Blogamy

How many houses have you lived in? How is where you live now different from where you grew up?

6 houses growing up (3 of them built by my father)

2 dorm apartments 

2 apartments I rented after university

4 houses with my husband (1 he had bought with his first wife in Virginia, 1 we rented when we moved to CA, 1 we had built in CA for us, and 1 we bought when we moved to Nevada)

The house I live in now has 3 levels.  The first house I lived in was a 1400 sq foot brick rambler.  It wasn't too rambly, though, until my father built an addition on the back half of the house that almost doubled the space.  He added another bedroom, a bathroom, utility room, big family room and an office/playroom that had a locking door and a separate entrance.  Yards were big back then, so we still had a big yard even when the addition was completed.

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The funniest thing just happened.  Today is my mother's birthday.  She is 82 years old.  We decided to take her out to dinner at the Outback.  I've been kind of looking forward to it, since we haven't been eating out much lately, on account of none of us having jobs at the current moment.  It just happened that my husband had an interview, and will probably have a job in the next two weeks.  

Do you ever read throwaway comments on message boards that just rub you the wrong way?  And then you don't want to mention it, so you ignore it and stick with the positive, but then you want to come back and just take a little poke at it?  I do.  Then I try to just forget about it, but I wonder if that dynamic contributes to a negative feeling over time, or if I've annoyed people like this enough so that they just pretty much ignore anything I have to say.

So the other night I was upset about something that I read on another blog.  It was just supposed to be a quick check-in before bed, but instead I became extremely emotional and melodramatic, and had to create a response which I thought I might not post, but then I did.  And I didn't go to bed until after 2:30 am, and then my mind was fertile and creative and coming up with new posts for my own blogs. 

The next day I was cold and tired and hungrier than usual, and felt completely run-down.  Any creative thought I had was pretty  much gone, but since I had it in my head to update my blog, here I am.  And that's all I have to say, sadly.

Did you shop for great deals on Black Friday or Cyber Monday?  Or did you observe Buy Nothing Day?

I bought nothing, but I never do.  Although we did go out to lunch that day, so I guess we technically bought something.

After all the recent season and series finales, what are you watching on TV these days?

Sad to say, I am watching "So You Think You Can Dance" and that's about it.  

Typical annoying morning, the tenor of my life. Some days lately we have gotten to school at least a good 5-10 minutes early, but today was not going to be one of those days. I was going to need every minute of time. I have to watch myself as I am easily distracted even in a hurry, but I have 40 years of being rushed along so I respond to the idea of being late. My kids don't. I am tired of pushing and fussing and yelling about it, so I tried just letting Molly set her own pace and deal with the consequences. That did not go over well.

So I've taken to setting the stove buzzer for certain key points. OK, the one coming up means it's time to put on your shoes. The one after that will mean it's time to walk out the door. The first buzzer goes off when Molly has barely been able to eat, so preoccupied she is with her new retainer and quad helix that she can't get much down. Which makes me wonder, you know, why my parents didn't get me orthodontia once they were concerned about my growing girth as a child. Would I be as fat as I am now if I had had braces as a teen? But she gets up and asks me to get her socks. She puts them on and her shoes, but I have to tie them for her.

The buzzer goes off to walk out the door. I am just finishing up on the tying of the shoes. I tell her to get her backpack, and she said it is still in my car. Oh no way, it's not still in my car! I brought it in the house so she could clean it out; throw away that disposable lunch I gave her on Friday because they had a field trip and her teacher wanted everything to be disposable. On that day I had to hunt up a brown paper bag of the right size, and find a plastic spoon and give her the ice pack that came in a food package mailed from some chocolate berry company. A thank you gift to my husband for his new car purchase. The ice pack was reusable, but also disposable and was completely misshapen from melting and refreezing. But not only did she not throw any of the stuff away, she brought almost the entire contents of her lunch back, and I could smell the decaying fruit in my car on Saturday. I brought the backpack into the house on that day, instructing her to clean it out. Of course that didn't get done.  She told me she never heard me.

As another aside, on Saturday Molly had a friend visiting, and they went into my little retreat space and dumped a 1000 piece Lego set out to play with. Then they kept bugging to go to the bookstore I had said I would take them. As we were ready to walk out the door, I noticed that the Legos were still all over the floor. I kind of blew up about that, asking her what she was thinking. I mean, seriously, it's gotten to the point that when the kids take just about any toy out, either my DH or I will say in that ominous tone, "You know you have to pick that up, don't you?" Apparently, though, even with this dire warning, Molly still had no clue she would have to pick up all those Legos because, "you never told me to clean them up." Insert head banging against a brick wall smilie here.

Back to this morning: Molly had her shoes on, but was trying to finish up some breakfast, cleaning out whatever gunk she had in her mouth that was caught in her quad helix. I took out her old lunch and put her new one in. I was going to go get in the car, but as I went and slipped my feet into my clogs, I saw Molly and Jessie still sitting there. So I folded a  piece of laundry that was on a chair and realized that no, I shouldn't be doing that now. I told Jessie she could stay home since her Dad was still here, but she should probably come with us. She did. We got in the car and I buckled Jessie into her seat and then Molly remembered her retainer (the one she is only to supposed to take out to brush it) was on the kitchen table. I ran in and retrieved it. At this point we had cut away any fat from our driving to school time, and there was literally only the time it would take to drive there and walk to the classroom.

I got in the car again, buckled up, put the key in the ignition, turned it and nothing. Nothing. The night before Jessie had turned on the light by her door and I told her to turn it off and she said, No! I was parking in the garage at this point, and in an ill-fated moment, I decided not to turn the light off by the switch up front, but to get out and just make sure her light was out. Because, dammit all, I have to keep that switch turned off all the time and end up alone in the dark after choir rehearsal with no interior lights because I'm not allowed to have interior lights in my car because I have kids. Screw that, she was turning her light off. Even as she was saying no, I heard her click the light. But because I parked and opened the door, I guess she hit the switch several times. So now the battery is dead.

When I realized it, I jumped out of the car proclaiming we would take Daddy's car. He was staying home sick today because of nausea, so his car was available. Normally that wouldn't be the case. I ran in the house, got his keys and jumped in his car. My children were still sitting there, placidly buckled into their various seats and looking out at me. I turned away and got in his car and figured I'd get the seat adjusted and back it out of the garage. The engine started, spurring them to action and they stood there inside my minivan, crying because they couldn't get out the door. I have no idea why not. Maybe because of the dead battery. I opened the minivan door with my key fob and they ran and got in the car. I hadn't gotten it out of the garage, and now the fumes, even with the garage door open, were overwhelming. I turned the ignition off in order to buckle Jessie into the booster seat in the back. Then I couldn't get the car to start again. He has a keyless ignition, but the problem was I hadn't put it back in park. Then I couldn't get my seatbelt buckled, couldn't find the emergency brake release, couldn't figure out how to put my seat back forward. Molly helped me with that one.

We were driving down the street and at this point it is 9 o'clock. I figured I'd tell the woman in the attendance office that we had a burned out battery and had a delay in getting a new car. When I pulled up to the front of the school, there was still a little busy traffic with last minute drop-offs. I saw a space on the street open up as I was driving, but the cars were busy turning out of the parking lot. The speed limit in school zones is 15 mph here, so people will pull right out of the parking lot in front of oncoming traffic, as if they had the right of way. A white minivan pulled out right in front of me, and then damn if the bitch didn't take the spot right in front of the school that I was heading for. So not only did she deny me my right of way, but she was coming out of the damn school parking lot to take my space. Then, to add insult to injury, she left a huge space right in front of her car and the car she was behind, so I had to park completely in the red zone, practically in the crosswalk. I got out of the car cursing.

I walked Molly into the school leaving Jessie in the car, which I won't defend because it just honestly feels fine to me because of the layout, distance and area.  The clock in the school said 9 exactly, but I figured the bell had already rung. I went into the nurses office to get the late slip and got a disapproving look from the woman working there. Normally I don't even walk Molly into get the late slip, figuring that is her consequence from which to learn, but today we had a valid reason. Dead battery. Alas, the woman did not ask us why we were late. I volunteered that our car wouldn't start, but it didn't even slow the movement of her pen across the form or change the look on her face from one of smug disapproval to empathy. We've been late enough times that she thinks we should leave extra early to account for any problems. She told Molly that, actually, after we got screwed by a detour that doubled the distance we had to travel one day.

Well, you know, fuck that shit! Seriously. Fuck those smug ass be early everywhere people. As a chronic late person, the thing that sends me into a panic attack faster than anything is to invite someone to dinner at a specific time and have them show up early. But do they care about that? No, they actually think being early is virtuous. Not that I would mind Molly being early to school--no, not at all. She is allowed to be up to 20 minutes early. But I am seriously not going to stand and dictate every movement of my kid who will be 8 in May. I did that for awhile, saying, "Hurry, hurry, we're late, MOVE!" in that excited tone that would be enough to drive most people into a frenzy. When my mom did that, we jumped into action. Molly just doesn't get it. The buzzer will be going off, meaning we have to go get in the car, and she will sit down and decide she needs to change her pants.

So many times I've been tempted to jump in the car with her backpack, run in the classroom and drop it off triumphantly saying, "Look, I made it on time, I made it on time! Where is Molly, you ask? Oh, she's still at home. I wouldn't have made it on time if I had to wait for her." (actually, I did run her backpack into class ahead of her in the first grade. her backpack made it on time, but she didn't. she refuses to run, even when late). I am 40 years old and I am capable of being on time now. I have finally learned how. It was such a big thing for me in my 20s when I suffered from actual depression and self-loathing due to being late. I felt like I could never be on time anywhere and it was a fatal character flaw. Now I can be punctual! I am triumphant over tardiness! Woo Hoo! Oh wait, now I have to do it with kids. Well, fuckaduck, I'm right back to square one.

I guess I'll be on time when I'm 60.

Did you order Girl Scout cookies this year?  What kind?

No, I don't get what all the fuss is about. I've never been a fan of cookies in a box on a shelf, and that's pretty much what they are. Plus they have partially hydrogenated fats in them, don't they?  

Now if I had a box of them right now, I might eat a few cookies.  I'm in a sugar kind of mood right at the moment.  I remember really enjoying trefoils and thin mints as a kid.  Our normal household cookie was those hard Chips Ahoy and you could barely pay me to eat those even then--anything was an improvement over those (unless it was the orange slice candy).  Thin mints just taste waxy and hard to me now and I don't know if they even sell trefoils anymore.  Several years ago I tried some Snackwell mint cookies that were similar to Thin Mints, but much better as they were chewier or something.  

In the last day or so, Jessie has climbed onto the counter and poured yogurt into my coffee maker, found the nailpolish and painted her nails while sitting on her father's chair, sprayed her father's new TV with vinegar water, ridden her rocket car down the driveway and into the street, run out of her gym class and refused to go back in all the while running from me when I tried to remove her from the building,  drawn all over her face and the wall in about 60 seconds while I was in the bathroom.  She escaped from me from church on Ash Wednesday and ran between the rows of people getting ashes, went over to the organist and exclaimed loudly about her playing then walked along the rows of choir chairs.  Tonight she took her potty chair insert into the bathtub and used it to bail water out of the tub onto the floor.  She got out of bed at midnight, came downstairs, threw her father's tax documents on the floor, emptied a box of polished colored glass stones onto the kitchen floor, refused to pick either up, refused to come out of the living room with the tomato she planned on eating.  The other day she wanted an avocado for breakfast, but couldn't wait for me to dress and come downstairs, so she took a pair of scissors and started cutting the skin off of it.

Molly has told me before that she was going to bottlefeed, or that she has problems with breastfeeding. On Wednesday she was showing me some pictures that she had drawn in her I can draw 100 things booklet. Tuesday was the 100th day of school, and there were special activities there. Molly was home sick, so she got to do all the work at home that she missed during the classroom day. For 10 soft things she drew 10 babies in pajamas. "And look, this baby is wiping the milk off his lip, and this baby is holding is bottle, and all the others have pacifiers." I couldn't resist and said in a surprised kind of tone, "Oh, you mean they aren't breastfed?" She said, "well, this will probably hurt your feelings, but I want to give my babies bottles."

I have heard this before, but I still test the issue when it arises. I asked her why she wanted to bottlefeed, and she said that she thinks it is better. I told her it wasn't better, that breastfeeding actually is. A little while later she wanted to know why bottlefeeding is bad and I told her it's not that it is bad, but that mammals are meant to get milk from their mothers and anything else just isn't as good, it's just a matter of biology. So her response was, "But mama, we aren't like other mammals."

That is certainly true enough!

So I went to church and told that story to the pastor's wife after choir rehearsal was over.  She told me a story about a relative of hers, a sister or daughter or something, who weaned her son and he apparently said, "Thank goodness that's over!"  We were cracking up.