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.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
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.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
The Toolbox O'Beauty
After spending HOURS on the phone last night with his new girlfriend Kelsey, Chaos asked me if she could come over today. I said yes, but...
-I expected him to introduce her to me and his sibs
-He had to clean his room and the family areas (living room and kitchen)
-She couldn't be in the house if I wasn't (I had one errand to run today)
-He couldn't be a butterhead to the rest of us to show out for his girl
-They couldn't be behind closed doors
-Her parents needed to know she was here
He agreed to all of this. He woke up earlier than usual. He cleaned with only minimal prodding. He took a shower and picked out his clothes. He came to my room dressed in his new *bright* green pants (with chains) and said, "Do you have any pliers?" I gave him directions to the toolbox before my brain caught up enough to remember to ask, "What do you need pliers for?" He pointed to the bridge of his nose and said, "I want to get rid of the uni-brow." "Tweezers, Chaos. You need tweezers, not pliers." He agreed to let me help him out with the tweezing.
He was ready by 11 and she wasn't supposed to come until around 2 or 3. I suspect that the day went faster for me than for Chaos - but eventually she did come over. She was at a friend's house down the street and they walked over. (Not so sure the part about her parents knowing she was here was followed to the letter!) The friend had a brand new puppy so they mostly stayed outside after Chaos brought her in for introductions. I liked her. She looked me in the eyes, wasn't giggly, and wasn't too shy to hug Chaos goodbye in front of everyone. I wasn't sure what I expected after yesterday's conversation with Chaos about her.
"Tell me about Kelsey."
"What do you want me to tell you?"
"I don't know. Anything. What's her last name, what kinds of things does she like, does she play sports, does she have siblings, is she from here or elsewhere, what interests do you have in common - tell me anything."
"Uh." (accompanied by a blank look)
"Do you know anything about her?!"
"Mumble, mumble, mumble."
"What did you say?"
Mayhem yells from the other room, "She likes Sponge Bob."
"I was talking to CHAOS!"
"Chaos, do you have any common interests? Do you know anything about her as a person?"
"I don't think so." He laughed sheepishly at my expression. "That's why I need to talk to her more - to find all that stuff out!"
"What have you BEEN talking about?!"
"I don't know."
Ah, young love. Where is my beauty wrench? I need to clonk a boy over the head with it.
Peace.
-I expected him to introduce her to me and his sibs
-He had to clean his room and the family areas (living room and kitchen)
-She couldn't be in the house if I wasn't (I had one errand to run today)
-He couldn't be a butterhead to the rest of us to show out for his girl
-They couldn't be behind closed doors
-Her parents needed to know she was here
He agreed to all of this. He woke up earlier than usual. He cleaned with only minimal prodding. He took a shower and picked out his clothes. He came to my room dressed in his new *bright* green pants (with chains) and said, "Do you have any pliers?" I gave him directions to the toolbox before my brain caught up enough to remember to ask, "What do you need pliers for?" He pointed to the bridge of his nose and said, "I want to get rid of the uni-brow." "Tweezers, Chaos. You need tweezers, not pliers." He agreed to let me help him out with the tweezing.
He was ready by 11 and she wasn't supposed to come until around 2 or 3. I suspect that the day went faster for me than for Chaos - but eventually she did come over. She was at a friend's house down the street and they walked over. (Not so sure the part about her parents knowing she was here was followed to the letter!) The friend had a brand new puppy so they mostly stayed outside after Chaos brought her in for introductions. I liked her. She looked me in the eyes, wasn't giggly, and wasn't too shy to hug Chaos goodbye in front of everyone. I wasn't sure what I expected after yesterday's conversation with Chaos about her.
"Tell me about Kelsey."
"What do you want me to tell you?"
"I don't know. Anything. What's her last name, what kinds of things does she like, does she play sports, does she have siblings, is she from here or elsewhere, what interests do you have in common - tell me anything."
"Uh." (accompanied by a blank look)
"Do you know anything about her?!"
"Mumble, mumble, mumble."
"What did you say?"
Mayhem yells from the other room, "She likes Sponge Bob."
"I was talking to CHAOS!"
"Chaos, do you have any common interests? Do you know anything about her as a person?"
"I don't think so." He laughed sheepishly at my expression. "That's why I need to talk to her more - to find all that stuff out!"
"What have you BEEN talking about?!"
"I don't know."
Ah, young love. Where is my beauty wrench? I need to clonk a boy over the head with it.
Peace.
Does He Stay Up Late Thinking Of This Shit?
Or is it a natural gift? That's what I'm asking myself this morning.
(**Please, dear readers, skip this whole post and check back with me tomorrow if previous tapioca reports have bored you senseless. This pudding-headed interlude, while a bit stranger than most, is probably not worth reading. Unfortunately for you, I've become dependent on my blog as a venting vehicle! I have tried but I cannot properly complete my freaking out and move on without blogging about it. I'll be over it tomorrow. I promise.)
So I got an email from my ex, Mr. Tapioca Head, this morning inviting me to a surprise going away party he's having for the boys. That is not weird. That is kind and normal. Thoughtful even. (Ignore for a moment that his email also asked me for a list of the boys' friends and phone numbers.) The part of this email that has me freaking out is the part where he says, "But I also wanted to let you know that I did invite [let's call her Jessica] to this, so her son can say goodbye to the boys as well. I don’t want to make things awkward for you. " Jessica happens to be my ex girlfriend. I met her a year or so after my divorce and we dated for about a year. It ended in a very ugly way. She lied to me, then cheated on me, and then lied some more. I told her I didn't want her in my life or my children's lives, in any way, ever again. (Can you blame me?!) So, naturally, as I read his email, several obvious questions came to mind.
First: What possessed Mr. Tapioca Head to invite her to a party (supposedly) for my children? Yes, he had kept in contact with her. (I had introduced them at the time. They work in the same industry. She got him a job and later he returned the favor and got her a job somewhere else.) Fine. Then he should invite her to a party for HIM. My kids haven't seen her or her son in at least four years. Why the need to say goodbye now? Not to mention the part where I told my children that the reason she and her son weren't in our lives anymore was because she'd lied to me about something important. The boys and I had lots of discussions about friendships and boundaries and second chances and making hard decisions. We talked about what to do when people seemed nice but did mean things. (They were too young to know that it was a romantic relationship so I wasn't processing my "break up" with them - but the lessons are important and universal. Everyone ends up with tricky friendship situations at some point in their lives.) Mr. T knew all about this. As a co-parent, I wanted him to know what the kids were dealing with. I told him what was going on and why and how much I was telling the kids and why. He knew what kinds of questions they were asking and what answers I was giving them. Again - fine if he wants to stay connected to her even knowing what she's like, but to pretend he's inviting her to this party for my kids' sake? Mixed messages. Does not compute.
Second: As bizarre as it is to invite her in the first place and to pretend it's for my kids, I think it is WAAAAYYY more bizarre for him to then invite ME. And it is beyond ridiculous for him to say he doesn't want to make things awkward. His middle name is Awkward. Tapioca Awkward Head.
The man has NO boundaries. None. I won't be going to this party. I wouldn't have been able to even if it had been a normal going away party for the children. It is the day we load the moving truck (we'll ignore the fact that my ex knew this little fact too) and it is also the day of a good friend's wedding. But if you're free that day and want to attend the first (hopefully not annual) Bizarrefest, I'm sure I could get you an invite. I know a guy.
Peace.
(**Please, dear readers, skip this whole post and check back with me tomorrow if previous tapioca reports have bored you senseless. This pudding-headed interlude, while a bit stranger than most, is probably not worth reading. Unfortunately for you, I've become dependent on my blog as a venting vehicle! I have tried but I cannot properly complete my freaking out and move on without blogging about it. I'll be over it tomorrow. I promise.)
So I got an email from my ex, Mr. Tapioca Head, this morning inviting me to a surprise going away party he's having for the boys. That is not weird. That is kind and normal. Thoughtful even. (Ignore for a moment that his email also asked me for a list of the boys' friends and phone numbers.) The part of this email that has me freaking out is the part where he says, "But I also wanted to let you know that I did invite [let's call her Jessica] to this, so her son can say goodbye to the boys as well. I don’t want to make things awkward for you. " Jessica happens to be my ex girlfriend. I met her a year or so after my divorce and we dated for about a year. It ended in a very ugly way. She lied to me, then cheated on me, and then lied some more. I told her I didn't want her in my life or my children's lives, in any way, ever again. (Can you blame me?!) So, naturally, as I read his email, several obvious questions came to mind.
First: What possessed Mr. Tapioca Head to invite her to a party (supposedly) for my children? Yes, he had kept in contact with her. (I had introduced them at the time. They work in the same industry. She got him a job and later he returned the favor and got her a job somewhere else.) Fine. Then he should invite her to a party for HIM. My kids haven't seen her or her son in at least four years. Why the need to say goodbye now? Not to mention the part where I told my children that the reason she and her son weren't in our lives anymore was because she'd lied to me about something important. The boys and I had lots of discussions about friendships and boundaries and second chances and making hard decisions. We talked about what to do when people seemed nice but did mean things. (They were too young to know that it was a romantic relationship so I wasn't processing my "break up" with them - but the lessons are important and universal. Everyone ends up with tricky friendship situations at some point in their lives.) Mr. T knew all about this. As a co-parent, I wanted him to know what the kids were dealing with. I told him what was going on and why and how much I was telling the kids and why. He knew what kinds of questions they were asking and what answers I was giving them. Again - fine if he wants to stay connected to her even knowing what she's like, but to pretend he's inviting her to this party for my kids' sake? Mixed messages. Does not compute.
Second: As bizarre as it is to invite her in the first place and to pretend it's for my kids, I think it is WAAAAYYY more bizarre for him to then invite ME. And it is beyond ridiculous for him to say he doesn't want to make things awkward. His middle name is Awkward. Tapioca Awkward Head.
The man has NO boundaries. None. I won't be going to this party. I wouldn't have been able to even if it had been a normal going away party for the children. It is the day we load the moving truck (we'll ignore the fact that my ex knew this little fact too) and it is also the day of a good friend's wedding. But if you're free that day and want to attend the first (hopefully not annual) Bizarrefest, I'm sure I could get you an invite. I know a guy.
Peace.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Sassy Sassy Garden Snake
There was a snake right outside my window yesterday. It slithered across the stepping stones in the courtyard and was way to fast to be caught on film. It reminded me of one of my favorite children's books EVER, EVER, EVER. Small Green Snake by Libba Moore (author) and Holly Meade (illustrator) is rollicking. Crazy word but it's exactly right. Hiss a hiss a hiss a hiss a boom! Small green snake wanders off from the safety of his mom and has all kinds of adventures from almost being snicked by garden shears to being trapped in a glass jelly jar. The words are fun to read aloud, the story is sweet, and the pictures are vibrant and interesting. GREAT BOOK. You should read it to a child you love (or sort of like) even if you don't have snakes in your garden.
Peace.
Peace.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Haven't Had One Of These In A While
Remember how cute my dog is? This is for his godmother (VBGF) who said she had to search too long through the blog to show a picture of him to some friends. It's also for SH who is in San Fran for the week for work. I'm tempted not to pity him after he told me about the scrumptious breakfast he had, but I think I still will. After all, I have 40 lbs of cute dogness curled up on my feet and he doesn't. Come home soon y'all. Your dog misses you!
Just Like Vegas, Only In Kentucky
When I picked Chaos up from camp on Friday, he was one of only two kids left. There was no set pick up time. I was told that they'd call when they were on their way. Chaos didn't call until they were already there. When he gave the one remaining camper a great big hug as he left, I began to suspect why he'd waited to call. Her name is Kelsey.
I asked about her (NATURALLY) and he blushed sweetly and laughingly said, "What happens at church camp, stays at church camp." All righty then! I asked Chaos great, big, open-ended questions about camp in general and got great, big, meaningless answers back, "It was fine." I was patient and he was stuck running errands with me for the next two hours so I eventually got a lot more out of him. He even enjoyed telling me. I think sometimes teenagers want to make sure you really want to listen before they're willing to invest energy in really talking to you. I think it takes them a lot of work to sort out what they're thinking and feeling about whatever they've just experienced and they aren't going to open that up only to be shut down. It means the world to me that my 15 year old is still willing to do that work to talk to me. Here's what I learned about church camp -
-Sunscreen works differently there. Chaos put it on five or six times a day (ask anyone in his group!), even on rainy days, and still got majorly sunburned. (I did explain to him that even with sunscreen on - a pale, red-headed boy like himself who spends 10 hours outside in the sun is going to get lobsterfied.)
-Chaos played football, ultimate frisbee, and soccer everyday, had Bible study and worship, and "partied" every night. ("Partied" meaning "talked to girls while there was music playing" - I am sooooo okay with this definition of partying and hope it lasts a lot longer than it is likely to!)
-Chaos is not born again. He learned a lot but doesn't agree with everything he was told. Also? He prefers being Catholic because they don't make him sing. He did ask if I would take him to Bluegrass Baptist Church next time it's "my" Sunday. He said he wants to hang out with Nate. I suspect he also wants to hang out with Kelsey.
Chaos told me at seven o'clock that he needed the phone around 8:40. I asked why and he said, "You know. Remember that girl that you saw me hug?" Yeah. I remember. I told him absolutely he could use the phone but he couldn't call her after nine and he couldn't stay on the phone later than nine-thirty. He called her. This is an historic event as it is the first time that a boy from our household has called a girl. My boys have, up until now, been too "Warhammer 40K" focused to have girlfriends! I was at the other end of the house but I know he didn't call her until after 8:50 because the kids were finishing up a movie. He was off the phone and horsing around with Bug in the kitchen not much after nine. I didn't ask about it. He was in a good mood and I hadn't had to pry him off the phone. Good enough. Small steps for as long as possible. The longer it takes us to get up to cruising speed for this part of the journey, the better in my book. Perhaps now would be a good time to buckle my seatbelt?
Peace.
I asked about her (NATURALLY) and he blushed sweetly and laughingly said, "What happens at church camp, stays at church camp." All righty then! I asked Chaos great, big, open-ended questions about camp in general and got great, big, meaningless answers back, "It was fine." I was patient and he was stuck running errands with me for the next two hours so I eventually got a lot more out of him. He even enjoyed telling me. I think sometimes teenagers want to make sure you really want to listen before they're willing to invest energy in really talking to you. I think it takes them a lot of work to sort out what they're thinking and feeling about whatever they've just experienced and they aren't going to open that up only to be shut down. It means the world to me that my 15 year old is still willing to do that work to talk to me. Here's what I learned about church camp -
-Sunscreen works differently there. Chaos put it on five or six times a day (ask anyone in his group!), even on rainy days, and still got majorly sunburned. (I did explain to him that even with sunscreen on - a pale, red-headed boy like himself who spends 10 hours outside in the sun is going to get lobsterfied.)
-Chaos played football, ultimate frisbee, and soccer everyday, had Bible study and worship, and "partied" every night. ("Partied" meaning "talked to girls while there was music playing" - I am sooooo okay with this definition of partying and hope it lasts a lot longer than it is likely to!)
-Chaos is not born again. He learned a lot but doesn't agree with everything he was told. Also? He prefers being Catholic because they don't make him sing. He did ask if I would take him to Bluegrass Baptist Church next time it's "my" Sunday. He said he wants to hang out with Nate. I suspect he also wants to hang out with Kelsey.
Chaos told me at seven o'clock that he needed the phone around 8:40. I asked why and he said, "You know. Remember that girl that you saw me hug?" Yeah. I remember. I told him absolutely he could use the phone but he couldn't call her after nine and he couldn't stay on the phone later than nine-thirty. He called her. This is an historic event as it is the first time that a boy from our household has called a girl. My boys have, up until now, been too "Warhammer 40K" focused to have girlfriends! I was at the other end of the house but I know he didn't call her until after 8:50 because the kids were finishing up a movie. He was off the phone and horsing around with Bug in the kitchen not much after nine. I didn't ask about it. He was in a good mood and I hadn't had to pry him off the phone. Good enough. Small steps for as long as possible. The longer it takes us to get up to cruising speed for this part of the journey, the better in my book. Perhaps now would be a good time to buckle my seatbelt?
Peace.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Error Message Writers Or Philosophers?
While webcrawling today I was told by a numbered error message:
"Sorry, but you are looking for something that is not there."
Cheeky bugger.
"Sorry, but you are looking for something that is not there."
Cheeky bugger.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Tri Fever
My studio is packed up. My books are packed up. My bike is packed (and shipped!) to NC already. Pretty much all I have left are my running shoes. Pretty much that's all you need to run. But did I run this morning? Noooooo. And why not? Because I didn't feel like it. And now that I do feel like it, it's raining. Yay for the rain. We needed it! Sad for me not to have run this morning when I had the chance.
In spite of not running, I haven't been completely useless today. I got myself fired up about the triathlon again. I plan on being one of the first to register for next year's event! I also found a great online workout tracker. I'm a logbook junkie. I can't train without a good log to write it down in. This time I'm training with friends from all over though - so an online workout log is ideal. It is interesting to me that very few of the athletes use the blog feature of the online log.
I also found two quilt guilds - one in Raleigh and one in Durham. Even more exciting than that, I discovered many art quilters in the area. Of course my favorite art quilter EVER is Hollis Chatelain and she is only about 15 or 20 miles from me (as best I can read the map!) Surely at some point, I'll find a way to take a class from her. (Rapture!)
In spite of not running, I haven't been completely useless today. I got myself fired up about the triathlon again. I plan on being one of the first to register for next year's event! I also found a great online workout tracker. I'm a logbook junkie. I can't train without a good log to write it down in. This time I'm training with friends from all over though - so an online workout log is ideal. It is interesting to me that very few of the athletes use the blog feature of the online log.
I also found two quilt guilds - one in Raleigh and one in Durham. Even more exciting than that, I discovered many art quilters in the area. Of course my favorite art quilter EVER is Hollis Chatelain and she is only about 15 or 20 miles from me (as best I can read the map!) Surely at some point, I'll find a way to take a class from her. (Rapture!)
Saturday, June 23, 2007
I Am A Sunflower (NOT)
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Kroger's Has Just SERIOUSLY Pissed Me Off
I don't know why I'm surprised at this story. I can't wait to be out of here!
Peace.
Peace.
Something You May Not (Want To) Know About Me
Step dancing knocks me out. I absolutely love it. I went to my first step show at the U of MD in the '80's and it totally blew me out of the water. I'd never seen anything like it. Well - I guess that's not entirely true. I'd seen black marching bands. (Something you may not (want to) know about my mother is that she got a scholarship to go back and finish college when I was in grade school. The school that offered her a scholarship was a predominantly black state school and they had a FANTASTIC band.) But in a band the steps are to showcase the music being played. In a step show the steps showcase the line, the bond of the fraternity brothers/sorority sisters, and they showcase the steps themselves. I never wanted to be part of the white greek system the way I wanted to be a part of the black greek system. Ignore (completely) for the moment that I am one of the palest and most arrhythmic white girls you've ever seen - there was something that called to me at that first step show. The percussive steps, the syncopated stomping, the precise angles of shoulders, necks, heads and hand movements - every bit of it amazed me. The exact and coordinated appearance of those on line, the explosive pride on display, and the unruly appreciation of the audience at the show all spoke to the kind of solidarity I desperately wanted to be a part of in college.
I've seen shows that have some of those elements: percussion, showmanship, mind-bogglingly uniform athleticism. Stomp. Riverdance. Whatever those huge Japanese drums are called. I love (Love, LOVE) stuff like that - but none of it reaches into my being the way step shows do. On the flip side, I've seen things that unexpectedly repulse me. Example: Krumping. For the love of God I do not understand Krumping! Given my bizarre attraction to stepping you'd think I'd have at least some appreciation for it - but no. None. Maybe it's the clown thing? Maybe it's that it's too much like professional wrestling for me? Maybe it's that I can't think of a less euphonious word than "krumping"? I have no good explanation for my lack of krumping affinity. All I can say is that I yearn to be in a step show the way I could never, ever - for love or money - want to be a krumper.
Impossible yearning and inexplicable repulsions aside - I'm not exactly hooked into the step show circuit. I haven't gotten to see one in years. But tonight I got to watch Stomp the Yard (on DVD because I missed seeing it in the theater a few months ago by ONE day!) Ignoring the mistake I made in renting it instead of buying it (why, why, why? I KNEW I was going to want to own it!) it was perfect watching it at home. I watched the whole thing through. Then I watched the extra features. Then the step scenes again. And then again. It was not a complex plot (by any stretch) but it was extremely well acted for a dance vehicle. It was believable in all the story ways it should be and it was unexpectedly authentic in the dance-story elements. And the stepping was abso-fucking-lutely brilliant. If you have any, even the slightest, interest in stepping you must go watch this movie. Like now.
(I mean it. You must. Now.)
Peace.
I've seen shows that have some of those elements: percussion, showmanship, mind-bogglingly uniform athleticism. Stomp. Riverdance. Whatever those huge Japanese drums are called. I love (Love, LOVE) stuff like that - but none of it reaches into my being the way step shows do. On the flip side, I've seen things that unexpectedly repulse me. Example: Krumping. For the love of God I do not understand Krumping! Given my bizarre attraction to stepping you'd think I'd have at least some appreciation for it - but no. None. Maybe it's the clown thing? Maybe it's that it's too much like professional wrestling for me? Maybe it's that I can't think of a less euphonious word than "krumping"? I have no good explanation for my lack of krumping affinity. All I can say is that I yearn to be in a step show the way I could never, ever - for love or money - want to be a krumper.
Impossible yearning and inexplicable repulsions aside - I'm not exactly hooked into the step show circuit. I haven't gotten to see one in years. But tonight I got to watch Stomp the Yard (on DVD because I missed seeing it in the theater a few months ago by ONE day!) Ignoring the mistake I made in renting it instead of buying it (why, why, why? I KNEW I was going to want to own it!) it was perfect watching it at home. I watched the whole thing through. Then I watched the extra features. Then the step scenes again. And then again. It was not a complex plot (by any stretch) but it was extremely well acted for a dance vehicle. It was believable in all the story ways it should be and it was unexpectedly authentic in the dance-story elements. And the stepping was abso-fucking-lutely brilliant. If you have any, even the slightest, interest in stepping you must go watch this movie. Like now.
(I mean it. You must. Now.)
Peace.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Distraction
Wednesday I learned how to solve the Rubik's Cube. Yay! It's been a mere 26 years since the one my Uncle Paul gave me drove me up the wall of frustration. Before the rejoicing gets out of hand, I should probably mention that I didn't figure it out all by myself. I just figured out the solution guide. That is enough cube accomplishment for me. Apparently this sentiment ranks me low down on the cube mania scale. I see on the official website that "cube fans everywhere" are invited to various competitions (Chicago for the US Cube Open and Hungary for the World Championships). Cube community members can chat (about cubes? all cubes all the time?) They can even send cube greeting cards to one another. For the serious cubers (maybe the ones who wore their cubes out?) there is now a virtual Rubik's cube online. Who knew?
In further avoidance behavior news - I have spent the better part of my computer time this week being distracted by random links. I have come across links to all kinds of things I didn't know about like the fan fiction genre of femmeslash, the gender neutral pronoun het, and the very interesting term tranzi which is being used by people I don't agree with to mean things I didn't know it meant. All very hmmmmmmm.
I have also been writing. You'd think writing and blogging would go hand in glove - and sometimes they do for me - but this week between the lure of links and non-blog writing, I've used up all my computer time. Fortunately or not, I have had plenty of time to worry about my son, Chaos, who is away at bible camp. He comes home today. Will I be able to tell if he's been born again the minute he gets off the bus? I imagine all kinds of horrible things like the youth leader telling me how proud they are that they got him to speak in tongues. (Given Chaos' interesting way with language - it's the most probable of his spiritual gifts if he were to lean in a pentecostal direction, don't you think?) In reality, I think Chaos is relatively impervious to religious fervor. Now sneak attacks of the hormonal variety? Not so confident about his skills deflecting those. How pretty are the girls at camp, do you think?
Peace.
In further avoidance behavior news - I have spent the better part of my computer time this week being distracted by random links. I have come across links to all kinds of things I didn't know about like the fan fiction genre of femmeslash, the gender neutral pronoun het, and the very interesting term tranzi which is being used by people I don't agree with to mean things I didn't know it meant. All very hmmmmmmm.
I have also been writing. You'd think writing and blogging would go hand in glove - and sometimes they do for me - but this week between the lure of links and non-blog writing, I've used up all my computer time. Fortunately or not, I have had plenty of time to worry about my son, Chaos, who is away at bible camp. He comes home today. Will I be able to tell if he's been born again the minute he gets off the bus? I imagine all kinds of horrible things like the youth leader telling me how proud they are that they got him to speak in tongues. (Given Chaos' interesting way with language - it's the most probable of his spiritual gifts if he were to lean in a pentecostal direction, don't you think?) In reality, I think Chaos is relatively impervious to religious fervor. Now sneak attacks of the hormonal variety? Not so confident about his skills deflecting those. How pretty are the girls at camp, do you think?
Peace.
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