The Usual Run of Things. Shocking, I know.

Todays' Guest Post is from Tara over at Two Hands and a Roadmap. I'm pretty sure that we are twins, separated at birth and raised in two different cities. If you like my humor, you'll love Tara, because she swears and has mediocre goals just like me. Plus she preserves tomatoes and cans fresh peaches. Another reason to love her! I'm guest posting over on her blog today, in case you want to take a read. Enjoy!



I should be offended by this. I should rail against gender stereotypes in general and the use of "Mr. Mom" to refer to a man who nurtures children and keeps house in particular. I should, at the very least, be disdainful of the country twang and cliches.

But I'm not. I enjoy this song. It makes me happy to know there's someone out there as bad at the stay-at-home thing as I was. With a procrastinating nature, a fundamental inability to stay organized, and a phobia of the telephone, I wasn't exactly a natural. Plus multi-tasking is physically painful to me. Make dinner while entertaining toddler? No way, no how; I could do one or the other, period. It all added up to a hot mess of crayon-marked walls and smoke detectors announcing that dinner was done.

Now that both kids are in school full-time  and I'm away at work -- leaving my husband in charge of a lot of morning household tasks -- you would think I have limited opportunities to screw stuff up. Yet I manage, over and over.

A classic bonehead maneuver involved an elementary school Christmas party that I volunteered to organize for my younger son. His teacher gave me a list of names and numbers of people who had signed up at the beginning of the year to bring stuff to the party. My job was to call them (uh-oh), and organize all the dishes coming in from different parents (holy crap). Oh, and not to lose the list. Teacher chuckled as she handed it to me; it seems the parent who volunteered to run the Halloween party LOST THE LIST and the whole party had to be run in a most unacceptable way. How ridiculous. We're not letting her do that again. Ha ha, freaking ha.

The smart readers just figured out where this is going.

I shoved the paper, cleverly stapled to thick purple construction paper to make it unlosable (um, ha?) in my van and forgot about it. Plenty of time.

Two weeks later and a mere three days before the event, I decided I'd better remind the people who signed up (in September, remember) to bring stuff. I knew I'd have to apologize for being so scatterbrained and late, but it would be OK.


The paper was gone. Gone. While I sorted various piles of paper in my kitchen and office, I imagined the humiliation of calling the teacher and telling her that another mother has lost a party signup sheet. I saw my picture up in the teachers' lounge, with blacked-out teeth and surrounded by epithets scrawled in Sharpie markers. When I had to move my paperback copy of ADD-Friendly Ways to Organize Your Life to continue searching, I had a private laugh. It sounded like the giggle of a madman.

I finally found the paper. It was on the floor of my van. There were no staples. No thick, purple construction paper. It was a regular printout, on green printer paper. I picked it up and marveled at my ineptitude. There wasn't much time, though, to figure why I had mentally manufactured such a strange and erroneous detail. I made calls; I made apologies; I made recommendations for party contributions. I did not lose the list. My mind is another matter altogether.

So if you need me, I'll be the one folding laundry and laughing like Renfield. It's the only multitasking I can manage.

For Your Reading Pleasure

Last year during the blogathon, there were just over 100 bloggers signed up to write every day for the month of May. This year over 191 bloggers will be swearing, sweating, and stressing about posting everyday. The list is so long, I only included A-K below. I'll post the others tomorrow. The links should take you directly to their page. There were many great blogs last year and I desperatley tried to read everybody's at least once, but I didn't get all the way to the end of the list. With 191 bloggers, I'm sure to fail. But I'm going to try and visit as many as I can. If you click on the links below and find a blog that you loved, please comment and let me know!
A

Ahil Amar - Ahil Amar - Thoughts from Ahil Amar
Alana Mautone - Ramblin’ With AM, Living in upstate New York
Alexandra Grabbe - Chezsven Blog, What it is like to be a green innkeeper and live on Cape Cod year round
Alison Law - Lawthenticity, Personal and professional stories and observations
Alison Preston - LadyMoxie, Relationships with an added pinch of food, music, and bacon in the dish
Amanda Steinhaus - Ms. Panda’s Blog, Writing because I love to write!
Ana Gonzalez Ribelro - Our New Casa, Purchasing and remodeling a home; Live, Love, Laugh, Travel, tales of a traveling family; Ace the Journey, Making decisions about life and money
Andrea Parker - Autism Fundraising Guide, Advice from the trenches
Angela - Baby Hellfire has a Blog, Peace and Tofu Chicken Grease!
Annie Daniels – Aniel Daniel, Random occurrences and my ever-changing interests as college student
Anjuli - Unbirthday Escapades, Blog of memories past and present
Anne Wainscott-Sargent – The Writing Well, Mastering the power of prose in business and in life
Annette Gendler - Memoir, Writing & Life, Writing, teaching and publishing memoir, and creative nonfiction
Anyes - Far Away in the Sunshine, A woman pursuing her creative dreams
Arial - Contrapunto, Happenings in Panama
Ashley Lyon - You know I love You More, Book reviews and fandom excitement!
B
Barb Freda - Babette Feasts, I write about cooking and I stew about writing
Barb G - Never Another Diet, Finding Enough, the Quest for a Diet-Free Life
Bebe Bahnsen - Bebe’s Blog, Politics, religion, life in the South and general musings
Becky Leung - Tummy Time, Fixing digestive issues with a healthy lifestyle and good nutrition and exercise
Betty Draper - BettsDraper, Applying Jack Canfield’s success principles one step at a time
Bill Lascher – Lascher @ Large, Travels of a freelance journalist raised by a pack of lawyers
Billie Noakes - Billie Noakes, General musings (usually light-hearted)
Bree Hays - PenSlave, My move to Guam
C
Cara Law – Cake Me Home, Because life tastes better with cake
Carrie - Random Girl Geek, Reviews of things that catch my eye
Catherine Canaceli - Periwinkle Confessions, Finding God in Everything
Christina Leach – Chris Scraps, A blog about my life and crafts
Christianne - Cyanne99, Inner Thoughts and Ramblings
Christine Calvin - Inspired Life, Current events, women’s issues, randomness, sometimes silliness
Christine Evans - 52 Crafts in 52 Weeks, Exploring a new craft every week for a year
Claudine M. Jalajas - Belle Designs, Jewelry-making resources
Connie - bhulbhulaiyan, Travel and memories
Conrad Zero - Conrad Zero, Tips, tricks and resources for authors of all genres
Craig Motlong - Pacific Writing Company, Writing for writers
Cynthia Rosi - Simply Hug Yourself – Enjoy your whole self in Columbus, Ohio
D
Daisy - Compost Happens, Family, garden, crunchy green eco-writer
Dawndela Webb - Insomniac Imaginings, Musings and rambles of a stay-at-home mother of three; Erotic Images, Erotic fiction
David Allen - Amazing iPad, All things iPad
Dayle Fraschilla - I Shall Be a Toad, Passions, both big and small
Deb Wolf - Counting My Blessings, Gratitude at God’s amazing grace
Denae Darcy - Denae D’Arcy – TV journalist, freelance writer, social media enthusiast living near the Great Smoky Mountains
Don Gonzalez - Gonzo’s Gab, Pontificating on Catholicism, technology, politics, cigars, writing, homerdogs and teaching
Dylan Fogle - DiscordianZen – Dark and it’s different
E F
Elizabeth Humphrey - The Write Elizabeth, Writing. creativity. play. life.
Elizabeth - Amnesia Lane, Journey through the shows, books and characters that inspired my love of writing
Estelle Sobel Erasmus - Musings On Motherhood, Midlife and Other Forms of Madness, A Running Commentary On My Transformative Journey Through Motherhood
Esther Rumfelt - Health and Wellness Coaching, Helping you live well, be healthy and enjoy life
Frances Barker - Felting Needle, City and Guilds felt-making student, textiles and Suffolk living
G
Georgia Fogle - Got P.M.A.? – Positive Mental Attitude. Get Some.
Gerri Curless - 50 Is the New 40 – Wife, mother, grandmother trying blogging, crafting and sharing what I’ve learned with others
Ginnie - Nua Feileacan, 30-something woman on a journey of discovery
Glenneth - Let’s Talk and Walk, Getting healthy through walking, eating better, and having fun
Gloria Marie - GloriaMarie.com, Personal blog, mostly about photography.
H
Haley Shapley - Girl About the World, Travel writer’s tales of wanderlust
Harry Marks - Curious Rat, Chewing on the tech industry’s wires
Heather - Discover Washington State, Life in the Evergreen State
Heather Brooks - Serve One Another in Love, An online ministry for Christians of all ages
Heather Williams - This Blog Will Give You Cancer, Talking about nothing
Holly Green - WithoutAdo, Bible and secular articles
Hope - The Life of a Daydreaming Mommy, Mommy blogger
J
Jackie Dishner - Bike with Jackie, Turn obstacles into opportunities and other self-development lessons
Jan Culpepper - Life and Times of a Preacher Mom, Juggling life, ministry, parenting, a relationship and whatever else life throws my way
Jan Udlock – Imperfect Mom, Professional writer, parenting expert, mom of five
Jane Boursaw - Reel Life with Jane, Home to Jane Boursaw’s syndicated family movie and TV reviews
Janis Price - Whispers & Roars, Life of a writer when your full-time job is not writing
Jenn - Kepkanation, Politics and pop culture
Jenni Derryberry Mann - Mamahhh, Navigating the labyrinth of motherhood one breath at a time
Jennie Phipps - Freelance Success Blog, Freelance Success outtakes
Jennifer Walker - My Morning Chocolate, Delicious inspiration for people who wake up thinking about food
Jennifer Willis - Jennifer Willis, Journalist, writer and editor.
Jennifer Woodard - Wordzopolis, DIY marketing and public relations
Jenny Beikes - Out of My Head, Musings on life events
Jessica Braun - Pink Rose, Blooming in Generation Y, I write about me, my life, my VISTA experience
Joan Lambert Bailey - Popcorn Homestead, Gardening and living in Tokyo
Joanna - My Daily Mooosings, Simplifying life and culture in the Netherlands
Joanne Mason - About English Idioms, What they mean, how we use them, where they came from
John P. Jones - Writing at Gunpoint, When writing is not a comfortable experience.
Jon Bell - On Mount Hood, All things Mount Hood
Judy Downing - Customer Approach, Connect with customers to grow your business
Julia B. - Aunty JuJu’s Perspective, Thoughts on subjects that come up in daily life
Julia Munroe Martin - WordsXO – Words, writing, and life!
Julie – The Write Place to Be, Being a freelance writer
Julie Sturgeon - KnowledgeWebb, Don’t Sweat the Tech, The quirky, fun, interesting and very useful in social media technology.
Julie Tolbert - Culturally Speaking, Through technology the world is getting smaller; Today’s Tea, About tea in 2011
K
Karen Bannan - Natural as Possible Mom, Because being natural isn’t always possible – or easy!
Kari Wolfe - Imperfect Clarity, Literature and the writing and editing life
Kate Megill - Teaching what is Good – Teaching younger women according to the Titus 2 model
Kate Reilly - Polka Dot Suitcase, Family fun through creative living
Kathy Murray - That China Girl, A reluctant teen expat’s life in Beijing
Katie Jett Walls - One/Week, Blogging, finding my voice, and identifying my passions
Katy Manck - Books YA Love, Recommending standout young adult books, especially from first-time authors and small publishers
Kelly Morga - My Little Silly Life, The silly things, situations and people that make my life special
Khadijah M. Britton - BetterBio, Journalism that explores the intimate connection between life and science
Kris Bordessa – Attainable Sustainable, Reviving the lost art of self-sufficiency, one small change at a time
Kristi Bernard - Kristi Bernard, Information for new writers

Mediocre as usual

So. This year I joined the blogathon again, vowing to post everyday for the month of May. Today I woke up and realized it was the first day of May.

Damn. It's been a busy weekend. Wasn't it just April, like, yesterday?

So here I am, posting at the eleventh hour om my iPad of all stupid things, because my husband is sitting here in be next to me with my computer writing emails. This handy little gadget isn't exactly a productive tool for lengthy typing..unless you have the additional keyboard attachment, which I don't.

But I was extremely busy today, even if it wasn't writing a hysterical first blog, or adding to the family income with my labor, or cleaning my house, or doing laundry. Here's just a snapshot of the last 15 hours of my life.

Things I did today:
-went to 8:30 am mass
-took my son to baseball pictures
-frosted cookies for my daughter's bake sale in front of our house
-helped set up bake sale for daughter
-helped my son with his school project
-went to Lowes with my neighbor and bought herbs for my planters and a really cool ornamental grass. I have no idea where I'm going to plant it, but I bought it anyway.
-took my son to his baseball game. Even brought my daughters so my husband could have a few hours to work on the chicken coop. I am so selfless.
-forced my son to finish his school project
-bathed my youngest and told my middle daughter to get in the shower
-argued some more with son about his school project
-went to my monthly book club, where we discussed "The Paris Wife." Loved the book and had a very enlightening discussion at book club.
-came home, showered, put away all the remaining baked goods fromearlieer sale, still sitting on the counter
-got in bed and wrote a log on the iPad after having three (small) glasses of wine at book club

If you ever decide to tune back in after reading this pathetic first blogathon post, I promise it will be worth your time. Unless you don't like reading about chickens. I plan on posting a lot about them.

Making the Grade. Or Not.

Some of you have mentioned that I left you hanging about my son’s grade status and the consequences my husband and I imposed after he brought home his report card. I apologize. Some info I write here, some info I post on Facebook, and some info I’ve written for Good Enough Mother. I don’t want to go around being redundant (I do that enough here in my mediocre mother life), but I also don’t want to leave my readers in a lurch. The bigger message in all this of course, is that all of you should be following me in all venues of my writing, wherever the hell it happens to appear. Yeah yeah, I know, you all have day jobs. (Most of you anyway.) But I bet you take bathroom breaks don’t you? Well put on a pair of Depends and read me during that precious time. It’ll be worth it. And those Depends really can hold a vast amount of liquid I’m told.

But the long and short of it is, yes, my son had one C on his report card. And yes, in the interest of following through on promised consequences, he lost all TV, video games, and recreational computer for four and a half weeks.

Quit feeling sorry for him. It’s not as if the boy was locked in his room this whole time, and trust me, he got plenty of TV watching in by default. He’s been hungrier these past few weeks than I’ve ever seen him, as he eats snacks at the table where he happens to be able to watch the TV while it’s on in the living room. He has been the best big brother to our youngest, and loves to snuggle with her and keep her company while she is watching movies on her little video player. He has been super cold lately and has needed to stand in front of the fire in the morning before school while I’m simultaneously viewing Morning Express with Robin Meade. He’s found very creative ways to endure his consequences.

It hasn’t been easy for any of us, let me tell you. It’s exhausting trying to enforce consequences of this nature, especially when the long and short of it is—he’s a great kid.

He’s not into drugs. He doesn’t ditch school. He is respectful to authority and does what we ask (occasionally with a complaint, but he does it). In the scope of life and what is important, he is on the right track and we are proud of him.

So, how are his grades now, you ask? Has all this time that’s opened up for him to complete his homework and focus on his studies paved the way to better grades and improved school performance?

Umm, no.

On his last report card the boy brought home, (1A), (3 B-‘s), and (1C+). As of this morning, he has (1 A) and (4Cs).

Sigh.

This is despite OUR working on his homework with him for over two hours every night. I say our, because I am grading and double checking everything he does, putting it into a pile for his backpack, and making sure he has all components of ANY rubric on ALL projects. His teachers say he is focused in class and not goofing around or off-task. This was the year I was supposed to sit in the backseat and let him drive his educational bus for once. What the hell is happening?

Is this typical boy growing/learning pains? Is it an organizational issue? I’m honestly out of answers. Is his life so meaningless without technology that he is doing worse in school instead of better? Should we just leave well enough alone, since he performed better during the first grading period when he was in charge and played video games? Should I just shut he hell up and see what happens, instead of getting all freaky about grades, which we all know are arbitrary?

Yes. I said that. Grades are arbitrary. I can make that statement because I used to be a teacher. And even though I understand that, it’s still important to me (and my husband) that our kids always strive to do their personal best.

And in the last few weeks, I really feel like our oldest IS doing his personal best, even though his grades continue to tank.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming anyone here. But I honestly can’t figure out the disconnect. I have my suspicions as to why we are in this place currently, but it’s only a hunch. I’m trying to be proactive and have open communication with the teachers, without becoming THAT parent who emails and complains constantly. (Because I’ve had my share of those when I taught as well and it’s no fun.) I must say that his teachers have been uber-prompt at responding to my inquiries and extremely helpful in suggesting solutions. I know it’s a thankless, difficult job, which is why I don’t do it anymore. They have enough to handle with oversized classes, relatively little prep time, and more and more “requirements” and pressure coming from our educational system. I get it.

And my son? What’s his take on all this? He’s frustrated, but surprisingly upbeat. His biggest concern of course, is what happens when he gets his progress report and he still has C’s. Will he still lose TV, video games, and computer over the Christmas break? Would we do that to him just to prove a point? Even I know that would be pushing the enforcement too far. I mean, we’re definitely mediocre, but we’re not downright mean. We’ve always said it was about effort, not the printed letters on school issued paper. Since he’s been giving his best effort (and his teachers confirm this), that’s all we ask. After all, it’s effort, attitude, and fortitude that get you places in life, not necessarily grades.

But I’m open to suggestions. If you have older boys, I’d love to hear if you’ve gone through any of this and how you handled it. If you say you just drank your way through middle school and high school, I’ve got that covered. Just so you know. 

Life Lesson Cont’d

This past weekend was one of the few weekends in November (or December) that didn’t have tiny writing in the calendar boxes, meaning my husband and I had two full days to do what we damn well pleased. You know, yard work, chores, laundry, and grocery shopping were able to be completed totally unencumbered by sports games, karate, sleepovers, or birthday parties. Which turned out to be a really good thing since the vast amount of our energy, patience, and emotions were sucked dry simply by trying to deal with our son, who has officially morphed into a sad-morose-glass-always-empty-pre-teen.

Since his birth we knew it was coming.

For those who need to catch up a little bit, I guest blogged on the website Good Enough Mother yesterday, about our son’s impending report card status and what is going to happen when he brings home any grade below a “B.” Which I’m praying will happen because if he manages to eeeekkkk his way into all “Bs” it means one thing: that he’ll never change. He’ll think he can half-ass his way right into college with the same amount of effort he gives to picking up his room and folding his clothes into tight, neat piles. I’m sure you can imagine what that looks like.

Last week he mistakenly thought report cards would come home on Friday, but no, it’s actually Monday. Which meant of course, he had one more weekend of video games, TV, and computer, or to be more precise, three more days to breathe easily before he started flopping around, gasping for air like a fish out of water because he has lost technology. Which he tried to work to his advantage.

Every request this past weekend started with: “Since I’m going to lose video games next week, can I…” or “This is the last weekend I have to watch TV, so can I…” which we went ahead and let him do. We’re not as cruel as he makes us sound. We’re happy to give the kid on death-row a few tasty meals of his choosing. He stayed up late Friday night watching a movie. He spent the night at a friend’s house on Saturday, his last tribute to Halo and bonding with his buddy. Sunday morning came, and he was a tired, moody, mess, and angry I called him home from his sleep over so he could attend Sunday morning mass. Apparently the I-need-to-be-thankful-perspective is a few years off.

Sunday was choppy for us all, and I asked him, “Do you have any homework you need to complete today?” He wasn’t sure. He thought he might have a little.

“Don’t you have quite a few tests coming up this week?” I ask. Maybe he does. He thinks so. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the study guides he needs to study effectively. Besides, he tells me, he can always study Monday night.

At which point I send him off to his room to bring me his backpack and folder, while I walked to the nearest wall and banged my head against it a couple times in a repetitive why me motion. Dealing with my son and his homework habits is a little like picking up a drunk relative from the police station after being arrested for a DUI, only to have that relative ask you to stop at the liquor store on the way home so he can buy more beer. And I’m thinking in alcoholic metaphors these days because dealing with a pre-teen has increased my desire to throw a few back. At the end of this year there’s a good chance I’ll have sclerosis of the liver.

My son brings me his backpack, and I proceed to rifle through it just to make sure he was indeed telling me the truth. That he had no homework. That he was all caught up, almost. That the life lesson he was currently swimming through had pushed his little head out of the water long enough for him to gain perspective of the shore. Surely, SURELY, someone who was going to lose four and a half weeks of technology (anything with a cord for heaven’s sake) would MAKE SURE their assignments were completed, wouldn’t they? Faced with the thought of being holed up in our house with only his books and model rockets to keep him company, wouldn’t that encourage him to make SURE he started the new grading period off with completed assignments and good grades?

Do you see where this is going?

I found the weekly letter in his backpack. The one I’m supposed to read on Thursday when it comes home and not on Sunday, three days later. But I’m mediocre and didn’t ask him for his folder on Thursday—or all weekend for that matter—because I decided to be selfish and organize my daughter’s closet and wash the outside of the windows with the 10-foot stepladder.

In this little note home, I discover that my son has a one and a half page essay due on Monday. That he has a graphic organizer “to help with the assignment” and to “please ask your child about this.” So, per teacher’s instructions I say, “Son? What is this about an essay due tomorrow?”

“A what?” he asks. “An essay?”

“Yes,” I reply. “An essay. And you have some type of graphic organizer to help you? Where is that?”

“An essay?” he keeps repeating, like I’m suddenly speaking in tongues and he can’t quite make out what I mean, but maybe if he looks all confused and mopey it will buy him some time to come up with another feeble excuse. He rifles through his backpack and drags out a piece of crumpled paper, a notebook with about seven sentences written down, and he says to me, “You mean, my personal narrative?”

At which point I grabbed the edges of my stained couch and prayed, Lord, please help me not kill my son who is deciding to take this moment to dicker with me over the semantics of his assignment. Is he seriously getting into a pissing contest with me over lexicon? Jesus, hold me back.

“Yes.” I reply, sociopathically. “Your personal narrative. When is it due?”

“I don’t know,” he tells me.

“It says here it is due tomorrow. How much do you have written?”

He holds up his notebook and shows me his 1/8 of a page of chicken scratch and I reply, “Well. Looks like you have a busy day.”

The best part of this emotion-suck-lesson however, was when our son’s best friends pulled into the driveway in their van, hoping to take our son back to their house to hang out and have dinner. His rant suddenly stopped, his smile returned, and he looked at me with hopeful, doe-y eyes. Surely, not even I would say no to this outing! There they were in our driveway, just waiting for him, and it would be rude to say no! But I declined on behalf of my son, thanked them for being salt in his wound, and sent them on their way. Our boy needed to finish his essay. And while it would have been so much easier to let him go play—while the thought of not having to deal with his passive-aggressive harumpfs and deep sighs would have made my day easier, I thought about that cold beer in the fridge, and I held my ground.

He managed to finish writing his assignment, and his father and I forced him to type it up, even though he swore up and down that only the rough draft was due Monday and not the final draft. He was worried he’d get in trouble by completing so much of it ahead of time. I assured him, I would be happy to write a note apologizing to his teacher that he went above and beyond and that his father and I forced him to do it. Blame us for having expectations for our son’s behavior, we can take it. He’s just our minion.

Incredibly, he eeeekkkkked out his assignment at the eleventh hour once again. It took about that long too. There was a lot of crying and nose blowing and used tissue on the floor. And although he told me he was “finished” about five times (each time asking if he could now go be with his friends),we kindly pointed out the other things he needed to complete: picking up his room, studying for his test, working on his math, and doing a final proofing and edit of his essay. Excuse me, personal narrative.

He’s my first child, my only son, and I had no brother’s growing up. I get that I’m new to this adolescent game, especially when it comes to dealing with boys. I naively thought the report card status would be enough to change his behavior in one swift motion. Looks like it’s going to be more of a year-long process. Me, my husband, and my bottle of Merlot are ready for the challenge.

Just In: Work At Home Productivity Down 95%

Every night when my husband comes home from work, we exchange our daily routine banter. He asks, “So, how was your day? What did you do?” I regale him with stories about the past 10 hours, which no doubt include way too many details for him, and after me talking for about 15 minutes solid his eyes are a little glassy and he’s already onto his second beer, and he wraps it up with, “So. You wrote the table of contents for your book. That’s great.”

When I stop to think about what I accomplished, which is to say, what I actually wrote down or edited or drafted, it occurs to me that it never really sounds like much at all.

But I always feel so busy! I didn’t even leave the house, not even to check the mail or take the kids to the bus, instead telling them to “walk in the rain; it gives you character. I’ve got to get some work done.” I felt like my ass was strapped to my chair for eight hours, my brain working on overdrive for about 10. How had I only accomplished one little blog? Or one small article? Or one little Letter of Introduction? Do I have multiple personalities that black out sections of time, while my second persona goes shopping, has lunch out, and gets her nails done? Where the hell is my day going?

Well, as I type this I realize now where it’s going. My day is going to that three-year old time-vacuum. The one sitting in the other room right now watching Curious George and eating her breakfast on the couch, no doubt smearing banana hands on my furniture.

When we were finishing the lower level in our house, it was my brilliant idea to create the playroom right off the office space. That way, thought I, my youngest can happily play with her fabulous toys while I sit at my drafting table and write feverishly, churning out loads of novels, websites, blogs, and essays that are thoroughly researched and highly entertaining. She will be happy. And I will be happy. And I’ll have mastered the stay-at-home-work-at-home conundrum.

Yeah. That happened.

My daughter has no desire to play with her toys for more than 10 minutes at most, and then she’s at my drafting table opening the drawers so she can scale my desk and try to sit on my lap while I work. Which if you’ve seen how much clearance I have behind my desk, or know that my chair is a bar stool whose legs we sawed off to fit the height of the drafting table rendering my chair ineffective for moving in and out, you’d understand that what she’s trying to accomplish is a little bit like a circus elephant trying to sit on the shoulders of a tight rope walker without her falling to her death.  

Here was my morning; aka, a typical writing day for me when my daughter is home:

• Sit down at computer. Open email, begin reading email. Spend 10 minutes reading and responding to email.
• Daughter wakes up. Must comfort and love on daughter so she’s not in a bad mood. Lop her onto the couch and put on Curious George which buys about 10 minutes.
• Go back to computer. Close email and go over list of things I need to accomplish today; 1. Finish an article, 2. Continue editing book project, 3. blog.
• “Mom! I’m hungry! Can I have bwekfast?” child yells from TV room.
• Get up from computer to make toaster waffle with cream cheese, half a banana, and glass of orange juice. While I’m in kitchen I pull out crock pot and cans of beans to make chili for dinner. Serve child breakfast in front of TV like bad American Mother.
• Sit back down at computer, open up article to work on. Read through article to figure out where I’m going to add information in and begin to think. Yes, I actually need time to think about stuff.
• “Mom! Look look!”  “WHAT?” I yell from office. “Look! I finished my bwekfast! Can I have more?” “More of what?” I yell. “More bwekfast! Come here!” she yells back.
• Get up again, gather child’s plate, get her another waffle another banana, deliver food, and head back to computer.
• Where was I? Oh, yes. Thinking. Thinking about my article and trying to be creative. I have about five minutes.
• “Mom! I hafta go to the bathroom!” “Then GO!” I yell. “WHAT?” she yells back. “GO! TO THE BATHROOM!” I yell again. Note that we’re not yelling in anger just for distance, because Curious George is loud and getting out of my office seat eats up time
• “Mom! I’m done going to the bathroom! I need help!”
• Swivel-tilt-my chair back, climb out of my creative corner (that hasn’t seen a creative thing yet today) and help child in bathroom.
• “Do you have to poop? I ask. “No.” She answers. “ARE YOU SURE?” I inquire again. She nods yes. Fine. She must wash her own hands. With lots of soap. She must rinse her own hands. One finger at a time. She must turn off the water, grab the towel, and hit the light switch with no help from me, but I must be physically present.
• Swivel-Tilt-Adjust myself back in corner. Re-read article for the third time. Okay. Think. Start writing. Feel a groove coming on, a hint at productivity, silence from the other room propels me forward, and dare I say I’m feeling like I might be able to…
• “Mom! I hafta go to the bathroom!” my daughter yells. “You JUST WENT!” I yell back. “No! I hafta go POOP!” she retorts. “I ASKED IF YOU HAD TO GO POOP BUT YOU TOLD ME NO!” I quip loudly.
• Passive-Aggressively leave desk and bruise hip and thigh on corner, a good Karmic sign that I need to not be passive-aggressive with my three-year-old. Because peeing and pooping are clearly two separate activities and must not be performed at the same time, when one is already on the pot doing the other, even if convenience and logic tells you otherwise. Different exit areas, different results, different activities. Duh.

And on continues my day, in two and three minute increments. I write in between picking up the toy room so she can find the accessories to her ponies, getting out paint, brushes, and water so she can decorate little wooden hearts and bird houses, throwing a load of laundry in because the other children who live here are out of underwear…. (“Mom!! Mommy! Mah-Mah!” She just yelled. “Are you almost done?? You said you would come check on me!” Do you see what I mean?) and not that I even have time to put it in the dryer let a lone fold it because suddenly it’s lunch time, and I must go scrape together something halfway healthy for her noon meal, which is particularly difficult because we need to go shopping today as we have no food, but we don’t get paid until tomorrow. Mother Sucker.

When I die I have decided to have the following epitaph inscribed on my tombstone:

Here Lies Rachel Vidoni

Tired Dead Mother But Never an Author

She Hopes Her Children Are Happy

Now She Has Time To Think

I’ve been sitting at this computer for an hour and a half, and this is what I’ve got? It could have been better readers. But I must move onto to my next task. Just so I have something to tell my husband when he comes home. 

Party Politics

This is a treat any kid would be proud of. (From Parents Magazine)

This one, not so much.

 One of the things I’m constantly being reminded of is that reading the calendars that get sent home from school is important. It’s not that I don’t instinctually know this being a former teacher and all, but life tends to get away from me on an hourly basis which means my children show up to school without the red shirt on, the much needed paper sack, or the five items that begin with the letter “W” in a plastic zip lock.

Now that my youngest is in preschool, I’m having to re-learn all the rules—spoken, unspoken, and whispered in hushed tones—and quite honestly I’m a little annoyed at my learning curve because I was under the impression that navigating preschool would be akin to the old adage about riding a bike or smoking; you never forget how to do it. In reality it’s more akin to breastfeeding. No matter how many times you’ve done it, you wonder why the hell it’s so painful and difficult each and every moment.

I dropped my daughter off September 30^th and made sure to find the snack sign up calendar for October, so I could scribble down my John Hancock in a tiny box since I had missed the opportunity to bring in snack in September. As of 9:00 a.m. that morning, the October calendar hadn’t been put up, so I figured I’d sign up for it when I came back at 1 p.m.

Imagine my surprise when (at 1 p.m.) I noticed that not only had the October calendar been tacked to the wall, but that every single snack slot for the month was already taken. How had I missed this? Were the good parents lined up behind the trees and bushes outside ready to steal the slots from me the moment I left? No, logically most children leave at 11:30 and those lucky parents happened to sign up for October. The very nice and gracious teachers told me they’d hang up the Halloween party calendar after 11:30 pick up, so I’d have a chance to sign up for something. I’m a good mom, really I am, they reassured me. They wiped my nose and sent me on my way with a little pat, pat, pat on the back.

It’s not that I’m pouting. I just understand how these things go. I know because I was a teacher when I didn’t have kids and now I’m a parent who doesn’t teach, and I’ve heard first hand the implications of parents who don’t bring in snack. Or a cool item for a class party. You’re  labeled:

·         a busy working mom who doesn’t have time for her kids, or

·         a lazy stay-at-home mom who doesn’t have time for her kids, or

·         cheap, or

·          a user

Trust me. It’s not spoken. It’s one of those quiet things you just feel. I was walking with my friend the other morning who was also commiserating with me on party politics. She says:

“And since I was out of town, I told my husband, ‘Husband, make sure you sign us up to bring something for the Halloween party.’ And so when I got home I asked him, ‘What did you sign us up to bring?’ And do you know what he says? He says, ‘Napkins.’ Napkins! ‘You signed us up to bring NAPKINS?’ I asked him. ‘You don’t sign us up to bring napkins! Napkins aren’t fun! When you sign us up, you sign us up for something good, like cupcakes. Or cookies. You do not sign us up to bring napkins.’ So now I’ve been online and looking in the stores for the best damned napkins I can find.”

Napkins just aren’t sexy, along with the other drab party necessities like paper plates, cups, and plastic utensils. The only thing that would make bringing in napkins cool, is if she hand cut 8” squares out of harvest colored flannel and monogrammed each child’s initial in the corner, which would then make it suitable for a party favor as well. That would be something every  3 to 5 year-old could brag about.

Moms want to bring in something their child can be proud of, show off and boast about, like cupcakes with glittery frosting, or cookies with gummy lifesaver eyeballs, or little bags of candy tied with curly orange ribbon. We want to try out all those food crafting projects we see in Family Fun and Martha Stewart because really good moms make chocolate pudding cemeteries with oreo earth and their children love them forever. Those items speak volumes about how much your love your child, care about their preschool psyche, how dedicated you are to domestic service and hence, what a wonderful woman you must be.

Truth be told, perhaps that extra effort of making colorful cupcakes is a silent offering to our children, a way to make up for the million ways we slight them, yell at them, ignore them, or look past them while we worry about schedules and bills and homework and housecleaning and laundry. If we’re lucky maybe our children will remember the hours we spent decorating 50 sugar cookies with candy corn and black licorice, and not the 15 minutes before bed when we refused to read a story because we were so completely exhausted  the very  thought of reading Good Night Moon brought on a migraine. I mean, any idiot with five bucks in their pocket can bring in napkins and plates. Bringing in party ware must mean you aren’t sorry for anything, right? That your kids should be happy with the mediocre parent you turned out to be?

Regardless of the emotional baggage and implied meaning us parents bring to the party table, kids only see the glittery. The colorful. The sugar coated. And trust me, when the little kids are out on the playground having a pissing contest over what they brought in, you do NOT want to imagine your child, hands shoved in pockets, eyes cast downward while the cupcake kids taunt:
“Suzie’s mom brought napkins. My mom brought in the cupcakes that say, ‘Trick or’ Treat!’ when you take a bite.”

Because isn’t that our worst fear? Having our kids be embarrassed of us the way we were embarrassed of our parents? Don’t the embellishments and colorful gift bags make us cool?

Well, the good news is that I got to the sign up sheet before the 11:30 pick up parents, but the bad news is that mini cupcakes and all the food items were already taken. My choice? Non-edible treat. Fine. I signed my name. Perhaps I’ll buy each child their own Barbie house or Star Wars leggo set. I can do something cool with a non-edible treat.

What did they end up with? Well, a little cello bag with a friendly ghost on it, filled with a mini play dough, bouncy ball, and spider ring. I filled a shoebox with the little packages of delight, and they are ready and waiting for the infamous party day.

I know. I sold out. I over did the “non-edible treat” and bought into the politics of the holiday. The good news is that I closed the baggies with the enclosed twist ties and did not use any sort of curling ribbon to make them cuter. I thought about it, but refrained. I mean, I’m sorry at times…

But not that sorry.

It’s a mediocre thing.

No, I haven't been arrested.

I know you're missing me. I'm missing you quite frankly. I've been lazy you see, and I can't keep the kids quiet long enough to even create a pathway in my brain for logical thought, let alone to try and be funny. There just isn't room right now. This is what is currently taking up space in my grey matter:
-the mice that are living in my kitchen cupboards (yes, you know you'll be reading the details very soon)
-the trip to Maine I still haven't recovered from
-two school supplies still MIA because all the stores were raped bare by everyone else but me
-laundrylaundrylaundrylaundrylaundrylaundrylaundry
-school is starting in two days for two of my children. I vacillate between weeping for joy and weeping because I'm so damned tired of getting them ready for school. Notice I am not weeping because I will miss them.
-billsbillsbillsbillsbillsbillsbillsbills
-working on my website/business cards/etc. so I can feel like I have a real job. Sorta.
-spending as much time as possible by my neighbor's pool drinking beer. After 10 a.m. of course.
-sleeping in. Especially since my son will now have to be at the bus by 6:40 in the morning. This may prove very difficult for both of us. How young can you start kids on coffee?
-haircuts. Everyone needs one. As usual I have made no appointments and so my children will attend the first day of school looking like backwoods hicks.

So. You can see my mind has been a little busy. I'm coming back, don't you worry. My apologies for my lack of blogging. I'm hoping your summer was fabulous and you'll be tuning in for the prime time season of Musings.

One of Those Days

Finally home. Monday’s trip was…an emotion suck of vast proportions which was pretty much in keeping with my 26 days in Arizona. Par for the course, as they say.

I’d like to publicly thank the gentleman at the Southwest curbside check in, who made it so easy and painless to check four large, heavy suitcases and a carseat onto our flight, and who not only took care of my luggage, but also printed out the family’s boarding passes while we waited. In times like these I’m more than happy to tip way more than humanly necessary just to easy a little of my travel burden. And he did it without rolling his eyes at the weight of all my suitcases or asking me if I was moving.

We arrived at the airport at 5:30 am AZ time, and proceeded to the first Paradise Bakery I found to load everyone up on carbs and caffeine. (Well, the caffeine was for me.) The first flight was booked solid, and while I was in the B boarding group for Southwest, it proved not very helpful. They board the families with small children between the A and B boarding groups which is usually just fine because I always seem to be one of the few idiotic mothers who travels alone with three children, allowing me a queen like status as I waltz past the other ‘normal’ travelers with my children, backpacks, food bags, and a stroller following along behind me like Pig Pen’s cloud. It’s a proud moment.

Monday’s flight to Baltimore however was loaded down with so many families that it looked strangely reminiscent of a Little People’s Convention, the little people here being children under the age of 10 and not people of short stature. I was so caught off guard at not being the only mom with kids that I didn’t get in line when I should have and ended up at the very back of the proliferating-adults-accompanied-by-fruits-of-their-womb line.

A quick glance around the plane as we boarded confirmed what I feared; all the families before me scored the connecting seats, while every other ‘normal’ traveler coveted the isle seats, leaving me bits and pieces to choose from on where to place my kids. I did consider sprinkling them throughout the plane in the center seats just to be pissy and sit alone at the back of the plane where I might possibly be able to shut my eyes for a second, or throw back a nip or two of Dewars scotch, but I felt that people might complain. I kindly said to the male Southwest flight attendant:

“Excuse me, Could you please help me find a row together so I can sit with my kids?”

At which he replied without looking at me:

“All the seats together are in the back,” and then dismissed me. It doesn’t take a degree in engineering to notice that there were no empty rows, having all been dotted with isle-seat sitters and a few window grabbers, leaving me slim pickins. Now I’m slightly agitated, which is unfortunate for the two gentlemen I spoke to next.

I spotted two rows where the window and middle seats were open, whilst two isle-squatting gentlemen sat trying to avoid my gaze.

“Excuse me gentlemen,” I voiced loudly, which forced them to acknowledge me. “Are those seats taken?”

They each shook their heads as fear and terror crept into their eyes as they realized what I was going to do.

“Thank you! Kid #1 and Kid #2, you sit here. Sit now. Put your backpacks under your seat. Buckle up. Do it. Do it now. Thank you.” I command while shoving them into a row next to one man. The baby and I slid past the other guy right behind my older two, situated ourselves and prepared for the flight.

This seating arrangement unnerved my middle daughter who feels anxious sitting next to “strangers” and who whispered between the seats to me the whole flight, “Please mom. Please can I come sit with you?” I assured her she was fine and to take up any anger she may have with the male flight attendant who refused to help us.

Flight was going along swimmingly, until we hit a patch of turbulence. It’s important to note that among my many idiosyncrasies and neuroses is a fear of turbulence- something that I’m always sure will result in a wing breaking off sending the plane plummeting to the ground and I’ll have exactly 2.5 minutes of ensuing horror while I wait for darkness to come and for my guardian angel to reveal him or herself. I pray mightily for no turbulence and generally when we fly the flights are smooth and I’m relatively peaceful, but the second that first bump comes, I’m white knuckle gripping the seat in front of me and saying a rosary. It’s a fear so intense that I’m trying to make deals with God and myself, like, “I’ll lick a toilet seat. I’ll eat my food off the floor. I’ll overcome ALL my other fears. PLEASE PLEASE JUST LET THE TURBULENCE END!” While the plane is bump, bump, bumping along my older two are looking back at me, saying things like, “Mom! Isn’t this fun! It’s like a fair ride! Whoooooo, Wheeeeee!!” and waving their hands in the air like a roller coaster at Disneyland. Then we hit an air pocket and the plane falls a bit which means that all the passengers on the plane let out the unconscious gasp and whoo, and the guy sitting with my kids looks back at me, as if to say, “What do you want me to do about this,” and I shoot him a “good luck take care of my kids I hope you’re a nice man” look right back at him. Serves him right, that isle-squatter.

But I manage to keep it together, not cry or vomit, which is pretty good considering that I’m about ready to morph into a panic attack and there’s nobody who will hold my hand or tell me we aren’t going to die. My husband comes in handy in times like these. I think of how he’ll feel living without us. Would he keep living in Massachusetts? Move back to Arizona? Become so overwrought with grief that he drinks too much, loses his job, and starts living on the street? Imagining life without me would be devastating I’m sure of it. Oh, and the kids too of course.

We finally land in Baltimore, me praying in tongues of thanksgiving like an old Jewish woman speaking Yiddish. The Baltimore tarmac was a beautiful, beautiful sight. And the flight was even early. Yippee.

It’s 1:15 p.m. Our next flight is scheduled to take off at 3:20, which gives me almost two hours to feed my offspring, start breathing, and mentally gear up for getting on another plane. Which is when I look out the window at the runway.

The sky is grey and oddly silent, but what unnerves me a bit is the low-lying black clouds that are moving towards the window directly over the airport. I’ve seen my share of dark rain clouds, but these are spooky clouds and they’re black. In a matter of moment as we sit watching the runway, the clouds move over us, the rain begins to plummet and there’s lightning. Not high-in-the-sky lightening like someone’s flicking the light switch on and off, but bolts of lightning. Single bolts of bright lightning and they are actually striking the ground.

I’m thinking this is a bad time to be on a plane. To expedite the narrative of the next few hours, I’ll highlight the important events in bullets:

• They closed the runways. Any lightning strike within a three-mile radius automatically closes the runways and all activity outside. Trucks pull in. Baggage handlers scatter. Silently I’m breathing a little easier since I’m inside on terra firma and not stuck in a plane trying to take off.
• The aircraft for our flight is circling in the sky above the storm waiting for the green light to land.
• The storm passes briefly allowing a few planes to take off and land. Our flight is not one of them.
• The storm picks up force and there are more lightning strikes, which closes the airport again. Our flight has been circling too long and is now forced to land in Norfolk, Va. Three other flights are also diverted because they had been circling too long.
• At 5:00 p.m. our flight still hasn’t left Norfolk, VA but the airport is open and the 5:55 flight to Boston is scheduled to be on-time. I put our names on the stand-by list figuring it’s a fat chance in hell, but at least it’s an option.
• At 5:15 the Southwest gate attendant announces for stand-by passengers to come see her at the desk. While I’m waiting to talk to her, she also announces that our Providence flight has left Norfolk, and should be arriving around 6:45 and they’ll get everyone on board and shipped off as quickly as possible. What to do? Take the Boston flight that is boarding now, or wait for another hour for the Providence flight and hope nothing else goes wrong?
• I took the one bird in my hand instead of the two in the bush, and yelled at the kids to gather their belongings; we were shipping out to Boston. Even if it meant that all our luggage would still end up in Providence. I needed to be home and free of this day.
• We board the plane; me sticking my children in a row together, while I sat across the isle from them by myself. It was actually a beautiful set up.

It’s 6:10. The plane hasn’t started its taxi yet. I’m wondering what’s up when a flight attendant comes on the PA system and says,
“Hello ladies and gentlemen. Our co-pilot just got here, and well… he noticed that one of the tires on the plane is flat. So it’ll be just a minute as we jack-up the plane and change that tire. Thanks for your patience folks.”

I’m sorry. Did he just say the plane has a flat tire? And that it went unnoticed by all the ground crew? And that our co-pilot, before taxiing, noticed that it needed to be changed?

I really have a problem with this kind of honesty. After my turbulence in the sky and averting the electrical storm in a big flying piece of metal, I now am wondering if when we try to take off or land a tire is going to blow, causing the plane to spin out of control and end up in a firey heap alongside the tarmac. I would have preferred a lie like, “Well ladies and gentlemen, we’re almost ready to take off, but the pilot needs to finish his last box of Suduko. He’s almost figured out where those last numbers go, and then we’ll be off towards your destination. Everything is perfectly fine. There are nooooo problems with the aircraft at all. It’s just that pilot Jim has such an attention to detail he must finish this puzzle so he can concentrate on flying the plane with the same amount of precision and focus. Thanks so much for your patience.” That’s an excuse I could embrace.

We landed in Boston around 8 p.m. safely with no additional blowing of tires. After sucking down a glass of wine on the plane I was feeling a little better. The sight of my husband after 26 days was a little bit like seeing him waiting for me at the altar; only this time not only were there tears of love, but exhaustion and anxious release as well. And the knowledge that I’m no longer the only parent for these three kids.

The good news about having all our luggage go to Providence was that we were able to head straight to the van for home. Once again, not only am I glad to be home, but I’m also glad that I don’t travel like that more than once a year. At my old age, my mediocre emotions can barely handle it. 

Excuses

It’s currently 12:30 p.m. I have exactly one hour to write this blog before I pick up my children from school and our dear neighbor drives us to the airport to catch our 4:45 flight to Phoenix. That is of course, if my youngest stays glued to the TV and doesn’t need anything, whine, or have to pee while I write this. I figure I owe you some explanation of why I dropped off the planet, but if you’re even half as mediocre as me and you have children nearing the end of school, you probably haven’t had time to read my blog anyway. We’ve almost hit the finish line for the end of the year dash, and quite honestly, I’m out of breath.

Top 10 Reasons I Haven’t Blogged Lately

10. I volunteered at Field Day.

Field Day is an enormous event that includes the entire 3^rd, 4^th, and 5^th grade participating in events from field sports to face painting, free lemonade slushes, and bouncy obstacle courses. Parent Volunteers (read parents trying to get in their “school time” with the kids before school lets out) run and organize all the events. I traded a friend for face painting, which I have to say, I’m fairly good at, assuming that you have good paints to work with. Which I didn’t. I think it may have been easier to use Elmers glue, food coloring, and a stick than the paints I was given, but whatever. Next time I’ll just wear a shirt that says, “I don’t suck, the paints do.” Highlights from the event: It was really cold. I had my youngest with me in a tiny tank top and no sweatshirt. Thankfully, due to the amount of crap in our van, someone left a blanket. My youngest was no longer purple, but I was. Another interesting point is that there was one bathroom with two stalls. There were approximately 250 little girls sucking down lemonade slushes like water in the Sahara, and get this…NO LINE in the bathroom. Not one little girl was waiting to go pee. That has to be a statistical anomaly and made me realize I need to frequent events with more young children, and less with grown women who have bladder incontinence. In fact, the only person I passed on my way out was, you guessed it, another mom. Freaky.

9. I had to take my daughter to Karate later that evening and instead of blogging in the car like I occasionally do I, I worked on an essay for an on line class I’m taking.

8. I’m three lessons and four revisions behind in my essay class.

(I’m currently fighting with my three year old because she sniffed out my carbon dioxide like a mosquito and is now BOTHERING ME. Gotta get to 10, gotta get to 10….)

7. I took three kids and walked in the Relay for Life in Mansfield, MA.

This is the third year I’ve walked with a group called “Playgroup Pals,” in the Relay for Life to raise funds for the American Cancer Society. Oddly enough, this group of women had a playgroup many years ago when our children were small and we had time to do fun things, like play together. Our team raised over $5300 (I think) which is a pretty good job all in all. The kids even walked thanks to one of the moms and her idea to use bracelent reinforcements, with the kids earning one plastic foot charm for each lap walked. The two kids who walked the most laps could win a $10 gift certificate to Target. You have never seen my children walk harder and faster than trying to earn 10 bucks to Target. Neither ended up winning, but a good time was had by all. We made it home around 11 p.m. and

 my calves and thighs have ached ever since. I’m pretty sure that means I’m out of shape or something.

6. I’ve been trying to prep the garden for my trip.

There are sooo many things to do with that garden, namely pull weeds and stake the peas and tomatoes, thin the corn and green beans and fill in the potato patch. Don’t you worry, I’ve left a long to-do list for my husband so that when he returns from Phoenix and has three weeks all to himself, he doesn’t get lonely or bored because of all the chores I’ve kindly asked him to do. In fact, even this morning I was out in the garden begging the food not to die while I’m gone. Pretty, pretty please.

5. I’ve been making a garden to-do list for my husband while I’m gone.

It’s taken quite a bit of time. It’s a long list.

4. My husband and I got a babysitter and actually went out on a date.

This was to celebrate his new job, even though he’s going on week four. The girl? Young woman? that used to babysit for us is now back from college so she came to sit for the kids while hubby and I drove out to Sudbury and ate at Bullfinches. Always great food, great drinks, great service. Not inexpensive, but worth the occasional splurge. It’s also always a good idea to have a date night and pay for a babysitter right before you go on a long vacation, have many things to do, and plan on forking over a pretty penny for the next four weeks. We so live on the edge.

3. I’ve been cleaning the house like I’m never coming back to it.

While I’m excited about our trip to Phoenix, one thing has me a little stressed. We have company coming to stay with us a day before I get back with the kids. Yep, that’s right, my husband will now have to make sure the house is clean and the toilet isn’t pee speckled when they arrive. I’ve done my best to make sure the guest room and downstairs are good to go, but there will be last minute things he’ll still have to do: a basic dusting and making sure that the little spiders that live in all corners of our house have been booted out. The sheets are clean. The floors are clean (at least in the guest room). Don’t worry, I’ve left a list of household to-do chores for my better half as well. The good news is that our guests are very gracious people and will not judge us based on how our house looks (or at least that I’ll ever find out about) but still, you hope to make a good impression, if for no other reason than maybe two more people will think you don’t live in filth and squalor. It’s an illusion, I know. But don’t tell them.  

2. I’ve been making a to-do list of household chores for my husband.

1. I’ve been doing laundry for five days and there is still crap in the hampers.

The last time I washed this many loads of laundry in consecutive cycles was when we were dealing with the “L” word. I can’t even type it outloud, lest those little buggars hear me and attach themselves to my children’s heads again. I’ve washed clothes. I’ve washed bedding. I’ve changed sheets, because I can’t remember the last time I changed the sheets and four weeks seems like a long time to let those delicious smells lay in the beds. I’ve washed jackets and scarves that go in the attic, I’ve washed towels and bath mats and blankets. In addition to all the washing, I packed the suitcases with all the clean clothes. I mention this because I had actually contemplated packing dirty clothes and just washing them when I got to my parent’s house, but that felt a little user-ish. Not that I’m above using my parents occasionally, but not right at the beginning of the trip. I’ll give it a couple days.

It’s 1:17 now and my daughter has arrived (again) to climb on my back while I finish this up. It’s my intention to blog while I’m on vacation, but it probably won’t be every day and maybe not even every other day. But I’ll still be here so tune in occasionally to see how my trip is going. Triple digit heat and three kids for four weeks should provide me with lots to talk about. 

Sticking it to my garden

                                                     This isn't the brand I used. But it is organic.

 One of my many, many faults is that not only am I stubborn, but I can also be spiteful. Just a little. But don’t talk to my husband about this because I’m betting he’d be pushing that level more towards “completely.”

 I’m going to blame this on my therapist from some years back, who did such a good job convincing me not to be a door mat, he pushed me to not only stick up for myself, but also to stick it to them. Them being whoever is annoying me or angering me at the time. Maybe he didn't really teach me that per se; maybe it was just one tiny side effect of very effective counseling. Whatever. It’s a terrible cross to carry, truly it is.

But carry this cross I do, because as any good Catholic knows, life is not worth living unless you have many, many crosses to carry, and lots and lots of baggage to go with it. Not only does this give you things to write about, but also a reason to get up in the morning just to prove to people for the rest of the day that you don’t suck. That, and the priests need someone to talk with every Saturday at 4 p.m. during confession.

The latest root of my anger is my garden.

A few days back I walked out to check on the status of my organic seedling transplants, only to discover that three more tomato plants died. Two out of 20 corn seeds came up. Three of my 15 Italian beans sprouted, and are currently being eaten by an evil chipmunk. All my cucumbers died, and one of my healthy looking pickling cuckes just ate it as well. This on top of the devil ants that are consuming an entire bed, pushed me to the max.

I’m pissed. I’ve never lost so many plants before, for reasons I cannot explain. What’s a spiteful gardener to do?

I understand that a garden isn’t a live being, capable of plotting growing failure just to push my buttons, but that’s how it feels to irrational people like myself. That my garden is out to get me. Thumb it’s leaf at me and snicker as if to say, “Oh, yeah? You thought you were doing something right? Ha! Looks like you’ll be spending twice the money at the farmer’s market this summer, cackle, cackle, cackle. Organic-shmanic.”

Well, it just so happens that I have saved all my extra seeds from last year, CONVENTIONAL seeds purchased at Ocean State Job Lot for about a buck each. Not the fancy pants organic seeds I got sucked into buying this year because the catalog was shiny and colorful and full of optimistic potential. I also payed a visit to my local nursery and purchased four different types of tomato plants, already strong and tall. I went home and grabbed those seedy-low-class-unused packages, my new transplants, and headed to my garden. Come hell or high water, I’m going to get something to grow.

In one of my empty beds I planted an entire package of romanesco cauliflower. 8 inches apart in rows 3 feet apart like they suggested? Hell no. In three rows, right next to each other, so the seeds don’t get lonely. And crammed in next to that I planted an entire package of brussel sprouts. Close together. Willy nilly.

I headed over to the defunct corn that never surfaced and reseeded the entire bed with my cheap-ass corn seeds from the bump-and-dent-store. Three to a hole, so I can thin them as they grow? Absolutely not. I stuck five or six corn in every single dirt pocket. I figure at my rate of losing things this year, if one comes up from each plant, I’m doing well.

I also planted an entire package of green beans, four to a hole; two rows of spinach seeds, two rows of butter lettuce, and also a row of romaine starters, just to be pissy. As luck would have it, yesterday I went to check on the garden, and some creature has already dug up some of my lettuce seeds. Looks like the garden is going to be pissy right back.

I’m curious how my organic seeds and plants will feel growing next to such low-life genetically modified (no doubt) seeds. I’m thinking that socio-economically mixing the seeds and plants is probably a really good thing, and may encourage those hoity-toity organic ones to start producing something, if just to be competitive and snarky. Maybe the organic seeds smelled the mediocre middle-class status on my hands and refuse to grow just to put me back in my place. Who am I to require such non-tainted, pure food? Please.

 Right now it’s the waiting game. By the time I leave for Arizona in a week, those seedling should have germinated, and hopefully will be peeking their little red necks, excuse me, green necks out of the soil. I’m curious if I’ll have better luck with conventional seeds versus the organic…you know how hearty salt-of-the-earth things are. And if that’s the case, if my conventional seeds grow like weeds and provide me pesticide free food all summer, while my organic seed lay on their garden beds complaining how hot it is, while pooping out one or two things to eat, I know what I’m purchasing next year.

Mediocre seeds and plants. Ones that sing the same song I do.

Blogathon Brilliance: Things I've learned

Well, two days after the blogathon is over, and I’ve finally had time to process what I learned and have given my fingers a break. And my mind. My creative mind was becoming soggy cereal mush trying to come up with things to write about. Yes, even when I wrote about nothing. That takes energy too.

During the blogathon I tried to visit all the bloggers who were participating in the ‘thon, and I’ve almost made it. I’ve promised myself that I’m going to get to each one. Even if the blogathon is over.

But there are many lessons to be learned from this experience, little nuggets of take away wisdom that helps people like me gain perspective about my own blog, effort, writing skills, et al. And after which I have determined: I am appropriately mediocre. I’m right there in the middle. I’ve determined the middle place is a good place to be. So- things I’ve learned:

There are people out there who have fabulously designed blogs.

Reading many other blogs is a little like window shopping: you get to admire all the goods and then go home and try to replicate them yourself. I now know there are many different places to get blog designs, like The Cutest Blog on the Block, and many bloggers who are just really good at designing their own stuff. I love the look of Blogging About Boys, and Parenting By Trial and Error. Very homey and scrapbook-y, which I find darling. I also ran across Western Gardeners.com, which has to be one the most beautiful sites I’ve ever seen. From a design perspective, it’s easy to use, the photos and graphics aid the reader and don’t hinder it, and everything from the colors to the fonts are cohesive. Looking at these beautiful blogs and then going to visit my own, leaves me feeling a little bit like I’m wearing baggy, faded, plain, straight-cut jeans, while those around me are sporting low waisted, butt-affirming, boot-cut, rhinestone studded, embroidered pockets, haute couture denim, but my content is good, so I’ll focus on that. I can always get butt-affirming designs later.

There are blogs on just about anything. And everything.

One of the things that us bloggers fear, is not having a community with whom to share our passion. Having no readers feels like failure, and makes you ask the question about whether falling trees make a sound in the forest if no one is around to hear it. But blogging classes (and famous bloggers as well) stand by the rule that to be successful, you must blog about what you love. The readers will find you. Three blogs I found interesting and unique (and just go to show you that you can find a blog on just about everything) are: The Boom Boom Room, a blog about folk music and the hippie generation, that also include some fabulous clips of old tv commercials; About English Idioms, a blog dedicated to the history of idioms and why we’ve come to coin terms like “Takes the Cake,” or “The Cat’s Meow.” And lastly, there’s even a blog for people who’d like more information on how to get stoned correctly, and possibly even make money by selling marijuana to people who medically need it, on the blog Stonerprenuer.com.  Her mission statement reads, “Do you want to be a healthier, happier, more productive stoner? You’ve come to the right place. Let me show you how…” Oddly enough, Sami (admittedly) had trouble blogging every day in May, mainly because she is “extremely forgetful” and subscribes to the “less is more” view of communication (which includes blogging), and she’s not going to “beat herself up about it.” (All those quotes are her words, not mine.) I’m thinking that maybe she should take the “more productive stoner” line out of her mission statement and hit the hash pipe again. But like I said, there’s truly a blog out there for everyone.

 I really like the three column layout and need to try and put that into my site.

Another thing I discovered is that I really like the three-column layout for blogs. I’m liking Blog Salad and Lost in the View, the latter actually being a blogspot blog. Which means it’s possible for me to do this, event though Heather warned me that it took her “4 hours and 10 beers” to figure it out. It’s always bothered me that my blog has a ton of wasted space in the sidebars, which makes my blogs run super long (not that I tend to ramble on about things) forcing people to scroll to read my stuff. I’d also like to include more links, and other interesting things in that wasted space, eventually even (possibly) trying to monetize my blog. Could you imagine making like, $5.32 cents a month just because people clicked through to see advertising? That’s one free latte. Or one day of late-fees for my library books. Or five things from the dollar store, which keeps my kids busy for 30 minutes while they peruse the crappy, chemical-laden products. Regardless, I must get myself three-columns.

Everyone has days when they are too tired-so we repost, ask questions, and link like crazy.

At the beginning of the blogathon, Michelle Rafter, host and organizer of this fabulous event, blogged about “10 Sure Cures for Blogger Burnout,” which include, reposting old blogs, having people guest post, and also using photos and You Tube clips as postings for a day. I hated having to post lame blogs about how tired I was or how I didn’t have anything to say, but that’s honestly how those days were. Even pro-blogger and parenting author Jen Singer has days when she just can’t get out a long blog. So you can imagine how happy I was to read her post entitled, “I Got Nothin.” Yeah Jen! Thank you for having nothing. If for no other reason than I feel better about myself when I have nothing. During this thon I used all the aforementioned tricks and they can be lifesavers. I’m always left wondering though, would people rather read my blogs about nothing, than nothing itself?  

There are people who make me laugh. Out Loud.

Probably the best thing about this whole blogathon, was that I found my alter ego living in Ohio and blogging at Two Hands and a Roadmap. I love that she’s slightly embarrassed of living in the town known for it’s Polka Hall of Fame, and that she swears more than me in print. I swear plenty in person but not as often in print, and Tara swears plenty in the written word. And she’s funny. She hides cookies in the oatmeal container in her freezer. Her husband also does not read her blog. It’s truly freaky how similar I feel we are. And her pic on Facebook makes her look a little edgy and neurotic. I love that even more. She also has a gift for being really funny within a really short blog post, which I need to learn to do. Perhaps writing a thesis-length blog posting every time is not necessary, and I could swear a couple times and get the same effect. I’ll have to practice being short. To the point. Concise. Without losing the funny. Tara does this brilliantly. Thanks Tara!

All in all, it’s been a great month. Sure there were other teeny, tiny bits of blogging information that I picked up, like the differences between Wordpress and Blogger; the importance of having your very own domain name, and the necessity of marketing and cross linking yourself between Twitter, Facebook, your blog, your email, your personal website, Digg, and Stumble, which for the most part, wafted over my head like a thick, heavy, breeze on humid July afternoon, leaving me feeling sticky and confused. Everything in it's time. The biggest lesson for me was that making blogging a priority makes all the difference. Taking the time every day to write a post has done wonders for my dedication and self-discipline. I’ve gotten a lot of feedback from readers and friends who like reading the posts everyday, and are actually tuning in pretty regularly. Now all I need to do is transfer that skill set over into other areas of my life: writing my novel, cleaning the house, staying organized, and making dinner to name a few. And speaking of the latter, the kids need to eat. Dangit.