I Promise For Real This Time...

I have been saying that there are more posts coming and have alluded to them all over the place. So, where are they?

They're coming.

I don't want to make you sit there and think "Oh great, we sit around and wait for posts that she promises and for all we know the only thing up and coming is a post about her love for walnuts (I like to open the shell with an old school metal nutcracker and try and figure out why I bother digging the meat out when I can buy it shelled- but I enjoy the zen of the process) or why her kids are the bestest and funniest (they are though of course) or how the middle American states are a Republican party ruse meant to garner more electoral college votes but they don't actually exist (this one my older sister came up with in high school and for a while seemed kind of believable, until I had to fly to Kansas City, Missouri- they do exist, Republican or otherwise)."
Is that what you were thinking?

Well- I feel it is only fair that I share with you what some of my forthcoming posts are regarding:
My awesome organic heirloom tomato and fresh picked apple salsa recipe.
Mini-golf.
The trickery of town recycling (I know- you can hardly contain the excitement!)
My (once again awesome) zucchini blueberry bread recipe.
The search for a good primary care doctor in one of the greatest medical communities in the U.S.
How to sew a tutu on the fly.
Good reasons not to tempt fate by saying "My child hasn't really talked about god yet..."
The dangers of apple picking without proper safety equipment.
How to beat Martha Stewart in a centerpiece fight.

Now, not all of these are done so hold your horses. Some are but I haven't attached the pictures so I haven't posted them yet. And of course I will continue to blog without advanced notice, preparation or use of protractors and graphing calculators. I just wanted to put it in writing that I am indeed working on posting more and have a thing or two to say about a thing or two (I like to say that). So consider myself pledged unto thee as a true and faithful blogger to the best of my abilities and at least for the next month. I'm only making promises one month at a time. I'm crazy but not crazy enough to plan that far ahead.

After all- come November, I could be in Missouri cracking walnuts old school and swapping kid pageant pictures and report cards with the head of the GOP.

Here is a picture of me that is badly in need of
photoshop (sleep much?) that
seals unto you my promise to be a better, more faithful blogger.

He Done Growed Up

Like many a weepy mommy who had to send their first born children off to school for the first time this year I took a few pictures. Ezra started kindergarten this year which is pretty important and exciting and you would think kind of fun. However, as will come to be shown Ezra has a habit of making what I call the "prison face" in pictures during happy or celebratory times. The prison face is often followed by the "free at last" face. I really can't explain it. I give you the following evidence.

Prison Face Ezra Starting School



Free At Last Ezra Starting School


Weird, right? I mean the second picture is goofy no matter what but seriously- he was entirely thrilled to be going to school. In the first picture it looks like we are sending him to work in a shirt factory cleaning under the gigantic moving mechanical looms! Work ethic is great and we could use a couple extra pennies but they changed the labor laws ages ago.

Still we did end up with the next picture which kind of makes me not care that he did the prison face first. For real- a gal has to brag about her kids from time to time and announce that they and only they are the most beautiful children in the world. But come on now- what other conclusion can you draw here?


Although this is not representative of all our days (as is clearly proven by the ever-lurking prison face) I have proof that they liked each other for a few minutes and were very much the most adorable children in the world.

If you want to eat them just a little bit, I understand. I do too.

Words by the Page

I have collected dictionaries since I was is high school. To say I am selective is surely an understatement as my collection is probably less than 25 strong and I started it nearly 15 years ago. I like my dictionaries to be old, thorough, filled with words people have forgotten and I adore it beyond belief when there is any sort of inscription or notation anywhere within the pages. This is how I got the most recent one and the best yet.

When my grandfather passed away on February of 2008 he left a houseful of things both amazing and ridiculous. Historically vital and 2 for 1 at the dollar store. He came from a very important, smart and well educated family but also a frugal one. In his later years he (and my most beautiful grandmother before she died in September 1999) spent a bit too much time looking for diamonds at the church fair and packing them away for a rainy day.

On one of my visits home after his death my sisters and I did a sort of looters ceremonial walk-through of the house. There was no will specific enough to give any one of us the Go Bang set, wedding china or telescope we used to watch the lobster boats go in and out with the tides. My mother and her two siblings decided we would get low-tack stickers with our initials to apply to any items we may want when the estate. as it is/was/were... settled. Two or more stickers on an item and we would have to figure it out later amongst ourselves. All of these selections were provisional of course on my mother, aunt or uncle not selecting one of the items for themselves.

There wasn't a ton of stuff I wanted until we were about ready to leave. Walking through the downstairs library I spotted the two-volume, magnifying-glass-included, Oxford English Dictionary sitting happily but a bit lonely on a shelf. Even the Compact Edition of this gem is bigger than my head. And oh, the deep, professorial blue tone with delicate gold lettering. Ahhh. I looked around furtively like a thief. I felt a guilty for no reason. I said a silent prayer (which my grandfather the preacher, would have appreciated) that my grandfather wanted me to have the OED. It was right there. I love dictionaries. My god- the best one in my collection is an inscribed by a stranger, 1947 edition dictionary bound in packing tape that he, himself sent me off to college with. Silly, adorable old man.

I stuck my little sticker on it.

After mentioning to my mother that I wanted the OED she seemed doubtful. Apparently my uncle also wanted it- although only to replace the magnifying glass in his edition. And to boot my younger cousin who is my grandfather's namesake also wanted it.

I have it. I love it. I dust it. I wish I could carry it around in a little pouch like people do toy poodles. Maybe frame it. I wish I had more words to look up. I find myself trying to come up with words I don't know the meaning of just so I can look for them in its damp and inky pages. Did I mention I love it? And I have it.

Did I also mention that I live in a two-family house and that our half has only two bedrooms and a sun room/office. The dictionary does look rather handsome in the window seat next to the Peace Lily but then no one can see it. I can put it on the floor but come now, it is the Oxford English Dictionary, Compact Edition, Two Volumes with Case and Magnifying Glass. It doesn't fit on the mantle and our bookshelves are too packed.

Would it be going to far to use it as a pillow? I could see going to bed surrounded by the comfort of warm words and cool pages. Mmmmm. Sleepy words would be especially good.

4 Letter Words

Ezra is 5 and is working on writing and spelling and is using special Post-It notes to label things all over the house. He wants to fit more and more on the little pages even though they are really only meant for 4 or 5 letter words like wall and house. When I gave him the sticky-notes he used them appropriately. But after labeling less than ten things I found him chasing my 3 year old Lena around the house with one while she cried.

Why was he chasing her? Why was she crying?

Ezra had written "sweet smell" on a sticky and wanted to attach it to her butt.

I don't even know what to do with that. I had to make him stop because he was making her cry but I also thought it was hysterical. It was also a pretty smart joke. And he had written two words small enough that they fit. Still- you can't let one child use irony to make another cry. Still I was so proud of his writing and spelling... It was one of those parenting moments you have to file under "What the Hell?" and cross-reference with "Fodder for Embarrassing Children" and "Graduation Inscriptions."

We finally worked it out by me consoling Lena and Dear Old Dad helping Ezra find something else in the house with a "sweet smell." It ended up being the refrigerator. I'm encouraged by that as an indication of my cleaning skills and grocery lists.

Ezra is growing brain cells faster than a frat boy can kill them during Spring Break in Cancun. He wanted to write a longer word on his little Post-It so he asked my husband to think of a 12 letter word. During the 45 to 90 seconds he was trying to come up with one Ezra said "Is kindergarten a 12 letter word? It is, isn't it?"

Yep.

When my husband relayed that conversation I sat dumbfounded trying to think of another 12 letter word. I couldn't. I know some. I write them. I say them. But for whatever reason- my 5 1/2 year old can pull them from the ether. I know I have to file that under "What the Hell?" but what do I cross-reference it with? "Mommy isn't That Smart?" "Do More Crosswords?"

What it boils down to is that every parent is convinced their child is a genius of monumental proportion. If you frequent mommy chat rooms, blogs or library story times you would have to come to the conclusion that in the next 10 to 20 years our country will be inundated with Nobel Prize winners, MacArthur Grant recipients and Forbes magazine cover makers all under the age of 25. In a lot of ways I hope Ezra isn't in that projected group. A lot of kids level out and the rest of their peers catch up. And in the mean time, being smart and carrying a lot of stuff in your head can be hard when you are just a wee little person with wee little person skills and wee little social mechanisms. But Ezra is smart right now and I am going to let him enjoy it when it doesn't involve chasing people with clever bits of word play.

The real bonus for me is that since Ezra has all the big words covered for me I get to stick my friendly four-letter friends. Not that I swear, I do have small children you know...

Birthdays Gone-by

Since I have already posted about my anniversary coming and going without a parade I wanted to mention that my baby sister had her 30th birthday just the other day. That means she is O-L-D! Okay so if she is my baby sister I guess I am also old. But I am only 2 years older- 21 months actually. I am pretty much younger than she is.

She got to spend her birthday in Maine in spite of having abandoned the majestic and generally free of major earthquakes East Coast for Seattle and then Portland, OR 6ish years ago. I think she had a good day from what she described. Still she probably missed being on the "other side" with her friends who would have celebrated in a style more fitting than my mom can muster.

I haven't sent her a gift yet. Originally it was because she was in Maine and had a mail stop on her Oregon address so I figured I would wait. Then I thought I would be enviro-me and not send something via jumbo shipping company vehicle but find a local merchant to purchase from in Portland and have it delivered locally. Then I got sleepy and took a nap after supper. Then I woke up and watched Law and Order: Criminal Intent. Then I decided enviro-me would really rather send an e-card with an e-gift certificate.

Surprise! Then I fell asleep. I think I went to the Farmer's Market. I know I went to Starbucks. Later I thought about sending her some of the jam I canned but that went back to the fuel-sucking shipping company thing again so I decided no. Wait but now it gets good- I have totally neglected to get her a damn thing.

I could try and pass this off as being enviro-me and smaller-footprint me. Or it could be hey-my-husband-works-for-a-non-profit-where-they-made-massive-cut-backs me. Or it could be schmucky-sister me. I think I have to fess up and admit to option three. It may have started one way but after all the naps and tv and outings and the days that have passed and the fact that she is now back home with no mail stop... well... I just have to lay it out and say I blew it.

So my dear peepsio sister, if you are reading this- hi. I love you. Isn't love enough? How's about I said you a smnabddkgkfndsglybu via onlinupsfedbikemesenpostal ? I know you've always wanted one. It'll be there for sure by... oh geez- I would say I heard Mom calling me but in order to update that I will say I hear the kids stepping on rusty nails outside. I really ought to get to that. But I'll be in touch super soon. Honest.

Yeah. I blew the 30th birthday thing for her. Good thing is, I remembered to call and there is still the 40th birthday to totally not screw up. Better write that down though.

9 Years in the Making

My anniversary has come and gone. It was July 15th. My dearly beloved and I have been married nine years. Wow. Not quite a decade. Everyone asked us afterward "Why didn't you say anything?" or "What did you do? Where did you go?"

Ummm. We didn't say anything because it has been nine years and we have two kids and we know we have been married and don't really expect the people around us to keep track of something that happened again, nine years ago. Also- we're not that impressed. We kind of figured we would be married in 2009 when we got married in 2000. Wine and roses, candies and bowls of cherries all the way- yeah, no. But we have always worked under the assumption that we would stay married. When things were hard and words were exchanged that we tried to suck back into the empty space of our lungs- it was still okay. Fights are fights. This is the last time is not always the last time just as the first time isn't always the first. We all know time is indeed relative.

I have always maintained that the ability to call one's spouse a jackass with a smile and alternately a sneer all the while knowing you love them regardless is what makes a relationship. If you were to ask my dearly beloved he would definitely vouch for having been called a jackass under both circumstances. And here we are at the nine year mark. Ta da- jackass.

So where did we go? What magical way did we find to express our triumphant love and joy on that magical night of the 15th?

Well, I had an appointment so I missed dinner but I think the kids may have had a bath. We don't have a babysitter. Wah wah wah waaah. That is the true sound of suck for a parent: "We don't have a babysitter." There are a million ways I could express my sadness on this topic but I will leave it with the understanding that it is wicked, wicked, wicked, wicked crappy.

Okay so we weren't going anywhere anyway and if we were we might have taken the kids. We like them. They are funny and we get served faster when they're around too... Really though I am not sure we would choose to spend money on one night of a sitter and a few hours of pricey alone time with pricey food when we could put that toward something better. We can eek out alone time- even if it is at midnight over True Blood on the DVR and popcorn. But my husband makes the best damn popcorn in the whole freaking world. For real. And popcorn is cheap. And I don't usually have to tip him for bringing extra sodas.

So it has been nine years. I don't mean to diminish them. They have been wonderful in so many ways. I love my husband, he loves me- that works very nicely for a gal such as myself. We have hit many a roadblock as a family, as a couple, as parents and as individuals and so far we always make it to the other side. I don't think that is coincidence or luck. I think that comes from way back in 2000 when we got hitched under an assumption that that was that. A big anniversary will be the one when I am surprised to have made it to that year. I sincerely hope that is a long way away.

In the meantime we are accepting applications for babysitters or in-house sous chefs.

Over the River and Through the Woods

I recently had the chance to spend a weekend at my grandparents' house in Maine. They passed away (she in 1999 and he in 2007) and now my mom and her siblings are trying to get it set up as a rental. It is an okay house as houses go. The view and setting is what really sets it. The house is actually on a bluff, as in walk too many feet past the driveway and you might drop and hit the breakers kind of bluff. You can see endless ocean and a lighthouse and all sorts of boats and buoys and gen-u-ine Maine beauty.

I swore I would never sleep there. EVER. Ever, ever, ever, ever, ever.

I loved/love my grandparents but that house was theirs and it is freaky to think of settling in at night in the room next to the one my grandmother died in. Or using the shower my grandfather used so infrequently as he got older and needed to be reminded of more things. Plus- who would make me root beer floats if I was behaving nicely?

However, my baby sister (not my baby, baby sister mind you but my regular baby sister) and her husband of a year were flying in from the west coast and we all really wanted to see them. And "due to the current economic climate we are unable to "fill in the blank______." Here the blank was pay last minute prices for a hotel in the high season on the coast of Maine. There is always the option of staying with one of my parents but my dearly beloved and I have decided against that for various reasons. So that left us with Dearly Departed Loved Ones Creepy Mc-Seaside-Escape and Resort. I cannot even tell you how many precious minutes of therapy I spent discussing rational vs. irrational concerns, grounding techniques and ways to deal with my family while I tried to avoid seeing dead people. (god rest their souls)

So we went. It wasn't as bad as I had expected- no visits from beyond over breakfast or while gazing through Grampa's binoculars. Hmmm. A lot of changes had been made to the house physically which is only a help in the finding renters department because as fabulous as my grandmother was she really could have used a color session or whatever they call it when they "do your colors." Aqua and Moroccan orange were not hers and they certainly were not those of the house. There was still work to be done but my sister and her husband had a firm hand on it and my help only proved problematic so I settled into uselessness and poking people.

I love my family. You know whenever someone leads with that there is more than chocolates and popsicles coming. They are amazing and wonderful and we are all completely out of our minds in one way or another. We function in our worlds and when we mix can pull it off for a while but there will invariably be some discord. Unheard of I am sure- we must be unique as each time an argument erupts it does seem like there has never been anyone in the world who has had experiences like ours that would lead to fights like ours. I'm guessing I'm wrong.

Anyway (I hate when I say that but I have yet to hone my transition skills so enjoy or complain but get used to it for now while I work at it please)- my constant worry is that my family is afraid that I am surrounded by eggshells. Or that my reactions are more than what they seem; that they can't be simple irritation or fatigue but most be signs of a coming melt-down. I need to find a way to fix that but the time spent in Maine made it feel particularly necessary.

Everyone knows/knew my feelings about the house, about Maine, coming "home," my health carpola, blah blah. Even when I stopped waiting for Grandma to appear from her sewing room with half a quilt and suggest I go play under the stairs (that sounds WAY crazier than I meant it) it seemed my family still was waiting for me to shiver in the night, be terribly on edge or bust out with anxiety. Maybe I was. Maybe I did. My current vision is poor and my hindsight is definitely not 20/20 so I would have to take a poll. History takes a toll on all of us and in my case that toll is that sometimes things feel icky. But guess what- I am quite confident many could say the same and I could be the icky making factor.

How do you resolve the ick when it is so individualized but comes from a common thread?

It is hard to evaluate yourself and to guess what other people are thinking about- especially family. It is also a very dangerous practice that leads to people you love becoming very angry or hurt. They all know I love them beyond the beyond and I assume the same in reverse. One of these days I will learn to act after thinking and think things from a more muitli-dimensional view before the acting part.

The good news is that the house my grandparents love although it will never be a second home or a dreamy summer retreat for me, has the potential to be a place I can go and be with my sisters and their families whether we're staying at hotels or the house itself. I don't know that my grandmother would have been happy with all the changes and my grandfather certainly would have had something to say about the use of conventional methods to secure things. He preferred twist-ties, rubber bands and bits of string. Maybe next visit I'll wiggle loose a handle just to tighten it back up with a paperclip. Then I'll watch the boats for a spell with my family.

I and Screamy

My daughter has made friends with some newcomers to the neighborhood. I can't see them and they are according to her "the size of a pea." Their names are I and Screamy. I'm trying really hard not to read into that. She has had imaginary friends for a little bit now- ever since my physical health issues amped up the interference with our daily lives. Not so much the Mommy-on-the-floor or couch again but the Mommy-missing-dinner or Mommy-missing-library because of appointments. She is no dummy. I am gone a lot.

In some ways you would think this would be awesome because of all the extra time with dear old Dad or Grammie and Zadie but apparently parents are not interchangeable. So enter stage left her new friends. I think the first was Lomaid. Then Lateet. Yeah- that one makes me giggle too. Especially when for a little while she decided it was Daddy's new nickname. Nothing shrieks of masculinity like being called "La-Teet." I am spelling it in a generous way but I really want to spell it the other way because it is much funnier.

Now we have I and Screamy and a host of others who come and ago. They have names like Kapoofaca and such. I don't really understand but I am not 3 1/2. As background I should mention that after much deliberation and list making the wee children decided to name our two African Dwarf frogs "PJ Truck" and "Humavark." Again- I am not 3 or 5 so what do I know about names.

Other than the frogs we are expected to be very respectful of her friends at all times, taking them places, holding the door for them, making room at the table etc. Mind you- they are the size of a pea. She talks to them and being proper imaginary friends they talk back to her. Most of their talks seem quite serious but she assures me they are very funny and tell good jokes. My son has no imaginary friends of his own but he interacts regularly with Screamy and the gang. I think he likes to stick to the tangible when he can.

My brother-in-law is a pediatric neuropsychologist and I routinely beg for free advice like "is my kid crazy because she's afraid of spiders?" or "do you think he reads too much and therefore has a disorder that we are making worse by letting him go to the library?" It is even rumoured that on one ocassion I may have asked why if my IQ was what it was I couldn't speak 7 languages or solve complex physics equations and the like. If you choose to believe the rumour then the answer may have been a suggestion that perhaps I lacked motivation and follow-through which would explain MANY MANY things including all the classes I dropped out of in school mid-semester... Anyway- he is confident my daughter is just fine. But in the middle of saying that he did have to stop and consult with a six-foot tall rabbit.

It is of no surprise that my little lass came up with her peepsios when she did. Developmentally she is right on the money, her imagination has started to race ahead of her and she can rip a yarn like no one's business, Do people say that? Rip a yarn? What the hell does that mean? Is that a real saying? Maybe I should check my imagination or get a dictionary of antiquated slang that only people like me find use for. I wonder if there is one. Hmmm. Hello eBay.

Oh yes- the arrival of my little girl's friends also coincides with changes in the household as I mentioned above and what I believe is her new understanding that in the fall my son will start kindergarten and she will not. He was in preschool last year but we had lunch together, dropped him off, she took a nap and then we picked him up. I don't think she missed him that much. Loves him buckets but missed him in her sleep- not so much. But now she knows he'll be gone all day and she'll be stuck with Mommy all day who may be Art Project Mommy, Sick Mommy, Park or Museum Mommy, Appointment Mommy or just Crap There Isn't Any Damn Diet Dr. Pepper Mommy. It's all me. I am fortunate to be a singularly minded crazy person but that doesn't mean that for a 3 year old you might find comfort in numbers. Even imaginary, oddly named, miniature friend numbers.

Lastly- because it I have been awake for too long today and I can't vouch for the cohesiveness of this post I want to mention that she often has to chase her friends around the house for extended periods of time calling after them quite loudly. They sometimes get caught and put in time out. In case someone who reads this ever witnesses an event like that in my home- I want to set the record straight that we generally don't chase the kids into captivity. We barely even use time out. Why use time out when we can just ask Lateet to have a sit-down talk to hash things out and clear the air. Parenting by imaginary friend proxy. I think I read about it in a Dr. Sears book...?...

What You Need to Know

Enough about me…
Or have I not yet said much? Hmm. Well there are the basics minus the creepy cyber-stalker clues. I am married and at last bed check counted two children, one boy- age 5ish, one girl- age 3ish. I live in a suburb of Boston that I can probably never afford to buy into but refuse to leave. Renting well maintained first floor apartments in two family homes in a town with good school districts and not having to pay taxes for the plowing, library or the aforementioned good schools works out well enough for me. I do wish the recycling system wasn’t so backwards though. I can rant on that another time. I know- you must be counting the days until that gem of an entry makes its way out!
I grew up in what most people consider a rural town in Maine but the town is definitively not rural. There weren’t sidewalks except for in front of Town Hall; there was only one blinking traffic light, 53 miles of road and a handful of working farms. BUT we were/are not rural. I don’t know quite how to justify that fact but we weren’t and still aren’t. I don’t think. I’ll ask around just in case this is some form of brainwashing delivered by my family or the school system. Mainers are known for being a bit wily.
I have lived in or around Boston since 1995, save for a 2 year stint in Washington, D.C. where I once had my life saved by a squirrel. I have been married for about 9 years and don’t plan on turning the model I got in for a refund any time soon. I like him plenty and he understands why there are certain things that I just HAVE to be the boss of. And he lets me drive a lot and always takes the crappier car to his job (his job by the way makes me super proud of him…gee golly but its true- check out Facing History and Ourselves).
I come from a good sized family, 4 sisters, divorced parents. We are wholly dysfunctional according to any documented source but somehow we manage to function a fair amount of the time which makes me question what “they” mean by dysfunctional.
I have some friends. They are mostly lovely. I used to work in the world where people got paychecks but stay home now. I do have my own craft business from which I am on “leave” and have been for about 2 years. I’m thinking about getting back though.
We’ll see what else I disclose as all this progresses.
Enough about me…