Friday Meme: Super Friday (sort of).

Hellllloooo! It’s Friday. Can I get a Thank God?! Not that this has really been a terribly long week – I had ice days on Tuesday and half of Wednesday, so I feel badly complaining. But yesterday was just draining. All of my least favorite people were at ThePlaceThatShallNotBeDiscussed. Well. Not all of them. I guess there are few things to be grateful for. Still, it was a very long, drawn out day full of boring and tedious and for-the-love-of-god moments. Plus, I don’t know if you heard, but I lost an earring, guys. It was very tragic. (Until I found it. And lost it again. And then found it. See? Tiring.)

Anyway. To help ease the pain of sliding into SuperBowl Weekend (woot!), I bring you…a meme about football! Wow, who saw that coming? Please note that Friday5 is kind enough to explain (in brief) the football term in question. I didn’t alter that part of the question. If you think it’s brilliant, thank him here. If not, dude, not my fault.

Love sets boundaries.

Bee, Bee, Bee, Bee, Bee. What am I going to do with my dear, sweet Bee?

 

No, really – I’m asking. Because do you know what happened? Twice during the past week, my dear sweet hoodlum was written up and sent to the office. My Bee-baby is two and already she’s looking at time in juvey.

 

I’m poking a little fun at the situation (could ya tell?) because I’m having a hard time getting too worked up about it. She’s TWO, for crying out loud! Two is all about learning new tricks, testing limits, and seeing how crazy they can make you before they’re all huggy and “I-love-you” and reeling you back from the brink of madness. Two is very good at that. So when I arrived at daycare and saw the “accident report” was really a delinquency report, I wondered what in the world Bee could have done beyond the Terrible Two-ness to warrant such a reaction.

 

Unfortunately, the way their daycare is run, the girls’ regular teachers are usually relieved by late afternoon. The teacher who was presiding over Bee’s class wasn’t filled in on exactly what had happened. So I collected my child and wandered down the hall to talk to the new director. Ms. Director was nice enough to explain that Bee hadn’t done anything above-and-beyond; the teachers were having a rough day, the kids were particularly unruly, and everyone lost their patience. I assured her that I was all for improved communications between the teachers and the parents via the reports. How else can I consistently send Bee a message that behaviors that are Not-Okay are the same at school as they are at home? How else can we help her navigate through her growing pains? However, I was also very clear that I did not think sending TWO-YEAR-OLDS to the office was (1) a very good habit to fall into, (2) age-appropriate, or (3) effective punishment! Hey, two-year-old – want to get yourself out of this situation you don’t like? Do something really bad and you get to go to the office! Learn it now so you can use this tool all throughout your school career! Nope. Doesn’t work for me.

 

I’m not too terribly sure it worked for them, either. I sat Bee down and let her know that I knew she had been in trouble and talked to her about what she can’t do (and what she should do). And I was the pushy parent with Ms. Director and let her know I didn’t agree with their practices – something that always goes over well, I hear. I’m pretty sure I smoothed it over with each of them. (Bee, at least, has been as giving with her hugs and kisses as always.) But sometimes that’s what love means. Being unpopular with the masses, all in the name of doing what’s right for the kidlets. Bee will thank me for it later…probably around the time she has a toddler of her own.

 

Happy Love Thursday, everyone. May your love give you strength to speak up and be the big meanie when you have to, and may your reward be just as sweet as toddler kisses and hugs.

This is NOT how I remember it.

When I was in school, I remember lying snuggled up in my bed, toasty warm underneath all of those heavy blankets, and I would hear this big, rumbly giant truck trudging down my street. A sleepy smile would split my face as I shut my alarm clock off and slowly rolled over and went back to sleep. That was the greatest sound in the world, the sound of freedom, the sound of…a city snow plow.

If you were lucky enough to hear it during the pre-dawn hours, you were pretty much guaranteed there would be no school. My unimportant little sidestreet was one of the very last streets in the city to get any kind of plowing action, so if you heard the plow, you knew things were dire indeed. I relished snow days, not only for the happy, lazy do-nothing day that lay ahead, but also for the delirious sleep-ins they afforded.

That is not how things have played out here at Casa de Katie the past two days.

I should count my blessings. The girls did let me sleep in until almost 7:30 a.m. yesterday – in this house, that’s like sleeping in until noon. Then I was fortunate enough to hand them over to their dad for four hours during the middle of the day for their Tuesday visit. Unfortunately, Bee didn’t nap at Dad’s house, so when the girls came back home, it was chaos and mayhem and screaming and crying and I-don’t-wanna’s. Huh. Now that I think about it, that’s pretty much how yesterday began, too.

This morning, I was almost hoping for work to be open. Yeah, sleeping in that 45-60 minutes is really nice, and not having to get up and really move right away is nice, but dealing with cranky kids all day? Could this really have been what my mom went through all those years ago? Because this is NOT how I remember snow and ice days playing out.

And really, if the universe is going to conspire against me to turn me into a screaming meemie, I really think it ought to at least comfort me with enough snow to let the kids frolic in. A coupla inches is all I ask for. They can go out, wonder what the heck it is, touch it, yell that it’s cold, and I can snap off a few pictures for next year’s January layout in the calendar. This ice we’re stuck with might be menacing on the roads and bridges, but it sure doesn’t work in a photoshoot dripping menacingly off the weeds in the backyard.

Annnnnnd there’s the screaming in the background again. If you don’t hear from me soon, send help martinis. Stat.

Thank god, because I’m low on eye of newt.

Remember that craptastic week I had last week? (Hint: say yes.) Well. If you took alllll of the suckitude of my entire week (and a half, but who’s counting?) and compounded it all into twelve hours, then that was the kind of day my sister had yesterday.

She even swore in her away message. It was serious.

Her professor-in-arms had left her a message all stealthy during the night, on her office phone, so that she would be a safe enough distance away when she heard he was leaving the university in three months. I have to admit, it was probably a smart move if you know a) my sister, b) the seriousness that she bestows (rightfully) upon her dissertation, and c) the level of temper my sister displays when she is royally pissed off. I think it almost a lack of commitment to his well-being that he didn’t call from Switzerland, where they rather frown on anything other than stern neutrality.

Kim, on the other hand, has never been neutral in her life. When she found out she was a committee member short on her Dissertation Squad – again – well, I’m happy I was several states away. And I’m never happy about that.

Still, I was going to have to offer my condolences. Truth? I was a little scared.

“Sorry your morning totally sucks.” No reason not to dive right in! Heh. Then I apologized because I couldn’t bake her muffins. It’s what my family does when something sucks: we bake. Blah, blah, not supposed to comfort ourselves with food. YOU go deal with life without warm, happy baked goods and THEN we can talk.

She vented, I soothed; I soothed, she vented. Then I jumped in right on cue to make her laugh and help her plan, otherwise known as Stage 2 of all Good Plans. In fact, I think my plan went something along the lines of kidnapping said professor, brewing some Polyjuice Potion, and standing in for him on her Dissertation Squad. It would have been SO MUCH FUN! I did get my sister to laugh at me, though, so all was cool.

The next step on my sister’s road to recovery was to create further contingency plans…just in case the Polyjuice Potion didn’t quite work, you understand. (Oh, she of little faith.) I wasn’t kidding before when I said my sister and I are superior, highly organized beings. Nope. As soon as my sister had a single free moment, she was commandeering white board space in her office and mapping out various contingency plans, listing names, and color coding every available line of reason. Then she’d break for…oh, work and a meeting…and then dash back to her White Board of Super Emergency Contingency Planning! for ten minutes of brainstorming.

Thank god for her and me and most of all him when she called tonight to cancel the panic. He was leaving, but could still sit on her committee. Thank god. Still. It was nice to pretend to be the super-supportive, swoop-in-to-fix-everything sister for a change. An emergency trip to Philly would have been nice, but I think it’s best for everyone’s sanity that everything worked out in the end.

For now!

Book Review: The Eyre Affair

Jasper Fforde’s The Eyre Affair is unlike any book I’ve ever read before.

That’s meant as a pretty high compliment, but really, it could have gone either way. When I first dove into the alternate reality of Thursday Next, I wasn’t sure on which side of that phrase I was going to emerge. The story was always original, but a little too much so at first. Unlike the Harry Potter series to which it is so often compared (on its own book cover, at least), I found Fforde’s compendium of new vocabulary words, versions of reality, and outrageous names hard to keep track of. Add to the list the fact that everything, everything is a pun or witty twist of some long-forgotten literary piece you’d read ages ago (and thus, constantly trying to remember), and you end up spending the first third of the book thinking too much.

Ah, but you see, the thing is…I couldn’t put it down. I found that once I stopped trying so hard to keep track of everyone except Thursday Next and her nemesis Archeron Hades, the story seemed suddenly cozy and easy to follow. The wit seemed wittier, the jokes seemed funnier, and while there were a few characters I never did manage to keep straight, I did laugh out loud at a few of their names. Where else, dare I ask, will you ever find a villain called Jack Schitt?

There was even one part of the story where I wanted to almost fall-in and join the scene (something that seems to mysteriously happen to characters in The Eyre Affair). In fact, this scene was so amazingly, back-clappingly wonderful that I wonder why no one has thought of doing this here locally. I’m sure someone will point out that we do, and I’d welcome it. So go ahead and correct me. Anyway, the background is that our clever and capable heroine, Thursday Next, has moved home due to a work transfer, and has run in to her former-fiance. They agree to go out for old times’ sake and end up at a local dive: a community theater that runs only Richard III…in an interactive, Mystery Science Theater 3000 sort of way. Put another way, they perform “Will’s Richard II, for the audience, to the audience, BY THE AUDIENCE!” To drive home the fanaticism with which the novel’s inhabitants takes their literature and the community theater takes its “R3,” the leads for this showing were there for the 200th time – and not just as viewers. The couple “had played Dick the shit twenty-seven times and Creepy Clarence twelve times [and] Lady Anne thirty-one times and Margaret eight times.” We’re talking a cult following here, and here’s why it’s my favorite part:

Richard opened his mouth to speak and the whole audience erupted in unison:

“When is the winter of our discontent?”

“Now,” replied Richard with a cruel smile, “is the winter of our discontent…”

A cheer went up to the chandeliers high in the ceiling.

And then:

“…made glorious summer by this son of York,” continued Richard, limping to the side of the stage. On the word “summer” six hundred people placed sunglasses on and looked up at an imaginary sun.

“…and all the clouds that lower’d upon our house in the deep bosom of the ocean, buried…”

“When were our brows bound?” yelled the audience.

“Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,” continued Richard, ignoring them completely.”

And still more:

“…to the lascivious please of a lute…” continued Richard, saying “lute” loudly as several other members of the audience gave alternative suggestions.

“Piano!” shouted out one person near us. “Bagpipes!” said another. Someone at the back, missing the cue entirely, shouted in a high voice, “Euphonium!” halfway through the next line and was drowned out when the audience yelled: “Pick a card!” as Richard told them that he “was not shaped for sportive tricks…”

I want that. I want to grab a group of my girlfriends and run off on Friday night to a broken down, paint-peeled, beer-serving theater for the 100th time and compete for snarkiest audience contribution. How could you not a love a book that sports a cast of characters so witty, fun-loving, and gosh-darned chummy? Fforde’s charm grows throughout the story. I found myself itching to get back into it once I got the basic lingo down (or threw it out, either way). It may not be a book I’d add to the few I read every year, but I heartily recommend it to you. Just go with the flow and don’t read half of the praise touted all over the cover or you’ll spend most of your journey trying to figure out what the hell anyone is talking about instead of enjoying the flavor and charm that’s all its own.

Dear World, LOOK AT ME! Love, Bee

There’s just something about Bee lately. She’s changed.

There’s this thing that toddlers do; they go along exploring the world by rote for months (and sometimes years), hitting milestone after milestone, and then they realize they don’t have to just learn how to do something, they can do it their way. They develop a personality. That’s not quite what’s happened to Bee – she’s had an abundance of personality for awhile now. But all of a sudden, it’s like my mischievous little goofball has decided she’s done being a toddler and has decided to be a full-blown little kid.

For instance: Bee isn’t just talking in easy-peasy three or four word sentences. She is developing sentence structure (that far exceeds her ability to enunciate words, but she’ll get there) and flow of conversation (once she’s finished telling you over the phone what she wanted to say, she’ll speak gobbledy-gook in paragraphs – but really fast – and then finish with, “Well, okay, I love you, bye”). Her favorite adjectives are “super-” and “almost” as in, “Is it super-late and we have to go nuh-night?” and “Is it almost dark?” Note that my little Bee-baby is still lurking somewhere inside this new-Bee’s mind – her questions are usually about when she has to go to bed, whether she can wake up already, and how soon can she eat. But she’s relating her Bee-baby desires to this brand-new little-kid-Bee world in a whole stylish way. It’s like she was saving up her points and upgraded to a whole new pizazz-filled persona overnight.

Bee’s changed in another way, and while I’m digging the new communciations skills and vocabulary, I think this part might be my favorite: Bee is all of a sudden full of love and empathy. This little creature – this two-and-a-half-year-old – will hold a baby doll on her hip, cradle her other hand against its head or back, and jiggle the baby while “shhhing” it. I can describe her actions but can’t quite capture the tenderness that Bee pours into every motion. She handles her babies with more grace than I’ve seen some grown-ups use.

And it’s not just compassion for playing and pretending or for those smaller than she. Bee will pat her sister’s back if she’s crying, gently assuring her, “It okay, Moww-y! It’s okay…” The inflection the kid uses melts my heart every time. The other day she was examining my shoulders (her new obsession: everyone’s shoulders and how we can shrug them) and she asked: “Boo boo? ‘squito bites bite you?” Then she turned around before I could answer and scolded the invisible mosquitos. “No, no! Go away or moosh you dead!” And then she kissed my “boo boo.” “All better?” she asked? A freckle never had such sweet attention.

Yes, my Bee baby is still here. She sits on my lap now for minutes on end when she wakes up. I sit and rock her back and forth just like my mom used to do for me. It makes me feel like I’m a little girl again, in my mom’s arms, so achingly familiar are the motions. I love her all the more for bringing those feelings to mind. And really, I enjoy the balance. Because I know any minute Bee is going to spring from my lap and, in the middle of the afternoon, tell me she’s going to go find the sneaky elephant who is hiding before it gets almost-super-dark.

Oh, these crazy little super-sweet kiddos of mine. I wish I could bottle up these moments so I could remember what they were like when they go and change their perfect little selves all over again.

Six-word memoir.

I was reading through FireMom’s archives over at Stop, Drop and Blog, and a few months back she had contributed to a community project or some such of six-word memoirs. I was struck by the idea. I had heard of it before, actually, and forgotten all about it. Not sure how that happened because it’s quite provocative. How in the world one choose a singular something about his or her life – and then boil it down to six words?

I didn’t know where to begin. And then I did.

“Loved. Laughed. But did she live?”

I know the answer, but I ain’t telling. Maybe some day I will blog about it.

Friday Meme: Caught in a net.

This week we’re back to Friday5′s meta-meme that is all about…well, internet habits, actually. Which isn’t quite meta. Meta would be a meme about memes, not so much the internet. Give me a break, people. I’ve had a rough week and it’s kinda fun to say meta-meme. Everyone now: Meta-meme! That was nice. Yeah, yeah, enough with the rambling.

What type of blogs do you usually read? I like to read funny mom-blogs. They don’t have to be about mommy-ing, necessarily. But that’s who I can relate to right now. I also read one all about the shopping (Helllllooooo Shopping Goddess Mir!), and one all about grammar. Sigh. Isn’t life grand? (You know, if you weren’t me stuck in the time warp of suckitude that is this week.)

What kind of products do you usually buy online? The kind with free shipping! I crack me up. I usually buy books, CDs, or movies. As such, you’ll be shocked to discover that I usually shop at barnesandnoble.com or Amazon. I also did the majority of my Christmas shopping online this year, thanks to the great deals Mir found over at Want Not. (I swear she didn’t pay me for all the plugs.) I’d love to be able to buy clothes or shoes or whatnot online, but I’m definitely a trier-on-er. What I buy online I always have to send back.

What kind of online videos do you usually spend time watching? Let’s roll on over to my playlists at YouTube. Hmmm. To be honest, I have mostly stuff that Gracie and I watch together. Vintage Sesame Street clips, a Mr. Rogers or two, Disney sing-a-long songs, that sort of stuff. I have some classic movie clips. The alternate ending from Bourne Identity is a fave. The rain scene from the new Pride and Prejudice. When Mulder and Scully almost kiss in the X-Files movie. (You know, I’m still convinced that if I just play it one more time, they’ll actually make it.) I have a bunch of music videos – live Audioslave, some mash-ups, almost all of Simon & Garfunkel’s Concert in Central Park, You Can Call Me Al and Walk Like an Egyptian for Gracie. And then there’s a few odds and ends. Some babies that won’t quit laughing. The laughing quintuplet babies. And my favorite online video of all time: “Chahlie bit me!”

Besides Friday5, what weekly memes do you particularly enjoy? Usually, I search on WordPress or Google a meme. The best meme I find first wins. I will admit that it’s getting harder to find memes with original questions. I may have to resort to switching to If questions (from the If… coffee table books).

Where do you like to go for streaming online music? At home I have my iTunes and that’s it. We’re likethis. Occasionally I’ll stream online music at ThePlaceThatShallNotBeNamed if it’s a Friday and things are kinda slow. If I do that, I’ll usually hit up my custom station over at Launchcast (which was eaten by Yahoo). I like the click-ability and the fact that it knows me. Commercials I could live without, but, meh – whaddyagonnado?

So there you go. My habits on the internets. Now you can practically stalk me. But, uh, maybe pick another week because if you found me this week you might have to stage an intervention. Or something.

Love ignores those little “Discretion Advised” labels.

This has been a pretty crappy year for me, medically speaking. Don’t get me wrong – it could be so much worse. Instead, it’s been a pretty constant trickle of ouches, and doctor visits, and Oh-my-god-are-you-kidding-me?s. Bladder infections, UTIs, messed up horomones (you know those are fun), possible endometriosis, colds, upper respiratory infections, and that’s before I list what the kidlets came down with.

It would be too much for any woman…unless she had girlfriends like mine.

My girlfriends have listened as I catalogued each new symptom – in great detail, mind you – while I tried to figure out what the heck was wrong with me now. They laughed at all the right places (and none of the wrong ones) as I related my consultations with Dr. Google and Dr. WebMD. (Very helpful fellows, those two, if a bit alarmist.) The girlfriends hung in there and offered advice AND alcohol. There’s not a care in the world that could withstand both of those cure-alls. ‘Course, I couldn’t really drink half of what was offered because of all the sodding antibiotics I’m on.

Still… That’s all I needed this week: someone to sit with me, offer me a drink, and not make me cry. Or to let me cry. Either way. (Oh, those poor, confused girlfriends of mine!)

So: Thank you. Thank you for listening to all the ick. Happy Love Thursday, everyone. May you always have girlfriends (or guyfriends) to listen, especially when you need to tell it exactly like it is.

My big, fat (pretend) backyard.

Did I tell you part of my fence blew over the other night? No? Well, there has just been so much craptastic goings-on that I can see how it might have slipped my mind. I guess I will have to beg, borrow, and bribe a neighbor to help me put it back up. If I’m lucky (ha!), I will just have to nail it back into the posts. If I’m not, I’ll have to buy two more posts and somehow get those suckers into the ground.

 

Man, I wish my fence would just stay up.

 

While I’m on the subject of impossible dreams and the big backyard, I wish I had one of those giant, wooden swingsets-on-crack for the girls to play on. My cousin Drew had one and we played on it for hours. I don’t think I’d ever see the girls until I made them come inside for a bath and dinner (probably in that order).