Saying Grace

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I’m not a particularly religious person. We stopped going to church when I was very little, and while I was baptized, I can’t even tell you the exact denomination. Protestant? Episcopalian? Something like that.

Then when we moved to DC, my parents made the incongruous decision to enroll my brother and me in private Catholic school. Though as a parent myself now, I think it’s safe to assume this was less random whimsy than the result of research involving tuition, academic ranking and proximity to our new home.

Nevertheless, at age eight I had to learn the Lord’s Prayer, which was recited each morning right after the Pledge of Allegiance. My mother, a lapsed Catholic, anticipated that we might have trouble understanding the exact words of the prayer with its lack of colloquial phrasing. So she made sure to explain that we were to say, “our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name,” not “Harold be thy name.” Apparently, this caused much confusion in her own childhood.

Outside of school, I spent quite a bit of time in the homes of friends where religious attitudes ranged from well-meaning to strictly devout. Almost all, unlike my own family, bowed their heads to say grace at the dinner table. This is where I learned how to recite another prayer that began, “bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts,” and even pop off a nonchalant sign of the cross finale move.

All were rote words and actions for me. I knew that saying grace was a form of giving thanks and asking for continued guidance in the whole “being a good Christian” thing… But I never gave the ritual any serious thought. I chalked it up to one of the many inexplicable have to’s that plagued any given family.

Grace was a nebulous concept for me. In school it was used in religious terminology. In the novels I read, it alluded to fluidity of movement or an innate sense of peacefully navigating the world. Perhaps it was this lack of definition commitment that put grace in the category of words that didn’t hold much power in my life. Too formal or lofty in its religious use and too precious and feminine in everyday conversation – it just didn’t resonate with me.

And quite honestly, it’s not a word that seemed to resonate with the people around me either. Sixteen year old Catholic school girls don’t talk about grace; they talk about boys and clothes and favorite books. I never once heard one of my college friends refer to grace while we were studying for exams or ordering pitchers of beer at the local dive bar. And in our twenties, my Catholic friends were still lying to their parents about going to church every Sunday.

It was almost inappropriate to refer to religion out of context. As if using words like faith or grace would push you into the territory of proselytizing bible thumpers. It just wasn’t done.

Grace, faith, church…just a bunch of have to’s that no one chose to discuss let alone prioritize.

Now at age 41, I can talk about pretty much anything with anyone. And I have a far more diverse assortment of friends and acquaintances. Some of my friends like me, don’t attend church. Others have grown more devout over the years. And no, they’re not all Catholic.

I have friends who feel comfortable referring to God in casual conversation. And that’s fine with me. Because I understand that they consider their faith to be one of the best and most beautiful things in their lives. So if they want to tell me that Jesus was there for them in a time of need, I don’t feel mildly embarrassed and unsure of how to respond. I just accept the words in the spirit they are given – with the best of intentions. By sharing these thoughts with me, they are showing me the best of themselves. They are giving me the best of themselves. How could that be inappropriate?

So it was completely natural for me to sit with a grieving friend and listen to her thoughts about God’s plan in her life. And in the midst of this heartbreaking conversation, she said something that changed everything for me.

She was talking about her feelings of responsibility. How she believed things would have happened differently if her husband had been there to change the course of events. And how grateful she was for the grace he showed her by not looking for someone to blame. She speculated that she may not have been strong enough to do the same.

After a moment of incredulity that she would think blame had any place in such a tragic accident, this one simple word – grace – filled the room. If you think about it, everyone makes this choice on any number of levels, every day. And for a while now, I’ve been giving considerable thought to what I choose. I just never had a name for it. Suddenly, I did, and I could say without hesitation that if put in the same position as her husband, I would choose to show grace.

Not because I’m such a fantastic person of course, but because I’m hopelessly flawed and so often in need of the forgiveness and understanding of others. Aren’t we all… How can she be so selfish? How can he be so cruel? WHY would anyone say something so insensitive? Every day there is a reason to be hurt or insulted or outraged by the words and actions of others. But the concept of other people is subjective. And I remind myself that I have often been the one unintentionally hurting, insulting and causing outrage. Who am I to assume intentions? Why not offer others the benefit of the doubt instead?

Now I don’t have to run through the complicated reasoning behind choosing to forgive or understand or assume good intentions. I just say “grace.” Maybe not with my outside voice…but that one word is a definitive reminder. A declaration. An incantation.

We put up with a lot of have to’s in life and I know that this concept is very much in that category for some. Turn the other cheek…take the high road…give it up to God. There are unlimited personal versions of what is largely considered a trite platitude. But giving it a name and seeing it as a choice has put it in a new context for me. What was once a sigh inducing “have to” is what I now consider to be the best part of me. The best I can give anyone. I can show them grace.

Sure, I get mad or feel offended sometimes. I lash out in anger. I even place blame. But it’s momentary, because at the end of the day, I don’t like feeling that way. I hate the idea of someone carrying the weight of guilt on their shoulders. Life is hard enough – why not cut each other a little slack?

Initial perceptions don’t always match true intentions. And people usually have good intentions. That should count for something, right? Destination notwithstanding, they do make excellent paving stones…. And maybe my choice to see things this way – my grace – can help to reroute that descending road. I’d rather believe the angel on one shoulder than the devil on the other. What the hell – it helps me sleep at night.

One of my favorite movie quotes is in The Big Lebowski. The Dude says, “You’re not wrong Walter. You’re just an asshole.” Sometimes we can get so wrapped up in ideas and principle, that we forget about people. We forget that it’s so easy to stumble over that line we’re so quick to draw in the sand. So easy to say the wrong thing – to do something so incredibly stupid. And to not even be aware of it. Why is it so hard to forgive or understand or just assume that no harm was meant?

Why not be more mindful of this choice? Why not choose to not be an asshole? Give the benefit of the doubt and assume good intentions. Choose kindness over principle and forgiveness over justice. Let people give you the best of themselves, regardless of your personal beliefs or habits. Consider the perspective of others. Consider the fact that to everyone else, you are “other people.”

I’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer, but I don’t think it’s too late to choose happiness. For me, being happy doesn’t come easily. I fight for it. I choose to look for the best in others. I stumble and fall short sometimes, but I choose to get up and try again. I choose to let go of the past. To give second chances. To keep moving forward. To see possibility in the future. To say that today was a good day.

I choose to accept that sometimes I will be an asshole. And to not judge others who make the same mistakes. I choose to say I’m sorry or I forgive you. To say that it’s okay – I’ve been there. I understand.

To say that just meaning well still counts. That just being here is a miracle.

To say that I couldn’t do any of this without other people. To say thank you.

To say grace.

They Coulda’ Been Great! April 2013

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I’m back with another installment of Facebook posts that could have been blog posts back in the day… One of my family members actually asked me, “are you still writing on your blog?” Ummmm….yeah. I’ve kind of dropped the ball on that, huh? I DO have something new that I’m working on though (i.e. started in December 2012 and should probably finish this weekend). But until then…

Here are the Facebook posts that could have been BLOG POSTS , back when we actually wrote stuff on our blogs and read the stuff that other people posted…and commented and stuff.

They coulda’ been great…

April 1

6:50 p.m.

There are days when I think, “you know what? I’m a really good mom! I have unlimited patience and I don’t sweat the small stuff.” Today? Is not one of those days…

9:00 p.m.

And then Oliver has one of his many Balki Bartokomous moments, “I need to get some shut eyes.”…and I can’t stop smiling.

April 2

7:30 p.m.

George is an endless source of amusement for me. He has started paying attention to commercials and tries to convince me that we need various products. Just the other day, I opened a cabinet door, and he delightedly exclaimed, “OH! We have Kaboom with Oxy Clean?”

But my favorite is the Michel Mercier Ultimate Detangling Brush. He is adamant that we MUST buy it for Eleanor (who in all fairness, cries like I’m plucking out single hairs with my tweezers). He recently picked up my brush and re-enacting a scene from the commercial, held it up saying, “this brush?” then tossed it over his shoulder, “OUT.” And just this morning, he picked up another brush I bought for Eleanor, asking, “what kind of brush is this?” Not realizing we were back to Michel Mercier, I responded, “I don’t know what you mean – that’s Eleanor’s brush.” But he wasn’t listening. He stroked the bristles muttering, “just a ‘regular’ brush…doesn’t glide through.”

I need to start hiring him out for infomercials. I’m seriously starting to think we need those brushes…

April 2

9:40 p.m.

“Kate – your show is on soon. It’s almost 9:30. Kate! You’re going to miss your show…” Yeah – Chris isn’t that into The Mindy Project.

April 6

2:50 p.m.

Remember my ill fated attempt at starting Oliver in “Blast Ball” (pre-T-Ball) a few years back? WHY didn’t I know about adapted sports programs back then!? We’re at our first C.A.T.S. soccer practice and he loves it! Which of course means that his interest began to wane after 20 minutes and we’ve had MANY conversations about not picking at the AstroTurf… But whatever – he’s not crying or demanding to leave – so I’m thrilled.

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April 7

10:20 a.m.

Oliver is so weird…

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April 11

9:10 a.m.

Met up with one of Eleanor’s classmates while walking to school today.

Eleanor: So do you like my new outfit?

Boy: Yeah! It looks like a swimsuit.

Ah, men and compliments… It seems the weirdness starts early.

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April 15

8:00 p.m.

Overheard from the other room…

George: This side is for massaging and this side is for sharpening.

Do I even want to know?

April 17

4:30 p.m.

I don’t know about you – but I’m feelin’ 22.

Not really. More like 42.

P.S. I’m turning 41 this month.

April 21

12: 00 p.m.

It’s been brought to my attention that I sometimes forget where I’m going when driving. I’m in the car so much I just switch into autopilot mode. Luckily I usually have Oliver, my human GPS system with me. Just today I got onto the Dulles Toll Road and heard small voice from the back seat announce, “Mom. You’re going the wrong way.” I could have ended up in DC before remembering that the swim lesson is in Ashburn.

Of course, while helpful when I need it, it can also be annoying. Three miles before a turn he starts yelling at me, “Move over! You’re missing it!” Honestly – drive past your exit every once in a while, and suddenly everyone has an opinion about what lane you’re in…

12:40 p.m.

So my neighbor, took this of me with Oliver yesterday BEFORE I got ready to go out. WHY couldn’t I have put on some makeup and possibly done something with my hair? I’m not used to being IN pictures (forget about random, unplanned shots…)

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April 24

5:30 p.m.

It doesn’t get any better than this for Oliver…

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April 25

3:00 p.m.

So I decided to get a haircut today and from the little I can see of what she’s doing in the back – it’s looking SHORT. If you come to the DC LTYM show on Sunday, don’t be surprised if you see Arya Stark in a wrap dress on stage.

6:00 p.m.

Short haircuts walk a fine line between sassy and soccer mom. OH HI nose!

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April 26

8:30 a.m.

Oliver is lobbying hard for buying a cotton candy machine. I’m having a hard time poking holes in his argument…

9:50 a.m.

So I think pairing glasses with my new haircut makes me look very intellectual. Which is kind of hilarious if you know me…

Also, I’m glad I didn’t add trendy bangs since I now see how this could go very “Carol Channing…”

AND – I don’t have the highest of hopes that I can ever get it to look this perfect again!

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April 27

1:10 p.m.

It’s my birthday! And it’s beautiful outside! So I’m at Chuck E. Cheese with my kids – obviously.

4:00 p.m.

The birthday festivities continue… We left Chuck E. Cheese and went directly to Oliver’s adapted sports soccer practice, where I am now folding LTYM brochures. Queen for a day!!

8:00 p.m.

Whenever I see my neighbor wearing his Led Zeppelin t-shirt and his 3 year old wearing HER Led Zeppelin t-shirt, I have to hum the first few bars of Kashmir. And then I remember Dimone’s 5 point plan in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, “whenever possible, put on side 1 of Led Zeppelin 4.”Then I realize that I’ve had 3 glasses of birthday wine…and I think I’m a little bit drunk…and kind of old. Cheers!

April 30
5:00 p.m.
Was having some technical difficulties on FB yesterday… But here is most recent post on the LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER DC blog (oh no – it’s not over until I do a wrap up with approximately one million pictures…prepare yourselves…)
*****
Wow – that’s a lot of pictures of me. Like yourself much, Kate? Ah well – I get my hair cut once or twice a year. It’s exciting. For me.
Back soon with something I DID NOT post on Facebook!

Turn Signals

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*I read this at DC’s Listen to Your Mother Show, Sunday, April 28. Thought I’d post it here for friends and family who couldn’t come. Since I wrote it for the performance, it may not translate as well on the (virtual) page…but the videos will be online later this summer!

My mother once told me that when she was a new driver, my grandmother plotted out directions for everywhere her daughter could possibly need to go. The purpose of this was to ensure that the recently licensed teenager NEVER had to make a left turn.

Probably not the most realistic of long term plans.

When I was learning to drive in my Capitol Hill neighborhood, right turn only routes were a near impossibility. But I doubt Mom would have repeated this same tactic anyway. While she did her best to shelter us from the harsher realities of life, my brother and I were also given a great deal of freedom to make our own decisions. At the very least, we were allowed to turn left.

At the time, I didn’t acknowledge this leniency. Instead, I rolled my eyes as I caught the peripheral movement of her foot pushing down on the passenger side brake that all mothers have. I huffed in exasperation each time I stopped just a liiiittle bit short, and she flung her arm across my body like a back-up seat belt. I stared at her with incredulity when she instructed me to put on my left turn signal as we waited in a left turn lane.

“Mom, don’t you think people know I’m turning left? I mean, the big arrows painted on the road kind of give it away.”

“Well,” she said, “use the signal anyway. Just in case.”

My mother knew we needed to chart our own course in life, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t worry about us.

Over the past 15 years, Mom has had several recurrences of cancer. And it was our turn to worry about her. Each time, she said she would be FINE. She just knew it. And she was. We’ve been very lucky in that. But nothing is ever simple, and she’s had her fair share of left turns to navigate.

One summer, when my children were still toddlers and preschool age, things got a little weird. It seemed like Mom worried about EVERYTHING.

At the time, she was on a round chemo that was particularly rough and was taking various medications to help with the pain. Through previous treatments, she maintained a positive attitude and was relentless in her insistence that we share it. But now, she was filled with anxiety.

“Kate. I want you to make sure that your new stove is anchored to the wall. Is it anchored to the wall?”

“I don’t think so Mom. They just slid it in…but it’s pretty solid. I can’t imagine how it would tip over.”

“Can you check? Just in case. I’m worried about the children pulling down. You know how they like to climb.”

I looked at my very heavy, very square stove; and the teenager I once was rolllled her eyes and sighed in exasperation.

“Okay Mom. I’ll check.”

I tugged on the edges where it seemed my monkeys might find a hand hold.

“Yeah…I just don’t see how they could tip this thing. It’s pretty wide…”

“What about the top? If they climbed on top of it, could they pull it over that way?”

As my mother waited in anticipation of my answer, I wondered how it had come to this. Exactly how many wrong turns had we made to end up in Crazy Town. Well, I thought, since we’re already here…

I put the phone down.

“Mom. I’m putting you on speaker.”

I then reached over the top of the stove and pulled on the far edge of it. Nothing happened. I bent my knees and really leaned into the pull. Again, nothing. I braced my feet against the bottom of the stove, bowed my back and gritted my teeth, willing that behemoth to fall on top of me!

I broke a sweat, trying to severely injure myself with a kitchen appliance.

And as I held that ridiculous pose I called over to the phone on the counter, “Mom. I am trying to pull this thing down with every scrap of strength I have and it is NOT HAPPENING.”

“Well okay. I guess it’s safe. Thanks for checking.”

As it turned out, there was a reason for my mother’s extreme anxiety that summer. With all of her different medications and dosages, things were a bit confused. And her doctors inadvertently got her addicted to Oxycontin.

So she wasn’t just acting a little crazy. She WAS a little crazy.

Thankfully, this was something that could be fixed, and as my brother so eloquently put it, “we got Mom off the junk.” She went back to being her normal, power-of-positive-thinking self.

But we can’t blame drugs for all of our worries, can we?

I myself, once spent months living with the fear that I might accidentally drop my infant son down our apartment building’s trash chute.

I was too afraid to leave him alone while I walked five doors down to take out the garbage. So I’d bring him with me, and clutch him tightly to my chest the entire time. And yes – I do realize now that there were other options…like putting him the stroller. Or – I don’t know – telling MY HUSBAND to take out the trash!

All mothers visit Crazy Town every once in a while.

But in the end it all comes from the same place – this worry.

We just want to know that it’s going to be okay. And it’s so hard, not knowing.

We all live uncertain lives full of risk. Full of left turns.

So we make maps. And try to pull heavy appliances on top of ourselves. We tell our children that everything will be FINE, even though we know full well that there are no guarantees.  We tell cautionary tales, and laugh and cry and learn. And just live. Live for the moment and assume that all will be well.

But no matter what, we’ll always send our children those exasperating – often ridiculous – sometimes CRAZY signals of our love and hopes for them.

Just in case.

TAP2

They Coulda’ Been Great… March 2013

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Well – it doesn’t look like I’ll have time  to post anything new before the Listen to Your Mother – DC show on April 28th (and speaking of that – have you bought your tickets yet?). So here is another installment of my “this could have been a blog post” series. If you haven’t seen the last two (which would be the last two posts over the past two months…sigh), these are my Facebook updates that…well, could have been blog posts. For further explanation, click HERE.

And now – MARCH!

March 2

10:20 a.m.

Scene: George is inconsolable because Oliver ate the second half of his glazed doughnut (left on the table while he took a break to watch TV).

Me: George, there is a whole box of doughnuts right there. Pick another one. Besides, you told me that you wanted me to get you a sugar doughnut, not a glazed doughnut. There it is – right there in the box. EAT THAT ONE.

George: wail/fume/wail/fume

Me: Look – there it is – exactly what you wanted. RIGHT THERE. You should focus on what you DO have – not what you DON’T have.

Chris: Gives me an “are you kidding me?” look.

Me: (indignant) Well, it’s TRUE.

Chris: Hey George – stop crying and get the sugar doughnut. You should eat it now because if you don’t, Oliver will.

Me: Gives Chris a reluctant look of approval.

Chris: (much too smug for my liking) Well, it’s true.

2:18 p.m.

My friend just gave me this cook tweedy coat that belonged to her grandmother (something about it being too long on her…whatever, I’ll take the free coat). I think the label is my favorite thing about it.

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March 3

1:10 p.m.

My lazy parenting just caught up with me…

I think I’ve been letting the kids watch too many Disney tween shows. While getting ice cream cones today, Oliver said “I LOVE you,” instead of the usual “thank you” when the teenage girl handed him his cone. Uh….

And then – THEN – as he rode his bike past a bunch of girl scouts selling cookies, he said “hi girls!” and winked at them.

What?!

 

March 4

4:51 p.m.

“Never pick up garbage! Never put garbage IN YOUR MOUTH! And NEVER put garbage on ME!”

Within 60 minutes Oliver and George did all three

6:00 p.m

JUST ANNOUNCED: The Mindy Project has been picked up for a second season on FOX! SHARE this to spread the word! Details: http://fox.tv/ZiyziJ

“JUST ANNOUNCED: The Mindy Project has been picked up for a second season on FOX! SHARE this to spread the word!

Details: http://fox.tv/ZiyziJ

I am inordinately excited about this…

6:04 p.m.

Should I be concerned that people are posting links to thought provoking articles on feminism and sexism and other issues that impact my life as a woman in Western culture…I’m just here all, “Yay! The Mindy Project was picked up for a second season!”??

 

March 5

3:00 p.m.

Sometimes it seems like all I ever say to Oliver is, “no.” This is the source of much guilt and chagrin on my part. But when I walked into the living room to find him wielding a massive bread knife as part of whatever imaginary game he was playing… Well, I felt fairly justified in my negative reaction.

 

March 9

9:19 a.m.

Me: (seeing Eleanor try to sit on Oliver’s legs which were propped up on a coffee table) That doesn’t look like a good idea.

Eleanor: What? He lets me do it all the time. Besides, it’s practically pretty safe.

Oh – well if it’s PRACTICALLY pretty safe, then I guess it’s okay.

10:20 a.m.

Yet another message from the universe that my children watch too much television:

In the car running errands with the kids. A police siren wails in the distance.

Oliver: Sounds like the police. Someone must have robbed a jewelry store!

 

March 10

11:04 a.m.

Representing (with messy hair) today #LTYM #DC

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7:34 p.m.

I love how Dina McQueen calls Eleanor “E the B” (as in “Eleanor the Brave”). WE call her “E the B” all the time. Just for different reasons…

7:40 p.m.

Hey! I just realized that it has been SO LONG since I added my cover photo that it will actually become seasonally relevant again in less than a month!

 

March 11

5:40 p.m.

Eleanor: Once upon a time, there was a trophy. And his name…was Sparkle.

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10:13 p.m.

Just now on Fox 5 News at 10: “The Cardinals are cut off from their Twitter accounts.” Brutal. Still pinning though, I bet.

 

March 12

2:16 p.m.

Do I like Justin Timberlake’s new sound? Have you SEEN my Earth Wind and Fire CD collection? Pretty much…

Never could resist a horn section.

 

March 13

8:00 p.m.

I mean – I know Caillou is only four…but he doesn’t know what a TURTLE is? Really? Contrived plot lines sure do start early.

 

March 14

9:21 a.m.

Three weeks ago, Eleanor switched out her hot pink cast for this. Today she’ll have another x-ray on her foot to see if the crack is healed. It’s now been SEVEN weeks. Fingers crossed that she leaves the appointment wearing TWO shoes today…

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11:00 a.m.

Today’s footwear: one dirty shoe, one clean shoe and ZERO walking boots!

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3:26 p.m.

If I said that I just used Oliver’s light saber to clean under my couch, would you think I sounded crazy? Then you are not a mom.

7:40 p.m.

Hey! I wrote that!

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March 18

9:45 p.m.

The Following is one of the best shows on TV! But I could really do without those Evil Dead commercials. The demon girl coming up out of the floor? Scarred for life.

March 20

6:28 p.m.

George’s drawings all look like cave paintings.

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March 24

1:15 p.m.

Eleanor: I think I want to be in the Olympics.

Me: That would be great!

Eleanor: Because kids can be whatever they want when they grow up. Right?

Me: Yes!

Eleanor: OR they can just have a bunch of kids like you did.

I think it’s time to start talking up some of my other accomplishments…

 

March 25

10:40 a.m.

SPRINGBREAKYEAH!!!

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March 28

7:01 p.m.

Exhausted after an epic journey (planes, trains and automobiles…minus the planes) from Reston to the National Zoo today. Hard to believe that we could just WALK there when I was a little girl! Would have far preferred that commute today. But just like old times, the Pandas were hiding. We moved to DC when I was eight, and I think I’ve actually SEEN a Panda approximately three times in my life.

 

March 29

6:35 p.m.

Every day with 2 little boys is like that end segment of The Benny Hill Show. Including the nudity.

 

March 31

11:36 a.m.

Eleanor got a digital watch in her Easter basket. If you ever find yourself wondering what time it is – just ask me. She’s giving me minute to minute updates.

***

Since I don’t document ALL of our comings and goings on Facebook… Here are a few highlights:

Eleanor lost a tooth:

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…Oliver turned eight…

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…and a bad hair stylist massacred George’s bangs:

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OH YEAH – and we celebrated the holy day of Easter with brunch and several pounds of Cadbury Mini Eggs (okay that second part was just me). Happy spring!

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They Coulda’ Been Great… February 2013 Facebook Upates

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I have a few half written posts that I swear I will finish one of these days (except for the Christmas one – that shelf life has long since expired…) But I don’t seem to have time for more than the odd Facebook update here and there. So I guess I’ll just continue with my “this could have been a blog post” series on Facebook updates that…well, could have been blog posts. For an explanation of this foolishness, click HERE. Otherwise, heeeeeeere’s FEBRUARY!


February 3

9:30 a.m.

Our poor black dog, Alice looks like she has dandruff on her head. Oliver decided to give her a toothpaste shampoo. Obviously.


February 4

6:30 p.m.

Arrived in a box amidst a jumble of memorabilia from Chris’ parents’ house (they are moving: i.e. unloading boxes of crap on their kids). I’m calling it The Ring of Power.


February 4

9:30 p.m.

Some people may call eating dinner at 9:30 not being able to get your act together…I like to call it “being European.”


February 5

4:35 p.m.

I don’t think I will ever in my life spell ocassion correctly the FIRST time. I mean occassion. Occasion?

7:20 p.m.

If George takes 2 hours to eat four chicken nuggets AGAIN, I may lose my mind… I mean, seriously. How many issues with breading can one person have?!


February 6

9:00 p.m.

If I end up dying young, it will undoubtedly be the result of our dog, Alice tripping me on the stairs. She LIVES directly under my feet!


February 7

5:35 p.m.

“No! Toothpaste is not soap. It is for teeth. Not washing hands…or dogs.”

I actually say these things.


February 10

7:50 p.m.

Major quandary about Downton Abbey and The Walking Dead being on at the same time… What does this say about me?

Though in my defense, my husband does figure in. I would prefer watch Downton and catch TWD later… Marriage is all about compromise!


February 11

8:10 p.m.

“NOT UNTIL YOU STAY IN YOUR OWN SQUARE AND STOP TOUCHING OTHER PEOPLE!”

Only people with kids will think this statement sounds remotely normal.

9:30 p.m.

I always know that my dog Alice’s water bowl is empty when I hear her drinking out of the toilet. One would think that this would make me more vigilant about checking her supply. One would be wrong.

Related: my children are inconsistent flushers.

We’re all about the class.


February 12

7:5o p.m.

“We never throw our underwear at someone’s face!”

So many teachable moments…


February 13

6:30 p.m.

One of my children to another one of my children: “Stop playing with my nails!”

Me: “The fact that he had to ask that is weird enough. Please stop doing it.”


February 14

2:30 p.m.

Sometimes I open my e-mail and think, “why did I subscribe to Goop.com?” I mean – when do I ever actually open those e-mails? So instead of unsubscribing, I just delete the message and reenact this scene again the following day…


February 17

9:30 a.m.

Me (to our dog): Alice – why do you always want to play with ME? You know I’m not fun!

Eleanor: Well…sometimes you are.

Gee thanks.


February 19

8:05 a.m.

He returned from his business trip over 3 weeks ago…But on the upside, someone is finally using that hideous dog bed.

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February 19

7:00 p.m.

No idea what this is all about – but I’m IN.

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February 21

5:00 p.m.

Trying to get something rather time sensitive done on the computer and the kids won’t leave me alone. Hello! I’ve given you all snacks, drinks, suggestions for entertainment, TELEVISION… Giving serious thought to tossing a bag of unopened candy downstairs and telling them that they’re not allowed to eat it. That should keep them busy (and quiet) for a good hour…

8:20 p.m.

Me: Hey – now that Eleanor’s cast is off, you can all start taking the bus again.

George: Yay! I love the bus. You can find candy under the seats.

Me: Why are you telling me this?

George: It’s like a scavenger hunt!


February 26

2:10 p.m.

Holding this in mine today…

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5:20 p.m.

They put one on EVERY DOOR in the house. And on a couple of chairs. And a lamp.

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February 28

6:00 p.m.

Eleanor: Isn’t it weird how babies are always born on their birthday?

Uh….

*****

That’s it! Check back in a few weeks for March updates (spoiler: I throw a party because The Mindy Project is renewed by Fox for another season).

What’s Your Status? (Alternatively Titled: They Coulda’ Been Great) – January 2013 Facebook Upates

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Remember when we used to write regularly in our blogs and people would even READ what we wrote and possibly COMMENT? And we would read other blogs and comment and stuff too. And there would be this whole communication thing going on…what did we call it back then? OH YEAH – blogging.

Now we do this on Facebook and Twitter.

Recently, it occurred to me that half (if not most) of what I post on Facebook constitutes the beginnings of a blog post. Back in the good ol’ days I mean. Each of these little one liners or bits of dialogue could have been worked into an entire story on my blog. They could have been whole posts. They coulda’ been great! Not to mention the fact that only 10% of my family is actually on Facebook. That’s right, Chris, Mom, etc. are missing ALL of this stuff.

So I’m starting a new monthly feature: “What’s Your Status?” I will do somewhat of a round up of all of my original Facebook posts (original meaning no link shares or the ever prolific someecards).

So here they are – all of the late-to-the-gamers. They could have been something. They coulda’ been a contender!

I think that covers it. Feel free to join in on this. Here is my January “could have been’s”:


January 1

6:00 p.m.

George: MOM! There are three steps to reading. FIRST! You open the book. SECOND! You look at the letters….oh yeah, there are TWO steps to reading.

11:15 p.m.

Just looked in the mirror, and I have to say – there is NOTHING sexier than a woman wearing a men’s t-shirt, voluminous fleece pajama bottoms and a Breathe Right strip. And MY husband gets to climb into bed with that EV-RY NIGHT. That lucky devil.


January 5

4:20 p.m.

Just got back from the ER. My ankle swelled up for no apparent reason and I decided that it must be a blood clot. Such an alarmist…of course I was wrong, but the doctors are just as clueless as I am. Nothing showed up in x-rays – so they are going to treat for infection. My diagnosis is “cellulitis.” Sadly, unlike the well known appendicitis scenario, treatment for cellulitis will not involve the removal of my cellulite. BUT I did get a prescription for Vicodin and orders to stay off my feet for a couple of days so I’LL TAKE IT.


January 6

5:30 p.m.

It’s Alice’s birthday! She’s really excited about this…

6:45 p.m.

“Okay – I don’t know who started it, but I want you both to STOP.” (If you ever doubted that you would turn into your parents…)

9:45 p.m.

If I have to get old, I want to be just like the Downton matriarchs. Can’t decide which one…


January 8

10:40 p.m.

Should I be embarrassed that when I looked an actor up online to see why he looked SO familiar to me, it was because he was in Hot Tub Time Machine? Related: Hot Tub Time Machine was HILARIOUS.


January 9

3:15 p.m.

Volunteered in my daughter’s K-1 art class today and found out that there actually IS a teenage boy lurking inside me. It happened when the teacher said (without ANY hint of irony), “now remember to be careful with those black markers…because once you use black, it’s hard to go back.”

I’m not kidding.


January 12

3:15 p.m.

Just drove somewhere with Oliver – and when I looked in the rear view mirror, I saw him sitting there with a lollipop.

Me: Oliver – where do you get that lollipop?

Oliver: from the car.

Me: [not really wanting to hear the answer] Was it wrapped?

Oliver: No.

Of course not…


January 15

10:30 a.m.

For some reason I am freezing today. Actually changed back into my fleece pajama bottoms! But then again, isn’t wearing fleece pajama bottoms one of the primary incentives for working from home?


January 16

5:15 p.m.

Never ceases to amaze me how quickly I can clear a room by asking, “hey – who wants to do homework?” Useful.


January 17

8:05 a.m.

Everyone knows that Martin Luther King received a Nobel Peace Prize. BUT did you also know that he once modeled Maybelline’s new Spring line of lipsticks?


January 18

9:30 a.m.

I just identified a new milestone in the gradual submission to suburban life. When you realize you have both indoor AND outdoor slippers. Deadly when combined with “still wearing your fleece pajama bottoms when you walk the dog at 7 a.m.”


January 20

2:30 p.m.

This morning Oliver and I were chatting, and he (obviously quoting something he heard on TV) said in a cartoon voice, “listen jerk!” I gasped and asked, “WHO said that?”

His response? “I did.”

Of course, so silly of me…


January 21

8:30 p.m.

Should I be embarrassed that I’m watching The Carrie Diaries? Probably…right?


January 22

12:15 p.m.

You know when it’s SO COLD outside that your house feels like an icebox and there aren’t enough sweaters in THE WORLD…so you decide to take a hot shower, but then you have to get out (because – you know, you ran out of hot water) and then it’s a bajillion times worse because now you are cold AND wet? All I have to say is thank the blessed mother of Thomas Edison for hair dryers. And heating pads! Off to look for our heating pad…

6:45 p.m.

You know the evening has degenerated when you have to yell “no touching butts!” more than once.


January 23

11:10 a.m.

Time to call animal control…full story on The Big Piece of Cake today.

2:30 p.m.

Bat update: Animal control feels no connection to my bat – said I should call an exterminator. Exterminators are not concerned about the bat devouring us in our sleep – will come tomorrow to “see if they can do anything for us.” Will report back on whether the bat makes its move and we join the Cullen Family. Please pray for us, as I am emphatically Team Jacob.


January 26

1:45 p.m.

In case you were wondering – I’m getting used to the bat in my window. Not that I’ll cry if the promised 60 degree weather inspires him to leave us…

6:05 p.m.

Eleanor just said, “Mom guess what animal I love even MORE than horses now? Dolphins!”

She is such a girl…bracing myself for puffy letter writing and unicorn pictures.


January 27

10:45 a.m.

One of these days, those “be a secret shopper” people are going to wear me down with their incessant e-mails…

1:05 p.m.

So this morning on Sid the Science Kid, the preschool has a day off and Sid is bummed that he won’t see his friends. But SURPRISE – his mom invited all of his friends over for the day (as if!). Then all of the kids lament how much they miss their teacher. But SURPRISE – Sid’s Mom ALSO invited their teacher! Because that’s exactly what teachers want to do on their day off – hang out with their students.

7:45 p.m.

George: Ahhh! Ahhh!
Me: What?! What’s wrong?!
George: My eye! My eye!
Me: What’s wrong with your eye?!
George: Towel! I need a [wet] towel!
Me: [running from kitchen with wet paper towel] Here! What happened?!
George: Wait…it doesn’t hurt anymore.
Me: Oh.
George: Wait…Ahhh! Ahhh! My eye!
Me: [handing him the wet paper towel] HERE!
George: Okay – that’s better….[then looks at the towel and sees a pink splotch – part of the print on the cheap Viva I buy) Ahhh! Ahhh! Blood!
Me: That’s not blood! It’s just the pattern on the paper towel.
George: Oh. Heh.

Someone seems to have inherited his father’s flair for the drama…and his ability to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Though it really does take something as indisputable as “the pattern on the paper towel”…


January 28

8:25 a.m.

E: Bats are like people. They have 5 fingers. Me: How do you know that? E: Because I counted. #science Also? That’s his tail. #eeewww!


January 31

10:55 a.m.

So – we lost our bat yesterday. If you’ve been following along, you can read the final installment here (scroll to the bottom).
********

Okay – I cheated.  I did write about the bat here… It just felt like such a BIG part of my January Facebook chit chat… But everything else is 100% wasted time on social media!

I’ll put February up in a couple of weeks. But in the meantime – what’s YOUR status?

The Good in Goodbye

11 Replies

I went to a funeral last Friday.

And I’ve been thinking a lot about it over the past week. About all funerals, really.

What is it that they say about funerals? That they’re for the living? It makes sense. Only the living would really need a funeral. Because it offers a means of saying goodbye.

This public acknowledgement of – this bearing witness to – an ending is sometimes the only thing that allows us to move on. Forward. Possibly, to even see that as an option. A funeral honors this ending/beginning, and gives us permission to grieve, hope and continue to live.

At age 40, I’ve been to many funerals. And as far as religious rituals and rites go, I wouldn’t say that I personally need them. I don’t need a ceremony to say goodbye. I don’t need to commune with black garbed strangers I’ll probably never see again. I don’t need a gathering.

But I could never say that I don’t need people.

Which is an ironic statement coming from me since I love having time to myself. I actually like being alone. I could spend an entire week without seeing another person and never feel lonely. But this is exactly why I need people. Because for me, being alone is easy. And there is nothing to be learned from an easy life.

I need to feel the press of humanity around me. To bump into their sharp edges and feel a little uncomfortable. I need to be jostled and forced to participate. To stay awake. And alive.

Funerals are taxing for an introvert. All of those people…

And ultimately – I think that’s all a funeral is. Just people bumping into each other. Taking what they need and giving what they can. From family and friends supporting each other to strangers sharing a moment of companionship. It’s just a bunch of people standing around, feeling.

We are surrounded by people every day. On the bus…standing in line at the grocery store…sitting in a movie theater. So many experiences we remember are actually moments in time shared with strangers. But how often do we acknowledge that? That indirect togetherness?

Ceremony aside, a funeral is an ideal occasion to recognize how connected we all are. Saying goodbye is a terrible thing to have in common – but it makes us actually look at each other.

The blond woman who puts her head on the shoulder of the man next to her. So tender. They must be close. I wonder if they are part of the family…maybe work friends.

The two women walking down the aisle. Mother and daughter? The older one looks very sad. The younger one holds her elbow. The small smiles they give me as they pass don’t reach their eyes.

A toddler in the front row wails and is quickly whisked to the back of the church. Her boots are spangled with sequins. A granddaughter?

As far as people watching goes, it’s not all that different from an afternoon at Whole Foods. Everyone has a story. Most of us are here alone. Alone in a crowd that’s only different in its singular purpose of saying goodbye.

But the goodbyes that truly bring us all together come from the people in the front row. Especially those who stand up to tell stories about the loved one who died. They are not just sharing anecdotes that we may or may not already know – they’re handing us pieces of themselves.

What a rare and extraordinary experience. To be alone yet together in a crowd of friends and strangers, seeing a unique individual through the eyes the people who love them.

The first time I ever witnessed something like this was in high school. A new classmate (who would later in life become a dear friend) stood in front of hundreds of people to tell us about her twelve year old brother. She did this by reading a letter his friends wrote about him.

In college, I listened to my mother’s sister and cousin tell stories about their “Nana” who never married or had children, but instead poured all of her love into four little nieces. She let them try on her jewelry and made an event of watching the Miss America pageant.

When a good friend’s father died, I listened to her sister tell a hilarious story about his dedication to snapping great photos at the many weddings he attended. His scrappy hustle and willingness to elbow any professional photographer out of the way inspired his six children to call him, “Matty Kane, cub reporter.”

A few years later, I listened to that same sister’s husband talk about her valiant battle with breast cancer. When she received this diagnosis, her immediate response was, “thank god it’s not one of my babies.”

And in the fall of 2011, I sat in complete awe as one of my closest friends described the too short but incredibly full life of her twelve year old son. He had a sweet nature and a talent for making people feel special.

I think that two funerals for twelve year old boys has been entirely enough for me. I can only hope that there will never be a third.

But the funeral last week was not for a boy. It was for a man with thirteen grandchildren. A man who lived both a long and full life. One full of stories.

Some of these stories were told by his children who each took a turn to talk about the father they knew. It was especially moving for me to witness this since I practically lived in their house when I was a little girl.

Madeline was like the sister I never had, which made her siblings my extended network of big sisters and younger brothers. So the stories they told about what a character their father was…his irreverence…his tendency to bring home random “new friends” as if they were long lost family members…his constant supply of Lucky Strikes…they all brought back so many memories of that big family with their larger than life patriarch. But I was especially touched by their more serious, poignant insights.

Marjorie spoke first, explaining that she and her sister Gigi were tiny girls when their father came into their life. He fell in love with their mother and without hesitation, claimed them as his own. It takes quite a man to do something like that.

Oldest sister was followed by youngest brother, Reilly. Who is inexplicably no longer a ten year old boy. When did he become this man with SIX children of his own? But man he is, and so much like his father. He talked about the man who taught him how to be a man, starting with the value of a strong handshake. A lesson he’s passed down to his own sons.

My Madeline (I always think of her as “My Madeline”) went next. She was a Daddy’s Girl and never one to wear her heart anywhere BUT on her sleeve for the world to see (dry eyes beware). She shared her earliest memory of being at the beach, where her father would carry her out into the waves. She thought it was scary…and also exciting. But she always felt safe.

Gigi was the last to speak, and she said that she found herself at a loss for words. She has endured what could only be described as a mother’s nightmare over the past year. And the presence of supportive parents has contributed largely to her survival. She didn’t share memories, as no story or quote was required to express the depth of her love and grief. Instead she told us how much this support meant to her – just the simple act of “spending time with him.” Knowing that he was there.

One brother was not able to talk about the father he knew, but his presence filled the room. John died young, just barely a man himself. His Down Syndrome was never perceived as a disability in their house, but the health complications that so often accompany the condition were a constant worry. The loss of this much loved son and brother was a terrible blow to the family. And while this wasn’t John’s funeral, it did feel like a continuation of grief and gratitude for the time they all had together.

While I do not have a son with Down Syndrome, I do have one with special needs. And I think that I owe much to my friend and her family for my perception of him as being just perfect the way he is. This isn’t an easy thing to do. No one finds out they’re pregnant and wishes for a child with special needs. No one wants their son to struggle with the things that come so easily to others. But I grew up watching a family find the exceptional in a boy with special needs because of his differences. And I am so incredibly grateful for that.

I didn’t go to John’s funeral. I was in college, in another state and young enough to believe that my presence wouldn’t have been important. But 20 years later, I know this is far from true. There are no extraneous people when it comes to saying goodbye.

Whether we are there alone or in the front row, we are all part of something bigger than a rite or ritual. A funeral isn’t just a miscellaneous assortment of people in pews. It’s a shared moment of grief in loss, gratitude for life and the acknowledgement that that everyone – even an introvert like me – needs people.

Alone in a crowd or together around a family table, we are just people bumping into each other’s sharp edges, reminding each other to participate in life – to actually look at each other. We take what we need and give what we can. And we tell stories to help us remember.

And as long as there are stories, then we never really have to say goodbye.

About Last Night… (Alternatively Titled: Bats Alive!)

18 Replies

January 22, 2013, 9:30 p.m.

So even though I have two posts partially finished to, you know – FINISH (one of which is about my Christmas), I have GOT to talk about what happened last night.

At about 11:00 I was channel surfing (we still call it that right? I’m so ’90s about electronics, I’m never sure – I mean, I still listen to CDs forgodssake). And after two hours of complete engrossment in The Carrie Diaries and The Following (try THAT juxtaposition on for size), I was beginning to think that going to bed might be a good idea. But first I had to make sure there wasn’t something super awesome on Lifetime (or at least something starring Jo from The Facts of Life).

So I know it was sometime before midnight when I heard Eleanor crying. She said her foot hurt where the splint covered her heel. Oh – did I mention that she broke her foot this weekend? It’s a long story involving children picking up free weights when they know it’s not allowed and Eleanor’s foot being in the wrong place at the wrong time… Well maybe it’s a short story… But yeah – Eleanor broke her foot. Anyway – it hurt, she cried and I had to give up on 1990’s made for Lifetime movie entertainment.

I gave her some Tylenol and said she could sleep in my room. Then I tucked her into bed with George, who had already found his way there. Wait – did you know that Chris is away on a week-long business trip? Wow – we have A LOT of catching up to do… Well, moving on, I looked at my six year old “book ends” and resigned myself to a cramped night of elbow jabs and pillow stealing.

I suffered for a while, but when our dog, Alice crawled under the covers to make herself comfortable in the area where I would typically choose to place my legs, I decided that one of my bed mates had to go. And because Eleanor was playing the “wounded” card and I have never once won a battle for bed space with Alice, the choice was obvious. I got up and moved George back to his own bed. This was easy enough as George sleeps so deeply you could probably arrange him on a coat hanger, and he wouldn’t notice.

It was the moment when I finally relaxed back into the luxury of being able to move at least one of my limbs, that the scratching noise started. Then continued, persistent and loud.

I had woken Eleanor up with my moving around, so she heard it too. And sensing my newly alert state, she said, “I think it’s just Alice.” Since I was at that very moment straddling my sleeping, 60 lb. dog, I knew for a fact that it was not Alice.

And speaking of that, please take a moment to give it up for Alice, the WORST guard dog EVER. She will bark her head off at a cat sitting on the sidewalk outside of our house – but an unknown creature makes menacing noises IN MY BEDROOM and….nothing.

As the mysterious scuffling (and Alice’s snoring) continued, it became increasingly clear, that I was going to have to get up and “check it out.” I was so tired, I would have preferred to just pretend it wasn’t happening so I could sleep. But the noise was coming from the corner where Chris’ closet was partially open, and I figured that if there was a raccoon in there eating his dress shirts, I’d probably better deal with it sooner as opposed to later. Oh who am I kidding!? I’ve already admitted that I’d be the first to meet my grisly end in a horror movie. I ALWAYS “check it out.”

I tried to make it as “not scary” as possible for Eleanor by saying that the boys might be awake and making noise downstairs. But as I went through the motions of listening for signs of my naughty sons, I was fully focused on that corner, trying to identify the the true source of the commotion

Was it the closet? Or was it the window next to the closet…? It was definitely the window. So all I had to do was open the drapes and take a look.

Oh Christ. I really didn’t want to open the drapes… But hey – it could be an ax murderer or something…so I figured I pretty much had to do it. And with Eleanor’s encouragement, I peeked in the side and saw a small fluttering shape.

My first thought was that it could be a bird since I did once have an experience with a sparrow flying in the window and getting trapped in my room (and let me tell you – you haven’t lived until a bird has crapped all over your room). But in my heart of hearts, I knew it wasn’t a bird. It was the middle of the night. What birds fly around in the middle of the night? I looked a little more closely. And sure enough…it was a bat.

Oh sweet Jesus. I had a bat trapped in my storm window.

I immediately started fuming, “OF COURSE Chris isn’t here, leaving ME to deal with this.” But then I quickly remembered that Chris would have been of no use, as I was fairly certain that “bat removal” was not listed under “Skills” on his marriage resume.

And truly, I didn’t know what I could do at that point. The only way to get the bat out was to open the window. And if I opened the window it would most definitely make a beeline for my nice warm bedroom. No – there was nothing for it. I had to leave it where it was until the following day when I could find “someone else“ to handle the situation.

I have to admit, I felt conflicted… On the one hand, I thought “aw! poor little thing…” and on the other hand, I thought “OHMYGODGROSS! KILL IT! KILL IT!” But either way – it would have to be dealt with in the morning.

And that was another thought. What would happen in the morning? Would the sun burn it to ash? Or was that just vampires? It was late. I was was confused…

Then I realized that Eleanor wanted to know what I saw. So in keeping with the whole “not scary” thing, I told her it was a bug. A really big bug. But it was trapped outside the window and couldn’t get in.

Unfortunately, she insisted on seeing it. Since I obviously wasn’t going to be able to pull off the “it’s just a bug” ruse, I said, “you know…I THINK it might be a BABY bat.”

This did not elicit quite the electrifying response that a six-year-old Kate have displayed at the notion of a thin sheet of glass separating a BAT’S sharp teeth from our tender flesh. Obviously, my daughter is not growing up with a dial’s worth of television channels, one of which undoubtedly airs the odd “Mid-Day Monster Movie Marathon.” No – she hails from the era of closely monitored cable shows and Twilight. She just thought it was sad and kind of icky.

I convinced her to try to go back to sleep, in spite of the futile scrabbling going on behind the closed drapes. But it was difficult for either of us to manage with Alice’s stalking and growling. OH HI ALICE! Thanks for joining us. Yes – there is a bat stuck in the window. Get it girl – GET IT!

Needless to say, there was another hour or two of growling and stalking and giggling and wondering HOW I could possibly function tomorrow on just a few hours of sleep.

And then we woke up.

And there were no scratching and scrabbling noises. And I really hoped this meant that the bat found its way out of the storm window while we were sleeping.

But alas. There it was – a tiny fur ball wedged in the corner. It was so cold outside that the poor little guy must have frozen to death.

On the upside, I no longer had to take immediate action.

So I spent the rest of my busy day ignoring the fact that the there was a dead bat in my window.

Then earlier this evening, I was summoned upstairs by Oliver who sounded quite agitated. He said that he was “afraid of the bat,” so I explained that the poor little thing was dead and no longer a threat to the good, bat-fearing people that lived in this house. My son then continued to inform me that it wasn’t THAT bat that was scaring him. It was another one he could hear in his room.

The chittering (yes – chittering) noises outside of the boys’ bedroom window clearly indicated that our nice warm(ish) house must be a beacon for all uninvited guests of the furry, winged variety.

Crap.

So this is what we’re up to tonight:

But WAIT – it gets BETTER! Shortly after everyone fell asleep, Alice became very interested in my bedroom window. Her (better late than never) warning directed my attention to the original scene of the crime. Scuffling noises again.

This time I wasn’t afraid to look – been there, done that – and was only slightly taken aback to find ANOTHER BAT trapped in the storm window.

If tonight’s bat doesn’t make his move and turn us into new Cullen family members (pray for me, as I am emphatically Team Jacob), I’ll have to address this issue tomorrow morning. So basically, I’ll let you know how the move went once we’re settled in the new house. ‘Night all!

EPILOGUE: January 23, 2013, 8:00 a.m.

It has come to light that our second visitor was actually our FIRST visitor. Apparently, he reanimated last night and is no longer a tiny ball of fur cowering in the corner. Now he is hanging from the window pane, BOLD AS BRASS.

Someone pass me the smelling salts. And the number of a good exterminator. And a blunt object I can use to kill my husband when he returns for his business trip next week, long after I have figured out how to evict unwanted bats from storm windows. Never a dull moment around here…

EPILOGUE II: January 24, 2013, 8:00 a.m.

After a day of talking to Animal Control (who didn’t feel a connection to my bat and suggested that I contact an exterminator), exterminators (who weren’t overly concerned about the bat devouring us in our sleep and offered to come by in day or two to see “if there was anything they could do for us”), and finally a bat expert/rescuer lady (who worked somewhere called “Bats Alive”), we seem to have found resolution.

Here is the deal. The bat cannot get into our house – he really is just hanging out in the storm window. So there is no danger to the people (and vicious guard dog) who live here. And the bat expert lady confirmed that our bat isn’t in danger of freezing to death (THANK GOD). No – he’s just snug as a bug in a rug – happily hibernating in a warm (for him), safe place. She said that as long as he is able to climb out of the window (he is), then he will eventually leave on his own (when he’s damn well ready).

SO, it seems that we will be one big happy family as long as he’ll have us. Or at least until Spring when I’ve had enough, and make Chris get up a ladder to forcibly evict him. In the meantime, friends and neighbors are welcome to drop by and wave hello. He’s dangling in the the window above our front door.

And they all lived happily ever after… THE END

…until… EPILOGUE III (the FINAL installment in the Hood Family Bat saga): January 30, 2013, 6:30 p.m.

We’ve had some very warm, spring-ish weather for the past couple of days. So each morning, I’ve checked the window to see if our little friend had left us. My roller coaster ride of SYMPATHY-REVULSION-SYMPATHY-REVULSION finally leveled out on a steady plateau of cautious fondness. And while I’ve hoped that our bat would make his way back into the wilds where he belongs, I’d by lying if I said there wasn’t a (very) small part of me that would be sad to see him go.

I mean, we’ve had some great learning opportunities over the past week. For example…

Eleanor: Mom, bats are like people. They have five fingers.

Me: How do you know that?

Eleanor: I counted.

Yay Science! Also? That’s his tail. Eeeeewwww!

As the slush melted and we switched from coats to jackets, I knew that our time with the bat would be coming to an end. And sure enough, when I checked the window this morning, he was gone.

Oh no…. He wasn’t gone. He just wasn’t comfortably dangling anymore. He was a furry, crumpled heap. I feared the worst.

So I called the bat expert lady.

She agreed that things sounded dire. And even though she planned to be in my area later that evening for a bat release, she decided that she’d better come assess the situation pronto.

I hustled the kids off to school, telling them that someone was coming to help our bat out of the window and “no – no time to say goodbye – he’s sleeping anyway – I’ll send him your regards!” Then I waited for the bat expert lady.

I won’t string you along. Our bat was alive! But he couldn’t climb out, and definitely wouldn’t have lasted much longer without help.

And since I know you’ve just been DYING to see the little guy’s face…

Yes – her shirt says, “I love bats!” The bat expert lady is awesome.

She noted that he is a “Big Brown Bat.” Which I could have told you… But seriously, that’s the real name. In fact, the “Big Brown Bat is one of the most common bats in Northern Virginia, as well as the largest. Their bodies are about five inches long, not counting the tail, and they have a wingspan of up to 13 inches.” Just so you know.

AND it was confirmed that my use of the masculine pronoun was in fact, correct. Congratulations Hood family, “it’s a boy!” We will remember HIM fondly.

So we are now batless. It’s weird. But ultimately a good thing. I’m glad to know that we were able to provide shelter to a tiny soul in the bitter cold. And that we were able to help send him safely on his way when he no longer needed us. But I’m most grateful for the fact that we now know that bats will nest in open storm windows sometimes, so we can make sure that moving forward, ours always stay firmly shut.

Suburban Mom Stream of Consciousness

3 Replies

You know when you buy a sweater because it’s on sale, and it looks so cute on the hanger, and it’s SO cheap, but you don’t have the time or energy to try it on first? And then you get home and find out that the sweater was designed for supermodels and not suburban moms who don’t get to the gym enough, and it makes you look two sizes larger than you already are? Then it sits in your closet for years because you have this hope that one day you will turn into a supermodel and the sweater will look as stunning on you as it was meant to be? And then there is this afternoon when you are really cold and the sweater looks really warm, and even though you have to volunteer at school, you wear it anyway because elementary school kids don’t care about how bad you look in your sweater? And after volunteering you remember that you have to go to the store and people out in the world WITH EYES will see you in the unflattering sweater? But you don’t really care, because when you walk into Safeway you encounter one of the cashiers draped in a white sheet wearing nothing but black socks on his feet (and WHAT was THAT all about by the way?) And you think that in the context of Safeway that afternoon, your ill-fitting sweater really isn’t all that bad… And THEN you realize that the strange ringing in your ears is actually your 23-year-old self screaming herself hoarse, and now that she has your attention she’s begging, “why? Why would you do that? Why would you wear that hideous sweater out in public? Why? WHY? What has become of us?” And you know that you’re going to have to make it up to her by wearing lip gloss and earrings tomorrow. Then you buy a pint of ice cream and eat the whole thing with Cake Decor sprinkles because for some reason, it seemed like a good idea at the time…kind of like buying the sweater did.

So THAT happened today… How are you?

Sorry for the radio silence. The holidays were rough. I have a half written post about that, as well as two others that I meant to do something with in December. So hopefully I can finish those by the end of this month.

In the meantime, Listen to Your Mother – DC audition dates have been set. Visit the show page for full details. Hope to see you there!

They Coulda’ Been Great: 2012

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8/21/13

I know… A “They Coulda’ Been Great” post for ALL of 2012. ALLOFIT. Oh – there’s not that much of it – I was a sporadic poster that year.

I’ve had so much fun looking back at the silliness evidenced in my 2013 Facebook status updates, that I decided to stroll down memory lane in 2012 (totally worth it if you post funny stories about your kids). Anyway – I dumped it all in a Word doc and decided to post the whole damn thing here.

Yes – I posted it retroactively for December 31, 2012… But I have a thing for chronological order. If this is the first time you are seeing anything about this, my first “They Coulda’ Been Great” post was for January 2013. It explains everything. The impact of social media on blogging, writing, community… Whatever – I write some funny stuff on Facebook and then I post it all on my blog. It’s my new thing. Hope you enjoy it.

Here is 2012 (yes – all of it – allofit, even)!


February 3

7:05 p.m.

Look what just arrived! Thank you to Eleanor who took the picture and suggested a little lip gloss (though she neglected to mention a much needed push up bra…) Stephanie Dulli and I are now READY for those Listen to Your Mother DC auditions. Should we wear our new shirts? Oh – I think so…

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February 4

12:00 p.m.

Eleanor just held something out for me to see, saying, “George thinks this is a tooth.” And…George is right. Half right…as it is HALF a tooth. Must be one of Oliver’s baby teeth that they all played with and LOST before it could be placed under a pillow for the Tooth Fairy. Eleanor’s reaction to this revelation: Gingerly handed it to me, and wrinkling her nose in an excellent “Mom” impersonation said, “well…I don’t think we need it anymore.”


February 16

4:55 p.m.

So….holiday binge eating lasts roughly from Thanksgiving through Valentine’s Day, right? Or is it St. Patrick’s Day? I can never remember…


March 19

1:50 p.m.

Great pictures from the St. Patrick’s Day celebration at the Reston Town Center! But this one reminds me of what a disaster Eleanor was last night… She was beside herself about her face paint washing off in the tub. Cried (SOBBED) for an hour straight. By the end, I was ready to take a permanent marker to her face and call it a day!

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April 9

5:00 p.m.

Out of all of my annoyed demands that they just smile for the camera, already!…of course, this is the kind of picture I like best.

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April 17

4:40 p.m.

First of all! That is NOT our trash can! Second of all – we NEVER play in trash cans! Life in the suburbs…


April 18

2:15 p.m.

I just spent the last hour mesmerized by the Saturday Night Fever Glee. I think I like Disco a little too much…


April 19

7:40 p.m.

I was totally congratulating myself on FINALLY having kids old enough that I don’t have to supervise them when they wake up at the crack of dawn. Then today, I noticed that Oliver has been getting into the ice cream… So much for sleeping in.


April 21

10:05 a.m.

I’m getting really excited for my 40th birthday next week since it means I will be biologically TOO OLD for teenager-like acne breakouts. Right? Right?!?!

6:50 p.m.

Eleanor lost her first tooth! This is always the most awkward shot…trying to see a gap in the BOTTOM teeth…

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April 22

8:30 a.m.

This is Eleanor’s new Barbie. She’s a “horse doctor.” Like a female James Herriott…in satin hot pants.

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April 24

10:35 a.m.

Filed under things that happen when 5-year-olds in hospital gowns have to wait over 30 minutes for their doctor.

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11:15 a.m.

And in a shocking turn of events…We discovered that somewhere in the midst of all of the twins’ sick visits to the doctor, I forgot to schedule their 2011 well check. Mother of the year! Let’s celebrate with extra inoculations all around! I’m mortified…


April 29

4:20 p.m.

I have 3 children and the oldest just turned 7. How is it possible that today is FIRST day that I ever removed a splinter for one of them? Eleanor had one in her finger. Twenty minutes of wailing and running away from me – then a two-second removal with tweezers. With all of the screaming she did, I wonder if our neighbors thought I was removing her fingernail!


April 30

8:50 a.m.

Eleanor: Mama can I have some breakfast?

Me: Sure – what do you want?

Eleanor: I don’t know – what are the offers.

Let me check today’s circulars…


May 4

1:30 a.m.

A middle of the night thought: Is it still possible to invent a new emoticon? Or has every possible combination of symbols now been used?

Related: I hate emoticons.

Also: I now use ” :) ” regularly because I worry about people thinking I’m being serious when I’m kidding and assuming that I’m mad or just really bitchy.

Either way, I always feel like a sell out.

:)


May 5

12:45 p.m.

Know what’s awesome about my mother and mother in law? They come into my disorganized house with its layers of dust and grimy surfaces, and they don’t judge or pointedly scrub counters in front of me. The downside? No free cleaning services.


May 6

11:01 p.m.

I’m exhausted – and I can’t believe the show is over. Though I expect my friends will be thrilled to see my months of shameless self promotion come to an end… Anyway – I want to say thank you to our incandescent Director, Stephanie Dulli and our brave and beautiful Listen to Your Mother DC cast (listed below as “with” since even FB thinks my LTYM reign of terror needs to end and therefore refuses to let me tag more than a few people at a time…) Couldn’t include our first reader (and theme inspiration), Cindy Green since she has of yet to accept my friend request – humph! But seriously – I am in awe of these women and the stories they have to tell. It was an honor to share a stage with them.

11:40 p.m.

On last thing before I stagger off to bed, Stephanie’s husband Zach tweeted this picture of me at the podium during my reading. Is it me, or do I actually look like a giant Oscar award?

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May 7

2:45 p.m.

Eleanor is cracking me up! A relative gave her this paper doll fashion show thing, and after spending the morning coloring them all in, she’s now stationing the dolls around the house in their “homes.” One lives on the dining room table, one on the kitchen counter, one on a living room chair…

And now apparently, ALL the dolls are abuzz with news about a fashion show taking place in HERNDON. Every time I hear her gasp, “OH! You’re going to the fashion show in Herndon too?!” I die laughing. Then one of the dolls exclaimed, “Herndon? That’s really far for me – I’ll have to drive.” So I interjected, “really? Herndon is far for her?” To this Eleanor gave me a quizzical look and said, “well yes. She lives all the way at the refrigerator.”

Eleanor paper dolls

8:05 p.m.

Typical conversation pattern between Chris and me:

Chris: So Cathy Trocchia said she DID go to the show.

Me: Yes – she sent me a message. But I don’t know if Jamie Seifert made it.

Chris: No – Jamie didn’t go.

Me: Oh really? Why – did something come up?

Chris: [shrug – “why are you asking me insane questions” face] I don’t know.

Me: What do you mean, “I don’t know?”

Chris: [more “why the interrogation?” faces] I just don’t. WHY would I know that?

Me: Because you know that she didn’t come – which means either she or Cathy told you that she didn’t come or wasn’t going to be able to come. And women don’t just say “I’m not going” or “I didn’t go” – they give each other reasons. In my world, we tell each other “WHY” we do or don’t do things.

Chris: [“you are crazy” look]

The End

Editor’s note: This was a Mars/Venus anecdote about my incredulity over how Chris always reports “what” information and never “why.” Not about my friend Jamie who obviously had something come up yesterday. She is darling and always answers questions with WHY information, like a good female.


May 14

9:15 a.m.

So I just discovered a major perk to turning 40. I no longer agonize over what to call my mother in law’s friends in thank you notes. Paula or Mrs. Garlick? I’m freaking 40 years old – I think I can just go with Paula!

Now I’m looking forward to turning 50. Because THEN I will no longer feel required to write thank you notes.


May 17

8:00 p.m.

Typical almost-3:00 p.m. scene: I have to get to preschool pick up right now! But I can’t find my keys…where are they?…searching…searching…not in my purse…not in the kitchen…not on the bed…not in the bathroom…not in the refrigerator (yes – I’m checking everywhere)…where can they be?! Now I’m late! No more time to look…where is that spare key?…Excellent! Right where it should be. I’m not THAT late…just a few minutes. No one will even notice. Out the front door! Make sure it’s locked! Wait – what’s that? Oh. … The key.

Note to self: first place to look for my keys would be IN the front door.

Also? This happens frequently.


May 23

8:25 p.m.

I have been so much better about FB lately… But I’ve been offline for a few days due to THIS! Meet Alice – a 5 month old rescue puppy that Chris brought home while I was at Christy Wood’s wedding reception in NYC. Chris and Oliver picked her out and I have to admit – she’s perfect for our family. She doesn’t chew shoes – but keep an eye on your Hungry Hungry Hippos marbles….

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May 25

8:20 p.m.

I think I may be the dumbest person on the planet. Just today, I realized that some of the AMAZING photographers I see on Twitter and FB, are capturing those images of a crystal clear face amidst a blur of people, flowers, toys…what have you, using INSTAGRAM! Side note: I just started using Instagram!

8:28 p.m.

Also, remember when I wrote I’m Shy Every Day? WELL – today was the twins’ preschool graduation and all of the kids got up and said what they wanted to be when they grew up (George said sky diver and Eleanor said horse rider). But little miss “I’m shy every day” herself made my day/week/year when she faced the crowd and answered “Rock Star.” I almost cried – it was just that AWESOME.


May 27

7:35 p.m.

Am I a bad pet owner if I find his annoying? I am so tired… I would happily lie down on the floor if I thought I could get away with it. Now that it’s 7:30 p.m., I’m pretty sure that I missed the Sunday nap window. Yet Chris always manages to catch both (yes – there are two). And this dog…she mocks my fatigue with her spontaneous snoozing.

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June 2

5:00 p.m.

Eleanor: Mama – what should I draw?

Me: The sun.

Eleanor: And what?

Me: And….flowers growing.

Eleanor: OR! How about people sitting under mushrooms – GIANT mushrooms – because it’s so hot?

Why does she even ask me?


June 12

5:25 p.m.

Our boring, rainy day inside has just hit a new low. The twins are now taking turns whacking each other with a package of cookie dough (the old school roll kind).


July 8

10:55 a.m.

Between the kids and the puppy, I sometimes feel like my whole life smells like pee pee.

Unrelated: everything is always sticky.


July 9

8:10 p.m.

Me: Oliver – go downstairs and get your ice cream bowl.

Oliver: [coming back upstairs – without the bowl] Gross! Alice [the dog] was licking it!

Me: Are you serious? You have touched some of the most disgusting…YOU have touched AT LEAST five dead animals. Go get that bowl!

Epilogue: the dishwasher is running and the licked ice cream bowl is still downstairs.


July 13

4:45 p.m.

Favorite moment of the week: running down to the basement to get something and finding my tiny 5-year-old, George dancing his heart out to Just Dance II (which my kids call “Dance Party”). The song: It’s Raining Men.

5:00 p.m.

Actual conversation I just had with my five year old daughter:

[sound of kids playing a loud/rambunctious game involving stuffed animals.]

Eleanor: [enters the dining room looking very pouty and put out about something] Mommy, Oliver is only doing the other animals and he won’t do my hippo.

Me: [yelling into the other room] OLIVER! Do Eleanor’s hippo. Right now!

My life is weird.


July 14

11:45 a.m.

I love listening to Oliver’s chatter these days. The combination of his communication delays, fast growing vocabulary and exposure to television makes for many moments of hilarity.

Oliver: [telling me something about Cars 2] And then Professor Z told his fugs…

Me: Fugs?

Oliver: Yeah – fugs.

Me: What are fugs?

Oliver: [perplexed by my ignorance] They’re trouble making villains.


July 17

7:10 p.m.

When you open a bag of ramen noodles and little noodle shards fly everywhere.


July 18

11:10 a.m.

After watching many episodes of The Dog Whisperer, we’ve concluded that we really need to meet with a dog trainer to discuss Alice’s “issues.” So of course the kids keep referring to the guy coming on Saturday as “The Dog Whisperer.” Wonder how disappointed they’ll be when Cesar Millan doesn’t show up on our doorstep…


July 21

7:30 p.m.

Am I the only one who finds the FB default to “top stories” sort annoying? Who is deciding what is a top story? Is this some kind of Netflix-like, “based on your recent selections” thing? Just show me the most recent status updates so I’m not commenting on things that happened two days ago, okay? Or at least default to most recent because I’m FB-challenged and never remember to manually select that.

Guess I should check settings or something to see if I can change this.

Listed under “things I have in common with your parents.”


July 22

4:35 p.m.

My neighbor and I had a twinsies moment today when we both walked out wearing the same Target tank top. Same style – same color – probably the same size. Ah – suburbia… I would say it was all very Stepford wife – but you know…Target. Cathy – in our next life, let’s reenact that scene in something a bit more upmarket.


July 25

11:55 a.m.

So, fun drive to the twins’ first day of camp. Since parking would be feet away from check in, I went ahead and brought the dog. Halfway there, she jumped up next to me and I said, “PEE-YEW Alice. You smell like dog food.” Then George yelled, “Gross! Alice puked!” I looked back and sure enough – two huge piles – one on the back seat next to George and one of the floor. And then – THEN – she leaned over and puked on my leg.

Seriously. HOW do people live without pets.


August 1

2:30 p.m.

I had no idea that black and white hides wrinkles so well. I’ll never go back to color!

BW


August 9

8:45 p.m.

I see Oliver taking chalk down to the basement. And I ask “what are you doing with the chalk.” He says “I’m going to draw a picture,” as he scampers out of sight. Then I frantically yell after him, “on the chalkboard? ON THE CHALKBOARD?!”

It’s a legitimate question…


August 16

5:50 p.m.

So Alice is a total money pit… I feel like I’m at the vet with her weekly. Today’s reason: tail biting. Seriously? Here is a pic of her cone head. A dog rite of passage she’s not enjoying one little bit.

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August 22

8:00 p.m.

Eleanor REALLY doesn’t like the movie Spy Kids. Her (dramatic) review: “It’s like a kid horror movie…it’s really scary…and pretty cruel.” I remember seeing previews…and that was not my take…but I guess we’re all entitled to our opinions.


August 24

5:50 p.m.

The twins had afternoon camp this week, so Oliver had me all to himself. Since this NEVER happens (he’s always getting pushed aside with all of their grabby neediness), I thought I’d do something fun with him every day. We went to the farm, the zoo…miniature golf…a WATER PARK. But here’s the problem: I’m intrinsically not very fun. And I would never choose to do any of those things without the incentive of making my son happy. It was taxing…but boy does he look happy, right?

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August 31

9:30 a.m.

Woods walk feather

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September 5

6:55 p.m.

George: The inside of my body is very hot, right?

Me: Yes, it’s warm inside our bodies.

George: But the outside of our bodies is very COLD!

Me: No…not cold. The outside of our bodies would be cooler than the inside though.

George: OH! so only when it’s WINDY.

Me: …

[five minutes later]

George: [holds up an arm] Mom – I’m not skinny anymore!

Me: Well…you’re still pretty slim…

George: So just a little skinny.

Me: Just a little.

George: But Eleanor isn’t as skinny.

Me: She’s just a little skinny too.

George: Mom – do you know what your boobs are for?

Me: WHAT?!

George: Do you know what your…

Me: Yes – I heard you the first time. And I’m dying to know – what do YOU think they are for?

George: For breathing!

Of course.

This is George’s idea of pleasant dinner conversation. What did you discuss this evening?


September 13

3:00 p.m.

Just remembered something I meant to tell you yesterday… I was driving home from the store with the windows down since it was GORGEOUS outside. And as I’m driving 50 MPH down a fairly busy street something fell through the window and into my lap. My first thought was that it was an acorn since the local squirrels like to throw them down at people (why not cars?) But I wasn’t near any trees. So I then assumed it must have been some kind of debris blowing back off a truck that had just passed me. Either way – it had fallen right between my legs and rolled down, almost under me. I then had to reach, well…you know where, to try to retrieve this mystery object while keeping my eyes on the road. And as I brought it up in my cupped hand to take a look, I discovered that it was a GIANT BUMBLEBEE. So I screamed, threw it out the window and indulged in a moment of silent gratitude for not getting into an accident.

So how about you? How was your day?


September 19

9:05 p.m.

My son, Oliver is so weird…

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September 26

7:25 a.m.

An important reminder for my little girl who likes lunch notes and has so little confidence sometimes…

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7:50 a.m.

Are ladybugs lucky? And if so, does the luck increase with the number of spots? Let me know, because a ladybug with 20 spots is sitting on a kid-made vase on my bedside table. And I could really use some luck…

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October 7

2:55 p.m.

Group Effort

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October 24

9:15 p.m.

It’s the World Series and my poor husband is stuck watching it with ME. My level of interest is reflected by insights such as “that guy looks like Luke Wilson.” [Justin Verlander] I’ve also spotted players who remind me of Justin Timberlake and Antonio Banderas. Epilogue: I brought a book.


November 11

6:00 p.m.

Hierarchy

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November 7

10:25 a.m.

Post election morning banter at my house:

Me: George – get dressed. You have to wear pants to Kindergarten.

George: [slamming his tiny body into my legs for the 10th time in 10 seconds] I put my penis on you!

Me: Don’t put your penis on people. It’s not polite.

George: AND it’s no use.

Me: Usually.


November 13

5:20 p.m.

George: Mom – your self can control yourself, right?

Me: One would hope.


November 14

7:50 a.m.

Sometimes when I find myself battling the dog for bed space, I have to wonder how it came to this…


November 19

6:50 p.m.

Listening to Kung Fu Fighting, Car Wash, Fire, Flashlight… I have to say, that Pure Funk CD may have been my very best purchase of the ’90s


November 22

8:35 p.m.

Hand turkeys waving goodbye. See you next Thanksgiving!

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November 28

2:35 p.m.

What was life like before chocolate chips…? Leaner I think – but perhaps a bit soulless…


December 1

2:00 p.m.

Started a shopping list and had to stop when I suspected that I may currently be possessed by Buddy the Elf.

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December 2

11:50 p.m.

Is it just me – or do other people say “Pierce Brosnan” when they really mean “Bronson Pinchot”? Maybe it’s just me…


December 6

9:30 a.m.

Exciting morning! We were running late for the school bus – so I decided to drive the kids to school. George was ready first, so I told him to just get in the car. When the rest of us left the house several minutes later – he was nowhere to be found. Eleanor ran up to the bus stop to check and see if he was there (it’s happened before). Not there. Not in front of the house – not behind the house – not IN the house. Now I’m worried and drive the others (and the dog) up to the bus stop to look around there. Not there. Leave all in the locked car while I run back toward our house and call the school. They put me on hold to look for George and I continue to call his name, wondering if a neighbor could have thought he was left behind and taken him to school. Then a neighbor hears me and tells me that he GOT ON THE BUS (which must have been running late). Ran back to car to console crying siblings and drive them to school, where I stayed for a while to have a talk with Mr. George. Side note: this is about the 10th time I’ve spent more than 5 minutes running around my neighborhood calling frantically for one of my lost little boys. Epilogue: I am at Starbucks ordering coffee.


December 8

1:00 p.m.

George: Mom, remember a long, long time ago…we were demons.

Me: What?

George: No, I mean we were those guys from a long, long time ago and then we turned into Pilgrims.

Me: We did?

George: Yeah and then we turned into animals and then we turned into this place.

Me: What’s that?

George: Well, first we were in a tummy and then we got bigger and then we were two years old and then older and older and nine years old…

Me: So wait, first we were demons?

George: And you know what’s even badder than the devil?

Me: What?

George: DEMONS! Because they are huge.

I’m totally lost.


December 10

12:40 p.m.

Working on a database. Forgot how entertaining long lists of names can be. “Sarah Fawcett.” Subtle – but still cracks me up.


December 11

7:05 p.m.

I have now clocked enough hours in proximity of children’s shows on the TV that I can hear a character’s voice in an unknown cartoon and say, “hey that sounds like Quincy [Little Einsteins].” This is not the first time I’ve identified cartoon voice overs. If there was a game show for this I’d win big.


December 15

10:35 a.m.

It’s hard to not feel sad today… But I try to remind myself that everything is fine until it’s not. And when everything in your own life is fine, you have to go with it. Because when it’s not, you never really get fine back.

As much as my heart breaks for everyone who has ever lost a child, today I’m going to put all of my energy into making sure my own children who are so very HERE right now, know just how much they are loved. I’ll feel sad on my time – not theirs.


December 16

3:55 p.m.

Decided to take the dog out for a long walk. But only just now, one mile out did I remember letting Eleanor put makeup on me. Like an hour ago. And I should note that she’s not a light touch with the eye shadow…


December 17

6:05 p.m.

After a visit to the dentist…

Eleanor: Mom – look at my new toothbrush!

Me: Very nice. Why don’t you put it in the bathroom – we can get rid of your old one.

Eleanor: [back from the bathroom and showing me her old toothbrush] What should we do with it?

Me: Throw it out.

Eleanor: Gasp! Throw it out?? Why don’t we just sell it or something?

I don’t know…what do you guys think? Ebay or Craig’s List?

9:25 p.m.

By the way – if you have an Elf on the Shelf and hear the cynical observation: “he can’t be real – he has a TAG…like toys in the toy store.” Give your kids a conspiratorial look and say, “he’s in disguise. The tag is part of the whole ‘toy by day’ thing.” Makes your kids think they’re in on the subterfuge.


December 19

4:40 p.m.

Now THAT’S an old recipe!

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7:00 p.m.

George: Mom! Overblah in French means “bye!” Always fermember it!

Not sure how much of that is misunderstanding French or how much is misunderstanding English….

7:40 p.m.

Chris was explaining Hanukah to George, who is now talking about the big battle between the Cereals and the Macabeans.


December 21

3:40 p.m.

Yesterday, I discovered that my kids were wrapping random objects from our house as presents for their grandparents. As much as I know my mother would love her roll of silver wire ribbon from Michael’s…I had to shut that down before they got into the good china.


December 27

4:40 p.m.

PSA for future parents: As you are considering the number of children you hope to have in your family, figure in the number of shoes and coats you would like to have strewn across your floor at any given time. (Note to the ladies: include your husband’s coat and shoes in your calculations.)