clickmom

operation onion

Last night I was awoke no less than three times by disturbing dreams where I had put my fingers into something unfortunate and of undescrible smelliness.  When my alarm finally went off this morning I realized that the finger tips on both of my hands were punguent with the smell of an onion I had chopped for dinner.  One shower with three kinds of soap later I was still finger stinky.  Tonight I wore surgical gloves during onion chopping.  

Happy new years.  

I hope Kathy Griffin crosses new boundaries tonight.  That is why I am going to be watching.

i want to eat anything

Coming from utopia to new town is a sandwich shop that has gluten free rolls.  I said I wanted to bring Mattt there on our way home last time but the truth was that I feel awesome being able to walk into a sandwich shop and order something.  Don't be overly thrilled for me, it's not the world is my oyster in this shop as most of their signature sandwiches involve something which has previously been breaded and fried or melted cheese.  But my big sun shiny make my day moment is ordering my humble turkey, lettuce and tomato on a gluten free roll and then I feel so god damned normal.  Except we stopped there on Thursday and they told me they were out of gluten free rolls.  I had to fight back the tears.

Maybe I shouldn't have made a pie and a cake that I couldn't share in for Xmas eve dinner, or maybe I shouldn't have tolerated Josh's recent bagel binge, but as I fought back the tears all I could think was how freaking unfair it is that I can't even enjoy a freaking sandwich.

Maybe I sould have waited in the car last night when all three boys and the husband delighted in their gourmet desserts when we went out to eat in the city.  

I've pretty much spent the past five days, since deprivation tuesday,  craving every form of comfort food there is.  Like orange juice, which I had to avoid for much of my childhood because at some point earlier than my memory it gave me hives.  I can drink it without getting hives now.  It still feels forbidden though.

I wished for french toast and fried plantains.  Okay, I could technically eat the plantains as ong as they weren't battered.  Anything chocolate would have been nice, particularly milk chocolate (another no no thanks to my adult onset milk allergy)   And crackers.  I can't tell you how much I'd love to sit down and eat anything on a cracker now.  And I am not talking about a gluten free cracker.  Gluten free crackers come in three variaties:  imitiation crackers which form an instant textureless paste in your mouth, and then there is the seeds stuck together kind you have to eat while alone because you can't hear anyone talking (or shouting) over the crunch of these, and you lose about a millimeter of enamel on your molars trying to grind down each mouthful and what ever you do don't smile afterwards for fear of black seed debri littering your gum line.  Lastly there is the oversalted rice based cracker.  Only partake in these if you have pleanty of beverage and therefore easy access to a bathroom in the middle of the night, and time to lay with bloat fighting cucumber slices on your eyes the next morning.  Salt just may be the first ingredient on the list.  

I could really go for sour dough bread, ritz crackers and those baked parmesan cheese breadsticks right now.  I may have served these to my guests last week.  

Something else I could totally see myself doing is diving right into a whole pint of ice cream.  Yum.

In a perfect world I could just pack a bag and go to some kind of spa where I would do gentle exercises like yoga and long strolls, and meditate to whale sounds, and get massages,  and people would prepare me healthy food and everyone around me would have to eat the same food I could eat and we could all congratulate ourselves on eating so well and never mention the frustration or deprivation or party pooperness of being the one who can't eat the good tasting stuff, even if it is way better tasting in my imagination that it is in reality.

40th anniversary and feeling down

It's the 40th anniversary of me getting bit by a shark.  If you're new here, you can find the story here.  Also if you're new here you might be freaked to know that not only was I bit by a shark, but Evan was too.  Read about that here.  

Normally I don't often think about that time I got bit by a shark (Unless my kids have been nibbled on too) but it is a fabulous story to have in my arsenal.  When I am not entirely comfortable around people I tend to tell stories, and that is what happened last summer when I was sitting around at breakfast one morning with my new classmates.  I told the story.  They were as impressed as one should be but then when we were at a class dinner where I was sitting next to one of my professors a few weeks ago one of my classmates brought it up and I had to retell the story to the professor, which turned into a very enjoyable gruesome evening of injury exchange.  I still win.   I was telling Mattt about this  interesting evening of injury stories when I picked him up from the airport the other day and I realized that today is the 40th anniversary of the incident.

This makes me feel OLD.  Having a 40th anniversary of anything is pretty impressive, I guess, even if it did happen when you were 8.   One weird thing I experience when retelling this story is that I, as an 8 year old, was swimming alone in the ocean.  I wouldn't let my 8 year old kids out of my sight let alone swim in the freaking ocean alone, because they could get pulled out to sea!  Or bit by a shark! And don't try to tell me the slim chances of that happening!  I know in the 70's my mother was far from the only one not paying any attention to her kids, but I'd still like to go back in time and slap her around for it.  I blurted out that I wish she was the one who got bit (which was 100% impossible since she never got off the lounge chair by the pool) and then I realized that my truth is that I am fine with having this exciting story in my arsenal and truthfully, no one ever sees the scar (which is pretty invisible unless I get a super deep tan because it stays white) until I point it out to them, and there is nothing wrong with my leg from the incident, and I was so young when it happened that I wasn't emotionally traumatized or anything.  I'd just like to know that by some miracle my mother felt like a piece of shit for letting her kids run around and get into life threatening situations while she napped by pool.  I'm pretty sure that what I'd like right now is for her to send me a message acknowledge that she sucked as a mother.  I also want to hear that I deserved more than what she had to give.

 

grinching

I don't love the holidays and having a teenager stinks.  I had the usual lake neighbors over for dinner last night and that was lovely.  Now Evan is pressing for us for the exact minute we can get back to new town so he can possibly hang out with a friend, except most of them have gone somewhere warm for the vacation.  So, really he's just being as annoying as he can.  Also, he has swim team practice.  Seriously!  Over the vacation.  I hate high school sports.  Priorities people!  Family first!  

Dec 21, 2013

Two nights ago I opened the cabinet under the kitchen dink to discover water. A lot of it. Enough that there was a puddle in the basement. I called the plumber who listened carefully and told me how to fix it temporary until he could get here next week. I reattached the pipes and propped the loose pipe up with a big can of bug and tar windshield spray.

This morning was the first day of vacation for the boys. Guess who managed to set her alarm last night. Instead of a long cozy slumber I was eyes wide open at 6:15.

After an afternoon out and about with the family I came home to prepare dinner. I kept smelling something awful and I thought it was the stainless steel cleaner that the housekeeper uses in the fridge. But it got stinkier and stinkier. Then I opened that same cabinet Zmd heard a big hissing noise.

Folks, don't prop up your pipes with cans that have not quite hard plastic tops. Because the tops will slowly squash down causing your windshield spray to constantly spray out the whole can and you'll end up with a stinking kitchen and a cabinet covered with bug and tar remover.

Starbucks cup to the rescue.

lonely nights

It's been a bummer since the husband left his old job because the folks from his old job stopped sending us holiday cards.  I really enjoyed watching kids I never met growing up.  I looked forward to certain cards, like the 2 boys who always posed for their holiday photo outside radio city music hall.  It had a certain touristy charm.  Over the years as our kids got older I noticed the amount of cards I recieved began to dwindle.  Then a few years ago I realized that certain people's cards only ever showed up about a week after I mailed my own cards to them, which I interpreted as "You're not on my list, but here goes one of my extras because you don't get the hint and I am now obligated to mail a card back to you."

This year, despite having taken the photo for my own holiday card before Matt left for Russia back in September, I decided not to send cards.  As of today we have recieved exactly five cards, one of which was from lil sis and one from the SIL.   One card is from a spinster college friend of the husband's, so no photos, and the other two cards are from the husband's new work associates.

Either I'm super easy to forget (could be) or I have a magical ability to offend everyone I've ever met (this is a distinct possibility) or  everyone is so busy getting their second master's degrees that they all decided the mere thought of choosing a holiday card was too stressful and they should skip a year and see if their card is missed. (Least likely yet least troubling option).

 

grad school session two: check!

I had the strangest dream last night.  While doing the walk of shame away from a threesome (I'll spare you the details of that) I bumped into the German photo teacher from my program.  He pointed to a children's book written by Limony Snicket and advised me to buy it.  I told him I wouldn't buy it because Limony Snicket used ghost writers and I couldn't respect that.  He was shocked to hear this and asked me for references.  Being so tired I could barely move I told him to google it and he was fine with that.  I was surprised at myself being so obnoxious.

What does it mean?  We met three photographers during the session that just finished on Friday and two of them were very open about assistants either taking the actual photographs or doing all of the pre-photograph creative process (in the case of a photographer who photographs model landscapes).  I am disillusioned.

Other than the shock of finding out that there are photographers that don't take their own photos (my mind bends as I type that) I had a very nice time.  It was not as mind opening/blowing as the summer session was but it was still a feel good session.  My work was well recieved in a way, the instructors were thrilled that I had done a total 180 in subject matter (even going as far as subtly mocking my portfolio) and all came to me after my critique saying that they thought I had a great critique.  I think part of having a great is not being defensive.  Some people were varying degrees of defensive and those were not so great critiques.  So what went down was the teachers reduced my body of 38 prints down to three and told me to keep photographing my husband but to take a different approach and think about form as opposed to stalking him with my camera during every day life and photographing him as part of a larger scene.  I've been trying to find some inspiration in other people's work, and there is some, mostly older work, but there is a lot of nudity and that is not going to happen here.  I wouldn't even be foolish enough to entertain the idea.  Pfffttt.

Okay, next!  One thing that made me happy about this trip was spending more time with the people I like.  I actually got to spend more time with everyone, but especially with my little group of friends.  I have been hanging out with the international students, they cover Chile, Denmark and Egypt.  Have I ever mentioned how impaired I am at understanding accents?  I have to seriously concentrate. It's kind of pathetic.  But in the end I got to know everyone better.  The only strange vibe I feel there is from a few of the young men.  They clearly view me as another generation and out of touch and clueless.  It's like debating with Evan, where I'm just waiting for him to mature and he thinks I am hopeless.  One day during a break in class I brought something up with the German teacher and when class resumed he asked me to share my thoughts with the class.  The young boys jumped down my throat but I persisted and explained my point of view (had to do with using archival images of half dressed women and possibly re-victimizing someone) and stood my ground.  The teacher was on my side so I had that going for me, but it was awkward.  I simply wanted everyone to understand that there is a moral responsibility involved with using photos that we don't know the history behind.  

In the end, I had a great time, did not have to do dishes or laundry for 10 days and came home just in time to get snowed in for a day and sit on my ass while my pavement hating feet recovered from wearing flimsy shoes while walking miles and miles in NYC.  It's all good.

good place to be

I'm off at grad school again.  We got here last night and had a big dinner as a group in large conference room with a big jesus cross on the wall.  Life in the seminary!  Last night they served rice pilaf , which I can't eat, bread crumb covered fish, which I can't eat and frozen vegetables with salad.  I had frozen vegetables and salad for dinner.  Tonight they served chicken parmagiana, which I can't eat, and penne, which I can't eat, with garlic bread, which I can't eat, so I ate salad and possibly the most disgusting, salt couldn't drown out the taste of,  beef soup ever.  Tomorrow I am going to ask at breakfast what they are serving for dinner and if it is more stuff I can't eat I am going to take myself out for something better to eat.

But, the food isn't what is important.  What is important is that today we started our session critiques and I was second on the list.  Folks, I am beaming as I type this, but I had such a great critique that all three teachers came to me over the rest of the day and said what a great critique (read: you showed good solid work and we had a valuable discussion about it)  I had AND they even remarked on my stellar printing abilities.  My class mates were impressed enough to come to me individually and tell me how much they like my new work too.  You know what I call that kind of positive reinforcement?  MOTIVATION.  I can't wait to go home and shoot some more. But for the next week, I am perfectly happy to be here and relax, knowing my critique is over with, and participate in every one else's critiques.  I am very happy to be in this position.  

people shouldn't tell me these things

So, while in school next week we'll be staying at a seminary for a few days.  The administrator in charge sent us this note with our schedule for the week:  

Another group will be sharing the 3rd floor with
us and they are on a silent retreat so they will
not be able to respond to any conversation.
Thanks for respecting their commitment to
silence during this time.

My response is pretty much ..... CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!! 

People, I am completely covered in goosebumps and giddy at the thought of other people rooming near me being on a silent retreat.  I feel young again! The first order of our stay will be declaring the third floor a clothing optional floor.  I'm thinking loudly broadcasted gay porn marathons in the community room and jello shot tables in the hallway.  The possibilities are endless.  How do you spell Hookah?

 

my son the brain surgeon

Actual conversation I had with Josh in the car this afternoon:

Josh: That Nerf gun you got me today is quite powerful.  If you were to shoot your hand from, like, a foot away it would sting quite a bit.

Me: Wait ... Did you shoot yourself?!?

Josh: yes.

Me: hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha