clickmom

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?”