Suz tagged me for this series of questions and I can't resist. Not because I'm a total nerd, shut up. Clearly she thinks I have a fantastically naughty side (c'mon, I'm BAD MOM), with lots of sizzling secrets I'm dying to share. So here goes - you sensitive readers may have to shield your eyes occasionally...
This Summer Have You...
1. Had a boyfriend or girlfriend? Imaginary boyfriends, of course (they pay no attention to my moods), and girlfriends? YES, on trampolines, having pillow fights, in our underwear. Every day.
2. Told someone I love you? Oh yes
3. Cried? Oh yes
4. Wanted someone you couldn’t have? Well, not really.
5. Been to the beach? A Hawaiian one actually; I'd like to say I rolled around on the one seen in "From Here to Eternity." But I did not.
6. Talked on the phone all night? You obviously aren't aware of my hate/hate relationship with the telephone. No.
8. Stayed up all night? Not since the PTA auction. Wooooooo! I'm a hellraiser.
9. Went shopping? I don't like your accusatory tone.
10. Went swimming? (This is the sound of me laughing so hard I can't breathe)
11. Been out of state? Yes, Hawaii (and I cross the river into Oregon everyday...Kind of anticlimatic that trip is though)
12. Been asked out? I like to think my husband is "asking me out" when we have dates; seems more exciting that way.
13. Asked someone out? That's what I'm doing when I say "Please call your dad to see if he can watch the kids TONIGHT."
14. Gotten into a car with a stranger? Strange people, yes, but not technically strangers
15. Lost someone close? Thankfully no. Would that be a secret??
16. Slept in someone else’s bed? Why as a matter of fact, YES. My parents' guest bed, a futon in the campsite yurt, and the hotel at Waikiki
17. Had someone sleep in your bed? The frickin' cat hides in there sometimes...
18. Been drunk? Of course not. That's ridiculous. (Look at my straight face! I should win an Oscar)
19. Been to a club? Not yet, she says mysteriously...
20. Been grounded? Wait a minute - are these questions for teenagers?
21. Ran? Let's see, been chased this summer by an axe murderer? No.
22. Regret something? Regret bores me.
23. Been dumped? Not that he hasn't likely pondered it a couple of times...but no.
24. Lied? Certainly not. Did that count?
25. Done anything against the law? (Shield your eyes, sensitive readers!) I have jaywalked, driven over the speed limit, and...oh wait, that's only against the law in certain states.
26. Been camping? Yes, ask the squirrel about it.
27. Been in a fight? I like Suz's term - "heated discussions." There was no blood. A few tears. Sweat afterward.
28. Stayed at a hotel? Yup
29. Flirted with someone? Not that I know of...
30. Skinny dipped? That's kind of like swimming, right? See #10.
31. Gone to a concert? Harry Connick, Jr. at the beginning of June; Fountains of Wayne next month! Eeeeeeeeeeee! They will groan at the sight of me.
32. Gotten in a car crash? Not for lack of trying (JOKE!)
34. Almost died? Figuratively, all the time. Literally, um no. (Again, doubt that would be a secret)
35. Met a celebrity? Alas, Vancouver is not a hot bed of celebrity. Although I imagine I see them all the time, because I am a little delusional. I will post about that soon.
___________________________
Tag Mama Milton and anyone else who reads this & has a blog. I'm nice like that (and without many blogger friends...*sob*). If you are indeed taking this on from here, please post your link in my comments! That'd be swell.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
but i really neeeeded the ritva!
In fact, I'm using it right now and it feels so good. It's the cushion on my darling but back-wrenchingly uncomfortable old folding chair, weirdo. Only $5.99 at IKEA today! The cushion that is; the chair cost maybe a dollar a bunch of years ago at a garage sale - the stain to make it pretty and the extra screws to make it usable probably still cost less than the fabulous Ritva.
Yes, I ventured to our new IKEA near the Portland airport today. I avoided the insanity of the grand opening last week, mainly because I was still clinging to the idea that I could continue to be a Compacter, but also because I cannot maintain my famously sweet and tolerant disposition when surrounded by maniacal shoppers. And when I heard that there were clowns and trapeze artists and yellow-shirted workers clapping shoppers through a human gauntlet, I shouted a "Hallelujah, praise Jesus I stayed home." Because I might have grabbed the nearest Bjorlak and started swinging...
I thought, like a normal person might, that the store would be open when I arrived at 9:20 but no. It's on Euro business time apparently. They let us in at 9:30 to enjoy the cafe, but we weren't allowed into the "showroom" until 10:00. I was surprised by a few things (besides the silly opening time): the number of people with their small (decidedly crabby) children in tow, the number of senior citizens raring to get in, and the fact that all of these people were having breakfast while they waited. Breakfast at IKEA. Just doesn't have the same ring as the classic movie, does it? Even if "Moon River" started playing on the intercom, I wouldn't be moved to purchase a meal. Maybe if the young George Peppard strolled in with a plate of Swedish eggs and bacon...Maybe. He'd have to be singing, and only to me. And of course I would suddenly look like Audrey Hepburn and the world would be better.
Anyway. I strolled through the showroom tableaux, which I immediately, irrationally loved and wanted to replicate throughout my house (as the IKEA devils planned). But then they started to irritate me with their perfection - where were the stacks of half-read magazines, the dirty inside-out socks, the piles of random papers of mysterious importance? Oh, I know. They are all out of sight in the precious Snarflog boxes and Grenluk baskets, which are only $4.99 each! But I would need, oh, five hundred of them! Grrr. Or, in Swedish, something like Garrrr.
I had a few moments of angst over adorable rugs for my kids' rooms and a different chair for my sacred space and, of course, an entire new kitchen. But I settled with the good ol' Ritva, a ceramic pot for the languishing lavender by my porch, two skirt hangers (they won't let me have them at Goodwill! Believe me, I've tried; they probably have my picture at every register), and a package of striped napkins (no chlorine bleach!). Grand total = just under $16. Thank you and haj de (which IKEA says means "goodbye" but I translated it online to "shark they." Just as I suspected...)
Yes, I ventured to our new IKEA near the Portland airport today. I avoided the insanity of the grand opening last week, mainly because I was still clinging to the idea that I could continue to be a Compacter, but also because I cannot maintain my famously sweet and tolerant disposition when surrounded by maniacal shoppers. And when I heard that there were clowns and trapeze artists and yellow-shirted workers clapping shoppers through a human gauntlet, I shouted a "Hallelujah, praise Jesus I stayed home." Because I might have grabbed the nearest Bjorlak and started swinging...
I thought, like a normal person might, that the store would be open when I arrived at 9:20 but no. It's on Euro business time apparently. They let us in at 9:30 to enjoy the cafe, but we weren't allowed into the "showroom" until 10:00. I was surprised by a few things (besides the silly opening time): the number of people with their small (decidedly crabby) children in tow, the number of senior citizens raring to get in, and the fact that all of these people were having breakfast while they waited. Breakfast at IKEA. Just doesn't have the same ring as the classic movie, does it? Even if "Moon River" started playing on the intercom, I wouldn't be moved to purchase a meal. Maybe if the young George Peppard strolled in with a plate of Swedish eggs and bacon...Maybe. He'd have to be singing, and only to me. And of course I would suddenly look like Audrey Hepburn and the world would be better.
Anyway. I strolled through the showroom tableaux, which I immediately, irrationally loved and wanted to replicate throughout my house (as the IKEA devils planned). But then they started to irritate me with their perfection - where were the stacks of half-read magazines, the dirty inside-out socks, the piles of random papers of mysterious importance? Oh, I know. They are all out of sight in the precious Snarflog boxes and Grenluk baskets, which are only $4.99 each! But I would need, oh, five hundred of them! Grrr. Or, in Swedish, something like Garrrr.
I had a few moments of angst over adorable rugs for my kids' rooms and a different chair for my sacred space and, of course, an entire new kitchen. But I settled with the good ol' Ritva, a ceramic pot for the languishing lavender by my porch, two skirt hangers (they won't let me have them at Goodwill! Believe me, I've tried; they probably have my picture at every register), and a package of striped napkins (no chlorine bleach!). Grand total = just under $16. Thank you and haj de (which IKEA says means "goodbye" but I translated it online to "shark they." Just as I suspected...)
Monday, July 30, 2007
no whammies!
It's not really a game show exactly, but you do have an opportunity to win fabulous prizes. And without having to leap like a lunatic and shout weird things - bonus!
Go here for a chance at delicious organic dairy products from Horizon (I'm gunning for it, too, though - we heart the boxes of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry milks). Enter by this Wednesday!
And then here for a fancy LCD flat screen TV with lots of numbers and details about it that are essentially meaningless to me, but Best Buy is kind enough to sponsor the contest and I'm all about seeing Sawyer and Jack bigger & better in my living room...
I love this place!
Go here for a chance at delicious organic dairy products from Horizon (I'm gunning for it, too, though - we heart the boxes of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry milks). Enter by this Wednesday!
And then here for a fancy LCD flat screen TV with lots of numbers and details about it that are essentially meaningless to me, but Best Buy is kind enough to sponsor the contest and I'm all about seeing Sawyer and Jack bigger & better in my living room...
I love this place!
of crack spoons and toiletry bags
In the midst of my violent tumble from The Compact wagon last week, I did manage to do some right things. We needed to replace our lost-in-Hawaii toiletries bag (plus the other four I carried within it to organize all of my assorted maintenance products), and we had a list of things to make camping better. Which is to say, for me, slightly more tolerable. If there is anything that makes camping something I truly look forward to (besides the quality family time, yeah yeah), it's the purchasing and organizing of supplies. So I headed to Salvation Army & Goodwill, lists in hand, song in my heart.
Filed under Seems Too Good to be True: A toiletry bag for $3.99 that is roomy enough to hold all of our necessities and it has a Hawaiian print. That is poetic something...
More amazing finds:
Small pouch in the exact pattern of one in the lost bag; a dozen divided plates for $2.99; a whisk and two serving spoons in good condition (read: not previously melted in a campfire), .99 each; and one of those trendy new scuba suit-like wine bottle carriers for $1.99 (holds two bottles! Which, yes, we would drink while camping, don't judge).
I also took the opportunity to add to my Oscar party flatware stash. I decided to purchase extra secondhand cutlery to use at my party because I was always running out of my regular stuff, plus there are great retro patterns at the thrift store, and it's only .29 per piece. I decided to add some fun spoons to my funky forks. Well. Let's just say the Goodwill on NE Broadway gets an interesting assortment of spoons donated. The kind that have perfect circles burned onto the bowl. Some that are still bent to an awkward (for eating) angle. You get the picture. (Unless you are my strangely naive best friend, who, though she grew up in LA, is always shocked at the meaning of words and phrases even my children probably know). I left those behind, even though one had a really cool pattern (on the handle).
Who knew shopping at thrift stores could be so adventuresome? And educational...
Filed under Seems Too Good to be True: A toiletry bag for $3.99 that is roomy enough to hold all of our necessities and it has a Hawaiian print. That is poetic something...
More amazing finds:
Small pouch in the exact pattern of one in the lost bag; a dozen divided plates for $2.99; a whisk and two serving spoons in good condition (read: not previously melted in a campfire), .99 each; and one of those trendy new scuba suit-like wine bottle carriers for $1.99 (holds two bottles! Which, yes, we would drink while camping, don't judge).
I also took the opportunity to add to my Oscar party flatware stash. I decided to purchase extra secondhand cutlery to use at my party because I was always running out of my regular stuff, plus there are great retro patterns at the thrift store, and it's only .29 per piece. I decided to add some fun spoons to my funky forks. Well. Let's just say the Goodwill on NE Broadway gets an interesting assortment of spoons donated. The kind that have perfect circles burned onto the bowl. Some that are still bent to an awkward (for eating) angle. You get the picture. (Unless you are my strangely naive best friend, who, though she grew up in LA, is always shocked at the meaning of words and phrases even my children probably know). I left those behind, even though one had a really cool pattern (on the handle).
Who knew shopping at thrift stores could be so adventuresome? And educational...
mr.whipple is 91 today
Somedays I question the inclusion of NPR in my life. Sure, I'm exposed to interesting new music and authors, and they try to include positive stories to counter all the nastiness in the world. But then I forget the names of the bands and can't make time to read the books, and the "This I Believe" essays & StoryCorps interviews leave me bawling in the shower (insert Debbie Downer wah wahhhh sound here).
And now I hear it's Mr. Whipple's birthday and he's turning 91. Of course I know he & I are not in the same demographic, but still. I remember his commercials vividly and am suddenly reminded that I have been a TV viewer for more than 30 years. I'm not in love with the idea of being an anything for more than 30 years. I pretend I'm okay with my age, but really the impending end of my thirties is kind of freaking me out. And just as I hate the twentysomethings who lament their "oldness," I hate myself for this. Intellectually, I know gaining years is nothing to stress about - there are far more important things on which to expend brain energy (NPR sob stories, for example). But if I get into a nostalgic mood (movies do this to me, especially the John Hughes so unreal-but-totally-cool ones) or if I find myself surrounded by people not old enough to remember details of the Challenger explosion or a "Welcome Back, Kotter" episode, I get maudlin. And if I realize my mood is 'maudlin,' I feel even more ancient. That's a dumb, old people word.
I want to be completely okay with all of me - my age, my hair, my knees (they're weird; don't look). Because I should be, and I routinely pound this philosophy into my kids & students. Why is everything so hard lately? Somebody bring back the easy (along with my youth, please).
And happy birthday, Mr. Whipple - may everyone keep their frickin' hands off your Charmin today. (Unless you kinda like that...I'm not judging).
And now I hear it's Mr. Whipple's birthday and he's turning 91. Of course I know he & I are not in the same demographic, but still. I remember his commercials vividly and am suddenly reminded that I have been a TV viewer for more than 30 years. I'm not in love with the idea of being an anything for more than 30 years. I pretend I'm okay with my age, but really the impending end of my thirties is kind of freaking me out. And just as I hate the twentysomethings who lament their "oldness," I hate myself for this. Intellectually, I know gaining years is nothing to stress about - there are far more important things on which to expend brain energy (NPR sob stories, for example). But if I get into a nostalgic mood (movies do this to me, especially the John Hughes so unreal-but-totally-cool ones) or if I find myself surrounded by people not old enough to remember details of the Challenger explosion or a "Welcome Back, Kotter" episode, I get maudlin. And if I realize my mood is 'maudlin,' I feel even more ancient. That's a dumb, old people word.
I want to be completely okay with all of me - my age, my hair, my knees (they're weird; don't look). Because I should be, and I routinely pound this philosophy into my kids & students. Why is everything so hard lately? Somebody bring back the easy (along with my youth, please).
And happy birthday, Mr. Whipple - may everyone keep their frickin' hands off your Charmin today. (Unless you kinda like that...I'm not judging).
Sunday, July 29, 2007
off the wagon, moaning and bleeding
Hello, my name is Stephanie and I'm a shopaholic.
[Hi, Stephanie!]
________________________________
I would be lying if I said I didn't expect things to turn out this way. I know who I am. I knew the moment my best friend, who hates shopping almost as much as I hate water sports, asked if I would go with her to the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale, that I would be breaking The Compact. The sale started the day after we got back from Hawaii; she said she would be ready to go at 7am - would I? My heart raced. Yes! I would be! So what if I got into bed after midnight? I would be ready.
I told myself it would be my Jubilee Day, one time to buy with wild abandon like the American consumer I was born to be. Nevermind that I'd already had a Jubilee Day this year, when I temporarily lost my mind at GAP and Victoria's Secret last spring. That was different, I announced to my inner party pooper; I had coupons and I needed those things. It didn't really count.
We weren't able to go first thing on Friday because of a scheduling problem; I should have taken that as a sign to stay home. And my horoscope that morning actually read "Beware of making any impulse purchases today." But it just seemed too obvious to apply; it must mean something more symbolic. Like "Look before you leap" and "Don't put all your chickens in one bucket" or whatever - they don't really mean exactly what they say. So off we went to the mall at 3pm. I was giddy.
What I want to do right now is tell you all about the fantastic stuff I bought, and what great deals they were, but I know that's not the right thing to do. Like an alcoholic after a binge describing the smooth feel of the mochatinis in her mouth, I cannot talk about the soft ribbed knit of my new organic cotton sweaters and the fabulous businessy brown pinstriped pajama pants and...See! I'm so bad.
But I can't blame the whole trainwreck on my best friend, as much as I want to because she was the one who encouraged the pajama purchase (which included an adorable, soft-as-butter sand-colored hoody sweater so I can be warm AND fashionable with my laptop at 5am). I then deliberately took my GAP and Nordstrom credit cards to Portland last week when I dropped Mason off for his acting class. I had more coupons (damn you, bonus points!) and it was all tax-free but still, my children really did not need more socks and t-shirts. And a super cute pair of espadrilles that will fit Paige next summer...Stop it! Naughty naughty shopper.
On the positive side (there must be one, or else I would just wallow in guilt the rest of the summer. Though I would look stylish doing it...), I can pay for this spree with my final paycheck from teaching. Thank goodness for the crazy pay periods! Otherwise I would have to reconstruct that form I shredded...
Now I'm trying to figure out how to get back onto The Compact wagon, because I really do believe it's a more responsible way to live. It's just hard (I'm stamping my foot and frowning here). And I so like pretty clothes. New ones, with tiny gold safety pins holding leather tags...Somebody should slap me. Just don't make me bleed on my new Jag jeans.
[Hi, Stephanie!]
________________________________
I would be lying if I said I didn't expect things to turn out this way. I know who I am. I knew the moment my best friend, who hates shopping almost as much as I hate water sports, asked if I would go with her to the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale, that I would be breaking The Compact. The sale started the day after we got back from Hawaii; she said she would be ready to go at 7am - would I? My heart raced. Yes! I would be! So what if I got into bed after midnight? I would be ready.
I told myself it would be my Jubilee Day, one time to buy with wild abandon like the American consumer I was born to be. Nevermind that I'd already had a Jubilee Day this year, when I temporarily lost my mind at GAP and Victoria's Secret last spring. That was different, I announced to my inner party pooper; I had coupons and I needed those things. It didn't really count.
We weren't able to go first thing on Friday because of a scheduling problem; I should have taken that as a sign to stay home. And my horoscope that morning actually read "Beware of making any impulse purchases today." But it just seemed too obvious to apply; it must mean something more symbolic. Like "Look before you leap" and "Don't put all your chickens in one bucket" or whatever - they don't really mean exactly what they say. So off we went to the mall at 3pm. I was giddy.
What I want to do right now is tell you all about the fantastic stuff I bought, and what great deals they were, but I know that's not the right thing to do. Like an alcoholic after a binge describing the smooth feel of the mochatinis in her mouth, I cannot talk about the soft ribbed knit of my new organic cotton sweaters and the fabulous businessy brown pinstriped pajama pants and...See! I'm so bad.
But I can't blame the whole trainwreck on my best friend, as much as I want to because she was the one who encouraged the pajama purchase (which included an adorable, soft-as-butter sand-colored hoody sweater so I can be warm AND fashionable with my laptop at 5am). I then deliberately took my GAP and Nordstrom credit cards to Portland last week when I dropped Mason off for his acting class. I had more coupons (damn you, bonus points!) and it was all tax-free but still, my children really did not need more socks and t-shirts. And a super cute pair of espadrilles that will fit Paige next summer...Stop it! Naughty naughty shopper.
On the positive side (there must be one, or else I would just wallow in guilt the rest of the summer. Though I would look stylish doing it...), I can pay for this spree with my final paycheck from teaching. Thank goodness for the crazy pay periods! Otherwise I would have to reconstruct that form I shredded...
Now I'm trying to figure out how to get back onto The Compact wagon, because I really do believe it's a more responsible way to live. It's just hard (I'm stamping my foot and frowning here). And I so like pretty clothes. New ones, with tiny gold safety pins holding leather tags...Somebody should slap me. Just don't make me bleed on my new Jag jeans.
Friday, July 27, 2007
trying hard
If you see me and I look a little tense, realize it's not you, it's me. I am doing my best to not be aggravated by every single thing in the world. It's hard right now (see previous posts). It'll be over soon, and I will no longer grouse about such things as the various helmet- and sport ball-shaped stickers proclaiming kids' names on SUV windows, or the driver who slows down for the nonexistent stop sign at the intersection in front of me, or the baristas who always change the wording of my order no matter how I try to conform it to their standards. (Who knew you could arrange the words "tall soy chai, no water" a thousand different ways?? Will Shortz, maybe, and I would still be annoyed even though I usually adore his mild-mannered geekiness). I will, however, never be okay with the Nordstrom sales clerk who told Jen, when she asked for a brown boot, "The gray is the brown." Period. Straight face. No irony whatsoever. WHO talks like this? It's ridiculous. The only good part of a statement like that is how it makes me appear far less crazy.
And I will always lose my mind a little bit every time someone says "Nordstroms," so please don't do that. I obviously don't have much mind left to lose...
And I will always lose my mind a little bit every time someone says "Nordstroms," so please don't do that. I obviously don't have much mind left to lose...
so mysterious
Okay, I get it. It's like when I have what I think is the weirdest dream ever, inexplicable, and when I tell it out loud to my best friend Jen I am struck by the obviousness of its message. So then I was in my underwear & Crocs running toward a big concrete building where there were a bunch of kids sitting around, looking bored & cynical, and a professional-looking man wearing a Nazi uniform was sitting by them and he turned to me and said "We don't want you here, but you can go back there and straighten up those shelves full of old books and papers" and I felt sad, and some of the kids called my name and gave me high fives, then I went back and started organizing stuff...Oh, yeah, well. I see where that was going. Sometimes Mark Wahlberg shows up and the dream kind of changes a little, but nevermind that now.
Same thing here in the old blog. You'd think my posts disappear into the ether after I write them. For such a seemingly thoughtful person, I am amazingly unreflective sometimes. Every month or so I have a couple grouchy entries wherein I complain about not appreciating my life. Yeah. We won't go into too many graphic details here, but can we say hormonal havoc? Hey, by the way, why is it that double H is used for so many scary & terrible things? Hanoi Hilton, Hamburger Hill, haunted houses, Hugh Hefner. Weird. Anyway.
I want to thank all of you for not pointing out this very obvious reason behind my insanity. I guess I really am a frighteningly intimidating person; that will come in handy as PTA president I think.
Same thing here in the old blog. You'd think my posts disappear into the ether after I write them. For such a seemingly thoughtful person, I am amazingly unreflective sometimes. Every month or so I have a couple grouchy entries wherein I complain about not appreciating my life. Yeah. We won't go into too many graphic details here, but can we say hormonal havoc? Hey, by the way, why is it that double H is used for so many scary & terrible things? Hanoi Hilton, Hamburger Hill, haunted houses, Hugh Hefner. Weird. Anyway.
I want to thank all of you for not pointing out this very obvious reason behind my insanity. I guess I really am a frighteningly intimidating person; that will come in handy as PTA president I think.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
mrs. krabappel
Maybe I should start graphing my mood swings and irrational behaviors. Surely a pattern would emerge, and that would help my poor, unsuspecting, trying-too-hard-to-be-nice-to-the-shrewish-me husband. See that, right there? Even in identifying him as a sweet guy, I am irritated at his kindness. There is something clearly wrong with that. He comes to rub my neck and I complain about a canker sore on my lip. He opens the trunk on the car for me and I grumble that he's doing it wrong. He chuckles about a post that I read to him because I thought it was funny, and suddenly I'm mad that he's trying to steal my friends. And I can't find the blog that made me laugh so I can provide a link for you, and am now extra grouchy.
I like to think the good news is that crazy people don't really consider themselves crazy, right? And I can definitely see the crazy here, I just can't beat it to death. Medication seems extreme, and I am not at all judging anyone choosing that route; I am just myself a big fat baby. I don't like to take anything even for headaches and not because I'm a martyr (shut up). It goes back to that control thing I have going on. A dermatologist prescribed some drugs for me last year that gave the pharmacist pause when I picked them up. Apparently they were a strong dosage for high blood pressure, and here I am with a tendency toward low blood pressure already. The pharmacist asserted that I should only take them at bedtime. I am a rule follower but even so, the barely making it out of the bathroom before collapsing onto our bed was a little alarming. I'll keep the acne, thanks.
I worry that my children are going to be affected by this loony side of me, which gives me guilt, which I hate because frankly it's a time-waster. So I'm back to angry. I'm trying to stay away from people I love, so don't be offended if you are one of them. It's for your own good. Pretend I have tuberculosis. (But it will be cured before I travel out of the country, I promise).
I like to think the good news is that crazy people don't really consider themselves crazy, right? And I can definitely see the crazy here, I just can't beat it to death. Medication seems extreme, and I am not at all judging anyone choosing that route; I am just myself a big fat baby. I don't like to take anything even for headaches and not because I'm a martyr (shut up). It goes back to that control thing I have going on. A dermatologist prescribed some drugs for me last year that gave the pharmacist pause when I picked them up. Apparently they were a strong dosage for high blood pressure, and here I am with a tendency toward low blood pressure already. The pharmacist asserted that I should only take them at bedtime. I am a rule follower but even so, the barely making it out of the bathroom before collapsing onto our bed was a little alarming. I'll keep the acne, thanks.
I worry that my children are going to be affected by this loony side of me, which gives me guilt, which I hate because frankly it's a time-waster. So I'm back to angry. I'm trying to stay away from people I love, so don't be offended if you are one of them. It's for your own good. Pretend I have tuberculosis. (But it will be cured before I travel out of the country, I promise).
duality part 2
Kind of like Rock and Roll (Part 2) but without the sing-along...or the [alleged] pedophile musician. Of course.
________________________________________
Previously, I had explored duality in the world. Today I revisit the topic regarding myself. I have been feeling torn about my future - no one is hiring me to teach my own classes (Stu wonders if they've been reading my blog, but geez, it's not like I'm looking for Mr. Goodbar on here), and I am becoming ambivalent about substituting. I even shredded the SIGN AND RETURN THIS OR NEVER BE CALLED AGAIN! form from one district. It felt good. I focused on the feeling of liberation rather than the sound of hundreds of dollars per month being cut into tiny pieces. I am irritated that I apparently made myself too expensive by earning a MEd while staying home with my children. (Silly me, I considered it a GOOD thing to advance my education). Or, alternately, they just don't like me. Huh. That seems crazy and highly unlikely. Impossible even, wouldn't you say?
So anyway, here's the duality part - I so love teaching, but I also love when I'm not.
When I get to a school, I am nervous but inspired about the day. Not knowing how something is going to go normally makes me wiggly (in an unfun way), but somehow in the classroom it feels alright. I look forward to amazing everyone (okay, not everyone - they are teenagers) with my ability to memorize names within 10 minutes. (I'm actually really excited about doing that party trick at BlogHer next year, too - just you wait!) And it is a joyous thing to be involved with growing brains and broadening horizons. Thinking about putting together my own classroom again makes me giddy, fervent, vibrant - because I genuinely enjoy sharing myself and my knowledge, creativity, compassion, understanding, my general joie de vivre (though I don't dare teach French) with adolescents. This is not to say I don't enjoy smaller children (like my own), but I am definitely a better educator with the crowd that gets sarcasm and won't burst into tears when I use my teacher voice.
But really, my favorite mornings are when I prepare my kids breakfast, put lunches together, make Stu's coffee, read Harry Potter before the bus comes. It makes me happy to wave at them from the porch. I love having whole days to do laundry (totally serious) and write stuff, read stuff, make cards out of my photos. I enjoy grocery shopping, especially for frozen foods; I could spend all day in that aisle...(Kidding, darling husband who is planning a trip for my 40th birthday next year. Love you!). I really like when I can tidy the house and leisurely put together a decent - maybe even delectable! - dinner. And it feels good to be involved at my kids' school, even though it is a haven of those small people I sometimes scare. I try to think of them as sweet little Hobbits and it's fine.
I feel sad about the prospect of letting go of my Teacher self. Yet I like the idea of being a real writer, who makes time to actually write regularly and sometimes *gasp* gets paid for it. I'm still hoping for the perfect blend of teaching a couple of classes then having the rest of the day to write, take pictures, plan meals around frozen items...Stay tuned.
________________________________________
Previously, I had explored duality in the world. Today I revisit the topic regarding myself. I have been feeling torn about my future - no one is hiring me to teach my own classes (Stu wonders if they've been reading my blog, but geez, it's not like I'm looking for Mr. Goodbar on here), and I am becoming ambivalent about substituting. I even shredded the SIGN AND RETURN THIS OR NEVER BE CALLED AGAIN! form from one district. It felt good. I focused on the feeling of liberation rather than the sound of hundreds of dollars per month being cut into tiny pieces. I am irritated that I apparently made myself too expensive by earning a MEd while staying home with my children. (Silly me, I considered it a GOOD thing to advance my education). Or, alternately, they just don't like me. Huh. That seems crazy and highly unlikely. Impossible even, wouldn't you say?
So anyway, here's the duality part - I so love teaching, but I also love when I'm not.
When I get to a school, I am nervous but inspired about the day. Not knowing how something is going to go normally makes me wiggly (in an unfun way), but somehow in the classroom it feels alright. I look forward to amazing everyone (okay, not everyone - they are teenagers) with my ability to memorize names within 10 minutes. (I'm actually really excited about doing that party trick at BlogHer next year, too - just you wait!) And it is a joyous thing to be involved with growing brains and broadening horizons. Thinking about putting together my own classroom again makes me giddy, fervent, vibrant - because I genuinely enjoy sharing myself and my knowledge, creativity, compassion, understanding, my general joie de vivre (though I don't dare teach French) with adolescents. This is not to say I don't enjoy smaller children (like my own), but I am definitely a better educator with the crowd that gets sarcasm and won't burst into tears when I use my teacher voice.
But really, my favorite mornings are when I prepare my kids breakfast, put lunches together, make Stu's coffee, read Harry Potter before the bus comes. It makes me happy to wave at them from the porch. I love having whole days to do laundry (totally serious) and write stuff, read stuff, make cards out of my photos. I enjoy grocery shopping, especially for frozen foods; I could spend all day in that aisle...(Kidding, darling husband who is planning a trip for my 40th birthday next year. Love you!). I really like when I can tidy the house and leisurely put together a decent - maybe even delectable! - dinner. And it feels good to be involved at my kids' school, even though it is a haven of those small people I sometimes scare. I try to think of them as sweet little Hobbits and it's fine.
I feel sad about the prospect of letting go of my Teacher self. Yet I like the idea of being a real writer, who makes time to actually write regularly and sometimes *gasp* gets paid for it. I'm still hoping for the perfect blend of teaching a couple of classes then having the rest of the day to write, take pictures, plan meals around frozen items...Stay tuned.
Monday, July 23, 2007
we are those people
For the sadly Hogwarts-ignorant readers, left to right: Neighbor Quinn as Harry Potter, his brother Kylen as a rather wicked-looking Ron Weasley, my Paige appropriately the brilliant, levelheaded (and wild-haired) Hermione Granger, and my boy with a perfected sneer as Draco Malfoy.
I appreciate that many people think I'm grooming my children for a Trekkie adulthood by allowing them to dress up as fictional characters and head out into public. My philosophy is this, however: Give them the freedom with a passive, nonjudgmental face while they're young (and it's still cute) and it might just satisfy some later rebellious/weird urges. For example, last summer we encouraged Mason to finally get the Mohawk he kept crowing about. He was wary of our permissiveness but went through with the haircut; six weeks later it was boring. We hope that when he's fifteen and feels like "threatening" us with doing something crazy to his hair, the reminder that we'd been there & done that - when he was SEVEN - will take the edge off. Of course that might backfire and he'll instead covertly get something tattooed or pierced, but we're committed to then whacking him frequently wherever he's inked or punctured.
So far in my life as a mom, I've been grocery shopping with Zorro, video renting with Spider-Man, and selling brownies in the neighborhood with Willy Wonka. You might be picking up on the fact that these are all male characters. Paige is inclined to occasionally dress like a famous sidekick, but most of the time she would rather lie low in the fantasy parade. Sometimes she seems more of a Goth girl in the making - she insisted on wearing her black spider t-shirt for the kindergarten school picture, and her look in it is as close to "Fuck you" as a five-year old can get. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this possibility, but I am confident in her practical nature and nothing says "impractical" quite like vinyl dresses, stiletto boots, and layers of makeup.
Now off we go again, into the wizarding world and beyond. Join us, if you dare...
Sunday, July 22, 2007
terror on the calm seas
I am removed enough from the situation that I can now speak freely about my kayak experience. I hesitate to call it a "panic attack," because I am not generally a panicker, but I am a control freak and that description screams OUT OF CONTROL. I like to think I was totally in control when I demanded, two minutes into the trip, that we return to the beach. I made a conscious decision to stop paddling; I seemed to be a hindrance to our progress, plus my hyperventilating was interfering with what little skill I had for the task. My He-Man husband single-handedly (well, I guess he used two hands, but it was still impressive) got us safely back on solid ground before I could completely entertain visions of falling overboard and being eaten by sharks. Nevermind that these kayaks don't tip easily and the ocean was pretty smooth, and sharks would rather be out eating all the tropical fish swimming away from the four hundred snorkelers on the island. Somehow I freaked out and that was that. Poor Stu got to man a two person kayak out to Lanikai Beach while I hoofed down to meet him. Which involved a little more not-quite-panicking when I reached the place where the beach ended - who knew? Just a sheer rock wall and waves splashing (menacingly, I thought) against it. I had to backtrack the hundred yards I'd gained, head up a hill past all the beachfront homes, then cut between them to the beach. After which I collapsed next to 'our' kayak and took pictures of my feet in the sand before calling a restaurant to make reservations for dinner. Then I read a little bit and took a quick nap. Sadly, I think the whole Hawaiian beach atmosphere is wasted on this land-clinging girl. I can hear the collective shaking of heads from water lovers cyber-worldwide. I'm so ashamed.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
long way home
(Author's note: Wrote this on the plane Thursday; posted from home after two days of recovery/shopping at Nordstrom Anniversary Sale/reading new Harry Potter)
I'm stuck in one of those 'bad news/good news' scenarios. You know - Bad news: I'm being chased by bandits! Good news: They all look like Gael Garcia Bernal!
I have to itemize the contents of our lost toiletries bag, which is not only tedious (I am so high maintenance) but also sad (I'd packed my awesome 'fierce chick' necklace in there). Yet - good news! - Stu loaded my fun new playlists onto the iPod and I'm listening to the "lovey dovey" mix. I just took a moment to lip sync some Olivia Newton-John and am now groovin' to Elvis Costello.
Bad news: Still stuck in 24D for another 3 hours. Good news: I'm watching a movie of my choice as soon as the kids finish TMNT - that's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for you unhip grown-ups out there (Yeah, I had to be told, too. Followed by a "Duh.")
Okay, back to listing all the amenities I had taken for granted (Bad news). But it's almost time for our in-flight meal- good news! I hope...
I'm stuck in one of those 'bad news/good news' scenarios. You know - Bad news: I'm being chased by bandits! Good news: They all look like Gael Garcia Bernal!
I have to itemize the contents of our lost toiletries bag, which is not only tedious (I am so high maintenance) but also sad (I'd packed my awesome 'fierce chick' necklace in there). Yet - good news! - Stu loaded my fun new playlists onto the iPod and I'm listening to the "lovey dovey" mix. I just took a moment to lip sync some Olivia Newton-John and am now groovin' to Elvis Costello.
Bad news: Still stuck in 24D for another 3 hours. Good news: I'm watching a movie of my choice as soon as the kids finish TMNT - that's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for you unhip grown-ups out there (Yeah, I had to be told, too. Followed by a "Duh.")
Okay, back to listing all the amenities I had taken for granted (Bad news). But it's almost time for our in-flight meal- good news! I hope...
Monday, July 16, 2007
travelin' gal
Lists from the trip, pre-kayak panic attack (more later, thankfully not on the 11 o'clock news).
delusions on the airplane
delusions on the airplane
- my children would be models of filial harmony, politeness, & common sense
- i would love reading magazines for 5 hours straight
- no babies would scream relentlessly
- my laptop battery would not die
- the mexican chicken meal would be delicious
- i packed all the right books for my children's enjoyment
- i would not have cause to believe the adorable couple next to us was having sex under their blankets
- someone might give me a backrub (without following it with a request to imitate the adorable couple)
- i would not be asked 57 times when we would get there
- the variations of solitaire offered by microsoft games would not numb my brain within 10 minutes
- stu & i might agree on a movie to watch together that didn't involve guns, profanity, and chasing (alas, 'the namesake' lost to 'smokin aces' - thus, i write)
- surely i couldn't eat an entire dozen chocolate chip cookies before we land
on the sunny side
- our bags were not searched by dogs or grouchy guards
- i was able to buy gum before we boarded (i can't get the following space to go away! sorry for the bad formatting; hope it doesn't make you as crazy as it makes me. i need medication for this i think...)
- we had a window seat, plus one empty spot in our row for stretching
- there was very little complaining about food & drink choices (by adults and children alike)
- the digEplayer 5500 was a Godsend and bargain at $15 (even though i didn't get to watch my movie *sigh*)
- the screaming baby was silenced after about 20 minutes (i did not ask how...as a mom of former infants i condone everything short of violence, including hard liquor in small doses)
- gameboy batteries last a long time
- we're landing in hawaii!
Friday, July 13, 2007
camping, in a spicy wasabi nutshell
I actually had fun camping the past couple of days. I know. Let me just direct you to my list blog, for a quick rundown of what I enjoy and what I intensely dislike about this particular pastime. And later I will give a more in-depth and potentially humorous account of our trip. Right now I'm tired and have to get ready for our Hawaiian vacation. Insert jealous reaction here.
See you again soon (I can see you, you know...Your visits show up on my page. And when you don't comment, I'm sad. A little irritated, actually. Please talk to me).
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
don't wake me, it's fun in my world
My dairy guy has returned! Now he's Freezer Guy but no matter, I'm adaptable. Chances are I have more reasons to linger in the frozen foods section anyway; one can only spend so much time around yogurt & butter before looking suspicious. Or pathetic.
Let me relay the story of my Wednesday, junior high-style; it's so much more fun that way. So I was finishing grocery shopping for our camping trip - wait, here's the junior high part: I was wearing my Old Navy jeans that I cut off at the knees in a very "look at me not caring about fashion while I stay cool yet I still seem kinda hip as an older woman" way and a cute (tightish) heathered beige t-shirt and my Bohemian-style brown sandals with foxy "Run for the Bordeaux" red painted toenails showing. I know, totally cute, thanks. Anyway, I was feeling pretty good not only because of this sweet outfit but mainly because my shopping trip was working out efficiently and I was finding everything I needed (except Trader Joe's only had non-meat breakfast links - what the ?? And all of Safeway's graham crackers contained high fructose corn syrup, but otherwise...). I walked into Wild Oats expecting nothing more than healthier graham crackers (for s'mores, yes, but shut up) and actual meat sausages when BAM right in front of me - Dairy Guy! (Okay, I didn't really run into him, but figuratively I was knocked out. Keep up with the literary devices, please).
Long lost, sweet faced, "Would you like me to feel them?" [his innocent reply when I previously asked him to help me determine if coffee beans in a heavy paper bag were whole or ground] Dairy Guy. Sigh. My heart did leap, I gasped, but he didn't notice. Thank goodness, really, because how weird would that be? "Ma'am, are you alright?" "Yes, I was just really excited to see you again! But you don't know me..." Awkward smile, mental processing of my face for the backroom bulletin board notice 'Keep this woman out of the frozen food section when I'm scheduled to work.'
I picked up the things I needed and proceeded to troll the frozen food aisle until he was compelled to ask if I was finding everything alright. A more adept flirt with a ridiculous crush would be prepared at this point to make up something for him to find, but that's not me. I did manage a smile that I'm pretty sure didn't look too psychotic and said, "Yes, thanks." Which in a classic romantic comedy would have been recognized as a clever little double entendre, but here in real life it just means, "There is no need for us to interact any further. Thank you. Goodbye." And that was that. Enormously significant in my suburban wife & mom world (obviously); just another day on the tiresome job for Dairy/Freezer Guy. Maybe I should drop a card with my blog address on it? So he could perhaps call the cops the next time I stop by for frozen food products? Yeah, nevermind.
Tune in next time when I deliberate over possible reasons for his six month absence (none of which feature a lovely new wife and extended honeymoon).
Author's note: You are not crazy; this entry just showed up Friday the 13th. However, I manipulated the 'post options' to show this as Wednesday's post, because that is when all of these 'events' occurred AND I actually hand-wrote it on the way to camping. It makes me happy to be precise.
Let me relay the story of my Wednesday, junior high-style; it's so much more fun that way. So I was finishing grocery shopping for our camping trip - wait, here's the junior high part: I was wearing my Old Navy jeans that I cut off at the knees in a very "look at me not caring about fashion while I stay cool yet I still seem kinda hip as an older woman" way and a cute (tightish) heathered beige t-shirt and my Bohemian-style brown sandals with foxy "Run for the Bordeaux" red painted toenails showing. I know, totally cute, thanks. Anyway, I was feeling pretty good not only because of this sweet outfit but mainly because my shopping trip was working out efficiently and I was finding everything I needed (except Trader Joe's only had non-meat breakfast links - what the ?? And all of Safeway's graham crackers contained high fructose corn syrup, but otherwise...). I walked into Wild Oats expecting nothing more than healthier graham crackers (for s'mores, yes, but shut up) and actual meat sausages when BAM right in front of me - Dairy Guy! (Okay, I didn't really run into him, but figuratively I was knocked out. Keep up with the literary devices, please).
Long lost, sweet faced, "Would you like me to feel them?" [his innocent reply when I previously asked him to help me determine if coffee beans in a heavy paper bag were whole or ground] Dairy Guy. Sigh. My heart did leap, I gasped, but he didn't notice. Thank goodness, really, because how weird would that be? "Ma'am, are you alright?" "Yes, I was just really excited to see you again! But you don't know me..." Awkward smile, mental processing of my face for the backroom bulletin board notice 'Keep this woman out of the frozen food section when I'm scheduled to work.'
I picked up the things I needed and proceeded to troll the frozen food aisle until he was compelled to ask if I was finding everything alright. A more adept flirt with a ridiculous crush would be prepared at this point to make up something for him to find, but that's not me. I did manage a smile that I'm pretty sure didn't look too psychotic and said, "Yes, thanks." Which in a classic romantic comedy would have been recognized as a clever little double entendre, but here in real life it just means, "There is no need for us to interact any further. Thank you. Goodbye." And that was that. Enormously significant in my suburban wife & mom world (obviously); just another day on the tiresome job for Dairy/Freezer Guy. Maybe I should drop a card with my blog address on it? So he could perhaps call the cops the next time I stop by for frozen food products? Yeah, nevermind.
Tune in next time when I deliberate over possible reasons for his six month absence (none of which feature a lovely new wife and extended honeymoon).
Author's note: You are not crazy; this entry just showed up Friday the 13th. However, I manipulated the 'post options' to show this as Wednesday's post, because that is when all of these 'events' occurred AND I actually hand-wrote it on the way to camping. It makes me happy to be precise.
Monday, July 9, 2007
somebody stop me
Look at me, in the form of a candy-coated chocolate treat. Aren't I delicious? You do it, too! Go here.
Okay, going to bed now.
Okay, going to bed now.
flick your bic
As promised, and I know you were near tears from the wait, here is my Rockin' Girl Blogger Air Band.
First, a thankful shout out to Suz for putting me in her band, and I will reciprocate BUT she must know there are NO flutes in rock bands. Jethro Tull is the music piped into Hell, I'm pretty sure; NO flutes! Undoubtedly, she is a lovely flutist (flautist?) but in this air band, she's on keyboard and vocals.
My fellow mom-in-suburbia Lisa at Mama Milton seems like a drummer-type. I'm not sure what I mean by that. Maybe because she is quiet but strong & clever, cute but unassuming - think Roger Taylor in Duran Duran or Ringo Starr.
Our Lady of Perpetual Chaos at Finding Yourself Despite Yourself (you must love this title) seems right for lead guitar and vocals. She's young, hip, and outspoken - perfect.
Because it seems I should be in my own band, I'll stick with bass where Suz had me. It's fun to entertain the idea that I might be able to play an instrument; I could be totally cool and play left-handed & upside-down like Jimi Hendrix, too. God knows no one wants me singing...
Rock on, ladies. We salute you.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
words again, but one at a time
So I was tagged by my good friend Mama Milton (who will be in that Rockin' Girl Blogger air band I keep blabbing about...stay tuned!) a million years ago. Not really sure about the rules, and I had to look up the word 'meme' to be sure I was pronouncing it right, but here goes.
Where is your cell phone? charging
Relationship? precious
Your hair? highlighted
Work? infrequent
Your sister? partying (she's turning 30 today!)
Your favorite thing? reading
Your dream last night? marked (hehee)
Your favorite drink? tea
Your dream car? roomy
The room you’re in? jen's (not in a weird way)
Your shoes? slippers
Your fears? pain
What do you want to be in 10 years? content
Who did you hang out with this weekend? peeps
What are you not good at? waiting
Muffin? poppyseed
One of your wish list items? vacations (plural!)
Where you grew up? island
Last thing you did? lessonplan
What are you wearing? clothes
What aren’t you wearing? lipstick
Your pet? stu
Your computer? presario (it sounds so impressive & regal)
Your life? beautiful
Your mood? better
Missing? sam
What are you thinking about right now? tomorrow
Your car? dirty
Your kitchen? tiny
Your summer? hopeful
Your favorite color? scarlet
Last time you laughed? now
Last time you cried? wednesday
School? joy
Love? everyday
I'll tag Suz, hoping she hasn't already done it in the seven days since I've been in the cyberuniverse. Ready, set, go.
Where is your cell phone? charging
Relationship? precious
Your hair? highlighted
Work? infrequent
Your sister? partying (she's turning 30 today!)
Your favorite thing? reading
Your dream last night? marked (hehee)
Your favorite drink? tea
Your dream car? roomy
The room you’re in? jen's (not in a weird way)
Your shoes? slippers
Your fears? pain
What do you want to be in 10 years? content
Who did you hang out with this weekend? peeps
What are you not good at? waiting
Muffin? poppyseed
One of your wish list items? vacations (plural!)
Where you grew up? island
Last thing you did? lessonplan
What are you wearing? clothes
What aren’t you wearing? lipstick
Your pet? stu
Your computer? presario (it sounds so impressive & regal)
Your life? beautiful
Your mood? better
Missing? sam
What are you thinking about right now? tomorrow
Your car? dirty
Your kitchen? tiny
Your summer? hopeful
Your favorite color? scarlet
Last time you laughed? now
Last time you cried? wednesday
School? joy
Love? everyday
I'll tag Suz, hoping she hasn't already done it in the seven days since I've been in the cyberuniverse. Ready, set, go.
brevity, wit...whatever
Make a short story long, that is what I do best (witness previous blog entries - you thought you could do it in just a minute, huh? HA!). And this post is no exception. What I really need to do is put together my Rockin' Air Band but that takes much more thought & energy than is at my disposal right now. (Really, do I ever have thought & energy to dispose of? But I digress, surprisingly...). However, there is a contest ending tonight that I must enter or else my psyche will not let me sleep for days, and that would end badly.
It is the "Say It in 7" contest and I love it; it makes me think in smaller chunks (definitely a good thing). This is a great idea with many roots; the one I used in my creative writing class (which held us to six words - I get an extra now, woohoo!) came from a piece Hemingway wrote that he supposedly considered his best work. And if Hemingway can create something brief, by God so can I. For your consideration:
Something smells weird. Hey, where's the cat?
Must go now. Tell them the truth.
Now you do it. But I haven't left you with much time...Sorry about that.
Rules: Each story must have only 7 words. You may, however, add a “by” followed by a fake author’s name, if it adds something to your story. Two entries max, per person. All entries must be received by 11:59pm (MT) on 7-7-07. Go here for more important info.
Prizes: First place - $10 Fandango bucks OR $10 Barnes and Noble gift card (winner picks); Second Place - $5 Barnes and Noble gift card; Third Place - $5 Barnes and Noble gift card; Booby Prize - The recipe for my Almost Famous Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Cookies.
It is the "Say It in 7" contest and I love it; it makes me think in smaller chunks (definitely a good thing). This is a great idea with many roots; the one I used in my creative writing class (which held us to six words - I get an extra now, woohoo!) came from a piece Hemingway wrote that he supposedly considered his best work. And if Hemingway can create something brief, by God so can I. For your consideration:
Something smells weird. Hey, where's the cat?
Must go now. Tell them the truth.
Now you do it. But I haven't left you with much time...Sorry about that.
Rules: Each story must have only 7 words. You may, however, add a “by” followed by a fake author’s name, if it adds something to your story. Two entries max, per person. All entries must be received by 11:59pm (MT) on 7-7-07. Go here for more important info.
Prizes: First place - $10 Fandango bucks OR $10 Barnes and Noble gift card (winner picks); Second Place - $5 Barnes and Noble gift card; Third Place - $5 Barnes and Noble gift card; Booby Prize - The recipe for my Almost Famous Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Cookies.
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