A little bribery will get us everywhere

We have a family trip coming up that includes a night at an indoor waterpark. Jack’s really looking forward to it– and we’re looking forward to making Jack happy. In the time honored tradition of parents-of-small-children we’ve used the waterpark as an incentive for him to “be good.”

We’re reaping the benefits.

The little Rabbit has been especially sweet and thoughtful this week. At school he’s curbed his tendency of blurting out which has been a particular challenge for him. His weekly “Project Report” (progress report) was full of Os and Ss (Outstandings and Satisfactories) with nary a N in the mix (Needs to practice). He beamed at our delight.

Also in the backpack this week was a “story” that he wrote all by himself. There’s a picture of, in Jack’s words, “a hotdog snowman and me and my Daddy– see? that’s you, Daddy!” Underneath it, in his smudgey, labored lettering a simple sentence:

I bld a snowman with my dad.

It made me want to cry– he’s writing! Jack was very pleased to show Robby… who nearly cried himself.

The allure of the waterpark has also encouraged extra hugs, unsolicited kisses, and sweet-everythings from Jack. This week there have been more “thank you, Mommy!”s and “please, Daddy?”s… All chores have been completed with no fuss or ado. He’s readily tried new foods. He’s gone to bed easily.

This was the week that he fretted about getting married someday, “Mommy– I want to marry you.” (Whoa there, Oedipus!)
Me: Jacky, I’m already married. I’m married to Daddy.
Jack: Then I will marry somebody like you.
Robby: That’s a good idea… [under his breath he added, "You might not want to tell her that..."]
Jack: I don’t want to grow up. I want you to be my Mommy.
Robby: Jack! Mommy will always be your Mommy.
Me: Yes, Jack. I will always be your Mommy. Even when you are a great, big boy. Even when you are married.
Jack: Thank you, Mommy. (sigh) I love you Mommy.

Huh. All this for one night at a waterpark… makes you wonder what a trip to Disney might bring out?

Got milk?

One of Jack’s classmates usually greets me with something along the lines of “My Mommy brings the best snacks. They are always delicious.” I’ve also been on the receiving end of “My Mommy helps out in the classroom all the time. She’s super fun.”

I don’t know his mother other than by sight in the hallways. She’s always perfectly coifed and dressed. I’m sure she’s never thought of taking her son to school in yoga paints and a Methodist Camp sweatshirt as I did last week. I imagine that his lunches are probably also perfect. And that the inside of her car is as neat as a pin.

The kid has a piercing look. He constantly appraises you. The situation. The people around him. He’s unsettlingly adult in the body of a five year old. And thisclose to scolding me.

Today there was a chink in his armor…

It happened when Jack and I came rushing in after circling the lot for a parking place. We got a lot of snow yesterday so there were more than the usual cars dropping off kids with less than the usual parking spaces. I was afraid we would be late but, thankfully, the snow must have delayed the buses, too. At Jack’s hook I helped him get out of his coat and boots. The kids near us said hi to me and gave me hugs.

Jack’s little classmate was talking to Caleb and telling him, in his dramatic fashion, “… and I asked for milk and she didn’t get me any!”
Caleb: You didn’t get any milk?
Golden Boy: No! Not even when I asked for it!
Caleb: Well maybe she didn’t hear you. Maybe she was busy.
Golden Boy: No! She wasn’t busy at all– she was just sitting there! Not doing anything or working– and I still didn’t get any milk!

It left me wondering what the worst thing Jack could say about me would be (today)… That we only played Wii for most of his snow day? That we only played outside for 3 hours? That he reluctantly liked(!) the beef and noodles I made for supper? That we cuddled during the middle of the day with the puppies and the squishy green blanket?

At least I remembered to get him milk.

And yes. This is petty… but really, you haven’t seen this women. She’s like a freakin’ magazine spread on Haute Couture Mommy Fashion.

Sigh.

Winter Olympics… Week One

A few random thoughts on the Winter Olympics…

1. How old is Bob Costas? Why isn’t he aging? I remember his late-show hosting when I was in college. TWENTY years ago. Why isn’t he older, too?

2. Robby and I find Lindsey Vonn (or “Conn” as we refer to her) incredibly annoying. She’s killing our Olympic Spirit with all of her whinging about her stupid shin. Of course she has a bruised shin. Everyone who has ever strapped on a pair of skis and encased their feet into unyielding ski boots has had a pair of bruised shins. And the rest of us don’t call press conferences to update the world on our every thought.

3. I love Anja Paerson. While Lindsey was posturing to the cameras and, no doubt, setting up another press conference to alert us to the status of her socks– Miss Anja was recovering from a horrific crash on the mountain. She hit the gates, had her ski snap in two and fly off her foot before she skidded, mostly on her face (her helmet having flown off, too) to a stop. It was one of those crashes where you hold your breath with the usually chatty announcers (Hey, Pecibo– shush. Sometimes less is more.) until you see that there is movement… Anja stood– wobbly and unsteadily– but on her own two legs. And she returned to the same hill where she’d wiped out to make another race run. Nice job Anja. THAT’s “bravery” and “courage”…

4. I love the Today show during the Olympics. I love that Matt and Meredith and Al and Anne get silly and punchy when they are on foreign soil. I loved how excited Matt was when he talked about being a small part of the torch relay… and how Meredith, apparently confused by the time change– keeps calling her cohosts by the wrong names. I even love the goofy hats that Anne’s been wearing.

5. I want a pair of the Canadian red “official” mittens. The ones with the maple leafs on the palms. I want them very much.

6. I love the snowboarding… but only the men’s snowboarding. I feel guilty about that. I like their silly plaid jackets but hate their sloppy jean trousers. (And really, really hate that the women’s team has to wear the same outfit– they look militant and angry…)

7. Speaking of pants– how awesome are those on the Norweigian curling team????

8. I love Johnny Weir. He’s so weird and consistently bizarre… I love that he shakes things up.

9. Most of the men (figure skating) had crappy music. Ugh.

10. I’m glad we get to see the medal ceremonies when an American wins… one of the early ones was a hoot– the girl that won bronze crumbled into a near-ugly cry, recovered, and then finished with singing the National Anthem at the top of her lungs. Good for her.

Smooth sailing, Cap’t Phil!

It’s interesting to see how people respond to the death of a “famous” person. What comes to mind is the flower mountain after Princess Diana died. Or the spontaneous midnight dances for Michael Jackson.

Phil Harris is dead. He was captain of the Cornelia Marie and part of the crab fishing fleet on The Discovery Channel’s Deadliest Catch series. If you don’t watch the show it’s hard to explain the fascination that Robby and I have with it. Over the past few crab seasons we feel like acquaintances of the gruff Phil and his cohorts. We probably would never sit at the same table with them without television… they’re hard shelled men. They speak coarsely and drink hard. They’re, most of them, chain smokers. Phil had tattoos and spoke tenderly of only his blue, beloved Cornelia Marie.

It’ll be interesting to see how this is handled when the show kicks off its next season. Was he part of the filming of this year’s hunt for crab? Was the Cornelia Marie in the fleet? Were his boys wreaking havoc with the budget with their irresponsibility? Will there just be a black-screen acknowledgment of his death? Or a voice-over from Mike Rowe?

And, meanwhile, it’s a little sad to think he won’t be part of our crab-watching ritual. I’ll miss his blunt assessments.

In any event… it’s a good excuse to talk Robby into a crab dinner some night soon. In honor of Cap’t Phil, of course. It seems more fitting than candles, flowers, and moonwalks.

Fired and (n)ice

Last month I sat down with Wally (this blog’s Godfather) and asked for help in figuring out what I should be doing “next.”

It’s not the mid-life crisis that my friend Jason said I could have. Or the inane “I need to find myself” crap that Elizabeth Gilbert has cashed in on with Oprah. Just me reevaluating me. Realizing that Jack is now occupied for a big part of the day… so my hands are a little less full.

I told Wally, “Well– I’m applying for a little job at the library” and how maybe, down the road, that could parlay into a possible grad degree. Wally has an unsettling gaze at times. He turned it on me and pointed out that a little job anywhere– library or Museum or whathaveyou would not necessarily bring more to my life.

It was good we had that conversation. It’s made me more thoughtful in the last month about what it is I should be doing/am doing.

And it was good because, as of Thursday, I’m officially unemployed. My “services” are “no longer needed” at the Museum where I’ve worked for 12 and a half years. The falling shoe came in the form of a phone call. (Note to all people in power out there– a phone call is NOT the way you “let someone go.”)

I was eeirly calm when the call came. Partly because my heart went out of the job a while ago. Partly because the same people inexplicably hired then fired one of my best friends in an attempt to cover up years of mis-management and financial ruin. Partly because the people that I’ve worked for in the last 11 months have no professional Museum background and it’s frustrating.

And mostly because of that conversation with Wally. (To whom, that day, I’d described my work environment as that of a Pit of Dysfunctional Vipers.)

I’m still irritated with the timing of it– I was doing my job well. I’d feel a little bit better if it had been after I’d missed a deadline or made a mistake. Or if I’d been able to look the old man in the eye when I said, “I’m sorry– could you be a little more specific because I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do and yet you’re unhappy with the result? Isn’t that more of your problem than mine?”

Because of that morning with Wally, sipping tea and munching on buttery cookies, I was able to respond appropriately.
Old Man Boss [seriously... he's really old]: You are a very talented young lady…
Me: Sir, let me stop you there. I know that. And I know exactly what kind of loss it will be to the Museum.

I’ve never been fired before. This is new. But so is not having to steel myself to work with a group of people that are worrying about whether they can still get their evening gowns to fit under the life preservers.

So now the slate is clean– what to write upon it?

Less Cold

The cold we had lasted a week. It’s still lingering a little. I’m shaking my vitamins at it. Shoo!

Poor Jack missed days of school. The letters Q + U will forever be a mystery now. I’m using my burst of energy today to clean the house and sanitize all surfaces… And then, tonight, Robby and I are going out. Our movie theater is showing the live-feed of Prairie Home Companion and AunT’s volunteered to Jacksit. (Jack is thrilled. “I love AunT, you know,” he informed me last night.)

The promise of MilkDuds and theater popcorn is a beautiful thing.

Blah x 2

Jack and I are home sick today. We both feel crumby.

I’m pretty sure I was hit by a truck or something while I slept. Jack’s got a sore throat. He’s oscillating between having energy and being punky. We spent most of the morning cuddling and reading. Momma brought us lunch. I’m hoping “we” get a nap this afternoon.

The pups are sleeping on the couch with us. Jack found Between the Lions on TV. It’s a moon-themed episode so he’s thrilled. I’m reading Kathleen Norris and wishing it was time for Robby to come home.

 I hate feeling blah. I hate it worse when Jack’s feeling blah.

Blah.

Not a Cake Walk

Jack’s school had a Family Fun Night tonight.

About a third to half of the school population crowded into the gymnasium with their families to play games and eat pizza. Jack had a blast. Going to school at night in itself was a novelty.

One of the games was a “Mystery Walk.” Our school district has a strict policy concerning sweets so a cake walk was out of the picture. Instead the kids won little gift bags filled with silly trinkets. It was a popular game for the youngest kids– a lot of the kindergarteners and first graders and their younger siblings participated. The PTO charged the kids a quarter to play with the money going towards the school’s Heifer International project which is our school’s response to the disaster in Haiti.

Watching Jack and the other kids dance around the circle to oldies songs with one of the first-grade teachers made me grateful for the circumstances. Just as easily Jack might have been born in Haiti. Or a slum in Dehli. Or in the 9th ward of New Orleans. Instead he is healthy and safe and tucked into a warm bed. He had clean water to drink tonight. His belly is full of pizza slices. His school is full of good, caring teachers. He has paper and pencils and clean school clothes.

I’m not always so mindful of being grateful. Already I’m forgetting about the little children in Haiti… they aren’t on my mind constantly as they were last week. And I’m not sure we were good at helping Jack make the connection to the games and the quarters or how the quarters, when added together, become a community response.

I was proud of our Jack tonight. He’s not a greedy kid. I’m not sure how much credit we get for that– and how much is just his nature. He’s a patient kid in line. He doesn’t try to push ahead or “cut.” And, in the Cake Walk That Was Not a  Cake Walk he masked his disappointment at “losing” so many times in a row. He genuinely cheered for the others when their numbers were called. So, not greedy is a start. Now we’ll have to work on teaching him about generosity.

VISITOR!

Sister Trish took me out to lunch today. We ate at one of the local sushi places. (One of the local sushi places is a delightful phrase to type. For such a long time we had to either make our own or drive at least 30 minutes if we were jonesing for some Nori.) It was a good lunch.

During lunch Trish got a text from Keegan who is at school and has a scratchy throat. (Of course she has a scratchy throat– she has a dance competition this weekend. Keegan is always sick during the competition.) Trish and I stopped off at Target to pick up cough drops. (I restocked my freezer stash of frozen Reeses cups and also scored a tiny tub of ice-cream.) Trish was on borrowed time– she needed to get back to the office so I offered to drop of Keegan’s lozenges.

It should have been simple. It wasn’t.

Our high school has a doorman now. There was an incident last year that involved a female student and creepy man that was on something. So now the doors aren’t just monitored by security cameras but with a live person. I checked in with him and filled out my flourescent orange VISITOR sticker. It bore a remarkable resemblance to the stickers my suitcase sported after a trip to England once. OVERWEIGHT! it screamed. Great. Because running a gauntlet of teenagers just isn’t fun enough.

Trish had warned me to skip the main office– the secretary there is mean. So I slunk past it and went to the Attendance Office where, Trish assured me, it would be a simple manner of them calling Keegan down to meet me.

HA!

I was questioned as to what I was dropping off for Keegan after I explained, politely, that I was her aunt. “Cough drops–.”

I was informed that I’d need to check in with the school nurse down the hall. (Sigh.) The school nurse was refilling her drawers with what must be condoms and Plan B pills. (I watched too many Afterschool Specials.) I explained, for the third time, that I was Keegan’s Aunt and that I just needed to drop off the cough drops she’d asked her mother to bring.

The nurse regarded me sternly, “Are they special cough drops?”
Me: Uh, no. They’re the Target brand.
“Some children cannot take menthol,” she informed me briskly. “Does Keegan have a health form filled out?”
Me: Uh… I guess so. I’m really not sure– I’m just dropping them off because my sister needed to get back to the office.
Nurse: I have cough drops. He could just come and visit me for a cough drop.
Me: She.
Nurse: Excuse me?
Me: She’s a she. Keegan’s my niece.
Nurse: My son is named Keegan.
Me: That’s nice?

Eventually she called Keegan down– it being a big deal what with there being about 26 seconds until the third lunch bell would ring. Keegan has third lunch. I feel terrible about the 26 seconds of class time she missed. Yikes. Cross college off the list.

I waited in the hallway. I wasn’t up to whatever might happen next in the nurse’s office. The hallway, with its random teenagers seemed safer. I tried to cover my VISITOR! sticker with my scarf. The third-lunchers started filling up the hallway. I shrank against the wall and hoped for the best.

And then there was my tiny Keegan. Who laughed at the hoops I’d had to jump through just to get her the cough drops. A syringe of heroin might have been easier. (Does heroin come in syringes? I’m not sure. I probably missed that Afterschool Special.)

I made Keegs walk me back towards the door. Some of those teenagers are big. I figured I could throw Keegan at them if I needed to buy myself some time.

The chocolate ice-cream waiting for me in the car was especially delicious and well-earned.

Team Coco

“I hate cynicism, It’s my least favorite quality and it doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you’re kind, amazing things will happen.” -Conan O’Brien

I for one will miss Conan O’Brien. I’ve liked his sense of humor since he first took over the Late Night shift. I’ve never really understood the appeal of Jay Leno. He’s never seemed all that funny to me. Conan and David Letterman have a clever streak. Even in their most inane bits. (Well, maybe not Conan’s Masturbating Bear. I never got that. But I did love Conan’s “reaction” to it.)

I hadn’t purposely watched The Tonight Show since Johnny left it… I caught it when it hit the news cycle– like after Hugh Grant took a seat on the couch after his debacle… but when Conan took it over in June, well, I caught at least the monologue most nights.

Last week, as the media started rumoring that Friday’s show would be his last I was genuinely sad. Which is ridiculous. It’s a television show. There are Bigger Things happening all around me– friends’ fathers dying and lost babies in Haiti off the top of my head. Still, I have to admit– I was really bothered by it. I think partly because it dredged up a lot of the feelings that I had when our friends Chris and Susan had to leave town after Chris was railroaded out of his job. I know that situations are, in fact different– but the general sense of feeling powerless and the overwhelming sense of unfairness prevail.

I liked the way Conan went out. After all the ugly accusations in the media and all the postering by the pundits– he very graciously acknowledged all his time spent in the company that summarily threw him to the wolves… and then pleaded with young fans not to be cynical.

It’s something I’ve been working on myself this past year. Trying not to let craptastic decisions made by those in power over me turn into seeds of cynicism. Trying to believe that kindness might have its own rewards. (It’s not easy to believe in Karma after growing up Baptist.)

It was nice to hear Conan O’Brien go out with a note of grace. I’ll add him to my list of people for whom I hope there are better things waiting.