I'm not dead yet!

Despite appearances, I haven't completely given up on this blog.  It's just been way too stressful, in both good and bad ways, for me to spare any energy toward it.  And this isn't really a "real" post, just some fun thoughts I'm throwing up (here) for your consideration...

I.  We were watching a video clip the other night of a staring "contest" between the OK Go drummer and Animal (you know, from the Muppets), and in all the chaos of before-bed-kidness, DD looked away from the clip and didn't see the ending.  Her question (not a joke!):  "so, who won?"  I'm just going to leave it there.  So zen.

II.  DS is exploring the joys of pointless bickering with his sister.  This week has been brought to us by the letter "Y" (why?why?why?why?), and he can and will turn every conversation or comment into an argument.  For example...  We were at a local ice cream place enjoying our dessert, when I hear from the next table (they don't sit with DH and I anymore, apparently) this exchange:
  DD:  Look at my loose tooth!  I can wiggle it all sorts of directions.
  DS:  No you can't.
  DD:  Yes, I can -- look!
  DS:  You can't do that, it's not just your tooth.
  DD:  What??  Of course it's my tooth; it's in my mouth!
  DS:  No, it's not.  It's everyone's.  You can't have it all the time.
Next stop, fake news and punditry!  He'll be a senator yet.

III.  Last night, I was filling in a crossword puzzle, when I came to a clue:  80's Mr. T movie.  Should I be proud or embarrassed that I filled in "D.C. Cab" without even hesitating?  Should I admit that I ever watched it, let alone more than once?  Okay, well, I was a bit lonely as a kid.

From the X-files: close encounter with the tooth fairy

My darling daughter lost her third tooth two nights ago.  Because it fell out at 4 am, we figured the tooth fairy had already been past our house and wouldn't be back until the next night.  She carefully set it up on her bedside table in a cupcake liner, ready for pick-up.

Fast forward to bedtime last night.  I was feeling crabby, the kids were being extra pokey, and I shook out DD's comforter very briskly while getting her bed set up.  I turned to fill her drinking cup with water and remembered.  Oh, crap.  In my bedmaking frenzy I had whipped the cupcake liner off the table and onto the floor.  We searched and searched, but we couldn't find the tooth.  DD was surprisingly calm and resigned.  "Maybe she'll give me a dollar anyway.  Or maybe just a quarter."  I assured her that the tooth fairy would understand but because she still seemed a little worried, I offered to write a note:

Dear Tooth Fairy,
DD lost a tooth last night!  She had it all set up for you, but I accidentally knocked over the cup it was in and lost it.  Sorry!  Can you please leave her money anyway?  I promise she did lose one.
Thanks,
Her Mom

She approved of this so much she added a letter of her own, placed on top of mine:

AND WHAT DO YOU DO WITH MY TOOTH
LOVE, [name redacted to preserve intrigue]
OH AND MY MOM MAD A LETAR TOO

Aww.  She also showed me that she had left a notebook and pen beside the notes, ready for the tooth fairy's answer.  Hmm.  My saving grace was that she decided to sleep in my room last night, so I was able to go into her room and really think about the note without risking detection.

I thought about it for a while.  Should I write a note in my own handwriting, figuring she would be too young to notice?  I don't know.  She's pretty sharp.  Should I type something up on the computer using a swirly font?  She's always printing stuff off, so that seemed risky.  I decided the only thing for it was to write the note with my right (non-dominant) hand.  That meant it had to be short!  I also waited until right before I went to sleep, so my brain was a little fuzzy.  Here's what I came up with:

Sweet girl!
Sorry to hear your tooth was lost!  It's okay.  I use the teeth I do take and use them to make fairy scissors.  Hugs!  - T. F.

[Editor's note:  our tooth fairy rep doesn't take the tooth; she leaves it.  Hence the qualifying "the teeth I do take."]

Yep, you read right.  Fairy scissors.  What??  As soon as I wrote that I regretted it.  But for darn sure I wasn't going to write another note with my wrong hand.  So I sat for a moment, then thought, well, she's imaginative.  Who knows what she'll think of it?

And this turns out to be the best part.  In the morning, she reads the note and says, "Wow, the tooth fairy writes like a little kid."  (Thanks, honey, you try writing with the wrong hand sometime.)
So I say, "Well, she was probably hovering while she wrote, that would make it hard to write clearly."
She thinks for a minute, then decides, "No, I think it's because she's so small she had a hard time handling the pen."

Wow.  And the fairy scissors?  Didn't bat an eyelash.  She seemed to know ALL about it.  She described how you would use a molar with its roots:  the roots could be bent together to make scissor handles and you would carve out the tooth to make blades.  But she wasn't entirely sure how you would use regular kid teeth without those huge roots on them.  She figures exact details are unimportant when there's magic involved.

There sure is magic, kid, but you're the one making it.  I'll say it again, until you want to barf:  I love my kids; they are truly awesome critters.

Rage in this machine

I felt so angry this morning that I could barely sit still.  Imagine screaming full-blast without taking a breath for five whole minutes.  Stop and really imagine it, five minutes with no lessening of intensity or volume.  Were I to do that, it wouldn't capture the depth of this feeling.  That's what happens, I guess, when you spend 36 years of your life not allowing yourself to feel the way you really feel.

Oh, I'm spoiling for a target this morning, some legitimate target that I can unload on, but I don't think I'm likely to find one.  The sticking point is "legitimate."  Many targets abound, from minor annoyances to systemic frustrations to really, really difficult people.  But I feel thermonuclear, and unless I run across a kid-diddling, kitten-stomping terrorist ripe for a beat-down, I think I'll have to find another outlet.  I have to find some way to dissipate this feeling.  I really, really do.  I am just about out of storage space.

Insomnia sucks

I know I should go to bed
But I'm laying here on the couch instead
And I know, with some sorrow,

This late hour means much soda tomorrow.

Remember:  I'm not sleeping at my desk, I'm just thinking really hard.  That puddle of liquid isn't drool, it's the perspiration from my brow as I think deep thoughts.  Not snoring; just saying "eureka!" reeeeaaaaallllyyy slowly....

Doggity dog dogersons

We are going to get a dog!  It's amazing how much thought and angst and pointed waiting went into the decision to get a pooch.  Now we have to actually get one.  I believe strongly in mutts and shelter dogs, and we (our family, but also society in general) are lucky to have a lot of rescue groups in the area with dogs needing homes.

I know that there are a lot of jerks out there, who view dogs as mere property or something akin to a disposable toy.  To me, it's pretty close to adopting a child -- this is it, for life.  The good news is that rescue groups take their responsibilities seriously.  The bad news is that they take their responsibilities seriously.  I feel like I am trying to buy a gun or something.  There's the application, the references, the home visit, the trial period.  I really, truly am very glad the dogs in their care have landed with people who take their welfare so seriously.


But they need to have a fast-track approval process for, well, me.  Doesn't everyone in the world know by now that I know what I'm doing?  Give me the dog, already.

Woof.

Rain

I love spring rain.  I'm sitting here knowing I should go to bed and sleep, but I want to hear the rain start falling.  I love that sound.  I really wish we had a tin roof sometimes, like the one on the farm.  I have great sense memories of that sound, associated with looking across the farmyard at the line of locust trees just on the other side of the pasture fence while a curtain of rain cascades over the porch roof.  Or the time a friend and I went out into the street and danced in the rain, got soaking wet, and loved every minute of it.

Keeps on rainin', look how it's rainin'...

Oh! So that's what they meant...

I was a bit puzzled by this item in my employer's wellness newsletter, then intrigued, then inspired, then disappointed.  I was coming up with all kinds of unattractive things to do that week!


Turn Off Week is April 19th – 25th

…which also explains how they can get away with this one:

April is Alcohol Awareness Month

If Turn Off Week was what I thought it was, this would maybe be bad timing…
(Disclaimer: I know how serious alcohol abuse can be; this is a joke, people.)

And my personal favorite:

April is Stress Awareness month

Show of hands, folks! Who considers themselves to be *unaware* of this issue in their current day-to-day life??

F@#king Toys

Sighing resignedly, I walked up to my husband.  "I just found a chick in your closet.  What do you have to say?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice." [snicker]

Tiny wind-up chick, you offend me, sir.  I wonder sometimes if I am the only parent out there who starts to feel like an angry troll when encountering kid toys in my room.  I don't mind as much when my stuff is appropriated/borrowed/outright stolen by my kids.  It is mildly annoying, but not really a big deal to me.  It's just stuff.

But don't be putting your stuff in my space.  It makes me NUTS.  I'm tripping over toy phones, tractors, books, art supplies, you name it.  One thing I care deeply about is my personal space.  When no one is looking, I literally throw the toys out into the hall, into their rooms.  I'm not talking about a gentle toss; I'm looking to impress the major league scouts.  The eight year old in me does a little troll stomp, then I move on.

I know, I know, some day I'll miss this, this and all the myriad messes and dramas that come with small kids, but right now?  You know in The Usual Suspects, toward the end of the movie, when Kevin Spacey turns back and says in a broken pitiful voice "F@#king cops"?

F@#king toys.

They grow up so fast...

Overheard from the other room, as DD watches some Marvel comics animated short online:

"Oh, for goodness' sakes!  Just push him in already."

Carbonated goodness: evil threat or vital weapon?

It has occurred to me that there is a scrawny, angry bitch trapped inside me, and the way I have chosen to keep her muted is to surround her with a layer of doughy soft flab.  Am I protecting myself or others around me, by doing this?  Neither?  Perhaps she would be less crabby if I let her talk.

Cool tricks I can live without (you maddeningly cute little buggers)

1.  When sitting half-awake next to your toddler who has woken up at 2 am insisting that he needs to poop, it is not quite as amusing as he thinks it is to show you how far his foreskin can stretch, or that he can make it "turtle" in the other direction.  Mommy made it this far without seeing and/or knowing this and was fine.  Mommy also doesn't think it is that hilarious that you just put your penis on Dora's head (Dora potty ring).

2.  Asking coyly if I had noticed her cool trick, my DD tries to get me to play sartorial 20 questions in the middle of Target.  Failing miserably (and crabbily), she takes pity on me and reveals that she didn't just get dressed, she got dressed over her pajamas and is, in fact, wearing two cozy layers.  This goes some way toward explaining why she wasn't freezing cold during the car ride to the store despite her refusal to wear a coat in 20 degree weather, and also why she didn't, like every other time we go to the store, complain that the refrigerated section was giving her frostbite.  Snazzy!

 3.  DS is learning what all he can do with his body (see #1 above), including his increasing ability to jump, hop, run, and so forth.  This means that I am called to witness all sorts of "stunts" -- ranging from hopping from legs together to legs apart (ooh!), running over and hanging off the footrail on the bed (ergh - don't break that/hurt yourself), and running in with both legs through one leg-hole of his shorts.  That last one cracked him up no end, and he insisted on going to bed dressed that way.  Thankfully he must have gotten uncomfortable at some point, because in the morning he was wearing his longjohn bottoms -- inside-out and backwards, but otherwise on correctly.

Lost and Found Department

Lost:  one Sense of Humor.  Well-broken-in but prone to wandering.  Last seen skittering down the hallway at work or lurking in the studio corner of my bedroom.  If seen, please do not attempt to capture it.  Toss it some double entendres, a crossword puzzle, and chocolate truffles, and wait for help to arrive.  Do not make eye contact or it will start telling you knock-knock jokes to distract you from the escape tunnel it is digging.  Just keep it talking to keep a fix on its location; dirty jokes work best.

Can I fire my "health coach"?

My insurance company has started this health coaching program to try and encourage its members to make healthier choices.  Okay, sounds good in theory.  In practice, however, not so much.  My first experience with these folks was a call from them to get things started.  I would actually welcome this service if it meant that someone was assigned to check in with me that actually wanted to know what my issues and goals were, and to make suggestions and encourage me.  This...  is not like that.  Imagine a call-center drone with a Minnesota accent.

It turns out my insurance company provided them with some basic information about recent tests and/or medications ordered for me, with the result that they had two issues to discuss with me:  acid reflux and depression.  On that first phone call we spent about 15 minute going around and around about whether I was or wasn't "taking my medication" for my acid reflux.  I don't, but that's because he didn't prescribe any.  The only problem I have with reflux is that I drink entirely too much Dr. Pepper and lay flat on my back surfing the net every night after putting the kids to bed.  Reflux solution:  quit drinking so much soda and get off your fat ass already.  Done.  But no, we had to set up a "plan" for me to follow to ensure progress with this health issue.  Much eye rolling was done.  And gritting of teeth.

What was even more fun was the depression discussion.  She could see that I've been taking an SSRI for a while now.  She then proceeded to administer the depression short-form screening questions, the ones you use to determine whether you need to have outside help with your dark side.  Not surprisingly, I scored very well on that test.  There was a long silence, then she had to follow up with my personal favorite, the suicide forecast question.  Oh, lady, please.  After being reassured that I not only knew I was depressed but I was both taking medicine and seeking additional treatment for it, she decided to go off on a ten minute pep talk that largely consisted of suggesting I contact my local Welcome Wagon to help me settle in to a new town.  After explaining, in italicized tone of voice, that "new" didn't really describe me, as we've been living here for 3.5 years now, she petered out and ended the call.  Ugh.

So today as I was catching up on opening the mail, I came across the "resource materials" that this conversation netted me.  Acid reflux one was completely useless and devoid of any entertainment value; recycled.  Oh, but the depression one.  Hee hee.  That's another matter.  Headed "Stress Management," it offers the following suggestions on "Ways to lower your stress."  Here we go:


1. "Manage your time.  Schedule your commitments, and decide which are most important."
Where do I start??  What time, exactly, do I need to manage better?  The hour and fifteen minutes between waking and rolling out of the house?  The hour and a half between getting home and putting the kids to bed?  Probably you mean the time after that, the time when I'm so wiped out from commuting, working, and oh -- parenting -- that I pretty much want to sit on my ass and veg out (see paragraph two, above).  Or maybe my weekends, where I'm trying to do household chores, shop for groceries, and, well, there's that parenting thing again (pesky interesting, fun, challenging children)?  Yeah.  A planner is exactly what I need.  What I need is shorter/no commute and more money.  Will you send  me those two things in a handy little mailing?

2.  "Make healthy lifestyle choices.  Get plenty of rest."
Oops, sorry, I just snorted Dr. Pepper through my nose.  You're right about this one, you really are.  This is probably the one area of my life over which I have the easiest control.  But there's something about having only the time between when the children go to bed and my own bedtime to myself to do whatever I want that makes it hard for me to go to bed on time.  And I don't drink coffee.  So in the morning, it's more Dr. Pepper and whatever shiny, chocolaty thing I can get my hands on to get me through the day.  It's a vicious cycle.  I'm pretty sure that lumpiness on my ass cheeks is the bumps of Whoppers and peanut M&Ms floating just under the skin.  It is a good idea, though.  I'm trying.

3.  "Get support from your friends and family.  Ask for help."
Mmm hmm.  Yep, makes sense.  Oh, wait.  I do that all the time.  You know that great guy I'm married to?  The one who keeps our household afloat by making sure that shit gets done?  The one trying to get tenure?  That one?  Or maybe you wanted me to ask for help from my crazy family.  Right now, we're all working so hard at keeping our shit together at various skill levels that it feels a bit like trying to get help opening a jar from a room full of chimpanzees with butter on their hands.  Loud, noisy, confusing, buttery.  Nope.  Or maybe my friends?  That's a good suggestion, actually, because I have quite a few really supportive friends.  I'm lucky in that regard; I have more friends now than I ever have in my life.  Except here's the really crappy part about depression, or at least for me when I'm depressed:  I either can't or won't initiate contact with people.  It's about the very last thing I have the energy to do.  And if I do, I feel worse, because I feel like I'm pulling people into my viscous pool of pointless navel-gazing.  When you have social anxiety plus depression, this is like telling me I'll feel better if I pull out all my fingernails to use to make a lovely bracelet.

4.  "Change the way you think."
Oh.  I never thought of that.  Problem solved!  Who knew it was just that easy!  Seriously though, I know that cognitive therapy methods can do a world of good.  They've helped me a lot.  But some kinds of emotional crap needs bigger weapons than a worksheet and some daily affirmations.

5.  "Learn better ways to solve problems and communicate."
Again, yes, very helpful suggestion.  I'll add this to my things to do right now.  The list that is a mile long, that makes it so hard to make a choice about what to do next that I do nothing at all.  One more game of Picma...

6.  "Talk to an expert.  Stress can be too much to handle on your own."
Ah, we've finally gotten to one that feels like a good fit.  I'm glad to hear that this feeling of dust and ashes might be something I need to have outside perspective on.  Maybe I"m not thinking clearly and objectively!  Good idea!  I think if we've gotten this far, from talking with a clueless Minnesotan "coach," reading this handy health sheet, and having years of therapy and medication, it might be time to bring in an expert.  Yep.  That'll be $240 a month please.  Now there's a stress-reliever for you!

So when people ask me how I'm doing, or if I'm okay, I tend to lie or to downplay it.  I try to be funny or vague or flippant or evasive.  I don't want to talk about it.  Not really.  What is there left to say?

Kryptonite

Okay, so I have too much time on my hands during my daily commute.  Today's topic:  why do cars have an erotic fascination?  I mean, it's one thing to say that chicks dig a dude in a hot car purely because said dude probably has a lot of money and can show one a good time.  It's quite another to explain a visceral reaction to the car itself.  I think I can understand a little better why guys -- or anyone, for that matter -- can get so into particular models of cars.  Something speaks to you.  I just don't understand what it is.  It's just a collection of metal (and fiberglass and plastic) parts stuck together.  What's the big deal?

But it's there.  My first love was the classic 60's Mustang.  Trite, true, but man that's one fine car.  I have to sheepishly admit that I dated one guy far longer than I would have otherwise just because he had one.  Yellow, with a black rag top.  That was a great car.  My current obsession is the Dodge Charger.  Not that sexy of a car, in the stereotypical muscle car type of way, but there's something about it that makes me want to hit the mountain roads, window down and music pumping.

Which leads me to say that I think I've hit upon the recipe for my own personal Kryptonite.  DH, if you were to pose casually against a Dodge Charger, dab the scent of freshly drying laundry behind each ear and engage in witty banter, I don't think I could resist.  Especially if there are brownies there too.  Just sayin'.

- The TMI Queen

Children's Books

Some of my favorite lines/sentences from children's books:

"And he thought and thought and thought about them."
- Snowy Day by Jack Ezra Keats

"It's awful how often their poogles get broken."
- Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are by Dr. Seuss

"Today is gone, today was fun, tomorrow is another one."
- One Fish Two Fish by Dr. Seuss

I'm sure there are others.  These are the ones that come to mind.  Any favorites of yours?

The True Meaning of MLK Day

We're sitting at the table eating lunch today, when I ask DD what, if anything, she learned about Martin Luther King at school last week.  I hadn't even thought about it until a friend with a kindergartener at another school asked what our kid had learned.  So I asked, and she told us they listened to/watched his famous "I Have a Dream" speech.  And we're chatting away (okay, so I'm droning on) about MLK and what he did and how he did it, etc.

All of a sudden DS decides to wade into the mix and starts yelling "It's my turn to talk!  It's my turn to talk!"  So once DD ends her sentence, I turn to DS and say, "Okay, buddy.  What do you want to say?"

"Um, King pokes me in my sleep."
"What?"
"King comes when I'm dreaming and pokes me.  He gonna poke me in my dreams."

Huh.  Interesting interpretation of "I Have a Dream."  What do you say to that?  I got nothing.

Fun with Spam

Today's best offer (so far):

"Heal for your woody!  Explore the passion ocean."

How lyrical; terse yet expressive.  I give this a 4.5 out 5.

By Request

This post is being written upon the request of a friend who insists that I need to post something, already.

It's a common conversation.  You're sitting around with friends, shooting the breeze, and you talk about some movie you loved, or something funny you read, and invariably someone will make a comment about how "yummy" some actor or actress is, or "hott."  Many of my friends have discovered over the years that my list of attractive actors is... eclectic.

What I have to say up front is that, to me, there is a very distinct difference between physical and intellectual attraction.  In the very best circumstances, those two overlap very strongly (hey, DH von sexy pants), but I think we all have had the experience of finding just the one or the other to be true, or to feel a stronger pull to one more than the other for any particular person.

I feel that I have to defend -- or explain? -- my preferences further by saying that I find odd, weird, quirky and silly to be great attractors in just about anything (books, music, movies, underpants, etc.).  Richard Gere is considered to be "hunky" by most but to me he is very vanilla.  George Clooney and Brad Pitt only barely get in under the wire not because of their looks (okay, for Clooney partly because of his looks) but because they are willing to be in quirky movies like Burn After Reading or O Brother Where Art Thou.  You can buy pecs and shiny white teeth, and Hollywood is full of "beautiful" people.

All this painfully long intro will, I hope, further explain the following list of attractive actors:

1.  Alan Rickman (no, not Snape; see Die Hard as reference)
2.  Steve Martin (in this case, pure intellectual attraction; if I could ever make him laugh, I'd probably drop dead on the spot of sheer happiness)
3.  Rowan Atkinson (okay, I've taken a lot of heat on this one in the past -- not Mr. Bean, people, I'm talking Black Adder; witty sarcastic repartee is one of the best aphrodisiacs, IMO)
4.  Christopher Walken (the man can dance, after all)
5.  Eddie Izzard (oddly barrel-shaped, "Action Transvestite," but still... he has a flag)

I'm sure there are others, and I'm sure that my friends that read this post will be happy to remind me of any particularly odd preferences I've voiced in the past.

What is true -- whether you read it as cute or tragic or implausible -- is that it doesn't matter if I find them attractive or not, ultimately.  I love my husband so deeply that in an idle moment where I might think of being physically romantic with anyone, it is DH -- arms and lips, hands and legs, eyes -- that I see.  Schmaltzy?  Lucky?  All of the above.