Family life, Paleo-ish eating and Coping with Chronic Illness

I’ve been acting like a brat lately.  Well, maybe I haven’t been acting like a brat, but I’ve been thinking like a brat.

I’ve told you about our sweet little ranch style home that we live in, right?  I like our home a lot. A few  years ago, we put an offer on a larger, newer, nicer home.  There’s no reason in the world that I should not have been excited about moving into that home.  I wasn’t.  I was relieved when the deal fell apart.  I was just going through the motions, because I knew Scott liked that home.  It was nice. Who wouldn’t?

I’ve never yearned for a large home.  I remember when I was in college and I saw my first really upscale neighborhood.  This wasn’t small town upscale, this was big city upscale.  We were in a suburb of Atlanta.

The homes were beautiful and huge.  My girlfriends and I were impressed.  I didn’t tell them then what I was thinking; I didn’t really understand it myself.   I was thinking that I was happy for the people who lived in those beautiful homes, but for some reason I never wanted one of my own.

My favorite home in our town is one that I walk by in the early morning every day.  This home is a Cape Cod style cottage.  The exterior is made of large white and gray stone.    The home is extremely well maintained.   You can tell the owners pay great attention to detail: pretty planters in all seasons, welcoming patio furniture in the summer and nothing is ever out of place.  I love all that, but what I love even more is the cute little retired couple that I always see sitting in the 4-seasons patio in the morning.  The lamp is always on in there.  Their pretty dog lies between them while they read.  She usually has a book, and he reads the paper.  Doesn’t that sound nice?

One of these mornings I’m going to knock on their window.  When they look up, I’m going to yell through the glass, “Can I come in?  My house is a mess and we’re all on top of each other over there.  I really think I’d like it better in there by you.”

Don’t you think that will be a nice surprise for them?  People just don’t take time to visit the elderly much anymore.

cape cod

I like small houses, but lately I’ve been thinking that I get why people live in big ones.  We’ve lived in our house for 10 years.  From the beginning we have planned on finishing the basement.  A whole bunch of real life stuff has prevented that  from happening.

The basement has some paneling up now, but that’s about it.   We’ve done our best to make it feel like it’s finished with some paint and remnant carpeting, but you can only dress up a turd so much.   I know.  I’m pushing it a little far, but remember I said I was kind of being a brat?  That’s how a brat talks.

Unfinished basements are kind of like turds.  They smell bad. You just don’t care much for looking at them. And, you really don’t want to hang out in them.   We have a game system in our basement, wrestling mats and our ping pong table.  We go down there to play some games and do laundry; we don’t linger.

I would guess we exist in about 1200 square feet of living space.  NORMALLY that is fine.   But lately I’ve been thinking that it isn’t.  By lately, I mean since the start of this year’s NFL Draft.

Scott and Zeke are sports information junkies.  ESPN is successful because of guys like them. Scott and Zeke can NOT know enough about the sports they like, and the people who play them.

You may not realize it, but while you weren’t paying attention the NFL Draft has turned into this big, long, drawn-out and televised production.  That means for days and days there are men (mostly) sitting around hashing over the ins and outs of all the prospective players, and how to make the best picks.  I promise you not as much talk has gone into how to create world peace, as how to choose the right football players.

draft

The detail these guys go into on this Draft thing  is mind blowing.   These guys talk around. the. clock.  They NEVER run out of things to say.  And that fact right there, is the source of my bratiness.

We have one TV that I watch.  Don’t even tell me to go watch in the turd.  I’m not doing it. And I’m sure as heck  not watching in the office-slash-Eddie’s-bedroom.  Eddie has a knack for leaving rotten banana peels under his pillow.  His socks can  be cracked in half by the time they make it to the laundry room.   You would need to sign a waiver before I’d let you go in that area of our house.

I can’t watch a darn thing, because every moment I’m home, Scott and Zeke are listening to and watching the latest released information on the corner back from Texas who may or may not have suffered a recent knee injury. Blaach!

In our house you can not say, “shut up”.   Saying shut up in our home is the equivalent of dropping the “F” bomb.  Well, guess what kids?  In my head, I’m telling the NFL Draft guys to SHUT UP.  SHUT THE HECK UP!   SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!!!!   I don’t know how you could possibly  still be talking about this boring subject.  Why do people care?  I don’t.  I don’t care the tiniest bit, and I only want you to, for once in your life…be quiet.  Stop talking.  Please.  Stop it.

As soon as Scott and Zeke leave the living room, I put the TV on mute.  I feel instant, physical relief.  It’s like I was being pinched before.  I hear the silence and I’m instantly pain free. That is why I’ve been thinking about big houses.  In a big house you probably have a place to escape the NFL Draft.

Another time I’ve been feeling bratty is in the morning.  We have one full bathroom.  It’s small, but it’s nice.  Then we have a half bath between our room and the living room; the room where the NFL Draft folks hang out, making the world a better place.

During the wrestling season I usually am out the door with the dog in the morning before Scott wakes up.   When I get back, Scott is gone.  We don’t cross paths.  Lately we’ve been crossing paths.

The other morning we were both in our small half bath.  We were jockeying for position in front of the small sink.  I am almost sure that he was hogging more than his fair share.  There is a chance he’d say I was  doing the same.  Scott asked me,  “since when do you use my bathroom in the morning?”

Where’s a girl to start with that?   I told him  I have been using this bathroom all year.  I said he didn’t know it, because he was still sleeping.   Then I said it must be nice to live a life of leisure and sleep in every morning (5:45 AM).  Because that’s how you hit Scott below the belt, you imply that he could try harder…at anything.

Then I told him that I was not aware that it was his bathroom, but we certainly could look into putting his name on the door.  See?  I’m just feeling bratty all the way around.

Now that the Draft is over,  we can resume our normal lives.    Or, maybe I’ll keep feeling bratty and tell Scott there’s a week long “Real Housewives” marathon that I have to watch.  I’ll assure him that there will be plenty of commentary to enjoy.  It will be very detailed, and  in depth.  I’ll tell him he’s welcome to watch with me, or feel free to hang out in Eddie’s room or in the turd.  We’ll let him be a brat for a while.

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