It's like Tuesdays with Morrie without all the wisdom
Archive for May, 2008
Weirdness
4May 20, 2008
Too Tight Ponytail Girl tagged me with the 7 weird things meme. This lead to a conversation with Bryan that went something like this:
Me: I’m supposed to blog about 7 weird things about me. Any ideas?
Him: Yeah, you always blah, blah, blah
Me: I don’t do that!
Him: Yes, you do. How about blah, blah, blah
Me: That’s not weird!
Him: Yes, it is. How about this one: Blah, blah, blah
Me: I do not always do that. And if I did, it wouldn’t be considered weird. You don’t know what weird is! Go to bed and leave me to my blog.
So, here’s what I came up with on my own:
1. I eat Reese’s peanut butter eggs by eating the chocolate off the sides and top first, then eating the egg-shaped peanut butter. I have no such compulsion with the regular peanut butter cups.
2. I used to see ghosts when I was little. One time, one of them threw a Hungry, Hungry Hippos marble at me when I was singing and dancing to a John Lennon song in my room. They came in through my brother’s demon rock posters in his room, I’m sure of it. And as a teenager I would hear breathing like somebody was right next to me in my bed. I would hold my breath and still hear it. It was super freaky.
3. Every night, I fall asleep lying on my back reading a book. I wake up when my grip relaxes on the book and it tips forward and hits me in the face. Then, I quick turn the light off and go back to sleep in order to avoid things like I mentioned in #2. If I don’t fall asleep fast enough, I read some more. And sometimes I still wake up to my bed shaking just the tiniest bit.
4. I’m afraid of the dark. (surprise)
5. I talk in my sleep. Bryan used to try to wake me up to tell me I’m asleep, but I would get really mad and wake myself up shouting, “I. AM. NOT. SLEEPING!” and then I would go, “nevermind,” like Gilda Radner’s Emily Litella.
6. I do not like animals.
7. On a normal day, I get up early, run, and get my day going, but when I have an appointment or something out of the ordinary that I really have to do, I procrastinate. I get up later, run later, sit in front of the computer longer, and just generally dilly-dally. I don’t know why.
OMG, Thrifting!
11May 19, 2008
Kristen and Dawn have introduced me to the wonderful world of thrifting. You would think it would be a no-brainer for me: I’m poor, I should buy used clothes on the cheap. But I don’t like to shop and I absolutely hate to shop in chaos. I <3 T@rget so much when I absolutely have to buy something, not because it has good stuff, but because it is neat and orderly. Order soothes.
I thought the thrift store would be very chaotic, but it was lovely. Everything was sorted by color, which I didn’t think would be a good enough system, but it was. I kept getting butterflies every time I saw something that I liked that was in my size for $1.50. A dollar and a half! I had to really work at keeping my excited squealing under control. We ended up spending more than 4 hours in a single store. I don’t spend more than 4 hours Christmas shopping without a food break. Actually, if I were ever to shop in regular stores for 4 hours in a row, that would involve 1 lunch break, 1 coffee break, 7 potty breaks, and a cheesecake break. And I would spend 3 times the amount of money and come home with 1/8 of the stuff.
By the time I came up for air and decided to look at my watch, I thought it might be around 2:00ish. It was 5:15. I was in a thrifting-related time warp of some sort, the likes of which I haven’t seen since 1991 when Bryan bet me I couldn’t drink a fifth of Jack Daniels. (The last thing I remember from that night is slamming down the empty bottle, standing up and saying, “Somebody owes me TWO DOLLARS!” And then I woke up and it was 1993).
Anyway, yeah. Thrifting is fun. You should totally do it. But set an alarm or something because the time warp will get you and then you’ll realize that you’re starving and you didn’t get groceries like you planned to and then you’ll decide that you and your thrifting friends and their husbands and children should all go to the Chinese buffet for dinner (since you saved all that money at the thrift store) and then you’ll try to run the next morning with a pile of buffet food in your guts. Not a good idea. But the thrifting was totally worth it.
We’re Supposed to do Things Right?
10May 16, 2008
Dawn tagged everybody with this meme about 3 things we do well as mothers, and then she verbally assaulted me at the park yesterday and threatened my life if I didn’t do it. (Not really, she just asked me to do it and so I am. Because she’s the boss of me. But you can totally see her verbally assaulting me, right?)
1. I take an interest in what they find interesting even if I find it horrendous. You know, so we can talk about it and I can be excited about it with them. I think they like that.
2. I cuddle with them endlessly.
3. I’m teaching them that their feelings matter and that they don’t have to go along with something just to avoid hurting a friend’s feelings.
Number 3 has been more uncomfortable for me than anything I’ve ever done as a parent. And that includes saying the word vulva. This seems to come naturally to Maya so far, but for the rest of us, it is hard to say no to people we like. It is hard for me to allow my kids to say no to playdates or birthday parties, but if they don’t want to go, I’m not making them go, despite my extreme discomfort. It literally goes against my make-up as a precious pleaser to do this (right now, my Ohio friends are saying, “What? You’re the biggest bitch I know!” and I’ll take that as a compliment, thankyouverymuch.) In the past, Lena and Liberty have asked, “What if so-and-so gets mad at me because I don’t want to go to his birthday party?” And, while my instinct is to say, “You’re right! We don’t want people to get mad at us. What will we do if somebody gets mad at us? I guess we better just ignore your feelings for the sake of somebody else’s feelings. Get in the car,” I have choked down that sentiment, broke out in a cold sweat and said, “Well, darlings, it’s like this: Your feelings matter. If your friend gets mad at you just because you’re not comfortable going to his birthday party, that is your friend’s issue, not yours. You aren’t in charge of other people’s feelings. Chances are, your friend will come to understand and respect your feelings. If he doesn’t, then he’s not a true friend.” And then I passed out from the effort of conveying this most basic truth of humanity. Our own feelings matter? WTF?
This trip is hard. Dawn is right when she says other parents make all the difference in the world. We need other parents who can be open and honest about the struggles in their parenting, the struggles in their marriage, the struggles in their lives. And you know what? We need to be able to talkabout the good things without setting off a competition. If it comes up in conversation that I cuddled with Lena while she talked about her Pokemon DS game for ten minutes, it makes me uncomfortable when another mom comes back with, “Well, I cuddled with my precious for even longer while she was talking about something even more boring to me.” It makes me feel like I made her insecure with my very small good thing and I didn’t mean to do that. And then it makes me feel like I’m in a competition that I didn’t know I was in. I usually get a free t-shirt whenever I sign up for a competition. I don’t have one, so I didn’t sign up. Stop it.
This is not a new idea, but we really, really do just need to be able to share and not be judged or fixed or competed with. It’s amazing how many of the posts for this meme start off with something to the effect of, “I’m supposed to say what I do right as a mother, but there are so many things I do wrong,” even though the instructions clearly say we’re not supposed to say that. We can’t help it. We’ve been burned too many times by the mommy olympics and we’re afraid that if we say we’re doing three whole things right, 800 other mommies are going to feel insecure and point out exactly what we’re doing wrong, or what they’re doing better. Stop it. We don’t need that shit. Let’s celebrate ourselves because, no matter what we do, our kids are going to be pissed at us. Let’s just be there for each other when it happens.
Oh, I’m tagging Mechelle, TooTightPonytailGirl, Sharon, Alissa, and Kristen. Five chicks who are ever so hard on themselves and deserve to talk about what they do right because there is a lot. A whole effin’ lot.
The Trouble with Coffee
9May 14, 2008
The trouble with pouring your very first cup of coffee of the day is, you probably really need that coffee in order to function properly, which implies that you’re probably not functioning properly at the time of the coffee pouring. And sometimes, that first cup might come after you’ve run a bit and so, while your brain might need a lot of extra oxygen to compensate for not yet having coffee, the oxygen might instead still be going to your muscles to try to keep them from rebelling and turning into jelly. So, this decreased brain oxygen, combined with the not-yet-having-coffee issue can be a problem when you try to add cinnamon to your oh-so-necessary first cup of coffee.
You might know that the cinnamon is in a rectangular container as opposed to the cylindrical containers housing most of the other spices, so you might think that if you grab any old rectangular container out of the spice cupboard, you’re safe. This would be a mistake. You might not remember that you also have a rectangular container of sesame seeds in your spice cupboard. And when you grab that container, you might say, “Huh, I wonder why the cinnamon is making a sound when I shake it. Weird.” At that point, you would think it would register that you might have grabbed the wrong container, but no. It won’t. You might even glance at the writing on the box, see an “S” and say to yourself, “Yes, that’s right. ‘S’ is for cinnamon,” not realizing that the only time you’ve ever seen cinnamon start with “S” is maybe when it was up in lights at a strip club. It won’t be until you actually pour the sesame seeds into your coffee that you will understand that you’re an idiot who needs to stay in bed until such time as the coffee is consumed.
We’re Back, Y’all!
7May 12, 2008
And I have to admit that the whole time we were in West Virginia, I’m the only one who walked around affecting a southern accent and saying things like “Let’s get us some grits, ya’ll!” Berkeley Springs is only about 8 miles into WV, so it’s pretty much Maryland. Not that you couldn’t get yourself some grits, but still.
As promised, my brother and sister-in-law took us to see the Weber Brothers and they were fabulous with their 2 drum sets and their stand-up bass and their way cool original music plus Johnny Cash and Rolling Stones and Bruce Springsteen and stuff. They even invited my brother to go up and sing Sympathy for the Devil with them, which was nice because Mike knows how to do that kind of thing. Plus he’s their #1 groupie. I love them, love them, love them and I’m pretending they’re moving to Columbus to play every night at Victorians’ Midnight Cafe. Let’s start a letter-writing campaign. You won’t be sorry. They had 2 drum sets! And the one brother plays a stand-up bass! And the other one reminds me of Rufus Wainwright only way cooler! And they rock! And stand-up bass! I even love them when they’re playing songs I don’t know, which for me is kind of a big deal. If I can’t sing along, then I’m all, “This is too loud. Can’t they turn it down?” but not with the Weber Brothers. They could play Enya and I’m pretty sure I would drool.
They played at a place called the Troubadour, which was waaaayy out there on some narrow, winding, hilly roads that really looked like what you think West Virginia should look like. It’s the kind of place that has a sweet 72-year-old owner (Joltin’ Jim McCoy) and a barbecue grill in the shape of a six shooter. And they raffled off 10 pounds of bacon. Twice. Yes, they did. I bet it was good bacon, too, because my brother ordered a steak there and it was the best tasting steak I have ever had in a restaurant. It tasted like the cow had been killed that morning after a breakfast of grass grown by angels. I’m not kidding. I’m a beef snob and that was some good beef. I imagine the pork would be nothing less than heavenly. Not Jewish or Muslim heaven, obviously, but definitely one of the other ones. One little piece of advice just in case you city folk are ever thinking of visiting the Troubadour: Don’t think that just because it’s way out in the country that they’re going to let you get away with fast and loose behavior. The rules are posted and it says right there that you may not sleep in the booths or your vehicle. Got it, y’all? They will cut you off before you reach that point. For real.
