Well, I have a meme that I should be doing, but I got to thinking last night as I was laying in bed.
Do y'all think that blogging is just so....wonderful and weird and well, enlightening as I do?
I mean, think about it. I have my friends in my life and then I have my blogging friends. The difference is in the flavoring, to be honest. In my real life (and this is for lack of a better phrase, not because I think of blogging as my fake one), I have friends who I have lots in common with. In blogville, well...not so much. I like people for different reasons and am learning from them too, in ways that I probably wouldn't do in my real life.
Consider this: In my real life, I have no Republican friends. In blogville, though, I read several blogs that are by um, those who live on the dark side. I didn't seek them out as Republicans, no, I read them first as parenting blogs. Later, I found out that they were written by (EEK) Republicans. But, hey, I already LIKED them. Very much. Who knew? Likable Republicans? Yes. So much. So, I am learning, yes? I am learning that just because someone is from a different party (and just for the record, I honestly do not GET your party's stand on homosexual marriage as a bad thing), it does not necessarily mean that we are agin each other. We are all parents. We love our kids. We want a good, safe world for them to grow up in. I have found myself having to think twice before I make an unkind remark about Republicans, because, well, I happen to LIKE a few of them.
I started blogging for two reasons, basically: 1) I was tired of constantly owing my sisters e-mails and figured that this way they couldn't accuse me of being a lazy ass communicator and 2) I wanted Liv to have something to look back on when she was grown, a sort of diary for her to see in case something happened to me or she thought that I didn't love her one day or whatever.
I am curious...what were YOUR reasons?
Once out there, I first sought out other parenting blogs. It was such a relief to know that I wasn't alone in this place. Many, many times, I felt totally alone and knowing that Elle or Dennis understood the sort of insanity that I was going through helped. It was as if, all of a sudden, I was surrounded by a group of people who knew exactly what it felt like to walk onboard a plane with a toddler and know that every single person on that plane was praying fervently that you were not seated anywhere in their vicinity.
I stretched a bit after I settled in with my parenting blog friends. I found a younger, snarky set. A sly group of youngins' who made me laugh and think and remember what it was like to be right at the beginning of your career. I go to their blogs when I am in need of a lift. I remember, through them, that life can be hard on ALL levels, not just parenting ones.
Some blogs are so zen that I find myself going there just to feel like I am getting a drink of water on a hot, humid day.
Others (Dive) make me simply snicker with a totally kick-my-ass humor that I didn't know I needed until it was there.
And then there are the ones that touch my heart and I still can't figure out why. Terroni gets to me every time. Maybe I see myself as I used to be. I don't know. Maybe, she is just a wickedly sly, funny, great person and I like being in her side of the booth at the malt shop.
Jill is another one who I can't really figure out why I love reading her so much. She is basically everything I am not. She posts RECIPES for godsakes and I can't cook to save my life. She often gives housekeeping tips and I am the worst housekeeper on the planet. But, something in Jill reaches out to me. I find myself nodding a lot when I read her blog. Smiling. Feeling like there is someone out there who kind of gets me. I feel the way you do when you are sitting in a parent meeting at your kid's school and the speaker says something so ridiculous that you can't believe it and you look around and there is this other parent looking around incredulously too. That person would be Jill. Even though she can bake, she sees life in the same way that I do a lot. Kind of a luxury, I think.
I learn from all of you. And hey...yes...I LIKE all of you so much. I keep telling myself that I WILL NOT, I repeat, WILL NOT go looking for other blogs to read. That I already spend too much time on the computer. And then, I go a-blogging and stumble on another one and smile, shake my head, and add it to my list of blogs to visit often.
The internet has opened us all up in ways that we couldn't imagine even ten years ago. Who would have thought that I would read and be read by people in England, in Canada, in Spain. In FRANCE??? Even in Texas, Ohio, Pennsylvania and California.
But, I am really glad you are around and thanks so much for all you have shared with me, taught me. Thanks for all the times you made me laugh when I was having one shitty day. Or making me think outside of myself when I was being overly stuck on some area of my life that won't matter next month.
Y'all rock.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Fainting at the doctor's office and other fun things that could only happen to me.
I had to see my pain management md yesterday. I have back problems. Mainly sciatica, but in general, my back pretty much hurts almost all the time.
I usually just stand it (because hey, I am just THAT stoic), but when you are camped out on the sofa every night laying on an ice bag, life gets frustrating.
I finally gave in and made the appointment. Bing had a Mac seminar that she had to attend and couldn't go with me. I told her it was no big deal. I had driven myself the last time and was sure I would be okay. Right before I was getting ready to leave, my best friend, Harriet called me. Said that she just had this weird feeling that I should have someone with me, asked me if she could come too.
"Well," I said, "I suppose so. But, it isn't going to be fun. I'll probably have to get a lumbar epidural injection like I did last year when it got bad. I will BE FINE. I don't need help."
She came over anyway. Picked me up in her new van that had that new van smell. Made me want one too. "Hey,missy," she says, "I had to give a lot of blow jobs to even get him to think about buying a new van." I tell her that I don't want anything bad enough to do that....
We arrived at the md's. The receptionist is named Bev and she has sciatica too, so she always gives me a sympathetic look and tells me she likes what I am wearing. If I had on a Minnie Pearl hat with a torn ball gown, she would say something like, "Love those shoes, babe!"
I don't know what the nurse's name is. I go into shock every time I see her because she looks and acts EXACTLY how I imagine Dolores Umbridge from the Harry Potter series would be. I half expect her to make me sign all forms with my own blood. She wears velvet barrettes. No grown woman should wear a big pink velvet barrette. She also wears scrubs with kittens on them. Yes. Kittens. She is one scary nurse.
Dolores smiled this big toothy smile at me and said in a whispery Marilyn Monroe voice (and yes, the combination of this with the barrettes and kittens is decidedly sinister), "Ok, dear. Jump up on this scale and let's get a weight for you."
I once tried halfheartedly to get out of this by telling her that I had weighed myself this morning and would tell her, why must she put me through this TWICE? She didn't answer, just stood there smiling that scary smile. So..I have learned to just kick my shoes off and um, jump right on that thing.
She always says my weight OUT LOUD in a voice that is meant for cashiers checking the price of tampons. Thank you, so much Dolores, for telling Harriet how much I weigh!
Once in the room, Harriet sits nearby as Dolores takes my blood pressure. ("We're a bit low today, honey!" What is this WE shit?)
She asks me to rate my pain on a scale of 1-10. I ask if there is an 11. She doesn't even smile. So, I sigh and say 8. She nods, like..."that's better!
She finally leaves and Harriet and I discuss how creepy she is.
"God," Harriet whispers (we are half sure that Dolores is peeping through some little hole in the wall at us), "she is freakin' scary!"
No shit.
Dr. H comes in, all jolly and blustery. I actually don't mind him even though he has confessed to me that he is a Republican and I tend to dislike most of those from the dark side.
He has me stand and pokes and prods me. I wince at nearly everything on my left side. Dr. H chuckles as it seems that Harriet is wincing along with me at every one.
"You two are best friends, all right," he laughs.
He puts me through my paces, makes me push up, down and sideways on his hand with my bare foot.
And then, he tells me what I thought he would. He believes that I need a lumbar epidural injection in my back. I hang my head for a second. I am not a wussy pants, I swear it...but I hate those suckers.
But, the pain is getting pretty bad and I know this is what I need, so he goes out and sends Dolores Umbridge in with all the release forms for me to sign. She insists on taking my blood pressure again. I hate having her this close to me. Her breath smells like potato cakes and I almost make some joke about fried potatoes being a really bad breakfast choice...almost. I know that she will be in the room while I get the injection and I want her to be very, very nice to me.
She hands me what always seems to me like a little doily to put on. I mean it. This md makes really good money. I know these things. Can't he spring for some decent patient gowns?
I put it on with Harriet's help. She says to me in a sing song voice, "Wow. If I knew your ass was THAT big, I'd never have come, honey. I mean, all my illusions about you are just shattered now."
We both start laughing. Dolores frowns as if we are two teenagers caught smoking in the girl's room.
Dr. H comes bounding back in, with his little blue cap on, rubbing his hands together. "Ah, next victim?" he says. Dolores looks as if she may slap his hand for his inconsiderate remark. I smile weakly at her. I WANT her to feel sorry for me, I want her to be nice. Please don't make me write, "I will not tell lies" in my own blood, Dolores Umbridge.
I get all set up on the table. My legs are propped up on a chair, a pillow in my lap to lean on. I know Harriet hates needles, so it says a lot about her that she is standing next to me, holding my hand. Dolores holds my other hand.
I have this urge to fart that is almost unbearable.
It passes. Whew. Um, not the fart, the urge...
"Ok," Dr. H says, "Now, you will feel a little pinch..."
"That is what all you boys say," Harriet says and I feel myself start laughing, but am soon SO not laughing as this fracking HURTS.
The pain is immediate and so sharp that it takes my breath away. I grip Harriet's hand hard and suddenly the floor seems to be rising up to meet me.
And I don't remember another thing until I find myself laying on my side with Dolores' face up close and WAY too personal with mine.
She is saying my name and the smell of her breath is almost too much. I want to just fade away again, but I manage to keep my eyes open.
Dr. H comes around to my side and rubs my shoulder.
"You passed out, kiddo," he says. "But we were all finished anyway, so the injection wasn't compromised. Are you doing okay?"
I tell him yes. I try to sit up and both he and Dolores jump in to hold me down, saying no, no, just lay still for a few moments.
I am profoundly embarrassed. I have a high threshold for pain. I have had THREE lumbar epidurals in three years and I have never fainted once. I ask where Harriet is. Dr. H tells me that they were afraid that she might faint too once I did, so they sent her out in the hall to get a drink of water.
They bring her back in and she looks all white and pasty.
"You look all white and pasty," she tells me.
"Ditto, pee butt," I say.
We smile at each other.
They make me stay there for another half hour and then I am free to go with my list of precautions. I am not to get into a hot tub tonight (wow..and I was all set to go to that party and everything). I am to ice the injection area. I am to watch for puffing and infection.
I am fine.
On the way home, I thank Harriet for coming with me.
"I just had this weird feeling that I needed to be with you," she says. "And then you go and scare the bloody fuck out of me."
She tells me that I keeled over like a "baby whale."
"Oh, thank you so much," I say. "Compare me to a WHALE?"
She laughs. Says that hey...she knows my weight now and I better just behave myself or she will tell all the other moms at Liv's school.
She drops me off and before I get out of the car, she unexpectedly hugs me.
What the hell is THAT for? I ask her.
"Because you fainted," she says. "Don't you ever fuckin do that to me again."
I agree not to.
BFF. That would be you, Harriet.
Thanks, pee butt. (And you know that means I lurve you very much.)
I usually just stand it (because hey, I am just THAT stoic), but when you are camped out on the sofa every night laying on an ice bag, life gets frustrating.
I finally gave in and made the appointment. Bing had a Mac seminar that she had to attend and couldn't go with me. I told her it was no big deal. I had driven myself the last time and was sure I would be okay. Right before I was getting ready to leave, my best friend, Harriet called me. Said that she just had this weird feeling that I should have someone with me, asked me if she could come too.
"Well," I said, "I suppose so. But, it isn't going to be fun. I'll probably have to get a lumbar epidural injection like I did last year when it got bad. I will BE FINE. I don't need help."
She came over anyway. Picked me up in her new van that had that new van smell. Made me want one too. "Hey,missy," she says, "I had to give a lot of blow jobs to even get him to think about buying a new van." I tell her that I don't want anything bad enough to do that....
We arrived at the md's. The receptionist is named Bev and she has sciatica too, so she always gives me a sympathetic look and tells me she likes what I am wearing. If I had on a Minnie Pearl hat with a torn ball gown, she would say something like, "Love those shoes, babe!"
I don't know what the nurse's name is. I go into shock every time I see her because she looks and acts EXACTLY how I imagine Dolores Umbridge from the Harry Potter series would be. I half expect her to make me sign all forms with my own blood. She wears velvet barrettes. No grown woman should wear a big pink velvet barrette. She also wears scrubs with kittens on them. Yes. Kittens. She is one scary nurse.
Dolores smiled this big toothy smile at me and said in a whispery Marilyn Monroe voice (and yes, the combination of this with the barrettes and kittens is decidedly sinister), "Ok, dear. Jump up on this scale and let's get a weight for you."
I once tried halfheartedly to get out of this by telling her that I had weighed myself this morning and would tell her, why must she put me through this TWICE? She didn't answer, just stood there smiling that scary smile. So..I have learned to just kick my shoes off and um, jump right on that thing.
She always says my weight OUT LOUD in a voice that is meant for cashiers checking the price of tampons. Thank you, so much Dolores, for telling Harriet how much I weigh!
Once in the room, Harriet sits nearby as Dolores takes my blood pressure. ("We're a bit low today, honey!" What is this WE shit?)
She asks me to rate my pain on a scale of 1-10. I ask if there is an 11. She doesn't even smile. So, I sigh and say 8. She nods, like..."that's better!
She finally leaves and Harriet and I discuss how creepy she is.
"God," Harriet whispers (we are half sure that Dolores is peeping through some little hole in the wall at us), "she is freakin' scary!"
No shit.
Dr. H comes in, all jolly and blustery. I actually don't mind him even though he has confessed to me that he is a Republican and I tend to dislike most of those from the dark side.
He has me stand and pokes and prods me. I wince at nearly everything on my left side. Dr. H chuckles as it seems that Harriet is wincing along with me at every one.
"You two are best friends, all right," he laughs.
He puts me through my paces, makes me push up, down and sideways on his hand with my bare foot.
And then, he tells me what I thought he would. He believes that I need a lumbar epidural injection in my back. I hang my head for a second. I am not a wussy pants, I swear it...but I hate those suckers.
But, the pain is getting pretty bad and I know this is what I need, so he goes out and sends Dolores Umbridge in with all the release forms for me to sign. She insists on taking my blood pressure again. I hate having her this close to me. Her breath smells like potato cakes and I almost make some joke about fried potatoes being a really bad breakfast choice...almost. I know that she will be in the room while I get the injection and I want her to be very, very nice to me.
She hands me what always seems to me like a little doily to put on. I mean it. This md makes really good money. I know these things. Can't he spring for some decent patient gowns?
I put it on with Harriet's help. She says to me in a sing song voice, "Wow. If I knew your ass was THAT big, I'd never have come, honey. I mean, all my illusions about you are just shattered now."
We both start laughing. Dolores frowns as if we are two teenagers caught smoking in the girl's room.
Dr. H comes bounding back in, with his little blue cap on, rubbing his hands together. "Ah, next victim?" he says. Dolores looks as if she may slap his hand for his inconsiderate remark. I smile weakly at her. I WANT her to feel sorry for me, I want her to be nice. Please don't make me write, "I will not tell lies" in my own blood, Dolores Umbridge.
I get all set up on the table. My legs are propped up on a chair, a pillow in my lap to lean on. I know Harriet hates needles, so it says a lot about her that she is standing next to me, holding my hand. Dolores holds my other hand.
I have this urge to fart that is almost unbearable.
It passes. Whew. Um, not the fart, the urge...
"Ok," Dr. H says, "Now, you will feel a little pinch..."
"That is what all you boys say," Harriet says and I feel myself start laughing, but am soon SO not laughing as this fracking HURTS.
The pain is immediate and so sharp that it takes my breath away. I grip Harriet's hand hard and suddenly the floor seems to be rising up to meet me.
And I don't remember another thing until I find myself laying on my side with Dolores' face up close and WAY too personal with mine.
She is saying my name and the smell of her breath is almost too much. I want to just fade away again, but I manage to keep my eyes open.
Dr. H comes around to my side and rubs my shoulder.
"You passed out, kiddo," he says. "But we were all finished anyway, so the injection wasn't compromised. Are you doing okay?"
I tell him yes. I try to sit up and both he and Dolores jump in to hold me down, saying no, no, just lay still for a few moments.
I am profoundly embarrassed. I have a high threshold for pain. I have had THREE lumbar epidurals in three years and I have never fainted once. I ask where Harriet is. Dr. H tells me that they were afraid that she might faint too once I did, so they sent her out in the hall to get a drink of water.
They bring her back in and she looks all white and pasty.
"You look all white and pasty," she tells me.
"Ditto, pee butt," I say.
We smile at each other.
They make me stay there for another half hour and then I am free to go with my list of precautions. I am not to get into a hot tub tonight (wow..and I was all set to go to that party and everything). I am to ice the injection area. I am to watch for puffing and infection.
I am fine.
On the way home, I thank Harriet for coming with me.
"I just had this weird feeling that I needed to be with you," she says. "And then you go and scare the bloody fuck out of me."
She tells me that I keeled over like a "baby whale."
"Oh, thank you so much," I say. "Compare me to a WHALE?"
She laughs. Says that hey...she knows my weight now and I better just behave myself or she will tell all the other moms at Liv's school.
She drops me off and before I get out of the car, she unexpectedly hugs me.
What the hell is THAT for? I ask her.
"Because you fainted," she says. "Don't you ever fuckin do that to me again."
I agree not to.
BFF. That would be you, Harriet.
Thanks, pee butt. (And you know that means I lurve you very much.)
Friday, April 27, 2007
Izitso
Bing and I are so not the cuddly romantics. I'm the coolest of the two of us, not prone to PDAs at all and well, I'm just not much of a hugger. In romance.
Now, with Liv...well...I seem to be working on all cylinders. I can hug the stuffin out of her and I have many, many times. I seem to be very adept at the whole parenthood thing.
It's the relationship thing that I stink at. Bing knows this and is accepting. She knows how much I love her, but she also knows that I am not very demonstrative. She calls me Marian, the librarian sometimes, teasingly.
And then last night, she broke down the wall. She does this once in a while and I don't know who is more shocked, her or I.
She gave me a cd.
Yup. All it took.
She came home late, her high school band had given a spring concert and Liv and I had attended (I missed SURVIVOR!!OH NO.) I had thought they were wonderful, especially when her students coaxed her onstage to play The Edgar Winter Group's Frankenstein with them. She can play the hell out of a guitar, that one. But, she had stayed late to make sure that all the kids got home safely, etc, and Liv was in bed by the time she walked through the kitchen door, looking exhausted.
I told her how great the concert was. She smiled, very tired.
Then she handed me this wrapped square.
I looked at her. "What's this?"
She looked sideways at me. "I have to have a reason to get you a gift?"
No, she doesn't. And to be honest, she is pretty freehanded with little gifts. She often picks me up my favorite candy bar or coffee from Starbucks, if she sees one on the way home. She often gets me funny cards. Sometimes racy ones.
I opened it. A cd. A Cat Steven's cd called Izitso. I remember having this album (yes, that is exactly how old I am) in high school and liking it. In fact, I had all his albums. But, those albums are tucked away in our basement now. Liv looked at them curiously once, wondered what the hell they were....(It amazes me how fast I am becoming an old fogey. Liv knows how to work an ipod and change the ringtones on our cell phones. I am befuddled.)
Anyway, there was Izitso. I looked up at Bing, curious.
She looked sheepish, as she always does when things turn tender. "I heard this song on the radio a few weeks ago and well, it reminded me of you. So, I ordered the cd from Borders and it just came in today."
"Which song?" I asked.
She popped it into the cd player, turned it to her selection and it began.
Sweet, sweet Jamaica. Country Mama. Brown country girl."
I wasn't sure what to say. I am not Jamaican. We live in the city. I am as white as wonder bread. Was she trying to tell me something?
We listened to the whole song. When it ended, I smiled. Told her that I liked it.
She smiled back. "Hey, I KNOW you aren't Jamaican, or a country mama or have brown skin...I just..well, it just reminded me, the tune...of how glad I am to have you. I don't know what brought you back to me exactly, but I feel very thankful."
Damn. Tears. She is so seldom sentimental like that. When she is, I feel it down to my toes. My stomach was all fluttery, half from remembering her playing that guitar and half from just the sight of her standing next to me, head ducked, all shy when we have known each other forever.
So, we danced together to that song in the living room and then went to bed.
This morning, as she was flying out the door, late as usual, a smoothie in one hand, she said, "I may be a little late tonight."
I asked why.
"I plan to buy the whole frackin boxed set of Cat Steven's cds on my way home from work."
She waggled her eyebrows at me and ran out.
Then, she popped back in. "God, you are gonna put this in that blog of yours, I just know it."
I laughed. "Well, not EVERYTHING."
And I did.
Now, with Liv...well...I seem to be working on all cylinders. I can hug the stuffin out of her and I have many, many times. I seem to be very adept at the whole parenthood thing.
It's the relationship thing that I stink at. Bing knows this and is accepting. She knows how much I love her, but she also knows that I am not very demonstrative. She calls me Marian, the librarian sometimes, teasingly.
And then last night, she broke down the wall. She does this once in a while and I don't know who is more shocked, her or I.
She gave me a cd.
Yup. All it took.
She came home late, her high school band had given a spring concert and Liv and I had attended (I missed SURVIVOR!!OH NO.) I had thought they were wonderful, especially when her students coaxed her onstage to play The Edgar Winter Group's Frankenstein with them. She can play the hell out of a guitar, that one. But, she had stayed late to make sure that all the kids got home safely, etc, and Liv was in bed by the time she walked through the kitchen door, looking exhausted.
I told her how great the concert was. She smiled, very tired.
Then she handed me this wrapped square.
I looked at her. "What's this?"
She looked sideways at me. "I have to have a reason to get you a gift?"
No, she doesn't. And to be honest, she is pretty freehanded with little gifts. She often picks me up my favorite candy bar or coffee from Starbucks, if she sees one on the way home. She often gets me funny cards. Sometimes racy ones.
I opened it. A cd. A Cat Steven's cd called Izitso. I remember having this album (yes, that is exactly how old I am) in high school and liking it. In fact, I had all his albums. But, those albums are tucked away in our basement now. Liv looked at them curiously once, wondered what the hell they were....(It amazes me how fast I am becoming an old fogey. Liv knows how to work an ipod and change the ringtones on our cell phones. I am befuddled.)
Anyway, there was Izitso. I looked up at Bing, curious.
She looked sheepish, as she always does when things turn tender. "I heard this song on the radio a few weeks ago and well, it reminded me of you. So, I ordered the cd from Borders and it just came in today."
"Which song?" I asked.
She popped it into the cd player, turned it to her selection and it began.
Sweet, sweet Jamaica. Country Mama. Brown country girl."
I wasn't sure what to say. I am not Jamaican. We live in the city. I am as white as wonder bread. Was she trying to tell me something?
We listened to the whole song. When it ended, I smiled. Told her that I liked it.
She smiled back. "Hey, I KNOW you aren't Jamaican, or a country mama or have brown skin...I just..well, it just reminded me, the tune...of how glad I am to have you. I don't know what brought you back to me exactly, but I feel very thankful."
Damn. Tears. She is so seldom sentimental like that. When she is, I feel it down to my toes. My stomach was all fluttery, half from remembering her playing that guitar and half from just the sight of her standing next to me, head ducked, all shy when we have known each other forever.
So, we danced together to that song in the living room and then went to bed.
This morning, as she was flying out the door, late as usual, a smoothie in one hand, she said, "I may be a little late tonight."
I asked why.
"I plan to buy the whole frackin boxed set of Cat Steven's cds on my way home from work."
She waggled her eyebrows at me and ran out.
Then, she popped back in. "God, you are gonna put this in that blog of yours, I just know it."
I laughed. "Well, not EVERYTHING."
And I did.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
MEME #2
I found this nugget over at Dive's blog. Laughed my ass off, so I decided to do this, although I do dislike memes in general. This one, I thought, was a rave and a half.
1) You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?
She knows who she is. And, yes, I can have as many violent fantasies about her as I wish. Fantasy is okey dokey. True life violence, not so much. I know the difference. Relax.
2) You can flip a switch that will wipe any band or musical artist out of existence. Which one will it be?
I'm sorry. Goodbye, Jennifer Lopez. Wait. I can't do it. Her man would be so frackin pissy at me. I know. I will pick this band that I heard at a gay bar when I was visiting Chicago about ten years ago. The female lead singer kept flashing her boob at everyone and she sang off key. I can't think of her name or even the band's name for that matter. But, hey...pretty is as pretty does. And neither she, her band or her boob was pretty.
3) Who would you really just like to punch in the face?
Easy. Bing's co-worker. A woman who says she isn't gay, but hits on Bing in my presence and then says things like, "Well, it's a good thing that I'm not gay or I'd give you a run for your money, honey!" IN FRONT OF ME.
4) What is your favorite cheese?
Velveeta. I grew up on a farm. We had all the good cheeses. I go off to college and discover velveeta grilled cheese sandwiches and I am hooked for life. Sad, but true.
5) You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient is at your immediate disposal. What kind will you make?
See number four. On white bread, of course. Grilled in real butter, not that fake shit that doesn't melt properly. I may like fake cheese, but I want my butter to be real.
6) You, Elvis, and Princess Diana are in a dog sled, fleeing across the Siberian wasteland with wolves in hot pursuit. The wolves are catching up fast. Who would you throw out to gain speed and why?
Elvis. Sorry. He weighs more and would take longer for the wolves to eat and if I have to be in a dog sled with a dead person, I'd rather it was Diana. Plus, assuming that dead people can talk in this scenario, I want the scoop on her death. And then I would ask her if she minded if I sold our story to The National Enquirer for some big bucks. She's dead, she has no use for money. I will find a good use for it. Promise.
7) You have the opportunity to sleep with the movie celebrity of your choice. We are talking no strings attached sex and it can only happen once. Who is the lucky celebrity?
Hmm...hard one. I am saying Laura Linney. She's smart and sexy and well...what ELSE matters in a one night stand?
8) You have the opportunity to sleep with the music celebrity of your choice. Who do you pick?
kd. But she has to sing Big Boned Gal.
9) Now that you've slept with two different people in a row, you seem to be having an excellent day because you just came across a one hundred dollar bill on the sidewalk. Holy Shit. How are you gonna spend it?
Buy ten items at Whole Foods, because yes...they ARE that expensive over there.
10) You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?
Wherever I can get a seat to see the musical, WICKED. I just finished the book, am still reeling with love for it and am dying to see the play. So...New York?
11) Upon arrival to the aforementioned location, you get off the plane and discover another one hundred dollar bill. Now that you are in a new location, what are you gonna do?
Pay a taxi driver to get me to the theatre.
12) Your dream date. Who, where, and why?
J.K Rowling. A tiny cafe with good pie. Because I want to hear how Harry Potter ends before the end of July. I used to be one of those people who made sport of Harry, but then one day when I had nothing to read, I absentmindedly picked up the first of the series and....WHAM...that woman slam dunked me good and hard. I was caught up. I still am. What a writer. And, frankly, I am not much of a romantic, so I don't expect her to kiss me or anything. Just talk. For hours. About Harry and how he got into her head. The writing process.
13) An angel appears out of heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. It is?
Oh dear. Now I have to reveal that I enjoy girlie drinks. I wish I could say something sophisticated like gin and tonic, but the truth is that I love apple martinis and pina coladas. Yes. I did say pina coladas. Those foo-foo drinks. I will stick with apple martinis, though, because I like them best. On the rocks, though, and not in a martini glass...in a nice squat cocktail glass.
14) Okay, girls and gay guys stand over here, guys and lesbians, over there. Girls and gay guys first: You're in bed with Marilyn, Monroe, Doris Day, and Salma Hayek. Who's gonna be the lucky girl? And similarily, guys and lesbians: You're in bed with Cary Grant, Paul Newman, and Johnny Depp. Who's gonna be the lucky guy? Give your reasons.
Johnny Depp. He wears eyeliner. And to be honest, at my age, I am all about the talk afterwards. I think he would be a great conversationalist.
15) Rufus appears out of nowhere with a time traveling/phone booth. you can go anytime in the PAST. What time are you traveling to and what are you going to do when you get there?
I want to go back into the 1940's and watch my parent's courtship. For the life of me, I can't figure out how two such different personalities met and actually hooked up. I will skip all the lovey dovey crap, but I want to see the dynamics of their relationship close up.
16) You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule that you put into place?
No violence allowed.
17) You have been given the opportunity to create the half hour TV show of your dreams. What is it called and what is it's premise?
It is called This Twisty Life and stars two women in a relationship together, trying to raise a child.
18) What is your favorite curse word?
Pee butt.
19) You have a choice of two doors. One of which you MUST go through. The first leads to a roomful of spiders, the second to a roomful of clowns. Which is it to be?
The clowns. I am TERRIFIED of spiders. I didn't even like Charlotte in Charlotte's Web. At least, I could run through the clowns without being crawled on. Well, with any luck.
20) Your house is on fire. You have just enough time to run in there and grab one inanimate object. So what's the item?
My manuscripts. Yes, like everyone else, I think that one day, some agent will read my blog and know that I could be the next Elizabeth Berg.
21) One night, you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by mummies. The mummies aren't really doing anything, they're just standing around your bed. What do you do?
I think, "Not again!"
22) You have George W.Bush and Osama bin Laden locked in a small room together. It's airtight, so both are gonna suffocate anyway, but what amusing weapon do you give them?
Tubes of bright cherry red lipstick.
23) The angel of death has descended upon you. Fortunately, the angel of death is pretty cool and in a good mood and it offers you a half hour to do whatever you want before you bite it. What are you going to do in that half hour?
Take Liv to the park and play with her.
24) Truthfully, what underwear are you currently wearing?
White Hanes for Her. I'm trying to put the sexy back in the workplace.
25)You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice. What is it going to be?
That I will have the strongest back in the world and never get sick until I am 90 years old. Then, I will just die in my sleep. (Hey, I know that is selfish, but I am dealing with a sciatica flair up and have been sick for a few days....I am so ready to be better.)
26) You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time span can only be a half hour, though. What half hour of your past would you like to experience again?
The first half hour that I held Liv in my arms. She didn't have a name yet, though. I just thought of her as "Oh, my GOD!! She is so beautiful..."
27) Moses trips on his robe and drops the stone tablets. Commandment 11 is broken off. He leaves it there as his back is killing him. What does it say?
Don't get too caught up in semantics on the first 10. Just do your best and all that really matters when you die is who you loved, how you loved, and who loved you.
28) You can erase any horrible experience of your past. What will it be?
Shit. No way to be breezy about this one. I would want to erase the day my mother disowned me for being a lesbian.
29) Rufus reappears with the time machine and a custard pie. Who's gonna get it?,
She is. And yeah, repeat after me: she knows who she is.
30) You get kicked out of the country for being a time traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super powers. But, you can move to anywhere else in the world. What country are you going to live in now?
I think Denmark. I hear they are a pretty groovy bunch.
31) What part of your body would you change and why?
My ass. It used to be sweet and sassy. Now it is big and saggy.
32) You have been eternally banned from every single bar in the world except for ONE. Which one is it going to be?
That bar where John Travolta rode the bull. Maybe Debra will be around, but mostly I would just like to watch idiots ride that thing.
33) What's the last thing you ate?
Rye toast with real butter.
34) Suddenly you have gained the power to float. Who are you going to show this to first?
My best friend, Harriet. She would pee her pants.
35) The constant absorption of magical moonbeams mixed with the radio-active vegetables you consumed earlier has given you the power to resurrect the dead celebrity of your choice. So which celebrity will you bring back to life?
I am thinking that someone has a real fixation with celebrities around here. But, let's see...how about Richard Pryor? I think he could do some great stand up on being dead.
36) The celestial gates of Beyond have opened. Much to your surprise, Death appears. As it turns out, once again, Death is actually a pretty cool entity and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family member/person of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?
This is a hard one, because really, once you are in heaven, who would want to come back? But, I would really, really love to have my Da (who died when I was a child) meet Liv. So, I will say him.
37) What's your theme song?
Let Go by Frou Frou
38) When did you last have sex?
None of your business, pee butt.
39) Buffy, Willow, or Xander?
Buffy. But only because I have no frackin idea who the other two are. And hey, Buffy isn't bad.
40) Who's up next?
Whoever has the stamina to do this. And please remember that I did this with a fever of 101. So, excuse any delirious rants. But, to be honest...I wouldn't change a word.
1) You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?
She knows who she is. And, yes, I can have as many violent fantasies about her as I wish. Fantasy is okey dokey. True life violence, not so much. I know the difference. Relax.
2) You can flip a switch that will wipe any band or musical artist out of existence. Which one will it be?
I'm sorry. Goodbye, Jennifer Lopez. Wait. I can't do it. Her man would be so frackin pissy at me. I know. I will pick this band that I heard at a gay bar when I was visiting Chicago about ten years ago. The female lead singer kept flashing her boob at everyone and she sang off key. I can't think of her name or even the band's name for that matter. But, hey...pretty is as pretty does. And neither she, her band or her boob was pretty.
3) Who would you really just like to punch in the face?
Easy. Bing's co-worker. A woman who says she isn't gay, but hits on Bing in my presence and then says things like, "Well, it's a good thing that I'm not gay or I'd give you a run for your money, honey!" IN FRONT OF ME.
4) What is your favorite cheese?
Velveeta. I grew up on a farm. We had all the good cheeses. I go off to college and discover velveeta grilled cheese sandwiches and I am hooked for life. Sad, but true.
5) You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient is at your immediate disposal. What kind will you make?
See number four. On white bread, of course. Grilled in real butter, not that fake shit that doesn't melt properly. I may like fake cheese, but I want my butter to be real.
6) You, Elvis, and Princess Diana are in a dog sled, fleeing across the Siberian wasteland with wolves in hot pursuit. The wolves are catching up fast. Who would you throw out to gain speed and why?
Elvis. Sorry. He weighs more and would take longer for the wolves to eat and if I have to be in a dog sled with a dead person, I'd rather it was Diana. Plus, assuming that dead people can talk in this scenario, I want the scoop on her death. And then I would ask her if she minded if I sold our story to The National Enquirer for some big bucks. She's dead, she has no use for money. I will find a good use for it. Promise.
7) You have the opportunity to sleep with the movie celebrity of your choice. We are talking no strings attached sex and it can only happen once. Who is the lucky celebrity?
Hmm...hard one. I am saying Laura Linney. She's smart and sexy and well...what ELSE matters in a one night stand?
8) You have the opportunity to sleep with the music celebrity of your choice. Who do you pick?
kd. But she has to sing Big Boned Gal.
9) Now that you've slept with two different people in a row, you seem to be having an excellent day because you just came across a one hundred dollar bill on the sidewalk. Holy Shit. How are you gonna spend it?
Buy ten items at Whole Foods, because yes...they ARE that expensive over there.
10) You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?
Wherever I can get a seat to see the musical, WICKED. I just finished the book, am still reeling with love for it and am dying to see the play. So...New York?
11) Upon arrival to the aforementioned location, you get off the plane and discover another one hundred dollar bill. Now that you are in a new location, what are you gonna do?
Pay a taxi driver to get me to the theatre.
12) Your dream date. Who, where, and why?
J.K Rowling. A tiny cafe with good pie. Because I want to hear how Harry Potter ends before the end of July. I used to be one of those people who made sport of Harry, but then one day when I had nothing to read, I absentmindedly picked up the first of the series and....WHAM...that woman slam dunked me good and hard. I was caught up. I still am. What a writer. And, frankly, I am not much of a romantic, so I don't expect her to kiss me or anything. Just talk. For hours. About Harry and how he got into her head. The writing process.
13) An angel appears out of heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. It is?
Oh dear. Now I have to reveal that I enjoy girlie drinks. I wish I could say something sophisticated like gin and tonic, but the truth is that I love apple martinis and pina coladas. Yes. I did say pina coladas. Those foo-foo drinks. I will stick with apple martinis, though, because I like them best. On the rocks, though, and not in a martini glass...in a nice squat cocktail glass.
14) Okay, girls and gay guys stand over here, guys and lesbians, over there. Girls and gay guys first: You're in bed with Marilyn, Monroe, Doris Day, and Salma Hayek. Who's gonna be the lucky girl? And similarily, guys and lesbians: You're in bed with Cary Grant, Paul Newman, and Johnny Depp. Who's gonna be the lucky guy? Give your reasons.
Johnny Depp. He wears eyeliner. And to be honest, at my age, I am all about the talk afterwards. I think he would be a great conversationalist.
15) Rufus appears out of nowhere with a time traveling/phone booth. you can go anytime in the PAST. What time are you traveling to and what are you going to do when you get there?
I want to go back into the 1940's and watch my parent's courtship. For the life of me, I can't figure out how two such different personalities met and actually hooked up. I will skip all the lovey dovey crap, but I want to see the dynamics of their relationship close up.
16) You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule that you put into place?
No violence allowed.
17) You have been given the opportunity to create the half hour TV show of your dreams. What is it called and what is it's premise?
It is called This Twisty Life and stars two women in a relationship together, trying to raise a child.
18) What is your favorite curse word?
Pee butt.
19) You have a choice of two doors. One of which you MUST go through. The first leads to a roomful of spiders, the second to a roomful of clowns. Which is it to be?
The clowns. I am TERRIFIED of spiders. I didn't even like Charlotte in Charlotte's Web. At least, I could run through the clowns without being crawled on. Well, with any luck.
20) Your house is on fire. You have just enough time to run in there and grab one inanimate object. So what's the item?
My manuscripts. Yes, like everyone else, I think that one day, some agent will read my blog and know that I could be the next Elizabeth Berg.
21) One night, you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by mummies. The mummies aren't really doing anything, they're just standing around your bed. What do you do?
I think, "Not again!"
22) You have George W.Bush and Osama bin Laden locked in a small room together. It's airtight, so both are gonna suffocate anyway, but what amusing weapon do you give them?
Tubes of bright cherry red lipstick.
23) The angel of death has descended upon you. Fortunately, the angel of death is pretty cool and in a good mood and it offers you a half hour to do whatever you want before you bite it. What are you going to do in that half hour?
Take Liv to the park and play with her.
24) Truthfully, what underwear are you currently wearing?
White Hanes for Her. I'm trying to put the sexy back in the workplace.
25)You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice. What is it going to be?
That I will have the strongest back in the world and never get sick until I am 90 years old. Then, I will just die in my sleep. (Hey, I know that is selfish, but I am dealing with a sciatica flair up and have been sick for a few days....I am so ready to be better.)
26) You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time span can only be a half hour, though. What half hour of your past would you like to experience again?
The first half hour that I held Liv in my arms. She didn't have a name yet, though. I just thought of her as "Oh, my GOD!! She is so beautiful..."
27) Moses trips on his robe and drops the stone tablets. Commandment 11 is broken off. He leaves it there as his back is killing him. What does it say?
Don't get too caught up in semantics on the first 10. Just do your best and all that really matters when you die is who you loved, how you loved, and who loved you.
28) You can erase any horrible experience of your past. What will it be?
Shit. No way to be breezy about this one. I would want to erase the day my mother disowned me for being a lesbian.
29) Rufus reappears with the time machine and a custard pie. Who's gonna get it?,
She is. And yeah, repeat after me: she knows who she is.
30) You get kicked out of the country for being a time traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super powers. But, you can move to anywhere else in the world. What country are you going to live in now?
I think Denmark. I hear they are a pretty groovy bunch.
31) What part of your body would you change and why?
My ass. It used to be sweet and sassy. Now it is big and saggy.
32) You have been eternally banned from every single bar in the world except for ONE. Which one is it going to be?
That bar where John Travolta rode the bull. Maybe Debra will be around, but mostly I would just like to watch idiots ride that thing.
33) What's the last thing you ate?
Rye toast with real butter.
34) Suddenly you have gained the power to float. Who are you going to show this to first?
My best friend, Harriet. She would pee her pants.
35) The constant absorption of magical moonbeams mixed with the radio-active vegetables you consumed earlier has given you the power to resurrect the dead celebrity of your choice. So which celebrity will you bring back to life?
I am thinking that someone has a real fixation with celebrities around here. But, let's see...how about Richard Pryor? I think he could do some great stand up on being dead.
36) The celestial gates of Beyond have opened. Much to your surprise, Death appears. As it turns out, once again, Death is actually a pretty cool entity and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family member/person of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?
This is a hard one, because really, once you are in heaven, who would want to come back? But, I would really, really love to have my Da (who died when I was a child) meet Liv. So, I will say him.
37) What's your theme song?
Let Go by Frou Frou
38) When did you last have sex?
None of your business, pee butt.
39) Buffy, Willow, or Xander?
Buffy. But only because I have no frackin idea who the other two are. And hey, Buffy isn't bad.
40) Who's up next?
Whoever has the stamina to do this. And please remember that I did this with a fever of 101. So, excuse any delirious rants. But, to be honest...I wouldn't change a word.
Ugh.
Liv and I are both sick as dogs. So...I will be back when I can stand upright again for more than a few moments before heading off to the bathroom.
I could have been even more graphic, but I spared you.
You are welcome.
I could have been even more graphic, but I spared you.
You are welcome.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Why I don't like to go camping.
Liv is on a camping kick. It seems as if some of her friends have good parents who take them camping from time to time.
Liv has never been camping.
And I see no reason to start. Why on earth would I want to subject my tired arthritic body to laying on the dirt and trying to cook on a fire that I have to make myself? I don't even like to cook in my kitchen. And I think a bed is a must.
Bing, surprisingly, agrees with me. She is not a happy camper either. She loves to hike, to bike, to climb, to swim, you name it...but at the end of the day, she needs a soft bed to fall into.
But, the main reason I do not like camping is because the ONE and ONLY time that I did, well....it wasn't pretty.
Let me set the stage. I was 21 years old. Madly in love for the first time in my life. Her name was (is) Cory. She came from a family of campers and had incredible memories of wonderful camping adventures as a child. She wanted to build new, happy camping memories with me. She could not believe that here I was, a farmer's daughter, and I had never been camping. She waxed poetically about it to the point where I was DYING to go camping with her. Actually, to be fair, at this point in our relationship, if she had asked me to go bear hunting with her, I would have been up for it.
So, we drove to one of her favorite sites in Missouri. We "broke camp." I loved throwing those words off of my tongue: breaking camp. We are breaking camp!
We spent the day biking and hiking, which left my legs feeling as if they held jelly instead of bones, but...what the fuck. I was with her and there she was, this tall drink of a woman, long blonde hair flying behind her in a braid down her back, long legs pumping her bike. I was in heaven. We went fishing and caught our own dinner. She cleaned the fish, which totally repulsed me but I never let on. We ate our fish and then decided to go skinny dipping in this gorgeous stream that actually had a waterfall. We jumped from a huge boulder on a sweet, sleepy warm summer's evening into water so cold that I felt like it was iced tea. We cavorted in the water, laughing and bobbing. Bliss. I felt like I was in a romantic movie.
Then, exhausted, we went to bed. I slept like a log. Woke up at sunrise and got my bearings. Gingerly went up on one elbow to look around me. And "gingerly" is the right word. My body was stiff as a steel rod from all that good exercise.
There was my Cory, laying beside me on her stomach, totally naked, her hair (which went down to her ass) was splayed all over the place. I sighed with contentment.
And then realized that we weren't alone in the tent.
No...this is not an axe murder story that I somehow survived. Calm down, people.
There, nestled into the small of Cory's back were FOUR MICE. They were in a small cozy circle, all wrapped up together.
I was (and still am) terrified of mice. I froze. Blinked. I mean, JAYSUS...were they real? I decided that yes, they were after I saw one stretch out it's little gray mouse leg and tuck it back in.
And then something else caught my eye. It was perched right next to the lip of our tent.
A snake. A big snake. Not a gigantic one or anything, but not a garter snake either. A snake that was big enough to coil itself neatly. It's head came up and bobbed a little as it looked steadily at me with it's beady eyes.
I was scared shitless. I didn't want to wake Cory, knew that if she leapt up, the mice and the snake would go flying around and probably after me, I thought.
I swallowed and talked out of my mouth like a gangster.
"Psst. Cory. CORY!"
She started to stir.
"DO NOT MOVE. I MEAN IT. DO NOT MOVE!"
She opened one eye. Asked me what the hell was I talking about.
I broke it to her as gently as I could.
"There is a big snake in front of the tent flap and um..there are some mice on your back."
Well, that was stupid. Cory leaped to her feet screaming. The snake reared back and made one weak lunge, not even close to us and swiveled out the flap and away.
The mice scattered around the tent. Running for their little mice lives.
And there we were, two naked lumbering women, one screaming and the other one (that would be me) trying to climb up the side of the tent unsuccessfully.
The critters all escaped alive. Cory completely trashed the tent, shaking out our clothes like a madwoman, and throwing lanterns, dishes and backpacks all over the place, making sure that all the critters were gone.
And then, it was over. Silence. Just the two of us staring wild eyed at each other.
And then, I did the worst possible thing.
I started laughing.
Not just a nice giggly laugh. But a deep, high pitched, slightly hysterical laugh of the hee-hee-hee-hee variety.
Cory told me later that she truly wanted to slap me at that moment. That here I had woke her up and scared the hell out of her and then I stood there naked, clutching my sides and laughing like a lunatic.
We stayed together for several more years, but I don't think she ever forgave me. And we never went camping again.
So..I don't want to take Liv camping. I suggested to Bing that this might be the perfect bonding experience for her and Liv.
She looked at me with incredulity. "You have GOT to be kidding," she muttered. "I'll take her hiking, biking, whatever, but we will NOT spend the night in a tent. I'm too old. You know that."
I'm wondering if Liv can make it through her childhood without the camping experience. Hell, I did just fine without ever camping. Maybe one of her friends will take pity on her and invite her along. Because it is NEVER gonna happen with me.
And you may be wondering about Cory...she's doing fine. Lives 2000 miles away now. She has a different girlfriend every time I talk to her, which isn't often. Maybe every few years.
I've never mentioned the word "camping" to her in any of our conversations.
Liv has never been camping.
And I see no reason to start. Why on earth would I want to subject my tired arthritic body to laying on the dirt and trying to cook on a fire that I have to make myself? I don't even like to cook in my kitchen. And I think a bed is a must.
Bing, surprisingly, agrees with me. She is not a happy camper either. She loves to hike, to bike, to climb, to swim, you name it...but at the end of the day, she needs a soft bed to fall into.
But, the main reason I do not like camping is because the ONE and ONLY time that I did, well....it wasn't pretty.
Let me set the stage. I was 21 years old. Madly in love for the first time in my life. Her name was (is) Cory. She came from a family of campers and had incredible memories of wonderful camping adventures as a child. She wanted to build new, happy camping memories with me. She could not believe that here I was, a farmer's daughter, and I had never been camping. She waxed poetically about it to the point where I was DYING to go camping with her. Actually, to be fair, at this point in our relationship, if she had asked me to go bear hunting with her, I would have been up for it.
So, we drove to one of her favorite sites in Missouri. We "broke camp." I loved throwing those words off of my tongue: breaking camp. We are breaking camp!
We spent the day biking and hiking, which left my legs feeling as if they held jelly instead of bones, but...what the fuck. I was with her and there she was, this tall drink of a woman, long blonde hair flying behind her in a braid down her back, long legs pumping her bike. I was in heaven. We went fishing and caught our own dinner. She cleaned the fish, which totally repulsed me but I never let on. We ate our fish and then decided to go skinny dipping in this gorgeous stream that actually had a waterfall. We jumped from a huge boulder on a sweet, sleepy warm summer's evening into water so cold that I felt like it was iced tea. We cavorted in the water, laughing and bobbing. Bliss. I felt like I was in a romantic movie.
Then, exhausted, we went to bed. I slept like a log. Woke up at sunrise and got my bearings. Gingerly went up on one elbow to look around me. And "gingerly" is the right word. My body was stiff as a steel rod from all that good exercise.
There was my Cory, laying beside me on her stomach, totally naked, her hair (which went down to her ass) was splayed all over the place. I sighed with contentment.
And then realized that we weren't alone in the tent.
No...this is not an axe murder story that I somehow survived. Calm down, people.
There, nestled into the small of Cory's back were FOUR MICE. They were in a small cozy circle, all wrapped up together.
I was (and still am) terrified of mice. I froze. Blinked. I mean, JAYSUS...were they real? I decided that yes, they were after I saw one stretch out it's little gray mouse leg and tuck it back in.
And then something else caught my eye. It was perched right next to the lip of our tent.
A snake. A big snake. Not a gigantic one or anything, but not a garter snake either. A snake that was big enough to coil itself neatly. It's head came up and bobbed a little as it looked steadily at me with it's beady eyes.
I was scared shitless. I didn't want to wake Cory, knew that if she leapt up, the mice and the snake would go flying around and probably after me, I thought.
I swallowed and talked out of my mouth like a gangster.
"Psst. Cory. CORY!"
She started to stir.
"DO NOT MOVE. I MEAN IT. DO NOT MOVE!"
She opened one eye. Asked me what the hell was I talking about.
I broke it to her as gently as I could.
"There is a big snake in front of the tent flap and um..there are some mice on your back."
Well, that was stupid. Cory leaped to her feet screaming. The snake reared back and made one weak lunge, not even close to us and swiveled out the flap and away.
The mice scattered around the tent. Running for their little mice lives.
And there we were, two naked lumbering women, one screaming and the other one (that would be me) trying to climb up the side of the tent unsuccessfully.
The critters all escaped alive. Cory completely trashed the tent, shaking out our clothes like a madwoman, and throwing lanterns, dishes and backpacks all over the place, making sure that all the critters were gone.
And then, it was over. Silence. Just the two of us staring wild eyed at each other.
And then, I did the worst possible thing.
I started laughing.
Not just a nice giggly laugh. But a deep, high pitched, slightly hysterical laugh of the hee-hee-hee-hee variety.
Cory told me later that she truly wanted to slap me at that moment. That here I had woke her up and scared the hell out of her and then I stood there naked, clutching my sides and laughing like a lunatic.
We stayed together for several more years, but I don't think she ever forgave me. And we never went camping again.
So..I don't want to take Liv camping. I suggested to Bing that this might be the perfect bonding experience for her and Liv.
She looked at me with incredulity. "You have GOT to be kidding," she muttered. "I'll take her hiking, biking, whatever, but we will NOT spend the night in a tent. I'm too old. You know that."
I'm wondering if Liv can make it through her childhood without the camping experience. Hell, I did just fine without ever camping. Maybe one of her friends will take pity on her and invite her along. Because it is NEVER gonna happen with me.
And you may be wondering about Cory...she's doing fine. Lives 2000 miles away now. She has a different girlfriend every time I talk to her, which isn't often. Maybe every few years.
I've never mentioned the word "camping" to her in any of our conversations.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Actual phone conversation with my mother in law.
Okay. Let me set the scene. Estelle is in her mid 80's. She is from Louisiana but moved here a few years ago after she began getting forgetful. She lives with my partner's unmarried (and yes it is because she is so mean that no one will even date her) sister, Frances. Frances is the "good daughter." Bing is the "not as good" daughter.
The telephone rings. Maria limps (bad back) to answer it. Sees the familiar number on the caller id and decides to let the answering machine get it.
Estelle: HELLO??? Maria, are you home?? I think you are because I was driving by on my way home from the grocery store and saw Liv playing in the front yard. I hope somebody is home. I hope I don't have to come over there because now I am worried that you have left Liv home alone and she really is too young to do that. The only reason I didn't stop was because I didn't have my teeth in. MARIA?? BING??? (actually she called Bing by her Christian name, but I have sworn not to use it on this blog, so we will stick to Bing.) Okay. Maybe I will just drive over....
Maria leaps on the phone.
Maria: Um, Estelle? Hi. I was just in the basement doing a load of laundry ( liar).
E:Well, good. Glad to hear that you are doing something productive. (Meaning: you are lazy and you aren't one to be on top of your womanly chores.)
M: What's up?
E: Well, I wanted to tell you first off that toilet paper is on sale at Walgreens. I bought four cases of it. Do you want to come over here and pick it up or should I drive it over?
M: Well, we don't really need any toilet paper. But, thanks anyway.
E: It isn't as if you never will need it. I mean, it doesn't go stale. How about it if I just drive on over? I will be over as soon as Frances gets back from the...
M: (cutting her off neatly) Oh, no. That is fine. We can come get it. ( Bing will be majorly crabby if she comes home and sees her mother or sister's car in the driveway.)
E: When? Soon? Because I have some chicken hind quarters that I could put to boil and we could have a nice supper all together. Liv could bring her violin and entertain us after we eat. I wonder if she even remembers what I look like?
M: (annoyed as bloody hell) Estelle! Of course she remembers what you look like. We were just over there last weekend.
E: Was it that long ago? Why must you all be such strangers? And, Maria, I wanted to tell you that I did notice that you look like your hind end was sort of poofy in that dress you had on. That big purple dress. The one that looked like you were trying to act like you were from New York or something....
M: (seething) Estelle. That is called a broomstick skirt and I'm sorry if you thought my ass looked like a barn door in it.
E: Oh, no. Not that big. Just...a little bigger. You are getting older, dear. And you can't look like that Nicole Kickman forever. Your skin is still nice. But, sooner or later we all turn into that fat friend of Mary Tyler Moore on her show where she throws her hat in the air. What was her name? Rhonda?
M: It was Rhoda.
E: And while I have you on the phone. What was Liv doing playing in the front yard by herself? There are serial rapists everywhere, Maria. I would hate to see her snatched.
M: Estelle. I was in the garage putting up potting soil. I had her in my sight.
E: Well, ok. Whatever you say. I didn't see you, but I know you wouldn't lie.
M: Estelle? I need to go take my poofy butt back down the basement. I'll talk to you soon.
E: (a little frantically) Maria? Don't go just yet. I wanted to tell you that Walgreens has toilet paper on sale and....
M: (interrupting her) Yes. I know. You told me. Goodbye now.
Maria hangs up and immediately goes into the bedroom to check out her gargantuan ass in the full body mirror in her bedroom.
Anyone want my mother in law? She comes cheap.....
The telephone rings. Maria limps (bad back) to answer it. Sees the familiar number on the caller id and decides to let the answering machine get it.
Estelle: HELLO??? Maria, are you home?? I think you are because I was driving by on my way home from the grocery store and saw Liv playing in the front yard. I hope somebody is home. I hope I don't have to come over there because now I am worried that you have left Liv home alone and she really is too young to do that. The only reason I didn't stop was because I didn't have my teeth in. MARIA?? BING??? (actually she called Bing by her Christian name, but I have sworn not to use it on this blog, so we will stick to Bing.) Okay. Maybe I will just drive over....
Maria leaps on the phone.
Maria: Um, Estelle? Hi. I was just in the basement doing a load of laundry ( liar).
E:Well, good. Glad to hear that you are doing something productive. (Meaning: you are lazy and you aren't one to be on top of your womanly chores.)
M: What's up?
E: Well, I wanted to tell you first off that toilet paper is on sale at Walgreens. I bought four cases of it. Do you want to come over here and pick it up or should I drive it over?
M: Well, we don't really need any toilet paper. But, thanks anyway.
E: It isn't as if you never will need it. I mean, it doesn't go stale. How about it if I just drive on over? I will be over as soon as Frances gets back from the...
M: (cutting her off neatly) Oh, no. That is fine. We can come get it. ( Bing will be majorly crabby if she comes home and sees her mother or sister's car in the driveway.)
E: When? Soon? Because I have some chicken hind quarters that I could put to boil and we could have a nice supper all together. Liv could bring her violin and entertain us after we eat. I wonder if she even remembers what I look like?
M: (annoyed as bloody hell) Estelle! Of course she remembers what you look like. We were just over there last weekend.
E: Was it that long ago? Why must you all be such strangers? And, Maria, I wanted to tell you that I did notice that you look like your hind end was sort of poofy in that dress you had on. That big purple dress. The one that looked like you were trying to act like you were from New York or something....
M: (seething) Estelle. That is called a broomstick skirt and I'm sorry if you thought my ass looked like a barn door in it.
E: Oh, no. Not that big. Just...a little bigger. You are getting older, dear. And you can't look like that Nicole Kickman forever. Your skin is still nice. But, sooner or later we all turn into that fat friend of Mary Tyler Moore on her show where she throws her hat in the air. What was her name? Rhonda?
M: It was Rhoda.
E: And while I have you on the phone. What was Liv doing playing in the front yard by herself? There are serial rapists everywhere, Maria. I would hate to see her snatched.
M: Estelle. I was in the garage putting up potting soil. I had her in my sight.
E: Well, ok. Whatever you say. I didn't see you, but I know you wouldn't lie.
M: Estelle? I need to go take my poofy butt back down the basement. I'll talk to you soon.
E: (a little frantically) Maria? Don't go just yet. I wanted to tell you that Walgreens has toilet paper on sale and....
M: (interrupting her) Yes. I know. You told me. Goodbye now.
Maria hangs up and immediately goes into the bedroom to check out her gargantuan ass in the full body mirror in her bedroom.
Anyone want my mother in law? She comes cheap.....
Frankenstein and my aching back.
Liv and I got up early today to go to Bing's school and listen to her class perform in a state music contest. Bing teaches only one music class (honors band) because she moved to teach computer tech this year but she wanted to keep her hand in at least one music class, so they let her pick. She picked honors band.
It was fantastic. They performed Edgar Winter Group's Frankenstein. Such a great production with everyone in black and the guitarists in black hats and sunglasses too. The started with the guitarists in the back with their backs to the audience on platforms. A drama student, dressed in this incredible black witch dress with spiky black hair read bits of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein to start it out. Then with the opening chords, (da da da-da, da-Da da dum..), the guitarists turned around smartly and leaped off of their platforms.
We both thought it tremendously cool.
It took me back to a high school Halloween party and dancing in my snarky dress with a boy named Ben who believed that he was madly in love with me. I can still remember that feeling. That knowing that I had this boy and could probably get him to do anything for me. You can only feel that powerful when you are so young that you have never been romantically hurt yet.
Liv loved it too. Said it made her want to get up and dance like Frankenstein. A great piece. I guess the judges agreed with us because Bing's group got the only superior rating in the school.
Afterwards, we hung around to talk with the group while waiting for the verdict. Bing hadn't been "out" at work until last October and it was tremendously hard for her to do that. She worried about parental response and student's reaction. But, she found out that her sexual orientation really only mattered to a few, most people have been very "so what?" about it. In fact, several gay students have sought her out to talk with and I think this has made her feel good about things. Her band knows that I am her partner and that Liv is our child and there has never been any sort of backlash or repercussions. Liv is like a little band mascot and the only comment I have heard was from one boy who told me that I didn't look like a "gay." Another student was standing next to him and she said, "I think it is called a lipstick lesbian, right,Miss Maria?" I smiled. I told them that we come in all shapes, sizes and styles.
I'm glad that it is all out in the open. We have been open with our families and friends and I think that if nothing else, we have proven that once you get to know someone, it is very hard to hold on to one's prejudices.
It's always best to be yourself but sometimes hard for people like us. I mean, think about it. Suppose you had something about you that seemed such a big part of you, yet some people would immediately hate you just because of that fact. It is always a risk. I am grateful to live in these times. I have read true horror stories about women in our shoes even 20 years ago. And even here in the blue state of Nebraska, we have found that most people don't really care all that much. All of our neighbors know and so far, so good. We haven't had any problems with Liv's friends yet, but to be honest, she attends a very progressive Montessori school.
Liv and I left after the verdict and stopped at Earl May to pick up potting soil. And there was my downfall. I had looked at all my empty outside plants and determined that we needed about 4 big bags. I was WAY off, as always. It only took two bags to fill the pots. But, I strained my back. At the store, I had a big burly guy load them into the truck, but when we got home, it was just me and the bags...
And, boy howdy, am I paying for lugging all those bags into the back yard now. I know better. Even typing hurts. I could kick myself. So..maybe I will leave all my pots to sit with the potting soil until I get my back to normal. This usually takes about a week to ten days of babying it. What an idiot.
I can't even ask Bing to rub my back because if I do, I will have to endure a lecture from her about how stupid I am, how I know better than to do this. I would greatly prefer it if she just rubs with her mouth shut but do not think this would be an option.
So, I'll do quiet things. Read. Sit at the computer. I'm going to a play and out to dinner with my sister tomorrow, so that will be quiet.
When did I turn into such a wussy pants? When I was in my twenties, I could do anything. I turned 30 and slowed down a little, but was still active. And then I hit 40. I suddenly had to watch my back, not overdo, get my rest and not eat like a pig since I started gaining weight every time I had even one extra cookie. My metabolism changed from "eat whatever you like!" to "just apply that sundae to my butt."
And now, I think I will go lie down. At this rate, I can't even imagine what I will be like at 50......
It was fantastic. They performed Edgar Winter Group's Frankenstein. Such a great production with everyone in black and the guitarists in black hats and sunglasses too. The started with the guitarists in the back with their backs to the audience on platforms. A drama student, dressed in this incredible black witch dress with spiky black hair read bits of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein to start it out. Then with the opening chords, (da da da-da, da-Da da dum..), the guitarists turned around smartly and leaped off of their platforms.
We both thought it tremendously cool.
It took me back to a high school Halloween party and dancing in my snarky dress with a boy named Ben who believed that he was madly in love with me. I can still remember that feeling. That knowing that I had this boy and could probably get him to do anything for me. You can only feel that powerful when you are so young that you have never been romantically hurt yet.
Liv loved it too. Said it made her want to get up and dance like Frankenstein. A great piece. I guess the judges agreed with us because Bing's group got the only superior rating in the school.
Afterwards, we hung around to talk with the group while waiting for the verdict. Bing hadn't been "out" at work until last October and it was tremendously hard for her to do that. She worried about parental response and student's reaction. But, she found out that her sexual orientation really only mattered to a few, most people have been very "so what?" about it. In fact, several gay students have sought her out to talk with and I think this has made her feel good about things. Her band knows that I am her partner and that Liv is our child and there has never been any sort of backlash or repercussions. Liv is like a little band mascot and the only comment I have heard was from one boy who told me that I didn't look like a "gay." Another student was standing next to him and she said, "I think it is called a lipstick lesbian, right,Miss Maria?" I smiled. I told them that we come in all shapes, sizes and styles.
I'm glad that it is all out in the open. We have been open with our families and friends and I think that if nothing else, we have proven that once you get to know someone, it is very hard to hold on to one's prejudices.
It's always best to be yourself but sometimes hard for people like us. I mean, think about it. Suppose you had something about you that seemed such a big part of you, yet some people would immediately hate you just because of that fact. It is always a risk. I am grateful to live in these times. I have read true horror stories about women in our shoes even 20 years ago. And even here in the blue state of Nebraska, we have found that most people don't really care all that much. All of our neighbors know and so far, so good. We haven't had any problems with Liv's friends yet, but to be honest, she attends a very progressive Montessori school.
Liv and I left after the verdict and stopped at Earl May to pick up potting soil. And there was my downfall. I had looked at all my empty outside plants and determined that we needed about 4 big bags. I was WAY off, as always. It only took two bags to fill the pots. But, I strained my back. At the store, I had a big burly guy load them into the truck, but when we got home, it was just me and the bags...
And, boy howdy, am I paying for lugging all those bags into the back yard now. I know better. Even typing hurts. I could kick myself. So..maybe I will leave all my pots to sit with the potting soil until I get my back to normal. This usually takes about a week to ten days of babying it. What an idiot.
I can't even ask Bing to rub my back because if I do, I will have to endure a lecture from her about how stupid I am, how I know better than to do this. I would greatly prefer it if she just rubs with her mouth shut but do not think this would be an option.
So, I'll do quiet things. Read. Sit at the computer. I'm going to a play and out to dinner with my sister tomorrow, so that will be quiet.
When did I turn into such a wussy pants? When I was in my twenties, I could do anything. I turned 30 and slowed down a little, but was still active. And then I hit 40. I suddenly had to watch my back, not overdo, get my rest and not eat like a pig since I started gaining weight every time I had even one extra cookie. My metabolism changed from "eat whatever you like!" to "just apply that sundae to my butt."
And now, I think I will go lie down. At this rate, I can't even imagine what I will be like at 50......
Friday, April 20, 2007
A good book and the terrible, horrible, no-good very bad mother
First, before I forget....a big thank you to GI Jane for sending me the audio tape of Jacquelyn Mitchard's Cage of Stars. Yes, you are right. I DO love it. And yes, yes, yes, you are always right. GI Jane is an old friend and fellow Lost fanatic who calls me every Wednesday night after it's airing to discuss just how much more confused we are. And GI Jane and her partner will be welcoming another daughter into the world, due on Memorial Day. I am quite sure it will all be very memorable. Since their first child is now entering teenagedom, this should be one roller coaster year. An infant and a teenager in one house. Oh, my.
Now, the hard part. Yesterday, after school, Liv and I went shopping at what she calls the "cool rock place." This is a new age store. I love it because I get all my skirts there, lovely swirly skirts. Liv calls them my "gypsy skirts." Bing calls them my "Stevie Nicks phase." But even Bing admits that they are decidedly sexy. I just love a swirly skirt, don't you? I like to feel it swirling when I walk, preferably barefoot.
So, I go for the skirts and I also have a collection of African red jaspers, so I always pick up a rock or two. I am a rock collector. If you ever came over to my house, you would wonder why the hell I have bowls of rocks all over the place.
I collect them. When anyone goes to a different state, country, planet, whatever, I tell them not to bring me back a present, just to bring me back a pretty rock to hold in my hand. So, I have rocks from all over the world. They are in my house, around my garden, everywhere.
I needed some new tarot cards too. Yes. Me. I discovered tarot in college. I found it relatively easy to learn to read them and began to have sessions for friends. Eventually, I became so skilled at reading tarot that I was hired by a local restaurant to be their in-house tarot reader. This was actually an INCOME for me in college. Now, I don't really do it much anymore. Just for fun with friends and once a month for me. I am spookily good at it. This alarms my sisters, who are totally sure that I am being used by the devil. They are devout Catholics and tarot is considered witchcraft. One of my sisters is a total Harry Potter nut, too. I tell her that she can't condemn me for doing tarot cards and then think that wizarding school is perfectly okay. It isn't logical. If I really want to scare her, I remind her that the Church is actually looking into banning the Harry Potter books.
I am a wicked witch, alright.
So..there we are in the store, me salivating over skirts and rocks, and Liv going around smelling all the candles and wondering what to buy. She had ten bucks that she earned by helping put the garden in and it was burning a hole in her pocket. She finally settled on a Leo (her astrological sign...btw..I think astrology is fun, but silly) poster and an amber bracelet. Both were 7 dollars apiece. She looked pleadingly to me to spot her the extra 4 bucks plus tax.
I agree, on ONE CONDITION...that she not lose the bracelet. She is going through this annoying phase of losing things lately. I am thinking it is a seven year old thing, but whatever it is, it is irritating as bloody hell.
Liv swears that she will not lose the bracelet. I buy it for her. And two skirts for me. And several jaspers. And a brand spanking new wicked tarot deck. We are two happy girls driving home and even stopping at Dairy Queen for a strawberry cheesequake blizzard.
Life was good. Liv showed off her bracelet to Bing, who thought it was "cool." Later that night, I showed off my skirts to Bing, who thought they were uh....hot.
Now, it is early morning today. Liv is running around getting ready for school. She is getting ready to get into the shower and is bubbling about wearing her bracelet to school today. I say of course she can wear it.
WHERE IS IT?
Liv's face goes very still. She cannot remember. I see her struggling, trying mightily to remember where she could have put it.
And then this voice comes out of me. I hate this voice. It is my mother's voice:
"You've lost it, haven't you? I am very disappointed in you." Okay..here comes the true kicker: "It is lucky that your head is fastened on, or you would forget that too."
Liv is in tears. I go into my bedroom to see her two little legs sticking out from under the bed. She is searching everywhere for that bracelet. I tell her to just get in the shower. No time now.
I hear her crying in the shower.
She gets out and leans against me in her towel. "I am so sorry! Please don't be mad at me? I didn't mean to lose it!"
But, I cut her no slack. Just shake my head.
We finally find it right before she leaves for school. After I have been scolding her for about ten minutes and telling her that I am NEVER going to buy her anything nice again if she has so little respect for her things.
I am cringing at the sound of my own voice. Because it is my mother's voice. MY MOTHER. Ugh.
It is found under her pillow, where she stashed it for safe keeping and then forgot it.
She sits in my lap, arms around my neck, repentant and so, so worried that I am still mad at her.
By this time, I am disgusted with myself and how pathetically I have handled this whole situation. I grew up in a home where nothing was ever good enough.
I came out to my mother when I was in college. She disowned me and warned my sisters that they would also be disowned if they even spoke to me. My mother died furious at me. Her last words to me were: "You will regret that you ever humiliated me in front of the whole town."
I never regretted that. But, I did regret that she died angry at me, that she never let me back in, that maybe I didn't try hard enough to mend fences?
And then to hear HER voice come out of me....ugh. It just sickened me. It truly did.
I patted Liv and we talked about being more responsible. She carefully put the amber bracelet back into her "fairy box"...a jewelry box. I protested that she wanted to wear it to school...
"No," she said, grimly. "I don't want to be scared all day long about losing it.I will just keep it here where it is safe and I can look at it once in awhile."
I took her to school. Kissed her goodbye. Gave her some extra hugs. I think we are okay with each other.
But, I am not okay with myself. I hate that I reacted EXACTLY as my own mother would have. I now have a little girl who has a beautiful bracelet that she is afraid to wear.
Because of me. Because I am such a bitch.
When I got back home, I got the bracelet out of her jewelry box and held it in my hands for a little while, sitting on her bedspread with the purple violets on it.
I'm sorry. I am really trying so hard at being a good parent. I am so sorry that I fuck up sometimes. I will try harder next time. I promise.
I put it back into it's box and walked out of her room, pausing for a moment to look around at everything.
I love you, Liv. I'm sorry.
Now, the hard part. Yesterday, after school, Liv and I went shopping at what she calls the "cool rock place." This is a new age store. I love it because I get all my skirts there, lovely swirly skirts. Liv calls them my "gypsy skirts." Bing calls them my "Stevie Nicks phase." But even Bing admits that they are decidedly sexy. I just love a swirly skirt, don't you? I like to feel it swirling when I walk, preferably barefoot.
So, I go for the skirts and I also have a collection of African red jaspers, so I always pick up a rock or two. I am a rock collector. If you ever came over to my house, you would wonder why the hell I have bowls of rocks all over the place.
I collect them. When anyone goes to a different state, country, planet, whatever, I tell them not to bring me back a present, just to bring me back a pretty rock to hold in my hand. So, I have rocks from all over the world. They are in my house, around my garden, everywhere.
I needed some new tarot cards too. Yes. Me. I discovered tarot in college. I found it relatively easy to learn to read them and began to have sessions for friends. Eventually, I became so skilled at reading tarot that I was hired by a local restaurant to be their in-house tarot reader. This was actually an INCOME for me in college. Now, I don't really do it much anymore. Just for fun with friends and once a month for me. I am spookily good at it. This alarms my sisters, who are totally sure that I am being used by the devil. They are devout Catholics and tarot is considered witchcraft. One of my sisters is a total Harry Potter nut, too. I tell her that she can't condemn me for doing tarot cards and then think that wizarding school is perfectly okay. It isn't logical. If I really want to scare her, I remind her that the Church is actually looking into banning the Harry Potter books.
I am a wicked witch, alright.
So..there we are in the store, me salivating over skirts and rocks, and Liv going around smelling all the candles and wondering what to buy. She had ten bucks that she earned by helping put the garden in and it was burning a hole in her pocket. She finally settled on a Leo (her astrological sign...btw..I think astrology is fun, but silly) poster and an amber bracelet. Both were 7 dollars apiece. She looked pleadingly to me to spot her the extra 4 bucks plus tax.
I agree, on ONE CONDITION...that she not lose the bracelet. She is going through this annoying phase of losing things lately. I am thinking it is a seven year old thing, but whatever it is, it is irritating as bloody hell.
Liv swears that she will not lose the bracelet. I buy it for her. And two skirts for me. And several jaspers. And a brand spanking new wicked tarot deck. We are two happy girls driving home and even stopping at Dairy Queen for a strawberry cheesequake blizzard.
Life was good. Liv showed off her bracelet to Bing, who thought it was "cool." Later that night, I showed off my skirts to Bing, who thought they were uh....hot.
Now, it is early morning today. Liv is running around getting ready for school. She is getting ready to get into the shower and is bubbling about wearing her bracelet to school today. I say of course she can wear it.
WHERE IS IT?
Liv's face goes very still. She cannot remember. I see her struggling, trying mightily to remember where she could have put it.
And then this voice comes out of me. I hate this voice. It is my mother's voice:
"You've lost it, haven't you? I am very disappointed in you." Okay..here comes the true kicker: "It is lucky that your head is fastened on, or you would forget that too."
Liv is in tears. I go into my bedroom to see her two little legs sticking out from under the bed. She is searching everywhere for that bracelet. I tell her to just get in the shower. No time now.
I hear her crying in the shower.
She gets out and leans against me in her towel. "I am so sorry! Please don't be mad at me? I didn't mean to lose it!"
But, I cut her no slack. Just shake my head.
We finally find it right before she leaves for school. After I have been scolding her for about ten minutes and telling her that I am NEVER going to buy her anything nice again if she has so little respect for her things.
I am cringing at the sound of my own voice. Because it is my mother's voice. MY MOTHER. Ugh.
It is found under her pillow, where she stashed it for safe keeping and then forgot it.
She sits in my lap, arms around my neck, repentant and so, so worried that I am still mad at her.
By this time, I am disgusted with myself and how pathetically I have handled this whole situation. I grew up in a home where nothing was ever good enough.
I came out to my mother when I was in college. She disowned me and warned my sisters that they would also be disowned if they even spoke to me. My mother died furious at me. Her last words to me were: "You will regret that you ever humiliated me in front of the whole town."
I never regretted that. But, I did regret that she died angry at me, that she never let me back in, that maybe I didn't try hard enough to mend fences?
And then to hear HER voice come out of me....ugh. It just sickened me. It truly did.
I patted Liv and we talked about being more responsible. She carefully put the amber bracelet back into her "fairy box"...a jewelry box. I protested that she wanted to wear it to school...
"No," she said, grimly. "I don't want to be scared all day long about losing it.I will just keep it here where it is safe and I can look at it once in awhile."
I took her to school. Kissed her goodbye. Gave her some extra hugs. I think we are okay with each other.
But, I am not okay with myself. I hate that I reacted EXACTLY as my own mother would have. I now have a little girl who has a beautiful bracelet that she is afraid to wear.
Because of me. Because I am such a bitch.
When I got back home, I got the bracelet out of her jewelry box and held it in my hands for a little while, sitting on her bedspread with the purple violets on it.
I'm sorry. I am really trying so hard at being a good parent. I am so sorry that I fuck up sometimes. I will try harder next time. I promise.
I put it back into it's box and walked out of her room, pausing for a moment to look around at everything.
I love you, Liv. I'm sorry.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Lap sitting.
Liv used to live in my lap. Or my arms. Once, when I was giving a lecture at a college, I realized that I was jutting my right hip out and swaying from side to side. It was as if I was so used to having Liv there that my body just went into position even when she wasn't with me.
Now, she is seven. She is only an occasional visitor to my lap. I hadn't realized how much I miss this until this morning at breakfast when she asked to sit in my lap while she ate her toast and sipped her coffee.
Okay. Let me have it. Just do it. There is no reason why a seven year old needs to drink coffee for breakfast. I know this. I am a voracious coffee slurper in the morning; it is not uncommon for me to drink three cups for breakfast, so it was only natural that she wanted to try some too. I let her have a cup when she was five and she has had it for breakfast almost daily since. Actually, it is more cafe au lait as I fill the cup up three fourths full of milk, add a teaspoon of sugar and then top it off with coffee...but yes, I do let her drink coffee if you get right down to it. And yes, I have heard that it stunts children's growth. This is an old wife tale. Liv is the tallest in her class. I have not noticed the caffeine making her wild either. So, if you must lecture me on the evils of letting kids drink coffee, so be it. I could give her worse. I could give her a shot of grey goose. Now, leave me alone. Please.
So, we are at the kitchen table, Liv cozy in my arms. My leg is starting to fall asleep because she does weigh 60 pounds, but I don't even care. She has on her little white nightgown with the red tulips on it, her natural smell of lemon zest and cherry lifesavers is wafting up to me and I just have to lean in and take a good, deep sniff of her. I have no idea when she will sit on my lap again and I am near swooning with love for her.
She asks me to play the "story game." This is a game where she gives me 3 unrelated subjects and I am to weave them together into a story. The objects today were: woodcarving, a monkey, and a camera. So, I absently scratch her back through her nightgown and go into a tale about a monkey who is a sticky fingered thief but decides that instead of a life of crime, he will take up woodcarving. A hiker passes through the monkey's jungle and seeing the amazing sight of a woodcarving monkey, he takes a picture of him with his new camera.
Then, I stop and make her finish the story. She does so, brilliantly. The monkey becomes famous, hates it and decides to return to his jungle life where he meets a lovely girl monkey and they settle down together.
This whole time together takes maybe 20 minutes. And then, as quickly as it started, it is over. Liv hops off of my lap, we go into her room to get her dressed and read a chapter of Harry Potter and it's time to go to school.
I wave goodbye to her, blow kisses and leave to head over to a client's house.
My lap misses her. All day long. That sweet scented little girl who sits square in the middle of my heart. Twenty minutes of a morning and I will remember this moment when she is 16 and I am trying to teach her how to drive.
They grow up so fast, yes?
Now, she is seven. She is only an occasional visitor to my lap. I hadn't realized how much I miss this until this morning at breakfast when she asked to sit in my lap while she ate her toast and sipped her coffee.
Okay. Let me have it. Just do it. There is no reason why a seven year old needs to drink coffee for breakfast. I know this. I am a voracious coffee slurper in the morning; it is not uncommon for me to drink three cups for breakfast, so it was only natural that she wanted to try some too. I let her have a cup when she was five and she has had it for breakfast almost daily since. Actually, it is more cafe au lait as I fill the cup up three fourths full of milk, add a teaspoon of sugar and then top it off with coffee...but yes, I do let her drink coffee if you get right down to it. And yes, I have heard that it stunts children's growth. This is an old wife tale. Liv is the tallest in her class. I have not noticed the caffeine making her wild either. So, if you must lecture me on the evils of letting kids drink coffee, so be it. I could give her worse. I could give her a shot of grey goose. Now, leave me alone. Please.
So, we are at the kitchen table, Liv cozy in my arms. My leg is starting to fall asleep because she does weigh 60 pounds, but I don't even care. She has on her little white nightgown with the red tulips on it, her natural smell of lemon zest and cherry lifesavers is wafting up to me and I just have to lean in and take a good, deep sniff of her. I have no idea when she will sit on my lap again and I am near swooning with love for her.
She asks me to play the "story game." This is a game where she gives me 3 unrelated subjects and I am to weave them together into a story. The objects today were: woodcarving, a monkey, and a camera. So, I absently scratch her back through her nightgown and go into a tale about a monkey who is a sticky fingered thief but decides that instead of a life of crime, he will take up woodcarving. A hiker passes through the monkey's jungle and seeing the amazing sight of a woodcarving monkey, he takes a picture of him with his new camera.
Then, I stop and make her finish the story. She does so, brilliantly. The monkey becomes famous, hates it and decides to return to his jungle life where he meets a lovely girl monkey and they settle down together.
This whole time together takes maybe 20 minutes. And then, as quickly as it started, it is over. Liv hops off of my lap, we go into her room to get her dressed and read a chapter of Harry Potter and it's time to go to school.
I wave goodbye to her, blow kisses and leave to head over to a client's house.
My lap misses her. All day long. That sweet scented little girl who sits square in the middle of my heart. Twenty minutes of a morning and I will remember this moment when she is 16 and I am trying to teach her how to drive.
They grow up so fast, yes?
Monday, April 16, 2007
Stupid commercials, a good book and nose pickers who drive.
Last night, I was quietly watching The Amazing Race. (Well...okay, not quietly. I tend to yell things at the screen like, "Jaysus. That was one stupid decision, guys. Get your head out of your butt.") A commercial comes on for Cialis, a product for erectile dysfunction. I don't have any worries about that, so I didn't pay much attention. But, this commercial grabs me. I mean, good lord. It shows some big handsome man talking frankly and happily about the fact that he needs some help with his ED. We see him canoodling with his wife (or maybe it is his mistress because frankly he looks to be in his 50's and she is this young, nubile twenty something.) A voice over talks about how he likes his Cialis because hey, it can help him out when he needs to be ready fast or needs to take his time (and I suppose that he probably has to at least buy this woman some dinner or something to get her in the mood.)
And then, there is this visual that is just about as subtle as a big zit on your nose. The couple is now sitting on these big cigar shaped boulders and the camera zooms through a big hole in one of them to show them cavorting happily with each other while perched on their...well...their giant penis.
Do these companies actually think that we are as dumb as doorknobs?
And boy howdy, I am going to get some weird ass hits from this post, I just know it.
So, I will just go on to the book thing and the sick lurkers and peepers can go get their jollies somewhere else.
I finished Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris last night. I loved it so much that I practically inhaled this book. Just one more quote for you...by the way, Joshua is talking about office cubicle relationships.
"Amber wasn't showing yet but everyone already knew. She was debating an abortion, but, to Larry Novotny's great disappointment, looked to be leaning against it. Larry would have to decide what to do about his wife, who had just had a child herself not that long ago. We felt sorry for Larry, who worried the curved, finger-smudged bill of his Cubs cap endlessly that spring, but we also thought it was pretty obvious that he should have kept his pecker in his pants. We felt sorry for Amber, too, but as everyone knows, it takes two to tango. We just hoped they weren't doing it on our desks...."
I read this book everywhere...in the bathtub, waiting for Liv to get out of school...and twice fell asleep with it over my face only to wake up when Bing carefully pried it off of me. So..give it a go. You won't regret it. I also stopped back at the bookstore and picked up Brendan Halpin's new offering: Dear Catastrophe Waitress. I have yet to read anything of his that I didn't love.
I walked into Borders and actually got hit on! Maybe this kind of thing happens to you all the time, but I assure you, when you are 48 like me, with a too-big butt and a tendency to not wear makeup and have your hair tucked up in a baseball cap at 10:00 a.m....this was a big frackin deal. I had stopped in Borders this weekend and stayed in the store for over an hour, but had decided not to buy the Halpin book. Once I got home, I regretted it, so I went back. I picked it up and this man who I swear to GOD, Terroni, could have been Jeff Goldblum's brother, was suddenly right next to me.
Jeff Goldblum lookalike: Um, sorry to bother you. Weren't you in here on Saturday?
Me (thinking that he thinks I am a shoplifter or something): Um, yes. I was. I came back for a book that I decided that I just couldn't pass up.
I showed it to him. See? I planned to buy this! He smiles. It is a nice, Jeff smile.
I smiled back, just a little, though. I mean, who the hell is this guy?
Jeff: Well, I noticed you then and I am noticing you now. I...do you come in here often?
Me: Oh, once or twice a month, I guess. Why?"
Wow. He looks very sheepish. Is suddenly kind of looking around like he wants to escape. I go back to perusing the shelves, giving him his out if he wants one. He doesn't.
Jeff: Okay. Are you in a hurry? Because, I would sort of like to buy you a latte or whatever you drink. Maybe an Italian soda? Wait. You look like a straight coffee drinker.
I am thinking that straight isn't the word I would use. I decide to just be well, straight, with him.
Me:Are you hitting on me?
Jeff: Well, I don't know. I guess I just thought it might be nice to have coffee with you. I mean, it is obvious that you like books, you have the same expression that I do when I look at them, like you'd like to just eat them."
As soon as he says "eat them" we both blush.
Me: Well, thanks. I mean, yes, well..I do like reading. But, um...I am with someone and so I want to say that just in case you were going in a certain direction.
He smiles a very friendly smile and says something like he hopes I have a great day and disappears.
I don't think I handled that well, do you? I mean, maybe I was jumpy. It honestly surprised me. So, what do you think? Was I getting hit on or was he just this nice man who now is very relieved that we didn't have coffee?
So, I leave and am feeling kind of light and airy. I mean, someone wanted to have coffee with me.
I was driving home and looked out the window at the guy in the car next to me. We were parked at a red light and suddenly this guy starts picking his nose like a robin with a pesky worm in the soil.
I looked away, disgusted. Then, couldn't resist....looked back. There he was, still digging away. And ok...you may want to skip this part if you are squeamish. He pulls his finger out, looks intently at it and then puts his finger in his mouth.
YUM!
So..a guy with ED, a guy in a bookstore, and a nose picker guy. I sure had me an interesting couple of days, didn't I?
When I got home, I told Bing about Jeff Goldblum's brother. She kind of nodded politely, was reading the newspaper and couldn't be bothered. I asked her if she was jealous.
"Well, it wasn't a woman, so no," she said. "And besides, I trust you."
I thought that was nice. But, I dunno. It is nice to have a little jealousy rising up now and then, yes? Not too much, mind you..but I would have liked her to at least look up from her paper.
What an interesting couple of days......
And then, there is this visual that is just about as subtle as a big zit on your nose. The couple is now sitting on these big cigar shaped boulders and the camera zooms through a big hole in one of them to show them cavorting happily with each other while perched on their...well...their giant penis.
Do these companies actually think that we are as dumb as doorknobs?
And boy howdy, I am going to get some weird ass hits from this post, I just know it.
So, I will just go on to the book thing and the sick lurkers and peepers can go get their jollies somewhere else.
I finished Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris last night. I loved it so much that I practically inhaled this book. Just one more quote for you...by the way, Joshua is talking about office cubicle relationships.
"Amber wasn't showing yet but everyone already knew. She was debating an abortion, but, to Larry Novotny's great disappointment, looked to be leaning against it. Larry would have to decide what to do about his wife, who had just had a child herself not that long ago. We felt sorry for Larry, who worried the curved, finger-smudged bill of his Cubs cap endlessly that spring, but we also thought it was pretty obvious that he should have kept his pecker in his pants. We felt sorry for Amber, too, but as everyone knows, it takes two to tango. We just hoped they weren't doing it on our desks...."
I read this book everywhere...in the bathtub, waiting for Liv to get out of school...and twice fell asleep with it over my face only to wake up when Bing carefully pried it off of me. So..give it a go. You won't regret it. I also stopped back at the bookstore and picked up Brendan Halpin's new offering: Dear Catastrophe Waitress. I have yet to read anything of his that I didn't love.
I walked into Borders and actually got hit on! Maybe this kind of thing happens to you all the time, but I assure you, when you are 48 like me, with a too-big butt and a tendency to not wear makeup and have your hair tucked up in a baseball cap at 10:00 a.m....this was a big frackin deal. I had stopped in Borders this weekend and stayed in the store for over an hour, but had decided not to buy the Halpin book. Once I got home, I regretted it, so I went back. I picked it up and this man who I swear to GOD, Terroni, could have been Jeff Goldblum's brother, was suddenly right next to me.
Jeff Goldblum lookalike: Um, sorry to bother you. Weren't you in here on Saturday?
Me (thinking that he thinks I am a shoplifter or something): Um, yes. I was. I came back for a book that I decided that I just couldn't pass up.
I showed it to him. See? I planned to buy this! He smiles. It is a nice, Jeff smile.
I smiled back, just a little, though. I mean, who the hell is this guy?
Jeff: Well, I noticed you then and I am noticing you now. I...do you come in here often?
Me: Oh, once or twice a month, I guess. Why?"
Wow. He looks very sheepish. Is suddenly kind of looking around like he wants to escape. I go back to perusing the shelves, giving him his out if he wants one. He doesn't.
Jeff: Okay. Are you in a hurry? Because, I would sort of like to buy you a latte or whatever you drink. Maybe an Italian soda? Wait. You look like a straight coffee drinker.
I am thinking that straight isn't the word I would use. I decide to just be well, straight, with him.
Me:Are you hitting on me?
Jeff: Well, I don't know. I guess I just thought it might be nice to have coffee with you. I mean, it is obvious that you like books, you have the same expression that I do when I look at them, like you'd like to just eat them."
As soon as he says "eat them" we both blush.
Me: Well, thanks. I mean, yes, well..I do like reading. But, um...I am with someone and so I want to say that just in case you were going in a certain direction.
He smiles a very friendly smile and says something like he hopes I have a great day and disappears.
I don't think I handled that well, do you? I mean, maybe I was jumpy. It honestly surprised me. So, what do you think? Was I getting hit on or was he just this nice man who now is very relieved that we didn't have coffee?
So, I leave and am feeling kind of light and airy. I mean, someone wanted to have coffee with me.
I was driving home and looked out the window at the guy in the car next to me. We were parked at a red light and suddenly this guy starts picking his nose like a robin with a pesky worm in the soil.
I looked away, disgusted. Then, couldn't resist....looked back. There he was, still digging away. And ok...you may want to skip this part if you are squeamish. He pulls his finger out, looks intently at it and then puts his finger in his mouth.
YUM!
So..a guy with ED, a guy in a bookstore, and a nose picker guy. I sure had me an interesting couple of days, didn't I?
When I got home, I told Bing about Jeff Goldblum's brother. She kind of nodded politely, was reading the newspaper and couldn't be bothered. I asked her if she was jealous.
"Well, it wasn't a woman, so no," she said. "And besides, I trust you."
I thought that was nice. But, I dunno. It is nice to have a little jealousy rising up now and then, yes? Not too much, mind you..but I would have liked her to at least look up from her paper.
What an interesting couple of days......
Saturday, April 14, 2007
A Summer Song, a new book, and faucets and paint.
Well. Bing started tearing up the bathroom floor this week and she is finally convinced that we need to hire someone to lay the floor for us and put in the new pedestal sink. We took bids yesterday and even the lowest one sort of made me shudder. But, it is not nearly as bad as waiting until Liv graduates from college before the room is done, which would be the case if Bing did it.
She IS going to re-paint the walls and take down the horrible, ugly, very bad liner of wallpaper at the top of the room (blue fish...it is just too cutesy.) I feel okay with her painting.
So, we went to price bathroom faucets today and of course, every single one that I liked cost 200 bucks. I am starting to accept the fact that this is going to be a very pricey job.
Later, I went shopping at the mall for some birthday gifts alone. I was almost silly with excitement at getting to do something by myself. No one to tug at me when I stop to look at purses or try lipstick shades on the back of my hand. No race walking past Orange Julius hoping that Liv won't beg for one. No having to stop in at Radio Shack "just to have a look-see!"
I meandered. Picked up a new book at the bookstore (I think I spent over an hour in there. Bookstores are like my crack.) It's called Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris and I actually stood at the counter, waiting in line and reading like the addict I am. How can you not love a book that starts out
We were fractious and overpaid. Our mornings lacked promise. At least those of us who smoked had something to look forward to at ten-fifteen. Most of us liked most everyone, a few of us hated specific individuals, one or two people loved everyone and everything. Those who loved everyone were unanimously reviled....
Good writing is just good writing and it pulls you in nice and smooth. I know I am going to love this book.
I hopped into the car for the drive home, realized that I had Bing's car, so could not listen to my audio book, so turned on the radio and it came on. That song that does me in. The one that can make me cry. I didn't even try to drive, just pulled over and let the music wash all over me on a side road, parked at the curb. Eyes closed. Tears streaming down my face.
A Summer Song by Chad and Jeremy
I have no idea why this song moves me to tears. Regrets? The pain of that first love? All I know is that when I hear this song, something silky slides over my heart and makes me cry. It is an old, old song by Chad and Jeremy. You can hear it by going here. Just click on A Summer Song.
God, I just listened to it again and started bawling. Time to go do something mundane like listen to the news...
G'night y'all.
She IS going to re-paint the walls and take down the horrible, ugly, very bad liner of wallpaper at the top of the room (blue fish...it is just too cutesy.) I feel okay with her painting.
So, we went to price bathroom faucets today and of course, every single one that I liked cost 200 bucks. I am starting to accept the fact that this is going to be a very pricey job.
Later, I went shopping at the mall for some birthday gifts alone. I was almost silly with excitement at getting to do something by myself. No one to tug at me when I stop to look at purses or try lipstick shades on the back of my hand. No race walking past Orange Julius hoping that Liv won't beg for one. No having to stop in at Radio Shack "just to have a look-see!"
I meandered. Picked up a new book at the bookstore (I think I spent over an hour in there. Bookstores are like my crack.) It's called Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris and I actually stood at the counter, waiting in line and reading like the addict I am. How can you not love a book that starts out
We were fractious and overpaid. Our mornings lacked promise. At least those of us who smoked had something to look forward to at ten-fifteen. Most of us liked most everyone, a few of us hated specific individuals, one or two people loved everyone and everything. Those who loved everyone were unanimously reviled....
Good writing is just good writing and it pulls you in nice and smooth. I know I am going to love this book.
I hopped into the car for the drive home, realized that I had Bing's car, so could not listen to my audio book, so turned on the radio and it came on. That song that does me in. The one that can make me cry. I didn't even try to drive, just pulled over and let the music wash all over me on a side road, parked at the curb. Eyes closed. Tears streaming down my face.
A Summer Song by Chad and Jeremy
I have no idea why this song moves me to tears. Regrets? The pain of that first love? All I know is that when I hear this song, something silky slides over my heart and makes me cry. It is an old, old song by Chad and Jeremy. You can hear it by going here. Just click on A Summer Song.
God, I just listened to it again and started bawling. Time to go do something mundane like listen to the news...
G'night y'all.
The Deer
Bing and I were out in the back yard this morning bringing all the flower pots out again from the shed where we had been keeping them during the cold spell (cold spell meaning that we went from temps in the 70's to a 10 degree polar plunge with snow for nearly two weeks!)
Suddenly, she grabbed both of my hands.
"Good hell," she muttered. "Turn around very, very slowly. Don't make a sound."
I was petrified, but I did it.
And there, standing in our side yard, were FIVE gorgeous deer. Not big, not little. Probably teenaged deer out on a lark. They were all standing motionless looking at us.
For maybe a minute, we all stood warily staring at each other. None of us moved or made a sound. Then, as if in a pre-arranged dance, the deer jumped lightly over our fence into our back yard...so quietly that you couldn't even hear their hooves hit the ground. And then, they all loped in this unbearably beautiful dance across our yard and jumped our back fence into our neighbor's yard. They loped through his yard and on and on through the rest of the yards, mostly fenced like ours, leaping gracefully over each set of fences effortlessly.
And then they were gone.
Bing and I just stared at each other for a moment and then smiled.
We both said it at the same time: WOW!
Later, we figured out that they must have been heading for the small creek in a park that is about a mile away. But, how on earth did they get to our house? We live on a fairly busy street in a medium sized city. We sometimes see woodchucks or raccoons. I saw a bushy tailed red fox once. The area where we live is older with lots of trees and big back yards, but it is hardly rural.
They were so beautiful. They were so very beautiful. I keep remembering how they all seemed to move in unison and with such exquisite grace.
Wow.
Suddenly, she grabbed both of my hands.
"Good hell," she muttered. "Turn around very, very slowly. Don't make a sound."
I was petrified, but I did it.
And there, standing in our side yard, were FIVE gorgeous deer. Not big, not little. Probably teenaged deer out on a lark. They were all standing motionless looking at us.
For maybe a minute, we all stood warily staring at each other. None of us moved or made a sound. Then, as if in a pre-arranged dance, the deer jumped lightly over our fence into our back yard...so quietly that you couldn't even hear their hooves hit the ground. And then, they all loped in this unbearably beautiful dance across our yard and jumped our back fence into our neighbor's yard. They loped through his yard and on and on through the rest of the yards, mostly fenced like ours, leaping gracefully over each set of fences effortlessly.
And then they were gone.
Bing and I just stared at each other for a moment and then smiled.
We both said it at the same time: WOW!
Later, we figured out that they must have been heading for the small creek in a park that is about a mile away. But, how on earth did they get to our house? We live on a fairly busy street in a medium sized city. We sometimes see woodchucks or raccoons. I saw a bushy tailed red fox once. The area where we live is older with lots of trees and big back yards, but it is hardly rural.
They were so beautiful. They were so very beautiful. I keep remembering how they all seemed to move in unison and with such exquisite grace.
Wow.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Meme
Well, Lee tagged me for a meme, so I put the questions away for a few days to think about first.
I was surprised at my own answers. I mean, sometimes, I admit, I took the easy way out and went for the humor. But, mostly, I tried to be honest. And it struck me that I am still capable of surprising myself.
3 Things That Scare Me.
1. Liv being kidnapped, maimed, killed, hurt, bitten, stung by a bee, you name it.
2. Being a bag lady in my old age.
3. Choking or drowning (interchangeable, but the same thing basically, dying from not being able to breathe.)
3 People Who Make Me Laugh.
1. Bing (although we never think the same stuff is funny.)
2. Harriet (best friend and we ALWAYS think the same stuff is funny.)
3. Liv.
3 Things I Love
Now this gave me pause, mainly because of the word "thing." But I just ran with it.
1. My family and friends (same thing as far as I am concerned.)
2. Sleeping.
3. A really good book.
3 Things I Hate.
1. Stalkers/Peepers
2. Pedophiles
3. Getting up at 6:00 a.m.
3 Things I don't understand.
1. See above three.
3 Things on my desk.
1. Stained glass coaster for my coffee.
2. Stacking trays for my bills, etc.
3. A dictionary.
3 Things I am doing right now.
1. Listening to the soundtrack from Rent.
2. Listening for the clothes dryer to stop.
3. Listening for the mail carrier.
3 Things I want to do before I die.
1. Make some serious money to leave Liv.
2. Be on good terms with everyone who matters.
3. See Ireland.
3 Things I can do.
1. Bake a really kick ass cake.
2. Be a good sister.
3. Listen to Liv play her violin without cringing once.
3 Things I can't do.
1. Ice skate (weak ankles.)
2. Make pasta (I can, however, make edible rubberbands.)
3. Carry a tune.
3 things I think you should listen to.
1. Your heart and your brain together. (This is important...if one doubts, don't do it. I have let some unsavory people into my life because either I wasn't thinking or I wasn't feeling. BOTH need to work in unison.)
2. Any sort of water running in your home.
3. Your spouse when they wake up in the middle of the night and say, "Did you hear that?"
3 Things you should never listen to.
1. Bullies.
2. Advice columnists or would-be friends who tell you things "for your own good."
3. Whiners.
3 Things I'd like to learn.
1. Spanish.
2. How to forgive people who have hurt me.
3. How to just say no to food after 7 p.m.
3 Favorite Foods.
1. Burnt potato chips (carbs.)
2. Chocolate milk (carbs.)
3. Cadbury eggs (carbs.)
3 Things I regret.
1. Not listening to BOTH my heart and my brain.
2. Breaking up with Bing when Liv was a baby. (I should have stayed with her for the long run. Liv missed out on having Bing in her life for several years and I was blind to what was right in front of my face for years. Getting back together was the smartest thing that I ever did and now that I've given my word, I am stickin.)
3. Letting myself buy a bigger size instead of making myself lose that weight. (You do it once, the next time just gets easier and easier. Trust me.)
And I know you are supposed to tag three people, but I honestly think that I am about the last person to have done this one. At any rate, unless they have done it already and I missed it, I tag Jenny, Melanie,and...hmmm. I KNOW.. Terroni! I think that they would have some interesting things to say. And I know they ALL will make me laugh at some point because they are just THAT witty and smart.
And now I have to go nurse my sore gum. I actually have a blister on the side of my mouth because I was a complete and total pig at lunch and bit into a slice of pizza before it was cool. So..massive cheese burn on the inside of my cheek and the top of my gum. Can you say glutton? I probably should have admitted to THAT on this meme.
And, hey..is anyone else reading Wicked; The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West? It is sooooo good. I am not reading this one, I am listening to it on audio in my car and I actually don't mind red lights anymore because I am so into this book. I have less road rage because I am enjoying taking my time to get places. I even leave early so that I can have plenty of time to listen. This book has turned me into a much better driver. It has the most incredible premise. Just imagine that the Wizard of Oz was actually like a Mussolini or an Idi Amin. Now, imagine the Wicked Witch as a member of a good underground movement to dethrown him and free citizens. And then...well, here comes Dorothy....
Yeah, it is THAT good.
I was surprised at my own answers. I mean, sometimes, I admit, I took the easy way out and went for the humor. But, mostly, I tried to be honest. And it struck me that I am still capable of surprising myself.
3 Things That Scare Me.
1. Liv being kidnapped, maimed, killed, hurt, bitten, stung by a bee, you name it.
2. Being a bag lady in my old age.
3. Choking or drowning (interchangeable, but the same thing basically, dying from not being able to breathe.)
3 People Who Make Me Laugh.
1. Bing (although we never think the same stuff is funny.)
2. Harriet (best friend and we ALWAYS think the same stuff is funny.)
3. Liv.
3 Things I Love
Now this gave me pause, mainly because of the word "thing." But I just ran with it.
1. My family and friends (same thing as far as I am concerned.)
2. Sleeping.
3. A really good book.
3 Things I Hate.
1. Stalkers/Peepers
2. Pedophiles
3. Getting up at 6:00 a.m.
3 Things I don't understand.
1. See above three.
3 Things on my desk.
1. Stained glass coaster for my coffee.
2. Stacking trays for my bills, etc.
3. A dictionary.
3 Things I am doing right now.
1. Listening to the soundtrack from Rent.
2. Listening for the clothes dryer to stop.
3. Listening for the mail carrier.
3 Things I want to do before I die.
1. Make some serious money to leave Liv.
2. Be on good terms with everyone who matters.
3. See Ireland.
3 Things I can do.
1. Bake a really kick ass cake.
2. Be a good sister.
3. Listen to Liv play her violin without cringing once.
3 Things I can't do.
1. Ice skate (weak ankles.)
2. Make pasta (I can, however, make edible rubberbands.)
3. Carry a tune.
3 things I think you should listen to.
1. Your heart and your brain together. (This is important...if one doubts, don't do it. I have let some unsavory people into my life because either I wasn't thinking or I wasn't feeling. BOTH need to work in unison.)
2. Any sort of water running in your home.
3. Your spouse when they wake up in the middle of the night and say, "Did you hear that?"
3 Things you should never listen to.
1. Bullies.
2. Advice columnists or would-be friends who tell you things "for your own good."
3. Whiners.
3 Things I'd like to learn.
1. Spanish.
2. How to forgive people who have hurt me.
3. How to just say no to food after 7 p.m.
3 Favorite Foods.
1. Burnt potato chips (carbs.)
2. Chocolate milk (carbs.)
3. Cadbury eggs (carbs.)
3 Things I regret.
1. Not listening to BOTH my heart and my brain.
2. Breaking up with Bing when Liv was a baby. (I should have stayed with her for the long run. Liv missed out on having Bing in her life for several years and I was blind to what was right in front of my face for years. Getting back together was the smartest thing that I ever did and now that I've given my word, I am stickin.)
3. Letting myself buy a bigger size instead of making myself lose that weight. (You do it once, the next time just gets easier and easier. Trust me.)
And I know you are supposed to tag three people, but I honestly think that I am about the last person to have done this one. At any rate, unless they have done it already and I missed it, I tag Jenny, Melanie,and...hmmm. I KNOW.. Terroni! I think that they would have some interesting things to say. And I know they ALL will make me laugh at some point because they are just THAT witty and smart.
And now I have to go nurse my sore gum. I actually have a blister on the side of my mouth because I was a complete and total pig at lunch and bit into a slice of pizza before it was cool. So..massive cheese burn on the inside of my cheek and the top of my gum. Can you say glutton? I probably should have admitted to THAT on this meme.
And, hey..is anyone else reading Wicked; The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West? It is sooooo good. I am not reading this one, I am listening to it on audio in my car and I actually don't mind red lights anymore because I am so into this book. I have less road rage because I am enjoying taking my time to get places. I even leave early so that I can have plenty of time to listen. This book has turned me into a much better driver. It has the most incredible premise. Just imagine that the Wizard of Oz was actually like a Mussolini or an Idi Amin. Now, imagine the Wicked Witch as a member of a good underground movement to dethrown him and free citizens. And then...well, here comes Dorothy....
Yeah, it is THAT good.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Death
Well, yeah. That title will get everyone in a skippy mood.
I just saw that Kurt Vonnegut died. And I started CRYING for pete sakes. I didn't know Kurt. He wasn't a close personal friend. He did write one of my favorite plays of all time, Happy Birthday, Wanda June and the last thing of his I read was the wonderful A Man Without a Country.
So, why the tears?
I have no idea. Must be that kind of day. Or maybe I am just sick of death in general. I have been worried about my sisters. One is a breast cancer survivor. She found another lump in her breast scar. The other was being tested for the breast cancer gene (she had the best insurance out of all of us and it was agreed that she would have the test.)
Both had good news. Jessie's lump was fatty scar tissue. Patrice's test came back negative.
So, I should be very happy. And I was.
And then Orna's daughter called me last night. She was finally able to start going through Orna's things. Would I like to stop over tomorrow to see if I want anything? Maybe to visit?
I said sure. But, my whole body was just not ready to go in that house. It isn't as if I don't see it every day. It is right next door. I just don't want to go in there anymore since Orna isn't there. The one time I did (to let a plumber in), the phone rang and it was Orna's dentist's office. It was time for her six month check up. I could barely talk into the phone, don't even know why I answered it. Instinct, I suppose. A phone rings. You answer it. I looked down at her answering machine. It was full. I didn't listen to them. Just called her daughter when I got back to my house.
I miss her.
And I recently spoke to my friend, Gina. Her partner, Alice, died in September. We were friends. Alice died of cancer. I promised Alice that I would keep an eye on Gina. I've tried to keep my promise. But, it is so much harder than I thought it would be. I call her every other week or so. We got together in January and went to the symphony. Bing is better at staying in touch. She calls Gina and coaxes her out to play some hoops, get a beer. Bing says that she is doing so well. I feel guilty. I am not nearly as good at communicating and frankly, I am not one of the first people that Gina would call if she needed to talk. I was always much closer to Alice.
And that is why I find it hard to call. I miss Alice. I miss her ratchetty laugh. I miss her political zeal. Gina was always closer to Bing. I was closer to Alice. And whenever I am with Gina, I feel like I have a golf ball lodged in my throat. I wish I was a better friend. I need to work on that.
I am weary of death or the fear of it, I suppose. When I was younger, death was like a very cruel surprise. Now that I am older, I am astonished at how fast people I know are dying. And, I mean, logically, yes...that makes sense. When you get older, your peers age too and therefore, they die.
But, I am not a good griever.
And I don't want to go to Orna's house without her in it.
I just saw that Kurt Vonnegut died. And I started CRYING for pete sakes. I didn't know Kurt. He wasn't a close personal friend. He did write one of my favorite plays of all time, Happy Birthday, Wanda June and the last thing of his I read was the wonderful A Man Without a Country.
So, why the tears?
I have no idea. Must be that kind of day. Or maybe I am just sick of death in general. I have been worried about my sisters. One is a breast cancer survivor. She found another lump in her breast scar. The other was being tested for the breast cancer gene (she had the best insurance out of all of us and it was agreed that she would have the test.)
Both had good news. Jessie's lump was fatty scar tissue. Patrice's test came back negative.
So, I should be very happy. And I was.
And then Orna's daughter called me last night. She was finally able to start going through Orna's things. Would I like to stop over tomorrow to see if I want anything? Maybe to visit?
I said sure. But, my whole body was just not ready to go in that house. It isn't as if I don't see it every day. It is right next door. I just don't want to go in there anymore since Orna isn't there. The one time I did (to let a plumber in), the phone rang and it was Orna's dentist's office. It was time for her six month check up. I could barely talk into the phone, don't even know why I answered it. Instinct, I suppose. A phone rings. You answer it. I looked down at her answering machine. It was full. I didn't listen to them. Just called her daughter when I got back to my house.
I miss her.
And I recently spoke to my friend, Gina. Her partner, Alice, died in September. We were friends. Alice died of cancer. I promised Alice that I would keep an eye on Gina. I've tried to keep my promise. But, it is so much harder than I thought it would be. I call her every other week or so. We got together in January and went to the symphony. Bing is better at staying in touch. She calls Gina and coaxes her out to play some hoops, get a beer. Bing says that she is doing so well. I feel guilty. I am not nearly as good at communicating and frankly, I am not one of the first people that Gina would call if she needed to talk. I was always much closer to Alice.
And that is why I find it hard to call. I miss Alice. I miss her ratchetty laugh. I miss her political zeal. Gina was always closer to Bing. I was closer to Alice. And whenever I am with Gina, I feel like I have a golf ball lodged in my throat. I wish I was a better friend. I need to work on that.
I am weary of death or the fear of it, I suppose. When I was younger, death was like a very cruel surprise. Now that I am older, I am astonished at how fast people I know are dying. And, I mean, logically, yes...that makes sense. When you get older, your peers age too and therefore, they die.
But, I am not a good griever.
And I don't want to go to Orna's house without her in it.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Out Damned Spot. Out!
I feel like Lady Macbeth. Today, Bing and I were chatting at dinner and I teased her about her obsession with our lawn. It is um...SNOWING here today and she was all in a tizzy because the lawn needed to be mowed. I told her to relax and see this as a lucky break. It's wet and slushy snow. It will be gone in a few days. In the meantime, just chill.
She gave me a long look.
B: You think I'm obsessive don't you?
M: Well, yeah. A little bit.
B: You know, we all have our little obsessions.
M: Who me? I'm not obsessive.
Bing snickers. Just a little. Just enough to let me know that I am so wrong.
M: How exactly am I obsessive? Do tell.
B: Well, you have that hand washing problem.
M: What hand washing problem?
B: Come with me.
She leads me into the bathroom. Points to the sink. I look. There is our bottle of Endure 420 Cida-Stat(chlornexidine gluconate 2% solution.) Next to it is my big bottle of Germ-X hand sanitizer.
M (with complete innocence): So what? It is hand scrub and sanitizer.
B: No. It is SURGICAL hand scrub, Maria. Do we really need to wash our hands as if we are preparing to do surgery?
Well. Yeah.
I get this stuff from a friend of mine who just happens to be a surgeon, yes. And, okay. I wash my hands frequently. And follow up with hand sanitizer. Just. To. Be. Safe.
Okay, maybe I am a little obsessive. But, to my credit, none of us has had a cold in a long time. I tell Bing this, trying to keep the shrillness out that creeps into my voice when I feel put upon.
B: Honey, you wash your hands...well...a lot.
M: I DO NOT!!
Bing sighs. She knows that resistance is futile. I win most arguments by simply outlasting her.
She hasn't said another thing. But, now I keep catching myself going in to wash my hands. I DO wash my hands a lot. Probably about 5 times a day. Is that too much? Should I just let my hands stay yucky after I clean the bird cage or the fish bowl?
Well, there are worse things, I suppose. I could be a nose picker. Or snort when I laugh. Or overuse phrases like "You don't say!" or "I'll be a monkey's uncle." Now, THAT would be annoying.
I could be a counter. I used to know a person who had to count everything. Steps. Marbles in a bowl. Potato chips on a plate.
I don't do that. I just wash my hands a lot. Well, not alot, but okay, frequently. And, I don't scrub my hands for minutes on end. Just the um..normal amount of time. I think. Ok. Let me know. How often per day do y'all wash your hands?
I'm getting a little defensive here. Would she prefer that I let us all catch colds all the time?
Maybe I need to wean myself off the surgical scrub, though. I mean, maybe switch to Dial or something?
Do any of you have any obsessive habits? Please say you do.
She gave me a long look.
B: You think I'm obsessive don't you?
M: Well, yeah. A little bit.
B: You know, we all have our little obsessions.
M: Who me? I'm not obsessive.
Bing snickers. Just a little. Just enough to let me know that I am so wrong.
M: How exactly am I obsessive? Do tell.
B: Well, you have that hand washing problem.
M: What hand washing problem?
B: Come with me.
She leads me into the bathroom. Points to the sink. I look. There is our bottle of Endure 420 Cida-Stat(chlornexidine gluconate 2% solution.) Next to it is my big bottle of Germ-X hand sanitizer.
M (with complete innocence): So what? It is hand scrub and sanitizer.
B: No. It is SURGICAL hand scrub, Maria. Do we really need to wash our hands as if we are preparing to do surgery?
Well. Yeah.
I get this stuff from a friend of mine who just happens to be a surgeon, yes. And, okay. I wash my hands frequently. And follow up with hand sanitizer. Just. To. Be. Safe.
Okay, maybe I am a little obsessive. But, to my credit, none of us has had a cold in a long time. I tell Bing this, trying to keep the shrillness out that creeps into my voice when I feel put upon.
B: Honey, you wash your hands...well...a lot.
M: I DO NOT!!
Bing sighs. She knows that resistance is futile. I win most arguments by simply outlasting her.
She hasn't said another thing. But, now I keep catching myself going in to wash my hands. I DO wash my hands a lot. Probably about 5 times a day. Is that too much? Should I just let my hands stay yucky after I clean the bird cage or the fish bowl?
Well, there are worse things, I suppose. I could be a nose picker. Or snort when I laugh. Or overuse phrases like "You don't say!" or "I'll be a monkey's uncle." Now, THAT would be annoying.
I could be a counter. I used to know a person who had to count everything. Steps. Marbles in a bowl. Potato chips on a plate.
I don't do that. I just wash my hands a lot. Well, not alot, but okay, frequently. And, I don't scrub my hands for minutes on end. Just the um..normal amount of time. I think. Ok. Let me know. How often per day do y'all wash your hands?
I'm getting a little defensive here. Would she prefer that I let us all catch colds all the time?
Maybe I need to wean myself off the surgical scrub, though. I mean, maybe switch to Dial or something?
Do any of you have any obsessive habits? Please say you do.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
The No Good, Very Bad Day In The Life of A Second Grader.
Liv was just bummed when I picked her up from school yesterday.
"What's up, Miss Skippy?" I asked her. Yes, I have all these nauseating pet names for her.
She held up her backpack. "This thing is full of homework," she sighed.
I sighed too. I hate her homework almost as much as she does. And it is all so stupid because, Jaysus, it isn't MY homework. Yet, I have to watch her grimacing and pressing hard with her pencil and it breaks and she gets frustrated and looks hungrily out the window, out of the room, ANYWHERE not to have to do her homework.
"Well, did anything fun happen today?" I ask.
She gives me a look. "Did you see the incident over lunch recess?" she asks.
THE INCIDENT???
"No," I say carefully. "What happened?"
"We were playing jump rope on the playground and two teenaged boys were in a car driving by and it stopped and one boy jumped out and threw something at the other boy in the car and the other boy got out and they started to fight!"
"Wow," I say slowly. I am wondering where the hell I was when all this happened as I work at her school over the lunch hour. But, I am in the pre-school room, so must have missed all the action.
She goes on to say that her teacher yelled at them but they wouldn't stop, that someone's mother called 911 and the boys got back in the car and left.
Stupid teenage boy thing.
Then it pours out of her. Her two best friends ignored her all day. She didn't get to share at sharing time because Hank stole all the time. Math is just too hard. I hear ya, I feel your pain on that one.
She had to be partners with Rachel at gym and she dislikes Rachel.
But, mostly, I could tell, it was the being-ignored-by-her-friends thing that really got to her.
And it gets to me too. I hate schoolyard politics. And I hate it that there are always going to be girls like that in her life who seem to get a buzz out of being mean. I wish that she would gravitate towards Candace or Kasey, the little girls in her class who I WISH that she would be better friends with. They are quieter, shyer, nicer.
But, she likes Constance and Mandy. The ones who are mini fashion plates and a little mean sometimes. It worries me that she likes them. I worry that it is faulty parenting on my part or something. Why does she like them so much?
I think back to my grade school friends. I didn't have many. I was a self imposed loner. I was never lonely, there were kids to play with if I wished, I just seldom wished. I was deep into reading books, solitary things. I often read all through recess, something that more than one teacher spoke to my mother about at conferences.
So, I have no frame of reference to work with here. It wasn't until I got into junior high that I really had friends. And now that I think about it, they were a little mean at times. So, in high school, I switched groups. I went for the smart, bookish, do-all-your-homework group, skipped the popular group (not that they courted me anyway.)
I gently suggest to Liv that she widen her circle of friends. She says that she can always play with the other girls, but that she simply likes Constance and Mandy better than the others.
I ask her why this is. What personality traits do these girls possess that intrigue her?
"Well, we want to be in a band together someday," she says wistfully. "We are going to call ourselves The Kits. You know, short for kitties."
She goes on to describe how they practice a song called Stray Cat Strut during recess sometimes. Constance downloaded copies of the lyrics for them all and they are developing a dance to go with it. But Constance apparently is getting delusions of grandeur and wants to be the Diana Ross to Liv and Mandy's Supremes.
"She wants to dance in the middle and have me and Mandy dance backup," she explains.
Dance backup? My seven year old child is already a back up dancer?
I ask about costumes.
"Easy," she says. "We are all going to wear rolled up overalls and tee shirts."
Whew. I had feared she would want to dress up in some sort of sex kitten getup.
"So," I say. "They ignored you and your feelings were hurt."
"Well, yeah," she answers. I can tell that she is dying to say, "Duh."
This is all too complicated for me. What happened to my little girl who could care less what I dressed her in every day? When did she turn into a back up dancer in a grade school band when my back was turned?
Mostly, I just want her to pick the friends that I want her to have. I am starting to see that this motherhood thing doesn't really get easier, you just change the things on the plate.
Instead of worrying that she will never be potty trained, I will worry that she will start swiping my lipstick and want to wear those ridiculous little tops that I have seen girls her age wear. Tops that say things like "Brunette with Attitude" or "You can't afford me."
Instead of thinking that she isn't eating enough, I will worry that she wants to be a backup dancer.
I asked her to show me the dance when we got home. She was surprised that I actually had a copy of Stray Cat Strut, but she obligingly did the dance. She looked very sweet. I didn't see any hip jutting or pelvis moves, so I clapped.
I really sort of wanted her to be a college professor when she grew up. Please god, don't let her be a pole dancer in a men's club.
I am already trying to figure out how to get her to pick more brainy, less dancey friends. And that is unfair and I know it. I have to trust that she will do what she needs. It is just that what SHE needs isn't always what I want her to need.
This parenting shit is frackin hard.
"What's up, Miss Skippy?" I asked her. Yes, I have all these nauseating pet names for her.
She held up her backpack. "This thing is full of homework," she sighed.
I sighed too. I hate her homework almost as much as she does. And it is all so stupid because, Jaysus, it isn't MY homework. Yet, I have to watch her grimacing and pressing hard with her pencil and it breaks and she gets frustrated and looks hungrily out the window, out of the room, ANYWHERE not to have to do her homework.
"Well, did anything fun happen today?" I ask.
She gives me a look. "Did you see the incident over lunch recess?" she asks.
THE INCIDENT???
"No," I say carefully. "What happened?"
"We were playing jump rope on the playground and two teenaged boys were in a car driving by and it stopped and one boy jumped out and threw something at the other boy in the car and the other boy got out and they started to fight!"
"Wow," I say slowly. I am wondering where the hell I was when all this happened as I work at her school over the lunch hour. But, I am in the pre-school room, so must have missed all the action.
She goes on to say that her teacher yelled at them but they wouldn't stop, that someone's mother called 911 and the boys got back in the car and left.
Stupid teenage boy thing.
Then it pours out of her. Her two best friends ignored her all day. She didn't get to share at sharing time because Hank stole all the time. Math is just too hard. I hear ya, I feel your pain on that one.
She had to be partners with Rachel at gym and she dislikes Rachel.
But, mostly, I could tell, it was the being-ignored-by-her-friends thing that really got to her.
And it gets to me too. I hate schoolyard politics. And I hate it that there are always going to be girls like that in her life who seem to get a buzz out of being mean. I wish that she would gravitate towards Candace or Kasey, the little girls in her class who I WISH that she would be better friends with. They are quieter, shyer, nicer.
But, she likes Constance and Mandy. The ones who are mini fashion plates and a little mean sometimes. It worries me that she likes them. I worry that it is faulty parenting on my part or something. Why does she like them so much?
I think back to my grade school friends. I didn't have many. I was a self imposed loner. I was never lonely, there were kids to play with if I wished, I just seldom wished. I was deep into reading books, solitary things. I often read all through recess, something that more than one teacher spoke to my mother about at conferences.
So, I have no frame of reference to work with here. It wasn't until I got into junior high that I really had friends. And now that I think about it, they were a little mean at times. So, in high school, I switched groups. I went for the smart, bookish, do-all-your-homework group, skipped the popular group (not that they courted me anyway.)
I gently suggest to Liv that she widen her circle of friends. She says that she can always play with the other girls, but that she simply likes Constance and Mandy better than the others.
I ask her why this is. What personality traits do these girls possess that intrigue her?
"Well, we want to be in a band together someday," she says wistfully. "We are going to call ourselves The Kits. You know, short for kitties."
She goes on to describe how they practice a song called Stray Cat Strut during recess sometimes. Constance downloaded copies of the lyrics for them all and they are developing a dance to go with it. But Constance apparently is getting delusions of grandeur and wants to be the Diana Ross to Liv and Mandy's Supremes.
"She wants to dance in the middle and have me and Mandy dance backup," she explains.
Dance backup? My seven year old child is already a back up dancer?
I ask about costumes.
"Easy," she says. "We are all going to wear rolled up overalls and tee shirts."
Whew. I had feared she would want to dress up in some sort of sex kitten getup.
"So," I say. "They ignored you and your feelings were hurt."
"Well, yeah," she answers. I can tell that she is dying to say, "Duh."
This is all too complicated for me. What happened to my little girl who could care less what I dressed her in every day? When did she turn into a back up dancer in a grade school band when my back was turned?
Mostly, I just want her to pick the friends that I want her to have. I am starting to see that this motherhood thing doesn't really get easier, you just change the things on the plate.
Instead of worrying that she will never be potty trained, I will worry that she will start swiping my lipstick and want to wear those ridiculous little tops that I have seen girls her age wear. Tops that say things like "Brunette with Attitude" or "You can't afford me."
Instead of thinking that she isn't eating enough, I will worry that she wants to be a backup dancer.
I asked her to show me the dance when we got home. She was surprised that I actually had a copy of Stray Cat Strut, but she obligingly did the dance. She looked very sweet. I didn't see any hip jutting or pelvis moves, so I clapped.
I really sort of wanted her to be a college professor when she grew up. Please god, don't let her be a pole dancer in a men's club.
I am already trying to figure out how to get her to pick more brainy, less dancey friends. And that is unfair and I know it. I have to trust that she will do what she needs. It is just that what SHE needs isn't always what I want her to need.
This parenting shit is frackin hard.
Monday, April 09, 2007
What I Like About You
..you really know how to dance.....
Oops. Sorry. I love that song.
But, this is my bit about what I like (and dislike) about Bing.
1. I like how you always wash my car and fill it up with gas every weekend, come rain or come shine.
1. I dislike how you yell at me for letting Liv eat in the car.
2. I like how you always insist on being the driver in the car, not the passenger.
2. I dislike how you drive. I'm sorry, but I do. We are not always on the way to the emergency room, it just feels like it when you drive.
3. I like to watch you mow the grass. Yes, no one can say that you aren't in tip top shape.
3. I dislike it that you INSIST on going to the gym every single frackin day. I mean, c'mon, skip it once in awhile and let's take a walk together.
4. I like feeling safe when you are around. Not that I can't take care of myself, but I always know that you have my back and that is a great feeling.
4. I dislike it that you are a little overprotective sometimes. I mean, why must you treat the UPS guy like he is Jeffrey Dahmer? I KNOW that it could be an imposter, but I see that box in his hands from Neiman Marcus and it's my new sweater!
5. I like the way you never forget to kiss me goodnight, good morning, good anything. I know that I am the less romantic of the two of us and that it is common for me to go to bed and forget to kiss you goodnight and then you come in and wake me up like a sulky child because I forgot and your feelings were hurt. But, secretly, I would miss it so much if you forgot, so I will try to do better.
5. I dislike it when you kiss me in front of people. I'm sorry, I know that sounds bitchy, but I just feel like I'm onstage or something.
6. I like it when you call me sweetheart. It's...well....sweet.
6. I dislike it when you are mad about something and call me "honey" in that I-am-trying-very-hard-not-to-call-you-a-bitch voice. Just skip the endearments when you are mad and save them for when you are feeling extra sweet.
7. I like it when you buy me lifesavers of all flavors because you know how much I love them, just because.
7. I dislike it when I send you to the grocery store to buy frosted flakes or cocoa puffs and you come home with grape nuts because it is "better for all of us." I need my tooth rotting cereal occasionally. Gimme.
8. I like it when we are driving in the car and some silly love song comes on and you look over, leer at me and sing to me.
8. I dislike it when you sing along to my favorite songs too loudly. I really enjoy listening to them and honey, sweetheart, sweet ass gal, your um voice is only so-so.
9. I like it when you defend me when my family (Republican to the bone) gets on my case about my politics.
I dislike it when you talk to my family in a condescending way as if they were extremely stupid (I know that sometimes they seem to be) and you are doing them a favor by even talking to them.
10. I like it when we take Liv bowling and you make up bowling names for all of us (Mavis, Shirley and El Crusher).
10. I dislike it when we take Liv bowling and you coach her too much on how to throw the ball.
11. I like it that you love me as is. I am more "me" around you than with anyone else. It is a luxury to be understood so well and loved anyway. I'm sorry for all the times that I get skittish and argumentative. I am not really meant for this co-habiting thing and I know that you put up with a lot.
11. I dislike it when you try to "help" me when I have a problem at work. I know that you are a problem solver, but sometimes I just need a shoulder to lean on, not an answer to my problem. I can figure out my own job.
And lastly,
12. I like it when you offer to beat up people for me. I know you are a non-violent person and gentle as a lamb, but you look so fierce and protective. It honestly gives me goose bumps.
12. I dislike it when...well...no more disliking. I'm glad you're here. Honest. Thank you.
Oops. Sorry. I love that song.
But, this is my bit about what I like (and dislike) about Bing.
1. I like how you always wash my car and fill it up with gas every weekend, come rain or come shine.
1. I dislike how you yell at me for letting Liv eat in the car.
2. I like how you always insist on being the driver in the car, not the passenger.
2. I dislike how you drive. I'm sorry, but I do. We are not always on the way to the emergency room, it just feels like it when you drive.
3. I like to watch you mow the grass. Yes, no one can say that you aren't in tip top shape.
3. I dislike it that you INSIST on going to the gym every single frackin day. I mean, c'mon, skip it once in awhile and let's take a walk together.
4. I like feeling safe when you are around. Not that I can't take care of myself, but I always know that you have my back and that is a great feeling.
4. I dislike it that you are a little overprotective sometimes. I mean, why must you treat the UPS guy like he is Jeffrey Dahmer? I KNOW that it could be an imposter, but I see that box in his hands from Neiman Marcus and it's my new sweater!
5. I like the way you never forget to kiss me goodnight, good morning, good anything. I know that I am the less romantic of the two of us and that it is common for me to go to bed and forget to kiss you goodnight and then you come in and wake me up like a sulky child because I forgot and your feelings were hurt. But, secretly, I would miss it so much if you forgot, so I will try to do better.
5. I dislike it when you kiss me in front of people. I'm sorry, I know that sounds bitchy, but I just feel like I'm onstage or something.
6. I like it when you call me sweetheart. It's...well....sweet.
6. I dislike it when you are mad about something and call me "honey" in that I-am-trying-very-hard-not-to-call-you-a-bitch voice. Just skip the endearments when you are mad and save them for when you are feeling extra sweet.
7. I like it when you buy me lifesavers of all flavors because you know how much I love them, just because.
7. I dislike it when I send you to the grocery store to buy frosted flakes or cocoa puffs and you come home with grape nuts because it is "better for all of us." I need my tooth rotting cereal occasionally. Gimme.
8. I like it when we are driving in the car and some silly love song comes on and you look over, leer at me and sing to me.
8. I dislike it when you sing along to my favorite songs too loudly. I really enjoy listening to them and honey, sweetheart, sweet ass gal, your um voice is only so-so.
9. I like it when you defend me when my family (Republican to the bone) gets on my case about my politics.
I dislike it when you talk to my family in a condescending way as if they were extremely stupid (I know that sometimes they seem to be) and you are doing them a favor by even talking to them.
10. I like it when we take Liv bowling and you make up bowling names for all of us (Mavis, Shirley and El Crusher).
10. I dislike it when we take Liv bowling and you coach her too much on how to throw the ball.
11. I like it that you love me as is. I am more "me" around you than with anyone else. It is a luxury to be understood so well and loved anyway. I'm sorry for all the times that I get skittish and argumentative. I am not really meant for this co-habiting thing and I know that you put up with a lot.
11. I dislike it when you try to "help" me when I have a problem at work. I know that you are a problem solver, but sometimes I just need a shoulder to lean on, not an answer to my problem. I can figure out my own job.
And lastly,
12. I like it when you offer to beat up people for me. I know you are a non-violent person and gentle as a lamb, but you look so fierce and protective. It honestly gives me goose bumps.
12. I dislike it when...well...no more disliking. I'm glad you're here. Honest. Thank you.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Love (and TV) will keep us together.
I used to be one of those people who never watched TV. I mean it. I just didn't get into it. Neither did Bing. She was more interested in working out and being a workaholic. I was a reader.
Then came The Sopranos. When it first began, we weren't partners, but we used to watch it together over the phone. From the first strains of the opening song
You woke up this morning
Got Yourself a Gun
Mama Always said you'd be
The Chosen One...
Yeah...hooked.
Both of us. Bad.
And now tomorrow starts the last season of The Sopranos. No more Tony and Carm? I frackin' love them. What is gonna happen to A.J? I need to know if he takes up his father's business. How about Silvio and Paulie? I love those guys. Is Meadow going to be okay? I only hope that I can figure it all out before this show ends.
It does occur to me that I am too totally involved with TV character's lives.
But, unfortunately, it doesn't end there. Bing and I have our separate favorite shows. (She likes this one called Nip/Tuck that I have always found to be really boring. She will watch anything with a motorcycle in it. She is also a channel hopper and that has caused more than one fight. I mean find something and stay with it, willya? Do you have the attention span of a gnat?)
I like Survivor. There. I said it. I have had more than one person ask me if I really want to be THAT low on the television totem pole.
Yes, I do. I like Survivor. I can't help it. And I have no excuse. I am not usually into watching people eat bugs or starve, but hey...it's um...entertainment.
But, we also have our shared shows. We actually buy treats for ourselves toshove into our mouths with both hands, eyes on the TV screen eat while we watch. This is probably why I cannot lose those 7 pounds that I've managed to slap on since Christmas. Bing works out, so she can get away with eating pizza at 9 p.m. I don't work out. I take long walks. Somehow, I suspect that this isn't going to burn up ice cream calories.
We like Lost. 30 Rock. The Amazing Race. The Wire. Heroes. Battlestar Galactica. And now, as if we aren't addicted enough, we have added Raines to our list of favorites. Mostly, I like it because I will watch anything with Jeff Goldblum in it. ANYTHING. Bing likes the computer graphics on the opening credits.
But, The Sopranos is still our best.
How can you not love Tony Soprano?
When you woke up this morning
When you woke up this morning
When you woke up this morning
When you woke up this morning
You got yourself a gun.....
And...let's see, a message for the peeper: No, I don't lay awake nights. Why the hell would I? I'm not the peeper. You are.
Then came The Sopranos. When it first began, we weren't partners, but we used to watch it together over the phone. From the first strains of the opening song
You woke up this morning
Got Yourself a Gun
Mama Always said you'd be
The Chosen One...
Yeah...hooked.
Both of us. Bad.
And now tomorrow starts the last season of The Sopranos. No more Tony and Carm? I frackin' love them. What is gonna happen to A.J? I need to know if he takes up his father's business. How about Silvio and Paulie? I love those guys. Is Meadow going to be okay? I only hope that I can figure it all out before this show ends.
It does occur to me that I am too totally involved with TV character's lives.
But, unfortunately, it doesn't end there. Bing and I have our separate favorite shows. (She likes this one called Nip/Tuck that I have always found to be really boring. She will watch anything with a motorcycle in it. She is also a channel hopper and that has caused more than one fight. I mean find something and stay with it, willya? Do you have the attention span of a gnat?)
I like Survivor. There. I said it. I have had more than one person ask me if I really want to be THAT low on the television totem pole.
Yes, I do. I like Survivor. I can't help it. And I have no excuse. I am not usually into watching people eat bugs or starve, but hey...it's um...entertainment.
But, we also have our shared shows. We actually buy treats for ourselves to
We like Lost. 30 Rock. The Amazing Race. The Wire. Heroes. Battlestar Galactica. And now, as if we aren't addicted enough, we have added Raines to our list of favorites. Mostly, I like it because I will watch anything with Jeff Goldblum in it. ANYTHING. Bing likes the computer graphics on the opening credits.
But, The Sopranos is still our best.
How can you not love Tony Soprano?
When you woke up this morning
When you woke up this morning
When you woke up this morning
When you woke up this morning
You got yourself a gun.....
And...let's see, a message for the peeper: No, I don't lay awake nights. Why the hell would I? I'm not the peeper. You are.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
If You Give A Moose A Muffin...
If you give Bing a square of bathroom tile she will probably want to go to the custom tile store to match it.
You'll arrive there and the salesman will spend twenty minutes telling you that not only is your tile square not available anymore (vintage 50's...could probably sell it on e-bay for some big bucks he says), but that it is not floor tile, but wall tile.
Bing will want to tear the entire bathroom floor tile out and replace it. You'll have to look at three hundred and seventy two styles. She will only like those that cost at least 5 bucks a square.
You'll settle for a dark gray granite floor tile that is so expensive that you have to keep swallowing hard or else you know you will start screaming.
Bing will not want to contact anyone to help her with the tile as she has seen someone do it before and is confident that it will be "a snap."
You are sweating profusely at this point, but manage to nod weakly.
On the way home, Bing will suggest that you swing by this nice little remodeling parts store that she saw once.
You will go in and she will immediately see a pedestal sink that she wants more than anything. This will require that she tear out the entire vanity that is still in your bathroom. You have no idea what is behind this wall, but suspect that it is not tiles that will match the rest of the half wall of them.
Bing has never done this before either. She and the saleswoman will talk a long time about how to replace a sink and how to re-do the drywall behind the current vanity. The saleswoman will say things like, "You have to be careful not to hit too hard with the sledgehammer and mess up the plumbing in the wall." Bing will nod sagely. You will begin to shiver uncontrollably when you remember how she actually did that several years ago when she offered to help you hang a cabinet in your bathroom. This was before you were partners and you still feel mad just thinking about how much money she cost you.
Bing will talk you into buying the pedestal sink. Then, on the way out of the store, she will notice a shower door that she likes so much better than the one that you currently own. She says, "Why not just do it? Why not just replace everything while we are at it? I mean, it won't cost that much more."
You will begin laughing in a very high pitched voice that sounds like Lisa Simpson on crack.
She will agree to skip buying the shower door because she recognizes the sound of a woman slowly losing her mind and it sort of scares the shit out of her.
You will get home and she will set the tile samples you brought home with you on the bathroom floor and then she will go on the computer and start playing some stupid game.
You will stand in the bathroom staring at those tiles and know that the snow will probably be flying again before she finishes this up. You will feel the hackles begin to rise on the back of your neck and just for a minute, you will look in at her playing her game on the computer and sort of want to kill her with the new sledgehammer that she bought. Then, there is that wet saw. That could work too.
So...if you give Bing a tile....she is probably going to want to go to the custom tile store to see if she can match it.
You'll arrive there and the salesman will spend twenty minutes telling you that not only is your tile square not available anymore (vintage 50's...could probably sell it on e-bay for some big bucks he says), but that it is not floor tile, but wall tile.
Bing will want to tear the entire bathroom floor tile out and replace it. You'll have to look at three hundred and seventy two styles. She will only like those that cost at least 5 bucks a square.
You'll settle for a dark gray granite floor tile that is so expensive that you have to keep swallowing hard or else you know you will start screaming.
Bing will not want to contact anyone to help her with the tile as she has seen someone do it before and is confident that it will be "a snap."
You are sweating profusely at this point, but manage to nod weakly.
On the way home, Bing will suggest that you swing by this nice little remodeling parts store that she saw once.
You will go in and she will immediately see a pedestal sink that she wants more than anything. This will require that she tear out the entire vanity that is still in your bathroom. You have no idea what is behind this wall, but suspect that it is not tiles that will match the rest of the half wall of them.
Bing has never done this before either. She and the saleswoman will talk a long time about how to replace a sink and how to re-do the drywall behind the current vanity. The saleswoman will say things like, "You have to be careful not to hit too hard with the sledgehammer and mess up the plumbing in the wall." Bing will nod sagely. You will begin to shiver uncontrollably when you remember how she actually did that several years ago when she offered to help you hang a cabinet in your bathroom. This was before you were partners and you still feel mad just thinking about how much money she cost you.
Bing will talk you into buying the pedestal sink. Then, on the way out of the store, she will notice a shower door that she likes so much better than the one that you currently own. She says, "Why not just do it? Why not just replace everything while we are at it? I mean, it won't cost that much more."
You will begin laughing in a very high pitched voice that sounds like Lisa Simpson on crack.
She will agree to skip buying the shower door because she recognizes the sound of a woman slowly losing her mind and it sort of scares the shit out of her.
You will get home and she will set the tile samples you brought home with you on the bathroom floor and then she will go on the computer and start playing some stupid game.
You will stand in the bathroom staring at those tiles and know that the snow will probably be flying again before she finishes this up. You will feel the hackles begin to rise on the back of your neck and just for a minute, you will look in at her playing her game on the computer and sort of want to kill her with the new sledgehammer that she bought. Then, there is that wet saw. That could work too.
So...if you give Bing a tile....she is probably going to want to go to the custom tile store to see if she can match it.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
The Tooth Fairy
She doesn't come to our house anymore, although Liv still has a couple of teeth left to lose.
When Liv lost her first tooth (on her first day of kindergarten!), her teacher put the tooth in a special case and told her to leave it for the "tooth fairy."
Liv asked her who exactly the tooth fairy was. Miss Gino, a seasoned teacher, went into a little story about a fairy who flies into your room after you are asleep with your tooth under your pillow. This fairy takes your tooth home to put into her tooth collection and leaves you a gift in exchange.
When I went to pick Liv up, Miss Gino told me that she had told Liv the tooth fairy story, hoped that was okay?
I said sure.
We arrived home. Liv seemed happy, called all the relatives to tell them the news. But, at bedtime, she suddenly became clingy and scared.
I, oh wise maternal one figured that she was scared of the tooth fairy and asked her why this was.
"Well, how would you like some old woman sneaking into your room in the middle of the night when you are sleeping and sliding her hand under YOUR pillow to get a tooth?" she asked. "And what's with her anyway? Why does she collect children's teeth?"
She had a point.
I mean, no...I would not like some old woman (albeit a fairy woman) coming into my bedroom while I was sleeping and slipping a hand under my pillow to nab my tooth.
She was right. What kind of a nut job collects children's teeth?
I told Liv right there and then that it was a fairy tale and not true. That your parents are supposed to pretend to be a fairy and do this. But, that she was not to ruin the experience for children who believed.
Even at five, she understood and thought that was fine. Her main concern then was that she wouldn't get a gift.
I told her that I'd give her a quarter for every tooth she lost. She agreed.
As I was walking out of the room, she called out, "So, I'm just checking. Is Santa real?"
Yes, I said. He is. Was that okay with her?
"Well, as long as he stays downstairs and leaves my teeth alone," she answered.
I love this child.
When Liv lost her first tooth (on her first day of kindergarten!), her teacher put the tooth in a special case and told her to leave it for the "tooth fairy."
Liv asked her who exactly the tooth fairy was. Miss Gino, a seasoned teacher, went into a little story about a fairy who flies into your room after you are asleep with your tooth under your pillow. This fairy takes your tooth home to put into her tooth collection and leaves you a gift in exchange.
When I went to pick Liv up, Miss Gino told me that she had told Liv the tooth fairy story, hoped that was okay?
I said sure.
We arrived home. Liv seemed happy, called all the relatives to tell them the news. But, at bedtime, she suddenly became clingy and scared.
I, oh wise maternal one figured that she was scared of the tooth fairy and asked her why this was.
"Well, how would you like some old woman sneaking into your room in the middle of the night when you are sleeping and sliding her hand under YOUR pillow to get a tooth?" she asked. "And what's with her anyway? Why does she collect children's teeth?"
She had a point.
I mean, no...I would not like some old woman (albeit a fairy woman) coming into my bedroom while I was sleeping and slipping a hand under my pillow to nab my tooth.
She was right. What kind of a nut job collects children's teeth?
I told Liv right there and then that it was a fairy tale and not true. That your parents are supposed to pretend to be a fairy and do this. But, that she was not to ruin the experience for children who believed.
Even at five, she understood and thought that was fine. Her main concern then was that she wouldn't get a gift.
I told her that I'd give her a quarter for every tooth she lost. She agreed.
As I was walking out of the room, she called out, "So, I'm just checking. Is Santa real?"
Yes, I said. He is. Was that okay with her?
"Well, as long as he stays downstairs and leaves my teeth alone," she answered.
I love this child.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Flying underpants, taxes, high school, surprise remodelings
Well, the underpants thing alone will get me some big naughty hits.
This actually happened. This morning.
I was in the basement getting clothes out of the washing machine. Bing was on the treadmill. A pair of my underpants was stuck inside the washer. I tugged and twisted and finally got them loose.
But. They went flying out of my hands and literally hit Bing squarely in the face. She calmly removed them and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Um, foreplay?" she asked, coyly.
Now, I will hear about that incident over and over again and unfortunately, Bing will think that our friends need to hear it too.
Bing and Liv are off school for Spring Break this week, so Bing promised to do our taxes. To my amazement, she didn't start them on April 14th, but was actually working on them last night and finished them this afternoon. JOY! I just like having them done. All that is left is my Jane Hancock and they are a memory. Well, sort of a sad memory. 2006 was not our best year financially.....
Liv and I went shopping after lunch to the art store. She's been saving up her allowance for modeling clay and poster paper. Being VERY mysterious about it's use. I suspect that it is for mother's day. She DID ask me if I was "into" necklaces. So, I am guessing a clay necklace since I notice that she filched the floss too.
When we came home, to mycomplete and utter horror surprise, Bing had ripped up the floor in the main bathroom and was smiling up at me, thinking that I would be pleased.
"We had talked about doing this and since I am home all week, I thought I'd get it done now. I am thinking some gray tiles instead of the black and white. What do you think?" she said.
I didn't know what to say. I know that home remodeling is a part of ownership. I just don't know how I feel about Bing doing it.
She is um...very good at starting things and then famous for losing interest and not finishing things for months.
I smiled weakly and said carefully, "And this will be finished this week?"
She grinned. "Wellllll, I hope so. That is the plan anyway."
The plan. Like the plan where she tore out the lilac bushes in front of our bedroom window to put in rose bushes. The lilac bushes are history, but the rose bushes have yet to even be purchased. The plan where she helped with the vegetable garden. She has never set foot in that garden. It is my baby and will be my baby until Liv has one at this rate. The plan where she combed the internet for a new fender for the truck to save us money when I wrecked it. The truck STILL has a bashed in front fender.
Plans. She has lots and lots of plans.
This house was a fixer upper when it was purchased when Liv was a toddler. It is STILL a fixer upper. Several windows have been replaced. Not all. ALL need to be replaced. Our house was remodeled once in the 70's. It still looks like Marcia Brady lives here. There is black and red shag carpeting in the basement. The office that I am writing in right now? It has that faux wood paneling on the walls that was all the rage when Elvis was just getting fat.
I am looking around for that prozac right now. One week. Yeah, that's me you hear laughing like a hyena. It's either that or cry.
And lastly...high school. I get an e-mail from my little sister, Jessie, this morning. There is a picture of some old guy in gym shorts, sporting a bald spot, playing basketball. Under the picture, she has typed the sentence, "Guess who this man is? Hint: You liked him a lot when you wore a Catholic girl's school uniform."
Okaayy. I sat there staring at that older man. Who the hell was he? No idea. And if I had a Catholic girl's uniform on, that would be high school.
The banner in the gym where the guy is playing basketball with a lot of other old guys says ALUMNI SPORTS FUNDRAISER!
Okay...so alumni.
I still can't figure out who it is.
I call her. She laughs.
"Maria! It's Nick Micharls!"
Nick? The guy I dated in high school? For THREE years?
But, he was this vain, good looking guy who pretty much begged for some paradise by the dashboard light during our whole dating experience.
He never got any. Okay, he got to third base. ONCE. Most of the time, he settled for steamed up windows and petulantly kept telling me I was giving him "blue balls."
Now, he looks like ....well, sort of like Michael Caine.
AM I THAT OLD?
Apparently, I am. Because we were the same age. Jessie said that he was married and childless. That his wife was really nice but he ran around on her and cheated a lot. They live in the same small town that I grew up in: a very small Iowa town. Jessie still lives there, so she knows all the gossip. She knows that he cheated on his wife. As I said, it is a small town. The whole town knows that he cheated on her. She probably knows too.
Jessie says, "Aren't you glad you didn't marry him?"
Well, yeah. That goes without saying. I still think on most days (especially when my bathroom is being remodeled without my consent) that I should have remained unattached. I was always a bad romance dancer. And not just with men. I never was any big catch with women either. I am not a team player, as a rule. I am set in my ways, like my privacy, am not particularly romantic. I don't think I am a good role model for a wife. I do my best, but I lack that ability to share myself completely. Bing knows this and puts up with it as best she can.
But, I never thought of myself as THAT old before. I mean, this guy looked OLD to me.
I am 48. So, he is 49.
I showed the picture to Bing. Asked her what she thought.
"He kind of looks like Michael Caine," she said. "Did you ever tell him that he was barking up the wrong tree with you?"
No, I never did. But, it is a small town, as I said. I'm sure he knows now. And he is probably thinking, "Wow. THAT is why she never let me nail her in the back of my chevy."
No, I never let him because I was trained by my mother from birth to never let a boy touch you...THERE.
But, still...man, dude. He looked so....so...old.
I am still stuck on that.
It took me back to high school. What were y'all like? I was never in the popular group, I was in the smart group. I dated guys who were on the fringes of the popular group, mostly athletes. I have said before that I was like Hermione Granger and that is true. I tried out for cheerleader because my mother made me. I didn't even come close to making it. I was in the school plays. I stunk at all sports. Mostly, I just got A's and hung around with other girls like me.
I remember that feeling of wanting to leave to go to college so badly. Just to be able to leave my little town. I wanted to experience what is what like to be a rebel. I did that in college. There is probably not a drug that I didn't try. Many, many nights were spent dancing with lampshades on my head. I finally got my shit together when I was a junior in college. By that time, I was far more Courtney Love than Hermione Granger, though.
I didn't really turn my life around until I was a career girl and bringing in some serious big bucks. Out of college. Then, I was sort of a cross between Stevie Nicks, Hermione Granger and Courtney Love. I could do it all. I did it all. With pleasure.
By the time Liv arrived on the scene, I was back in my own skin. In my 40's. That is how long it took, but I got there. Now, I am a mix of all those women and me. And I like her. It has taken a long time for me to say that I like myself, so you have to just let me get all gushy about it from time to time.
But, that picture...good hell. Boy howdy. It took me away. Back to the days of the screen door slamming and Mary's dress waving. Back to dancing on prom night to Nights in White Satin. Back to let me sleep on it, baby, baby, let me sleep on it....and I'll give you an answer in the morning.....
So...let's call this blog piece: stream of consciousness shit. Yeah. And now, excuse me, I need to go take a long look at my 48 year old self in the mirror.
This actually happened. This morning.
I was in the basement getting clothes out of the washing machine. Bing was on the treadmill. A pair of my underpants was stuck inside the washer. I tugged and twisted and finally got them loose.
But. They went flying out of my hands and literally hit Bing squarely in the face. She calmly removed them and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Um, foreplay?" she asked, coyly.
Now, I will hear about that incident over and over again and unfortunately, Bing will think that our friends need to hear it too.
Bing and Liv are off school for Spring Break this week, so Bing promised to do our taxes. To my amazement, she didn't start them on April 14th, but was actually working on them last night and finished them this afternoon. JOY! I just like having them done. All that is left is my Jane Hancock and they are a memory. Well, sort of a sad memory. 2006 was not our best year financially.....
Liv and I went shopping after lunch to the art store. She's been saving up her allowance for modeling clay and poster paper. Being VERY mysterious about it's use. I suspect that it is for mother's day. She DID ask me if I was "into" necklaces. So, I am guessing a clay necklace since I notice that she filched the floss too.
When we came home, to my
"We had talked about doing this and since I am home all week, I thought I'd get it done now. I am thinking some gray tiles instead of the black and white. What do you think?" she said.
I didn't know what to say. I know that home remodeling is a part of ownership. I just don't know how I feel about Bing doing it.
She is um...very good at starting things and then famous for losing interest and not finishing things for months.
I smiled weakly and said carefully, "And this will be finished this week?"
She grinned. "Wellllll, I hope so. That is the plan anyway."
The plan. Like the plan where she tore out the lilac bushes in front of our bedroom window to put in rose bushes. The lilac bushes are history, but the rose bushes have yet to even be purchased. The plan where she helped with the vegetable garden. She has never set foot in that garden. It is my baby and will be my baby until Liv has one at this rate. The plan where she combed the internet for a new fender for the truck to save us money when I wrecked it. The truck STILL has a bashed in front fender.
Plans. She has lots and lots of plans.
This house was a fixer upper when it was purchased when Liv was a toddler. It is STILL a fixer upper. Several windows have been replaced. Not all. ALL need to be replaced. Our house was remodeled once in the 70's. It still looks like Marcia Brady lives here. There is black and red shag carpeting in the basement. The office that I am writing in right now? It has that faux wood paneling on the walls that was all the rage when Elvis was just getting fat.
I am looking around for that prozac right now. One week. Yeah, that's me you hear laughing like a hyena. It's either that or cry.
And lastly...high school. I get an e-mail from my little sister, Jessie, this morning. There is a picture of some old guy in gym shorts, sporting a bald spot, playing basketball. Under the picture, she has typed the sentence, "Guess who this man is? Hint: You liked him a lot when you wore a Catholic girl's school uniform."
Okaayy. I sat there staring at that older man. Who the hell was he? No idea. And if I had a Catholic girl's uniform on, that would be high school.
The banner in the gym where the guy is playing basketball with a lot of other old guys says ALUMNI SPORTS FUNDRAISER!
Okay...so alumni.
I still can't figure out who it is.
I call her. She laughs.
"Maria! It's Nick Micharls!"
Nick? The guy I dated in high school? For THREE years?
But, he was this vain, good looking guy who pretty much begged for some paradise by the dashboard light during our whole dating experience.
He never got any. Okay, he got to third base. ONCE. Most of the time, he settled for steamed up windows and petulantly kept telling me I was giving him "blue balls."
Now, he looks like ....well, sort of like Michael Caine.
AM I THAT OLD?
Apparently, I am. Because we were the same age. Jessie said that he was married and childless. That his wife was really nice but he ran around on her and cheated a lot. They live in the same small town that I grew up in: a very small Iowa town. Jessie still lives there, so she knows all the gossip. She knows that he cheated on his wife. As I said, it is a small town. The whole town knows that he cheated on her. She probably knows too.
Jessie says, "Aren't you glad you didn't marry him?"
Well, yeah. That goes without saying. I still think on most days (especially when my bathroom is being remodeled without my consent) that I should have remained unattached. I was always a bad romance dancer. And not just with men. I never was any big catch with women either. I am not a team player, as a rule. I am set in my ways, like my privacy, am not particularly romantic. I don't think I am a good role model for a wife. I do my best, but I lack that ability to share myself completely. Bing knows this and puts up with it as best she can.
But, I never thought of myself as THAT old before. I mean, this guy looked OLD to me.
I am 48. So, he is 49.
I showed the picture to Bing. Asked her what she thought.
"He kind of looks like Michael Caine," she said. "Did you ever tell him that he was barking up the wrong tree with you?"
No, I never did. But, it is a small town, as I said. I'm sure he knows now. And he is probably thinking, "Wow. THAT is why she never let me nail her in the back of my chevy."
No, I never let him because I was trained by my mother from birth to never let a boy touch you...THERE.
But, still...man, dude. He looked so....so...old.
I am still stuck on that.
It took me back to high school. What were y'all like? I was never in the popular group, I was in the smart group. I dated guys who were on the fringes of the popular group, mostly athletes. I have said before that I was like Hermione Granger and that is true. I tried out for cheerleader because my mother made me. I didn't even come close to making it. I was in the school plays. I stunk at all sports. Mostly, I just got A's and hung around with other girls like me.
I remember that feeling of wanting to leave to go to college so badly. Just to be able to leave my little town. I wanted to experience what is what like to be a rebel. I did that in college. There is probably not a drug that I didn't try. Many, many nights were spent dancing with lampshades on my head. I finally got my shit together when I was a junior in college. By that time, I was far more Courtney Love than Hermione Granger, though.
I didn't really turn my life around until I was a career girl and bringing in some serious big bucks. Out of college. Then, I was sort of a cross between Stevie Nicks, Hermione Granger and Courtney Love. I could do it all. I did it all. With pleasure.
By the time Liv arrived on the scene, I was back in my own skin. In my 40's. That is how long it took, but I got there. Now, I am a mix of all those women and me. And I like her. It has taken a long time for me to say that I like myself, so you have to just let me get all gushy about it from time to time.
But, that picture...good hell. Boy howdy. It took me away. Back to the days of the screen door slamming and Mary's dress waving. Back to dancing on prom night to Nights in White Satin. Back to let me sleep on it, baby, baby, let me sleep on it....and I'll give you an answer in the morning.....
So...let's call this blog piece: stream of consciousness shit. Yeah. And now, excuse me, I need to go take a long look at my 48 year old self in the mirror.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)