« July 2004 | Main | September 2004 »

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

officially my ramblingest entry ever. or at least in the last few days. yes, I just made up the word "ramblingest" all by myself.

It is too darn hot. Omigosh. And what really bites is that the weather service keeps teasing us, saying that in two or three days we'll have a couple days of coolness. Except the expected relief stays two or three days away. It will be Christmas, I think, and it'll be a hundred degrees on my front porch, and the NWS will say that it should only be ninety-four in three days. (What the heck kind of state IS this where we're all grateful and hopeful about NINETY-FOUR DEGREES, by the way?)


Our county fair is this weekend. (that'll help all you stalkers who haven't quite got it yet.) I entered some sewn things and a crocheted doily. The kids entered some pictures, and LT also entered some very spectacular Lego creations. Plus there will be all the rides (LT, with his gargantuanism genes, is too big for kiddie rides and too scared for big-person rides, poor boy) and the food oh heavens the fry bread! the Chinese food! the miniscule $4 cups of soda with no lids or straws! (must remember to carry in bottles of water this year).


In the comments for my last entry, mom-on-roof said something that kind of scared me. New colors? Do I have... new colors? Does this diary look the same to you? If not, please tell me. I would hate it if mom-on-roof was being sarcastic about the fact that every computer but mine has suddenly started rendering this page in violent yellow, chartreuse, and puce*. Speaking of which. Years ago when we were engaged, T had a really badass computer -- a 386 with TWO MEG OF RAM, wow, TWO WHOLE MEGABYTES -- and it had a monochrome monitor, which yes, actually was manufactured on purpose. That still happened in the late 80's and early 90's. I know it's hard for most of you to believe but it is true. Anyway. He had this monochrome monitor, and he made a really nice soothing attractive monochrome color scheme for Windows 3.1 in it. When we got married and I moved in (in that order. People still did THAT in the early 90's too. I swear it's true), we combined computer systems to make, oh wow, a really REALLY badass 486 with FOUR MEG of RAM and my color monitor (cue heavenly Monty Python chords here). We used his hard drive and so when we started up the newly refurbished machine for the first time, up popped the most wretched color combination that you could ever possibly imagine. Even the clothes I wore in elementary school couldn't top the heinousness of that color scheme. It hurt our eyes. But we saved it, so that we could laugh at it.


*WHAT IS PUCE? When Sully looks at the paper in Monsters Inc. and says, "Oh, that's puce," why didn't they show us what color it was? Because some of us still don't know and we feel really stupid about that.


Update: I just googled it (Dear Google, I swear, I actually do sometimes sit around and ponder how I ever satisfied my raging curiosity on so many of life's little questions before you were invented. Love, your adoring fan. XXXOOO) and apparently puce is a kind of lavender sort of grayish color. No wonder the name is so alarmingly similar to "puke." Which word I accidentally used the other day in front of my kids, and now it is their very very favorite. Oh well, it could be worse.

--------

Monday, August 30, 2004

two things

THE DRESS is done. No offense at ALL to the person for whom I made it, but I am inclined to want to give it a vile nickname like Kristin does for the things she sews. It is made out of the most difficult fabric I've ever worked with in my life. Suicidal fabric, that's what it was. All manipulative, sitting there in the machine writing a suicide note about how I didn't take good enough care of it so it just can't go on. But now it's done, and it came out OK, and I am so ready to make something out of flannel. Flannel is the nice grandmother of fabrics: "Whatever you say is fine with me, dearie." But yay. It's done: dress, crinoline, ruffle, little bolero jacket... even a little purse. yay.


* * * * * * * * *

WHY CATS ARE GOOD TO HAVE AROUND


1. If you have too many dishes they'll gladly break some for you. It's no problem for them at all; one leap onto the counter, an easy grab at a mixing bowl holding a large stack of cereal bowls, and it's all taken care of.

2. If you have too much money, you can always spend it on cat litter, cat food, a schmanzy litter pan with a sifter, long-term feeders, new dishes, etc.

3.If you don't have enough laundry to do, they'll gladly pee in every. single. basket. of clean laundry you ever turn your back on, plus your kids' tub of dress-up clothes, so that you can rewash everything twice or three times (heaven forbid you should just fold it and put it away as soon as it's dry. Where's the fun in that?)

4. If you haven't explained sex to your five-year-old yet, they'll give you a great reason to do so. Actually, my kids still think that the reason the cats can't go outside is because they'll meet men cats, get married, and have babies (they probably even picture them wearing wedding dresses. Or considering Mommy's recent sewing project, silver lamé). And the reason they go around scraping their tummies on the ground with their butts up in the air for a few days twice a month is because they want to get married. Cripes, we have got to get those beasts spayed, before we catch them going through Bride's magazine.

5. Who wants a clean bathroom? Just put the litter pan and the food and water dishes in there and voilà! You'll never have to deal with that irritating no-litter-on-the-bathroom-floor feeling again.



I hate when my husband is right about stuff.

--------

Thursday, August 26, 2004

how NOT to type

I am attempting to re-teach myself to type. I did take a typing class for about a week in high school. However, since I'd already taught myself to type by that time, I quickly reached the point where the very sound of the teacher's monotone droning on ("A!" [Class hits the A key on every. single. typewriter: CL-CL-CLACK.] "S!" [CL-CLACK.] "D!" [CLACK.] "F!" [CL-CLACK.]) was enough to make me want to poke someone's eyes out. Even my own. So I'd sit there ignoring the teacher, typing letters to my friends on the scratch paper. It's hard to keep from getting caught when you're writing notes this way, and teachers have this weird thing about students, you know, paying attention in class instead of typing friendly correspondence. Go figure. I quickly realized that if I continued in that class, I'd end up either killing someone or spending the rest of my natural life in detention (or both). So I dropped it and took home economics instead. So to this day, I always level when I measure, but I type in a very unhealthy manner. Fast, yes. But my form lacks. It lacks... a lot. I only ever use my left pinky for Shift. I stretch my fingers all around the wrong way, mostly on my left hand. I knew this but didn't care until I started this ongoing data entry project, involving lots of tabbing and even more shifting, really repetitively. When the pain from the pinky and ring fingers on my left hand reached that elbow, I thought, hey, it's never too late to retrain oneself and undo habits that have been set in concrete by, oh, say, fifteen years of rigorous exercise, right? Hence this entry is being typed Correctly. Oops. I just used the wrong pinky for Shift again. It is making me crazy and I'm beginning to place bets against myself regarding how long it will be before I give up and lapse back into the old incorrect-but-thought-free Rachel's Patented Carpal Tunnel Syndrome Guaranteed Typing System. I'm thinking... about five more words. Yep.

--------

Monday, August 23, 2004

more snippets

1. Tonight while I was washing dishes, I put my hair in a bun and stabbed a pencil through it, because I couldn't find one of my five bazillion scrunchies. I haven't done this since high school. It made me feel all young. There was a guy who used to sit behind me in chemistry class who would steal the pencil from my hair. ah, memories.
   
   
2. We went to my dad's tonight for his birthday party. The highlight of the visit for the kids was The Walk. Why do people say there's nothing to do in the country? In one short excursion my kids walked barefoot on an unpaved road(carefully circumnavigating the cow pies), had their shadows traced on the road with sticks, and drew "traps" in the dust with their sticks to catch their grandpa, who had to break out of said traps by drawing lines across them with his stick. Fun stuff, I tell ya.
   
   
3. In keeping with the rural theme, here are some of the items (probably about half the content) from last week's sheriff's report in our local paper.
   • A call reporting a truck full of chickens with smoking brakes was received from the highway in [outlying area].
   • A call reporting cows mooing strangely and sounding worried was received from [development].
   • A call from Elizabeth Lane in [outlying area] reported a dangerous coyote growling under a trailer.
   • A mountain lion and two cubs were spotted at the water's edge at Lake M______.
   • A call reporting loud music was received from Ramsden Road.
   • A barking dog complaint was received from the 5100 block of Hillside Drive.
   • A report of trespassing by two kids swimming in a horse trough was received from Old Highway and Yaqui Gulch.
   • A call reporting a rattlesnake in a dog house was received from the 4000 block of Old Highway.
   • A request for an ambulance to respond to a scorpion bite was received from the 5200 block of Davis Road.
   • A call describing a "lab wreaking havoc" was received from Granite Springs Road. (at first I thought this was referring to a meth lab, which are a common hazard in these here parts, but just now I realized it's referring to a dog. I think.)
   • A report of unfed goats was received from the 5200 block of Colorado Road. (note: all the references to "blocks" are a joke. Because... there ARE no blocks.)
   • A call reporting a rattlesnake in a living room was received from the 5100 block of Lakeview Road.
   • A call reporting a loose bull was received from the 5000 block of Silva Road.
   And people say nothing ever happens here. Sheesh.
   
   
4. I was getting into bed a half hour or so ago and something cut my foot. I reached down expecting to find a pencil, and instead found a long, sharp bamboo shish ke bob skewer. T had been using it to repair a camera. (SHUT UP.) He muttered an unintelligible apology in his sleep when I explained why I shrieked. Is he trying to kill me, do you think? Is there something I should know here?

And that's enough randomness from me for tonight. I'm going to go brave the bed again. Maybe with the lights on, though.

--------

Saturday, August 21, 2004

a girl's first pair of high-heeled shoes

You know what I have never had, and what I just got a craving for? A pair of really high-heeled shoes. The highest I have ever owned are standard, what, 2 1/2" pumps. There are a lot of reasons I've never had anything higher than that. (ooh! goody! a list!)

1. I don't like my feet and I suppose I never wanted to draw attention to them.
   
2. The pumps I have had have hurt plenty enough at their modest height, thankyouverymuch.
   
3. I am already dang well tall enough. I think my addiction to flats started in junior high when I already towered over all the boys by at least two inches. (this would still be... interesting ... since T is only two inches taller than me. In a four-inch heel I'd be taller than him. Interesting dynamic, maybe, in the right mood...?)
   
4. I have never been the sexy-high-heels type. I'm more the Everymom type. T gets really excited when I put on slacks and a blouse. I am not sure he could handle something that was actually, you know, sexy, especially in public. It would be interesting to try, though. ;-)
   

However. For some unknown reason, today I decided that my next pair of dress shoes will be my first pair of high heels. Maybe... red ones. Wow. Am I fifteen?

--------

Friday, August 20, 2004

a bit of an improvement

Screwy things about today:

• Being awakened by a daughter who needed a bath (yeah, that's why) to find we'd run out of propane for the second time in three months, and hence had no hot water.
• That whole humble-groveling-please thing, dealing with the propane company to whom we owed a big stack of money because for some reason our propane usage has skyrocketed lately.
• Silver tissue lamé. OH MY GOSH never buy this fabric. OK? OK. I am making a very dear person a Peggy-Sue-Got-Married-style dress out of it, for her wedding (hey, it's her wedding, lay off! And at least it's not Tinkerbell...). It's lovely and sparkly and shiny. It also has been stupid enough to declare a running feud with my sewing machine in spite of the fact that it will always, always lose.

Happy things about today:

• The propane guy finding a leak on the tank, followed quickly by my realization that the stack of money we owe that company will be shrinking. (yay!)
• Slicing tomatoes, still warm from the garden, onto a BLT.
• Thinking I was going to have to buy a zipper foot, but finding one while I was looking for something else.
• Getting paid almost twice what I billed my FIL, for the data-entry job I was doing for him. (I don't know why he's being nice. It's kind of scary. What can he be plotting? Darth Sidious is never nice)

So my day has improved. I have made it most of the way through it, and resisted the urge to smash my china. I did do some aggressive box-kicking early on, however. It helped quite a bit.

Not a REAL replacement entry.

I had an entry up here for half an hour or so but I deleted it because it was so whiny. And pointless. However, since I still feel whiny and pointless, I will not be writing a real replacement entry... because this one doesn't count. Not only has the diary muse completely eluded me of late, but I am, well, whiny and pointless. So I'll be back when one or both of those things changes.

I did just get a bit of a laugh, because of the contrast between the heading of this page (blissful contentment indeed!), and this entry. ha. So my sense of humor isn't completely gone; it's just been beaten into a catatonic, bloody, bruised state this morning, and it'll probably be released from intensive care and back among the general population before too long. Good Lord, I hope so. --------

well, I got better...

First of all I need to point out that this is my fourth entry today. Don't miss the previous exciting episodes of Blissful Contentment. Yours FREE, no purchase necessary, for a limited time only (well, except for that "limited" part). Today, as my loyal reader might remember, started out at about a 9.8 on the suckiness scale; it has improved until I don't even want to maim anybody anymore. Wow. Who'd have thought. Also, if the title of this post makes you think of newts, you are my new hero.


Tonight I went to the valley to get a birthday present for my dad, and a few little miscellaneous things. Of course, this meant WAL-MART. Wal-Mart is the crown jewel of the miscellaneous. I got: cereal, a fishing pole, feminine hygiene supplies, teabags, cat food, and laundry stuff. And I didn't even scratch the surface. I have always thought it should be some kind of late-night college-kids' game, where you have to go to Wal-Mart and whoever spends a certain amount of money and comes out with the most diverse selection wins the prize. Another great game would be the Dollar Store Bizarreness Challenge -- my friend Jenn and I thought this up while we were in the 99c store over the weekend. It's simple, whoever buys the strangest thing in the dollar store wins. That late-at-night slap-happy feeling makes these games much more fun.


After I shopped, I went to Panda Express. Panda Express always sucks me in when I'm in the city alone and need to eat. I'll think I'm going somewhere else, but when I drive by it traps me in its patented Kung Pau Chicken tractor beam and before I even realize it I'm standing at the counter saying, "Two-entrées, packed to go [in case of leftovers], chow mein noodles, kung pao chicken, black pepper chicken, thank you." I have to get hot, spicy things there because when your mouth is on fire, you don't notice that you're drinking (blecch) Diet Pepsi. Until the fire subsides, and you're driving out of the parking lot with just a few wisps of dragonish smoke coming out of your nostrils, and you take a sip from your to-go cup and almost spew because finally you realize that you've been consuming carbonated paint thinner. Oh well. No place is perfect. Not even Panda Express.


On the way home, since I was alone in the car, I tested the limits of our stereo system once more, this time discovering that volume level 27 is absolutely perfect for the Winter section of Vivaldi's "Four Seasons." The cellos go right through to your spine. You all should try it.

--------

Look, I NEEDED a survey today, OK? I'll only have ONE.

I am totally in the mood for a long ol' survey right now. Sorry everyone. I stole this from A Reflection of Me (no, not of ME, of HER).

What kind of underwear are you wearing and what color?
enormous-but-satiny peach-colored ones. T bought them for me by mistake. He thought they were smaller. But they are darn comfortable.

What is the song you want played at your funeral?
"I'll Meet You in the Morning" -- it's an old gospel hymn.

What would your last meal be before getting executed?
I would probably make them take me to the Red Fox. Shackles and all. (Hey, whom did I off? I wanna know. Was it worth it?)

Beatles or Stones?
BEATLES. I hate the Stones. But early Beatles -- very catchy.

If you had to pick one person on earth who should die, who would it be?
Sheesh, this is vicious. I'll go with someone obvious and say Osama bin Laden -- slowly.

The person whose problems you would never want to hear again?
I really don't have a problem with hearing people's problems. Although if my kids wouldn't whine about them, it would make my life a lot nicer.
**EDIT** Wait, I thought of someone. My paternal grandmother. AUGH. She is the kind of person who loooooves to get attention by whining about her life. [eyeroll]

What is the thing most important to you (as far as physical) about the preferred sex?
AROM (sweetie, I have to say, having been pregnant three times, I see that and think "Artificial Rupture of Membranes". tee hee), from whom I lifted this survey, had a good answer with cleanliness. But equally important is that he be bigger than me. Taller AND broader.

If you could have any super power what would it be?
I've said the snapping-fingers-Mary-Poppins thing a lot. This time I think I'll go with being able to hear people's thoughts, if I wanted to.

Favorite hangover cure?
I have never had the, er, pleasure of a hangover.

How many drinks does it take to get you drunk?
When I was a teenager, one would do it.

Hair color you most like someone you're dating to have?
I am not DATING anyone. T has medium-light brown hair.

If you had to be: blind or deaf?
I hate this question and I can never say. I guess deaf.

Do you have any psychiatric problems?
None that have been diagnosed. However...

Siblings that should go to rehab?
Nope. My sibling is straight as an arrow. :)

Least favorite month?
August. [sarcastic grin]

First movie you can remember seeing as a kid?
The Jerk. It was on HBO and it went completely over my head. I was six or so.

Favorite person in the whole world?
I cannot pick one, have to put 3. Sorry. Husband, two kids.

When's the last time you went on a date?
TOO LONG AGO. Let's get it going with the romance, sweetie. Of course it would help if we got it going with the financial discipline first so we actually could, you know, afford something besides a box of crackers, to be eaten sitting on the sidewalk. Which is, sadly, mostly my lack, I think.

Do you like violent movies or dirty movies?
Neither really. I mean I don't pick them because they are either violent or dirty. In fact I tend to steer clear of them if they are.

Fall or spring?
Late fall, early spring

Person you most wish you hadn't made out with?
Oh good Lord. I am ashamed how many people (from my distant past -- sheesh, more than a third of my life ago) are in this category. Johnny Gray would probably be at the top of the list.

If you are straight, what person of the same sex would you do it with?
Um. None. I'm... straight, remember?

Where do you want to live when you are old and brittle?
If I could afford it, someplace temperate like Morro Bay would be nice.

Who is the person you can count on most?
My husband.

If you could date any celebrity past or present, time and age are not factors?
You know, I'll sound like a total prude here, but as a married woman, I don't spend a whole lot of time thinking about this kind of stuff. I really don't. I'm besottedly happy with what I have.

What books have you pretended you've read?
hmm. I don't think there are any. If I haven't read one I'm honest about it.

What's a word you would use to describe your life?
Generally very happy. Oh wait. One word. Happy.

Favorite drinking game?
I have never played one. However, if I were going to indulge (I'm not), I heard about one where you watch a movie based on a book and every time the movie diverges from the book, you take a drink.

What did you dream last night?
I don't remember.

Favorite bands?
I'm trying to think of one I never get tired of hearing. Alison Krauss, although she's not a band... Vivaldi.. he's not a band either... Mozart? Alanis Morissette? ACK! NO BANLT!

Were you named after anyone?
After a Dolly Parton/Cole Porter song, "Sweet Rachel Ann." Just because they liked the name, not because of the lyrics of the song. And my middle name's not Ann.

Do you wish on stars?
Sometimes.

Which finger is your favorite?
My ring fingers. Their nails are always the nicest.

When did you last cry?
I'm trying to remember. I was fighting with my husband. It was... Sunday afternoon.

Do you like your handwriting?
Frequently.

What's your favorite lunch meat?
Roast beef.

Any bad habits?
Tons. I interrupt, I talk too much, I chew the inside of my cheek. And that's just the beginning of the list.

What is your most embarrassing CD on the shelf?
I am not in high school; I don't have to be embarrassed about my music collection. (good thing.)

If you were another person, would you be friends with you?
I think, if I were another person who's like myself, then yes. But if I were a more quiet, ordinary person, then no, I would be annoyed by myself.

Have you ever told a secret you swore not to tell?
Not since elementary school. I don't think.

Do looks matter?
To me, only to the degree that they are controlled by the person. If you're clean and neat and aren't trying to shock me with your hair or your piercings or whatever, then yeah, I'll have more respect for you. In our culture, yes, they matter a lot, in every way. Would anyone even know Laci Peterson's name if it weren't for that 50-megawatt smile of hers? I don't think so. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

How do you release anger?
I kick boxes and fantasize about breaking my china. I let my fingers pretend they are throttling someone.

Where is your second home?
The library. :)

Do you trust others easily?
I don't think so. I can be very suspicious of strangers and their motives.

What was your favorite toy as a child?
I went through a lot of different favorites. A lot of my play wasn't even with toys -- my brother and I would set up "desks" in our room, and play office or school. Or we'd run around outside and get filthy and sweaty and exhausted. Those are the things I remember liking best. Toys were just accessories.

What class in school do you think is totally useless?
Well, define useful. I mean, music and art aren't classes that most anyone will ever make money from, but they're highly enriching. Most people will never use higher math or science but they're still worth learning.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?
Irony more than sarcasm. But yes.

Have you ever been in a mosh pit?
No.

What do you look for in a guy/girl?
That wedding ring I put on his finger all those years ago. Just south of the sexiest arms in creation. YUM.

What are your nicknames?
T calls me Ducky. But ONLY T and nobody else. My brother has always called me "Rach". I had a few in high school -- Rabble-Rouser, Rab, Ratchet, Rosy.

Would you bungee jump?
No. The possible disastrous consequences, no matter how slim a chance of their occurrence, outweigh the possible thrill.

Do you think that you are strong willed?
Believe it or not I ponder this a lot. I don't think I am, really. I mean, I'm not wishy-washy but I'm not particularly stubborn or hard-headed either.

What's your favorite ice cream flavor?
It varies. Dulce de Leche is pretty awesome. Cookies and cream. Starbucks' something or other mocha fudge. Darn, now I'm hungry.

Shoe Size?
9W

What are your favorite colors?
I like to wear warm red. I like to paint rooms in muted blues and greens. I like to look at purple and dark green.

What is your least favorite thing?
geesh. There's a general question. Um, the fallen nature of humanity?

How many wisdom teeth do you have?
4

How many people have a crush on you right now?
I can give you a definitive ZERO on this one.

Do you want everyone you send this to send it back to you?
I'm not sending it. I'm posting it. But sure, go ahead.

What color pants are you wearing?
blue jeans

What are you listening to right now?
Helicopters flying overhead because some crackpot is trying to burn my town down. (I am serious.)

Last thing you ate?
A BLT

If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Brown.

What is the weather like right now?
Hot. Also scalding. It is an inferno. You go outside and stand in the sun too long and you'll burst into flames. Like that. grr. With a really great hot wind blowing too.

Last person you talked to on the phone?
My mom, I think

The first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
The first thing I notice about anyone in general is... I dunno. I notice so many things at once, from the generic (like how tall they are) to how clean they are.

Do you like the person who sent you this?
Nobody sent it to me. I stole it from AROM. And we just met. But so far, yes. :)

How are you today?
Cripes, of all days to ask. Started out totally crappily, but it's getting better.

Favorite drink?
DIET CHERRY COKE. yay.

Favorite alcoholic drink?
I wouldn't know. I've only ever had two beers, thirteen years ago. Oh, and some Kahlua when I was a kid. That was pretty good. And some red wine from Israel, when I'd been married about a year. Not a whole lot to choose a favorite from.

Favorite Sport?
To watch: football and ice dancing. To participate in: walking? does that count? I am not sporty.

Hair color?
brown, brown, brown.

Eye color?
Golden brown, with darker brown freckles. (I like my eyes).

Do you wear contacts?
No. But I'd like to. I wear glasses.

Siblings?
One older brother

Favorite foods?
I don't know. I'm not hungry, so it's hard to say. Maybe a nice Red Fox steak. Or my dad's barbecue.

Last movie you watched?
"Pride and Prejudice", while folding laundry.

What is your favorite day of the year?
Christmas

Are you too shy to ask someone out?
This is a non-issue. But I wasn't, before.

Scary movies or happy endings?
Happy endings. I am so uncultured.

Hugs or kisses?
why the heck do they ask this question? Is there honestly someone who says, "man, I love kisses, but hugs -- UGH!" or vice versa? Both.

What are your current Living Arrangements?
Renting a home I like more and more every year. We can't afford to buy it but I can't stand the thought of moving out.

What's on your mouse pad?
My mouse. :D

Favorite board game?
I like Balderdash, and Trivial Pursuit, and Scrabble.

What did you watch on TV last night?
I haven't watched TV with any regularity in years. Nothing.

Favorite Smell?
An early-spring morning, after a rain, when the sun comes out

What is the first thing you think of when you wake up?
Am I in time to take C to the bathroom so she doesn't wet the bed?

Favorite sounds?
Really good music. My kids' laughter (corny, but true, as every mother knows). Birds, all kinds, even crows. Wind in pine trees.

my goodness. finally done! --------

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

happy birthday, blissful contentment

I realized yesterday that I missed posting on my journal's first birthday, which was Saturday the 14th. So, belated felicitations to my Diaryland self. This has already lasted far longer than I thought it ever could.

I have a good excuse for having forgotten, though -- that being that my life is totally nuts right now and I don't have a whole lot of computer time. I have a 50's-prom-style wedding dress to make for a friend in the next two weeks, fair craft projects to finish by Saturday, a huge data entry project for my father-in-law, a public relations job for the community chorus I'm a part of, plus two kids, a husband, a house, and a miniature Mt. Everest of laundry (again). Yikes. What am I doing sitting here? --------

Thursday, August 12, 2004

totally unrelated stuff about kids and movies

This evening I told my kids that they had to get their pajamas on and get ready for bed early because they went in their pool without permission (and WITH all their clothes on, and WITHOUT any towels nearby -- you do not even want to think about the state of the floor from the door to their bedrooms when I walked in). Half an hour later I came in the house and you could cut the air of secrecy with a knife. There is a veritable cacophony of "ssh!"s and tittery "it's a surprise"s coming from the bathroom. My thinking is that they're hoping to earn a bit of leniency by cleaning the bathroom. Actually LT just walked through and said as much, only more cutely. I knew there was a reason I had kids.

Total subject change. I have been thinking about movies today. There are a couple of movie phenomena that I'd like to discuss.

1. Movies that make me cry when I shouldn't. I don't cry when the wife dies in Return to Me. I don't cry when Charlotte dies or when Braveheart dies or at any other predictable movie sobbing point. When do I cry, you ask? At what scenes do I inevitably perform a full-out involuntary choke-and-tears with my hand over my mouth? In Fly Away Home, anytime Amy is flying that idiotic goose ultralight thing. At the end of Space Camp and Mr. Holland's Opus. During the Sabbath evening scene in Fiddler on the Roof (but not at the wedding or when they leave Anatevka). I think it has something to do with maternal hormones, because this never happened before pregnancy messed with me. It does seem rather random, though, and I'd like to know why it happens in this particular way.

2. New York. I've never been to New York, OK? So I don't know this for sure. But I am almost certain that New York is not as nice as it looks in movies. And it can't be fun to be a struggling actor or writer or whatever, waiting tables and waiting for a break. But when I'm watching You've Got Mail or even (oh good Lord, this is very embarrassing) The Muppets Take Manhattan, all of a sudden I, the bucolic rube from the smallest town most people have ever personally been to, whose dream house is surrounded by twenty acres of nothing but grass and trees -- I want to move to New York. It is like a communicable disease that I catch from that sort of film. And it doesn't work for other cities -- I've never had even so much as a tiny bit of a desire to move to LA or Chicago or the Bay Area, no matter what movies I watch about those places. Even this website (which is really cool and you should check it out) can bring on an attack. HELP. Someone please write and tell me that New York is a very dirty place where I'd be totally overwhelmed and mugged and it costs and arm and a leg to live there and all that. Please? --------

no sugar added

We've known for quite some time that when T has a lot of sugar it pretty much puts him to sleep. Actually, to be more specific, it turns him into Frankenstein's monster for about forty-five minutes, and then he sleeps like the dead for at least three hours. Last year he went to the doctor about this, and the collective response of the doctors, lab people, and assorted medical persons can be summed up as follows:



Although we did have one physician's assistant do what is called, in medical terms, a total anal pluck, and determine that LT was depressed. Depression and hiatal hernias ... everyone's got 'em, right? They're the diagnoses of the 21st century. Anyway. The glucose screen determined nothing except that a near-comatose 230-lb husband is really difficult for his wife to get in and out of the car. Apparently even when a cup of syrup renders him unconscious, his blood sugar levels are still totally within the normal range. what. ever. So we've been kind of watching sugar for T, except when he was having a hard time sleeping and then we'd occasionally dose him up so that he'd drop off. The rest of the household continued as usual, with full-strength real-sugar syrup on our pancakes, and candy bars when we felt like it, and brownies and ice cream for dessert a few times a month. (sheesh, no wonder I stopped losing weight). Until today. Today we become one of those annoying no-sugar-added families, because we're pretty sure we've pinpointed sugar as a major aggravator of LT's Tourette's symptoms. And C and I certainly don't need it either. After all, my mom stopped eating sugar in 1986 because it gave her unbelievable mood swings, and she has stuck with it all these years and survived. So we can too, right?

Man, we must be totally crazy. --------

Saturday, August 07, 2004

more excitement than is precisely necessary

before I start, I want to thank everyone who left such thoughtful and supportive comments about yesterday's entry. You all rock. Kisses and hugs to you.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We now continue with your regularly scheduled entry.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You know how most people keep a kind of mental list of what to grab in case of a fire? It's generally a very academic exercise, with maybe a tinge of shivery fear mixed in. Here's what's generally on my list:

• a couple changes of clothes for each person (no use trying to pack all our clothes, since as soon as word got out in town that our house had burned down, we'd be inundated with clothes; people love to empty their attics and feel saintly at the same time. If you don't believe me, have a baby)
• the computer. It has everything from family pictures to financial records on it.
• The boxes of pictures that are on the shelves in the utility room.
• the cats.
• the box of Natalie memorabilia
• Some of the kids' most precious toys
• My books. I seriously have a rubbermaid tub earmarked, and if the stuff ever hits the fan, that sucker's getting its contents dumped out and I'm emptying the bookshelves into it. I've spent literally my whole life collecting those books one at a time.

Anyway. You get the idea. Everyone has this list, just in case one day you look outside and see this:


looking across the street through the parking area of the house across the street

The problem comes when you actually do, well, look outside and see that, which I did yesterday. You're faced with decisions: Do I prepare and freak out the kids, or play it casual? Will they send someone around to our houses to tell us if there's actually a risk to us? How far in advance would they do that? And the most pressing question: Do I really want to pack up a whole bunch of stuff and then just have to repack it when the fire moves the other direction? The thought reminded me of when I'd "run away" as a kid. Full of righteous indignation, I'd pack a bag and head for the door with it. I'd get talked into coming back in the house, and then I had the deflating experience of having to put away all the stuff I'd just packed. Like going on a camping trip, only without the fun of the vacation in between the bouts of work. And yet thinking about explaining to my husband that I hadn't saved anything from the house because I was too lazy to want to put it away again was also rather unappealing. Fortunately the fire was moving in the other direction in a pretty obvious way -- the wind was so steadily blowing away from us that we didn't even smell any smoke from the fire, even though it was less than a quarter-mile from our house -- so my procrastination paid off.

Total subject change -- tonight T and LT are doing their yearly observatory pilgrimage. Ordinarily we go as a family for Father's Day, but this year money was tight at Father's Day and T had been drawn in the ticket lottery for the observatory's "summer visitor program" wherein you can actually look through the telescopes and not just spend money at the gift shop, so we skipped the Father's Day visit. They won't be home till the wee small hours of the morning, which means that C and I had a little party (watching movies the boys dislike, and eating bananas with peanut butter. We are some party animals, no? Frat boys have nothing on us), and then she fell asleep and I read. A lot. I've read two Stephanie Plum books (highly addictive, and rather vulgar -- not the kind of books you'd recommend to your mother, for instance -- but hilarious and fun) in the past twelve hours. Now, for a total change of pace, I'm going to go to bed and read Jane Austen until I can't keep my eyes open. Sometimes I just shock myself. I am such a wild child. --------

Thursday, August 05, 2004

remembrance

So I was going along today, having a good time looking at wedding dresses online with a friend, ignoring the increasing heap of dirty laundry and the clothesline full of clean laundry, playing with the kids, you know, the usual. And then I read getupgrrl's post for today (note: arm yourself with a box of tissues before clicking that link). Damn. All of a sudden my day has a different color to it. Although I've never had a miscarriage, getupgrrl's entry is about more than that, as she says herself; it's about loss, and memory, and (as one commenter put it) the way we keep our babies alive in a way by remembering...

My own story could start in a lot of places but the most reasonable place is on Christmas in 1997. I was nine and a half months pregnant. We had thought we'd have no gifts at all that year, because we had so little money, but that was OK because our son was so young (19 months) that he wouldn't notice or care. Then we got a windfall on Christmas Eve -- Reader's Digest published a joke I'd sent them, of all things -- and so we had some money for gifts. We bought my son a Sesame Street video, among other things. As soon as he opened it he wanted to watch it, so we put it in; it played over and over that day, while I made Christmas dinner and my parents came over, me lumbering around the house eager to go down and get this baby outside of me the next day, all of us laughing at the batty bats and the alligator king and all those other sesame street bits. That was the last day that everything was OK. Over the next months and years I would find myself aching every time that Sesame Street movie was played -- even now when my daughter watches it I ache for that day, the last day when everything was all right and we had no clue about the nightmare into which we were about to be plunged. The next morning my daughter was surgically removed from my body and brought into a world where her damaged heart had a very hard time coping. She was blue; she didn't breathe on her own; she was under observation; she was transported to the children's hospital after I got to touch her little hand just once through the isolette they had her in; she was diagnosed with a very bad, very scary, very rare congenital heart defect; she likely wouldn't live. And our nice little world crashed down. And like other women who've experienced loss, I remember certain aspects of the experience -- like the video, like the shirt I wore to the hospital, like the buttons on the phone in my hospital room as I lay there alone while the pediatric cardiologist explained, with calm composure, why my daughter might not live through the next few days -- with crystal clarity.

Fast forward two months, through a lot of pain and a lot of joy and a goodly share of frustration with the medical profession and a general lack of sleep, and we arrive at a new set of emotional triggers. The room at the hospital, which after a remodel is now part of the x-ray department, where I, who had zero experience with being the responsible person in the face of death, asked my dad, do I have to stay here? will the funeral home people need to see me or can we go? I don't want to be here. Variegated pink-and-yellow-and-white yarn reminds me of the way I sat in my living room with my sleeping son on my lap, staring at the project I'd started for our daughter, wondering what would become of it now -- I later finished that blanket, needing the mindless occupation, and then sent it to my best friend for her little girl. Winter sunrise over our town reminds me, even now, of the surreal experience of telling people we knew whom we encountered on that early-morning walk, she died this morning. The brown bedspread I sometimes still use brings back the way our house emptied out over the course of the day, until it was just us and my parents and they watched our son while my husband and I went and laid down on our neatly-made bed and finally cried, big ugly heaving sobs, and clutched each other blindly and tried to come to terms with the fact that she was gone. Cloud shadows chasing each other on a bright, windy day call up the day of her funeral as if it was happening right now, with my bewildered, beloved little boy captivated by the flowers and the people and gasping with mock surprise when the wind blew over a floral display bigger than he was.

It has been almost seven years now. The baby boy is eight years old and reaches my shoulders and has no memory of the sister toward whom he was so affectionate during her brief life; we have a daughter who will never know her sister, but at four years of age, sometimes pretends she does. Our life is good and happy and full of joy, and not a day goes by when we don't think of our little Natalie, and how she'd have been now, and what her life would have been like. The images associated with her brief life are as vivid as they have ever been. I don't think they will ever fade. Thank God for that. --------

Wednesday, August 04, 2004

practicing what I preach

Don't you hate it when your values are suddenly confronted by reality and you have to actually, you know, abide by them? And it's work?

There's a guy who knows my husband. Exactly how he knows my husband is a kind of convoluted story, but it has its basis in destruction derby so I'll just leave it at that shortened explanation. This guy is the archetypical redneck in so many ways. He has very poorly-cut hair, and very little regard for grammar or personal hygiene. He has more dogs than he has teeth, and more beat-up cars than he has dogs, and he doesn't have a job. He even (I am not making this up) has a mother who looks like the love child, if it were possible, of the Bitter Beer Face woman and Tammy Faye Baker, who has no teeth. And he lives with her. So you can imagine that he is the butt of a lot of local jokes, because small towns aren't all Mayberry; small towns have a sizable "junior high" component to them as well.

And yet the guy is, in keeping with the "redneck" stereotype, a good ol' boy who'd never hurt anyone and just wants to live his life and be friendly to people. Even his mom has her redeeming characteristics. If he were a jerk, I would have less compunction about making fun of him. Because... I really want to make fun of him. Never to his face, but that's no excuse because the "to his face" aspect isn't what bothers me most about people making fun of other people simply because they aren't like everyone else. When I was the one being made fun of, it bothered me just as much that people were doing it behind my back as it did when they did it to my face. So I have to work at it. When he calls (which he does frequently, because he relies heavily on my husband to get him out of last-minute jams with derby cars, or to get his truck fixed where it died by the side of the road), I make myself be friendly and normal with him. I try to curb the tendency to tell my husband that "his new best friend" or "his special buddy" or "Jeff Foxworthy's dream guy" left a message. I make conversation with his mother while T works his mechanical magic on the guy's vehicles, and I keep a straight face. I'm not perfect -- I do slip up, and frankly, the entire first paragraph of this entry is pretty much one big indulgence of the kind of barbed humor I try to avoid regarding these people. For some reason I have no problem slinging it around about businesses who use the wrong form of "its" in a brochure, or other people I know who do stupid things or have screwed-up priorities. I guess making fun of Redneck Guy would just hit a little too close to home -- because I was once the kid with the bad haircut and the decade-old clothes who couldn't walk the school corridors without being insulted by the "cool" kids, and even now I live a rather unconventional life in some ways, and I know exactly how painful it is to be the butt of jokes or to know what kinds of things people might be saying about me as soon as I leave the room. It is a huge exercise in humility for me to see just exactly how hard it is to practice what I preach in this area. Because basically, I thought that I was the nice one, the compassionate one, the one who's bigger than that, but really, all along I was just the one who hadn't had my values tested much yet. And that humble pie tastes really nasty. --------

Sunday, August 01, 2004

the big purple guy

I don't dislike Barney any less than ever, but after having actually sat through one of his shows for the first time ever (a video of live show on a stage) just days after having seen my own children perform on a small stage in front of only thirty or so people, I have more respect for the kids on the show. Fake? yes. Overly smily? definitely. Cheezy? for sure. And of course they all work right next to the puffy purple guy, bouncing from foot to foot with that creepy white smile. But at least none of them are freezing up/panicking/making faces/staring into space/lifting their skirts to look at their knees and oh incidentally show everyone in the audience their panties....

I do feel sorry for all the parents in the audience. Imagine the water-cooler talk about the weekend, on Monday, with everyone else telling about going to the beach or working on the house or dining out: "yeah, and we, uh, went to see Barney." Oh the ridicule. --------

inventory survey

HOW MANY...

in your home:
phone extensions? 5
bathrooms? 1 in main house, 1 in schoolroom/apartment
books? hundreds.
computers? 1 in house, 1 in schoolroom
televisions? 1
video game consoles? 0
video games? a few computer games, maybe half a dozen
DVDs? maybe 50
VHS cassettes? maybe 200
LPs? none
CDs? around 100
cassettes? lots, but they're in storage
8-tracks? 0
cats? 2
dogs? 0
fish? 7
reptiles? 0
other pets? 0
houseplants? 0
musical instruments? 1 piano, 1 flute
things you've owned since high school or before? hmm. some clothes (!). My daughter has my old cabbage patch kid. A few movies. A dozen books or so, and some CDs. My piano and my flute. My Scrabble game. Maybe two dozen things?

in/on your body:
surgeries? three c-sections and a tonsillectomy, so 4
memorable scars? aforementioned c-section, plus maybe 5 other noticeable ones from accidents etc.
things you love? hmm. sometimes I really like my eyes and eyebrows. So I suppose that's 4 things.
things you hate? too many to count, starting with my feet and moving upward.
tattoos? 0
piercings? 2 (1 in each ear)
rings? 1 (wedding/engagement)


in your past:
birthdays? 29
boyfriends/girlfriends? serious ones, I had 2 in high school. Add in the more casual short term things and the number goes up to maybe a dozen.
divorces? 0
homes? about twelve, mostly before I was 5
schools? 1 school district, 3 schools (elementary, junior high, high school)
cities of residence? 1
college units? 0
foreign countries visited? 0

in your family:
brothers? 1
sisters? 0
children? 2 living
first cousins? oh geesh. I think it's 40 at last count (one aunt still producing).
grandparents living? 2 grandmothers
miles between you and your parents? 16 by road
times you talk to your mom in a week? 5?
years married? 10
years your parents have been married (or divorced)? almost 33 years married

in general:
really close friends? a small handful, three I'd say
hours per week worked? 0 outside the home, on call 24 hours a day though ;-)
evenings per week at home? right now, 6. During the school year it goes down to 4.
times a week you cook? at least ten (lunches and dinners). I don't count preparing cold cereal or making pb&j sandwiches. ;-)
--------