I spend a lot of time complaining.
I don't mean to. I try not to. But no matter how I try to be optimistic and uplifting, there are always moments of .... "UUUGHHHH!"
Today, though, I had a sudden rush of gratitude and I had the urge to list of the things that I was thankful for throughout the day. Some of the list is remembering what I was thankful for in the morning. Some of it is me anticipating things. Some of these are funny and some are oh, so so very serious and heartfelt.
I am Thankful For:
Coffee
My kids waking up in the morning on their own.
My doctor. Health insurance. The fact that I've had good health care my whole life.
The fact that I'm healthy.
That my kids can all put on their own seat belts.
That my car wasn't the one that broke down in the kindergarten pick-up line.
The guy that pumps my gas and stands out in the cold so that I don't have to.
The kid who mows my lawn.
My yard.
The Republic Of Tea catalogs that come in the mail with free samples.
My friend who is so invested in the children's choir.
Andy, who is so good at entertaining himself each afternoon while I do things.
Our library.
Nick finding karate, because he loves it so much and he's good at it.
Our piano teacher.
The fact that I like to make lists, because they keep me sane. er.
That I have the best boys in the whole world.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Cone Story
Gunther is wearing the "Cone Of Shame."
No idea what Im talking about? Go watch the movie "Up!" for heaven's sake! At least watch the first ten minutes. It won't help you understand what I'm talking about, but it is required if you want to be my friend.
Um. I'm sorry. I'm a little sleep deprived. Where was I?
Ah, yes, Cone Of Shame. You know, the cone you put on a pet to stop him from licking a wound. Or more specifically, in Gunther's case, to stop him from licking his legs for no reason until he creates wounds.
I have very little sympathy for him in this. He did it. It's his fault.
Anyway, with the cone on, Gunther is a little clumsier than usual. First of all, he has lost all peripheral vision, so he keeps bumping into things. Second of all, the cone keeps getting stuck on things, like the stairs or corners of furniture. Gunther can't figure out what's happening when he does this.
And once he managed to accidentally shut himself into the bathroom.
Where was I going with this? Oh! Yeah....
So last night Gunther started walking around the bedroom.
He sometimes does this when he gets hip pain. It's like he hurts standing and hurts sitting so he just keeps circling. Only he had the cone on, so he was walking around the bedroom very, very loudly, the cone scraping on every available item of furniture.
And then I heard him start to pee.
I might have shot up faster than when I hear unexpected vomiting.
I don't think I was yelling. The boys didn't wake up. I managed to lead Gunther, cone scraping, down the stairs and to the front door, where he could go outside and finish peeing without additional stairs.
While he was out, I prepared an aspirin tablet. Then I looked out the door and saw him disappearing around the side of the house.
I went to the back door and saw him walking to the woods.
And this was when I remembered that I hadn't put his electric collar on, the one that keeps him in the yard. Away from the street and other people's yards. And he has no peripheral vision.
Did I mention the snow on the ground? There was. Did I mention that it was 4:30? AM? And pitch dark?
I decided I had to go out and find him. I put my snow boots on, and my coat, and headed out the front door.
But I didn't see him. I didn't see anything. It was dark.
So I went back inside and grabbed a flashlight, and went out the back door. I still couldn't find him. I saw his footprints go off to the woods, and loop around the swing-set and back around to...
This was when I heard him start barking at the front of the house. Impatiently. Because I wasn't there to let him it RIGHT AWAY when he came back.
If this had been it, I wouldn't be so cranky, but even after the aspirin, even after I cleaned up the pee in my rug, Gunther refused to settle down. And I was too riled up to go back to sleep, especially with the cone scraping and Gunther's loud breathing. Seriously, the panting... I think the cone was acting as a megaphone. And Gunther kept coming over to the bed and looking at me, like I was supposed to do something.
It's not that I don't feel bad for him. I do. But the cone is his fault, and I can't DO anything about any of this.
No idea what Im talking about? Go watch the movie "Up!" for heaven's sake! At least watch the first ten minutes. It won't help you understand what I'm talking about, but it is required if you want to be my friend.
Um. I'm sorry. I'm a little sleep deprived. Where was I?
Ah, yes, Cone Of Shame. You know, the cone you put on a pet to stop him from licking a wound. Or more specifically, in Gunther's case, to stop him from licking his legs for no reason until he creates wounds.
I have very little sympathy for him in this. He did it. It's his fault.
Anyway, with the cone on, Gunther is a little clumsier than usual. First of all, he has lost all peripheral vision, so he keeps bumping into things. Second of all, the cone keeps getting stuck on things, like the stairs or corners of furniture. Gunther can't figure out what's happening when he does this.
And once he managed to accidentally shut himself into the bathroom.
Where was I going with this? Oh! Yeah....
So last night Gunther started walking around the bedroom.
He sometimes does this when he gets hip pain. It's like he hurts standing and hurts sitting so he just keeps circling. Only he had the cone on, so he was walking around the bedroom very, very loudly, the cone scraping on every available item of furniture.
And then I heard him start to pee.
I might have shot up faster than when I hear unexpected vomiting.
I don't think I was yelling. The boys didn't wake up. I managed to lead Gunther, cone scraping, down the stairs and to the front door, where he could go outside and finish peeing without additional stairs.
While he was out, I prepared an aspirin tablet. Then I looked out the door and saw him disappearing around the side of the house.
I went to the back door and saw him walking to the woods.
And this was when I remembered that I hadn't put his electric collar on, the one that keeps him in the yard. Away from the street and other people's yards. And he has no peripheral vision.
Did I mention the snow on the ground? There was. Did I mention that it was 4:30? AM? And pitch dark?
I decided I had to go out and find him. I put my snow boots on, and my coat, and headed out the front door.
But I didn't see him. I didn't see anything. It was dark.
So I went back inside and grabbed a flashlight, and went out the back door. I still couldn't find him. I saw his footprints go off to the woods, and loop around the swing-set and back around to...
This was when I heard him start barking at the front of the house. Impatiently. Because I wasn't there to let him it RIGHT AWAY when he came back.
If this had been it, I wouldn't be so cranky, but even after the aspirin, even after I cleaned up the pee in my rug, Gunther refused to settle down. And I was too riled up to go back to sleep, especially with the cone scraping and Gunther's loud breathing. Seriously, the panting... I think the cone was acting as a megaphone. And Gunther kept coming over to the bed and looking at me, like I was supposed to do something.
It's not that I don't feel bad for him. I do. But the cone is his fault, and I can't DO anything about any of this.
Monday, November 25, 2013
A Barrel Of Apples
A few years ago, Meg and Winston came to visit and bought us Apples To Apples.
This is a really fun game. But it got put away once they left, because it was no fun when Steve and I were playing it alone.
Then the boys discovered it at some game night, and they started playing it at home. It came out when my family came to visit.
Seriously, the boys this this game os so much fun.
Cleaning it up, however? Less fun.
This is a really fun game. But it got put away once they left, because it was no fun when Steve and I were playing it alone.
Then the boys discovered it at some game night, and they started playing it at home. It came out when my family came to visit.
Seriously, the boys this this game os so much fun.
Cleaning it up, however? Less fun.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Secret Identity
As part of his homework for school, Nathan is supposed to do 60 minutes of reading every week. His teacher chooses to monitor this with the help of reading logs. Every day Nathan is supposed to read from 10 to 15 minutes and write down what he read, how long he read, and the date he read it.
The thing is, Nathan loves to read. He simply hates to write anything down. Friday mornings we usually find ourselves scrambling to remember what he read, a task made more difficult by the fact that he also reads at school and at his dad's.
This past Friday Nathan insisted he'd read The Young Mark Twain for an hour.
Now, an hour is a long time, but I know Nate is capable of it. And I know Steve has this book because it used to live in the basement and recently made the trip to his house. I figured Nate probably did read the book for a little while. But it seemed like a challenging book for a seven-year-old.
So I thought I'd give him a test, a chance to show off.
"If you read that book then you must know Mark Twain's real name."
Nate nodded uncertainly. "Yeah!" he said. "It's Batman. Right?"
I gave him a funny look because I didn't get it at first. Mark Twain was Samuel Clemens, and I explained this to Nate, wondering why he would try to pass off reading the book with such an obvious untruth. I mean, Batman... Batman was... Bruce Wayne.
Bruce Wayne.
Not Mark Twain.
And then I started laughing.
Because I know Nate did spend time reading the book, and I imagine him sitting there, gripping it, turning pages eagerly, thinking he was reading about the early life of Batman.
The thing is, Nathan loves to read. He simply hates to write anything down. Friday mornings we usually find ourselves scrambling to remember what he read, a task made more difficult by the fact that he also reads at school and at his dad's.
This past Friday Nathan insisted he'd read The Young Mark Twain for an hour.
Now, an hour is a long time, but I know Nate is capable of it. And I know Steve has this book because it used to live in the basement and recently made the trip to his house. I figured Nate probably did read the book for a little while. But it seemed like a challenging book for a seven-year-old.
So I thought I'd give him a test, a chance to show off.
"If you read that book then you must know Mark Twain's real name."
Nate nodded uncertainly. "Yeah!" he said. "It's Batman. Right?"
I gave him a funny look because I didn't get it at first. Mark Twain was Samuel Clemens, and I explained this to Nate, wondering why he would try to pass off reading the book with such an obvious untruth. I mean, Batman... Batman was... Bruce Wayne.
Bruce Wayne.
Not Mark Twain.
And then I started laughing.
Because I know Nate did spend time reading the book, and I imagine him sitting there, gripping it, turning pages eagerly, thinking he was reading about the early life of Batman.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Something's Coming
I have a cold.
No. Wait. I don't actually have a cold. Not YET, anyway.
But I can feel it coming.
See, I had kind of a busy weekend that involved staying up late and spending a lot of time in an enclosed place with a lot of people and loud music that I could feel reverberate through every bone in my body.
So last night, when I kept waking up thinking, "Hey! I have a sore throat" I thought is was nothing but a fluke and a reaction to breathing in heated air.
But this morning, as I sit here and think, "Hey. My throat is a little scratchy," I know. I feel it coming for me. The cold.
I can feel it creeping into my nasal passages, making breathing just a little more difficult. I can feel it in my head. I'm really fine, but my head is just a teensy bit heavier, a smidgen foggier. I'm oh so slightly more tired than usual.
When I had the flu last year, I shut down the world. I tried for a little while, getting the boys to school, making meals, trying to hit all of our karate, piano, library commitments. But eventually I just stopped. I declared a state of emergency and shut down all government funded programs (within my home). I sat in bed for days (days!) and watched every single episode of Robin Hood while drifting in and out of consciousness. And the single thought in my head was "I feel like crap. I might never feel normal again. Please let there be a time when I don't feel so awful."
It didn't get so bad as the times I had food poisoning, when I actually found myself thinking death would be preferable to ten more minutes of sitting on the bathroom floor wondering if I was going to throw up again or could crawl back to by bed. But still, my mind was all about how I felt, physically.
Right now I don't feel that bad. I feel pretty OK, except that I can feel what's coming. And the thought in my head isn't about sleeping or feeling better one day. I'm looking around and thinking. "I have a lot of stuff to do. I don't have time for this crap!"
Go away, cold. I don't have time for you.
No. Wait. I don't actually have a cold. Not YET, anyway.
But I can feel it coming.
See, I had kind of a busy weekend that involved staying up late and spending a lot of time in an enclosed place with a lot of people and loud music that I could feel reverberate through every bone in my body.
So last night, when I kept waking up thinking, "Hey! I have a sore throat" I thought is was nothing but a fluke and a reaction to breathing in heated air.
But this morning, as I sit here and think, "Hey. My throat is a little scratchy," I know. I feel it coming for me. The cold.
I can feel it creeping into my nasal passages, making breathing just a little more difficult. I can feel it in my head. I'm really fine, but my head is just a teensy bit heavier, a smidgen foggier. I'm oh so slightly more tired than usual.
When I had the flu last year, I shut down the world. I tried for a little while, getting the boys to school, making meals, trying to hit all of our karate, piano, library commitments. But eventually I just stopped. I declared a state of emergency and shut down all government funded programs (within my home). I sat in bed for days (days!) and watched every single episode of Robin Hood while drifting in and out of consciousness. And the single thought in my head was "I feel like crap. I might never feel normal again. Please let there be a time when I don't feel so awful."
It didn't get so bad as the times I had food poisoning, when I actually found myself thinking death would be preferable to ten more minutes of sitting on the bathroom floor wondering if I was going to throw up again or could crawl back to by bed. But still, my mind was all about how I felt, physically.
Right now I don't feel that bad. I feel pretty OK, except that I can feel what's coming. And the thought in my head isn't about sleeping or feeling better one day. I'm looking around and thinking. "I have a lot of stuff to do. I don't have time for this crap!"
Go away, cold. I don't have time for you.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Yesterday At Dinner...
Nathan suddenly says, "Andy! What's the opposite of sour?"
Then he lifts his palm to me and to Nick. "Don't tell him! Don't tell him!"
It's as if he and Andy were just studying for the opposite test.
Andrew gives a little knowing, smirk and says, "The opposite of sour is: Not Sour."
Well... he's kind of right...
Then he lifts his palm to me and to Nick. "Don't tell him! Don't tell him!"
It's as if he and Andy were just studying for the opposite test.
Andrew gives a little knowing, smirk and says, "The opposite of sour is: Not Sour."
Well... he's kind of right...
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Once in a Timeline
Nicholas has a timeline project to do.
He had to pick out 7 events in his life and place them on a timeline. It's a pretty great project, as it teaches kids how to read a timeline graph, how to measure out even spaces for each year, how to find out where an event would land on the graph, and it also give them a chance to go through their own lives and tall a little bit about themselves. They can begin to have a different grasp of time, which is so difficult for younger children.
The problem is, Nick is only 9. His teacher's example timeline had her birth, her graduation, her wedding, and the births of her children. Nick hasn't had any kids yet.
I let Nick pick the events he used, and hung around as he plotted everything on his timeline, just to avoid one of those impulsive yet catastrophic "I think I'll draw a cat right here" moments. He was speaking out loud as he wrote down years. Nate and Andrew, captivated by the fact that Nick's project included baby photos of THEM, hung over his shoulders.
"1794?" Nate said, repeating something he heard Nick say.
"No!" Nick said. "Not 1794! 2004! If I was born in 1794 I'd be almost as old as Mom!"
And suddenly the timeline project seems much less effective.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Long Weekend
We had a long weekend.
I swear, they invent these things just to torture me. Three-day weekends SEEM like a good idea, especially when you're on the other side of them. In the future, they sound like a GREAT idea. Three days instead of two? Three days of hanging out, skipping all of our classes and practices and just, you know, doing nothing?
Great!
Except then instead of Monday you wake up and it's Tuesday. You didn't have Monday to ease you into the week, and now we're almost in the middle of it, and nothing, NOTHING has been done. There's a huge scrabble to get homework done and things sent in. You miss Monday.
Or maybe it's just me.
I had a great weekend. My family came up for my Birthday weekend. I skipped working out, I went out for Margaritas, and I stayed up really really late.I slept in, too. Only last night I couldn't make myself fall asleep before eleven, and then this morning I didn't want to wake up before 6am. I need to remember how to make meals out of something besides leftover pizza and wonderful bite-sized cupcakes.
It was totally worth it.
And I'm hitting the ground running.
I swear, they invent these things just to torture me. Three-day weekends SEEM like a good idea, especially when you're on the other side of them. In the future, they sound like a GREAT idea. Three days instead of two? Three days of hanging out, skipping all of our classes and practices and just, you know, doing nothing?
Great!
Except then instead of Monday you wake up and it's Tuesday. You didn't have Monday to ease you into the week, and now we're almost in the middle of it, and nothing, NOTHING has been done. There's a huge scrabble to get homework done and things sent in. You miss Monday.
Or maybe it's just me.
I had a great weekend. My family came up for my Birthday weekend. I skipped working out, I went out for Margaritas, and I stayed up really really late.I slept in, too. Only last night I couldn't make myself fall asleep before eleven, and then this morning I didn't want to wake up before 6am. I need to remember how to make meals out of something besides leftover pizza and wonderful bite-sized cupcakes.
It was totally worth it.
And I'm hitting the ground running.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Veterans Day Refection
On Friday the 3rd grade had its annual Veterans Day Concert.
I sat in a school gym with about 700 other parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and younger siblings. We sat in the dark so they could project a waving American Flag onto a screen. It was noisy and crowded and uncomfortably warm.
I have issues with Veterans Day. It's hard to tackle this because usually my point of view comes across as anti patriotic and un-American, and these days that can be downright dangerous.
The concert was cute, and a little frightening in a "Look! We're brainwashing your children!" kind of way. Not that anyone seemed to notice. The boys and girls sang Yankee Doodle and America the beautiful. They sang You're A Grand Old Flag. Nick's class sang a medley of all the military songs - Off we go, into the wild blue yonder / Anchors away, my boys! / Over hill, over dale / From the Halls of Montezuma.... There were a lot of class statements about America being #1! In fact, to me, the entire crowd could have been shouting "We're #1! We're #1!" We could have been at a hockey game.
The concert ended with a recording of that song, "I'm proud to be an American!" The whole crowd stood and sang and pumped their fists in the air.
And I thought, Really?
I consider myself a patriot. I really do. In my heart and my soul, I feel that I stand for American values like Freedom of speech and the right to vote and select our leaders. I value the right to speak out and the right to a fair trial.
But I'm not always proud to be an American.
Especially when I try and see us from the viewpoint of other countries.
We're cutting food stamps to hungry people. We made it so corporations are legally people. Banks get away with robbing people blind, and cops who spray unarmed, seated students in the face with pepper spray are awarded large amounts of cash for the trauma endured. Seriously, sometimes this country is so twisted it drives me crazy.
And the last line of the song? "God bless the USA!" Well, I'm an atheist. But if I did believe in God, I think that it would be a God who didn't bless the USA over any of the other countries in the world. USA would not, you know, get more presents than the other kids. Why not bless Peru or Namibia?
Am I the only one who thinks this way, I wonder? I mean, probably not in the world, not. Maybe not even the only one in the country. But in that gym, I sure felt like it. I suddenly felt like a subversive person. Like a spy. Like the Russians from The Americans.
As I mentioned, I do consider myself to be patriotic. I love my country. I love the land we live on and the measures we've taken so far in our shaky history to gain equality for all who live here. I wish we could apply the same rights to other peoples and countries, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate what we have.
How could I reconcile my discomfort with certain things sanctioned by my government with what I felt was my patriotism? How could I explain to my nine-year-old that I loved seeing him sing, but that the last song left a bitter, chemical, GMO filled taste in my mouth?
During the concert, there were veterans in the audience. Some of them were in uniform, but not all. Some of them were parents, sitting next to their young children. Some of them were grandparents and uncles, looking as out of shape and thrown together as the rest of us. Some of them were older men with walkers. During the medley that Nick's class sang, these people - mostly men - stood up at different places. When they sang Over Hill Over Dale, a few men in the front stood up. When they sand From The Halls Of Montezuma others stood up - the veterans were standing when the children sang the song from their branch of the military. Anchors Away, and another wave of people stood up...
It was really very touching. Because these people that are standing up, they are not a country. They are not the government. They are people. They ARE people. They are parents and uncles and aunts.
Veterans day is not about the government. And despite the songs the children were singing, I don't feel as though it's really about America. It's about the veteran. It's about the individual person who might disagree with everything I think and everything I say, but who took his or her life and dedicated part of it, maybe even risked his or her life, to help keep safe my right to think my own thoughts and speak them aloud. They should be honored. The veteran. Not my thoughts.
I don't recall where I heard this. I didn't come up with it on my own. But I'd forgotten it until just this weekend. I'm gad I remembered it.
I sat in a school gym with about 700 other parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and younger siblings. We sat in the dark so they could project a waving American Flag onto a screen. It was noisy and crowded and uncomfortably warm.
I have issues with Veterans Day. It's hard to tackle this because usually my point of view comes across as anti patriotic and un-American, and these days that can be downright dangerous.
The concert was cute, and a little frightening in a "Look! We're brainwashing your children!" kind of way. Not that anyone seemed to notice. The boys and girls sang Yankee Doodle and America the beautiful. They sang You're A Grand Old Flag. Nick's class sang a medley of all the military songs - Off we go, into the wild blue yonder / Anchors away, my boys! / Over hill, over dale / From the Halls of Montezuma.... There were a lot of class statements about America being #1! In fact, to me, the entire crowd could have been shouting "We're #1! We're #1!" We could have been at a hockey game.
The concert ended with a recording of that song, "I'm proud to be an American!" The whole crowd stood and sang and pumped their fists in the air.
And I thought, Really?
I consider myself a patriot. I really do. In my heart and my soul, I feel that I stand for American values like Freedom of speech and the right to vote and select our leaders. I value the right to speak out and the right to a fair trial.
But I'm not always proud to be an American.
Especially when I try and see us from the viewpoint of other countries.
We're cutting food stamps to hungry people. We made it so corporations are legally people. Banks get away with robbing people blind, and cops who spray unarmed, seated students in the face with pepper spray are awarded large amounts of cash for the trauma endured. Seriously, sometimes this country is so twisted it drives me crazy.
And the last line of the song? "God bless the USA!" Well, I'm an atheist. But if I did believe in God, I think that it would be a God who didn't bless the USA over any of the other countries in the world. USA would not, you know, get more presents than the other kids. Why not bless Peru or Namibia?
Am I the only one who thinks this way, I wonder? I mean, probably not in the world, not. Maybe not even the only one in the country. But in that gym, I sure felt like it. I suddenly felt like a subversive person. Like a spy. Like the Russians from The Americans.
As I mentioned, I do consider myself to be patriotic. I love my country. I love the land we live on and the measures we've taken so far in our shaky history to gain equality for all who live here. I wish we could apply the same rights to other peoples and countries, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate what we have.
How could I reconcile my discomfort with certain things sanctioned by my government with what I felt was my patriotism? How could I explain to my nine-year-old that I loved seeing him sing, but that the last song left a bitter, chemical, GMO filled taste in my mouth?
During the concert, there were veterans in the audience. Some of them were in uniform, but not all. Some of them were parents, sitting next to their young children. Some of them were grandparents and uncles, looking as out of shape and thrown together as the rest of us. Some of them were older men with walkers. During the medley that Nick's class sang, these people - mostly men - stood up at different places. When they sang Over Hill Over Dale, a few men in the front stood up. When they sand From The Halls Of Montezuma others stood up - the veterans were standing when the children sang the song from their branch of the military. Anchors Away, and another wave of people stood up...
It was really very touching. Because these people that are standing up, they are not a country. They are not the government. They are people. They ARE people. They are parents and uncles and aunts.
Veterans day is not about the government. And despite the songs the children were singing, I don't feel as though it's really about America. It's about the veteran. It's about the individual person who might disagree with everything I think and everything I say, but who took his or her life and dedicated part of it, maybe even risked his or her life, to help keep safe my right to think my own thoughts and speak them aloud. They should be honored. The veteran. Not my thoughts.
I don't recall where I heard this. I didn't come up with it on my own. But I'd forgotten it until just this weekend. I'm gad I remembered it.
Saturday, November 09, 2013
Birthday - Adult Version
It sounds racy, doesn't it?
It's not.
When you're a kid, you wait all year long for your birthday, and when it comes, when it finally, Finally gets there, it's all about you. Your age goes up. People sing to you. You get cards from elderly relatives, sometimes with cash. You get cake. You get a party. Maybe the party isn't even on your actual birthday, so you stretch the celebration over a number of days, like a large wedding, with overnight guests and a breakfast the next morning.
As you get older, you realize life doesn't stop for a birthday. Not even yours. You still have to go to school - oh, you might get to bring in treats to share, and that's special. But you still have to take the science test. You still have to go to gym.
As an adult, it's all turned around. You have to go to work and no one there cares that it's your birthday. There was a cake for it a week earlier, but no one knew it was for you because it was lumped in with all the other November birthdays. Maybe some co-workers are excited and take you out to lunch, or for drinks after. Maybe you even have a Margarita! That's special.
I wasn't looking forward to this birthday. As the only adult in the house, I was picturing a lot of what I usually do. You don't get to choose, when you're a mom. Kids need to get to violin at 7:30am. They still can't find their shoes. And even if you want eggs, they all want waffles. Cut up into little strips. Usually I could defer a lot of these requests to my spouse, who would also make some effort to recognize this special day.
Well, this was the first birthday since Steve moved out.
I woke up to an empty house. Steve had the boys the night before. I knew he'd drop them off at 7:15 (remember, violin at 7:30, and I forgot to bring the violin when I dropped the boys off...) but I still had the morning to run. I played music while I make lunches (including a bag lunch for a field trip) and got school folders ready.
And then I hopped into the shower, thinking I'd have a couple of extra minutes to relax and soak.
A few moments after seven, I head shouting. I had enough time to turn off the water and step onto the mat when the door burst open and in flew Andy, grinning, clutching a large gift bag.
"Happy Birthday, Mom! You got presents!"
I stood on the bath mat, dripping wet, clutching a towel to my naked body.
"Thanks, Sweetie! I'm so happy! Can I have a minute to get dressed?"
It was a pretty good birthday, all things considered. I'll post later about what I got and the 3rd grade Veteran's Day concert. All you need to know for today is that all is wonderful.
Thursday, November 07, 2013
We've Got To Get Organized
Everyone has this kind of a conversation: you're talking to a friend you haven't see in awhile, either on the phone or in person. You realize you're having a good time. "We should do this more often!" you say. Or if you're on the phone you say (or type) We should get together for coffee / drinks / a movie.
You both agree.
Then you try to set a date.
"What are you doing Tuesday?"
"Tuesday's no good. I have a class. How about Wednesday?"
"Oh, no, I can't! I have a work thing. Friday?"
"We're out of town until Sunday. What about Wednesday next week?"
"I can't. Starting that month I'm working nights. The next weekend?"
"Hmm... I can fit you in on Saturday Afternoon?"
"Great! No - wait, shoot! That's the afternoon my cousin is in town! I told her I'd take her to see a show."
And so it goes. One thing, then another, until you just table the discussion and hope you run into each other before a space opens up in your schedule.
Now imagine you have four people to schedule. Yes, they are small and short, but they do karate and piano and violin. They have doctor's appointments and dentist appointments and they get warts and need to see dermatologists. They join groups after school which you fully support until you realize you have to coach. But that's OK, you'd have to be there anyway to take them to and from the meetings.
I was trying to schedule an appointment for Nick. It's the kind of thing that may become recurring, so I was trying to get it after school. With someone who takes our insurance. While I was at it, I may as well have requested this water be turned into wine and for this loaf of bread to take us through Thanksgiving, because nobody seemed to be able to help us out. They were empathetic, but there was nothing they could do.
And then I found a place that was willing to work with me. It was farther than the other places - about 8 miles. But they said yes!
Could I do Wednesdays? Well, I could. But Wednesdays we had Karate at 4:15 and then Piano at 6:30, 7 miles away in the other direction. Thursdays? Well, Nate and Andy have DI on Thursdays, and it's over at 4pm. We could do after 4pm if we skipped the weapons karate class and the advances karate class... And Nick might have DI on Thursdays, or it might be on Fridays. We don't know yet.
Finally we settled on a Saturday. It would be after the morning karate class. But there was a catch. I was out of town for the weekend. I'd be on my way back, but still, I couldn't drive him the 8 miles. I had to get Steve to do it.
But I scheduled it anyway.
And then I asked Steve. And he said fine. No problem. He'd take him. The driving wasn't a big deal. But there was this birthday party for this kid we know and it was on that day.
I'm about to call and reschedule the appointment because of this birthday party. It makes sense on some level, I swear. Also, I've decided we do too much karate. It seems to be getting in the way of other things. Like cooking.
I feel a little bit Like This.
You both agree.
Then you try to set a date.
"What are you doing Tuesday?"
"Tuesday's no good. I have a class. How about Wednesday?"
"Oh, no, I can't! I have a work thing. Friday?"
"We're out of town until Sunday. What about Wednesday next week?"
"I can't. Starting that month I'm working nights. The next weekend?"
"Hmm... I can fit you in on Saturday Afternoon?"
"Great! No - wait, shoot! That's the afternoon my cousin is in town! I told her I'd take her to see a show."
And so it goes. One thing, then another, until you just table the discussion and hope you run into each other before a space opens up in your schedule.
Now imagine you have four people to schedule. Yes, they are small and short, but they do karate and piano and violin. They have doctor's appointments and dentist appointments and they get warts and need to see dermatologists. They join groups after school which you fully support until you realize you have to coach. But that's OK, you'd have to be there anyway to take them to and from the meetings.
I was trying to schedule an appointment for Nick. It's the kind of thing that may become recurring, so I was trying to get it after school. With someone who takes our insurance. While I was at it, I may as well have requested this water be turned into wine and for this loaf of bread to take us through Thanksgiving, because nobody seemed to be able to help us out. They were empathetic, but there was nothing they could do.
And then I found a place that was willing to work with me. It was farther than the other places - about 8 miles. But they said yes!
Could I do Wednesdays? Well, I could. But Wednesdays we had Karate at 4:15 and then Piano at 6:30, 7 miles away in the other direction. Thursdays? Well, Nate and Andy have DI on Thursdays, and it's over at 4pm. We could do after 4pm if we skipped the weapons karate class and the advances karate class... And Nick might have DI on Thursdays, or it might be on Fridays. We don't know yet.
Finally we settled on a Saturday. It would be after the morning karate class. But there was a catch. I was out of town for the weekend. I'd be on my way back, but still, I couldn't drive him the 8 miles. I had to get Steve to do it.
But I scheduled it anyway.
And then I asked Steve. And he said fine. No problem. He'd take him. The driving wasn't a big deal. But there was this birthday party for this kid we know and it was on that day.
I'm about to call and reschedule the appointment because of this birthday party. It makes sense on some level, I swear. Also, I've decided we do too much karate. It seems to be getting in the way of other things. Like cooking.
I feel a little bit Like This.
Wednesday, November 06, 2013
What's In A Name?
The other day, in the car, one of the kids asked a question about a teenage friend of theirs.
"Why does he have one last name and his mom have another last name?"
I explained that their friend's mom gave her son her last name when he was born, but then when she got married, she changed her name so that she and her new husband had the same last name.
"Last names are funny things," I said. "Some people change their names when they get married and some people don't. And some people change their names back when they get a divorce."
I glanced in the rear-view to see what kind of reaction the boys would have to that.
There was a moment of silence while the concept sank in.
"Are you gonna change your name?"
Now, I already had the answer to this one in my back pocket, but I thought I'd feel it out. just in case.
"I don't know, what do you think?" I asked.
"But then we wouldn't have the same last name as you?"
"No. I would have my old last name and you would keep yours. What do you think?"
Well, it turned out there were three different schools of thought, and none of them were from who you'd expect. I'm not saying which kid had which reaction, but here they were.
One kid didn't care at all, either way.
One kid clung to me, as if changing my name would sever the bond between us.
One kid said he thought I should change my name back to my maiden name. And, to take it a step further, the boys should also change THEIR last names. It's a cool last name. Can we do that? Let's do that. And it was very important, and should be done as soon as possible. And why are you laughing, Mom?
I thought that changing my name when I got married would be a piece of cake. I would sign an official document, slip something in the mail, sprinkle it with fairy dust, and everything would be changed. I didn't picture standing in lines, paying change fees, spending the next eight years pointing to the stapled-in sheet on my passport (which I paid money for) which showed that I had changed my name just so they would let me on the plane / into the country. It was such a pain, in fact, that there are a couple of things I never changed at all. I still have a credit card in my maiden name. My AAA card, too. This would make things easier for me. If I were going to change it back.
But I don't think I am.
Long, long ago, when I had a job and co-workers, one of them explained how her mother chose her last name. She had been married three times, and had children with her second husband. When she divorced her second husband, she actually went and changed her last name... back to her second husband's last name. My friend explained that her mother had just wanted to have the same last name as her kids.
There are advantages to my maiden name. It's easier to spell. It's already written in a lot of my books. And I know plenty of mothers who do not have the same last name as their children. But still... I think I'll keep the one I have now. I can understand why that mother would want to have the same last name as her child. It's symbolic, sure. But it can mean a lot. And that one kid that clung to me? I want to stay as close to him as possible.
"Why does he have one last name and his mom have another last name?"
I explained that their friend's mom gave her son her last name when he was born, but then when she got married, she changed her name so that she and her new husband had the same last name.
"Last names are funny things," I said. "Some people change their names when they get married and some people don't. And some people change their names back when they get a divorce."
I glanced in the rear-view to see what kind of reaction the boys would have to that.
There was a moment of silence while the concept sank in.
"Are you gonna change your name?"
Now, I already had the answer to this one in my back pocket, but I thought I'd feel it out. just in case.
"I don't know, what do you think?" I asked.
"But then we wouldn't have the same last name as you?"
"No. I would have my old last name and you would keep yours. What do you think?"
Well, it turned out there were three different schools of thought, and none of them were from who you'd expect. I'm not saying which kid had which reaction, but here they were.
One kid didn't care at all, either way.
One kid clung to me, as if changing my name would sever the bond between us.
One kid said he thought I should change my name back to my maiden name. And, to take it a step further, the boys should also change THEIR last names. It's a cool last name. Can we do that? Let's do that. And it was very important, and should be done as soon as possible. And why are you laughing, Mom?
I thought that changing my name when I got married would be a piece of cake. I would sign an official document, slip something in the mail, sprinkle it with fairy dust, and everything would be changed. I didn't picture standing in lines, paying change fees, spending the next eight years pointing to the stapled-in sheet on my passport (which I paid money for) which showed that I had changed my name just so they would let me on the plane / into the country. It was such a pain, in fact, that there are a couple of things I never changed at all. I still have a credit card in my maiden name. My AAA card, too. This would make things easier for me. If I were going to change it back.
But I don't think I am.
Long, long ago, when I had a job and co-workers, one of them explained how her mother chose her last name. She had been married three times, and had children with her second husband. When she divorced her second husband, she actually went and changed her last name... back to her second husband's last name. My friend explained that her mother had just wanted to have the same last name as her kids.
There are advantages to my maiden name. It's easier to spell. It's already written in a lot of my books. And I know plenty of mothers who do not have the same last name as their children. But still... I think I'll keep the one I have now. I can understand why that mother would want to have the same last name as her child. It's symbolic, sure. But it can mean a lot. And that one kid that clung to me? I want to stay as close to him as possible.
Monday, November 04, 2013
Sunday, November 03, 2013
Over Medicated
Last week we went to the vet.
This was a special trip because I was taking not one, but two of the pets in. Puck - to get his T4 levels checked, and Gunther, because his hips have really been hurting him, he has a cut on his hind leg I wanted looked at, and to top it off we discovered that he'd been peeing in the basement. For some time. And while I took care of the issue by keeping the door to the basement closed at all times, I couldn't help but think there might be, you know, something wrong with the actual DOG.
I placed Puck in the carrier, but not before putting Gunther on the leash. This is because, as soon as Gunther saw the leash, Gunther started barking and moving his body around in that overly excited way.
Halfway to the vet I detected movement at my elbow. I thought it was Gunther, suddenly curious about what was in front of us. This would be strange because he's usually very good about staying down while we're in motion.
Puck, however, is not. Especially when he somehow gets out of his carrier mid-ride. He stood there next to my elbow, meowing pathetically while I articulated threats of what I would do to him if he even tried jumping down by my feet, the ones involved with the gas and the brake pedals.
After the vet, I was left with a multitude of small blue medicine bottles.
As you might already know, Puck gets a shot of insulin 2 times a day. He also gets a methimazole pill twice a day.
And now Gunther has been handed a number of medications as well. He takes one pill twice a day, one half of another once a day, and has a salve he's supposed to apply to his cut twice a day. The pills are for his hip pain and an anitibiotic for a possible bladder infection. He'll take those if you put them in his food. The salve, however, he's not so thrilled about. I have to distract him with his food and step behind him, and then quickly put a drop on the cut while he's looking the other way. Even then he growls and tries to nip at me - he's afraid I'll hurt him. To keep this from happening I put the cone on him, so he's focused on trying to eat his food with this cone thing on. But it's very stressful for him.
And for me. I know what's happening, but I can't keep up with all these medications. It's not sustainable. Not physically, emotionally, or financially. The vet told me she thought Gunther might have cushing's disease, and I freaked out in my head a little before she told me they didn't usually treat it in dogs because it was so expensive and not fatal.
All I know if that the pets are getting to be A LOT.
And now, here's a reward for sticking with me. This link to the Alot.
This was a special trip because I was taking not one, but two of the pets in. Puck - to get his T4 levels checked, and Gunther, because his hips have really been hurting him, he has a cut on his hind leg I wanted looked at, and to top it off we discovered that he'd been peeing in the basement. For some time. And while I took care of the issue by keeping the door to the basement closed at all times, I couldn't help but think there might be, you know, something wrong with the actual DOG.
I placed Puck in the carrier, but not before putting Gunther on the leash. This is because, as soon as Gunther saw the leash, Gunther started barking and moving his body around in that overly excited way.
Halfway to the vet I detected movement at my elbow. I thought it was Gunther, suddenly curious about what was in front of us. This would be strange because he's usually very good about staying down while we're in motion.
Puck, however, is not. Especially when he somehow gets out of his carrier mid-ride. He stood there next to my elbow, meowing pathetically while I articulated threats of what I would do to him if he even tried jumping down by my feet, the ones involved with the gas and the brake pedals.
After the vet, I was left with a multitude of small blue medicine bottles.
As you might already know, Puck gets a shot of insulin 2 times a day. He also gets a methimazole pill twice a day.
And now Gunther has been handed a number of medications as well. He takes one pill twice a day, one half of another once a day, and has a salve he's supposed to apply to his cut twice a day. The pills are for his hip pain and an anitibiotic for a possible bladder infection. He'll take those if you put them in his food. The salve, however, he's not so thrilled about. I have to distract him with his food and step behind him, and then quickly put a drop on the cut while he's looking the other way. Even then he growls and tries to nip at me - he's afraid I'll hurt him. To keep this from happening I put the cone on him, so he's focused on trying to eat his food with this cone thing on. But it's very stressful for him.
And for me. I know what's happening, but I can't keep up with all these medications. It's not sustainable. Not physically, emotionally, or financially. The vet told me she thought Gunther might have cushing's disease, and I freaked out in my head a little before she told me they didn't usually treat it in dogs because it was so expensive and not fatal.
All I know if that the pets are getting to be A LOT.
And now, here's a reward for sticking with me. This link to the Alot.
Saturday, November 02, 2013
Friday, November 01, 2013
Schadenfreude
So, there is a lot of shame involved in getting a divorce.
There, I said it. I had to get it out there.
Maybe this isn't true for everyone. Maybe there are people out there who are secure enough, confident enough, self centered enough, to think all of the blame is on other people and that each decision they made was completely logical and 100% justified and correct. Maybe they are immune to blame. Maybe they don't even feel ashamed about anything.
I am not one of those people.
Because - and I'm going to speak in the 3rd person here because it is easier and also I'm generalizing - in many cases, when two people who love each other get married, there may be people - friends, family members, even acquaintances - who seem, well, less than thrilled with the chosen spouse. Maybe they have good reasons, but maybe they don't. In any case, the people getting married know it. It can't be hidden from them, even if nothing is directly addressed. And for some reason - be it that they think the reasons are unjustified, or not important, or just plain surmountable - the couple get married anyway.
When the divorce happens, when you (switch to 2nd person) have to announce that you're getting a divorce, it's like a huge admission of failure. It's announcing to people who are close to you that you chose poorly, or that you failed in maintaining this relationship. In some cases it's a catch 22 - if you get a divorce too soon it's like you didn't try hard enough to save the marriage. But if you wait too long people wonder what you were thinking - get out!
In a lot of cases it might be letting people you know, people you've said "I'm fine, how are you?" to a few hundred times, know that you weren't fine. You were lying. You were pretending. You were doing what polite people do. And maybe the other person won't care, but it creates a sort of schism. Because now it's out on the open that you were being polite and insincere. And the other person either has to confront the fact that they were more invested in the interactions, or that they actually don't care about you enough to have it matter, which is awkward for them. So now it's just awkward.
What I fear most is people being mean about it. Not to my face, because most people are not cruel that way. I mean in their own minds. Human beings can be kind and compassionate. They can be generous and helpful. Most of the people I've spoken to have gone above and beyond to help me out. But humans also have that streak of nasty. We all do it. We all smirk when that celebrity gets arrested for DUI. And we all roll out eyes when That Person we know breaks up with his / her lover, again. It's horrible, just horrible, but it's not us. There's some thrill we get from gossip or misfortune that doesn't belong to us.
And we all have a need to be right, a need to have our beliefs justified. If you were against Obamacare, you were thrilled to hear the website was a mess. Because it makes you more right. It doesn't solve anything. And it doesn't really prove your point, but it might make you feel better.
Well, mixed in with all of this shame and disappointment I'm feeling, I think that, at least a few people, might be experiencing that slight feeling if I-was-right-ness. The told-ya-so instinct, you know? I have it. I've felt it. I have children. I experience this daily. Put on your jacket or you will be cold. If you play with sticks, someone will get hurt. Do your homework now or you'll have too much later. And when I turn out to be right I am frustrated, but there's always this zing of "Ha! I was right!"
It's such a petty thing to feel or think about. Most days I think I've put it behind me, but others I can't get it out of my head.
There, I said it. I had to get it out there.
Maybe this isn't true for everyone. Maybe there are people out there who are secure enough, confident enough, self centered enough, to think all of the blame is on other people and that each decision they made was completely logical and 100% justified and correct. Maybe they are immune to blame. Maybe they don't even feel ashamed about anything.
I am not one of those people.
Because - and I'm going to speak in the 3rd person here because it is easier and also I'm generalizing - in many cases, when two people who love each other get married, there may be people - friends, family members, even acquaintances - who seem, well, less than thrilled with the chosen spouse. Maybe they have good reasons, but maybe they don't. In any case, the people getting married know it. It can't be hidden from them, even if nothing is directly addressed. And for some reason - be it that they think the reasons are unjustified, or not important, or just plain surmountable - the couple get married anyway.
When the divorce happens, when you (switch to 2nd person) have to announce that you're getting a divorce, it's like a huge admission of failure. It's announcing to people who are close to you that you chose poorly, or that you failed in maintaining this relationship. In some cases it's a catch 22 - if you get a divorce too soon it's like you didn't try hard enough to save the marriage. But if you wait too long people wonder what you were thinking - get out!
In a lot of cases it might be letting people you know, people you've said "I'm fine, how are you?" to a few hundred times, know that you weren't fine. You were lying. You were pretending. You were doing what polite people do. And maybe the other person won't care, but it creates a sort of schism. Because now it's out on the open that you were being polite and insincere. And the other person either has to confront the fact that they were more invested in the interactions, or that they actually don't care about you enough to have it matter, which is awkward for them. So now it's just awkward.
What I fear most is people being mean about it. Not to my face, because most people are not cruel that way. I mean in their own minds. Human beings can be kind and compassionate. They can be generous and helpful. Most of the people I've spoken to have gone above and beyond to help me out. But humans also have that streak of nasty. We all do it. We all smirk when that celebrity gets arrested for DUI. And we all roll out eyes when That Person we know breaks up with his / her lover, again. It's horrible, just horrible, but it's not us. There's some thrill we get from gossip or misfortune that doesn't belong to us.
And we all have a need to be right, a need to have our beliefs justified. If you were against Obamacare, you were thrilled to hear the website was a mess. Because it makes you more right. It doesn't solve anything. And it doesn't really prove your point, but it might make you feel better.
Well, mixed in with all of this shame and disappointment I'm feeling, I think that, at least a few people, might be experiencing that slight feeling if I-was-right-ness. The told-ya-so instinct, you know? I have it. I've felt it. I have children. I experience this daily. Put on your jacket or you will be cold. If you play with sticks, someone will get hurt. Do your homework now or you'll have too much later. And when I turn out to be right I am frustrated, but there's always this zing of "Ha! I was right!"
It's such a petty thing to feel or think about. Most days I think I've put it behind me, but others I can't get it out of my head.
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