the fountain pen

New Site is Now Open

2005-08-04T23:20:00.000-07:00

Here it is: The Fountain Pen.
(I've changed my Blogroll Me link, too.)
Housewarming presents are welcome, especially alcoholic beverages. I prefer pinot grigio. Just so you know. But really, you can bring whatever you want to drink.

The Proof is in the Pudding.... I Mean Pancakes

2005-08-03T22:33:00.000-07:00

HPIM0495, originally uploaded by catryan.

OK. I know there are some of you who didn't believe me when I said I would just be cooking and cleaning all week at my nonprofit daycare center. So here's the proof. I've made pancakes for breakfast every day this week!!!
You can get up now.
Plus I made tacos for dinner Monday and spaghetti with garlic bread on Tuesday.
Which is way too much cooking for me! So last night's dinner was take-out pizza.
And it might be breakfast tomorrow, too, cause I'm kind of tired of this pancake thing.

Wanna Kiss??

2005-08-03T22:12:00.000-07:00

bogart toilet, originally uploaded by catryan.

I Knew I Should Have Locked The Door

2005-08-02T10:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I kicked the boys out of the house for awhile, but I forgot to run around and lock all the doors. They snuck in through a side door after only an hour in the pool. I found them in the living room playing video games.
"Hey, you guys. You are supposed to be outside. What happened to the pool?" I asked.
"Aaah, we got tired of that. We're playing video games."
"Look. It's a beautiful day outside, the sun is shining. You boys should be outside."
No response. They completely ignored me. "Oh yeah, get that gun right there. You get extra ammunition with it," one said to the other.

"OK, well I'm going outside. Who wants to go outside with me and clean up horse poop?"I asked, enthusiastically. There were quiet chuckles around the room.
Then Lima Bean said, "Let's have a moment of silence. For my mother, whose lost her marbles."

My Nonprofit Daycare Center is Thriving

2005-08-01T13:00:00.000-07:00

Last week, I managed to import friends for Lima Bean every day of the week, and this week is already looking good. His two cousins spent the night and are staying through Tuesday. Then his friend Storm is coming over on Wednesday and Thursday, so it's another week of hibernation for me.

Yesterday, we had Jagman's whole family over for a cookout and swimming. Afterwards, Mensa Child said that he couldn't picture being raised by Jagman's mother, because she is very funny and quite a character. And Jagman thought about it for a moment and then explained that with six kids she was just always in the background. He knew he was loved, but mostly she was just kind of there, doing cooking and cleaning. And besides, when they were all kids, they weren't even in the house that much. They were out running around the neighborhood, playing with their friends. Then he said, "It's kind of like what your mother is doing with Lima Bean now, having friends over all the time. When he's with his friends, she's just there in the background, feeding them and making sure he has clean clothes to wear."

Which struck me as odd when I first heard it, but true. That's the way it should be for a 9 year old kid.

So I'll just be cooking and cleaning in the background for the next week. Which I guess is good, because it will give me time to read and work on my new blog site. (Maybe I'll even soak in the jacuzzi after my workout and enjoy my new luxury bath products.)

But first I have to make lunch for three boys.

101 Views From My Deck: #5

2005-07-31T11:56:00.000-07:00

Waiting for Dinner

It's Kind of Like "The Gift of the Magi" Story

2005-07-30T22:40:00.000-07:00

Except I didn't cut my hair and Jagman didn't buy combs for my hair. And he didn't sell his pocket watch, and I didn't buy a chain for his pocket watch. But other than all that, it's exactly like "The Gift of the Magi".

Yesterday, I decided to surprise Jagman by actually leaving the house and going shopping to get a replacement bird feeder, because ours was a cheap plastic one and it had cracked. Now this was quite a significant gesture, because I am in serious summer slob mode. And frankly, I 'm rather enjoying it. The other day, I sat in bed with my laptop and my coffee and did my blogsurfing. I've been staying in my pajamas until about 2 in the afternoon, when I put on either my swim suit or my exercise gear.

The other side effect of summer slob mode is that I haven't been wasting an hour of my life on personal hygiene like I do every morning when I have to go to work. In fact, I've accumulated quite a long list of rationalizations for not taking a shower and washing my hair when I'm not going anywhere anyway. And I've become quite good at it, because I am, after all, an overachiever, and anything I do I intend to do well. So take my word for it when I say that I am excelling at summer slob mode.

For example, the other night I came downstairs after taking one of my rare showers and plopped down on the sofa next to Jagman. He said, "Hey, what's up?"
And I said, "Well, I'm clean!!"
Because, let's face it, it was an occasion worthy of celebration on his part. Most days lately, he comes home from work thinking, ' This is my beautiful house. This is my beautiful car. This is NOT my beautiful wife.'

So yesterday, I decided to surprise Jagman and make myself presentable enough to go to the store and buy him a replacement bird feeder.
When he came home from work, he had a surprise gift for me, too!! He had gone to the mall for lunch and decided to buy something for me! (Which is why I said it's just like that story, except for how it's not.) So I was happy and excited.

Until I saw the bag. It was a Bath & Body bag, which stopped me dead in my tracks. I looked inside and there were two of those fabulous body scrubs that I love. He usually buys them for me at Christmas. I stared in the bag, analyzing what this present really meant.

When I looked up I said, "What? Are you trying to tell me I need to take a shower? You're not very subtle, are you? You walked through the whole mall thinking about what to buy for me, and you decided on personal hygiene products???"

So really, it's not at all like that story, because her husband bought her something she really wanted, not something to make her take a shower. I'm just glad I didn't cut my hair to buy that birdfeeder.

Deaf Players and a Pit Bull at the Thursday Night Soccer Game

2005-07-29T11:00:00.000-07:00

Last night, Jagman had another indoor soccer game. This one was surprisingly unusual; the team he was playing against was deaf.

They had a 'manager/coach' type person on the sideline with a clipboard who spent the whole game waving at people. I couldn't tell when she was waving at her own players, yelling at the ref for not calling something, or waving at our team's players for fouling. At the beginning of the game, she went out and explained to the ref that the team was deaf so they couldn't hear the whistle and he would have to use hand signals.

I was fascinated by this and glad that we had dragged Lima Bean along. I considered how it would be different for them to play soccer without being able to holler out to their teammates or hear warnings from the sideline. Then I noticed that Jagman's team was not really yelling to each other as much as usual. I don't know if it was intentional or not, but the first 5 minutes of the game were very quiet.

I found myself secretly rooting for the deaf team, I guess because I thought they were the underdogs.

That was until things got ugly. They were playing really rough, fouling everybody, pushing and tripping. One guy kept putting his hands up in the air every time the ball was airborne, as if he was going to catch it. In general, they were giving the impression that they didn't know how to play the game. By half-time, the ref had to come over and explain to the team, with hand gestures,etc. that they couldn't touch the ball with their arms whether it was intentional or not, and that a handball violation included anything from the hand all the way up to the shoulder. They all responded as if this was news to them. The ref also warned them about the pushing. Then he went over to our team, who was complaining about the ref not calling any of the fouls; he told them he could only call what he saw and he hadn't seen everything they were complaining about.

The second half was just plain nasty. The pushing, shoving, and tripping continued. Our team was yelling at the ref for not calling anything. He was threatening to give them yellow cards. Then he went over and told the deaf 'coach' that if her team didn't stop pushing, he would have to give them yellow cards. They didn't stop, but he never followed through.

I also realized that a lot of their 'ignorance' about the rules had to be an act, because everyone of their players had the kind of fancy footwork that only comes from years of experience. Which meant there was no way they had never played soccer and didn't know what a handball was.

At one point, the ref told our team to stop fouling the deaf players and concluded his lecture by saying "That's the way girls play." I couldn't hear everything he said prior to that, but I could tell it was meant as a reprimand and an insult to the men on the team.

So even though I could have cared less about who won, and was actually playing solitaire on my palm during the game prior to this, I was now fuming. My blood was boiling and my full attention was on the game and this referee.

Our team lost 5-4, and it was a hard loss because the game had been so ugly. As I walked past them on the way to the door, I said, "Did that ref actually say 'That's the way the girls play'?" because I wanted to make sure I hadn't misunderstood it. But no, that was exactly what he had said. So I told Jagman to go ahead, because I was waiting for that ref to come off the field.

When he finally did, he went over to the woman working behind the counter and gave her a full explanation of the rules of soccer and how our team had misunderstood them. He was, if you haven't figured out by now, a complete ass. This woman could have cared less about what the soccer rules are; she was working the cash register. He just wanted to hear himself pontificate. So when he was finished and turned to leave, I said, "Excuse me. I just want you to know that I was offended by your comment to the yellow team when you said, 'That's the way girls play.'"

He looked surprised at first, and then, when he remembered the comment, proceeded to justify it with an anatomy lesson for me about how men foul with their arms and shoulders and women foul with their hips because their center of gravity is different and how he even teaches that to the students in his referee classes. He clearly expected that he had mollified me with this dazzling display of irrelevance.

But he didn't realize that he had a pit-bull on his ankle, because I just stared at him and responded, "And how was that relevant? If you wanted them to stop fouling, it shouldn't matter how they were fouling. There was no reason to mention a comparison to girls at all."

At that point, I could see him give up. He knew he was fighting a losing battle with a psycho chick, and said, "OK, I'm sorry that I offended you."
I said, "Thank you" and left.

When I got into the car and told Jagman and Lima Bean about the conversation, I was shocked by Lima Bean's response.
He said, seriously and with awe, "Wow Mommy. You were so brave to say something to that man. I would never be that brave."
And I was momentarily horrified by this response, and not only because I didn't see anything 'brave' about what I had just done. I was horrified because images of him as a teenager at a party with drugs and alcohol flashed before my eyes. Then I saw him standing idly by while his peers were cruel to the uncool/unattractive/handicapped or whatever kids in middle and high school.
So I said, "Well, I hope you will be brave enough to stand up for your beliefs. Especially when you get older. It's very important that you take a stand when people are doing things that you think are not right."

Looking back on it now, I'm almost glad that ref was such an ass. Moments like that, when we have an opportunity to teach our kids something that won't go in one ear and out the other, are so rare. And I think that might have been one of them.

It's Like A Cold Shower

2005-07-28T00:30:00.000-07:00

When I used to spend every Friday taking Lima Bean to golf lessons, I admired the convertible blue Jaguar in the parking lot. And I would get rather hot and steamy, and not because it was 90 degrees outside, either. But I was, after all, in a parking lot with a car, so I realized I needed to come up with something to think about to cool off, fast, when somebody would walk by. And the one image I could always use to put the brakes on my automotive fantasy was

Karl Rove.

Oh, yeah. That worked everytime. Which is why I don't believe one word of this story .

Be Careful What You Ask For

2005-07-28T00:05:00.000-07:00

Peaches just caved in and bought her middle schooler his own cell phone. I hope it was a camera phone, because then she can use it this way:

There was a big party that 16 year old John wanted to go to, but his parents said no way. That night, he called home from his new camera cell phone to tell his mother that he was over his friend Steve's house playing video games.
His mother said, "Oh really. You're at Steve's?"
"Yup."
"Are his parents home?"
"Oh, yeah, of course."
"Good. Then go ask Steve's mother if you can take a picture with your new cell phone of her standing in her kitchen (which I've seen). And then send it to me."
BUSTED.

Bermuda Is Not Bohemia

2005-07-27T00:56:00.000-07:00

I've been actively importing friends this week to keep Lima Bean occupied. Today I invited a boy who's in LimaBean's class and on his soccer team. In fact, his father is the soccer coach.

Jagman and I aren't too happy with the whole soccer coach arrangement because the coach thinks he is Big Man On Campus and the whole world should revolve around him. Coach BMOC refuses to commit to a day of the week for soccer practices. We just received the email listing the practices for the month of August: Mon/Wed, then Wed/Fri, then Thur/Fri, then Tue/Wed. He travels a lot for his job (where I'm sure he also thinks he's BMOC), hence the ~~psychotic~~ random schedule. We have already had 'words' with him about our need for a regularly scheduled day of the week for practice, so that we can schedule other activites that aren't supervised by such BMOC's as himself. But, as expected, we got the "I'm doing the best I can do" and you should be grateful I'm coaching, since I'm such a talented former soccer player and a BMOC at work, too attitude.

And if that were true, we might tolerate his self-centeredness, but the fact is there's nothing to indicate he was that great when he did play soccer, and Jagman frequently disagrees with his strategies. (Jagman played soccer on a team that won the state championship, so he knows soccer.)
But, short of pulling LimaBean off the team (which he's been on for three years now) and having Jagman coach, we have to put up with Coach BMOC, even though we are disgusted by his egotistical attitude and general belief that his time is more important than ours.

Which brings me to today. I called his wife at noon to see if Patrick wanted to come over. She said, "He'd love to. I'll just get a work-out in and feed him lunch. Then I'll bring him over at 2."

By 4:30 she still hadn't arrived!!! At 4:40 she called and said she was leaving the house in 5 minutes and that she "got caught up doing stuff around the house." Yeah, like taking a nap??

I was furious. This is the second time she's been significantly late like that and messed up my plans. I didn't run to the store or start MY workout because I kept expecting her to arrive any minute.

Jagman came home before she arrived, and I filled him in on the story. He was equally disgusted; it was yet another example of how arrogant they both are. Whatever they are doing is more important than anything we'd be doing. I went to get on the treadmill, partly to burn off my fury but also to avoid having to talk to her when she arrived.

Patrick emerged from the car with his hair still beaded, because they just got back from Bermuda last Saturday. Jagman said something to her about it being 5:00, not 2:00 and she replied, laughing, "Oh, I'm still on bohemian time." Bohemian time? What does that mean? You got "caught up" working on your novel? painting? writing an epic poem???

Then she said, "Patrick has a dentist appointment tomorrow at 3pm, so I'll be back to pick him up at 2:00."

Jagman laughed and said, "Yeah, OK. So you'll show up at 3:30. And get to the dentist around 5:00."

Haha. Hooray for Jagman!! I'm just sorry I wasn't there to hear it myself.

Pleasantville, USA

2005-07-26T00:21:00.000-07:00

My brother, Babybull, and Shopping Girl chose their new house for the neighborhood, and I have to say I was shocked that a place like it still exists in America today. I felt like I was in a time warp, on the set of Happy Days. Some of the houses even looked exactly like the Cunningham's house on the show. Then there's another model that looks like a miniature version of the Brady Bunch house.

But it wasn't just the architecture or the mature trees lining the streets that made me feel like I was in a different century. Everyone there behaved differently than they behave where I live, which is essentially in the middle of nowhere, but close to suburbia.

The biggest difference was that many of the kids had walked to the neighborhood pool in groups or even by themselves. There weren't parents hovering over them the way they do where I live. There's only one neighborhood around me where kids would be safe enough to walk to the pool without parents. But then they might be hit by a car, because everyone drives like maniacs, because we're always late for something.

Which was something else that struck me as unusual in their new neighborhood. There weren't that many cars driving around, even though it was a huge neighborhood with hundreds of houses. And when a car did drive by, it was at the posted, safe speed. There were no speed bumps on the road like there are in every neighborhood around me, and they didn't need them. Cars stopped completely at all the stop signs, many of them 4-way.

Then there were the bike trails: 15 miles of pristine, paved, marked bike trails from Mt. Vernon all the way to DC. They were marked with dotted yellow lines where it was safe to pass (for bike riders) or solid yellow lines where no passing was allowed. Police officers occasionally ride through them. No matter what time of day I passed by, those trails were populated with young and old, walkers, bikers, baby strollers.

All the schools are within a bike's ride, and there's a class size limit of 13 in the lower grades at the elementary school. Based on what I saw at the pool, I doubt they have any serious discipline problems. Every time a lifeguard blew a whistle and told a kid to do or not do something, that kid listened. No lip. No backtalk. And they were taking orders from 16 and 17 year old kids. There's a directory distributed to everyone in the neighborhood that lists the names of kids who will babysit, animal sit, cut lawns, etc. Most of the mothers are stay-at-home moms, and I'm sure they're involved in the school, sports teams, scouting, etc.

From the day I first saw the place, I must admit I suffered pangs of guilt for not allowing Lima Bean to grow up in a neighborhood like this. His life would be so very different from what it is. He could really experience independence like the kids in The Sandlot. He could hop on his bike and say, "I'm going to the pool/Bobby's house/my scout meeting" and be safe. There are so many kids; he would never be lonely.

Ok, maybe it wouldn't really be the Pleasantville I've just created, but it might be close. And it would be a far cry from the isolation that is his home now. His nearest friend is 5 miles away. We have to put the bikes in the car and drive to the track or a park to ride them.

So during my moments of guilt, I actually explored job possibilities closer to 'nirvana' and seriously considered it. But I couldn't have my horses in my own backyard. And I wouldn't be right next to thousands of miles of trails. And I couldn't afford to board 4 horses either.

But the real clincher was when we spent the night there and visited an open house. When I stood in the living room and looked over into the neighbor's kitchen window, I knew I couldn't live there. When I sat up in bed reading Harry Potter and heard the neighbors coming home after midnight, opening and closing car doors, and had to get up to make sure it wasn't teenagers messing with the Jag, I knew I couldn't live there. When the neighbor's delightful, pleasant, friendly father-in-law stopped to talk about Lima Bean's new bike, I knew I couldn't live there.

Because I realized that basically, I don't like living near other people. I don't like making small talk when I go out to get the newspaper, or come home with the groceries, or when I'm gardening or mowing the lawn. I don't want to hear their car doors, I don't want to hear them talking. I don't want their kids running over to our house and knocking on the door to see if Lima Bean can play when my house is clean, quiet and orderly and he's perfectly content by himself.

I interact with over 150 people every day in my job, and that's one of the things I love about it. But it's also why, when I come home at the end of the day, I want privacy and wide open spaces surrounding me.

So Lima Bean will have to suffer through a childhood growing up in the 'middle of nowhere', just as Mensa Child did. Because I have found my Pleasantville, USA, and it's surrounded by horse manure. And I'm going to stop feeling guilty about it.

Weekend Snapshots: Alexandria, Shopping, Bike Riding and No Subways

2005-07-25T00:30:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend with my brother and Shopping Girl in their new house. It's in Alexandria, VA. They live three miles away from Mt. Vernon, but no, we didn't do the sightseeing tour thing. We went to relax and enjoy their new neighborhood, which is so incredible I think it deserves its own blog entry, maybe tomorrow.

They have a neighborhood pool, so we lounged about Saturday and Sunday afternoon. It reminded me EXACTLY of the pool in The Sandlot.

We walked through Alexandria and had dinner there. While shopping ( which was an inevitable event for the evening) I happened upon a handbag store. That was a 20 minute stop. While I was there, a woman had (finally) decided on a bag she wanted. She walked over to the open door and hollered out, "Honey! Do you want me to use a credit card or what?" Next thing I know, a wallet came flying through the door and hit her right in the face. She bent down to pick it up, laughing, and hollered out, "Well, you didn't have to THROW it at me," then walked over to the cash register to buy her new handbag. She didn't seem to mind that he threw the wallet at her, as long as he gave her the money.

Even after 20 minutes, I didn't buy a new handbag, mostly because they wanted $85 for a LV knockoff. And since it is my OWN money I'm spending, and not Jagman throwing his wallet at my face, I was not about to spend $85 on a purse, even if it did say it was Louis Vitton Made in France.

On the way back from dinner, my brother said to Jagman, "You know, if you really need a belt, I know a store that begins with W that is open until midnight and we could swing by if you want" which was code for If you want to buy a bike for Lima Bean, we can go to Walmart. Except either it wasn't very good code, or Lima Bean is a gifted and talented cryptographer, because all of a sudden he said, "Oh, yeah! We can go to Walmart and buy a bike right now!"

My brother went to Walmart the next morning and bought a 20" bike to keep at his house for Lima Bean. The bike trails there are simply unbelievable. You could ride your bike all the way from Mt. Vernon to Washington DC on beautiful paved paths that border the Potomac. After we rode around a little with Lima Bean, Jagman and I went back out to ride to Mt. Vernon and back. It was a great workout, different from my usual pilates and running. I felt like Lance Armstrong barreling up those hills or flying down them. Except that going down was really pretty scary and I was hitting my brakes a lot. I decided I felt much safer galloping on my horse than going downhill on a bike at full speed, and I have new appreciation for what those cyclists do.

I also finished the Harry Potter book over the weekend, and I do think it is the most memorable so far. As I began reading this one, I realized that I had very little recollection of what had happened in the Order of the Phoenix, or even the Goblet of Fire. And it struck me as unusual, this vacuum, because I can usually at least remember the plot of the novels I read. In fact, if it's a great book, there are scenes that haunt me. This last Harry Potter book will haunt me, I think, in that way. And maybe that's because it's finally crossed the line from being a 'children's' book to being literature. There is enough real tragedy in it, and it does not have the typical happy ending of a children's book.

Mensa Child couldn't come with us because he had already planned to go to New York for the night with a friend. Because of the London bombings, Jagman and I 'lectured' him about not riding the subways and taking a cab to get around town. I don't know if he listened to us or not, but he sent me a text message at 1:36am that said "I'm still alive!", so I felt better when I woke up on Sunday morning and saw that. And he was home, safe and sound, when we got back from VA.

So a good weekend was had by all.

101 Views From My Deck:#4

2005-07-24T23:49:00.000-07:00

Female Gossip 101

2005-07-23T12:15:00.000-07:00

Gossip, by definition is "rumor or talk of a personal, sensational, or intimate nature" or "trivial, chatty talk or writing." When I get together with my girlriends, ours usually focuses on what's been happening in our lives and with the work situations... who's resigning, who's up for promotions, etc.

Yesterday I met my friend the Goddess for happy hour. I haven't talked to her in two weeks, so we had a lot of catching up to do. I invited Jagman to join us, and he arrived 15 minutes into the first story, which was about the Goddess's father, who's retired and starting to suffer from depression.

He works now for homeland security, and as we were talking about his new job and how it's not as 'important' as his previous job, Jagman interjected something about the China situation, which was on topic for a discussion about homeland security, but which was totally off-topic - and not even allowed- for a girl's gossip session.

We both just stopped and looked at him.
The Goddess said, patiently, "Ok, Jagman. Obviously you need a lesson in Female Gossip 101. It's ok to interrupt and interject with comments, as long as they are appropriate comments, not comments discussing real-life, serious issues like China."
"Yeah," I said. "We don't care about China."
"Right," the Goddess said. "For instance, if during my discussion, I might mention So & So at work, you ARE allowed to interject with comments like 'Oh, yeah, she's got a fat ass' or 'Oh, yeah, she was really wasted at the last happy hour.' But you AREN"T allowed to interject comments like 'Oh yeah, she's the one that wrote that great article about atomic transfusion that was published in Scientist Weekly.' "
"Right," I said. "If you interject real, substantive comments like that too often, you'll be voted off the gossip island."

So we continued catching up with the news about her father, her week's vacation with her boyfriend and his family at the beach, the latest announcements about retirements and who might be promoted.

Jagman is a fast learner. Every once in awhile, he would say something like "Oh, yeah. She's the one who looks likes she's on steroids" or "I can't believe she still thinks she's going to get promoted." But he never made the mistake again of bringing up something worth talking about, like whether there will be a filibuster over John Roberts.

Farewell Convertible Blue Jaguar

2005-07-21T09:43:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm sorry to say that Lima Bean's golf lessons are over, and therefore I will no longer be parking my car as closely to you as I can every Friday afternoon for our intimate happy hours. And I can't promise that I can get away any other time to rendevous with you in the parking lot by the golf course. Maybe occasionally, I can buy Lima Bean a bucket of balls to hit at the driving range so I can park next to you, but I really can't see you on a regular basis anymore.

Oh, it's not because I'm not attracted to you. You are the hottest car I have ever seen. Your deep navy color is exquisite against the creamy leather interior, especially when you are topless and just showing off that gorgeous wood-grain trim interior. I just want to jump in and purr, cuddle up against that lumbar support and stroke your steering wheel.

But it is not meant to be. You are much too high maintenance for me, and probably full of yourself, too. You would expect to be washed every week so you could show off your sleek lines and glossy paint job. You would want an oil change every 3000 miles, and frankly, I just can't fit that into my schedule. I'm a career gal, you know; I can't spend half my days taking you to the shop just so the mechanic can make all over you, tune you up, play with your pistons, or give you a valve job .

No. Let's face it. You are too high maintenance for a woman; we need to spend that kind of time on ourselves, not our cars. You need a man. You need a man who will adore you enough to let you have your time with your mechanic and your weekly massages at the car wash. You need a man who will polish your wheels so they gleam like a mirror in the parking lot. You need a man who will keep you in top shape and looking gorgeous so that I can admire you.

Oh yes! You need a Jagman who will keep you in my garage every night!

This Is Just To Say

2005-07-20T15:00:00.000-07:00

I have bought
the razor blades
you've been
asking for

they were
behind the counter
at customer
service

Thank me.
I paid for them
separately
a pain
in the ass

PS. If I
should become
famous
after I'm
dead

please don't
anthologize
my
post-it
notes

(Here's the link to the real William Carlos Williams poem "This Is Just To Say")

Photos of Frankenstein's Birth

2005-07-20T14:03:00.000-07:00

Building the Beast: The Birth of Frankenstein

2005-07-19T22:30:00.000-07:00

Mensa Child's primary past time is gaming; therefore, he needs a computer with the fastest processor, the most advanced graphics card, and a ton of RAM. It will cost thousands of dollars. It will be outdated (for gaming, at least) in a year.

Last week he announced that he was going to build his own computer. He could buy the parts he needs for $300 and keep the graphics card he just bought. "Really?" I said, kind of relieved by the prospect, because it would save me thousands of dollars, but equally wary, because if it didn't work it would cost me thousands of dollars. "Do you know how to build your own computer?"
"My friend does and he's going to help me. He's built his own a couple of times," he said.

So he ordered the parts on Friday and the FedEx guy delivered them today. Then I went with him to the computer store to buy a case. He did a great job of haggling over the price with the store owner. The case started off being $60. Mensa Child had him down to $40 within 30 seconds.
"I wasn't looking to spend $60," he said.
"How much were you looking to spend?" store owner asked.
"$40"
"Ok. I sell it to you for $40. I keep you as a customer. You will come back, yes?"
Yeah. I bet the store owner thinks he doesn't really know what he's doing and then he'll HAVE to come back with a half-built computer and pay the store owner to fix it for him.
Then Mensa Child asked if it came with the power source and the owner said yes.
"I already have a power source," Mensa Child said.
The guy took out the power source and dropped the price to $25!!!!

He was on a roll. He called his friend, told him he had all the parts and they agreed to meet at 7:30. Mensa Child spread the parts out on the kitchen island next to the empty box and looked at everything with excitement and a little apprehension.
"Man, if this thing works, it's going to be a beast. Alex calls his The Death Machine," he said, with the kind of awe in his voice that only a fellow gamer can truly appreciate.

Alex arrived at 7:30 and they began to dismantle the components from the existing machine. It was somewhat disconcerting to watch them discussing how to disconnect, and render useless, a computer that cost us over $1000 and that was still working. Each piece that came out was covered with layers of thick, heavy dust. Disgusting. Some of the pieces were difficult to dislodge, and the guys were holding their breath as they pulled, afraid to break something.

At one point, Mensa Child reached into the new case to pull out the CD cover and gashed his thumb. Assembly halted while I poured peroxide on the cut and bandaged it tightly to stop the bleeding. It was a pretty long, deep gash that might leave a scar; Mensa Child thinks that will give him bragging rights - "Yeah, that's from the first time I built my own computer."

By 9:30, they had finished. The computer booted, but the hard drive from the old computer "doesn't like the kind of motherboard that I'm using" so they needed to reinstall the operating system. This led to a frantic, and ultimately useless, search for the disks that came with his computer. (Of course, when Jagman heard what was going on, he said, "Get the heck out of here. How could they start a process like that and not have the operating system disks?")

At this point, something illegal is going on up in that computer room, which is so complicated that I don't feel like wasting my brain cells to understand it. It will take hours to accomplish, but by the time I wake up, Windows XP will be on his new computer.

(Of course, he could just wait until tomorrow, drive 20 minutes to his college campus and buy XP for $10. When I asked him why he was going to all this trouble instead of just waiting until tomorrow morning, he said, "What will I do all night without my computer?")

Right now, it's a letdown that it isn't working. But I'm sure that when it does work tomorrow, he will be conquering a magnitude of enemies and his beast's victories will become legendary. He's naming it Frankenstein.

So if you're into gaming and are suddenly mutilated by Frankenstein, you'll know who it is!

101 Views From My Deck: #3

2005-07-19T10:39:00.000-07:00

Disposable Computers??

2005-07-18T16:13:00.000-07:00

I read an article Corrupted PC's Find New Home in the Dumpster about desktop computers becoming the next disposable item in our society. A lot of people already think of their printers as disposable; for the cost of new ink cartridges, you can buy a new printer - and apparently a lot of people do just that.

Now,though, due to adware and spyware programs clogging personal computers and slowing them down, a lot of people are just buying new desktop systems for $400. The man quoted in this article is an "Internet industry executive who holds a PhD in computer science", and HE didn't feel like wasting his time going through the steps to remove the adware.

This was of little consolation to me. My Norton Internet Security software found an adware program that it couldn't delete for me. It came with hyperlinked instructions about restarting my computer in Safe Mode, rerunning the scan and then trying to delete the adware. If that didn't work, I would have to use Windows Explorer to find it and get rid of it.

I just updated my Norton and paid for their best package, and I only did that to avoid the nonsense I had to go through with their basic package. When that one found adware and spyware, I would have to print out directions that were 3 pages long and involved opening registers and other files deep within my computer to look for the particular file names that contained the offending programs. The file names were like Greek to me, but I was supposed to find them and then hit the delete button! I always held my breath when I did it, waiting for the computer to crash or something godawful to happen.

Hence the upgrade when it was time to renew my subscription. I thought the 'best' package was just supposed to delete the adware for me, effortlessly. So I wasn't too happy about having to do it myself, especially since it was running a scan on my desktop in Safe Mode for nearly two hours.

But at the end of that process, it did delete the adware on its own. Then I restarted in regular mode, all clean and healthy again.

Was it a pain in the butt? Yes. Was it time-consuming? Yes. Was it beyond my intellectual abiliy? No. Do I have a PhD in computer science? NO.

So why can't Dr. Internet Computer Guru run Norton Internet Security on HIS computers instead of throwing them out???

Extreme Makeovers

2005-07-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

Well, it's really not that extreme, but it is a makeover. I've saved the old one, of course, because I'm anal. I actually enjoy playing with HTML. Oooh, does that make me a geek??? Nah, because I don't really know what I'm doing; it's all cut and paste, hit or miss. But it is definitely cheaper to redecorate this site than my family room. Plus, Jagman doesn't have to paint or move furniture!

It's Like a Black Fly in Your Chardonney

2005-07-17T23:30:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that I have bought TWO iPods during the last month (one for me and one for Mensa Child), I was driving around to do the errands today listening to the radio (because the boys in my house were using the iPods)!

I went back to Barnes and Noble today to get my reserved copy of Harry Potter for $17.99. My father, who could care less about Harry Potter, walked into a Walmart where there were three huge displays of the books in different areas of the store. They were selling them to anyone who walked in off the street for $15!!!!

101 Views From My Deck: #2

2005-07-16T17:15:00.000-07:00

We have quite a following of yellow finches thanks to Jagman filling the feeder regularly. Sometimes there are so many they fight over the posts and sit in the window boxes to wait their turn.

I Am Sooo Glad I Didn't Stand In Line For That Bracelet

2005-07-15T23:30:00.000-07:00

Harry potter madness

That's the photo I sent from my cell phone while we were at the Barnes and Noble store. It's not as good as the digital camera pictures, but, hey, it's a cell phone.

I preordered the book and received the flyer explaining how I could get the book at the Midnight Madness party. I was supposed to get there between 6-10pm to get a bracelet. If my bracelet number was between 1-150, I would be allowed IN THE STORE to wait in line for the book at midnight. If my number was higher than 150, I would need to wait outside until my number was called.

When it was close to 6pm and I knew I wasn't going to get to the store, I decided we were not waiting in line for the bracelet or going back at 11pm. I knew there were already 150 people in line by 6:30, so Lima Bean and I decided to just go for the kids' activities and to see the other costumes. He dressed up in his Harry Potter costume from Halloween.

The kids' activities were ok. They had a stupid cardboard press release for the book with a hole in the middle for picture opportunities. If they had had a life-size cardboard of image of Harry Potter to take your picture with, that would have been cool. Then there was the costume contest. Just about every kid present was wearing the same outfit as Lima Bean. So the kid who won first place for under 7 only won because he had a really cool, life-size owl puppet with a head that could move. First place in LimaBean's class went to a girl who dressed up like Professor Trelawny (the 'crazy' divination teacher), mostly because she was the only girl who wasn't in a black Harry Potter cape with black glasses, a wand and an owl. Then they had some employees walking around asking trivia questions and giving out prizes. Lima Bean got a green 'Livestrong' type bracelet with July 16, 2005 and phoenix wings printed on it.

While Lima Bean was answering trivia questions, I heard an employee answer a phone call and explain that as long as you were in the store before they officially closed at 11pm, you could stay in the store until after midnight. So I asked her if I stayed in the store and waited for everyone who had a bracelet to get a book if I could then get a book without a bracelet. She didn't know. I had to ask the manager, who was manning the front door.

When I got to the manager, he was explaining to another woman that, because the fire marshall had raised concerns, now EVERYONE who had a bracelet was going to have to line up outside, and the people who had numbers 1-150 had to be there by 11pm. They had to change the rule because the store was going to stay open, so people could be inside getting drinks and food, etc. And she said, "So the 2 1/2 hours I just spent waiting in line to get a low number so I could wait in the store has all been for nothing????"

And I looked at her, nodding my head, because I was just thinking, Thank God I didn't wait 2 1/2 hours in that line for that stupid bracelet or I would be having a bitch-fit right now. But the manager was talking in a soothing voice, saying, "Oh nooooo. You will be the first people called in, so as soon as midnight strikes, you will get your book within a matter of minutes." Yeah, but she'll be standing outside for an hour before that.

Another woman said, "What if it's raining, thundering and lightening?" The manager shrugged his shoulders. He didn't care. If she were struck by lightening, he was just going to sell her book to the next person in line.

Then I asked, "So if I just stay in the store and wait for everyone who has bracelets to get their books, then can I get my book?"

He looked around, realizing that, potentially, he was surrounded by crazed women shoppers, and if the answer to my question was Yes, he could suffer bodily harm in the next several minutes. "No, we're only selling the book tonight to people who have bracelets, because we don't want to be open all night."

Well, I was OK with that. I really didn't want to sit there until 1 or 2 am, and I had already decided to just come back over the weekend to get my book. But right then and there, I vowed to order the next book from Amazon.com. They were the only company guaranteeing that every person who ordered the book would receive it on Saturday, July 16. And that woman who stood in line for 2 1/2 hours seemed somewhat satisfied that at least I wasn't going to get a book that night.

Yeah, but I also wasn't going to stand in line outside in the rain for an hour after I already spent 2 1/2 hours in line in the store either!!!!

I bet she orders her book from Amazon.com next year, too.

"And Why Do You Need This?"

2005-07-15T15:26:00.000-07:00

I'm getting ready to kick into high gear with my blogging. Over the last week, I've purchased a camera phone, a laptop, redesigned this site, and I'm almost ready to switch to Wordpress for categories, scheduled posts and my own domain name.

I'm most excited about the laptop. As queer as it sounds, I felt just like that stupid puppet on the Best Buy commercial, who runs around singing "I'm free, I'm free."

Jagman has been watching these purchases with a wary eye. The cell phone he didn't really mind too much, because we were on Nextel, and it SUCKS. "Yeah, but tell me again why you NEED a camera phone?"
"Ok, I don't need a camera phone. But if I have a camera phone, then I can mobile blog! Won't that be fun?" Jagman didn't even know what I was talking about. He was just thinking, Oh, that blog nonsense again.

The laptop was a different story. When Jagman heard I was researching laptops, he said, "And why do you need this?"

Ok, well, I didn't NEED it. On the other hand, though, most evenings around our house, you'd find Jagman watching TV in the living room, Lima Bean playing video games in the family room, and Mensa Child and me on our computers in the office.

So I said, "Darling husband who I love more than life itself, I NEED it so that I can spend quality time with you while you relax after your stressful day at the office. Why, I bet I could even give you a foot massage with one hand while I'm blog surfing with the other - if I had a laptop."

Yeah right. Like I would ever say that. There is no way that is ever going to happen.
What I really said was, "I need it so I won't be stuck in the office all the time."

I've had it for about 4 days now, and I absolutely love it. I can hang out while LimaBean is playing his stupid, violent games and pretend to be impressed with the bazooka gun he just aquired by killing a bad guy, or I can blog surf while Jagman is in the living room watching home improvement shows.

And guess what? This morning, I left the laptop on the coffee table in the living room. When I headed back in, Jagman was checking the Drudge Report and CNN news while he was watching Tiger Woods play golf. A laptop convert already.

101 Views From My Deck: #1

2005-07-14T02:09:00.000-07:00

I'm adapting this idea from Cripes, Suzette! whose site I found yesterday while checking out Janet's feature appearance in the Carnival of NJ Bloggers. Anyway, Suzette does "101 Views OF Her Deck", but I've decided to do "101 Views FROM My Deck". So I am including any picture I can take while standing on my deck.

Here's the first. It's one of my four identical window boxes. This year, by pure luck, I planted them in Martha Stewart's potting soil that had time-released fertilizers already in it.

(Yeah, I guess I could make a joke about 'doing time' or even that her potting soil is 'full of it' or something like that. But I'm not going to today. I'm not really in the mood to pick on Martha. Besides, my flowers look awesome, so some underpaid, overworked underling at her company did a great job on that while she was in the slammer, knitting ponchos and all that.)

A New House Rule

2005-07-13T14:10:00.000-07:00

The cleaning people had not been gone for more than 15 minutes when I asked Lima Bean and his friend if they were hungry. They were and they wanted spaghetti. So I cooked them spaghetti and garlic bread for lunch.

As an aside, I should point out that I don't usually cook. In fact, dinner in our house usually consists of a frozen pizza that Mensa Child makes for himself when he's hungry, a peanut butter and banana bagel that I make for myself, grilled cheese or frozen pizza for Lima Bean, and cheese on a bagel for Jagman. The boys think it's a real treat (which it is!) if I cook tacos for them.

So I was feeling pretty generous and in a Martha-Stewart-with-the-ankle-bracelet kind of mood (i.e. confined to my residence for the day), so I might as well cook.

I served them their gourmet lunch and they devoured it, even asked for seconds. When they were finished, they went outside to play. And I looked at the complete disaster area that was now my kitchen, with crumbs all over the table and floor, dirty dishes, dirty pots and pans, and spaghetti sauce splatters on the cooktop. Then I remembered why I never cook.

Then I remembered I had just paid to have this house cleaned.

And that's when I came up with the new house rule: There will be no food consumed in our house on the day the cleaning people come! (And maybe not the day after, either.)
(I'm going to make a big sign right now so I can tape it to the refrigerator door on cleaning days.)

(I hope Jagman reads this before he comes home from work so he can eat his cheese bagel at the office.)

Serious Technological Blogging Advice Needed

2005-07-13T00:58:00.000-07:00

Ok,I've spent most of the last week exploring different ways to host and publish this blog and I'm not sure what to do. I really like Blogger for the following reasons: I can edit the template a lot with HTML; if I don't feel like messing with that, though, it's super easy to use; I like the new mobileblogging feature and the ability to easily post pictures, which was just added. Of course I also like the fact that it's free.

On the other hand, I'd like to be able to do more than I think I can with blogger right now, specifically: include lists with links and photos in the sidebar directly from my blogging software (i.e. not from blogrolling, etc., although I want to import my blogroll, too); write entries ahead of time and set a time for them to post; get my own domain name (even though 'thefountainpen.com' is already taken). Plus, there's the whole comment problem, first with blogger and now with Haloscan.

So I've been exploring Typepad and Wordpress with hosting possibilities. Janet at The Art of Getting By is also dealing with the same issues, and I read through her comments, which were very helpful. I started playing with Typepad and have a 30 day trial, but I can't get into the template and play with it (like I did for this one) without upgrading to the top service, which I really don't need. Everyone seems to like Wordpress, and their recommended host Blue Host is cheaper than Typepad, plus they will include free domain registration.

So I guess these are my questions:
1. Is Wordpress great and easy to use for a layperson who doesn't mind fiddling around with a template?
2. Does Wordpress offer scheduled posts?????
3. Does Wordpress and/or Typepad offer mobile posting in an easy to use format like Blogger??
4. I've checked out a Wordpress Plug-In page. Are they easy to use for creating lists and customizing the site?
5. Is switching off Blogger worth it, or should I just stay with it, get a domain name, and live without scheduled posts?
6. Can I plug in some of Wordpress's plug-in codes and get them to work in Blogger??
7. Should I just stop worrying about it, play with my new camera phone, and upload pictures of me doing the exciting things I do all day, like water the plants and clean up after Lima Bean???

Home Grown

2005-07-12T19:54:00.000-07:00

(and clearly NOT Home Depot plants!)

Warning: Pregnant Women Should Not Read This

2005-07-11T11:05:00.000-07:00

The other day I read this article Man faints, dies after seeing epidural - Yahoo! News, and it reminded me of my own experience in the delivery room.

When it came time for the epidural, they sent for the anesthesiologist. I was already in the room with nurses I didn't know, and my doctor was only popping in occasionally, so mostly my life was in the hands of complete strangers.
In walked this foreigner who could hardly speak English. "You ready for epidural?" he asked with a heavy accent.
"Yes," I said, rather warily.
He turned to Jagman and said, "You leave now."
"What??? Why does he have to leave?" I asked, rather alarmed.
"Husbands can not stay," he said. Or at least that's kind of what he said, because he had such a thick accent, he was hard to understand.

Now, I didn't like this guy from the minute he walked into the room. Didn't trust him at all. I could tell he didn't give one iota about me or whether I lived or died. And at that moment, anything was possible. Because I was in the throes of labor, and I had already suffered through the most hellacious childbirth with Mensa Child years ago that would have killed me if not for the marvels of modern medicine and a great doctor.

And I was in the middle of labor. Did I say that? Which means I was a crazy, lunatic bitch.

So this little foreigner who can't even speak English does not belong in my delivery room. And he is certainly not kicking out the only person in the room (other than myself, of course) who really cares if I live or die.

And he is also not kicking that person out right before he puts a yard-long, big-ass needle millimeters away from my spine.

He probably wants Jagman out of the room so there won't be any witnesses after he paralyzes or kills me. He probably already has lawsuits filed against him. How would I know? I'm not in a position at that moment to get referrals and look up his record. Maybe he's not even certified. Maybe he didn't even really go to college.
And why can't he speak English????

At that point, I kicked into 100% exorcist bitch mode. "Oh no. He's not leaving. If you can't do it with him in the room, then you leave. You're not putting that needle into me without my husband in the room."
We had one of those argument/discussions. The nurse had to come in and calm me down, and ultimately he relented and allowed Jagman to stay in the room. He sat next to me; I don't remember if he watched the procedure. I didn't care at that point. I just felt better knowing that I had a witness if this quack killed me.

Afterwards, I realized that watching an epidural is pretty gruesome, and a lot of husbands faint or flip out. And after reading this news article, I guess I should be thankful that this anesthesiologist was concerned about Jagman, except that his lack of bedside manner didn't convince me that he was really concerned about either of us; I was just one more job he was going to bill for that week.

It's All Fun & Games...

2005-07-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

...until someone gets Lyme's Disease

Here's Why All Kids Need Art Education

2005-07-09T00:36:00.000-07:00

Lima Bean and I were in the kitchen waiting for popcorn. He was only in his boxers because he had just had a shower. He was standing with his hand in a fist under his chin.
"Mommy, look. What does this look like?"
I said, "The Thinker."
"Yup," he said. "No wait. It's like this."
He bent over a little, as if sitting on an invisible chair, his back hunched over.
I said, "Yeah, you're right, that is more like it. He had terrible posture, all slouched over."
As I was saying that, he pulled a counter stool out as if to sit on it in the Thinker pose.

Right before he did, though, he stopped and said, "No, Mommy. Look. THIS is The Thinker."

And with that he whipped his boxers down to the floor so he was completely naked, bent over in a slouch, and propped his fist under his chin.

My Frog's Bigger Than Your Frog

2005-07-08T02:40:00.000-07:00

The other night when Jagman and I had finished planting the flowers in our million- dollar- house copycat perennial garden, I stretched out the hose to water the plants. I also topped off the pond we have there. As I did, I noticed a frog floating around on the top. When I moved the hose out of the pond and on to some plants, the frog apparently thought I had left for good, because he started to crawl out of the pond. But as soon as he reached the top of the stones and saw me, he froze. He just hung on there for a good 5 minutes, pretending not to exist in the hopes that I wouldn't see him and pick him up. I sat there staring at him. He sat there pretending he wasn't there. I hollered to Jagman to bring me the camera so I could take a picture of the frog.

Finally, I gave up and walked away to water some more plants and he made his way out of the pond and into the garden.

The next day, Jagman was telling his friend at work about the frog, and about me taking pictures. He calls his friend The Busdriver, because his wife doesn't drive, so he drives her to work and takes their son to school, then picks up the son, then picks up the wife. So he is always leaving work to do his bus route.

Apparently, The Busdriver must have an inferiority complex, because the next day at work, Jagman received an email from him that contained a picture of his pond with his frog.
Here it is:

I don't know about you, but I can't even SEE a frog in that picture! Obviously, mine's bigger.

I'm just saying. Maybe The Busdriver has an inferiority complex for good reason.

There's A Whole Different Blogging World Out There

2005-07-08T01:53:00.000-07:00

While internet surfing today, I was particularly interested in the news, especially about London. But then a Yahoo headline caught my eye: Suspected kidnapper kept blog. As a blogger, that piqued my interest, so I read the article and linked to his site.

It was the usual nonsense about how he was trying to be good, praying to god, but the demons were taking over, etc. etc. What was more interesting than his postings was the number of comments. On the day of his last post, May 13, there were 1087 comments.

Reading through those comments was both shocking, appalling and embarrassing. I could not believe that so many people could post comments that were so irreverent, flippant, and just plain 'red-necked' that I began to understand why blogging has been getting so much bad press.

I recalled a comment during Pope Paul's funeral about how uncivilized the bloggers had been, and I took umbrage with it. But reading through these comments, I realized that I have just been fortunate to have found (mostly through Michele's site) so many intelligent, educated, civilized bloggers.

On the other hand, sifting through the junk comments I found real investigative comments. People were posting links to other things Duncan had posted on the net, none of which I was going to visit. I could tell from the following comments that it was indicative of his current behavior. Someone posted a resume he had submitted for a job that made him sound like a great guy, and there was some discussion about that and how deceived we can all be. There was real discussion about links between other child molesters and him based on research bloggers were doing. One person posted a quote of Duncan bragging about "getting even with the system twice and not getting caught" in the past along with quotes from his archives about a missing girl from Minnesota.

Sure enough, I just saw an article that police are now investigating a connection between Duncan and the disappearance of a Minnesota girl, which is not to say that the police weren't doing the same thing. I certainly hope law enforcement was already combing through that blog with a fine tooth comb. But I also think reporters were lurking in the comment section and waiting for some blogger to do their job, and that there wouldn't be stories tonight about that link if it weren't for blogger comments.

Which is somewhat similar to what happened with the whole Dan Rather/Bush service letter fiasco. If it wasn't for bloggers investigating and posting links, that story might never have become a story. So while, on first appearances, many comments on the blog were an embarrassment to our country and could just perpetuate stereotypes about Americans, there were also many comments condemning that behavior, as well as serious, useful information.

And that's what free speech is all about really. It's about putting up with red-necked, foul-mouthed morons so that intelligent, civilized people can also speak freely.

And that's what makes blogging so great.

You Get What You Pay For, Unless It Dies First...

2005-07-07T01:50:00.000-07:00

...and then you don't get what you paid for, and you can't return it either!!

Jagman decided he wanted a beautiful perennial garden after we drove through one of those neighborhoods with million dollar homes and every one of them had a beautiful perennial garden in their front yard. So we dug up the grass, I went to get mulch (which is another blog story for later) and went to Home Depot to look for plants. One thing we wanted was lavender,which they had, so I bought four plants. They were little plants, but I figured they would grow, and they were only $5, so I bought them.

We planted our new little garden and when we were finished, we both thought That doesn't look anything like the beautiful perennial gardens in front of the million dollar mansions. Our plants were puny and the garden was mostly a big pile of mulch.

Then a wonderful thing happened. Three of the puny little lavender plants died, so we had to go shopping for more plants. This time we decided to go a real nursery even though we expected to pay more for the plants. But, hey, if you want your garden to look like the million dollar homes' gardens, you have to pay more for the plants! To our surprise, the prices at the real nursery weren't that much more than Home Depot, plus they were having a 25% off sale, so we bought nice big plants for about the same price. Now I was really sorry I had ever gone to Home Depot in the first place.

Jagman said, "Well, Home Depot advertises that you can get your money back if their plants die. See if you still have the receipt."
As it turned out, I did still have the receipt, which was a minor miracle. I usually save receipts I will never need, but can never find an important receipt that I do need. On my next trip to Home Depot to get the landscape lights, I asked the cashier what to do about getting my money back for plants that died.
"Do you have the receipt?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then bring back the plants with the receipt and you'll get your money back," he said.
I said, "So you want me to dig up the dead plants and bring them back with the receipt?"
"Yes, we need the dead plants," he said.

When Jagman and I planted our new, big, beautiful real nursery plants, we dug up the dead Home Depot plants and put them in the new containers to carry back to Home Depot.
Now keep in my mind that the plants only cost a total of $15, so I was really going through all this trouble more for the principle of the thing.

Truthfully, I felt ridiculous taking dead plants back in the first place.

I drove to Home Depot with my dead plants and receipt and entered the return line. Thank god there was no one ahead of me; if I had had to wait for 15 minutes before the following exchange, I would have been ready to really explode on someone in that store.

Because when I put my dead plants on the counter and gave my receipt to the cashier, she looked at the containers they were in and said, "These aren't our containers."
I said, "I know. They are the containers of the replacement flowers I just bought because your flowers died. But they were lavender, and you can see from the receipt that I bought 4 perennials that were $4.99 and 5 perennials that were $8.99. So I don't know how much the lavender is, but you still had some yesterday when I was here, so I'm sure you can find out from that container."
"Well," she said, "you need our container to return the plant."

I just looked at her like she was crazy. "I don't save the containers when I plant flowers. Besides, I was just in here yesterday and the cashier told me all I needed to do was bring the dead plants back with the receipt. He didn't say anything about having the container."
Off she went to go ask the garden manager.
When she returned, she said, "He said no returns without the containers, because otherwise he has no way of knowing what the plant was. Our policy is posted in the store. Next time save the containers. "

Now, frankly, this makes no sense to me. I could have saved the $8.99 containers and put dead weeds in them and brought them back with the receipt, and THEN they would have given me my money back!!
Plus, do these Home Depot people really think that I need $15 bad enough to dig up dead plants and drive all the way back to their store just to try to scam them out of $15????

So I just said, "Well, I can assure you, there won't be a next time. I'm never buying flowers from Home Depot again.
"Oh," I said as I turned to leave, "you can throw away your dead plants and my 'real nursery' containers. I won't need to save them; I'm sure their flowers won't die in a week."

And I walked out of there with as much dignity as I could muster for someone who just tried to return dead plants.

All Journalists Should Have the Integrity of Judith Miller

2005-07-06T23:23:00.000-07:00

"If journalists cannot be trusted to keep confidences, then journalists cannot function and there cannot be a free press," Judith Miller said.

I don't regularly post about political topics, but I don't really see this as one. This is more about the basic freedoms we take for granted in this country. You know, the ones we just celebrated on Independence Day, including freedom of speech and the press.
I find it somewhat ironic that only two days later, a journalist would be jailed for refusing to reveal her sources for an article she never wrote?

I applaud and honor Judith Miller's commitment to the journalism code of ethics, a code that unfortunately has been ignored all too often lately by reporters whose priorities were self-serving.

A true journalist honors the journalism code of ethics and is prepared to suffer personal consequences for it.

State laws protect journalists from revealing sources, but there is no federal law that does, which is why she can be ordered to talk.
"I do not view myself as above the law," Miller told U.S. District Judge Thomas Hogan. "You are right to send me to prison."
But she said she had an obligation to protect a confidential source: "I do not make confidentiality pledges lightly, but when I do I must honor them."

Lazy Days of Summer Are Sometimes Too Lazy

2005-07-06T16:28:00.000-07:00

I am much more productive, focused, and energetic with a schedule. Every summer winds up like this; I am on a nightowl schedule and don't really get much of anything done. That's one reason I really wouldn't mind working year-round, although I would like to have three weeks off at a time.

The subject of retirement has come up recently in various conversations and even on blogs. Frankly, the whole idea is one that I can't imagine. I know a lot of people who wish they could be retired now, regardless of what their age is. After spending the last 13 years with my summers off, I can say that I am always ready to go back to work at the end of August.

I can't even imagine retiring. I was talking to a woman who was retiring effective July 1 from a job she had grown to hate, and she was both happy and petrified at the same time. I can understand that. I've seen people retire who actually love it, travel the world, join clubs, work on hobbies, etc. Then I've seen people who retire and become depressed and suddenly have all kinds of health problems. It's like they just give up on life, or don't know what to do with it day in and day out. The scope of it can be overwhelming; there are so many choices, or so many idle minutes to pass, depending on how you look at it.

Every summer I say I will get up early and try to stick to a schedule. I never do. So far, this summer is no different. This morning I had to wake up Lima Bean at noon!

I kind of wish that "write a novel in a month" contest was scheduled for July instead of November. Now that I could wake up for.

Fe Fi Fo Fum, Don't Wake the Sleeping Jagmun

2005-07-06T00:07:00.000-07:00

I was upstairs, late night (of course) on the computer listening to Beck through the iPod earbuds. I love Beck, especially through the earbuds. It's a totally different experience. You hear sounds you've never heard on the radio or even on a burned CD when you listen to him directly through the iPod with earbuds. All kinds of weird, off the wall, psychedelic sounds are in his songs.

So, it was near midnight and Jagman was asleep, but the rest of the house is still wide awake, because we are ALL night owls, except for Jagman. Mensa Child and I were on our computers and Lima Bean had just asked me if he could play the Xbox downstairs. I said yes, and then I started to hear, outside of my Beck euphoria, this loud noise from downstairs. It sounded like furniture moving. I was sure it was outside the Beck song, and I couldn't figure out what it was.

But whatever it was, it was loud enough to be heard by me over the Beck earbuds, so I knew it was going to wake up Jagman.

And trust me when I say that you do NOT want to wake up Jagman when he is sleeping. Especially when it is a work night and he is the only one who has to get up in the morning to go to work. Especially when he hates the fact that he is the only 'cheerful morning person' in a house full of night owls in the first place.

So I pulled the earbuds out of my ears and ran downstairs to Lima Bean, saying, "What are you doing?!!!??" I found him propped up against the pillow in front of the tv, playing the Xbox. The sound was not turned up and he was not moving furniture.
"I'm playing the Xbox," he said.
"What is that noise then????" I asked.
"You mean the thunder??" he said.

Just then, there was a loud boom. Sure enough, we were in the midst of a severe thunderstorm, with lightening and loud booms of thunder, all of which I hadn't really heard or seen because I was in my own little technological world, hooked up to the iPod and staring at my computer screen. Now if the power went out, then I would have noticed there was storm!

Oh well, it's not my fault if THAT wakes Jagman.

My Life, As I Knew It, Can Now Resume

2005-07-05T22:28:00.000-07:00

I finished the book last night at 2am, which meant that I slept this morning until 10am. And then I basically didn't get very much accomplished for the rest of the day. It was a hot humid, cloudy day - not good for the pool or horseback riding. I went into school to visit with my friend,went to kmart to get pool floats (because Target was sold out) and that's it.

I had no energy or motivation. I started reading the second half of Tom Wolfe's Charlotte Simmons, which I had started during the winter break. It's a good book, but it's not a mystery-type book, so it's not as compelling to get to the end, like The Historian was.

Speaking of endings, The Historian was a disappointment. Not that I wouldn't still recommend reading the book, but the end was ridiculous and trite, exactly what I would expect from someone who took an MFA writing program to help her finish the book. (I read that in the news article about her; she had been working on the novel for 10 years and enrolled in an MFA program to help her finish.) I noticed that she won the awards for the book as a "Novel-in-Progress," which means the award wasn't based on the ending. The first 90% of the novel was so creatively unique and innovative; she actually made me believe that the characters were on a factually based historical search for a living Dracula, grounded in academic research.

Then I got to the end and it was pure Hollywood, totally ridiculous.
But it will definitely make a great movie, and I can't wait to see it.

Has The Fountain Pen Dried Up??

2005-07-03T12:30:00.000-07:00

...you may be asking. Four days with no post!? I've been neglectful, I admit it. I could have hopped up here on the computer and at least posted drivel (like I am now) at some point during those four days. But I've been really busy. I've had really important things to do, like floating in the pool and reading the book I just bought and can't put down.

The book is The Historian, and I highly recommend it. Anyway, when I get into a book, it consumes me. I will stay awake until the wee hours of the night (which is really morning) and then sleep all day (while floating in the pool). That's what summers are for.

And I'll admit, that at times while reading, at the end of a chapter or something, I'd think to myself, I haven't posted for awhile. I should go write something. But then the book is right there in front of me and the computer is not. And right there, on the next page, is the answer to my suspenseful questions. It is just too seductive, that beckoning book that leaves me wanting more every time I get to the end of a page.

In between reading, I also helped my brother and Shopping Girl move into their new house.
That was fun and exciting, but meant no time to read for two days this week. So I'm still only on Part 3 of the novel. (Ok, it wasn't really fun and exciting. I just said that because I'm trying to get this post done so I can go back to my book! It was really hot and sweaty and hard work.)

Last night, we took Jagman's parents out to the hoitsy-toitsy club for dinner. (I could only read my book in the car on the way there.) Lima Bean was being extremely silly and loud in the back seat with Mensa Child, so I turned around and said, in my most stern, parenting voice, "Look. We're going to a nice restaurant and I expect you to behave like a mature 9 year old."
Jagman responded, "OK. I'll try."

So now I've posted and can go back to my book without that nagging sense of guilt.

Jagman just popped in and said, "What are you doing?"
"I'm posting, because I haven't posted anything in four days."
"Oh. Well, do you want to help me unload some of that mulch?"

Yeah, I am just dying to unload mulch and not read my book! Uggggghhhhh.

Part 2: Labor Pains (A Tale of Two Baby Showers)

2005-06-28T21:32:00.000-07:00

No, I'm not going to relate all the labor stories I heard during the showers. I'm going to talk about the labor pains of attending the baby showers!

Saturday's baby shower was for the new wife of one of Jagman's high school friends. Therefore, I hardly know this woman but felt obligated to go for Jagman, who has shown his appreciation for my wonderfulness in so many (carats) ways.

Even though the shower may be scheduled for a three-hour period, it takes one hour to get ready and another 30-45 minutes to drive there. So the entire block of time to attend a shower is really nearly SIX hours! And that's after you've bought and wrapped the gifts.

I had to get out of the pool on a gorgeous sun-baking 90 degree day and get ready to attend the Saturday shower. At that point, I wasn't sure if the other spouses (who may not have had as much carat appreciation from their husbands as I have) were even attending this shower. So there was a certain degree of apprehension about going to spend the afternoon with people I don't even know to do something I hate.

When I arrived at the shower, I was the only 'spouse'. Everyone else was some kind of relative. Fortunately, though, within the hour, two other spouses arrived late.
This mother-to-be is an accountant married to a lawyer, and the invited guests were all professional women. There were several Nordstrom's boxes there with ridiculous presents like Ralph Lauren cable-knit cardigans, or the Smyth box with a silver turtle music box that played a lullaby.

Yes, someone gave her a silver spoon, but it wasn't me. It was one of the other spouses.

They served wine and margaritas. When one of my friends arrived, she said how much she loved baby showers. I just looked at her like she'd lost her mind. Then I realized that it was her only opportunity to get out of the house and away from her own kids for six hours without being at work. I realized this after she spent the entire time at the shower complaining about how BAD her youngest of three was, and stating that her husband was home with her and he NEVER is, and she was wondering how he was doing with her. She was only wondering, though; she wasn't worrying. In fact, she was clearly enjoying her wine and the opportunity to socialize with other women. She was in no hurry to go home, and probably went out shopping after she left the shower.

On the Labor Pain scale, this one wasn't too bad. Like a woman with breeding hips having her fifth child, which pops out on the way to the hospital.

On to baby shower #2 the next day. (I dragged Jagman out of bed at 7am on a Sunday to get in a horseback ride before I had to go waste the rest of the day.)

It was a very different kind of shower. There was no wine or any alcohol. As soon as I deposited my purse and gift, I was asked to write my name and address on an envelope and put it in a basket. I kind of laughed and shook my head, biting my tongue so I wouldn't say, "Gee, why don't I just write the thank you note for her, too." The excuse for completing the envelopes was that they were being used to draw names for prizes. I didn't get one.

We had to eat first, which meant no 'cutting out early' because the new mother hadn't even opened any presents. There were no Nordstrom boxes or silver spoons. The gifts were much more practical, and boring, like blankets, onesies, diapers, and Desitin. I still managed to get out after only two hours, though, so even though it had taken up the whole Sunday afternoon, I was glad it was over.

On the Labor Pain scale, this one was about average. Pushing for three hours, baby has to be vacuumed out anyway.

I heard that the second mom had a coed shower on Saturday night. I was sorry I hadn't been invited to that one, but I bet Jagman's not!

A Tale of Two Baby Showers. Part 1: The Rant

2005-06-27T23:54:00.000-07:00

I had a crazy weekend because I tried to squeeze my own life into a schedule that included two days' worth of baby showers. It might not come as a surprise to you that I absolutely abhor baby showers. They are just about the worst thing I can imagine suffering through, a close second to four hours of pushing and then a c-section, which is all fresh in your mind during a baby shower, because all the women talk about how bad their labor was and relive the horror to prepare the mother-to-be for all the joys she has coming to her.

When I first received the invitations to these baby showers, they came on the same day, and I freaked out so much that I wrote a Rant About Baby Showers. Here it is:

When I opened the mail, I had not one, but TWO invitations to baby showers. On the same weekend. The entire weekend will be ruined by baby showers.
I absolutely HATE baby showers. They are archaic relics of a long-ago lifestyle. Why do women perpetuate this ritual? Why hasn't it adapted to the 21st century?

For example, why are they still only for women? Most men are now involved in every other aspect of the pregnancy -taking classes, going to the doctor's visits, helping to decorate the nursery, reading the baby books. They will certainly use the baby supplies, and probably helped pick out the car seat, high chair, stroller, playpen, etc. to put on the registry. So why isn't it a co-ed event?

Because everyone assumes the other men won't want to watch all the presents being opened. Well, guess what? I don't want to watch all the presents being opened. Most of my female friends hate attending baby showers and watching all the presents being opened.

At least if they were coed parties, we could sit in the other room, watch sports and drink beer with the guys who, like us, aren't interested in car seats, strollers, onesies or rattles.

But no, it's accepted that men wouldn't want to sit through that nonsense. Women, however, are expected to enjoy it. Frankly, I would rather watch golf (which usually puts Jagman to sleep) than watch a woman unwrap blankets, onesies, and spit-up rags.

Some Things Are More Interesting Than Oprah

2005-06-24T23:00:00.000-07:00

Sitting with my nails under the blue lights, I was listening to the conversation between the two women next to me. The first woman was explaining that they had moved here seven years ago for the schools, because they used to live in a different county and were paying private school tuition for their oldest daughter who had just graduated from college. But then they realized that to pay for private school for all three of their children would cost so much money that they might as well buy an expensive home in a better county, send their kids to the public schools and get the tax deduction for their mortgage.

Right after this, the younger daughter came over after her pedicure, with her foot in the flip-flops and her toes separated. The mother told her to carefully slide her foot under the lower ledge to dry her nail polish under the blue lights, but the kid put her foot on top of the ledge. Mom had to correct her.

Then mom asked her if she had found a shirt when she was out shopping.
She said, "No, because I thought they all had weird pockets. Haha. This is so funny. Here's what happened. I was looking at all the shirts, and picking them up, and they looked like they all had these weird cell phone pockets. And Grampa doesn't have a cell phone, so I was thinking, well I don't want one of these shirts. They must make shirts without these cell phone pockets. But every shirt I picked up had one. So then I met up with Brian and he asked if I bought Grampa a shirt, and I told him about the cell phone pockets, and he didn't know what I was talking about. So we went back to Hechts and I showed him the shirts. And he picked one up and unfolded it, and there was no cell phone pocket anymore! I never knew they folded shirts like that. I thought it was a weird pocket in every one of the shirts. Hahaha. Isn't that funny? It was just the way the shirts were folded!"

I can tell the mother was slightly embarrassed, because the other woman had been listening to this entire monologue, recited in a high-pitched, ditzy, air-head voice. And no, the daughter was not blonde; she was a brunette.

I was pretending to read the closed captioning of the Oprah show and wasn't going to embarrass the poor mother even more by looking over at this creature to see if she was for real. But the whole time I was thinking Yeah, I can see why you wouldn't want to spend $100,000 on her education in a private school! That money was definitely better spent on a mortgage.

And He Said It With a Smirk On His Face!

2005-06-23T00:05:00.000-07:00

Mensa Child just bought the new War Craft game. I was sitting at my computer, next to his computer, as he installed the game. It opened with a mini-movie, which caught my eye because it was as good as regular movie.
I started watching. The setting was in the snow and there was a huge polar bear running around. Then it cut to a woman with weapons.
Now this woman is typical for these video games geared to a male audience. She is thin, but not too thin. Muscular, but not too muscular. A six-pack of abs and D-cup breasts. She is wearing an outfit that looks more like S/M gear and not at all like battle fatigues. She looks like a porn version of Barbie.

"Oh brother," I said, in my most disapproving voice. "That's a ridiculous outfit for that woman to be wearing out in the snow!"
Mensa Child said, "She's not out in the snow. This is a different scene."
"Oh." I said.

Porn-Barbie picked up her weapons like a Green Beret on special assignment and started running.
Disgusted, I said, "See, that is so unrealistic. Her boobs don't even bounce when she runs."

And Mensa Child said, "Yeah, that is weird. They do in the game."

Uggghh.

On a Lighter Note: Here's Another Reason For Not Going to Church

2005-06-22T00:05:00.000-07:00

At the memorial service, the program with all the hymns and readings had an asterisk to show when the congregation was supposed to stand. The hymn after the 'sermon' had an asterisk, as did the remainder of the service.

The minister finished the sermon and the organist started the music for the next hymn. No one was standing. I could sense there were people aware that we were supposed to be standing, because it seemed they were waiting for someone else to stand up.
Then the people sitting behind us stood up. Then my friend Sue, sitting next to me, stood up.
So I stood up.
But then no one else stood up.

You know how usually when this happens, people start to stand as they realize they are supposed to be and that some people are. Well, that didn't happen here. No one else ever stood up. We finished the first verse and we were still the only four people in the whole church (besides the minister) standing.

Then a sinking sense of dread hit me when I looked closely at the hymn and realized there were FIVE verses!!

So, what would you do?? Would you remain standing with the other three people, or would you try to sit down 'gracefully'???

Thoughts About Fathers After Father's Day

2005-06-21T09:21:00.000-07:00

I spent the day after Father's Day attending the memorial service for a friend's father who died last week. It came amidst the conflicted feelings I have about my own father right now, which made father's day weird for me to begin with.

I sat listening to my friend give the eulogy. He talked about how wonderful his father was, of course, how he had unique names for everyone in the family and made each person feel special. How he had his priorities in order, even when the rest of the world may not; his family always came first, and they all knew it. My friend knew there was nothing he could ever do that would cause his father to stop loving him, and if that wasn't unconditional love, then he didn't know what was.

On the way home with my girlfriends, Sue said it was a beautiful eulogy, but untrue. "I never heard him say one good thing about his father. All he did was complain about him. I think he just said what he knew everyone in the family needed to hear. "

And then we all recalled that lately, he had been complaining about his father a lot. About his pigheaded and dangerous behavior because he still insisted on doing things he shouldn't be doing and would hurt himself and wind up in a nursing home, which everyone was trying to avoid. My friend had spent several years in that role-reversal of being the parent for his parents.

But then I also remembered a couple of conversations I had with him after he knew his father was dying (because he had stopped dialysis, so it was only a matter of time). Then my friend verbalized memories of better times with his dad. He was already starting to look past the recent reality of their relationship and view it from the whole scope of their lifetime together. He was already looking at the big picture.

I haven't been able to get there with my own father, and I realize now that I need to, before he's dying or dead. I'm still reeling from the knowledge that the man I spent most of my life admiring, respecting, even adoring was really a myth, a one-dimensional persona he shared with me and the outside world. I let myself believe that myth for all those years because I wanted to. But the fact is, no one is without faults, and now I have to accept and love him with his faults, just as he loved me through all the obnoxious, rebellious stages of my life.

I have to get past our recent reality and remember the big picture. And while it won't ever again be daddy's girl idolizing her mythical father, maybe it will be better if it is two real people who love each other for who they really are.

Meme Game

2005-06-19T00:05:00.001-07:00

I had the honor of being tagged by Ivy from Ivy Tied Up.
What 5 Things do you miss about your childhood?

But first the rules to this meme game:
Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place; add your blog's name in the #5 spot; link to each of the other blogs for the desired cross pollination effect.
1. Loose Leaf http://looseleafnotes.com
2. Lu's News http://luann919.blogspot.com
3. Marti http://marti2212.blogspot.com/
4. Ivy Tied Up http://www.ivytiedup.com
5. The Fountain Pen http://thefountainpen1.blogspot.com

Next: select new friends to add to the pollen count. (No one is obligated to participate).
1. The Daffodil Quill http://thedaffodilquill.blogspot.com
2. MissMeliss:Scritture http://missmeliss.com
3. Honestyrain http://honestyrain.com
4. The Color Purple http://thecolorpurple.blogspot.com
5. Mommylogue http://mommylogue.blogspot.com

On to the game: What 5 things do you miss about your childhood?

1. Visiting Aunt Katie's house and being spoiled rotten. We would ride the bus into town, go to Read's and get root beer floats at the lunch counter and see a movie.
2. Having a job but no bills to pay, so that my whole paycheck was play money.
3. The freedom kids don't have anymore. I remember my mother telling us it was a beautiful day and we had to get outside. Then she would lock the door behind us! We would roam the neighborhood, ride our bikes all around the neighborhood and hang out with friends for hours.
4. Sitting in my bean bag chair, listening to music on the headphones for hours.
5. Reading books all the time. I always had a book with me, wherever we went. I bordered on being rude, because I would rather read my books than take part in whatever was really going on. But that was OK for a kid, even admirable.
I miss being able to whip out a book to read during boring social functions. Now I have to suffer through small talk.

Dear Target Cashier,

2005-06-18T00:05:00.000-07:00

It should be obvious to you when a customer comes through your check-out line with three separate gift cards and asks for $10 to be put on each card, that those cards are going to three different people. Obvious.

Do not stand there looking all innocent when I tell you I need three gift slips. Do not tell me I should have asked for three gift slips. Any moron should know that each gift card needs its own gift slip. Do you expect me to just trust that you have correctly entered the amount on each gift card? You have already demonstrated your level of intelligence by handing me one gift slip for three gift cards, so I don't trust that you've done anything right.

What happens if the recipient of my gift card tries to use it and those stupid bar codes say there is no money on that card??? I'll tell you what happens. The cashier will ask my recipient if she has a gift slip. And then my recipient will say "No", and that cashier (with a brain) will say, "Well, usually people give you a gift slip, just in case the card doesn't work. "

And my recipient will be SOL, which is extremely problematic for me, because my recipients are Lima Bean's teachers. And if one of his teachers' gift cards doesn't work when she is at the check-out ready to buy something with it, my name is going to be trashed in the teacher planning room.

And then Lima Bean's new teacher next year will see his name on her list and think to herself, "Oh yeah. That's the kid whose mother gives out bogus Target gift cards." And she will be out to get him all year, which will definitely affect his grades. And then he won't be able to take AP classes in high school. And then he won't be able to get into a good college, which means he won't be able to get a decent job and support himself.

So I hope you're happy, Target cashier girl, standing there looking at me as if I'm a PMS-ing bitch for pointing out your ignorance, but to no avail. I should have realized I was dealing with a moron and specifically asked for three gift slips to accompany my three gift cards.

But even though you may have destroyed my son's future, I will be understanding. Because, as Ferris Bueller so aptly said, "It's understanding that makes it possible for people like me to tolerate people like you."

Part 2: And Baby Makes Three

2005-06-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

Finally we saw a couple with a baby heading towards us. The security guards told them there was quite a crowd waiting for Nathaniel, so that first couple stepped to the side and allowed my IL's to walk ahead with him.

When they came through the glass doors and towards us there was a cheering and clapping. And then lots of crying. But not from Nathaniel. This infant who had just been taken from the only place he'd ever known, who'd spent the last 20 hours in airplanes or airports, looked at this huge crowd of smiling, crying, laughing strangers, all staring at him, and gave us a smile of utter delight. It was as if he was saying, "Yes, I'm glad to be home, too."

Our whole clan kept inching closer and circling around them, videotaping and taking flash pictures, calling to him to get his attention, smiling and making faces to get him to smile again. He took it all in stride, watching us with an air of amusement, flashing us another gorgeous smile every so often.

Now to really appreciate how charismatic this baby is, you should probably know that I'm not the least bit interested in babies. Never have been, didn't think I ever would be except for my own. I've never even held someone else's baby. (Once, Bull-in-a-China-Shop handed me her infant to hold; I passed that baby straight to Jagman like a hot potato.)

Nathaniel, though, is a baby with real charisma - charm, energy, and an animated eagerness for what life has to offer.

In contrast, the other two babies from the flight were with their new families. The other boy was quiet, sedated, cautious in his responses. He was behaving like a 'normal' baby, or at least what I've come to expect from babies. The one year old girl was screaming and thrashing about in her new mother's lap, and behaved this way the entire hour we were all there.

My heart ached for those parents; the happy moment they had been waiting for had become a horrific experience. They were told to take the child immediately out of the airport and go home to help calm her, but they hadn't done that. They were probably afraid to take this unknown infant all the way home and deal with the situation alone. I imagine I would have been terrified, and I also expect the baby could sense their apprehension, which was making the whole situation worse. The social worker eventually calmed the girl enough so that before we left, all three families could take a group photo. But even during this, the girl sat on her new mother's lap with her lip trembling.

I set out that night expecting to share one of life's joyous moments, but realized it was really a miracle I was watching. Nathaniel was destined to find his new parents, who are both passionate, outgoing, energetic, gregarious people. He also seemed to instantly bond with my SIL, and he was so accepting of our family's craziness, which frankly, is quite overwhelming to an outsider.

Plus, after waiting all those years for a baby, it was a miracle that this moment for them was so perfect, considering all the things that could have gone wrong and didn't. The baby didn't stay in Korea for another two months and bond with his foster mother; the paperwork was mysteriously expedited at every step of the way. He wasn't overwhelmed or traumatized; he must have had loving caretakers in Korea who taught him to trust new people.

It was the ideal scenario in every way, as if it was meant to be that way, proof that there are really no coincidences. It wasn't random luck-of-the-draw that brought this particular baby to this couple.

They had dreamed each other into being, and the power of love had brought them together.

Nathaniel's Homecoming: Part 1

2005-06-16T00:45:00.000-07:00

Last night we went to Dulles airport to witness a miracle. Not that I thought that's what we were doing when we left.

My sister-in-law and her husband had tried to have a baby for the last 4 years, including several rounds each of in vitro and artificial insemination. Finally, they decided to adopt, and went through Catholic Charities to find a child from Korea. That process alone has taken over a year.

In February they were sent the picture of their son, who they named Nathaniel. He was born on January 27. The paperwork, though, from both countries was expected to take until August to allow Nathaniel to come home to them. But each step of the way, something happened to speed things along, so that last week they received the phone call that Nathaniel would be arriving on Wednesday night at 7:30pm.

A huge clan of family members waited at the baggage terminal with signs, posters, video cameras, digital cameras, and even a Polaroid camera. (Jagman has six sisters!) We were quite a spectacle, mostly because of our exuberance. Everyone was laughing, talking, goofing off, etc. right by the exit to baggage claim. Several flights exited and we watched the reactions of people as they approached and then walked past us. From afar, they were probably wondering if there was a celebrity on board, because we looked like a bunch of middle-aged groupies. As they approached and saw our hand-made signs with the big baby picture of Nathaniel, they realized why we were there.
One family was waiting for two young girls, who exited on an earlier flight. They stayed and waited with us to see Nathaniel's Homecoming; they knew it would be moment to remember.

When his flight finally arrived and the regular passengers were exiting, several of them told us they had seen the babies, and they were all beautiful. However, we heard from one of them that there was a one year old on board who was traumatized through the whole flight and had to be separated from the other two. She did not want to leave her foster mother in Korea.

The flight from Korea was 20 hours total, including layovers,etc. That would be grueling for an adult; I can't imagine babies dealing with it, all the hustle, moving, air pressure changes. Some of these babies have changed hands so many times that they haven't formed bonds with any adult, which is a serious concern. My SIL was told that NO ONE could touch Nathaniel for one week after he came home, so that he could start to bond with his new parents, which seems obvious after it's been said. What's the first thing everyone would do, normally? Pass the baby around and let lots of MORE new people hold him.

So we waited with anticipation for my SIL and BIL to arrive with Nathaniel. My BIL called on the cell phone to say that they had the baby and would be down in a couple of minutes. At this point, we started to see a couple of other people waiting for their family members who were adopting the other two children. They were small quiet gatherings sitting off to the side, in stark contrast to our huge clan, waiting for a celebrity.

(Part 2 tomorrow!)

Is Steve Jobs Dumbo or What?

2005-06-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

I'm LOVING my iPod. I hooked up the iTrip and it played music through all three separate music systems in our house, including the outdoor speakers. Considering how much it would have cost to have the house hard-wired by the Best Buy guys, I figure I just saved Jagman a small fortune!

The headphones were an ongoing issue. They were extremely painful for me. In fact, every person I've asked has said the earpiece was hurtful. Which leads me to the conclusion that Steve Jobs, Apple founder, must have huge ears like Dumbo. All the teenagers I have asked said the earphones hurt when they first got them, but they just kept wearing them and now they are used to them and they don't hurt anymore. After several of them told me this, I started examining their ears while they were talking, because there must be something misshapen about them.

I figure they all now have deformed ears. I also figure it's a lot easier to get an 18 year old's ears to mold into the iPod earphone shape than my 43 year old ears. Nonetheless, I was plugging away at it, trying to reshape my own ears and expecting to need advil the next morning when I read the comments to my previous iPod post.

Megan from The Color Purple is a godsend. Her comment about the iPod In Ear Buds for only $40 sent me straight back to Target! And I can say that she definitely knows what she's talking about. I am LOVING listening to the iPod with these new earbuds. Plus I can't hear too much else, because they fit so snugly and comfortably... which can come in pretty handy at work.

Just think, I'll be able to turn MY ears off now, just like Jagman!! (Except I'll be listening to great music; I don't know what he's listening to when he does it.)

MRTL's Motif Monday: Feet

2005-06-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

OK, I know I'm posting it on Tuesday, but I really wrote it on Monday night. I was sitting on the pool deck watching Lima Bean swim when I suddenly realized I had missed Motif Monday. (I'll have to set a reminder in my Palm from now on. If you want to join in, go to Madden Round the Land)

I probably forgot about this week's topic on purpose, because I didn't really like it. Feet. What a stupid thing to write about. But then again, practically every writing manual tells you to start writing about something stupid and you will discover something brilliant.

Don't count on anything like that happening here.

When I think about feet, I think about what a pain (and not in the foot) the whole shoe issue is for women. I have worn Dansko clogs almost exclusively for the last five years. Before that, my feet hurt at the end of the day, and I had started to develop lower back pain. Once I started wearing the Danskos, my feet never hurt anymore and my back pain went away.

Now for awhile, I was OK with this, because the Danskos were somewhat fashionable, which means they weren't totally, obviously, out-of-touch unfashionable. Big clunky shoes were in. Lots of women were wearing big black shoes.

But now the look is dainty ballerina flats or pointy-toe kitten heels. If I have to start wearing suits, I can't wear Dansko clogs.

So I've started buying shoes again, which is something I really hadn't done. I would buy one pair of Danskos and wear them until they were scuffed up. Then I'd buy another.

But now I am shopping for shoes, and matching the shoes to my outfits. And it's such a waste of time, not only to buy the shoes, but to figure out which ones to wear in the morning. It was much easier to be known for the black clogs that I wore with everything. Just like it was a lot easier wearing all black.

Guys have it so easy on this one, too, just like everything else fashion related. They get to wear comfortable, sensible shoes everyday and don't think twice about what their feet look like. (Except for that metrosexual - wanna-be on Saturdays during my hair appointments.)

Night Swimming

2005-06-13T00:30:00.000-07:00

It's officially summer now. We were night swimming for the first time this year.

Ok, I know it's not June 21. In fact, school isn't even over yet. But night swimming marks the true beginning of summer for me, even more so than Memorial Day or the last day of school. When the weather has been warm enough at night to keep the pool water warmer than the night air, it's summer.

We have those 'Christmas' lights in the clear strand attached to the deck railings. When we turn them on and light the tikki torches, it's summer. We were swimming last night until almost 10pm. It was a stark dose of reality when we realized it was a school night and we had to get Lima Bean in the shower. (In fact, I realize now that I didn't even get his bookbag ready - check the Take-Home Folder and sign all the nonsense paperwork.)

We are so done with school. We're night swimming!

I Broke Down and Bought an iPod...

2005-06-12T01:40:00.000-07:00

so I can't post very much tonight because I'm in iPod heaven.

After all my complaining about iPods and their price fixing and proprietary nonsense, and after years (seriously, years) of swearing I would never buy one, I just bought one tonight. I was all ready to buy the Creative Zen Touch 20 gb on Amazon for $234. But I'd have to wait for it. And I didn't feel like waiting for it. Plus, I'd never really tried one out, because no one really sells one. Plus I don't know one person who has one. I know LOTS of people who have iPods, and they ALL love them.

Mensa Child had told me a year ago to use Windows Media Player for my music instead of iTunes. So I had half of my songs on each system. But Mensa Child was a huge Kazaa (or whatever it is now) music listener who never buys music. (Which, frankly, I have no problem with. No one gets arrested for loaning a book to someone else to read. Or making cassettes to share when that was the latest technology. Why should they get arrested for sharing music? What's the difference? But that's another post.) Last week, he said HE was looking at iPods. I nearly fell off my chair.

So I kept looking at the Zen Touch online, but didn't order it. iTunes is definitely easier to use than Wal-Mart music downloads, even though each song at Walmart is only .88. But then I started looking at accessories, FM transmitters, speakers, etc. and everything is made for iPods.

So I gave in. We went to Target to buy birthday presents and I told Jagman I was buying the iPod while we were there. It didn't matter where I bought it because of their ridiculous price-fixing. I sold him on it when I told him we could play the music on all the speakers at once with the FM transmitter - family room, basement, outdoors would all be playing the same music.

When I was in Target, there was another couple there who had iPods, and I asked them if it really worked like that. The guy said "Yeah, I live with a roommate, and we can play the same music from one iPod on all three levels of our house."

So I've spent the last four hours switching music from Windows Media Player to iTunes, which is a huge pain in the butt. I have to burn the music on CD, then import it into iTunes, which doesn't recognize any info about each track, so I have to type it all in. But it will be worth it. And of course, I bought some new music.

Right now I'm listening to Beck through the earbuds on the iPod. I hate them. They hurt my ears. I will have to look for new ones. But the sound is awesome. I've been listening to E-Pro in the car and at home for the last month, and I've never heard all the sounds in that song that I just heard tonight. I am absolutely amazed.

Another Reason I Love My Job, or Don't Name Your Kid Elderly

2005-06-11T00:06:00.000-07:00

My friend the Goddess is a natural comedian, besides being gorgeous and built like a playboy bunny. (See posts on March 22-23 for intro to Goddess and Frenchman )
She was watching the local news one night with The Frenchman at his house. He had on the local Fox news at 10, which the Goddess can't stand. Mostly because it's not really like a 'real' news station, which is mostly because they have the biggest bimbo with fake boobs as an anchorwoman.

The news was covering a story and the reporter's name was posted across the bottom of the screen.
The Goddess complained, "See. This is such a lame news station. Even their reporters are weird. Look at that one. Vitas. What kind of name is Vitas?? That's ridiculous. Who names their kid Vitas?? A professional reporter should not be named Vitas. And that's another reason this news channel sucks."

The Frenchman quietly watched the news during this tirade. The picture changed to another reporter with a new banner across the bottom.
"See. Oh my god. This is even more ridiculous," she said, in utter disgust. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! Elderly!! Who the hell names their kid Elderly?! What a loser. How can you expect to be taken seriously with a name like Elderly Murders?"

The Frenchman sat on the coach looking at her to see if she was serious. She appeared to be serious. (And, yes, she is blonde, but she doesn't usually act blonde.)
The Frenchman said, very gently, "Goddess, that's the title of the story. They're talking about old people getting murdered."

"Oh," she said, momentarily perplexed, before the full effect of her embarrassment set in.
(And yes, she told me this story herself.)

********************************************

The next day, we were attending a retirement reception.
John said, "The only time I ever hear people talking about who's hot, they're talking about the Goddess."
She said, "Well, if I'm so hot, why can't I find a rich hot man?"

Just then she took a bite of cake, which left frosting on her lips. Her friend, Sue, standing across from her said "Goddess" to get her attention, then licked her lips, looking rather seductive, but intending only to signal the Goddess that she had icing on her lips.

The Goddess looked at her, shocked, and said, "Sue! I said a hot MAN!"

(Needless to say, the lesbian jokes were, and will be, a continuing source of hilarity. And also, needless to say, this is one reason I love going to work everyday. We all laugh at ourselves and invite everyone else to join in the fun.)

Close the Pantry Door or It Will Cost You!

2005-06-10T00:05:00.000-07:00

I love my house, but if I had designed it, I would have made the laundry room/mud room the size of a one-car garage. Right now, it's the size of a powder room, and we are squeezing one car's worth of crap into a powder room.
The other thing I would have changed is the 'back' door, because it's really on the side of the house. Everyone who comes to the house drives all the way up the driveway and enters and exits through this laundry room/ powder room/one-car- garage- full- of- crap room.

And that's because it has a side-entry garage. Now I know a side-entry garage is supposed to be an upgrade. OK, it IS an upgrade. The builder will charge you a ton extra if you ask for it and he wasn't planning on putting it in. And the house looks better from the street with windows showing instead of garage doors. But then DON'T put an entry/exit door right next to the side-entry garage! Because everyone who comes to the house will use that door, and they will never use the front door, no matter how beautiful a door/foyer/walkway you have. Never!

Which is why I need a semi-circular driveway. Because that's the only way people will ever willingly use our front door. And this is my pet peeve.
Why is this my pet peeve about this house? Here's why.

It's bad enough that the laundry room is functioning as the primary entry and exit for our house, but beyond that lies a 16 foot long narrow hallway to the kitchen. Off that hallway is the powder room, the garage door, and a pantry.

That hallway is only 3 feet wide. (Yes, I did measure it. I just went downstairs and got the yellow tapemeasure from the junk drawer and measured all of this!)
The pantry door is a bi-fold. When the pantry door is open, there is only a space of 21 inches to walk through the hall. (Yes, that is accurate. I just measured it!)

The people who live in this house with me, i.e. my family, continue to open that pantry door to get their junk food/drinks/ bug spray (yes, it is all in the same place!) and THEY NEVER SHUT THE DOOR!!! So everytime I walk through that hallway, I HAVE TO CLOSE THE PANTRY DOOR!

Sometimes I also have to close the powder room door, which, when left open, completely prevents anyone from passing through that hallway at all.

And this is beginning to really get on my nerves.

So I've begun to consider what is wrong with the design of that hallway, and, after watching so many home shows on HGTV, I have concluded that the entire hallway needs to widened and reconfigured. Which will widen the laundry room so it is bigger than a powder room and we can actually fit one-car garage's worth of stuff in the room. And while we're doing that, we should move the door so it faces the back of the house and not the side, so that visitors don't see a side door to use and will always use the front door.

Of course, the cheaper solution would be to put in a semi-circular driveway so everyone would use the front door. Then the only people walking into the laundry room would be people doing laundry!

Since two of the three leaving-the-pantry-door-open offenders read this blog, and since they are both protective of their finances/inheritance, I wonder if they will come up with a more cost-effective solution to this open-pantry-door problem??????
(I kind of hope not, because I've been wanting the semi-circular driveway.)

Is Your Suit of Armor from Target or Ann Taylor?

2005-06-09T00:07:00.000-07:00

I read Rus' post on the significance of his suit and it made me think about the role that clothes have played, not only in my life, but in society in general.

Just as Rus went through a period of 'rebellion' over being judged by his outward appearance, I went through my own rebellious period with clothes. Mine was more about not wasting my time thinking about them.

I was an undergraduate English major and I was writing and reading a lot. I was also confronting a lot of the myths about society and religion and the way the world works. I started dressing in all black, which a lot of writers do. I really loved it. It is amazing how much time we spend deciding what to buy and what to wear. It was so easy during that period when I wore all black. I only looked at black clothes when I was shopping. I didn't have to think about whether it was going to match or not. In the morning, I didn't really think about outfits; I grabbed a black top and bottom and was done. Dressy occasions were easy. Most people who knew me expected me to be in black, anyway. It was just dressier material and more accessories.

After I graduated and had to get a job, I realized I couldn't wear black clothes to work everyday. At first, it was fun to think about what look I wanted and to go shopping. And it still is, really. But it takes a lot of time. And now the clothes need to be updated because they go out of style, unlike all black clothes, which were timeless.

For the last several years, I've lived in Target and Old Navy clothes. They are hip, fashionable and affordable. I rarely go to the mall. Most people can't believe it when I tell them "It's from Target."

I have always understood that clothes define/stereotype you. Even when I was in my all black phase, I was clearly a liberal arts major, not a business or law student. My clothes were a label no different than the little polo horse on shirts today.

If you walk through a high school, you can identify the cliques by the clothes they wear. The ultra-preppy Abercrombie crew is not hanging out with the average, no-label dressers. And neither of those two groups are hanging out with the drooping jeans/pounds of 'gold' jewelry or black leather/tattooed/silver chains crowd.

We are all judged by our appearance, even those who think they are rebelling against that system. They are viewed as rebels or 'free-spirits' by conformists and/or snobs.

At work, I'm in line for a promotion, and if I get it, I will have to wear a suit nearly everyday, so I can't really buy too many clothes right now. I won't be able to shop exclusively at Target (although I've found some nice suits there, believe it or not). In fact, I started buying the suits when I was 'working' on the promotion, because I'm a firm believer in 'dressing for the job you want to get.' I know that it's true.

Because that's the way the game is played, and it's not just about dressing for promotions at work. It's about dressing for acceptance by our peer group, the clique we want to be in. And it's not just about friendships, either. It's also about the customer service we get in stores, neighborhood politics, PTA committees, and who our kids are allowed to play with.

And we are all in the game, whether we want to be or not.

Brad Pitt is Downsizing and Donating His BS to Goodwill

2005-06-08T12:05:00.000-07:00

Channel surfing is not something I usually do. In fact, I barely even watch tv. But Jagman turned on Prime Time Live and I found myself watching Brad Pitt doing humanitarian work in Africa. When did that start?? They're acting like he's always done this. I don't remember hearing about that before Angelina Jolie.

Switch to HBO. The only good movie is Harry Potter, and it's near the end. I will really have to reevaluate this HBO/Showtime package. If they don't bring back The Wire and The Sopranos, I'm gone.

Switch to Public Television. Yes, I love Public Television, but only the mysteries. Tonight it's the Live Aid concert, with Tina Turner and Mick Jagger. Twenty years ago. Why does Public Television think I'm going to give them money for showing a 20 year old concert on tv???
Mick and Tina are getting pretty hot on the dance floor. He rips off her skirt. (She is wearing a leotard and fishnet stockings.) That Tina Turner is amazing. Her ass looks great, and her legs are phenomenal. She is ageless; she was on Oprah recently and she still looked exactly the same. (In a real way, not a Cher/Joan Rivers way.) (And no, I do not watch Oprah. I saw the commercials.) (And no, I have nothing against Oprah. I actually like her. I just don't have time to watch her show. Because I don't watch tv. Usually.) Mick Jagger ripped his shirt off, but that wasn't anything to see. He always was too skinny and scrawny.

Back to Brad. "I'm trying to downsize. I have so much crap." Yeah, I feel your pain. I guess you'll just make a pile for the Goodwill, like I do when I'm downsizing and cleaning out my crap.
Diane Sawyer asks about the 'house' he designed. (It's the size of a small shopping mall.) "Will you ever live in a house that big again?"
"No, I don't think so."
He wants a family. That's appropriate at this stage of my life. I'm 41. The fact that I've just divorced my wife is completely irrevelant. He might adopt an African child. "It's a beautiful idea." Kind of like Angelina Jolie did.
Sawyer said, "Tell me about Angelina Jolie. Is she a homewrecker?"
Brad responded, "No, absolutely not. She's a great actress. And I admire her UN work."
Which is why I'm now promoting this Africa thing. She thinks it's hot. And she's really hot. And she's into kids, unlike that Jennifer Aniston. And I'm just a better person with Angelina... not to mention sexually satisfied.

Give me a break. Now I remember why I don't usually watch tv. I haven't been missing a thing.

Motif Monday: Love

2005-06-06T22:45:00.000-07:00

I love the hot humid weather we're finally having and the thunderstorm at night to cool things off. I love listening to the thunder and the gentle rain, and watching the lightening dance through the sky.

I love lying out in the sun by the pool, even though I know it causes skin cancer and all that. I love that 'beach' sleep that only comes when you're lying on a chaise basking in the heat. It's like dreaming while you're still awake.

I love my house in June with fresh mulch & blooming flowers before the August sun scorches the deck plants and kills the grass. Everything is alive, bursting with color, healthy, full of possibilities, like the summer that stretches before us. I love the inside of my house, too. After 9 years, it is nearly completely decorated and furnished the way I want it, all three floors.

I love having my horses in my backyard. I love hanging out with them, smelling them, kissing and hugging them. I don't even mind hiking out there in frigid cold weather and snow to carry hay bales out for them. They show their gratitude in so many ways. I love riding my own horse, and the experience of letting go and trusting as he gallops across the fields, the adrenaline pumping through his body. It is both terrifying and exhilarating.(I also love that he listens when he I tell him he needs to slow down! )

I love my job and the people I work with. There are days when I have great intellectual conversations that inspire me, and days when raunchy, hilarious things happen that make me laugh even on the drive home.

I love being the mother of boys. I could never have handled prissy girls. I love the memories of sleeping with Mensa Child when he was small. We used to cuddle in bed and I would say, "Where's that hand?" and we would hold hands every night as we fell asleep. Now he is 20. I love being the mother of a grown man whom I adore, respect and genuinely like.

I love the image I had of my parents when I still adored them and thought they were strong and practically perfect, before they fell off their pedestal and landed square in an old age crises (similar to a mid-life crises, but worse).

I love my friends, that small group of people who are truly loyal to me, always stick up for me, but will tell me the truth even when it's not easy. The one thing I learned from going through a difficult experience last year was how deep the bonds of friendship can go. I can say that it is truly awesome to experience the loyalty and support of true friends.

I love being married to Jagman. I don't know many people who are truly happily married; most are either divorced or miserably married. I am still amazed at how incredibly fulfilling and powerful marriage is when two people truly love each other.

I love that I am almost always happy. Even when I'm stressed and bitchy, I know it is only a mood and it will pass. Most people who know me know this; that's why they put up with me.

The Right Perspective, or The Importance of Throwing Toilet Paper Rolls Into a Bucket

2005-06-04T22:27:00.000-07:00

It's been a week of obligations. I get out of sorts (i.e. bitchy) when I wind up over scheduled, especially when it's for reasons beyond my control. Or at least it feels beyond my control. Because in spite of all the popular advice about just saying no, there are some things one just has to do.

Soccer tryouts were this week. Wednesday and Thursday from 6-7:30, which really means 4:45 -7:30 to allow for eating and changing before tryouts. Then there's the whole homework issue, because it can't get done between 4-4:45, so homework has to be done after soccer tryouts. So the entire evening is racing against the clock.

Then I had to attend graduation on Wednesday night at 8pm, which is a terrible time for graduation, especially for people who need to be at work by 7:15 the next day.

Friday was the Spring Fair at Lima Bean's school from 4-7 and regular soccer practice from 6-7.

The entire week turned into one huge over scheduled nightmare that I was trying to squeeze my job into. I didn't even expect to squeeze my life into it. And I resented obligations more than ever. I even felt like the blog was another obligation that I just couldn't find time for and then resented the guilt I felt for not blogging.

By Thursday, when my friend told me she had scheduled a visit for Friday afternoon with our friend who's been ill since February, I just went ballistic on her. After my tirade, I agreed to go from 2:30-3:30. It was a defined space that would at least get me in and out in one hour.

It was nice to see him and I left on schedule for the spring fair. That was two hours of standing around or following Lima Bean from one game to another and holding all the (junk) prizes he won. That was the obligation I didn't mind. For a 9 year old, that is the social event of the year. Everybody who is anybody is there, and all the mothers are there, too.
Thank god it was raining, because soccer practice was canceled, so we didn't have to leave early.

At one point during the fair (which was in the gym and cafeteria), a friend pointed out a man standing against the wall. "He is Emily Johnson's father, remember? His wife died of cancer last year."
"Oh, yeah. I remember reading about that. How old was she?"
"Younger than us. And she lived less than a year after she was diagnosed."

I wonder now what that father was thinking, leaning against that wall, watching so many mothers/wives. Probably thinking that we take it for granted, the joy of fulfilling our obligations and that we really have no idea just how important some of them truly are.

I was thankful I was at the fair, standing for two hours, holding prizes and tickets, cheering for Lima Bean throwing toilet paper rolls into a bucket. It was the most important thing I had done all week.

Motif Monday: My # 1Google Search Phrase

2005-06-01T00:05:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know it's Wednesday, but I'm just now catching up on my blog surfing. And besides, I'm habitually late anyway. Just ask Jagman.
Mrtl at Madden Round the Land has created Motif Monday based on experiences she has had in college writing classes and group blogging activities. It sounds like fun, so I'm giving it a go. Next week I'll try to post it on Monday, which means you might see it on Tuesday.

The first topic is My #1 Google Search Term. Now when I first read the directions for this, I had no idea what mrtl was talking about. However, after I checked my referring sites from Site Meter, I realized that this was really quite interesting. (I used the referring sites page, because it's free. Search terms is a page you have to pay for.)

So here, in David Letterman fashion, are the top Search Phrases that lead to this site:

The Fountain Pen is hit #4 on the list for "o'malley" affair. My site rates higher than our local news channel or the local paper. Don't know what that says about google, or the MSM.
I'm also hit #4 for a search for overactive bladder and low cut jeans. Now I'm not wondering why I'm a hit for that as much as I'm wondering who would be doing a search for overactive bladders and low cut jeans?? Maybe someone who wants to know which jeans will cover her Depends?? I don't know. I just can't picture it.

A search for blog plumber's job will show The Fountain Pen as hit #3. I don't really know what a blog plumber's job is, but anyone who links to my site for it will read about Lima Bean's plumber's butt, so I hope they have a sense of humor.

An AOL search for drooping butt listed yours truly as hit #2. I'm not too happy about that one! I really don't want to be known for my drooping butt.
I'm also hit #2 in the results for a 3 carat solitaire search. Yeah, now we're talking!

And.... drumroll please.... my claim to fame is for being the #1 HIT in not one, but two google searches: Touaca and I'm a real grown-up now. I think that's a rather interesting and ironic coincidence, because when I blogged about Touaca, it was to say that I don't drink it anymore.

That was a great first topic; it was fascinating to see what searches people do and to see my site listed..."I'm a real site now." (I wonder if someone will google that!) I invite all fellow bloggers to join in on mrtl's fun and post a response for Motif Monday. Next Monday's topic is love.

How I Saved Jagman From Going to Hell

2005-05-31T00:05:00.000-07:00

I went to the grocery store and when I came home, Jagman was enthralled in the Hopkins/UVA lacrosse game. He was waiting for time-outs and commercial breaks to run out to the car to grab bags, so I wound up unloading most of it myself.
He said, "Sorry. It's down to the last two minutes of this game."
"What game?"
"The Hopkins lacrosse game. And they're losing by one point. They're going to lose."

I kept unloading. I heard loud shouting in the house. As I came in, he said, "Holy shit, I can't believe it. They just scored with one second left on the clock. They tied it up. I can't believe it."
I went back to unloading.

The phone rang. Jagman answered it while I was in the garage. I heard him say, "Is he alright up there?" But I had no idea what he was talking about. I figured Lima Bean had gone over a friend's house.

In between trips with grocery bags, I said, "Who was on the phone?"
"The Henderson's." They live three doors up the street from us. They are crazy christians - or, as Mensa Child tells me I should refer to them nowadays, bible-thumpers. We don't socialize with them other than to wave from our cars. When they first moved in, their son came over to meet Mensa Child. He talked about his knife collection and how he went hunting. And then he wasn't allowed to watch The Cable Guy because he said his parents said it had a scene with a prostitute in it, and that was bad.

That was the end of any friendship between our families. Anyone who thinks sexual references in movies is bad but killing animals and collecting knives is OK for a 13 year old is not going to get along with me.

So, my point in that long digression is that it is very odd that the Hendersons have called our house.
"What did they want?"
"Oh," Jagman said. "He's stuck up on the roof and the ladder fell down and she needs help lifting it up."

I stood there staring at him. He was standing there, watching the tv on our kitchen counter, just as he had been the whole time I'd been unloading groceries.
"That man is stuck up on the roof? And you're standing there watching a game?" I said in utter shock.
"It's sudden death," he said, as if it was perfectly obvious to anyone that watching the end of this game was more important than getting that man off his roof before HE suffered a sudden death.

I just looked at him. "You're going to hell for this, you know."
He laughed. "OK, I'm going." And he ran out the door, got into the car, and drove down the street.

During the first 30 seconds he was gone, UVA tried to score twice, and Hopkins blocked it. Then, about 10 seconds later, Hopkins took a shot and won. The announcers were going crazy.

Jagman came home about 4 minutes later.
"What happened?" he said, breathlessly.
"UVA took two shots. Hopkins blocked them. Then Hopkins took a shot and it went in. They won. It was the guy who 'grew up minutes away from the Homewood campus and was told he would never be able to play sports because he had eye problems. So he had three surgeries and just scored the winning point'. The announcer said it was the greatest, most dramatic moment in the history of Hopkins lacrosse."
Dead silence.

Well, at least Jagman isn't going to hell for watching the greatest moment in Hopkins lacrosse history while that man sat on his roof. Even though I know Jagman was thinking He could have sat on that roof for 5 more minutes, it wouldn't have killed him.

The Monthly Hair Appointment

2005-05-29T21:00:00.000-07:00

I sat with my hair color processing, listening to the following conversation:
"I just think sometimes you have so much time invested that you don't want to give up on it. So you ignore the signs that everyone else can see. We all can see that it's not going to work, but she can't. She's invested too much time; she's going to make it work no matter what. And now she has that house, and I think that's influencing her decision."
Hairdresser: "What house?"
Client: "Oh, his grandmother passed away so they are buying her house. But the problem is, they're not getting a mortgage from a bank. They're getting it from his mother. She's just going to finance it. And I think she's making a big mistake. I mean, she's the one with all the income. He doesn't have any money."
Hairdresser: "But will her name be on the mortgage and the title?"
Client:"Yeah, but I still don't think it's a good idea. I'm just afraid that eventually he'll be able to turn around and say it was an inheritance or something. Especially if the whole marriage thing doesn't work out. But anyway, like I said, I don't think she should get married to him anyway. But it's easy for all of us to see that, looking in from the outside.
"And besides, what does he do? He doesn't do anything. She's the one out working and then she comes home and does his laundry. Let him do his own laundry. In fact, he ought to be doing her laundry."

Amen to that one! On to the shampoo bowl to get my color rinsed out.
Woman #1: "No, I'm supposed to be going to my nephew's graduation party next weekend."
Woman #2: "Is it high school or college?"
"College. His mother didn't throw a high school graduation party."
"Well, I'm not sure if I'm throwing my son a high school graduation party. I don't think he deserves one. I'm so sick of his mouth. God, he's got a smart mouth on him lately."
"My parents threw me a high school graduation party. But not a sixteen party. Everybody else was getting sixteen parties and I never got one."
"My son didn't get a sixteen party. And he's not getting a graduation party, either. Hell, when I was young, I never had ANY parties. These kids nowadays just get too much."
"I know. They do. My nephew had an eighteenth birthday party and now he's having a graduation party..."

Back to the stylist's chair for my haircut. In walks a Saturday regular, a very unusual man who comes in to get a manicure and a pedicure. I have always assumed he was gay, because he's not good enough looking to be a metrosexual.

He usually doesn't talk very much, and when he does, I can't hear his conversation during his manicure. But today he is rather loud.
"So she's home recuperating from more plastic surgery."
"Oh, what did she get done this time?"
"Liposuction. On her thighs and her stomach. And she's driving me crazy. She expects me to wait on her hand and foot. When she wants something, she wants it that second. And her complaining. Oh my god. She's acting like she had no idea it was going to be painful. I mean, I have no sympathy for her. It's not like she had to have this surgery. I told her, 'Why are you complaining? This was your choice.' You know? She didn't have to have this done. So I don't want to hear about it. I'm making plans to go away next weekend, and I'm not taking her with me. Even my friends don't want her to come. She complains about everything. I tell you, I've had it. And she spends too much money. I mean, I have my splurges, too. But they're not as bad as hers. Like my car....."

Or your weekly manicures and pedicures, when you can pay an attractive woman to massage you and listen to all your troubles.

I realized after blogging about today's appointment how lucky I am to have a family that I actually really do love. And to have sense enough not to talk about my personal problems with practically complete strangers, who probably talk about them after they leave. (Or blog about them!)

The Village People

2005-05-28T20:28:00.000-07:00

Last night we went out to happy hour. A tall, slender fair complexioned person sat at the end of the bar. This person's hair was all one length and nape length. This person wore jeans and a white button down shirt.

No one mentioned this person until our first friend got up to leave. As he was leaving, he said, "Oh, and by the way, is that person at the end of the bar a man or a woman?"

And that's when we realized that we had all been trying to figure that out the whole time.

At one point, he/she seemed to be picking up on a woman. But that didn't mean anything, really, since he/she could have been a lesbian. And, really, if he/she was a she, she probably WAS a lesbian. Then someone pointed out that his/her hands were huge, so maybe it was a he. But if he/she was a he, he didn't look like he'd ever had any facial hair.

Eventually, he/she walked over to say hello to someone he/she knew who happened to have a child with him. He/she introduced himself to the child as Mr. Clay.

Ah-hah, we all said silently, exchanging glances at the table.

Then Mr. Clay returned to the bar. He was then joined by a rather odd group of people, including a big, muscular black man with a shaved head, two blonde women, and another muscular white man. My friend said, "Hmm. What was it Hillary said? It takes something to raise a kid?" Which was code for: This entire crew looks like the Village People.

Virgil, the musician we had come to hear, began to play. He's a friend of one of our friends. Mr. Clay started smiling at Virgil. Then he was toasting him with his drink. Then he was nodding at Virgil. This was creeping us out.

We were still stealing glances at Mr. Clay, because we still couldn't believe he was a guy. Someone pointed out that maybe he was in the process of having a sex change operation. But then we couldn't figure out whether he was in the process of changing from Mr. Clay to Ms. Clay or vice-versa.

I left early to go to an outdoor movie night with Jagman and Liam, so I still don't know if Mr. Clay ever hooked up with somebody that night, or whether that somebody was a man or a woman. But I sure hope it wasn't Virgil.

You Just Wish You Were a Desperate Housewife

2005-05-27T06:47:00.000-07:00

I attended an awards ceremony last night and had to present one of the awards onstage. My 'friend' Bull-in-a-China Shop (BCS) was sitting onstage for the whole ceremony. After I had presented my award, I was getting ready to sneak out and was saying good-bye to a friend of mine in the hallway outside the auditorium. BCS had seen me head in that direction from her on-stage seat.

I was wearing a very cute, stylish outfit: pink 3/4 sleeve cardigan and pink and white striped skirt with a bow at the waistband, pink slides on my feet.

BCS walked off-stage to come talk to me. I saw her walking up the hallway, while the awards ceremony was still going on. My friend and I were the only people in the hall. As she was approaching me, I was wondering what was so important that she had to walk off-stage to come tell me. When she finally arrived, she said, "I just wanted to tell you that when you walked onstage, Tracy, who was sitting next to me, leaned over and said, 'She looks like a Desperate Housewife, but I don't watch the show, so I don't know which one it is.' And I told her it was Bree. So I just wanted you to know that you look like a Desperate Housewife!" And with that, she turned and headed back towards the stage door.

I just laughed. This was typical BCS behavior. I'm sure she thought it was an insult, but frankly, I didn't think so. I think the Desperate Housewives are pretty hot, especially Bree, who is one of the best dressed. What is pathetic, though, is that she felt so compelled to tell me that she had to walk off-stage during the program to do it. And she wasn't laughing as she approached me, either. She was very serious. It's just a good thing that I'm a self-confident bitch, because otherwise I could have been so embarrassed that I would never have worn my great outfit again. All because of her dig.

Jagman and I were discussing it this morning, and he said she's just jealous because she can never look like a Desperate Housewife with those legs of hers.
"Yeah," I said. "Or that butt. Or those hips."
He laughed, "Whoa! See how you women are."

Yeah, well, she started it. And I can play that passive-aggressive game with the best of them. So she'd better 'back-off bitch'. 'Cause I feel some digs of my own coming on. In the oh-so-subtle Desperate Housewife style, of course.

The Daffodil Quill

2005-05-26T00:22:00.000-07:00

My blogging friend Rus has created a new site to chronicle his experience with his mother's recent cancer diagnosis. It's called The Daffodil Quill. He'd like to add to his links of resources, so if you know of helpful sites, please leave a comment.

Shopping Girl REALLY Went Shopping

2005-05-25T00:05:00.000-07:00

The weekend after Shopping Girl "chose" to quit/get fired from her job, she went shopping. She bought a new house. See why I called her Shopping Girl?

She called last night to tell me that she and my brother were moving... to another state. At first, my response wasn't ecstatic because, since it is all about me, I was bummed that my shopping buddy and brother were moving far away. But then I realized that their new house isn't any further than their current house; it's just across the state line.

Plus, it's in a posh neighborhood with quaint shops and lots of outlets. You get my drift. I was now thrilled that Shopping Girl and Babybull were moving.

Shopping Girl had fallen in love with the neighborhood because it reminded her of Romania, with its old taverns and small side streets, and so much within walking distance. Small neighborhood shops and bakeries, with croissants that reminded her of home. And I remembered, again, how homesick she must be, and how difficult it would be to adjust to our weird world, with its fast pace, long hours, and dependency on driving everywhere.

They are going through the whole (awful) process of selling their home, too. They met with the mortgage guy to discuss finances before they chose this house. Most mortgage calculations are ridiculous nowadays. They always say you can qualify for this ridiculously high price that no one in their right mind would really do. In my parents' generation, they did. They bought a new house and lived in it with hardly any furniture while the whole family ate hot dogs and macaroni & cheese for years until they could really afford their house. People just don't live like that anymore.

Their mortgage guy told them they could go shopping for a $750,000 house.
"Yeah, right," Shopping Girl said. "Only if we don't want to eat. We could buy the house and not eat."
"No, you might be able to eat," I said. "What you wouldn't be able to do is buy your skin care products! You'd be an old, ugly hag if you bought a $750,000 house! No more Sephora or L'Occitane for you!"

That definitely puts it in perspective, doesn't it? There are other, less tangible, investments that are just as valuable in life.
Like a really good anti-wrinkle cream.

Attack of the Ants & A Plumber's Butt

2005-05-24T06:14:00.000-07:00

One day last week, Lima Bean was outside in the driveway killing ants. Stomping on them wasn't good enough; he initiated chemical warfare. I realized this when I walked outside and was overwhelmed with the odor of Raid Ant Spray. He had taken the can from the pantry and was spraying all the ants he could find.
"Lima Bean! Don't waste that ant spray," I said.
"But I need to kill the ants."
"No, you don't. Besides, you can't possibly kill all the ants outside. And if you use all the ant spray, I won't have any to use when the ants get in the house."
"Awww, Mom," he whined, as he continued to spray the ants and watch them squirm until they were still.

Sunday night, he woke me up, asking to sleep in bed with us. Then he woke me up later, apparently not in bed with us, asking where the sleeping bags were.
"Why do you need a sleeping bag?" I asked.
"Because there are ants in my room," he said.
"Lima Bean, leave me alone. I need to sleep," I responded, and rolled over.
Monday morning, when we woke up, he was asleep in a sleeping bag on the floor in his room.
"Hey, what happened last night with the ants?" I said as I woke him up. "How did they get all the way up in the loft bed?"
He just smiled. "I guess killing all those ants wasn't such a great idea after all."

**************************

The other night, Lima Bean was supposed to be getting undressed to take a shower. He ran into our room, turned around with his pants halfway down, and said, "Mommy, look. Do you see?"
From my peripheral vision I could see him, but I was trying to be serious and not succumb to this foolishness, so I said, "I see you getting ready for your shower."
He kept hopping backwards, getting closer, saying "See? Do you see it now? I've got a plumber's butt."
Hop. Hop. "Can you see it now?"
Hop. Hop. "Can you see it now?"
Hop. Hop. Two feet from my face. "Can you see it now?"
Jagman is laughing so hard he's crying.
Finally, I said, "OK! OK! I see it! I see your plumber's butt. Are you happy now?"
"Yup," he said, laughing hysterically as he pulled his pants up and ran back to his room.

Take This Job and Shove It!

2005-05-23T05:49:00.000-07:00

I had a busy, fun-filled weekend, which is why there was no blogging!
Friday night we met my brother and his wife for dinner at the mall, which includes shopping of course! My sister-in-law, Shopping Girl, is addicted to Sephora. And L'Occitane. And QVC, HSN, ShopNBC... OK, that's why I'm calling her Shopping Girl. We plumped up our lips, stocked up on Bare Escentials, evaluated smudgeproof mascara, and tried yet another wrinkle remover that didn't work. My brother, Babybull, had to drag her out of the store.

While we were shopping, she told me about her day at work and why she had left at noon. She'd been working at a web-page design company for about two months. She answered the phones and handled customer service calls. She quickly realized that the phone system was inadequate, because customers had to wait so long to get to her, that by the time they did, they were even more frustrated and angry than they were when they first called. Which meant that she put up with a lot of rude customers cussing her out. The company kept saying that the phone company was coming in to add more lines and options, but they never did. So Shopping Girl was frustrated with this company and didn't really like this job.

Babybull wanted her to take today (Monday) off, so they could do something together. When she told them on Thursday that she needed Monday off, they told her it could be a problem because the other girl who answers the phones was also taking Monday off. If they let her take Monday off, who would answer the phones??

On Friday, they called Shopping Girl in for a conference. What was really bothering them was that she wouldn't tell them WHY she needed Monday off. She just kept saying she needed it off for personal reasons. The other girl told them she had to go to court, which they couldn't really argue with. But they were absolutely frustrated that Shopping Girl just kept saying, "I need Monday off for personal reasons. It's a valid reason and it's personal, which means it's none of your business why I need it off." (She's from Romania and has only been in this country for one year. But that's another post; suffice it to say that she doesn't understand corporate America.)

During this conference, they said, "Well, let's put it this way. If you come to work on Monday, then you can come to work on Tuesday. But if you don't come to work on Monday, then you might as well not come to work on Tuesday."
She said, "Oh, so if I don't come to work on Monday, I'm fired."
They said, "Well, no. It's not like that exactly."
And she said, "How is not like that exactly?"
"Well, because we are giving you the choice."
Now, they thought they had proved their point, which was that since she couldn't give them a good reason for needing to use her personal time, she couldn't use it.
Instead, she said, "OK. I choose to take Monday off."
They just sat there with blank stares, not knowing how to respond.

So that's how she wound up leaving at noon instead of 4:30. I bet she's shopping the internet with HSN on tv in the background right now!!

I wonder who's answering the phones at Website Design Company today!

Men Are From Mars

2005-05-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

I was having a conversation the other night with Mensa Child, and Jagman was standing right there. Let me repeat that. Jagman was standing right there. During this conversation, Mensa Child explained his itinerary for the rest of the evening, which concluded with "getting gas before I come back."

Mensa Child had been gone for a couple of hours when Jagman said to me, "Where's Mensa Child? How can it take this long to get gas?"

"What are you talking about? He didn't just go to get gas!"
"Oh." Puzzled look. "Then where did he go?"
"What do you mean, 'where did he go?' You were standing right there when he told us where he was going."
"No, I wasn't."
"Yes, you were. It was during the conversation when he used that slang secret code phrase for an offensive word, and I figured it out, and you never did."
"Oh. Well, just because I was standing there doesn't mean I was IN the conversation. I wasn't IN that conversation. It was between the two of you."
"Yes you were. That's why you asked what the word was."
Now he is at his wit's end. "Look, I don't pay attention to conversations I'm not in!! And I wasn't in that one. I can't listen to every conversation that's going on, like a woman can."

Haha! I had to laugh at that one. Because, at least, for me, it's true. And he knows it's true. I hear all kinds of things that I repeat to him while he's been standing next to me the whole time, and he is always amazed.

He continued, "In fact, I have the ability to completely TURN OFF MY EARS. That's right. Just because I'm there doesn't mean I'm listening. I can just turn them off and not hear anything that's being said to me. I can do it whenever I want." And he was really proud of this, too.

Somehow I think he will regret confessing this big male secret to me.
I can already see the possibilities. "Turn your ears on and listen to me.' Or"Of course I told you about that. You must have had your ears turned off." Or "Does your mouth turn off like your ears?"

Oh, this could be fun. I'm just getting started.

Cleaning Day

2005-05-19T00:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was cleaning day, which means that's the day the cleaning people come while I'm at work. So I come home to a beautiful clean house. Sometimes it's cleaner than others, but either way, it's a wonderful feeling.

Once, when we were trying to cut back, we cancelled the cleaning people. I told Jagman, though, that we would have to clean the house like they did: top to bottom in one day. Otherwise, the house is never really clean. Only parts of it are clean.

So we agreed that on Thursdays, after we came home from work, we would clean the house. I took the upstairs and he took the downstairs. It took us each three hours to clean thoroughly- dusting, cobwebs, vacuuming, wiping down everything in all the bathrooms and the kitchen. We were exhausted. After three months of this, we decided the cleaning people were a bargain. I call them the cleaning people even though they work for a company that is called a cleaning service. But they are people.

BCS just decided to get a cleaning person. She calls her a "maid." On her cleaning days, she says, "Oh, my maid is coming today." (In unison, eye rolls everyone.)

Anyway, in the midst of this nice clean house, my HEPA air filters stood out because there was black dog hair accumulating in the vents. (I guess dusting the air filters isn't on the cleaning people's list.) So I decided to check the filter.

It was the most godawful disgusting thing I have ever seen!!
I was horrified with the amount of filth that was in that filter.

The bigger one in the family room has a washable prefilter, so I just rinsed that one in the kitchen sink. The HEPA filter inside was still clean. But the smaller unit in the bedroom upstairs doesn't have the prefilter, so the HEPA filter was history. I had to throw it out and use a new one. (Luckily, I ordered the refills on auto-delivery when I ordered the air filters.)

I just checked the archives to see when I ordered these air filters; it was March 4. (There's an advantage to blogging for you.) That's only been three months! I still can't believe how much dirt and dog hair was in that filter in only three months. Plus, I don't even want to calculate how much those replacement filters will cost every three months instead of every 6 months.

We are never getting another dog after this one goes to dog heaven. I swear.
If I start blogging about wanting another dog, would someone please remind me to look in the archives for the disgusting air filters post?

Virtual Blog

2005-05-18T00:05:00.000-07:00

My friend Jack is one of only three people at work who know about this blog. Yesterday, he walked into the follow-up conversation with BCS.

She had come to tell me that she wasn't putting AC in the travel league. Her husband (Mr. Clean) put his foot down when she went home that night anyway. Which means the phone calls to me and all the other people she called were completely irrelevant and self-serving; the decision had already been made.

Yet after she called me for my advice, she called a well-known soccer coach who is a former colleague of ours. I can just imagine that phone call and his reaction. She was spastic in her exaggerations of the coaches' reactions and descriptions of her son's supernatural talents. This guy on the other end of the phone hadn't heard from her for years!

I don't know how guys react to situations like this. Girls do the eye roll (like I do.... a lot) or the 'gag me with a spoon' finger down the throat, or the 'slice my wrist now please and end my misery' gesture during god-awful phone calls such as these. A guy would probably just sit there, shaking his head, feeling sorry for Mr. Clean.

Anyway, his advice to her was that she should only let her son join travel if soccer was his life. Which it isn't. So that's that. No travel team.

BCS explained, "But it certainly was flattering to him to have all that attention. And what an ego booster, which he really needed. Now watch. I'll just bet you money that when we don't show up for the travel team try-outs, those coaches start calling my house. How much do you wanna bet? They will." Big sigh. "I'll just have to tell them it's not good for my son now and I have three other kids to drive around and we just can't make that commitment. But you watch. They will call and hound me. They're such piranhas. You should have seen them literally swarming all over my son."

She stood to leave (finally) and said, on her way out, "But it certainly is flattering to be told that your son is so talented."

After she left, Jack burst out laughing and said, "I feel like I was standing in a virtual blog!! That sounded exactly like what you just posted this morning! And I had no idea who BCS was until now. That was really weird... a virtual blog."

He left shaking his head and probably feeling sorry for Mr. Clean, too.

"What's a College Scholarship?"

2005-05-17T00:05:00.000-07:00

Bull in a China Shop(BCS) just called to brag about her oldest son, who is the same age as Lima Bean. (She's the character from the Gimme Some Whine story.)

She has three children that completely overwhelm her. I can't say I think she's a good mother, even though she is my friend. Her kids are wild and frequently out of control, or whining, all of which is because they don't get enough attention from either of their parents. But they are good kids at heart, and she's trying to be a good mother.

I think deep down she must sense her inadequacies in motherhood, though, because she's always bragging about her kids to other parents.

For example, during the conversation when I told her that Mensa Child had received a full 4 year room, board & tuition scholarship at the university of his choice due to his academic achievements, she told me that her 5 year old's preschool teacher had pulled her aside to tell her that little DC had taught himself to read. "What am I going to do?"she asked. "I never thought I would have to deal with having a genius for a child. I have to start looking into GT programs. And maybe he should skip first grade." And on and on. "Oh, and by the way, congratulations to you, too, on your son's scholarship."

Now she knows that Lima Bean plays soccer on the A team, which is in between regular and travel, for those of you who aren't soccer moms. Her oldest son, AC, has never been very talented in soccer, according to her.

And that's what's weird about the whole situation. It's not as if she's always making things up or exaggerating about her kids. In fact, she will just as willingly discuss their weaknesses and shortcomings (like the time AC took my son's toy gun into school and was 'suspended.')

And that's why I remain friends with her; I truly don't think she realizes what she's doing.

Tonight, AC had gone to soccer try-outs for the A team. He wants to play goalie, and he is huge for his age, so I can see him being a great goalie. She just called, all excited, to tell me that the league director pulled her aside and told her she had to sign him up for travel.

"The travel coaches were swarming all over him. It was like watching college try-outs. They are all ready fighting over him. Who knew I would have such a talented soccer player? They told me his foot work was years beyond what most kids his age can do." (I was wondering what that means. How much foot work is there in goalie?) "So I told AC afterwards that all the coaches are fighting over him, and he is really talented as a goalie, and that he could get a college scholarship for that."
AC responded by saying, "What's a college scholarship?"

Even after she explained it, it didn't really matter to an 8 year old. Most 8 year olds I know can't conceptualize the demands of getting into college, much less paying for it. And most of them just expect their parents will pay for it anyway.

She was calling me, ostensibly, for advice as to whether or not to put him on travel. My advice to her was to first recognize the sacrifices she and her husband would have to make, which involves extra practices and more driving for games. Then she needs to find out from AC whether he really has a 'fire in the belly' passion for this sport. Because that 's the only reason a kid should be playing on a travel team.

He certainly shouldn't be doing it as an 8 year old so he can get a college scholarship.

At the end of our conversation, I heard, once again about how "I never expected my son would be so talented. I just couldn't believe how they were already fighting over him."

"Well, that's wonderful, BCS," I said with my accompanying eye roll, of course.

Kate Spade purse...yeah right.

2005-05-16T17:38:00.000-07:00

No. It's my $38 knock-off. Here it is:

It's really a prettier pale pink in person than this picture shows. Don't you just love the little ribbon?? Can't you just see all the guys rolling their eyes right now???

Decorator Showhouse

2005-05-15T12:13:00.000-07:00

Today I went to a local decorator showhouse and I have to tell you about the most awesome room I have ever seen in my life.

For those of you who don't know what a decorator showhouse is, you are missing a real experience. People who own huge old mansions offer their homes to various organizations for charity purposes. The charity allows local decorators to decorate one room each. The decorators do it for free because it gives them great publicity. The owner of the house gets his house completely redecorated, painted and with window treatments. All the other items, like furniture and paintings, etc. are offered for sale during the showhouse. The charity charges a fee for touring the house. We paid $15 for advanced tickets, $20 if you buy at the door. The charity gets to keep all the money. I've been to showhouses sponsored by local historic societies or symphonies, and I always get great decorating ideas.

But I have never seen anything like what I saw today. One of the rooms in this house was decorated in a Lord of the Rings theme. The decorators had handpainted the entire Middle Earth map on the ceiling. The detail was exquisite. Then, on the walls around the room, which were handpainted in a soft green and white sponge-type effect, they had written, in beautiful elvish cursive, the inscription from the inside of the ring. It looked exactly like the writing inside the ring, and it was written across the top of all four walls in a creamy-silver paint against the light green background. It was breathtaking.

There was a medieval tapestry hanging on the wall. The bed was heavy wood with a plague attached to the headboard that made it look royal. There was a king's chair in the corner, heavy ornate wood that sat high, so that if you were a hobbit, you would have to jump up to get in it.

Even the closet was decorated, as only decorator showhouses would do. Completely impractical. This one was designed to look like Frodo's house, with windows and views painted on the wall. When you walked into the closet, you felt like you were too big for the room.
It was the most spectacular thing I have ever seen in a decorator showhouse.

Then we went to the shops they have in tents outside the house. I wasn't planning on buying anything, but I saw an absolutely nauseatingly preppy, pink with green polka dots, Kate Spade knock-off purse. It spoke to me. No, it shouted my name!! I had to have it. So, for $38, I bought it. Pink with green polka dots!!!! Jagman was rolling his eyes, but I can guarantee you, there will be females who rave about it and ask me where I found it. I love love love it!

Social Commentary or the Lack Thereof

2005-05-13T00:05:00.000-07:00

The evening hours were approaching, and I was wondering what I was going to blog about for today. There wasn't an obvious topic. Random Man still didn't open the box; he's supposed to bring it in tomorrow. Most people think there isn't a box at all, but he swears there is.

Then I considered the fact that too many of my posts have been 'personal musings' and not enough 'social commentary.' I thought about current events and political happenings and wondered why I hadn't blogged about any 'news' events.
And I've come to a conclusion that will illustrate just how typical an America I am, which is not necessarily a good thing.

I watch the news every morning. Mostly to get the weather before I leave the house. Then I watch CNN for a couple of hours at work. I have the internet open most of the work day and read the Yahoo headlines. Sometimes I open the links and read the whole article. I check the Drudge Report's headlines. I get the New York Times headlines emailed to me everyday.
My point in all that is that I try to stay abreast of current events. Yet I could care less about all of them.

What has the major media been reporting on lately? The Runaway Bride - big story but not worthy of analysis because she is not representative of American women (I hope). Too many horrific murders of children by men who should never have been released from jail. I don't want to analyze that, or even think about it too much. I am already about as over-protective a parent as I could be. My child is already supervised every minute of the day. (I even blogged earlier about how, even after he learned to ride his bike, I could never just let him go for a bike ride... like the two girls his age just did.) Then there's the Michael Jackson trial. I don't know of anyone who doesn't think he's some kind of pervert, but most people I know just don't care at all. (Even if he is a pervert, why did that mother let her son sleep unsupervised in his house after he had been accused of sexually abusing children??)

Then there's the political news - or lack of it. DeLay is in hot water, but I don't really care about that. He's an ultra-conservative right-wing 'crazy Christian', as I call them (because of their crusade mentality - that they need to impose their beliefs on us to save us), and I hope he is revealed for the hypocrite that he is. I don't expect it to happen, though, so no real news story.
Bush has been giving a lot of speeches in Georgia. Now honestly, 'fess up, how many of you, when you first read the headlines, thought Why is Bush talking about freedom in Georgia??? because you thought they were talking about our very own USofA Georgia? I know I did. I had to read the article to find out that Bush was in Russia.

And even after learning that, I don't really care. Why is Bush in Russia when most of the other news stories are leading up to a war in Iran??? (That was a rhetorical question. Please don't post an essay-length response in the comments explaining it. I really don't care. All I care about is whether the war in Iran will hit when my boys are of draft age, and whether they will institute the draft, because none of the military branches are meeting their recruitment goals. (See, I do read the news.) But I seriously don't care about why Bush is in Russia, because I think it's a big public relations thing for him.)

I considered my general lack of interest in any of these news stories and came to the conclusion that I am probably not that different from most Americans in that respect. Most people I know are more concerned about the cost of gas than what Bush is talking about in Georgia, if they even know he's in Georgia, or if they even know he's out of the country.

So What's In the Box??

2005-05-12T00:05:00.000-07:00

One of the highlights, if not THE highlight, of my job is the people I work with. I have fun every day at work, in one way or another. One of my colleagues is the funniest and most unusual people I have ever met. I'll call him Random Man, because he frequently says and does the weirdest things with no logical explanation. This story is one example.

Yesterday was Random Man's birthday, which was mentioned during lunch, which caused him to tell us the following story about his trip to the bank the day before.

He was standing in line at the bank to deposit his tax refund check, when a woman walked up to him and handed him a box. "Here you go. Happy Birthday," she said.
"How'd you know it was my birthday?" he said, surprised.
"I didn't. I just said that. Is it really your birthday?" she replied.
"Yeah, tomorrow," he said.
"Wow! Well, then happy birthday for real!" she said, and walked off.

Just then the next teller was available, so he went up to the counter and deposited his check. Then he left the bank and walked to the Borders down the street to buy some new CD's. He was still carrying the box.

Once in Borders, he spent several hours listening to music samples and making his selections. He bought a large amount, since this was not only his birthday present to himself but also a tax-refund moment to splurge. Then he headed home and listened to some of his new music.

At the end of this story, those of us sitting around the table said, "So, what was in the box?"
"Oh, I don't know yet. I haven't opened it" he replied nonchalantly.
"WHAT????" we all replied. Then we bombarded him with
"How could you not open it?"
"You carried that box around the whole time and didn't open it?"
"Why would you take a box from a complete stranger?"
"It could have been a bomb or anthrax or drugs or something."
"So where's the box now?"

"Oh, it's at home, in my bedroom," he said, still completely unconcerned.
"Well, how big is this box?" someone asked.
He held his hands up about 6 inches high and then 4 inches apart.
"Is it heavy? Did you shake it?"
"No, it's not heavy and no I didn't shake it," he said.
"How could you not even shake it??" we said.
"What could be in it?" someone asked.
"I think it's a key," Random Man said. (See why I called him Random Man?)
"A KEY???" we all said. "Why would you think it's a key? A key to what??"
"I don't know. I just think it's a key," Random Man replied.

So now we are all waiting for him to go home and open the box. If there really is a box. (Personally, I'm beginning to consider the possibility that, despite his intelligent & professional demeanor at work, Random Man watches a lot of Cheech and Chong movies during his evening hours.)

Regardless of whether it's true or not, it will certainly make for an interesting lunch conversation... or blog conversation: what do you think is in the box????

My Extramarital Hot Date

2005-05-11T00:30:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm blogging about it! Jagman played golf yesterday afternoon. When the cats away, the mice will play, so I had a date planned with another hot man in my life.

I picked him up where he works (or where he's supposed to do work). Then we browsed through Tar-gét and had quite the intellectual conversation about the advantages of Darth Vader's TIE Fighter over the R2-D2 astromech droid.

After that stimulating prelude, we went for a relaxing dinner at the latest hot spot for American cuisine. My gorgeous date ordered the chicken nuggets and fries with a coke slurpee - such discerning tastes! We had excellent service (in the drive-through, which now takes debit cards. Hurray!)

He even serenaded me in the car (between the screaming chorus) to System of a Down (Everybody's going to the party have a real good time.)

He is such a chick magnet, especially with the highlights he had at our last salon visit. The females (under 12) are always checking him out. Sometimes, when we go to the grocery story together, the females follow him through the aisles. Or when we're sitting at a red light, he'll realize that the girls in the car next to ours are looking at him. I have to lean over and give them the evil eye. (Back off 12 year old, he's still mine!)

I love our secret dates when my husband is busy. My 'other man' adores me just as much as Jagman, at least for now, and I like to take advantage of that before he gets interested in 'younger women'.

The Paperweight

2005-05-10T06:05:00.000-07:00

Today I came home from a recognition ceremony during which I received a heavy-duty paperweight. It was nothing marvelous, but it was a nice gesture and I appreciated it. When I got home, Lima Bean wanted to see my gift. As soon as he saw the paperweight, picked it up and felt the weight of it, he said, "Wow. This is really heavy. Can I take this in for Brave Boy to use?"

I was dumbfounded. (Brave Boy is his friend who lost his arm in a car accident over spring break.) "What for?"
"Well, he uses a paperweight to hold his paper so he can write. But his is not this heavy. I've felt his. This one is much better. It would keep the paper from moving."

I could not believe it. This is the child who seems so self-centered around our house that he has to constantly be reminded that I am not his servant, waitress or maid, that money does not grow on trees, that his clothes will not miraculously move from wherever they land when he tosses them off, or that his legs are not broken and therefore there is no reason he can't get up and get his own soda.

This is the same child who has just, clear out of the blue, immediately thought of a beautifully selfless gesture for his friend.

Jagman said, "I think that is the best use for that paperweight, Lima Bean. That's wonderful that you thought of it."
And I agreed.
He said,"Are you sure, Mommy? That I can take your award in for Brave Boy?"
"Oh, yes. I'm very sure. I'm thrilled that you would think of such a thing."

Later that night, as I was tucking him in, I told him how proud I was of him for thinking of Brave Boy. He told me he was going to give the paperweight to his teacher to give to Brave Boy.
"Why? Isn't he in your class?" I asked.
"Yeah, but I don't want to just go up and ask him if he wants the paperweight. That might embarrass him."

And when I climbed down from the loft and saw the pile of clothes he had left thrown on the floor, I didn't say one word about them.

Fun Stuff on Mother's Day

2005-05-09T15:40:00.000-07:00

My friend from work called to wish me a happy mother's day. He said, "You've raised such a gentleman in your older son. He was so mature the first time I ever met him, even at 11. He is the epitome of a true gentleman. You should be so proud of him. I have rarely seen such a young man like him."

During this conversation, Lima Bean was saying, "Mommy, look at me"- a refrain I hear about 2000 times a day. He proceeded to bend over as he showed me the Lego men in his hand. Then he put his hand behind his back.
He dropped the Lego men, one at a time, from behind him, so that it looked like he was 'pooping' Lego men. He was laughing hysterically.

My friend from work continued, "And your younger son is one of my favorite kids. What a great personality he has. I just wanted to call you to wish you a happy mother's day and tell you what a wonderful mother you are."

Yeah, well, I was a wonderful mother at least for one of my kids. The other one was 'pooping Legos' out of his butt.

*************
Jagman surprised me on Mother's Day.
I had asked for a pair of shoes from Target.
When I unwrapped my present, it was the shoe box, but there weren't shoes inside. There was a Bailey, Banks & Biddle's box inside!!!
And inside that box was some serious bling-bling "from my three boys."

The Complexities of Mother's Day

2005-05-08T23:30:00.000-07:00

The mothers of young children that I know all suffer through the complexities of motherhood. In the throes of the consuming self-sacrifice of raising young children, we approach Mother's Day with a fantasy that we will actually be able to do what we want to do, and nothing else, and without interruptions and duties, for one day. But it is rarely ever that way.

Most of us have mothers and mother-in-laws who also need to be recognized on Mother's Day, so the entire holiday frequently turns into one more chore for the mothers of young children.

I was watching the news on Mother's Day morning and there were two anchor women. The first commented on Mother's Day activities and wished a happy holiday to the other woman, who was a mother of young children. She responded by saying, "I just want some peace and quiet."
As I was laughing, I was grateful for the honesty in that response.

Then I went to my son's soccer game. Most of the other mothers were there. That's what we were all doing on Mother's Day.

My friend who has three small children was having a particularly bad day. The two youngest were extremely cranky, and her husband was the coach of the team, so he was across the field. She was on her own to deal with the kids, as usual. Plus she had her in-laws lurking in the background because it was a 'big family celebration' day. As she held the screaming, squirming three year old, she looked at me and said, "Happy Mother's Day to me!"

When we left the soccer game, we had to rush around and change to get to a 2:00 dinner reservation for my mother's Mother's Day. It was not how I would have chosen to spend my Mother's Day, but, like most mothers of young children, I have accepted the complexities of this holiday.

It is precisely because I now understand the scope of the sacrifices it takes to be a good mother that on this holiday, which I selfishly feel should be for me, I schedule in what my own mother wants to do. And would have gone to visit my mother-in-law if she were home.

I accepted that yesterday was really my Mother's Day; Jagman and I had a great day, went horseback riding, watched the Kentucky Derby, and raced our own horses home. Mensa Child came home to hang out with us on a Saturday night and filled us in on the college scene scoop; we hung out to watch SNL together.

At the end of the day today, my friend called me to tell me that his 78 year old mother, who had surgery on Friday, was diagnosed with extremely advanced cancer - through her lungs, heart and lymph nodes. He had spent Mother's Day watching her recuperate from cardiac arrest and resuscitation, and was now watching and waiting while she was in ICU on a DNR order. He doesn't know whether she will recuperate or die, but regardless of what happens now, she will probably not be alive for his next Mother's Day.

And I think that is what makes Mother's Day such a complex holiday for mothers of young children. Because as much as we might want "peace and quiet" and a day of reprieve of family duties, we also realize that our time with our own mothers is limited, and we need to honor their sacrifices, too.

No Internet Nearly Killed Me!

2005-05-06T12:01:00.000-07:00

The internet was out at work and at home for a total of 30 hours. I suffered slight withdrawal symptoms. I couldn't finish snooping, couldn't post or blogsurf, couldn't IM Jagman and bother him at work. Life was really pretty boring. I actually watched TV last night and realized I haven't been missing anything. I turned on Prime Time and watched an extreme makeover, which was basically the same as every other extreme makeover show that's been on for years now. Switched back and forth to Without a Trace and the news, which didn't really have any interesting news.
In fact, the most interesting news was what I heard on the radio this morning about the Runaway Bride who apparently had enjoyed a quite active sex life with her implants before dating her current fiance, who is a "born-again virgin" and wasn't going to have sex until they got married. (How, I wonder, can you be a "born-again virgin"??) She wasn't running away from him, though (although it sounds to me like she ought to have been). She was running away from herself. (How, I wonder, can you run away from yourself? Won't your self be following you? Won't your self eventually catch up?) This marriage seems doomed. How can you even marry someone, in this day & age, that you haven't slept with?????

Snooping on the Internet

2005-05-05T00:05:00.000-07:00

Lima Bean mentioned that his morning babysitter, who lives down the street, told him that the barn behind us had been sold, and that she read about it in the paper. I definitely want to know if this is true.

The reason we bought this property is because the day I came to see it, I looked through the window on the side of the front door, straight through the bay window at the opposite end of the house, and saw the most magnificent, bucolic, picture-perfect view you could possibly imagine. Before I'd even seen the inside of the house, I knew I wanted it. We overlook 25 acres of rolling farmland, with an old stone-foundation barn and a silo to complete the scenario.

So, of course, if the property has been sold, I want to know who bought it and if they are going to develop it. Not that I can really do anything about it. I just want to know. Because I'm nosy like that.

I got on the internet and started searching last week's news articles, but I couldn't find anything that mentioned our street or the owner's name. And that's when I decided to check the tax records.

Have you ever done that? It's loads of fun if you're a nosy sort of person, like me. I went to the website for our state, looked up our street, and saw that the property behind us is still listed as belonging to the owner we know.

But, since I'm here anyway, I might as well see how much that neighbor three doors down paid for his house. Then I decided to check to see if the couple from five doors down, who separated awhile ago, still had both names on the deed. Nope. Husband only. Then I checked the "big" horse farm down the road to see just exactly how much property she owns. It's only 13 acres. It looks a lot bigger than that.

I could keep snooping on other people's addresses, but I don't have that kind of time tonight. I'm still trying to find out if the beautiful farmland behind us has been sold. So I goggled the owner's name. And surprisingly, a court case came up as entry #3.

Of course I read the court case, and it turned out that the case itself had nothing to do with the owner, BUT the owner had a previous divorce case that is so infamous in its "egregious violation" that it is actually CITED in this court case as an example. How'd you like something like that to come up for your googled name??

Most of the other 'hits' were in German, because this owner is an older German man who speaks with a very heavy accent. I've only met him three times, because he doesn't live on the property. (There is only the barn on his part of the property. His ex-wife got the house, which she sold, after their apparently quite ugly and legalistic divorce. )

The few times Jagman and I met him, Jagman was quite intimidated by him, so I usually did all the talking, and we got along just fine. Now I understand why. The next link was an announcement that the owner was a discussion leader in 2002 for a book talk on The Prince by Machiavelli. The only other link in English was to a comment he made on a book club site in 2001 on Bel Canto by Anne Patchett, where he talked about "the abyss which exists between the 'haves' and 'have nots', the everlasting social problems unsolvable by the various political or religious systems."

And I am suddenly fascinated with the complexity of this man who I only knew as the retired anesthesiologist. I remember those few occasions when I saw his car down at the barn and knew he was visiting his old homestead, and I regret not walking down to say hello. Because now I think we could have had some very interesting conversations.

And I'm also fascinated and appalled at the same time by the implications of all this information, so easily accessible, yet possibly so revealing of who we are.

$131,471

2005-05-04T00:05:00.000-07:00

That's the average annual income including overtime that a stay-at-home mom would earn if she were paid, according to Salary.com. (Read the article here.) That's based on working 100 hours per week and raising two children. The job descriptions women used to describe how they spent their time were daycare teacher, driver, housekeeper, cook, CEO, nurse, and general maintenance worker. "Salary.com, which tracks what jobs pay, suggested that the annual base pay for a 40-hour stay-at-home mom's workweek would be $43,461. Mothers would earn an additional $88,009 a year for 60 hours of overtime each week."

It's no surprise to me that "driver" was the second highest category in the job description. Even as working-outside-the-home parents, Jagman and I spend a considerable amount of time driving Lima Bean to activities. I am always amazed at the schedules of our friends who have several kids; it is definitely a second job just driving them to all their activities and not forgetting to pick up one of them!

My soccer mom friend just bought a new van. It's a top of the line Sienna with leather seats, a DVD player, wood grain trim, etc. She didn't feel guilty about the luxuries because, as she said, "I live in my car. I've already put 120 miles on it, and I just bought it yesterday!" In fact, she was chauffeuring when she said it, having arrived at our house to pick up her son.

I've always said being a stay-at-home mom is the hardest job, if you do it right. I personally couldn't cut it. In the old days, when I tried it, I needed antidepressants because I couldn't stand the lack of intellectual stimulation. Nowadays it might be easier in that respect with all the blogging and internet surfing at your fingertips to keep you connected to the adult world, but then I'd spend too much time surfing and not enough time mothering.

It's interesting that the media actually gave this story some sound bites. I saw it on CNN TV in the morning and then found it on MSNBC on the internet. In a society that (unfortunately) values people based on their incomes, it is a huge boost to the stay-at-home-mom to be valued at $131,471. Hell, she's probably 'worth' more than her husband's salary.... which might come in handy if he's the type who walks through the door and says, "Where's my dinner?"

It Took Me So Long To Post Because....

2005-05-02T22:55:00.000-07:00

My brother called yesterday to complain about the fact that I hadn't posted Part 4 of the four part series. In fact, he pointed out that I hadn't posted in four days. (And earlier today, I read mrtl's post bitching about people who don't post over the weekend.) And then in the background, Jagman is hollering out, "Yeah, you're losing readers." Like I'm the Washington Post or something and that really means anything.

Now I could tell you that I didn't post for four days because I was lying around, in a Gollum-like state, massaging my new ring and calling it "My precious."

It wouldn't be true, but I could tell you that.

Or I could tell you that when Jagman came home in his seersucker suit, he looked so hot that we've been busy for four days in bed. And on the kitchen counters, and in the jacuzzi, and on the pool table.

That wouldn't be true either, but I could tell you that.

Or I could tell you a really sad, god-awful story that would make you feel really guilty about complaining every time you clicked on this link and saw the same damn post still there. I can think of lots of really sad stories that could make you feel guilty, but I don't want to jinx myself by suggesting any of them, so I'll let you use your imagination.

They wouldn't be true anyway, but I could have told you any of them and made you believe them.

Or I could just tell you the truth. And the truth is that I just didn't feel like sitting in my computer room, isolated from the world, to write. It was one of those weekends when I had real work to do on Friday and then needed to spend quality time with Jagman and Lima Bean during the weekend.

One thing I do realize about being a working mother is that when I do what I really want to do, it is at the expense of giving myself to the other people in my life. And I work very hard at finding that balance. Writing, even if it's 'only' blog posting, is usually a solitary thing for me. And while I love it and have realized the necessity of it for my psyche, I also realize that it alone could never fully satisfy me.

My life would be nothing without the people I love in it. And there are times when I need them to know that they are more important than my blog posts. And this weekend was one of those times.

Eye Orgasm (Part 4)

2005-05-02T21:30:00.000-07:00

The other packages finally arrived and I took them into work. Friend #2 has no willpower at all. She immediately took the brown package and ripped it open.

I said, "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. After I stared at that for over 24 hours and resisted the temptation to take a peak? And now you're just going to rip it open like that?"
"Yeah!" she said. "Let's go. I want to see it!
Friend #1 and I looked at each other. So much for a ceremonial celebration. We ripped our packages open, too.
We each held the little black box in our hands. "To friendship," I said. "To friendship," we said as we 'toasted' our black boxes.
Then we opened them. Silence. Then, simultaneously, "Ooooooooooooo."

It actually looks better than that picture because the CZ's each have100 facets, whereas a regular diamond has 57 facets. So it does sparkle a lot. It looks gorgeous in the sunlight. Friend #2 arrived at work the next day without her real diamond and sapphire ring, which she normally wears on her right hand. She was going to wear this one next to it, but it looks better than her 'real' ring.

And it will look magnificent when I'm sitting on a beach in Jamaica, which we can afford to go to because we didn't spend $7000 on the real thing.

Willpower (Part 3)

2005-04-28T00:02:00.000-07:00

Part 3: Now, here's where the will power part comes in. The next day, I check the Order Status and I see that for some reason, they've shipped my size a day ahead of the other two ring sizes. I don't know why.

All I know is that mine has arrived. Yes, it's sitting right there on the kitchen counter tempting me to open it. But I can't open it, because it's only one ring in there. I can feel that through the packaging. And I have to wait for the other two rings. Because we have to open the boxes together, over a bottle of wine, in a ceremonial celebration of friendship.

Now I have very good willpower about most things that most people do not. Food, for instance. I have amazing willpower over food. I have trained my body to repel fat. Seriously. If I was forced to eat a whole cup of Haagan Daz ice cream, I would probably be sick.
No candy or junk food. Only high quality dark chocolate in small quantities. I could live on high protein balance bars, bagels and peanut butter.

Exercise. That's another area where I have great willpower. Well, it sounds better to say that it's willpower. It's really vanity. I can't stand to feel fat. But still, it's a certain degree of willpower to make myself exercise when I come home tired and would rather just sit down and have a glass of wine.

Which brings me to wine. I exercise some willpower over my wine intake by drinking it on ice and drinking ice water with it when I go out for the evening. So I rarely get totally "shit-faced, falling down drunk" anymore. I don't touch hard liquor, so I definitely exercise willpower over Crown Royal, Baileys, Irish Coffees,Touaca and other wonderfully delicious but highly intoxicating concoctions (like Car Bombs - yummm).

Overall, I have great willpower. Except in the affordable bling-bling area. And that brown package sitting downstairs on the kitchen counter is driving me crazy!!! I can picture it. I am drooling over what's inside it. I am imagining the sparkle - and the moment when I open it and it will take my breath away. Yes, it is a sickness. I already said that. I don't care.

I'm otherwise perfect, so just indulge me in my bling-bling fetish and we will get along just fine. (Yes, this is a refrain that Jagman hears regularly. In fact, I think I wrote it in our marriage vows.)

I hope I can make it until the other packages arrive. I'm taking this one into work and leaving it with Friend #1.

Jagman Wore the Seersucker Today!

2005-04-27T06:55:00.000-07:00

He looked the cover of the catalogue.
I don't think it will be a productive day at work. I'm extremely unfocused. Very preoccupied. Seeing blue and white stripes everywhere.
Can't wait to get home.

Girl Friends Who Spend $100 to Make You Feel Better? Priceless. (Part 2)

2005-04-27T00:02:00.000-07:00

(This is Part 2 of a Four Part Series.)

Part 2: I was looking at the three-stone rings, but since they are marketed to represent 'past, present, future', you can't really buy one for yourself.

And here's where the greatest girl friends in the world come in. I have the best friends you could possibly imagine. We are completely supportive of each other and 100% loyal. We have been through some serious tests of friendship and loyalty, too, so I say that knowing that we accept, and even love, each other for who we are, flaws and all.

That's the serious background for this otherwise silly story.

I came into work one day and sent my two closest friends an email about how bummed out I was, because it was Diamonique Day and the Today's Special Value was a 3-stone ring. And I was not going to buy a 3-stone ring for myself. Especially after our 10th anniversary when I didn't get one.
Friend #1 emailed me back, "You know what we should do? We should ALL buy rings! Then it wouldn't be a 'past, present, future' ring, it would be 'the girl friends' ring."

And I thought that was a great idea. But I didn't take it seriously. Because while we're not talking about diamonds, we're still talking about $100.

But at the end of the day, all three of us were standing around talking.
Friend #1 said to Friend #2, "Did you see the email about the ring?"
#2 said, "Yes. I asked her if she had told Jagman about it, but she said no."
They both looked at me. "No, I did not tell Jagman. He won't buy Diamonique."
#1 said, "Well, I think we should all three of us order rings, and then it could be the 'girl friends' ring."

And to my surprise, Friend #2 was all over that idea. They seriously wanted to order the rings. So they figured out their ring sizes (which I, of course, already knew because I spend my free time in jewelry stores trying on rings!) and I went to QVC to order three 3-stone 14K white gold 'girlfriend' rings.

(If you've ever seen the show, or even channel-surfed through it, you know that they take phone calls from viewers all the time. And I know you're expecting me to say that when I called to order the rings, they put me on the air to tell this great story of why I was buying 3 rings! Which would then give women all over the country this wonderful idea of buying girlfriend rings for themselves.

But I didn't. I ordered the rings off the internet. I have never talked to one of the show hosts on the air and really have no desire to. I would sound exactly like all the other mentally sound viewers who call in and say, "Yes, it looks exactly like a real diamond. It looks better than most real diamonds." Etc.

And I would definitely sound better than the senile viewers who call in and say, "Oh, Mary Jane. I just love you. You're like my family. I'm so excited that I can talk to you. I watch you every day. You light up my life" here in the nursing home where they abuse me and steal my drugs. Those callers just depress me. My only criticism of QVC is that I wish they could screen their calls, and not let anyone who sounds over the age of 80 talk on the air.

But I digress...)

So I ordered the rings for the three of us and we waited with anticipation...

Bling-Bling (Part 1)

2005-04-26T00:08:00.000-07:00

(This is Part 1 of a Four Part Series! It's the saga of the quest for the 3-stone ring. Kind of like Tolkien or King Arthur. I expect PBS to be interested in it.)
(OK, I know it should only be a Three Part Series. The trilogy. Archetypal symbolism and all that. But I can't help it. I'm wordy. Besides, I 've already written three parts, and it's not finished yet.)

Part 1: I have a serious bling-bling fetish. I practically crave diamonds. I could spend hours in the diamond section of the jewelry store. I sometimes think I should have become a gemologist just so I could fondle and stare at diamonds all day long. A top quality diamond is spectacular, mesmerizing, hypnotic. See, I told you: a fetish.

Now unfortunately, I'm not Oprah or Queen Elizabeth. (OK, I take that back. Fortunately, I'm not Queen Elizabeth.) So I can't afford to own a lot of spectacular, mesmerizing diamonds. And that's why I'm a Diamonique addict. Because a new Diamonique really does look better than a cheap diamond.

One day, I was 'window shopping' in a local, elite jewelry store (i.e, not a Zales) and I was admiring one of the diamond rings. The clerk brought it out to let me try it on and I asked how much it was. $3000. Now, I was absolutely amazed at how ridiculously LOW that price was, because this ring had a huge center rock.
"$3000??" I said, the shock apparent.
The clerk responded, "Oh, well that's just for the setting. That includes the side stones. The center stone isn't a diamond anyway. It's a CZ."

I nearly fainted right there in the store. Then I began to wonder how many other "diamond" rings I had looked at that were really CZ's. And that's when I became hooked on Diamonique, because I figure if these hoitsy-toitsy jewelry stores are using them, why shouldn't I??

So I am addicted to my bling-bling, and I really don't feel guilty about it, because it's not that expensive.

The trick is to be selective and NOT have too much of it. No one is going to believe that you have six different ridiculously gorgeous diamond rings. So you buy one and wear it everyday for years, until it gets banged up and starts to look fake.

Which is where I am now. So I need a new Diamonique ring. I wore a 3 carat solitaire every day for the last three years, and most people thought it was real. No lie. Jagman used to complain that it was too pretentious, but that was before he bought his XJ8.

One day, I was in a jewelry store (yes, window shopping again), when a woman came in to pick up her grandmother's diamond that she had just had appraised. She was all nervous and stressed out about getting the paperwork before she would even touch the ring. Only after she had all the paperwork, she said she would take the ring. The jeweler brought it from the back and opened the box for her to see it. Since I just happened to be looking at the jewelry in that particular case (haha, yeah right) I also could see the ring. It was a 3 carat solitaire.

And I swear, my fake diamond looked better than the real diamond that she was afraid to even take home!

But now my fake one is so old that it doesn't look real anymore, and I can't really wear it when I go window shopping. So it's time for a new one....

(Stay tuned for the continuing saga of the quest for the 3-stone ring, after these messages from our sponsors.)
(Yeah right. There are no sponsors. Long blog posts are bad. Blog surfing is good. Go surf other blogs and c ome back later.)
(Yes, I am teasing you. I'm very good at that. That's why this story is in four parts. As of now. It might be in five parts. Who knows?)

Weekend Snapshots

2005-04-25T05:54:00.000-07:00

Friday night: I watched Napolean Dynamite. What a great movie, which really surprised me. I’ve been hearing that it’s become a ‘cult’ movie for today’s teens, so I expected some type of Animal House/Road Trip movie that promoted drinking and free sex. What a shock to see that the movie was about two ‘social rejects’ in the high school class system who wind up winning the girl and the SGA election! It actually restored my faith in today’s teenagers.

Saturday: I bought new running shoes and went to the track. New running shoes are awesome; you don’t realize how bad your old running shoes are until you have brand new, super supportive, extra-cushioned running shoes. Ran an extra quarter of a mile.

Sunday: I had to wear my winter coat and a hat on my head to keep warm! I wished I had worn gloves. We hiked through the horse field and woods behind our house. The cold weather put me in the mood to knit, so I worked on my unfinished sweater. It’s still unfinished.

I am soooo ready for springtime weather – sunny 70 degree weather.

Global Warming

2005-04-23T00:01:00.000-07:00

I wish this Global Warming myth were true, because I'm sick of this crazy cold weather. Two days ago it was 85 degrees, hot & sunny. Yesterday, it was 55 degrees, cold and cloudy. This whole weekend will be cold and damp. It will be snowing in the mountains! We will probably have a fire going by Sunday.

So where is this Global Warming the scientists keeping harping on about??? Because they've been promising/threatening it for years now, and I keep buying extra summer clothes and fewer winter clothes, and now look at me. I had to pull out the turtlenecks and sweaters in the middle of April. I have to wear socks again!

I'm convinced the whole thing is a scam. In fact, I'm slowly coming to the realization that the source of the global warming theory and the inventor of capris, sandals & sunscreen could be one and the same. And isn't he laughing all the way to the bank in his parka and ugg boots?

MY Third Grade Homework: 8x4=???

2005-04-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

Lima Bean is an average student. Well, at least I think he's an average student. He could be above or below average and I wouldn't know it, because he's not the least bit interested in school, reading, or memorizing math facts. And since he also can't spell and hates to hand write, he continues to score low on the Brief Constructed Responses that he has to pass in order to demonstrate that he understands what he has read or what problem he has just solved in math.

In order to be considered "on grade level" in reading and math, he needs to be able to write. Therefore, we are dealing with a lot of frustrations right now with these multi-step processes. As a result, he fidgets a lot and is frequently frustrated in school, according to the teachers.

Gee, I wonder why?

Right now, he is in the low-level math group, which is learning triple digit multiplication problems, the kind where you carry a number over and then add it to the product of the next multiplication answer. After he completes these problems, he needs to be able to write a paragraph explaining what he did and what math concepts he applied. He also needs to do the same thing for word problems.

He needs to not only answer the questions correctly, but write the paragraph, or he won't be "on grade level."

And he's expected to do all of this even though he DOESN'T KNOW THE MULTIPLICATION TABLES.

Last night's homework was a worksheet with 84 multiplication and division problems on it. In order to answer the questions, he had to look up nearly all the answers on his multiplication table. Needless to say, homework time was frustrating for everyone. Amidst the crying and procrastinating and more crying about how he was NEVER going to get done, I found the worksheet he had done in class. It was three digit multiplication problems.

Now, I am not a math teacher, but this simply makes no sense to me. How can a child be expected to do higher-level math problems if he doesn't know the basic math facts?
The teachers have sent home calendars every month for the parents to complete to demonstrate that WE have been teaching him his basic math facts. This is in addition to the math worksheet he brings home, which usually takes at least a half-hour to complete, mostly because he doesn't know the basic math facts. Which is also in addition to a spelling/language arts worksheet, which usually takes 20 minutes, which of course is in addition to the 20 minutes of reading he is supposed to do at home.

If we actually DID all the homework we were supposed to be doing, it would take roughly 80 minutes a night. In third grade!

And what I want to know is:
What the hell do they do in school for 6.5 hours that they can't practice their math facts for 10 minutes everyday and make sure the kids know that before they start teaching them three digit multiplication problems????
And why should it be MY responsibility to drill him at home every night and make sure he learns them? Why am I supposed to turn in the Math Calendar (my homework) to show that I am teaching my son? Isn't that why he's in school??

Riding a Bike is Just Not What it Used to Be

2005-04-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

Lima Bean is 9 years old and he's never ridden a bike. He hasn't really expressed any interest in learning to ride a bike until now. We had asked him, every once in awhile over the years, if he wanted a bike. The answer was always no, which was fine with us.

Where was he going to ride it, anyway? Not on our street, which has traffic that flies over the speed limit of 30 (myself included, when I'm late). Even if it weren't for the traffic, there's no destination for a bike ride. He doesn't have any friends who live up the street. (We kind of live near the middle of nowhere, which is how I like it. But it's hard for kids, I guess.)

So there really wasn't any motivation for Lima Bean to learn to ride a bike.

Until they had Bicycle Safety as a unit in his gym class, and the kindergarten class out on the playground laughed at him when he fell off his bike.

The day he came home from Bicycle Safety class, he wanted a bike. Jagman and I discussed, once again, where he was going to ride a bike if we bought one. But we've been going to the track to run, or running on the street, so we decided that he probably could make use of a bike now.

We just bought the bike tonight. Today was also the second day of Bicycle Safety at school. One of his friends had done a pretty good job of teaching Lima Bean how to ride, because I was amazed at well he did. He spent two hours riding around in circles in our driveway, even after it was dark and we had to turn on the spotlights. (For his version of his first bike ride, see Lima Bean's Life.)

I can't really remember that euphoria of my first bike, probably because I was so much younger. And also because I just don't remember very much from my childhood. But I do remember riding the bike all over the neighborhood, or up to the shopping center to buy candy or visit the pet store, just to look at the pets.
I remember the freedom a bike offered.

When we went to the doctor's appointment a couple of weeks ago (the one Lima Bean needed in order to attend after-care), the pediatrician asked if he rode a bike.
"No," he said.
I said, "Yeah, we've asked him several times if he wanted to learn, but he doesn't." (Of course, I felt obligated to point that out lest he think I am some terribly negligent mother, raising her child so that the kindergarten kids will laugh at him.)
The doctor said, "Well, that's understandable. There's really no reason for a kid to want to learn to ride a bike now. A bike for us meant freedom. But now, your mom isn't going to let you go anywhere on your bike anyway."

Which is true. Even if we lived in a "development" I wouldn't let him just ride around to a friend's house. Someone could steal him. Molest him. Kill him.

Riding a bike is just not what it used to be. But then, neither is being a kid.

We love to watch movies like The Goonies or The Sandlot, because it is a world my son will never know. A world where kids could roam free and hang out with other kids and learn to be self-sufficient adults. Deal with their own problems. Build relationships with their peers. All without adult supervision and interference. All without someone looking over their shoulder, telling them what to do.

So we will load the bike into the back of our car and drive to the track, where Lima Bean will ride his bike. Or we will jog up the street while he rides his bike. Or maybe, when he gets good enough, we will hike through the wooded trails in the park while he rides his bike. But wherever he is riding his bike, that's where we'll be too.

Because riding a bike is not freedom anymore.

You Gotta Love a Jos. Bank Man

2005-04-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Jos. Bank catalogue arrived today. I love looking through that, even more than most women's clothing catalogues. It's so refined and elegant. It screams power and confidence.

I wish buying women's clothes could be like buying men's. Women have too many choices. Sometimes if I'm in a girlie-mood and getting ready for an event, I enjoy playing with fashion and figuring out what to wear. But mostly not. I would prefer to have a 'uniform' wardrobe like men, and the only thought required in the morning was which tie to wear. And clothes that lasted forever and never went out of style. So I wouldn't have to go buy new clothes every season because the menswear from last season is replaced with skirts and ruffled shirts this season.

I love that Jagman wears Jos. Bank clothes to work. I love seeing him in the morning when he's ready to leave, in his starched, monogrammed shirt and silk signature tie. There is nothing sexier than a man in Jos. Bank clothes.

When we had indoor soccer games for Lima Bean right after work, Jagman didn't have time to go home and change. I loved watching him walk into the arena in those Jos. Bank outfits when most of the other men were in sweats or blue jeans. When he was coaching on the sidelines, I watched him more than the soccer game.

Now that it's spring, it's almost time to break out my favorite Jos. Bank suit: the seersucker. I LOVE this suit, especially in the blue and white. Some mornings, when Jagman wears it, he winds up late for work, because even though it looks sooo good on, I wind up taking it off!

The guys at his office tease him about his seersucker suit, but he doesn't care. He is a true-blue Jos. Bank man, and he looks hot in that seersucker suit. (When he finally gets out of the house in it!)

Wine, Women & Kleenex

2005-04-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

When a woman experiences a heartbreak, she needs one of two things. Either a quiet evening alone at home to watch as many sappy, tear-jerker movies as she can handle or a gathering of her closest friends for wine, women & kleenex.

If she chooses the movie route, she doesn't really need to talk about her own problems, because she can bawl her eyes out for hours over someone else's problem until she is completely drained of tears and emotions, and then move on.

If she chooses the wine and women route, it is the obligation of her closest friends to drop everything they are doing and come to hear her speak. It's kind of like an audience with the Pope. Not that I've ever had an audience with the Pope, but I've attended many wine, women and kleenex sessions, and they are just as sacred. The friends' role, of course, is to listen and agree that their friend has indeed been wronged.
"He did that!! What a jerk."
"I can't believe it. That's just not right."
"He didn't! He said that??? Oh my god."
And all other sorts of exclamations that reinforce the fact that, yes, the hurtful party is indeed deserving of wrath and fury, and any previous and/or subsequent action by the heartbroken person is warranted and deserving.

Because the heartbroken person is never wrong. That is the first of the cardinal rules in a wine, women and kleenex session. The second crucial cardinal rule is that none of the other friends ever shift the focus of the conversation to themselves. This is usually hard for women, because usually we all want to throw in our own two cents' worth regarding our own situations. But that is taboo during a wine, women and kleenex session. In fact, if you ever break that rule and don't let the heartbroken person complete the ritual, you will probably be voted off the island and never invited to anyone else's session. Which also means that when you need one of your own, you'll have no one to call.

The first stage of the ritual is the bitching stage, where the heartbroken woman describes how horribly the despicable cad behaved. It's usually laced with numerous and plentiful expletives. After everyone has heard the whole situation, and agreed wholeheartedly that she has been wronged, the focus shifts to "So now what are you going to do?" This is an open discussion; everyone offers advice freely, some more seriously than others. (For instance, "Castrate the bastard" is usually not taken seriously, even though everyone might agree.)

By the end of a wine, women and kleenex session, the heartbroken person feels that her suffering has been validated. Yes, she was wronged. Yes, she has every right to be upset.
Why women need this validation is not clear to me. Maybe it's because men- when faced with heartbroken, emotional women- try to negate that emotion in order to save themselves. They twist the argument around to make women sound unreasonable.

But when a group of women all agree that your heartbreak is valid, then it is. No matter what 'he' says. And that's what makes a wine, women and kleenex session sacred.

Will This Day Never End??

2005-04-17T20:00:00.000-07:00

I usually love Daylight Savings Time. I usually love that it doesn't get dark until 8 or 8:30. Except when I'm having a bad day.

Sometimes I have days that are so bad I just want them to end. In the winter, when it gets dark at 5:00, I can call it quits, climb into my comfy bed with a down comforter, and go to sleep. Or at the very least, psychologically the day has ended because it's pitch black outside. The worst is over.

Not with Daylight Savings Time. It's hard to climb into bed and call it quits when the sun is still high in the sky. I keep looking out the window to see if it's any darker, but nooooo, the sun is still blazing. I got in the jacuzzi to wash this bad day away and wait for it to end. I was in there for nearly two hours; now I look like a raisin.

And it's STILL daylight!

The Kiss: On the Occasion of My Anniversary

2005-04-15T06:15:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago today, I married the most perfect man for me. He is thoughtful, kind, dedicated, and wise. He is also a smart ass who makes me laugh everyday.

When I met Jagman, fifteen years ago, I was a divorced single mother with no intentions of ever getting married again. As an English major, I pretty much thought business majors were superficial and simplistic. I certainly wasn’t going to date any of them. I was looking for a creative, artistic type.

I was out with a girlfriend the night I met Jagman. I sat in the empty barstool next to him; the usual small talk ensued.
Eventually, I said, “So, what do you do?”
“I’m an accountant.”
“Oh,” I said, with obvious disapproval. That was the end of the conversation as far as I was concerned. I was already looking around the bar to see who else was there. But he kept talking to me, and to my surprise, he didn’t 'sound like an accountant.’ We talked the whole night. My girlfriend needed to leave suddenly, because of boy troubles of her own, and we had a pact: if we arrived together, we left together. So I had to leave. At about midnight. Just like Cinderella.

Jagman followed me through the crowded bar to say goodbye. Without warning, he leaned down and kissed me. It was one of those kisses that stop time. I can still vividly remember standing there, people all around us, holding onto his red hooded Ralph Lauren windbreaker, feeling like the room was spinning, feeling so small wrapped in his strong arms and tall body.

I left with my friend, and as we were driving home I realized that Jagman hadn’t asked for my phone number. And after that kiss, I wanted to see Jagman again (even if he was an accountant). During our conversation in the bar, I had learned that he lived in the apartment complex next to mine. So I had his address. We decided to drive over there to leave my phone number, which I wrote on an old envelope I found in her car. When we got to his apartment building, though, I realized that it had a security door and I couldn’t get inside. All I could do was leave the envelope propped on a window ledge next to the door.

It was hours later when Jagman came home. It had been a windy night. As he walked on the sidewalk toward his apartment building, he noticed a blank white envelope lying on the ground. To this day, he says he doesn’t know why he bent down to pick it up. He normally wouldn’t. There was no visible writing on it, no reason for him to pick it up. But he did. And when he turned it over, he saw the note I had written to him.

I have learned to recognize the significance of coincidence. Everything happens for a reason. What if he hadn't kissed me? What if I wrote the note on a scrap piece of paper instead of an envelope? Maybe it would have blown further away. Maybe he wouldn't have picked it up.

I believe it was our destiny to find each other. Which isn’t to say that we lived happily ever after from that moment on. We had our share of relationship hurdles, break-ups, near break-ups and ugly fights during our early years together, before we were married.

But now I know that he is truly my soul mate, and that what we have is holy and rare. And every night when I fall asleep in his arms, I am grateful for the beautiful life we have together and for that first kiss.

Speaking of Refinement & Good Taste

2005-04-14T22:00:00.000-07:00

On another somewhat related note, I must confess that it caused raised eyebrows and utter delight in moi when I received a catalog from Target. Yes, a catalogue! In today's newspaper. Not your regular weekly advertisement.

It looked quite chique, like a mini Spiegel catalogue, except for the trademark bullseye emblem. That was the giveaway and the hook, because it looked like one of those catalogues from a super expensive store that I would normally just throw away. Yeah, I'm going to spend $400 for bed sheets. In the trash that one goes, but only after I've experienced the vicarious pleasure of looking at those sheets for a couple of minutes.

Not this catalogue! It has the bullseye on the front cover amidst all those glamorous pictures of homegoods. So not only will I lust after them, but I can afford them, because it's from Target! And that's why I LOVE that store. Target, you had me from 'hello.'