My high regard for the virtues of pizza never diminishes, nothing else is cheesey, aromatic, stretchy AND dog-luring. I once spent a good 3 hours making dinner and half-way through the meal Zeke was saying "Mom, this is good...but tomorrow night, could we have PIZZA?"
By the way, one of the few festivals in America where you can NOT find pizza, hamburgers, hotdogs or fries is the New Orleans Jazz Fest. New Orleanians did not know how to feel this past weekend. In any category where states are ranked, we come in around 46th (and are secretly happy not to be lower). Except in the "Most Obese City" which New Orleans regularly ranks in the Top 3. I went to hear James Carville (political pundit) speak at a local high school recently, and he said that in Washington, when he tells people he's moved to New Orleans, the general reaction is something like "AWWW! That is so NICE of you..." I don't know if the outside world creates the image or if the city puts the image out there...
But this PAST weekend, The Zurich Classic (a golf tournament) had a huge turnout. It is the only golf tournament so far in 2009 that has increased its profit (a lot!) over last year (because as I've mentioned, New Orleans is not experiencing an economic downturn AT ALL, we are always zigging when the rest of the country is zagging...when we were down and out in 2005, the rest of the country was booming...) And then the Hornets (NBA basketball) won their play-off game, the sold-out crowd was estatic, the half-time show was incredible. New Orleans is always so happy to just HAVE professional sports (the concept of "booing" the home team is completely unthinkable no matter how bad they are). The down-trodden mindset just doesn't compute that emotion. New Orleans expects to lose, and is tickled pink when they don't.
And finally the JazzFest, hundreds of thousands of people, 7 stages, great food, great weather, intricate time-sensitive operations pulled off without a hitch. The world was watching and, dare I say it? New Orleans looked good!
I saw Joe Cocker, and had an ironic moment (alone in Pattyland as I so often am...) When he was singing "Ya feelin' alright? I'm not feelin' too good myself"...he really didn't look like he was feelin' too good...
You know how rockers jump on the last note to finish dramatically? I'd say he was getting a good 6 inches on his end-o-song jumps. You've got to be impressed with that.
And what is James Taylor's problem? The guy has ZERO stage presence. His show was supposed to start at 5:30, and he just came walking out and started playing around 5:15, before the intro, do you think he forgot that he wasn't in his den at home? It's sad, because you know he's got to be an interesting guy, Carly Simon, Carole King, grown-up kids, young kids, music legend, the huge crowd was DYING to connect with him on any level, really he could say ANYTHING, like "When I wrote this song, I was eating a meatball sub!" and everyone would love it. But after 25 minutes of saying not a word, he finally said "Any Tarheels out there?" Say what?!?! So many things to excite a Louisiana audience, crawfish, hurricanes, oysters, French Quarter, jazz, ad infinitum...the 7 people in the crowd who knew what a Tarheel was undoubtedly had a nice moment. But in his defense, he just has to say THREE words, like "When you're down"...and involuntarily, enthusiasically, 30,000 finish the sentence they came of age on, and sing "..in trouble, and you need a helping hand.." JT would never encourage it or acknowledge it, never any of that "Cmon! Everybody! Are we having fun yet!" stuff, and that is kind of awesome.
I also caught the first 30 minutes of Earth, Wind and Fire, a group I have been singing along to phonetically for two decades, i.e. "Shinin star for you to see! Wha yo lie ka shrewly bee!" And Sunday was no different.
I ate so much, I had trouble fitting in the musical interludes. The best part is...there's one more weekend! My neighbor will be rolling out the "No Parking!" sign and the orange cones, we have guests coming in from all over the country, and JazzFest, Part Deux starts back on Thursday. It's crazy, but it's this week's slice of my life.
Patty
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Deaf Uncle Babysitter
O.K., I’ve mentioned, before, the importance of keeping our house under lock & key, not because it’s a high crime neighborhood but because we cannot ever allow Kier to “get out” on his own because of his autistic penchant for WANDERING, which becomes a death/life issue instantly. So how this translates to our lifestyle is that there are 3 things (really probably hundreds) that can never happen in this house: front door can never be left unlocked (bolted from the inside – goes against all fire-safety standards), keys can never be left in plain view – because he will help himself to a quick exit, and the inner and outer doors of the front vestibule can never be opened at the same time – but this is for the DOGGY.
Calliope-Peach was a Parvo puppy – which was a fun tidbit of tragedy to share with the children after we had owned her (our first family dog) for all of 1 day. Thankfully, she survived but came home with many restrictions, like that she could not tread upon “public” pavement (sidewalks) for 6 months, had to do her business in a confined little pen in the yard, etc. The result was that she has never figured out that most dogs walk and potty at the same time, so she’ll go for a long walk and then scurry into the yard to pee when we come home – convenient for us because we never have to humiliate ourselves with those little bags of dog-mush. She also has bad manners; by the time she was allowed to literally see another dog, she acted like a lunatic, all jumpy and excited with a ridge of defensive fur sticking straight up on her back, despite our attempts with dog-training classes. Now, as an almost 4 year old dog, although super sweet sleeping on our beds and licking the kids faces, she is crazy to walk publicly. Her hound dog instincts mean that her nose is the only part of her body with a direct link to her brain and she excitedly zigs and zags from left to right, threatening to trip you with her leash while she eagerly sniffs at traces of dog-life and dog-waste and you just have to pray that wherever you are there are no other dogs because she just goes wild – not in a threatening way – but in a way that makes me repeat my dog-mantra: "Holy dog-crap! I’d rather choke on glass than ever walk that pooch around the block again!!"
So the dog, (not unlike my “indoor-cat” kids) has a little pent up ENTHUSIASM when the front door opens, because between you and me, we have simply stopped walking her (which I feel O.K. about because she does a lot of vertical jumping against our 6 ft. fence when she sniffs the neighbor dog on the other side...which is probably sufficient dog-cardio).
Anyway, we had to drive to Chicago yesterday for my niece’s 20th birthday party – which was really a nice party, everything looked so pretty and girlie-pink and clean and cup-cakey and Zoe in her fab pink/red slinky little dress and nice friends – completely worth the trip and we’d planned on going for weeks - but it is never easy to just leave our house because this typically means finding someone to stay with Kier and the dog.
So Scot’s brother, "Uncle Kitt" - who I absolutely adore - sometimes does respite for Kier and he has many of the qualities that make him a perfect fit for this assignment, mostly because he is calm like Scot and can just hang out and be an unobtrusive set of eyeballs in the house to make sure there’s no trouble. So Scot goes through his spiel with anyone who is left in charge of Kier – which is a comprehensive list of well honed instructions including when to give medication (hidden in yogurt – Scot prepares and labels ahead of time), when to order Pizza, how to understand the few key “words”/needs that Kier is likely to utter, how to follow dinner immediately with bath time, etc., etc. and the BIG one: the door/key thing.
But Kitt had a faraway look and I was shifting uneasily on my kitchen stool as Scot kept reciting the spiel. Kitt had, upon arrival, shared with us that he is NOT HEARING WELL these days either due to being a musician who has spent a good chunk of his life around AMPLIFICATION or because of a severe wax buildup, or both. Scot hates to be interrupted during the spiel in case it throws him off course which might make him skip over a critical piece of info – so I try to stay quiet at these times but let’s face it, that is not exactly easy. I prefer to repeat things approximately three times – differently iterated each time so as to ensure optimal chances for comprehension; Scot likes to say things ONE TIME and after 21 years of marriage to this man, I am just "guessing" that he finds it dead-boring and unnecessary whenever I do my “here – let me say it another way for you…” routine. But I am a woman who counts on eye-contact and the repeating of instructions to feel like I did my part and I was finding myself repeating everything that Scot said to Kitt – with a “…you got that...right, Kitt?” and Scot had that look in his eye that says “You are not helping”.
…and Kitt would say “What’s that?”
I heard Scot say “so the thing to be super careful of is when you open the door for the Pizza delivery guy at dinner, make sure one of the front (vestibule) doors is always closed while the other is open so the dog doesn’t get out...” and then I repeated that same phrase 3 different ways and said “you get it? Do you get that? Did you hear that, Kitt?”
Then we left, Scot happily and me uneasily because of the torrential rain which I hate to drive in and because of the fact that Atticus also decided to stay home which meant that Kitt had to have heard the exact McDonalds lunch order for both boys – our 2 boys who have “issues” and who can never get the WRONG FOOD. That meant the front door would have to open twice for the out/in of one McDonalds trip and twice for the open/close of the Pizza delivery. This is how we measure the comfort level of a day away from our house: how many times will the front door need to be opened????
So we return home, through more INSTABILITY (rain, wind, dusk, children pawing at each other’s car-snacks) to Kitt’s story of how he was shocked to see how FAST that dog is…And we ask, “well did you do the door thing…just one opened at a time?” and he says “What’s that?”
He had brought the Pizza into the house and given out slices before telling Atticus (tiny, frail, feathery – with issues) to WATCH Kier (HUGE and volatile at any moment, especially when anticipating his next meal) while he was going to go down the street, in his car, to find the dog. The good thing: he locked the door before he left the house. He could see the Peach – a speck way in the distance, running like a greyhound at the track…FREEEeeeeeeeee!
So here was a singular act of GENIUS…Kitt never got into his car but instead had grabbed one slice of Pizza before running out of the house and as he shouted to that crazy dog, he waved that Pizza in the air like a surrender flag – “You can have whatever you want…EVEN PIZZA…if you come home”.
There is only one thing the Peach likes more than running away apparently and that’s HUMAN FOOD…and she sniffed that slice from a mile away and raced back home to gobble it up. So they all lived HAPPILY-EVER-AFTER (which for me means making it until roughly 7:00pm on any given night with most of my senses in tact).
Ah, good to be home.
So sorry – I feel your pain regarding not getting the Weighing-in job at Weight-Watchers. That did sound perfect, in a relaxing way. I’m thinking you may have just come off as “over-qualified”…considering your history (starting in your 20’s as some high-voltage business woman in TV Sales in NYC, right? who bought her first home - alone - before most young people are buying their own groceries….hmmm…you think?). But don’t give up. Are there any hotel maid positions around…I always thought that would be a pleasant job…or does it have to be weight-loss related? How about a fitness club? Keep me posted.
Ruby
Calliope-Peach was a Parvo puppy – which was a fun tidbit of tragedy to share with the children after we had owned her (our first family dog) for all of 1 day. Thankfully, she survived but came home with many restrictions, like that she could not tread upon “public” pavement (sidewalks) for 6 months, had to do her business in a confined little pen in the yard, etc. The result was that she has never figured out that most dogs walk and potty at the same time, so she’ll go for a long walk and then scurry into the yard to pee when we come home – convenient for us because we never have to humiliate ourselves with those little bags of dog-mush. She also has bad manners; by the time she was allowed to literally see another dog, she acted like a lunatic, all jumpy and excited with a ridge of defensive fur sticking straight up on her back, despite our attempts with dog-training classes. Now, as an almost 4 year old dog, although super sweet sleeping on our beds and licking the kids faces, she is crazy to walk publicly. Her hound dog instincts mean that her nose is the only part of her body with a direct link to her brain and she excitedly zigs and zags from left to right, threatening to trip you with her leash while she eagerly sniffs at traces of dog-life and dog-waste and you just have to pray that wherever you are there are no other dogs because she just goes wild – not in a threatening way – but in a way that makes me repeat my dog-mantra: "Holy dog-crap! I’d rather choke on glass than ever walk that pooch around the block again!!"
So the dog, (not unlike my “indoor-cat” kids) has a little pent up ENTHUSIASM when the front door opens, because between you and me, we have simply stopped walking her (which I feel O.K. about because she does a lot of vertical jumping against our 6 ft. fence when she sniffs the neighbor dog on the other side...which is probably sufficient dog-cardio).
Anyway, we had to drive to Chicago yesterday for my niece’s 20th birthday party – which was really a nice party, everything looked so pretty and girlie-pink and clean and cup-cakey and Zoe in her fab pink/red slinky little dress and nice friends – completely worth the trip and we’d planned on going for weeks - but it is never easy to just leave our house because this typically means finding someone to stay with Kier and the dog.
So Scot’s brother, "Uncle Kitt" - who I absolutely adore - sometimes does respite for Kier and he has many of the qualities that make him a perfect fit for this assignment, mostly because he is calm like Scot and can just hang out and be an unobtrusive set of eyeballs in the house to make sure there’s no trouble. So Scot goes through his spiel with anyone who is left in charge of Kier – which is a comprehensive list of well honed instructions including when to give medication (hidden in yogurt – Scot prepares and labels ahead of time), when to order Pizza, how to understand the few key “words”/needs that Kier is likely to utter, how to follow dinner immediately with bath time, etc., etc. and the BIG one: the door/key thing.
But Kitt had a faraway look and I was shifting uneasily on my kitchen stool as Scot kept reciting the spiel. Kitt had, upon arrival, shared with us that he is NOT HEARING WELL these days either due to being a musician who has spent a good chunk of his life around AMPLIFICATION or because of a severe wax buildup, or both. Scot hates to be interrupted during the spiel in case it throws him off course which might make him skip over a critical piece of info – so I try to stay quiet at these times but let’s face it, that is not exactly easy. I prefer to repeat things approximately three times – differently iterated each time so as to ensure optimal chances for comprehension; Scot likes to say things ONE TIME and after 21 years of marriage to this man, I am just "guessing" that he finds it dead-boring and unnecessary whenever I do my “here – let me say it another way for you…” routine. But I am a woman who counts on eye-contact and the repeating of instructions to feel like I did my part and I was finding myself repeating everything that Scot said to Kitt – with a “…you got that...right, Kitt?” and Scot had that look in his eye that says “You are not helping”.
…and Kitt would say “What’s that?”
I heard Scot say “so the thing to be super careful of is when you open the door for the Pizza delivery guy at dinner, make sure one of the front (vestibule) doors is always closed while the other is open so the dog doesn’t get out...” and then I repeated that same phrase 3 different ways and said “you get it? Do you get that? Did you hear that, Kitt?”
Then we left, Scot happily and me uneasily because of the torrential rain which I hate to drive in and because of the fact that Atticus also decided to stay home which meant that Kitt had to have heard the exact McDonalds lunch order for both boys – our 2 boys who have “issues” and who can never get the WRONG FOOD. That meant the front door would have to open twice for the out/in of one McDonalds trip and twice for the open/close of the Pizza delivery. This is how we measure the comfort level of a day away from our house: how many times will the front door need to be opened????
So we return home, through more INSTABILITY (rain, wind, dusk, children pawing at each other’s car-snacks) to Kitt’s story of how he was shocked to see how FAST that dog is…And we ask, “well did you do the door thing…just one opened at a time?” and he says “What’s that?”
He had brought the Pizza into the house and given out slices before telling Atticus (tiny, frail, feathery – with issues) to WATCH Kier (HUGE and volatile at any moment, especially when anticipating his next meal) while he was going to go down the street, in his car, to find the dog. The good thing: he locked the door before he left the house. He could see the Peach – a speck way in the distance, running like a greyhound at the track…FREEEeeeeeeeee!
So here was a singular act of GENIUS…Kitt never got into his car but instead had grabbed one slice of Pizza before running out of the house and as he shouted to that crazy dog, he waved that Pizza in the air like a surrender flag – “You can have whatever you want…EVEN PIZZA…if you come home”.
There is only one thing the Peach likes more than running away apparently and that’s HUMAN FOOD…and she sniffed that slice from a mile away and raced back home to gobble it up. So they all lived HAPPILY-EVER-AFTER (which for me means making it until roughly 7:00pm on any given night with most of my senses in tact).
Ah, good to be home.
So sorry – I feel your pain regarding not getting the Weighing-in job at Weight-Watchers. That did sound perfect, in a relaxing way. I’m thinking you may have just come off as “over-qualified”…considering your history (starting in your 20’s as some high-voltage business woman in TV Sales in NYC, right? who bought her first home - alone - before most young people are buying their own groceries….hmmm…you think?). But don’t give up. Are there any hotel maid positions around…I always thought that would be a pleasant job…or does it have to be weight-loss related? How about a fitness club? Keep me posted.
Ruby
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I'd be an awesome dishwasher
I wanted to work at Weightwatchers as a receptionist, which is weighing people in, and I was NOT offered the position. I rate this opportunity as a tiny bit ahead of being a dish washer, so I felt extremely rejected. Honestly, it was the most menial job I have ever applied for. I felt like one of those war-torn physicists from Sri Lanka who has to flee to America and work as a manicurist or whatever. But I'd be the physicist who wasn't offered the job in the salon. I don't know where I went wrong, I was punctual and perky. It's possible that the answer to "Do you have any long-term goals within this organization?" should have been some variation of "yes"...oh well...the idea of maintaining a certain weight to keep a job was a new twist on motivation for me, but now I will never get to see if it that theory would work! So I am still at my goal weight, but it's the same pattern, the viscious cycle where I get into health and fitness and self-discipline for a year or so, and then, it slowly slips away, a vacation here, a buffet there, a fabulous dessert... wine begets apathy, and I redirect my thoughts to more of a "life is short!" mode which somehow makes it OK to gain a little weight...and then just a little more...If I could be more Zen-ish, I could live in this moment, a moment where I am at my absolute goal weight...but, tomorrow is the first day of Jazz Fest, and I am already mentally preparing my eating strategy, and it is not one that is on any diet horizon...
If I were to get Zeke another bike, what do you think of the idea of hiding a GPS tracker in the seat? That way, if it gets stolen again, we can just go retrieve it!
Patty
If I were to get Zeke another bike, what do you think of the idea of hiding a GPS tracker in the seat? That way, if it gets stolen again, we can just go retrieve it!
Patty
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Restorative in Cases of Faintness
Sorry – I am the wrong person to help you come to terms with the young ‘uns driving. Can you even get smelling salts these days?...because there is this physical reaction I have to so many things where I flutter my hand in front of my face as if to fan a little whiff of air/relief into me and I often think about the act of needing smelling salts when I do this. And thinking about my kids driving is one of those things that leaves me weak, fanning the O2 my way, thinking about the salts; by the way, you have to LOVE this definition: A PUNGENT SUBSTANCE SNIFFED AS A RESTORATIVE IN CASES OF FAINTNESS OR HEADACHE, TYPICALLY CONSISTING OF AMMONIUM CARBONATE MIXED WITH PERFUME. I could go for some right now. Seriously, I wish fainting was still popular because I would pull that one out of my ass every chance I got. Anyway...
Since Scot doesn’t drive I have to teach the kids and I am one-down-four-more-to-go, well really three-more-to-go since Kier (17) won’ t drive most likely. Number ONE-SON drove me to the brink, literally DROVE me there, first in my Mini-Van which was impossible for him to parallel park (we found that out AFTER he took his first test in it), then in the appropriately sized Dodge Neon which we bought for him so he could pass his test and be a real-life driver. It wasn’t really anything specific he was doing to make me nutty…just the being 16-ish and the DRIVING-ish part, insisting he was doing fine while I nervous-blinked my way around the block and tapped frantically at the ghost limb of an accelerator and brakes on the passenger side of the car floor. I remember yelling a lot – both of us, in fact I think that may have been the genesis of our current state of “yell-talking” – a pleasantry I had no idea was on its way when they were all babies, cooing at my GOODNESS. Gurgle-gurgle.
When Medusa learns to drive – (NEXT YEAR!!!) I will need to have googled smelling salts and arranged a monthly supply to be delivered to my home with no questions asked. She has already told me with a dangerous glint in her eyes “I’m gonna’ go FAST”.
Yay. Jump up & down, clap my hands, spin around with glee. I love my life.
By the way, how’s Weight Watchers going? The idea of counting points all day long seems like math to me…categorically, this would make me reject it as a viable diet solution. I know this though - you can have about a thousand radishes before your body knows there are any calories involved. A Radish/Kombucha diet sounds hopeful.
Ruby
Since Scot doesn’t drive I have to teach the kids and I am one-down-four-more-to-go, well really three-more-to-go since Kier (17) won’ t drive most likely. Number ONE-SON drove me to the brink, literally DROVE me there, first in my Mini-Van which was impossible for him to parallel park (we found that out AFTER he took his first test in it), then in the appropriately sized Dodge Neon which we bought for him so he could pass his test and be a real-life driver. It wasn’t really anything specific he was doing to make me nutty…just the being 16-ish and the DRIVING-ish part, insisting he was doing fine while I nervous-blinked my way around the block and tapped frantically at the ghost limb of an accelerator and brakes on the passenger side of the car floor. I remember yelling a lot – both of us, in fact I think that may have been the genesis of our current state of “yell-talking” – a pleasantry I had no idea was on its way when they were all babies, cooing at my GOODNESS. Gurgle-gurgle.
When Medusa learns to drive – (NEXT YEAR!!!) I will need to have googled smelling salts and arranged a monthly supply to be delivered to my home with no questions asked. She has already told me with a dangerous glint in her eyes “I’m gonna’ go FAST”.
Yay. Jump up & down, clap my hands, spin around with glee. I love my life.
By the way, how’s Weight Watchers going? The idea of counting points all day long seems like math to me…categorically, this would make me reject it as a viable diet solution. I know this though - you can have about a thousand radishes before your body knows there are any calories involved. A Radish/Kombucha diet sounds hopeful.
Ruby
Monday, April 20, 2009
Felonius Monk
I didn't know you had morning mug issues! As you know, frugality was king when I was growing up. I think I told you that for maybe a 50 year period, my father wore 6 pairs of Cordovans, which are leather, lace-up business shoes, and that's it, 6 pairs of shoes in 50 years. For work, he wore new Cordovans. For gardening or taking out the trash, he wore old Cordovans. In the snow, he wore Cordovans with rubbers over them (back when rubbers weren't R-rated words).
When something new arrived in the house, it was a big deal. Every morning when I came downstairs my mother was listening to "Ramblin' with Gamblin" on the radio, eating 2 slices of white toast with butter (she lived a long and healthy life despite refusing to connect "health" with "food") and drinking coffee from a cup and saucer. One day, these mugs showed up, I don't remember how they arrived at the house, but I do recall all of us making a big deal out of these blue and white mugs, and my mother feeling so mod, making the big switch to mugs, after all, it WAS the age of aquarius...
And now, I HAVE to start my day with a blue-and-white mug. There are only 2 of them, and the day one of them breaks, my heart will break a little as well.
And on that instability topic...
Remember how I told you Zeke is a man of few needs? I think his favorite possession is his pocket-knife, he uses it 4 or 5 times a day, never leaves home without it. So we are at Easter Mass, and I look over and he's cleaning his fingernails with the knife. I gave him a look that I hope said "Come on! The highest of Holy Days!" Later, we go up to get Communion, and as I'm coming back , I see the knife, open, laying in the pew. I'm pretty sure we are the only family to bring weaponry to the service that day, is that a felony?....meanwhile, Madison was going to a Fraternity Formal Saturday night, but she forgot to tell me it was in Florida, 4 hours away...and then Portia, who just got the car back after her fender-bender, was driving home from a concert last night and upon arrival revealed that she didn't know how to turn off the brights, so she was turning the lights completely OFF when there was an on-coming car, remind me why I think a 16 year old can drive?...
Patty
When something new arrived in the house, it was a big deal. Every morning when I came downstairs my mother was listening to "Ramblin' with Gamblin" on the radio, eating 2 slices of white toast with butter (she lived a long and healthy life despite refusing to connect "health" with "food") and drinking coffee from a cup and saucer. One day, these mugs showed up, I don't remember how they arrived at the house, but I do recall all of us making a big deal out of these blue and white mugs, and my mother feeling so mod, making the big switch to mugs, after all, it WAS the age of aquarius...
And now, I HAVE to start my day with a blue-and-white mug. There are only 2 of them, and the day one of them breaks, my heart will break a little as well.
And on that instability topic...
Remember how I told you Zeke is a man of few needs? I think his favorite possession is his pocket-knife, he uses it 4 or 5 times a day, never leaves home without it. So we are at Easter Mass, and I look over and he's cleaning his fingernails with the knife. I gave him a look that I hope said "Come on! The highest of Holy Days!" Later, we go up to get Communion, and as I'm coming back , I see the knife, open, laying in the pew. I'm pretty sure we are the only family to bring weaponry to the service that day, is that a felony?....meanwhile, Madison was going to a Fraternity Formal Saturday night, but she forgot to tell me it was in Florida, 4 hours away...and then Portia, who just got the car back after her fender-bender, was driving home from a concert last night and upon arrival revealed that she didn't know how to turn off the brights, so she was turning the lights completely OFF when there was an on-coming car, remind me why I think a 16 year old can drive?...
Patty
Friday, April 17, 2009
Instability
This has nothing to do with your butterball doggy (such a fabulously decadent visual I get of her hanging out on the table, happier than a pig-in-her-own-slop), but…after my fist cup of coffee this morning, I thought I would confess (unapologetically) the following:
I have obsessions that I refuse to apologize for. Here are 3 of my favorites:
• Must use a VERY SPECIFIC spoon for coffee in the morning...literally will let out an audible and emotional sigh of relief when I fear that it’s MISSING and then find it (bought it for 25 cents at Goodwill but love the delicate twist pattern in the handle; a decidedly feminine ‘spoonie’ – I have others, also from Goodwill, that are my “back-up” spoons in case SOMEONE USES MY SPOON BY ACCIDENT and it is in the dishwasher).
• Must use the PINK mug that I bought at Starbucks on I-90 at the Oasis, in the morning; must switch to very round LIGHT BLUE mug (also from Starbucks on I-90) for afternoon and evening.
• MUST NOT MISS THE WEATHER; will feel gypped out of an integral chunk of how my day adds up if I miss the weather – most importantly at 10:15pm CST. It will seriously have a disorienting effect on me if I snooze through it or walk away by accident: "You missed it..." "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I MISSED IT!!??" (even though half the time I get busy - right in front of it - and do not actually pay attention; just the proximity to the T.V. and the possibility of this VERY IMPORTANT REPORT seems to have a comforting effect).
I could make this list reach the moon if I started naming more than these 3, and we won’t even mention my mother’s coffee mug with the kite on it (which she loves more than life itself and her four children combined) because we don’t want to think about our challenging genetics ALL the time…(why don't you MARRY it, Mom!)
Truthfully, though, don’t we all do this – at least to a degree? My explanation is this: the Good Lordy knows that there is a lot of stuff that’s up in the air, a lot at risk (especially if you’re me, this month) a lot that is fluid – dizzyingly NOT IN STONE, vulnerable, confusing, annoying…around us all the time, while we try – against all odds sometimes (especially if you're me this month) - to be “O.K.”, do our best (with a drop of virtue), keep marching along, never really getting to see all the cards in our assigned or random decks. IS IT SO MUCH TO ASK THAT I KNOW WHAT SPOON I GET, WHAT SEAT AT THE TABLE, WHETHER OR NOT A TORNADO IS COMING….or sunshine? Just to bask in the glow of a fleeting sense of control...SOMETHING/ANYTHING predictable, thank you very much.
Here’s my all time favorite weather comment…when that Meteorologist says something to this effect:
“A mass of INSTABILITY will hang around all weekend; Monday brings a little INSTABILITY; things are looking a little UNSTABLE this week; looking for an UNSTABLE event to occur; anticipating some major INSTABILITY....."
And, of course, there is comfort in the fact that HE SAID IT, NOT ME...summing up so nicely the fact that we all tread on the same shaky ground!! Wouldn't be surprised if that meteorologist has a rabbit's foot in his pocket, or a favorite coffee cup to pacify himself when he leaves his galoshes at home on a day that gets rainy.
Ruby
I have obsessions that I refuse to apologize for. Here are 3 of my favorites:
• Must use a VERY SPECIFIC spoon for coffee in the morning...literally will let out an audible and emotional sigh of relief when I fear that it’s MISSING and then find it (bought it for 25 cents at Goodwill but love the delicate twist pattern in the handle; a decidedly feminine ‘spoonie’ – I have others, also from Goodwill, that are my “back-up” spoons in case SOMEONE USES MY SPOON BY ACCIDENT and it is in the dishwasher).
• Must use the PINK mug that I bought at Starbucks on I-90 at the Oasis, in the morning; must switch to very round LIGHT BLUE mug (also from Starbucks on I-90) for afternoon and evening.
• MUST NOT MISS THE WEATHER; will feel gypped out of an integral chunk of how my day adds up if I miss the weather – most importantly at 10:15pm CST. It will seriously have a disorienting effect on me if I snooze through it or walk away by accident: "You missed it..." "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I MISSED IT!!??" (even though half the time I get busy - right in front of it - and do not actually pay attention; just the proximity to the T.V. and the possibility of this VERY IMPORTANT REPORT seems to have a comforting effect).
I could make this list reach the moon if I started naming more than these 3, and we won’t even mention my mother’s coffee mug with the kite on it (which she loves more than life itself and her four children combined) because we don’t want to think about our challenging genetics ALL the time…(why don't you MARRY it, Mom!)
Truthfully, though, don’t we all do this – at least to a degree? My explanation is this: the Good Lordy knows that there is a lot of stuff that’s up in the air, a lot at risk (especially if you’re me, this month) a lot that is fluid – dizzyingly NOT IN STONE, vulnerable, confusing, annoying…around us all the time, while we try – against all odds sometimes (especially if you're me this month) - to be “O.K.”, do our best (with a drop of virtue), keep marching along, never really getting to see all the cards in our assigned or random decks. IS IT SO MUCH TO ASK THAT I KNOW WHAT SPOON I GET, WHAT SEAT AT THE TABLE, WHETHER OR NOT A TORNADO IS COMING….or sunshine? Just to bask in the glow of a fleeting sense of control...SOMETHING/ANYTHING predictable, thank you very much.
Here’s my all time favorite weather comment…when that Meteorologist says something to this effect:
“A mass of INSTABILITY will hang around all weekend; Monday brings a little INSTABILITY; things are looking a little UNSTABLE this week; looking for an UNSTABLE event to occur; anticipating some major INSTABILITY....."
And, of course, there is comfort in the fact that HE SAID IT, NOT ME...summing up so nicely the fact that we all tread on the same shaky ground!! Wouldn't be surprised if that meteorologist has a rabbit's foot in his pocket, or a favorite coffee cup to pacify himself when he leaves his galoshes at home on a day that gets rainy.
Ruby
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Oleo
Dogs love the wrong things for sure, kind of like me and jalepenos. It reminds me of a teenage girl who is with the Bad Boy, you know he's bad for her but she loves him! I know I should stay away from hot peppers but I can't, I love them!
One night I made lobster for everyone, and for whatever reason the 5 little bowls of drawn butter were left on the table overnight. Our dog, Chrissy, could get up on the table, but she couldn't get down. When I came into the kitchen that morning, the dog was on the table, the butter was completely gone, and that pooch was giving me a look of total denial and almost disdain over being accused of wrong-doing, like "What? You think I did something?"
Shortly after that, a new neighbor moved in next door. She came over and introduced herself, saying' "Hi, my name is Chrissy". And I said, "I've got some bad news for you..."
Once the dog experienced the nirvana that only saturated fats can provide, she sat patiently for years near the table, waiting and waiting for a random chair to be left ajar so she could make her move.
Not too long ago, Chrissy died from a completely un-butter-related problem. (The dog, not the neighbor) She lived a good life, with many trips to the mountaintop (technically the tabletop).
And speaking of trips, I was conflicted when I talked to Madison last night. Her last exam is on a Tuesday, but she's thinking about staying a few extra days because they don't need to be out of the dorm until Friday. The sentimental part of me wants her to want to burst out of the exam and begin driving home immediately, anxious to see her loving mother ASAP. The cheap part of me knows that school is expensive, so sure, stay on the meal plan, keep showering and living there and get the most value out of the "on-campus" experience!
Patty
One night I made lobster for everyone, and for whatever reason the 5 little bowls of drawn butter were left on the table overnight. Our dog, Chrissy, could get up on the table, but she couldn't get down. When I came into the kitchen that morning, the dog was on the table, the butter was completely gone, and that pooch was giving me a look of total denial and almost disdain over being accused of wrong-doing, like "What? You think I did something?"
Shortly after that, a new neighbor moved in next door. She came over and introduced herself, saying' "Hi, my name is Chrissy". And I said, "I've got some bad news for you..."
Once the dog experienced the nirvana that only saturated fats can provide, she sat patiently for years near the table, waiting and waiting for a random chair to be left ajar so she could make her move.
Not too long ago, Chrissy died from a completely un-butter-related problem. (The dog, not the neighbor) She lived a good life, with many trips to the mountaintop (technically the tabletop).
And speaking of trips, I was conflicted when I talked to Madison last night. Her last exam is on a Tuesday, but she's thinking about staying a few extra days because they don't need to be out of the dorm until Friday. The sentimental part of me wants her to want to burst out of the exam and begin driving home immediately, anxious to see her loving mother ASAP. The cheap part of me knows that school is expensive, so sure, stay on the meal plan, keep showering and living there and get the most value out of the "on-campus" experience!
Patty
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Dogs, Bunnies, Eggs & Shattered Glass
The damn dog kept me up all night because she's a Puggle, which means she's part HOUND, which means that she can smell chocolate before it enters the house. So when the E-Bunny left all those chocolate eggs for the children, that dog went completely chocolate-CRAZY and although she was more welcome in our bedroom than usual so that we could keep tabs on her, she had to whimper by the door all night and try to get out.
Dogs are not supposed to have chocolate. The first Christmas we had Calliope-Peach she ate about a dozen bourbon filled dark chocolate treats and we had to give her peroxide with turkey to make her vomit. We saved her life. Maybe. Since then, that dog has done everything in her power to get chocolate and as long as it’s the more lame/tame MILK chocolate, she seems to inhale it without drama (although we still try to avoid this). Today, she held her entire head inside a boot, for a minute or so, where a foil wrapped chocolate egg had been found hours earlier, intoxicated by the scent. (I know women who do this).
The day went nicely. The dog and children acted like addicts all day (chocolate) and it was Atticus’ 10th birthday so there was also a giant bunny cake tonight. I don’t eat sweets but I feel bloated from just smelling it and seeing it all around me all day.
So this is what I was thinking about while I listened to that doggy try to get to the chocolate all night. It was not the most intense thing that ever happened to me but it may have been the first time my feelings were this intense (I have told this to a few people but not to you, I’m thinking):
Before Easter, when I was in first grade, my teacher - Miss Meyers - wanted each child to contribute an egg to the Easter Egg Tree in our classroom. Allen brought his in first and she commended him for being so responsible with his BLOWN, FRAGILE egg and asked that we all do what Allen – THE GOOD BOY - had done and bring our eggs to school in a glass jar (imagine the world without Tupperware?). I remember feeling like my cheeks and eyes would pop, getting light headed as I forced the egg out of its shell through an unimaginably tiny pinprick of a hole. WHO THE HELL ASKS A SIX YEAR OLD TO BLOW AN EGG? Nevertheless, I felt good about myself and brought the egg in my jar and I held it so, so carefully between snowy mittens (one of those cold snowy late March Easters). As the crowded line of kids formed inside the school (single-file-keep-to-your-right) I did not take my eyes off the egg, concentrating so completely on cupping my mittens around the jar, when the girl in front of me suddenly swung around and her elbow bumped my arm, sending the jar crashing to the floor. Snowy puddles, rubber boots, my fractured egg, broken glass. And then, the bad part: the pointy shoes of Dr. Stone, the principle, stopped right in front of me and I could hear her bellow “WHAT A STUPID CHILD!!!!!!! WHO BRINGS A GLASS JAR TO SCHOOL??!!!!" The humiliation was palpable as I peed in my pants, drenching my favorite green velvet leggings (some fancy, velvety version of snow pants?), which then FROZE. A safety-patrol 6th grader escorted me, sobbing, to Miss Meyers, who told me I could go home if I wanted to. Which I did. And luckily my Mom was home when I arrived in my icicle-stiff leggings, frozen tears, traumatized. And I’ve referenced this experience often enough throughout my life; my family knows the level of trauma I’m experiencing if I say “I’ll wet my green leggings!”
Hope your Easter was lovely!!
By the way, just curious, if I had a ring tone on your phone, what would it be? If you think it will help, tell your husband that Scot has the croaking frogs on my phone.
Ruby
Friday, April 10, 2009
3 Stupid Things
I know three stupid things I DON'T want to do!
The first one ties back into the "do opposites attract?" idea. I received a new phone for Christmas, and this week I taught myself a feature, always a proud moment for me, a person who was afraid to try "attachments" for close to a year. I realized that I could give each family member their own ringtone, I often wondered how people do that...anyhoo, I was sharing my excitement with Portia and my husband, I had Portia call me and we oohed over the piano glissando, I had John call me, and we heard this funny barking dog. But somehow, he wasn't laughing. He was insulted, like "You made me the Barking Dog? That is SO condescending". I would have to live a hundred lifetimes before you could make me care what ringtone you gave me. His reaction was so unexpected, but I have agreed to change it....
Portia had a friend visiting for the weekend, her plane was arriving yesterday at 3:30, so the plan was for me to pick Portia up at our house at 3PM and then we would go together to the airport. I guess I've had a lucky stretch, as I have two 19 year olds and a 16 year old and no one has ever gotten into an accident...until 2:45 yesterday, when Portia called me hysterical, no one was injured, but both cars were banged up pretty good, so all plans got entangled, calming her down, police report, etc. I went to the airport alone and scooped up the girl, and today I get to wait for AAA to come tow the car to the Collision Center, not exactly the way I'd envisioned my holiday to start.
Finally, we have a snowball stand about 150 yards away from our house, (up north you call them snowcones). It is only open April thru August, but it is VERY popular, where else can you get a delicious treat for $1.39 these days???
I live on a corner, and my neighbors across the street have a beautiful home with an incredible garden that they work on every weekend (in Ralph Lauren Casualwear). He has a bounty of flowering blooms, and he knows the Latin name for all of them, planted with the ideal sunlight, framing a semi-circle of the most perfect verdantly green grass your imagination could come up with, and he once had basically this huge protracter out there, because the grass looked a little off-kilter, but he made it exactly exact. In the back yard, things are planted alphabetically and next to other herbs they would get along with... They are an elegant couple with high standards, I think he was a Navy Seal, very attractive, efficient couple with no kids, I imagine their refrigerator with a list of chores and a highlighter, and possibly occassional saluting...
As you can guess, they are not big fans of the snowball stand. In fact, they loathe its existance. Recently, he started putting orange cones all around his property on the weekends, so no one can park there, and he sort of patrols the perimeter all weekend long. The most recent addition is that he bought his own "No Parking" sign and mounted it in cement and has been rolling it out, which is great for him, but it's sort of a domino effect, if no one can park on his corner, my corner gets double the fun. I'm pretty sure you can't just put up your own signs, but then again, it is New Orleans, and 90% of the people are parked illegally, including the police cars, everyone likes a quick snowball now and then! Before I die, I'm going to park in front of my neighbor's house!
Patty
The first one ties back into the "do opposites attract?" idea. I received a new phone for Christmas, and this week I taught myself a feature, always a proud moment for me, a person who was afraid to try "attachments" for close to a year. I realized that I could give each family member their own ringtone, I often wondered how people do that...anyhoo, I was sharing my excitement with Portia and my husband, I had Portia call me and we oohed over the piano glissando, I had John call me, and we heard this funny barking dog. But somehow, he wasn't laughing. He was insulted, like "You made me the Barking Dog? That is SO condescending". I would have to live a hundred lifetimes before you could make me care what ringtone you gave me. His reaction was so unexpected, but I have agreed to change it....
Portia had a friend visiting for the weekend, her plane was arriving yesterday at 3:30, so the plan was for me to pick Portia up at our house at 3PM and then we would go together to the airport. I guess I've had a lucky stretch, as I have two 19 year olds and a 16 year old and no one has ever gotten into an accident...until 2:45 yesterday, when Portia called me hysterical, no one was injured, but both cars were banged up pretty good, so all plans got entangled, calming her down, police report, etc. I went to the airport alone and scooped up the girl, and today I get to wait for AAA to come tow the car to the Collision Center, not exactly the way I'd envisioned my holiday to start.
Finally, we have a snowball stand about 150 yards away from our house, (up north you call them snowcones). It is only open April thru August, but it is VERY popular, where else can you get a delicious treat for $1.39 these days???
I live on a corner, and my neighbors across the street have a beautiful home with an incredible garden that they work on every weekend (in Ralph Lauren Casualwear). He has a bounty of flowering blooms, and he knows the Latin name for all of them, planted with the ideal sunlight, framing a semi-circle of the most perfect verdantly green grass your imagination could come up with, and he once had basically this huge protracter out there, because the grass looked a little off-kilter, but he made it exactly exact. In the back yard, things are planted alphabetically and next to other herbs they would get along with... They are an elegant couple with high standards, I think he was a Navy Seal, very attractive, efficient couple with no kids, I imagine their refrigerator with a list of chores and a highlighter, and possibly occassional saluting...
As you can guess, they are not big fans of the snowball stand. In fact, they loathe its existance. Recently, he started putting orange cones all around his property on the weekends, so no one can park there, and he sort of patrols the perimeter all weekend long. The most recent addition is that he bought his own "No Parking" sign and mounted it in cement and has been rolling it out, which is great for him, but it's sort of a domino effect, if no one can park on his corner, my corner gets double the fun. I'm pretty sure you can't just put up your own signs, but then again, it is New Orleans, and 90% of the people are parked illegally, including the police cars, everyone likes a quick snowball now and then! Before I die, I'm going to park in front of my neighbor's house!
Patty
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Fruit does not, in fact, fall far from the tree...
...which, incidentally, has nothing to do with the fruit liking the fact that it fell from that particular tree.
I don't know if I ever told you the story about when Antigone was only about 2 months old (which means I had not legally changed her name from Indigo Toyen to Antigone Indigo yet - that happened at 3 months). I was on the phone with my Mom and I said "you know, this baby has the most bizarre expression on her face"...so my Mom says " like what, honey? do you think maybe it's gas?"...and I say "oh...no, it's more like she's pissed off at me...". To this day, I warn people that my daughter -“Medusa”- can and will turn you to stone with one single glance.
I heard years ago and love telling people that (SUPPOSEDLY) a girl gets 80% of her genes from her father and a boy gets 80% of his stuff from his Mom. There has never been any doubt that the 4 boys seem more like me (more emotional, more expressive, more neurotic, more chatty, more likely to be medicated for something, more likely to be on the autism spectrum); Antigone and Scot, on the other hand, are emotionally solid, rely heavily on smirking as the mainstay of their expressive repertoire and rarely answer with more words than what might be minimally required to count as an “answer”. In all fairness to Scot, however, he has never turned anyone to stone.
So, yesterday, I had to drive Montserrat to Chicago (6 hours round-trip, including Starbucks at the Belvidere Oasis) to spend a few days with cousin Maxi. Antigone’s assignment was to come for the ride, in part because she wanted to, but more importantly to KEEP ME AWAKE. (Staring straight ahead for several hours has a hypnotic effect on me after years of being so crazy-busy that I could atrophy from the lack of activity).
The first diversion she initiated was “NAME-10-THINGS-YOU-WANT-TO-DO-BEFORE-YOU-DIE”, which seemed engaging enough to keep me alert for a few miles. She went first: “Bungee Jump, jump out of an airplane, ride on a motorcycle, fly a plane, fly some other way, drive a race car...”. My list was this: “REALLY learn French – not just half-assed, become excellent on the violin, write a few books, figure out how to prevent/cure autism, have a diner/coffee shop with Scot, own a cottage in Saugatuck...” Neither of us came up with 10 but the minute she heard what my choices were she said “NOT STUPID THINGS LIKE THAT! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO COME UP WITH STUFF THAT’S FUN…LIKE AN ADVENTURE!!!!”
Oh. I didn’t know that.
We argued about whether “non-adventures” can count in this particular exercise and I never convinced her of the slim chance that my own dreams might, by default, be authentic. The classic exchange between us is this: I say “Try to be a nice person” and then she does this fabulously unique combination of rolling her eyes in disgust and batting her eyelashes extravagantly. Little Bo-Peep meets the devil.
This is what I love though – beyond her prickly, disdainful front, Antigone is one of the funniest people I know – truly a quipster (and truly kind - remind me to tell you about her relationship with Kier sometime). She managed to entertain and engage me for the full 6 hours but would likely never admit that she had fun doing it…
What are the 10 things you’d want to do? (And don’t say something STUPID!)
Ruby
I don't know if I ever told you the story about when Antigone was only about 2 months old (which means I had not legally changed her name from Indigo Toyen to Antigone Indigo yet - that happened at 3 months). I was on the phone with my Mom and I said "you know, this baby has the most bizarre expression on her face"...so my Mom says " like what, honey? do you think maybe it's gas?"...and I say "oh...no, it's more like she's pissed off at me...". To this day, I warn people that my daughter -“Medusa”- can and will turn you to stone with one single glance.
I heard years ago and love telling people that (SUPPOSEDLY) a girl gets 80% of her genes from her father and a boy gets 80% of his stuff from his Mom. There has never been any doubt that the 4 boys seem more like me (more emotional, more expressive, more neurotic, more chatty, more likely to be medicated for something, more likely to be on the autism spectrum); Antigone and Scot, on the other hand, are emotionally solid, rely heavily on smirking as the mainstay of their expressive repertoire and rarely answer with more words than what might be minimally required to count as an “answer”. In all fairness to Scot, however, he has never turned anyone to stone.
So, yesterday, I had to drive Montserrat to Chicago (6 hours round-trip, including Starbucks at the Belvidere Oasis) to spend a few days with cousin Maxi. Antigone’s assignment was to come for the ride, in part because she wanted to, but more importantly to KEEP ME AWAKE. (Staring straight ahead for several hours has a hypnotic effect on me after years of being so crazy-busy that I could atrophy from the lack of activity).
The first diversion she initiated was “NAME-10-THINGS-YOU-WANT-TO-DO-BEFORE-YOU-DIE”, which seemed engaging enough to keep me alert for a few miles. She went first: “Bungee Jump, jump out of an airplane, ride on a motorcycle, fly a plane, fly some other way, drive a race car...”. My list was this: “REALLY learn French – not just half-assed, become excellent on the violin, write a few books, figure out how to prevent/cure autism, have a diner/coffee shop with Scot, own a cottage in Saugatuck...” Neither of us came up with 10 but the minute she heard what my choices were she said “NOT STUPID THINGS LIKE THAT! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO COME UP WITH STUFF THAT’S FUN…LIKE AN ADVENTURE!!!!”
Oh. I didn’t know that.
We argued about whether “non-adventures” can count in this particular exercise and I never convinced her of the slim chance that my own dreams might, by default, be authentic. The classic exchange between us is this: I say “Try to be a nice person” and then she does this fabulously unique combination of rolling her eyes in disgust and batting her eyelashes extravagantly. Little Bo-Peep meets the devil.
This is what I love though – beyond her prickly, disdainful front, Antigone is one of the funniest people I know – truly a quipster (and truly kind - remind me to tell you about her relationship with Kier sometime). She managed to entertain and engage me for the full 6 hours but would likely never admit that she had fun doing it…
What are the 10 things you’d want to do? (And don’t say something STUPID!)
Ruby
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Worry Sponge
Wouldn't it have been great to have been a mom in the 60s in that regard? Everyday after school, we rode bikes to the candy store. My mother felt great about that. No concern about helmets or red dye or sugar or rapists. Just be home by six!
On the topic of dependence, when Portia realized the summer was ending and 10th grade was about to begin she commented "Just seven more days of freedom!"and Madison, who has been desperate to start college since she was about 7 years old said, "More like 7 more days TIL freedom". Freshman year was a tough one for me, first of all because I have twins, so 2/3rds of my kids left at once, and Madison is so joyfully enjoying life at Emory, even though I know it's age appropriate, it still hurts my feelings when she forgets to call. I do a lot of the worrying for her. The furthest she had ever driven was to the mall, and now she's driving 6 hours to Atlanta. She listens to tunes, while I absorb the worry, and check the weather in every state she is driving through. She goes to California for spring break; she tans, I call Delta 9 times to make sure the plane has landed safely. If only it was the 60s!! I'd simply yell "Just be home by May 8th!"
Patty
On the topic of dependence, when Portia realized the summer was ending and 10th grade was about to begin she commented "Just seven more days of freedom!"and Madison, who has been desperate to start college since she was about 7 years old said, "More like 7 more days TIL freedom". Freshman year was a tough one for me, first of all because I have twins, so 2/3rds of my kids left at once, and Madison is so joyfully enjoying life at Emory, even though I know it's age appropriate, it still hurts my feelings when she forgets to call. I do a lot of the worrying for her. The furthest she had ever driven was to the mall, and now she's driving 6 hours to Atlanta. She listens to tunes, while I absorb the worry, and check the weather in every state she is driving through. She goes to California for spring break; she tans, I call Delta 9 times to make sure the plane has landed safely. If only it was the 60s!! I'd simply yell "Just be home by May 8th!"
Patty
Monday, April 6, 2009
Independence Day (not)
One side note - you know I'm looking for a job...so the first one I see this morning is this:
BORING MILL OPERATORS - Strong candidate needed to operate BORING mills and multi planers, 4ft. rotary table tops and 7ft. floor type BORING mills.
While the job itself sounds perfectly respectable, I couldn't tell people what I do and have the first word be BORING. Like telling people I'm a STUPID MOM, FAT DESIGNER......
O.K. - what I really wanted to say is that I am thinking a lot about my children's alleged independence. As you know, I was not an abandoned child but I grew up in the '60's basically, so I lived my childhood with crazy abandon. The moments were thrilling, the memories are delightful. I remember packing lunches "to-go" (imagine that - I think we called it PICNIC), almost always a peanut butter & jelly or fluffernutter sandwich on bright-white bread into a paper bag and my brother and I were off. We rode our bikes as far away as we could go, we dug tunnels connecting the back yards in the neighborhood (the Great Escape inspired activity of choice), we hiked and rock-climbed (turns out those rocks were someone's back yard), we skated on ponds, we roller skated down steep hills with the skates that had keys and would be re-called now, and would walk a mile with pockets full of change to buy candy (LOTS of CANDY). My Mom would not see us until dinner time and not because she was amiss in her parenting style but because this is what every kid was doing.
I have no idea what little kids were doing in the '70's or '80's. Skye was born in '89 and everything after that is kind of a BLUR but I know one thing - my kids have never been allowed to just wander, nor say "bye" at breakfast and return around dinner time.
One thing that makes it totally different for us, certainly, is that, because of Kier's autism, we have had to bolt all our doors from the inside and hide the keys; he has a history of "escaping" and terrifying us as we do our blood-hound routine with the police.....he has found keys that we hide, ended up in people's beds, barefoot in restaurants, "taking" bikes from open garages, in the basement of our old house. Anyway, as you can imagine, this has proven to be somewhat stifling for our 4 other kids who have always had to ask to be let out to play in the front yard (or backyard until we had it fenced like a fortress - although Kier has also climbed over 6 ft. privacy fences in his day). I think of my children as declawed indoor cats who look outside at the birds and tune in to some primal instinct but just haven't connected with what it is.......however, even if it weren't such an extreme case, I sense that they would "log on" before they'd dig a tunnel.
Nevertheless, Atticus (almost 10) - who has Aspergers (close in many ways but higher functioning than Kier's severe autism) is getting restless and has just recently wanted to "wander", to be free, to just "go" and we know this is healthy since he has been very vocal about never wanting to grow up before now. We helped him orchestrate his first adventure about a week ago. He was going to walk to the park alone, play for awhile then come home. We rehearsed with him every detail of his plan before he left: cross at the light.....wait till you see the cars actually STOP...don't talk to anyone, don't change your plan and go somewhere else, don't stay long, don't go over by the water. It was huge for us and huge for him; he's left with Montserrat or Antigone before but never alone (although he walks home from school each day......with groups of other kids). Honestly, we believed he'd do fine but we were in hyper-alert mode, waiting for his return about an hour later. I asked him if he'd had fun and he said "not really". On the one hand, I knew it was the abandon that I'd enjoyed that he was really looking for...the instinct to just be gone without limits, no plan.....and to just "show up" later, while on the other hand, I could see that he was relieved to be home. He has started to do quick trips to get "something" at Trader Joe's or a pharmacy with candy that's super close and this seems to be easing the wanderlust and making him feel more free.
Skye (almost 20) moved out last fall - to an apartment complex close to our house. He has not, however, actually hung out or slept at his apartment more than a handful of times but comes "home" instead. At first I assumed he just missed the high speed internet, Kier, or the dog, but as the months have zoomed by I'm thinking it's something more and it makes me think about the basic conflict between dependence and independence and I so easily see how - at least for my kids - it needs to move slowly. I'm thinking possibly a tunnel from one side of the yard to the other, with high speed internet and a small fridge?
Ruby
BORING MILL OPERATORS - Strong candidate needed to operate BORING mills and multi planers, 4ft. rotary table tops and 7ft. floor type BORING mills.
While the job itself sounds perfectly respectable, I couldn't tell people what I do and have the first word be BORING. Like telling people I'm a STUPID MOM, FAT DESIGNER......
O.K. - what I really wanted to say is that I am thinking a lot about my children's alleged independence. As you know, I was not an abandoned child but I grew up in the '60's basically, so I lived my childhood with crazy abandon. The moments were thrilling, the memories are delightful. I remember packing lunches "to-go" (imagine that - I think we called it PICNIC), almost always a peanut butter & jelly or fluffernutter sandwich on bright-white bread into a paper bag and my brother and I were off. We rode our bikes as far away as we could go, we dug tunnels connecting the back yards in the neighborhood (the Great Escape inspired activity of choice), we hiked and rock-climbed (turns out those rocks were someone's back yard), we skated on ponds, we roller skated down steep hills with the skates that had keys and would be re-called now, and would walk a mile with pockets full of change to buy candy (LOTS of CANDY). My Mom would not see us until dinner time and not because she was amiss in her parenting style but because this is what every kid was doing.
I have no idea what little kids were doing in the '70's or '80's. Skye was born in '89 and everything after that is kind of a BLUR but I know one thing - my kids have never been allowed to just wander, nor say "bye" at breakfast and return around dinner time.
One thing that makes it totally different for us, certainly, is that, because of Kier's autism, we have had to bolt all our doors from the inside and hide the keys; he has a history of "escaping" and terrifying us as we do our blood-hound routine with the police.....he has found keys that we hide, ended up in people's beds, barefoot in restaurants, "taking" bikes from open garages, in the basement of our old house. Anyway, as you can imagine, this has proven to be somewhat stifling for our 4 other kids who have always had to ask to be let out to play in the front yard (or backyard until we had it fenced like a fortress - although Kier has also climbed over 6 ft. privacy fences in his day). I think of my children as declawed indoor cats who look outside at the birds and tune in to some primal instinct but just haven't connected with what it is.......however, even if it weren't such an extreme case, I sense that they would "log on" before they'd dig a tunnel.
Nevertheless, Atticus (almost 10) - who has Aspergers (close in many ways but higher functioning than Kier's severe autism) is getting restless and has just recently wanted to "wander", to be free, to just "go" and we know this is healthy since he has been very vocal about never wanting to grow up before now. We helped him orchestrate his first adventure about a week ago. He was going to walk to the park alone, play for awhile then come home. We rehearsed with him every detail of his plan before he left: cross at the light.....wait till you see the cars actually STOP...don't talk to anyone, don't change your plan and go somewhere else, don't stay long, don't go over by the water. It was huge for us and huge for him; he's left with Montserrat or Antigone before but never alone (although he walks home from school each day......with groups of other kids). Honestly, we believed he'd do fine but we were in hyper-alert mode, waiting for his return about an hour later. I asked him if he'd had fun and he said "not really". On the one hand, I knew it was the abandon that I'd enjoyed that he was really looking for...the instinct to just be gone without limits, no plan.....and to just "show up" later, while on the other hand, I could see that he was relieved to be home. He has started to do quick trips to get "something" at Trader Joe's or a pharmacy with candy that's super close and this seems to be easing the wanderlust and making him feel more free.
Skye (almost 20) moved out last fall - to an apartment complex close to our house. He has not, however, actually hung out or slept at his apartment more than a handful of times but comes "home" instead. At first I assumed he just missed the high speed internet, Kier, or the dog, but as the months have zoomed by I'm thinking it's something more and it makes me think about the basic conflict between dependence and independence and I so easily see how - at least for my kids - it needs to move slowly. I'm thinking possibly a tunnel from one side of the yard to the other, with high speed internet and a small fridge?
Ruby
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Streching the Truth
We've all had that Montserrat Moment, where your plan comes crashing down, so in a show of sympathy, I have decided to misspell the word stretch for the 2009 calendar year whenever it comes up.
We had trouble in the Fancypants world this week. A little background...about 3 years ago, some of the women on my tennis team were commenting about American Idol, the combination of wanting to watch the show and their family's utter disdain that the show was in existance. My own kids said the average age of the viewer is 12, so I was sort of sneak-watching it...from that conversation, my friend, MaryAnn decided to have a few people over on Tuesday night for A.I. just from 7-9PM...
from THAT, we decided a small wager would make the whole thing more fun. I actually think money makes everything more interesting; I would enjoy museums a lot more if they would display the price of the items, but that is a thought for another day...anyway, it's now been a Tuesday night staple for years, and the princely sum of $3.00 give you the right to vote each week. Whoever guesses the person eliminated wins the pot, and I find myself cheering as though it is overtime in the Superbowl, this was me this Wednesday, "Go Anoop! No, I mean, really, go! Go home! Aarrrgh!!!! I knew it was going to be Megan! Why didn't I vote off Megan!!!!" We have a very professional system where the money moves in a Baggie from one Tuesday's house to the next. So this week, there were 3 winners, but the very organized and precise person with the Baggie threw out the messy little voting chits, and someone else claimed to have voted correctly as well. I was cracking up, because some of these women are like Junior League on steroids, I think one of them owns a few hospitals, but there was HEATED debate over this $9.00 situation, a VERY long and streched-out story to get to the fact that it reminded me of your cellphone-in-the-toilet, it was one person's word against another.
And by the way, I sum up my food habits as disorderly eating. It's not exactly an eating disorder, but that's how I am going to refer to it from now on!
Patty
We had trouble in the Fancypants world this week. A little background...about 3 years ago, some of the women on my tennis team were commenting about American Idol, the combination of wanting to watch the show and their family's utter disdain that the show was in existance. My own kids said the average age of the viewer is 12, so I was sort of sneak-watching it...from that conversation, my friend, MaryAnn decided to have a few people over on Tuesday night for A.I. just from 7-9PM...
from THAT, we decided a small wager would make the whole thing more fun. I actually think money makes everything more interesting; I would enjoy museums a lot more if they would display the price of the items, but that is a thought for another day...anyway, it's now been a Tuesday night staple for years, and the princely sum of $3.00 give you the right to vote each week. Whoever guesses the person eliminated wins the pot, and I find myself cheering as though it is overtime in the Superbowl, this was me this Wednesday, "Go Anoop! No, I mean, really, go! Go home! Aarrrgh!!!! I knew it was going to be Megan! Why didn't I vote off Megan!!!!" We have a very professional system where the money moves in a Baggie from one Tuesday's house to the next. So this week, there were 3 winners, but the very organized and precise person with the Baggie threw out the messy little voting chits, and someone else claimed to have voted correctly as well. I was cracking up, because some of these women are like Junior League on steroids, I think one of them owns a few hospitals, but there was HEATED debate over this $9.00 situation, a VERY long and streched-out story to get to the fact that it reminded me of your cellphone-in-the-toilet, it was one person's word against another.
And by the way, I sum up my food habits as disorderly eating. It's not exactly an eating disorder, but that's how I am going to refer to it from now on!
Patty
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Stretching (STRECHING) this Morning (MOURNING)!
Woke up this morning - mourning the loss of Zeke's bike, still.......trying to move past it (maybe you can help me ) but this is the part of parenthood that cripples me the most....seeing a kid be really excited about something....then having it not work out. I can hear Scot's voice and see his smirk: "so life like" , he reminds me when I get "stuck" in cripple-land.
Reminds me of when Montserrat (11) was picked to represent his class in the school spelling bee a few years ago. He was Soooooooo excited and proud and couldn't stop thinking about winning the competition and going on to the city-wide level (and then to the MOON) with his spelling skills. The whole elementary school and tons of parents came to see it. I took the morning off from work to be there, to cheer him on!!!!! I was also soooo excited.
Montserrat had a number "1" on his shirt which simply meant that he was seated farthest to the right and would be the first child to stand and spell a word. The word was STRETCH and Montsi got very serious and carefully said these letters: "S-T-R-E-C-H".
I felt a tumbling-butterflies sensation in my gut...seeing the disbelief in his face as he realized the mistake. He was out, after 10 seconds.
He walked sheepishly to the back of the auditorium where I was sitting and sat like a puppy on the floor next to my chair. I reached for his hand and whispered some comforting words to him. His expression was part shock, part embarrassment and his sweet little boy hand stayed wrapped in mine, on my lap for the rest of the bee. All I could think about was how relieved I was to be there at that time for him.
By the time he got home from school, he was "over it"...even laughing a little about it.......which helped me to move on too....kind of.
Ruby
Reminds me of when Montserrat (11) was picked to represent his class in the school spelling bee a few years ago. He was Soooooooo excited and proud and couldn't stop thinking about winning the competition and going on to the city-wide level (and then to the MOON) with his spelling skills. The whole elementary school and tons of parents came to see it. I took the morning off from work to be there, to cheer him on!!!!! I was also soooo excited.
Montserrat had a number "1" on his shirt which simply meant that he was seated farthest to the right and would be the first child to stand and spell a word. The word was STRETCH and Montsi got very serious and carefully said these letters: "S-T-R-E-C-H".
I felt a tumbling-butterflies sensation in my gut...seeing the disbelief in his face as he realized the mistake. He was out, after 10 seconds.
He walked sheepishly to the back of the auditorium where I was sitting and sat like a puppy on the floor next to my chair. I reached for his hand and whispered some comforting words to him. His expression was part shock, part embarrassment and his sweet little boy hand stayed wrapped in mine, on my lap for the rest of the bee. All I could think about was how relieved I was to be there at that time for him.
By the time he got home from school, he was "over it"...even laughing a little about it.......which helped me to move on too....kind of.
Ruby
Friday, April 3, 2009
EVIDENCE!
The lost bike story reminds me of our cell phone saga....all I really wanted to do was talk to someone at U.S. Cellular about streamlining my plan for obvious reasons - trying to cut back as my life plummets (kind of...remember, I said I am actually happier) so this nice, nice gal takes me through my very convoluted Family Plan, letting me know whose phones are up for renewal or not. I had just been talking to Skye about possibly paying for his own plan (scowl, scoff!) but this gal told me it's about $30 - $40/month for an individual vs. only $10 extra/month for each of the kids who are on my plan (4 of them...GOD knows why, but I think this had something to do with emergencies, being lost in airports, possible abduction, children really needing to call home).
I ended up getting both of us new phones. WHAT????!!! Yes, I did...and the reasoning was that there happened to be a BUY ONE / GET ONE FREE thing with these LG phones and one of them was a cute purple (me) and the other was silver (Skye)....perfect. I had dropped my phone and it was acting funny and Skye hadn't been able to get his voicemail to work...this was the only responsible thing to do....these would last a long time and I could cancel my home phone. And trying to be as thrifty as possible I said no thank you to the offer for insurance on his phone....she explained that if he dropped it in the toilet, lost it, or it was stolen, we'd be able to replace it for $50.00. Made me laugh a little when she said toilet. Not because the odds are so low, but more because I could totally see myself - or Skye - dropping our phones in the toilet but declined the insurance anyway.
4 days later Skye reported that his phone was lifeless, so I took it back for either the same phone or some other brand but when the guy at U.S. Cellular looked at the battery, he said there was certain evidence of WATER DAMAGE, as INDICATED by the INDICATOR that should be white but was red.
Skye denies that the phone ever got wet...and certainly not in the toilet...and I am inclined to believe him. However, since I did not have an eagle eye on that phone for four days, I coudn't argue with the EVIDENCE...
I still get to have the rebate on mine but Jesus, having something for four days is not long enough. So sorry about Zeke's bike.
Ruby
I ended up getting both of us new phones. WHAT????!!! Yes, I did...and the reasoning was that there happened to be a BUY ONE / GET ONE FREE thing with these LG phones and one of them was a cute purple (me) and the other was silver (Skye)....perfect. I had dropped my phone and it was acting funny and Skye hadn't been able to get his voicemail to work...this was the only responsible thing to do....these would last a long time and I could cancel my home phone. And trying to be as thrifty as possible I said no thank you to the offer for insurance on his phone....she explained that if he dropped it in the toilet, lost it, or it was stolen, we'd be able to replace it for $50.00. Made me laugh a little when she said toilet. Not because the odds are so low, but more because I could totally see myself - or Skye - dropping our phones in the toilet but declined the insurance anyway.
4 days later Skye reported that his phone was lifeless, so I took it back for either the same phone or some other brand but when the guy at U.S. Cellular looked at the battery, he said there was certain evidence of WATER DAMAGE, as INDICATED by the INDICATOR that should be white but was red.
Skye denies that the phone ever got wet...and certainly not in the toilet...and I am inclined to believe him. However, since I did not have an eagle eye on that phone for four days, I coudn't argue with the EVIDENCE...
I still get to have the rebate on mine but Jesus, having something for four days is not long enough. So sorry about Zeke's bike.
Ruby
Produce first!!
Friends don't let friends start in the frozen food aisle, isn't there a law about that?
The box of issues for this week include's this drama:
Zeke doesn't ask for much. He costs us less than anyone in the family. A perfect visit to the mall for him lasts 5 minutes or less. He can never think of anything he wants for Christmas...he's been getting into biking lately. This is NOT a biking town, but against all odds, he's joined the Biking, Juggling and Gardening Club at Tulane and they ride around and have crawfish boils and picnics and Ultimate Frisbee competitions...He's been using Portia's old clunky bike. Last week, he asked about getting a good bike. Yes, definitely! It's cheaper than a car, and if he's going to be there 5 years, that's money well-spent.
So on Saturday, we have this big outing and get him all set up with the cool bike, the helmet, the Kryptonite lock, the water botle (they threw that in for free, that's when you know you are spending too much)...Out the door it was close to $500.00...
That stupid bike has already been stolen! He owned it for exactly 4 days! It was depressing, because he was so happy about that bicycle. But it was such a bummer to lose it, Zeke has vowed to ride crappy bikes for the rest of his life.
Also, I don't think I've mentioned this lately, but I was born in the wrong body! I was supposed to be petite. If I was, then I could have saved a gazillion amount of energy and angst to keep losing the same 25 pounds over and over. My goals are not lofty, I just want Size 10 to feel loose! This time I have a new strategy, I have actually applied to Weight Watchers, it's a 6 hour work week, I think I can handle that! Since self-discipline never works, maybe a situation where you lose the job if you gain the weight back will be motivation.
So this day ends with me bikeless and not a tiny person, but generally things are good! I think I'll go eat some produce.
Patty
The box of issues for this week include's this drama:
Zeke doesn't ask for much. He costs us less than anyone in the family. A perfect visit to the mall for him lasts 5 minutes or less. He can never think of anything he wants for Christmas...he's been getting into biking lately. This is NOT a biking town, but against all odds, he's joined the Biking, Juggling and Gardening Club at Tulane and they ride around and have crawfish boils and picnics and Ultimate Frisbee competitions...He's been using Portia's old clunky bike. Last week, he asked about getting a good bike. Yes, definitely! It's cheaper than a car, and if he's going to be there 5 years, that's money well-spent.
So on Saturday, we have this big outing and get him all set up with the cool bike, the helmet, the Kryptonite lock, the water botle (they threw that in for free, that's when you know you are spending too much)...Out the door it was close to $500.00...
That stupid bike has already been stolen! He owned it for exactly 4 days! It was depressing, because he was so happy about that bicycle. But it was such a bummer to lose it, Zeke has vowed to ride crappy bikes for the rest of his life.
Also, I don't think I've mentioned this lately, but I was born in the wrong body! I was supposed to be petite. If I was, then I could have saved a gazillion amount of energy and angst to keep losing the same 25 pounds over and over. My goals are not lofty, I just want Size 10 to feel loose! This time I have a new strategy, I have actually applied to Weight Watchers, it's a 6 hour work week, I think I can handle that! Since self-discipline never works, maybe a situation where you lose the job if you gain the weight back will be motivation.
So this day ends with me bikeless and not a tiny person, but generally things are good! I think I'll go eat some produce.
Patty
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