I mixed up this potato salad yesterday, for an evening with girl friends. I made a huge batch, and so there was some left over for my husband and boys.. who also fixed big dishes for themselves this week. Guess it's up to me to eat his salad by myself! ;)
dice and boil 5lb red potato, when soft, run under cold water.
dice two scallions, 1 large apple (I like crisp flavors here, like granny smith)
mix 2tbsp mayo with 1 tbsp prepared horseradish, set aside
mix 1tsp celery salt, 1/8th cup (2 tbsp) each: dill, garlic granules (dehydrated garlic, not powder!) and 1 tsp black pepper.
Dump everything in a big bowl, stir, and chill well before serving. Add more dill, horseradish or salt to taste.
This salad is low fat (That's not a lot of mayo for a big salad, a third of it is horseradish, so it's still creamy!), low salt, gluten free.
THE LEFTOVERS:
Should you have leftovers, I recommend this: 1/4 cup salad sauteed in a skillet until the potatoes start to crisp. Crack in an egg, scramble. Ammmaaazing.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Hi, Universe, Thanks!
Sometimes, all the Universe wants, is to be paid attention to. In fact, that's generally all it wants, ever. Which seems easy, right? I mean, we live in this Universe, we see it every day, it shouldn't be that hard to pay attention and notice it now and then...
I lamented earlier this week, that I was overwhelmed. Too much to do, too many people to see to, not enough money, not enough time. What I really wanted to do, I screamed, was write! Why couldn't I just freakin' write?
And what about getting out of town? Could I leave my house now and then? Please? Could I see other people? Is that so much to ask?
12 hours later, I got an email from a friend. Would I take a look at her novel, and point out any plot holes?
Then another eil: Mel's coming home! Party in my yard with all my friends!
A day later, a panicked phone call from another friend: Her partner in a project wasn't able to carry on, and could I write a piece to accompany her art? In a day? With non-existant guidelines?
Then a heads up from my family: Oftyfest 11 is a go, and we're going to have 7 people and a puppy come visit this weekend! I have people to try my new chili recipe on, and Oden has a buddy to chase!
Today I went to pick Tris up at camp, and timed it all wrong, which ended up with me stuck on a hot, sandy playground with a way over-tired toddler, for an hour. So I called Susan, to pass the time. And got invited to go to Rangley for a weekend, to stay at a fishing camp, with my fisherman husband. Oh, and the giant dog gets to go, too.
Today, I gave away a huge furniture set on freecycle. I picked the person who was the most polite, of the three receivers who emailed at the same time. Her name is Angela, and she'll be here tomorrow for the set.. and she sent the most lovely note about an hour ago. She'd seen my blog tag at the end of my emails, and liked my posts. The one about Amy and Teddy made her weepy.
I want to write! I want to see people! I want to go away! I yelled. The Universe paid attention.
And, because that's the way it works, the Universe is going to yell sometime, and I'm not going to be able to ignore it.
Today a bunch of people in Iran and Turkey, IRAN and TURKEY of all places, read my words.
Thanks, Universe. I'm yours for the taking.
I lamented earlier this week, that I was overwhelmed. Too much to do, too many people to see to, not enough money, not enough time. What I really wanted to do, I screamed, was write! Why couldn't I just freakin' write?
And what about getting out of town? Could I leave my house now and then? Please? Could I see other people? Is that so much to ask?
12 hours later, I got an email from a friend. Would I take a look at her novel, and point out any plot holes?
Then another eil: Mel's coming home! Party in my yard with all my friends!
A day later, a panicked phone call from another friend: Her partner in a project wasn't able to carry on, and could I write a piece to accompany her art? In a day? With non-existant guidelines?
Then a heads up from my family: Oftyfest 11 is a go, and we're going to have 7 people and a puppy come visit this weekend! I have people to try my new chili recipe on, and Oden has a buddy to chase!
Today I went to pick Tris up at camp, and timed it all wrong, which ended up with me stuck on a hot, sandy playground with a way over-tired toddler, for an hour. So I called Susan, to pass the time. And got invited to go to Rangley for a weekend, to stay at a fishing camp, with my fisherman husband. Oh, and the giant dog gets to go, too.
Today, I gave away a huge furniture set on freecycle. I picked the person who was the most polite, of the three receivers who emailed at the same time. Her name is Angela, and she'll be here tomorrow for the set.. and she sent the most lovely note about an hour ago. She'd seen my blog tag at the end of my emails, and liked my posts. The one about Amy and Teddy made her weepy.
I want to write! I want to see people! I want to go away! I yelled. The Universe paid attention.
And, because that's the way it works, the Universe is going to yell sometime, and I'm not going to be able to ignore it.
Today a bunch of people in Iran and Turkey, IRAN and TURKEY of all places, read my words.
Thanks, Universe. I'm yours for the taking.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Miss Amy Bettcher, I do.
Yesterday, I attended the funeral of a friend. An old friend. A good friend.
Her name was Amy Bettcher. She was 34 years old. Ovarian Cancer. She fought like a fucking trooper for a year.
In the last days, after hearing rumor upon rumor about how she was doing.. that she was still fighting, that the next round of chemo might work, that she was not going to make it after all, that maybe she was already gone?
I contacted her family. And I asked them if it would be ok, if they would be ok with it, if I took on the job of keeping in touch with her friends, to let them know what was happeneing. Because it seemed to me, that an event of such magnitude, that Amy's death and passing, should not be left commemorated to the local Portsmouth gossip mill. And because I thought I could handle it. I'd known Amy nearly ..no.. more than 17 years. But we rarely saw each other any more. We talked on the phone often, especially since she fell ill, but I hadn't seen her more than a few times since my wedding, almost 2 years ago. I'd tried, but each time we made a date, she was too sick, or more often, my kids were, and germs were verbotten.. I was close, but removed.
so, it seemed I was a good candidate for the job.
Her family agreed. I, and Jocelyn, and Amys sister in law Jess, started collecting email addresses. I talked to Jess, then I wrote a mass email. Every other day. It was only a little more than a week, but it seems like it was months.
I have two children, and have been through one marriage and started another. My eldest son nearly died of complications from Juvenile Diabetes when he was 6 years old. When I was pregnant with my now toddler, I was told that tests showed he may have a brain disorder, and either abort before being born, or in best case, he would live no more than weeks.
Between Dec 23 2010 and Dec 31 2010 my 64 year old father had a massive coronary, infections from surgery, a four way bypass, was in a coma for 3 weeks because of PTSD reactions to the anesthesia, spent 4 moths in the hospital and had a total of 8 surgeries. On Dec 23rd 2010, I hadn't spoken to my stepmother in 7 years.
But this. Amy's passing. The emails, and the phone calls. The conversations, the thoughts, the dreams, the emotions. This was harder. Harder than any of the other things I've gone through.
Because my sons are fine. The diabetes is under control. The brain scans were a lottery, and we won it. My dad survived his ordeal. My stepmother and I talk now, occasionally. I still have them, all, to talk to.
Amy was harder. I didn't get to say goodbye in person. I talked about her every day. I wrote emails to people I didn't know, or worse, to people I had known for years, and I told them all what I could. That Amy was safe. That she was in no pain. That she was at peace.
But in the end, of course, Amy died.
We used to run as a pack. Downtown Po-town. The Elvis Room Kids. We smoked cigarettes, and drank coffee, and worked odd jobs. We wore black, and got in to trouble. We took over the square, and made it home base in a game of tag that lasted years and had over 100 players. We were a family.
And we lost some of our own. Drugs. Suicide. Car wrecks. Sudden medical conditions.
This is the first time, for me, though, that the death of one of the Square Kids, has been forseen. That we had time to think, and to mourn, and to process. That we had to be adults about it.
At the funeral yesterday, sitting in the back of the church, between men and women I've known and loved for years, yards from the benches that were home base in that game of tag. that's when it hit me. We're adults.
There were many speakers at Amys funeral. Her uncle, her cousins, Andrea, who spoke from the heart, and Amy's brother Teddy, who spoke from the soul. I've known Teddy since before he could shave. I haven't known him much since then, though.
And then at the end, Jess, Teddys wife, stood to speak for the last time. She'd done so well, for weeks, and taken on so much. That last piece, though, got her. She started to loose it at the podium, to weep enough to affect her words.
Behind her, Teddy stood up. Her husband. Amy's little brother. He took two steps forward, and gently put one hand on his wife's shoulder. Jess didn't look around. She just took a deep breath, and finished her words.
I looked at this man, no longer the kid I knew, and I wept.
Her name was Amy Bettcher. She was 34 years old. Ovarian Cancer. She fought like a fucking trooper for a year.
In the last days, after hearing rumor upon rumor about how she was doing.. that she was still fighting, that the next round of chemo might work, that she was not going to make it after all, that maybe she was already gone?
I contacted her family. And I asked them if it would be ok, if they would be ok with it, if I took on the job of keeping in touch with her friends, to let them know what was happeneing. Because it seemed to me, that an event of such magnitude, that Amy's death and passing, should not be left commemorated to the local Portsmouth gossip mill. And because I thought I could handle it. I'd known Amy nearly ..no.. more than 17 years. But we rarely saw each other any more. We talked on the phone often, especially since she fell ill, but I hadn't seen her more than a few times since my wedding, almost 2 years ago. I'd tried, but each time we made a date, she was too sick, or more often, my kids were, and germs were verbotten.. I was close, but removed.
so, it seemed I was a good candidate for the job.
Her family agreed. I, and Jocelyn, and Amys sister in law Jess, started collecting email addresses. I talked to Jess, then I wrote a mass email. Every other day. It was only a little more than a week, but it seems like it was months.
I have two children, and have been through one marriage and started another. My eldest son nearly died of complications from Juvenile Diabetes when he was 6 years old. When I was pregnant with my now toddler, I was told that tests showed he may have a brain disorder, and either abort before being born, or in best case, he would live no more than weeks.
Between Dec 23 2010 and Dec 31 2010 my 64 year old father had a massive coronary, infections from surgery, a four way bypass, was in a coma for 3 weeks because of PTSD reactions to the anesthesia, spent 4 moths in the hospital and had a total of 8 surgeries. On Dec 23rd 2010, I hadn't spoken to my stepmother in 7 years.
But this. Amy's passing. The emails, and the phone calls. The conversations, the thoughts, the dreams, the emotions. This was harder. Harder than any of the other things I've gone through.
Because my sons are fine. The diabetes is under control. The brain scans were a lottery, and we won it. My dad survived his ordeal. My stepmother and I talk now, occasionally. I still have them, all, to talk to.
Amy was harder. I didn't get to say goodbye in person. I talked about her every day. I wrote emails to people I didn't know, or worse, to people I had known for years, and I told them all what I could. That Amy was safe. That she was in no pain. That she was at peace.
But in the end, of course, Amy died.
We used to run as a pack. Downtown Po-town. The Elvis Room Kids. We smoked cigarettes, and drank coffee, and worked odd jobs. We wore black, and got in to trouble. We took over the square, and made it home base in a game of tag that lasted years and had over 100 players. We were a family.
And we lost some of our own. Drugs. Suicide. Car wrecks. Sudden medical conditions.
This is the first time, for me, though, that the death of one of the Square Kids, has been forseen. That we had time to think, and to mourn, and to process. That we had to be adults about it.
At the funeral yesterday, sitting in the back of the church, between men and women I've known and loved for years, yards from the benches that were home base in that game of tag. that's when it hit me. We're adults.
There were many speakers at Amys funeral. Her uncle, her cousins, Andrea, who spoke from the heart, and Amy's brother Teddy, who spoke from the soul. I've known Teddy since before he could shave. I haven't known him much since then, though.
And then at the end, Jess, Teddys wife, stood to speak for the last time. She'd done so well, for weeks, and taken on so much. That last piece, though, got her. She started to loose it at the podium, to weep enough to affect her words.
Behind her, Teddy stood up. Her husband. Amy's little brother. He took two steps forward, and gently put one hand on his wife's shoulder. Jess didn't look around. She just took a deep breath, and finished her words.
I looked at this man, no longer the kid I knew, and I wept.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
What Love Is Not
Every parent wants to teach their child about love. It becomes especially important when the teen years strike, and hormones flood their miniature adult bodies, and bad decisions suddenly abound.
And here’s the deal: we can’t. There’s no course we can give them, book we can force on them, church that we can drag them to that’s going to teach them what they need to know about love.
Because all of the books, and the lessons, and the sermons are incomplete. Because we, who teach, and write and preach them.. are incomplete. Because we don’t stop discovering what love is until two days after forever. Love is the continually diverging path, always moving forward, always collecting in its map of experience a new and varied wealth of knowledge. Death can not stop love. We love people long after they are gone. Birth does not start love, we adore the shinning possibility of children before they are conceived.
So as a parent, I’m not going to try to teach my child about what love is. God knows I don’t know, in the end, all the twists and turns of love. I won’t do love a disservice and try to pretend I do.
I can though, teach my kids what love is not.
Love is not blood. We live in an era where stories of parents killing their children, children murdering their families.. these horrific tales are available day and night on cable news. If we tell our children what we wish to be the truth: that all parents love their children and vice versa, unconditionally and without exception.. we diminish love. Respect for our families is a must. Love is not a given.
I will not bring the rest of the world in to it, I can not speak for all parents, and wish they wouldn’t speak for me. I love my children, unconditionally, and without exception or reservation. This is not a universal truth. It is simply my truth.
Love is not by definition recipricol, and is often not reciprocated. You can love someone who is too broken to love you back. You can love the idea of someone, and not the person.. their essence, their wit, their personality.. you can love the memory of someone who is no longer who they once were. Remember your place in these times. Protect yourself, because love can also be a weapon, a hand offered in compassion but taken in pain by a broken spirit. Be aware of the fearful, and don’t offer them more love than they can take, lest they use it against you. ( This is aimed at those with a ‘savior’ complex. )
Love is not sex.
This is a tough one, I think, for my generation. The Gen X’ers, the first of The MTV kids. We have been taught by the media since first we got cable that love and sex are one and the same. Some of us got children out of this misunderstanding.
Sex is awesome, and powerful, and healing, and painful and truthfully, sometimes the best sex in the world is with people you don’t love. Sex is not love. Love is not sex. Have fun, be safe, be kind. Don’t listen to the hippies. It’s not free love, it’s free sex. Not bad, but not love.
Making love is way better than sex, and can be done with all of your clothes on.
A conversation that you would have with no one else. Hands held while watching fireworks under leafy trees. Turning to the same person through crisis, joy, ritual and mundane life for years on end. That’s making love. Opening your heart, and your life to a person over the course of a life time, and having them do the same for you. Those conversations, those hugs, those moments in the sun and the rain, that’s making love. It takes longer than sex. It’s far more difficult, delicate, and time consuming. Sex will likely muck it up beyond all repair, but if it doesn’t, marry the person immediately.
Love is not marriage, marriage is not love.
Another tricky one for the MTV generation, and I think even harder for the years that followed us. We were the first children of divorce, and the first children to grow up knowing when our parents didn’t love each other, divorced or not.
One can be married without love. A couple can be in love, together, raising children, building a life together for years.. and never be married.
Likewise, a couple who marries without love can find common goals and achieve them, and gain love that is as strong as iron.
And a couple madly in love can have children, and begin a life together that is killed by ego, or jealousy, or simple differences. Marriage is commitment to something greater than yourself. If you’re lucky, love enters in to marriage at some point in the path.
Love doesn’t always stick around.
If summer lasted forever we would long for winter. Our perfect days are perfect because they happen so rarely.
Some loves have expiration dates. Not the date that we stop loving the person, but the date we must be apart from them. For ourselves, for them, for whatever reason. Nothing is meant to last forever. Some loves are destined for much shorter than that. These are the ones that are the hardest to let go of, that will stick with you, and bring you doubt and wonder. When this happens, refer back to ‘Making Love’ and ask yourself which, exactly, you were doing. Be honest.
So there it is. What I want to teach my children about what love isn’t. I can’t teach them what love is, because I’m not done figuring that out myself. Here’s what I have so far:
Love is a single shared TV program, whose opening music brings a smile to both your faces.
Love is an air conditioner on one side of the bed, and extra blankets on the other.
Love is a plan, and a backup plan, and a beer together when that doesn’t work out.
Love is working 70 hours a week so your family has what they need, and making your kids get jobs so they have what they want.
Love is knowing when the other’s heart is too broken for just you to heal, and sending them out to find what they need.
Love is starting with yourself, so you always have enough to go around.
Love is dandelion bouquets gone to seed and blown for wishes.
Love is the single most important thing in the world. It doesn’t die, it isn’t created. It simply is. Forever, in any moment. It just is.
Monday, May 30, 2011
I'm Dirty and I Smell Bad... Life is good.
Memorial Day Weekend for my husband: (every year)
Friday: Buy beer, build a contraption to keep rain off when canoe-ing.
Saturday AM: Load canoe, tin boat, life vests, beer and beef jerky in to truck. Wait for friends to meet up. Drive to the Saco. Put beef jerky, life vests and beer IN to boats. Get in boats. Float.
Saturday" Drink and float. Eat some jerky.
Sunday: Drink and float. Paddle a few miles. Load out empty beer cans and boats. Realize you've lost 1 paddle, 1 life vest, 1 cell phone and 1 ipod. Drive Home.
Memorial Day Weekend for Me: (every year)
Friday: Kids get home from school. Do a billion loads of laundry. Put manure on garden and soak it. Till two more gardens. Work. Cook. Clean. Call all the parents about Saturday. Find 1) the camping grill 2) the tent and 3) the propane in the basement, all of which are EXACTLY where you said they were. give them to husband. Don't punch husband.
Saturday: Drop toddler at a friends. Pick up three teens, for a total of four. Drive them to Short Sands Beach in Maine for my teens birthday. Dole out arcade money for kids who didn't bring any. Set teens loose. Find a cafe. Eat a REAL SANDWHICH! WITH BASIL AND MOZARELLA! Feed NONE to a dog or toddler. Drink coffee, without having to hide it from a caffeine fiend two year old. Read a book. Decide this is SO WORTH any money spent.
Gather teens, spend some time talking and walking with each one.
Drop all teens at my house.
Pick up toddler. Spend half an hour chatting with awesome friends who babysit about other awesome friends who are dying.
Drive home. Find that teens have gotten out the water balloons and squirt gun cannons. Dump toddler in the middle of the melee, and call it bath time.
Put toddler to bed.
Send two teens home, chat with both and their parents. Send son home with last teen, bless teens parents for taking your kid.
Put toddler to bed.
Realize you are, for all intents and purposes, ALONE.
Put on your favorite music that everyone else in the house hates. Crack a HUGE bottle of mead. Drink, laugh, and sing really loud off key, while dancing.
Finish mead. Find another. Repeat.
Realize it's nearing 2 Am and you have to squint at the computer. Go to bed, laughing and singing.
SUNDAY:
Wake up to toddler yelling MOM MOM MOM MOOOOM MOM MOM! Realize you have the mother of all hangovers. Decide it was TOTALLY WORTH IT. Shower, dress, eat, guzzle coffee, clean house, do some laundry. Discover forgotten gatorade in fridge. Do happy dance.
Around noon, get teen back. Immediately send to showers, he smells that bad.
Once he's clean, load car with toys, juice, snacks and chairs. Load toddler and teen. Pick up niece (Or, teen 2, as I call her). Drive to friends house for BBQ. Turn all children loosee on big lawns with lots of toys and people for the teens to talk to, and one exceptionally forgiving dog for toddler to chase. Sit in chair for five hours. Don't move much. Talk to people a bit. Find self coloring in a Hello Kitty coloring book, thoroughly content, discussing Crayola shades with woman next to you, whom you don't know. No kids are involved in this coloring. Notice your back and shoulder feel weird. Realize it's because you're relaxed, and that's a new sensation.
Milk. It.
Watch toddler curl up with new dog, using dog for pillow, drinking his sippy cup. Realize it's bed time.
Load everything we came with. Say goodbye. Drop off niece. Go grocery shopping. Put toddler to bed. Put away groceries. Make a loaf of bread. Feed teen. Work on inventory for a couple hours. Do some laundry and dishes. Spend two hours cleaning bedroom and switching winter for summer wardrobe. Realize it's midnight. Go to bed.
Spend from 1 am to 2am up with toddler who had a bad dream.
7.30AM: Get up. Feed dog, scrub kitchen, feed children, do dishes and more laundry. Call mother. Spend half an hour talking about friend who is dying. Realize you're going to loose it any second. Put toddler down for nap, leave teen in charge. Drive aimlessly for half an hour singing and crying with radio. Get a coffee so you have an excuse for having been gone. Go home.
Give teen chores. spend more time supervising chores than you would have spent doing them yourself.
Convince teen to help you in garden. Head outside. Have landlady and toddler both decide to come outside right then. And help.
Manage to get garden half planted, while teen strings bamboo and twine for a fence. Call it good.
Have husband come home sunburnt and ... um.. sunburnt. ;)
Go buy frozen pizzas, cause you don't feel like cooking.
Sit on patio for three hours with landlady and surprise guest Pete, drinking beer and talking.
Pass out.
Repeat next year.
Friday: Buy beer, build a contraption to keep rain off when canoe-ing.
Saturday AM: Load canoe, tin boat, life vests, beer and beef jerky in to truck. Wait for friends to meet up. Drive to the Saco. Put beef jerky, life vests and beer IN to boats. Get in boats. Float.
Saturday" Drink and float. Eat some jerky.
Sunday: Drink and float. Paddle a few miles. Load out empty beer cans and boats. Realize you've lost 1 paddle, 1 life vest, 1 cell phone and 1 ipod. Drive Home.
Memorial Day Weekend for Me: (every year)
Friday: Kids get home from school. Do a billion loads of laundry. Put manure on garden and soak it. Till two more gardens. Work. Cook. Clean. Call all the parents about Saturday. Find 1) the camping grill 2) the tent and 3) the propane in the basement, all of which are EXACTLY where you said they were. give them to husband. Don't punch husband.
Saturday: Drop toddler at a friends. Pick up three teens, for a total of four. Drive them to Short Sands Beach in Maine for my teens birthday. Dole out arcade money for kids who didn't bring any. Set teens loose. Find a cafe. Eat a REAL SANDWHICH! WITH BASIL AND MOZARELLA! Feed NONE to a dog or toddler. Drink coffee, without having to hide it from a caffeine fiend two year old. Read a book. Decide this is SO WORTH any money spent.
Gather teens, spend some time talking and walking with each one.
Drop all teens at my house.
Pick up toddler. Spend half an hour chatting with awesome friends who babysit about other awesome friends who are dying.
Drive home. Find that teens have gotten out the water balloons and squirt gun cannons. Dump toddler in the middle of the melee, and call it bath time.
Put toddler to bed.
Send two teens home, chat with both and their parents. Send son home with last teen, bless teens parents for taking your kid.
Put toddler to bed.
Realize you are, for all intents and purposes, ALONE.
Put on your favorite music that everyone else in the house hates. Crack a HUGE bottle of mead. Drink, laugh, and sing really loud off key, while dancing.
Finish mead. Find another. Repeat.
Realize it's nearing 2 Am and you have to squint at the computer. Go to bed, laughing and singing.
SUNDAY:
Wake up to toddler yelling MOM MOM MOM MOOOOM MOM MOM! Realize you have the mother of all hangovers. Decide it was TOTALLY WORTH IT. Shower, dress, eat, guzzle coffee, clean house, do some laundry. Discover forgotten gatorade in fridge. Do happy dance.
Around noon, get teen back. Immediately send to showers, he smells that bad.
Once he's clean, load car with toys, juice, snacks and chairs. Load toddler and teen. Pick up niece (Or, teen 2, as I call her). Drive to friends house for BBQ. Turn all children loosee on big lawns with lots of toys and people for the teens to talk to, and one exceptionally forgiving dog for toddler to chase. Sit in chair for five hours. Don't move much. Talk to people a bit. Find self coloring in a Hello Kitty coloring book, thoroughly content, discussing Crayola shades with woman next to you, whom you don't know. No kids are involved in this coloring. Notice your back and shoulder feel weird. Realize it's because you're relaxed, and that's a new sensation.
Milk. It.
Watch toddler curl up with new dog, using dog for pillow, drinking his sippy cup. Realize it's bed time.
Load everything we came with. Say goodbye. Drop off niece. Go grocery shopping. Put toddler to bed. Put away groceries. Make a loaf of bread. Feed teen. Work on inventory for a couple hours. Do some laundry and dishes. Spend two hours cleaning bedroom and switching winter for summer wardrobe. Realize it's midnight. Go to bed.
Spend from 1 am to 2am up with toddler who had a bad dream.
7.30AM: Get up. Feed dog, scrub kitchen, feed children, do dishes and more laundry. Call mother. Spend half an hour talking about friend who is dying. Realize you're going to loose it any second. Put toddler down for nap, leave teen in charge. Drive aimlessly for half an hour singing and crying with radio. Get a coffee so you have an excuse for having been gone. Go home.
Give teen chores. spend more time supervising chores than you would have spent doing them yourself.
Convince teen to help you in garden. Head outside. Have landlady and toddler both decide to come outside right then. And help.
Manage to get garden half planted, while teen strings bamboo and twine for a fence. Call it good.
Have husband come home sunburnt and ... um.. sunburnt. ;)
Go buy frozen pizzas, cause you don't feel like cooking.
Sit on patio for three hours with landlady and surprise guest Pete, drinking beer and talking.
Pass out.
Repeat next year.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
I Love Spiders. So Should You.
Today is Thursday, the day my friend R takes charge of his nieces and nephews and ventures out in to the world. For weeks R and I have had a running 'maybe' play date. When he called this morning, to remind me he had the kids, I looked out the window at the glorious spring day, and then back at my computer, where I was contacting friends and friends of friends to let them know just how sick A is, and that we're going to loose her.
I closed my laptop, packed my toddler, and forayed in to Maine. Sunshine and children suddenly seemed to be the most important thing in the world. That the home we were going to was on the same back roads I traveled two weeks ago was helpful. Knowing where we were going, I was able to soak up the sun, I knew where the 'kisser hills' were, and I took in the scenery with aplomb, even though Sawyer insisted on yelling "LOOK OUT LOOK OUT" at every curve.
R was house sitting, at a lovely, wonderful, huge and inviting home. The play structure in the front yard had the one at Henry law park beat by a mile. We turned the kids loose, and sat in the grass, chatting over iced coffee. Parts I didn't know were tense started to unwind.
There were 4 kids: Girls named Monkey and Bubbles, aged 6 and 1. The boys were D and Sawyer, ages 4 and 2. Quickly, Monkey and I established that we had the same flip flops. That we both loved purple. That bunnies were awesome and soft, and that she had a baby one, and it was the best. thing. ever. We were friends for life.
Sitting in the grass, I noticed a spider. A huge, female brown house spider, my favorite kind. She was carrying a giant egg sack under her belly, struggling along the way giantly pregnant women do.
'Wow, look at this spider!" I said. 'She's going to have babies!"
Instantly I was joined by Monkey and D. So fast, in fact, I thrust out my hand to keep them from stepping on our specimen. "Careful! We don't want to squish her!" I said.
I pointed out the spider, and the egg sack. Our little class was more interesting than the swings, and we were joined by the younger kids, Sawyer and Bubbles. Neither of them cared about the spider, but they wanted to be where the action was. All the kids studied the tiny mom, and we talked about how she was going to have babies.
"Spiders are cool!" said D. (he's 4)
"Spiders are gross." Said Monkey. "They are icky."
"Spiders are scary! " said D. (Some day, their parents will long for such unity between siblings.)
"Spiders are my absolute favorite all time best bug." I said. "I like them better than ants, or beetles or "
"Butterflies?!" interrupted Monkey.
"Yes. Better than butterflies. I like spiders best of all. Even more than butterflies." I said. I explained why. We sat in silence for a few minutes, and the other kids wandered off.
"Butterflys are my favorite." Said Monkey. "They're pretty. Spiders are ok."
"Well," I said. "Butterflies ARE prettier than spiders. But my favorites are still spiders."
Monkey nodded and tore off to play on the swings.
I think she and I should go on the road. Our next stop? The Middle East. If we can find common ground with butterflies and spiders, Israel and Palestine should be a snap.
I closed my laptop, packed my toddler, and forayed in to Maine. Sunshine and children suddenly seemed to be the most important thing in the world. That the home we were going to was on the same back roads I traveled two weeks ago was helpful. Knowing where we were going, I was able to soak up the sun, I knew where the 'kisser hills' were, and I took in the scenery with aplomb, even though Sawyer insisted on yelling "LOOK OUT LOOK OUT" at every curve.
R was house sitting, at a lovely, wonderful, huge and inviting home. The play structure in the front yard had the one at Henry law park beat by a mile. We turned the kids loose, and sat in the grass, chatting over iced coffee. Parts I didn't know were tense started to unwind.
There were 4 kids: Girls named Monkey and Bubbles, aged 6 and 1. The boys were D and Sawyer, ages 4 and 2. Quickly, Monkey and I established that we had the same flip flops. That we both loved purple. That bunnies were awesome and soft, and that she had a baby one, and it was the best. thing. ever. We were friends for life.
Sitting in the grass, I noticed a spider. A huge, female brown house spider, my favorite kind. She was carrying a giant egg sack under her belly, struggling along the way giantly pregnant women do.
'Wow, look at this spider!" I said. 'She's going to have babies!"
Instantly I was joined by Monkey and D. So fast, in fact, I thrust out my hand to keep them from stepping on our specimen. "Careful! We don't want to squish her!" I said.
I pointed out the spider, and the egg sack. Our little class was more interesting than the swings, and we were joined by the younger kids, Sawyer and Bubbles. Neither of them cared about the spider, but they wanted to be where the action was. All the kids studied the tiny mom, and we talked about how she was going to have babies.
"Spiders are cool!" said D. (he's 4)
"Spiders are gross." Said Monkey. "They are icky."
"Spiders are scary! " said D. (Some day, their parents will long for such unity between siblings.)
"Spiders are my absolute favorite all time best bug." I said. "I like them better than ants, or beetles or "
"Butterflies?!" interrupted Monkey.
"Yes. Better than butterflies. I like spiders best of all. Even more than butterflies." I said. I explained why. We sat in silence for a few minutes, and the other kids wandered off.
"Butterflys are my favorite." Said Monkey. "They're pretty. Spiders are ok."
"Well," I said. "Butterflies ARE prettier than spiders. But my favorites are still spiders."
Monkey nodded and tore off to play on the swings.
I think she and I should go on the road. Our next stop? The Middle East. If we can find common ground with butterflies and spiders, Israel and Palestine should be a snap.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The Universe Gets a Sense of Humor
It's 3AM. I am sound asleep. The 'sound' in that sentence is the important part. I haven't slept soundly in days, maybe weeks.
I wake up to my husband thrashing next to me. Next, I hear swearing. Finally, he jumps out of bed and dashes from the room. Now I'm awake, and hearing the noise too. Voices, and thuds, and yelling. I decide that they aren't in the house, whomever they are, because the dog hasn't barked, and when my dog barks, you know it. The whole block knows it. Josh comes back in the room, still swearing. He peers out the window at the cemetery across the street. It is huge, and old, and built on a fairly steep hill, and easy as hell to hide in.
"There's some asshole kids in the cemetery." He says. "Throwing rocks on cars as they go by. I called the cops."
My husband is pissed. Pissed that he was woken up. Pissed that before he woke up, he dreamed that the asshole kids were in our house and yard, and that's why he went tearing from the room. Pissed that his adrenaline is flowing and he is NOT going to get back to sleep.
I decide that now is not the time to ask him to contemplate karma and his own misspent youth. I go back to sleep.
At 6.30am, my alarm goes off. I slap snooze.
At 6.33am, my phone rings. It's my mother, who above all other humans knows not to call me before.. ever. I answer, thinking it must be an emergency.
"Hi!" She says. "Are you awake?"
"I don't know." ... I'm being honest.
"I just wanted you to know that they canceled school at the middle school today." she says. I hear my stepdad in the background, laughing.
"What? Why?" I ask.
"Lightening struck the school." she says.
"Really??" I ask.
"Yes! Really! Go back to sleep! No school!" She tells me, exactly like she did when I was 7 and there was a foot of snow. I hear my Stepdad in the background, laughing.
"YEEESSSS!!!" I cry and perform a sleepy fist pump. I say goodbye, and then send a text to my BFF and to Sandy, who drives Tris to school.
"No school at DMS! Lightening strike!" I say in my text. Then I pass out again.
45 minutes later, I wake up, because the toddler hasn't yet woken me up. I contemplate how very unfair this is as I lay in bed, listening to him on the monitor. He's moving around a bit, playing, safe in his room. Why can't I go back to sleep? I doze.. and then hear:
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! MMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM" in SUPREME anguish from his room.
I fly through the door, expecting carnage, intruders, hobbits, something terrible.
And find my 2.5 year old son, perfectly fine, stark naked, sitting in the now empty third drawer up of his dresser. He is yelling and crying because he has just peed himself. In the dresser drawer. Which is wood, and antique.
(Good thing he got those absorbent, washable clothes out of the drawer first! I mean, really, that would have been *SO MUCH* harder to clean up.)
I install the toddler in the shower with toys and go to clean up his room. As I pass by the door of my teenagers room, I pound on it. No response. I enter, and throw some clothes from the floor and one shoe at him until he sits up. (I can't get to his bed without spelunking, throwing things is easier.)
"WHAT?!" He growls.
"Schools canceled. Lightening strike. Go back to sleep." I say.
I'm watching his eyes, so I see it. The moment when the fact school is canceled overcomes the primal need to yell at me for waking him up. He does a fist pump and yells "YESSSS!" and passes out again.
I clean the baby, and his room, and apply clothes to child and drawers. I settle him in with breakfast in the kitchen, and run back up for my phone.
And find a text, from Sandy, who is the most reliable person I know. It says "Are you sure school is canceled? Can't find it online or on the news!"
I call my mother to double check. She doesn't answer. I look online, and can't find any info anywhere about school being canceled.
It occurs to me that I've dreamed very, very believable things before. That I have acted, on waking, about things I dreamed about. That I am, in fact, notorious for this behavior. And it occurs to me that dreaming that my mother telling me there is no school is pretty simple. I mean, I would dream that.
I think of calling the school, but I have had no coffee yet, and dealing with their phone system is beyond me on a good, caffeinated day. I call my best friend instead. I tell her what happened, and in a panicked voice, that I may well have dreamed it. I apologize if I misinformed her, and if because of my dreams, her daughter, my niece, is out without permission and can't go on the trip to DC with the rest of the 8th grade.
My best friend assures me that I didn't dream it. School is canceled. She doesn't know why it's not listed on the website, but it is true. Lightening took out the fire alarm system, so they can't have kids in the building. Ava can go on the trip. Everything is ok.
I celebrated my lack of insanity by taking my breakfast on the porch, with coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
I wake up to my husband thrashing next to me. Next, I hear swearing. Finally, he jumps out of bed and dashes from the room. Now I'm awake, and hearing the noise too. Voices, and thuds, and yelling. I decide that they aren't in the house, whomever they are, because the dog hasn't barked, and when my dog barks, you know it. The whole block knows it. Josh comes back in the room, still swearing. He peers out the window at the cemetery across the street. It is huge, and old, and built on a fairly steep hill, and easy as hell to hide in.
"There's some asshole kids in the cemetery." He says. "Throwing rocks on cars as they go by. I called the cops."
My husband is pissed. Pissed that he was woken up. Pissed that before he woke up, he dreamed that the asshole kids were in our house and yard, and that's why he went tearing from the room. Pissed that his adrenaline is flowing and he is NOT going to get back to sleep.
I decide that now is not the time to ask him to contemplate karma and his own misspent youth. I go back to sleep.
At 6.30am, my alarm goes off. I slap snooze.
At 6.33am, my phone rings. It's my mother, who above all other humans knows not to call me before.. ever. I answer, thinking it must be an emergency.
"Hi!" She says. "Are you awake?"
"I don't know." ... I'm being honest.
"I just wanted you to know that they canceled school at the middle school today." she says. I hear my stepdad in the background, laughing.
"What? Why?" I ask.
"Lightening struck the school." she says.
"Really??" I ask.
"Yes! Really! Go back to sleep! No school!" She tells me, exactly like she did when I was 7 and there was a foot of snow. I hear my Stepdad in the background, laughing.
"YEEESSSS!!!" I cry and perform a sleepy fist pump. I say goodbye, and then send a text to my BFF and to Sandy, who drives Tris to school.
"No school at DMS! Lightening strike!" I say in my text. Then I pass out again.
45 minutes later, I wake up, because the toddler hasn't yet woken me up. I contemplate how very unfair this is as I lay in bed, listening to him on the monitor. He's moving around a bit, playing, safe in his room. Why can't I go back to sleep? I doze.. and then hear:
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! MMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM" in SUPREME anguish from his room.
I fly through the door, expecting carnage, intruders, hobbits, something terrible.
And find my 2.5 year old son, perfectly fine, stark naked, sitting in the now empty third drawer up of his dresser. He is yelling and crying because he has just peed himself. In the dresser drawer. Which is wood, and antique.
(Good thing he got those absorbent, washable clothes out of the drawer first! I mean, really, that would have been *SO MUCH* harder to clean up.)
I install the toddler in the shower with toys and go to clean up his room. As I pass by the door of my teenagers room, I pound on it. No response. I enter, and throw some clothes from the floor and one shoe at him until he sits up. (I can't get to his bed without spelunking, throwing things is easier.)
"WHAT?!" He growls.
"Schools canceled. Lightening strike. Go back to sleep." I say.
I'm watching his eyes, so I see it. The moment when the fact school is canceled overcomes the primal need to yell at me for waking him up. He does a fist pump and yells "YESSSS!" and passes out again.
I clean the baby, and his room, and apply clothes to child and drawers. I settle him in with breakfast in the kitchen, and run back up for my phone.
And find a text, from Sandy, who is the most reliable person I know. It says "Are you sure school is canceled? Can't find it online or on the news!"
I call my mother to double check. She doesn't answer. I look online, and can't find any info anywhere about school being canceled.
It occurs to me that I've dreamed very, very believable things before. That I have acted, on waking, about things I dreamed about. That I am, in fact, notorious for this behavior. And it occurs to me that dreaming that my mother telling me there is no school is pretty simple. I mean, I would dream that.
I think of calling the school, but I have had no coffee yet, and dealing with their phone system is beyond me on a good, caffeinated day. I call my best friend instead. I tell her what happened, and in a panicked voice, that I may well have dreamed it. I apologize if I misinformed her, and if because of my dreams, her daughter, my niece, is out without permission and can't go on the trip to DC with the rest of the 8th grade.
My best friend assures me that I didn't dream it. School is canceled. She doesn't know why it's not listed on the website, but it is true. Lightening took out the fire alarm system, so they can't have kids in the building. Ava can go on the trip. Everything is ok.
I celebrated my lack of insanity by taking my breakfast on the porch, with coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
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