-The gluten-free zucchini bread I made from a gigantic zucchini, as well as the pumpkin and butternut squash soup I made collaboratively with our house guest. Hurray for fall produce and a capable kitchen companion.
-Going on a 6:20am walk around the neighborhood with E last Saturday. It was just getting light, and everyone was asleep except us and a few other people, and it felt like a secret. Plus we had a really good talk, and he loves me.
-Every single E hug and kiss, especially in the morning when his hair is all messy and his breath smells like feet, but his blue eyes sparkle and warm up the whole house.
-The mini-date L surprised me with last night, babysitter included. She took me to a chocolate/coffee shop and we sat outside drinking extremely delicious hot chocolate and just talking, but it felt fresher and exciting. She looks just as beautiful (maybe even beautiful-er) outside of the house we share. Wow! Dates are fun!
-Birthday party planning for E. It is going to be AWESOME. It’s Ancient Egyptian themed and he made golden pyramid shaped invites with each of his friends’ name written in hieroglyphics. Yep, I’ve memorized the alphabet, pretty much.
-The book I am reading: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
A Brief Interview With The Almost Seven Year Old
Mama: If you could fly, where would you go?
E: I’d fly to Disneyland and go on the Jack Sparrow ride.
Mama: If you were invisible, what would you do?
E: I’d sneak around on Halloween and scare people by shouting, “Boo!” and they’d look around and no body would be there. Or! I’d stand still and people would bump into me but me super confused cause they wouldn’t see anything there. They would be so creped out! That would be awesome. Also, I could hide out where robbers live, and I'd arrest them without them seeing me.
Mama: If you could read minds whose mind would you want to read?
E: Yours.
Mama: Mine? Why?
E: Because then I would always know what you were thinking, and surprises wouldn’t exist, because I’d always be able to know about them if you were thinking about them. And if you had a special treat planned, I’d know about it, and so I’d behave really well.
Mama: I bet you can guess what I’m thinking now.
E: That you love me?
Mama: Yep, that’s what I was thinking.
E: I’d fly to Disneyland and go on the Jack Sparrow ride.
Mama: If you were invisible, what would you do?
E: I’d sneak around on Halloween and scare people by shouting, “Boo!” and they’d look around and no body would be there. Or! I’d stand still and people would bump into me but me super confused cause they wouldn’t see anything there. They would be so creped out! That would be awesome. Also, I could hide out where robbers live, and I'd arrest them without them seeing me.
Mama: If you could read minds whose mind would you want to read?
E: Yours.
Mama: Mine? Why?
E: Because then I would always know what you were thinking, and surprises wouldn’t exist, because I’d always be able to know about them if you were thinking about them. And if you had a special treat planned, I’d know about it, and so I’d behave really well.
Mama: I bet you can guess what I’m thinking now.
E: That you love me?
Mama: Yep, that’s what I was thinking.
Monday, September 12, 2011
We Are Completely Moved In!
We finally finished unpacking! Horray! A friend is moving here this week from far away and will be staying with us, so that was the extra push we needed to finally do it. L and I had been avoiding our room, and it was the worst of all, with a row of boxes at the end of out bed like where a Hope Chest would be, except uglier. We found places for everything, even if I did fill my drawers up very full. The place looks good, and I want to keep it that way. E’s room was the first to be unpacked, because he’s so special, I guess. But now we are all special. I’ve just started reading Room by Emma Donoghue, and I think it’s making me think and write like an imprisoned five year old. “House is unpacked and that’s like empty but with things.” It’s really really good so far.
My favorite thing about unpacking is finding things we thought were gone, or had forgotten we were looking for, like my collection of wooden and plastic toy chickens that used to live on my window sill in my last apartment. I also found all my cameras, and thank god, because I am so tired of the crappy resolution of iPhone cameras. I used to have a gigantic SLR camera with me at all times, and then I got super lazy. But E hasn’t stopped being adorable and photogenic all the time, so I have no excuse.
We spent some time this weekend looking through my photo albums my mom made for me. When we were at my parents house on Saturday, E and I went though the gigantic trunk of dress up that my sister and I played with everyday of our childhood. E and I made away with a small but exquisite sampling to add to his dress up chest: a rainbow clown wig, a red “rock star” wig that my sister got when she was 3, a glitter baton I’ve had since I was 4, a plastic sword that is perfect for magic tricks, the blue and orange clown suit my mom made for Halloween that I wore in third grade and in fourth grade, a silver sequiny sash, a blue floral skirt I made for my 5th grade school play, and a few beaded necklaces. E fits into the clown suit! I love when that happens, when the things I loved turn into things he can love. He’s thinking maybe he wants to be a clown for Halloween. We looked though the photo albums to find the two different Halloweens when I wore the clown suit, once with the rainbow wig, once without.
My photo albums are glorious. I think they actually make Elliott a bit jealous, which is hard to watch. He sees the life I had and wants it. Of course, he’s only seeing the photos we wanted to put in, but still. He loves to see the birthday parties, the summers at the beach, the swim team and soccer. The dad who took me to airplane museums and baseball games. The aunts and uncles and snowy adventures. Quite a different life he has in some ways. L and I had similar childhoods. Girl scout camp, sisters, church, soccer teams. E is in a city, and his back yard is small. Both his parents work full time now, so there isn’t the luxury of afternoons that I was used to.
We have a kid who is learning how to be safe on busy city roads. He knows about speeding cars, and buses, and how to ride a train. We have a kid who knows that there are always people asking for money right outside the train station and that people who hang around the playground talking to the trash can are probably “sick in their heads” and he shouldn’t stare or play near them. Sometimes L and I are surprised when we go on evening strolls with him and we turn the corner and we are on a busy street littered with junk food wrappers, beer cans, and cigarette butts. E has an eye for “treasures” and is always trying to bring home trash. He sees colorful things on the ground and goes to pick them up. We are always shouting “drop it!” so he stops holding on to that broken piece of glass, or bit of used hairbrush that he finds so amazing. It’s disgusting. Sometimes I think how lovely it would be to go on walks in the county, or even the suburbs, and let him pick up the things he finds. A pinecone, an earthworm, a rock. Here, I’ve had to teach him that he can’t take little rocks from people’s front yards or from the sidewalk in front on a church. I’ve explained that those are “landscaping rocks” and that people had to pay for them, so they belong to them. It seems like such a silly concept when I have to explain it, and answer his questions. “But where do they get them? Are they made in a factory or do they take them from nature? I don’t get it.” It's weird.
I can’t tell if I have a cold or if I have leftover dust allergies from unpacking, but either way it’s highly unpleasant. I’ve definitely done more sneezing than is appropriate for one day. Good thing we also discovered a dozen little packs of tissues.
And with that, I bid you achoo! (adieu, of course-it’s a pun, E-style. Extremely clever and hilarious.)
-B Star
My favorite thing about unpacking is finding things we thought were gone, or had forgotten we were looking for, like my collection of wooden and plastic toy chickens that used to live on my window sill in my last apartment. I also found all my cameras, and thank god, because I am so tired of the crappy resolution of iPhone cameras. I used to have a gigantic SLR camera with me at all times, and then I got super lazy. But E hasn’t stopped being adorable and photogenic all the time, so I have no excuse.
We spent some time this weekend looking through my photo albums my mom made for me. When we were at my parents house on Saturday, E and I went though the gigantic trunk of dress up that my sister and I played with everyday of our childhood. E and I made away with a small but exquisite sampling to add to his dress up chest: a rainbow clown wig, a red “rock star” wig that my sister got when she was 3, a glitter baton I’ve had since I was 4, a plastic sword that is perfect for magic tricks, the blue and orange clown suit my mom made for Halloween that I wore in third grade and in fourth grade, a silver sequiny sash, a blue floral skirt I made for my 5th grade school play, and a few beaded necklaces. E fits into the clown suit! I love when that happens, when the things I loved turn into things he can love. He’s thinking maybe he wants to be a clown for Halloween. We looked though the photo albums to find the two different Halloweens when I wore the clown suit, once with the rainbow wig, once without.
My photo albums are glorious. I think they actually make Elliott a bit jealous, which is hard to watch. He sees the life I had and wants it. Of course, he’s only seeing the photos we wanted to put in, but still. He loves to see the birthday parties, the summers at the beach, the swim team and soccer. The dad who took me to airplane museums and baseball games. The aunts and uncles and snowy adventures. Quite a different life he has in some ways. L and I had similar childhoods. Girl scout camp, sisters, church, soccer teams. E is in a city, and his back yard is small. Both his parents work full time now, so there isn’t the luxury of afternoons that I was used to.
We have a kid who is learning how to be safe on busy city roads. He knows about speeding cars, and buses, and how to ride a train. We have a kid who knows that there are always people asking for money right outside the train station and that people who hang around the playground talking to the trash can are probably “sick in their heads” and he shouldn’t stare or play near them. Sometimes L and I are surprised when we go on evening strolls with him and we turn the corner and we are on a busy street littered with junk food wrappers, beer cans, and cigarette butts. E has an eye for “treasures” and is always trying to bring home trash. He sees colorful things on the ground and goes to pick them up. We are always shouting “drop it!” so he stops holding on to that broken piece of glass, or bit of used hairbrush that he finds so amazing. It’s disgusting. Sometimes I think how lovely it would be to go on walks in the county, or even the suburbs, and let him pick up the things he finds. A pinecone, an earthworm, a rock. Here, I’ve had to teach him that he can’t take little rocks from people’s front yards or from the sidewalk in front on a church. I’ve explained that those are “landscaping rocks” and that people had to pay for them, so they belong to them. It seems like such a silly concept when I have to explain it, and answer his questions. “But where do they get them? Are they made in a factory or do they take them from nature? I don’t get it.” It's weird.
I can’t tell if I have a cold or if I have leftover dust allergies from unpacking, but either way it’s highly unpleasant. I’ve definitely done more sneezing than is appropriate for one day. Good thing we also discovered a dozen little packs of tissues.
And with that, I bid you achoo! (adieu, of course-it’s a pun, E-style. Extremely clever and hilarious.)
-B Star
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Gnomey Hat Homework
My son started Waldorf school yesterday! We were all so excited that I even blow dried his hair, and it looked really good and super extra blonde. He picked out an awesome outfit, but his top was wrinkled and he made me run it in the dryer so the wrinkles would disappear and he wouldn’t look sloppy. First graders care about that sort of thing, I guess.
So anyway, this morning, after breakfast, he informs us that he had homework that he had “forgotten” until that moment. He said all the kids have to bring in a gnomey hat, because they are going to make gnomes today. A gnomey hat? Sure, that sounds like normal homework. I’m pretty sure he made that up, because who assigns that as homework with out giving the parents a heads up? Not everyone has gnomey hat-making supplies lying around, right? I mean, I guess if you are a Waldorf family, there’s a good chance you do have felt and thread, but still. Anyway, he ran to grab the extra orange gnome hat that we made the other day for a gnome for our new nature corner, but didn’t use because it was too small. because we DO have extra gnome hats lying around. So there we go. Fake made-up homework done and done!
Yesterday E reported making beeswax honeybees, learning how to color with rectangular crayons, and he’s pretty sure he already kinda knows how to play the pentatonic flute! I let him show me on my old flute, and no, he doesn’t know how to play it. That’s ok. He was so excited to learn from his teacher that they each get their very own flute (Did he think they'd be sharing? Gross.), and eventually they will be knitting their flute cases ALL ON THEIR OWN! He made knitting needles! I didn’t have the car when I went after work to pick him up from his friend’s house, so we rode the bus. Specifically, we walked a half a mile to the bus stop, then waited for the bus for ages, then we rode the bus. And the whole time he told me about his day.
This is unusual. I have the kid who has never told me more than a few words about his school day when asked. Sure, stuff slips out, and I’ve gathered bits and pieces, but if you ask him, “How was school?” he says, “Good” or “Stupid” and nothing else. Sometimes I’ve been able to trick him by asking really odd and specific questions, like “Hey E, did Nick have string cheese in his lunch again?” And he’ll accidentally answer, “No, he had yogurt though, and I really liked the sandwich you packed. Nick called me a butt head and the teacher didn’t even notice!” or something like that. And then I know that Nick is a meanie face.
I take it as a really good sign that he talked about his day for an hour straight. Yes, it took an hour to get home via public transportation. But that hour included the MAJOR CRISIS of E’s feet getting blisters from his new school shoes. It was completely tragic, especially because he was ALSO HUNGRY, and didn’t even seen to notice the two clementines and granola bar I shoved in his mouth, because he was still STARVING, and he didn’t know which to complain about so he just moaned and sat down in the street. (Have I mentioned my child is ALWAYS hungry?) Thank goodness for his friend’ mom who handed us a container of delicious pasta with meat sauce as we walked out the door. Yay for eating dinner on the edge of the sidewalk while waiting for a bus! And yay for Waldorf school and tiny gnomey hats.
So anyway, this morning, after breakfast, he informs us that he had homework that he had “forgotten” until that moment. He said all the kids have to bring in a gnomey hat, because they are going to make gnomes today. A gnomey hat? Sure, that sounds like normal homework. I’m pretty sure he made that up, because who assigns that as homework with out giving the parents a heads up? Not everyone has gnomey hat-making supplies lying around, right? I mean, I guess if you are a Waldorf family, there’s a good chance you do have felt and thread, but still. Anyway, he ran to grab the extra orange gnome hat that we made the other day for a gnome for our new nature corner, but didn’t use because it was too small. because we DO have extra gnome hats lying around. So there we go. Fake made-up homework done and done!
Yesterday E reported making beeswax honeybees, learning how to color with rectangular crayons, and he’s pretty sure he already kinda knows how to play the pentatonic flute! I let him show me on my old flute, and no, he doesn’t know how to play it. That’s ok. He was so excited to learn from his teacher that they each get their very own flute (Did he think they'd be sharing? Gross.), and eventually they will be knitting their flute cases ALL ON THEIR OWN! He made knitting needles! I didn’t have the car when I went after work to pick him up from his friend’s house, so we rode the bus. Specifically, we walked a half a mile to the bus stop, then waited for the bus for ages, then we rode the bus. And the whole time he told me about his day.
This is unusual. I have the kid who has never told me more than a few words about his school day when asked. Sure, stuff slips out, and I’ve gathered bits and pieces, but if you ask him, “How was school?” he says, “Good” or “Stupid” and nothing else. Sometimes I’ve been able to trick him by asking really odd and specific questions, like “Hey E, did Nick have string cheese in his lunch again?” And he’ll accidentally answer, “No, he had yogurt though, and I really liked the sandwich you packed. Nick called me a butt head and the teacher didn’t even notice!” or something like that. And then I know that Nick is a meanie face.
I take it as a really good sign that he talked about his day for an hour straight. Yes, it took an hour to get home via public transportation. But that hour included the MAJOR CRISIS of E’s feet getting blisters from his new school shoes. It was completely tragic, especially because he was ALSO HUNGRY, and didn’t even seen to notice the two clementines and granola bar I shoved in his mouth, because he was still STARVING, and he didn’t know which to complain about so he just moaned and sat down in the street. (Have I mentioned my child is ALWAYS hungry?) Thank goodness for his friend’ mom who handed us a container of delicious pasta with meat sauce as we walked out the door. Yay for eating dinner on the edge of the sidewalk while waiting for a bus! And yay for Waldorf school and tiny gnomey hats.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Hurricane Irene
I would have written a post about how a small chunk of our ceiling caved in due to a water leak upstairs. It would have been witty and absurd, because when you come home to your ceiling on the floor, that's absurd.
But then Vermont happened. Hurricane Irene that is. She flooded my favorite state, tore it to bits! And I thought I had a water leak!
http://this-small-planet.com/2011/historic-flooding-in-woodstock-vermont-from-irene/#more-249
This is Woodstock, Vermont, the town where I got married this past Spring. This is sad and very upsetting and I wish I was there to help.
B-Star
But then Vermont happened. Hurricane Irene that is. She flooded my favorite state, tore it to bits! And I thought I had a water leak!
http://this-small-planet.com/2011/historic-flooding-in-woodstock-vermont-from-irene/#more-249
This is Woodstock, Vermont, the town where I got married this past Spring. This is sad and very upsetting and I wish I was there to help.
B-Star
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Babies.
This is the second Saturday E and I have found ourselves in the toy store, just trying to have a regular browse among the legos and lunch boxes, but end up turning to each other every 5 seconds and saying, "Where did all these babies come from?" Of course, if he's feeling literal, he will promptly explain that all these babies came from uteruses, then traveled through the cervix and out the vagina. And that's where babies come from. That is what my 6 year old will tell you. It is also what he told his entire preschool class when he was four because they were studying families. That was an exciting day. I loved those phone calls.
Back to today. Babies were everywhere. Infants, toddlers, crying, smiling babies. Strollers, car seat carriers, pregnant bellies. And we really like babies. I mean really. Last week, E and I tried to have a simple game of catch with a ball in the driveway we share with our next door neighbors, but then they came out bringing their 18 month old and E missed every stinking catch. He was completely useless. He turned into jello. And then the other day I was dropping E off at summer camp and the camp director had brought her tiny baby that day and it was dressed in tye-dye with these tiny tye-dye feet and I just stared at it. Like creepers who look at women's chests and not their face. I'm like that with babies. "Oh, you're here too? I only see your BABY." I had to shake my head, blink a lot and remember who I was supposed to be talking to. "Yes, Jess. Right. Good Morning. Nice baby. I mean, Hello."
So the toy store was kind of awesome and kind of like torture because babies are so great but none of them were in OUR family.
We had to learn to deal. We proceeded to have an EPIC day of make-believe, using E's best most wonderful three baby dolls, Annie, Charles, and Jack. I sewed some cloth diapers with tiny velcro closures, but what really made it awesome was the baby carrier I sewed, sort of like a Baby Bjorn, except more awesome and made to fit my son. He was so into it. He was walking around the house carrying Annie strapped to his chest so she could see. Then he packed a diaper bag and we took them to the park.
I bought E Annie when he was very young. I think he must have been about 2, but maybe less. He was walking, but not really talking. I'm pretty sure I named her. We got her at a thrift shop, cause hey, I've never really had loads of money, and any way, I'm a bit turned off by the way baby dolls are marketed only to girls, and the dolls themselves usually are only girls. Weird. Anyway, I sorted through a nasty pile of naked dolls, and Annie was the best. Also, let's be honest, I have a real thing for orphans, so it only makes sense that I'd "adopt" a baby doll rather than buy one. Never take me to an animal shelter. I WILL leave with a dog.
Annie came home, was washed very well, and quickly became a favorite. E sleeps with her almost every night, and she came to camp in Vermont with us for two months, which left her extra dirty, but of course, we love her just the same. She has those cute/creepy eyelids that close when she's lying down, so she can sleep for real, which is great. Charles (who is a "she", by the way. I learned this today, from E) has painted on blue eyes that are always looking at you even if you've just put her down for a nap.
All of his baby dolls came to us as lost naked orphans. I sat down one day a year ago and made a dress, a vest, a blue fleece hat, a cheetah print scarf, and a snow suit. It is HARD to make doll clothes, let me tell you. Their arms don't really bend in regular places, so how do you make sleeves? Now they have diapers. And a kick ass baby bjorn.
It was really wonderful to watch E care for the baby dolls today. I told him about how I used to be so good at feeding him with a bottle while cooking dinner for myself, how I'd tuck the bottle under my chin and hold his whole body with one arm. Of course, he mastered this technique while feeding Annie today.
We were standing in the sun at the park, and E had just gently set down all three babies on a blanket by a tree. They were napping. I knelt down and cupped my hand around his chin and brought his eyes to mine. "You are going to be such a great dad when you grow up," I told him and kissed him. I've always known this about him. I knew this when I was crying on the couch cause I was a nineteen year old girl and had just been dumped and he was two and tiny, but he toddled over to me with a sippy cup of water and rubbed my back. I've known this since I bought him a dirty baby doll for a dollar and handed it to him and he hugged her the whole car ride home and called her "pwetty baby."
For all the shit my kid gets into, and all the crazy jumble of life that's always going on, it was really great to spend the day remembering who this kid really is, and why it is so fantastic to be his mother.
B-Star
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Milk and Bones
Four feet planted firmly in a flowering field
How long we have plowed this field
Seasons sinking towards something sweeter
Air can take the pollen smell away
bring her breath to our ailing ears
Four steely feet feared by tan little girls
Sink away in the muddy rain
Lakewater moss and algae bones
Steel toed feet fade too
Like the bones of a burning barn:
“SAVE THE COWS! SAVE THE COWS”
we are reduced to ashes
we are reduced to dirt
milk, oil, water, wind
what we become
where we come from
In a cold bed I hear nothing
I couldn’t eat my dinner without
a glass of milk to wash away the meat
I’ve grown old, too
My feathers are a silver foggy grey this season
When we were young we found the way to the water
and drank from the lapping lake
When we were young we fought and struggled
forgave like the sun dries a stormy night
the grass was greener
we held on tighter
the storm killed the baby birds
and it was me who burried the bodies
My feet are asleep
With your feet turned to mud
It’s harder to find the lake
How long we have plowed this field
Seasons sinking towards something sweeter
Air can take the pollen smell away
bring her breath to our ailing ears
Four steely feet feared by tan little girls
Sink away in the muddy rain
Lakewater moss and algae bones
Steel toed feet fade too
Like the bones of a burning barn:
“SAVE THE COWS! SAVE THE COWS”
we are reduced to ashes
we are reduced to dirt
milk, oil, water, wind
what we become
where we come from
In a cold bed I hear nothing
I couldn’t eat my dinner without
a glass of milk to wash away the meat
I’ve grown old, too
My feathers are a silver foggy grey this season
When we were young we found the way to the water
and drank from the lapping lake
When we were young we fought and struggled
forgave like the sun dries a stormy night
the grass was greener
we held on tighter
the storm killed the baby birds
and it was me who burried the bodies
My feet are asleep
With your feet turned to mud
It’s harder to find the lake
on my own in the summer
one without the other
Remember when we were both mothers?
We know the heart of a mother
cries harder than others
at the breaking of rhythm
the pull of a cow-hide collar bruising our milky bones
a body used, a body abused
Empty and exhausted, you can’t win every time
I wear my heart on my sleeve
With your breath in my ears,
I closed my eyes and let you see me clearly
I reached out to touch your heart
like a storm you moved towards me
Naked eyes and naked feet
I was afraid of your pregnant body
opened my eyes in time to see
your face crash into mine
hand to heart, iron feet
Remember when we were both mothers?
one without the other
Remember when we were both mothers?
We know the heart of a mother
cries harder than others
at the breaking of rhythm
the pull of a cow-hide collar bruising our milky bones
a body used, a body abused
Empty and exhausted, you can’t win every time
I wear my heart on my sleeve
With your breath in my ears,
I closed my eyes and let you see me clearly
I reached out to touch your heart
like a storm you moved towards me
Naked eyes and naked feet
I was afraid of your pregnant body
opened my eyes in time to see
your face crash into mine
hand to heart, iron feet
Remember when we were both mothers?
B-Star
(photo credit L. D. O'Niell)
Saturday, July 23, 2011
And Then I Fed My Child
Why does my child eat so much? Everyone's answer is always "Oh, he's a growing boy," but this is getting absurd. No really. I'll tell you what I did today. It's really boring.
I woke up at 8:30 am which is super late because it means I slept in 2 hours past the usual alarm, and 3 hours after those crazy birds start chirping. L had already fed the boy, but the didn't stop him from looking longingly at the eggs and sausage I made myself. Oh yea. In between waking and sharing my breakfast with him, he ate two bananas, this weird meat stick thing, a gigantic cup of orange juice, and cheese. Then after breakfast I began my weird Saturday morning Domestic Explosion, which usually involves doing all the dishes, taking out the trash, watering the garden, cleaning something that we've avoided cleaning all week (like our clothes), and baking something that most people just buy. Today I made fruit leather AND peanut butter cups. So Bottomless Pit also snacked on left-over apple sauce (fruit leather before it's cooked) and peanut butter. Then I read some Harry Potter, while the boy made himself a snack of banana slices dipped in peanut butter. Then I showered, and we went to the park and had a picnic lunch. I fed him SO MUCH FOOD, even meat! He played for a bit, then ran back to where I was sitting and said, "Do you have any more food?" I gave him a carrot. He looked at me like I had just farted in his face, but he took the carrot anyway and ate it in five seconds. Oh guess what? He was still hungry! You know that Eric Carle book about the Caterpillar? I'm pretty sure my child (or any growing six-year-old) was the inspiration. So then we played lots of hide and seek and I tried to distract his stomach by giving him gum to chew on. On our way to the CVS he said, "Hey Mama, can we get a snack?"
You know that feeling when your kid has the flu but you have to go to the grocery store, or the pharmacy, and you bring your sick pajama-wearing kid along but you are filled with this anxiety that he's gonna puke again in the middle of the store so you go as fast as you can and just hope you stop driving and rush him into the bathroom before he explodes again? I felt that way today, but opposite.
We got home and while I was prepping his dinner he made himself a weird snack of banana and melted cheese-- he does eat food other than bananas, by the way. When I was growing up, if we wandered into the kitchen when my mom was cooking and asked for a snack we were shot a filthy look and told to leave. I tried that for a few years, but gave up a few weeks ago when I realized that he still eats a huge amount of "proper" dinner right after having a weird snack. My mom always said "It will ruin your appetite." God, if only. One time I let him eat an entire bowl of ice cream and brownie BEFORE dinner and he still ate every single vegetable on his plate. Ruined appetite, my ass.
He ate dinner (two mini pizzas and a 2 glasses of a super yummy protein-filled mango smoothie), ate a peanut butter cup for dessert, then went to bed complaining that he's "starving."
No really. That's all I did today. I fed my son for 12 hours, and I read some Harry Potter.
-B
Friday, July 22, 2011
I fell, and now I want to write a lot about it.
Earlier this week I decided that I want to join a roller derby team. Yeah, that’s what I said. Skating super fast, wearing tiny shorts, getting my ass kicked. It’s totally a good idea. Yes, I watched Whip It, and that may have had something to do with it, but also there are other reasons. Like that I miss being on a team and playing a sport, and that I’m super all-the-time mom/wife and it would be nice to do something for me only. And if I’m not going to be a farmer right now, I need to do SOMETHING that thoroughly exhausts my body in that way that makes me feel really alive. You know that scene in Whip It where Ellen Page is on the phone but also icing her knees cause they ALWAYS hurt? Yea, I want that.
The problem with watching movies is that they make hard work look soooooo glamorous. It’s always a musical montage. Rocky made it famous, but Whit It had it too. You see Ellen Page dig her conveniently still-fitting Barbie skates out of the back of her closet. Some amazing song comes on and she’s skating down her empty suburban street. She’s breezing along. She hides behind a tree so her mom won’t see. She skates around effortlessly at her diner job cause her boss apparently says that’s fine. She doesn’t even fall in the whole montage, but if she does it’s really ok, because within minutes, weeks have gone by and she’s really good at skating now.
Well, I fell, cause I live in real-life. There wasn’t even music playing. I bought skates on Wednesday, but then was completely horrified when I put them on at home and discovered that, even though I can ski like a pro, inline skate like any good kid of the 90’s, and ice skate backwards, I actually DON’T KNOW HOW TO ROLLER SKATE! This ruined my plans for a brief but epic training montage. I had thought, “Oh try-outs are in a month? No big deal. I’ll just start going on runs in the morning cause I’m a little out of shape.” I did not factor in learning how to not fall on my ass. So, whoops.
My six-year-old decided to be my coach. I put on the skates last night, plus the elbow, knee, wrist, and head protectors, and found a good long sidewalk. He was running alongside me shouting encouragements and telling me how it’s done. “You just need to grab onto a tree to stop!” I said no to that suggestion, but actually, I didn’t know how to stop without grabbing onto something. I was pretty sure the toe stop thing had something to do with it, but didn’t know how to make it work. My son (who does not own roller skate, by the way, but DOES know everything) explained it to me: “You see the space between the sets of wheels? When you want to stop, you have to pretend there’s a rat under your foot there. Then if you scream ‘RAT!!!!!’ and tip your foot up so that thing (the toes stop) hits the ground, you’ll be able to stop automatically. You have to get away from the rat. That’s how you do it. I actually know about how to stop roller skates. For real.”
I think it’s because sometimes I forget he’s only six, and not forty-five, or maybe because I didn’t have a better idea, but I actually did what he suggested. I was going at a steady speed when I screamed “RAT!!!!,” tipped both my feet up, wobbled like crazy, then fell backward, and landed butt-first on the sidewalk, hard. The impact had this lovely affect of traveling up my spine and shaking my brain so I was feeling the pain mostly in my head, but don’t worry! Today I feel it in my butt. My tiny coach ran over, and practiced his encouragements, “I’m sorry that happened. Let’s try again.” But I just sat there stunned, defeated. He tried a new tactic. He asked gently, “Where does it hurt?” and I answered “My butt,” to which he responded by falling over in a giggle fit, completely ignoring my agony. Oh yea, he’s six.
And that’s the last time I will listen to my 6-year-old and pretend he knows what’s what! (Until tonight, when I get home from work and he tells me that Great White Sharks can actually live in rivers but only when they are really old, like 500 years old, and I believe him cause he’s super cute and very convincing- “No, really! It’s true. My counselor told me!”)
In conclusion, I’ve learned that I am not in a well-shot movie, but would still like to learn how to roller skate really well.
-B.
The problem with watching movies is that they make hard work look soooooo glamorous. It’s always a musical montage. Rocky made it famous, but Whit It had it too. You see Ellen Page dig her conveniently still-fitting Barbie skates out of the back of her closet. Some amazing song comes on and she’s skating down her empty suburban street. She’s breezing along. She hides behind a tree so her mom won’t see. She skates around effortlessly at her diner job cause her boss apparently says that’s fine. She doesn’t even fall in the whole montage, but if she does it’s really ok, because within minutes, weeks have gone by and she’s really good at skating now.
Well, I fell, cause I live in real-life. There wasn’t even music playing. I bought skates on Wednesday, but then was completely horrified when I put them on at home and discovered that, even though I can ski like a pro, inline skate like any good kid of the 90’s, and ice skate backwards, I actually DON’T KNOW HOW TO ROLLER SKATE! This ruined my plans for a brief but epic training montage. I had thought, “Oh try-outs are in a month? No big deal. I’ll just start going on runs in the morning cause I’m a little out of shape.” I did not factor in learning how to not fall on my ass. So, whoops.
My six-year-old decided to be my coach. I put on the skates last night, plus the elbow, knee, wrist, and head protectors, and found a good long sidewalk. He was running alongside me shouting encouragements and telling me how it’s done. “You just need to grab onto a tree to stop!” I said no to that suggestion, but actually, I didn’t know how to stop without grabbing onto something. I was pretty sure the toe stop thing had something to do with it, but didn’t know how to make it work. My son (who does not own roller skate, by the way, but DOES know everything) explained it to me: “You see the space between the sets of wheels? When you want to stop, you have to pretend there’s a rat under your foot there. Then if you scream ‘RAT!!!!!’ and tip your foot up so that thing (the toes stop) hits the ground, you’ll be able to stop automatically. You have to get away from the rat. That’s how you do it. I actually know about how to stop roller skates. For real.”
I think it’s because sometimes I forget he’s only six, and not forty-five, or maybe because I didn’t have a better idea, but I actually did what he suggested. I was going at a steady speed when I screamed “RAT!!!!,” tipped both my feet up, wobbled like crazy, then fell backward, and landed butt-first on the sidewalk, hard. The impact had this lovely affect of traveling up my spine and shaking my brain so I was feeling the pain mostly in my head, but don’t worry! Today I feel it in my butt. My tiny coach ran over, and practiced his encouragements, “I’m sorry that happened. Let’s try again.” But I just sat there stunned, defeated. He tried a new tactic. He asked gently, “Where does it hurt?” and I answered “My butt,” to which he responded by falling over in a giggle fit, completely ignoring my agony. Oh yea, he’s six.
And that’s the last time I will listen to my 6-year-old and pretend he knows what’s what! (Until tonight, when I get home from work and he tells me that Great White Sharks can actually live in rivers but only when they are really old, like 500 years old, and I believe him cause he’s super cute and very convincing- “No, really! It’s true. My counselor told me!”)
In conclusion, I’ve learned that I am not in a well-shot movie, but would still like to learn how to roller skate really well.
-B.
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