Tag Archives: Those Covenys

Please Dance Responsibly

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Well Chris is out of town again – so I’m back to BUI. Not as bad as last time – but I was a little shocked when I saw the dent I made in that wine bottle. This time, I’m putting it away before I can finish it. And I made sure to eat something substantial before sitting down to write (no off color, out of character innuendos – and I know that a few of you are disappointed).

But that one too many glasses of wine made me think about another “interesting” effect that too many drinks will instigate. One that I didn’t mention last time is the well known phenomenon that I think we can all relate to. Too many drinks make us all just a little too confident on the dance floor.

Just picture yourself at that wedding, college reunion or any celebratory event that usually includes an open bar. You start out the night catching up with old friends, hesitantly approaching people you don’t know well or haven’t seen in a long time, and possibly even doing a little restrained dancing along with the rest of the group. But fast forward about two to three hours after you’ve been too busy talking to eat the dinner that was seemingly whisked out from under your nose minutes after it arrived. After you’ve moved past the cocktail you ordered for yourself, to the less desirable one that someone else ordered for you, to the wine glass that seemed to be refilled every time a server visited your table, to the rounds of shots that you would never in a million years have accepted if you hadn’t already consumed the equivalent of your typical month’s alcohol intake. Now you are not only happy to be there but well aware of how happy everyone else is that you are there. You are quite possibly one of the most sought after conversationalists present and you are now ready to show your admirers that you are far more than just a pretty face. You are an exceptionally talented dancer.

That’s right. We’ve all been there – and some of us have been unfortunate enough to be documented in pictures and video. As fun as it is at the time – as great as we think we look at the time – we all know that once the glitter is gone and the fluorescent lights are on, we just weren’t as fabulous as we felt.

How often have we cringed when we woke up “the morning after”? Very few of us have the strength of character to either stand by our electric boogaloo moves or to withstand the character assassination from our nearest and dearest via digital photo eblasts and YouTube footage. But here’s to those who march to the beat of their own inner DJ. They somehow never look dorky. And if their moves don’t convey mad skillz, their enthusiasm encourages those around them to join in the fun.

As for those “mornings after” – well, I’ve had many. I will be the first to admit to having the Footloose urges that a few drinks tend to inspire. And while I do cringe a little, I also try to remember the fun and the lack of inhibition. Living in the moment offers a thrill that we rarely allow ourselves in daily life. And it helps to be able to laugh at yourself (even for people like me who take themselves very seriously).

I remember once making plans to meet up for drinks with my friends Nancy and Maureen on a Friday night shortly after I returned from my honeymoon in 2000 (when we were 28). We agreed to meet at J. Paul’s in Georgetown. It was a central location with good atmosphere and a restaurant if any of us needed to grab dinner. It was always packed, but not too crowded. We had a great time catching up, and after a few drinks (and no dinner), decided to move on to another bar for another drink. Next stop was Mr. Smith’s – again, not too crowded and conducive to conversation. This is where we probably could have called it a night, but we were having SO much fun that we just had to move on to a third bar. And what is across the street from Mr. Smith’s, but everyone’s favorite (at least at that time) post-college bar, The Griffin Room at The Guards. We walked in there like we were 23 again – just more sophistocated, with better clothes. After ordering some very cheap gin & tonics, we took a moment to enjoy the ubiquitous “everybar” music and check out the scene.

Having graduated from Fordham in New York, I have great nostalgia for Frank Sinatra classics which at that time had not quite infiltrated mainstream DC nightlife (or at least not the just-out-of-college crowd). I can’t resist the urge to dance to this mainstay of my college bar experience; and The Summer Wind could be considered the mother ship for me and all of my fellow alumni. The minute I heard those opening notes I began to search the room for a dance partner. And as soon as I spotted him I knew he was the one. Too much hair gel, obvious Italian heritage and a black leather jacket – he was exactly what I needed. He was just the guido I was looking for. In all of my liquored up bravado, I marched right over and said, “You’re from New York. You like Frank Sinatra. Come dance with me.” And he did. He asked me how I knew that he was from New York, and I tactfully responded that he was very “urban” while most DC natives were more conservative. This seemed to please him, and I blissfully spun and dipped knowing that my friends were right there with me doing the same.

After that, everything went downhill. No idea what happened to my Italian friend, but we subsequently spiraled down into a haze of current pop music and groups of Eurotrash players. But surprisingly, I made it home at a respectable hour – and with some aspirin and late night food, avoided the expected hangover. Having graduated from considering any wild night a great time to suffering pangs of mortification for the slightest memory of exuberance – I was fairly pleased with my ability to dance at The Griffin Room without making an ass out of myself (even if I didn’t remember very much of it). Then about a week later, when Nancy and I were driving to see Cirque de Soleil, we talked about what a fun night that had been. I remarked upon how we had managed to be so silly without doing anything embarrassing. That was the exact moment that the song Who Let the Dogs Out started playing on the radio. And then it all came flooding back. The circle dance, the moves, the strutting. Oh – the humiliation… Well what can you do? We just laughed.

But some people throw themselves into dancing regardless of whether they have been drinking or not, and they have my utmost respect. My father is one of these people. Anyone watching him dance will say, “he is fantastic!” He certainly looks like he can dance. He has moves, he has fancy footwork, and he twirls his partner in very intricate rotations around the dance floor. But the truth is – my father is a loose cannon. He doesn’t follow any set dance steps, so his partner has no idea what to expect. He loves to do complicated things involving pretzeling of arms and whipping motions that send his partner ricocheting in all directions. This was a source of great concern for my mother when it came time to pick a song for our father-daughter dance at my wedding. I was a bit windblown by the end – but we managed to make it through without any injuries.

Once at my cousin Kristin’s rehearsal dinner, he almost killed her grandmother. Mrs. Sharon is Kristin’s mother’s mother (my father is her father’s brother), so we didn’t know her well. But anyone could see that she was an extremely elegant and dignified woman. There was a pianist and a dance floor at the event; and when dinner concluded, my father asked Mrs. Sharon to dance. I was sitting next to the dance floor with Chris and my mother and we watched with great trepidation as my father tossed the sweet lady around in something that resembled a lively jitterbug. Toward the end of the song, he pulled out one of his signature moves of spinning her out and then back in, but somehow lost hold of her hand in mid fling. Then everything went into slow motion as we saw her turn about three times in a trajectory aimed directly at the dining tables. Three seconds later she was under a table. All we could see were feet sticking out from under the beige linen.

Later, my father said that all he could think was, “oh god – please don’t be dead.” But moments later, the poor woman popped up to give everyone an “I’m okay,” wave. They then returned to the dance floor in a more subdued attempt to save face. Once the wheezing laughter had stopped and we were wiping the last few tears from our cheeks, the song ended. And as my father and Mrs. Sharon passed by, we heard him say, “let’s take a breather.”

So whether you reserve your best moves for the open bar events or proudly display them whenever the opportunity presents itself, think before you frug. If there is a videographer present, walk away from the light. Beware of friends bearing digital cameras. Your dancing never looks half as good as it feels so why ruin it with documentation. Truly, it’s all fun and games until someone loses their integrity doing the Electric Slide.

Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Wrap Up

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10:30 p.m. on Sunday, the flight from Miami to Dulles
The Big Piece of Poop

So how was the rest of the trip? Really great actually. Everything was 100% better with Mom home. We had tons of time in the pool, went to see the Key West fireworks right on the water, and even made a second trip to the Butterfly Museum. That last one wasn’t my choice, but Oliver and I happened to be passing by and he got so excited when he saw the sign that I couldn’t say no. What did we have to do anyway? It’s not like we had previous engagements.

The only problem with these great experiences (butterflies, fireworks) is that Oliver doesn’t understand that we can’t do them whenever the mood strikes us – like we can jump in the pool, watch the Wiggles or rip off our clothes and run around naked (that would be him, not me – must be something about Key West, I had a hell of a time trying to keep clothes on that boy). So the morning after we went to the Butterfly Museum, he marched out of the bedroom and said, “butterflies please!” And of course, if we got into the car to do something really fun like buy groceries or pick my Dad up at the shop, he would be convinced that we were going to see butterflies. Then the same thing happened after we saw the fireworks. He just couldn’t understand why we weren’t racing down to the pier to catch the next showing.

I think that the Fourth of July fireworks may have been the most exciting event that Oliver has ever attended. And even with the crowds and last minute plans, it all went quite smoothly. Although we did have a slight delay in our leave time due to Oliver having a “number two” accident in his pull up. Anyone who has used pull ups with their kids will know that they are not engineered to accommodate much more than a pee pee accident. If the pull up isn’t positioned perfectly on Oliver’s fairly impressive backside, the coverage isn’t quite adequate. Basically, not only did I have to clean up the messy pull up, I had to clean up a little mess on the floor. At least I knew about it and handled it before Oliver could “help.” It never ceases to amaze me how someone who has zero inclination to pick up his toys will suddenly become my best helper when there is poop on the floor. And let me tell you, you haven’t lived until someone walks over and hands you a piece of poop.

Sorry about all of the poop talk, but it’s a minor miracle that I’ve managed to write this blog for the past two weeks without mentioning poop. It’s like the real theme of my life right now with two toddlers in diapers and one preschooler potty training. I should have named my blog “The Big Piece of Poop.” Okay – enough about that – even I’m grossed out, and I’ve actually let my kids puke in my hand.

Back to the fireworks – it was spectacular. Matt stayed home with Mom, so it was just Dad, Oliver and me. Oliver had never seen them in person before, so we weren’t sure if the loud noises would scare him. They didn’t, but he did seem to get a kick out of putting his hand on his head and saying “ouch – hurt my head.” Not sure where that came from – but as long as he was happy, I was content to say, “oh no – are you okay?” (which is the expected scripted response). One thing that struck us as rather odd was that he insisted on calling the fireworks “addition.” The minute they started, he was exclaiming, “Oh look – addition!” After a few questions about what he meant, we just went with it and said, “wow – addition! Look at that one!” My mother figured it out the next day – she asked if he could be saying “magician.” I didn’t think so – it would be more likely that he’d just say magic or hocus pocus. But when I asked, “Oliver, can you say magician,” he gave me a huge smile and said, “addition!” My mother is the original Baby Whisperer.

One other interesting incident from the Fourth is that as we were leaving our parking place, we were accused by the driver behind us of hitting his front bumper. My father was driving, so I would be the first one to ask if he did hit the other car, as well as become skeptical if informed that he did not. But I was in the passenger seat and can attest to the fact that I did not feel anything that resembled significant impact. Okay – here is the interesting part. When the angry man came over to our car to complain, my father just looked at him and said, “no, I didn’t hit your car.” When the man animatedly pointed behind him and said that both he and his wife felt it and he could see the mark on his bumper, my father said, “no, I did no such thing.” And then we drove away. Now if it were me driving, I would have been outside comparing bumper scratches and arguing about whether the man’s scratch was silver (like our car) or in fact white. I would be trying to smooth things over, worrying about what those people thought of me and beginning to question whether I may have actually backed into them without noticing it…. But not my Dad. He just says, “no idea what you’re talking about,” and drives away. It was just that easy. This really gives me a new perspective on my overwhelming sense of responsibility in the world. I may just adopt this novel attitude. Tell me that my membership expired last year? I’m sorry but your computer must be mistaken. Claim that I didn’t give you the full payment due? You must be wrong, since that was definitely a $20 that I handed you. Ask me why there is a big piece of poop on the floor? Poop? What poop?

We had a lazy weekend of long walks and swimming. Dad taught Oliver to blow bubbles in the water and do a sort of underwater half swim – redeeming himself for instigating that “push grandpa in the pool” game. And we even all went out to dinner on Saturday night. I’m really going to miss everyone when we get home. We had a terrible reason to have a wonderful time. But as I’ve said before, we’re taking things one day at a time and only considering one outcome in which Mom will be well again. In the meantime, I’ll have to bring the twins down to see her since she won’t be able to come to us in August as we had planned. And I can’t wait to see those little guys! I may have to wake them up when I get home.

9:30 a.m. first morning back at home
We’d Like to Welcome You [Back] to Munchkin Land

I am SO tired. I knew that I’d need to take a personal health day to catch up before heading back to work tomorrow – but I had no idea how much I’d need it. We didn’t get in until midnight, didn’t get all of our bags (need to deal with that today) and didn’t get to bed until almost 2 a.m.

This morning I was welcomed home by George and Eleanor who appear to have aged about five years over the past week. I forgot how chaotic they make things. I let Oliver sleep in so I was alone with the kids after Chris left for work, and the twins didn’t stop moving or talking for a second. And they have both added many new words and phrases to their repetoire while I was gone.

Eleanor has been my naysayer for a long time now. The answer to any question will always be “no.” “Do you want a waffle?” “No.” “Do you want to color?” “No.” ”What are you reading?” “No.” “Why do you have a diaper on your head?” “No.” Chris said that he worked on this with her over the weekend, and every time she said “no,” he would say, “yes.” So after a while, she caught on and started to work “yes” into her answers. Unfortunately, she’s now just combining the two, and instead of saying “no” will say “no-yes.” We’ll have to teach her to be more decisive before she starts dating…

George wanted to wake up his big brother, so I let the twins run into Oliver’s room when it was time for him to get up. They just climbed up on his little bed and made a toddler pile. It’s not easy to wake Oliver up in the morning. His circadian rhythms seem to run along the lines of staying up late and sleeping late (if you consider 7:30 a.m. late) – so I often feel like I’m trying to get a teenager out of bed in the morning. He pulls the covers over he head, rolls over and whispers, “sweeping” (which means “sleeping”). But he couldn’t resist his little brother poking him in the eye. Yes – it was just too much fun. So the three had a big roughhousing reunion with joyous shouts of “Oller!” from the twins and delighted giggles from their big brother. I’m so happy to be home with my little people.

Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Part II (continued)

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9:30 a.m. at the Key West Butterfly & Nature Conservatory
Butterfly Sanctuary

With Mom coming home and the holiday weekend, I probably won’t have another post until Monday. But I did want to get a short one in today since we did something that we ALWAYS do in Key West. We went to the Key West Butterfly & Nature Conservatory. Oliver and I make a point of visiting the “butterfly museum” (that’s what I call it – Oliver just says “BUTTERFLY!”) whenever we come down to Key West. My brother and I first went several years ago before I had kids, and it was totally surreal. We walked in and immediately started laughing. It was like we had been transported to a scene in a Disney movie, with clouds of colorful butterflies flitting to and fro everywhere we looked. And Oliver has now been three times. Last year when he was two, he called them “bah-whys” and I have video of him storming around pointing and saying this over and over. Today was more of the same – but he can actually say “butterfly.”

The butterflies are hard to take pictures of when they are flying, but there were some opportunities for still shots. I probably shouldn’t have let Oliver roll around on the ground like that – but whatever. I’ve had to stop him from licking the floor before, so looking at a butterfly didn’t seem so bad. At one point a big blue one landed on his shoulder (no good pictures of this unfortunately), and he spent the rest of the time we were there trying to coax another one to do the same. He didn’t have that much success with his technique which mainly entailed lunging at them with his shoulder thrust forward and shouting, “BUTTERFLY!”

A couple of friendly butterflies followed us out. Just kidding – they make sure nothing like that happens, but they do give you little paper butterflies to stick to your shirt. I’m not sure that Oliver made the differentiation – he was so thrilled. But then again, I hope he eventually did since by the time we reached our next destination, his paper butterfly was ripped to shreds.

Incidentally, this is what I look like when I’m in Key West. No makeup, tee shirt and flip flops, hair either air dried or just frizzy in the humidity. Okay, so that’s generally what I look like every weekend in the summer heat – but I do put in a little more effort for the office!

Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Part II

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3:00 p.m. at my parent’s house
Splash Down

Well the news wasn’t particularly good, but it could definitely be worse. As much as it’s not going to be pleasant (to say the least), we’re just grateful that there is a treatment plan. So continuing in the vein of taking one day at a time, we’re looking forward to getting Mom home on Thursday if all goes well.

In the meantime, Oliver and I have been hanging out with Dad, going to the shop and playing in the pool. We saw my brother Matt when he got back from work yesterday, and we’ll get to spend more time with him since he’s not working on Wednesday or Thursday. Oliver was fascinated with one of Matt’s bicycles and I think I’ve finally gotten him to realize that if we touch it and anything bad happens, Uncle Matt may put us on the next plane off the island. He builds bikes entirely out of parts that were purchased on ebay and through other resources he uses. It’s more than a hobby – to me it seems like borderline obsession, but a cool one at that. I tried to take a picture, but I’m not the best photographer (except for that picture of the twist tie on the hook – that was a masterpiece). So I asked him to e-mail me one:

We’ve spent most of our time in the pool with Oliver, and my father has come up with some great new games for them to play. There is the one where he swims the length of the pool and back underwater while Oliver watches (because Oliver is so good at following directions and staying “right there” until Dad resurfaces), the one where Oliver pushes him into the pool, and a variation on a game that Oliver calls “jump down” at home. In “jump down” he will pick the highest point he can find and then leap into your arms whether you are ready or not (although he does warn you with a hearty “JUMP DOWN!”). In the new game, “splash down,” the goal is less one of altitude and more one of force. The players try to make the biggest splash they can manage – preferably when someone fully clothed is nearby. I just can’t wait to try these out at the community pool…. Here is a picture of that fantastic “push Grandpa in the pool” game:

Now a responsible parent would have put an end to this immediately, explaining that it’s not safe and that we never push anyone in the pool. My reaction was to say, “hold that pose – let me get my camera!” Seriously – I think I have about 50 shots of this. Yes – that is the number of times that this trick was performed (at least). But I think that today when I was home alone with Oliver, playing in the pool (for TWO HOURS, god help me), I made it clear that it’s the push Grandpa in the pool game, not the push Mommy in the pool game. So hopefully, he’ll reserve that activity for Key West – you know, as a special thing between them.

10:30 p.m. at my parents’ house
A Useful Talent

I’m sitting next to my Dad while he watches (well, while we watch) America’s Got Talent. The only time that I ever watch reality programming is with my parents. Apparently, it’s the only TV genre that they can both agree on. They don’t watch the scary ones where people eat bugs – but they just love anything that involves dancing – Dancing with the Stars, So You Think You Can Dance – and singing – DUH, American Idol. And of course America’s Got Talent has lots of singing and dancing. Since this particular night is one of the early shows, it’s the first round of tryouts and the acts include a lot of bizarre novelty stuff. Right now a man is swallowing a sword. Earlier a 7’ tall man (named GEORGE – like my sweet baby boy at home) wrapped a long tube around a volunteer from the audience. Then he threaded one end through a nostril, pulled it out of his mouth and stuck it into a bottle of milk. THEN he took the other end put it in his mouth and started drinking. He’s going on to the next round. I was happy to hear that we’ll be watching So You Think You Can Dance tomorrow night.

Okay – I take it back. I just saw a tiny autistic nine year old who sang before he learned how to talk get voted up to the next level. The tears are flowing.

Many things today have made me feel a little misty. Seeing my mother’s strength and courage, as well as experiencing the support of their little community. Key West is much like a small town in that people who live here get to know each other in the shops, restaurants and daily comings and goings. A woman who has a baby gear rental company, Holiday Baby, found out while renting me a jog stroller that my mother was sick. She was dropping the stroller off at the shop and in addition to insisting that I keep it as long as I need it at no cost, she told my Dad that she would come sit in the shop for him whenever he needed some help. The wonderful young woman who works part time for my parents and a friend of hers that works at another home furnishings store are going to arrange their schedules to help my mother complete decorating jobs that she simply can’t physically do on her own now. A woman that my mother knows has offered to drive her to and from her treatments if my father can’t leave work. Every time we see someone that has found out about Mom (and news seems to travel fast here), whether they are a good friend or just an acquaintance, they all want to help. And it’s not just the, “anything I can do, anything at all,” kind of help – it’s tangible, practical suggestions for things they can do for us. It’s pretty inspirational, and it makes me feel good to know that when I leave at the end of the week, my family will have a whole community eager to support them.

At this point, we have a plan for treatment, an incredible amount of support from friends and family both near and far, and we have every reason to believe that we’ll get through this again. Mom made it clear that she wants nothing but “positive thinking” around her. And THAT I can do. Surprisingly, in spite of a somewhat unhealthy amount of insecurity, this is something that I’m really quite good at. I won’t be sad or upset one minute before I absolutely have to. You can call it dissociation, you can call it denial – I won’t dispute that, but I prefer to think of it as “positive thinking.” So with that attitude, we’re now moving on to the next round…

Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Part I

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6:30 a.m. on the flight from DC to Miami
Bars Should Have Umbrella Strollers

I just walked into a parallel universe. Upon our 4:45 a.m. arrival at Dulles Airport, Oliver and I were both half asleep and more than a little anxious (as I’ve mentioned before, that’s just the way we are). All of the expected obstacles were there: the juggling act with bags and a stroller, the long lines, the tight time schedule, and of course the fact that even though we called yesterday to verify our seat assignments, my three year old and I were not seated together.

I kind of knew this would happen since we didn’t buy our tickets at the same time, and they were reserved on such short notice. But THAT IS WHY we (meaning Chris) called to actually talk to a person at American Airlines who could verify that we would be seated next to each other. Not across the aisle, not in adjoining rows, and not at opposite ends of the plane.

With a flight at 6:00 a.m. and check in lines wrapped several layers deep, I opted for self check in. So I was electronically informed of the problem. I was able to fix our seats for the connecting flight from Miami to Key West, but didn’t have any luck with the first flight. This is where I can’t get anyone’s attention for 20 minutes and then when I finally do get a frazzled ticket agent to look at me, I receive the kind of customer service that makes people pull out hunting rifles and start firing at will. Right? WRONG. The cheerful (at 4:45 a.m. no less!) and accommodating “Sharon G.” not only seemed interested in helping us, she didn’t say, “excuse me ma’am, please let me finish talking,” once. Alas, there was only so much she could do for us. Even Sharon G. could not find us seats together. The best she could do was to seat us across the aisle so that we could “ask another passenger to switch with one of us.” Oh Sharon G., you are so naïve… People traveling this early in the morning have their own agendas and priorities. And they’re cranky. I wasn’t willing to risk things not working out and have Oliver, who can change moods on a dime, have a grand mal seizure when he saw that I wasn’t sitting next to him. Besides, my neighbor had the same experience recently, and not ONE person on her full-size passenger plane would acknowledge her problem, let alone help.

So the one glitch in the process was that regardless of how much Sharon G. would have loved to charter a private jet for us, we had to pay to upgrade to first class. As you can imagine, I was devastated. Seriously though, I wouldn’t normally waste money on something like that – but I didn’t see any other option, and the upgrade charge was only $90 per ticket. I know, that’s not insignificant – but in light of the fact that we were willing to pay a lot more than we did for the reasonably priced tickets we bought, I considered it a wash. Since this upgrade fee would be higher if done by a ticket agent, it needed to be executed at a self check in station. And to put a cherry on top of what was already one of the best air travel check in experiences I’ve ever had, Sharon G. came around the counter and performed the seat reassignment for me. The world needs more people like Sharon G. I am going to write a letter to American Airlines. And I’m completely serious about that.

So far, Oliver has been an ideal companion. It’s kind of like traveling with a good natured drunk person. He’s a little out of it, but happy to follow wherever I lead. He can be a bit loud at times, but he’s also easily distracted by the action around him and utterly enchanted with any redirection I throw his way. He slumped in the umbrella stroller during the entire seat assignment process and I had to check him a couple of times to make sure he hadn’t passed out. There was a mild fracas when he had to relinquish his blankie at security (as in “give me my keys man – hey, I want my keys!”). But I was able to whisk him through quickly enough to avoid a full blown panic attack. He was generally happy enough to just sit in the umbrella stroller and go with the flow. With all of the check in hoopla, we boarded the plane minutes after arriving at the gate. And when we got to our seats, he flopped down and gave me a big goofy grin that basically said, “I love you man.” Yeah – aside from the initial confusion, it was pretty seamless. Makes me think that bars might want to invest in large umbrella strollers for their patrons who are saddled with dead weight drunk friends to carry home.

10:00 a.m. on the flight from Miami to Key West
Back Up In the Air, Please.

Okay – so it is actually closer to 11:30 a.m. now. But that flight was so short that by the time I thought I could take out my laptop, it was almost time to put it away. It has been a year since we last made this trip to see my parents. Oliver is currently splashing in the pool with my Dad. We’re going to the hospital at 1:00 p.m. to have lunch with Mom. She should have seen her cancer doctor by then – in fact he arrived on the same flight we did.

The first flight was absolute heaven until the moment we were told to turn off all authorized electronic equipment. I knew that when I informed Oliver that we would have to put the Wiggles away for a while, he would be most distressed. And if you’d call five minutes of hysterical screaming “distressed” then that pretty much covers it. He simply could not understand why I would pull the plug on Captain Feathersword like that. It was so uncool! In between exclamations of “Wiggles!”, “On please!”and “Boat!” – I decided it was time to be a responsible parent and end the madness. So I tried giving him candy. He must have been really upset, because he will usually come running if someone two floors away whispers the word candy. But he was so irate (that I thought I could BUY him like that!), he wanted nothing to do with the lollipop. Finally I managed to get him interested in the fact that we were landing, but that kind of backfired when he decided to associate landing with the end of his Wiggles viewing. So then he started pointing his finger in the air and yelling, “back up in the air! Please!” (though in between sobs it sounded more like, “back-gasp-up-gasp-air-gasp-please!”). Finally, the excitement of landing was just too much. All of those tiny houses and cars – how could he stay mad? He kept yelling, “uh oh – watch out!” to the innocent bystanders since it was quite obvious that we were bearing down on them. At this point, I offered him the candy again (why not? It was out.) and he said “Oh, a lollipop!” – like he hadn’t just thrown in my face minutes before.

Our next flight boarded fairly quickly after that, but I don’t even know if it would have mattered. Oliver was back to looking comatose in his stroller with his blanket wrapped around his head. Travel is exhausting. But he perked up when he realized that we were getting on another plane. That must herald the return of the Wiggles. Yeah planes!

Our connecting flight was on a prop plane – but NOT a puddle jumper. I will never fly on a cessna again – that was like being in Herbie the Love Bug. No, it was one of those little American Eagle planes. So this was also very exciting. We got to ride on a shuttle (look at ALL the planes!) and then walk up stairs (we LOVE stairs!) to get onto our little plane. As we all started boarding from the back of the plane, the pilot instructed us to sit in “the middle.” Since our seats were already in the middle, this worked for us. I guess they REALLY didn’t want anyone in the front of the plane because a formidable looking flight attendant was standing sentry at the threshold of what I assume must be “the front.” She very sweetly told everyone that they could really sit wherever they wanted since there were many empty seats (as long as we remained in the middle damn it).

Actually, our flight attendant was very nice and made a point of saying hello to Oliver before politely asking me to do a better job of tightening his seatbelt. But what was probably most interesting about our flight attendant is that she was (for lack of a better word), a tranny. That is to say that she was a man either going through transition or fully transitioned to becoming a woman (I’m not presuming that you don’t know what a transvestite is – I’m just trying to be specific about which direction the transition was taking). ANYWAY – I have to say, I just love Key West.

Oliver made a valiant effort to rally for round two of the Wiggles, but he started falling asleep as soon as we were in the air. I perused Us Weekly until I thought it looked like it was okay to use the computer (must have missed the announcement), and had just barely read through some things before it was time to shut down again. Poor Oliver, I had to shake him awake when we landed, and he was very anxious about where we were and what my Dad wanted with us (he’s still little – so when people are out of context, he doesn’t always recognize them right away). And he looked fairly stricken when we pulled into the driveway of my parents’ house (because you know – I might leave him there). But the minute he could see through the front door, he was home. And so am I. I don’t blame him for being apprehensive about landing in this initially unfamiliar place. He doesn’t know what to expect here. And neither do I. We don’t know what the doctor will say – but we know what we want him to say. We are past hoping for the best case scenario – but we’re now praying that it’s not the worst. But for the next hour or so, we’ll splash in the pool, enjoy the sun and rediscover all of the things we loved when we were here last year. For now, we’ll just live for now.

What Would We Do Baby, Without Us

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Ever get a song stuck in your head and you have no idea where it came from? For me it’s currently the theme song from Family Ties (remember that one – it ends “sha-la-la-la”). Well it’s sort of driving me nuts, but it’s definitely fitting for my thoughts today.

I have a wonderful husband named Chris. We have been married for close to eight years now. And while you might not guess it to look at him – he is a slob. And he’s not just an ordinary, run of the mill messy slob who doesn’t care about his messiness. He’s a creative slob.

He doesn’t just leave things where they fall, he creates odd piles and organizational systems. It isn’t possible for him to see a clean surface area and not immediately add clutter to it. And god forbid I move the items. Then it’s all, “where did you put my DMV renewal form? I know I was keeping it in the pile under the dining room table.”

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen him notice a balled up dirty sock on the floor and purposefully kick it into the corner NEXT TO THE HAMPER (“Back in the corner you go. There! Much better.“) Though I honestly think the clothes on the floor are invisible to him. He’ll walk around them for days until he sees something he wants. Then that item alone escapes the cloak of invisibility and magically appears out of nowhere! He gets very excited about this.

Unfortunately for me, the hamper is always invisible.

He also keeps things long past their expiration date. Like the pleated front pants that he never wears, or the shoes with holes so big, hobos would throw them out. One of my greatest moments of satisfaction was pointing out that there would never again be an appropriate time to wear his fraternity “a day without a buzz is a day that never wuzz” tee shirt with its visual of Calvin and Hobbes passed out around a keg.

But I think one of my favorite memories of the organized mess was one that happened shortly after we were first married. We lived in a one bedroom rented apartment with a large living room/dining room area. When you entered the apartment, the coat closet was to your right, the living room furniture was directly in front of you and the dining room table was on the far left end of the room. And our wedding was in the Fall, so within a month, it was time to pull out the coats and jackets.

Every day when he went out, Chris would take a coat out of the closet. And every day when he came back, he walked across the apartment and hung that coat on one of the six dining room chairs. I didn’t notice this immediately, but when I had the urge to start putting coats away, I recognized the pattern taking place and decided to see how it played out (I also marveled at how many coats he had).

Finally the seventh day came, and I stood expectantly, watching him walk in and take off his coat. Surely he would see that the chairs were all taken and realize what he was doing. I saw his look of surprise as the dilemma presented itself (“Huh. It seems that all of the chairs are already in use, there are none left.“) and then I saw him look around and consider his options (“Are there any other places I can put this coat?“). AND THEN I saw him carefully fold his coat in half and drape it across a clear area on THE FLOOR! That was when I had to scream, “stop the madness!” Apparently, the problem was that in the evening, our coat closet, much like our hamper, was invisible.

Don’t believe me? Here are a few pictures I took on Friday to document this:

Ever wonder what you should do with those twist ties that hold the dry cleaning hangers together?

Well if you are an ordinary slob, you will drop them on the floor – but if you are truly pathological, you will find a handy hook on the closet wall and wrap it around that. Sweet – and what do you know, it’s now invisible.

Since you ask – yes, that IS a hanging shoe organizer behind the hook. It must have confused you since it doesn’t actually hold shoes. And where do we keep those?

Here they are – in their proper jumble on the closet floor, along with a few random articles of clothing and the plastic dry cleaning bag that must have accompanied the now invisible twist tie.

Okay – here is one more bonus picture.

So where do you keep YOUR plastic bags after you unload the groceries?

Really? That makes sense, but I think our spot under a dining room chair is better.

Yes – Chris is a true original in his slob style. But he’s also unmatched in his ability to take care of his family. Shortly after I came up with some ideas for this post and took those pictures, we found out that my mother’s cancer has returned. This time, it is in her brain.

Chris found out on Saturday before I knew, and while I was sleeping that night, he booked my ticket to Key West for the following Monday. He stayed up all night worrying and talking to his family on the West Coast. And after very little sleep, he got up and spent the entire day doing everything he could to keep the kids busy while I ran errands and packed.

And when I felt like I might go out of my mind at the idea of being away from my children for a whole week, he booked a ticket for my three year old to come with me.

And when I felt like I was being weak, he pointed out that it would be a wonderful surprise for my father, to whom Oliver is very close (especially since it’s my Dad’s birthday). /

And I think he asked me if I was okay about a 100 times today.

And I’m really, really going to miss him this week.

I’ve never been one for public schmoopiness – but I really am lucky to have this man in my life. What would I do without him? Without us? Sha-la-la-la.

Mini Me

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Now that my toddlers are becoming little people and aren’t little babies anymore, they’re really starting to pick up on our behaviors and mannerisms. Initially, they’ll have inherited traits that will provide the foundation for their personalities – like Oliver, my three year old’s tendency to fight change. But it’s the little day-to-day quirks that most surprise and amuse us.

Just the other day I caught Oliver doing something that I now realize I do all the time. He wanted something out of the refrigerator and when I said no, he pretended that he didn’t hear me and opened the door anyway. Then he very seriously put an index finger to his chin and said, “Hmm. Let’s see….” And then I couldn’t escape it – every time I opened a door or a drawer to select anything, I’d catch myself saying, “Hmm. Let’s see…” He definitely got that one from me. He’s also taken up a quirk of mine that goes back to my college days. In my junior year, I lived across the hall from a group of lacrosse players. They were pretty friendly even though I didn’t know them well. A few weeks after moving in, I noticed that whenever I would see one of them, they’d always say, “Oh, HI Kate.” I’d just return the pleasantry – but after a while, I realized that they were making fun of me. When I finally asked what this “oh hi” business was about, they explained that I never just said “hi” or “hey” – it was always, “Oh, HI.” Since I’ve never much enjoyed being the butt of a joke, I made a concerted effort to stop saying that. Apparently it didn’t work. Whenever someone of note enters a room, Oliver will look up and say, “Oh, HI!”

All of these connections that I find between Oliver and me have been a pleasant surprise since before the twins were born we all thought he was exactly like his father. But that just goes to show how young personalities develop and change over time. I’m sure that in a few years, when he’s more of a little boy playing on sports teams and doing guy stuff, we’ll think he’s more like Chris again. And that can continue to change – it’s impossible to get everything from one parent. This is the reason that it drives me absolutely crazy when people insist that one of my twins is more like me and the other is more like Chris. George and Eleanor are still three months away from their second birthday and they have already changed so many times. I just let people say whatever they want and agree with them. It’s not worth the effort to correct them, but whenever possible I say that my children are going to try out a lot of different roles as they grow up and I’m always going to support them in that. Especially if they resemble me.

And I love now seeing the circularity of this in how I resemble my own parents. I swear that when I hear my never ending voiceover in the hours of video footage we take of our children not doing the adorable thing they were doing five seconds ago, I sound EXACTLY like my mother. In fact, while growing up I always identified more with my mother. I was more artistic and less athletic, I was a little reserved, I tended to think a lot about what I was wearing and I was creative with my accessories (I’ll have to post some embarrassing photos of that sometime). But Dad had to get more than just his genes in there.

Now that I’m older I see SO many behaviors that make me Terry Coveny’s clone. Just like my Dad, I must provide a solution for any given problem I hear. If you told him that you felt like you may have missed out on some opportunities in life, Answers Man will ask you a few questions and then take you through a step-by-step plan for how to think positively, take some risks and get more out of your future than you did in your past. There’s no venting with us – we are a strictly problem-solving operation. I also make it my mission in life to carry every shopping bag into the house in one trip. If I have a pile of ten items to transport from one room to another, I will engineer a construction that I can carry all at one time. I may not be able to see where I’m going, but damn it, I won’t waste precious minutes running back and forth. I need that time to clean up the mess when I inevitably drop everything. And of course, as implied above, I take myself VERY seriously . I will not be mocked (I’m getting a little better about that one – it’s all about growth).


So it will be interesting to see which of my children comes down the stairs wearing a rhinestone pin on a vintage scarf (hopefully it won’t be George – but you know I’ll be supportive if it is) or crashes around a corner with something that resembles the leaning tower of Pizza. Even in their most infuriating teenager phase when Chris and I want to move away and not leave a forwarding address – We will never feel completely honest in any form of criticism. Secretly, we’ll always know that they got it from us.