I have just spent the last three hours sanding, sanding, sanding down the fiberglass and paint on Brett's moped for his school project. I'm covered in fiberglass/bondo dust, and little flecks of paint from the moped. I feel gritty, and I have a cough from the dust. I had to wear a mask!! A freaking mask! I mean, just look! I look ridiculous. (Note to Snarkies: Notice, my fat, fat arms. LOL.)
We go to New Hampshire tomorrow to paint the moped, at our friend Kahlil's dad's sign shop. He has a spray booth and is kind enough to let us use it. Well, to let Brett and Kahlil use it, really. I'm tagging along to hang out with Kahlil's mom, Bridget, who is completely fun and someone I want to be like in another 20 or 30 years.
I'm looking forward to hanging out with Kahlil and his family, which will seem kind of like a vacation, especially as I am taking the train home by myself Sunday night.
But dude. After everything I've done for Brett's schooling, particularly this past quarter, I seriously deserve to get a diploma too. I should get to walk across the stage with him or something. (I'm not saying I want to, I am just saying that there should be some kind of special award for super-patient spouses. Like maybe these. Or these. And yeah, there's these too. Sigh. Ok, I'm so not getting any of those, because one of the reasons I've been so patient this semester is related to the fact that this project has cost so damn much money and I haven't really said a word. So those aren't really a possibility, alas.)
Anyway. Between the different aspects of this project, and of school in general, like the financial aspect (helllOOOOO poverty and credit card debt), the time aspect (I never see my husband), the I-am-covered-in-fiberglass-dust aspect (BLECH. I need a shower), the I-edit-and-rewrite-papers aspect (I feel like I've had a huge hand in helping write every paper he's had to since he started college), the moped parts in every room of my house (yes, that's right, every room), the calls of, "Do you wanna help me?" (and even though I'm thinking, "No, that absolutely the last thing I want to do right now," I still help), the fiberglass dust that is currently all over my kitchen (see below) ... it's just a lot. (Yes, that is my kitchen, and my sweater on the chair, which are covered in sanded fiberglass/bondo dust. No, for some mysterious reason, Brett won't close the door while he's doing this. Yes, the cat gets out, and she's not supposed to. Yes, I try to keep the floor clean, and no, I don't succeed very well. Yes, that is Brett's major manass that I get to see all the time.)
I am, of course, extremely proud of Brett, and of what he's accomplished, and of how he's changed and grown artistically while being at school here. I'm really excited to see where he'll go with his art once we leave Maine.
But, when it all comes down to it, I don't want to brag or anything, but I? Have put up with a hell of a lot the past two years, especially the past two months, and it just seems like there should be some kind of reward in this for me, too. I guess that's not how it works...but darn it, it should work that way, after all I've done.