For Good or For Evil

Game Playing

2011-06-07T14:01:00.001-07:00

Picture a sobbing 8 year old boy. Sick with strep and a fever. Head thrown back, wailing. Tonsils bulging. Reddened eyes watering. Reddened nose running.

Mama: "Baby, what's wrong?"

Little C: "Miss M cheated on me!!"

Mama: "Is she seeing another brother?"

Little C: "What? No. We were playing a guessing game and she cheated!"

Mama: "It's all a guessing game, baby."

might have Earned My Stripes with this one

2011-06-01T19:34:00.000-07:00

So, this title thing I have given myself? Alpha? If you look back far enough on here you'll see it really is only about my familial rank and not about comparing myself to other mothers. That might change as of this week.

This week I have stumbled upon perhaps my most brilliant parenting maneuver of all time. It leaves the bald-spot incident in the dust. What? Didn't I tell you that one? Well...here it is. Little C purposefully stuck his gum in Big C's hair recently. It was so smashed in there I had to cut it out. THEN I cut a matching bald spot in Little C's hair just to make sure everything was "equal" which is what they were arguing about in the first place. Sharp, huh?

But this week? This week I have invented a move. Like gymnasts get flippy, twisty things named after them, I think this one should be named after me: The Alpha Monkey. Its brilliance rests on the fact that the only counter-maneuver would be to deny their inner desire to be the boss of other people. An ability few children possess.

It works like this. You need your child to do something, say...get ready for bed and the multiple step in involves. If you say, "Go get ready for bed," they will end up playing green army men under their bed. If you say, "Get your jammies on, go potty, brush teeth, and wash your face," they will end up playing green army men under their bed in their underpants.

BUT....

If you say, "You get to be the boss of all the kids, how would you tell them to get ready for bed?" I can almost guarantee they will give you a fairly thorough list. Then tell them to go do it. They clearly know what is expected. They can no longer say, "I know I have been brushing my teeth since I first got them, but I did not know you meant to brush them tonight as well." Or, one of my favorites, "I did brush them....(intervening tooth check)....no, not tonight. Did you mean tonight? I meant that, technically, I have brushed them many, many times in the past. You did use the past tense, mom."

It could apply to homework as well: "What homework did your teacher give to the other kids in class today?" Then there is her list for today as well.

"How much time should it take the average kid to eat two waffles?"

"If you were a detective how would you figure out who wrote your name, in your handwriting, all over your brother's bunk bed?"

"If your brother told a lie to your mother what should his punishment be?"

Try an Alpha Monkey this weekend. Let me know how it goes.

2011-05-23T05:54:00.000-07:00

Humans are illogical. We play with logic, like diving deep or flying, but we always have to return to our surface.

On Writing

2011-05-14T11:54:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite interview questions people ask writers is, "What music do you listen to when you write?"

I love it for two reasons. The first is that I am fascinated by the lies people tell themselves. Not the ones they deliberately tell others. The ones they casually toss out there in a self-promoting kind of way. I mean the ones where people say, "I only ever eat protein and fruit" and they believe it so you'll believe it. But you know better because you've seen her scarf down 5/6 of her toddler's chicken nuggets while the little cherub wets himself a story and a half up in the maze of tubes. Just like you know she lied to herself when she giggled and hit his hands with gel sanitizer saying she is a serious mysophobe. If she really was phobic and not simply aware of germs, there is no way in hell she'd have suggested having a meeting at the McDonald's Playland.

Looping back, I find it hard to believe that one can craft a quality work while listening to music. Music demands my attention. I cannot come up with original thoughts when someone else's words are pouring into my ears. Maybe what they want is to be seen as someone who listens to that music. And also probably to be read by people that listen to that type of music. Which is why the writers that give the extensive, eclectic list of names crack me up the most. They want to be read by EVERYONE. Well, who doesn't, I guess? These writers who get interviewed probably do listen to the music on their list. I like to imagine someone keeping an iPod Shuffle in their pocket with their playlist just in case they ever get called on the carpet over their answer. And maybe the ideas do hit them while they listen to that playlist. But each sentence and the studious word choice and the editing? Good god, the EDITING? Are we supposed to think that this novel is something that just spilled out of them after downloading something off iTunes? Send me the link, because I'd one-click buy that thing twice.

Writing is work. It is labor intensive. It is time consuming. It requires a singular focus. I feel it in my own work and I see it in the kids I teach. I have had some of those moments where words come from within and out on to the page and I feel like the lucky little conduit. But it was a hell of a lot of work and practice to get to that space. Even harder to stay there.

Which ties into the second reason I love that interview question. I am truly intrigued by the headiness some writers attach to their craft. The routines and the settings and the exact writing utensil and only a certain font...it gets them in the mood or the zone or some level of zen. Whatever rocks your socks, my friends, but you know what I think? I think that some people need to convince themselves they are writers before they can write. Some of them produce wonderful things. But it amuses me nonetheless.

Maybe it sticks with me because I don't write like that. I need to get something rolling around in my brain for a good, long time before I know how it wants to land on the page. I guess I write to convince myself I am a writer. And I hope to, some day, produce wonderful things.

And when the interviewer asks me what music I listen to when I write I will tell the honest truth: an original composition. It is a complex layering of dishwasher, clothes dryer, barking dogs, video game chirps, and the lilt of my children's pleasure (or growling if the game goes poorly) all muffled through a closed door.

Next question.

Where do I write? Where don't I write. I am writing about you in my head right now, interviewer. About what you wish you were doing and how bummed you were when your editor sent you an email with this assignment and my name on it. (And also, I am writing the part about your interviewing me.)

Safety Warning

2011-05-09T11:48:00.000-07:00

In all fairness, I ought to make you aware of something. You know, so we don't get 3 years into this and you suddenly realize I'm not the blogger you thought I was. You'll ditch me and run back to Alice Bradley. Ok, that's not true. She's much too busy to blog much anymore so I doubt you'll find her distance very satisfying. Though, I have to tell you, she and I have had a multi-email exchange (name dropping, yes) and she seems like a genuinely nice person. Like the kind of person that would tell you something at dinner and then blog the same thing about you later. Unlike some other people who would have a conversation with you and then you read about it on their blog where they wrote about all the things they were thinking about you during dinner but never said. Bitches. (No, wait. That's me. Not Bitches, then. Amusingly Snarky we'll call it.)

Ok. Confession: I can read naughty into almost anything. Like my new hair curler thing. It is called a 3-Barrel Jumbo Waver. Which sounds like the kind of adult novelty item that would make even my jaw drop in disbelief. Theoretically, I can only figure out what to do with 2/3 of the barrels. It doesn't help that the back says, "Larger Barrels, Faster Results." But I don't think I am the only one confused because there are more safety warnings on this thing than a b-b gun. Including: "Caution THIS PRODUCT CAN BURN EYES." Eyes, really? It is 5" long and 4" wide. But you know (as Julia from Safety Graphic Fun would say) in order for that sign to be there, someone tried to curl their lashes with it.

But what's really bad about this behavior of mine is that it is contagious. You'll start by rolling your eyes when I giggle, and soon you'll find yourself anticipating. It is just a short spiral down to participating. And then there is no controlling it. It will show up in the most unlikely conversations. Soon you'll resent me for ruining tea with the vicar. It's only a matter of time.

Actual Distress

2011-05-04T14:34:00.000-07:00

I did something terrible this week. And I find myself processing it in a semi-Elizabeth-Kubler-Ross sort of manner. Below I have outlined the stages of

SORRY I COLORED MY DAUGHTER'S HAIR:

1. Justify it

I have done this three times before and it turned out beautifully each time.

2. Frame it

75% success rate isn't so bad considering I am not a professional.

3. Correct it

Brassy, orange highlights can certainly be fixed with a temporary Medium Natural Brown rinse.

4. Sell it

She looks GREAT with dark auburn hair. It blends well with her very dark eyes, lashes and brows.

5. Recognize it

Aw shit. That's quite red.

6. Apologize for it

I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry...

7. Pay for it

She will be missing a day of school tomorrow and we will be spending half of it at the spendy salon with a color expert to get her back to her actual natural medium brown.

8. (I don't know about this one yet, but I am hoping it involves forgiveness. I also need to point out that Miss M is not mad at me. Bless her awkwardly darkened locks. She said, "I'm smart, mom. I know that blaming you for this is not productive. I just want it fixed.")

Much Distress

2011-04-28T19:19:00.000-07:00

These are called "Skinny Boyfriend Jeans." I won't even tell you where I found the picture because it does not matter. These are turning up all over the place. Boyfriend Jeans my booty!! The only way that size 0-1 model is wearing her boyfriend's jeans is one of the following:

1. Her boyfriend is a skinny 12 year old. Which is only ok if the model is a skinny 12 year old as well.

2. She keeps her "boyfriend" locked up in a basement somewhere where she feeds him a diet of prunes and raisins stewed in Yerba Mate while forcing him to wear tiny pants so she can sandblast them juuuust right (while he's still in them)!

3. Trying to combine two hot sellers, marketers lost sight of the best part of wearing guys jeans. And that is the fact that you can do anything in them: bend over to tie your shoes, chase your kids, sit in a chair, breathe. None of which are possible in a low-rise skinny jean.

My first pair of boyfriend jeans came to me circa 1987. We were not dating, but he was a good friend. And a tangled mess of WWF moves between a dozen or so teenagers in his basement left me half a leg short of a pair on a cold, winter night.

I'll explain...It was a time when I was experimenting with the idea of a torn out knee in a pair of button fly, faded Guess jeans. Keep in mind that a few years prior I also wore the first pair of black leggings my Middle School had ever seen. I liked to think of myself, while not actually on the edge, close enough to spit over it after a glass of orange juice. And then at Rob's house on a Saturday night some All-Star Wrestling broke out. Someone grabbed the hole in my knee and the whole thing came right off from the knee down. Rob, being quite a gentleman for a 15 year old, gave me a pair he no longer wore to get me home. Told me to keep them, even.

I didn't even miss the ruined pair. These were well-worn, classic Levi's. Oh...the best pants I ever wore. I am sad right now missing those pants. Girls used to beg me to borrow them. Really. I wore them all through high school and college. I patched the rear, stitched a pocket back on, and could count my thigh freckles right through their thinness by the time I retired them. I'll try to find you all a picture. I'm sure there are several, as I wore them all the time. Hell, I could probably dig up the actual Levi's in my house somewhere. There's little chance I would ever have throw them away.

These days I have a pair of Joe's Jeans in the Ex-Lover cut. They went to all the trouble of breaking them in for me, just like Rob did. But it's not the same. Nothing could ever come close to an authentic, time- and boy-worn pair.

lightbulb moment

2011-04-11T06:03:00.000-07:00

One day, I realized if I stopped taking good care of the games and toys around here and stopped expecting my kids to, then more of them would break or lose pieces. This exact thing I was fearing, suddenly brightened my day because it occurred to me that IF they were broken and incomplete I could throw them away without an argument.

And now I share it with you all. Use it well.

English Teacher to the Stars

2011-04-07T08:10:00.000-07:00

I may have found the job I'd like! But, like cuddling baby apes, I don't know if anyone is hiring. On the upside, it appears no one is doing it. And there is a real need for it. By all accounts I'm hitting on a real growth opportunity here.

Thinking of how to build a resume, I am going to come up with some brief, little lesson plans based on current songs. For example:

If the Far East Movement had handed me the lyrics to the song "Rocketeer" I would have handed them back all marked up with red pen. And then lectured them on the topic of cliche.

Don't get me wrong. I really like the song. And I sing along all happy up to the point where they say:

I'm like, oh,oh,oh,oh.

Hey, guys, a simile actually needs to make a comparison in order to make any sense at all. This one? It's like lazy, lazy, lazy, lazy. Good try for a first draft. But you have more to give than this. Rework and resubmit by Friday.

a matter of syntax

2011-04-05T11:16:00.000-07:00

'Sup, B. o. B.! Thought I'd tell you how much I like your song, Magic. Especially the way I can just make a noise with my tongue sticking out and (as long as I am in tune) I sound just like you! You have some mad skillz there, B. o. B..

I like your song so much I am going to put it on my lawnmower mix. What is a lawnmower mix, you ask? Well, it is only my favorite mix on my iPod. It is the one I play when I mow the yard on my John Deere riding lawnmower. It is comprised of songs that I like to sing really loud. Also, they have to be fast because I speed like a demon, setting the knob-thingy on the Rabbit Setting. Even on the corners, baby. I'm mad like that.

Yes, my neighbors do smile along. They laugh and slow down to make the moment last. Which just demonstrates the power of your music. Especially since they can't even hear it.

Which makes me wonder if you or Pink or Barry Manilow had any inkling while writing your music that a doughy, short mama in the Midwest would be singing along at the top of her lungs, not caring if she gets a bug or a bit of grass in her mouth because your music is just so fun. Well, yes, Barry kind of counts on it. Good point. What? Totally! John Mayer too. That's funny. But he's not on my playlist.

In addition to the praise, I have two points I'd like to make:

1. With your odd acronym, it makes it difficult to follow conventional grammar rules when addressing you in writing. Do I leave the period and add a comma or exclamation? Leaving it off didn't seem right. Likewise at the end of a sentence. Please advise.

2. At my house, when I'm snapping at Moose, he doesn't seem as happy about it as you are when girls are snapping at you. Maybe I'm not doing it right. I'd welcome any advice.

Thanks, B. o. B., I appreciate your time.

Hey, Lorraine:

2011-03-25T16:55:00.000-07:00

My daughter told me a joke the other day she thought was funny and insisted I tell it to you. But it isn't so I won't. However, the punch line is this:

"I can see Clearly now, Lorraine is gone..."

She thought you'd love a joke with your name in it. I didn't want to tell her that jokes about adultery and uxoricide are not funny unless you're the office whore. And I also didn't want to lie about singing the ending to you since she reminds me every day.

So here, with love from Miss M and apologies from me :)

Look Look!

2011-03-23T12:41:00.001-07:00

Alberta Feretti has designed the slutty Halloween costume version of Carol Burnett's Gone With the Wind curtain-gown!!!

Dear World,

2011-03-21T21:13:00.001-07:00

When did we all become muffin-haters? I am guilty as well. I just pulled a chocolate, chocolate-chip muffin into two parts and sneered at the top of it. I'm not kidding. I gave it a dirty look and cast it aside.

Ok, so my question is a bit disingenuous. I know when. So do you. It happened at the intersect of low-rise jeans and high-protein diets.

But I would like to go on the record as being the woman to remind us all that the muffin top is the tastiest part :)

The morning after

2011-03-14T05:38:00.000-07:00

Can I start by saying I hate Daylight Savings Time? Also, I think we are angering the sun god by messing with her schedule and we shouldn't make her angry. You don't want to see her when she gets angry.

It should feel like any other morning...only early...but it doesn't. Things like this always happen:

Mama: What is THIS?!!

Little C: (waking an hour early from a deep sleep) huuuuhh?

Mama: It is GUM! On your BED!

Little C: I need that! I am testing it!

Mama: Oh, no. "Does my chewing gum lose its flavor on the bedpost overnight?" is not a valid hypothesis you are going to run through the Scientific Method.

Little C: Why not!?

Mama: Because even if you were able to acquire some product to re-test in the next 10 years, replicating the results is cost prohibitive!

Little C: What?

Mama: What I said was you will not have gum for a long time and when you do, if you try this again, you will pay dearly. Now get downstairs and eat your breakfast!

do you play?

2011-03-10T17:29:00.000-08:00

This Words With Friends game...do you play? I do. Generally I do quite well. But I am pretty stuck on this one game. I have come up with an unusually high number of words that don't qualify according to their dictionary.

The Game must be very tired of apologizing to me for it: "Sorry, that is not an acceptable word."

Especially since it really is all my fault.

I wonder if she sits there, in sleep mode, alert but with her eyes closed, just dreading the touch of my cold fingers. Oh, she'll light up. She always does. But her heart won't be in it.

She should have listened to her motherboard and never gotten involved with me in the first place.

take light-years off your figure

2011-03-08T09:02:00.000-08:00

I am kind of fascinated by mannequins. I love how they started out trying to look human and now they look like aliens. Even more, I find it psychologically intriguing that they started out trying to look human and now many humans try to look like them.

Which, if I have my logic correct, means we are trying to look like aliens. No thanks. Not for me. I am too short and too curvy to try for that shit. Maybe I could try and look like the alien mothership. That's a goal well within in my reach...and not far from it, either. I am going to put that on my calendar for June.

To serve my circum-40 peer group, I have come up with an idea to help those who maybe are interested in cultivating that mannequin look. It can start with something as simple as nipples. I don't know when they grew them, but they have them. The closest I can pin it on the fashion timeline is within the last 10 years. I suspect it has something to do with the late shift at the torso-molding facility and a couple of co-workers who give the job about 40% of their time and the other 60% to their porn/pot habits.

Specifically we are considering size and placement. Although I live in a cold climate, I am far too interested in staying warm to sacrifice comfort for naturally reproducing the mannequinesqe breast. The solution is easy and cheap. It could even be FREE if you know someone with a toddler.

Cheerios.

Yep. Cheerios. Honey Nut Cheerios seem to work the best for two reasons. First, once you start to perspire a little they stick in place. Secondly, that coating makes them a bit more durable. You can just slip one in each cup wherever you'd like them. Higher. Lower. I guess it depends on which department you shop in. If Young Miss is your ideal, I'd say start higher.

My 3 Favorite Sports:

2011-02-18T12:08:00.000-08:00

Mama's little brood of heathens are excited for the Peeps Season Opener tonight!

Starting it right with the chocolate covered duckies. Rounding it out with the classic pink bunnies. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. Peeps without end. Amen.

My only complaint is it coincides with Cadbury Cream Egg Season as well as the Mini Egg Minor League games. And the Reese's Peanut Butter Egg Tournament (which now come in a smaller, 90 calorie size...did you know this?!!).

7 Things No One Else Would Tell You About Me:

2011-02-13T18:27:00.000-08:00

I don't win things anymore. I used to. But that was when I actually competed in things. So imagine my surprise when Laurie over at Worn Ragged gave me a Blog Award!! Since I love her dearly and we have become honest-to-goodness friends of the deepest sort, it feels a little like getting a World's Greatest Mom mug from your child. I mean, how could she make that list and not put me on it!? She knows I'd read it. So I think she is just being nice. But I like that about her.

Also, I think the award is like a blog-to-blog version of that slumber party staple, Telephone. See, it is called "Stylish Blogger Award." The meaning of which has been molested in some horrid way that the following graphic is even allowed on my blog!

I write about many things. Style is not really one of them. But I guess I have a writing style. I write in a regular voice in a style-like way. My posts are stylish in the way that they all sound a bit the same. Whew! Was worried about justifying that one for a minute! Pulled it off though.

In order to accept it, I have to do four things. There's that slumber party again.

Thing The First: tell you all 7 things about me no one else would.

1. I can do two, count them TWO, gross things with my eyeballs. I can make them bounce left to right like a Newton's Cradle AND I can blow bubbles out of my tear ducts. Sometimes the right one even makes a high pitched noise but since I have no control over that I don't count it.

2. This summer I had a hysterectomy due to some crazy-ass mass thing growing in my abdomen. It was the size of a 4 month pregnancy and because it was so abnormally huge the surgeon is writing a paper about how he got it all out with the help of a robot. Kind of cool. Only, the thing that still freaks me out (I stay awake thinking about it) is I still have one ovary...so where are the eggs going every month?

3. My navel is not centered left to right. And since I have an OCD thing about lining things up it is a source of much vexation. And possibly the source of the lining things up compulsion.

4. In High School a friend and I caught a nun stealing chocolates donated to the Senior Citizen's Home for their May Baskets. It was a strange time and I was very confused about who to tell and ended up telling no one. A different friend had nick-named her Sister Mary Godiva and the sneaky old bat passed away just this month. Ok...SO I tell that one all the time. I guess I need a new number 4.

4 real #4. My babies all had very clean ears and noses but icky navels. Relating to number 3...I hate navels. Mine the most, but anyone else's too. Just ish!! I have a friend whose husband is a goldsmith. When their baby's navel-jerkey fell off, they saved it and he cast it in gold which she wears on a necklace. You might just think it is a gold nugget if you saw it. And if just reading that makes you wretch a bit, imagine trying to have coffee with her when she wears a v-neck tee. You'll never look at a gold nugget the same way again. You will forever be wondering what did the goldsmith sneak inside of that thing? And now I won't be suffering this particular anxiety alone.

5. I just asked Moose (my husband) for an idea for number 5. He asked if this was a list of things no one else would or could tell you about me. Because if it is could he thinks I ought to fill you all in about my Passive Aggressive Nature. WHAT?! Guess that ought to have gone in column 3, the should column. As in he should not have even said that to me and if he was going to anyway he should have saved it until after Valentine's Day. No chocolate anything for him tomorrow that's for damn sure! (See that right there? Exhibit A which sort of proves his point. But screw him...more chocolate for me! Besides, the other option is just plain old Aggression and I suspect he'd like that one even less.)

6. Ok, here's one even Moose does not know: I cry every day. Usually more than once.

7. I started calling myself a writer because I do write things. Many of which are not this blog or the Baking and Taxidermy one I share with Laurie. Two of which are actually unedited novels one is a screenplay plus many short stories some poetry and my new love: flash fiction. And I did it after hearing Kate DiCamillo speak about how she wore black turtlenecks and called herself a writer long before she actually wrote/published anything. And, finally, she thought she had better write something or call herself something else. So she wrote. Sitting two rows from her and hearing her say those words rang like a gong inside of my chest. And every time I call myself a writer I can feel it echo still. So I kind of want to thank her. I'd love to invite her to the dog park with me and my dogs (because, if you don't know this about her, she loves other people's dogs) and then have her over for soup (because she also loves other people's soup and I am a fantastic cook). But I think that might be crossing a line in a stalker kind of way. Because I know if a stranger wrote to me and asked me to meet them in a wooded area with their dogs and then back to their house where a giant boiling pot was waiting I'd think twice about it too. But I am a huge fan of hers and would like to find a way to thank her, but not in a stalker kind of way. So maybe I'll just leave the soup on her front step.

Thing the Second: I get to nominate 6 other bloggers.

1. My cousin Jen at Cricket and Pip. She's a hoot and love her like the sister I always wanted. (Cross your fingers my actual sister does not read this. But then again, it's not like she doesn't know it too.) Also, Jen is the one who told me to blog. And I always listen to her.

2. My hairdresser Amy. For 2 reasons. 1, she is actually STYLISH! And 2, she is also very, very brave making a bold move at an amazing but stressful time in her life. I don't know if our relationship status technically allows me to be proud of her, but I am impressed by her, that's for sure!

3. For Scott who I have known since 7th grade. Yes, a guy! Let's see you make a foley and a feeding tube look so cool. The posts are not so frequent, but every word he writes is a gift.

4. Miss Julia!! Which reminds me, as soon as I find the connector to hook my camera to my computer I have a picture of something in my pants to send her. Cool it! It is a safety notice printed on the waistband of a pair of yoga pants. Click the link and it will make more sense.

5. For Winona over Here because she hardly ever goes over there anymore. Even though There is actually a style and fashion blog. And I totally get the blogging break, but I miss her writing quite a bit. You should all click on There and maybe we can talk her into an installment of Don't Showcha Your Chocha just for Old Times Sake.

6. And my darling Wendy B. Talk about style AND talent!! Her photos make me want more kids. Like, 7 more. Only, her pictures haven't found a way around that little I no longer have a uterus glitch.

7. Because it wouldn't be me playing along if I didn't cheat...Elena. For she is both earnest and whimsical and THAT is quite an accomplishment.

Thing the Third: contact these people.

Done.

Thing the Fourth: link back to the person who awarded you this prize.

Done. But I'll do it again because I love her so! Worn Ragged: Mommies on the Edge.

And now, for the six recipients to claim their prize of fame, glory, and the world's adoration...they simply have to repeat steps 1-4 on their own blogs. No threat of bad luck or hairy moles. You don't have to mail anyone 6 pairs of underpants or 3 recipes. It is not that kind of chain-letter, oops, I mean blog award.

don't know what you've got til it's gone...

2011-02-10T17:54:00.001-08:00

So....

There was a comment on my earlier post today. I deleted it. And I'll tell you why.

It was anonymous and I thought it was insulting toward Moose. I thought it could have been meant in a funny way but on the off chance that Moose read it (I mean, he always reads them because I leave him voice mails telling him to read them) in a way that hurt his feelings I did not want to leave it up. I mean, really, it is not like I am swamped with so much feedback here that it would go by unnoticed in the flood of responses. I also do not get so many comments that his hide has thickened up. So I went into Alpha mode and moderated that one right out of here.

Well, it turns out....

It was not insulting. It was self-deprecating.

Oh that? That is something I can get behind! My husband recognizing a minor flaw that I didn't have to point out? Second helping of that, please!

Arrows are flying

2011-02-10T06:32:00.001-08:00

And this time, I think one of them might have hit my son! If it was the 14th he might have been prepared to duck. But, alas, he took one right to the chest.

Spring came early to this frozen wasteland. Or at least to the fifth grade classroom. But with no outdoor recess because of the temp, what do you expect?

Big C comes home with the briefest of tidbits about which girls the boys like. He has no idea which boys the girls like because he never listens to their whispers. I think he only hears the boys because they are all loud and boisterous. And, until this morning, I thought he was on the outside of all of that. Turns out, he's on the fringe. Or maybe in it, though I am not willing to admit that to myself yet.

I'll explain.

We were having a treat of a time at the local coffee spot before school. Little C was making crumbs and Big C was making conversation about structural deficiencies in the cable system of the Brooklyn Bridge and how the designer compensated for the poor quality materials by increasing the amount of it! He did! And it is still holding up the bridge deck today. (Yes, this is how our mornings usually go...)

Until...

The cute red head from his class walked in and it was like Springtime blew in with her. He sat up straighter. Avoided eye contact. I reminded him to be polite and say hello because his natural inclination is to ignore any girl that is not Miss M. As it turned out he did not need the reminder :)

He cleared his brother's trash, wiped off the table, and got himself bundled. Then he zipped Little C's jacket for him (the small one has his arm in a sling) and helped him with his one glove. He walked right up to his classmate and said with a smile, "Hi, Miss A. See you in class!" Then he walked to the front door, held it open for a woman with her hands full and then still held it until Little C and I were through. He helped his brother into the van and buckled his seat belt for him even.

Now, he is generally a well-mannered boy. But this was turning the volume way up.

And the adorable Miss A? She was grinning from ear to ear and blushing between her freckles.

After dropping off the boys I was the one grinning and blushing. Not because my darling middle child might have a crush. But because, facing that possibility, he put his best foot forward and behaved like a gentleman. He was not goofy. He was not loud. He was not rude. And he did not throw an eraser at her (that was big when I was 11).

Instead of the typical, awkward thing...he shined!

Proud Mama, signing off....

Cross-contamination

2010-12-17T16:44:00.000-08:00

reposted from www.bakingandtaxidermy.blogspot.com

Liberal Interpretation

If the Unibunny didn't already give it away, this one will.

I am, by any form of measurement, short of stature. Sure, I can give my height in inches (60.5) or centimeters (153.67) to kind of boost the perception of me. But what it comes down to is I am 5 feet tall. It took some time (like, 20 years) for me to recognize that extra half inch does not really matter. At this stage in my life, it is going to disappear soon anyway. The least I can do is start to mentally prepare for it.

There are some advantages to being short. No one asks me to help with tall jobs. Time to arrange canned goods on high shelves? I'm not your gal. Tinsel on the tree? Only if you want the top 1/3 naked. Also, I am a handy tool for estimating. How far away is that rock? About 3 Alphas. Some quick mental math and you know that rock is 15 feet away.

Have you ever been driving down the road and thought the minivan in front of you was driving itself? That was me. The top of my head does not clear the top of the seat. My kids like to pretend they are being chauffeured around by ChittyChitty Bang Bang or that car from Flubber. They have even nicknamed the minivan "Herbie Jr.".

But not today! Today we were running late and I pulled my coat on over my pajamas, went with the slippers, and grabbed one of my kids' hats and we rolled out of the cul-du-sac. Maybe about 1584 Alphas into the trip the 7 year old behind me started laughing.

"Mama, you know how no one behind us can see you driving? Today it looks like the DOG is driving the car!"

Yep. The only parts of the Yeti poking above my headrest were the ears and the furry bit between them.

And the 10 year old offers: "Um...it's like there's a Husky driving us to school!"

Well, at least he got that part right!

Keep Your Options Open

2010-12-17T07:06:00.000-08:00

You all know by now how much I adore my friend Lorraine. Well...we are collaborating on a project which you can find here.

Yes, yes, I know it's a little heavy on the taxidermy right now and quite light on the recipes (now you're going to have to click to see what the flup I'm talking about...see what I did there?) but I have a planned segue from the world of stuffed animals to the world of stuffing. Wait for it!

Fox in Sox with Locks on Box

2010-12-16T11:03:00.000-08:00

I was just wondering why women put on nice underpinning to go to the OB/GYN. No one is going to see them anyway. When we fold our clothes to put them on the chair we tuck the smaller bits into our pants pockets or purse anyway. Because, ew, what if they fell on the floor?

If you want to make a good impression, put on nice socks.

Make an Impact

2010-12-16T06:45:00.000-08:00

Looking at other fun gadgets to entertain you while you visit. Take your pick. The top three are:

Teeth Whitening Tips: I think the guy updates it regularly. But if there were really that many different ways to brighten your smile England wouldn't be the butt of so many oral hygiene jokes. SO I think this one's kind of bunk, but I'll add it if you'd like.

Pictures of Campfires: It might be nice this time of year. Kind of cozy. I could add the MP3 thingy too and play Ella Fitzgerald's Holiday Album all day. Then you could pretend you are sitting in my living room because that is kind of what this cold weather has reduced me to. I stay in my pajamas all day in front of the fire place surrounded by 3 dogs and a laptop playing Pandora to warm me. (Truth: I sleep in warm clothes, so it isn't as bad as it sounds.)

Flash Pinball: I was afraid to click on this one. World Wide Web + the word FLASH = nothing good.

Dear Santa,

2010-12-16T06:36:00.000-08:00

For Christmas this year, Little C wants 48 crayons, clothing, and a back scratcher.

Having some trouble deciphering this list. It either means his basic needs are not being met...or he has all he needs and simple things bring him pleasure.

Since he did not ask for any non-perishable food items, I'm going with the latter.

Xtrafun

2010-12-14T16:09:00.000-08:00

I have been wasting my afternoon on Xtranormal.

If you are in need of some Friendly Advice you should clink the link and check it out. If you have no interest in almost 5 minutes of oddity and inside jokes I made for Lorraine then I do not recommend clicking. But if you like baking and taxidermy it might be worth your while.

Interesting fact for the day

2010-12-14T08:52:00.000-08:00

I am feeling mildly amused that Mistletoe is both parasitic and poisonous...

Horror! (a retelling of a tale presented by Miss M)

2010-12-10T14:04:00.000-08:00

Little C wanted me to read to him from my Science textbook. So I picked a spot and started reading. Then he just wanted to look at the pictures so I let him. But THEN, he screamed and ran out of my room. I looked at the page and it was full of pictures of diseased livers and kidneys.

I went to find him and he was hiding under a blanket. "Little C, it's ok. Those are just pictures of what happens to you when you drink alcohol and smoke."

"Bbbut...are those a kind of KID?! Did that happen to a KID from doing those things?!" he cried.

"NO! Those are KIDneys. You have them inside of you," I explained. "Right here and here."

"Inside of ME?! Aaahhhh!" More crying ensued.

"Little C," I hugged him, "it's ok. Yours are all pink and cute. Just don't ever drink and smoke, ok?"

"Ok," he promised meekly.

(Some days, I can flip my parenting on cruise control and just let Miss M handle things!)

Away in a manger...

2010-12-10T11:12:00.000-08:00

Driving by holiday light displays is one of my favorite things to do this time of year. I don't go looking for them or anything. I prefer to let providence be my navigator. Which might explain why I get lost all the time. Anyway...

One of my favorite things to do is to write the story that goes along with the particular arrangement of lit figures. Like this:

Herod's Tin Soldiers were steadily advancing on the small stable. Mary could do nothing but watch, listen to the clockwork ticking, and swaddle the baby again and again.

"Stop it Mary, you're making me nervous! Just put the baby in the manger!" said Joseph.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "You know how anxious I get." She set the sleeping babe aside and started biting her cuticles instead.

Joseph was about to charge the field when a band of guerrilla carolers came out of the candy cane forest! "Don't worry, we've got 'em covered, Joe."

Joseph fell to his knees in thanks, bowed his head, and offered them his only weapon, a shepherd's staff. "I pulled this off the last guy who tried to get in here. Take it!"

The carolers, with their music books of death, held the hilly ground around the stable. All they had to do was bide their time and to wait for the ticking to stop. "They have to unwind sooner or later," the leader yelled as he tore another page from the hymnal. Deftly, he folded it into a wedge, cut a few notches, shook it lose, and lobbed another snowflake at the soldiers.

"Do you smell gingerbread?" Mary asked Joseph.

"Not right now Mary. We're in the middle of a battle field here, I don't have time to play along with your neuroses!"

"No! Honestly, I smell it for real. It's getting stronger now..."

Joseph lifted his nose to the air just seconds before the carolers did. They all turned and saw the biggest, glowing gingerbread man they could have imagined! No one was quite sure what to do. Was he friend or foe? For that minute that felt like hours the giant walked steadily over the hill, coming to a stop next to the stable. He placed himself against the corner for stability and turned to face down the tin soldiers. Shouts of relief and renewed energy sprang up from the guerrilla carolers and the couple in the stable. Perhaps this would all work out after all. And just in time, too, as the advancing troops gave no sign that their springs would ever uncoil.

But just as the defenders redoubled their efforts, invigorated by the arrival of that sweet, spicy reinforcement, a new sound jingled down from above. What was that? Everyone stopped and looked up.

Something was falling from the sky...

It landed just feet from the carolers! When the snow settled they could see it was a present, wrapped in glittery paper and tied up with a bow. "Go Go Go!" shouted one of the carolers and they all dove for cover under the slanted roof of the dilapidated stable.

The clouds broke and down from the moonlight sky came the worst thing they could have imagined. A man. A very large man. Dressed all in red, riding in a sleigh pulled by nine demonic reindeer with razor sharp antlers. The one in the lead had a glowing red face as if to just drive the point home. The bearded and bundled man tossed another large gift at the small band huddled together. It hit square on the roof, shaking the flimsy structure.

"Ho Ho Ho!" he laughed as he followed up that direct hit with a series of smaller boxes. Some of them made it through the cracks and openings. A camel was hit. And always, always the tick-tock sound coming closer and closer.

It wouldn't be long now...

Here's a secret...

2010-12-09T19:16:00.000-08:00

The real reason I ask Moose to go shopping with me after dinner while the cygnets stay home:

Anyone want to guess?

(Go ahead. Take a guess. I'll give you the answer in 24 hours. But I am wondering if you all can figure me out!)

Screw Calgon...

2010-12-09T07:22:00.000-08:00

Lysol, take me away!

(60% of the household has a stomach bug. And by bug I don't mean parasite. I mean viral or bacterial in nature. The kind the produces 18 hours of vomiting and diarrhea every hour on the hour. You know me well, right? The anxiety level is through the ROOF and down the PIPES.)

Why it sucks to be me with insomnia:

2010-12-08T21:23:00.001-08:00

It's late and I'm in the mood to confess:

I don't know the numbers for any TV channels. Not even one. Really. If it is not in the DVR, I can't watch it unless I surf past it accidentally. To make matters worse, our remote has a damaged button and can only surf down, not up. Poking in random numbers does not help because half the numbers I enter are not even channels. Why the hell are they in my TV then?

And do you even know how many channels there are??! Apparently, just a few shy of putting me to sleep.

So Much Depends...

2010-12-01T17:03:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, just before the snow, a glossy, red chicken was hit and killed on the road by school. Over the next couple of days cars swerved, willing to risk an accident just to avoid hitting it. Me? I recited William Carlos Williams as I drove around it four times a day (having changed it to white wheelbarrow and red chicken, my apologies Mr. Williams) without pause in one breath. But if I actually saw its eye I had to do it again. If I messed up the words I had to do it again. I am willing to bet that's a compulsion you haven't heard before!

Maybe it was the oddity of farmstead roadkill in an environment that is more used to squirrels and opossum. But I've seen cars on that road not even flash a brake light when they send cracked turtles spinning across the lanes.

Not so with the chicken. We all were avoiding that bad mojo.

And then the snow came.

And the reprieve from looking at the bird in the road. See, the snowplow took care of that for us. Scooted it on over to the side, buried it under a mound of snow, and let us all take our kids to school without thinking about our food chain.

And then the snow melted a bit.

Just enough to allow those yellow, gnarly feet to poke through. Which is just enough to keep me from eating chicken until we get another few inches of snow.

so much depends

upon

a few inches

of snow

covering

the legs

of a squashed red

chicken

I swear!

2010-11-11T05:01:00.001-08:00

Looking at my last two posts I feel the need to let you all know, I am not actually the dad from Footloose!

Dear Rihanna*: child, child, child!

2010-11-10T17:09:00.000-08:00

Do you remember that interview you gave after leaving Chris Brown? How you talked about realizing you are a role model to young girls out there? And how staying in an abusive relationship is never worth it? No? You were wearing all off-white....now you remember! That interview.

So, what I am wondering is this: are you no longer a role model? Or do you just not recognize that (according to your latest song) sucking the dick of a guy who does not know your name just because he would rather do that than sit in traffic is also part of a pattern of unhealthy, self-destructive decision making?

Where is your mother, child? Because you need some serious muth-er-ing!! And since everyone around you seems more interested in making money off of you than in YOUR welfare or the health and welfare of the kids who listen to your music I will do some pro bono mothering right now.

Drugs. Alcohol abuse. Early sexual activity. Hyper-sexuality. Relationship abuse. ALL THAT SHIT is related to low self esteem and self-loathing. The wack-a-do hair and the outfits and the strutting around--its a mask. And no one tells you not to because you are lining their pockets. In fact, I'd bet they encourage it.

When the girls who listen to your songs and behave that way get pregnant and suffer the downward social and economic spiral that is teen motherhood...no one is going to help them out. News flash!! Getting a boy to have sex with you is not power! It's about the easiest thing in the world. The 55 year old, scarred up, disease ridden hooker still makes some money, honey.

And what about the boys (who think a man should behave the way the pigs in your songs do) who end up with children they cannot even begin to care for or support? And what about those children, who are born into circumstances they statistically have almost no chance of changing and every chance of repeating...what about them?

Here's what you are going to do. You are going to walk your ass down to an urban grade school and volunteer. You are going to sit in a classroom with children who are not regularly bathed, fed, or put to bed because their parent is beyond overwhelmed. You are going to help those kids learn to read. You are going to do math and sing songs and play games. And you are going to fall for them. I swear it is true. Those kids will amaze you every day.

Then one day you will go to a pre-production meeting for your next album, review lyrics and song choices, and realize that the machine whirling around your career is chewing those kids up and spitting them out. And when you learn to give a shit about their lives and their welfare and their futures, maybe you'll have your epiphany.

Until then use this as your litmus test: "Would I walk into a classroom of 10 year olds and be ok reading these lyrics to them? Would I explain the innuendo to first graders and be proud to teach them something new? Can I walk out of that middle school, picture them emulating these behaviors, and feel good about what I have accomplished?"

No? Then you are singing the wrong song, sweetheart. You can carry the tune, no doubt. But you have not even begun to carry the load.

*Feel free to substitute Katy Perry, Ke$ha, or any of the other famous, young girls who have no understanding of the impact their media has on children and teens.

Can't wait to hear how this comes out in their therapy session 20 years from now.

2010-11-08T07:22:00.000-08:00

Moose and I took the kids to an open studio arts event this weekend at a former industrial site that now houses artists' studios. There were the expected hacks and the unexpected true masters available to show their work.

Going into it, I expected there would be nudes. I was all geared up to let the kids experience this. I talked to them ahead of time about how there are many ways to show and view the human form and sexualizing it is only one of them. How if we are only shown that one way through commercials and movies and the internet then we are limited. When we only learn to view bodies this way it leads to objectification.

The only problem was....

No one had this conversation with the artists. Not to say there was NO range at all. Some of them threw a little violence in there as well.

Which left my preemptive parenting looking less like offense and more like, well, offensive.

Taste Tests are my Favorite!

2010-10-15T07:17:00.001-07:00

So the cultural concepts of Change and Stick it to The Man have progressed in a direction I was not expecting.

Oatmeal.

Really. There's a Revolution afoot and I can only thank the grocery store end cap for alerting me to the problem. If we are to believe the packaging (and why wouldn't we? they teach us to read it for a reason!) old fashioned instant oatmeal is ruining everything! What with their paper envelopes and recycled/recyclable boxes and having to pull out a measuring cup for the water...they are hastening our downfall.

As luck would have it, there is a better option! WHOLE rolled oats. Not the broken bits you find in those large, paperboard canisters. TINIER boxes to reduce packaging. And...take a breath...envelopes that also function for measuring the WATER!

But are their claims true? Well, I tested it today. And here are the results:

Number of Servings:

Old Fashioned Instant---> 10

Revolting Instant (isn't that what you call one who is stirring up a Revolution?)--> 5

Cost per Bowl:

Old Fashioned Instant---> $0.39

Revolting Instant--> $0.27

Size of Box:

Old Fashioned Instant--> bigger box, thicker paperboard

Revolting Instant--> claims to be up to 35% less, but you have to buy 2 of them, so it actually comes out to 30% MORE packaging for the same number of servings.

Easy of Preparation:

difference is so slight as to seem equal

Taste: oh. yum. this is why I do the research for you!

Old Fashioned Instant--> classic, yummy, nothing wrong with it, comes in dozens of flavors

Revolting Instant--> dear me, quite good, and I hear it comes in dark chocolate...

Results: Oh, good golly. Did I just spend my morning comparing oatmeal? I did. I even called the grocery store claiming to be writing an "article" on healthy, warm breakfasts for kids. (The man was very helpful, by the way.) So I guess the conclusion is I have a complete lack of shame and no meaningful work to do on a Friday in October. Hope we all learned our lesson here.

sympathetic my ass!

2010-10-04T08:24:00.000-07:00

Last week I stopped with the cygnets for dinner after Miss M's Volleyball Game. Chinese. No one protested the choice. All was going smoothly.

Until...

Little C started trying to eat his rice one bit at a time with chopsticks. I am all for some fine motor skills development, my friends, but not when we have to drive another 20 minutes through traffic, get Miss M changed for dance, and then actually get her to dance. Little C was reminded. He was warned. There was some pleading on my part. Then he lost his chocolate covered fortune cookie.

Fast forward to this morning...

I just found a chocolate covered fortune cookie in my bag! Woo Hoo!

The message "You are sympathetic to the problems of others."

I might be mixing my mythologies here, but I think The Fates have just reminded me this was clearly never meant to be Little C's fortune in the first place!

Conversation, at the end of which I refrain from yelling HA!

2010-10-04T05:48:00.000-07:00

The weather has turned quite chill in the mornings here. Which means the next 5 school mornings will all include some form of the following conversation:

Mama: You will need warm sweaters!

Kid: I've got one.

Mama: Do you need to keep the inside of your backpack warm? Put it on your body, child.

Kid: Awwwwww!

Other Kid: What kind of fleece is this?

Mama: Polar fleece.

Other Kid: Is it a hide?

Mama: No. It is recycled plastic turned into fibers.

Other Kid: So it's not polar bear hide?

Mama: No. Go get in the car.

Other Kid: But is it polar bear fur like their wool? Is it cut off?

Mama: No. Plastic bottles. The polycarbonate is melted and spun kind of like cotton candy. Get in the car.

Other Kid: I can't wear this. It feels like polar bear hide and that makes me sad.

Mama: FINE! Get. In. The. Car.

First Kid: This sweater is wrong.

Mama: Good. God. Get your head through the hole.

First Kid: But the inside of the wrist part is bothering my hands. Like it is tearing at my flesh.

Mama: Well, cotton jersey is known for its tearing properties. Put your head through the hole.

First Kid: Why would you BUY me this then?

Mama: 1. It is a nice hand-me-down. 2. Sarcasm. Put on your sweater. Get in the car.

First Kid: I CAN'T WEAR THIS!

Mama: Grab another one. I am getting in the car. I suggest you have your butt in your seat inside of 45 seconds.

Mama: Where the heck is your sweater?!

First Kid: The only other one I will wear has oatmeal crusty on the zipper.

Mama: Good. God. We're leaving. We're just leaving.

Both Kids: M-m-m-m-m-mmamma? C-c-can you turn up the heat? It is cold in the car!

A few questions for you

2010-10-01T17:51:00.000-07:00

Did you know that if you sprout your chickpeas prior to making falafels they are healthier for you and easier to digest? You did? Oh.

Did you know that sprouting them is an activity best attempted under refrigerated conditions? You did? Hmmmm.

Because I just learned both of these things. The second one I will never forget. Because on about day 4 on your counter (even if they are covered and you are changing the water and rinsing daily) they will go punk on you. They will bubble up and smell like your old dog just ate shit and a dead squirrel, let them stew for about half a day, and then vomited the contents of her retching gut upon a pile of rotten fish. Or something similar.

Did you also know that if you pour a full bag's worth of fetid chickpeas in your garbage disposal (even if you run it for a long time, and even if you leave the water running longer) you will essentially make hummus that will work its way just beyond the reach of any layperson's plumbing snake and then re-solidify into a putrid mass? You did? Did you also know about how it will continue to ferment and belch noxious odors into your kitchen until you can bust it up and remove every last trace of funk? This too you knew?

What about the part where if one chooses to do stupid things like this one really ought to consider marrying a plumber next time? Huh.

Well when the hell were you planning on telling me?!

Mr. Eddie Long,

2010-09-30T06:48:00.000-07:00

There is only one reason ANYONE takes camera shots of themselves posing in a bathroom. They are varying degrees of a mating display. Any other excuse from you is a cover story. You are lying to your family, your congregation, your victims, and yourself.

I suspect that if you had been allowed to be your true self as a young man you would not have felt like you had to hide your organic nature. If you had not been judged or feared judgement you would not have made it your life's work to cruelly judge others who have the internal strength to live their lives honestly.

I know how abuse works. At some point in your life you were abused. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. And now you abuse. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually.

I know how Narcissistic Personality Disorder works. You have learned to consider yourself infallible as a coping mechanism. The other option was to look at your behaviors and your desires and injuries honestly. And you can't do that can you? You can't do it because you live in a world of hatred that you helped create and perpetuate.

I know a little about fanaticism too. Have you figured it out yet that your external judgements are really about what you hate in yourself...not in others? Probably not yet. You need to hit bottom first, I guess.

With any luck it will be a fast fall and a hard landing.

Sister Knows Best

2010-09-27T10:46:00.000-07:00

Big C's fish died last night. It wasn't a surprise. He'd been lingering near the top for a couple of days. We'd all had a chance to say farewell so the grieving is progressing as expected: some tears, some trouble sleeping, and a renewed respect for all life...even the box elder bugs that are currently trying to turn my house into hibernaculum. The cygnets have been picking them up in the house and carrying them outside. Of course, for every one they displace, three more fly in and two ride in on the kids' backs.

It is clearly a battle we are losing.

But there is another one we are winning. It is called "Raising Our Children To Be Friends Not Rivals." For proof I submit Exhibit A:

Miss M finds out about Horace, the the fish, and immediately goes to find her beloved brother. This is what she says into the top of his head as he cries and they embrace:

"I sure wish I knew what a big sister was supposed to say in times like these to ease her younger brother's suffering. (Pause. Sniffle. Sob.) I'm so sorry about Horace. He was a good fish and he never did anyone any harm. We'll all miss him."

Decision Time

2010-09-24T09:50:00.001-07:00

Shaved and shivering Goldendoodle.

Serendipitous Scooby-Doo Halloween costume.

What would you do?

Yep, me too! Only, I didn't get any pictures for you yet because I was laughing too hard. And now I am doing laundry, because both Olly and I peed on the sidewalk.

You'll be SO proud of me!!

2010-09-20T18:45:00.000-07:00

I finally did it and it didn't backfire! I did not have an anxiety "issue" and I didn't even piss anyone off. Just what did I do and how did I do it so deftly? I'll tell you!

But first, you must know, that I have been practicing for his moment most of my life. One of my earliest memories of it not working was when it got me kicked out of church choir. But since that was kind of my claim to fame for many years it wasn't a total failure. Hell, I still pull that one out if I want to sound like a Wild Child. More recently there was that flight. And that Attendant. And the whole Pre-flight Instructions Situation. Yaaahhh...that one was a flop. I was right, I'll have you know. But a failure nonetheless.

During the 27 year gap between those two events the practice has mostly been in my head. But tonight was the perfect culmination of 30+ years of Thinking Something I Want To Say To An Annoying Person And Then...Actually Saying It!

What made this so perfect was that I was not in trouble when I said it (Exhibit A above) nor was I holding up a crowded flight, risking removal from the plane and flirting with police intervention (Exhibit B). I was correcting the pompous clerk at Office Max.

The 20ish check out boy was the only one ringing on a Monday night. There was a line of two in front of me and by the time I was done there were three more behind. Uncommon, I'll admit, for a Monday night. Staffing was clearly an issue. Which is when anyone with retail experience knows...you cut the chit-chat and move the line. Right?

Not this guy. He was clearly under the impression that because we were standing there to see him we qualified as an audience. It must help him sleep at night. How he justifies dropping out of Community College to pursue a smoking Stand Up career in the Midwest. And how he makes it feel ok that he works nights at Office Max but only when he doesn't have a gig. So, you know, every night.

He used BIG words in his repartee like "neither" and "nor." He even used them correctly, emphasizing them and all. What I gathered while listening to his shtick with Customer 1 was that his "persona" is kind of that smarter-than-you-nerd. Character development was a little weak but his timing and delivery were spot on. I have to give him that. What I gathered from his banter with Customer 2 was that he needs to write some more material. Same lines. Same jokes. Same tempo and pause for the laugh. Customer 2 gave it to him too, that wimp! But not me.

(I am going to break this down because I'd like to be able to repeat my success. There is a fine line between public service and being an ass.)

Clerk: blah blah blah...neither A nor B...(run hand through shoulder length wavy hair)...blah blah blah...can I see your card just to verify that you are, in fact, humanoid...blah blah blah...so if you'll just present me with your Herbie Hancock right there on the screen...

Alpha: Are you even old enough to know who Herbie Hancock is?

Clerk: (all bravado fades) Um, well, I saw it on Tommy Boy. He's like a guy from some band or something.

Alpha: Do you know why that line is funny in the movie?

(chirp chirp chirp--those are crickets)

Alpha: (cont.) Do you know who John Hancock is?

(chirp chirp chirp)

(And here is how I know I was still operating in the realm of public service)

Clerk: (nervously) Well, I know his name is what some people say when they ask for a signature.

Alpha: Declaration of Independence?

Clerk: YAH! That guy! He wrote his name real big, right?

Alpha: He did, indeed.

Clerk: (genuinely smiles) Thanks!

on the lighter side...

2010-09-13T10:23:00.000-07:00

I had a 7 year old tell me the following last week:

"You're kind of weird. I mean, from the outside your house looks abandoned. Like no one lives there. But on the inside it is so nice. I am not trying to hurt your feelings or anything. 'Cause your house is really clean. But only the inside part."

I told him we spend the WHOLE year getting ready for Halloween on the outside.

While I died just a little bit on the inside part.

My thoughts on the subject

2010-09-12T19:55:00.001-07:00

9-11 started with fear and resulted in fear. It was a violent and horrific fundamentalist response to the fearful sensations of a changing world. The response? An increase in fundamentalism in our own country. That just breaks my heart.

Fear is the spark that ignites fundamentalism of every flavor.

It minimizes internal reflection and correction. It isolates us from any true connection with others because people are taught to apply rules harshly. It requires strict obedience or else. It cuts off any growth.

It glorifies simplistic moral reasoning.

It is the absolute opposite of love.

A Confectionary Life

2010-09-07T10:19:00.000-07:00

Have I told y'all I live next door to a cupcake? She is 4. Nearly 5. Miss Lil is not one of those vegetables-disguised-as-dessert kind of cupcakes. Not a speck of carrot or zucchini in this kid. She is like spun sugar on a windy day. With sprinkles.

Miss Lil was playing with Miss M the other day. It is worth mentioning that Miss M is the only one who notices the 8 year gap in ages but doesn't mind it one bit. She really enjoys playing with cupcakes. So they walked through the kitchen while I was making dinner and I showed her what we were having and invited her to join us. After checking with her mother, she skipped back over and helped set the table. (You think that is something, I had her 2 year old sister washing my windows this week too!)

We were all on our best behavior and having a genial conversation when she asked me this:

"So, Alpha, were you fired or something?"

Which is, I guess, her way of asking why I am home during the day when the women in her family work outside of the home like the men do. It was a tricky thing to answer because, yes, I was fired from the last job I held. I was fired for being pregnant. In 1998. No shit. But that seemed a sullied path to drag a 4 year old cupcake down. I didn't want to be responsible for smudging her frosting or knocking some nonpareils off the top. So I frosted my answer too.

But I am sitting here today with my kids back at school and I miss them so much I washed curtains and upholstery this morning. But now that the afternoon is here I feel my mind settling and thinking about why I stay home. Not what I do or how I fill the time. But actually why.

And I don't know how to answer that completely. For myself or for her. As the morning's sun gives way to the afternoon's gust with the smell of rain on its heels I am remembering a day like this almost a year ago...

I was just home from the morning deliveries (both boys AND both lunches thank you very much). I picked up our Netflix movies and grabbed an umbrella to go take them to the mailbox on a cold and rainy Fall day.

But when I looked out there was now a kid's bike in the road that was not there just 2 minutes ago. It wasn't parked. It was thrown aside.

At first I thought it was our neighbor Teddy's and I was going to walk it up to his house. But then I had a horrible premonition that I should not touch the bike.

I'm looking at this bike, up and down the street, and back to this bike with its handle bars at a drastic angle.

A neighbor pulls out of his driveway and sees it too and stops me. "What's wrong?" the lawyer asks when he sees the bike in the road and me with my concern under a frog umbrella. "I don't know, Dave."

And just then the neighbor boy comes out from between two houses. Riley is a good kid. He should be in school. But it is his week on for chemotherapy so he is home.

Last winter Riley's family had to put their old dog down. And Riley LOVES dogs. He had spent months asking for a dog.

Then in June, he doubles over at a soccer game and they ran him to the ER thinking it is his appendix. Nope. It is a grapefruit sized, very rare, and very aggressive cancerous mass in his abdomen.

Riley is Miss M's age. He is smart and polite but with an edge of sass to him--just the way I like them. And I have ALWAYS had a soft-spot for this kid who never stops smiling. Who will wave every time he rides by.

From falling on the field, to arrival at the little ER in Wisconsin, to being taken by ambulance to the Children's Hospital, to surgery took about 4 hours.

They had a new puppy in the house within a week.

The pup is SO cute. And I totally understand why they bought the red headed golden retriever. Oh, he is so vintage golden! None of that square-headed blonde thing going on. Snipey and shiny golden-red. He is a good puppy. He will be a great dog. But the dear family does not have the time to train him. And even if they did the dog is 6 months old and SASSY.

Anyway...Riley comes around the house with an empty leash and I tell the lawyer in the car it is ok. The boy stumbles over. He is wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt and a stocking cap. His feet are bare with bits of grass and leaves pressed to the wet between his toes.

And my heart just cracks down the middle.

He has no eyebrows and he is pale and bloated. And he is standing in the rain in his jammies, crying.

He won't take my jacket. He won't get in my car and drive around with me to look.

But I go to get my car anyway to help him look. I grab a jacket to make him wear it. And I planned on finding the pup and then calling his mom and making the boy hot chocolate.

But...

When I stepped out after grabbing my keys and a coat for him, his mom is stopped with her car in the middle of the street.

She came home from running an errand and Riley was gone. So she drove around looking for him and found his bike in the middle of the road.

And then my heart shattered.

I yelled for Riley and he came around from behind another house, she looked up and saw him with the empty leash in one hand and the puppy in the other. And she fell to her knees. In the leaves. In the gutter. In the rain.

And here is this beautiful boy. His tears hidden by the rain. Smiling and holding his puppy and waving at his mom. The puppy which, more and more, seems like a symbol of this battle they are fighting.

He put the dog in the car. Picked up his mom. And then picked up his bike.

And if I'm not here who would see this? Who would hold this in their heart and never forget it? I am reminded, once again, how lucky I am to have this time at home. This sweet, frosted time in my life.

It Pleases The Gods

2010-08-26T15:09:00.000-07:00

I was walking through TJ Maxx today helping Miss M select a pair of gym shoes for school. Select may be a generous term. Handing her shoes and making her put a foot in at least one and...gasp...actually tie it is closer to the truth. She does not like shopping. People tell me that she will grow into it, she's a girl and MY child after all. At 12.2 years of age she shows no sign of it yet. Her general compliance today was the result of bribery. Yes, I told her she could rent a movie of her choice if she at least didn't cry and yell at me when I handed her clothes to try on.

So I am in the shoe aisle. We happen to wear the same size now, you know. And I was thinking that with all the money I save due to her aversion to purchasing clothes and shoes this might be the year I buy myself those red, mid-height Frye boots. Just then I turn to check the rest of the size 7's and guess what!!!!? NO. Not Frye. But Franco Sarto, whom I also love. Red. Mid-heights. COWGIRL boots! For 1/4 the price of the ones I was going to go home and order online.

The shoes gods must be rewarding me for taking such fastidious care of my soles! It pays to exfoliate, girls.

Yawl: a drawling yawn which can last between 20 seconds and 3 months

2010-08-16T07:22:00.001-07:00

Can we just blame my lack of posting on the fact that I have no idea where my alarm clock is? I don't generally know what time it is these days to be honest with you. It is that time of year. That is as close an estimate as you are going to get out of me. End of summer. The part where I avoid any and all mention of back-to-that-place-the-children-go-to. I am not ready for that yet. So NOT ready, in fact, that I do not know when the first day is. People keep asking me and I don't know. Really. There is some stuff some time about meeting teachers and dropping off disinfecting wipes. I suspect we will be missing it. Or may have already. Rest assured, Educators, this is a parenting choice. Not indicative of neglect or substance abuse. Just about our priorities as a family.

Back to this morning:

Miss M is enjoying hot chocolate and buttered toast on the porch watching her brothers and covering up her urge to laugh at them. See, a few months ago Moose's father was here for a visit. Every morning he walked the kids to the coffee shop where they did I know not what but they always brought me home a beverage and that was all that mattered. But one day...they came home and left again with the little red wagon. When they returned there was a very heavy Old School Ergometric Exercise Bike on it! A neighbor had it out with a "Free. Take It." sign on it so they did. This machine now rests on our front porch where the boys generally pretend it is something like a speeder bike or a pedal-powered solo helicopter.

But back to today:

Miss M and I are amused because the boys have turned the friction knob thing so tight that their body mass is not enough to move a pedal. I went over and pedaled it for a bit just to prove it was not broken. And so we could watch them try to figure it out a little longer. Turns out their combined body mass is still not enough to turn the crank shaft. I am going to make a conservative estimate here and say we are going to get another 2 hours enjoyment out of this.

But wait! Big C just came back with a tool box. And a pocket knife. His new plan is to cut away the felt pad thing that is clearly gumming up the works. Perhaps I'll step in and save the integrity of this vintage piece. Or not. It is that kind of a summer.

And I am not ready for it to end just yet. Try me again in November.

I Have Failed My Family

2010-07-11T17:00:00.000-07:00

We pulled out of the driveway just as the sky opened up and rained solidly for half and hour. For those 30 minutes, we were mostly trying to decide on a place to eat as our first choice was too busy to bother getting out in the rain. We finally chose another local spot and as we parked the rain stopped. It was quite fortuitous, as the air conditioning inside was set so cold and so high that we were all shivering. I don't know if I could have stayed if my clothes had been wet.

The waitress asked if we had any questions. Ha! Of course we do. Little C wants to know if he can order a pepperoni pizza with no pepperoni. (Remember, this is the kid who asked a plantation tour guide what 7 times 243 was when he was asked for any questions.) Big C wanted to know if there was meat in the sauce on the mostaccioli. (There was. Pause game to come up with another choice for dinner.) Miss M wanted to know if the tomato-mushroom-bisque soup was with chunks of mushrooms or were they pureed. (Chunks. But she had an available Plan B.)

Eventually we all order. We all talk politely through chattering teeth and finished a couple of kids' menu puzzles. The place was not too busy and it wasn't long before a waitress brought our food out. She was not the one who took our orders. Our waitress had shorter hair pulled back neatly.

Not this lady.

This one had LONG like there-is-not-one-valid-reason-to-justify-hair-so-long kind of hair. It was wound up in a loose, loopy kind of thing that was bouncing against her spine somewhere around C6 or C7. Long chunks were loose and hanging down her back.

My real problem begins here. The inconvenience of the weather and the complaints in the car about every other place we drove by? Sure, they contributed to my choice. But I had only complained about the air conditioning so far.

So...

I was the only one sitting where I could see the waitress carrying out the tray of food on her shoulder. It was dinner for 5. It was heavy. So she scrunched up her shoulder and...hold on while I gag again...balanced it against the side of her HEAD. And when she turned to find an empty table to set it on IT happened. Her HAIR went smack into one of the dishes.

My lips parted to protest but I had a flashback of what it took to get to that table. I had a flash forward to what someone in the kitchen might intentionally do to any replacement food if I bitched about the waitress he has a crush on. I took note that it was not my actual plate involved.

And I

said

nothing.

I slowed my breathing. I averted the anxiety and swallowed the bile rising in my throat. And I ate my dinner. And if the family member who ate the food that was wiped by her snarly mop gets ill, I will feel responsible. But until that happens, I'm not telling whose dinner was violated.

An Invitation

2010-07-08T17:18:00.001-07:00

Mama: Hey, Miss M! Do you want to go and get a pedicure with me?

Miss M: NO! Wait...what kind of pedicure?

Mama: The kind where they rub your feet and paint your toe nails.

Miss M: Do they have silver polish?

Mama: I don't know.

Miss M: Can your feet be dirty?

Mama: They wash them. Wait. Come here. Not that dirty! Go wash the mud off your feet first.

PROFUSELY EMBELLISHED

2010-07-08T10:08:00.000-07:00

We have books all over our house. Every room. Almost every horizontal surface. But I keep one shelf, appropriately in the main library, for the older books in our collection.

Marvels of Natural History, published in 1897, is among my favorites. I have to confess I have never read it. Not like my collection of John Kendrick Bangs which I read frequently. Nope. I only read the descriptions under the engravings. Here are some of my favorites:

"A HUGE BONE-PLATED ANIMAL" appears under a big lizard from the Sea Reptiles chapter.

"FAMOUS BACTRIAN CAMEL" under the famous bactrian camel. What he's famous for doing, it doesn't say.

"ELEPHANT" under an elephant sweeping the forest floor with a broom in his trunk. Why is he not famous?

"WHITE ANTS AND THEIR SINGULAR DWELLING" accompanies a cross section of what is also known as a termite mound.

"THE FLAMINGO'S STRANGE NEST" precedes "A WREN'S BEAUTIFUL NEST" which always makes me think of growing up with my sister, tucking my head under my wing, and standing on one leg.

Also, there is an entire chapter devoted to Wild Asses and another to the Titmouse. (Yes, I am 12 on the inside.)

The engravings are amazing but the binding is terribly fragile. So fragile, in fact, that I am often tempted to frame a few of the pages. If I can ever bring myself to take a page out, the centerpiece of the display will be the first page inside the cover. There are no images on the page but here is what it says:

MARVELS OF NATURAL HISTORY

CONTAINING A

COMPLETE DESCRIPTION OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM

INCLUDING

MONSTERS OF THE ANCIENT WORLD; WILD ANIMALS OF THE TROPICS AND POLAR REGIONS; BEAUTIFUL BIRDS; CURIOUS INSECTS AND MARVELOUS FISHES

EMBRACING

Their Habits, Modes of Life and Striking Peculiarities

THE WHOLE FORMING

A CAPTIVATING DESCRIPTION OF THE MOST WONDERFUL AND INSTRUCTIVE FEATURES OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM

HENRY DAVENPORT NORTHRUP

Author of "Earth, Sea and Sky," "From Pole to Pole," "Museum of Wonders," Etc., Etc.

PROFUSELY EMBELLISHED WITH SUPERB ENGRAVINGS

I know this was put in the book to function as a way to entice the reader into buying the book. It is not actually part of the book proper. The fact remains it is my favorite page. I find it such a wonderful example of marketing history that I can't get past it to even read the book! Plus, I hear the page in Yul Brynner's voice. Etc., Etc., Etc.

perpetual motion?

2010-06-28T11:33:00.000-07:00

The cygnets' lunch conversation today was about the Physics of Newton's Balls. After returning from my mad dash to the bathroom I corrected them. Conversation progressed concerning Newton's Cradle...but not until after cleaning up from one kid shooting water out of a nose, another spitting a mouthful of Boca nuggets, and the third making his own mad dash to the bathroom.

Rivals: a one-act play

2010-06-24T07:01:00.000-07:00

I am sure I have mentioned Big C's introverted nature before. And the clever among you have certainly picked up on Little C's more...outgoing personality. Well, no surprise then when I tell you there have been some conflicts lately. They usually start when the Big One needs some space to regroup. Which feels like rejection and isolation to the Little One. Who then clings like a starved tick while the object of his attention runs to his room, slams the door and yells something like, "I NEED SOME PERSONAL SPACE!"

How do I handle this? Usually I remind Little C that his brother regulates by himself in a quiet environment, then I distract the bugger or pass him off to Miss M. As time allows. But sometimes I go into the whole psychological rigamarole. All it usually does is diffuse the immediate situation. All I hope for is that the concepts stick somewhere in their big brains and thinking about their own motivations comes into regular play somewhere down the road.

But this morning I seem to have solved the problem for good! Read on...

***************************************************

(whining, growling, slapping sounds from off stage followed by the ubiquitous...)

Chorus: Mahahahahammmm!

Curtain Rises.

(The stage is simply set with a desk, chair, and a laptop computer. The mother is sitting at her writing desk, the boys enter in a hurry, each trying to elbow past the other, both start talking at once...the smaller boy also dramatically pantomimes his brother's recent offense by hitting himself)

Big C: (hitting his brother) I did NOT hit you that many times!

Little C: I counted! It was 7, now it's 8! Mahahahammm!

Big C: HE was reading over my shoulder and telling me not to turn the page! (he cannot imagine a worse crime at 8:54 am)

(The mother hits SAVE and turns to her boys. She gently pulls one to her right side and one to her left and then launches into her monologue.)

Mother: (turns to the smaller boy) Little C, you know that your brother needs space and time to himself in order to pull himself together and be comfortable on the inside. You are different that way. But when your brother feels you hovering over him he feels stress. Did he ask you to back off a few times before he pushed you away? (small boy sheepishly nods) And did you respond by leaning in further? (small boy nods again, his eyes bigger) Then why are you surprised that Big C's response escalated as well? (small boy's face changes to guilty as his neck shortens and he shrinks a bit)

(turning to the bigger boy) And YOU know that your brother feels that same kind of distress you do when you push him away from you. He needs attention and contact with people in order to regulate himself. Especially in the morning. We all know this about him. Have we talked about kinder ways to let him know you need space? (the boy nods) Did you mean to tell him that hitting you is an appropriate response when he is stressed? (shakes his head no) Do you recognize that you did, though? (no response) That when you hit him you are, in fact, giving him permission to hit you? (after a pause to consider, he nods again)

(to both boys) So this is how you two are going to solve this problem. You are going to tell each other what happened in the living room in a way that shows you understand where YOU made a mistake. Because you both made some mistakes this morning. Then you are going to think of a solution that will help you both in these types of situations in the future. When you have that figured out, you come and present the plan to me, I'll type it up and you can both have a copy. Agreed?

Bic C: (to his mother) But, I don't see how we can both get what we want when what we want are opposites?

Mother: That is something you will have to talk to your brother about. You both might have to bend a little bit to make this work. Now go. Go off somewhere and figure it out.

(Little C reaches for Big C's hand [seriously. I am not making this shit up.] and the boys walk off stage together. Drifting back to the mother are their sweet, young voices saying words like: "stupid," "she's wrong," and "we'll show her." The mother smiles and goes back to her work, confident her work is done.)

Curtain Closes.

***************************************************

Yes, friends, that was just Chapter 3, section 4 in the Group Dynamics text book. Cross referenced with Chapter 12 in the Guide to Social Psychology. One highly effective tool for helping opposing groups reach resolution is to help them find a common goal. NO, I don't mean the little assignment I gave them. I meant me. The Common Enemy. The Obstacle They Must Unite Against In Order To Defeat.

Worth the Audible Laugh

2010-06-24T06:55:00.000-07:00

Alice Bundles

You don't even have to announce it to anyone if you do. But you can. I am. Because Alice is a good person who makes me feel pretty sane.

Please Accept This Submission...

2010-06-22T07:42:00.000-07:00

...for WORST NAME EVER!!

Colin Wormor.

Is it too much to hope for that his middle name is David? Probably.

The Evolution of "lol"

2010-06-21T07:58:00.000-07:00

Taking a look at "lol" is like an etymological study in fast forward. I mean, it probably took a couple of generations at least for the Canadian "eh" to settle in to its current status. Not so with "lol." This abbreviation/short hand notation has gone from a way to save money on the per-character cost of texting to actually being pronounced. That's right. I've heard it two different ways:

There's "lawl" which sounds decidedly lower class next to the French-sounding option of "ellowell."

I find it hard to believe there is that much laughing out loud in reality. But I have been keeping my eyes and ears open the past few weeks to try and decipher the colloquial usage of the term. It is still being added to, but here is my partial list:

1. When offered in response to someone else's wit, it most often means "I am laughing out loud on the inside." (Oxymoron.)

2. When used to tag your own comment (easily 85% of the cases) it can mean many things;

--I think I am funny.

--I think I am clever.

--Don't you think I am funny?

--Don't you think I am clever?

--You should.

--Because I am.

(Please note, the actual funniness or cleverness of the comment is irrelevant. Conservatively, 94% of the comments it tags are neither funny nor clever.)

3. A passive-aggressive safe word. As in, "I am going to insult you now. I can't help it. I am a bitch/douche bag. But I don't want anyone else to think I am a bitch/douche bag so I will laugh out loud when I write this on your social network page. That way, the people reading it will all laugh out loud on the inside as well. But they will still be thinking about what I said about you. Only, with the laughing part, the rudeness of my remark will roll away from me and stick to you instead. Like digital cooties."

Please feel free to add to the list by leaving a comment!

OOOhh! Didn't see this one coming!

2010-06-18T21:04:00.000-07:00

Jeremy might actually be the EVIL TWIN after all! I am going to have to rework Season 3.

The plot thickens

2010-06-18T08:39:00.000-07:00

Guess What!!!? Jeremy London has a TWIN! My guess is, an EVIL twin. And the evil twin has always been jealous of his brother's "success" and staged the whole thing! The good twin is being held somewhere, not dead, because there are limits even to the Evil Twin's wickedness. The drugging and the trauma and subsequent prescription pills will be the cover story for the small changes everyone will notice in him now that he is home again. Only...the thing is... The good twin will struggle and finally escape! What a cliff hanger for the end of Season 1! Season 2 will open with fresh drama, though. He will...oh you know it...LOSE HIS MEMORY during the escape! He will be found by a young, though worn woman. Turns out she is hiding from an abusive husband and trying to get her son back. Slowly...his memories return as they work together to save her son and make plan to run away to South America. Only, all of the memories are from CHARACTERS he has played and not his real life!! Meanwhile, the evil twin is spending all of his brother's money. The wife is turning to alcohol to self-medicate her depression because she feels guilty for not loving her "husband" anymore. Something is off. And the kids are angry and don't know why. But the dog knows, dammit! The dog always knows.

Season 2 will end with the wife, in a drunken stupor, visits the set where they met (she was the make-up artist on an episode of 7th Heaven that he was on in 2004). Just as she is passing out, she will see HIM! He is trying to re-experience things from his memory. But he won't recognize her. She will wake up at home...someone called home on her cell phone for help but was gone when the evil twin arrived to pick her up. And the kid, the kid is INSISTING it was his DADDY on the phone!

stay tuned....

Me? I'm not buying it.

2010-06-17T19:29:00.000-07:00

So...Jeremy London. One of the steadiest working actors I have never heard of by the looks of his IMDB page.

I am sorry, but if you are buying his "news story" about the kidnapping and forced drugging, I know a guy looking for a fourth wife. Let me know if you are interested in the "sincere liar" type.

My guess...dropping X with a cross-dressing hooker and he just lost track of time. It is, statistically speaking, far more likely than being kidnapped off the road while changing a tire and having illicit drugs forced into your system and then just being sent home a day later. Maybe I am stereotyping here, but the kind of guys who have enough drugs to generously share like that usually have more than enough D-list actors hanging around them. No need to grab one off the curb.

review part II

2010-06-17T13:47:00.000-07:00

Miss M: Hey Mama! I have good news...the new neighbors were outside playing frisbee! That is a big relief.

Mama: ?

Miss M: I am just glad they weren't moving in a bunch of video game stuff. I think I might like them.

Reviews are In!!!

2010-06-17T13:16:00.000-07:00

I have been listening to some of my formerly-favorite music today. Let's call it the next phase in a small, longitudinal study. Turns out some of those Oldies are not such Goodies.

Anyone else remember Limited Edition? No? Didn't think so.

And even older...The Jets are another band that did not stand the test of time. Let's be honest, they barely stood their own local niche. Not only does this age me, but it geographically places my high school as well.

Annabella? No one? Her cover of "Fever" lead me to Nina Simone and then Miss Ella. Sometimes it is the trials in life that bring us salvation, no? Plus, I am thinking this cassette tape is a real collector's item. Like an unintentional limited edition.

Stellar Moment in Parenting

2010-06-13T19:07:00.001-07:00

So...maybe I would handle this situation differently next time.

We had guests over for dinner this evening and their kids were in the yard playing with our kids. At one point Little C came running in with some serious tattling to do:

Little C: Um, just so all of you grown ups know...Miss E (the 5 year old visiting) just called all of us "freakin' losers."

Mama: (trying to spare the guest a bit of embarrassment) Well, did you stop to consider that you might be?

Things I Learned the Hard Way

2010-06-09T20:07:00.000-07:00

May you all benefit from it:

Locksmiths can run red lights in emergencies. Really! Like when you lock a 3 month old, sleeping infant and her diaper bag in the minivan on a sunny day. (No, the keys were not in the diaper bag. They were under the baby in the car seat.)

If you ever have a moderate allergic reaction to something and decide you don't want to bother anyone by asking for a ride to the ER...know that you will piss off everyone when they find out you didn't call them. Especially the nurses. Call for a ride when your mouth starts going numb and your eyeballs itch but before you start gagging. Also...this is what an ambulance is for. They like their jobs. Let them do it.

Emergency Rooms will rush you past check in if you say "bee sting" and your eyes are red, puffy and oozing, you can't stop coughing, and your neck is raw from scratching at it. They will rush you in a wheelchair even.

(You also get good service when you arrive with a kid on immune suppressants who needs stitches during flu season. No waiting room full of coughing, crying, nose wipers for you!)

little C at his finest

2010-06-05T12:37:00.000-07:00

It wasn't me! It was a dog! Mama, dog farts don't make noise. It's because they don't have cracks or cheeks to make the noise part. They just have holes. So if it is quiet, you know it is a dog.

Oops.

Excuse me.

Motorcycle Safety?

2010-06-01T07:04:00.000-07:00

It is biker season around here. Since it is kind of a short one, due to weather, everyone with a motorcycle rides them as much as possible. They are kind of like peaches that way, I guess. Enjoy them while they last because they won't last long. I have been seeing many more reminders around town to "Start Seeing Motorcycles." Not a bad sentiment. It is good to be reminded that there is a seasonal element on the road right now. Kind of like ice and snow the rest of the year.

And I don't have trouble seeing the bikers that follow the traffic laws. Really. When a motorcycle moves in a predictable pattern along WITH the rest of traffic I have to believe that those of us on four wheels are better able to contribute to their safety on the road. Happy to help, really.

But I do have trouble with those riders who insist on speeding and performing random, radical lane changes willy-nilly. Yes, I said willy-nilly.

I have seen the fresh aftermath of two fatal motorcycle accidents in the last couple of years. And one of them, Moose and I saw the driving behavior that preceded the accident.

Willy-nilly on crack.

Turns out he was a middle-aged husband and father out at dusk on a well-travelled rural road. He was zipping around cars (easily 80 to 90 mph in a 55 zone), driving in the oncoming lane, racing past on the shoulder, and flipping off anyone who was obeying the speed limit. Shortly after he passed us, finger-a-flying, he turned onto a highway where he met another car. This one was, like us, filled with a family.

Unfortunately, his unpredictable and erratic behavior didn't land him that coveted 6 feet in front of the next car this time. It spread him thin across two lanes and landed what they could scoop up off the road 6 feet under.

We spotted his helmet, which had been sitting on the seat behind him, roughly 75 yards down the road. A little scratched up, but in one piece.

I was reminded of this just this morning on my gentle drive home from the garden center. My radio was off. I was not drinking coffee. Wasn't giving a practice spelling quiz to a kid in the backseat. I had both hands on the wheel and the windows down. Traffic was moving at the posted speed since there are several stoplights on this divided, 4 lane highway. And then Willy came along on his crotch-rocket. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt with the wind freely whipping through his light brown hair. He was hunched down, leaning forward, low and out of sight. He zipped between me and another car on the dotted, yellow line. At one of the red lights he actually rode on the shoulder and then pulled to the front of the line and waited in the crosswalk for the crossing light to turn red. He took off before his light turned green, cutting off the cars with a green left arrow and then drove off up a hill and right under a digital sign that said "Look out for motorcycles."

And now I want to know where the digital sign is that says, "Motorcycles are subject to traffic laws." And the bright bumper sticker with a silhouette of a bike on it that says, "I see you when you drive safely."

cheap remedy

2010-05-30T07:19:00.000-07:00

So the gnat bite on the corner of my eye puffed up and filled in those crow's feet quite nicely. For about 2 minutes. Since I happen to be allergic to gnats, I now look like a prize fighter who lost the prize.

2010-05-26T09:10:00.001-07:00

Have you ever had your foundation rocked? Not in a "damn...that was...wow, baby!" as you catch your breath kind of way. Though, if you get to choose, that's the one to pick.

I don't mean the "Do you wanna rock!?" variety either. Though, as our list is growing here, that one takes third. Right after, "Want to see my rock collection?"

I was referring to the kind of rocking where you know you will never get up off the floor again. It is not even a question. In fact, if you have ever been dropped like that and you have the where with all to even ask a question then you are only getting close to what I mean.

And if you do get up (and I really hope you do) it is only because the doorbell rang. And standing on the other side of it is a young man offering his tree trimming services for a really great deal because he happens to be in the neighborhood today doing some work for a house around the corner. You'll say "yes" because nothing else will come out of your mouth. And he'll ask you which trees...

And you'll say...

"all of them."

"They don't all need trimming, Maam."

"just cut them all down. all of them."

He'll look nervously over his shoulder to the truck full of his co-workers. They'll be hanging out of the windows looking for a breeze. You will notice that they sent the cute, clean one with all of his teeth to the door. Smart marketing move.

"Um. Are you ok?" he'll ask.

You don't have any questions. You will wonder if you even have any more answers. That "yes...all of them" took a lot out of you. Turns out you only have one more.

"no."

He'll hand you a flyer printed on neon green cardstock. 1/3 of a page. Cut a bit crookedly by hand.

"We'll, um, be in the neighborhood for a couple of days," he'll add.

You'll look in his eyes as he backs away while offering a shyly concerned smile. You will know that he recognizes you. Not you, exactly. But the look in your eyes. The emptiness in your words. The trembling of your hands.

And you'll go back to the floor.

You'll listen to the neighbor's tree branches being chipped and shredded and wonder if the nice boy with all those teeth has been on the floor.

...

Many years later you might experience a moderate rocking sensation again. You may even scout out locations on the floor. But you will be surprised to find yourself looking out a window and thinking how glad you are that you still have all your trees.

Little Old Lady Dog

2010-05-19T09:42:00.000-07:00

Sweet Tanner is rather deaf. But I can't complain because she is still jumping into the car and stealing bones from the neighbor dogs at the age of 16. Today I was watching her bark to go outside. I was sitting right by her, she just didn't know it. And being hard of hearing, she barks pretty loud just to hear herself.

So loud, in fact, that her front feet come right off the ground!

fallen apples

2010-05-17T10:20:00.001-07:00

This morning when I kissed my little boys to wake them I was again reminded of the cutest compulsive behavior...ever. If you don't believe me, read on dear visitor. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Whenever I kiss Big C or Little C they automatically tap the place I kissed and then press their hands together as if in prayer. They will even do it when in lighter stages of sleep. But they always do it when awake. EVEN if I sneak a kiss in when I pick them up at school. If I kiss them more than once, they will tap and press the exact number of times I made a smooch noise.

And if that didn't get you this might. If they are awake they whisper, "collect it save it." It is the most love-y gesture.

(Miss M has some compulsions too. Like she has to interrupt whatever she is saying if we drive by a Wal-Mart Sam's Club tractor trailer and she says very rapidly, "walmartsamsclub," and then carries on like nothing odd just happened. It is quirky Miss M all the way. And, in my own odd way, I find it as endearing as the "collect it save it" habit.)

Dressing Room Conversation

2010-05-13T11:07:00.001-07:00

Lucky: hmmm? i'm not sure that calvin klein shirt is doing you any favors.

Alpha: What? Who said that? (looks around sees no one)

Lucky: know who that shirt would look good on? a 12 year old boy. might want to swing over to intimate apparel too, dear. or maybe just shorten those straps. it'll help.

Alpha: It's you! (takes the sweater down from its hanger)

Lucky: (sigh) that feels better. now shrug up those straps before you try me on.

Alpha: (does what she was told and pulls the sweater over her head) Say now! You are one cute sweater. And look at that! Somewhere between you and my new haircut...my neck looks long!

Lucky: yah. i get that a lot. people love me.

Alpha: You are a deep-v, banded bottom, kimono sleeved hoody, what's not to love? And you feel very soft right off the rack.

Lucky: yah. like you've had me for ages, right? i'm kinda known for that. it's the long cotton fibers. i wash well too.

Alpha: Those are great qualities in a sweater. So why the apathy?

Lucky: hmm. people love me...they just don't $100 love me. i'd say they more like $60 love me. so here i hang. waiting for a markdown.

Alpha: Someone will $100 love you! They will! You just have to be patient. But she'll come for you. I just know it. Maybe if you were a little...I don't know....maybe if you just sighed a little less.

Lucky: what? and act all i.n.c.? like "i know you are a mother of two but if you wear me you can keep those memories of being a slightly-slutty club-hopping 20 year old fresh for a bit longer."

Alpha: I KNOW! Right!? No, I didn't mean like that. 'Cause that's just gross. I was trying to suggest that you have a lot going for you so smile about it! You are a classic color with some amazing details. You are a go-to closet staple, my friend. Not some trendy thing that will get left at the cleaners because someone forgot to come and get you. You can go with dark trouser jeans and heels and look appropriate for a nice dinner out. Or a pair of bermuda khakis and sandals and be right at home at a summer bridal shower. You can even go over a tank with a long skirt and flip-flops and pull off the midwest surfer thing that is so popular.

Lucky: surfer?

Alpha: I know we're functionally land-locked. What can I say?

Lucky: (sigh)

Alpha: There you go with the mournful exhale again.

Lucky: it's just...

Alpha: What? You are talking to me in a box of mirrors...we have no secrets here, Lucky. What is it?

Lucky: it's just that...well...it's not you. you don't $100 love me either. i can tell.

Alpha: It's true.

Lucky: you don't have to smile about it.

Alpha: But I know something you do not know! (pulls something from her purse)

Lucky: (dares to smile) you don't!

Alpha: I DO! And...it's for 20% off. Lucky, darling, today is your day! I $80 love you!

Lucky: you do!? I thought you might be the one when I saw your Artist Circle bag. something about an embroidered bird saying, "Peace!" made me think it might be you! i feel so...lucky!

Alpha: Me too!

Oh, the shame of it!

2010-05-07T14:04:00.000-07:00

This is a silk blouse. Top designer. Very upper end. Styled and photographed by professionals which means...this is as good as it will look! I cannot tell you the name of the designer because I can empathize with his or her GROSS embarrassment with this product.

See, I think it must have been some sort of accident. Like a sample from The Vermont Country Store fell in with the samples from this designer at the manufacturing facility overseas. And how could one expect underpaid, undereducated, underage workers to recognize the mistake?

But the real mistake...is charging over $700 for it anyway! My right ring finger did not slip there. I don't mean $70 (which is still too much!) I really did mean OVER $700. Like they thought, "Shit. Who signed off on this?! We just paid HOW MUCH for this crap? What? Really? Dang. We are not going to sell very many of these so we better make a play out of the pharmaceutical handbook and recoup the cost up front."

Mother's Day PSA

2010-05-07T08:37:00.000-07:00

So...this is what breast cancer looks like.

And, quite thankfully for me today, it is also what it does NOT look like. (Is it inappropriate to hug the ultrasound tech while topless and sticky from the gel? I hope not. Somehow...I suspect she gets that a lot.)

Check yourself. Check your partner. Remind a friend.

Field Notes:

2010-05-06T14:06:00.000-07:00

(Lessons learned after a long day at the Zoo with 7 year olds.)

1. Stop at the first bathroom you see and make them all use it after the bus ride. Seriously. I don't care if they went at school. Because one of these corners you come around is bound to have a waterfall. It might be penguins. Might be bears. For us it was Sea Otters. Either way you will have at least one soggy child for the next 4 hours. (It starts to smell about 18 minutes in.)

2. Chances are, kids can climb on things where you are going. You can let them as long as more than half their body mass is on the right side of the obstacle. Kneeling on the rim of the Tide Pool exhibit and leaning in to pet the starfish does not meet this requirement.

3. It is a good idea to bring a small bag with an extra sweatshirt in it. This is especially important if the day is chilly. Also...see #2.

4. Any sentence that begins with "I want..." can, and should, be ignored.

5. Manage expectations. I cannot stress this enough. Tell them on the bus that you will not be buying them treats at the zoo. And then...don't buy them treats at the zoo. When you see weak-willed chaperones who have a group of kids covered in snow cone juice, feel free to tsk-tsk and shake your head in their direction.

6. Never forget you are a pack. If you do not assume the role of Alpha one of them will. Are you familiar with the work of William Golding?

7. Sometimes the most amazing part of the day happens by accident. Today...it wasn't the nesting Trumpeter Swans on exhibit. It was the wild Canada Goose who was warming her freshly hatched babies under her wings. No one needed a colorful sign with things to flip or buttons to push. The boys sat still and just watched the mama. They asked other kids to stop hissing at her because hisses are warnings and threats. They discussed how the color of the babies helped them blend in to the world around them. And then, if you are lucky, one of the boys will look at you and say, "Wow. Look how we are all getting along nicely now."

Daily Vocab

2010-05-05T15:09:00.000-07:00

Today we have two words: extortion and monopoly. Both words are brought to you by Miss M and her clever, clever brain that is built for planning. And also for finding the advantage in a situation. Both useful skills, no doubt. They will get you places in life. But not necessarily when used together and in this way and in MY house.

See, she has checked out ALL of the Calvin and Hobbes books from the Public Library. She is hoarding them in her room. And she is trying to charge her brothers 10 cents for 15 minutes access to the stash.

my 10:30

2010-05-04T04:52:00.000-07:00

I have a 10:30 appointment on my calendar today. 10:30-11:30 is what I entered. I even highlighted it in the correct color to let me know it was something for me, specifically, to go do and not one of the other 4 people whose calendars I keep track of.

I like having my calendar updated and accurate. It is settling for me. But I do recognize I am generally more off the wagon than on it. But right now I am ON IT, baby! I am color coded, updated, and backed up. I am so on the wagon that I am driving the damn thing. Yee Haw! I'm organized and in charge!

Except...

I didn't type in what it is I am supposed to be doing at 10:30.

See, one day last week I sat down with loose bits of paper and appointment reminders and put them all in the program. I called doctors and dentists and got that all squared away too. And everything I can remember entering or scheduling is still in there. The only glitch is this odd 10:30 thing with no identifying information attached.

I am very sorry if you are supposed to be my 10:30. I will not be there. If you happen to call me at 9:30 or 10:00 to confirm I will rush on over. But if you call me at 10:45 or 11:00 to reschedule I won't be able to answer the phone. I will be hiding under the covers in shame.

Please leave a detailed message. I don't do so well with vagueness.

Followup: Now I feel better

2010-05-03T11:41:00.000-07:00

And this is all it took:

1. A tiny little woman at Sam's Club buying 2 gallons of prune juice, 3 bags of dried prunes, 10 pounds of apples, and bulk stool softener. Whatever I have going wrong in the facial hair department, the rest of that stuff is working fine.

2. An odd conversation with the cart-checker as I tried to leave Sam's Club. It went like this:

Her: What the heck is THAT? (peering into my cart)

Me: Cupcakes. With plastic baseballs on them. I think they are rings.

Her: In that canister?

Me: Oh, that. That's the second of 2 items in my cart.

Her: (not going to give me a smiley face until I tell her what is in the plastic container)

Me: Does it matter?

Her: .

Me: Fine. They are hacky sacks. 32 crocheted hacky sacks.

Her: WHAT?

Me: They are toys. For my son's class. To give out with the cupcakes...

Her: Hrumph. (just a bright pink line on my receipt)

3. If older people get to behave like that anytime anyplace...sign me UP!

Feeling old

2010-05-03T09:08:00.000-07:00

It is not because I turn 38 in a few weeks.

It is not because my last baby turns 7 today.

It is not because I am likely to be black and blue again from my mammogram later today.

It is not even because I have had to come to terms with the fact that I will be plucking that one chin whisker for the rest of my life. The one I have written into my Health Care Directive. The one my kids have to PROMISE to remove from my chin when they visit me in the Home. Because if the mortician has to do that for me none-a-y'all are getting a penny. The bulk of my estate will go to start a program to fund electrolysis for the elderly and infirm.

It is because I found a crazy nose hair this morning.

And because now I have to rewrite my Health Care Directive AND my will.

She's a Rude Mutha

2010-05-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

Little C has been taking Tap Dancing classes for a few weeks now. He LOVES it. Or should I say, he LOVES making noise and looking at himself in a room of mirrors surrounded by girls. Just now he told me, as we drove home from class, that he wants to choreograph a piece for the school talent show.

(Insert grinning mother.)

He thought Yellow Submarine would be a good song choice but I told him we should listen to a few songs before he picks one.

(Insert Rihanna's Rude Boy on the car radio.)

Little C: Oh! This song has a good beat. I could dance to this one.

Alpha: Well...I am not sure this song is a good choice.

Little C: Why not?

Alpha: Well...some of the words make it not appropriate for school or for kids.

Little C: Well...YOU sing it.

Alpha: ...touche.

Suzy: It walked UNDER my pillow

2010-04-29T06:29:00.000-07:00

Suzy, dear, I have been meaning to send you this story for some time now. Today feels like the day for it. Hope you are feeling better...

So...

(Because that's how Laurie likes my stories to start)

When I graduated from college Moose and I were engaged and trying to decide where to settle in. We picked a city that was in the state between our two families. Not too far, not too close, just right. It had a major university was a seat of government and had a left-of-center vibe that we both liked.

We rented a house a block off campus near the stadium which has surely contributed to my dislike of most things related to college and professional sports. Home games were a nightmare and our landlord parked cars on the lawn. Post game the drivers would hit the house trying to back up, or throw trash in the yard, or not pick up their car for 2 days.

The day we moved in we found out that the boy who had been renting the main level with some friends was moving upstairs by himself. Marcus. Marcus the boy who saw no need to pack anything and who decided carrying things up the stairs by himself one at a time while we sat on the front lawn with a Uhaul waiting and waiting would be the way to handle his move. Graduate school. Physics. 'Nuff said.

Anyone who has rented knows that there is no way this place got cleaned before we moved in. I really believe this triggered many of my OCD issues. The basement smelled funny. Like maybe there was a body buried down there. A few years later we found out the landlord, who was a firefighter by day slum lord by night, was also a drug dealer and got in the kind of trouble that lands you the lead news story at 6 and 10. So it might actually have been a body. I don't know. I wouldn't go down there. And it had nothing to do with the fact that the laundry was also down there. Really.

All of this is the long way around to let you know the house was not...well...while cute and classic brick and stained glass and all...not reliably sanitary.

So after a long day of waiting and not being able to reach the drug dealing slum lord we finally had the chance to move in the bed and toothbrushes before going to sleep. I was feeling very anxious about the space and hearing things which were probably Marcus drawing pentagrams on the floor above us but which sounded like things scurrying in the walls.

So, when I felt something move underneath my pillow I thought I was imagining it at first. Heart pounding, I tried to catch my breath. Moose was already snoring and I finally relaxed enough to rest my head on the pillow again. Wrong move. Because this time, when I shifted the pillow, SOMETHING GRABBED MY HAND!!! I am not kidding you! All I could think of was a giant, grey rat. I was out of the covers and standing on the bed because if one was under my pillow there must be a whole colony down on the floor. I later learned that I was also screaming but at the time the world seemed silent. The kind of scream you only hear in slasher movies. Only in the movie they usually come to an abrupt end. This one kept going. When I ran out of air I started yelling, "A rat! It's a rat!"

Oh, let me add this little bit to the story...Moose, while all kinds of manly, has quite a rodent phobia. And white turkeys. But who can blame him on that one because when he was 6 his class took a field trip to a turkey farm and that morning his big brother told him not to worry because only the white ones bite. Have you ever seen a turkey farm? Needless to say the 6 year old Moose spent the field trip on the bus with the driver.

So now we are both standing on the bed yelling about rats. He gathers himself enough to ask where it was...you know...so I would know where to go get it and smack it with a shoe or something because he sure wasn't going to do it. As I am kicking pillows and blankets to the floor I am telling him it was ON the bed and UNDER my pillow and it EVEN GRABBED MY HAND! Look! Look! Are there bite marks? I am going to need rabies shots!

And Moose falls to the mattress, still in hysterics, only now he is laughing. Because that thing under my pillow? Was just him trying to hold my hand as we fell asleep together for the first time in our smelly little rental house.

After we re-made the bed and discussed and agreed upon nighttime hand holding protocol I could still hear noises upstairs. I am pretty sure it was Marcus, scuffing out the pentagram, surprised as hell that shit might actually have worked!

2010-04-22T07:57:00.000-07:00

Miss M is not into the pre-teen scene. She's almost 12 and just figured out who Taylor Swift is. I like that about her. I also like that, once aware of her, Miss M has been taking note of her image when she sees it. Oh, I especially like the part where she has diagnosed Miss Swift with bi-polar disorder.

Which naturally led to a discussion about common images and perceptions and what people find attractive and why. Symmetry, neoteny, strength, health, helplessness. It all came up. And how can you have that conversation with a girl and not bring up lip-injections? Because I still want to know why and when society decided that looking like you've been punched in the mouth is sexy.

Who doesn't love a gal who looks like she tolerates abuse?

Just keep smiling. It hides the pain.

Oh, Miss Jane

2010-04-17T17:20:00.000-07:00

We love Miss Jane. She is Miss M's BFF. And she has not been over for a few weeks. Dinner just ended and Moose and I smiled..."Sure nice having Miss Jane here," I said. "Yep," he answered.

She looks like a beautiful Madam Alexander Doll with a fantastic sense of humor. Like Betty White without being Blue.

Here are some of the highlights from the table this evening:

Miss Jane: I used to have a huge crush on Darth Vader when I was little. Not when he was Annakin...when he was already Vader. I kept his picture in my locket. Thought his name was Dark Bader. I felt sorry for him...with that breathing condition and all. And then I found out he was evil and I felt fooled and betrayed.

later...

Miss Jane: My brother tells me "Your Mama" jokes all the time. Which is kind of silly since she's his mama too.

Miss M: I never get those jokes.

Alpha: Well, it is a terrible thing to insult some one's mother. They are supposed to defend her honor.

Big C: Really?...whoops.

cross your fingers for me

2010-04-15T09:24:00.000-07:00

Over at Forgotten Bookmarks there is a giveaway today. It is a book about composers with some pastel colored plates. The real treat is the old photograph found inside of it comes along with the prize book. A simple shot. Mother and child. But it is sweet. There is another reason I would love to win it. The following is my entry. Keep in mind, the only requirement is to leave a comment. Any comment. But this one was too perfect not to pass along...

Unmoderated, your timing is perfect! My 10 year old's class is doing a play about great composers! I am always up for some Bangsian humor so I read the script. The premise being that an assembly of the all-time-greats has been called to iron out some minor detail. Not much driving the plot and even my 6 year old can see that this is just a contrivance to make kids learn about dead guys. My son has a very minor role but his friend Jack...Jack is the backup Schubert. You know, in case the winning Schubert is unable to fulfill his duties that go with the title. So if the actual Schubert gets Strep throat, Jack's the man! Also...the kids are wearing white wigs made of expanded tampons glued to hats. The first kid to figure it out will lead the mutiny. Cross your fingers it's Schubert. You know, for Jack's sake.

scaredy-dog

2010-04-13T14:15:00.000-07:00

Alpha: Seriously, Neve, you have to get out from under my feet before one of us gets hurt!

Geneva: But Alpha, you have to listen to me!

Alpha: Fine! If I listen will you back off?

Geneva: I. Think. So.

Alpha: Say what you have been trying to say then.

Geneva: (sigh) I was right.

Alpha: huh?

Geneva: All these years. My alerting you to the signs. The loud noises. The dropping barometric pressure....

Alpha: You mean your out-of-proportion response to storms? The one we drug you for?

Geneva: Doesn't seem so out-of-proportion now, does it?

Alpha: (sigh) Honestly. You are not blaming Olly's accident on the storm that happened FIVE HOURS LATER are you?

Geneva: Justified. Vindicated. Wrongfully-accused! Doped into silence!!

Alpha: Sit! Stay! Listen to me. Olly was bouncing in the yard and he impaled his leg on a branch. His bouncing was no different than any other day. The only change was that the kids moved the branch and tied it to that thing so it didn't give way when his rear-right bat flap caught it on the downside of a bounce. The storm did not do that! Fireworks did not do that! Bubble wrap DID NOT DO THAT! It was an accident, Neve. Just a random event.

Geneva: (pant, pant, pant)

Alpha: You're still going to walk between my feet aren't you? And have to ride in the car with me for a few more days? And pounce the children in their beds as they sleep, aren't you?

Geneva: Couldn't you SMELL the blood? I saved those children last night! Have you learned nothing from this experience?

Alpha: Oh...I think I have, Neve.

Geneva: Don't turn away from me! Who are you calling?

Alpha: Dr. W, yes, hello. This is Alpha Monkey. When I pick up Olly later can we get a refill on the X-a-n-a-x for G-e-n-e-v-a?

Geneva: I am a dog, remember? Just because you spell it doesn't mean I don't know the Vet's voice when I hear it! (pant, pant, pant)

Alpha: We may want to consider upping the dosage...

2 Moose walk into a bar...

2010-04-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

We live in a friendly cul-du-sac. Kids to play with, neighbors who randomly dispense baked goods or cocktails, and dogs who all like to play together. One of our boys' best friends shares a first name with Moose. I know! You thought Moose was pretty unique...me too! Anyway, there was a meeting of the Mooses yesterday that played like this:

Little Moose: (stealthily arrives in the front yard and pops up next to Moose who is reading a book) I can't play with any of my Legos for another week.

Big Moose: (rather surprised) Really?

Little Moose: Yah. They got taken away because...

Big Moose: Why?

Little Moose: I don't like to say.

Big Moose: (still trying to read his book in the hammock) Ok then.

a few minutes pass

Little Moose: Well...the thing is...I called my little brother the C word.

Big Moose: (now devoting his full attention to the conversation, curious about the mature nature of the 9 year old's cussing) Really?!

Little Moose: Yah. You know what that is, right?

Big Moose: Um...(playing it cool) no. No I don't.

Little Moose: You know. It starts with CH...

Big Moose: (now he really doesn't know) Huh?

Little Moose: Ends in a K.

Big Moose: (scanning his archives...he's got nothing) I don't know what that is, Little Moose.

Little Moose: (looks back toward his own house, sees no one, and whispers) choke.

Big Moose: (trying to verify what he heard) You called your brother a Choke?

Little Moose: Shhhhhhh! (He looks over his shoulder again.) No. I did not CALL him a choke. I said if he touched my Legos again I was going to CHOKE him.

Big Moose: (lightbulb) Ah. Seems like no Legos is the right punishment for a threat like that.

Little Moose: Yah. I guess so. (kicks some mulch, then his mood brightens) Are your kids in the house playing Legos?

Big Moose: (clearly on to the kid) No. They are at the park.

Little Moose: (kicks the mulch again and then scuffles back home)

because Laurie likes it that way...

2010-04-08T17:08:00.000-07:00

I am wearing a big-girl bra today. I mean, they are always big girls...but some bras let them settle into an age-appropriate comfort zone. Not this bra. This one is trying to be something she's not...but she used to be.

Also, I have lost about 15 pounds since I bought it...and it is a down week for me. Which is a not-so-subtle way of saying there is a little extra space in those space-age molded cups.

Not that I am trying to fill them back up or anything...but I also fried up some eggplant parmigiana for dinner. Mmmmm...seasoned panko on thin slices of eggplant, golden brown and crisp, covered in fresh mozzarella and sauce. SO yummy.

My evening progressed, as most evenings do, to flipping a load of laundry (which has STILL NOT piled up since my hostile take over of the laundry room weeks and weeks ago...yea for me!) and when I stood up to close the dryer door...

ow! ow! ow! ow! oooowww!!

It suddenly felt like I had a wad of burdock in my brassiere! I am reaching in there, moving things around, trying to find the source of the sharp pain in the nipple...and it was a rounded teaspoon of fried panko. Now...I assume this happened while I was eating because I think I would have noticed it if it had happen right out of the fryer.

So I lean over the laundry tub, tug down the cup and lift up the girl, only to have the bra snap back up and CATAPULT THE CRISP PANKO INTO MY EYES!!!

Gilt-y as charged

2010-04-08T11:18:00.000-07:00

For most of my life I have not been what one might consider "girly." Especially during my childhood. Yet one of my best friends when I was younger was VERY girly. So was her mom. And her baby sister. They lived in a world of pink ruffled canopy beds. The living room (which we were not allowed in) was white and baby blue. And that's all. Everything in that room was white or baby blue. No exceptions. They even put up a white artificial tree at Christmas, decorated only with blue lights and blue and silver ornaments. There were even prop-gifts below it: empty boxes expertly wrapped in the appropriate color scheme.

It was nothing like my house or my family. And I felt like a foreigner visiting at first...and I was kind of in awe of it. There were so many toys at their house that we used them to pile up walls in the basement to make little rooms to set up the toys we actually wanted to play with. She had a lemonade stand. No. Really. It looked like an olde-timey soda fountain. It rolled out on wheels, had a candy striped canopy, and four spinning stools for the customers to sit on. She also had a pool. It should go without saying that I spent more of my summer at her house than I did my own.

When Junior High rolled around I found myself interested in being girly for the first time in my life. So it took very little urging by this friend's mother for me to sign up for a dance class and cheerleading. The cheerleading thing lasted two weeks. Long enough for me to get the uniform, try it on, cheer at one soccer game, and then quit. I joined the soccer team instead.

The dance class lasted through one whole season. I liked the girls in my class. I adored the instructor who happened to be Miss Suburb of the town I grew up in. (And her mom, who owned the studio, was totally Miss Baltimore Crabs!) And, truth be told, I can still remember most of the dance to Herbie Hancock's "Rockit". We wore mostly black, with neon socks and fingerless gloves. Over the leotards we had on short sleeve sweatshirts with the neck hole cut out and the words Dance! Dance! Dance! in neon written across it. We did the whole piece under black light. I clearly remember seeing the video of the number after the show and recognizing that from the audience it looked like random darting neon spots with the occasional glowing grin the only evidence there were actually people on stage.

Fast-forward to today.

I check out the offerings on Gilt.com most days. If you don't know what it is you should check it out. And if you sign up tell them I sent you! I am feeling a little girly lately and find myself in the market for a new handbag so I usually check through the designers offering accessories that day. Today, Alexander McQueen is on the list. All of his bags were already sold out BUT he does have these to offer:

And god help me but I want them!! They are u-g-l-y as s-i-n and I know if I get them I will have to replace all the light bulbs in the basement with black lights. Just looking at them makes me want to cut up a sweater or something. I am stuck singing an instrumental song that won't get out of my head! And I can distinctly smell 1983...smells a little like le Jardin (and not the nice one from Hermes...the one from Walgreens...next to the Love's Baby Soft.)

my mother of all pet peeves

2010-04-05T06:31:00.000-07:00

I am not sure if this is a grammatical error or a pet peeve...or perhaps both. I find it irritating when someone, who is not my sibling, says to me, "We were at Mom's house for brunch yesterday." The brunch part is fine. It happens to be my favorite meal. But your mother's actual name is not Mom and she is also, unless you are my sister, not my mom.

Shouldn't there be a possessive pronoun thrown in there? "We were at MY mom's house for brunch yesterday." You know, to show you have a basic understanding of genealogy. Or you could do a proper noun with, "We were at TIM'S mom's house for brunch yesterday," if it was your in-law's eggs you covered with hollandaise and lapped up with some bacon. I can see that the double possessive can be confusing, but it you limit it to two I think I can follow along. Throw one of those "We were at George's ex-wife's cousin's step-mother's place for brunch yesterday...for the kids" and I will lose you.

Guest Blogger: Moose

2010-03-24T18:49:00.000-07:00

So Little C was not a happy camper tonight. It seems that he felt that he wasn't getting equal treatment when it came to the sleeping arrangements. You see, Big C earned the right to "camp" on the three season porch with a sleeping bag. Little C neither earned nor deserved this privilege. So as I sat holding the hand of a crying boy and explaining that fair does not mean equal, he maneuvered for some special treatment.

Little C: "Can I at least sleep in the top bunk?"

Dad: "Sure."

Little C (with pillow clutched firmly in his grasp as he climbs up): "Can you hand up my blanket?"

Dad: "Sure."

Little C: "Now, can you get me a Latte?"

Dad: "Excuse me?"

Little C (now smiling from ear to ear): "or an RB? That stands for 'Root Beer' in case you don't know."

Dad: "I know what it stands for and 'no' you can't have one."

Later:

Dad: "Honey, have you been singing 'Taylor the Latte Boy' on your way home from school again?"

pleasing find

2010-03-24T07:42:00.001-07:00

I am no fashion blogger...but I have to share this! Alex Carleton has reworked the LL Bean aesthetic with an updated and fashionable twist. The new LL Bean Signature collection is just stunning. And if they hold true to Bean's quality standards...they could just give J Crew a run for their money. (What with J Crew's "standards" of late being SUCH a disappointment.)

The number of pieces offered is still limited, but the collection is classic and timeless. Check it out:

http://www.llbean.com/llbeansignature/llb/shop/8

not your mother's granny

2010-03-21T15:14:00.000-07:00

Last night we were at a local arcade/ bumper car/ mini golf/ laser tag/ batting cage/ jumpy hut place. Yes, it is pretty much kiddie-meth.

It was a well-behaved crowd. Watching the pre-teen girls parade around was amusing until their mothers arrived to join the parade. I am now concerned that the recent popularity of the MILF will, through the generation they are raising, soon make way for the GILF.

ouch

2010-03-16T14:50:00.000-07:00

Another mom and I were in tears today in the hallway at school at the end of the day. It started out like this:

Tall Mama: (rather chipper) Hi there! How is everything going with you guys?

And then it went downhill quickly.

Alpha Mama: (bursts into tears) Oh, Tall Mama. I am just trying to figure out the best way to help Miss M through some Mean Girl stuff at school.

Tall Mama: Oh no. I am so sorry. Miss M is so sweet. (Tall Mama starts crying too.) I worry about that, I know my daughter will not fit in with that Middle School vibe.

(The short conversation carried on with some sniffling and some vague question and answer. And then she said something that wrenched my guts.)

Tall Mama: A friend once said, "You don't know the meaning of the word MEAN until you see your eleven year old daughter treated badly by her peers. I never thought it was possible to hate a child, but I have learned otherwise."

I don't want to learn that lesson.

And I don't want Miss M to learn it either.

Not Sold In Stores! Get Yours Today!

2010-03-15T12:08:00.000-07:00

Do you love your dog or cat but hate scooping poop? Then do I have something for YOU!! From the makers of Beer Goggles...

The all new Poop Goggles!

That's right, folks. Wait until you see what this amazing new product can do for you! Through the miracle of modern science, we have taken space-age polymers and the newest innovations in air filtration and combined them into ONE AMAZING new product.

They work like this: just sprinkle these non-toxic and non-digestible granules into your pet's food. Then when it is time to do the dirty work, just put on your Poop Goggles.

(A middle-aged man standing next to his sports car) "Oh my! I can actually SEE every poop in my yard! It makes it so easy to find and pick up." (He takes the goggles on and off a few times.) "How do they do that?!"

We'll tell you how, Bob. These specially treated lenses here filter out most wavelengths but through a patent-pending polarization process they allow the non-toxic non-digestible granules to show up brighter than anything around them.

(An elderly woman with six cats crawling on her lap) "I don't have to wonder any more if it's time to clean the litterbox. With these Poop Goggles I can see every little poo and keep the box cleaner for my babies. I can't do that with my regular glasses." (She holds up a cracked pair of very thick glasses.)

Dog poop, cat poop, even hedgehog poop...The Poop Goggles system works for them all!

(A woman, late 30's, sits on her couch in a very filthy living room while her son and dog run all around the room chasing each other, son is wearing Poop Goggles) "What I like best about them is the filter." (She puts on her Poop Goggles.) "It makes having Murphy much more pleasant. I can't smell a thing! I sure wish I had these when Murphy was a puppy! They would have paid for themselves when compared to the cost of replacing all those slippers. And shoes. And rugs." (The camera pans the room...then a Poop Goggle lens is held in front of it. A dozen spots start to glow around the room.)

If you call in the next 60 minutes and mention this ad, we will double your supply of non-toxic non-digestible granules for FREE! That's right, we said FREE! But only if you call in the next 60 minutes. Operators are standing by.

(A young couple are out in their yard with a very small Toy Poodle. Their 4 year old is playing nearby on the swing set. She is wearing a bike helmet, Poop Goggles, knee and elbow pads, and is streaked with sunscreen.) (Mother) "Poop Goggles have given Bella her life back! Before, the yard was just too unsanitary to let her play in it. (Bella takes a tumble off the end of the slide. The mother pokes the father and points at the little girl. He puts on his Poop Goggles, grabs a jug of hand sanitizer, and runs over to clean off the child's hands. Meanwhile, the dog has pooped behind the mother and is eating its own feces. The mother yells...) "Is she ok?" (The father gives her the thumbs up. The mother picks up the poodle.) "Like I was saying, Poop Goggles has made all of our lives better!" (The dog is kissing her face.)

Quantities are limited! Act now! Don't Delay! Order your Poop Goggles today!

(Only 2 easy payments of $19.95. Not available outside the continental Unites States. While the granules are non-toxic, they are not intended for human consumption.)

Here's the Scoop

2010-03-14T15:51:00.000-07:00

Because it is Springtime in this Three Dog Yard I have spent the better part of a sunny afternoon scooping up just a fraction of a winter's worth of poop. To keep myself from running away from home with a flask of gin in my fist, I distracted myself from the overwhelmingly disgusting chore by dreaming up a few task-related business ideas.

First Up: Environmental Dung Beetle Emporium

If I can acquire a mating pair I already have enough "food source" for them to create a multitude of offspring. Then I can sell them to people for keeping their yards poop-free. I will even teach them how to best utilize their new beetles at my "suburban training center."

because I like symmetry

2010-03-13T18:23:00.000-08:00

Tonight in the car I patiently explained to the kids why gracious manners and being aware of those around you is important. Punctuating a brief silence Little C said, "Thank you for sharing that information with me mommy." After we got home, the cygnets were genuinely sweet and kind to each other and very helpful around the house.

So to counter balance my less-than-exemplary-parenting-rant previously posted, I would like to offer up a few of the things I think I am doing right in the form of some phrases commonly used at our house:

"People interact with the world the way they feel about themselves."

"Finding things to feel grumpy about is a bad habit just like finding things to be happy about is a good habit."

"Trouble is trouble but lying is double."

"What did you do that contributed to the problem?"

"What can you do to contribute to the solution?"

"That uncomfortable feeling in your chest is supposed to happen. It is a good thing because it means you recognize your mistake. It is called sorry. When you apologize we will both feel better."

"When you make excuses for your mistakes you are not learning from them."

"May I have a turn when you are done please?"

"Tell me all about your day."

"Tell me something you did that made you feel proud today." (Insert any one of a multitude of positive words.)

"What did you do that made the world a little bit better today?"

"Let's go build a nest." (Which means we make a huge pile of blankets on my bed and cuddle up in the middle of it.)

"I love you." (You cannot overdo this one.)

ethical question

2010-03-12T09:21:00.000-08:00

Is there a point in parenting when shame and anger are appropriate teaching tools? I don't mean on a daily basis, or as a first line of defense. I mean, is there an infraction serious enough to warrant loosing your cool and dropping both the f-word and the sh-word on your child?

Could that point be, perhaps, when one finds a sizable fecal smear on the wall in the hall?

Please say yes.

Welcome Honky!

2010-03-11T06:34:00.000-08:00

Someday, I'd like to live in your world. The one where no one drives in front of you. The world where lines only ever form behind you. Because, I gotta tell you, I am kind of getting tired of being patient. Leaving my house early enough to get where I am going at the appointed time is sort of grating on my nerves. You probably don't understand that, never having experienced it yourself.

How frustrating it must have been for you this morning to have woken up in this world. Frightening, even. I can only imagine how irritating you must find it to have to stop at those red octagons and have minivans driving safely in front of you. You poor, poor thing.

Some advice: yelling and waving your hands might not be the best coping strategy for handling this new, and hopefully temporary, stress of driving on streets that don't automatically empty when you roll through. I could not hear you. Your voice does not project directly into my head in this universe so I was struggling with following your pantomimed directions. May I suggest setting down the phone and breathing? Perhaps some herbal tea. That giant, convenience store coffee is not going to help.

I have to say, I admire your boldness. If I woke up in a parallel universe, drinking crappy coffee, where things did not just fall in place for me I don't know if I would be strong enough to get out of bed. The confusion and unfamiliarity with ease would be too much for me.

May I offer some advice? You know, just to help you get through until you get whisked back into your own dimension.

Stop at red things.

You can go as fast as the car in front of you and no faster.

I have never known honking to produce the desired effect (did you notice me slow down?) so lay off the beeper.

Take turns.

Be nice.

I suggest starting there. Wouldn't want to overwhelm you on your first day in town. I suspect we'll meet up again later at the bank or maybe even at the grocery store. Take it easy with that cart. Let's say we review your progress then and see if we can't find a way to help you get home again.

Until then...good luck!

-Alpha

From Bad to Worse

2010-03-10T10:46:00.000-08:00

Olly has been, overall, a pretty great dog. He does Regular Bad Dog stuff on occasion. But today he took it up a notch. He did some Worse Dog stuff. And then he tried to drag it in the house.

Can you even imagine the JOY in this dog's life? He was doing that four-footed dig. Jumping and playing in the mud. Enjoying Spring and all the fun it brings. I would have smiled and photographed the frolic if I hadn't just spent the morning cleaning my house.

Here is how I recommend handling this sort of mess.

1. Fill a large, shallow container with hot, soapy water. The kind for storing sweaters under the bed works well.

2. Take that container outside your door. Bring along a towel. Perhaps a washcloth as well, depending on the size of the dog and the % of his surface area covered in mud.

3. Wash one pair of paws at a time. Keep a good grip, or you just have to start over again.

4. Dry as much as you can and then banish the dog to an acceptable space inside to finish drying.

5. I almost forgot! Take photos. You might need them for evidence some day. You know, in case it eventually goes from Worse to Worst. Then you can pull them out when people ask where that big, crazy dog went. You won't have to say a word.

I don't have the answer

2010-03-08T09:07:00.000-08:00

Big C: hey, mom?

Alpha: yah babe?

Big C: if they can make hand sanitizer that kills 99.9% of germs...how hard can it be to just make it .1% stronger to kill them all?

frozen assets

2010-03-08T08:09:00.000-08:00

Cold hands I can understand. Cold feet, while unpleasant, at least make sense to me from a logical standpoint. But my bumper???!!

I thought fat was supposed to have this fantastic insulating property. At least that's what the saleslady told me. Especially in the quantity found on my ass! I paid extra for that increased r-value.

I just don't understand how I can be pitting out a t-shirt at one end and have a surface temperature of 42 degrees at the other.