a nauseating bit of minutiae

A little stream of consciousness, for those who’d willingly get to know me better:

My husband and I listen to music a lot. We’re always trying something new – he more often than I. Ralph writes music – so much so that today in the car I heard something beautiful through our car stereo and after a while I realized it was something he wrote. I truly am in awe of his talent, and I’m so thrilled he’s expressing it. Our children are growing up musically adventurous: listening to our selections, their father’s songs, and writing their own music.

I’d love nothing more than to actually sing in a band in front of people. This is so completely unlikely to happen it’s funny I would even mention it. I think my voice is okay, but it can’t carry. And I don’t have the confidence to sing in front of others, nor do I want the applause or esteem some performers crave. I just like singing a lot and would like to do it more.

I stockpile rags. It’s kind of one of those good habits that becomes obsessive and shameful. Recently I reduced my rag inventory by at least half. This took me months to consider doing. I will point out I use only cloth at home: no paper towels, paper napkins. I’m forever swiping down things and dusting with these rags. P.S. old, sturdy cloth diapers are the best rags ever.

My feelings are easily and often hurt. I find myself mentally churning over arguments or sleights (some real, some imagined) while I’m washing the dishes or biking my kids somewhere. Sometimes I don’t answer my children’s questions or even listen to them very well because I’m thinking of people, online articles I’ve read. I am considering this character flaw as something that deperately needs to change.

I’m pretty good at confrontation. I’m good at telling people how I feel when it’s necessary or would cause more pain to demur (my recent discussion with the neighbor vis-a-vis her dogs eating my chickens is a good example). I loathe the personality trait that finds it “awkward” or weird to have a conflict of interest or a dissenting opinion with someone. I also heartily dislike bullying, which is the resort many will take when they believe they need to win out. I’m more of the, Tell them right away! approach. This has occasionally backfired on me. For a trivial example: one time at a party everyone was gushing about this odd apricot / cheese pate on the table. Everyone had their say and at my turn I said, “I don’t care for it” and the room of chatty ladies got silent. You’d think I’d climbed on the coffee table, dropped trousers, and taken a piss. Ever since this incident I’ve wondered when it’s cool to be “honest” and when one is being “honest” in a way that isn’t necessary, and is in fact rude. I literally wonder about this every day.

I find my life with children more fulfilling and fun than anything I’ve previously known. It isn’t that my kids give me a social life, or something to live vicariously through, or that I didn’t have a fun life before (I did!). It’s that they’ve multiplied love through my life by a hundredfold. It’s brrn amazing to have so much love in my life.

In some ways I don’t think anyone knows what makes me tick; although I have a spouse, and a few close friends, who know bits and pieces.

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