Swarming words

I get emails from some of you that ask, “Why no blogging lately?” 

My hands get tied up. Sometimes there is too much going on to nail down any of the thoughts– and really, the best thoughts are the ones I can’t put in print. It’s frustrating. And it’s what kept me from journalism school. Afraid of hurting this person or that with words. (Particularly when it’s so easy to do.)

I can hear the words buzzing sometimes. If I sit still too long they are there, humming as they gather themselves and hover just out of my reach. If I pick one out then there is a flood of others that follow. I have to shake my head clear of them all and reach for something to distract– Word Challenge on Facebook, a book (The Madonnas of Leningrad), or a silly thing on television (hello new season of Deadliest Catch! Ahoy Cap’ts Sig, Phil, et al.)

I clean out closets, sort the plastic containers in the kitchen, search for new recipes. And all the while the words are still sounding their buzzing in my ears.

Which sounds crazy, I know. Virginia-with-her-pockets-full-of-rocks crazy. Or Sylvia-with-her-head-in-the-oven crazy. (Did Virginia think she could escape the words as though they were bees? Slip under the cold water and be free of them? Did Sylvia try to scorch them? or, like Lorelai said on Gilmore Girls, was she just cold?)

At church I’m partnered with one of the kids in the confirmation class. I lucked out and got a great kid. She and I are supposed to read the Gospel of Luke. Reading it straight through is not exactly a comfort. We’re about a third of the way in and in the middle of all the “leave your stuff/family/life as you know it and follow me…” directives. And Jesus, in Luke, only seems to speak in Parables… which, forgive me for saying, must have been incredibly annoying to the disciples.
“Hey, Jesus– we’re running into town to pick up pita sandwiches– what sounds good to you?”
“My brothers, if a man at a wedding feast is sowing seeds in a field…”
“Uh, yeah. So… did you want turkey or cheese?”

Still. It keeps the buzzing at bay. Makes me a little calmer for an hour or two while I marvel at the ability of my confirmation kid to pull out the meaning dead on nearly every time.

I make pots of good tea– or splurge for large Iced Chai at the little coffee place downtown. I savor the chocolate covered almonds we bought last week. I take great delight in Jack’s silly songs that he makes up on the way to school. Snuggle the small baby of our dear friends. Slip into a good book or imagine myself in London with the latest issue of Hello magazine. Stretch out the last of my Christmas Lush box. Take long walks with my pal around our lovely, finally greening park. Curl up with Robby at the end of the day when the baby monitor is only static and the little black dog is softly snoring on Rob’s outstretched legs.

Eventually I’ll wrangle the words back into sentences. Get them to line up into paragraphs even… for now it’s enough to hope that maybe they’ll make something akin to honey if I leave them alone.

Insomnia

Can’t sleep tonight.

I’ve done all the stuff to welcome sleep– drank some milk, took a bath, read some, facebooked some… but it’s no use. I’m wide awake.

So here are some random thoughts:

1. Read any good books lately? I just finished Geraldine Brooks’ People of the Book. It’s good. Not as good as her Year of Wonders but good. I wonder why her stuff isn’t optioned for movies.

2. I’m down to my last box of Mallomars. And I’m getting nervous about it. My Mother-in-Law gave me two cases of them for Christmas. There’s nothing like a good Mallomar and orange juice.  A little chocolate, a little marshmallow, a little juice– ah, bliss. My bliss, unfortunately is about to run out.  Stupid midwest.

3. I’m wanderlusty lately. I want to pack us all up and go someplace for a few days or weeks. Live out of a well-packed suitcase and eat new things, see new places, return home sated.

4. On Sunday night, also unable to sleep (stupid time change?) I found Mark & Olly on television. Two british men who go off on tangent adventures because they can. The series has them living with an Amazon tribe in some far part of Peru. I watched two and a half episodes that night– this is how I fell into the trap of loving Deadliest Catch, too– but it’s interesting TV.

5. Jack’s vocabulary has exploded again. This time it’s all the funny little in-between words… adjectives and adverbs and the ilk. He used the word “also” today. It broke me up. He’s delighted in our recognition of his new words. And he’s a great mimic. He’ll try out phrases he hears from us or his movies. This week we’ve watched A Charlie Brown Christmas a few times so there is a lot of Linus, Charlie, and Snoopy coming out.

6. I can’t beat Robby in Scrabble. Or Lexulous rather. We play it on Facebook. It’s disconcerting to lose to him when it is a matter of words and not numbers… but he’s a much better strategist than I am. My problem is I get so delighted in discovering a word I forget to pay attention to what might be more advantageous. Sometimes the two letter words get more points than the 7 letter words. It’s frustrating, too, because Lexulous circumvents the rules of Scrabble. I grew up on the rules of Scrabble– my grandmother was unyielding when it came to those rules. And there was no use of the Official Scrabble Dictionary unless there was a challenge thrown– you had to rely on the words you knew and could defend– not thumbing through the dictionary to find a word that incorporated the tiles in front of you. You can cheat quite a bit in Lexulous against those rules– it takes a lot of the fun out of it.
And it makes me a crabby opponent. The other day Robby started a new game (which irritated me– the loser gets to do that, not the reigning champ) and played a word that I didn’t know.
“Oooh! A new word! What’s it mean?” asked me earnestly.
“I don’t know,” came my husband’s hesitant reply.
“Yeah, then we’re done with this game then, aren’t we?”

7. To do: Learn the Kitchener Stitch so I can finish up two pairs of socks. Sew Jack’s teddy a little cape so that he can be “Super Georgia.” Drag Robby to IKEA to look at ideas for the kitchen and dining room (we’ll pay the Swedes in lingonberries). Paint a family tree on the upstairs hallway wall for Jack. Clean the basement. Get Robby to do his Charo impression again.

8. I need to come up with a fun treat for Friday at Jack’s preschool. I like bringing in the treat. It’s fun to try to find something that all 20 kids will eat.

Okay.  This hasn’t helped. I’m still not sleepy.

And now I want a Mallomar.

Keeping all the Obamas in our life straight…

I wrote this last week. But, apparently, my computer burped in the posting of it… so here we go again. Pretend it’s Wednesday, January 21.

Yesterday Jack and I kept the television on to watch the Obama Inaugural and all it’s hoopla, pomp, and circumstance.

Jack recognizes Barack Obama. He delights in saying his name. It’s a fun name to say, for sure. For months, when he’s seen him on TV he’s announced, “Mommy! Daddy! That’s Barack Obama!”

I’ve typed it before— but I’m so glad that Jack will never question that any man can truly be president. (We’ll have to work on getting him to believe that a woman could do the job, too.) He’ll grow up taking for granted that “all men are created equal” and have to be taught that there was a time that wasn’t the case. What a great lesson plan that is—much better than, “well, yes, in theory anyone can grow up to be president…”

Of course—that he gets to take all that for granted has a downside. He’ll take it all for granted.

That’s what occurred to me yesterday while the military troops lined up and the masses and masses of people waved their American flags, and poor Ann Curry couldn’t hear anything from the feed in her ear but gamely joined in on dancing to “Shout!” while she navigated the crowds… I tried to explain to Jacky what was happening.

“This is a special day, Jack” “This is a special ceremony Jack— Mr. Obama will say special words and become our President” “See all the people? All the people are in Washington, DC—it’s a very big city where the President works and lives.” “What’s that building Jack? Yes! It’s the White House—that’s where the President and his family lives.”

Jack is four. For the most part, his Playmobile knights and little Cars vehicles held much more appeal than the insights of Matt Lauer, Meredith Viera, Brian Williams, and Tom Brokaw. Still, some of it made an impression.

Late in the day the Obamas were tucked into The Beast of a new armored presidential car and headed down Pennsylvania Avenue. With the promise of the parade in sight, I showed Jack the car and explained that the flags and the seal meant it was just for the President. Jack is a boy, through and through, so the car had some appeal.

Me: Who’s inside the car with the flags, Jack?

Jack: The little girls? Mrs. Obama? And Barack Obama?

Me: Well, I’m not sure if the little girls are in the car right now… but yes, Mrs. Obama is in the car and so is Barack Obama.

Jack: Mommy! Not just any Barack Obama! PRES-ident Barack Obama.

Me: Yes, Jack. President Obama.

We’ll see what the next four years bring. But this week has seemed so hopeful, so optimistic that it bodes well. For our little household, we’re hoping the next four years brings about good change and good discussion. And media tidbits about the adventures of the little Obama girls and life in the White House.

And as for Not-Just-Any-Barack-Obama-But-President-Barack-Obama, well, so help him God.

 

Now a word from our sponsor

As proof that we’re really shunning resolutions and bettering ourselves in any way… I offer up our latest obsession… the commercial for those creepy blanket suit thingys.

The people in the commercial are so pleased to be on their couch, snuggled in their creepy cultish blankets-with-arms. The cowl collars and three (three!) colors are displayed on people who can watch tv! knit! eat! play games! and chat on the phone! all! while! warmly! snuggled!

Towards the end they introduce the booklight! that opens with a simple push! of! a! button! It retails for $15 in the store where idiots go to buy other, over-priced things. The snuggled lady is so enchanted with the opening of the booklight. Apparently, her poor, useless body under the blanket-with-arms thingy is unable to perform such difficult tasks as opening a regular booklight. One that might sell for $7 at Borders, say.

We were more careful this Christmas than we have been in the past. Our recession Christmas excluded the marvelous idea of buying a blanket-with-arms joke for everyone we know.

Though we haven’t ruled out the keychain thing that helps idiots remember three things at a time. (Oh! how I love that lady who never can remember her grocery list, “Eggs! Butter! Milk!”  Her relief is so great.)

Extreme Home Mock-Over

I’m off my game this week. Some of the people I work with have been existance banes this week. Fun suckers. Arse pains. Donkey tongues.

I don’t know what a donkey tongue is either. It just came to me. I like it. I might try it out loud and see if it works.

The saving grace is that I have a life outside of work. I have a family that I enjoy spending time with. Last night, for example, after Jack went off to bed (after trying comically hard to “go poo on the potty, Mommy!”) Robby and I settled in. Robby got out the bills– which usually makes him grumpy. I got out the computer to do some work. In the background we had ABC’s Extreme Home Makeover on. And oh, how we laughed.

The trick to watching EHM is that you have to get passed the sappy sob story. Accept that the family is far better than your own. Accept that they deserve to be given a multi-million dollar mansion in which to live, their mortgages paid off, and a pro-series kitchen to boot. Accept that their well-scrubbed children will cherubically pipe up, “I’m so glad mommy doesn’t have to work so hard.”

And then mock them mercilessly.

A guide (taped or TiVo’d. No live-time viewing here):

The first 5 minutes are crucial. It will introduce you to the family and Ty will inevitably make it sound like this is the most deserving of all the families they’ve helped thus far… The next few minutes will be the interview with the individuals and a tour of the state of their current residence. Skim it. Tune in to see where the family is going on vacation…

After the commercial zip past the part where the local building team is assembled. You won’t miss anything… The worker bees will be dressed in blue, they’ll make a speech about working hard to finish on time, there’ll be some one there with a connection to the family, blahdittyblahblahblah. Then they’ll rip the house down while the vacationing family watches. (Doesn’t this ever freak out the little kids? It can’t be good to see the vulnerability of modern architecture to large machinery when you are in the Night Terror Stage. Surely, “Don’t worry, you’re safe in your own bed in your own house” rings a little hollow after that. “Will the scarey loud man knock it down with his excavator, Daddy?”) Last night they ripped down the “dream house” their dead father had worked so hard on. Ripped it down with glee. Don’t know what to say about that…

Skip the frantic interviews with the Design Team. Yes. You’re building the most extreme room ever for the kid of the week. We get it. Crazy! You’re just insane! Wow! Keys will be given. Furniture unloaded. We get it. They’re the most deserving family ever.

Watch the Reveal. It’s a study in cultural differences. Stoic fathers, weeping mothers, sobbing fathers, collapsing mothers, jumping teenagers… It’s interesting. And then enjoy the tour of the house. Count how many times people say, “Oh my God!” over and over. Really? You’re going to bring God into it in this way? Huh. Wonder at some of the inexplicable choices made by the Design Team. (Last night for example there was a silo/observation tower attached to the house. Well sure. Just what every teenager wants. Awesome. “Where’s Jimmy?” “He’s in the tower huffing bleach with his buddy from shop class.” And a white couch– really? After 40 minutes of telling us that the kids want most to be able to invite their friends over you give them a WHITE couch? “Want to come hang out tonight? We can’t eat Cheetos or drink anything other than water but it’ll be awesome!” “Uh, no thanks. We’re all going to Dylan’s. They don’t have a silo.”)

Skip the part where Ty will gather the parent(s) outside of their room because he’ll give the same speech about how important it was to give them a special place of their own because they’ve been taking care of everyone else and this was to show them how… blahdittyblahblahblah. Try not to envy their inevitable infinity tub and 6 nozzle shower. It’ll just make you bitter.

There’ll be something else to see for the family then they’ll bring in the Design Team. Hope for Paulie. He’ll cry and wear something odd. Paige will be wearing pink and have done some little girl’s room “so that she can be a little girl” (huh?). Eduardo will do something exteme to the outside. Again. Ty will welcome everyone home.

And then you can go back to your life where you aren’t deserving of anything.

September 19, 2008

Dear JackRabbit,

You will turn four this weekend– or at least you will technically. You keep insisting, “I stay three!” whenever we remind you of your birthday.

There’s a big difference, it turns out, between three and four. In the last month you’ve been a different kid. At choir you’re a good listener– you participate in all the little singing games like “sleeping” during “Frere Jacque” and all the little motions of the Echo Song. Last year each week was an exercise in me holding my breath that you didn’t cause too much of a disruption. (The week that you enlisted Brandon into running through the racks of choir robes until Mrs. L had to stop. STOP. the class and untangle the two was a real highlight…)

You seem to be doing well at school, too. Your vocabulary has exploded again– Daddy and I are amazed at how much better you are able to express yourself. You’ll tell us, “I’m feeling angry right now!” with such a scowl that it’s hard not to laugh. You’re negotiating our world a little bit more each day– figuring out that being a good listener and using good manners can be rewarding. There are grown-ups who don’t have that down, kiddo.

You still like watching your stories– Caillou, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Sesame Street, The Wiggles, “The Camel Story,” and Thomas. You’ve (FINALLY!) come to appreciate Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood with me (”He’s home from working Mommy!” is what you said the other day when he took off his suitcoat to put on his cardigan). Cars and Mickey Mouse Christmas are still your favorite movies. You play with your trains and Cars cars and blocks. At restaurants you ask to play with your “lemons” wire toys and the little Mickey Mouse figures we picked up at Disney last year.

You can run very fast. You like to jump off things and climb a little too higher than I’d like sometimes. This month you figured out how to really pedal your little trike. I think it was after the day you and Trey played together that it clicked for you. You love to sing and pick up songs very quickly. Sometimes we sing whole conversations to each other. It cracks you up.

Every night you say prayers and we’ve been trying to teach you that we go to church because we love God– not because we’ve “been bad” like you say.

You’re very affectionate. You still love to cuddle us both– which is good. We can’t get enough of you. Your sweet kisses are our favorite part of having to send you off to bed.

I wish, JackRabbit, that you didn’t have to grow up quite so fast. But I so love the kid you are in this moment that I can’t really regret that you are already (nearly) four either. Our hearts have grown so much since you came into our world. We really are the luckiest Mommy and Daddy.

Love,

Mommy

Note to self: Feed the Koala Bears

It’s raining out. It’s a perfect cold, September rain. The kind that makes the lights seem warmer and yellower. Robby’s working late so Jack and I are watching The Wiggles and killing a little time until the Pajamma hour.

I’m noshing on the perfect autumn snack: salty peanuts and candy corn.

My brain is all mushy tonight. No bright thoughts or pithy observations– if it weren’t for Jack I’d be curled up in bed with my candycorn and the second half of Atonement DVD.

I think the Yellow Wiggle is sucking my will to live.

Beach volleyball? Seriously?

We missed the first week of the Olympics when we were in the woods at camp. It nagged at me a little. I like the Olympic coverage. Bob Costas and I go way back. (At least in my head.) I really like the goofy coverage of the Today Show. They get a little punchy when they’re on foreign soil and aren’t as carefully edited. Around the campfires we’d get updates from the people in RVs that had smuggled in their little tv sets. (Or their big, plasma screens– I don’t know. I was in a tent. I was excited that Robby rigged up a light bulb and a place to plug in my electric tea kettle.) It was surreal to sit near the edge of a fire pit carefully rotisserieing my marshmallow and hear, “Phelps did it again!” or “USA plays at 9 p.m. we’ll update later…” One guy sat at the fire watching it stuff on the internet via his cell phone. That was weird.

When I was a camp counselor, at the same camp, it was in that pre-cell phone period. Not that any of the early cell towers would have covered that area. They hardly do now. We didn’t have to think about kids calling home– we knew when they did. We’d have to walk them to the only pay phone on the property in a shed that was out of bounds to the campers. I made a lot of calls from that phone, too. I was glad to see it’s still there. There aren’t many pay phones out there anymore. Have you noticed? They’re all disappearing. What do they do at youth camp these days? Do the kids have to check in their phones? I hope so. Or do the counselors text them, “Please pass the potatoes– BTW you’re on KP duty. LOL.”

This week we’ve been catching up on the Olympic moments we missed. Unfortunately the coverage this year is especially biased. The US beach volleyball team gets nearly a full hour of coverage but sailing is just a mention? The coverage of the gymnastics gala only featured the two US girls, one US boy, and two others. That was it. WHAT? We watched a long segment of diving preliminaries and it occurred to me that if they would lay off some of the prelim coverage of certain sports they could focus more on the finals of others.

Oh well. At least there are the closing ceremonies to look forward to. And Al Roker’s chinese words of the day. (My Today Show viewing has been vindicated in the face of the fantastically appropriate Rythmic Gymnastics routine spoof. Good job boys. I raise my glass of juice to you!)