Monthly Archives: April 2012

Yay For Lazy Saturday (In Which She’s Still in her PJ’s at 1:00 in the Afternoon)

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I should feel guilty.  I should.  It’s a gorgeous day here in our neck of the woods. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping.  The children are happily playing with cardboard boxes or running with scissors.  I am blessed beyond measure.  And to top it all off, I was still in my jammies by 1:05 in the afternoon.  And that’s important to note.  You know why?  Because I have friends that just LOVE to rib me about staying in my PJ’s for far too long on the weekends.

But, here’s the thing:  Sometimes, it’s simply a matter of lack-of-time-to-get-out-of-them.  Because Sweetdogs need supervised pit-stops.  And Sweetgirls that like to attempt pit-stops all by themselves and then wipe ALL BY THEMSELVES also need to be supervised. And Sweetboys that grow an inch per day need frequent refueling. And there is laundry to do from the attempts at The Wiping. And there is wiping from the Missed Pit-stops. And, and, and…

Now, don’t get me wrong. I thank God daily, as often as I can, for the opportunity to be a mama and a wife.  I know there are Sweetladies all over God’s green Earth with hearts breaking for those very opportunities.  I also know that far too many of my friends, without kidlets, especially, just don’t understand that sometimes, just sometimes, I’m still in my jammies at three in the afternoon because I haven’t had a spare 7 minutes to take a shower.  Or make a pit-stop of my own.  Or, you know… Get out of my PJ’s.  Oh, yes indeed!

Some Like It Hot

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Not me, mind you.  In fact, I hightailed it up here to New England to escape the Florida heat as soon as I was able.  I mean, c’mon… What woman actually enjoys what humidity does to her hair?  No one!  NO ONE, I tell you.  And the sweat.  There wasn’t enough baby powder in the entire state of Florida to contain my ability to sweat. I could easily have won gold in an Olympic Sweating competition, hands down, on any day of the week!

So, it is with deep sorrow and sadness, that I am coming to realize that I have probably lost my firstborn to the humidity of his mama’s former home state as soon as he is rightfully able.  You see, Sweetboy may not get subtleties in language; and he may not understand how much we will truly miss him if he does, indeed, move down there; but he does understand heat.  And he likes it. Land sakes, the child LOVES it. He constantly says things like “Mama, what colleges are in Florida by Nana and Grampy?”; and, “I wonder what jobs I could do in Florida, when I grow up?”.  Or, the most heartbreaking, is his simply stated, “I just love Florida so much, Mama!”

Do you know what that means? That means, folks, that I am, in all likelihood, going to end up as one of those fossil drivers that we always joked about growing up down there.  I’m destined to be a Yankee snow bird.  Oh dear john.  Not good. Not good at all.  And,  I can barely manage my hair as a fully functioning adult.  I can only imagine how my hair will look then.  Hopefully, I’ll have too much sweat running into my eyes to be able to see just how awful it looks. Yes indeedy!

Fish Out Of Water (And Breathing Just Fine)

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Moving to New England was a brave endeavor for a Floridian. Yes indeedy! Especially given that the pace of life is vastly different.  It’s FAST.  And I don’t mean, road-rage if you don’t keep out of the left lane, kind of fast.  I mean busy, busy, busy, kind-of-fast.  And I like it like that.  In South Florida, things move at a much slower pace. (Mostly because it’s 85 degrees in the shade.  In the dead of winter!)

With age comes wisdom. (I know, right? Even for me!)  I now see the folly in moving so far away from the people who have to help you in times of crisis simply because they share the same blood lines, (family is great that way, isn’t it?). Moving practically across the pond, as The Nana would have you know,  makes it awfully hard to find help and support.  Basically, I am the epitome of ‘Miss Independence’ because I have to be.  I’ve learned the necessity of a well-developed network.  Neighbors become lifelines, as do friends, when you need to race a dog to the ER because she’s ingested 5 red grapes and needs to have her stomach pumped immediately just to survive.  Just, you  know, for example…

And so it is that I get by with a little help from my friends. And neighbors. And church family. And, truth be told, I’ve done more than get by; I’ve thrived!  You could even say, this fish out of water is breathing just fine! Yes indeedy!

Why, Certainly!

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One of the best things about growing up as a child of Captain Ahab was our sense of certainty.  We were certain that plans could, indeed, be set in stone.  We were certain that if we sassed back, we’d get it. We were certain that one day a week was reserved for church, yard work, and soup and sandwich (in that order, mind you).  And whenever we dared question whether one of those things were really going to come to pass, he’d reply, “Why, certainly!”.

Captain Ahab and I sometimes butted heads in the worst possible way. I now know that it was because we are so alike.  And I totally empathize now.  I see, in my Sweetgirl, the same characteristics and personality traits that surely made him shake his head in consternation at me.  And I find myself saying the same things to Sweetboy and Sweetgirl that he said to me and my sibling.  I can also see, now, that those things were imparted as certainties so as to instill a sense of certainty to life during uncertain times.  And although some of Captain Ahab’s “certainties” were outdated, to my mind, I can see the “why” behind almost every one of them now. Perspective is funny that way.  Parenthood, too.

And with that, I recently heard myself uttering one of the Captain’s favorite phrases.  Sweetboy had just asked if he absolutely had to take at least three bites of the new food on his plate? To that I said, “Why, certainly!”.  Yes, indeed.

Cardboard Happens

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Most people who know me well know that I don’t do clutter.  At all.  It makes me feel …cuckoo.  And that there, folks, is the actual medical terminology, too.  So, it shouldn’t come as any surprise that I feel a great joke is being played on me. You see, my Sweetboy was born with a very special brain.  He gets great comfort from certain repetitive behaviors.  And his latest one?  Shredding.  Nope, not cheese, (we wish!).  No again, not documents, (now THAT would be handy!).  Cardboard. ” What’s that now?”, you may be tempted to ask.  Cardboard, as in, from the latest UPS delivery or cereal demise or newly bought sheet set.  Yes, Sweetboy’s latest perseveration is to shred, incessantly, cardboard. And the cardboard!  Oh. My. Word!  I’ve tried to contain the bits and pieces that seem to find their way into every crack and crevice in the house.  But the cardboard is starting to drive me out of my ever-lovin’ mind. Truly.  I vacuum and pick up and pick up and vacuum and those stinkin’ shreds still turn up.  In my shoes, in the dog’s fur, in the bathtub…

A friend stopped by the other day, unannounced, completely innocent to the goings on around here, and witnessed  one of the cardboard massacres before I was able to get to it.  She was in shock and awe.  True story.  And she said, “What in the sam hill happened here?”.  And I said something along the lines of “Well, you know, cardboard happens sometimes.”.  Oh, ya’ll, it was ugly.  It was one of those moments where my Sweetboy’s perseveration and his mama’s need for order collided in the perfect storm to create Complete Frustration.

And, it’s all good .  I may question my worth as a mama, now and then, based on my child’s uniqueness.  But, I try to remind myself as often as I can that my child is, well… a child.  And he is special and quirky and extraordinary in lots of ways.  And, really?  My need for order does not trump his need for peace. And, with that, I can fall asleep pretty happily.  Only to wake up the next morning to approximately two pounds of shredded cardboard scattered here, there, and everywhere. And as I make my way to the closet to harness the vacuum that practically jumped out and ran for the door all on its own, I remind myself that Cardboard happens in this house.  Oh, yes indeedy, it does!

Smart Phones For Better Marriages

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Sweetman proposed the title.  I thought credit should go where credit is due.  Now that I’ve dispensed with the niceties, let me explain how we arrived at this catchy little title.  It was a team effort, you see; us being the two people in the marriage in question and all…

I kindly asked Sweetman to do something-or-other, as I usually do at one time or another. The something or other was of utmost urgency, I’m sure. So urgent, in fact, that he plumb forgot.  I was surprised. It was, after all, a fairly important thing.  Employing all graciousness, I had another go at it.  You know, asking him to remember something and all.  He forgot again.  I was perplexed. “This man is brilliant!”, I thought.  So how in the name of all that’s important could he forget something so, so… important?!  However, having infinite patience, (get OFF the floor and stop that laughing!), I tried again.  Oh, I waited a few days.  The necessity of the prior request was negated by, well… time and all.  This time, Sweetman insisted he absolutely would, he definitely COULD, remember.  In fact, said he, not only would he remember, he’d remember on time!  Oh- this, friends? This, I just HAD to see to believe.

And, I am here to tell you that he DID remember!  On time!  Well, his iphone remembered, anyway.  His oh-so-smart phone reminded him not once, not twice, but five times.  Yes.  I did, indeed, say five times.  He further admitted to me that his phone had to remind him five times in just two short hours for him to be able to “remember” to do the vitally important thing I had asked him to remember.  If my phone dinged at me five times in two hours to remind me of a “thing to do”, I’d huck that thing into the closest pond.  It’s a good thing I’m not married to a smart phone.  Although, I have heard there are some that will ask Siri if she would like to.  You know, get married.   And that’s just weird. No? I digress…

It would seem that smart phones do indeed make for better marriages.  You see, Sweetman now has a fail-proof system for remembering all of those oh-so-important things that I ask him to.  And that IS smart! Yes indeedy.

Gettin’ a Feel for the Place

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We have a long-standing tradition, in this family, of driving aimlessly around a new town, state, or area and “gettin’ a feel for the place”.  Now that we (and by “we”, I mean everyone who was ever in the car with us) are adults, of course, we call that phrase out for what it truly is.  It’s another version of “We’re lost.”.  But, since we resided with Captain Ahab, let’s just say that implying that we might possibly be lost wasn’t an option.

Driving around a new place as an adult, with children of my own, I now understand the wisdom in using that phrase.  It seems brilliant really.  Little voices piping up from the back 40 of the car to declare that surely we’re “really really close, soon”, make using that phrase seem even more wise.   Especially when we potentially have another four hours to go because we don’t know where in the blue blazes we are.  And while I don’t condone lying to children, this certainly seems more in line with giving them what they can handle.  As opposed to say, declaring that, “No Sweetchildren, we are LOST!  So inconceivably lost that we may not make it to where we are going until AFTER Christmas. And you know what that means Sweetchildren, don’t you? NO PRESENTS!”.  Just sayin’. It seems a tad kinder to just say, “We’re gettin’ a feel for the place.”. Don’t ya think?

And, I’ll have you know that we’ve taken to using this phrase whenever we find ourselves in a new or difficult-to-navigate situation.  Take, for instance, the times we are stuck in an airport for a delayed take-off.  This, friends, is NOT a fun way to kill a few hours when you have a cranky preschooler and an antsy eight year old.  However, by employing this simple phrase, we turn the whole ordeal into an adventure!  Or, take the times we are headed to see an old friend at a new house and our 20 minute drive turns into an hour-long trauma, sans emergency snacks, because I thought we’d only be in the car for 20 minutes – all of a sudden, pointing out new trees and cool sounding roads as we “get a feel for the place” takes the edge off.

Pretty stinkin’ brilliant Captain Ahab…  Once again, you’ve shown us how to stave off the mutiny for a while longer. And we shall. Yes indeedy!

No, The Other Yes

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When does no mean yes?  I’ll tell you when.  When you’re three.  That’s right. When you’re three, going on four, very soon, “NO!  I do NOT haf ta go potty!”, really means,  “Why, yes! Yes I do.  Right-this-very-second-or-I’m-gonna-pee-my-pants!”.  Another time no means yes?  When you’re eight, going on nine, apparently.  As in, “Did you have time to finish your lunch today?”.   Now, commonsense would dictate that an answer of “No” would indicate that one did not, in fact, have time to finish their lunch that day; therefore making the mama feel obligated to whip up a huge snack for the child to help him recharge his batteries after school.  Then, upon opening said child’s lunchbox , one actually finds it empty.   Ta-da!  See how that works?

Admittedly, though, the one that drives me bonkers is the “unspoken no” that Sweetdog gives. This usually takes place on a rainy day when I have six things that need to be done at once, in short order.  Being the good plotter and planner that I am, I take elderly Sweetdog outside for a “pre-emptive potty time” so that I won’t be interrupted mid-shower/exercise/phone call.  She  patiently tiptoes through the wet grass and looks back at me with those sad, ol’ puppy dog eyes to indicate that no, she does not need to go.  We come back inside, wipe her paws, take off my rain boots, and I begin the activity that I was attempting to get through uninterrupted.  And, voila`, instantly, Sweetdog is at the door, barking that “Yes, NOW! Now I do indeed need to go back outside in the rain to go potty or I will pee on the floor. Right here, right now!”. Or something along those lines. Alas…

At least Sweetman gets that your ‘no’ should be no, and your ‘yes’ should be yes.  I told him recently how this aggravates me to no end.   And he agreed.  In fact, he kindly reminded me that every once in a while, (he has a talent for making mole hills out of mountains), we’ll have a conversation that goes a little something like this:

Sweetman:  “Honey, it sounds like you’ve had a rough day. Want to do take-out for dinner?”

Me:  “No, we should be healthy.  I’ll make a salad.”

Later that evening after salad is consumed…

Me:  “We should have done take-out.”

Sweetman:  “I asked and you said no!”

No. The other yes.  Sometimes, it’s what’s for dinner.