Commiseration

We had a Brownie meeting tonight. My husband had a late conference so I had both girls and my son with the Girl Scouts. My son was supposed to keep an eye on Lil' T, but ended up eating almost half of the left over cake from snack. After that sugar high, he amused himself by bugging his sister and her friends. This is what I overheard.

Friend to Princess: "Your brother is evil."

Princess to Friend: (sigh and a defeated nod) "I know."

Budding artist

I want to apologize to all those parents out there about whom I have ever once thought, "What the heck are they doing with those kids? They have no idea how to raise them." Please forgive my arrogance. I only had thoughts like those before I had kids myself. And for all of you who have thought that about us, I forgive you. My mother tells me the above quote on a regular basis, and considering that she spent the last few months with us, I think it is fair. And she's my mom. She gets a pass.

Back when I knew all there was to know about parenting, back when I had no kids of my own, I was visiting with my friends Aileen and Mike. They had 2 young boys at the time. I think N was 4 or 5 and M was 3. Anyway, I was talking to Aileen at her dining table when M came streaking by. Now when I say streaking, I'm not trying to be creative with my words saying that he was running by. I mean streaking in the sense of running with no clothes on. But what was upsetting about the situation was that M's penis was all purple. I was worried. Aileen had seen it too and we both became concerned. She ran after him and after a few moments of tense coaxing, "M, let Mommy see. What happened to you baby?" He finally showed her what was wrong. There was a pause and I heard Aileen say, "M, what did Daddy say about using the permanent markers?" I think I was going to fall out of my chair. I loved how Aileen had kept totally cool. She didn't bust out laughing at the situation, but kept him on track and reminded him that he had done wrong. It was then that I knew that I had no idea what it would be like being a parent. Aileen was awesome.

But the best part was when Mike came home and Aileen said, "You'll never guess what M did with the permanant markers." And he said, "Oh no. Did he color his penis again?"

See this is what happens when you live with little crazy people. You start being able to predict the crazy things that they do. Like today, I had to remove fruit loops from the dining room light fixture. No, I don't know why or how they got up there. But I know that my days of only finding dead moths and dust in my light fixtures are over for a time.

I also know that crazy people will bicker over the most inane things. And they truly believe that if you just listen to their side of the story, you will advocate for them. That the injustice will be fixed. Today, there was a loud fight with tears and screeching about the color of flowers on the Lite Brite toy. I'm not kidding. I live with crazy people.

When Princess was younger, she used to hear me say that all the time. I'd mutter, "I live with crazy people." And on occasion, she'd say to her brother, "I live with crazy people, and you're one of them."

My sentiments exactly.

15 - love

In thinking about a title to this post, I have come up blank. My brain keeps playing Pat Benatar's "Love is a Battlefield." But really, only because of the title. The lyrics (sorry Pat) are inane. I mean, "you come on with a come on, you don't fight fair." Seriously? Come on with a come on. Seems like a case of not knowing what to put next, you know? Like "Those pants are as tight as... tight pants." Whatever. But I wanted to just tell you about a small but in no way insignificant victory in my marriage.

Last weekend, we were supposed to visit with Sharon and Steve for dinner. They wanted to play a board game with us. They were expecting us there at around 5pm. I had wanted to get there as soon as possible because I had picked up a few things from the store for the dinner and needed to get them cooking at Sharon's house. Well, my hubby was dragging his feet because he couldn't get his printer to spit out my son's homework assignment. Something about ink nozzles being clogged.

I was of the mind that if my son didn't finish his homework, that wasn't my problem. I know that sounds cold, but it is a Love & Logic thing. He's got to pay his own consequences. He might have started on the project in Friday instead of Sunday and we would have known about the printer problem, but I digress (and am sounding like a nag while I go on about it.) I gave my opinion, but my husband was having none of it. He said that all he had to do was print it out but he'd been having problems. That wasn't the boy's fault. So, I told my husband that he would have to drive my car and I'd be taking the van because I had already loaded up the stuff for Sharon & Steve in the back of the van.

Now, here's the part that I was embarrassed to admit to all of you, but I think it is an essential part of the story. A couple of years ago, my husband bought me a CD for Christmas. It was a CD that he said he had a little trouble buying, because he had never in his lifetime, purchased a CD from the display at the front of a music store. Ever. It was the Clay Aiken CD. Yes, it was the year he was on American Idol. Yes, I watched American Idol that year. Yes, I voted for Clay. Yes, I asked for that CD. Do you think less of me now? Well, I had forgotten that I had that CD and a few weeks ago, I stumbled across it. It was like visiting an old friend. And on the way back from the hospital that day, I was blasting it on the speakers. Now do you think less of me? Even I laugh at myself a little for blasting Clay Aiken on my speakers. Whatever.

I was at Sharon and Steve's house when I remembered that I had left the car stereo on playing Clay Aiken's "Invisible." I instantly busted up laughing and wished that I could have been there when he turned the key.

He made it to the party only about 30 minutes later and didn't say anything.

I asked him about it later that evening. He told me that when he turned the ignition, Clay was belting his poor breaking heart out. My husband blindly started hitting the console with the flat of his hand, hoping that something he hit would turn off the sound. When he finally got it off, my son said, "Whew. Thanks Dad." Nobody in my family appreciates good pop music.

Okay, so I have to ask, do you think less of me now?

No clarification needed

In popular culture, there is a lot of attention made to how men don't understand women. I think it really comes down to being attentive to the great "not said."

I think that a lot of men (yeah, huge sweeping statements right now) forget that less is often more. Compliments can often be inferred. Women always take things to the next step. Don't you all complain about that? Men, however, don't think that way. They think that clarification is always the best way to go. Here are a couple of examples from my own history.

A couple of days ago at the hospital, I met the "handsome" anesthesiologist. I was starting to think he was a figment of the imagination of a former patient of the hospital. She was visiting another person and asked if the handsome anesthesiologist was working. She went on and on about how handsome he was, how encouraging he was, and considering that when she met him she had been in a lot of pain and he made it all go away, he was God's gift to womankind. So I had been on the lookout for a handsome anesthesiologist. I needed to see who she talked about. I guess I didn't know what I was imagining -- maybe like a doc from a soap opera. But I didn't find any guy like that, until I finally got to talk to him. It was only then that I realized that I found him. He's an average looking guy. He's no Noah Drake, MD from back in the day General Hospital, but he has the gift of knowing when not to clarify. One of the nurses had received a Lexus as a present from her husband for Christmas. A LEXUS!!! Then she talked about how she had lost over 80# in the course of the past year. So I piped up and said, "When I lose 80#, I'm going to get myself a Lexus as well." This is when Dr. McDreamy said, "You don't need to lose 80#." I dismissively said, "you're very sweet." He said, "No, I'm not being sweet. I don't think you have 80# to lose." And he stopped there. I walked away feeling great about myself. He could have totally ruined the whole thing by saying, "What do you need to lose really? 75? 70?" See how that would have been bad? Unnecessary clarification, people. It can change things.

A few years ago, I was going to a club with a friend of mine. A mother of 2 already and in my early 30's, I was discovering that I was not getting carded as frequently as I used to in the past. My friend and I (also a mother) both got carded. It brightened my whole day, so I said to the card checker guy, "Thanks for carding me. That really made my day." This would have been a great time to throw in an empty compliment. I mean, I was wearing my wedding ring. I wasn't trying to flirt. And we were going into Dave & Busters, a place that has bars but for the most part is a grown-up arcade. Would it have been so hard to throw this old dog a bone? Instead of saying something complimentary like, "You don't look a day over 20," he said, "We have to card anybody who looks under 40 here. It's the rules." Again, unnecessary clarification. So instead of walking away thinking that this old gal still looks young, I was supposed to walk away thinking, "At least I don't look 40." Maybe he was hoping I would drown my sorrows on their pricey Mai Tai's instead of getting my butt handed to me on Arctic Thunder. Twice.

Speaking of carding, if you're a server or a bouncer and you think you have to card a person in a group, please card EVERYONE in the group instead of just that one. It won't take any time. Even if you know they're over legal age, just go ahead and do it. Just glance at the ID. You don't even need to do the math. It takes nothing for you to do it but believe me, it makes all the difference in the world.

One day my family took my brother Norm out for dinner. Granted, I had That with me so I must have been in my late 20's. My brother is 4 years older than I. Here is what happened. We both ordered cocktails. The young waitress, who probably was hitting on my then unmarried brother, asked him for his ID but not me, forever giving my brother something to rub in for the rest of our lives. Maybe she saw me as a new mom with a husband who would likely not tip very well, but she saw my brother as potential date and possible good tipper. I'm going to go with that, because I don't like the alternative. I'm sure she had motive. She had to have.

In another situation like that, my friend Sharon was out with her sister Mindy. Mindy is only 3 years younger than Sharon, and both are very attractive women. Both were in their 30's. They were going out with a group of friends, but when it came time for ordering the cocktails, Mindy was the only one carded. I told Sharon that the bartender was probably just trying to hit on Mindy. But that doesn't make Sharon feel any better. I just keep reminding her that Mindy bears a strong resemblance to Pippin. That does make her feel better. Imagine Pippin as a woman with straight hair. Seriously -- scary similar.

Just card EVERYBODY. Is that so much to ask?

But lastly, my favorite carding story of all time. I was getting ready for a party so I went to the liquor store. There is a huge sign that says they card everybody who is 35 and below. I did not get carded. Figures. But then I went to the grocery store. I was picking up some beer and as I was checking out, the checker asked to see my ID. I immediately thanked her. I told her about the liquor store not checking my ID and how I couldn't believe that I didn't get carded. She responded, "Well, yeah. Of course you should have been carded. What are you, 35?" I was 33 years old at the time. I say again, UNNECESSARY CLARIFICATION!

So I suppose I shouldn't get all uppity about men having the bad clarification thought process. It afflicts all kinds of people.

And lest you think that I'm without fault, I'll cop to one huge mistake of my own.

Again at the grocery store, I had asked if the bagger lady could help me out to the car. Having just given birth to my Lil'T, I wanted the extra hand. I wasn't familiar with the bagger because she was a new employee and to make small talk as we were walking to my car, I asked her, "So, when are you due?" referring to her obvious pregnancy. She said, "Excuse me?" referring to her lack of being with child.

I tried to change it up and said something like, "I mean, what do you do? For fun?"

Oh yes, I did that thing.

Embrace me, my sweet embraceable me....

It has been a long time since I've worked almost exclusively with women. Scratch that. I'm around women all the time. I think maybe I should say that it has been a long time since I've been in a professional capacity with female coworkers through the holiday and New Year's seasons. There is a difference.

See, we all feel obliged to make treats and share with our coworkers. This prompted people to bring in boxes of cookies and chocolates. There was even lumpia and fruitcake (probably not brought in by the same person -- unless there's a Filipina who used to live in the British isles who works there now). Anyway, right after the holidays, there were tons of chocolates and cookies that were brought in for the sake of keeping temptation out of the homes of these ladies. We've swung through the binging phase of the season directly into the self flagellation stage. It is time for the New Year's resolution.

I'm not really sure how long this phase will last, and unfortunately, I won't be working there for much longer, so my scientific observations will have to cease in 2 more shifts. But I think I can see the resolve of some people's New Year's resolutions by celery.

I propose that celery is the measure of willpower.

One of my favorite channels on YouTube (vlogbrothers) defines Peeps as a nonfood item. I kind of think that celery is a nonfood item. At least celery is a non-snackfood item.

Let me put it this way, last time I was at the nurses' station, I saw 2 women eating celery. They were putting it in their mouths, chewing and swallowing the stuff. I am thinking that it was probably meant to be a snack. But have you ever, in your entire lifetime, ever said, "Man, I'm hungry. I could go for some celery right now." Exactly my point. There is no human that thinks that way. I think there are probably some rabbits and guinea pigs who think like that, but no humans. Not if they're being honest with themselves. Celery doesn't taste good. It isn't offensive, but it doesn't taste good. And celery, I think, is a kind of oral self flagellation. It is punishment, every bite you take. It is loud, crunchy, and can stick in your teeth. There is nothing warm, inviting, smooth and comforting about eating celery.

Right now I'm telling everybody there that I'm embracing my fat. Yes, I am fat. I'm not fluffy. I'm not big boned. I AM FAT. And I'm not in love with my fat. I'd love to be rid of it. But I suppose that isn't my goal. On my goal sheet, it says that I will exercise daily. On my goal sheet, it says that I will eat smaller and more frequent meals. On my goal sheet, it says that I will give up processed foods. On my goal sheet, it says I will eliminate corn syrup (no easy task) from our diet. It doesn't say anything really about me losing weight. But if I live up to my goals, I figure something's got to give, right? And no where on my goal sheet does it say anything about eating nonfood items and trying to call them snacks. If I had to eat nonfood items, I'd probably opt to eat lotion from Bath & Bodyworks. Their stuff just smells yummy. Doesn't taste good though.

I predict the celery will make way for chocolate soon enough. When the celery disappears, it will mark the failure yet again of another year's New Year's resolution -- the breaking of the willpower. If you must have a universal endpoint, I think it is Valentines day -- chocolate will again be plentiful. That's the day I will set free my battle cry: Let the binging recommence!

You will pick up a forkful of cheesecake and answer, "So say we all!"

Mama doesn't want it either

Lil'T will often escape when we're changing her diaper. She loves going commando, if you know what I mean. If she's undiapered for a second, and she can get away, she will. Today, she made her escape from her daddy. I was preparing dinner at the time and the pint sized streaker came running through the kitchen while Daddy gave chase.

The next thing I knew, I heard, "Oh no! Give it to Mommy! Give it to Mommy!" It was a panicked cry from my husband.

Sweet Lil'T came into the kitchen holding a little turd in her outstretched hand. And she got the exact same reaction from me that her father gave to her. I jumped about 3 feet back from her and ran to get a paper towel to catch it before it went on the floor.

My husband recovered from his initial shock and picked her up from behind (I mean from behind her, not her behind) and brought her to the toilet to send her little turd to go play with the other turds in the septic tank. She was able to add 2 more to the collection (with the usual applause from all adults around her and confirmation from her, "I did it!") before we bathed her and scrubbed her hand with a soapy washcloth and hot water.

Ah... the joys of parenthood.

If a picture paints a thousand words

It was the picture that I never took. And the image I have of it in my mind makes me smile every single time.

Years ago, when my husband and I were just starting out, we used every last penny of our savings to buy our house. Every way we could save money, we did. I never bought formula and I breastfed my son. (Those of you who know me well realize that it had less to do with me being a tightwad and more about me being a breast milk czar... or czarina.) We bought in bulk to save a few pennies. I reused ziploc bags, hand washing them like fine china. And one fateful day, we went to Costco and found an electric shear for haircuts. Imagine how much money we could save if I cut Hubby's hair? That would be about $15-$20 a cut. Sure I knew nothing about cutting hair. But I was certain I could learn.

I have to give my husband credit. He was very brave about the whole thing. There is a certain advantage to being married and not really on the prowl anymore. Sure you want to look good, but as a smug married person, you're not trying to impress anybody (read that as, "get in bed with") because the only person you really have to impress, you've already married. Okay, that is not a great point of view. I know that. But how else can I explain my husband agreeing to my crazy harebrained (pun intended) idea to cut his hair?

Let me just say that there were good cuts and some bad cuts. There were days that my husband went to work and they didn't say anything about his hair. That is a compliment from most men. No mention of a haircut = "Looking good, Bro." But there were somedays when his coworkers would say, "Wife cut your hair?"

So we have developed this little dance, he and I. I prime the pump by telling him that he's looking a little shaggy. After a few days of this, he starts to agree. Then I say things like, "I can cut your hair." He chews on that for a few days. He doesn't like to waste shampoo. So I have to wait until he hasn't washed his hair so that I can cut it before he takes his shower. At some point, he can't stand waking up looking like a Gumby impersonator. Then he submits to my barber's shears.

My husband can be flighty. If you've not sensed that from previous posts, he really is. He doesn't take well to schedules that he has not created himself. He won't tell you what his schedule is, but when he's ready for you, you better be ready to go. No matter what you've got going on. One unlucky day, I was on my way to the bathroom when he announced that he was ready to have his haircut. I went to the garage and he had wet his head and was sitting on the stool. I told him that I'd be right back but he retorted with, "We can do this later then." He started getting up and sensing that my opportunity to cut his hair was slipping away, I said, "It's okay, Honey. I'll cut your hair now."

The resulting cut was made with my pressing my knees together and ultimately giving him a cut that not only got the dreaded, "Wife cut your hair?" comment the next day, but also has been called the Dumb & Dumber Haircut. Yes, that's right. We refer to it with a proper noun. It is that notorious. See, I really just had to go at some point but I knew that the front part of the cut was too long. In my haste, I did a horrible corrective cut. I got the scissors and cut bangs (for lack of a better word) straight across the front. I ran to the bathroom and when I got back, he had already swept up and was on his way. I didn't have a chance to fix it.

But the great thing about that haircut was that he went to work the next day and came back with what could have been devastating news. The client whose account he was working on was severing relations with his company. His company told him to look for work within the company but it may mean we would have to move. My husband tried to be sensitive and pulled me onto his lap so he could wrap his arms around me and brace me for this news. He very seriously looked into my eyes and didn't get the response he expected.

Tears? Hysteria? Worried silence? No. He got giggles and fits of laughter because that serious compassionate face was under the absolute WORST haircut of all time. It has colored that memory for me. It was a great day and it was time for a change. Sure there was some nail biting but he found a new position relatively quickly and we were able to stay put.

But before I fixed his hair, I should have taken a picture. I do have the image tattooed on the inside of my brain though, and it will have to go to the grave with me. I'm sorry that I can't share it better than that.

Mommy, wow! I'm a big kid now!

I tell this story a lot because it was one of those great, "I'm a grown up now," moments for me. A few months before we got married, I made my then fiancé sit down with me to write some goals. Here are the important facts when I recall this event to all the people who will sit still enough to hear it.

1. I wrote out long term plans to 11 years because there was only room for 11 years on the piece of paper.

2. My fiancé was so uncomfortable with making such a plan or selecting goals for our life together that the entire time, he insisted on playing the guitar. He said, "They're only arpeggios -- I can do that robotically." But he's *never* picked up the guitar since. I swear!

3. We met most of our goals on time. First child while I was 27. First house with the first kid. Degrees finished and jobs taken. The 2 things on my list that I didn't accomplish were getting my masters degree while pregnant with the second child seeing as I would have so much free time; and learning to speak Spanish using home study materials. Again, I was supposed to have done that while I was pregnant because I just would have so much free time. Remember, I wrote the goals when I was 24 and had never been pregnant.

4. This is the most important part of the story. About 1 week after we did this... or rather, I threatened & cajoled and he endured, he got a letter from his dad. This was one of those letters that a dad writes to his soon-to-be-married son. It was full of advice and reflection. But what made me so pleased was that one of the gems my father-in-law told his son was that we should sit down and make some long term goals. It was gorgeous validation for me. GORGEOUS!

My husband still has that disdain for long term goals. I cannot brag and say that I sit down every year and make goals, because truthfully, we've gone the last 2 years without the help of our 11 year plan. So I decided that 2008 would be the one. This would be the year that I would get those goals out on paper and make things happen.

I did manage to get him to sit down with me early on the 1st. It was good. Unfortunately, I happened to be next to my computer at the time and I saw that one of my favorite YouTube channels had posted their last blog of 2007. They always say that the first step is admitting you have a problem. I have a problem. I'm addicted to YouTube. So I watched the 3 minute post while my husband's sat and waited. I almost lost him right there.

After that misstep, I was worried that it was all over. Shockingly, he didn't leave. So I got out a few sheets of paper and titled them with the following headers.

1. Entertainment Goals (vacations, camping trips, pursuit of hobbies)
2. Personal Goals (this is stuff most people put on their New Year's Resolutions sheet)
3. Professional Goals
4. Household Goals (home remodeling, repair, organization)
5. Financial Goals (savings for college, retirement, ways to increase revenue)
6. Charitable Giving Goals (including time, talent & treasure)
7. Family Goals (goals for the kids, enrichment classes)
8. Long Term Goals

You might think that Entertainment Goals are a silly thing to put first. You must understand that it was my spoonful of sugar -- you know, like in Mary Poppins? He needed that spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down. It would be nice to put the big vacations on the board so we don't have another year where we get disappointed that we didn't bring the kids to various places. I figure, if you don't plan for those things, you'll never get around to doing them. So this year we are planning to visit my new nephew in Northern California. Then we'll go visit his folks and sister in Southern California with all the great theme parks too. And during the summer, we'll take a big camping trip with some friends. Lastly, we will winter in Hawaii or maybe Northern California again. That decision is yet to be made.

Also on the entertainment page, we've penciled in game nights, date nights, birthday celebrations & supper club nights. I just think it is important to cultivate all the relationships we've got.

On the personal goals page, I decided to make a commitment to my writing. I do like writing. I think I'm funny and entertaining. I find my writing refreshing, clever and insightful. And I think you probably do too. So I'm committed to write a blog entry at least once a week. I've also committed to write some kind of narrative -- essay, short story, novella, book, outline, character summary -- on the days I am not blogging.

A couple of months ago my son was bugging me to use the computer. I told him he had to wait because I was working on a short story. He told me, "Why? You never finish anything you write. If it were me, I would have finished that story and moved on by now." My initial reaction was to scold him for being disrespectful. But then I realized that I resembled that remark. I can't tell you how many stories I've started and just never finished. But no more. This is my goal. I shall write daily. This will be the year that I finish a story.

So now, after you've read this post, you're supposed to reflect on it and then give me advice. Post a comment. Suggest something for one of the goal sheets. You may even suggest a character for a story I may write. It may just get there and when it happens, you can say you were the one who suggested it. Seriously, I'd give you your props.

Maybe for your own goal sheet, you should write something about commenting on Tess's blog every now and then. What do you think about that?