clickmom

a tale of two responses

Evan at Matt were pretty much at each other's throats all #$%^& day today. This is not typical and I do not handle it well. It was exhausting for me, especially since I was toting grandma around too. Having her along requires the same amount of concentration that having a toddler who likes to bolt does, so I find that I am extra demanding of the kids when she is in tow, they need to be perfect. They weren't perfect. Since they were already snippy with each other from the moment they opened their eyes this morning by the time we picked up grandma and I announced that it was a summer clothes shopping expedition day snippy turned into bickering turned into going too far turned into pushing my limits. There were rough squeezes and finger bending, there was making the noise that drives your brother crazyX10, there was too much know-it-alling going on, and everything possibly else which could cause an otherwise patient as a saint and mild mannered mother like me to LOSE IT.

Then we went out to dinner with Boops and her kids. And the kids (she has one for Matt and one for EV) wanted to have a sleep over. I said YES, initially. Because things appeared to have blown over. Until the my kids began to bicker bicker bicker and that whole last straw camel's back thing happened to me. Then Matt did something WRONG and I said his sleep over was cancelled. Then Evan did something EVIL and I said his sleep over was cancelled. Then Evan glared at me through his eyebrows for a full 15 minutes. And it was so hard not to laugh at that face that it broke some of the tension for me and I asked Evan if he would like to plead his case for a chance at getting his sleep over back. Every one left Evan and me alone in the restaurant, because we had just paid for the meal, and I told Evan he could have a sleep over if he admitted he was looking for trouble all day and apologized for the behavior. He said (12 times) "It's not my fault!" because Matt was MAKING him. You see, dear readers, nothing is ever Evan's fault because his wrong doings are always some sort of befitting reaction to a much higher crime perpetrated by some other more criminal type individual and therefore more deserving of punishment type individual. I had to explain to Evan how he had created and participated in today's bad situation. Eventually he kind of relented and in a very vague lop sided way said a little bit of what I asked him to say. I considered this 1/2 admission of guilt to be a tiny little victory. I said he could have his sleep over back. We went outside where every one was waiting for us and I turned to Matt and asked him if he would like to plead his case for a chance at getting his sleep over. Matt said "I would, but I was behaving badly today." He then got his sleep over back too.

growing

When our neighbor had a baby almost 6 years ago they namend him Matthew. Since we already had one ourselves, we referred to this new Matthew on the block as "Little Matt'. Little Matt is Josh's age and ended up in his preschool class. The kids became friends. Little Matt never really got why my family has our own name for him. In reality he only answers to the more formal "Matthew". Of course, Little Matt is not a baby anymore either. According to Josh Little Matt, noting his current less than small stature, recently confided that he now "prefers to be called "Medium Matt".

bra flips bird

The only thing worse (undergarment wise) than looking down and discovering that there is a pokey wire coming up from your bra and making a little pointy shirt tent on top of your breast shelf is that pokey little wire coming out under your arm and forcing you to walk around for the entire day with your hand on your hip. Okay, I take that back because there are other things that disturb me too, like the inner bossom spill over, the cut your back in half too tight band, the strap tightener that won't stay where you put it so your boobs get lower through out the day (flattering!). I could go on forever. And do not even get me started on panties.

I wonder what Michael Bolton wore today

Last night I dreamed that Nicolette Sheridan came to a babes lunch. Except this babes lunch was being held in some sort of bed and bath/rustic in the woods type hotel, and Nicolette brought her boyfriend, which we don't do at a babes lunch. He was oddly enough wearing a two piece long sleeved all black wet suit. And then while trying to entertain us with some long uncomfortable convoluted tale Nicolette's boyfriend referred to Kitten as "some woman" which, much to my surprise, only Kitten and I found offensive. Lunch was over, Kitten and I shared some telepathic disgust about the boyfriend and then she along with the rest of the babes retired to their rooms for a rest. Nicolette's boyfriend and I were left alone in the dining room, though I was vaguely aware that my own husband was sitting in the next room, a living room, reading the newspaper. Fortified by both Kitten's mutual offense at the term "some woman" and the geographic proximity of the husband I told Nicolette's boyfriend that I was on to him and that I knew how truly scummy he was. I told him that I would personally convince every babe to confront Nicolette and he would soon be history. He told me that he had everyone fooled and that I didn't stand a chance against his charm. Then he removed his skin tight black long sleeved shirt and his black socks, tossed them towards my feet and bounded up the stairs two at a time. I rolled up his clothes, socks tucked tightly inside the ball of the shirt, opened the front door, spotted a long dark narrow cement staircase to a basement and threw his clothes down. I stopped to consider how out of place this cement stair case was in the woods. The shirt unfolded in flight and landed half way to the bottom and I decided that they would go unnoticed since they were black. As I re-entered the front door Nicollette's boyfriend descended the stair case wearing a blue collared t-shirt shirt and white pants. He was dressed for polo. Which again seemed very out of place in the woods. Then I had to figure out how I was going to throw Nicolette's boyfriend's bright blue shirt all the way down the stairs since it would be visible half way down because it was such an obnoxious color.

late night thoughts

I am so not understanding the whole Sanjaya thing. I didn't care for him from the beginning but after tonight's hairstyle.... Also, he has to stop singing the love songs about women because ... really!! You can not convince me that that kid is playing on my team. If he playing on my team, then I just might consider switching teams.

And creepy Phil. The hat. I could smell that nasty looking hat thru the television. Did it not look like something your grandmother would pull out of the back of closet and try to force on you if you were visiting her when it unexpectedly started to snow and your grandmother was sure that you'd catch your death of a cold if you went outside with a naked head? Well, it did to me.

Enough of that, now let's get on to the important stuff. Me me me. I am not feeling so hot lately. I have been eating some (boatloads of) corn and it has given me back that low grade headache that I had all of last summer. Also, today I was nauseous for a while after breakfast, so I am quite concerned that I am getting toxic again. Then I just happened to have an appointment with the chiro who instantly said he had to work some of my liver reflexes. Ooops. I guess this beer I am consuming is going to be my last for a while. Tomorrow I am back on the detox bandwagon. I am so looking forward to this. You can imagine. yippee. can't. conceal. my. enthusiasm.

I was going to run all by myself today, which is kind of funny since last Tuesday I couldn't run because the track was covered in snow and today it was 81 degrees out here. But I couldn't shake that feeling that there was something else I was supposed to be doing. Then I thought I would call my editor and see if there was something I was forgetting to photograph when I realized that what I was forgetting was a nature walk/photo walk with my editor. I zipped home, grabbed the camera and sped over to our meeting place only a few minutes late. Save! It was a nice walk/photo session, but in reality I kept feeling guilty about not running the whole time. I never did find the time to run or walk or anything, but I'll make up for that tomorrow by taking a spin class, lifting and then coming back later for some pilates. Wednesday is my killer day at the gym.

Tomorrow I will also be taking grandma to the surgeon to discuss her cancer. My parents asked a retired dermatologist friend of theirs about her cancer. The friend was adamant that grandma has to have the surgery. Yet, he doesn't know which kind of melanoma she has. Gotta love that! I just can't imagine grandma undergoing surgery or living and waiting to see of this cancer will kill her. I know I need to find out what the prognosis is before I even think about it. Then I can make a better decision. I'll tell you one thing, if grandma does end up getting this surgery, I am not going through it with her alone. I am going to guilt, insist, yell, scream, and threaten to make my mother and scum-cle be present for that. But, I'll worry about it when and if it becomes a reality. In the mean time, I'll continue to sip this beer here, and then maybe I'll stumble upstairs to download the photos I took today so I can tell myself what a gifted photographer I am.

Goodnight.

this is me

Matt doesn't always seem like he has Asperger's. But then sometimes he does. In an attempt to thwart off any maniacal gunmen who might want to shoot up the children of our town, our local board of ed put locks and buzzers on all the school doors. (Because you and I both know that this is a fool proof way to keep our children out of harm's way, don't we? I mean, if I were a homicidal gun toting sicko on a death mission a buzzer would stop me cold.) Matt used to just march right in to school each morning, but now he has to ring a bell, announce himself to the office and wait for them to buzz the door open. Matt finds this maddeningly annoying. Recently he told me that when he rings the bell he merely says "Let me in" I suggested he say something friendlier, but he insisted that this works for him and that the ladies in the office already know it is him anyway. I let him slide on this because I want the ladies in the office to know that this new and utterly uselss system is troublesome for my kid. I figure I might be able to use the buzzer and Matt's hostile response to it later on.

On the other hand, when it comes to being with friends and family Matt seems so confident and at ease. Sometimes I look at him laughing with his buddy or trying to convince his cousin she should let him pick him up, and I think it just doesn't look like he has a problem! He is such a good study that I forget that what the rest of us do naturally he has to learn how to do. Tonight he forgot to bring home his vocabulary words to study for a test tomorrow. He really wanted to do well on that test and was upset, so I suggested he call someone from the class and find out what the vocabulary words are. Matt thought of the guy he'd feel comfortable calling, picked up the phone, prepared to dial, and asked "Wait. Do I say 'Who is this?' or "This is me' first?".

packing up

Spent the day cleaning out the rest of grandma's stuff from her old apartment.

Guess who was with me the whole time?

Yup, scum-cle. Not only did he volunteer to meet me there and "help" but he called me seconds before I left the house this morning and asked me to pick him up. I took the scenic route, going on the turnpike because there is this fabulous view as it rounds the corner near Liberty Science Center and lower Manhattan is laid out before that little stretch of highway. It's been over 5 years now, but I am slowly learning to love that view again. It isn't the same with out the towers, and for a long time I looked away as we approached it, or just took a different route to the tunnel, but NY is still my home, NY is where my heart is, and I now I can see the view with out feeling scared. Normally I come out the Holland tunnel and zip around the outside of Manhattan, going down West St onto the FDR to the Upper East Side, but I swallowed hard and picked scum-cle up at his apartment in the West Village. Then I got to drive through the streets to grandma's. Which, I'll admit, was actually nice, since there probably isn't a street in Manhattan that I haven't walked down in my life, driving there just feels like home. Also, it was early Sunday morning and most Manhattanites were probably still half asleep or sipping coffee in the diner with the Sunday Times, and not in their cars blocking up the streets yet, so it was all good, familiar and pleasant.

But, the packing. Oh, the packing. It was a very sad thing to do. It was kind of like she died and we were getting rid of her stuff. I was really interested in all the old ancient looking things that were there, and longed to hear the stories associated with them. Scum-cle didn't know where things came from or what they were used for, and I would have given anything for grandma to be there telling me some hilarious anecdote. Except, even if she were there, she probably wouldn't have known, which was also on my mind, so it was even more sad.

I packed up her closet stuff pretty easily. I divided the clothes into give-away stuff and stuff to bring to the consignment store, not because I ever bring stuff to the consignment store (I'll actually have to ask my babes where to go, since no one would ever be interested in my own personally stained faded stretched out cheap clothes) , but because mommy dearest has been calling me all week and screeching about grandma's clothes being "good" and "designer". I also bagged up all of her shoes, some of which had never been worn before. I'll pull some of those out for her and give away the rest. Not because grandma has worn anything but plain old black flats for the last 10 years, but because when I called mommy dearest from grandma's house to say "last chance to make sure something you think is important makes it out of here" she begged me to pack some light colored shoes for grandma to wear in the summer. (WTF?) Grandma had a nice little assortment of dressy little party bags, and I'll keep a few of those too, not because I ever voluntarily get dressed up, but because I'll think of her when I do, and that will be comforting. I'd rather have her old funky bags than a new one I don't care about any day.

Then I tackled the kitchen, which has special meaning for me since it was grandma who taught me how to cook. She taught me how to make all the crucial for survival foods like, matzoh brei, chicken soup, chopped liver, latkes, brisket...... Yeah, I can clog your arteries and stop your heart in three meals flat! But, even as a kid I knew learning how to cook from grandma was a very special moment in time for us. I wish she could have been there to explain the devices or tell me which glasses she used to serve cocktails when grandpa was still around and they were so happy together. But, she wasn't, so I just packed up some of what I imagined was special to her and I'll put it in the garage until our new home in Utopia is finished. It will be nicer to have it up there, since every day up there is like a good dream and also, the house we are building will look like an older house and grandma's stuff should fit right in. Grandma had fun stuff like lobster forks, miniscule tongs, combed cake slicers. She had stuff that I'd never get around to getting for myself like teeny tiny caviar spoons, grapefruit spoons with their jagged little edges, and long handled sundae spoons. Yeah, I am going to have a lot of spoons, but they are good spoons, meaningful spoons, not just plain old ordinary buy anywhere spoons, they are grandma's spoons and you can be sure my kids are going to hear about that from me each and every time I pull one out to use it.

water water every where

Bubbles went to some kind of personal trainer's conference the other weekend and she came back with all sorts of interesting tid bits of information. I am thankful that she went because heaven forbid I train with someone who is using yesterday's out dated and sure to harm me techniques, oh no, that just wouldn't do. Most of what she has told me (she sprinkles these gems out for me here and there during our precious time together) sounds very useful and user friendly and is sure to make me into a much buffer lady under all these extra pounds (because Bubbles guarantees me that I am indeed one incredibly well toned, six pack packing goddess under all this excess weight) but there is one thing that I admit that I only pretend to take seriously when Bubbles brings it up every time I see her. This thing would actually be impossible for me to do. Bubbles thinks that every person should drink one ounce of water per day for every 2 pounds they weigh. This would be doable if, say, you were Bubbles, who I estimate to weigh 95 pounds soaking wet. Half of 95 is 47.5, so that means Bubbles needs to drink 47.5 ounces of water each day. Doable. I could do that in addition to my venti latte every day, since Bubbles says coffee doesn't count towards the daily water requirement. Now let's say you are me, and you haven't weighed 95 since 5th grade, and can't even remember 195 for that matter, and the amount of water Bubbles is suggesting I would need to drink would not only jump start next summers draught, but would also possibly create a toilet paper shortage in this region as well as blow out some sewer pipes, or in the very least, me drinking that much water would inevitably necessitate a public urination (which I would lamely attempt to be discreet about) but no doubt, get caught by the cops who would ticket me, because cops tend to hate me, and then the whole town could read about it in my very own news paper's police blotter. And while that would make one very funny blog post, because you know I'd whip out my point and shoot and snap a few photos if it did ever actually happen, I'm not going to take that chance, you'll have to find fulfillment else where. Besides the most I have been able to take in is 80 ounces in one day.

gloves not drugs

When it was determined by my CRAZY family that I was indeed going through with the whole moving grandma near me thing, they called the building where grandma lived in her little dirty hot rent stabilized apartment and asked if they would offer up a little cash incentive to get her out of the apartment. It is pretty common for big landlords in NYC to give a little money to long term residents to encourage them to get out since the landlord can then refinish the wood floors, install a new kitchen and quadruple the rent. This landlord wasn't willing to play ball. Then the scum-cle informed them that he was thinking of subletting the apartment for the next two years, as is legally allowed, and the landlord retorted with "We won't approve your tenants. Nyah nyah nyah" Needless to say, the landlord was pissed. It was obvious that it was grandma's time to go, they had seen her leave by ambulance enough that they were probably shocked we took as long as we did to move her. (haha, did you see that I said "we"?)

In the mean time, there are still a few things that need to be cleaned out of grandma's place, and I have been putting off doing that. The scum-cle was in her neighborhood and decided to go over there and catalog what was left, in case there was anything of monetary or sentimental value he hadn't already stolen from her. The doormen told him they had been given orders by the management not to let any family in. The scum-cle pushed his way past them and went up stairs. A few minutes later the police showed up and made him leave. Hahaha. He didn't have time to sift thru her things!

The next day the management called me, and in attempt to avoid a law suit, they explained that by calling the cops on my 72 old mild mannered professor uncle, (I find his tweed jackets with the elbow patches to be very intimidating myself) they were merely attempting to protect their long time resident, my defenseless sweet old grandma, and that despite the release form she had registered with the main office allowing my scum-cle, mother and myself in to her apartment, they just didn't know if they should allow any family in. They also mentioned that the scum-cle was "hostile" towards the police man, and well, I'm thinking that at least he and I do have one thing besides DNA in common. I told them they could have their (stinky) apartment back as soon as we finished taking grandma's belongings, and that now that the scum-cle hadn't been able to help, our efforts might be greatly diminished. They asked me to have grandma write a letter allowing us in (cover your asses people!) and to fax it over before we come again. Now, I have to do this, which would be fine, if I didn't feel like I was the one who was being punished for my father's and scum-cle's lame and useless attempt at apartment extortion.

So, I was pissed. And I forgot to wake up early on Tuesday and call the posh gym for a spin seat, so I was pissed and spin seatless with my favorite instructor on Wednesday. Since spin was a wash out, I stopped by The OFH on my way to the gym to get grandma to write that letter. Josh insisted we stay for breakfast. It took forever. It was encroaching on my exercise time. I planned on doing some sort of cardio machine before weights with Bubbles, and was hoping to get at least 40 minutes in. Time was ticking away. TICK TICK TICK EAT YOUR PANCAKES!! By the time I got to the posh gym, got Josh signed into the kids room, and made my way down to the fitness area, I had only about 15 minutes of cardio time. Don't you know that people were on my favorite eliptical machines? I couldn't believe it. The ultimate slap in the face. Don't those people know I need my regular machines? I had to get on an unfamiliar machine, and that was more than I thought I could handle, but I did it anyway. Those machines are so state of the art that I can't figure out their computers, but somehow I managed to program in an interval program (which is what I wanted) for 60 minutes (which I was never going to get) I started pumping and all the pissy pissed off adrenaline from the last couple of weeks started to take over my legs. I pumped and pumped and raised the resistance, and pumped some more. When Bubbles found me a few minutes later, frantically pumping away, she thought I might have been on the machine for the 56 minutes that it showed. "No, I told her, that is what is left of the hour it is programmed to. I'm so pissed I could do it though, and never even slow down." Then I pumped pumped pumped mentioned how pissed I was. Pump pump pump. I told her that the scum-cle pump pump was making all this work for me pump pump and that pump my Dad had helped pump this time pump pump and that they pump pump wouldn't stop calling pump me, and they were pump driving pump me pump cra-pump-zy. But I am sure that back in the gym I used the word "pissed" at least 7 times in there. Bubbles watched me frantically trying to pump my way into taking flight, cocked her head in a thoughtful position and said "I'll be right back" She came back a few minutes later with the best thing I have ever seen in that gym. Boxing gloves. I was like, yeah baby, you got my number! I dismounted the eliptical and followed Bubbles into an empty squash court. I put on the gloves and let loose on those little square red pads she had strapped onto herself. The squares were scum-cle, mommy dearest, and dear old dad. They were the management company that is yanking my chain, the lady on the phone who pretended to care about grandma, the doorman that didn't just look the other way, and even the bitch in the Lexus that stole my parking spot. I was out for blood, and swinging as hard and fast as I could. (While keeping my good posture, tight core, and proper arm position of course) Sweat was running out of my hair as I jabbed and hooked and straight punched out some serious pent up frustration. It was sooo good. I was spent. I sit here, a day later, jumping with fear of family each time the phone rings, yet with a warm cozy feeling deep down inside tinged with longing, yearning, and desire for the gloves. I think me and the gloves might have a beautiful future together.

P.S. That was yesterday. Today I ran 2 1/4 miles and walked 1.

to grandma's cancer: