I am a person, too!

I'm getting really tired of being treated as a nonperson. Utility companies (among others, but I'm mad at the electric company today) that insist that everything has to be in Terry's name because he's the one with an income. And then if anything goes wrong, I can't talk to them about it because it's not in my name, so I have to interrupt Terry at work to make phone calls about things he knows absolutely nothing about because I'm the one that manages the house and pays all the bills. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

I am a person! I have a name! I have responsibilities and I honor them. Anything that Terry has done on paper in the past 12 years (other than, of course, his schoolwork and the actual engineering) was done by me. I was the one that signed him up for all his classes. I filled out student loan forms. I set up and pay for all his bills. I keep his resume updated, and find him jobs when a change is needed (thankfully not for a while). I fill out all the benefits forms. I file the taxes every year. I do all of this, even though even the thought of paperwork sends me into a panic attack. But despite all this, on paper, I barely exist. I still could not get a credit card in my name alone (well, maybe I could, but not one I'd want), because everything has been done in Terry's name. Apparently having my name on all the accounts doesn't really make a difference, because I personally have no income.

I'm sick of it. I'm a smart person, darn it. I was 3rd in my class in high school, went through college on a National Merit Scholarship and graduated with my Bachelors in just 2 years. I wrote and published a book with three children under four years old. It was a short book, and short-lived, but it was a good one. I hate when people, companies, and "official policies" make me feel like a nobody just because I choose to stay home with my children. I also hate feeling guilty for not keeping up with housecleaning (which I really, really don't like to do) because it's really my only responsibility.

I want more. I want to be more. I want to remember how it felt to be sure of myself--like back when my whole life was academics, and I was darn good at it. I knew it and everyone around me knew it, too. I want recognition from more than just my family. Not a lot, just a little. But I want it. I want something concrete at the end of the day that I can point to and say "I did this. And it's good."

Growing Up

My little girls are growing up, while I remain largely oblivious. This is never more evident than when I finally give in and go to buy new shoes. In my defence, we spend the summer in bare feet or sandals. So I have some small excuse for not realizing the change. But it was still a shock to find out that Chrissy has gone from wearing size 3 children's to a 7 in women's shoe sizes. I'm totally jealous of Chrissy's cute shoes. Black tennis shoes with fuchsia trim. And I got her some cute gray boots, because I want some for me, but can't find anything cute my size. :o(

Marty also has crossed the line into adult sizes of shoes, but unfortunately has inherited my awful feet (short, but super wide), which are practically impossible to fit. So Terry fit her with boys' size 5-1/2. She was a bit upset about wearing boy shoes, but was consoled by the fact that I, too, wear men's shoes in the futile attempt to find shoes wide enough for my monster feet. However, they are relatively cute tennis shoes for boy shoes--dark brown with orange trim. I guess this explains the girls' recent frustration at trying to squeeze into little girl socks. Sigh.

Linda is not immune to this growing up thing, either. Though she remains relatively petite (for my kids, at least). She jumped from 11's to 13-1/2, and is just about ready to start over with the numbers. Who ever said this sort of thing was allowed, anyway?

The Evolution of a Name

I love my name. I think it's beautiful. Randy-Lynne. I spent many years perfecting my signature until I found the way I like it best. I even like the look of my initials R-L. I like to sign them all loopy together.

Lately I've been thinking of my name, and how the way I use it has changed over the years--especially in the way I introduce myself. I grew up as Randy Cottrell. In high school I started writing out the Randy-Lynne, because, as I said, I love the way it looks written out. But I still introduced myself as just plain Randy (which has its complications, as I discovered when I introduced myself to a new guy when I worked in the dishroom at the Cougareat. He was Scottish, so he gave me a funny look and asked if that was an invitation).

Then when I got married, I became Randy-Lynne Wach and have spent many years now introducing myself as such. I've noticed, however, that since moving back to Kentucky, I've gone back to introducing myself to people as just plain Randy again. I'm wondering why. There's not too many people still here that knew me way back when, and that shouldn't make a difference. Am I just turning lazy? Am I regressing back to my teenage state by being in the place I lived as a teenager? Is it just my Kentucky name? I don't know. It just seems a strange change. And because I don't really understand my motivations, I'm not sure if I want to do anything to change it.

Party for Katherine and Tony (aka 4th of July)

Just the usual insanity at a party at Grandma's, plus a few extra Californians. Katherine's cake was fabulous! (of course, I made it) a slightly mango flavored yellow cake with lemonade frosting. Not all of the kids were up for it, but I thought it was great. So much fun to hang out with family.

Unfortunately, I forgot my camera the day before when my very good looking nephew, Dee, and his girlfriend were there. My favorite part of that visit is that, once the girls learned he was a cousin, he automatically became "one of the kids", despite the fact that he's, what? 27? This family I've gotten myself into is just a little bit intimidating sometimes. :o)

Things I'll Miss

Last month my house sold (finally!!!), which leaves us in a tiny apartment recovering from the disaster of homeownership. Overall I'm very happy to be returning to the simplicity of apartment life. For example, when the water decided not to stop running when I turned off the faucet in the shower yesterday, and all it took was a phone call and about an hour before it was fixed--the handles all replaced with shiny new ones. I loved not having to think up how to find a few extra hundred dollars for a plumber. Or a few weeks ago when I complained that the refrigerator was acting kind of fritzy (though still keeping things cool enough most of the time), and the next day a new refrigerator appeared--with a bonus 3 cubic feet more than the previous one, so I can now store enough food to feed my family. I also particularly enjoy not having to remember which day is trash day, and being able to take out the trash whenever I want.

Despite my appreciation of apartment life, I will still miss my old house. Not the squirrels or the bats or the sagging floors. I do miss my ginormous kitchen. And I particularly miss being able to paint wacky murals wherever I wanted. Since it's been over a month since my house sold, I'm sure they've been painted over or ripped out by now. So I will memorialize them online. My big red house, my giant "aquarium" (Nemo blankets over the windows because I found it disturbing to see straight through the house and the windows were drafty. It glowed in the evening--we became known as the "Nemo house" in town), the circus in my kitchen, and the maypole dance hallway (complete with glow-in-the-dark stripes).

My Rainbow Dancing Girl

This is my Rainbow Dancing Girl. My Mother's Day present from Terry that we finally go to go buy yesterday, now that things from the move are settling down and she was less likely to get bashed up in the move. This girl kept me mostly sane in the past several months.

She's been locked up behind a glass case at Costco for months now. When I would go out shopping since this past March, my mask would slip and I'd kind of fall apart. I have no idea what people thought of the crazy lady walking through the aisles, or occasionally just sitting on the ground next to the cart, with tears pouring down her face. But I would always eventually go to the Rainbow Dancing Girl, and she would cheer me up--like a dose of instant sunshine. (I think the piece is actually called Over the Rainbow, but I always think of her as the Rainbow Dancing Girl). So when I told Terry that looking at her made me happy, he decided to let me have her.

I love this beautiful lady. I think it's because she's the me that I always pictured. Me--though much skinnier and better coordinated, for sure. But free, happy, just enjoying being in the moment. Someone who could do just about anything, and would do it, with her own unique style and energy. Someone who radiated color, beauty, and joy. This is the me that I would like to be.

I'm probably a complete moron for buying a huge fine porcelain sculpture like this when my girlies are still so young. But for my daily dose of sunshine, I will take the risk.

Galapagos sellout!

One of my favorite time-wasters of the moment is reading fanfiction online. Today I stuck my foot in my mouth as I called out the author of a fic on having the main characters hide out in villas on the Galapagos Islands. I wrote in that I was sorry, but there was no way I could suspend my disbelief enough to accept that people could rent villas on the Galapagos Islands. There was no way that the country of Ecuador would allow that sort of thing on their precious islands. When I was there, there was only a couple buildings on the islands--just enough space for the few scientists that worked there, and those were barely allowed. But then she sent me a link to the website for the hotel she used in her story. And sure enough there it was, a fancy-pants hotel complete with villas. Further research shows no less than 19 hotels on the Galapagos islands!

I immediately sent an apology to the author for faulting her research, but this news has completely crushed me. I'm flabbergasted, horrified, appalled! How could such a thing happen? When did this happen? I know it's been a good 22 years since I lived in Ecuador, but those islands were a major source of national pride. They would never think of doing anything to damage the precious and unique ecosystem. Those islands were more than sacred--I can't even begin to describe it. Terry joined me in laughing at the concept of staying in villas on the Galapagos, because as recently as 12 years ago (when he was there on his mission) the attitude toward the Galapagos was the same as I experienced.

What has happened in the last 12 years to make the country do such a 180 on their policy toward the islands? I am sorely disappointed in the country of Ecuador for selling out like this. I have always dreamed of doing another Galapagos cruise, now that I'm old enough to really enjoy the experience (not that it wasn't GREAT when I was eight, but my memories that far back are pretty fuzzy) and appreciate the science. But now this news has disillusioned me, and I'm not so sure anymore.

Today I am in mourning for lost innocence and misplaced trust. It seems there is truly nothing sacred on this earth anymore. Okay, yeah, I know there's the temples, but you know what I mean. I can't believe it's affecting me like this, but it's been bothering me all day now. I kind of feel like curling up in a ball and crying myself to sleep over this.