Archive | September, 2011

Which one?

Yesterday everyone got home late and we had take-out for dinner and I was scrambling to put out everything we needed, and I opened the silverware drawer and stopped short. For some reason, the last time Otto unloaded the dishwasher, he decided that our silverware organizer was arranged incorrectly. For four and a half years it has been (left to right) knives, forks, big spoons, little spoons; what I looked in on as I was exhorting Monkey to pour milk and Chickadee to get out the napkins was big spoons, forks, little spoons, knives.

This halted the entire operation. “What did you DO?” I asked Otto, totally baffled by the drawer. He mumbled something about how he thought the new arrangement might make it easier to set the table (he and Chickie both often reverse the knives and forks). “But you can’t… just… do THAT!” I sputtered. “You can’t just CHANGE it without any WARNING! That’s not how it GOES!” By now both kids had come to marvel at the rearranged drawer, and Chickadee looked at it, then at me, and set to putting the drawer back to the way it had been. Monkey just looked horrified. I grabbed my son. “DO YOU SEE this little OCD acorn right here?” I demanded of Otto. “He didn’t fall far from THIS TREE”—indicating myself—”and that means you can’t just REARRANGE EVERYTHING I KNOW TO BE TRUE ABOUT SILVERWARE without TELLING ME.” (more…)

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I fought the nachos, and the nachos won

Once upon a time, in a land long ago and far away (okay, fine, it was here, and it was last May; I may be exaggerating just a little, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?), my darling, sweet, beautiful, talented daughter signed up to be in the marching band this year. And lo it was VERY EXCITING, because being in the high school marching band as an eighth grader felt like a Really Big Deal, and she was excited, and we were excited for her, and we filled out and signed roughly three pounds of paperwork.

Medical blah blah blah. Permission blah blah blah. Agree to the code of conduct blah blah blah. Deposit submitted blah blah blah. Schedule blah blah blah. Volunteer sign-up blah blah blah. Sign here, date here, put my name on the list here.

You know where this is going, right? We survived band camp. The football season started and we’ve been there cheering Chickadee on and, uh, lamenting how rotten our football team is. Everything’s great. And then last week I remembered that I signed up to volunteer… sometime. (more…)

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It’s all in my lungs head

It’s Tuesday, so that means I’m over at Off Our Chests, and today I’m thinking about the legacy of my childhood asthma, even though it turns out that—from a medical standpoint, anyway—I’m barely affected by it anymore.

I’m not quite crazy enough to take up running, or anything, but I definitely need to get over this feeling that my body is the enemy. (Or that I’m just a little crazy. Because… I mean, yes, OBVIOUSLY. But you know.)

Come on over and share, if you’re so inclined.

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Wrapping it all up with a little arson

So far as Monkey is concerned, there are exactly two good reasons to go camping: 1) getting to play his Nintendo DS (which his mean, mean mother only lets him use on trips, lest his eyes glaze over and he and his console become one melded hybrid beeping creature), and 2) s’mores.

While I don’t understand the first item, I can see the s’mores love. What’s not to like about s’mores? I myself have been known to set several marshmallows on fire at a time, all while lovingly explaining to my vegetarian, marshmallow-loving daughter exactly how they get gelatin. (She makes an exception for marshmallows, because somehow the devotion to sugar overcomes her refusal to eat animals. Perhaps we should try candy-coating our bacon.)

Often, we go camping in the summer to places where it’s entirely too hot to even contemplate building a fire, so this last trip was Very! Exciting! because we had a fire both nights. And there was much rejoicing, and much s’more-ing. (more…)

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We’re naturalists. Naturists. Well, we smell.

Fall has arrived, and with it the dulcet tones of me suggesting to Otto that “it’s time to get that damn thing off the driveway.” See, during camping season, we keep the trailer in the driveway for maximum access and annoyance. But once it’s been determined that we’re done annoying everyone at our favorite campgrounds, we store it for the winter.

Of course, this means we needed one last camping trip before everything gets packed away for the season. And with Chickadee in marching band this year, she is free to camp… never. Except this weekend! This weekend she didn’t have a game, so off we went.

The trip began with careful instructions to the children ALL WEEK LONG that they should be PACKED AND READY TO GO before leaving for school on Friday. So Monkey packed and was ready to go, and Chickadee insisted as she left that morning that she was “almost ready!” So when it was time to go on Friday afternoon there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth and stomping, because it’s not like we TOLD her we had to go, or anything. (more…)

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Like that

Every now and then, Otto does a Big Thing designed to make me feel warm and fuzzy—my birthday surprise and the festivities that followed come to mind—and it’s very sweet and wonderful and everything, of course. But the truth is that I may even love him just a little bit more for the small things, because I’m a sucker for the I-was-just-thinking-about-you gesture.

So a week ago, I wrote this post, which contained the following:

The list says “Thou shalt not list the things you, the parent, do for the kid as if it deserves veneration.” Because the only appropriate response from the child at that point is, “I didn’t ask to be born, you know! You shouldn’t have had kids if you didn’t want to do that stuff!”

Instead, I gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly than necessary as I drove her back to school in complete silence.

And my darling husband came home that night with a plush steering wheel cover for my car. “So that you won’t hurt your hands when the kids are rotten,” he said, by way of explanation. That was a week ago and EVERY TIME I get into my car, now, I laugh.

Twenty-two years into knowing him, four-and-a-half years into the marriage, and I still feel totally lucky. It’s AWESOME.

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Poisoning your child for fun and profit

(The title of this post is a complete lie. There is no profit in poisoning your child which I can figure out, though if there were, I would be ALL OVER THAT, pronto.)

I’ve been thinking I may need a completely separate space to discuss Chickadee’s mystery skin condition—I’ll call it As The Rash Spreads, natch—because it occurs to me that normal people may not actually find my (*counting on my fingers*) four years of endless blather about biopsies and medications and sun sensitivity and whatnot all that fascinating. I KNOW, RIGHT? I mean, what’s NOT entertaining about a cranky child with undiagnosed, pervasive creeping crud? But still, I should maybe take it somewhere else.

Today is not the day that’s happening, though. Sorry. Because this week we went back to Emory (again!) and have a New Plan (again!). And I just know you want to hear every last sordid detail. (more…)

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It was a very cold year

Perhaps one of the inaugural “it’s not a regret, it’s an experience” incidents of my life, today I’m over at Off Our Chests talking about my first year all on my own and lessons learned from it.

(Addendum: Sometimes I look back on the choices I’ve made in my life and marvel that I am still alive and relatively unscathed. Seriously.)

And then I look at my fiercely independent child and realize that my mother’s dreams really did come true: I actually DID go have a daughter just like me. (Oh, karma!)

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This is why it’s good I don’t have a uterus

Yesterday we had some friends come over for brunch, and that was exciting because I generally just hide in my cave, all alone, coming out briefly for food and laundry and to comment that the light, it buuuuuurns.

In preparation for this event, we dusted and vacuumed (because we do those things once a year, whether the house needs it or not!), and made some brunchy foods, and tried to prepare the children. You see, Chris and Karen have three children—a 4-year-old son and 3-year-old twin daughters.

To Chickadee, we said: We expect you to help with the little kids. To Monkey, we said: If there’s anything you don’t want the little kids touching, you need to put it up high or close it in your room. Just telling them “no” may not work, and you can’t get mad about that. Also, they may be loud. It’s okay to take a break if you need to. To Licorice, we said: Good luck, pup.

This turned out to be just the right amount of prep. (more…)

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Five (modified) good things on Friday

1) Monkey has a nasty sinus infection. I figured out that Monkey has a nasty sinus infection. On the way to the doctor this morning, Monkey piped up from the back seat: “Hey, I don’t feel good.” Then we did a little high-five, because YES! Other people, when they have sinus infections, they always realize they don’t feel good! This is progress in our (sensorily-disordered) world. Yay!!

2) I was super productive today. I had a nap.

3) I’ve been granted a reprieve from the plague of teen attitude until at least tomorrow. I am grateful that my wonderful daughter loves marching band so much, and also that for away games they apparently lure the kids in right after school with pizza, and keep them there until it’s time to go.

4) Monkey and Mario are singing songs about butts in my kitchen right now. I am always grateful with my son has a friend. But I am so, so grateful that Mario is a really nice kid and that he and Monkey are enjoying each other so much. Plus I’m eternally grateful to Mario’s mom for introducing us to Hippie School.

5) I totally lied. There are only four things. I’m perfectly content with these four things, it turns out. Sinus infection and all.

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