I Wanna…Blog Some

I finally went to sleep a little after I said I was going to.  And then I woke up to the sound of a dying cell phone battery at about 5:30 in the morning.  So, I am tired on my 4ish hours of sleep.  My head is leaning on the wall next to the computer.  I just made crispy rice (generic Rice Krispies) treats with Marshmallow Fluff–I heard that’s the best way to make them.  I’m waiting patiently for them to harden to the desired hardeness.  I’m trying to be patient.  I’m trying really hard to be patient. 

I still want to join a lodge or a shrine. 

The crispy rice treats aren’t ready yet.  But I checked just to make sure.

Ya know how I am the PTA vice president?  And did I mention that I had to assume the role of the president for one meeting (not as much fun as assuming the role of Miss America)?  And I had the meeting adjourned in 30 minutes (a record I think)?  And it was almost fun.  The only glitch was that one parent, when leaving, made this under his breath kind of comment when he was given the suggestion of asking me something because I "know everything."  And I started stewing about why this guy didn’t like me.  Me?  Why?  But then this week I had to drop off some fliers in all of the classes and one of the teachers asked me if I was going to run for president next year because I made her laugh and it made the meeting fun.  Take that you mumbling guy that just didn’t get me. 

I better go test the crispy rice treats again and then go lay down. 

What the hell am I doing up this late?  Don’t I know I have to be at the kids’ school in the morning?  And stay?  And talk to other parents about parenting stuff?  What the hell am I thinking?

Well, one thing I’m thinking is about Elks.  Specifically Elk Lodges, and lodges in general.  Remember when Fred Flinstone and Barney Rubble put on funny hats and went to some meetings?  Or Mr. Cunningham?  Those were some kind of Elks type group.  So, I was thinking…can I become an Elk?  And can a bunch of my friends become Elks?  And then can we make Elks be what we want and need Elks to be?  And are people under the age of 70 still becoming Elks?  And if younger people aren’t will it die out? 

I did a little (a very little) research and found out that I probably can’t be an Elk.  Ok, first they are actually called The Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks of the United States of America.  And if I thought I didn’t know what the hell quid pro vacuums were then how am I supposed to know what a Benevolent is!  And besides I read the Mission Statement.  And, well…it’s just not for me. 

I’m going to sleep now, but tomorrow I’m going to find out if maybe I could be a Moose or maybe a Shriner!

It was 5 years ago, after not hearing from my dad for a few days, that I finally called the staff at his apartment and asked them to please check on him and ask him to turn on his phone ringer.  Did I know something was wrong?  Is that why I didn’t just get in my car and go knock on his door myself?  How long did I know?  Was I just putting off saying good bye to my dad? 

It was someone from the fire department that called me back.  I answered the phone.  I don’t remember the conversation.  I do remember yelling out for the man who had replaced my dad as my best friend a few years before.  I remember where I was sitting.  I don’t remember much else.  I asked for my dad not to be moved until I could see him.  I don’t know who watched the two kids I had at the time.  I remember getting to Kivel, the "Independent Living Center" where my dad lived and sitting in the hall way waiting.  I don’t remember what I was waiting for.  I think it was for a crisis worker sent out because I was pregnant (with a due date about 3 days away) and that freaked every body out.  I think the idea was to have someone there to prepare me for what I was going to see and then be prepared to catch me if I needed to do one of those pregnancy swoons seen mostly in older movies.

I didn’t swoon.  I just looked at my dad and told him I was sorry.  Sorry for not finding him sooner.  Sorry for being angry sometimes for feeling like I was his parent.  But mostly sorry that he had such a difficult life. 

My dad was 2 when his mom died of polio.  My dad was raised by his dad and his paternal grandparents.  I’ve been told they weren’t very good at meeting basic needs including making a child feel loved.  Growing up my dad must have been a tightly wound ball of sadness, confusion, and anger.  My dad did not turn his life around or make any type of silver lined lemonade out of the cloud of shit lemons he  was given.  And eventually he did what he could to not repeat the lessons he learned on how to parent.  What I like to say is that both of my parents did the best the could with the tools they were given.  They were given some messed up tools. 

Regardless of the mistakes my dad made as a father, I always knew that he loved me.  I knew he really wanted to do right by me.  I think he felt like if I judged him poorly it would be one of the worst thing that could happen to him.  For that reason, I once decided to tell my dad a small lie.  I told him that I was proud of him.  Even though it felt like a lie at the time I knew it was important to say.  It ended up meaning a lot to my dad.  I was proud of him, but it was more like "Gee dad, given the circumstances you really could have fucked up way worse than you did" rather than "Wow, dad!  You were really a great father to your three kids!"

No matter what:  I loved him and knew he loved me.  And now it has been five years.  And I miss him.

My dad. 

I never saw him this sad & pathetic looking. 

He was always telling funny stories & making everyone laugh.

His name was not Rufus, but that’s what I called him sometimes.

It’s calm after the storm.  The house is quiet.  It’s just me and the kids now (poor husband had to go to a work meeting).  But what a day we’ve had.

Today we celebrated my youngest kideroo’s 4th & 5th birthdays.  It had to be both because last year we kinda forgot to throw a birthday party for her.  Every kid’s birthday got screwed up last year, but they all got a day with at least 2 friends singing happy birthday.  All of them except for Abby.  I really felt like I needed to make it up to her this year and I think I did.

I love parties.  I love throwing parties.  I love coming up with an idea or theme and then making it all happen.  I had talked the youngest one into a bowling party last year when we still thought we’d squeeze it in and luckily we kept that same plan this year.  But we made it a two part party.  First part was bowling with friends and family and the second part was going back to our house for pizza, cake, and just plain hanging out with friends.  It was a blast! 

Bowling was good fun.  Most of us sucked.  We all needed the bumpers that get put up to keep the balls from going into the gutter (that’s funny…think about it).  And a lovely woman kept asking me if I wanted booze.  Which I did, but I didn’t have any.  Figured that could wait until later when the kids were in bed. 

Having a bunch of our friends & family over at our house after bowling was the best part.  It was mostly Tribe friends (for those not in the know, that’s like my second family, the one I could pick not the one I was born into) and relatives of the husband (most of whom are speaking to me) and my cousin, her hubby, daughter, and mom.  It was great seeing my aunt.  I love that woman.  And she got to be here to talk with while tons of kids were running through my house and backyard.  Everyone seemed like they were having a good time.  

The only problem with parties like this are not feeling like I can spend enough time with everyone.  My favorite part ends up being when things are winding down and I can just sit and talk to a few people.  That is when I finally get to eat also.  But it’s okay because I’ve always had a good time.  Just like today. 

The 5th birthday is traditionally my kids’ last big hurrah party.  After 5 they get the invite-the-number-of-kids-that-matches-your-age kind of party–although those end up being with awesome themes where we all dress like characters (like the Harry Potter Party when the husband was Dumbledore or the Star Wars Party when I put my hair into pastry looking buns on the sides of my head, or the High School Musical Party when I was the drama teacher, Mrs. Darvus).  I think today’s party was a great last big hurrah party and might have made up for last year’s missed party.  

The youngest girl’s actual birthday is next weekend and it will be just us having a mellow day.  The kind where I look at her all day and wonder how 5 years could have gone by so quickly. 

Oh, on a side note.  After everyone left and things were getting cleaned and trash was being separated so that recyclables didn’t end up in the landfill I had to poop.  And it was a weird poop.  One kinda long one and one kinda small one.  It looked a little like an exclamation mark just floating in the toilet.  What a way to end a really cool day.

Ok…so it’s not really a low carb diet.  It’s just the second day of Passover coming to an end.  We are apparently an Ashkenazi family and not a Sephardic and that means it is not only leavened flour we can’t have but a slew of other things that might sorta have the appearance of leavening.  The long list includes corn (and hello…corn syrup is in EVERYTHING), mustard, poppy seeds (just found this out after a little research–ignorance is bliss), and the worst…beans & rice (which are totally acceptable if you are Sephardic). 

What’s that?  How am I doing, you ask (I just saw Horton Hears a Who and it really heightened by hearing).  I’m hungry…that’s how I’m doing.  I get up in the morning and freak out a little that I can’t have shredded wheat (which doesn’t look leavened AT ALL and manages to keep me very regular ifyouknowwhatImean).  I could have eggs and potatoes but that is a lot of work and this whole passover is a lot of work so I don’t want to start my day with that much work.  Yesterday I waited until I was ready to pass out and then made chicken salad to put on matzo crackers.  Today I cut up leftover steak and put in on top of baby greens with a lovely basil vinaigrette dressing that I made a couple of days ago.  For the movies I found some candy made with sugar and not corn syrup (Reese’s peanut butter cups & a dark chocolate with almonds), but it was hard to walk by the popcorn. 

I did tell the kids that they don’t have to be strict with the whole Kosher for Passover thing since they are still young and are already skinny.  The nearly 5 year old girl said she wanted to combine Kosher with non-Kosher and she mixed some of the tasteless Matzo-O’s with her Lucky Charms for breakfast.  I told her that would be fine and that at her age she could have the goal of one Kosher for Passover meal every day. 

Tonight we are having brisket (my first attempt), mashed potatoes (made without dairy*), and veggies.  Woohoo!  The kids will hate it.  There’s left over movie candy, so I know they’ll survive**.

For more info on the whole Ashekenazi vs. Sephardic Jewish thing go here.  I just re-read it and now see that peanuts aren’t allowed.  There goes the Reese’s.  Crap.  Ignorance really is bliss.

*It’s a big step for me to avoid dairy and meat together, but I thought I’d try to be more Kosher in general during Passover.  Unlike the year I ate a BBQ pork & cheese sandwich but held the bread and called it Kosher for Passover.  A wonderful Rabbi recently told me it’s about baby steps.

**Survival is dependent on a variety of things and considering this is the first official day of the kids’ spring break from school, the second day of no bread, beans, rice, etc, and I’m PMSing, we will see about this survival thing.    

I was looking at the mirror on the passenger side says:

Caution:  Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

and I started thinking.  Why?  Why are the objects in that mirror closer than they appear and not the other mirrors?  And who figured it out?

I found some answers online, but not on wikipedia, so I don’t believe any of them.

Say what?  Shabbaton is the weekend retreat in Prescott, Arizona that my boy gets to go on with his Hebrew school.  It’s for 3rd graders and up, so it’s his second year.  It’s a great time for the kids to go and learn more about Shabbat, but also to get some independence and fun without their parents hovering over them.  Well, except for my boy.  He can’t go without a parent.  Not his rules.  It’s ours. 

Last year I had to tell the Rabbi that the boy couldn’t go for a weekend without me.  She was not happy with that because it is a special weekend for kids to really spread their wings.  So I had to promise that for the weekend I would not be the boy’s mom.  Just another "camp counselor" who happened to be there to administer medications.  I was given this job for my kid, but also all of the other kids that had medications for various reasons.  I was put in charge of the third grade girls–including one that would keep me very busy.  My kid called me by my first name (except, conveniently enough for him, when he had something he wanted me to carry!).  I stayed busy with the 3rd grade girls I was the camp counselor for and eventually girls from other grades.  I had just enough knowledge of American Idol and High School Musical that I was considered cool by the girls in my cabin. 

After getting over the shock of being put to work I actually had a lot of fun hanging out with all these tweens.  And that is why I am going back to the Shabbaton this year!  Oh, sure…my kid still needs to take anti-seizure meds three times a day, and still needs to be watched some because of the epilepsy thing, but I was asked to attend the Shabbaton this year!  Apparently the girls enjoyed having me around as much as I enjoyed being around.  I only hope that I’ve watched enough American Idol and know enough about….I don’t know…Hannah Montana maybe to maintain my cool factor. 

In the past nine days I’ve been witness (for the most part) two the birth of two baby boys.  I was invited and volunteered to be a helper for two of my friends that where having home births so that there would be someone to look after the older kids.  Babies are wonderful.  And kids becoming older sisters and brothers are amazing! 

One thing they all had in common was at one point covering their ears and running from the room their mothers were birthing.  I tried to talk to the kids about what was going on and reassure them so that they would be more comfortable being near the hatching of their new siblings. 

The kids all did great.  Not a single one had any interest in helping to cut any umbilical cords.  But I guess that’s reassuring to know they were all uncomfortable taking scissors to any part of their new brothers.  Makes me wonder about my own boy who didn’t seem to hesitate when asked if he wanted to help cut the cord of his youngest sister…

To my friends that gave birth:  Thank you for letting me be a part of such a wonderful events. 

Al Gore started trying to save our planet way later than my husband & me.  We started with "conserving water" when we were dating.  Well, I assume we saved some water.  We have always had a thing for showering together.  And you know…sometimes one thing leads to another…

We got pretty known by relatives as being into conserving water.  We conserved water at his sister’s house the day of her wedding.  We were told later that her walls were much thinner than we must have thought they were.  We even conserved water several times on a trip to visit my older brother in Nevada and relatives in California.  That was around the time we conceived our boy.  We sometimes affectionately call the kid "The one that didn’t go down the drain." 

So, what’s my point?  Why am I sharing all this information?  Because today we finally christened the shower at our new house.  We’ve been here just over 6 months and we just got around to our water conservationist ways!  About damn time.  I love saving the planet.   

Geez, you’d think I’d have a lot more to say.  I talk a lot.  I love to talk about myself, but I go start a blog and now I got nothin’.  I started two posts…one that is a tag thing and another about meeting my wonderful husband (twenty years ago!).  Haven’t finished either one.  I thought I’d have more to say about turning 40.  And I do, but I just haven’t said it.  It always starts with me complaining that I see a new wrinkle or bag every day and I’m still fucking getting pimples!  I  might want to talk about being a witness to a really fun (for me) and exciting (for lots of people) birth!  But I can’t officially write about that birth until I write about my friends other birth…over 3 year years ago! 

Here’s all I really have to say:  I have to pee.  And if I don’t pee soon I’ll pee on myself.  I know that because I had a really bad flu type thing that turned into a bad cough and now just an occasional cough…but nearly every time I cough I pee a little.  Or a lot.  Best place to cough is on the damn toilet so I can just cough and pee…cough some more…pee some more.  So, I promise (pinkie swear) that I will post more.  And I promise to start working on kegels (I’ve heard Ben Wa Balls are supposed to be helpful also!) so that I can stop coughing and yelling "damn it" if I’m not coughing on the toilet.

Oh, Happy April Fool’s Day!