Faces In The Crowd

I used to love intimate gatherings of close friends.

This is when I was young, of course, in my late teens and my twenties, before I knew that relationships were fleeting and that friendships changed and faded with time, or at least were often placed aside, only to be taken down to be dusted every now and then, like an old keepsake.

I miss that feeling of security I used to get when I was among these friends.

I always assumed that, no matter what, I would always have someone close by I could confide, in. We could take our kids to the beach together, get together and drink wine in the shade, and throw caution to the wind by letting our offspring stay up way past bedtime to catch fireflies in the summer dark.

I see photos of friends and their families together on Facebook all the time, children smiling and sharing bowls of ice cream or breakfast cereal. I see families like this all around me  - at the schools, at church, at town events. The parents chat easily, carpool their children, take vacations together.

I can't seem to navigate social situations. I have a few friendly conversations with a parent during karate classes or volunteering for a classroom, and begin to feel at ease. I learn about this persons family, listen as she chats about children and in-laws. Months go by and we begin to be friendly. Then the class ends, summer comes, and we pass each other in the library. Maybe she will smile and wave before turning away. Maybe I can't even get eye contact. Maybe I will make an attempt at conversation and get that awkward feeling this person doesn't remember who I am.

I dislike parties and town events for this reason. It's a gathering of slightly familiar faces, of people I have seen for years in all sorts of social situations. None of them have any recognition in their eyes when we walk past each other. It leaves me feeling awkward and confused.

I would rather go to a party where I know no one, or spend time in a city of complete strangers, than be in my own town surrounded by acquaintances smiling and chatting to each other.

Schedule

Am I organized yet?

How To See Your Doctor

The other day I had an issue come up. A medical issue. A "lady" issue. Something of a sensitive nature. And without going into details, I decided that I should probably make an appointment to see my OB/GYN.

So Friday morning I picked up the phone and called. This wasn't an easy decision to make because I'm not 100% sure where I stand on health insurance, and also any time I take off from work I don't get paid for. Also, I'm trying to do a great job at work so they will hire me, and that doesn't happen when you're in a doctor's waiting room.

When I was a kid, my mom would pick up the phone and dial for the doctor's office, and the doctor would get on the phone. "Hi Fred!" she'd say. "It's Jean. Another one of the kids is complaining of a sore throat." Then our doctor would say, "Probably caught the strep. I'll call in a prescription for that one, and may as well do the other two, also. They'll probably get it sooner or later."

I got the scheduling lady who listened to my brief description and made me an appointment. "With Dr. B. at ten fifty in Derry," she said. "I'm sorry," I said. "Did you say ten fifty? As in ten five zero? In Derry?" And she said,"Yes, ten five zero, ten fifty, in Derry."

And ten I left for work, happy that my issue would be taken care of.

At ten thirty I left work and drove tot he office. I walked in and gave my name. "Oh, Kathleen," a pretty blonde nurse said. "You're actually scheduled to see Dr. B. at 10:50 in the Bedford office."

Now I've been here before. I can't remember if I blogged about it, but this spring I actually went to the Derry office to see my General Practitioner and it turned out I was supposed to be in a different office. But since then I've been careful. Very careful.

"No," I said. "The lady said Derry. I know she said Derry."

I don't know what I expected. Maybe some sort of acknowledgement that I was not the one at fault, and since they messed up, to just let me have a 10:50 appointment?

"Would you like me to see what the rest of the day looks like in Bedford?" the pretty blonde nurse asked.

"I can't go to Bedford," I said. "I have to get back to work."

"You can wait here and see if we can fit you in later?" she said.

I stood there looking at her. I was actually struggling not to cry, because I was embarrassed, mostly because all the office people and the other people in the waiting room were obviously so embarrassed for me.

"Do you know how long?" I asked.

"We don't," she said.

I opened my eyes wider. "Time frame?" I asked. "Twenty minutes? An hour? Three hours?"

I waited for an hour and then walked out, heading back to work. Before I left I let the pretty blonde nurse know I was leaving and would try again on Monday, three days later. "She really did say Derry," I said as I walked out, holding back tears. Because I could hear them talking about me as I sat in the waiting room, feeling sorry for me, or laughing, or rolling their eyes because I was one of THOSE people who couldn't keep office locations straight.

When I got home there was a message on my home machine from the scheduling lady, apparently left five minutes after I hung up the phone and dashed off to work. "Your appointment will be with Dr. B in Bedford, so she'll see you at 10:50 in Bedford," she said by way of correction. Too bad I work until five.

This morning I got an email from the office.

The last time I'd been in for a regular visit, I had signed up for some online system the office had adopted. But I'd never used it. This one was telling me I had a message.

I was curious to see if it would be something personal. Maybe someone saying they were sorry for the confusion.

I was at karate, on my phone, but I didn't have anything else to do, so I clicked the link in the email to try and sign myself in.

I did a quick search of my email and found the one from the same service that provided me with my user ID.

Then I tried clicking the link. The link opened up a webpage asking me how I wanted to sign in. Google? Yahoo? Facebook? (why would anyone use Facebook for medical records?)

I tried Google. Because I have a google account.

But Google did not want to let me in, because Google had no idea who I was, even though I used the correct password.

I got an email. It was from Google. "We think your account was being hacked! Someone tried to log in! If it wasn't you, please change your password!"

Only it was me, and the email didn't say what to do if it WAS me and they still wouldn't let me in.

I gave up and waited until I got home.

At home I was finally able to find a way in without google.

I found that I had an unpaid bill. I found an email saying congratulations for signing up. I found that they'd downloaded all of my visits onto this system. And I found that they said I had two cancelled appointments from Friday. As though I'd simply just cancelled them. One from 11:10 in the office I had been sitting in, until 11:30.

I still have my medical issue, by the way. And I have to go back on Monday. I hate them.

Now is the time...

This has happened to me several times over the past few weeks.

I makes plans to meet someone. Could be anyone. An old friend, a friend from church, a date, just a person. Usually a person.

As the meeting time approaches I might get a wee bit... not excited, exactly. Lifted? What you feel when you're looking forward to something, but it's not Christmas. What is that word? Anticipation? Buoyant? You get the idea. The point is I don't get out much, and these meetings are a welcome break.

And then, the day before, or the morning of, or an hour or two before, the other person will cancel.

The other person isn't being mean or malicious. Something else has come up, something that makes meeting with me inconvenient, or uncomfortable, or downright impossible. "I'm so sorry!" the person will say. "When can we reschedule? When's the next time I can see you?"

And this is why they are selling calendars for 2015 already. For people like me.

"What are you doing six weeks from now?" I ask.

I know, I'm booking so far ahead. I must have such a social life.

Wait.

Wait, no.

No, I don't.

The truth is my free time is so, so limited and rare that it runs out quickly. I mean, I have a weekend free every 2 weeks. That's 2 nights every 2 weeks that I am able to spend as I wish. Yes, I get a floating night during the week, and that night is usually Wednesdays. But Wednesdays is choir night, and nobody dares take that away from me.

So 2 nights every 2 weeks.

"Why don't you get a sitter?" some people might ask.

Well, in some cases I have, and I've shelled out the $40 it takes to go right from work to dinner and then drive home. But seriously, sitters are expensive. And my kids need pants.

The sad part is, I find myself home alone on these nights more often than not, and during vast portions of the day. I end up feeling lonely and depressed. "I should have made plans," I tell myself. And then I remember - I did!

The stupid part is, I spend a lot of time feeling guilty for being so difficult to make plans with. "I'm so sorry!" I say. "I know, I'm so difficult!" But hell, I'm not going to Yoga all week long. I'm not hard to meet with because I'm going to the gym, or getting my nails done. I've got my kids, for crying out loud! I shouldn't be feeling guilty! I'm not the one changing plans last minute!

The thing is, a lot of the time I don't try to make plans with people because I feel like I've already got them. And then the person cancels and I'm alone eating cereal out of the box and watching reruns of The Mindy Project.

What I should be doing is making tons and tons of plans. I should make plans with everybody! And then, an hour or two beforehand, I won't care if someone cancels. "I was going to have to back out, anyway," I can say. "I have all these other things planned." And  then I'll take a look at all the remaining possibilities and make my choice, and cancel on everyone else.

Screen Time

When I was a kid, I would wake up early in the morning and go down to watch TV. Sometimes I would be so early, the station hadn't come on yet. You remember that? When there would just be a barcode up with maybe a line of odd code on the bottom? Because people back then didn't usually stay up all night watching TV. Not yet.

Screen time was TV. My mother made an effort to control it. We could watch only certain shows (Sesame Street, Electric Company, Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Rodgers...) And then all heck broke loose. We discovered cable. We watched hours of stupid cartoons on Saturdays, starting with the Smurfs, the Snorks, Spaceghost, the Shirt Tales...  And my mother made a declaration. Only 1 hour of TV a day.
Mind you, we were only allowed to watch during the weekends, anyway, so...

I thought it was horribly unfair. My friends were playing V out on the playground, and knew exactly who the people were in Miami Vice. I was doomed.

Fast Forward to yesterday when a therapist was lecturing me on limiting screen time for the boys. She told me about 9-year-olds addicted to porn. She went on about desensitizing young men to the act of killing. And then she brought up the fact that all 3 of my boys had been terrified of a certain video game a friend of theirs had shown them.

I admit. She is right. I don't know anything about what the boys do on their screens. I mean, it is So BORING. I really don't want to know. But I cant just pretend that none of them had trouble sleeping the night after that stupid game walked into my home. Or that the internet is a safe place for children.

So, I made some changes.

It was hard, because the schools now assign homework Every Night that must be done on a computer.

The thing is, playing one spelling game can then lead to "I was just checking this thing out..." and before you know it they're all watching YouTube.

I made the boys give me everything. DSs, Laptops, tablets. I took the Wii U controllers and the remotes for the TV. And I put them in a basket in my room.

When it is time for screen time, I will let them choose a device. I will set a timer. And when it's over, then it's over.

Homework that involves the computer will wait until I get home to supervise.

I know it seems unfair. I know it seems a bit insane. But I guess it's just my effort to regain a little control over the situation. I'll have to see how it works out.

Who Am I... Really?

I think Divorce almost naturally leads to Identity crisis.

Maybe not so much divorce in and of itself, but in my case, it's being by myself with no kids. Weekends are rough. Week long vacations almost intolerable.

Because I don't remember what I used to do before, when it was just me. Back then I had a roommate, I was in my 20's. And now that I no longer have a husband, (or boyfriend) I no longer know what to do when I am with only myself. The friends I used to have are now also grown up, grown apart, moved away, and have their own partners and children.

Who am I?

I'm leaning toward re-inventing myself. And while that can be a very exciting prospect, it unfortunately leads me to some odd choices. Especially since I'm still a bit emotional and, at times, just plain sad.

The other day I hung out with my friend Betsy. Betsy lives up here, not too far away, but for some reason we only see each other once a year. This time I went to her house and brought stuff to make margaritas (not fancy ones. Cuervo and mix and ice.) It turns out I make strong margaritas. After two, I decided to join Betsy in smoking a cigarette.

I don't smoke. In college, I tried smoking when my friends did, and was the only one who did not pick up the habit. In fact, smoking made me feel ill. Which was good, because I was a singer. I still do sing, in the church choir. But the point is, I don't smoke. Never have. I spent years watching my friends try to quit, watching Steve try to quit, going through gums and patches and things...

But I did smoke with Betsy. I smoked a cigarette, and then I did it again. After two strong margaritas, though, so wait, because that's not so surprising.

A couple of days later, in the car, I found myself thinking about smoking. I thought that I could actually purchase my own pack of cigarettes and smoke them myself. At home. Alone. With just me. I thought about how this would make me feel, about how I could just do this thing, how there was nothing stopping me, how it was all so very possible. And I thought about how it would make me feel, what it would mean for the kind of person I could turn into...

I know. Pure craziness, right? I never once thought about how addicting smoking really is, or how horrible it would be for my lungs. I didn't think about cigarette butts or ash or the smoke clinging to my clothing and hair. I didn't think about how I can hardly afford shampoo these days, let along packs of cigarettes. I didn't think about the example it would be for my children. I didn't think of how it would affect them.

So... needless to say, I have not taken up smoking.

I have, however, given serious though to getting a tattoo. And also to chopping off my hair. These things are possible.

It's Called a Schedule

Last week I say down and scheduled out the events leading us up to Christmas.

It's trickier than you might think. Remember, I'm dealing not only with my schedule, but with the boys' schedules, too. And nothing is ever as straightforward as you'd think.

So, Monday is the last day to send in a toy for the toy drive at the school. That morning I'm at the school library as a volunteer. Also, I have a music committee meeting. So I'll get Steve to take the boys.
 That's it for Monday.

Tuesday is Andrew's Birthday! He's turning six! So exciting! Except Tuesday afternoons are really, really busy, with Karate for Andy at 4:15, Karate for Nate and Nick at 5pm, and piano for Andy and Nate at 6:30. I can't reschedule piano because they don't have lessons for the next two weeks. I'll make cupcakes and we'll have them with our regular Tuesday dinner-in-the-car. We'll have to have Andy's Birthday dinner on Monday.

Monday I'll pick the boys up, take them to the mall to see Santa, buy our annual ornaments, and then go out to dinner.  Steve can come with us. We should be done in plenty of time for me to make it to Music Committee. And I'll wrap Andy's Birthday Gifts when we get back.

Wednesday I take the car to be inspected. Then that night I have Choir and the boys will be at Steve's so...

Thursday morning I can pack all the stuff we'll need for the DI meeting that afternoon - the boys will be creating gingerbread circuses out of graham crackers, ginger snaps, and sugar cones. And icing and candy. After the sugary meeting, we'll run off to Karate at 4:30 for Nate and Nick. OH! And it's the last day for some of the teachers to get teacher gifts, and I have to bake those...

Add to Tuesday AM - bake cookies at the same time as the cupcakes.

Add to Thursday take out trash. And Clean Bathrooms, because there is no other open space and that needs to happen.

And Friday is the last day of school with all of those parties. I need to buy napkins and plates and cups that are holiday themed. I'll need to go food shopping, but they had none at the grocery store or at CVS. Add to Wednesday - buy napkins, etc.  And then Andy has a playdate at 3pm. And Nick has his DI meeting after school until 4:30. Andy will skip his karate because of the playdate, but Nate and Nick have Karate again at 5pm. Sometime in there I'll pick Andy up.  Then we can have movie night and eat sugar cookies and watch Arthur Christmas or Scrooged or something.

This is all very manageable.

Only guess what? It's Monday morning, and Andrew is sick. Too sick for school. Too sick (probably) for santa and dinner out tonight.

So...

Monday, cancel the library volunteering. Email Steve and let him know we may need to reschedule Santa on Wednesday before Choir. Music committee was postponed (not because of me, ironically) so I have tonight to wrap gifts and bake cookies and figure out how Nate and Nick can conjure birthday presents for Andrew out of thin air. Also, the boys can do whatever homework they have.

Tuesday - as usual, school, library, karate, piano, dinner in the car. Only Andrew will be better (right?) and go to school so I can make all the teacher gifts.

Wednesday I take my car in, I'll run into Wal-Mart where they better have holiday themed paper dinnerware. That PM we do Santa, dinner our, then Choir, Steve will watch them here which means I have them...

Thursday morning, clean bathrooms, pay bills, DI circus, karate the day we give the teachers their gifts and I can stop thinking about them, and then

Friday, the last school day before Christmas Vacation, food shopping (buy wine), Andy Playdate, Nick DI, Nick and Nate karate, movie night, cookies, wine, and write out the schedule for the next couple of weeks so they aren't this hectic.

right?

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.

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.

Living Alone (kinda)

There are certain advantages to living by yourself, or at least to being the only adult in the house.

I get to decide what to make for dinner without anyone complaining. I don’t have to worry about other people’s clutter – sure, the kids have clutter, but I can bug them about it without an adult getting snippy or accusing me of anything. I also don’t have to worry about my clutter getting in anyone else’s way.

I decide how loud the music is, the temperature of the thermostat, and if the bedroom window is open or closed.

I decide which side of the bed to sit on, and how the kitchen table is angled.

I decide when to turn out the light, when to turn off the TV, and in the morning I don’t have to worry about waking anyone up if I need to find my socks.

But there are drawbacks to living alone, too.

Yesterday I was having a grand old time with Andrew. I had removed the air conditioner from the window in the den. It’s 30 degrees in the mornings and the room was frigid as the window was basically wide open. It took me a little while to figure it out, and a lot of lifting, pulling, maneuvering… that thing is really, really heavy. I tried to turn on the heater (the house heat isn’t hooked up to that room, which is over the garage) but the heater wouldn’t turn on, so I used the electric heaters on either side of the room. This required pulling the ugly white couch – which came from Steve’s old house and is currently stained yellow and brown from a dripping something – away from the far end of the room so it wouldn’t catch fire. I took a look around the room and though about how I was going to change it.  The couch would go along the wall currently occupied by the DVD’s. The DVD’s would go between the other windows. The cabinet would get filled with board games and other things…

Anyway, I had a lot on my mind.

At some point I ended up walking into the toy room, one day possibly Nate’s room, and sifting through the blankets and stuffed animals left on the floor.

I have to describe this room. It is a small room. Once there is a bed in there, the space will be even more crowded. But Nate likes it because there is a long, narrow hallway to nowhere along one side, with a slanted ceiling. It’s the perfect nook. Unless, however, you are tall, as in over 5 feet tall, and you are bending down to pick up blankets and stuffed animals and toys, and then you stand up thinking you are out of the hallway, only a lot of your head didn’t quite make it, and instead of bumping the top of your head, you whack the side of your head, mainly your ear and the spot right behind it, parallel to your ear canal if you are looking straight forward.

I went from being a normal human being to sobbing on the pile of blankets and stuffed animals in less than a second. But not until after I screamed how I hated this stupid house and hit the slanty part of the wall with my fist, knocking a chip of red-painted plaster to the floor.

But that’s not the scary part.

The scary part came hours later, after I had taken a nap and started dinner. I was in the parking lot at the karate dojo, trying to write, and I realized I felt ill. And also that I had a really bad headache. When I turned my head to speak to Andy, I realized that I had a pain behind my ear, and when I touched it, I felt an extremely very  tender lump the size of a large jelly bean.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

I had a concussion once, and the thing that made it really bad, aside from not being able to read anything printed and no one letting me sleep, was that I was throwing up all over the place.

And I immediately started freaking out about possibly having a head injury. What if I had a concussion? What if I needed to go to the hospital? What would I do, with the boys all at home? How would I manage? Who would I call? I could call Steve, but he was away for the weekend, and even if I called him, I’d need someone to take me to the hospital. I wouldn’t be able to drive myself.

And what if I ignored it and something happened to me later What if it was really late at night and suddenly I stopped being able to read and was all alone with the boys? They would be so scared! Would they remember how to call 911 if I didn’t wake up in the morning because I fell into a coma during the night?

In the end, I drove home, took some advil, made nachos and ice cream sundaes, and we watched a movie. Then I went to bed, fell asleep, and woke up. I was fine. But it did make me think about how I needed to add a few more numbers to my phone list. I should have some neighbors I can call in case I really do fall off a ladder and the boys need help.

How D'ya Like Them Apples?

I was fortunate enough to be able to chaperone Andy's kindergarten field trip to the local apple orchard, where the kids got to see how they peeled apples for pies, washed them, squashed them into cider, and then go on a nature walk through the orchard, pick their own apples, go on a hay ride, and finally have some cider and donuts.

It was such a perfect day. I went on this field trip with Nate's class. Back then, they didn't have the same requirements for volunteers as they do now. It's only been two years, but now to even go on a field trip you need to complete the Bully Training Video and also get fingerprinted. I'm not making this up. Getting your fingerprints taken makes it much less likely that you'll run off with the wrong child at the apple orchard. Or perhaps abscond with a tractor that isn't yours.

I'm sorry, not everyone shares my sense of humor or distain for this particular subject. Moving on.

Anyway, Nate field trip had one adult for every two children, that's how many parents had volunteered. It was also pouring rain, which put a damper on the nature walk and then the teachers decided it made more sense to bring the snack back to the school.

Andy's trip was so, so lovely. There were only a few parents there. The sun was out. It wasn't too hot or too cold. There were donuts and cider for everyone, and afterwards I went and bought a half dozen donuts from the shop and they were WARM. They were supposed to be for the boys, but THEY WERE WARM! WARM DONUTS IN MY CAR! I KNOW I'M SHOUTING! BUT WARM DONUTS!

If you come visit, perhaps we can stop by this lovely place. And have warm donuts.

Also...

...this is happening.

Nick 2013

Yes, I know he's holding it wrong.

Your Mom's Candid Camera

This is a photograph of the boys in a tree.

I had a better photo of the boys in the tree, taken not long after this one. Seconds later, maybe. It was on my camera. I know it was on my camera because I had viewed it later, and showed it to the boys. It was the one I was going to use  on this blog, and maybe post to a fall/facebook album when I had more than two good shots.

This morning I uploaded the photos from my camera to my computer.

And see, this is where things get strange and technological and stupid. Each time I transfer the photos from my camera to the computer, I get a few photos that just turn up black. I mean, they show up in iphoto as black squares, like someone forgot to take of the lens cap. Except I have a point 'n shoot and there is no lens cap, only that techno thing that opens when you turn the camera on, and closes when you turn the camera off.

Until now, I attributed the black squares to the camera thingy just not opening when I took a shot. But if this was the case, then the photos would show up ON THE CAMERA as black squares, too, right?

So anyway, I uploaded photos this morning, got a bunch of black squares, and deleted them.

Then I switched views, saw a few more and deleted them also.

By the way, I also deleted all the photos from the camera, figuring they were on my computer.

And then I went looking for my favorite shots, AND THEY WERE GONE!

Seriously, the tree one was cute. But there was also a really good shot of Nate carrying Frank up the porch steps, Frank looking seriously tolerant and Nate looking a little scared... And it's gone, too.

So.

Ugh.

So this happens. That's the bad news.

But I now know that this happens, so that's good news. I can now NOT delete photos from my camera until I'm sure all the nice and cute shots have made it. It's just.... SO not fair!

That tree climbing shot,  I tell you... You should have seen it.

The Wait

I'm waiting for something.

It could be anything, really, any one of a number of things. A job would be nice. Or winning the lottery. To name just two.

The thing is, life seems in a holding pattern. Steve is mid-move out, with many things taken, leaving gaping holes where items and furniture used to be. At the same time, there are still things he hasn't been able to take yet, so I can't simply move things into their place and move on.

I've never been a person with much patience. I want to be patient, and I am, right up to the moment when I snap and shriek "This Is Stupid! Argh!"

The thing is, even though I hate waiting, I think that I'm waiting for a good thing. I'm looking forward to it getting here. (cue song from West Side Story)


I know I sound like a crazy person, or else a very depressed person, on this blog. I just want everyone to know that I'm not. I'm just a very stressed person, and sometimes a very scared person, or hurt person, a lot of the time. Not all of the time. Most of the time, believe it or not, I'm actually 93% certain that everything ill turn out OK. But there isn't a lot I can write about without violating certain people's rights to privacy, or without jinxing myself.

Things I've Learned Recently (or knew before but had to be reminded)...

 - I like to think I'm a person who likes heat. I prefer hot weather over cool weather. I used to think the heat couldn't really get to me. I was wrong. The heat makes me cranky and irritable, and amplifies every speck of stress in me until I'm made of it.

 - I was sure I could keep the house in order this summer if I tried to tidy it each morning. I was wrong. Three boys vs. one me. The move in different directions, and mess stuff up faster than I can tell them to pick up.

 - I was sure by now that we would be further along in this divorce process. As of yet, every little thing has taken me much, much longer to accomplish than I assume. I sit down to complete a paper, and I need two days to collect all the data. Or I realize I don't have some of the answers. Or I realize I need to make a phone call, and the other person will be available on Tuesday.

 - No matter how much I wish that wanting a job will count in some cosmic, bigger universe way, it doesn't. And it didn't.

 - I can want two opposing things at the same time. For example, I want that other job. I also want to put my kids on the bus and to be with them as soon as they get out of school.

 - As much as I wish I were one of those people who reacted to stress by doing more physical stuff and forgetting to eat, it turns out I'm a stress eater. I can eat nine donuts in six hours. Even though I'm trying to rid myself of the few extra pounds I've gained over the past couple of months, I seem to be gaining instead. And very quickly.

 - When family or friends send me emails or call me, just to check in, I feel better. When they ask if they can do anything and I say "no," it's because they've already done it. I am so grateful for all of them.

Lavender Town (Internet Part 2)

So the other day Nick asked me to look up "Lavender Town" on the internet.

Go ahead. Look it up. It will save me the time and energy of explaining. It will save me from figuring out how to explain this... thing.

OK, fine, I'll just start type-talking.

Nick's friend on the bus (see previous post) told him about this thing in this one Pokemon video game. Apparently there is this one part, the friend said, where you end up in a graveyard and there is all sorts of scary screechy music. And all of the pokemon there are dead! And you have to battle this one really scary pokemon who is also dead. And it's scary. And, according to Nick, you heard this from his friend, it gives kids really bad headaches and nightmares and stuff.

I told Nick his friend might be confused. I remembered some episodes of Pokemon, the TV show, which used a lot of flashing, and a few kids in Japan were had seizures. It was a thing for awhile. Maybe his friend was confused?

No, it was this town in this game.

I went ahead and looked it up. We listened to some bad, high pitched music. We watched a clip of someone actually playing the video game - apparently there is some hidden level where you do actually battle a very hard pokemon who keeps threatening to take your soul.

And then I read some of the stuff that was written, and apparently there was some rumor going around that, after playing this game, a number of children, ages 10 to teens, actually committed suicide.

Which is when I turned it off. I wasn't afraid my kids were going to suddenly want to end their lives, like some strange version of "The Ring" brought to life. No, I was just so angry about the whole perpetuation of stupid rumors, and video games screeching... And why does Nick have to hear a stupid twisted rumor like that? How do you even try to address it. I said it was time for something besides video games.

I was less happy when Andy, who had overheard all of this, had bad dreams at night and climbed into my bed. Because he then decided to sleep sideways and kicked me in the ribs all night long.

I hate video games. I hate the internet.

Ooshykablob

Andy, looking like an Elf.

For my birthday last year, someone gave me an Elf-On-The-Shelf.

When I was a kid, Santa knew who was naughty or nice because he Just Knew. He was always watching. like Big Brother. Like the yet unformed Homeland Security. All knowing and all powerful, and you better think twice before wonking your brother over the head with that doll, even if he DID chew her fingers off.

These days, despite the advances in technology, Santa relies on a team of tiny and terrifying looking elves. Elfs? Elves? What's the plural here? Anyway, Santa uses them.

You get this Elf, which is supposed to sit on your shelf and keep a watch on your kids. The elf looks like a little doll, in that it doesn't move, and it's got a frozen expression. In this case, the expression is eerie and more than a little frightening.

To make matters worse, the elf MOVES IN THE NIGHT. YES! At night it travels back to the North Pole, fast as lightening, and then reappears at dawn in a different location, to see how the kids act from different angles, I suppose. One morning he's on the bookshelf, the next morning he's hanging from the light fixture. And the next he's perched on top of the piano.

I mean, it really moves! All by itself! It would have to. Otherwise, that would mean that a large number of well meaning but most likely misguided parents are actually sneaking around and changing the location of this inanimate object in order to fool their children into thinking their every move is being monitored and judged.

I'm not sure which is creepier.

You also get to name your elf. My kids chose our elf's name. It's Ooshykablob. I was hoping for something cute, like Snowflake, or Crinkle. But Ooshykablob won out.

Ooshykablob is quite lazy. He doesn't do mischief, like the elves in some of our friends' houses. He also doesn't always move. I tell the kids this is because he wasn't sure, or just couldn't be bothered to take the trip all the way back to the North Pole... I mean, Every NIght? He's got to rest sometimes.

The Happening...

I used to sit down and try and write a bunch of blog posts at one time.

When my brain or memory would fail me, I would put up a bunch of photographs. I didn't always have any, but I often did, and if I didn't I'd pull out the camera and take pictures of the boys eating or playing with their DS things, or sometimes my backyard.

So there I was, right after Thanksgiving, ready to put up a bunch pf photos of smiling and eating relatives, and everything seemed to be going according to plan, when...

I got an error message.

It was upbeat. It began with "whoops!"

When I was tracking my running, RunKeeper sometimes gave me error message s that began "Oh Noes!" when their server wasn't functioning properly. And I would get doubly irritated because not only was the server not working, but I'm in no mood for computers trying to act all cute. This time I kind of felt the same way.

Only Blogger wasn't taking any of the blame. Oh no.

The "whoops!" messgae went on to explain that I had reached my free 1GB of free storage space for photos in my online Picasa web album, the one that stores my photos, and that I would have to purchase additional space if I wanted to go on. Or perhaps order some photos or something?

Quite honestly, I don't remember the exact wording of the message. I was upset. And as I am not inclined to pay for web storage nor am I ready to order photos (I just ordered 300 prints from iphoto) I was in kind of a lurch.

So now I'm doing a bit of shuffling around. I'm trying to transfer photos from the Picasa web albums to iPhoto, so I don't lose them (I'll end up having to back them up again, I know. Then, I can go and delete them, one by one. off the Picasa albums.

The downside to this, and it is a real downside, is that when I delete a photo from Picasa, it is no longer available on this blog.

Go back. Take a moment and go back to the earliest of the posts I did, way back in 2006. You'll see that the earliest photos are gone and unviewable. You should view all of them, all of the pictures of Nick as a toddler and Nate as a chubby cheeked baby, go back and see them all now. While you still can.

From this point on it's like some horror film, Back To The Future, maybe, but to me more like Steven King's Langoliers, or The Nothing from The Neverending Story. It has begin, and now, little by little, those old photographs will disappear, gradually picking up speed, until today, too, is eaten by the no-more-photos monster...

Anyway, one of the reasons things have slowed down is that all this shuffling around takes time. Photos will arrive before too long. I appreciate your patience.

The End Is Nigh

Oh, Good Lord, It's November already.

The beginning. The beginning of the end. Of 2012.

Once Halloween is over, the ball has more than started rolling. It's mostly down the hill and is rolling at blur-vision speed.

First, the election. Lillian's Birthday.
My Birthday.
Veteran's Day, with no school.
Thanksgiving. Chez Moi.
December. Piano Recital. Parties.
Andy's Birthday.
Christmas.
New Year's Eve.

And just like that, it's 2013.
And I register Andrew for Kindergarten.

The Saturday Saga

It was a Tuesday.

It didn't start out so very bad.  It started out just fine. Except that I was really tired for some reason, and I still had to finish unpacking from Disney, and my kitchen still had to be put away, and I had two loads of laundry waiting for me to fold it.

I took Andrew to Story Hour at the library, and we were going to have an early lunch and a nap, so I would feel rested up for the rest of the afternoon and actually make soe headway in my huge mountain of chores.

I was just grabbing a can of alphabet soup for Andy's lunch when Steve walked into the kitchen and suggested we go to Nashua to pick up the light fixtures.

I wasn't happy about it, because I was really hungry and really tired. But I am an adult, and was able to realize this would be better in the long run. I could nap later. So I said OK.

Andy, however, is 4. He was very unhappy about putting off lunch, even though it was only 11am. He wanted ABC soup, and he wanted it NOW. He didn't want to eat out.

I tried reasoning with Andy, and then bribing him, and then finally just picked him up and flung him into the car.

We picked up the lights from a rude lady who apparently mistook snooty for profesional. We went to lunch at an irish pub that got very crowded very quickly. I realized I forgot to call the lady that works for the school district so I could get fingerprinted tand could then go on Nick's class trip the next day.  And then, finally, we headed home.

I was driving, even though I really didn't want to be.

And I was tired, and was really looking forward to a nap.

We were so close, on our street about a mile from the house.

I kind of saw it happen before it actually happened. You see things rushing toward to windshield sometimes - rocks, branches. Usually they thump and them bounce off. But this was a huge branch, one with leaves. It hit the corner of the car and made a huge loud crashing noise. I instinctively closed my eyes and turned away from the branch.

When I opened my eyes the windshield was cracked. There was an impact point not quite unlike a bullet hole in the upper passenger side corner, and cracks shot out from there. The windshield was still up, but there was enough damage to spray glass all over Steve.

When we got home, we were able to see where the branch had hit the body of the car - it was dented, paint scraped away.

If I had been driving six inches to the left, maybe it would have just brushed off of us.

If I had been driving six inches to the right, maybe it would have crashed right through and into Steve's head.

I flapped around the house like a crazy wet hen while Steve did the actual work calling the insurance company and getting the car fixed.

We were down to one car on the day of the field trip, for piano lessons, karate lessons. I have been cramming all three kids into the back of Steve's station wagon, which smells like gas.

Mostly I was just shaken by the whole thing. It was so random. What are the chances of being hit by a huge falling tree branch? It's like the sky was falling. I drove by there twenty minutes later (on my way to get fingerprinted) and there was no branch on the road. No huge half-tree thing which I imagined must be necessary to make such damage.

So... yeah. It took me longer than I thought it would to unpack, put my kitchen in order (not quite done) and catch up on laundry (I give myself until Monday.)