So, this is another crazy week for us. I don't know why we scheduled things like this, exactly.
After recovering from what I have now been told is Rotovirus, we are again hitting the proverbial road. At the end of this week, we are headed up to Montreal to attend the wedding of the bachelor for whom there was a party in Toronto a few weeks ago. Confusing, no?
Happily, there is going to be a lot to see and many people to visit up in Montreal. Of course, there are the bride and groom, and their ceremonies and parties. My father-in-law's extended family is also up there, and we will be introducing them all to the kids for the first time, which is always fun. We haven't seen many of them in years, actually, and some I am not sure I have even met. Then, there are some friends and family from M's childhood, and some friends of ours who have returned to Montreal since we knew them in Toronto. I should say that people move from Toronto to Montreal as though those are the only two cities in Canada. Many Montrealers fled the city after hostilities with the Francophone community, but have since returned. I find Montreal to be a far more charming and metropolitan city than Toronto, but intend no offense to those few people who actually have a strong affinity for TO. Although, again, I feel that few people DO feel strongly about TO one way or the other: it is, in this respect, a completely utilitarian city. Montreal, on the other hand, purports itself to be North America's most European city. I find that it has character, much like Chicago or Boston, that is distinctive and renders it far more than Generic City Fit For Economic and Inhabitant Purpose.
Apart from this digression on the atmosphere on urban Canada, I have to say that in anticipation of our trip, I visited accuweather.com, my mecca for all things environmental. I would therefore like to send Canadians the following memo:
YOU DON'T HAVE TO LIVE LIKE THIS. SPRING HAS HAPPENED ON MUCH OF THE PLANET.
Seriously, they are still in the 40s and 50s, and while Canadians, Chicagoans, various Northeasterners, and probably a crapload of Russians and Europeans will vigorously defend the "seasons" and the "fall colors" and the "burst of spring" and their love for all things transitioning between winter and summer, I say hooey.
I argue that they just don't know any better. Mobile is currently in the high 70s and in fact, yesterday, the low 80s, and it is simply glorious. We are enjoying our own brand of Spring--complete with beautiful greens, fragrant flowers, and abundant sunshine. Northerners understand Spring only as that gray, slushy period that occasionally frosts over all the new blooms. Bah. Spring is squirrels and bunnies, and butterflies, and we have it NOW.
So, my kids are going to flip when they see we have to pack coats and raingear, pants and long sleeved shirts again.
I can already hearing the whining and the moaning about the cold again. While the weather down here certainly facilitates an easy life, it does make total wusses out of the kids. In any event, I'm already mapping out the week's insanity. Tomorrow shorts, Friday scarves. Weird.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Wedgies, Sleepovers, and Deep Questions
Four worst words in the English language:
Mom, I've got diarrhea.
Just shoot me. M is off gallivanting around Mississippi with friends from Columbia. They're eating yummy foods, going to and performing in concerts (the friends perform, M attends), doing all the fun stuff that young, married, and currently childless professors do.
I am wiping butts.
And, of course, last night was a series of thunderstorms, so there was a threesome in my bed. Not the good kind, either. The two hot, kicking, snoring, whimpering kids kind. So, Clooney was lip smacking, licking, snoring, scratching, and whining in his sleep, the kids were snoring, whining and tossing and turning in their sleep, and I was up, listening to the storms. And their racket.
Despite their lack of firm stool, I sent those suckers to school today. They had only the one episode of pooh yesterday, and then one more this morning. They had no fever, no complaints, just itchy butts. Off you go, the Prep H will be here when you get home.
Why, by the way, does my bedside light turn on whenever there is lightning?
Why, now that I am spending more time with my kids' butts, do underwear makers put the picture on the BACK of the kids' underwear? Kids want to see the picture, and therefore wear the underwear backwards, resulting in a significant wedgie (and truth be told, uh, tracks).
Why? and When did my life boil down to wedgies and sleepovers? Again? Didn't I suffer through this once as a kid?
Why is there no school on Monday?
Why did my sister bring this godforsaken death virus to my house?
Mom, I've got diarrhea.
Just shoot me. M is off gallivanting around Mississippi with friends from Columbia. They're eating yummy foods, going to and performing in concerts (the friends perform, M attends), doing all the fun stuff that young, married, and currently childless professors do.
I am wiping butts.
And, of course, last night was a series of thunderstorms, so there was a threesome in my bed. Not the good kind, either. The two hot, kicking, snoring, whimpering kids kind. So, Clooney was lip smacking, licking, snoring, scratching, and whining in his sleep, the kids were snoring, whining and tossing and turning in their sleep, and I was up, listening to the storms. And their racket.
Despite their lack of firm stool, I sent those suckers to school today. They had only the one episode of pooh yesterday, and then one more this morning. They had no fever, no complaints, just itchy butts. Off you go, the Prep H will be here when you get home.
Why, by the way, does my bedside light turn on whenever there is lightning?
Why, now that I am spending more time with my kids' butts, do underwear makers put the picture on the BACK of the kids' underwear? Kids want to see the picture, and therefore wear the underwear backwards, resulting in a significant wedgie (and truth be told, uh, tracks).
Why? and When did my life boil down to wedgies and sleepovers? Again? Didn't I suffer through this once as a kid?
Why is there no school on Monday?
Why did my sister bring this godforsaken death virus to my house?
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Lost in Translation
Sometimes, in movies, the hero falls in love with a beautiful, exotic, foreign woman. They exchange Meaningful Looks. They Accidentally Touch Hands. They speak the Language of Love. But, of course, these are star-crossed lovers and she literally speaks a foreign language altogether. And in their failed verbal exchanges, there are often subtitles illuminating their awkward dialog.
It often runs comedic: "My dearest lobster, you are the only octopus I will ever love." "My funny pumpkin head. You have returned for me. Our rabbit grows stronger day by day." "I must have you, my goulash pie. We were dining to be together."
This is how I often imagine it is to be a child. Your vocabulary is somewhat limited, so you must explain the words you hear by reconciling them to the words you know. Even when the outcome is nonsensical, you cleave unto the syntax and words you understand so that you are not lost in the language that surrounds you.
Recent examples:
S was asking me about God. (see: crucifixion, death to first borns, resurrection). I said that God is a mystery. That nobody sees him or touches him. That we are people, and can't know everything, and that we can't ever really understand God.
"So, he speaks Spanish?"
Pretty much.
Last night at dinner, E was a total space cadet. He was nearly falling off his chair, not paying attention to conversation, and generally looking befuddled. I joked that we would be calling him Joaquin Phoenix for the rest of the night.
"Yah," says S. "Walking Penis. Because your penis walks."
Of course.
It often runs comedic: "My dearest lobster, you are the only octopus I will ever love." "My funny pumpkin head. You have returned for me. Our rabbit grows stronger day by day." "I must have you, my goulash pie. We were dining to be together."
This is how I often imagine it is to be a child. Your vocabulary is somewhat limited, so you must explain the words you hear by reconciling them to the words you know. Even when the outcome is nonsensical, you cleave unto the syntax and words you understand so that you are not lost in the language that surrounds you.
Recent examples:
S was asking me about God. (see: crucifixion, death to first borns, resurrection). I said that God is a mystery. That nobody sees him or touches him. That we are people, and can't know everything, and that we can't ever really understand God.
"So, he speaks Spanish?"
Pretty much.
Last night at dinner, E was a total space cadet. He was nearly falling off his chair, not paying attention to conversation, and generally looking befuddled. I joked that we would be calling him Joaquin Phoenix for the rest of the night.
"Yah," says S. "Walking Penis. Because your penis walks."
Of course.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Happy Spring!
Religion is the third rail of any relationship, casual or otherwise. As a general rule, I try to avoid discussions for fear of bumbling into the wrong conversation with the wrong person at the wrong time.
The boys, though, are both in religious schools. This is probably not what I originally forecast for my family, but circumstances being what they are, the kids are finding themselves with moral rectitude instruction at their schools.
The part that keeps everything interesting, of course, is that the kids are in different religious schools. The holidays become a mishmash. S's synagogue is talking about Passover. Which leads, naturally, to curious questions and misunderstandings. S has been insistent that we are going to die. (We, being a Jewish family, since Pharaoh is going to strike us down.) He also announced that the reason all the Passover decorations were frogs is because God made "consequences" to the Egyptians. So, between now and Passover, I foresee much consoling and easing of fears of death. Because we're not going to die. Probably.
E, on the other hand, has been carrying a fear of his own on his small shoulders. He asked me what a funeral is, and when I explained, he looked simultaneously relieved and confused. "I thought a funeral is when they nail some one to the cross!" Well, that's more than I'd like to be worrying about.
So, I have just been thinking about this incredible dichotomy of Spring. Spring is out, the weather is turbulent and beautiful, the flowers are bloomy and heady with fresh scent. And the kids are at school talking about all the ways religious figures have died this time of year. Grizzly.
The boys, though, are both in religious schools. This is probably not what I originally forecast for my family, but circumstances being what they are, the kids are finding themselves with moral rectitude instruction at their schools.
The part that keeps everything interesting, of course, is that the kids are in different religious schools. The holidays become a mishmash. S's synagogue is talking about Passover. Which leads, naturally, to curious questions and misunderstandings. S has been insistent that we are going to die. (We, being a Jewish family, since Pharaoh is going to strike us down.) He also announced that the reason all the Passover decorations were frogs is because God made "consequences" to the Egyptians. So, between now and Passover, I foresee much consoling and easing of fears of death. Because we're not going to die. Probably.
E, on the other hand, has been carrying a fear of his own on his small shoulders. He asked me what a funeral is, and when I explained, he looked simultaneously relieved and confused. "I thought a funeral is when they nail some one to the cross!" Well, that's more than I'd like to be worrying about.
So, I have just been thinking about this incredible dichotomy of Spring. Spring is out, the weather is turbulent and beautiful, the flowers are bloomy and heady with fresh scent. And the kids are at school talking about all the ways religious figures have died this time of year. Grizzly.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
In with a roar, out with a whimper
I see my sister about twice a year recently. Her school holidays rarely coincide with ours, and when they do, she (rightly) usually wants to spend them with her husband. This spring break, however, things coalesced nicely so that she was able to spend her spring break with us, my parents, and the kids celebrating S's birthday.
Obviously, I have been in high gear in anticipation of every one's arrival. But my sister arrived, with what we will tentatively call a "bang." She brought with her some germ of apocalyptic virulence. The Germ, so powerful, so easily transmittable, that left in the wrong hands could bring an entire nation to its knees. She brought with her The Germ that immediately turns all of the contents of your intestine into explosive liquid. For at least 4 days. With accompanying bonuses of fever and complete exhaustion. Within 5 hours of arriving at my house, she had hung out a "permanently occupied" sign in front of the bathroom. Within 24 hours of her arrival, so had I. Within 48, so had my dad.
Agony.
I, of course, leaving for Chicago at the end of the week, was terrified that I'd be riding the Blue Ice Pony on the flight from Mobile to Houston and then on to Chicago, but mercifully, The Germ kills your appetite, leaving no fuel for your explosive innards. So, having not eaten from Wednesday through Friday, I was spared any air travel related mishaps.
Chicago is still in fine form, recession be damned. The weather was glorious, the bride was blushing, and the friendship boisterous. It was a great visit.
We just returned Sunday night, and yesterday, drove my parents out to Mississippi for their flight back to sunny SoCal. My dad, still in the squashed appetite phase of The Germ, didn't eat anything. Unfortunately, my mom, unaware that The Germ had infected her, had lunch. The poor woman rode the Blue Ice Pony all the way home.
Thus, the family visit ended on a rather sour note, to say the least. Despite all of my home improvement activities during the weeks (months?) leading up to the family invasion, my dad and I still found projects to putter around with. We rewired a constantly shorting socket and the outdoor lights by the pool. We mostly, though, just lay around the house bemoaning the state of our digestive tracts. Lame-o.
It's good to be home for me, though, and despite the good visit with the family, it is always nice to have the house clean and empty again. I am sure my folks and sister are happy to be restored to the comfort of their own potties, as well. I have already started bleaching the whole house--so if you come by, you might want to wait a day or so.
Now, I am going to stare at some food. I dare not eat anything yet.
Obviously, I have been in high gear in anticipation of every one's arrival. But my sister arrived, with what we will tentatively call a "bang." She brought with her some germ of apocalyptic virulence. The Germ, so powerful, so easily transmittable, that left in the wrong hands could bring an entire nation to its knees. She brought with her The Germ that immediately turns all of the contents of your intestine into explosive liquid. For at least 4 days. With accompanying bonuses of fever and complete exhaustion. Within 5 hours of arriving at my house, she had hung out a "permanently occupied" sign in front of the bathroom. Within 24 hours of her arrival, so had I. Within 48, so had my dad.
Agony.
I, of course, leaving for Chicago at the end of the week, was terrified that I'd be riding the Blue Ice Pony on the flight from Mobile to Houston and then on to Chicago, but mercifully, The Germ kills your appetite, leaving no fuel for your explosive innards. So, having not eaten from Wednesday through Friday, I was spared any air travel related mishaps.
Chicago is still in fine form, recession be damned. The weather was glorious, the bride was blushing, and the friendship boisterous. It was a great visit.
We just returned Sunday night, and yesterday, drove my parents out to Mississippi for their flight back to sunny SoCal. My dad, still in the squashed appetite phase of The Germ, didn't eat anything. Unfortunately, my mom, unaware that The Germ had infected her, had lunch. The poor woman rode the Blue Ice Pony all the way home.
Thus, the family visit ended on a rather sour note, to say the least. Despite all of my home improvement activities during the weeks (months?) leading up to the family invasion, my dad and I still found projects to putter around with. We rewired a constantly shorting socket and the outdoor lights by the pool. We mostly, though, just lay around the house bemoaning the state of our digestive tracts. Lame-o.
It's good to be home for me, though, and despite the good visit with the family, it is always nice to have the house clean and empty again. I am sure my folks and sister are happy to be restored to the comfort of their own potties, as well. I have already started bleaching the whole house--so if you come by, you might want to wait a day or so.
Now, I am going to stare at some food. I dare not eat anything yet.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Tomorrow Never Dies...
...or stops coming. I woke up this morning with that sickening knot in my stomach, realizing all the stuff I have to do today. It's kind of overwhelming. I have all day today and until 12 tomorrow to finish everything. Any one interested in participating in my frenzy is welcome...
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Spring and Cleaning
Yesterday MK, knowing that I am in this fantastic orgy of cleaning, thought I should take a break. She called me while I was in the midst of washing windows. (By the way, if you have a drought, call me. I will wash my car and/or windows and it will rain instantly) She came over and dragged me out on a walk.
I am so glad that she did. It was energizing and lovely. Spring is all abloom and it felt good to be in the sunshine and away from perceived house duties. She told me depressing news though, that after 2 weeks of sedentary behaviour, your body begins to decompensate. Two weeks seems like an awfully short time. Sheesh. We humans are feeble. I told her that if that were true, I have decompensated to the point where my body is like the Tales from the Crypt guy. I have been sedentary for a while. Unless cleaning is an activity.
I reprinted my psychotic list of things to do and it has been reduced from a whole page down to half a page exactly and my parents are coming in a little over 48 hours. I REALLY need to get a move on.
I even got Clooney groomed yesterday. Everyone/thing in this house had better be clean!
Well, I put up my poll today. Please vote! I like to know you're out there in the Interwebs.
I am so glad that she did. It was energizing and lovely. Spring is all abloom and it felt good to be in the sunshine and away from perceived house duties. She told me depressing news though, that after 2 weeks of sedentary behaviour, your body begins to decompensate. Two weeks seems like an awfully short time. Sheesh. We humans are feeble. I told her that if that were true, I have decompensated to the point where my body is like the Tales from the Crypt guy. I have been sedentary for a while. Unless cleaning is an activity.
I reprinted my psychotic list of things to do and it has been reduced from a whole page down to half a page exactly and my parents are coming in a little over 48 hours. I REALLY need to get a move on.
I even got Clooney groomed yesterday. Everyone/thing in this house had better be clean!
Well, I put up my poll today. Please vote! I like to know you're out there in the Interwebs.
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