Breaking news: I texted yesterday for the first time. Whoa boy, I'm speeding into the twenty-first century. Here's the sum total: "Sweet stop no idea how to punctuate this thing stop"
Yeah, so. Still some work to do to get me into the twenty-first century.
In other news, we just got back from a week in Ohio with my parents, where among other activities Hubs and I attended my high school reunion (20th). Well. I have to say I enjoyed Hubs' high school reunion better, and I may have known more people at his (note: I did not move to his town until ten years after he graduated from high school). Okay, I kid. I knew plenty of people. However, considering that my graduating class was only 300 or so, and I attended the public schools in my town from kindergarten through 12th grade (more or less), there were surprising swaths of unknown faces. Also, I disappointed myself by thinking EXACTLY THE SAME about my classmates. In other words, usually I'm excited to meet people and basically interested in everyone I have a conversation with. One of my big regrets about high school was that I too often dismissed people I barely knew as uninteresting; I was hoping, I think, that the reunion would be different. Nope. Five minutes into talking to someone whom I hadn't seen for twenty years I would be mentally checking my watch, already as tired of him or her as I had been on the last day of high school.
To be fair, people seemed to sort of feel the same way about me. It might just be a reunion thing.
More news: despite my lackluster interview skills, I have apparently been offered a job. I am totally aware of how great this is and how lucky I am to be offered ANYTHING. Also, I am ninety-nine percent sure I will take it. However, I am allowing myself to freak out. It's full-time, and I haven't worked full-time since I've had kids. (cue panic). I will have to COMMUTE. By CAR. (I have NEVER had to do this). (Yes, I am spoiled.) It's a regular corporate-type job, meaning that there are only two weeks of vacation, plus assorted Major Holidays. (cue MASSIVE panic). It seems pretty straight-laced, so if Si has a day off and I want to take him to the museum, I will have to use vacation time (meaning there will less for when I actually want to do an awaycation). If it's a spectacularly beautiful day and I want to take off and go hiking, I will have to use vacation time. I know that this is the situation of the vast majority of people who work, and the fact that I am even complaining about this shows how good I've had it/ ungrateful I am. [and I will spare everyone and not launch into a tirade about how 50 40-hour weeks are bad for us, how EVERYONE should get more time off, because work, as valuable as it may be, is only part of our lives and we are all starving our souls by working so much]
Anyway. Mostly I need to process the Change involved in going from being underemployed to fully employed. Apparently complaint is essential to that process. Apologies all round.
Next time: pictures!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
In review: summer
1. Si started the second of his summer activities today (camp). HurRAY. In some ways my life as a mom has been a single trajectory toward this point. For two (2) days this week I have the house to myself once again.
2. It's not overnight camp, though. Perhaps overnight camp is the real goal of my Life as Mom (well, college/ job/ leaving the house as a functional adult is my goal. Fingers crossed, here.).
3. Last week Hubs and I went to the only restaurant in Denver I was really excited to try (my palate is tres jaded): Domo. OMFG, you guys. It delivered. All Denverites among my readers, please go.
4. I also had a job interview last week. My excellent interview skillz were again in evidence, although I wouldn't say that overall the interview was a bomb, and this time I actually think the interviewer's lack of interviewing skills was part of the problem. I got the sense he kind of based his decision on whom to hire less on qualifications and more on his gut. Nevertheless, I have been existentially wondering Do I Really Want a Job more than usual (I've also been calculating how much more we could do if I had a regular income of decent proportions. Like: we could redo the kitchen! We could afford new windows! we could hire someone to do the stonework in the back yard, instead of moping about how we don't have the time to do it ourselves!)
5. We had houseguests (my MIL and my nephew) on Saturday night and old friends over for dinner on Sunday. God, it was nice. In fact, overall it was a people-filled weekend--which is how our life used to be. And how it will be in the future.
6. Despite this, I spent an inordinate number of wee hours of the night fretting about Silas and Helen's old friends from our old town, and how due to my negligence and neglect, we are not keeping those ties. I need to NOT DO THIS. Fret, I mean.
7. So! On to a new week!
2. It's not overnight camp, though. Perhaps overnight camp is the real goal of my Life as Mom (well, college/ job/ leaving the house as a functional adult is my goal. Fingers crossed, here.).
3. Last week Hubs and I went to the only restaurant in Denver I was really excited to try (my palate is tres jaded): Domo. OMFG, you guys. It delivered. All Denverites among my readers, please go.
4. I also had a job interview last week. My excellent interview skillz were again in evidence, although I wouldn't say that overall the interview was a bomb, and this time I actually think the interviewer's lack of interviewing skills was part of the problem. I got the sense he kind of based his decision on whom to hire less on qualifications and more on his gut. Nevertheless, I have been existentially wondering Do I Really Want a Job more than usual (I've also been calculating how much more we could do if I had a regular income of decent proportions. Like: we could redo the kitchen! We could afford new windows! we could hire someone to do the stonework in the back yard, instead of moping about how we don't have the time to do it ourselves!)
5. We had houseguests (my MIL and my nephew) on Saturday night and old friends over for dinner on Sunday. God, it was nice. In fact, overall it was a people-filled weekend--which is how our life used to be. And how it will be in the future.
6. Despite this, I spent an inordinate number of wee hours of the night fretting about Silas and Helen's old friends from our old town, and how due to my negligence and neglect, we are not keeping those ties. I need to NOT DO THIS. Fret, I mean.
7. So! On to a new week!
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Life With Birds
Our household pet population includes birds. Specifically, three parakeets and a cockatiel. (Blue, green, yellow, and white, and no, they don't really have names. Thanks for asking.) The first pet we owned as a couple was a bird (a parakeet); that first parakeet got a deluge of adoring attention (a name, for example; also a hand-built climbing tree, the run of the house, and I believe I could have told you his hobbies). I felt Daring and Unusual in owning a bird, since as a child I'd only had the basic pets (gerbils, goldfish, mollies, a dog, and a stray cat that wandered away and got lost). I may have fantasized about teaching the parakeet to talk, or to fly to my finger. I may have actually tried to do these things, but such attempts belong in the Things Best Forgotten File.
The thing about owning a bird, especially one that you talk about, is this: people will start giving you birds. They will pour their birds upon you. They may make a pretence of asking you to pay for the bird, or at least the cage, but when you hesitate they'll say Never Mind! Please just take the damn thing! It's driving me insane!
So pretty soon we had two birds. A parakeet, Papa, who was sweet and mild, and Muriel, the Lovebird. Muriel was horrible. She shrieked. She bit. She bit when you tried to feed her. She bit when you tried to clean her cage. She liked to fly around the house, and if she didn't get to fly around enough, she bit. She bit if you vacuumed near her cage. Nevertheless, she was kind of endearing, in her own high maintainance way, and it was kind of interesting challenge to be able to interact with her without getting bitten. We had a sort of miserable, co-dependent relationship, she and I.
Lovebirds, due to the shrieking and the biting, tend to be popular birds to give away. Within a year we had four lovebirds, an elderly zebra finch, and the parakeet. We bought a companion for the parakeet, since we just weren't able to give him the attention he needed and deserved, what with the Lovebirds (who had all learned how to get out of their cages and get into his, and once in it, tended to bite him), and also the dog, which automatically demoted all of the birds to second-pet status. At some point a friend of ours found a cockatiel on a tennis court in January, and gave him to us. Seven birds at the peak of our bird-owning career, although soon the elderly finch died and the parakeets caught colds and one of the Lovebirds killed another, so then we had five or so.
Then we had a child, the ultimate pet demoter. There is nothing like being woken up from a desperately needed postpartum nap by a bird. Around this time I read a beautiful scene in a Toni Morrison novel about how a grieving woman lets all her parrots go out the window of her New York apartment in a snowstorm. For years after that I fantasized about letting the damn lovebirds go, especially when I was trying to nap and they were shrieking.
Eventually I sold the lovebirds in a garage sale. The parakeets died and were replaced with more (the birds still made me feel Daring and Unusual; also, we had invested heavily in bird infrastructure and it seemed a waste not to outfit it with birds). When we moved into our last house we bought a big five-foot-by-three-foot cage, and the evolution was complete: from cherished first pet to self-sufficient subculture. We feed them; we cover the cage if they get too noisy; otherwise they're left to their own devices, amusements, love triangles, etc. The cockatiel, a female, keeps falling in love with parakeets, having intense relationships with them, and then getting widowed. The third-wheel parakeets have affairs with the hanging bell. They all like celery, I think. At any rate, I keep giving them celery, and one of them eats it.
Lately, the birds have become something of a burden, noisewise. There is no convenient out-of-the-way spot for them in our new house; they're located in our TV room and at night, with the kids talking and the birds chirpity chirping and the TV blabbing away you can't even hear yourself THINK, let alone pay attention to the children or the TV or your spouse. There has been tense talk of Giving the Birds Away, and also melodramatic statements about how you do not just Get Sick Of Your Pets and Ditch Them. Also, one of us has a problem with the infrastructure investment and just giving THAT away--the big cage was like two hundred dollars. (I know, I know, sunk costs, cut your losses, etc. That's just not how I roll, okay?)
So. I think we will continue being Bird Owners, for a while, at least. Once the cockatiel dies, however, we might let the bird thing slide. Maybe. Unless someone happens to give us another bird.
The thing about owning a bird, especially one that you talk about, is this: people will start giving you birds. They will pour their birds upon you. They may make a pretence of asking you to pay for the bird, or at least the cage, but when you hesitate they'll say Never Mind! Please just take the damn thing! It's driving me insane!
So pretty soon we had two birds. A parakeet, Papa, who was sweet and mild, and Muriel, the Lovebird. Muriel was horrible. She shrieked. She bit. She bit when you tried to feed her. She bit when you tried to clean her cage. She liked to fly around the house, and if she didn't get to fly around enough, she bit. She bit if you vacuumed near her cage. Nevertheless, she was kind of endearing, in her own high maintainance way, and it was kind of interesting challenge to be able to interact with her without getting bitten. We had a sort of miserable, co-dependent relationship, she and I.
Lovebirds, due to the shrieking and the biting, tend to be popular birds to give away. Within a year we had four lovebirds, an elderly zebra finch, and the parakeet. We bought a companion for the parakeet, since we just weren't able to give him the attention he needed and deserved, what with the Lovebirds (who had all learned how to get out of their cages and get into his, and once in it, tended to bite him), and also the dog, which automatically demoted all of the birds to second-pet status. At some point a friend of ours found a cockatiel on a tennis court in January, and gave him to us. Seven birds at the peak of our bird-owning career, although soon the elderly finch died and the parakeets caught colds and one of the Lovebirds killed another, so then we had five or so.
Then we had a child, the ultimate pet demoter. There is nothing like being woken up from a desperately needed postpartum nap by a bird. Around this time I read a beautiful scene in a Toni Morrison novel about how a grieving woman lets all her parrots go out the window of her New York apartment in a snowstorm. For years after that I fantasized about letting the damn lovebirds go, especially when I was trying to nap and they were shrieking.
Eventually I sold the lovebirds in a garage sale. The parakeets died and were replaced with more (the birds still made me feel Daring and Unusual; also, we had invested heavily in bird infrastructure and it seemed a waste not to outfit it with birds). When we moved into our last house we bought a big five-foot-by-three-foot cage, and the evolution was complete: from cherished first pet to self-sufficient subculture. We feed them; we cover the cage if they get too noisy; otherwise they're left to their own devices, amusements, love triangles, etc. The cockatiel, a female, keeps falling in love with parakeets, having intense relationships with them, and then getting widowed. The third-wheel parakeets have affairs with the hanging bell. They all like celery, I think. At any rate, I keep giving them celery, and one of them eats it.
Lately, the birds have become something of a burden, noisewise. There is no convenient out-of-the-way spot for them in our new house; they're located in our TV room and at night, with the kids talking and the birds chirpity chirping and the TV blabbing away you can't even hear yourself THINK, let alone pay attention to the children or the TV or your spouse. There has been tense talk of Giving the Birds Away, and also melodramatic statements about how you do not just Get Sick Of Your Pets and Ditch Them. Also, one of us has a problem with the infrastructure investment and just giving THAT away--the big cage was like two hundred dollars. (I know, I know, sunk costs, cut your losses, etc. That's just not how I roll, okay?)
So. I think we will continue being Bird Owners, for a while, at least. Once the cockatiel dies, however, we might let the bird thing slide. Maybe. Unless someone happens to give us another bird.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Children are Different: the List
1. One of my children slept poorly. He/she hated to go to sleep, hated to wake up, and as soon as he/she could move came into our room in the middle of every night. He/she still does this.
2. One of my children slept great. Even in the hospital, he/she slept like a little baby log for hours at a stretch. He/she still sleeps great.
3. One of my children is afraid of very little except house fires. He/she watches scary movies, picks up biting bugs, climbs on the roof by him- or herself.
4. Interestingly, this is not the one who sleeps well.
5. The good sleeper, however, is not so good a sleeping companion. He/she flops, kicks, squeaks and sleep-talks, all while fast asleep.
6. The poor sleeper, once asleep, is difficult to wake.
7. Unless the smoke alarm goes off.
8. One of my children will eat anything, more or less (although see #9/10). The other child will commonly refuse dessert, especially if it comes with conditions, like eating something that has been contaminated by parsley or other leafy foods.
9. One of my children loves meat and his/her favorite dish is a big hunk of beef or salmon. He/she hates salad. Salad makes him/her cry.
10. One my children loves salad and his/her favorite dish is a taco salad. He/she hates unadulterated chunks of meat or fish. These make him/her cry.
11. I've kind of given up trying to cook meals that make everyone happy. Instead, I stuff eggplant with mushrooms and sundried tomatoes and refuse to make an alternative dinner.
12. This makes everyone cry. Even me. It turns out I don't like eggplant, either.
2. One of my children slept great. Even in the hospital, he/she slept like a little baby log for hours at a stretch. He/she still sleeps great.
3. One of my children is afraid of very little except house fires. He/she watches scary movies, picks up biting bugs, climbs on the roof by him- or herself.
4. Interestingly, this is not the one who sleeps well.
5. The good sleeper, however, is not so good a sleeping companion. He/she flops, kicks, squeaks and sleep-talks, all while fast asleep.
6. The poor sleeper, once asleep, is difficult to wake.
7. Unless the smoke alarm goes off.
8. One of my children will eat anything, more or less (although see #9/10). The other child will commonly refuse dessert, especially if it comes with conditions, like eating something that has been contaminated by parsley or other leafy foods.
9. One of my children loves meat and his/her favorite dish is a big hunk of beef or salmon. He/she hates salad. Salad makes him/her cry.
10. One my children loves salad and his/her favorite dish is a taco salad. He/she hates unadulterated chunks of meat or fish. These make him/her cry.
11. I've kind of given up trying to cook meals that make everyone happy. Instead, I stuff eggplant with mushrooms and sundried tomatoes and refuse to make an alternative dinner.
12. This makes everyone cry. Even me. It turns out I don't like eggplant, either.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Camp Moose
We went camping on Tuesday at a campground a little west of here, in the mountains. It started out typically: "I don't want to camp!" shouted Si, groaning and falling on the floor. Meanwhile, Helen piled half her room on the "to pack" pile. Two hours later, as we pulled out of town, Si was chattering joyfully and Helen was asking nervously about rain and clouds and
lightning and tornadoes.
It did rain, a little, but not much, and there was no lightning (which I was thankful for, too--I'm not one of those who appreciates the spirituality of storms, esp. when in them). We found a campground that was completely empty (SCORE) and way far away from the road (double score). We set up the tents (my folks were with us, too), made dinner, built a fire, had a brief moment of character-building ennui (Si: "I don't have Space Invaders OR Leapster! What is there to do? It's boring!"), and then ate the fish Mike brought home for dinner.
Si also got to sharpen sticks for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows. He used a knife for this. Between the knife and the fire I got a chance to showcase my split parenting personality. In one ear I have the boyscout coach: knives and fires are good for kids! Teaches them responsibility and self-sufficiency! Don't hover! In the other ear comes the helicopter parent: OMG he's going to set the entire FOREST on fire! ("Put that blazing stick BACK in the fire!") Yikes--what if he stabs out his eye with the knife? If he does, would it be better to drive out to a hospital or try to call Flight for Life direct? ("Be CAREFUL, sweetheart!")
I get really irritated with myself when I do this--just sick to death of how my voice is constantly narrating the negative. While the voice is not exactly not mine, it doesn't really feel like me, this voice--the me I know is easy-going and relaxed. I guess the obvious remedy would be to try to just be QUIET for, say, a week. Stop trying to constantly organize the world with my vocal cords. Just let it be, you know?
I'll let you know how it goes.
In the meantime, photos:
After breakfast, we had some visitors. (Moose! Not a cow and a calf, as you might expect, but a young bull and a calf.)
Helen was a little dubious about the moose.
Silas, meanwhile, got busy figuring things out. One of the things he learned was how to shoot good close-up photos of plants. Not bad, eh?
lightning and tornadoes.It did rain, a little, but not much, and there was no lightning (which I was thankful for, too--I'm not one of those who appreciates the spirituality of storms, esp. when in them). We found a campground that was completely empty (SCORE) and way far away from the road (double score). We set up the tents (my folks were with us, too), made dinner, built a fire, had a brief moment of character-building ennui (Si: "I don't have Space Invaders OR Leapster! What is there to do? It's boring!"), and then ate the fish Mike brought home for dinner.
Si also got to sharpen sticks for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows. He used a knife for this. Between the knife and the fire I got a chance to showcase my split parenting personality. In one ear I have the boyscout coach: knives and fires are good for kids! Teaches them responsibility and self-sufficiency! Don't hover! In the other ear comes the helicopter parent: OMG he's going to set the entire FOREST on fire! ("Put that blazing stick BACK in the fire!") Yikes--what if he stabs out his eye with the knife? If he does, would it be better to drive out to a hospital or try to call Flight for Life direct? ("Be CAREFUL, sweetheart!")
I get really irritated with myself when I do this--just sick to death of how my voice is constantly narrating the negative. While the voice is not exactly not mine, it doesn't really feel like me, this voice--the me I know is easy-going and relaxed. I guess the obvious remedy would be to try to just be QUIET for, say, a week. Stop trying to constantly organize the world with my vocal cords. Just let it be, you know?
I'll let you know how it goes.
In the meantime, photos:
After breakfast, we had some visitors. (Moose! Not a cow and a calf, as you might expect, but a young bull and a calf.)
Helen was a little dubious about the moose.
Silas, meanwhile, got busy figuring things out. One of the things he learned was how to shoot good close-up photos of plants. Not bad, eh?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Duck-Duck-Duck-Duck
"No, Mommy," Helen says when she catches sight of me watching. "Don't look at me. Don't listen."
"Okay," I say obediently, looking down at my computer. But I lie: I'm totally listening. She's playing on the floor with the Playmobil stuff, and apparently all of the villagers, as well as the pirates and the pilot, are in preschool. A few moments ago they were sitting in a circle, playing Duck Duck Goose. Now they're obviously having naptime. Or else someone's holding up the bank--hard to tell. However: Silas isn't playing. More likely to be naptime.
I love listening to the kids playing, especially when one is alone. They crouch over their blocks, or their playmobil, or their arrayed waterguns, whispering serenely to themselves--not fighting, not whining, not asking me for snacks or drinks or to get down the art projects box. I have to be sneaky about it, because if they see me the spell is broken and they start to remember all the things I could be doing for them. But it's awesome. It's almost as good as watching them sleep.
"Okay," I say obediently, looking down at my computer. But I lie: I'm totally listening. She's playing on the floor with the Playmobil stuff, and apparently all of the villagers, as well as the pirates and the pilot, are in preschool. A few moments ago they were sitting in a circle, playing Duck Duck Goose. Now they're obviously having naptime. Or else someone's holding up the bank--hard to tell. However: Silas isn't playing. More likely to be naptime.
I love listening to the kids playing, especially when one is alone. They crouch over their blocks, or their playmobil, or their arrayed waterguns, whispering serenely to themselves--not fighting, not whining, not asking me for snacks or drinks or to get down the art projects box. I have to be sneaky about it, because if they see me the spell is broken and they start to remember all the things I could be doing for them. But it's awesome. It's almost as good as watching them sleep.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
No more pencils, no more books, etc.
So this is interesting: Si didn't WANT school to get out. "Are you looking forward to the last day of school?" everyone would ask, all excited. Summer! Freedom! Et cetera!
"No," he would say in a small voice. "Oh," they would say, confused, and change the subject. Unless they were me, and then they'd press for details. "Well, why NOT?" (Aren't you glad you're not my kid?)
I must admit I was dreading that the answer would be because then I'll have to spend more time with you.
And it may have been, but he was too savvy to say that to my face. Instead he mumbled something about changing grades and having to leave his favorite teacher and so forth.
As any mother with grade school kids will know, I, too, did not want school to get out. And yes, this was partly because I'll have to spend more time with my kids. Having the whole house to myself for long stretches of time is beautiful, and writing just isn't the same without it. Also, too often "quality time with my kids" devolves into "quality nagging time." Time to turn off the TV! Play outside! Please close the screen door! Where do your dirty dishes go, again? What are you going to do for exercise today? And for the love of god, STOP SHOUTING!
And so on. It's mind-numbing for all involved, and actually for non-involved parties within earshot as well.
However, I'm hoping that this summer will be different. Helen has daycare three days a week, so those will be more quiet days, when I try to get work done. On the days when I have them both, though, we're going to hit the city. This place is lousy with museums, many of them free. There are hundreds of playgrounds--we can visit a new one each week and not be done by August. We can hike ("we hate hikes, don't we, Silas?"). We can play in the creek (I bring a book. It's awesome). We can go swimming, especially when this cool-stormy weather pattern we've been having in Denver clears up. We can play minigolf.
Summer: I AM looking forward to it. And dreading it, but mostly in a I-hope-I-don't-fuck-this-one-up way, which is mostly good.
What about you? Do you have fun summer plans?
"No," he would say in a small voice. "Oh," they would say, confused, and change the subject. Unless they were me, and then they'd press for details. "Well, why NOT?" (Aren't you glad you're not my kid?)
I must admit I was dreading that the answer would be because then I'll have to spend more time with you.
And it may have been, but he was too savvy to say that to my face. Instead he mumbled something about changing grades and having to leave his favorite teacher and so forth.
As any mother with grade school kids will know, I, too, did not want school to get out. And yes, this was partly because I'll have to spend more time with my kids. Having the whole house to myself for long stretches of time is beautiful, and writing just isn't the same without it. Also, too often "quality time with my kids" devolves into "quality nagging time." Time to turn off the TV! Play outside! Please close the screen door! Where do your dirty dishes go, again? What are you going to do for exercise today? And for the love of god, STOP SHOUTING!
And so on. It's mind-numbing for all involved, and actually for non-involved parties within earshot as well.
However, I'm hoping that this summer will be different. Helen has daycare three days a week, so those will be more quiet days, when I try to get work done. On the days when I have them both, though, we're going to hit the city. This place is lousy with museums, many of them free. There are hundreds of playgrounds--we can visit a new one each week and not be done by August. We can hike ("we hate hikes, don't we, Silas?"). We can play in the creek (I bring a book. It's awesome). We can go swimming, especially when this cool-stormy weather pattern we've been having in Denver clears up. We can play minigolf.
Summer: I AM looking forward to it. And dreading it, but mostly in a I-hope-I-don't-fuck-this-one-up way, which is mostly good.
What about you? Do you have fun summer plans?
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