The show must go on!
Chickadee is trying a half-day back at school today. She’s been out for three weeks; I’m pretty sure dropping her off for the first day of kindergarten was easier than this morning. I put on a brave face to counter her nerves, got her settled, then cried all the way home. Fun!
And in the midst of everything else, I’m still going to be in The Vagina Monologues this week, because somehow I never gathered up the brain cells to say, “Hey, Self, perhaps you have a little too much going on right now to continue with this particular non-essential commitment?” I just kept reminding myself that it’s a charity benefit and somehow—even though I’ve missed half the rehearsals—this week it’s do or die. (Or, um, be embarrassed.)
As a delightful distraction from the rest of what’s going on right now, I offer you my post today at Off Our Chests, dealing with my recent adventures in makeup, courtesy of the show. (Spoiler: I’m still a complete dork.)
A reminder
If nothing else, I’m learning to sit with helplessness these days. I think Chickie is, too. It sucks (especially for control freaks like us). We are both learning and relearning how to take charge of what we can, and to surrender the rest. Did I mention that it sucks?
While Chickadee was in the hospital I found myself browsing Etsy—I don’t even know what I was looking for, really—and I ended up finding this:
(Image shamelessly stolen from Berkey Designs because I love them and hope you will, too. Beautiful craftsmanship, fast shipping, and pretty wrapping, too.)
I bought it for my daughter, and since it arrived she hasn’t taken it off. I hope it helps her remember.
Meanwhile, back at Hippie School
I don’t know if you know this, but it is hugely inconvenient to have more than one child to care for when you have a sick kid. Who knew, right? Extremely poor planning on my part, to be sure.
Having the stress of trying to take care of one sick kid while making sure the well one doesn’t end up sad and neglected is like a special Suckage Bonus Prize. There were points at which I was honestly more worried about Monkey than Chickadee; once she was in the hospital, at least I knew she was safe and being taken care of, whereas with Monkey, he was worried and weepy and to top it off, we kept having to leave him to go be with her. (Hey, did you know that in many critical care settings hospitals don’t allow visitors under the age of 16? Because keeping your little sibling from coming and giving you a hug is just GOOD MEDICINE.) (Related: I’m a little bitter, yes.)
So: I was worried about how hard this was going to be on Monkey. But Monkey pretty much ended up being the superstar of this entire fiasco, and that’s due in no small part to Hippie School. read more…
I do believe in fairies, I do
The first thing I need to do is offer up a great big group hug to all of you ravishingly pretty people who commented and emailed and kept my little family in your thoughts when I so rudely up and announced I needed to go silent for a while. I’m not sure what I thought was going to happen when I did that—I wasn’t really thinking about the possible reaction, only that I needed to get away from the computer—but I was pleasantly overwhelmed by how kind and patient you’ve all been. So thank you for that, so much.
The second thing I need to do is explain that I am often guilty of what we refer to as “magical thinking” tendencies. As in: As long as I don’t say this thing out loud, it isn’t true. Or: If I say this thing out loud, it will JINX IT. No need to point out how utterly crazypants that is, because I’m well aware, believe me. But I’m just laying it out for you, by way of explanation. Sometimes this is how I think.
That’s what happened two weeks ago. I couldn’t say what was true, because it was too scary; and I couldn’t say what I hoped, because saying it might mess it up.
Crazy, I know. In my defense, I was really, really scared. read more…
So. Um. Yeah.
I can’t remember where I got it from… a long ago friend started it, I think… but there used to be a group of us who would follow any awkward silence or unprecedented/weird turn of conversation with, “Hey, did you catch that game? You know… the one… they play with… that ball?” None of us were sports fans, and it was basically just code for “Ooooooh, awkward. Moving on!”
That is how I’m currently feeling. Did you catch that game?
I would like to walk away from the computer for a few days or a week and not talk or write for a while, as 2012 continues to kick my ass so hard I’m beginning to shift from “2013 will be better” to “just survive until 2013.” It is rare for me to hit a patch so difficult I can’t even write my way through it, but that’s kind of where I am.
“You can’t just let the blog go dark,” Otto said to me, as we discussed the possibilities. He grinned and added, “The rumor mill will start up! People will assume we’re getting divorced!” We laughed, then, just for a second.
So: We’re fine. Otto remains my rock and my favorite. We’re all going to get through this latest set of hurdles and be okay. I believe that with every fiber of my being that controls my INTELLECTUAL brain-pieces. My EMOTIONAL brain-pieces are not faring quite so well, however, and they just need a brief break. Bear with me for a few days, please.
So a few of you have asked…
… how The Vagina Monologues is going. It’s going! I am rusty, much rustier than I expected. I mean, sure, getting up on stage is just like riding a bike in that I guess you kind of have this kinesthetic memory that doesn’t forget how it all works, but on the other hand, I’m guessing that if you hadn’t ridden a bike for twenty years and then hopped on one, it wouldn’t be the smoothest ride, either. I’m working on it (and feeling ooooold).
But! The people are great, the show is fabulous, and I am having oodles of fun. Also: I now own faux-snakeskin skinny jeans. YES. Purchased specifically for the show, though it is my teenager’s deepest fear that I will spontaneously go all cougar and wear them out in public at random, for the express purpose of mortifying her. (Otto did get a funny little glint in his eye when I modeled them for him, but still, not gonna happen.)
While I’m telling you about the show, though, I’ll direct you over to my post today at Off Our Chests—I’m thinking about the implications of certain words and what it may mean to rethink some of our assumptions. (Hint: female anatomy ahoy, y’all.)
It’s not contagious
We had a pretty uneventful weekend, here. We watched football (go Patriots!). We grumbled about the weather. I swore I was going to do laundry and go grocery shopping and then I did lots of laundry but neglected to go grocery shopping, which meant that this morning I packed everyone a delicious lunch of various odds and ends, and have hereby sworn that TODAY, no really, today, I SWEAR, I’ll go get groceries.
The kids saw their dad. Chickadee’s quiz bowl team defeated their most loathed rival team at Regionals but ultimately didn’t go on to State. While they were doing that, I was at play rehearsal and Otto staked out the District Science Fair, where all the kids who were busy at the Bowl were winning at the Fair but couldn’t be there. (Chickadee’s project—which was a DRAHHHMAAAAHHH of epic proportions for several months—has now taken first place in category at both school and district levels, and she is now on to Regionals still vowing that nothing less than first place will do. So glad she’s not putting any pressure on herself. Ahem.)
Otto and I didn’t do anything special, really. We shuffled the kids around and worked in our respective offices and played with the dog and ate popcorn and tended to the minutiae of daily life, and never once did I stop to think OMG OUR MARRIAGE COULD IMPLODE AT ANY MOMENT. read more…
Lost dogs and four-pawed messages
I may have mentioned before that sometimes there’s a dog at Hippie School; the director was bringing her almost every day, for a while. This dog and Monkey immediately became the best of friends, because Monkey loves animals and Star is a saintly paragon of patience when it comes to children flinging themselves all over her.
It was reported to me on more than one occasion that when Monkey was having a difficult time, either he would spontaneously go bury his face in Star or she would go to him and sit on his feet. (It must be noted here that Licorice is also very patient with Monkey, but at 12 pounds, it’s not as though she can actually anchor him the way a large dog can, and that’s aside from the fact that if he’s truly freaking out, she gets scared.) Just one more benefit of Hippie School, right?
One day last week Monkey came home absolutely despondent. “Star ran away,” he told me, eyes brimming with tears. “She was probably just chasing something and got lost. She didn’t come back.” read more…
Picture me holding a lighter in solidarity
Hey, guess what. I like the Internet. I like freedom of speech. I do not like SOPA or PIPA.
Rather than blacking out my site or lecturing you, allow me to refer you to The Oatmeal’s excellent explanation of why this matters. Enjoy.
Kids today, man
In the midst of angst and hand-wringing, I sometimes find it helpful to remember that my kids have survived worse. Even more comforting, in a bizarro sort of way, is remembering that I survived MUCH worse, and what’s more, back then—in the Stone Age, you know—no one even though it was much of a big deal.
Clearly I just need to toughen these kids up. Put ’em to work, maybe, or force them to walk to school in the snow. Except we don’t have any snow, and nowadays that would probably be considered child abuse. Heh.
Today I’m over at Off Our Chests, reflecting on some differences between my childhood and theirs, and how it either means everything is going to work out okay, or maybe just that they should get off my lawn. Either way. Come on over and weigh in.