Foilwoman's Diary

Fortune's Wheel

2012-01-28T00:55:00.003-05:00

It's been a while. I never meant to stop writing here, but life caught up with me, and I didn't need to vent as much.

At the start of the whole divorce from PdeFF (a/k/a the Insane Ex) my entire goal was to survive with the girls reasonably happy. No more, no less. My finances were in ruins, my career a shambles, and my ability to enjoy and appreciate life severely compromised.

Those days are over, and the original goal now seems so puny. The girls are thriving. Tigergrrl is a star in school, on her basketball team, skiing with friends, in community service (recycling, food prep for a shelter, otherwise working on improving the world at school and at church), and this year she has gone spelunking, white-water rafting, and hiking with a pre-teen group that suits her well. She's enjoying (something I never did) middle school. DestructoGirl is loving being a big first grader and is drawing up a storm and preparing to be the next Dorothy Hamill or Peggy Fleming, or whoever.

We own our own home with a bedroom for each girl and a dog whose biggest problem is that by picking where she'll curl up for the night, she'll be disappointing at least one child.

I honestly never thought this day would come, back in 2005-2008, a time that shall hereafter be referred to, in hushed tones, as The Dark Time.

I'm doing well in my job, I'm thinking about returning to a higher level position (in a few years -- I'll wait until DestructoGirl is several years into her schooling), and everything except for worries about some friends (unfortunately, luck and success run in cycles, and my up cycle is a down cycle for people I care about) and PdeFF (jobless again, darn the feckless fool) is pretty much on an upswing.

It's funny how the wheel turns. I have no doubt that I have many more catastrophic failures ahead of me before I die. I plan to die in my 90s. NuclearGrammy died recently, just missing her 100th birthday. I don't want to live that long, but at age 50, I'm feeling just slightly more than half-way through this whole deal.

I hope to be writing regularly again, but the sturm und drang and excitement of before (remember, The Dark Time) seems unlikely to return. Thus this might turn into a knitting blog. Or a dog-training blog. Or the blog of the lamb chop mother: I don't threaten to trash stuffed animals and my kids STILL do well (take that, Amy Chua*!).

Next post, maybe: of dogs and men.

*Please note, it may be possible that Ms. Chua wrote her dreadful child-rearing memoir as a joke or something, but even so, she's only slightly less idiotic that Lori Gottlieab and only slightly less hateful than Caitlin Flanagan. You read in on the Internet, so it must be true, right?

Irritable Boss Here

2011-02-24T21:02:00.004-05:00

Those of you in Gen X, Y, Z and Zero or whatever you* call yourselves, consider this a little advice note from your boss. I recently, due to no fault or ambition of my own, doubled the number of subordinates who I supervise. It has not been a joy-filled experience. And as much as I hate to think of it in this challenging economy, a few young stars in their own firmament may be getting a career change opportunity in the next few months.

I don't like thinking that way. I like to let people do their jobs out of my way (and I like to keep out of theirs). My primary responsibilities and yours are not the same and I'd like to trust you to just DO yours without my intervention.

Do you know the primary cause of employees not rising to their responsibilities? No, not incompetence (although that plays a role). Absenteeism.

Yes, you may get 26 days of leave a year**, half vacation, half sick, but that doesn't mean at the end of the year your balances should be 0. With vacation, maybe, but you really should have some brains and try to husband your sick leave. Also, bosses get very suspicious of leave taken on Mondays and Fridays. So here's the advice:

Regarding vacation leave: request it, don't demand it. If all your peers will be on vacation, don't assume you'll get that week off as well. Unless you want your employer to think: "Hmmm. We really can manage without all of them. Why don't we try that, since budgets are getting slashed."
Regarding sick leave: it gets annoying when you always get sick on a day that makes a weekend a long weekend. Soon you'll be asked for a doctor's note, even when you just need to stay home a day or two to recover from a cold that doesn't require a prescipriton.
If you do have leave, don't let assignments be late and completed after you return. Finish them before the two weeks in the Bahamas.
If you have children or pets or a chronically ill spouse, while it's reasonable to request leave to care for ill children, pets, or spouse, it also behooves you to befriend a few neighbors. Really. Suck up a bit. Do you want to be beholden to your cranky neighbor lady or your not-cranky-but-really-really-tired boss who just wishes someone wouldn't always leave her with finishing up subordinates' jobs.

I have no expecttation that anyone will take this advice. But really, if you have a new boss, and need to keep your job, these might be suggestions to follow.

*Assume you are a GS-5 to GS-11 and you report to me. Yes, I know you don't, really. But trust me when I tell you, what I'm about to say might actually benefit you. Might keep you employed. Might keep you from eviction or foreclosure or just being that totally annoying crying drunk at the bar who is so totally not getting laid except by a serial killer.

**Assuming a first, second, or third year employee. After that, you get more leave than that if you work for the feds. If you've made it until your fourth year, you haven't annoyed the living shit out of me with leave abuse, so you clearly figured it out. But even so, think about what I'm writing here.

I Don't Know How I Did It

2011-02-23T22:17:00.003-05:00

My plans do not include stopping blogging, except I seem to have stopped blogging. I plead parenthood, being fully employed, being mildly ill, and being fucking exhausted.* I also, with a smidgeon of pride, plead successful working parenthood. TG is in orchestra, honors orchestra, a sports team, taking instrumental music lessons, taking four honors classes (excepting phys ed, social studies, and science, which at this grade are the same for everyone) and also running a cute 11-year old business plus doing a variety of workout, activities, and other tween-type stuff with her friends.

I have to schlep TG to sports practice, honors orchestra rehearsal, instrumental music lessons, sports games, and things like the library, the YMCA, birthday parties, school events, parties, etc.

DG is taking a foreign language, art classes, and will be starting skating classes (which she has been begging for for several months). She also has been doing ballet, but we will be dropping that since the milieu doesn't suit the inventor of Rhino Head.

In addition to the kid-related activities (KRAs), I've been working double-time: I've been taking over about 1/3 or the responsibilities of a temporarily disabled colleague, including doubling the number of employees I supervise (Oh, joy!) and taking on a bunch of computer stuff. I'm not a power monger. People who want office power creep me out: it's really easier if you just let people do their jobs. Ok, people who don't do their jobs, well, they suck. And yes, if you frequently call in sick on Mondays and Fridays, yes, you aren't carrying your weight.

But actually, the people reporting to me, mostly do their jobs without interference. Nonetheless, a 100% increase in staff I supervise has made me a bit overworked. Not overwhelmed, but veering in that direction.

Add to that some annoying and non-midlife related symptoms that have me meeting with a specialist tomorrow leave me not-exactly keeping up with anything other than kids and work and teaching Sunday school. Knitting group? Living without me, without any hitches. Reading group? Abandoned. Clean house? A distant, fond memory that has no real bearing on the present day.

I'll clearly have to do some cleaning before Foilmormor, NSLOS, and LOS come down for my upcoming 50th. I'm also saving desperately to buy a home within the next year and for a trip to Europe to be there for Francesca's 50th.

I live in hope that I'll have time to write again. When? Who the heck knows.
*Being fucking exhausted ("BFE") is basically a synonym for being employed + being a parent of one or more under eighteen-year olds. Having two under eighteen-year olds means I am not just being fucking exhausted, I'm ABSOLUTELY fucking exhausted.

The Happy Elf

2010-11-20T00:59:00.001-05:00

Last weekend I got reviewer tickets to see The Happy Elf, an Adventure Theatre play, but at Montgomery College in Rockville rather than the usual Glen Echo home of Adventure Theatre. I took DestructoGirl, who loved the play/musical. I prefer the traditional Adventure Theatre venue to Montgomery College's performing arts center, because Adventure Theatre's intimate stage is much friendlier to small theater-goers, but the play was very enjoyable.

Unfortunately, the show was at 7 p.m. and lasted 90 minutes, which made it rather late in the day for a six-year old. But despite the late hour and the more impersonal venue, the play was an enormous hit with DestructoGirl.

First off, to parents of the younger set: this play features Santa and Mrs. Claus (Santa loves cookies, Mrs. Claus tries to keep him from eating too many so the sleigh can still lift off), which, for the Santa-believing set is quite a draw. Everytime Santa appeared on stage, DG just beamed with delight. It didn't hurt that Elliot Dash, who played Santa (as well as the Mayor and a policeman) had some lovely musical numbers and dancing, at both of which he was quite adept.

Clint Johnson, the actor playing the Eubie, the Happy Elf was quite charming and elfin. I wasn't humming any of the songs as I left the theatre, but DG was totally smitten with her first live musical theater experience. My favorite character was Molly, "the baddest kid in Bluesville", played by Valerie Issembert.

Our theater evening wasn't great, since the girls were getting sick, and DG had had a long, long day (cooking with my Sunday School class, visit with Innana, ice skating birthday party, and then the play) and DG was tired and cranky. But despite exhaustion and under the weather offsping, the play was a big hit. Unfortunately for me, DG was so tired we had to head homeward immediately after the end of the play. Harry Connick, Jr. was going to answer audience questions, but we had to head straight home and put one exhausted six-year old to bed.

After that, TigerGrrl got sick, and we've had some other mishaps this week, hence the delay in posting. The Happy Elf is a great play for the 7-10 age range, and great for the younger set, although I would recommend a matinee for those 6 and under, or, if 7 o'clock is the time of the tickets, an afternoon rest before heading to the theater.

Out of Synch

2010-10-28T07:04:00.002-04:00

DG has turned six. TG is eleven. I'm almost fifty. Despite the alleged horde of women giving birth in their late thirties and early forties, I'm the oldest mother of a kindergartner I know. I go to the PTA meetings, look at the young men and women with peach fuzz on their faces, and think: they're too darn young.

I have one couple my age who I hang out with on occasion, and their children are all through college. The mother of DG's best friend, who considers herself to be too old for leggings (I didn't know they came with an age limit, and this woman hasn't hit it yet) without a mid-thigh tunic over them, was born the year I graduated from high school (1979). We're friends, but our lives diverge.

The guys I've dated (no-one since Sicko, this last spring, but I'm drawing on five years of experience) are generally my age or older, although some have not been. They all seem to have kids who are grown or no kids at all. Most men in their late forties and early fifties are not parents of elementary school age children.

My two best friends here (and my best friend in Europe, Francesca), Innana and SNV have no children. At my knitting group (yeah, yeah), there are grandmothers and hip young singles. There's one other mother with kids: a home schooler of about my age with FIVE children.

People are drawn to one another by shared experiences, and I do have plenty of people in my life -- wonderful neighbors, great friends, a good life, but I really feel out of pace with everyone. Most of my high school classmates are seeing their children into and through college. The other parents I know are children to me. Not really, I see them as adults, but the seem so darn young.

This isn't complaining -- nothing wrong, just not quite in synch with the rest of the world.

Firewood

2010-10-09T08:28:00.002-04:00

I love the crispness in the air when I get up in the morning in fall. Especially after the soggy, sticky, moist, limp dishragness of summer. And in my current place, I have a fireplace that works, and this morning, before work (yeah, I'm working today) I'm bopping over to friends to assist them in clearing away the wood from a tree that they had to take down last year. Firewood. Yes, I'm incredibly helpful. What a giving person. Amazing how this works in my favor. And their backyard gets cleaned out.

Also, the girls love fires in the fireplace and toasting marshmallows. All good.

Happy and Boring

2010-10-07T23:52:00.002-04:00

No new disaster dating scenarios: I'm done with dating for a while. I don't have the time or energy. Most guys seem to require a fair amount of effort and I just don't have that to give.

No new health crises. It looks like I'll get through 2010 without requiring surgery, joints being reassembled, or other health interventions. TG has braces and is getting more, but that's about it. I'm donating platelets again, which feels really good. Not the actual donation -- that's a bit uncomfortable -- but the feeling of contributing. And I know that in some way, I'm actually helping others, which is not something I get to do a lot right now. Everything is pretty inward-focusing on my daughters and me.

Still teaching Sunday school and enjoying it, much to my amazement. And agnostic/almost atheist me is still enjoying church. Of course, there are many other atheists and agnostics in my church, and no one seems bothered by the fact that I teach all the Bible stories as literature and myth and add commentary like this regarding the Abraham/Isaac story: "You think this is the action of a loving god? A god who asks its subjects to prepare to sacrifice children? Yeah, didn't carry through, but the whole scenario reeks of sadism to me. Can anyone define an abusive relationship using Bible or Twilight characters?"*

TG started middle school and DG started kindergarten. My memories of middle school are of unrelenting hell, so it's with great pleasure that I observe TG continuing to love school, be surrounded by friends, and generally love life, with some sports and some academic activities (Mathletes!) that she enjoys. DG views kindergarten as her own personal triumphal march, clearly designed to give her pleasure. Someone has told her she's a good artist (she is) and she shows me her work, explaining "This is a very talented flower" (it is).

And DG can ride a bike without training wheels, so we all can bike together on the many bike paths in this area. Yee-haw!

Last night, two neighbors invited me over to dinner, and I realized that I've never known and liked so many of my neighbors, or their dogs. I know all the dogs in the area, from the pit-bull/lab/St. Bernard mix in my old apartment (with the young dudes) named Flower who is such a wuss that when it rains the dude downstairs lifts his 180 pound tender Flower up over the big puddle that forms on our building's stoop because Flower doesn't like to get her paws wet in big puddles to the ferocious King Charles Cavalier spaniel named Thor who tries to intimidate Flower, but is cuddly with DG and TG. And yes, I know the dog's names, but not those of the cute young dudes who walk them. Plus a Boxer puppy, a Boston Terrier, and several Bichon Frisees who leap with pleasure and delight when they see kids to play with.

So again, my life is boring to write about now, but truly pleasurable. Oh, and I'm knitting a 1930s glam-dress pattern that will probably keep me busy for the next year or two with size 0 needles.

Nothing to see here. Move it along.

*Actually, I'm exaggerating there, but only slightly.

Change in Direction

2010-08-21T20:14:00.002-04:00

I haven't felt the need to write about my thoughts and feelings the way I did in 2005-2007. Things are pretty settled and my life isn't careening towards or through crisis after crisis. The divorce is final, PdeFF and I are making pretty good work of sharing parenting (as long as I don't have to pay is ridiculous bills, he and I get along pretty well even though he is rather nuts -- we agree on the one big thing: the FoilKids are the center of the universe and we love them). I've had the same job, which I enjoy, for almost five years, and it's looking pretty stable. Since I'm not paying for a babysitter (or full-time child care, since DG is starting kindergarten) my disposable income actually includes a part that is truly disposable. I'm putting money in savings. I've increased my retirement plan contributions, and am re-starting contributions to the girls' college accounts. I can occasionally go out to eat on my own dime.

The last five years? Pretty rocky, but I got through it. But here I am now, and now DG can ride a bike. So my goals for the next year are pretty simple: save money (for a safety fund and for a home purchase), and regain physical fitness. Next year, LOS has suggested that we take the FoilKids up Mt. Moosilauke, which is a pretty minor climb, but bigger climbs will follow. I'll have fewer injuries (dislocated shoulder, I'm looking at you) if I'm in better muscular shape. Also, it's time to start taking the girls biking. So the change in focus: less on what's going on inside my head, more about what I'm doing.

Last weekend, Innana and I took the FoilKids to Bush Gardens Williamsburg. We must have walked around that park five or six times. This weekend, I biked 11 miles today. Tomorrow, either biking or hiking, I'm not sure. But my goal is to get some real exercise at least four days a week. And increase my activity level. Hiking, biking, swimming, skating. Not to mention simply trying to keep up with a five-year old and eleven-year old.

Home Sweet Home

2010-08-11T07:16:00.001-04:00

Really, that's all. Safely back. Nuclear Grammy is fading fast now (I think I said that when I saw her in December, but now she can't remember from one day to the next), but we had a nice visit. I saw everyone I wanted to except on old college friend and Cousin Roland and his wife and their new (preemie) twins. I'll visit them over Christmas, when the babies actually look like babies and not just red blobs, and also are less vulnerable/at risk for infection.

Adrift

2010-08-06T00:15:00.003-04:00

I left my cell phone charger at LOS, so I've been out of phone contact for a few days. I don't know what day of the week it is, and I'm liking that. The FoilKids have played on a beach, done lots of bicycling, and been cooking breakfast every day. I've seen Aunt Elsebet, her daughter, LOS, FoilMormor, and will be seeing NSLOS, Big Grampa, and possibly Nuclear Grammy shortly. And Francesca and her Mom. I've been in Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine, and will be eating lobster in two days time. Next week, I return to real life, but until then, I'll remain cheerfully oblivious of the days of the week.

And DestructoGirl is biking on a big girl bike (thanks FoilMormor) without training wheels. So when we get back to DC we can do the bike trails for family outings. I'll try to post when so sane people can avoid the C&O Canal towpath, the W&OD, the Capital Crescent, and the Mount Vernon trails when DG might be there.

Lucky, Part Deux

2010-07-30T21:02:00.001-04:00

Up in New England on vacation now, I spent the other day with Aunt Elsebet. The girls picked blueberries, and ran around her barn. This morning, I woke up at LOS's place in Vermont to see deer grazing in the field. Tomorrow, over to FoilMormor's. The girls are swimming, running, biking, museuming, and generally having a great time. My family seems happy and well, and god, it's nice to be someplace where you need to wear a sweater in the evening.

Lucky

2010-07-18T09:18:00.003-04:00

Despite the hardships of the last few years, I realize how lucky I am. Right now, for whatever reason, I feel the need to list the good in my life. So here goes.

1--I have wonderful friends, here (Innana, SNV) and around the world (Francesca, CookieDear, Kira -- even though I've never met Kira in the flesh, she has been a lifesaver several times).
2--TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl are truly magnificent: smart, healthy, beautiful, strong, and FUNNY.
3--My relationship with my mother is pretty much the best it has ever been, and I'm seeing her in less than two weeks. Yippee!
4--I have sisters.
5--My home, though small, is pleasant and comfortable and in a great community and school district.
6--With a few exceptions, who are outweighed by the norm, I have wonderful neighbors who are becoming friends. One neighbor is making a cake for TigerGrrl's impending eleventh birthday while I make the pizza.
7--The Foilkids' school district is great, and, thank heavens, DestructoGirl is starting full-day kindergarten this fall.
8--The Saintly Babysitter stayed with us up until two months before DG started school. I hear horror stories about child care, but I've never really had to worry. DG now goes to a home day care that she loves (she has lots of friends there). TG is almost beyond day care, and I've let her do a few half days at home alone (given that there are two women within 500 yards of my house home during the day who are TG's friends helps.
9--Cousin Roland and his wife (who nearly died last year in childbirth) had healthy twins through a surrogate. I'm almost done knitting the appropriate gifts.
10--Innana and I had a great day yesterday bopping out to Front Royal, where it was marginally cooler than it is here in the burbs.
11--I have books to read, music to play, projects to knit, trails to bike on, and an ice rink to skate on nearby.

I could go on for quite a while, but I'll stop now.

If You Give A Pig A Pancake (Hilarity Ensues, and Also Disaster)

2010-07-14T00:26:00.005-04:00

Once again, I took the girls to Adventure Theatre, along with a five-year old friend of DestructoGirl. To those not familiar with the books* here's the plot synopsis: A child gives a pig a pancake, and nothing good, but lots of fun, happens. Except for it's everything good. DG was in full open throated guffaw mode, and almost eleven-year old TigerGrrl was delighted. Two boys, age thirteen and twelve, rejected the delights offered by Adventure Theatre, and instead opted for exploring Glen Echo Park for the hour that I had the girls at the play. So all and all, it was a success for all concerned.

Holly Twyford, as Felicia the pig, was a delight. She had this great snort when she laughed or was surprised (actually, an oink of sorts) that my girls are still imitating, three days later. They'll chortle, then remember, and add a snort. As an adult, I felt mildly sorry for Brenda Locke, playing the imposed upon child, but she had her own great moments, especially when reading aloud a note from her mother, advising her to take off her helmet before eating her breakfast and then proceeding to stage an imaginary spacecraft atmosphere re-entry and landing.

Both actresses played off each other nicely and have given my daughters epic excuses for why my living room is a disaster area: "Well, I gave a pig a pancake, then she needed some syrup, then she got sticky, then she needed a bath, then she needed some bubble bath . . ." This is not helped by the fact that my daughters are now the proud owners of two guinea pigs, one quite pig like, and the other a shy retiring type. And no, they aren't fed pancakes or given bubble baths. So clearly, all the responsibility for the mess that is my house rests on the shoulders of Mss. Twyford and Locke, who really should volunteer to help clean up, both here and at the stage.

The whole production is a blast, but the best part for the little ones is the epic mess (or, as TG said: "Housekeeping fail, Mama. They must be related to you.") left behind when the show ends. I actually worried what would happen when the little girl's mother got home (or her not-quite-all-there father descended to actually check out what his daughter was up to). All three girls were laughing and chortling and trying to decide what would happen next after Felicia built a tree house and decorated it using Laura's mother's sheets. But clearly, one just had to start imagining: first, they gave a pig a pancake, and then . . . .

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the delightful set, with a piano and deep-soaking bathtub, both of which appear out of kitchen appliances when needed. Many a time, I've been feeling grungy in the kitchen thinking "Why can't I have a bathtub here?" This problem is solved in this production

*If You Give a Pig a Pancake, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, If You Give a Cat a Cupcake.

Day Trip

2010-07-03T07:03:00.002-04:00

It's time for a mini-road trip with Innana, probably to McKay's. It's a beautiful day and we're heading out. Of course, this has been a hectic, stressful week, with the Saintly Babysitter departing (sigh) to a new family with babies. The girls are with PdeFF, so I'm having a relaxing weekend, no matter what. Not to put any pressure on me.

Why I'm Glad I'm Divorced

2010-06-24T07:02:00.003-04:00

TG has started her own small kid-business (something like car-washing), and has put up flyers around our neighborhood to drum up business. A potential client called yesterday, and her ten-year old heart was all a-flutter with the idea of earning $5. The client called my cell phone, of course. To discuss what needed to be done, TG made an appointment in the evening, after I got home from work. I had to let PdeFF know, because it was his night to have the girls.

He blew a gasket, worrying about abduction, predators, whether TG could handle the responsibility (??? -- of course she can), etc. It took 20 minutes of sweet-talking to talk him down.

I made him promise that he wouldn't pop TG's balloon with "Are you responsible enough". Setting up her own little business shows that she's responsible enough, and she'll get more responsible as she does more.

We met the potential client, and he's a client now, and starting Monday, TG's a money-making ten-year old.

And I feel enormous relief that I'm no longer completely tied to someone who can't distinguish between hyped up media worry of crime and opportunity for his kid (plus her showing buckets of initiative).

Who Knows What We Want

2010-06-19T23:41:00.003-04:00

I had a much more enjoyable weekend roadtrip with Innana than I previously did with SiQ. We went to Warrenton, to the White Elephant thrift shop and the Friends of the Warrenton Public Library (or whatever county that is) store. This store has really cheap book prices, and had too much stock, so was having a 50% off sale. I got about 10 hardcover books for $5. I love that place. Then Innana and I went to a wine bar/restaurant and had a wallow in hedonism lunch. Innana is carless, but just received a hefty (and long overdue) check, so she treated me to a yummy lunch (I feel a tad guilty, but I did drive her to Warrenton in the Brave Little Toaster).

And here's the clincher. I have no impetus to make me ambitious. I have all I want. I have a good friend, I have great kids, my work is enjoyable and mostly doesn't suck (although, as with most jobs, there are moments of suckitude). As Twisty Faster would call it, my obstreperal lobe is largely in a dormant state, although it's ready to kick in and kick some ass if necessary (Mark Sanford, Tiger Woods, BP: I'm looking at you). TigerGrrl won tons of awards at her Fifth Grade graduation* ceremony. The summer is looking good. So this blog will be boring until a crisis hits. Since this is life, one will, but eventually. Not now.

As a U.S. citizen, something seems wrong with saying: I have all I want and need. One is supposed to always be striving for more and better. Of course, I'd like more money in the bank. I'd like lots of things. But I really do have everything I need to be content. No drama there.

*I didn't attend: I attended the actual awards ceremonys. I believe in High School and College graduations. Pre-school, elementary school, and middle school graduations are just a bunch of hogwash, cheapening the real celebrations.

Preparations for Freedom

2010-06-11T07:27:00.001-04:00

Yes, the Foilkids and I are off to camp tonight, but first, where the heck is the new can of sunscreen I just bought for $7.99? Do I have enough sheets? Towels? Changes of underwear for all concerned? Enough recreational activities in case of rain? I'll relax as soon as I can get out of town and do so.

Free

2010-06-10T06:52:00.003-04:00

The Foilkids and I are heading to the Eastern Shore this weekend. For those who are not local (DC/DelMarVa folk), the Eastern Shore is the entire peninsula stretching through Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia, not just the ocean side. There's also the Chesapeake bay side, which is lovely (and has smaller waves, making for less anxious mothers of high-spirited five-year olds).

I can wait, but don't want to, to be on the road trip to the beach. We're going with a group of people to a summer camp that rents out space before summer camp season begins.

And I feel free and happy. That's all.

Common Courtesy

2010-06-02T22:37:00.002-04:00

I haven't responded to ex-SiQ's email regarding our (totally fictional except in his own mind) arrangement (see prior post for explanation, such as one exists). Do I owe this man any further response? My inclination is to avoid all further contact -- I'm certainly not going to meet him again, and my possibly self-serving thoughts on this subject are that he wouldn't hear anything I said anyway. Just avoiding discomfort rationalization or realistic view of the situation? Let me know what you think.

The "Arrangement"

2010-05-30T11:22:00.005-04:00

SiQ and I had a pleasant date yesterday, but it ended with me thinking that this just wasn't going to fit into my life. SiQ seems pleasant enough, and he has the great good virtue of liking me and being attracted to me, but something's not there. It's not attraction -- he's attractive enough and all that. And it's not good manners, or general niceness. He has both those in abundance.

What I'm trying to describe is his assumption that I want what he wants. And that after knowing him for all of two months, without meeting friends, family, or a community around him -- we're essentially dating in a vacuum containing the two of us -- that I should feel comfortable just taking his word.

Perhaps I'm too cynical, but unless I see howa man reacts with others, and see how they treat long-term friends (and HAVE long-term friends), I assume what I'm seeing is his behavior on an ice floe. It really means very little. Of course he's nice to me right now. He wants to have sex with me. Any man who can't manage to be pleasant to a woman he hopes to boink in the near future really has No self-control. So that's not a real high standard to meet.

So SiQ was showering me with compliments, etc. and proceeding, yesterday, as though there was a specific goal at the end of the afternoon. Which I wasn't opposed to, but . . . I wasn't there yet.
After lunch, he suggests that I invite him home to my place. I said, no, I'm just not ready, and suggested that my next free weekend, we do a lengthy bike ride down near his home and then he make dinner for me (that's pretty obvious, I thought).

So then he explains to me that due to the financial meltdown, he and his ex haven't been able to sell their house, which they still share, so he can't have people over for dinner (he is, indeed divorced -- the court papers are part of the public record, searchable on the Internet).

Then lots of ludicrous or possibly plausible claims came forth: he really is single, but the house is under water. It would just be awkward for him to have women (he really was idiot enough to use the plural of that word in that sentence) at his house; it would make his ex uncomfortable.

Yeah, right. We had one of those wonderful (read: awful) conversations about honesty, monogamy, etc. He again suggested that I invite him to my place.

And here's the thoroughly annoying kicker: rather that be my own intimidating self, and say "Nope and never." I said "I just don't feel comfortable with that right now." Color me spineless. We talked a bit more, and he made statements such as "I really do care about you." and "I would never do anything to hurt you." I want points for not bursting out laughing at the latter statement. Of course he'll never do anything to hurt me. Best of all "We'll get through this." No, best of all, and really bizarre "You know we were meant to meet." Huh?

This morning he sent an email telling me he was looking forward to our new arrangement. I read it in a bit of confusion, trying to figure out what arrangement I had with him. I'm still ignorant.

Generally, I'm amused, my cynicism confirmed, and only slightly sad that I've lost a good hiking and biking companion (I really did enjoy hiking and biking with the SiQ, actually now ex-SiQ). And if he didn't seem so darn delusional about where I stand, I'd continue to plan hikes and bikes with him, but sadly, I fear, those days are over.

If anyone can explain to me what arrangement SiQ thinks he has with me, please do let me know.

Free Time

2010-05-27T07:07:00.003-04:00

Aside from a tentative date with Sicko (and an unscheduled, but definite visit with Innana) I have no real plans this weekend. The girls are with their father, and I have illusions that I will finally get my unpacking done from my move last November.

Free time. It has been so long since I had some time that wasn't all pre-programmed. I'm really looking forward to this.

Where the Boys Are

2010-05-24T23:40:00.003-04:00

Enough mother-blogging. Back to me, me, me. I have been on a third date with the Swain-In-Question (okay, I'm just gonna call him SIQ or Sicko for short, and yes, that means this relationship is probably doomed, but it would be anyway, so that's not going to stop me) and the fourth date is rapidly approaching.

There seems to be an unwritten guy expectation that on the third date Thou Shalt Get Lucky. Sicko (and I) didn't. And I'm not sure I'm going there on date #4. I like Sicko. He's pleasant and reasonably attractive. I just do the cost benefit analysis and I spend a lot of time analyzing. I don't think "Oh! My! God! I can't wait to jump this dude."

While it would be nice to have a physical partner, all the burdens that go with that just seem like too much. I still need to worry about birth control, even at almost 50. I'm so busy with my daughters that any time spent on my free weekends seems like a time vampire, draining me of energy and resources. And even though everything feels pretty good in the physical compatibility department, the idea of discovering that Sicko didn't get sex ed in France (and thus views the important female parts as foreign and unknowable) just seems like bad news I don't want to know about. Also, Sicko isn't just dating me, and I don't have the energy or time to date others, so there would be a power differential that wouldn't work in my favor, and I don't have the energy for the monogamy/exclusivity conversation that would be necessary at this point.

Add to those reservations that I have been incredibly busy with various offspring related activities, and I almost feel like I should cancel this weekend's biking get together with Sicko. Except I want to check out a new bike trail with my old creaky Huffy (bike brand) with Sicko, who is very pleasant company.

Well, I don't have to make up my mind now.

The Red Balloon (Go and See)

2010-05-24T06:40:00.006-04:00

The FoilKids and I went to Adventure Theatre in Glen Echo Maryland to see The Red Balloon, which is playing through June 13.* This was a crazy hectic weekend, and DG had a global thermonuclear meltdown both before and after the show, but aside from my offspring's behavior (which really was the result of extreme exhaustion), the show was a delight.

First off, I checked what the tickets would have cost if I had purchased them: $12 per child, $15 per adult. So it would have cost $39 for the three of us to attend. That's less than we paid this spring to go see How to Train Your Dragon in 3D at the earliest (cheapest) matinee. Second, the show was about an hour long, which was the perfect length for DG (age five). She got fidgety anyway, but that was probably because before the 4 p.m. show, we had gone ice skating, attending a class of TG's, to the library, and something else that I have now forgotten, so she was worn out.

My biggest concern was that TG would be bored, as it seem that this play would be aimed more at DG's demographic than TG's. I was wrong.

My concerns regarding length, enjoyableness for both a ten-year old and a five-year old were completely unnecessary. The show was a delight. The acting was great, the set design was beautiful, and both my girls were delighted. Danny Pushkin and Daniel Mori were truly great as Albert and the balloon's puppeteer. DG was astounded to learn that Josh Sticklin, who played the little boy, Pascal, was actually a grownup (so good job, there). Jessica Aimone, Vishal Vaidya, and Emma Jaster were also very, very good in multiple roles. Most actors played several roles, and the speed of the costume changes was amazing.

My mind drifted a bit during the production, but mainly because I was comparing the production to the 1956 movie (which I last saw in the 1970s, I believe), but the girls were rapt and delighted, particularly with the physical humor and the broom-with-an-attitude showing Albert who was boss, and the personality of the balloon (yup). The ending scene with all the balloons of Paris showing up seemed a bit awkward to me (although I couldn't figure out how to stage it any better), but the girls were just entranced.

We had a great time, and added to that great time was the pre-play ride on the carousel (twice actually) and time spent climbing in the park. I was not very familiar with the park before this, and now I am a fan of Adventure Theatre and Glen Echo Park.

*Full disclosure: I was given comp (free) tickets to the show by Adventure Theatre with the condition that I write a review of the show.

Pre-Memorial Day Memories

2010-05-20T02:53:00.003-04:00

I'm drowning in summer trip and kids' recreation planning, dating (only one guy, but my schedule is kind of busy), birthday celebrations (yup, I'm older), sick TigerGrrl (bad fever, finally gone), big-work-project finishing, skating lessons, karate lessons, being a guinea pig in an interesting medical study, and the general mayhem of none-too-flush single parent life. Yet for the last two days, I've been clicking through this interactive page: the New York Times' Faces of the Dead (the dead in both Afghanistan and Iraq). For some reason, I feel compelled to look at the face of each person and read that person's name, age, and hometown.

I have accomplished nothing by looking at each service-member's face and limited identifying information, but still look. I'm more than three-quarters through the page, somewhere in those who died in 2008. I can't imagine this much heartbreak. If each person has two people who loved and now miss him or her, it's unbearable. I've got nothing, here. Any suggestions welcome.

Do Right Woman (Do Right Man)

2010-05-02T00:00:00.003-04:00

Shockingly, after over a year of no interest on my part, I'm dating again. Or to be more exact, I've had a first date and a surprisingly pleasant second date (first dates are easy). Today.

And this is after a truly craptastic week. A neighbor complained at length about my kids. Up until now, I've had good relations with all of my neighbors, but I have a perpetually cranky person next door to me now who thinks that living in an apartment complex means that neighbors should be absolutely silent. It's not going well. And the neighbor didn't complain to me, but in a passive aggressive note to management. Ugh. I've given the girls a lecture or two about being considerate, but I hear my neighbors playing music, doing whatever, and I assume they can hear me.

Then I broke a crown, and have had some painful and annoying dental work.

Then I realized I had made a fairly large arithmetic error in my checkbook, and have very little money for the next three weeks.

So when I man I had met for coffee a few weeks ago asked if I would go hiking with him, I applied the Car Talk French Car rule to my life.* And it worked. I had a lovely hike with a pleasant man who seemed quite attracted to my middled-aged none-too-slim self. Which is weird, because I just haven't been interested of late, but I wanted to go on the hike, and it turned out to be a lot of fun. It was a middle of the day get together too, which takes the edge off. When the date is due to end at 3, you know no-one's expecting you to fall into bed.

Not that falling into bed is anything bad, with the right person (in Family Life class for Fifth Graders, that's the part where you say: "When a man and woman love each other very much *cough* . . ."). But I'm really not in the place I was in two and three years ago. I don't need the validation, and I expect that we'll maybe have a third date and then things will fizzle (as they most often do in the dating world). If they don't, good.

Yet a reasonably gentlemanly guy who likes hiking and has some basic snogging skills (really, many don't)? Nothing to sneeze at.

*The French Car rule is this: if you have a French car, you have enough misery in your life, so everything else goes well. Your job, your finances, your love life. Thus, my epically disastrous week is equivalent to owning a French Car. Even if the date were dreadfully bad, it would feel good in comparison.

A Tree Grows in PowerTown

2010-04-21T20:51:00.002-04:00

TigerGrrl is growing up. She's 5'2" or so. She just attended the "adolescence is heading toward you like a runaway train and you have so much to look forward too" class in school.

She talked with me about it. Not reluctantly, not after me prompting her. Nope. We sat on the stairs of ChezFoil and discussed puberty, testes, ovaries, vaginas, penises, breasts, body hair, and stupid slang words for all of the above. She's glad she has Girl Stuff by Kaz Cooke to refer to, as well as the revised Our Bodies, Ourselves.

Me, I'm just happy my girl feels comfortable talking about all the stuff that mortified me at age 10 and 11. And she feels comfortable talking to me about it.

And yet she's still my little girl who, when she can't sleep, comes into my room to cuddle with me. I want her to stay my little girl (who's taller than many adult women) just a little bit longer.

Rebirth

2010-04-04T21:53:00.002-04:00

As I age, I really get why the early Christians stole the pagan festivals of rebirth and slated the resurrection as a Spring holiday. I took a lengthy hike on the C&O canal towpath yesterday, and today I hiked on a trail in Rock Creek Park, all in between doing a lot of free lance work for Uber that will go toward a down payment on a decent cello for TG. We've had an economy model on rental, and just upgraded (the day after her last sleep walking/hearing stuff episode, which scared me skinny, which ain't easy to do, so what did I do in the wake of that: splurged on my girl with a cello upgrade) to a "standard" rental, full-size. The nice cello rental guy at Brobst Violins (or an equivalent store) said he had never rented a full-size cello to a ten-year old before. TG is continuing for her third year of cello next year (She can play Pachelbel's Canon! She can play Ode to Joy!) and since, while she's not the next Yo Yo Ma, her Mama thinks she's pretty nifty, it's time to start saving for a purchase.

But this weekend was a recuperative weekend (I didn't sleep much last week) and the great weather and budding everything really did help. Also, TG is just blooming, so while I will remain vigilent, I'm not going to overthink or worry. Easier said than done.

But that goal is more easily achieved after nice walks in the Spring foliage. Just the smell gets me feeling better.

Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself

2010-04-02T20:34:00.002-04:00

Something happened last week that filled me with fear. I was not diagnosed with a mortal illness. My last pap smear (two weeks ago) was just fine. I had a mammogram this morning, and the technician didn't make any tsking sounds or say "Let's wait for the doctor." so all is good there. Sven hasn't done anything more moronic than losing his jobs, getting admitted to a substance abuse program, and scaring the shit out of his mother (and presumable his father as well). I have a trip to the Atlantic Coast of Florida to see FoilMormor in a couple of weeks. NuclearGrammy and Aunt Elsebet are both doing well. Cousin Roland's wife is actually recovering from her ostomy repair and she and Roland are rebuilding after their baby's death.

My work is busy and fairly enjoyable, despite some needy, nudgy colleagues who haven't learned that "I want it" isn't even a good argument for me to do something when it comes from the mouth of either DestructoGirl or TigerGrrl. PdeFF is back from foreign climbs so I'm not a single mother 24/7, just 24/3.5.

What scared the hair off my legs (yes, I should shave more often, but really, I don't give a flying fuck) was this: a little less than two weeks ago, I was sound asleep enjoying a lack of insomnia that only an insomniac can appreciate, when I woke to hear my bedroom door open. At first, I thought DG had had a night-time accident and wanted a clean t-shirt and a dry bed (mine); it wasn't. It was TG, saying she couldn't sleep because she was too hot and there was a voice in her head so she couldn't sleep.

I want a hero of the Soviet Union award for not displaying any fear. I didn't give my daughter any indication that what she had said pretty much disembowelled me.

I invited my daughter to cuddle with me, did not say "You're hearing voices? That's what your Insane Father does. We're doomed!" No. I used my inborn powers of deceit and said: "Honey, if you can't sleep, you come to me. You've done the right thing." I got her a cool washcloth for her forehead, and she climbed into bed with me, clutched me like Mr. Scratchy (her favorite nous-nous, Aka stuffed animal, from CookieDear) and promptly fell asleep, complete with cute not-so-little snoring noises that let me know her insomnia was gone.

Of course, my insomnia was back. In the mornin, TG woke up, a little tired, but lucid and with no altered demeanor or affect. I got her to school, caught the Metro to work, and immediately called MNOT and left her a message telling her that I needed her to call me back, it was an emergency. Then I got online and searched for medical and other histories of pre-adolescents hearing voices.

Which was a huge relief. Lots of kids hear voices. Thirty percent of all kids hear voices, and most are normal, sane children. This relieves me, but doesn't total alleviate worry. Because of course, PdeFF is batshit insane. His hallucinations were mainly olfactory, not auditory, but really. And TG has a mother with depression, and other mental illness on her maternal side. And this shit can be hereditary.

MNOT was very reassuring. Obviously, I need to be vigilant and I need to find out what TG was hearing (upon further questioning, TG told me the voice said nothing, but just sounded angry). Apparently, kids can have waking dreams or hear voices and not have any mental illness problems.

Not that I'm taking that as a given either. But mood changes (beyond those of impending adolescence) are apparently the real worry, and those aren't makin an appearance.

But my insomnia is back.

The New Earth

2010-03-21T21:38:00.002-04:00

Innana and my not-quite-a-roadtrip yesterday was lovely. I drove the Toaster out to Warrenton, and we discovered that the Fauquier County library used book store is abso-fucking-lutely divine. Hardcover books range from $1-$3. Paperbacks from $.25 to $1. I got: Underworld, by Don Delillo (I find him unreadable, but I'll try again); The Confessions of Nat Turner, by William Styron; The Inheritance of Loss, by Kiran Desai; The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love, by Oscar Hijuelos; The Philosopher's Pupil, by Iris Murdoch (amazingly, I've never read any Murdoch); Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, by Dee Brown; and The Children's Book, by A.S. Byatt, most in hardcover or really good condition paperback. Total cost: $8. Booyah!

And even as we sat on the rooftop deck on a wine bar having lunch, the trees were beginning to bud. When we left Innana's flat, the flowering tulip outside her window was just budding. The only jarring note on the drive home was that beds of tulips had been planted to be instantly blooming along th GW parkway. Aren't tulips perennials? Rebedding them each spring seems rathehr wasteful.

Despite worries about non-functional relatives (and relatives of friends) we just relaxed and enjoyed the day.

Innana's wonder-cat, Rajah, has spring fever rather badly and is doing a really good impression of Linda Blair in the Exorcist when thwarted in his desire to go outside. Also, he really wants more crackers put out by the window so the squirrels come by more often, because the All-Squirrels-All-The-Time channel is his fave. The squirrels pay him no mind, but accept snacks from Innana as their due. You might think the rodent-sized brain of the average gray squirrel wouldn't lead to much nuanced thought, but you would be wrong. Clearly, the squirrels have a complex algebraic formula in their heads (well, complex to a squirrel whose brain, is, after all, rodent-sized) to assess the risk of being eaten by a rather peevish, but overall sedentary cat when sitting on a window sill outside Innana's flat. Here it is:

Where F = assumed ferocity of cat; pVc = potentially velocity of cat when springing; C = chubbiness of cat (diminishing potential for V to any great degree); T = Thickness of Screen; P = presence of human audience; pVs = potential velocity of squirrel, which is affected by weight of crackers and peanuts ingested and being carried, and lethargicness caused by a nice meal; then:

F x pVc/C
_______________

T x P x pVs

Ergo, Rajah will never, ever catch those squirrels, being the sedentary feline who is not a 25 pounder or anything, but is still a fine and robust (round) figure of a cat.

Enough Gloom and Doom: Here Comes the Sun (and It's Going to Be A Bright, Bright Sunshiney Day)

2010-03-20T09:50:00.002-04:00

So according to Richard Wiseman's 59 Seconds: Think a Little, Change a Lot, spending money on experiences pretty invariably makes people happier than things. And having nice experiences without spending money probably rates just as high. So Innana and I are escaping are not-too-successfully adjusting to adulthood or its impending arrival nieces and nephews as the case may be, and are taking a road trip. Where? I don't know. Somewhere within an hour or two of Alexandria, that's certain. Somewhere to enjoy the nice weather, have a nice meal, and hang out. Yup. That's the plan.

I hope you have having nice Saturdays as well.

Hostage to Fortune

2010-03-18T19:51:00.002-04:00

Well, Francis Bacon said it: "He that hath a wife and children hath given hostages to fortune." But it's anyone who loves anyone, and any person to whom one feels protective. My life isn't tied to Sven, but things that he does affect those to whom my life is tied.

LOS and I aren't super-close as far as siblings go, but I truly love her, I trust her, and I want her to be happy. I have kids of my own, so I can partially figure out what she must be feeling to see her eldest child self-destruct. LOS has been through alcoholism already with her husband, who I have to name, so I'll just call him LOS's Husband or LOSH for short. I didn't support LOS a lot during the whole LOSH's alcoholism thing, at least when it recurred in 2004-2006, because really, I had PdeFF and his status as a delusional psychotic who I was divorcing to deal with and that sucked up a lot of time and energy. But now she gets to go through it again, including checking a child into a psychiatric facility. That's just one of those experiences that you never want to have, kind of like amputating your own arm with a pen-knife in the wilderness.

And both FoilMormor and Big Grampa are pretty distressed to know that a child of theirs has the pleasure of checking a child of hers into a psychiatric facility or addiction treatment center (which is a psychiatric facility, so there you are). They've been through this with NSLOS (and Big Grampa went through this with FoilMormor, although she made a full recovery, so that' s hopeful).

And TG and DG both love Sven, LOS, LOSH, and LOS's younger son, Christian (hey, it's a Danish name), so they'll be hurt if Sven crashes and burns, and they'll fee sad for LOS, LOSH, Christian, and Sven. Normally, TG goes to New England in the winter to ski, toboggan, and generally hang out with LOS and her family. That didn't happen this year, and now I've figured out why. I'm hoping next year TG will be able to take her midwinter trip.

But this waiting to see if someone else will become functional is really not fun. I remember this from 2005-2006. Again, when I next see Sven (see comments to prior post), I'm slapping his face. At least in my mind.

Zero Sum Game

2010-03-14T21:22:00.002-04:00

Apparently my good luck this last month is balanced by truly craptastic luck on the part of my sister, LOS. LOS's eldest son, Sven the Viking has shown his Nordic heritage, and not in a good way. Stereotypical, but common enough that the stereotype scares those of us who like a nice glass of wine or pint of beer or shot of Aqvavit or Vodka or whatever. Sven is in a rehab center for alcoholism, following managing to get his girlfriend (who we all like and think deserves better at this point) pregnant, get evicted from his apartment (after spending all his girlfriend's rent money on booze and possible other, worse -- more totally illegal -- items, and go on a bender losing him his last two jobs on bad terms with employers who had hitherto been rather fond of him.

The one bright spot in this extravaganza of bad news is that LOS and her husband, who has recovered from alcohol problems of his own, don't have to spend a dime for the rehab. Amazinglyu enough, in the disaster that is uninsured health care in the US, Sven, by moving to another state and establishing and independent domicile, got himself to a point where hospitalization for addiction will not bankrupt my hardworking and VERY tired (she's exhausted) sister and her husband.*

But my sister and her husband have had the unenviable experience of checking their uninsured and incoherent son (willing, but not functional) into rehab. Not an experience any parent wants to contemplate, much less experience.

Needless to say, LOS is winging her way down, for the last time (the place is on the market) to a Florida beach with FoilMormor right now. They'll float in the ocean, and FoilMormor will empathize, share her experiences of checking kids (NSLOS) into hospitals, and how she survived. Normally I boast about my great genetic gifts to my kids: they're tall, they're good looking, they're smart. But I also worry and wonder: my kids have mental illness on both maternal and paternal sides, and some pretty strong alcoholism/other addiction genes on my side from both my mother and father's line.

I don't sense any frailties in either TG or DG, but I do worry a smidge. Sometimes these things just come along and smack you just for the pleasure of it. I know that alcoholism, mental illness, and drug addiction aren't sentient beings, but it someitmes feels as if they are, and they are imaginary beings I imagine as miy enemies, and those of my sister as well.

LOS did not ask for anything when I asked what I could do, but I do think my trip to New England this summer will be by the new Toaster, and will involve a long weekend at LOS's place (I'll save to pay for a hotel, and will not put her to more work) with a little pampering thrown in.

Just a few days ago I was thinking about how good life can be after a bad turn. I hope LOS feels that way a year or two from now.

*Innana, I know you read this. No-one else who knows LOS does. So imagine this post is about someone else. Thanks. LOS deserves the illusion of privacy about this one, and, as always, I trust your good manners and discretion.

Deus ex Machina in Real Life; or, Losses and Gains: I Love My Toaster (And Someone Loves Me)

2010-03-11T20:32:00.002-05:00

The NuclearGrammyMobile is now an ex-car. Rather like an ex-parrot. It has ceased to be. Actually, it may live a bit longer, but it won't be me who ponies up $1,800 for a new transmission, and that is because I have a lovely new (and I mean BRAND spanking new) car, or actually, and brand spanking new rectangular vehicle of indeterminate sort.

So the 1996 Oldsmobile (yeah, it was an Oldsmobile) is history and I have a Scion xB. You can assume it's Silver as that seems to be the color of every other car or SUV in my neighborhood.* Of course, the Scion isn't an SUV: it's an "urban" utility vehicle. It's built on a car platform. And I truly do love the little toaster, even if I never would have dreamed of owning this vehicle.**

So how do I own a NEW vehicle? Well, Scion is a scion of Toyota, of course, and they're having a smidge of an image problem right now, even if Scion was never part of the recalls. Also, PdeFF has been on another continent, in another hemisphere, since Feb. 10. Because of that, FoilMormor was here in the DC area for a long weekend, right smack dab in the middle of my foray (truly horrific) into absolute single parenting.***

During that weekend, the NuclearGrammyMobile died the good death, unfortunately right when I was trying to take TigerGrrl to a school skating event. I cried in front of my daughters and my mother.

Fortunately, my mother took care of the kids while I lined up the tow ($8 co-pay, thank you GEICO!) and the rental car. She thought about the situation for about 8 hours (while sleeping), woke up last Saturday and announce that we were going car shopping. "You need my help to pay for the repair. I'm not paying for it. You're getting a reliable car. I'm paying for that."

Her plan was a 1-2 year old Subaru, but then we both had the genius thought: Toyota. They'll make a deal. I look at the recs for Toyota Corollas and Matrixes. But then, at the dealership, we discovered the entry level, fixed price, Scion. FoilMormor offered to write a check for a few K less than the Consumer Reports price "Everything included, cash of the barrel, and you have a sale." It was Feb. 28, after a month of bad Toyota news.

I have a new car with anti-lock breaks, front and side-impact airbags, and side airbag curtains. I have a stellar stereo system which I could give a crap about and don't know how to operate, but TigerGrrl is all over that. TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl have been showing off the car.+ It's been two weeks, and I'm still in shock, but looking forward to seeing SNV tomorrow (and washing my car in her driveway).

What do I know? The NuclearGrammyMobile served me and my girls well. Now we have the FoilMormorMobile. It's a mobile symbol of love, much as the NuclearGrammyMobile was. Key FoilMormor quote: "I'll worry too much if you don't have a reliable car. This is new. It's under warrantee, it's cheap, and it's safe. Within three years, you won't be paying so much for child care, and you'll be saving for a new car. And I'm selling the Florida home, and I'll give your sister the same amount (LOS: NSLOS's money will go into a special needs trust) so don't feel guilty. This makes me happy." And it is like FoilMormor was Glinda the Good Witch, waving her wand.

And yes, it is somewhat infantalizing. And no, I don't give a flying fuck.

*It's not silver, but it might as well be silver, so there you are.
**Honestly, I have a brain, and an awareness of my financial situation. I knew the NuclearGrannyMobile wasn't going to last forever, but I thought I'd be lucky to get a used Kia or Hyundai, and I would have been happy to get either, I'm not sneering.
***Let me just say now, true single parenthood isn't for the birds; they for the most part, share parenting responsibilities. Single parenthood is evolutionarily not a very evolved state, bringing out lots of reptilian brain function. "Because I said so" is a common phrase. We had complaints from neighbors about noise when DestructoGirl and TigerGrrl fought. (I resisted the urge to recommend the nearby home for the nearly deceased, and I want an award, or points. Really.)
+Sample DestructoGirl quote of praise: "It has mirrors! It has wheels! It has doors!" So you can see what a deal we made.

Diction and Credibility

2010-02-25T22:28:00.004-05:00

At a national security research conference (don't ask), I had the opportunity to ponder why people who one hopes are very smart seem to consciously try to make themselves sound dumb. Like Jimmy Carter and the pronunciation of the word nuclear (and yes, it discomfits me if you're someone who works in the nuclear energy or arms industry and you pronounce "nuclear" as "nu-cu-lar"). Here's the security dumbing down: instead of potential criminals, terrorists, or simplest of all, threats, such individuals have to be called "bad guys." Because our playbook is from Marvel Comics. Doesn't make me feel safer, same as taking off my shoes in an airport doesn't make me feel safer. In the wake of the underwear bomber, are they going to make us strip down before going through security.

That said, the conference was a very pleasant day and a half, with otherwise well-spoken and intelligent people who just happened to say "bad guys" a lot.

Blogs and Misanthropy

2010-02-15T13:30:00.003-05:00

I am trying to be a good deal less misanthropic, not with a great deal of success. Fortunately, I do have some grounds for hope. My neighbors are just plain old lovely. As are my friends. But driving around during the last two weeks makes me wonder if Darwin expected to be proven right quickly with the rapid demise of my species. Really.

Like the people who can't clear snow off the top of their cars and then drive rapidly and erratically, like the people behind you won't be affected by 60 pounds of snow falling onto their windshieds.

Like the people who are still marking their parking spaces, five days out. Tacky. Yes, you, I, and everyone else shovelled their cars out. It wasn't just for our own benefit. I think the whole marking your parking space thing is so Southie (I'll say no more), but even in the Northeast, the general understanding is that the "saved" space is saved for 24-48 hours. No more. And in my neighborhood, the people who are religiously marking their spots are the ones who borrowed shovels but didn't help neighbors dig out. The couple who helped me and six or seven other people? They aren't marking their spot.

But that's the problem with a post like this. Focusing on the problem brings up the negativity that won't help solve the problem. The problem is people acting like they aren't part of the social compact isn't a problem that can be fixed my ostracizing people or looking down on them. The only way to get people to chip in and carry their weight is to be a good example and praise any and all good behavior one sees. That's why the first few paragraphs of this post and all of my previous post are attitudes I need to eschew. Eschew, eschew, eschew.

Me feeling self-righteous and superior does nothing, and honestly, I know I have plenty of behaviors that would inspire someone else to self-righteousness and superiority with regard to me. No one has ever read another persons list of pet peeves and thought "No! I'll never do that again." They read them and think: "Aw, get a fucking grip." So, lets focus on my many great neighbors, not the nitwits. Nonetheless, markers in "your" parking space five days after the snow? Don't expect others to honor them.

Race for the Cure -- Why Haven't They Caught It Yet

2010-02-14T15:28:00.003-05:00

The whole Avon Pink Warrior/Susan Komen Race for the Cure thing pisses me off. My mom had breast cancer in 1996. She's still alive in 2010, and she doesn't call herself a breast cancer survivor. I'm all for finding out how to cure any number of ailments, including breast cancer and heart disease, but I have no idea why spending a ton of money getting a bunch of people to walk over three days wearing Pepto Bismo pink is supposed to have anything to do with curing any kind of cancer. For all the money they're spending on advertising and organizing the hike, as well as all the money spent supporting the hike seems like it could just be donated to cancer research without all the contortions of everyone patting themselves on the damn back and infantilizing women.

Now the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure is apparently reputable, with only 8% of money raised going to administrative costs, but as far as curing cancer goes, 28% goes to research. The remaining 64%? Not broken out from what I can see: I'm seeing fundraising (is that administrative? They're spending a ton on advertising), education, screening, and treatment. But to cure a disease, the research part would seem to be the primary focus, and 28% doesn't seem primary to me.

The thing that bugs me the most about the whole thing is the attitude: the woman saying she never had a say about losing her mother to cancer, but this walk makes her feel like she's finally had her say. Like everyone else gets a say regarding the loss of a family member? On what planet? (Or as the Saturday Night Live skit goes: Really? Are you fucking kidding me?) So we're going to walk wearing hideous colors so that no-one ever dies when we don't want that person to die? I don't even know where to start with that.

Don't get me wrong. Breast cancer is horrible. So is leukemia, skin cancer, lung cancer, brain cancer, liver cancer, heart disease, cholera (a big threat in Haiti right now, and no-one there got asked whether they wanted to lose their loved ones either, I'm pretty sure), myelofibrosis, typhoid, Tay-Sachs disease, or old age.

Nuclear Grammy has suffered more broken bones, and no-one asked me if I wanted my tough as nails grandmother to have her bones crumble to dust before she died (I don't, and she doesn't). I don't get a say. Fortunatley, my family, accepting that you don't always get a say, is simply making her pain free (if a bit addled) by loading her up on the opiates.

Big Grampa's second wife died horribly of ovarian cancer, and her teenage kids didn't get a say either: she was younger than I am now and her younger son was all of fifteen. Wearing pink didn't help, you know?

So if you want to use up a bunch of resources organizing a hike rather than paying for research, find. Why not just take a hike with friends, and give all the money that would be spent on organizing, etc. and have it go directly to research? I just don't get it. And find it annoying. Yes, I'm a misanthrope.

Things I Have Learned in the Last Week

2010-02-11T11:47:00.003-05:00

1-I have truly fantastic neighbors (thanks for the wood, the wine, the coffee, the community).
2-Without heat, shovelling a car out of the snow really does help with keeping warm.
3-Tea candles are quite effective in heating up a meal when placed on the lower oven rack and the food being warmed is placed on the upper rack.
4-Candles can actually keep a place pretty warm, if you use about 300,000,000 of them.
5-Children make great snow shovellers, but get bored quickly (actually, I already knew that).
6-Between the first snowstorm and the second, my shoulder strength improved a great deal.
7-My life is pretty good right now.

To Have a Friend, You Must Be One

2010-02-10T13:25:00.003-05:00

And yet, despite not giving a ton to my community, I must be doing something right. My neighbors got me through 3' of snow (more falling as I write), digging my car out, two days of power outages, and lack of firewood as well as the truly dire situation arising from not being able to brew coffee because of the lack of electricity. One couple helped my aging, recovering from dislocated-shoulder and stomach surgery self dig my car out. Another couple got coffee for all of us (driving to a coffee shop in a 4-wheel drive vehicle and getting 4 of those nice portable urns of coffee -- my heroes). Giuseppe's family gave me logs, so that I would have a fire in the fireplace -- and today, with the snow rising, came by with more, so in case the power went out again we'd have heat.

What do I do? I occasionally have their kids over to play, and things like that. I did sign TigerGrrl up to help dig out a neighbor who had back surgery two weeks ago, but he's going to pay her for that, so I can't get brownie points for that. And I don't think any of my neighbors give a crap that I give platelets and volunteer for vaccine and another tests. Nope. But I'm doing something right. With school out for the third day in a row, my girls are at friends' houses, and I'm relaxing and enjoying the quiet.

I've cooked up a nice brisket, enough so I can serve my nice neighbors some. Also, I'll be able to reheat it if the power goes off as I have figured that out: put tea candles on a tray on the lower oven rack, and then place the pot to be warmed on the upper rack. The dish heats relatively quickly, when using enough candles. So I'm ready. Oh, and I have an extra bottle of wine (a Simi Valley Chardonnay) given by a neighbor for whom I performed this not-so-onerous favor: I called her on Sunday when the power came back on (after two days out). And for that I get a $12 bottle of wine? I don't spend more than $5 ($7 when I'm feeling flush) for a bottle of wine. So I'm feeling guilty. But not so guilty that I gave the bottle back or anything.

Anyway, a neighbor's kid (Giuseppe) just stopped by, so now I have to play a game of monopoly with him until TigerGrrl gets back. DestructoGirl and Giuseppe's little sister will be by shortly, to trash my place. Life is good.

Pop Psychology, Self-Help, and Snow

2010-02-07T22:23:00.000-05:00

For reasons that remain unclear to me, I am reading a fair amount of pop psychology/self-help literature (if you can call it that) right now. While much of the writing is dreadful, there actually are some useful insights. And yes, I am consciously checking these books out of the library (Power of Positive Thinking, Blink, The Tipping Point, Blink, The Luck Factor, How to Make Friend and Influence People and the like).

Actually, some of the reasons are apparent, or at least partially obvious. Next year, DestructoGirl will be in school full-time and it will be time for me make whatever career move I need to make, and, while I like what I do now, it's not the most high-powered job ever. And I could stand to make more money, especially if I want to contribute more to my daughters' college funds (pretty darn essential) and someday own a home again (a fond desire). I don't think any of this stuff is really going to change anything, but after years of rejecting any self-help or self-improvement advice and "literature" and being in a bit of a rut, well, why not read some of the classics.

I'll say this: I like Dale Carnegie, Malcolm Gladwell, and Richard Wiseman tons more than Norman Vincent Peale. And I had plenty of time to read this weekend, snowed in without electricity. Other than shovelling out the NuclearGrammyMobile, I read. Finally, my heat is back on, as is the electricity and Internet connection.

Now, I have to line up back up back up child care until the Saintly Babysitter can make it. Since buses are running on really limited schedules tomorrow, her commute and mine are both going to be godawful. And no, I don't get tomorrow off work.

Crossing the Bar/Falling

2010-02-03T21:34:00.002-05:00

NuclearGrammy is now dying. Well, maybe not dying, but nothing good is going to happen from here on out. She has fallen again, and broken her hip as well as tibia, fibula, and various ribs. This time, they're not operating, they've just put her in a brace/cast/whatever and given her lots o' morphine. BigGrampa and his sister, who has Power of Attorney and NuclearGrammy's medical directive, have agreed that palliative treatment is it.

I agree with them. A 97-year old woman with her third hip break in a decade, and additional breaks, isn't on the mend. NuclearGrammy was up and walking around in December, albeit with a walker. Now, she's doped up on narcotics and will not be walking again. She's been explaining how to make apple pie to the nurses. She has explained to them how a Chinese exchange student in the 1950s found the New Hampshire habit of her daughter of eating cheese on apple pie for breakfast totally repugnant even as he had a ginormous crush on said daughter. She's been singing ditties from the late 20s and early 30s, when my grandfather (ten years dead) was courting her.

BigBob has totally lost the plot and been going on the rampage about how NuclearGrammy was a wonderful mother (she was, I'm sure, if a tad fierce and harsh) and how her children should do everything possible to promote a recovery, do all treatment necessary.

Call me cold-blooded, but I agree with BigGrampa and his sister Aunt Y. BigGrampa cared for his second wife while she died of ovarian cancer, and Aunt Y cared for her mother-in-law during her years of decline and dementia. Neither has any delusions about recovery once the owl calls your name/once the bell tolls for you/once you've played twister with death.

At the same time, I'm having that foresight into what it feels like to be old and frail: I'm still doing physical therapy from my dislocated therapy, and I'm still anxious about falling when I walk on ice or snow or go up or down stairs. Skating is still verboten. That whole "I've fallen and I can't get up" thing is a lot scarier when you actually have the image of what it feels like to fall. And yes, physical therapy is progressing, but I'm still anxious.

FoilMormor is feeling her mortality as well: she's made her plans to close up shop in Florida and move to New England full-time, saying "I just don't want to spend my last years alone in Florida." I actually understand what she's saying even as I want to yell at her: "Mom, given your parents' life spans (and their lives were cut short as Christian Scientists who didn't get medical treatment) you can reasonably expect another healthy ten years." But she recently scattered her husband's ashes and she's feeling old. Not as old as her ex-mother-in-law, and I have nothing to realistically complain about. But still.

I've got to get back into shape. DG is just five, TG is just ten, and I need to keep up with them as an active parent. No more falling and dislocating my shoulder/elbow/hip/whatever.

Quick Question, Mountain View

2010-02-03T12:53:00.002-05:00

Someone from Mountain View, California is coming here every day (even though I'm not posting much anymore) and reading multiple posts. That's Google-land, right? This blog is boring now, not exciting (for exciting, check out the 2005-2006 archives), so what's drawing you in? If you don't feel like commenting, anonymously or otherwise, drop me an email at foilwoman at gmail.

Rhino Head

2010-01-21T19:07:00.002-05:00

Where does DG get this? When she feels thwarted, she yells "Rhino head!", lowers her head, scrapes her left foot on the floor a few times, and then charges, knocking the offending parent (that would be me) onto the couch with her five-year old fury. Is this just her great imagination (it is great), or is it from some annoying Nickelodeon show from which I should probably be able to recover damages (for weakened abdominal muscles). If anyone knows, do tell.

Shoulder Update

2010-01-21T00:06:00.002-05:00

I don't have to wear the sling any longer and I start physical therapy on Monday. Soon I'll have the use of both arms again. And the orthopedist says I can start skating again (including falling) mid-February, in time for TG's school skate night. Life is good.

The Dinner Party

2010-01-15T02:54:00.002-05:00

I've been invited to a dinner party. The only people, hitherto, who I have known who has people over for dinner for home-cooked meals are Uber and SNV and Ex-Marine Fred. But parents of a friend of TG have invited me to a dinner party at their home. Sounds silly to be so excited, but most social events I go to are kid-centric, pizza-ish, or in a restaurant.

Actually, this dinner party will be kid-centric as well, but the kids will eat their pizza downstairs and the grownups will have a grown up dinner, home-made. I'm looking at my dessert recipes.

Meanwhile, my ability to set up a wireless network in my home sucks. I've finally got my Internet connection re-established, but TG's connection on her laptop? Not so good. But the girls have multiple birthday parties this weekend, so I'm going to take some of that time to work on setting up the network. Of course, everything I've printed out says it's easy. Easy for a 20- or 30-something who writes code and tweets about me. For middle-aged me, that's a stretch. I'm trying to think of computer friendly pals I can lean on here. But I'll get it set up, one way or another.

Not Gently, But the Good Night Is Descending

2010-01-06T00:17:00.002-05:00

One of the good things that happened during the Christmas trip to New England was a fond farewell to NuclearGrammy. She's not dying, but at 97, she's fading. She had trouble remembering who her son was (Big Grampa) and could only identify LOS, NSLOS, and me as grandchildren, not specifically as us, and only could identify the great-grandchildren as descendants of some sort, no better than that.

She crashed her mobility cart and broke her hip in early December, and has recovered from surgery, even to the extent of walking again (very short distances, with assistance), but realistically, she's not going to fully recover. She's been moved from her apartment into the nursing home section of her retirement home. We helped Big Grampa empty her apartment.

I may see NuclearGrammy again, but she won't know me by the time I get up again this summmer. But we had a great lunch and visit, with her aiding and abetting the younger generation in climbing under the table, etc., and then asking, sweetly, if we could control our children. Hee. She may be senile, beginning to suffer from acute memory loss and some dementia, but she still knows how to stir the pot. I hope I'll see her again.

I Say A Little Prayer (of Thanks)

2010-01-03T23:59:00.002-05:00

One of the benefits of all my recent ailments is that all my neighbors are extra nice to me. I had the kids this weekend and had taken them to see The Princess and the Frog, which was survivable, even enjoyable. It was nice to see a Disney heroine who was brownish (like my daughters), competent, and whose mother hadn't died and didn't die. Yup. Except DestructoGirl much more closely resembles Lilo of Lilo & Stitch (and when she doesn't resemble Lilo, trust me, she's resembling stitch), right down to the sturdy little body. And TigerGrrl really wanted to see Alvin and the Chipmunks: the Squeakquel.

I'm a loving mother. I'm a doting mother. But there is no way I'm sitting through two hours of chipmunk talk. Nope. Fortunately, yesterday (or actually, the day before yesterday), we called some little friends of DGs to invite them over to fill my home with high pitched sounds. The mother said (bless her): "We're heading to the mall to see the Squeakquel. Would she like to go?" I said, channelling my inner Sarah Palin: "You betcha! Can TG come along too? She really wants to see it." After a quick yes, I gave TG $20 to pay for the matinee tickets and took a hydrocodone pill (shoulder still more than a bit tender) after waving a fond and relieved farewell. So the girls got to see the incredibly annoying movie of their dreams and I didn't have to do so. Sometimes, life is good.

And, the mother treated the girls to manicures. I think TG wanted to say no, but couldn't figure out how to do so. She wore ski mitts to Sunday school class today so that no one would see her beautiful, girly, totally-un-TigerGrrl-like red nails. She wore the mitts until I got out the nail polish remover (Saintly Babysitters' -- I don't use the stuff enough to keep it in stock) and gave her "normal" (according to her) nails. The thing that embarrassed TG? The little girls all said she looked like a "lady", even a "princess". This was enough to make my brave girl hide and say "Mama, can you take it off? PLLLLEEEEAZZZZE????" So her rain as a beauty queen in training lasted 14 hours. DG, or course, is running around showing off her glittery nails to all and sundry. I'm much more in line with TG's world view than DG's, even though nice bright nails are just plain pretty sometimes. But you can't do anything with them on hands and not chip them instantly. So I limit my ventures to toes.

But back to the main cause for gratitude. I dodged the Squeakquel bullet. Yay me!

A Brief Note From a Would-Be Peggy Fleming

2009-12-29T22:25:00.002-05:00

I can now give a comparison review of Mass General (Boston) and Mercy Medical (Portland, Maine) with regard to treatment of dislocated shoulders. Mercy wins hands down.

South Portland, Maine has lovely ponds for ice-skating, but a wise woman would not try any fancy footwork on the cracked and bumpy pond ice. I took a rather bad fall showing off for the FoilKids and FoilMormor (it's not a good idea to try to do a series of three turns and mohawks over cracked and bumpy ice).

Fortunately, today gave plenty of examples that counter my general philosophy that human beings are generally trying to prove Thomas Hobbes' maxim true. No nastiness or brutishness today, except possibly by me while being moved around for the x-ray machine.

Why is Mercy (a regional hospital) better than Mass General (a world class, Harvard-affiliated teaching hospital)? Well, Mercy gave me pain medicine before moving my arm around to take x-rays. At Mass General, when I screamed when the x-ray technician moved my arm around to get a good shot, he commented that I had a low pain threshhold, but didn't seem to think that moving an arm attached to a potentially dislocated shoulder would be something that would make an ordinary person scream. Wha?

Then at Mercy, they gave me real pain medicine before relocating (not the proper medical term, I know) my shoulder where it belong. At Mass General, the doc just shoved my shoulder back in the socket, and was shocked when I punched him in the face with my good arm after that assault. At Mercy, I had a "bolus" (whatever that is) of some sort of synthetic morphine and the was put under some sort of conscious anesthesia which caused me to not mind in the least that some handsome young ER doc was shoving my arm back into my shoulder socket.

So, Mercy beats Mass General, hands down. And it's time for my next hydrocodone dose (how did people with injuries survive without narcotics or good fake equivalents)? And how the hell am I getting two kids and all our luggage on a plane on Thursday. Oh, yeah: I'll pay the bag check premium and give out copious tips to the Redcap gentlemen at the airport.

Off to New England

2009-12-24T07:35:00.002-05:00

I can't believe I'm flying with two kids on Christmas Eve. Almost as good planning as scheduling surgery and a move two weeks later. No more posts until the New Year, unless I get non-dial-up Internet access. I hope everyone enjoys the holidays.

Winter Wonderland

2009-12-23T07:03:00.002-05:00

Mean Neighbor made no appearance this weekend while the Foilkids and friends made snow forts, had snowball fights, and used moving boxes as sleds to slide down the little hill in front of the picnic area. It snowed from Friday night until Sunday morning early (1 or 2 a.m.), and we had close to 2 feet of snow on the ground.

I have run so many dryer loads of socks, snow pants, mittens, hats, etc. I don't even want to think of my electric bill. And the school system cancelled first Monday, then Tuesday, and then today, providing my offspring with many more opportunities to get snow covered and delighted. And not a peep out of MN. Probably already on Christmas travels, but one can hope that the idea occurred that fussing about kids playing in snow probably wouldn't win the Good Neighbor award.

I'm not sure how MN moved into my complex, because my neighbors are otherwise almost uniformly nice and considerate (OK, I've trained them well), although there is one other exception, which might just be a cultural thing.

In some parts of Boston and other points north, it's a custom that once a city dweller has shovelled out a parking space, that person is entitled to save the space by leaving a lawn chair there. No one else parks in that space (This only works in residential-only neighborhoods, like Southie -- I've never seen this tried in Back Bay or in Harvard Square. It's a class thing as well as a neighborhood thing. In the Boston/Cambridge area, saving a parking space with a chair is pretty much a blue collar thing.) without risking a fight or slashed tires.

On my way to the bus stop, I walked past a chair left in a parking space. No-one else has done this is my neighborhood. Mainly that's because several neighbors were out Sunday a.m. helping other neighbors dig out. I was digging out my car when the father of two of TG's friends stopped by with a large economy size snow shovel and proceeded to finish shovelling out my car: it had taken me a half an hour to get it about 1/4 done. He finished the job in about 20 minutes. And then moved about the neighborhood doing the same for others. Fortunately, I had a stock of firewood (gift from another neighbor) and gave him a load for a fire in his fireplace. Several other neighbors were doing the same as the Good Neighbor Guy (and while he's married, he's got a nice trim build, so his good deed was also nice viewing) and everyone, self included was loaning shovels to neighbors without. Later in the day, when the kids were bored (If you're not a parent, you don't know how scary the sentence "Mama, I'm bored." really is.) I sent them off with shovels, brooms, and car scrapers to dig out cars that were still just sitting there.

So Neighbor-with-the-Chair, you just outed yourself as someone who only dug out one space in a neighborhood where the cultural norm is to take care of your neighbors, not set yourself in opposition to them. Oh well. Maybe NwtC and MN can hook up and move to an island where they're not part of the social compact.

Meanwhile, my complex has shoveled it's snow and has clean sidewalks, as does my employer, but last night I discovered, while trying to use the sidewalk along Rockville Pike in North Bethesda (don't ask) that the Boy Scouts of America couldn't be bothered to shovel their sidewalks (they weren't prepared?) and neither has the Temple Hill Baptist Church or the Bethesda Crest ("Luxury Townhomes from the low $1 millions) homeowners association. So they're in a three-way tie for the bad-neighbor-in-Bethesda award. Three days after a storm, I'll give a by to householders, as this was a mega-snowstorm, but big organizations and homeowners associations? Get off your backsides and shovel your sidewalks. Not everyone drives.

Fortunately, I'm back in my own, nice, caring for the neighbors neighborhood, getting ready to pack for the Christmas trip to New England. On my way to the bus, I'm checking out TG's snow fort.

Children Playing in the Streets of Jerusalem

2009-12-18T09:24:00.002-05:00

A favorite bible quote. And an instrument of neighborly revenge for me. The DC area is due a "major winter storm" this weekend. Newscasters are prophesying 6-12" of snow. So tomorrow I am so going to be an active and involved supervising parent at snowman building and igloo building that will take place right under Mean Neighbor's window. I'll be ready and able to answer all complaints about the annoying sound of children playing.

Now if I can only channel the serene aspect of Innana for this interaction. Yelling at the stupid bovine really won't help, and I'm sorry to insult cows and bulls everywhere by comparing them to this neighbor.

But my girls have snow pants, hats, parkas, warm winter boots and mittens, and will definitely be able to stay outside for a long time. I think we'll build a few snowmen, an igloo, have a snowball fight or two, and then use boxes as sleds and slide down the small hill in front of MN's apartment (in front of many others' apartments, too, but they don't mind and often come out and join us or invite us in for cocoa afterwards). We could be outside for five or six hours, go inside to warm up, and be outside for another three or four hours. Additionally, the hillside is lit in the evening, so the girls and I could be sliding out there, squealing appropriately, until eight or nine in the evening tomorrow.

I am so looking forward to this. Mainly, to watch my girls have fun, but also for the MN interaction. Yes, I am evil.

Only Connect

2009-12-13T23:06:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was a lovely day: I had a visit and lunch with Innana. Lunch was at the Evening Star Cafe in Del Ray, which was a delight, and then I met the Professor to see a holiday show and have dinner. And last weekend I went to the NFL game with Uber and this week I attended a work holiday party as well as a professional association holiday event with lots of old colleagues who I've known for more than ten years.

Today, after teaching Sunday school, I came home and mended TG's cello case, baked office Christmas presents, and then got the spirit and played the piano and guitar for the first time in months. Piano: Pachelbel's gavotte & variations, some depressing Jackson Brown and Janis Ian stuff and then Christmas carols: Adeste Fideles, The Holly & the Ivy, Born Is He the Child Divine, Bring a Torch Jeanette, Isabella, and Cold December Fled Away. Guitar: some Child ballads: Mary Hamilton and Unquiet Grave, and then the Cherry Tree Carol and the Friendly Beasts. I might even be able to play well enough to do carols with the girls.

Somehow, seeing friends and playing music really does cover all the bases. Not all of them, but cooking a pot roast and cookies pretty much covered any gaps.

All good.

None, I Think, Do There Embrace

2009-12-12T12:46:00.003-05:00

It's odd, but I'm completely uninterested (and disinterested as well, both of which are unusual for me, to date) in men, dating, romance, and sex. At least for the last nine months or so. And I'm 48, I'm not pregnant or anything. I wonder about perimenopause and changes related to age.

Probably, it's just single parent exhaustion and plenty of physical affection (TG still sometimes climbs into bed to cuddle, and DG does so routinely) that make it so that I'm not interested. Except not interested isn't the right description either. I'm vaguely interested, but not interested enough to do anything at all, and I'm not interested enough to do anything in response to someone who expresses mild interest but doesn't seem to have followthrough.

Last weekend, I saw a Redskins game (v. exciting, versus the Saints, a heartbreaker) with Uber and her husband and TG. This week, I attended my office Christmas party, limited myself to two drinks, flirted with a very shy man who I know likes me, and left before people started to embarrass themselves (self included). This weekend, I'm going to the theater with the Professor and seeing Innana.

That's another part of it. I have more than enough friends. I have trouble keeping up with the friends I have. Aside from Innana (who really is a sister, just born of different parents) and the FoilKids (peace be upon them and may they not be too brutal in their soon to occur global takeover), everyone else gets short shrift. And new relationships have to combat that. It's a nice thing about being older. I remember being young and wanting to make friends and trying to make friends. Now, friendships are like cheese and wine: I know most of them are better for maturing.

But I really have lost interest. I read other people's dating exploits in their blogs and think: gosh, that sounds like a pain. Where's my knitting (or chocolate or guitar or ice skates)? Somehow, a season has passed -- it may return again, these things tend to be cyclical -- and I'm perfectly happy with that. I look down on the brook outside my bedroom window (really!) and wonder what birds will nest in the trees above the brook this spring and what total mess-creating adventures TG and DG will be having there when they think I'm not looking (they'll be wrong, but I won't be obvious about it). I have Christmas decorations to hang, a couple big work projects to finish, friends in New England to connect with and set days for visits before flying up there for the holidays, things to cook, and naps to take. I wonder at times if I should be doing more, and then think that maybe in a year or so, I'll have the energy to undertake caring for the much longed-for pet TG wants (essay: 10 Reasons I Need a Hamster). Actually, the pet will probably be a smallish dog, and only once I own a home and am not renting. But that seems like enough on my plate.

Software Add-Ons (and Certain Neighbors): Oh, How I Loathe You

2009-12-10T08:55:00.004-05:00

I am generally pleased with my new Internet/phone provider, my new cell provider, and my new cable provider in the new ersatz-ChezFoil*, but my life is being sucked dry by all the "improvements" to my service. Setting up the wireless network. Installing the antivirus and parental controls and computer efficiency programs (not so effing efficient, you know?), and hooking up my new to me and TG's new to her computer (me) and laptop (her) in harmony with appropriate protections (her). Someday, I'll actually have time to play again.

Speaking of playing, a neighbor of mine, whose place overlooks the picnic/public area of the complex, has decided that kids shouldn't play there. They have to play at the nearby (1/3 mile away) public park. MeanNeighbor (MN) has no rational basis for the belief that kids are not supposed to play in the public area. She works from home, and finds the sounds of children playing annoying. Innana took MN on this weekend whilst babysitting for DG. Some kids had been yelled at by MN and told to go to the park. Innana went to the management office with the kids, and the management (I love you, management) said: "Oh. That tenant. Of course the kids can play in the public area." So Innana went to closely supervise the play, which was child-style exuberant, but not offensively loud. On a Sunday afternoon after a snow, mind you, and kids were sliding down a small hill squealing with glee, as they are wont to do when sliding on snow. MN came out and said the kids had to leave. Innana said "No, they don't." MN: "They should play in the park." Innana: "I just spoke to management. It's okay for the kids to play here. This is not a private area. It's the picnic area. The children aren't misbehaving." MN: "They need to leave." Innana: "No, I've checked. And the children aren't being overly loud. They're being children." MN: "They need to leave." Innana: "They're going to continue playing. You need to take this up with management."

Clearly a fight that will happen again (it happened before). Obviously, MN needs a more private and isolated home, and I understand that sounds affect people differently, but JeezLouise and all that. MN is superlucky it was Innana who was the respondent, not yours truly. Innana has much better manners and more self-restraint than I have. And Innana assures me, the kids were well-behaved, etc. They had the brains to come get an adult, after all, when MN showed up.

Suggestions? Earplugs? I'm just waiting for springtime, when the EuroDudes and MilitaryDudes have their barbecues. They're a heckuva lot louder than the ScooterClub, the SoccerClub, and the SnowSliders (Yes, they named their clubs, isn't that cute? How do you join? Show up.) are. I'm thinking of making a special mix CD just for MN. More suggestions?

This is the only unpleasant neighbor we've bumped into in four years, and MN is not in my building. So really, this isn't a big problem, except for kids trying to play.

*It's not an apartment or flat -- it's sort of townhouse-like, so I can't call it the FoilFlat anymore.

The Torrent of Consciousness

2009-12-07T21:03:00.002-05:00

Yes, I have Internet access and it has been two weeks. I still loathe and despise Verizon. My new service provider seems entirely, er, adequate. More than that I really can't say. Adequacy seems to be the highest goal to which most telecommunications providers aspire. But my new service provider actually approaches adequacy, which means it tops Verizon by several orders of magnitude. Verizon, like Lori Gottlieb, is an idiot.

No Internet Til December 7

2009-11-30T09:21:00.003-05:00

So no real posts. My new provider is being delayed in the switchover by Verizon, of course.

Over the Horizon Goes Verizon

2009-11-27T13:15:00.002-05:00

I've dumped it like a bad boyfriend. Yup. I'll be without Internet service for a while longer while I wait for my new providers' (cell, landline, Internet, and cable) to connect. But since I've had no service since the move WITH Verizon, things are looking up. They even made disconnecting service difficult.

Ernestine Rides Again

2009-11-24T10:04:00.002-05:00

Remember Lily Tomlin's phone company lady? I'll say no more than this: I now hate Verizon's customer service department with a fiery passion. Can anyone recommend inexpensive Internet, cell, and regular phone service, either all-in-one or separate? I've got to dump this chump of a non-service provider.

More De-Stuffifying

2009-11-20T07:20:00.001-05:00

In fifteen minutes this morning, I've packed up a bag of clothes or Goodwill/Clocktower/St. Vincent de Paul/Whatever thrift store I pass first, and another bag of books for the library sale. The more I remove things, the easier it is.

I'm Never Moving Again

2009-11-19T19:32:00.003-05:00

Except of course, I will, when it's time for me to reenter to the world of homeowners. But that is two to three years off. Meanwhile, I'm packing in a frenzied manner, knowing that I will never be able to lift any of these boxes (that's what movers are for). My DVD/VCR player died yesterday, so I threw it out. I won't buy another until the move is OVER. The rugs will be delivered to the new abode once cleaned. I've thrown away in excess of 20 bags of trash, given away more than 10 bags of clothes, and sent to McKay's for store credit more than 10 boxes of books, and I'm still trying to get rid of stuff.

And I don't like to shop. Stuff just accumulates. Part of it, of course, is kids. The musical instruments, the sport equipment, the arts supplies. Part of it is being a bibliophile on the cusp of bibliomania. Part of it is the knitting stash. Okay, the two guitars (classical and twelve-string), piano, and cello take up some space too.

But really, I have one tv, haven't bought any new clothes in over a year, don't buy the girls much other than books, but my home overflows. Does anyone want a juicer? I was given one by SNV and Ex-Marine Fred from the magic basement. I've never used it, so it's going. Same with a blender that could be fixed with a minor repair, but I don't have the time or energy. Every tupperware type container that doesn't have a matching lid has been tossed. Every lid that doesn't have a pot or other container has been tossed. Any clothing I haven't worn in the last year? Given away. Any clothing needing mending that hasn't been mended in the last year? Tossed. And I'm still packing. And I've really been packing all month with just a minor hiatus for surgery.

Of course, I can't throw away most of my knitting stash, patterns, music books (guitar and piano), regular books, and CDs and tapes. But really, everything else? Fair game.

Squeamishness In Thought and Reality

2009-11-19T07:30:00.004-05:00

Recently, I've noticed that most of the people I know who are squeamish live with a lot more of the stuff that makes them squeamish than people who aren't.

Some examples:

A colleague can't abide (literally gets up and leaves the lunch table or coffee klatch) any reference to blood, bodily functions, fart humor (I guess he never passes gas?). He has caregivers for his elderly father, but they aren't 24 hours a day, and there is definitely Depends action going on there. This is a lovely man, and maybe he just has enough when the home health givers aren't there, but really.
An acquaintance who has more than one cat also gets grossed out by just about anything. Needless to say, the cat boxes in her house are not changed weekly or cleaned out daily, and the parts of her house in covered in carpeting don't get cleaned very often. Walking into the house is walking into eau du chat, including the dining and cooking areas.
Another acquaintance is similarly deeply unable to discuss anything messy in life yet you can pretty much tell his diet for the week by his tie at the end of it.

Compare and contrast:

SNV: Can talk about anything, doesn't get grossed out except by real disgusting stuff. She has two cats, but her home is spotless and sans the cat smell. Whatever gross stuff she confronts, she (or Ex-Marine Fred -- they're equal partners in keeping the home clean with hospital corners) cleans or throws our promptly.
FoilMormor: Tortured the Second Mate in the first years of their courtship when he (a highly intelligent, Ph.D educated professor) said that women didn't fart (actually, he said "pass gas") and my mother decided that he needed to learn otherwise. I don't know if the real Danish word for fart is "putt" but that's the word we use in my family and my mother was putting all over the place.* FoilMormor's home is like SNV's: spotless.

My theory is that people who are overwhelmed by the idea of dirt, feces, vomit, whatever would rather imagine it away than clean it up. I, of course, fall into neither category listed above. I'm not easily grossed out, but my home isn't spotless. Nonetheless, whenever I've been confronted with pee on the floor or vomit someplace, I clean it until it's gone, I don't leave it there as a welcome gift for visitors. But squeamish people of the world: really, laundry, carpet cleaners, changing the litter box often, vacuuming up the dog and cat hair, mopping the floor, changing the diaper, bathing daily, these these keep you from being more intimate with the mess and bodily products that gross you out. If the words bother, why is the reality something you're able to ignore? The man in example #1 is an exception really: he cares for his parent out of duty and even though he's grossed out.

*All the women in my family are still giggling over this, and wondering about Second Mate's mother, who told him that women don't fart. Imagine the suppression! And also the complete lack of honesty about women's bodily functions. Why not just say your shit doesn't stink? Equally logical. Obviously, Second Mate just accepted this (and his first wife bought in? No wonder that marriage ended.) without real thought, but really.

Obviously, Not Everyone Thinks I'm An Obnoxious, Misanthropic Bitch

2009-11-15T20:23:00.004-05:00

They're wrong, but it's flattering. A couple who I like and who interact with me a lot, but who I would never call friends (my kids like their kids, and we interact, but we don't share social lives except through our children) and about whom I worry that I am a mooch (somehow they're always doing a bit more than I am, although they do hire the Saintly Babysitter a lot; but let's be honest, me having the Saintly Babysitter in my home is not something I do to be a help to this couple), just did me an enormous kindness.

What kind of kindness? My laptop is dying. I've just been given, by the aforementioned couple (hereinafter the Lovely Couple or LC) a barely used (well, much less used that my laptop) Compaq computer. Yes, it's a desktop, not a laptop, but hey. It's Windows XP, not Vista. I'll have to workout the Windows XP/Internet Explorer Version 8 glitches. I'll need to seek a freeware Internet browser, but XP is oodles better than Vista. Meanwhile, I'll set up the Compaq with wifi once I move to the new FoilFlat (actually, it's not a flat, it's a townhouse style place, so I'll be back in ChezFoil).

I always worry that I'm taking advantage of LC. Their kids spend a fair amount of time at the FoilFlat (and will continue to do so at the new ChezFoil), but it's clear to me that my kids are at ChezLC more than their kids are at my place. Mr. LC is a good cook at is always feeding my offspring. I invite their kids to my place to play, but DG runs to their house (no street crossing involved) to play with their four-year old. TG and their son are always building forts, rolling tires around, making mud creations in the creek, making leaf piles to jump in, and other various kid-like activities. So I get the computer (worth at least $500 used on Ebay) because I'm such a lovely neighbor? Because I get sympathy points as a single mother? Or because I'm so fucking likeable?

I really don't like that many people. When I do like people I'm pleased and surprised. When they like me, I'm flattered and mildly shocked. When they show that for some reason they feel really kindly toward me, I wonder why I'm the best candidate.

Maybe this is low self-esteem, but I wonder: what did I do to deserve this? I need the computer, and will use it happily and well, but why me? People always say that about bad luck, why not about good? Why me.

On the Mend and On a Roll

2009-11-13T18:55:00.002-05:00

I've gotten a tentative all-clear from my surgeon, which I hope will be followed by a more emphatic all-clear next month. I can't do a lot of stuff (lift more than 10 pounds, ice-skate, bike on anything other than a stationary bicycle (boring!), do flipovers* with DestructoGirl), but only the "no flipovers" rule will still hold after Dec. 13. So that's good.

However, driving in to my checkup today, FoilMormor and I counted at least 37 people using handheld cellphones while driving. Even hands free cell phones aren't safe, and using handheld cell phones while driving is illegal, illegal, illegal in every jurisdiction we were in. FoilMormor held and answered my cellphone while I drove and we had a lengthy discussion as to how such traffic scofflaws should be reported. She did make a list of license plates.

So those of you who really think your nasal narcissistic non-stop chatter about nothing in particular is more important than the safety of FoilMormor's granddaughters (Sample FoilMormor commentary: "Look at that! He's not paying any attention. He could hit a child! And he's driving a gas guzzing SUV. Trying to compensate for something. He needn't -- we know he's inadequate. And driving unsafely too. No wonder you take the Metro most of the time dear. I don't think I can tolerate much more of this. Why don't these morons ride a bike and lose a bit of the beer belly and help the planet? And shut up. That would be a good idea."), really, she's watching you. And she's scarier than I am (not hard, I hear Champurrado murmur in mellifluous tones while he bakes something delicious) by several orders of magnitude. And she's making a list and checking it twice and all that (the season is upon us, and all that). So please, just stop it.

*A flipover is when you and your not-so-small anymore-child face each other and hold hands and then said child proceeds to walk up your body with her feet until she's at about waist level and then does a mid-air flip over, hence then clever, clever name of "flipover." Unfortunate, post-fourth abdominal surgery in this lifetime, I am banned from aiding and abetting the not-so-minuscule flipover artiste ever again.

Ouch

2009-11-12T19:10:00.002-05:00

Even laparoscopic surgery, when your insides are tossed around like a nice green salad, pretty much bites. I shall try to eschew all future surgical interventions. I'll shun them. That's how I feel about the whole mess. That is all.

No Words of Wisdom Here

2009-11-04T10:41:00.003-05:00

Nothing particularly witty or insightful to say here. I've done a bit of packing before I head off to pre-surgical prep and fasting at Innana's flat. I'm enjoying the beautiful fall weather, and will enjoy the drive along the river to Innana's place. I've gotten all the pre-move arrangements done (other than, er, more packing and throwing things away): electricity, phone, rug cleaning, chair repair guy stopping buy, movers, piano movers, etc. While there is more packing to be done, since we're just moving up the stairs, things can be put in recyclable grocery bags (I have oodles from the Red Cross as a platelet donor). Also, I'll have over a week to make the move.

Funny, I'm more worried about the move than the surgery, but that's realistic: the surgery is not some risky venture, and it's completely out of my control anyway. The move is entirely within my control. So it makes sense to obsess about that.

It's a bit shocking though: I have given away over 10 boxes/bags of clothes, thrown away at least 20 trash bags full of miscellaneous stuff, and have given away or sold over 10 boxes of books. My home isn't even beginning to start to look less full o' junk. And I am not a collector of things. We just have too much stuff. I just have too much stuff. I'm trying to imagine if I liked shopping and collecting things what this would be like.

Of course, kids and their toys and sports equipment and books do create a large part of the chaos, nonetheless, it's disheartening to have unloaded so much miscellaneous stuff and still have so much to unload. Or move. I vote for unloading.

Last post until next week sometime.

That's Really Scary, Boys and Girls

2009-10-31T23:37:00.002-04:00

Yes, I'm channelling my favorite vampire, SCTV's Count Floyd. And he would present the recent activities I have witnessed as a horror movie. I managed to survive fourteen birthdays of my offspring without being subjected to Chuck E. Cheese, but alas, that happy trend has not continued.

Also, it is clear that my capitalistic instincts just don't work. The whole Chuck E. Cheese business plan is a mystery to me. So-so pizza, endless soda, noisy games, and herds of young children running around to lots of noise? What parent in her right mind would go for this.

DG, of course, had a great time, and I will never go back to that noisy, seizure inducing (or, to be more accurate, ocular migraine inducing) site. Never.

The upside of this is that surgery later this week will seem stress free and I won't have to look at or listen to that evil rodent.

The moral: do not have a child's party at Chuck E. Cheese unless you are deaf and blind, and if you do have such a party, for the love of gerbils, hamsters, and other small rodents, don't have the party on Halloween. That is all.

Patting Myself on the Back

2009-10-28T22:29:00.002-04:00

I've pretty much got everything (other than packing -- that's another story) done for the shortest move ever (possibly 40' max). I've booked: (1) the movers; (2) the piano mover; (3) the oriental rug cleaner; and (4) arranged for change of phone service, upgraded internet, cell phone, and tv (new! and the whole schmear is a package costing about what I was paying before). I still need to change electricity and do change of address cards, but that's minor.

Packing's the bitch, but I'm throwing things away with random abandon, and Innana is helping me on Sunday. All clothes too small for DG are going to the Clock Tower Thrift Store. Any clothing I haven't worn in two years is, you guessed it, going to the Clock Tower Thrift Store. Any books that I won't read again that McKay's won't buy off me will go to the local public library book sale. Pieces of paper I saved with intent but will never pick up again? Trash. In the few weeks since this has been heading toward me, I've sold more than 7 boxes of books (don't worry, my bookcases are still full), given away five largish bags of clothing, and thrown out perhaps 20 bags of previously irreplaceable treasures.

Fortunately, my complex has a recycling bin where community members put out non-broken but unused items, and everything I just don't feel up to carting off to Clock Tower, I just put there. But still. I'm making progress every day. Just this last weekend, I got TG and DG to agree that they each only needed one skateboard each, so we recycled the third we had somehow acquired. DG's trike, which she didn't want to part with? Clock Tower while DG was at PdeFF's (don't worry, DG hurtles around the neighborhood on her BIG GIRL bike, with training wheels). Toys for the under three set? Gone from my home. And all the plastic covers without containers or containers without lids that no longer function for food storage? Thrown out. Now I just have to wash, rinse, and repeat at least 47 times between now and Monday.

The coat closet and the storage closet are clean and organized, and the pots and pans and miscellaneous shelves are organized too. And once I move out, I don't have to clean, since my current apartment is one of the last unupgraded units in my complex (why they gave me more for less, so they could rehab) and the landlord is ripping out the carpet and the kitchen and bathroom fixtures and tiling and redoing everything. Paint, carpet, tiles, electrical fixtures, appliances, etc. The landlord told me: Don't bother. We're redoing it, so don't spend your time. So I"m just organizing things for me, not for the great unpleasant cleaning chore of all time.

Knowing What One Wants & Wanting What One Has

2009-10-23T07:34:00.001-04:00

The idea that childhood is idyllic has always struck me as an idea that sprung like Aphrodite from the brain of someone who neither had children nor recalled childhood. Children are, until age 6 or so, only moderately human and socialized. Yet watching my children, I do see that idyll.

While the gaggle of pre-teens and post-toddlers milling around my home is quite Darwinian in many respects, there are also very Zen-like lessons in contentment to be learned by these smaller creatures who will fight to the death over which DS game is better (or whether to use the pink or purple chalk on the sidewalk).

When DG got a mother dolphin with baby dophins floaty-tub-toy for Chrismas last year, I had no idea how she would react. She looked at this present that no rational person could have imagined and said, with glee: "Just what I always wanted!!!!!" (And yes, it was obvious from her diction exactly how many exclamation points went with that sentence.)

Every birthday and Christmas TG has had has been "The best birthday/Christmas ever!" With more explanation points, but I don't want to tire anyone's eyes.

I was feeling sorry for myself the other day: my upcoming surgery, the upcoming move, my sort-of-professional-but-not-all-that-prestigious-or-remunerative-job-after-all-that-education, how friends from high school are in the process of campaigning to run the free world while my big move up is up a flight of stairs into a slightly nicer (hey, granite counter tops and real tile flooring in the kitchen and bathrooms) and bigger (200+ s.f.) apartment. Then I went to the pumpkin patch with Innana, TG, and DG and TG helped DG select the best possible pumpkin, and both girls were very pleased with their glittery magic wands (TG really milks the fact that she has a little sister to wallow in kid stuff even though she's a big ten-year old) and pony rides.

So my career is, if not in the crapper, in the pantry in a cupboard not likely to be aired out any time soon. I have good friends, I'm almost fifty and both my parents are in good health and I still have a living grandparent (Go Nuclear Grammy!) and I'm the mother of a ten-year old and almost-five year old. And no fertility measures were involved and I produced those girls myself. And they are the happiest, healthiest, heartiest kids I have ever had the great good pleasure to see.

So what I have, I want: I have a job I enjoy, even if it's not all that glamorous to explain to others; I have a home that's secure (even if I will be moving in the next month: it's within the same complex with no real change in continuity); and my girls are healthy and happy. And I'm looking out my living room window watching the sky brighten with daylight.

Now I just have to go start packing and sorting for the move.

Geneva Convention Violations

2009-10-21T23:48:00.005-04:00

In random order, not by importance:

(1) Surgery in November;
(2) Move apartments in November;
(3) Host birthday party for five-year old at Chuck E Cheese (that's really scary, boys and girls).

I should invest randomly and gamble, because realistically: what else bad could happen?

Floor Plans

2009-10-15T21:14:00.004-04:00

Every time I move into a new home, I get, or make, a floor plan. Innana thinks this is silly. She has done since I bought my first condo in 1992 and continually showed her the very simple floorplan of a one bedroom flat that had absolutely no distinguishing characteristics. I managed to make her moan today (or possibly yesterdyay, I forget) by mentioning that I had a floorplan for my soon to be new home.

Now again, this home is merely up one flight of stairs from my current home. We're not moving interstate or cross-country. We're moving up a flight of stairs. Nonetheless, I am mailing a copy of the floorplan to FoilMormor, I'm reviewing the floorplan, and I have given TG a copy of the floorplan, as she cares deeply about where her bed, her books, her nightstand, her bureau, her toys, etc. will be. DG is a little less invested. She knows she'll be on the lower bunk of the bunk bed, but she is thrilled that our new apartment is a two-story townhouse, not just a flat, with the bedrooms on another floor from the kitchen, dining room, and living room. All good.

I still have to draw furniture on the floorplan and rearrange things.

Minor Changes

2009-10-14T22:06:00.002-04:00

Compared to 2005-2006, the changes in my life now are pretty minor. But still, November is going to be fraught. I'm moving apartments and having surgery just two weeks before the move. So right now, I'm throwing things out, pulling items that are too small for DG and bagging them to give them to Clock Tower Thrift Store. I'm really not sure how I'm going to pull it off.

However, the move isn't a big deal. We're moving up a flight of stairs into a townhouse-style apartment. TG and DG stay in their school district, we get a bigger kitchen, more of a view, the same pool (with the pretty EuroDudes in the summer), all TG's and DG's friends. The only issue is getting the piano up the stairs. Obviously, movers will be involved. 200 more square feet, too, and the kitchen has a window! And I'll be paying $140 less each month. Obviously, the economy still is in the crapper, or my landlord would be raising rents, not lowering them. They're giving me a break on the rent because they want to renovate the unit we're in. How that translates into a bigger, nicer place for less I don't quite figure, but I'm not complaining.

And I so hate to pack. If anyone wants clothes or shoes to fit a five-year old (DG is four, but she's wearing sixes and sevens at the smallest at this point), just email me at foilwoman at gmail etc.

Raising G&T Kids: The MOTY Guide*

2009-10-09T07:30:00.003-04:00

I was feeling a smidge guilty a few weeks ago when I discovered that TG had been tested as G&T back in second grade (the middle of the hell of my divorce) and somehow this fact escaped my notice. Of course, the school she was in has a G&T program. In fifth grade, TG is doing 6th & 7th grade math, and will start 8th grade math before the end of the year. She's in the top reading class and gets tons of enrichment programs: chess, instrumental music, reading and writing programs, etc.

Of course, the most important thing I did for the girls (DG, as well, who's in preschool at the local high school's child development center) was pick the best goddamn school district I could find. TG reads anything she can grab (and is upset, when going on a weekend trip to have only two or three books with her: "I might run out!"), and generally loves learning. She can cook a meal, do a load of laundry, is allowed to zoom around the neighborhood on her own on her scooter or bike. She's independent and capable and smart (well, we knew that).

DG tries to do everything TG does, with encouragement and protection. She plays 1st and 2nd grade math computer games, reads a little bit, but with great enthusiasm, swims like a chubby little fish, and is learning how to cook, clean, write, etc. Playing a card game the other day -- the Russian game fool -- where one needs six cards in the hand, DG knows how many cards she needs to pick up if she has four or three card, because she can add and subtract in her head.

How do I manage this and encourage this? If I were a typical PowerTown parent, I'd be searching out every advanced program I could find to shove down their throats, but I'm too lazy. They're going to find the things they love, I'm going to encourage them, and I'm going to get out of their way. Really. And it's working, so in this instance, laziness and exhaustion work. They get to be kids, they get to learn a lot, and I get to read my book on the patio while they run back to me every five minutes or so explaining some great adventure they're on, or some great discovery they've made, or some great bike or scoooter trick they want to show me.

Yup. Slothfulness works, letting kids be kids. Oh, and this website is my absolute inspiration, and when I have a smidge of ambition, I'll add it to the list of sites I like.
*For those of you who don't live in PowerTown (Washington, DC) and don't love acronyms the way everyone here does, that's "Raising Gifted and Talented Kids: The Mother of the Year Guide".

C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien

2009-10-07T22:33:00.002-04:00

I've just reread all the Chronicles of Narna to be able to discuss them with TG, who is reading them. Now I'm starting to read Lord of the Rings. I loved C.S. Lewis's books as a kid, but on re-reading, all the good guys are fair, all the bad guys are dark, xenophobia reigns supreme even in an imaginary country, and the worst villains are women. C.S. Lewis's christianity leaves me cold, even as the books are a fun read. It will be hard to discuss with TG.

I've just started reading LOTR, and I think I'm going to be irked and annoyed by the pale, wan heroines, but who knows. Otherwise, as a middle-aged woman, I've embraced the inner geek from whom I spent my high school and college years trying to keep my distance. TG and I play chess, go to games clubs, and not only play chess but Settlers of Cataan, Carcassone, and many other logic games that may yet result in us being called "gamers." TG loves that shit, and I enjoy it too, if only to hear her high-pitched chortle-giggle that's her only girly feature.

But I don't think I can be a true gamer/geek unless I take up Dungeons and Dragons, go to scifi conventions, and start learning elvish. And I'm resisting Tolkien, even as I'm starting his magnum opusl.

True Fear, or, Alternatively, I Have Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself

2009-10-05T07:24:00.003-04:00

Next month I need abdominal surgery. I'll need to be in the hospital for 2-3 days, and I will need a week or two to recovery afterwards. No cancer, nothing like that. Just structural work. So while I'm not looking forward to yet another foray into slice and dice land, that isn't what has me scared.

No. Here's the really scary part (think Count Floyd from SCTV): after the first few days after surgery (where I will be recovering with a doting cat in Innana's comfy flat), Foilmormor arrives to take care of me at home. And boss me around. And inspect my (complete and utter lack of) housekeeping skills. I've been throwing stuff out and organizing all weekend as the Foilkids have been with PdeFF, much needed as my room was approaching Gray Gardens like levels of clutter, and I need at least three months to get my home to the appropriate Scandinavian good housekeeping level. Isn't that really scary, boys and girls?

Changes

2009-09-30T22:16:00.002-04:00

Saintly Babysitter is looking for another job. I just can't pay her enough. She deserves all that she's requesting, but I can't do it. So it looks like after four years, she'll be leaving. Who knows when that will happen, and I have back up child care, and DG is now in preschool, but still. This makes me sad.

Sadder than any breakup of a romance. This is actually important and will affect my life (and obviously, my daughters' lives). I'm feeling slightly heartbroken here.

Nonetheless, next year, both girls will be in school full-time and it only makes sense that Saintly Babysitter move on before then.

TG has chess club, environmental club, karate lessons, and an after school activity to be named later (probably next week) keeping her at school until 4:30 two to three days a week. DG goes to preschool (for three hours a day) four days a week. The hours Saintly Babysitter works are shrinking and I'm not able to pay her the same amount I did last year as all these extra activities cost more and transportation for DG also costs a bit.

I don't like this, but it's reality.

On the more cheering note, my meeting with the G&T advisor at TG's school included her showing me TG's scores (from 2nd grade, three years ago, mind you). At seven and a half, TG scored a 51 on the Raven Progressive whatever test (this means something to somebody), and all the other G&T kids scored in the 40s. The teacher told me that any adult would be very pleased to get a 49 or 50 on the Raven, so a seven and a half year old getting a 51 is pretty amazing. She wouldn't give me percentiles for that, or the reading and math tests (but her score was the highest in her grade for each test she took). I just hope that losing the security of her babysitter doesn't cause some sort of slump (it won't, but I still worry).

DG did a running hug and a ballet hug for me in front of the woman who drives her to preschool. She was pretty amused. Then DG gave her a ballet hug. It was cute, but I felt a smidge, er, jealous. I need to get over that. It's wonderful that DG is affectionate and is happy and trustful with the people who take care of her during the day. She also kissed all her preschool teachers (high school students in a child care class, several of whom she already knows).

At skate night, DG followed around after a group of second graders who were actively trying to avoid her -- they were too cool to hang out with a preschooler -- but didn't seem to notice. "I need to find my fwiends." She would state this and set out off after the girls fleeing her presence. She's not easily thwarted.

Tomorrow, I'm off to my vaccine research study, and in October, I'll start a sleep and weight study that looks interesting (and reasonably remunerative). It beats committee work, that's for darn sure. And I have to start preparing my class on Moses and the Ten Commandments.

MOTY* Award

2009-09-23T20:59:00.002-04:00

A woman who's helping TG get to and from chess class after school (these things really aren't designed with children of parents who are out earning money in mind) asked me if I had had TG tested to see if she were G&T.**

I don't need a stranger running tests to tell you that my ten-year old is scary-smart. Nonetheless, I worried. What I am doing living in overpriced upscale-yuppie-strivers-paradise, which I can't really afford but is worth the extra costs I can't afford because of the good schools, if I'm not shoving every opportunity for academic enrichment down my child's throat, in a totally nurturing and not at all stage-mama kind of way?

I emailed the school counselor, who, it turns out doesn't to G&T, but referred me to the correct person. I emailed her, and asked if I could have TG tested for G&T (hey, it's an acronym!). She responded that TG was tested back in 2006 and definitely was G&T. Obviously, in the midst of the divorce, I lost that key piece of information. Bad me.

So tomorrow, I'm meeting with the G&T teacher, who sadly won't be serving me G&Ts, to discuss my eldest's impending middle school career. I'm in complete control here.

Fortunately, I had taken tomorrow off for (1) DG's preschool open house/orientation (these preschools are complex enough that orientation is necessary), and (2) a follow-up appointment with the estimable Dr. Falk to cure myself of the Bubonic Plague or possibly nasty-irritating-and-like-a-bad-guest-just-won't-fucking-leave-sinus-infection. Fortunately, the teacher's free time coincided with mine. So tomorrow's busy.

So's Saturday: National's game + skating night. So's Sunday: Sunday school + Innana's birthday festivities. No rest for the wicked, certainly. Next weekend I'll rest. And clean. Etc.

*Mother of the Year. Please don't comment if you don't get the irony.

**Gifted and Talented, not a tasty Gin & Tonic, which is the only G&T I knew, prior to this conversation.

Easy Times Are Hard for Me

2009-09-22T23:22:00.003-04:00

I get a lot less done when there isn't a crisis, but I'm trying to improve that tendency. I don't want to only get a lot done when disaster looms. Part of it is ADHD, part of it is that I have had enough real trouble in my life that I just don't react to anything that doesn't truly threaten my physical, mental, or fiscal well-being (or that of my children).

So: I stall for a month on going to the doctor for a common cold with a sinus infection. No, it never went away. Yes, I am going to have to get stronger antibiotics: the ones I'm taking have improved things, but I've still got a sinus thing going on. It almost makes me long for the good old days of uvulitis (when your airway's blocked and you aren't breathing, you don't have that annoying congested feeling behind your nose, at least). Is there a sinus removal procedure? Or should I just self-decapitate? Actually, I'm doing much better, but five days into the antibiotics, I'm still improving, not better.

I stall on writing, I don't get my flat cleaned, I avoid most non-kid social events and obligations. Fortunately, Innana's birthday is coming up and I plan to celebrate with Innana, SNV and EMF. That'll be fun.

But things are easier now, but that means my insomnia is gone, and so is the free time (from about 0100 to 0400 hours) in which I was planning to write the great American novel. Whoops.

Meanwhile, Uber is giving me baseball tickets, I've got a skate night with the girls planned, there's a movie the girls want to see, there's chess club, there's karate, and I haven't played either of my guitars in a few months. I'm thinking of the fingering for Friend of the Devil, and I think I don't remember it any more.

Tomorrow night, no matter what: the kids are with PdeFF and I'm writing some, I'm reading some, and I'm playing the guitar. No matter what. Cleaning the house? That's not a crisis, believe me.

Subway Shocker, Illness, and the Insane Ex Rides Again

2009-09-18T22:06:00.005-04:00

Metro

Color me shocked and pleased: a man asked me whether it was okay for him to sit in the seat he had chosen on the Metro. It was across from, and identical to, the handicapped labelled seats. I told him that yes, it was okay to sit there, but if someone with crutches got on, he needed to hop up and offer the seat.

"I don't want people to think I'm inconsiderate." he said. I responded that the very fact that he worried about it and asked the question pretty much guaranteed that he wouldn't be inconsiderate. Who knew? He must be from someplace else.

Illness and Overwork

Despite having lots of things I want to write about, I've been working my job, doing volunteer work, doing freelance work, and preparing for Sunday School (I am a religious parent's worst nightmare, that's for darn sure). In addition to that, I've had a lingering cough, sinus infection, and bronchial brouhaha since August 14. So I finally got off my backside and went to see the estimable Dr. Falk, who saw me the same day I called, didn't give me a hard time, gave me an inhaler, and some nice generic antibiotics.

Okay, next time I have sinusitis and something like bronchitis, I won't wait a month to call the doctor. Thirty hours after seeing Dr. Falk, and I'm realizing how under the weather I had been feeling: even though I still feel rather crappy, compared to what I had felt like, I feel great. I can't afford to get so run down I'm falling asleep at 9 p.m. on the couch with work sitting open before me.

Insane Ex

PdeFF and I generally deal with each other pretty well now, mainly because I manage most communications by email. But every once in a while he does something to remind me how happy I am to have divorced him and how much better my life is within him in it. I know that sounds mean-spirited, but really, I didn't want to divorce, but I had to to have peace of mind (not to mention regain financial control).

PdeFF has gotten it into his head that TigerGrrl should have more friends: more girl friends. TigerGrrl has tons of friends (or followers). They are mainly boys. PdeFF has ordered the Saintly Babysitter not to let TG out to play with the boys, but to make her play with girls.

Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with my eldest, TG doesn't wear dresses, never wanted to be a princess -- always declared she was the King, doesn't particularly care if things are pretty, NEVER wants to be girly or feminine, and is almost a black belt in karate. If PdeFF wants a girly girl, DestructoGirl can do that, while wrecking whatever piece of furniture she's sitting on. Don't ask me why. TG doesn't do girly. And she's perfect that way -- that's just who she is. She's a tennis playing, karate kicking, book reading, bossy, non-girly ten-year old. Try to get her into a dress. Try to get her to play with dolls. Just not when I'm around, 'kay?

The thing that really blows me away about this new ukase of PdeFF is the futility of it, and the fact that it's totally unnecessary. TG is who she is, she's fine that way, and she's not changing. And if he wants a girl who plays with dolls (okay, so she decapitates them some of the time, but there's nothing wrong with that, is there?), he has DG to do that. So why do something that will just make his kid miserable.

Fortunately, Saintly Babysitter listed to his diktat and then asked me when I got home, if she had to keep TG away from ALL her friends. I said no. After all, PdeFF isn't paying for the child care, I am. So he really doesn't have much authority. Funny, he only gave this order to SB, not to me or to TG. So he has not completely lost touch with reality.

Next, he'll buy TG some sort of ruffly dress thing for her birthday or something.

Bible Stories

2009-09-12T16:53:00.002-04:00

I'm preparing for my first Bible study class. Regular readers (all fourteen of you) may remember that this is NOT a religious this-is-the-inerrant-word-of-a-deity Bible study class, but a class of the myths and stories of our culture as related in the Bible. When preparing for teaching ten and eleven year-olds, it's tought.

Really, Abraham and Isaac, where a father is ready to kill his son because his god tells him to do so? When Andrea Yates tried that, the voices weren't really god, were they. They never are. I have no idea how to present this to kids so they don't run screaming from the room. Except, since they're ten and eleven, the idea of murderous parents will probably just seem like another scary movie.

Joseph being sold into slavery by his brothers? The seeking out all the babies to kill them? Visiting plagues on people to punish them or teach them a lesson? And then the mother of all the stories, the echo of Abraham being ready to sacrifice Isaac on god's say so, god actually killing off his child, in a rather worthy-of-Saw-or-Hostel way, to show how much we're loved by him.

Color me cynical and disbelieving, but anyone who tells me that they killed someone else (particularly his or her own offspring) to show how much they love me or someone else isn't really going to get anything from me other than an anonymous call to the police.

Any advice?

Some People Need Real Trouble

2009-08-26T21:34:00.006-04:00

I've been listening to one person with real troubles and missed a voicemail from abroad from a friend with real trouble. These people make me say to everyone else: get a grip.

Really. A cold is nothing to sneeze at (yeah, yeah, I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist), but it's not a life-threatening illness. Problems with party arrangements? Who gives a flying fuck? Cellulite issues? Pah. Someone doesn't return your calls? Get a grip.

Deathly ill children, bankruptcy filings, parents dying, getting hit by a car (SNV -- I'm looking at you -- you told the moron who hit you -- the pedestrian he hit while running a red light -- that you were fine and DIDN'T even get insurance information because you're such a stoic, and then realized, oops, you felt pretty bad; lucky for you, Ex-Marine Fred loves you buckets or he would have given you injuries the car accident didn't, and no, I'm not promoting domestic violence. You'd hurt him worse, I know, I knowthat you were fine: "No broken bones!" you gladly pronounced.), having a miscarriage, life-threatening illness, impending surgery, getting fired, a suicidal friend: these are real trouble. Everything else? Survivable.

I've Been Wandering, Early and Late

2009-08-19T22:12:00.002-04:00

I love that folk song. As a kid and teenager, I thought that as an adult I would be a wanderer, peripatetic, the sort of person who lived out of my suitcase. Of course, at 48, I am no nomad, and probably never will be. I like knowing where I am, what my schedule is, and fixing my environment to suit me, even if that environment is messy beyond belief.

My second vacation of the summer (I have one more, and I'm actually dreading it) just ended. I'm back from a trip to FoilMormor's with TG, DG, and NIQ in tow. LOS and NSLOS and LOS's dear husband (DH) also showed up. It was a great trip. I have more bug bites than any human being should have (New England summer weather), and a cold I haven't been able to shake for five days, but otherwise, all is well.

NIQ liked (as far as I can tell) New England and really liked FoilMormor. She was intimidated by Andover, Exeter, and St. Paul's, but really, that just shows she has a smidge of common sense. We didn't get to Groton, Choate, or any of the other deep pocket schools (Deerfield, Miss Porter's, Mercersberg Academy, etc.), but at least she got a taste, and if she feels up to applying, well, that's good.

I'm exhausted (sorry, Innana, but I am), recovering from the black death, or the worst cold I've had in a while, and about to collapse. Before I do that, CookieDear, I owe you an email and a phone call or three, and I'm thinking about you. Do call this weekend. Big hug. Don't do anything rash. Really, do feel free to call. Innana and I are both thinking of you.

Test Subject Zero

2009-08-08T12:13:00.002-04:00

One of my volunteer activities is giving platelets or blood. I also occasionally do volunteer or reimbursed teaching (volunteer: Sunday school Bible as literature class; for $$: knitting), but I never do committee work or fundraising. I end up wanting to maim someone. So I've got a new volunteer tack that allows others to maim me.

Yes, I volunteer for the occasional medical experiment. I only pick issues that interest me (depression, ADHD, vaccines, insomnia) and where my personal frailties such as they are will add to the study (although I'm being a health test subject in my current study). This is all made easier by living quite close to a teaching hospital that has a more than adequate reimbursement policy (about $50 to $100/hr).

Most of my fellow volunteers are a good bit younger than I am, and I get the feeling I'll be able to do good and make money (if they're paying me, why do they call me a volunteer?) because when they need an over-40 demographic, it's much harder to find a non-excluded test subject (most people are taking medicines or have conditions or bad habits that exclude them). I like the idea that people are learning even as I get medical treatment I would otherwise need (I had a physical that was not only free of charge, I got paid $100).

I'm afraid I'm going to skew the test results, though. I don't have negative reactions to ANY medications, and it takes a fairly high dose of anything to get my attention. I was talking to the treating nurse about my complete lack of reactions to a vaccine, and she told me I'm just not hypervigilant about my health, which is apparently a good thing. Lots of volunteers notice every little everything ("I sneezed at 4:43 p.m. At 6:05 I noticed a slight rash on the vaccine area, 2mm in circumference."). I inferred that most volunteers are the kind of people who have lists of which laundry detergents are too strong for their sensitive skin. So they need me, they really need me. I have the hide of a rhinoceros. The only thing I've ever had a bad reaction to was poison ivy.

Now, I do draw the line: no spinal taps, no student exams, nothing more than an injection or blood draw. Also, if they can't see me before 8:00 a.m., I'm not in the study. I'm not taking leave from work for this stuff. It's volunteer; it's extracurricular.

But if five years from now all these vaccines are labelled as not producing all the side effects you normally see described, just blame me. I'm fine with it.

Huh? Or More Pool Eavesdropping

2009-08-07T07:46:00.002-04:00

I'm really beginning to wonder about the PYTs at my pool. Or, to be more precise, I worry and wonder about young women accepting that their worth is all about how they physically present themselves.

One woman was having a crisis about stained underwear. I just don't get this. No-one sees the darn stuff, and anyone who does see it, just wants it off, one would devoutly hope. No-one cares that you dropped some of your oil-based foundation (ugh, but that's another post) on your bra or panties. Really. You can still wear either. Underwear is by its very nature clothing that can get beat up, torn (as long as the seams hold), snagged, stained, and otherwise messed up without limiting its functionality.

I'm sure I'm missing something, but to the PYT with an underwear crises: any partner, same sex or opposite, who gets to see you in your underwear and has any focus on anything other than your body ain't someone you should be getting intimate with. So the make-up stain will serve as a kick-him-or-her-out-of-bed test. Any comment on the splotch, and the soon-to-be partner becomes a never-to-be partner. See? It's not a crisis. It's an advantage in screening out complete and utter superficial nitwits with low sex drives.

Bizarro World Foilverse

2009-08-05T22:20:00.003-04:00

Both Guy and PiousMan were religious, both in fairly strict religions. I'm not religious, even if I belong to a church. I've just finished agreeing to go on a first date with a man who seems fairly rational and agnostic or even possibly atheistic (scientist, engineer) who consults at my place of employment. I want to take bets: will DateMan2009 (hereinafter "Plan Nine from Outer Space" or P9OS) turn out to be: (1) Amish, (2) Orthodox Jew, (3) Wahhabi Muslim, (4) Pentocostal, (5) Seventh Day Adventist, (6) Mormon, (7) Not just Catholic, but Opus Dei, (8) Scientologist or Moonie, (9) some extremist sect I haven't thought of, or, heaven forfend, (10) agnostic, atheist, Society of Friends, Unitarian Universalist, or Washington Ethical Society?

I'm betting on anything but (9), which is preferable. I've spoken to this man on numerous occasions and he seems rational -- religion didn't come up, but then, he was just someone who came to my workplace for some courses. Now, he's asking me out on a date (okay, I'm flattered, and thus biased toward him) and I wonder how one gets the questions in about religion, political beliefs, etc. It's not realistic to assume that others have the same beliefs as we have.

Guy and Nguyen were both engineer/scientific types, but that's also a conlict -- I'm rational, but I'm a literary/artistic type. Someone who doesn't read books other than training manuals is a person whose values or interests conflict with me. We'll see if P9OS is from the rational world or from orbit beyond Jupiter (if he turns out to be a creationist, well, I'll just slap his face). That's all.

Not Exactly a Peeping Tom, But

2009-08-01T23:27:00.002-04:00

Today, I spent a fair amount of time at the pool trying to reach that delightful state of exhaustion in my offspring that means bedtime will be toil free. It was.

However, I learned something else at my pool that made me think a bit. Apparently there's a guy in my complex who has an apartment within sight of the pool who uses his binoculars a bit to frequently. I've never noticed him (probably because he's not watching me) but several of the younger, fitter, more scantily clad (I wear a maternal type one piece with a fair amount of support and structure, you know?) women (women wearing bathing suits that look pretty good on them, in other words) were discussing BinocularDude today.

I was watching TG and DG cavort, but I was eavesdropping as is my wont. The younger women in my complex select the lounge chairs at the pool based on which ones arent' within BinocularDude's line of vision. If you sit in one of the chairs he can spot, according to my neighbors, BD will then binocularize you for as long as you sit there. Since his favorite gazing spot turns out to be the lounge chair closest to the shallow end (i.e., my favorite lounge chair, with ease of access to the pool and good sightlines to swimming sprogs), either I'm oblivious or just not babelicious. I'll see you oblivious and raise you comatose, but being unbabelicious to this guy seems like a plus.

The young, attractive women were discussing whether they should write him a note and tell him that there are plenty of pictures of women on the Internet.

Ironically, I'm always scoping out the opposite sex at the pool. That's what pools are partly all about. Scoping out the same sex, too, if that's the 10% to which you belong. But BD clearly doesn't get that casual looking is supposed to be just that: casual. The minute you bring binoculars, telescopes, telephoto lenses, hidden cameras, or just an unwillingness to limit yourself to a casual glance, you've crossed a line.

So BD doesn't creep me out, since I am fortunately not his type (yay middle age!) I do sympathize and empathize with my fellow pool users and wonder if this guy is just off or is he truly wrong. One more key fact about BD: he never uses the pool; he just stands in his window with his creepy binoculars staring for hours at a time.

Actually, the more I think about this, the more I am creeped out. Within 2-3 years, my ten-year old will probably be one of his targets. He'll move before then, or I will. I'm going to study up on totally obnoxious things one can do to a human being within the confines of the law to encourage said human being to take his creeptastic self elsewhere. Any suggestions?

What Happens When You Die?

2009-07-29T21:19:00.004-04:00

Last night I was resting, but TigerGrrl came into my room around midnight, saying she couldn't sleep (thank heaven's it's summer vacation and I'm not worrying about school performance). I asked if sleeping next to me would help and she had climbed in next to me and grabbed me, none-too-gently (she's a strong girl, and I like that) around the waist and said, sobbing (I hadn't realized she was upset): "Mama, what happens when you die?"

I have a policy of not lying except when it's obvious that it's a white lie (Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy) or when it's another adult and he or she should know better, and especially not lying to my kids, and especially, especially about the big stuff. So I answered honestly. "I don't know, honey."

Then came the big discussion about death, the hereafter, different religious beliefs, and my complete lack thereof ("that doesn't mean there isn't anything to believe in, just that I don't know about it"). In the end, TG decided it was better to live her life to the fullest, as she doesn't think there's any absolute proof either, even though I assured her that believing in something, without being specific about it, is a completely acceptable response, too.

But she was truly distressed, and I wished that I could give her a magic box o' answers, with the answer that would make her feel better neatly wrapped. I wonder if not lying to her was just a comfort to me. I don't know that there isn't a divinity, so why not stretch a little toward "there probably is one" or "the majority of people think there is a god". But that leads to the affirming the majority's belief in the inferiority of women, people of a certain race, people of a certain religion, people of a certain ethnic background, and lots of other malignant beliefs.

It's easier when they're small. DG still just flat out believes me when I lie on the floor, check under her bed, and assure her that there are no bad monsters under her bed, just nice ones like Grover and Elmo.

Vacation Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry

2009-07-23T00:43:00.002-04:00

And I'm not. Rather than writing about the minutia of my life, or the annoying minutia of others' lives, I'm just having a great time with my girls in cool, foggy mid-coast (apparently, I'm not in Northern California like I thought I was) California, or, if a few miles inland, sunny and hot California.

TigerGrrl saw Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince with me. DestructoGirl saw Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs, 3D, with Big Grampa. Other notable events have included: the Monterey Aquarium, Point Lobos State Park, Julia Pfeiffer State Park, some other redwood park whose name I do not recall, 17-mile drive, various completely unsafe and hard to get to beaches on Big Sur, the amusement park at Santa Cruz, the beach at Carmel, paddle boats (being chased by Canada geese who thought ill of our intentions), lots of swimming in the Pacific Ocean (mostly in bays where its a smidge warmer, but still pretty darn frigid), whale watching, going out on wharves to watch sea lions and seals, patting various dogs after asking "Is that a friendly dog?" and generally stretching California's already overwhelmed budget to its absolute limit.

Yes, I'll get back to PowerTown eventually. Before that: some kayaking lessons, some biking by the ocean, a few barbecues, the driving range for TG, and other similar events. Also, Big Grampa and his wife are holding up very well. TigerGrrl and stepgrandmother Ludmilla are learning bridge from Big Grampa and me. Big Grampa and I are learning the Russian cardgame Fool from Ludmilla. TG has cooked dinner and breakfast a few times, to universal acclaim. A fair amount of Chianti and Pinot Grigio has been consumed.

Someday I'll get back to regular Internet access and earning my living, but not today.

What Dreams Might Come

2009-07-08T07:33:00.002-04:00

Almost as much as I hate insomnia (and yes, tonight will be an Ambien night), I hate weird/bad dreams. Right now I'm being troubled by a dream of spiders. Really. I hate spiders. They don't threaten or anything, they just spin huge, beautiful webs and then hang out. The part of the dream I remember involves me going out to the garage (I don't have a garage) to get something, finding it, and then turning to leave and discovering that my way is blocked by enormous spiderwebs with enormous spiders residing therein.

It's not an Arachnaphobia-type dream -- I'm not afraid of being poisoned or eaten by the spiders. It is, however, a deeply unpleasant dream. This morning the dream ended when I somehow, in the dream, decided that exit from the garage was not possible and made a bedroll with some conveniently located (isn't that a great feature of dreams? Stuff just turns up.) pile of blankets and lay down to sleep under a cloud of spiderwebs.

,

Hey, Anyone Wanting a Piece of the Getty Estate

2009-07-05T21:25:00.003-04:00

Does anyone actually still fall for this shit? I just found this in my spam folder:

From:
Charles Russell LLP (pbfred@cox.net)
You may not know this
sender.Mark as safe Mark as junk
Sent:
Sat 7/04/09 11:14 PM
To:
I have been given the due privillage to bring to your notice that Sir Paul
Getty Jr. has made you one of the beneficiaries to his funds,the sum of
GBPÂ£9,708,692.7) has be WILL to YOU..reply for details..

So please, email Mr. Russell, a/k/a pbfred and ask for your piece of Sir Paul Getty's estate.*
*I was under the impression it was J. Paul Getty, but who knew.

Free Time

2009-07-03T23:08:00.002-04:00

The FoilKids are on vacation with their father for the next week, which means I actually will have some free time. I have lots of to-do lists, but honestly, I'll be doing some good knitting and lots and lots of reading. Also, sitting by the pool, scoping out all the muscle-bound guys who appear to reside all around me.

I'll probably do a tattoo inventory. One guy has at least two tattoos on each exposed limb and a few on his back and chest as well. Now, I get wanting to express oneself to the world. For fuck's sake, I'm a blogger: one can't get much more into the "I have something to say that I want other people to know" ethos than blogging. But imprinting it on one's flesh*, especially, well, all of one's flesh? I don't get that.

Yes, I know that means I'm old.

On a completely unrelated subject: On my way home from the pool today, I discovered a discarded sewing machine by the recycling bin. I've brought it home, and it works. And yes, I know how to sew as well as knit. Poor TG will never get a store bought Halloween costume again.

*CookieDear: Your tribal tat is just lovely, as I'm sure, though I haven't seen it, the Darth Vader tattoo is also lovely.

Preoccupation

2009-07-02T06:59:00.002-04:00

One of the keys to being happy, or at least content, is to enjoy what one has, not to be continually longing for something else and not to be continually worrying about whatever sword of Damocles one imagines hanging over one's head. I think I've been pretty good about getting the most out of the present without unnecessary worry or fretting since the bad old days of the divorce have passed. (New readers: no, I'm not providing links. Just check practically every post from when this blog started in 2005 through 2006 and you'll get a pretty good idea.)

However, the last few weeks have simply had a little two much worry to simply walk away from easily. I'm trying to get my balance. After all, TG is better and has been for a while, NiQ is safely extracted to the greater DC area and Innana is tolerating that pretty well despite the smallness of the condo, while my migraine auras (or ocular migraines) do recur, I live near public transit, so I've been able to limit driving to when I'm rested so I'm not a danger to myself and others, and while I have impending surgery (put off until fall), it's not really life-threatening stuff.

Nonetheless, my workplace has been wracked by worry, my specific job is not threatened, but may end up being very different than what it has been for the last few years (not necessarily a bad thing, might be a chance for growth, but change is always unsettling), and two subordinates have some serious illness issues (various types of cancer), both of which could result in death although I remain hopeful for recovery and good health. The Metro disruptions of the last few weeks haven't ruined my life or injured me or anyone I know, but, and it feels very petty to whinge here, the extended commute involved most days has resulted in higher child-care expenses which I really don't have room for in my budget (especially since my health insurance costs have gone up also, but nothing else has increased). Worst of all, Cousin Roland's wife nearly died during a pregnancy that resulted in a stillbirth at close to eight months, and Aunt Elsebet subsequently had a heart attack. All are recovering, but fuckola. That's all I have to say about that. Also, FoilMormor has a form of leukemia that's not aggressive and probably won't kill her (her doctor said: "You're almost 73 from a line of people who died in their 80s. You're still going to die of whatever you were going to die of, probably in your 80s, maybe later, as you've lived a pretty healthy life." Cheering. Actually, it is cheering.)

On the bright side, which I need to keep repeating to myself, I have a trip scheduled out to see FoilDad by the Pacific, a trip to see FoilMormor up in New England, during which trip I will also see LOS, NSLOS, Nuclear Grammy, and possibly others. I finally figured out how to used the iTunes application adapted for Windows (it only took me three weeks) and have downloaded one very fine musical piece (thank you Rootless Cosmo, more in an email later). I'm not as anxious about my plane change with children in Cincinnati, given Wunelle's assurances about the airport there ("owned by Delta", and I'm flying Delta). TG got straight A's and a principal's award at the end of the school year, and has been busy at the pool and with her scooter club (as well as just running around and being a kid) and DG is busy "smiling her face", and, thank you inane TV clips of things that really don't need to be broadcast again and again, doing a Michael Jackson imitation that involves grabbing her crotch, to the utter horror of TG and NiQ. So of course, DG grabs her crotch again. I think the world can survive this,b ut TG and NiQ just aren't sure.

Anyway, to make many short stories long, I'm back in insomnia land, and not liking it. I'm going to be focusing on relaxing, taking it easy, generally enjoying life. Good goals, right? Most of my worries/preoccupations are things I have very little control over, and the one's that I do have some control over, I'm working on. All really is well. Now, off for my now close to hour-and-a-half commute that used to be 40 minutes.

Remedial Adultery Lessons

2009-06-25T20:17:00.004-04:00

What's with all these goal-oriented, high-achieving guys* who are absolutely spastic** at adultery? Really, if you can get elected governor of a state, one would assume you could arrange to meet someone privately and actually keep it private.

Fortunately, for all you potential and actual adulterers out there, I'm here to help. But you need to take my advice. I'll give it to you in list form:

1--As always, STFU already. Do not leave an email trail. Use a disposable cell phone.

2--Don't pretend you got swept away. Flying to fucking Argentina (or taking the train to DC and reservations at the Mayflower) takes forethought. So think. You'll still (probably) get laid, and you'll be less likely to crash and born. Don't lie to yourself. If you're looking to fall in love illicitly or just have extra-marital nookie, admit it to yourself, and then protect yourself. Pack the condoms, have enough cash so you don't leave an incriminating credit card trail (Elliott Spitzer, I'm looking at you), and otherwise behave discreetly. Don't break the very rules you explained as a prosecutor (Elliott, again) or challenge the press to follow you (Gary Hart, does anyone recall him) or, heaven forfend fool around on a boat named, tackily and delightfully enough, Monkey business (Gary? You there?).

3--Admit to yourself, you're already committing adultery. Have an alibi and be ready to lie like a rug. If you find lying indefensible, then recommit yourself to the stultifying misery of your politically expedient but otherwise miserable marriage that you can't get out of without admitting that you are an unfaithful spouse and thereful incapable of running a grocery store, much less a state or country, like other horrible leaders who were unfaithful, like FDR, Louis XIV, Catherine the Great (and she not only took lovers, she overthrew her loser of a spouse to become Empress), Thomas Jefferson (well, I don't know if he did commit adultery, but he most likely did have sex with a slave of his who really didn't have the ability to give consent, so let's just say that's bad, mmmkay?), and lots of other guys (and presumably women, who were probably shitloads better at covering their tracks).

4--If you're going to run off to another state, country, or continent to be swept away by desire, however ironically, really do let your chief of staff have a decent, believable cover story. Don't expect your spouse to fall on his or her sword to cover you, especially if you're missing Mother's Day, Father's Day, Thanksgiving, or Christmas. Trust me on this one. Leave your spouse and staff hanging, and, if there is any justice in this world or karma has any meaning at all, they'll do likewise for you.

Oh, why do I bother? The narcissism involved in seeking power of that sort probably precludes the ability to be honest with oneself. Guys like this (and, as we approach equality, I look forward to the shamed male spouse of an executive doing the silent cringe while his faithless wife does the "I've sinned" speech) really can't be stopped.

*Mark Sanford, John Ensign, Elliott Spitzer, Dick Morris, Bill Clinton, and several other men with whom I honestly can't believe any woman ever enthusiastically jumped into bed.
**Well, I don't know how spastic they were at the actual act of adultery (although Monica Lewinsky actually gave Big Bill credit for an orgasm or two -- note this, Viagra-guys -- without penile penetration), but if their in-bed skillz in any way resembled their logistical and duck-and-cover skillz, there are a lot of unsatisfied adulteresses out there.

Sick Kid

2009-06-20T07:58:00.000-04:00

I know I'm one of those annoying parents who can always think of something about my children to praise. Of course, I'm a lucky parent: with my children, it's not hard.

TG got highest honors (straight A's, and she normally has a little trouble due to getting board and being a smidge too social) and received two awards at the end of school year award ceremony. DG is "reading" books aloud to me, and making great sidewalk chalk art works. Blah, blah, blippity, blah, my kids are fantastic.

Except, it's a summer day and TG is rather ill. Real fever ill. She's tucked in bed, had a dose of non-aspirin kids' fever reducer, and generally looks miserable. She has a horrible sniffle. "I hab a code in by nobe." That's the ticket.

I've got to go out and get more medicine (her fever's going down nicely, but that was the last dose in the house) and I don't think TG is up to going to the pool today. That was the plan.

This place is going to seem pretty clautrophobic to her with no friends visiting and no physical activity. She's not deathly ill, she just has a cold and slight fever, but really, kids should NOT BE ALLOWED to get sick during summer vacation. Especially when the community pool is less than a block away.

I'm really dreading today. I've been up for the last three hours, and this is going to be a long, long day.

Summer Forecast: Busy, with a Chance of Absolute Exhaustion

2009-06-18T07:28:00.002-04:00

Yes, I remember as a kid looking forward to summer. Summer vacation (for schoolchildren) has started and summer (using June 21 as the benchmark) has almost begun. While I am looking forward to EuroDude (fashionable, well-mannered) and MilitaryDude (tattooed, well-muscled) watching and occasional interactions (I have to rescue them from DestructoGirl, who would otherwise boss them around worse than their Italian mamas/drill sergeants, and they seem helpless to stop her), my real feeling about the onset of summer is, well, dread.

We're flying out to the West Coast (on the Pacific, a bit north or south of San Francisco, give or take -- really should be lovely and I might get a surfing lesson in), changing planes in Cincinnati of all places with a little less than an hour to spare. FoilDad, a/k/a BigGrampa, wants to see his favorite (only) granddaughters and bought us the tickets. I had mentioned that changing planes with DG is, er, a challenge, but beggars can't be choosers and the direct flights were much more expensive.

Before that, I'm heading down to North Carolina on a non-custodial weekend to assist Innana in the retrieval and extraction of NiQ (mainly so that DOL will get some rest this summer). In August, I'm (at FoilMormor's behest) flying with DG, TG, and NiQ (so Innana can get some rest) to the New England coast for LOS and NSLOS's (they're twins) 50th birthday celebration. NiQ will be a mother's helper, and Innana, DOL, and I all feel NiQ needs to see a bit more of the world. Since tickets for four were a whopping $525, FoilMormor was happy to charge it and see us.

Sounds like lots of fun. However, whenever I think of this, I wonder about the possible destruction of the Cincinnati* airport (we're talking about DestructoGirl, please remember), crankiness of a four-year old and nine- then ten-year old (TG is NOT happy that her birthday is occurring on a different coast that that on which most of her friends are found), NiQ possibly being miserably adolescent**, and general exhaustion. I'm thrilled that the girls are getting three good summer vacations*** and can't sneeze at the vacations I'm getting, which will be capped off by a trip up to New England alone for the Second Mate's memorial service/gravestone unveiling.+ Nonetheless, four trips, three by plane, one by car, in one summer seems a bit much. I feel bad even complaining: my parents love me and my girls and are insisting on seeing us (on their dime) and I really want to see DOL during the NiQ extraction. Each trip will be fun. It's all just a bit much.

This weekend, I'll be doing some Dude-watching and chasing children. Then NiQ extraction the following weekend. Better take my vitamins.

*Wunelle, I seem to recall you've flown in and out of Cincinnati on occasion (or was that Louisville). Any advice? Email at foilwoman at gmail etc. etc.

**Not that there's anything wrong with that: she's an adolescent, she's had more than a few tough breaks, she deserves a little leeway for moodiness. Nonetheless, I'll be hoping for less-moody-with-a-chance-of-cheerfulness, which may well occur as she likes my girls and gets to act younger, sillier, and less dignified with them. I'll hope for the best.

***Yes, I just described two, New England and Northern California: PdeFF is taking the girls for a week to an East Coast beach with friends. I plan to sleep that entire week.

+The gravestone unveiling is a tradition in Second Mate's family. While it makes no sense to me whatsoever (he was cremated), his kids are doing it, it will mean something to them, I want to show respect, and he was such a lovely man that I want to make sure his kids realize how much FoilMormor's daughters loved him.

Some Recommendations for the General Public and the Blogging Public

2009-06-11T23:52:00.004-04:00

I'm in a misanthropic mood tonight (Notify the news media! Except this isn't a rare event.) so I'm going to share some thoughts and recommendations. Actually some prohibitions and some "I'd really rather you didn'ts."*

For the General Public:

When you are shopping, and are in line waiting for the cashier, please do assume that when you arrive at the cashier, said store employee will expect payment from you. So locate your wallet while you are waiting.
If you are on a Metro train, we all know that. Your braying loudly and nasally in front of us, into your cell phone at length is just a bad idea, especially if you are braying loudly and nasally to tell that person that you are one the Metro. Just tell the person you're calling "I'll be at Rosslyn in five minutes." That's all you really need to say.
Yes, DC commuters love to wait for families of 8 to get through the turnstiles, so feel free to block all of a Metro stations turnstiles at 8:05 A.M. No one here thinks his job is important. No one is afraid of getting fired if she turns up late one too many times in this economy. So take all the time you want. Not.
No one (trust me, no one) wants to hear your inane ramblings. Not on the bus, not on the Metro, not in Starbucks, not anywhere. So do us all a favor and STFU already.
Ditto #4 times eleventy if your voice is nasal.

For the Blogging Public:

Cryptic coded talk for a select audience is really annoying. And so seventh grade. If you can't explain yourself coherently, don't.
If you write it and post it in public, people who don't agree with you might read it and disagree with you or even possibly insult you. Adjust. Not everyone is going to agree with you.
People whose views are anathema to you will not stop posting just because you disagree with them. They may not even mind or care that you disagree with them. They may even find it to be a badge of honor.
If you use your blog as a social tool, be darn careful what you write -- friends generally feel quite unfriendly about being used as blogging material.
When in doubt, STFU already. Pretty much always.

*Thank you Flying Spaghetti Monster.

The Giggle and the Voice of Doom

2009-06-11T07:33:00.002-04:00

I can sit on my patio and hear TG's high-pitched giggle (it's goofy, and it's really the only "girly*" thing about her) whenever she's outside playing with her friends: complicated ball games that only exist for the 9-10 year old set, hide and seek, various adventures on scooters (with the Scooter Club, which has complicated, undecipherable membership rules, yet remains open to all kids in the neighborhood -- even if they don't have a scooter, because there's a spare to share).

And then I hear DG: closer by, because she's not free-range yet (apron strings still firmly tied) who's the girliest* girl on the planet and in normal conversation does have a little kid's high-pitched voice, sort of Minnie Mouse-like (although her normal voice is a lot deeper than most of her little friends), but when giving a command comes out sounding a bit like James Earl Jones.

I love the sound of my girls out playing. This weekend it will be quiet around here, and I will miss that. I'll enjoy the quiet, and some time to myself (first weekend off in four weekends -- I have some serious vegging out to catch up on). Yet I'll be listening for the high-pitched giggle of my almost-black-belt-in-karate-nine-year old and the stentorian tones of the girly girl four-year old. I hope the people around them this weekend (their father and his friends) enjoy those sounds as much as I do.

*Other people's definitions, not mine. I assume both girls are girly because they're, well, girls. Who says never wearing skirts is unfeminine (TG) or having a voice deeper than most adult women when giving commands (DG)?

In Which Your Heroine Is Ensnared in the Land of EuroDudes (Mediterranean Verion 6.3)

2009-06-09T22:45:00.003-04:00

Let me repeat, for the gazillionth time, I'm no babe or supermodel. I'm a middle-aged (48), plumpish (with a figure, but still, plumpish) woman who spends no more than 30 minutes a day on grooming, and that 30 minutes includes a 25 minute bath to relax me and soothe my aching, aging joints. I'm reasonably attractive, but that's about it. I am tall and reasonably self-confident.

So what's going on? As I mentioned last summer, the complex (condos and apartments) where I live is awash in EuroDudes. I have contented myself with enjoying the scenery, but that has ended. Why? Blame TG and DG.

On my birthday, TG discovered a group of Argentinean, Italian, and Spanish young men (one of whom is the father of a friend of hers) barbecuing (and Argentine barbecue is nothing to sneeze at). She announced to them that it was my birthday, and I was retrieved to sample the barbecue, the tapas, the sangria, the wine, the gelato, etc. I got serenaded by various versions of happy birthday. I absconded as soon as I could (but really had to stay for quite a while as TG and DG were running amok around the barbecue) and thought "gee, that was sweet of those kids." Hah.

This weekend, the girls and I made ice cream (hand cranked) in the picnic/pool area, and many of the same gang of young handsome Euro/Sudamericano-Dudes were hanging out. DG decided that everyone had to sample her ice cream creation ("You want some ice cream? I made it."). One Italian guy, I'll call him Giovanni, had said he didn't want ice cream after the first sentence, but after the second ("I made it.") with a winsome look, said, "Well, then I must try some, mustn't I?" The poor man.

Oh, don't worry, the ice cream was good. But, uh, he may not be safe venturing into this neighborhood again. I've seen him at the pool many times. He's not a swimmer, he's a soccer player and tanner. But he swam this weekend. Why? DG asked him to do so.

Clever guy, he checked with me first -- I'm not real fond of people just assuming it's okay to approach my kids -- even when I know them, albeit casually. Now, all the young, handsome dudes, caballeros, signores, whatever, know me as DG's and TG's mom (TG was quite competetive and vicious at soccer, which was appreciated and applauded). Now, whenever there's a gathering of the dudes at the barbecue (which is not infrequent), if I'm walking home from the bus, I'm invited to join them. Except for two mothers of dudes who occasionally show up (these guys aren't ashamed to love and wait on their mothers), I'm the oldest female I've seen in their company.

Yes, it's just a shameless plot on their part to win over my girls. I love southern European culture where guys aren't afraid to kiss babies, play dolls with girls, and generally dote on kids in a way that is generally relegated to women here. I'm not good at groups, but the whole thing is sweet. And now I have several strong guys to play DG toss (yeah, it's like dwarf-tossing, but it involves my daughter in the pool and she just loves being hurled into a big splash) and soccer with TG.

Now, most of these guys are temporary, they'll be gone by the end of the summer, but I'm going to enjoy this, for whatever reason this little bit of coddling, cosseting, and appreciation is falling in my and my daughters' laps. I'm more comfortable with this crowd as they are friends with the father of one of TG's friend -- a father who is attentive, tuned in, and rather strict (not authoritarian, just authoritative). And they're easy on the eyes too. What's not to like?

Oh, Shut Up Already; Or, Alternatively, Smile Your Face

2009-06-08T23:55:00.001-04:00

I want to write about two things which have no connection. Yes, if I were a considerate blogger I'd break this into two shorter posts, for those with little or no attention span. But I'm not. I'm a grumpy, tired, broke, perimenopausal (I think) mother of two, one of whom is four years old, with upcoming abdominal surgery. I'll write as long a post as I want, thank you very much.

Part Une: Shut Up Already, Why Don't You

The more I see of human relationships, the more I wonder that couples counseling doesn't end up in more mutual homicides. Really. We don't need people to express their feelings more clearly (at least here in the good ol' U.S. of A. -- I'm willing to concede that in the upper-crust portions of the former British Empire, the ability to say "I really don't like it when you do that." is a skill that needs to be learned and used more often). However, here in the now-non-torturing (and that's a good thing) home of the red, white, and blue (heck, that could be France or Britain or Australia or New Zealand or a host of other countries, but work with me here: at this moment, that refers to the stars and strips of the U.S.A.), less expression would definitely be more.

Innana was telling me a fascinating story about a guy. Unfortunately, I've forgotten the specifics, but basically the guy would have been much better served by NOT sharing. We had a fun discussion, but my brain is a sieve. But in trying to remember the specifics (and it's a pity I can't, Innana had me chortling with glee), which I never did, I kept thinking: why don't people just STFU when in doubt?

I have colleagues who are feuding. A supervisor (who is clearly not a great manager of people or keeper of confidences) told one colleague that the other found colleague 1 difficult. Of course, colleague 1 now looks for things about colleague 2 to pick at. Then you have charmers like Todd Funkhouser* (and for that matter, his date, Kim Goldman), who just don't get it when their behavior is called into question. Others I deal with regularly go on at length detailings their qualities, apparently not realizing that anything they deny is generally ascribed to them. It's axiomatic. "I'm not a prima donna!" translates into "Oh, yes, you sure as shit are." "I'm scrupulous about telling the truth" means "I am delightfully self-deluded about what the truth is, and thus I always can tell myself *cough* truthfully that I am being, and have been, honest." "I'm a great lover" means you'll be wondering "Is it over yet? Please?"

My advice to all these people is this: Please shut up already. If you have good qualities, they become less sterling the more you advertise them. N.B. all you self-declared alpha men out there: anyone who has to say "I'm an alpha male" (and who came up with that deeply annoying adjective to describe social rank anyway?) conclusively isn't, regardless of what he means by "alpha male." As an example: I doubt Barack Obama or Nicholas Sarkozy or Bill Gates (or Eric Bana) or any other man who is at the top of his personal/professional/whatever food chain ever has to say or does say: "I'm an alpha male."

So shut up already. Pretty much always. It always helps.

Part Deux: If You're Happy and You Know It, Smile Your Face

This is DGs malaprop version of "If You're Happy And You Know It (Clap Your Hands)." DG's version is accompanied by a grimace worthy of a victim of Sweeney Todd. I can tell that DG is thoroughly pleased with herself (despite not understanding that "smile" is an intransitive verb and does not take an object), but her facial expression is painful: bared teeth and glaring eyes.

Innana and I got to see DG's facial expressions accompanying her unforgettable vocal stylings at length last weekend while both girls (TG and DG) did rock climbing, archery (yes, they put a bow and arrow in DG's hands: and my four-year old hit the target several times), canoeing, kayaking, tubing, and zooming around in a motorboat. Apparently this made DG happy, so she had to sing about it and "smile her face."

I'm just pleased that as annoyed as I am (and I am very annoyed) with the dissension creating colleague, the self-delusional self-aggrandizement, and general obliviousness of myself and others, I'm still able to enjoy DG's terrifying "Smile Your Face."

*Innana, SNV, and I are all avid Date Lab readers. The column makes Innana pleased with her decision not to date, makes SNV pleased she doesn't have to date (she has Ex-Marine Fred, who remains the gold standard), and makes me feel like disaster dating that I may have done really isn't all that disastrous and I'm not as bad at meeting and trying to befriend as many others out there. All in all, win-win.

A Map of the World

2009-06-04T22:34:00.002-04:00

I'm so happy. It's only the fourth of June, and I have had readers from every populated continent* on my Clustrmaps map. I love that.

On another topic, I know most of my regular readers (yes, East Montpelier, you're AnonDave), but Middleport, NY? Who are you?

*North America, South America, Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, excluding Antartica, because polar bases do not a population make.

Revenge (Sort Of): Sometimes, It Just Happens, And Life Is Good

2009-06-04T06:55:00.004-04:00

Sometimes mildly bad things happen to mildly bad people* quickly enough so you can see the comeuppance and experience schadenfreude pretty directly and immediately. Case in point: last week, I got on the Metro and there were no seats with two seats available, but several with one seat available. All seats except one were sitting next to a 30-ish to 50-ish men, several of whom, although not large, were doing the leg-spread (taking up way more than half the seat, although they were no bigger than I am -- I'm tall and not small, but I use no more than half the seat, you know?) or the my-briefcase-needs-a-seat-of-its-own. At the start of a line in the middle of rush hour.

So being the obstreperous, cranky, peri-menopausal woman that I am, I pickout out one of the leg-spreaders, said "Excuse me" and sat next to him. He didn't tuck in at all, like most people would have done. After a few minutes, I decided to get more comfortable, so I visibly moved to a guy on the train (larger, but more considerate) who wasn't trying to mark territory (and really, WTF is that about? It's a subway, not prime real estate: sit down, minimize your imprint, and stop it).

Was there a connection with what happened next? At the next stop, a VERY large (6'5" or so, well over 230 lbs) man in military uniform (Ranger's decals, if that makes a difference) came in. He saw me moving and smiled at me -- why I don't know, but given his next action, I think he saw a bit o' the mini-drama -- and plunked his large, imposing self next to leg-spreader guy, who immediately tucked himself up into the tiny person he is inside. The guy sitting next to me now (who was a self-contained, non-encroaching type) said, sotto voce, "There is a God." Hee.

*I don't pretend that bad things don't happen to mildly good people or that we deserve all the good or bad things that happen to us. It's just a bit enjoyable when a jerk is treated according to the Golden Rule and is visibly uncomfortable as a result.

Play Is the Work of Children

2009-06-02T23:07:00.002-04:00

I think that's a quote of Piaget or possibly Froebel. Well, TG and DG did plenty of work this weekend: carpet pool, archery (yes, DG hit the target), rock climbing, canoeing, kayaking, motorboating, tennis, swimming, tubing, basketball, and general running around and giggling. Skinks, mushrooms, cardinals, hawks, toads, frogs, hummingbirds, bluejays, bunnies, deer, dogs, cats, and various chipmunks, squirrels, and other rodents were seen and admired. Aside from the rock climbing and motorboating (Innana boated with DG), I did all the aforementioned activities, including the giggling. Not too surprisingly, I'm absolutely beat.

But I do feel quite pleased with myself to have lined up such a fun weekend for $30/night. It wouldn't have been doable without Innana either. Tomorrow, I'm chaperoning TG on a field trip (no sibling rivalry in my house: I chaperoned DG's preschool field trip to a farm last month, and TG made it clear: I'd darn well be chaperoning her field trip as well.) tomorrow. Me and 25 nine and ten year olds. I don't know for whom I should feel sorry, me or them. Oh well. I'll have fun.