I bought some new lipstick a few days ago (Almay Wine). I generally just wear clear lip gloss, but felt like living a little dangerously.
I wore it yesterday when I went to my first parent meeting at Liv's school. Bing, who had managed to weasel out of it by offering to babysit Liv, saw me as I was getting ready to leave and wolf whistled.
"Well, don't you look alluring. Loookkkiiinnn goooodddd, babe."
Liv was doing her homework at the kitchen table. "What does alluring mean?" she asked me as I bent to kiss her goodbye.
"It means that Bing thinks I look pretty," I said, in a hurry, making sure that I had my keys, etc.
I left and didn't think a thing about it.
Today when I went to pick Liv up at at school, I got there a little early and was observing the class. I plan to do a whole blog about her teacher, Ms. Pari, because while she has only taught Liv for five days, I can tell that we are both gonna love her. She is blog worthy.
But, today.....I was sitting in a chair as she helped the children gather their books. She walked over to me and her long red braids nearly fell on my shoulder as she whispered, "Hey, do you have a sec?"
I did.
She was trying not to smile. "I just wanted you to know that today I got quite a nice compliment from Liv," she began.
I smiled. Waited.
"She walked in the door and told me that I looked very alluring today..."
We both laughed. I told her about Bing's comment last night and she nodded, said she figured that Liv must have heard it like that. I said that I would clarify the word for Liv. She said she would appreciate that...not that she didn't appreciate knowing that she looked alluring, but from an eight year old????
So, not only can I not hear properly, I also know now that I need to be very careful with proper definitions.......
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Another reason to get a hearing aid, part two.
Liv and I are in the car driving her to school this morning.
She is listening to the classical station, something she likes to do on the way to school. A song comes on with a piercing melody.
Liv looks at me and says, "Bing told me that you used to play sex with her sometimes."
Yeah, that was me choking on my cuban coffee.
I give her a look. I'm trying to decide what to say.
Liv goes on. "She said that you weren't very good at it, but that you tried really hard to learn and she thought that was really cool."
I carefully put my coffee in the cup holder and turn to look at Liv at a stop light.
"Honey, I am not sure what you mean by "playing sex."
Liv looks at me with big eyes.
"I said SAX, Mama!"
OH!
I sputter and eventually say something totally stupid about the fact that I did try to learn to play the saxophone, but I got tired of all that blowing and my mouth just wasn't suited to it.
Liv is quiet for a moment and then (of course) she says, What exactly is sex?"
She is eight. I swear to god that I am going out to buy a hearing aid tomorrow.
Luckily, we had pulled into her school parking lot and I told her we would discuss it tonight.
After I got Liv safely delivered to her classroom, I called Bing and told her what happened.
She thought it was quite funny. She said she would bring a sax home tonight from school. She offered to play it in the background while I had my talk about sex with Liv.
I called her a toad and hung up on her.
So, I spent the afternoon carefully planning on what to say to Liv, pondering how much she could deal with at her age, etc.
And she hasn't said a word, except to ask me to "pass the man."
I looked blankly at her. Bing repeated. "Honey, she asked you to pass the ham..."
Oh. Of course.
Good hell. Hold on. This could be a bumpy night.....
She is listening to the classical station, something she likes to do on the way to school. A song comes on with a piercing melody.
Liv looks at me and says, "Bing told me that you used to play sex with her sometimes."
Yeah, that was me choking on my cuban coffee.
I give her a look. I'm trying to decide what to say.
Liv goes on. "She said that you weren't very good at it, but that you tried really hard to learn and she thought that was really cool."
I carefully put my coffee in the cup holder and turn to look at Liv at a stop light.
"Honey, I am not sure what you mean by "playing sex."
Liv looks at me with big eyes.
"I said SAX, Mama!"
OH!
I sputter and eventually say something totally stupid about the fact that I did try to learn to play the saxophone, but I got tired of all that blowing and my mouth just wasn't suited to it.
Liv is quiet for a moment and then (of course) she says, What exactly is sex?"
She is eight. I swear to god that I am going out to buy a hearing aid tomorrow.
Luckily, we had pulled into her school parking lot and I told her we would discuss it tonight.
After I got Liv safely delivered to her classroom, I called Bing and told her what happened.
She thought it was quite funny. She said she would bring a sax home tonight from school. She offered to play it in the background while I had my talk about sex with Liv.
I called her a toad and hung up on her.
So, I spent the afternoon carefully planning on what to say to Liv, pondering how much she could deal with at her age, etc.
And she hasn't said a word, except to ask me to "pass the man."
I looked blankly at her. Bing repeated. "Honey, she asked you to pass the ham..."
Oh. Of course.
Good hell. Hold on. This could be a bumpy night.....
Monday, August 27, 2007
School's back in session.
Well, this marks the first full week of school. I honestly thought it would never get here. I don't care what Liv says, she is ready to go back. Or should be. She drove me nearly insane for most of August, following me around, complaining that she was bored.
My dear sainted Irish mother had a cure for boredom: cleaning closets. We didn't DARE say we were bored around her because we knew that we would be assigned that chore if we did. I'm a bit looser with Liv. She didn't have to clean closets, although I did give her just enough chores (snapping beans, popping peas, cleaning her toy box) to make sure that she thought twice before complaining too much.
I feel as if I spent every day of August driving to pick up friends (she has none in our neighborhood, we seem to be afloat in older people, young marrieds or those with older children) clear across town and then supervising them while they baked cookies or made a huge kitchen mess with paints. Liv doesn't much like going over to friend's homes, she much prefers to have friends over here, so I didn't get too many breaks.
So, now it all starts. For me too. I teach a night class at the local college one night a week. I step up my freelance work. I also volunteer several hours a week at Liv's school. Our lives have just gone from lazy-hazy-days-of-summer to jump-into-the-fire.
It is time for a change. I'm not too excited about making lunches every morning or attending those asinine parent meetings where some parent goes into her cheerleading role of asking us all to come to school dressed in costumes for Halloween ( "Wouldn't that just be a HOOT and a half for our kids to see mommy and daddy dressed up as the little mermaid and Jack Sparrow at school!!!" No. It. Would. Not.)
While I don't mind volunteering and I actually think we all should do it if we can, I have problems with school politics, in general. I never seem to deal much with dads. It is usually the moms. And there are a few that stand out every year:
Her Shit Doesn't Stink Mom.
This mom gives both Liv and I the once-over look when we walk into the building. Are we dressed in name brand clothing? And if not, why not? She got up at 4 in the morning to get those tickets to Hannah Montana and her daughter gets to pick 3 of her closest friends to attend with her. And just who will those lucky three be? Well, if Liv doesn't come to school dressed better, we can be assured that it will not be her.
May I Make A Suggestion? Mom.
She fancies herself to be Hermione Granger. She is not nearly as likable. She is merely the mom who happens to notice that Liv had tears in her eyes saying goodbye to me. She would like to suggest that I stop escorting Liv to her classroom, maybe just drop her off at the front door so she can "toughen up" a little ("I mean, she IS going into third grade, isn't she? I could see if she was a kindergartener....")
Barbie is a Working Mom.
She wears Prada and Chanel suits. Her heels clip across the halls in staccato measure.Her hair bounces in a perfect That Girl flip. She has her child's lunch in her bag and it is all precisely measured and exquisitely good for you AND attractive to look at. She never forgets to bring milk money. Her child never looks as if she ate a pop tart in the car on the way to school. After she drops her perfectly coiffed child off, she goes off to her office with the Picasso prints on the wall.
Where's The Nanny? Mom.
This mom is only seen occasionally at parent meetings. You generally just see the nanny. I really like this nanny, have seen her actually skipping with her little charge up to the school door. But, the nanny never seems to be invited to school programs. And the child looks lost. Yes, she sees her mom in the audience, but hey, she is missing the nanny, who probably helped her with her lines and all that. The mom will sometimes escort her child in to the school in the morning, rolling her eyes all the way and bitching that Lupe, the nanny, had the cheek to call in sick even though her temp was only 104.
I Have A Belly Button Piercing And I Want You To See It Mom.
This mom wears tee shirts that say I eat men like you for breakfast! She wears platform shoes and itty bitty shorts. She has, yes, a belly button ring. Her hair is carefully messy and pulled back in a clip. You smell her perfume before you see her. It wafts in about six feet in front of her. She pulls out in front of you in the parking lot and could care less if she misses you by three inches. She flirts with everyone's husbands at parent meetings.
I Tell It Like It Is Mom.
She chews gum. She likes to preface sentences with the words, "I'm not gonna pull any punches." If you have bad breath, she will tell you. Ditto if someone has talked behind your back. She has no problem telling you that her husband is a "freakin stallion." You meet him at a parent meeting and all you can think of is that his wife told you that she wouldn't kick him out of bed for eatin' crackers.You wonder what she sees in him because well...you wouldn't let him touch your bed with an oar.
I Am A Liberal And It Is Okay That You Are A Lesbian, In Fact Will You Come To My Next Party So I Can Introduce You As My Lesbian Friend? Mom.
This one comes right up to you and tells you that she thinks it is great that you are a lesbian. That diversity rules. At first, you are relieved. Whew. One person who won't judge you. Good to know. After awhile, you realize that she knows exactly zilch about you, yet she tells everyone that you are "great pals." This, you realize, is the equivalent of a fag hag. This is a lesbian hanger onner. She wouldn't bother with you if you were straight. She only likes to use you as an ornament to pull out to impress her friends and family. She knows a lesbian!
IQ Is Everything Mom.
She and her husband have high IQ's. So does her little Judy. Or Jeremy. That is why they are paying the big bucks to send their child to Montessori. Not because it is progressive and a great school, but because their child's IQ is simply too huge to be imprisoned in public school. This kid's brain must be nurtured like a very fragile flower. She will often know her exact IQ and ask what yours is. If you really want to fuck with her head, you smile and say that Mensa is for babies, that is how big your IQ is.
Desperado Mom.
She worries excessively that her child will not have friends. So, she waits in the hall and tries to grab yours as you walk in. She leaps up and says things like, "Hi, LIV! Janie brought skittles to share with everyone at lunch! So, be sure that you sit by her, okay?" This mom carefully checks out what everyone is wearing and sees that her daughter wears exact replicas of those clothes of the children she thinks she should befriend. The sad thing is that often her child is a really sweet kid and would do just fine if her mother would just let up a little. You just know that the ride home from school is peppered with questions like, "Did someone pick you to be their partner for gym?" or "Did you make sure to bring out that jump rope at recess? Did all the girls talk to you?"
The All-Natural Mom.
I actually don't mind these moms so much, as long as they are the live and let live types. Some are. Some aren't. The ones who aren't get very angry if your child sits by their child and dares to eat meat. They bring soy milk to school and look horrified if they see your child drinking cow's milk. They say that chocolate is fine, but ONLY very dark chocolate. They question the school policy of using Windex to clean the windows. Do we really need all those chemicals? Can't we switch over to vinegar to clean? Maybe lemon juice? I always wish that I had a pack of smokes around them, not because I smoke (I quit decades ago), but because I am just THAT mean spirited.
Maria's Favorite Moms.
They would not be caught dead wearing a little mermaid costume to their child's school halloween party. They sometimes have to drive through McDonald's on the way to school to pick up an egg mcmuffin for their child to eat in the car on the way to school. They don't know their IQ. They have been guilty of wearing pjs to school when they drop their kids off once or twice. And okay...so ONCE, just ONCE they accidentally put a dog crunchee in their child's lunch. Hey, they were barely awake when they packed that lunch because they sat up until 3 a.m. working on that project for work and okay, okay....the dog got the oreo and their child got the milkbone. It was an ACCIDENT. These moms are nuts about their kids, but they are savvy too. They know that no child or parent is perfect and that we all try to do the best we can.
I guess I'll see them all at the parent meeting this week. I'll be the one sitting in the back row and ducking my head when they ask for volunteers to come help the children make bird houses out of popsicle sticks.
My dear sainted Irish mother had a cure for boredom: cleaning closets. We didn't DARE say we were bored around her because we knew that we would be assigned that chore if we did. I'm a bit looser with Liv. She didn't have to clean closets, although I did give her just enough chores (snapping beans, popping peas, cleaning her toy box) to make sure that she thought twice before complaining too much.
I feel as if I spent every day of August driving to pick up friends (she has none in our neighborhood, we seem to be afloat in older people, young marrieds or those with older children) clear across town and then supervising them while they baked cookies or made a huge kitchen mess with paints. Liv doesn't much like going over to friend's homes, she much prefers to have friends over here, so I didn't get too many breaks.
So, now it all starts. For me too. I teach a night class at the local college one night a week. I step up my freelance work. I also volunteer several hours a week at Liv's school. Our lives have just gone from lazy-hazy-days-of-summer to jump-into-the-fire.
It is time for a change. I'm not too excited about making lunches every morning or attending those asinine parent meetings where some parent goes into her cheerleading role of asking us all to come to school dressed in costumes for Halloween ( "Wouldn't that just be a HOOT and a half for our kids to see mommy and daddy dressed up as the little mermaid and Jack Sparrow at school!!!" No. It. Would. Not.)
While I don't mind volunteering and I actually think we all should do it if we can, I have problems with school politics, in general. I never seem to deal much with dads. It is usually the moms. And there are a few that stand out every year:
Her Shit Doesn't Stink Mom.
This mom gives both Liv and I the once-over look when we walk into the building. Are we dressed in name brand clothing? And if not, why not? She got up at 4 in the morning to get those tickets to Hannah Montana and her daughter gets to pick 3 of her closest friends to attend with her. And just who will those lucky three be? Well, if Liv doesn't come to school dressed better, we can be assured that it will not be her.
May I Make A Suggestion? Mom.
She fancies herself to be Hermione Granger. She is not nearly as likable. She is merely the mom who happens to notice that Liv had tears in her eyes saying goodbye to me. She would like to suggest that I stop escorting Liv to her classroom, maybe just drop her off at the front door so she can "toughen up" a little ("I mean, she IS going into third grade, isn't she? I could see if she was a kindergartener....")
Barbie is a Working Mom.
She wears Prada and Chanel suits. Her heels clip across the halls in staccato measure.Her hair bounces in a perfect That Girl flip. She has her child's lunch in her bag and it is all precisely measured and exquisitely good for you AND attractive to look at. She never forgets to bring milk money. Her child never looks as if she ate a pop tart in the car on the way to school. After she drops her perfectly coiffed child off, she goes off to her office with the Picasso prints on the wall.
Where's The Nanny? Mom.
This mom is only seen occasionally at parent meetings. You generally just see the nanny. I really like this nanny, have seen her actually skipping with her little charge up to the school door. But, the nanny never seems to be invited to school programs. And the child looks lost. Yes, she sees her mom in the audience, but hey, she is missing the nanny, who probably helped her with her lines and all that. The mom will sometimes escort her child in to the school in the morning, rolling her eyes all the way and bitching that Lupe, the nanny, had the cheek to call in sick even though her temp was only 104.
I Have A Belly Button Piercing And I Want You To See It Mom.
This mom wears tee shirts that say I eat men like you for breakfast! She wears platform shoes and itty bitty shorts. She has, yes, a belly button ring. Her hair is carefully messy and pulled back in a clip. You smell her perfume before you see her. It wafts in about six feet in front of her. She pulls out in front of you in the parking lot and could care less if she misses you by three inches. She flirts with everyone's husbands at parent meetings.
I Tell It Like It Is Mom.
She chews gum. She likes to preface sentences with the words, "I'm not gonna pull any punches." If you have bad breath, she will tell you. Ditto if someone has talked behind your back. She has no problem telling you that her husband is a "freakin stallion." You meet him at a parent meeting and all you can think of is that his wife told you that she wouldn't kick him out of bed for eatin' crackers.You wonder what she sees in him because well...you wouldn't let him touch your bed with an oar.
I Am A Liberal And It Is Okay That You Are A Lesbian, In Fact Will You Come To My Next Party So I Can Introduce You As My Lesbian Friend? Mom.
This one comes right up to you and tells you that she thinks it is great that you are a lesbian. That diversity rules. At first, you are relieved. Whew. One person who won't judge you. Good to know. After awhile, you realize that she knows exactly zilch about you, yet she tells everyone that you are "great pals." This, you realize, is the equivalent of a fag hag. This is a lesbian hanger onner. She wouldn't bother with you if you were straight. She only likes to use you as an ornament to pull out to impress her friends and family. She knows a lesbian!
IQ Is Everything Mom.
She and her husband have high IQ's. So does her little Judy. Or Jeremy. That is why they are paying the big bucks to send their child to Montessori. Not because it is progressive and a great school, but because their child's IQ is simply too huge to be imprisoned in public school. This kid's brain must be nurtured like a very fragile flower. She will often know her exact IQ and ask what yours is. If you really want to fuck with her head, you smile and say that Mensa is for babies, that is how big your IQ is.
Desperado Mom.
She worries excessively that her child will not have friends. So, she waits in the hall and tries to grab yours as you walk in. She leaps up and says things like, "Hi, LIV! Janie brought skittles to share with everyone at lunch! So, be sure that you sit by her, okay?" This mom carefully checks out what everyone is wearing and sees that her daughter wears exact replicas of those clothes of the children she thinks she should befriend. The sad thing is that often her child is a really sweet kid and would do just fine if her mother would just let up a little. You just know that the ride home from school is peppered with questions like, "Did someone pick you to be their partner for gym?" or "Did you make sure to bring out that jump rope at recess? Did all the girls talk to you?"
The All-Natural Mom.
I actually don't mind these moms so much, as long as they are the live and let live types. Some are. Some aren't. The ones who aren't get very angry if your child sits by their child and dares to eat meat. They bring soy milk to school and look horrified if they see your child drinking cow's milk. They say that chocolate is fine, but ONLY very dark chocolate. They question the school policy of using Windex to clean the windows. Do we really need all those chemicals? Can't we switch over to vinegar to clean? Maybe lemon juice? I always wish that I had a pack of smokes around them, not because I smoke (I quit decades ago), but because I am just THAT mean spirited.
Maria's Favorite Moms.
They would not be caught dead wearing a little mermaid costume to their child's school halloween party. They sometimes have to drive through McDonald's on the way to school to pick up an egg mcmuffin for their child to eat in the car on the way to school. They don't know their IQ. They have been guilty of wearing pjs to school when they drop their kids off once or twice. And okay...so ONCE, just ONCE they accidentally put a dog crunchee in their child's lunch. Hey, they were barely awake when they packed that lunch because they sat up until 3 a.m. working on that project for work and okay, okay....the dog got the oreo and their child got the milkbone. It was an ACCIDENT. These moms are nuts about their kids, but they are savvy too. They know that no child or parent is perfect and that we all try to do the best we can.
I guess I'll see them all at the parent meeting this week. I'll be the one sitting in the back row and ducking my head when they ask for volunteers to come help the children make bird houses out of popsicle sticks.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Talking to the agoraphobic...Ashley steps out.
Our backyards face each other. We have a chain link fence between us. My moon flowers are out there, climbing up the fence and I go out to water them every few days. As I do, I often look into their yard.
Their names are Hamp and Ashley, the people whose back yard intersects with mine, but the neighborhood refers to them as the hippies. Hamp is the son of one of the biggest heating and air conditioning families in Omaha. He wears hemp clothing, hemp shoes, hemp everything. His hair is long and he holds it back with a hemp string. He mows his lawn with an old fashioned mower and he is a friendly guy. He doesn't work, just lives on his inheritance. His wife is named Ashley. She is agoraphobic (afraid of leaving her house). She is also afraid of air conditioners. I found this sort of funny when Hemp shared it with me one day as we were chatting over the fence.
"How did a guy like you, an heir to a heating and air conditioning company, meet a woman who is afraid of air conditioning?" I asked him.
He said that he had met her at a Grateful Dead concert, before she had phobias.
"So the phobias showed up after you married her?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. She just woke up one day and was scared of the color blue for some reason. Then, other phobias started. She became afraid to turn on the air conditioner. Eventually, she became afraid to leave the house. But, hey, we are working on that. She takes Muffy out to her playhouse now and then now."
Muffy is their cat. She is a fat gray cat. Hamp has built her a little cage in their backyard. It looks sort of like a bird sanctuary at a zoo. He built a wire cage around a small tree in their backyard, a space about 10x10 and the wire goes up over the tops of the tree. Some branches are snaking out of the wire now. It looks sort of cool and sort of spooky. Muffy goes out several times a day to play in her "playhouse." Other times, Hamp puts a leash on her and walks her around the neighborhood. When I am out walking, I sometimes run into them and I carefully do not look at Muffy. I don't want to embarrass her. It seems to me that this must be sort of demeaning for her in some way. Cats always look so insulted when they are leashed.
But, I seldom see Ashley. She is a plump, pretty woman, with long curly brown hair usually pulled up into a Sandra Dee "Tammy" ponytail. A sweaty ponytail, I bet. It gets very hot and humid here in August. I shudder to think of how hot it must get in their house.
We have what we call "Ashley sightings." Bing or Liv will come in and say in a whispery tone, "Ashley is out with Muffy!" We all peek out of the blinds as if Ashley is a pink flamingo who has suddenly turned up in our yard. We don't want to scare her or anything, but we want a good look at her.
Well, this morning, I not only saw Ashley. I spoke to her. I was out in my garden, picking tomatoes (canning starts next week) and I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It was Muffy. She was perched precariously on my fence, tail swishing. I heard a little gasp and saw Ashley standing by the playhouse, looking distraught. Her hands were making small terrified movements, as if she were blind and trying to feel her way out of a box.
I knew what had happened. Muffy had escaped her confinement. I carefully stood up and went to Muffy. She didn't move so I reached out ever so slowly and lifted her off of the fence, all the while murmuring to her, "It's okay, sweetie. It is okay...come here, now."
She went easily into my arms. I smiled at Ashley.
"I've got her!"I said happily. I held her out to her and when I saw Ashley take a tentative step forward and then two back, I realized that she couldn't come get her.
"Oh, um...hey, just...well...let me walk around and I will bring her to your front door, okay?" I said.
Ashley hesitated. And then, she said, "No, I'll come get her. Just...give me a sec, okay?"
I nodded. I stroked Muffy, who wasn't struggling. She seemed to be on a mission, just sat calmly in my arms, looking up at me with her yellow slit eyes.
Ashley took a few steps forward and then stopped. Leaned down like a runner who is out of breath and has a cramp and panted. My heart was aching for her. I started to say something like it was no bother, I would be happy to come bring her to her. Ashley held out her hand like a stop sign, still bent over, not looking at me.
I shut up and waited.
She took two more steps. She was lurching now, as if she were profoundly drunk. Her face was slick with sweat. Her eyes frantic.
One step. Another. I bit my lip. Looked down at the cat. Muffy was calm. She gazed over at Ashley with a catlike look of cunning.
And then it hit me. This cat...had done this on purpose. I know it sounds far fetched, but I suddenly knew this to be true with my whole heart. This cat was...helping her owner.
Muffy's tail switched back and forth. Ashley took one agonizing step at a time. The expression on her face was sickly. I started going over in my head what I would do if she fainted.
And then, Ashley was at the fence and I was handing over Muffy. Muffy settled into Ashley's arms and with a sweet gesture, rubbed her face up on Ashley's chin.
We stood looking at each other. Finally, I said, "Wow. You did it! I am really impressed."
Ashley smiled at me. Her face was wan and still a sickly grayish color, but there was a real smile in her eyes.
"I did, didn't I? Well, what do you know?"
I nodded again, bobbing my head in a ridiculous way that embarrassed me a little.
Ashley turned to go back to her house and I turned to go back to my garden.
Um, Maria?"
I turned around. "Yes?"
Your moon flowers are gorgeous. Sometimes their scent actually wafts into our bedroom at night.
I smiled. "I'm glad you enjoy them, Ashley," I answered.
And she went back into the house with Muffy looking at me over her shoulder, her cat paw curled possessively around her owner's neck.
I went inside with my basket of tomatoes. Bing was just getting out of the shower. Liv was watching cartoons.
I started to say something to them about an Ashley sighting, but shut my mouth.
No, this was my memory to keep to myself for awhile.
Their names are Hamp and Ashley, the people whose back yard intersects with mine, but the neighborhood refers to them as the hippies. Hamp is the son of one of the biggest heating and air conditioning families in Omaha. He wears hemp clothing, hemp shoes, hemp everything. His hair is long and he holds it back with a hemp string. He mows his lawn with an old fashioned mower and he is a friendly guy. He doesn't work, just lives on his inheritance. His wife is named Ashley. She is agoraphobic (afraid of leaving her house). She is also afraid of air conditioners. I found this sort of funny when Hemp shared it with me one day as we were chatting over the fence.
"How did a guy like you, an heir to a heating and air conditioning company, meet a woman who is afraid of air conditioning?" I asked him.
He said that he had met her at a Grateful Dead concert, before she had phobias.
"So the phobias showed up after you married her?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. She just woke up one day and was scared of the color blue for some reason. Then, other phobias started. She became afraid to turn on the air conditioner. Eventually, she became afraid to leave the house. But, hey, we are working on that. She takes Muffy out to her playhouse now and then now."
Muffy is their cat. She is a fat gray cat. Hamp has built her a little cage in their backyard. It looks sort of like a bird sanctuary at a zoo. He built a wire cage around a small tree in their backyard, a space about 10x10 and the wire goes up over the tops of the tree. Some branches are snaking out of the wire now. It looks sort of cool and sort of spooky. Muffy goes out several times a day to play in her "playhouse." Other times, Hamp puts a leash on her and walks her around the neighborhood. When I am out walking, I sometimes run into them and I carefully do not look at Muffy. I don't want to embarrass her. It seems to me that this must be sort of demeaning for her in some way. Cats always look so insulted when they are leashed.
But, I seldom see Ashley. She is a plump, pretty woman, with long curly brown hair usually pulled up into a Sandra Dee "Tammy" ponytail. A sweaty ponytail, I bet. It gets very hot and humid here in August. I shudder to think of how hot it must get in their house.
We have what we call "Ashley sightings." Bing or Liv will come in and say in a whispery tone, "Ashley is out with Muffy!" We all peek out of the blinds as if Ashley is a pink flamingo who has suddenly turned up in our yard. We don't want to scare her or anything, but we want a good look at her.
Well, this morning, I not only saw Ashley. I spoke to her. I was out in my garden, picking tomatoes (canning starts next week) and I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It was Muffy. She was perched precariously on my fence, tail swishing. I heard a little gasp and saw Ashley standing by the playhouse, looking distraught. Her hands were making small terrified movements, as if she were blind and trying to feel her way out of a box.
I knew what had happened. Muffy had escaped her confinement. I carefully stood up and went to Muffy. She didn't move so I reached out ever so slowly and lifted her off of the fence, all the while murmuring to her, "It's okay, sweetie. It is okay...come here, now."
She went easily into my arms. I smiled at Ashley.
"I've got her!"I said happily. I held her out to her and when I saw Ashley take a tentative step forward and then two back, I realized that she couldn't come get her.
"Oh, um...hey, just...well...let me walk around and I will bring her to your front door, okay?" I said.
Ashley hesitated. And then, she said, "No, I'll come get her. Just...give me a sec, okay?"
I nodded. I stroked Muffy, who wasn't struggling. She seemed to be on a mission, just sat calmly in my arms, looking up at me with her yellow slit eyes.
Ashley took a few steps forward and then stopped. Leaned down like a runner who is out of breath and has a cramp and panted. My heart was aching for her. I started to say something like it was no bother, I would be happy to come bring her to her. Ashley held out her hand like a stop sign, still bent over, not looking at me.
I shut up and waited.
She took two more steps. She was lurching now, as if she were profoundly drunk. Her face was slick with sweat. Her eyes frantic.
One step. Another. I bit my lip. Looked down at the cat. Muffy was calm. She gazed over at Ashley with a catlike look of cunning.
And then it hit me. This cat...had done this on purpose. I know it sounds far fetched, but I suddenly knew this to be true with my whole heart. This cat was...helping her owner.
Muffy's tail switched back and forth. Ashley took one agonizing step at a time. The expression on her face was sickly. I started going over in my head what I would do if she fainted.
And then, Ashley was at the fence and I was handing over Muffy. Muffy settled into Ashley's arms and with a sweet gesture, rubbed her face up on Ashley's chin.
We stood looking at each other. Finally, I said, "Wow. You did it! I am really impressed."
Ashley smiled at me. Her face was wan and still a sickly grayish color, but there was a real smile in her eyes.
"I did, didn't I? Well, what do you know?"
I nodded again, bobbing my head in a ridiculous way that embarrassed me a little.
Ashley turned to go back to her house and I turned to go back to my garden.
Um, Maria?"
I turned around. "Yes?"
Your moon flowers are gorgeous. Sometimes their scent actually wafts into our bedroom at night.
I smiled. "I'm glad you enjoy them, Ashley," I answered.
And she went back into the house with Muffy looking at me over her shoulder, her cat paw curled possessively around her owner's neck.
I went inside with my basket of tomatoes. Bing was just getting out of the shower. Liv was watching cartoons.
I started to say something to them about an Ashley sighting, but shut my mouth.
No, this was my memory to keep to myself for awhile.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
My life as a movie?
Bing and I decided to go see the movie No Reservations after not one, not two, but THREE friends said that it was basically the story of us.
I am always tricked by these things. I mean, I am thinking Well, now...so my good friends think that I look like Catherine Zeta Jones and Bing looks like Aaron Eckhart and that we have a charming little love story that is similar to this movie!
My delusions of grandeur generally go up in smoke when one friend will invariably say, "Well, no. You don't look anything like the main characters, it is just that you act like the characters. Very similiar!"
So, I think again "Okay. So, they don't think I look like Catherine. But, hey, they think I am similar to a charming character in a movie about two very good looking people who have a sweet love story!
Sounds very good on paper. Bing and I go to the movie, curious about how we could actually be similar to these characters.
And it is ALWAYS the same. Bing's character is a lovable sweetheart. A kind hearted, funny, spirited and engaging male (and yes, she is always thrown into the male character) who is not only smart, but also has a heart of gold.
And me? Well, I am the flawed character. The woman who doesn't know how to "open up" properly. The woman who has this great man in her life and is too stupid to notice. Not only is she stupid, she is just a plain bitch to be honest. She is not particularly kind. She has the warmth of a garden snake. And I don't even get the satisfaction of knowing that I look like Catherine Zeta Jones. No. That is the ONLY way that I do not resemble this character. I don't look anything like her, I just act like this cold, sort of pouty woman that she portrays. Oh, sure...she has a few good moments. But, ONLY because the Aaron Eckhart character drags them out of her with both hands. It is pretty clear that she really isn't up to him, not really. She is damn lucky that he admires her cooking skills, because, really, her personality is so cold that you could stick a carrot in place of her nose and she would be a perfect snow woman. Stick a corn cob pipe in her mouth and there you go.
Okay. She is a hard worker. In fact, that is just one of her problems, she is so caught up in her job that she misses out on the sweetness of her personal life. And again, it takes a loving child and of course, Aaron Eckhart, to show her how to really love, really be a decent, open, loving, trusting sort of woman.
We walk out of the movie and Bing is grinning. Of course she is grinning. She has just been perceived as this loving, truly good person.
I ask her in the car on the way home if she thinks I am really THAT cold. As cold as the Catherine Zeta Jones character.
She hedges.
"Well," she says..."You are sort of aloof and hard to get to know. I mean, for example, most of the neighbors don't know you that well but they all know me. And, you can be pretty hard to reach. You aren't really a lovey dovey sort of woman. Except with Liv. You are like a different person with Liv."
Hookay....I get it. I'm basically pretty cool centered. Flawed. Not good at interpersonal relationships. I tend to be aloof. Only a few of the neighbors really know me (probably because I don't go loping out of the house every time I see them outside the way that Bing does.)
I try again.
"Bing, I guess what I need to know is....am I worth it?"
She gives me a surprised look.
"Holy shit, woman. Are you being....EMOTIONALLY NEEDY? Where is my Maria? Where is my tough as nails bride?"
I tell her to shut the hell up. I am SERIOUS.
She smiles, takes my hand.
"Hey, it took you DECADES to decide to be with me and I waited around. I either thought you were worth it or I am like a total loser to just have hung around you like this begging for hand outs."
That's better. Now, I don't feel so bad.
"I do love you," I finally sputter at her.
"I know that,"she says calmly. "Right back at you, frosty."
I guess there are worse nicknames.......
I am always tricked by these things. I mean, I am thinking Well, now...so my good friends think that I look like Catherine Zeta Jones and Bing looks like Aaron Eckhart and that we have a charming little love story that is similar to this movie!
My delusions of grandeur generally go up in smoke when one friend will invariably say, "Well, no. You don't look anything like the main characters, it is just that you act like the characters. Very similiar!"
So, I think again "Okay. So, they don't think I look like Catherine. But, hey, they think I am similar to a charming character in a movie about two very good looking people who have a sweet love story!
Sounds very good on paper. Bing and I go to the movie, curious about how we could actually be similar to these characters.
And it is ALWAYS the same. Bing's character is a lovable sweetheart. A kind hearted, funny, spirited and engaging male (and yes, she is always thrown into the male character) who is not only smart, but also has a heart of gold.
And me? Well, I am the flawed character. The woman who doesn't know how to "open up" properly. The woman who has this great man in her life and is too stupid to notice. Not only is she stupid, she is just a plain bitch to be honest. She is not particularly kind. She has the warmth of a garden snake. And I don't even get the satisfaction of knowing that I look like Catherine Zeta Jones. No. That is the ONLY way that I do not resemble this character. I don't look anything like her, I just act like this cold, sort of pouty woman that she portrays. Oh, sure...she has a few good moments. But, ONLY because the Aaron Eckhart character drags them out of her with both hands. It is pretty clear that she really isn't up to him, not really. She is damn lucky that he admires her cooking skills, because, really, her personality is so cold that you could stick a carrot in place of her nose and she would be a perfect snow woman. Stick a corn cob pipe in her mouth and there you go.
Okay. She is a hard worker. In fact, that is just one of her problems, she is so caught up in her job that she misses out on the sweetness of her personal life. And again, it takes a loving child and of course, Aaron Eckhart, to show her how to really love, really be a decent, open, loving, trusting sort of woman.
We walk out of the movie and Bing is grinning. Of course she is grinning. She has just been perceived as this loving, truly good person.
I ask her in the car on the way home if she thinks I am really THAT cold. As cold as the Catherine Zeta Jones character.
She hedges.
"Well," she says..."You are sort of aloof and hard to get to know. I mean, for example, most of the neighbors don't know you that well but they all know me. And, you can be pretty hard to reach. You aren't really a lovey dovey sort of woman. Except with Liv. You are like a different person with Liv."
Hookay....I get it. I'm basically pretty cool centered. Flawed. Not good at interpersonal relationships. I tend to be aloof. Only a few of the neighbors really know me (probably because I don't go loping out of the house every time I see them outside the way that Bing does.)
I try again.
"Bing, I guess what I need to know is....am I worth it?"
She gives me a surprised look.
"Holy shit, woman. Are you being....EMOTIONALLY NEEDY? Where is my Maria? Where is my tough as nails bride?"
I tell her to shut the hell up. I am SERIOUS.
She smiles, takes my hand.
"Hey, it took you DECADES to decide to be with me and I waited around. I either thought you were worth it or I am like a total loser to just have hung around you like this begging for hand outs."
That's better. Now, I don't feel so bad.
"I do love you," I finally sputter at her.
"I know that,"she says calmly. "Right back at you, frosty."
I guess there are worse nicknames.......
Sunday, August 19, 2007
I will miss you.
Liv loves playing the piano. She is supposed to practice for twenty minutes a day, but generally practices for at least an hour daily.
And she is GOOD. She quickly surpassed the songs her teacher, Miss Hous, set out for her to learn. Little Bluebird. Grandfather's Clock. My Little Home.
She writes her own songs. And they kill me, they really do. She has written an ode to her best friend, Constance (Constance is my friend, We sure have fun togeh-ether...) To me: (You are the only mother. I don't want another. Because you sure don't smother...)
She recently wrote a song for our next door neighbor, Sven, who is leaving for college next month. She has kept it tightly under wraps and even I hadn't heard the whole thing.
She invited Sven in to hear it. He is a polite guy and respectfully sat down in one of our music parlor chairs, a pink poofy one that made him look extra large and ungainly. Liv walked out into the parlor, bowed to us and said that she would now play her song, entitled I Will Miss You for Sven.
She sat down and well...she played. There were no words to this song, just music. She played this song that was so hauntingly lonesome that I felt as if I might cry. It was short, she is a beginner after all, but it was simply lovely.
When it was over, she put her hands in her lap and bowed her head. I began clapping. Sven joined me. Liv just sat there.
I wondered why she wasn't looking up and then I got it. She was trying not to cry. Like me, she is uncomfortable with public tears, she was staring hard at the keyboard, willing herself not to cry.
I got up to go to her but Sven beat me to it. He didn't say a word, just picked her up in one fluid motion and quickly walked outside to the back yard. They both sat in the grass for a long time, talking. Once, I saw him take her chin in his hand and smile and it nearly broke me.
After a while, they got up and he walked to his home next door and Liv came in. I looked at her carefully. Did she need to talk?
She walked to the piano, her back straight. I realized that whatever had been said between them out in the back yard was going to stay private. She sat down at the piano.
"I am not going to play that song again for a long, long time," she told me. "But, I will play Polly Wolly Doodle, if you wish."
I said that would be fine. And she played that.
I sat there listening as she played through it and then on to all of her songs that she has to practice each day. I thought about how Sven has always been like a brother to her. He helped Bing build Liv's back yard treehouse. He chased Liv all over that back yard and could have caught her easily if he wished, but he let her think she was just a little faster than he was. He would hold her by her armpits and swing her around in dizzyingly circles while she screamed with happiness. He taught her some great football moves. He also helped her with soccer. She is on a team and many evenings he came over and helped her learn how to be a goalie. It is because of him that she is the best goalie on her soccer team.
Life will be strange for all of us without Sven.
I will miss him too.
And she is GOOD. She quickly surpassed the songs her teacher, Miss Hous, set out for her to learn. Little Bluebird. Grandfather's Clock. My Little Home.
She writes her own songs. And they kill me, they really do. She has written an ode to her best friend, Constance (Constance is my friend, We sure have fun togeh-ether...) To me: (You are the only mother. I don't want another. Because you sure don't smother...)
She recently wrote a song for our next door neighbor, Sven, who is leaving for college next month. She has kept it tightly under wraps and even I hadn't heard the whole thing.
She invited Sven in to hear it. He is a polite guy and respectfully sat down in one of our music parlor chairs, a pink poofy one that made him look extra large and ungainly. Liv walked out into the parlor, bowed to us and said that she would now play her song, entitled I Will Miss You for Sven.
She sat down and well...she played. There were no words to this song, just music. She played this song that was so hauntingly lonesome that I felt as if I might cry. It was short, she is a beginner after all, but it was simply lovely.
When it was over, she put her hands in her lap and bowed her head. I began clapping. Sven joined me. Liv just sat there.
I wondered why she wasn't looking up and then I got it. She was trying not to cry. Like me, she is uncomfortable with public tears, she was staring hard at the keyboard, willing herself not to cry.
I got up to go to her but Sven beat me to it. He didn't say a word, just picked her up in one fluid motion and quickly walked outside to the back yard. They both sat in the grass for a long time, talking. Once, I saw him take her chin in his hand and smile and it nearly broke me.
After a while, they got up and he walked to his home next door and Liv came in. I looked at her carefully. Did she need to talk?
She walked to the piano, her back straight. I realized that whatever had been said between them out in the back yard was going to stay private. She sat down at the piano.
"I am not going to play that song again for a long, long time," she told me. "But, I will play Polly Wolly Doodle, if you wish."
I said that would be fine. And she played that.
I sat there listening as she played through it and then on to all of her songs that she has to practice each day. I thought about how Sven has always been like a brother to her. He helped Bing build Liv's back yard treehouse. He chased Liv all over that back yard and could have caught her easily if he wished, but he let her think she was just a little faster than he was. He would hold her by her armpits and swing her around in dizzyingly circles while she screamed with happiness. He taught her some great football moves. He also helped her with soccer. She is on a team and many evenings he came over and helped her learn how to be a goalie. It is because of him that she is the best goalie on her soccer team.
Life will be strange for all of us without Sven.
I will miss him too.
The Thanksgiving Flash fest
In my last blog post, I talked about my little sister, Jessie's double mastectomy. What I didn't mention was how incredibly brave she was.
She has always been the prettiest of all of us sisters. She was the baby in our family, born when I was 8 years old and very happy being the baby of the family, thank you very much. She was the "accident." I was 8 when she was born, Celia was 12 and Patrice, 16.
Jessie has always been very opinionated, very strong minded and extremely religious. Like all strong attributes, you either love this about her, or hate it. It is like Celia is the mushy, sentimental one. On good days, we love this about her. On bad days, it drives us nuts. Patrice is the bossy family matriarch. When we need some tending to, we love it. When she sticks her face in our life, we hate it. I am the rebel, the smart ass, the one most likely to know where to get weed for a bong. And I would never mistake a bong for a vase, which is something that all THREE of my sisters once did when we were visiting Celia's daughter in her college dorm. Once, during a family board game, where the object was to decide what trait best matched which sibling, the question was: Who among you would be the one to get a risque tattoo?
I was picked by all three sisters, no question.
So, when Jessie flashed us at the table during Thanksgiving dinner one year, we were all surprised, especially me. Hey! That's MY job!"
It was several months after her mastectomy. We were all together, my sisters and the older members of their families, a few family friends and cousins, Bing and me. We were going around talking, passing the yams, visiting. My sister, Patrice, was talking about how she was sick of the local mall being taken over by "those mexicans." I, being the rebel, the only liberal democrat besides Bing, and the non-racist at the table, immediately told Patrice to knock it off, that they had every right to be here, just as much as she did.
My nephew said something about Mexican women being big breasted. Patrice's husband, our family Hitler and voted most likely to join the ku klux klan, said that ALL women used their tits to seduce men, and that black women, in particular had "gazoombas" like big round black basketballs. In fact, he said, women were basically just good for one thing and he looked around the table jovially. He finds this sort of humor to be very funny and enjoys what he calls, "getting the women riled up." Basically, this means that he says what he thinks and pretends that he is joking and tries to make the women feel less than.
Welcome to my family circle.
There was a momentary silence as everyone waited for me to attack, to tell him that if he was going to talk like a freaking asshole, I would leave. (All the younger children were in the basement at their own children's table, so no worry of them hearing, although, I am sure some of them did. When I was a kid, we always spied on the grown up table.)
Instead, Jessie stood up. She told Bob, (Patrice's husband) to go to hell. And then, slowly, very slowly, she raised her sweatshirt to reveal her scars from her mastectomy, still a little red and fresh.
We all sat quietly, staring.
And then, I stood up. I heard Bing sigh and wince. She knows me well enough to know what was coming.
I lifted up my shirt and unhooked my bra. Flashed the table.
Celia stood up. She did the same. The men were all shuffling nervously in their seats, looking anywhere but at us.
Finally, to my surprise, (because Patrice is unfailingly loyal to her husband, no matter what), Patrice stood up. She has HUGE breasts. And she joined our topless circle.
In silent unison, all of us sisters calmly removed our tops and sat back down to eat, breasts hanging out for all to see.
To this day, I am not sure what we were trying to say, but I am very glad that we said it.
Everyone went back to eating. In total silence. Jessie looked at me casually and asked me how my class was going. Did I have any interesting students at the college this year? I answered her and then we talked about a book that Celia recommended to the rest of us. The men were eating like the table was on fire. Not one of them said a word. The truth is that not all of the men in my family are as bad as Bob, a couple of them are downright decent, but I think they realized that since not one of them had taken on Bob, that they were going to be on the hatchet block too.
One by one, they all left, carefully looking anywhere but at us, the four topless women: one with no breasts, the other three with decidedly saggy ones.
After the last man left the table, we sisters put our shirts back on. The other women at the table, the grown up nieces, the female cousins, two family female friends, and Bing began to slowly applaud.
And then we all laughed. Hard. And long. We felt so pleased with ourselves. It was probably the closest we sisters have ever felt towards each other in a very long time. It was probably some sort of sin in the Catholic church. For that moment in time,though, none of us gave a damn. There would be many opportunites later for us to disagree and bitch at each other. This day, none of that mattered. It was one of those singular times when females unite to show just how damn strong they really are. We had cleared a table in record time.
We were women and we had roared.
She has always been the prettiest of all of us sisters. She was the baby in our family, born when I was 8 years old and very happy being the baby of the family, thank you very much. She was the "accident." I was 8 when she was born, Celia was 12 and Patrice, 16.
Jessie has always been very opinionated, very strong minded and extremely religious. Like all strong attributes, you either love this about her, or hate it. It is like Celia is the mushy, sentimental one. On good days, we love this about her. On bad days, it drives us nuts. Patrice is the bossy family matriarch. When we need some tending to, we love it. When she sticks her face in our life, we hate it. I am the rebel, the smart ass, the one most likely to know where to get weed for a bong. And I would never mistake a bong for a vase, which is something that all THREE of my sisters once did when we were visiting Celia's daughter in her college dorm. Once, during a family board game, where the object was to decide what trait best matched which sibling, the question was: Who among you would be the one to get a risque tattoo?
I was picked by all three sisters, no question.
So, when Jessie flashed us at the table during Thanksgiving dinner one year, we were all surprised, especially me. Hey! That's MY job!"
It was several months after her mastectomy. We were all together, my sisters and the older members of their families, a few family friends and cousins, Bing and me. We were going around talking, passing the yams, visiting. My sister, Patrice, was talking about how she was sick of the local mall being taken over by "those mexicans." I, being the rebel, the only liberal democrat besides Bing, and the non-racist at the table, immediately told Patrice to knock it off, that they had every right to be here, just as much as she did.
My nephew said something about Mexican women being big breasted. Patrice's husband, our family Hitler and voted most likely to join the ku klux klan, said that ALL women used their tits to seduce men, and that black women, in particular had "gazoombas" like big round black basketballs. In fact, he said, women were basically just good for one thing and he looked around the table jovially. He finds this sort of humor to be very funny and enjoys what he calls, "getting the women riled up." Basically, this means that he says what he thinks and pretends that he is joking and tries to make the women feel less than.
Welcome to my family circle.
There was a momentary silence as everyone waited for me to attack, to tell him that if he was going to talk like a freaking asshole, I would leave. (All the younger children were in the basement at their own children's table, so no worry of them hearing, although, I am sure some of them did. When I was a kid, we always spied on the grown up table.)
Instead, Jessie stood up. She told Bob, (Patrice's husband) to go to hell. And then, slowly, very slowly, she raised her sweatshirt to reveal her scars from her mastectomy, still a little red and fresh.
We all sat quietly, staring.
And then, I stood up. I heard Bing sigh and wince. She knows me well enough to know what was coming.
I lifted up my shirt and unhooked my bra. Flashed the table.
Celia stood up. She did the same. The men were all shuffling nervously in their seats, looking anywhere but at us.
Finally, to my surprise, (because Patrice is unfailingly loyal to her husband, no matter what), Patrice stood up. She has HUGE breasts. And she joined our topless circle.
In silent unison, all of us sisters calmly removed our tops and sat back down to eat, breasts hanging out for all to see.
To this day, I am not sure what we were trying to say, but I am very glad that we said it.
Everyone went back to eating. In total silence. Jessie looked at me casually and asked me how my class was going. Did I have any interesting students at the college this year? I answered her and then we talked about a book that Celia recommended to the rest of us. The men were eating like the table was on fire. Not one of them said a word. The truth is that not all of the men in my family are as bad as Bob, a couple of them are downright decent, but I think they realized that since not one of them had taken on Bob, that they were going to be on the hatchet block too.
One by one, they all left, carefully looking anywhere but at us, the four topless women: one with no breasts, the other three with decidedly saggy ones.
After the last man left the table, we sisters put our shirts back on. The other women at the table, the grown up nieces, the female cousins, two family female friends, and Bing began to slowly applaud.
And then we all laughed. Hard. And long. We felt so pleased with ourselves. It was probably the closest we sisters have ever felt towards each other in a very long time. It was probably some sort of sin in the Catholic church. For that moment in time,though, none of us gave a damn. There would be many opportunites later for us to disagree and bitch at each other. This day, none of that mattered. It was one of those singular times when females unite to show just how damn strong they really are. We had cleared a table in record time.
We were women and we had roared.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
The saint candles
I have two of them on my dining room table. They look decidedly out of place in my home.
I am not a religious person. I was going to say that I am, however, a spiritual person. And then I read that and rolled my eyes. It sounded so...stupid. The truth is that I am not sure what sort of person I am. A good person, or I try to be. Probably not hard enough, though, on any given day. I am not sure about the whole God thing. An agnostic? Perhaps.
I was born and raised in a very strict Irish Catholic family. We not only went to church every Sunday, but my Da blessed us every night before we went to bed. This means that we took turns kneeling in front of him while he made the sign of the cross on our heads. We had holy water fonts in most every doorway. And used them. I went to a Catholic girl's school from the age of 6-18. I know the bible inside and out and sideways. In our family, we were not allowed to fight. There were four of us, all girls, so we learned to kick each other under tables and to hiss into each other's ears when the parents couldn't see. As a result, I am very bad at conflict resolution. I have no experience with it other then to kick under tables and hiss You are a stinking goat! into ears.
When I was 21, I formally did three things: 1) I came out to my family and was promptly disowned. ("You can just find a way to pay for med school on your own, you deviant sinner!" Yes, that is a direct quote.) 2) I left the Catholic church and never once looked back and 3) I learned to live without my family.
My Da was already dead, so he was spared having to make the decision whether to hate me or not. My mother told me that I was no longer her daughter and that I was never to set foot in her house again. She kept her word and died 14 years later of breast cancer without speaking to me or letting me see her. She threatened to disown my sisters if they so much as wrote to me. Only one sister, Celia, disobeyed her and she paid a heavy price for that.
After my mother died, my sisters and I came back to each other. There were some very bad feelings to be overcome but we all tried hard. To this day, all of my sisters are devout Catholics and while they love me, they pray for my soul.
In those years alone, I tried to find a church that fit. The only ones that I really liked were the Unitarians and the Quakers. And neither had a church that worked for me. The Unitarians were just a little too new agey for me (one church service we were asked to get up and dance with our inner child and well, that was the request that broke the camel's back for me) and the Quakers did not have a building, they simply took turns meeting at each other's houses. Since, I didn't relish the thought of having to get my house tidy enough for a church meeting every few months, I didn't join.
I was left with a sort of Star Wars set of religious beliefs. I believe that there is a force for good and one for evil. It is our job to make sure that the good cup is more full than the evil cup. Darth Vadar and Voldemort types live in the bad cup. Luke Skywalker and Harry Potter types live in the good one. I live mostly in the good cup, but have been known to dip my toes in the bad one from time to time. I've been chastised by my sisters many times for my neglect in finding a suitable church for Liv. I mostly shrug. I think she can decide when she is older. Until then, well...I will just have to lead by my um....good moral example....My sisters all mourn that Liv has never worn her first communion veil to become a bride of Christ. Sorry, not going to happen in my house.
So, why, you may ask, do I have two saint candles on my dining room table? For those of you who don't know what they are, here is a good site.
There is, of course, a story behind those candles. A few years ago, my little sister, Jessie, was diagnosed with breast cancer right before her 37th birthday. We were all shocked. She had had a lump in her breast for years, but her md said it was nothing, just something to be watched. Finally, she tired of watching it and asked that it be removed. It was found to be malignant and she had both breasts removed and several follow up rounds of chemo.
She was in horrible pain, mental and physical. I took to calling her at night and we began talking, sharing, finding a way to be sisters to each other again. Out of all of my sisters, she was the one who had staunchly stood beside my mother's decision to disown me the most. She and I had a careful alliance at best. She and I were not close, although we never denied that we still loved each other. She had told me once that it pained her to think of me burning in hell. I told her to relax, I'd have lots of interesting company. She had not laughed.
But, now, well, things were different. She was scared. I was scared. Our mother had died of breast cancer. She had three young daughters. We talked and talked and talked, carefully avoiding painful subjects, sticking to the fact that we loved each other and needed to hear each other's voices.
I asked her if I could get her anything. She asked me if I remembered those saint candles that our mother had kept lit on our dining room bookcases when we were children. I said that yes, I did remember.
"Well, I want one of those," she said.
I looked them up that night, found a place and ordered 4 candles. 2 for me and 2 for her. I had ordered St. Jude and St. Martin Cabellero candles for each of us. When they came, Jessie was in town for her chemo treatment and I drove her over to my house for some raspberry tea, the only thing that would stay down for her after a chemo treatment. I presented her with her candles and showed her mine, now prominently displayed on my dining room table.
She burst into tears. I managed not to, but just barely. She made me promise to light my candles each night and she would light hers too.
"That way, we can feel each other's love," she said.
I dutifully lit them each night. And I still do. Although, I am on my third set of candles now.
Jessie has been cancer free for two years now. But, I still light those candles every stinkin night. I am half superstitious, half needful to remain close to her. I'm not sure if she even has her candles anymore.
I have gone on to turn them into sort of a joke. I sent a Martha Dominadora candle (to dominate men) to one of my nieces and a Saint Dymphna candle (for mental illness) to each of my sisters for Christmas one year as a gag gift. Celia thought it was funny, the other two told me that I was walking on thin ice with Jesus.
I'll take my chances. If there is a God...I think he would prefer dinner at my house than their houses, frankly. More discussion, if nothing else. Plus, I think he/she gives points for trying to do the right thing and I do that even if I haven't been to confession in over 20 years.
But, the candles stay. They look pretty when I light them at night, glowing in our dining room as we watch the television in the living room or as Liv sits at the kitchen table doing her homework. They have become a part of our family life.
They are a reminder that I love my sisters, no matter what. And I think they love me too, even though they are certain that I will not be joining them in heaven.
They just might be surprised.......
I am not a religious person. I was going to say that I am, however, a spiritual person. And then I read that and rolled my eyes. It sounded so...stupid. The truth is that I am not sure what sort of person I am. A good person, or I try to be. Probably not hard enough, though, on any given day. I am not sure about the whole God thing. An agnostic? Perhaps.
I was born and raised in a very strict Irish Catholic family. We not only went to church every Sunday, but my Da blessed us every night before we went to bed. This means that we took turns kneeling in front of him while he made the sign of the cross on our heads. We had holy water fonts in most every doorway. And used them. I went to a Catholic girl's school from the age of 6-18. I know the bible inside and out and sideways. In our family, we were not allowed to fight. There were four of us, all girls, so we learned to kick each other under tables and to hiss into each other's ears when the parents couldn't see. As a result, I am very bad at conflict resolution. I have no experience with it other then to kick under tables and hiss You are a stinking goat! into ears.
When I was 21, I formally did three things: 1) I came out to my family and was promptly disowned. ("You can just find a way to pay for med school on your own, you deviant sinner!" Yes, that is a direct quote.) 2) I left the Catholic church and never once looked back and 3) I learned to live without my family.
My Da was already dead, so he was spared having to make the decision whether to hate me or not. My mother told me that I was no longer her daughter and that I was never to set foot in her house again. She kept her word and died 14 years later of breast cancer without speaking to me or letting me see her. She threatened to disown my sisters if they so much as wrote to me. Only one sister, Celia, disobeyed her and she paid a heavy price for that.
After my mother died, my sisters and I came back to each other. There were some very bad feelings to be overcome but we all tried hard. To this day, all of my sisters are devout Catholics and while they love me, they pray for my soul.
In those years alone, I tried to find a church that fit. The only ones that I really liked were the Unitarians and the Quakers. And neither had a church that worked for me. The Unitarians were just a little too new agey for me (one church service we were asked to get up and dance with our inner child and well, that was the request that broke the camel's back for me) and the Quakers did not have a building, they simply took turns meeting at each other's houses. Since, I didn't relish the thought of having to get my house tidy enough for a church meeting every few months, I didn't join.
I was left with a sort of Star Wars set of religious beliefs. I believe that there is a force for good and one for evil. It is our job to make sure that the good cup is more full than the evil cup. Darth Vadar and Voldemort types live in the bad cup. Luke Skywalker and Harry Potter types live in the good one. I live mostly in the good cup, but have been known to dip my toes in the bad one from time to time. I've been chastised by my sisters many times for my neglect in finding a suitable church for Liv. I mostly shrug. I think she can decide when she is older. Until then, well...I will just have to lead by my um....good moral example....My sisters all mourn that Liv has never worn her first communion veil to become a bride of Christ. Sorry, not going to happen in my house.
So, why, you may ask, do I have two saint candles on my dining room table? For those of you who don't know what they are, here is a good site.
There is, of course, a story behind those candles. A few years ago, my little sister, Jessie, was diagnosed with breast cancer right before her 37th birthday. We were all shocked. She had had a lump in her breast for years, but her md said it was nothing, just something to be watched. Finally, she tired of watching it and asked that it be removed. It was found to be malignant and she had both breasts removed and several follow up rounds of chemo.
She was in horrible pain, mental and physical. I took to calling her at night and we began talking, sharing, finding a way to be sisters to each other again. Out of all of my sisters, she was the one who had staunchly stood beside my mother's decision to disown me the most. She and I had a careful alliance at best. She and I were not close, although we never denied that we still loved each other. She had told me once that it pained her to think of me burning in hell. I told her to relax, I'd have lots of interesting company. She had not laughed.
But, now, well, things were different. She was scared. I was scared. Our mother had died of breast cancer. She had three young daughters. We talked and talked and talked, carefully avoiding painful subjects, sticking to the fact that we loved each other and needed to hear each other's voices.
I asked her if I could get her anything. She asked me if I remembered those saint candles that our mother had kept lit on our dining room bookcases when we were children. I said that yes, I did remember.
"Well, I want one of those," she said.
I looked them up that night, found a place and ordered 4 candles. 2 for me and 2 for her. I had ordered St. Jude and St. Martin Cabellero candles for each of us. When they came, Jessie was in town for her chemo treatment and I drove her over to my house for some raspberry tea, the only thing that would stay down for her after a chemo treatment. I presented her with her candles and showed her mine, now prominently displayed on my dining room table.
She burst into tears. I managed not to, but just barely. She made me promise to light my candles each night and she would light hers too.
"That way, we can feel each other's love," she said.
I dutifully lit them each night. And I still do. Although, I am on my third set of candles now.
Jessie has been cancer free for two years now. But, I still light those candles every stinkin night. I am half superstitious, half needful to remain close to her. I'm not sure if she even has her candles anymore.
I have gone on to turn them into sort of a joke. I sent a Martha Dominadora candle (to dominate men) to one of my nieces and a Saint Dymphna candle (for mental illness) to each of my sisters for Christmas one year as a gag gift. Celia thought it was funny, the other two told me that I was walking on thin ice with Jesus.
I'll take my chances. If there is a God...I think he would prefer dinner at my house than their houses, frankly. More discussion, if nothing else. Plus, I think he/she gives points for trying to do the right thing and I do that even if I haven't been to confession in over 20 years.
But, the candles stay. They look pretty when I light them at night, glowing in our dining room as we watch the television in the living room or as Liv sits at the kitchen table doing her homework. They have become a part of our family life.
They are a reminder that I love my sisters, no matter what. And I think they love me too, even though they are certain that I will not be joining them in heaven.
They just might be surprised.......
Friday, August 17, 2007
Nearly peeing my pants at Whole Foods.
This should get some really good hits...
I went to Whole Foods today to grocery shop. They have two products that my family HAS to eat every week: McCann's Steel Cut Irish Oatmeal and goat milk yogurt.
Bing makes the Irish oatmeal in the crock pot on Saturday night and we wake up to it for Sunday breakfast. It is THAT good. We all have our variations. I like brown sugar and raisins, Liv likes cinnamon, and Bing, blueberries. We all like goat milk yogurt for treats. Yes, we are odd that way. I still recall a friend of Liv's telling her mother that she had goat milk yogurt for a treat and could they stop on the way home and get some? Her mother gave me a very odd look, as if I had given her daughter fried grasshopper legs or something...
Anyway, there I was at Whole Foods, stocking up on our strange foods. I had noticed as I got out of the car that my blue peasant skirt and blue tee shirt did not match, the blues were off. But, that wasn't all. I looked down at my feet and wondered whose foot was that? I had on TWO different shoes. Both were flats. One was a blue ballet slipper and the other was a blue chinese slipper. I have no idea how I managed to put two different shoes on and not NOTICE....but, hey it was before I had my coffee.
I decided to just go in and out as fast as I could. Whole Foods is kind of a hip place. Maybe people who saw me would think that I was just that cool. Kind of a hip Hey-I'm-wearing-two different-types-of-shoes-on-purpose! kind of woman.
I should mention too, that I had given myself a facial that morning. One that was bright blue when slathered on but as it dried, it faded to a pale blue. I had makeup on, I knew that much.
So, I walked in and immediately knew that I would need a bathroom shortly. I decided that since I was on one side of the store and the bathrooms were on the other side, well...I would just hold it and then run in the bathroom when I got on the other side.
I bought my items, stopped and checked out their candy selection, one of those old fashioned places where candy is stored in bins and you use a little scoop to take out what you need and then write it's matching number on the little twist tie thingy. I figured that we would probably be going to a movie this weekend and decided to get a scoop of malted milk balls.
Just as I was scooping up the balls, I felt a hand slap my ass. Kind of hard.
I leaped in the air, malted milk balls flying. I whipped around to see a man looking at me in horror.
"Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I'm SORRY," he said. "I thought you were my wife! You look just like her from that angle..." He trailed off and then this very plain, rather slatternly looking woman in a blue peasant skirt and blue tee shirt came up with her cart.
Oh, how nice. He thought I looked like HER? This woman had a bowling ball ass. And that scraggly hair! Maybe I should just put those malted milk balls back...
The man pointed his wife out to me with a SEE? SEE? gesture and they sailed away. He didn't apologize or offer to help me pick up the malted milk balls. I sighed and bent to pick them up.
Two hands came into my view and began helping me. I looked up and...shit.
It was Ella. A woman who I dated seriously for several months years ago. We had parted when she realized that I was probably never going to commit to anything other than a movie once in awhile. She had told me on our last date that she thought I was "emotionally stunted." She was dressed in a smart looking short and top outfit. It matched. She wore nice little strappy sandals. Her hair was pulled up in a tidy topknot on her head.
She looked very good. I became very aware that I looked like...well, like that rude man's wife.
She smiled. Cocked her head in that way that catty women do when they know that you look like shit and they do not.
"Maria?"
I nodded. Guilty as charged. God, I wanted to look so good and I looked so...me.
All the malted milk balls were picked up and tossed into the garbage bin by then. She leaned on her cart and asked me how I was doing.
My need to pee was suddenly very strong. It had snuck up on me. It does that when you are in your late 40's. Just a charming part of the aging process.
I sort of wiggled a bit, locking my legs together a little.
I said I was fine, fine. How was she?
It was a rhetorical question. Apparently, though, she thought that I really cared. So, she launched into this long diatribe about her recent trip to Spain with her girlfriend. A girlfriend who she made a point to tell me that she was very much in love with and they were in a state of bliss together, very committed, happy, long term, no emotional-stunting-problem joyful coupledom.
By this time, I realized that if I didn't pee very soon, I would be letting loose on the floor like a naughty dog.
I tried to hurry her along, smiled and checked my watch. Said that I hoped to see her again soon. She didn't seem to take the hint, just kept talking while people maneuvered their way around us, frowning.
I interrupted her. Told her that I was sorry, but I had to go, I was in a terrible hurry. She gave me a look that clearly said You are so rude!
I practically ran to the bathroom. Well, as fast as you can run when you have your legs twisted together. I must have looked like a lurching madwoman, but I somehow made it to the bathroom, was actually lifting up my skirt before I even got the door shut.
I sat down and peed, as my sainted Irish mother would have said, like a racehorse. I washed my hands and looked up into the mirror above the sink. And noticed a line of light blue over my left eyebrow where I had neglected to get all the dried facial off. I also saw two smears of blush on my cheeks. I then recalled that I had been putting on blush when the phone rang. I had gone to answer it and forgotten to come back in and blend in my blush. I looked ridiculous. This could only happen to me. I hastily wet a paper towel and cleaned off the blush and the blue line before I went out to retrieve my cart.
I went to the check out counter and wouldn't you know it, there was Ella in front of me. She smiled frostily at me and gave me an up and down look.
She stopped at my shoes. I looked down too and realized that yes, those were my feet with the two mismatched shoes. And also with the toilet paper trailing off one of them.
I didn't say a word. Just looked right back at her as if she were the weird one.
I have found that if you act very haughty when you feel dangerously embarrassed, you can sometimes rise above a situation.
I shlepped off to the parking lot with a sack of groceries in each hand.
One sack broke right when I got to my car. Cartons of yogurt began rolling everywhere. I sighed and went to retrieve them.
I noticed a set of blue jean clad legs come into view and their owner leaned down to help me. I looked up to smile at them.
It was ANOTHER ex. Amelia. Our smiles froze when we saw each other. Like my relationship with Ella, this one had not ended particularly amiably. In fact, I believe that Amelia's last words to me were something about me having Vulcan blood instead of human.....
Good hell.
Okay dokey. Round two.
I went to Whole Foods today to grocery shop. They have two products that my family HAS to eat every week: McCann's Steel Cut Irish Oatmeal and goat milk yogurt.
Bing makes the Irish oatmeal in the crock pot on Saturday night and we wake up to it for Sunday breakfast. It is THAT good. We all have our variations. I like brown sugar and raisins, Liv likes cinnamon, and Bing, blueberries. We all like goat milk yogurt for treats. Yes, we are odd that way. I still recall a friend of Liv's telling her mother that she had goat milk yogurt for a treat and could they stop on the way home and get some? Her mother gave me a very odd look, as if I had given her daughter fried grasshopper legs or something...
Anyway, there I was at Whole Foods, stocking up on our strange foods. I had noticed as I got out of the car that my blue peasant skirt and blue tee shirt did not match, the blues were off. But, that wasn't all. I looked down at my feet and wondered whose foot was that? I had on TWO different shoes. Both were flats. One was a blue ballet slipper and the other was a blue chinese slipper. I have no idea how I managed to put two different shoes on and not NOTICE....but, hey it was before I had my coffee.
I decided to just go in and out as fast as I could. Whole Foods is kind of a hip place. Maybe people who saw me would think that I was just that cool. Kind of a hip Hey-I'm-wearing-two different-types-of-shoes-on-purpose! kind of woman.
I should mention too, that I had given myself a facial that morning. One that was bright blue when slathered on but as it dried, it faded to a pale blue. I had makeup on, I knew that much.
So, I walked in and immediately knew that I would need a bathroom shortly. I decided that since I was on one side of the store and the bathrooms were on the other side, well...I would just hold it and then run in the bathroom when I got on the other side.
I bought my items, stopped and checked out their candy selection, one of those old fashioned places where candy is stored in bins and you use a little scoop to take out what you need and then write it's matching number on the little twist tie thingy. I figured that we would probably be going to a movie this weekend and decided to get a scoop of malted milk balls.
Just as I was scooping up the balls, I felt a hand slap my ass. Kind of hard.
I leaped in the air, malted milk balls flying. I whipped around to see a man looking at me in horror.
"Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I'm SORRY," he said. "I thought you were my wife! You look just like her from that angle..." He trailed off and then this very plain, rather slatternly looking woman in a blue peasant skirt and blue tee shirt came up with her cart.
Oh, how nice. He thought I looked like HER? This woman had a bowling ball ass. And that scraggly hair! Maybe I should just put those malted milk balls back...
The man pointed his wife out to me with a SEE? SEE? gesture and they sailed away. He didn't apologize or offer to help me pick up the malted milk balls. I sighed and bent to pick them up.
Two hands came into my view and began helping me. I looked up and...shit.
It was Ella. A woman who I dated seriously for several months years ago. We had parted when she realized that I was probably never going to commit to anything other than a movie once in awhile. She had told me on our last date that she thought I was "emotionally stunted." She was dressed in a smart looking short and top outfit. It matched. She wore nice little strappy sandals. Her hair was pulled up in a tidy topknot on her head.
She looked very good. I became very aware that I looked like...well, like that rude man's wife.
She smiled. Cocked her head in that way that catty women do when they know that you look like shit and they do not.
"Maria?"
I nodded. Guilty as charged. God, I wanted to look so good and I looked so...me.
All the malted milk balls were picked up and tossed into the garbage bin by then. She leaned on her cart and asked me how I was doing.
My need to pee was suddenly very strong. It had snuck up on me. It does that when you are in your late 40's. Just a charming part of the aging process.
I sort of wiggled a bit, locking my legs together a little.
I said I was fine, fine. How was she?
It was a rhetorical question. Apparently, though, she thought that I really cared. So, she launched into this long diatribe about her recent trip to Spain with her girlfriend. A girlfriend who she made a point to tell me that she was very much in love with and they were in a state of bliss together, very committed, happy, long term, no emotional-stunting-problem joyful coupledom.
By this time, I realized that if I didn't pee very soon, I would be letting loose on the floor like a naughty dog.
I tried to hurry her along, smiled and checked my watch. Said that I hoped to see her again soon. She didn't seem to take the hint, just kept talking while people maneuvered their way around us, frowning.
I interrupted her. Told her that I was sorry, but I had to go, I was in a terrible hurry. She gave me a look that clearly said You are so rude!
I practically ran to the bathroom. Well, as fast as you can run when you have your legs twisted together. I must have looked like a lurching madwoman, but I somehow made it to the bathroom, was actually lifting up my skirt before I even got the door shut.
I sat down and peed, as my sainted Irish mother would have said, like a racehorse. I washed my hands and looked up into the mirror above the sink. And noticed a line of light blue over my left eyebrow where I had neglected to get all the dried facial off. I also saw two smears of blush on my cheeks. I then recalled that I had been putting on blush when the phone rang. I had gone to answer it and forgotten to come back in and blend in my blush. I looked ridiculous. This could only happen to me. I hastily wet a paper towel and cleaned off the blush and the blue line before I went out to retrieve my cart.
I went to the check out counter and wouldn't you know it, there was Ella in front of me. She smiled frostily at me and gave me an up and down look.
She stopped at my shoes. I looked down too and realized that yes, those were my feet with the two mismatched shoes. And also with the toilet paper trailing off one of them.
I didn't say a word. Just looked right back at her as if she were the weird one.
I have found that if you act very haughty when you feel dangerously embarrassed, you can sometimes rise above a situation.
I shlepped off to the parking lot with a sack of groceries in each hand.
One sack broke right when I got to my car. Cartons of yogurt began rolling everywhere. I sighed and went to retrieve them.
I noticed a set of blue jean clad legs come into view and their owner leaned down to help me. I looked up to smile at them.
It was ANOTHER ex. Amelia. Our smiles froze when we saw each other. Like my relationship with Ella, this one had not ended particularly amiably. In fact, I believe that Amelia's last words to me were something about me having Vulcan blood instead of human.....
Good hell.
Okay dokey. Round two.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
This parenting shit
I hate it sometimes. I hate being the one who has to teach Liv manners, bring her up to snuff, make sure that she behaves and does the right thing.
Not that she is a brat or anything. Actually, she is so well behaved that I rarely have to scold her.
Well, not yesterday. She had it coming yesterday.
And this heat adds to it. It is miserable outside, so hot and muggy. "The air you can wear," is how one smarty pants weather guy puts it. Temps in the high 90's, 78% humidity. Even in the air conditioned house, the air settles in on your skin. My wooden cupboards in the kitchen feel sticky no matter how many times I polish them. We keep the thermostat on 80 degrees, which on most days, works. When it is this hot, it just feels like some semi cool air is churning around. My garden loves this weather, is bursting out of it's seams like a slutty dance hall girl. I bring in baskets and baskets of vegetables and fruits. Every usable counter space in my kitchen is taken as well as the dining room floor. I will start canning and freezing next week and this will go on until I have enough to get us through the Winter and to provide gifts for everyone I love. Then, the rest will go to the homeless shelter.
But, I am crabby and hot, my legs slick with sweat, a constant moistness to my face and neck. I drink glass after glass of iced tea, holding the dripping glass up to my face, resting it on my thigh, anything to get cooler.
Liv and Bing aren't as bad as I am with the heat, but even they are hot enough to not want to eat anything too steamy for dinner. We eat from the garden a lot, big salads, cucumbers and tomatoes swimming around in vinegar and milk.
It is two weeks until school starts and Liv is panicking. She loves school, but loves Summer more. She feels that chain starting to gather around her neck and she doesn't appreciate it one bit.
Yes, she is bored with summertime. She is tired of drawing pictures, tired of painting them and having me ooh and aahh over them. Tired of playing Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders, Battleship and Checkers. Playing in the sprinkler is old hat. She invites her bff, Constance, over nearly every day and they lay splayed in the living room watching re-runs of Hannah Montana or going up to the attic to halfheartedly play dress up. They beg me to supervise them baking cookies and then get bored with the whole process halfway through, only finishing because I won't let them stop mid-way. They play outside in Liv's treehouse. I see them talking with their legs hanging over the side, flat on their backs, probably sharing how much they dread going back to school or who has the meanest Mom.
Yesterday, I was tired by 10 a.m. I had finished up my paperwork and was deciding if I could tackle that kitchen drawer that is so messy that it is a disgrace. Liv wandered in, asked for pancakes for breakfast (which I DETEST making when it is hot outside, they just add to the general stickiness of August life.) I made her the pancakes. She took THREE bites and bailed on them. Said that she was full. I informed her that they were going in the fridge to be eaten for lunch or else as treats during the day instead of her snarfing down cookies. She nodded wearily. We were both just...Augusted out.
She called Constance and they talked for awhile. Then she got off the phone saying that Constance said that the phone receiver felt hot on her ear and she would call back later.
Liv slumped. She followed me from room to room, asking for things she knew she couldn't have: a trip to Fun Plex, goodwill shopping for more dress-up clothes, a hunt at department stores for webkins trading cards. I finally told her to find something to do besides bug me or I would find a closet for her to clean. (And, yes, that was my mother's voice that you just heard coming out of me, something I swore would never, ever happen.)
She went to call Constance again. It had only been 10 minutes.
"You may not call Constance again," I told her. "She said that she would call back later and she has an infant brother. Her mama told me that she has trouble getting him to sleep sometimes and I do not want you hassling them by calling."
Liv frowned. "But, I'm bored and she said that she would call back when the phone receiver cooled off..."
Too bad, I told her. If she hasn't called back by lunchtime, you can call her again.
LUNCHTIME!
You would have thought I told her January.
Yes, lunchtime, I reiterated and went to go make my bed.
As I was finishing, Liv came in, the phone to her ear.
"Can I have Constance over?" she asked.
I sighed. Nodded. Why the hell can she NEVER go over to Constance's house? Why must it always be at our house? I already knew the answer. Constance's mother is a stay at home mom, her father is a firefighter. They have a new baby who has colic. Sada, (Constance's mother) looks like she is about ready to lose it any second these days. I think she loves it when Constance plays at our house and I know that if the situation were reversed, she would help me out and have the girls at their house.
I gave Liv the okay to have Constance over. It became settled up.
When Liv got off the phone, I said, "Constance DID call you and not vice versa, right?"
Silence. And then a brief nod. A very untruthful nod.
I went over and picked up the phone, checked the caller id. No Constance. I gave Liv a long look, raised an eyebrow.
She caved like a marshmallow for s'mores.
No, Constance had not called. Liv had called her. Even though she knew I had told her no, she couldn't stand it and did it anyway.
I dialed Constance's phone number, asked to speak with her mother. I told Sada the circumstances and apologized for canceling the girl's play date. She was okay with it.
Liv's face was furious, she was pink cheeked and mad as a wet hen.
I hung up. Told her that she WOULD learn to obey me, and more importantly, not to lie to me. There would be no play dates today and she could just march downstairs and clean up the TV room in the basement. And no TV. She could do it in silence.
Liv knows that the word HATE is not allowed in our home. So, she sputtered out with, "I don't like you one bit right now! I think you are mean!"
I didn't answer her, just handed her a bottle of water and pointed to the basement. She looked so enraged that for a moment, I wondered what I would do if she told me point blank that she wouldn't do it...
She marched down, stomping on each step.
It took her most of the morning to finish the basement. She came upstairs for lunch and found her pancakes left over from this morning, warmed up in the microwave. She scowled, but didn't say anything.
However, if looks could kill, I would have been dead on the kitchen floor.
She spent the afternoon in her bedroom reading, playing on the computer with her webkins and not speaking to me.
It was a long afternoon. I dislike it when the house is this tense, but I can't have her disobeying me or lying. I dug my heels in and ignored her.
Bing came home from work and I told her what was going on. Now, Bing is always saying that I am too easy on Liv, so I was surprised when she asked if maybe I was being too hard on her....I also noticed that, at dinnertime, she made sure that Liv had the juiciest, fattest strawberries on her plate and she leaned down to give her a quick, sympathetic hug.
So much for us being a good parenting team.....
I gave Liv her bath. We didn't say a word to each other. I tucked her into bed and took her reluctant hand in mine.
"Would you like to talk about this?"I asked her.
She shook her head no.
"Well, tough beans, I need to talk about this, but I will be brief and then I will read a chapter of Harry Potter."
She waited, looking nonchalantly up at the ceiling as if there was an interesting painting on it.
"Do you understand why you could not have a play date today?" I asked.
A brief nod. Yes.
"Okay, tell me why," I said.
She said in a deliberate sing song voice, "Because I disobeyed you by calling Constance and then lied to you about it."
"Yes. That is it exactly. I just wanted to make sure you understood. Shall I start reading Harry now?"
She nodded.
I started reading. It was a tough chapter. A main character dies, a well loved tough bird named Mad Eye Moody. And Voldemort makes an appearance.
Liv listened as I read, her eyes somber and then anxious. After I finished, I closed the book. I leaned in to kiss her cheek, expecting the cold shoulder.
Instead, she asked to sit in the rocker together.
I rocked her for awhile, not talking. Her legs are so long now that they nearly reach the floor. And then, at last, she cried.
"I'm sorry that I was naughty!" she wailed. "I hate it when you look so disappointed in me!"
I rocked and soothed, told her that I was not angry anymore, but that she had pushed me into a corner with her unacceptable behavior.
"You can't just expect me to let you get away with stuff like that," I told her. "It's my job to teach you good manners and right from wrong."
She said that she knew and she was sorry, that she would try very hard not to lie or disobey me again. It occurred to me that this is going to be much harder when she is a teenager, but for now, my disappointment is a huge motivational factor for her. That won't always be the case.
So, we rocked some more and talked about Mad Eye and Voldemort and what we thought would happen next. We agreed to put this rotten day behind us.
I kissed her goodnight and went in the living room to tell Bing that I was going to bed. I was so tired.
This parenting thing is really, really hard. And exhausting. Carol Brady never seemed to want to drink herself into a stupor on these hard nights.
The hardest part of following through is just that. You have to DO IT. Empty threats don't count. You have to walk the walk, be the mean mother, risk making them hate you even for a little bit.
And the worst part? Not only do I hate laying down the law with Liv, I also have to feel her pain. I swear, I could feel her pain coming up through the floorboards of the kitchen when she was cleaning the TV room in the basement. She had envisioned an afternoon of playing and fun and instead, she had to clean. She is still only eight, she was intimidated by me. Besides being mad as hell at me, she was also sick that she had disappointed me. It gives me no pleasure to be the one taking away her fun.
It was a long day. Not only did I want to have about four martinis, I also wanted to pig out on malted milk balls and then maybe go out on the balcony and smoke a carton of Virginia Slims. Menthol ones. Maybe smoke a joint or two....or three. A good bong with some decent stash. Instead, I had a bath. Because I have to be this fucking role model now.
Parenting is not for the weak....
This gig is HARD.
Not that she is a brat or anything. Actually, she is so well behaved that I rarely have to scold her.
Well, not yesterday. She had it coming yesterday.
And this heat adds to it. It is miserable outside, so hot and muggy. "The air you can wear," is how one smarty pants weather guy puts it. Temps in the high 90's, 78% humidity. Even in the air conditioned house, the air settles in on your skin. My wooden cupboards in the kitchen feel sticky no matter how many times I polish them. We keep the thermostat on 80 degrees, which on most days, works. When it is this hot, it just feels like some semi cool air is churning around. My garden loves this weather, is bursting out of it's seams like a slutty dance hall girl. I bring in baskets and baskets of vegetables and fruits. Every usable counter space in my kitchen is taken as well as the dining room floor. I will start canning and freezing next week and this will go on until I have enough to get us through the Winter and to provide gifts for everyone I love. Then, the rest will go to the homeless shelter.
But, I am crabby and hot, my legs slick with sweat, a constant moistness to my face and neck. I drink glass after glass of iced tea, holding the dripping glass up to my face, resting it on my thigh, anything to get cooler.
Liv and Bing aren't as bad as I am with the heat, but even they are hot enough to not want to eat anything too steamy for dinner. We eat from the garden a lot, big salads, cucumbers and tomatoes swimming around in vinegar and milk.
It is two weeks until school starts and Liv is panicking. She loves school, but loves Summer more. She feels that chain starting to gather around her neck and she doesn't appreciate it one bit.
Yes, she is bored with summertime. She is tired of drawing pictures, tired of painting them and having me ooh and aahh over them. Tired of playing Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders, Battleship and Checkers. Playing in the sprinkler is old hat. She invites her bff, Constance, over nearly every day and they lay splayed in the living room watching re-runs of Hannah Montana or going up to the attic to halfheartedly play dress up. They beg me to supervise them baking cookies and then get bored with the whole process halfway through, only finishing because I won't let them stop mid-way. They play outside in Liv's treehouse. I see them talking with their legs hanging over the side, flat on their backs, probably sharing how much they dread going back to school or who has the meanest Mom.
Yesterday, I was tired by 10 a.m. I had finished up my paperwork and was deciding if I could tackle that kitchen drawer that is so messy that it is a disgrace. Liv wandered in, asked for pancakes for breakfast (which I DETEST making when it is hot outside, they just add to the general stickiness of August life.) I made her the pancakes. She took THREE bites and bailed on them. Said that she was full. I informed her that they were going in the fridge to be eaten for lunch or else as treats during the day instead of her snarfing down cookies. She nodded wearily. We were both just...Augusted out.
She called Constance and they talked for awhile. Then she got off the phone saying that Constance said that the phone receiver felt hot on her ear and she would call back later.
Liv slumped. She followed me from room to room, asking for things she knew she couldn't have: a trip to Fun Plex, goodwill shopping for more dress-up clothes, a hunt at department stores for webkins trading cards. I finally told her to find something to do besides bug me or I would find a closet for her to clean. (And, yes, that was my mother's voice that you just heard coming out of me, something I swore would never, ever happen.)
She went to call Constance again. It had only been 10 minutes.
"You may not call Constance again," I told her. "She said that she would call back later and she has an infant brother. Her mama told me that she has trouble getting him to sleep sometimes and I do not want you hassling them by calling."
Liv frowned. "But, I'm bored and she said that she would call back when the phone receiver cooled off..."
Too bad, I told her. If she hasn't called back by lunchtime, you can call her again.
LUNCHTIME!
You would have thought I told her January.
Yes, lunchtime, I reiterated and went to go make my bed.
As I was finishing, Liv came in, the phone to her ear.
"Can I have Constance over?" she asked.
I sighed. Nodded. Why the hell can she NEVER go over to Constance's house? Why must it always be at our house? I already knew the answer. Constance's mother is a stay at home mom, her father is a firefighter. They have a new baby who has colic. Sada, (Constance's mother) looks like she is about ready to lose it any second these days. I think she loves it when Constance plays at our house and I know that if the situation were reversed, she would help me out and have the girls at their house.
I gave Liv the okay to have Constance over. It became settled up.
When Liv got off the phone, I said, "Constance DID call you and not vice versa, right?"
Silence. And then a brief nod. A very untruthful nod.
I went over and picked up the phone, checked the caller id. No Constance. I gave Liv a long look, raised an eyebrow.
She caved like a marshmallow for s'mores.
No, Constance had not called. Liv had called her. Even though she knew I had told her no, she couldn't stand it and did it anyway.
I dialed Constance's phone number, asked to speak with her mother. I told Sada the circumstances and apologized for canceling the girl's play date. She was okay with it.
Liv's face was furious, she was pink cheeked and mad as a wet hen.
I hung up. Told her that she WOULD learn to obey me, and more importantly, not to lie to me. There would be no play dates today and she could just march downstairs and clean up the TV room in the basement. And no TV. She could do it in silence.
Liv knows that the word HATE is not allowed in our home. So, she sputtered out with, "I don't like you one bit right now! I think you are mean!"
I didn't answer her, just handed her a bottle of water and pointed to the basement. She looked so enraged that for a moment, I wondered what I would do if she told me point blank that she wouldn't do it...
She marched down, stomping on each step.
It took her most of the morning to finish the basement. She came upstairs for lunch and found her pancakes left over from this morning, warmed up in the microwave. She scowled, but didn't say anything.
However, if looks could kill, I would have been dead on the kitchen floor.
She spent the afternoon in her bedroom reading, playing on the computer with her webkins and not speaking to me.
It was a long afternoon. I dislike it when the house is this tense, but I can't have her disobeying me or lying. I dug my heels in and ignored her.
Bing came home from work and I told her what was going on. Now, Bing is always saying that I am too easy on Liv, so I was surprised when she asked if maybe I was being too hard on her....I also noticed that, at dinnertime, she made sure that Liv had the juiciest, fattest strawberries on her plate and she leaned down to give her a quick, sympathetic hug.
So much for us being a good parenting team.....
I gave Liv her bath. We didn't say a word to each other. I tucked her into bed and took her reluctant hand in mine.
"Would you like to talk about this?"I asked her.
She shook her head no.
"Well, tough beans, I need to talk about this, but I will be brief and then I will read a chapter of Harry Potter."
She waited, looking nonchalantly up at the ceiling as if there was an interesting painting on it.
"Do you understand why you could not have a play date today?" I asked.
A brief nod. Yes.
"Okay, tell me why," I said.
She said in a deliberate sing song voice, "Because I disobeyed you by calling Constance and then lied to you about it."
"Yes. That is it exactly. I just wanted to make sure you understood. Shall I start reading Harry now?"
She nodded.
I started reading. It was a tough chapter. A main character dies, a well loved tough bird named Mad Eye Moody. And Voldemort makes an appearance.
Liv listened as I read, her eyes somber and then anxious. After I finished, I closed the book. I leaned in to kiss her cheek, expecting the cold shoulder.
Instead, she asked to sit in the rocker together.
I rocked her for awhile, not talking. Her legs are so long now that they nearly reach the floor. And then, at last, she cried.
"I'm sorry that I was naughty!" she wailed. "I hate it when you look so disappointed in me!"
I rocked and soothed, told her that I was not angry anymore, but that she had pushed me into a corner with her unacceptable behavior.
"You can't just expect me to let you get away with stuff like that," I told her. "It's my job to teach you good manners and right from wrong."
She said that she knew and she was sorry, that she would try very hard not to lie or disobey me again. It occurred to me that this is going to be much harder when she is a teenager, but for now, my disappointment is a huge motivational factor for her. That won't always be the case.
So, we rocked some more and talked about Mad Eye and Voldemort and what we thought would happen next. We agreed to put this rotten day behind us.
I kissed her goodnight and went in the living room to tell Bing that I was going to bed. I was so tired.
This parenting thing is really, really hard. And exhausting. Carol Brady never seemed to want to drink herself into a stupor on these hard nights.
The hardest part of following through is just that. You have to DO IT. Empty threats don't count. You have to walk the walk, be the mean mother, risk making them hate you even for a little bit.
And the worst part? Not only do I hate laying down the law with Liv, I also have to feel her pain. I swear, I could feel her pain coming up through the floorboards of the kitchen when she was cleaning the TV room in the basement. She had envisioned an afternoon of playing and fun and instead, she had to clean. She is still only eight, she was intimidated by me. Besides being mad as hell at me, she was also sick that she had disappointed me. It gives me no pleasure to be the one taking away her fun.
It was a long day. Not only did I want to have about four martinis, I also wanted to pig out on malted milk balls and then maybe go out on the balcony and smoke a carton of Virginia Slims. Menthol ones. Maybe smoke a joint or two....or three. A good bong with some decent stash. Instead, I had a bath. Because I have to be this fucking role model now.
Parenting is not for the weak....
This gig is HARD.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Actual Day
Setting: Inside the car, on the way to the movie theater yesterday after dropping Liv off at her friend's house.
Bing is driving. Maria is next to her, crabby because it is so freakin hot outside. Since Maria is always hot and Bing is always cold and because Maria listens to audio books on tape and Bing prefers the country western radio station, they have a rule:
Whoever is driving gets to pick the thermostat temp and what is listened to.
Maria: Can we just this once listen to my David Sedaris tape? I think you will like him, really I do.
Bing:(sighing hugely) Well, okay. I suppose so. This isn't some political thing, is it?
No. It's a group of essays. He's family. You will like him.
They ride for a few moments, listening. Maria is snorting with laughter almost immediately. Bing looks annoyed.
All right. That's enough of that. I can't stand his voice. That IS his voice, right? Because it could either be a man or a woman.
Of COURSE it's his own voice. I LOVE his voice. Don't you think he's funny?
He's okay, I suppose. But, his voice bugs me. He needs to get someone else to read his work. I'm changing it to music.
She does this. Keith Urban comes on singing about how he's never been the kind to ever let his feelings show. Maria rolls her eyes. Stares out the window. She very slowly lets her hand glide to the a/c knob...before she can get there, Bing speaks.
And it is fucking freezing in here. Please keep your mitts off the air.
They arrive at the movie theater. Maria spots the perfect parking place and points it out to Bing who immediately vetos it because it is in the sun and will make the car hot. Maria makes a snippy comment about how Bing seems to like a hot car anyway.....
Bing parks a good ways away, under a tree. By the time they trek to the theater, Maria's makeup is dripping off of her face and her legs feel slick with sweat. This makes her crabbier.
Bing is barely breaking a sweat. She says what she always says:We will miss this warm weather in a few months!
Maria glares at her.
Maria pays for the tickets to see the movie Stardust, while Bing looks longingly at the poster for Live Free or Die Hard. She knows that since she picked Hairspray the last time, it is Maria's turn to pick the movie...but Jaysus, does she always have to insist on some movie that is either a chick flick, so deep that you have to think as if you are taking a test, or some documentary about health insurance or the ozone layer with Al Gore and a pointer? She sighs and goes to buy the snacks (always the same: a small popcorn to share, iced tea for Maria, diet soda for herself) while Maria goes in and gets the seats. They always have to sit on the aisle because Maria has this thing about being able to GET OUT FAST if she has to. There has never been a terrorist attack when they have been at a movie, but Maria gets all anxious if she can't sit on the aisle. Bing has never sat in the middle of a row when she is with Maria. On the days when they are really fighting, she often dreams about seeing a movie right square in the middle of a row.
They watch the previews together. Some stupid movie with the soundtrack of "Hey, Jude" comes on the screen. It looks like one of those boring "message" movies and out of the corner of her eye, Bing can see Maria smiling and nodding.
Great. She will have to sit through this klunker when it comes out.
Another preview comes on the screen. This looks funny. Mr. Bean's Holiday! Bing watches with interest and laughs out loud. This will be a fun one to see!
Maria, sitting next to her, thinks, "Good fresh hell, Bing is laughing. I am going have to sit through this piece of shit someday....."
The movie comes on and they move to hold hands. They enjoy doing this because since they are lesbians, any PDA is frowned on in public and they both sort of like living. They can't risk that some gay basher will see them and either follow them home or maybe just make a remark to his/her friends about how creepy gay people are. Maybe they will just be pointed out and giggled at like monkeys in a zoo...but it is tiresome and both know not to risk it.
Bing looks over at Maria and the screen is bright enough that when she winks, Maria catches it and smiles at her. Squeezes her hand.
After the movie, they will pick up Liv and go home and Bing will make pork chops while Maria and Liv set the table and talk. Bing likes to hear them talking together. It makes her feel family centered.
After dinner, Maria will run a bath for Liv and then they will go into Liv's room and read their Harry Potter. Later, Maria will come out and announce that she is beat and going to go take a bath and hit the sack early.
Bing stays up to empty the dishwasher and watch a Star Trek movie that is on the sci-fi channel. She will turn on the house alarm and wander through the house before bed.
She will check on Liv and tuck her foot into her covers. She will change into her tee shirt and boxers and slide in with Maria, who is out like a light and snoring.
And life will be pretty good, you know?
Bing is driving. Maria is next to her, crabby because it is so freakin hot outside. Since Maria is always hot and Bing is always cold and because Maria listens to audio books on tape and Bing prefers the country western radio station, they have a rule:
Whoever is driving gets to pick the thermostat temp and what is listened to.
Maria: Can we just this once listen to my David Sedaris tape? I think you will like him, really I do.
Bing:(sighing hugely) Well, okay. I suppose so. This isn't some political thing, is it?
No. It's a group of essays. He's family. You will like him.
They ride for a few moments, listening. Maria is snorting with laughter almost immediately. Bing looks annoyed.
All right. That's enough of that. I can't stand his voice. That IS his voice, right? Because it could either be a man or a woman.
Of COURSE it's his own voice. I LOVE his voice. Don't you think he's funny?
He's okay, I suppose. But, his voice bugs me. He needs to get someone else to read his work. I'm changing it to music.
She does this. Keith Urban comes on singing about how he's never been the kind to ever let his feelings show. Maria rolls her eyes. Stares out the window. She very slowly lets her hand glide to the a/c knob...before she can get there, Bing speaks.
And it is fucking freezing in here. Please keep your mitts off the air.
They arrive at the movie theater. Maria spots the perfect parking place and points it out to Bing who immediately vetos it because it is in the sun and will make the car hot. Maria makes a snippy comment about how Bing seems to like a hot car anyway.....
Bing parks a good ways away, under a tree. By the time they trek to the theater, Maria's makeup is dripping off of her face and her legs feel slick with sweat. This makes her crabbier.
Bing is barely breaking a sweat. She says what she always says:We will miss this warm weather in a few months!
Maria glares at her.
Maria pays for the tickets to see the movie Stardust, while Bing looks longingly at the poster for Live Free or Die Hard. She knows that since she picked Hairspray the last time, it is Maria's turn to pick the movie...but Jaysus, does she always have to insist on some movie that is either a chick flick, so deep that you have to think as if you are taking a test, or some documentary about health insurance or the ozone layer with Al Gore and a pointer? She sighs and goes to buy the snacks (always the same: a small popcorn to share, iced tea for Maria, diet soda for herself) while Maria goes in and gets the seats. They always have to sit on the aisle because Maria has this thing about being able to GET OUT FAST if she has to. There has never been a terrorist attack when they have been at a movie, but Maria gets all anxious if she can't sit on the aisle. Bing has never sat in the middle of a row when she is with Maria. On the days when they are really fighting, she often dreams about seeing a movie right square in the middle of a row.
They watch the previews together. Some stupid movie with the soundtrack of "Hey, Jude" comes on the screen. It looks like one of those boring "message" movies and out of the corner of her eye, Bing can see Maria smiling and nodding.
Great. She will have to sit through this klunker when it comes out.
Another preview comes on the screen. This looks funny. Mr. Bean's Holiday! Bing watches with interest and laughs out loud. This will be a fun one to see!
Maria, sitting next to her, thinks, "Good fresh hell, Bing is laughing. I am going have to sit through this piece of shit someday....."
The movie comes on and they move to hold hands. They enjoy doing this because since they are lesbians, any PDA is frowned on in public and they both sort of like living. They can't risk that some gay basher will see them and either follow them home or maybe just make a remark to his/her friends about how creepy gay people are. Maybe they will just be pointed out and giggled at like monkeys in a zoo...but it is tiresome and both know not to risk it.
Bing looks over at Maria and the screen is bright enough that when she winks, Maria catches it and smiles at her. Squeezes her hand.
After the movie, they will pick up Liv and go home and Bing will make pork chops while Maria and Liv set the table and talk. Bing likes to hear them talking together. It makes her feel family centered.
After dinner, Maria will run a bath for Liv and then they will go into Liv's room and read their Harry Potter. Later, Maria will come out and announce that she is beat and going to go take a bath and hit the sack early.
Bing stays up to empty the dishwasher and watch a Star Trek movie that is on the sci-fi channel. She will turn on the house alarm and wander through the house before bed.
She will check on Liv and tuck her foot into her covers. She will change into her tee shirt and boxers and slide in with Maria, who is out like a light and snoring.
And life will be pretty good, you know?
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Meme #4890 or something....
I was tapped for this meme about four months ago and am just now getting around to it...
Mostly because I am not a big fan of them, but I do see their purpose. You sort of get a glimpse of the person behind the blog when you read their meme. So..now it is time for all of you to see just how sick and twisted this woman really is. And I am not going to tap anyone, of course. I never do. If you need some filler and it seems fun, do it. If not, skim on through...
1)Were you named after anyone?
Yes. My sisters and I were all named on a the saint's feastday of whatever our birthday was. I am extremely lucky that I was not born on St.Brunhilde's feast day. If the name was a male, it was femmed up. This is what happens when you are born into a devout Irish Catholic family.
2)When was the last time you cried?
Let's see...when I read the last chapter of The Half Blood Prince in the Harry Potter series to Liv.
3)Do you like your handwriting?
Yes.
4)What is your favorite lunch meat?
I don't really like lunch meat. I do like chicken salad.
5)Do you have kids?
I have one.
6)if you were another person would you be friends with you?
This is a hard one. I would probably try to be, but I am really hard to be good friends with and have a very small circle of good friends, so I doubt if I would allow it. I already think I have too many friends, so I would probably be polite, but not let me be friends with me, if that makes any fucking sense.
7)Do you use sarcasm a lot?
Duh.
8)Do you still have your tonsils?
No. I had them out when I was 7. I was such a prolific snorer that my parents were sure that if I had them out, everyone around me could sleep more easily. It seemed to help. I only snore now when I have a bad cold.
9)Would you bungee jump?
Hell no. I have sciatica. I can barely walk in the morning. Bungee jumping would probably put me in a wheelchair.
10)What is your favorite cereal?
I like cocoa puffs for cold cereal, but I LOVE McCann's Irish Oat Bran the best. I prefer hot cereal even on days like this in August when you have to be insane to eat anything hot.
11)Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
No, I just kick 'em off.
12)Do you think you are strong?
No, I have like NO upper body strength to speak of. I complain when I have to carry the groceries in.
13)What is your favorite ice cream?
I like Green and Black's Organic White Chocolate with Strawberries.
14)What is the first thing you notice about people?
Their clothes. And I certainly hope that it isn't the first thing they notice about me...
15)Red or pink?
RED. I live in Nebraska. We have the Cornhuskers here. We all wear red on game days and are known to sports broadcasters as "That sea of red in Memorial Stadium." I don't know anyone in Nebraska who doesn't wear red on game days. We are just crazy like that. Some of us wear corncob hats too. Not me. I just wear my baseball cap that says Homo for Huskers! on it. Bing got her master's degree from UNL, so we have season tickets to all the games and we ALL wear red and scream our lungs out and sing the "Hey" song like we mean it. And we do. If you grocery shop or pump gas on a game day, they have the game on loudspeakers. It is a rule.
16)What is your least favorite thing about yourself?
I am stubborn. I don't give second chances. Once I hate you, I pretty much hate you forever unless you really hit your knees good and hard.
17)Who do you miss the most?
My neighbor, Orna. She was one of a kind.
18)You want everyone to blog this?
No. I want you to do your thing. If you want it, take it. If not, skip it. Be yourself.
19)What color pants and shoes are you wearing?
I am wearing jean capris and blue sneaks.
20)What was the last thing you ate?
2 malted milk balls.
21)What are you listening to right now?
Bing mowing the lawn. Pretty soon, she will come in all hot and sweaty and say, "Are you STILL on the computer?" And yes...she just came in and that is exactly what she said.
22)If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Cadet blue.
23)Favorite smells?
Almond scented soap. Mint. Beef stew on an Autumn day. Liv's back after I rub baby lotion on it.
24)Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
My sister. She just got home from her vacation and she wanted to set up a dinner date with me to tell me all about how I missed out on some fun camping. As if....
25)Do you like the person who sent this to you?
I like everyone on my blogroll. She is on there.
26)Favorite sport to watch.
Cornhusker football. USC football. Washington Huskie football. Any football.
27)Hair color.
Salt and pepper. Used to be mouse brown. This is an improvement. I actually use a shampoo formulated for "graying styles." I am old.
28) Eye color?
Cadet blue. But, I have always pined for brown eyes. Liv has very deep dark brown eyes. Like velvet. They are gorgeous with her dark blonde hair. A friend told me the other day, "Liv is going to be a knock-out with that summer blonde hair, brown eyes and olive skin." She is already beautiful...
29)Do you wear contacts?
I tried once. I hated it. I have several pairs of glasses. I have John Lennon orbs, black circular ones (Ali McGraw in Love Story), multicolored ones and plain horn rims. I am wearing those now. I change them with my moods. All are transitions glasses, so they go into sunglasses when I go outside.
30)Favorite food?
I love Irish oatmeal with cinnamon, brown sugar and raisins. I could eat it for every meal and I am not exaggerating.
31)Scary movies or happy endings?
That is hard. I only like scary movies if they are Stephen King ones and I sort of like happy endings, but only if they are kind of surreal, like Garden State. I am more a fan of realistic endings, like Lost in Translation.
32)Last movie you watched?
Hairspray. And I hated it. Bing, however, was so moved she almost got up and danced in the aisle. She loves anything musical.
33)What color shirt are you wearing?
Pink tee shirt that says National Sarcasm Society...Like we need your support.
34)Summer or Winter?
Winter. But I am only saying this because it is August and I am hotter than hell and sick to death of the humidity. If I were writing this in February, I would say Summer.
35)Hugs or kisses?
Neither, unless I know you really, really well. I am not a hugger or a kisser, except with Liv.
36)Favorite dessert?
Hot fudge sundae. I have not had one in years, though.
37)Most likely to post this on their blog?
I don't know. No one I read is that into memes, we only use them when we are tapped out, so I suppose it would be someone who has had a really rough week....maybe...PBS?
38)Least likely to blog this?
Lulu. She only does haiku. This would be really hard to do in haiku form.....
39)What book are you reading now?
Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris. Thanks to Terroni, I am a die hard Sedaris fan now.
40)What is on your mouse pad
I don't have one. I am a Mac.
41)What did you watch on TV last night?
The first half hour of SNL.
42)Favorite sound?
A quiet house at 2 a.m. Waking up and knowing that I still have hours to sleep.
43)Rolling Stones or The Beatles?
The Beatles.
44)What is the furthest you have ever been from home?
India.
45)Do you have a special talent?
I am an extraordinarily good baker, but I suck at basic cooking. I only like to make cakes and pies, cookies, etc.
46)Where were you born?
Iowa
47)Whose answers are you looking forward to getting back?
No ones. I just like reading their blogs.
48)What time is it?
12:52 p.m. and almost time for Bing and I to go see the movie Stardust. And I confess that I am really glad to finally be shed of this meme....
Mostly because I am not a big fan of them, but I do see their purpose. You sort of get a glimpse of the person behind the blog when you read their meme. So..now it is time for all of you to see just how sick and twisted this woman really is. And I am not going to tap anyone, of course. I never do. If you need some filler and it seems fun, do it. If not, skim on through...
1)Were you named after anyone?
Yes. My sisters and I were all named on a the saint's feastday of whatever our birthday was. I am extremely lucky that I was not born on St.Brunhilde's feast day. If the name was a male, it was femmed up. This is what happens when you are born into a devout Irish Catholic family.
2)When was the last time you cried?
Let's see...when I read the last chapter of The Half Blood Prince in the Harry Potter series to Liv.
3)Do you like your handwriting?
Yes.
4)What is your favorite lunch meat?
I don't really like lunch meat. I do like chicken salad.
5)Do you have kids?
I have one.
6)if you were another person would you be friends with you?
This is a hard one. I would probably try to be, but I am really hard to be good friends with and have a very small circle of good friends, so I doubt if I would allow it. I already think I have too many friends, so I would probably be polite, but not let me be friends with me, if that makes any fucking sense.
7)Do you use sarcasm a lot?
Duh.
8)Do you still have your tonsils?
No. I had them out when I was 7. I was such a prolific snorer that my parents were sure that if I had them out, everyone around me could sleep more easily. It seemed to help. I only snore now when I have a bad cold.
9)Would you bungee jump?
Hell no. I have sciatica. I can barely walk in the morning. Bungee jumping would probably put me in a wheelchair.
10)What is your favorite cereal?
I like cocoa puffs for cold cereal, but I LOVE McCann's Irish Oat Bran the best. I prefer hot cereal even on days like this in August when you have to be insane to eat anything hot.
11)Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
No, I just kick 'em off.
12)Do you think you are strong?
No, I have like NO upper body strength to speak of. I complain when I have to carry the groceries in.
13)What is your favorite ice cream?
I like Green and Black's Organic White Chocolate with Strawberries.
14)What is the first thing you notice about people?
Their clothes. And I certainly hope that it isn't the first thing they notice about me...
15)Red or pink?
RED. I live in Nebraska. We have the Cornhuskers here. We all wear red on game days and are known to sports broadcasters as "That sea of red in Memorial Stadium." I don't know anyone in Nebraska who doesn't wear red on game days. We are just crazy like that. Some of us wear corncob hats too. Not me. I just wear my baseball cap that says Homo for Huskers! on it. Bing got her master's degree from UNL, so we have season tickets to all the games and we ALL wear red and scream our lungs out and sing the "Hey" song like we mean it. And we do. If you grocery shop or pump gas on a game day, they have the game on loudspeakers. It is a rule.
16)What is your least favorite thing about yourself?
I am stubborn. I don't give second chances. Once I hate you, I pretty much hate you forever unless you really hit your knees good and hard.
17)Who do you miss the most?
My neighbor, Orna. She was one of a kind.
18)You want everyone to blog this?
No. I want you to do your thing. If you want it, take it. If not, skip it. Be yourself.
19)What color pants and shoes are you wearing?
I am wearing jean capris and blue sneaks.
20)What was the last thing you ate?
2 malted milk balls.
21)What are you listening to right now?
Bing mowing the lawn. Pretty soon, she will come in all hot and sweaty and say, "Are you STILL on the computer?" And yes...she just came in and that is exactly what she said.
22)If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Cadet blue.
23)Favorite smells?
Almond scented soap. Mint. Beef stew on an Autumn day. Liv's back after I rub baby lotion on it.
24)Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
My sister. She just got home from her vacation and she wanted to set up a dinner date with me to tell me all about how I missed out on some fun camping. As if....
25)Do you like the person who sent this to you?
I like everyone on my blogroll. She is on there.
26)Favorite sport to watch.
Cornhusker football. USC football. Washington Huskie football. Any football.
27)Hair color.
Salt and pepper. Used to be mouse brown. This is an improvement. I actually use a shampoo formulated for "graying styles." I am old.
28) Eye color?
Cadet blue. But, I have always pined for brown eyes. Liv has very deep dark brown eyes. Like velvet. They are gorgeous with her dark blonde hair. A friend told me the other day, "Liv is going to be a knock-out with that summer blonde hair, brown eyes and olive skin." She is already beautiful...
29)Do you wear contacts?
I tried once. I hated it. I have several pairs of glasses. I have John Lennon orbs, black circular ones (Ali McGraw in Love Story), multicolored ones and plain horn rims. I am wearing those now. I change them with my moods. All are transitions glasses, so they go into sunglasses when I go outside.
30)Favorite food?
I love Irish oatmeal with cinnamon, brown sugar and raisins. I could eat it for every meal and I am not exaggerating.
31)Scary movies or happy endings?
That is hard. I only like scary movies if they are Stephen King ones and I sort of like happy endings, but only if they are kind of surreal, like Garden State. I am more a fan of realistic endings, like Lost in Translation.
32)Last movie you watched?
Hairspray. And I hated it. Bing, however, was so moved she almost got up and danced in the aisle. She loves anything musical.
33)What color shirt are you wearing?
Pink tee shirt that says National Sarcasm Society...Like we need your support.
34)Summer or Winter?
Winter. But I am only saying this because it is August and I am hotter than hell and sick to death of the humidity. If I were writing this in February, I would say Summer.
35)Hugs or kisses?
Neither, unless I know you really, really well. I am not a hugger or a kisser, except with Liv.
36)Favorite dessert?
Hot fudge sundae. I have not had one in years, though.
37)Most likely to post this on their blog?
I don't know. No one I read is that into memes, we only use them when we are tapped out, so I suppose it would be someone who has had a really rough week....maybe...PBS?
38)Least likely to blog this?
Lulu. She only does haiku. This would be really hard to do in haiku form.....
39)What book are you reading now?
Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris. Thanks to Terroni, I am a die hard Sedaris fan now.
40)What is on your mouse pad
I don't have one. I am a Mac.
41)What did you watch on TV last night?
The first half hour of SNL.
42)Favorite sound?
A quiet house at 2 a.m. Waking up and knowing that I still have hours to sleep.
43)Rolling Stones or The Beatles?
The Beatles.
44)What is the furthest you have ever been from home?
India.
45)Do you have a special talent?
I am an extraordinarily good baker, but I suck at basic cooking. I only like to make cakes and pies, cookies, etc.
46)Where were you born?
Iowa
47)Whose answers are you looking forward to getting back?
No ones. I just like reading their blogs.
48)What time is it?
12:52 p.m. and almost time for Bing and I to go see the movie Stardust. And I confess that I am really glad to finally be shed of this meme....
Saturday, August 11, 2007
A small meaningless rant and breaking my child's heart.
First...Liv's heart.
We finished Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince last night. I started the Harry books with her on her sixth birthday and it has taken us over two years of one chapter a night (ok..sometimes more) to get this far. Tonight, we start the final book.
But, of course, as all of you Harry fans know...The Half Blood Prince is the most heart breaking of all the books because at the end, there is that terrible death of Dumbledore at the hand of the one whom he trusted the most. I read ahead and remember being mad as bloody hell when I read that book. Mostly, because Snape was one of my favorite characters and I refused to believe that he was the bad guy now.
Liv loves the character of Dumbledore, who is probably one of the most loved characters in children's literature. She only loved Hagrid second to him, followed by Lupin and the Weasley twins. And of course...Harry, Hermione and Ron are her absolute favorites.
So, as we reached the end of this book, I tried to prepare her. I told her that sometimes people die, you know.
She calmly told me to read on. She has listened as Harry escaped scrape after scrape with Voldemort, so she was sure that Dumbledore and Harry would find a way to escape Draco Malfoy. I mean, Draco was such a lightweight!
I read on, looking up now and then to gauge her emotional level. She was expressionless, maybe just a tiny bit anxious.
And then, of course, we hit the death scene, where the beloved Dumbledore dies not at the hand of Draco, but at the hand of his trusted friend, Snape.
She didn't make a sound, just wept silently, laying on her back, her tears falling into her ears.
I finally closed the book. It was finished. She didn't say a word, just moved into my lap and sat with her head on my shoulder as we rocked.
I felt vaguely guilty. What kind of parent was I to subject her to this?
And then, she rallied.
"Well," she said. "I guess that we will still be able to see Dumbledore in those portraits in the headmaster's office."
Yes, I told her. This was true. And sometimes those that we love die. But, we never lose them as long as they live in our hearts. She gave me another of her looks, the one that says that I am as about as hokey as one can get.
"Just promise me one thing," she said. "Promise me that Lupin and Tonks and all the Weasleys make it through in the next book."
Oh. Dear.
I didn't answer at first. And then I suggested that maybe we want to hold off on reading the last book for awhile. Maybe a year or two?
She gave me one of her standard long looks. Took a deep breath.
"No," she said. "I can handle it. I just want to see Voldemort bite the big one."
Well, yeah. That I can promise....
And she said, "I am learning something important from these books, too. I am learning that you can't let the Voldemorts of the world scare you. You can't ever let yourself be run by fear."
Alrightly, then. On to the Deathly Hallows.
Because that is precisely what I wanted her to get from these books. I have allowed myself to be intimidated by creepy peepers and other Voldemorts too many times in my life. And the day you put your foot down and say that it ends here...that is the day when you take back your life. So...on to the last book.
And now, a small rant, just because it is boiling inside of me.
Sometimes I want to wring Bing's neck.
And not in a good way.....:)
She has got to be the sloppiest woman on the earth.
She began tearing up our bathroom in MARCH. It is now August and we only have the tile down and the new sink in. We still have to paint the boiler cover and paint the walls. But, at least we no longer are stepping on grout cement. When she was gone at her Apple Seminar, I hired a tiler.
She has little projects laying all over the house. One of our friends is an artist. She made a portrait of me (one of the most hauntingly beautiful pictures of myself that I have ever seen...it looks like me, except a lot better than I really look, if you know what I mean. It is called "the day she became a mother.") This portrait hangs in our living room (against my better judgment...I feel like a narcissist having it hang there, but it always gets commented on favorably). She made another one for our dining room that is fantastic. It is of two men in suits baking a cake. And last Christmas, our friend presented us with another one...a gorgeous rendition of one of my favorite songs of Stephen Malkmus about not feeding the oyster underneath the clouds. It is an odd shaped pencil drawing and Bing has been promising to take it to the frame shop since snow was on the ground. She hasn't gotten to it yet. When I ask her about it, she gives me this song and dance about if I would just stop nagging her maybe she could get it done....
She has a sack to go to goodwill, but instead of keeping it out of the way, she has it sitting next to the fridge. It has been there for two weeks. I keep moving it out of the way and she keeps moving it back, says that it is her reminder to take it to goodwill.
SO TAKE THE FRACKING THING ALREADY!
She is a teacher and goes back to school on Monday to get ready for the kids to come back in two weeks. This means that every stinkin project in our house will go on hold until her next time off which is.....CHRISTMAS!
I sometimes wonder how one woman can be such a slob, such a procrastinator.
And then she goes and does something nice and I have to stop acting like a bitch.
She cleaned the bathroom off of our bedroom. She knows that I HATE to clean bathrooms, so she just did it.
She mows the lawn and never ever complains that I never help.
She came back to bed this morning after her shower because she said that I looked "too delicious to pass up."
She washes my car.
She brings me vanilla chai iced teas home because she knows that I love them.
So, I guess the goodwill bag and the framing and the boiler painting can wait.
Because if she can stand me being me, I need to stand her being her.
And besides, if Voldemort showed up at the front door, she'd make me and Liv get behind her......
We finished Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince last night. I started the Harry books with her on her sixth birthday and it has taken us over two years of one chapter a night (ok..sometimes more) to get this far. Tonight, we start the final book.
But, of course, as all of you Harry fans know...The Half Blood Prince is the most heart breaking of all the books because at the end, there is that terrible death of Dumbledore at the hand of the one whom he trusted the most. I read ahead and remember being mad as bloody hell when I read that book. Mostly, because Snape was one of my favorite characters and I refused to believe that he was the bad guy now.
Liv loves the character of Dumbledore, who is probably one of the most loved characters in children's literature. She only loved Hagrid second to him, followed by Lupin and the Weasley twins. And of course...Harry, Hermione and Ron are her absolute favorites.
So, as we reached the end of this book, I tried to prepare her. I told her that sometimes people die, you know.
She calmly told me to read on. She has listened as Harry escaped scrape after scrape with Voldemort, so she was sure that Dumbledore and Harry would find a way to escape Draco Malfoy. I mean, Draco was such a lightweight!
I read on, looking up now and then to gauge her emotional level. She was expressionless, maybe just a tiny bit anxious.
And then, of course, we hit the death scene, where the beloved Dumbledore dies not at the hand of Draco, but at the hand of his trusted friend, Snape.
She didn't make a sound, just wept silently, laying on her back, her tears falling into her ears.
I finally closed the book. It was finished. She didn't say a word, just moved into my lap and sat with her head on my shoulder as we rocked.
I felt vaguely guilty. What kind of parent was I to subject her to this?
And then, she rallied.
"Well," she said. "I guess that we will still be able to see Dumbledore in those portraits in the headmaster's office."
Yes, I told her. This was true. And sometimes those that we love die. But, we never lose them as long as they live in our hearts. She gave me another of her looks, the one that says that I am as about as hokey as one can get.
"Just promise me one thing," she said. "Promise me that Lupin and Tonks and all the Weasleys make it through in the next book."
Oh. Dear.
I didn't answer at first. And then I suggested that maybe we want to hold off on reading the last book for awhile. Maybe a year or two?
She gave me one of her standard long looks. Took a deep breath.
"No," she said. "I can handle it. I just want to see Voldemort bite the big one."
Well, yeah. That I can promise....
And she said, "I am learning something important from these books, too. I am learning that you can't let the Voldemorts of the world scare you. You can't ever let yourself be run by fear."
Alrightly, then. On to the Deathly Hallows.
Because that is precisely what I wanted her to get from these books. I have allowed myself to be intimidated by creepy peepers and other Voldemorts too many times in my life. And the day you put your foot down and say that it ends here...that is the day when you take back your life. So...on to the last book.
And now, a small rant, just because it is boiling inside of me.
Sometimes I want to wring Bing's neck.
And not in a good way.....:)
She has got to be the sloppiest woman on the earth.
She began tearing up our bathroom in MARCH. It is now August and we only have the tile down and the new sink in. We still have to paint the boiler cover and paint the walls. But, at least we no longer are stepping on grout cement. When she was gone at her Apple Seminar, I hired a tiler.
She has little projects laying all over the house. One of our friends is an artist. She made a portrait of me (one of the most hauntingly beautiful pictures of myself that I have ever seen...it looks like me, except a lot better than I really look, if you know what I mean. It is called "the day she became a mother.") This portrait hangs in our living room (against my better judgment...I feel like a narcissist having it hang there, but it always gets commented on favorably). She made another one for our dining room that is fantastic. It is of two men in suits baking a cake. And last Christmas, our friend presented us with another one...a gorgeous rendition of one of my favorite songs of Stephen Malkmus about not feeding the oyster underneath the clouds. It is an odd shaped pencil drawing and Bing has been promising to take it to the frame shop since snow was on the ground. She hasn't gotten to it yet. When I ask her about it, she gives me this song and dance about if I would just stop nagging her maybe she could get it done....
She has a sack to go to goodwill, but instead of keeping it out of the way, she has it sitting next to the fridge. It has been there for two weeks. I keep moving it out of the way and she keeps moving it back, says that it is her reminder to take it to goodwill.
SO TAKE THE FRACKING THING ALREADY!
She is a teacher and goes back to school on Monday to get ready for the kids to come back in two weeks. This means that every stinkin project in our house will go on hold until her next time off which is.....CHRISTMAS!
I sometimes wonder how one woman can be such a slob, such a procrastinator.
And then she goes and does something nice and I have to stop acting like a bitch.
She cleaned the bathroom off of our bedroom. She knows that I HATE to clean bathrooms, so she just did it.
She mows the lawn and never ever complains that I never help.
She came back to bed this morning after her shower because she said that I looked "too delicious to pass up."
She washes my car.
She brings me vanilla chai iced teas home because she knows that I love them.
So, I guess the goodwill bag and the framing and the boiler painting can wait.
Because if she can stand me being me, I need to stand her being her.
And besides, if Voldemort showed up at the front door, she'd make me and Liv get behind her......
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Losing Liv
I still remember the day she was born. I had worried that I would have bonding problems. It was a legitimate worry as I was not good at bonding with people in general and I feared that I would fail at the most important bonding test of my life.
I needn't have worried. The first time I held Liv in my arms, it was the most transcendent moment of my life. I was linked and understood the term in a way that I had never done so before. She was part of me and I of her. We were a team.
By the time she was a year old, we had bonded so strongly that she was not really comfortable with anyone else but me. She would occasionally consent to go to one of my sisters or Bing (who was just a friend at the time), but it was not often. She really only wanted me. And I felt the same way.
Eventually, we moved from our more expensive house to one that was an older fixer upper. I went from working full time down to part time. It didn't make sense for us to be apart. Neither one of us liked it. I made the sacrifices needed to keep us together and I did it with complete joy and a happy heart. I went from having quite a bit of money to throw around to hardly any to toss lightly, but I got to be with Liv and that was all that mattered.
Many times, though, I did feel privately strangled. This usually happened on nights when she would wake up at 3 a.m. and refuse to go back to sleep. I would rock her and croon, sing to her, do anything to soothe her back to sleep, where I craved to be. I would lean over her crib with my hand extended into it and her fist wrapped tightly around my index finger. I would sing words like these to the tune of songs like "Oh,You Beautiful Doll":
You are driving me mad
You are truly driving me mad.
I can hardly bear to be in here with you
You are turning me into a bitch with the blues...
Liv hated to be away from me. I seldom went on dates or went anywhere without her. Even going to the bathroom by myself was not done. I finally started insisting on some semblance of privacy when she was about three. She would sit right next to the door and say,
"Can you just hum so that I know you are still in there?"
So, I would hum. And when I was finished, I would open the door and she would be hunkered down next to it, waiting anxiously, so glad to have me back.
My sisters all talked about me a lot among themselves. I know this because one of them would always tell me. They would say, "Well, Jessie is concerned that you and Liv are just a little too close. How is she going to learn to live in the world without you if you don't make her be more self reliant?"
I would reply that, at three, I didn't think Liv especially needed to learn self reliance.
But, privately, I did worry. Was I preventing her from finding her true self by not forcing her to be without me more?
Once, at a McDonalds with my sister and her grandchildren, I had to make a fast dash to the bathroom. I told my sister this and she said she'd keep an eye on Liv, who was unwrapping her happy meal. When I returned, Liv was silently weeping over her burger, looking terrified.
My sister said, "She looked up and couldn't see you and I guess she freaked out a little. I told her that you would be back in a few minutes."
I pulled Liv into my lap where she stayed rooted until we left. She couldn't eat, she refused to play with the other children, She simply sat and clung to me.
When Liv was three, I decided to enroll her in pre-school. On her first day, she asked if I would stay with her. I told her that no, I couldn't, but that she would have so much fun that she wouldn't miss me.
Her teacher had to pry her off of me finger by finger.
"Don't worry," she told me. "She will be fine as soon as you are gone."
I made it back to the car and halfway home, I pulled over and wept. She had seemed so frightened. This just did not feel right to me.
An hour later, I got the call from the head of the school.
"Well, Liv has broken our school record for crying. I think you had better come get her."
I did. Her teacher handed over a tear streaked Liv and smiled at me. She suggested that we try next year. On the way home, Liv was silent. I took her inside the house and we sat in the rocker to talk about it.
She was horrified. "I threw up in my teacher's hands!" she said, her voice trembling. I promised her that there would be no more school until she felt that she was ready.
Why I didn't realize that this was probably the best parenting advice before this is a mystery.
It was all actually very simple. You have a child. He or she has a certain temperament. Some children are gregarious, some are shy, some extroverted, some introverted. Your job as a parent is to let them evolve into themselves and help them along.
By the time, Liv was four, she was ready for pre-school and she handled the problem on her own.
"I will just take Leo with me until I feel comfortable," she decided.
Leo was her imaginary lion friend. He had shown up a few months before and was nicely a part of our family by then. I didn't set places for him at the table, etc, but Liv often told me that he liked to sit beside her while she ate. Occasionally, he liked to sit by me, I was told, and I would obligingly stroke his mane, scratch him under his chin. Liv said he particularly loved that.
So, I called her teacher-to-be and asked how the school felt about imaginary lions. She said that they would be happy to accommodate him as long as he didn't have special needs. I assured her that he was very unobtrusive.
On the first day, Liv walked in, clutching my hand and looking around at the other children. This was a Montessori school, so her teachers were called Miss first name. Her teacher was an ebony shaded woman, nearly six feet tall, called Miss Eudora. Liv told her solemnly that her lion was with her.
"Well, just let me know where he is so I don't step on his tail. I don't think he'd like that and since you are the only one who can see him, I have to rely on you to help me," Miss Eudora said. She had a lilting British accent that brought a black Mary Poppins skidding into my mind.
It was as easy as that. A child had a need. It was dealt with. Minimal fuss. Liv loved pre-school.
She went on to love kindergarten, first grade, second grade, and will begin third grade in two weeks. The Montessori method has been good for her. It suits her personality.
Now, Liv is eight. She no longer sits outside the door while I use the bathroom. She has several friends, many play dates. Is still a little aloof, but not an unfriendly child. She is merely herself and that is her way. She is not overly affectionate with anyone else but me, but she has a wry wit that takes me by surprise at times. She seems wise beyond her years and I find such depth in her character. I love that.
She goes on vacations with her father. She consents to babysitters when Bing and I need to go out alone. My sisters no longer give each other knowing looks when we visit. Liv is not seen as the odd child any longer. She is the smart one in our family circle of children, the one who has a vivid imagination and a way with words.
I wish that I had known that and trusted in that when she was a baby. Clinically, I think I did know all this, but I learned right away that analyzing the behavior of a stranger and analyzing the behavior of a child that you love can be very different. I wish that I had trusted Liv more to find her way.
Because she did, you know? She found the way that worked for her. I only had to let her do it. Be her guide, be her helper, not her dictator or worry excessively that she wasn't like other children or didn't hit the landmarks in the baby books when she was supposed to.
And now, I miss her sometimes. I miss that intense closeness that we had when she was a baby. Those hours of us so woven together that we seemed made of the same piece.
A few days ago, Bing said to me, "Do you realize that you hum when you go to the bathroom?"
I stared at her.
"Really," she said. "You do. I always know you are using the toilet because you hum a little tune."
I didn't tell her why I did that. It is a memory that I want to keep as just mine. All those days of humming on the toilet with a little toddler outside the door with her heart shaped face and pursed baby lips, listening intently to me humming, "Jimmy cracked corn and I don't care...."
Leo has long since moved on to help other little imaginative children. Once, I asked Liv about him about a year ago. I told her that I hadn't heard her talk to Leo in a while.
"Oh, he comes around once in awhile,"she said. "But, really, his job is to help children who are feeling shy and I don't need him so much anymore."
I miss Leo. I miss my baby Liv sometimes. This colt legged child who does back flips in the front yard and hangs from trees like a little ape still surprises me sometimes. She is a Harry Potter fan, a budding musician and enjoys going to Cornhusker games with Bing and me on cool Autumn days when she can wear her red jacket.
No one has ever loved me more. I have never loved anyone quite the way that I love my Liv.
And she is evolving just fine. Thanks to Leo and good teachers. And me. Yes. I will take some credit. Liv and I are still woven together, but we are no longer of one piece. We are two lines running next to each other.
Forever, I hope.
I needn't have worried. The first time I held Liv in my arms, it was the most transcendent moment of my life. I was linked and understood the term in a way that I had never done so before. She was part of me and I of her. We were a team.
By the time she was a year old, we had bonded so strongly that she was not really comfortable with anyone else but me. She would occasionally consent to go to one of my sisters or Bing (who was just a friend at the time), but it was not often. She really only wanted me. And I felt the same way.
Eventually, we moved from our more expensive house to one that was an older fixer upper. I went from working full time down to part time. It didn't make sense for us to be apart. Neither one of us liked it. I made the sacrifices needed to keep us together and I did it with complete joy and a happy heart. I went from having quite a bit of money to throw around to hardly any to toss lightly, but I got to be with Liv and that was all that mattered.
Many times, though, I did feel privately strangled. This usually happened on nights when she would wake up at 3 a.m. and refuse to go back to sleep. I would rock her and croon, sing to her, do anything to soothe her back to sleep, where I craved to be. I would lean over her crib with my hand extended into it and her fist wrapped tightly around my index finger. I would sing words like these to the tune of songs like "Oh,You Beautiful Doll":
You are driving me mad
You are truly driving me mad.
I can hardly bear to be in here with you
You are turning me into a bitch with the blues...
Liv hated to be away from me. I seldom went on dates or went anywhere without her. Even going to the bathroom by myself was not done. I finally started insisting on some semblance of privacy when she was about three. She would sit right next to the door and say,
"Can you just hum so that I know you are still in there?"
So, I would hum. And when I was finished, I would open the door and she would be hunkered down next to it, waiting anxiously, so glad to have me back.
My sisters all talked about me a lot among themselves. I know this because one of them would always tell me. They would say, "Well, Jessie is concerned that you and Liv are just a little too close. How is she going to learn to live in the world without you if you don't make her be more self reliant?"
I would reply that, at three, I didn't think Liv especially needed to learn self reliance.
But, privately, I did worry. Was I preventing her from finding her true self by not forcing her to be without me more?
Once, at a McDonalds with my sister and her grandchildren, I had to make a fast dash to the bathroom. I told my sister this and she said she'd keep an eye on Liv, who was unwrapping her happy meal. When I returned, Liv was silently weeping over her burger, looking terrified.
My sister said, "She looked up and couldn't see you and I guess she freaked out a little. I told her that you would be back in a few minutes."
I pulled Liv into my lap where she stayed rooted until we left. She couldn't eat, she refused to play with the other children, She simply sat and clung to me.
When Liv was three, I decided to enroll her in pre-school. On her first day, she asked if I would stay with her. I told her that no, I couldn't, but that she would have so much fun that she wouldn't miss me.
Her teacher had to pry her off of me finger by finger.
"Don't worry," she told me. "She will be fine as soon as you are gone."
I made it back to the car and halfway home, I pulled over and wept. She had seemed so frightened. This just did not feel right to me.
An hour later, I got the call from the head of the school.
"Well, Liv has broken our school record for crying. I think you had better come get her."
I did. Her teacher handed over a tear streaked Liv and smiled at me. She suggested that we try next year. On the way home, Liv was silent. I took her inside the house and we sat in the rocker to talk about it.
She was horrified. "I threw up in my teacher's hands!" she said, her voice trembling. I promised her that there would be no more school until she felt that she was ready.
Why I didn't realize that this was probably the best parenting advice before this is a mystery.
It was all actually very simple. You have a child. He or she has a certain temperament. Some children are gregarious, some are shy, some extroverted, some introverted. Your job as a parent is to let them evolve into themselves and help them along.
By the time, Liv was four, she was ready for pre-school and she handled the problem on her own.
"I will just take Leo with me until I feel comfortable," she decided.
Leo was her imaginary lion friend. He had shown up a few months before and was nicely a part of our family by then. I didn't set places for him at the table, etc, but Liv often told me that he liked to sit beside her while she ate. Occasionally, he liked to sit by me, I was told, and I would obligingly stroke his mane, scratch him under his chin. Liv said he particularly loved that.
So, I called her teacher-to-be and asked how the school felt about imaginary lions. She said that they would be happy to accommodate him as long as he didn't have special needs. I assured her that he was very unobtrusive.
On the first day, Liv walked in, clutching my hand and looking around at the other children. This was a Montessori school, so her teachers were called Miss first name. Her teacher was an ebony shaded woman, nearly six feet tall, called Miss Eudora. Liv told her solemnly that her lion was with her.
"Well, just let me know where he is so I don't step on his tail. I don't think he'd like that and since you are the only one who can see him, I have to rely on you to help me," Miss Eudora said. She had a lilting British accent that brought a black Mary Poppins skidding into my mind.
It was as easy as that. A child had a need. It was dealt with. Minimal fuss. Liv loved pre-school.
She went on to love kindergarten, first grade, second grade, and will begin third grade in two weeks. The Montessori method has been good for her. It suits her personality.
Now, Liv is eight. She no longer sits outside the door while I use the bathroom. She has several friends, many play dates. Is still a little aloof, but not an unfriendly child. She is merely herself and that is her way. She is not overly affectionate with anyone else but me, but she has a wry wit that takes me by surprise at times. She seems wise beyond her years and I find such depth in her character. I love that.
She goes on vacations with her father. She consents to babysitters when Bing and I need to go out alone. My sisters no longer give each other knowing looks when we visit. Liv is not seen as the odd child any longer. She is the smart one in our family circle of children, the one who has a vivid imagination and a way with words.
I wish that I had known that and trusted in that when she was a baby. Clinically, I think I did know all this, but I learned right away that analyzing the behavior of a stranger and analyzing the behavior of a child that you love can be very different. I wish that I had trusted Liv more to find her way.
Because she did, you know? She found the way that worked for her. I only had to let her do it. Be her guide, be her helper, not her dictator or worry excessively that she wasn't like other children or didn't hit the landmarks in the baby books when she was supposed to.
And now, I miss her sometimes. I miss that intense closeness that we had when she was a baby. Those hours of us so woven together that we seemed made of the same piece.
A few days ago, Bing said to me, "Do you realize that you hum when you go to the bathroom?"
I stared at her.
"Really," she said. "You do. I always know you are using the toilet because you hum a little tune."
I didn't tell her why I did that. It is a memory that I want to keep as just mine. All those days of humming on the toilet with a little toddler outside the door with her heart shaped face and pursed baby lips, listening intently to me humming, "Jimmy cracked corn and I don't care...."
Leo has long since moved on to help other little imaginative children. Once, I asked Liv about him about a year ago. I told her that I hadn't heard her talk to Leo in a while.
"Oh, he comes around once in awhile,"she said. "But, really, his job is to help children who are feeling shy and I don't need him so much anymore."
I miss Leo. I miss my baby Liv sometimes. This colt legged child who does back flips in the front yard and hangs from trees like a little ape still surprises me sometimes. She is a Harry Potter fan, a budding musician and enjoys going to Cornhusker games with Bing and me on cool Autumn days when she can wear her red jacket.
No one has ever loved me more. I have never loved anyone quite the way that I love my Liv.
And she is evolving just fine. Thanks to Leo and good teachers. And me. Yes. I will take some credit. Liv and I are still woven together, but we are no longer of one piece. We are two lines running next to each other.
Forever, I hope.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
David Sedaris
Ok, Terroni, I owe you big time for introducing me to the wonders of David Sedaris. I just picked up one of his books and audio tapes at the library today. Popped the audio tape in.
It is called Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. I picked up a vanilla chai tea to drink on the way home from a client's house. It had been a long day, my back hurt and I was crabby because I knew I was coming home to a mess. Bing had been "babysitting" (why is it babysitting when she does it and taking care of our child when I do it?) Liv all day. Liv had invited her friend, Mandy, over and Bing had invited her to dinner. Bing had also mentioned to me on my cell phone that the girls had made a "cool fort" in the basement and had been painting at the kitchen table.
This meant that the house was going to look as though a tornado hit it. Bing isn't famous for keeping things tidy.
So, yeah...I was crabby. And then I took a sip of my chai tea and listened to David Sedaris read his book.
It was the funniest, most insightful audio book I have ever listened to. And this was just the first five minutes. I was at the part where he talks about the neighbors who don't watch TV. He talked about how these neighbors missed Halloween and decided to come the next night instead and how his mother wanted he and his sisters to give them some of their candy...
It doesn't SOUND all that hilarious as I write this, but I was honest to god weak with laughing by the time I was half way home. At one point (he was having to give up his necco wafers to the neighbors), I had taken a sip of chai tea and ended up choking on it from laughing so hard. I had to PULL OVER! I had people staring at the lunatic woman driving alone and laughing like a hyena in the lane next to them.
Ah...Terroni...thank you, thank you, thank you for passing on the word about this writer.
I have been sneaking a peak at the book I got of his called Me Talk Pretty One Day and it looks like I will be doing my pig snorting brand of laughter all night long.
And there are no words about how much I need to laugh lately. I have had the blues something awful. It is part weather related, part memory related (August has been a tough month for me for years), part health related, and just plain part sick of Liv telling me that she is bored and Bing driving me nuts by being her same old sloppy self.
So, I NEED to have a belly laugh.
Thank you, you sweet little doctor to be.
And everyone else, read this guy....he is fantastic...
It is called Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. I picked up a vanilla chai tea to drink on the way home from a client's house. It had been a long day, my back hurt and I was crabby because I knew I was coming home to a mess. Bing had been "babysitting" (why is it babysitting when she does it and taking care of our child when I do it?) Liv all day. Liv had invited her friend, Mandy, over and Bing had invited her to dinner. Bing had also mentioned to me on my cell phone that the girls had made a "cool fort" in the basement and had been painting at the kitchen table.
This meant that the house was going to look as though a tornado hit it. Bing isn't famous for keeping things tidy.
So, yeah...I was crabby. And then I took a sip of my chai tea and listened to David Sedaris read his book.
It was the funniest, most insightful audio book I have ever listened to. And this was just the first five minutes. I was at the part where he talks about the neighbors who don't watch TV. He talked about how these neighbors missed Halloween and decided to come the next night instead and how his mother wanted he and his sisters to give them some of their candy...
It doesn't SOUND all that hilarious as I write this, but I was honest to god weak with laughing by the time I was half way home. At one point (he was having to give up his necco wafers to the neighbors), I had taken a sip of chai tea and ended up choking on it from laughing so hard. I had to PULL OVER! I had people staring at the lunatic woman driving alone and laughing like a hyena in the lane next to them.
Ah...Terroni...thank you, thank you, thank you for passing on the word about this writer.
I have been sneaking a peak at the book I got of his called Me Talk Pretty One Day and it looks like I will be doing my pig snorting brand of laughter all night long.
And there are no words about how much I need to laugh lately. I have had the blues something awful. It is part weather related, part memory related (August has been a tough month for me for years), part health related, and just plain part sick of Liv telling me that she is bored and Bing driving me nuts by being her same old sloppy self.
So, I NEED to have a belly laugh.
Thank you, you sweet little doctor to be.
And everyone else, read this guy....he is fantastic...
Monday, August 06, 2007
Sex and good chocolate....
I love good dark chocolate. It has to be at least 75% cocoa. I have never understood the draw of milk chocolate. Give me a good, dark, rich chocolate square any old day. I buy it in bulk and allow myself to eat one square at night before bed. I slide it on my tongue and let it melt and it makes me feel very....content.
And sex? I have been thinking about sex lately and wasn't going to blog about it, but decided that I would damn the torpedoes and just do it, even though, I know I will get some very gross hits....(actually not much could be worse than the one person who came to my blog by typing in the sentence I like to smell my mother in law's discarded panty shields.) Oh, ick. I hope that creep never returns. I felt like my blog was so...violated. I kept picturing his peeper sick face and wanted to throw up.
But..sex...well. I have had me some good sex in my 49 years. I have had sex with men (not many, but two) and women. Not many strange stories. Nothing too odd, although I sometimes wish that I had a few kinky stories to tell...not panty shield smelling ones, but just...kind of wild and crazy.
It has always bothered me that I have never had sex with a black person. And, well now I suppose I never will since Bing and I are planning on staying together and I have a sneaking suspicion that she will outlive me. I have had sex with an asian woman, a hispanic woman, an american indian man, a british woman. But, never with a black person. And it hasn't been a conscious decision, it just never happened.
When I was in my twenties and early thirties, I probably had the most sex. I was not the type of person who had to be in love to do the deed, I just had to be attracted and well, when you are young and party a lot, the pool can get pretty deep. I went through a kind of crazy period when I had just come out of a 7 year relationship with someone, and I had a LOT of sex in a year's time. But, I mean, it was a lot of sex for me, not necessarily for your average woman.
I read a study recently that said that most women have about 10 partners in their life. I have had 9. So, I am under the average. But, my bff, Harriet, has only had sex with two men and my sisters have all only had sex with their husbands, no others. So,by their standards, I suppose I am a bit of a slut.
And, the best sex I ever had was with a man. My study partner in college. It wasn't so great that I decided to start up a heterosexual life or anything. It was just...the best. It had little to do with the fact that he was a man and was mostly to do with the fact that he was simply....gifted sexually.
I enjoy having sex. But, I have noticed that the older I get, the less I am willing to settle for. I know exactly what I like and where and when I like it and I sort of want it then and in that way, unless I can be coaxed into something or somewhere else. Does that make me boring?
I have never liked sex toys. They make me feel like giggling. Bing and I bought a vibrator once. Once, during a very nice bout of sex, she decided to give it a try. I suddenly heard this sound that struck me as....a little disconcerting. It sounded like a miniature chain saw. Somehow, this did not make me go all limp with desire. At first, I jumped about a foot and then when she showed me what was making that noise, I started laughing. Not a sex kitten laugh, either. A snorting holy shit this is just ridiculous sort of chortling. This made Bing laugh too and she ended up tossing it on the floor and it wasn't used. To this day, it sits in the drawer by my bed and is still as clean as a whistle.
I saw my first porn movie recently. And it made me laugh too. I seem to be lacking the usual parts of most humans when it comes to sexual thinking. I found myself watching these two women in the movie going at it and it looked so....rehearsed. It looked like someone was in the background whispering, "Ok, now stroke her nipple and then you, the one getting stroked...you throw your head back and bare your teeth a little and look like you are a horse tossing it's mane." I found the whole thing almost boring. I told Bing that maybe we need to check out more of them. She has seen several and tells me that there are some good ones out there. I just can't see me checking them out at the video store, though. (Ok, here is Lost in Translation, Harry Potter, The Stand, and Lesbians Love Licking!)
What I like is that look. That look that you give each other at around 7 p.m. When one of you is getting your child ready for bed and the other one stands in the doorway watching you and you share....that look. That slow, sort of shy, knowing smile. That look that says that we will meet in the bedroom in an hour or two and have us some fun.
I find that sexy. I don't need to have toys or a movie to get me going. I just need that look that I can feel all the way down to my toes. And I really like the knowledge that I can generate that look in her, too.
Or maybe it isn't even a look. Maybe it is something like you are both in bed talking about your day and there is a kiss and it turns into a bigger and better one. One with a a little shine on it. And then you go from there into wonderland. And for awhile, it is just the two of you and that can be very, very nice. More than nice. That can be fantastic.
Sex is interesting, yes?
And well, so is chocolate. In it's own very special way.
It is all relative, I suppose.
And now I am thinking that if my mother was alive and read this blog, she would go tell me to get a bar of soap right this instant. She would make me hold that bar in my mouth for awhile and then tell me to go wash off my sinful thinking, writing self.
Sex was NEVER mentioned in my house. When I was 16, my mother gave me a Catholic pamphlet about how sex was one of a wife's duties to her husband. There was no mention of hot little looks or kisses on the back of the neck that led to kisses other places.
Also, in the pamphlet, there was a whole section on Mary and Tim. They were teenage daters. Tim got pushy with Mary and wanted her to do more than give him a chaste kiss goodnight. Mary knew that it was up to her to set Tim straight. She was NOT going to let things go to a place where Tim would not be able to stop. Because it was her duty as the woman in the relationship to keep Tim calm and too much kissing would surely not keep him there. So, in the pamphlet, she excuses herself from Tim for a moment and walks to the end of the porch and says a little prayer to the Virgin Mary to give her the strength to keep Tim on the high road, to keep Tim calm and "help" him with his "manly weakness."
I still remember thinking, What the FUCK?
It has made me wonder....how did your family handle the issue of sex?
Just curious.
We have sure come a long way, yes?
And I can see my dear sainted Irish mother spinning in her grave as I end this post....
And sex? I have been thinking about sex lately and wasn't going to blog about it, but decided that I would damn the torpedoes and just do it, even though, I know I will get some very gross hits....(actually not much could be worse than the one person who came to my blog by typing in the sentence I like to smell my mother in law's discarded panty shields.) Oh, ick. I hope that creep never returns. I felt like my blog was so...violated. I kept picturing his peeper sick face and wanted to throw up.
But..sex...well. I have had me some good sex in my 49 years. I have had sex with men (not many, but two) and women. Not many strange stories. Nothing too odd, although I sometimes wish that I had a few kinky stories to tell...not panty shield smelling ones, but just...kind of wild and crazy.
It has always bothered me that I have never had sex with a black person. And, well now I suppose I never will since Bing and I are planning on staying together and I have a sneaking suspicion that she will outlive me. I have had sex with an asian woman, a hispanic woman, an american indian man, a british woman. But, never with a black person. And it hasn't been a conscious decision, it just never happened.
When I was in my twenties and early thirties, I probably had the most sex. I was not the type of person who had to be in love to do the deed, I just had to be attracted and well, when you are young and party a lot, the pool can get pretty deep. I went through a kind of crazy period when I had just come out of a 7 year relationship with someone, and I had a LOT of sex in a year's time. But, I mean, it was a lot of sex for me, not necessarily for your average woman.
I read a study recently that said that most women have about 10 partners in their life. I have had 9. So, I am under the average. But, my bff, Harriet, has only had sex with two men and my sisters have all only had sex with their husbands, no others. So,by their standards, I suppose I am a bit of a slut.
And, the best sex I ever had was with a man. My study partner in college. It wasn't so great that I decided to start up a heterosexual life or anything. It was just...the best. It had little to do with the fact that he was a man and was mostly to do with the fact that he was simply....gifted sexually.
I enjoy having sex. But, I have noticed that the older I get, the less I am willing to settle for. I know exactly what I like and where and when I like it and I sort of want it then and in that way, unless I can be coaxed into something or somewhere else. Does that make me boring?
I have never liked sex toys. They make me feel like giggling. Bing and I bought a vibrator once. Once, during a very nice bout of sex, she decided to give it a try. I suddenly heard this sound that struck me as....a little disconcerting. It sounded like a miniature chain saw. Somehow, this did not make me go all limp with desire. At first, I jumped about a foot and then when she showed me what was making that noise, I started laughing. Not a sex kitten laugh, either. A snorting holy shit this is just ridiculous sort of chortling. This made Bing laugh too and she ended up tossing it on the floor and it wasn't used. To this day, it sits in the drawer by my bed and is still as clean as a whistle.
I saw my first porn movie recently. And it made me laugh too. I seem to be lacking the usual parts of most humans when it comes to sexual thinking. I found myself watching these two women in the movie going at it and it looked so....rehearsed. It looked like someone was in the background whispering, "Ok, now stroke her nipple and then you, the one getting stroked...you throw your head back and bare your teeth a little and look like you are a horse tossing it's mane." I found the whole thing almost boring. I told Bing that maybe we need to check out more of them. She has seen several and tells me that there are some good ones out there. I just can't see me checking them out at the video store, though. (Ok, here is Lost in Translation, Harry Potter, The Stand, and Lesbians Love Licking!)
What I like is that look. That look that you give each other at around 7 p.m. When one of you is getting your child ready for bed and the other one stands in the doorway watching you and you share....that look. That slow, sort of shy, knowing smile. That look that says that we will meet in the bedroom in an hour or two and have us some fun.
I find that sexy. I don't need to have toys or a movie to get me going. I just need that look that I can feel all the way down to my toes. And I really like the knowledge that I can generate that look in her, too.
Or maybe it isn't even a look. Maybe it is something like you are both in bed talking about your day and there is a kiss and it turns into a bigger and better one. One with a a little shine on it. And then you go from there into wonderland. And for awhile, it is just the two of you and that can be very, very nice. More than nice. That can be fantastic.
Sex is interesting, yes?
And well, so is chocolate. In it's own very special way.
It is all relative, I suppose.
And now I am thinking that if my mother was alive and read this blog, she would go tell me to get a bar of soap right this instant. She would make me hold that bar in my mouth for awhile and then tell me to go wash off my sinful thinking, writing self.
Sex was NEVER mentioned in my house. When I was 16, my mother gave me a Catholic pamphlet about how sex was one of a wife's duties to her husband. There was no mention of hot little looks or kisses on the back of the neck that led to kisses other places.
Also, in the pamphlet, there was a whole section on Mary and Tim. They were teenage daters. Tim got pushy with Mary and wanted her to do more than give him a chaste kiss goodnight. Mary knew that it was up to her to set Tim straight. She was NOT going to let things go to a place where Tim would not be able to stop. Because it was her duty as the woman in the relationship to keep Tim calm and too much kissing would surely not keep him there. So, in the pamphlet, she excuses herself from Tim for a moment and walks to the end of the porch and says a little prayer to the Virgin Mary to give her the strength to keep Tim on the high road, to keep Tim calm and "help" him with his "manly weakness."
I still remember thinking, What the FUCK?
It has made me wonder....how did your family handle the issue of sex?
Just curious.
We have sure come a long way, yes?
And I can see my dear sainted Irish mother spinning in her grave as I end this post....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)