a poopy post

Happy Easter, everyone!

I've started a trend - two other people have decided to de-clutter using the laundry basket method lol WHEE!!!   People have actually started asking: "How are the laundry baskets coming?"  So, I'm-a gonna tell you.  There are but 2 lonely baskets left, and I have another laundry basket's worth of clutter that's gathered this week, but it's under control, and I'm not feeling overwhelmed by it.  Even the kids have gotten kind of 'into' the laundry basket thing - there are some things they were missing that we've re-discovered, so there's incentive for them to participate, too.  

I *think* what I needed was a good uncorking, so to speak.  The last couple of weeks has been like the aftermath of a good emotional enema - there were the 'big' things I had been suppressing, avoiding, ignoring and/or procrastinating, which were kind of bunging things up.  I needed a high colonic to relieve the emotional constipation, and yup -  I was a little weak and shaky (read: broken) at first, but things seem to be moving along regularly now.

I still have random moments of, "Oh, crap - what have I done?"  Like this morning we took another box of clutter to drop off at the Value Village, and in that box were a couple of things I had a hard time parting with.  There was a shirt I had bought for my oldest boy.  I loved the shirt.  He hated it.  Although the girls have always been pretty picky about what they wear, the boys never really cared.  Until that shirt.  When he wouldn't wear it, it was essentially the first time he ever turned me down.  ~sigh~  In that same box was my Dad's aftershave. Horrible stuff. Made him smell like an old man. (Yeah, yeah - I know he was an older man, but hear me out...)

One of the things people close to me know is that not only do I have a hyper-sensitive sense of smell, but I also have a very strong emotional-olfactory relationship.  I have very strong memories attached to certain smells, both good and bad: right-before-rain, the way my babies' heads smelled for all of about 5 minutes after they were born and started to smell like the 'human' stuff around them, hospital food (it all smells like stale coconut to me - have I ever mentioned I hate hospitals?)...  All it takes to send me right back to Jr. High and the boys who whipped my shirt up to see if my boobies were real is a whiff of Drakkar Noir, and the smell of Farenheit reminds me of the night I saw my friend Donny beaten to within an inch of his life, while Polo cologne reminds me of my first 'real' boyfriend, and my husband's deliciously scented sweaty armpits (mmmm Bill pheremones lol) make all the cologne on the planet smell like poo...  But I digress...  

My Dad's aftershave was Musk for Men, gold lettering on a black box, and it made him smell like on old man.  Growing up, my Daddy smelled of many things: oil and metal shavings from working in the shop from when he was an auto body mechanic, liquor and gun powder from his drinkin' and shootin' days, campfire and insect repellent when he discovered RVing, chocolate chips (he always had a baggie of semi-sweet Chipits in his pocket in case of a chocolate emergency) but never like an old man's aftershave.  

If I had been asked to associate a particular smell with my father while he was living, it would have been the acrid smell of alcohol on his breath when he came to kiss us in the middle of the night after being out on some bender or other back before he sobered up.  I would secretly pretend to be sleeping but craved him coming in anyways.  He would say softly, with the overwhelming stench of booze on his breathe, "Goodnight, I love you, Hopey," and rub my cheek with the backs of his fingers the same way Bill rubs our daughters' cheeks.  Since his death, the smell of that aftershave is what I think of.  I think of getting bear-hugs from my Dad, after his customary curtsey and, "Bye, Hopey, I love you," and feeling the papery soft skin of his cheek against mine.  And when I laid across his dead body in the hospital, his lips purple, his hands icy, his damned heart stopped but his chest still warm, I smelled his old man aftershave.  There was no trace of the alcohol of 27 years prior.  Just aftershave.  And death. 

I resisted the urge to leap out of the van and beg to dig the bottles out.  I know the gold lettering on the black box, I know the smell, and I know my Daddy is here with me even if I'm not hanging onto an ancient bottle of old-man-smelling aftershave.  (Or, since they bought at Costco, all 4 bottles I had... lol)  I figure there's a perfume counter in every mall across Canada with Musk for Men aftershave, in a black box with gold lettering, and if I ever need to smell the smell again I can just wander over to the samples and take a whiff.  Or, if I happen to be walking around and some older gentleman happens to be standing in line in front of me, with a golf shirt, Dockers, and a cheek that looks as soft as my Daddy's, who happens to smell like my old man Daddy, I can just smile.

Although my single meeting with the therapist was the initial gritty grainy Metamucil, my family, my friends, and my clients have been the fiber in my life the last couple of weeks.  They keep me moving, and remind me that there is still work to do.  My husband and my kids are Raisin Bran, my breakfast of choice for idunnohowmanyyears - a delicious dose of fibre I have never tired of and never will, good anytime day or night - and my friends have been my apple-a-day.  And my clients, with their kind and supportive words and genuine appreciation have been like my favourite with-coffee treat, a nice moist crispy-capped bran muffin.

Now that things are moving along regularly, I'm feeling decidedly driven and focussed.  And relaxed.  I worked my buns off this weekend getting ready to take some time off in the next two weeks and delve into standby-for-baby mode for the pending arrival of J and J's baby; fiscal year-end hell at work will be over in a week and 3 days, and my big sister arrives in less than a week.  We went for dinner with friends from work on Friday, and helped my husband's best friend (who married me to my husband and is like a brother to me) celebrate his 30th birthday on Saturday.  My Mom made us a surprise Easter Dinner tonight.  I have the day off tomorrow to spend with my daughter since Bill has to work - we might have some bikeriding to do.  AND.  My tulips are at least 4mm taller than they were on Saturday.  (That's an eyeball guesstimate, by the way - I didn't actually measure...)  All really, really good poop.  Hence, this poopy post.