Capacious

I'm So Memed.

Magpie tagged me.

What Was I Doing Ten Years Ago?
Let's see, 10 years ago it was 1998.  That was the year that I was President of the United States.  Oh no, wait, that was one of those many years that I was trying to be the best mother and child care provider in the WORLD and not allowing any kids to watch TV or eat unhealthy food.  Someone should have assassinated me and taken me out of power.  Instead, I grew out of it.  Now all the kids who enter this house are handed a bag of potato chips and a Playstation controller and sent to the basement.  Enjoy, young people.  Come out when you have spiral eyes.

Five Things on My To-Do List Today:

1. Get out of bed.
2. Moan until Stephen brings me a pain-reliever.  (Later, I will bring him one.  I'm nice.)
3. Wrest the NY Times Magazine from the husband's manly grip.  Crossword.  He keeps coming over and looking over my shoulder.  It should be mine it should be mine it should be mine all mine.  There was an article in the Style section about two couples who wrote books about having sex every day for a year or some other long period of time.  Stephen was all let's do that, baby, let's do it do it do it can we do it?  I swear he turns into a little yappy dog on the weekends but instead of yapping he looks at/touches/talks about my boobs.  Yes, we can, but not every single DAY, gawd.  Down boy!One of the husbands said that after a while it was like remembering an unpleasant appointment.  I kind of like it how it is, where we ENJOY it?   Stephen is way cuter than I am, don't tell him or he'll leave me and find some woman named Lola.  She never stops with the running her long red fingernails through his hair.  She is a biotch.
4. Take the Tiny Toe to a mini-golf birthday party in the burning heat, so hot that all the children will be little cinders when I go to pick him up and I won't be able to find them because they will be little crunchy crinkled things not resembling their old selves and some of them will have flown up and away in the air. I will have spent the two hours of the party at the lovely air-conditioned Shop Rite, twirling about the aisles in a flowery frock and laughing my tinkly little laugh with a parasol in my hands. When I arrived to pick him up, the mother of the birthday boy informed me that her son was up all night puking all over his bedroom. Let me see...what kind of thing do you not tell the 20 people you have recently infected? Fortunately for her, I am guilty of this kind of thing all the time so will not judge.  Diarrhea?  Let's go out and shake hands with people!  Pleasedtameetcha!  I'm making up buttons that say ,"Kiss me, I'm sick!"
5. Home Depot.  Die of heat exhaustion.  Nap. Despite deadness, install new printer.  Mojitos.  Revive from deadness.  Birthday invitations.  Thank you notes.  Eating.  Lots of eating.  Regret.  More eating.  More mojitos.

Snacks I Enjoy:

• Everything.  I mean, really.  Just everything is so good.  There is a time and a place for enjoyment and that time is now.  Go to the kitchen and open your mouth.  Stop thinking that.
• My talented husband just made the most amazing spring rolls.  And this crazy pork that the kids even devoured it was so delicious.  Cheez. 
• I like sweet things ever so much.  Sometimes I make myself a s'more in the middle of the day.  I actually met someone once who didn't even know what a s'more was so I will say it's graham crackers with marshmallow and chocolate melted between.  What?  You were never a scout?  You had no friends?  Come over, I can help you. 
• Roasted garlic ciabatta bread with sharp cheddar on it, melted.
• Champagne.  The premier uno number one snack.

Things I’d Do If I Had A Billion Dollars (which is A LOT of money):

• Bye bye you nasty old debt.  Imagine the worry that would evaporate out of my hair if we had no debt.  It would be palpable, the anxiety leaving my head.  Wheeeee.  I would probably look like a movie stah if I wasn't always a-worryin'.  Yeah, yeah, a movie stah, that's what I would look like.
• Get us a financial advisor and save ourselves silly.  College (for all - some for the second time)!Retirement!  Cars that aren't old and falling apart!  Vacations!  Clothes!  Shoes!
• Give money to people who need it.
• Swimming pool, inground, indoors, around our house like a moat so I can jump out of bed into the pool and swim round and round before breakfast.  How long do you think it would be before I never wanted to swim again?  And the water caused all sorts of mold problems?  Thank God we have no money.

Places I’ve Lived:

• Manchester, CT
• Brooklyn, NY 
• Manhattan, NY
• Here, in the Land of Dreams

I'm not tagging anyone.  I'm a terrible blogger who doesn't reciprocate because I barely look at my own blog, never mind other people's.  I don't deserve to be recognized or commented upon or anything and anyone who even bothers to know I exist is a truly kind and generous person.  Recently, I was at a dinner party with a mother of one of my son's friends, a woman I just met and like very much.  She had read an article about a blogger (also in the Times Magazine) and was going on and on about how stupid blogs are and what kind of asshole thinks anyone would be interested in their stupid lives anyway, on and on and on.  I laughed and told her I had a blog.  THIS kind of asshole!  Me!  Assholicness personified!  Spit on the likes of me!  She was refreshingly nonplussed.  How do I get me some of that nonplussedness?   I'm putting that sit on my Kritmat list.

A List

1. Mr. Worry threw up on Toby at a birthday party on Friday.  They were eating cake.  I saw Toe screaming something at me through the glass window of the party room but couldn't understand what he was saying.  It then became apparent.  Toe didn't mind because he got a free t-shirt from the party place and told everyone he worked there.  Poor traumatized Mr. Worry said (pre-puking), "Mrs. Capacious, remember when you made me sit at the back of the bus?"  (I like how kids "remember" things that happened three minutes ago.)  I happily told his mother how he asked me if I liked wine and she looked stricken and asked what I must think and said he had just taken Communion.  I obviously wanted her to know that her kid has a drinking problem, and that it was not funny at all.
2. The workers who come and go next door have been using our woods as a bathroom. It's revolting, so incredibly revolting, not to mention smelly when one steps in it as we keep doing. Ty even managed to get it INSIDE his shoe and then wipe it on the hall rug, sending Stephen into absolute apoplexy - he had to shut himself in our bedroom to calm down. I am not kidding. This morning I put a sign at the entrance to our property saying, in English and Spanish, "Please do not use our woods as a bathroom. Our children play here." There were lots of other things I wanted to say, but figured I'd leave it at that. I put on gloves and gathered up all their toilet paper and napkins and newspapers that they use to wipe themselves and threw it all back on our neighbor's property. I was shaking with rage, which surprised me, although having to hose human shit off my shoes is pretty rage-making.
3. Poison ivy has made me into three dwarves: Ugly, Itchy and Oozy.  Pleased to meet you.
4. I can't seem to finish anything: painting the kitchen cabinets (so deathly boring); the garage (yawn, so much STUFF); the 6 yards of mulch (snooze); the lawn (tractor won't start and neighbor borrowed battery charger); bills (no money, too depressing); unemployment payments (I missed the phone call and they denied me and for some reason I am unable to make myself rectify the situation). I'd rather sit around and feel sorry for myself, scratching pathetically and moaning a little bit. ooohhhh. oooohhhh.
5. The couch cover somehow got into the dryer with my favorite pen. It was marked up pretty well, black on white. I decided to draw a design on it with fabric markers to disguise the damage. Many hours and markers later, it is kind of done. If I was really serious about saving the earth from wastefulness, I wouldn't have been using the dryer in the first place now, would I?  I'd have hang that baby out on a line in the unpleasant breeze coming from our woods.
6. Yesterday my husband called me and asked me if I was going to take a shower because when I came to bed the night before, I smelled. I had been mulching and didn't think I was all that smelly but the fan was blowing across me in his direction and perhaps my arm pit was exposed or something, I don't know. Anyway, this exchange had the effect of making me feel like shit (see the theme here? It's Pooparific!).  There was hostility in that comment, no matter what he says.
7. Yesterday there was a mother turkey and her babies in our yard. We were out watching them and then one of our cats got a chick. We tried to run the killer off but don't know if we succeeded as it was chaos in the poopy woods. We are bad people. It is depressing to be as bad as we are.
8. The printer doesn't work anymore.
9. I made a roast chicken for dinner but I just ate a lot of it.  It was delicious.  The rest of the family can have a bowl of cereal or something, I'm sure they won't mind.
10. I can't think of anything else about which to complain.  I'm sure there's something.

Mrs. Capacious? Do You Like Field Trips?

Last week, there were two field trips.  The American Museum of Natural History trip with the fifth graders on Monday was a bit trying as our school bus driver didn't really know where he was going and we spent five long hours on the dilapidated school bus in order to spend two short hours cruising through the museum at top speed (that's how kids like it so it was fine with them).  A pigeon pooped on Ty during lunch.  The boys in my group were compatible and well-behaved apart from some spirited light saber fighting with rolled up pieces of paper.

On Friday, the second graders went to the aquarium.  Again, there were three boys under my chaperonage.  One was my kid.  Then there was Mr. Speedy and Mr. Worry. 

Mr. Speedy enjoyed disappearing into crowds of little children, managing to kick or hit or insult at least one of them in the process.  Mr. Speedy was busy climbing up the stairs and opening the door to the exit of the ride we did not pay to attend!  Mr. Speedy wanted candy from the vending machine!  Mr. Speedy wanted coins to spin down the spinny thing!  Mr. Speedy was bored!  But most of all, Mr. Speedy was speedy.  He's outside, he's on the bleachers, he's leaning against the fence over the water.  He is happy.  I am infuriated when another chaperone gets him taken away from me (without talking to me first) because he hit someone in her group (yeah, and your rotten kid hit him first, just so you know).  I take him back from the grateful teacher, with a scowl in the chaperone's direction.  We avoid them the rest of the day.

Mr. Worry is very smart.  He enjoys talking to grownups more than he does to children.  On the trip to the aquarium, Mr. Worry walked his fingers up my arm, pretending his fingers were a frog.  I didn't mind this the first hundred times, but then the other kids started to do it too and then I had that feeling from when the kids were little and clingy and all over me all the time and what I really wanted was to not be TOUCHED anymore.  Mr. Worry is very concerned about cleanliness.  He does not like that his sweatshirt sleeve is wet from touching the manta rays and carries a soggy tissue around for the rest of the day, desperately wiping it.  When he finally agrees to take his sweatshirt off (despite the heat), he will not allow me to carry it.  He does not want food from a vending machine.  He is afraid when someone goes into the restroom that she might never come out again.  He asks what time it is and what time are we supposed to meet for the bus, what time is it now, are we late, maybe we should go sit by the bus, I know it's only 10:00 and we're not meeting until 12:30 but maybe it's late, what time is it now?   What time is it?  Mr. Worry was happy when we were back on the bus.

My kid wanted to sit in the back on the way home, thus completely messing up the "sit in the seat you came in" policy.  All the insane, out-of-control kids crowded around us.  Mr. Worry did not want to sit in the back of the bus but I told him he could sit with me despite vowing that he would not sit next to me on the way back so my head could empty itself a little bit.  He hit me with the end of his seatbelt strap over and over.  "What are you doing, Mr. Worry?"  "It's a game called 'Hit Mrs. Capacious On The Leg.'"  "Please stop."  He hit me on the arm with the seatbelt strap.  "Mr. Worry.  Stop."  "It's a new game called, 'Hit Mrs. Capacious on the Arm.'"  The kids around us threw a lunchbox back and forth, got each other in head locks, fell into the aisle, gave each other noogies, threw bits of paper and plastic out the window, while I desperately tried to keep some sort of order.  The other chaperones and teachers on the bus all sat in the front, because they are smart.  Every once in a while, one of them would turn around and say, "Do I have to come back there?"  I would nod frantically, "Yes, yes, come back here!" but they would gaze vacantly into space as though I did not exist and slide back around to face the quiet, orderly front of the bus, leaving me with the insane children.  The worst kid actually had BOTH of his parents on the bus but did they ever turn around, even once?  No, sir, they did not.  They knew what they were missing.  They are not dummies.

One kid's lunchbox was torn to shreds and he held it up, yelling, "LOOK!  LOOK!  LOOK!" for about an hour, while a little girl intoned, "Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it...." over and over and over again, loudly.  The only thing that made her stop doing that was when she noticed a bad word written on the seat in front of her.  She drew it to the boys' attention and they all crowded up to her seat to look, spelling it loudly and happily.  F!  U!..." you get the idea.  I tried to engage them in conversation for a while, got them all to tell me their favorite colors, etc. but there were just to many of them and I finally told Mr. Worry that I needed to look out the window and be quiet for a while.  After about two seconds, he tapped my shoulder, "Mrs. Capacious?"  "Yes, Mr. Worry.  What is it?"  "Do you like wine?"  My instinct was to say, "Why?  What have you heard?"  And then ask him if he had any on him.

Wednesday

Gotta get rid of that last post, despite having not much to say.

Ty's stomach has been bothering him the past two days so I am taking him to see the surgeon this morning.  If I take him to see her, he will be fine.  If I ignore it, his appendix will be re-infected.  Right?  Playing it safe here.  The nurse didn't understand that he still HAS his appendix and was like, "Why are you even calling us?  Take him to his primary care guy."  Until she got it that it's still in there, then she was all business and apology and made us an appointment.  No one has heard of this waiting to take it out until the infection is gone - I am going to suggest to the doctor that she tell her staff about it.

The joys of unemployment continue to multiply.  Walking and visiting with friends, working on the house, planting in the garden, even paperwork is not a bother.  Susanne had asked if I was looking for a job, and the answer is yes, but I'm not looking very hard.  Ty's friend's father is a photographer and he needs someone to organize him and send out promotional materials as he is always travelling, so I may end up doing that.  It's right up the road and I can bring the kids or do it from home.  It just doesn't make sense for me to put the kids in camp/child care all summer as I won't end up making any money at the end of the day.  Plus, I'm so HAPPY not working, so relaxed.  I have time to play badminton and wiffle ball and Monopoly, there isn't that intense pressure to keep working all the time on dinner and dishes and bedtime and laundry.  It's a good life.

Since we are headed into The Not-So-Great Depression here in the U.S., it's good that I am planting some vegetables, yes?  If only we could keep cattle here.  Perhaps we will end up eating the deer, thereby saving the flowers.  Sorry, vegetarians.  Our swamp could be a rice paddy?  There's certainly no room for wheat or corn.

Last night at the monthly PTO meeting, someone mentioned that overseas companies are disappointed in the quality of U.S. college graduates.  Our country is in a shambles.  It's hard not to just bury one's head until the next President.  If that day EVER comes.

Walking is becoming more and more attractive as gas prices rise, and that's a good thing.  Now if we only had sidewalks.  I am assuming pedestrian fatalities will rise around here on this winding little roads with no shoulders. 

Well, this has turned into a depressing little post, hasn't it?  One would never know I'm feeling cheerful.  My work is done here.  Carry on.

Childhood/Adulthood

I like myself.  That is what I'm realizing.  I'm pretty good, as good goes.  There's some crap I do that gets on my last nerve but in general, I'm okay. 

Who figured I would ever get to this point?

My first niece is in the hospital for anorexia.  It's painful for so many reasons, but mostly because my brother is her father and I love them, their family, that little unit.  I am working on a letter to her and the only thing that keeps coming back to me is that I wanted to die in my early 20s, I just wanted desperately to escape life, please please take me away from this impossible struggle to find my way, to make money, to support myself, to find love.  It's so hard, being young.  The fact that life gets so much better needs to be conveyed.  Can it be?  Can it be conveyed in a way that's not annoying?  That girl needs to LIVE, she needs to LIVE so bad, she will be so great when she gets through this horrible time.

I wish I had some magic.

I have a grown-up friend going through the same thing.  It's more complicated here.  But maybe less than I think.  As my brother keeps saying, "I don't know anything.  What the hell do I know?  Who would not want to EAT?  Food is so GOOD."  I don't know anything either.  I won't pretend to know.  I know nothing about a lot of things, that much is true.

So many of the things I felt growing up were just air.  I felt inadequate compared to my older siblings - mostly because they were so much older, but in large part because they were thin and I was fat and this was pointed out to me (by my mother, often at the dinner table).  It was always a huge boulder hanging over my head: I am fat, they are thin, we are different, they are lovable, I am hateful, my father stayed for them, he left when it was just me, he didn't want me in the first place, they will be successful, I will not be because I am from a broken home so why don't I just stay in the house forever.  And when I left....her death, my fault.  I know, it's ridiculous, but that crap stays with a person well past her 20s.  It makes a difference in a life.  I am old enough now to know that it may have made me appreciate what I have that much more. 

I wished for an eating disorder a hundred times but I could never summon one up.  Food has always been my solace and I'm grateful for it.

I am not so dumb to not know what is due to me and what is not, but that past follows me.  Less now than then.  Then, it really trailed me wherever I went, like I was haunted.  My mother was there.  When I had children, I wanted her to be there but she wasn't so I imagined my son was seeing her in the closet.  I so missed her, I still do. 

I digress.

I recently found this list while moving my old journals from box to box:

• Once I found her unconscious under the picnic table.  She was supposed to have gone to her mother's for the weekend.  I was going to have a party. [My first real stressful situation, for sho.  I encouraged her to sober up and get out without mentioning that 50 kids were coming at 6:00.  She left and lived and I too managed to continue living, God bless us everyone.]
• She fell in the middle of the street in front of my friend's house.  They were having a baby shower and everyone saw.  I had to go help her back home and I didn't want to do it in front of everyone.
• She fell into the oven while having a dinner party.  She passed out several times during dinner parties.  [The poor woman was crying out for help.  Why didn't any of her friends come through?  They abandoned her, one by one.  Perhaps she was as hard on them as she was on my brother when he tried to get her to stop.]  There were times when others covered for her but there were several occasions when I cooked and cleaned up, awkwardly, not quite sure of what I was doing.  [I recall wondering why no one talked about what had happened.  They should have just gone home and left us to our normal misery.]
• She fell entering her mother's house, skinning her knee.  [This was just one of several mishaps at her parent's house - I guess her father had recently died.  She tended to get good and soused when she had to visit them.  The drunk driving on the way pretty much made me insane - lots of anxiety-provoking very slow curb-hugging.  My grandmother helpfully asked me what "I was going to do about her."  Hell if I know.  I'm 13.  Any suggestions?  Adult?]
• She woke me up at 4:00 a.m., her hair, several towels and the hall rug soaked with blood.  [I don't mention what I did here and don't recall.  Better forgotten.]
• She passed out on the toilet with her eyes open - she was dead - so I called an ambulance but then she woke up and made me call back and tell them not to come.  [I have never been more afraid in my life.  I could barely speak during that phone call.  I hope I am never, ever that afraid again, seriously.  I cannot explain this experience to you, how afraid I was, seeing her dead.]  After that, she said she needed to go to the bathroom so I tried to hold her up.  After a half-hour I left her lying on the bathroom floor in her own shit and went to work [I must have been 16, and I was furious that she yelled at me about calling the ambulance].  She told me to go.  I was more than happy to get the hell out.  [Not one of my prouder moments.  But one I will never, ever forget thinking she was dead and being so upset and having her furious with me for calling for help.  Not to mention the excrement, and leaving her on the floor, and the being glad to be gone.  Later, my Upper West Side therapist was astonished that I had seen my mother naked and I could only think, "Wha?  Why do you even care about THAT?"  Honey, you ain't heard nuthin' yet."]
• In the beginning [What does this mean?  Did I start ignoring her?], she laid on the floor in the downstairs bathroom and begged me to leave her there.  I would hear her hit the floor and come running.  I could never get her up because she had no strength.  It was like lifting a huge bag of marbles.  I screamed, "I can't deal with this!" and she made me go get Laura, the personal trainer next door, who got her up somehow.  And went home again.  [The next person to move in to the other half of our house was the one who found her dead in that same bathroom.  I don't blame Laura for moving out.]
• My high school boyfriend, John, picked her up several times.  Once she fell down the stairs and he acted as if nothing had happened and carried her back up.  His family was messed up.  He always talked about how great my mother was.  I was jealous of his devotion to her. 
• Once she passed out on the way to a meeting - in a school hallway.  The ambulance picked her up and they called me to come get the car.
• She crashed the car into the bank.  They called me.  [My best friend and my boyfriend and I were drinking beer in the kitchen.  I didn't want to leave them in the house alone because that girl always went for my boys.  She never got that one.  He gave me so much comfort and was the perfect person for me at that point in my life.  Thank you, John.] 
• She was in the hospital on one of the major holidays (Thanksgiving?  Christmas?) in 1984.  It was nice not to worry about her.  My siblings and I guiltily enjoyed it.
• I couldn't stand to talk to her a lot of the time because she was so drunk.
• I can't bear to think that our dog had no food for the days that my mother lay dead on the bathroom floor.  I can't bear that my mother lay dead on the bathroom floor - for days.
• It is difficult to bear my home being gone.
• I miss seeing her when she wasn't so drunk.
• Because I loved her so much.  And we had so much happiness together.

Those are all things that I don't really think about much, unlike before.  My life is happy.  Oooh, saying that makes me think maybe I'm doomed to be unhappy again.

She was so unhappy and I was an adolescent and I wish we could have made things different but we didn't.  It's done.  She gave me myself and I am grateful for all the goodness that she was before hell broke loose.  She made me who I am and I am not sorry for a minute about who I turned out to be.

I love you, Mom.  We all have your tolerance, your love of language, your kindness, your humor, your love of animals.  I miss you.  I wish your struggle could have been lessened and resolved somehow.  It's really sad that all of your grandchildren didn't get to know you, because you would have been such a good grandmother if you were at the top of your game.  Part of me is furious at you for giving up but who am I to judge?

I am just now realizing the gist of this post.  It is really about my brother's struggle to save both my mother and his daughter, and my wanting to save him of this powerless feeling.  He fought so hard for my mother's health and she gave him nothing but grief.  He was so young and he really gave her a fight.  I will never forget standing in our gloomy dining room and hearing her say, "I want to die.  Let me die," and he wouldn't accept it. It was such a big deal to me, to have him there, to hear her say it.  He did his best and she rewarded him with nothing but vitriol.  It was hard for him.  And here he is, with this horrible situation of his girl wanting to kill herself, or maybe not consciously wanting to kill herself, but killing herself.  Here he is again.  It breaks my heart that my poor brother is suffering this again.  I love him very much.  He is heroic.  He should be rewarded somehow, sometime, with something good.  He tried so hard with my mother and I have never told him how much I appreciated it, how much I loved him for trying and how wrong she was for fighting him.  It wasn't his fault.  And it's not his fault now.

Red, Red Wine

I saw UB40 sing that song at Jones Beach a long, long time ago with my friend, Suzette.  Seems like another life.  Who was that frizzy-haired girl?

Heh heh.  I met Nina.  Just so you know.  Unfortunately, my camera was hidden under some crap on the car seat despite my taking such care to bring it so I didn't take any pictures.  At any rate, it was highly enjoyable and I think De should host bloggers all the time and invite me so I can drink a lot and talk even more.  It's really strange meeting someone you know so well and yet...you don't really know her.  The physicality of a person is really so much of their being, or is it less so than what they put on their blog?  I don't really know.  Anyway, she was highly entertaining and we talked to Liv on the phone and that was a riot too.  Just think of all the people one could meet...there's a whole world out there.  However, it's too big for me and I like this small one I have fashioned for myself.  You can come in if you ask politely. 

Not working is great.  I highly recommend it.  Quit your jobs now!  DO IT! 

The only problem I'm having is that there is not enough napping time.  Let's see, what have I done? 

I covered a chair in the living room.  Originally, my father and stepmother passed on to us a chair that had a burn hole on one side of the cushion (from a spark that jumped out of the woodstove).  It was nice when they gave it to us covered in a nice ticking but as you can see the kids did a real job on it.  I did a pretty lame job covering it in red, so now I have done it up in a black-and-white floral that I quite like:

Stephen and I painted the garage doors.  I don't know why we didn't do it years ago:

I've been painting the kitchen yellow and re-doing all the woodwork and cabinets in high-gloss white.  It looks nice.  I organized the cookbooks alphabetically.  I am encouraging him to go through the endless Saveur/Fine Cooking/Cooks Illustrated magazines so we can GET RID OF THEM.  I give him a week and then they go.  How's that for a threat?

I arranged all the books on our living room shelves by the colors on their spines.  I know.  Stephen couldn't figure out what was different when I asked him.  Neither could Tyson.  My friend Lisa sat in the room for 5 minutes and said, "You arranged the books by color."  Funny, that, hey?

We are planting a new flower garden.  It's very rocky and a lot of hard work.  I was going to do vegetables but one day I came home to 6 deer chowing down in the yard.  They just looked at me when I honked the horn and were mildly interested when I waved my arms and shouted at them.  Eventually, they sauntered casually away, as if they said to each other "Hey, Deery, you done here?  Did you get every single one of the 50 tulips she planted under that tree?  Okay, we can go now.  Bye, Crazy Lady.  Oh, and you can quit waving your stupid arms now."  I decided to put the herbs and vegetables in pots on the deck.  Oh, Deeries, why must you be such herbivorous mofos?  I'll kick your white-tailed hinders.  If I could only catch you. 

My Thursday walking partner just told me a story about a deer that picked up a little dog and shook it until it needed stitches.  Okay, Deery, just take the tulips and leave the yard quietly, okay?

Tiny Toe turned 8.  Would you like to see a picture of him when he was actually tiny?  Ow, the cuteness. 

He had a "Survivor" birthday party.  Stephen worked hard and then dressed up as Jeff Probst, although the resemblance was quite, um...NOT (must work on that for Ty's June Survivor party).  We did Tiki torches which scared the younger boys and threatened to burn down the woods.  We had not had any rain at that point (once Nina and Dave started hiking, we got two days of it, thanks so much for that).  After a few of the torches fell over, we put them out.  I told the boys that their torches represented their lives so it was a bit harsh when I snuffed them all out.  "Oh, you're all dead now.  Sorry."

They searched for eggs containing puzzle pieces and then raced to complete the puzzle.   Unfortunately, none of us could find one team's last piece because I "helped" hide the eggs and had no idea where I might have put them.  Finally, Stephen (I mean "Jeff") found it and told them where it was.  Then they competed to melt an ice cube in their tiny frozen hands without dropping it.  Because children should be tortured.  THEN we made them eat crazy food from the Asian market - many types of preserved fruit (bleah), mutant coconut candy (not bad, but the neighbor kid thought it was pretty gross).  Here is Toby enjoying the basil-honey drink that looks like fish eggs:

What's a birthday without fish egg juice?  He likes it, hey Toby!  He was quite enthusiastic and got some of it down, although I think his brother beat him in the end with quantity.  Then they tossed water balloons to each other and put them in a basket and the team who did it best won.  Then it was kill each other with the water balloons and get all wet.  Then there was the balance beam, which turned out to be the most fun thing ever.  Listen to me:  If you ever have a birthday party for 8-year-old boys, make a balance beam out of 2 x 4s and cinder blocks.  That's all you need.  They will probably severely injure themselves but make them sign a waiver first.  Trust me. 

There was much spraying of Silly String in there somewhere.  One of the kids said he didn't like to get messy so he sprayed the house because the house would not spray him back.  Our yard is now a crazy web of pink string but I think it will dissolve eventually, polluting the environment with pinkiosity.

I made a vegan chocolate birthday cake, due to Toby's lactose intolerance.  It was very good and got eaten (with lactose free ice cream) much faster than a normal chocolate cake.  Go figure.  He seems much better after a few weeks without milk and I am adjusting to all the substitutes, but he still has stomach difficulties sometimes and I'm not really sure why.  I will ask the doctor.  He is still always deathly ill on Monday mornings, as usual.  Please let there be nothing wrong with my boy.

I wish you could see the sweet cat on my lap.  Oh wait, there's my camera:

I know, you're so glad I could share that with you.  Oh, and I'm really not that fat.  It's my painting t-shirt, it makes me look that way.  Really. 

Tomorrow Is the First Day of the Rest of My Life

I haven't worked in a week, but the kids were off from school so it didn't count.  Tomorrow is really the first day that I am "not working."  I have a list of projects a mile long and some of them are already done.  I no longer exercise or eat well so I am now fat again.  How much do I suck?  Oh no, none of that talk, Missy.  Shut your face and think positive, or else.

Okay!  Thinking positive!

We went to visit my Dad in beautiful Cape Cod.  My stepmother has a real way with decor and it was inspiring to be in their lovely, comfortable home.  The goal is to make our house as pretty - ha ha ha ha ha!

The boys had a sleepover with their friends and they were all so tired that they fell asleep at 11:30. 

Salamanders lived under the wood I was moving today.  Lots of them. 

The definition of happy is free flowers from the yard every day.

There must have been a privy in our woods as there is tons of 1930s glass back there.  I am currently obsessed with finding bottles and researching their origins.  It is fascinating and also wastes a good amount of time.  Why play catch with your kids when you can dig for buried treasure?  Ty helped me and found the best bottle ever without even trying. 

We took Toe to the doctor for his stomach troubles and his blood tests and stool samples came back fine.  Stephen and I then decided he was lactose intolerant.  I just wish I knew if he was just trying to get out of going to school.  Is he?  I don't know.  He seems fine, he seems sick, he seems not himself at all, he definitely has terrible diarrhea at times...I believe that he is actually ill when he says he is.  Most of the time.  Except Monday mornings.  It's such a stress.  I suppose we will have to take him for some kind of internal scan - I don't want to do it.  I'm so afraid that my little one will have something terrible wrong with him, but why delay?  Why delay?  Why am I delaying?  Do I believe that he was jealous of the attention given to his brother and is trying to gain some for himself?  Maybe.  But he wouldn't really go to all this trouble, and he really is sick, the poor kid.  I am really exhausted with worrying about the boys and their health and no longer trust my instincts. 

Ty's surgery is scheduled for June 27th.  He can come home the same day if it's done early enough, and then a two-week recovery time.  He is happy as a clam at the moment, healthy as a horse.  Neeeeiiiigh!

Capacious and Her Horrible, Rotten, Very Bad Day

Friday morning.  Woke up, got the kids ready for school (why won't they ever buy the school lunch, like, ever?), went out to the bus.  Normally I am the last one out and I unlock the door before closing it.  Toby and I went out first, leaving Tyson to search for the 20 things he forgot.  As he left, he shut the door behind him.  He never shuts the door behind him, mind you, not ever.  One thing I am always saying is, "Couldja pull that door shut behind you?"  So when I got back to the house I was locked out. 

The really stupid thing is that the day before, the same thing had happened.  Ty was late, he closed the door, I was locked out.  But the basement slider was unlocked and I had gone to the garage freezer for bread earlier so the door from the basement to the kitchen was also unlocked.  I reminded myself to hide a key, locked all the doors tight and promptly forgot all about it. 

There have been a couple of "home invasions" by recently-released violent offenders here in Connecticut so I thought it was a good idea to make sure the house was secure but I didn't really mean that it should be secure from ME.  I'm good, let me in.  It was pouring rain and I was wearing stupid too-big, too-long yoga pants that were dragging in the muck, along with my glasses that kept getting all raindroppy.  All the windows were locked.  I went from window to window, checking.  I was too afraid to climb on the wet shingles outside the kitchen window that was my best chance but it turned out later that it was locked so I'm glad I didn't risk death doing that (oh, the scenario of the kids arriving home to school to their mother dead or mortally injured on the driveway, not good not good, no no).  I saw an Easter egg that the kids missed just inside the downstairs bathroom window but I couldn't get it and eat the freaking gummy worms because IT WAS LOCKED.  I tried desperately to make the piece of metal locking the downstairs slider move out of place, to no avail.  I wandered around the outside of the house, willing it to make a magic portal for me to slip through.  It kept raining.

Finally, I remembered that the last time this happened (when I did child care and had a baby with me, ah, those were the days) my neighbor took the garage-to-basement door off its hinges.  So I set about doing that.  I was quite pleased with how easily the pins came out of the hinges but then I could not get the damn thing off the frame.  It seemed so stupidly simple, why wouldn't it come OFF?!?!?  I tried shovels, I tried leverage, finally I went to get my neighbor again but the house was empty, so I returned to my task.

I figured if I just tried hard enough I could do it.  I can do anything.  I'm very strong, I'm smart, come on, he did it and he weighs way less than I do (despite being crazy wiry strong).  I got very close to just axing the damn door to bits but made myself stop and breathe and think about it.  I was very aware that I wasn't in any danger, my children were safely at school.  However, my husband would start to worry soon, I couldn't call anyone because I had no phone and no car keys, so I was going to have to figure myself out of this stupid, stupid situation.  Ridiculous, really.  But then I tried again to get that damn door off the hinges and I felt so angry and frustrated and soggy that I just knelt on that dirty garage floor and cried my eyes out, like I haven't cried in a hundred years.  I really let loose.  It was a bit of a shock.  It was actually quite illuminating, my reaction under stress never really changes - I cry.

I visited all my neighbors, no one was home.  All these freaking worker bees, no one home at 8:30 in the morning, the bastards.  Maybe they just saw the crazy bedraggled lady outside and decided not to answer the door.  In the end, I decided to walk to the store on the corner, less than a half mile away, to use the phone.  On my dreary, wet, embarrassing way, a car pulled up to a stop sign in front of me and I waved my arms.  A man with two kids in the back put the window down and lent me his cell phone so I could call my sister, who has a set of our house keys.  She just started a new job and I knew I was completely messing up her day but I didn't know what else to do.  The anonymous stranger took me back to his house and his wife graciously said I could stay there for an hour while she got ready for work but I said I would go wait in my garage.

I took the opportunity to clean the garage a little.  It's a mess.  So that was a positive little thing.  I'll finish that soon.  Soon.  Hey, next week I have no job!  I'll have soooo much time to clean the garage.  Heh heh.  Heh.  It's just not even funny.

My sister came, she was cheerful and kind, the keys worked, I got in and called my job to tell them I'd be late, my boss was funny about how I had locked myself out of the office while he was in Boston once and his son had to come and let me back in on a Saturday.  I borrowed a stranger's cell phone in the lobby that time.  Maybe I enjoy something about the humiliation of locking myself out of places?  I dunno. 

Anyway, I get to work.  My stomach had been bothering me, making me think maybe my little one was not just lying about that stomachache so he could stay home from school.  Say the words "explosive diarrhea."  A lot of times.  Say it.  Doesn't that feel bad?  Yes, it does.  Oh Lordy, it does.  I went home early.  It never stopped, just one episode after the other, with no warning or time to get ready.  There was a lot of laundry involved.  (Sorry.)  Awful.  All afternoon.  I am always bragging about my stomach of steel.  No metal in there, not even a scrap.

The boys came home, Stephen came home, I stayed in bed but came down later because I was lonely.  We missed the school pasta dinner and Bingo night (gosh darn, oh gee willikers)  About 10:00 p.m., we all went up to bed.  As we were settling in, we heard a cat cry on our deck and a frightening growl from an animal that was definitely not domesticated.  Stephen and I looked at each other and Tyson ran in, "Did you hear that?"  Oh yeah, we heard it.  Panic mode.

When Stephen went out on the deck, there was a profusion of white fur.  He cried out in absolute horror, "BASSA!" and I knew. 

The night before, Tyson had come downstairs late, he had been reading as usual.  Cassie (we never call her that, sometimes I even forget that was ever her shelter name, she is the Bass, Momassa, MoBass, Fluffernutter) was snuggled up like an infant on my bosom, as always (I tell jealous Ty that the reason she doesn't snuggle on him is that he doesn't have a "bosom" and Toby just dies).  I told him that instead of the psycho-kitty I had when I lived alone (Spot, the calico from Tennessee who was just not right in the head), it would have been great to have a friend like Bassa, she is just so sweet and affectionate and entertaining and funny, the best cat in the world.  She weighs 9 pounds, just a big ball of white fluff, our girl.  She lets me carry her around like that girl with the cat in Peanuts.  I have never had a cat like her.  And I was a dog person, always.

Anyway, so the coyote had gone off with our precious baby right off our deck leaving a pile of her fluff and we all heard it.  The children were wracked with guilt and hysterical about it, having seen her at the basement slider twice and not having let her in.  Stephen was insane with grief, because he let her out and didn't check that she was in before he came upstairs - he disappeared outside with a flashlight and a fireplace poker.  I am known for saying, "Where are the kittens?  Did you check?"  But I couldn't blame anyone because how many times have the cats gone out and not wanted to come back in and then come in just fine - a thousand?  It was no one's fault.  She ran into a coyote and he chased her onto our deck and that was the end of our beloved girl.  I was still in shock and couldn't quite get my mind around it.  Everyone cried and cried and cried and talked and talked and talked.  There was no way we were sleeping so we left the boys reading in one bed and went downstairs. 

Stephen opened the front door and guess who was there?

We made so much noise that she hid under the couch and wouldn't come out.  We thought Stephen might have imagined her but she really was there, she came out and was absolutely fine, not even noticeably missing any fur. 

It's odd to feel so much intense emotion in such a short period of time.  Life seems to be throwing things at me recently, but I am calm.  Slightly off, but fairly calm.  Am I calm?  Writing that, I'm not sure.  I am not exercising, I am eating too much, I am drinking more than usual.  Keep an eye on yourself, don't let all your hard work go away.  Remember how good it feels to be in control of yourself.

On that note, goodnight all.  Tomorrow is another day.  Deep breath in.  Let it out.

By The Way, Mama...

Last week Tyson told me at bedtime that he needed pictures of himself from every year of his life for his "memoir" at school which was already way overdue.

Yesterday, Toby woke up and said, "Oh, I forgot.  I have to be at school a half hour early so we can do our show for the school."

When Toe got home yesterday afternoon, he gave me a costume list for the show to be held that very evening.  He was one of the three little pigs and needed "brown pants and a pink shirt or all white with a pig nose and ears."  I was all, like, "They just gave you this TODAY?  Are you sure?  Was it in your desk for a couple of weeks?  Really?  They just gave it to you TODAY?"  Apparently, there was some mix-up and they really did just give it to him yesterday.  Whatever.  I am amazing and I can deal with it.

He really is the most talented little pig, I think.  Not to disparage the other little pigs.  There was word that one of the other pigs had rebelled and was not going to take part in the play but there did end up being three in the end. 

I have to go to work.

Looking Again

I got laid off today.  My boss told me that the company is no longer going to do the business that is my job, and that they really want me to stay but can only offer me a couple of days a week.  I knew it was coming, and at first I was okay with it.  I actually felt kind of buoyant, like I was free to discover a new way to go.  But now it has sunk in and I am low.  Here we go again.

How many times have I been in this position, trying to figure out how to make money and still be available for my children when they're done with school or on vacation or sick?  I don't want to put them in day camp for the summer, besides which by the time we pay for it, my salary will be more than disappeared.  I know, other people do it all the time.  But I haven't done it, haven't found a way to do it.  Am I just dense?  I'm not sure if I'm just thick or this is really as difficult as I think it is.  Sometimes I think I should just bite the bullet and put my kids in day care but I've never done it and they're so OLD now.  It will be at LEAST 3 years (by law) before I can even think about leaving them on their own for any length of time.

I thought about going back to school for something useful that never gets tired or useless, like computers.  I could do anything but it's proving it to others that is difficult.  But going back to school means money that we don't have and loss of time that I could spend making money, even if it might be less.

My job was so flexible.  I will mourn it and then move on.

Funny, the difference a day makes.  Last night, I was a school Volunteer of the Year at a special dinner, feeling happy and pretty and positive about giving more of my time in the future, and tonight I feel useless and ugly despite knowing that's completely ridiculous.  Give me a stripling so I can beat myself!  Tonight was the first time in ages that I whined through a workout.  Shut up, and get on with it.  Focus on the positive.  Stop eating like that.  Put the ice cream down and back away from the freezer.  (I didn't.)  Hm, who on this blog is an emotional eater?   What?  I'm not raising my hand.  You will just have to guess.

Stephen doesn't seem to care much.  We've been here so many times.  I was amazed when he failed to mention it to his sister on the phone this evening.  Uh, big news in our household?  He said he wasn't sure I would want him to tell her.  Earlier, he said, "Soon I'll be in this position and you'll be telling me that everything will be okay."  Yeah, but honey?  That's not really helping me right now.  In fact, you're freaking me out a little bit.  His company just keeps laying people off.  He will hopefully get a package after his 22 (23?) years but at this point, Wall Street is tanking and there are just no guarantees and we are in such debt and once again, I am really frightened about how we will make it.   It's not the first time and it could always be worse and we have each other.  We will make it, we always do.  But yeah, I'm a little panicky tonight.

The children definitely sense when I'm feeling tense and gather round, twining themselves around me.

Good news!  Ty doesn't have to take the medicine anymore.  We went to the lab this morning before school to get bloodwork and to the doctor after school and he said that the boy is DONE for now.  We joyfully threw the prescription bottle into the garbage - three times for extra special throwed-awayness.  GoodBYE to you, wretched antibiotics.  May you never darken our door again.

There are all those medical bills trickling in, so much extra, but thank God we have insurance, thank you.  How do parents with chronically ill children do it?  How do parents with terminally ill children do it?  How do people without insurance do it?  Let's hope I never have to know.  It's so much extra time and worry and expense on top of regular life, I can only too easily imagine the horror of it all.  I'm exhausted just from this relatively tiny experience of Ty's appendix and Toby's constant minor illness.  What if my job hadn't been there?  What if I was fired after the first week of being out?  What if we had no insurance?

My friend since 2nd grade who now lives in VA made homemade bagels.  I was impressed and excited and entertained that notion for a few days and then one of Stephen's cooking shows made me do this insane thing:

Weight loss be damned!  Why make bagels when I can make the most fattening and fabulous thing on the planet?!  Fabu-lash!  As in, whip me with that stripling now!  Everyone liked the cinnamon ones better, go figure.  I am like Emeril in my presentation, and that means bad.  But that don't matta because these things taste so fine.

Ween, send me bagels.  Sorry, but there are no doughnuts for you.  It's my selfish children, I just didn't raise them right.

One last thing.  We won these coasters in a grab bag on year at Christmas.  They have held photos of leaves and flowers and all of us.  But now that it's spring, they are holding lovely real flowers:

It's the pretty things that make life worth living.