Weirdness

I learned the other day that my mother's death certificate says that the cause of her death was Alzheimer's Disease.

This is fascinating to me.  My mom was given multiple diagnoses for her physical and mental decline in the five years that she was sick, ranging from Parkinson's to Alzheimer's, to not-Alzheimers, to other weird forms of dementia we had never heard of, to generic "decline."  That period of time was characterized by confusion and questions, by us figuring out over weeks and months that doctors, in general, don't know very much about the brain or its problems.

We've had two close family friends who also received Alzheimer's diagnoses.  Both of them exhibited textbooks signs of that disease like forgetting family members' names and their relationships to them and gradually losing the ability to converse. While mom experienced intense confusion sometimes and was clearly dealing with some kind of dementia, she never forgot who she was, who her family and friends were, never forgot names. She even remembered more than most of us sometimes: she could remember how she met a person or details from events far in the past.  She repeated herself a lot, but she could still carry on a conversation with us, and she asked questions about grandkids and jobs and other goings-on of life.

I remember when she died, we had to decide as a family whether or not to have an autopsy done.  It was the only way, we were told, to know definitively if she had suffered from Alzheimer's or not.  I had stopped expecting medicine to provide us with any answers, and my vote was NO, we didn't need that to happen.  Most of us agreed, and we didn't do it.

But someone, somewhere, decided to fill in the box on her death certificate with a specific answer, as if that were a thing that could be known for sure.  Who made that decision? Why? What purpose does it serve?  How is that information used, and by whom?

One the one hand, it doesn't feel very consequential.  On the other, I find it so strange that such a personal question -- how did she die? -- has apparently been officially answered when the actual, most true answer is that we don't know for sure. 

How trustworthy are official documents in general?  How do historians evaluate documents like this when they are doing research into famous or historical figures?  Seems like a giant guessing game to me.

That is all.  I just think it's weird and wanted to take note of the weirdness in writing.

Get Ready to Ramble

I feel a rambling, unfocused post coming along…

I received an honest to goodness piece of mail on Friday, a card from a good friend.  Tears, people.  I shed tears.  She wrote such lovely things about our friendship, such good reminders to me of what really matters, and what really doesn't, and she wrote in an actual card, not in a Facebook post.  Such novelty!

So the front made me laugh and the inside made me cry and all at once, she made me want to be better.  A better mom, a better friend, a better calm (let's make that a noun, shall we?), a better presence, a better Lover of Life.

But then I woke up on Saturday morning and I. Was. Daunted.  I was the very picture and definition of Daunt.  I desperately wanted a lovely day, a love-filled day.  I wanted to be grateful and peaceful.  Oh, and I wanted to shop at Costco, do all the laundry, clean the bathroom, fix Little T's scooter, buy myself some new clothes, read my New Yorker, and take a looooooong nap.

None of that got done.  Exactly NONE.

One small thing did happen: I took my kid and my dog for a hike, and tried not to let Little T's rastafarian hair (fine on an actual rastafarian) chastise me.  We had a delightful time.

We ate apples.

She contemplated life with her dog.

I stared at her a lot.

And I got a little taste of that woman I want to be.

Later in the day, I drove all over creation, to futsal games, and play rehearsal, and birthday gift shopping, and birthday party drop offs, and Awards Night dinner…and there were clashes at home over bedrooms not cleaned and plans not communicated and feelings being hurt.  There were defensiveness and pride and laziness.  There were large hair tangles and larger laundry piles and no moments to read my New Yorker.

In other words: family.

* * *

Her rastafarian hair does, in fact, chastise me, and makes me cringe when she takes that head of hers out in public.  But apparently, it does not chastise me so much that I actually do much about it, at least not as often as I should.  This is an interesting lesson in chastisement.  Because I think I chastise my children rather a lot, about those bedrooms not being cleaned, for example, and I freak the f*** out when the behaviors in question do not change.

What makes behavior change?  What makes a mother better?  What makes a kid do what his mother says?

I'm not sure about the kid.  But for me, words written on a card and sent through the US Postal Service seem to work quite well.

I found a little slice of peace and gratitude this weekend, under the many layers of life that usually clamor for my attention.  I hope this is the beginning of a habit of being peaceful and grateful.  I hope I get many more reminders and that I pay attention to them.  I hope to lose myself in reminders of what really matters.

* * *

There Oughta Be A Law

You know how there ought to be a law against mothers getting sick?

Yeah, well, there isn't one yet, and I went and got sick yesterday, and the house...well...not that it was the picture of efficiency before I took to my bed, but let's just say the chaos took its best opportunity to get the upper hand and is now doing victory laps all over the property.

Things I learned when I emerged from my bed this morning:

• Laundry piles breed like rabbits.
• Yesterday's breakfast dishes had a camp out on my kitchen counter, later joined by the lunch and dinner dishes, and the party is still going on. I've heard talk of s'mores.
• Shoes are magnetically attracted to my living room floor. I just counted 17 of them in there.
• When I am sick, the dog seems to shed 3x as much as usual. I think she worries about me. Or perhaps she worries who will feed her if I am down for the count.

Suffice it to say, that even though I am not quite fully recovered from whatever bug was buggin' me yesterday, I cannot CANNOT be out of commission for another day. I'd wake up to to find my family buried underneath piles of dirty socks.

So I'm taking a page from Fly Lady's book, setting my timer, and cleaning as much as I can for 15 minutes. Then I am stopping and drinking water and blogging and checking email, texts, and facebook for 15 minutes. And then I will repeat the cycle. It'll get me through the day, and at least I won't be more behind by the end.

I'm a fledgling Fly Girl, but the 15 minute thing works for me.

The getting sick thing? Not so much.

* * *

bouquet courtesy of Lady E, age 6

* * *

Sporty Fresh

Ever heard of NaBloPoMo? The community effort to post every day for one month?

I tried it back in November of 2009, and I came darn close to posting every day. Close, but no cigar. I'm giving it another go for August 2011, in which the theme is Fiction. (From what I can tell, you can choose to write on the theme or not. The daily posting is really the thing; the theme is a structure you can use if you wish.)

Anyway, I think a little blog posting muscle flexing is in order, as I've not been the most disciplined writer of late. So I'll use the writing prompt provided by NaBloPoMo for today, for their July 2011 daily bloggers, to get me started. Here's the prompt:

"What was the last thing you bought?"

The last thing I bought was a stick of Right Guard Sport deodorant.

Because someone in my family was leaving the house for a music lesson, and someone else in my family suggested to the young prodigy that he apply a health dose of deodorant to himself, since after his lesson he would be going straight out for the entire evening with other people, and because when the suggest-or picked up the suggest-ee from the music lesson, it was entirely clear that this sage advice had not been followed, and because there was no time to go home and remedy the problem properly, and because the inside of the van, which was en route to drop off the young prodigy at the home of a third and innocent party, was beginning to have the air of a torture chamber...

For all of these reasons, I dashed into a drugstore and purchased a stick of Right Guard Sport, not the healthy kind, not just deodorant but actual antiperspirant, the stuff that traps everything in, clogs pores and bestows sweet relief on family and friends. Pressed for time as I was, I did the drugstore dash, turned in a C+ effort of holding my tongue with respect to the unfollowed advice, and managed to get him to his destination on time and smelling Sporty Fresh.

Because I want him to be invited back.

And because it's my job to teach him things about sweat.

And because I love him.

* * *

Three Items

I can't believe it's already Thursday the 7th! It's a good thing I didn't sign up for NaBloPoMo this month: it would have been an epic fail if I had.

So today, I have three items for everyone. First, check out KIDS BOWL FREE. I just signed up all my kids for free bowling coupons for the entire summer -- through October, as a matter of fact. We could go bowling for free every day if we wanted to. That's a lot of funky shoes and stale air right there! My kids are going to looooooooooove this. Go ahead, sign up. It's really free. We start today.

Second, a command. You MUST find a way to listen to This American Life's episode entitled Act V. It just might change your life. You can listen to it here (it's 1 hour long), or download the MP3 from TAL's website.

And third, a shout out to Mama Mama Quite Contrary, whose response to my last 7 Quick Takes made me laugh out loud. Here's what she said in response to my wondering why I feel antipathy towards amusement parks:

Sister, you are speaking my language about amusement parks. I HATE them. They are expensive, manufactured fun and if I wanted to hang out in a crowd full of sweaty people, I'd just climb into bed with my kids.

Yay Mama Mama!

* * *

That's it. That's all I got today. Too busy driving people around in order to achieve the Best. Summer. Ever.

* * *

A Quiz. Not the New Yorker One I Always Bomb.

Take a look at these photographs.

Now answer the following question. What do these five items -- two landscaping rocks, one anvil, a plant book, and an art book -- have in common. Are they:

(a) the gifts I received for Mother's Day?

(b) part of the most interesting homeschooling project we've done all year?

(c) just the right weight, when stacked together, to make my washing machine with its broken latch run?

(d) the only items that did not sell in our recent garage sale?

Imagine now that you are listening to the little Jeopardy Ditty. Enter your guess in the comments. I'll post the answer tonight!

(I got a 50% on the most recent New Yorker News Quiz. In my defense, I did not get the American Idol question right, which I think should actually increase my score by at least 30%. Don't I get credit for shunning network television?)

* * *

Power

It's been crazy around here.

We thought that after the garden tour, things would slow down. We were mistaken. So we've been trying to teach the children well, manage our small business, keep up with clients, orchestrate summer plans for the kids, and control/coordinate the process of setting up a new soccer team that Rick will be coaching.

Oh, the drama of coaching! Take 15-30 girls -- and their parents -- throw in one passionate coach, stir in the whole Tryouts process, shake with changing parameters daily, and WOW! You get a roller-coaster of a soccer team ride.

It's all good though. The beautiful game will win out over the demands and whackiness; it always does.

* * *

But we've been running like mad. So yesterday, with the littlest at preschool and the oldest at his guitar lesson, I finally had the chance to slow down with the middle three. (Another bonus of having a kid ride the bus? A 45 minute guitar lesson becomes a 2-4 hour adventure away from the house. Independence for him and fewer people to corral for me: win-win!)

We read from Beyond the Western Sea for awhile, until the blue sky's beckoning became impossible to ignore. We loaded up the car with snacks, skateboards, helmets, a viking hat, and a new kite, and off we went to the park.

So it was that I found myself on a beautiful Spring day, sitting in the sun with my six year old on my lap, my eight year old pressed against my side, and my ten year old just beyond, gazing up into the sky, watching a blue and green kite with a dark red tail dance and swirl on a cloudless stage.

We ate grapes and let the kite mesmerize us. We sat, and chatted a little, and stopped the frenzied motion of our lives for a few minutes.

After awhile the girls popped up and ran to swing and play in the sand. My son and I sat together, contemplating the kite, and marveling at how high it was and how strong the pull of the wind.

"It's sort of a little scary," he said thoughtfully.

"You mean that powerful pull?" I said.

"Yeah." He was curious about why this force had a little bit of fear in it.

"Yeah, that's weird, isn't? I think it's because it's so powerful. Power can be scary sometimes."

Holding onto that string did make one aware of the subtle current of fear running through one's hands while holding onto the powerful force of the wind. It made me think about other kinds of power that can be scary, and reminded me of the book we'd been reading that morning, in which the Irish characters are at the mercy of the English people who wield power and control over them, usually abusively. There is some kind of connection there, I'm sure.

I refrained from pointing this out to my son, pretty sure it would just annoy him with its obvious homeschooly-ness, but I started thinking about how to bring it back around at some later date. I contented myself with being grateful that he recognized that power and described it to me.

* * *

From the far side of the park, a thin man in dirty brown pants and a dirty white t-shirt came, pushing a bicycle over the grass, his handlebars wearing a sign proclaiming Free Leonard.

"Where'd you get that kite? I'm gonna get me one of those and put FREE LEONARD on it! You gotta tell me where you got that kite!"

I smiled and shrugged at him, because I really didn't know where we got it. I am forever finding things in my house with no idea how they got there. I found the kite that morning, having never laid eyes on it before.

"What? You don't want to tell me? I want to get one and put FREE LEONARD on it! Man, you gotta tell me so we can FREE LEONARD!"

I smiled again: "I don't know where I got it." My son said, "Yeah, we just found it."

"You found it? That's cool. I gotta find me one, so I can put FREE LEONARD on it! Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do!"

And off he went, slightly nutty, but certainly enthusiastic about his cause. My son turned to me, raised his eyebrows and said: "He really wants to free Leonard."

"Yes, he really does," I said.

The kite dipped and sailed, high in the sky, looking like a small green patch of light.

"Can you take the kite, mom?" And off he went to join his sisters. I stayed in the grass, alternately watching the kite and turning to watch my children pulling themselves up play structures, pumping their legs hard to swing high, and chasing each other through the sand.

I held onto the kite string and decided it was really time to do a little research into Leonard Peltier's story, since we see those signs everywhere and the kids have been asking about them for years. I'm guessing that particular lesson might have something to do with power as well.

* * *

Something else is powerful too: taking a break from life's mayhem and madness, sitting in the park with strong and curious children, and watching the world go by.

* * *

Happy Birthday Shakespeare!

Happy Birthday, Bard Dude! We're busy hanging streamers and transforming our living room into a mini Globe Theatre so we can have an authentic party for Will Shakes today.

As for this blog? Well, I want to post, but I have nothing to say. I've run through many ideas in my head. I'd like to write about watching my son play Boulevard of Broken Dreams in his first guitar recital. Or about the Alatorre Plague that has afflicted our house for the past week and half. Maybe about how my entire life seems to consist of moving stuff: laundry, food, shoes, and for some reason furniture, since my living room chairs have an annoying habit of migrating all over and are never placed just so, the way I like them and the way I set them each and every damn day.

I could write about The Middle. My kids have discovered this show. My oldest kid is a pretty amazing mimic, so he's been repeating lines from this show all week, especially imitating Axel the teenager. I swear, Sam is the next Rich Little: he's really good at voices, and intonation, and it's kind of eerie how well he can capture people. And the character of Axel is a treasure trove of funny lines, which I am now thoroughly sick and tired of.

I could post my score in the latest New Yorker quiz. Nah, I bombed it.

I could write about today being Holy Saturday, the holiest Vigil of the year. But it's been a strange Lent for me, and with our family being very sick this whole past week, it's been a strange Easter celebration. Sadly, I am feeling like it snuck up on me and I am not ready. Not ready for any of it: the silly baskets (of which I am not a fan), the special meal (picnic, anyone?), the proper way of marking the day with my kids (so they know we are not celebrating chocolate bunnies and plastic eggs)... Somehow in the next 24 hours, I will try to salvage some way of giving Easter it's due. It's important to me.

But I can't find a good way to write about any of this. It's official. I got nothin'. Nothing funny. Nothing profound. Nothing particularly moving or insightful. Nothing interesting.

Anyone want to give me a writing topic?

* * *

And I'm kidding about the birthday party for Shakes. No streamers. No Globe Theatre. Just useless trivia to bore people with on the soccer field today.

* * *

What the Heck is THAT?

You know how google generates targeted ads, based on content from your emails or searches? I use gmail, so on the right hand side of my screen, ads appear that usually have something to do with a keyword in a recent email. It's kind of creepy, but I'm getting used to it.

Today, over there on the right, there is an ad for a Feminine Husband Bra.

I cannot for the life of me figure out what content from my emails might have generated this ad. I'm afraid to click on it, because I really don't want to encourage similar ads being put into my sight lines. But I'm curious. And I have all kinds of odd images floating through my head. And I want them to stop.

The Virtual World is a strange, strange place indeed.

* * *

30 or So Tales To Tell

There is just something about sitting in Peet's Coffee on a rainy afternoon. Lovely classical notes waft through the thick, confident smell of coffee, every seat is crowded with people talking or working or reading, rain falls through the plentiful North Berkeley trees outside the corner window. Right now, this place is the center of the world, buzzing with life, people, relationships, ideas, and caffeine.

And there is so much more here than meets the eye.

A young guy at the next table, knit cap pulled down over his ears, skinny jeans half holding him on the wooden chair, clicks earnestly away at his iPhone thingamajiggy, looking for all the world like a dude connected, to people, movements, important events. He is intent, focused, thumbs working purposefully.

I spy his screen. He is playing solitaire.

The older gent sitting across the way is reading a thick paperback with a Moe's bookmark clutched in one hand. I strain to catch the title (I am forever trying to spy on what people are reading) but cannot see it. Head bowed, he reads and reads and reads. Strange, but he does not turn any pages.

He is sound asleep, chin to chest, book rising and falling on his protruding belly. It doesn't much matter what he's reading, apparently.

Another man, looking dapper, or Berkeley's version thereof, holds court on one of the benches, chatting with the other regulars. He would appear to be the picture of community, the keeper of a good story for a rainy day. I catch snippets of his conversation, and realize he is a few bolts shy of stable.

Actually, he's homeless, and discussing at length the best places to stay dry in rainy weather. I look closer and see the tell tale signs of someone who has been on the streets for a long, long time. Leathery skin, slack mouth, unfocused eyes. But he's here, in this little space, sipping the best coffee known to man and sharing conversation with people who are clearly friends of his.

An older man sits down next to me and takes out two notebooks filled with copious, pencil written notes. He hoists a large hard bound book out of his satchel and thunks it on the table; the phrase Homeric Translation is in the title. Even the Greeks are alive and well here at Vine and Walnut.

Everywhere I look, things are so much more interesting than they might seem at first glance, so much more complex. A warm cafe on a cold day, with 30 or so patrons, with 30 or so tales to tell.

Life is a mystery. I sip my own best coffee known to man and make up little stories in my mind about the patrons. That couple over there is in the middle of a huge, silent, chip on their shoulders fight and they are trying desperately to ignore each other. That young mother is in a sleep-deprived haze, waiting in line for what will surely be the highlight of her long, caring-for-others day: a medium, non-fat latte. She is hoping the elixir will stave off the afternoon blues. The server behind the counter, the cheerful one who helps people with their whole bean orders, has recently fallen head over heels in love and is riding a wave of exhilaration through his work day until he can get to her again.

I feel a tug and hear a small gasp of joy. I turn and at my sleeve, I see my very own tale to tell. My four year old has arrived with her daddy, singing Matchmaker Matchmaker from Fiddler on the Roof and telling me her good news: Rozie (from preschool, whence she has just come) is her friend.

Friends are indeed good news, little one. Look around you: there is good news everywhere.

* * *

A Little Bit of Random for a Monday Morning

Clasico day today! So, who do you like, Barca or Real Madrid? We're Blaugrana all the way here, and not just because Carlos Puyol's alter ego lives here. My husband is all a-twitter with excitement. My 12-year old's obsession is at a fever pitch. The TV is all Barca, all day, with 90 beautiful minutes of glory in store. Will you be watching? If so, you'll be joining 400 million people all over the world doing the same.

* * *

With the Thanksgiving holiday, Little T has not had a preschool day since last Wednesday. When I dropped her off this morning, I had this to say to her teachers: "She has not stopped talking since last Wednesday at 2pm. Take her. Keep her. She's all yours. Good bye."

There are few things more exhausting than a four year old who needs to talk, especially when the standard "uh-huh" response is not enough for her. The level of engagement she requires is mind-boggling. I now have 5 hours of sweet relief from her unique brand of torture. I'm sure I'll be thrilled to see her by then. Sort of.

* * *

The Holidays are here. So far, I am successfully ignoring them. I'm going with that strategy for as long as possible.

* * *

A story about my friend Pat, who passed away earlier this month. At the school my kids went to until last year, the Kindergarten class celebrates the Feast of the Epiphany with an Epiphany cake, complete with a hidden baby Jesus in one of the servings. When my oldest child was in Kindergarten, he found the baby Jesus in his piece of cake. As my kids cycled through Kindergarten, at each Epiphany, my second found the baby Jesus....my third found the baby Jesus...and finally Lady E, just this past January, emerged from her slice of cake with a sticky plastic baby Jesus. I was amazed at my childrens' good fortune. I commented to Pat, one of the Kindergarten teachers, "Wow! I can't believe it! Elizabeth got the baby Jesus! All of my kids have; isn't that strange?"

She whacked me in the arm, grabbed my head, pulled my ear to her mouth and growled: "You jackass, who do you think serves the cake?"

I'm a little slow on the uptake.

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 20

And this week's Friday is going...going...GONE! Sold to the lady with five kids who clearly didn't make it to the shower today!

Please go visit our lovely host at Conversion Diary for the original 7 Quick Takes; visit the links of other people playing along this week.

~ 1 ~

I had to spend $845 on my car today. This brings the grand total of car maintenance bills in the past two weeks to something around $2K. Right before Christmas. As usual. We have all kinds of bad luck with car repairs during the Holiday season. Last year, we bought the kids a new transmission. Hope the kids like the new brakes I got them this year! I'll just wrap the receipt in a big box and stick it under the tree for Christmas morn. And Jen (aka Minivan MacGyver), I'll be sure to videotape their reactions.

~ 2 ~

My kids have some annoying habits. One of those is that they think it's funny to exaggerate some behavior that I have just asked them to stop doing. So if they are all yelling too much, and I ask them to be quiet, they think it's hilarious if they all scream at me: "OK MOM, WE'LL BE QUIET NOW!" Or if one of them is flicking the door lock in the van up and down and up and down in rapid succession, and I ask him to stop, he thinks it's a scream to speed up the intensity of the flickety-flicking. There are endless variations to this little game. So. A. Noy. Ing. Why, oh why, do they do this?

~ 3 ~

My son wanted to help me make a fire this afternoon. So he handed me some logs, which I arranged in the fireplace. I added kindling and crumpled up newspaper.

He lit a match. And lit the newspaper. And then sat back and played Wii.

I spent the next 45 minutes wrestling and wrangling with the flames, cajoling, cursing and coaxing them into permanent life. I brought that thing back from the dead 3 or 4 times. For the past three hours, the fire has been roaring nicely.

And my son has been telling anyone who will listen that he made the fire tonight.

~ 4 ~

My 8 year-old daughter has four soccer games scheduled this weekend; her team is in a tournament. It is going to be raining. I believe it is testimony to my complete transformation to Soccer Mom that I am going to be seriously bummed out if the games are canceled. Who wants to stand in the freezing cold rain watching 8 year old girls run around and supervising younger girls at the same time?

Uh, me, apparently.

~ 5 ~

I recently instituted a new chore chart. Because of the stepped up responsibility we are asking the kids to develop, we have also finally instituted weekly allowances. This week, a few of my kids have shirked their chore responsibilities, despite the fact that I have reminded them several times.

Imagine their surprise when the kids in question learn tomorrow morning that they will not get their allowance this week! I kind of can't wait for the horror to sink in.

Is it wrong of me to take such delight in teaching them a lesson?

~ 6 ~

Here's a question: If someone (a child) spills a healthy amount of clear glue all over your dining room table, one of your dining room chairs and the hard wood floor beneath the table, would you attempt to clean it up while it is still wet? Or would you let it dry so that you could just peel it off later? And would you keep the t-shirt that also got doused, or would you just toss it? Keep in mind the shirt is absolutely not a special, favorite shirt and actually is pretty stained and in bad shape. Just hypothetically speaking, of course.

~ 7 ~

I heart Old Fashioneds, with a crazy, desperate, all-encompassing, back seat of the wood-paneled station wagon kind of love.

* * *

Nothing To Say

I really have nothing to report today.

Life has been so boring lately, nothing to do, nothing to think about, nothing to worry over. I hardly know what to do with myself! I've organized my sock drawer, color-coded my tupperware lids, and turned my kids' rooms into Pottery Barn slices of heaven. Their behavior, accordingly, has been epically wonderful. This is pretty much me these days:

Because I certainly have not

been unable to move from the couch in the evenings in order to restore some semblance of order to my barn-like environs;

worried unceasingly about my children's apparent non-relationship with hard work;

succumbed to overwhelm at the shambles my life is in;

bickered with my spouse over such important matters as why the back door is always wide open;

yelled at anyone, for any reason whatsoever;

compared myself to every other mother, hell woman, in the world and come out on the losing side;

OR

eaten way too many carbs, eschewed all vegetables, ignored my need to exercise, had wine when I should have had water, and in all other ways failed to take decent care of myself.

I'm so glad I'm evolved enough to be past all of that.

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 19, The Reader Participation Edition

...and then I woke up and lo, it was a Friday, and I said: "It is good."

Please visit Jen at Conversion Diary for the original 7 Quick Takes and links to others playing along.

~ 1 ~

Recommended reading for today: Well, I haven’t read this yet, I just heard about it today. But it sure sounds interesting! Our local public radio station produces a daily show called Forum. Today’s guest was Richard Muller, talking about his new book called The Instant Physicist: An Illustrated Guide.

The above image and the publisher’s synopsis below are taken from Powell’s Books website:

Richard A. Muller demonstrated in his recent bestseller, Physics for Future Presidents, that he has a unique talent for delivering the aha moment—making difficult topics accessible. In The Instant Physicist he shows his ability to entertain, too, by presenting the best of the scientific curiosities he has assembled over his distinguished career. Assisted by award-winning cartoonist Joey Manfre, who has created an original color cartoon for each physics bite, Muller will have readers chuckling while they’re absorbing more science than they ever thought possible. From the surprising (chocolate has more energy in it than TNT) to the scary (even kids can make a bomb), this book contains a revelation on every page. Once finished with this page-turner, readers will be the stars of their next cocktail party. The book consists of a color cartoon on each right-hand page and explanatory text on the left.

Sounds awesome, no? I hope to pick up this book sometime this weekend, in between our 6 soccer games and two end-of-season soccer parties. Let me know if you get it too!

What are you reading right now?

~ 2 ~

On Wednesday morning, I was chatting with one of Little T’s preschool teachers, who sweetly called my daughter “delightful,” and I told her that Little T is very proud of herself that she has never gotten in trouble at school. Well, that was the kiss of death. Five short hours later, she can no longer claim that distinction. Right before lunch, she locked herself in the bathroom, preventing several short people—short people in urgent need, no less—from coming in. She proceeded to bang on the walls for no apparent reason, and she stayed in there, despite the teacher’s repeated demands that she open the door.

When she finally came out, she was given a stern talking to and placed in a five minute time out. These were the longest, hardest five minutes of the day for all of the boys at the school, who rely on Little T to chase them around while pretending to be a vampire. They were at a loss without her.

The teacher was laughing about the whole thing by the time I picked up my little Fang Girl at 2pm, but thus endeth any good behavior bragging rights for her.

Those of you with preschoolers who have no such bragging rights, what’d your kid do to get in trouble?

~ 3 ~

Chalk up another trip to the ER for the AIRY-5 Family! Why do things always happen to us on weekends and holidays? This time, Veteran’s Day, so our peds office was closed. Anyway, this trip was for severe poison oak. You might think that a seasoned mom like me wouldn’t make a trip to the ER for something like poison oak. I thought so too, until yesterday.

My 10 year old gets poison oak really badly, and has had it more times than I can count. We’ve always just soldiered through it, with various over the counter remedies. We’ve ended up relying mostly on Benadryl and ice packs for relief, and just gritting our teeth until it clears up. (Yes, “our” teeth. While suffering from poison oak is a terrible, miserable experience, being the mother of a kid with poison oak is almost equally miserable.) We also recently learned about Sticky Monkeyflower as a prophylactic, and since we have tons of this native plant in our garden, we’ve tried it a few times. I think last time he got it, the monkeyflower helped it go away faster than it ever had before. Unfortunately, he didn’t eat any this past Monday before he went hiking for 5.5 hours.

And this time, he got it on his face so badly that both of his eyes and his mouth were swollen and there wasn’t a single unaffected spot anywhere on his face or neck. It was worse than I have ever seen it. On Wednesday, I finally decided to go the steroid route, which I had heretofore opposed. One day in to the dose, he was still going mad with itching. His pediatrician, who I reached by phone even though the office was closed, thought it should have been helping by now and suggested we give him a shot to get him faster relief.

So, off to the ER for us. As it turns out, the doc on duty was a poison oak expert, and she talked me out of the shot. She suggested Zyrtec, A&D ointment, and patience. And to keep taking the steroid prescription we started on Wednesday. The A&D gave him immediate, lasting relief, and finally the steroid seems to be working, as his face is clearer today than it has been since Tuesday.

Poor guy.

What was your last ER trip for? And does anyone out there have a unique poison oak remedy?

~ 4 ~

Never say never. I’ve been thinking about things I let my kids do that I’m sure I thought I never would. Maybe we could start a little “True Confessions” segment, where we admit to one tiny (or not so tiny) parenting choice that we are both surprised we’ve made and maybe a little less than proud of. I’ll go first.

I let my kids – all of my kids – stay up on Monday and Tuesday nights to watch Dancing with the Stars. I am not a big TV fan. I am even less of a reality TV fan. I’m naturally suspicious of popular culture, on aesthetic more than moral grounds. And yet, I let them. Never thought I’d do that, but there ya’ go. What? You think that’s no big deal? Did you think I was going to start off with the big guns? Um, no.

How about you? What will you admit to?

~ 5 ~

What is UP with American Girl Dolls? Why are they so expensive? We have a girl lobbying for one for Christmas. (I curse the catalog that found its way to my mailbox unbidden.) She is also lobbying for a skateboard. She has varied interests.

Someone tell me why I should shell out an insane amount of money for one of those dolls? Are they lined in gold? Do they clean a girl’s bedroom? Do they pay the bills? Do they possess the answer to the meaning of Life Itself? What is UP?

~ 6 ~

A friend of mine posted a question on her Facebook wall recently: What would you attempt to do if you knew you wouldn’t fail? I answered professional competitive dirt biking.

When I was in college, I submitted something to the literary magazine. The editor asked me for a little blurb bio for the contributors’ pages. I told him I couldn’t think of anything and he could put something in for me. Shortly after the magazine came out, people started coming up to me on campus and asking how my dirt biking career was going. Funny guy, that editor.

I’m not serious about the dirt biking, but I have been thinking about what fear of failure might be keeping me from. Writing ranks up there, for sure.

How about you? What would you attempt, if failure were not an issue?

~ 7 ~

Do you spend too much time on the Internet? I do. What’s that all about?

* * *

My Kids Have It All

"IT ALL" currently includes:

• 19 wasp stings, on two bodies;

• raging poison oak;

• two wicked paper cuts;

• one blistered, swollen, crazy-allergy-response, 5-inch in diameter bug bite;

• healing blisters from new soccer shoes;

• one really, really bad attitude.

We've been powering through ice packs, benadryl, ibuprofen, neosporin, and bandaids. None of that is helping Little T, who is afflicted with the really, really bad attitude.

Nature is overrated. As are 4 year-olds.

* * *

Dear You

Dear Lady in the SUV in the Costco parking lot today,

I apologize for cutting you off. I did not mean to drive past you at 5 mph, while you were 20 feet away also traveling at 5mph, both of us approaching a parking lot "intersection." But was it necessary for you to call me a bitch in front of my children? They can read lips. They announced that you think I'm a bitch. I am not a bitch. I am tired, PMS-ing, overwhelmed, and supremely annoyed at the world. Even with the ball of malcontent I am traveling with today, I did not mean to cut you off. However, now I'd kind of like to slam into the side of your SUV like Towanda.

Please go spread your venom somewhere else.

Warmly,

--Someone who didn't need to be called a bitch in front of her kids today

* * *

Dear Daughter,

You are brilliant. I hope someday you grow up to be a stand-up comic so that you can use the material you wrote today when you said, of a kid we know who teases other kids: "He's a pill with side effects."

Love,

--Your laughing mama

* * *

Dear School System,

Is there any possibility that I could enroll my kids in one of your schools for between 2 and 4 days per month? I am a happy homeschooling mom most of the time. But there are these specific couple of days in which I should actually not interact with human beings, let alone be in charge of their health, well-being, and intellectual growth.

So if you could just save four chairs for them, they will be there for 3 days every 26 days. Give or take. Usually fewer, especially as I get older, which by the way, what is up with that? Isn't that unnecessary cruelty? Anyway, just pour some knowledge their way three days a month, and that would be swell. I'm pretty sure that if they stay home for those three days, any good I've done in the rest of the month will be swept away in a hormone-induced tsumani.

For the sake of the children and warmly,

--One hopped-up mama

* * *

Grab Bag

And summer comes to a close.

Ours ended well, with the arrival of Tule, a six year old beautiful black lab who needed a new home as much as we needed a doggie. We started Labor Day weekend with no inkling that by its close we would have a truly great dog. But she's here! And it has been an amazingly effortless transition so far. We haven't had a dog for six years, but it seems to be much like riding a bicycle; you never forget how. She fits in around here like a long missing puzzle piece. As I type, she is curled up on Sam's bed, cozy and happy after a day of chasing a tennis ball to the delight of some happy children.



* * *

Two funnies from my second son today.

Funny #1: While we were at the park trying unsuccessfully to tire out our new dog, he needed to use the bathroom but I had forgotten the key. (Our local park system sells a key, for a nominal fee, that opens all the public park restrooms; funny thing about them though...they don't work if you leave them at home.) So he headed up to the wild area of the park to answer the call of nature. A few paces away, he turned and announced: "I will be back, when nature stops yelling at me." I guess he really had to go badly.

Funny #2: After complaining bitterly that he had to wash the dishes tonight, he shifted into overdrive and began what can only be described as aggressive dish washing. I walked back through the kitchen and he shouted at me: "Mom! I am ROCKIN' these dishes!" Whatever works for you, son.

* * *

Sustainability. I've been thinking about sustainability today. Not in a green, eco-friendly, love the earth way, but in a domestic sense. I cannot seem to sustain any of the systems I come up with for handling laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping and meal planning, chores, or anything else. Sustainability is breathtakingly hard. It seems to me that establishing systems and routines for smoothly running a household is a great gift for children, a gift I wish I were giving my own. Maybe homeschooling will be my opportunity to do this, as I hope it might be. But I have to admit, I am skeptical about my ability to really sustain a well-run home.

What strategies have you used for any part of running your home that works well for you? Please share. Please. Share. I have lots of ideas, but am always looking for more. And then, how do you turn it into routine, habit? That's the toughest part for me.

* * *

I have also been thinking about the balance between selflessness and self-care. I am terrible at taking good care of myself, and I wish I were better at this. I am also a somewhat socially challenged person who experiences anxiety and worry on a regular basis, which I attribute to an inability to "lose myself" and an overemphasis on my insecurities. So...where is the balance between taking care of yourself and not worrying about yourself? I'm not sure where that is, but I'd sure like to live there.

* * *

So that's my Grab Bag to mark the close of Labor Day weekend and Summer 2010. Don't let me catch any of you wearing white from this point forward. (You're exempt, Nurse Laura: sorry.)

* * *

Me Me Me Me Me Me Me

I have been tagged by Teacher Mommy to participate in a meme. Can someone tell me what "meme" means? Where it comes from? I've never googled it. If you have, please share!

So, I answer 10 questions and then I tag 6 people to answer the same 10 questions.

1. If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing it that way; if you are not anonymous do you wish you had started out anonymously so you could be anonymous now?

I do not blog anonymously. Sometimes, I wish I did, because it seems like it might be easier to express myself without upsetting people. But then, writing is not for the feint of heart. If I'm not comfortable writing about it, then I'm either not ready to or I'm being a wuss and should get over myself. Usually, I think I need to work harder to write in way that is true to what I am thinking but respectful to those who might be upset or disagree. Whether or not someone might get upset or might disagree with me should not be a reason to write or not to write. Sadly, for me, it sometimes is. So I'm not anonymous, I sometimes wish I were, but in the end I think it's better this way.

I'm not very good at the courageous writing stuff, but I aspire to be. Baby steps, Bob.

2. Describe one incident that shows your inner stubborn side.

Wow, can it be that I'm not actually stubborn? Because I can't think of anything. Unless you count my ability to ignore my daughters' repeated pleas to "check on" them at night after I've put them to bed. I can listen to wailing and gnashing of teeth without stirring from my comfy chair for a good long time.

Is that stubborn? Or just too exhausted to move? They look an awful lot alike at 9:30 at night.

3. What do you see when you really look at yourself in the face in the mirror?

The best mirror in my house is my 8 year old daughter, whom everyone says is the spittin' image of me. So, when I look at my face reflected in hers, I see beauty, joy, and love. And a heaping helping of silliness. Lucky me!

I try to avoid all other mirrors.

4. What is your favorite summer cold drink?

Homemade sun tea. My kids made some two days ago, on the first decently hot day of the entire summer, and it tasted just like my own childhood. I found myself impatient for it to be ready, and also slightly uncomfortable with the way my kids kept saying "Is the tea ready yet?" They don't have to wait for much in their lives: everything is instantaneous. Sun tea is a delicious antidote.

5. When you take time for yourself, what do you do?

When I finally figure out how to do this, I'll let you know. I suspect I might spend 70% of the time weeping.

6. Is there something you still want to accomplish in your life? What is it?

Seriously? Still something I want to accomplish? Well, that particular list is long and ever-growing. I'll give you a handful. I would like to get more involved, in some meaningful way, with the Slow Food Movement. I would also like to figure out how to get my laundry put away when it's folded. I would like to write more.

Mostly, someday I would like to sit with my husband someplace beautiful, with a glass of red wine, assured in the knowledge that our five children are happy, peaceful, joyful adults. And to enjoy that glass of wine without talking about a single one of them.

7. When you attended school, were you the class clown, the class overachiever, the class shy person, or always ditching school?

I was a weird amalgam of smart student, borderline nerd, drama geek, social butterfly, and clueless happy person. But I was blessed with amazing friends, the kind that stay with you for your entire life, and they got me through the good, the bad, the awkward and the socially deadly.

8. If you close your eyes and want to visualize a very poignant moment in your life, what do you see?

I see an orange and white VW van pulling away from a curb, with my family inside of it and a very tall dormitory building rising up behind me. Having just been deposited at UC Santa Barbara for my freshman year of college and watching the family van trundle away, I was suspended smack dab between childhood and adulthood, and I knew it. I remember walking back into my dorm, excited, nervous, young, naive, confident and terrified at the same time. It was awesome.

I then proceeded to have the hands down worst year of my entire life, which I can now say, from the comfortable distance of 20+ years in the future, means that I am one incredibly lucky person.

9. Is it easy for you to share your true self in your blog or are you more comfortable writing posts about other people or events?

I do not find it easy at all to share my true self on my blog, and I often root around in my brain for topics that have to do with other things going on in the world. I am rarely successful because I usually end up thinking that I don't know what the hell I'm talking about. Sometimes, when I read my own blog, I am a little sickened by the endless focus on me and my family. Like memes for example. Does anyone really care what my favorite summer drink is? I don't even care what my favorite summer drink is.

But at this point in my life, my family is what takes up all my time and all the space in my brain...so my family is what I'm mainly writing about for now.

10. If you had the choice to sit and read or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?

I loathe talking on the phone and am not good at it. For starters, there's the fact that a mother on a phone sends an undeniable signal to her children that they can behave horribly. Second, being on the phone always makes me think of all the stuff I'm trying to get done and can't until I am done talking. Third, I never know how to end a conversation, and am usually trying to. I can't count the number of times I hung up the phone and thought "Well, THAT was awkward." Why would I enjoy an activity that highlights my social ineptitude?

So I'll take a book any day of the week.

* * *

And now for the tagging part, the part of a meme that usually keeps me from participating. Feels like a chain letter, and I don't do those either. But I do enjoy reading memes (memi?) when other people do them, and I did participate in this one, so I need to somehow comply with this part, right?

If you have a blog, consider yourself tagged and do this meme. *times 6*

I can't bring myself to tag anyone individually. Please don't revoke my blogging license.

* * *

Butter: A Dilemma

I love real butter. Nothing beats a slice of fresh sour dough bread, lightly toasted, and touched by real, creamy butter.

Due to health concerns in my family, I buy fake butter, the Smart Choice brand after trying several. (Actually, I don't call it fake butter anymore, after my husband asked me to use the term healthy butter instead. More appetizing, I suppose.)

So my kids have grown up on the healthy butter, pulling the Costco size vat out of the fridge for their bagels, toast and what-have-you.

I also always keep real butter in the house, because I personally do not (currently) have any health issues preventing me from enjoying its creamy goodness. I also prefer to bake with real butter.

The other day, I made my son some toast, and used the real butter -- no particular reason except that's how I make it for myself. He was in heaven, and kept asking me why his toast tasted so good. How did I do that? When he makes it, it doesn't taste that good!

So. The Dilemma. Do I disclose the delicious secret about real butter? Or do I keep that little tidbit to myself so I don't have to share?

So far, I'm being selfish. But it's only a matter of time before they figure it out. If I'd known how hard it would be for me to share my butter, I might have had fewer children.

What secrets do you keep from your kids? Hiding the whiskey does not count.

* * *

Untangling Restlessness

I am restless today. Unmotivated. Unsatisfied.

I can't find a way to settle down and be "in the moment," the way we are always told to be.

If I could do something of my own choosing today, I would curl up with a good book: I've been trying to read What is the What for weeks. But I can't do that, now, can I? Of course not. My life is not my own right now. I see people out and about, doing...things. I see them in their yards making progress on home projects. I see them bustling about doing errands and Getting Things Done. I see them spending time with friends. Whatever. Whatever they are doing looks divine, because I can't do any of it.

Two days ago, I spent 45 minutes untangling Toy Story parachuter army men from each other. That night, I found them again tangled in a compromising heap. This morning, I spent 25 minutes untangling a First Communion cross necklace that had four knots in it. So far today, in addition to untangling the necklace, I've done one load laundry, hung our new shower curtain, picked up a payment from a client, and fed people one meal. It's not so satisfying.

I yearn for more. I yearn to be creative and to be engaged in something interesting. Instead, I'm probably going to take the kids to the park, where I will engage in the most mind-numbing of my motherly duties: pushing a swing for as-yet-unable-to-pump-for-themselves children.

I also yearn to lose myself, to stop thinking about myself, to get caught up in something "other." The kids don't count, since apparently my words and actions determine their happiness and success so BAM! we're back to me. It's a sickening paradox: how do I pray for a loss of self, which necessitates being aware that what I want is a loss of self?

And I'm also thinking of the word restless. It means unsettled, uneasy, lacking peace and calm, being fidgety, dissatisfied and unfocused. But it also means without rest. I'm sure I would feel better if I could go to sleep for awhile. I can't.

Oh, and I'm also thinking that I eat too many carbs.

I'm kind of a mess.

And I'm off to the park with my kids.

* * *