Re-posting an old MySpace blog entry from May 2009:
Yeah – I was mowing the lawn today and it hit me that I haven’t blogged in a long time. Why is that, I asked myself and I promptly answered, I’m not sure. I think that with all that was going on in Wendi’s world, I had nothing significant to say. I really didn’t – it was all just talking about things in my world that were going good. It didn’t feel right. It’s true, all is good in my happy little world (that I’m aware of anyway). The only real thing to blab about right now is that finally, for the first time in 51 days I have a night to myself. The ex had surgery for Diverticulitis which went well, but one of the incisions popped and got infected (ugh, don’t dwell on that thought) so he hasn’t been able to take the Monkey since April 9th. I’ve had 8 hours of relief since then, mostly my own doing but I’m not one to snag a babysitter just so I can get away from my kid – he’s mine, you know?
I realized however, that I’ve been incorrect in my little corner of the world. As I was sweating away pushing the mower, the neighbors across the way occasionally came out with beer in hand to smoke a cigarette and watch me slave away. I’ve become accustomed to this – I live in Buxton and they have nothing better to do. Besides, the ‘mom’ that really owns the house is on oxygen and they can’t smoke in there. I’ve always thought of them as my ‘crazies’ because they do things like that (and set off fantastic fireworks). Perhaps it was the lack of oxygen from pushing metal in the heat, but an ironic thought crossed my mind…. Perhaps they aren’t the crazy ones and I am? I kill myself to pick up my kid every day or make sure that he’s in the right place at the right time. They let the bus drop the kids off there, where someone is always home. My kid plays every sport I can enroll him into, their kids play with hand me down bikes and threaten to kill each other in the back yard. They don’t work; all of them are on some sort of disability. I wake up every day and make sure I’m on the clock on time and often work many nights and weekends. People come and go enough over there to make me wonder if they’re pushing drugs. I have company very rarely, mostly because I’m hardly home. On the weekends ‘someone’ will leave and come back from the grocery store carrying bags of food and you know they’re having a big ol’ feast to feed 10 people. I diligently shop once a week after careful planning for everything we need for the week. They have approximately 50 square feet of lawn (the rest are cars) and someone comes and mows it for them. I push a mower for 3 and 1.2 hours every week to make sure my acre of lawn looks pristine. If a car is broken down, at least five of them are out there working on it or at least watching. I pray every night that my car stays running because I’m not sure if I can afford to fix it. When it snows, they all pitch in and make sure the place is cleaned out. I pray for the plow fairy. They are family, all of them. Mom, sons, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. I could be a little jealous, but then again they are my crazies.
All I could think of every time they came out after that was they were saying to each other “look at that crazy bitch over there mowing her ass off – she should stop and drink a beer”. When I got down mowing, that’s exactly what I did.
Yeah – I was mowing the lawn today and it hit me that I haven’t blogged in a long time. Why is that, I asked myself and I promptly answered, I’m not sure. I think that with all that was going on in Wendi’s world, I had nothing significant to say. I really didn’t – it was all just talking about things in my world that were going good. It didn’t feel right. It’s true, all is good in my happy little world (that I’m aware of anyway). The only real thing to blab about right now is that finally, for the first time in 51 days I have a night to myself. The ex had surgery for Diverticulitis which went well, but one of the incisions popped and got infected (ugh, don’t dwell on that thought) so he hasn’t been able to take the Monkey since April 9th. I’ve had 8 hours of relief since then, mostly my own doing but I’m not one to snag a babysitter just so I can get away from my kid – he’s mine, you know?
I realized however, that I’ve been incorrect in my little corner of the world. As I was sweating away pushing the mower, the neighbors across the way occasionally came out with beer in hand to smoke a cigarette and watch me slave away. I’ve become accustomed to this – I live in Buxton and they have nothing better to do. Besides, the ‘mom’ that really owns the house is on oxygen and they can’t smoke in there. I’ve always thought of them as my ‘crazies’ because they do things like that (and set off fantastic fireworks). Perhaps it was the lack of oxygen from pushing metal in the heat, but an ironic thought crossed my mind…. Perhaps they aren’t the crazy ones and I am? I kill myself to pick up my kid every day or make sure that he’s in the right place at the right time. They let the bus drop the kids off there, where someone is always home. My kid plays every sport I can enroll him into, their kids play with hand me down bikes and threaten to kill each other in the back yard. They don’t work; all of them are on some sort of disability. I wake up every day and make sure I’m on the clock on time and often work many nights and weekends. People come and go enough over there to make me wonder if they’re pushing drugs. I have company very rarely, mostly because I’m hardly home. On the weekends ‘someone’ will leave and come back from the grocery store carrying bags of food and you know they’re having a big ol’ feast to feed 10 people. I diligently shop once a week after careful planning for everything we need for the week. They have approximately 50 square feet of lawn (the rest are cars) and someone comes and mows it for them. I push a mower for 3 and 1.2 hours every week to make sure my acre of lawn looks pristine. If a car is broken down, at least five of them are out there working on it or at least watching. I pray every night that my car stays running because I’m not sure if I can afford to fix it. When it snows, they all pitch in and make sure the place is cleaned out. I pray for the plow fairy. They are family, all of them. Mom, sons, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. I could be a little jealous, but then again they are my crazies.
All I could think of every time they came out after that was they were saying to each other “look at that crazy bitch over there mowing her ass off – she should stop and drink a beer”. When I got down mowing, that’s exactly what I did.
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