deus ex mama
i believe in the free trade of ideas. there are a lot of people who have different opinions on everything i hold dear. that’s okay. i just don’t have to vote for them.
social conservatives scare me. i don’t care whether they’re male or female; anyone in power — say, a mayor — who wants to ban books from their local public library is not a person i want a heartbeat away from the presidency.
school is about to start, and i’m wrestling with my kids’ lunchtime situations, both from a nutritional and an environmental perspective. you can experience my angst on this topic over at the green parent, where i’m guest blogging today. go check it out and share your solutions, people.
i sure need them.
and to those of you who’ve gotten here via the awesome green parent blog, welcome. i promise not to curse in this post.
after that, all bets are off. (if you read back at my ongoing, so-called vacation from h-e-double-toothpicks, you may understand why.)
i was supposed to be on an amtrak train today, heading south to orlando, destination: disney. instead, i am home. amtrak cancelled my train due to a storm called faye that never turned into a hurricane.
it’s all mixed up.
first, amtrak never actually contacted us to tell us. if i hadn’t been a person who follows everything on the web, i would actually be travelling to lorton right now, getting ready to board a train on a track to nowhere. then, when we called amtrak the first time, they told us that they were canceling both legs of our train trip. if i wanted my return trip, i would need to rebook — at a higher price. at that point in time, we were contemplating driving down and taking the train back, so to say we were pissed about that would be the understatement of the century. i wrote a nastygram to amtrak. to their credit, an agent called me last night at 10:30 p.m. to tell me that they’d hang on to my return trip if i let them know by 4 p.m. wednesday.
in reality, we are not in the right mind to drive two days for our trip. i think there’s a certain level of mental prep that one does for such an experience, and we were simply not there. and, as the next train down with available seating doesn’t leave until monday, this dog wasn’t huntin’.
meanwhile, The Mouse doesn’t care that i have no way of coming to disney; they want $200 cancellation fee, thank-you-very-much. unless there is a hurricane warning declared, disney is open and expects your ass on the monorail.
oh. and there’s the little matter of two children who were completely pumped for their trip to disneyworld. they have been trying to be little troopers, especially since we told them we’re going to reschedule this trip if it’s the last thing we do; but jeez louise, this situation continues to go from dumb to dumber. only one or two highlights, as there were actually so many from which to choose:
a) when we call to officially cancel the amtrak train, an extremely nasty, sharp-tongued ticket agent informed BS that he was getting $400 back. uh, come again? those tix cost WAY more than $400. he asked her why, and she began yelling a barrage of nastiness at him. (she should thank her lucky stars that i was not on the phone. at that point, i was in no mood for anyone messing with me, my family, or anybody.) when BS asked for a supervisor, she clearly put on her colleague. nevermind; the colleague was nice and even honored the old price for the rescheduled trip.
b) when rescheduling disney, the confirmation came back — with DIFFERENT DATES AT THE WRONG HOTEL. he got on the phone, and something apparently had gone kerflooey. someone went into the database and fixed things; we’re waiting for the emailed confirmation to show that things have been put right.
there’s so much more i could write, but suffice to say, i am extremely disappointed with Amtrak and Disney. i am shocked at how we’ve been treated. things better be better the next time or else i guess our days of patronizing either enterprise are limited.
lessons learned:
re: the last bit: we will make our own fun. just closer to home. i’ll keep blogging; i’ll just be a little sporadic, as my buddy maren likes to say. see, i have these three other people here, and i think i’m supposed to pay attention to them. so talk amongst yourselves. i’ll still give a guilty pleasure monday next week; how could i not? and maybe i’ll type another thing or two.
but in short: i need a break from all this vacation crap.
today is my mom’s birthday. she is 29 39 old enough to know that she can’t be at an age that is younger than i am. but she is often a lot more light-hearted and younger acting than i will ever be.
i’ve learned a ton about being a parent from my mother. letting kids get messy. listening to your kids and trusting them. loving your kids no matter what. realizations like the fact that it isn’t the quantity of time you spend together; it is the quality.
i’ve also learned that there are moments in life where you need to suck it up and smile in front of your children. my mother battled — and beat — breast cancer twice, both times while i was a teenager. and even though she was probably in plenty of physical and mental pain, she kept it together, at least when i was around, because she knew i probably couldn’t handle her falling apart, too. now, of course, i would have a different perspective and a lot more empathy; but at age 15, the prospect of your world falling apart is just too much to bear. it’s all about you when you’re a kid.
and that’s why, when i became seriously ill, i tried my very best to keep it together in front of my kids. i don’t know that i always did; and there are times now when i get all teary-eyed thinking about the prospect that i might not always be there for my kids. but then, i stop, and i think about what my mom would do, and i take a deep breath. tears sometimes still leak stealthily out, but mostly, i keep it together. because my children need to think that nothing’s going to change their world. and i’ll do everything in my power to make that so.
i’m proud to say that my mom has been a breast cancer survivor for 28 years on one side and 25 years on the other, and she’s still a colossal pain in my ass. and i wouldn’t want it any other way.
happy birthday to one of the two best parents in the entire parent universe. i know you’re always in my corner, no matter what. i love you, mom.
dee, over at On The Curb, has bestowed upon me an honor i will treasure for as long as i can remember without the aid of gingko biloba or yellow sticky memo pads: the arte y pico award. i don’t know spanish well, but apparently, it has something to do with art and male naughty bits. so dee tells me.
see, you may remember dee as my sister quintuple-y-removed who got the good grades in science but who ended up in alabama through no fault of her own. (when in doubt, blame your ancestors.) thank you miss dee. it means a lot, considering most of the words you say usually result in my needing a restroom because i am laughing too hard (and i’m not sure from which place which body fluid will emerge first.)
The award. Let me steal dee’s words, which she borrowed from Grandy, which, in turn, were built on a swamp and then burned down, and then… aw heck. you get the picture. and the rules. must. have. rules.
About the Arte Y Pico Award
This award was created to be given to bloggers who inspire others with their creativity and their talents, and for contributing to the blogging world in whatever medium. When you receive this award it is considered a “special honor�. Once you have received this award, you are to pass it on to 5 others. What a wonderful way to show some love and appreciation to your fellow bloggers!
The rules for passing this honor on are..
1) Pick 5 blogs that you would like to award this honor to.
2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.
3) Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.
4) Award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of “Arte y Pico� blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award from Arte Y Pico.
my nominees, in no particular order because i love them all:
man, there are so many other people i heart who should get this, too. hell, if you’re on my blogs i heart list, consider yourselves nominated. cos i heart you, too. (and i have to catch up and put other folks on there. if you are missing and you want to be there, please drop me a comment and let me know. cos blog reading is fundamental.)
there are some things you can’t cover up with lipstick and powder. – elvis costello
the shoe has officially dropped. ladies and gentlemen, welcome to puberty.
tonight, i am dealing with a teary, dreary young lady. she has been enduring cheerleading camp for nearly two weeks, and while at first it looked promising, i think it will knock any remaining desire to be a cheerleader out of her. not only do they make you do all sorts of exercises, but the young teen counselors have actually been rewarding girls who win different training competitions. rewarding them with pop rocks and other assorted candies, apparently.
BC has not won once.
all those years of experiences where everyone gets rewarded just for trying crashes down on your head at this age. i always wondered when that would happen, and here we are, odd girl out. its difficult to watch — girlfriend is just not terribly competitive – she really just wants to have fun. and the counselors are pitting the girls against each other.
sometimes, with disastrous results.
remember earlier in the week when BC said that one girl couldn’t be a flyer? well, BC is pretty much out of the flyer running, too. the girls can’t lift her now. one girl dropped the bomb to end all bombs: you’re really heavy, she proclaimed to my girl. you’re really heavy.
i could go fucking postal.
while i would never condone any sort of idiotic and lethal interactions, i can almost put myself into the shoes of that murderous TX cheerleader mother and see the sort of anger that could build up over time. no, i don’t give a shit whether my kid is EVER a cheerleader (i’m not a cheerleading fan, remember?) but hell yeah, i care whether my daughter starts to develop an obscenely-skewed view of herself because of what some pipsqueak twat said to her.
i know. it happened to me. not in cheerleading, but in gym class. i, too, had a curvy figure at a youngish age. most of the girls were blonde twigs with nearly non-existent boobage. if a stiff wind had blown, they would all have required nose jobs from the impact their faces would have made with the gym floor. somehow, the future stepford wives of america were accepted as the norm, and athletic, muscular me, was regarded as some sort of freak.
now, i look at pictures of myself from back then and think what the hell was this poor girl thinking? she’s gorgeous. sure, she’s not a twig. but she’s just right for who she is. she’s smart. she’s kind. she’s got a good heart. she’s even kinda cute. why did she try weight watchers when she was 9? why is she spending some days eating just fruit? why is she spending some days simply drinking water and nothing else? why is she running around the block all the time?
i spent time in college with someone very close to me who was bulimic. i wanted so very much to tell her parents, but i swore i wouldn’t. i did the very best i could at age 21: i took her to a weight management class that my college offered and tried to be her buddy, her support, her one-person builder-upper. i don’t know whether it helped her much, but eventually, it spurred her on to get professional help. (i’m glad to say that many years later, she is healthy and has conquered those devils.)
but i see the future. and that’s EXACTLY what’s afoot in this here household. mama, i’m FAT! she announced. the girls can’t lift me.
i said it before, and i’ll say it again: those girls need to get out, lift weights, and start doing something more athletic than twisting ribbons for their hair.
when i had a little girl, i vowed i would raise her without exposing her to my weight issues. in this house, i talk about exercise and eating right and striving to be healthy. not nicole richie-thin. not barbie-perfect. just be the best you and the best me that we can be, inside and out. it has been hard work, and i’m sure there are times i have not been perfect about it. but i must say that this has always been one of my parental lines in the sand: i disciplined my mouth and my behavior so as to not utter those immortal words in front of my child: do these jeans make my butt look big?
and all that hard work, all that painstaking process, is being undone by one snot-nosed little girl, a girl who has probably also gotten some weird message about herself and about bodies. where does it all end?
i was in tears, which is admittedly not a great place to be when you’re a mom and you’re trying to comfort your child as she hits a hard, brick wall of reality. honey, i pleaded, you ARE beautiful. you’re also kind, intelligent, and incredibly emotionally astute. you have no earthly idea how wonderful, how special you are. every parent i have ever encountered can’t say enough wonderful things about what a great kid you are. your brother worships you. and your father and i love you and are so very proud of the person you are.
please, please tell me you know how special you are!
blink, blink. a pause.
mommy, all those girls in high school with glasses, who are smart, they end up as dorks.
whoa, girlfriend. you’re getting personal now.
deep breath. sometimes as a parent, you have to pull strength from sources that come from seemingly out of nowhere. i called upon two: my oldest brother the doctor (BTD) and eleanor roosevelt.
honey, i said, when i went to camp, all the boys liked my friend. they didn’t like me like that; they thought i was too smart for them. it made me cry. that summer, uncle BTD had shingles, and he had to stay in bed most of the summer. i would come home from camp, and i would sit and talk with him. BTD, i cried one day after camp, i think i need to start acting dumb. none of the boys like me like they like [name deleted] because i’m too smart. they want dumb girls.
my brother, demonstrating amazing grace under probably annoying sibling pressure, looked my way. don’t you EVER start acting dumb to get liked. there will be boys one day who will appreciate you just as you are.
BC, i continued, you know i hate to admit it when either of your uncles is right, but in this case, i have to tell you: uncle BTD was right. what he said was that you shouldn’t change yourself to make someone like you, advice which has stood me in good stead even to this day. who wants to be liked by someone who doesn’t like the special things you have to offer?
she looked at me. and just cos i was smart doesn’t make me a dork, sister. she smiled, i think.
i continued, on my own personal mission. the quote i like to live by was said by eleanor roosevelt — you know, that lady who was married to a president we talked about that time? eleanor said something so wise, it still is something i think about as a grownup. her words:
no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
do you know what that means, BC?
she piped up: that no one can make you feel bad?
i augmented her thought: yes, that no one can make you feel bad about yourself unless you let them. don’t you let them, my girl. she calmed down enough to sleep.
i wonder what the morning will bring. eleanor, don’t fail me now.
ARGH!
the heavy rains, probably combined with my stellar ability to keep up with the massive crumbs and spills that the kids (especially hellboy) rain down upon the floor have resulted in a ton of ants visiting us. to be fair, they started about a month ago, one or two intrepid souls (souls? do ants have souls? brains?) trotting around the table where we eat. easily smooshed and removed. (hey — don’t confuse me with sharon stone and her treatment of tarantulas.)
but last night at dinner, BS noticed a swarm (swarm? what is a group of ants called? a gaggle? a colony? a political party?) by the table, right where hellboy had spilled an entire cup of apple juice the night before. i had cleaned it up with a lot more than just soap, water and paper towels, but evidently, that was not enough; those ants picked up the trail of sweet stuff and off they ran. so off i ran to the store to buy ammonia; and with it in his possession, BS started his radical clean, followed by some ant bait he had on hand. (note to self: must figure out where he keeps this stuff.)
this morning, there are a bajillion ants swarming in and around this ant trap thingy he has set up. i’m afraid to let the kids eat at the table, though jools has no such fear.
i really like nature; i just don’t like nature when it shows up in my house looking for its next meal.
(warning to the raccoons who use my trash can as a diner: it won’t be long before i attach bungee cords to the can and you’ll have to dine elsewhere.)
couldn’t help myself. it’s friday. and girls just want to have fu-un.
What WREKE’S REAL NAME Means |
 You are the total package – suave, sexy, smart, and strong. You have the whole world under your spell, and you can influence almost everyone you know. You don’t always resist your urges to crush the weak. Just remember, they don’t have as much going for them as you do. You are truly an original person. You have amazing ideas, and the power to carry them out. Success comes rather easily for you… especially in business and academia. Some people find you to be selfish and a bit overbearing. You’re a strong person. You are friendly, charming, and warm. You get along with almost everyone. You work hard not to rock the boat. Your easy going attitude brings people together. At times, you can be a little flaky and irresponsible. But for the important things, you pull it together. You are wild, crazy, and a huge rebel. You’re always up to something. You have a ton of energy, and most people can’t handle you. You’re very intense. You definitely are a handful, and you’re likely to get in trouble. But your kind of trouble is a lot of fun. You are a free spirit, and you resent anyone who tries to fence you in. You are unpredictable, adventurous, and always a little surprising. You may miss out by not settling down, but you’re too busy having fun to care. You are relaxed, chill, and very likely to go with the flow. You are light hearted and accepting. You don’t get worked up easily. Well adjusted and incredibly happy, many people wonder what your secret to life is. |
tell me, did you try it? what are the funniest parts for your name (or, conversely, did you get the same write up as i did? are we TWINS?)
today’s lesson in parenthood: you’ll never know the fun you’ll have discussing middle eastern issues with a nine year old.
BC and i were driving to camp this morning. i didn’t have my mp3 player hooked up in the car, so we were at the mercy of the radio. i couldn’t bear to hear the mattress discounters commercial one more time, so i put on NPR. you never know what you’ll get on NPR, one of the reasons i like it so much. and lately, BC is interested in the stories she hears, so i turn it on every now and again.
of course, today, the big news is that iran continues to test more missiles. what’s iran? BC asked after hearing the scary tale.
once again, i was thrilled to be the parent who gets the good questions, not like BS, who gets questions like: daddy, why can’t i have candy in the morning? and: daddy, is it dessert night? nope, i have already (poorly) tackled evangelicals and abortion, homosexuality, and menstruation. why not middle eastern politics? it’s definitely a different tack than the other conversation we seem to be having this week: whether or not BC is chubby or too heavy, as the other little girls have a harder time picking her up at cheerleading.
of course, you know what i told her about that: those girls need to start lifting weights! (as if.) i also seriously told her about how its difficult when you’re a curvy and muscular tween girl. a lot of other girls haven’t started developing yet, and you feel bulky and cumbersome. i still remember thinking how huge i was in comparison to the other girls when i was her age. it was, essentially, muscular me versus the twig girls.
i worked myself into some borderline eating disorder moments because of it, and i’ll be damned if girlfriend goes down that path, too.
but back to iran, the topic most mothers and daughters are chatting about these days. well, i started out in a ::cough cough:: reaganesque tone, iran is a country in the middle east. for awhile, they were led by a US-backed ruler called a shah; i suspect he wasn’t nice to all of the people. then, some religious people kicked the shah out of the country. they took american hostages out of the US enbassy there. i still remember as a girl watching the news. as the announcer would tell you how many days the hostages were in captivity.
the president at that time, jimmy carter, tried to rescue them, but the attempt was a disaster. the day that ronald reagan became president, they released the hostages, which was great for them and obnoxious for president carter. i guess the people who took the hostages might have thought that reagan would have done something scarier to get the hostages out, so they released them.
anyway, there are a lot of very religious people there now who don’t like people who don’t follow their ways. (yes, i was very, very close to my separation of church-state speech here, but i hadn’t had coffee yet. i spared the child.) so right now, people are concerned about iran having missiles like these because if they have them, they can hit a lot more targets.
like us? she asked.
well, not us, i continued, but israel. they don’t recognize israel and don’t like israel, so people are afraid they might send those things toward israel. israel is surrounded by a lot of other countries that don’t like it, so israel would probably act pretty tough in return if iran sent missiles over.
well, that would start World War III, girlfriend said.
sometimes, i marvel at her ability to grasp things. yes, it could, i replied. but there are a lot of people who don’t want that to happen, and so people are keeping an eye on the situation.
where do they test them? she continued.
i don’t really know, honey, i replied. maybe the desert, maybe the ocean. i don’t know.
does it cause big waves in the ocean? does it hurt the fish?
there are so many questions you wish you could answer as a parent. and then of course, there are questions you have that are also sadly unanswerable.
with apologies to sting, i hope the iranians love their children, too.
