clickmom

closet post

I wrote and rewrote that damned mom's closet post 3 1/2 times and I could never figure out exactly what it was about the closet that was so... significant and revealing to me. I couldn't get my words around what it was that I was trying to convey.

Here is the readers digest version of the closet novella:

1. The jam packed over sized walk in closet was always kind of a frightening mystery to me.

2. The wastefulness of all those clothes, shoes, and purses offended my frugal sensibility.

3. That was about all I felt about mom's closet until I spent three days in the closet cleaning it out. (Yes, there was that much stuff)

4. This closet and all the time, effort and money that mom spent shopping and selecting and trying things on, all that conscious brain power and drive just to get the exact shade of green shoes, is mom's, kind of lame if you ask me, legacy to us.

5. Again, after a brief 68 years on this planet my mom left a perfectly organized by color, print, season, designer, and size closet of barely worn clothes, shoes and purses. This was all she wrote. That closet was it. That closet and taking care of dad were the only things mom ever did.

6. At mom's funeral I silently thought that if one more person told me what a great dresser mom was I was going to bash their head in.

7. As badly as dad wanted that closet cleaned out, he was beaming with pride over that closet. Dad thought that every single item in that closet was precious. Because mom picked it out.

8. Mom spent her entire life shopping and spending tons of money because it was the way she made dad happy. Dad wanted mom to buy new pretty clothes every day of her life because he enjoyed seeing his "beautiful blondie" all dressed up. Again for me: Dad wanted mom to throw his hard earned money away on too many clothes (enough for a whole troop of homemakers) because he adored her so and thought she was the most beautiful woman ever while Mom was doing it all because she was devoted to making dad happy.

9. I still don't really get it. But I am trying to wrap my mind around the meaning of the closet as opposed to the excessiveness of it. What it means, what that closet really represented was (I think) the unparalleled mutual admiration and passion mom and dad had for each other, swaddled in a twisted consumerist package, but still..... they had quite the extraordinary love story going on there.

turkey poo

I took dad and the kids to lil sis' house today. The boys love to play with their cousins and also play in lil sis' pool. The kids were frolicking in the pool while depressed me and tired lil sis were trying to have adult type conversation. The boys kept saying something about poop in the pool and to be honest we brushed them off a few times, because we were all like puh-LEASE just give us a minute to talk!! And really, it's lil sis' pool so it wasn't like strangers were stopping by to leave deposits, you know? And then we stopped ignoring the boys and went over to see what they were talking about. Lil sis was dressed n street clothes and she took some goggles to kneel at the side of the pool and stick her head under water. I had my suit on so I grabbed goggles and dove right in. I was about to pick up what I thought might be a rock when I had second thoughts. So I got lil sis' pool net and I scooped up the not a rock and you will not believe what the kids were swimming with. They were swimming with this.

Gross.

Do you think I have to get the kids tested for avian flu?

Grandma needs so much painkiller right now that she is mostly asleep all the time. She is not really eating, so her time is coming soon. I am heading down to see her again on Thursday. Lil sis is coming too. Part of me hopes grandma goes right away and part of me hopes she hangs on until I am home so I can spend more time with her even if she is asleep when I am there. I already miss her, since she hasn't been the vivacious and exciting grandma I adore for so long, but never seeing her again is going to be .... forever and that's worse.

I'm really torn between being here and spending time with dad and being home and saying goodbye to grandma. I don't know what to do anymore. Maybe next week I can bring the whole family home for a few days and then just come back up here for the weekend. I don't think dad wants to go home to Stepford with me because the last time he was there was last fall when mom was still alive and mom and dad still had a tiny thread of hope to hold on to.

Hard, this is so hard. All I want to do is the right thing. I am still living in fear that after all is said and done I will have regrets, and I can't bear the thought of living with regrets. I do recognize that I could be making this more difficult than it has to be, in a way. Can this ever be not difficult?

Tonight there was an orange moon. I have no idea what that means, and please recall that I left my real camera at home, so I didn't even bother attempting a photo, but here is one from the town carnival over the full moon that I took with my crappy point and shoot.

And speaking of the town carnival, I think the full moon made the local kids turn into zombies. Check out Evan's swing mates from the swing ride. Good thing we got away fast after that ride. Really, click on the picture and just look at those ghouls girls.

And since nothing is ever easy, my porch swing that showed up maybe three weeks ago is already getting moldy. Check out what just might push me completely over the edge. And while you are at it, see if you can notice that the mold is on the inside of the woven material too.

toasted fruit flies

A kiwi lost the battle in my fruit bowl and I did not realize it fast enough to prevent a lovely fruit fly infestation. Having a fruit fly infestation can be somewhat frightening when attempting to bring down the wine population of your loving husband's little wine collection. It seems fruit flies like the good stuff too.

After sucking down a cabernet infused fly or two, we decided to consult the internet for a fruit fly solution.

There were gobs of solutions involving rotten fruit bearing traps and lots of patient waiting, but my absolute favorite future serial killer solution was this:

The Hair Dryer Method
Locate the general area of the fruit flies and the nearest plug. Get a hair dryer. Plug in the hair dryer, turn it on (preferably to full heat) and put the back end of the dryer near a hovering fly. It will be sucked in and fried by the hair dryer. This is fun and highly effective! Trying to blow at them with the hot air doesn't work but sucking them in like this does.

Oh yeah baby! Toasted fruit flies!

Things are looking bad for grandma. Grandma went to the wound care center and there are two things they could do to her if she weren't 96 1/2. Being 96 1/2 and having sucky MRSA infected leg circulation makes you pretty much ineligible for just about anything that could save your life or leg because all the best procedures are super invasive and also happen to require general anesthesia. Grandma has been refusing food. The doctor has requested hospice for her. I saw it coming, I knew t was a possibility but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow. I have to remind myself that the person I am going to see tomorrow may or may not have any shred of grandma left in her. sigh. I wish she didn't have to suffer so much.

would not be hot

What my friend thought she heard Matt (15) say:

"Mom, I found a G-string in an envelope and I thought you would want me to put it on, so I put it on for you."

How my friend responded:

Mouth hanging open, lots of blinking and looking back and forth from Matt to me and back again.

What Matt was actually talking about:

A B-string that he replaced for me on my partially restrung guitar.

hot under the collar

1. People who drive under the speed limit.
2. Kids who won't go to bed.
3. being barked at
4. kids not responding to my questions
5. dog scratching on door to be let in
6. dog scratching on door to be let out
7. dog going out just to bark at the wind
8. automated telemarketers
9. human telemarketers
10. not knowing what is causng the funny odor in the fridge

klepto me too

I fought back the tears the whole 2+ hour drive to Matt's camp this morning. This past week I felt like a caged tiger just pacing the cage waiting for an opportunity to burst out an unattended door. I wanted my kids back. Waiting was rough. When I slid into the truck this morning I had the feelng that once I got my babies back I would be me again (still not exactly feeling like myself) I felt like I was about to get a crucial part of myself, of who I am back.

The missing part of me might not have taken shower since he last saw the rest of me two weeks ago at visiting day.

I fought back the tears all the way home because to be honest the part of me that came home from camp was downright pungent. My missing piece also managed to neglect his hair again, and somewhere he decided that he might as well not shave for the entire camp experience. Yummy! And to think, just 24 hours ago I wondered if my piece would let me hug him as much as I wanted to! Hahahaha, the joke is on the part of me that showers!

My missing piece hasn't stopped crying since he left camp either. Since me, the unmissing, took a thorough shower this morning before departure I knew it had to be for a different reason. I assumed it was because camp was so incredibly excellent that my missing piece was sorry to see it end. He said that was correct. Except my missing piece couldn't shake the tears, didn't want to eat (okay, he does have a little head cold) and couldn't muster the enthusiasm to think of anything he wanted to do. Hmmmm

After my missing piece showered I sat him down for another big dread lock comb out. During the comb out, when I had to give him a break so he could sob for a minute, I figured that this was more of a broken heart scenario than an "I love my camp!" break down so I asked him if he had a girlfriend at camp. He said he did. And he had this girlfriend the whole time, well except for the last week because his 17 year old (YES! 17!!) girlfriend got to go on this trip because she was not a camper but a CIT and she got caught shop lifting on a trip for CITs and then her parents took her home and wouldn't let her come back. So I asked him if aside from being a kleptomaniac if she was a nice person and he said she was. And also that she wrote to him from home.

So let's review: 15 year old Matt has a 17 year old girlfriend.

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Sorry, I passed out on the key board there.

Okay, where were we, Matt's 17 year old girlfriend shop lifts.
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Oy Vey.

But Matt she is a quality person.
Who shop lifts.
On a camp trip.

The good news is that Matt's 17 year old klepto girlfriend lives 2 hours away.
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The bad news could be that she might have a drivers license.

I am so not ready for this.

But here is a confession; When I was 16 my parents sent me on a teen tour. I hated it. The one thing that got you immediately kicked off the tour was shop lifting (and having sex but the 7 little boys on that tour with me (the virgin) were not an option). So I shop lifted my way across the United States in hopes of getting sent home. I never got caught even I slipped something into my pocket while talking to the sales lady. I must be a more talented thief than Matt's girlfriend. Hopefully she'll outgrow it too.

smothered

I was starting to feel guilty about how I am still so very numb that I wasn't feeling like I missed Matt and Evan enough while they were at camp. The truth is that I have been enjoying the simplicity of only dealing with one kid at home. Last summer, when I was chomping at the bit to send the boys off because it had been a difficult year, I turned around by day 4 of their camp adventures and felt like I couldn't breath until all my chicks were back in my own nest. This summer, well, I don't really feel anything. Except I am kind of appreciative of the fact that they are around people who are not walking around in some kind of emotional daze.

But then today we hopped into the car to visit Matt today for his visiting day and by the time we reached the sleepy little town we drive through on our way in, I was shaking I was so anxious to see him. And then I had to fight back the tears. And I wold calm myself down. And then I'd tear up again. Until finally we got to his camp and because it was raining all the kids were waiting in their bunks but the camp asked us to check in and pick up some info packet first. And I could not wait another second so I left the husband to pick up the forms and ran all the way across the campus to get to Matt's bunk.

And then I gave him the biggest hug I could. And then I hugged him again. And because Matt is pretty much used to me being an emotional wreck, and is amazingly tolerant of my never ending melodramatic roller coaster ride he hugged me back. And he looked so good to me. (With the one exception of the total rat's nest of knotted hair on the back of his head that I managed to brush out using about 1/2 a bottle of detangler and taking a good 25 solid minutes to do so. You should know that the front of his hair was somewhat presentably brushed) And he was so relaxed and sweet. We took him to the movies, and out to lunch. The shopping for some new sunglasses. Matt didn't know that you couldn't carry your sunglasses around in your pants pocket. He knows now! And at the same time, I picked up the detangler and did the deed (brush out) in the mall parking lot so as not to embarrass Matt in front of his camp friends.

Speaking of camp friends, we were sitting with Matt right before we left and heard "MAaaatt!" and a girl ran over to Matt, who was seated at the time, and wrapped her arms around the top part of him, while pressing her bosom over his face. My baby boy's face was smothered in bosom. I was ... astonished. Uh .... Yup, astonished fits. Matt tells me they hang out sometimes and are just friends. I wonder if Matt is aware of the not entirely subtle hints that girls give to guys they "hang out" with. Hmmm.

bloomfield

Grandma has been asking to go home lately. I can't bring myself to tell her she is permanently living at the nursing home now. I tell her she will go home as soon as she starts walking again even though I know she won't be walking around again. If she did somehow decide to get strong again one day I would totally send her back to the OFH. It looks better every single day. It's not that the nursing home is bad per se, it's just that some of the old people at the nursing home are kind of scary. Some of them are totally checked out and I don't like to see that for grandma or for myself. And the kids get a little freaked out seeing it too.

Mostly the care over there seems pretty good, though there is definitely a hierarchy of duties there that the people will and will not do. The lowest job on the hierarchy is assisting the bathroom. Today I walked in to see grandma being wheeled by the lunch lady over to the nurses station. The nurse doesn't do bathroom duty so she had to fetch an aide and poor grandma just sat in her chair softly saying saying "Help me, oh please won't someone help me." I was afraid to help her myself, I didn't know what to do, so I just watched. The whole wait was two minutes but it seemed forever. And witnessing grandma's pitiful cry for help didn't sit well with me.

They have some kind of laundry problem over there at the nursinghome and despite the fact that I have cleaned Sears out twice of their size 10 black polyester elastic waist pants every time I go over she is wearing someone else's clothes. Mostly she is wearing borrowed pants, but every once in a while she has on someone else's shirt, and sometimes, the shirts do not match grandma's wise with age level of sophistication. See example below:

Grandma still has her social graces about her. When she knows a picture is being taken she can smile with the best of them. It makes it a little easier to bear.

This week I face the always less than pleasant task of cleaning out grandma's apartment. Again. We are paid up on the rent until the end of the month and I have the salvation army coming on the 29th for her furniture, but I have to do another cleansing of the bric-a-brac. I figured what ever was left there was pretty much worthless since the scumcle and his witch of a wife had long ago absconded with anything of obvious monetary value. But then I was surprised to see the very same little ring holder she had on her dresser in a Waterford display at the department store. Now I wonder. I'd love to know if there are any stories behind the bowls and little statuettes. Are any of them from my great grandparents? Special anniversary gifts? Anything with a good story? I just don't know. I feel bad giving her history away. So I am going to pack it up and take it to an antique dealer and see what there is. I know the dealer won't be able to tell me the stories I imagine make these pieces worth while, but she will at least be able to tell me if the things are old and where they come from so I can guess for myself.

sharp

I am pretty bad at giving the kids chores and making them responsible for stuff around the house. Which really isn't working for me since I end up doing everything all alone and getting all resentful about it. The one chore I have been making Evan and Matt do themselves is packing their own stuff for trips. At first I gave them lists to refer to for packing thoroughness but somewhere along the line, I just gave the boys a whole lot of credit and started saying something vague like "pack for three days and two nights". How's that working for us? Yeah, uh... that's been what I have been asking myself these past couple of days.

You be the judge.

Three things Evan did pack for utopia:

1. the wood carving knife lil sis got him for hanukah
2. his swiss army knife
3. the fisherman's utility blade I found on the side of the street while walking the devil one day last April. I brought it home and gave it to Evan.

Three things Evan did not pack for utopia:

1. pajamas
2. socks
3. underwear

I'm thinking I might have to revert back to the detailed list method here.

meat

We took the kids to Chilis the other day. Eating out is a DRAG when you are an adult with food allergies (I actually cried one day at the diner when the waiter brought my carefully ordered gluten free meal with toast lying on it and I had to send it back) but if you are a kid and your choices are pretty restricted then it REALLY SUCKS. I get that.

One thing I can order at Chilis are the lettuce wraps. The sauces bother me, but if I totally minimize them I am okay. When we opened our menus Evan shot me a nasty "I am more than on my way to being a teenager and everything that makes me unhappy is your fault" look. Trying not to let his testosterone rush bother me, I cheerfully recommended the lettuce wraps to him. He lowered the menu, visibly suppressed a snarl, took a deep breath feigning some kind of parental patience and said "Well, you're...... (pause for special kind of intelligent looking facial expression)...... (breathe in) okay......(pause to look like a deep thinker).....I'm going to point out both our gender difference and our age difference here...."

He ordered a steak.