Not Calm (dot com)

I want to eat these photos

Look at the first photos I've seen from our photo session with Jen.

OH
MY
GAWD

This is GOOD.  :)  Especially right now.  Especially for me.

It's the little things

that make me happy.   Yesterday I had a chunk of afternoon all to myself, so I went to the fabric store with my poor, tattered dress and talked shop with the women cutting fabric behind the counter.  They were a hundred percent sure that reweaving wasn't going to be an option, so I bought a red iron-on patch and some red (COTTON, Julia, dont' worry) thread.  In the end, I skipped the sewing entirely, because I did a pretty awesome ironing job and i didn't want to bring more attention to the issue.  One of the women suggested that I make a belt to cover up the rip, and I may give that a try one of these days. 

After the fabric store I headed over to the pseudo-European outdoor mall place down the road to buy new drawer and cabinet pulls for the kids' bathroom.  The landlord FINALLY replaced the floor with the ugliest, cheapassisest linoleum available, I bought a new toilet because he wouldn't, and today I replaced the drawer thingies.  I call that Remodeling For Renters.  Still looks terrible in there, especially the horrible floor.  But the little drawer thingies make me smile.  I want my own place so very badly.

I even stole an hour or so to just sit outside at the outdoor mall place.  It's the kind of place that I should be totally repelled by, but I can't help but love it there.  It's certainly great for people watching, for sitting in the shade with your shoes kicked off and your legs stretched out, watching.  I had such a lovely time.  Saturday afternoon is my new happy place.

I'm going to run over to my mom's and help her set up a blog as part of her mother's day gift. 

just before i was eaten by the tiger (who is, apparently, for sale)

  Jen Scharpen Reading at "Can I Sit With You?", Redwood City, CA 
  Originally uploaded by GraceD

I'm still not fond of public speaking, but I did this and didn't pass out.  Of course it helped to have so many friends in the audience, along with my mom and Willow and John.  And, honestly, getting to wear The Dress that I love so much was good, too.  Earlier in the day, I was talking with Lisa Stone about how much our 11/12 year old boys appreciated reading Can I Sit With You? (buy it here, if you don't have it yet) and what a relief it was for them to hear stories from adults who didn't quite fit in when they were their ages.  I think of it as a gift of perspective, a reminder that there's a whole, big life beyond school.   A supportive community always there on the bookshelf.

My mom came to my office a couple of hours before the reading started, and we had a chance to enjoy a quiet dinner together, which is always wonderful.  My mom needs to start a blog.  Seriously.

On the way home, Willow fell asleep, so I called Jenny and yakked in her ear for the 40 minute drive.  She told me about this contest she's having, (to win a Wii + WiiFit) and we started laughing so hard I almost drove off the freeway, and I even more almost peed my pants.   I'm totally going to write about the Nordic Rider/ Clothes Hanger that I bought when the boys were little.  Gawd.

I finally parked in my driveway, and then reached back to the middle seat behind the passenger seat to grab Willow's left over supper (Niçoise salad, my little gourmand).  I heard a sound just then, a Very Awful Hugely Bad sound.  The sound of me sitting on the skirt of my dress while reaching back, stretching, just a little tiny bit too far.  There was a used cup from Peet's in the cupholder that I'd stretched over, and I clung to the hope that the sound came from scrinching up against the cup with my ribs while I was reaching back.  I got the sleeping Willow inside, along with my bags and computer and the left over supper.  I went to get my jammies on, and that is when I saw, in the vanity mirror in my bedroom, the rip.  The NOT on the seam rip.  The probably NOT repairable rip.  THIS RIP:


actual rip = three inches :(

I've decided to withhold any actual crying until I try and sew it tonight.  But, DAMN IT, I am so sad.  We're doing family portraits this weekend with Jen, and I am going to wear this dress.  Hopefully it will be okay, even if it's never really the same.  She's a photoshop master, but I don't want to try her patience.

Cheater, cheater pan-fried trout eater

At about 4:30 this afternoon I was sitting in my room working when Nathan popped in and said, HI MOM!  I looked up and screamed a little because he was holding up a chain with two big trout attached. 

I asked him to go OUTSIDE.

I followed him out.

Our next door neighbor, J, took Nathan fishing today.  I didn't really think ahead to the possibility that he might come home with fish, and I stood there on the porch, taking his photo and praying that J would clean the fish so I wouldn't have to.   I did it maybe once or twice when I was little and used to fish with my Poppa, but that was enough to last me.  I'm good with the gutting and head chopping offing. 

Turns out, one fish was J's and one was Nate's, and J was happy to clean them both.  Nate came back, again, this time just carrying the cleaned fish in his hands, Let's cook it! I looked at the fish's eyeballs and walked Nate back next door.  J graciously took care of the head and tail for me, and we went back home.  We'd decided to coat the trout in cornmeal, and then pan-fry it in butter and olive oil.  But, after being gutted it still needed some carving.  I wasn't about to fillet it, so I just cut the rest of the way through it until it was in two pieces.  Nate and I consulted Mr. Bittman, who advised that we cut off the fins with sturdy scissors.  I swear that Nate's eyes lit up when I got out the kitchen scissors.  Between the two of us, we cut off the fins.  It was really gross, and I totally had to go to my happy place as I was the one wielding the scissors. 

Nate did lots of the cooking, though with the hot oil I took over the frying duty.  I have never really cooked fish (successfully), and there was a whole lot of pressure on me to not screw it up.   And I didn't!  He loved it, the girls loved it, and I even snuck the tiniest bite (that I chewed but didn't really swallow because I'm on day EIGHT of the master cleanse).  It was really good, but not wise of me to taste it.  Just ask Gwendomama.

gwendo: hey there. hows the fast going?

me: okay. i just snuck a teeeeny bite of pan fried trout and my stomach is all DUDE WTF? but i had to try it, nathan caught it and we cooked it together

gwendo: Ur stomach needs transition time. . . like a toddler

me: i know, it was a dumb thing to do

gwendo: FRIED? yes a bit.

Strangely, frying a just-caught fish wasn't the only thing I did today that I was different.  I also signed Willow up for soccer and somehow left the registration a future AYSO referee.  Then I went and bought a toilet. 

It was a good day; kept me on my toes.  I am trying, though, to imagine how this bumblebee ref uniform is going to fit into the spectrum of Stuff I Will Wear.  So far my imagination is not vivid enough.  I will have to get some better sunglasses or something.  Maybe pink cleats?  Or ORANGE ones (that cost more than the toilet I bought today).  Seriously, though, I don't wear shorts.  Or yellow shirts.  The black knee socks with white stripes at the top are pretty okay, I guess.  Obviously I have a bit of the vain and shallow going on here, but how am I supposed to pay attention to who kicked the ball out of bounds if all that is echoing in my head is OMG. I LOOK LIKE A GIANT BEE ?

Tomorrow = Maker Faire.  Hooray!

Liveblogging bedtime

Willow is in bed next to me, putting her cold feet on my feet and legs to warm them up.  She wants to know when soccer starts (when you are in kindergarten) and if she'll be on the black, red, or yellow team.  She's worried about learning the tricks before the season starts.  She is yawning and telling me about playing soccer today at preschool with a boy in her class.   She's talking about how much she's going to miss preschool; she's planning her birthday party (next February), and tossing about under the quilt.  I can tell she's about to drift off, because there are longer pauses in between her sentences and her breathing is getting heavier.  She's starting to mumble and let her sentences drift off, unfinished.  I love sitting with her and listening to her wind down.

The other kids are up late, watching Young Frankenstein and picking at the left overs of their burritos (pork chow mein if you are Nathan).  Earlier they were giggling and singing with Teri Garr roll in ze hay! roll in ze hay!  They know it's funny, but they don't know exactly why.  I wonder if they think it's the accent plus the cleavage.  Now Willow is snoring a little bit, and I barely hear the rest of them singing Puttin on the Ritz. 

Tonight we took the RC airplane that I bought for Nathan and tried to fly it at the field by our house.  After all his waiting: for the package to arrive, the batteries to charge, the wind to chill out some, the field to be not packed with kids, an adult with the time to take him there -- the plane had a crappy motor and didn't really fly at all.  Definitely not what we had hoped.  And, at first he was fine, but as time went by and we could tell that it wasn't how we were launching it or holding the controller or anything else, he got upset.  And, even though I totally don't blame him, didn't blame him, actually wanted my thirty bux back, I lectured him.  I told him that if he wanted any chance of me helping him to find an RC plane that worked, then he had to not whine and stomp and freak out and could he JUST PLEASE enjoy the fact that it sort of flies and goes a little bit and at least we're out here having some fun before the sun goes down.

Nice, huh?  I remember a long time ago, when I was staying home with the boys and my first husband worked full-time.  They were so little and so active and my days were really long.  I loved being home with them, and it also is exhausting to be in charge of a baby and a toddler all day long.  I remember that when he came home at night if he was short with the kids I would think that he didn't have the right to be.  That I was the one who'd been testing the limits of my patience all day, and that when he'd only been home for ten minutes there was no excuse for him to not roll with things and be fun and in a good mood.

Now I work full-time and holy hell is the shoe on the other foot.  I sit in a quiet office all day, pretty much just left alone to do my work.  Then, I get in my car and spend 45 minutes to an hour driving home.  Sometimes I talk on the phone all. the. way. home.  Other times I listen to The Sound of Young America (oooooh! in Santa Cruz this month -- must attend!) or This American Life podcasts.  Or, I crank up the PJ Harvey and Kristin Hersh and sing myself hoarse and get weird looks from people.  (Like I even care, and also? we all see you picking your nose.)  And you'd THINK that after all that quiet, and all that alone time in the car, you'd THINK that I'd get home and be nothing but sweetness, light and unicornish nice to the kids.  I'm not.  I'm a humongous betch.  I am short-tempered and snappish and impatient.  Because they are LOUD, and they pull on my sleeves and wipe dirty faces on my pants.  They all rush at me and start recounting arguments in excruciating detail.  They list off the shitty parts of their day, demand that I inspect microscopic scrapes, and shove permission slips and forms to go to cheerleading camp (WTF?) at me when my hands are still full.  They whine about supper and bicker and, like I said before, they are seriously LOUD.  It's a little hard to adjust to at the end of the day, and I am now sorry for all the expectations I had for others in the same position.  I get it.  Really. 

People tell me that I am a patient mother.  I know I can be.  I feel like more and more lately I am not patient.  Maybe that is okay in some ways.  Maybe it's not awful to tell your pouting, wanting-for-nothing (much) kid to suck it up and deal and save the whining for another time.  I don't know.  It just makes me feel further away from them when I get so easily irritated.  Like I used to be their mother, I used to be so kind.

Day Seven

I am on day SEVEN of the master cleanse (I tried it once before) and I can't decide if I'm embarrassed or proud of my self.   My guess is that I'm embarrassed, because when the checker at the grocery store says, Wow! That's a LOT of lemons! You doin somethin with those? I say, Yep.  And when my friend/coworker says, Wanna go across the street and get a taco?  I say, Can't! Too much work to do!  Because, really, who wants to say, Well, actually, I am living on just this spicy lemonade for ten days to try and see if I can get over this autoimmune disease already? Not me.  It's a little bit kooky.  But, I swear to you that on day five the dark circles that have been under my eyes (no matter how much sleep I get) since I was a little kid went AWAY.

This deserves a pause.  It's a big damn deal to me.

I guess that means I'm a little allergic to something I'm eating.  Or that my liver or my kidneys or something needed a break from all the coffee and booze.  I know my liver is all, THANK MAUDE, LADY.  IT'S NICE TO HAVE SOME BREATHING ROOM.  heh. 

So, anyway, I haven't had coffee or booze or even food since last Friday when I had this:

asparagus, red potatoes, olive oil, garlic, basil, thyme, oregano, pink peppercorns, & alderwood smoked sea salt

That looks, uh, really, really good.  It's making me drool.

Surprisingly, though, I am not hungry.  At all.  On Monday I got woozy, but I think it was from being on my computer too long.  I even did a couple of power yoga classes this week and felt great.  I haven't lost much weight; maybe two pounds or so.  Given that my weight goes up and down by five pounds, that's not really anything.   (Who am I kidding?  That kicks ass!)  Now I just have to decide how I'm going to eat (and drink) when I'm done with this next week.  I like the idea of sticking to a mostly raw and vegan diet, but on the other hand, BACON.  *sigh*  It's so hard to say no.

determination pays off

In the Fire
Originally uploaded by Corbie

Nathan has been wanting to roast marshmallows for weeks, and it kept not working out. Thankfully, he was happy with the mini version (on toothpicks). I am sorry to have missed it.

Also? When did he start looking like a nearly-grown boy?

my palms are already sweaty

Email from the lovely&talented Shannon&Jen:

Hi Folks,

I just got back from Seattle, where several of the authors from our Can I Sit With You? project joined me and my co-editor Jen Myers for a wildly successful live show at Annex Theatre. The house roared with laughter, we raised a decent bundle for SEPTAR (the Special Education PTA of Redwood City), and we were interviewed about our project at length by an NPR reporter who had no idea that my husband works for KQED. We're still giddy.

Can I Sit With You?'s stories of schoolyard social tragedies and triumphs are electrifying when read aloud. And now they're coming back home to the Bay Area.

Can I Sit With You? will be on stage here in Redwood City, at Angelica's Bistro on Main, next Wednesday, May 7, at 7:30 PM. We recommend you make reservations. There is no extra charge for the show, but we will be accepting donations.

Angelica's Bistro

http://angelicasbistro.com/home.htm

863 Main Street, Redwood City, CA

650.365.3226

Angelica's is a lively, versatile restaurant with a charming atmosphere and a considerable wine and beer selection. It is also family-friendly, but as usual please review the stories below before deciding to bring your children along.

Scheduled readers:

*Jen Scharpen*, http://canisitwithyou.wordpress.com/2007/10/15/first-grade-reader/

*Elaine Park*, http://canisitwithyou.wordpress.com/2007/10/09/forever-young/

*Lea Cuniberti-Duran*, http://canisitwithyou.wordpress.com/2007/10/18/a-non-catholic-upbringing/

*Judy McCrary Koeppen*, http://canisitwithyou.wordpress.com/2007/10/08/men-stru-a-tion/

*Shannon Des Roches Rosa*, http://canisitwithyou.wordpress.com/2007/10/21/sunday-short-the-jokers-wild/

and *Jennifer Byde Myers, *http://canisitwithyou.wordpress.com/2007/10/02/sorry-charlie/

(Yes, we editors finally decided to join the show.)

We really hope to see you there. Please let us know if you have any questions.

If you miss this show, we'll also be reading at Book Passage in Corte Madera on Saturday, August 9th, at 4 PM. www.bookpassage.com

Shannon Des Roches Rosa & Jennifer Byde Myers

www.canisitwithyou.org

 

yoga is still the fountain of youth

Okay.  A correction needs to be made.  To this post.   I went to yoga tonight and saw the guy who I *thought* was 56 (I am not sure how I misheard that originally, but he talks quietly and I like to jump to conclusions, so there you go).  Turns out I have no manners and pushed the issue again (it did sort of organically come up while we were getting stuff out of the cubbies) and discovered he's ten years older than I am, not nineteen.  The best part of the story is that I said, Uh, oh.  I blogged about you! I am going to have to correct that.  And he said (refreshingly) SO, tell me; what IS a blog?

Tonight I owed Nathan some one-on-one time, and I am sort of ashamed to say that the time was spent going to T4c0 B3ll (that looks so Tron! but if I don't do that I could end up with email asking for tacos. You never know!).  He was such a sweetie and didn't even mind that we didn't do something fun.  He held the door for me, didn't freak when I told him no soda, and he somehow managed to talk me into getting him a whole bucket of chicken.  It's a T4co B3ll slash KayFCee, so, you know, you've got options.  I still owe the other kids a little mom time this week, and it's not terrible that I have set the bar so low, because I now don't have to produce a magical experience, and they all KNOW that I can't out do the T4c0 B3ll run because, DUH: Not Fair.  Sweet!  Though I think I will try and pick a grocery store or something next time so I can grab a few things.  Too bad the bank's not open at night.

I was invited to help beta test a photo editing service.  Service as in SomeoneElse does the editing.  I have so far sent in 8 photos, and will send either 8 or 12 more.  I'll put up some before and afters when I get them.  Am really curious to see how they come out. 

Lex

I don't even remember what it was that we were arguing over a few days ago, but Lex was mad and glaring at me, arms crossed over his chest.  When we aren't crossways, we are so close; when we fight his anger is larger than life.  During this back and forth the other day, I suddenly had a flash of memory.  Lex at three, maybe four, sitting on a booster seat in the barber's chair with a black nylon drape around his shoulders.   They were just getting started, and the barber was wetting Lex's hair with a spray bottle.  Lex's eyes got wide, he sat up straight, looking at me, It's raining in the barbershop! he whispered loudly to me, so that I'd be able to hear him.