Tell me my man is not hilarious.
(Back off, random women who keep stopping my man in the street to tell him just how hilarious he is. I've got my eye on you.)
Friday, August 22, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
ENFP
Yesterday my best friend was telling me that an overheard conversation at work prompted her to revisit her Myers-Briggs personality profile. She said she took the instrument again and got the same thing she always has. I vaguely remembered taking it at some point, but I couldn't remember my profile, so she urged me to do it again. It turns out I'm an ENFP. That's Extraverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving, in case you didn't know.
I'm not really one for the psychobabble, but I have to admit that some of my elaborated profile was jarringly accurate. It's a strange feeling to see things that I thought were part of my own unique world view spelled out almost to a T by a complete stranger who never even heard of me. And then, ironically, I was annoyed by the few things that I felt did not reflect the real me. Shouldn't I find those small miscalculations comforting?
Here's my basic breakdown:
moderately expressed extravert
distinctively expressed intuitive personality
moderately expressed feeling personality
moderately expressed perceiving personality
The first paragraph of my elaborated profile contains elements of both the startlingly accurate and the annoyinglyunflattering incorrect:
ENFPs are both "idea"-people and "people"-people, who see everyone and everything as part of an often bizarre cosmic whole. They want to both help (at least, their own definition of "help") and be liked and admired by other people, on both an individual and a humanitarian level. They are interested in new ideas on principle, but ultimately discard most of them for one reason or another.
It was also really eye opening to read my friend's profile and see that what it says is her dominant trait is one that I have never really seen expressed. It explained a lot about some things that have been frustratingly out of balance for her, both within our friendship and in the larger world. That's really why I wanted to post about the instrument; because I think it can be a helpful tool for understanding not only yourslf, but the people closest to you. Now go take it and tell me what letters you are!
I'm not really one for the psychobabble, but I have to admit that some of my elaborated profile was jarringly accurate. It's a strange feeling to see things that I thought were part of my own unique world view spelled out almost to a T by a complete stranger who never even heard of me. And then, ironically, I was annoyed by the few things that I felt did not reflect the real me. Shouldn't I find those small miscalculations comforting?
Here's my basic breakdown:
moderately expressed extravert
distinctively expressed intuitive personality
moderately expressed feeling personality
moderately expressed perceiving personality
The first paragraph of my elaborated profile contains elements of both the startlingly accurate and the annoyingly
ENFPs are both "idea"-people and "people"-people, who see everyone and everything as part of an often bizarre cosmic whole. They want to both help (at least, their own definition of "help") and be liked and admired by other people, on both an individual and a humanitarian level. They are interested in new ideas on principle, but ultimately discard most of them for one reason or another.
The part about everything being part of the bizarre cosmic whole is dead on. And I do like and try to help people. I do get intersted in new ideas and then habitually reject them as flawed. That's why I can't buy into any one system of religious or philosophical beliefs, even the few that I find mostly appealing. But I don't feel that I care about being liked and admired by other people, especially on a humanitarian level. I mean, not that I want people not to like me, but I accepted long ago that some people just won't. It has been my experience that I do not inspire feelings of neutrality in many people. They either like me or strongly and immediately dislike me. And I'm cool with that, really!
It's mostly the extravert stuff that I find to be a tad off in my profile. I am good with people, but I'm also good alone. My seemingly outgoing personality has more to do with a lack of social anxiety than with an inherent love of people. And there's a lot of stuff about having a short attention span in relationships which is obviously not true (exhibit A: my 20 year relationship with BD), and about "zany charm" and sponteneity, which I find laughable. Not so much with the zany, I don't think.
I scored lowest on the "Feeling" part, and I was actually surprised that it wasn't "Thinking," because I answered "yes" to all the logical and analytical questions. But when I read the ENTP profile, it's far less accurate then the ENFP, so I guess they know what they're talking about.
The work habits part was another bull's eye for me. See especially the part about follow through and procrastination:
ENFPs are pleasant, easygoing, and usually fun to work with. They come up with great ideas, and are a major asset in brainstorming sessions. Followthrough tends to be a problem, however; they tend to get bored quickly, especially if a newer, more interesting project comes along. They also tend to be procrastinators, both about meeting hard deadlines and about performing any small, uninteresting tasks that they've been assigned...ENFPs sometimes can be blindsided by their secondary Feeling function. Hasty decisions based on deeply felt values may boil over with unpredictable results. More than one ENFP has abruptly quit a job in such a moment. (Ahem, see numbers 87 and 88)
This part is especially true of me:
The physical world, both geos and kosmos, is the ENFP's primary source of information. Rather than sensing things as they are, dominant intuition is sensitive to things as they might be. These extraverted intuitives are most adept with patterns and connections. Their natural inclination is toward relationships, especially among people or living things.
That's where that bizarre cosmos thing comes in. The part I found most thought-provoking, because I recognize its accuracy even though it's something I have only just recently begun to realize, was this:
Introverted Sensing
Sensing, the least discernible ENFP function, resides in the inner world where reality is reduced to symbols and icons--ideas representing essences of external realities. Under the influence of the ever-present intuition, the ENFP's sensory perceptions are in danger of being replaced by hypothetical data consistent with pattern and paradigm. When it is protected and nourished, introverted sensing provides information about the fixed. From such firm anchoring ENFPs are best equipped to launch into thousands of plausibilities and curiosities yet to be imagined.
It was also really eye opening to read my friend's profile and see that what it says is her dominant trait is one that I have never really seen expressed. It explained a lot about some things that have been frustratingly out of balance for her, both within our friendship and in the larger world. That's really why I wanted to post about the instrument; because I think it can be a helpful tool for understanding not only yourslf, but the people closest to you. Now go take it and tell me what letters you are!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Super Flake
Here's something not so fun that happened to me last week, the first official week of school.
Back story: Last year, Genevieve was at the Montessori school that my two middle children attended when they were pre-school aged. The school had just opened a Nido program (Montessori for baby room), our previous babysitting arrangement ran out, and we were excited to have her at this cheerful, colorful, less-institutional version of daycare. Only the school doesn't see itself as any kind of daycare. It sees itself as a school. At first I just wanted them to stop doing that. I didn't want to go to meetings and do parent hours or have a semester conference about my two year old's "education." But ultimately I decided that if that was their vision and it didn't work for me, I should probably make other arrangements for my child or just stop griping about it. It didn't help that the two teachers in the baby room seemed to hate BD and me, even though they were never anything but loving toward Genevieve. And then as the year ended, they both bolted, leaving the always-friendly directress high and dry. She called me personally to apologize for things she was just fully realizing had gone on between those two and the parents. It seems we weren't the only ones they'd deemed unworthy of the Montessori "lifestyle." It meant a lot to me that she called, and I'd always been happy with the actual care Genevieve received at the school. So now I was in a quandry: send her back to where I knew she'd be happy, or find a daycare or sitter who was okay with the concept that they existed for my convenience and not the other way around.
I put Genevieve on the waiting list for a nearby daycare of excellent repute, but that didn't pan out. SAM had Mr. Baby on the same list, and we both hoped to have the kids at the same place so that I could help her with pick ups some days. I resigned myself to going back to Montessori, and then I looked at the registration materials. Both tuition and parent hours had increased. In the baby room, the increase was so large that SAM felt it ruled out that option for her all together. Their calendar was not in line with the public schools', meaning they would be closed the last week of August before their official start date after Labor Day. Suddenly, it just felt like too much. We already struggled to afford what we paid last year, and the parent hours were a major thorn in my side. Having her out for that week would mean BD staying away from his business to keep her until I made it home each day at 3:30. Desperately, I posted pleas on a couple of local moms' boards for any SAHMs interested in keeping both kids. And I got a bite!
A woman who lives right around the corner from me, whose friends were my friends on the boards, and who had been to my house for a play date, was interested. Her four-year-old son would be going to preschool three days a week, leaving her home with just her three-year-old daughter. She asked for a very reasonable rate, she was close by--it seemed perfect. I left word at the Montessori school that Genevieve would not be coming after all. Monday and Tuesday, things went well. Mr. Baby hadn't started yet because his father was still on summer break from his job. Genevieve was understandably upset at being left, but then she settled down and played and was fine. Then out of nowhere, mid-morning Wednesday I got a text from the sitter saying "This isn't working out. You need to find other child care." Wha?? I asked what was going on and she sent back that G just didn't seem to be happy there and it was affecting her own kids. Thinking she was just a little overwhelmed, I dashed off an email saying that I understood that the adjustment for both G and her kids was maybe harder than she had anticipated (thinking to myself what the hell did she expect by day three??), and reassuring her that in a week or two, she'd be fine and everyone would be used to the new routine. I asked if there was anything I could do to make things easier, if she needed more money, if she wanted a key to my house so they could play there some and help ease the transition. She replied simply that she had made her decision and as of that afternoon, she was done.
What kind of person does that to someone? Nothing had even happened! Were her expectations so utterly unrealistic that she had no idea any adjustments, on anyone's part, would be necessary? Was she that much of a wus that she couldn't at least finish out the week while I made other arrangements? When did people stop feeling like they needed to honor their commitments, or at the very least, wriggle out of them in a fairly honorable way? Do people no longer believe that they should be held accountable anymore? If something is the slightest bit difficult or unpleasant, it's now okay to just walk away, even when that means other people are left holding the bag?
Don't get me wrong, if she doesn't want to watch over my precious baby, I certainly don't want her to. And I'm glad I found out now rather than later that she's a dysfunctional, irresponsible freakshow of a person. Clearly something is wrong there. I guess some people just aren't capable, in the general sense of the word.
I scrambled and begged and got Genevieve back in Montessori school the very next day. They welcomed us back with open arms, even offering to work with us on tuition, and my gratitude for that goes a long way toward mitigating the minor irritations. Genevieve is doing great there and seems perfectly happy to be back in the familiar setting. So there was a happy ending for her, at least. SAM is still scrambling for childcare.
I hate flaky people.
Back story: Last year, Genevieve was at the Montessori school that my two middle children attended when they were pre-school aged. The school had just opened a Nido program (Montessori for baby room), our previous babysitting arrangement ran out, and we were excited to have her at this cheerful, colorful, less-institutional version of daycare. Only the school doesn't see itself as any kind of daycare. It sees itself as a school. At first I just wanted them to stop doing that. I didn't want to go to meetings and do parent hours or have a semester conference about my two year old's "education." But ultimately I decided that if that was their vision and it didn't work for me, I should probably make other arrangements for my child or just stop griping about it. It didn't help that the two teachers in the baby room seemed to hate BD and me, even though they were never anything but loving toward Genevieve. And then as the year ended, they both bolted, leaving the always-friendly directress high and dry. She called me personally to apologize for things she was just fully realizing had gone on between those two and the parents. It seems we weren't the only ones they'd deemed unworthy of the Montessori "lifestyle." It meant a lot to me that she called, and I'd always been happy with the actual care Genevieve received at the school. So now I was in a quandry: send her back to where I knew she'd be happy, or find a daycare or sitter who was okay with the concept that they existed for my convenience and not the other way around.
I put Genevieve on the waiting list for a nearby daycare of excellent repute, but that didn't pan out. SAM had Mr. Baby on the same list, and we both hoped to have the kids at the same place so that I could help her with pick ups some days. I resigned myself to going back to Montessori, and then I looked at the registration materials. Both tuition and parent hours had increased. In the baby room, the increase was so large that SAM felt it ruled out that option for her all together. Their calendar was not in line with the public schools', meaning they would be closed the last week of August before their official start date after Labor Day. Suddenly, it just felt like too much. We already struggled to afford what we paid last year, and the parent hours were a major thorn in my side. Having her out for that week would mean BD staying away from his business to keep her until I made it home each day at 3:30. Desperately, I posted pleas on a couple of local moms' boards for any SAHMs interested in keeping both kids. And I got a bite!
A woman who lives right around the corner from me, whose friends were my friends on the boards, and who had been to my house for a play date, was interested. Her four-year-old son would be going to preschool three days a week, leaving her home with just her three-year-old daughter. She asked for a very reasonable rate, she was close by--it seemed perfect. I left word at the Montessori school that Genevieve would not be coming after all. Monday and Tuesday, things went well. Mr. Baby hadn't started yet because his father was still on summer break from his job. Genevieve was understandably upset at being left, but then she settled down and played and was fine. Then out of nowhere, mid-morning Wednesday I got a text from the sitter saying "This isn't working out. You need to find other child care." Wha?? I asked what was going on and she sent back that G just didn't seem to be happy there and it was affecting her own kids. Thinking she was just a little overwhelmed, I dashed off an email saying that I understood that the adjustment for both G and her kids was maybe harder than she had anticipated (thinking to myself what the hell did she expect by day three??), and reassuring her that in a week or two, she'd be fine and everyone would be used to the new routine. I asked if there was anything I could do to make things easier, if she needed more money, if she wanted a key to my house so they could play there some and help ease the transition. She replied simply that she had made her decision and as of that afternoon, she was done.
What kind of person does that to someone? Nothing had even happened! Were her expectations so utterly unrealistic that she had no idea any adjustments, on anyone's part, would be necessary? Was she that much of a wus that she couldn't at least finish out the week while I made other arrangements? When did people stop feeling like they needed to honor their commitments, or at the very least, wriggle out of them in a fairly honorable way? Do people no longer believe that they should be held accountable anymore? If something is the slightest bit difficult or unpleasant, it's now okay to just walk away, even when that means other people are left holding the bag?
Don't get me wrong, if she doesn't want to watch over my precious baby, I certainly don't want her to. And I'm glad I found out now rather than later that she's a dysfunctional, irresponsible freakshow of a person. Clearly something is wrong there. I guess some people just aren't capable, in the general sense of the word.
I scrambled and begged and got Genevieve back in Montessori school the very next day. They welcomed us back with open arms, even offering to work with us on tuition, and my gratitude for that goes a long way toward mitigating the minor irritations. Genevieve is doing great there and seems perfectly happy to be back in the familiar setting. So there was a happy ending for her, at least. SAM is still scrambling for childcare.
I hate flaky people.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Anecdote
Lest you think I was super-industrious all weekend, here are some other things I did:
-Read Breaking Dawn in two days. Well, plus a few hours. I bought it Thursday afternoon while grocery shopping for BD's birthday dinner and squeezed in a few minutes of reading before cooking enchiladas and serving them up to the assembled friends and family, then read a little more before bed. But mostly I read it Friday and Saturday, finishing Saturday night (for some reason I woke up at 6:30 Saturday and couldn't go back to sleep, so I had a couple hours of quiet before everyone else woke up). In short, it was somewhat surprising and pretty good, but "Renesmee" is the Worst. Name. Ever. What was she thinking? My formerly and briefly Mormon friend says it's very Mormon sounding. I'll have to take her word for it.
-Unwittingly drank an unfortunate amount of Sweet Tea Vodka Friday night which later caused me to revisit the stromboli I made and consumed during cocktail hour.
-Took the kids to hang out at my folks' for a while on Saturday, during which visit I read, napped briefly on the couch, and observed them fishing from my quilt on the ground, where I read some more.
-Slept in on Sunday, made and ate a big breakfast, went back to bed with the newspaper and eventually napped while BD and the kids watched a Tarzan movie from the box set he got for his birthday. It was after 2:00 when I got up, scavenged lunch for myself and the kids, and got motivated to clean while BD took Genevieve and Calvin with him on a Sam's run for lunchbox fillers.
I'm really quite lazy. I just tend to cram all my activity into short bursts so I can spend the rest of my time lounging around in my jammies at indecent hours. Really!
-Read Breaking Dawn in two days. Well, plus a few hours. I bought it Thursday afternoon while grocery shopping for BD's birthday dinner and squeezed in a few minutes of reading before cooking enchiladas and serving them up to the assembled friends and family, then read a little more before bed. But mostly I read it Friday and Saturday, finishing Saturday night (for some reason I woke up at 6:30 Saturday and couldn't go back to sleep, so I had a couple hours of quiet before everyone else woke up). In short, it was somewhat surprising and pretty good, but "Renesmee" is the Worst. Name. Ever. What was she thinking? My formerly and briefly Mormon friend says it's very Mormon sounding. I'll have to take her word for it.
-Unwittingly drank an unfortunate amount of Sweet Tea Vodka Friday night which later caused me to revisit the stromboli I made and consumed during cocktail hour.
-Took the kids to hang out at my folks' for a while on Saturday, during which visit I read, napped briefly on the couch, and observed them fishing from my quilt on the ground, where I read some more.
-Slept in on Sunday, made and ate a big breakfast, went back to bed with the newspaper and eventually napped while BD and the kids watched a Tarzan movie from the box set he got for his birthday. It was after 2:00 when I got up, scavenged lunch for myself and the kids, and got motivated to clean while BD took Genevieve and Calvin with him on a Sam's run for lunchbox fillers.
I'm really quite lazy. I just tend to cram all my activity into short bursts so I can spend the rest of my time lounging around in my jammies at indecent hours. Really!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Miz Molassy learns you your lessons
School is in, y'all. I know you freaky northerners stay out until after Labor Day, but that's not how we roll down south. Our last day comes at the end of May and we go back the second week of August. I've been back two weeks now because as a teacher, I get one less week of vacation (that's five fewer days, Chris) than the students so I can be filled with in-servicey goodness before their return.
As I wrote in this month's Lamplighter column (p. 20), I really like this time of year. Sure, it's sad that summer is over. I love being able to stay home with the kids and having those weeks to swim, lounge, and play together. But let's be real, after a while I've had my fill of the 24/7 four-child experience. I need about 150 publicly-schooled teenagers in order to really flex my muscles. A girl gets bored with the easy life after a while is what I'm saying.
After week one with my new batch of students, I am in lurve with my schedule. For the first time since coming to the High school, I don't have first hour planning. When I started two years ago, I'd given birth on the last day of the previous school year, so my principal cut me some slack and gave me planning during that 7:30-8:30 time slot. That slack has now run out. I'm proud to say that I made it to work between 7:00 and 7:05 every day last week. We'll see if I can keep it up. Anyway, I have 2nd period Honors (this is really first period, but we call homeroom first, even though we rarely go to homeroom, because that totally makes sense), 3rd standard, 4th honors, 5th standard, then lunch, 6th period planning, and 7th journalism which only has 6 kids in it so far. In other words, I have four solid hours of teaching and then I'm pretty much on my own for the rest of the day. The purpose of the journalism class is to put out the all-but-dead school paper, which I have just taken over and am trying to revive. So it's more of an on-going project kind of class than anything else. I am really liking the kids in all my classes. I'm noticing, particularly in the honors classes, that the onslaught of Laurens and Britneys of the past two years has been abruptly cut off. Weird. These are the first 90s babies, so I guess the change is fitting. The trend must have been toward unique names because as of yet, I can't spot a trend. A lot of K-sound names like Kinika and Kennisha, but no one or two dominant names are jumping out at me.
It takes us a little while after school starts to get back in the swing of being gone all day and then coming home and maintaining the castillo. Today my house finally got in my face and reached the level of filth that causes me to get on my knees and scrub the whole bathroom with Comet. I'm pretty sure that hasn't happened since I was pregnant with Genevieve and had pica that caused me to want to do nothing but scrub things with Comet, sniff the fumes from the running dishwasher, and daydream about eating sand, so yeah, it was gross in there. (Not that gross, people. I've cleaned, just not this thoroughly.) I also took every single thing out of the nasty fridge and scrubbed the shelves. SAM, who was helping me with this chore, was moved to remark that "Its not so much that your fridge is small, but that your expired condiment collection is so large." Then she threw all my banana peppers away based on the sell-by dates. Wacky germaphobes. I had to use my beloved Pampered Chef scraper to chisel out the dried lake of Ovaltine-infused milk at the bottom, but now the inside of my fridge is all dazzlingly white. It makes me happy every time I open it. I also did a general tidying of all the main living areas (er, all both of them), swept all the wood floors and the kitchen, Swiffer wetted the kitchen, and forced the kids to clean their rooms. The boys' room was pushed from nasty to Child Protective Services-worthy by this weekend's cocktail hour junior squad, so I went behind the kids and got the last bits and vacuumed while SAM graciously excavated the window seat toy box in the girls' room and made most of the objects in the room vanish into it. So now we have clean kids' rooms on top of a Cloroxy-fresh fridge and a Comet sparkly bathroom. What a nice way to start out the week!
As I wrote in this month's Lamplighter column (p. 20), I really like this time of year. Sure, it's sad that summer is over. I love being able to stay home with the kids and having those weeks to swim, lounge, and play together. But let's be real, after a while I've had my fill of the 24/7 four-child experience. I need about 150 publicly-schooled teenagers in order to really flex my muscles. A girl gets bored with the easy life after a while is what I'm saying.
After week one with my new batch of students, I am in lurve with my schedule. For the first time since coming to the High school, I don't have first hour planning. When I started two years ago, I'd given birth on the last day of the previous school year, so my principal cut me some slack and gave me planning during that 7:30-8:30 time slot. That slack has now run out. I'm proud to say that I made it to work between 7:00 and 7:05 every day last week. We'll see if I can keep it up. Anyway, I have 2nd period Honors (this is really first period, but we call homeroom first, even though we rarely go to homeroom, because that totally makes sense), 3rd standard, 4th honors, 5th standard, then lunch, 6th period planning, and 7th journalism which only has 6 kids in it so far. In other words, I have four solid hours of teaching and then I'm pretty much on my own for the rest of the day. The purpose of the journalism class is to put out the all-but-dead school paper, which I have just taken over and am trying to revive. So it's more of an on-going project kind of class than anything else. I am really liking the kids in all my classes. I'm noticing, particularly in the honors classes, that the onslaught of Laurens and Britneys of the past two years has been abruptly cut off. Weird. These are the first 90s babies, so I guess the change is fitting. The trend must have been toward unique names because as of yet, I can't spot a trend. A lot of K-sound names like Kinika and Kennisha, but no one or two dominant names are jumping out at me.
It takes us a little while after school starts to get back in the swing of being gone all day and then coming home and maintaining the castillo. Today my house finally got in my face and reached the level of filth that causes me to get on my knees and scrub the whole bathroom with Comet. I'm pretty sure that hasn't happened since I was pregnant with Genevieve and had pica that caused me to want to do nothing but scrub things with Comet, sniff the fumes from the running dishwasher, and daydream about eating sand, so yeah, it was gross in there. (Not that gross, people. I've cleaned, just not this thoroughly.) I also took every single thing out of the nasty fridge and scrubbed the shelves. SAM, who was helping me with this chore, was moved to remark that "Its not so much that your fridge is small, but that your expired condiment collection is so large." Then she threw all my banana peppers away based on the sell-by dates. Wacky germaphobes. I had to use my beloved Pampered Chef scraper to chisel out the dried lake of Ovaltine-infused milk at the bottom, but now the inside of my fridge is all dazzlingly white. It makes me happy every time I open it. I also did a general tidying of all the main living areas (er, all both of them), swept all the wood floors and the kitchen, Swiffer wetted the kitchen, and forced the kids to clean their rooms. The boys' room was pushed from nasty to Child Protective Services-worthy by this weekend's cocktail hour junior squad, so I went behind the kids and got the last bits and vacuumed while SAM graciously excavated the window seat toy box in the girls' room and made most of the objects in the room vanish into it. So now we have clean kids' rooms on top of a Cloroxy-fresh fridge and a Comet sparkly bathroom. What a nice way to start out the week!
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
So Long, Summer!
Once again, my summer vacation has flown by. I feel like we made good use of it, and the kids and I enjoyed the long lazy days of staying up late, sleeping in, hitting the pool, and staying in our jammies all day if we felt like it. I don't think I went more than three days in a row without showering, so I'm pretty impressed with myself on that front. Chlorine gets you clean, right?
How did we spend our last precious days of freedom, you ask? Well, technically it's only my freedom, since the kids have one more week off before heading back to school, but their Dad is just not as fun as I am, so there's that. Anyway, I digress. What did we do? Let me think...
I'll go back a few days from the official beginning of the end so I can include the Friday night Dive In Movie at the Quince YMCA. Swimming at night is fun. Throw in Bee Movie playing at one end of the pool, dollar Good Humor Ice Cream, and free popcorn, and what could be better? The older kids floated in front of the screen most of the time, taking occasional breaks to swim and jump off the side into the pool at the other end from the movie. Genevieve stayed in her little car float for about five minutes of film time, then we spent the rest of the time going back and forth between the chairs (and our snacks) and the baby pool. She had a big time.
Now, the official last week countdown:
Monday: Swimming for the last time at the Y.
Tuesday: "Horton Hears a Who" at the cheapie theater. We loved it!
Tuesday evening: I got tattooed for three hours, alone. The lengths I go to for some me time!
Wednesday: Used our free summer membership to the Pink Palace for the last time. I have been really surprised and pleased by the fact that my children find bones, fossils, and insects on pins to be so fascinating!
Thursday: Ran errands, met SAM for lunch at the food court in the Oak Court Mall, and made aunt Elizabeth's birthday Thursday Night Dinner. Served said dinner to six adults and six children. Okay, one was just a baby, but he ate!
Friday: Sat around avoiding washing the birthday dinner dishes, mostly. Calvin went to play at his friend's house in the afternoon, at which time he was treated to a few rounds of Laserqust and then, later, a trip to see "Journey to the Center of the Earth" at the movies. When BD got home from work, he took S on a daddy-daughter date to some art openings and dinner. Joshua got some highly-coveted computer time, and SAM and I ordered pizza and hung with the babies until the rest of the crew came home.
Saturday: Took the kids out to my parents' for a few hours, as is usual for Saturdays. That night we had a big Girls' Night Out planned with SAM, Stacey, Stephanie, Melissa, Mary, and Shiloh (yes, I'm too lazy to link to all of you at once), so I took the carseats out of the Sassymobile and vacuumed the remaining crushed goldfish and peanut shells from our beach trip so as not to mess up their pretty outfits. Viola--seven hot mamas (well, one not-mama) in a semi-clean minivan. What more could you want from life? I'd post the link to the pictures on Flickr, but it's blocked at work. Maybe later I will. Right here in this very spot.
Sunday: Made a big breakfast then pretty much lazed around all day, as one should on Sundays, right?
How did we spend our last precious days of freedom, you ask? Well, technically it's only my freedom, since the kids have one more week off before heading back to school, but their Dad is just not as fun as I am, so there's that. Anyway, I digress. What did we do? Let me think...
I'll go back a few days from the official beginning of the end so I can include the Friday night Dive In Movie at the Quince YMCA. Swimming at night is fun. Throw in Bee Movie playing at one end of the pool, dollar Good Humor Ice Cream, and free popcorn, and what could be better? The older kids floated in front of the screen most of the time, taking occasional breaks to swim and jump off the side into the pool at the other end from the movie. Genevieve stayed in her little car float for about five minutes of film time, then we spent the rest of the time going back and forth between the chairs (and our snacks) and the baby pool. She had a big time.
Now, the official last week countdown:
Monday: Swimming for the last time at the Y.
Tuesday: "Horton Hears a Who" at the cheapie theater. We loved it!
Tuesday evening: I got tattooed for three hours, alone. The lengths I go to for some me time!
Wednesday: Used our free summer membership to the Pink Palace for the last time. I have been really surprised and pleased by the fact that my children find bones, fossils, and insects on pins to be so fascinating!
Thursday: Ran errands, met SAM for lunch at the food court in the Oak Court Mall, and made aunt Elizabeth's birthday Thursday Night Dinner. Served said dinner to six adults and six children. Okay, one was just a baby, but he ate!
Friday: Sat around avoiding washing the birthday dinner dishes, mostly. Calvin went to play at his friend's house in the afternoon, at which time he was treated to a few rounds of Laserqust and then, later, a trip to see "Journey to the Center of the Earth" at the movies. When BD got home from work, he took S on a daddy-daughter date to some art openings and dinner. Joshua got some highly-coveted computer time, and SAM and I ordered pizza and hung with the babies until the rest of the crew came home.
Saturday: Took the kids out to my parents' for a few hours, as is usual for Saturdays. That night we had a big Girls' Night Out planned with SAM, Stacey, Stephanie, Melissa, Mary, and Shiloh (yes, I'm too lazy to link to all of you at once), so I took the carseats out of the Sassymobile and vacuumed the remaining crushed goldfish and peanut shells from our beach trip so as not to mess up their pretty outfits. Viola--seven hot mamas (well, one not-mama) in a semi-clean minivan. What more could you want from life? I'd post the link to the pictures on Flickr, but it's blocked at work. Maybe later I will. Right here in this very spot.
Sunday: Made a big breakfast then pretty much lazed around all day, as one should on Sundays, right?
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tattoo Session Two: Electric Bugaloo
I spent last evening getting all of the flowers of my new tattoo shaded and colored in. I was there from 6:00 to 9:30 and three solid hours of that were spent under the needle. Last time it took about two and a half hours and let me tell you, that last half hour makes a difference. Especially when most of it is spent tattooing right over the achilles tendon.
Since this was my second session and therefore not quite as novel and exciting as the first, and because I had to schedule it for dinner time and basically the minute BD walks in the door from work, I wasn't sure I'd have any company. I thought BD might come for a while as SAM had offered to watch the kids so he could at least be there for part of the time, but he felt too guilty about leaving her with six kids (our four, her two) to accept her offer. So it was just me and my book.
When Tony first started working, I didn't want to distract him so I focused on reading. I was happy with the level of distraction my book provided and spent most of the first hour immersed in it. Tony was working very quickly in order to be able to finish in one session, and we took no breaks. Once after two hours he went for paper towels and I ran to the bathroom, but that was it. After a while we started talking and I learned that my tattoo artist is quite the bibliophile, reading a lot about memetics, among other things. In addition to painting, his hobby is tracing the origins of fairy tales as far back as possible, and linking them to their various versions around the world. It sounds like his book collection at home may rival ours for sheer numbers. It was interesting chatting with him and getting to know a little bit about him.
The final hour got pretty intense. The fact that I'd had a ham and cheese sandwich at 11:00 that morning, followed only by a few handfuls of movie popcorn and a box of chocolate-covered almonds at the second-run showing of "Horton Hears a Who" that afternoon was beginning to tell. Hunger and pain combined to make me jittery and I just wanted it to be over. The last half hour was spent with me lying on my stomach with Tony firmly holding my leg down to keep my foot from twitching and jumping involuntarily as he completed the last large flower and a few small ones peeking out from beneath it. I focused on my book as well as I could and bit down on my thumb. Finally we finished, wrapped it up, and I was on my way home to the burritos I'd started for dinner before leaving.
It's hard to capture all the details through the sheen of A&D ointment, but here are some pictures of the finished product.
Since this was my second session and therefore not quite as novel and exciting as the first, and because I had to schedule it for dinner time and basically the minute BD walks in the door from work, I wasn't sure I'd have any company. I thought BD might come for a while as SAM had offered to watch the kids so he could at least be there for part of the time, but he felt too guilty about leaving her with six kids (our four, her two) to accept her offer. So it was just me and my book.
When Tony first started working, I didn't want to distract him so I focused on reading. I was happy with the level of distraction my book provided and spent most of the first hour immersed in it. Tony was working very quickly in order to be able to finish in one session, and we took no breaks. Once after two hours he went for paper towels and I ran to the bathroom, but that was it. After a while we started talking and I learned that my tattoo artist is quite the bibliophile, reading a lot about memetics, among other things. In addition to painting, his hobby is tracing the origins of fairy tales as far back as possible, and linking them to their various versions around the world. It sounds like his book collection at home may rival ours for sheer numbers. It was interesting chatting with him and getting to know a little bit about him.
The final hour got pretty intense. The fact that I'd had a ham and cheese sandwich at 11:00 that morning, followed only by a few handfuls of movie popcorn and a box of chocolate-covered almonds at the second-run showing of "Horton Hears a Who" that afternoon was beginning to tell. Hunger and pain combined to make me jittery and I just wanted it to be over. The last half hour was spent with me lying on my stomach with Tony firmly holding my leg down to keep my foot from twitching and jumping involuntarily as he completed the last large flower and a few small ones peeking out from beneath it. I focused on my book as well as I could and bit down on my thumb. Finally we finished, wrapped it up, and I was on my way home to the burritos I'd started for dinner before leaving.
It's hard to capture all the details through the sheen of A&D ointment, but here are some pictures of the finished product.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Sleeping Ugly
Is it possible for a toddler to get too much sleep? For the past several weeks, Genevieve's naturally spunky personality has been peppered with fits of extreme clinginess, bossiness, and random contrariness. Not that this is unusual behavior for a two year old, but the fact that she's able to sustain a mounting level of two-ness until well after 11:00 pm is exhausting.
For most of the summer, she has woken up between 8:30 and 9:00 in the morning, napped for about two hours in the afternoon, and then, regardless of whether those two hours were from 1:00 to 3:00 or 3:00 to 5:00, she refuses to bed down for the night until well after the eleventh hour. And believe me, that expression is appropriate because the situation becomes dire. At that point in the day, I. Have. Had. Enough.
So today, she missed her nap. We were helping a friend tackle some largish regrouping and rearranging projects at her house for most of the day, and for most of that time Genevieve played happily with the other kids. Sure she had her moments, but she was mostly pretty good. At one point we rode to Germantown to pick Somerset up from her cousin's house, and I hoped she might take a quick doze and then wake up refreshed but ready to turn in at a decent hour. Instead, she talked the whole time, as she does now in the car. As she did all the way to Dauphin Island and then back to Memphis. So she never napped, but she lasted beautifully even through a restaurant meal involving three adults and six children!
When we got home, she played with her brothers and sister some more, requested and took a bath, and then went easily to bed at around 8:00. Eight O'Clock! I don't quite know what to do with myself! I'm sure that somewhere around 10:00 she'll wake up, but I feel fairly confident that she'll just nurse and fall back asleep.
Is it possible that naps have been making my baby into the bad seed?
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Post-Beach reality
As I was saying, we're back from the beach. I wanted to tell you I was going, or send you a little post card from Dauphin Island, but BD thought that was a bad idea. I suppose it would be a bit dangerous for me to say, for example, "We're leaving for a week and I'm taking all our photo albums and anything of sentimental value with us so that on the off chance the house should burn down while no one is here who could possibly get hurt, it wouldn't be such a terrible thing." wink wink
The house did not burn down. The dishwasher had the decency to break the night before we left, and the new one I purchased upon our return arrived today. It was supposed to be installed, but for some unfathomable reason, they only carry one standard sized hose kit on the truck. It was too short, even though our dishwasher is only one cabinet away from the sink. After I told the installers that was unacceptable and then bitched out a customer service rep at Home Depot, I still ended up with the old broken dishwasher still in place and the new one in a box in the middle of the floor. At least they're refunding the install fee and the cost of the too-short kit, which is about $80. Stupid Home Depot.
As for the trip itself, it was wonderful. Genevieve was not quite the beach lover she was last year, but she did ok as long as she stayed supplied with snacks she could cover with sand before shoving into her mouth. And I found that I wasn't as sad to leave this year as I was last time. As I pondered the absence of parting tears, I realized that we brought a little bit of the beach alive in our daily life after last year's trip. Our weekly cocktail hours and occasional monkeyless nights out have made it a little easier to end a full week with our friends. Sure, it was still hard, but I'm pretty happy with the life I got to come home to.
Here are some of our pictures from the trip. And here and here are some more. These are the family portraits in the obligatory white shirts, in which the wind made my hair look like the stupidest hair ever.
The house did not burn down. The dishwasher had the decency to break the night before we left, and the new one I purchased upon our return arrived today. It was supposed to be installed, but for some unfathomable reason, they only carry one standard sized hose kit on the truck. It was too short, even though our dishwasher is only one cabinet away from the sink. After I told the installers that was unacceptable and then bitched out a customer service rep at Home Depot, I still ended up with the old broken dishwasher still in place and the new one in a box in the middle of the floor. At least they're refunding the install fee and the cost of the too-short kit, which is about $80. Stupid Home Depot.
As for the trip itself, it was wonderful. Genevieve was not quite the beach lover she was last year, but she did ok as long as she stayed supplied with snacks she could cover with sand before shoving into her mouth. And I found that I wasn't as sad to leave this year as I was last time. As I pondered the absence of parting tears, I realized that we brought a little bit of the beach alive in our daily life after last year's trip. Our weekly cocktail hours and occasional monkeyless nights out have made it a little easier to end a full week with our friends. Sure, it was still hard, but I'm pretty happy with the life I got to come home to.
Here are some of our pictures from the trip. And here and here are some more. These are the family portraits in the obligatory white shirts, in which the wind made my hair look like the stupidest hair ever.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
You Like Me, You Really Like Me!
Rita the Bookworm was kind enough to award me this lovely Arte y Pico a while back and I have alternated between slacking and forgetting to thank her and post it up. Thanks Rita!
Rules:
1) Pick 5 blogs that you consider deserving of this award based upon creativity, design, interesting material, and contribution to the blogger community, regardless of language.
2) Each award recipient has to display the name of the author and a link to his or her blog.
3) Each award winner has to display the award itself and a link to the blog whose author presented the award.
4) The winner must provide a link to the arte y pico blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award.
5) These rules must be displayed.
My five blogs:
Urf!
Secret Agent Mom
Fertile Ground
Chockley Blog
All Adither
Thursday, July 10, 2008
How could I forget?
BD, as Genevieve tries to snatch something from him: "You will rue the day, little girl."
G: "No, you'll rue the day!" Proceeds to go around pointing at everyone in the house and saying "You'll rue the day! You'll rue the day!"
G: "No, you'll rue the day!" Proceeds to go around pointing at everyone in the house and saying "You'll rue the day! You'll rue the day!"
Genevieve-ese
Genevieve: "Me hunny mommy."
Me: "You're hungry? What would you like to eat?"
G: "Me want Talaloes" (Much mush-mouthed rolling of the L sounds)
Me: "Tangeloes?"
G: "No! Talaloes. TAL-al-loes!"
Calvin tries: "Marshmallows?"
G: "No! Talaloes. Talaloes. TALALoes!!
Somerset gives it a shot: "Pillows?"
Calvin: "She doesn't want to eat pillows, dummy."
G, clearly exasperated: "Like rolley-rolleys. Talaloes."
Me: "Oh, Spaghettios?"
G: "Yes! Talaloes!"
Me: "Genevieve, are you going to play in the baby pool while the boys have swimming lessons?" (All humans larger than she is are boys.)
G: "Yeah, me fwim my tummy, and me jump! And me...um uh, what else..."
Me: "I love you Genevieve."
G: "Me wuv-ou, Mommy."
BD: "I love you, Genevieve."
G: "No, me wuving mommy!"
A few seconds later, with a big grin: "Me wuv OU Daddy!"
**Insert shameless plug** Vote for me!
Me: "You're hungry? What would you like to eat?"
G: "Me want Talaloes" (Much mush-mouthed rolling of the L sounds)
Me: "Tangeloes?"
G: "No! Talaloes. TAL-al-loes!"
Calvin tries: "Marshmallows?"
G: "No! Talaloes. Talaloes. TALALoes!!
Somerset gives it a shot: "Pillows?"
Calvin: "She doesn't want to eat pillows, dummy."
G, clearly exasperated: "Like rolley-rolleys. Talaloes."
Me: "Oh, Spaghettios?"
G: "Yes! Talaloes!"
Me: "Genevieve, are you going to play in the baby pool while the boys have swimming lessons?" (All humans larger than she is are boys.)
G: "Yeah, me fwim my tummy, and me jump! And me...um uh, what else..."
Me: "I love you Genevieve."
G: "Me wuv-ou, Mommy."
BD: "I love you, Genevieve."
G: "No, me wuving mommy!"
A few seconds later, with a big grin: "Me wuv OU Daddy!"
**Insert shameless plug** Vote for me!
Monday, July 07, 2008
Anti-Dentite
I did something this afternoon that I haven't done for eight years. I went to the dentist for a routine cleaning and checkup.
I realize that some of you will find it scandalous that I went so long without a checkup. Even more scandalous? It had been six years between that visit and the one before it. I can even remember the logic behind each visit: I figured I should go before we left Panama City for, allegedly, Taos, because I didn't know when I'd have the money, time, or inclination to go again. Who knows how long it had been before that one. Six years later, I went when I was planning my second pregnancy. And now, eight years later, I went because I took all my kids a few weeks ago and thought "Hey, I haven't been to the dentist since before Joshua was conceived, and he's seven!"
I don't hate the dentist or anything. I just am not a maintenance kind of girl. I am bad about not getting the oil changed in my car until it's been three times as long as recommended. I never go to the doctor unless I'm really, really sick. Or pregnant, which is a more frequent occurance. And I never think to go to the dentist because I never have any problems with my teeth.
Or at least, I never used to. That's right...duh DUH duuuuh...I have a cavity. Gasp! I have never had a cavity in any of my permanent teeth! But now I have a tiny one in the grinding surface of my third molar on the upper right side. They sprung it on me right at the end, too! After all the scraping. Oh, the scraping. It went on so long and was so disgusting and mildly painful. My mind drfted to that genius who is running the ads for something called "sedation dentistry." Before, I scoffed at the pansies who would need such a thing, but now...
It's not that I'm now scared of the dentist. It's just so unpleasant, with the tiny metal gaffs and the holding your mouth wide open for upwards of half an hour at a time, and the unfortunate timing of opening your eyes just as the hygenist's bloodstained latex hand is passing in front of them. And the bib. Oh my god, the bib! That they wipe the crud from the little hooks on. There hasn't been any advance in dental technology since the advent of the bib? Really?
It wasn't scary, and it wasn't even very painful. It was just. So. Gross. Thank goodness I don't have to go back for at least six years!
I realize that some of you will find it scandalous that I went so long without a checkup. Even more scandalous? It had been six years between that visit and the one before it. I can even remember the logic behind each visit: I figured I should go before we left Panama City for, allegedly, Taos, because I didn't know when I'd have the money, time, or inclination to go again. Who knows how long it had been before that one. Six years later, I went when I was planning my second pregnancy. And now, eight years later, I went because I took all my kids a few weeks ago and thought "Hey, I haven't been to the dentist since before Joshua was conceived, and he's seven!"
I don't hate the dentist or anything. I just am not a maintenance kind of girl. I am bad about not getting the oil changed in my car until it's been three times as long as recommended. I never go to the doctor unless I'm really, really sick. Or pregnant, which is a more frequent occurance. And I never think to go to the dentist because I never have any problems with my teeth.
Or at least, I never used to. That's right...duh DUH duuuuh...I have a cavity. Gasp! I have never had a cavity in any of my permanent teeth! But now I have a tiny one in the grinding surface of my third molar on the upper right side. They sprung it on me right at the end, too! After all the scraping. Oh, the scraping. It went on so long and was so disgusting and mildly painful. My mind drfted to that genius who is running the ads for something called "sedation dentistry." Before, I scoffed at the pansies who would need such a thing, but now...
It's not that I'm now scared of the dentist. It's just so unpleasant, with the tiny metal gaffs and the holding your mouth wide open for upwards of half an hour at a time, and the unfortunate timing of opening your eyes just as the hygenist's bloodstained latex hand is passing in front of them. And the bib. Oh my god, the bib! That they wipe the crud from the little hooks on. There hasn't been any advance in dental technology since the advent of the bib? Really?
It wasn't scary, and it wasn't even very painful. It was just. So. Gross. Thank goodness I don't have to go back for at least six years!
Monday, June 30, 2008
Happy Happy Birthday Baby
Joshua, you are seven years old today. You don't know this, and one day it will probably make you a little bit queasy to think about it, but you were my only completely planned baby. Your dad and I see no reason to talk to any of you about this, and if you were really going to read this now, I wouldn't talk about it still, but I lost a baby before Calvin, and I lost another one before you. That very first pregnancy was a complete surprise, and it made us realize that yes, maybe we were ready to have a baby. Of course we really didn't have any idea what that would mean, but we took the plunge anyway and so in that way, Calvin was planned. But if it hadn't been for that first unexpected glimpse into the frontier of parenthood, who knows how long we might have waited.
Your brother was not a fun baby. It's a wonder he didn't ruin things for the rest of you. But somehow, by the time he was three, we felt brave enough to start again. In a completely uncharacteristic move, I planned and timed and got pregnant with a baby who would be born six weeks before the start of summer vacation. But then a few weeks into the school year, that baby slipped away. It was hard not to feel that with each pregnancy, the universe was sending me a new message. I already believed, because of Calvin, that I would have the baby I was supposed to have. Now I saw that I couldn't necessarily control when or how that baby would come to me. My timetable and carefully-planned maternity leave apparently did not jibe with your plans. I was sad, but I also knew with inexplicable certainty that you would come, on your own terms and in your own time. And you did.
You are the child of mine who is the most temperamentally like my child self. As far as I can tell from my memories, I didn't really know or think much about where I was or what I was doing until I was about eight years old. You coast through your days smiling and easily made happy. Your funny, skipping little run makes it completely impossible for me not to grin. And even as your tendency to space out and tear things into tiny little pieces irritates and frustrates me, I can't help but remember the time I spaced out and drew in a library book at school and then cried when the outraged librarian brought me crashing back to the reality of what I was doing. The worst you are ever guilty of is just not thinking about what it is you are doing, and, well, I can't really fault you for that because you come by it honestly. Don't worry; you'll outgrow it.
You will not outgrow the other tendency you got from me. You know, the one that allows you to be asleep as soon as you are horizontal. When you were smaller, every afternoon without fail, you would walk over to me, say "I ready my nap," climb up next to me on the couch and suck your thumb and twirl my hair and fall promptly and happily asleep. Just as that easy nap felt like your gift to me each day, I hope you will one day appreciate my gift of ready sleep. I only wish I could have passed it on to the other three!Happy birthday, Joshua. I love you so much. You are my little composer and future rocker dude. You love a joke and to laugh. You sometimes forget yourself, but you never mean any harm, and that's all I can really ask for.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tattoo Redux, session #1
On my twentieth birthday, waaay back in 1992, I got a very 1992 tattoo. It was a thin, tealish-greenish vine with little purple flowers spaced along it encircling my right ankle. The details of the flowers were too much for their tiny area, and they never looked like anything more than little purple blobs, really. All the colors were sort of dark and muddied because the guy listened to my request that they not be too bright and cartoonish, but didn't take into account the fact that my olive skin scars darkly.
For years, I've daydreamed about getting the vine redone and made into something fuller and prettier. For a long time I thought it would be a grape vine, lush and twining. In the past year or so, I started thinking seriously of having it redone, and my vision moved from one of a realistic looking grape vine to a more stylized, Art Deco looking one. Then I could never really find an example where the grapes looked like I wanted, and I moved toward the idea of a Deco-looking flowering vine. For Mother's Day this year, my wonderful husband bought me a gift certficate at No Regrets. It was finally going to happen! While he was there getting his really cool compass tattoo a couple weeks ago, I got a chance to talk to Tony Max, whose book I had liked. We talked about my design ideas and looked on line at images that had elements of what I wanted, then set an appointment for yesterday.
Tony was all ready when I arrived and had drawn up a stencil for me. But when we started talking about color, I was disappointed to hear that all of the vine parts would have to be black. I had thought when we talked, he'd said they could be dark green, but now he was saying that just wouldn't work as cover for the old tattoo. He suggested that if I didn't want a black vine tattoo (which at one point was what I considered getting, but I decided it would make me feel even more silly in feminine clothing like dresses), I could get groupings of photo-realistic flowers all around my ankle, and the only black would really be the shadows and spaces in between other elements, which would work nicely as cover. He brought me a book of flower photographs and I picked out some that I liked. The idea was actually similar to one I've been thinking about for a whole different tattoo, so it didn't feel like too much of a leap.
Long story short, I liked what he drew up, and here's what it looks like after the first session. I spent about two and a half hours of actual needle-on-skin tattoo time yesterday, and it will take another session of almost that long to color in and shade all the flowers. But I love it! I won't get the next part done until after our beach trip because it wouldn't have enough time to heal before then.
For years, I've daydreamed about getting the vine redone and made into something fuller and prettier. For a long time I thought it would be a grape vine, lush and twining. In the past year or so, I started thinking seriously of having it redone, and my vision moved from one of a realistic looking grape vine to a more stylized, Art Deco looking one. Then I could never really find an example where the grapes looked like I wanted, and I moved toward the idea of a Deco-looking flowering vine. For Mother's Day this year, my wonderful husband bought me a gift certficate at No Regrets. It was finally going to happen! While he was there getting his really cool compass tattoo a couple weeks ago, I got a chance to talk to Tony Max, whose book I had liked. We talked about my design ideas and looked on line at images that had elements of what I wanted, then set an appointment for yesterday.
Tony was all ready when I arrived and had drawn up a stencil for me. But when we started talking about color, I was disappointed to hear that all of the vine parts would have to be black. I had thought when we talked, he'd said they could be dark green, but now he was saying that just wouldn't work as cover for the old tattoo. He suggested that if I didn't want a black vine tattoo (which at one point was what I considered getting, but I decided it would make me feel even more silly in feminine clothing like dresses), I could get groupings of photo-realistic flowers all around my ankle, and the only black would really be the shadows and spaces in between other elements, which would work nicely as cover. He brought me a book of flower photographs and I picked out some that I liked. The idea was actually similar to one I've been thinking about for a whole different tattoo, so it didn't feel like too much of a leap.
Long story short, I liked what he drew up, and here's what it looks like after the first session. I spent about two and a half hours of actual needle-on-skin tattoo time yesterday, and it will take another session of almost that long to color in and shade all the flowers. But I love it! I won't get the next part done until after our beach trip because it wouldn't have enough time to heal before then.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Father's Day Gift in action
BD got his long-coveted new camera and took it for a spin at cocktail hour last night. Here are a few of my favorites (and hair shots for those of you who haven't seen the new cut). This photo essay will be called "Mostly About Me."
Juicing limes. No, that's not a euphemism.
Someone is being very entertaining in the kitchen.
This just in: being forced to pet dogs makes your boobs bigger. If only Judy Blume had known, I'm sure she would have told us.
I'm told this gesture is all me.
Okay, one really cute one of Genevieve.
Juicing limes. No, that's not a euphemism.
Someone is being very entertaining in the kitchen.
This just in: being forced to pet dogs makes your boobs bigger. If only Judy Blume had known, I'm sure she would have told us.
I'm told this gesture is all me.
Okay, one really cute one of Genevieve.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Summer Lovin'
You may have noticed that we're keeping summer hours over here at chez Molassy. That means I'm not around so much, although I'm really trying to avoid the total desertion that both of you may remember from last summer. The kids and I have been spending our days sleeping in and eating late breakfasts of Cocoa Crispies, swimming at the Y, swinging (and sweating!) in the back yard, and, Genevieve's current favorite, playing with pans and buckets of water on the front porch. Who knew that transferring water from an empty gallon ice cream bucket to a pan with flaking non-stick coating via teaspoon could be so rewarding? Who cares if it makes our front porch look like the Clampetts' before the move? Good times.
The kids are enjoying the break from school. Genevieve, especially, is thrilled to have Mama full time to boss around, cling to, and play with. Her most fun developmental leap right now is the emergence of empathy. If she enjoys something, she now realizes that other people might enjoy it too, and that their enjoyment is desirable. So she will say "Mommy rubbing my back" which usually means her tummy, and then after a minute she will scramble up to a sitting position and say "Do Set-Set!" prompting me to call Somerset into the room. This has worked out nicely for Somerset, as she is getting a lot of belly rubs and cradling baby-style as I sing the mockingbird song to her on Genevieve's command.
All the time with the kids is great, but G's bursts of kindness are interspersed with extreme clinginess and tantrum throwing two-year-old style, which has started to wear on me a bit. To remedy that, I have purchased a little weekly chunk of freedom for myself at the rate of $10 an hour. Our new once-a-week sitter, home from college for the summer, started today. I went to the regular Monday Monkeyless lunch with BD and the gang. After being unable to attend all year, it's fun to finally be able to go. Next week I've shifted the day to Tuesday so as to have childcare while I get tatted up. Yeah, I know it's sexy the way it looks like my right foot is sewn on, but the old green, skinny vine is being covered over by a new, prettier, much more tendrilly and climbing design. Pictures to come...
The kids are enjoying the break from school. Genevieve, especially, is thrilled to have Mama full time to boss around, cling to, and play with. Her most fun developmental leap right now is the emergence of empathy. If she enjoys something, she now realizes that other people might enjoy it too, and that their enjoyment is desirable. So she will say "Mommy rubbing my back" which usually means her tummy, and then after a minute she will scramble up to a sitting position and say "Do Set-Set!" prompting me to call Somerset into the room. This has worked out nicely for Somerset, as she is getting a lot of belly rubs and cradling baby-style as I sing the mockingbird song to her on Genevieve's command.
All the time with the kids is great, but G's bursts of kindness are interspersed with extreme clinginess and tantrum throwing two-year-old style, which has started to wear on me a bit. To remedy that, I have purchased a little weekly chunk of freedom for myself at the rate of $10 an hour. Our new once-a-week sitter, home from college for the summer, started today. I went to the regular Monday Monkeyless lunch with BD and the gang. After being unable to attend all year, it's fun to finally be able to go. Next week I've shifted the day to Tuesday so as to have childcare while I get tatted up. Yeah, I know it's sexy the way it looks like my right foot is sewn on, but the old green, skinny vine is being covered over by a new, prettier, much more tendrilly and climbing design. Pictures to come...
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Just in case you mistakenly thought of me as smart...
Let me tell you what I did today.
After BD cut the grass this morning, the kids pointed out how the side of my van was all plastered with stray bits of grass and dirt. We decided it would be fun to wash the car and get wet in the blazing, unseasonable-even-for-Memphis heat. I went in the house to get a big pan (the plastic bucket is mysteriously bottomless) and soap and rags, then came out and pulled the hose out from the uncooperative reel. Remembering that I was out of washer fluid, I decided to fill the receptacle with the hose before I did anything else. In the winter I use real washer fluid but it's not like it has a chance to freeze anytime in the next four or five months.
You may see where this is going now. I popped the hood, propped it up, and looked around at the various caps that opened onto fluid receptacles. I knew that putting water in the wrong one would be bad. I saw two that were obviously the wrong ones, and one right under the windshield that had no discernible markings (that I could see), and after looking over the whole works one more time, I chose that one, uncapped it, and put the hose to it. The opening under the cap seemed very small and I sensed without it really registering that this didn't seem right. After a few minutes I stopped, looked around under the hood some more, and saw what I'd missed--the actual washer fluid receptacle. Crap!
I alerted BD to what I'd done and he came over to see that I had, in fact, put water where only brake fluid is meant to go. I went ahead and filled the actual washer fluid tank, and then the kids and I washed the van before I headed out to the oil change place a few blocks from our house. There was a young female employee greeting cars as they pulled up to the bays, and when I told her I needed my brake fluid drained and replaced, she shook her head and said "Oh, we can't do that." I think this is a lie, but I went on about half a mile or so down the road to a bigger tire/service place. I could tell the guy wanted to turn me away because they were so busy, but then he seemed to take pity on me because he called the mechanic in and asked if he could do it. He could. "You'll have to just leave it here and come back at four because we're so covered up," he said kindly.
I started to call BD to come get me, but reconsidered when I remembered the kids playing happily in the neighbors' sprinkler with their son. Instead, I went next door to Krystal, bought a pomegranate freeze, and set out for home on foot. It really wasn't a bad walk in spite of the heat, and the occasional honk from passing cars reassured me that if I have to be dumb, at least I'm still passably hot from a distance if the car is moving fast enough. The only downside to the walking was that I had on flip-flops. I was just recently told by a podiatrist not to wear flip-flops or any other cheap, unsupportive shoe if I'm going to be walking or on my feet for any period of time. At least these were the ones with the inch-thick foam footbed that actually does have some arch support built in, but the top straps are rubber and the left one had rubbed skin off the top of my foot by the time I got a few blocks from the house.
Once I made it inside, I stripped down to my skivvies and lay spread-eagle under the fan for about five minutes to cool off. In spite of the heat, loss of foot skin, and acceptance of the fact that I'm not very smart, I felt proud of myself for cleaning up after my own mistake without creating a hassle for anyone else. As it turns out, it's probably going to cost the exact amount I just received for my first paid writing gig. So I'm the only one paying for my mistake, in every sense of the word. At least that's something, right?
After BD cut the grass this morning, the kids pointed out how the side of my van was all plastered with stray bits of grass and dirt. We decided it would be fun to wash the car and get wet in the blazing, unseasonable-even-for-Memphis heat. I went in the house to get a big pan (the plastic bucket is mysteriously bottomless) and soap and rags, then came out and pulled the hose out from the uncooperative reel. Remembering that I was out of washer fluid, I decided to fill the receptacle with the hose before I did anything else. In the winter I use real washer fluid but it's not like it has a chance to freeze anytime in the next four or five months.
You may see where this is going now. I popped the hood, propped it up, and looked around at the various caps that opened onto fluid receptacles. I knew that putting water in the wrong one would be bad. I saw two that were obviously the wrong ones, and one right under the windshield that had no discernible markings (that I could see), and after looking over the whole works one more time, I chose that one, uncapped it, and put the hose to it. The opening under the cap seemed very small and I sensed without it really registering that this didn't seem right. After a few minutes I stopped, looked around under the hood some more, and saw what I'd missed--the actual washer fluid receptacle. Crap!
I alerted BD to what I'd done and he came over to see that I had, in fact, put water where only brake fluid is meant to go. I went ahead and filled the actual washer fluid tank, and then the kids and I washed the van before I headed out to the oil change place a few blocks from our house. There was a young female employee greeting cars as they pulled up to the bays, and when I told her I needed my brake fluid drained and replaced, she shook her head and said "Oh, we can't do that." I think this is a lie, but I went on about half a mile or so down the road to a bigger tire/service place. I could tell the guy wanted to turn me away because they were so busy, but then he seemed to take pity on me because he called the mechanic in and asked if he could do it. He could. "You'll have to just leave it here and come back at four because we're so covered up," he said kindly.
I started to call BD to come get me, but reconsidered when I remembered the kids playing happily in the neighbors' sprinkler with their son. Instead, I went next door to Krystal, bought a pomegranate freeze, and set out for home on foot. It really wasn't a bad walk in spite of the heat, and the occasional honk from passing cars reassured me that if I have to be dumb, at least I'm still passably hot from a distance if the car is moving fast enough. The only downside to the walking was that I had on flip-flops. I was just recently told by a podiatrist not to wear flip-flops or any other cheap, unsupportive shoe if I'm going to be walking or on my feet for any period of time. At least these were the ones with the inch-thick foam footbed that actually does have some arch support built in, but the top straps are rubber and the left one had rubbed skin off the top of my foot by the time I got a few blocks from the house.
Once I made it inside, I stripped down to my skivvies and lay spread-eagle under the fan for about five minutes to cool off. In spite of the heat, loss of foot skin, and acceptance of the fact that I'm not very smart, I felt proud of myself for cleaning up after my own mistake without creating a hassle for anyone else. As it turns out, it's probably going to cost the exact amount I just received for my first paid writing gig. So I'm the only one paying for my mistake, in every sense of the word. At least that's something, right?
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
You Have Been Here and You are Everything
When I was fourteen years old and just starting tenth grade, I was not what anyone would call a happy or well-adjusted girl. I also wasn't as badly off as I probably liked to think back then, but a summer's worth of Dead Milkmen and Violent Femmes will make you morose if you're not careful. I was, however, a lucky girl. In fact, I was the luckiest girl in the world. I just didn't know it yet.
When I was fourteen and just starting tenth grade, I met the love of my life. I met the boy I would grow up with and have babies with and, I have no doubt, the man I will grow old with. And fourteen years ago today, I married him. It was the best and smartest thing I ever did. Every good and beautiful thing in my life involves him and grows from our relationship.
Happy anniversary BD. Your unwavering willingness and ability to love me have, do, and always will astonish me.
When I was fourteen and just starting tenth grade, I met the love of my life. I met the boy I would grow up with and have babies with and, I have no doubt, the man I will grow old with. And fourteen years ago today, I married him. It was the best and smartest thing I ever did. Every good and beautiful thing in my life involves him and grows from our relationship.
Happy anniversary BD. Your unwavering willingness and ability to love me have, do, and always will astonish me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
