I woke up to a September Saturday morning and just knew it would be a good day. I felt the crisp air and saw leaves had fallen from my maple tree. I was in heaven. It felt like fall. I had thought the prior crisp air Saturday was going to be a good day too until the almost a teenager received a kick in the ribs, the boy fell on his head and got concussion and I had to spend a very long day in the ER. Today, however, I knew would be different. The boy was not playing soccer for a few weeks and the almost a teenager was feeling much better. Today, we would enjoy her game and I would finally get my happy fall day.
I arrived at the almost a teenager’s soccer game with the injured boy in tow. As we sat to watch the game I noticed that the other team was quite aggressive and much, much meaner, I was sure, than my sweet, petite almost a teenager. My daughter’s team managed to hold its own however, but not before an aggressive mean girl kicked her in the back. Insisting that she was fine, the almost a teenager continued playing, only to then mess up her pinkie finger as well. At the end of the game she collapsed on the side of the field and rolled over to reveal a size 8 cleat print on the back of her uniform shirt. She looked at me and said, “Mom, I really don’t feel good. My back and pinkie hurt a lot.” Oh, dear. That sounds serious. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen on my happy fall day. It was supposed to be good day.
In the car, the almost a teenager yelped in pain anytime the car went over a bump or turned a corner. The pain continued to worsen during our hours of waiting at the local Urgent Care and our subsequent wait at the hospital ER. 8 hours later we arrived home with her pinkie in a splint, blood in her urine and our family’s very first “kidney trauma”. I’m not usually a nervous mother but after spending two consecutive weekends in the ER I do believe I have no choice but to become one. I’ve also become a smarter mother. In my two weekends spent dealing with soccer injuries and waiting rooms and medical tests I’ve learned quite a few things.
The Top 10 Things I’ve Learned During My Injury Filled Weekends
1. DYE=HEAD There are two different ways of getting a CT scan--with or without an IV that allows for contrasting dye to be injected into your body. Getting the IV and dye is always more impressive and provides more bragging power with your siblings. Apparently, however, a CT scan of your head, even if it is without dye, is also quite impressive and appears to be equal in CT scan bragging power.
2. FREAK OUT It is possible to freak out an almost a teenager. Give her CT scan with injectable dye. Tell her that it will make her feel like she is going to pee. Don’t tell her that it will make her feel like she has ALREADY peed. Then sit back and watch her eyes get big, her head repeatedly rise to look down at her hospital gown and her hand repeatedly feel “down there” because she is absolutely convinced she has peed the hospital gurney.
3. RED=TWO The boy received his own hospital bracelet and due to his young age (<12) also received two free parent bracelets for the husband and I to wear. The almost a teenager received only her own hospital bracelet (12+). However she was also the lucky winner of a “state trauma patient” bracelet with a bright red stripe on it. On the black market of sibling hospital bracelet trading, the red trauma bracelet is just about equal to two parent bracelets.
4. CHEW TOY It doesn’t matter what color your hospital bracelet is, it is just as easily played with, chewed up and hidden by a kitten who has no knowledge or respect as to what valuable scrapbook material those bracelets are.
5. TWO FOR ONE It doesn’t make you a bad mother if you sit and wonder how much a CT scan will cost you while your child is in pain, in the next room, with strangers, having a space age machine buzzing over his head. Likewise, it doesn’t make you a bad mother if you sit and wonder, the very next weekend, if the hospital offers a two for one discount on CT scans while your second child is in pain in the next room, with strangers, having a space age machine buzzing over her body and her worried she’s peed the bed.
6. THE LAW OF SPEEDING When transporting children to the ER by passenger car, the rate of travel is in direct proportion to how loud the child is moaning in the back seat and if she mutters the word “crap” every time you go over a parking lot speed bump. If the child also refuses a parental bribe of a bacon cheeseburger and fails to remember anything that has happened in the last two hours, the rate of travel will naturally increase as well.
7. WATCH YOUR MOUTH It isn’t always the best idea to tell the registration nurse, the triage nurse, the admitting secretary, the really hot 24 year old orderly, the familiar CT scan lady, the cranky bedside nurse, the doctor, the lab technician, the x-ray technician, the security guard, the housekeeping lady, the naked elderly man one curtain over and everyone in the waiting room that this is your second weekend in a row your children have shown up at the ER with injuries from their “soccer games”. Sooner or later someone is bound to suspect that you are a child abuser. It’s much smarter, of course, to just announce it to thousands of people in your blog.
8. THE WAITING GAME An almost a teenager has the capacity to rush to her fallen brother on the field, comfort him and help him off the field. She will skip her friend’s birthday party and sleepover to stay with him. She will keep him from falling asleep on the way to the hospital. She will wait patiently by his bedside, telling him funny stories the whole time. She will comfort the mother while the boy is having tests. She will hold the boy’s hand as they leave the hospital assuring him that he was so very brave. And when they arrive home, she will tattle on him when he immediately wants to climb the tree. An 8 year old boy has a bit less capacity to be sympathetic to his almost a teenager sister. He was playing with the other little brothers, not watching the game, when she was injured. He impatiently announced with a huff, that he was definitely going to need a parental bacon cheeseburger bribe before the sister went to Urgent Care. After 10 minutes in the waiting room he whined, “How much longer is this going to take?” When the husband arrived, the boy with the concussion begged and pleaded with him to, “Take me home so I can belly skateboard with my friend Bubba down his driveway.”
9. LUCKY No matter how bad off you think your situation is, there is always someone worse. My heart goes out to the boy with the burned face. I think about the cancer patient, the woman who couldn’t breathe, and the man with the broken leg. I pray for the lady who couldn’t feel her feet, the man who didn’t know his name and the baby that just wouldn’t stop screaming. And my nose was so, so, so grateful that the woman who had used her pants as a toilet for the last week, finally got a change of clothes.
10. CHECKMATE! In my effort to find safer activities for the children I have discovered that the World Chess Federation (Federation Internationale des Echecs) can be reached at www.fide.com. Not only is all physical contact forbidden in chess matches but, according to section 5 of the official chess handbook found at the above website, “The Chess Organization shall guarantee medical treatment and medicines for all participants…and shall insure them against accidents and the need for medical services…” You can’t beat that. I’m sure the children will be thrilled.
Check This Out!
Described as opinionated, forthright in his views, and a dazzling hero of political incorrectness, Jeremy Clarkson, the host of the UK auto show Top Gear has the husband laughing ‘til he cries. Look for his video segments on You Tube and see if you, like the husband, can find cars and British people that darned funny.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
The Happy Fall Day
I’m not a big fan of summer. The heat makes me hot. The sun gives me cancer. The humidity makes me sticky. I realize I’m in the minority here, but summer is my least favorite season. So, when I woke up to a September Saturday morning and felt the crisp air and saw leaves had fallen from my maple tree, I was in heaven. It felt like fall. I just knew it would be a good day.
I arrived at the almost a teenager’s soccer game with the whiny boy in tow. I had pulled him from the nearby playground to sit still for the next hour and an half. He was not pleased. As we sat to watch the game I noticed that the other team was taller and heavier and much, much meaner, I was sure, than my sweet, petite almost a teenager. My daughter’s team did manage a 3-1 win but not before a big, mean girl kicked her in the stomach. What my daughter was doing on the ground, I’m not quite sure, but nevertheless, she came off the field with a size 8 cleat print on her uniform shirt. The almost a teenager said she almost threw up at the time of impact with the mean girl’s foot and she did run a bit lopsided for the rest of the game, but was otherwise fine. As we left the game, the coach yelled, “You might want to watch her for internal bleeding!” Oh, dear. That sounds serious. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen on my happy fall day. It was supposed to be good day.
We raced away from that first soccer game and made it just in time to the start of the boy’s soccer game. After sitting for so long, away from the playground, the boy was wound up and ready to run. He started the game and zipped around the field as he usually does. And then he fell. He landed head first. And he was out. How the boy managed to fall head first, I’m not quite sure, but nevertheless, he came off the field with a huge headache and no memory of the incident. As we left the game, another parent yelled, “You might want to watch him to see if his eyes are dilated!” Oh dear. That sounds serious. His minor concussion and our visit to the ER are the kinds of bad things that aren’t supposed to happen on my happy fall day. It was supposed to be a good day.
The next morning the almost a teenager woke up and was in quite a bit of pain. Her ribs hurt when she moved, coughed, sneezed or laughed. Yet still, she wanted to go kick the ball around at the school. The boy woke up with a headache and still hadn’t regained his memory. Yet still, he wanted to go climb the tree in the front yard. I’m not usually a nervous mother but the prior day’s injuries had me frightened, worried and a bit on edge. It was obvious these children had no sense. What if they hurt themselves again? I found myself hovering and being overly concerned with minute details of their behavior. I was having irrational thoughts of controlling them in ways I knew they would find stifling, overprotective and unjustified. In fact, to be completely truthful, I was determined that those children were never leaving the house again without the proper protection.
I wasn’t entirely sure how I would protect them, but I had visions of starting with a massive delivery of bubble wrap. I’d buy huge bulk rolls of it and store it in the garage. Before they left the house each morning, I’d hand each child a snorkel to breathe with, wrap them completely up in bubble wrap and comfortably send them on their way. Of course, I’d also have to put a few mattresses under the climbing tree in the front yard. I’m sure the homeowner’s association would grant me a waiver for that. After all, it was for the safety of the children. Who’d be against that? I’d probably have to carry a few extra mattresses with me in the trunk of the car as well. Then I would be prepared if we went to a playground or had to climb stairs or encountered an uneven sidewalk.
And of course, when they weren’t wearing their bubble wrap suits, helmets, knee pads, elbow pads and a bullet proof vest would be required attire. I even found a helmet made by Riddell that has a sensor inside. This helmet notifies parents and coaches if the child has received too large of an impact to the head- either in a single blow or collectively. Parents can keep track of the results online. Now, this helmet is made for football players, but my children, of course, would be required to wear them all the time. Even at night. You just never know when they would fall out of bed and somehow miss the mattresses I had placed beside them on the floor.
On the rare occasions the children would be allowed to ride in a car, ride their bike or God forbid, ride a scooter, they would be required to be ensconced in a full metal roll cage. Naturally, they would also always be surrounded by the safest and most technologically advanced air bags available. And it goes without saying that trampolines, blow up jumping toys and all carnival and theme park rides would be strictly prohibited under all circumstances.
My greatest safety feature would resemble the leashes or tethers you see on runaway two year olds at the mall. Mine would be marketed for older children as the Youngster Yankster and would come in the coolest designs and colors. You would have one option of tethering your child physically and yanking them out of any situation that you found potentially dangerous. This option comes with or without a harmless zap feature. For a second, slightly more expensive option, you could purchase the computer and cell phone version that allows you to monitor your child from anywhere in the world. When you became uncomfortable with the situation your child was in, you would simply punch in your password and your child would be yanked from the situation immediately, covered in bubble wrap and placed in a mattress covered room. It would be the fun, safe way of keeping your children out of harm’s way. Don’t tell me that it’s unrealistic either. I saw it on an episode of The Jetsons many years ago, so I know it’s possible.
I am happy to report that the children did recover from their injuries. My children are happy to report that I eventually came to my senses. I am no longer a paranoid, hovering lunatic. I am again fully willing to send them out into this cruel world to be injured at any moment. Life is back to normal. Almost. It was hot and sunny and miserable a few days ago. I decided to stay inside out of the sun and do a little internet research. I was very happy to find that I can get a 250 ft roll of bubble wrap for less than $50.00. And I can even get it in fabulous colors. We don’t want the other kids making fun of the children for not being fashionable now, do we?
Check This Out!
Look for the DVD, Standing In the Shadows of Motown. This highly entertaining documentary/concert follows the careers of the musicians known as the Funk Brothers. Considered the greatest hit machine in the history of popular music, the Funk Brothers have played on more #1 records than the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones and Elvis Presley COMBINED! It’s a fun movie, full of history, packed full of fabulous stories that will definitely have you singing along.
I arrived at the almost a teenager’s soccer game with the whiny boy in tow. I had pulled him from the nearby playground to sit still for the next hour and an half. He was not pleased. As we sat to watch the game I noticed that the other team was taller and heavier and much, much meaner, I was sure, than my sweet, petite almost a teenager. My daughter’s team did manage a 3-1 win but not before a big, mean girl kicked her in the stomach. What my daughter was doing on the ground, I’m not quite sure, but nevertheless, she came off the field with a size 8 cleat print on her uniform shirt. The almost a teenager said she almost threw up at the time of impact with the mean girl’s foot and she did run a bit lopsided for the rest of the game, but was otherwise fine. As we left the game, the coach yelled, “You might want to watch her for internal bleeding!” Oh, dear. That sounds serious. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen on my happy fall day. It was supposed to be good day.
We raced away from that first soccer game and made it just in time to the start of the boy’s soccer game. After sitting for so long, away from the playground, the boy was wound up and ready to run. He started the game and zipped around the field as he usually does. And then he fell. He landed head first. And he was out. How the boy managed to fall head first, I’m not quite sure, but nevertheless, he came off the field with a huge headache and no memory of the incident. As we left the game, another parent yelled, “You might want to watch him to see if his eyes are dilated!” Oh dear. That sounds serious. His minor concussion and our visit to the ER are the kinds of bad things that aren’t supposed to happen on my happy fall day. It was supposed to be a good day.
The next morning the almost a teenager woke up and was in quite a bit of pain. Her ribs hurt when she moved, coughed, sneezed or laughed. Yet still, she wanted to go kick the ball around at the school. The boy woke up with a headache and still hadn’t regained his memory. Yet still, he wanted to go climb the tree in the front yard. I’m not usually a nervous mother but the prior day’s injuries had me frightened, worried and a bit on edge. It was obvious these children had no sense. What if they hurt themselves again? I found myself hovering and being overly concerned with minute details of their behavior. I was having irrational thoughts of controlling them in ways I knew they would find stifling, overprotective and unjustified. In fact, to be completely truthful, I was determined that those children were never leaving the house again without the proper protection.
I wasn’t entirely sure how I would protect them, but I had visions of starting with a massive delivery of bubble wrap. I’d buy huge bulk rolls of it and store it in the garage. Before they left the house each morning, I’d hand each child a snorkel to breathe with, wrap them completely up in bubble wrap and comfortably send them on their way. Of course, I’d also have to put a few mattresses under the climbing tree in the front yard. I’m sure the homeowner’s association would grant me a waiver for that. After all, it was for the safety of the children. Who’d be against that? I’d probably have to carry a few extra mattresses with me in the trunk of the car as well. Then I would be prepared if we went to a playground or had to climb stairs or encountered an uneven sidewalk.
And of course, when they weren’t wearing their bubble wrap suits, helmets, knee pads, elbow pads and a bullet proof vest would be required attire. I even found a helmet made by Riddell that has a sensor inside. This helmet notifies parents and coaches if the child has received too large of an impact to the head- either in a single blow or collectively. Parents can keep track of the results online. Now, this helmet is made for football players, but my children, of course, would be required to wear them all the time. Even at night. You just never know when they would fall out of bed and somehow miss the mattresses I had placed beside them on the floor.
On the rare occasions the children would be allowed to ride in a car, ride their bike or God forbid, ride a scooter, they would be required to be ensconced in a full metal roll cage. Naturally, they would also always be surrounded by the safest and most technologically advanced air bags available. And it goes without saying that trampolines, blow up jumping toys and all carnival and theme park rides would be strictly prohibited under all circumstances.
My greatest safety feature would resemble the leashes or tethers you see on runaway two year olds at the mall. Mine would be marketed for older children as the Youngster Yankster and would come in the coolest designs and colors. You would have one option of tethering your child physically and yanking them out of any situation that you found potentially dangerous. This option comes with or without a harmless zap feature. For a second, slightly more expensive option, you could purchase the computer and cell phone version that allows you to monitor your child from anywhere in the world. When you became uncomfortable with the situation your child was in, you would simply punch in your password and your child would be yanked from the situation immediately, covered in bubble wrap and placed in a mattress covered room. It would be the fun, safe way of keeping your children out of harm’s way. Don’t tell me that it’s unrealistic either. I saw it on an episode of The Jetsons many years ago, so I know it’s possible.
I am happy to report that the children did recover from their injuries. My children are happy to report that I eventually came to my senses. I am no longer a paranoid, hovering lunatic. I am again fully willing to send them out into this cruel world to be injured at any moment. Life is back to normal. Almost. It was hot and sunny and miserable a few days ago. I decided to stay inside out of the sun and do a little internet research. I was very happy to find that I can get a 250 ft roll of bubble wrap for less than $50.00. And I can even get it in fabulous colors. We don’t want the other kids making fun of the children for not being fashionable now, do we?
Check This Out!
Look for the DVD, Standing In the Shadows of Motown. This highly entertaining documentary/concert follows the careers of the musicians known as the Funk Brothers. Considered the greatest hit machine in the history of popular music, the Funk Brothers have played on more #1 records than the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones and Elvis Presley COMBINED! It’s a fun movie, full of history, packed full of fabulous stories that will definitely have you singing along.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The Wedding Day
It was a picture perfect day for an outdoor wedding. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, a light breeze blew and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I sat in the beautiful rose garden in the 5th row back, the husband on my left. We were surrounded by his co-workers and their wives. The large, stone mansion behind us was full of history and stories and anchored the site, lending a sense of grandness to the whole event. The glowing wedding couple stood underneath the arbor on the stone and brick terrace perched on the edge of the cliff. As we looked past the couple, the bright blue sky melted into the vast, equally blue water far below.
I’m not usually one who particularly enjoys sappy, emotional, romantic expression. Yet, when the bride and groom began to recite their wedding vows, and in such a beautiful, romantic setting, I found myself leaning my head to the left slightly and whispering quietly to the husband, “Awww…..isn’t that soooo sweet!” The promises they made, the hope they had, the belief and confidence they had in their future made me a bit jealous. It was all so innocent and rosy and happy. When they said their vows, you knew that they truly meant them. You got the feeling that they really would be married forever. It was all too much for me. I began to tear up a bit. I gazed over at the husband and it appeared as if he might be about ready to tear up as well. He looked down at me and grinned and nodded his head toward the couple standing on the edge of the cliff. I smiled back and nodded as well. My heart swelled. I reached out my hand and grabbed the husband’s hand. And it was wonderful. It was romantic. It was a special moment for us. We sat in that wonderful setting, listened to the touching words, and held hands. I found it extraordinary and so comforting that after 19 years of marriage we could still silently share the same thoughts. We were on the same page. We were connected.
After the ceremony we walked over to the large terrace at the back of the stone mansion where the reception was to be held. We sat and talked and ate some fabulous food with some of the husband’s co-workers and their wives. Soon, the conversation turned to the ceremony. One of the wives commented on what a beautiful ceremony it was. All of the wives nodded and echoed the sentiment. I mentioned that I was so touched I even began to tear up. The wives all agreed and continued to dissect every detail of the ceremony and the bride’s dress and the food. It was then that the bravest and most ignorant of the men rolled his eyeballs and piped up, “Hey, did any of you guys hear that twin big block Chevy engine offshore V-hull at full throttle that went by in the middle of their vows? Wasn’t that cool?”
The wives, in a rare and sudden moment of silence, glared at the ignorant husband in shock. Relieved to have the conversation topic changed from the unbelievable price of imported silk to the unbelievable sound of horsepower, my husband was the first to answer the ignorant man. “Oh, wasn’t that great!” he exclaimed, “I couldn’t believe I was hearing that out on the water. I’m thinking it was probably 502 Merc’s. It almost brought me to tears! “
“WHAT?” I managed to say to the husband a little too loudly. “You were almost brought to tears by a stinkin’ boat engine? Are you serious?”
“Well…um…yeah…” he reluctantly replied. “I thought you heard it too. You called it 'sweet'. I nodded to you......you nodded back. Remember?”
“I thought you nodded because of the vows and the roses and the old mansion…..and… and… the special moment that we had!” By this time all eyes at the table were upon us. There was a brief moment of uncomfortable stillness among our tablemates. And then the first giggle started. And soon they were all laughing. All of the other couples had been married longer than the husband and I and they found my naiveté and unrealistic expectations concerning manly wedding behavior most amusing.
I was most certainly disappointed and frustrated that the husband and I did not, apparently, share the same wedding thoughts and that our special moment was, apparently, completely fictional. Never one to hold a grudge for long though, my disappointment had faded by the time we were driving home in the car. I was back to my normal, positive thinking self. The husband and I had 45 minutes all to ourselves to talk and bond and grow closer without any children interrupting us. I had so many things that I wanted to tell the husband. I began to talk about our future and the fabric for the new furniture and how fat I was and the almost a teenager’s hormones. I went into detail about the kitten’s bowel movements and the new cleaner for the bathtub and the neighbor’s shoes that I liked. I finished up with telling him that Halle Berry was pregnant and that I needed to pay the cable bill and how I had stepped on a staple the day before. I was grateful to have this quality, one on one time with the husband where we could talk about our lives and get on the same page and really connect. I gazed over at the husband and smiled at him. He smiled back. I reached out my hand and grabbed the husband’s free hand. And it was wonderful. I found it extraordinary and so comforting that after 19 years of marriage we still cared about the same things.
Curious about the husband’s thoughts on everything “we” had just talked about and wanting to further our drive home bonding session, I asked him, “Honey, what are you thinking about right now?” He looked down at me and grinned and nodded his head toward a sign on the freeway.
“The truck scale is up ahead. Do you wanna go weigh the car? Motor Trend and the owner’s manual have different numbers for the weight of this car. I’ve always wondered blah, blah, blah, blah……..”
By the time we were home I was back to my normal, positive thinking self. And the good news is that I weighed 5 pounds less on the truck scale than my scale at home.
Check This Out!
Look for the documentary The Heart of the Game. Follow the true story of Seattle’s Roosevelt High School girl’s basketball team. This movie takes you through the tumultuous and gripping story of the young women playing the game, their unorthodox coach and a six year journey that ends up being about so much more than just basketball. It’s an inspirational sports movie that stands up to the best of them.
I’m not usually one who particularly enjoys sappy, emotional, romantic expression. Yet, when the bride and groom began to recite their wedding vows, and in such a beautiful, romantic setting, I found myself leaning my head to the left slightly and whispering quietly to the husband, “Awww…..isn’t that soooo sweet!” The promises they made, the hope they had, the belief and confidence they had in their future made me a bit jealous. It was all so innocent and rosy and happy. When they said their vows, you knew that they truly meant them. You got the feeling that they really would be married forever. It was all too much for me. I began to tear up a bit. I gazed over at the husband and it appeared as if he might be about ready to tear up as well. He looked down at me and grinned and nodded his head toward the couple standing on the edge of the cliff. I smiled back and nodded as well. My heart swelled. I reached out my hand and grabbed the husband’s hand. And it was wonderful. It was romantic. It was a special moment for us. We sat in that wonderful setting, listened to the touching words, and held hands. I found it extraordinary and so comforting that after 19 years of marriage we could still silently share the same thoughts. We were on the same page. We were connected.
After the ceremony we walked over to the large terrace at the back of the stone mansion where the reception was to be held. We sat and talked and ate some fabulous food with some of the husband’s co-workers and their wives. Soon, the conversation turned to the ceremony. One of the wives commented on what a beautiful ceremony it was. All of the wives nodded and echoed the sentiment. I mentioned that I was so touched I even began to tear up. The wives all agreed and continued to dissect every detail of the ceremony and the bride’s dress and the food. It was then that the bravest and most ignorant of the men rolled his eyeballs and piped up, “Hey, did any of you guys hear that twin big block Chevy engine offshore V-hull at full throttle that went by in the middle of their vows? Wasn’t that cool?”
The wives, in a rare and sudden moment of silence, glared at the ignorant husband in shock. Relieved to have the conversation topic changed from the unbelievable price of imported silk to the unbelievable sound of horsepower, my husband was the first to answer the ignorant man. “Oh, wasn’t that great!” he exclaimed, “I couldn’t believe I was hearing that out on the water. I’m thinking it was probably 502 Merc’s. It almost brought me to tears! “
“WHAT?” I managed to say to the husband a little too loudly. “You were almost brought to tears by a stinkin’ boat engine? Are you serious?”
“Well…um…yeah…” he reluctantly replied. “I thought you heard it too. You called it 'sweet'. I nodded to you......you nodded back. Remember?”
“I thought you nodded because of the vows and the roses and the old mansion…..and… and… the special moment that we had!” By this time all eyes at the table were upon us. There was a brief moment of uncomfortable stillness among our tablemates. And then the first giggle started. And soon they were all laughing. All of the other couples had been married longer than the husband and I and they found my naiveté and unrealistic expectations concerning manly wedding behavior most amusing.
I was most certainly disappointed and frustrated that the husband and I did not, apparently, share the same wedding thoughts and that our special moment was, apparently, completely fictional. Never one to hold a grudge for long though, my disappointment had faded by the time we were driving home in the car. I was back to my normal, positive thinking self. The husband and I had 45 minutes all to ourselves to talk and bond and grow closer without any children interrupting us. I had so many things that I wanted to tell the husband. I began to talk about our future and the fabric for the new furniture and how fat I was and the almost a teenager’s hormones. I went into detail about the kitten’s bowel movements and the new cleaner for the bathtub and the neighbor’s shoes that I liked. I finished up with telling him that Halle Berry was pregnant and that I needed to pay the cable bill and how I had stepped on a staple the day before. I was grateful to have this quality, one on one time with the husband where we could talk about our lives and get on the same page and really connect. I gazed over at the husband and smiled at him. He smiled back. I reached out my hand and grabbed the husband’s free hand. And it was wonderful. I found it extraordinary and so comforting that after 19 years of marriage we still cared about the same things.
Curious about the husband’s thoughts on everything “we” had just talked about and wanting to further our drive home bonding session, I asked him, “Honey, what are you thinking about right now?” He looked down at me and grinned and nodded his head toward a sign on the freeway.
“The truck scale is up ahead. Do you wanna go weigh the car? Motor Trend and the owner’s manual have different numbers for the weight of this car. I’ve always wondered blah, blah, blah, blah……..”
By the time we were home I was back to my normal, positive thinking self. And the good news is that I weighed 5 pounds less on the truck scale than my scale at home.
Check This Out!
Look for the documentary The Heart of the Game. Follow the true story of Seattle’s Roosevelt High School girl’s basketball team. This movie takes you through the tumultuous and gripping story of the young women playing the game, their unorthodox coach and a six year journey that ends up being about so much more than just basketball. It’s an inspirational sports movie that stands up to the best of them.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Middle School President
I came down the stairs to the intrusive and bothersome blaring of the TV. I had just finished lecturing the almost a teenager and found myself a bit on edge. I began with sincere and naïve intentions that my lecture would be full of unconditional love and bonding. It would include idealized examples and life lessons that I thought important for my daughter to know. I would calmly possess a non-judgmental understanding and positive attitude toward her ideas that would be unwavering. After about two minutes, my motherly lecture had deteriorated into a futile and most frustrating exercise in bashing my head against the wall. Or at least that’s what it felt like. As I left the almost a teenager’s room I had serious doubts as to whether either of us would make it through middle school unscathed.
Needless to say, I was in no mood to hear from the newscaster that 5 more soldiers had been killed in Iraq, that the trapped miners were still trapped or that my children had been sucking on lead riddled toys for the last decade. And perhaps most of all, I was in no mood to hear about a presidential election that wasn’t going to happen until well over a year from now. I’ve always been a classic example of a politically apathetic member of Generation X. While I do manage do vote in every election, I do so with an extremely cynical and disaffected view of politicians and politics in general. So when the newscast began to speak of the eventual presidential election I started to leave the room. I stopped and turned around however, when the reporter said, “So, now it is up to the American people to seriously ask themselves, ‘What qualities, characteristics and attributes DO you want in your next president?’”
“For goodness sake!” I cried to the half asleep husband on the couch. “Is it really that hard? Heck, the characteristics I would appreciate in a president are the same exact qualities and attributes I’d appreciate in any person I meet!” In fact, the lecture I had just attempted to give my daughter could just as easily apply to my ideal presidential candidate. In fact, my expectations for middle school behavior and presidential behavior aren’t that far apart.
To my almost a teenager daughter I say: I want you to be secure and confident in who you are. Figure out who your true self is and then have the strength and determination to live your life as that complete person, whether you are musical or athletic or are a closet Sanjaya fan or secretly really don’t believe in paying $40 for a t-shirt. Never let peer pressure or low self esteem dictate the path your life will take. Do what you think is right, even if it's not popular. And never mistake arrogance or bullying for confidence. I want you to have a strong personal character. Don’t lie or cheat or steal. It’s just plain wrong, you’ll probably get in trouble and it just shouldn’t be a valid option. Don’t swear or gossip or spend more money than you have. It tarnishes who you are, you’ll probably get in trouble and there is always a better option. Find someone you admire who lives their life with strong moral and ethical guidelines and then emulate them. I hope you always employ an empathetic view toward the world. Realize that your school is full of kids with different histories, cultural identities and innate ways of thinking that you may never understand. Realize that being different doesn’t make them wrong or in need of change by you. Always treat people, animals and the earth kindly and with the utmost respect. Humbly help those in need whenever you can, not just when it makes you look good. Find a way to ensure that your life is full of joy and promise and security that isn’t dependent on how much money you have, how much stuff you own or how much you weigh.
To my almost a president I say: I want you to be secure and confident in who you are. Figure out who your true self is and then have the strength and determination to live your life as that complete person, whether you’re gay or straight or are a closet Democrat or secretly really don’t believe in abortion. Never let congressional pressure or low approval ratings dictate the path your presidency will take. Do what you think is right, even if it's not popular with the political action committees or your largest campaign contributer. And never mistake televised threats or war for confidence. I want you to have a strong personal character. Don’t lie or cheat or steal. It’s just plain wrong, you’ll probably get in trouble and someone will have video taped it and the video will be linked to the internet and then you will be the lead story on TMZ.com or the most downloaded video on You Tube and before long there will be congressional inquiries and Dateline investigations and you could eventually end up impeached or even resigning in shame from your presidency and people will always mention you and Richard Nixon in the same sentence and besides, it just shouldn’t be a valid option. Don’t swear or gossip or spend more money than you have. It tarnishes who you are, you’ll probably get in trouble and someone will have video taped it and the video will be linked to the internet and then you will be the lead story on TMZ.com or the most downloaded video on You Tube and before long there will be congressional inquiries and Dateline investigations and you could eventually end up impeached or even resigning in shame from your presidency and people will always mention you and Richard Nixon in the same sentence and besides, the taxpayers get really mad when you spend too much of their money. Develop some moral and ethical guidelines that you live your life by and then set a good example for everyone who is watching you. I hope you always employ an empathetic view toward the world. Realize that the world is full of countries with different histories, cultural identities and innate ways of thinking that you may never understand. Realize that being different doesn’t necessarily make them wrong or in need of change by bribes or sanctions or weapons or propaganda. Always support legislation that treats people, animals and the earth kindly and with the utmost respect. Humbly help those in need whenever you can, not just when it’s politically beneficial. Find a way to ensure that every American can live a life that is full of joy and promise and security that isn’t dependent on winning the lottery, working for Halliburton or getting plastic surgery.
At the end of the newscast my daughter came downstairs and was kind to her little brother, polite to her father and helpful to me. I began to consider then the possibility that there was hope for us. Could we really make it through middle school? Was it really possible she could turn out to be a confident, empathetic person with strong personal character? I’m certainly counting on it. As for the next president…..me and the rest of the apathetic, cynical and disaffected jury of Generation X members are still not so sure.
Check This Out!
If you’ve ever wondered why they keep throwing rocks and bulldozing houses over in Israel and Palestine then you need to read, The Lemon Tree: An Arab, a Jew and the Heart of the Middle East by Sandy Tolan. If you think you already know all about rock throwing and house crushing then read The Lemon Tree to hear about the true, personal story of an Arab family and the house they built, the Jewish family who came to live in that same house and the decades of personal dialogue that developed between the two. It’s required reading on many college campuses today. It’s full of history and sadness and hope. I couldn’t put it down.
Needless to say, I was in no mood to hear from the newscaster that 5 more soldiers had been killed in Iraq, that the trapped miners were still trapped or that my children had been sucking on lead riddled toys for the last decade. And perhaps most of all, I was in no mood to hear about a presidential election that wasn’t going to happen until well over a year from now. I’ve always been a classic example of a politically apathetic member of Generation X. While I do manage do vote in every election, I do so with an extremely cynical and disaffected view of politicians and politics in general. So when the newscast began to speak of the eventual presidential election I started to leave the room. I stopped and turned around however, when the reporter said, “So, now it is up to the American people to seriously ask themselves, ‘What qualities, characteristics and attributes DO you want in your next president?’”
“For goodness sake!” I cried to the half asleep husband on the couch. “Is it really that hard? Heck, the characteristics I would appreciate in a president are the same exact qualities and attributes I’d appreciate in any person I meet!” In fact, the lecture I had just attempted to give my daughter could just as easily apply to my ideal presidential candidate. In fact, my expectations for middle school behavior and presidential behavior aren’t that far apart.
To my almost a teenager daughter I say: I want you to be secure and confident in who you are. Figure out who your true self is and then have the strength and determination to live your life as that complete person, whether you are musical or athletic or are a closet Sanjaya fan or secretly really don’t believe in paying $40 for a t-shirt. Never let peer pressure or low self esteem dictate the path your life will take. Do what you think is right, even if it's not popular. And never mistake arrogance or bullying for confidence. I want you to have a strong personal character. Don’t lie or cheat or steal. It’s just plain wrong, you’ll probably get in trouble and it just shouldn’t be a valid option. Don’t swear or gossip or spend more money than you have. It tarnishes who you are, you’ll probably get in trouble and there is always a better option. Find someone you admire who lives their life with strong moral and ethical guidelines and then emulate them. I hope you always employ an empathetic view toward the world. Realize that your school is full of kids with different histories, cultural identities and innate ways of thinking that you may never understand. Realize that being different doesn’t make them wrong or in need of change by you. Always treat people, animals and the earth kindly and with the utmost respect. Humbly help those in need whenever you can, not just when it makes you look good. Find a way to ensure that your life is full of joy and promise and security that isn’t dependent on how much money you have, how much stuff you own or how much you weigh.
To my almost a president I say: I want you to be secure and confident in who you are. Figure out who your true self is and then have the strength and determination to live your life as that complete person, whether you’re gay or straight or are a closet Democrat or secretly really don’t believe in abortion. Never let congressional pressure or low approval ratings dictate the path your presidency will take. Do what you think is right, even if it's not popular with the political action committees or your largest campaign contributer. And never mistake televised threats or war for confidence. I want you to have a strong personal character. Don’t lie or cheat or steal. It’s just plain wrong, you’ll probably get in trouble and someone will have video taped it and the video will be linked to the internet and then you will be the lead story on TMZ.com or the most downloaded video on You Tube and before long there will be congressional inquiries and Dateline investigations and you could eventually end up impeached or even resigning in shame from your presidency and people will always mention you and Richard Nixon in the same sentence and besides, it just shouldn’t be a valid option. Don’t swear or gossip or spend more money than you have. It tarnishes who you are, you’ll probably get in trouble and someone will have video taped it and the video will be linked to the internet and then you will be the lead story on TMZ.com or the most downloaded video on You Tube and before long there will be congressional inquiries and Dateline investigations and you could eventually end up impeached or even resigning in shame from your presidency and people will always mention you and Richard Nixon in the same sentence and besides, the taxpayers get really mad when you spend too much of their money. Develop some moral and ethical guidelines that you live your life by and then set a good example for everyone who is watching you. I hope you always employ an empathetic view toward the world. Realize that the world is full of countries with different histories, cultural identities and innate ways of thinking that you may never understand. Realize that being different doesn’t necessarily make them wrong or in need of change by bribes or sanctions or weapons or propaganda. Always support legislation that treats people, animals and the earth kindly and with the utmost respect. Humbly help those in need whenever you can, not just when it’s politically beneficial. Find a way to ensure that every American can live a life that is full of joy and promise and security that isn’t dependent on winning the lottery, working for Halliburton or getting plastic surgery.
At the end of the newscast my daughter came downstairs and was kind to her little brother, polite to her father and helpful to me. I began to consider then the possibility that there was hope for us. Could we really make it through middle school? Was it really possible she could turn out to be a confident, empathetic person with strong personal character? I’m certainly counting on it. As for the next president…..me and the rest of the apathetic, cynical and disaffected jury of Generation X members are still not so sure.
Check This Out!
If you’ve ever wondered why they keep throwing rocks and bulldozing houses over in Israel and Palestine then you need to read, The Lemon Tree: An Arab, a Jew and the Heart of the Middle East by Sandy Tolan. If you think you already know all about rock throwing and house crushing then read The Lemon Tree to hear about the true, personal story of an Arab family and the house they built, the Jewish family who came to live in that same house and the decades of personal dialogue that developed between the two. It’s required reading on many college campuses today. It’s full of history and sadness and hope. I couldn’t put it down.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
I Can Fix That!
The smell of burning rubber permeated the house. The high pitched squealing accelerated higher and higher by the second. The low, rumbling motor struggled to maintain its wheezing efforts at efficiency. The cats, wide-eyed and puffy, attempted a desperate, furtive escape from the living room. The children came spurting down the stairs, holding their noses and loudly voiced extreme disapproval of my continued actions. I, on the other hand, had never been happier. I knew that finally, and with absolutely no regret whatsoever, I had killed my vacuum cleaner.
My vacuum was purchased for $99.99 from the Navy Exchange department store in Orlando, Florida in 1988. This vacuum did not have a HEPA filter or an air flow rating. It could not lift a bowling ball. It did not come with a crevice tool, a telescopic wand or a dusting attachment. It never had an upholstery nozzle, suction control grips or height adjustment. My vacuum did not resemble a wind tunnel nor was it self propelled. And my vacuum was most definitely not a self programming, rechargeable disc that could wander my house, at any time of my choosing, searching for stray pieces of lint to suck up. In fact, my simple, cheap vacuum was so old that it was becoming almost impossible to find the internal bags for the outdated beast. And at last, thankfully, it was dead.
As I opened the windows to get some of the burning rubber smell out of the house I became giddy. I rushed upstairs and started researching new vacuums on the internet. I had just picked out the Cadillac of vacuums, full of spectacular and absolutely necessary features when he walked in the door. The husband was home.
I ran downstairs to tell him the fabulous news. He hung up his coat, went to the bathroom and then walked into the living room to take a look at the vacuum. I assured him that it was most certainly, quite broken. I then proceeded to provide irrefutable evidence by demonstrating the smelling and squealing and rumbling and wheezing qualities our vacuum now possessed. As I started to recount the spectacular and absolutely necessary features of the new Cadillac vacuum I had decided upon as a replacement, the husband got down on the ground and turned the old vacuum over. As I tried to shove a picture of my new beautiful appliance in his face, the husband went to the garage to get a screwdriver…or something. When he returned, he started taking the old vacuum apart. After about 23 seconds he turned to me and said, “Oh! I see what the problem is. I can fix that!”
I had to sit down. I was devastated. The husband then tried to explain to me what was wrong with our vacuum cleaner. “You can see here that the blah, blah, blah has become wrapped around the blah, blah, blah. And it’s obvious that the blah, blah, blah has also come lose and has jammed the blah, blah, blah. So all I have to do is move the blah, blah, blah over here, unwrap the blah, blah, blah from the blah, blah, blah and it should be as good as new.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. I should have anticipated this outcome. I was feeling fairly foolish for thinking the broken vacuum would be beyond repair. You see, in my house the husband has a history of fixing things up. It started when he was young and found an old, broken TV in his parents’ garage. Before the afternoon was over he had become the only boy on his block with a working TV in his tree house. When he was in college he took a road trip to California. When the throttle pedal unexpectedly dropped to the floor, causing his old ’69 Plymouth Valiant to accelerate uncontrollably, the husband rationally shut off the car and came to a stop. He lifted the hood, retrieved the broken carb return spring, miraculously produced a pair of pliers…or something, bent a new hook in the spring and was back on the road in less than 3 minutes.
The husband’s MacGyver like qualities continued after we were married. It is a rare day when something in our house breaks and needs to be replaced. Over the years I have looked forward to getting many new items only to have the husband fix the broken one so that we no longer could justify replacing it. I’ve been denied the joy of shopping for a new weed eater, a CD jogger, a book lamp, an MP3 player, a backyard fence, a refrigerator icemaker, a dishwasher door, a lawnmower, a lawn sprinkler and a bedroom window. He’s fixed a car CD player, a box fan, a cell phone, a necklace, a garbage disposal and many computer components. And, of course, he has kept cars running for thousands of miles past when they should have died. He’s even denied the children new things by fixing broken Fisher Price toys, slot cars, electric trains, BRIO trains, and has most recently repaired the rivets on the almost a teenager’s jeans. All of these items were absolutely believed to be broken beyond repair-except by the husband who saw them as a challenge.
My vacuum is now fixed and is “as good as new”. I’ve accepted the fact that I may never get to own the Cadillac of vacuums. I’ve learned that with a little searching, I can even find my vacuum bags on the internet. I have also learned, however, that the husband’s ability to fix anything just might work in my favor as well. A few weeks ago, I walked in the door and was greeting by a giddy husband telling me that the old, ugly, boxy TV had finally blown up. He had run downstairs to tell me the fabulous news. I hung up my coat, went to the bathroom and then walked into the living room to take a look at the TV. He assured me that it was most certainly, quite broken. He then proceeded to provide irrefutable evidence by turning the now unresponsive TV on and off. As he started to recount the spectacular and absolutely necessary features of the new, big, flat screen TV he had decided upon as a replacement, I went behind the TV and took a look at the back of it. As he tried to shove a picture of his new, beautiful flat screen in my face, I went into the kitchen to get a snack. When I returned, I put my feet up on the coffee table and started eating. After about 23 seconds I turned to the husband and said, “Oh honey, I understand what the problem is with the TV. But, I have absolutely no doubt that you can fix that!”
Check This Out!
Someday when you aren’t on a diet try Fried Polenta.
Gradually whisk 1 ¾ cups yellow cornmeal into 6 cups boiling, salted water. Reduce heat to low and cook 15 minutes, stirring often. Remove from heat and stir in 3 tablespoons butter. Spread three cups of the polenta in an 11x17 inch baking dish, sprayed with PAM, to about ¾ inch thick. Refrigerate for two hours. Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Cut refrigerated polenta into 1x2 inch pieces and fry in oil, about 3 minutes on each side, until golden brown. Drain on paper towels and keep warm in the oven on a baking dish until all batches are done. Sprinkle warm polenta pieces with parmesan and serve with marinara sauce for dipping.
My vacuum was purchased for $99.99 from the Navy Exchange department store in Orlando, Florida in 1988. This vacuum did not have a HEPA filter or an air flow rating. It could not lift a bowling ball. It did not come with a crevice tool, a telescopic wand or a dusting attachment. It never had an upholstery nozzle, suction control grips or height adjustment. My vacuum did not resemble a wind tunnel nor was it self propelled. And my vacuum was most definitely not a self programming, rechargeable disc that could wander my house, at any time of my choosing, searching for stray pieces of lint to suck up. In fact, my simple, cheap vacuum was so old that it was becoming almost impossible to find the internal bags for the outdated beast. And at last, thankfully, it was dead.
As I opened the windows to get some of the burning rubber smell out of the house I became giddy. I rushed upstairs and started researching new vacuums on the internet. I had just picked out the Cadillac of vacuums, full of spectacular and absolutely necessary features when he walked in the door. The husband was home.
I ran downstairs to tell him the fabulous news. He hung up his coat, went to the bathroom and then walked into the living room to take a look at the vacuum. I assured him that it was most certainly, quite broken. I then proceeded to provide irrefutable evidence by demonstrating the smelling and squealing and rumbling and wheezing qualities our vacuum now possessed. As I started to recount the spectacular and absolutely necessary features of the new Cadillac vacuum I had decided upon as a replacement, the husband got down on the ground and turned the old vacuum over. As I tried to shove a picture of my new beautiful appliance in his face, the husband went to the garage to get a screwdriver…or something. When he returned, he started taking the old vacuum apart. After about 23 seconds he turned to me and said, “Oh! I see what the problem is. I can fix that!”
I had to sit down. I was devastated. The husband then tried to explain to me what was wrong with our vacuum cleaner. “You can see here that the blah, blah, blah has become wrapped around the blah, blah, blah. And it’s obvious that the blah, blah, blah has also come lose and has jammed the blah, blah, blah. So all I have to do is move the blah, blah, blah over here, unwrap the blah, blah, blah from the blah, blah, blah and it should be as good as new.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. I should have anticipated this outcome. I was feeling fairly foolish for thinking the broken vacuum would be beyond repair. You see, in my house the husband has a history of fixing things up. It started when he was young and found an old, broken TV in his parents’ garage. Before the afternoon was over he had become the only boy on his block with a working TV in his tree house. When he was in college he took a road trip to California. When the throttle pedal unexpectedly dropped to the floor, causing his old ’69 Plymouth Valiant to accelerate uncontrollably, the husband rationally shut off the car and came to a stop. He lifted the hood, retrieved the broken carb return spring, miraculously produced a pair of pliers…or something, bent a new hook in the spring and was back on the road in less than 3 minutes.
The husband’s MacGyver like qualities continued after we were married. It is a rare day when something in our house breaks and needs to be replaced. Over the years I have looked forward to getting many new items only to have the husband fix the broken one so that we no longer could justify replacing it. I’ve been denied the joy of shopping for a new weed eater, a CD jogger, a book lamp, an MP3 player, a backyard fence, a refrigerator icemaker, a dishwasher door, a lawnmower, a lawn sprinkler and a bedroom window. He’s fixed a car CD player, a box fan, a cell phone, a necklace, a garbage disposal and many computer components. And, of course, he has kept cars running for thousands of miles past when they should have died. He’s even denied the children new things by fixing broken Fisher Price toys, slot cars, electric trains, BRIO trains, and has most recently repaired the rivets on the almost a teenager’s jeans. All of these items were absolutely believed to be broken beyond repair-except by the husband who saw them as a challenge.
My vacuum is now fixed and is “as good as new”. I’ve accepted the fact that I may never get to own the Cadillac of vacuums. I’ve learned that with a little searching, I can even find my vacuum bags on the internet. I have also learned, however, that the husband’s ability to fix anything just might work in my favor as well. A few weeks ago, I walked in the door and was greeting by a giddy husband telling me that the old, ugly, boxy TV had finally blown up. He had run downstairs to tell me the fabulous news. I hung up my coat, went to the bathroom and then walked into the living room to take a look at the TV. He assured me that it was most certainly, quite broken. He then proceeded to provide irrefutable evidence by turning the now unresponsive TV on and off. As he started to recount the spectacular and absolutely necessary features of the new, big, flat screen TV he had decided upon as a replacement, I went behind the TV and took a look at the back of it. As he tried to shove a picture of his new, beautiful flat screen in my face, I went into the kitchen to get a snack. When I returned, I put my feet up on the coffee table and started eating. After about 23 seconds I turned to the husband and said, “Oh honey, I understand what the problem is with the TV. But, I have absolutely no doubt that you can fix that!”
Check This Out!
Someday when you aren’t on a diet try Fried Polenta.
Gradually whisk 1 ¾ cups yellow cornmeal into 6 cups boiling, salted water. Reduce heat to low and cook 15 minutes, stirring often. Remove from heat and stir in 3 tablespoons butter. Spread three cups of the polenta in an 11x17 inch baking dish, sprayed with PAM, to about ¾ inch thick. Refrigerate for two hours. Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Cut refrigerated polenta into 1x2 inch pieces and fry in oil, about 3 minutes on each side, until golden brown. Drain on paper towels and keep warm in the oven on a baking dish until all batches are done. Sprinkle warm polenta pieces with parmesan and serve with marinara sauce for dipping.
A Pain in the Back
I was sitting at the computer the day my comfortable and predictable life changed. I was checking my blog, desperately hoping to find that someone had commented, when my marriage vows from 18 ½ years ago returned to smack me up side the head. I had my back to my husband the day our marriage went from “for better” to “for worse”.
Never one to pour forth his feelings, it was no surprise to me that my husband handled his part of the incident silently. He simply bent down to pick something up from my son’s bedroom floor and collapsed in extreme, agonizing back pain. He couldn’t move. Apparently, he couldn’t speak either. He had been there a decent amount of time before I found him pale and in the fetal position. In concerned shock, my first words were, “Why didn’t you call for me?”
While on the floor writhing in pain, he had decided he didn’t want to worry me and that he didn’t need any wifely assistance. So, he didn’t get any. I left him there. In the rare moment that he found himself in great need of help from me, he couldn’t bring himself to ask me for it. I was hurt. I was ticked off. I took it quite personally. I stormed out of the room. “What kind of team were we?” I silently questioned. “What kind of marriage was this?” I stewed from downstairs as he lay helplessly on the floor above me.
I would like to say that my failure to rise to the occasion, to be the bigger person, and help out my husband in his obviously distressing time of need was a singular event. It wasn’t. And in the upcoming days I proved even more unsuccessful at supporting him the way I should have. Simply put, my husband hurt his back and it was a big pain for me. It was inconvenient, annoying and so unattractive.
Over the course of the next few days, (or was it weeks?) I did wait on my husband. I got off the couch to bring him his medicine and a glass of water even though I had finally sat down for the first time that evening. I shopped for a back support wrap instead of going for a run. I served him numerous bowls of ice cream to make him feel better. I filled a hot water bottle for him right when my book was getting to the good part. I picked up his book about the arctic explorer from the library when I wasn’t going to be anywhere near the library. I bought him a car magazine that had an almost naked hot chick on the cover even though the hot chick made me feel fat and inadequate. Sadly, however, I complained about all of these things frequently. It wasn’t always out loud. But it wasn’t a well kept secret. It was obvious that I was resentful of my husband and his injury and certainly held him responsible for my current, somewhat exacting and nettlesome lot in life.
Not only was I unhappy helping my husband with the physical demands of his injury, I secretly harbored a few psychological grudges as well. I married a strong, capable and competent man. I was not at all attracted to this vulnerable, needy and silent man. I felt a bit cheated and resentful that he was no longer an unwavering, steadfast constant in my life. He was suddenly somewhat unavailable and helpless. Now, there is no doubt that I am often in charge of many aspects of our daily routine and family life. It was quite a different story however, when confronted with the situation of being forced to be in charge, not by choice, by instead, by absolute necessity. Suddenly, being in charge was not satisfying, predictable and convenient. It was uncomfortable, frightening and nerve racking.
When I muttered the words, “for better or for worse” almost two decades ago, my husband and I were both young and healthy and naïve. When actually confronted with a “for worse” situation, however, I quickly became whiny, selfish and mostly unsupportive. My main concern with my husband’s back problem was how it affected me and my life. Of course, my behavior was shocking and disappointing. I was not proud of how I had acted. Even so, I became concerned for the future. Is this what I had to look forward to for the next 40 years? Would we take turns nursing each other, becoming more resentful each time, until one of us finally keeled over? I looked to the example of my older friends and family and found that is exactly what they did. They did help their spouses and other relatives through their “for worse” situations. And sometimes they did get frustrated. It was often exhausting, unrewarding work. But there was a huge difference between them and me. They did it selflessly. They did it with love. They did it remembering that their “for worse” situation paled in meaning and intensity and enormity to the collective “for better” situations they’ve experienced together throughout the years. They seemed so much wiser than me.
“What kind of team were we?” I silently questioned. “What kind of marriage was this?” I felt horrible. I knew then that if I placed any more focus on myself it would be to learn how to be truly selfless. The next time my husband needed nursing I would do it remembering all the good that we’ve had. I would nurse him remembering that the “for better” has always outweighed the “for worse”. I would get him his medicine remembering how grateful I am that he is still with me, no matter how vulnerable he is at that particular moment. Of course, there are still times when I insist on being in charge. I often nag him to do his special back exercises. I nag at him to eat right. I nag at him to drive carefully and put on his sunscreen. Because, while I am determined to be a little kinder and more sympathetic the next time my husband is in need, I’m also secretly hoping that many years that go by before we have to find out if I’m actually capable of that.
Check This Out!
Come Back to Afghanistan: A California Teenager’s Story by Said Hyder Akbar and Susan Burton is a great account of modern Afghanistan through the eyes of an American teenager whose father is instrumental in the rebuilding efforts in post Taliban Afghanistan. It’s a great contrast in life experiences that most Americans will never understand...and probably should.
Never one to pour forth his feelings, it was no surprise to me that my husband handled his part of the incident silently. He simply bent down to pick something up from my son’s bedroom floor and collapsed in extreme, agonizing back pain. He couldn’t move. Apparently, he couldn’t speak either. He had been there a decent amount of time before I found him pale and in the fetal position. In concerned shock, my first words were, “Why didn’t you call for me?”
While on the floor writhing in pain, he had decided he didn’t want to worry me and that he didn’t need any wifely assistance. So, he didn’t get any. I left him there. In the rare moment that he found himself in great need of help from me, he couldn’t bring himself to ask me for it. I was hurt. I was ticked off. I took it quite personally. I stormed out of the room. “What kind of team were we?” I silently questioned. “What kind of marriage was this?” I stewed from downstairs as he lay helplessly on the floor above me.
I would like to say that my failure to rise to the occasion, to be the bigger person, and help out my husband in his obviously distressing time of need was a singular event. It wasn’t. And in the upcoming days I proved even more unsuccessful at supporting him the way I should have. Simply put, my husband hurt his back and it was a big pain for me. It was inconvenient, annoying and so unattractive.
Over the course of the next few days, (or was it weeks?) I did wait on my husband. I got off the couch to bring him his medicine and a glass of water even though I had finally sat down for the first time that evening. I shopped for a back support wrap instead of going for a run. I served him numerous bowls of ice cream to make him feel better. I filled a hot water bottle for him right when my book was getting to the good part. I picked up his book about the arctic explorer from the library when I wasn’t going to be anywhere near the library. I bought him a car magazine that had an almost naked hot chick on the cover even though the hot chick made me feel fat and inadequate. Sadly, however, I complained about all of these things frequently. It wasn’t always out loud. But it wasn’t a well kept secret. It was obvious that I was resentful of my husband and his injury and certainly held him responsible for my current, somewhat exacting and nettlesome lot in life.
Not only was I unhappy helping my husband with the physical demands of his injury, I secretly harbored a few psychological grudges as well. I married a strong, capable and competent man. I was not at all attracted to this vulnerable, needy and silent man. I felt a bit cheated and resentful that he was no longer an unwavering, steadfast constant in my life. He was suddenly somewhat unavailable and helpless. Now, there is no doubt that I am often in charge of many aspects of our daily routine and family life. It was quite a different story however, when confronted with the situation of being forced to be in charge, not by choice, by instead, by absolute necessity. Suddenly, being in charge was not satisfying, predictable and convenient. It was uncomfortable, frightening and nerve racking.
When I muttered the words, “for better or for worse” almost two decades ago, my husband and I were both young and healthy and naïve. When actually confronted with a “for worse” situation, however, I quickly became whiny, selfish and mostly unsupportive. My main concern with my husband’s back problem was how it affected me and my life. Of course, my behavior was shocking and disappointing. I was not proud of how I had acted. Even so, I became concerned for the future. Is this what I had to look forward to for the next 40 years? Would we take turns nursing each other, becoming more resentful each time, until one of us finally keeled over? I looked to the example of my older friends and family and found that is exactly what they did. They did help their spouses and other relatives through their “for worse” situations. And sometimes they did get frustrated. It was often exhausting, unrewarding work. But there was a huge difference between them and me. They did it selflessly. They did it with love. They did it remembering that their “for worse” situation paled in meaning and intensity and enormity to the collective “for better” situations they’ve experienced together throughout the years. They seemed so much wiser than me.
“What kind of team were we?” I silently questioned. “What kind of marriage was this?” I felt horrible. I knew then that if I placed any more focus on myself it would be to learn how to be truly selfless. The next time my husband needed nursing I would do it remembering all the good that we’ve had. I would nurse him remembering that the “for better” has always outweighed the “for worse”. I would get him his medicine remembering how grateful I am that he is still with me, no matter how vulnerable he is at that particular moment. Of course, there are still times when I insist on being in charge. I often nag him to do his special back exercises. I nag at him to eat right. I nag at him to drive carefully and put on his sunscreen. Because, while I am determined to be a little kinder and more sympathetic the next time my husband is in need, I’m also secretly hoping that many years that go by before we have to find out if I’m actually capable of that.
Check This Out!
Come Back to Afghanistan: A California Teenager’s Story by Said Hyder Akbar and Susan Burton is a great account of modern Afghanistan through the eyes of an American teenager whose father is instrumental in the rebuilding efforts in post Taliban Afghanistan. It’s a great contrast in life experiences that most Americans will never understand...and probably should.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Reunion Lessons
I arrived at the reunion with my jumping and lurching stomach attempting a violent and twisted escape from my body. My shaking and sweaty hands reluctantly opened the car door. The husband had to drag me in. “This totally sucks,” I muttered under my breath. “What was I thinking? I never should have come.”
Then Barbie said hello to me. Such a simple thing. Saying hello. But it made all the difference in the world. I was still nervous. There definitely were people I didn’t recognize. There were people who didn’t recognize me. But, somehow, it became fun. Everyone was in the same boat. As the weekend went on and I gained more and more courage to speak to my classmates, I became aware that certain reunion moments and circumstances stood out more than others. It was during this microcosm of life that is the class reunion, that I ended up learning a few valuable reunion lessons, and really, perhaps, even life lessons, that form the basis of my fabulous reunion memories.
The Top 15 Ways to Make an Impression at Your Class Reunion
1. Having 6 kids, 2 step kids and 87 animals will most certainly make an impression at a reunion. Your classmates will wonder in awe how in the heck you had the time and the energy to even show up at the reunion after raising all those kids and animals. Some of us still struggle to just get ourselves out of bed in the morning. Wow.
2. Thongs and cleavage and piercings, oh my! Flash your thong underwear to your classmates, show up in a cleavage baring dress that your husband picked out or arrive at the reunion with a nose ring that you didn’t have in high school and your classmates will most definitely be whispering behind your back. And if you surreptitously adjust your adjustable push up bra to the highest level while speaking to your second grade crush, you are guaranteed to start a furor. It won't all be negative gossip, however. Some of us are a bit jealous we don't look like that in a thong or have the guts to pierce something other than our ears.
3. Dance on the table at the banquet and not only will you make an impression on your former classmates but you will earn a mention in this blog as well.
4. If your head looks different than it did in high school people may not recognize you immediately. Your classmates will stand across the room for a long time, casually glancing in your direction, wondering who that is with the shocking red hair. They will make desperate stabbing guesses at who is hiding underneath that bushy facial hair. There will be hushed, critical conjecture as to who in the class had a nose that was that perfectly sculpted and a forehead that didn’t move. Someone will eventually get up enough nerve to ask you your name. Be prepared for looks of shock and disbelief followed by cries of, “No way!”
5. Hold a thoughtful conversation with someone outside of your permitted and expected social circle from high school. At least one of you will walk away shocked, mumbling the words, “She never spoke to me once in high school. Hmmmm……”
6. Exchange furtive glances, subtle touches and personal phone numbers with another classmate and the entire class will know about it within 10 minutes. Gossip travels quickly.
7. Announce to a conservative, religious, Republican classmate that you thoroughly enjoy your new stem cell research job more than your last job at the abortion clinic. Or ask the liberal, environmentalist in the class to help you release all of the latex party balloons into the sky as you tell him all about how you would vote for Bush a third time if you could.
8. Be a jerk to a classmate when you are 8 or 13 or 16 years old. Some people don’t forget. Some people never move on. Some grudges are held for a lifetime. If you find someone giving you the cold shoulder at the reunion, ask yourself if you were unkind to them in 5th grade.
9. Make sure your kid knocks down a few other kids at the class picnic soccer game. If your kid appears to be an insensitive, aggressive bully it will most certainly make an impression on your classmates.
10. Be confident. Confidence is attractive and will be noticed. Whether it be the local radio celebrity or the wheelchair ridden, handicapped advocate, classmates with confidence in who they are stand out.
11. Become responsible. Men, who in high school, couldn’t dress themselves, find their homework, or speak in complete sentences have somehow turned into fabulous husbands and fathers who have no problem holding down a job, changing a diaper or cooking dinner for their wife. This shocks and amazes us all.
12. Live far away. If you travel a great distance to come to the reunion, you will be treated like an exotic celebrity who has an unusual but admirable dedication to your classmates. It helps to have acquired the local accent as well.
13. Overcome a health crisis. This scares us all. We don’t know if we’ll be next. We don’t know if we could do what you have done. You have the respect of everyone.
14. Be on the reunion committee. It is the ultimate thankless job. No one knows how much work it takes to pull off a successful reunion. Almost no one will recognize you for all of your hard work. But people will have a great time. People will enjoy themselves. My reunion was a huge success because of the reunion committee. Thank you.
15. Don’t come. The easiest way to make an impression at your class reunion is to not come at all. It will guarantee days or even weeks of speculation as to why you weren’t there. Your name will be Googled. Websites will be searched. Rumors will start. Before long, your real reason for not coming will pale greatly in comparison to the one created by your nosy, imaginative and curious classmates.
Almost every single person who showed up at my reunion had some issue that made them question whether or not they should go. Somehow though, we all found a way to walk in the door, even if we had to be drug in by the husband. As a result, our reunion was full of people with low self esteem, grey hair, and a few extra pounds. There were people who still looked exactly the same as they did in high school. We saw others with sun damage and wrinkles and age spots. We visited with people who are wealthier than most of us can imagine. There were even a few people that were absolutely, totally hot. We spoke with single mothers, recovering alcoholics and the passionately religious. We compared our adoptions and miscarriages and anti-depressant medications. We were introduced to our classmates’ partners. We saw children with mohawks. We found out someone was a grandparent. We saw classmates who live all over the country and classmates who live 2 blocks from the high school. Our reunion was full of people who brought their old photo albums, shared their story of diving at the Great Barrier Reef, and were able to laugh at their obnoxious ex-husband. What made our reunion great was the people who took a risk, ignored their nerves and walked through the door anyway. They shared their stories with old friends and acquaintances, found things in common with people they had never spoken to before in their lives and maybe even made a new connection or two.
I cannot even begin to guess where the next five or ten years will take us. I can only hope that when the next reunion comes around even more classmates will ignore their nerves and walk through that door--you won’t regret it. So to all my fellow reunion-ites--consider this the first notice for the next reunion. It should give you plenty of time to lose those last couple of pounds, get that MBA and find some inner peace. Then there will be no excuse as to why you can’t come. See you there!
Check This Out!
Definitely rent the movie Goal! The Dream Begins starring Kuno Becker. It's a wonderful rags to riches soccer story. It has great footage and is quite inspirational. Rent it now though, because Goal II: Living the Dream hits theaters in September.
Then Barbie said hello to me. Such a simple thing. Saying hello. But it made all the difference in the world. I was still nervous. There definitely were people I didn’t recognize. There were people who didn’t recognize me. But, somehow, it became fun. Everyone was in the same boat. As the weekend went on and I gained more and more courage to speak to my classmates, I became aware that certain reunion moments and circumstances stood out more than others. It was during this microcosm of life that is the class reunion, that I ended up learning a few valuable reunion lessons, and really, perhaps, even life lessons, that form the basis of my fabulous reunion memories.
The Top 15 Ways to Make an Impression at Your Class Reunion
1. Having 6 kids, 2 step kids and 87 animals will most certainly make an impression at a reunion. Your classmates will wonder in awe how in the heck you had the time and the energy to even show up at the reunion after raising all those kids and animals. Some of us still struggle to just get ourselves out of bed in the morning. Wow.
2. Thongs and cleavage and piercings, oh my! Flash your thong underwear to your classmates, show up in a cleavage baring dress that your husband picked out or arrive at the reunion with a nose ring that you didn’t have in high school and your classmates will most definitely be whispering behind your back. And if you surreptitously adjust your adjustable push up bra to the highest level while speaking to your second grade crush, you are guaranteed to start a furor. It won't all be negative gossip, however. Some of us are a bit jealous we don't look like that in a thong or have the guts to pierce something other than our ears.
3. Dance on the table at the banquet and not only will you make an impression on your former classmates but you will earn a mention in this blog as well.
4. If your head looks different than it did in high school people may not recognize you immediately. Your classmates will stand across the room for a long time, casually glancing in your direction, wondering who that is with the shocking red hair. They will make desperate stabbing guesses at who is hiding underneath that bushy facial hair. There will be hushed, critical conjecture as to who in the class had a nose that was that perfectly sculpted and a forehead that didn’t move. Someone will eventually get up enough nerve to ask you your name. Be prepared for looks of shock and disbelief followed by cries of, “No way!”
5. Hold a thoughtful conversation with someone outside of your permitted and expected social circle from high school. At least one of you will walk away shocked, mumbling the words, “She never spoke to me once in high school. Hmmmm……”
6. Exchange furtive glances, subtle touches and personal phone numbers with another classmate and the entire class will know about it within 10 minutes. Gossip travels quickly.
7. Announce to a conservative, religious, Republican classmate that you thoroughly enjoy your new stem cell research job more than your last job at the abortion clinic. Or ask the liberal, environmentalist in the class to help you release all of the latex party balloons into the sky as you tell him all about how you would vote for Bush a third time if you could.
8. Be a jerk to a classmate when you are 8 or 13 or 16 years old. Some people don’t forget. Some people never move on. Some grudges are held for a lifetime. If you find someone giving you the cold shoulder at the reunion, ask yourself if you were unkind to them in 5th grade.
9. Make sure your kid knocks down a few other kids at the class picnic soccer game. If your kid appears to be an insensitive, aggressive bully it will most certainly make an impression on your classmates.
10. Be confident. Confidence is attractive and will be noticed. Whether it be the local radio celebrity or the wheelchair ridden, handicapped advocate, classmates with confidence in who they are stand out.
11. Become responsible. Men, who in high school, couldn’t dress themselves, find their homework, or speak in complete sentences have somehow turned into fabulous husbands and fathers who have no problem holding down a job, changing a diaper or cooking dinner for their wife. This shocks and amazes us all.
12. Live far away. If you travel a great distance to come to the reunion, you will be treated like an exotic celebrity who has an unusual but admirable dedication to your classmates. It helps to have acquired the local accent as well.
13. Overcome a health crisis. This scares us all. We don’t know if we’ll be next. We don’t know if we could do what you have done. You have the respect of everyone.
14. Be on the reunion committee. It is the ultimate thankless job. No one knows how much work it takes to pull off a successful reunion. Almost no one will recognize you for all of your hard work. But people will have a great time. People will enjoy themselves. My reunion was a huge success because of the reunion committee. Thank you.
15. Don’t come. The easiest way to make an impression at your class reunion is to not come at all. It will guarantee days or even weeks of speculation as to why you weren’t there. Your name will be Googled. Websites will be searched. Rumors will start. Before long, your real reason for not coming will pale greatly in comparison to the one created by your nosy, imaginative and curious classmates.
Almost every single person who showed up at my reunion had some issue that made them question whether or not they should go. Somehow though, we all found a way to walk in the door, even if we had to be drug in by the husband. As a result, our reunion was full of people with low self esteem, grey hair, and a few extra pounds. There were people who still looked exactly the same as they did in high school. We saw others with sun damage and wrinkles and age spots. We visited with people who are wealthier than most of us can imagine. There were even a few people that were absolutely, totally hot. We spoke with single mothers, recovering alcoholics and the passionately religious. We compared our adoptions and miscarriages and anti-depressant medications. We were introduced to our classmates’ partners. We saw children with mohawks. We found out someone was a grandparent. We saw classmates who live all over the country and classmates who live 2 blocks from the high school. Our reunion was full of people who brought their old photo albums, shared their story of diving at the Great Barrier Reef, and were able to laugh at their obnoxious ex-husband. What made our reunion great was the people who took a risk, ignored their nerves and walked through the door anyway. They shared their stories with old friends and acquaintances, found things in common with people they had never spoken to before in their lives and maybe even made a new connection or two.
I cannot even begin to guess where the next five or ten years will take us. I can only hope that when the next reunion comes around even more classmates will ignore their nerves and walk through that door--you won’t regret it. So to all my fellow reunion-ites--consider this the first notice for the next reunion. It should give you plenty of time to lose those last couple of pounds, get that MBA and find some inner peace. Then there will be no excuse as to why you can’t come. See you there!
Check This Out!
Definitely rent the movie Goal! The Dream Begins starring Kuno Becker. It's a wonderful rags to riches soccer story. It has great footage and is quite inspirational. Rent it now though, because Goal II: Living the Dream hits theaters in September.
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