Revenge of the Bacon
Garlic useless as predicted. Unable to avoid swine flu until vaccine becomes available. Revenge-of-the-bacon virus brought home by the Kiddo. Share and share alike highly overrated as a tenet of civilization. After nearly two weeks, oinking and squealing nearly abated. Husband spared the worst. Age apparently has benefits. Kiddo suffered for a full week but holds no grudge against the piggies. Bacon still tops the favorite food list.
Time Marches On
Seven months makes a difference. Husband’s job situation is no longer terminal. Old, dying job has been replaced with much livelier but lower paying employment. Kiddo’s school behavior seems to no longer be an issue, but who knows, parent/teacher conference next month could prove to be a slap in the face.
Assuming that horse breeding experience does not qualify one to work in a library turns out to be logical thinking. The silence that followed my application was unsurprising. However, where one sliding door closes, another opens.
Today, I am nearing six months into my studies to be a medical transcriptionist. Faint aura of scam and scandal are to be ingnored. The industry and school are legit. Certainly won’t get rich with this, but benefits abound. I’ll join the ranks of the telecommuters, be able to work in jammies, and not have a nervous breakdown when Kiddo has to miss school for yet another illness. Better still, I will rule at Scrabble with my medical dictionary.
Among the new parental challenges are health concerns for the Kiddo, who decided at 8-1/2, to become asthmatic. Then two months later, she developed nasty little headaches that apparently belong under the migraine umbrella. All we need now is H1N1. Tempted to go medieval and festoon the house with garlic and crosses. Given Kiddo’s propensity for sticking fingers and hands in her mouth, it ought to be equally effective.
4-07-2009
Dr. Laura is my hero. Always good for a moral kick in the pants, this time in book form, In Praise of Stay at Home Moms. Just what I needed, the reminder that home is where I’m supposed to be, where we decided I should be. No sarcasm here. Though Husband’s employment situation is terminal, we need to see how far we can make it without changing my role. Mother says Kiddo has had me longer than a lot of kids have their parents at home. Nothing wrong with going to work, she says. I detect a hint of jealousy. She went to work when I was eight. No choice on her part. Father left. Easy enough to remember what I don’t want for Kiddo. Don’t want her coming home to a baby sitter. Don’t want her to be a latch key kid. Don’t want her in after care if it’s avoidable. Don’t want her feeling sad, wondering when Mama will be home. Thanks for the reminder, Dr. Laura. It was needed.
4-06-2009
Expect it might be an interesting day as it started off with a bang. I just love lightning in the morning. And not a drop of rain until I opened the door to take the dog out. Too bad her leash is just short enough that I have to be out on the step with her. Rain drops the size of quarters. At least it wasn’t hail.
Maybe it’s a dog day. Encounter two escapee dogs on the walk to school. Naturally they decide to follow us. Kiddo starts panicking every time they approach the street. Child really needs to do theater. Pair of canines are two beagle-like creatures with transmitters on their collars. The faulty invisible dog fence strikes again. Have never known one to be reliable. Do not trust such “containment” with a determined dog. Prefer stout wooden or even ugly chain link variety. Self-closing gates also good.
Reach the corner, a five-point intersection by the school. Dogs still with us. Owner jumps out of a Mini Cooper, relieving me of the responsibility to keep them out of traffic. Good thing, too. Typical dogs, too shy to catch. Untypical of escaped dogs, they run to their owner who then drags them off, yelling over her shoulder, “They got out of the back yard.” No kidding. Really. Instruct Kiddo again to calm down, that her panicking only would have excited the dogs more. Maybe she’ll grow up to be a vet with such empathy for animals. Ah, Monday adventures. Think I’ve had enough adventures to last me a while.
Last night at dinner, Kiddo talks of playing ball over the fence with the little boy from “Backsdoor.” Love the creative use of language that is still native to eight year olds. Too bad the conversation goes down the tubes after that. She relates how the boy had two balls attached with some kind of string, and that she threw it back to him underhand, trying to get it over the fence.
“But,” she says, “it got caught on the wire. But it’s okay because I got it down.”
“How?” Still calm at this moment, but can feel my chest seizing up.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t climb. I used a stick. A long one.”
“Don’t you ever, ever, ever, ever, I can’t say enough evers, do that again!”
She’s clueless. Completely clueless about the danger. I reason that it must have been the Comcast line, that it was the bottom one. Not a power line. I thought eight was old enough to leave in the backyard safely. Now I wonder. My job is to get her to 18 safely. Wonder how possible that might be.
Other before school dramas this morning, luckily not involving personal safety. Kiddo has misplaced a library book, and can’t find it. Insists she can’t remember. Kiddo would be lousy at search and rescue. Her idea of searching is a cursory glance that misses things in plain view. Come to think of it, same is true of Husband. Wonder if it is genetic.
Today’s Monday excitements include a venture to what my friend has designated, “The Best Store Ever.” Faint whiffs of SpongeBob aside, the superlative seems to fit. The nearly local Super Giant is the best grocery store I’ve been to since the expiry of the Clemens chain. Oh how I miss going to visit dear Mrs. Clemens in Plumsteadville.
This time, I am flush with decent coupons. Dear Mother donated a $5 off a $15 order coupon. Have 4, $1 coupon doublers also. And the sale flyer is full of stuff we actually use this week. Better still, most of it has a long shelf life. I smell a large but bargainfull grocery bill coming. Ah, well. Will save money in the long run. Must not succumb to impulse purchases. Must. Stick. To. List.
Success! Have conquered grocery shopping, and now remember how much I loathe doing this chore in the pouring rain. Nonetheless, tally only totals $179. Brilliant, considering Husband’s terminal employment situation. Most everything in the cart was on sale, and several had coupons. Now have peanut butter, stuffing, diced tomatoes, and pineapple tidbits to last months. Tomorrow, to the warehouse club. Could be dangerous.
On the home front, ten minutes searching turns up Kiddo’s MIA library book. In her room, of course, and on a chair, underneath a box. Will not even try to comprehend the filing system.
I am mother. Hear me roar. At my child. Again. Figuratively this time. Again, we have not achieved a sticker on our behavior chart. One for six now. The irksome part is that she has proved twice already that she is capable of controlling the inner drama queen for days at a time, many days at a time. Again admonish child to control her temper and not call out in class. Grill her on her tools for controlling her anger. She knows them, yet rarely remembers to use them. Lately, every parental utterance is met with one to the contrary. Urgh.
Afternoon library excursion brings relief, not literary this time, but of the job search sort. As Kiddo checked out, I spied someone filling out an employment application. I filled one out last week. Since I’ve heard nothing, I considered it a lost cause. Perhaps they are hoping to accumulate a pool of applicants before scheduling interviews. Still not too optimistic. Horse breeding experience does not qualify one to work in a library. However, the location, pay, and hours per week make the position desirable. All that said, not sure if I really, really want it. Would prefer to remain stay at home mom if we can swing it. Very averse to putting Kiddo in after care at school. It’s a good program, but I can’t see how it would benefit a child whose behavior is already not quite up to snuff.
Consider Mondays tool of the devil. Husband brings home traffic citation for running a red light. Fast cycle he says. Was green when he entered the intersection, he says. Cop invisible on other side of SEPTA bus. Crap. Just what we need. Good thing I did so well at the supermarket. Silver lining is, no points. Thank God. Car insurance would not have survived that one. Already dinged for two accidents in less than twelve months. Perhaps Husband should not be allowed to drive. Too bad SEPTA can’t get him to work. Well, it could, but the last leg of the journey walking could be life-threatening. Okay, Monday can be over now.
4-04-2009
Fill coffee cup with sludge from bottom of the pot. Contents will either coat my insides or clean them out. Not sure which is worse. Guaranteed to keep rampant hunger at bay for two hours.
Mail brings invitation to combined party for niece and nephew. Niece is graduating from college. Nephew is to have his First Communion. Both worthy of celebration. Instantly start to manufacture other obligations for that afternoon. Visions of crowded noisy house cause cringing. Guilt boils up. Once again lament my familial hermit tendencies. Husband’s family full of quite likeable people. And Kiddo would love the party. Husband would enjoy it once there, but until that point would prefer to stay at home. How did I find the nation’s only extroverted recluse to marry?
Find one possible iron-clad excuse to avoid large scale chaos disguised as fun. My own birthday is but two days before the bash. Parents prefer to mark the occasion on a weekend with a cook out. Said Saturday is a likely candidate for the event. Resolve to schedule accordingly. Husband knows what’s good for him and acquiesces promptly.
Find Husband allowing Daughter to play bloody violent video game on his iTouch. Previously had counseled him that even watching said game was INAPPROPRIATE. Was as usual, blown off. Raise objections to child actually playing the game, and am blown off again. Apparently, since it is only the Baby Level, it is perfectly all right. He insists it’s only about mazes at that level. Can’t shake image of bazooka toting toddler wandering aimlessly about maze. Exit with an attempted air of disgust and superiority. In reality, tail is between legs. Unless I brandish a weapon from the game, this argument is lost.
Vainly, and in vain, attempt to cover up zits. The British call them spots, a much better term. Doesn’t sound as hideous as zits. Relish the relatively good skin day, thanks to mid-cycle status. Wish again that gene for adult acne had also gone unexpressed. Would have much preferred to express the recessive gene for gray eyes that my paternal grandfather had. Still, am glad it’s not rosacea. As always, things could be worse.
Must escort Kiddo to a friend’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Find Chuck E. Cheese’s to be a modern torture chamber of materialism. Deeply grateful the eight is old enough to be left at party without parental attendance. Also grateful to avoid Daughter begging for more tokens when they run out. Leaving is a guaranteed money and sanity saving strategy. Will seize the chance to accomplish trip to the bank. Party location is halfway there. Try to remember why we chose a credit union with a closest branch 12 miles away. Dimly recall something about interest rates.
4-05-2009
Drop Kiddo off at church to sing with choir for Palm Sunday service. This after arguments about what she can wear. Apparently, I am mean because I do not allow her to wear an extremely sleeveless sundress in the beginning of April. Once she is dressed in an appropriate frock, I then have to tell her that the sweatshirt she has put on will not be going to church with her. I have become meaner still. Oops. Just realized that I forgot to check the nature of her footwear. Oh well. At least I remembered to do the second combing on her hair.
Before allowing Kiddo to exit the van, remind her that there is to be no playing swords with the palms. Children and palms leaves are a bad combination. However, that combination is much less frightening than children and candles, as at Christmas.
I am spared the first service at church. The plan is that I am to return home to retrieve the anti-theistic Husband for the beginning of the second service. The children, angels all, are to be released to their parents after the Children’s Procession, which takes place near the beginning of the service. We have been duly instructed to sit in the back so that when we also depart there isn’t a traffic jam at the door. Seeing as this will be second service, wonder how many will remain in the congregation after the parents and children depart.
Return to church to find that I’ve screwed up yet again. Second graders were to stay in worship. I unwittingly imposed on a dear friend. Again. Apologize profusely. Fortunately she is understanding and Kiddo was well-behaved. Sigh in relief.
After child ingests pints of lemonade, return her all sugared up to kids’ choir room. On the way upstairs, hear the adult Chancel Choir singing warm-ups. “I lo-ove to sing…” Suddenly wax nostalgic about choir. Realize the words are true and that I miss choir. Wonder why, at 38, my get-up-and-go is gone. Might it have something to do with Husbandly health issues of last year? That was my excuse last year. Or is it Husbandly employment issues of this year? Outwardly blame status as mother of school-age child with extra-curricular activities. But is that honestly it? No good answers.
Receive palms and bulletins upon entering church. Don’t recall the palms of previous years being palm branches. Recall long, singular palm leaves. Things that make you go hmmm… Suppose they must grow palms to kill for Palm Sunday. Wonder how many palms died to supply Palm Sunday Services? And are they considered sacrificial palms?
Admire organ prelude by Cesar Franck. Don’t know if he was, but it sounds like he was a Romantic composer. Music is moody and dramatic. Magnificent pipe organ adds to the effect. Recall having sung a psalm setting by the same composer, but can no longer recall which one. Another manifestation of middle age dementia. Climax of organ piece, aptly called Piece Heroique, stirs my soul and gives me goose bumps, but does not do wonders for my headache.
Minister elaborates slightly on origins of palms during announcements. Seems that this year, they are from Guatemala, location of most recent mission trip. So the memory isn’t as far gone as I think. Feel vindicated that the palms are indeed different, and that I have not imagined it.
Listen to angelic children sing and admire their easy faith. Expect that this brand of faith will be subject to serious questioning later. Kiddo often refers to Jesus with certainty. My own faith seems to have gone into hiding in the last year or two. Occasionally wonder where. The wonder is it better to have faith and lose it, or to never have it at all?
