(Back posting because somehow I hit "save" instead of "publish" when this was written on Thursday...)
Strange week. T's last week at his old job. Monday we leave for Ohio, for 3 days of mini-vacation.
First stop: Harry London's Chocolate Factory. My mother would quite possibly club me over the head and sell me for parts in order to take this tour. 45 minutes with a guide to show us around each and every stage of the chocolate making process. Then we get to buy things at the gift shop. Because my pants are not tight enough yet - I can still breathe.
Second stop: Pro Football Hall of Fame and Museum. In which I will smile, nod, and attempt to distract my husband from the fact that I know almost nothing about the history of the game of American Football. Actually, I know almost nothing about the history of ANY sport. I don't know the famous players, I don't know who won the very first Super Bowl, and I don't know who holds the records for most rushing yards in a single season. My husband? He knows all of these things. In mind-numbing detail. So this stop on the Family Sightseeing Tour '07 is completely and entirely for him. Which is totally okay, as it is the almost-30-year-old-man's equivalent of taking a four-year-old to Disney World and telling him that he gets to live there.
Third stop: Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. All the little chicks with the crimson lips yell CLEVELAND ROCKS!! Okay, so I have never been to Cleveland, and I have no personal knowledge of whether or not it does, in fact, rock. That said, I am excited to drool over the Rock and Roll Icons of yester-yore and maybe drool on Janis Joplin's Porsche. Because I loves me some Rock and Roll. (So put another dime in the frackin' jukebox, baby...)
Fourth stop: This will be up for some debate, as we are equivocating between Stan Hywet Hall and Gardens and the Akron Zoo. The manor house and gardens would be more fun for mom and dad to check out, but with the kiddies in tow methinks the zoo is probably the more sound choice. Plus? They have snow leopard. SNOW LEOPARD! Those things are too cute to be real, and provide instant good juju. Plus they're endangered. So if I'm gonna get that snow leopard coat, I guess I should hurry before there aren't any left. (Before I get hacked by PETA: I'm kidding. Besides, Snow Leopard is sooo last season. All the cool kids are wearing Manatee this summer!)
So, yeah. I've been on a Carribbean Cruise. Wandered the streets of Old New Orleans (before the levees broke). Conquered Manhattan. Been beach-combing in Maui? Check.
This year? I brave the wilds of the Ohio frontier. I WILL get to see my sister (HI KIM!) which is waaaay cooler than another trip to some exotic place. (Hey, when you live in West Virginia, almost any place is exotic.)
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Happy Fathers' Day.
My Dad has always been a somewhat bipolar personality. Not that he actually has bipolar disorder (at least, not to my knowledge). What I mean is, my dad fluctuates between being incredibly, frighteningly, impossibly serious... and a sort of a coked-up version of a goofy kid show host. (and by "Coke" I mean Coca-Cola, not the nose candy.) (not that it matters, as Dad is an upstanding member of the LDS church and, as such, indulges in neither of the above.)
Letters from Dad tend to be formal. Like a business letter, except from the same guy who used to sneak into our rooms at night for the express purpose of scaring the bejeezies out of us. After which he would cackle hysterically and do the same thing again 10 minutes later.
For a lot of my childhood, may dad was a mystery to me: an authoritarian figure who worked and traveled a lot. He seemed somewhat mystified at how exactly he had ended up the patriarch chief of a veritable village of rambunctious children.
So I think it is with some sense of incredulity that my dad ended up with a daughter like me. You see, in some core tenets of my personality, I am exactly like my dad - only much, much less organized. I'm a perfectionist. I'm stubborn. I work best alone, but I like someone to stand next to me and hold the flashlight. I have a short fuse and hot temper. I don't do things half-way. I'm loyal and honest and I care a lot more than I show.
And so it is that I finally begin to understand my father. I begin to understand how hard it was for him to let me go, to watch me grow into someone he hadn't anticipated, and to let me know that - for all the ways he might wish that I was different - he is extraordinarily proud of who I am.
And in so many ways, big and small, I am also proud of who he is. I am proud of who he has become. We don't have to agree on everything - I don't think any fathers and daughters ever do. But I remember so many things, so many times when I have been happy beyond words that he is my father.
*every time I have hard my father really laugh
*the handful of times I have seen him cry
*every time he asked "Who's the cutie?" to inquire who had caused the latest disaster in our house
*he made every Christmas incredibly organized, but still magical
*he pretended to believe I didn't know how the minivan got that dent in the side
*he surprised us with a trip to Maui, and the childlike glee in his eyes at pulling it off was priceless
*the "date" he took me on for my 16th birthday, which also happened to be my first visit to the Hard Rock Cafe
*he came to the "Prom" send-off parties, took photos, talked gravely to my dates, and told me I was lovely
*the necklace he gave me when I tried out for the fifth grade talent show. ( I still have it.)
*the coin he brought me from Papua New Guinea. I wore it on a necklace until it got stolen in the locker room one day. He brought me a replacement for the stolen coin, and I still wear it as my lucky charm
*The day I got married, it wasn't the kind of wedding he wanted for me. Even so, when he walked me down the aisle, he beamed with pride. When he lifted my veil and kissed my cheek before leaving me with my husband-to-be at the end of that walk, he did it with grace and glowing smile.
Most recently? I remember how he held my infant son in his arms and wondered at him - Jack's broad chest and sturdy bones, his dark hair and deep eyes. The moment I saw in his eyes how much he adored my precious little baby, I fully realized how much he loves me - and how much I love him in return.
Happy Fathers' Day, Dad.
Letters from Dad tend to be formal. Like a business letter, except from the same guy who used to sneak into our rooms at night for the express purpose of scaring the bejeezies out of us. After which he would cackle hysterically and do the same thing again 10 minutes later.
For a lot of my childhood, may dad was a mystery to me: an authoritarian figure who worked and traveled a lot. He seemed somewhat mystified at how exactly he had ended up the patriarch chief of a veritable village of rambunctious children.
So I think it is with some sense of incredulity that my dad ended up with a daughter like me. You see, in some core tenets of my personality, I am exactly like my dad - only much, much less organized. I'm a perfectionist. I'm stubborn. I work best alone, but I like someone to stand next to me and hold the flashlight. I have a short fuse and hot temper. I don't do things half-way. I'm loyal and honest and I care a lot more than I show.
And so it is that I finally begin to understand my father. I begin to understand how hard it was for him to let me go, to watch me grow into someone he hadn't anticipated, and to let me know that - for all the ways he might wish that I was different - he is extraordinarily proud of who I am.
And in so many ways, big and small, I am also proud of who he is. I am proud of who he has become. We don't have to agree on everything - I don't think any fathers and daughters ever do. But I remember so many things, so many times when I have been happy beyond words that he is my father.
*every time I have hard my father really laugh
*the handful of times I have seen him cry
*every time he asked "Who's the cutie?" to inquire who had caused the latest disaster in our house
*he made every Christmas incredibly organized, but still magical
*he pretended to believe I didn't know how the minivan got that dent in the side
*he surprised us with a trip to Maui, and the childlike glee in his eyes at pulling it off was priceless
*the "date" he took me on for my 16th birthday, which also happened to be my first visit to the Hard Rock Cafe
*he came to the "Prom" send-off parties, took photos, talked gravely to my dates, and told me I was lovely
*the necklace he gave me when I tried out for the fifth grade talent show. ( I still have it.)
*the coin he brought me from Papua New Guinea. I wore it on a necklace until it got stolen in the locker room one day. He brought me a replacement for the stolen coin, and I still wear it as my lucky charm
*The day I got married, it wasn't the kind of wedding he wanted for me. Even so, when he walked me down the aisle, he beamed with pride. When he lifted my veil and kissed my cheek before leaving me with my husband-to-be at the end of that walk, he did it with grace and glowing smile.
Most recently? I remember how he held my infant son in his arms and wondered at him - Jack's broad chest and sturdy bones, his dark hair and deep eyes. The moment I saw in his eyes how much he adored my precious little baby, I fully realized how much he loves me - and how much I love him in return.
Happy Fathers' Day, Dad.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Leggo My Leg, Yo!
So just after I got back from Vegas Expedition 2007, I put on a pair of really snappy wedge-heeled sandals and took the kids to the mall to play on the indoor playground.
Those heels? They were really tall. So as I bent down to pick up Tobin, putting my weight into my heels and hauling all 20 pounds of him up onto my hip, something in my leg went "snap".
Now, I have pulled muscles and such before, and I thought, okay - this is bad, but not the end of the world. I marched my happy hiney (kids in tow) to Old Navy and got a pair of comfy flip-flops. Changing promptly into this more sensible footwear option, I found that my leg was still uncomfortable but no longer excrutiating. I figure I'd baby it for a few days, live with some soreness, and it would heal up just like every other of the million self-inflicted injuries I have endured at the hands of my own clumsiness.
Fast foward about 3 weeks: The injury faked me out with a brief lull for a few days, followed by a ramping up to intolerable levels of pain. Finally, I overcame my innate resistance and scheduled a doctor's appointment.
Of course, the doc still isn't sure what's causing the pain (which is exponentially worsened by going from a sitting position to a standing one). He has instructed me to take a muscle relaxer as needed, take hot baths, do some gentle stretches, and alternate a heating pad and ice to the area. This is no mean feat, as the area starts somewhere around the base of my spine and now radiates down through the back of my thigh, knee, and calf muscle and terminates a few inches above my ankle. That's a hell of a lot of ice, people.
If it's not better in 10 days, I'm supposed to schedule a follow-up for an MRI. Righteous.
Ladies and Gentlemen, please meet the only woman in America capable of doing herself a severe injury just by wearing shoes. If it turns out to be some gnarly injury requiring surgery, please just put me out to pasture and call it a day.
This reminds me of my death. No, really! I have always told T that I would like to be creamated and scattered over the harbor at Camden, Maine. It's the place I was happiest in my life, curled up in our room at the Norumbega Inn with T, playing scrabble in front of the fire place.
I now officially change my position, however. In the event of my death -- or in the event that this stupid, simple, klutzy mishap has caused irreparable harm to my poor leg, I hereby request that I be cryogenically frozen - until such time as the cloning process be perfected and medicine advanced to the point that my brain can be uploaded into the cloned body of Katherine Heigl.
How cool would that be? So much easier than the thought of living with this stupid injury -- one which necessitated that T assist me with putting on my underpants this morning. Now that is GLA-MOUR, baby.
Those heels? They were really tall. So as I bent down to pick up Tobin, putting my weight into my heels and hauling all 20 pounds of him up onto my hip, something in my leg went "snap".
Now, I have pulled muscles and such before, and I thought, okay - this is bad, but not the end of the world. I marched my happy hiney (kids in tow) to Old Navy and got a pair of comfy flip-flops. Changing promptly into this more sensible footwear option, I found that my leg was still uncomfortable but no longer excrutiating. I figure I'd baby it for a few days, live with some soreness, and it would heal up just like every other of the million self-inflicted injuries I have endured at the hands of my own clumsiness.
Fast foward about 3 weeks: The injury faked me out with a brief lull for a few days, followed by a ramping up to intolerable levels of pain. Finally, I overcame my innate resistance and scheduled a doctor's appointment.
Of course, the doc still isn't sure what's causing the pain (which is exponentially worsened by going from a sitting position to a standing one). He has instructed me to take a muscle relaxer as needed, take hot baths, do some gentle stretches, and alternate a heating pad and ice to the area. This is no mean feat, as the area starts somewhere around the base of my spine and now radiates down through the back of my thigh, knee, and calf muscle and terminates a few inches above my ankle. That's a hell of a lot of ice, people.
If it's not better in 10 days, I'm supposed to schedule a follow-up for an MRI. Righteous.
Ladies and Gentlemen, please meet the only woman in America capable of doing herself a severe injury just by wearing shoes. If it turns out to be some gnarly injury requiring surgery, please just put me out to pasture and call it a day.
This reminds me of my death. No, really! I have always told T that I would like to be creamated and scattered over the harbor at Camden, Maine. It's the place I was happiest in my life, curled up in our room at the Norumbega Inn with T, playing scrabble in front of the fire place.
I now officially change my position, however. In the event of my death -- or in the event that this stupid, simple, klutzy mishap has caused irreparable harm to my poor leg, I hereby request that I be cryogenically frozen - until such time as the cloning process be perfected and medicine advanced to the point that my brain can be uploaded into the cloned body of Katherine Heigl.
How cool would that be? So much easier than the thought of living with this stupid injury -- one which necessitated that T assist me with putting on my underpants this morning. Now that is GLA-MOUR, baby.
Things The Children Have Fed The Dog Today
So Far:
- 1/2 cup milk, spilled on the kitchen floor (breakfast)
-1 entire carton jerky-strips dog treats (while mommy went potty)
- 1 package tic-tacs. Spearmint. (while mommy was getting the shoes together)
I'm thinking I might want to keep an eye on Gizmo today. I have a feeling there will be an urgent doggy doo at our house this afternoon.
But at least it will be minty-fresh.
- 1/2 cup milk, spilled on the kitchen floor (breakfast)
-1 entire carton jerky-strips dog treats (while mommy went potty)
- 1 package tic-tacs. Spearmint. (while mommy was getting the shoes together)
I'm thinking I might want to keep an eye on Gizmo today. I have a feeling there will be an urgent doggy doo at our house this afternoon.
But at least it will be minty-fresh.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Soothing The Savage "Me"
Ok, show of hands: Who knew that June was already nearly half over? Seriously? Because.. um. Didn't we just get through May?
WHAT IS HAPPENING TO MY SUMMER, PEOPLE?!
The time, she is flying. And the Mama, she is not keeping up. And I don't know why I'm talking this way. I think I need a hug. Or maybe a short stint in a padded cell - but I digress.
Tonight we calmed our ruffled nerves (Helllllooooooo. Last 2 weeks. New job for the hubby soon. Little bit of Limbo up in here.) ... (Not the kind with the limbo stick.)...(Or the kind between heaven and hell.) ... (Scratch that. This is exactly the kind between heaven and hell.)
Have I mentioned we won't know for a few months, yet, if we are going to move to Europe? Yeah. I feel like someone shoved a live wire up my butt. You are welcome for that visual, by the way.
... So yeah. Tonight we calmed our ruffled nerves the way we solve just about everything. FOOD!
Grilled Delmonico Steaks (medium rare, of course). Grilled zucchini. Fresh asparagus, pan fried in toasted sesame oil. Sliced button mushrooms, sauteed in butter, chopped garlic, and a splash of red wine.
Bliss. Even if my pee is going to stink to high heaven for at least a week after all the asparagus I shoveled down my gullet. Again, you are so very welcome for that visual.
While we are on the topic of my bodily functions, I should go ahead and mention one other thing. A short while back, I got a comment from a marketing rep for a product called "Align". It's a probiotic that's supposed to help with IBS. They offered to send me a free two-month supply to test out. I checked out the online literature, and it sounded promising enough. So I said, as long as there were no strings attached, hey, I was game. Sure enough, a small package arrived in yesterday's mail.
So, I will be occassionally updating the internets on the state of my bowels. I know, I do that anyway, right? But now it's, like, necessary. I've had trouble eating yogurt since my first pregnancy (not because it bothers my digestion, just one of those annoying aversions) and since that's the only other way I know of to add good probiotics to the system, this is a handy alternative. IF it works, that is. I'll keep y'all posted.
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to go curl up with some Alaskan Crab Fishermen and a cup of herbal tea. Again? Bliss.
WHAT IS HAPPENING TO MY SUMMER, PEOPLE?!
The time, she is flying. And the Mama, she is not keeping up. And I don't know why I'm talking this way. I think I need a hug. Or maybe a short stint in a padded cell - but I digress.
Tonight we calmed our ruffled nerves (Helllllooooooo. Last 2 weeks. New job for the hubby soon. Little bit of Limbo up in here.) ... (Not the kind with the limbo stick.)...(Or the kind between heaven and hell.) ... (Scratch that. This is exactly the kind between heaven and hell.)
Have I mentioned we won't know for a few months, yet, if we are going to move to Europe? Yeah. I feel like someone shoved a live wire up my butt. You are welcome for that visual, by the way.
... So yeah. Tonight we calmed our ruffled nerves the way we solve just about everything. FOOD!
Grilled Delmonico Steaks (medium rare, of course). Grilled zucchini. Fresh asparagus, pan fried in toasted sesame oil. Sliced button mushrooms, sauteed in butter, chopped garlic, and a splash of red wine.
Bliss. Even if my pee is going to stink to high heaven for at least a week after all the asparagus I shoveled down my gullet. Again, you are so very welcome for that visual.
While we are on the topic of my bodily functions, I should go ahead and mention one other thing. A short while back, I got a comment from a marketing rep for a product called "Align". It's a probiotic that's supposed to help with IBS. They offered to send me a free two-month supply to test out. I checked out the online literature, and it sounded promising enough. So I said, as long as there were no strings attached, hey, I was game. Sure enough, a small package arrived in yesterday's mail.
So, I will be occassionally updating the internets on the state of my bowels. I know, I do that anyway, right? But now it's, like, necessary. I've had trouble eating yogurt since my first pregnancy (not because it bothers my digestion, just one of those annoying aversions) and since that's the only other way I know of to add good probiotics to the system, this is a handy alternative. IF it works, that is. I'll keep y'all posted.
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to go curl up with some Alaskan Crab Fishermen and a cup of herbal tea. Again? Bliss.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Europa? But I Hardly Knows Ya!
So this new job? The one T will be starting in just a few weeks? It holds the possibility of a move to Europe sometime in the next year.
The few people I have mentioned this to have generally responded with a wide-eyed "Wow! How do you feel about that? With two little kids?!" followed by a 'oh, you poor, misguided soul' stare upon hearing that I would actually prefer such a move.
I have always wanted to visit Europe. Given that I have not yet had the opportunity, it may seem a bit... optimistic... to declare that I am ready to actually live there, in a foreign culture, far away from all friends and family.
Well, not all. My brother's family will be in Rome for the next 3 years, and if we actually make it across the pond? I fully intend to subject the effervescent C.L. ( of Letters From A Broad) to my presence at least once or twice. Beyond that, though, it would be light years away from anything I have thus far experienced.
T has been to Europe several times. His favorite spot, by far, was Amsterdam. Swans meandering through the canals, beautiful architecture, incredibly friendly populace. He assures me it is romantic in the extreme, with bicycling couples (on individual bikes, not the cheezy ones for two) holding hands as they cruise along the boulevard.
So is it any wonder that I'm having a teensy-weensy pity party for myself, stuck in this state of hopeful insecurity about the tantalizing prospect of a European move? I mean, really. Mighty Girl is headed back to Amsterdam (with her husband and, of course, Mighty Baby) after going last year with Bloggers In Amsterdam. With my few dozen or so regular readers (not including the unexpected thousands who found themselves dazed and confused when stumbling here from Gawker that one time) I do not rate a seat at the popular kids' lunch table.
While the really cool bloggers were sitting at the awesomeness table and getting a free trip to Nirvana, I was sent packing to once again eat lunch at my locker with my trusty, dog-eared copy of Nicholas and Alexandra. (True story: That's actually how I spent lunch during my entire Sophomore year of high school. Yes, I really was that big a dork. Please don't pretend to be surprised.)
So Holland tourism board? If you happen to decide to do that whole free trip thing again, and you find you are having trouble finding one last blogger to fill that last spot? (Because everyone knows there is, like, such a shortage of bloggers out there...)
All's I'm sayin' is... If you wanna come barking up this here tree? I am totally your girl.
The few people I have mentioned this to have generally responded with a wide-eyed "Wow! How do you feel about that? With two little kids?!" followed by a 'oh, you poor, misguided soul' stare upon hearing that I would actually prefer such a move.
I have always wanted to visit Europe. Given that I have not yet had the opportunity, it may seem a bit... optimistic... to declare that I am ready to actually live there, in a foreign culture, far away from all friends and family.
Well, not all. My brother's family will be in Rome for the next 3 years, and if we actually make it across the pond? I fully intend to subject the effervescent C.L. ( of Letters From A Broad) to my presence at least once or twice. Beyond that, though, it would be light years away from anything I have thus far experienced.
T has been to Europe several times. His favorite spot, by far, was Amsterdam. Swans meandering through the canals, beautiful architecture, incredibly friendly populace. He assures me it is romantic in the extreme, with bicycling couples (on individual bikes, not the cheezy ones for two) holding hands as they cruise along the boulevard.
So is it any wonder that I'm having a teensy-weensy pity party for myself, stuck in this state of hopeful insecurity about the tantalizing prospect of a European move? I mean, really. Mighty Girl is headed back to Amsterdam (with her husband and, of course, Mighty Baby) after going last year with Bloggers In Amsterdam. With my few dozen or so regular readers (not including the unexpected thousands who found themselves dazed and confused when stumbling here from Gawker that one time) I do not rate a seat at the popular kids' lunch table.
While the really cool bloggers were sitting at the awesomeness table and getting a free trip to Nirvana, I was sent packing to once again eat lunch at my locker with my trusty, dog-eared copy of Nicholas and Alexandra. (True story: That's actually how I spent lunch during my entire Sophomore year of high school. Yes, I really was that big a dork. Please don't pretend to be surprised.)
So Holland tourism board? If you happen to decide to do that whole free trip thing again, and you find you are having trouble finding one last blogger to fill that last spot? (Because everyone knows there is, like, such a shortage of bloggers out there...)
All's I'm sayin' is... If you wanna come barking up this here tree? I am totally your girl.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Change Is Not A Four-Letter Word.
I have this sneaking feeling that life is about to change dramatically.
T will be starting his new job in July. He'll have a few days between the end of his current gig and the start of the new one, during which we are going to attempt our first camping trip with the kids. I'm optimistic that Toby will handle it all okay, though I'm thinking that renting one of the little cabins is a better prospect than attempting to fit the 4 of us in our tent.
T and I used to go fishing together. We would even take a row boat out onto the lake and take turns rowing it around while we tossed in our lures. Now, I'm surprisingly squeamish about a lot of things, but for some reason I seem to handle the whole fishing thing quite well. Okay, so maybe I'd rather use plastic lures than live bait, and I do make him put the worm on the hook in the rare instances we have used worms. I think that's the healer in me, though. I studied Nursing, for crying out loud, so the idea of sticking the poor little sightless critter on a hook to wriggle around until it gets eaten? I find that a little ... distasteful. Don't ask me why I can then clean and de-bone a fish and fry it up in cracker meal. Somehow I have less sympathy for the fish.
Anyway, the point is that I have been thinking about how narrow we have allowed our lives to become since the boys came along. Sure, it's difficult to haul kids to places and enjoy the events as much as we did when we were childless, but I think we somehow bought into this idea that because it's easier to stay home... somehow easier = better.
For the record? Easier does NOT equate to better. Even when it's a total pain to take the kids somewhere, we always have more fun than if we just stayed home. So what's the deal, people? Is it that we just live so far out from the events we usually would go to? Is it that we were reluctant to go camping or hiking when the boys were infants? Sure, that's somewhat valid. But how did we end up here? Where watching our favorite TV shows together is the romantic and/or entertainment hilight of our week?
It's not that I'm unhappy -- far from it. T and I have a great time together no matter WHAT we're doing. We usually engage in witty, sarcastic - yet - adoring banter. We're a little bit co-dependent, sure, but mostly because we have spent the last few years feeling like something of an island unto ourselves. We are actively trying NOT to live our lives by accident, to make our choices without trying to make everyone else happy. And we're quirky types. It's hard to find other quirky types who live close enough to come over for a game of Scattergories, know what I'm sayin'?
Recently, though, I've realized we somehow ended up so caught up in the minutiae of life, we have been neglecting to create the landmarks that break up the monotony and mark the passing of time. The things we don't need other people for, even. The getting out and experiencing.
No more. We are starting afresh - as of now. New Job. Probably new housing situation in the next few months. So, brand-spankin'-new outlook for enjoyment of life, too. The activities don't have to be big and elaborate, we just have to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE and go do stuff. So, we'll start with this camping trip.
I'm going to sit down and fill in the calendar for this summer with THINGS. TO DO. We're going to invite people over more. We're going to venture out to fairs and carnivals and craft shows more. I am going to find a babysitter that will keep the boys while we have an honest-to-god DATE, my husband and I. (Seriously. How did we go so long without that? It's been... more months than I care to ponder.)
If I were the mild-mannered alter-ego of a really kickass superheroine? This is totally where I would totally tear off my frumpy housefrau clothes to reveal a slammin' spandex bodysuit with an Aum symbol emblazoned on the front.
Be glad that I'm not. Spandex and I? We are not such good friends. But - metaphorically speaking? I'm totally taking off the spectacles and unbottoning the starched blouse, baby.
KA-POW!
T will be starting his new job in July. He'll have a few days between the end of his current gig and the start of the new one, during which we are going to attempt our first camping trip with the kids. I'm optimistic that Toby will handle it all okay, though I'm thinking that renting one of the little cabins is a better prospect than attempting to fit the 4 of us in our tent.
T and I used to go fishing together. We would even take a row boat out onto the lake and take turns rowing it around while we tossed in our lures. Now, I'm surprisingly squeamish about a lot of things, but for some reason I seem to handle the whole fishing thing quite well. Okay, so maybe I'd rather use plastic lures than live bait, and I do make him put the worm on the hook in the rare instances we have used worms. I think that's the healer in me, though. I studied Nursing, for crying out loud, so the idea of sticking the poor little sightless critter on a hook to wriggle around until it gets eaten? I find that a little ... distasteful. Don't ask me why I can then clean and de-bone a fish and fry it up in cracker meal. Somehow I have less sympathy for the fish.
Anyway, the point is that I have been thinking about how narrow we have allowed our lives to become since the boys came along. Sure, it's difficult to haul kids to places and enjoy the events as much as we did when we were childless, but I think we somehow bought into this idea that because it's easier to stay home... somehow easier = better.
For the record? Easier does NOT equate to better. Even when it's a total pain to take the kids somewhere, we always have more fun than if we just stayed home. So what's the deal, people? Is it that we just live so far out from the events we usually would go to? Is it that we were reluctant to go camping or hiking when the boys were infants? Sure, that's somewhat valid. But how did we end up here? Where watching our favorite TV shows together is the romantic and/or entertainment hilight of our week?
It's not that I'm unhappy -- far from it. T and I have a great time together no matter WHAT we're doing. We usually engage in witty, sarcastic - yet - adoring banter. We're a little bit co-dependent, sure, but mostly because we have spent the last few years feeling like something of an island unto ourselves. We are actively trying NOT to live our lives by accident, to make our choices without trying to make everyone else happy. And we're quirky types. It's hard to find other quirky types who live close enough to come over for a game of Scattergories, know what I'm sayin'?
Recently, though, I've realized we somehow ended up so caught up in the minutiae of life, we have been neglecting to create the landmarks that break up the monotony and mark the passing of time. The things we don't need other people for, even. The getting out and experiencing.
No more. We are starting afresh - as of now. New Job. Probably new housing situation in the next few months. So, brand-spankin'-new outlook for enjoyment of life, too. The activities don't have to be big and elaborate, we just have to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE and go do stuff. So, we'll start with this camping trip.
I'm going to sit down and fill in the calendar for this summer with THINGS. TO DO. We're going to invite people over more. We're going to venture out to fairs and carnivals and craft shows more. I am going to find a babysitter that will keep the boys while we have an honest-to-god DATE, my husband and I. (Seriously. How did we go so long without that? It's been... more months than I care to ponder.)
If I were the mild-mannered alter-ego of a really kickass superheroine? This is totally where I would totally tear off my frumpy housefrau clothes to reveal a slammin' spandex bodysuit with an Aum symbol emblazoned on the front.
Be glad that I'm not. Spandex and I? We are not such good friends. But - metaphorically speaking? I'm totally taking off the spectacles and unbottoning the starched blouse, baby.
KA-POW!
That Was Zen, This Is Now
The graduation party included all of the usual debauchery and gluttony that one might expect of such an event. Copius drinking, lots of screaming and partial nudity.
Of course, in this case, the graduates were 3 and the beverages of choice happened to be juice boxes. But that didn't stop the preschoolers from partying with more abandon than rowdy teenagers, as they burned some of that boundless energy on the giant moon-bounce-slide-maze-obstacle-course-thingamajig.
Since the whole family was invited, Toby toddled along and stared, bug-eyed, at all of this unfamiliar activity. The baby pools and sprinkler were of particular interest, and before long his poor pampers were holding back more water than the Hoover Dam. The moon bounce and the sno-cone machine were not to be trusted, and he warily kept his gaze trained on both - lest either should decide to sneak up on him, he would not be caught unawares.
Jack, on the other hand, plunged head-first (literally) into the moon bounce and spent the next half-hour reminding me just how strong those lungs of his are. He emerged only to demand a juice box recharge, then immediately plunged into the water activities. After a few sno-cones, some pretzels and popcorn, and a brief (and interactive!) "If You're Happy And You Know It" story time, it was back to the moon bounce.
By the time they hauled out the slideshow at the end, the kids were good and worn out - but, thankfully, in the "tired and thoughtful" sort of way. I fought back the stubborn tears that would have to well up in my stupid eyes as I watched photos of all the activities that the kids and their high school student-teachers had this year. I recorded as much as I could for T, since he had to go into work (not least because he had 2-weeks notice to give this morning) (What? Oh! That. That's a story for another day. Mwahahahahahah!)
Jack got his diploma and a bag of party favors from his teacher. I changed the boys into dry clothes for the drive home. He hugged his goodbyes while I gathered up all of our things, and we strolled out into the sunshine.
In just two half-days a week, he has learned his entire alphabet. He learned to spell his name, and then to write it. He learned to count to 30 and the colors of the rainbow. Most of all, he learned how to listen and follow directions, how to be part of a team, and he started on the long road toward becoming an educated human being.
Seriously, people. If anyone had told me, at any time in my past, that I would be this emotional over preschool? I would have laughed long and loud. For the moment, I'll be content with just choking back the sniffles. Let's just say it's my allergies, 'kay?
Of course, in this case, the graduates were 3 and the beverages of choice happened to be juice boxes. But that didn't stop the preschoolers from partying with more abandon than rowdy teenagers, as they burned some of that boundless energy on the giant moon-bounce-slide-maze-obstacle-course-thingamajig.
Since the whole family was invited, Toby toddled along and stared, bug-eyed, at all of this unfamiliar activity. The baby pools and sprinkler were of particular interest, and before long his poor pampers were holding back more water than the Hoover Dam. The moon bounce and the sno-cone machine were not to be trusted, and he warily kept his gaze trained on both - lest either should decide to sneak up on him, he would not be caught unawares.
Jack, on the other hand, plunged head-first (literally) into the moon bounce and spent the next half-hour reminding me just how strong those lungs of his are. He emerged only to demand a juice box recharge, then immediately plunged into the water activities. After a few sno-cones, some pretzels and popcorn, and a brief (and interactive!) "If You're Happy And You Know It" story time, it was back to the moon bounce.
By the time they hauled out the slideshow at the end, the kids were good and worn out - but, thankfully, in the "tired and thoughtful" sort of way. I fought back the stubborn tears that would have to well up in my stupid eyes as I watched photos of all the activities that the kids and their high school student-teachers had this year. I recorded as much as I could for T, since he had to go into work (not least because he had 2-weeks notice to give this morning) (What? Oh! That. That's a story for another day. Mwahahahahahah!)
Jack got his diploma and a bag of party favors from his teacher. I changed the boys into dry clothes for the drive home. He hugged his goodbyes while I gathered up all of our things, and we strolled out into the sunshine.
In just two half-days a week, he has learned his entire alphabet. He learned to spell his name, and then to write it. He learned to count to 30 and the colors of the rainbow. Most of all, he learned how to listen and follow directions, how to be part of a team, and he started on the long road toward becoming an educated human being.
Seriously, people. If anyone had told me, at any time in my past, that I would be this emotional over preschool? I would have laughed long and loud. For the moment, I'll be content with just choking back the sniffles. Let's just say it's my allergies, 'kay?
Monday, June 04, 2007
Deftly Avoiding A Case Of The Mondays
The morning started with a bang. Literally, as Jack wet his bed once again (back to night-time pull-ups, because the house is actually starting to smell of eau de urine), then climbed into bed with us and bonked me on the head in passing.
Rather than let this portend the beginning of yet another heinous Monday, I decided to buck the system and set out on a determined path to a pleasant day. I put on my new flowy, white, knee-length skirt, an eggplant-colored top, and chunky foho necklace. A pair of khaki canvas flip-flops, and I'm Foho Suburban-Mom Chic. At least that's what I tell myself, and who in Wild, Wonderful West Virginia is going to dare to argue?
Get the kids up and dressed, loaded into the van, then off to the local coffee house that provides my own little slice of Nirvana on a weekday morning. Sugar-free vanilla, skim latte for me, bagels and cream cheese for the kids. Peruse the bookshelves with an ecclectic mix of books for sale from a book store in the next-door historic town, ponder buying civil war book for T. Listen to groovy world-beat music playing softly on the overhead speakers. Regard the limited prints from a local artist, on display on the same wall where my photos will be hung in the month of August.
Finish our liesurely breakfast, load up into the car and head to Walmart. Purchase pool noodles for my curtains project (no, seriously! it will look much cooler than it sounds), grab various household necessities (really? 3 kinds of toothpaste? how did it come to this?), grab soda and butter and string cheese. Try to figure out how those became food groups around here.
Stand in check-out line for 20 minutes. Kill time playing "what could these pool noodles be?" with Jack. Swords, unicorn horns, telephones, alien antennas... Swordfight with pool noodles until grumpy old lady in the next line gives the look of death. Glare back at her, then giggle uncontrollably. Sword fight for another 5 minutes until Toby gets hold of bananas from the cart and bites through the skin of one in order to eat it. Rescue the bananas and start offloading the cart onto the check-out counter. Pay, load cart, head for the exit. Stop to buy a sprite for Jack and a bouncy ball for Toby. Make it to the car, unload, get 4 compliments from strangers on my beautiful and well-behaved children. Smile, load kids into the van, giggle at the carefree feeling of the day. Head for home.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
The Cat Of Amontillado.
The title of this post is not a euphemism for anything. Really. One of our two cats, Chloe, actually managed to get herself trapped behind a wall today. Our unfinished laundry room is one of her favorite hiding places, because she can jump up into the ceiling and wander around the space between the floors over the room next door.
Today, it seems, she somehow lost her footing along the far edge at the outside wall and spent a good hour or so trapped behind the sheet rock. We listened to her mew pathetically and constantly for a good half hour or so while we debated the best course of action.
It would be important to note that we were just on our way out the door at the time. The boys were in the van, buckled into their respective car seats, and the dog had been loaded into the cargo bay. We were all set to go spend the day planting Gigi's new vegetable garden (to include pumpkin plants so they boys can grow their very own jack-o-lanterns this Halloween!)
After T spent a few minutes tearing a hole in the wall (with a claw hammer, 'natch) inside the closet where we could hear she was, he found a wood stud between him and our freaked feline. We were debating the relative stupidity of tearing another hole in the wall when, at last, she managed to claw her way back up to the ceiling. She exited the laundry room and nonchalantly settled herself back upstairs on the dining table.
That may be what prompted my immediate vision of doing her in by way of roasting in garlic butter.
So, with the day pretty much shot to hell (not to mention all our nerves), we ate pizza leftovers for lunch and have settled in for a quiet afternoon of sitting as still as possible while barely maintaining consciousness. The upside here? I get to learn to patch drywall! Yet another skill to add to my household repair utility belt.
The downside being, of course, (besides totally scrapping our plans for the day) that there is yet another household chore to be done before we can make a move towards selling this house and moving in closer to civilization.
Which brings me to the fact that I have yet to make the new living room curtains. I think I just figured out what to do with my afternoon. Dang.
Today, it seems, she somehow lost her footing along the far edge at the outside wall and spent a good hour or so trapped behind the sheet rock. We listened to her mew pathetically and constantly for a good half hour or so while we debated the best course of action.
It would be important to note that we were just on our way out the door at the time. The boys were in the van, buckled into their respective car seats, and the dog had been loaded into the cargo bay. We were all set to go spend the day planting Gigi's new vegetable garden (to include pumpkin plants so they boys can grow their very own jack-o-lanterns this Halloween!)
After T spent a few minutes tearing a hole in the wall (with a claw hammer, 'natch) inside the closet where we could hear she was, he found a wood stud between him and our freaked feline. We were debating the relative stupidity of tearing another hole in the wall when, at last, she managed to claw her way back up to the ceiling. She exited the laundry room and nonchalantly settled herself back upstairs on the dining table.
That may be what prompted my immediate vision of doing her in by way of roasting in garlic butter.
So, with the day pretty much shot to hell (not to mention all our nerves), we ate pizza leftovers for lunch and have settled in for a quiet afternoon of sitting as still as possible while barely maintaining consciousness. The upside here? I get to learn to patch drywall! Yet another skill to add to my household repair utility belt.
The downside being, of course, (besides totally scrapping our plans for the day) that there is yet another household chore to be done before we can make a move towards selling this house and moving in closer to civilization.
Which brings me to the fact that I have yet to make the new living room curtains. I think I just figured out what to do with my afternoon. Dang.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
More Tasteful Bullet-Point Decor
* Yard sale = success. Sold off a good bit of stuff, bought some other stuff from the neighbors. Space-wise and monetarily, we broke about even. Except now I have a really cool hiking baby-pack for Toby. Which means that (seeing as how we are exactly 2 miles from a segment of it) we might actually manage to meander down a bit of the App. Trail before we die. Or at least before he outgrows the pack.
* Speaking of Tobin, I think aliens have finally taken him over entirely, as he has gone from the "point and grunt" school of communication to sudden speech. I asked him if he wanted some milk, and he turned around to get it and said "YES!". We took him to visit his grandmommy (whom we affectionately refer to as "Gigi") and he managed to call her by name at least twice. I'm waiting for the end of next week, at which point I expect him to say something along the lines of "Foolish woman, bring me my diaper" in the voice of Stewie from The Family Guy.
* I just invented a spectacular cookie. Cream cheese mixed with Nestle Quick plus a dash of cinnamon, sandwiched between graham crackers. It rocks.
* I have decided to delegate all responsibility to Jack for the rest of the day. Please refer all communications directly to him. Expect to receive his own name, typed repeatedly, in reply. It happens to be the only word he has ever typed on the keyboard. It will be at least as helpful as anything my tired brain could come up with today.
* Speaking of Tobin, I think aliens have finally taken him over entirely, as he has gone from the "point and grunt" school of communication to sudden speech. I asked him if he wanted some milk, and he turned around to get it and said "YES!". We took him to visit his grandmommy (whom we affectionately refer to as "Gigi") and he managed to call her by name at least twice. I'm waiting for the end of next week, at which point I expect him to say something along the lines of "Foolish woman, bring me my diaper" in the voice of Stewie from The Family Guy.
* I just invented a spectacular cookie. Cream cheese mixed with Nestle Quick plus a dash of cinnamon, sandwiched between graham crackers. It rocks.
* I have decided to delegate all responsibility to Jack for the rest of the day. Please refer all communications directly to him. Expect to receive his own name, typed repeatedly, in reply. It happens to be the only word he has ever typed on the keyboard. It will be at least as helpful as anything my tired brain could come up with today.
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