By myself at the kitchen island with half a bottle of wine, a stack of generic cream-filled cookies from Grocery Outlet, and the soundtrack to Ong Bak 2 playing in the background as my children watch a Thai kickboxing movie I should probably be censoring. I have to filter the wine through a paper towel laid over the top of my water glass because I got too eager at the beginning of this process and rushed the cork removal, resulting, of course, in a fractured cork. Half is now floating in the bottle and shedding little bits of cork shrapnel as it greedily soaks up my precious cabernet sauvignon. I know what you are thinking… why on earth are you using a water glass? The explanation for that is what has brought me to this moment, this rock bottom valley of personal hell I am optimistically calling a midlife crisis, and the story will take longer than a single blog post. For now, let me just say that a few months ago, I owned nothing, so maybe lay off your snobbish, judgmental glasswarism for two seconds and be impressed I own a glass at all.
I wish I’d bought better paper towels. These aren’t porous enough and the wine just pools on top, soaking into the sides and running over the lip of the glass before it thinks to drip inside. Is cork poisonous? We’ll find out soon, I guess.
The children should be asleep. There are three of them (baggage, I like to call them), but it often seems as though there are more. Little G lost her first tooth a few days ago. She pulled it out proudly, paraded it around as though no one had ever lost a baby tooth before, and then promptly… lost it. We looked everywhere, but my current theory is that the dog got tired of never being fed and decided to start eating us. She’s just starting with the body parts we’re least likely to notice… like our cast off appendages. First it is G’s tooth, next thing you know, my uterus will be missing and one of the boys will wake up in a tub full of ice with a note that says “thanks for the kidney” scribbled in dog poo. Well I’m not going to buckle. The boys will just have to sleep with one eye open.
So little G is sleeping on the floor with an empty envelope under her pillow, upon which is scrawled a very detailed note explaining to that stickler of a tooth fairy the mitigating circumstances surrounding the missing baby tusk. I made her sign her own name, mostly because it is so cute to watch her bite down on her own tongue when she concentrates that hard. I hope she hasn’t learned anything in school about coin values yet, as all I could find in the couch cushions to give her were a handful of nickels and a Canadian dime. I am considering using the silver calligraphy pen I found in the junk drawer to color some pennies, but we’ll see how creative I feel once this wine is all gone.
I lost my job a couple weeks back. It turns out no employer really wants to pay you for facebooking, building your spotify playlist, and paying your bills online. Although it would have been more helpful if they had mentioned that in the employee handbook (which I read cover to cover since it was NOT what I was being paid to do at the time), I suppose there is really no use in looking backward. Well, technically, there could be use in it if I were apt to learn anything from my past mistakes, but given that I have three children, I think it is fairly apparent I like to repeat my errors until I have reached a socially acceptable age to cauterize whatever fallopian tube led to them.
This wine is fantastic, even peppered with cork.
So I am on a shoe-string budget, which literally means I have pulled the shoe strings from the children’s shoes in an effort to barter them for french vanilla coffee creamer. It isn’t as bad as it sounds, though… none of them bothered using the shoelaces anyway. The only one I feel sorry for around here is the dog, for whom I refuse to buy dog food; she has been eating so much leftover pasta it is bound to go to her hips, and then who will want her?
I’ve started this story in the middle, but I think that is inevitably where it had to begin. I didn’t know it was blog-worthy until I looked around and saw that I had hit rock bottom… which meant, as I glanced up, that there was a tale to tell about my fall. There is also a tale to tell about my forthcoming ascent, but that part of the story is still a mystery to me. I have a feeling it is going to be worth hearing.
But I’m definitely going to need more wine.