If you haven't had the pleasure, let me be the first to reassure you that you will ABSOLUTELY not be able to ignore the fact that your child is a senior and will be graduating in the near future. Just this week, which is still many, many months from actual graduation, I have ordered a cap and gown, chosen and ordered a ridiculous package of senior pictures (that we had taken ala Olson Mills because his yearbook requires a certain pose/outfit and my son has no interest in multiple photo shoots), and started a payment plan on the senior night Disneyland trip. I didn't have a senior year and now I kind of wish I could tell my folks all the hassle I saved them.
But this kid. I'm just so fucking proud of him. He really seems to have found his groove. A good friend told me that her goal was to transition from a manager to a consultant, and damned if she wasn't right. I fully feel like a consultant (and maybe angel investor) in this kid. He's managing dual enrollment, wrestling, an adorable girlfriend, and all the expectations we have as a nearly adult member of the house with such aplomb. He's cleaning up admin stuff from YEARS ago that will help him in the future, and doing it with absolutely no nagging from us. Suddenly he's a kid that has Plans A, B, and sometimes C. I called his school the other day to excuse him early, and the woman who answered said, "Oh! I'm so glad you called. He came in the other day and he is just one of the sweetest, most polite students we've had here in a really long time." A stranger knocked on our door last weekend to tell us that Eli had driven by, seen her trying to move a couch, and stopped to help. And then refused when she tried to pay him. If that's not the most Eli thing ever, I don't know what is.
I love the man he's growing into, and I love that he still calls me "Mama" and wants me to watch all of his matches (even if he insists on hugging me afterwards when he's gross.) I'm going to miss him so much when he doesn't live in my house.
Huge shout out to my friend Kelley who got that text yesterday and responded without hesitation "Probably not a mental breakdown." I'm also hoping for not hormonal, because while I am fine with gray hair, wrinkles, slowed metabolism, being called ma'am, being referred to as someone's "work mom," and all the other myriad of ways that it's becoming apparent that cronehood is near, the idea of being menopausal makes me want to sink all of my non-existent discretionary funds into Botox and dermabrasian. And whatever new treatment will keep me from being menopausal. Except now that I'm writing that I think it might be the blood of virgins and maybe I'm not quite ready to take it that far? But I digress...
Even if I am withering into a husk of a woman, things really HAVE been fucked up too. Take, for instance, the toilet saga.
About a week ago, our guest bathroom toilet became so slow that I could no longer ignore it. Then, I tried to plunge it and rather than a satisfying whoosh down the drain, water insultingly squirted out from the base. I know when I'm beat, so I called a plumber. THEN, later that day while mucking (literally) the kids' bathroom, I realized that they too had water on their floor. So I thought, why not be efficient in my home maintenance and have the plumber address both issues? Seemed simple enough.
A couple days later I stayed home from work to host said plumber. He (Matt, this will be relevant later) of course, was hours late. But I'm throwing money at an issue so I don't have to do it and a family of five really needs functioning toilets. I show him the guest bath and he quickly diagnosed it as roots. He says he can "temporarily" fix it, but the only way to solve it is to cut down all of my trees. Cool cool whatever. Will it flush when you leave? If so, let's make it happen. Then I show him the kids' bathroom. He takes one look, declares that toilet an antique, and then says that he doesn't fix them but his brother does. So he calls his brother (George the Plumber). Matt the Plumber then proceeds to pull three full feet of roots out of my sewer pipe. How do I know? Because he insisted that I be in the bathroom to bear witness. But true to his word, that fixed the problem and I probably won't have to do it again for many years. The image will last in my brain forever.
NOW, on to George the Plumber. George does not actually provide the new toilet. So I curbside pickup a toilet after deciding resolutely that I have absolutely no opinions whatsoever on toilets and DGAF. But also, PSA, toilets are cheap. I bring my new, cheap toilet home and stash it in the garage. George the Plumber is scheduled to come on a day the kids have off, so given that I have a nearly full grown person at my disposal, I tell him my 17 year old will be home and book him. Punctuality is NOT a family trait and George the Plumber is ALSO hours late. But whatevs. He comes, he replaces a toilet, he leaves. I get a text from C that afternoon though saying, "They replaced the wrong toilet." Yep. They replaced the toilet I just paid Matt the Plumber to fix, leaving the leaking one to leak. Apparently Eli and George the Plumber just shoulder shrugged and picked one?
SO... I have Eli go pick up ANOTHER toilet. I book George the Plumber to come back, with the agreement of a very, very reduced rate. Day of, George again is not so punctual, but now I know the gig, so I call in advance and we REBOOK. I take another day at home. George sends his son, Mike the Plumber. Mike takes apart the leaky toilet. Everything's going fine. Until. The new toilet is broken. Can't be installed. I am legitimately two clips from a full melt down. He reinstalls my antique, leaky toilet and graciously offers to not charge me for the visit (SMH).
I think C must've realized this might be the thing to break me, because he came home, returned the broken toilet, and then installed a new, not leaky one. I now have a toilet in my backyard like a redneck but at least I'm done with the Plumber family. I'll plant flowers in it. It'll be fine.
But that's not all! On top of that, one of the kittens has been peeing where he shouldn't and I finally figured out why. Turns out he needs to be re-neutered, because even though the vet SWORE that he had a frank and a single bean, that vet was quite wrong. Not wrong enough to fix it for free, but wrong enough that I have a cat peeing all over my damn house.
AND... Sydney, aka Sporty Spice, ended up simultaneously on the most awesome soccer team and the least awesome volleyball team ever. We finally made the decision to pull her off volleyball, but now there are some "less than supportive" messages coming from her coach. And while that's all fine and good, between shitters and extra nuts and piss on my floor and a whole host of other small but compounding bullshit, I am just not in the mood and ended up sending a strongly worded e-mail. That shockingly did not make the situation better. So that's fun.
AND AND...I'm out of blush, which is notable because I never use anything long enough to run out. So of course it's discontinued. I hate trying to find new things and I always feel like such a troll in Sephora. Like, I feel like they must have the Jane Jetson make-up machine in the back while I still look like I borrowed my mom's MaryKay and applied it with a trowel.
* I wrote this last week. Since then the toilet's been replaced (thank you C!), the cat's been de-nutted (again!), and Sydney tried out and then chose against the uber-competitive club volleyball team in a show of wisdom and self-awareness that I have yet to achieve. The super sweet saleslady at Sephora was game for a challenge and we found a new blush (Rare Beauty. Awesome and super pigmented but I watched a tutorial where they called the applicator a "doe foot" and now it's a little creepy). And I added in a new lipstick to counteract the croniness and I love it quite a bit. So... all is well again.
