Monthly Archives: June 2009

friends, revisited

29 Monday Jun 2009

Posted by in seasons

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A while back I wrote about friendships — how hard it is to leave them behind when we move and how challenging to keep the friendship alive as the years pass.

Shortly after, I saw a tweet from Gretchen Rubin, author of The Happiness Project blog,

half of all friends are replaced every seven years

Really, half every seven years?  The seven year itch of friendships?  Then I read this piece on Zebra Sounds , with a link to an excellent HuffPo articleby Ed and Deb Shapiro.  Technically, it’s about Monica Lewinsky, a dinner party, and forgiveness, but here is a quote that grabbed my attention (along with a note to self to go back and  re-read the inspirational ‘forgive yourself” advice…)

“Within the space of seven years every cell in our body dies and is reformed, our thoughts are constantly changing and our feelings come and go. We are literally not the same person we were a minute ago, let alone a day, a month or a year ago”.

Given the science and the sociology, it seems somewhat amazing that we can maintain friendships at all, with all the changes in our every day lives.   This is our transitory reality, not just when we move out of town, but every move we make, every day, changing us little by little. 

Good thing friendship is not based on science.

If I had any lingering doubt about the lasting nature of friendships, this last week was proof positive.  We saw friends that we had not seen in 10-15 years, and although apparently every cell in my body had changed over twice (and doubled?), it was like a week had gone by, and we had hatched tween children and (just a few) wrinkles in the meantime, but otherwise it was comfortable as an old glove.  Not that they are old.  And neither are we.  Just an expression, really.

I call them old friends in the most attractive, affectionate, slimming, firm, and endearing way possible, seven times over.

excuse me, but can you go find my head?

22 Monday Jun 2009

Posted by in Motherhood, seasons

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December 23rd historically has not been one of my finer days.

I have been known to fall apart on December 23rd.  It is something about the holly jollidays, the anticipation and preparation and frankly the perfectionist tendency to try to make it a perfect holiday for everyone.  Kind souls have been trying to tell me to relax about it for years — No gifts!  No fuss!  Kind souls have practically whacked me over the head with good advice, but I had on Santa blinders and did not see the wisdom of their words and good examples.

I did not want to let go of all the hoopla and merriment and magic, especially the last couple years when some of the “magic” had fizzled away into the world of logic and what’s real.  Ironically, the harder I fought to keep the Happy in the Holidays, the more overwhelmed I became.  Which is, of course, quite silly and counterproductive.

Now December 23rd is synonymous with me having an episode,  as in “Now don’t go all December 23rd on me” or “Stop it!  Mom will go December 23rd!”  But finally, last year I believe I learned my lesson.  Hello, universe?  I get it now.  Do not need to go through the exercise again, thanks for the nice lesson.

Last year, I made a serious tactical error and took two young boys shopping for suit coats and dress slacks, belts, ties and dress shoes.  On December 23rd.  I was delusional with pre-holiday manic preparation syndrome (PHMPS).

And you already know how it probably turned out, but I am going to tell you anyway:  the sizes were picked over, nothing fit, small people were squirrelly in front of full-length mirrors…  and then my head fell off in the dressing room.  All because a couple of boys were being boys.  My head rolled down a couple stalls, and I would have sent the oldest down to retrieve it for me, but he had just accidentally locked himself into a changing stall.

Ho, ho, ho.

Okay, so I have six months to change the situation.  No more conniptions, melt-downs, head-rolling, or running away from home. 

Make December 23rd a joyful day, with no perfectionistic PHMPS grinchiness sneaking back in…grinch has his own ideas 

*

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

youthful shenanigans, quantum theory and…socks

18 Thursday Jun 2009

Posted by in good reads

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I like the blog AskWaitLeap where there are always insightful musings, funny anecdotes, occasionally a poignant poem, and stories from her adventurous life.  You can’t miss reading about an escapade where she cut off the end of her finger at roughly age ten, and she and her friends sewed it back on themselves and never told her parents, who presumably also never noticed.

Yes, this woman has stories to tell.

I was amused by her recent exploration into one of life’s mysteries: the curious case of…  the missing socks.  A mystery indeed.  My pile of singleton socks ebbs and flows, and mates show up weeks or months later.  I could throw away the singles each time, but, just like the unwanted plants that get a new home at my house, I don’t like the single socks to end their days alone.

Taking the topic a step further (into quantum physics?) is the very clever article “Laundry: A Quantum Mechanical Approach” by Brian Reardon.  It’s tucked in on a laundry website, right between septic protection and lint build-up.  Here is an excerpt:

“The first modern attempt to explain the fundamental questions of laundry involved the decay theroy.  The decay theory states that the quantity of socks can be expressed as a decreasing exponential function of time which is analogous to radioactive decay.”

Ohhhh, so THAT’s where the socks go.  I get it now!  I don’t know why I find Mr. Reardon’s Quantum Theory of Laundry so hilarious, but I do.  Any other sock theories out there?

an ode to joy

15 Monday Jun 2009

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How many times can you hear Ode To Joy and still have it be an ode to joy?  I am in the process of finding the answer to that question…

A few years ago, the kids took piano lessons from a wonderful teacher for the school year.   After the June piano recital, we decided to take a brief summer hiatus from lessons (cue foreshadowing music here: can anyone see what is about to happen now?)  for vacation and, well, just a short break from everything.

It turns out that a short break from piano lessons easily slides a slippery slope to a two year break from piano lessons, and as each month goes by, the re-start looks less and less likely…

Until a few months ago, when the kids sat back down at the piano one day and just started to play.

I believe this renewed interest was spurred by something at school.  There is nothing like an upcoming Talent Day in music class to provide motivation to develop some impressive skills, and FAST.  The piano books came out of the bench, and The Professor quickly picked up Ode To Joy again.  Mission accomplished for him, ready to impress the classmates with a classical tune.

The Little One had never mastered the Ode during lessons, but with great perseverance he plunked his way through,  Big brother also gave him a “lesson”, but also (helpfully?) pointed out that the third line was WAY to hard and he should not even try it.  (Is it possible for someone to be so endearingly helpful and maddeningly unhelpful at the same time???)

Perhaps it was his older brother’s doubt — but something drove this child to master Ode To Joy like no song has been practiced before.  For two months, this boy has been oding the joy 15-30 times a day.

He plays it as soon as he gets up.

He plays it right before he goes to bed.

He plays it very fast. And slowly.  And in different keys (thanks, Megan).

He plays it happy, and sad, and in a weird passive-aggressive way that leaves no doubt how he feels about his family at that moment.

He plays with one hand way up the keys and one hand far down the line, which actually sounds quite cool.

He plays it with the pedals.

Every other possible permutation you can imagine?  Yes, we’ve heard that too.

This weekend he played it with the top of the piano off, so he could watch how the keys really work.  (Male household consensus was that one key needed WD-40 but I said hands off no fixing the piano yourself that is for professionals).

His brother now covers his ears when the oding begins again; it drives him crazy.  That song no longer brings him joy.  An early lesson in karma, maybe.  Guests have chuckled at the “one hit wonder” and tried to get him to play something else.  Anything else. With some success.

But still it is Ode To Joy that he returns to when stressed, or bored, or when he just wants to play something fun.

Me?  I’ve always loved that song.  The string trio played it at our wedding.  I still love that song, and I love how he  plays it.  Here’s the thing:  I think I could listen to him play Ode To Joy 15 times a day for the next 15 years and I would still love to hear him do it.  How could I not — Beethoven wrote a piece of music that has actual joy embedded into it, and my baby plays it with his fingers and his heart.  I know that one day he will wake up, and the song will stop as abruptly as it started.

Hopefully when this ode inevitably ends, there will be another song, many more, as we continue to try to incorporate music into our largely non-musical household.  It does not come naturally to us, and it takes effort as a parent to make the time and the investment to make it happen.  Good thing that while their mom was plodding her way through her To Do list toward scheduling music lessons (it’s back up at the top!), the kids decided to play just for fun.

Which hopefully it will still be when lessons have begun.

where’s the bus?

13 Saturday Jun 2009

Posted by in Motherhood, seasons, Writing

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Okay, so here’s the deal:  that magic big yellow bus stopped coming to my house and now there are extra PEOPLE here.  Every day.  All day.  And every time I sit down at the computer to write something brilliant, someone says “You’re at the computer, AGAIN???”  Which makes me feel like I should play a game with them or something.  Because they grow up so fast.  Then I wander off and see some task that was supposed to be done yesterday, and they ask if they can use their “screen minutes” which are a commodity akin to gold around here.

Coincidentally, I work at the one computer in the house with a fast internet connection;  it could not be their secret evil plan to distract me so they can play a computer game, could it??

I miss the bus.

I miss the writing.

I need a new routine.

Anyhoo, back to business around here.  There is a book to give away.  You may already know that lots of blogs do regular giveaways.  I’ve won three books from blog giveaways in the last couple months, and I don’t enter that often.  Maybe three times?  These cool blogs usually also make a clear point of the technologically superior and ultimately equitable computer program used to chose the winner (the Randomizer! Randomcount.com! the Randalamadingdong!)  I imagine this cuts down on their hate mail from the losers non-winners by making it clear that the blogger plays fair.

So I offered my very first blogging giveaway this week — a copy of the book Get Known Before the Book Deal by Christina Katz.  I hoped to encourage lots of thought-provoking and intelligent questions for Christina to cover in the follow-up Q&A.  It would be a bummer to invite a famous author to a party and then have no one show up.  It worked!  The questions were great and we all learned something new.  I also secretly hoped that the promise of free goods would lure some of the Lurkers out of hiding and into the open to take part in all the fun and frolic that goes on here.  I think I may have to give away a Weber grill to do that.  Food for thought.

But here’s the deal: I do not know how to use the Randomizer.  It sounds like an Abdominizer, or a Lobotimizer.  So I used some folded yellow sticky notes, and a kid that has been here ALL DAY pulled the name out of an actual hat.  Sounds random to me.

And the winner is…….  Judy!  It is quite fitting that Judy be the Truly Randomly Chosen Winner since she left one of my very first comments, ever, back when I had three readers, and she had never met me in her life.  So Judy, send me your mailing address and the book will be yours!

Send me a bus and I’ll put people on it!

No, that is so not true.  I love all those people to the moon and back.  I am so lucky to have the opportunity and flexibility to be here with them all summer.  Though I might consider getting on that bus myself if I had a new laptop.  I’d only be gone a little while.

Maybe I can win one from a blog…?

misnomer-over

08 Monday Jun 2009

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What smarty-party-pants came up with the idea of a kid sleepover?  Someone who was going out of town overnight?  In our household, the sleepover is rarely a good idea.  We all do best with a good night’s sleep.  No one here is a natural early riser.  We still enforce a fairly consistent bedtime at their age, which is SO NOT COOL, but the kids are happier and healthier that way.  I am not particularly interested in being cool.   Being cool is not my job.  And as Bill Cosby once said, “Parents are not interested in justice, they’re interested in peace and quiet.”  Amen to that.  Everything is hunky-dory around here as long as things get quiet and everyone gets sleep.  Me included.

Then the sleepover invitation arrives in the mail, or via the more spontaneous phone call.  Dang!  Now I have to be the bad guy, or live with the consequences.  And the worst part?  People do not even call it the right name, since we all know no one sleeps.  It is a stayupover.  Or a stayawakeover, maybe.  Let’s just be frank about the situation.

Sometimes I do wish I could be a more Fun Mom, the host of the the house where all the kids gravitate.  The one with endless patience for noise and chaos and general frivolity and merrymaking.  I know women like that, and their kids seem well rested enough.  Those moms are not wearing a straitjacket (unless they are wearing it to bed during a stayawakeover).  I don’t want to be the host of the house with the wailing and gnashing of teeth of biblical proportions.  Can’t we all just have some fun and then everybody catch some happy Zzzzzz?

Please?

Okay, okay, so it is a kid’s right of passage, to stay up all night.  I am happy my kids have good friends who want to hang out and have fun.  Everyone recovers and life goes back to normal (a mere 72 hours later).  And normal only seems normal if something abnormal happens once in a while.  Parenting provides such endless opportunities to be The Uncool Bad Guy for their own good and safety and character-building.  I’ll try to lighten up about the sleeplessover, and have my own LetItGo-over.  A GetOverItAlready-over.  We can have a nap-over the next day.

Still, I am going to propose a radical idea to parents everywhere — the sleepmoreover.  If we form a united front, perhaps we can convince them that sleep is the new cool…

what a hypothetical ham

05 Friday Jun 2009

Posted by in seasons

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Once upon a time, possibly earlier today, there was a woman who tried on her new swimsuit in (mental) preparation for her first trip to the pool this weekend.  Looking over her shoulder into the mirror, a maneuver that is really never a good idea under most circumstances for a woman of her age, she discovered a disquieting situation. Where her thighs used to be, there were now these things attached above her knees that bore a vague and unfortunate resemblance to hams.  The pale, uncooked kind of hams purchased at Easter to be slowly roasted for a large buffet and served with jello salads.

That kind of hams.

“Oh, that is so very unfortunate,” she exclaimed, using more colorful and imaginative language that cannot be repeated here.  The dog seemed to nod in agreement, or was perhaps ducking out of the way in case the situation turned farther south.

She had joined a gym (again) that very morning, but alas, that would not likely help the situation by tomorrow.  Knowing that a brown sugar/molasses glaze makes the forementioned Easter centerpiece that much more appealing, she searched the cosmetics graveyard for a bottle of self-tanning mousse from last summer.  She baked on the sunny deck for one hour, turning every 15 minutes.  Wisely, she stopped short of lightly scoring and studding with cloves.  It did occur to me her, however, that a skirted Miraclesuit in a summery print of pineapple rings and maraschino cherries would be a nice touch.

birds and bees: a cautionary tale

03 Wednesday Jun 2009

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Today’s rule of thumb:  when trying to prepare youngest son for 4th grade human growth and development class by sharing pertinent and potentially shocking information ahead of time, it is a really, really, REALLY good idea to check the curriculum first.

*

Like most of my escapades, this adventure started out innocently enough.  Older child had found said 4th grade human growth and development class quite stressful and uncomfortable.  Presumably, for him, such information would best be discussed in the privacy of his own home.  Or preferably, not at all.

Ever.

Too embarrassing for words.

So, since the Little One had been asking me A LOT of questions, I thought I would share some key pieces of information the night before The Class, so he wouldn’t be shocked in front of all his friends.

Oh, was he shocked.  And awed.  And, frankly, pretty disgusted.

The situation discussed in appropriate, accurate terms in a straightforward, honest way about a natural, loving act?  This situation had never crossed his mind.  That goes there and then that happens??? He was flabbergasted.  I felt confident and reassured in my motherly role, teaching my child important life lessons and setting the stage for future open and honest discussions about this important topic.  I was relieved I had saved him the embarrassment of learning these things in front of all his peers.

*

Fast forward to dinner the following evening.

Youngest: “It turns out human growth and development class doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

Me:  “That’s nice.  At least you are ready!”  Reassuring motherly smile.

Dad:   Smirk. ( He is so mature. )

Oldest:  “You know Mom, that class only covers the P word.”

Me:  Silently wonder what the P word is.

Oldest:  “You know, puberty.  And just the boy parts.”

Me:  Realization slowly dawning on my pea brain. “Really?  Nothing else?  No other details??  Like about where babies come from???”

Oldest:  “No!  But I sure learned a lot of new things last night when I listened (read: eavesdropped) to your conversation with (youngest) while I was brushing my teeth.”

All:   Awkward Silence.

Dad:   Smirk.

Me:  “Oh, never mind then.  Please pass the broccoli.”

*

Another stellar parenting moment.

*

Okay, so arguably it is still best to explain these things before they learn it on the bus.  I thought they had already heard a version of It on the bus.  He has already shared graphic hand gestures, questionable anatomical terms and sundry mysterious concepts from the bus rides, asking me what they meant.  Apparently the bus is not quite as technically informative as I imagined.  And the look of sheer horror on dear Youngest’s face when I explained It?  …oh dear.  He was not ready.  The older one did not even know yet.  I goofed.

So, I did what any self-respecting parent would do the following morning (which was today):  I told him I had been kidding and made the whole ridiculous thing up.  HA!  Funny Mommy!!  So silly!!!  Because who would ever put that into there ON PURPOSE!  That’s just crazy talk!

We’ll see what he shares this time after he comes home on the bus…