Although there is much catching up to do, I wonder if that would even work. Seems like not. Yesterday (I'll go all the way back there!) was Father's Day, and Jim dutifully lounged around in bed with the laptop, pretending that he had no interest in getting up, while the world's slowest cook and her two young scullery maids put some breakfast-in-bed together. We had bacon-wrapped arugula frittata with homemade foccacia bread. In the interest of full disclosure, the focaccia bread began its life as a tube of refrigerated pizza dough. Still, it all came out pretty yummy.
In the afternoon we took the kids across the street to hang around with our neighbor, Sheila. She is a retired school teacher, and Grandma-aged, and the kids think she is the bees knees. She agreed to let them plague her for a bit while Jim and I went for a run together. (Wheeze.)
When I went to pick them up, they had just started a book, so I hung around with them for a while. When the story was finished, Muriel said, "Sheila, did you make your dad breakfast in bed? Because I did!"
Sheila was only a tiny bit thrown. She said, "My dad isn't here."
"Oh," said Muriel. "Where is he?"
Sheila raised her eyebrows at me. "Do you want me to tell her?" she said. I shrugged. My kids are chillingly cavalier about death.
"Well," she said, "The last time I saw him, he was in New Jersey."
Monday, June 20, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
May Whee
In one of the many driving-in-the-car scenarios in which the children entreat me to tell them a story and I lazily turn it around and compel them to tell me a story, Muriel was up to the task. As usual, we all clamored that it should have a scary part. Here is what Muriel said:
"Once upon a time there was a mean and scary ghost. Every day, he would go out and steal someone's puppy."
That is both mean and scary! Wow.
Lots and lots has been going on. Like, um, let's see, oh, right! The ENTIRE month of April! I did finally donate blood. I had a lovely girls' weekend with my homegirl from Boise. Jim and I went to a Paul Simon concert with our friends. Naomi participated in her first ever science fair. The guys who are working on a huge renovation to the neighbors' house next door have magically removed our patio, the patio cover, all the grass in the front yard, and our decaying extra parking space. We're getting ready to hire someone to re-do our bathroom.
And...the dog died. It was the first of May, very early in the morning. I was fast asleep, and Jim came in and said, Honey. Honey. He never wakes me up, so I knew something was wrong. It's Luna, he said. She died.
She was where she always sleeps, where the living room meets the bottom of the stairs, and looking like she always looks, but with her eyes a little open. She was so soft, and beautiful, and I petted her and cried and cried of course and am crying again right now writing about it. The kids finally woke up and came out, and Muriel was a little teary when she saw how upset I was, and Naomi immediately started to strategize about how to make the situation better, saying, We can get a goldfish, we can get another dog. We all said goodbye to her and then Jim took her to the emergency vet clinic where they cremate your pet for you.
This past Monday I walked down there to pick her up, thinking it would be good exercise and I would be able to distract myself, keep my head clear, and just think about everything. Turns out what I was able to do was sob openly half of the way there and the whole way back, with the little box of Luna's remains in a sunny yellow fabric bag in my hand. I'm so glad I thought to bring my sunglasses!
Anyway, I am half considering writing a post about Luna, who really deserves it. It would be the longest post ever. Girlfriend was with me 15 years! But for now, this is it, Happy May, see you 'round.
"Once upon a time there was a mean and scary ghost. Every day, he would go out and steal someone's puppy."
That is both mean and scary! Wow.
Lots and lots has been going on. Like, um, let's see, oh, right! The ENTIRE month of April! I did finally donate blood. I had a lovely girls' weekend with my homegirl from Boise. Jim and I went to a Paul Simon concert with our friends. Naomi participated in her first ever science fair. The guys who are working on a huge renovation to the neighbors' house next door have magically removed our patio, the patio cover, all the grass in the front yard, and our decaying extra parking space. We're getting ready to hire someone to re-do our bathroom.
And...the dog died. It was the first of May, very early in the morning. I was fast asleep, and Jim came in and said, Honey. Honey. He never wakes me up, so I knew something was wrong. It's Luna, he said. She died.
She was where she always sleeps, where the living room meets the bottom of the stairs, and looking like she always looks, but with her eyes a little open. She was so soft, and beautiful, and I petted her and cried and cried of course and am crying again right now writing about it. The kids finally woke up and came out, and Muriel was a little teary when she saw how upset I was, and Naomi immediately started to strategize about how to make the situation better, saying, We can get a goldfish, we can get another dog. We all said goodbye to her and then Jim took her to the emergency vet clinic where they cremate your pet for you.
This past Monday I walked down there to pick her up, thinking it would be good exercise and I would be able to distract myself, keep my head clear, and just think about everything. Turns out what I was able to do was sob openly half of the way there and the whole way back, with the little box of Luna's remains in a sunny yellow fabric bag in my hand. I'm so glad I thought to bring my sunglasses!
Anyway, I am half considering writing a post about Luna, who really deserves it. It would be the longest post ever. Girlfriend was with me 15 years! But for now, this is it, Happy May, see you 'round.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Duh
I had a blood donation appointment over the lunch hour yesterday, and I went to it, and filled out the questionnaire with the mildly intrusive personal questions, but I left the one at the top blank. The one at the top was something along the lines of "Are you feeling well and healthy today?" Yes or No? Seems like an easy question, right?
But I was not sure. Because I am not feeling 100% well and healthy. I woke up the day before yesterday with a bit of a sore throat, and I've had a little groggy haze on me since then. On the other hand, I was feeling better yesterday than I was the day before, and at no point did I feel like I was truly sick, or consider staying home from work, or anything like that.
And, maybe I'm flattering myself here, but these people really, really want my blood. They call me ALL the time. So in some part of my head, as I was studiously filling out little circles about tattoos and anticoagulants and partners, and dreaming up a little teeny version of those bingo parlor markers to speed up form completion, I was thinking that there might be a pretty low bar for feeling well and healthy.
Which is, of course, ridiculous. As soon as I started to explain that I wasn't sure about the VERY FIRST QUESTION on the form, I realized that I should have stopped right at the first little circle and approached the counter. Better yet, I should have called them and asked, before I drove down there. Geez. To the credit of the lovely people at the blood center, they did not openly mock me. They even went so far as to say it was up to me whether I thought I was too sick to donate.
So, no blood donation for me yesterday. No grape juice box, no Keebler cookies. And to the person who does not get a low-grade cold with their blood transfusion, you're welcome. I will bring my healthy self back next week and hook you up.
But I was not sure. Because I am not feeling 100% well and healthy. I woke up the day before yesterday with a bit of a sore throat, and I've had a little groggy haze on me since then. On the other hand, I was feeling better yesterday than I was the day before, and at no point did I feel like I was truly sick, or consider staying home from work, or anything like that.
And, maybe I'm flattering myself here, but these people really, really want my blood. They call me ALL the time. So in some part of my head, as I was studiously filling out little circles about tattoos and anticoagulants and partners, and dreaming up a little teeny version of those bingo parlor markers to speed up form completion, I was thinking that there might be a pretty low bar for feeling well and healthy.
Which is, of course, ridiculous. As soon as I started to explain that I wasn't sure about the VERY FIRST QUESTION on the form, I realized that I should have stopped right at the first little circle and approached the counter. Better yet, I should have called them and asked, before I drove down there. Geez. To the credit of the lovely people at the blood center, they did not openly mock me. They even went so far as to say it was up to me whether I thought I was too sick to donate.
So, no blood donation for me yesterday. No grape juice box, no Keebler cookies. And to the person who does not get a low-grade cold with their blood transfusion, you're welcome. I will bring my healthy self back next week and hook you up.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Slow Down!
The other day I was complaining to a coworker that I was never able to make this particular monthly work meeting because it starts at eight o'clock and I am on the hook to deliver a Kindergartener to her classroom between 8:25 and 8:40 every day. I can't remember if I was expressing frustration about missing the meeting (doesn't sound like me), or frustration about the inflexibility of Kindergarten start times, but whatever I complained about, my coworker came back with some wise, soothing words about how the important thing was to focus on enjoying dropping my kid off at school.
At the time, it felt like an Aha! moment, a gift from this wiser parent to me. Of course it should be a delight to drop my child off at school. Why focus on it as one more thing that I have to do that gets in the way of the other seventy-five things I have to do? And I thought about it that way for a few days. In fact, I put my whole morning focus off the constant hectoring to move and get socks on and brush hair and onto just hanging around and having pleasant conversation (which Naomi and I do, after Jim leaves with Muriel, quite often, and with sometimes funny results). The outcome, that week, was that we were very nearly late to school four out of five days.
The takeaway, I guess, is that simply being more mellow and less frantic doesn't make things run more smoothly, it just makes them less frantic. Which I KNOW is better for the kids. I know it stresses them out when I herd them from breakfast to clothes to socks to grooming to lunch bags, and so forth. They talk about it all the time. And just because I feel better being eight minutes early to school instead of 30 seconds early, it doesn't make it actually better. But how do I get those seven and a half minutes back while still leaving behind the frantic? And, to go back to the sage advice from my coworker, how do I make something like the daily drop-off into a meaningful thing that we do together instead of a to-do item we tick off every day?
At the time, it felt like an Aha! moment, a gift from this wiser parent to me. Of course it should be a delight to drop my child off at school. Why focus on it as one more thing that I have to do that gets in the way of the other seventy-five things I have to do? And I thought about it that way for a few days. In fact, I put my whole morning focus off the constant hectoring to move and get socks on and brush hair and onto just hanging around and having pleasant conversation (which Naomi and I do, after Jim leaves with Muriel, quite often, and with sometimes funny results). The outcome, that week, was that we were very nearly late to school four out of five days.
The takeaway, I guess, is that simply being more mellow and less frantic doesn't make things run more smoothly, it just makes them less frantic. Which I KNOW is better for the kids. I know it stresses them out when I herd them from breakfast to clothes to socks to grooming to lunch bags, and so forth. They talk about it all the time. And just because I feel better being eight minutes early to school instead of 30 seconds early, it doesn't make it actually better. But how do I get those seven and a half minutes back while still leaving behind the frantic? And, to go back to the sage advice from my coworker, how do I make something like the daily drop-off into a meaningful thing that we do together instead of a to-do item we tick off every day?
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Another Saturday Night
Jim is out fetching me a frozen treat, so this will be a quick one. Which reminds me that I have a little tense agreement issue on the last post that I would like to remember to fix. Will I? We'll see.
No doubt I have already written about how having children illuminates the extent to which personality traits might actually be written right into your genetic material. Today it occurred to me that my stubborn belief that it is only my inability to adequately explain my position that prevents people from going along with it, and my tendency to therefore continue to explain and counter-explain in an effort to get it right, might actually be genetic. Because I see Naomi do it every single day, when I say no to her, and she argues tirelessly. Because she is so absolutely committed to the idea that if I only just understood her objection, I would have to change my mind. Sigh.
Tonight at bedtime the girls told me what sports they were going to excel in later in life. Basketball, field hockey, Foosball, Carrom, and Flaptacular. The last one is a Disney-branded Tinkerbell version of a card game I think we used to call "Spit," a deck for which we received in a birthday party goodie bag today. Flaptacular! I find Disney branding evil as a rule, but I have to give them some credit for that awesomely ridiculous name.
Here's a picture of us sledding in Arizona last month. More soon!
No doubt I have already written about how having children illuminates the extent to which personality traits might actually be written right into your genetic material. Today it occurred to me that my stubborn belief that it is only my inability to adequately explain my position that prevents people from going along with it, and my tendency to therefore continue to explain and counter-explain in an effort to get it right, might actually be genetic. Because I see Naomi do it every single day, when I say no to her, and she argues tirelessly. Because she is so absolutely committed to the idea that if I only just understood her objection, I would have to change my mind. Sigh.
Tonight at bedtime the girls told me what sports they were going to excel in later in life. Basketball, field hockey, Foosball, Carrom, and Flaptacular. The last one is a Disney-branded Tinkerbell version of a card game I think we used to call "Spit," a deck for which we received in a birthday party goodie bag today. Flaptacular! I find Disney branding evil as a rule, but I have to give them some credit for that awesomely ridiculous name.
Here's a picture of us sledding in Arizona last month. More soon!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
First Day of Spring
Ahh, nice weekend! Sunbreaks! Supermoon! Leisure! We had a little break from the pouring, inexorable rain, and the kids actually got to play outside.
Plus, they had one of those days when their play is so very together, so harmonious and delighted, that it strikes an almost unbearably pleasant chord in me I wouldn't even have been able to hear before the two of them came along.
So, yeah, welcome, spring! Please to muscle through the rainclouds again sometime soon. Next weekend would be good.
Plus, they had one of those days when their play is so very together, so harmonious and delighted, that it strikes an almost unbearably pleasant chord in me I wouldn't even have been able to hear before the two of them came along.
So, yeah, welcome, spring! Please to muscle through the rainclouds again sometime soon. Next weekend would be good.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Anecdotally Adults
Where I work there are web pages that we make, with, you know, information on them, and people who are in search of this information have the option to provide feedback on the information. Occasionally they do, and when they do, the web page sends an email to someone with the feedback. Because I was one of the saps who learned how to make these web pages back when we first started doing it, often these emails get sent to me. Every single one is a complaint. It is my job to log some response to the complaint in the system that tracks this feedback, although the submitter never sees my response. I usually say, "We're working on this." or "I fixed the broken link." Helpful!
The longer my setups get, the more I lose faith in the payoff. Oh well. So a few weeks ago I got... a positive feedback form. "The material is clear and easy to understand." Sweet Mother Mary, positive feedback! The headline of the email even included the unusual phrase "(no action required)". I forwarded it to my team lead, with the incredulous note, "Not sure this has ever happened before." Then I forgot about it. Until the team lead, a few weeks later, forwarded it to ALL the writers in our group. With my super-encouraging note included. Excellent. Good work, everyone!
So that's the work side. At home, also known as "Where I Do Laundry," I was...wait for it...getting ready to start a load of laundry. I asked Mr. Khooler if he wanted me to wash the jeans and the gray pajamas that were on top of the hamper, which is kind of the demilitarized zone between obviously clean and obviously dirty. He says, The what?
Me: The gray pajamas.
Him: The gray pajamas?
Me: The gray pajamas.
Him: Wait, the gray pajamas?
Me: ????
Him: The gray pajamas?
Me: Are you trying to get me to gouge out my own eyes?
So I bring out the pajamas, which were a Christmas present from me, actually, and are flannel, dark gray (I might have invented this since, but I would swear that the price tag actually had the word "Charcoal" on it) with a white grid pattern. I say, THE GRAY PAJAMAS.
He says, Those are green.
So, the good news is that he is not trying to gaslight me. The bad news is that one of us might be colorblind. Hmm.
The kids are alright. More on them another time.
The longer my setups get, the more I lose faith in the payoff. Oh well. So a few weeks ago I got... a positive feedback form. "The material is clear and easy to understand." Sweet Mother Mary, positive feedback! The headline of the email even included the unusual phrase "(no action required)". I forwarded it to my team lead, with the incredulous note, "Not sure this has ever happened before." Then I forgot about it. Until the team lead, a few weeks later, forwarded it to ALL the writers in our group. With my super-encouraging note included. Excellent. Good work, everyone!
So that's the work side. At home, also known as "Where I Do Laundry," I was...wait for it...getting ready to start a load of laundry. I asked Mr. Khooler if he wanted me to wash the jeans and the gray pajamas that were on top of the hamper, which is kind of the demilitarized zone between obviously clean and obviously dirty. He says, The what?
Me: The gray pajamas.
Him: The gray pajamas?
Me: The gray pajamas.
Him: Wait, the gray pajamas?
Me: ????
Him: The gray pajamas?
Me: Are you trying to get me to gouge out my own eyes?
So I bring out the pajamas, which were a Christmas present from me, actually, and are flannel, dark gray (I might have invented this since, but I would swear that the price tag actually had the word "Charcoal" on it) with a white grid pattern. I say, THE GRAY PAJAMAS.
He says, Those are green.
So, the good news is that he is not trying to gaslight me. The bad news is that one of us might be colorblind. Hmm.
The kids are alright. More on them another time.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Un-Habituated
I am so out of the habit of posting that it doesn't even occur to me, even when there is plenty going on. Apologies, ye last two loyal checkers of this blog.
The other evening, just after I picked up Muriel, we saw one of those wacky little single occupant cars that look like something from the Jetsons. I don't know what they are called so I can't even link to information about them. When Muriel saw it, she said, "But how can they pick up their dears?" A valid question!
Last weekend we capped off a trip to see my parents with a stay at a giant house in north eastern Arizona with my whole family. This trip was to celebrate my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. 50 years! I remember around 37 of them. It was a good time- we went sledding one day and skiing another. There was copious snack food and uncomfortable rental home beds. Overall a very nice chance to spend time with the family.
This weekend we held Naomi's birthday party. 14 kids total, milling around our not quite large enough house, dressed in costumes and just generally, well, screaming. There seemed to be a lot of screaming, and also a lot of chanting. It was a long two hours.
Oops, now the computer battery is looking wan and red. Time to call it a night. I will not let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Which means, hopefully, more boring pointless posts on the way!
The other evening, just after I picked up Muriel, we saw one of those wacky little single occupant cars that look like something from the Jetsons. I don't know what they are called so I can't even link to information about them. When Muriel saw it, she said, "But how can they pick up their dears?" A valid question!
Last weekend we capped off a trip to see my parents with a stay at a giant house in north eastern Arizona with my whole family. This trip was to celebrate my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. 50 years! I remember around 37 of them. It was a good time- we went sledding one day and skiing another. There was copious snack food and uncomfortable rental home beds. Overall a very nice chance to spend time with the family.
This weekend we held Naomi's birthday party. 14 kids total, milling around our not quite large enough house, dressed in costumes and just generally, well, screaming. There seemed to be a lot of screaming, and also a lot of chanting. It was a long two hours.
Oops, now the computer battery is looking wan and red. Time to call it a night. I will not let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Which means, hopefully, more boring pointless posts on the way!
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Slow News Day
5:21 this morning: Jim and I are awakened by a sound that I have been anticipating for weeks- the sound of an elderly dog falling down the stairs to the basement. For that single reader of this blog that has not actually seen our house in person, we have a wooden stairway to the basement that starts just next to the front door, and just next to the tiny stairway up to the upper floor where the bedrooms are. This area of the rest of the house is where Luna likes to sleep, because it's near where we left from (when we leave) and near where we went (when we head to bed). It is the same gap that used to sport a very safety-conscious safety gate, preventing our small children from tumbling down the stairs to the basement, but when the door and window guys came and replaced our front door (with one cunningly customized by none other than Mr. Khooler himself), they had to take out the installed safety gate. So now there is a big dangerous stairway, waiting for someone to fall down it, and the victim I most feared was indeed the victim it claimed, this morning.
So, heart attack at 5:21, but you will be relieved to hear that Luna was just fine, and upon being discovered at the foot of the basement stairs, was ready to prowl around the basement a bit and see what she had been missing. I attribute this resilience to these tasty snacky tablets that the vet prescribed for her at the recent teeth cleaning vet visit- she has been nomming these down every day and has been walking better, begging more shamelessly, and, weirdly, tearing up any kid pictures she can find that were colored with crayon. Make of that what you will. She was fine after the stair tumble. Woo!
One more funny story. We went to a birthday party today, far away from home at a gymnastics place. The kids had a ball, basically running in circles and bouncing on things and doing "forward rolls." (Don't call them somersaults!!!) I watched from the adult viewing platform, like I was on a gymnastics safari. When it was clear that Muriel was losing her ponytail and hair clip configuration, I went down to try to fix things up. When I was yanking her hair back into place, one of the young women who were "coaching" the party asked me, "She is so cute. So, what is she, like, half-Filipino? Half... Chinese?"
"Half Chinese," I said. "Oh," she said, "Half Chinese, and.... half white?"
Dude. I am right here, putting her ponytail in! I am the half! Whatever. It was funny.
Anyway, happy Saturday. I am loving weekends with a fervor usually reserved for Ziggy coffee mugs. Ah, the weekend! Peace out.
So, heart attack at 5:21, but you will be relieved to hear that Luna was just fine, and upon being discovered at the foot of the basement stairs, was ready to prowl around the basement a bit and see what she had been missing. I attribute this resilience to these tasty snacky tablets that the vet prescribed for her at the recent teeth cleaning vet visit- she has been nomming these down every day and has been walking better, begging more shamelessly, and, weirdly, tearing up any kid pictures she can find that were colored with crayon. Make of that what you will. She was fine after the stair tumble. Woo!
One more funny story. We went to a birthday party today, far away from home at a gymnastics place. The kids had a ball, basically running in circles and bouncing on things and doing "forward rolls." (Don't call them somersaults!!!) I watched from the adult viewing platform, like I was on a gymnastics safari. When it was clear that Muriel was losing her ponytail and hair clip configuration, I went down to try to fix things up. When I was yanking her hair back into place, one of the young women who were "coaching" the party asked me, "She is so cute. So, what is she, like, half-Filipino? Half... Chinese?"
"Half Chinese," I said. "Oh," she said, "Half Chinese, and.... half white?"
Dude. I am right here, putting her ponytail in! I am the half! Whatever. It was funny.
Anyway, happy Saturday. I am loving weekends with a fervor usually reserved for Ziggy coffee mugs. Ah, the weekend! Peace out.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Proud Moments at Dinner
Tonight during the ritual telling about one's day, Naomi claimed that she had begged her teacher for "more math." I'm leaving that one alone. Then Muriel taught us the lyrics to "The Chicken Dance" en Espanol. She also showed us a "hip-hop" dance that she had choreographed, which was not exactly distinguishable as hip-hop, but was definitely a cool dance.
Luna went to the vet to get her teeth cleaned today, and while there, had a thing removed from her head. A tumor? A growth? Some thing on her head. So tonight, in addition to uncharacteristically sweet-smelling breath, she has a big weird bald wound on her head, like a meteor strike. Poor thing. She has been drinking water like she could never have conceived of something so wonderful, and is now sleeping in much the same vein. Rough day!
January has been whizzing by, which is strange, because it doesn't really feel as though things have actually gotten started in this new year. Wonder what that will take?
Luna went to the vet to get her teeth cleaned today, and while there, had a thing removed from her head. A tumor? A growth? Some thing on her head. So tonight, in addition to uncharacteristically sweet-smelling breath, she has a big weird bald wound on her head, like a meteor strike. Poor thing. She has been drinking water like she could never have conceived of something so wonderful, and is now sleeping in much the same vein. Rough day!
January has been whizzing by, which is strange, because it doesn't really feel as though things have actually gotten started in this new year. Wonder what that will take?
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