Brainworm
The piano piece that Chickadee was never able to master before the recital-that-wasn’t is stuck in my head. Da-da-da-dada, da-da-da-dada, dadadadadadadadadaddaaaaaaaaa ARGH. There’s now a 50-50 chance I can play it better than she can, and I don’t even play piano. At the very least, I can da-da-da it for you, though I may need to rock in the corner while I do so. I have Exciting Follow-up Piano News for you in a minute, though, so there’s that.
At the moment I am looking outside and feeling decidedly weird. While I enjoy not having to deal with snow here in the south, I’m not sure I fully appreciated the weather alternatives to blizzards, before moving down here. For example: it’s the end of October. Back home, we’d be ready for the first big snow ’round about now. But here, when I took the dog out at 6 this morning, it was 65 degrees outside. And now, the light in the yard is hazy and yellow because HI TORNADO WATCH.
I’ll be sure to let you know if I have to abandon this post halfway through to go hide in the storage space under the stairs. Or—more likely—to go try to wrestle open the door to the storage space under the stairs, blocked though it usually is by laundry baskets and the electric broom. (Emergency preparedness: The preparations weren’t optional? Whoops!) read more…
Fixing what’s broke
One of the things the kids were most excited about when we moved to Georgia—aside from the pool, because ZOMG A POOL WE MUST BE RICH—was that they were finally going to start taking piano lessons. I can’t give you a definitive answer on why we never did it before we moved, but I think it went a little something like: Sorry, we don’t have the money right now; well now you’re doing something else, instead; now we have the money and possibly the time but you no longer seem interested; and finally, HOORAY we have both the time and the money and you’re interested but… we’re about to move, so screw it.
So we waited until we moved. And then we got a recommendation. And the teacher was conveniently located and well-regarded and affordable and we said okay, let’s do this thing!
The kids have been studying with him for three years. Correction: The kids HAD been studying with him for three years. Because yesterday I fired him. And today I am still pissed off, but not nearly as much at him as I am at myself. read more…
Love and affirmation
In addition to the whirlwind that is a quick family visit (into which you feel like you really OUGHT to be able to cram a good six month’s or so worth of time together, even if it’s only a few days), the kids are having conferences this week at school. I love school conferences, because they represent a unique opportunity for me to embarrass my children.
Oh, I kid. About the embarrassing part, anyway. I mean, if Chickadee is to be believed, I can turn anything into an opportunity to embarrass her.
[Aside: One day before something at school she came upon me applying some mascara. “Why are you putting on MAKEUP?” she asked. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, I just figured I’m so embarrassing to you just by existing, I’d at least make sure I looked okay, is all,” I told her.
“You look fine without it,” she said, and for a moment I smiled, until I heard her muttering on her way out, “It’s not like mascara is going to keep you from being embarrassing.”]
Anyway. Conferences. read more…
It’s a rough life
While I am busy grumbling that my dad and stepmom are here for such a short time and I still have to work and go here and there, they are perfectly content to amuse themselves and dote upon the dog.
Licorice is clearly not enjoying herself in the slightest. I mean, sure, she normally spends the entire day sleeping under that futon and now she follows my parents around and jumps up to sit beside them and demand petting at every possible opportunity, but really, she’s suffering on the inside.
As are they. Obviously.
Nature, nurture, and ice cream
So my parents are here for a visit. That’s completely awesome because they are fun people, and also because our favorite collective hobby appears to be eating. I mean, sure, yes, we also talk a lot and go do stuff and watching Monkey grow in frustration that Grandpa’s sole mission on this trip isn’t actually to play Legos with him 12+ hours/day, but the main reason we all get together is so that we can order approximately twenty different things from our local Chinese restaurant and then sit at the table talking about how we really overdid it, this time, and we have WAY too much food, yes, and could you pass that one down, I haven’t tried that one yet, and yes, there’s dessert later if anyone wants ice cream….
You get the idea.
(Ha! You thought we only made food the central vacationing activity while on a cruise, but it turns out that we are gifted in the eating-excuses department, and can even make food the main attraction without ever leaving the house. Viva la oink!)
Anyway, when we are not eating, we are often discussing how much the kids have grown and how aggravating adorable they are. As one does. read more…
Together and apart
We have well and firmly entered the “Go away! I don’t have to listen to you! You’re not the boss of me! Wait, can you make me some eggs and also can I have a cuddle? God, LEAVE ME ALONE!” phase of Chickadee’s life. It’s infuriating magical. There’s nothing quite like that special bond between mother and daughter, where they love each other so much and yet regularly ANNOY THE CRAP out of each other.
Still. We do find our way to each other now and then. I don’t know that the sweet moments mean as much to her as they do to me, but that’s okay. Nor am I above clowning for her to get those moments in, you understand. Like, the last time I picked her up at school, her friend Joe was standing on the corner waiting to cross the street as we pulled out of the school driveway. So I said, “I’m going to run Joe over, okay?” and then delighted in her screeching laughter as I pulled the car just a leeetle too close to the curb. (Joe startled and then laughed as we waved at him.) (Technically I should maybe not be threatening to run kids over just to get a laugh from my daughter, but desperate times, man.)
One of the things I’ve recently discovered is that IMing or texting with her is often a lot easier than talking in person. It’s just enough distance to take the bristly bits out of the equation, you know? So yesterday I was sitting here working when she IMed me from school. Because apparently they don’t do any actual work, there. read more…
Fashion Hulk angry! Fashion Hulk smash!
It’s not that the irony of being someone who mostly works at home in solitude (and prefers jeans when heading out into the world) doling out fashion advice is lost on me, it’s just that it all seems to have become quite SERIOUS up in here, the last couple of weeks. And I need a break.
Also, I’ve been shopping. And out in the world with people. And I have opinions. STRONG opinions, I guess you might say, about things that people are wearing and doing. No one died and left me boss, but my inner Fashion Hulk would like to vent a bit.
(My inner Fashion Hulk likes to put on my son’s Hulk Hands—which say theraputic phrases like “HULK ANGRY!” and “HULK SMASH!”—while working out a little bit of aggression via dangerous activities like punching the couch. You should totally try it. Very relaxing.)
In no particular order, here are a few things which raise the ire of my inner Fashion Hulk, and quite possibly make the baby Jesus cry: read more…
Farmer Chickadee
I may have mentioned once or twice or twenty times that Chickadee has joined just about every possible club, group and team available to her this year, save for the ones that involve actually sports. (“I am not a sports person,” she explained to me in all earnestness, and I swear I only spent a few hours trying to convince her that roller derby might be her true calling. She remains skeptical. I am SO renting Whip It for her as soon as humanly possible, though.)
Most of her choices made sense to us. Academic team, math league, yoga, Yearbook… no surprises there. But then came the day that she came home and asked me to sign her form for Future Farmers of America.
“Are you planning to be a farmer?” I asked her, greatly amused. This is the same child who screams at the sight of bugs and whose usual response to nature is “GET IT OFF ME!”
She—predictably—rolled her eyes and sighed. read more…
It’s not optional
Today is National Coming Out Day, which is because (to lift a quote from their page): “It’s the courage to come out as an active voice for LGBT equality that will result in real political and social change.”
Last night I used the Human Rights Campaign’s handy little Facebook app to change my status to something about how I’m a straight ally to the cause, and not five minutes later I saw one of my “friends” had changed her status to say that she would not be changing her status, because she absolutely will not support people being proud of their sin, which should rightfully be “hidden in the closet.” I removed her from my friends list.
Because here’s the thing: I don’t really care what you think about people being gay. You are entitled to your opinion. Even if it’s wrong. (Kidding!) (Not really!) But when you start saying things designed to shame others, things indicating that you feel entitled to dictate to others that they are not just wrong but BAD and UNACCEPTABLE, now you’re treading in dangerous territory.
And if you’re a parent, from where I sit you are doing something unforgivable. read more…
Random bits
1) We are going to the county fair today. We planned to go first thing; it is now 3:00 and we haven’t left yet. Which is a pretty good summary of life with children, really.
2) I’m having a terrible time with my skin right now (and I haven’t been eating wheat, so either I’m intolerant to something new or my skin is just finicky, or BOTH, AWESOME) and that always results in a weird amalgamation of both acne and cracking/peeling dry skin. (Me so sexy.) This morning while putting on earrings I discovered my earlobes are peeling. MY EARLOBES ARE PEELING. My new death metal band is called Scaly Earlobes.
3) A couple of nights ago I inadvertently let some weird huge bug into the house when I came in, so being the mature adult I am, I commanded Licorice to eat it. She obliged—sort of—by grabbing it and bringing it into my office and LEAVING IT ON THE COUCH FOR ME. She is so grounded.
If we do not leave for the fair in the next 15 minutes I am not buying anyone a funnel cake. IT IS TIME TO HAVE FUN, DAMMIT. HURRY UP.