Wednesday Whatevers

Because I feel slightly guilty at wishing for (and receiving) another snow day, when the rest of the world apparently wants to get back to business as usual,  and because I still feel like absolute hell and can't clean my house, which is soon-to-be-condemned, and because my brain is going to turn to mush if I just continue to stream episode after episode of "Justified", I thought I'd at least attempt to write the world's longest sentence a little post.  But the problem is that I've only been out of the house for twenty total hours in the last ten days, and nothing's really happening.  So, whatever!


An old friend found this picture of my mom and me the other day and shared it with me on Facebook.  I'm fascinated with it!  I've been thinking about (and writing about, some) this time period in my life quite a bit lately, so the timing was rather odd.  I'm about Andrew's age in the picture, I think, based on the hair and the glasses.  But what I can't get over is my mom in this picture!  She was going through one of the toughest times in her own life when this picture was taken, but she doesn't show it.  She's sassy--look at those hands on her hips--is it any wonder I stand that way a lot?  And she's smiling, put together, and gorgeous!  I don't tell her enough, but she has always impressed me with her strength and her stoicism and her ability to just do what needs to be done, regardless of her own needs or pain.  She did that for us as kids, and she continues to do so now, for all of us.  I've got a pretty kick-ass mom, and I hope I can do half as well.


My least favorite commercials right now are public service announcements discouraging the use of the word "gay" as derogatory comment.  The commercials are killing me slowly.  They aren't new, which I guess is why they're running during Scooby Doo and Tom and Jerry.  Don't confuse my disgust with the medium as disgust with the message, because that's certainly not the case.  My problem is that they run ad nauseum (no pun intended) on the Cartoon Network and some others of the boy's favorite networks.  He's eight, so Tom and Jerry is certainly appropriate fare, and God knows he hears my potty mouth enough, so that's not really the point either.  What he HAS never heard is the word "gay" used as a pejorative, so the context of Hillary Duff explaining why it was bad was completely lost on him.  We had to have one of THOSE discussions to make sure he knew what the word really meant, why it wasn't a bad thing in any context, and who some of our nearest and dearest gay people are, because he'd never given it a second thought.  He remembered that the biography of JFK that he was reading used the word in a different context, and we talked about that.  All in all, a very teachable moment, so what's the problem?  He now hears, "That's so gay," over and over in the course of the day, when he had never heard it before.  Does that defeat the purpose?  I'm wondering.  The most ridiculous thing about the commercials is that they all feature GIRLS using the word, and female role models pointing out why it's bad.  Hello, Ad Council!  Girls aren't the ones using the word that way; it's the boys!  How about the commercial with Victor Cruz talking to the teenage boys about throwing that word around?  It doesn't exist, and it should, because that's where the problem is.  Okay, rant over.  Until the next time the commercial airs.

I like having discussions with people.  I even like having arguments with people, sometimes, if they're respectful.  The thing is, those people have to be smart people.  They don't have to agree with  me--it's better if they don't.  The point of talking to people is to learn things, and I like to have things to talk about, even if the subject is one that pushes people's buttons or stretches their comfort zone, mine included!  I like to know what makes people tick.  Enough said.  Smart people, engage me. Teach me, expand my horizons.

Does it make me selfish that I'm delighting in the fact that not only is today another day for me to fight off this plague, but that the boy's karate class is also cancelled because the schools are closed?  I know, I know…I'm a terrible mom.  But, see…tonight was supposed to be a belt test, and those make me very nervous.  In my weakened and frail state, I'm not sure I could have handled the stress.  The class being canceled gives the kid another week to practice, to go over his form, and for me to feel more confident that he'll get that purple belt I've been dying to see.  (Orange is my least favorite color, sorry.)  By next week, hopefully I will be feeling better and up to the strain and the stress.  (Oh yeah, and one other thing…JMU Men's Basketball plays at Northeastern tonight, so instead of following the game on Twitter, I'll get to watch the video stream.  But that's totally irrelevant!)

I need to read a book.  I have stacks of them waiting, and one I'm in the middle of on my Nook.  But I can't do that until I've caught up on every single season of every single television series that I've missed over the past three years.  I have this Amazon Prime account that I need to milk for all its worth, for one thing, so I'm streaming away, but I've missed a lot of great things somehow!  First it was two seasons of American Horror Story, then it was on to Downton Abbey.  Once I caught up on those, it was on to Justified (I'm hooked), which I just might finish today, if I'm lucky.  I need to watch Lost, or so I've been told, and I'm sure there are many others I should check out.  Leave me some recommendations in the comments section, peeps.  And it's just a matter of a few days now before The Walking Dead returns.  I just might survive the winter!  I can always read this summer, right?

Speaking of Justified, Timothy Olyphant, the actor who plays Raylan Givens, also starred in one of my former favorite shows, Deadwood.  Which, daggone it, I now think I have to go back and watch again. Good thing he's easy on the eyes.

"Snow Day"

Inspired by "24 Hour Snow Day," an amazing time-lapse video created by my friend and colleague, Keith Lucas. It doesn't do it justice, I'm afraid. Watch the video, linked above. You won't regret it.

The still and the quiet,

the cold and the wind;

snow falling like paint

dripping from the brush,

covering the landscape

with a quiet hush.

The sun like a flashlight

shining through the dark;

grey growing blacker,

welcoming the night.

Flickers in the distance,

the town settling in,

neighbors’ houses lighting up,

seeming like friends.

Peaceful now, and silent,

the moon makes its trek;

the streets are all empty

as lucky people slumber,

warm and cozy in their beds

with pillows or their lovers.

A backlit stage, the sun appears

with the glory of the light

reflections on the shiny paint

that was left overnight

Deceptive warmth shining,

waking up the world;

nature’s beauty covering,

a cold blanket unfurled.

No Calm Before THIS Storm!

It's snowing!  Finally!  It's March, and I'm just about ready for spring, but it's finally snowing, and I couldn't be more excited.  No one is more excited about snow than teachers, it turns out.  My Facebook is abuzz with updates and cancellations and celebratory toasts...all for a little weather. 

I've been excited about the possibility of this weather event for a few days, which is odd, because I don't even really like snow that much.  It's cold, it's messy, it's cold...I hate being cold!  My snow boots hurt my feet, I don't have any waterproof pants, I fall down really easily (even when the ground is perfectly dry), and it's just not really my thing for more than fifteen or twenty minutes of novelty and picture-taking.

Back in "the day," I was more adventurous.  I skied in my teens (not well, mind you), used to thrive on the idea of building igloos as a kid, and in our early marriage, enjoyed nothing more than the snow parties we had with our best friends.  You can't beat getting snowed in with lots of alcohol in the house.  But that sort of wore off.  Now I'm afraid of falling down and getting hurt, I don't have the patience for a snowman taller than about two feet, and the only place I want to be snowed in is at home.  A few of those snow parties ended up with my drunken decision to walk home--several miles, if I recall--always regretting it when it was too far to turn back and when I started to feel as if I might die in a snowdrift next to the road.  So I hunker down and get cozy, and hope the snow will be enough to keep the hubby home from work too, so that I don't have to be the one having snowball fights with the kid.

There is something, though, about the impending weather that just gives me goosebumps.  Call it a throwback to childhood when snow days were like winning the lottery (wait, they still are), or call it one of the few fringe benefits of my job (we can argue this one later--tell me how hard your job is when you have to eat lunch in nine minutes and go all day without making it to the bathroom once)...whatever it is, it's great! And we haven't had many of them this year--well, not for real.  We've had some cancellations for bad weather that never amounted to more than roads that were slick for about five minutes, but nothing for actual, measurable snow.  I've been convinced that it wasn't snowing, as a matter of fact, because I had been proactive for once in my life and bought the kid a brand-new pair of bad ass snow pants back in December when all of the winter gear was on sale at JC Penney (you know, to make room for the spring and summer wear we all have to have in January).  

Those snow pants (the ones I wish I had a pair of myself, actually) are part of the reason for the excitement.   See, as much as I really couldn't care much less about being out in the snow, I have a seven year-old kid who is just beside himself with his love for it.  Remember when you'd play in the snow until your hands and feet were bright red, until you were sweating inside all the layers your mom made you pile on, only to suddenly become really cold when the snow melted through your clothes?  We certainly didn't have those fancy pants my kid has...I was lucky if I had long underwear underneath a pair of jeans and maybe a pair of my mom's gloves.  I remember a few occasions getting caught here at my grandmother's house with no boots, and slipping bread bags over our feet to keep them dry because we just HAD to go out and play.  We'd scrounge around for some plastic sheeting or a big garbage bag to tear up and go sliding down the hill on, because the snow was THERE.  We'd be out there for hours, come back in the house covered with snow that immediately melted into puddles on the kitchen floor and beg for hot chocolate while the feeling suddenly and unpleasantly came back into our frost-bitten extremities.  And it was fantastic!

Andrew's at that stage.  He loves the snow so much that he ran outside in his sock feet tonight to stand on the sidewalk and catch snowflakes in his mouth.  He laid out his snow pants in the spot that his school clothes usually get put out at night, and he plans to get up first thing in the morning to go out to play.  (I have veto power, fortunately.)  He said quietly, just before going to sleep, "I hope we're out all week," and I know he has grand plans of finding the perfect hill, of ambushing us with snowballs, and of building a pathetic little snowman in the front yard, of multiple cups of hot chocolate with little marshmallows and of spending his days in pajamas and wrecking the house.  And I may not enjoy the snow, or cleaning up the puddles, or running the dryer twenty times a day, but I love that look of joy and amazement on his face, so it will all be worth it. 

Happy Snow Day, everyone.

Saturday Six Pack

This is the week that shouldn't have been.  From start to finish, it was one no-good, rotten, messed up week from hell.  I'm glad it's over, and I'll be more than happy to try to forget some of the things that made it so messed up.  And by forget, I mean commit them to immortality by blogging about them. 

Holding my girl and wishing to ease her pain.

One:  Any week that starts with a loss of a loved one is going to go badly.  There's just no avoiding it.  It leaves a hole in your heart so wide that other stuff just falls into it.  On Sunday, we made the difficult choice to put our dear Kizzy to sleep after a weekend of quick decline.  I spent the day holding her and loving her, and hoping that she would just stop breathing in my arms, but that wasn't to be.  I miss her terribly, especially at night, and have an awful time getting comfortable or relaxing enough to fall asleep without her on my hip, where she had slept for nearly 17 years.  She was my baby when I thought I'd never have any, and remained that to the very end.  Love to my sweet girl, always.

She left some deep footprints on my soul.

Two:  This was a hard week for me at work.  I've done some recent calculations, and realized that, for one reason or another, this was the first full five-day work week for me since the week of November 16th.  I took a half day that Friday for a road trip, and that started a snowball effect of sick days for myself, the kid, and my dad, along with holiday breaks and a flurry of snow delays in the past few weeks.  It might not have been so tough, except that it was a week from hell, filled with finalizing school play details, analyzing and compiling data, dealing with a student teacher, who, "bless his heart", makes me nervous as hell, and all that on top of feeling like complete crap and trying to recover from yet another sinus infection on the heels of another one that hadn't yet gone away.  It sucked, and I want real, honest-to-goodness snow days SOON!

Three:  One of only a few bright spots in this miserable week was a JMU home basketball game.  The next-to-LAST home game, I might add.  I shudder to think what I'm going to do once basketball season is over.  But this was a great game, compounded by the added benefit of us once again getting upgraded from our perfectly fine regular seats to right behind the bench in the 2nd row.  I enjoy the games no matter where I sit, but there is something to be said for being able to tell what's going on during time-outs, being able to hear Coach Brady yelling at the refs, and being able to see the expressions on the players faces, especially during a triumphant win over a higher seeded team.  Good stuff.



Love this team!



Four:  There was some holiday hub-bub this week, with Valentine's Day and whatnot.  I got some nice gifts at school, including the annual roses from my dad, a couple of flowers from "secret admirers" who insist on harrassing me, and some thoughtful messages and gifts from my guys...new pillows to wallow in, and chocolate that helped me survive the week.  It's nice to be remembered, and it's sometimes the smallest, easiest thoughts that mean the most. 



Valentine's Day from Dad and the Mystery People.  No, that's not a band.



Five:  The little guy lost another tooth this week.  The Tooth Fairy came to visit and managed to once again slide the money under the pillow without being caught.  It gets harder and harder, especially when he so craftily remembers that this time he was supposed to get eight quarters (and I have to believe him, because who the hell can keep track of how much the bitch left him last time?).

Six:  Andrew lost some other stuff this week too, like all privileges known to seven year-old man.  The kid who has been good as gold for his entire school career thus far apparently decided to break bad, resulting in not one, but TWO letters from the teacher and her nasty red pen this week, one of which he decided to hide in his backpack until the you-know-what was already hitting the fan and we decided to rummage through his backpack.  His criminal record now includes a bevvy of infractions from impulsively quitting a computer game (gasp!), to cheating on a math quiz (copying his OWN answers, mind you), talking during the moment of silence, rushing through work to get to the FUN stuff, and socializing, socializing, socializing.  I don't mean to make light of it, because I'm FURIOUS with him, especially since it's been going on for a couple of weeks and he's failed to mention silent lunch, time-outs, having his desk moved to Social Siberia, and loss of tickets, but at the same time, I NEED to remind myself that he is a very, very good kid, with a heart of gold...and who felt so bad during our discussion that he said he thought we should cancel his birthday (which is months and months away).  And even though he can't tell me why he's doing these bonehead things all of sudden, I can only imagine that he's trying to entertain his friends, or the little girl he made the necklace for a few weeks ago.  And while I wanted him to feel bad about his actions, especially the dishonest ones, I ended up making myself feel worse than he did--like a failure as a mom, like a jerk for worrying about what his teacher thinks of us instead of what he thinks of us, like I should have known weeks ago that something was happening before it got to this point.  Like I would have..., should have..., could have...and while he went to bed upset because he can't watch television or play Wii on a weekend, I went to bed upset and with puffy eyes, and cried myself to sleep on my brand new pillows. 



The dreaded red pen:  the indictment.

Cheers!  Here's to better weeks!

Things I Learned at the Hospital

For my loyal readers, and the people who encourage me to write...you know who you are. :-)

 
The past six weeks have been interesting.  Without telling the whole story now, when it should be a post of its own, let me just say that I've spent quite a bit of time in and around a hospital.  This list is based on some chicken scratch notes that I jotted down throughout the experience.  In no particular order, these are some of the Things I Learned at the Hospital:

1. The staff in a surgical facility will scare the hell out of you just for fun---then look at you quizzically when you are out of breath and ready to pass out from a mad dash across the hospital. Wear your track shoes, or at the very least, non-slip soles!

2. People have the most asinine ring tones on their phones, and one can actually tell quite a bit about the person from the tone and volume at which their phone rings. A "Chipmunks" version of "Cotton Eyed Joe"?  Explicit rap lyrics?  Set it to vibrate, people! 

3. Chairs with different colors and patterns will be arranged haphazardly across the lounge just to make you try to make sense of the nonsensical, and after about five hours, make you want to get up and rearrange the entire room just to make the chairs match, or at least form a pattern. Don’t do it. They don’t like it.

4. Staff members and volunteers place bets on who can eff up a patient’s/family’s name in the most phonetically impossible way. Example: “McGooGoo” (actually McGaughey) If the name they call even starts with the same letter as yours, get up and check, otherwise they’ll keep yelling even more ridiculous things.

5. Staff members also “eff” with the thermostat every 45 minutes or so just to keep you uncomfortable and wondering which layers to put on or remove. Plan for all climates.

6. Signs are strategically placed all over the facility asking those waiting not to eat or drink anywhere in the room. But the second you leave to grab something in the cafeteria, they’ll call you to ask you to come back for whatever reason we can think of. Pack snacks (and if you’re REALLY smart and prepared, “airplane” bottles of liquor—you’ll thank me later).

7. The oft-vied for “good seats” in the corner of the lounge…you know, the ones with a view of the whole room, both TVs AND the surgical update board…well, those are the ones that back up against the cubbies in which all of the volunteers put their vibrating cell phones….the ones that will drive you nuts and make you check your phone every 90 seconds. Find a less appealing place to sit.

8. Staff will tell you that your loved one has been sent to his room 15 or 20 minutes before he is actually due to be there. They do this for the sheer enjoyment of watching you wander around aimlessly and try to figure out what to do and where to go. Pester them by asking for updates, directions, and parking passes every minute or so until your loved one arrives.

9. The hospitals frost the windows of the family waiting room on purpose, to keep you off guard so that you don’t know what kind of people you’re being forced into associating with. That is, until you’re in the room and are either faced with an awkward and hasty departure or being stuck with Jim Bob, the large peppermint-stick fellating redneck and his kids, who have bogarted all of the chairs to create chaise lounges for themselves and their shoeless feet. Avoid the side of the room with the teenage boy.

10. Hospital volunteers are unusually intimate with each other. They use terms of endearment, hug at the end of their shifts, and even kiss each other on the cheek in a not-so-European way. Try not to wonder about their sexual orientation or romantic affiliations, because…well, hospital volunteers are typically old and/or unattractive. (Disclaimer: The above statement is based strictly on my observations and not on any empirical data; no offense to hospital volunteers intended.)

As an aside, Happy Belated New Year, with no false promises about regular postings, because we all know I won't follow through, good intentions or not.  Cheers!

Season's First Snow

Andrew and Grammy made the world's smallest snowman Saturday morning.

Wait, I forgot.  It was a snowWOMAN, Andrew said.  "Look, Mommy, you can tell because she has boobs."

Then home for sledding, snowball fights, and cold weather fun.

As an adult, I can take the snow or leave it.  The best things for me about snow are the school cancellations and delays.  But I do remember the utter joy I felt as a child playing in the snow.  The pure fun that we had, in spite of freezing our tails off. 

I remember playing until we were too cold and wet to move, then going inside, peeling off our wet snow-caked clothes, and having hot chocolate.  The house that I grew up in had really old-fashioned radiators in every room, and we would lay our scarves and gloves on the radiators to dry out so they'd be ready again later.  And then, my feet and legs would start to thaw out, and they'd be pink, cold, and itchy.  But it would be worth it, and we'd do it all again the next day. 

Watching Andrew play in the snow these last few days has brought back the fascination of snow--it isn't just about speeding down the hills and building pathetic-looking snow creatures.  It's the little things, too...the taste and sensation of catching snowflakes on your tongue...packing the snow together into a ball and having it stick...falling down and expecting it to hurt, but being cushioned by the snow.  It's all of those things.

Snow also means stripping off the wet clothes by the door so the snow doesn't get traipsed through the house, and leaving a puddle in the kitchen floor that Mom will step in and fuss about later.  It's about coaxing the little marshmallows from the bottom of the mug after all but the dregs of hot chocolate are gone.  It's about the disappointment as the snow melts and the grass and mud start to emerge from their white blanket.  And it's about the anticipation of future snowfall and the excitement of watching it fall from the sky when it finally arrives.

So, while I'm a warm weather gal and would much rather be spending December in a tropical paradise, for my son, whose complete joy on these snowy days is hard to match, I'll suck it up.  I'll even hope for a lot of snow this winter, knowing that snow days probably won't involve me on the couch with a good book and a blanket.  The look on his face will be worth it.