gated communities full of old stiffies who won’t let me have chickens in my yard. I’m not sure I could handle chickens. But I want that option! Also, I want to put up a clothesline.
I spent hours researching local lots for sale, thinking we could build an eco-friendly home with solar panels that’s all moderny and sleek, and opens up to amazing marsh views. Which we can totally do! As soon as I find a mouse tail in my Diet Coke and sue the Pepsi-Coke people for a gazillion dollars. Or we could move to Arkansas, but that seems extreme.
I talked about the eco-house plan so enthusiastically that Husband hopped aboard my crazy train. I swear, I can talk that man into almost anything (except Great Danes). So we used up a date night looking at affordable lots. One of them was a 50-foot drop off a major highway. Another backed up to a mansion with a massive stone wall. The third was perfect! Asking price: $842,000, exactly 10 times what we wanted to pay for it. Buzz kill.
We spent the rest of the date night reversing our decision, and writing down reasons to like our home again. Husband told me I could put in an outdoor shower, and I agreed to buy some tiki torches for the yard. He has been obsessing about tiki torches for months. Also, maybe I’ll let loose some chickens in the ‘hood. Nobody will ever know where they came from.
After we finished our list, Husband made an OUTRAGEOUS suggestion. “Why don’t you focus on putting together a book?”
And, I don’t know, maybe it’s just time, or maybe I’m exhausted from taking all of these crazy life detours, and I said, “Okay. I think I will.”
So that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll keep you posted.