Monday, August 29, 2005

I'm back!

I've been busy as hell this past week, but I'm back to my life of slovenly leisure now, so look forward to more scintillating posts about nothing! Last week the weather actually did not suck, so I took the opportunity to go (gasp) out w/my kids nearly every day. This week, the weather feels like a hot, wet blanket, and the bugs are so thick in my back yard that my 2yo cried and clung to me when I tried to let him play today, so the living room it is. I clean as fast as I can but realized at one point today that they are just capable of destroying faster than I am capable of cleaning, so I gave it up as a bad job and resigned myself to living like an animal in a cage until the weather turns again.

In other news, I finished three (3!) knitting projects and am on my 4th. Take that, everyone who thinks I don't finish things (oh, wait, that includes me)! AND, I got my passport in the mail. Whoop! Now if I can just get over the fact that there are fatal airplane crashes in the news every. day, I can really get excited about my Italy trip!

My latest in a rapid-fire string of obsessions is couponing and the Grocery Game (as seen recently on the Today show). Last week, I saved 40%, this week my goal is to save at least 60%. Very, very odd to have grocery shopping as a highlight of my week, but that just goes to show you how far a road I've traveled this year. Whether that road leads anywhere remains to be seen.

My heart is driving me crazy again w/palpitations, and since my doctors seem incredibly unconcerned, I have had to resort to self-diagnosis via the Internet. My leading contender at this point is mitral valve prolapse - I like it for several reasons, not least of which is that it requires no treatment and is rarely very dangerous.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Moderation, I know you not

Moderation is not really my thing - I'm very streaky (not in the alarming naked sense of the word, just that I obsess about something intensely for a brief period and then drop it cold). I have closets full of scrapbooking crap from my 6 month foray into scrapbooking 5 years ago. I have half completed craft projects of every description leaking out of closets and attics and wardrobes. I have books and articles scattered throughout the house on topics ranging from politics (given up as too hopeless) to investing (given up as too expensive) to tax code (not yet given up - I have an odd fascination with taxes). Point is, this whole blog-3-times-a-day followed by a week's silence is right up my alley. Especially as I've been busy feeding some other obsessions - knitting and the co-op preschool.

Knitting I know I've already mentioned, but you'll surely (ha! originally spelled that shirley, further proof that my brain is rotting) be impressed to learn that I have completed two entire items - a bag and a hat. I never finish ANYTHING, so this is huge. The preschool has been a major preoccupation this week, as I've had to preside (as I am the president, ha) over orientation meetings nearly every night. I'm not a nervous public speaker, but I am a little sloppy I think, and easily derailed from anything resembling a topic. Must focus at tonight's final meeting, end on a bang, etc.

So, just checking in. Off to print more materials for the preschool. Or work on the scarf I'm knitting. Or, you know, interact with my kids.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Punctuation abuse

I really do try not to be judgmental. I am one of those fortunate (and, evidence suggests, rare) people to whom spelling and punctuation just come naturally. However, sometimes other people's liberties with the written word just drive me completely up the wall. I am the president of my boys' preschool this year, and I have spent much of the past week revising ancient documents in preparation for our orientation. It seems to me that whoever first wrote these documents did not understand the rules for comma usage but knew that commas are necessary and so scattered them throughout the paragraphs wantonly and with utter disregard for rules of grammar or others' sensibilities.

Please, if you do not understand the rules for comma usage, learn them. You may think no one notices, but they do. I assure you.

More info than you wanted about my annual exam

I promise not to get too detailed here, but yesterday was my annual "women's doctor" visit and it was entertaining for a few reasons.

First of all, it was the first such visit I have really wanted to go to, and I owe it all to my children. I don't know if it was a full moon or if the merciful cold front that came through yesterday messed with their little psyches or if they just hate me, but yesterday my two boys were absolutely as bad as it was possible for them to be. My 4 year old literally screamed for 2.5 hours about nothing, and much of that time was during a trip to a public place. Lovely. My 2 year old pinched my neck so hard that it looks like I have a hickey. Now, I'll be the first to admit that my kids have great potential for mischief and mayhem, but the sheer effort they put into yesterday's shenanigans was noteworthy. By the time my doctor appointment rolled around, I was more than ready to ditch the kids with their unsuspecting father and go anywhere at all, as long as it wasn't with them - even the doctor.

Reason 2 - my doctor is a very, very (very) small man. Maybe 4'5, and positively dainty in build. He is dear and funny and completely non-threatening. His only shortcoming is a tendency to ramble on and on with nostalgic stories that would be very interesting in another context, but are distracting in the extreme under exam circumstances. He also lacks the ability to multitask, so I laid captive for 20 minutes, prepared for the exam and wearing a large paper napkin, and listen to his stories about boarding school in India.

Not that I'm especially looking forward to next year, but since I have to do it anyway, I might as well make the best of it!

Time Flies

Wow, it's been ages since I've written. I know you've all been sad. I've been knitting, somewhat obsessively, ever since my knitting stuff arrived on Saturday. My official claim is that we have no money for Christmas gifts (which is true), so I'm saving the family money and showing our affection for friends and family with thoughtful homemade gifts, but I fear the truth is more self-serving and indicative of incipient, if not actual, mental illness. I have a craft sickness - once I start something crafty, it's all I can think about and all I want to do until it's done or until I just burn out (usually the latter). Just writing this makes me itch to do more knitting. The current knitting madness specifically I attribute to the Yarn Harlot, whose blog I love and who inspires me to unhealthy levels of craftiness.

I've also been busy obsessively bargain hunting and coupon clipping, much to my husband's amusement. He can laugh, but I just got a $20 shirt for free and a nice computer desk for $30. So there.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Target - the new Tiffany's

I went to Target this morning for a couple things (and actually only bought about $20 worth of stuff I didn't need - possibly a new record). I've been so happy since I left that it made me think of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's - love that movie. Since I don't live within walking distance of Tiffany's (though I do go there every time I go to New York, and yes it is a powerful mood stabilizer), I have decided that Target is my best local substitute. You just can't be sad at Target, surrounded by colorful, well-organized, reasonably priced things you don't know you need until you see them. I ration my Target trips, since you have to check your willpower at the door, but the deprivation just strengthens my affection.

I know I sound crazy to some of you (read: men), but I bet some of you are nodding in understanding. You are in my head, anyway, and that's all the support I need.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

My new invention

My two year old is showing signs of wanting the freedom of a real bed. He sobs and points at his brothers' bunks when it's time to go to sleep, and crawls right in if we're not fast enough to stop him. I know, I know, this shows that he's blossoming into an independent little person. The problem is that independent little people are a pain in the ass. There's a reason babies are appealing, and the reason is that we can lock them up. Don't call CPS - I don't mean in a closet, or with handcuffs, just a crib with nice, solid bars, no more than 2 3/8 inches apart.

In the near term, my solution is to quash my son's bid for independence by keeping him penned in until he actually dismantles the crib. He's obviously not bright enough for freedom anyway, as he is a skilled climber who is frequently found on top of couches and bunk beds and could therefore easily climb out if he really put his mind to it.

It's the long term that concerns me and is the necessity this mother needs to invent. My idea is this - a convertible crib that becomes not a toddler bed but a larger crib, one that can expand to full length and keep my son cooped up safely until he leaves for college. Since it is inevitable that he will eventually figure out how to escape it, my invention will require a secure lock and alarm system. Actually, as I type this, it occurs to me that my invention already exists, in the form of a jail cell. The genius of my plan is therefore not in the development but in identifying the home market. I wonder who at the local jail I can contact to establish a business partnership?

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Christmas in August

I've been on self-imposed house arrest for most of the past two weeks due to a combination of extreme heat, extreme laziness, and a nasty summer cold that has been running through the family. What did people do at such times before there were laptops with wireless internet access? I can't imagine spending this much time lying on the couch with just television to entertain me. Of course, my eyes might not feel so puffy and sore if I hadn't just spent 48 hours staring at this screen.

Oh good grief, I actually had to look at the title to remember what I was planning on writing about. My brain is mush. So - during all of my online couch time lately, I've been getting tons of ideas for homemade Christmas gifts. We don't have much money right now, but I love Christmas and I'm all excited about getting started with these projects. How excited I'll be to finish them remains to be seen. I ordered a bunch of supplies and can't wait for them to get here. Too bad I'm going to be very busy catching up on housework once they arrive and won't have time to work on presents until the next time I get sick. I think my husband thinks I'm a little crazy to be getting worked up over Christmas when it's over 90 outside.

In other news - how freaking annoying is Ty Pennington? I swear, he could build me a new house and I'd still want to shove something in his mouth just to shut him up.

Saturday, August 06, 2005

Today's I-Can't-Write-Scapegoat - Happiness

I passed by an eviction today - all of someone's worldly belongings thrown into the street. I think my husband did an entry on that phenomenon a while ago, let me see - ah, screw it, I finally found the entry but can't figure out how to link just to that entry, even though I did it before. I think maybe that beer I had for medicinal purposes (did I mention my husband gave me his cold?) wasn't such a hot idea. But we're out of cold medicine.

Okay, the eviction was not the point. The point was - I realized as I drove by this particular eviction that I have never been evicted. Or fired, or really even broken up with. I was watching Kill Reality the other night (really stupid show), and one of the wannabes said that she had never experienced any personal tragedy and was therefore incapable of acting tragic. I think I made fun of her (I don't feel bad about this - I really think it's sort of the point of the show), but now that I think of it, I sort of live a charmed life too. I've been sad, of course, I'm not quite as removed from reality as the dimwit in question - I've lost people I've loved and I have imagination enough to comprehend the tragedies that every mother fears - but I have never gone hungry (or been evicted), I have a husband and children who are healthy and who love me, I had a well-paying if not at all satisfying career and now stay home with my kids by choice and enjoy it. I've never really had to deal with rejection, though the very idea of it can scare me sideways at times. No wonder I can't find anything serious to write about, I'm in the middle of a happy and therefore rather uninteresting life. Not that I'm complaining, if those are the alternatives.

In other news - I'm re-watching The Good Girl. Love Jennifer Aniston.

More politics

Politics is what you all get when I read the news first thing in the morning, before my defenses are up properly. This isn't really so much a political opinion as an overall feeling about the world, country, etc.

I just saw a picture of Bill Clinton and had a feeling of nostalgia - every time I see his face, I remember feeling hopeful, like things were moving in the right direction. It was just after the end of the Cold War, and having grown up with air raid drills in school, the new international cooperation seemed very promising. I graduated from college with no worries about the economy, part of a strong middle class - something that is essential to democracy.

Now I feel like we've squandered all of that - the international goodwill, the strong economy, the protected and productive middle class. It hardly feels like a democracy any more - any time checks and balances trouble this administration, they find a way around them (as in Bolton's appointment). I thank god for term limits and hope the damage isn't irreversible.

I'm really not extremely political, although obviously I slant to the left. I have a lot of friends and family who are conservative, and as I respect them, I respect their opinions. I hold on to the idea that maybe they see something I don't of hope and progress in this current situation that seems so dire to me.

Okay, back to regularly scheduled poop stories and children's antics - sorry for the departure.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Baby Names in the News

So far, I think I've kept my family's names out of this blog, but there's no real point since my husband is always saying them in his, right? So there's no reason for me not to rant about Michelle Branch naming her new daughter Owen. My 2 year old (a BOY) is named Owen, and we thought at the time that his name would be somewhat unique. Since he was born, I've met a ton of little Owens and resigned myself to the rising popularity of the name, but at least they were all boys!

I consider myself a feminist, women should be able to do what they want, blah blah blah, but is nothing sacred??? As a mother of boys, let me tell you - it is a lot harder to name boys than girls. With both of my kids, we came up with tons of girl names that both of us liked (we even have a likely candidate for the as-yet-hypothetical next one, on the wildly improbable chance it's a girl), but we struggled with boy names. There are fewer choices to begin with, and there's a much finer line between too popular and too weird.

I don't begrudge Gwyneth Paltrow her Apple or Julia Roberts her Hazel, or any of the other weird names celebrities give their kids - I get that it must be hard to have a private life in the public eye, and the public would probably complain just as much if they chose ordinary names. But I wish this trend toward hijacking good boy names for girls would stop, especially as I'm sure to need more in the future. My husband needs to buy an x, he seems to have run out of girl sperm.

Stranger Danger (or: children are dumb)

We are watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and just got to the scene where the children get in the car with Truly Scrumptious, whom they do not know. I decided to use the opportunity to quiz my 4 year old on stranger danger, which we HAVE reviewed before.

Me: What do you do if a stranger asks you to get in their car?
Son (emphatically): Get in the car RIGHT AWAY.

Um, no.
Resuming stranger danger boot camp now.

Grocery shopping shouldn't be this fun

I am the grocery shopping master. Our cheeseball local grocery store is having an anniversary sale and so much stuff was on sale for $1 each. I took my 4 year old with me (my husband's home again today so I was able to go without the baby, thank goodness) and I'm glad I did, as I ended up with two full carts and the boy had to push one. Totally tacky reveal of shopping total - $161. So proud of myself. I just about bought out the meat dept - got 4 roasts, 3 huge packs of hamburger, chicken wings, breasts, legs ($.49/lb!), spareribs. I should never have to go to the store again, ever.

I'm sure you all wanted that kind of detail about my groceries. Still high from all the savings, and the fact that I seriously shouldn't have to shop again from ages, as I've basically brought the entire grocery store home.

Not as thrilled about the renewed Al Qaeda threats against London, as I will be there next month en route to Italy. Of course, I don't want anyone else scared or hurt either, my upcoming trip just makes it feel more personal. Why can't we all just get along? :)

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Better self-knowledge through beer, and rambling political commentary

Forgive even-more-than-usual excesses of rambling, as I have had 3 beers and a long hot day and am writing even-more-than-usually for myself. I am in the process of transferring all of my data from one laptop to another (my 2 year old has finally defeated me - he has been gradually pulling keys and peripherals from the old laptop until I have at last been forced to concede that it is useless - but I have such a silly attachment to it!). While I wait for files to copy, I have been writing menus and shopping lists and looking at my budget spreadsheet to try to squeeze a few more drops of blood from that stone. I now have all of that pretty well in order but was still fiddling around with the files (I keep menus and shopping lists in one, budgets in another), and realized that I am using this overdone electronic organization as a writing substitute. I feel like my fingers are itching to write something - it doesn't help that my husband is subjecting me to part two of the Mark Twain documentary. When I am busy with the kids or driving or otherwise engaged, ideas for sentences and pages and paragraph leap fully formed into my head, but when I sit at the keyboard, I seem to have no more imagination than is required for shopping lists.

I do remember one of my more-than-shopping-list thoughts from earlier today. It was the juxtaposition of my rereading of A Handmaid's Tale and recent US political events that I have been trying to ignore. The parallel between enforced illiteracy for women in the novel and the current Republican rejection of teaching evolution in school struck me as ominous and significant. It seems to me that any group that relies on ignorance to win adherents must have arguments so thin that reason could not win adherents legitimately. If there are holes to be poked in anything, surely those arguments can better be made openly, with all evidence displayed.

I warned you all this would be rambling. I guess I'm just experiencing a resurgence of that indignation, that need to shake my fist, that I had after the election last year. At times like this, I feel like all of our political clashes must be rooted merely in misunderstanding, that everyone must feel as I do - I find it so hard to believe in the malice of others. I know it is childish and reveals my inability to put myself in others' shoes, but right this minute after 3 beers and 3 paragraphs, it feels like all that is wanting is the right argument to achieve real unity. I've felt this way on and off since becoming a mother. What I want for my children is this - a future of possibility, of opportunity - not guaranteed happiness but the chance for it, given hard work and good choices. I want this for all children, and I have to believe most parents want it for their children too. If that is the case, how is it this hard to find consensus?

Really, Deb, shut it. I had a whole thing to bitch about regarding the kids' nastiness toward each other, but I got sidetracked. Guess I should head to bed. Or have another drink.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Post office misery

I went to the post office today to apply for my passport (Italy! yay!), and had to wait roughly 3 eons, 4 hours, and 32 minutes for them to take the worst ever passport photo, in which I had red-eye in just one eye. The air conditioning at the post office was broken and the lunch rush came in while I was in line to have my picture done. During the wait, my children morphed from cooperative, patient, quiet pictures of perfection to screaming, hitting, grabbing (did I mention screaming?) monsters. The people in the main line looked at them more frequently and obviously as the transformation unfolded itself, and the expressions on their faces changed from "aw, aren't they cute" to "damn, glad I'm not her" to "good God, what is WRONG with those boys." By the time I was finally ushered through the imposing and oh-so-official door to the manager's office (which appeared to be a stockroom with a 20 year old polaroid in it), I think the people waiting for their turn to buy stamps were as relieved as I was that we were leaving the main room.

But I'm getting a passport! I'm going to Italy! I can buy stamps online and never enter a post office again!

The ostrich approach to housework

I have rationalized myself into half of the house. I finally (after 10 days of being home) have the kitchen, dining room, and living room livable. The front room looks like a large, eccentric, and disorganized family is moving into it, and it stresses me out to look at it, so my solution is - I don't. I'm living in the back half of the house with the doors closed. More efficient to air condition anyway. I feel much calmer. And lazier. In fact, this approach is proving so successful, I'm going to apply it to other areas of the house, effective immediately. The refrigerator is an obvious candidate, as I know for a fact some of the food in there has started evolving. Also the guest room, where my husband dumps all clean laundry, apparently with the belief that we have elves or fairies or other friendly sprites that will come fold and put away the clothes while we sleep.

Actually, if I just lay in supplies as if for nuclear war or cult membership, I could stop leaving the house and instead ostrich myself regarding the yard as well. Our yard is always a bit of a fright, but around mid-summer it always becomes really out of control. The heat and humidity that wither me within minutes outdoors have a radiation-on-Dr-Banner effect on the weeds. You can measure their daily growth in feet, not inches. If I had any gardening ability at all, such lushness would inspire me to landscaping, but as I don't, my only visions about my yard involve flamethrowers and salting the earth.

Oh, right, brevity. Summary is - my new strategy for housewifery is to ignore my responsibilities. Hmm, I preferred the more flowery explanation.

I'm going to Italy!

I actually knew this already, but now I am for sure, because my husband found my birth certificate! Poor man inhaled so much dust in the attempt that his eyes swelled up, but he found it! Guess I'm no better a house-keeper than I am a record-keeper. But yay, Italy! Of course, he found it literally 5 minutes after I gave up and placed an order online to get a certified copy - fortunately, if you don't fax in the verification, they cancel your order and don't charge you.

I'm Mark Twain-ish! Having adventures! May have something more exciting than poop to write about after September! Oh, that reminds me my friend Megan, who said I could use her in my blog (see her comment on an earlier post if you don't believe me) - yesterday, she wrote to me and said, "I need a blog. For nothing more than to spare you my insanity. And ask rhetorical questions such as, "Why is it that children determine how well they wiped by sticking their finger in their butt?"

For mothers of young children, no matter how we try to diversify, it always comes back to the poop.