Things we brought back
I miss Otto’s mother the most when we’re getting ready to go camping or when we’ve just returned. Otto loves to recount stories of his youth, when his father wound his way around the country to various military bases on short assignments, and the family would pack up the station wagon and the Prowler camping trailer and spend their time at nearby campgrounds while his dad was working. Otto and his next-in-line brother have fond memories of these trips. Otto’s mother HATED them, not the least of which, I suppose, because she was spending an entire summer trapped in a small space with small children while her husband was almost never around.
As a result, while she was still alive, any time we were preparing to camp, she would demand that Otto put me on the phone. Then she would grill me about whether I REALLY wanted to go. She would assure me that Otto could handle it if I told him I didn’t want to. In a conspiratorial tone, she would tell me that there was no shame in admitting I hate camping and asking my husband not to make us do it. Those talks always made me feel a little sad for her, that in a different era she hadn’t felt like she could put her foot down with her husband, but they also always amused me and made me feel loved, that she was so concerned about MY feelings, Otto’s be damned. I think she never quite believed me when I told her I enjoyed our trips.
Surveying the carnage from this trip, I’m beginning to understand why this was so incomprehensible to her. read more…
Gone skinkin’
So the supplies were gathered up, the trailer packed, and this is the part where I would normally conclude “and we were off in a cloud of dust,” except it has been so rainy that there is no dust. We were off in a cloud of mud? Mud doesn’t really cloud. We were off in the splash of a puddle? That sort of works. We packed up and left, is the point. Because why sit around at home when you could sit around in a forest and be eaten by bugs?
[Fun storm fact: Right before we left, the monotony of regular thunderstorm after regular thunderstorm was broken up by ye olde BIG ASS THUNDERSTORM FLASH FLOOD ZOMG, and thankfully that doesn’t mean anything too terrible for us because we live on a hill, but our #^&*@#% cursed pool, I’ll have to ask Otto if he took pictures, because I have never seen anything like it. For one thing, our crappy pool was transformed overnight into an infinity pool! By which I mean the water level was right up to the concrete. (Flash floods are FUN!) For another thing, all of the debris knocked off trees and whatnot had washed down the driveway and directly into the pool, so after EVERYTHING we’ve gone through to right the pool and balance the chemistry, it was not only overflowing, it was swampy with lord only knows what. Otto spent a day fishing out branches and stuff and the water was still brackish when we left even after a day and a half of running the filter.]
I wanted to burn the house down before we left, but Otto—so unreasonable!—was all, “Look, I bought you some candy for the ride, just get in the truck and let’s go.” So we left. read more…
I swear these aren’t all for me
I found myself babbling to the cashier at the grocery store today—not that this is unusual, really—about how you spend the early years of a kid’s life exhorting them to please, pleeeeeeease, EAT SOMETHING, and then they become teenagers and as you’re having your weekly heart attack in the checkout line, you wish they would eat just a little less. Today was worse, though, because we’re gearing up for a camping trip, so in addition to the usual cartload of stuff, I also had an obscene number of bags of chips and boxes of ice cream treats.
What? It’s CAMPING. Calories don’t count while you’re camping. EVERYONE knows that.
There are many things about raising teens that I didn’t expect and/or don’t entirely fill me with joy, but camping with older kids is actually one of my favorite things. Don’t believe me? I wrote about our family camping rules today over at Alpha Mom. Unlike the rules here at home (so unfair! so MEAN!), the kids don’t seem to have a problem with the rules on the road.
Beauty for the delicate flower
I don’t really wear makeup. This is because:
1) I work from home, and prefer hiding in my office to interacting with people,
and
2) I am exceedingly lazy.
On a day when I’m working from home (most weekdays) or just puttering around the house (most weekends), I wear jeans and t-shirts and my hair is unruly and wet all day and I wear my glasses and the only thing that goes on my face is maybe a little moisturizer. Fancy!
On a day when I have to do Official Work Things Among People, I wear pretty clothes and expensive shoes and I straighten my hair and make it SUPER SHINY and put in my contacts and put on makeup.
Basically, I’m Batman. But, you know, like the Batman of freelancers. No one would ever see flip-flop-wearing, crazy-haired, naked-face me at the supermarket and suspect that I clean up to look like a reasonable professional. I mean, I guess I could look that put together all the time, but, uh, see item 2 above.
Given this information, a Beauty Crisis sounds unlikely, and yet… I have them every couple of years. I’m having one RIGHT NOW. read more…
Happy truths with unhappy (also true) addendums
The accusation that bloggers tend to give only the happy, shiny bits of their lives—or, conversely, only the tragedies—is a valid criticism. It’s easy to be all YAY FLOWERS AND SUNSHINE and equally easy to be all BOO WAH DRAMA DESPAIR. As for me, I feel like I’m… well, sort of like that in real life? Clearly my black-and-white, all-good-or-all-bad apples didn’t fall all that far from the emotional dysregulation tree, is all I’m saying. Also, stop looking at me like that.
I try to strike a balance, both online and off. I know that shades of gray are (generally speaking) more “true” than black and white (and not THOSE kinds of shades of gray, either, you pervert). I also know I have a tendency to either see something shiny or not quite know how to feel about a particular detail of a situation and then I kind of leave you hanging. I’m not doing it on purpose, I’ve just sort of wandered off or marinated in my own delicate feels and gone silent. Upon reflection I can see where this would make the average reader want to punch me in the face, sometimes. I apologize. Please don’t punch me, because I’m a delicate flower.
So, without further ado: Allow me to attempt to catch you up! read more…
Now we need a new motto
Monkey is home again! You may not know this, but I really, really like that kid. He’s swell. He’s also funny and extremely good-looking (in my completely unbiased opinion, of course). And I have a real weakness for humans who used to live inside my body.
That said, our family motto when it comes to playing games has long been, “It’s not a game until someone’s crying.” And… well, let’s not mince words: It’s usually Monkey. True, he’s the youngest, and yes, when you’re Mr. Rules it can be hard to accept that there’s an element of chance (or a rule you don’t like), but it’s made me into someone who gives a little involuntary shudder when someone suggests we should play a game.
Until now, that is. Monkey is home, and this week on Alpha Mom I’m sharing about an unexpected Scrabble surprise from him. (Have I mentioned how much I like that kid? SO MUCH.)
The Antpocalypse
I remember when I first moved to Georgia and became acquainted with the fresh hell that is the palmetto bug (motto: we’re too genteel to admit we’re roaches!), at some point as I sat huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth and trying to find my happy place, I had this vaguely reassuring thought about how “at least they don’t have those awful little house ants.”
You know the ones I’m talking about, right? Every summer in New England, there would be a beautiful morning when you would wake up, listen to the birds chirping, go downstairs, and discover that your entire kitchen was now covered in ants. And let’s not even talk about that time when I was in grad school in California and I’d come home after a long day, flopped down on the couch with a box of Cheerios, and was on maybe my third or fourth handful when I discovered the entire box was FILLED WITH ANTS. (I am involuntarily writhing in disgust, just remembering it.) Palmetto bugs are at least easy to spot and completely unapologetic about how gross they are. Plus they tend to travel alone. But those tiny ants are all DUDES, PARTY THIS WAY, I FOUND A CRUMB! And suddenly you’re tracing the ant railroad from your kitchen counter, up the wall, along the ceiling, around the corner, and out the door.
But at least here in the south we have a Bug Guy, so no biggie, right? Uh, right. Except for the part where he’s not like Batman or anything, and after I make the HELP, WE’RE DROWNING IN ANTS phone call, we still have to wait a day for him to come spray (again). read more…
Sleepless preschoolers have nothing on this kid
One of my favorite parts of our visit with Kira—and please brace yourself for hysterical laughter from her when I say this—is that her 4-year-old doesn’t sleep. Mind you, Kira has nothing but my most heartfelt sympathy that she has been blessed with a child who has 1,001 excuses for why she cannot POSSIBLY go to sleep just yet, but it’s not MY kid who refuses to sleep, so for me, it’s kind of amazing to observe. Because Sophia is wee and lovely and delicate and she needs some water, no, some milk, and she needs her music, and her dolly, and she didn’t say goodnight to everyone yet, and she needs another hug, and did she say ALL her prayers, and what about the moths, did you get rid of all the moths?, and come to think of it she’s kind of hungry, and that shadow looks like something, and where is the kitty right now and WAIT she didn’t say goodnight to the dog yet, and and and AND AND.
The kid is a pro, is my point. (Also, it should go without saying that Kira and her husband are saints. Somehow Sophia ended up asleep, eventually, every night, and they never seemed particularly frustrated or bleary-eyed. I think one or both of them might be part unicorn.)
Anyway. As impressive as I found this nightly display, it turns out that Sophia was apparently something of an inspiration to MY child. You know, my FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD? Who is FAR TOO GROWN-UP to engage in similar delay tactics? Yeah, that one. read more…
Don’t be a Thelma
Given the news that’s coming out of the Supreme Court today, this feels kind of selfish and unimportant, in comparison, but… well, I’m thinking no one wants to see my victory dance or hear my scintillating commentary (mostly consisting of, “Hey, today I don’t hate everyone!”), so instead you get this.
This one was hard to write. I made Chickadee proof it for me and confirm that it was okay for me to share. I think it’s important, but I never want my child to feel like she has an obligation to be an object lesson for anyone. The upshot is that friends should be kind to each other, and that goes double for when you have a friend facing difficult and often misunderstood issues. Also, everything I ever needed to learn about how to be a reasonable human came from children’s books.
So please come on over to Alpha Mom today, because chances are your kids are eventually going to have friends struggling with mental health stuff, and I hope you’ll help them to be good friends rather than encouraging them to be judgmental jerks.
Desperate times, etc.
I was having trouble coming up with a good way of expressing it that didn’t sound trite, I guess. Ebb and flow! Sunrise, sunset! One step forward, two steps back! The course of true love and/or parenting never did run smooth!
But, you know. There’s only so many ways to say “hey, no biggie, but this week is kind of feeling like a slog and I am tired.” Otto did a lot of traveling this month and I miss him when he’s gone; whether she’ll ever admit it or not, I think Chickadee does, too. So by this past weekend, we two ladies (using that term ever-so-loosely) (though not implying we are loose, mind you) were well and truly sick of each other and working one another’s very last nerve.
Thankfully, Otto came back last night, and I told him to STOP LEAVING US, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. He agreed, mostly because he was done traveling, anyway. Yay!
Truly, his return wasn’t a moment too soon, because things here had become dire. read more…