Read the ebook Any Given Mom, Any Given Day for just 0.99 (free for Kindle Select members)! In which eternal questions are answered, such as, what is a surefire cure for a baby who is constipated? Why does your husband think watching the "Kill Bill" marathon is a good bonding activity? Is it possible to drive well when dirty socks are whizzing past your head? Click to find out!!
One of the joys of parenthood that I didn't anticipate before having children was just how often the kids would get sick, and just how many of those times I would be nursing them while struggling with the same vicious germs. I'm not sure whether this happens to all moms, but somewhere around 80% of the time that my kids get sick, I also catch the same bug. When they were younger it seemed like we could practically write off an exam room at the pediatrician's office as a second home. Now that they're older they don't get sick quite as often, but when they do it wallops the whole family. Case in point: Everyone in my home has the flu.
It all started innocently enough, with Jack running a fever on Friday evening. To be honest, the thought of flu never crossed my mind. After all, the boys had their flu shots this fall. By 3:30 am Monday morning I knew Jack was in trouble, he had a terrible asthma attack (his asthma never bothers him unless he has a cold/flu). I had to give him repeated doses of his medicine and throw him in the shower. The steam opened up his lungs a bit, and he was able to rest until 8 am, when I packed him off to his doctor. My older son, meanwhile, was moaning in bed. We gave him some medicine and my husband stayed home with him.
Jack's doctor decided to admit him to the hospital until his lung function was better, so of course I stayed with him the entire time. Which would have been fine, except that I was feeling like I'd been chewed up and spit out by the parenting mill. Monday night was SOOO long. I was resting on the standard hard-as-rock hospital foldout chair, waking every hour to a parade of nurses and respiratory technicians. I was grateful for the excellent care they gave Jack, of course, but I felt so terrible. At the same time, I was mindful of the impression I must be giving: Spaced-out mom slugging NyQuil at her son's bedside. Nice.
Now we're home again, so all I have to worry about is the 'roid rage: Yes, Jack on steroids (prescribed to bring down the inflammation in his lungs) is quite an experience. At least the yelling stretches his lungs. As for me, all I need a rest from my sick days!
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Friday, November 21, 2014
Being at Home for Real
Read the ebook Any Given Mom, Any Given Day for just 0.99 (free for Kindle Select members)! In which eternal questions are answered, such as, what is a surefire cure for a baby who is constipated? Why does your husband think watching the "Kill Bill" marathon is a good bonding activity? Is it possible to drive well when dirty socks are whizzing past your head? Click to find out!!
I've been at home a lot this week, thanks to a bout of pneumonia. (BTW, wow, pneumonia will stop you in your multitasking tracks.) Anyway, I've had the unusual experience of being at home during the day without kids squabbling or weekend laundry to do. Sometimes, I just sat in a comfortable chair in the living room. I wrote. I read. I watched a little television, which alternately depressed and fascinated me.
When I watch daytime television, I come to the uncomfortable realization that I am completely out of touch with American culture. "Real Housewives" drama exhausts me. But, if I change the channeI, I just wonder how the man with five wives (and an unknown number of children) afforded all those familes BEFORE they were TV stars--especially since he doesn't really seem to DO anything, except run from one wife to another looking sheepish. Then there are the talk shows, which always for some reason make me visualize a spike being driven into my brain. I can't think! Turn it off! I can feel it draining all the energy from my brain cells!
Right before I turned the TV off I saw a commercial that both intrigued and disturbed me. It was for camera that you set up in order to monitor you home remotely. Kind of like a nanny cam, only without the nanny. Which made me think: How sad. We're all out working so much just to afford our homes that we don't have time to BE home-- we just have to visit online.
Unless, of course, you decide to get pneumonia.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
The Pumpkin that Kept on Giving
It has been a crazy fall, what with all the regular demands of family, work, volunteer work, the weekly tension between housework and outdoor chores (based on the state of the house, it's easy to see which I prefer). Then, before I knew it, Halloween was here. My younger son had his heart set on making a "steampunk" pumpkin.
Now, I have never been a mom who is skilled at crafts, but I do pride myself on one ritual: I can carve a pumpkin. Finding the time is the difficult thing, especially since our family was hit with our first cold of year. We like to pass the germs around our family, then (seemingly) they mutate and come back around. At any rate, I felt AWFUL the Wednesday before Halloween, but I was still determined to help Jack make his dream pumpkin. Heck, I had already taken him shopping at the craft store, where he purchased several "steampunk" accessories (read: crap made in China that is designed to look old).
So that evening, after washing dishes and pushing the boys through homework and music practice, I cut the top off the pumpkin. Jack and I emptied it of slime, even though that part grosses him out. I cut round eyes into the pumpkin and handed it over to him. He pushed bits of chain and other accessories into his pumpkin and, voila! A work of art.
It was actually quite neat, so I kept it out for a whole week. What I didn't notice was that it was gradually sinking. For some reason it didn't grow the moldy fuzz inside that usually reminds me to throw it on the compost heap; no, instead this year it slowly sank. As it collapsed down, it released an impressive amount of sticky liquid. The liquid overflowed the plate and dripped down so slowly that I didn't notice it-- until I saw that our will forms were dripping wet and black mold was growing on them.
The wills are a personal albatross. We had wills written in 2007, and then the attorney who did them was disbarred for setting fire to his own office (long story). Then I discovered he had never filed our wills at the courthouse... so I thought it would be wise to start over. Which in theory should have been relatively simple, because now I have pre-paid legal service that includes wills. I called them, and they sent the forms. I completed mine and put it with my husband's blank one on a clipboard, and set the clipboard...beside the pumpkin on the counter.
So now the pumpkin is a memory, and we still don't have new wills. However, I have learned a valuable lesson: Steampunk is hazardous to my kids' future. Or maybe it's the cluttered counter. At any rate, we are not yet prepared to get off the hamster wheel of life.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Real Mom Beauty Adventures
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Just as I have learned it is better to put the font size for this blog on the "larger" setting because it is easier on my eyes, I have made some adjustments for the fact that a bikini is no longer a good choice for me. In other words, I'm going down--we all are--however, I am determined not to go down without a fight. In fact, my favorite fantasy is the one in which I win the lottery and then split my time between my family, my historic school preservation projects, and working out. It's not that I don't like the way I look, I love and enjoy my body. It's just that, well, there's a little more of it than there used to be. And it seems to require so much more maintenance, what with little health challenges that come with middle age. For a busy mom/teacher/preservationist/hobby farmer this poses a dilemma...at the same time that my other priorities demand more time and money than ever, looking reasonably good also requires more effort.
Along the way, I made some observations, and I have some gentle suggestions for other 40-something moms.
Hair: Let's face it, almost no older women looks good with long hair and long, thick bangs. The wrinkles on your forehead make you look wise, for heaven's sake, don't try to cover them! For the bangs to look good you would either have to be seven years old, or a sexy 20-something punk rocker. In fact, I am an advocate for a new rating system for hair styles that falls under the truth-in-advertising concept. We desperately need this rating system to tell us just how good-looking you have to be in order to pull off certain hair styles. Moms! Snap out of it! Take the time to get a haircut, even if it's a $9.99 haircut, so you don't look trapped in time.
Skin: Now, I'm really going to date myself, but I remember the original Muppet show. One piece of beauty advice that stayed with me was when Miss Piggy said "Don't put on anything on your face that is from the hardware store." I don't get my facial care products at the hardware store, but I don't spend a lot, either-- think Dollar General. You can accomplish a lot for less than $10. Here is what to buy: For toner- Witch hazel ($1/bottle). For pore minimizing and breakout prevention- Stridex pads ($3/box, or $2.50 if you tear off the little coupon on the inside flap before you go to checkout line). For moisturizer- Generic aloe lotion ($2/bottle)- even my son says this lotion smells nice, and it works without clogging your pores.
The challenge for all of us is to dedicate some time every day to take care of our physical selves. Consistency goes further than expensive beauty products. When the first study came out linking poor dental health to heart disease, I thought it was a fluke. Now I realize that it's true: Taking the time to floss daily not only keeps teeth more attractive, it actually protects your health, because it keeps your mouth from harboring too much bacteria.
Stay tuned for Real Mom Beauty Adventures Part II, in which I have eyebrow hairs ripped out (aka "threaded") in the name of beauty by a nice but serious Chinese woman...
Along the way, I made some observations, and I have some gentle suggestions for other 40-something moms.
Hair: Let's face it, almost no older women looks good with long hair and long, thick bangs. The wrinkles on your forehead make you look wise, for heaven's sake, don't try to cover them! For the bangs to look good you would either have to be seven years old, or a sexy 20-something punk rocker. In fact, I am an advocate for a new rating system for hair styles that falls under the truth-in-advertising concept. We desperately need this rating system to tell us just how good-looking you have to be in order to pull off certain hair styles. Moms! Snap out of it! Take the time to get a haircut, even if it's a $9.99 haircut, so you don't look trapped in time.
Skin: Now, I'm really going to date myself, but I remember the original Muppet show. One piece of beauty advice that stayed with me was when Miss Piggy said "Don't put on anything on your face that is from the hardware store." I don't get my facial care products at the hardware store, but I don't spend a lot, either-- think Dollar General. You can accomplish a lot for less than $10. Here is what to buy: For toner- Witch hazel ($1/bottle). For pore minimizing and breakout prevention- Stridex pads ($3/box, or $2.50 if you tear off the little coupon on the inside flap before you go to checkout line). For moisturizer- Generic aloe lotion ($2/bottle)- even my son says this lotion smells nice, and it works without clogging your pores.
The challenge for all of us is to dedicate some time every day to take care of our physical selves. Consistency goes further than expensive beauty products. When the first study came out linking poor dental health to heart disease, I thought it was a fluke. Now I realize that it's true: Taking the time to floss daily not only keeps teeth more attractive, it actually protects your health, because it keeps your mouth from harboring too much bacteria.
Stay tuned for Real Mom Beauty Adventures Part II, in which I have eyebrow hairs ripped out (aka "threaded") in the name of beauty by a nice but serious Chinese woman...
Monday, August 11, 2014
A Professional WHAT????
Read the ebook Any Given Mom, Any Given Day for just 0.99 (free for Kindle Select members)! In which eternal questions are answered, such as, what is a surefire cure for a baby who is constipated? Why does your husband think watching the "Kill Bill" marathon is a good bonding activity? Is it possible to drive well when dirty socks are whizzing past your head? Click to find out!!
In the category of "now I feel REALLY inadequate," I just read an article that said the new trend for well-to-do families is to have a professional organizer for the kids as they go back to school. Putting aside for a moment the typical teacher's reaction on learning of any new career choice: "Hey, maybe I could do that!"--and this applies to, well, just about anything. Not that teachers are so unhappy, exactly, but moments such as this one (that happened last year) do make me wonder sometimes about life outside of school... I was trying to use the latest educational software (my district insists on replacing software as soon as we get proficient with it), only to look up and realize that one of my special needs students had just cut all the laces off her new shoes.
Heck, I almost applied for the new program in Mechatronics at the community college. What do they do in Mechatronics? I don't really know, but the 22-year-olds who are getting this training will make more than I do with their Associate's degree than I do with my Master's.
However, I digress. We were discussing the dawn of a new career track, that of professional school organizer, which is somehow linked in my mind with the professional delouser. That's right, if you cannot deal with combing nits out of your child's hair, now (in major cities) you can hire a lice expert who will take over. Think of the bonding time one misses that way, though. You could talk with your child about "Student zero" (the kid who is suspected to have started the lice outbreak), and how that same kid stole the one piece of Halloween candy you put in your child's lunch (Ow!), and how gym was fun today (Ow! Mom! Be more gentle), and whether lice are an appropriate topic for the upcoming science project (Mom! I mean it! You're hurting me!).
Which brings us to the crux of the matter, which is, is it really a good thing to be relieved of the joyful suffering of the back to school ritual? I mean, aren't valuable lessons learned in Target when you debate with your 11-year-old about the value of a rolling backpack? Won't you miss the scavenger hunt of trying to find all six of the different colored folders that the teacher (who, perhaps not coincidentally, is young and childless) wants for her envisioned "simple" organization system? What about the excitement of helping your child create labels for the dividers, pack the supplies for the first time, write his name in Sharpie on the new Pokemon lunch bag?
Not to get all preachy, but the divine mercy chaplet reminds us that faith without works is dead. I feel a bit the same about parenting without wanting to do the slightly stressful/difficult things. Isn't that what it's about? Teaching your kids by guiding through things? Sharing the moment of triumph when everything is ready? The professional can probably do it more efficiently, perhaps even do it better, but s/he doesn't love your kid. Only you will do it with love.
In the category of "now I feel REALLY inadequate," I just read an article that said the new trend for well-to-do families is to have a professional organizer for the kids as they go back to school. Putting aside for a moment the typical teacher's reaction on learning of any new career choice: "Hey, maybe I could do that!"--and this applies to, well, just about anything. Not that teachers are so unhappy, exactly, but moments such as this one (that happened last year) do make me wonder sometimes about life outside of school... I was trying to use the latest educational software (my district insists on replacing software as soon as we get proficient with it), only to look up and realize that one of my special needs students had just cut all the laces off her new shoes.
Heck, I almost applied for the new program in Mechatronics at the community college. What do they do in Mechatronics? I don't really know, but the 22-year-olds who are getting this training will make more than I do with their Associate's degree than I do with my Master's.
However, I digress. We were discussing the dawn of a new career track, that of professional school organizer, which is somehow linked in my mind with the professional delouser. That's right, if you cannot deal with combing nits out of your child's hair, now (in major cities) you can hire a lice expert who will take over. Think of the bonding time one misses that way, though. You could talk with your child about "Student zero" (the kid who is suspected to have started the lice outbreak), and how that same kid stole the one piece of Halloween candy you put in your child's lunch (Ow!), and how gym was fun today (Ow! Mom! Be more gentle), and whether lice are an appropriate topic for the upcoming science project (Mom! I mean it! You're hurting me!).
Which brings us to the crux of the matter, which is, is it really a good thing to be relieved of the joyful suffering of the back to school ritual? I mean, aren't valuable lessons learned in Target when you debate with your 11-year-old about the value of a rolling backpack? Won't you miss the scavenger hunt of trying to find all six of the different colored folders that the teacher (who, perhaps not coincidentally, is young and childless) wants for her envisioned "simple" organization system? What about the excitement of helping your child create labels for the dividers, pack the supplies for the first time, write his name in Sharpie on the new Pokemon lunch bag?
Not to get all preachy, but the divine mercy chaplet reminds us that faith without works is dead. I feel a bit the same about parenting without wanting to do the slightly stressful/difficult things. Isn't that what it's about? Teaching your kids by guiding through things? Sharing the moment of triumph when everything is ready? The professional can probably do it more efficiently, perhaps even do it better, but s/he doesn't love your kid. Only you will do it with love.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Moms Having Fun
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Midway through the summer I think I'm losing it just a little bit. My 13 year-old's hobby of tormenting his younger brother keeps our family riled up much of the time these days.
At any rate, I continue to try to come up with things to make our "stay-cation" interesting, but at this point I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel. Last night I briefly considered taking them to see the World's Largest Frying Pan, which is located 30 minutes north of where we live. (I am not making this up.)
What gets a bit lost at these times is any consideration of MOM FUN. Now that we moms who are in our late 40s have children who are getting a little more self-sufficient (at least in theory), I notice a certain break out trend towards moms having some fun. An example: A mom we know whose older son just got his driver's license went out and bought a sporty little car with a manual transmission FOR HERSELF, and gave her son the MomMobile. So now she is jetting around in a cute little two door sports car (sorry--no room for groceries or the soccer team!!), and her son is the one who has to brush stale Goldfish crackers off the seat before he goes anywhere. I love it.
I am embarrassed to admit what I did in the mom fun category, it is so unreasonable. One thing you would have to know about me to understand my kind of mom fun is that I am a teacher whose limited salary goes mainly for two things: Kid expenses, and payments on the 10 acres that makes up most of our humble place in the country. (It's not just an investment, it's an opportunity to mow and kill fire ant mounds for hours every week!) But there you have it, I love living in the country, partly because I like having a lot of animals. Back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth (aka, before I had kids), I used to teach riding lessons and train horses.
Well, proving once again that I should never be left alone on Craigslist, I found a Thoroughbred (abbreviated "TB" in the horse world) horse that had been abandoned by his owner at a barn in South Carolina. The barn owner was selling him at rock bottom, just to try to recoup some of the board money she was owed.
Now, I have no business getting a 5 year-old TB, especially now that I have responsibilities and I don't bounce when I hit the ground anymore. Yet... what did I do but hook up my trailer, drive down to SC, and buy this beautiful but neglected horse. He cost less than my average monthly electric bill. He is still dead lame from lack of proper nutrition and hoof care, but I knew going into this that it will probably take 10 months or a year for him to recover completely. I have lots of pasture space for him, but more importantly I also have time. After all, if I'm going to be foolish and grab at the brass ring of mom fun at 48, I might as well do the same at 49!
Midway through the summer I think I'm losing it just a little bit. My 13 year-old's hobby of tormenting his younger brother keeps our family riled up much of the time these days.
At any rate, I continue to try to come up with things to make our "stay-cation" interesting, but at this point I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel. Last night I briefly considered taking them to see the World's Largest Frying Pan, which is located 30 minutes north of where we live. (I am not making this up.)
What gets a bit lost at these times is any consideration of MOM FUN. Now that we moms who are in our late 40s have children who are getting a little more self-sufficient (at least in theory), I notice a certain break out trend towards moms having some fun. An example: A mom we know whose older son just got his driver's license went out and bought a sporty little car with a manual transmission FOR HERSELF, and gave her son the MomMobile. So now she is jetting around in a cute little two door sports car (sorry--no room for groceries or the soccer team!!), and her son is the one who has to brush stale Goldfish crackers off the seat before he goes anywhere. I love it.
I am embarrassed to admit what I did in the mom fun category, it is so unreasonable. One thing you would have to know about me to understand my kind of mom fun is that I am a teacher whose limited salary goes mainly for two things: Kid expenses, and payments on the 10 acres that makes up most of our humble place in the country. (It's not just an investment, it's an opportunity to mow and kill fire ant mounds for hours every week!) But there you have it, I love living in the country, partly because I like having a lot of animals. Back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth (aka, before I had kids), I used to teach riding lessons and train horses.
Well, proving once again that I should never be left alone on Craigslist, I found a Thoroughbred (abbreviated "TB" in the horse world) horse that had been abandoned by his owner at a barn in South Carolina. The barn owner was selling him at rock bottom, just to try to recoup some of the board money she was owed.
Now, I have no business getting a 5 year-old TB, especially now that I have responsibilities and I don't bounce when I hit the ground anymore. Yet... what did I do but hook up my trailer, drive down to SC, and buy this beautiful but neglected horse. He cost less than my average monthly electric bill. He is still dead lame from lack of proper nutrition and hoof care, but I knew going into this that it will probably take 10 months or a year for him to recover completely. I have lots of pasture space for him, but more importantly I also have time. After all, if I'm going to be foolish and grab at the brass ring of mom fun at 48, I might as well do the same at 49!
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Do You Need Lycra Paper Towels????
Read the ebook Any Given Mom, Any Given Day for just 0.99 (free for Kindle Select members)! In which eternal questions are answered, such as, what is a surefire cure for a baby who is constipated? Why does your husband think watching the "Kill Bill" marathon is a good bonding activity? Is it possible to drive well when dirty socks are whizzing past your head? Click to find out!!
Sometimes I think about the fact that the average American lives better than royalty did 300 hundred years ago. Indoor climate control? Running hot water? Luxury food items from all over the world (that is, if we can tear ourselves away from pizza and burgers)? None of these things were easily available to King Charles, but we take them for granted. Really, it's quite amazing. Then, I'll see a commercial to make an everyday luxury even better. (Or, 'better', depending on your point of view.)
Last evening, I saw a commercial for a paper towel that stretches. Really. As if it weren't enough to be able to rip a few trees off a roll every time we have a minor spill. No, apparently now they have upped the ante, and the paper towel has to stretch.
What's next? Blankets that heat themselves? Bowls made of bacon? A machine that vacuums the floor by itself? Whoops, of course, all of these things are already on the market... and we wonder why we're getting soft.
Friday, July 4, 2014
Crazy, Perfect Love
Read the ebook Any Given Mom, Any Given Day for just 0.99 (free for Kindle Select members)! In which eternal questions are answered, such as, what is a surefire cure for a baby who is constipated? Why does your husband think watching the "Kill Bill" marathon is a good bonding activity? Is it possible to drive well when dirty socks are whizzing past your head? Click to find out!!
Picture this: Crazy, pefect love. I don't mean the crazy actions induced by teenagers drinking too many wine coolers. That usually results in scenarios that are far from perfect. (Which reminds me of the time, when I was working at a university, that I was giving a tour to some high school students. I commented on one girl's pretty pink wrist band. "Oh this" she said, glancing at her wrist as if seeing the band for the first time "this is my hospital wrist band. I just gave birth to a daughter two days ago." But... I digress.)
No, when I say "crazy, perfect love" now, I am thinking of the love that is grounded in family and tested by events both mundane and tragic. For example, your husband notices you are almost out of half-and-half and buys more, because we know the world cannot turn without coffee. Or, you buy him a used Martin guitar for Father's Day, even though it is way over your gift budget.
Kids add to the love, although (in my experience) constructive efforts from them don't come until later. Ten years ago we bought blueberry plants. Actually, they looked more like sticks with a few roots attached. At that time my older son was just a toddler who was running around, making it difficult to concentrate on the planting directions that the old farmer was telling us. My younger son was just a baby then.
When we got home, my husband and I each had a piece of the planting instructions. "Soak the roots!" he told me. "Only after you wrap them in newspaper and dig the trench!" I snapped back. I might have said it a little too sharply, but couldn't he see I busy changing our baby's diaper?
At any rate, somehow the planting of the sticks happened. I watered them faithfully, often while holding the baby with one arm. Now those same blueberry plants tower over our heads. I can pick for an hour and still not get all the berries that are ripe.
So I told my family that, if they want blueberry pie for the Fourth of July holiday, they need to help pick berries. This the boys will do, although not without some complaining. I tell myself this is how memories are made. In retrospect, they will appreciate this more than having watched yet another "SpongeBob" rerun. It is sticky work, in the heat of July, with mosquitos and poison ivy a constant threat. It is the setting for crazy, perfect love.
Picture this: Crazy, pefect love. I don't mean the crazy actions induced by teenagers drinking too many wine coolers. That usually results in scenarios that are far from perfect. (Which reminds me of the time, when I was working at a university, that I was giving a tour to some high school students. I commented on one girl's pretty pink wrist band. "Oh this" she said, glancing at her wrist as if seeing the band for the first time "this is my hospital wrist band. I just gave birth to a daughter two days ago." But... I digress.)
No, when I say "crazy, perfect love" now, I am thinking of the love that is grounded in family and tested by events both mundane and tragic. For example, your husband notices you are almost out of half-and-half and buys more, because we know the world cannot turn without coffee. Or, you buy him a used Martin guitar for Father's Day, even though it is way over your gift budget.
Kids add to the love, although (in my experience) constructive efforts from them don't come until later. Ten years ago we bought blueberry plants. Actually, they looked more like sticks with a few roots attached. At that time my older son was just a toddler who was running around, making it difficult to concentrate on the planting directions that the old farmer was telling us. My younger son was just a baby then.
When we got home, my husband and I each had a piece of the planting instructions. "Soak the roots!" he told me. "Only after you wrap them in newspaper and dig the trench!" I snapped back. I might have said it a little too sharply, but couldn't he see I busy changing our baby's diaper?
At any rate, somehow the planting of the sticks happened. I watered them faithfully, often while holding the baby with one arm. Now those same blueberry plants tower over our heads. I can pick for an hour and still not get all the berries that are ripe.
So I told my family that, if they want blueberry pie for the Fourth of July holiday, they need to help pick berries. This the boys will do, although not without some complaining. I tell myself this is how memories are made. In retrospect, they will appreciate this more than having watched yet another "SpongeBob" rerun. It is sticky work, in the heat of July, with mosquitos and poison ivy a constant threat. It is the setting for crazy, perfect love.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
The Value of Wasting Time Together
When I am off from school, as I am now, I plan activities for my sons, but often the times I really connect with them are side effects of time that appears to be frittered away...
For example, the other evening I was picking blueberries. This is a pleasant task for the first week of the season, and then almost overwhelming for the remaining three weeks. We have twelve mature blueberry bushes (read: twelve bushes that are least as tall as we are). My older son came out to help me and we began chatting about college, his music teacher, and (the age old question): If one were riding in an elevator that fell down the shaft, could one avoid the impact by jumping up at just the right time?
Consider also time spent lying on the trampoline together: You are tired from bouncing. There may be a wasp stuck in the net. A cat may have ventured onto the trampoline with you, and is kneading your leg with his claws. In the back of your mind you know there are dishes that need washing, that the house needs to be picked up... yet still. Your younger son is lying next to you and wants to talk about his latest creation on "Bread Cats", an inscrutable game in which you control cats with different kinds of bread. So you stay, because it takes time and the right situation to invite their thoughts. Because you rushed all year. Because summer will be over in a flash, and then (once again) there won't be time to waste together.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Holy Children of Gawd....Feeling Inadequate
If you think this blog is funny, read Any Given Mom, Any Given Day
My favorite quote from Marianne Williamson (Return to Love) is: "Here we are, holy children of God, feeling inadequate." Except, when she says it, her accent reminds me of my hometown (NYC) because it comes out "Here we are, holy children of Gawd..."
One of the great things about getting older, I find, is that feelings of inadequacy only grip me every hour or two. (This is versus the way they would hit every ten minutes when I was younger.) What I value most is peace of mind. That is why I meditate and pray every morning, however, there are still plenty of moments when I forget that I am-- and everyone is-- a holy child of Gawd.
Here are a few of the prime opportunities I've had lately to claw my way back to centeredness:
"So you were assigned the WWII project three weeks ago, you didn't mention it to me or your dad, and then you told your teacher you were going to build a model of the first atomic bomb? REALLY??"
"You weren't paying attention, so you ran a red light and totaled my truck with me in it, and now I learn you don't have insurance? REALLY???"
"A fourth snow day? REALLY????"
My favorite quote from Marianne Williamson (Return to Love) is: "Here we are, holy children of God, feeling inadequate." Except, when she says it, her accent reminds me of my hometown (NYC) because it comes out "Here we are, holy children of Gawd..."
One of the great things about getting older, I find, is that feelings of inadequacy only grip me every hour or two. (This is versus the way they would hit every ten minutes when I was younger.) What I value most is peace of mind. That is why I meditate and pray every morning, however, there are still plenty of moments when I forget that I am-- and everyone is-- a holy child of Gawd.
Here are a few of the prime opportunities I've had lately to claw my way back to centeredness:
"So you were assigned the WWII project three weeks ago, you didn't mention it to me or your dad, and then you told your teacher you were going to build a model of the first atomic bomb? REALLY??"
"You weren't paying attention, so you ran a red light and totaled my truck with me in it, and now I learn you don't have insurance? REALLY???"
"A fourth snow day? REALLY????"
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Happy What???
If you think this blog is funny, read Any Given Mom, Any Given Day
Granted, I am dinosaur when it comes to social media-- I don't even use Facebook-- but occasionally I poke around on LinkedIn. This usually just results in me feeling inadequate when I realize how influential many of college classmates have become, however, lately I have noticed something else. This phenomenon of being prompted to say "Happy Work Anniversary!" to someone who has achieved yet another year of the great American dream of earning a living.
No doubt the dates that help LinkedIn ascertain someone's work anniversary are pulled from one's online resume'. Ah, the online resume', that font of accuracy. When I was a manager of a medical practice, I recall reading a resume' entry by someone who noted that he multitasked while working in a restaurant, "arranging salads while servicing customers on floor."
As I was working for a veterinarian at the time, my mind went straight to the gutter: Stallions service mares, however, waitpersons should simply serve customers. If a waiter does somehow end up servicing a customer (and I don't even want to imagine more than one at a time, or how the salad is involved), surely he could find somewhere nicer than the floor???
The mind just boggles.
Anyway, to return to the new imperative, that of wishing others a happy work anniversary... so now we're supposed to congratulate each other on that. Surely soon there will be a line of greeting cards (or more likely, e-cards that we can read instead of doing actual work). Here are a few ideas for the cards:
*Happy Work Anniversary! You survived another round of layoffs!
*Happy Work Anniversary! Now get off LinkedIn, where everything you do boils down to dreaming about a new job...
*Happy Work Anniversary! If you hurry, there's some cake left in the breakroom from the party for the CEO who took an early buyout!
Friday, January 3, 2014
New Marriage Readiness Quiz
Forget dating websites with 'scientific' questionnaires and formulas that supposedly match you with the best partner. I have carefully compiled a list of key questions to ask about a prospective spouse based on my extensive experience (I am married! I know married people!).
As anyone who is married for any length of time knows, dating is at best an approximate way to get to know someone. Dating is a process in which my representative/best self meets your representative/best self for various pleasant activities. Hardly the best way to know how a person would react under the stress of, say, a cat dying in the crawlspace over the bedroom (although the examples in this blog may seem singularly graphic and/or unusual, I hereby disclaim any specific knowledge of said situations. Any resemblance to any particular marriage or spouse is strictly coincidental).
While the person you are dating is most likely putting forth his/her best self without an intent to deceive, the odds are still low that s/he would willingly share certain details. Therefore, here is a list of questions that may help you see "back stage." Forget old flames; their importance pales in comparison with these critical considerations:
*Does s/he exhibit signs of any kind of addiction, whether considered 'positive' or otherwise? For example, does s/he happen to have an ex-racehorse, which acts as a virtual money pit? Worse, does s/he show signs of wishing to acquire more? (All right, I admit, my husband could justifiably complain that I clearly demonstrated horse addiction when we met. Fortunately, the kids have since siphoned off most of that energy and money...)
*Does s/he still own clothes from high school? Along these lines, when s/he purchases new clothing and shoes, is s/he able to donate older items? (This may sound trivial, but the answer to this one question indicates whether you will eventually be able to get into the closet or even find the floor.)
*Finally, and most importantly, are you cuddle-compatible? Do you comfort each other during times of stress? When, for example, an uninsured person runs a red light and totals your truck with you in it ? Or, for example, you happen to spend ten years and thousands of dollars you don't really have making a documentary about historic African American schools (Under the Kudzu), but you have a crisis at the end and it seems you will never be able to finish, so you break down crying? Does your prospective spouse hug you, or give you a buck-up-that's-such-a-first-world-problem speech? The ability to hug your way through various crises is the best indicator I know that a marriage will thrive.
As anyone who is married for any length of time knows, dating is at best an approximate way to get to know someone. Dating is a process in which my representative/best self meets your representative/best self for various pleasant activities. Hardly the best way to know how a person would react under the stress of, say, a cat dying in the crawlspace over the bedroom (although the examples in this blog may seem singularly graphic and/or unusual, I hereby disclaim any specific knowledge of said situations. Any resemblance to any particular marriage or spouse is strictly coincidental).
While the person you are dating is most likely putting forth his/her best self without an intent to deceive, the odds are still low that s/he would willingly share certain details. Therefore, here is a list of questions that may help you see "back stage." Forget old flames; their importance pales in comparison with these critical considerations:
*Does s/he exhibit signs of any kind of addiction, whether considered 'positive' or otherwise? For example, does s/he happen to have an ex-racehorse, which acts as a virtual money pit? Worse, does s/he show signs of wishing to acquire more? (All right, I admit, my husband could justifiably complain that I clearly demonstrated horse addiction when we met. Fortunately, the kids have since siphoned off most of that energy and money...)
*Does s/he still own clothes from high school? Along these lines, when s/he purchases new clothing and shoes, is s/he able to donate older items? (This may sound trivial, but the answer to this one question indicates whether you will eventually be able to get into the closet or even find the floor.)
*Finally, and most importantly, are you cuddle-compatible? Do you comfort each other during times of stress? When, for example, an uninsured person runs a red light and totals your truck with you in it ? Or, for example, you happen to spend ten years and thousands of dollars you don't really have making a documentary about historic African American schools (Under the Kudzu), but you have a crisis at the end and it seems you will never be able to finish, so you break down crying? Does your prospective spouse hug you, or give you a buck-up-that's-such-a-first-world-problem speech? The ability to hug your way through various crises is the best indicator I know that a marriage will thrive.
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