FAMILY – Page 25 – Wrekehavoc.com

Category: FAMILY

rehab

Posted on February 7, 2008 by wrekehavoc

well, we all need someone we can lean on. but if you’re addicted to meth or booze or something else equally enticing, stay the hell away from me.

the other night, while BS was out of town and the kiddies were in bed, i was attempting to sleep. only, too bad for me. i never sleep when i’m the sole responsible parent in the house. so i started channel surfing, something i don’t do all that often, thanks to my friend mr TIVO. and i ended up riveted, in a macabre sort of way, to a TV show called intervention. i watched as a former track star named john cavorted (in that junkie slo-mo way of cavorting) around the screen. all through his life, his parents apparently made him the shining star, ignoring his brother and sister while supporting his athletic dreams. sadly, an injury dashed them all. after that sort of buildup, where do you go in life?

apparently, to ‘shrooms, booze, and other fun hallucinogens. john, so enveloped by his fantasy life, believes he’s a famous DJ named Dr. Doom (only no one will hire him because he’s a bit of a violent sort). he agrees to this interview, like the others, because he is told he is taking part in a documentary about addiction. they use this excuse apparently with all the addicts — that they are participating in a documentary about addiction — and i wondered at first whether people would start to catch on. hey, they’d think, i know its not a documentary — it’s intervention! but then, when i look at people like this, i realize that they don’t really have the wherewithall to know. in fact, i suspect they’re too busy scoring or using to watch TV. not that TV is so wonderful, of course — it’s a different kind of addiction.

but i digress.

after watching the addict basically humiliate himself on TV, with the dream nonlife and the parasitic hangers-on (are their parents watching? hellooo?), the intervention guy and the tearful family join together to get the addict to commit to rehab. hopefully, he doesn’t say no, no, no like amy winehouse. and then you find out that the person is hopefully not dead.

now, i like reality TV like the next person, and this is compelling drama. but i feel incredibly uneasy watching someone in the throes of an illness. yes, they’re out of their heads. let’s film it. it’s great TV. i wonder at times whether producers have gone too far. when people choose to humiliate themselves, it’s one thing. but addicts are not really in a position to make any decisions beyond do i wake up today, and even that’s a toughie.

yes, i was fascinated. but am i entitled to watch someone else’s private hell?

left of center

Posted on February 5, 2008 by wrekehavoc

best. homemade. granola. recipe. ever.

jools keeps eating it up. BC, of course, turns her nose up: EWWWW! did you put cashews or something in it? (almonds, sweetheart. almonds.) i don’t have barley flour, so i used whole wheat. it made the yummy crunchies in it, and it didn’t made a zillion gallons, which is what most granola recipes make. as if you need 5 cups of granola.

guess which way i vote 😉

tuesday afternoon

Posted on February 5, 2008 by wrekehavoc

we don’t vote until next tuesday here in the magical commonwealth of oz. by then, i expect it will be all over except for the shouting, as today, 24 states are in play for the presidential primary vote. SUPER TUESDAY! TSUNAMI TUESDAY! WAHOO! seriously, i wonder why VA didn’t join the ecstatic fray on this day. it sort of makes us into a strange little unnecessary postscript: sorry, folks. we didn’t really need YOUR vote. go about your business. nothing to see here.

when i was younger, it was so much easier to feel one way or another about a candidate. i mean, when i was REALLY small, it was quite easy to vote for anyone except for richard nixon. (of course, they didn’t ask me, a snarky 7 year old at the time, for my electoral opinions, though my next-door-neighbor at the time, who had NIXON stickers plastered all over her camper, nearly swatted me every time i went on an anti-nixon tirade.)

it was even a piece of cake to vote against ronald reagan in my first presidential election (1984), though history shows that my vote, once again, meant precious little. i had an internship at the ABC affiliate in miami then, and i was running the results to the anchors that night. i stood there with the ticker — yes, kids, this was long before the internet, and we received the latest on little pieces of paper — and trembled when i read the election was being called a little after 8 that night, long before the west coast had even closed. i didn’t want to bring the anchors the results: miami doesn’t have to know!, i thought. but in the end, i did my job, sad as it was.

now, it seems more complicated to me. on the one hand, whoever gets elected will inherit a thankless foreign policy disaster and economic nightmares on the horizon. who the hell wants to be saddled with that? and if you care only about party affiliation, then you’d say that it might be a great idea to vote for the opposing party, if only to see them riddled with angst when the time comes to make things better. they’ll get heaped with blame, even if they didn’t start the proverbial fire.

but i have children now. and i have to worry about the world they’ll inherit. i have to think about who i believe will actually take steps to get us out of the international morass and who might help them have an actual future. it is quite a bit more daunting than provoking that old next-door-neighbor. the worst that would have come of that is her slamming her camper door in my face. but the worst that could come of electing a leader who could turn the country into a shambles?

wait, hasn’t that already happened?

so things have to look up. things have to get better. and so, i’ll cast my absurd vote NEXT tuesday. and next november. my vote might be useless — as it was in the past two elections — but it’s my teeny tiny stand in the world for my kids.

and yours 🙂

things that make you go "hmmm"

Posted on February 2, 2008 by wrekehavoc

the four of us made our way through macy’s cosmetics area last night on our way to dinner at Ted’s. my third grade reader grrl, BC, looked at a bottle she passed.

mama, what’s better than buttocks?

WHAT? i replied, wondering where the hell that came from. (is it a trick question?)

that bottle. it says better than buttocks.

i took a look. and giggled. uh, no, honey. that would be better than botox.

reading is fundamental.

jeopardy! and you may ask yourself, where does that highway go?

Posted on January 31, 2008October 16, 2014 by wrekehavoc

i know, i know. i’ve been negligent in the whole jeopardy! department. life happened, y’hear?

remember i mentioned that BS gave me a world almanac? i never cracked that baby open in all the months i had it, which were a few, considering the taping didn’t happen until the end of august/beginning of september (to be aired in early december, no less.) i was working, i was exhausted, and i was not interested. pity i couldn’t have changed places with BS. he would have made a smarter contestant than i did.

anyway, BS and i made it out to sunny CA and realized merv griffin (and that clip is a must-see) had heaquartered his show in a sh**hole. hollywood is not exactly the garden spot of america. (at one point, when i was eating lunch with the crew, BS went for a walk outside. he heard gunshots. he came back inside. but i’m getting ahead of the story here…) we stayed elsewhere (north hollywood? who remembers) and crossed over on mulholland drive to get to the studio, which was then located in the middle of downtown hollywood. then, we separated. due to stringent studio rules, we were not allowed to see or talk to each other. off he went, and off i went.

i spent some time with the contestant coordinators and the other contestants, talking about how the day would go. they taped five games per day, two days per week. contestants would be picked at random. if i made it past the third game of the day, i would be fed at the canteen with the rest of the staff. and no one, not a soul, would see or talk to the great and powerful wizard of oz alex trebek until they were playing the game. we had a chance to try out our buzzers and write our names. we even played a few questions just to test out the buzzer. i was heartened by the fact that i was fastest on the buzzer. (yippee. i excel at something for once.)

we practiced our entrances, and i was then slightly disheartened to learn that i had to walk in on the slipperyshiny floor in my hells heels and step up onto a box! all contestants had to be at approximately the same level, and i come up short in the height department. crap. i’m a klutz, and this required concentration and coordination. i went from fear me, fastest buzzer girl to fear me, i may take you out when i try to enter the studio in these shoes in about 2 minutes. flat.

so i settled in to a nervous day. fortunately, i found a nice lady (unlike some of the nervous freaks who just made me sick to my stomach) to sit and chat with named linda, and we settled in in our little, dark, segregated corner of the audience and waited for our names to be called. they weren’t. not for game one. not for game two. not for game three. we ended up eating in the canteen, which i swear was outside, but memory fades and i’m probably delusional on that. i don’t even remember what i ate.

i lost my buddy linda to show four, when she became champion. and then, show five. i was called.

showtime…

sistahs are doin' it for themselves

Posted on January 29, 2008 by wrekehavoc

i often enjoy radicalmother’s posts, and this one has me inspired.

in a related vein, i once got into a horrifically-awful shoutfest in grad school. i took a feminist theory class. there were two men in the class, two of the most thoughtful and wonderful people i’ve ever known. two men i knew then to definitely be feminist. the prof asked whether men could truly be feminists. a chunk of the women in the room were screeching that men could not, in fact, ever be feminists because they could never experience oppression like women do.

i am a staunch feminist (though i do not play one on TV), but i had a very difficult time stomaching that idea. a) i found it divisive — a movement needs all the members it can get, imho; and b) men *can* get oppressed. generally, the oppression comes from other men; but due to racism, class-ism, and sexual preference, men can be oppressed. (ask some of the recently-emigrated guys from african or asian nations how they are treated here.) therefore, in my mind, they, too can be feminists.

the womyn in my class went on to tell me that i could not be a true feminist because i’m a heterosexual woman, and i can’t really know what it’s like to be a lesbian. well, that last bit is true — i don’t know what it’s like to be a lesbian. but i do know how it feels to be beaten up over my religion. and like lots of other women, i also have experienced my fair share of oppression. not being allowed to join the little league because girls did not do that back in my day. having the identical qualifications as BS and having to take a typing test when he did not for a job. losing a promotion because i looked so tired when i brought my six-week-old to visit at work so we didn’t think you’d come back from maternity leave. i can keep going, but i don’t want everyone feeling sorry for me. i don’t.

i guess where i’m rambling is this: there are so, so many doofuses (doofi?) out there who will denegrate what they fear. there are men out there who can and want to participate in a real dialogue about sexism. there are women who want to refine the definition of feminism to the enth degree until it’s a very limited club. it’s tough sailing when you’re negotiating these waters with your kids in the boat. so i just try to teach my kids the golden rule: do unto others as you’d have them do to unto you. i hope that somehow translates into just doing what’s right. in the end, that, to me, is what being a feminist is all about: treating women and men, boys and girls, fairly in all arenas of life.

i just wish i could call it humanism.

fifty years

Posted on January 25, 2008 by wrekehavoc

on january 25, 1958, my parents married. (that’s 50 years, for those of you who are a little slow in math.) i’ve seen the pictures – my mom looks gorgeous and polished, my dad looks handsome and strong. my grandmother had a fever, but she finished sewing pearls onto my mom’s dress, and the proverbial show went on. my aunt barbara looks like a pretty bobbysoxer, and my aunt sandy looks like a china doll. it’s vintage late 1950s stuff. oh, and there’s a mysterious lady in red who shows up in photos, and no one has a clue who she is. and no one ever will, i suppose.

people might say, oh, why did they marry on a weekend when you bump up against superbowl sunday? of course, there was no superbowl sunday when they married. they did, however, have people with crazy nicknames, like dad’s friend bunny who introduced my dad to my mom. (bunny would be a man, by the by. i never met this person, as he faded out of the picture long before i came along.)

and i look at the pictures; and i wonder if they knew on that day that they’d still be married 50 years on. so many of my friends’ parents divorced, but not my parents. my parents made it through endless car trips and temporary relocations to places like oklahoma city (not exactly an inviting place for jews in the early 1960s). my parents made it through two bouts of breast cancer. my parents made it through various kids’ phases: the anarchist cookbook phase, the vomiting on planes and cars and other peoples’ white sweaters phase, the what do i do with my life now that i quit law school phase. among numerous others.

these are not things you tend to think about on your wedding day. i can’t recall what the hell i was thinking about on my wedding day beyond my fondest hope that the DJ would not play anything by madonna and whether or not i looked okay. (i didn’t. i am probably one of the uglier brides out there.) i do remember my best friend warily eyeing a bee that was close to landing in her cleavage during the ceremony and wondering whether i would ever be as composed as she was. (to this day, i’m impressed that the chick didn’t flinch. murphy – you are one tough bee-yotch. and i say that with love.)

but your wedding day is only one day. what really matters is the day after that, and the day after that, and beyond. if people focused the sort of energy they do on their weddings onto their marriages, then maybe a few more wouldn’t be so easily discarded. obviously, some unions cannot last for so many good reasons, and they shouldn’t; but i look at my parents, and i see two people who probably never even knew that divorce was an option. they’ve been working with, around, and through each other for most of their lives. and in spite of each other — and because of each other — they’re still going strong.

this weekend, we celebrated my parents’ 50th anniversary: my bobbysoxer aunt (and uncle), my brothers, our respective families, and me. my mom looked gorgeous and polished, my dad looked handsome and strong. some things don’t change, even in 50 years.

thank G-d for that.

🙂

jeopardy!: and you may ask yourself…well… how did i get here?

Posted on January 22, 2008December 9, 2014 by wrekehavoc

in the beginning, i never wanted to be on jeopardy. i know, that sounds really disingenuous. but it’s true. i mean, i was a huge fan of the show — i’d been watching it ever since i would toddle home from preschool and watch the stellar art fleming read the answers. (i know, i know. i was a very strange preschooler. but it was better than watching dark shadows, which was also on in the afternoon and which scared the bejeebers out of me.)

maybe i was destined to be on the show. my mom tells me that she was selected to be on the show in the early 1960s. but, as my hero junie b would say, too bad for her. she was preggers with my middle brother larry, and she really couldn’t risk going into labor on national television. (just proving my childhood contention: larry always does ruin everything. first jeopardy. then, we had to get rid of the cat because of his asthma. buzzkill!! hehehehe, seriously, just kidding there, lar. really. i love you even if you’re politically on the wrong side of many issues.) so maybe subconsciously, i was doing this for my mother.

the truth is, newlywed me was homesick. i missed my family, i missed new jersey (okay, you can stop laughing now) (really), and i did not yet consider the DC metro area home just yet. (that wouldn’t happen until last year. maybe.) but i also knew my BS was not really interested in schlepping up I-95 for yet another weekend of family fun.

but then, the epiphany: they were holding a massive cattle call at merv griffin’s old casino in atlantic city at the same time as easter AND passover. BINGO! BS was a jeopardy fan — couldn’t we go, try out, and then drive up the coast to see our respective families? of course we could. so we drove up, took the ten question test, passed it, received the date to return for a longer test, and went on our merry way to visit our families.

only, too bad for BS. he had to go on travel on the return date. so he never got to try out further. now me, on the other hand, i did. and, weirdly enough, i was able to try out at the same time as my dad, who also passed the 10 question test. so augie doggie and doggie daddy drove off to AC together, swearing they would pretend not to know each other so that no one would ever think we were cheating. which we didn’t. and couldn’t. we stayed far away from each other as we entered the big testing hall and took the test.

both of us passed.

they then made us go elsewhere so that they could observe our personalities and how quickly we could think on our feet. as we waited in the hall, we still did not speak to each other (i’m neurotic). that was, until, i tried to make small talk with one of the other potential contestants.

me: hi, i’m wreke. and you are?

personality-deficient freak: did you know that burma is now called myanmar?

after a few of these perverse little exchanges, i walked over to my dad, thrust out my hand, and introduced myself. daddy, i said sotto voce, these people are scaring me. can you please just stand near me and pretend we are making small talk? and because my dad is the best dad on the whole entire planet, we pretended to meet for the first time until they called us into the room.

we had to stand up and play a pretend game of jeopardy. we had to talk about what we’d do with the money if we won. (i believe i told them i’d send BS to phillies camp. still waiting, right honey?) and then we had our pictures taken and were told that we’d be called within the year if they wanted us on the show.

the end. or so i thought. see, a year passed, and i didn’t hear from them. not until one day, when a woman with whom i had worked the year before came running down the hallway. hey, she said, out of breath, you’d better call geraldine and find out what the hell is going on. i overheard her talking to someone about you and jeopardy and i heard her tell them you didn’t work here anymore.

geraldine was the very sweet but not exceptionally bright receptionist in my old office. i had moved to a different office during the year; but unfortunately, jeopardy still had my old number. i booked up the stairs to geraldine. gerry, i said, panting, did someone call for me?

oh yes, she answered in her drawl. i told them you don’t work here any more, but i took their number. she handed the scrap to me. i found a payphone (government building; can’t call on your taxpayer’s dime, you know), called back, and they told me to show up the end of august. bring 5 changes of clothing. and it’s all on my dime.

honey, i screamed to BS on the phone later. guess where we’re vacationing this year? hollywood!

the next day, that romantic guy bought me a world almanac.

lost in the supermarket

Posted on January 17, 2008 by wrekehavoc

yesterday was not my day to be a consumer.

first, there was target. my beloved target (motto: walk in here for one item. walk out with $50 worth of merchandise.) the store where there’s probably an aisle with my name on it. someone somewhere heard BC’s pleas to make the C9 running pants and shirts for girls as well as for boys. (she’s told me that she often wears the same outfits as three boys in her class.) they are great buys (compared to underarmor) and especially terrific when girlfriend engages in sports. two days ago, when jools was home with me, we had to run an errand at target (that would be before we went out to the park in the 20+ degree freezing weather and played) and i noticed that there were spring versions of the C9 shirts and pants in the girls department. in colors like pink and purple, even — which, for BC, is a major coup since she really hates trotting around in black and grey (at least one shirt is red). so i guessed at her size and picked up a few things.

only, in the words of junie b, too bad for me. i picked the wrong size. i had to make a return. when i looked at my receipt, though, that ms. target had overcharged me one extra pair of running pants. usually, i check my receipts like mrs. pathmark (mrs. pathmark is what my dad calls any grocery checkout person who checks every single item to make sure every coupon has a corresponding item. clearly, this term predates computerized checkouts.) but with jools in tow, i didn’t even get a chance to look at the receipt. i was lucky i found my keys.

so back i went to make my return. i told the lady that additionally, i was overcharged for an extra pair of pants which i did not buy. she proceeded to call security. (note to self: you really ought to start wearing makeup. you scare people on most days without it.) the burly security woman looked me over, then went into some place some where. i don’t know whether there are tapes of every single transaction made or whether they just want to see whether you’re pissed enough to wait 15-20 minutes to get your money back. but wait i did; and after 20 minutes of wasted time, the burly lady came out, pronounced me honest, and they gave me my money back.

on to sears, where a return went so much better. i never shop at sears (i was returning a lands end item); i think i might have to reconsider.

then, on to shoppers food ~~hellhouse~~ ~~house of babel~~ warehouse. i hate SFW, but BS received some giftcards there from the credit card company as a reward, so off i went to do marketing. other than the fact that the stench of their meat department makes me want to hurl, the place isn’t so bad. in fact, their international food offerings rock, reflecting the incredibly diverse population that hits this store. one pleasant moment was noticing that the middle eastern foods sit peacefully beside the kosher foods. somewhere, someone is smiling. (besides me, i mean.)

but at checkout time, i showed the gift cards to the cashier. how much they for? she asked. the cards don’t have a denomination on them. sorry, i don’t know, i replied. that’s great. just greeeeeaaaat, she replied, passive-aggressive smile gleaming. hello and excuse me, but don’t you use computers that let you know precisely what people have? all the other local stores do. or should i alert stockholders that you’re still in the dark ages of mrs. pathmark? i had to run those things through several times before peace reigneth.

ugh. home at last with just an hour to spare before i had to pick up BC (because wednesday is half-day elementary school day throughout the county. i love having extra time with my girl, but there’s something weird about the kids having a half-day every single blessed week.) i get home to a voicemail from my beloved pal, the nurse whom i adore, the one who gives me my IVIG every four weeks. please call, she says. i need your help.

the poor thing spent the entire morning trying to get the pharmacy to release my gammagard, which i was supposed to have today. it had been authorized by health insurance last week, but somehow, the people who actually release the IVIG hadn’t gotten the news. and hours of trying, in between actually helping patients, was not working. could i help?

so i started to work the phones. the pharma told me they needed prior authorization. Blue Cross told me that i’ve been authorized since last week and that the pharma needs to call, just as they always do. i called the pharma back; the woman told me that she had to ask a certain someone a question and that she was not there at the moment; could she call me back? AAAAAARGH. all she needed to do was call BC/BS and they’d tell her the news. but noooo. by about 3 p.m., you really wanted to keep me away from sharp objects. fun things i had planned to do with BC were shelved as i waited for the phone call. (we ended up making funky rice krispie treats, so all was not lost. but still.)

by 4:30, my favorite nurse told me that she was about to call a VP at the pharma. she called back a few minutes later. my meds would arrive Thursday (today) at noon. so let’s move the appt to friday.

ironically, the woman from the pharma company called about a half hour after my favorite nurse (who reads this blog, incidentally — so hi!!! and thank you!!!) and told me that she had been working on this all afternoon. call your doctor’s office in an hour and see whether there’s any progress. my doctor’s office closed ten minutes ago, i replied. but by that point, i was past caring. i clearly wasn’t getting the gammaguard on thursday.

some days, you shoulda stood in bed.

message to my girl (and boy)

Posted on January 14, 2008 by wrekehavoc

this one’s for you, kids. this one and this one, too.

no matter how you try, there will be days when you cannot keep the permanently-brave mommy facade up. maybe your day has just been a series of idiotic, unbelievable events that continue to pile-up in that way that some days do, like a never-ending car crash. or maybe you’re just not feeling well — you’re exhausted in a way that only other people who have a condition on top of parenthood can really understand. maybe you’re just tired of dealing with a never-ending panoply of wankers.

today was a combo of all three. and then some.

by the time the afternoon rolled around, i knew i needed to get some sleep or i would burst into a flood of tears. i picked up BC from school, told her to do her homework, and then, if she felt like it, she could curl up with me in my bed and we could watch something together. she dutifully did her work, consulting me on a few word patterns, and then we settled in to finish the 1949 version of little women (you know, the movie i had originally intended for us to watch before BC decided to pick jesus camp instead? — oh, and by the way — we’re also working on a Nova about intelligent design. that’s a laff riot, too.)

not even june allyson’s terminal perkiness or elizabeth taylor’s frightful look as a blonde could keep me awake. i dozed off until the very end of the movie. i knew the story, though, and i wasn’t sure how madame would take it when one of the characters (SPOILER ALERT!) kicks the bucket. but she was fine.

later in the evening, the sadness hit. sad. sad. sad. buzz, i said, thanks so much for hanging with me. i’m sorry, but sometimes, i suck as a mom.

oh mama, she replied, you don’t suck. you’re the best mom in the whole world!

and jools, sitting nearby, chimed in, you’re the best mama because you like to play with us! that child may not listen when i address him sometimes, but i’m always amazed at the strategic moments when his ears are open.

somehow, the clouds of the day lifted. it was an ordinary evening: BC disliking my culinary endeavor, jools wanting me to give him a bath instead of BS, stories a go-go, and then nighttime chats before bed. but there’s something so wonderful about the ordinariness of the evening, especially with little people who seem to reach me when no one else can.