Archive for May, 2008

Vomit-phobia

May 27, 2008 at 9:14 pm · Filed under General Banter, Kids

I am a vomit-phobe.  Have been since 1977 when I had the misfortune of throwing up on a plane, in my lap.  I never quite got over it. (Neither, I suspect, did the poor woman who had the even greater misfortune of having chosen the seat next to me.) 

When I found out I was pregnant I was only afraid of the morning sickness.  Once it was evident that I had been spared, I turned my anxiety to whether my child(ren) would be barfers (fortunately, neither of them is) and stop people mid-sentence when it becomes apparent that they are going to relay a story that involves, yup, puking. (I actually far prefer the word barfing to puking…there is something more civilized about it.)

On the rare occasion that anyone in my house feels it necessary to do the deed I literally feel my body change.  My shoulders tighten, I get a thin (okay, heavy) line of sweat on my upper lip and I try to find a way to avoid being the holder-of-the-head.  (Rich has often remarked that we are the perfect couple since he is unphased by vomit and the blood that brings him to my knees doesn’t bother me in the least.) 

Now that you know where I stand on matters of regurgitation you will find my most recent (read: 30 minutes ago) trip to the market ($158, two dinners) funny (at my expense).  There I was, standing in line, watching my total surpass $100 when I noticed an especially cute little guy sitting the cart behind me, happily chowing down animal crackers (the real ones that come in the cardboard box decorated like a cage.  My mother managed to do all her marketing in the 60’s and 70’s by giving me and my brothers each our own to eat through the shopping).  He was a doe eyed toe head and I, being me, started to chat with his mom.  We were chatting about how fast kids grow up, what a picky eater he is and then, in a fluid movement, without a moment’s hesitation or even a gasp or groan, she cupped her hands under his mouth as he, you guessed it, barfed.  Even the overflow didn’t seem to phase her.  I felt the sweat building on my lip but knew I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen.  I implored the pimply faced teenage boy to get us some paper towels as the mom, still disarmingly calm, asked me for a plastic bag which I dutifully handed her.  It was then that I surprised myself.  I reached over with the paper towel and wiped the kid’s face off.  I swear I did.  I can only explain it by the fact that he was darned cute, not at all upset (the only person calmer than him was his mother) and I really didn’t have a choice.  Once the drama (which was really mine alone) was over, I asked the mother how she was so calm, “is he a barfer?” I so delicately inquired?  “No, not at all” was her response.  What!?!?!

I then scampered out of the store and mentioned to the store manager, “clean up, register 4″…

Comments (1)

“It’s the time of year…”

May 22, 2008 at 8:33 pm · Filed under General Banter

Why is it that, no matter what time of year, everyone always blames anything negative on the time of year?  Of late (read: today) I have spoken to people about a variety of irritants (none of which necessarily bear repeating) and each person has responded by saying, “it’s the time of year”.  On it’s own that makes some sense, until you stop and realize that you got the same feedback in September (beginning of school year, Jewish holidays), October (novelty of school starting to wear off, the dreaded Halloween costume challenge – shut up, I admit to being challenged in the sewing department and have you ever tried to fight the crowds at iParty in the weeks, okay, days, okay, hours leading up to the 31st?), November (Thanksgiving and Harrison’s birthday, often on the same day, which leads right into Hannukah – see December), December (Georgie’s birthday, Hannukah, New Year’s Eve), January (going back to school after winter break – I still call it Christmas vacation, dealing with the snow which is invariably piled up at the end of my driveway by the damned town plows), February(novelty of the winter wearing thin, morning fights over hats, gloves and boots and gearing up for another vacation week which has to be filled with lively entertainment lest my children lose their minds), March (you feel like it should be spring already, but there is still so much freakin’ winter ahead and, by this time we often haven’t seen the sun for more than an hour or so for about four months), April (my birthday which always depresses me despite my avowing that it won’t, preparing for yet another school vacation week, the onset of allergies, and ”springing” the damned clocks ahead making it virtually impossible to get Georgie into bed before 8), May (nearing the end of the school year – if you call another 6 weeks nearing the end.  This is the time of year that Harrison is officially done with school, his friends and his teachers and can only focus on how many days until he leaves for camp.  Me, too.  Plus, the pool opens which in and of itself is great, but it throws everyone off to be poolside on Sunday and then have to get the kids up and at ‘em for school the next day not to mention the arguments over whether 70 degrees is really warm enough to go swimming), June (okay, school ends this month and camp begins but there is a lot that has to happen to successfully make that segue.  Like signing them up (oh, wait, I had to do that in December), packing Harrison and, ugh, paying for it.  July (starting to get hot.  I hate hot), August (no longer starting to get hot, it is hot. And humid. And I have had bad hair for a month already…enough is enough) and that brings us back to September.  See above.

So, next time someone blames the time of year, ask them when an easy time of year is and let me know.

Comments (1)

Day 25 My Avon Walk for Breast Cancer Research

May 20, 2008 at 1:10 am · Filed under General Banter

You know how sometimes you do something and have a wonderful experience and then you go back to do the exact same thing a second time and it is a big ol’ let down?  Not so the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer Research.   As wonderful and fulfilling as it was the first time, the second was even better.

The day started out sketchy at best.  Mary and I stopped at a Dunkin’ Donuts which was, well, way out of our comfort zone.  We tackled our first fears of the day upon entrance to the store and a quick perusal of our fellow patrons.   We got out alive (and caffeinated)(it was 6 in the morning, after all),  ran into the torrential rain to make our final ascent to the Opening Ceremonies, and smashed into the car behind us.  I mean smashed.  Loud.  Decked in our pink-from-head-to-toe outfits we got out of the car holding our breath and wondering if we were about to be shot, maimed or otherwise put in the hospital.  Out stepped an adorable little blonde twentysomething who announced she was in a mad rush and not to worry.   Fortunately, and miraculously, aside from a tiny scratch there was no damage to either car.

Off we proceeded to the walk.  Upon arrival at the parking lot (did I mention it was pouring rain?) things were moving along swimmingly when suddenly the line ahead of us came to a grinding halt.  Said halt lasted for close to 45 minutes.  Apparently, my dear walking buddy, Mary, got her start times a little off so we missed the Opening Ceremonies.  The traffic holdup was staged by the staff in order to allow the walkers to get started on day one’s 26.2 mile route.   Okay, no biggie…this isn’t a race after all.  The line of cars began to move again and we were directed every few feet by Avon staff folks pointing left, right and straight ahead ostensibly letting us know where to leave the car.  Would have been fine but for the fact there was suddenly no more staff and we found ourselves back out on Morrissey Boulevard without a clue as to how we got there or how we’d get back.  A little irritated, we opted to head to the first rest stop and meet up with the masses there.  (Okay, so I’ve outed us.  We actually only did 24.2 miles the first day.  Trust me, it felt like the full 26.2).  We left the car directly across from the first rest stop, assumed the car would be stripped, stolen, ticketed or towed and off we went.

Around three or four miles into the walk the rain stopped (but by now I was a slave to my hat) and the day was suddenly sunny, dry and cool.  (Most of you slept through the rain part of the day…we did not).  We quickly dried in the sun and proceeded to walk with 2,998 other folks – mostly women, but certainly some men (love a man in pink) through various neighborhoods until we reached the Wellness Village in Canton.  During the course of those many miles we met people from all different circumstances, all with their own reason for walking.  We spent a bulk of the day with Lisa and Dawn, friends since high school who came from New Hampshire to walk.  They had been at the funeral of a friend last year when they decided to take some sort of action to eradicate cancer.  We shared stories of our combined nine children, our husbands and our lives.  These are two women we never would have met otherwise yet all barriers were down and we connected for those many hours we walked.

Upon arrival at the Wellness Village we were greeted by screaming supporters, a heaping plate of pasta and meatballs (dinner #1), Mary’s family and the vision of a sea of tents.  None of them would have our sorry butts in them as we had the forethought this year to book a hotel in advance.  (Sidebar:   We did indeed have a reservation at a hotel just a few minutes from the Wellness Village.  Upon arrival there it was apparent that, despite being exhausted and wanting nothing, or so we thought, more than a hot shower and a second dinner, this particular establishment was not going to make the cut.  Before rejecting, we waited to see the actual room and not just judge by the lobby and the employees – both scary – so dutifully handed over the credit card.  We only had to open the door to determine that there was no way in hell we were staying there.  The tent was looking more and more appealing.  Bill, Mary’s husband, called every hotel in a twenty mile radius but all were full due to commencements, seasoned walkers and various other Boston happenings.  We decided we would stay just about anywhere but there and went down to the scary folks in the lobby and somehow, by some miracle, or perhaps the smell coming from us and our shoes, they refunded our money…but “just this once.” We left without a real plan but wound up in a great room at the Needham Sheraton, compete with on the house room service (dinner #2).  We both showered, popped a Motrin (good call from the doc we met on the walk who suggested it) and were out like lights before you could say, “get up tomorrow and walk another 13 miles”.)

We got up on Sunday morning raring to go.  Really.  We headed back to the Wellness Village and settled into a hardy breakfast of coffee, cheese eggs, oatmeal, fruit, you name it.  We sat down in the mess-tent and started chatting with the ladies finishing up at the table.   (They joked that they had decided to walk to get a weekend away from their families.  Oh, wait, they weren’t joking.)  Just as they got up to leave, in walked folks we knew from home – D., H. and M. (H’s daughter).  We knew they were walking (this was their 7th year) and were psyched to see them.   The five of us finished breakfast and took to walking as one for the last thirteen miles.   H. and I are survivors (although we both bristle a little at that definition as we both consider our ordeals as having been so much easier than so many other women have experienced) and D., M. and Mary have been our stalwart supports through every moment.

We laughed, learned more about one another with each step we took, shared ourselves and experiences with complete abandon and crossed the finish line with our friendships forever changed.   Sharing swollen feet, tight quads, sausage fingers, porta potty stories and doing what girlfriends do (less the usual martinis)all in the name of supporting breast cancer research.   It was a wonderful day.  Again.

The walk ended with our families at the finish line making it all the more wonderful.  Thank you all for your support, encouragement, love and kind messages.   You will be hearing from us again next year…

(Sidebar #2  - Not only was my car just where and as we left it, but the tiny little scratch which I got from my unfortunate backing up job at the Dunkin’ Donuts wiped clean with a little spit on the finger!)

Leave a Comment

Day 24 To Work or Not to Work

May 14, 2008 at 5:06 pm · Filed under General Banter

I have a cold.  I spent a day convincing myself that it was allergies (I took both an allergy pill and ColdEeze so perhaps I will never know the truth) only to be knocked on my butt yesterday by all symptoms that add up to a cold.  My coughing and nose blowing at work prompted my co-worker/boss to implore me to stay home the next day if I wasn’t feeling well.  We work in a very small space and, fairly, she didn’t want whatever I have (we were both working on the assumption that it was a cold we were dealing with)

When I woke up (for the first time) yesterday, it was patently clear to me, whether it was a cold or allergies, that I was of little to no use to anyone.  I dragged myself out of bed, called my boss at home to tell her, got the kids off to school (yeah, I drove them wearing my pajamas…so what?) came home and immediately fell asleep for four hours.  Ironically, they were the exact four hours I should have been at work.  Clearly, I would not have been too productive.  I got up, thumped downstairs, ate something and then turned around and went back to sleep for another three hours.  It was then that I went online and found an email (sent to me at 5:10 the night before) (I had gotten in bed at 7) from aforementioned boss:

Subj: Tomorrow

Hope you’ll be feeling better by tomorrow –
 
We have 8 deal mementos to price out for XXX, one tote bag to find for XXX and one order for XXXX.
 
C
Now, as I mentioned, I did not receive this email until the day had passed.  (Note to readers: I have to be feeling pretty terrible to not read my email…).  The day was gone and there was nothing I could do about it.  So today, definitely feeling better but far from cured, I dutifully got up, loaded up on Tylenol Day, did my hair (I recently cheated on my hairdresser and now have the best haircut I have had in years) got dressed (in anything but jeans), got the kids out the door and to school and dragged myself into the office.  
Upon arrival, I was faced with a pile of non urgent administrative tasks to take care of.   I was working my way through them when I got my daily call from C. on her way into the office.  When I answered the phone, sounding just a little worse than I felt, we shared the following exchange:
C: Wow, you sound terrible.
Me: Well, I’m sick.
C: Then why’d you come in?
Me: I knew there was a lot going on and I just couldn’t get in yesterday.  I didn’t get your email til late in the day.
C: That was yesterday.  I got it done.  I don’t want what you have.
Me: Okay, then if everything is under control I will finish up what I am doing and head out.
Later, when she arrived at the office after I answered the phone:
C: You don’t sound as sick as you say you are.
Me: That’s because I am hopped up on Tylenol Day
C: Well, I don’t want what you have.
Me: Okay. 
And out the door I went.
I fully understand her not wanting what I have (I know I don’t want what I have) but, is it just me, or was I stuck between a rock and a hard place with that one?  If I stayed home she was annoyed, if I went in she was annoyed.  One thing I know for certain — I am not getting paid enough for that kind of aggravation.  Bad attitude?  Ooops.
So now, as I sit here with that hacking-so-hard-I-hope-I-don’t-barf cough I know in my heart that I am better off at home.  Why, then, do I feel like I am doing something wrong?  Why,  then, do I feel guilty? (see archived post Day 13 if you sense a theme here) and why, then, am I torturing myself? 

Comments (2)

Day 23 Beer Hour

May 9, 2008 at 11:00 pm · Filed under General Banter ·Tagged ,

Every Friday, beginning, as best I can tell, around 4 pm, Rich’s company sponsors a Beer Hour.  This is a bit of a misnomer as it never seems to end before 8, 9, midnight, 2 a.m. , thus making it a Beer Hours.  On it’s own, I am fine with it.  I appreciate the need to let go of the week, start the transition to the weekend, socialize with the folks you sit in meetings with all day.  However, why the hell does it have to be on Fridays?  Is no one taking into consideration the spouse who is left at home with the kids?  Has no one thought about the fact that, despite my J-cation, I have had a long week, too.  I have, so far today, (warning: rant coming) gotten the kids up and out on my own,  been to work, raced to get the kids, taken them first, with the hopes of making mother’s day gifts for the grandmothers, to Plaster FunTime only to realize, while walking through the door, that my plan was a bad one, then schlepping (in the rain) to the mall to find something “just perfect” for each of them, came home, straightened out the house and washed and pitted the $45 worth of berries I stopped at the market to get before picking up the kids at school (and, no, I am not exaggerating.  I bought two little things of blueberries, blackberries and raspberries along with one big thing of strawberries.  Okay, I threw in shortbread cakes and whipped cream for Harrison and a few little yogurts for me) which will have been consumed by this time tomorrow and now have to go back out in the rain to drive Harrison and his friend (the same friend he had officially – apparently not – disassociated himself from just a week ago) to a dance.   Then, I get to come home, do the nightly bedtime battle with Georgie (I have been on duty every night this week…that is the price of my J-cation) and, perhaps, have some dinner.  (And I really was testing the temperature of the macaroni and cheese…it wasn’t dinner.  Sushi is on my wish list…)

So, back to Beer Hour.  It comes at a very inconvenient time for everyone other than the imbiber.  It prevents me from creating a sweeping Shabbat dinner (well, not really.  I wouldn’t do it anyway, but it does derail any hopes of a family dinner, even if it is pizza), makes me a little, um, short-tempered, with my children and, frankly (and I know this will come as a big surprise) a little bitter.  In all honesty, I don’t care if Rich goes out at night (he used to go to karate every night which got to be a little irritating, but that has slowed way down) I just loathe it coming on a Friday night.  Why can’t they do it on Thursday nights?  Or Tuesdays?  For something which is supposed to be a quality of life benefit, it is clearly misguided in that, while it may be enhancing the quality of life for the employee, the same is not so for the family.

I must wrap up as the calm which I had been lulled into thinking was going to segue into a pleasant night has disintegrated into mayhem around me (Well, behind me, actually.  Georgie just reported that he needed a band-aid and blood or broken bones are usually the metric by which I determine just how dire things have gotten but I take comfort in the fact that is was just a small skin tear and nothing too worrisome).  I now have to sternly yet kindly tell my children that they might want to reconsider their current behavior lest they discover me lying in my bed with an empty pill bottle next to me.  Then, I get to put everyone in the car (did I mention it is still raining) and deliver Harrison, and all his hormones, to the dance.  So here it is, just before 7pm on another Friday night and Beer “Hour” is in hour number three.  Geez.

Comments (4)

Day 22 May 8, 1981

May 8, 2008 at 1:57 am · Filed under Adult???, General Banter

Twenty seven years ago tomorrow I went out on my first date with the person who would become my husband.  (I cannot honestly say the “man” that would become my husband since he was 17 and, in all honesty, nowhere near being a man.)  We went to see the movie “Breaker Morant” which, as anyone who knows me will attest, was everything I hate in a movie.  I have no clue what it was about (I just remember they all had strange mustaches and even stranger voice inflections) as we were the obnoxious kids talking through the whole thing (this was before the PSAs asking you to shut your phone and your mouth became standard operating procedure).  It never dawned on me, in fact I would have called you crazy had you suggested it, that in 2008 we would be married for nearly 18 years and be living the life complete with a mortgage, kids and all the other stuff that supposedly says “adult.”

I realized today that on that day in May, 1981, the day that I first met my mother in law, she was the exact age I am now.  She was 43, had a kid in college, Rich was a junior in high school and his brother had recently had his Bar Mitzvah.  She had a big tudor house, four cars in the driveway (OMG…I never made that connection before!  The big difference being that where we have an antique Triumph and a Porsche she had station wagons and Oldsmobiles).  She prepared a real Shabbat dinner every Friday night (a tradition I did not embrace and, truth be told, I think she has held against me all these years.  In fact, she once told me that if I had been making Shabbat dinners all along Rich would never have gone to the Friday night beer hours (and hours) which caused so much, um, discussion, over the years.) and knew how to cook a turkey in her oven (growing up we always got our turkeys already cooked and stuffed – I didn’t know it was an option to cook it yourself.  Really).  It wasn’t that she looked old (she didn’t) it was just that I, at 16, thought she was old (she wasn’t).  And now, here I am, 43, with a six year old and a thirteen year old, realizing that this is how my kids’ friends see, gulp, me.

Okay, so I am not only crashing upon re-entry from my J-cation, now I am depressed.  Well, depressed may not be the right word.  Horrified?  Terrified? Panicked?  Troubled?  I must get a grip on this adulthood thing.  I know there are certain things I have accomplished which would qualify me as an adult:

  1. I have had 43 birthdays
  2. I have been married nearly 18 years. (All blissfully happy)
  3. I have given birth twice.  Once without drugs.  I don’t recommend it.
  4. I have a mortgage. (okay, and a line of credit.  shut up…everyone does)
  5. I drive a car (that was the one my father always got hung up on…it freaked him out that I drove)
  6. I have had and gotten rid of cancer.  Another one I don’t recommend.
  7. I have ground my back teeth on both sides to the point of cracking them.  In my mind, root canals and crowns are for adults.
  8. I have been laid off (not fired)(the company closed it’s doors, complete with my nearly vested, but suddenly worthless, stock shares)
  9. I have been called Mrs. Ross.  More than once.
  10. I have eulogized my father. 
  11. Two kids I know regularly call me Mom.
  12. I have gotten stopped for speeding. (and girled my way out of it :-) )
  13. I have a college degree (from a school I would probably not be accepted to if I were applying today)
  14. Last weekend was my, oh, God, 25th high school reunion.
  15. I have been called by the school principal regarding one of my darling’s behavior (in fairness, he, the principal, was totally overreacting…)
  16. I get to set my own bedtime.  So what if I get in bed at 9?
  17. I have lived in my own apartment, paid my own rent (usually on time) and sweet talked the super into fixing things now and not later.
  18. I take a woman’s multivitamin every morning.  Without iron.  Trust me.
  19. I remember when “The Brady Bunch” was on during primetime.
  20. I get to grant (or deny) permission to my children. 
  21. I have learned to cook my own turkey. (Okay, I know now that it is pretty much the easiest thing there is too cook, but let me bask in whatever glory I can find, would ya?)

I could go on (really, I swear I could) but you get the point.   Now here I am, clearly an adult on paper, yet still trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up.  I still have time, right?

Comments (5)

Day 21 – Easy Come, Easy Go

May 7, 2008 at 1:45 am · Filed under Adult???, General Banter, Kids

Five days in LA – no kids, no husband, no work, no responsibility.  It took me about 36 hours to let my shoulders drop, take my thumb out of my mouth and genuinely relax.  It has taken me about 12 hours to stress back out.  Just like working out – that which takes weeks, no, months, to achieve is lost in days, no hours.

My J-cation (that’s a conjunction of Julie and vacation) was spectacular.  The weather was perfect (I even came home with some color), I managed to incorporate culture (a visit to The Getty), exercise (a long walk from the Santa Monica Pier to Venice Beach and back), therapy (some damage at The Grove’s flagship Nordstrom’s),  necessity (when boarding at Logan I noticed that my glasses were broken so had to buy a new pair in LA.  Unfortunately, I had to find a one hour place and now, despite the Ralph Lauren  inscription on the temple, am stuck with way less cool glasses than I had before!) and philanthropy (Big Sunday).  I was on no one’s schedule but my own.  I slept until I woke up (granted, I woke up at 7 every morning but, in actuality, it was 10 assuming my body was still on east coast time), wore what I wanted to (no work dress code to adhere to) and didn’t have to play the role of chauffeur (my Uncle did that!)  It was awesome.

My return trip was timed perfectly.  We left LA at 1:35 pm (which allowed us time to have an indulgent breakfast at an LA institution - the name escapes me – but the specialty of the house was waffles topped with, ready for this?, chicken wings.  I opted out of that offering and went with the omelet and hashbrows…yum!)  and arrived in Boston at 10 pm.  By the time our luggage made its way down the conveyer belt and we headed out to the taxi stand it was 10:45 pm.  We pulled up to the house just after 11pm and it was instantly clear that my entire house was asleep.  What a terribly civilized way to re-enter. 

I spent a little time going through my 97 emails and catching up on my Facebook Scrabulous games.  My body had settled into Pacific time and sleep just wasn’t on the agenda.  After putzing around the house for a little while I finally went upstairs and was psyched that Rich had fallen asleep with the t.v. on.  Here’s why – had he fallen asleep without it on, my turning it on would have woken, and irritated, him.  Since it was already on I found myself with full clicker control.  So what did I settle on?  “Letterman”, nope, “Leno”, nope, “Frasier”, nope.  No, I settled on “Intervention”.  I then proceeded to become completely involved in the train wreck of a life of “Sara, the 24 year old meth addict” which kept me up until 2 in the morning.  I then dreamt weird stuff, yet not nearly as strange as Rich’s dream nor, I am sure, whatever goes on in “Sara’s” head. 

This morning was as calm as I can ever remember.  The boys were excited to see me (that was nice) and totally cooperative.  I was psyched to have had the foresight to take the day off so was able to walk to school, dropped of the G-man and continue on to walk for another hour.  Ahhh.  It was then that I decided for sure on that which I had been tossing around all weekend – I like me better when I am not working.  At least not working every day.  And not being able to wear jeans.  My being home today afforded me the opportunity to do all the laundry, straighten up the house (despite Rich’s best efforts, there was “stuff” everywhere.  Which is ironic since his first activity upon arrival home every night is to start, well, straightening).  I did a great food shopping- including three dinners! – and had swordfish, squash and broccoli salad at the ready when everyone got home.  I just cannot pull that off when I’ve been at work, been with the kids and contemplated suicide.   

So now, with my J-cation already a fading memory I feel the stress building in my shoulders, have the Sunday night blues (I know it is Tuesday night, but tomorrow is my Monday, workwise) and am, yet again,  saddled with trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up.  I’m only 43…

Comments (6)

That was easy….

May 4, 2008 at 9:11 pm · Filed under General Banter

I’m hiding in my closet.  Door shut.  Room dark.  I am searching for my happy place, and thinking it’s somewhere right now in LA along with Julie (my wife and keeper of the blog).  This is a special report: 

All Quiet on the Eastern Front

So Julie is in LA with her mom visiting her brother and family for Big Sunday, but I’m not reporting on that…we’ll leave it up to J to fill us all in on those details when she gets back to Boston.  After four days alone with my two boys I have other things on my mind and I’m wanting to share.

When I told Julie today of my desire to be a special guest blogger in her absence her reaction was simply, “sure, are you going to be mean (read: to me)”  Well, no (read: not to you).      

This is easier than I thought

Thursday and Friday were uneventful given Julies absence.  Believe me, it coulda gone either way but fortunately for all involved, things were running fine with the boys.   Both Harrison and Georgie got up and ready for school without incident.  Drop off for G was easy, fast and painless.  Hmmm, that was easy. 

Failing a field sobriety test

Friday afternoon I left work early to get Georgie at extended (Julie had the foresight to make sure we had extra coverage. God bless her).  During my drive from Cambridge to school I was visited by another episode of Vertigo.  The Doctor told me it can be brought on by stress.  I’m thinking I just left work early to get G after a week of additional days in extended school during which time J has not been around to buffer.  Anyone who knows G will quickly understand that there is no correlation to stress here.

So I get to school and wobble out of the car staggering like I’m drunk.  Trust me, I know what it’s like to attempt to walk while intoxicated.  I’m just not sure anyone witnessing in the parking lot would have realized what was going on.  “Mommy, why is Georgie’s dad having trouble walking straight?”  “Well honey, it looks to me that he’s suffering from a case of Vertigo.”  Ah, right.  

So when I had to step back to catch myself and hold onto a pole as I walked into the classroom (lest I fall flat on my face) I’m sure I made a great impression on the young male kindergarten teacher.  ”Hi I’m here to get Georgie…ooooooopsie! (read: very awkward moment as our eyes caught).  Recognizing that disapproving look, a call from DSS on Monday or Tuesday is a very good possibility.  I’m thinking I gotta get outa here.  Fast.

Me:  “Hi Georgie, can you get your stuff together, I’m not feeling great.” 

G:  “Ya, whatever.” 

Me:  “Really, I’m not feeling good, do you think you could speed it up I want to get home.

G:  Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

Me:  “Really George, could you please walk a little faster.  Please.”

G:  Shuffle…shuffle……………………………shuffle.

In the car driving home G spots a group of girls from Harrison’s grade walking on the sidewalk.  We stop at the red light beside the group.  He recognizes some of them.

G:  Out car window “Hey M******, your heads too big.  You look funny with such a big head.”

Me:  “Damn it George, shut that window, who said you could roll it down and say such things…”

Me:  “Sorry honey, he doesn’t know what he’s saying, he’s just obnoxious sometimes.  You have a very lovely er, ah…face.”

K, one call from DSS.  One call from the mother of an insecure upset tween girl.  Can’t wait.

Dinner is swerved

I serve the chicken, mashed potato and squash that my mom picked up at the market (she dropped off for us for dinner, thanks mom!).  It was a total pity meal.  Twas this or “dad’s famous craft macaroni and cheese.”  While preparing the dizzy happy meal, world war three breaks out in the family room (between guess who?).  The details are not important (believe me) but suffice it to say, I was at my end. 

G timeout in corner.  Crying.  Blaming H. 

H timeout his room.  Muttering something I choose to ignore.  Blaming G.

Its then that I remember the dream that I had from the night before.  I was with George W. Bush in the Oval Office (I often dream about meetings with presidents, etc.  I had a dream once where George W. and I were on his ranch about to get in his pickup but no one wanted to get behind the wheel to drive.  Wonder what the significance of that dream was).  and George was penning a letter to Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (crazy maniac from Tehran), when George asked me if I know how to spell his name.  “No” I answered thinking it would be rude if I knew how to spell something the president didn’t.  In actuality I’m thinking that presidents should know how to spell certain things like potato and Ahmadinejad (which I do know how to spell  as proven by this copy).  I also think presidents should know what their spiritual leaders have been saying for the past oh, say 20 years especially when they castigate the US with the rhetoric of damnation, blame the HIV outbreak on America and equate US policy with state sponsored terrorism….but I digress.

So Julie is back late Monday night.  Can’t wait.  I miss her.  G misses her terribly.  Harrison, not sure he knew she was gone.

As we get ready for school Tuesday morning the phone rings and displays ”Department of Social Services.” 

Me:  “Julie honey pick up it’s for you.”

 

Comments (3)

Day 20 Hooray for Hollywood

May 1, 2008 at 1:51 am · Filed under General Banter, Kids

Tomorrow morning I take off for L.A.  I will deliver the kids to school, head home to rethink that which I have packed and await Mary’s arrival to chauffer us to the airport.  I, along with the other three members of my household, feel a generalized anxiety over the whole thing – all of us for different reasons.

Let’s start with the oldest and work our way down -

Rich  (and this is nothing he wouldn’t admit, perhaps not readily, but ultimately) is freaked out.  Now, in addition to the vast responsibilities he has at work, he has the following to add to his roster: breakfast for the kids, packing Georgie’s snack (Harrison is long since on his own with that one), gettting the kids up, dressed and out the door, retrieving them at the end of their days, dealing with dinner, bathing of some kind or another, homework, the dreaded bedtime ritual with Georgie, laundry (I’ve done it all but it has a nasty habit of reappearing), food fill ins (I loaded up on milk and orange juice and cheese…that should keep them sated for the five days I am gone) and any other surprises that pop up.  Georgie, I have just learned, has a noon dismissal on Monday – I swear it was new information about which I had never been informed – and no space in Extended Day.  Add that to his art class at 3:30 p.m. and, aw, man, that’s gonna be a tough one.  And, to add insult to injury, our three primary (read: only) babysitters are all unavailable this weekend – one has the SATs, one is going to be out of town and the other has family plans.  Ouch.  Anxiety is deemed appropriate.

Julie doesn’t travel well.   I am a terrible packer (I notoriously pack too much or too little and never the right things), an improving, but still not great, flyer (my plane would never dare crash, I just cannot get off the damned thing when I want to) and guilt ridden over leaving the boys to their own devices.  I am well aware that I need to be dope slapped for that, but what can I say.

Harrison  is the least anxious of the bunch.  He is so wrapped up in the world of the thirteen year old boy that he will hardly notice my absence.  He did want assurance from me before he went to bed, however, that he would see me in the morning.  Then again, after I asked him for a glass of water he commented that he was going to miss serving me when I am in L.A.  Little stinker. (He’s actually a little bitter since the original plan was that he and I would be taking this trip.  For a variety of reasons, not the least of which I needed a break from everyone, he was booted from the roster.  Sorry, bud, maybe next year!)

Georgie  shows his anxiety by getting silly, wild, obnoxious and going deaf.  How does this differ from every other day, you ask?  Take Georgie at his best (or worst as the case may be) and triple it.  Voila…anxious Georgie.  It is a real pleasure for anyone he comes in contact with.   His anxiety serves to amplify everyone else’s.  Cool, huh?

I really am looking forward to my trip but cannot help by worry about life here at home.  The extended boys’ weekend will be great for everyone (especially me) and might even serve to enhance everyone’s appreciation for one another (especially me). 

Not sure I will have the opportunity to blog while on the other coast, but trust me, faithful readers, I will be back at the beginning of the week with a full update on all that transpired in my absence. 

Oh, and anyone who wants to lend a helping hand to Rich feel free.  He pays handsomely and his gratitude will be undying.

Comments (1)