clickmom

I am

So, (deep breath signifies long story ahead) long time readers will remember that I lost 50 pounds after my 40th birthday and was going pretty strong (despite the frustrating plateaus along the way) right past my 41st birthday up until our trip to Israel. In Israel we stayed at a lot of nice hotels that left a lot of nice chocolate lying around and I indulged. Except that chocolate was just the beginning. Once I got off that sugar free wagon, the whole ordeal just snowballed. I managed to get off the sugar temporarily but that was short lived. When we took that boat trip in July to Alaska there were baskets of irresistible candy and sugar coated dried fruit every few steps through out the boat. I probably gained 10 pounds on that trip alone. Then when we came up to utopia, and the kids were really into making s’mores on the fire pit I had made with my babes, well, you can imagine how that went for this sugar addict. There were marshmallows along with all the chocolate. By the time last September rolled around I had regained about 20 or 25 pounds of that lost 50.

Then I went home from utopia, felt physically worse and worse, got diagnosed with that intestinal disorder, put grandma in the assisted living, injured my ankle on that @#$%^&* water slide, heard mom’s fatal diagnoses, and generally ate myself through the whole school year. Food as a tool for coping with any and all of life’s curve balls helped me regain the entire 50 pounds plus 2 more to boot.

I so didn’t want to admit my failure to myself. Every time I had to change wardrobe season’s I had to buy a new set of clothes because before I kept giving all my fat clothes away as I lost all the weight. Last April I had to buy all new clothes when we went to the Bahamas. Being in between sizes I opted for the larger and more comfortable size. When I pulled those previously comfortable shorts and pants out to wear them again two short months later in June, they barely closed. I even burst one zipper open on one of the less previously roomy pants. I couldn’t believe it. I refused to buy myself more new and even larger shorts.

When we got up here for another summer in utopia I started to binge some more until one night when I ate so many marshmallows that I was still nauseous the next morning. On that nauseous morning I decided to get off the sugar again. Now it’s been about 6 weeks off of the sugar and I feel great. My head is sharper, I am not wallowing in daily guilt and my shorts fit again. I wasn’t going to weigh myself because I want to focus on feeling good rather than a random number, but the last time I was home, the husband said he could see a difference (and I wasn’t even asking), and since he who never sees a difference spontaneously saw a difference, I decided to step onto the scale and prayed for the best. The numbers were good, I lost 12 pounds, which is the 2 over the regained lost 50 and 10 more too.

I still have to work on the volume of food issue, and am planning on focusing more on that this year, as well as getting my butt moving again, as I ended up taking the whole summer off from exercise between my ankle and now the pinched nerve in my neck. I still do not want to weigh myself, I just feel like watching the numbers always ends up getting me frustrated and I have to concentrate on the routine that will get me where I want to be no matter how long it takes.

That is where I am.

captured

As summer fades away I find myself enjoying the especially sweet moments even more than ever before. I am savoring every giggle, every good natured tease, every inside joke with the kids. I am luxuriating in the connectedness and tenderness of it all. I am trying to commit every tender moment to memory, hoping to be able slip these peaceful loving feelings out and find comfort in them over the winter when I anticipate we will be struggling with our stressful separate and clashing schedules and our demanding lives.

Josh, who likes to kick the covers off in the middle of the night, crept into my room at around 5 o’clock this morning looking for some warmth. Not wanting to wake completely up myself, I invited him into the bed with me. For a little while we both tossed and turned. Then the sky took on it’s morning is soon to come glowing shimmer and I, realizing that sleep was not going to make a return appearance for me. I got the brilliant idea that Josh and I could hop into my truck, zip over to the island, canoe to the middle of the glassy still early morning lake and watch the sun come up over the mountains (hills?) that surround us here. I hopped out of bed, started tossing on yesterday’s clothes while excitedly announcing my brilliant idea to a still sleepy and semi bewildered Josh. But he just sat there, declaring his tiredness and lack of desire for a chilly early morning outing. Half dressed, completely and hopelessly awake, psyched up and yet totally defeated I laid myself back down next to Josh. He needed to sleep. He tossed a bit more and then finally, facing me settled his head right into the crook of my underarm. I lied there, facing him with my arms wrapped protectively around his back listening as nature made it’s waking noises outside our window and Josh’s breath gradually slowed, then deepened, and his body finally relaxed into sleep just as the sky brightened into day. I kissed his forehead as gently as I could. It didn’t take long for him to fall into a deep contented slumber.

Lying there holding Josh I thought about how much I love him and how picturesque we must look, tangled up together with my arms encasing his innocent youthful peacefulness. I longed for a way to have a photo of us at that exact moment. I wanted a photo that showed how much I was loving him right at that very second. I am rarely in a photo. I take the photos. I wondered if someone watching me holding him there could actually see how much love I was feeling for him right at that very second. I kissed his sleeping head some more. Surely, a feeling that strong must be visible.

I thought about how I would photograph us lying there. Josh sleeping like an angel and me as awake as can be, millions of thoughts rushing through my head trying so hard just to hold on to how simply and purely good that split second felt, smelled, looked, sounded and even tasted. I contemplated all the angles, the “film speed” and graininess versus using the overhead light, the lamp light or a (heaven forbid) flash. I thought about color versus black and white. I thought about how I usually hope to capture some aspect of my love for the children in the photos I take of them and wondered if one day my kids would look at those photos of their young selves when they are grown and be able to see the love I have for them somewhere in the composition, or the perfect light quality or even in the smiles on their own faces. Because in my most loving photos I am not in front of the lens loving them, but on the other side of the camera, invisible, trying so desperately to capture what may or may not be able to be seen.

matt stories

why medicines should not be allowed to advertise on tv:

Matt was watching television the other night and he settled on the show The King of Queens. After a few minutes he abruptly changed stations. When I shot him a questioning look he shrugged his shoulders and said “The King of Queens is having erectile dysfunction issues. I can’t relate to that.”

Eaves dropping

After reading George and Martha to Josh, the husband was overheard saying “What?!? I thought George was a really ugly elephant!”

Josh: No, He’s a hippopotamus

Matt: (Dashing into the room) Josh, are you sure he’s a HIP-Opotamus and not just a really cool Opotomus?

weep

When I let myself think that summer is over I want to cry. No, I want to weep is more like it. I think I might drop to the floor, sob until my face swells and my lungs burn and the world begins to spin around me.

I want to be here, in utopia, near my unfinished home away from (stress) home waiting for the last nail, the last lumber truck, the last worker guy, to walk out of the front door (which I haven’t even seen yet) and announce that the house is complete so I can rush in and sleep in every room, lounge in every corner and begin discovering it’s nuances and tendencies. I want to discover exactly what I’ll gaze upon through the window when I awake each day or relax into a bath each evening. I want to bask in a warm cup of tea and sit in my screened in cocoon of a porch, safe from all things biting and watch the sun go down, just like I used to each evening from the linen closet outside Matt’s old room. I want to smell wood burning in the fireplace. I want to infuse the house with the aroma of the grand feast I’ll cook in my new kitchen. Linger with good friends at the kitchen table. Get sleepy on good wine. Spy on the frolicking kids from the front porch. Be home. I just want to be home. This place feels like home.

Fall being right in my face, days away gnaws at me in so many ways. The kids have to go back to school. We all have to live on a schedule again, which will somehow include Matt getting to school at the ungodly (to a teenager) hour of 7AM. Last night I dreamed that it was the first day of school and I was trying to get it together from this rental place to get the kids out of the door and on their way. I had no lunch packing supplies, didn’t know what Josh would eat for a packed lunch, and couldn’t remember what time the school bell was going to ring. No one had any clothes to wear and I didn’t know how to get from here to their schools.

We’ll go home and go back to visiting grandma, which is a sadness that stabs at my core. Grandma is sad, the people around her are sad, how they have to live, dependent on strangers, not entirely understanding what is going on around them and where they are in this world is heart breaking, no matter how clean and cheerful the OFH appears. And then there is mom, fighting this losing battle, not really knowing if her brave fight is going to get her anywhere at all. One of the specialists she saw gave her 18 months to live. That number haunts me. She had to miss two scheduled chemo appointments because of her extremely rare complications and right now it isn’t clear that they will ever be able to successfully administer the chemo, which is what we are counting on to get rid of, or at least minimize the part of the cancer that the surgeon couldn’t remove. Without the chemo, it seems to me, that everything else up until now was all for nothing and maybe she should have been on a trip around the world or something. She always said she wanted to go to Hong Kong.

I wish I could enjoy our last few days here. It is quiet. The other kids are gone. Their schools start tomorrow. I am overwhelmed with leaving our island grief, leaving utopia grief, reentering my reality life anxiety, and even the previously relaxed kids are feeling anxious about what changes the next week or so will bring. They keep asking me when we are leaving and how many days until school starts. I don’t think it shows on my face right now, but inside I am already starting that weep.

never ends

So, mom went for another dose of chemo last week and they x-rayed her when she wouldn't stop crying out in pain. It turns out the tubing that comes out of her port is wrapped around her liver. That is not where it is supposed to be. Mom needs another surgery to see if they can remove and reposition the tube. They aren't sure they will be able to do it. Mom is strong but this test is really pushing the limits for her. It's just too much. I am worried about how many obstacles she'll be able to tolerate. I'm crying for her because of the unfairness of it all. It is too much.

heavy on my mind

Home for another whirlwind 24 hour visit-the past 5 or so posts were pre-written during my last visit.

Matt's toes have been declared ingrown toenail free by the friendly yet spaced out podiatrist (he had three of them!) who couldn't quite remember him from visit to visit. But in the end she was nice enough and his toes are fine.

My chipped tooth (conveniently located front center bottom) is repaired (for now, but still delicate. The dentist suggested I not use it much. Huh?) but there is a suspicious pain emanating from the rear of my jaw which might send me back to the dentist tomorrow..

I have a pinched nerve in my neck (Complete with pain and numbness shooting down my right arm) due to Evan falling off the water trampoline and onto my head- but my ankle seems fine since the BFF of my home chiro/utopian chiro deemed it "all jammed up" and worked it by attempting to pull it off of my leg. I'm not complaining, I am just saying. I am happy, it worked. My left leg might be longer, but the ankle doesn't hurt. All good down there.

I bought out Babies R Us for my sister who is likely to go into labor any minute now even though she is only 30 weeks. She is having contractions that are currently being controlled with medication, but if you ask me, either the kid wants out or lil sis's body has just had enough and I wouldn't be surprised to get a frantic phone call at any minute.

My mother has had a rare complication with the chemo. She is in a lot of abdominal pain due to a malfunction with the port which means that the chemo did not go through the port but went directly into her abdomen, making it even more toxic than usual, and they do not know what the long term effects will be. Like she needed that! Short term effects include hard angry swollen site, redness, serious pain. Like she needed that!

Grandma has taken to wandering out of the OFH and across the busy street, towards a shopping plaza, where so far traffic all along the route has stopped and waited for her. This tendency to wander is a deal breaker for residency at the OFH since they are not a high security facility and don't want me filing a law suit if grandma should end up hit by a truck or something. I haven't approached them with my idea for a dual purpose shock collar/defibrilator that she could wear to recondition her response to freedom. I'd have the place wired with an underground electrical current like my yard (hey- it works like a charm on the devil dog!) and have all the seniors retrained. Then in an emergency situation, no one would have to hunt down the defibrillator! Clear! You might laugh, but I am completely serious.

Good times people, good times.

3 more reasons why I am not going to read his journal

We watched part of one of those (disgusting) nanny shows one night and Evan was outraged by the troubled kids behavior. Evan couldn't believe how this child in need of discipline spoke to his parents. The longer we watched the more outraged Evan got. I was intrigued by Evan's sense of righteousness, especially since he is the child most likely in our family to say and do inappropriate things. I questioned him about this and he informed me that when he said or did things that were not 100% kosher, he wasn't doing it seriously like the kid on tv. (reinforcing my theory that the whole tough guy thing is all an act) I told Evan I was going to get a naughty chair so that he could see just how often he stepped out of line.

Now that we are staying at the rental in utopia and not at our own unfinished place, we do quite a bit of walking back and forth between the rental and our own unfinished place. I have noticed that on these walks it is always (and only) tough talking Evan who grabs my hand to hold as we are walking down the street.

Evan had archery in camp. He really wants his own bow and arrow so he can shoot more. We happened to be walking down a street of a nearby town and saw a sign in a store for archery. We went in to check out the deal, and it was a serious archery store for hunters. I asked Evan if he wanted to shoot animals. (Fearing he would say YES and then I'd have to obsess about all the serial killers who hurt animals as children) Evan rolled his eyes at me and reminded me about the time when we found a conch shell at the beach and he made me throw it back in because there was still a conch living in it and he couldn't face the idea of being the one to kill it. Of course he didn't want to shoot animals, he said (with an eye roll), he wanted to shoot at a target.

bubble burst

Matt came home from camp with dairy induced excema so I picked up some fish oil capsules to give him that would help his skin heal from the inside out. Since Evan and I have dry snake skin, I figured I'd just dole them out like candy, and since they smell amazingly like strawberries, Josh wanted in on the whole thing too. The four of us have been taking them for a while now and I can't stop caressing my own smooth baby soft skin. I told Josh that we all had soft skin now. I have been walking around rubbing my own arms raw just enjoying the silky smoothness that is me now. The fish oils even softened up my sandpaper elbows, the stuff is magical. Thinking there was nothing under the sun softer than me, I told Josh to stroke my arm, which he did. He said "Hmmm soft" and then lifted his own shirt to rub himself and continued with "Let me see... but not as soft as me!"

meteors

One night Evan got glimpse of the news up in Utopia. He told me that the weather guy had reported that there would be meteor showers that night and that all we needed was a clear view of the northeastern sky to see them. Evan and I went out side and stood, staring up at the northeastern sky until we began to see a little trail of light here and there. It happens fast so we could barely point and utter a sound before it was over. Eventually we both settled our gaze on the same spot and just found this comfortable space together. We stood there, heads tilted backwards, Evan directly in front of me patiently waiting for another spark to cross the sky. He leaned back on me, and I liked feeling his still shorter than me little boy weight against my chest as we continued to look up at as much clear black sky as we could see. When a light sparked and faded we'd comment on it to each other pointing out it's direction, brightness and length. We wondered if was a good time to go inside and then as we stood there eyes glued up towards the heavens, there was a spark so bright and intense it could have been fireworks. We looked at each other and agreed it was time to go in. Evan happily got into bed, we agreed that were glad we subjected ourselves to the wrath of the many many mosquitos that lurk around the rental each night, and we both went to sleep smiling.

It was that night that I decided that I was not going to read Evan's journal, (still struggling with that conflict) because deep down inside I know that what ever cursing threatening crap he wrote, it is all part of some bravado act he feels like he needs to present to the world and that really what he is is just a regular kid who likes to look up and search the sky for falling stars.

rethinking my kid's choice hair style policy

Matt just turned to me and asked"Mom, how do white people get dread locks?"

lid alignment

Maybe, just maybe (or maybe you can ask yourself if the pope is catholic) I can be a wee bit OCD about (many, oh sooo many) a few things here and there (and everywhere) every (minute of every day) once in a while. One of the things I can be a just a tad OCD about is the placement of the (surely toxic) plastic coffee topper on my cup of joe. You see I need the hole from which I sip to be precisely 180 degrees away from the paper seam on the cup. I have attempted, to no avail, to let go and just drink (the friggin) joe from the (completely askew) top in which ever (haphazard and uncaring) way the barista of the day or the lackey of the moment at the utopian donut shop thoughtlessly slams the coffee topper on, but (alas) I cannot. I must remove and reposition each and every mal-placed coffee topper so that I can drink with proper seam/sip hole alignment. Don't even ask me what I think about the corrugated cardboard burning hot cup finger protector. Last week the boys and I stopped for a refreshing cup of joe at some no name/not a chain coffee joint in a neighboring town and you can imagine my sweet sweet joy when I gazed upon my coffee topper and saw that I was not alone. Somewhere out there I am understood.

barking up the wrong alley

When I was kid, growing up in a 2 bedroom apartment, I recognized that my family did not have a healthy relationship with the TV. When I left for college we had 5 televisions in that apartment. There was a living room TV, a TV in the kitchen (strategically placed so that lil sis and I could eat dinner each evening without breaking into a fist fight), one in my folks bedroom, one in my bedroom, and one in my sisters converted dining room alcove bedroom. (Yes, that "room" was originally mine, but we switched along the way) The only space in that small apartment with out a clear view to a television set was the two bathrooms. I remember one night (I was in high school) I sat in my room laughing myself silly to that hilarious new comedy "Soap". It occurred to me that other members of my family were laughing from other rooms in unison with my laughing, so I stuck my head out of my bedroom to discover that my folks were watching the same show in the living room, and my sister had her set tuned to that same show in her own bedroom too. It struck me as kind of cold.

Yesterday I attempted the conversation with the kids that was going to prepare them for some serious television restrictions this fall. Pretty much I think television is the devil, the cause of all evil. (Unless of course, it is one of the two or three shows that I am willing to make time in my busy schedule to watch.) I think that placing kids in front of screens (like we all do, myself included) makes them tuned out, irritable (especially the children's programming!), temporarily anti-social, and is destructive the overall family harmony I aim for. And even then the advertising makes me want to scream. What kind of an idiot do those advertisers think I am?? Seriously, I think I am getting old and cranky before my time because the mere sound of animated babble (and do NOT get me started on the music) is starting to drive me insane. And the older I get the more I think that everything on a screen does melt a kids brain, right along with the game boy, computer games, and any the other game devices too. (And YES, we do have them all, even though I'd prefer to live in a cave without them. I can't have my kids being social outcasts, or can I?) The kids know how I feel, and they know I HATE THE TV, and they are used to me self destructing from the sheer chaos of the noise of it all, shouting to turn it off (I yell NO SCREEN) and then the boys know they have to turn it all off. I really can't stand the tv.

When I was kid and in the midst of some (surely very slight, just to prove I was human) teenage angst, nothing pissed me off more than when my dad used to say to me "I know you better than you know yourself." in order to convince me that he was right about what ever it was he was trying to either prove or convince me to do. If I was the kind of kid who was prone to violence, this statement would have been weapon worthy.

Last week we came home for 24 hours and when the kids all left the dinner table my dad leaned over to me and in a hushed tone whispered, that there was something serious he'd like to discuss. For a second I (panicked) thought there was some bad news about my mom. Then dad got all mushy and began saying how grateful they were that we welcomed them into our house, and that they couldn't have gotten treatment for mom otherwise, blah blah and they wanted to do something special for my family. (My parents are still in shock that when my mother was diagnosed with an extremely rare form of an extremely rare cancer and there were only three places in the U.S. where she could get treatment and one happened to be convenient to our home, which we already had, complete with an unused guest room, we said "You have to stay with us!" They don't get the whole family supporting thing. They are bizarre. How did I turn out so nice?) Anyway, thinking they wanted to do something nice for me, I immediately perked up and asked (with the memory of those quiet and peaceful camp days still fresh in my mind) if they were going to take my kids away on a vacation. (Pleeeease, oh puh-lease!!!) Dad smiled and said that wasn't what he was thinking. Then he said he wanted to buy each one of my kids a television set to put in their own bedrooms. All I could do was shake my head NO, and my mom (who might not be as clueless as my dad) leaned over and whispered "I told you she wouldn't think that was a good idea."

Matt met a follicular soul mate and got some styling tips at the 4-H fair.

outbreak

Did I ever tell you that my parents are paranoid about catching something from the kids? They typically get sick five days after flying and when I point out to them that my kids weren't sick they always dispute that. They have recently been taking airborne for the duration of their brief visits, but that wouldn't be reasonable right now considering the length of this visit.

I have a stomach thing. Ev has a stomach thing. Matt has a stomach thing and the husband feels like he might be wavering. So far Evan is the winner because he is the only who has actually thrown up. I am hoping he maintains the lead. I am so glad we are in utopia and not at home with mom.

that henna dragon I forgot to show you

Man, when my mom has cancer, it sure beats my brain to a pulp. I am completely stressed and totally brain dead ever since I got home. So, instead of writing something all whiny, like I so completely could right now, I'll just present you with a peek at the henna dragon I sketched onto Evan's freshly shaved head a couple of weeks ago. It never took so well, and Evan's super thick hair grew back in and covered it up in about a day and a half, but here it is in all it's newly applied glory..... ta da....

lovely Evana the Shaker milk maid

At that Shaker village we went to there was a "discovery" center where kids could do things like milk a fake cow and dress up in old fashioned Shaker clothing. Evan, being the lover of all things costume, bee lined for the dress up corner but when he discovered that boys had only shirts and hats to choose from he opted for the girls more involved period clothing. The best part came when Evan began skipping around the center flapping his hands and I stood in the middle of the place laughing so hard I was doubled over with my legs crossed trying desperately hard not to wet my pants. It was proud family moment, yes it was.

another parenting dilemma

I grew up in a two bedroom apartment. For a long time lil sis and I shared a room, and then my parents did what all the other apartment dwelling parents (at least in our building) did at the time, they converted the dining alcove into a bedroom for me. I had my very own 8 X 8 bedroom that was separated from the living room (and the biggest television in the house) by a 4 panel accordion door (so I could listen to all my parents shows) and (this was the best part) located conveniently next to the wall phone in the kitchen which could be stretched all the way to my bed! By this time of separate bedrooms we were old enough to start buying our families and friends our own holiday gifts too, so each December I would set up the gifts I had purchased under a sofa table that my stereo sat on and I would add the little wrapped up packages as I purchased them over the weeks eventually making a beautiful display worthy of a department store window. Lil sis would do something similar in her room, and I would gaze upon it as I crossed her doorway on my way to and from the bathroom, but I would never go into her room and touch it because I liked the element of surprise. To this day I would never knowingly ruin a surprise, especially one that involves a gift. As a matter of fact, if I get a gift in the mail before my birthday, I will put it aside and wait for my actual birthday to open it.

One holiday circa 1978 or so, I had my gift display all set up and looking fine. As I laid my head down on my pillow I gazed upon my carefully designed tower of gifts anticipating how delighted all the recipients would be when I realized my display had been corrupted. I sat up to investigate and discovered that lil sis had not only opened and rewrapped the gifts with her name on them, but had actually opened and rewrapped every single gift in the entire display.

So it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that we had the following conversation the other day...

clickmom: blah blah blah... Evan

lil sis: Oh! I'm so glad you brought up Evan. There is something I have been meaning to tell you.

clickmom: What?

lil sis: Well, the last time I was at your house, I was in his room and I read that book on his night table.

clickmom: Thinking: Dammit, I have got to pay more attention to the books I let him buy.
Uh, I'm not sure what book you mean.

lil sis: I guess you could call it his journal.

clickmom: Thinking: Holy cow! She read his journal! I don't read his journal!
Does he need therapy?

lil sis: Well, I know you always say he's angry all the time, but I was pretty shocked at the things he wrote in there.

Then she went on to describe an angry warning he posted in the front about keeping out of the journal. There was an over abundance use of the F word. And a threat involving a gun. (we don't have one)

Now I am stuck with this big dilemma. So, what would you do readers? Would you read it?

long fall

Being home is really weird right now. When I am in utopia, I can try to blindly sail past my little emotional slump (and let me tell you something, I do denial very well indeed), but when I am home it just jumps out from behind every corner to surprise me with it's deep sadness and hopelessness. sigh.

Grandma is slowly drifting away from us. Her memory is shot. She can't remember from one minute to the next. It makes me so sad. I feel so sad about it partly because when I look at her and how confused and scared she is and I know that she feels completely like she has no part in this world, I dread growing old in a world where that could be me some day. I look around the dining room at all the people who have no purpose and I don't want to ever be one of them. They are mostly nice, kind and sweet, and I enjoy dishing it out with them and hearing their stories, but underneath there is so much despair, and I think if that is my destiny, well, honestly, I'd rather check out. I know grandma has been waiting to check out for almost 40 years now. That is a long time to walk around wishing you weren't here. sigh.

And then there is my mother. Mom is being as strong and as brave as a woman can be, but this surgery and now the chemo has knocked the spirit out of her. She seems so old, even though she actually looks pretty good. Without the energy to over-tease her yellow fuzz hair and apply too much glittery Tammy Baker eyebrow highlighter, well, she looks kinda fabulous, and probably ten years younger than she did before the surgery. Which is weird. Since she is wiped out all the time. She can barely sit up straight to watch television some nights. And I wonder if all this is going to be worth it. In my head I keep telling myself that there is no cure for what she has, she is just buying herself some time, but how much? WIll she get more time feeling good than she would have if she hadn't done anything? And also, I know thinking that she has to endure another surgery is weighing on her. It's weighing on me, and sitting around a hospital is the easy part. I'll feel no pain. sigh.

And then there is my Dad. A geezer who thinks he knows everything is as annoying as a less than precious little kid who thinks they know everything. And I feel totally guilty for feeling that way, but I have for a long time, and after hearing him dispel tons of misinformation to my mom's concerned friends who have been calling, well... I am never going to believe another thing out of his mouth. Seriously. And I can't tell him to stop trying to be the authority on everything, I mean, he's still the dad, but goodness, I want to gag order him. Also, he doesn't get how deaf he is either, and the room shakes when he watches television, (even with this hearing aids in). I hate being around a shaking room, so I hide in the corner of the kitchen, when what I really want to do is go upstairs where only the windows will be rattling and the bass is detectable, and I can play alone, by myself, but I don't want to be rude. sigh.

It's going to be such a long fall.

stupid shakers

yesterday I took the kids to a Shaker village/museum/farm for the day. We actually had a lovely time and I enjoyed there curiosity and enthusiasm. When we got the dining room I spied the dumbwaiter. Feeling all guilty and sentimental about the dumbwaiter that used to be in our torn down house I said "Oooh,look boys a dumbwaiter" Then Matt, very honestly (and obviously confused) asked "Do they use one of their own or do they hire someone from the outside?"

career options

So, the camp Evan went to and had a great time at and wants to go back to for every summer of his youth was a Jewish camp. Evan came home having learned all sorts of Hebrew words and expressions and having had to attend services several times a day. He has already exceeded my –you could fit it on the head of a pin- knowledge of anything Jewish related. I was all worried that he was going to become a rabbi or something. Tonight he told me that the only thing bad about his camp was that it is a Jewish camp. And I said “Does this mean you are not going to become a rabbi?” and he looked at me like I had two heads and said “That depends, do rabbis drive Lamborgini’s?”

not my party

As the weeks wear on I am missing the internet more and more. (Especially when the less than lovely iphone has shit-tay reception up here. You know why AT&T has less dropped calls? Because you can’t get a signal to even begin the call!! No call. No dropping!) However, I have been getting plenty of those summer novels under my belt, (favorite one so far: The Glass Castle) and I am enthusiastically waiting for someone to return the newly released season 2 DVD of Weeds to the local Blockbuster so I can partake in that naughty delicacy, but internet, I miss you!!

I don’t know which Hollywood stars are wearing leggings under their dresses, I haven’t read anyone’s postcard secrets for the week, I am clueless about what the bloggers I hate are doing (Yes, for some odd reason I find myself drawn to a few bloggers who I find whiny, crass, or disagreeable in some other way) I don’t know what the bloggers I like are doing and all this is not so great, but the bright and shining star in this ordeal …. I am going to miss all of the Blogher hullabaloo!! I haven’t been to a Blogher yet, not because I don’t want to go, just because it hasn’t been possible, and honestly, I feel totally left out of the drinking, bonding, fondling, learning, listening, picture taking love fest. I considered going this summer, but registration was right around the same time as the link inspired hate fest on my blog, and when three featured speakers ganged up to leave me less than friendly comments, I decided that maybe, just maybe Chicago was not going to be my year. (Tsk tsk, so sensitive, I know!) I am hoping that next year Blogher continues it’s migration eastward and maybe just maybe it can end up being convenient for me to go and then I will have no lame excuse, since next year it will have been so long since the linking incident that I can no longer admit to being traumatized and disillusioned by it. But for this year I am kind of glad that I am not going to read about what a great time the rest of the blog-o-sphere had when I wasn’t there.

you can call me Al

We went to the lake association’s picnic. They had name tags for the people to fill out. Matt picked one up and wrote “Hi my name is Jamal” This past school year he tried to convince a group of sixth graders that he was Matt’s twin brother Jamal. Some of them believed him. (B- your sixth grader can fill you in on this)

Evan, not to be out done by his big brother (because, we all got a good chuckle off of Matt’s tag) grabbed a name tag for himself and wrote, “Hi, I am Voldemort”. Then he offered his tag writing assistance to Josh, and not agreeing with Josh’s alias choice of Venom, penned a tag for Josh which read “HI, I am Chuck Norris”. Since there was a very pretty 18 year old girl laughing at all of this name tag folly Evan dashed off a couple more tags for himself. By the time we left the picnic you could have also called him P. Diddy and Sister Mary.