recently, it has come to my attention that i am thinner-skinned than i would like...that certain things embarrass me or hurt my feelings more than they should...
that i'm, gulp, sensitive...
i know what you're thinking, this comes as no surprise to some of you...
but when you're me, well i'd like to think that i'm past all that...that i came out of the nineties with a smidge of wisdom and the heart of a riot grrl...
not so much...what i thought was *wisdom* was really just the act of growing up and moving forward...and the riot grrl?...i think she left a long time ago and may have even stolen from me...she was never to be trusted...
so i am left fallible and human...shit...
i don't like it, i don't like it one bit...
i don't like the idea that i can be open to the world at large...that the mistakes of others can also cost me in emotion and personal loss...in disappointment...
i'd like to think that the road that led me here was leveling out...that with the passage of time, life was becoming, well if not *easier* at least more simple...that every day was indeed just that...a new day...not a new day possibly containing eminent emotional peril...
but lately it is...and it seems the older i get the more crap comes down the pike...crap i choose to absorb when i should be choosing to let it float by...
i was talking to the lord of the ring and he was telling me about one of the last times he spent with his grandfather before he died...his grandfather was old, in a wheelchair, his body broken by disease and life choices...and yet his grandfather told him he still felt like he was in his twenties...even though the body he was in suggested differently, he did not feel like he was that old...
i think about that and i suppose i too feel that way...even though i am getting older, i still feel young...some days younger than others...
and in that comes the sensitivity...that perhaps the wise-ass woman i have grown into is still, in the grand scheme of things, no older than that inner child i can not seem to shake...that sensitive eight year old...the one who didn't have a clue, and yet felt the world so heavily on her shoulders it was hard to not try to figure it out...and try and try and try...
and now, today, i sit here in this body that has borne so much...here in this chair, in front of this computer, and you...and i feel my skinny eight year old arms hugging my legs, the warm summer sidewalk of my childhood beneath me, wondering when am i going to stop feeling so sad and when am i going to stop taking it so personally...
sad about so many things i can't control, deeply affected by so many life choices that are not my own...disappointed that i don't know a less sensitive way to be, a better way to deal with what does come down the pike...
but i don't...at least not yet...
and to be honest, i don't think i could even for one moment consider giving up my inner child anymore than she could think of leaving...
because i'm waiting for the day she doesn't feel the world so heavily on her shoulders, and she's waiting for me to figure it all out...
x.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
pain in the neck...
i have a pain in my neck...not a metaphor, but actual pain...
the kind of pain that pulls my shoulder up to my ear a la quasimodo and requires a mega dose of advil to get through the morning...or whiskey...
this happens every once in awhile...usually due to stress...and although i haven't felt particularly stressed as of late, i have to believe that a woman in my position always has some level of stress percolating below the surface...reserve stress, if you will...you know, just in case i get too comfortable or too content...
so i believe that in addition to the permanent underlying stress, i came to this particular episode of pain largely by sleeping in wingman's bed...possibly the most inhospitable bed known to man...well at least to me...
first of all, the pillows are all wrong...those big soft fluffy marshmallow pillows the lord of the ring and the boybarians favor...but the absolute worst kind for my neck...you lay on the pillow and your head sinks all the way to the bed and you have a confining wall of fluff on either side of your face...
absolutely no support and claustrophobia while sleeping...you might as well attach a weight around my neck and throw me down a well...
and the mattress slopes...it was the duke's mattress before wingman's and too many years of parental snuggling on one side has made it slope...no matter how many times it gets flipped, it's like sleeping on the side of the matterhorn...
plus then there's the matter of wingman...hot and sweaty and actually sleeps better while sleeping on my neck...plus he shouts out and hits occasionally in his sleep...
i know it sounds bad, but i assure you, it's much much worse in person...
and the only reason i was sleeping with him was because i'm still dealing with our bed (cat pee) and we can't hear him in our temporary (although becoming less so with the passage of time) sleeping quarters downstairs...
so what we would do is put him to sleep in his bed, then move him downstairs with us when we were ready to go to sleep...then we would all three try to sleep on a smallish futon, until the duke would come down to snuggle...then we'd urge the duke back up to his own bed, or if we were too tired we'd let him in bed with us...
this was not working so i decided just to sleep with wingman in his bed, thereby making the futon a bit larger for the lord of the ring, who is recently feeling a little under the weather, and curtail the duke's nightly snuggle run...
as a result, i woke up in wingman's bed feeling not a day over eighty...it takes me a good five minutes to get out of bed all the while wingman is literally shouting
"food! food!...dit up, mama!"
again, it really is much worse in person...
the duke's bed isn't much better...last night i was just settling in for the nightly story when i encountered old pee (his) that he did not previously alert me to, and throwup (cat)...
apparently now that the cat doesn't have access to our bed to pee, she has taken to throwing up on the duke's bed...
damn cat...i know she's old but apparently she didn't get the memo letting everyone know i'm halfway to crazy and she's just tip tip tipping the balance...
at least the duke's bed is more favorable to my neck (if not my olfactory senses)...but only slightly so as there is the duke to contend with...in his sleep he's like an octopus...a really bony and sharp-angled octopus...the kid who barely lets you touch him during the day wraps himself around you and won't let you go at night...
and he's hot and sweaty and even without the pee smells like kid...and if you don't know what *kid* smells like, well then you're lucky...
so i get the bed cleaned up and get the book read and get the duke tucked in...and make a vow to lock the cat in the basement...
the kid beds are bad, but the futon downstairs isn't much better...i mean, it's a futon...it's a futon and i'm not in college or even in my twenties...i'm an actual adult woman who's been through two full on weddings and a divorce and who nearly died TWICE while giving birth!...not to MENTION that thing at the border!...i have seen some shit and i DESERVE far better than a FUTON to sleep on!!...
the only thing going for it is that it that the cat hasn't peed on it...yet...
oh, and just guess who gets to sleep next to the wall?...a wall that is made up exclusively of unfinished wood boards?...a wall that perhaps would do well in a place such as, oh i don't know, abu graib?...
so now my neck is shot and i have a mountain of bedding to wash...not to mention the rest of the day's tasks...meanwhile, of course the boybarians are both well rested and as vivacious and usual...
at least this morning i didn't wake up with splinters in my arm...it really is the small stuff to be thankful for, huh?
yeah...if only i could find the cloud i could tell it where to shove it's silver lining...
you know, i never thought i'd look *wistfully* back at the time i drank too much and passed out next a friend's dog and feeding dishes, but man, now that was a good night's sleep...
x.
the kind of pain that pulls my shoulder up to my ear a la quasimodo and requires a mega dose of advil to get through the morning...or whiskey...
this happens every once in awhile...usually due to stress...and although i haven't felt particularly stressed as of late, i have to believe that a woman in my position always has some level of stress percolating below the surface...reserve stress, if you will...you know, just in case i get too comfortable or too content...
so i believe that in addition to the permanent underlying stress, i came to this particular episode of pain largely by sleeping in wingman's bed...possibly the most inhospitable bed known to man...well at least to me...
first of all, the pillows are all wrong...those big soft fluffy marshmallow pillows the lord of the ring and the boybarians favor...but the absolute worst kind for my neck...you lay on the pillow and your head sinks all the way to the bed and you have a confining wall of fluff on either side of your face...
absolutely no support and claustrophobia while sleeping...you might as well attach a weight around my neck and throw me down a well...
and the mattress slopes...it was the duke's mattress before wingman's and too many years of parental snuggling on one side has made it slope...no matter how many times it gets flipped, it's like sleeping on the side of the matterhorn...
plus then there's the matter of wingman...hot and sweaty and actually sleeps better while sleeping on my neck...plus he shouts out and hits occasionally in his sleep...
i know it sounds bad, but i assure you, it's much much worse in person...
and the only reason i was sleeping with him was because i'm still dealing with our bed (cat pee) and we can't hear him in our temporary (although becoming less so with the passage of time) sleeping quarters downstairs...
so what we would do is put him to sleep in his bed, then move him downstairs with us when we were ready to go to sleep...then we would all three try to sleep on a smallish futon, until the duke would come down to snuggle...then we'd urge the duke back up to his own bed, or if we were too tired we'd let him in bed with us...
this was not working so i decided just to sleep with wingman in his bed, thereby making the futon a bit larger for the lord of the ring, who is recently feeling a little under the weather, and curtail the duke's nightly snuggle run...
as a result, i woke up in wingman's bed feeling not a day over eighty...it takes me a good five minutes to get out of bed all the while wingman is literally shouting
"food! food!...dit up, mama!"
again, it really is much worse in person...
the duke's bed isn't much better...last night i was just settling in for the nightly story when i encountered old pee (his) that he did not previously alert me to, and throwup (cat)...
apparently now that the cat doesn't have access to our bed to pee, she has taken to throwing up on the duke's bed...
damn cat...i know she's old but apparently she didn't get the memo letting everyone know i'm halfway to crazy and she's just tip tip tipping the balance...
at least the duke's bed is more favorable to my neck (if not my olfactory senses)...but only slightly so as there is the duke to contend with...in his sleep he's like an octopus...a really bony and sharp-angled octopus...the kid who barely lets you touch him during the day wraps himself around you and won't let you go at night...
and he's hot and sweaty and even without the pee smells like kid...and if you don't know what *kid* smells like, well then you're lucky...
so i get the bed cleaned up and get the book read and get the duke tucked in...and make a vow to lock the cat in the basement...
the kid beds are bad, but the futon downstairs isn't much better...i mean, it's a futon...it's a futon and i'm not in college or even in my twenties...i'm an actual adult woman who's been through two full on weddings and a divorce and who nearly died TWICE while giving birth!...not to MENTION that thing at the border!...i have seen some shit and i DESERVE far better than a FUTON to sleep on!!...
the only thing going for it is that it that the cat hasn't peed on it...yet...
oh, and just guess who gets to sleep next to the wall?...a wall that is made up exclusively of unfinished wood boards?...a wall that perhaps would do well in a place such as, oh i don't know, abu graib?...
so now my neck is shot and i have a mountain of bedding to wash...not to mention the rest of the day's tasks...meanwhile, of course the boybarians are both well rested and as vivacious and usual...
at least this morning i didn't wake up with splinters in my arm...it really is the small stuff to be thankful for, huh?
yeah...if only i could find the cloud i could tell it where to shove it's silver lining...
you know, i never thought i'd look *wistfully* back at the time i drank too much and passed out next a friend's dog and feeding dishes, but man, now that was a good night's sleep...
x.
Monday, June 28, 2004
big fish...
last week i was at a gathering at my mom's house...
during a conversation that included some tales of recent behavior of the boybarians, i said to the group in general i was considering military school for the duke...and i was explaining that unfortunately for me, the duke thought that it was a great idea!
to which one of my mom's friends says
"military school?...why that?"
"well, my parenting credo includes you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to start calling military schools..."
i thought it was funny, but she was just confused...because she believed me...
apparently my reputation had not preceded me...
we tell *stories* in my family...and sure, it may sound a lot like lying, but it's infinitely more creative not to mention more fun to tell a story than it is to just simply lie...
of course i'm not going to send my child to military school for any reason at all...i have never even considered the possibility...yet, to me it makes an amusing anecdote that i would fall into a time honored cliche so easily and *threaten* my child with military school...only for him to think it's a fine idea, and wants to know when he leaves!...
it becomes part of my story...
the same story that includes the tale of my birth as told by my father...the story goes that he was walking on the beach one day and that he was lonely...he looked down and saw two blue eyes peering out of the sand...so he began to dig, and he dug *me* up!...and then he had a daughter to walk on the beach with...
anyone who knows my father knows there's a million other stories where that one came from...big fish has nothing on that man...but the story my father tells of my birth is my favorite...
not so surprisingly, that's not the story my mom tells...
and my mom tells stories of her own...like the tale of the clown family that comes and takes little kids to live with them when they run off or run too far ahead...it's creepy...and i have to wonder, wouldn't a family of clowns taking you seem less creepy than your own grandma telling you they would and there wouldn't be anything she could do about it?...but, it's her story and she's sticking to it...and, she hasn't lost a grandchild yet...
she also told me the story of my *real* mom...apparently she is not my mom, and in fact my real mom is a bag lady living in paris...
so every mother's day i call her up and say "since my real mom is a bag lady in paris and i can't find her, happy mother's day"...
even more twisted and interesting is that my mother's story coupled with my father's story suggests that neither one of them want to claim any link to me genetically...
my younger sister is the queen of stories that all seem to fall into the *incredible but true* category...they are often long and involved, terribly maudlin, and always leave you laughing rather than crying...i can't tell you any because they are hers...and she tells them much better than i do, anyway...
but i can tell you one story she tells...a story that is about ME and that is NOT true...and after 25 years she still tells it and thinks it is as funny as the day she first MADE IT UP!...it's a story that involves an eight year old me, a lidded jar, and a fart...
and it comes as no surprise that it is a story she saves exclusively for telling with extreme relish when someone is either a) meeting me for the first time or b) in front of any remotely cute boy...and, as you can imagine, it's a real crowd pleaser...
in addition to that story, there are a few other stories floating around about me that also are NOT true...i can see how they may have evolved, and a few of them actually make me look much cooler and edgier (or more idiotic) than i really am...
but, alas, they are not true...i can't set the record all the way straight as this is a family show here, BUT i will say two things...
the first is that i did NOT get stopped for a suspected gun in my car at the border of texas and mexico...it was suspected drugs...whew, glad i cleared that up...(oh, and just so you know they don't perform cavity searches if they suspect weapons...they do however if they suspect drugs)...
and the harley davidson story is simply untrue...
it makes me wonder what stories my own children will tell when they are older...even now they play "once upon a time there was a boy..."...one of them will start and the other will add to it...they are little kid stories, short in length and very funny...the content coming from real life and their own imaginations...the best kind...
lately they are stories about a guy named "pickle freddy" who generally seems to be up to no good...he wears a sheriff's hat "only it's a modern sheriff's hat"...oh, and he's not a sheriff...he just wears the hat...
oddly enough, or not really so, "pickle freddy" reminds me an awful lot of a guy from my own childhood...a guy my aunt was once married to...the first time we met him he came to our house for a barbecue...and as he was getting out of the car, i saw that he was juggling a can of beer and a half drunk six pack held by the plastic ring...he was wearing nothing but old cut-off shorts and a cowboy hat with a sheriff's badge pinned to it...
this guy was the original "pickle freddy" if i ever met him...and it turns out that he too had spent a great deal of his life being "up to no good"...and even though it was long, long before the boybarians time, the "pickle freddy" i knew as a child has somehow survived, and has been re-incarnated into my own children's childhood...because i have no doubt that the stories that weave through my family, whether *real* or creatively embellished, have and will continue to become part of who my children are...
and when my own children ask how they were born, how they came to be *here*, they too will get a story...because how they both came to be is the most amazing, at times comedic even in it's horror, romantic, with death defying acts of bravery and loving leaps of faith, crazy, wonderful, and magical story of all...
x.
during a conversation that included some tales of recent behavior of the boybarians, i said to the group in general i was considering military school for the duke...and i was explaining that unfortunately for me, the duke thought that it was a great idea!
to which one of my mom's friends says
"military school?...why that?"
"well, my parenting credo includes you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to start calling military schools..."
i thought it was funny, but she was just confused...because she believed me...
apparently my reputation had not preceded me...
we tell *stories* in my family...and sure, it may sound a lot like lying, but it's infinitely more creative not to mention more fun to tell a story than it is to just simply lie...
of course i'm not going to send my child to military school for any reason at all...i have never even considered the possibility...yet, to me it makes an amusing anecdote that i would fall into a time honored cliche so easily and *threaten* my child with military school...only for him to think it's a fine idea, and wants to know when he leaves!...
it becomes part of my story...
the same story that includes the tale of my birth as told by my father...the story goes that he was walking on the beach one day and that he was lonely...he looked down and saw two blue eyes peering out of the sand...so he began to dig, and he dug *me* up!...and then he had a daughter to walk on the beach with...
anyone who knows my father knows there's a million other stories where that one came from...big fish has nothing on that man...but the story my father tells of my birth is my favorite...
not so surprisingly, that's not the story my mom tells...
and my mom tells stories of her own...like the tale of the clown family that comes and takes little kids to live with them when they run off or run too far ahead...it's creepy...and i have to wonder, wouldn't a family of clowns taking you seem less creepy than your own grandma telling you they would and there wouldn't be anything she could do about it?...but, it's her story and she's sticking to it...and, she hasn't lost a grandchild yet...
she also told me the story of my *real* mom...apparently she is not my mom, and in fact my real mom is a bag lady living in paris...
so every mother's day i call her up and say "since my real mom is a bag lady in paris and i can't find her, happy mother's day"...
even more twisted and interesting is that my mother's story coupled with my father's story suggests that neither one of them want to claim any link to me genetically...
my younger sister is the queen of stories that all seem to fall into the *incredible but true* category...they are often long and involved, terribly maudlin, and always leave you laughing rather than crying...i can't tell you any because they are hers...and she tells them much better than i do, anyway...
but i can tell you one story she tells...a story that is about ME and that is NOT true...and after 25 years she still tells it and thinks it is as funny as the day she first MADE IT UP!...it's a story that involves an eight year old me, a lidded jar, and a fart...
and it comes as no surprise that it is a story she saves exclusively for telling with extreme relish when someone is either a) meeting me for the first time or b) in front of any remotely cute boy...and, as you can imagine, it's a real crowd pleaser...
in addition to that story, there are a few other stories floating around about me that also are NOT true...i can see how they may have evolved, and a few of them actually make me look much cooler and edgier (or more idiotic) than i really am...
but, alas, they are not true...i can't set the record all the way straight as this is a family show here, BUT i will say two things...
the first is that i did NOT get stopped for a suspected gun in my car at the border of texas and mexico...it was suspected drugs...whew, glad i cleared that up...(oh, and just so you know they don't perform cavity searches if they suspect weapons...they do however if they suspect drugs)...
and the harley davidson story is simply untrue...
it makes me wonder what stories my own children will tell when they are older...even now they play "once upon a time there was a boy..."...one of them will start and the other will add to it...they are little kid stories, short in length and very funny...the content coming from real life and their own imaginations...the best kind...
lately they are stories about a guy named "pickle freddy" who generally seems to be up to no good...he wears a sheriff's hat "only it's a modern sheriff's hat"...oh, and he's not a sheriff...he just wears the hat...
oddly enough, or not really so, "pickle freddy" reminds me an awful lot of a guy from my own childhood...a guy my aunt was once married to...the first time we met him he came to our house for a barbecue...and as he was getting out of the car, i saw that he was juggling a can of beer and a half drunk six pack held by the plastic ring...he was wearing nothing but old cut-off shorts and a cowboy hat with a sheriff's badge pinned to it...
this guy was the original "pickle freddy" if i ever met him...and it turns out that he too had spent a great deal of his life being "up to no good"...and even though it was long, long before the boybarians time, the "pickle freddy" i knew as a child has somehow survived, and has been re-incarnated into my own children's childhood...because i have no doubt that the stories that weave through my family, whether *real* or creatively embellished, have and will continue to become part of who my children are...
and when my own children ask how they were born, how they came to be *here*, they too will get a story...because how they both came to be is the most amazing, at times comedic even in it's horror, romantic, with death defying acts of bravery and loving leaps of faith, crazy, wonderful, and magical story of all...
x.
Friday, June 25, 2004
tgif...
10 things i know from the trite but true file...
10. that given half a chance anyone has the capacity to be decent or deceitful...
9. being decent is underrated and usually an afterthought...so is forgiveness...
8. that life does not have to be a struggle but often is...
7. that if you sit still long enough you can have a very good conversation with yourself...
6. that children are stronger than we know, and adults more fragile...
5. truth really is stranger than fiction...really...
4. and if you lie to yourself long enough it will become true...
3. what we do and how we do it are two very different things...
2. letting go is hard...
1. hanging on is even harder...
but then again...
10. it's okay to believe in "one day you will look back on this and laugh"...(well, and if you can't laugh, at least you can look back on it without crying)...
9. there is incredible strength in numbers...
8. if given half a chance, hope really does spring eternal...
7. it's not what happens to you, but how you deal with it...
6. all you have to do is ask...really...
5. do what you love, the rest will come...
4. morning always comes...
3. there is always a choice...
2. if you want a better ending, you can make one up...
1. this too, shall pass...
x.
10. that given half a chance anyone has the capacity to be decent or deceitful...
9. being decent is underrated and usually an afterthought...so is forgiveness...
8. that life does not have to be a struggle but often is...
7. that if you sit still long enough you can have a very good conversation with yourself...
6. that children are stronger than we know, and adults more fragile...
5. truth really is stranger than fiction...really...
4. and if you lie to yourself long enough it will become true...
3. what we do and how we do it are two very different things...
2. letting go is hard...
1. hanging on is even harder...
but then again...
10. it's okay to believe in "one day you will look back on this and laugh"...(well, and if you can't laugh, at least you can look back on it without crying)...
9. there is incredible strength in numbers...
8. if given half a chance, hope really does spring eternal...
7. it's not what happens to you, but how you deal with it...
6. all you have to do is ask...really...
5. do what you love, the rest will come...
4. morning always comes...
3. there is always a choice...
2. if you want a better ending, you can make one up...
1. this too, shall pass...
x.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
animal farm...
the cat has had a banner week...
she peed on the bed and i've been dealing with getting rid of the smell for days now...
i thought it was bad enough that she had me shoving my nose deep into the semi- moist mattress to figure out where the spots i had missed getting with the nature's miracle were...
but last night she brought me dinner...
blech...i'll take cat pee on the nose any day of the week...
whatever it was was writhing about and very, very fat...and bleeding...man it was big!...we have little shrews and field voles out here, but this was the size of a small terrier...
i was on the phone and started screaming and freaking out...i don't do well with rodentia of any kind...especially the ones doing *reservoir dogs* in my dining room...
and of course the cat's all proud and feels deserving of a treat for the *treat* she brought me...tell you what cat, why don't you eat the rodent, i'm good...
so i yelled the cat outside and looked for something to throw over the corpse...i grabbed the first thing i found and popped it on top...i won't tell you what it was in case you ever come to my house and i use it because i am not throwing it away...
i waited for the lord of the ring to come home and deal with it...not my job...my mother tried to give me hints on how to dispose of it and i declined...
"that's why i have a husband"
you can just feel the irritation that radiates off my old school feminist mother when she hears her daughter say this...and you know she's thinking about all those books she sent me in college...and how the money could have obviously been much better spent for all the good they did...
i WAS a feminist in college!!!...an honest to god, pound-your-fist-on-the-table feminist...but now i have a husband so i don't have to be...isn't that great! (tee hee hee)
and while i'm doing the mother daughter dance on the phone i see the thing i popped over the top MOVING!!!...gotta go mom...
okay, so maybe it didn't really move...but it looked like it...i ran outside and stayed there till the lord of the ring came home with the boys...and it was very fortunate that in my desperate and frenzied hurry to escape i thought to grab a bottle of wine, a glass, and the corkscrew as it was quite a wait...
so when the lord of the ring got home he deftly and swiftly took care of the corpse...of course he praised the cat (she was his before she was ours)...and remarked on the size...
see, it's not just me...it WAS the size of a small terrier...
i'm too squeamish for pets and animals in general...but living out here, there's nothing you can do about it...springtime comes around and it's animal central out here...if it's not rodents being whacked in your dining room, there's the roving bands of blue jays, gangs if you will, who are obviously up to no good outside...
at least the jays only harass you from the yard...there is actually this one little bird who flys into the house right to the playroom anytime the front door is open...comes right in and hops about like he owns the joint...the kids think it's just grand and wingman named him "salty"...yeah isn't just great to have a bird flying right at your head like a bad scene out of a worse movie and finding bird poop on the bionicles...i can do without it, myself...
and if that isn't bad enough, lately i've caught him trying to come in with a friend!...cheeky bastard...
green acres is not the life for me...between what the cat drags in, the squirrels (i like to believe they are squirrels) who run in the ceiling over our bed, and salty, "bird wonder" it's all too damn much...
and don't even get me started on the fish...worst nine cents i've ever spent...
x.
she peed on the bed and i've been dealing with getting rid of the smell for days now...
i thought it was bad enough that she had me shoving my nose deep into the semi- moist mattress to figure out where the spots i had missed getting with the nature's miracle were...
but last night she brought me dinner...
blech...i'll take cat pee on the nose any day of the week...
whatever it was was writhing about and very, very fat...and bleeding...man it was big!...we have little shrews and field voles out here, but this was the size of a small terrier...
i was on the phone and started screaming and freaking out...i don't do well with rodentia of any kind...especially the ones doing *reservoir dogs* in my dining room...
and of course the cat's all proud and feels deserving of a treat for the *treat* she brought me...tell you what cat, why don't you eat the rodent, i'm good...
so i yelled the cat outside and looked for something to throw over the corpse...i grabbed the first thing i found and popped it on top...i won't tell you what it was in case you ever come to my house and i use it because i am not throwing it away...
i waited for the lord of the ring to come home and deal with it...not my job...my mother tried to give me hints on how to dispose of it and i declined...
"that's why i have a husband"
you can just feel the irritation that radiates off my old school feminist mother when she hears her daughter say this...and you know she's thinking about all those books she sent me in college...and how the money could have obviously been much better spent for all the good they did...
i WAS a feminist in college!!!...an honest to god, pound-your-fist-on-the-table feminist...but now i have a husband so i don't have to be...isn't that great! (tee hee hee)
and while i'm doing the mother daughter dance on the phone i see the thing i popped over the top MOVING!!!...gotta go mom...
okay, so maybe it didn't really move...but it looked like it...i ran outside and stayed there till the lord of the ring came home with the boys...and it was very fortunate that in my desperate and frenzied hurry to escape i thought to grab a bottle of wine, a glass, and the corkscrew as it was quite a wait...
so when the lord of the ring got home he deftly and swiftly took care of the corpse...of course he praised the cat (she was his before she was ours)...and remarked on the size...
see, it's not just me...it WAS the size of a small terrier...
i'm too squeamish for pets and animals in general...but living out here, there's nothing you can do about it...springtime comes around and it's animal central out here...if it's not rodents being whacked in your dining room, there's the roving bands of blue jays, gangs if you will, who are obviously up to no good outside...
at least the jays only harass you from the yard...there is actually this one little bird who flys into the house right to the playroom anytime the front door is open...comes right in and hops about like he owns the joint...the kids think it's just grand and wingman named him "salty"...yeah isn't just great to have a bird flying right at your head like a bad scene out of a worse movie and finding bird poop on the bionicles...i can do without it, myself...
and if that isn't bad enough, lately i've caught him trying to come in with a friend!...cheeky bastard...
green acres is not the life for me...between what the cat drags in, the squirrels (i like to believe they are squirrels) who run in the ceiling over our bed, and salty, "bird wonder" it's all too damn much...
and don't even get me started on the fish...worst nine cents i've ever spent...
x.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
the rules on the playroom wall...
we have a sign on the wall of the playroom with two rules on it...
1. have fun
2. put your toys away
and for the most part, it works!...what was once regularly a vast wasteland of toy piles, is now clean and organized...
and much nicer to play in...it's inviting, and i notice that the boys have more varied and intricate play when the space is more open...
my boys actually play quite well together most of the time...they can also play alone quite well...and, sometimes they fight...but for the most part, they enjoy playing with one another...
for instance, this morning wingman comes up to me and tells me he's a cowboy...
then the duke comes up and says
"well, basically we're pioneers"...
wingman says he can't be a "peneer" because he has to feed his baby...
what are you feeding her i ask him...
"a bottle of juice and a cup of honey"
(good to know nutrition is a big part of his parenting)
they decide to take a break from the road to feed the babies and water the horses...and bug me for popsicles...
often times the games are normal boy/kid games...chase, monster, building with legos, playing with cars...
other times, the play is odd and a bit frightening...
like the time the lord of the ring went in the play room to find the duke had seven *guns* made out of duplo blocks and was selling them to wingman and writing receipts...
he was understandably shaken by the experience and came to tell me our son was dealing arms...
to which i said,
"he KNOWS there are no weapons allowed in the house!...but at least he's leaving a paper trail...the feds will like that"
yeah, a bit disconcerting, but that night we had one of our many guns discussions...i DON'T like that kind of play, but i do like a springboard for discussing issues...
i never thought my NO WEAPONS! rule would be changed to no weapons in the house...along with no toy guns not made by them, no pointing at anyone, and no pretend shooting...and yes, you guessed it, it takes the fun right out of it...i mean, if you can do no more that hold the weapon it's probably less like a game of "cops and robbers" and more like a game of "discount mattress outlet security guard"...
for the most part wingman doesn't really get the whole gun thing, and despite the occasional gun sale that suggests otherwise, the duke isn't overly into the idea of guns...
but they do have swords they play with in the yard...they are warriors, vikings, knights, pirates...again, the swords and swordplay come with their own set of rules...and if it weren't actual toy swords, then it would be sticks, and if not sticks, stones, and if not that they'd find something...
the next day found the duke of fun and wingman playing "baby museum"...
when they came to tell me what they were doing my first thought was, great first arms dealings now some macabre museum...
of course i feared the worst, but when i went into the playroom i found that "baby museum" consisted of taking every baby and stuffed animal they own and making "safe" and "cozy" beds for them until their parents came to pick them up...
"mama, you have to be quiet...it took forever to get them all asleep"
my boybarians were playing daycare...
it's funny, because the times i hold my breath the most about what i think they have done or are doing, they are playing well and sweetly...
it's those sneak attacks, like walking into a back-room arms deal, or finding the duke demonstrating for(and on!) wingman the best way to tie hands behind the back with a jump rope...
"you know, in case we have to tie up robbers"
we have another sign on our playroom wall...and while it's not a *rule*, it fits nicely with the rules on our other sign...
dare to be remarkable
it's no secret that play is important to children...both for development and simple recreation...and i think fantasy play is extremely important...sure, some fantasy play can give the lord of the ring and i pause and require occasional redirection, but we wouldn't have it any other way ...
with my boys and their active imaginations and the freedom to express them, the inevitable conclusion is that i am at times going to be faced with something more intense or aggressive than i like...something that calls them from a place inside only they know about...
the trick is, well hell i don't know what the trick is...but what the lord of the ring and i do now is let them go...give them a safe, enjoyable atmosphere in which to play and express themselves, redirect when necessary, but ultimately let them go...
and letting go is hard, but hanging on is even harder...because even though it's difficult to reconcile that the play they favor at times is loud, aggressive, violent, it's a part of who my boys are...and we have to let go and let them go with their imaginations...be free to express what's inside...
within reason, of course...hence the weaponry and cleanliness rules...because while you may have just slain the dragon (NO! the cat CAN NOT be the dragon!)or beaten back the avenging pirates (shoving your brother off the big rock when he's not looking is NOT an acceptable way to play walk the plank!), you still have to clean up your trains and books and legos...
but that's life...rules exist for the safety and welfare of the world at large...and they exist here at home, too...and while we have many, many, more rules than the ones discussed here, the ones on the playroom wall are some of the most important...
1. have fun
2. put your toys away
3. dare to be remarkable
x.
1. have fun
2. put your toys away
and for the most part, it works!...what was once regularly a vast wasteland of toy piles, is now clean and organized...
and much nicer to play in...it's inviting, and i notice that the boys have more varied and intricate play when the space is more open...
my boys actually play quite well together most of the time...they can also play alone quite well...and, sometimes they fight...but for the most part, they enjoy playing with one another...
for instance, this morning wingman comes up to me and tells me he's a cowboy...
then the duke comes up and says
"well, basically we're pioneers"...
wingman says he can't be a "peneer" because he has to feed his baby...
what are you feeding her i ask him...
"a bottle of juice and a cup of honey"
(good to know nutrition is a big part of his parenting)
they decide to take a break from the road to feed the babies and water the horses...and bug me for popsicles...
often times the games are normal boy/kid games...chase, monster, building with legos, playing with cars...
other times, the play is odd and a bit frightening...
like the time the lord of the ring went in the play room to find the duke had seven *guns* made out of duplo blocks and was selling them to wingman and writing receipts...
he was understandably shaken by the experience and came to tell me our son was dealing arms...
to which i said,
"he KNOWS there are no weapons allowed in the house!...but at least he's leaving a paper trail...the feds will like that"
yeah, a bit disconcerting, but that night we had one of our many guns discussions...i DON'T like that kind of play, but i do like a springboard for discussing issues...
i never thought my NO WEAPONS! rule would be changed to no weapons in the house...along with no toy guns not made by them, no pointing at anyone, and no pretend shooting...and yes, you guessed it, it takes the fun right out of it...i mean, if you can do no more that hold the weapon it's probably less like a game of "cops and robbers" and more like a game of "discount mattress outlet security guard"...
for the most part wingman doesn't really get the whole gun thing, and despite the occasional gun sale that suggests otherwise, the duke isn't overly into the idea of guns...
but they do have swords they play with in the yard...they are warriors, vikings, knights, pirates...again, the swords and swordplay come with their own set of rules...and if it weren't actual toy swords, then it would be sticks, and if not sticks, stones, and if not that they'd find something...
the next day found the duke of fun and wingman playing "baby museum"...
when they came to tell me what they were doing my first thought was, great first arms dealings now some macabre museum...
of course i feared the worst, but when i went into the playroom i found that "baby museum" consisted of taking every baby and stuffed animal they own and making "safe" and "cozy" beds for them until their parents came to pick them up...
"mama, you have to be quiet...it took forever to get them all asleep"
my boybarians were playing daycare...
it's funny, because the times i hold my breath the most about what i think they have done or are doing, they are playing well and sweetly...
it's those sneak attacks, like walking into a back-room arms deal, or finding the duke demonstrating for(and on!) wingman the best way to tie hands behind the back with a jump rope...
"you know, in case we have to tie up robbers"
we have another sign on our playroom wall...and while it's not a *rule*, it fits nicely with the rules on our other sign...
dare to be remarkable
it's no secret that play is important to children...both for development and simple recreation...and i think fantasy play is extremely important...sure, some fantasy play can give the lord of the ring and i pause and require occasional redirection, but we wouldn't have it any other way ...
with my boys and their active imaginations and the freedom to express them, the inevitable conclusion is that i am at times going to be faced with something more intense or aggressive than i like...something that calls them from a place inside only they know about...
the trick is, well hell i don't know what the trick is...but what the lord of the ring and i do now is let them go...give them a safe, enjoyable atmosphere in which to play and express themselves, redirect when necessary, but ultimately let them go...
and letting go is hard, but hanging on is even harder...because even though it's difficult to reconcile that the play they favor at times is loud, aggressive, violent, it's a part of who my boys are...and we have to let go and let them go with their imaginations...be free to express what's inside...
within reason, of course...hence the weaponry and cleanliness rules...because while you may have just slain the dragon (NO! the cat CAN NOT be the dragon!)or beaten back the avenging pirates (shoving your brother off the big rock when he's not looking is NOT an acceptable way to play walk the plank!), you still have to clean up your trains and books and legos...
but that's life...rules exist for the safety and welfare of the world at large...and they exist here at home, too...and while we have many, many, more rules than the ones discussed here, the ones on the playroom wall are some of the most important...
1. have fun
2. put your toys away
3. dare to be remarkable
x.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
baby, it's chilly and overcast outside...
wow, short summer...
yesterday you could have fried an egg on my head, and it sure felt as though someone did with the headache i had...in fact, regardless of being so hot yesterday, i could have fried an egg on my own head i was so mad at the woman who cut in front of me at the supermarket...
if you saw a sweaty, obviously harried woman doing the *checkout-line shuffle* with two boys intent on *helping* straighten up the gum at the checkout counter, and you saw that all she had was a box of extra strength advil, a bottle of water, and a very grim expression on her face would you CUT IN FRONT OF HER AND HAND YOUR ITEMS TO THE CHECKER WHEN SHE TOOK TWO STEPS AWAY TO RETRIEVE HER CHILD FROM THE PATH OF A SHOPPING CART!!!
i couldn't even speak...but right then the duke said loud enough for everyone to hear,
"hey, that's not fair!...we were here first!"
someone give that boy a popsicle!
and forget frying an egg on her head, that woman had it all over her face...
but i digress...
yesterday was hot as hell and today dawned chilly and overcast...are those rain clouds i see?...
of course, with this change in weather, i now have a cold, *sneeze sniff sniff*...and the weather change has made the boybarians extremely cranky and more snarky than usual...
wingman insists we have lunch NOW! (not even 9 a.m.)so he can have a popsicle...
and the duke of fun keeps asking when we are taking our summer vacation to florida...
we aren't...but he feels that if he keeps asking (and keeps asking and keeps asking) we eventually will because for years now he has wished to go to florida...and when you are the duke of fun, the world is often perceived as being your oyster...and the very least your parents can do is take you on a vacation to florida...
oh, and don't get me started on the *cereal box syndrome*...wherein the boybarians spy a new box of cereal in the cupboard and suddenly the cereal they have been eating and enjoying for days just won't do and they refuse to eat it...
"fine, i'll starve then!...is that what you want!?!"
not really, but maybe then you'll be too weak to scream...
so forget everything i said yesterday because my goals for summer do not apply to today...today is not a day for lists and it sure as hell isn't a day for goals and accomplishing anything...
today is a new day...a floaty, anything goes day...a batten down the hatches and turn on the t.v. day...a day for reading our new library books and watching movies...
except, hmmm...i'm looking outside and the sun is now barely peeking around a cloud...it's looks a bit more bright and bit less grey outside...
maybe it won't be a chilly, overcast, stay indoors, anything goes day after all?...
maybe i'll just close the curtains...
x.
by the way, at yesterday at the duke's track meet he ran all of his races really strong, did great on the hurdles, and came in second in long jump!!...he's got the shortest legs out there but remains enthusiastic and committed!...go duke!
yesterday you could have fried an egg on my head, and it sure felt as though someone did with the headache i had...in fact, regardless of being so hot yesterday, i could have fried an egg on my own head i was so mad at the woman who cut in front of me at the supermarket...
if you saw a sweaty, obviously harried woman doing the *checkout-line shuffle* with two boys intent on *helping* straighten up the gum at the checkout counter, and you saw that all she had was a box of extra strength advil, a bottle of water, and a very grim expression on her face would you CUT IN FRONT OF HER AND HAND YOUR ITEMS TO THE CHECKER WHEN SHE TOOK TWO STEPS AWAY TO RETRIEVE HER CHILD FROM THE PATH OF A SHOPPING CART!!!
i couldn't even speak...but right then the duke said loud enough for everyone to hear,
"hey, that's not fair!...we were here first!"
someone give that boy a popsicle!
and forget frying an egg on her head, that woman had it all over her face...
but i digress...
yesterday was hot as hell and today dawned chilly and overcast...are those rain clouds i see?...
of course, with this change in weather, i now have a cold, *sneeze sniff sniff*...and the weather change has made the boybarians extremely cranky and more snarky than usual...
wingman insists we have lunch NOW! (not even 9 a.m.)so he can have a popsicle...
and the duke of fun keeps asking when we are taking our summer vacation to florida...
we aren't...but he feels that if he keeps asking (and keeps asking and keeps asking) we eventually will because for years now he has wished to go to florida...and when you are the duke of fun, the world is often perceived as being your oyster...and the very least your parents can do is take you on a vacation to florida...
oh, and don't get me started on the *cereal box syndrome*...wherein the boybarians spy a new box of cereal in the cupboard and suddenly the cereal they have been eating and enjoying for days just won't do and they refuse to eat it...
"fine, i'll starve then!...is that what you want!?!"
not really, but maybe then you'll be too weak to scream...
so forget everything i said yesterday because my goals for summer do not apply to today...today is not a day for lists and it sure as hell isn't a day for goals and accomplishing anything...
today is a new day...a floaty, anything goes day...a batten down the hatches and turn on the t.v. day...a day for reading our new library books and watching movies...
except, hmmm...i'm looking outside and the sun is now barely peeking around a cloud...it's looks a bit more bright and bit less grey outside...
maybe it won't be a chilly, overcast, stay indoors, anything goes day after all?...
maybe i'll just close the curtains...
x.
by the way, at yesterday at the duke's track meet he ran all of his races really strong, did great on the hurdles, and came in second in long jump!!...he's got the shortest legs out there but remains enthusiastic and committed!...go duke!
Monday, June 21, 2004
summertime, and the livin' is, um, easy?...
summer was easy when i was little...
school let out and for three months i ran around the neighborhood with the other kids...there were day trips to the reservoir, longer trips camping, and even longer trips up north to visit friends...
the days had a nice rhythm about them, and i don't remember really ever being "bored"...although, at some point as a kid, i started to make lists each summer detailing what i wanted to accomplish each day...even then i probably needed the reassurance of routine and the idea i was making good use of my time...
one year as i was reaching those dreaded middle school years i decided that i needed to clean up my act...act my age...my list only had two items...
1. wear clean underwear every day
2. don't skin my knees
wow, with such lofty goals it's a wonder i haven't gone farther in life...
now that i'm a parent, summer isn't quite as easy...
sure, what do kids really need but the sunshine, a popsicle, maybe a little water to dash about in?...
but really, in this household summer represents days without routine...and no routine is no good...forget the big guy upstairs, routine is *my* co-pilot...every day we have the same time and routine regarding school, rest-time, bedtime, t.v. time...and it works...for the most part...
but summer?...for some reason when the sun is shining and the heat is rising my brain goes wonky and i forget that there is only a certain amount of t.v. allowed, i don't mind if rest time starts a little later, ends a little earlier, popsicles for breakfast? SURE! why not!...just kidding on the last one, but can i tell you how happy it would make wingman?
but some days the heat just makes me feel like i'm moving through jello...
it's time for a list...a list of goals and the idea there is something to be acomplished...to establish if not a routine, at least workable rhythm...and since i have long been in the habit of wearing clean underwear daily, and haven't skinned my knees in years, i need loftier and more concrete summer goals...
i have come up with the following...
1. no matter how much he whines and regardless of the half an hour it will buy me, wingman is NOT allowed a popsicle for breakfast...well, at least not every day...
2. find a way to patiently, once again break it to the duke that as "fun" as it sounds, i still don't know of a fourth of july parade our family can march in...bummer...
3. put long-lasting waterproof sunscreen on the boys every morning, and remember that with summer brings a need for them to bathe more than once a week...at the very least toss them a washcloth once or twice a week when they're in the sprinkler...
4. it is perfectly acceptable to believe that by adding strawberries to margaritas i can then count each one i drink as a serving of fruit...(actually, a good sound policy in any season)
5. resist the urge to look in the mirror after squeezing into my bathing suit...it's a huge waste of time when a) i already know what's back there and b) there isn't anything i can do about it now as i started working out about three years too late for "swimsuit season"...
6. continue to hope that the duke won't beg me for a mesh tank top again this year...
7. convince wingman that he won't fall in the toilet if he actually decides to ditch the diapers and start to potty train...failing that, teach him to pee in the yard...
8. stock up on bandaids for skinned boybarian knees...
9. make sure the duke wears clean underwear every day...
happy summer solstice!
x.
school let out and for three months i ran around the neighborhood with the other kids...there were day trips to the reservoir, longer trips camping, and even longer trips up north to visit friends...
the days had a nice rhythm about them, and i don't remember really ever being "bored"...although, at some point as a kid, i started to make lists each summer detailing what i wanted to accomplish each day...even then i probably needed the reassurance of routine and the idea i was making good use of my time...
one year as i was reaching those dreaded middle school years i decided that i needed to clean up my act...act my age...my list only had two items...
1. wear clean underwear every day
2. don't skin my knees
wow, with such lofty goals it's a wonder i haven't gone farther in life...
now that i'm a parent, summer isn't quite as easy...
sure, what do kids really need but the sunshine, a popsicle, maybe a little water to dash about in?...
but really, in this household summer represents days without routine...and no routine is no good...forget the big guy upstairs, routine is *my* co-pilot...every day we have the same time and routine regarding school, rest-time, bedtime, t.v. time...and it works...for the most part...
but summer?...for some reason when the sun is shining and the heat is rising my brain goes wonky and i forget that there is only a certain amount of t.v. allowed, i don't mind if rest time starts a little later, ends a little earlier, popsicles for breakfast? SURE! why not!...just kidding on the last one, but can i tell you how happy it would make wingman?
but some days the heat just makes me feel like i'm moving through jello...
it's time for a list...a list of goals and the idea there is something to be acomplished...to establish if not a routine, at least workable rhythm...and since i have long been in the habit of wearing clean underwear daily, and haven't skinned my knees in years, i need loftier and more concrete summer goals...
i have come up with the following...
1. no matter how much he whines and regardless of the half an hour it will buy me, wingman is NOT allowed a popsicle for breakfast...well, at least not every day...
2. find a way to patiently, once again break it to the duke that as "fun" as it sounds, i still don't know of a fourth of july parade our family can march in...bummer...
3. put long-lasting waterproof sunscreen on the boys every morning, and remember that with summer brings a need for them to bathe more than once a week...at the very least toss them a washcloth once or twice a week when they're in the sprinkler...
4. it is perfectly acceptable to believe that by adding strawberries to margaritas i can then count each one i drink as a serving of fruit...(actually, a good sound policy in any season)
5. resist the urge to look in the mirror after squeezing into my bathing suit...it's a huge waste of time when a) i already know what's back there and b) there isn't anything i can do about it now as i started working out about three years too late for "swimsuit season"...
6. continue to hope that the duke won't beg me for a mesh tank top again this year...
7. convince wingman that he won't fall in the toilet if he actually decides to ditch the diapers and start to potty train...failing that, teach him to pee in the yard...
8. stock up on bandaids for skinned boybarian knees...
9. make sure the duke wears clean underwear every day...
happy summer solstice!
x.
Friday, June 18, 2004
blog, interrupted
well sort of...
today's original blog was interrupted due to the following three activities of the morning...
1. actually getting something into the mail that i promised to get into the mail...(albeit three days late) then wondering all the while why it took me so long, and seemed so difficult...and then realizing that my standing annual new year's resolution to become a *letter writer* would never come true...then i thought about dropping that resolution in favor of another more *do-able* one...but then i wondered if one could replace a resolution in the middle of the year, or do you have to wait until new year's rolls around again?...plus, i couldn't really come up with anything...which got me wondering why i couldn't come up with something that i could count on myself to do!...had to stop for a second cup of coffee after that...
time used 1.45 hours...this included searching for photos, locating an appropriate envelope, writing a note, and oddly enough trying to choose between two different kinds of stamps...both beautiful and full sheets to boot!...which got me wondering why in the world we had so many stamps...no one ever has stamps and we have two sheets!...then walking to the mail box and the cup of coffee...
2. worrying over my hair...this often threatens to be an all day process, but today it was largely confined to the morning...and now, well i suppose i'm over it only because it's nearly one in the afternoon and that means that in little over four hours time i can open an ice cold beer...i could do it earlier, but then i'd wonder if i didn't have bigger problems than worrying about when my hair is going to look less like johh travolta as vinnie barbarino and more like catherine zeta-jones as herself...
time used...@2 hours off and on...
3. finishing a book i started the other day...daughter's keeper by ayelet waldman...i just had to...and i was not disappointed, although a few bits and pieces of the plot were lacking proper development, it was a great read and i highly recommend it...
time used...2 hours...not including stopping to dry tears and blow my nose (the book made me cry) change a diaper, make lunch, and then try not to cry over spilled milk after it was dumped on me and my book...
and i'd like to stay here longer as it's rest-time for the boys and i thought i'd have the time...BUT the duke just now came down the stairs shouting "just coming downstairs to poop!" really loudly...of course that woke wingman up, who believes that the five minutes he's been asleep counts as a nap, and is now feeling rather refreshed and of course starving...
it's five o'clock somewhere, right?
x.
oh, and by the way my new new year's resolution is to start a blog...
today's original blog was interrupted due to the following three activities of the morning...
1. actually getting something into the mail that i promised to get into the mail...(albeit three days late) then wondering all the while why it took me so long, and seemed so difficult...and then realizing that my standing annual new year's resolution to become a *letter writer* would never come true...then i thought about dropping that resolution in favor of another more *do-able* one...but then i wondered if one could replace a resolution in the middle of the year, or do you have to wait until new year's rolls around again?...plus, i couldn't really come up with anything...which got me wondering why i couldn't come up with something that i could count on myself to do!...had to stop for a second cup of coffee after that...
time used 1.45 hours...this included searching for photos, locating an appropriate envelope, writing a note, and oddly enough trying to choose between two different kinds of stamps...both beautiful and full sheets to boot!...which got me wondering why in the world we had so many stamps...no one ever has stamps and we have two sheets!...then walking to the mail box and the cup of coffee...
2. worrying over my hair...this often threatens to be an all day process, but today it was largely confined to the morning...and now, well i suppose i'm over it only because it's nearly one in the afternoon and that means that in little over four hours time i can open an ice cold beer...i could do it earlier, but then i'd wonder if i didn't have bigger problems than worrying about when my hair is going to look less like johh travolta as vinnie barbarino and more like catherine zeta-jones as herself...
time used...@2 hours off and on...
3. finishing a book i started the other day...daughter's keeper by ayelet waldman...i just had to...and i was not disappointed, although a few bits and pieces of the plot were lacking proper development, it was a great read and i highly recommend it...
time used...2 hours...not including stopping to dry tears and blow my nose (the book made me cry) change a diaper, make lunch, and then try not to cry over spilled milk after it was dumped on me and my book...
and i'd like to stay here longer as it's rest-time for the boys and i thought i'd have the time...BUT the duke just now came down the stairs shouting "just coming downstairs to poop!" really loudly...of course that woke wingman up, who believes that the five minutes he's been asleep counts as a nap, and is now feeling rather refreshed and of course starving...
it's five o'clock somewhere, right?
x.
oh, and by the way my new new year's resolution is to start a blog...
Thursday, June 17, 2004
sidewalks and stoplights...
they say change is constant...and i suppose given how much change i have seen in my own life i'd have to say that statement is correct...
why is it then that when one is faced with change, directly or indirectly, asked for or faced with, it still feels jarring?
last night we were at the park having a dinner picnic...we met up with a man who was there with his three daughters...triplets and nearly teenagers...the moment i saw them i thought to myself, wow, the next few years are going to bring a lot of change to that man...
as it turns out the man, "doc" as he is called by his friends, had spent the last year facing extreme change...he had a work related accident, and as a result in less than a year he lost his house, his car, his insurance, and his livelihood...he can no longer work and he and his wife were just trying to scrape by raising these girls...
change had shoved him over the cliff and he was hanging on...
while we were driving home mulling over the man's circumstance and putting our own into perspective, i noticed one more new stoplight and the beginnings of street side curbs and a sidewalk...wal-mart is coming, hell it's here!...and paving the way for others to follow...having carved out more than a fair bit of the rural area, this particular pied piper is the best in the business...dealing in increased traffic, increased development, decreased way of life...
sigh...and i'm hypocritical enough to know that even though i don't like it, i will probably shop there...it's less than four miles from my home, and a hell of a lot cheaper than anywhere else...and that matters since the past few years have brought a significant financial change to our family...
what i wonder though, is how far will it creep?...how far into the open space and the trees and the pastures will change come?...because once you start putting in sidewalks and stoplights, it seems as if the invitation has been made and accepted...and if everyone else is like me, disliking but acquiescing, who will be there to stop it?...
we arrived home and readied the boys for bed...and last night was no ordinary night...change followed our own family home in the form of wingman's first night in his own bed...which meant the first night of the duke sharing his room...and after seven years of sharing our bed with children, the lord of the ring and i had the bed to ourselves...
the necessary pomp and circumstance was carried out and finally both boys were sound asleep, in their own room, in their own beds...and just like that, our family dynamic shifted and made room for change...
and while it is a needed and inevitable change, it is still a bit jarring and more that a bit bittersweet...and paves the way for the change to come...that invitation having been accepted long ago when we decided to start a family...
while in the face of change, it occurs to me just how much of my life is built around routine...the things i must do each day for my children's health, welfare, growth and piece of mind...for my own...
and while i am in this routine, i am constantly trying to hone it and streamline it so it is even more *routine*...
meanwhile, life is shifting and changing around me and i may not even notice...so fully immersed in this life, *life* such as it is marches on right outside my window...
i'd like to find a way to march with it...to be a part of the ebb and flow, the good the bad and the ugly...to be a part of something greater than myself and my family...
but the reality is there isn't anything greater than my family and the job i do...not to me...not right now...
yet, as life marches on outside my window, it too will inside these four walls our family has built...walls that for the most part keep the outside at bay, insuring the world doesn't get too big for those who are still small...and yet over time, change and it's constant nature will continue to shift our family dynamic...and as it does these walls will grow and allow for the inside to assimilate the outside and vice versa...
and when this happens i look forward to once again being part of the flow...being a part of the march that is greater than my own reality...still marching to my own beat, but marching along nonetheless...
and that opportunity will come faster than i think it will...because while the days may be long, the years are short...and getting shorter still...
for now, i am content with assimilating the change happening in our own small part of the world...not the sidewalks and stoplights and what they bring, but in making sure there are no bumps in the night for wingman...that the change he is currently facing goes well...
making sure that the ceiling doesn't seem too high, the dark too deep...that the cost of growing bigger isn't too great...
that at least for now, change comes cozily, welcomed, and undisturbed...
x.
why is it then that when one is faced with change, directly or indirectly, asked for or faced with, it still feels jarring?
last night we were at the park having a dinner picnic...we met up with a man who was there with his three daughters...triplets and nearly teenagers...the moment i saw them i thought to myself, wow, the next few years are going to bring a lot of change to that man...
as it turns out the man, "doc" as he is called by his friends, had spent the last year facing extreme change...he had a work related accident, and as a result in less than a year he lost his house, his car, his insurance, and his livelihood...he can no longer work and he and his wife were just trying to scrape by raising these girls...
change had shoved him over the cliff and he was hanging on...
while we were driving home mulling over the man's circumstance and putting our own into perspective, i noticed one more new stoplight and the beginnings of street side curbs and a sidewalk...wal-mart is coming, hell it's here!...and paving the way for others to follow...having carved out more than a fair bit of the rural area, this particular pied piper is the best in the business...dealing in increased traffic, increased development, decreased way of life...
sigh...and i'm hypocritical enough to know that even though i don't like it, i will probably shop there...it's less than four miles from my home, and a hell of a lot cheaper than anywhere else...and that matters since the past few years have brought a significant financial change to our family...
what i wonder though, is how far will it creep?...how far into the open space and the trees and the pastures will change come?...because once you start putting in sidewalks and stoplights, it seems as if the invitation has been made and accepted...and if everyone else is like me, disliking but acquiescing, who will be there to stop it?...
we arrived home and readied the boys for bed...and last night was no ordinary night...change followed our own family home in the form of wingman's first night in his own bed...which meant the first night of the duke sharing his room...and after seven years of sharing our bed with children, the lord of the ring and i had the bed to ourselves...
the necessary pomp and circumstance was carried out and finally both boys were sound asleep, in their own room, in their own beds...and just like that, our family dynamic shifted and made room for change...
and while it is a needed and inevitable change, it is still a bit jarring and more that a bit bittersweet...and paves the way for the change to come...that invitation having been accepted long ago when we decided to start a family...
while in the face of change, it occurs to me just how much of my life is built around routine...the things i must do each day for my children's health, welfare, growth and piece of mind...for my own...
and while i am in this routine, i am constantly trying to hone it and streamline it so it is even more *routine*...
meanwhile, life is shifting and changing around me and i may not even notice...so fully immersed in this life, *life* such as it is marches on right outside my window...
i'd like to find a way to march with it...to be a part of the ebb and flow, the good the bad and the ugly...to be a part of something greater than myself and my family...
but the reality is there isn't anything greater than my family and the job i do...not to me...not right now...
yet, as life marches on outside my window, it too will inside these four walls our family has built...walls that for the most part keep the outside at bay, insuring the world doesn't get too big for those who are still small...and yet over time, change and it's constant nature will continue to shift our family dynamic...and as it does these walls will grow and allow for the inside to assimilate the outside and vice versa...
and when this happens i look forward to once again being part of the flow...being a part of the march that is greater than my own reality...still marching to my own beat, but marching along nonetheless...
and that opportunity will come faster than i think it will...because while the days may be long, the years are short...and getting shorter still...
for now, i am content with assimilating the change happening in our own small part of the world...not the sidewalks and stoplights and what they bring, but in making sure there are no bumps in the night for wingman...that the change he is currently facing goes well...
making sure that the ceiling doesn't seem too high, the dark too deep...that the cost of growing bigger isn't too great...
that at least for now, change comes cozily, welcomed, and undisturbed...
x.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
the duke is FUN!...
top ten list of great and interesting things about my son, the duke of fun...
10. he knows that madagascar has two airports...knowing him he's probably figured out the route to get to them, too...
9. he can create anything out of legos...today he made a "robotic slug"...
8. he is ready and willing to try new foods...recently he had a fascination with having pizza with anchovies, ordered them on the side one night, then promptly decided they weren't for him...but the look on his face when he first got that little tin and then opened it, pure excitement...
7. he runs track and is excited and enthusiastic about every race...even when he comes in third...even in a race with only three kids...
6. he can calculate tax to the exact cent...and recently he used his money to buy a very complicated game with a lot of pieces and woke up at 5 a.m. ready to play...while he waited for the rest of us to get up, he arranged the pieces in different ziploc bags "so they don't all get mixed up and it's easier to set up"...a boy after my own heart...well, except for the getting up at 5 a.m. part...
5. he keeps asking me to teach him physics...i may have to donate him to n.a.s.a...
4. he is currently trying to figure out the best way to convince someone to put money on his now depleted target gift card...consider yourself warned...
3. he is learning to recognize and keep away from the creepy kids at the park...(finally!)...and recently we went to a toy store that had a wading pool filled with water to showcase the pool toys they were selling...the water was obviously old and very dirty and really gross...a definate boy magnet...and of course a bunch of boys his age were playing in it with the toys...the duke just walked by and said "hm, look at that water...boy that doesn't seem very healthy"...(yes!)
2. anytime his brother falls asleep on the couch or chair he will turn down the t.v., cover him up with a blanket, and come in to tell me we have to be quiet...
1. he lets me hold him when he's tired...
x.
10. he knows that madagascar has two airports...knowing him he's probably figured out the route to get to them, too...
9. he can create anything out of legos...today he made a "robotic slug"...
8. he is ready and willing to try new foods...recently he had a fascination with having pizza with anchovies, ordered them on the side one night, then promptly decided they weren't for him...but the look on his face when he first got that little tin and then opened it, pure excitement...
7. he runs track and is excited and enthusiastic about every race...even when he comes in third...even in a race with only three kids...
6. he can calculate tax to the exact cent...and recently he used his money to buy a very complicated game with a lot of pieces and woke up at 5 a.m. ready to play...while he waited for the rest of us to get up, he arranged the pieces in different ziploc bags "so they don't all get mixed up and it's easier to set up"...a boy after my own heart...well, except for the getting up at 5 a.m. part...
5. he keeps asking me to teach him physics...i may have to donate him to n.a.s.a...
4. he is currently trying to figure out the best way to convince someone to put money on his now depleted target gift card...consider yourself warned...
3. he is learning to recognize and keep away from the creepy kids at the park...(finally!)...and recently we went to a toy store that had a wading pool filled with water to showcase the pool toys they were selling...the water was obviously old and very dirty and really gross...a definate boy magnet...and of course a bunch of boys his age were playing in it with the toys...the duke just walked by and said "hm, look at that water...boy that doesn't seem very healthy"...(yes!)
2. anytime his brother falls asleep on the couch or chair he will turn down the t.v., cover him up with a blanket, and come in to tell me we have to be quiet...
1. he lets me hold him when he's tired...
x.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
making someone's day...priceless...
so yesterday morning it's about 9 and i'm in the back with the kids...
i hear a knock at the door and go to see who it is...through the glass door i see that it's two very well dressed and beautiful people on my porch dialing a cell phone...
i have no idea who these people are, and at once i regret that i am in my pajama bottoms and an old ratty outdated oversized mens t-shirt, slightly stained...my hair is nowhere near public ready...
in fact in my present state i look like somebody's down on their luck uncle...only the kind of *uncle* that's not really a blood relative, more like a guy that just continues to come around the family and so someone starts referring to him as *uncle* to the kids...the kinda guy who doesn't clean up particularly well and calls his girlfriend/wife/significant other "my ol' lady"...
the worst part is, even if i had *dressed* before now, it wouldn't be much different...unless i plan on company, i would have just had on a fresh ratty outdated shirt and a bandana to hold my hair back...which doesn't do much for the whole ensemble except to contain my hair, and in the process pull the skin around the top half of my face back thereby giving me a look that suggests i'm slightly more awake than i really am...i used to *dress* properly each day thinking it would improve my mood and make me more productive...it didn't, and i just ended up with a ton of laundry...
as i open the door the woman puts away her cell phone and at once gets a load of me, the bag of garbage behind me (i had just changed the can in the kitchen and set the bag right by the door so i could take it out later), and the unfortunately full recycling basket next to the door (full of budweiser bottles from a weekend visit with my older sister...the empty cardboard carrier perched jauntily on top)
the smile started fading from her face...
"barbara?"
(barbara is my next door neighbor who also runs a very wonderful pre school that happens to be right on the other side of her)
"um, no..."
"so um, this isn't the farm school?"
"no, barbara lives right over there and the school is next to her on the other side..."
and right then and there you could see that she wanted to shout "what a freakin' relief!"...but to her credit, she refrained from doing so...
i have clearly made her day...
"oh, because barbara said to look for a little red school house and we didn't really see it and we were driving around and then we saw all of these toys in the yard and children's shoes...we just figured..."...and when she said this she said it with a slight purse of her lips and an impatient little flick of her hand as if to indicate that there was more to be said about the matter, but that she was a lady and would not engage in such behavior...
(fyi there were two bikes and a frisbee in the yard, and a pair of wingman's rain boots on the porch)
i guess given the circumstantial evidence and the instability of first impressions and all, i wouldn't want my kid coming to school here either!...but this woman looked like she was already hearing banjos and wouldn't have been the least surprised to see me open the door holding a shotgun...
right then wingman chooses to join us...he is wearing a t-shirt, no pants, and a cowboy hat and carrying his baby...when wingman is around strangers he gets this sort of grumpy and somewhat vacant look on his face...the kind of look you see on kids in documentaries about appalachia...
and i see them watching him like they want to just pick him up and take him away from all of this...
i then try to explain to her where the school is...
"so it's not that run down looking building there?" she asks, pointing to the barn on the adjoining property...which is not *run down* and in fact houses two very sweet apartments...
"nope, it's on the other side of the little grey house...it's an actual school...they even have a sign..."
they thank me and leave...and what do i do?
put on my shoes and throw out the garbage...tamp down the recycling as much as possible and go change into a fresh ratty outdated shirt and a bandana...
and suddenly i no longer look like somebody's down on their luck *uncle*...
i do, however, look like his ol' lady...
cue the banjos, jimbob...
x.
i hear a knock at the door and go to see who it is...through the glass door i see that it's two very well dressed and beautiful people on my porch dialing a cell phone...
i have no idea who these people are, and at once i regret that i am in my pajama bottoms and an old ratty outdated oversized mens t-shirt, slightly stained...my hair is nowhere near public ready...
in fact in my present state i look like somebody's down on their luck uncle...only the kind of *uncle* that's not really a blood relative, more like a guy that just continues to come around the family and so someone starts referring to him as *uncle* to the kids...the kinda guy who doesn't clean up particularly well and calls his girlfriend/wife/significant other "my ol' lady"...
the worst part is, even if i had *dressed* before now, it wouldn't be much different...unless i plan on company, i would have just had on a fresh ratty outdated shirt and a bandana to hold my hair back...which doesn't do much for the whole ensemble except to contain my hair, and in the process pull the skin around the top half of my face back thereby giving me a look that suggests i'm slightly more awake than i really am...i used to *dress* properly each day thinking it would improve my mood and make me more productive...it didn't, and i just ended up with a ton of laundry...
as i open the door the woman puts away her cell phone and at once gets a load of me, the bag of garbage behind me (i had just changed the can in the kitchen and set the bag right by the door so i could take it out later), and the unfortunately full recycling basket next to the door (full of budweiser bottles from a weekend visit with my older sister...the empty cardboard carrier perched jauntily on top)
the smile started fading from her face...
"barbara?"
(barbara is my next door neighbor who also runs a very wonderful pre school that happens to be right on the other side of her)
"um, no..."
"so um, this isn't the farm school?"
"no, barbara lives right over there and the school is next to her on the other side..."
and right then and there you could see that she wanted to shout "what a freakin' relief!"...but to her credit, she refrained from doing so...
i have clearly made her day...
"oh, because barbara said to look for a little red school house and we didn't really see it and we were driving around and then we saw all of these toys in the yard and children's shoes...we just figured..."...and when she said this she said it with a slight purse of her lips and an impatient little flick of her hand as if to indicate that there was more to be said about the matter, but that she was a lady and would not engage in such behavior...
(fyi there were two bikes and a frisbee in the yard, and a pair of wingman's rain boots on the porch)
i guess given the circumstantial evidence and the instability of first impressions and all, i wouldn't want my kid coming to school here either!...but this woman looked like she was already hearing banjos and wouldn't have been the least surprised to see me open the door holding a shotgun...
right then wingman chooses to join us...he is wearing a t-shirt, no pants, and a cowboy hat and carrying his baby...when wingman is around strangers he gets this sort of grumpy and somewhat vacant look on his face...the kind of look you see on kids in documentaries about appalachia...
and i see them watching him like they want to just pick him up and take him away from all of this...
i then try to explain to her where the school is...
"so it's not that run down looking building there?" she asks, pointing to the barn on the adjoining property...which is not *run down* and in fact houses two very sweet apartments...
"nope, it's on the other side of the little grey house...it's an actual school...they even have a sign..."
they thank me and leave...and what do i do?
put on my shoes and throw out the garbage...tamp down the recycling as much as possible and go change into a fresh ratty outdated shirt and a bandana...
and suddenly i no longer look like somebody's down on their luck *uncle*...
i do, however, look like his ol' lady...
cue the banjos, jimbob...
x.
Monday, June 14, 2004
holy crap!...
recently i spent a few hours helping out a friend accepting donated items for a fundraising garage sale...
what a bunch of crap...well, maybe not all of it...some people were very generous in their donations, and i did get some cute baby clothes for the goddess mother, and the kids got a few cool things (all for free i might add so who am i to complain?)...but really, the majority of the stuff people brought in at once was utterly appalling and strangely fascinating...and crap...
especially the items brought in by people who were obviously very proud of their donations and had a bit of a hard time letting go of them...i have to say some of those were the worst of the lot...
it's interesting what people keep and value...what people keep and pack away to help them forget or remember or for whatever reason...i doubt i will soon forget the three foot tall box of what seemed to be twenty years worth of well used fanny packs, sweat stained visors, and dirty worn out size 13 golf shoes...
i myself am not immune from this...and while i don't have secret stashes of fanny packs and visors, i have plenty of boxes of my own crap...so i understand the attachment we humans have for our stuff...our hesitancy to get rid of something we may need or use or want again...but however i dispose of my crap (IF i dispose of it at all!), i have come to the conclusion that there is no way in h-e double hockey sticks am i ever gonna give another human free reign to ogle and judge my stuff!!!...it's anonymously donated or not at all...
it's embarrassing enough for me to go through it!...
and the worst part is i have a lot of it...more than a lot...i have several boxes in my basement labeled "crap", "crap", "the lord of the ring's crap", "sillymortalmama's crap", and i kid you not three boxes of my former betrothed's crap labeled "my former betrothed's crap"...
and those are the packed up and labeled boxes!...i have bags, boxes, and baskets that are just filled to the rim, still crap, just unlabeled as such...they too are stashed in the basement and in all the closets, too...
and every once in awhile i drift through, gathering things up to get rid of, but then just stick them in the basement...in bags marked, "give away stuff"...so it's still all here, and i really haven't gotten rid of a thing, just rearranged it a little...
just for *fun* i found a box full of stuff to look through it...talk about a bunch of crap...i found a very ugly watch that as far as i know i never wore and never even worked, a pair of godawful white shoes i wore to the goddess mother's wedding, something oval shaped and dried up and yet strangely sticky, and an eight year old issue of parenting magazine addressed to someone i don't know in san francisco...
and that's just the beginning...there were dried out markers, broken pencils, and old, unused, dated christmas cards...there were three romance novels with no covers, two copies of the same leo buscaglia book, two unmarked cassette tapes and a gumball machine bracelet that a little girl gave me in el paso, texas...there was a pile of pennies, they too were sticky, and a couple of old stamps...there was an old canceled check and a folded and yellowing piece of paper with a poem that i wrote that was neither well written nor particularly flattering to whom the poem was written about...(and damn if i know who now, must be at least ten years old)...
i sat there for so long looking over this stuff and wondering what possessed me to keep any of it...and this was a relatively small box, too...i can just imagine what the others hold...and that's just my stuff...the lord of the ring is even worse going through his stuff...he looks at every item, very intently, unfolding each piece of paper carefully and opening each old envelope...a shoebox of items could keep the man out of circulation for a week...
i'd like to be one of those people that just finds a box and tosses it, no looking through it, no looking back...outta here, gone, space freed up in house and mind...
but i just can't...i just can't toss a single box, bag, or basket without going through it first...examining the contents just to be sure there isn't something worth saving...i think that somewhere in all that stuff i might just find my little sister's favorite book lost long ago, or the diary i kept when i was little, or my high school yearbooks, or that pink radio i was obsessed with and thought i'd never get, only to open it the morning of my fourteenth birthday...
for now i haven't found one thing worth keeping, and i'm not holding my breath...(well at least until i look through the old purse i abandoned in late winter to make sure there isn't anything i need to save...i am definitely holding my breath for that one because i can smell it from here and it's in the next room)...
x.
what a bunch of crap...well, maybe not all of it...some people were very generous in their donations, and i did get some cute baby clothes for the goddess mother, and the kids got a few cool things (all for free i might add so who am i to complain?)...but really, the majority of the stuff people brought in at once was utterly appalling and strangely fascinating...and crap...
especially the items brought in by people who were obviously very proud of their donations and had a bit of a hard time letting go of them...i have to say some of those were the worst of the lot...
it's interesting what people keep and value...what people keep and pack away to help them forget or remember or for whatever reason...i doubt i will soon forget the three foot tall box of what seemed to be twenty years worth of well used fanny packs, sweat stained visors, and dirty worn out size 13 golf shoes...
i myself am not immune from this...and while i don't have secret stashes of fanny packs and visors, i have plenty of boxes of my own crap...so i understand the attachment we humans have for our stuff...our hesitancy to get rid of something we may need or use or want again...but however i dispose of my crap (IF i dispose of it at all!), i have come to the conclusion that there is no way in h-e double hockey sticks am i ever gonna give another human free reign to ogle and judge my stuff!!!...it's anonymously donated or not at all...
it's embarrassing enough for me to go through it!...
and the worst part is i have a lot of it...more than a lot...i have several boxes in my basement labeled "crap", "crap", "the lord of the ring's crap", "sillymortalmama's crap", and i kid you not three boxes of my former betrothed's crap labeled "my former betrothed's crap"...
and those are the packed up and labeled boxes!...i have bags, boxes, and baskets that are just filled to the rim, still crap, just unlabeled as such...they too are stashed in the basement and in all the closets, too...
and every once in awhile i drift through, gathering things up to get rid of, but then just stick them in the basement...in bags marked, "give away stuff"...so it's still all here, and i really haven't gotten rid of a thing, just rearranged it a little...
just for *fun* i found a box full of stuff to look through it...talk about a bunch of crap...i found a very ugly watch that as far as i know i never wore and never even worked, a pair of godawful white shoes i wore to the goddess mother's wedding, something oval shaped and dried up and yet strangely sticky, and an eight year old issue of parenting magazine addressed to someone i don't know in san francisco...
and that's just the beginning...there were dried out markers, broken pencils, and old, unused, dated christmas cards...there were three romance novels with no covers, two copies of the same leo buscaglia book, two unmarked cassette tapes and a gumball machine bracelet that a little girl gave me in el paso, texas...there was a pile of pennies, they too were sticky, and a couple of old stamps...there was an old canceled check and a folded and yellowing piece of paper with a poem that i wrote that was neither well written nor particularly flattering to whom the poem was written about...(and damn if i know who now, must be at least ten years old)...
i sat there for so long looking over this stuff and wondering what possessed me to keep any of it...and this was a relatively small box, too...i can just imagine what the others hold...and that's just my stuff...the lord of the ring is even worse going through his stuff...he looks at every item, very intently, unfolding each piece of paper carefully and opening each old envelope...a shoebox of items could keep the man out of circulation for a week...
i'd like to be one of those people that just finds a box and tosses it, no looking through it, no looking back...outta here, gone, space freed up in house and mind...
but i just can't...i just can't toss a single box, bag, or basket without going through it first...examining the contents just to be sure there isn't something worth saving...i think that somewhere in all that stuff i might just find my little sister's favorite book lost long ago, or the diary i kept when i was little, or my high school yearbooks, or that pink radio i was obsessed with and thought i'd never get, only to open it the morning of my fourteenth birthday...
for now i haven't found one thing worth keeping, and i'm not holding my breath...(well at least until i look through the old purse i abandoned in late winter to make sure there isn't anything i need to save...i am definitely holding my breath for that one because i can smell it from here and it's in the next room)...
x.
Friday, June 11, 2004
mercurial on my mind...
so ray charles died this week, and in reading the little blurb about him on the computer it suggested, among other things, that he was "mercurial"...and it was suggested it as if being mercurial was a bad thing...i have always loved that word and not been real clear on it's meaning...so i looked it up and discovered that if ray was "mercurial" then he and i might as well have been twins, mercurial twins, and that it wasn't such a bad thing after all...
mercurial adj. 1. of, relating to, or born under the planet of Mercury
2. having qualities of eloquence, ingenuity, or thievishness
(i LOVE those three together!)
and here's where it really gets good...
3. characterized by rapid and unpredictable changeableness of mood
ding ding and we have a WINNER!
now, some might see this as a character flaw whereas i see it as an asset...
i can see the confusion...one might just ask the lord of the ring how much of an asset it is to have a mercurial wife...
because to most, rapid and unpredictable changeableness of mood might translate simply to "moody"...not exactly high up on the list of character traits one wants to identify with...(or be married to)
that's fair, and understandable...
and i have to admit that at times i may just tip the scales towards moody...
BUT
isn't that great!...turning on a dime, even emotionally, is an art, a gift!!!...
because what it means is that i can be happy and relaxed (it can happen) one moment and shrieking my way to breaking up an argument between the duke and wingman the next...an argument that may or may not have worked it's own self out, but who can take that risk!...
okay, i'm being sarcastic...there really is a *gift* in having this particular character *asset*...
i am home all day and suffer the wonderfulness of all of that along with the slings and arrows...i am fully steeped in this life, these kids, my family...it's hard and challenging and i love it...
but, as you may have surmised, some days are better than others...and i can be real bad about hiding it...
(the goddess mother (one of the boy's godparents) says it's my "negative resting face"...she has it too (only hers is much, much prettier)...that's why we get along so well...)
some days do get to me, but the benefit of being moody is that when need be i don't have to *hide* that fact...the mood of *stress* just falls away and is replaced...just like that...there isn't a *shift* of gears, a need to *transition*...because even though i can't keep the house clean or get the kids to be less boybarianish, and in turn that causes stress i can neither hide nor figure out where to send it permanently packing, my mercurial nature has provided me with the ability to let that all fall away when need be...at a seconds notice...
and when you have little kids whose feelings and bodies get hurt on a daily basis that quality is important...when you have family with lives of their own and a need to share, vent, ask, or be soothed it's important...when you have friends whom you hold as dear and as precious as gold and you can feel their pain like a crack in your own heart, that needs attending to (and needed now and not later) it's important...
life is a process, unpredictable at best...
and i like the idea that even though i can be pissed that the cat peed on the bed, that the boybarians have tried their best to get the playroom looking like the seventh circle of hell, and that i weigh more than i should, the second i'm needed, really needed, i can let that fall away...and be there...
moody, but there...
and while i don't know how "mercurial" ray was in his personal life, or what his friends and family thought of his "gift", i have to guess that some of that mercurial nature had to have spilled over into his musical career...and like me, it has served him well...
x.
mercurial adj. 1. of, relating to, or born under the planet of Mercury
2. having qualities of eloquence, ingenuity, or thievishness
(i LOVE those three together!)
and here's where it really gets good...
3. characterized by rapid and unpredictable changeableness of mood
ding ding and we have a WINNER!
now, some might see this as a character flaw whereas i see it as an asset...
i can see the confusion...one might just ask the lord of the ring how much of an asset it is to have a mercurial wife...
because to most, rapid and unpredictable changeableness of mood might translate simply to "moody"...not exactly high up on the list of character traits one wants to identify with...(or be married to)
that's fair, and understandable...
and i have to admit that at times i may just tip the scales towards moody...
BUT
isn't that great!...turning on a dime, even emotionally, is an art, a gift!!!...
because what it means is that i can be happy and relaxed (it can happen) one moment and shrieking my way to breaking up an argument between the duke and wingman the next...an argument that may or may not have worked it's own self out, but who can take that risk!...
okay, i'm being sarcastic...there really is a *gift* in having this particular character *asset*...
i am home all day and suffer the wonderfulness of all of that along with the slings and arrows...i am fully steeped in this life, these kids, my family...it's hard and challenging and i love it...
but, as you may have surmised, some days are better than others...and i can be real bad about hiding it...
(the goddess mother (one of the boy's godparents) says it's my "negative resting face"...she has it too (only hers is much, much prettier)...that's why we get along so well...)
some days do get to me, but the benefit of being moody is that when need be i don't have to *hide* that fact...the mood of *stress* just falls away and is replaced...just like that...there isn't a *shift* of gears, a need to *transition*...because even though i can't keep the house clean or get the kids to be less boybarianish, and in turn that causes stress i can neither hide nor figure out where to send it permanently packing, my mercurial nature has provided me with the ability to let that all fall away when need be...at a seconds notice...
and when you have little kids whose feelings and bodies get hurt on a daily basis that quality is important...when you have family with lives of their own and a need to share, vent, ask, or be soothed it's important...when you have friends whom you hold as dear and as precious as gold and you can feel their pain like a crack in your own heart, that needs attending to (and needed now and not later) it's important...
life is a process, unpredictable at best...
and i like the idea that even though i can be pissed that the cat peed on the bed, that the boybarians have tried their best to get the playroom looking like the seventh circle of hell, and that i weigh more than i should, the second i'm needed, really needed, i can let that fall away...and be there...
moody, but there...
and while i don't know how "mercurial" ray was in his personal life, or what his friends and family thought of his "gift", i have to guess that some of that mercurial nature had to have spilled over into his musical career...and like me, it has served him well...
x.
Thursday, June 10, 2004
parenting and the new math...
in an effort to integrate the overwhelming reality that defines being a stay-at-home, homeschooling mother of two while maintaining harmony of home and a certain level of gentle control i am constantly trying to keep a cool and patient demeanor in the face of what the day brings...
i am here to report that it often goes badly, or not at all...
case in point...whilst on the phone this morning my boybarians, the duke of fun and wingman, chased each other right onto me, my full and rather hot cup of coffee, and my call...
wherein the duke began to bang his head into the wingman's diapered bottom, giving a whole new meaning to the term *head-butt*...
now, i know personally of mothers and fathers who can react calmly and somewhat rationally in situations such as these...even while the hot coffee runneth over, their patience does not runneth out...they utter a few words and the situation is resolved...
kid whisperers if you will...
me?...i'm rosanne barr on a good day...at least today i was...
to be fair, there was hot coffee involved (and cruelly wasted i might add)...
but what am i missing?...is there some switch that certain parents get and others don't?...
certainly the lord of the ring, otherwise known as my husband, really must be provoked to voice raising...even in irritation and waning patience he can keep his voice in check...
again, to be fair, the situation must be pretty snarky for me to raise my voice...but why is it i find that on many occasions snarkiness is the order of the day?...
and i have come to a conclusion...
it's math...
yup, that old nemesis from my younger days has come to bite me in the in the parenting ass...
if you don't believe me, let the data speak for itself...
i am one mama at home alone for five out of seven days with two boys...
for nearly twelve hours out of twenty-four it's just me and them...half the day...really more if you add into that the fact that they sleep 9-10 hours a day...
so basically every waking moment of my life i am outnumbered...(well, except for weekends, but they go too too fast to really count in the equation)...
even i can sum up that based on the numbers, it doesn't look good...
this is a continuous cycle of the numbers just not adding up and the possibilities for snarkiness and chaos are endless!...based on the love we have for our children and the lifestyle in which the lord of the ring and i have chosen in which to raise them, (not to mention the moral and legal obligation) they are here until their individual contracts expire...
a mobius strip of potential discord, if you will...
the good news is, if i don't delve into mathematical theory, the present data suggests that i only have fifteen years to go...
x.
i am here to report that it often goes badly, or not at all...
case in point...whilst on the phone this morning my boybarians, the duke of fun and wingman, chased each other right onto me, my full and rather hot cup of coffee, and my call...
wherein the duke began to bang his head into the wingman's diapered bottom, giving a whole new meaning to the term *head-butt*...
now, i know personally of mothers and fathers who can react calmly and somewhat rationally in situations such as these...even while the hot coffee runneth over, their patience does not runneth out...they utter a few words and the situation is resolved...
kid whisperers if you will...
me?...i'm rosanne barr on a good day...at least today i was...
to be fair, there was hot coffee involved (and cruelly wasted i might add)...
but what am i missing?...is there some switch that certain parents get and others don't?...
certainly the lord of the ring, otherwise known as my husband, really must be provoked to voice raising...even in irritation and waning patience he can keep his voice in check...
again, to be fair, the situation must be pretty snarky for me to raise my voice...but why is it i find that on many occasions snarkiness is the order of the day?...
and i have come to a conclusion...
it's math...
yup, that old nemesis from my younger days has come to bite me in the in the parenting ass...
if you don't believe me, let the data speak for itself...
i am one mama at home alone for five out of seven days with two boys...
for nearly twelve hours out of twenty-four it's just me and them...half the day...really more if you add into that the fact that they sleep 9-10 hours a day...
so basically every waking moment of my life i am outnumbered...(well, except for weekends, but they go too too fast to really count in the equation)...
even i can sum up that based on the numbers, it doesn't look good...
this is a continuous cycle of the numbers just not adding up and the possibilities for snarkiness and chaos are endless!...based on the love we have for our children and the lifestyle in which the lord of the ring and i have chosen in which to raise them, (not to mention the moral and legal obligation) they are here until their individual contracts expire...
a mobius strip of potential discord, if you will...
the good news is, if i don't delve into mathematical theory, the present data suggests that i only have fifteen years to go...
x.
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
i am part of pop culture...
as if i don't drone on and on about myself enough in *real* life, i now have joined a popular culture phenomenon primarily to gain access to even greater and far more dimensional mediums in which to talk about myself...
gotta love technology...
x.
gotta love technology...
x.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)