You know how when you get a new cell phone, the new charger that comes with it doesn't fit the old phone? And when you get a new cell phone, the guy in the cell phone store can add your address book numbers to the new phone, but only ONE number per person? If you have more than that you have to look it up on your old phone and enter it manually into the new one. Except when your old phone is completely dead and needs a charge. You've just moved: where is the old charger?
That's been my morning so far.
After that, I get to go pick up the cat poop that sits just outside the litter box. I get to do that every morning. There are three, newly-washed-in-mild-soap litter boxes in different locations that are filled with sparkling, unscented, clean litter; all of which get pooperscooped daily. Yet, the damn cats are STILL. PICKY. OHMYGOD! It's driving me nuts. One little kitty needs to spend more time outside, and that is OH's cat, Rum. My guys are old, long-haired cats who get along with each other but not with Rum. She is grumpy. She needs to go outside during the day.
Today has got to be better than yesterday. Yesterday was not my most favorite day ever.
I've made efforts to carve out a schedule, both for myself and for OC. This, so that we both know what to expect each day, don't feel overwhelmed, and have time for fun things. Great idea, right?!?!?!?!? I know. I thought so, too.
It has worked and it has not worked. The part that's worked has been for me. It does help to have a plan for the day, to know that I don't have to do everything that day. I don't do the floors and the bathrooms on the same day, for example. The variety makes it less dull (if cleaning and housework can ever NOT be dull) believe it or not.
(I know this sounds terribly tedious, but if I don't schedule myself like this, I never feel like I can leave the house for something fun because I haven't finished my work yet. In my head the world will end if I do something fun without finishing work!!! I'm thinking my head sucks.)
What hasn't worked has been for OC. She is still anxious about spending time with me. Yesterday, I told her we had half an hour to play anything she wanted together. We had a tea party, put together a puzzle, and then we ran out of time before we got to throw the frisbee around like she wanted. I said we could throw it a couple times since I had to go outside anyway, but then after that, she needed to play on her own. You'd think I told her to clean the oven by licking it with her tongue.
She loved the time we spent together, and when it was over she got sad, needy, and whiny. It killed me, both with frustration and empathy.
At first, she played outside a while, then came in with a red mark from bumping her head. It wasn't bad. That's what always happens when she plays by herself when she doesn't want to: injuries. Lotsa injuries. I gave her ice while she talked about wishing we could play frisbee. Then she followed me around. I was so annoyed by then, because I just wanted to think and do what I was trying to do! Then I could be done, not be irritated, and spend time with her. We never got to that point.
This is my problem and not something OC is doing wrong. She is a good girl: she listens (relatively) well, and tries her best to do as she's told, she wants to help, she wants to be a part of things. It's me that doesn't know what to do; how to handle this, and how not to get irritated with her when all she wants is my attention.
I thought the schedule would work, but maybe I need to do more. I don't know what, but it's my problem to solve and nothing she's doing wrong. Maybe I need to give it more time so that she knows we'll have time, but that she'll have time on her own, too.
The thing is, I'm mom. I'm not daddy, who, with his deep voice and stern tone make her snap to attention right away when he's being serious. I'm mommy; squishy, nice mommy who cares about her feelings but sometimes yells when I just can't take it anymore. I don't want to get to that point anymore. I want her to pay attention and be serious before it gets to that point. Maybe what's wrong is my expectations? But I remember being serious when my parents said something. How to achieve that?
After her bath this morning, we're going to the library. Maybe today will be better.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Hello, Lover
The new coffeepot makes me hot!
It's so beautiful. I don't know if it's just me, but it feels more substantial than the old one.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Separating the Man From His Things
Hi! How was your weekend? Good? Good. Mine was good, too. Yeah, thanks.
Saturday we went over the mountains to attend a baby shower. The pregnant lady is a friend, although not a close friend. I don't know her all that well and only see her a few times a year, but I like her. The women played a lot of games and ate some good food. Among the epicurean delights were phyllo-wrapped asparagus with proscuitto, jalapeno-artichoke dip, and chocolate dipped marshmallows. This is genius, this dipping of the marshmallows into chocolate.
We took OH's parents out for dinner to celebrate his dad's birthday later this month. Mexican food.....mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.........
Spent that night with the in-laws, and next day drove two hours north to our other house. There were still odd things in the closets to pack, lamps and decor that we left to stage the house while it was for sale that had to be wrapped and packed for the movers this week. There were houseplants and outdoor plants in pots we had to move ourselves.
Once the truck was loaded we added things to take to Goodwill. I know, still with the Things That We Don't Need. And yet, my husband insisted on keeping his old aquarium because "one day, we might want to use it." This is the aquarium that is something like 10 or 15 years old, the one his parents got him for a Christmas present when he was a kid. He wants to KEEP it. For SOME day, far off in the future, because just MAYBE. I'm pretty sure that's an excellent idea, to keep an old, dirty aquarium instead of getting a new one that will have clean tubing and a new pump WHEN and IF we decide to have the fish that I don't want to have.
Long ago I used to be fond of keeping things for a mysterious eventuality that may or may not ever materialize, but not anymore. My new motto is: if it's not useful and/ or I don't love it, it goes away. My husband doesn't subscribe to that logic as was so plainly evident during our move. We had box after box filled with his t-shirts. He had t-shirts from high school, t-shirts from college, t-shirts from the military, t-shirts from a tv show he saw once...dozens and dozens of t-shirts. I say "had" because I told him we didn't have room for them all. He reluctantly agreed, and said I could get rid of any except for "those that are important to me". Because I was supposed to know how to separate the sentimental t-shirts from the regular ones.
Before you decide that I am an ogre and a hag who doesn't allow her husband to keep his beloved treasures, let me assure you that that is far from being the case. There is a box in the closet with photos and papers that I labeled and stored inside the house so they don't get ruined. He has a garage where he can keep whatever he wants. You should see the number of boxes around the house full of his books. He can keep things, and he does. The aquarium is only the tip of the iceberg, my friends.
Getting back to this weekend. Oh, that was fun. Let me tell you, if you move? Draw it out for as looooooong as you can. Make it so that you have to drive back to your old house in the dead of winter multiple times to pack things, go to Goodwill, make odd trips to recycle old computer towers, and fill up your car or truck with things that need special care - like houseplants - and things you don't want - like old aquariums - over and over again. It's the greatest funnest thing EVER!!!
Oy.
When we got home we had chips, salsa and wine for dinner outside on our upstairs porch in the warmish evening (which turned cold and necessitated blankets, but still...). When we went up to the porch my husband mentioned his tv trays. He wanted to know where they were. I was going to let it go, but he kept talking about them, saying he hadn't seen them in awhile, where could they be, they sure would be handy right now, blah blah blah. Finally, I told him I had gotten rid of them. The trays were wooden and had their own stand to hold the four of them, but one or two were kind of rickety, and I really didn't want them. I didn't like the look of them or having to store them. We didn't use them that often and I don't want us to sit in the living room with food. Besides, if we're outside and need a table to put food, how's about we go buy - or make! - a nice outdoor table; one, say, that had a beautiful mosaic tile pattern on top and that could stay outdoors most of the year and look lovely?!?
OH looked crestfallen. Then he said, "I liked those trays, those were really nice, they were made out of oak or no, other hardwoods......" He trailed off.
He sighed. I waited, not sure which way he was going to go with it.
"Okay, you're forgiven."
(Um.......I didn't do anything wrong!) I could tell he had let go of his beloved trays, and that it was a big moment for him.
If only he'd feel the same way about his aquarium.
Saturday we went over the mountains to attend a baby shower. The pregnant lady is a friend, although not a close friend. I don't know her all that well and only see her a few times a year, but I like her. The women played a lot of games and ate some good food. Among the epicurean delights were phyllo-wrapped asparagus with proscuitto, jalapeno-artichoke dip, and chocolate dipped marshmallows. This is genius, this dipping of the marshmallows into chocolate.
We took OH's parents out for dinner to celebrate his dad's birthday later this month. Mexican food.....mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.........
Spent that night with the in-laws, and next day drove two hours north to our other house. There were still odd things in the closets to pack, lamps and decor that we left to stage the house while it was for sale that had to be wrapped and packed for the movers this week. There were houseplants and outdoor plants in pots we had to move ourselves.
Once the truck was loaded we added things to take to Goodwill. I know, still with the Things That We Don't Need. And yet, my husband insisted on keeping his old aquarium because "one day, we might want to use it." This is the aquarium that is something like 10 or 15 years old, the one his parents got him for a Christmas present when he was a kid. He wants to KEEP it. For SOME day, far off in the future, because just MAYBE. I'm pretty sure that's an excellent idea, to keep an old, dirty aquarium instead of getting a new one that will have clean tubing and a new pump WHEN and IF we decide to have the fish that I don't want to have.
Long ago I used to be fond of keeping things for a mysterious eventuality that may or may not ever materialize, but not anymore. My new motto is: if it's not useful and/ or I don't love it, it goes away. My husband doesn't subscribe to that logic as was so plainly evident during our move. We had box after box filled with his t-shirts. He had t-shirts from high school, t-shirts from college, t-shirts from the military, t-shirts from a tv show he saw once...dozens and dozens of t-shirts. I say "had" because I told him we didn't have room for them all. He reluctantly agreed, and said I could get rid of any except for "those that are important to me". Because I was supposed to know how to separate the sentimental t-shirts from the regular ones.
Before you decide that I am an ogre and a hag who doesn't allow her husband to keep his beloved treasures, let me assure you that that is far from being the case. There is a box in the closet with photos and papers that I labeled and stored inside the house so they don't get ruined. He has a garage where he can keep whatever he wants. You should see the number of boxes around the house full of his books. He can keep things, and he does. The aquarium is only the tip of the iceberg, my friends.
Getting back to this weekend. Oh, that was fun. Let me tell you, if you move? Draw it out for as looooooong as you can. Make it so that you have to drive back to your old house in the dead of winter multiple times to pack things, go to Goodwill, make odd trips to recycle old computer towers, and fill up your car or truck with things that need special care - like houseplants - and things you don't want - like old aquariums - over and over again. It's the greatest funnest thing EVER!!!
Oy.
When we got home we had chips, salsa and wine for dinner outside on our upstairs porch in the warmish evening (which turned cold and necessitated blankets, but still...). When we went up to the porch my husband mentioned his tv trays. He wanted to know where they were. I was going to let it go, but he kept talking about them, saying he hadn't seen them in awhile, where could they be, they sure would be handy right now, blah blah blah. Finally, I told him I had gotten rid of them. The trays were wooden and had their own stand to hold the four of them, but one or two were kind of rickety, and I really didn't want them. I didn't like the look of them or having to store them. We didn't use them that often and I don't want us to sit in the living room with food. Besides, if we're outside and need a table to put food, how's about we go buy - or make! - a nice outdoor table; one, say, that had a beautiful mosaic tile pattern on top and that could stay outdoors most of the year and look lovely?!?
OH looked crestfallen. Then he said, "I liked those trays, those were really nice, they were made out of oak or no, other hardwoods......" He trailed off.
He sighed. I waited, not sure which way he was going to go with it.
"Okay, you're forgiven."
(Um.......I didn't do anything wrong!) I could tell he had let go of his beloved trays, and that it was a big moment for him.
If only he'd feel the same way about his aquarium.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
The Night Out; my Foray into Local Culture
I was just wondering, do you ever finish your breakfast and still feel hungry, which makes you wish that really great Everything bagel you just ate came with a third half because you sure as hell aren't the kind of person to go make ANOTHER bagel but you ARE the kind of person who will finish off the last brownie after you eat your completely insufficient bagel because brownies go so well with coffee??? Tell me it's not just me.
Saying a bagel should have a third half really doesn't make sense. I mention that because it would bug me if I read it somewhere, so all you Grammar Queens should now be satisfied.
This isn't a post about food, though. Last night, I went to a movie at Bend's Tower Theatre. For the next few months, a series of classic and independent films are scheduled to play once a week. Or twice a month. Something. Last night's film was an independent called Sweet Land.
To begin with, the Tower Theatre is a restored movie house in downtown Bend. There is a stage and a screen so the offerings are as diverse as live Irish music to Warren Miller films.
I arrived early, but not early enough to go have a cocktail at a nearby pub or restaurant. After I bought my ticket ($6) I learned that beer and wine were served in the Tower Theatre lobby. Happiness! I drank my beer and then ordered popcorn to take inside. Onstage walked a man with a microphone, a spotlight trained upon him as he announced the evening's program.
About mid-movie, the screen went dark. Someone said, "intermission" but it obviously wasn't meant to happen. I was thinking of Cinema Paradiso, the scene where the film catches fire.
There was no fire, and soon the movie was rolling again. Set in 1920's midwest, it was shot on location in southern Minnesota. A German woman named Inga travels to the US to marry a Norwegian farmer, Olaf, whom she has never met. Inga encounters many instances of prejudice for being German from the locals who, having just gone through WWI, have strong feelings in the pejorative about Germans. The two run into hurdles trying to get married, since she has some papers but not the right papers with her. Being German, the officials are reluctant to help.
It was well-done, not over the top on the romance or the prejudice, just well-done all around. There were funny moments as well. Alan Cumming plays the neighboring farmer, Alex Kingston (from ER, way back when) plays his wife. Lois Smith, one of my favorite actresses, played Inge as an older woman. I love Lois Smith. She was in How to Make an American Quilt, Twister, and many others. Do you know who I mean? She's great. I swear it was Ryan O'Neal as the minister, but the credits do not agree. The Inga and Olaf characters are played by relatively anonymous actors, I think. Although the woman appeared on Grey's Anatomy. They were both wonderful in this film.
I went out, I did something fun and really enjoyed it. I couldn't help myself, as I looked at the many women who were there with their friends, but wish that I had a friend with me as well. You can't have everything....
Saying a bagel should have a third half really doesn't make sense. I mention that because it would bug me if I read it somewhere, so all you Grammar Queens should now be satisfied.
This isn't a post about food, though. Last night, I went to a movie at Bend's Tower Theatre. For the next few months, a series of classic and independent films are scheduled to play once a week. Or twice a month. Something. Last night's film was an independent called Sweet Land.
To begin with, the Tower Theatre is a restored movie house in downtown Bend. There is a stage and a screen so the offerings are as diverse as live Irish music to Warren Miller films.
I arrived early, but not early enough to go have a cocktail at a nearby pub or restaurant. After I bought my ticket ($6) I learned that beer and wine were served in the Tower Theatre lobby. Happiness! I drank my beer and then ordered popcorn to take inside. Onstage walked a man with a microphone, a spotlight trained upon him as he announced the evening's program.
About mid-movie, the screen went dark. Someone said, "intermission" but it obviously wasn't meant to happen. I was thinking of Cinema Paradiso, the scene where the film catches fire.
There was no fire, and soon the movie was rolling again. Set in 1920's midwest, it was shot on location in southern Minnesota. A German woman named Inga travels to the US to marry a Norwegian farmer, Olaf, whom she has never met. Inga encounters many instances of prejudice for being German from the locals who, having just gone through WWI, have strong feelings in the pejorative about Germans. The two run into hurdles trying to get married, since she has some papers but not the right papers with her. Being German, the officials are reluctant to help.
It was well-done, not over the top on the romance or the prejudice, just well-done all around. There were funny moments as well. Alan Cumming plays the neighboring farmer, Alex Kingston (from ER, way back when) plays his wife. Lois Smith, one of my favorite actresses, played Inge as an older woman. I love Lois Smith. She was in How to Make an American Quilt, Twister, and many others. Do you know who I mean? She's great. I swear it was Ryan O'Neal as the minister, but the credits do not agree. The Inga and Olaf characters are played by relatively anonymous actors, I think. Although the woman appeared on Grey's Anatomy. They were both wonderful in this film.
I went out, I did something fun and really enjoyed it. I couldn't help myself, as I looked at the many women who were there with their friends, but wish that I had a friend with me as well. You can't have everything....
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
The Desert and Its Infinite Dryness
One recent Saturday morning I was filling the coffeepot with water in order to make a pot of coffee when I noticed a distinct stream of water going down the drain. I checked, and sure enough, all the water coming from the tap was going into the coffeepot. The problem could only be a hole in the coffeepot. Indeed, the damn thing was broken.
Very soon after that I visited Cuisinart's' website and ordered a new coffeepot, and threw in some extra water filters. I hadn't planned on buying replacement water filters for my coffeepot, but I can be an impulsive shopper when it comes to the quality of my coffee's water. Apparently. A few days later I received confirmation that my new, $20 replacement coffeepot was in the mail.
I don't know about you, but I'm thinking that if your coffeepot breaks in the first year of ownership, the company ought to give you one replacement pot for free. We've had this coffeepot for a year and a half. (Did I say first year of ownership? I meant first year and a half.) I didn't break it. I have near the same amount of reverence for that appliance one should reserve for a holy relic. I don't know how it got the crack which led to the gaping hole.
We've been living in the high desert now for two months. Could it be the dry, high desert air that caused the silica particles to separate, thus creating enough space for a crack to form?
*sigh
Since the Desert Broke My Coffeepot incident, I've been driving to a local shop in town every morning for my cup of coffee. It's a drive thru, non-national chain located near my house. I need that warm elixir, not so much for the caffeine as for the heat.
(Today's high: 34 degrees! Humidity: - 4 million percent!)
I got to thinking that maybe I am finding my place in this town after all. Today being the 7th or so daily trip, the baristas remembered my drink order: 20 oz. coffee with two sugars. I can't help but wonder if it's lame to think that because of this, they are my friends? They must remember my order because I'm special and they like me, right??? Sure.
Very soon after that I visited Cuisinart's' website and ordered a new coffeepot, and threw in some extra water filters. I hadn't planned on buying replacement water filters for my coffeepot, but I can be an impulsive shopper when it comes to the quality of my coffee's water. Apparently. A few days later I received confirmation that my new, $20 replacement coffeepot was in the mail.
I don't know about you, but I'm thinking that if your coffeepot breaks in the first year of ownership, the company ought to give you one replacement pot for free. We've had this coffeepot for a year and a half. (Did I say first year of ownership? I meant first year and a half.) I didn't break it. I have near the same amount of reverence for that appliance one should reserve for a holy relic. I don't know how it got the crack which led to the gaping hole.
We've been living in the high desert now for two months. Could it be the dry, high desert air that caused the silica particles to separate, thus creating enough space for a crack to form?
*sigh
Since the Desert Broke My Coffeepot incident, I've been driving to a local shop in town every morning for my cup of coffee. It's a drive thru, non-national chain located near my house. I need that warm elixir, not so much for the caffeine as for the heat.
(Today's high: 34 degrees! Humidity: - 4 million percent!)
I got to thinking that maybe I am finding my place in this town after all. Today being the 7th or so daily trip, the baristas remembered my drink order: 20 oz. coffee with two sugars. I can't help but wonder if it's lame to think that because of this, they are my friends? They must remember my order because I'm special and they like me, right??? Sure.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Defining One's Self
A few weeks ago we had our first visitors to our new house. My husband's youngest brother came to see us and brought two of his (low-20's aged) friends. He and my husband planned to go skiing that weekend, including a lesson for OC. I was going to watch her get her lesson, then knit inside the lodge while drinking hot chocolate.
His friends were very friendly and talkative, and I was enjoying the company. That is, until I was asked an innocent question that I still don't know how to answer.
We were getting to know each other, and there was the inevitable 'What do you do' line of questioning. We spent some time talking about their jobs while I cringed, knowing it was going to be my turn soon. And before I was ready, it was my turn.
"So what do you do?" The question was directed to me.
I thought to myself, Everything! Nothing interesting! All kinds of things! How much time do you have?
I could've launched into a litany of things that define my day: I raise a child by myself during the day five (sometimes six) days a week while my husband works long hours to get his new office off the ground; I spend an hour or two per day teaching her lessons to augment her chaotic classroom environment; I keep everybody fed including a lunch ready for my husband every morning, much like a proper 50's housewife; I keep the house clean (sort of); I unpack the boxes and put things away nearly all by myself; I'm lonely and haven't befriended another mom yet; and at the end of nearly every day, I drink, much like a proper housewife.
That would've been boring, and a conversation-killer. Since I rarely have conversations with adults these days, I didn't want to put this one to an early death. I gave it some thought, going over the complicated feelings I have over defining myself in a different way, and then said, "I stay at home with OC."
It was simple, straightforward, and not laced with any traces of shame or frustration. Because I'm a grownup.
"Oh," she said. "So you're just a mom."
Now, let me say in her defense that she didn't mean anything by it. I could tell by her tone that she wasn't being snotty or rude, she was being young. I could tell that difference existed when she said that, and believe me, I wouldn't defend anyone who said something like that unless the comment truly was devoid of malicious intent.
Nevertheless, her comment sliced deeply inside of me and hit a sore spot. I wanted to slap her but then what would have been the point? I am 'just a mom.' I 'just' stay at home and raise my daughter. I think we can dispose of the word, 'just', but other than that she is right. Except for that word 'just', I realize I shouldn't be offended by it.
I am a mom. I take care of another human being. I'm busy every day. I represent one side of a division of labor in this house which, if didn't get done, my husband would be over his eyeballs and couldn't function what with having to be up so late doing what I do every day. What I do is important, if uninteresting in conversation. I know that.
I do feel pride over my daughter and what I do for her. It goes without saying. What I find hard is to find it admirable to do something that anyone else can do. Things like, cook and clean and unpack boxes. Those are not things that are special. And lots of people have children. There are millions of moms in the world. I can see why it's easy to dismiss with the word 'just'.
To be honest, I am a little jealous of my husband. He goes to work (with his lunch already packed!), talks to adults, and works at things he likes to do. Not everyone can do his job, or knows the technicalities of it. He has things to add to conversations with persons he just meets, has a sense of satisfaction - and a paycheck - at the end of the day. He has a place to go every day.
I don't get a paycheck for what I do. I don't use any of the technical skills I used to when I was employed. The truth is, I miss it. I miss the work, being in the loop of new technology and learning things from coworkers. At the same time, I'm grateful for the chance to be at home with OC. I've missed so much time with her already.
While I was working, my daughter was in daycare. I am not giving an opinion on daycare in general. That is a boring debate. What I want to say is that my experience in putting my child in daycare as an infant was wrenching. I felt bad for her spending so much time in daycare. She needed me, and I missed her. I loved my job, but at the time I hated that it was at the expense of my daughter in daycare all day long. Most of my friends who had kids had unique structure to their schedules in order to either have their kids stay with relatives, or to stay in daycare a shorter time during each day. I didn't have that. Keeping my job allowed me to move on with my life and eventually got us here, all of which is a story for another day.
Now I'm married and I stay home and we live here. Why the hell aren't I joyous and over the moon about all this time with my daughter???
Well, for one thing, I'm a human, multi-dimensional being. For another, life is complicated, and that's the way it is. Society is another. Being at home with nowhere to go and no place to be is another. Now living in a new place and not having friends is difficult. The reasons are many. This is where I am with it right now.
My husband doesn't understand why it was a hard transition to stay at home because he looks at all the time I spent commuting and all the effort in order to get to work, that it got better as soon as I stayed home. From his point of view, it got a lot easier for me. It did, but all the other emotions can't be quantified like feeling good about a graphic design job well done, interaction with colleagues, things like that.
It's okay that he doesn't understand completely, he didn't go through it. He respects my feelings and that's enough. He supports me in finding what I need to do for myself now. After I told him how I felt he said we should set money aside to buy the equipment necessary to do design work from home. Or, I could go back to school for a four-year degree. Or, whatever. I appreciate that support.
I don't know what I'll do, but I have to keep moving forward. I enjoy volunteering at OC's school once a week. I may do SMART and tutoring. I may go back to college when she's in First Grade. I may homeschool her. I have no idea about that yet.
What I do know is that I won't let someone else define me.
Finally, I will find a good reply to that comment if I ever encounter it again. So far I've got "shut up, beyotch" and "it takes one to know one" but I feel that something more witty - and that makes sense - might be in order.
His friends were very friendly and talkative, and I was enjoying the company. That is, until I was asked an innocent question that I still don't know how to answer.
We were getting to know each other, and there was the inevitable 'What do you do' line of questioning. We spent some time talking about their jobs while I cringed, knowing it was going to be my turn soon. And before I was ready, it was my turn.
"So what do you do?" The question was directed to me.
I thought to myself, Everything! Nothing interesting! All kinds of things! How much time do you have?
I could've launched into a litany of things that define my day: I raise a child by myself during the day five (sometimes six) days a week while my husband works long hours to get his new office off the ground; I spend an hour or two per day teaching her lessons to augment her chaotic classroom environment; I keep everybody fed including a lunch ready for my husband every morning, much like a proper 50's housewife; I keep the house clean (sort of); I unpack the boxes and put things away nearly all by myself; I'm lonely and haven't befriended another mom yet; and at the end of nearly every day, I drink, much like a proper housewife.
That would've been boring, and a conversation-killer. Since I rarely have conversations with adults these days, I didn't want to put this one to an early death. I gave it some thought, going over the complicated feelings I have over defining myself in a different way, and then said, "I stay at home with OC."
It was simple, straightforward, and not laced with any traces of shame or frustration. Because I'm a grownup.
"Oh," she said. "So you're just a mom."
Now, let me say in her defense that she didn't mean anything by it. I could tell by her tone that she wasn't being snotty or rude, she was being young. I could tell that difference existed when she said that, and believe me, I wouldn't defend anyone who said something like that unless the comment truly was devoid of malicious intent.
Nevertheless, her comment sliced deeply inside of me and hit a sore spot. I wanted to slap her but then what would have been the point? I am 'just a mom.' I 'just' stay at home and raise my daughter. I think we can dispose of the word, 'just', but other than that she is right. Except for that word 'just', I realize I shouldn't be offended by it.
I am a mom. I take care of another human being. I'm busy every day. I represent one side of a division of labor in this house which, if didn't get done, my husband would be over his eyeballs and couldn't function what with having to be up so late doing what I do every day. What I do is important, if uninteresting in conversation. I know that.
I do feel pride over my daughter and what I do for her. It goes without saying. What I find hard is to find it admirable to do something that anyone else can do. Things like, cook and clean and unpack boxes. Those are not things that are special. And lots of people have children. There are millions of moms in the world. I can see why it's easy to dismiss with the word 'just'.
To be honest, I am a little jealous of my husband. He goes to work (with his lunch already packed!), talks to adults, and works at things he likes to do. Not everyone can do his job, or knows the technicalities of it. He has things to add to conversations with persons he just meets, has a sense of satisfaction - and a paycheck - at the end of the day. He has a place to go every day.
I don't get a paycheck for what I do. I don't use any of the technical skills I used to when I was employed. The truth is, I miss it. I miss the work, being in the loop of new technology and learning things from coworkers. At the same time, I'm grateful for the chance to be at home with OC. I've missed so much time with her already.
While I was working, my daughter was in daycare. I am not giving an opinion on daycare in general. That is a boring debate. What I want to say is that my experience in putting my child in daycare as an infant was wrenching. I felt bad for her spending so much time in daycare. She needed me, and I missed her. I loved my job, but at the time I hated that it was at the expense of my daughter in daycare all day long. Most of my friends who had kids had unique structure to their schedules in order to either have their kids stay with relatives, or to stay in daycare a shorter time during each day. I didn't have that. Keeping my job allowed me to move on with my life and eventually got us here, all of which is a story for another day.
Now I'm married and I stay home and we live here. Why the hell aren't I joyous and over the moon about all this time with my daughter???
Well, for one thing, I'm a human, multi-dimensional being. For another, life is complicated, and that's the way it is. Society is another. Being at home with nowhere to go and no place to be is another. Now living in a new place and not having friends is difficult. The reasons are many. This is where I am with it right now.
My husband doesn't understand why it was a hard transition to stay at home because he looks at all the time I spent commuting and all the effort in order to get to work, that it got better as soon as I stayed home. From his point of view, it got a lot easier for me. It did, but all the other emotions can't be quantified like feeling good about a graphic design job well done, interaction with colleagues, things like that.
It's okay that he doesn't understand completely, he didn't go through it. He respects my feelings and that's enough. He supports me in finding what I need to do for myself now. After I told him how I felt he said we should set money aside to buy the equipment necessary to do design work from home. Or, I could go back to school for a four-year degree. Or, whatever. I appreciate that support.
I don't know what I'll do, but I have to keep moving forward. I enjoy volunteering at OC's school once a week. I may do SMART and tutoring. I may go back to college when she's in First Grade. I may homeschool her. I have no idea about that yet.
What I do know is that I won't let someone else define me.
Finally, I will find a good reply to that comment if I ever encounter it again. So far I've got "shut up, beyotch" and "it takes one to know one" but I feel that something more witty - and that makes sense - might be in order.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Television For Medicinal Purposes
We are attending a funeral for OH's grandmother tomorrow. She had a long life, living until 89. The last time we visited her was Labor Day weekend. It was hard to get over to the south coast where she lived. OH is having a really hard time with it. He wanted to visit her again, knowing we didn't have forever to be able to do so.
It's hard to lose someone you love. One of the things that happens is it reminds you of all the other people you've lost, and as one gets older, that list starts to add up.
How about a happy subject? I know I could use one. Okay, here's one: I hit gold at the library, if by gold I mean the kind of gold that drives you batty after awhile. I was in the children's dvd section where I found..... a copy of Schoolhouse Rock! It contains every song ever created in a special, 30th anniversary release of this magical show of my childhood. OC loves it.
I wasn't allowed to watch television before I was four years old for religious reasons. That reason being, television was worldly and therefore "of the devil". My mom came to her senses when I was four and a half and realized she couldn't live like that anymore. She cut her hair - and mine - and threw on some pants and some makeup, left her entire family and everyone she had ever known in the super-rigid, non-denominational Christian group (which she refers to as 'the cult' because of the many similarities to a cult represented in this group) in which she was raised and completely sheltered. She and was shunned by them all, except for the harsh rebukes, but we just laughed and went on painting our toenails with the devil's nailpolish and listened to Anne Murray on the devil's machine - the eight-track player - and then.....I discovered the wonder and glory of television and therein, Schoolhouse Rock.
And it was good.
I may or may not be going to hell for those things, but if I do at least I can sing some pretty catchy tunes with all my time down there. After some time spent in hell singing "Electricity" or something, I imagine I'll have to go beat up on some really bad people, like the pedophiles, because the songs are catchy but also - after numerous listens - pretty damn annoying.
And that is my happy thought for today. Wait, was that happy??? Basically. Yes. Childhood songs are good in small doses, much like alcohol. And Britney Spears.
It's hard to lose someone you love. One of the things that happens is it reminds you of all the other people you've lost, and as one gets older, that list starts to add up.
How about a happy subject? I know I could use one. Okay, here's one: I hit gold at the library, if by gold I mean the kind of gold that drives you batty after awhile. I was in the children's dvd section where I found..... a copy of Schoolhouse Rock! It contains every song ever created in a special, 30th anniversary release of this magical show of my childhood. OC loves it.
I wasn't allowed to watch television before I was four years old for religious reasons. That reason being, television was worldly and therefore "of the devil". My mom came to her senses when I was four and a half and realized she couldn't live like that anymore. She cut her hair - and mine - and threw on some pants and some makeup, left her entire family and everyone she had ever known in the super-rigid, non-denominational Christian group (which she refers to as 'the cult' because of the many similarities to a cult represented in this group) in which she was raised and completely sheltered. She and was shunned by them all, except for the harsh rebukes, but we just laughed and went on painting our toenails with the devil's nailpolish and listened to Anne Murray on the devil's machine - the eight-track player - and then.....I discovered the wonder and glory of television and therein, Schoolhouse Rock.
And it was good.
I may or may not be going to hell for those things, but if I do at least I can sing some pretty catchy tunes with all my time down there. After some time spent in hell singing "Electricity" or something, I imagine I'll have to go beat up on some really bad people, like the pedophiles, because the songs are catchy but also - after numerous listens - pretty damn annoying.
And that is my happy thought for today. Wait, was that happy??? Basically. Yes. Childhood songs are good in small doses, much like alcohol. And Britney Spears.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
The Day I Met the Granny From Alabammy
A pinnacle of boredom was reached with the other day's post. I'm in a slump - a funk, a rut - if you will.
Saturday was a warm day, and after a few errands OC and I spent some time at a nearby park. Right off the bat she met a 5-year old girl and they began to play together. The girl was there with her grandmother, who was from Alabama. The grandma has lived here in Central Oregon for a year, and was glad to live closer to her son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter. In fact, she lived within walking distance to the park the kids currently played. We got to talking - she did most of the talking - and she told me all about her life.
A summary:
She is one of eight kids, grew up near Birmingham, has one child, has one grandchild, likes to cook, lived here a year, thinks people waste too much and aren't happy with what they've got. Those are only the highlights. She spent most of the time telling me all kinds of things. In that time, she shared with me a recipe she made up. I will share it with you. You don't need paper for this, trust me:
Put chips in an oven dish. Add a layer of chili. Add a layer of cheese. Another layer of chili. Another layer of cheese. Now bake until warm and melty. Yum, greasy!
I was a listening board for her life story. I wanted to talk, too, but she wasn't all that interested in following up on what I did say. Maybe it's a southern etiquette thing or an age thing, who knows. Maybe if I took her up on her offer to get together again, she'd ask me about my life, too. I'm feeling sorry for myself. Boo hoo, I'm lonely. Blah.
I haven't sat down with a friend over a coffee or anything else for over six weeks. I've talked with friends and family on the phone, and we've emailed, but no face to face meetings in that time.
I've met a few people here, but I haven't met a woman my age with whom I have things in common. I've met a couple of neighbors and the affectionately aforementioned Alabammy Granny, all of whom were warm and welcoming, suggesting future meetings. I feel reluctant to take them up because they happen to be older than I.
I don't want to dwell too much on the age thing. It sounds like it's a problem, and it's really not. My main complaint is that I haven't found someone who knows what I'm going through, who is in the same general place in life as myself. Anyone could understand me and be a friend, no matter what age. It's that I am looking for the companionship in the person with whom I feel a connection.
And then I wonder, why do I want that, a relationship with someone like myself? That would mean I'm looking for a whiny 33-year old, frustrated mommy and wife who feels very out of place here in this new place that everyone professes to love?
Don't I sound appealing? Who wouldn't want to be friends with me? I'm lucky to meet people here, what space do I have to complain about the people I do meet? And anyway, isn't this experience of living in a new place supposed to work better if I let go, and go with it? If I embrace whatever comes my way with an openness that allows me to find out what is in store for me, rather than being suspicious of the package?
*sigh
Yes, that is the point. I get it.
In an unrelated note, this blogger made me laugh out loud. Warning: contains profanity. Or should I say: Hallelujah! Contains profanity! 'Cause I love some good old fashioned cuss words. (No one says "cuss" anymore, why is that?)
Here's what was so dang funny:
"...the blogosphere (which I can generally count on for celebrating half-assedness and slapdash, madcap, fun) is suddenly all about the Writing, for Christ’s sake, and how we can improve ours. Sweet Lord, it ain’t an MFA program yet, is it? Because, you know, I wouldn't get into a decent one, which is why I'm getting the longer, drier, version...no, not the Always Longs with Wings, or whatever the fuck those pads are that poke you gently in the asshole. I am talking about the Ph.D., motherfucker..."
Ahhhhh. That was delightful. Just what I needed to get me out of today's funk.
It's a beautiful, sunny Sunday. OC and I need to get outside and do.....something.
Saturday was a warm day, and after a few errands OC and I spent some time at a nearby park. Right off the bat she met a 5-year old girl and they began to play together. The girl was there with her grandmother, who was from Alabama. The grandma has lived here in Central Oregon for a year, and was glad to live closer to her son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter. In fact, she lived within walking distance to the park the kids currently played. We got to talking - she did most of the talking - and she told me all about her life.
A summary:
She is one of eight kids, grew up near Birmingham, has one child, has one grandchild, likes to cook, lived here a year, thinks people waste too much and aren't happy with what they've got. Those are only the highlights. She spent most of the time telling me all kinds of things. In that time, she shared with me a recipe she made up. I will share it with you. You don't need paper for this, trust me:
Put chips in an oven dish. Add a layer of chili. Add a layer of cheese. Another layer of chili. Another layer of cheese. Now bake until warm and melty. Yum, greasy!
I was a listening board for her life story. I wanted to talk, too, but she wasn't all that interested in following up on what I did say. Maybe it's a southern etiquette thing or an age thing, who knows. Maybe if I took her up on her offer to get together again, she'd ask me about my life, too. I'm feeling sorry for myself. Boo hoo, I'm lonely. Blah.
I haven't sat down with a friend over a coffee or anything else for over six weeks. I've talked with friends and family on the phone, and we've emailed, but no face to face meetings in that time.
I've met a few people here, but I haven't met a woman my age with whom I have things in common. I've met a couple of neighbors and the affectionately aforementioned Alabammy Granny, all of whom were warm and welcoming, suggesting future meetings. I feel reluctant to take them up because they happen to be older than I.
I don't want to dwell too much on the age thing. It sounds like it's a problem, and it's really not. My main complaint is that I haven't found someone who knows what I'm going through, who is in the same general place in life as myself. Anyone could understand me and be a friend, no matter what age. It's that I am looking for the companionship in the person with whom I feel a connection.
And then I wonder, why do I want that, a relationship with someone like myself? That would mean I'm looking for a whiny 33-year old, frustrated mommy and wife who feels very out of place here in this new place that everyone professes to love?
Don't I sound appealing? Who wouldn't want to be friends with me? I'm lucky to meet people here, what space do I have to complain about the people I do meet? And anyway, isn't this experience of living in a new place supposed to work better if I let go, and go with it? If I embrace whatever comes my way with an openness that allows me to find out what is in store for me, rather than being suspicious of the package?
*sigh
Yes, that is the point. I get it.
In an unrelated note, this blogger made me laugh out loud. Warning: contains profanity. Or should I say: Hallelujah! Contains profanity! 'Cause I love some good old fashioned cuss words. (No one says "cuss" anymore, why is that?)
Here's what was so dang funny:
"...the blogosphere (which I can generally count on for celebrating half-assedness and slapdash, madcap, fun) is suddenly all about the Writing, for Christ’s sake, and how we can improve ours. Sweet Lord, it ain’t an MFA program yet, is it? Because, you know, I wouldn't get into a decent one, which is why I'm getting the longer, drier, version...no, not the Always Longs with Wings, or whatever the fuck those pads are that poke you gently in the asshole. I am talking about the Ph.D., motherfucker..."
Ahhhhh. That was delightful. Just what I needed to get me out of today's funk.
It's a beautiful, sunny Sunday. OC and I need to get outside and do.....something.
Friday, February 16, 2007
What is the Meaning of This
I grew up in a town about 45 minutes from Portland; population 640. We lived on 11 acres with a great view across a valley. There was a great big deck off the front of the house to enjoy the view. There was a barn. For the bulk of when I lived there we had cats. There was always an indoor Persian or two, and outdoors were stray cats we fed and loved. We had a lot of strays over the years. The country was a popular place for heartless people to dump litters of puppies or kittens by the side of the road to magically disappear from their lives. We brought many of them home, but I can still remember the litter of puppies we saw at the river who had been drowned. It was the saddest thing I had ever seen. I think I was 10. The strays we brought home we had spayed or neutered, and it wasn't like we had a money tree in the back yard.
Before my parents got married, my dad and my future siblings had some chickens and rabbits, but the barn caught on fire. It didn't burn down, but the animals, tragically, died and were not replaced. I had a horse for about six months when I was in fifth grade. It turned out I was too young and wimpy to be able to clean out the stall well, and it had to be trained to be able to ride it, so the horse was sold to the neighbors who had horses. We had a dog for awhile that we adopted from someone. I can't remember what happened to him. Later, after all the kids were out of the house, my parents kept Cashmere Goats and various types of chickens.
We didn't use all the acreage for animals or farming. It was fenced, and we got our firewood from the trees that grew plentifully. There were tall fir trees, oak trees, madrones, and maples. My mom spent years landscaping around the house with native plants, advancing farther and farther up the hill that rose behind the house. Eventually they put a bench up there so you could sit and enjoy an even better view.
My dad retired in 1998 and began keeping bees. He planted clover in the garden area in front of the house, and lavender in a long strip along the driveway for forage for the bees, his "girls".
In December 2005 the Pacific Northwest experienced a major windstorm. It knocked down hundreds of trees and powerlines, some of those fell across houses and cars and destroyed them. The damage was extensive across a wide area, which included the city of Portland, but also places away from the city in a swath of 150 miles or more. My parents were afraid of the trees falling down on the house, since there were trees right outside, a few dozen feet away.
None fell on the house that year, although many trees did fall and fell close enough to scare anyone. That spring, my parents hired people to log the trees that fell; those that were still standing were limbed, and they assessed/removed any others that posed a hazard. After that, they felt much better about the threat of dying by way of falling tree.
Life rolled along until my brother died in 2002, after that we all sort of floated in our own strange space reeling from the loss. When dad died in 2003, it was another shockwave and none of us knew how we'd get through it. It hurt so badly, not only because they were both young and healthy, but because it was the same damn disease.
Unfair. Unfair. Unfair. But anyway.
My mom moved away and sold the house in 2004, not wanting to stay there alone and not knowing what to do.
Last month, I found out that a tree had fallen across the house and destroyed it. No one was hurt. The house is gone. Just like that.
I grew up there, my dad built the deck around the house, my mom landscaped; memories were made there. My brother died there. My daughter played there. Birthday parties; Christmas tree in the window; my dad in the kitchen cooking; my mom baking pies; the lifesize poster of the Portland Trailblazers my brother had in his room; the waterbed my sister had that practically took up the whole room; the way my sister and I used to fight over who got to sleep in the top bunk by going to bed WAY early at night and claiming it; the long driveway we used to walk up after school; my daughter licking her first beater of whipped cream at Thanksgiving; my sisters, brother, uncles, aunts, nieces visiting...all those memories, including people not alive anymore.
I know it's weird but it feels like losing a family member all over again. The house had been sold, we could never go back and live there again and I had accepted that (eventually). But now, it's completely gone forever and ever. I have to get used to that idea, again.
The people are what is important in life, but the setting where all of those things happened meant something, too.
Life keeps rolling on, whether we're ready for it or not. It's better that way. That doesn't mean this is easy to accept. This is hard - for now - until it gets easier.
It will get easier.
Before my parents got married, my dad and my future siblings had some chickens and rabbits, but the barn caught on fire. It didn't burn down, but the animals, tragically, died and were not replaced. I had a horse for about six months when I was in fifth grade. It turned out I was too young and wimpy to be able to clean out the stall well, and it had to be trained to be able to ride it, so the horse was sold to the neighbors who had horses. We had a dog for awhile that we adopted from someone. I can't remember what happened to him. Later, after all the kids were out of the house, my parents kept Cashmere Goats and various types of chickens.
We didn't use all the acreage for animals or farming. It was fenced, and we got our firewood from the trees that grew plentifully. There were tall fir trees, oak trees, madrones, and maples. My mom spent years landscaping around the house with native plants, advancing farther and farther up the hill that rose behind the house. Eventually they put a bench up there so you could sit and enjoy an even better view.
My dad retired in 1998 and began keeping bees. He planted clover in the garden area in front of the house, and lavender in a long strip along the driveway for forage for the bees, his "girls".
In December 2005 the Pacific Northwest experienced a major windstorm. It knocked down hundreds of trees and powerlines, some of those fell across houses and cars and destroyed them. The damage was extensive across a wide area, which included the city of Portland, but also places away from the city in a swath of 150 miles or more. My parents were afraid of the trees falling down on the house, since there were trees right outside, a few dozen feet away.
None fell on the house that year, although many trees did fall and fell close enough to scare anyone. That spring, my parents hired people to log the trees that fell; those that were still standing were limbed, and they assessed/removed any others that posed a hazard. After that, they felt much better about the threat of dying by way of falling tree.
Life rolled along until my brother died in 2002, after that we all sort of floated in our own strange space reeling from the loss. When dad died in 2003, it was another shockwave and none of us knew how we'd get through it. It hurt so badly, not only because they were both young and healthy, but because it was the same damn disease.
Unfair. Unfair. Unfair. But anyway.
My mom moved away and sold the house in 2004, not wanting to stay there alone and not knowing what to do.
Last month, I found out that a tree had fallen across the house and destroyed it. No one was hurt. The house is gone. Just like that.
I grew up there, my dad built the deck around the house, my mom landscaped; memories were made there. My brother died there. My daughter played there. Birthday parties; Christmas tree in the window; my dad in the kitchen cooking; my mom baking pies; the lifesize poster of the Portland Trailblazers my brother had in his room; the waterbed my sister had that practically took up the whole room; the way my sister and I used to fight over who got to sleep in the top bunk by going to bed WAY early at night and claiming it; the long driveway we used to walk up after school; my daughter licking her first beater of whipped cream at Thanksgiving; my sisters, brother, uncles, aunts, nieces visiting...all those memories, including people not alive anymore.
I know it's weird but it feels like losing a family member all over again. The house had been sold, we could never go back and live there again and I had accepted that (eventually). But now, it's completely gone forever and ever. I have to get used to that idea, again.
The people are what is important in life, but the setting where all of those things happened meant something, too.
Life keeps rolling on, whether we're ready for it or not. It's better that way. That doesn't mean this is easy to accept. This is hard - for now - until it gets easier.
It will get easier.
Monday, February 12, 2007
RMLS is Magical
We may have just sold our house.
It listed last Friday. The first offer came on Saturday when our agent was outside about to plant flowers. Have I mentioned yet how much I love our agent? She's energetic. The offer came from another real estate agent interested in the house for herself. Her offer was for full price, but she wanted the armoire in the bathroom and she wanted us to have a septic inspection. The armoire is not for sale, and our realtor said that usually the buyer pays for septic inspection. For an agent to ask for something that unusual was irritating. It was a moot point because her offer was misdated and actually expired before we received it.
The second party offered cash and a nearer closing date than the first offer. No unusual demands, as of yet. There was a third party walking through the house on Sunday afternoon.
This, in a slow real estate market!
We accepted the second offer late Sunday. Our agent hadn't had time to distribute fliers, or host a catered broker tour scheduled for tomorrow. She barely had the sign in the ground before people came by. The only thing we'd done was list it on rmls.com and she sent an email out to a list of brokers.
There may be issues with a home inspection, but, whatever. We'll cross that bridge, blah blah blah. Selling the house now is much better than having it sit on the market for months while we continue to pay two mortgages (ouch!) and wait to shop for a new dining room table.
With the house-sale proceeds, our dining room "table" will go bye-bye. It's served it's purpose, but we need real furniture. I'm a grown-up and I'm ready to have grown-up furniture now.
It listed last Friday. The first offer came on Saturday when our agent was outside about to plant flowers. Have I mentioned yet how much I love our agent? She's energetic. The offer came from another real estate agent interested in the house for herself. Her offer was for full price, but she wanted the armoire in the bathroom and she wanted us to have a septic inspection. The armoire is not for sale, and our realtor said that usually the buyer pays for septic inspection. For an agent to ask for something that unusual was irritating. It was a moot point because her offer was misdated and actually expired before we received it.
The second party offered cash and a nearer closing date than the first offer. No unusual demands, as of yet. There was a third party walking through the house on Sunday afternoon.
This, in a slow real estate market!
We accepted the second offer late Sunday. Our agent hadn't had time to distribute fliers, or host a catered broker tour scheduled for tomorrow. She barely had the sign in the ground before people came by. The only thing we'd done was list it on rmls.com and she sent an email out to a list of brokers.
There may be issues with a home inspection, but, whatever. We'll cross that bridge, blah blah blah. Selling the house now is much better than having it sit on the market for months while we continue to pay two mortgages (ouch!) and wait to shop for a new dining room table.
With the house-sale proceeds, our dining room "table" will go bye-bye. It's served it's purpose, but we need real furniture. I'm a grown-up and I'm ready to have grown-up furniture now.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Short Break
We're going to spend a week at the beach. I'm not taking the laptop.
I've got a lot to think about, the most important being OC's school situation. I'm really looking forward to a break from the cleaning, putting away, and sorting......also to feel energized to get more done when we get back.
I'd like to post pictures when we get back, but I can't find my camera. It was here a couple of days ago!
I've got a lot to think about, the most important being OC's school situation. I'm really looking forward to a break from the cleaning, putting away, and sorting......also to feel energized to get more done when we get back.
I'd like to post pictures when we get back, but I can't find my camera. It was here a couple of days ago!
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
ej oo KEY shuh n
I'm struggling to put my thoughts into coherent phrasing. What is in my head are things like:
screaming
lots of "NO"s
"This can't be happening"
"Oh...My...G-d..."
What has produced such a strong reaction and the paralyization of my ability to use language to express thoughts? I visited my daughter's new classroom for the first time today. It wasn't good. I'm still in shock to tell you the truth.
One of the reasons I had such a hard time agreeing to move here and leave our old town is because the school that OC attended is fantastic. The curriculum is comprehensive, rigorous, and each year was integrated with the previous in order to create cohesion and context for the material. The atmosphere is disciplined but always positive. The kids know the rules and the rules are always - or at worst, nearly always - enforced, which created a calm place for kids to *gasp!* learn things. Parents are encouraged to be a part of the classroom or other activities. The kids are respectful. Even the highschool boys were polite. It is a great place to send your kid to school, and I did NOT want to take that away from OC.
Now I know why.
She now attends the local public elementary school which is within walking distance of our home. You don't get to choose the public school your child attends, it is solely based on your address. I thought we'd move here, check it out and see how things went, and maybe choose a private school if things were terrible. Or something.
To be fair, maybe today was an off day for the teacher. Maybe. But if it wasn't, then I shudder to think how those kids not lucky enough to already have a strong love of learning and ability to pay attention amidst loud non-pay-attentioners are going to find it in that kind of atmosphere. Let me elaborate.
If you asked me to describe in a word my impression of the classroom I would say, bordering on chaos. That is more than a word. It was not complete chaos, but it lived very near the border to it. It got close enough to Chaos to swap spit, but not close enough to procreate.
I purposefully haven't gone to spend a day at her school because of that whole difficult leaving process. I knew that anything else just wasn't going to measure up to what we had. Was this a preconceived judgment on my part? Yes. I think it is also a fair one, and one that turned out to be proven true. It has taken me all this time to be ready to face the truth of What Is Now. I know that's quite childish, but it's true.
I went to the school today in order to lend a hand, but my intention also included seeing the class in action and finding out what a typical day was like. I had questions in mind like, What was the curriculum? What were the other kids like? What was the atmosphere like?
The teacher did not speak to me at all before class started to give me an idea about what we'd be doing or what I could do to help. I sat in the back of the room and waited. She began the day by going over the date, the months of the year, singing and signing the alphabet and singing a cute song, reading a couple of quick books, and counting by 10's. All this took 15 minutes, and during this time about 3 or 4 kids sitting in the back talked, hit, and pushed each other, ignoring the teacher's repeated request to participate. One girl kept moving around to sit by different people, over and over again after being asked not to move around.
The first project of the day was for the kids to each create a pattern by cutting out photocopied images of quarters, dimes, and pennies and arranging them in a line on a sheet of paper. Next, they were to write the value of each coin above the correct image, and to write the letter that forms the sound of the word for each coin beneath each image.
It was crazy. Many kids needed help. They didn't know what the coins were, didn't know how to write numbers, didn't know how to write the letters. One girl in particular had a terrible time with it all, asking me for help. I helped her, and quickly realized she needed to be in a smaller group setting. The big group thing was freaking her right out. She couldn't pay attention to me. Here is what it was like:
Girl: Would you help me?
Me: Sure. Okay, cut out the coins and arrange them in a repeating pattern, like this.
Girl: Would you help me?
Me: Um, okay. Which coins would you like to use? Okay, good. Cut those out. No need to cut a circle, just cut them out and paste them on. Any that you'd like. Cut them out. Make a pattern. See the example? Do something like that. No, cut them out. Keep cutting...
Girl: Would you help me?
Meanwhile, other kids are asking for help.
Me: *ahhhhh!* Yes, sure. Keep cutting. I'll be right back.
(a few minutes later, after I've made my way back to her table...)
Girl: Would you help me? I can't do it.
Me: Sure. Now let's see, look up on the board. The teacher has an example of a quarter, dime and penny. She has written the value of each above it, like you are to do. Copy that down. See? A quarter is worth 25 cents, so that's a "2" a "5" and a cents symbol, which is a little "c" with a line through it. It's on the board, just copy it above every quarter you have in your pattern.
Girl: Can you help me? I can't do it.
Me: *what else can I say to help her?* Okay, I'll write it for you to copy, then you can do it over again for every quarter you have.
Sidebar: That girl obviously couldn't identify a quarter to save her life. She was totally guessing. It was apparent to me by the way she was helpless and by her anxiety that she needed a different kind of help. She wasn't doing well in the classroom such as it was. I could tell she was anxious, as she looked around at what the other kids were doing and immediately abandoned her unfinished coin pattern to do what the other kids had moved on to do, which was their journals. Only, the other kids had finished their work. At that time she immediately asked me for help again. I felt sorry for her. She needed somebody who could help her, which was not me, and needed out of that classroom full of kids which made her nervous. She was totally overwhelmed and not learning anything.
And then there's the kid who is the teacher's son. Ooooooh yeah, you can just smell all the opportunities for nuttiness in that sentence, can't you? Well, he is a little nut, allright. He went back to his mom's desk repeatedly to get things he wasn't supposed to be into. He liked to get under her desk and just hang out. He also liked to sit at his desk with his coat over his head.
I watched a girl put glue on her chair and then sit down on it. I watched a girl talk - be warned not to - then talk again - be warned not to - again and again and again with no real consequences.
The math lesson was a disaster. The project was for them to write their name at the top of an odd-dimensioned piece of paper. It was a long strip about four inches wide by 12 inches long or so. Half of them wrote it on the wrong side and so missed the instructions of what to do while they erased their names, talked to their neighbors, goofed around, and rewrote their names.
The idea was to copy the math problems, simple addition, onto the paper. Then the candy was passed out. Yes, the math was done with the visual aid assistance provided by little candies, and after doing nothing of value and learning nothing at all, the kids got to eat the candy! After it had spent time being rolled in their hands, having been handled by their neighbor, dropped on the floor and maybe stepped on, into their mouths it went. The tables nearest the teacher got some of the instruction. The tables farthest away, where I was, saw kids not getting it AT ALL, and no one except for me was there to try to get them through it. The teacher was distracted with each individual kid, and at no point did she have them all quiet at once and listening to her instructions.
Kids were up and all over the place, all day long. I applauded - in my head - each and every attempt by the teacher to have order, and there were times when I thought she would prevail but then she would give up. She would get their attention, get distracted, and then by the time she came back to say what she needed to say she only had the attention of three or four kids.
I know that Kindergarteners are squirmy, attention-deficit by nature of their age. I didn't expect to see a tomb-like classroom with robotic, silent children taking in every word. What I would have liked to see is a room full of children who may have tried to goof off but were quickly put back in line. I wanted to see a teacher who had the attention of every child before she spoke, especially when it was important like teaching math or the like. That teacher needs an assistant, and she also needs to follow through to get the kids to act more appropriately. If she had that then I think it would improve things immensely. I know it can be done, because that is exactly what it was like at OC's old school. The teacher was always, ALWAYS polite and positive, but she could get them to listen and do what they were told. It wasn't perfect, but it was way more ordered than what I saw today and way more quiet.
I know what you're thinking. I'm thinking it, too. Get your ass in there, girl! Be her assistant, talk to her about what I saw (in some tactful way) and work with her to get the kids' attention and discipline those little turkeys so they know what is expected of them. Kids will exhibit good behavior if you prove to them that you're serious about expecting it, especially at this age.
I'm not a teacher. I am not good working with large groups of children. I'm much better at small groups, or better yet, one-on-one. I can see quite plainly that there is a need, but what exactly can I do about it? I can get involved but it's really up to the teacher to set the tone. We've come here mid-year. Can I really expect her to be open to my suggestions? What if she takes it badly and thinks I'm just a jerk looking in from the outside with a lot of criticism, and so does nothing to change the kids' behavior and is then pissed off at me? And, who am I? What do I know, anyway?
A lot of what-ifs there. I think there has to be a better way. I know I can't fix it alone, or maybe at all. I'm quite clear that I'm the amateur here.
It sounds like I'm a public school hater. I'm not. I am a product of it.
(And look at the result! I end sentences with prepositions. Then you might say, at least you know what a preposition is, and that the rules for English say Thou Shant Do That. I know.)
I don't think all public schools are bad and all private schools are good. Or vice versa. Or anything close to that. I believe that each school is unique depending on the philosophy and ideas of the people running it. There are plenty of examples of great schools of either genre, which is why I wanted to wait until we moved here to really check them out because I knew it would take personally visiting the school to get to know that particular school.
OC's old school was based on the classical education style. That is, things were taught based on the trivium model of grammar, logic, and rhetoric. The first stage is grammar, done from Kindergarten through about fourth grade. Grammar in this case doesn't mean that the only thing taught is the grammar of language, what it means is that the facts - the grammar - of all subjects are taught at this stage. Children absorb them even before they can put them into context. It is building the foundation upon which they will put their knowledge into a bigger context and relate it to other subjects. Logic is the stage (fifth to eighth grade or so) where the facts make sense in part due to the child's stage of development where they can understand abstract thoughts, and in part that this is the time where it is shown how the facts interrelate to one another. After the logic stage comes the rhetoric stage, high school, where the student is taught to effectively communicate their ideas to others. This includes asking questions and much debate.
Emphasis is placed on learning things in chronological order as well, beginning with the ancients at the grammar stage and working up through to modern times in the rhetoric stage.
Language is considered the basis of all learning, because you can't learn math if you can't read. You can't understand history if you can't read, etc. Phonics instruction is practically the first thing taught.
A better outline of this style of education is here.
So many things about it make sense to me: the way learning is structured, how it is comprehensive, how one subject is shown to correspond to another. Learning about art is one thing, but learning about art in the context of what was going on at the time with regard to science, astronomy, religion makes for a much richer experience! It makes much more sense to learn about Copernicus' discoveries when you know what the Church was doing, where society was at while all this was going on. It seems to me such a solid foundation in order to foster a love of learning for a lifetime. That is an incredible gift to give a child. I want OC to have all those benefits.
That being said, I know what I'm looking for for my daughter and that I can't rely on this public school to provide that for her because that is not the way it is set up. I'm grateful for the choice and the resources to find what I am looking for, but still kinda pissed that we had to leave the old place and that there is no place like that here.
Now all I need to figure out is, how am I going to provide this? There are no classically-based private schools in this area. Not even in Bend. Homeschool has always seemed like an odd route to me. As though the only reason to homeschool is that you don't like society at large and your religion restricts girls to the home and the only product of homeschooling would be a socially-inept megalobrainiac who will never experience a prom or play in a basketball game. Sure, they're smart, but they can't put a cute outfit together! Obviously, this is not accurate but this route scares me a little.
Luckily I live in the day and age of the internet, which allows me to have access to plenty of resources. At this point, I know I want to supplement OC's school day with instruction in phonics, math, reading aloud, writing, history, audio books, and easy readers. Just this week we have begun to have "lessons" in the morning before she goes to school - or to what I now will think of as "Rum Amok Time" in the afternoon, and she has so far been excited about them.
But what about next year? That is the big question.
screaming
lots of "NO"s
"This can't be happening"
"Oh...My...G-d..."
What has produced such a strong reaction and the paralyization of my ability to use language to express thoughts? I visited my daughter's new classroom for the first time today. It wasn't good. I'm still in shock to tell you the truth.
One of the reasons I had such a hard time agreeing to move here and leave our old town is because the school that OC attended is fantastic. The curriculum is comprehensive, rigorous, and each year was integrated with the previous in order to create cohesion and context for the material. The atmosphere is disciplined but always positive. The kids know the rules and the rules are always - or at worst, nearly always - enforced, which created a calm place for kids to *gasp!* learn things. Parents are encouraged to be a part of the classroom or other activities. The kids are respectful. Even the highschool boys were polite. It is a great place to send your kid to school, and I did NOT want to take that away from OC.
Now I know why.
She now attends the local public elementary school which is within walking distance of our home. You don't get to choose the public school your child attends, it is solely based on your address. I thought we'd move here, check it out and see how things went, and maybe choose a private school if things were terrible. Or something.
To be fair, maybe today was an off day for the teacher. Maybe. But if it wasn't, then I shudder to think how those kids not lucky enough to already have a strong love of learning and ability to pay attention amidst loud non-pay-attentioners are going to find it in that kind of atmosphere. Let me elaborate.
If you asked me to describe in a word my impression of the classroom I would say, bordering on chaos. That is more than a word. It was not complete chaos, but it lived very near the border to it. It got close enough to Chaos to swap spit, but not close enough to procreate.
I purposefully haven't gone to spend a day at her school because of that whole difficult leaving process. I knew that anything else just wasn't going to measure up to what we had. Was this a preconceived judgment on my part? Yes. I think it is also a fair one, and one that turned out to be proven true. It has taken me all this time to be ready to face the truth of What Is Now. I know that's quite childish, but it's true.
I went to the school today in order to lend a hand, but my intention also included seeing the class in action and finding out what a typical day was like. I had questions in mind like, What was the curriculum? What were the other kids like? What was the atmosphere like?
The teacher did not speak to me at all before class started to give me an idea about what we'd be doing or what I could do to help. I sat in the back of the room and waited. She began the day by going over the date, the months of the year, singing and signing the alphabet and singing a cute song, reading a couple of quick books, and counting by 10's. All this took 15 minutes, and during this time about 3 or 4 kids sitting in the back talked, hit, and pushed each other, ignoring the teacher's repeated request to participate. One girl kept moving around to sit by different people, over and over again after being asked not to move around.
The first project of the day was for the kids to each create a pattern by cutting out photocopied images of quarters, dimes, and pennies and arranging them in a line on a sheet of paper. Next, they were to write the value of each coin above the correct image, and to write the letter that forms the sound of the word for each coin beneath each image.
It was crazy. Many kids needed help. They didn't know what the coins were, didn't know how to write numbers, didn't know how to write the letters. One girl in particular had a terrible time with it all, asking me for help. I helped her, and quickly realized she needed to be in a smaller group setting. The big group thing was freaking her right out. She couldn't pay attention to me. Here is what it was like:
Girl: Would you help me?
Me: Sure. Okay, cut out the coins and arrange them in a repeating pattern, like this.
Girl: Would you help me?
Me: Um, okay. Which coins would you like to use? Okay, good. Cut those out. No need to cut a circle, just cut them out and paste them on. Any that you'd like. Cut them out. Make a pattern. See the example? Do something like that. No, cut them out. Keep cutting...
Girl: Would you help me?
Meanwhile, other kids are asking for help.
Me: *ahhhhh!* Yes, sure. Keep cutting. I'll be right back.
(a few minutes later, after I've made my way back to her table...)
Girl: Would you help me? I can't do it.
Me: Sure. Now let's see, look up on the board. The teacher has an example of a quarter, dime and penny. She has written the value of each above it, like you are to do. Copy that down. See? A quarter is worth 25 cents, so that's a "2" a "5" and a cents symbol, which is a little "c" with a line through it. It's on the board, just copy it above every quarter you have in your pattern.
Girl: Can you help me? I can't do it.
Me: *what else can I say to help her?* Okay, I'll write it for you to copy, then you can do it over again for every quarter you have.
Sidebar: That girl obviously couldn't identify a quarter to save her life. She was totally guessing. It was apparent to me by the way she was helpless and by her anxiety that she needed a different kind of help. She wasn't doing well in the classroom such as it was. I could tell she was anxious, as she looked around at what the other kids were doing and immediately abandoned her unfinished coin pattern to do what the other kids had moved on to do, which was their journals. Only, the other kids had finished their work. At that time she immediately asked me for help again. I felt sorry for her. She needed somebody who could help her, which was not me, and needed out of that classroom full of kids which made her nervous. She was totally overwhelmed and not learning anything.
And then there's the kid who is the teacher's son. Ooooooh yeah, you can just smell all the opportunities for nuttiness in that sentence, can't you? Well, he is a little nut, allright. He went back to his mom's desk repeatedly to get things he wasn't supposed to be into. He liked to get under her desk and just hang out. He also liked to sit at his desk with his coat over his head.
I watched a girl put glue on her chair and then sit down on it. I watched a girl talk - be warned not to - then talk again - be warned not to - again and again and again with no real consequences.
The math lesson was a disaster. The project was for them to write their name at the top of an odd-dimensioned piece of paper. It was a long strip about four inches wide by 12 inches long or so. Half of them wrote it on the wrong side and so missed the instructions of what to do while they erased their names, talked to their neighbors, goofed around, and rewrote their names.
The idea was to copy the math problems, simple addition, onto the paper. Then the candy was passed out. Yes, the math was done with the visual aid assistance provided by little candies, and after doing nothing of value and learning nothing at all, the kids got to eat the candy! After it had spent time being rolled in their hands, having been handled by their neighbor, dropped on the floor and maybe stepped on, into their mouths it went. The tables nearest the teacher got some of the instruction. The tables farthest away, where I was, saw kids not getting it AT ALL, and no one except for me was there to try to get them through it. The teacher was distracted with each individual kid, and at no point did she have them all quiet at once and listening to her instructions.
Kids were up and all over the place, all day long. I applauded - in my head - each and every attempt by the teacher to have order, and there were times when I thought she would prevail but then she would give up. She would get their attention, get distracted, and then by the time she came back to say what she needed to say she only had the attention of three or four kids.
I know that Kindergarteners are squirmy, attention-deficit by nature of their age. I didn't expect to see a tomb-like classroom with robotic, silent children taking in every word. What I would have liked to see is a room full of children who may have tried to goof off but were quickly put back in line. I wanted to see a teacher who had the attention of every child before she spoke, especially when it was important like teaching math or the like. That teacher needs an assistant, and she also needs to follow through to get the kids to act more appropriately. If she had that then I think it would improve things immensely. I know it can be done, because that is exactly what it was like at OC's old school. The teacher was always, ALWAYS polite and positive, but she could get them to listen and do what they were told. It wasn't perfect, but it was way more ordered than what I saw today and way more quiet.
I know what you're thinking. I'm thinking it, too. Get your ass in there, girl! Be her assistant, talk to her about what I saw (in some tactful way) and work with her to get the kids' attention and discipline those little turkeys so they know what is expected of them. Kids will exhibit good behavior if you prove to them that you're serious about expecting it, especially at this age.
I'm not a teacher. I am not good working with large groups of children. I'm much better at small groups, or better yet, one-on-one. I can see quite plainly that there is a need, but what exactly can I do about it? I can get involved but it's really up to the teacher to set the tone. We've come here mid-year. Can I really expect her to be open to my suggestions? What if she takes it badly and thinks I'm just a jerk looking in from the outside with a lot of criticism, and so does nothing to change the kids' behavior and is then pissed off at me? And, who am I? What do I know, anyway?
A lot of what-ifs there. I think there has to be a better way. I know I can't fix it alone, or maybe at all. I'm quite clear that I'm the amateur here.
It sounds like I'm a public school hater. I'm not. I am a product of it.
(And look at the result! I end sentences with prepositions. Then you might say, at least you know what a preposition is, and that the rules for English say Thou Shant Do That. I know.)
I don't think all public schools are bad and all private schools are good. Or vice versa. Or anything close to that. I believe that each school is unique depending on the philosophy and ideas of the people running it. There are plenty of examples of great schools of either genre, which is why I wanted to wait until we moved here to really check them out because I knew it would take personally visiting the school to get to know that particular school.
OC's old school was based on the classical education style. That is, things were taught based on the trivium model of grammar, logic, and rhetoric. The first stage is grammar, done from Kindergarten through about fourth grade. Grammar in this case doesn't mean that the only thing taught is the grammar of language, what it means is that the facts - the grammar - of all subjects are taught at this stage. Children absorb them even before they can put them into context. It is building the foundation upon which they will put their knowledge into a bigger context and relate it to other subjects. Logic is the stage (fifth to eighth grade or so) where the facts make sense in part due to the child's stage of development where they can understand abstract thoughts, and in part that this is the time where it is shown how the facts interrelate to one another. After the logic stage comes the rhetoric stage, high school, where the student is taught to effectively communicate their ideas to others. This includes asking questions and much debate.
Emphasis is placed on learning things in chronological order as well, beginning with the ancients at the grammar stage and working up through to modern times in the rhetoric stage.
Language is considered the basis of all learning, because you can't learn math if you can't read. You can't understand history if you can't read, etc. Phonics instruction is practically the first thing taught.
A better outline of this style of education is here.
So many things about it make sense to me: the way learning is structured, how it is comprehensive, how one subject is shown to correspond to another. Learning about art is one thing, but learning about art in the context of what was going on at the time with regard to science, astronomy, religion makes for a much richer experience! It makes much more sense to learn about Copernicus' discoveries when you know what the Church was doing, where society was at while all this was going on. It seems to me such a solid foundation in order to foster a love of learning for a lifetime. That is an incredible gift to give a child. I want OC to have all those benefits.
That being said, I know what I'm looking for for my daughter and that I can't rely on this public school to provide that for her because that is not the way it is set up. I'm grateful for the choice and the resources to find what I am looking for, but still kinda pissed that we had to leave the old place and that there is no place like that here.
Now all I need to figure out is, how am I going to provide this? There are no classically-based private schools in this area. Not even in Bend. Homeschool has always seemed like an odd route to me. As though the only reason to homeschool is that you don't like society at large and your religion restricts girls to the home and the only product of homeschooling would be a socially-inept megalobrainiac who will never experience a prom or play in a basketball game. Sure, they're smart, but they can't put a cute outfit together! Obviously, this is not accurate but this route scares me a little.
Luckily I live in the day and age of the internet, which allows me to have access to plenty of resources. At this point, I know I want to supplement OC's school day with instruction in phonics, math, reading aloud, writing, history, audio books, and easy readers. Just this week we have begun to have "lessons" in the morning before she goes to school - or to what I now will think of as "Rum Amok Time" in the afternoon, and she has so far been excited about them.
But what about next year? That is the big question.
Taking a Beating
While unpacking a box last week, I reached in and received a puncture from a vase that had broken in transit. This time, it was on my right thumb and not a reinjury of the first cut from before.
What is the message here? You want me to stop unpacking? I'll stop unpacking! Just tell me what you want and I'll do it! Please!!! I just want to stop getting maimed.
What is the message here? You want me to stop unpacking? I'll stop unpacking! Just tell me what you want and I'll do it! Please!!! I just want to stop getting maimed.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Quotable Kid
A while ago I was telling OC about how proud I was of her. I was going on and on, and she responded in her usual pragmatic way:
"I'm so proud of you! Gymnastics, reading, drawing....blah blah blah."
"I know," said OC. "I was born to be that way."
In other words, WHATEVER, MOM.
* * * * *
And then there was the time we watched "Between the Lions". The song from the segment called Vowel Boot Camp was stuck in my head. I was singing, (to the tune of 'Sound Off')"When two vowels stand side by side, the first one says its name with pride"!
To which OC pipes up, "It's okay mama, it won't give me a headache!"
Well. That's good.
* * * * *
A case where pop culture comes back and smacks you in the head with the reality of it:
OC: "I want one of those lollipops where if you get an indian you can punch someone."
Oh, she wants a Tootsie Pop. As kids, my siblings and I played the game where you looked at the Tootsie Pop wrapper for the 1950's-era boy dressed as a Native American Indian, and if he was there, we'd yell, "I got an indian!" and haul off and hit the nearest sibling in the shoulder.
It was a game.
Fun!
It never seemed a bad thing to say, but now do I need to change it to ameliorate any problems by yelling 'I've got an indian?' Is that even a problematic statement? Would people wonder if we were talking Native American or Indian-subcontinent Indian?
Am I reading too much into this??? Maybe?
Ok, probably yes.
* * * * *
ROLE REVERSAL
"If I was your mommy I'd let you have all the candy you wanted."
"Why?"
"I think it's good. I wouldn't let you have too much in one day. I would let you have one per day."
"What if I wanted more?"
"I would say, 'Go sit in your room and think about it.' And, 'no playing. Try to get it out of your mind. Then you can come out.'"
"I'm so proud of you! Gymnastics, reading, drawing....blah blah blah."
"I know," said OC. "I was born to be that way."
In other words, WHATEVER, MOM.
* * * * *
And then there was the time we watched "Between the Lions". The song from the segment called Vowel Boot Camp was stuck in my head. I was singing, (to the tune of 'Sound Off')"When two vowels stand side by side, the first one says its name with pride"!
To which OC pipes up, "It's okay mama, it won't give me a headache!"
Well. That's good.
* * * * *
A case where pop culture comes back and smacks you in the head with the reality of it:
OC: "I want one of those lollipops where if you get an indian you can punch someone."
Oh, she wants a Tootsie Pop. As kids, my siblings and I played the game where you looked at the Tootsie Pop wrapper for the 1950's-era boy dressed as a Native American Indian, and if he was there, we'd yell, "I got an indian!" and haul off and hit the nearest sibling in the shoulder.
It was a game.
Fun!
It never seemed a bad thing to say, but now do I need to change it to ameliorate any problems by yelling 'I've got an indian?' Is that even a problematic statement? Would people wonder if we were talking Native American or Indian-subcontinent Indian?
Am I reading too much into this??? Maybe?
Ok, probably yes.
* * * * *
ROLE REVERSAL
"If I was your mommy I'd let you have all the candy you wanted."
"Why?"
"I think it's good. I wouldn't let you have too much in one day. I would let you have one per day."
"What if I wanted more?"
"I would say, 'Go sit in your room and think about it.' And, 'no playing. Try to get it out of your mind. Then you can come out.'"
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Which Gay Childhood Icon Are You?
| You Are the Very Gay Tinky Winky! |
 Purple with a gay pride symbol... how could he not be gay? And that red purse is divalicious! |
I don't know, this character is so very recent and was only pronounced gay by the likes of Bill O'Reilly or something, not by any actual references.
Ah well, I enjoy being gay. And purple. With a red purse.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Bad Karma
While unpacking a box of kitchen items, I reached in and found one of my wine glasses had broken. I found that out when I felt a sharp stabbing pain and when I withdrew my hand it had a bloody cut. A cut, I might add, on the SAME THUMB in roughly the same place as the time not too long ago I tried to cut the damn thing off. You know what? That really f-ing hurt!
We've lived here a total of 20 days and so far I continue to run into the sharp points of open cabinet doors, hit my head on low ceilings, and find fun little 'presents' from the furry ones in places other than the appointed lavatational space.
Bastards. And, what have I done to deserve it? Can a bad attitude coupled with ongoing general bitterness at life in general really be the cause of all this misery?
Oh. My. You are lining up in droves to come visit me now, I know.
This morning, I got soap in my eye and actually couldn't see for a few seconds. It was fun! I got to ponder thoughts like, was I going to get my vision back...or not??? My vision returned in seconds and so that was really the only thought I had time to ponder.
That eye still kinda stings.
Later, my daughter found me lying on the bed with eye drops poised over my eye while talking myself into putting the drops in. I am scared to the point of ridiculousness of putting drops in my eye, generally putting them into my closed eye as I never quite manage to keep it open. I mean, my god, the drop is just sitting there waiting to fall into my opened, vulnerable eyeball! How can one sit still for that? Aaaaaahh!!
I'm going to have to watch my actions because with karma like that I don't need to put anything bad out there lest it come flying back my way. Actions are like boomerangs, and the karma gods know how to throw boomerangs. Unlike myself, which is a good thing I guess.
If I were in charge of karma and it were, indeed, a boomerang-type instrument I'd be hitting people (and trees, cars, the random passerby) with bad karma who didn't deserve it at all while the people who did deserve it wouldn't get their fair share and the whole system would be thrown off all because I never went to Australia as a child and learned to throw a boomerang. Talk about misspent youth.
I'm going to try and not disturb a soul today; to get through the rest of it without incident. I guess I do have something to look forward to. I ran into one of OC's classmates mom who asked me if OC would like a playdate. Woo hoo!
Maybe my karma is about to change.*
*Edited, because I need to watch that karma thing.
We've lived here a total of 20 days and so far I continue to run into the sharp points of open cabinet doors, hit my head on low ceilings, and find fun little 'presents' from the furry ones in places other than the appointed lavatational space.
Bastards. And, what have I done to deserve it? Can a bad attitude coupled with ongoing general bitterness at life in general really be the cause of all this misery?
Oh. My. You are lining up in droves to come visit me now, I know.
This morning, I got soap in my eye and actually couldn't see for a few seconds. It was fun! I got to ponder thoughts like, was I going to get my vision back...or not??? My vision returned in seconds and so that was really the only thought I had time to ponder.
That eye still kinda stings.
Later, my daughter found me lying on the bed with eye drops poised over my eye while talking myself into putting the drops in. I am scared to the point of ridiculousness of putting drops in my eye, generally putting them into my closed eye as I never quite manage to keep it open. I mean, my god, the drop is just sitting there waiting to fall into my opened, vulnerable eyeball! How can one sit still for that? Aaaaaahh!!
I'm going to have to watch my actions because with karma like that I don't need to put anything bad out there lest it come flying back my way. Actions are like boomerangs, and the karma gods know how to throw boomerangs. Unlike myself, which is a good thing I guess.
If I were in charge of karma and it were, indeed, a boomerang-type instrument I'd be hitting people (and trees, cars, the random passerby) with bad karma who didn't deserve it at all while the people who did deserve it wouldn't get their fair share and the whole system would be thrown off all because I never went to Australia as a child and learned to throw a boomerang. Talk about misspent youth.
I'm going to try and not disturb a soul today; to get through the rest of it without incident. I guess I do have something to look forward to. I ran into one of OC's classmates mom who asked me if OC would like a playdate. Woo hoo!
Maybe my karma is about to change.*
*Edited, because I need to watch that karma thing.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Where We Live Now and What We Have Been Baking
Here's our new house:
Want another angle? Sure, here you go:
How about yet another?
I didn't think to take a photo of the back of the house. Want to smack me yet? Allright. Moving on.
I like our house. It was built in 1945 in the what, Tudor style? I guess? I feel really comfortable in this house, unlike how I felt in the previous house, and I think maybe that's because this is the first house my husband and I have purchased together. The previous house was purchased by him and I moved in later, and it really always felt like "his" house. Not that he made me feel that way, it's just the way it was. Now, it feels like our house, and I'm making design and decorating decisions from the start.
OC wanted to make cupcakes for Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday, so we did:
That girl can frost and sprinkle like nobody's business. Allright, so if you come over, we'll make you cupcakes! Would you like chocolate or vanilla? Either flavor will feature a thick layer of buttercream frosting and enough sprinkles to choke a horse. Which is of course the way cupcakes were meant to be.
Want another angle? Sure, here you go:
How about yet another?
I didn't think to take a photo of the back of the house. Want to smack me yet? Allright. Moving on.
I like our house. It was built in 1945 in the what, Tudor style? I guess? I feel really comfortable in this house, unlike how I felt in the previous house, and I think maybe that's because this is the first house my husband and I have purchased together. The previous house was purchased by him and I moved in later, and it really always felt like "his" house. Not that he made me feel that way, it's just the way it was. Now, it feels like our house, and I'm making design and decorating decisions from the start.
OC wanted to make cupcakes for Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday, so we did:
That girl can frost and sprinkle like nobody's business. Allright, so if you come over, we'll make you cupcakes! Would you like chocolate or vanilla? Either flavor will feature a thick layer of buttercream frosting and enough sprinkles to choke a horse. Which is of course the way cupcakes were meant to be.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Where In the World Is Central Oregon?
When we went to Ireland last spring, we met all kinds of people: Irish people obviously, people from Northern Ireland, and Germans there for a fishing competition. The first questions were almost always to establish where one another was from. Instead of saying "Portland" we said "Oregon", figuring that saying the name of the state instead of one city might orient people to the west coast because it's a big state, and then we could avoid the whole Portland-Oregon-not-Portland-Maine thing. Turns out people in Europe don't give a fiddler's fart about Portland at all because they don't know where it is. They also didn't really know where Oregon was, which was a first for us because it's a big state and easier to place than say, Rhode Island. (Unless you're from Rhode Island, of course. Or live near it. But I digress.)
Why should the Irish know where Oregon is, anyway? I don't blame them. It takes hours to fly to the States from Ireland, and to get to the west coast is another 6 or 7. I can see why most visit New York and Boston on their vacations. Who wants to eat up another two days of vacation just getting there? Well, besides my husband and I?
Anyway, I'm not harping on the geographical knowledge of the Irish. They're smart, hospitable people. What I'm getting at is that Oregon is a big place. Most people when they think of Oregon tend to think first of Portland, the Willamette Valley, Salem, and Eugene. But there is this whole other part of the state, and that is where I live now.
I knew that moving to Central Oregon would be a big change. Not only is it 126 miles (or 3.5 hours) away from where we lived previously, but it is over the Cascade mountains. We used to live in the Willamette Valley. In wine country, to be exact. Now we live in the high desert. A whole 'nother ecosystem.
I have never spent much time in the high desert. The occasional camping trip or visit to Sunriver, but that was about it. I would say I have been here probably a dozen times or so in my entire life. Now I live here. I still cannot believe it.
It is cold here. Very, very cold. And dry. The shock of it has worn off somewhat, but I still tend to watch the weather report in disbelief. It's going to be a high of 22 degrees? Really? Can it do that??? It can, it can; oh yes, it can! And low temperatures? Forget about it. Single digits! This week, the mornings have started at six degrees. SIX DEGREES. I don't know what to think of that.
The bad thing is, I haven't found my hats and gloves yet. I have warm jackets, but you really need to have all your exposed skin covered. And you need lotion: face lotion, hand lotion, and body lotion.
I'm ready for someone to visit. Bring your cold weather wear - all of it - and your lotion. Oh, forget it, I'll give you some of my lotion. Just come see me!
Why should the Irish know where Oregon is, anyway? I don't blame them. It takes hours to fly to the States from Ireland, and to get to the west coast is another 6 or 7. I can see why most visit New York and Boston on their vacations. Who wants to eat up another two days of vacation just getting there? Well, besides my husband and I?
Anyway, I'm not harping on the geographical knowledge of the Irish. They're smart, hospitable people. What I'm getting at is that Oregon is a big place. Most people when they think of Oregon tend to think first of Portland, the Willamette Valley, Salem, and Eugene. But there is this whole other part of the state, and that is where I live now.
I knew that moving to Central Oregon would be a big change. Not only is it 126 miles (or 3.5 hours) away from where we lived previously, but it is over the Cascade mountains. We used to live in the Willamette Valley. In wine country, to be exact. Now we live in the high desert. A whole 'nother ecosystem.
I have never spent much time in the high desert. The occasional camping trip or visit to Sunriver, but that was about it. I would say I have been here probably a dozen times or so in my entire life. Now I live here. I still cannot believe it.
It is cold here. Very, very cold. And dry. The shock of it has worn off somewhat, but I still tend to watch the weather report in disbelief. It's going to be a high of 22 degrees? Really? Can it do that??? It can, it can; oh yes, it can! And low temperatures? Forget about it. Single digits! This week, the mornings have started at six degrees. SIX DEGREES. I don't know what to think of that.
The bad thing is, I haven't found my hats and gloves yet. I have warm jackets, but you really need to have all your exposed skin covered. And you need lotion: face lotion, hand lotion, and body lotion.
I'm ready for someone to visit. Bring your cold weather wear - all of it - and your lotion. Oh, forget it, I'll give you some of my lotion. Just come see me!
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Snowy Day
As I walked along the snow-covered sidewalk, I noticed another set of footprints had been left before mine: feline.
Yes, walking. You know what that means, right? If you said, "You're walking because after you took your daughter to school you walked to the library to use the internet because you still don't have it at home," you would be absolutely correct.
Internet Connection Gods, what did I do to make you mad at me? Qwest sent me a kit, I hooked it up according to the directions, but it's not working. I have a feeling it's the phone line.
Our house was built in 1945. Sometimes lights work, sometimes they don't. Actually, the light in the hall is the only one that's sketchy. I don't have a regular phone, so I can't plug it in to test and see if the line is even on or if anything comes out of there. What am I expecting to come out of there? Oh, I don't know, email? That would be nice. I called up the automated technical support because that is all that is left to do, but was informed that they were experiencing a significant call volume and that my wait time would be fifteen hundred and one thousand years, and that they appreciated my business. I hung up. I am so alone without the internet. Somebody come and visit me! Please!
Anyway. The library is nice. There are many computers and it is within six block of home so it's an easy walk. I feel so much pressure to produce while I'm here, though, what with the one hour limit. The only thing I will say about being here is that it's awkward because I notice that I tend to talk out loud to the computer screen as I read or type things. It is more obvious when you are in a public place, and a little embarrassing at times. Note to self: stop talking to computer screens in public. Check.
Speaking of which, I have to go read your blogs and check email now. I only have one hour! Bye bye.
Yes, walking. You know what that means, right? If you said, "You're walking because after you took your daughter to school you walked to the library to use the internet because you still don't have it at home," you would be absolutely correct.
Internet Connection Gods, what did I do to make you mad at me? Qwest sent me a kit, I hooked it up according to the directions, but it's not working. I have a feeling it's the phone line.
Our house was built in 1945. Sometimes lights work, sometimes they don't. Actually, the light in the hall is the only one that's sketchy. I don't have a regular phone, so I can't plug it in to test and see if the line is even on or if anything comes out of there. What am I expecting to come out of there? Oh, I don't know, email? That would be nice. I called up the automated technical support because that is all that is left to do, but was informed that they were experiencing a significant call volume and that my wait time would be fifteen hundred and one thousand years, and that they appreciated my business. I hung up. I am so alone without the internet. Somebody come and visit me! Please!
Anyway. The library is nice. There are many computers and it is within six block of home so it's an easy walk. I feel so much pressure to produce while I'm here, though, what with the one hour limit. The only thing I will say about being here is that it's awkward because I notice that I tend to talk out loud to the computer screen as I read or type things. It is more obvious when you are in a public place, and a little embarrassing at times. Note to self: stop talking to computer screens in public. Check.
Speaking of which, I have to go read your blogs and check email now. I only have one hour! Bye bye.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Still Not Online
Local Wireless Internet Company came by the other day to look for the tower. "Can't see Grey Butte," says nice LWIC guy, "which is the radio I brought to test, but Cline Butte is right over there. I don't have the radio to test for that one, but those trees across the street are gonna leaf out this summer and mess with your connection and then you'll be calling us to complain. Do you want me to go get the other radio to test it, though? We do this rating blah blah techie speak blah blah..."
Um, no. I will sit here and feel what it was like back in the damn 19-oughts because I can't read freaking Amalah.com, or post to my blawg, oh my gawd. No big deal, I called Qwest and they can have it going by next week. The only weird thing was that during the call they asked me which of their switches I thought would be the closest. Um, hi, I don't work for Qwest? Nor do I have access to your mega databases, internet, or maps which contain that information so could, um, YOU figure it out? WTF?
Anyway. Back at the library with 12 minutes 39 seconds left.
Quickly:
There are boxes, boxes everywhere. Still.
Spent last weekend at the old house fixing and cleaning. It sucked. SUCKED, I TELL YOU! To be working on a place that is not going to be yours, to still be dealing with your old crap. Oh yes. There is more.
It's sunny and snowy here. Oh, it's snowing right now.
OC is in school, and I'll have to write more about that later. I cried on her first day. It is so hard to leave her at a place I know nothing about.
More later. Library clock sez you in the red sweater, you're time is over!
Um, no. I will sit here and feel what it was like back in the damn 19-oughts because I can't read freaking Amalah.com, or post to my blawg, oh my gawd. No big deal, I called Qwest and they can have it going by next week. The only weird thing was that during the call they asked me which of their switches I thought would be the closest. Um, hi, I don't work for Qwest? Nor do I have access to your mega databases, internet, or maps which contain that information so could, um, YOU figure it out? WTF?
Anyway. Back at the library with 12 minutes 39 seconds left.
Quickly:
There are boxes, boxes everywhere. Still.
Spent last weekend at the old house fixing and cleaning. It sucked. SUCKED, I TELL YOU! To be working on a place that is not going to be yours, to still be dealing with your old crap. Oh yes. There is more.
It's sunny and snowy here. Oh, it's snowing right now.
OC is in school, and I'll have to write more about that later. I cried on her first day. It is so hard to leave her at a place I know nothing about.
More later. Library clock sez you in the red sweater, you're time is over!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Moving Day!
Let's get this over with, shall we? Then I can get on to complaining about things other than moving. Ha. Ha. Ha.
We'll be driving over this pass today:
The pass is clear! Oh my god! I'm glad about that because I will have two mewling kitties in the car with me for three and a half hours or so, and I was hoping not to have to stop and put on chains which would make the listening time that much longer.
I looked for the kind of chains that you just kind of throw at the car and they attach themselves to your tires. Either they don't make them or they don't sell them at GI Joe's. We have all kinds of technological wonders: dishwashers, automatic garage door openers, self-cleaning ovens....why not self-installing tire chains?
Anyway. Happy new year, and the next time I post it will be from Central Oregon.
(Oh my god!)
We'll be driving over this pass today:
The pass is clear! Oh my god! I'm glad about that because I will have two mewling kitties in the car with me for three and a half hours or so, and I was hoping not to have to stop and put on chains which would make the listening time that much longer.
I looked for the kind of chains that you just kind of throw at the car and they attach themselves to your tires. Either they don't make them or they don't sell them at GI Joe's. We have all kinds of technological wonders: dishwashers, automatic garage door openers, self-cleaning ovens....why not self-installing tire chains?
Anyway. Happy new year, and the next time I post it will be from Central Oregon.
(Oh my god!)
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Happy New Year!
Hi! Um, there's nothing new to say. Still packing.
We needed more boxes. Can you believe that? After two trips to the carton store to buy used boxes, four rolls of bubble wrap, a bag of packing paper, we had to go to Fred Meyer's last night to beg for free boxes. I just can't believe we needed MORE. I clearly have too much stuff.
Actually, it's the kid who has too much stuff. I think the stuff in her room alone filled 15 boxes!
Anyway, I'll be here for one more day, then no internet access until January 8th. That is a magical day, however, because the internet connection fairies will be coming to my new house to install a satellite dish which will allow me to use the internet wirelessly from anywhere in the house. I can hardly wait.
Have a happy new year, and enjoy some old pictures:
We needed more boxes. Can you believe that? After two trips to the carton store to buy used boxes, four rolls of bubble wrap, a bag of packing paper, we had to go to Fred Meyer's last night to beg for free boxes. I just can't believe we needed MORE. I clearly have too much stuff.
Actually, it's the kid who has too much stuff. I think the stuff in her room alone filled 15 boxes!
Anyway, I'll be here for one more day, then no internet access until January 8th. That is a magical day, however, because the internet connection fairies will be coming to my new house to install a satellite dish which will allow me to use the internet wirelessly from anywhere in the house. I can hardly wait.
Have a happy new year, and enjoy some old pictures:
Giving auntie a shot.
Cousins don't shake hands, cousins hug!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Up To My Ears in Bubble Wrap
......and boxes and tape. Did you know bubble wrap comes on big rolls? I had no idea. I have found some really weird things in our house, like a coffee urn. Honey? Do we really need this? And, why did you have one in the first place? Oh, it was given to you. Again, WHY?
I have been to the Goodwill donation station more times in the last two weeks than my cat has visited the litter box in the last two days. I found out today that Sears needs to special order the kit to stabilize our washer before we move it - which consists of four bolts - and will take 5 to 10 days. We are moving in four days, including weekend and holidays. It doesn't look like the washer is going to make the moving truck.
These details are boring. How about some pictures? December was a busy month. There was a the certain birthday of a certain child turning six years old.
I have been to the Goodwill donation station more times in the last two weeks than my cat has visited the litter box in the last two days. I found out today that Sears needs to special order the kit to stabilize our washer before we move it - which consists of four bolts - and will take 5 to 10 days. We are moving in four days, including weekend and holidays. It doesn't look like the washer is going to make the moving truck.
These details are boring. How about some pictures? December was a busy month. There was a the certain birthday of a certain child turning six years old.
The Birthday Girl
Birthday party with 18 kids. EIGHT. TEEN.
Opening a present with her cousin, the cutie pie with the adorable pigtails.
The traditional birthday seafood. She ate one coconut shrimp this year, and didn't want any more.
Santa brought a bike!
She's a good rider already.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
In Which I Advise Strangers in a Wine Purchase
I don't know what it is about me, but I seem to invite trust from strangers. On any number of occasions while out for a lunchtime stroll I have been stopped in downtown Portland for directions; to the zoo, the Hilton hotel, or Pioneer Square among others. Helping another person this way is not entirely an altruistic act. There is the feeling of satisfaction from helping a fellow human find his way and expecting nothing in return, but there is also the unique satisfaction of being considered inviting enough to draw inquiry from a stranger and then being given the chance to demonstrate one's skillful navigational prowess.
Earlier today I was doing some shopping at a store which carries groceries and clothes, furniture and toys. I'll call it Fred Meyer's. I'll call it that because that is its name. Not 30 seconds after walking into the store, a woman pushing a cart looked me in the face and asked me did I know where the toy department was. Coincidence?
Later on I was in the wine section of the groceries when I overheard the two people next to me discussing wine. "Theoretically, this bottle..." said one, and he pointed to a $25 bottle of mass-produced California wine product, "...should be better than this bottle" and he pointed to some cheaper bottle. The other man said they should just look for the best-looking label and go with that. I was standing right next to them, twitching with expectation. Here is when all that drinking I've done will come in handy, I thought.
They're going to ask me for a recommendation, I'm standing right next to them. If they don't then I will just tell them what I think because that's the kind of pushy woman I am. Pushy, maybe, but then again I'm the one that knows where to find the toys AND the good wine.
"What type of wine are you looking for?" I asked, admittedly a little disappointed not to be asked when, couldn't they tell I just gave out primo directions to the toy department? The first guy answered they were looking for a good Merlot, and then confessed to not knowing a thing about wine. I suppressed a loud chortle because gee, I don't know what gave it away, ha ha! (Here's the really funny part: I don't know much about wine, either. I drink an awful lot of it and so can tell you from experience, but I hear that a particular label isn't the same from year to year, because of something to do with vintage blah blah this year's harvest blah blah weather. I don't let those kind of details stop me from giving advice, however.)
I said I'd be glad to help them find a good bottle, and pointed them to a $12.50 bottle of Genesis by Hogue Cellars. I myself selected a Cabernet.
It was fun, they were nice about it and glad to have some direction after staring at five shelves of bottles and not having a clue as to how to select one.
Tonight, I am enjoying that Cabernet in front of the fire. There's so much to do, but not tonight. OH is out with a friend who is in from out of town. OC is at her bio dad's. I've cleaned the living room floor, done some organizing, and packed a box full of breakables.
Ahhhhhhhh.
Merry Christmas!
Earlier today I was doing some shopping at a store which carries groceries and clothes, furniture and toys. I'll call it Fred Meyer's. I'll call it that because that is its name. Not 30 seconds after walking into the store, a woman pushing a cart looked me in the face and asked me did I know where the toy department was. Coincidence?
Later on I was in the wine section of the groceries when I overheard the two people next to me discussing wine. "Theoretically, this bottle..." said one, and he pointed to a $25 bottle of mass-produced California wine product, "...should be better than this bottle" and he pointed to some cheaper bottle. The other man said they should just look for the best-looking label and go with that. I was standing right next to them, twitching with expectation. Here is when all that drinking I've done will come in handy, I thought.
They're going to ask me for a recommendation, I'm standing right next to them. If they don't then I will just tell them what I think because that's the kind of pushy woman I am. Pushy, maybe, but then again I'm the one that knows where to find the toys AND the good wine.
"What type of wine are you looking for?" I asked, admittedly a little disappointed not to be asked when, couldn't they tell I just gave out primo directions to the toy department? The first guy answered they were looking for a good Merlot, and then confessed to not knowing a thing about wine. I suppressed a loud chortle because gee, I don't know what gave it away, ha ha! (Here's the really funny part: I don't know much about wine, either. I drink an awful lot of it and so can tell you from experience, but I hear that a particular label isn't the same from year to year, because of something to do with vintage blah blah this year's harvest blah blah weather. I don't let those kind of details stop me from giving advice, however.)
I said I'd be glad to help them find a good bottle, and pointed them to a $12.50 bottle of Genesis by Hogue Cellars. I myself selected a Cabernet.
It was fun, they were nice about it and glad to have some direction after staring at five shelves of bottles and not having a clue as to how to select one.
Tonight, I am enjoying that Cabernet in front of the fire. There's so much to do, but not tonight. OH is out with a friend who is in from out of town. OC is at her bio dad's. I've cleaned the living room floor, done some organizing, and packed a box full of breakables.
Ahhhhhhhh.
Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 22, 2006
Furry Beings of Pee
I'm sitting here checking email when I find myself engaged in a battle of wills...with my cat.
Dakota wants to pee on the floor, and I don't want him to. Every time he wanders over to his Favorite Pee Spot, I throw something his direction to land of the floor near him and scare him - but not enough to scare the piss out of him, hopefully.
He just did it again! This time I threw a half-filled water bottle, which landed with a loud *SMACK!* and he ran away. He is sitting in the middle of the room. Waiting for me to stop looking.
He sauntered over to Potential Pee Spot #2 until I start whistling. He whirls around to see me looking him in the eye, then kind of walks back like, "What? I'm just walking. I didn't do anything."
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
I've taken him to the litter box, scooped it, shown him it's been scooped, and still he walks back into the living room. I don't think there is anything physically wrong with him, just mentally. He is an attention-pee-er, has been all his life. He was orphaned at a young age and never learned the proper way to cover up his leavings. Instead of sticking his paw in the litter to cover it, he rubs the side of the box and covers up nothing. This is nothing new. Believe me, I wouldn't let him be sick and not take him to the vet. I really don't think he's sick.
He is likely stressed out because of all the boxes stacked up around him. He's moved enough times with me to know that this means we're doing it again, oh my holy heck. (Who am I with the 'holy heck', Ned Flanders???) He's a sensitive kitty, he knows something is up, and he wants to let me know he knows in case I think of leaving him behind while I go away and leave him for 16 days or something.
The Battle of Wills continues. I think I've worn him down, because he just settled down to rest in his fuzzy kitty bed. I won't take my eye off of him until he's used the litter box. How long can he hold it, anyway?
Mr. Innocent
Dakota wants to pee on the floor, and I don't want him to. Every time he wanders over to his Favorite Pee Spot, I throw something his direction to land of the floor near him and scare him - but not enough to scare the piss out of him, hopefully.
He just did it again! This time I threw a half-filled water bottle, which landed with a loud *SMACK!* and he ran away. He is sitting in the middle of the room. Waiting for me to stop looking.
He sauntered over to Potential Pee Spot #2 until I start whistling. He whirls around to see me looking him in the eye, then kind of walks back like, "What? I'm just walking. I didn't do anything."
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
I've taken him to the litter box, scooped it, shown him it's been scooped, and still he walks back into the living room. I don't think there is anything physically wrong with him, just mentally. He is an attention-pee-er, has been all his life. He was orphaned at a young age and never learned the proper way to cover up his leavings. Instead of sticking his paw in the litter to cover it, he rubs the side of the box and covers up nothing. This is nothing new. Believe me, I wouldn't let him be sick and not take him to the vet. I really don't think he's sick.
He is likely stressed out because of all the boxes stacked up around him. He's moved enough times with me to know that this means we're doing it again, oh my holy heck. (Who am I with the 'holy heck', Ned Flanders???) He's a sensitive kitty, he knows something is up, and he wants to let me know he knows in case I think of leaving him behind while I go away and leave him for 16 days or something.
The Battle of Wills continues. I think I've worn him down, because he just settled down to rest in his fuzzy kitty bed. I won't take my eye off of him until he's used the litter box. How long can he hold it, anyway?
Mr. Innocent
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Simple Math, Massive Debt
We signed today for the house in Redmond. Now that we own two houses, I think the only questions left are, where should we celebrate Christmas? Shall we summer at the old house for two weeks or three?
The truth is, we're up to our ears in debt now. Until the old house sells it's beans and rice for dinner. And breakfast, too.
Want to take a guess at what the Christmas stockings will be filled with?
The truth is, we're up to our ears in debt now. Until the old house sells it's beans and rice for dinner. And breakfast, too.
Want to take a guess at what the Christmas stockings will be filled with?
Monday, December 18, 2006
Electricity
Last night saw several odd things happen, although one of them I didn't find out until this morning.
OH spent all day Sunday finishing up the tree that fell. He said he was feeling sick and so took a shower and went to bed at 6:30 without dinner.
Later that night, I had several appliances running: dishwasher, dryer and furnace. The lights flickered in the house. OH was awake and getting a drink in the kitchen and happened to look out into the backyard at that moment where he said he saw sparks and fire at the shed in the yard, as though it were coming out the electrical outlets. We had had some electrical work done earlier in the day to fix our bathroom switches that weren't done right when they were installed, so it was strange that it happened the same day. I don't know if the two are related, but he turned off that breaker to the shed which, luckily, doesn't affect the house.
I got ready to go to bed at 11:30, and not five minutes after that OH was up puking.
Ew.
He didn't make it to the toilet, and instead stood heaving onto the bedroom floor. He had begun running to the bathroom, but stopped when he started throwing up, which, who does that? I urged him to go to the bathroom, uh, you know, quickly! Why he stopped to lose it on the bedroom floor, I have no idea. Luckily, we have hardwood floors and so it was easy to clean.
But still, ew.
This morning I got out to the car to take OC to school, when she told me that something was wrong with the car's gas tank. "What is it?" I asked. "The door is open, the little door," she said. "Oh, well would you shut it please?" "No," she said, "I can't because the thing is out, too."
The gas cap was off and lying against the car, as if someone had tried to siphon gas. I had filled the car up just yesterday, and with only 7 miles on that tank of gas it was still full. There were no marks on the car as if it had been forced open, but then again the doors were unlocked to access the switch that opens the lid. No one is around on our deadend street two miles from the center of town.
It was all just really, really weird.
Annoying things have been happening too, like finding out secret cat-peeing areas that are not Officially Designated Cat-Peeing Areas. ARGH!
Note to my cats: I know you guys are stressed out with all these boxes piling up around you, and you don't know what's going on. Why for the love of peanut butter and honey can't you express yourselves in other ways? Like by offering to field a few phone calls for me, or taking the kid to school for me? WHY MUST IT ALWAYS BE BY PEEING WHERE YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO????
P.S. YOU ARE BASTARDS.
The credit union is calling this morning with another two loose ends to our loan. Will we close in time to move this year? Who knows.
Our tree is up. Guess where we got it? If you said "from a branch of the tree that fell in your yard"....YOU WOULD BE RIGHT!
And yes, it is a little ugly and a weird looking Christmas tree, but I'll be go to hell if I'm going to go out in the cold and mud to cut down a tree and pay $35 for it to stand ten days in the house and have to move the damn thing out so we can move our crap 126 miles to the new house. NO. WAY.
Ugly, free, branch-like tree it is!
It's.....I know. But the thing is there are presents under the tree, the kitties are happy to have it, OC is having fun decorating it, and it makes it smell really nice in here. And hey, the picture includes a cute little girl to distract you from that horrible tree!
Just don't look too closely at it (the tree). It might burn your eyes.
OH spent all day Sunday finishing up the tree that fell. He said he was feeling sick and so took a shower and went to bed at 6:30 without dinner.
Later that night, I had several appliances running: dishwasher, dryer and furnace. The lights flickered in the house. OH was awake and getting a drink in the kitchen and happened to look out into the backyard at that moment where he said he saw sparks and fire at the shed in the yard, as though it were coming out the electrical outlets. We had had some electrical work done earlier in the day to fix our bathroom switches that weren't done right when they were installed, so it was strange that it happened the same day. I don't know if the two are related, but he turned off that breaker to the shed which, luckily, doesn't affect the house.
I got ready to go to bed at 11:30, and not five minutes after that OH was up puking.
Ew.
He didn't make it to the toilet, and instead stood heaving onto the bedroom floor. He had begun running to the bathroom, but stopped when he started throwing up, which, who does that? I urged him to go to the bathroom, uh, you know, quickly! Why he stopped to lose it on the bedroom floor, I have no idea. Luckily, we have hardwood floors and so it was easy to clean.
But still, ew.
This morning I got out to the car to take OC to school, when she told me that something was wrong with the car's gas tank. "What is it?" I asked. "The door is open, the little door," she said. "Oh, well would you shut it please?" "No," she said, "I can't because the thing is out, too."
The gas cap was off and lying against the car, as if someone had tried to siphon gas. I had filled the car up just yesterday, and with only 7 miles on that tank of gas it was still full. There were no marks on the car as if it had been forced open, but then again the doors were unlocked to access the switch that opens the lid. No one is around on our deadend street two miles from the center of town.
It was all just really, really weird.
Annoying things have been happening too, like finding out secret cat-peeing areas that are not Officially Designated Cat-Peeing Areas. ARGH!
Note to my cats: I know you guys are stressed out with all these boxes piling up around you, and you don't know what's going on. Why for the love of peanut butter and honey can't you express yourselves in other ways? Like by offering to field a few phone calls for me, or taking the kid to school for me? WHY MUST IT ALWAYS BE BY PEEING WHERE YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO????
P.S. YOU ARE BASTARDS.
The credit union is calling this morning with another two loose ends to our loan. Will we close in time to move this year? Who knows.
Our tree is up. Guess where we got it? If you said "from a branch of the tree that fell in your yard"....YOU WOULD BE RIGHT!
And yes, it is a little ugly and a weird looking Christmas tree, but I'll be go to hell if I'm going to go out in the cold and mud to cut down a tree and pay $35 for it to stand ten days in the house and have to move the damn thing out so we can move our crap 126 miles to the new house. NO. WAY.
Ugly, free, branch-like tree it is!
It's.....I know. But the thing is there are presents under the tree, the kitties are happy to have it, OC is having fun decorating it, and it makes it smell really nice in here. And hey, the picture includes a cute little girl to distract you from that horrible tree!
Just don't look too closely at it (the tree). It might burn your eyes.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Stormy
We had a storm here last week. The wind blew, rain came down at an angle, and a tree came down in our front yard. The only casualty was the fence, and that was hit by our neighbor's tree so he's dealing with the insurance.
Friday night, my husband drove to Redmond along with two friends to move our tiller, garden tools, and gas and things the movers won't move, and his two old cars. It took all night. Then he stayed up all day and cut up both of the trees and cleaned up our yard.
I packed, cooked, cleaned, did laundry, and took care of OC. We're both totally exhausted. But guess what?!? There's more to do!
So. Much. More.
I still can't believe I'm moving, even with all the packing.
Friday was OC's birthday party. 18 kids - that's right, 18! - in an acoustically-challenged room where they ran around and screamed for two hours. In between the screaming they slowed down for pizza, presents, cake, and an attempt at organizing them into groups for fun, organized playtime.
I have come to accept that I'm better at one-on-one time with kids that I am with large groups. It's my voice. It isn't loud and doesn't carry and I don't have the presence that some people have that gives kids the sense that they should listen to me. My sister, another mom at the party, and my husband were great, however. They got the kids playing with balls, a parachute, a bean bag toss game, and hula hoops and jump ropes. They had a blast, but it looked like complete chaos to me. I was so grateful for the help, because those kids would've eaten me alive. Kids can smell fear, you know, and 18 kids scared the hell out of me simply by their numbers.
Whatever. OC said it was great and she had a great time, and that's all that matters.
Next week holds all the loose ends we need to tie up before Christmas. The mover kinda wants to know what day he should send the big trucks to pick up our stuff. No pressure.
Friday night, my husband drove to Redmond along with two friends to move our tiller, garden tools, and gas and things the movers won't move, and his two old cars. It took all night. Then he stayed up all day and cut up both of the trees and cleaned up our yard.
I packed, cooked, cleaned, did laundry, and took care of OC. We're both totally exhausted. But guess what?!? There's more to do!
So. Much. More.
I still can't believe I'm moving, even with all the packing.
Friday was OC's birthday party. 18 kids - that's right, 18! - in an acoustically-challenged room where they ran around and screamed for two hours. In between the screaming they slowed down for pizza, presents, cake, and an attempt at organizing them into groups for fun, organized playtime.
I have come to accept that I'm better at one-on-one time with kids that I am with large groups. It's my voice. It isn't loud and doesn't carry and I don't have the presence that some people have that gives kids the sense that they should listen to me. My sister, another mom at the party, and my husband were great, however. They got the kids playing with balls, a parachute, a bean bag toss game, and hula hoops and jump ropes. They had a blast, but it looked like complete chaos to me. I was so grateful for the help, because those kids would've eaten me alive. Kids can smell fear, you know, and 18 kids scared the hell out of me simply by their numbers.
Whatever. OC said it was great and she had a great time, and that's all that matters.
Next week holds all the loose ends we need to tie up before Christmas. The mover kinda wants to know what day he should send the big trucks to pick up our stuff. No pressure.
Monday, December 11, 2006
The Business of Moving
Today sucked the mother of all lemons.
First, there is packing. We worked like crazy this weekend, got a lot done, but there is so much left to do. The sorting. The prioritizing. The throwing out.
It's all happening, it's fine.
Then, there is the scheduling. Yesterday, we're getting temporary storage; today, we're not. This is actually a good thing, because it gives us time to pack our things and give the house a good cleaning, then paint and fix the random things there are to fix. Like patch drywall, which I've never done in my life but will soon become proficient since I have to fix holes left by our previous contractor. Yes, he put holes in the wall.
Lastly, there is the need to hire a contractor to fix the other random things we don't have time to do, like put stairs at the back door to complete the remodel permit we have open, STILL.
Fun!
All of this stresses my husband out, which makes him testy, which stresses me out, and makes me testy.
OC is blissfully unaware, as it should be. She feels free to whine and cry when she is bored or tired in the afternoons and either I spend time redirecting her or I get frustrated and try to explain to her that this is what we're doing and soon life will be happy again but right now I have to get these things done and be on the phone but someday I will be a mother who us fun and not be Crazy-Stressed Out Mommy maybe for once in your damn life but for now I want to run away! Far, far away!
But I can't because I have to move this household to Central Oregon within a fluctuating time frame and complete school paperwork and realtor paperwork and credit union paperwork not to mention plan and give a FANTASTIC BIRHTDAY PARTY ON FRIDAY.
FRIDAY!!!
I'll get back to you when I've found my damn mind. I just don't have time to look for it right now.
First, there is packing. We worked like crazy this weekend, got a lot done, but there is so much left to do. The sorting. The prioritizing. The throwing out.
It's all happening, it's fine.
Then, there is the scheduling. Yesterday, we're getting temporary storage; today, we're not. This is actually a good thing, because it gives us time to pack our things and give the house a good cleaning, then paint and fix the random things there are to fix. Like patch drywall, which I've never done in my life but will soon become proficient since I have to fix holes left by our previous contractor. Yes, he put holes in the wall.
Lastly, there is the need to hire a contractor to fix the other random things we don't have time to do, like put stairs at the back door to complete the remodel permit we have open, STILL.
Fun!
All of this stresses my husband out, which makes him testy, which stresses me out, and makes me testy.
OC is blissfully unaware, as it should be. She feels free to whine and cry when she is bored or tired in the afternoons and either I spend time redirecting her or I get frustrated and try to explain to her that this is what we're doing and soon life will be happy again but right now I have to get these things done and be on the phone but someday I will be a mother who us fun and not be Crazy-Stressed Out Mommy maybe for once in your damn life but for now I want to run away! Far, far away!
But I can't because I have to move this household to Central Oregon within a fluctuating time frame and complete school paperwork and realtor paperwork and credit union paperwork not to mention plan and give a FANTASTIC BIRHTDAY PARTY ON FRIDAY.
FRIDAY!!!
I'll get back to you when I've found my damn mind. I just don't have time to look for it right now.
Friday, December 08, 2006
NaNo-a-Go-Go
Okay, so I've been tagged (FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, OMG!!!) to do a meme.
The story was started by Mrs. Chicken of Chicken and Cheese. On the heels of NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo, I know you're all exhausted by all the fiction already, but it is compelling if I do say so myself. Can't wait to see how it ends!
(by Mrs. Chicken @ Chicken and Cheese)
I thought I saw him at the grocery store. It was raining that afternoon, and he had an umbrella. The red and white triangles that made up his portable shelter partly obscured his face, but I caught a glimpse of his eyes. Those eyes. Huge, blue and empty.
When he left me I remember searching their vast cerulean expanse for some sign, some flicker of love. It rained that day, too. Why does it rain when you lose someone you love? My tears left him unmoved. I don’t know why that surprised me.
The baby kicked in my cart and I let my gaze fall on her face. Her father’s eyes stared back at me. Green eyes, warm and full of life.“Mamma?” she said. “Mamma!”
(by Binky @ 24/7)
The question-turned-exclamation jarred me out of my reverie. There was pressure in my temples and behind the hazel tint of my colored contact lenses. "Mamma's here," I cooed. My voice was a manufactured kind of soothing. I leaned in and brushed a kiss over Bethany's forehead, where a drop of rainwater hung like the tiniest Swarovski pendant. Its chain was made of fine blond locks.
"What do you think, baby girl?" I asked as I pulled her into my arms. "Is it time to go home?" Her searching legs and center of gravity found all the right contours as she settled atop the jut of my hip. I tugged at her coat until the hood framed her face, then I stepped into the rain. A small deluge of water streamed off the curve of the lowercase "o" on the Save-A-Lot sign and landed at the back of my neck. I could feel the tag from my shirt sticking sharp and soggy to my skin.
I sighed against Bethany's face and tried to avoid the bigger puddles on our way to my twenty year old Civic, which was miraculously close. One row over and three cars ahead, I saw a familiar red and white umbrella spanning the gap between an open door and the driver's seat of a rusty 4Runner that had to be as old as my own piece of junk. They guy I'd mistaken for Paul sat sideways and watched the rain as he talked into a cell phone.
(by Tony @ Creative-Type Dad)
Hastily reaching into my purse holding Bethany firmly, I could faintly hear the sound of his voice. His mumbled words were almost too reminiscent of Paul’s. The way he laughed as he said “Gouda” into his plastic phone brought back imagery of the two of us, sitting together last winter on the living room floor, sipping Merlot watching “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous”. Occasionally Paul would jokingly burst out vocabulary in his comedic English accent – expressions like “Don Perignon!” and “Caviar Dreams!” oh, how I loved Caviar and that faux bear skin rug.
With keys finally in hand, stumbling to open the rusty car door, I could sense this stranger's stare against my cheek. His phone chatter abruptly ended and I could hear the sounds of squeaking cowboy boots crushing the wet pavement.
(by Occidental Girl @ The Occidental Tourist)
My mind was suddenly full of so many thoughts vying for my attention at the same time that I couldn't think straight.
It can't be him, I thought, no way. What would I say? What do I look like? What am I wearing???
The answers came in rapid succession: It could be him, it's okay if it's him because I'm not angry anymore; I could talk about my fulfilling life that I've enjoyed since knowing him, like this beautiful child I created with someone else, without him; I look like shit but since I'm too hard on myself in general, I probably look just fine; men - especially Paul - don't notice what women are wearing unless it's nothing at all. Then, they notice.
When you coincidentally encounter someone you loved once, a long time ago, the traitorous mind tends to retrieve only the good memories and leave the battles and frustrations out of it. This leaves us to wonder what in the world we ever thought was wrong and maybe it was a mistake to end the relationship. After all, doesn't every relationship have ups and downs? Ours certainly did. It was passionate, without a doubt, but in every area: the loving AND the fighting. It was when the fighting overtook the loving that we fell apart. I wonder if he ever thought about all of that, even now. Paul didn't seem to notice many thing unless they were stark - naked or otherwise.
And yet, here he was - maybe - coming over to talk after all this time.
I took a deep breath, then turned around.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Now, it's your turn:
Meg
You guys are next.
Bethany
Christy
Heather
Michelle
Mrs. Maladjusted
Kristi
Desitin's Child
Tater And Tot
Word Girl
The story was started by Mrs. Chicken of Chicken and Cheese. On the heels of NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo, I know you're all exhausted by all the fiction already, but it is compelling if I do say so myself. Can't wait to see how it ends!
(by Mrs. Chicken @ Chicken and Cheese)
I thought I saw him at the grocery store. It was raining that afternoon, and he had an umbrella. The red and white triangles that made up his portable shelter partly obscured his face, but I caught a glimpse of his eyes. Those eyes. Huge, blue and empty.
When he left me I remember searching their vast cerulean expanse for some sign, some flicker of love. It rained that day, too. Why does it rain when you lose someone you love? My tears left him unmoved. I don’t know why that surprised me.
The baby kicked in my cart and I let my gaze fall on her face. Her father’s eyes stared back at me. Green eyes, warm and full of life.“Mamma?” she said. “Mamma!”
(by Binky @ 24/7)
The question-turned-exclamation jarred me out of my reverie. There was pressure in my temples and behind the hazel tint of my colored contact lenses. "Mamma's here," I cooed. My voice was a manufactured kind of soothing. I leaned in and brushed a kiss over Bethany's forehead, where a drop of rainwater hung like the tiniest Swarovski pendant. Its chain was made of fine blond locks.
"What do you think, baby girl?" I asked as I pulled her into my arms. "Is it time to go home?" Her searching legs and center of gravity found all the right contours as she settled atop the jut of my hip. I tugged at her coat until the hood framed her face, then I stepped into the rain. A small deluge of water streamed off the curve of the lowercase "o" on the Save-A-Lot sign and landed at the back of my neck. I could feel the tag from my shirt sticking sharp and soggy to my skin.
I sighed against Bethany's face and tried to avoid the bigger puddles on our way to my twenty year old Civic, which was miraculously close. One row over and three cars ahead, I saw a familiar red and white umbrella spanning the gap between an open door and the driver's seat of a rusty 4Runner that had to be as old as my own piece of junk. They guy I'd mistaken for Paul sat sideways and watched the rain as he talked into a cell phone.
(by Tony @ Creative-Type Dad)
Hastily reaching into my purse holding Bethany firmly, I could faintly hear the sound of his voice. His mumbled words were almost too reminiscent of Paul’s. The way he laughed as he said “Gouda” into his plastic phone brought back imagery of the two of us, sitting together last winter on the living room floor, sipping Merlot watching “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous”. Occasionally Paul would jokingly burst out vocabulary in his comedic English accent – expressions like “Don Perignon!” and “Caviar Dreams!” oh, how I loved Caviar and that faux bear skin rug.
With keys finally in hand, stumbling to open the rusty car door, I could sense this stranger's stare against my cheek. His phone chatter abruptly ended and I could hear the sounds of squeaking cowboy boots crushing the wet pavement.
(by Occidental Girl @ The Occidental Tourist)
My mind was suddenly full of so many thoughts vying for my attention at the same time that I couldn't think straight.
It can't be him, I thought, no way. What would I say? What do I look like? What am I wearing???
The answers came in rapid succession: It could be him, it's okay if it's him because I'm not angry anymore; I could talk about my fulfilling life that I've enjoyed since knowing him, like this beautiful child I created with someone else, without him; I look like shit but since I'm too hard on myself in general, I probably look just fine; men - especially Paul - don't notice what women are wearing unless it's nothing at all. Then, they notice.
When you coincidentally encounter someone you loved once, a long time ago, the traitorous mind tends to retrieve only the good memories and leave the battles and frustrations out of it. This leaves us to wonder what in the world we ever thought was wrong and maybe it was a mistake to end the relationship. After all, doesn't every relationship have ups and downs? Ours certainly did. It was passionate, without a doubt, but in every area: the loving AND the fighting. It was when the fighting overtook the loving that we fell apart. I wonder if he ever thought about all of that, even now. Paul didn't seem to notice many thing unless they were stark - naked or otherwise.
And yet, here he was - maybe - coming over to talk after all this time.
I took a deep breath, then turned around.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Now, it's your turn:
Meg
You guys are next.
Bethany
Christy
Heather
Michelle
Mrs. Maladjusted
Kristi
Desitin's Child
Tater And Tot
Word Girl
Monday, December 04, 2006
Captain's Log
Stardate: 2006
Location: Volkswagen car dealership
A woman and her child arrive at the appointed time to have scheduled maintenance performed.
"No," says the man, "we cannot fit you in today. So sorry. Come back next week."
"But, I have an appointment! You suck!"
"Yes, indeed madame, but that doesn't change the fact that we won't be servicing your vehicle today."
"Make it better or I'll cry."
"Allright, you've talked me into it. I'll reschedule you for next Monday, and in order to keep the car 24 hours to make sure we can get the work finished I'll provide you with a rental car free of charge. We are inept, but then again we overcharge for our services, so it all works out in the end."
"You are the weakest link. GOOD BYE!"
Cut to dealership waiting room, 15 minutes later
"Enterprise, who is waiting for a rental car?"
"That's us!" I look at my bag, purse, car seat, and cat litter box. Carting around a 28 pound box of cat litter seems to scream 'This woman does her errands in the wrong order'. I felt an explanation was in order, but I was not in the mood.
The nice Enterprise lady helps me by carrying the cat litter. Ha! Little does she know that when we return the car, I will have a bag of cat food!
We are driven to rental car agency along with another nice couple from Washington who's brand new car crapped out on them on their way back from the beach. It was not a Volkswagen. They have a dog, which OC likes to pet.
We wait 10 minutes or so before the man says, "Okay! Let's head out to the minivan!"
"Um," I say, hesitantly, while looking at the seven passenger minivan he is about to give me for my temporary use for myself and my child. "Do you have anything smaller?"
"Why no! Well, not that is ready right now, and I didn't think you'd want to wait."
Damn, he's good.
"Okay. We're getting the minivan!"
"Hooray!" Says OC.
fin
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
A minivan. A seven passenger minivan. And me without my five children! Of course, OC wanted to sit in the waaaaaay back. She was so far back that I couldn't hand her things, like a bottle of water. I had to throw it to her. I swear there was an echo in that thing.
I liked the automatic doors. I can see why people buy them, it's so convenient to get the kids in and out. You're up higher and can see all around. I really felt like I was in a captain's chair, and where was Scotty?
Damn it, Jim! I'm a doctor on a tv show, not your personal puppet!
Oh, brother.
The entire 24 hours we had the minivan, it was just OC and I. I thought about calling people I knew to see if their kids needed a ride somewhere, but they didn't. What a waste of all that passenger space.
Captain Out.
Location: Volkswagen car dealership
A woman and her child arrive at the appointed time to have scheduled maintenance performed.
"No," says the man, "we cannot fit you in today. So sorry. Come back next week."
"But, I have an appointment! You suck!"
"Yes, indeed madame, but that doesn't change the fact that we won't be servicing your vehicle today."
"Make it better or I'll cry."
"Allright, you've talked me into it. I'll reschedule you for next Monday, and in order to keep the car 24 hours to make sure we can get the work finished I'll provide you with a rental car free of charge. We are inept, but then again we overcharge for our services, so it all works out in the end."
"You are the weakest link. GOOD BYE!"
Cut to dealership waiting room, 15 minutes later
"Enterprise, who is waiting for a rental car?"
"That's us!" I look at my bag, purse, car seat, and cat litter box. Carting around a 28 pound box of cat litter seems to scream 'This woman does her errands in the wrong order'. I felt an explanation was in order, but I was not in the mood.
The nice Enterprise lady helps me by carrying the cat litter. Ha! Little does she know that when we return the car, I will have a bag of cat food!
We are driven to rental car agency along with another nice couple from Washington who's brand new car crapped out on them on their way back from the beach. It was not a Volkswagen. They have a dog, which OC likes to pet.
We wait 10 minutes or so before the man says, "Okay! Let's head out to the minivan!"
"Um," I say, hesitantly, while looking at the seven passenger minivan he is about to give me for my temporary use for myself and my child. "Do you have anything smaller?"
"Why no! Well, not that is ready right now, and I didn't think you'd want to wait."
Damn, he's good.
"Okay. We're getting the minivan!"
"Hooray!" Says OC.
fin
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
A minivan. A seven passenger minivan. And me without my five children! Of course, OC wanted to sit in the waaaaaay back. She was so far back that I couldn't hand her things, like a bottle of water. I had to throw it to her. I swear there was an echo in that thing.
I liked the automatic doors. I can see why people buy them, it's so convenient to get the kids in and out. You're up higher and can see all around. I really felt like I was in a captain's chair, and where was Scotty?
Damn it, Jim! I'm a doctor on a tv show, not your personal puppet!
Oh, brother.
The entire 24 hours we had the minivan, it was just OC and I. I thought about calling people I knew to see if their kids needed a ride somewhere, but they didn't. What a waste of all that passenger space.
Captain Out.
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