If you're just joining us, my interactions with the rest of the world have always been somewhat... eccentric? Tense? Yeah, there's not really a good word for it. I tried the local MOMS Club, and we still go to the big events - the Christmas Party, Easter Egg Hunt, etc. Basically, the events which are likely to include the most participants, and therefore the least amount of actual interaction required. The kids have fun, I chase the kids, I talk to the few souls brave enough to approach the "weird one". (You know... HER. The one whose interests include computers, t.v. shows we don't watch, and some bizarre thing called a "blog"...)
I do better one on one, as long as the other person is easy on my neurotic self. Somehow, in the three years since we moved to the Eastern Panhandle, there have been only a select few who put me at ease and don't make me paranoid that every move or sentence is being weighed and judged.
My sister, Kim, told me that she has always known me to take people as I find them - and accept them at face value. I don't spend my time analyzing people for every flaw, I just shrug, accept that they are who they are, and if we connect I add them to the "friends" list unless or until they do something heinous enough to warrant removal from the Circle of Trust. (*insert demonstrative, DeNiro-esque, "Circle of Trust" hand gestures here*) - (*pause will I giggle at that movie again*)
.
So I can't help but be wistful when I read something like this. Not the least because I read both Amalah and Sweetney religiously, and they never fail to hit the nail on the head in their far-wittier-than-my narratives on raising children with a sense of humor. (And a well-timed glass of Pinot.)
BUT. Just when I think I'm doomed to smother my husband with the necessity of also being one of my only Buddies, something amazing happens. Something life-altering. Something that makes me a bit less wistful to hang with the cool kids.
My violin instructor, Nancy, is an amazing woman. She raised 5 children (including a set of twin boys) with her (also a professional violinist) husband, and had a 25-year career as Concertmistress with the National Orchestra. She has been all over the world, to places I have only dreamed about, and now shares a home with one of her sons and his family. Two of the three grandchildren have left the house, and the last one is a senior in high school. I haven't got around to asking her how they ended up selling their home in Potomac and moving out here to the hills, but once I saw her home I really couldn't imagine asking.
We always spend a good portion of our time (when I'm supposed to be learning the finer points of violin basics) engrossed in conversation about everything from family and motherhood to religion to literature. After a few months of this, she asked me to join her at her home for lunch one afternoon.
T worked from home so that I could sneak out after I got the boys fed and put Toby down for his nap. I drove over to her home with absolutely no idea that I was about to have one of the most memorable afternoons of my entire life.
The home is on a good-sized lot. The front yard is full of gently landscaped plants, and a giant holly bush towers over the front stoop. The house itself is a sprawling maze of rooms, each filled with thoughtful pieces of art, antique furniture pieces, momentos, and brick-a-brack I could spend the next several months looking through with relish.
We lunched on the screened back porch after serving ourselves healthy portions of her homemade quiches (crab or sausage) in the well-appointed kitchen. The pot rack hung heavy with cast iron pieces, a surprising tell about her zest for cooking. Then, I tasted the quiche. OH MY GOODNESS, y'all. Heavenly. Divine. A little green salad, some garden grown ('natch) tomatoes, and from-scratch peach cobbler for dessert. All of this with a view of the back yard, planted and landscaped like an English Cottage, and a gentle breeze rustling through the branches of the old-growth trees.
We followed lunch up with hot cups of tea, and I was like a delighted grammar-school kid when I got to choose from her varied collection of tea cups and matching saucers. I picked the one with the sunflowers. Then, she brought out her box of tea spoons.
The old Whitman's Sampler box was faded, with a crumbling hinge on the lid. Inside were those collector spoons that you can buy in shops all over the world - spoons of every shape and description, some dating back to the 1880's. One by one I pulled them from the box and studied them, the places they were from, the intricate sculptures on the oldest ones. One antique spoon had a hinged iron maiden, with tiny spiked doors that opened and closed.
We spent the end of our afternoon ensconced in the library of the house. I pondered the Civil War surgeon's kit that had belonged to her grandfather, with it's foot-long blades (still sharp!) and the bullet fragment actually removed from the leg of some unfortunate confederate soldier. She listened to a few of my poems, giving encouragements, and then we talked a little about poetry, literature, life...
I left with an ancient copy of Whitman's "Leaves of Grass", on loan from her collection (I'm still mulling over his poem about lilacs and death, written after Lincoln's assassination), and a zip-lock baggie of ginger creams.
I left with so, so much more than that.
If I could design the perfect way to spend a quiet afternoon in good company... I'm not sure I could have brought anything forth from my limited imagination that would have begun to strike the same chord in my soul as that perfect, lovely day.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Let the photos do the talking...
Living somewhat in the country, as we do, means the chance to attend a real, country, county fair. After waiting out several days of thunderstorms (during which the parking lot at the fair apparently turned to quicksand and required tow trucks to get the cars free) we were able to drive in on relatively dry roads and enjoy the incredibly humid experience. Jack rode rides, the kids tasted funnel cake and corn dogs and other artery-clogging goodness. The end of summer, marked appropriately. If we stick around here, it might need to be a new tradition.
I have a lot to talk about, including the possibility that I might go to my 10-year reunion after all (yes, I know, I already decided definitely not to go. But then San Francisco started messing with my head, promising sourdough goodness and a visit to china town....). Also? All of T's business travel means that I could get a big chunk of the airfare paid for with his points. You see my dilemma?
I spent a novel-esque afternoon at the home of my mentor and friend, Nancy - violin teacher extraordinaire - which I will detail for you later. It was one of the most memorable experiences of my life, and is probably best recounted after a decent night's sleep. I hope to achieve a restful sleep once my allergies subside (thanks to the rain, and subsequent re-blooming of every pollen source in the immediate area...)
But, for the present, in lieu of actual wit or wisdom, I present PHOTOS. Because I finally found the cable to download them from the crappy camera. Still working on that battery charger for the DSLR....
Happy Wednesday!
My Man Candy.
Looking so much like their father that, if I didn't have the stretch marks to prove they're mine, I'd wonder who he got to mother them.
Toby, reminding me why I have to nibble on his face at least once a day.
The most recent hair. Also? Beginning to look my age - and not in the good way.
I have a lot to talk about, including the possibility that I might go to my 10-year reunion after all (yes, I know, I already decided definitely not to go. But then San Francisco started messing with my head, promising sourdough goodness and a visit to china town....). Also? All of T's business travel means that I could get a big chunk of the airfare paid for with his points. You see my dilemma?
I spent a novel-esque afternoon at the home of my mentor and friend, Nancy - violin teacher extraordinaire - which I will detail for you later. It was one of the most memorable experiences of my life, and is probably best recounted after a decent night's sleep. I hope to achieve a restful sleep once my allergies subside (thanks to the rain, and subsequent re-blooming of every pollen source in the immediate area...)
But, for the present, in lieu of actual wit or wisdom, I present PHOTOS. Because I finally found the cable to download them from the crappy camera. Still working on that battery charger for the DSLR....
Happy Wednesday!
My Man Candy.
Looking so much like their father that, if I didn't have the stretch marks to prove they're mine, I'd wonder who he got to mother them.
Toby, reminding me why I have to nibble on his face at least once a day.
The most recent hair. Also? Beginning to look my age - and not in the good way.
A good reason to get up in the morning, no? Of course, this was seconds before Tobin not-so-gently removed himself from his brother's embrace and smacked Jack over the head.
Good times.
Good times.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Name That Line
"Baby Chimp! Take the banana out of your ear!"
If you can name this line? Then you - too - are watching entirely too much kid television. Plus, the lispy duck kinda bothers me. I mean, Ming-Ming is cute and all, don't get me wrong, but since Jack already turns all his L's to W's, I'm thinking it might be best to avoid cartoon animals with speech impediments. (It sounds reawy reawy cute and awl, but I suspect we're going to need a speech therapist before too much wonger...)
I always thought I'd be good at limiting my kids television intake. I mean, Toby is not yet 2, and of course now there's all those reports that TV will make your child's brain explode if they even glimpse it before their second birthday. T3H TV IS H4X0R3D YOUR BABY BRAINZ LOLZ etc etc etc.
Then again, I suppose that my Mother of the Year trophy is safely FUBAR. I base this on the fact that both children are in their pajama tops with no pants, Toby's diaper looks like it might just blow at any second, and the dog is enthusiastically chewing on a toy car. Me? I'm scribbling in my notebook and taking this moment to record it all for posterity.
Photos of the chaos will follow eventually, if I can ever find the cord for the crappy camera because, of course, the good camera is still in need of a new battery charger.
So, to recap: Mother of the Year - NO. Excuse Maker of the Year - Still definitely in the running.
If you can name this line? Then you - too - are watching entirely too much kid television. Plus, the lispy duck kinda bothers me. I mean, Ming-Ming is cute and all, don't get me wrong, but since Jack already turns all his L's to W's, I'm thinking it might be best to avoid cartoon animals with speech impediments. (It sounds reawy reawy cute and awl, but I suspect we're going to need a speech therapist before too much wonger...)
I always thought I'd be good at limiting my kids television intake. I mean, Toby is not yet 2, and of course now there's all those reports that TV will make your child's brain explode if they even glimpse it before their second birthday. T3H TV IS H4X0R3D YOUR BABY BRAINZ LOLZ etc etc etc.
Then again, I suppose that my Mother of the Year trophy is safely FUBAR. I base this on the fact that both children are in their pajama tops with no pants, Toby's diaper looks like it might just blow at any second, and the dog is enthusiastically chewing on a toy car. Me? I'm scribbling in my notebook and taking this moment to record it all for posterity.
Photos of the chaos will follow eventually, if I can ever find the cord for the crappy camera because, of course, the good camera is still in need of a new battery charger.
So, to recap: Mother of the Year - NO. Excuse Maker of the Year - Still definitely in the running.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Twisting On The Vine
Have you ever watched one of those time-lapse videos of a vine growing up a post? It spins , going round and round the pole, reaching a little further each time, until it finally finds the next support structure to grab hold of.
I feel like that's where we're at right now. We're in the go-round stage.
Big Daddy T returned from his last 2 week trip to assess the house and worry that I was getting depressed again. The house was a bit cluttered, admittedly, but after having 2 uninterrupted weeks of parenting (half of which time was also spent entertaining at teenage girl) I figured I was entitled to be a little bit behind on the housework.
In fact, I can't remember the last time I had a truly "down" day. I have a few down minutes here and there, but over all things are overwhelmingly positive.
I think what he is picking up on has more to do with the spinning. This sense of impending change, a sort of building tension, making me antsy and nervous. I have spent the last month slowly cleaning out closets and organizing boxes of unidentified junk for donation. Slowly clearing out enough space to get my office set up downstairs for when I start my new job.
Did I mention that I'm likely going to be working from home soon? Yeah. Part-time. It's been shaking out for weeks now, and I'm still not sure exactly when it will start or how it will shape up. All part of the going round and round, and not actually getting anywhere.
I feel like I'm sitting in a race car, idling at the starting line. The engine is revving, the turbo is wound, and I'm just waiting for the little man to drop the flag so I can slip it into gear and actually... you know... go somewhere.
In the mean time, I'm making meaningless plans and putting one foot in front of the other. Spin, spin, spin. Practice my violin, make shopping lists, count calendar days. Lay awake in my bed, next to the window. Listen to the rumble of thunder and the drumming of the rain covering the silence out there in the muggy shadows of night. Wake up to the soft gray light of misty morning, and wonder if the sun will come back in time to enjoy one last golden day of summer at the swimming pool. Looking for one last chance to get seared in the sunshine, to make the cooling balm of fall that much more soothing when the leaves begin to rust and the pumpkins fatten on the vine.
But, for now, the vine is twisting - round and round and round.
I feel like that's where we're at right now. We're in the go-round stage.
Big Daddy T returned from his last 2 week trip to assess the house and worry that I was getting depressed again. The house was a bit cluttered, admittedly, but after having 2 uninterrupted weeks of parenting (half of which time was also spent entertaining at teenage girl) I figured I was entitled to be a little bit behind on the housework.
In fact, I can't remember the last time I had a truly "down" day. I have a few down minutes here and there, but over all things are overwhelmingly positive.
I think what he is picking up on has more to do with the spinning. This sense of impending change, a sort of building tension, making me antsy and nervous. I have spent the last month slowly cleaning out closets and organizing boxes of unidentified junk for donation. Slowly clearing out enough space to get my office set up downstairs for when I start my new job.
Did I mention that I'm likely going to be working from home soon? Yeah. Part-time. It's been shaking out for weeks now, and I'm still not sure exactly when it will start or how it will shape up. All part of the going round and round, and not actually getting anywhere.
I feel like I'm sitting in a race car, idling at the starting line. The engine is revving, the turbo is wound, and I'm just waiting for the little man to drop the flag so I can slip it into gear and actually... you know... go somewhere.
In the mean time, I'm making meaningless plans and putting one foot in front of the other. Spin, spin, spin. Practice my violin, make shopping lists, count calendar days. Lay awake in my bed, next to the window. Listen to the rumble of thunder and the drumming of the rain covering the silence out there in the muggy shadows of night. Wake up to the soft gray light of misty morning, and wonder if the sun will come back in time to enjoy one last golden day of summer at the swimming pool. Looking for one last chance to get seared in the sunshine, to make the cooling balm of fall that much more soothing when the leaves begin to rust and the pumpkins fatten on the vine.
But, for now, the vine is twisting - round and round and round.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Flushing Money Down The Internets
As we all, by now, are aware... the internet is a series of tubes.
Sometimes, when you spend money on the internets, you sign up for recurring subscriptions to fileservers and game services and then forget that you signed up for said services. In which case (*pointedly NOT looking at Big Daddy, of course*) it becomes, quite literally, an exercise in flushing money down the tubes of the internets.
Approximately 7 years ago, Big Daddy T signed up for such a service - which he promptly forgot all about. Every few months I would point to the electronic debit from the billing company on our checking statement and say "what's this? 9 dollars? Can we cancel this?" "Oh - Yeah. Forgot about that". Lather, rinse, repeat in about 3 months.
SO, 7 years, $750+ dollars later (at 9 dollars a month) I finally got hold of the billing company. (Not literally holding, just on the phone, though actually holding - preferably by the throat - would have been quite lovely.)
A man with an incredibly thick Indian accent picked up the line. "Hello! [Evil Billing In Perpetuity] Company. This is Alan, how may I assist you today?"
"Hello, Alan. We have this bill. It comes out of my checking account every month, and I want to cancel it."
Alan gets some information, looks it up in (presumably) his computer and says "Oh! It says that for questions on this account I should refer you to this number. XXX-XXX-XXXX".
"Okay. Who is that, exactly?"
"That's the company you have the recurring contract with."
"Uh. Okay.. then who are you?"
"We are just the billing company - we just collect payments for them."
Okay. I should have figured this. I say thanks, google the number he gave me, find that it is - indeed - the company I thought it was. I start calling - only to realize they are located in L.A., and of course it's 6:30 in the morning there.
Finally, I log into the website (which has no clear, easy cancellation buttons) before realizing that it's the BILLING company website. Log on to the actual website, cancel subscription, pat what remains of my hair into place. I choose to ignore the piles of hair on the floor - those which I yanked out by the roots while painfully navigating 2 hours of my life I will never, ever get back.
2 hours of my life, $750 of our cash, and plenty of hair.
Do you know what I could buy with $750???
The time and the money are, admittedly, a loss. The hair, however, I am busily weaving into a hair shirt of torture - to be employed in the case that the man ever again signs up for anything on the internets which involves automatically recurring payments.
Sometimes, when you spend money on the internets, you sign up for recurring subscriptions to fileservers and game services and then forget that you signed up for said services. In which case (*pointedly NOT looking at Big Daddy, of course*) it becomes, quite literally, an exercise in flushing money down the tubes of the internets.
Approximately 7 years ago, Big Daddy T signed up for such a service - which he promptly forgot all about. Every few months I would point to the electronic debit from the billing company on our checking statement and say "what's this? 9 dollars? Can we cancel this?" "Oh - Yeah. Forgot about that". Lather, rinse, repeat in about 3 months.
SO, 7 years, $750+ dollars later (at 9 dollars a month) I finally got hold of the billing company. (Not literally holding, just on the phone, though actually holding - preferably by the throat - would have been quite lovely.)
A man with an incredibly thick Indian accent picked up the line. "Hello! [Evil Billing In Perpetuity] Company. This is Alan, how may I assist you today?"
"Hello, Alan. We have this bill. It comes out of my checking account every month, and I want to cancel it."
Alan gets some information, looks it up in (presumably) his computer and says "Oh! It says that for questions on this account I should refer you to this number. XXX-XXX-XXXX".
"Okay. Who is that, exactly?"
"That's the company you have the recurring contract with."
"Uh. Okay.. then who are you?"
"We are just the billing company - we just collect payments for them."
Okay. I should have figured this. I say thanks, google the number he gave me, find that it is - indeed - the company I thought it was. I start calling - only to realize they are located in L.A., and of course it's 6:30 in the morning there.
Finally, I log into the website (which has no clear, easy cancellation buttons) before realizing that it's the BILLING company website. Log on to the actual website, cancel subscription, pat what remains of my hair into place. I choose to ignore the piles of hair on the floor - those which I yanked out by the roots while painfully navigating 2 hours of my life I will never, ever get back.
2 hours of my life, $750 of our cash, and plenty of hair.
Do you know what I could buy with $750???
The time and the money are, admittedly, a loss. The hair, however, I am busily weaving into a hair shirt of torture - to be employed in the case that the man ever again signs up for anything on the internets which involves automatically recurring payments.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Celebratory Sushi
What better way to celebrate five years of married bliss than with plate after plate (after plate!) of picture-perfect sushi? And it would have made for perfect pictures if I could ever remember the camera on these outings. *sigh*
Ah well. We dropped Jack and Toby off with my friend Molly and headed to our favorite local sushi joint. We ordered fancy, spicy, tangy, sweet, beautiful plates of sushi, and then we sat ... and ate.. and talked. The silence was golden, and I got to hear all about Big Daddy's adventures in Germany and Austria.
Did you know that there are different kinds of marzipan? Apparently what you get if you order it in Germany has granola and raisins and such in it, while in Austria it is more like the pistachio-flavored paste that I have always thought of as marzipan. Yes, it was all romantic discourse on our dinner date. Actually, for me, this WAS romantic discourse. Since I can't yet travel in Europe myself, living vicariously through my husband really is the next best thing.
His next trip, at the end of this month, will be to Singapore.
I listened, with rapt attention, to the tales of his adventures... and this is when I realized that I have truly become The Stay At Home Mom. He goes, and I stay at home, and somehow this seems to work for us. I was a little worried that it would be too hard, being on my own so much of the time. So far, though? As long as I can immerse myself in his experiences, researching the locales on Wikipedia, daydreaming about dining in some little cafe (making sure to try the schnitzel) without any of the hassle of actually getting on the plane and going there... and as long as each return brings me a little souvenir of the places I have gone in my head... I think I'm going to get along just fine.
Ah well. We dropped Jack and Toby off with my friend Molly and headed to our favorite local sushi joint. We ordered fancy, spicy, tangy, sweet, beautiful plates of sushi, and then we sat ... and ate.. and talked. The silence was golden, and I got to hear all about Big Daddy's adventures in Germany and Austria.
Did you know that there are different kinds of marzipan? Apparently what you get if you order it in Germany has granola and raisins and such in it, while in Austria it is more like the pistachio-flavored paste that I have always thought of as marzipan. Yes, it was all romantic discourse on our dinner date. Actually, for me, this WAS romantic discourse. Since I can't yet travel in Europe myself, living vicariously through my husband really is the next best thing.
His next trip, at the end of this month, will be to Singapore.
I listened, with rapt attention, to the tales of his adventures... and this is when I realized that I have truly become The Stay At Home Mom. He goes, and I stay at home, and somehow this seems to work for us. I was a little worried that it would be too hard, being on my own so much of the time. So far, though? As long as I can immerse myself in his experiences, researching the locales on Wikipedia, daydreaming about dining in some little cafe (making sure to try the schnitzel) without any of the hassle of actually getting on the plane and going there... and as long as each return brings me a little souvenir of the places I have gone in my head... I think I'm going to get along just fine.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Stayin' Alive - The Power of 5
Little old lady that I am, my sciatica has been acting up something fierce (following an all-too-brief reprieve when I started running). I finally bit the bullet, followed the advice of Dr. Allie, and made an appointment with an Osteopath to get some OMM (which, I have learned, stands for "osteopathic manipulative medicine"). In the mean time, I'm going to get an appointment with a massage therapist and see if I can get some relief besides Ibeuprofen. Because the amount of Motrin I have consumed lately has probably left my liver nicely pickled. And, really? I can think of better ways to pickle a liver.
Speaking of my liver, the amount of bile in my life has significantly been reduced now that The Man is HOME. The boys and I hauled our tushies to the airport yesterday to retrieve Big Daddy. (I think that's T's new name. Big Daddy. It has a much nicer ring to it.)
So Big Daddy arrived with arms full of gifts from the wilds of Germany and Austria (he got to go see Salzburg while he was across the pond this time. I'm not jealous. Not at all. Really. Why are you looking at me like that??)
Okay, so I'm a little jealous, but I was easily soothed with a box of fancy German Chocolates. And, of course, my anniversary gift.
Today? It's our fifth wedding anniversary. Five glorious years, 2 beautiful boys, and piles of memories. Apparently, the fifth anniversary is the wood anniversary. And Big Daddy used a little ingenuity to figure that - Trees? They are made of wood. And since tree sap comes from trees, and since Amber is just petrified tree sap.... well, thus I somehow scored a pair of beautiful amber earrings. Which are glowing in my earlobes at this very moment and, yes, they are lovely, aren't they? And thank you for noticing....
Being the much less creative sort than my hub cap, I managed to find a small wooden basket to hold his symbolic-but-not-nearly-as-cool gift. Which he will get later tonight, so I won't spoil the surprise here.
Five years ago, at about this time, I was running around like an escaped lunatic. I was registering for nursing courses, attempting to shuttle back and forth across town, and hoping to make it to the ceremony on time.
My wedding day was easily the most stressful day of my life. In fact, it's the first and only time I have ever actually hyperventilated. (Thank goodness future-Doctor-Allie was there, paper bag at the ready...) The funny thing is, though, that none of the stress came from the actual "getting married" part. Marrying Big Daddy T? That was easily the least stressful decision of my life. He is the yang to my yin... the PB to my J. He's my bestest bud, an amazing father to the boys, and unconditionally patient and loving to his neurotic and unpredictable wife.
Plus? He's really, really great in bed. (Hi Mom!)
I'm a lucky, lucky girl. Thanks, babe. 8 years together, 5 years of marriage... and it's still you and me - 'till the wheels fall off.
Happy Anniversary.
Speaking of my liver, the amount of bile in my life has significantly been reduced now that The Man is HOME. The boys and I hauled our tushies to the airport yesterday to retrieve Big Daddy. (I think that's T's new name. Big Daddy. It has a much nicer ring to it.)
So Big Daddy arrived with arms full of gifts from the wilds of Germany and Austria (he got to go see Salzburg while he was across the pond this time. I'm not jealous. Not at all. Really. Why are you looking at me like that??)
Okay, so I'm a little jealous, but I was easily soothed with a box of fancy German Chocolates. And, of course, my anniversary gift.
Today? It's our fifth wedding anniversary. Five glorious years, 2 beautiful boys, and piles of memories. Apparently, the fifth anniversary is the wood anniversary. And Big Daddy used a little ingenuity to figure that - Trees? They are made of wood. And since tree sap comes from trees, and since Amber is just petrified tree sap.... well, thus I somehow scored a pair of beautiful amber earrings. Which are glowing in my earlobes at this very moment and, yes, they are lovely, aren't they? And thank you for noticing....
Being the much less creative sort than my hub cap, I managed to find a small wooden basket to hold his symbolic-but-not-nearly-as-cool gift. Which he will get later tonight, so I won't spoil the surprise here.
Five years ago, at about this time, I was running around like an escaped lunatic. I was registering for nursing courses, attempting to shuttle back and forth across town, and hoping to make it to the ceremony on time.
My wedding day was easily the most stressful day of my life. In fact, it's the first and only time I have ever actually hyperventilated. (Thank goodness future-Doctor-Allie was there, paper bag at the ready...) The funny thing is, though, that none of the stress came from the actual "getting married" part. Marrying Big Daddy T? That was easily the least stressful decision of my life. He is the yang to my yin... the PB to my J. He's my bestest bud, an amazing father to the boys, and unconditionally patient and loving to his neurotic and unpredictable wife.
Plus? He's really, really great in bed. (Hi Mom!)
I'm a lucky, lucky girl. Thanks, babe. 8 years together, 5 years of marriage... and it's still you and me - 'till the wheels fall off.
Happy Anniversary.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Toothless in West Virginia.
You may remember that I have chronicled several of my horrific dental experiences. This is due to the fact that - my teeth? They are bad. I brush obsessively. I floss. I Listerine and Act rinse. And yet - my teeth? They still break. Yes, they are bad.
When Toby was born, I left the hospital and went immediately to the dentist's office for a root canal. Months later, after post-partum depression and lots of therapy, I realized I had neglected to get a crown on the tooth. I realized this because the tooth? It broke in half. The dentist removed the broken half - luckily the back side of the bicuspid - and left me with the other half. I've been needing to get an appointment with an oral surgeon to get the rest of the tooth removed.
Today, nature did the job for me. Mostly. The remainder of the tooth broke off on a piece of toast.
Yes, you read that correctly - a slice of toast.
I'm officially an old woman. Who wants to volunteer to come pre-chew my food?
When Toby was born, I left the hospital and went immediately to the dentist's office for a root canal. Months later, after post-partum depression and lots of therapy, I realized I had neglected to get a crown on the tooth. I realized this because the tooth? It broke in half. The dentist removed the broken half - luckily the back side of the bicuspid - and left me with the other half. I've been needing to get an appointment with an oral surgeon to get the rest of the tooth removed.
Today, nature did the job for me. Mostly. The remainder of the tooth broke off on a piece of toast.
Yes, you read that correctly - a slice of toast.
I'm officially an old woman. Who wants to volunteer to come pre-chew my food?
Friday, August 10, 2007
Boy Howdy - Boy Crazy In 6 Easy Lessons
Somewhere along the line, I forgot what it is like to be a fifteen-year-old girl.
Specifically, there are a few rules that I have been schooled in, thanks to V and her self-assured wisdom of all things.
Lesson 1: The pool that has the water slides and the cool fountains and dumping buckets is fun, but is much less cool than the very small and boring pool down the street. This was ruled on once it was established that the "boring" pool comes equipped with several very cute teenage lifeguards. Apparently, looking cute in your string bikini in front of cute boys is WAY more important than actually having fun at the pool. (Like, DUH!)
Lesson 2: Being seen in public for 15 minutes before getting into the pool is just cause to spend 35 minutes in the bathroom applying makeup. Which will wash off 10 seconds after you get into the pool, leaving raccoon rings around your eyes. Which you will then spend the next 15 minutes wiping away with the back of your hand. Apparently, this all evens out - with bonus points for looking hot before you got into the pool. Especially when you realize that those lifeguards? They're, like, really cute.
Lesson 3: When the man at the coffee shop has his, er, barn doors open, as it were, the only acceptable way to deal with this is to mention to the person next to you - as loudly as possible - that "That guy's fly is open." Thus, you have done a good deed in informing him of his unfortunate situation, while saving him the embarrassment of telling this to his face. Or ignoring it altogether, which was my vote. Consider me re-educated in this matter.
Lesson 4: Bra straps are MEANT to be seen and, the brighter and more contrasting the color, the bigger the points for fashion statement.
Lesson 5: It is never acceptable to pass gas or perform any variety of bodily function in public. In the privacy of your aunt's car, however, it is imperative to let loose as loudly and often as possible. The stinkier the fart, the bigger win. Bonus points if you manage a silent-but-deadly emission and successfully assign blame to your innocent (and lacking in verbal skills to defend himself) cousin until after the stench has dissipated.
Lesson 6: The final, and most important, lesson. Shoes are evil and should only be worn to school or church, or under threat of the aunt who swears that if you cut your foot on a broken beer bottle in front of the common area she is not going to be the one to drive you to the emergency room, and you can jolly well walk there on your injured foot and maybe you'll learn your lesson. Politely acquiesce to your aunt's wishes, and slouch away under protest in a pair of flip-flops. Take them off as soon as you round the corner, and enjoy a barefoot walk in the sunshine. Your aunt? She will notice, but the sight of you wandering, young and lithe and carefree (and shoeless) will suddenly remind her what it was like to be fifteen (on the good days). Instead of giving you a hard time about it, she will wordlessly hand you a fistful of baby wipes to clean your blackened feet and suggest it's time to pop some popcorn and watch a chick flick on cable. And maybe paint each other's toenails while we talk about those cute lifeguards.
Specifically, there are a few rules that I have been schooled in, thanks to V and her self-assured wisdom of all things.
Lesson 1: The pool that has the water slides and the cool fountains and dumping buckets is fun, but is much less cool than the very small and boring pool down the street. This was ruled on once it was established that the "boring" pool comes equipped with several very cute teenage lifeguards. Apparently, looking cute in your string bikini in front of cute boys is WAY more important than actually having fun at the pool. (Like, DUH!)
Lesson 2: Being seen in public for 15 minutes before getting into the pool is just cause to spend 35 minutes in the bathroom applying makeup. Which will wash off 10 seconds after you get into the pool, leaving raccoon rings around your eyes. Which you will then spend the next 15 minutes wiping away with the back of your hand. Apparently, this all evens out - with bonus points for looking hot before you got into the pool. Especially when you realize that those lifeguards? They're, like, really cute.
Lesson 3: When the man at the coffee shop has his, er, barn doors open, as it were, the only acceptable way to deal with this is to mention to the person next to you - as loudly as possible - that "That guy's fly is open." Thus, you have done a good deed in informing him of his unfortunate situation, while saving him the embarrassment of telling this to his face. Or ignoring it altogether, which was my vote. Consider me re-educated in this matter.
Lesson 4: Bra straps are MEANT to be seen and, the brighter and more contrasting the color, the bigger the points for fashion statement.
Lesson 5: It is never acceptable to pass gas or perform any variety of bodily function in public. In the privacy of your aunt's car, however, it is imperative to let loose as loudly and often as possible. The stinkier the fart, the bigger win. Bonus points if you manage a silent-but-deadly emission and successfully assign blame to your innocent (and lacking in verbal skills to defend himself) cousin until after the stench has dissipated.
Lesson 6: The final, and most important, lesson. Shoes are evil and should only be worn to school or church, or under threat of the aunt who swears that if you cut your foot on a broken beer bottle in front of the common area she is not going to be the one to drive you to the emergency room, and you can jolly well walk there on your injured foot and maybe you'll learn your lesson. Politely acquiesce to your aunt's wishes, and slouch away under protest in a pair of flip-flops. Take them off as soon as you round the corner, and enjoy a barefoot walk in the sunshine. Your aunt? She will notice, but the sight of you wandering, young and lithe and carefree (and shoeless) will suddenly remind her what it was like to be fifteen (on the good days). Instead of giving you a hard time about it, she will wordlessly hand you a fistful of baby wipes to clean your blackened feet and suggest it's time to pop some popcorn and watch a chick flick on cable. And maybe paint each other's toenails while we talk about those cute lifeguards.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Teen Angst Revisited.
I recently started receiving invitations to my 10 year reunion.
Now, the fact that this event will be in beautiful Northern California in October might seem like an incentive to hustle my buns out there and reconnect with my past. Right? Yeah, you would think.
Now, that's not to say that there isn't anyone from my angst-ridden youth that I would like to reconnect with. There are plenty of folks I would love to see again and find out where their lives have gone in the past 10 years. And yet. I am incredibly reluctant to go.
I went to an affluent high school in the East Bay. We moved from Utah just before the start of my freshman year. By the time I left for college, it would be the first time I had lived in one place for more than 2 years since starting kindergarten. It was not until my senior year that I finally seemed to find my groove and a circle of friends around whom - while they shared little in common with me - I could finally relax and be myself.
All of my good memories from California have to do with either family events (a trip to Maui with my family when I was 16 was pretty rawkus) or with that Senior year. That was the year that Adam, a soccer player I had assumed too cool to be bothered with a geek like myself, taught me how to use the dark room and develop my own photos. It was the year I took photo after photo of the athletes and sporting events, both for the school paper and for my Senior Project. It was the year I took 2 periods of Ceramics class and cemented my regret that I never applied to art school. It was the year of my first kiss, my first R-rated movie (The Spitfire Grill - still one of my favorites), and my first car accident (I got rear-ended by a Toyota).
This reunion would be my first time back to Walnut Creek in 7 years.
And the thing is. The thing is, I don't think I'm going to go.
Financially, it doesn't make sense to spend so much money on something I am ambivalent about. Emotionally, I am totally focused on the present and future right now, and there is very little time to dwell on the past. Taking a stroll down memory lane, having the opportunity to say "you were horrid to me". This does not appeal to me nearly as much as a lazy afternoon at Ocean City with the boys.
There are individual people I would like to see again. of course. But they are few and far between... And high school as a whole? Is not something, at this point, that it seems worthwhile for me to revisit. That girl doesn't really exist any more -- she really never did. The girl I was then was a hollow attempt to be what I thought I was supposed to be.
It took so many years to realize I didn't have to try - that just being myself really comes quite naturally. It was the trying to be someone else, for other people, that was hard. Once I let go of that, I realized I'm actually quite happy with who I am.
So, yeah. Reuniting with my graduating class? Revisiting a time in my life when I was so desperately insecure and painfully aware of the fact that I looked at the world in a different way than most people I had ever met - and unable to see that as a good thing?
I think I just made my final decision.
Somehow... I don't expect to be desperately missed.
That's really okay with me.
Now, the fact that this event will be in beautiful Northern California in October might seem like an incentive to hustle my buns out there and reconnect with my past. Right? Yeah, you would think.
Now, that's not to say that there isn't anyone from my angst-ridden youth that I would like to reconnect with. There are plenty of folks I would love to see again and find out where their lives have gone in the past 10 years. And yet. I am incredibly reluctant to go.
I went to an affluent high school in the East Bay. We moved from Utah just before the start of my freshman year. By the time I left for college, it would be the first time I had lived in one place for more than 2 years since starting kindergarten. It was not until my senior year that I finally seemed to find my groove and a circle of friends around whom - while they shared little in common with me - I could finally relax and be myself.
All of my good memories from California have to do with either family events (a trip to Maui with my family when I was 16 was pretty rawkus) or with that Senior year. That was the year that Adam, a soccer player I had assumed too cool to be bothered with a geek like myself, taught me how to use the dark room and develop my own photos. It was the year I took photo after photo of the athletes and sporting events, both for the school paper and for my Senior Project. It was the year I took 2 periods of Ceramics class and cemented my regret that I never applied to art school. It was the year of my first kiss, my first R-rated movie (The Spitfire Grill - still one of my favorites), and my first car accident (I got rear-ended by a Toyota).
This reunion would be my first time back to Walnut Creek in 7 years.
And the thing is. The thing is, I don't think I'm going to go.
Financially, it doesn't make sense to spend so much money on something I am ambivalent about. Emotionally, I am totally focused on the present and future right now, and there is very little time to dwell on the past. Taking a stroll down memory lane, having the opportunity to say "you were horrid to me". This does not appeal to me nearly as much as a lazy afternoon at Ocean City with the boys.
There are individual people I would like to see again. of course. But they are few and far between... And high school as a whole? Is not something, at this point, that it seems worthwhile for me to revisit. That girl doesn't really exist any more -- she really never did. The girl I was then was a hollow attempt to be what I thought I was supposed to be.
It took so many years to realize I didn't have to try - that just being myself really comes quite naturally. It was the trying to be someone else, for other people, that was hard. Once I let go of that, I realized I'm actually quite happy with who I am.
So, yeah. Reuniting with my graduating class? Revisiting a time in my life when I was so desperately insecure and painfully aware of the fact that I looked at the world in a different way than most people I had ever met - and unable to see that as a good thing?
I think I just made my final decision.
Somehow... I don't expect to be desperately missed.
That's really okay with me.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Reap The Teenage Whirlwind...
Stanley Steemer apparently overbooked themselves (playing catch-up after one of the techs fell off his deck and put them behind) and so... no clean carpets for me.
Which means I get to do the clean-up all over again whenever they get around to calling me back and rescheduling. Which, in this house, is probably not a bad thing. Especially since the dog shredded several household items since Friday. Ain't life grand?
Our teenage niece (the daughter of T's eldest sister) is spending the week with us.
I had forgotten, somehow, the mix of budding empathy and general scorn for the universe that comes with being 15. Which she is. Today. It's V's birthday. She turns 15 today and will be starting high school in a few weeks.
We are celebrating by heading out to the pool. I figure we can roast the day away in some cool water (slathered in 50 proof sunscreen, of course) and have a picnic before heading back home. V was keen on the idea, and the thought of toting her unsuspecting baby cousins around in the deep waters. Me? I'm just glad I invested in board shorts. The comparisons to a teenage girl will not be in my favor. Which I am totally fine with.... so long as my butt and thighs are firmly covered from human view.
Yesterday, we happened to be driving home after doing some shopping at Target, when I started waxing philosophical on all things adolescence. The exchange that followed gave me a reason to smirk wryly at my ceiling as I fell asleep last night.
"You're at an age where everybody is just trying to figure out who they are and who they're going to be."
"I already know who I am. I don't care what other people think."
"Well, you know who you are right now. You're going to keep evolving, becoming the person you're going to be later on in life. You won't always be the person you are at fifteen, and who you are won't always be dictated so much by who your friends are. You're going to learn a lot in the next few years, especially. High school is rough. Your priorities are really going to change."
"Oh. Whatever. Anyways."
And thus, she firmly cemented that - any attempt to vicariously "know then what I know now" - by passing on the wisdom of a lifetime to this young padawan?
Totally whatever. Anyways.
Which means I get to do the clean-up all over again whenever they get around to calling me back and rescheduling. Which, in this house, is probably not a bad thing. Especially since the dog shredded several household items since Friday. Ain't life grand?
Our teenage niece (the daughter of T's eldest sister) is spending the week with us.
I had forgotten, somehow, the mix of budding empathy and general scorn for the universe that comes with being 15. Which she is. Today. It's V's birthday. She turns 15 today and will be starting high school in a few weeks.
We are celebrating by heading out to the pool. I figure we can roast the day away in some cool water (slathered in 50 proof sunscreen, of course) and have a picnic before heading back home. V was keen on the idea, and the thought of toting her unsuspecting baby cousins around in the deep waters. Me? I'm just glad I invested in board shorts. The comparisons to a teenage girl will not be in my favor. Which I am totally fine with.... so long as my butt and thighs are firmly covered from human view.
Yesterday, we happened to be driving home after doing some shopping at Target, when I started waxing philosophical on all things adolescence. The exchange that followed gave me a reason to smirk wryly at my ceiling as I fell asleep last night.
"You're at an age where everybody is just trying to figure out who they are and who they're going to be."
"I already know who I am. I don't care what other people think."
"Well, you know who you are right now. You're going to keep evolving, becoming the person you're going to be later on in life. You won't always be the person you are at fifteen, and who you are won't always be dictated so much by who your friends are. You're going to learn a lot in the next few years, especially. High school is rough. Your priorities are really going to change."
"Oh. Whatever. Anyways."
And thus, she firmly cemented that - any attempt to vicariously "know then what I know now" - by passing on the wisdom of a lifetime to this young padawan?
Totally whatever. Anyways.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Barefoot in the Kitchen.
Having the carpets periodically cleaned is NOT an optional activity in a house with 2 small boys, 2 hairy cats (BLACK!) and 1 very large dog.
Today is the day that Stanley Steemer is coming to remove a year's worth of juice stains, funny-smelling patches that we blame on the dog (because that's less disturbing somehow than blaming the children. Even if they are the more likely culprits than the ridiculously well-housebroken Gizmo). Then, there's the built-up cat hair, ground-in dirt and the occasional coffee or soda spill. Even after going through gallons of Resolve over the course of the year? The carpet still looks like we threw several wild parties and maybe dragged dirty diapers around on it for good measure.
So today was a flurry of activity, getting the house prepped to be deep-steam-cleaned. Rolling up rugs, moving small tables off onto hard floors, and vacuuming the entire blasted house. Also? Many MANY loads of laundry. (Look honey! You finally have clean underwears!).
And so! Once all that was wrapped up, I sat down - sweaty and sore - to catch up on my blogroll and perhaps even add to that other blog of mine.
That's when I realized it.
I'm done. Done with the shopping blog... because? Because with 2 kids and a hefty mortgage and the expense just to get the things we absolutely MUST have (note to self: make eye doctor appointments, find dentist who accepts new insurance, check flex spending account for enough funds to get the thousand dollars of dental work I still need this year)... it's really not any fun any more to spend time looking at things I'd really *like* to have, but cannot justify spending money on.
And so.
And so, I will no longer be updating What Mommy Wants. I'll leave it up for archival purposes for a while, but beyond that... it is finito. Done. Kaput.
But fear not! Lest you crave more of my Buddha-like wisdom than can be gleaned from only the pages of this written wonder that is Stay At Aum Mom... I present to you....
"Eat Drink and Be Married".
I started it almost 1 year ago as a place for T and I to write about our foodie exploits. Okay, so we're dissociated foodies - enjoying homemade lamb curry and frozen fish-sticks, sometimes in the same weekend. That said, we do manage - once in a good while - to make some pretty impressive delights.
And so, hopefully to be updated on at least a weekly basis, and with guest posts from the Man Himself (hopefully a periodic article or two on the gastric delights he will be enjoying as he travels the globe) please to be bookmarking Here. Be nice to him. Remember, the man doesn't just cook (things like rosemary braised tuna steaks with stuffed portabella mushrooms and brown sugar and mustard-glazed salmon filets with homemade whipped potatoes) ... he also does the dishes when he's done.
Today is the day that Stanley Steemer is coming to remove a year's worth of juice stains, funny-smelling patches that we blame on the dog (because that's less disturbing somehow than blaming the children. Even if they are the more likely culprits than the ridiculously well-housebroken Gizmo). Then, there's the built-up cat hair, ground-in dirt and the occasional coffee or soda spill. Even after going through gallons of Resolve over the course of the year? The carpet still looks like we threw several wild parties and maybe dragged dirty diapers around on it for good measure.
So today was a flurry of activity, getting the house prepped to be deep-steam-cleaned. Rolling up rugs, moving small tables off onto hard floors, and vacuuming the entire blasted house. Also? Many MANY loads of laundry. (Look honey! You finally have clean underwears!).
And so! Once all that was wrapped up, I sat down - sweaty and sore - to catch up on my blogroll and perhaps even add to that other blog of mine.
That's when I realized it.
I'm done. Done with the shopping blog... because? Because with 2 kids and a hefty mortgage and the expense just to get the things we absolutely MUST have (note to self: make eye doctor appointments, find dentist who accepts new insurance, check flex spending account for enough funds to get the thousand dollars of dental work I still need this year)... it's really not any fun any more to spend time looking at things I'd really *like* to have, but cannot justify spending money on.
And so.
And so, I will no longer be updating What Mommy Wants. I'll leave it up for archival purposes for a while, but beyond that... it is finito. Done. Kaput.
But fear not! Lest you crave more of my Buddha-like wisdom than can be gleaned from only the pages of this written wonder that is Stay At Aum Mom... I present to you....
"Eat Drink and Be Married".
I started it almost 1 year ago as a place for T and I to write about our foodie exploits. Okay, so we're dissociated foodies - enjoying homemade lamb curry and frozen fish-sticks, sometimes in the same weekend. That said, we do manage - once in a good while - to make some pretty impressive delights.
And so, hopefully to be updated on at least a weekly basis, and with guest posts from the Man Himself (hopefully a periodic article or two on the gastric delights he will be enjoying as he travels the globe) please to be bookmarking Here. Be nice to him. Remember, the man doesn't just cook (things like rosemary braised tuna steaks with stuffed portabella mushrooms and brown sugar and mustard-glazed salmon filets with homemade whipped potatoes) ... he also does the dishes when he's done.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)