Spawn had one of her well-planned and -executed social engagements yesterday. You know the kind where she tells me I need to drop her off at location A at 1:00pm and pick her up at location B at 3:00pm, but what she actually meant was drop her off sometime before 1:00 and wait 5 hours for the phone call to tell me that her pal's mother is dropping her off momentarily (so quickly in fact she could have been in our driveway when she made the call.) Whatever. She was out with a good friend, probably not getting in much trouble, and I was pretty darn busy anyhow.
I later found out the purpose of the trip was to go to Good Will to buy a dress for the high school dance that her little alternative h.s. calls "Morp" (cleverly, Prom backwards. isn't that just delightful?) I found this out as she tried on the dress she bought. I'm a little stunned by the dress- it is not something that she would have picked on her own. I very much saw the influence of her friend the willowy, fashion-conscious cheerleader. On the one hand, I'm kinda put out that she did this without me. I mean THE dance of the whole year and she didn't want me to make her the perfect dress? On the other hand, I'm also "yea, whatever". And the dress is fine. I'll fix what needs to be fixed so she's decent and that's that.
Except that while she was modeling the dress, she told me the theme of the dance. (Glitter and) Clubbing. Clubbing? Are you freaking kidding me? She's all like "it's dancing, mom". I'm all like "CLUBBING????" (For the record, she voted for "under the sea" which is completely dorky and "Back to the Future"esque... and not CLUBBING.) And I tell you that I think it's themes like "clubbing" that gives this town the dimension it has. As a college town, certainly lots of townie high school kids will be moving on up to the university when the time comes.
And what did this university have to offer this weekend? I give you insanity. A couple years ago, spring break unfortunately was scheduled the same week as St. Patrick's Day. This was disastrous. Because it appears that college students cannot sufficiently enjoy what all St. Patrick's Day has to offer while they are wherever they are spring breaking. So the next year, we had STATE Paddy's Day. The last Saturday in February has become my town's own private holiday so that all the university students will get the full benefit of drinking green beer until you're stupid. I guarantee you St. Patrick's Day on its own was more than enough stupid for these kids. I remember driving LLO to preschool the morning after St. Pat's (obviously many years ago) and having to dodge completely drunk morons in green hats on the street. They did not understand how this might be annoying and how I used to long to count points for running over people who think they have the right of way no matter where they are. Anyhow. So, State Patty's Day. An opportunity for college students and all their friends they bus in from every town within a 10 hour radius to wear green and drink. This has been several years now that we've had this fine tradition.
Long enough, in fact, that the police and the townspeople and local businesses know what to do to regain the reputation of our town. We import police from nearby places to help. We have a coalition of townies to walk around not acting stupid and generally setting a good example. And most of the local bars are closed on Saturday night now. You'd think the message would make it through. Wouldn't you? As I attended my class Tuesday night, those charming 20somethings were complaining about how the bars would be closed on Saturday and made the only statement that makes any sense at all... wait for it. They were planning to go out to the bars on Friday night instead. Thank goodness. I'm glad they have that kind of flexibility.
Anyhow. What was I talking about?
Oh yea. Cheerleaders. LLO told me the other day that she wants to quit band because she wants to be a cheerleader. I do not think I laughed out loud. I'm afraid I did tell her she ought to go ahead and practice her drum because it wasn't happening. If the main characteristic of a cheerleader was being heard, LLO would be tops. The rest of the stuff that goes into being cheerleader material? Not so much. She hardly brushes her hair, never wears it in a pony tail. She prefers to travel alone rather than in a herd. She doesn't like to do what (she's told) anyone else is doing. So, yea. She's a great cheerleader for me (my biggest fan, in fact), but there is no way she's ever going to be a cheerleader for any team. If only because cheerleader training starts in this town when you are 3 (and is yet another completely overpriced activity that we have never indulged in) and this is LLO we're talking about.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
the freaking remote
The tivo remote was missing. This is a huge deal to some people in my household. It is not a big deal to me because I honestly don't know how to use the dang thing and all those shows that are recorded for me are going to sit there unwatched until the earth spins into space probably. So we had a double whammy that shouldn't have been any trouble for me. I mean really. Because there it is: the device the children want in the midst of the trash heap of the living room that is filled with their crap, not mine. Anyone with a lick of sense could figure out that the children need to clean up the room (and put stuff away) and they will find the remote.
Unfortunately, I was home. I actually wished desperately that I had class to go to last night because that would have been way better than the reality. Spawn is incapable of looking for anything. When she was little, we used to make fun of her- she'd stand in the middle of her room spinning around looking at eye level saying "where is my underwear?" I'm not making this up. She'd look at the ceiling to find her shoes. So here's spawn's contribution to the looking: she reported that spouse thought the remote had fallen in the trashcan and that now this $200 piece of equipment was now useless. Yes, of course, if the remote MIGHT be in the trash why bother looking anywhere else. (Yes, I did wonder why said spouse didn't go look in the freaking trash, but the answer to that doesn't fit here chronologically.)
Littleloudone, who used to be the best finder in the house, was having one of her days. Possibly exacerbated by the figurative sharp stick that spawn was applying to the situation. So I decided if the kids cleaning wasn't going to happen, that we could try a simple exchange of services. Told LLO that I would look for the remote as soon she started practicing her drum. (I personally thought this was win-win since it would help avoid the drama next week of getting adequate drum practice in.) This was the worst idea you can imagine. Fit ensued.
Then the phone call. Do I ever hate the phone. I made Spawn take it and speak to her dad (as I will still a pissed about the trash comment and now pretty much incapable of speech.) He had to stay late at work. Spawn, being a basically kind, problem-solving child decided to cook dinner. Which is great. Except that she wanted to make some kind of pork stir fry and LLO and I both really just wanted mac-n-cheese. I had an appointment at school in less than an hour and Spawn really takes her time (and makes a huge mess) when she cooks. Well, she strongly believed that we should save the mac-n-cheese for when we were in a hurry. Because you know there is only so many boxes of Kraft mac-n-cheese at the store. She didn't like my answer. So upstairs she goes and starts wailing, opening the door every so often just so I know she is still upset.
And there's LLO calling me everything but mother. And then. Poof. I said something about respect (no idea what, honestly) and LLO says to me (this I do remember verbatim): You will never know how much I respect you. And I definitely thought, yes, you are right, I never will. Next thing I know, she practices her drum for the full 30 minutes without my saying another word. I clean the living room. I found all kinds of goodies in the couch including a remote (the wrong one), Spawn's missing inhaler, some kind of corkscrew device, and a whole lot of icky stuff that I left there. I went to my meeting, came home to dinner and calm. The second I walk in the door, LLO remembers where she dropped the remote the day before and that was that.
And we wonder why I'm nuts.
Unfortunately, I was home. I actually wished desperately that I had class to go to last night because that would have been way better than the reality. Spawn is incapable of looking for anything. When she was little, we used to make fun of her- she'd stand in the middle of her room spinning around looking at eye level saying "where is my underwear?" I'm not making this up. She'd look at the ceiling to find her shoes. So here's spawn's contribution to the looking: she reported that spouse thought the remote had fallen in the trashcan and that now this $200 piece of equipment was now useless. Yes, of course, if the remote MIGHT be in the trash why bother looking anywhere else. (Yes, I did wonder why said spouse didn't go look in the freaking trash, but the answer to that doesn't fit here chronologically.)
Littleloudone, who used to be the best finder in the house, was having one of her days. Possibly exacerbated by the figurative sharp stick that spawn was applying to the situation. So I decided if the kids cleaning wasn't going to happen, that we could try a simple exchange of services. Told LLO that I would look for the remote as soon she started practicing her drum. (I personally thought this was win-win since it would help avoid the drama next week of getting adequate drum practice in.) This was the worst idea you can imagine. Fit ensued.
Then the phone call. Do I ever hate the phone. I made Spawn take it and speak to her dad (as I will still a pissed about the trash comment and now pretty much incapable of speech.) He had to stay late at work. Spawn, being a basically kind, problem-solving child decided to cook dinner. Which is great. Except that she wanted to make some kind of pork stir fry and LLO and I both really just wanted mac-n-cheese. I had an appointment at school in less than an hour and Spawn really takes her time (and makes a huge mess) when she cooks. Well, she strongly believed that we should save the mac-n-cheese for when we were in a hurry. Because you know there is only so many boxes of Kraft mac-n-cheese at the store. She didn't like my answer. So upstairs she goes and starts wailing, opening the door every so often just so I know she is still upset.
And there's LLO calling me everything but mother. And then. Poof. I said something about respect (no idea what, honestly) and LLO says to me (this I do remember verbatim): You will never know how much I respect you. And I definitely thought, yes, you are right, I never will. Next thing I know, she practices her drum for the full 30 minutes without my saying another word. I clean the living room. I found all kinds of goodies in the couch including a remote (the wrong one), Spawn's missing inhaler, some kind of corkscrew device, and a whole lot of icky stuff that I left there. I went to my meeting, came home to dinner and calm. The second I walk in the door, LLO remembers where she dropped the remote the day before and that was that.
And we wonder why I'm nuts.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
little girls lost
I misplace my children.
Regularly.
First time it ever happened, spawn was almost two, I guess or maybe almost three. In any case she was in her terrible twos which lasted approximately from 18 months to age 6. We were at a crowded mall at Christmas. The store had extra display racks all over the place. The kid was in a stroller which was impossible to steer even though it was one of those little ones. And she didn't want to be in the stroller anymore. She'd made that pretty clear. Maybe I let her out, could be, I was kinda stupid and sleep-deprived back then or maybe she let herself out. In any case, she was out. Out and gone. I think I watched her climb under a fixture and then I looked away for a second, because I was there to shop after all. I looked back and she was gone. I looked for moving racks and annoyed shopper's faces. Nothing. Then... PANIC. Absolute panic. People every where. And we were living outside DC where people don't even look at you. Don't even want to think about what else was unpleasant about DC. So there I am, stroller, no kid, ready to completely lose all grip on reality. I had no idea what to do, where to look, who to turn to. And then this angel man, who clearly was waiting on his wife and bored out of his mind- thank God, tells me that he saw her run out of the store. I don't know the rest of the story except that I found her and that I still don't take her to the mall.
Let's see. I lost little loud one one day after a visit to the library. We came home with books, some might say "of course", but that one is less enthralled with books than the rest of the family, so it really isn't "of course" with her. In fact one day this summer, I suggested a library visit and she said, "Why would I want to go to the library? There's nothing there for me." I nearly cried. Anyhow, a year or two ago, we went to the library and got books. I went about my business until I noticed that I didn't hear anything. Now, not hearing anything when little loud one is around is an indication of trouble. When she is quiet, she's cutting off her hair, or coloring on the wall, or gone. First I called her name about a bazillion times. (she never hears the first bazillion -1 times.) So I started looking. I looked outside because she's an outdoorsy kiddo. I'm pretty sure I went to some neighbors and so on. No sign of her. So I went up to her room. She was reading a book, like it was normal.
Last year I lost spawn again. I'm minding my own business at the end of the school day (wasting my time on the computer) and it occurs to me that I'd had an awful lot of peace. So I wandered out into the living room. I surveyed the evidence and realized that spawn was not home. I knew this because: no backpack directly in the middle of the floor, no shoes thrown about, no jacket lying willy-nilly. No way that kid was home. I can't remember if she had a phone then or not, but it wouldn't matter because neither she nor the spouse ever have it turned on. I searched brain banks to see if there was some after school activity that I hadn't remembered. Nope. Then I figured she must have missed the bus home. She missed the bus to school every stinking day, so this was not out of the realm of possibility. So I drove to the middle school and started looking. For once, the school was deserted. I started panicking a little bit at this point. Then I had a brilliant thought. I called home and little loud one answered the phone (which is actually pretty amazing in itself), and I asked her to check spawn's room. Yep, you got it. She was in her room the whole time, and thought I was crazy for misreading the evidence.
Also last year, in the spring, I lost little loud one. She walks home from school. It's a block away. Generally it takes her a half hour to get home, because there are things to see. Well, I'm waiting. and waiting. and waiting. It's more than an hour after the end of school and no little loud one. I called school, her best friend's house, neighbor's house, looked around the neighborhood, talked to the lady with the fuzzy dog, went to school, exhausted all my ideas. At this point, I was revving up a panic. I had some kind of appointment with spawn and I certainly didn't want to go to that with little loud one lost. I drove around the block one more time. There she was, standing next to the lady with the fuzzy dog. The look on my face must have told her what she needed to know because she crossed the street, after looking both ways even, and got in the car without saying one word. She was covered in mud from head to toe, but I didn't care about that. It turns out she'd stopped by the house with the garden and a little girl with the same name. And they were playing. The mom apologized for not immediately calling me. Not that I blamed her at all. For a little while at least, little loud one made it home in under 20 minutes.
This little trip down memory lane is brought to you today by the fact that I lost a kid this afternoon. Spawn didn't come home from school. I was waiting for her to call for a ride home because she's too lazy to walk 15 minutes. I've been ignoring the phone all week, because I'm sick and I just don't feel like getting her. It's annoying and ridiculous. So I was studiously avoiding answering the phone today excepting that it didn't ring. So, I thought for a millisecond (because that's about all the thinking ability I have today.) I processed the whole list of possible after school activities, nothing seemed right. I put it out of my mind while I fetched little loud one from the after school activity (that I remembered) and fetched the spouse to solve my computer problems. Then it hit me, you know after spouse said it, that she was where she was supposed to be. Not home, but at her new church gig. The one I can't remember because this is only her second week and she still isn't officially signed up for it.
Is there a punchline here? Probably not. It shouldn't be this difficult to keep track of two kids.
Regularly.
First time it ever happened, spawn was almost two, I guess or maybe almost three. In any case she was in her terrible twos which lasted approximately from 18 months to age 6. We were at a crowded mall at Christmas. The store had extra display racks all over the place. The kid was in a stroller which was impossible to steer even though it was one of those little ones. And she didn't want to be in the stroller anymore. She'd made that pretty clear. Maybe I let her out, could be, I was kinda stupid and sleep-deprived back then or maybe she let herself out. In any case, she was out. Out and gone. I think I watched her climb under a fixture and then I looked away for a second, because I was there to shop after all. I looked back and she was gone. I looked for moving racks and annoyed shopper's faces. Nothing. Then... PANIC. Absolute panic. People every where. And we were living outside DC where people don't even look at you. Don't even want to think about what else was unpleasant about DC. So there I am, stroller, no kid, ready to completely lose all grip on reality. I had no idea what to do, where to look, who to turn to. And then this angel man, who clearly was waiting on his wife and bored out of his mind- thank God, tells me that he saw her run out of the store. I don't know the rest of the story except that I found her and that I still don't take her to the mall.
Let's see. I lost little loud one one day after a visit to the library. We came home with books, some might say "of course", but that one is less enthralled with books than the rest of the family, so it really isn't "of course" with her. In fact one day this summer, I suggested a library visit and she said, "Why would I want to go to the library? There's nothing there for me." I nearly cried. Anyhow, a year or two ago, we went to the library and got books. I went about my business until I noticed that I didn't hear anything. Now, not hearing anything when little loud one is around is an indication of trouble. When she is quiet, she's cutting off her hair, or coloring on the wall, or gone. First I called her name about a bazillion times. (she never hears the first bazillion -1 times.) So I started looking. I looked outside because she's an outdoorsy kiddo. I'm pretty sure I went to some neighbors and so on. No sign of her. So I went up to her room. She was reading a book, like it was normal.
Last year I lost spawn again. I'm minding my own business at the end of the school day (wasting my time on the computer) and it occurs to me that I'd had an awful lot of peace. So I wandered out into the living room. I surveyed the evidence and realized that spawn was not home. I knew this because: no backpack directly in the middle of the floor, no shoes thrown about, no jacket lying willy-nilly. No way that kid was home. I can't remember if she had a phone then or not, but it wouldn't matter because neither she nor the spouse ever have it turned on. I searched brain banks to see if there was some after school activity that I hadn't remembered. Nope. Then I figured she must have missed the bus home. She missed the bus to school every stinking day, so this was not out of the realm of possibility. So I drove to the middle school and started looking. For once, the school was deserted. I started panicking a little bit at this point. Then I had a brilliant thought. I called home and little loud one answered the phone (which is actually pretty amazing in itself), and I asked her to check spawn's room. Yep, you got it. She was in her room the whole time, and thought I was crazy for misreading the evidence.
Also last year, in the spring, I lost little loud one. She walks home from school. It's a block away. Generally it takes her a half hour to get home, because there are things to see. Well, I'm waiting. and waiting. and waiting. It's more than an hour after the end of school and no little loud one. I called school, her best friend's house, neighbor's house, looked around the neighborhood, talked to the lady with the fuzzy dog, went to school, exhausted all my ideas. At this point, I was revving up a panic. I had some kind of appointment with spawn and I certainly didn't want to go to that with little loud one lost. I drove around the block one more time. There she was, standing next to the lady with the fuzzy dog. The look on my face must have told her what she needed to know because she crossed the street, after looking both ways even, and got in the car without saying one word. She was covered in mud from head to toe, but I didn't care about that. It turns out she'd stopped by the house with the garden and a little girl with the same name. And they were playing. The mom apologized for not immediately calling me. Not that I blamed her at all. For a little while at least, little loud one made it home in under 20 minutes.
This little trip down memory lane is brought to you today by the fact that I lost a kid this afternoon. Spawn didn't come home from school. I was waiting for her to call for a ride home because she's too lazy to walk 15 minutes. I've been ignoring the phone all week, because I'm sick and I just don't feel like getting her. It's annoying and ridiculous. So I was studiously avoiding answering the phone today excepting that it didn't ring. So, I thought for a millisecond (because that's about all the thinking ability I have today.) I processed the whole list of possible after school activities, nothing seemed right. I put it out of my mind while I fetched little loud one from the after school activity (that I remembered) and fetched the spouse to solve my computer problems. Then it hit me, you know after spouse said it, that she was where she was supposed to be. Not home, but at her new church gig. The one I can't remember because this is only her second week and she still isn't officially signed up for it.
Is there a punchline here? Probably not. It shouldn't be this difficult to keep track of two kids.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
lowering the bar
I had one of those days yesterday. One of those days that sets the standards. Low.
I woke up extra early. Not exactly sure why. Maybe it was the time change or maybe it was just a desire to dawdle more. In any case, I woke up early and then proceeded to be late to work. Later, in fact, than I was the day before. It really is pretty hard for me to be late to work. It's not like I have far to drive or need to be there at some unseemly time. It's ridiculous that I can't get to work on time. But there it is. Late.
One of the kids read me her story. It was about a lady who croaked and she was going to the feneral (funeral). She smiled while she read me the story. Croaked? Yup. croaked. I had nothing. What the heck do you say to a kid who is smiling when she reads her story about somebody croaking? That there was a teachable moment.
Then we had our first field trip of the year. Herding cats in a grocery store. These varmints can't behave in the cage of our classroom. I gotta admit I dreaded taking the show on the road. I had low expectations. They met them. I got a big headache.
I did manage to vote. Yay, me. But I needed remedial voting instruction since I filled in 5 circles instead of 4.
Let's see. I'm playing piano for the little munchkin choir. This may not seem like a big deal, excepting that this is not my thing. I've accompanied singers exactly twice in my whole life and both times were with one or both of my kids. The elder spawn is quite skilled at rearranging her singing to match my playing (a skill we have worked on). That song was short too. The last time I did this was with both kids and I was so bad that little loud one laughed at me in the middle of the song. Bad. Like horrible. Like colossal failure. Like when the song was done, I collapsed in a heap of giggles (in the middle of church, in the middle of the service) that lasted pretty much until the end of the service. And I decided then and there that playing piano while someone sings along was something I could just cross off my bucket list for all eternity. Apparently eternity only lasted a couple months, because when choir director asked if I would, I didn't say "hell no". So yesterday's rehearsal went just spectacularly. Not. Choir director was very kind and didn't explode. I guess it's a real good thing the kids can sing loudly. I'm hoping for divine intervention on Sunday. Or something.
The evening did not improve. Went to class, quite apathetic. I needed to deliver a piece of paper 4 feet away. I crumpled it up and threw it at the recipient. Professor observed that she'd never had that happen in a grad school class before. I explained that I was trying to lower the bar. I did apologize. And laugh. And really, that was probably ok. Then we were making up hypothetical questions to ask the author of this article we'd read- an article that really kinda bugged me. My contribution was the most unpolitically correct question you could possibly ask. I do walk of shame.
Class over, I'm walking out with classmate who is also in tonight's class that I skipped last week for spawn's concert. Classmate instigates discussion of where I was. I proceed to mention the things I was supposed to do to make up for missing class- that I still haven't done. Then she tells me that we got out of class an hour early last week anyhow. This launches my little tirade about how that professor had given the speech about giving us our money's worth and would never let us out early and then she hasn't kept us until 9pm since (not that I'm complaining about that). I'd forgotten one detail. Wed. prof teaches a class on Tues. in the same building. The building I am currently walking out of talking about the professor. Who is 2 feet behind me. Who proceeds to walk with me for the next 10 minutes as I'm trying to engage in intelligent conversational smalltalk with very large feet in my mouth.
I was hoping that she hadn't heard me. Yea, she did. Because when she revisited the money's worth speech tonight, she was looking right at me.
The bar is very low.
I woke up extra early. Not exactly sure why. Maybe it was the time change or maybe it was just a desire to dawdle more. In any case, I woke up early and then proceeded to be late to work. Later, in fact, than I was the day before. It really is pretty hard for me to be late to work. It's not like I have far to drive or need to be there at some unseemly time. It's ridiculous that I can't get to work on time. But there it is. Late.
One of the kids read me her story. It was about a lady who croaked and she was going to the feneral (funeral). She smiled while she read me the story. Croaked? Yup. croaked. I had nothing. What the heck do you say to a kid who is smiling when she reads her story about somebody croaking? That there was a teachable moment.
Then we had our first field trip of the year. Herding cats in a grocery store. These varmints can't behave in the cage of our classroom. I gotta admit I dreaded taking the show on the road. I had low expectations. They met them. I got a big headache.
I did manage to vote. Yay, me. But I needed remedial voting instruction since I filled in 5 circles instead of 4.
Let's see. I'm playing piano for the little munchkin choir. This may not seem like a big deal, excepting that this is not my thing. I've accompanied singers exactly twice in my whole life and both times were with one or both of my kids. The elder spawn is quite skilled at rearranging her singing to match my playing (a skill we have worked on). That song was short too. The last time I did this was with both kids and I was so bad that little loud one laughed at me in the middle of the song. Bad. Like horrible. Like colossal failure. Like when the song was done, I collapsed in a heap of giggles (in the middle of church, in the middle of the service) that lasted pretty much until the end of the service. And I decided then and there that playing piano while someone sings along was something I could just cross off my bucket list for all eternity. Apparently eternity only lasted a couple months, because when choir director asked if I would, I didn't say "hell no". So yesterday's rehearsal went just spectacularly. Not. Choir director was very kind and didn't explode. I guess it's a real good thing the kids can sing loudly. I'm hoping for divine intervention on Sunday. Or something.
The evening did not improve. Went to class, quite apathetic. I needed to deliver a piece of paper 4 feet away. I crumpled it up and threw it at the recipient. Professor observed that she'd never had that happen in a grad school class before. I explained that I was trying to lower the bar. I did apologize. And laugh. And really, that was probably ok. Then we were making up hypothetical questions to ask the author of this article we'd read- an article that really kinda bugged me. My contribution was the most unpolitically correct question you could possibly ask. I do walk of shame.
Class over, I'm walking out with classmate who is also in tonight's class that I skipped last week for spawn's concert. Classmate instigates discussion of where I was. I proceed to mention the things I was supposed to do to make up for missing class- that I still haven't done. Then she tells me that we got out of class an hour early last week anyhow. This launches my little tirade about how that professor had given the speech about giving us our money's worth and would never let us out early and then she hasn't kept us until 9pm since (not that I'm complaining about that). I'd forgotten one detail. Wed. prof teaches a class on Tues. in the same building. The building I am currently walking out of talking about the professor. Who is 2 feet behind me. Who proceeds to walk with me for the next 10 minutes as I'm trying to engage in intelligent conversational smalltalk with very large feet in my mouth.
I was hoping that she hadn't heard me. Yea, she did. Because when she revisited the money's worth speech tonight, she was looking right at me.
The bar is very low.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
and so it begins
My youngest was completely desperate to do Girl Scouts this year. yippee. I'm sure Girl Scouts is a perfectly lovely organization once you get past needing to sell your soul and lots of overpriced cookies to support a gluttonous parent company that is more interested in lining their pockets than making sure that girls have a fun experience. After all, it's the troop leaders who are responsible for the experiences, rather than GSA.
Why am I so yucked out by Girl Scouts? A mere 6 years ago, the other spawn was desperate to do Girl Scouts. She had friends, I had friends, sell cookies, have fun, what's the problem. Well, the problem was that my two friends instigated a coup for cripe's sake. A Girl Scout Coup!! Between each other. Naturally I'm in the middle, the girls suffered, it was just bleeping ugly. I had planned a pile of badge junk to do under the encouragement of friend L, let's call her Lying Sack of Shit, to help out stressed friend P, let's call her Psycho Nutjob. Well, when L went to headquarters to get P thrown out as troop leader, in addition to wanting me to "testify", she also tossed my piles of badge junk to the curb. In a sense saying that my time/energy was good enough under the P regime, but not good enough under the L regime. And then has the nerve to ask me to chaperone the Girl Scout trip as a driver. And to lie to me about where we were going to stay(yes, some people might read the directions before the rest stop and therefore not need to have a confrontation in front of Sheetz.) I'm not holding a grudge. Much. In any case, L has moved back to where she belongs and P is still a casual friend since our daughters are still casual friends. And I thought that my Girl Scout experience could be called complete, finished, done. B'bye.
Until little one is so desperate to do it that she might actually have said something about cleaning her room and taking a bath voluntarily. So we're in. First meeting we get the dreaded sales packet. Fine. I pulled out my checkbook. We'll order some shit. I paid for membership. I paid for Camporee next weekend. I paid for the badge thing later this month. I'll buy her a stupid overpriced vest or sash or whichever darn thing she wants. And I will sell freaking Girl Scout cookies in February with a smile on my face. I thought my checkbook would be enough interaction with Girl Scouts.
Except not so much. Three weeks in and I get an email from the troop leader. Can you please _____, because you know you're going to volunteer at some point? Yup. She's right. Four years of being on PTO together and she knows that I will say yes. Actually, she knows that I will not even wait to be asked. I will raise my freaking, stupid hand. (which is why I don't go to PTO meetings anymore) Oh, shit. I'm going to end up asking her if she needs a cookie mom. Somebody disconnect my internet.
Fine. We'll give this Girl Scout thing one year. Next year, little, loud one will be too busy in middle school to do girl scouts. And I will again say b'bye.
Why am I so yucked out by Girl Scouts? A mere 6 years ago, the other spawn was desperate to do Girl Scouts. She had friends, I had friends, sell cookies, have fun, what's the problem. Well, the problem was that my two friends instigated a coup for cripe's sake. A Girl Scout Coup!! Between each other. Naturally I'm in the middle, the girls suffered, it was just bleeping ugly. I had planned a pile of badge junk to do under the encouragement of friend L, let's call her Lying Sack of Shit, to help out stressed friend P, let's call her Psycho Nutjob. Well, when L went to headquarters to get P thrown out as troop leader, in addition to wanting me to "testify", she also tossed my piles of badge junk to the curb. In a sense saying that my time/energy was good enough under the P regime, but not good enough under the L regime. And then has the nerve to ask me to chaperone the Girl Scout trip as a driver. And to lie to me about where we were going to stay(yes, some people might read the directions before the rest stop and therefore not need to have a confrontation in front of Sheetz.) I'm not holding a grudge. Much. In any case, L has moved back to where she belongs and P is still a casual friend since our daughters are still casual friends. And I thought that my Girl Scout experience could be called complete, finished, done. B'bye.
Until little one is so desperate to do it that she might actually have said something about cleaning her room and taking a bath voluntarily. So we're in. First meeting we get the dreaded sales packet. Fine. I pulled out my checkbook. We'll order some shit. I paid for membership. I paid for Camporee next weekend. I paid for the badge thing later this month. I'll buy her a stupid overpriced vest or sash or whichever darn thing she wants. And I will sell freaking Girl Scout cookies in February with a smile on my face. I thought my checkbook would be enough interaction with Girl Scouts.
Except not so much. Three weeks in and I get an email from the troop leader. Can you please _____, because you know you're going to volunteer at some point? Yup. She's right. Four years of being on PTO together and she knows that I will say yes. Actually, she knows that I will not even wait to be asked. I will raise my freaking, stupid hand. (which is why I don't go to PTO meetings anymore) Oh, shit. I'm going to end up asking her if she needs a cookie mom. Somebody disconnect my internet.
Fine. We'll give this Girl Scout thing one year. Next year, little, loud one will be too busy in middle school to do girl scouts. And I will again say b'bye.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
eavesdropping
I just got back from an interesting little coffee date with a friend. We had all manner of conversation during this hour. I personally had a lovely time talking maybe a little too loudly at Panera, laughing at the outrageous things we were sharing, and watching the young couple across the way go from playing footsie to sitting next to each other doing that hair thing. I noticed people coming and going, but not really. I certainly didn't pay much attention to the lady three tables over clipping her coupons until she joined our conversation. Joined our conversation to the point of actually taking it over. Really?
We finally made our escape and hurried out. I sorta feel like I need a shower. My friend and I laughed about that (as well as being relieved that she didn't appear to have heard the entire conversation.)
I'm an eavesdropper too. I admit it. I people watch. I watch parents interact with their kids and smile. I periodically glanced at that couple and rolled my eyes. Sometimes I look like I'm reading a book, but there are definitely times where your conversation is more interesting than my book. I've been known to actually open my mouth to make a comment. But even I realize that is just not done. At least most of the time I realize this.
The other day I was waiting in a small hallway for an interminable dance class to be done. I had work to do, but neither the motivation nor the concentration to do it. I was stressed and exhausted. The last place I wanted to be was in this stinky, cramped hallway, but it seemed a good enough location for killing 45 minutes. Another mom and her cute little guy were having a conversation. She asked a question that he didn't know the answer to and my filter was out of order so I put out my answer. I did a metaphorical face plant the second the words came out. (A common phrase in my existence, "did I say that out loud?") She made it perfectly clear that my answer wasn't wanted. Uh, yea, sorry. I'll shut up now. And I'll do my waiting elsewhere next week so I don't interrupt your private playground. In any case, my answer was "Simba". Sue me.
So, yea. I get the idea that people may be listening in on conversations and maybe some conversations shouldn't be held in a crowded place. On the other hand, I think there is an unspoken rule, reinforced by the lovely young mother who might not have said those words as rudely as I heard them, that your comments belong in your head.
A note to creepy eavesdropping lady. It is perfectly ok to insert your advice on making finger sandwiches, but it is not ok to give your advice on more personal matters. Really, it's not.
We finally made our escape and hurried out. I sorta feel like I need a shower. My friend and I laughed about that (as well as being relieved that she didn't appear to have heard the entire conversation.)
I'm an eavesdropper too. I admit it. I people watch. I watch parents interact with their kids and smile. I periodically glanced at that couple and rolled my eyes. Sometimes I look like I'm reading a book, but there are definitely times where your conversation is more interesting than my book. I've been known to actually open my mouth to make a comment. But even I realize that is just not done. At least most of the time I realize this.
The other day I was waiting in a small hallway for an interminable dance class to be done. I had work to do, but neither the motivation nor the concentration to do it. I was stressed and exhausted. The last place I wanted to be was in this stinky, cramped hallway, but it seemed a good enough location for killing 45 minutes. Another mom and her cute little guy were having a conversation. She asked a question that he didn't know the answer to and my filter was out of order so I put out my answer. I did a metaphorical face plant the second the words came out. (A common phrase in my existence, "did I say that out loud?") She made it perfectly clear that my answer wasn't wanted. Uh, yea, sorry. I'll shut up now. And I'll do my waiting elsewhere next week so I don't interrupt your private playground. In any case, my answer was "Simba". Sue me.
So, yea. I get the idea that people may be listening in on conversations and maybe some conversations shouldn't be held in a crowded place. On the other hand, I think there is an unspoken rule, reinforced by the lovely young mother who might not have said those words as rudely as I heard them, that your comments belong in your head.
A note to creepy eavesdropping lady. It is perfectly ok to insert your advice on making finger sandwiches, but it is not ok to give your advice on more personal matters. Really, it's not.
Friday, August 26, 2011
tears of a clown
The two things that I am best at. Laughing and crying. I laugh for pretty much any reason. Sometimes even in situations that others find amusing too. I laugh at kids, pets, life, toilet humor, mundane events, spoonerisms, malapropisms, ridiculous logic. I guffaw. I giggle. I twitter. I laugh past the point of reason. Laughter feels good. I try not to laugh to hurt other people. I do occasionally have to apologize and explain when it seems like I might be laughing to hurt rather than just being amused. Laughter releases all sorts of excess baggage and feelings. And so on.
The crying serves a function as well. I cry when things touch me. There are two books that I absolutely can't read out loud. The Giving Tree and the kid's book with the toilet on the cover. Both books demonstrate the nurturing of mothers (or caregivers) as children grow into adulthood. Ignoring the fact that the tree gives up everything for her ungrateful "child" and the mother crawls into her grown son's window to rock him as he sleeps- both of which are uber creepy- I feel that depth of emotion for the child as the child slips away. Lest you think I want my children to be dependent on me forever, I absolutely want my growing-too-fast children to mature into self-reliant adults.
I cry during movies. My little one insisted that I finally watch "Up" with her recently. Well, I cried at the beginning. I cried at the end. I cried in the middle a little bit too. It is a beautiful movie. The crying was for different emotions. I was sad that he lost her, but I was moved when she let him go too. I can't make it through the opening credits of Schindler's List. I cry for the senseless suffering. I cry for the fact that a man who seemingly couldn't do anything right made such a huge impact on a few people (well, a lot but not enough- if you know what I mean.) My biggest cry movie I haven't watched in a very long time. Legends of the Fall. I love this movie. It's where I fell in love with Brad Pitt and Aidan Quinn and Julia Ormond even. It is an amazing movie. (Anthony Hopkins is brilliant as well, no surprise.) If you have never seen it, you should- but have tissues. This movie puts me in despair for hours. So I only can watch in when I really need a good cry but don't seem to have a reason. ha ha.
For many summers, I read aloud a book to the younger generation of our beach friends. Somehow the books always seem to have a part where my voice cracks a little bit. In fact, the last book I read, I was brave enough to look up and saw others joining me in the tears. We had to stop and have a little cryfest. One kid, who I jokingly say has no soul, remained dry eyed. She's not as emotional as the rest of us. This is ok, of course. I'm a little jealous that she doesn't have to worry about making a fool of herself in public.
Crying cleanses the soul. A smart friend told me this. I agree. Apparently it's a Jewish proverb, "What soap is for the body, tears are for the soul." It's kind of like oiling a hinge. Sometimes the joint just rusts and doesn't move unless you oil it. Crying is the WD40 of life.
But I do find myself leaning more towards tears when I'm stressed and tired. I am then ill equipped to see the positives, to deal with the hurts real and imaginary, to respond to situations that are not ideal. In those cases, the crying is not the solution, but the symptom. A wise person I live with often suggests I go to bed. As if getting adequate sleep is an option when I'm stressed and tired. Clearly he is someone who isn't plagued with insomnia when not at his best. When I'm stressed and tired, I compound the problem with feeling guilty for every thing I have ever done that was wrong. There are many things. Many things. Daily. Hourly. Big things. Small things. It doesn't matter. They all plague me and cause the tears to flow, the brain to work in nonproductive overdrive, the body to feel heavy and old. And so I cry. Big tears that make no sense, solve no problems, ease no troubles. Are these tears cleansing my soul? I don't think so. If they are, I have the cleanest soul in town. I know this is not true.
How do I deal with these endless, purposeless tears? Go to bed? Sure, that would be great. Laugh? Yes, that probably would help. Forgive myself for my imperfections? Yes! The hardest thing ever.
Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward. ~Kurt Vonnegut
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)