A man is vacationing in Europe and calls back home to check in with his brother, who is house sitting for the three weeks he will be gone.
"How are things at home?"
"Not great. Your cat is dead."
"What!!! Really?"
"Yep."
"Man! What happened?"
"She got on the roof and refused to come down. She wouldn't eat or drink water. She just sat there for days until she finally died."
"Oh, Jeez. Man, you could have broken the news a little easier on me, brother."
"Like how?"
"I don't know; You could have told me that she was stuck on the roof this time and the next time I called you could have told me she died. That way, at least I would have been prepared and it wouldn't have been such a shock."
"I guess so. Sorry, dude."
"Anyway, how's Grandma doing?"
"She's up on the roof and we can't get her to come down."
Editorial Note: Thanks to a call from Aunt Donna this evening, I realize that I need to let everyone know that The Grandma and The Nanny are both alive and kicking. It is seven years to the day that my Dad died. I was trying to communicate the humor that one can actually prepare for a loved one's death.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Shopping Mall Merit Badge
Tomorrow night is date night for The Papa and I. We are going to a swanky YELP event, as The Papa is an "elite" Yelper. After reading the invitation to the event and realizing just how swanky the place we were going is, I looked into my closet and was terrified. Granted, I had to buy not one, but TWO new dresses just last year for the little brother's wedding. In my defense, it was a summer wedding and this is March and it snowed here just yesterday for crying out loud. Neither of those summer dresses would work. So, after work, I grabbed the kid from school and headed for the local mall. With promises of a McDonald's dinner and play time in the play area, we struck a deal for good behavior while I looked for a dress.
He was an A N G E L, ANGEL, in Macy's. Unfortunately, Mr. Macy thinks that the only dresses people in my size wear should either be boldly floral or a business suit. Off to the next store, only to discover Mr. JC Penney thinks that women in my size look good in polka dots. By this time, I had to say "Get over here, NOW!" several times. I told myself he was hungry and that food would make it better. We headed to the food court and he hoovered up the happy meal. Ahh. We left the food court with much less trauma and headed for the play area. After a good 30 minutes of releasing the massive amount of energy that had been trapped in his little three year old body for over two hours, we headed off to the third, and final store. I had never been in this store, but had walked by it many times and told myself that it was for people MUCH younger than me. (When will I ever learn about judging things I know nothing about?)
I should have known we were in trouble when he ran through the hanging clothes and screamed, "Look Mama! It's a CAR WASH!" at the top of his lungs. I was about to bolt for the car, when there it was. The perfect little black dress. On the clearance rack! I managed to grab his hand and drag him to the dressing room. When I started taking my clothes off, he asked, "Do you have to go potty? There's no potty in here, Mama." That was good for a chuckle or two from the neighboring dressing rooms. They would need to remember just how funny and cute he was just minutes later, as I dragged him back by his feet from crawling under the wall between the rooms.
The dress fit! It was purchased and we headed to the register. I had the clerk in sight and was almost free and clear before he took the sunglasses off of a display and spun the whole thing Ala Pat Sajack. Things flew. Bangles, bobbles and glasses were everywhere. By the time I had them cleaned up and gotten a hold of his hand again, there was a line of three people in front of us. I always knew living with a beagle would prepare me for motherhood. We got in the line and I barked, "SIT!!!" repeatedly until he sat on the floor next to me. Every time he moved, I would just scream, "SIT!!!" again. He managed to rip three leather strips off the tassel of my purse by the time it was our turn.
He cried all the way though the mall, through Macy's and the parking lot to the car. He knew I was mad, and I think he was a little scared at just how mad I was. I can tell you, I was feeling more exhausted than angry, but what he didn't know only hurt him a little and helped me make it to the car. We had a long talk in the car about behavior and respecting other people's needs. I'm sure most of it went over his head, but his emotional response was appropriate. The night was not a total loss though, for I had a little black dress and yet another motherhood merit badge to put on my apron. I am blessed.
He was an A N G E L, ANGEL, in Macy's. Unfortunately, Mr. Macy thinks that the only dresses people in my size wear should either be boldly floral or a business suit. Off to the next store, only to discover Mr. JC Penney thinks that women in my size look good in polka dots. By this time, I had to say "Get over here, NOW!" several times. I told myself he was hungry and that food would make it better. We headed to the food court and he hoovered up the happy meal. Ahh. We left the food court with much less trauma and headed for the play area. After a good 30 minutes of releasing the massive amount of energy that had been trapped in his little three year old body for over two hours, we headed off to the third, and final store. I had never been in this store, but had walked by it many times and told myself that it was for people MUCH younger than me. (When will I ever learn about judging things I know nothing about?)
I should have known we were in trouble when he ran through the hanging clothes and screamed, "Look Mama! It's a CAR WASH!" at the top of his lungs. I was about to bolt for the car, when there it was. The perfect little black dress. On the clearance rack! I managed to grab his hand and drag him to the dressing room. When I started taking my clothes off, he asked, "Do you have to go potty? There's no potty in here, Mama." That was good for a chuckle or two from the neighboring dressing rooms. They would need to remember just how funny and cute he was just minutes later, as I dragged him back by his feet from crawling under the wall between the rooms.
The dress fit! It was purchased and we headed to the register. I had the clerk in sight and was almost free and clear before he took the sunglasses off of a display and spun the whole thing Ala Pat Sajack. Things flew. Bangles, bobbles and glasses were everywhere. By the time I had them cleaned up and gotten a hold of his hand again, there was a line of three people in front of us. I always knew living with a beagle would prepare me for motherhood. We got in the line and I barked, "SIT!!!" repeatedly until he sat on the floor next to me. Every time he moved, I would just scream, "SIT!!!" again. He managed to rip three leather strips off the tassel of my purse by the time it was our turn.
He cried all the way though the mall, through Macy's and the parking lot to the car. He knew I was mad, and I think he was a little scared at just how mad I was. I can tell you, I was feeling more exhausted than angry, but what he didn't know only hurt him a little and helped me make it to the car. We had a long talk in the car about behavior and respecting other people's needs. I'm sure most of it went over his head, but his emotional response was appropriate. The night was not a total loss though, for I had a little black dress and yet another motherhood merit badge to put on my apron. I am blessed.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Dementia, Schementia
NOTE:
I find it hard sometimes to know what I should and should not write here. I think the main reason for my sporadic posting (other than a lack of time) is what I want to write about - I feel I shouldn't.
“God have mercy on the man who doubts what he’s sure of” – Bruce Springsteen
Last fall, The Nanny filed a lawsuit against The Grandma, accusing her of a lot of things. Things I know to be false. Money and a jilted lover are involved. When those two things meet, nothing good can come of it.
My emotions have gone to all extremes over this whole issue, and I have felt like a protector, advocate, victim and vigilante many times over the past several months. Through it all, I have constantly felt like I was in the middle.
I was driving Robby home from school one day and I was telling him that yes, Mamas do always come back and they do always love their kids no matter what. I felt like I was only telling him a partial truth. I will always come back, Robby. I will always love you, no matter what, Robby. As for every Mama? Well, I know that isn’t true for every Mama, Robby.
Sometimes Mamas don’t come back.
Sometimes Mamas don’t ever love their kids.
I know first hand it’s a hurtful thing when a Mama doesn’t come back. My Mama left and didn’t come back for two years. It’s a thing I don’t want Robby ever to feel. And while it’s a hurtful thing, it is yet a forgivable thing for me. Mama’s not ever loving their kids is where I struggle with forgiveness. This is strange, since I can look at the circumstances of the Mama and see where she was left behind, see her disease and see her pain when she did the leaving. I cannot see any of those things when I look at her Mama. She never loved her child. I can think of nothing that factors into why or how this could ever happen.
If a Mama never loves her child, is it possible for her to love her grandchildren? Sometimes I say yes, but I really think the answer is no. Maybe all the “love” a Mama gives her grandchild is just a way to get back at her own child; put another spike through that little broken heart.
Even if illness plays a part in recent history, it cannot explain 67 years of slowly killing a soul. Any Mama capable of that deserves no part in knowing the joys of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
This may sound harsh, cold and bitter. Maybe it is. I can tell you that mine is soul in pain. I have been left again. All the feelings, given and received, of love and the belief that this love shared was unconditional, all seem false to me now. I know I love her still. I know I loved her with all my heart then and my love was unconditional then. Today, the conditions have changed. I don’t have another forgiveness in me.
I find it hard sometimes to know what I should and should not write here. I think the main reason for my sporadic posting (other than a lack of time) is what I want to write about - I feel I shouldn't.
“God have mercy on the man who doubts what he’s sure of” – Bruce Springsteen
Last fall, The Nanny filed a lawsuit against The Grandma, accusing her of a lot of things. Things I know to be false. Money and a jilted lover are involved. When those two things meet, nothing good can come of it.
My emotions have gone to all extremes over this whole issue, and I have felt like a protector, advocate, victim and vigilante many times over the past several months. Through it all, I have constantly felt like I was in the middle.
I was driving Robby home from school one day and I was telling him that yes, Mamas do always come back and they do always love their kids no matter what. I felt like I was only telling him a partial truth. I will always come back, Robby. I will always love you, no matter what, Robby. As for every Mama? Well, I know that isn’t true for every Mama, Robby.
Sometimes Mamas don’t come back.
Sometimes Mamas don’t ever love their kids.
I know first hand it’s a hurtful thing when a Mama doesn’t come back. My Mama left and didn’t come back for two years. It’s a thing I don’t want Robby ever to feel. And while it’s a hurtful thing, it is yet a forgivable thing for me. Mama’s not ever loving their kids is where I struggle with forgiveness. This is strange, since I can look at the circumstances of the Mama and see where she was left behind, see her disease and see her pain when she did the leaving. I cannot see any of those things when I look at her Mama. She never loved her child. I can think of nothing that factors into why or how this could ever happen.
If a Mama never loves her child, is it possible for her to love her grandchildren? Sometimes I say yes, but I really think the answer is no. Maybe all the “love” a Mama gives her grandchild is just a way to get back at her own child; put another spike through that little broken heart.
Even if illness plays a part in recent history, it cannot explain 67 years of slowly killing a soul. Any Mama capable of that deserves no part in knowing the joys of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
This may sound harsh, cold and bitter. Maybe it is. I can tell you that mine is soul in pain. I have been left again. All the feelings, given and received, of love and the belief that this love shared was unconditional, all seem false to me now. I know I love her still. I know I loved her with all my heart then and my love was unconditional then. Today, the conditions have changed. I don’t have another forgiveness in me.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Facebook Manifesto
Facebook, in concept is a good idea. It lets you stay in touch with people in your life with quick one or two lines every day (or hour for some) or give someone a “super poke” just to let them know you are thinking about them. In today’s rush and hurry world, it is nice to get at least some connection with the people you care about. Even if you don’t always have time for a long email, phone call or lunch.
As with all other things in life, moderation for facebook is key. I hope this, my Facebook Manifesto, can offer some guidelines. You can slip every once in awhile, but if you have slid down that slippery facebook slope, hopefully you can recognize yourself here and get the help you so desperately need.
If you have over 100 friends on Facebook, you don’t look popular. You look pathetic.
If you update your status more than twice a day, you need to ask yourself two questions.
1. Is this really vital information I am sharing with friends?
2. What can I do in my life to get the connection I crave with people without being this annoying and alone?
If you troll other people’s status updates just for a chance to comment with your witty retort, you need another hobby, or outlet for this creativity.
If you are in a relationship and use facebook to “chat”, email, “hug”, “throw a banana at”, send a “kidnap request” and generally show others how charming you can be when sitting behind a keyboard, you need to assess your relationship and figure out what you are not getting there that is driving you to this behavior.
If you are not in a relationship and do all of these things, you need to know you will never find one of any sustenance on facebook. Move out of your parent’s basement for chrissakes already.
If you are in a relationship with someone who practices this unhealthy facebook behavior, you need to ask yourself two questions.
1. Am I treating them the way I want to be treated? If the answer is no, then you can’t go onto to question 2 until it is yes.
2. Why am I in a relationship with someone who would rather put all their energy into their facebook “friends”?
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Socks
OK, what is the deal on socks? I cannot find a decent selection of socks to fit my kid. I finally found some today (at KMart of all places!) that fit him. They are white crew socks, package of seven pairs for $5.99. What if he needs another color besides white? I'd be satisfied with at least one pair of black socks. There are 15,000 choices if you are an infant. Why all the cutesy infant socks? They should be the ones stuck with plain white. It's rare an infant needs socks to match his dress pants for that school play. They don't even walk yet, so the white socks aren't even going to get dirty. Why do they get the black socks and the three year old boys who live to jump in mud get stuck with the white socks?
I saw racks and racks of Dora socks, Hannah Montana socks, sparkly pink, purple, red and green socks. Even socks with fur on the tops. I almost grabbed a pair of Dora socks out of desperation, but the thought of The Papa's head exploding stopped me.
I'm convinced it's a conspiracy. Look at they way they size socks:
I saw racks and racks of Dora socks, Hannah Montana socks, sparkly pink, purple, red and green socks. Even socks with fur on the tops. I almost grabbed a pair of Dora socks out of desperation, but the thought of The Papa's head exploding stopped me.
I'm convinced it's a conspiracy. Look at they way they size socks:
Baby - Sock Size 3-4 1/2
Infant - Sock Size 4-5 1/2
Toddler - Sock Size 5-6 1/2
Kids - Sock Size 6-7 1/2
Boys - Sock Size 8 - 13
Today, I discovered Robby is a Kid. Not a toddler anymore, but not yet a boy. Since the sizes have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with shoe size, I had to discover this by sitting my son on a dirty KMart floor and removing his shoe and very small sock and trying them on his wriggling foot. I know I was not the first mom to do this because almost all of the packages had been opened.
I guess I have four choices. I can dress him only in white socks, no matter what color his pants are. I can learn to make socks. I can honor diversity, risk therapy, and dress him in sparkly socks. Or, I can put him in sandals.
Anyone out there know where I can find a pair of black Kids - Sock Size 6-7 1/2 for my son who wears a size 9 shoe?
Friday, January 16, 2009
Uncle Wiggly
When Robby was born, The Grandma brought some books for the nursery that used to belong to Uncle Mike. Tonight, I pulled an old favorite off the shelf for the first time.Tonight I read the first chapter of Uncle Wiggly's Happy Days to Robby. When I got to the end of the first chapter, I could remember so vividly reading this story to another 3 year old, even
though that was 25 years ago. This was my little brother, Uncle Mike's, favorite book as a kid.
He must of heard it 1,000 times. He would literally beg to hear this story. I text ed Uncle Mike the last paragraph after Robby was asleep, thinking he'd get a kick out of it.
"Oh dear me! There is no room in this chapter to tell you what happened all of a sudden. But I will tell you in the next chapter if the egg beater will help the can opener to take the olives out of the gold fish bowl and make a chocolate cake for the canary bird."
All those readings, for nothing. He couldn't place it. Even though he used to laugh at this part. Laugh almost as hard as Robby laughed tonight. Oh well, so much for little minds being a sponge. At least he remembers someone was always there to read to him and give him a good night kiss. I guess that is what counts the most after all. Right?
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Out Like a Lamb
The ornaments are packed away for another year. The Boy Scouts came and took the remains of the tree away. The Grandma is back in Arizona. I have gained 10 pounds. The holiday season is officially over at our house.
Top 5 things to remember about 2008:
1. Robby starting to poop in the toilet.
2. America electing its first non-white President
3. Discovering what in me is indestructible.
4. Paul Newman.
5. My little brother getting hitched.
Top 5 things NOT to remember about 2008:
1. Voters tell Gays they have no rights.
2. Hockey Moms.
3. Dementia.
4. Cardiologists.
5. Del Taco.
I am surprised at how much hope I have for 2009. Especially considering the number of black-eyed peas I consumed New Year's Day. The odds indicate a bleak fiscal year. My family is going through a nightmare, legally, and otherwise. Yet, I find myself happy every morning to be awakened by my adorable and healthy son; and always happy when I go to sleep and the last person I speak to is The Papa. 2008 was a year of rediscovering my core and realizing with that, all things are possible.
Top 5 things to remember about 2008:
1. Robby starting to poop in the toilet.
2. America electing its first non-white President
3. Discovering what in me is indestructible.
4. Paul Newman.
5. My little brother getting hitched.
Top 5 things NOT to remember about 2008:
1. Voters tell Gays they have no rights.
2. Hockey Moms.
3. Dementia.
4. Cardiologists.
5. Del Taco.
I am surprised at how much hope I have for 2009. Especially considering the number of black-eyed peas I consumed New Year's Day. The odds indicate a bleak fiscal year. My family is going through a nightmare, legally, and otherwise. Yet, I find myself happy every morning to be awakened by my adorable and healthy son; and always happy when I go to sleep and the last person I speak to is The Papa. 2008 was a year of rediscovering my core and realizing with that, all things are possible.
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