Call me crazy

Today while R went for a long hike with friends at on a Pt. Reyes trail, and D went for his weekly gaming marathon at his friend's house, S and I spent some quality time at the fabric store.

We picked out a bright cheerful green cotton duck for new livingroom curtains. (Well, ok, it's lime, but that beats the drab, musty forest green velvet we've had there, and I need the change.)

We also -thanks to a sale and my second daughter's incredible mind-bending powers - bought the pattern and fabric for her to be a witch this Halloween. Keep in mind that I don't really, actually, sew. Much. Curtains I feel I can do. But the last time I tried to sew a whole Halloween costume was that turtle-thing we made for R when she was one. We were still hot-gluing as she toddled out the door. And all I really got out of the experience was a headache, lots of tears (mine), and, about five years later, a poem. Which, on balance, isn't that bad, but still.

S was so excited about the project that she insisted on carrying the fabric to the car and holding it all the way home. When we had just walked through the door, she said, "Mom? I'm just asking. Are you going to start on my costume now? I'm just asking."

"I'm just asking," is her new tactic for staving off a quick "no" to any number of unreasonable requests. It's the sweet dotted swiss ribbon she ties around her manipulative questions.

"Not tonight," I told her.

I'm just saying.

The end of a long week

When you work Sunday through Saturday, it's like some kind of blessing to live until the end of the week. I'm glad I've arrived.

Because hope springs eternal, this will be the post for Sept. 19th!

This will be the post for Sept. 18th!

Birthday shout out #4

How many Virgos are there in my life?
There can't be too many, apparently.

Today is Suzanne's birthday. And though from the sound of her blog post, it could hardly have been a worse day, I'm wishing her a happy year.

Or, as my grandmother always said, "And many happy returns of the day!"

Birthday shout out #3

Today was D's birthday. So much more to say about that - but it will have to wait.
Sorry about the tease...

What's not to love?

Friday and payday - whoo-hoo!

Birthday shout out #2

Today is Clare's birthday.
Clare is so cool. She is Super-mama, super friend, a true Christian in all the best senses of the word.
And even though she has the nerve to stay in another state and not move closer to where I live, I can forgive her that. Because she's so dang lovable, that's why. Happy Birthday Clare!

Birthday shout out #1

Jen's birthday today. Jen doesn't read blogs as a rule, and for a very good reason. She doesn't quite understand why one would read about what one's friends are doing when one can just have a conversation instead. I sometimes - especially when I'm over a week behind in writing little bits about little nothings - completely understand her point of view.

Happy birthday anyway, Jen!

Patch Tuesday

Those of us who do not use Windows products may not know about this. Even those of us who do use Windows may not be aware that the second Tuesday of any month is the day when Microsoft traditionally releases its security patches.

That would be today.

I didn't know about this fact, and I have a Windows machine at home, and help people with crashed PC drives all day long at work. (Those of you savvy sysadmin types who are reading this blog entry, please excuse my ignorance.)

And while any Wikipedia article is likely to have a bias based on who wrote it, I also found this quote interesting:

Some system administrators have also been known to call this day "Black Tuesday."

Those system administrators. Such kidders.

Of course, one thing leads to another on the internet. Did you know how many things the phrase "Black Tuesday" refers to? See the above Wikipedia entry for more details. Not the luckiest day of the week, apparently.

9/11/06, 5 years on

S wanted to know why I put the US flag up today, and why the neighbors were flying theirs. I wasn't sure what to tell her. I opted for a vague outline: five years ago, some people did some bad things that hurt a lot of other people way over on the other side of the country. I said we were remembering what happened, and thinking about the people who lost loved ones that day. I said it was a show of support.

Part of me wanted to say nothing at all about any of it, because it was so outside her experience, and I didn't want to scare her, or suggest that all was not well with the world. Besides, she was preoccupied by getting ready to go to a new gymnastics class with other people she didn't know. 9/11 was not on her mind.

At the same time, I wanted to stop everything, sit her down, and tell her how violence breeds violence, and that sometimes leaders whose office you respect can make decisions that you don't agree with.

But last night I had a dream about the rapture. S and I found ourselves floating, flying a little above ground while other things - crazy things, like fish and dolphins and ships and planes - fell from the sky. Some people were shooting heavenward, some were running in panic. I was trying to figure out what was happening, and what we should do - pray? find the rest of the family? try to stay? try to leave more quickly? - when I was awoken by S coming into our room out of the blue because she was scared and couldn't sleep.

"I'm sorry," I explained to her, knowing as I got up that my alarm was due to go off any minute anyway. "I had a dream and you were in it, so I bet that kept you from sleeping." At 3:40am, this made perfect sense to me.

"I dreamt we were flying," I told her, tucking her back in after a trip to the bathroom and the obligatory sip of water. What do we tell our children? What do we keep from them?

"We were flying," I said, "and it was really cool."

Sunday in the Park with friends

So, after we returned home from camping, we quickly cleaned up & went to celebrate our friend's 2 year birthday at a new local park. (Everybody say, "ELMO CAKE!!!")

After the party, some of us took a 2 hour nap. I might have been one of the guilty (but eventually well-rested parties).

The day was uneventful apart from that. There's something lovely about late-day puttering Sunday, especially if it wards off the pre-work week blues. It helps me to remember that intense productivity is not the only way to peace of mind.

Camping, finally

It was only one night, but we did manage to pack up all the gear and sleeping bags and more food than we'd normally need for a week - just in case - and take ourselves, said gear, and the tent to China Camp for a camping trip with other families from R's class.

We had a lovely time chatting with other parents & R's teacher while eating a gourmet potluck (including slices of mozzarella with home grown tomatoes and basil, fresh grilled vegetables, and roughy for some of the adults). The campfire skits presented by the 11 year olds (2 boys, 2 girls) were more alarming than entertaining - barnyard humor at it's pre-teen finest. (Now *they* would probably like Better Off Dead, even if they didn't grow up in the 80's.) But the kids had so. much. fun.

I love sleeping under the stars, and slept well - even, reportedly, no snoring! (which is pretty amazing, for me). In the morning, we packed up and came home for our next social engagement. But that's Sunday's post, which I have yet to post-write and pre-date....

Friday

This was Friday; nothing special to report, just preparing for the weekend camping trip and being so glad the work week, even though abbreviated by the holiday, was over.

D. and I, having independently been told by friends that we had to watch Better Off Dead, managed only 5 minutes of it before giving up, apparently immune to the same rip-roaring humor that had our friends laughing until they were crying or spitting out their drinks. It was lost on us, and you know? life is too short to watch a movie that does nothing for you.

Instead, we watched Reign of Fire, a Road Warrior-Dragon Slayer hybrid that, especially compared to Better Off Dead, completely did it for me. I must confess that I really do dig post-apocalyptic survivalist movies. I think they appeal to both my fatalistic inclinations and my admiration for determination in the face of adversity. Besides, Christian Bale follows in the tradition of Richard Burton, Sir Anthony Hopkins, and Ioan Gruffudd of being Welsh born. Cymru Am Byth!

Pick your vice

You know, there are days when a full-time working, dieting, already neurotic writer wannabe mom can feel so completely defeated by it all (and in particular by her seven year old) that she starts to pine for the elegant, if unacceptable, coping mechanism from her teenage years.

I mean, I know it's been a hard afternoon when I'm wondering why it was that I promised God and my best friends when I was 18 that I wouldn't cut myself again. What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn't figuring that life could get this hard. Chunk of coal into diamond. Heart attack waiting to happen. I ignore the oh-so-tempting idea of release, and transference, and external-manifestation-of-internal pain, that a small cut might bring. It's not like I ever did it a lot back then, and it sure ain't gonna happen again now.

A good sit-down meal with the kids, one bottle of hard apple cider, and a try at "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" on the fiddle, and I now can see that there's nothing all that wrong, really. Blame the struggle on the full moon. Blame it on my less-than-5-hours-a-night sleep habit. Or my daughter not having enough lunch before gymnastics. Blame it on whatever, but don't blame hormones (because I always refuse to do that, and besides, it wouldn't apply right now anyway...).

A good friend recently suggested that although I no longer cut myself, since I do still have the impulse rise up from time to time (I liken it to an addiction, an alcoholic still occasionally craving a drink), it might be important to figure out what it is that gets me to that feeling, so I can address that. Ok. Good point. (Because, you know, I'm not self-reflective enough.)

Me, me. It's all about me. Unless it's about you and you're being about me.

Is that the song that the universe sings, from mitochondria to red giant? Or is the universe singing "You. All. Us. One." ?


Damn. That was a good bottle of cider.

Check, check, check

up before 4am: check
make kids' lunches: check
get to work: check
work: check
home to tidy: check
pick up S from school: check
home visit from S's teacher (the girls' teachers from this charter school come to the homes of each student. I think it's to better understand the environment the child is coming from, to better understand the child, and how they learn, etc. I like the policy, myself. It especially makes sense because these teachers follow their kids from grade to grade for 4 years - so this woman will have S from 1st through 4th grade!) Anyway: check
got R from school: check
fun playdate with friends: check
make dinner: check
go to class meeting while D and girls go to another class meeting: check
come home for online writers group: check
blog: check
sleep:
sleep:
sleep:

hmmm. - seems I have some unfinished business to which I must attend

Check, please!

A day late, a blogpost short

If I keep back-dating these posts, I'll very soon reach the "what's the point?" point.

But I have enough of a stubborn streak (no, wait. I think it's pride) that I won't give up my latest "post-every-day-for-a-year" plan that easily.

The day was run-of-the-mill middle-age, middle-class routine: work, picking up the girls at school, dropping off someone else's kid who missed the bus to daycare, a trip to the library, a quick workout at the gym, home to make dinner, bedtime for the kids, a quick trip to the store to look (in vain) for just the right shade of new curtains, back home for a half hour of Friends viewing with D, collapse into bed before writing.

But the long list of what-I-did's doesn't tell the full story; the dark silver and shadow of the oak trees that grow next to the gym parking lot, the sweet matter-of-fact pre-grownup conversations between the kids in the backseat, or the trademark teasing banter at the dinner table, the light of the moon trying to pry its way through the temporary curtains and reach the bed. That's what it doesn't tell...

Home Depot Must Love Us

We spent a mess of money on new doors, new blinds for the new bedroom, wood for planter boxes and shoji screens, and wasp spray tonight.

If we feel overwhelmed by the bill for the upgrades, or by the work that we (read: D.) will have to do to make the home improvements, I suppose we can always apply the wasp spray to ourselves....

Sunday review

Okay, here's a bloggy snapshot of a typical weekend day in review...of no interest to anyone but me, really, but still in keeping with my desire to post an entry for every day that I'm forty. (Which is a pretty arbitrary but nonetheless adequate excuse for reintroducing the discipline of writing daily...)

The day went something like this:

*slept in (ah! how nice)
*went for a much-needed jog (had dreamed I was running, a sure sign that 4 days without it is too many)
*went to the grocery store (alone! another luxury!)
*D left for his weekly gaming session
*had friends over for a playdate (for both the girls and me)
*took R to a slumber party while my friend watched the little girls
*the friends left, & because S had been so crabby & whiny all day,
*I forced her to have a "rest time" which started with us finishing The Wide Window & ended in a 2+ hour nap (for both of us)*woke from nap, went shopping for new curtains (no luck),
*had dinner out at Applebee's (just right)
*then bedtime routine, and more sleep (ah! how nice)

And there's one more weekend day to go, with the chance of even more sleep. I love sleep. I love three day weekends.

Miss Malapropism

Judging by some of her latest word replacements, I think we may need to get S's hearing tested, even though it's her sister who's had chronic hearing problems over the years.

The other night at dinner, D. was eating spanakopita, and S. asked him if it was good. She wasn't having any, herself, because she doesn't like "Spanish coconut."

Today when I went to pick her up from a playdate, her friend marched into the room with a toy medical kit and warned me, "Your daughter is really sick." S. staggered in behind her and leaned against a table for support "Yes," she agreed in a dramatically weak voice. "I have Charlotte Fever."

(Whew, I think now. That's serious, but at least it's not Emily Disease or Branwell Complex.)

During the playdate, our youngest must have also been explaining the (misleadingly alarming) heritage of our dog. Albion's mother was an amazingly regal half-wolf dog owned by Kate. His father, as far as anyone knows, was a pitbull mix from the neighborhood. Our dog is therefore part this, part that, and not necessarily the kind of mix that you advertise to parents whose children are playing at your house, even though the reality is that he's 95% dopey noodlebrain, completely harmless, and wonderful with kids.

But S. apparently was sharing Albion's lineage with her friend today, because the friend's mother said (with a suppressed smile), "So. Your daughter tells me that your dog is part wolf and part pimple."

After we had a good laugh, I said, "Sure, he is." And sue me, but I just could not resist adding, "We call him the pussy pup."

Three days!

A three day weekend is especially sweet after one has had a one day weekend, as I just did.

The plan for tomorrow is for us to remove the single pane window in our bedroom and replace it with a double-pane window that his sister gave us - something like three years ago.

Actually, the plan is for D. to remove the window and for me to provide moral support and supervision of our kids and any other friends that are here. I never, ever, thought the word "playdate" would become so central to my existence. Does this mean that our girls will have full social calendars for the rest of their lives?

How does that happen?

I mean, genetically, do two introverts combined always breed only extroverts, like two negatives making a positive? How could a loner plus a loner equal children who already have more friends in elementary school than their parents have had, combined, in forty years? Go figure. Or maybe it's the fact that D. and I are Virgos, while our children are a loving Libra and a partying Leo, respectively. (btw, check out Suzanne's site for more horoscope musings and a suspiciously flattering birthday photo of yours truly with the Writers Group gals.)

Must go. My vanity is showing. And the weekend has begun!