The other night, Sam announced out of nowhere that, "love is like lava." We could not get him to elaborate, and I do not know if he meant that love is metaphorically like lava or if love and lava are similar words. Regardless, I am thinking it is a profound statement for a four year old. He is either right on with his phonetic skills or he is a big thinker/Pele worshipper.
I believe his metaphor is apt. Love, especially the love for a child is like lava. Explosive and ferocious. Slow and mushy. White hot. The foundation on which he will build everything else for his entire life. Unpredictable. All over the place. The Hawaiians have like 20 words for lava--all the different textures, viscosities, temperaments are differently labeled. The more intimately you live with something, the more specifically you identify it.
But anyway, back to love. M picked movies for this weekend. Let me preface the rest of the story by saying I know NOTHING about movies. I do not like trailers, movie theaters, movie theater popcorn, previews, art films, horror, or drama. I do not read about movies, I do not want to know about them. I haven't seen the "100 Movies You Must See." I am the customer Netflix loves--I keep movies for weeks because M thinks we "should see" something and then it arrives and I put it off and put it off until finally he watches it alone or sends it back unviewed. I really hate movies that are about wrongful imprisonment, movies with dramatic irony, or movies in which bad things happen to children. I find them too emotionally draining to watch.
So, knowing that about me, let me say that M picked Slumdog Millionaire to watch. I knew nothing about it except that the red carpet fashions for the cast were exciting at the Oscars. (I watch the red carpet stuff--I love celebrity fashion failures.) He said it would be "light" and "fun." It was chock full of bad things happening to children, wrongful imprisonment and dramatic irony. I cried and cried. And then I went upstairs and crawled into my kids' beds and loved on them as they slept and cried some more.
THEN we went to see Disney's Earth. Humans suck. Global warming sucks. Climate change sucks. Dying polar bears SUCK. I cried and cried and hugged my kids and cried some more.
Needless to say, next week we are going to watch Harold and Kumar and maybe Roman Holiday. Enough with this gritty realism.
But back to lava. Those movies drew up in me that primitive love that I have for my kids. That ferocious protect-them-from-all-pain-and-suffering, that desire to make the world safe for them. It draws up the slow moments of tenderness that will not last much longer as they age. The evils of the world are dwarfed when I realize how fiercely I would fight them to protect my babies. All those words we have for the love of our children--tenderness, adoration, spoiling, affection, cherishing, devotion--I thought of them all as they slept in their giant beds enveloped in the childhood scent of sleep. The more intimately we live with some one, the more intensely we feel for them, the more specific our language is to describe them.
Love IS lava.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Functionally Illiterate
Since I am in full denial about another birthday, I asked M for something to make me youthful and cool again: an iphone. But then, I realized that the phone itself is not only blisteringly expensive, the required plan for it would break the bank. So, instead I got a "smartphone." Which, apparently, is an apt name because the thing is crazy intelligent. Not so shocking is that it's smarter than I am.
The manual, which I DID read, is the longest book I've read in years. Apparently, it's theoretically possible to go online, check my email, update my Facebook profile (ergo, very useful for small business?) all with the 30 minuscule buttons on the slide open full QWERTY keyboard.
BUT. I am a slow to learn all the functions of this little pocket computer. I have figured out how to text (although apparently, I need to re-sort my contacts, because I was insanely frustrated to find out I had mistakenly been texting my friend's home phone.) Also, I find in my chronic stodginess that I am resistant to using text as a verb. I can answer the ringing phone, which is actually something, since there's not actually a button for that. I figured out how to use the camera on the field trip yesterday (although I am not sure what happened to the picture.) I am helpless about the rest of the features.
M is giving me a hard time because he says my family will never see me again as I will be addicted to my new device. But, right now, I am only questing for answers. I press buttons, and things beep and ring, and glow. What DOES that mean?
It's so frustrating to me. I realize that computers surpassed my tech capacity some time ago. M now buys, installs, fixes, and handles all computer related issues. He even does phone tech support for his dad and mine. (He does charge $2 a minute, for those of you who are interested.) But the idea that the telephone is now too technologically advanced for me is rather depressing. How could something invented like a hundred and ten years ago be so freaking complicated now?
DAMN. Instead of making me feel young and hip, this phone makes me feel old and out of touch.
Kids these days.
The manual, which I DID read, is the longest book I've read in years. Apparently, it's theoretically possible to go online, check my email, update my Facebook profile (ergo, very useful for small business?) all with the 30 minuscule buttons on the slide open full QWERTY keyboard.
BUT. I am a slow to learn all the functions of this little pocket computer. I have figured out how to text (although apparently, I need to re-sort my contacts, because I was insanely frustrated to find out I had mistakenly been texting my friend's home phone.) Also, I find in my chronic stodginess that I am resistant to using text as a verb. I can answer the ringing phone, which is actually something, since there's not actually a button for that. I figured out how to use the camera on the field trip yesterday (although I am not sure what happened to the picture.) I am helpless about the rest of the features.
M is giving me a hard time because he says my family will never see me again as I will be addicted to my new device. But, right now, I am only questing for answers. I press buttons, and things beep and ring, and glow. What DOES that mean?
It's so frustrating to me. I realize that computers surpassed my tech capacity some time ago. M now buys, installs, fixes, and handles all computer related issues. He even does phone tech support for his dad and mine. (He does charge $2 a minute, for those of you who are interested.) But the idea that the telephone is now too technologically advanced for me is rather depressing. How could something invented like a hundred and ten years ago be so freaking complicated now?
DAMN. Instead of making me feel young and hip, this phone makes me feel old and out of touch.
Kids these days.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Ice Crapades
There are things I do for my children that I would not do for anybody else in the world. I go to McDonald's, I wipe boogers, I get up in the middle of the night. I spend time and money on things that would otherwise be avoided like swine flu. Last night, M and I went to Disney on Ice's "Special" performance of "Worlds of Fantasy." I have questions:
1. Whose fantasy involves bad ice skaters wearing muppets? Muppets, maybe. But ice skates are dangerous.
2. Who were those people there WITHOUT children? M argues that these are the otherwise sane-looking adults who wear theme sweatshirts from Disney World. Awww..look. That woman with the bad perm is feeling Eeyorish this morning.
3. What is the Circle of Life? And why didn't it end before I walked into the Mobile Civic Center?
4. How can ice with sugar syrup cost $10? Why are parents willing to put such a steep price tag on their children's love?
5. Are there ever concessions at these shows NOT so sticky as to require commercial grade solvents to remove?
6. Why were there teenagers on a date behind us? Worst date ever! The poor guy is gonna look cheap if he doesn't buy his date the cotton candy with the Tinkerbell hat for $12, but he had to work 3 hours at Taco Bell stuffing gorditas for that money. Hardly seems fair.
7. Why did I see Honey Helper #2 from Winnie the Pooh: Live selling programs last night? Why did I see Winnie the Pooh: Live?
8. How is it possible that the Tinkerbell segment was totally incomprehensible to me? Did I miss a movie?
9. Why did they assure us that "theatrical smoke" used during the performance was completely safe? I mean, I assumed it was before you mentioned it. And what about the bubbles? Nobody told me the bubbles were safe.
10. Why do kids like spinning flashlights?
11. Why did the stampeding herd of gnus from the Lion King segment do such a halfhearted performance? Somebody backstage was not getting everything from his performers.
12. At what point to the performers think, "I've made it into showbiz. That's my 1974 Winnebago out front and I live there with 6 men who play garden fairies, and I have arrived."?
13. At what point do the performers' parents think, "really? I drove to ice skating lessons 5 days a week for 15 years for THIS? My kid (age 24) is seahorse choir member #3 in a florescent slinky outfit?
As the questions accumulated in my brain (clearly, brain was not occupied by show), I kept watching M. Who was missing the Bruins game. And didn't seem to find my assurances that Disney on ice is like three-quarters of hockey. Ice. Zamboni Machine. Animals in the rink. People carrying sticks (with butterflies on them). Mermaids...oh, wait. Not that part. M had this ten mile stare on his face. The face he gets when he starts trying to remember starting pitching rotations for the 1908 Detroit Tigers. The face he gets when he is mentally moving himself somewhere less tortuous. I wish I could do that. He tuned in to the show twice--once when Prince Eric almost dropped Ariel and once when Tinkerbell fell on her Tinkerbutt. I think those were his favorite parts.
My favorite part was knowing my kids won't ever take ice skating lessons.
1. Whose fantasy involves bad ice skaters wearing muppets? Muppets, maybe. But ice skates are dangerous.
2. Who were those people there WITHOUT children? M argues that these are the otherwise sane-looking adults who wear theme sweatshirts from Disney World. Awww..look. That woman with the bad perm is feeling Eeyorish this morning.
3. What is the Circle of Life? And why didn't it end before I walked into the Mobile Civic Center?
4. How can ice with sugar syrup cost $10? Why are parents willing to put such a steep price tag on their children's love?
5. Are there ever concessions at these shows NOT so sticky as to require commercial grade solvents to remove?
6. Why were there teenagers on a date behind us? Worst date ever! The poor guy is gonna look cheap if he doesn't buy his date the cotton candy with the Tinkerbell hat for $12, but he had to work 3 hours at Taco Bell stuffing gorditas for that money. Hardly seems fair.
7. Why did I see Honey Helper #2 from Winnie the Pooh: Live selling programs last night? Why did I see Winnie the Pooh: Live?
8. How is it possible that the Tinkerbell segment was totally incomprehensible to me? Did I miss a movie?
9. Why did they assure us that "theatrical smoke" used during the performance was completely safe? I mean, I assumed it was before you mentioned it. And what about the bubbles? Nobody told me the bubbles were safe.
10. Why do kids like spinning flashlights?
11. Why did the stampeding herd of gnus from the Lion King segment do such a halfhearted performance? Somebody backstage was not getting everything from his performers.
12. At what point to the performers think, "I've made it into showbiz. That's my 1974 Winnebago out front and I live there with 6 men who play garden fairies, and I have arrived."?
13. At what point do the performers' parents think, "really? I drove to ice skating lessons 5 days a week for 15 years for THIS? My kid (age 24) is seahorse choir member #3 in a florescent slinky outfit?
As the questions accumulated in my brain (clearly, brain was not occupied by show), I kept watching M. Who was missing the Bruins game. And didn't seem to find my assurances that Disney on ice is like three-quarters of hockey. Ice. Zamboni Machine. Animals in the rink. People carrying sticks (with butterflies on them). Mermaids...oh, wait. Not that part. M had this ten mile stare on his face. The face he gets when he starts trying to remember starting pitching rotations for the 1908 Detroit Tigers. The face he gets when he is mentally moving himself somewhere less tortuous. I wish I could do that. He tuned in to the show twice--once when Prince Eric almost dropped Ariel and once when Tinkerbell fell on her Tinkerbutt. I think those were his favorite parts.
My favorite part was knowing my kids won't ever take ice skating lessons.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Statistics Never Lie
Sometimes, it's important just to admit you were wrong and move on with life. E's class is taking a field trip today to Pensacola. That's far. And long. And there was NOOOO way I was going to either A) ride a school bus with 60 screaming kids for that long or B) drive behind said school bus for that long just to herd a bunch of wild midgets around a bunch of overfed semi-wild animals. And the kids are going all that way in a school bus without seat belts. Which, of course, being a negligent parent, never occurred to me until MK called. And reminded me that it was a long way from here. And it was far. And there were no seat belts. And who would be there if something happened?
After our phone call, I was feeling alarmed, and agreed to keep E home from school today and take him to see Disney Earth instead. After all, we were just at the zoo two weeks ago in New Orleans, he's been to the Pensacola Zoo before, and he really likes playing hooky. Then M and my dad started in with their "facts."
As it turns out, in the decade from 1991 to 2001 there were just over 400,000 traffic accidents involving school transportation. Of those, there were 26 fatalities. Of those, 19 were kids as pedestrians leaving the bus and getting hit by another vehicle. So, really saying that the 3 hour ride without seat belts is unsafe violates all statistical likelihood. In fact, saying that it is statistically unlikely for something to happen on that trip is a significant understatement. Shoulda listened to those rational men.
And now, MK calls me to say that her son, E's cohort in overprotectionhood, has pink eye and will be home alone today. And E is behaving like a butt-faced penguin this morning. I would love for him to be gone until 4 o'clock today.
Should have bet on the odds. Dammit.
After our phone call, I was feeling alarmed, and agreed to keep E home from school today and take him to see Disney Earth instead. After all, we were just at the zoo two weeks ago in New Orleans, he's been to the Pensacola Zoo before, and he really likes playing hooky. Then M and my dad started in with their "facts."
As it turns out, in the decade from 1991 to 2001 there were just over 400,000 traffic accidents involving school transportation. Of those, there were 26 fatalities. Of those, 19 were kids as pedestrians leaving the bus and getting hit by another vehicle. So, really saying that the 3 hour ride without seat belts is unsafe violates all statistical likelihood. In fact, saying that it is statistically unlikely for something to happen on that trip is a significant understatement. Shoulda listened to those rational men.
And now, MK calls me to say that her son, E's cohort in overprotectionhood, has pink eye and will be home alone today. And E is behaving like a butt-faced penguin this morning. I would love for him to be gone until 4 o'clock today.
Should have bet on the odds. Dammit.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Full Flight
You know how airlines always overbook seats and then give passengers incentive to not board the flight they'd planned on, and instead take $200 and a voucher for Chili's, TOO! to wait for another 6 hours in the airport?
Well, I'm offering incentives. I accidentally triple booked myself and M tomorrow. I'm offering $1 and your choice of either going to S's last music class or spending time with E who is staying home from school tomorrow to watch Disney Earth or admistering a make-up final to one of M's studentS. I goofed. Totally goofed. Why do I even bother to keep a calendar? Gripe, moan groan.
Crap.
Well, I'm offering incentives. I accidentally triple booked myself and M tomorrow. I'm offering $1 and your choice of either going to S's last music class or spending time with E who is staying home from school tomorrow to watch Disney Earth or admistering a make-up final to one of M's studentS. I goofed. Totally goofed. Why do I even bother to keep a calendar? Gripe, moan groan.
Crap.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Artificial Intelligence
Yesterday, being Sunday, I loitered for a long time on Facebook. I was taking very important quizzes (What alcohol are you? Tequila. What How I Met Your Mother character are you? Marshall. Who were you in your former life? Pablo Picasso) and while I was very satisfied with the results (we all know I am no classy cognac), something weird started to happen.
Down at the bottom of the screen of one of my results pages, was this phrase, "Julie, Michael thinks you are an idiot." Now, rationally I know this is one of those ad quizzes that just sucks you in to a cell phone company or something, but then I got to thinking.
How did Facebook know that? I've always suspected, but Facebook seemed so sure. And Facebook knows everything. I mean, of course, if I were a Golden Girl, I would be Dorothy. And clearly, if I were a car, I'd be a Corolla.
What if my computer really started speaking to me; telling me other truths? What if I ran spellcheck on a document, and it changed all the phrases to, "you need to stop swearing." or "your children need love, not criticism." Or, what if I Googled something, and all one million hits were, "Julie, you should call your mother. And be nice to her this time." or "Here are some recipes for dinner--get off the computer and cook tonight." What if my George Clooney desktop wallpaper started talking to me: "From here, it looks like you should shower and put on some make up." "You know the screen adds 10 pounds...wait! YOU'RE not on the screen, I am. Go diet, woman!" "It's not you, it's me. I just don't see this relationship going anywhere."
I would be heartbroken. I mean that last moment when I turn off my computer and George is there, all alone on my desktop with no icons around him, it's like he's winking and saying, "Goodnight, babe. See you tomorrow."
But, then again, I'm willing to stray into the realm of sci fi, because of quizzes like the one my friend WB took, "What animal would you ride into battle and what weapon would you carry? Riding a dinosaur, carrying a smaller dinosaur." Awesome. I mean that is just SO WB.
And who would know WB better than a Facebook quiz?
Down at the bottom of the screen of one of my results pages, was this phrase, "Julie, Michael thinks you are an idiot." Now, rationally I know this is one of those ad quizzes that just sucks you in to a cell phone company or something, but then I got to thinking.
How did Facebook know that? I've always suspected, but Facebook seemed so sure. And Facebook knows everything. I mean, of course, if I were a Golden Girl, I would be Dorothy. And clearly, if I were a car, I'd be a Corolla.
What if my computer really started speaking to me; telling me other truths? What if I ran spellcheck on a document, and it changed all the phrases to, "you need to stop swearing." or "your children need love, not criticism." Or, what if I Googled something, and all one million hits were, "Julie, you should call your mother. And be nice to her this time." or "Here are some recipes for dinner--get off the computer and cook tonight." What if my George Clooney desktop wallpaper started talking to me: "From here, it looks like you should shower and put on some make up." "You know the screen adds 10 pounds...wait! YOU'RE not on the screen, I am. Go diet, woman!" "It's not you, it's me. I just don't see this relationship going anywhere."
I would be heartbroken. I mean that last moment when I turn off my computer and George is there, all alone on my desktop with no icons around him, it's like he's winking and saying, "Goodnight, babe. See you tomorrow."
But, then again, I'm willing to stray into the realm of sci fi, because of quizzes like the one my friend WB took, "What animal would you ride into battle and what weapon would you carry? Riding a dinosaur, carrying a smaller dinosaur." Awesome. I mean that is just SO WB.
And who would know WB better than a Facebook quiz?
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Surreality TV
I survived Friday. I survived the necessity of being two places as once, I survived screaming kids and sizzling sun, I survived being pepper sprayed, I survived a late TBall game.
I am a SURVIVOR.
Starting at 7 AM yesterday, I delivered Clooney to the groomer, took E to school, came back, delivered E to a friend's house (who took him to school and to a field trip, thanks CC), went BACK to E's school, walked in a parade, watched kids skip around a maypole to polka tunes, watched world's lamest relay, gathered up a treasure trove of Oriental Trading crap, worked two shifts of the big, inflatable slide, got inadvertently sprayed with pepper spray while police were arresting a perp just past the school's fence, came home, showered, got E off to TBall, came home and slept like a baby.
That is a reality TV endurance course if ever I saw one. I am so glad Friday is over. It was looming over me all week, because really I don't like "rah-rah" fundraisers for school. And I really don't like rah rah fundraisers that involve me actually hanging out with the school kids. I much prefer banquets, wine tasting, auctions, really anything that doesn't involve children as a fundraiser. Because inevitably, I find myself asking why I would do anything to help those screaming, stinky little suckers in any way. If they are more of an abstract concept, then I am far more willing to help them.
The week ahead proves to be challenging as well--more 'hands on' activities with the kids. But smaller herds of them, which is at least a little less grating. But then, I will be down to just two and a half weeks of school. At which point I will only have my own two suckers to care for.
THEN, we'll see who gets voted off the island.
I am a SURVIVOR.
Starting at 7 AM yesterday, I delivered Clooney to the groomer, took E to school, came back, delivered E to a friend's house (who took him to school and to a field trip, thanks CC), went BACK to E's school, walked in a parade, watched kids skip around a maypole to polka tunes, watched world's lamest relay, gathered up a treasure trove of Oriental Trading crap, worked two shifts of the big, inflatable slide, got inadvertently sprayed with pepper spray while police were arresting a perp just past the school's fence, came home, showered, got E off to TBall, came home and slept like a baby.
That is a reality TV endurance course if ever I saw one. I am so glad Friday is over. It was looming over me all week, because really I don't like "rah-rah" fundraisers for school. And I really don't like rah rah fundraisers that involve me actually hanging out with the school kids. I much prefer banquets, wine tasting, auctions, really anything that doesn't involve children as a fundraiser. Because inevitably, I find myself asking why I would do anything to help those screaming, stinky little suckers in any way. If they are more of an abstract concept, then I am far more willing to help them.
The week ahead proves to be challenging as well--more 'hands on' activities with the kids. But smaller herds of them, which is at least a little less grating. But then, I will be down to just two and a half weeks of school. At which point I will only have my own two suckers to care for.
THEN, we'll see who gets voted off the island.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)