B, my first grader, went on a field trip to a play yesterday.
"Mom, listen to this! This is cool! When we were riding on the bus a red car pulled up beside us and there was a Japanese person inside! A Japanese person in Tennessee!!!"
Of course, I am trying to be a good mother and teach my son to embrace diversity. So I proceeded to explain that there are plenty of Asian people living in Tennessee, as well as other ethnicities, and that they all contribute to the beauty of the collective human face of our world.
And then of course, I sighed, and said out loud "We definitely need to take more trips to Chicago."
Friday, November 6, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Forbes.com--"America's Safest Cities"=buncha crapola
Now, you know that I love my hometown of Chicago, but this survey is horribly skewed and shameful. Traffic fatalities in Chicago were ranked 9; in Nashville, 37. I drove the autobahn in Germany and was still scared to take the Dan Ryan after I returned home. The only complaint I have about Nashville drivers is that they don't seem to know what a turn signal is, nor do some here understand the concept of pulling forward in a left-hand turning lane once the green arrow is gone. But I must say that since moving here two years ago I have become a less hurried driver, and in turn, grip the wheel in a more leisurely manner and yell fewer obscenities into the air.
Forbes.com--America's Safest Cities
"To determine our list of America's safest cities, we looked at the country's 40 largest metropolitan statistical areas across four categories of danger. We considered violent crime rates from the FBI's 2008 uniform crime report; 2008 workplace death rates from the Bureau of Labor Statistics; 2008 traffic death rates from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration; and natural disaster risk, using rankings from green living site SustainLane.com. "
1 Minneapolis-St. Paul-Bloomington, MN-WI
2 Milwaukee-Waukesha-West Allis, WI
3 Portland-Vancouver-Beaverton, OR-WA
4 Boston-Cambridge-Quincy, MA-NH
4 Seattle-Tacoma-Bellevue, WA
6 Providence-New Bedford-Fall River, RI-MA
7 San Jose-Sunnyvale-Santa Clara, CA
8 New York-Northern New Jersey-Long Island, NY-NJ-PA
9 Cincinnati-Middletown, OH-KY-IN
10 Cleveland-Elyria-Mentor, OH
10 Denver-Aurora, CO
12 Detroit-Warren-Livonia, MI
13 San Diego-Carlsbad-San Marcos, CA
14 Phoenix-Mesa-Scottsdale, AZ
15 Chicago-Naperville-Joliet, IL-IN-WI
15 Austin-Round Rock, TX
15 Dallas-Fort Worth-Arlington, TX
18 Pittsburgh, PA
19 Los Angeles-Long Beach-Santa Ana, CA
20 Washington-Arlington-Alexandria, DC-VA-MD-WV
21 Philadelphia-Camden-Wilmington, PA-NJ-DE-MD
22 San Antonio, TX
23 Atlanta-Sandy Springs-Marietta, GA
24 Sacramento-Arden-Arcade-Roseville, CA
25 San Francisco-Oakland-Fremont, CA
26 Baltimore-Towson, MD
27 Virginia Beach-Norfolk-Newport News, VA-NC
28 Tampa-St. Petersburg-Clearwater, FL
29 Las Vegas-Paradise, NV
29 Columbus, OH
31 Charlotte-Gastonia-Concord, NC-SC
32 Kansas City, MO-KS
32 Riverside-San Bernardino-Ontario, CA
34 St. Louis, MO-IL
35 Orlando-Kissimmee, FL
36 Indianapolis-Carmel, IN
37 Nashville-Davidson-Murfreesboro-Franklin, TN
38 Houston-Sugar Land-Baytown, TX
39 Jacksonville, FL
40 Miami-Fort Lauderdale-Pompano Beach, FL
Forbes.com--America's Safest Cities
"To determine our list of America's safest cities, we looked at the country's 40 largest metropolitan statistical areas across four categories of danger. We considered violent crime rates from the FBI's 2008 uniform crime report; 2008 workplace death rates from the Bureau of Labor Statistics; 2008 traffic death rates from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration; and natural disaster risk, using rankings from green living site SustainLane.com. "
1 Minneapolis-St. Paul-Bloomington, MN-WI
2 Milwaukee-Waukesha-West Allis, WI
3 Portland-Vancouver-Beaverton, OR-WA
4 Boston-Cambridge-Quincy, MA-NH
4 Seattle-Tacoma-Bellevue, WA
6 Providence-New Bedford-Fall River, RI-MA
7 San Jose-Sunnyvale-Santa Clara, CA
8 New York-Northern New Jersey-Long Island, NY-NJ-PA
9 Cincinnati-Middletown, OH-KY-IN
10 Cleveland-Elyria-Mentor, OH
10 Denver-Aurora, CO
12 Detroit-Warren-Livonia, MI
13 San Diego-Carlsbad-San Marcos, CA
14 Phoenix-Mesa-Scottsdale, AZ
15 Chicago-Naperville-Joliet, IL-IN-WI
15 Austin-Round Rock, TX
15 Dallas-Fort Worth-Arlington, TX
18 Pittsburgh, PA
19 Los Angeles-Long Beach-Santa Ana, CA
20 Washington-Arlington-Alexandria, DC-VA-MD-WV
21 Philadelphia-Camden-Wilmington, PA-NJ-DE-MD
22 San Antonio, TX
23 Atlanta-Sandy Springs-Marietta, GA
24 Sacramento-Arden-Arcade-Roseville, CA
25 San Francisco-Oakland-Fremont, CA
26 Baltimore-Towson, MD
27 Virginia Beach-Norfolk-Newport News, VA-NC
28 Tampa-St. Petersburg-Clearwater, FL
29 Las Vegas-Paradise, NV
29 Columbus, OH
31 Charlotte-Gastonia-Concord, NC-SC
32 Kansas City, MO-KS
32 Riverside-San Bernardino-Ontario, CA
34 St. Louis, MO-IL
35 Orlando-Kissimmee, FL
36 Indianapolis-Carmel, IN
37 Nashville-Davidson-Murfreesboro-Franklin, TN
38 Houston-Sugar Land-Baytown, TX
39 Jacksonville, FL
40 Miami-Fort Lauderdale-Pompano Beach, FL
Monday, October 26, 2009
Fort Granger--an intact Civil War fort in Franklin, Tennessee
This is actually a little boy. Children wore this type of attire until they were potty-trained in order to make it easier to keep clean.
The bugle demonstrated. Five distinct notes can be attained by altering the pressure on the mouthpiece.
A soldier's underwear. This caught a few giggles from the crowd...and the soldiers themselves.
The heel of the shoe had a horseshoe pounded into it to keep it from wearing down quickly, and nails added to the sole so that there would be greater traction while walking on rugged terrain.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
friends
There is one thing in life that I have consistently prayed for whenever I get into a praying mood. It's something that doesn't come easy for me--something that I need to work hard at. When I was a little kid, I enjoyed spending time in my room reading and writing more than being around people. It started out that way because I am creative and introspective, then as I got older and went through different experiences, my loner tendencies slowly turned into a distrust of people in general. So I pull away from them, sometimes consciously, sometimes unaware of what I'm doing. I struggle with finding the proper balance of being an authentic person and protecting myself. I long for true friends, people that I can be honest and human with, and although some of the secrets I divulge may be shocking and weird, to still be loved by them. I'm sure that this desire is common for most people, although it's not something that we talk about in casual conversation.
Why am I writing this now? Because it is the eve of my long-awaited trip up to Illinois, and part of the visit will include old friends, some of whom I haven't seen since 2nd grade. Funny thing is, we weren't that close back then, but then again, how close can kids be in 2nd grade? But over this past year we have become reacquainted, and it's like those 30 years apart were nothing more than a few months. I have found that as I slowly let them into my world, these friends still care about me, and I trust them.
Why am I writing this now? Because it is the eve of my long-awaited trip up to Illinois, and part of the visit will include old friends, some of whom I haven't seen since 2nd grade. Funny thing is, we weren't that close back then, but then again, how close can kids be in 2nd grade? But over this past year we have become reacquainted, and it's like those 30 years apart were nothing more than a few months. I have found that as I slowly let them into my world, these friends still care about me, and I trust them.
Those truly linked don't need correspondence. When they meet again after many years apart, their friendship is as true as ever--Deng Ming-Dao
Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom--Marcel Proust
We all need friends with whom we can speak of our deepest concerns, and who do not fear to speak the truth in love to us--Margaret Guenther
To find a friend one must close one eye; to keep him, two--Norman Douglas
I awoke this morning with devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and the new--Ralph Waldo Emerson
1st Cub Scouts campout with the kids, October 3, 2009
Set up tent in the back of the group, next to the woods. Nice spot for nature. Bad spot for sleep since kids playing in the woods and reinacting battle scenes ran by our tent yelling all day.
Naptime for Claire--after about 1/2 hour or more of her playing, she finally started twitching and shut her eyes. A moment later a group of kids ran by. Big brother Brandon spoke loudly to them--"my sister's sleeping in there, be quiet!" Next thing I know she's smiling at me. A precious smile, but I was zoned after dozing off myself and desperately wanted her to go back to sleep. No such luck. She had to go potty.
First excursion to the outhouse with Claire. Chose one without a daddy long leg in sight (on a subsequent visit we had to switch because there was a one resting on the extra roll of toilet paper sitting on the floor. That was unacceptable to the girl, even if there was another roll on the dispenser). I teach her the law of the outhouse: "Don't touch that urinal next to you--people pee in there, try not to touch the seat, sit still on there, you could fall in!" She tilts her head back and suddenly her Dora hat tumbles in slow motion down into the bowels of the outhouse. I was planning to leave it there, floating next to a pile of poo, ick, I get strange sensations in my throat just thinking about it--but she cried and cried, screamed actually, so I bravely stuck my hand in there and pulled it out. It was half covered in that blue disinfecting liquid they put in the toilets. I really do deserve Mother-of-the-Year for that feat. Several men were waiting near the door as we came out. "We were wondering what happened," they said in concerned voices. It's a preschooler and an outhouse. Do I need to explain more? Okay, just a Dora hat, folks, we're both alive and intact.
Walked about 1/2 mile up to the main nighttime bonfire. Nudged ourselves into a spot in the crowd to sit, and sure enough we couldn't see or hear much at all. I guess we weren't alone--the Cub Scout leaders on stage, all dressed in their regalia, kept asking if the crowd could hear. People repeatedly answered "no," but the sound never became any louder. Also, a couple of guys in front of us wouldn't sit down as if we were at some exciting concert. I wondered what this was all about. It seemed to be for awards, but nothing that pertained to us newbies. No scary indoctrination ceremony or anything like that.
Sat on the blanket that we had argued about back at the campsite. Husband didn't want to dig around in the van for it but I told him "I'd rather sit on a blanket than the bare ground." Good thing. He ended up sitting in a puddle of beer. After about 5 minutes we decided to trudge back to camp.
The den leader had a bonfire going and we got ourselves a spot far back from it, as sparks were flying in different directions from the wind. Claire and B were well-behaved and kept their distance. Roasted marshmallows, 2 for each of them, burnt to a delicious, cancer-causing crisp. Husband had a graham cracker and chocolate bar ready and grabbed my poker with it, pulled marshmallow off in a smooth stroke. Brandon had originally tried to roast his own, but they set on fire and he deduced that he should wave the flaming marshmallows my way. That was the end of that. Kids snuck a few more marshmallows off the food table and daddy gave them some Keebler cookies. Other campers in the group surrounded the fire in front of us, but I was okay with that. It's nice to be able to watch things from afar. Not only in camping, but in many other situations too. No campfire songs, to my surprise.
Didn't have a phone or watch to tell the time, but it was probably around 9 when we hit the sack. This is way early for me, but there was nothing else to do in a dark tent with two little kids. They fell asleep immediately on the air mattress across from us--no playing or goofing! They did better there than at home.
Most of the people were still up and about in our tent area. Kids were running by and kept mentioning/admiring/picking-up my walking stick that I bought for $15 at the main building--beautifully carved, and cheap--probably a boy scout project. Had to leave the bed to bring it into the tent. I wasn't going to let something that cost me so little get away!
Claire woke-up a couple hours later and asked "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?" This is the song that I sing her each night at bedtime. The night isn't complete without it. "It's the middle of the night honey, I'll sing it to you in the morning." Listened for B's snoring to make sure he was still alive after the little fall from the rock castle ladder where he cut the back of his head.
Dozed off for a couple of hours. The next time we woke up it was bright in the tent. I thought maybe daylight had come, was hoping for that actually, but it was only the full moon shining overhead. My head was elevated, but I could feel rocks under my butt. It was dead silent outside, but I woke Don up to reinflate our mattress anyways. I checked the time and it was 3 a.m. The motor of the air pump was loud and I was afraid that I would wake everyone around us up, but I wasn't going to lay on rocks to be popular.
I laid there for awhile listening to the snoring in nearby tents. After Don fell asleep he started to snore too. I could nudge him, but it didn't help cease the chorus of snores around me that echoed through the thin night air. I let out a loud fart, forgetting that we were in semi-public. Wondered if doing something like that was socially acceptable in that situation--at night in a zipped up tent, even if others could hear. Where do you draw the line with that? Snoring is okay but farts are not? We were at the "primitive" campsites. Maybe that allowed for all bodily functions.
Another small bonfire in the morning, scattered people gathered around, men at the grill station cooking breakfast. Nice to see lots of men cooking, although I see it in my own house on a daily basis. Lucky that I live with a man who likes to cook! Breakfast was pre-packaged danishes (B originally took a cheese one, the LAST one at that, and I nudgingly coveted it--"do you like cheese?" "Oh no," he remembered, and I swapped him out for a cinnamon one). Also scrambled eggs, chunks of ham, bacon, sausage links and pancakes. Milk, OJ, or yesterday's orange gatorade or lemonade to drink.
I helped my husband dismantle the tent (I wanted to learn the in's and out's of this simple nylon thing--in the military I was a lab tech and so we usually worked out of a metal pod, but when we weren't in there we had to assemble massive canvas tents). We had to brush a few more spiders off. He picked one up by its leg and threw it off. I felt glad that he was the one between the two of us who could put on a better brave show.
First thing I did when we arrived home was throw myself on the bed.
Naptime for Claire--after about 1/2 hour or more of her playing, she finally started twitching and shut her eyes. A moment later a group of kids ran by. Big brother Brandon spoke loudly to them--"my sister's sleeping in there, be quiet!" Next thing I know she's smiling at me. A precious smile, but I was zoned after dozing off myself and desperately wanted her to go back to sleep. No such luck. She had to go potty.
First excursion to the outhouse with Claire. Chose one without a daddy long leg in sight (on a subsequent visit we had to switch because there was a one resting on the extra roll of toilet paper sitting on the floor. That was unacceptable to the girl, even if there was another roll on the dispenser). I teach her the law of the outhouse: "Don't touch that urinal next to you--people pee in there, try not to touch the seat, sit still on there, you could fall in!" She tilts her head back and suddenly her Dora hat tumbles in slow motion down into the bowels of the outhouse. I was planning to leave it there, floating next to a pile of poo, ick, I get strange sensations in my throat just thinking about it--but she cried and cried, screamed actually, so I bravely stuck my hand in there and pulled it out. It was half covered in that blue disinfecting liquid they put in the toilets. I really do deserve Mother-of-the-Year for that feat. Several men were waiting near the door as we came out. "We were wondering what happened," they said in concerned voices. It's a preschooler and an outhouse. Do I need to explain more? Okay, just a Dora hat, folks, we're both alive and intact.
Walked about 1/2 mile up to the main nighttime bonfire. Nudged ourselves into a spot in the crowd to sit, and sure enough we couldn't see or hear much at all. I guess we weren't alone--the Cub Scout leaders on stage, all dressed in their regalia, kept asking if the crowd could hear. People repeatedly answered "no," but the sound never became any louder. Also, a couple of guys in front of us wouldn't sit down as if we were at some exciting concert. I wondered what this was all about. It seemed to be for awards, but nothing that pertained to us newbies. No scary indoctrination ceremony or anything like that.
Sat on the blanket that we had argued about back at the campsite. Husband didn't want to dig around in the van for it but I told him "I'd rather sit on a blanket than the bare ground." Good thing. He ended up sitting in a puddle of beer. After about 5 minutes we decided to trudge back to camp.
The den leader had a bonfire going and we got ourselves a spot far back from it, as sparks were flying in different directions from the wind. Claire and B were well-behaved and kept their distance. Roasted marshmallows, 2 for each of them, burnt to a delicious, cancer-causing crisp. Husband had a graham cracker and chocolate bar ready and grabbed my poker with it, pulled marshmallow off in a smooth stroke. Brandon had originally tried to roast his own, but they set on fire and he deduced that he should wave the flaming marshmallows my way. That was the end of that. Kids snuck a few more marshmallows off the food table and daddy gave them some Keebler cookies. Other campers in the group surrounded the fire in front of us, but I was okay with that. It's nice to be able to watch things from afar. Not only in camping, but in many other situations too. No campfire songs, to my surprise.
Didn't have a phone or watch to tell the time, but it was probably around 9 when we hit the sack. This is way early for me, but there was nothing else to do in a dark tent with two little kids. They fell asleep immediately on the air mattress across from us--no playing or goofing! They did better there than at home.
Most of the people were still up and about in our tent area. Kids were running by and kept mentioning/admiring/picking-up my walking stick that I bought for $15 at the main building--beautifully carved, and cheap--probably a boy scout project. Had to leave the bed to bring it into the tent. I wasn't going to let something that cost me so little get away!
Claire woke-up a couple hours later and asked "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?" This is the song that I sing her each night at bedtime. The night isn't complete without it. "It's the middle of the night honey, I'll sing it to you in the morning." Listened for B's snoring to make sure he was still alive after the little fall from the rock castle ladder where he cut the back of his head.
Dozed off for a couple of hours. The next time we woke up it was bright in the tent. I thought maybe daylight had come, was hoping for that actually, but it was only the full moon shining overhead. My head was elevated, but I could feel rocks under my butt. It was dead silent outside, but I woke Don up to reinflate our mattress anyways. I checked the time and it was 3 a.m. The motor of the air pump was loud and I was afraid that I would wake everyone around us up, but I wasn't going to lay on rocks to be popular.
I laid there for awhile listening to the snoring in nearby tents. After Don fell asleep he started to snore too. I could nudge him, but it didn't help cease the chorus of snores around me that echoed through the thin night air. I let out a loud fart, forgetting that we were in semi-public. Wondered if doing something like that was socially acceptable in that situation--at night in a zipped up tent, even if others could hear. Where do you draw the line with that? Snoring is okay but farts are not? We were at the "primitive" campsites. Maybe that allowed for all bodily functions.
Another small bonfire in the morning, scattered people gathered around, men at the grill station cooking breakfast. Nice to see lots of men cooking, although I see it in my own house on a daily basis. Lucky that I live with a man who likes to cook! Breakfast was pre-packaged danishes (B originally took a cheese one, the LAST one at that, and I nudgingly coveted it--"do you like cheese?" "Oh no," he remembered, and I swapped him out for a cinnamon one). Also scrambled eggs, chunks of ham, bacon, sausage links and pancakes. Milk, OJ, or yesterday's orange gatorade or lemonade to drink.
I helped my husband dismantle the tent (I wanted to learn the in's and out's of this simple nylon thing--in the military I was a lab tech and so we usually worked out of a metal pod, but when we weren't in there we had to assemble massive canvas tents). We had to brush a few more spiders off. He picked one up by its leg and threw it off. I felt glad that he was the one between the two of us who could put on a better brave show.
First thing I did when we arrived home was throw myself on the bed.
Monday, October 5, 2009
the cover letter and resume that should've stayed in draft
My husband was recently interviewing candidates for a job with his company. Amongst the shining examples, this shone the brightest by far.
Sir
I just saw that add on craigslist and wanna know how to apply. I know i am good for this job.. I got a clean record with no priors. was locked up at 13 for 3 years but thats off my record. Bullshit i didnt evend do I got my GED last summer so i am good with that. i am not lokin for much dough either cuz my baby momma is workin now to. I really only lokin to make 7-10 an hours. I dont have a resumee but we can do a Phone interview if yous like.
Thanks
Deli Present work their 8.50 an hour
Carpet cleaners 11.00 an hour
Motiviation (cleaned equipement) 14.80 an hour (fired due to illness)
Subway 7.50 an hour
McDonalds 7.50 an hour a yung pup makin a buck
Sir
I just saw that add on craigslist and wanna know how to apply. I know i am good for this job.. I got a clean record with no priors. was locked up at 13 for 3 years but thats off my record. Bullshit i didnt evend do I got my GED last summer so i am good with that. i am not lokin for much dough either cuz my baby momma is workin now to. I really only lokin to make 7-10 an hours. I dont have a resumee but we can do a Phone interview if yous like.
Thanks
Deli Present work their 8.50 an hour
Carpet cleaners 11.00 an hour
Motiviation (cleaned equipement) 14.80 an hour (fired due to illness)
Subway 7.50 an hour
McDonalds 7.50 an hour a yung pup makin a buck
Saturday, September 19, 2009
blog searchword fun
A compilation of some recent searches that crash-landed onto my blog:
computericed boc germani machine (Whatever it is, it's very cold.)
ingesting moonflowers (How did I know that writing about moonflowers would draw aspiring drug addicts to me?)
the proper southern baby shower (multiple searches from Florida and Georgia. You live there. There's no one around that you can ask?)
yankee jurs eyes (???)
southern men are babies (Could we generalize a bit further?)
baby shower mints Nashville TN (Hendersonville, TN. Go to your local Dollar General. I'm sure you'll find something suitable there.)
why are my moonflowers falling off? (Los Angeles, California. Other than the fact that the flowers naturally only last one day, could it be that they dislike the smog?)
what is causing the leaves on my moonflowers to turn yellow? (Georgia. Hot climate. Water them.)
laygs or lehgs (Champaign, Illinois. Come on people, this is a big college town. You can't spell legs? Did you get admitted because your daddy paid off a senator?)
u r my shoulder to lean on and i can always count on u to b there for me your my one and only, your my everything everytime i (Melbourne, Australia. So they're as lovesick on the other side of the world as we are here, I see.)
"my braces" "my baby" "my husband" site (Italy. "My life, my love and my lady...is the sea.")
pricking uncomfortable eye (Malta. Please don't do that. Pricking your eye will only make things worse for you.)
pedal on the floor, hand pumping my prick (California. Am I surprised? No. I'm now starting to realize that my botox entry is going to invite a lot of interesting traffic to my blog. Welcome, perverts!)
computericed boc germani machine (Whatever it is, it's very cold.)
ingesting moonflowers (How did I know that writing about moonflowers would draw aspiring drug addicts to me?)
the proper southern baby shower (multiple searches from Florida and Georgia. You live there. There's no one around that you can ask?)
yankee jurs eyes (???)
southern men are babies (Could we generalize a bit further?)
baby shower mints Nashville TN (Hendersonville, TN. Go to your local Dollar General. I'm sure you'll find something suitable there.)
why are my moonflowers falling off? (Los Angeles, California. Other than the fact that the flowers naturally only last one day, could it be that they dislike the smog?)
what is causing the leaves on my moonflowers to turn yellow? (Georgia. Hot climate. Water them.)
laygs or lehgs (Champaign, Illinois. Come on people, this is a big college town. You can't spell legs? Did you get admitted because your daddy paid off a senator?)
u r my shoulder to lean on and i can always count on u to b there for me your my one and only, your my everything everytime i (Melbourne, Australia. So they're as lovesick on the other side of the world as we are here, I see.)
"my braces" "my baby" "my husband" site (Italy. "My life, my love and my lady...is the sea.")
pricking uncomfortable eye (Malta. Please don't do that. Pricking your eye will only make things worse for you.)
pedal on the floor, hand pumping my prick (California. Am I surprised? No. I'm now starting to realize that my botox entry is going to invite a lot of interesting traffic to my blog. Welcome, perverts!)
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
big boy B and update on "blank"
Two major events happened in the life of Brandon today:
1. First loose tooth
2. Baby blanket put away
The nightly toothbrushing ritual consists of checking for missed spots (there's always gunk on the same front teeth). I noticed that his bottom tooth was leaning a bit to the side. Crouched down with my nose all up in his face and tried to figure out what was going on, as if I had never seen this phenomenon before. "Oh, it's loose!" He walked out of the bathroom with a glowing smile, circling around in the upstairs hall. Nearly 7, first loose tooth!
Tucking in for bed. Do you want me to cover you with your blanket? No, I want to be a big boy now. Where do you want me to put it? In my drawer under the bed.
He had offered to pass the old blanket down to Claire a couple of days earlier. My husband retorted--"No, that nasty thing is getting retired!" I have to admit that it is a bit old--my 17-year-old's original crib blanket. I've replaced the batting once and it is pretty much a thin sheet of faded material with some random chunks of cotton hanging on in various places.
So there it sits, safely under the bed. Close enough for comfort, yet far away enough to make him feel like he's a big boy. And, in fact, he is, and I'm the one who can't always see it--or is it that I don't want to?
1. First loose tooth
2. Baby blanket put away
The nightly toothbrushing ritual consists of checking for missed spots (there's always gunk on the same front teeth). I noticed that his bottom tooth was leaning a bit to the side. Crouched down with my nose all up in his face and tried to figure out what was going on, as if I had never seen this phenomenon before. "Oh, it's loose!" He walked out of the bathroom with a glowing smile, circling around in the upstairs hall. Nearly 7, first loose tooth!
Tucking in for bed. Do you want me to cover you with your blanket? No, I want to be a big boy now. Where do you want me to put it? In my drawer under the bed.
He had offered to pass the old blanket down to Claire a couple of days earlier. My husband retorted--"No, that nasty thing is getting retired!" I have to admit that it is a bit old--my 17-year-old's original crib blanket. I've replaced the batting once and it is pretty much a thin sheet of faded material with some random chunks of cotton hanging on in various places.
So there it sits, safely under the bed. Close enough for comfort, yet far away enough to make him feel like he's a big boy. And, in fact, he is, and I'm the one who can't always see it--or is it that I don't want to?
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
and we worried, fretted, and argued over Obama's speech to schoolchildren...
Short conversation with my first grade son after school :
"Did you get to hear the president speak today?"
"Yeah."
"Where? On TV?"
"On Good Morning America."
"What did he talk about?"
"I don't remember. I have a bad memory."
"Was it about school or a job?"
"I don't know. It was getting boring so I stopped listening."
Selective hearing loss starts much younger than I thought it did.
"Did you get to hear the president speak today?"
"Yeah."
"Where? On TV?"
"On Good Morning America."
"What did he talk about?"
"I don't remember. I have a bad memory."
"Was it about school or a job?"
"I don't know. It was getting boring so I stopped listening."
Selective hearing loss starts much younger than I thought it did.
Monday, August 31, 2009
B-Day
Waiting room. There are such things as "botox buddies," sitting kitty-corner from me, discussing the workout sessions they attended yesterday. The nurse calls them back together. An overweight, lopsided woman enters, her clothes hang carelessly, looks me straight in the face with an understanding smile, sits down. I'm thinking that I don't look so bad to be in this cosmetic procedure/eye surgeon office--perhaps that's magical or wishful thinking though. I could pretend that I'm just getting a little touch-up because my kids and nightshift schedule are causing my face to age, since I don't smoke and I avoid the sun like it's poison. A few minutes later the fat lady is called as well. Get the saran wrap ready, she cheerfully commands.
Now it's my turn. Follow me please, right here, yes--the first room here on the left, where is the restroom?, sign consent (risk of blindness? and millions of women have this done electively??), aftercare instructions (no lying down for 4 hours, no exercise today--we don't want you to sweat), but could I go for a walk?, yes that's fine. Nurse draws up 3 TB syringes and leaves them on the counter. Wait in chair a long 60-minute version of 20 minutes, read book the same line and paragraph a couple of times over, think, think, read, stare at door, note noises in hall, unstick my elbow from armrest, adjust wedgie, look in mirror and smooth down flyaway hair wisps, apply lipstick (I might as well look good for this).
He enters wearing a suit, asks how I've been doing with this blepharospasm thing I've got going on somewhere inside my face and brain. Fine, it comes and goes, worse when I'm tired. Terrified of this. Why? Let's see, it's my first time, I'm a botox virgin. Are you sure you want to proceed then? Yes, yes, I'm not tired now, it hasn't been so bad lately, but who knows the future? Driving is still difficult in the morning. Staring into my eyes, yes, I'm still blinking a lot, just not now when you're looking at me so much. Did my eye doctor send you the memo that I am pretty much the worst patient ever?
Holds syringes up to light, checks for air bubbles, says I'm going to start with a relatively low dose if that's okay with you. Uh, yeah, that's perfectly okay. I have to work the next three nights, I was hoping my eyelids wouldn't be hanging over my mouth.
The needle comes near. I instinctively close my eyes. I only know I'm supposed to because a friend told me that's how it's done. Quick, cautious, seemingly inadequate wipe across my brow with alcohol. Prick, bee-sting burn, prick prick prick prick, ouch (my eyelid!), jump, grab around for arm of chair, prick prick prick. How many of those do you need to put in each eye? I don't count, he mumbles. A quick blot of dry gauze to indicate that he's through with the right side.
Can you give me a moment to compose myself? I need to breathe. I can't believe women have this done because they want it done. That's what they say, he says, the ones who need it don't like it and the ones who don't need it say it's not so bad.
Now to the left side with barely a warning. Close eyes, quick. Prick prick prick ouch, damn! the eyelid again. Will my aqueous humor (this is far from humorous) leak out from my eyeball after he accidentally punctures it? I remember that word from anatomy class--a distraction. Prick prick prick prick. We're done. Blot blot. Call me in 10 days. Come back in 3 months.
The skin around my eyes is red and white dappled with tiny blood spots at the injection sites. I'm embarrassed to walk out into public like this. The receptionist says it will go down in an hour. Beeline for the bathroom to wipe the blood off. First I have to make my way through a waiting room full of old people staring at my face, probably wondering if I had collagen injections out of vanity while still in my relative youth.
There's a numb sensation all around my eyes. I count the hours at home--1,2,3,4--naptime. I've been up half the night worrying about this. I really am tired. I lied earlier, I guess. Or it is that I live my life in a state of exhaustion, so I don't really notice it anymore.
When I wake-up, that little furrow by my right eyebrow is gone. I smile. No forehead wrinkles. I'm still blinking a lot though, the sun a bit irritating. 3 days to work medically, 4 hours to take 5 years off. Nice. My face feels pretty normal, but normal for me is always tense and tight around my eyes, with my eyebrows having a mind of their own. Wondering if I will wake up in the morning and its contrary personality will be muted, or if I will need to tape my eyelids shut for the next 3 months.
So my little curse may be a blessing--only time will tell.
Now it's my turn. Follow me please, right here, yes--the first room here on the left, where is the restroom?, sign consent (risk of blindness? and millions of women have this done electively??), aftercare instructions (no lying down for 4 hours, no exercise today--we don't want you to sweat), but could I go for a walk?, yes that's fine. Nurse draws up 3 TB syringes and leaves them on the counter. Wait in chair a long 60-minute version of 20 minutes, read book the same line and paragraph a couple of times over, think, think, read, stare at door, note noises in hall, unstick my elbow from armrest, adjust wedgie, look in mirror and smooth down flyaway hair wisps, apply lipstick (I might as well look good for this).
He enters wearing a suit, asks how I've been doing with this blepharospasm thing I've got going on somewhere inside my face and brain. Fine, it comes and goes, worse when I'm tired. Terrified of this. Why? Let's see, it's my first time, I'm a botox virgin. Are you sure you want to proceed then? Yes, yes, I'm not tired now, it hasn't been so bad lately, but who knows the future? Driving is still difficult in the morning. Staring into my eyes, yes, I'm still blinking a lot, just not now when you're looking at me so much. Did my eye doctor send you the memo that I am pretty much the worst patient ever?
Holds syringes up to light, checks for air bubbles, says I'm going to start with a relatively low dose if that's okay with you. Uh, yeah, that's perfectly okay. I have to work the next three nights, I was hoping my eyelids wouldn't be hanging over my mouth.
The needle comes near. I instinctively close my eyes. I only know I'm supposed to because a friend told me that's how it's done. Quick, cautious, seemingly inadequate wipe across my brow with alcohol. Prick, bee-sting burn, prick prick prick prick, ouch (my eyelid!), jump, grab around for arm of chair, prick prick prick. How many of those do you need to put in each eye? I don't count, he mumbles. A quick blot of dry gauze to indicate that he's through with the right side.
Can you give me a moment to compose myself? I need to breathe. I can't believe women have this done because they want it done. That's what they say, he says, the ones who need it don't like it and the ones who don't need it say it's not so bad.
Now to the left side with barely a warning. Close eyes, quick. Prick prick prick ouch, damn! the eyelid again. Will my aqueous humor (this is far from humorous) leak out from my eyeball after he accidentally punctures it? I remember that word from anatomy class--a distraction. Prick prick prick prick. We're done. Blot blot. Call me in 10 days. Come back in 3 months.
The skin around my eyes is red and white dappled with tiny blood spots at the injection sites. I'm embarrassed to walk out into public like this. The receptionist says it will go down in an hour. Beeline for the bathroom to wipe the blood off. First I have to make my way through a waiting room full of old people staring at my face, probably wondering if I had collagen injections out of vanity while still in my relative youth.
There's a numb sensation all around my eyes. I count the hours at home--1,2,3,4--naptime. I've been up half the night worrying about this. I really am tired. I lied earlier, I guess. Or it is that I live my life in a state of exhaustion, so I don't really notice it anymore.
When I wake-up, that little furrow by my right eyebrow is gone. I smile. No forehead wrinkles. I'm still blinking a lot though, the sun a bit irritating. 3 days to work medically, 4 hours to take 5 years off. Nice. My face feels pretty normal, but normal for me is always tense and tight around my eyes, with my eyebrows having a mind of their own. Wondering if I will wake up in the morning and its contrary personality will be muted, or if I will need to tape my eyelids shut for the next 3 months.
So my little curse may be a blessing--only time will tell.
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