New Year's Resolutions. I'm the queen of making them- usually the queen of breaking them within a week. Those were the resolutions that are BORING: lose weight, get healthier, exercise, be more patient. Ick. Resolutions used to be about following rules.
Last year I made a different kind of resolution: play. This was a good resolution for me. I needed more fun in my life- I was bored, dissatisfied, unhappy. I was quite successful with this resolution. I had a great year. I made new friends, tried new things, played Rock Band on the Wii, took a girl time weekend, went to parties, played games with my kids, reconnected with the spouse, got happy. And being happy and playful spilled over into everything else. I smiled more and laughed often. I began enjoying again the things I used to love. I made scenes with my family (usually in the living room, but not always). I even had a good time working.
I started writing. I took two classes (still contemplating grad school) both of which required writing- even that was fun for me. I started this blog just because I knew you wanted to know my everything little thought. I found other writing outlets. I've wanted to write children's books for most of my adult life and just never took that plunge. I still haven't, but I still might. In any case, I've discovered this is not the only option for me. You never know, I may actually write a book someday. As readers of my blog (suckers), you are entitled to signed first editions.
I rediscovered my family as a source of amusement. They are funny. Hardly a day goes by when something doesn't come up that is wildly hilarious. And I laugh. I don't hide it. I guarantee you that the ability to laugh at one's (self and) family makes the rough times much more bearable. Often, in fact, a rough spot can be patched nicely with a little laughter. This is especially true with my volatile pre-preteen. With a little strategically placed giggle, I can turn her colossal fit of temper into a colossal fit of laughter. You know, of course, that the older spawn and I can guffaw uncontrollably together. They think I'm a bit wacky and perhaps "inappropriate"- Rebecca's word. Wacky is good.
With the rapid approach of 2011, I got to thinking about what I wanted from this new year. I do have some things that need to be improved upon that probably require a little seriousness. But I don't want to ditch my "have fun" state of mind. It's good for us. I need to be a better parent, get spawn #1 on the school bus occasionally, work on the colossal temper of #2, maybe dig through the disaster that is my home. I've decided that play is still top priority, but that maybe playing with my kids more would be the solution. They are always looking for more attention and perhaps getting more of the play variety attention (instead of the nagging that we all hate) will lead to improvements in the serious stuff. Of course, playing with my people is fun!
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Blatant ploy to humiliate spawn
Rebecca made up some interesting words in your youth. She rode a "bitocycle" and played the "pleando". Then there's the common phrase in her young life, "a long time ago yesterday". With a younger sister, she's had many opportunities to teach (sometimes even appropriate stuff). Katie said "handenooger". Rebecca wanted her to say it correctly, so carefully constructed a lesson plan. Say "ham". Say "burger". Say "hamburger." The response? "ham", "burger", "handenooger". She still obsesses about this.
Home improvements in my house will never be televised on network tv. John was working on some project in our house in Maryland, using the colorful language that is required for home improvement work. Little Miss Becky was a quick study. She dropped something while sitting in her car seat and said loudly "Tom Gammit" with the proper tone and heat. This still makes me laugh (mostly because you'd have to know the story to really know what she meant.) When we moved to this house, I spent a lot of summers painting the outside (it used to be rust and green-gag!). One day I'm on the ladder and Becky came storming outside to ask, "Mommy, can I listen to you?" I nearly fell off the ladder laughing. I'd been wondering that for years.
Then there was the day she came home from Kindergarten testing to say she didn't want to be "Becky" anymore, she wanted to be called "Rebecca". Turns out she'd rather write 7 letters than learn to write a "k". Yes, do note that our last name starts with a "K". She never has been one for confronting a challenge. Once we went to Penns Cave (see it by boat) and she couldn't walk down to the cave entrance because she was "afraid from the lion".
It also seems likely that this one is my clone. I used to call my mother complaining about some irritating thing Rebecca had said or done, and my mom would just laugh. I fully anticipate returning the favor when Rebecca has her family. In her young days, we were guaranteed to make an epic scene. There were many times when we were banned or glared out of playgroups and activities. So all the embarrassment I cause her now is total payback.
I could write a book about her sleeping habits. When she was baby, nighttime was not the right time for sleeping. She did not approve. One night I discovered that she found stenciling entertaining. So in the middle of the night, I'd be standing on a ladder in her room painting those cute little balloons around her room. Naptime? Not so much. We would have world war III getting a nap in (for me- I had stuff to do). There were many days when I'd lay down with her at 1pm or so and the rugrat wouldn't actually stop moving long enough to go to sleep until 4pm. No, I didn't decide to give up, but I was certainly wound up by the time she got to sleep. I can't tell you how many times I drove around to put her to sleep. And she liked riding the top of the dryer too. I was one tense first-time mother. She didn't help. She was kind enough to finally sleep through the night when she turned 4- when her sister was born. Thanks. She's still not fond of sleeping- especially on the weekends.
She has had some wacko ideas too. My little drama queen made special friends easily. Whenever we'd have to leave the playground, she would wail "I'll never see her again! She's my best friend!" I'd ask, "What's her name?". She'd yodel back, "I have no idea!" Then there was the preschool love triangle. She was going to marry Lucas K and be a farmer's wife. Never mind that Lucas has terrible allergies, and Rebecca has bad relationships with farm animals. Never mind that Lucas also liked another girl. I'm sure she doesn't remember the weekend that she cried because he liked Rachel better. Somehow their relationship has not passed the test of time. In second grade, I got a phone call from a first grade boy's mother begging me to stop Rebecca from hugging her son. He was getting picked on at the playground. I couldn't look her in the eye when I saw this mom again. I think they left the school. (I may be making that up.) For years, she was going to adopt eighteen Chinese children, and I was going to help take care of them. Now she gives me a look when I remind her of this. Have I mentioned that she used to lick the car tires?
The girl can giggle too. In fact, her dad often quips, "The hyenas called- they want their laugh back." When she and I get rolling, there is no stopping us. Apparently, I'm never going to grow up, and she shows no sign of it either.
Home improvements in my house will never be televised on network tv. John was working on some project in our house in Maryland, using the colorful language that is required for home improvement work. Little Miss Becky was a quick study. She dropped something while sitting in her car seat and said loudly "Tom Gammit" with the proper tone and heat. This still makes me laugh (mostly because you'd have to know the story to really know what she meant.) When we moved to this house, I spent a lot of summers painting the outside (it used to be rust and green-gag!). One day I'm on the ladder and Becky came storming outside to ask, "Mommy, can I listen to you?" I nearly fell off the ladder laughing. I'd been wondering that for years.
Then there was the day she came home from Kindergarten testing to say she didn't want to be "Becky" anymore, she wanted to be called "Rebecca". Turns out she'd rather write 7 letters than learn to write a "k". Yes, do note that our last name starts with a "K". She never has been one for confronting a challenge. Once we went to Penns Cave (see it by boat) and she couldn't walk down to the cave entrance because she was "afraid from the lion".
It also seems likely that this one is my clone. I used to call my mother complaining about some irritating thing Rebecca had said or done, and my mom would just laugh. I fully anticipate returning the favor when Rebecca has her family. In her young days, we were guaranteed to make an epic scene. There were many times when we were banned or glared out of playgroups and activities. So all the embarrassment I cause her now is total payback.
I could write a book about her sleeping habits. When she was baby, nighttime was not the right time for sleeping. She did not approve. One night I discovered that she found stenciling entertaining. So in the middle of the night, I'd be standing on a ladder in her room painting those cute little balloons around her room. Naptime? Not so much. We would have world war III getting a nap in (for me- I had stuff to do). There were many days when I'd lay down with her at 1pm or so and the rugrat wouldn't actually stop moving long enough to go to sleep until 4pm. No, I didn't decide to give up, but I was certainly wound up by the time she got to sleep. I can't tell you how many times I drove around to put her to sleep. And she liked riding the top of the dryer too. I was one tense first-time mother. She didn't help. She was kind enough to finally sleep through the night when she turned 4- when her sister was born. Thanks. She's still not fond of sleeping- especially on the weekends.
She has had some wacko ideas too. My little drama queen made special friends easily. Whenever we'd have to leave the playground, she would wail "I'll never see her again! She's my best friend!" I'd ask, "What's her name?". She'd yodel back, "I have no idea!" Then there was the preschool love triangle. She was going to marry Lucas K and be a farmer's wife. Never mind that Lucas has terrible allergies, and Rebecca has bad relationships with farm animals. Never mind that Lucas also liked another girl. I'm sure she doesn't remember the weekend that she cried because he liked Rachel better. Somehow their relationship has not passed the test of time. In second grade, I got a phone call from a first grade boy's mother begging me to stop Rebecca from hugging her son. He was getting picked on at the playground. I couldn't look her in the eye when I saw this mom again. I think they left the school. (I may be making that up.) For years, she was going to adopt eighteen Chinese children, and I was going to help take care of them. Now she gives me a look when I remind her of this. Have I mentioned that she used to lick the car tires?
The girl can giggle too. In fact, her dad often quips, "The hyenas called- they want their laugh back." When she and I get rolling, there is no stopping us. Apparently, I'm never going to grow up, and she shows no sign of it either.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Katie Alert
Today is the tenth birthday of my number 2 spawn. This child has made my life more interesting since the day she was born. She makes me either laugh or want to rip my hair out every minute that she is awake.
Katie's mispronunciations have always amused me. For dinner tonight, we had her favorite food, which she used to call "bazanya". She used to call breakfast, "brecksticks" and I swear it still has a tinge of this old word when she says it now. She counted "Zeeps" on road trips. Endlessly amusing to me is her habit of calling John's mom and dad, grandpa and grandpa.
As a baby, Katie was either entertained by the big sister or crying. We had a little song we sang, "oh, oh, Katie's crying" (sung to Janie's Crying). Katie was also very fond of piano. When Daddy was doing the ordeal of putting Rebecca to bed (and may I interject here that Rebecca didn't sleep through the night until her sister was born?), I would play the piano. It never put Katie to sleep and probably kept Rebecca awake longer, but it was more entertaining for me that listening to Katie cry.
When Katie was a toddler, we had an early alarm system. Rebecca would say "Katie alert" when Katie was headed for trouble (probably following the older sister.) One day, Katie was headed up the stairs to the deck and announced her own "Katie alert". This was probably seconds before the older sister tied her up in a chain. Yikes! At every one of her well-child visits for the first couple years, the pediatrician warned that the biggest threat to Katie's safety was her sister. No joke.
For her 3rd Christmas, Katie required a hat. She was dancing around the living room- encouraged by her older sister- and crashed headfirst into the coffee table. Emergency room trip number one resulting in stitches in her forehead and a little striped bear that she still cherishes and dresses up. Then for kicks, she cut off her bangs down to her forehead. I wondered at the time how her 7 year old sister didn't notice that 1) there were scissors in the playroom and 2) that Katie had them and was chopping hair. But fine, the hat that matched her dress was cute, the stitches healed, the hair grew.
To say that Katie is rough, would be an understatement. She puts the "tough" in "tough love". A favorite pastime of days gone by is "Climb every Mommy" (reference to Sound of Music). A hug that doesn't involve glasses knocked askew or an elbow to the head, is just sub-standard. A common phrase heard in my house? "And a blow to the head." The child has more elbows than normal and a couple extra knees as well. She has yet to figure out that my feet are ALWAYS found at the end of my legs- either that or she enjoys toes squishing. And those AREN'T handles!! And why hug someone when you can tackle them?
Katie is moodier than a teenager. God help me when she actually is a teenager. I'll be leaving home. One minute I am the best mother on the planet. The next I am lower than dirt. One day, I'm out of my mind for suggesting she could stay up late to watch a movie. The next day (today, in fact), this suggestion is perfectly acceptable. And holy cow, if I don't do the thing she thinks I said I would do- wowza! One day a few weeks ago, she thought I promised to pick her up from school with her drum. I did not. Well, the next day, every person I saw at school had to tell me about the saga of this poor, unfortunate child waiting for me- and the beautiful fit she had.
Katie brings out the grown-up in her mother. Church is probably not her best thing. (Katie is not an asset to the abbey.) So when I'm brave (read stupid) enough to take her, it requires a little distraction. We write notes or exchange pictures. Her dad is not so patient with her, so I usually have to separate them. :) And I almost always sit in the balcony so fewer people can witness. Well, a few weeks ago, Rebecca was singing in choir and I let John pick the spot- so we were at the front of the church. Unfortunately, I was not an asset to the abbey that day and proceeded to write silly stuff to Katie and giggle more than she did. (Rebecca was mortified- all to the good, in my opinion.)
Best thing on earth? A hug from my Katie girl. I may not survive it, but what a way to go.
Katie's mispronunciations have always amused me. For dinner tonight, we had her favorite food, which she used to call "bazanya". She used to call breakfast, "brecksticks" and I swear it still has a tinge of this old word when she says it now. She counted "Zeeps" on road trips. Endlessly amusing to me is her habit of calling John's mom and dad, grandpa and grandpa.
As a baby, Katie was either entertained by the big sister or crying. We had a little song we sang, "oh, oh, Katie's crying" (sung to Janie's Crying). Katie was also very fond of piano. When Daddy was doing the ordeal of putting Rebecca to bed (and may I interject here that Rebecca didn't sleep through the night until her sister was born?), I would play the piano. It never put Katie to sleep and probably kept Rebecca awake longer, but it was more entertaining for me that listening to Katie cry.
When Katie was a toddler, we had an early alarm system. Rebecca would say "Katie alert" when Katie was headed for trouble (probably following the older sister.) One day, Katie was headed up the stairs to the deck and announced her own "Katie alert". This was probably seconds before the older sister tied her up in a chain. Yikes! At every one of her well-child visits for the first couple years, the pediatrician warned that the biggest threat to Katie's safety was her sister. No joke.
For her 3rd Christmas, Katie required a hat. She was dancing around the living room- encouraged by her older sister- and crashed headfirst into the coffee table. Emergency room trip number one resulting in stitches in her forehead and a little striped bear that she still cherishes and dresses up. Then for kicks, she cut off her bangs down to her forehead. I wondered at the time how her 7 year old sister didn't notice that 1) there were scissors in the playroom and 2) that Katie had them and was chopping hair. But fine, the hat that matched her dress was cute, the stitches healed, the hair grew.
To say that Katie is rough, would be an understatement. She puts the "tough" in "tough love". A favorite pastime of days gone by is "Climb every Mommy" (reference to Sound of Music). A hug that doesn't involve glasses knocked askew or an elbow to the head, is just sub-standard. A common phrase heard in my house? "And a blow to the head." The child has more elbows than normal and a couple extra knees as well. She has yet to figure out that my feet are ALWAYS found at the end of my legs- either that or she enjoys toes squishing. And those AREN'T handles!! And why hug someone when you can tackle them?
Katie is moodier than a teenager. God help me when she actually is a teenager. I'll be leaving home. One minute I am the best mother on the planet. The next I am lower than dirt. One day, I'm out of my mind for suggesting she could stay up late to watch a movie. The next day (today, in fact), this suggestion is perfectly acceptable. And holy cow, if I don't do the thing she thinks I said I would do- wowza! One day a few weeks ago, she thought I promised to pick her up from school with her drum. I did not. Well, the next day, every person I saw at school had to tell me about the saga of this poor, unfortunate child waiting for me- and the beautiful fit she had.
Katie brings out the grown-up in her mother. Church is probably not her best thing. (Katie is not an asset to the abbey.) So when I'm brave (read stupid) enough to take her, it requires a little distraction. We write notes or exchange pictures. Her dad is not so patient with her, so I usually have to separate them. :) And I almost always sit in the balcony so fewer people can witness. Well, a few weeks ago, Rebecca was singing in choir and I let John pick the spot- so we were at the front of the church. Unfortunately, I was not an asset to the abbey that day and proceeded to write silly stuff to Katie and giggle more than she did. (Rebecca was mortified- all to the good, in my opinion.)
Best thing on earth? A hug from my Katie girl. I may not survive it, but what a way to go.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
it's not about that
I went out to lunch with friends the other day. It wasn't about food at all (although the pizza was fab). It was hilarious, inappropriate conversation about a new craft endeavor that I shall market to special friends in the sizes regular and gynormous. It was about friends giving me excellent birthday advice. Laughing. It was about a random stranger walking past us saying, "you are having too much fun." A good lunch.
Thanksgiving spent with family. A recipe for some interesting times. Thanksgiving with my family this year was about something other than being thankful or being with family. My brother, the ultimate drama queen, somehow makes everything about him. My senior year of high school, he went MIA. Every neighborhood conversation became "any news about your brother?" I probably am selfish, then and now, but I got to the point where I didn't give a rat. He was found, of course. He'd moved to Florida to do something or another and didn't feel like telling anyone. My brother specializes in changing careers. One Thanksgiving he picked me up from Penn State (where I was hiding because I was supposed to already be gone) in a Mayflower tractor-trailer. He's been a brilliant software geek (which I have to say was probably the right career for him) which he gave up to go to nursing school. This one still slays me. But somehow it seems to be a good profession for him? Until now of course. He had cataract surgery recently and something went wrong I guess. He had to miss working over Thanksgiving and possibly has lost his job at Johnstown Hospital. Since I've had convo with him about this job- hospital nurses are underpaid and overworked- Who Knew???, I know this is no crying shame for him. And, imagine this- anyone who has ever been in a hospital, hospitals are loud and it's hard to hear. This is a problem for a person with total deafness in one ear and loss in the other. Who knew this would be a problem? Anyhow. The point is that my dear brother's eye pain made it impossible for him to sit with the family for a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, but not impossible for him to come down 30 minutes later after the food was all cleaned up. Of course he required food to be served to him and of course he spoke to me. Never a good plan. My brother puts the asshole in opinionated. By which I mean to say, we disagree. And my disagreeing with him caused a bit of a conversation with my father that could have been avoided had I engaged my brain. So, Thanksgiving at my family was NOT about being thankful and enjoying family. It was about eating and disappointing my parents because we didn't stay very long. But dear mom sent us home with lots of goodies.
I'm giving my darling elder spawn a lot of grief about catching the school bus on Tuesday- her last and only opportunity in November to actually ride her assigned bus. Now, it may not really be the only time this month, but it was a definite rare thing. But this razzing is not about catching the bus. It's about playing with her. I don't really care if she catches the bus or not. I enjoy our morning car time. I get the secrets I never hear about otherwise- like which boy she likes at school. (Can't believe she made the mistake of telling me that after what I did to her last year!!) And secrets like what she's doing after school or in school and whether she's in district choir or not. We sing along to CD's. We giggle and play. She spends 10 minutes gathering her junk from the front seat to get out of my car, while I turn the volume up to embarrass her.
And speaking of embarrassing her, her church choir sang last week. When she sings in church, the father chooses an up close location. (When I take spawn to church we sit in the back of the balcony where nobody knows what's happening). Well, I started exchanging notes with Katie as she is not an asset to the abbey. But apparently my notes weren't really about keeping her on good church behavior. Because I got to giggling and pretty much carried on throughout the whole service. Rebecca was in the front row of choir and saw everything, cringing and making the universal finger/eye ball gesture of "I'm watching you." This made me laugh even more.
It's not about that. A phone call is not about having something to say, it's about wanting to talk to someone so much that you figure out an excuse. A hug is not about the reason for the hug, it's about wanting physical reassurance from someone you love. A smile is not about how something makes you feel, it's about the how the person who did the something makes you feel.
So I'm working on my holiday attitude. Christmas and birthdays (which are essentially synchronized in my land) have been about pleasing everyone and failing to please everyone, planning hectic holiday visits with family, hoping for time for friends, wishing for more time- before the holidays and after. But this is not what it's about. It's about making time for the things I want to do: hosting a party, singing in choir, singing in my first voice recital, the annual Christmas Eve party with good friends (which I skipped one year to finish Rebecca's Christmas dress- really??), caroling. It's about choosing what to do with my family: slaying the Christmas tree, hosting birthday parties that the kids plan, encouraging my dad to serve whiskey sours, doing puzzles with the crazy in-laws. It's about doing for others in ways that make sense for us: wrapping for Toys for Tots, smiling at strangers, maybe only one Angel Tree gift this year. So, my mantra for this season, it's not about that. When I forget, please remind me: preferably with a phone call, hug, smile or lunch date.
Thanksgiving spent with family. A recipe for some interesting times. Thanksgiving with my family this year was about something other than being thankful or being with family. My brother, the ultimate drama queen, somehow makes everything about him. My senior year of high school, he went MIA. Every neighborhood conversation became "any news about your brother?" I probably am selfish, then and now, but I got to the point where I didn't give a rat. He was found, of course. He'd moved to Florida to do something or another and didn't feel like telling anyone. My brother specializes in changing careers. One Thanksgiving he picked me up from Penn State (where I was hiding because I was supposed to already be gone) in a Mayflower tractor-trailer. He's been a brilliant software geek (which I have to say was probably the right career for him) which he gave up to go to nursing school. This one still slays me. But somehow it seems to be a good profession for him? Until now of course. He had cataract surgery recently and something went wrong I guess. He had to miss working over Thanksgiving and possibly has lost his job at Johnstown Hospital. Since I've had convo with him about this job- hospital nurses are underpaid and overworked- Who Knew???, I know this is no crying shame for him. And, imagine this- anyone who has ever been in a hospital, hospitals are loud and it's hard to hear. This is a problem for a person with total deafness in one ear and loss in the other. Who knew this would be a problem? Anyhow. The point is that my dear brother's eye pain made it impossible for him to sit with the family for a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, but not impossible for him to come down 30 minutes later after the food was all cleaned up. Of course he required food to be served to him and of course he spoke to me. Never a good plan. My brother puts the asshole in opinionated. By which I mean to say, we disagree. And my disagreeing with him caused a bit of a conversation with my father that could have been avoided had I engaged my brain. So, Thanksgiving at my family was NOT about being thankful and enjoying family. It was about eating and disappointing my parents because we didn't stay very long. But dear mom sent us home with lots of goodies.
I'm giving my darling elder spawn a lot of grief about catching the school bus on Tuesday- her last and only opportunity in November to actually ride her assigned bus. Now, it may not really be the only time this month, but it was a definite rare thing. But this razzing is not about catching the bus. It's about playing with her. I don't really care if she catches the bus or not. I enjoy our morning car time. I get the secrets I never hear about otherwise- like which boy she likes at school. (Can't believe she made the mistake of telling me that after what I did to her last year!!) And secrets like what she's doing after school or in school and whether she's in district choir or not. We sing along to CD's. We giggle and play. She spends 10 minutes gathering her junk from the front seat to get out of my car, while I turn the volume up to embarrass her.
And speaking of embarrassing her, her church choir sang last week. When she sings in church, the father chooses an up close location. (When I take spawn to church we sit in the back of the balcony where nobody knows what's happening). Well, I started exchanging notes with Katie as she is not an asset to the abbey. But apparently my notes weren't really about keeping her on good church behavior. Because I got to giggling and pretty much carried on throughout the whole service. Rebecca was in the front row of choir and saw everything, cringing and making the universal finger/eye ball gesture of "I'm watching you." This made me laugh even more.
It's not about that. A phone call is not about having something to say, it's about wanting to talk to someone so much that you figure out an excuse. A hug is not about the reason for the hug, it's about wanting physical reassurance from someone you love. A smile is not about how something makes you feel, it's about the how the person who did the something makes you feel.
So I'm working on my holiday attitude. Christmas and birthdays (which are essentially synchronized in my land) have been about pleasing everyone and failing to please everyone, planning hectic holiday visits with family, hoping for time for friends, wishing for more time- before the holidays and after. But this is not what it's about. It's about making time for the things I want to do: hosting a party, singing in choir, singing in my first voice recital, the annual Christmas Eve party with good friends (which I skipped one year to finish Rebecca's Christmas dress- really??), caroling. It's about choosing what to do with my family: slaying the Christmas tree, hosting birthday parties that the kids plan, encouraging my dad to serve whiskey sours, doing puzzles with the crazy in-laws. It's about doing for others in ways that make sense for us: wrapping for Toys for Tots, smiling at strangers, maybe only one Angel Tree gift this year. So, my mantra for this season, it's not about that. When I forget, please remind me: preferably with a phone call, hug, smile or lunch date.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Four weddings and no funeral
I like weddings. When I hear about people going to weddings, I get a little bit envious. I'm not sure what it is about weddings that appeals to me so much. Perhaps it's the fancy clothes and uncomfortable shoes. Maybe it's the champagne (which I love). Maybe it's just my romantic nature that loves to see people commit to forever.
I'm told that I got married. Yup. I remember very little of the day. I was a little stressed apparently. I'm also told that I promised to "love, honor, and obey". I KNOW I didn't do that. I know that even though the minister had to practically say the words one at a time for me to repeat them that I never would have said "obey". I'd tell you more about the day, but, as I said, I don't remember. Maybe I'll find the documentation to prove that I'm married. Maybe I'll find some pictures before our 20th Anniversary (which is in about 4 months). Maybe.
A long time ago, barely before children, I went to my first and favorite college roomie's wedding in gorgeous, historic Charleston, South Carolina. What do I remember about this wedding? One of her bridesmaids had an arm chewed off by an alligator. I saw my freshman year true love for the first time in a long, long time with his wife, who still didn't want to speak to me, pregnant with their 3rd (egads!) child- due about the same time that our first was. It was then that I realized with a smile that things sometimes work out the way they are supposed to and that he was a bit of a schmuck. It was wonderful to see my friend finally get her MRS degree. I love this friend, but I think she'd be the first to admit that she went to college to find a husband. It took a little time, but she found a good guy. Except that they keep moving farther south.
The most recent wedding we've been to must be when my brother- and sister-in-law got married, either 7 or 8 years ago. I'd apologize for not remembering which, but considering we forgot that it was last month and sent no card, I doubt they'd be surprised that we don't know how many years they've been married. Sigh. They got married under a gazebo in the back yard of their quaint house. The ceremony was beautiful. The flowers in their little vials of pine water were delicious according to the toddler monster we had to bring with us. Both children enjoyed traipsing through the mud of the carefully tended flower beds. Neither child could sit still or quietly through the elegant ceremony. Then we arrived at the exclusive B&B, I think, where a gorgeous, elegant, long meal was served in style. Not that I noticed because I was fretting with a 6 year old (give or take) who can't sit still yet at 13 and the aforementioned little loud monster, whose goal in life up until age 8 was to ralf in as many locations as possible. And, yes, she did. I think the bride and groom didn't even know about it. (That's how good I got at predicting and responding with wicked sharp reflexes.)
Why am I thinking about weddings? I recently (in the past 6 months or so) reconnected with a college friend through my favorite social networking site. We enjoyed chatting, emailing, posting, what-have-you. We talked about our s.o's and when she got engaged I cheered with all of her other friends. We exchanged conversations about this and then out of the blue, she said if she had room in her guest list she would invite us to the wedding. I didn't think too much about this as I hadn't seen her in over 20 years and how likely would this be?
This friend and I met our freshman year of college: she lived on the 2nd floor of the best dorm at Penn State and I lived on the 1st floor. We spent some time together those early years because that was the kind of dorm it was. She moved out. I got thrown out (essentially, but not really.) Then came the summer we were both 21 and living in State College. Both of us had a huge aptitude for fun and dancing (and drinking) which we indulged most Thursday nights- enjoying $2 Long Island Iced Teas at Mr. C's and dancing 'til we dropped or the bar closed. I think it's at least possible that the dancing and fun were the draw rather than the beverages that make you blind. I remember this summer as the best summer of my life to that point (possibly forever). We just had so much fun. This summer also had another bonus, in that Sue had a friend that she introduced me to. One night he came with us out dancing wearing the most godawful pair of shorts I have ever seen (it was the 80's). Somehow, in spite of those shorts, the rest is history. It was probably because he had a car.
So I got this facebook message from Sue asking for my home address if I really thought we'd come to the wedding. It seemed the right thing to do. And it was the right thing to do. And, no, we didn't take the children. This past weekend we traveled to some cute little town (she called it "soulless") outside of Philly. Being a little discombobulated on a good day, I had directions to the location of the wedding but not the hotel. We followed our convoluted directions to arrive at the hall just as she was leaving with her matron of honor and the dude performing the ceremony. So we followed them to the hotel. Another amazing little quirk of fate.
The wedding was perfect in every way: quirky, funny, thought-provoking, beautiful. A tribute to two souls who finally found each other. The bride's mother sang "Desperado"- I mean, read part of the desiderato. They wrote their own vows. His beautifully spoken from the heart. Hers written down on a folded up piece of paper that she snuck from the the matron to the officiant, so she could read the beautiful words she'd written so carefully and lovingly. They danced down the "aisle" both to and from the ceremony in one of those New Orleans things that I can't remember the name. Through the whole ceremony, I was either laughing or crying.
Then we started eating. A fabulous buffet of breakfast foods of wondrousness- including an omelette station and a Belgian waffle dessert bar. Yummy! Then we started dancing. It was a wonderful party of fun, appropriate songs to get your feet moving. I sang and danced all night long with occasional breaks before I fell down. I had a most fabulous time acting like the 20something I should still be. Although, when we did "Shout" I did not "go a little bit lower now"- since I worried I wouldn't make it back up. And we had words for the poor DJ when he cut off the best part of "Love Shack". I think it's extremely possible that I did a little dirty dancing during "Brick House". If anyone was offended, I apologize.
Beyond the fun factor and getting away as a couple, it was so special to see this friend from so long ago as she embarked on a new path with her soulmate. It was heart-warming to hear from her family, friends and coworkers just how incredible a human being she is- she always was, but age brings more to us. And she was so darn cute telling the story (in front of everyone) of how she introduced my hubby and I and watched us fall in love in front of her very eyes. We agree that is an exaggeration. But we do have the Sue Shrine in our living room which we bow towards on alternate Tuesdays.
I'm told that I got married. Yup. I remember very little of the day. I was a little stressed apparently. I'm also told that I promised to "love, honor, and obey". I KNOW I didn't do that. I know that even though the minister had to practically say the words one at a time for me to repeat them that I never would have said "obey". I'd tell you more about the day, but, as I said, I don't remember. Maybe I'll find the documentation to prove that I'm married. Maybe I'll find some pictures before our 20th Anniversary (which is in about 4 months). Maybe.
A long time ago, barely before children, I went to my first and favorite college roomie's wedding in gorgeous, historic Charleston, South Carolina. What do I remember about this wedding? One of her bridesmaids had an arm chewed off by an alligator. I saw my freshman year true love for the first time in a long, long time with his wife, who still didn't want to speak to me, pregnant with their 3rd (egads!) child- due about the same time that our first was. It was then that I realized with a smile that things sometimes work out the way they are supposed to and that he was a bit of a schmuck. It was wonderful to see my friend finally get her MRS degree. I love this friend, but I think she'd be the first to admit that she went to college to find a husband. It took a little time, but she found a good guy. Except that they keep moving farther south.
The most recent wedding we've been to must be when my brother- and sister-in-law got married, either 7 or 8 years ago. I'd apologize for not remembering which, but considering we forgot that it was last month and sent no card, I doubt they'd be surprised that we don't know how many years they've been married. Sigh. They got married under a gazebo in the back yard of their quaint house. The ceremony was beautiful. The flowers in their little vials of pine water were delicious according to the toddler monster we had to bring with us. Both children enjoyed traipsing through the mud of the carefully tended flower beds. Neither child could sit still or quietly through the elegant ceremony. Then we arrived at the exclusive B&B, I think, where a gorgeous, elegant, long meal was served in style. Not that I noticed because I was fretting with a 6 year old (give or take) who can't sit still yet at 13 and the aforementioned little loud monster, whose goal in life up until age 8 was to ralf in as many locations as possible. And, yes, she did. I think the bride and groom didn't even know about it. (That's how good I got at predicting and responding with wicked sharp reflexes.)
Why am I thinking about weddings? I recently (in the past 6 months or so) reconnected with a college friend through my favorite social networking site. We enjoyed chatting, emailing, posting, what-have-you. We talked about our s.o's and when she got engaged I cheered with all of her other friends. We exchanged conversations about this and then out of the blue, she said if she had room in her guest list she would invite us to the wedding. I didn't think too much about this as I hadn't seen her in over 20 years and how likely would this be?
This friend and I met our freshman year of college: she lived on the 2nd floor of the best dorm at Penn State and I lived on the 1st floor. We spent some time together those early years because that was the kind of dorm it was. She moved out. I got thrown out (essentially, but not really.) Then came the summer we were both 21 and living in State College. Both of us had a huge aptitude for fun and dancing (and drinking) which we indulged most Thursday nights- enjoying $2 Long Island Iced Teas at Mr. C's and dancing 'til we dropped or the bar closed. I think it's at least possible that the dancing and fun were the draw rather than the beverages that make you blind. I remember this summer as the best summer of my life to that point (possibly forever). We just had so much fun. This summer also had another bonus, in that Sue had a friend that she introduced me to. One night he came with us out dancing wearing the most godawful pair of shorts I have ever seen (it was the 80's). Somehow, in spite of those shorts, the rest is history. It was probably because he had a car.
So I got this facebook message from Sue asking for my home address if I really thought we'd come to the wedding. It seemed the right thing to do. And it was the right thing to do. And, no, we didn't take the children. This past weekend we traveled to some cute little town (she called it "soulless") outside of Philly. Being a little discombobulated on a good day, I had directions to the location of the wedding but not the hotel. We followed our convoluted directions to arrive at the hall just as she was leaving with her matron of honor and the dude performing the ceremony. So we followed them to the hotel. Another amazing little quirk of fate.
The wedding was perfect in every way: quirky, funny, thought-provoking, beautiful. A tribute to two souls who finally found each other. The bride's mother sang "Desperado"- I mean, read part of the desiderato. They wrote their own vows. His beautifully spoken from the heart. Hers written down on a folded up piece of paper that she snuck from the the matron to the officiant, so she could read the beautiful words she'd written so carefully and lovingly. They danced down the "aisle" both to and from the ceremony in one of those New Orleans things that I can't remember the name. Through the whole ceremony, I was either laughing or crying.
Then we started eating. A fabulous buffet of breakfast foods of wondrousness- including an omelette station and a Belgian waffle dessert bar. Yummy! Then we started dancing. It was a wonderful party of fun, appropriate songs to get your feet moving. I sang and danced all night long with occasional breaks before I fell down. I had a most fabulous time acting like the 20something I should still be. Although, when we did "Shout" I did not "go a little bit lower now"- since I worried I wouldn't make it back up. And we had words for the poor DJ when he cut off the best part of "Love Shack". I think it's extremely possible that I did a little dirty dancing during "Brick House". If anyone was offended, I apologize.
Beyond the fun factor and getting away as a couple, it was so special to see this friend from so long ago as she embarked on a new path with her soulmate. It was heart-warming to hear from her family, friends and coworkers just how incredible a human being she is- she always was, but age brings more to us. And she was so darn cute telling the story (in front of everyone) of how she introduced my hubby and I and watched us fall in love in front of her very eyes. We agree that is an exaggeration. But we do have the Sue Shrine in our living room which we bow towards on alternate Tuesdays.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
One Less Meow to Answer
This week I must say goodbye to a part of our family. Yes, she's just a cat. But she's been a part of the family for longer than the children.
We adopted Katzchen from an acquaintance's front porch in the early years of our marriage. This poor little creature, too young to leave her mother, was terrified to join our little family. She was alternately ignored by and hissed at from our other cat. We laughed at her from the beginning. She got so exhausted adjusting to us the first day that she fell asleep standing up with her paw in the air. She soon became our happy lap cat. The other cat avoided us or not depending on mood, but Katzchen always wanted to be with us. She and I bonded over a mutual affection for Pop Tarts and Spaghettios. Then there was the time she cornered the mouse in my shoe in our basement apartment. Nope, this cat wouldn't consider a mouse food, merely a plaything. It wasn't until we brought another little being into our home that Katzchen's true wonderfulness came out. When Becky (as she was then) cried, the other cat hid under the couch. Katzchen came to fetch us. She looked at us as if to say, "Hello, people, the kitten is crying. Get moving." On the evenings that we tried to get the baby to fall asleep on her own (who was that idiot child expert who thought that was a good idea?), Katzchen would stand outside the bedroom door and stare at us. There was no enjoying whatever we were trying to do while Becky cried (as if), with the babysitter on duty. In fact, Katzchen still does this. If someone is upset, she comes to get us.
Katzchen has been relatively flexible with the other additions to the family. Baby #2 was accepted without question, although she wasn't as tolerant of the racket. The kittens were not met with such favor. She was pretty irritated when Trouble joined us- since he's such a pain in the butt, I can't help but agree with her opinion on that. She learned to ignore him. When Trampoline entered the picture, she gave us a look like "not again". Since Trouble and Tramp entertained each other pretty well in those days, she was happy enough to retain the laps and lose the youngun attention.
Several years ago, Katzchen was the beneficiary of an over-priced cancer removal surgery. (What were we thinking?) The funniest thing about that was the cone she had to wear on her head, which really irritated her and scared the heck out of Trouble. It was pretty amusing to watch him skeedaddle when he saw her or heard the plastic scraping some random surface. Then a couple years after that, the most expensive veterinarian in State College, clued us in that she was at risk for kidney failure. We tried to take care of her with the special food. Three cats sharing the same food bowl made that an expensive endeavor that we eventually gave up on. Ignoring this issue worked out well for us for a long time. Probably not so much for her.
Alas, we can ignore this no longer. Katzchen is clearly very sick and very old. Her soft coat is icky. The cat who used to be able to jump from the floor to the top of the entertainment center now has trouble climbing up a chair or on the bed. Her eyesight is going. A few weeks ago she fell down an entire flight of wooden stairs. She's always been a big yakker, but lately it's much worse. And clearly it exhausts her. Today she yakked, tried to walk and fell down. So, the thought that has been in the back of my mind for months is now in the front of my mind.
So. On Friday, when the kids are home from school, we'll be taking our beloved and wonderful cat to a place that will end with cat heaven. I know she has forgiven us for everything we have done to her. Nonetheless, we will pamper this cat as much as we can this week. She deserves all of the tuna in the store (her favorite thing on earth- besides us perhaps), lots of petting and chin scratching, bowls of milk. Her last car trip (her least favorite thing on earth, besides moving) will be traveling in style in her favorite blanket with her head peeking out as she cries, "what the heck are you doing to me now?" in that disapproving old cat voice. We will miss that crotchety rarr.
Many apologies to my friends who have suffered real loss.
We adopted Katzchen from an acquaintance's front porch in the early years of our marriage. This poor little creature, too young to leave her mother, was terrified to join our little family. She was alternately ignored by and hissed at from our other cat. We laughed at her from the beginning. She got so exhausted adjusting to us the first day that she fell asleep standing up with her paw in the air. She soon became our happy lap cat. The other cat avoided us or not depending on mood, but Katzchen always wanted to be with us. She and I bonded over a mutual affection for Pop Tarts and Spaghettios. Then there was the time she cornered the mouse in my shoe in our basement apartment. Nope, this cat wouldn't consider a mouse food, merely a plaything. It wasn't until we brought another little being into our home that Katzchen's true wonderfulness came out. When Becky (as she was then) cried, the other cat hid under the couch. Katzchen came to fetch us. She looked at us as if to say, "Hello, people, the kitten is crying. Get moving." On the evenings that we tried to get the baby to fall asleep on her own (who was that idiot child expert who thought that was a good idea?), Katzchen would stand outside the bedroom door and stare at us. There was no enjoying whatever we were trying to do while Becky cried (as if), with the babysitter on duty. In fact, Katzchen still does this. If someone is upset, she comes to get us.
Katzchen has been relatively flexible with the other additions to the family. Baby #2 was accepted without question, although she wasn't as tolerant of the racket. The kittens were not met with such favor. She was pretty irritated when Trouble joined us- since he's such a pain in the butt, I can't help but agree with her opinion on that. She learned to ignore him. When Trampoline entered the picture, she gave us a look like "not again". Since Trouble and Tramp entertained each other pretty well in those days, she was happy enough to retain the laps and lose the youngun attention.
Several years ago, Katzchen was the beneficiary of an over-priced cancer removal surgery. (What were we thinking?) The funniest thing about that was the cone she had to wear on her head, which really irritated her and scared the heck out of Trouble. It was pretty amusing to watch him skeedaddle when he saw her or heard the plastic scraping some random surface. Then a couple years after that, the most expensive veterinarian in State College, clued us in that she was at risk for kidney failure. We tried to take care of her with the special food. Three cats sharing the same food bowl made that an expensive endeavor that we eventually gave up on. Ignoring this issue worked out well for us for a long time. Probably not so much for her.
Alas, we can ignore this no longer. Katzchen is clearly very sick and very old. Her soft coat is icky. The cat who used to be able to jump from the floor to the top of the entertainment center now has trouble climbing up a chair or on the bed. Her eyesight is going. A few weeks ago she fell down an entire flight of wooden stairs. She's always been a big yakker, but lately it's much worse. And clearly it exhausts her. Today she yakked, tried to walk and fell down. So, the thought that has been in the back of my mind for months is now in the front of my mind.
So. On Friday, when the kids are home from school, we'll be taking our beloved and wonderful cat to a place that will end with cat heaven. I know she has forgiven us for everything we have done to her. Nonetheless, we will pamper this cat as much as we can this week. She deserves all of the tuna in the store (her favorite thing on earth- besides us perhaps), lots of petting and chin scratching, bowls of milk. Her last car trip (her least favorite thing on earth, besides moving) will be traveling in style in her favorite blanket with her head peeking out as she cries, "what the heck are you doing to me now?" in that disapproving old cat voice. We will miss that crotchety rarr.
Many apologies to my friends who have suffered real loss.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Lost and Found
Life is not always fun. This is a fact.
The worst time in my life ever was not that long ago. For about two years, maybe a little less, I was in a pit. I was desperately unhappy with everything in my life. I kept my family so busy with activities, I couldn't find us. I felt obligated to prove that I was worth holding space on earth by volunteering for everything. I hated all of it. I got so angry with the piano teacher for running late that I switched piano teachers (and made the kid unhappy with piano). I was angry with the kids. At summer swim team (which is so much fun), I was angry that Rebecca wouldn't swim faster to the point that a good friend told me to lighten up. I quit the things that were fun for me to make my life "easier." The bell choir director said, "Are you sure?" My best friend had moved away, and I couldn't talk to her it hurt so badly. I cried all the time. My eldest daughter walked on eggshells around me. I could see in her eyes that she was scared. I just stopped being me. My lighten up friend guided me to the realization that I was depressed. That was a step in the right direction.
On my birthday, my parents came to see Rebecca sing in church with her choir and to take us out to lunch. This doesn't happen much, so it was a big deal. The minister started preaching about joy and I cried. I couldn't stop crying. We didn't go to lunch. I celebrated my birthday with uncontrollable tears. I went to the doctor the next day and (cried uncontrollably) began my foray into happiness through mood-altering drugs. It helped. The way a tylenol takes the edge off a bad headache. I didn't cry all the time, but I didn't feel much of anything or think much of anything. I wasn't that psycho, but I wasn't me.
I talked to a counselor who clued me in that I'm my own worst critic. And from talking with girl friends, this seems to be a common thing with women. My expectations were so high for myself that I could never dream of living up to them. And I didn't - live up to them that is. I tried to. I tried to give my kids their fabulous birthday parties at Christmastime. I didn't cook because I couldn't cook anything worth eating in my opinion. I stopped cleaning, because frankly I suck at cleaning. I was a substitute teacher at the time and was terrified of sitting in the faculty room because I stink at small talk. Through many, many counseling sessions (where I ... cried, of course), I finally was released from my own expectations. So I became a more reasonable human being, but still not myself.
Last Christmas, I started playing. I started having outrageous conversations on Facebook. We went to our friends' house for dinner and games and I cranked up the silly. Santa gave us a Wii (by the way, can someone please out Santa to my almost 10-year-old?). We spent New Year's Eve with our good friends in Pittsburgh, where we discovered that we had to have Band Hero for the Wii. I made a conscious decision- call it a New Year's Resolution if you need to- to play regularly. I started dancing with my kids to fun music like Lady Gaga. I remembered how amusing word play is to me. I have some friends who can pun with the big dogs. I went to Games Night religiously and let my silly, competitive self run wild and free (and amused people by singing along with the radio.) I discovered the play in cooking as I created theme dinners of immense magnitude (and calories) and expense. Along the way, I lost the need for counseling and for chemicals.
What I found was laughter and lots of it. I found a beautiful relationship with my daughters, who once again have a mother who is sane, sometimes patient, sometimes inappropriate, mostly happy. I rediscovered my amazing husband, always there for me, but now enjoying some benefits instead of just worry. I've made new friends who share my optimism and love of fun and don't seem to mind if I'm not always contributing to the conversation. With my new attitude and confidence, I got hired for the best job I have ever had in my life, spending a very fast-moving, brief workday with a wonderful teacher and hilarious and charming children. I've even turned lousy housekeeping into a theme for a soiree.
So, yea, life isn't always fun. But it is way easier to take the rough spots with a play-full frame of mind.
The worst time in my life ever was not that long ago. For about two years, maybe a little less, I was in a pit. I was desperately unhappy with everything in my life. I kept my family so busy with activities, I couldn't find us. I felt obligated to prove that I was worth holding space on earth by volunteering for everything. I hated all of it. I got so angry with the piano teacher for running late that I switched piano teachers (and made the kid unhappy with piano). I was angry with the kids. At summer swim team (which is so much fun), I was angry that Rebecca wouldn't swim faster to the point that a good friend told me to lighten up. I quit the things that were fun for me to make my life "easier." The bell choir director said, "Are you sure?" My best friend had moved away, and I couldn't talk to her it hurt so badly. I cried all the time. My eldest daughter walked on eggshells around me. I could see in her eyes that she was scared. I just stopped being me. My lighten up friend guided me to the realization that I was depressed. That was a step in the right direction.
On my birthday, my parents came to see Rebecca sing in church with her choir and to take us out to lunch. This doesn't happen much, so it was a big deal. The minister started preaching about joy and I cried. I couldn't stop crying. We didn't go to lunch. I celebrated my birthday with uncontrollable tears. I went to the doctor the next day and (cried uncontrollably) began my foray into happiness through mood-altering drugs. It helped. The way a tylenol takes the edge off a bad headache. I didn't cry all the time, but I didn't feel much of anything or think much of anything. I wasn't that psycho, but I wasn't me.
I talked to a counselor who clued me in that I'm my own worst critic. And from talking with girl friends, this seems to be a common thing with women. My expectations were so high for myself that I could never dream of living up to them. And I didn't - live up to them that is. I tried to. I tried to give my kids their fabulous birthday parties at Christmastime. I didn't cook because I couldn't cook anything worth eating in my opinion. I stopped cleaning, because frankly I suck at cleaning. I was a substitute teacher at the time and was terrified of sitting in the faculty room because I stink at small talk. Through many, many counseling sessions (where I ... cried, of course), I finally was released from my own expectations. So I became a more reasonable human being, but still not myself.
Last Christmas, I started playing. I started having outrageous conversations on Facebook. We went to our friends' house for dinner and games and I cranked up the silly. Santa gave us a Wii (by the way, can someone please out Santa to my almost 10-year-old?). We spent New Year's Eve with our good friends in Pittsburgh, where we discovered that we had to have Band Hero for the Wii. I made a conscious decision- call it a New Year's Resolution if you need to- to play regularly. I started dancing with my kids to fun music like Lady Gaga. I remembered how amusing word play is to me. I have some friends who can pun with the big dogs. I went to Games Night religiously and let my silly, competitive self run wild and free (and amused people by singing along with the radio.) I discovered the play in cooking as I created theme dinners of immense magnitude (and calories) and expense. Along the way, I lost the need for counseling and for chemicals.
What I found was laughter and lots of it. I found a beautiful relationship with my daughters, who once again have a mother who is sane, sometimes patient, sometimes inappropriate, mostly happy. I rediscovered my amazing husband, always there for me, but now enjoying some benefits instead of just worry. I've made new friends who share my optimism and love of fun and don't seem to mind if I'm not always contributing to the conversation. With my new attitude and confidence, I got hired for the best job I have ever had in my life, spending a very fast-moving, brief workday with a wonderful teacher and hilarious and charming children. I've even turned lousy housekeeping into a theme for a soiree.
So, yea, life isn't always fun. But it is way easier to take the rough spots with a play-full frame of mind.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Nut Farm Camping
Camping. You have to love this family activity. It's such an opportunity for a family to bond, to become closer, to test their mettle in the great outdoors, to torture surrounding campers.
The first time we went camping as a family, we went up to Wellsboro, PA- the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon. Ok, so first thing to know, don't leave the hotdogs on the kitchen counter at home. Second thing to know, rustic camping means no showers and peeing in a bucket with walls. Third thing to know, don't take any one under the age of 14. Fourth thing to know, it gets cold at night in October. So we did this family bonding event when Katie was maybe 9 months old, Rebecca under 5 apparently. If you've ever heard of the PA Grand Canyon, you were probably told to go on the wagon ride through the canyon valley to see the fall colors. Yup, we did that. However, we took those kids with us. We didn't know it was a loooonnnggg ride, so no diaper bag for us. Well, Katie (who had her own theme song in those days... woah, oh, Katie's crying- to the tune of "Janie's crying") cried, wailed, moaned, carried on for the entire 50 hour (minute) ride out to wherever the heck we were going. Nothing would make this child happy. Ok, one thing would make her happy. Spewing. All over her clothes and the wagon. When the wagon stopped for the sight-seeing and turnaround, I actually threw her clothes down the hill, they were so foul. Remember that I had no diaper bag (what the heck was I thinking?) So, the previously wailing child is now... NAKED, but sleeping. I wouldn't be surprised if that wagon load of people demanded their money back- I would have! And did I mention our campground had no running water?
The second time we went camping was almost a year later. We were much better prepared. We'd heard of this fabulous campground in Niagara Falls, Canada. Off we went. Relatively uneventful car ride. Niagara Falls is gorgeous, of course. The campground is great. It had activities. It had a pool. It had showers. Everything is fine. Until that first night of camping in the tent, when we discovered our camp site was 25 feet away from very active train tracks, with lots of trains in the night time. Lots of them. And then we had neighbors. Neighbors without small children. Neighbors who stayed up late. Neighbors who then were awakened early by our children who have never thought sleeping was a worthwhile activity. By the 3rd morning, we could hear the neighbors imitating the whinefest. It was actually pretty hysterical to hear these grown-ups with their prize-winning whining.
Were we done with camping? Heck no! We camped at least once a summer every year but this one. Most of the time it was fun, uneventful, once you get past the fact that it always seems to rain before we get the tent up and therefore we spend the entire weekend trying to get dry again.
The next camping fiasco involved our favorite place in the universe, Long Beach Island. We decided that camping off island would be the ideal way to make this fabulous vacation a little less pricey. So we camped at the worst campground in the history of campgrounds. Our campsite was just big enough for a tent and a car, which was actually ok because we didn't spend any time there anyhow. The problem? Beach sand everywhere. I think we still have some of it in the tent. The other problem? It rained all week off island- not on the island, mind you, the weather was fine there. Every day it rained. When it wasn't raining, the man-eating mosquitoes came out. The hike to the showers, pool, toilets was about a mile- a treacherous mile guaranteed to result in malaria or at least some itching. Somehow the name of this campground, Baker's Acres, conjures up a homey, pleasant environment. We know better.
Do we hate camping? Surprisingly, no. We've had many fun adventures at campgrounds. We've cabin camped for New Year's Eve several times. We celebrated my birthday in a cabin one year. We're especially fond of camping with other families. I'm partial to my Princess and the Pea blow up mattress.
Monday, October 4, 2010
never can say goodbye
Here I am again at that uncomfortable place of having just finished a series of books. I hate it when I'm supposed to say goodbye to a character that is such a part of my life. The newest character, Katniss Everdeen from the Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins, has insinuated her sarcastic, true, seemingly unfriendly self into my life. I've been a little cranky for a couple days now as I saw the end of her saga looming- not at all sure that I wanted to find it. This was a combination of not being sure that I was going to like the ending and not wanting to have it end. I love Katniss. She is powerful, yet unaware of that power. She's strong, yet feels weak. She doesn't like to be anyone's pawn. As I turned the last page, I cried. Actually I cried through the last 50 pages at least. And it's been a long three hours since I finished that I feel like I might actually be able to get past this feeling and live my life again.
The other truly painful time of finishing a series was Harry Potter, of course. I read through the first few books myself eons ago. The Order of the Phoenix kind of did me in for a while. Then one summer I started to read them aloud to Rebecca. We got so hooked together. We'd finish one and then immediately start the next. As I read to her, I realized how well constructed these books are and how sometimes books are well worth rereading. I completely immersed us both in Harry, Ron, and Hermione's lives. Then we arrived at the books I hadn't read or remembered very well, and I was on the edge of my seat right along with Rebecca. We lived and breathed Harry Potter for months. We listened as the unspeakable happened, argued about whys and whens. It was so hard to start Deathly Hallows. But it sucked us in too. And we read, often past bedtime, because we both had to know. Then one horrible afternoon in December, we read the last word. The two of us just sat there, stunned that we were done. That there was no more to know, experience, feel. How could this story be done? This story that had been an integral part of our lives for months. We were empty.
Of course there are other stories that captured my attention. I'll admit I inhaled Twilight. In fact Rebecca and I fought over who got to read the last book first. I was somewhat embarrassed about how I enjoyed them. But honestly Bella, Jacob and Edward are just not the same kind of characters. I didn't miss them as much. I read for the storyline or whatever and I don't mind the Edward sparkles (as I know many people do mind.) I liked the ending, but I don't think there were tears and emptiness. I did read the Golden Compass series and liked Lyra very much. I think maybe she was a part of my life as well, but her story got a little weird by the third book. So her story ending was less enjoyable, and I finished just to see how it wrapped up.
In any case, here I am with no more Katniss, Gale and Peeta. But... Katie and I are reading Harry Potter now. In fact, as soon as she finishes washing her hair, we'll be reading a little more about Gilderoy Lockhart (my absolute favorite Hogwarts teacher.)
Saturday, September 25, 2010
circle of friends
As I was dusting around my tchotkes getting ready for a shindig with a circle of new and interesting friends, I pondered my pieces of real art that I paid good money for. Now, my living room is full of art-y stuff that I love- needlework that I've done in a previous life, kid creations, even some beautiful photographs- all of which I sometimes dust around and often gaze at with happiness. There are just a few things that I've bought from real artists and paid for more than frames. This fabulous blue sculpture I bought just after Rebecca was born at an art fair in Gaithersburg, Maryland. It's three people dancing in a circle holding hands. I even left that $44 price tag on it- money certainly that had another purpose in that time of my life. I loved it, I was with a friend, I bought it. Another favorite is the green stone of some sort sculpture I bought at a 10,000 Villages (or whatever it's called now) sale at church. This one is 5 people arm in arm in a circle. When I light the tea light inside, it's almost pagan. When I look at these sculptures I feel complete. I don't think about wanting more, needing to do more, going in circles in this crazy life. I feel complete.
What is about the circle that appeals to me? Or maybe it's the closeness of the people. Maybe it's the touching- sometimes dancing, sometimes holding up, sometimes just enjoying each others' company. I think about the camp mentality. Who are your closest friends ever? The ones you lived with. I loved my college dorm. I loved having a best friend in the same room as me, and friends I could drop in on unannounced. If I had something stupid to say, I could just say it. There was no phone call necessary. We could hang out whenever we wanted to. I spent hours in the "sock lounge". We'd play games, just chat, whatever. At the time these people were more important than anything else. It's like marching band in high school. You spend so much time with people that dumb band jokes and songs become a cult.
How do we recreate this in adulthood? Well, one way is the weekend getaway. Last winter, I went on a "quilting" getaway. The four of us joined this existing group of close-knit quilters. We made our own little click- I think only one of us quilted. We did whatever, including watching Pride and Prejudice too loudly and playing games, my favorite Bananagram where my goal appeared to be making as many dirty and offensive words as possible while giggling. But this was a special weekend of getting to know each other better- not quite like college- but closer than before and since. Another appears to be the soiree. Hence the reason for dusting tchotkes. In a moment of weakness, I agreed to host tonight's get-together. All people I'm just getting to know in person. Many of whom have never been to my home, which is decorated early trash heap. So, part of me worries about that. A much bigger part of me is excited for the circle of friends talking, laughing, sharing crazy stories, holding hands and dancing (figuratively). It's ok if the dust bunnies join in the circle.
What is about the circle that appeals to me? Or maybe it's the closeness of the people. Maybe it's the touching- sometimes dancing, sometimes holding up, sometimes just enjoying each others' company. I think about the camp mentality. Who are your closest friends ever? The ones you lived with. I loved my college dorm. I loved having a best friend in the same room as me, and friends I could drop in on unannounced. If I had something stupid to say, I could just say it. There was no phone call necessary. We could hang out whenever we wanted to. I spent hours in the "sock lounge". We'd play games, just chat, whatever. At the time these people were more important than anything else. It's like marching band in high school. You spend so much time with people that dumb band jokes and songs become a cult.
How do we recreate this in adulthood? Well, one way is the weekend getaway. Last winter, I went on a "quilting" getaway. The four of us joined this existing group of close-knit quilters. We made our own little click- I think only one of us quilted. We did whatever, including watching Pride and Prejudice too loudly and playing games, my favorite Bananagram where my goal appeared to be making as many dirty and offensive words as possible while giggling. But this was a special weekend of getting to know each other better- not quite like college- but closer than before and since. Another appears to be the soiree. Hence the reason for dusting tchotkes. In a moment of weakness, I agreed to host tonight's get-together. All people I'm just getting to know in person. Many of whom have never been to my home, which is decorated early trash heap. So, part of me worries about that. A much bigger part of me is excited for the circle of friends talking, laughing, sharing crazy stories, holding hands and dancing (figuratively). It's ok if the dust bunnies join in the circle.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Music to my ears
How is it that a song can be such a mood changer? Yesterday I was in a funk for hours. Possibly because there was nothing exciting in my plans. Possibly because I needed a nap. Possibly because of no reason whatsoever. In any case, the black cloud hung over my head..
I was "tired and bored with myself." So I googled "Dancing With Myself" which started a heart dancing. The words may be somewhat sad, but that tune is darn peppy. Then a good friend mentioned that wonderful song from Sesame Street- "Sing". You know the one where you just have to sing out loud, sing out strong, don't worry if it's not good enough for anyone else to hear. The few brain cells started bouncing around in my head. And they connected with the thought that music might be the missing piece of my day. I'm always listening to the radio or a CD of some sort. (As anyone who reads my Facebook posts knows.) So I clicked on my tab for the Glee version of "Defying Gravity" which is my current favorite song. I belted it out 3, 4, 5, maybe 10 times in a row and how could my heart avoid being lighter?
Music is my therapy. An appropriately chosen CD fixes everything. I can even bother to clean my house if I can crank something up. I can drive wherever with the right radio station or CD: Journey Greatest Hits my favorite car trip CD. Music is the only thing that saves me between November and January. We have ALL of the birthdays in our families in those 3 months. Combined with all the stress of school concerts and events, dance recitals, piano recitals, etc. etc., those months are over-scheduled stress bombs. What keeps me sane is cranking my MANY Christmas CDs and enjoying the special music opportunities at church. I carve out time for extra rehearsals on Sundays- my favorite part of the week at that time of year. I walk out of rehearsals bouncing and... singing.
Last weekend, the younger spawn was having a major crankfest. I don't remember what her beef was (but her mood is so changeable, it doesn't really matter.) Before I even realized what was happening, she somehow said "ire" and I said "land". We looked at each other and started belting out: "Irrrreland, Irrrrreland togetherrrrr standing tall" and raced for our Celtic Thunder CD. Hilarious singing and Irish dancing ensued. That one was/is particularly partial to the song as instruction and mood mender. I can say the same words about a thousand times with no response, but if I put a little tune to it she marches to the beat of MY drum for a change.
The oboe. Yup, I decided in January that I wanted to play a new instrument, and I decided it was going to be the oboe. Why? Don't know. So, I headed to Robert M. Sides and grinned my way up to the counter. I simply professed my desire to rent an oboe. The cashier started with the obvious questions: for your child? Nope, for me. Do you play the oboe? Nope, not yet. At this point, the look on his face was clearly along the lines of "are you nuts?" Yep, probably. Then I think he asked a question where the logical response was to tell him about my experience with the other double reed instrument. He didn't ask how long I'd played that- not long- or how long ago it was- long, long ago. But, in any case, that answer earned me the right to sign papers to pay them lots of money over time and to walk out the door with my very own oboe. The first noises were similar to trucks mid-crash and cats in pain. In fact, many of the noises yet are akin to trucks mid-crash and cats in pain. But I'm getting better. Sometimes I feel like some of the notes might be in tune. The kids no longer leave the room screaming when I practice (it could be that they've learned to block it out.) The cats still do. And when we dogsat, the dog looked at me clearly as if to say, "what the hell was that?" I laughed. In fact, oboe playing seems to require laughter.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
life with a laugh track
So I watched a video this morning. I laughed until I cried. I watched it again, just to be sure. I laughed some more. I waited several hours and then watched it one more time. I snickered. I guffawed. So, yes, apparently I think it's hilarious. What exactly is it about typos and malapropisms that amuses me? (We'll ignore the fact that it's a little raunchy, because there is absolutely nothing wrong with my dirty mind!)
I remember my sophomore year of college (and actually sophomoric would be apt here), my roomie and I used to change the words to songs or even type out the words to songs (before Google with its easy access to song lyrics). One of the signs we had in our room was "we belong to the city, we belong to the nifht". This still makes me smile, if not giggle outright. The other day I was reading Harry Potter to my younger daughter and I accidentally read that Professor McGonagall was the "assistant headmattress" of Hogwarts. I laughed hysterically for 5 minutes and still giggle whenever I read her name now. And, good grief, do not even try to talk to me when I'm tired. I can't remember names or common words. I've been known to answer "chicken" to just about anything... and then laugh. One time I was trying to talk to myself (you do it too, that part isn't so crazy), and I did the whole roll call thing including our 3 cats before I managed to remember my name. After I smacked myself upside the head... I laughed. And spoonerisms- always a reason to laugh. Tonight in the car, a small crowd of ducks was blocking our way. Rebecca suggested I honk. I said, "I'm not going to donk at the hucks!" And then I... laughed!
Monday, September 13, 2010
why not?
Life is interesting. No question about it. I like to keep it more interesting by making crazy decisions, trying new things, (never getting enough sleep), and living with my family. We're weird. Sometimes funny - at least to me. And, lucky for you, I seem to like to share my every random thought.
I like to torture my teenage daughter. She told me the other day she was glad we have a good relationship. I almost drove the car off the road. This was after we played the game where I turn the radio up and she turns it down. Yup, she said I was going to be deaf by the time I'm 50. (Couldn't resist saying, "then I won't have to listen to you and your sister.") We were listening to Kiss by Prince. How can you not crank that? Imagine her surprise when I told her Prince was a man- he sings higher than you, mom!
Don't get the idea that this child is always reasonable and mature. She's not. But we'll save that for another day.
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