Home again, home again
The long-awaited paint job took exactly 2 days. Preparation for it took close to a month. The walls are very, very white, now, and I hope they stay that way a long, long time. It is going to take ages to figure out where I hid everything so the painters would have a clean workspace. They got theirs, but I don't think a clean workspace is in my future, not based on my past.
Bunny seems happy to be home -- I slept in the same room with him at my mom's, and he thudded against his hay pan so loudly that it woke me up from a perfectly sound sleep. From now on, we book separate rooms. He was, apart from awakening me at 5 am, better behaved in unfamiliar surroundings than he is here. He seemed to realize he was at his grandma's, and she wouldn't have appreciated bunny poop on her rug. On the other hand, he tried to hump grandma -- she and I laughed so much that we started crying.
While my mom actually has two step-granddaughters, they don't count nearly as much as Bunny and my brother's dogs in her affections. When I was in my early 20s, my mother informed me that if I had a child, she was not signing up to babysit. I don't know how much that influenced my decision that having a child would indicate incredibly poor judgment on my part, especially given my pharmaceutical history, but it does say something about my family and how little pressure there was to reproduce.
The way I saw it, growing up, mommy definitely got the short end of the stick. She got elected bad cop, and my dad, good cop. Not to mention that in those pre-feminist days, my dad didn't change a single diaper, so far as anyone can remember. Her role didn't seem particularly rewarding from my vantage point. On the other side, my dad did teach me to cook and sew, talents my mother had no training in, so there was no mother-daughter competition on the domestic front. Delegation is our middle name.
As for my being home, there is still a faint residue of paint odor, which doesn't do much for my migraines, and my brain seems as white and empty as my walls. I don't know where anything is. Tomorrow, the search begins in earnest.
Bunny seems happy to be home -- I slept in the same room with him at my mom's, and he thudded against his hay pan so loudly that it woke me up from a perfectly sound sleep. From now on, we book separate rooms. He was, apart from awakening me at 5 am, better behaved in unfamiliar surroundings than he is here. He seemed to realize he was at his grandma's, and she wouldn't have appreciated bunny poop on her rug. On the other hand, he tried to hump grandma -- she and I laughed so much that we started crying.
While my mom actually has two step-granddaughters, they don't count nearly as much as Bunny and my brother's dogs in her affections. When I was in my early 20s, my mother informed me that if I had a child, she was not signing up to babysit. I don't know how much that influenced my decision that having a child would indicate incredibly poor judgment on my part, especially given my pharmaceutical history, but it does say something about my family and how little pressure there was to reproduce.
The way I saw it, growing up, mommy definitely got the short end of the stick. She got elected bad cop, and my dad, good cop. Not to mention that in those pre-feminist days, my dad didn't change a single diaper, so far as anyone can remember. Her role didn't seem particularly rewarding from my vantage point. On the other side, my dad did teach me to cook and sew, talents my mother had no training in, so there was no mother-daughter competition on the domestic front. Delegation is our middle name.
As for my being home, there is still a faint residue of paint odor, which doesn't do much for my migraines, and my brain seems as white and empty as my walls. I don't know where anything is. Tomorrow, the search begins in earnest.
posted by alice, uptown at 3:18 PM
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