Updates
The following post includes stuff that relates to previous posts. I imagine some day I could rework the essays and add this stuff, remove other stuff, and then what? I suppose I could print all of them off and carry them around in a big binder like those guys who handicap horse races at the track. I can spend my AARP days harassing people and saying "Lookee here, I did something other than watch TV while my husband was deployed."
Bad Mommy and Knock Knock
Tonight I went out for a fundraising dinner to the closest all-you-can-eat pizza buffet. Accompanying me were three absolutely angelic, perfectly behaved, wonders to behold named Aislinn, Lauren, and Marty. When I left them at the table repeatedly to collect pizza, drinks, napkins, straws, they sat quietly in their chairs, talking to each other and eating their dinners. No one got up from their chair. No one cried. No one spoke loudly. No one stared at the people at the next table. The three of them displayed table manners of well-heeled society people, with “pleases”, “thank yous” and smiles to everyone around them. I just sat in my seat and marveled at them, wondering what alignment of the planets had brought this situation before me. When we were ready to leave, they all got up and headed for the door. No one whined for more dessert. No one asked for quarters for the gumball machines. All of them waved to the people that we knew and said quiet good-byes. As I buckled them into their car seats I could no longer contain myself. I told them, “That was, by far, the best behavior I have ever seen by any kids in any restaurant in my whole life. You all made me so happy and so proud of you. I can’t wait to tell Daddy what a great job you did. You guys were awesome.” Both girls blushed and smiled and then Aislinn, having just consumed a large brownie but nevertheless ever the opportunist, asked “Does that mean we can have two treats tonight?” Oblivious, Marty sat in his seat and barked along to the Curious George soundtrack during my little speech of appreciation, but hopefully the sight of happy mommy registered in his little brain.
Flockin’ Robins
While in Cape May to visit my in-laws over Spring Break, an odd little robin kept flying from the birdfeeder outside to the kitchen windowsill. The kids enjoyed the chance to see the bird up close, but eventually it appeared that he was looking for a way in, and his repeated trips to the windowsill were a campaign to find some sort of weakness in the window that was keeping him outside. Later in the week the New York Times had a whole article about how Cape May was hallowed ground for serious bird watchers, where all sorts of people flocked to witness the great variety of birds that migrated through that area. In the 10 years I have been visiting Cape May, I had no inkling of its reputation as a birder’s paradise. The only remarkable birds that I remember in Cape May (other than the would-be robin intruder) were a little wren of some sort that got trapped in my in-laws’ fireplace and a pack of overly aggressive ducks that chased my husband, his dad, and our poor little daughter back to shelter of the car moments before they were tackled and quacked to death for a few bits of stale bread. I’m sure the main reason I never noticed the birds is that my in-laws, whose back yard is decorated with several bird feeders, never put birdseed out because they don’t want bird poop all around the yard. In these days of bird flu uncertainty, that is probably a very wise decision.
Life on the Homefront
I managed to get the week wacker going and attempted to trim some weeds around the curbs and trees and flower beds and lampposts in the yard. While I will give myself an A- for my use of the mower and a C+ for my use of the leaf blower, I am afraid I must give myself a D for the weed wacker, and that is only because I am giving myself credit for assembling it and getting it started without injuring myself. I had sunglasses on for eye protection, and it was a good thing to because there was all sorts of crap flying around, which I don’t remember noticing at the times when I have been sipping margaritas and watching the neighbors tend their yards. My results with the weed wacker fell into two categories: the parts of the yard with weeds that just wouldn’t be wacked, and the parts of the yard that I scalped to the bare soil. When I got inside I discovered my pants were covered with pulverized bits of rock, soil, and weeds and that entering the house I had made a huge mess of the kitchen floor reminiscent of the days when my husband came in from a bout of yard work. Following my description of my weed wacking experience, the HP urged me to hire a yard service with the separation pay we are receiving. I plan to hire one for the summer, but I hate to do it while I’m here because the service we had in Kentucky never came when we needed them, and I hate looking at a job that I could do but shouldn’t because we are paying somebody else to do it.
What’s In Your Closet?
The closet project has been completed, and anyone who would like to make an offer on 14 pairs of men’s pleated khakis and corduroys, sized 34 x 30, 8 large wool sweaters, 5 dress shirts, or 2 pairs of used boat shoes please let me know. I now have two beautiful closets, one neatly organized for the HP and Marty, and one neatly organized for me. All of our out of date, out of size, or out of luck clothes are piled up in a mountain waiting for removal to Goodwill or eBay, depending on my level of motivation when I next feel I have the energy to move those clothes around again. I have not conquered the HP’s dresser yet, and must confess that some things from the closet got shoved into the dresser when I couldn’t decide whether it should stay or go. The whole project was quite grueling, but not an emotional roller coaster as I had feared.
The kids have moved a framed photograph from my dresser to the computer desk. The frame has the word “FAMILY” etched at the bottom of it and the photo depicts the five of us sitting on the couch when Marty was a newborn. We are all smiling except Marty who is in the slumped in the classic “I can’t hold my big dome up one more minute” baby pose, but his eyes are open and he doesn’t look unhappy. Lauren explained that now when we miss daddy we can just look right here next to the computer and I have to agree that a picture of a happy family is preferable to the image of a messy closet when it comes to thinking about the ones you love.
Bad Mommy and Wanted: Baby Groomers
On the Saturday of “bad mommy” weekend, I managed to get the kids in and out of the bathtub and dressed in their jammies with a minimum of anxiety. They have to have a bath on Saturday, because if they take it on Sunday, then they need another one on Tuesday when they have CCD, and that just doesn’t work out for me. Unfortunately, on Sunday one of the neighbors came and asked the kids to come play outside. Normally I love to have them outside, but of course with the weekend I was having, they couldn’t just play on the playground or bounce on the neighbor’s trampoline.
The set of eight community swings, conveniently located directly behind my house, does not sit on a bed of mulch or a bed of grass, but within a small oasis of sand that was brought in and dumped sometime long before we moved here. For the most part, the kids ignore the sand and when I am forced to push Marty on the swings I always make sure I change out of flip flops into closed shoes so I don’t get that sand on my feet. I am always grossed out by sand that is not on a beach, even the sand from our old sandbox in Kentucky which was equipped with a lid. But this loose sand out there for all the wild animals to scratch and poop in, disgusts me. And just my luck, the neighbors had arrived with sand toys to play in this nasty sand, and all the kids jumped right in and dug with them. I could practically see the germs on them when it was time to go inside, so I sent them all to the bath tub, but could only gain their cooperation by promising not to wash their hair. Then on Monday, after they had spent hours in the sun jumping on the trampoline, I had to put them in the tub yet again to clean their grimy faces and sweaty hair. Talk about karma – three baths for three kids on each of three days – that will teach me to show a little self control the next time I am tempted to be a bad mommy.
Bad Mommy and Knock Knock
Tonight I went out for a fundraising dinner to the closest all-you-can-eat pizza buffet. Accompanying me were three absolutely angelic, perfectly behaved, wonders to behold named Aislinn, Lauren, and Marty. When I left them at the table repeatedly to collect pizza, drinks, napkins, straws, they sat quietly in their chairs, talking to each other and eating their dinners. No one got up from their chair. No one cried. No one spoke loudly. No one stared at the people at the next table. The three of them displayed table manners of well-heeled society people, with “pleases”, “thank yous” and smiles to everyone around them. I just sat in my seat and marveled at them, wondering what alignment of the planets had brought this situation before me. When we were ready to leave, they all got up and headed for the door. No one whined for more dessert. No one asked for quarters for the gumball machines. All of them waved to the people that we knew and said quiet good-byes. As I buckled them into their car seats I could no longer contain myself. I told them, “That was, by far, the best behavior I have ever seen by any kids in any restaurant in my whole life. You all made me so happy and so proud of you. I can’t wait to tell Daddy what a great job you did. You guys were awesome.” Both girls blushed and smiled and then Aislinn, having just consumed a large brownie but nevertheless ever the opportunist, asked “Does that mean we can have two treats tonight?” Oblivious, Marty sat in his seat and barked along to the Curious George soundtrack during my little speech of appreciation, but hopefully the sight of happy mommy registered in his little brain.
Flockin’ Robins
While in Cape May to visit my in-laws over Spring Break, an odd little robin kept flying from the birdfeeder outside to the kitchen windowsill. The kids enjoyed the chance to see the bird up close, but eventually it appeared that he was looking for a way in, and his repeated trips to the windowsill were a campaign to find some sort of weakness in the window that was keeping him outside. Later in the week the New York Times had a whole article about how Cape May was hallowed ground for serious bird watchers, where all sorts of people flocked to witness the great variety of birds that migrated through that area. In the 10 years I have been visiting Cape May, I had no inkling of its reputation as a birder’s paradise. The only remarkable birds that I remember in Cape May (other than the would-be robin intruder) were a little wren of some sort that got trapped in my in-laws’ fireplace and a pack of overly aggressive ducks that chased my husband, his dad, and our poor little daughter back to shelter of the car moments before they were tackled and quacked to death for a few bits of stale bread. I’m sure the main reason I never noticed the birds is that my in-laws, whose back yard is decorated with several bird feeders, never put birdseed out because they don’t want bird poop all around the yard. In these days of bird flu uncertainty, that is probably a very wise decision.
Life on the Homefront
I managed to get the week wacker going and attempted to trim some weeds around the curbs and trees and flower beds and lampposts in the yard. While I will give myself an A- for my use of the mower and a C+ for my use of the leaf blower, I am afraid I must give myself a D for the weed wacker, and that is only because I am giving myself credit for assembling it and getting it started without injuring myself. I had sunglasses on for eye protection, and it was a good thing to because there was all sorts of crap flying around, which I don’t remember noticing at the times when I have been sipping margaritas and watching the neighbors tend their yards. My results with the weed wacker fell into two categories: the parts of the yard with weeds that just wouldn’t be wacked, and the parts of the yard that I scalped to the bare soil. When I got inside I discovered my pants were covered with pulverized bits of rock, soil, and weeds and that entering the house I had made a huge mess of the kitchen floor reminiscent of the days when my husband came in from a bout of yard work. Following my description of my weed wacking experience, the HP urged me to hire a yard service with the separation pay we are receiving. I plan to hire one for the summer, but I hate to do it while I’m here because the service we had in Kentucky never came when we needed them, and I hate looking at a job that I could do but shouldn’t because we are paying somebody else to do it.
What’s In Your Closet?
The closet project has been completed, and anyone who would like to make an offer on 14 pairs of men’s pleated khakis and corduroys, sized 34 x 30, 8 large wool sweaters, 5 dress shirts, or 2 pairs of used boat shoes please let me know. I now have two beautiful closets, one neatly organized for the HP and Marty, and one neatly organized for me. All of our out of date, out of size, or out of luck clothes are piled up in a mountain waiting for removal to Goodwill or eBay, depending on my level of motivation when I next feel I have the energy to move those clothes around again. I have not conquered the HP’s dresser yet, and must confess that some things from the closet got shoved into the dresser when I couldn’t decide whether it should stay or go. The whole project was quite grueling, but not an emotional roller coaster as I had feared.
The kids have moved a framed photograph from my dresser to the computer desk. The frame has the word “FAMILY” etched at the bottom of it and the photo depicts the five of us sitting on the couch when Marty was a newborn. We are all smiling except Marty who is in the slumped in the classic “I can’t hold my big dome up one more minute” baby pose, but his eyes are open and he doesn’t look unhappy. Lauren explained that now when we miss daddy we can just look right here next to the computer and I have to agree that a picture of a happy family is preferable to the image of a messy closet when it comes to thinking about the ones you love.
Bad Mommy and Wanted: Baby Groomers
On the Saturday of “bad mommy” weekend, I managed to get the kids in and out of the bathtub and dressed in their jammies with a minimum of anxiety. They have to have a bath on Saturday, because if they take it on Sunday, then they need another one on Tuesday when they have CCD, and that just doesn’t work out for me. Unfortunately, on Sunday one of the neighbors came and asked the kids to come play outside. Normally I love to have them outside, but of course with the weekend I was having, they couldn’t just play on the playground or bounce on the neighbor’s trampoline.
The set of eight community swings, conveniently located directly behind my house, does not sit on a bed of mulch or a bed of grass, but within a small oasis of sand that was brought in and dumped sometime long before we moved here. For the most part, the kids ignore the sand and when I am forced to push Marty on the swings I always make sure I change out of flip flops into closed shoes so I don’t get that sand on my feet. I am always grossed out by sand that is not on a beach, even the sand from our old sandbox in Kentucky which was equipped with a lid. But this loose sand out there for all the wild animals to scratch and poop in, disgusts me. And just my luck, the neighbors had arrived with sand toys to play in this nasty sand, and all the kids jumped right in and dug with them. I could practically see the germs on them when it was time to go inside, so I sent them all to the bath tub, but could only gain their cooperation by promising not to wash their hair. Then on Monday, after they had spent hours in the sun jumping on the trampoline, I had to put them in the tub yet again to clean their grimy faces and sweaty hair. Talk about karma – three baths for three kids on each of three days – that will teach me to show a little self control the next time I am tempted to be a bad mommy.
posted by Shannon at 9:26 PM
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