I Know, Right?

About five years ago, I was talking with a young woman I'd recently started working with, and she was asking me questions about marriage.  She was dating a guy who, when they first got together, expressed a disinclination for and a distrust of marriage.  So she was asking me things like "How do you know when you've met the right person?  How do you know when it's time to get married?"  We had a long conversation over lunch one day.

However, this post isn't about lofty subjects like soul mates, and life choices, and big A-HA moments.  This post is about how during our conversation I kept getting completely thrown off by her use of the phrase: "I know, right?"

She freely sprinkled "right?" into our entire conversation.  This was new to me.  I had been raising small children for a few years, and had been out of the work force.  I was very up on lingo to describe bowel movements...not so much on lingo being used by pretty much everyone else.  It was incredibly disorienting, this feeling that I was having a conversation with someone and yet I didn't understand all that much of what she was saying.

Now?  I use it all the time.  Just did a moment ago in a text to a friend.  Here's the thing: I always feel like a poser when I use it.  Because every time I say it, or type it, I remember that first time I ever heard it, and just how confused I felt.

Young woman: "I know, right?"

Me, in my head: "What?  Right?  What's right?  What do you know?  I'm so confused...are you asking me if you are right?  Is that like the opposite of wrong?  How, exactly, am I supposed to respond to 'I know, right?'"

Language is so confusing.  Just when we think we know what's going on, these young upstarts come up with new phrases and all this jargony jargon.  Those of us no longer in the Generation of the Moment just have to hold on as best we can and hope we (a) understand what's going on and (b) don't sound like complete dorks when we participate in the conversation.

So all you young upstarts, remember:  Your elders don't want to be left behind, but we might take a bit longer to catch on.  Right?

Never Enough

I am a list maker.  But since starting my new job, I have fallen away from the habit, at least in my non-working life.  It's discombobulating, this traveling through the day willy nilly, not knowing what I really want or need to get done.  So the other day, I made a HUGE list, of all the things large and small that are occupying my brain these days.  Some are straight-up "to-do" items, some are things to think about, some are more like long term goals.  There's a random shopping list of things we need...there's some parenting advice I'd like myself to take...there's ideas for organizing our household more effectively.  Here's a gander at my big ole list of brain stuff:

Tonight, after what was on the whole a pretty good day, I found myself wondering what exactly I had managed to do.  I looked at that big ole list, and discovered that I could cross exactly nothing off of it, after waking up 16 hours ago.

That was rather distressing.  So I did what compulsive list makers everywhere do: made a to-do list of things I had already done.  I made a To-Done list.  Here's what I came up with in about 5 minutes; I may have forgotten to include a few things:

1. Cleaned out the fridge.
2. Cleaned and packed up Katy's tent, so I can return it.
3. Vacuumed out one of our living room chairs.  That was scary.
4. Did 3-4 loads of laundry: folded AND put away.
5. Helped the girls with their chicken-caring-duties for our neighbor who is out of town.
6. Made potato-zucchini latkes.
7. Participated in a 1 hour conference call with the Board of Directors for my new job.
8. Worked for 2.5 hours on a grant proposal, also for my new job.
9. Took my daughter's lovey-blankey to a seamstress to have it sewn up.  Returned at the end of the day to pick it up, so Little T would have it at bedtime.
10. Did the graphic design/layout of the first 6 pages of the 2013 Garden Guide booklet.
11. Finished a little bit (45 minutes?) of administrative work for a local maintenance gardener I am helping out for the summer.
12. Made sure the kids did their daily chores.
13. Picked apples from one of our trees -- so yummy! 
14. Cleaned the kitchen.  Twice.
15. Dug a sliver out of a child's finger.
16. Updated Rick's work calendar and returned a couple work phone calls and emails for our garden design company.
17. Went to Staples to buy printer cartridges and highlighters.

All of that and I didn't have a damn thing to cross out on the list I thought was pretty comprehensive.  I'm sort of in shock at what I got done today.  Truly -- I'm not usually this productive.  AND!  I didn't let the kids watch TV or play Wii at all today, so I was interacting with them all day long -- except for while I was working at the local internet cafe.  AND! I didn't even yell at anyone today!  Seriously, I am ON FIRE.  This would be a good time for me to tackle things like solving world hunger or finding a cure for cancer, don't you think?

I attribute some of this crazed productivity to the three cups of coffee I had this morning and the very large latte I had at 4pm as I started working on my grant proposal.  I will weep real tears the day a doctor tells me to cut caffeine out of my diet.  

But the sad part of this day is that I will still lay my head on my pillow with more to do than I woke up with.  The to do list always grows: I always add more things than I cross off in a given day.  It's never enough.  Never.

I'm feeling quite reflective about that.  Enough for what?  Enough to be happy?  No...I can be happy without crossing stuff off my to-do list.  Enough to have a nice cold beer at the end of the day?  Well of course!  Enough to put the list away?  Um, no.  I can be proud of how much I got done today, but it's not enough for me to look forward to tomorrow as a day to relax and not think about crossing things off.  If I decide to relax for a day or an afternoon, I do so knowing that I will pay the price of the list getting even longer during the time I spend napping, walking the dog, playing with the kids, or reading a book.

That doth suck.

But I'm still proud of myself for today.

Not least of which for #18: Wrote a blog post.

* * *

IDK

Kids come with a lot of questions. Most of them, I cannot answer, or at least not without research. Here are all the things to which I said "I don't know" this weekend:

• How far does a bullet fly?
• Why are white people called Caucasian? Why does it sound so much like Asian?
• What does the 'A' stand for in double A batteries?
• Is Hosni Mubarak a good person?
• Would you wear a burka if it was part of your religion and you lived in a country where the president made it illegal to wear one?
• What is the difference between a vegan and a vegetarian? Yeah, I thought I knew that one until I utterly failed to explain it coherently and ended up with an IDK.
• When was the last time a volcano erupted?
• Is Justin Timberlake nervous right now?
• Why can African American people use the n-word but no one else can, and why would they want to?
• How are you going to fix your computer? (This after the power cord prong thingy snapped off inside my laptop, rendering it un-power-up-able.)
• Can I go to the skate park tomorrow?
• Why do women always say other women are beautiful but men don't talk about how other men look? Actually, I did come up with a pretty decent answer for this one...but went with the IDK at first.
• Can you make us some popcorn? I was so brain dead by the time this question came up that I literally answered: I don't know.

I pondered all of these questions, as well as the ones I was able to answer more fully, as the cold morning light shifted from grey to bright across my bedroom this morning. Pinned as I was between a four year old knee in my back and an eight year old arm across my chest, I considered how many questions these little warm breathing bodies have. They are quiet now, the only time they will be all day. This is my chance to recharge, to get ready for another day full of words and questions, endless chatter and conversation. And probably some yelling.

Morning is rich with promise and possibility. My overwhelming love for my children pours out of me as I watch their sleeping chests rise and fall, and listen to the small sucking noises and the murmurs and whimpers of slow waking. Can I freeze time for awhile just to watch them sleep, where they literally look like angels who miraculously grace my presence every day? I try. I want to stay in this warm and quiet little world, where love protects me like the heavy homemade quilt that covers us. I want to live here forever. But at my back I always hear, time's winged chariot drawing near, and I know that in a precious few moments, they will be awake and asking question after question, and they will at some point in the next few hours seem more like demons bent on breaking my spirit than the angels they are in the quiet early spaces of each day.

Will I live up to their expectations and their questions today?

IDK.

* * *

Sad and Wrong on So Many Levels

We are a great and powerful country.

We have a grand and proud history.

We stand for human dignity.

We stand for freedom.

Apparently, that freedom includes the freedom to do really, insanely stupid things in the name of capitalism. Exhibit A:

Further evidence that maybe we should all adopt the following motto: Just because you can do it doesn't mean it's a good idea.

I'm sorry I stumbled on this because now I can't get back that 60 seconds of my life; I thought I'd share with you all so I wouldn't have to suffer alone.

* * *

What's Her Secret?

One of my New Year's Resolutions is to ask the questions that lurk in the corner recesses of my mind, to face the things I wonder about. So here's one:

My kitchen windows face my neighbor's kitchen window, the one right over her sink. She has a young family, like me; she's got four kids, and is a stay at home mom. So can someone please tell me why I never see her standing at her sink? Or why her kitchen light is never on? How is it that she spends so little time in the kitchen? I am always in mine. Sometimes, like now, I'm sitting at the kitchen table surfing the web and blogging, but my lights are on and I'm moving around, making coffee, cleaning up messes left behind from last night, planning for another 21 plates full of food (today's three squares for 7 family members), and her kitchen? Dark and quiet, as usual.

What is up with that?

* * *

Happy New Year everyone! May we all find answers to life's tough questions this year.

The Eye of a Needle Would Be Easier Than This

I have so much to do this morning, in a very short space of time. But I always have to time vent, it seems.

Today, I feel like my children are ungrateful and spoiled. Entitled and inflexible. Lazy and negative. Nay-sayers and buzz-kills. Nasty, brutish and short.

I'll be honest: when I am working hard to provide them with opportunities, relaxation and inspiration, and I am met with sour faces, complaints and resistance, I get extremely pissed off.

But what's the right response here? Yelling is definitely a fall back position; I'm pretty good at the indignant, guilt-inducing tirade. Unfortunately, I am the adult in this situation, and it's my job to guide them through the day, hopefully feeling good about themselves and having learned a thing or two.

I do want them to feel good about themselves; I want those positive feelings to come from having played and worked hard, helped their family, cooperated with mum, and experienced what it's like to engage the world positively.

It's all I can do to keep myself from screaming at them. Well-placed yelling is just that: well-placed and deserving. But I'm teetering back and forth between patience and righteous indignation.

We are off to a homeschooling science class this morning, after I (with their extremely reluctant help) finish cleaning up our Sonoma home-away-from-home so my folks come home from their trip to Ireland and find their house nearly as they left it. They will fight me on nearly everything I will ask them to do in the next two hours.

How will I respond?

* * *

Where I Try To Pick a Course of Action

See that house, Mom? The people who live in that house have a flat screen TV. I can tell.

We, in case you can't tell, do not. We were in a very beautiful neighborhood, where people like us go when we are providing a service to people who live in very beautiful neighborhoods.

Really? I said. You can tell that just by looking?

Yup. All of these houses have flat screen TVs.

This might sound unbelievable to you, kid, but there are people in the world who are wealthy enough to live in a house like that who are not interested in television, and wouldn't spend money on a flat screen TV no matter what it cost.

Not these people in these houses. They definitely have flat screen TVs.

Well, tell me this. Can you tell by looking at the houses if the people who live in them are happy?

Yup. See that blue one? They have a flat screen TV, and they are happy. And that one on the corner? They have a flat screen and they are really happy, because they also have those cool big soccer goals there.

He had me there. OK, the people who live in that house on the corner might very well be happy.

Most people have flat screen TVs, you know Mom.

That's not true, Sam.

Yes it is: almost everyone has a flat screen TV. Except us.

Do you mean everyone in the world? Or in the United States?

OK, well, just the United States. Most people in the United States have flat screen TVs.

At this point, I am impressed that he can insert the phrase flat screen TV into almost every sentence he utters. A pronoun isn't good enough for a flat screen, apparently.

Well, there are over 300 million people in the United States, and I'm willing to bet that fewer than half of them own one.

I bet you're wrong.

Oy, this kid is tenacious! So now I'm furiously googling census and household data, searching for factual, credible data to back up my completely baseless claim.

My pre-teen talks about many things these days: cell phones, flat screen TVs, the wii and wii games, his PS2, and cars. Mercedes, for some reason. I feel sorry for him, that he has a mother who is so utterly uninterested in cool technology or in anything that smacks of having social status implications. He told me today that some people have "these things" that allow you to plug your TV, your wii, your DVD player, your PS13, and your personal assistant all in to the same device and then control all of them with one remote.

He said this like he was letting me in on a big secret that he felt obliged to share with me, to better my life and help me see the light. I didn't have the heart to tell him I was aware of this fabulously convenient option but just didn't care enough about my TV watching/gaming experience to take any steps in that direction.

* * *

A little background. A long, long time ago, in what feels like a different life, I served as a volunteer with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. Think Catholic Peace Corps. Sort of. Social justice action with a spiritual component. For a very short period of time, two years, I worked in homeless shelters in Washington DC and Boston. I chose to join JVC because I thought I could learn something from spending time with people afflicted by poverty and, as it turns out, by addiction and mental illness. The women and children I met during those two years gave me a glimpse into how poor people live in America, and it's not pretty. It's also not all terrible, as these people had children they loved, things they enjoyed doing, interesting things to say, and full, if difficult, lives.

When I left California to begin that work, my friends gave me a knickname. Or actually, they appended my full name with the initials O.S.J.M. If you are familiar with Catholic religious orders, then you'll likely know that initials like that after a person's name indicate to which religious order the person belongs. I was not actually in an order, but my friends, who liked to tease me that I was going off to be a do-gooder for a while -- slumming it, as they say -- created an order just for me: the Order of Social Justice Mamas.

ANYWAY (is this getting boring? I feel like this might be getting boring.), OSJM came to be a sort of joke-y way for my husband to refer to my interest in Things Social Justice and my lack of interest in Things Material. He marvels at what I do not want or need, and claims it is difficult to buy me gifts (although he always does a beautiful job). I don't think about things, and do not shop for myself much. When I do, it is usually because he has been badgering me to do so.

So. I have this kid, with a temperament vastly different from my own. And sometimes, when I listen to him talking about all of the material possessions he salivates over and believes will make his life complete, I feel like I have two choices: Either I bore him to tears with admonishments about what really matters in life and how a LG Neon will not make him a happier person OR I rip my ears off of my head so that I don't have to listen to what surely must be normal pre-teen behavior but which makes me feel like my kid must have been switched at birth or like I have failed to inculcate my values into his young mind and heart. The lecture option is not appealing, to him or to me. So I'm stocking up on gauze bandages.

Where is that middle ground? And why do I always seem to be searching for it?

* * *

I Wish It Were Monday Morning

Most people dread Monday morning, and the work week that comes with it. Most people live for the weekend. I enjoy weekends, yes, but I bet there are a few parents out there who might agree with me that all that Family Time carries its own brand of stress and angst.

But that's not why I like Monday mornings. I like Monday mornings for the possibilities they represent. Every Sunday night, I get myself ready for the week. I make a pretty list. I strategize. I ooze organization and preparedness. And Monday morning brings with it optimism, energy, and the belief that I can do it all. Mondays usually go very well for me, the momentum of a good list carrying me through the day.

With each subsequent day, I lose a little heart. By Wednesday, I'm slumping. By Thursday, I'm hoping to survive five minute increments of time. Fighting children, greeted with detachment and clarity on Monday morning, elicit a growing rage response as the week progresses. Repetitive tasks, like serving three squares a day and cleaning the kitchen, provide order and peace on a Monday but become increasingly oppressive and impossible with each passing day. Faith in my abilities wanes...doubt increases...The Critic gets mouthy.

So here I am, midway through my Wednesday, trying to figure out how to break the pattern and how to beat the week to Friday with my self-respect intact. My cable receiver box has a reset button; I think I need one of those.

I'm about as likely to find one as I am to find the off button on my three year old.

* * *

Time to Change the Game Plan

My very nearly 12 year old son is grudgingly helping me pick a few tomatoes. I told him to go get a colander to put them in. He asked me: "A colander? What the heck is a colander?"

I am so ashamed.

And I'm furiously rewriting my Parenting Manual as we speak.

* * *

In Spite of Me: A Garden Story

This is not a post about what an awesome gardener I am.

This past Spring, when we were planning our first real vegetable garden, my husband said to me: “I’m leaving the vegetables to you: you pick what we plant and where they go. You buy the seeds or plants. You put ‘em in the ground. You tend ‘em.” Etcetera.

This makes sense, because he takes care of pretty much every other square foot of garden space around here, of which there are many, and works hard to do it.

So I began my research on how to have a vegetable garden. Books are good right? So I started with a great one, Golden Gate Gardening. I leisurely (read randomly) flipped through pages and pretended I knew even what I was looking for. I made a ridiculously long list of what veggies I wanted to plant, and then felt my eyes glaze over while reading detailed care instructions. The more I read, the less inspired I got. So I did what any reasonable procrastinator would do: I stuck the list and the book next to my bed and left them there. I wallowed in feeling overwhelmed and under-prepared for a good three or four weeks.

Finally, in late April, I ventured out to a couple of nurseries, ridiculous list in hand, where I tried to mask my complete ignorance by tossing random plants onto the cart. I consulted that stupid list of desired veggies a few times before stuffing it in my backpack and deciding to use the scientific looks-OK-to-me approach to vegetable selection. I kept my eyes from glazing over by not letting them rest on anything for very long. And really, why do they make so many types of tomatoes? Just to make me feel stupid? I bet that’s it. They are evil that way.

I did get up enough nerve to ask a Nursery staff person something barely coherent about zucchini. She could have stamped NOVICE on my forehead and sent me packing, but she nicely referred me to the seed packet rack, and explained that most people start zucchini from seeds because they grow so quickly and easily. So I spent a few minutes spinning the rack around too fast to actually see what the seeds were, grabbed a few, paid my money and got out of there.

I even managed to get my zucchini, yellow squash, green beans, tomatoes, radishes, carrots, cucumbers, broccoli, lettuce, and beets (2 kinds!) in the ground. Oh, and strawberries. And bell peppers.

Why start small? Why make it easier on myself, when I can set myself up to fail on a grand scale? This must be what I was thinking.

As the summer has progressed, here is how things have gone:

• I did not properly stake the tomatoes – all 18 vines of them – when I planted them, so after procrastinating for weeks, I spent several hours over two days thinning through massively overgrown plants and throwing together a staking system. I ended up tossing out a huge pile of greenery. That made me want to weep a little bit.
  
  
• I did something wrong with at least half of the green beans, which withered and died rather quickly. Good thing I overdid it on them too: I still have four great vines and 2 wimpy ones.
  
  
• The broccoli? Mostly a failed experience. Mostly because I ignored that bed.
  
  
• The leaf lettuce? Worked out pretty well, but I didn’t keep up with harvesting, so now they are the tallest lettuce plants you’ve ever seen and probably bitter, if I could bring myself to go out there and trim some.
  
  
• The radishes? Pretty good – got some yummy, spicy veggies – but again, I didn’t harvest fast enough and most of them went to flower before I pulled them. Lots went to waste.
  
  
• The beets? Didn’t even notice they were ready until waaaaaaaay too late. Perhaps this was subconsciously intentional, since I cannot stand beets and had only included them for my spouse. Total waste.
  
  
• The cucumbers? Jury is still out. I can’t actually see any fruit and no one told me the plant is prickly.
  

I am a neglectful gardener, grudgingly checking on my plants and lazily watching the lettuce get away from me. If not for the 11th hour resentment-filled tomato staking, I would have lost them completely.

When I think of people who keep vegetable gardens, I think of industrious, tidy, organized people who have the right sun hat, the right gloves, and peaceful relationships with their plants. I am none of these and have none of these. I am haphazard and occasional in my vegetable tending. I am usually wearing the wrong shoes for gardening, and cursing when dirt falls between my flip-flopped toes. I wear gloves when I can find them. The primary emotion I feel toward my vegetables is guilt.

But here’s what else has happened.

• My zucchini plants are doing marvelously well. They took over a large bed and they affirm me every time I look at them. I didn't even know a vegetable could do that, let alone a squash.
  
  
• My tomatoes, slow to turn red, are arriving in droves and the smell is heavenly, the very smell of summer.
  
  
• My green beans, although irresistible to small children who eat them as fast as they grow making it impossible for me to serve beans for dinner, are fat, sweet and pleasing.
  
  
• My carrots! Pulling a homegrown carrot out of the ground is a singular experience.
  

And so it seems that my garden, much like my family, is growing and thriving in spite of me. Clueless, reluctant, novice me has happily served salad and zucchini (bbq’d, sautéed, steamed and latke-ed) to my family for at least a month, carrots and green beans for a couple of weeks. We can't wait for all those tomatoes to burden us with their plenty. My kids have enjoyed checking on the plants and watching the progress, which is good, given that whole laziness thing I’ve got goin’ on.

So this is a post about not having a perfect garden and about making tons of mistakes along the way, and still harvesting pictures like this from my efforts:

Shred potatoes and zucchini; I used a cheese grater.

Mix in some flour and egg to bind the shredded stuff together.

Spoon the mixture into hot olive oil and fry the heck out of it.

Enjoy. Everyone in my family who was brave enough to try it liked it.

Those who weren't that brave missed out,

and had to settle for regular old zucchini sauteed in garlic and lemon.

* * *

The Latest in a Long List of Things I Do Not Understand

Am I the only person who is completely baffled by the Snuggie?


I cannot believe these things are catching on, that anyone would actually wear one. I saw a commercial the other night that excitedly proclaimed that the Snuggie is now available in fashionable patterns. Aside from the fact that Snuggie commercials look like they're spoofs of real commercials, the patterns featured were hideous, as in ugly drapery hideous. But then, I would imagine it's difficult to make any pattern look good when there is so MUCH of it to see.

Understand that I hate being cold. My poor husband has to hear me bitch and complain about being cold for the entire winter. I think I utter the words "I hate being cold!" about 53,000 times each year. I am always tucking blankets around my ankles and shoulders, and searching for the warmest socks, and going to bed wearing a hat. I put a high value on being warm and comfortable.

Even with all of that, I just can't get my brain around the Snuggie. A blanket you can wear belongs in the category of "Just Because You Can Do It Doesn't Mean It's A Good Idea." There are many things possible in this great big mixed up world of ours, but possible does not mean advisable. Dogs can lick their backsides, but does anyone really think they should?

So maybe the Snuggie doesn't rise to that level, but still: just because you can drape your entire body in a great big thick curtain with sleeves, doesn't mean you won't look like a complete fool while doing so.

The Snuggie website promotes the many ways one can use the Snuggie, such as for night time pub crawls. Can you picture this? Out with friends for a night of drinking wearing...a snuggie? Nothing says fun like wearing a comforter!

The site also has a picture of a bunch of people sitting in the stands at a football game all cozy in their snuggies. One of them is a young guy, who is probably thinking to himself, "I know you gotta put up with a lotta shit to make it in show business but if this ad kills my career, I'm gonna have the stupid Snuggie to thank for the next 30 years I spend flipping burgers." You know he wouldn't be caught dead wearing one of those things if someone wasn't paying him to. Plus, and maybe it's just me, more than one person wearing a Snuggie looks a little Orwellian, like some kind of strange mind-control experiment. Like this:


Don't they sort of look like mouthpieces for the state? Then again, if it's on the Today Show, then the Snuggie truly has arrived in our culture: it's here to stay apparently.

The most baffling part? More than 4 million sold in just three months. 4 million people who don't mind looking completely and utterly ridiculous? I am stunned.

But the absolute saddest part of this whole post is that I just spent 30 minutes of my life ranting about the Snuggie instead of doing laundry, washing dishes, feeding children, reading to the children, planning for Christmas, ending world hunger or sleeping under a nice, warm, normal blanket.

So somebody, please, explain the Snuggie to me.

* * *`