Conversation overheard between two children: Hallie (age 3) washing her face, Colin (age 5) on the toilet (!!), transcribed by Mommy to the best of her ability.
Colin: Salt is sand. Salt is the same as sand. That's why when you're at the beach you're in the salty water and you're all sandy. And you have to get the sand out of the water. That's why God made fish.
Hallie: Ohhhhh. That's why.
Colin: You know what the first fish was? A dinosaur.
Hallie: What?? That's amAZing!!
Colin: Yes, a dinosaur. But then they all died, and then God made houses for people to live in.
Hallie: That's amAZing!! And that's why when I go to heaven, I'm going to see God!
Colin: Right. Unless he's dead.
Hallie: God's going to die? He might die??
Colin: Right. In Heaven. That's where all the spirits go.
Hallie: Yes!! That's amAZing!!
Colin: Stop saying that. (loud groan) I may have to stop telling you all this...
Later....
Hallie: Mommy, I love you. Are you going to die? Are you going to try not to? Are you going to keep your brain inside you? That's good. Night-night!
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Monday, July 26, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Conversations with Hallie
Yesterday Hallie hurls herself into my arms after her nap (moderately painful...gentle with Mommy, please!), and we have a little hugfest for a few moments.
Hallie: "I love you."
Me: "I love you too, sweetheart."
Hallie, pulling away to look up at me: "You love me?"
Me, surprised: "Well, yes!"
Hallie: "Do you not want me to diiieeee?" (characteristically drawing out the word)
Me: "No!!"
Hallie, very sincerely: "All right. I'll try not to."
Hallie: "I love you."
Me: "I love you too, sweetheart."
Hallie, pulling away to look up at me: "You love me?"
Me, surprised: "Well, yes!"
Hallie: "Do you not want me to diiieeee?" (characteristically drawing out the word)
Me: "No!!"
Hallie, very sincerely: "All right. I'll try not to."
Friday, July 23, 2010
Battle Scars
The kids like to look at my battle-scarred torso. Now, I don't know what lasting scarring this is inflicting on their little psyches, but since we're trying to be as open about it as we think they can handle without being stricken by terror, I let them, occasionally. But I like to look at it also. Not pretty at all, mind you. I look like I was shanked in some very exciting, probably gang-related prison fight, by a very inept attacker who missed all things major. But I'm sorta fascinated with it, startling and colorful as it is...and mostly wondering two things: what the hell is going on in there, and did I really ask for this, like, voluntarily? Right now, in my liquid Vicodin-aided haze (yes, it comes in liquid form, improbably termed an elixir, or at least you think so until you receive its pain-abating blessing. Elixir, indeed. 'Fess up. You're a little jealous right now.)--anyway, with Vicodin standing in for blood, this seems like an awfully drastic step I just took, and one with immediate consequences I just did not see coming.
I think I'm really glad I have no clue what I looked like right after surgery in the ICU. Only my mother, my spouse, and my nurses saw that, and they can all be silenced. I did hear small snippets of "yellow" and "puffy" that kind of put me off asking for a mirror...and then the next day, when I was moved to a room WITH a mirror, they all told me how much better I looked...and I saw what I looked like then...um, scary, no thanks, I'll destroy your cameras if anyone tried to capture the before, I mean it, I will hunt you down. I ain't playin. So that wasn't a scenario I had played out in mind ahead of time.
I really don't have a good idea about how things have been changed around in there, despite the many videos I watched, and lectures I was forced to listen to...I know this got disconnected from that, and reconnected to this thing up here. That's the sum total of my practical knowledge. But I kinda want just a sneak peek, without seeing anything that would make me lose my (very tiny) lunch.
And then, the pain, which is inseparable from the gas. See, during surgery they like to pump gas into you to help move things around in there, and then sew you up and leave it there! Apparently the theory is your body will absorb it and know what to do with it (which explains being repeatedly asked about your hi-jinks in that arena until it stops being embarrassing and just gets boring). This perhaps also explains the "puffy". Did you know you could have gas pain in your neck? Shooting up into your ear canals? "I'm sorry, I can't hear you, I have gas in my ear." What fun we can have with our innards, if only we apply ourselves! These were not facts I ever came across, or ever considered needing to have access to. For those of you who may experience this one day, at least someone told you! And that still doesn't really talk about the pain...which I really don't want to talk about. It's there, it's pain-full, don't wanna focus on it. I have my good friend Vicodin.
Then there's the fist that seems to have popped into being deep in my left side. That's what it feels like, that somebody got a handful of my soft & squishies and is using that handful to relieve stress. Good for you. I'd like my soft parts back now.
The really comforting thing is, this is all "normal". So evidently I somehow could have found out about each and every one of them, and been prepared. Failed as a fact checker! Woulda been good info to have!
Hiccups hurt. That I find childishly cruel.
And I did it all to myself, on purpose, with a goal in mind, with a doctor's blessing (several, actually), me, me, no one else but me did this.
Hence my fascination with the train wreck on my torso--no midriff baring tops in my future, that's for damn sure!
Must look for positives: I no longer drift off, or suddenly find that I'm awake but the lights are out, because my eyes have taken a coffee break, right in the middle of a conversation. This was useful if I was trying to convey to the speaker a) boredom with the topic; or b) pity for me at my obvious fragility. Not useful for actually trying to, you know, talk. Or being so bored I finally opted for an edited-for-content movie in my room that I actually wanted to see, only to find that I can listen, but not watch, at least until I truly fall asleep and dream I'm happily married to David Spade (even in the dream, my dream self was fairly puzzled by this choice, but committed to the role like a pro). And he wasn't even IN the movie! Analyze THAT! So...no longer have to deal with that.
The weird abrupt power-downs occur less often, and less imperatively--I described it to my aunt as having an off-switch that someone else was messing around with. So I only have to get horizontal--fast, mind you--for maybe 20 minutes, not 82.
I've lost twelve pounds, which is skewed and weird and I know won't last, but hey, that's sure a pretty little silver lining you've got there!
Big positive, actually got out of the house today with Mom's help, and got my toes all prettified, and my heels sanded down. So from toe to ankle, you can't even tell I'm just days out of the hospital--unless you wonder at the dragging, halting pace, and the slow, majestic paths that lead from one cushioned object to another. Hallie got hers done too, with the same color as mine, and the same white flower on the big toe. She was so excited, she was nearly catatonic. Couldn't move, speak, smile, nothing...until we told her not to move. Rookie mistake, we know better. It was all kind of hilarious, and great to get out of the house, even if I was a menace on the road afterward because I kept shaking myself awake--remember the power-down things? Awkward when you're driving.
So...summing up time...it's all getting better, and I'm sure I'll remember at some point that there was a really good reason I did this, I just have to stop hurting to find it again. I think I left it under the Vicodin.
I think I'm really glad I have no clue what I looked like right after surgery in the ICU. Only my mother, my spouse, and my nurses saw that, and they can all be silenced. I did hear small snippets of "yellow" and "puffy" that kind of put me off asking for a mirror...and then the next day, when I was moved to a room WITH a mirror, they all told me how much better I looked...and I saw what I looked like then...um, scary, no thanks, I'll destroy your cameras if anyone tried to capture the before, I mean it, I will hunt you down. I ain't playin. So that wasn't a scenario I had played out in mind ahead of time.
I really don't have a good idea about how things have been changed around in there, despite the many videos I watched, and lectures I was forced to listen to...I know this got disconnected from that, and reconnected to this thing up here. That's the sum total of my practical knowledge. But I kinda want just a sneak peek, without seeing anything that would make me lose my (very tiny) lunch.
And then, the pain, which is inseparable from the gas. See, during surgery they like to pump gas into you to help move things around in there, and then sew you up and leave it there! Apparently the theory is your body will absorb it and know what to do with it (which explains being repeatedly asked about your hi-jinks in that arena until it stops being embarrassing and just gets boring). This perhaps also explains the "puffy". Did you know you could have gas pain in your neck? Shooting up into your ear canals? "I'm sorry, I can't hear you, I have gas in my ear." What fun we can have with our innards, if only we apply ourselves! These were not facts I ever came across, or ever considered needing to have access to. For those of you who may experience this one day, at least someone told you! And that still doesn't really talk about the pain...which I really don't want to talk about. It's there, it's pain-full, don't wanna focus on it. I have my good friend Vicodin.
Then there's the fist that seems to have popped into being deep in my left side. That's what it feels like, that somebody got a handful of my soft & squishies and is using that handful to relieve stress. Good for you. I'd like my soft parts back now.
The really comforting thing is, this is all "normal". So evidently I somehow could have found out about each and every one of them, and been prepared. Failed as a fact checker! Woulda been good info to have!
Hiccups hurt. That I find childishly cruel.
And I did it all to myself, on purpose, with a goal in mind, with a doctor's blessing (several, actually), me, me, no one else but me did this.
Hence my fascination with the train wreck on my torso--no midriff baring tops in my future, that's for damn sure!
Must look for positives: I no longer drift off, or suddenly find that I'm awake but the lights are out, because my eyes have taken a coffee break, right in the middle of a conversation. This was useful if I was trying to convey to the speaker a) boredom with the topic; or b) pity for me at my obvious fragility. Not useful for actually trying to, you know, talk. Or being so bored I finally opted for an edited-for-content movie in my room that I actually wanted to see, only to find that I can listen, but not watch, at least until I truly fall asleep and dream I'm happily married to David Spade (even in the dream, my dream self was fairly puzzled by this choice, but committed to the role like a pro). And he wasn't even IN the movie! Analyze THAT! So...no longer have to deal with that.
The weird abrupt power-downs occur less often, and less imperatively--I described it to my aunt as having an off-switch that someone else was messing around with. So I only have to get horizontal--fast, mind you--for maybe 20 minutes, not 82.
I've lost twelve pounds, which is skewed and weird and I know won't last, but hey, that's sure a pretty little silver lining you've got there!
Big positive, actually got out of the house today with Mom's help, and got my toes all prettified, and my heels sanded down. So from toe to ankle, you can't even tell I'm just days out of the hospital--unless you wonder at the dragging, halting pace, and the slow, majestic paths that lead from one cushioned object to another. Hallie got hers done too, with the same color as mine, and the same white flower on the big toe. She was so excited, she was nearly catatonic. Couldn't move, speak, smile, nothing...until we told her not to move. Rookie mistake, we know better. It was all kind of hilarious, and great to get out of the house, even if I was a menace on the road afterward because I kept shaking myself awake--remember the power-down things? Awkward when you're driving.
So...summing up time...it's all getting better, and I'm sure I'll remember at some point that there was a really good reason I did this, I just have to stop hurting to find it again. I think I left it under the Vicodin.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Lara is so tired...
...(it's one a.m.) that the letter arrangement on the keyboard seems like a worthwhile topic of discussion. Come on, who thinks this makes sense? Try showing it to a five year old and asking him to type his name...and be prepared to stay awhile! Could it be more counterituitive? Really? Could I have picked a more germane topic to throw out to the masses?
Oh Lord, now I'm going to get dozens of replies--my husband's first among them, no doubt, about the history of, the necessity for,the beauty of, whatever, whatever, whatever. Ha, I say! If my punch drunk fingers can't find the correct characters (you have no idea the sheer amount of damage control I'm having to do), then I say, the system is flawed! Ha! So there you have it, it's new, it's radical, it's edgy, it's out there (makes me think of "When Harry Met Sally), now you gotta deal with it!
Yeah. That is so me. Rebel, malcontent, social activist. All things everyone who knows me thinks of first. Right.
Ahh. I think I can sleep now, content that I have...um...elevated awareness about...um...keyboard arrangement. I suspect I'll regret this in the morning.
Oh Lord, now I'm going to get dozens of replies--my husband's first among them, no doubt, about the history of, the necessity for,the beauty of, whatever, whatever, whatever. Ha, I say! If my punch drunk fingers can't find the correct characters (you have no idea the sheer amount of damage control I'm having to do), then I say, the system is flawed! Ha! So there you have it, it's new, it's radical, it's edgy, it's out there (makes me think of "When Harry Met Sally), now you gotta deal with it!
Yeah. That is so me. Rebel, malcontent, social activist. All things everyone who knows me thinks of first. Right.
Ahh. I think I can sleep now, content that I have...um...elevated awareness about...um...keyboard arrangement. I suspect I'll regret this in the morning.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
3 year olds are awesome
Even though this happened about a month ago, I had to write this down, for posterity's sake. Posterity will thank me some day.
So, Hallie has a truly fabulous Cinderella dress--this is no over-glitzed, dime-a-dozen Disney frock, but a one-of-a-kind creation handmade by her very own Nana for Halloween. As an aside, because Nana made it and doesn't want to ever repeat the process, the dress has a great many tucks and seam allowances, so that we can just let it out as Hallie grows...so many, in fact, that she just might end up wearing it to prom someday. As a minidress.
Anyway. The dress is so fabulous, and so beloved, that Hallie asks to wear it every day.
Every. Single. Day.
Consequently, Cinderella sightings have increased dramatically in my neighborhood, the grocery store, the drug store...you get the idea.
So one day the dog desperately needed a walk, and I simply did not have the emotional fortitude to extract the Hallie buried inside the Cinderella, so Cinderella came, too. Things went pretty well (although my Cinderella has an inexplicable desire to stop every few feet and build "fire pits" out of pine needles...which I do not remember at all from the movie), until we ran across a gaggle of tween girls. Two of them instantly cooed over the fabulosity that walked with me, and one could not be bothered. Hallie, as is her wont, struck up a conversation with the girls, one she was quite willing to extend indefinitely, and one the gaggle quickly became bored with. As I gently chivvied her along, trying to spare the girls (and let the poor dog do his business), Hallie turned back one last time and called out, "See ya later, alligator!" Dutifully, one girl responded with the required, "After 'while, crocodile!" Things suddenly went south.
Hallie rounded on her assailant, filled with an indignant fury that threatened to burst seams and tucks, and placed her hands firmly on her hips. Glaring with righteous fervor, she shouted, "I'm not a crocodile! Can't you see the dress? I'm CINDERELLA!!!"
The bewildered girls gaped at her as I dragged Hallie away, quivering with barely-suppressed guffaws while trying to explain the socially-accepted rote exchange that had just taken place. Hallie glanced coldly over her shoulder at me, muttering, "Well, I don't like that at all," picked up her skirts, and stomped off toward home in high princess-like dudgeon.
I haven't come across those girls since.
So, Hallie has a truly fabulous Cinderella dress--this is no over-glitzed, dime-a-dozen Disney frock, but a one-of-a-kind creation handmade by her very own Nana for Halloween. As an aside, because Nana made it and doesn't want to ever repeat the process, the dress has a great many tucks and seam allowances, so that we can just let it out as Hallie grows...so many, in fact, that she just might end up wearing it to prom someday. As a minidress.
Anyway. The dress is so fabulous, and so beloved, that Hallie asks to wear it every day.
Every. Single. Day.
Consequently, Cinderella sightings have increased dramatically in my neighborhood, the grocery store, the drug store...you get the idea.
So one day the dog desperately needed a walk, and I simply did not have the emotional fortitude to extract the Hallie buried inside the Cinderella, so Cinderella came, too. Things went pretty well (although my Cinderella has an inexplicable desire to stop every few feet and build "fire pits" out of pine needles...which I do not remember at all from the movie), until we ran across a gaggle of tween girls. Two of them instantly cooed over the fabulosity that walked with me, and one could not be bothered. Hallie, as is her wont, struck up a conversation with the girls, one she was quite willing to extend indefinitely, and one the gaggle quickly became bored with. As I gently chivvied her along, trying to spare the girls (and let the poor dog do his business), Hallie turned back one last time and called out, "See ya later, alligator!" Dutifully, one girl responded with the required, "After 'while, crocodile!" Things suddenly went south.
Hallie rounded on her assailant, filled with an indignant fury that threatened to burst seams and tucks, and placed her hands firmly on her hips. Glaring with righteous fervor, she shouted, "I'm not a crocodile! Can't you see the dress? I'm CINDERELLA!!!"
The bewildered girls gaped at her as I dragged Hallie away, quivering with barely-suppressed guffaws while trying to explain the socially-accepted rote exchange that had just taken place. Hallie glanced coldly over her shoulder at me, muttering, "Well, I don't like that at all," picked up her skirts, and stomped off toward home in high princess-like dudgeon.
I haven't come across those girls since.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
I'm in freak out mode. Not quite full-on breathing-into-a-paper-bag-crying-hysterically-curled-up in-a-corner-babbling-incoherently freak out....but I can kind of see it coming. I have so much to do, and can't start anything, or finish anything (do those cancel each other out?), and I pretty much just want to hide. My typical stress response.
Am I entitled to feel stressed? Let's consider this past week:
VBS every morning until noon--which required me to be far more active over a sustained period of time than I am accustomed to being, so my body felt tired, sore, and generally outraged. I think it's still mad at me.
Work nearly every night--which I have oodles of resentment for anyway, given the ridiculously low wage I receive for the headaches of retail, which I swore I would never return to, and yet here I am. Not to mention that it takes me away from my family, which I loathe...yeah, yeah, I know I'm doing this to help said family, and it's the only thing that I could find that would let me work evenings and weekends...doesn't matter, I still detest the necessity. At least in my more pessimistic moments--can you tell that this is one?
Carved out time to celebrate my anniversary--okay, not a stress at all, other than finding someone to watch the kids (thank you little brother), and actually pretty enjoyable. Grown up time with my sweetheart. Can't really complain about that. So I won't. Just another event on the agenda.
Squeezed in a visit with my dearest friend and her kids, literally sandwiched between VBS and work, again, something I loved doing, so not really complaining, it just added to a jampacked week.
That same night, after working till ten, picked up my parents from the airport and welcomed them back from France--again, enjoyable, but the day simply wouldn't end.
Completed two commissioned signs for a newly-uncled friend of mine. Still have one to go.
And I have company coming over tomorrow, because I can't bear not having a 4th celebration...but it means I have to spend all of today (except for right now; can we say "avoidance"?) cleaning my house. Probably be up until after midnight working on it, because that's just how this always turns out. That's how I roll.
But the big, overriding thing that I think I haven't really been dealing with, and that I think is tipping the balance over into freak-out, is my upcoming surgery. I'm having gastric bypass--holy crap, did I just say that in a semi-public forum?? But, yeah. Three weeks until I overhaul my body and my way of life. It's kind of huge.
I think I'm more nervous than I realized, and I haven't had time to think about it--even though, I forgot to mention, this week I also had to squeeze in a couple doctor visits to get ten (!!) vials of blood drawn, have an EKG, drink barium so that they could x-ray my esophagus (I have a few choice words for the person who tried to make that horrendous crap taste better by adding "strawberry" flavor) and meet with the surgeon. You'd think those things would put this topic front and center in my cranium, but no. Instead it's been simmering in the back where I can't get a good look at it.
Sooooooooo....commence freak out!!! Maybe I'm feeling a little justified to have some moderate hysterics...but the floor isn't cleaning itself, it's lunch time for little ones, I have to get the homemade ice cream started for tomorrow...I really don't have time. Maybe Monday. I'll pencil that in.
Am I entitled to feel stressed? Let's consider this past week:
VBS every morning until noon--which required me to be far more active over a sustained period of time than I am accustomed to being, so my body felt tired, sore, and generally outraged. I think it's still mad at me.
Work nearly every night--which I have oodles of resentment for anyway, given the ridiculously low wage I receive for the headaches of retail, which I swore I would never return to, and yet here I am. Not to mention that it takes me away from my family, which I loathe...yeah, yeah, I know I'm doing this to help said family, and it's the only thing that I could find that would let me work evenings and weekends...doesn't matter, I still detest the necessity. At least in my more pessimistic moments--can you tell that this is one?
Carved out time to celebrate my anniversary--okay, not a stress at all, other than finding someone to watch the kids (thank you little brother), and actually pretty enjoyable. Grown up time with my sweetheart. Can't really complain about that. So I won't. Just another event on the agenda.
Squeezed in a visit with my dearest friend and her kids, literally sandwiched between VBS and work, again, something I loved doing, so not really complaining, it just added to a jampacked week.
That same night, after working till ten, picked up my parents from the airport and welcomed them back from France--again, enjoyable, but the day simply wouldn't end.
Completed two commissioned signs for a newly-uncled friend of mine. Still have one to go.
And I have company coming over tomorrow, because I can't bear not having a 4th celebration...but it means I have to spend all of today (except for right now; can we say "avoidance"?) cleaning my house. Probably be up until after midnight working on it, because that's just how this always turns out. That's how I roll.
But the big, overriding thing that I think I haven't really been dealing with, and that I think is tipping the balance over into freak-out, is my upcoming surgery. I'm having gastric bypass--holy crap, did I just say that in a semi-public forum?? But, yeah. Three weeks until I overhaul my body and my way of life. It's kind of huge.
I think I'm more nervous than I realized, and I haven't had time to think about it--even though, I forgot to mention, this week I also had to squeeze in a couple doctor visits to get ten (!!) vials of blood drawn, have an EKG, drink barium so that they could x-ray my esophagus (I have a few choice words for the person who tried to make that horrendous crap taste better by adding "strawberry" flavor) and meet with the surgeon. You'd think those things would put this topic front and center in my cranium, but no. Instead it's been simmering in the back where I can't get a good look at it.
Sooooooooo....commence freak out!!! Maybe I'm feeling a little justified to have some moderate hysterics...but the floor isn't cleaning itself, it's lunch time for little ones, I have to get the homemade ice cream started for tomorrow...I really don't have time. Maybe Monday. I'll pencil that in.
Monday, June 28, 2010
VBS Hell
I'm in VBS hell. Well, it's not entirely hellacious, there are some bright spots...but I'm wondering why I volunteered for this. Again. For the uninitiated, VBS is short for Vacation Bible School, a wonderful institution that offers some structure for one's children in the otherwise formless sea of summer, with a little religion thrown in. Once I send my children off, I could wallow in three hours of silence, in the (temporary) utter absence of whining, and light-saber-wielding-sibling-stalking. I could meditate. I could work out (insert hysterical laughter here). I could...nap.
I didn't do any of those things. Instead, while my children trooped off in their standard-issue eye-searing orange t-shirts, I...put on an eye-searing orange t-shirt. I stood in front of 6-odd classes of 20 kids each. And I danced like a crazy person. I have now thrust my arms over my head--in order to demonstrate proper "Galactic Blast" technique--so many times I think my shoulders might possibly be paralyzed. While exhorting assorted disinterested pre-teens to participate and sing with actual sound issuing from their lips (this seems to be a new and bizarre concept), thus singing ever more loudly myself, I now sound like an emphysematic truck driver. I embraced perspiration (no, little boy, I did not just take a shower, but thank you so much for asking).
Like I said, though, there was a bright spot: at the end of the day, leading the entire group of 100 kids in singing that cursed rocket ship song one more time, I look out and see my own little Colin and Hallie, dancing for all they're worth, singing at the top of their little pitch-challenged voices, utterly committed, and thrilled to the core that their Mommy was Music Leader.
Day one: success.
I didn't do any of those things. Instead, while my children trooped off in their standard-issue eye-searing orange t-shirts, I...put on an eye-searing orange t-shirt. I stood in front of 6-odd classes of 20 kids each. And I danced like a crazy person. I have now thrust my arms over my head--in order to demonstrate proper "Galactic Blast" technique--so many times I think my shoulders might possibly be paralyzed. While exhorting assorted disinterested pre-teens to participate and sing with actual sound issuing from their lips (this seems to be a new and bizarre concept), thus singing ever more loudly myself, I now sound like an emphysematic truck driver. I embraced perspiration (no, little boy, I did not just take a shower, but thank you so much for asking).
Like I said, though, there was a bright spot: at the end of the day, leading the entire group of 100 kids in singing that cursed rocket ship song one more time, I look out and see my own little Colin and Hallie, dancing for all they're worth, singing at the top of their little pitch-challenged voices, utterly committed, and thrilled to the core that their Mommy was Music Leader.
Day one: success.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
I am in love with sleep these days. OMG...that sleep could be this good!! There are no words, except, thank you, CPAP inventor...while I question your design aesthetic and curse the day that mirrored doors were installed at the foot of my bed...still, I salute you, and am eager to partake in your bounty once more. Lead on, Great Warrior in the raging battle against sleep apnea. Lead on. I will follow, even unto the end of dreaming. Also known as waking up.
This was originally one of those questions that was going around Facebook a while back....but I ended up pleasantly surprised with my list, and like to remind myself of a few of them, from time to time. So here are 25 random things. About me.
1. I have two really, really, really, cute kids. I'm not bragging...I'm just saying. Actual fact.
2. The first time I met my best friend, she looked at me across the table during PSAT testing, and asked to draw my lips. I graciously acceded to her request, and a marvelous friendship was born.
3. When I met my husband (10-ish years ago), some people thought he was probably an axe murderer, because the only people who tried dating over the internet were losers and psychos (except me?).
4. I think one of my son's jobs in my life is to help me understand my brother better.
5. My parents still live in the house I grew up in.
6. I didn't move out of that house until embarrassingly late in life.
7. I was on the ten-year college plan, but it took me twelve.
8. I have yet do anything with my degree...I sort of resent it because I accidentally got one geared for teaching, and I don't wanna teach!
9. My dream is, once the kids are in school, to go back myself and get an MFA in creative writing, which is what I chickened out of doing the first time around.
10. I'm a terrible housekeeper.
11. I can't quite get the words "stay-at-home mom" out of my mouth without sounding the teensiest bit defensive.
12. Conversely, I wouldn't trade this time with my kids while they are so little for anything or any job.
13. At one time, I had a voice teacher that pretty much guaranteed me he could make me a Broadway star. Um...what happened there?
14. One of my favorite things in life is being in rehearsal for a production...I almost wish they could go on indefinitely. Although the performance is pretty great, too.
15. Also on my to do list for when the kids are in school: get into community theater.
16. I suspect I have a somewhat inflated notion of how much time I will have to myself when the kids are in school.
17. I am extremely conflict-avoidant; Colin is also helping me with that by generating as much conflict as a four (now five) year old mind can dream up.
18. While I love to write, coming up with an ending is and has always been the bane of my existence...therefore, this list is suddenly getting very difficult.
19. I am the Queen of all Procrastinators. For example, right now I should be cleaning my house for company.
20. Dang, five more things? Um...I really love cats...or at least I do in theory...now that I have kids, I find that my capacity for having demands placed on me is pretty much exhausted before I get to the cat. So I guess this means I really should wait on getting a dog? Addendum: Cat died, got the dog...and the same phenomenon (not so shocking), is repeating itself. Poor dog.
21. I apparently am a Slayer of Goldfish.
22. I am currently completely obsessed with Dragon Wars, which, as my best friend pointed out, doesn't actually DO anything. She's right, and yet...oh, sorry, gotta go check on my gold! Addendum: Down with Dragon Wars, onto FrontierVille! Also does nothing, but I still gotta go check on my spread! There might be bears! Does this mean anything, like about escapism, an addictive personality...? Nah.
23. My husband is the love of my life, and I don't tell him that nearly enough.
24. I love living in California, and am always completely bewildered when my friends actually want to move away. Sorry guys, but I think you're a little mental!
25. When I had my first car, I was strongly resistant to the notion that any sort of maintenance was really necessary...and I still secretly hold out hope that a self-healing vehicle will hit the markets in my lifetime.
1. I have two really, really, really, cute kids. I'm not bragging...I'm just saying. Actual fact.
2. The first time I met my best friend, she looked at me across the table during PSAT testing, and asked to draw my lips. I graciously acceded to her request, and a marvelous friendship was born.
3. When I met my husband (10-ish years ago), some people thought he was probably an axe murderer, because the only people who tried dating over the internet were losers and psychos (except me?).
4. I think one of my son's jobs in my life is to help me understand my brother better.
5. My parents still live in the house I grew up in.
6. I didn't move out of that house until embarrassingly late in life.
7. I was on the ten-year college plan, but it took me twelve.
8. I have yet do anything with my degree...I sort of resent it because I accidentally got one geared for teaching, and I don't wanna teach!
9. My dream is, once the kids are in school, to go back myself and get an MFA in creative writing, which is what I chickened out of doing the first time around.
10. I'm a terrible housekeeper.
11. I can't quite get the words "stay-at-home mom" out of my mouth without sounding the teensiest bit defensive.
12. Conversely, I wouldn't trade this time with my kids while they are so little for anything or any job.
13. At one time, I had a voice teacher that pretty much guaranteed me he could make me a Broadway star. Um...what happened there?
14. One of my favorite things in life is being in rehearsal for a production...I almost wish they could go on indefinitely. Although the performance is pretty great, too.
15. Also on my to do list for when the kids are in school: get into community theater.
16. I suspect I have a somewhat inflated notion of how much time I will have to myself when the kids are in school.
17. I am extremely conflict-avoidant; Colin is also helping me with that by generating as much conflict as a four (now five) year old mind can dream up.
18. While I love to write, coming up with an ending is and has always been the bane of my existence...therefore, this list is suddenly getting very difficult.
19. I am the Queen of all Procrastinators. For example, right now I should be cleaning my house for company.
20. Dang, five more things? Um...I really love cats...or at least I do in theory...now that I have kids, I find that my capacity for having demands placed on me is pretty much exhausted before I get to the cat. So I guess this means I really should wait on getting a dog? Addendum: Cat died, got the dog...and the same phenomenon (not so shocking), is repeating itself. Poor dog.
21. I apparently am a Slayer of Goldfish.
22. I am currently completely obsessed with Dragon Wars, which, as my best friend pointed out, doesn't actually DO anything. She's right, and yet...oh, sorry, gotta go check on my gold! Addendum: Down with Dragon Wars, onto FrontierVille! Also does nothing, but I still gotta go check on my spread! There might be bears! Does this mean anything, like about escapism, an addictive personality...? Nah.
23. My husband is the love of my life, and I don't tell him that nearly enough.
24. I love living in California, and am always completely bewildered when my friends actually want to move away. Sorry guys, but I think you're a little mental!
25. When I had my first car, I was strongly resistant to the notion that any sort of maintenance was really necessary...and I still secretly hold out hope that a self-healing vehicle will hit the markets in my lifetime.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Poignant moment somewhere around last Halloween, I think…Colin, then 4 1/2, got really fascinated with bald eagles for a few weeks--this is what he does, fasten onto a topic and suck it dry, saturating himself in it. Anyway, I showed him lots of clips on YouTube, while trying to explain the difficult, abstract concept of symbolism—i.e., why the bald eagle is particularly important, and to us as Americans specifically. Try explaining patriotism to a four year old!
We found a video of an eagle named Challenger, with the schmaltziest, cheesiest patriotic song I have ever heard about “When Challenger Flies”— I mean seriously, it had me gagging and rolling my eyes—and on the fourth or fifth straight playback when I thought I was going to truly hurl, I look over at my little boy and realized that he had tears in his eyes. He really didn’t know what to do with such a big emotion, and had to have a little cry fest for a minute, saying he felt “sad”…but how stunning when I realized that, no matter how lame I thought it was, this experience of being moved by music, of being uplifted, impassioned, stirred up, was, for him, brand new. What a wonder that I got to see that moment, and could put aside my jaded cynicism for a while, and maybe guide him through that a little bit. What an honor. And what a magical child to feel, so deeply, so young...he staggers me.
We found a video of an eagle named Challenger, with the schmaltziest, cheesiest patriotic song I have ever heard about “When Challenger Flies”— I mean seriously, it had me gagging and rolling my eyes—and on the fourth or fifth straight playback when I thought I was going to truly hurl, I look over at my little boy and realized that he had tears in his eyes. He really didn’t know what to do with such a big emotion, and had to have a little cry fest for a minute, saying he felt “sad”…but how stunning when I realized that, no matter how lame I thought it was, this experience of being moved by music, of being uplifted, impassioned, stirred up, was, for him, brand new. What a wonder that I got to see that moment, and could put aside my jaded cynicism for a while, and maybe guide him through that a little bit. What an honor. And what a magical child to feel, so deeply, so young...he staggers me.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
It's 8:09 a.m., and I'm waiting for a man to show up. Once he gets here, I will usher him into my bedroom, and beg him to show me how his techno-toys work...it will involve straps, and hoses, and heavy breathing. Yes, that's right...I'm having an affair with...a CPAP machine.
See, it turns out, there's a reason I've been exhausted for the last, oh, six years or so. There's a reason I have trouble remembering what happened last week, for why I can't fall asleep without my good friend Ambien, for myriad aches, pains, and other small complaints. I have that uber-sexy, don't-you-wish-you-had-it-too condition, sleep apnea.
I know this because I got to have a sleep adventure at a lab, where they attached about 20 electrodes and wires to my face, body and scalp with this thick, sticky goop (so glad I'd washed my hair special for the occasion), gathered it all into a heavy ponytail behind me so I was afraid to move too much, and then wished me pleasant dreams. Um, yeah. That went really well. Despite my conviction that sleep was pretty much impossible under these conditions, I did sleep, sporadically (it was a looooong couple of hours), and apparently had enough apnea "events" to allow my doctor to diagnose it, and prescribe this lovely contraption that I am literally waiting with bated breath for.
So, come on, technician guy, do your worst, give me your bulkiest, unloveliest, unsexiest machine. I'm ready for you. And I think I'll probably end up thanking you for it, as the mere idea of sleep...real sleep...night after night of restful, restorative sleep... makes me all verklempt.
See, it turns out, there's a reason I've been exhausted for the last, oh, six years or so. There's a reason I have trouble remembering what happened last week, for why I can't fall asleep without my good friend Ambien, for myriad aches, pains, and other small complaints. I have that uber-sexy, don't-you-wish-you-had-it-too condition, sleep apnea.
I know this because I got to have a sleep adventure at a lab, where they attached about 20 electrodes and wires to my face, body and scalp with this thick, sticky goop (so glad I'd washed my hair special for the occasion), gathered it all into a heavy ponytail behind me so I was afraid to move too much, and then wished me pleasant dreams. Um, yeah. That went really well. Despite my conviction that sleep was pretty much impossible under these conditions, I did sleep, sporadically (it was a looooong couple of hours), and apparently had enough apnea "events" to allow my doctor to diagnose it, and prescribe this lovely contraption that I am literally waiting with bated breath for.
So, come on, technician guy, do your worst, give me your bulkiest, unloveliest, unsexiest machine. I'm ready for you. And I think I'll probably end up thanking you for it, as the mere idea of sleep...real sleep...night after night of restful, restorative sleep...
Monday, June 14, 2010
So, I just thought I'd compile a small list of the ways in which I have found my five year old son sleeping, in the last few months...this boy must have wonderful adventures once I kiss him good night and close the door:
A) With a giant stuffed snake wrapped around his head--unclear if it was protecting or eating him.
B) With his hands tucked angelically under his cheek, but a full-size toy rifle balanced carefully across his body--perhaps to fend off the snake?
C) With his head nestled inside a large Lego bucket--my personal favorite, and one for which I really can't come up with an explanation.
And one night I think I quashed a burgeoning adventure (bad Mommy, bad Mommy) by making him take off an ever-so-snazzy, silver-grey Kenneth Cole dressy vest, 2 sizes too small (which looked entirely fabulous over his bug jammies) before he climbed into bed ...who knows what he could have done with that one.
A few months later... Shoved his mattress out from the wall about a foot, and squeezed into the space he'd created...when I came in and took a picture of him, he roused enough to sit up and gabble incensed nonsense at me (which was both funny and unnerving) and flung himself back down.The next night he improved upon this idea , shoving the mattress completely off the bed, and was sleeping on the boxsprings when I found him. Do you know how uncomfortable a boxspring is?? The next day he told me his mattress was there for anyone who might have wanted to visit in the night. I thought it was awfully considerate, even as I commanded him never to do it again.
Meanwhile, his baby sister (aged 3) is clearly feeling a little inspired by big brother's boldness, and has staged a few nighttime discoveries of her own, although it tends to run toward cleaning her room when we think she's asleep (which prompts me to wonder whose child she is, as she's clearly not mine), sleeping dead center in the middle of the floor sans any blankets or pillows, and inexplicably draping small blankets over random objects.
Can I just say I don't remember having nearly this much fun when the lights went out when I was a little girl. Well, except that one time I rigged a booby trap in my room to catch a criminal....but that's for another time.
A) With a giant stuffed snake wrapped around his head--unclear if it was protecting or eating him.
B) With his hands tucked angelically under his cheek, but a full-size toy rifle balanced carefully across his body--perhaps to fend off the snake?
C) With his head nestled inside a large Lego bucket--my personal favorite, and one for which I really can't come up with an explanation.
And one night I think I quashed a burgeoning adventure (bad Mommy, bad Mommy) by making him take off an ever-so-snazzy, silver-grey Kenneth Cole dressy vest, 2 sizes too small (which looked entirely fabulous over his bug jammies) before he climbed into bed ...who knows what he could have done with that one.
A few months later... Shoved his mattress out from the wall about a foot, and squeezed into the space he'd created...when I came in and took a picture of him, he roused enough to sit up and gabble incensed nonsense at me (which was both funny and unnerving) and flung himself back down.The next night he improved upon this idea , shoving the mattress completely off the bed, and was sleeping on the boxsprings when I found him. Do you know how uncomfortable a boxspring is?? The next day he told me his mattress was there for anyone who might have wanted to visit in the night. I thought it was awfully considerate, even as I commanded him never to do it again.
Meanwhile, his baby sister (aged 3) is clearly feeling a little inspired by big brother's boldness, and has staged a few nighttime discoveries of her own, although it tends to run toward cleaning her room when we think she's asleep (which prompts me to wonder whose child she is, as she's clearly not mine), sleeping dead center in the middle of the floor sans any blankets or pillows, and inexplicably draping small blankets over random objects.
Can I just say I don't remember having nearly this much fun when the lights went out when I was a little girl. Well, except that one time I rigged a booby trap in my room to catch a criminal....but that's for another time.
So I just created a blog, and I have NO IDEA what to do with it. I'm always a little behind the technology curve, and at this point, I've pretty much lost hope of ever catching up.
But here's my intent with this...thing...I just summoned out of the ether: to write about the stuff that goes on my life. Oooooooh. Cutting edge, huh? Never been done before in the history of the internet! But, as I was reminded recently, write what you know...so you're going to hear about the antics of my two young kids, the new dog, the paradoxes of being a stay-at-home mom, how I know when I've lost my candidacy for Mother of the Year...stuff like that. Probably some stuff about my sporadic attempts at tapping into my personal creative well (hint: you're looking at one right now!).
Now we'll see how interesting we all--me included--find this experiment.
But here's my intent with this...thing...I just summoned out of the ether: to write about the stuff that goes on my life. Oooooooh. Cutting edge, huh? Never been done before in the history of the internet! But, as I was reminded recently, write what you know...so you're going to hear about the antics of my two young kids, the new dog, the paradoxes of being a stay-at-home mom, how I know when I've lost my candidacy for Mother of the Year...stuff like that. Probably some stuff about my sporadic attempts at tapping into my personal creative well (hint: you're looking at one right now!).
Now we'll see how interesting we all--me included--find this experiment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)