It's been an interesting week for conversation here in Lilyville. What do I say? What don't I say? How do I say what I mean? What are the kids saying? What do they mean by it? After more unpleasantness whereby my ex told me that the letter from his attorney threatening to try to take my parenting rights away was a "compromise" - I decided I needed to tell my kids that there was more going on than whether they wanted to live here or there. I've thought about every single word I've said. I strive to make sure I give as much accurate information to the kids as possible with as little emotional stress as possible. It's hard work - especially knowing how little Mr. Tapioca Head thinks before he speaks (or sends me email.) After talking to my lawyer (who sounds just like Terri Gross from Fresh Air!), I decided that my response to the threats is to follow the protocol in our divorce documents. I'm going to try to go to mediation over this issue even though I'm fairly sure it will be as useless as it was for the previous issues. I'm going to ask for more conversation.
As much as I don't think mediation has a snowball's chance in h-e-double hockey sticks of succeeding in this case, I have come to realize that deep down I have a surprising amount of faith in words as a means to resolve problems. Aside from the fact that our document REQUIRES the attempt, I want to try one last time to talk through our parenting disagreements. The talking turns out to be important to me. I lie awake thinking of what was said, what needs to be said. I find comfort in the idea that the mediation process is out there (and required as a first step) in this "battle" over what's best for my children. I pay very close attention to what my guys are saying and what they're not. I've been re-reading emails and processing what's said there. I've thought about why I choose certain words and what the emotional connotation is of the words that are being hurled at me. The more I've thought about the words, the communication process - the more centered and hopeful I've felt. I see (hear, think about) words differently than I have before. It's a bit like when you take an art class and the teacher shows you how to look at the world in terms of light and shadow, line and hue - instead of the way you're used to seeing things. On some days I've thought about one word over and over until it begins to sound bizarre and mean nothing. Other days I've turned over phrases and instructions, interested to see how sometimes clarity arrives out of the blue. I don't know that it will amount to anything concrete - but I have to be fully me as I wade through this crap. Being fully me means being aware and intentional and committed to the communication process for as long as possible.
And it's not just the legal stuff that's got me thinking about language and communication. It is exciting to live in a new place. It is amazing to me how much the "cultural dialect" changes just moving one state over! My kids seem to be dealing with the newness remarkably well. They're finding friends - many of whom are newcomers too. With the university so close, there is always a large and diverse transient aspect to the community. In my kids' schools, one fifth of the students are "new kids" which definitely takes the stigma away. My kids have new friends from Russia, San Francisco, Birmingham (the one in Alabama AND the one in England), and Boston. In addition to new friends from new places, the kids are navigating new schools - each with its own lingo. The primary wing, the kiss and go circle, the cafe, the Seven Aces - all of these are new and important labels my kids had to decipher on the fly.
I'm not as good at deciphering as they are. I had lunch with Havoc yesterday. Havoc's new buddies Tommy and Ben were pointing out the kids in the class and telling me everyone's names. Ben was born here and Tommy, though a transplant, moved from New England a whole year ago and is quite the expert now. Tommy is diligently passing his hard won knowledge on to Havoc, and by extension to me. He took it on himself to make sure I learned about everyone in Ms. A's third grade class. The row we were sitting on had an Erin (from England - been here a week), a Sophie, a Brandon (from LA), a Zin yu (from here), a Noemi, and a Zoe. It was hard to hear over the din so Tommy had to repeat some of the names a couple of times for me. One name in particular was hard for me to understand - Themeena? He said it again and again - finally getting out of his seat and coming around the table (which is against the rules) to say clearly right into my ear, "She's THE MEAN ONE - Havoc needs to stay away from her. She thumps people." I couldn't help but laugh. (And of course I told Havoc that if that girl ever thought about thumping him, he was to talk to a teacher immediately.) I never did learn her real name.
To add yet another current to the communication stream - this week we've gone from zero to four foreign languages being studied in our household. Chaos is taking German, the Princessa Latin, Mayhem and Havoc both French, and Bug (who is coming back on Saturday to live with us permanently!) is studying Japanese with Linus. Havoc came home yesterday and announced, "La fenetre!" as he pointed to a window. And "la poubelle" as he threw his snack wrapper in the trash can. Chaos can count (to 9) and say (most of) the alphabet in German. We are quite the melting pot family. We're cross contaminating each other with all of our separate new experiences. I love it. I love that it's deepening and enlivening our family tongue.
I think all families develop a pidgin to some extent. Families have nicknames, inside jokes, and funny references to family events that might be hard for outsiders to follow or understand. The patter changes with the ebb and flow of shared experiences. Our family patois is rich and has roots in Harry Potter, Dungeons and Dragons, sci-fi books, and unusual board games. Recently we have all watched (over and over) the stand up comedian Eddie Izzard's show "Dress To Kill". (He's an actor in films like Mystery Men and Ocean's 13 - but it's his stand up that we love.) He is bilingual and did an encore of his show in French. In the show itself he has several bits about studying languages. His comedy seems to magically fit our family's ethos right now. (Although it's not really a family values kind of gig. It's definitely pushing things to have Havoc watch it - just so you know. I semi-justify it to myself by talking to him about the inappropriate bits. I also console myself with the fact that no matter what I did, his big brothers would quote it to him - so I may as well not leave him out.) If you had been at our supper table last night you would have heard an amazing array of out-of-context Eddie Izzard punchlines like "Of which there are five'', "Were you surprised? I was surprised!", "The City - uhhuhh", "Cake or Death?" and "Love all this!" We were in stitches. You probably would have smiled and nodded and looked for the closest way out.
The laughter helped. Everyone had a line to throw in and everyone laughed. Laughing together helped open everyone up to talk about their days. It helped us feel closer to each other. It just helped everything. I wanted to bottle a bit of it to save for a rainy day. While laughter can't be bottled, it occurs to me that one of the great thing about words is that they can be shared, remembered, saved, and used to evoke past good times. I think the next time one of my kids is gloomy, I'll offer them "Cake or Death?" (I think sharing a real smile is worth possibly having to explain myself to the family court judge!)
Peace.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Beginnings
Blogging has gotten harder because I don't want to spend my time whining and wailing about my ex - but it's very much on the surface for me. I work so hard not to let any of it out in front of the kids. Then I sit down to blog and that's what spills out onto the page. Thank heavens for the delete key! The trouble is I spend an hour typing and deleting and end up with a scant paragraph that is pathetic - mostly explaining why I don't have a real post!
I thought I'd figure out a good system over the weekend - but as you can see - nada.
I thought this morning - with the first day of school to tell you about and Bug having to leave and Mayhem having his 13th birthday and all - that there'd be plenty of Tapioca free post fodder. But everything, everything here is slimed.
What I do have free and clear is thanks. Thank you for the helpful comments and support. I can't tell you how much it's helped. I can feel it all sinking in and beginning to be processed.
Perhaps by this afternoon I'll have gotten my filters in place enough to post a real post. I have an interview for a part time job today - that should be blogworthy!
Peace.
I thought I'd figure out a good system over the weekend - but as you can see - nada.
I thought this morning - with the first day of school to tell you about and Bug having to leave and Mayhem having his 13th birthday and all - that there'd be plenty of Tapioca free post fodder. But everything, everything here is slimed.
What I do have free and clear is thanks. Thank you for the helpful comments and support. I can't tell you how much it's helped. I can feel it all sinking in and beginning to be processed.
Perhaps by this afternoon I'll have gotten my filters in place enough to post a real post. I have an interview for a part time job today - that should be blogworthy!
Peace.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Back To Basics
I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I have a mutant adrenaline system. When I get triggered, my adrenal glands make enough adrenaline for twelve emergencies. We're talking serious overkill. It's all well and good to have a burst of energy when you perceive a threat. I can see how that evolved. I can picture my ancestress minding her own business gathering berries or what have you when out of nowhere lumbers some huge predator. If she can get it in gear in a nanosecond to leap over the river or hot foot it away, she's got a much better chance of surviving long enough to pass her genes down through the ages until they land smack dab in the middle of me. The problem is that I seem to have gotten my entire generation's share of instant energy production and I can't figure out how to share the wealth. It's like having 100 fabulously cooked lobsters and no refrigerator or friends. You will be sick to death long before you manage to eat them all, they will stink up the place unless you get rid of what you can't use, and you will still be hungry tomorrow.
I'm at DEFCON 14, adrenaline pouring out of my ears, hands shaking, all senses ramped up - hyperfocused on everything and there's nothing immediate I can do. What I'm facing is a legal struggle that could take weeks if not months. I'm here to tell you that adrenaline is not a useful substance for a weeks or months long effort!! Even finding a lawyer is a process drawn out over days as I make calls, leave messages, and wait for return calls. There is only so much Googling that adrenaline will let me do. Cleaning is the same. It works for a while but my insides know that scrubbing the shower is not a concrete step towards being done with this threat. Hanging out with the kids is great because it grounds me in what I want (ie my family to get to stay together) and it uses up the right kind of energy to pay attention to them (as they are usually all going in different directions at once.) Soothing though it may be for me, there is only so much mom teenage boys should have to put up with. It should also be noted that hanging out with your kids involves doing what THEY want to do. There is only so much Job For Cowboy I can listen to or Full Metal Alchemist I can watch before it's not so soothing anymore.
What I'm learning (or re-learning or remembering) is that converting all this adrenaline overdrive into a steadier, more long-term energy base takes being kind to myself. In some ways it seems counter-intuitive to focus on myself when what I want to do is pour my whole being out into fixing the "problem". But when I pay close attention to my daily care, when I skip nothing - that's when I feel more centered, calmer, quieter and stronger inside. It's not that I think washing my face, taking my vitamins, and pumicing my heels is a secret recipe guaranteeing my success. It's just that the little routines give me structure and out of that structure comes the energy I use to follow the bigger routines that in turn fuel the care I provide for my family. Being thorough and gentle in small ways gives me confidence and clarity in big ways. Amazingly mundane stuff that. But magic nonetheless.
Peace.
I'm at DEFCON 14, adrenaline pouring out of my ears, hands shaking, all senses ramped up - hyperfocused on everything and there's nothing immediate I can do. What I'm facing is a legal struggle that could take weeks if not months. I'm here to tell you that adrenaline is not a useful substance for a weeks or months long effort!! Even finding a lawyer is a process drawn out over days as I make calls, leave messages, and wait for return calls. There is only so much Googling that adrenaline will let me do. Cleaning is the same. It works for a while but my insides know that scrubbing the shower is not a concrete step towards being done with this threat. Hanging out with the kids is great because it grounds me in what I want (ie my family to get to stay together) and it uses up the right kind of energy to pay attention to them (as they are usually all going in different directions at once.) Soothing though it may be for me, there is only so much mom teenage boys should have to put up with. It should also be noted that hanging out with your kids involves doing what THEY want to do. There is only so much Job For Cowboy I can listen to or Full Metal Alchemist I can watch before it's not so soothing anymore.
What I'm learning (or re-learning or remembering) is that converting all this adrenaline overdrive into a steadier, more long-term energy base takes being kind to myself. In some ways it seems counter-intuitive to focus on myself when what I want to do is pour my whole being out into fixing the "problem". But when I pay close attention to my daily care, when I skip nothing - that's when I feel more centered, calmer, quieter and stronger inside. It's not that I think washing my face, taking my vitamins, and pumicing my heels is a secret recipe guaranteeing my success. It's just that the little routines give me structure and out of that structure comes the energy I use to follow the bigger routines that in turn fuel the care I provide for my family. Being thorough and gentle in small ways gives me confidence and clarity in big ways. Amazingly mundane stuff that. But magic nonetheless.
Peace.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Does ANYONE Ever Answer These?
This is the text from some spam I got today that cracks me up:
Hi, my dear friend I've been searching for a man of my dreams,
of my desire and I indeed hope that you are that person, and I have somehow fallen hopelessly and undeniably, though virtually in love with you. To be honest, I never thought I would ever utter those words, but now, they come forth effortlessly and with great sincerity. I'll be forever grateful to you if you show me just how shallow my life was. At last, I have a chance to give it depth and purpose. It would probably be better to tell you this during meeting in person, eyes to eyes, but I knew that the proper words would escape me. I wrote you this letter instead. Please answer me at ...
Why, why, why do people write and send this crapola? Of course that line of thought leads to the question of why does anyone read it? And here I am someone who read. I didn't open it though. (I didn't inhale?) My preview was on and this drivel was the email the cursor was on so I saw the first lines even as I was deleting. Does that at all protect my computer from getting worms or viruses or whatever? But that's yet another side issue. My main point is what is the purpose of these? How could anyone fall for it or find anything interesting enough to click the link? Surely it's code. It made me think back to when raves used to be held in different places - warehouses and such - and you'd have to find the address by putting together seemingly random info from a couple of different band posters that were stapled all over the city. (Um, and in case you are wondering - I had friends who were cool enough to know how to do all that. On my own, I'm sure I not only wouldn't have understood how to decipher the address - but I wouldn't have even known what a rave was.) Anyway - I figure this stuff is just some scattershot process to get people to porn sites - but for the life of me I can't imagine why anyone would go to the trouble of writing, sending, datamining for addresses, risking getting caught, etc. Where is the payoff - for anyone??
Mystery.
Hi, my dear friend I've been searching for a man of my dreams,
of my desire and I indeed hope that you are that person, and I have somehow fallen hopelessly and undeniably, though virtually in love with you. To be honest, I never thought I would ever utter those words, but now, they come forth effortlessly and with great sincerity. I'll be forever grateful to you if you show me just how shallow my life was. At last, I have a chance to give it depth and purpose. It would probably be better to tell you this during meeting in person, eyes to eyes, but I knew that the proper words would escape me. I wrote you this letter instead. Please answer me at ...
Why, why, why do people write and send this crapola? Of course that line of thought leads to the question of why does anyone read it? And here I am someone who read. I didn't open it though. (I didn't inhale?) My preview was on and this drivel was the email the cursor was on so I saw the first lines even as I was deleting. Does that at all protect my computer from getting worms or viruses or whatever? But that's yet another side issue. My main point is what is the purpose of these? How could anyone fall for it or find anything interesting enough to click the link? Surely it's code. It made me think back to when raves used to be held in different places - warehouses and such - and you'd have to find the address by putting together seemingly random info from a couple of different band posters that were stapled all over the city. (Um, and in case you are wondering - I had friends who were cool enough to know how to do all that. On my own, I'm sure I not only wouldn't have understood how to decipher the address - but I wouldn't have even known what a rave was.) Anyway - I figure this stuff is just some scattershot process to get people to porn sites - but for the life of me I can't imagine why anyone would go to the trouble of writing, sending, datamining for addresses, risking getting caught, etc. Where is the payoff - for anyone??
Mystery.
Pep Talk For Myself
I will not be getting any of these when we finish up school supplies shopping tonight. Maybe I'm wired differently than other parents, but if I truly felt like my kid would need one then I wouldn't be able to let them go to school - ever. Am I an ostrich? I know how random and unpredictable violence has gotten. Of course I think about Columbine and Virginia Tech. I just can't help but think that the solutions that lead to safety and peace for our children are not down the path of better defensive armament.
This week is filled with new student orientations, placement tests, and meet the teacher nights. I keep typing and erasing what I want to say about this. We had a short family meeting with the kids to get organized about the week and to say that we'd found out Mr. Tapioca was no longer moving here and that he was suing for custody. We told the kids that when they felt like sharing we wanted to hear how they felt. We had to make some decisions and certainly wanted to take their thoughts/feelings into consideration. I'm sure I'll hear more as I have more one on one time with my guys this week but it's hard. Mostly it's hard to see my kids now torn about investing themselves here. Chaos got home from the time with dad and didn't want to look at his schedule to see what classes he got. Havoc (the 8 year old) told me last night while we were waiting for the muffins to bake, that since I'd gotten to have him for the weeks and Dad had only gotten the weekends for the past six years, then he thought maybe he wanted to live with dad for a while. Very interesting to me that Havoc quoted the six year part. He doesn't track time like that. He's never once shown an awareness of how long his dad and I have been divorced. It was hard to hear him parrot his dad's type of reasoning. I let him keep talking and he began to sound more like himself - trying to find a solution, trying to put things together one way and then another. He told me it was hard - he didn't want to have to choose because really, he wanted to choose both. He said part of him wished dad and I hadn't gotten divorced so we could all live together still. Then he said that wouldn't work because he'd miss Linus. He said he'd still have gotten to see Bet (as she's known them all their lives.) He finished by saying he didn't know what to decide.
I told him that I needed him to understand some very important things - the first one being he never had to "choose" one parent over the other. He could say where he wanted to live, he could say how he felt - but he didn't ever have to make a choice of one over the other. He gets to love his parents as much as he wants no matter what the living arrangements are - and that none of this custody stuff changed how much we loved him. I explained that I needed to know how he felt because that informed my decisions, but that he didn't have to make any decisions, the decisions were for the grown ups to make. He said, "Yeah the judge." I told him I still hoped his dad and I could work this out without a judge but if we couldn't then yes, a judge would have to decide for us. My peacemaker middle child, Mayhem said whatever happened would be ok with him.
Interestingly, Mayhem just came in to snuggle and talk to me. God, I love my kids. They are so ... good. I keep reminding myself how lucky we are. This custody stuff sucks. I feel threatened. I do not want my kids taken away from me. I believe with all my heart that they are better off with us because we know how to be present, how to build family, how to help them with school and how to teach them life skills. Mr. Tapioca hasn't yet been able to maintain any of that even in the time with the boys he has now. He talks a good game - but work always trumps family for him. I can't imagine how he thinks he'd be able to do all that needs to be done in daily life with the boys. But for all that - even if the "worst" case happens and I lose in court - it has to be remembered that my kids are not in a war zone; they are not doing drugs or in trouble with the law; they are not being abused and molested. And in addition to all the bad things that aren't happening to them, they are, at heart, naturally sweet guys! They will be good men. Even if this patch for our family is rocky, they will be good men.
That helps. Some. I think the more I remember it, the more it will help. I had NO IDEA that parenting would require learning to give myself pep talks. Feel free to give me advice on how to do it better! I'm not at all sure I've got the hang of it.
Peace.
This week is filled with new student orientations, placement tests, and meet the teacher nights. I keep typing and erasing what I want to say about this. We had a short family meeting with the kids to get organized about the week and to say that we'd found out Mr. Tapioca was no longer moving here and that he was suing for custody. We told the kids that when they felt like sharing we wanted to hear how they felt. We had to make some decisions and certainly wanted to take their thoughts/feelings into consideration. I'm sure I'll hear more as I have more one on one time with my guys this week but it's hard. Mostly it's hard to see my kids now torn about investing themselves here. Chaos got home from the time with dad and didn't want to look at his schedule to see what classes he got. Havoc (the 8 year old) told me last night while we were waiting for the muffins to bake, that since I'd gotten to have him for the weeks and Dad had only gotten the weekends for the past six years, then he thought maybe he wanted to live with dad for a while. Very interesting to me that Havoc quoted the six year part. He doesn't track time like that. He's never once shown an awareness of how long his dad and I have been divorced. It was hard to hear him parrot his dad's type of reasoning. I let him keep talking and he began to sound more like himself - trying to find a solution, trying to put things together one way and then another. He told me it was hard - he didn't want to have to choose because really, he wanted to choose both. He said part of him wished dad and I hadn't gotten divorced so we could all live together still. Then he said that wouldn't work because he'd miss Linus. He said he'd still have gotten to see Bet (as she's known them all their lives.) He finished by saying he didn't know what to decide.
I told him that I needed him to understand some very important things - the first one being he never had to "choose" one parent over the other. He could say where he wanted to live, he could say how he felt - but he didn't ever have to make a choice of one over the other. He gets to love his parents as much as he wants no matter what the living arrangements are - and that none of this custody stuff changed how much we loved him. I explained that I needed to know how he felt because that informed my decisions, but that he didn't have to make any decisions, the decisions were for the grown ups to make. He said, "Yeah the judge." I told him I still hoped his dad and I could work this out without a judge but if we couldn't then yes, a judge would have to decide for us. My peacemaker middle child, Mayhem said whatever happened would be ok with him.
Interestingly, Mayhem just came in to snuggle and talk to me. God, I love my kids. They are so ... good. I keep reminding myself how lucky we are. This custody stuff sucks. I feel threatened. I do not want my kids taken away from me. I believe with all my heart that they are better off with us because we know how to be present, how to build family, how to help them with school and how to teach them life skills. Mr. Tapioca hasn't yet been able to maintain any of that even in the time with the boys he has now. He talks a good game - but work always trumps family for him. I can't imagine how he thinks he'd be able to do all that needs to be done in daily life with the boys. But for all that - even if the "worst" case happens and I lose in court - it has to be remembered that my kids are not in a war zone; they are not doing drugs or in trouble with the law; they are not being abused and molested. And in addition to all the bad things that aren't happening to them, they are, at heart, naturally sweet guys! They will be good men. Even if this patch for our family is rocky, they will be good men.
That helps. Some. I think the more I remember it, the more it will help. I had NO IDEA that parenting would require learning to give myself pep talks. Feel free to give me advice on how to do it better! I'm not at all sure I've got the hang of it.
Peace.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
When Not To Bike To The Beach
Our bike trips seemed to be plagued with extreme weather. Last year we chose to bike in Upstate New York and Canada thinking to avoid the heat. Sadly two of the seven days we biked were the hottest on record there - and incidentally some 10 - 15 degrees hotter than home! Then in April Bet faced record breaking cold temperatures while biking in the South. I don't know why we didn't expect the 104 degree day we had on our first day biking to the beach! I was done after two days but Bet biked the 73 miles on the last (and coolest day) to finish on a very strong note. Here are some images from the trip:
Wasabi barked at the waves and tried to bite them. I wish I'd been able to get a picture of him when he'd only gotten his legs wet and the rest of him was still dry. He looked like a cotton ball with chicken legs. Later when his face was soaked and his beard hanging all bedraggled, he plunked his chin down into the sand and pulled it back up again - with sand dreads dangling from his chin. We burst out laughing which made him run around some. All in all it was a fun trip to the beach. (I'll gloss over the part where Linus, the Princessa, Bug and Bet all stayed out in the sun between 12 and 4 without enough sun screen on. They are all peeling now. I'm peeling too - but if I hadn't sat under an umbrella back in the state park headquarters for those four hours, I'd probably still be in the hospital with sunstroke.) The boys should be home tomorrow and school starts in a week. Summer is coming to a close. This time of year is both sad and exciting to me. This year it might end up being more of both of those things. I'll try not to be a bore about it here on Lilymania, but I just got a certified, return-receipt letter. (I hate those fuckers. They are never good.) This one was from my ex's new lawyer saying that not only has my ex decided not to move, but he's decided to sue me for custody of my children. Soooo pleasant, that. I'm hoping he brings my kids back to me as scheduled tomorrow. I'm hoping I won't whine and carry on here. But I might. It helps me process. Hope the summer is closing out nicely for everyone. I'm off to see Order of the Phoenix a second time.
Peace.
Bet and I checking our gear just before take off.
Fluffy dog saying goodbye to Mama.
Fluffy dog not so fluffy anymore.
Wasabi barked at the waves and tried to bite them. I wish I'd been able to get a picture of him when he'd only gotten his legs wet and the rest of him was still dry. He looked like a cotton ball with chicken legs. Later when his face was soaked and his beard hanging all bedraggled, he plunked his chin down into the sand and pulled it back up again - with sand dreads dangling from his chin. We burst out laughing which made him run around some. All in all it was a fun trip to the beach. (I'll gloss over the part where Linus, the Princessa, Bug and Bet all stayed out in the sun between 12 and 4 without enough sun screen on. They are all peeling now. I'm peeling too - but if I hadn't sat under an umbrella back in the state park headquarters for those four hours, I'd probably still be in the hospital with sunstroke.) The boys should be home tomorrow and school starts in a week. Summer is coming to a close. This time of year is both sad and exciting to me. This year it might end up being more of both of those things. I'll try not to be a bore about it here on Lilymania, but I just got a certified, return-receipt letter. (I hate those fuckers. They are never good.) This one was from my ex's new lawyer saying that not only has my ex decided not to move, but he's decided to sue me for custody of my children. Soooo pleasant, that. I'm hoping he brings my kids back to me as scheduled tomorrow. I'm hoping I won't whine and carry on here. But I might. It helps me process. Hope the summer is closing out nicely for everyone. I'm off to see Order of the Phoenix a second time.Peace.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Shopping Carts And Bicycles
I don't know what it says about our shopping habits that we have discovered the following since the move:
-You can buy caskets online from Costco.
-You have to be careful in the freezer section of the grocery store lest you end up with these instead of the ones for kids. (By the by, do you know what national holiday August 2nd was? Random, I know. Also? I missed it. Wasabi didn't though! He celebrated with his new favorite treat.)
-Here broccoli is more expensive (in a price per pound kind of way) than steak. Linus freaked out a little bit about that.
-Feeding ten children dinner at a baseball game takes almost all nine innings. Baseball fan that I am (not), I think this is the exact right proportion of funnel cakes, cotton candy, and hot dogs to strikes, balls, and conferences at the pitcher's mound. As an added bonus, you get to say things to the kids like, "Stop touching your uvula!" This won't stop them from daring each other to do weird things in public, but it will ensure that the other baseball fans scoot over to give your group a wide berth. You should try it sometime. Of course, if you happen not to have ten kids of your own, you could maybe borrow some of mine. They're the four on the back row and the one in front on the left. You'll have to talk to St. Ann about borrowing the other five.
Although now might be a good time to ask, because she could use a break! On her drive back to PA, she ended up with a scarily high fever from mastitis. Instead of staying in bed (or going to the hospital!), the crazy girl went to her job interview on Monday. Sure hope she gets a job she wants that bad! Send some good mojo her way.
Finally, we're leaving tomorrow morning to bike to the beach. Yes, it's 103 degrees here. Bet and I have realized that we cannot possibly plan a big bike trip without the weather gods freaking out. What with record high temperatures for us in Canada and NY last summer and record low ones over Spring Break - we've come to accept that we're doomed to bike in extremes. If you have any mojo left over after sending some to St. Ann, you could send the remainder out into the Atlantic to make sure we don't have a surprise hurricane or something.
Peace.
-You can buy caskets online from Costco.
-You have to be careful in the freezer section of the grocery store lest you end up with these instead of the ones for kids. (By the by, do you know what national holiday August 2nd was? Random, I know. Also? I missed it. Wasabi didn't though! He celebrated with his new favorite treat.)
-Here broccoli is more expensive (in a price per pound kind of way) than steak. Linus freaked out a little bit about that.
-Feeding ten children dinner at a baseball game takes almost all nine innings. Baseball fan that I am (not), I think this is the exact right proportion of funnel cakes, cotton candy, and hot dogs to strikes, balls, and conferences at the pitcher's mound. As an added bonus, you get to say things to the kids like, "Stop touching your uvula!" This won't stop them from daring each other to do weird things in public, but it will ensure that the other baseball fans scoot over to give your group a wide berth. You should try it sometime. Of course, if you happen not to have ten kids of your own, you could maybe borrow some of mine. They're the four on the back row and the one in front on the left. You'll have to talk to St. Ann about borrowing the other five.
Although now might be a good time to ask, because she could use a break! On her drive back to PA, she ended up with a scarily high fever from mastitis. Instead of staying in bed (or going to the hospital!), the crazy girl went to her job interview on Monday. Sure hope she gets a job she wants that bad! Send some good mojo her way. Finally, we're leaving tomorrow morning to bike to the beach. Yes, it's 103 degrees here. Bet and I have realized that we cannot possibly plan a big bike trip without the weather gods freaking out. What with record high temperatures for us in Canada and NY last summer and record low ones over Spring Break - we've come to accept that we're doomed to bike in extremes. If you have any mojo left over after sending some to St. Ann, you could send the remainder out into the Atlantic to make sure we don't have a surprise hurricane or something.
Peace.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Going Postal (By Way Of The DMV)
Postal Thing One: I went to the post office in Tennessee before we left and got a "relocation packet" chock full of completely useless crap. It had thirty-seven coupons I didn't want and only one change of address form when it turns out only the most unblended of families can manage with just one. Even though there is a check box you can mark to indicate that you want the address change to apply to the whole family, it doesn't do diddly for you if your family members happens to have different last names. We were three forms short. I had squillions of errands to run and dammit, I had already marked the post office off the list! Grrrrr. I had no idea how to get everything done. I had to get immunization records for all the kids, their school transcripts and report cards, the dog's vet records, the HIPA (are there two P's?) forms to release my medical records, forms to have Havoc's gifted program qualifications transferred, and so on and so forth. Then I was told by some helpful soul that you can change your address with the post office online and have your mail forwarded immediately. Hurray! Or rather, it would have been "Hurray!" if we'd been able to do anything online, but some dipweed at the cable company disconnected our internet two days early. Grrrrr. When we could get online (in East Asheville, halfway through the move), guess what we found out? You CAN change your address online if you have a credit card in each name and are willing to pay a dollar per change. Even if I were willing to pay the stupid dollar fees - I don't have credit cards in my children's names! Duh! And grrrrrr.
What with a house to buy, two ginormous trucks to unload, ceiling high stacks of boxes to unpack, kids to care for, and people to feed in the midst of it all, I will admit that it took me a couple of days to get myself down to my new local post office. I'm such a slacker!! I filled out all the forms and handed them to the nice lady. (Nice here being a euphemism for scowling bitch.) I asked her about the online address change process. It seemed to me that not being able to change your children's addresses is a drawback to the system, so maybe I'd missed something. She explained (while rolling her eyes to indicate what a moron I was) that the credit card requirement prevented terrorism and identity theft. The system protected postal patrons from having strangers submit false address changes. Ok. I then handed her four cards where I had filled out my children's names at the top and then printed and signed my name (which in no way matches that of my children) at the bottom. Did she bat an eye? Did she ask to see my ID or any type of proof that it was my children for whom I was submitting address changes? No and no. Apparently terrorists and identity thieves are totally stymied by the online credit card obstacle and never, ever think to use the paper forms. Being ever so helpful, the nice lady snarled at me for not filling out the other side. Er, other side? There was one long blank with something like "Address of Post Office" written underneath. No explanation. Had I realized I was supposed to have written something there, I still wouldn't have known what to put without asking. Ms. Snarlyface gave a huffy puffy sigh and explained that OBVIOUSLY I had to write the name of the city from which I had moved because my mail was still there, not here. In the four seconds it took me to fill in those blanks, she managed to add, "You know, most people do this BEFORE they move." So pleasant. I wanted to klonk her on the head with the two tons of paperwork I did manage to get done BEFORE I moved.
Postal Thing Two: Our mailbox is attached to our house, not on the street. It came that way. For the first few days after we unpacked, we got mail. Not a lot and mostly junk, but we got mail. Then for a few days we got nothing. Zilch. Those few days happened to coincide with the arrival of our fabulous guests (and their two minivans - which is the relevant piece of information vis a vis the mail although we didn't know it at the time.) I wasn't particularly worried about the lack of mail, but Bet was. She's a very orderly person and the empty mailbox with no explanation was driving her crazy. While the rest of us were entertaining ourselves by inventing strange and unlikely reasons for dearth of mail, Bet marched down to the post office for the official word. The post office was holding our mail. Our pull-through driveway had not been so pull-through due to the five cars in it. At the post office they said that the mailman should have left us a note explaining the situation. And he did. Look. This is the note the mailman left us:
Am I the only one who thinks it is absurd that the official explanation of why we had no mail delivery is a note scrawled upon a piece of mail that the mailman REFUSED TO DELIVER? This piece of mail (from my bank and clearly marked "Time dated material - response required") was mixed in the pile with all the other mail being held. PO can stand for pissed off and for post office. Coincidence? I think not. Be that as it may, the Post Office is the model of convenience and efficiency compared to the Department of Motor Vehicles. Ask me how I know.
DMV Thing One: Linus, The Ninja Princessa, Chaos, Mayhem, Havoc, and I spent three hours at the DMV today. The children needed to get state photo ID's (required for air travel now, even for kids) and Linus and I needed to change our licenses from TN to NC. The idea behind the DMV process is that there is a triage desk at the front where they assign you a number based on what you're there for. Driver's test? Your number is B233. License renewal? Your number is A111. Anybody need a study booklet? Here you go. Bing, bang, boom.
For us? Not so bing, bang. In three hours we only managed to get the kids' cards. Linus and I have to go back in two weeks for ours. We stood in the line to get a number for more than forty minutes before the line even moved. We'd been there about an hour and fifteen minutes before we got to the front. When we did make it to the triage nazi we were told we hadn't brought enough documentation to get our licenses today. Even though Linus and I both had our old licenses, our birth certificates, our passports, our social security cards, the deed to our new house, and our insurance cards - we couldn't get our licenses transferred because we did not have the declarations page from our car insurance packet. Fine, we can come back. The boys, however, are getting on a plane tomorrow morning at 8 am and need their cards today. The DMV woman (definitely kin to the post office matron) went through the paperwork we needed for the kids.
"Birth certificates?"
"Check."
"Social security cards?"
"Check."
"Proof of residency?"
"Proof of residency? The deed to our house?"
"Are they listed on it?"
"On the deed to our house?! No. But we're provably their parents and we have our custody papers with us and our names are on the deed."
"No, that's not good enough. We need something with their names on it."
"Like what?"
"Utility bill, credit card statement, that kind of thing."
"For the KIDS?? They don't have credit cards and their names aren't on the utilities!"
"What about the lease? Kids have to be listed on leases."
"We just told you. We moved two weeks ago from Tennesse straight into the house we bought. No leasing."
"You'll have to stand aside until I can get the supervisor to come straighten this mess out."
I didn't move over much. The supervisor happened by.
"What seems to be the problem? No lease? No credit card bills?"
"They're kids between the ages of 8 and 15."
The man cackled, "8 to 15! AH HAH! Then you should have school records!" like he'd caught me out.
"I do have school records. From Tennessee. We just moved here TWO WEEKS AGO and the kids have not been in school yet."
"Bank account statements?" he shot back.
"I haven't had time to open accounts for them and I don't think we'd have statements this soon anyway. Isn't there any way to make this work? The kids are supposed to fly tomorrow. They need these ID's."
No answer. The supervisor walked away, clipboard in hand, to administer a road test. I kid you not. He just walked away! Fortunately for everyone concerned, another DMV worker sauntered over and said we'd have to have affidavits.
"Ok. Where do we get those?"
"Oh we can do them when you get called back. You just have to pay $2 each."
I wanted to scream. We cannot be the first people to ever have just moved to the state with their kids! I couldn't believe it took fifteen minutes of dickering back and forth when the triage nazi could have said in 10 seconds, "There's a small extra charge and a form for you to sign but it's not a problem. Here's your number. Next!"
We took our hard earned numbers and sat down. There were about 15 chairs and about 35 people waiting. The supervisor came through and made everyone who was sitting on the floor stand up. Nice. Random, pointless, and unposted rules for added entertainment value! We were so over our DMV experience. At least we'd had enough foresight to have the kids bring books. They were super as we waited another hour and a half for our numbers to get called.
DMV Thing Two: The triage nazi loudly told incoming people that they'd have to wait for hours. At least two, possibly four. She'd been there 17 years and August was always the very worst month. All these people moving into the area. Clogging up the lines. Many of them associated with the university so they had to get here before school started. So inconvenient of them to all come at the same time. Lots of them furriners whose paperwork took forever to process. I'm thinking sensitivity is not something they screen DMV job applicants for.
Finally our numbers got called. It took under ten minutes to do all four kids. They didn't once look at my license or question if I was the mama even though I signed my legal name now which, again, in no way resembles the name I had on the birth certificates. (I've legally changed my first name and taken my maiden name back.) It mattered not. Silly me for hauling all the divorce, custody, and legal name change paperwork. Who cares about that stuff? The declarations page of the insurance packet, now...everyone knows you can't go anywhere without that!
DMV Things Three and Four: Before it was all said and done, each of the children got to decide whether to be organ donors or not. I ask you - does that make any sense to you?? Yes, it's a good thing to know my children's wishes. Yes, I was pleased that they were all so hypothetically generous with their precious organs, but come on now! God forbid it should ever come to pass that that horrific decision has to be made - but if it does, I should hope that it is an adult who loves my kids and NOT a check box on a form at the DMV that decides the issue. Finally, Havoc (the EIGHT year old!) had to sign a piece of paper saying that he was not a registered sex offender. I have no explanation for this. I did ask if the woman was sure she'd given us the right form. She took it back, looked at it, handed it back and said it was required.
But when we all compared notes afterwards, we realized that none of the other kids had to sign such a form. We were scattered at different desks and passing money back and forth because the $2 affidavit fee had to be paid separately from the ID fees and then the photos were taken way over here and it was a lot of back and forth in a few short minutes. Otherwise I would have asked why the holy hell such a form was required for my cherubic third grader. Profiling? Has there been a rash of unregistered sex offenders of elementary school age?!! Did I miss something?
I'm trying to stay positive about this move. I want very much to invest myself in this community. It's just that today I've begun to wonder what is up with North Carolina. I can't put my finger on it exactly, but I have a feeling that somewhere something is amiss when the state bureaucracy expects children to pay their utility bills with their credit cards and to register their sex offender status. I can only hope that if I keep my children out of the Post Office and away from the DMV that things will be ok.
Peace.
What with a house to buy, two ginormous trucks to unload, ceiling high stacks of boxes to unpack, kids to care for, and people to feed in the midst of it all, I will admit that it took me a couple of days to get myself down to my new local post office. I'm such a slacker!! I filled out all the forms and handed them to the nice lady. (Nice here being a euphemism for scowling bitch.) I asked her about the online address change process. It seemed to me that not being able to change your children's addresses is a drawback to the system, so maybe I'd missed something. She explained (while rolling her eyes to indicate what a moron I was) that the credit card requirement prevented terrorism and identity theft. The system protected postal patrons from having strangers submit false address changes. Ok. I then handed her four cards where I had filled out my children's names at the top and then printed and signed my name (which in no way matches that of my children) at the bottom. Did she bat an eye? Did she ask to see my ID or any type of proof that it was my children for whom I was submitting address changes? No and no. Apparently terrorists and identity thieves are totally stymied by the online credit card obstacle and never, ever think to use the paper forms. Being ever so helpful, the nice lady snarled at me for not filling out the other side. Er, other side? There was one long blank with something like "Address of Post Office" written underneath. No explanation. Had I realized I was supposed to have written something there, I still wouldn't have known what to put without asking. Ms. Snarlyface gave a huffy puffy sigh and explained that OBVIOUSLY I had to write the name of the city from which I had moved because my mail was still there, not here. In the four seconds it took me to fill in those blanks, she managed to add, "You know, most people do this BEFORE they move." So pleasant. I wanted to klonk her on the head with the two tons of paperwork I did manage to get done BEFORE I moved.
Postal Thing Two: Our mailbox is attached to our house, not on the street. It came that way. For the first few days after we unpacked, we got mail. Not a lot and mostly junk, but we got mail. Then for a few days we got nothing. Zilch. Those few days happened to coincide with the arrival of our fabulous guests (and their two minivans - which is the relevant piece of information vis a vis the mail although we didn't know it at the time.) I wasn't particularly worried about the lack of mail, but Bet was. She's a very orderly person and the empty mailbox with no explanation was driving her crazy. While the rest of us were entertaining ourselves by inventing strange and unlikely reasons for dearth of mail, Bet marched down to the post office for the official word. The post office was holding our mail. Our pull-through driveway had not been so pull-through due to the five cars in it. At the post office they said that the mailman should have left us a note explaining the situation. And he did. Look. This is the note the mailman left us:
Am I the only one who thinks it is absurd that the official explanation of why we had no mail delivery is a note scrawled upon a piece of mail that the mailman REFUSED TO DELIVER? This piece of mail (from my bank and clearly marked "Time dated material - response required") was mixed in the pile with all the other mail being held. PO can stand for pissed off and for post office. Coincidence? I think not. Be that as it may, the Post Office is the model of convenience and efficiency compared to the Department of Motor Vehicles. Ask me how I know.
DMV Thing One: Linus, The Ninja Princessa, Chaos, Mayhem, Havoc, and I spent three hours at the DMV today. The children needed to get state photo ID's (required for air travel now, even for kids) and Linus and I needed to change our licenses from TN to NC. The idea behind the DMV process is that there is a triage desk at the front where they assign you a number based on what you're there for. Driver's test? Your number is B233. License renewal? Your number is A111. Anybody need a study booklet? Here you go. Bing, bang, boom.
For us? Not so bing, bang. In three hours we only managed to get the kids' cards. Linus and I have to go back in two weeks for ours. We stood in the line to get a number for more than forty minutes before the line even moved. We'd been there about an hour and fifteen minutes before we got to the front. When we did make it to the triage nazi we were told we hadn't brought enough documentation to get our licenses today. Even though Linus and I both had our old licenses, our birth certificates, our passports, our social security cards, the deed to our new house, and our insurance cards - we couldn't get our licenses transferred because we did not have the declarations page from our car insurance packet. Fine, we can come back. The boys, however, are getting on a plane tomorrow morning at 8 am and need their cards today. The DMV woman (definitely kin to the post office matron) went through the paperwork we needed for the kids.
"Birth certificates?"
"Check."
"Social security cards?"
"Check."
"Proof of residency?"
"Proof of residency? The deed to our house?"
"Are they listed on it?"
"On the deed to our house?! No. But we're provably their parents and we have our custody papers with us and our names are on the deed."
"No, that's not good enough. We need something with their names on it."
"Like what?"
"Utility bill, credit card statement, that kind of thing."
"For the KIDS?? They don't have credit cards and their names aren't on the utilities!"
"What about the lease? Kids have to be listed on leases."
"We just told you. We moved two weeks ago from Tennesse straight into the house we bought. No leasing."
"You'll have to stand aside until I can get the supervisor to come straighten this mess out."
I didn't move over much. The supervisor happened by.
"What seems to be the problem? No lease? No credit card bills?"
"They're kids between the ages of 8 and 15."
The man cackled, "8 to 15! AH HAH! Then you should have school records!" like he'd caught me out.
"I do have school records. From Tennessee. We just moved here TWO WEEKS AGO and the kids have not been in school yet."
"Bank account statements?" he shot back.
"I haven't had time to open accounts for them and I don't think we'd have statements this soon anyway. Isn't there any way to make this work? The kids are supposed to fly tomorrow. They need these ID's."
No answer. The supervisor walked away, clipboard in hand, to administer a road test. I kid you not. He just walked away! Fortunately for everyone concerned, another DMV worker sauntered over and said we'd have to have affidavits.
"Ok. Where do we get those?"
"Oh we can do them when you get called back. You just have to pay $2 each."
I wanted to scream. We cannot be the first people to ever have just moved to the state with their kids! I couldn't believe it took fifteen minutes of dickering back and forth when the triage nazi could have said in 10 seconds, "There's a small extra charge and a form for you to sign but it's not a problem. Here's your number. Next!"
We took our hard earned numbers and sat down. There were about 15 chairs and about 35 people waiting. The supervisor came through and made everyone who was sitting on the floor stand up. Nice. Random, pointless, and unposted rules for added entertainment value! We were so over our DMV experience. At least we'd had enough foresight to have the kids bring books. They were super as we waited another hour and a half for our numbers to get called.
DMV Thing Two: The triage nazi loudly told incoming people that they'd have to wait for hours. At least two, possibly four. She'd been there 17 years and August was always the very worst month. All these people moving into the area. Clogging up the lines. Many of them associated with the university so they had to get here before school started. So inconvenient of them to all come at the same time. Lots of them furriners whose paperwork took forever to process. I'm thinking sensitivity is not something they screen DMV job applicants for.
Finally our numbers got called. It took under ten minutes to do all four kids. They didn't once look at my license or question if I was the mama even though I signed my legal name now which, again, in no way resembles the name I had on the birth certificates. (I've legally changed my first name and taken my maiden name back.) It mattered not. Silly me for hauling all the divorce, custody, and legal name change paperwork. Who cares about that stuff? The declarations page of the insurance packet, now...everyone knows you can't go anywhere without that!
DMV Things Three and Four: Before it was all said and done, each of the children got to decide whether to be organ donors or not. I ask you - does that make any sense to you?? Yes, it's a good thing to know my children's wishes. Yes, I was pleased that they were all so hypothetically generous with their precious organs, but come on now! God forbid it should ever come to pass that that horrific decision has to be made - but if it does, I should hope that it is an adult who loves my kids and NOT a check box on a form at the DMV that decides the issue. Finally, Havoc (the EIGHT year old!) had to sign a piece of paper saying that he was not a registered sex offender. I have no explanation for this. I did ask if the woman was sure she'd given us the right form. She took it back, looked at it, handed it back and said it was required.
But when we all compared notes afterwards, we realized that none of the other kids had to sign such a form. We were scattered at different desks and passing money back and forth because the $2 affidavit fee had to be paid separately from the ID fees and then the photos were taken way over here and it was a lot of back and forth in a few short minutes. Otherwise I would have asked why the holy hell such a form was required for my cherubic third grader. Profiling? Has there been a rash of unregistered sex offenders of elementary school age?!! Did I miss something?
I'm trying to stay positive about this move. I want very much to invest myself in this community. It's just that today I've begun to wonder what is up with North Carolina. I can't put my finger on it exactly, but I have a feeling that somewhere something is amiss when the state bureaucracy expects children to pay their utility bills with their credit cards and to register their sex offender status. I can only hope that if I keep my children out of the Post Office and away from the DMV that things will be ok.
Peace.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
HP And Me
Harry Potter and I have the same birthday (=today). For years I've thought I was soooo much older than Harry - but I was wrong! I just finished the seventh book and it turns out that we are only a couple of years apart. Weird. I have no idea how he's planning to celebrate his day, but mine is jam packed with fun, adventure, and KIDS! St. Ann, John the Magnificent, and their five children are visiting. If you do the math, you will discover that we have TEN children and five adults in the house. Have you ever tried to coordinate activities for 15? St. Joseph's valium for children would come in handy, but sadly I think they stopped making that. Barring that, we've been using our entire bag of tricks to keep us all entertained. My godson (and one of the cutest babies on the planet, as I'm sure you'll agree) has been the one thing guaranteed to make everyone smile. (I can hear St. Ann pointing out mildly that Baby Z is not particularly smile inducing at 3 am.) Still! He's DARLING the rest of the time. So easy going. Cooing and drooling. Amused by makeshift toys like the top of the chips bag. Not even complaining when we turn his toy into a hat for his enormous head! How can you beat that for entertainment?
If you see Harry, let him know that we've started the party without him. Peace.
If you see Harry, let him know that we've started the party without him. Peace.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
If You Give A Mom A Muffin
He was very patient while the old kitchen was packed up for a month but the second the boxes were sort of unpacked at the new kitchen, he was rarin' to cook! His first project (orange glazed muffins) were such a hit that the entire dozen disappeared immediately.
His next project was an entire dinner: stuffed shells, salad, and fruit for dessert. The brothers (even Chaos - who looks grumpy in this picture but wasn't in real life) gobbled it all up. They told Havoc that if he kept cooking food this good then he should start doubling his recipes.
Havoc LOVES the whole process. He pores over the recipe books; he makes the shopping list; he cooks the food (with supervision); and he basks in the praise. The kitchen is his kingdom and he is a happy king. The rest of the house, however, is still a shambles. I can't seem to make any headway. I swear the boxes are replicating in the dark of the night. Linus has been out of town all week but Bet and I work all day unpacking and the next morning there is even more than there was before still left to unpack! Good thing Havoc knows how to bake yummy muffins to keep our energy up.
Peace.
His next project was an entire dinner: stuffed shells, salad, and fruit for dessert. The brothers (even Chaos - who looks grumpy in this picture but wasn't in real life) gobbled it all up. They told Havoc that if he kept cooking food this good then he should start doubling his recipes. 
Havoc LOVES the whole process. He pores over the recipe books; he makes the shopping list; he cooks the food (with supervision); and he basks in the praise. The kitchen is his kingdom and he is a happy king. The rest of the house, however, is still a shambles. I can't seem to make any headway. I swear the boxes are replicating in the dark of the night. Linus has been out of town all week but Bet and I work all day unpacking and the next morning there is even more than there was before still left to unpack! Good thing Havoc knows how to bake yummy muffins to keep our energy up. Peace.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Zombie Proofing The House
In today's installment of "My Kids Are Weird" I'm going to tell you my boys' first reaction to their new home which was, "We'd never survive a zombie attack in this house. There are way too many doors and windows!!" They then spent the next 10 minutes scouting out appropriate shelter/hiding spots in case the zombies converged even before we managed to get the moving trucks unloaded. I had no idea my kids were so worried about zombies.
Of course, it has been made clear to me in the past few days (while being trapped in the car with the boys for hours and hours and hours) that I have zero understanding of how their brains work. Even 8 year old Havoc thinks bizarre thoughts that I would never, ever just happen to think. As Havoc floated dreamily in the hotel pool the other afternoon he said, "You know what would really suck? Drowning in your own blood." Uh, yeah. Ok. And ick!
I'd worry more except they are all in great moods. I keep checking in with them, making sure they know we're not to busy to talk. I've cut each one of them out of the herd a couple of times to see if the good mood is a mob mentality kind of phenomenon - but it doesn't seem to be. They all have healthy appetites and have been kinder with each other than normal. They are having fun puttering in their rooms, arranging miniatures and computer parts. Bug and Chaos do want to paint their room black. Mayhem and Havoc want the airplane decals off their walls. Joey and Thaxton want to stay. The biggest thing on their wants and needs list? All of them want me to hurry up and find a different place for the old table. Currently it's blocking their only access to the best zombie proof closet.
Boys!
Peace.
Of course, it has been made clear to me in the past few days (while being trapped in the car with the boys for hours and hours and hours) that I have zero understanding of how their brains work. Even 8 year old Havoc thinks bizarre thoughts that I would never, ever just happen to think. As Havoc floated dreamily in the hotel pool the other afternoon he said, "You know what would really suck? Drowning in your own blood." Uh, yeah. Ok. And ick!
I'd worry more except they are all in great moods. I keep checking in with them, making sure they know we're not to busy to talk. I've cut each one of them out of the herd a couple of times to see if the good mood is a mob mentality kind of phenomenon - but it doesn't seem to be. They all have healthy appetites and have been kinder with each other than normal. They are having fun puttering in their rooms, arranging miniatures and computer parts. Bug and Chaos do want to paint their room black. Mayhem and Havoc want the airplane decals off their walls. Joey and Thaxton want to stay. The biggest thing on their wants and needs list? All of them want me to hurry up and find a different place for the old table. Currently it's blocking their only access to the best zombie proof closet.
Boys!
Peace.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Landing
Goodbye old house! This is the crew we traveled with (minus my mom, second from the right - next to Chaos in the back row - she and VBGF's mom were there to see us off.) Who's Who - (L-->R) Thaxton*, Bug, Joey*, Mayhem, Uncle Richard, Marmie (my mom), Chaos - then SH, Wasabi, Havoc above him, Me, VBGF. Is now a good time to say that I'm tired of using initials? Names are so much easier. Will it confuse you terribly to switch to Linus and Bet instead of SH and VBGF? I'll write a new thing for the sidebar soon, really my poor blog is long overdue for it, but it will have to wait. First I must deforest the cardboard jungle that is currently growing in my new home. See?
Bikes. In the library. Hmmmm. Not a good long-term plan I think. Upside down couch. Difficult to sit upon. Must. Rethink. Library. 
Cook? Can you even see the fridge? Not sure we'll be making home-cooked meals anytime soon. Yet, I can't believe we brought even more cardboard into the house by ordering pizza!
Here we are! Homeowners! Bet, Linus, and Lilymane (me). Do you see our one key? One. key. For a family of eight - in a house that has FOUR doors. (I will not say bad things about the previous owners. I will not say bad things about the previous owners. I will not ...)
This is a bumper sticker we saw in the parking lot of the closing attorney's office. I had already decided I liked these people when I saw "Coexist" on one car, something funny and anti-Bush on another, and two HRC stickers, but when Linus saw the one above, he said he was never living anywhere else. (And if you don't understand it, it's ok - it's a Dungeons and Dragons (or general d20 RPG) reference.)I suppose I'd best get up and dig into some of those boxes!
Peace.
*Thaxton and Joey are both only children who have been friends with my kids for years (five years? four?) They are part of the junior troll boy contingent who game(d) at the house every Wednesday night. When we moved I told both of their mothers that I wanted visitation rights. They are such good sports! They agreed to let their boys move with us for the first week. We have to send them back on Sunday but it has been such an incredible help to have them with us. Aside from the fact that they have hauled more than their fair share of stuff in and out of U-haul trucks, they are helping my boys set up their rooms, explore the new neighborhood, and adjust without losing their friends. They are more precious than gold to me.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
It's The Little Things That Get You
Despite the fact that I have been fixing to move for well nigh three months now, it's a whole different thing to actually BE MOVING. There is a part of me that just hasn't caught up. (This is the exact same part of me that opened the skinny middle desk drawer into my pregnant tummy twelve times a day while I was carrying Chaos. It didn't matter that 99.999% of my brain was obsessed with being pregnant, having a baby, thinking about the baby, etc. That .001% was not only not obsessed with my pregnancy but it actively refused to make any allowances whatsoever.)
Yesterday morning VBGF and I went to the convenience store next to the hotel to buy some Dramamine for Havoc. (Havoc, bless his heart, had puked the minute he got out of the car the night before.) The chewable Dramamine comes in small, one dose packets. I picked one up and then said to VBGF, "I know he only needs the one dose for today since we'll only be in the car for a couple of hours, but do you think I should get another one to have on hand for the drive back?" She gave me a funny look and said, "Drive back? This is a move." RIGHT. Move. Not vacation. Not a visit. A permanent move. To another state.
The slow fraction of my brain hates being caught out. For a moment all was shaky and a little teary. Then there was some mental wagon circling and some internal cluckings of "There, there" and "It'll be alright." The rest of me got back in the driver's seat. I think we're all onboard now - slow bits and all. I'm hoping we're even all buckled up, because this next part is a doozie. Closing. In an hour. With crazy* people involved. Cross those fingers!!
Peace.
*I know, I know. Pot, kettle and all that. But really, these folks (<-- our sellers) are a piece of work. I would avoid all of Chicago if I were you because that's where they live now! Travel to the Windy City at your own risk.
Yesterday morning VBGF and I went to the convenience store next to the hotel to buy some Dramamine for Havoc. (Havoc, bless his heart, had puked the minute he got out of the car the night before.) The chewable Dramamine comes in small, one dose packets. I picked one up and then said to VBGF, "I know he only needs the one dose for today since we'll only be in the car for a couple of hours, but do you think I should get another one to have on hand for the drive back?" She gave me a funny look and said, "Drive back? This is a move." RIGHT. Move. Not vacation. Not a visit. A permanent move. To another state.
The slow fraction of my brain hates being caught out. For a moment all was shaky and a little teary. Then there was some mental wagon circling and some internal cluckings of "There, there" and "It'll be alright." The rest of me got back in the driver's seat. I think we're all onboard now - slow bits and all. I'm hoping we're even all buckled up, because this next part is a doozie. Closing. In an hour. With crazy* people involved. Cross those fingers!!
Peace.
*I know, I know. Pot, kettle and all that. But really, these folks (<-- our sellers) are a piece of work. I would avoid all of Chicago if I were you because that's where they live now! Travel to the Windy City at your own risk.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Mid Point
Greetings from East Asheville! We're a traveling circus - we have four adults, six mostly teenage boys, a dog, two U-Haul trucks (one of them towing my 12 year old Rodeo), and two VW's all trekking east on I-40. Our closing took about 10 minutes (and most of that was chat!) Our realtor gave us a huge canvas bag stuffed with goodies. She laughed and said she tried to put some healthy stuff in there. Her ratio? 40 lbs of junk topped with a two peanut butter crackers and a token bag of trail mix. I think we'd gone about thirty miles before all of the cookies, the M&M's, the jelly beans, and one of the peanut butter crackers were gone. The trail mix and the vitamin fortified water bottles were all that was left. Yep - Lindy the listing agent rocks the house!! Smartest gal on the planet! What else can I say about someone who sells my house in two days and then gives me the perfect present to appease a car full of teenage stomachs??
Poor Robbie the Realtor on the other side. She is working probably four times as hard for not nearly so much joy. We will all breathe a huge sigh of relief when we get through the closing on the new house. The people selling us our new house are ... crazy. Like ape shit crazy. From the first week of weird negotiations with them where they ended up not even being able to accept their own offered price, we've known they weren't right. The house is perfect for us or we would have walked away at about the third obstacle. I no longer buy the excuse that they are young, don't know what they're doing, and have stressful jobs in Chicago. Normal people, even young, inexperienced ones with stressful jobs in Chicago can figure this stuff out. I would add that they have their own realtor to help them through the process but I don't know if she's speaking to them anymore.
We knew they wouldn't do any repairs. They have no money. Integrity seems to be in short supply with them too. Emotions, however, they have in spades. They have bitched and whined about how we're taking advantage of them by buying their house at the list price. We have received more than one letter accusing us of "taking advantage of a marketing strategy" by purchasing the home they've been trying to sell for months and months (with several agents and more than one agency). Ok fine. They are crazy, but we can work with crazy for a limited time. Let's just get through this!
We say to them - we hear you, no repairs, but please provide us with the building permits for the work you had done as the inspection shows that there are some code violations which we will need to address. They refused. Not only did they refuse but their response was a "how dare you ask for such a thing" type of letter. They blathered on about how they'd had licensed professionals do the work - NOT day laborers (a strange defense since we'd not even thought of that - we just wanted the papers to cover our butts about the permits). According to our sellers, they'd paid good money (here we were treated to yet another digression about how we had NO IDEA what kind of deal we were getting on the house) and the work was done flawlessly (despite our evil inspector's malicious observations to the contrary). They will not be providing documentation of any description - not even the name of the (supposedly licensed) contractor who did the (provably not flawless) work.
Sometimes I really don't understand how people work. Do they expect us to believe what they say even when it makes no sense? Do they have friends who listen sympathetically to their woes and say, "There, there. Your buyers are just whacked. It will all be over soon"? That's all neither here nor there. We have in writing what we need legally to cover ourselves. Our inspector gave us detailed instructions on what needs to be done to make everything right. We're ready to close and be done with these jokers.
Then on Friday our realtor lets us know that there's a teeny, tiny little problem that affects them, not us, and as far as she knows we are still set to close on Wednesday morning. This infitesimally small issue turns out to be nothing other than a LIEN against the house, a dispute with the neighbors, and a pending court case. Poor Robbie had to tell us (yet again) that she's never had anything like this happen in her 20+ years in real estate. It's the third never-before-seen thing these people have achieved. I think it is a remarkable act of faith that we launched ourselves out on this journey with so little assurance of a successful end. Granted, we hadn't many options considering our homelessness as of 8:30 a.m. yesterday. Might as well launch and hope for the best, eh? Of course it wouldn't hurt if all of you out there, my lovely internet friends, would hope for the best for us too! Maybe that will tip the cosmic scales and the universe will allow Wednesday to proceed without a hitch. A girl can dream, can't she?
Peace.
Poor Robbie the Realtor on the other side. She is working probably four times as hard for not nearly so much joy. We will all breathe a huge sigh of relief when we get through the closing on the new house. The people selling us our new house are ... crazy. Like ape shit crazy. From the first week of weird negotiations with them where they ended up not even being able to accept their own offered price, we've known they weren't right. The house is perfect for us or we would have walked away at about the third obstacle. I no longer buy the excuse that they are young, don't know what they're doing, and have stressful jobs in Chicago. Normal people, even young, inexperienced ones with stressful jobs in Chicago can figure this stuff out. I would add that they have their own realtor to help them through the process but I don't know if she's speaking to them anymore.
We knew they wouldn't do any repairs. They have no money. Integrity seems to be in short supply with them too. Emotions, however, they have in spades. They have bitched and whined about how we're taking advantage of them by buying their house at the list price. We have received more than one letter accusing us of "taking advantage of a marketing strategy" by purchasing the home they've been trying to sell for months and months (with several agents and more than one agency). Ok fine. They are crazy, but we can work with crazy for a limited time. Let's just get through this!
We say to them - we hear you, no repairs, but please provide us with the building permits for the work you had done as the inspection shows that there are some code violations which we will need to address. They refused. Not only did they refuse but their response was a "how dare you ask for such a thing" type of letter. They blathered on about how they'd had licensed professionals do the work - NOT day laborers (a strange defense since we'd not even thought of that - we just wanted the papers to cover our butts about the permits). According to our sellers, they'd paid good money (here we were treated to yet another digression about how we had NO IDEA what kind of deal we were getting on the house) and the work was done flawlessly (despite our evil inspector's malicious observations to the contrary). They will not be providing documentation of any description - not even the name of the (supposedly licensed) contractor who did the (provably not flawless) work.
Sometimes I really don't understand how people work. Do they expect us to believe what they say even when it makes no sense? Do they have friends who listen sympathetically to their woes and say, "There, there. Your buyers are just whacked. It will all be over soon"? That's all neither here nor there. We have in writing what we need legally to cover ourselves. Our inspector gave us detailed instructions on what needs to be done to make everything right. We're ready to close and be done with these jokers.
Then on Friday our realtor lets us know that there's a teeny, tiny little problem that affects them, not us, and as far as she knows we are still set to close on Wednesday morning. This infitesimally small issue turns out to be nothing other than a LIEN against the house, a dispute with the neighbors, and a pending court case. Poor Robbie had to tell us (yet again) that she's never had anything like this happen in her 20+ years in real estate. It's the third never-before-seen thing these people have achieved. I think it is a remarkable act of faith that we launched ourselves out on this journey with so little assurance of a successful end. Granted, we hadn't many options considering our homelessness as of 8:30 a.m. yesterday. Might as well launch and hope for the best, eh? Of course it wouldn't hurt if all of you out there, my lovely internet friends, would hope for the best for us too! Maybe that will tip the cosmic scales and the universe will allow Wednesday to proceed without a hitch. A girl can dream, can't she?
Peace.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
In The Midst
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear SH, happy birthday to you.Nothing like getting lost in the moving shuffle! We did celebrate - and mostly his present is the PS3 he's had since December - but it was a bit "Oh, hey, it's your birthday. Have some cookie and let's talk about moving some more!"
Monday. We leave Monday morning. It might not seem quite so overwhelming if I didn't have a wedding to go to on Saturday. And not just any wedding - it's one of those where the save the date cards went out last summer. It's in South Carolina. I know! I leave tomorrow to drive 10 hours to South Carolina, go to the wedding on Saturday, drive 10 hours back on Sunday - help finish the packing up, sell the house, and drive 500 miles back to NORTH Carolina on Monday. C-R-A-Z-Y! But that's the way we're going to do it.
Recently I saw the PODS commercial where the people stand by and all their stuff marches itself into the storage container. I made some comment about how wouldn't that be nice if it would all just load itself - and the response I got was that from my perspective that's exactly what will happen. Right! Lucky me! Only I'm OCD enough that the thought that people will be moving my stuff around while I'm gone completely stresses me out!!!! Oh well!
Likely I won't blog from the wedding or from the in transit portion of the move! Next you hear from me I hope to be able to thrill you with fascinating accounts of ...unpacking. Woo hoo!
Peace.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
We Needed That Extra Dash Of Stress
One week from today we will be in transit - halfway between homes. There is so much to do that I get the screaming heebie jeebies if I think about it too long. I want to navigate this transition as smoothly as possible for my kids. We are having fun with many aspects of it all, but there are distinctly hard parts to it. On top of that there has been additional emotional drama. One example is that the Ninja Princessa was forbidden to open a myspace account - clearly, expressly, and with lots of explanations as to why. In ongoing revelations coming from her mother's home in Colorado, we have been finding out that not only did she try to sneak in getting permission to open one there with her mother's blessing, but after her mom presented a united front with SH and said no - the Princessa did it anyway. Only now it turns out that she didn't just do it - that she opened her account in April and lied about it directly on several occasions. Not only that but upon reading email that has been sent to her - there is at least one troll that has sent her pornographic email. I suppose she gets credit for deleting that email - but it is disturbing that when she was faced with evidence of exactly what we'd told her we did not want her exposed to - that she covered that up and proceeded with her own agenda. It is not surprising in the sense that it is completely normal for kids her age and in her situation to push these boundaries, to try to sneak this type of thing past, and to learn about the consequences of lying. Just because it's normal does not make it easy. Adolescents experiment with a vast array of risky behavior. As parents, we expect it. We prepare as much as we can - forearming our kids with information and empowering them to make the best choices. We keep ourselves informed and on alert to detect what we can - knowing we'll miss something, knowing there are dangers that we can't even imagine, knowing that in some ways it's a total crapshoot. Somewhere out there - there is a kid who has done things a thousand times worse than anything our kid will ever think about and that kid (against ridiculous odds) is fine - maybe even stronger for having walked that particular road. Somewhere out there is also a kid who did nothing - or did something very minorly risky and that kid is dead or traumatized for life. Parenting is about staying open to information without becoming paralyzed by frightful possibilities. Somehow we frantically try to shepherd our kids through the Scylla and Charybdis of adolescence.
And for some of us - we are trying to do that while being attacked, evaluated, judged, and found lacking in our parental abilities. I am having some fun with my mom and my ex - can you tell?
Peace.
And for some of us - we are trying to do that while being attacked, evaluated, judged, and found lacking in our parental abilities. I am having some fun with my mom and my ex - can you tell?
Peace.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Hire Me, I'm Irish?
Yet another example of marketing I don't understand:
We saw a huge white truck with shamrocks painted all over it with the slogan "Gaelic Gutter" and then some small print about never having to clean leaves out of your gutters again.
What does the Gaelic have to do with anything? Are there that many people out there that would make a choice of gutter guards based primarily on ethnic affiliation? Is it a move to distinguish this company from the crowded field of gutter guard installation by making it memorable? I. don't. get. it. (Seems to me that if I were trying to make a point about leaves not getting in the gutter I wouldn't necessarily think a truck with giant, green leaves painted all over it would do the trick. Maybe it's just me.)
After the move, I think I'm going to have to start looking for a paying job. I think I should take marketing specialist off my list of possible career fields. What do you think?
Peace.
We saw a huge white truck with shamrocks painted all over it with the slogan "Gaelic Gutter" and then some small print about never having to clean leaves out of your gutters again.
What does the Gaelic have to do with anything? Are there that many people out there that would make a choice of gutter guards based primarily on ethnic affiliation? Is it a move to distinguish this company from the crowded field of gutter guard installation by making it memorable? I. don't. get. it. (Seems to me that if I were trying to make a point about leaves not getting in the gutter I wouldn't necessarily think a truck with giant, green leaves painted all over it would do the trick. Maybe it's just me.)
After the move, I think I'm going to have to start looking for a paying job. I think I should take marketing specialist off my list of possible career fields. What do you think?
Peace.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Wasabi's New Name
SH gave Wasabi a bath today. Because Wasabi doesn't shed, he has to be bathed and brushed often. His fluffy, fluffy fur holds LOTS of water. No matter how much you towel him off at the end, when you let him loose to do his allover body shake - TONS of water goes flying. And he looks like a hairy, scraggly mess until he dries off and fluffs back up. I wish I'd taken a picture of him today but SH now calls him "Sponge Dog Hair Pants."
Peace.
PS - Happy 4th of July (to those in the States). Hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday. Catch back up with you when the fireworks are over.
Peace.
PS - Happy 4th of July (to those in the States). Hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday. Catch back up with you when the fireworks are over.
Grownup By Degrees
Until recently, I have always been one of the youngest in my crowd of friends. I have also always looked significantly younger than I am. (That used to make me sad and often frustrated - like when I was in the Navy and got carded for BUYING GAS for my car on my 19th birthday. Now? I kind of like it.)
I think the connection between how old you look and how old you act is strong - and not necessarily straight forward. Perceptions about age and aging shift subtly. Our ideas of what we think a certain age is going to be like are often very different from the way it seems to us when we get there. On my thirteenth birthday I wondered when I'd feel like a teenager. Confusing cultural messages about what age signifies abound. Uplifting slogans like "You're only as old as you feel!" and admonishments like "Act your age!" war with the next generation's comeback of "If my music is too loud, then you're too old!" Our mile markers along the journey are not precise. When are we "grown up"? When we make our first paycheck? Get a driver's license? Vote? Serve our country? Get shitfaced (legally) for the first time? Get married? Have a baby?
For me I'd done all of those things and still didn't FEEL grown up until I was trying to prove to my 6 year old cousin and my 2 year old son that it was possible to eat brussel sprouts without gagging. At 25, I'd never actually managed to eat brussel sprouts (and keep them down) before but I was highly motivated by an article I'd just read. This article seemed to imply that my child would die of malnutrition if I could not find a way to instill an appreciation of all things vegetable in him IMMEDIATELY. Apparently, moms can DESTROY a kid's chances of ever liking healthy food by failing to provide enticing, nutritious food during a critical developmental window lasting approximately three weeks in toddlerhood. I put on a jolly face. I made vegetables EXCITING and INTERESTING. Earlier in the week I had tackled the easier ones - sweet potatoes and carrots (with brown sugar!), peas (roly poly!) , squash and pumpkin (fun with gourds!), broccoli (with cheese), green beans (with dipping sauces!) and the like. I worked my way down the list and was stumped by brussel sprouts. Egad - do people still eat those? They were not only on the list but STARRED (meaning that if you were on a desert island this vegetable was soooo good for you that you should choose to be stranded with it above all.) I didn't even know how to fix brussel sprouts. I ended up buying frozen, buttered, baby sprouts with the jolly green giant on the box, figuring the big, green, leafy guy was more fun than the Kroger brand. I admit I was grasping at straws. MUCH to my surprise, I gulped down the first one and realized it was not horrid. I even chewed the next bite and LIKED it. It dawned on me somewhere in the middle of that second bite, that I must well and truly be a grown up now. Despite my vegetable epiphany, the brussel sprouts were not a hit with the pre-school crowd. I was too freaked out to worry about it. I kept thinking to myself that somehow I'd become a grown up and not even noticed it! I think I spent the next three days eating cheetos and drinking coke for breakfast.
Today I again feel like I turned a significant corner in the aging process without noticing. Somehow I've become middle aged without meaning to!! I've just come back from our first meeting with a financial planner. We PAID someone lots of money to spend an hour or two talking to us about insurance, wills, retirement accounts, and estate planning - and it was ENJOYABLE! It was affirming to find out we've been on the right track; it was interesting to learn more; it was exciting to think about what the next five years are going to be like. LISTEN TO ME! Insurance, budgets, IRA's - interesting and exciting?!!
Oh my god - I don't think coke and cheetos are going to soothe me this time! Quick somebody throw a keg party!!
Peace.
I think the connection between how old you look and how old you act is strong - and not necessarily straight forward. Perceptions about age and aging shift subtly. Our ideas of what we think a certain age is going to be like are often very different from the way it seems to us when we get there. On my thirteenth birthday I wondered when I'd feel like a teenager. Confusing cultural messages about what age signifies abound. Uplifting slogans like "You're only as old as you feel!" and admonishments like "Act your age!" war with the next generation's comeback of "If my music is too loud, then you're too old!" Our mile markers along the journey are not precise. When are we "grown up"? When we make our first paycheck? Get a driver's license? Vote? Serve our country? Get shitfaced (legally) for the first time? Get married? Have a baby?
For me I'd done all of those things and still didn't FEEL grown up until I was trying to prove to my 6 year old cousin and my 2 year old son that it was possible to eat brussel sprouts without gagging. At 25, I'd never actually managed to eat brussel sprouts (and keep them down) before but I was highly motivated by an article I'd just read. This article seemed to imply that my child would die of malnutrition if I could not find a way to instill an appreciation of all things vegetable in him IMMEDIATELY. Apparently, moms can DESTROY a kid's chances of ever liking healthy food by failing to provide enticing, nutritious food during a critical developmental window lasting approximately three weeks in toddlerhood. I put on a jolly face. I made vegetables EXCITING and INTERESTING. Earlier in the week I had tackled the easier ones - sweet potatoes and carrots (with brown sugar!), peas (roly poly!) , squash and pumpkin (fun with gourds!), broccoli (with cheese), green beans (with dipping sauces!) and the like. I worked my way down the list and was stumped by brussel sprouts. Egad - do people still eat those? They were not only on the list but STARRED (meaning that if you were on a desert island this vegetable was soooo good for you that you should choose to be stranded with it above all.) I didn't even know how to fix brussel sprouts. I ended up buying frozen, buttered, baby sprouts with the jolly green giant on the box, figuring the big, green, leafy guy was more fun than the Kroger brand. I admit I was grasping at straws. MUCH to my surprise, I gulped down the first one and realized it was not horrid. I even chewed the next bite and LIKED it. It dawned on me somewhere in the middle of that second bite, that I must well and truly be a grown up now. Despite my vegetable epiphany, the brussel sprouts were not a hit with the pre-school crowd. I was too freaked out to worry about it. I kept thinking to myself that somehow I'd become a grown up and not even noticed it! I think I spent the next three days eating cheetos and drinking coke for breakfast.
Today I again feel like I turned a significant corner in the aging process without noticing. Somehow I've become middle aged without meaning to!! I've just come back from our first meeting with a financial planner. We PAID someone lots of money to spend an hour or two talking to us about insurance, wills, retirement accounts, and estate planning - and it was ENJOYABLE! It was affirming to find out we've been on the right track; it was interesting to learn more; it was exciting to think about what the next five years are going to be like. LISTEN TO ME! Insurance, budgets, IRA's - interesting and exciting?!!
Oh my god - I don't think coke and cheetos are going to soothe me this time! Quick somebody throw a keg party!!
Peace.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Wimbledon
Two weeks from today we sell our house. For 48 hours we'll be in transit and then we'll be in our new home. All with the caveat of "God willing and the creek don't rise." Well that and if Mr. Tapioca Head doesn't find a way to take me back to court and ruin things. YES - it was that kind of a fun weekend. But I'm not going to talk about it. I'm going to talk about way more fun stuff.
What I want to say is "Yay me!" for starting to run again and for playing tennis this morning for the first time in almost two years. VBGF joined the USTA (US Tennis Association) purely to get the shirt to wear while she watches Wimbledon. Unlike me, she cannot watch Wimbledon without being completely motivated to go out and play some tennis herself. Now she's busy infecting her closest friends with her tennis enthusiasm. She bought a racket for me to use (mine being packed already - who knew I would play tennis the last 14 days I'm here??) and dragged me out on the court this morning. We had a ball! It was warm but breezy. Clear skies. Perfect tennis weather. I love being active. I love being outside. I love being around other active people. Especially ones who are having as much fun as VBGF has on the tennis court.
After two consecutive days of exercise and crazy amounts of adrenaline, I feel justified in spending the afternoon on the couch watching other people exert themselves. If you're not going to watch Wimbledon, I hope you do something to enjoy the summer day!
Peace.
What I want to say is "Yay me!" for starting to run again and for playing tennis this morning for the first time in almost two years. VBGF joined the USTA (US Tennis Association) purely to get the shirt to wear while she watches Wimbledon. Unlike me, she cannot watch Wimbledon without being completely motivated to go out and play some tennis herself. Now she's busy infecting her closest friends with her tennis enthusiasm. She bought a racket for me to use (mine being packed already - who knew I would play tennis the last 14 days I'm here??) and dragged me out on the court this morning. We had a ball! It was warm but breezy. Clear skies. Perfect tennis weather. I love being active. I love being outside. I love being around other active people. Especially ones who are having as much fun as VBGF has on the tennis court.
After two consecutive days of exercise and crazy amounts of adrenaline, I feel justified in spending the afternoon on the couch watching other people exert themselves. If you're not going to watch Wimbledon, I hope you do something to enjoy the summer day!
Peace.
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