Capacious

Yo Yo Yo

I wanted to post this photo of our only surviving pumpkin (from five vines, I don't get it) back in the fall but tried and it didn't go through so I gave up way back when.

 

The squirrels did some charming art on it, didn't they?  I quite enjoyed seeing what they did every day - wish I had taken pictures at every stage but I was always rushing for a school bus when I noticed.

My husband is feeling a little blue and it inspires a feeling of instant empathy and the desire the FIX IT.  He's always nice to me when things are bad, bless his heart. 

Is it only me whose heart sinks when she hears Paul McCartney starting up with that Christmas song (What is it?  I just heard it and it's gone now.  Please, don't remind me, shutupshutupshutup)?  We had a Rockin' Santa that broke from over-use last year, much to the children's chagrin, and my own personal joy.  Jingle Bell Rock is the song of the devil.  Johny Mathis should shut his pie-hole.  And Nat King Cole too.  Guess whose CDs dominate our Christmas shelf?  I gotta find those good cassettes people made us back in the day.

If Beyonce were a boy, she'd be a funny-looking boy. 

Another fall photo I never posted.  This one captures my boy's keen intelligence and wariness:

 

He came with me to a party and stood by my side while I made a speech last weekend.  His brother was sick and Stephen stayed home and I was peeeeeeeved that I had to go alone.  This boy is a good boy.  I am so grateful for the people who live in this house.  There are not enough words.  I am one lucky girl.

Dumpling Dispenser

Sometimes when our freezer is full, we pile stuff on top of the ice in the ice dispenser.  Apparently a bag broke open recently because when we hold our cup up to the door dispenser to get ice, sometimes we get a dumpling instead of a cube.  It amuses me.

Seven Things

I can't seem to compose a post unless I have a number system.  Must have way to organize thoughts, like ape woman living in forest.  Put stones in lines.  Not that there's anything wrong with being an ape woman, I have total respect for apes.  Ape sister mother goddess, I am not putting you down, man.  WOman.  I mean.

1. I am now working in a place that helps families who have worries about their children.  It makes me feel a lot of sympathy for the families who call while at the same time relieved for myself that I don't have to deal with these particular problems.  And they are very particular problems, every phone call is very much the same while I scribble incomprehensibly (to my co-workers) on my form.  It's interesting, and there is a lot to know and I don't really have to know it but it would probably be a little bit helpful to know more than I do.  Work provides a lot of avenues, always.  It gives you a window into a little world you never thought you would know.  Work is good.  Me like work.

2. There are a lot of places I can go.  I am less afraid than I was last year.  Last year I was less afraid and more confident than the year before.  Hell, by the time I'm 75, I will be READY.  Rarin' ta go.  The old woman will finally know what she wants to do.

3. Stephen's company is laying off a gabillion people on Wednesday.  He doesn't think it will be him because we have figured it would be him for the past dozen years and he is the last remaining guy of his tribe, now he has joined another tribe and one just never knows.  The workers, they just go and go and go on Wall Street and yet my husband remains.  Goodbye, good workers, or not-so-good workers, mediocre workers, where are the men we loved and miss?  My husband is truly alone.  What will happen when he loses his job and it's on us to figure out what happens next is anybody's guess?  I'm guessing we'll become all commune-y and start making music and art and food and no money!  Whee!  Shite.  Scary and exciting and scary, all at the same time.  This is a time of change, people.  Let us hope the Capaciouses do not end up on the street.

4. Why did I ever stop listening to this Gorillaz CD?  Holy kamoley, it's GREAT. 

5. By the way, I'm totally going blind.  The doctor said I had a sty and gave me antibiotic drops but I'm convinced it's my new lens solution, the kind that gives you an eye infection that causes irreversible blindness.  If there are spelling mistakes from now on, it's because I can't see what I'm typing.  Forgive me.

6. What else?  I think of so much type-y stuff all week and then it disappears out of my sorry little head.  Sad.

7. I have to get up early tomorrow and get both kids off to school and myself to work a little earlier than usual (always a problem) and why am I up late, drinking wine and typing on my blawg?  Lawsamercy, I'll be sorry in the morning.
   

My Country No Longer Embarrasses Me

It's so overdue, this historic event.  It's like America hadda cuppa this (thank you, Barbara):

My whole being feels lighter, like maybe things won't always suck and the whole world won't always think everyone in the U.S. is a witless boob.  Thank you for being President, Mr. Obama, although it's a horrible job that will probably take years off your life.  I'm so grateful you're willing and able and intelligent and articulate.  Please fix it up.  Fix the Bush years and fixemfast.  Oh, how will you begin?  I can't imagine being a person willing to take that on.  I can barely clear my own kitchen table of papers so we can have dinner, forget wars and deficits and economies.  I look forward to your leadership, more desperately than you know.  I'm sorry for you and I love love love that you are our President.

By the way, just so you know, Anderson Cooper is in love with ME.  Every time CNN went to a commercial, he squinted his eyes at me in a very sexy way.  I have that effect on news anchors.  Even Stephen noticed.  It doesn't matter if Anderson is gay, I'm staying with Stephen even if he's not, but a girl likes to be appreciated.

So, yeah, I've been lax, I've been away, I haven't been paying attention, it's going to take me a year to catch up on all my peeps because you all write prolifically and prodigiously.  It will be a pleasure but don't be surprised if you start getting comments this weekend about things you wrote in September.  And you'll be all, "Oh my Gawd what takes huh so lawng?  Whatsa matta wit huh?"  Not that you tawk like that, you're all Canadian and South African and Midwestern and German and alla those crazy wacky places.  Listen, let me have my little fantasy.

Yesterday after school, a boy I know who lives in my house told me about a large project that was due this morning - wait, check that.  My darling friend who has a boy in the same class told me about how her boy had been working on this project so I knew it was due - it was not from this child in my house that I knew anything at all about anything.  Anyway, this project involved a lot of personal photos and since I know where these personal photos reside, it was up to me to find them and I ended up staying up until 11:30 scanning pictures of Stephen and I as babies, etc.  [We were cute, did I mention we were so cute?  We were.  So cute.  Still are.]  I shouldn't have even helped that bad boy, but I did.  And in spite of myself, I was thrilled when he came home and said how much his teacher loved the photos.  I did good on my project!!  Also in spite of me, the boy said he will never wait so long to do a project again.  I even sort of believe him.  Heh.  Worst mother in the world.  He will marry someone who lets him lie around being lazy all the time.  Mark my motherly words.  Shit.  Note to self: Don't do this again.

Anyway, during all of this, family photos got dragged out of closets and this one in particular was amusing to Toby.  He lay on the floor and giggled his head off for quite a while about my expression.  I think the photographer sincerely wanted to torture the chubby little geek of the family.  I did not include the entire photo but trust me, everyone except my mother (not in a good phase either) looks like a movie stah.

   

It matters not one whit to me now.  Laugh away, little man Toe.  Must think of way to take bad photo of him.  Although he has never forgiven me for this.

Cutest Picture On Earth

Funyuns

Stephen called me the other morning while I got ready for work.

S: Do you remember what you said last night?

A: No.  Uh-oh.  What did I say?

S:  You were shaking my shoulder to wake me up.  I asked you what was the matter and you said, "I made Funyuns!" 

A:  [Laughing] I made WHAT?

S: Funyuns!  You were really happy about it.  You were gesturing with your left hand, like you were showing me the Funyuns, and then you said, "For the dog!  In the computer!" 

Then I asked you if you were awake and you said happily, "Yes!  I'm awake!"  And then you went back to sleep.

Obviously I have some unresolved snack food issues with which my subconscious is struggling.

Thank you, De, for making me realize I was spelling the name wrong.  Who knew?  It's not like I ever actually have EATEN a Funyun.  The Funyuns are speakin at me.

Work Weak

I've been working in a friend's office temporarily while I wait for the other job (meeting about that tomorrow).  It's so great to be around such interesting and funny women (ah, New Yorkers, I love you, it's like being home at work), to have a purpose, to wear actual clothes, to try to control the frizz puff that is my hair, and unpuff my face (as if).  I have miraculously been on time every day because I leave early but it's amazing the forces trying to make me late: cars that have dead batteries; school buses that come 15 minutes early or 15 minutes late with absolutely no notice so the kids need to be driven; highway traffic; and of course, the endless Illness.

My poor boy is sick again.  He has a cold and another slight rash on one cheek and his upper arms (so was that other rash really chicken pox?) and athlete's foot on top of that.  Today S came home from work super early (5 hours of commute for about an hour of work, so crazy) so I could go to the office.  Ty is really fighting to stay home again tomorrow but he was so fine this afternoon, no fever, sorry boy, you must GO.  So he is having some hysteria, making up a thing about how he hates middle school and it's just not challenging enough, it's boring, he wants to LEARN something.  I told him to get some sleep and we will talk about it tomorrow because the last time we had one of these fraught talks, he was so tired as to be unreasonable and after a good night of sleep completely forgot all about it the next day.  Does he want me to have him skip a grade?  Go to a different school?  What?  I come off a little angry during his tired hysteria and it's a mistake.  Must figure out how to be better mother while not allowing them to stay home yet having everyone be happy happy joy joy. 

Toe has gone back to having an upset stomach every single morning, after a summer of no such thing.  After the appendix debacle in February, my stress level goes through the roof every time they look even a little sick, even when I'm absolutely sure they're faking, because I had to miss so much work for so long (although my boss was unbelievably kind and understanding).  Then I feel guilty, because I know if I treat them like they're not sick they'll have another some horrible disease and I will never be able to forgive myself.  Me Enjoying Work = Boys Being Sick and Needing To Stay Home = Me Feeling Angry and Thwarted = Boy Feeling Like Neglecterinos. 

This is an issue because I doubt myself now.  They sense it and grab the chance to exploit it. 

Yeah, okay, I'm going to talk about this again.  It's hard to not smell bad when the air is SATURATED with pounds and pounds of wet watery water all the time and I get out of the shower and it just descends upon me, stinking me up.  It's embarrassing, talking to people with a little Niagara Falls pouring off your eyebrows and splashing off your upper lip.  Why must I get old?  Why?  Who knew that I would ever get old?  Although I guess when I'm REALLY OLD I'll just stop smelling altogether and be all powdery.  With no hair.  That doesn't sound so bad, actually, but I'm sure it will come with other problems that will be truly bad, like memory loss and incontinence...oh wait.  I already...forget it.  Nothing.

I will not now think about the fact that the boys bedroom has a huge mold spot in the ceiling so the roof must be leaking into the crawl space above the second floor.  The ROOF, the ROOF, the ROOF, she is LEAKING.  The roof that we replaced 11 years ago.  Surely it should last longer than that?  Will.Not.Think.About.Roof.  LalalalalalalaIcan't hearawordyousaybecauseIamnotlistening.  S is sleeping and I have to leave him a note that his cousin died of cancer.  His mother has had a lot of loss this year.  I am not going to tell him about the roof because there's enough bad news in the world.  Perhaps I will consult the roofer myself.  "Hello, Old Chap Roofer!  WTF is up with our roof, Old Man?  Do tell!"

Politics will not be mentioned because it's just too fraught right now.  But honestly, where can we move if McCain/Palin win?  How do these things happen?  Pulling hair out now, weeping.  I wonder where my children get it.

Neighbors and Shoes and Shoes and Neighbors

Our neighbors stopped speaking to us at the beginning of the summer.  Perplexed, I called a few times but they were consistently cold.  The entire summer passed with a dark cloud hanging over the end of the driveway where their house sits.  Their pool sat, unused.

School started and they did not come to the bus stop at the end of our driveway.  Lo and behold, this morning he came out with their boy.  After the children had departed, I asked him what was up with the not speaking to us thing.  He said that early in the summer, someone had called the fire department because they were burning trash in their back yard.  The health department came and then the zoning department, etc., it was a big magilla. 

So you think WE did this?  You honestly think we would call the authorities on you?  You wasted an entire summer of fun and our 10-year relationship on some unfounded suspicion about which you didn't even bother to ask us?  I am dumbfounded.  This just happened so my mouth is still hanging open. 

Closing mouth now and getting over it.  Have you seen the "sculptural" shoes we're supposedly wearing this fall?

     

If I'm going to spend $900 on a crazy pair of shoes, they are not going to make me look like I'm wearing a museum on the end of my foot.

   

The feet are big enough as it is, they do not need wings or struts or ballisters or any extra hangy or dangly items.

Okay, I'm done.  I feel better now.

Unsettled

There is promise of a job for me, an interesting job that pays almost twice what I was making.  I was recommended by a mutual friend so the prospective boss says she doesn't need to know anything else about me.  But I have to wait, and that's hard, especially since we have no money.   She said next week but something tells me it will be longer than that.

Should I temp in the meantime?  I hate temping, haven't done it in more than a decade, but don't quite know what else to do for now. 

I feel a touch helpless.  Must grab life by neck and shake.

The boys are in school again, the hurdle of the first few days has been jumped.  Ty in middle school, across town, far away, once again lost in thought and taking four hours to answer three short questions - not kidding, FOUR HOURS of sitting at his desk staring into space and playing with pencils.  Soccer started again for Toe.  The first fascinating PTO meeting was last night. 

The school bus is always early for Ty and late for Toe but at least the driver is friendly.

The new Principal does not seem terribly happy in her job.  Ugh, can you imagine?  That's one job I'd rather not contemplate, all those crazy parents.

Despite bathing daily, I am always slightly smelly.  I feel sweaty and disheveled, like I can't make myself look good no matter what I do. 

Weekend of the Small Sweatshirt

I came downstairs on Saturday morning and my husband was wearing a very small sweatshirt.  He said he was cold, and it was the only thing he could find to wear.  It cracked me up so much that I could not speak to him without giggling for several hours, and the giggling recurred at odd intervals all weekend.  The sweatshirt was left at our house by some unknown guest and I have never been able to figure out exactly to whom it might belong despite grilling every visitor for months.  Anyway, it looked very tiny on Stephen.  The man has longer arms than anyone other than Michael Phelps.  "So, why aren't you wearing your wee sweatshirt this morning, Mr. Man?"  He is extremely tiny, as well as being very big.

He did some hilarious hip-hop dancing this afternoon in response to music on a commercial and I remembered how much I so love him - the man can dance and he can make me laugh, so joyful the dancing!  Our boy Toe can do some dancing too and sometimes I will catch him just grooving away by himself in the hall or out in the yard.  He stops when I see him, but that boy is a natural.  It's a gift.  It makes my heart soar, watching.  I wish he would do it all the time.

Toe and I went to the track to run yesterday and he just bounced along, so happy and free, light as air.  I plodded like Frankenstein in pursuit of him but at the end this monster almost caught the sprite.  Slow and steady wins the race, just about.  He will never let me actually win, even if it kills him.  He will draaaag himself across that finish line if it means his mother won't win.  I had to work at least 25 years to learn how to get myself across that line but it only took him a few to want it.  Lucky boy.

Ty and I hiked up a mountain today to this tower:

The view:

I thought that the exercise this weekend would do me good but I guess all the wine and food takes its toll despite my longing and wishing.  The song remains the same.  Months of sloth and gluttony cannot be erased by a couple of days of activity.  Whine.  Or should I say, Wine.

Speaking of whine, Stephen and Toe made a very funny list of rules while Ty and I were hiking:

Rules At My Beach:

1.    No Swimming. 
2.    No getting wet.
3.    No BBQs.
4.    No digging in the sand.
5.    No sunbathing.
6.    No having fun.
7.    No breathing.
8.    No laughing.
9.    No eating.
10.   No reading.
11.   No fishing.

Things You Can Do at My Beach:

1. Cry.
2. Complain.
3. Whine.
4. Ask to go Home a Lot.
5. Throw Rocks.
6. Stare at the Water.
7. Buy my Very Expensive Food.  (But Don't Eat It!  See Rule # 9 Above).

Last weekend of the summer.  Poignant, and yet welcome.  Here comes a new season.