Not Calm (dot com)

four for five dollars

four for five dollars
Originally uploaded by jenijen.

Finally. I should have bought more, now that I think about it.

Sophie is sick, again, with a stomach flu. Or, maybe it's food poisoning since I caved and took the kids to what Willow calls TinkoBell for supper last night. I told her it's Takko Bell, and she said, "Oooooh. TickleBell!"

So, I'm off to make up for lost time. (I think time spent cleaning up barf should automatically earn instant karma rewards, but since I have that attitude I know it won't be so.) One of the things I have to do today is pick up a wireless router so that I can blog from the couch.

I accidentally washed and dried Nate's new iPod shuffle. (Damn those cargo pants and their many pockets.) I thought it was a gonner, but after a day of me dreading giving him the bad news, it started working again.

Sophie calls. . .

Charlie and the girls

My brother emailed this to me, but from his work email so it ended up in my junk folder. Luckily I found it. Now you can all partake in the double cute whammy of giggling little things and a puppy. I'm biased, I know.

brother

I've been getting the PhotoFriday emails for ages, but I've never participated.  Today's challenge is Brother.

I couldn't choose just one, and I know these aren't really technically that good, but I like them.

I have some great pictures of my own brother, but I didn't take them.  I'll have to fix that next time I see him and chase him around with my camera.

I managed to escape the house and bring my laptop to the coffee shop around the corner for an hour or so.  I don't think the novelty of this will wear off for a long time, if ever.  The one and only downside is the "new country" (I LOVE old-fashioned country, but this is horrid) radio station they have going (yes, I'm in Silicon Valley, CA), but I am currently getting around that by listening to Sigur Ros via headphones.

Alrighty, then.  I am off to try and be productive before I pick up the girls.

And I forgot to mention the boots! They are beautiful!

I just watched the video (here's the link) of Melissa Summers (Suburban Bliss) talking on a national morning tv show about why it's A-OK for moms to have a glass of wine while their kids play. 

First off; she looked awesome with the great hair and her Superhero necklace.  I thought it was crap, the way they brought up the whole babysitter thing like that would make her suddenly stand up and say, "OH you're right. . . it's the Same Thing as me having a glass of wine while my kid is with me!  How silly I've been!"

Because, really, I think that people are overreacting to this.  Not even an hour ago, I was standing outside Soph's kindergarten classroom with two moms from the class.  We started discussing drinking around our kids (not because of the show, but just through an odd coincidence) and they cracked me up by saying things like, "My son loves to have a highball with me!  Course, his is mostly juice, but he knows about cocktail hour."  (something like that. . . if you are reading and you're the one who said it, which, I don't think you read my blog, but, uh, if you DO, that's vaguely how I remember it.)

They really skewed things during the interview by trying to make it look like the whole point of the gathering was to drink.  That it is the centerpiece of the group playtime.  I've met Melissa, though I'm not lucky enough to have been over for a playdate, but I think that's sensationalizing it and misrepresenting what that glass of wine means.   

I think that glass of wine is just a way for mothers to bond.  To admit, without fearing judgement, that this gig is tough and sometimes we need more than "good communication skills" to reset our outlook.  From my own perspective, I can say that sometimes I'll start cooking supper so PISSED at everyone here (because I've gotten all wrapped up in the stupid stuff of the day and let it overtake my rational mind) that I think I should just get in the filthy minivan and go far away.  And, then while the olive oil gets hot or the butter melts in the pan, I'll open a beer and before I'm done cooking I think my kids are cute and funny again.  Drinking a beer relaxes me and makes me a better person to be around.  I'm not saying that I am better with alcohol.  I'm saying that taking care of my kids all day can get me so totally spun that I need something to help me relax.   It isn't always alcohol, either. **

The moms I was talking with today seemed to agree with me when I said that I think it's a good way to model healthy, responsible drinking for your kids.  To let them see that having A glass of wine while you relax is fine.  Whereas hiding the fact that you're having a drink makes it more of a "thing." 

Nobody thinks it's okay to get wasted in the middle of the day and drive around with the kids in the car.  But there is a difference between that and a single glass of wine.  I worry more about my alertness and awareness driving home after having a massage than I would about driving after a glass of wine.  Or, like today, my lack of sleep last night: it's turned my brain to mush and the sudafed and claritin on top of that have me all weirded out.

I wish that the focus would have been more about what Melissa was saying, and the author they interviewed in the piece before said: This is just another way to judge how women parent.  Because I think that no one has ever made such a stink over a dad having a beer in the backyard while he barbecues and watches over his kids.  Or having a beer during an afternoon game with the kids present.  But, you know, mothers are held to higher impossible standards, and if we say it's okay for them to have a glass of wine around the kids, we might as well say that they can chug tequila on the way to after-school pickup.  It's not "perfect" for a mom to have a glass of wine around the kids: it implies that motherhood isn't all sunshine and roses, that her kids are making her a little tense and in need of relaxation.  It seems to me that whenever women start to speak about the stress of being the mom and how hard it is and that it is often less, uh, fulfilling than they'd like, they are attacked.  Attacked by people who have bad feelings toward their own mother but are way too terrified to examine them; attacked by mothers who fear "failure" so badly they have to pounce on anything that looks "bad."  I think the people who are okay with moms at playdates having a drink are the ones who have their feet on the ground and see it for what it is -- no big deal.

Anyway, I think Melissa was really brave to get up there and do what she did.  If it were me, I'd have walked maybe halfway on stage before barfing all over my shoes.  And then everyone would have been all, "See?  She's drunk right now and it's barely light out!"

**On a reread, that sounds like I'm a pothead or something.  I was thinking about tea, blog reading, sex, a good novel -- other ways to relax. 

new computering

me and willow - pop art
Originally uploaded by jenijen.

So. I finally got all my pennies in a big (really big) old pile and bought myself a new computer. (a mac book)

Wow.

Things sure have come a long way since the one I was using was made. (2001ish HP Pavillion -- which we still use) Switching from a pc to a mac isn't as shocking (so far) as I thought. It's hard for me to really tell, though, since the kids are all over the photo booth thing and wanting to watch Family Dog and whatnot on youtube.

The best thing so far was going to the coffee shop around the corner to work the other morning. I felt like a grown up, and without anyone to point and demand and no possible way to get distracted by all the chores I have lined up, I finished my work in record time. I was really hoping that since I live so close to the coffee place, I could freeload off their wireless, but it doesn't reach here so I'll have to spring for my own setup. Then I'll be able to read blogs in bed. (!!!) And, since my kids mostly sleep through the night now after ten years of not, I'm always awake with not much to do.

Oh, as a public service announcement, I should tell you that This American Life is now available for free in podcast form. It used to be that you had to pay, but no longer.

Things are looking way, way up.

blogging for choice

I don't think I'll be able to write up a new post for today, but here's a link to one I wrote last year that pretty much sums up what I think.

Melinda Casino at BlogHer.org has a list of links, and you can also look here for more.

goodnight sweetheart

I just started crying in the middle of Trader Joe's.  It wasn't because they don't have any breakfast cereal without sugar added to it (which is a legit reason, really), though I was reading ingredient labels when it happened. 

I heard an old couple ** talking and the woman said, "Thanks, sweetheart."  The man said, "You're welcome, dear."

I was already homesick and already thinking of my grandmothers who are both widowed now and lonesome for their husbands.  My grandmothers live near each other, and lately where they live it's been icy and freezing cold.  This spring, if my grandfathers were still alive, would have seen a sixtieth and seventieth wedding anniversary.

And, while I am happy for them, that couple just made me sad and homesick.  I can still hear both my grandfathers' voices; their laughs and the way each of them would whoop at football games on tv.  How my Poppa called me "JennyFour."  I miss them so much.

I heard on NPR this week that the man who wrote GoodNight Sweetheart passed away and the song has been stuck in my head on and off since.  I was halfway to the van when I realized it was there again without me even noticing that it had started up.

**Old enough that when the cashier asked how her day was, the woman said it was good just because they'd woken up this morning.

Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother

If you have ever spent more than ten minutes with me, you likely know that I'm addicted to those tiny little sugar free Altoids mints.  I usually buy two packs at a time so I won't run out.  But, apparently I am not the only person who is hooked on them, because the last two times I went to buy them at my usual spots they were sold out. 

And, now, I'm out of them.  As a result I'm all cranky and irritable.  MORE cranky and irritable than normal, that is.  I'm going over all those times when the kids asked me to share and I said yes.  If only I were stingier, I'd have run out later than I did.

About an hour ago, I got into the van to go pick up Willow.  There on the floor of the van, not quite but almost directly under the gas pedal, was one little partly-sucked, lint-covered mint.  I think this was probably one of Sophie's.  She sometimes is overcome by the peppermintness and spits them out.

I picked the mint up and took a good look at it: it was, to resurrect a perfectly good eighties adjective, grody, but I was desperate and so I scraped it clean and put it in my mouth. 

As if that weren't bad enough, while I was driving I was scanning the radio stations when I heard The Brothers Gibb singing Stayin' Alive***. 

Not only did I not change it, I sang along.  Even on the "stayin' aaaaaliiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIve" parts.  And?  I liked it.  It made me remember the times that my best friend and I made up dance routines to that album, all the while cursing our seven(or eight? maybe nine. . . )-year-old ness for keeping us out of the theatre to actually see the movie.  During one of those sessions, we decided to sneak into her oldest brother's room to borrow his electric guitar so we could sing Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog.  We found a note from his girlfriend that recounted, in loopy, bubbly seventeen-year-old girl cursive, the night that he'd seduced her on her parent's couch.  We both pretended that we knew what "seduced" meant.  I remember the day I did learn what it meant that was the first thing I thought of -- that love letter written on a piece of torn out binder paper and folded up into a neat little square.

***This website has a link to some place that says you can "sing this song with a PC karaoke player!" 

squirrely **updated with an incriminating photo!

When we first moved into this house in November of 2001, I thought the squirrels in the yard were cute little things.  I even took some pictures of them now and then.  Like, this time

when one of the squirrels got a mini chocolate chip cookie the girls dropped outside.  And John took a bunch when one got trapped between the screen door and the sliding glass door.

I loved them considerably less after they started digging up every single thing I planted.  The places on the fence they chewed up look pretty crappy, too.  But, this

means war.  They are stealing the stuffing from the cushion on our swing to make their nests fluffy.  I guess if I were a better person I wouldn't begrudge them, since it is pretty cold out.  But, they have fur, and really it's just one more thing that I have to deal with.  Does anyone have good ways to encourage the squirrels to play elsewhere?  We can't have a dog here, which is what I wish I could get to keep them out.

Oh, boy.  See why I haven't posted in a week.  Total writer's block.  Sorry.  Willow picked out more flowers at Trader Joe's today.

And, the lemon tree is happy.

Caught in the act. . .

*waves*

Originally uploaded by jenijen.

Stupidly busy here with ear infections and fevers and whatnot, but finally found two seconds to wave "hello."

It IS delurking week, so pretty please leave me a comment.

the novel thing

I was serious about the March novel writing thing.  I wish I could make the page all pretty for you, but apparently when I was choosing who I wanted to be in this life I said, "Make me an awesome baker; someone who can totally juggle two! lemons at once; let me be undeniably talented at pogo stick jumping and loud whistling."  And then, something must have happened to distract me and I didn't get to the part where I KNOW I wanted to ask if I could have stretchy arms like the mom in The Incredibles and be an able and awesome webmistress. 

Anyhoo, if you are interested in writing a novel in March, sign up!  There won't be many rules and your only prize will be what you create, but at least you'll be able to say, "Novel?  Yeah, I wrote one of those once." 

my mother is going to kill me

It looks like I really am going to get to go to Spain next month.  I think.  I know this is disgusting and unbelievable, but I don't have to pay for my flight.  Hotel is covered, too.  I have friends who firmly believe that I need a vacation, a real one, and they are in a position to make this happen for me.  I'm really, really, really lucky.

So, I've got my Lonely Planet travel book, I'm already taking a million photos and walks through amazing places in the daydreams I have while driving the kids to school or flossing my teeth.  (I floss, so should you.  It's important.) 

This morning, Willow climbed into bed with us before the sun came up.  She had on her footie dinosaur pajamas and was holding one of her little stuffed animal dogs. She wasn't crying, but she was all wobbly and her hair was in her face.  She pushed it out of the way with her one free hand and said, "Hi, Mom."  Then she got in bed next to me, put her hand on my cheek and kissed me.  "I'm fweeeeeezing," she said as she scootched under the blankets.  She likes to sleep next to me and for my arm to be under the back of her neck, holding her.  "Arms around you," she said, and then closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

She woke me up a couple of hours later.  It's a terrible thing to lay in bed when the sun is up, at least for her.  "It's morning, Mom.  Get up."  So, I did and we went into the bathroom.  She was still holding her little dog, and now she also had a very old powder brush.  A million years ago, I wore make up.  Every day.  I used to use loose powder, and the brush is the kind with a big handle that's weighted so it'll stand up on the counter with the brush part in the air.  The brush is really full and soft, and Willow likes to brush her dogs with it and run it over her arms and face.  She handed me the dog and the brush then unzipped her jammies so she could pee.  She pulled herself up onto the toilet and scratched the sides of her hips where her undies had left marks in her skin.  "Can we go to the ice cream store?"  No, I said, they aren't open yet.  "Is the park open, den?  Can we go to da park?"  In a little while.  She looked at me and said she loved me and all I could think was I can't possibly go on this trip. 

I know.

But, she is so damn cute.  She just is.  I feel like it wouldn't be right for her to come to my bed before dawn and have me be eight hours ahead of her and thousands of miles away.  Across a whole country and an ocean.  I just didn't want to go.

I'm really interested in how biology influences the way we parent.  In instincts and hormones and reflexes.  Like how if I'm in public and a newborn is crying for more than a minute or two, I get uncomfortable.  Physically uncomfortable; my body is telling me to go take care of that baby.  When I look at my kids, I think it's impossible that anyone anywhere ever loved another person so much.   That is a real feeling, but it's inspired by this instinct I have to take care of my children -- it's rooted in the part of me that thinks only in terms of being a mother, of protecting, of caring.  Right now, my instincts are crossways with my wants.  The result is that I panic about going.  I feel really, horribly guilty. 

I'm going to go on this trip.  I am scared, more than I can ever recall be scared by anything, when I think about the flight.  I might drink myself into a coma on the plane and hope I end up in the right place.   I think, though, that it's not actually the plane that has me so nervous.  I think it's that I'm totally going against that little voice that tells me I shouldn't go so far away.  The voice that says, what if something happens and you aren't here?  what if something happens and you can't come home?  what if what if what if. . . you should stay home.

I've never done anything like this before.  Everyone I talk to is so supportive.  My mom, especially, says that I absolutely MUST go, no matter what comes up or how impossible it might seem.  And, I really do want to go.  I have taken a weekend here and there to go visit family without my kids, but that isn't like this.  This is about me going away and having a few days that are just mine.  A few days that aren't defined and ordered by so many other people.  It's like traveling back in time and it's totally going to move me forward.

nate

This morning Nate was still feverish, so he stayed home.  I brought him a little tray with oatmeal and a glass of water (his request) for breakfast, and while he waited for it to cool, I got into his bed to hold him for a minute.  I curled up next to him and rested my cheek on his arm.  He was so warm; he felt like a stone that's been sitting in the sun all day long. 

Now he's hanging out with his sisters, watching a movie and keeping the peace between them. 

ring around the rosie

I made a doctor's appointment for tomorrow afternoon because my brain is slowly leaking out of my right ear and my head hurts so very badly it's making me loopy. 

Sophie spent the morning barfing and experiencing the worst of the worst intestinal distress.  Willow is still sick (the pedi thinks fifth disease**, but I'm not sure that's what it is) and Nate just fell asleep despite his 102.3 fever.  I think Lex is getting the same cold the girls and I have been battling, but I'm going to assume his awesome ten-year-old boy immune system will conquer.

UNCLE already.

I hate all the sick.  It wrecks our plans, everyone whines at me and I can't hear them because my ear is still not functional at all, and I find that I'm asking them to repeat what they just whined to me.  That's not right.

Good things are in the works, though, and that's a happy place I can go to mentally while I'm washing the barf off my arm and shoulder and mopping out my nasty-ass ear.  I've been saving for a laptop.  I've never had one.  Probably I am the only person who has been blogging for almost five years that doesn't.  I'm close to my goal at last, and before this month is over I'll be trying to figure out one of these.  This is such a big deal to me that I get all quivery if I think about it too long and I hear myself say "eeeep" a lot.

I'm wondering if anyone else is game to do a NaNoWriMo in the month of March with me.  November is not a good time for someone like me who has to do lots of holiday-related stuff, and when I think of March I think of having more energy and being happy about spring and since I'll have a computer to work on this year, I think I might as well try and write a novel.  Could we start some sort of splinter group?  Anyone?

I think that Soph is finally asleep, and I want to go watch this movie that I bought ages ago and haven't had a chance to see.  So, goodnight, sweet dreams, and happy new year.

**I had fifth disease when I was pregnant with Lex.  Luckily, it was toward the end and didn't cause any complications, but I had to have ultrasounds every week for awhile so he could have EKGs to make sure his little heart was still moving blood around.  It sucked.

If you can read this, you're too gross

Happy New Year.  Wanna hear a disgusting, gory medical story?  Sure you do!