so it seems anderson cooper and i are gym buddies.
check it out, i just read somewhere a quote by rufus wainwright who just happens to go to the same gym in nyc as the coop...and he was saying something along the lines that the coop should just come out of the closet already because everyone knows he's gay and he goes to a gay gym blah blah blah...part of the quote giving him shit was
"i see him with these five pound weights....blah blah blah"
and i was like OMG *i* use five pound weights too!
it don't take much i tell ya when you're living in your head and there's zero oversight.
anyhow, schools's out for the summer...well, for july at least...we go back at the beginning of august but are all looking forward to the break...
the duke heads to camp next week and i've got some fun things planned for wingman while he's gone...
meanwhile, let's hope the duke finds his underwear and practices better foot hygiene this time around...a mother can only hope.
enjoy your friday!
x.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
she is risen.
i'm alive.
after last friday's festivities the head pain just would not. go. away. so it took just one more doctor's visit, one facial x-ray, one mri with injected contrast dye, 6 percocets, and one prescription for antibiotics the size of a purse dog later to be mobile and upright...
just in time to clean the house.
and wonder how in the hell the crappy sugary breakfast cereal made it past my radar...i know i was cracked out on the hillbilly heroin upstairs, but i thought the invisible shield i had over the house would pick up the slack...
anyhow, apparently i have "sinus disease"...which sounds made up, but whatever...it comes with a cure so that's all that matters...
that and i have no more pain and 9 percocets left.
cue the banjos, jimbob.
x.
after last friday's festivities the head pain just would not. go. away. so it took just one more doctor's visit, one facial x-ray, one mri with injected contrast dye, 6 percocets, and one prescription for antibiotics the size of a purse dog later to be mobile and upright...
just in time to clean the house.
and wonder how in the hell the crappy sugary breakfast cereal made it past my radar...i know i was cracked out on the hillbilly heroin upstairs, but i thought the invisible shield i had over the house would pick up the slack...
anyhow, apparently i have "sinus disease"...which sounds made up, but whatever...it comes with a cure so that's all that matters...
that and i have no more pain and 9 percocets left.
cue the banjos, jimbob.
x.
Monday, June 18, 2007
i liked it better when it was just an amusing parody band.
so i had a bit of a scare friday night.
i was drinking a glass of water, gulped a bit too fast, choked up a storm, stood up suddenly trying to get some air and POP!...
there was POP! and a tearing sensation and a flood of pain on the right side of my head...
ouch.
i was dizzy and nauseous and called the lord of the ring to come home from the store and take me to the hospital...while waiting i was literally repeating my name to myself so i wouldn't forget it...i was that freaked out...
so of course at the emergency room they have to put you through all manner of paperwork rigamaroll and extract that symbolic pint of blood and rights to your nextborn before you even get seen...
and i love it when you're in pain and you have to rate it on a scale...like from 1 to 10 what would you say your pain rates?...or, compared to the worst pain you've ever been in where does this rate?
okay.
so i'm in *enough* pain to feel it necessary come to the e.r. and suffer the interminable wait and indignities that being in the e.r. incurs, not to mention the tremendous cost, and i'm supposed to rate it?
and compare it?
how do you compare pain?...i've had migraines since i was six, the age wingman is now, i've had three tattoos, one a half a foot long on. my. spine., i've gone through a divorce from a relationship i thought i'd have forever, my grandmother died and i was unable to be there for my father, i've had two huge babies, one 9.5 lbs and one 10.5 lbs, vaginally with no pain medication and nearly died with one, i've held the hand of a friend while we watched his beloved and my dear friend die in front of us...
i'm thirty five years old...i've had a long time to suffer a lot of different pain...and here i am in pain and you're asking me to rate it?
i'm *here* in the e.r. aren't i?...that *should* be enough.
i've worked in the health care field so i understand the *sentiment* behind rating pain, but it's a whole different ball game when you're on the other side of the table...in. actual. pain.
and don't think while we waited i wasn't thinking of that poor woman who died on the emergency waiting room floor waiting to be seen...shudder.
so i finally get in to see someone and after this and that they decide i have possibly had an aneurysm...which means all manner of procedures to rule it in or out...
oh. god.
on my way to the cat scan i can't say that i thought i was going to die, but i definitely was scared...what is going to happen if i had an aneurysm?...whatever it was going to be i knew it wasn't going to be good...
so i come back from the cat scan and they want me in a gown and since i dashed out of the house still wearing my workout clothes from earlier (i knew i should have taken a shower earlier! damn!) i wasn't wearing any underwear...
but thankfully i didn't spend time in the dating trenches without coming away with a few tricks (and a couple of husbands) and i stuffed a clean pair of undies in my bag before i left the house...
as they're giving me the gown it's just the lord of the ring and me (the boybarians are outside the door) and the nurse...and i start to cry...the nurse says
"oh. are you in more pain?"
"no. it's just been a long day"
i was just sad then because i was scared and i didn't know what was up...the moment you are being handed a gown at the hospital is the moment you know you're not going to go home anytime soon...
so the doctor comes back in and decides the cat scan is ineffective and wants to do a spinal tap...it's really the *gold standard* test for this type of situation...
yes folks, a spinal tap...and lemme tell you, it is just as icky on that soul sucking level as it sounds...
but i didn't get the spinal tap before i got to endure something far worse on a far different level...
so before the spinal tap the doctor wants to deal with my pain medicinally and prep my body for the pain of the procedure...the nurse comes in with a big ol' i.v. and three tiny vials...
"this is a cocktail the doctor likes to give for head pain and relaxation...i will inject each really slowly as to try and prevent a reaction"
"oh, like what kind of reaction?"
"well, if injected too fast like you feel like you're coming out of your skin"
"well, we wouldn't want that!"
"no we wouldn't"
we chuckle...ha. ha.
guess who isn't laughing ten minutes later?
not two seconds into the administration of the anti-nausea drug portion of the cocktail i knew something was dreadfully wrong.
like the most wrong i have ever felt in my life.
and for the next twenty minutes solid i was the moaning, thrashing, keening, freaking out patient you hear in the hospital and thank GOD! you aren't next too and wonder what in the hell is wrong with her?
i was literally coming out of my skin...just as described...i couldn't get a handle on it and it was the most awful i have ever felt in. my. life.
seriously, if there had been an open window i may have jumped...it really was that awful...like you are trying to get away from your own *self*.
it finally subsided a bit enough for them to block the rest with benadryl and enough to freak the guy next to me the. fuck. out.
he was happy to get out of there i can tell you that.
so they did the spinal tap and by then i was exhausted...i could barely move...which worked out really well considering someone was messin' about with my spine with a huge ass needle...
but i wasn't too out of it to not feel how absolutely soul sucking the spinal tap felt...i have never in my life felt that kind of violation...it was terribly intense...
i passed out after that...well as much as one can pass out while in a thin cotton gown and two thin blankets in a freezing hospital while shaking to death with cold can...seriously, can they not get a handle on that basic comfort?...
i understand they've never seen me before...i understand each person is a new challenge...i understand that medicine is not perfect, and neither are caregivers...i understand that just because i put my life into someone else's hands does. not. mean. i. will. get. all. the. answers. i. seek...i understand that not everyone can have their own room...and i understand we are all in this together...
but what i don't get is why i can't get a thicker more modest gown that covers and fits?...more than one blanket at a time without having to ask, that isn't thinner than my sheets at home, in a place that is kept perpetually cool, so i who am suffering from whatever and am scared and unsure can have some. measure. of. warmth and comfort?...
they need a clause in that hippocratic oath that has to do with better linens and bigger gowns...it's only right...
but, good news!...after all that as it turns out hallelujah i DID NOT SUFFER AN ANUERYSM!!!
hoo freakin' ray!
apparently it was some random freaky migraine...i got released but had to spend the next 24 hours flat on my back, literally, so that my spinal fluid didn't get all wonky in my body...
i've suffered a bit of a residual headache since then, but am MUCH better...
and the absolute best part, other than not having to have brain surgery, is that the doctor gave me two doctors "release from work" notes to use!
score!
i'm keepin' these bad boys for when i really need them!
yeah right...ha ha ha...he obviously didn't understand what my *job* is...
what am i gonna do?...hand one to the duke and wingman and say too bad kids!...give yourselves your own latin tests and there's no dinner tonight!
as it was, i rested well and the lord of the ring picked up the slack...and we're somewhat back on track...
but don't think i'm not hanging on to those doctor's notes just. in. case.
x.
i was drinking a glass of water, gulped a bit too fast, choked up a storm, stood up suddenly trying to get some air and POP!...
there was POP! and a tearing sensation and a flood of pain on the right side of my head...
ouch.
i was dizzy and nauseous and called the lord of the ring to come home from the store and take me to the hospital...while waiting i was literally repeating my name to myself so i wouldn't forget it...i was that freaked out...
so of course at the emergency room they have to put you through all manner of paperwork rigamaroll and extract that symbolic pint of blood and rights to your nextborn before you even get seen...
and i love it when you're in pain and you have to rate it on a scale...like from 1 to 10 what would you say your pain rates?...or, compared to the worst pain you've ever been in where does this rate?
okay.
so i'm in *enough* pain to feel it necessary come to the e.r. and suffer the interminable wait and indignities that being in the e.r. incurs, not to mention the tremendous cost, and i'm supposed to rate it?
and compare it?
how do you compare pain?...i've had migraines since i was six, the age wingman is now, i've had three tattoos, one a half a foot long on. my. spine., i've gone through a divorce from a relationship i thought i'd have forever, my grandmother died and i was unable to be there for my father, i've had two huge babies, one 9.5 lbs and one 10.5 lbs, vaginally with no pain medication and nearly died with one, i've held the hand of a friend while we watched his beloved and my dear friend die in front of us...
i'm thirty five years old...i've had a long time to suffer a lot of different pain...and here i am in pain and you're asking me to rate it?
i'm *here* in the e.r. aren't i?...that *should* be enough.
i've worked in the health care field so i understand the *sentiment* behind rating pain, but it's a whole different ball game when you're on the other side of the table...in. actual. pain.
and don't think while we waited i wasn't thinking of that poor woman who died on the emergency waiting room floor waiting to be seen...shudder.
so i finally get in to see someone and after this and that they decide i have possibly had an aneurysm...which means all manner of procedures to rule it in or out...
oh. god.
on my way to the cat scan i can't say that i thought i was going to die, but i definitely was scared...what is going to happen if i had an aneurysm?...whatever it was going to be i knew it wasn't going to be good...
so i come back from the cat scan and they want me in a gown and since i dashed out of the house still wearing my workout clothes from earlier (i knew i should have taken a shower earlier! damn!) i wasn't wearing any underwear...
but thankfully i didn't spend time in the dating trenches without coming away with a few tricks (and a couple of husbands) and i stuffed a clean pair of undies in my bag before i left the house...
as they're giving me the gown it's just the lord of the ring and me (the boybarians are outside the door) and the nurse...and i start to cry...the nurse says
"oh. are you in more pain?"
"no. it's just been a long day"
i was just sad then because i was scared and i didn't know what was up...the moment you are being handed a gown at the hospital is the moment you know you're not going to go home anytime soon...
so the doctor comes back in and decides the cat scan is ineffective and wants to do a spinal tap...it's really the *gold standard* test for this type of situation...
yes folks, a spinal tap...and lemme tell you, it is just as icky on that soul sucking level as it sounds...
but i didn't get the spinal tap before i got to endure something far worse on a far different level...
so before the spinal tap the doctor wants to deal with my pain medicinally and prep my body for the pain of the procedure...the nurse comes in with a big ol' i.v. and three tiny vials...
"this is a cocktail the doctor likes to give for head pain and relaxation...i will inject each really slowly as to try and prevent a reaction"
"oh, like what kind of reaction?"
"well, if injected too fast like you feel like you're coming out of your skin"
"well, we wouldn't want that!"
"no we wouldn't"
we chuckle...ha. ha.
guess who isn't laughing ten minutes later?
not two seconds into the administration of the anti-nausea drug portion of the cocktail i knew something was dreadfully wrong.
like the most wrong i have ever felt in my life.
and for the next twenty minutes solid i was the moaning, thrashing, keening, freaking out patient you hear in the hospital and thank GOD! you aren't next too and wonder what in the hell is wrong with her?
i was literally coming out of my skin...just as described...i couldn't get a handle on it and it was the most awful i have ever felt in. my. life.
seriously, if there had been an open window i may have jumped...it really was that awful...like you are trying to get away from your own *self*.
it finally subsided a bit enough for them to block the rest with benadryl and enough to freak the guy next to me the. fuck. out.
he was happy to get out of there i can tell you that.
so they did the spinal tap and by then i was exhausted...i could barely move...which worked out really well considering someone was messin' about with my spine with a huge ass needle...
but i wasn't too out of it to not feel how absolutely soul sucking the spinal tap felt...i have never in my life felt that kind of violation...it was terribly intense...
i passed out after that...well as much as one can pass out while in a thin cotton gown and two thin blankets in a freezing hospital while shaking to death with cold can...seriously, can they not get a handle on that basic comfort?...
i understand they've never seen me before...i understand each person is a new challenge...i understand that medicine is not perfect, and neither are caregivers...i understand that just because i put my life into someone else's hands does. not. mean. i. will. get. all. the. answers. i. seek...i understand that not everyone can have their own room...and i understand we are all in this together...
but what i don't get is why i can't get a thicker more modest gown that covers and fits?...more than one blanket at a time without having to ask, that isn't thinner than my sheets at home, in a place that is kept perpetually cool, so i who am suffering from whatever and am scared and unsure can have some. measure. of. warmth and comfort?...
they need a clause in that hippocratic oath that has to do with better linens and bigger gowns...it's only right...
but, good news!...after all that as it turns out hallelujah i DID NOT SUFFER AN ANUERYSM!!!
hoo freakin' ray!
apparently it was some random freaky migraine...i got released but had to spend the next 24 hours flat on my back, literally, so that my spinal fluid didn't get all wonky in my body...
i've suffered a bit of a residual headache since then, but am MUCH better...
and the absolute best part, other than not having to have brain surgery, is that the doctor gave me two doctors "release from work" notes to use!
score!
i'm keepin' these bad boys for when i really need them!
yeah right...ha ha ha...he obviously didn't understand what my *job* is...
what am i gonna do?...hand one to the duke and wingman and say too bad kids!...give yourselves your own latin tests and there's no dinner tonight!
as it was, i rested well and the lord of the ring picked up the slack...and we're somewhat back on track...
but don't think i'm not hanging on to those doctor's notes just. in. case.
x.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
oh. the. humanity.
overheard at the last and final physical therapy checkup yesterday...between one of the physical therapy techs and a female client...the client has been going on for about ten minutes about her horrible son, travis...
(she doesn't actually use the word "horrible", that's just my assumption given the information at hand...well, eavesdropped at hand)
he's 17...he steals from his parents so much they've had to padlock their shed and get a security system...he can get into the house and property, because, you know he's still only 17 and in high school, but can't get out without a code...you know, so he can't steal shit that isn't locked up or nailed down...
plus, apparently he "idolizes and worships" steve o from jackass and tries to get all of his friends to do the stunts they do on tv...like lighting firecrackers in their shoes during lunch at school...but all he gets is burns on his feet and in trouble...she doesn't know "what he expected to happen"...did he "expect the tv crews would come calling"...
she's says most of this with a laughing "whaddaya gonna do, boys will be boys" kinda air...
boys will not be boys forever...some "boys" will eventually grow up to be destructive abusive lawbreaking assholes...
but, i digress...
anyhow so she's going on and on with all travis' antics and then she says to the tech
"so then he's saying 'can i have all the butts in your ashtray, mom' and i'm like NO WAY!"
okay, so at least she's trying to steer him away from smoking...that's good...
"'i'm like 'you know how much cigarettes cost! no way am i gonna let you just mooch offa my butts'...so then he thinks up can he give me some money and we'll buy the cigarettes together and share them?...i'm like yeah right, he don't have no job and how much money does a 17 year old have with no job?"
why do you think he steals all your stuff, mom?
so then later when i'm on the elliptical watching the parking lot (where there's the oxygen guy unloading a buncha stuff while smoking a cigarette) i hear the following from the machine next to me from a different physical therapy tech and her apparently new client...
"well, my son is 10 and my daughter just turned 1"
"aw that must be nice for your son to have a new baby brother or sister"
okay, so, um she just said "daughter" so i am assuming it's a new baby sister...but, who knows, right?
"yeah, he likes her just fine...then he gets bored...my husband says that's just how 10 year old boys are"
"now, is your husband the father of both of your kids?"
who asks this!...seriously, in a professional setting wherein you've literally just met one another who asks this!?!...
and the tech who got asked the question seems only slightly phased but responds
"no...no he's known my son since he was 2, but he's not his dad"
"well, you did look quite young to have a 10 year old"
wtf?...so basically she's telling the tech that given the age she looks, if she has a 10 year old she musta been a slut in high school and any self respecting man isn't gonna put the cart before the horse and then continue to do so for years on end...
so then a few minutes later the conversation moves on to summer travel...
"yeah, we go back to north carolina quite a bit...my husband's family is there"
"ooh, i LOVE north carolina!...i've never been there, but i seen it a bunch on tv!"
okay, what's wrong with this statement is not the obvious...because i can understand the sentiment of loving a place you've never been...because i LOVE alaska and have never been there...have been dying to go forever...and i LOVE ireland, and i've never been there either...when the bag lady in paris went a few years ago i seethed with jealousy...
and i'm as certain as the day is long that i would LOVE me one of those swim up bars in the tropics, but i've never been there either!
so i totally get it...what i don't get, though, is how much can one person really see of north carolina on tv?...i mean, am i missing some all north carolina all the time channel?...i just can't see there being that much?
unless of course she was an avid viewer of dawson's creek and as such knew that the beek and all his friends didn't really live in the fictional town of capeside, massachusetts, but rather filmed the series in north carolina...
but that would be assuming quite a lot...even for me.
so yeah, i'd like to know where on tv all this north carolina viewing is done...
and what they've got by way of alaska, ireland, and swim up bars in the tropics.
x.
(she doesn't actually use the word "horrible", that's just my assumption given the information at hand...well, eavesdropped at hand)
he's 17...he steals from his parents so much they've had to padlock their shed and get a security system...he can get into the house and property, because, you know he's still only 17 and in high school, but can't get out without a code...you know, so he can't steal shit that isn't locked up or nailed down...
plus, apparently he "idolizes and worships" steve o from jackass and tries to get all of his friends to do the stunts they do on tv...like lighting firecrackers in their shoes during lunch at school...but all he gets is burns on his feet and in trouble...she doesn't know "what he expected to happen"...did he "expect the tv crews would come calling"...
she's says most of this with a laughing "whaddaya gonna do, boys will be boys" kinda air...
boys will not be boys forever...some "boys" will eventually grow up to be destructive abusive lawbreaking assholes...
but, i digress...
anyhow so she's going on and on with all travis' antics and then she says to the tech
"so then he's saying 'can i have all the butts in your ashtray, mom' and i'm like NO WAY!"
okay, so at least she's trying to steer him away from smoking...that's good...
"'i'm like 'you know how much cigarettes cost! no way am i gonna let you just mooch offa my butts'...so then he thinks up can he give me some money and we'll buy the cigarettes together and share them?...i'm like yeah right, he don't have no job and how much money does a 17 year old have with no job?"
why do you think he steals all your stuff, mom?
so then later when i'm on the elliptical watching the parking lot (where there's the oxygen guy unloading a buncha stuff while smoking a cigarette) i hear the following from the machine next to me from a different physical therapy tech and her apparently new client...
"well, my son is 10 and my daughter just turned 1"
"aw that must be nice for your son to have a new baby brother or sister"
okay, so, um she just said "daughter" so i am assuming it's a new baby sister...but, who knows, right?
"yeah, he likes her just fine...then he gets bored...my husband says that's just how 10 year old boys are"
"now, is your husband the father of both of your kids?"
who asks this!...seriously, in a professional setting wherein you've literally just met one another who asks this!?!...
and the tech who got asked the question seems only slightly phased but responds
"no...no he's known my son since he was 2, but he's not his dad"
"well, you did look quite young to have a 10 year old"
wtf?...so basically she's telling the tech that given the age she looks, if she has a 10 year old she musta been a slut in high school and any self respecting man isn't gonna put the cart before the horse and then continue to do so for years on end...
so then a few minutes later the conversation moves on to summer travel...
"yeah, we go back to north carolina quite a bit...my husband's family is there"
"ooh, i LOVE north carolina!...i've never been there, but i seen it a bunch on tv!"
okay, what's wrong with this statement is not the obvious...because i can understand the sentiment of loving a place you've never been...because i LOVE alaska and have never been there...have been dying to go forever...and i LOVE ireland, and i've never been there either...when the bag lady in paris went a few years ago i seethed with jealousy...
and i'm as certain as the day is long that i would LOVE me one of those swim up bars in the tropics, but i've never been there either!
so i totally get it...what i don't get, though, is how much can one person really see of north carolina on tv?...i mean, am i missing some all north carolina all the time channel?...i just can't see there being that much?
unless of course she was an avid viewer of dawson's creek and as such knew that the beek and all his friends didn't really live in the fictional town of capeside, massachusetts, but rather filmed the series in north carolina...
but that would be assuming quite a lot...even for me.
so yeah, i'd like to know where on tv all this north carolina viewing is done...
and what they've got by way of alaska, ireland, and swim up bars in the tropics.
x.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
why there really is no crying in baseball.
so, in the movie a league of their own, tom hanks (as the baseball team's manager) spits out the classic line
"THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!"
indeed.
the lord of the ring and i have been know to utter this line a time or two...usually, to diffuse potentially precarious situations involving dramatic boybarians...generally non-baseball related...a bit of levity when needed...
in fact, the sentiment is so clear, so pure, so true, it really is an all purpose catch phrase...
kinda like, oh. my. god., are you kidding me?, or the all time favorite shitfuckfire!
anyway, as the duke's baseball season just ended, i feel it is only appropriate to further explore and explain exactly why there really *is* no crying in baseball...
beware all of you free to be you and me disciples...what lies ahead challenges the "it's all right to cry" mentality...FINALLY! I WILL OVERCOME MARLO THOMAS! as rosey grier is my witness I WILL!
where was i?...oh yeah...
when you join up for baseball it with the understanding that you will be playing on a team...team implying that it is a group made up of individuals, but a group nonetheless...
you know, "there's no i in team" and all that?
see, the duke's team this year did *okay*...their real problem was in that they didn't practice enough...as in hardly at all...had they had regular practices they could have been unstoppable...
unstoppable because they had a team made up of good players and could have had the chance to develop as a team if only they had practiced...they could have gotten a team trust thing going that only happens when you practice as a team and learn how to be a team...
it doesn't matter how good each individual player is, if you don't know how to work together, who you trust to be your backup when your go to guy isn't where he needs to be, etc. well then you get the picture...
nearly every kid on the duke's team had some good skills...some were all around good, some really good at pitching, some at running the bases, others good at hitting or fielding...but what one individual may lack in one certain area, he's got teammates that do have the skills in that area to pick up the slack...
no one person has to be good at everything...
BUT, if you don't regularly practice as a team, and are really only together in the pressure cooker of a game, well you can be 9 guys who are good players on the field, but not necessarily good as a team...
on the duke's team in particular there was a core group of about 4 guys who were each all around good...each one capable of doing most of the big things well...
and when things didn't go well, each one in turn was capable of being a diva, a complainer, an emotional mess, a drama queen, a jerk...
teary or angry messes who couldn't move past the issue and drug their team down...
if you're having a bad day, a bad game, a bad life when you are on the field there are still 8 other guys counting on you...when you let whatever it is consume you to the point of reducing you to bad attitude or uncontrolled emotional moodiness or jerkiness, or pissiness, to the point that you don't care enough to do your best then that is not good enough...ever...
if you commit to being part of something then it is incumbent upon you to do your part and keep up your end of the bargain...even at 10 years old...especially at 10 years old...because i don't think that this is too broad a concept for a 10 year old and there's no time like the present...
i understand that frustration and disappointment are inherent parts of organized sports...someone is going to win, which means someone will lose...someone is going to catch that throw to first, which means somebody will be tagged out...someone is going to pitch an excellent game, which means somebody is going to strike out...
furthermore, frustration and disappointment are valid...as are the subsequent tears and irritation...
but, it's when you let those tears blind you from your original purpose that they are not okay...and when the irritation turns to anger and outbursts (bat throwing, dirty looks, purposely not trying, yelling at teammates, giving up in favor of irritation) it is not okay either...
when you are on the field yet not present because you are too busy being sad or mad or dramatic it is not okay.
because it isn't just you...you joined a team and you are a part of something larger than yourself...and i watched too many games go belly up because one kid (or two or three or four some games) decided it was all about him and nothing else mattered...and regardless of there being 8 other guys, it does matter when 1 guy stops trying because when you've got a weak link it causes a chain reaction...and because everybody needs to do their job all. the. time.
now, i am as far away from a team joiner as you can get...i generally am not for conformity as the default for all the reasons one wouldn't be...i strive to be exactly who i am and not who everyone else is...
but, when it comes to being a committed part of a group, i think it's very important to be able to put away your individual needs and operate within the group...in some cases not only important, but necessary...
at the beginning of the season the duke was dismayed to learn that the uniform chosen for his team specifically required a belt-less baseball pant...the duke LOVED his baseball pants with the belt and couldn't understand why they wouldn't be allowed...
he thought it would be okay to wear them anyway...and i put my foot down...no, you will wear what they tell you to wear...
what is the whole definition of uniform anyway?
i explained he didn't have to be happy about it, could in fact send a letter of complaint in about it, but that he did have to comply...because that's what his team wanted...and he chose to be on a team in the first place...
it's delicate, this whole organized sports thing in our silly mortal family...because as parents the lord of the ring and i encourage asking questions, the art to and necessity of challenging authority (not *us* of course...hee hee)...we encourage free expression and diversity from the status quo...or a complete embracing of the status quo should that be what they want...but choice above all...
we draw the line at free will in our children, though.../shudder.
i keed. i keed.
as you can imagine, organized sports definitely challenges all of this...and can be quite hard to bear at times (for us anyway)...BUT, i don't think that makes it any less valuable and in fact i think it serves an important and invaluable purpose...
to learn how to be part of a group is among many other things an opportunity to gain a deeper understanding of our own selves in relation to the world at large...to understand the nature of others in times of play and pressure...to explore what it means to connect, and what it can mean when there isn't a connection...
what happens when someone just gives up and leaves everyone else to step up.
i have always encouraged my boys to cry if they are hurt or sad or just need to cry...always...
but, i think in some circumstances there is a time and a place...and i think if you've got people counting on you, and all you can do is focus on your own sadness with a teary breakdown, or a pissy outburst then yeah, there is no crying in baseball...
the duke got tagged out at second two days ago...he wouldn't have if he didn't listen to his first base coach tell him to steal when there wasn't an appropriate chance...but he was taught to listen to his coach and he did...and his coach apologized for the mistake and the duke accepted it...
and he told me
"mama, when i got tagged out at second i wanted to cry"
"you were sad, huh?"
"yeah...but i didn't, and i got over it...and, i listened to my coach even though it didn't work out"
"and as sucky as that is, it's good that you listened to him even though it didn't work out...because listening to your coach is always important"
shit. i don't even particularly care for this coach and think he really didn't have a clue a great deal of the time, so as the words came out of my mouth...sigh...
but my boybarians have to learn to listen to authority before they can begin to learn to question it...it's a process...
it's a damn good thing 10 is still too young for the military.
this parenting thing...oy.
x.
"THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!"
indeed.
the lord of the ring and i have been know to utter this line a time or two...usually, to diffuse potentially precarious situations involving dramatic boybarians...generally non-baseball related...a bit of levity when needed...
in fact, the sentiment is so clear, so pure, so true, it really is an all purpose catch phrase...
kinda like, oh. my. god., are you kidding me?, or the all time favorite shitfuckfire!
anyway, as the duke's baseball season just ended, i feel it is only appropriate to further explore and explain exactly why there really *is* no crying in baseball...
beware all of you free to be you and me disciples...what lies ahead challenges the "it's all right to cry" mentality...FINALLY! I WILL OVERCOME MARLO THOMAS! as rosey grier is my witness I WILL!
where was i?...oh yeah...
when you join up for baseball it with the understanding that you will be playing on a team...team implying that it is a group made up of individuals, but a group nonetheless...
you know, "there's no i in team" and all that?
see, the duke's team this year did *okay*...their real problem was in that they didn't practice enough...as in hardly at all...had they had regular practices they could have been unstoppable...
unstoppable because they had a team made up of good players and could have had the chance to develop as a team if only they had practiced...they could have gotten a team trust thing going that only happens when you practice as a team and learn how to be a team...
it doesn't matter how good each individual player is, if you don't know how to work together, who you trust to be your backup when your go to guy isn't where he needs to be, etc. well then you get the picture...
nearly every kid on the duke's team had some good skills...some were all around good, some really good at pitching, some at running the bases, others good at hitting or fielding...but what one individual may lack in one certain area, he's got teammates that do have the skills in that area to pick up the slack...
no one person has to be good at everything...
BUT, if you don't regularly practice as a team, and are really only together in the pressure cooker of a game, well you can be 9 guys who are good players on the field, but not necessarily good as a team...
on the duke's team in particular there was a core group of about 4 guys who were each all around good...each one capable of doing most of the big things well...
and when things didn't go well, each one in turn was capable of being a diva, a complainer, an emotional mess, a drama queen, a jerk...
teary or angry messes who couldn't move past the issue and drug their team down...
if you're having a bad day, a bad game, a bad life when you are on the field there are still 8 other guys counting on you...when you let whatever it is consume you to the point of reducing you to bad attitude or uncontrolled emotional moodiness or jerkiness, or pissiness, to the point that you don't care enough to do your best then that is not good enough...ever...
if you commit to being part of something then it is incumbent upon you to do your part and keep up your end of the bargain...even at 10 years old...especially at 10 years old...because i don't think that this is too broad a concept for a 10 year old and there's no time like the present...
i understand that frustration and disappointment are inherent parts of organized sports...someone is going to win, which means someone will lose...someone is going to catch that throw to first, which means somebody will be tagged out...someone is going to pitch an excellent game, which means somebody is going to strike out...
furthermore, frustration and disappointment are valid...as are the subsequent tears and irritation...
but, it's when you let those tears blind you from your original purpose that they are not okay...and when the irritation turns to anger and outbursts (bat throwing, dirty looks, purposely not trying, yelling at teammates, giving up in favor of irritation) it is not okay either...
when you are on the field yet not present because you are too busy being sad or mad or dramatic it is not okay.
because it isn't just you...you joined a team and you are a part of something larger than yourself...and i watched too many games go belly up because one kid (or two or three or four some games) decided it was all about him and nothing else mattered...and regardless of there being 8 other guys, it does matter when 1 guy stops trying because when you've got a weak link it causes a chain reaction...and because everybody needs to do their job all. the. time.
now, i am as far away from a team joiner as you can get...i generally am not for conformity as the default for all the reasons one wouldn't be...i strive to be exactly who i am and not who everyone else is...
but, when it comes to being a committed part of a group, i think it's very important to be able to put away your individual needs and operate within the group...in some cases not only important, but necessary...
at the beginning of the season the duke was dismayed to learn that the uniform chosen for his team specifically required a belt-less baseball pant...the duke LOVED his baseball pants with the belt and couldn't understand why they wouldn't be allowed...
he thought it would be okay to wear them anyway...and i put my foot down...no, you will wear what they tell you to wear...
what is the whole definition of uniform anyway?
i explained he didn't have to be happy about it, could in fact send a letter of complaint in about it, but that he did have to comply...because that's what his team wanted...and he chose to be on a team in the first place...
it's delicate, this whole organized sports thing in our silly mortal family...because as parents the lord of the ring and i encourage asking questions, the art to and necessity of challenging authority (not *us* of course...hee hee)...we encourage free expression and diversity from the status quo...or a complete embracing of the status quo should that be what they want...but choice above all...
we draw the line at free will in our children, though.../shudder.
i keed. i keed.
as you can imagine, organized sports definitely challenges all of this...and can be quite hard to bear at times (for us anyway)...BUT, i don't think that makes it any less valuable and in fact i think it serves an important and invaluable purpose...
to learn how to be part of a group is among many other things an opportunity to gain a deeper understanding of our own selves in relation to the world at large...to understand the nature of others in times of play and pressure...to explore what it means to connect, and what it can mean when there isn't a connection...
what happens when someone just gives up and leaves everyone else to step up.
i have always encouraged my boys to cry if they are hurt or sad or just need to cry...always...
but, i think in some circumstances there is a time and a place...and i think if you've got people counting on you, and all you can do is focus on your own sadness with a teary breakdown, or a pissy outburst then yeah, there is no crying in baseball...
the duke got tagged out at second two days ago...he wouldn't have if he didn't listen to his first base coach tell him to steal when there wasn't an appropriate chance...but he was taught to listen to his coach and he did...and his coach apologized for the mistake and the duke accepted it...
and he told me
"mama, when i got tagged out at second i wanted to cry"
"you were sad, huh?"
"yeah...but i didn't, and i got over it...and, i listened to my coach even though it didn't work out"
"and as sucky as that is, it's good that you listened to him even though it didn't work out...because listening to your coach is always important"
shit. i don't even particularly care for this coach and think he really didn't have a clue a great deal of the time, so as the words came out of my mouth...sigh...
but my boybarians have to learn to listen to authority before they can begin to learn to question it...it's a process...
it's a damn good thing 10 is still too young for the military.
this parenting thing...oy.
x.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
this is what i get for reading all those feminist books in the 90's.
so i had a pleasant morning with my truck yesterday...
i had to run to home depot to replenish painting supplies...i swear i've spent more money on blue painter's tape than i have on food this week.
so anyhow, i parked my truck and noticed a similar landcruiser was a couple of spaces away...make, model, year all the same, yet this truck looked like it had been rode hard and put away wet...
now, normally i'm not one to boast...okay, i am...and i will boast again and say the beast, comparatively, is a shining beauty...
and then when i went inside, i noticed a guy heading to the other landcruiser and he stopped and sniffed around mine...can i tell you how many times this happens?...the sniffers i don't mind, it's the chatters...they always get me when i'm NOT in the mood to stand around and talk trucks or when i'm in a hurry...
so i get my stuff and come out and he's still there! he's sitting in his truck and as i approach he's all chattin' me up...it's just like parents at a park...or dog owners at a dog park...or lonely people with limited social skills who attach unnaturally to inanimate objects that cost them buttloads of time and money and never return the level of adoration...
i must admit when he first saw me he seemed disappointed because i am a woman and therefore presumably won't be able to properly shoot the shit about what he suspects is under my hood...
but i go through my quick and dirty about my truck and after he laments about his rebuild (stopped just two cylinders shy of burly...poor chap) he's satisfied enough to drive away...
feeling all smug and filled up with pride of ownership (deep down i am so american it's scary) i head home.
then i head out later with the kids and while stopped first in the right hand turn lane in arguably the worst of congested intersections in my county the beast just dies.
pride of ownership indeed...we all know who's in charge here...
so after i flip on the hazards (well first i cussed and sighed dramatically), i call the lord of the ring and then AAA...i pop the hood and get out to open it and everyone behind me has started to shout and honk...
what the fuck!
oh, great my hazards don't work...so i'm still on the phone with AAA and some guy in a cable truck a few cars away shouts as if i'm the worlds biggest idiot when he's the one shouting at someone in distress with kids in the car
"TURN ON YOUR HAZARDS, LADY!!"
"DUH! THE TRUCK IS DEAD THEY DON'T WORK!"
"OH!"
then instead of seeing if he can help me he finds a way out of his blocked line, zips in front of another car in the moving line, drives by me, and honks and flips me off...
nice.
then the AAA lady says
"are you blocking traffic?"
"why don't you ask the people stuck behind me"
of course i apologized for being rude, she just laughed and said she understood and said the tow truck was on the way...
the duke suggested a construction cone lying by the side of the road to put behind the truck...so i did that and people got the idea...
i kid you not though, practically everyone driving by shot me dirty looks or honked or flipped me off or ignored me...
then one guy who was stopped a few cars back gets out of his truck and comes all at me gesturing rudely and accusingly
"WHAT!?!...YOU OUTTA GAS OR WHAT!"
"UNLESS YOU HAVE A GAS CAN WHAT'S IT TO YOU?!?...BUT IF YOU MUST KNOW I THINK IT'S THE BATTERY AND THE TOW TRUCK IS ON ITS WAY!
he rolls his eyes at me and huffs back to his truck...
good lord!...the only person to stop was a wafer thin woman who looked like she only ate raw food and not much of it...and it wasn't just her, the bumper stickers gave it away too...
i know i'm stereotyping, but i've known a few raw foodists and they aren't exactly the most robust and energetic of people...one lady i met spoke at a conference about the raw food movement and how great and healthy it is, and i kid you not she had to have someone carry her bag for her...
ANYWAY, so she stops and asks if i want help pushing the truck out of the way...i thanked her profusely for her offer and for being kind but declined telling her the tow truck was on the way...
now, i'm not opposed to pushing...i pushed a car uphill in traffic and into a parking lot when i was 8 months pregnant with the duke...by myself...i can push a car...
but, if you haven't guessed it already, the beast is HUGE...the bumper alone is the size of a small compact...okay, maybe not, but not only is it huge and you've got to judge the push just right or suffer the consequences, there wasn't much of anywhere to push it with all the standing traffic and no shoulder due to construction...
the only other person to stop and ask if i needed help pushing it out of the way was another small single woman all dolled up to the nines...
so truck after truck of construction workers and cable guys and car after car of all manner of people and the only people to offer help are the unlikeliest people...of course.
you know, the world is a random and very sweet place if you know where to look...
oh, and chivalry is apparently dead.
ANYWAY, my own knight in shining armor showed up and we headed to his car waiting in the adjacent parking lot and he waited for the tow truck and endured the dirty looks...
on the way home wingman worried how papa would get home...i said
"the tow truck driver will drop him off"
"does the tow truck driver know where we live?"
"honey, every tow truck driver in the county knows where we live"
x.
i had to run to home depot to replenish painting supplies...i swear i've spent more money on blue painter's tape than i have on food this week.
so anyhow, i parked my truck and noticed a similar landcruiser was a couple of spaces away...make, model, year all the same, yet this truck looked like it had been rode hard and put away wet...
now, normally i'm not one to boast...okay, i am...and i will boast again and say the beast, comparatively, is a shining beauty...
and then when i went inside, i noticed a guy heading to the other landcruiser and he stopped and sniffed around mine...can i tell you how many times this happens?...the sniffers i don't mind, it's the chatters...they always get me when i'm NOT in the mood to stand around and talk trucks or when i'm in a hurry...
so i get my stuff and come out and he's still there! he's sitting in his truck and as i approach he's all chattin' me up...it's just like parents at a park...or dog owners at a dog park...or lonely people with limited social skills who attach unnaturally to inanimate objects that cost them buttloads of time and money and never return the level of adoration...
i must admit when he first saw me he seemed disappointed because i am a woman and therefore presumably won't be able to properly shoot the shit about what he suspects is under my hood...
but i go through my quick and dirty about my truck and after he laments about his rebuild (stopped just two cylinders shy of burly...poor chap) he's satisfied enough to drive away...
feeling all smug and filled up with pride of ownership (deep down i am so american it's scary) i head home.
then i head out later with the kids and while stopped first in the right hand turn lane in arguably the worst of congested intersections in my county the beast just dies.
pride of ownership indeed...we all know who's in charge here...
so after i flip on the hazards (well first i cussed and sighed dramatically), i call the lord of the ring and then AAA...i pop the hood and get out to open it and everyone behind me has started to shout and honk...
what the fuck!
oh, great my hazards don't work...so i'm still on the phone with AAA and some guy in a cable truck a few cars away shouts as if i'm the worlds biggest idiot when he's the one shouting at someone in distress with kids in the car
"TURN ON YOUR HAZARDS, LADY!!"
"DUH! THE TRUCK IS DEAD THEY DON'T WORK!"
"OH!"
then instead of seeing if he can help me he finds a way out of his blocked line, zips in front of another car in the moving line, drives by me, and honks and flips me off...
nice.
then the AAA lady says
"are you blocking traffic?"
"why don't you ask the people stuck behind me"
of course i apologized for being rude, she just laughed and said she understood and said the tow truck was on the way...
the duke suggested a construction cone lying by the side of the road to put behind the truck...so i did that and people got the idea...
i kid you not though, practically everyone driving by shot me dirty looks or honked or flipped me off or ignored me...
then one guy who was stopped a few cars back gets out of his truck and comes all at me gesturing rudely and accusingly
"WHAT!?!...YOU OUTTA GAS OR WHAT!"
"UNLESS YOU HAVE A GAS CAN WHAT'S IT TO YOU?!?...BUT IF YOU MUST KNOW I THINK IT'S THE BATTERY AND THE TOW TRUCK IS ON ITS WAY!
he rolls his eyes at me and huffs back to his truck...
good lord!...the only person to stop was a wafer thin woman who looked like she only ate raw food and not much of it...and it wasn't just her, the bumper stickers gave it away too...
i know i'm stereotyping, but i've known a few raw foodists and they aren't exactly the most robust and energetic of people...one lady i met spoke at a conference about the raw food movement and how great and healthy it is, and i kid you not she had to have someone carry her bag for her...
ANYWAY, so she stops and asks if i want help pushing the truck out of the way...i thanked her profusely for her offer and for being kind but declined telling her the tow truck was on the way...
now, i'm not opposed to pushing...i pushed a car uphill in traffic and into a parking lot when i was 8 months pregnant with the duke...by myself...i can push a car...
but, if you haven't guessed it already, the beast is HUGE...the bumper alone is the size of a small compact...okay, maybe not, but not only is it huge and you've got to judge the push just right or suffer the consequences, there wasn't much of anywhere to push it with all the standing traffic and no shoulder due to construction...
the only other person to stop and ask if i needed help pushing it out of the way was another small single woman all dolled up to the nines...
so truck after truck of construction workers and cable guys and car after car of all manner of people and the only people to offer help are the unlikeliest people...of course.
you know, the world is a random and very sweet place if you know where to look...
oh, and chivalry is apparently dead.
ANYWAY, my own knight in shining armor showed up and we headed to his car waiting in the adjacent parking lot and he waited for the tow truck and endured the dirty looks...
on the way home wingman worried how papa would get home...i said
"the tow truck driver will drop him off"
"does the tow truck driver know where we live?"
"honey, every tow truck driver in the county knows where we live"
x.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
why buy a mattress when you can sleep on the couch.
the duke was singing this this morning and it pretty much sums up my inability to actually execute a project...
BUT despite my extreme laziness and love of procrastination, i am actually painting my bedroom...
yes folks, only two years after buying the paint (except the trim and ceiling paint which i just got...yea new martha stewart colors!...just in time!) and purchasing new bedding the project begins...
anyhow, it's beginning to look a lot less like a forgotten church basement and more like a place of respite...
and that's only with the primer...a whole gallon so far, and not even for the walls!
all the trim was this old ugly blue that took scads of primer to cover up...and the ceiling...
oy.
call me ishmael because that ceiling is my own personal moby dick...i've been staring up at that mess forevah and wanting to do something about it...
(well, secretly heavily wishing and praying to the allmighty that i could hire someone to do it for me...or just move.)
it's comprised of decades old acoustical tiles...not the kind that are perforated with metal cross bars but just the press board kind that just fit together...
except they don't "just fit together" and so then you have crappy dirty white ceiling tiles with dark brown gaps in between...
it's far uglier than i am describing...trust me.
and the fact that i have been staring up at that ugly ass ceiling for over eight years is a testament to just how farkin' lazy i really am...
i am very thankful neither of my children were conceived under such an ugly ceiling...
BUT, priming that ceiling makes me think my laziness was just my own darwinism kicking in...because that ceiling will. be. the. death. of. me.
the ceiling is really high, and it slopes at one side...i'm up on a stepladder with my neck at an ungodly angle getting in between each and every tile to cover the brown gaps with primer...and this is after rolling the whole ceiling in primer which is an activity that carries it's own fresh hell...
(how many times did i just use the word ceiling? gah.)
but now the primer's on and it's time to do it all over again with the actual paint...the step ladder, the neck craning, the rolling...
my only saving grace is the thought that one day i will lie in bed and look up and see the most beautiful blue in the world and it will make me happy...
and trust me, it WILL be BEAUTIFUL or at least i will convince myself it is...because i will die of old age under that "beautiful" blue as i am never. painting. that. ceiling. again.
x.
BUT despite my extreme laziness and love of procrastination, i am actually painting my bedroom...
yes folks, only two years after buying the paint (except the trim and ceiling paint which i just got...yea new martha stewart colors!...just in time!) and purchasing new bedding the project begins...
anyhow, it's beginning to look a lot less like a forgotten church basement and more like a place of respite...
and that's only with the primer...a whole gallon so far, and not even for the walls!
all the trim was this old ugly blue that took scads of primer to cover up...and the ceiling...
oy.
call me ishmael because that ceiling is my own personal moby dick...i've been staring up at that mess forevah and wanting to do something about it...
(well, secretly heavily wishing and praying to the allmighty that i could hire someone to do it for me...or just move.)
it's comprised of decades old acoustical tiles...not the kind that are perforated with metal cross bars but just the press board kind that just fit together...
except they don't "just fit together" and so then you have crappy dirty white ceiling tiles with dark brown gaps in between...
it's far uglier than i am describing...trust me.
and the fact that i have been staring up at that ugly ass ceiling for over eight years is a testament to just how farkin' lazy i really am...
i am very thankful neither of my children were conceived under such an ugly ceiling...
BUT, priming that ceiling makes me think my laziness was just my own darwinism kicking in...because that ceiling will. be. the. death. of. me.
the ceiling is really high, and it slopes at one side...i'm up on a stepladder with my neck at an ungodly angle getting in between each and every tile to cover the brown gaps with primer...and this is after rolling the whole ceiling in primer which is an activity that carries it's own fresh hell...
(how many times did i just use the word ceiling? gah.)
but now the primer's on and it's time to do it all over again with the actual paint...the step ladder, the neck craning, the rolling...
my only saving grace is the thought that one day i will lie in bed and look up and see the most beautiful blue in the world and it will make me happy...
and trust me, it WILL be BEAUTIFUL or at least i will convince myself it is...because i will die of old age under that "beautiful" blue as i am never. painting. that. ceiling. again.
x.
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