Alternate titles for this post include "Getting the Batman to Cometh Back," "The Curious Incident of the Bat in the Night-time," and "Mother Nature, What Did I Ever Do to You?"
Previously on About Some Boys: Anithe relates an absorbing tale about how bat exclusions are done, why her house needs one, and why the previous homeowners didn't know about the bats. Join our intrepid heroine now as she shares an even closer encounter of the bat kind.
So, it's Saturday night, around 10:00. The kids are asleep, Dragon is off having fun in California, and I am relaxing on the couch and watching an episode of Medium. (Good one, too.) I am briefly distracted--was that something I just saw out of the corner of my eye?--but decide that I am crazy and turn my attention back to the television.
Unfortunately (at least this time), I am not crazy, as is soon evidenced by a flying creature zooming across the room. I briefly wonder if it is a bird, having recently had the family of birds living in one of our eaves called to my attention by a neighbor, but after a couple of seconds realize that it is not squawking, not issuing forth any white splats, and not feathered. In short, it is a bat. You know, the type of creature that was supposed to be GONE from the house after the bat exclusion? Yeah, one of those.
After letting out a few girlish shrieks (which is OK, as I am a girl), I get up and take a few minutes to observe it, having researched via Google what to do in this very situation. The bat whizzes around the room at a furious rate of speed, circling the ceiling frantically, and it becomes apparent that the bat does not want to be anywhere near a human--its radar is in fine working order, and it neatly avoids me every time it completes a lap. This reassures me slightly. I grab a T-shirt, thinking perhaps to trap it under a T-shirt and escort it outside, but bats fly awfully fast and have excellent radar, and it dodges the T-shirt expertly. Then I try holding open the front door, thinking perhaps it will fly out, but even passing by a human on the way outside is too much for it to contemplate...and it flies into the kitchen. I chase it in there, still holding the shirt, close the door to the upstairs and thus the sleeping children, and lose sight of it. Oh, dear.
Thinking "Oh no! It's gone in the basement and I'll never find it down there," I flip on the light in the back hall. Nope; having had enough of Crazy T-shirt Waving Lady, it's decided to hit the deck and hide by the recyclables. I drop the T-shirt on it, grab a bowl, and remove the T-shirt as I place the bowl over the bat, which is sort of cute up close. (But I still don't want to share a bedroom or living room with it.) Then I put the T-shirt over the bowl and call the local bat rescue lady, who a couple of months ago said she'd be happy to come pick up any bats I might encounter, but she does not answer. So I decide to leave the bat contained until morning, see what advice the Humane Society has, and sleep at my parents' house until then. The children wake up slightly when we get there; Boy Wonder falls asleep again readily, but Action Hero wants to stay up playing peek-a-boo with Mickey Mouse and a blanket. Yawn.
In the morning, I call the Humane Society ("I trapped a bat in my home last night. As far as I know, it is still under a bowl which is underneath a T-shirt. May I now retrieve it and bring it to you?"), and they say, "Sure, bring it in; we'll take it from there." (They also say, "You're so logical about this! Most people call up in a panic, asking if we can send someone out to pick up the bat--which, being a nonprofit organization, we can't--because they'll NEVER EVER GO IN THAT ROOM AGAIN. Thanks, it's nice talking to you.")
But alas, when I (along with my dad, for moral support) go to retrieve the bat, it has escaped. Mother Nature is far wiser than I am, it would seem. I try to be rational about the whole thing, and decide that if it can get out from under a T-shirt-covered container, it can certainly find its own way outdoors. But I do spend a few minutes complaining ("Why do I have to have bats? And birds? Why can't I just have the occasional centipede? Sure, they're hideous, but at least they don't whiz around the living room at 40+ mph!"). And I do call Batman back, saying, "I hate to tell you this, but there was a bat in my living room last night!" and he will stop by this week to inspect and, hopefully, re-exclude.
Despite my thinking that I will never be able to sleep again, the kids and I pass an uneventful night back at home. The bat rescue lady, who was out of town, calls back just before bedtime, and we chat briefly about my encounter. She also feels that the bat could probably find its own way outside, and suggests that the bat was probably a baby bat just learning to fly. I had been thinking that too. From what I've read, adult bats are very good navigators; once they've been roosting somewhere for a while, they know which crevices lead outdoors and which crevices lead to rooms that contain shrieking humans brandishing T-shirts, and make their choices accordingly. Baby bats, on the other hand, are lousy navigators and will crawl through random openings, making them somewhat likelier to end up freaking out in my living room.
BatWatch 2007 remains in effect, however, and the return of Batman is eagerly anticipated. And, as mothers often do, Mother Nature has the last word. This morning, I noticed a dark spot on the living room carpeting. As I got closer, I thought it was dryer lint. And after I turned on the light, I realized that it was...a centipede.
Mother Nature has a fine sense of humor.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Welcome to the Hotel (in) California.
I'm hoping that the above is a phrase that Dragon will be hearing sometime tonight, before too much more time passes; he's off to California to visit a friend, and called from the airport earlier this evening to say that his flight was delayed. I hope it's not delayed too long; he enjoys flying about as much as I enjoy finding a bat in the basement, so sitting in an airport is rather stress-inducing for him.
Speaking of things that induce stress...well, four-year-olds are crazy. At least mine is. Lately he's been having more mood swings and "unpredictable" behavior than Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan combined. One minute he's cheerfully waving Mickey Mouse in front of Action Hero, singing "Mickey Mickey you're so fine! You're so fine Mickey Mickey! Here, Action Hero, let's play Mickey! And cars!" And then he is flinging himself on the floor, howling about how he does not want to go to bed, ever again. Actually, he never wants to go anywhere lately. He's very much in a "the grass is greener" phase; he'll ask where we are going, I'll tell him, and without fail, the response is, "I don't WANT to go there! I want to go SOMEWHERE ELSE!" Even if we're on the way to Grandma's house, which, as the place where root beer, apple juice, and fruit-flavored snacks can be had simply for the asking, generally rates as a favorite.
Example, from today's drive home:
"Blah blah blah blah need to get home so we can give Daddy hugs and kisses before he rides the airplane to California!"
"I don't WANT to go home!"
"Well, where do you want to go?"
"The doughnut store!"
"Oh, haha! We don't have doughnuts for dinner!"
"NOOOOOOOOOWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHH." (cue noisy tears) "I don't WANNA go home to home or anyfing I WANNA GO TO THE DOUGHNUT STORE AND GET DONUTS FOR BREAK....BREAK....BREAFIST!" (more noisy tears)
"Calm down, hon. I think Grandma will probably have some doughnuts at her house tomorrow."
"NO NO NO I DON'T EVER WANT TO GO TO GRANDMA'S HOUSE AGAIN NEVER! I ONLY WANT TO GO TO THE DOUGHNUT STORE!"
I am usually at a loss about what to do when he designates a particular event, conversation, or observation as Something to Freak Out About. Obviously, if we're in the car, there's not a lot I can do (other than keep my eyes on the road even as my car begins to sound like an entire three-ring circus is taking place inside it); I just wait for the tantrum to pass, and he'll either fall asleep mid-sentence or fall silent for a few minutes and then continue whatever surreal monologue preceded the tantrum. At home, it's more difficult, particularly since he frequently stages screamfests at bedtime, when he's so tired he can't see straight yet refusing to admit it. (Side note: I don't just have one child who does this. After 9PM, Action Hero also tips over, giggles, stands up and waves cheerily, and then trips again. But he's not tired, of course...) It's hard to avoid getting frustrated at these times; as an adult, I know that he's utterly exhausted, and an exhausted kid flipping out over what color his toothpaste is is rather run-of-the-mill. However, as an adult, I think, "He's TIRED. Why can't he just admit that, lie down, and go to sleep already?" And the four-year-old mind just doens't work that way; it just tries to come up with more ways to keep Mommy in the room, and throwing a ferocious tantrum does the trick.
Working on that. Will keep you posted. Meantime, if you happen to live near me, buy earplugs. Boy Wonder can scream loudly, and my New Year's resolution about not yelling at him so much is going horribly.
Speaking of things that induce stress...well, four-year-olds are crazy. At least mine is. Lately he's been having more mood swings and "unpredictable" behavior than Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan combined. One minute he's cheerfully waving Mickey Mouse in front of Action Hero, singing "Mickey Mickey you're so fine! You're so fine Mickey Mickey! Here, Action Hero, let's play Mickey! And cars!" And then he is flinging himself on the floor, howling about how he does not want to go to bed, ever again. Actually, he never wants to go anywhere lately. He's very much in a "the grass is greener" phase; he'll ask where we are going, I'll tell him, and without fail, the response is, "I don't WANT to go there! I want to go SOMEWHERE ELSE!" Even if we're on the way to Grandma's house, which, as the place where root beer, apple juice, and fruit-flavored snacks can be had simply for the asking, generally rates as a favorite.
Example, from today's drive home:
"Blah blah blah blah need to get home so we can give Daddy hugs and kisses before he rides the airplane to California!"
"I don't WANT to go home!"
"Well, where do you want to go?"
"The doughnut store!"
"Oh, haha! We don't have doughnuts for dinner!"
"NOOOOOOOOOWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHH." (cue noisy tears) "I don't WANNA go home to home or anyfing I WANNA GO TO THE DOUGHNUT STORE AND GET DONUTS FOR BREAK....BREAK....BREAFIST!" (more noisy tears)
"Calm down, hon. I think Grandma will probably have some doughnuts at her house tomorrow."
"NO NO NO I DON'T EVER WANT TO GO TO GRANDMA'S HOUSE AGAIN NEVER! I ONLY WANT TO GO TO THE DOUGHNUT STORE!"
I am usually at a loss about what to do when he designates a particular event, conversation, or observation as Something to Freak Out About. Obviously, if we're in the car, there's not a lot I can do (other than keep my eyes on the road even as my car begins to sound like an entire three-ring circus is taking place inside it); I just wait for the tantrum to pass, and he'll either fall asleep mid-sentence or fall silent for a few minutes and then continue whatever surreal monologue preceded the tantrum. At home, it's more difficult, particularly since he frequently stages screamfests at bedtime, when he's so tired he can't see straight yet refusing to admit it. (Side note: I don't just have one child who does this. After 9PM, Action Hero also tips over, giggles, stands up and waves cheerily, and then trips again. But he's not tired, of course...) It's hard to avoid getting frustrated at these times; as an adult, I know that he's utterly exhausted, and an exhausted kid flipping out over what color his toothpaste is is rather run-of-the-mill. However, as an adult, I think, "He's TIRED. Why can't he just admit that, lie down, and go to sleep already?" And the four-year-old mind just doens't work that way; it just tries to come up with more ways to keep Mommy in the room, and throwing a ferocious tantrum does the trick.
Working on that. Will keep you posted. Meantime, if you happen to live near me, buy earplugs. Boy Wonder can scream loudly, and my New Year's resolution about not yelling at him so much is going horribly.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
My decade with Harry
Last week's headlines included alarmist gems such as "What Will Bookstores Do After Harry Potter?" and "What Will People Read Now?" (I can't find any of these actual articles now, but I do recall reading several articles to that effect last Thursday and Friday.) Gosh, what WILL we ever do after Harry Potter, do you think? I plan to keep reading, myself. That's how I got into this series in the first place. My affair with various fictional worlds is not going to end just because one series is. As for the bookstores, they might not be able to have midnight release parties for a while (however, having formerly been on the front lines of bookselling, I think that is probably just fine with them), but they were selling books long before 1997. I think they'll make it too.
Still, I'll miss this series. It's been enjoyable to read...and the decade that it has spanned has been a big one for me, as well. Please enjoy the following chronology of two journeys: mine and Harry's.
Book 1, 1997: Harry Potter finds out that he is a wizard, begins his first year of school at Hogwarts, and has his first run-in with Lord Voldemort. I pay no attention, having not discovered the series yet.
Book 2, 1998: Harry begins his second year of school at Hogwarts, and starts hearing voices. Again, I pay no attention, having decided, "EVERYONE is reading this series; why should I join the herd?"
Book 3, 1999: The general public prepares to read the chronicles of Harry's third year at Hogwarts, in which he discovers that he has a godfather; I, being a bookstore employee at the time, open the mail one day and say, "Hey! Here's an advance galley of that third Harry Potter book. Anyone want it?" And my supervisor says, "You should take it. I can't believe you haven't read these yet; they're right up your alley. Read the first one, and if you still want someone else to take it after you're done, let me know." I survey a few coworkers, who say, "Oh, shut up and READ IT already. You'll like it." And I not only read the first one, I stay up all night to finish it. And the next day, I do the same thing with the second one. And I take the advance copy, and my supervisor smiles. (Thanks, Julie.) Shortly thereafter, the general public reads the third book.
Book 4, 2000: Harry begins his fourth year at Hogwarts, going up against dragons, merfolk, and giant spiders in the Triwizard Tournament. Ms. Rowling promises to kill off a major character. I begin my first real non-retail job, going up against deadlines, printers, and art directors (not really. we got along fine. at least I think we did. Hawkins?) in the publishing world. As I am no longer working in a bookstore, I miss some of the hype surrounding the release, skip the midnight party, reserve a copy for Saturday morning pickup, and join most other readers in saying, "Cedric who?"
Book 5, 2003: Harry begins his fifth year at Hogwarts. I begin my first year as a parent. Although I am undoubtedly up at midnight, Boy Wonder being just two months old, I skip the party, and again pick up my book when the bookstore opens on Saturday morning. Boy Wonder, being a fairly mellow baby and perhaps sensing the day's momentous nature, takes a lot of naps, and I am finished by dusk. Boy Wonder, as seen below, is not impressed.
Book 6, 2005: Harry begins his sixth year at Hogwarts. Due to the vagaries of business trips, I am in Chicago on the release date. Before the trip, I'd joked to one of my business trip compatriots, not a Harry Potter fan but a good friend, that she would need to drive myself and our other compatriot, a good friend AND a Harry Potter fan, to a bookstore somewhere. I considered this a joke, as I did not actually intend to ask her to do this, but around 10PM, she said, "So, should we find a bookstore, or what?" We are stunned, yet grateful, and select a bookstore from the concierge-provided list. Five hours later, after some fun experiences (a Jane Austen quiz book!) and not-so-fun experiences (there are some awfully cranky people in Chicago bookstores at midnight), we leave with two copies of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I stay up another few hours reading it (I do not finish it, and am very tired at the trade show), and finish it on the way back home, my friend being kind enough to tolerate my ignoring her as she drives. If you're out there, guys, thanks again. I'd do it again anytime, although this time I'd volunteer to drive.
Book 7, last Friday/Saturday: Harry comes of age as a wizard (17), and prepares for his final battle with Lord Voldemort. Me, I'm also in a milestone year (30); although there are no Dark Lords in my world at the moment, I do fight a number of battles daily, including I Don't Want to Wear That Shirt, I Don't Want to Go to School, No Candy for Breakfast, and Stop Hitting Your Brother with Toy Cars. I'm on my fifth year as a parent, with the added bonus of a baby brother for Boy Wonder. And, after the kids are in bed, I go to the midnight party at the local bookstore, because it's the last book and the last release party. Being at home instead of in Chicago, I get my very own reserved copy (placed on hold back in February) by 12:45, go home, and read until 3AM, whereupon Action Hero wakes up, sneezes, and calls, "Mama? Mama? Maaaamaaa...." and settles happily against my shoulder when I lift him out of his crib.
The last ten years have provided plenty of magic, in Harry's world and in my world; I'm sure that plenty more is waiting. And, although I don't need a series of books to remind me of that, I won't stop reading, these books or any books.
And, although I don't think that my own boys will ever have to defeat a basilisk, clobber a mountain troll, or track down and destroy the divided soul of a dark wizard, I can't wait to introduce them to Harry.
Still, I'll miss this series. It's been enjoyable to read...and the decade that it has spanned has been a big one for me, as well. Please enjoy the following chronology of two journeys: mine and Harry's.
Book 1, 1997: Harry Potter finds out that he is a wizard, begins his first year of school at Hogwarts, and has his first run-in with Lord Voldemort. I pay no attention, having not discovered the series yet.
Book 2, 1998: Harry begins his second year of school at Hogwarts, and starts hearing voices. Again, I pay no attention, having decided, "EVERYONE is reading this series; why should I join the herd?"
Book 3, 1999: The general public prepares to read the chronicles of Harry's third year at Hogwarts, in which he discovers that he has a godfather; I, being a bookstore employee at the time, open the mail one day and say, "Hey! Here's an advance galley of that third Harry Potter book. Anyone want it?" And my supervisor says, "You should take it. I can't believe you haven't read these yet; they're right up your alley. Read the first one, and if you still want someone else to take it after you're done, let me know." I survey a few coworkers, who say, "Oh, shut up and READ IT already. You'll like it." And I not only read the first one, I stay up all night to finish it. And the next day, I do the same thing with the second one. And I take the advance copy, and my supervisor smiles. (Thanks, Julie.) Shortly thereafter, the general public reads the third book.
Book 4, 2000: Harry begins his fourth year at Hogwarts, going up against dragons, merfolk, and giant spiders in the Triwizard Tournament. Ms. Rowling promises to kill off a major character. I begin my first real non-retail job, going up against deadlines, printers, and art directors (not really. we got along fine. at least I think we did. Hawkins?) in the publishing world. As I am no longer working in a bookstore, I miss some of the hype surrounding the release, skip the midnight party, reserve a copy for Saturday morning pickup, and join most other readers in saying, "Cedric who?"
Book 5, 2003: Harry begins his fifth year at Hogwarts. I begin my first year as a parent. Although I am undoubtedly up at midnight, Boy Wonder being just two months old, I skip the party, and again pick up my book when the bookstore opens on Saturday morning. Boy Wonder, being a fairly mellow baby and perhaps sensing the day's momentous nature, takes a lot of naps, and I am finished by dusk. Boy Wonder, as seen below, is not impressed.
Book 6, 2005: Harry begins his sixth year at Hogwarts. Due to the vagaries of business trips, I am in Chicago on the release date. Before the trip, I'd joked to one of my business trip compatriots, not a Harry Potter fan but a good friend, that she would need to drive myself and our other compatriot, a good friend AND a Harry Potter fan, to a bookstore somewhere. I considered this a joke, as I did not actually intend to ask her to do this, but around 10PM, she said, "So, should we find a bookstore, or what?" We are stunned, yet grateful, and select a bookstore from the concierge-provided list. Five hours later, after some fun experiences (a Jane Austen quiz book!) and not-so-fun experiences (there are some awfully cranky people in Chicago bookstores at midnight), we leave with two copies of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I stay up another few hours reading it (I do not finish it, and am very tired at the trade show), and finish it on the way back home, my friend being kind enough to tolerate my ignoring her as she drives. If you're out there, guys, thanks again. I'd do it again anytime, although this time I'd volunteer to drive.
Book 7, last Friday/Saturday: Harry comes of age as a wizard (17), and prepares for his final battle with Lord Voldemort. Me, I'm also in a milestone year (30); although there are no Dark Lords in my world at the moment, I do fight a number of battles daily, including I Don't Want to Wear That Shirt, I Don't Want to Go to School, No Candy for Breakfast, and Stop Hitting Your Brother with Toy Cars. I'm on my fifth year as a parent, with the added bonus of a baby brother for Boy Wonder. And, after the kids are in bed, I go to the midnight party at the local bookstore, because it's the last book and the last release party. Being at home instead of in Chicago, I get my very own reserved copy (placed on hold back in February) by 12:45, go home, and read until 3AM, whereupon Action Hero wakes up, sneezes, and calls, "Mama? Mama? Maaaamaaa...." and settles happily against my shoulder when I lift him out of his crib.
The last ten years have provided plenty of magic, in Harry's world and in my world; I'm sure that plenty more is waiting. And, although I don't need a series of books to remind me of that, I won't stop reading, these books or any books.
And, although I don't think that my own boys will ever have to defeat a basilisk, clobber a mountain troll, or track down and destroy the divided soul of a dark wizard, I can't wait to introduce them to Harry.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
My turn: Get some new (*%&$*&(%$ friends
Carrie Friedman needs to get some new friends and acquaintances, and perhaps switch eye doctors and take a different yoga class too. Seriously. In what social sphere is it acceptable to, while at a party, place your hands on the belly of an acquaintance, UNDER HER SHIRT, and ask personal questions about whether or not she plans to reproduce? Or to not discipline a four-year-old who whacks someone in the face? Or respond to "I am very proud of my recent work accomplishment!" with "You'll never be happy until you have kids!" (Then again, I don't go to a lot of parties. Maybe if I did, evil spirits would possess me somehow and I'd start spouting horribly intrusive questions. Like a fountain. But probably not.)
I know that hyperbole has long been a hallmark of journalism, particularly the personal essay form of it. And I know that when you're writing a persuasive piece, everyone who has ever done you wrong, on any topic possibly related to that piece, will get a mention. And, of course, if you're writing a piece that involves taking a stance on some aspect of motherhood, every single self-centered mother you've ever come across is put front and center, making it easy to trot out the "All Mothers are Blithering Idiots, Unable to Focus on Anything but Their Own Precious Spawn" stereotype.
Whoopee! Anyway. I notice that the author lives in Los Angeles, so yeah, I'm pretty sure that she lives in a different social sphere than I do. Actually, I've noticed that most Horrible Stereotypical Parents tend to live on either coast, where it seems that people really do spend hours in line waiting to get their children into exclusive preschools, agonize over buying just the right stroller and accessories, and spent thousands, if not tens of thousands, of dollars on kids' birthday parties. Me, I live in flyover country, where, for the most part, people behave...well... normally. Strollers are purchased at Target, some schools have waiting lists but not waiting LINES, and kids' birthday parties are usually fairly simple affairs held in rec rooms and backyards, with the occasional "destination" ones at Chuck E. Cheese or that tea party place (when I was growing up, birthday parties were at the roller rink).* And, oddly enough, parents are capable of holding conversations--coherent, worthwhile ones, even--on topics other than themselves and their children. We may not read as many books as we used to, but that doesn't mean that our brains have flown out the window. Surely all mothers who can converse in a pleasant, rational manner cannot be concentrated in the Midwest?
This may be just the "Midwestern nice" talking, but you couldn't pay me to say some of the things that Friedman relates as being said to her. If someone doesn't have kids, I'm not going to ask them why they don't, or if and when they're going to. Sure, it's none of my business. More importantly, however, I don't care. Unlike the people this author knows, I don't really think that much about other people's reproductive plans, or lack thereof. I am too frackin' busy...working, playing, being a new homeowner, and, yes, parenting.
Which, although it is very noisy and involves far more bodily fluids than I would have ever imagined possible, is wonderful, and I do think that I am the happier for it. However, I think most grownups are smart enough to know what they want out of life, and whether or not that involves being a parent.** My personal views are thus: people who want kids should be able to have them, easily and in the manner of their choosing. People who don't want kids should be able to NOT have them without being asked why they aren't pregnant yet. And people who feel that their way is the One True Path to Happiness would be granted the good manners to shut up.
And people who have to contend with strangers groping them would be granted the ability to say, "Man. I have GOT to start hanging out with a different crowd."
*I realize that money is no doubt a factor in this; if I rubbed elbows with the well-monied denizens of my city, I'm sure I'd know some people who rent ten jumping castles for Suzie's birthday party.
**The rest of the grownups can be viewed on daytime talk shows, regaling the audience with Tales of Raging Dysfunction.
I know that hyperbole has long been a hallmark of journalism, particularly the personal essay form of it. And I know that when you're writing a persuasive piece, everyone who has ever done you wrong, on any topic possibly related to that piece, will get a mention. And, of course, if you're writing a piece that involves taking a stance on some aspect of motherhood, every single self-centered mother you've ever come across is put front and center, making it easy to trot out the "All Mothers are Blithering Idiots, Unable to Focus on Anything but Their Own Precious Spawn" stereotype.
Whoopee! Anyway. I notice that the author lives in Los Angeles, so yeah, I'm pretty sure that she lives in a different social sphere than I do. Actually, I've noticed that most Horrible Stereotypical Parents tend to live on either coast, where it seems that people really do spend hours in line waiting to get their children into exclusive preschools, agonize over buying just the right stroller and accessories, and spent thousands, if not tens of thousands, of dollars on kids' birthday parties. Me, I live in flyover country, where, for the most part, people behave...well... normally. Strollers are purchased at Target, some schools have waiting lists but not waiting LINES, and kids' birthday parties are usually fairly simple affairs held in rec rooms and backyards, with the occasional "destination" ones at Chuck E. Cheese or that tea party place (when I was growing up, birthday parties were at the roller rink).* And, oddly enough, parents are capable of holding conversations--coherent, worthwhile ones, even--on topics other than themselves and their children. We may not read as many books as we used to, but that doesn't mean that our brains have flown out the window. Surely all mothers who can converse in a pleasant, rational manner cannot be concentrated in the Midwest?
This may be just the "Midwestern nice" talking, but you couldn't pay me to say some of the things that Friedman relates as being said to her. If someone doesn't have kids, I'm not going to ask them why they don't, or if and when they're going to. Sure, it's none of my business. More importantly, however, I don't care. Unlike the people this author knows, I don't really think that much about other people's reproductive plans, or lack thereof. I am too frackin' busy...working, playing, being a new homeowner, and, yes, parenting.
Which, although it is very noisy and involves far more bodily fluids than I would have ever imagined possible, is wonderful, and I do think that I am the happier for it. However, I think most grownups are smart enough to know what they want out of life, and whether or not that involves being a parent.** My personal views are thus: people who want kids should be able to have them, easily and in the manner of their choosing. People who don't want kids should be able to NOT have them without being asked why they aren't pregnant yet. And people who feel that their way is the One True Path to Happiness would be granted the good manners to shut up.
And people who have to contend with strangers groping them would be granted the ability to say, "Man. I have GOT to start hanging out with a different crowd."
*I realize that money is no doubt a factor in this; if I rubbed elbows with the well-monied denizens of my city, I'm sure I'd know some people who rent ten jumping castles for Suzie's birthday party.
**The rest of the grownups can be viewed on daytime talk shows, regaling the audience with Tales of Raging Dysfunction.
Monday, July 16, 2007
I: Camp Wannahockaloogie
Last week, on the way back from T-ball practice:
Boy Wonder: I am so tired! I will go to sleep! Good night, everyone! pulls hat down over face and begins to "snore" loudly
Note to the uninitiated: when Boy Wonder pretends to snore, he actually sounds like he is trying to...well...hock a loogie. A big one.
Action Hero: Cough! Cough! Garf! Haaackkkkkspl!
Me: Oh no! Is he choking? Does he have something in his throat?
Action Hero: Garf! Cough! Hahaha! Hahahah! Garf! Hacckpspl! HAHAHA! Bleh!
Me: Oh, dear God. He's trying to "snore" too.
The sound of loogie-hocking traveled merrily across the summer sky for the next few minutes. Ah, the wonder of boys...
II: Call Me
New toy: a Spiderman "cell phone." Looks sort of like a real phone. Boy Wonder has been "calling" Spiderman a whole lot this week.
"Mom? I don't think I'll call Spiderman while we're grocery shopping."
"That's fine; we've been calling him a lot. And you know, he might be busy sometimes too!"
"Mom. He's not busy. He just spends all day swinging around on his web."
III: Guess Who?
"Hello, Spiderman? Hi, it's Boy Wonder! Yeah. OK. See you later!" (sound of toy phone being hung up) "Mom? Spiderman is coming over for dinner!"
IIII: Visualize eaten peas
"I don't want my peas. I don't LIKE peas. We have begtables at school. Not peas here. I don't like peas." (sound of post-dinner Rice Krispie treat being offered) "I realize now that I like peas."
"Realize" sounds hilarious coming from a four-year-old.
IV: Gratuitous '80s Songs
Action Hero has recently developed a liking for a small stuffed Mickey Mouse, purchased for him by Grandma last year around this time. He brought it over to me one day, and I tossed out the first few bars of "Mickey." Of course, now I have to do this EVERY TIME he shows me the stuffed animal. He must like this a lot, as he keeps running over, handing me Mickey, and then standing there clapping and looking expectant.
Last week, on the way back from T-ball practice:
Boy Wonder: I am so tired! I will go to sleep! Good night, everyone! pulls hat down over face and begins to "snore" loudly
Note to the uninitiated: when Boy Wonder pretends to snore, he actually sounds like he is trying to...well...hock a loogie. A big one.
Action Hero: Cough! Cough! Garf! Haaackkkkkspl!
Me: Oh no! Is he choking? Does he have something in his throat?
Action Hero: Garf! Cough! Hahaha! Hahahah! Garf! Hacckpspl! HAHAHA! Bleh!
Me: Oh, dear God. He's trying to "snore" too.
The sound of loogie-hocking traveled merrily across the summer sky for the next few minutes. Ah, the wonder of boys...
II: Call Me
New toy: a Spiderman "cell phone." Looks sort of like a real phone. Boy Wonder has been "calling" Spiderman a whole lot this week.
"Mom? I don't think I'll call Spiderman while we're grocery shopping."
"That's fine; we've been calling him a lot. And you know, he might be busy sometimes too!"
"Mom. He's not busy. He just spends all day swinging around on his web."
III: Guess Who?
"Hello, Spiderman? Hi, it's Boy Wonder! Yeah. OK. See you later!" (sound of toy phone being hung up) "Mom? Spiderman is coming over for dinner!"
IIII: Visualize eaten peas
"I don't want my peas. I don't LIKE peas. We have begtables at school. Not peas here. I don't like peas." (sound of post-dinner Rice Krispie treat being offered) "I realize now that I like peas."
"Realize" sounds hilarious coming from a four-year-old.
IV: Gratuitous '80s Songs
Action Hero has recently developed a liking for a small stuffed Mickey Mouse, purchased for him by Grandma last year around this time. He brought it over to me one day, and I tossed out the first few bars of "Mickey." Of course, now I have to do this EVERY TIME he shows me the stuffed animal. He must like this a lot, as he keeps running over, handing me Mickey, and then standing there clapping and looking expectant.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Then I had religion
Recent quotes from Boy Wonder on random topics:
"Mom? Winnie the Pooh is a friendly bear." (Said thoughtfully, as though he is just now realizing this about Pooh. I can't even remember the last time we watched a Pooh movie.)
"Mom? Do ducks go peepee in the grass, or in the water?"
"Mom? Do worms bite?"
"Mom? When I am 30 years old, how old will Action Hero be?"
Boy Wonder is once again having Big Thoughts in the car. (Lots of them seem to be about nature; perhaps, in thirty years or so, he'll build his own little Walden so he can focus on attaining answers.) His thoughts are about to get bigger, though. Because this fall, he'll be starting K4...at the Catholic school down the street.
During recent efforts to find quality daycare for the boys, I wasn't sure whose needs to place first. At four, Boy Wonder is now old enough to know that he's going to a different school, old enough to ask why, and old enough to miss his former caregivers and friends. (And to tell me so. Repeatedly.) On the other hand, he's four; he'll only need full-time, year-round care for at most another year. Action Hero, at just over fifteen months, won't remember much about this time, and he'll be in daycare for at least three more years. He's younger; he needs to be at a center that posts health alerts and communicates effectively with parents. I couldn't decide what to do, and found myself wishing that our school district, which does feature an after-school program, had all-day K4, rather than their current half-day program (which, being just over two hours long, isn't even half a day). Then I remembered my cousin's wife talking about enrolling their son in school, and about how some of the local Catholic schools had all-day K4. And, the next time I drove the boys to their old daycare (the bitey one), I noticed a sign saying, "Now enrolling: K4-8!"
And I called the number, and as I found out more information about the program, it sounded better and better. They have an after-school program as well, and there will probably be just 10 kids in Boy Wonder's class; much better than the two dozen or so that were on the list for Bitey Daycare's summer program. Boy Wonder and I took a tour of the school, and he said that he liked it. He seemed particularly captivated by the music room; all grades have "official" music class, and there's a separate art class once a week as well. Kids in K4 and K5 are assigned "buddies" from the upper grades, who help them with their lunch trays in the cafeteria and sit with them when the school attends Mass together. The principal is nice. It feels like a good place...as does the daycare that Action Hero will be attending once a spot opens up for him.
Of course, as it is a Catholic school, there is tuition; if you're a parish member, that tuition is cut in half. Since parents with children at the school are expected to take said children to Mass weekly, joining the parish seemed rather sensible. And it doesn't seem like a big deal, either. I'm already comfortable with most of the Ten Commandments, although now I'm going to have to work on not taking the Lord's name in vain. Keeping the Sabbath day holy should be fairly easy, especially since Boy Wonder is up by 6AM on weekends. The church is pretty, with a nice open-concept design and lots of stained glass, and the priest materialized beside us to introduce himself as soon as I filled out my sign-up form. He was quite good-natured also, particularly when listening to me explain to Boy Wonder that no, I didn't have any coins, but in any case, that fountain is not the sort that we throw coins into, and those candles are special candles that people pay to light. (Yes, that would be the holy water fount and the prayer candles.)
I'm looking forward to this. Sure, they have uniforms, but those can be purchased at Target these days and consist of navy blue pants and navy or white polos. And Boy Wonder, like Dragon, looks grand in navy blue. He'll get to make Advent chains, learn Christmas carols and all sorts of obscure hymns, and hear interesting stories.
And, last but not least, he'll no doubt come up with some REALLY interesting questions during commutes.
"Mom? Winnie the Pooh is a friendly bear." (Said thoughtfully, as though he is just now realizing this about Pooh. I can't even remember the last time we watched a Pooh movie.)
"Mom? Do ducks go peepee in the grass, or in the water?"
"Mom? Do worms bite?"
"Mom? When I am 30 years old, how old will Action Hero be?"
Boy Wonder is once again having Big Thoughts in the car. (Lots of them seem to be about nature; perhaps, in thirty years or so, he'll build his own little Walden so he can focus on attaining answers.) His thoughts are about to get bigger, though. Because this fall, he'll be starting K4...at the Catholic school down the street.
During recent efforts to find quality daycare for the boys, I wasn't sure whose needs to place first. At four, Boy Wonder is now old enough to know that he's going to a different school, old enough to ask why, and old enough to miss his former caregivers and friends. (And to tell me so. Repeatedly.) On the other hand, he's four; he'll only need full-time, year-round care for at most another year. Action Hero, at just over fifteen months, won't remember much about this time, and he'll be in daycare for at least three more years. He's younger; he needs to be at a center that posts health alerts and communicates effectively with parents. I couldn't decide what to do, and found myself wishing that our school district, which does feature an after-school program, had all-day K4, rather than their current half-day program (which, being just over two hours long, isn't even half a day). Then I remembered my cousin's wife talking about enrolling their son in school, and about how some of the local Catholic schools had all-day K4. And, the next time I drove the boys to their old daycare (the bitey one), I noticed a sign saying, "Now enrolling: K4-8!"
And I called the number, and as I found out more information about the program, it sounded better and better. They have an after-school program as well, and there will probably be just 10 kids in Boy Wonder's class; much better than the two dozen or so that were on the list for Bitey Daycare's summer program. Boy Wonder and I took a tour of the school, and he said that he liked it. He seemed particularly captivated by the music room; all grades have "official" music class, and there's a separate art class once a week as well. Kids in K4 and K5 are assigned "buddies" from the upper grades, who help them with their lunch trays in the cafeteria and sit with them when the school attends Mass together. The principal is nice. It feels like a good place...as does the daycare that Action Hero will be attending once a spot opens up for him.
Of course, as it is a Catholic school, there is tuition; if you're a parish member, that tuition is cut in half. Since parents with children at the school are expected to take said children to Mass weekly, joining the parish seemed rather sensible. And it doesn't seem like a big deal, either. I'm already comfortable with most of the Ten Commandments, although now I'm going to have to work on not taking the Lord's name in vain. Keeping the Sabbath day holy should be fairly easy, especially since Boy Wonder is up by 6AM on weekends. The church is pretty, with a nice open-concept design and lots of stained glass, and the priest materialized beside us to introduce himself as soon as I filled out my sign-up form. He was quite good-natured also, particularly when listening to me explain to Boy Wonder that no, I didn't have any coins, but in any case, that fountain is not the sort that we throw coins into, and those candles are special candles that people pay to light. (Yes, that would be the holy water fount and the prayer candles.)
I'm looking forward to this. Sure, they have uniforms, but those can be purchased at Target these days and consist of navy blue pants and navy or white polos. And Boy Wonder, like Dragon, looks grand in navy blue. He'll get to make Advent chains, learn Christmas carols and all sorts of obscure hymns, and hear interesting stories.
And, last but not least, he'll no doubt come up with some REALLY interesting questions during commutes.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Happy birthday!
Happy birthday to Wordwitch! Your birthday this year is so auspicious, hundreds of thousands of people are getting married today. Apparently, it's a very powerful day for those who believe in numerology. Or slot machines. Anyway, all good wishes to people getting married, believing in numerology, or playing the slots today. But even better good (huh?) wishes to you; hopefully Hawkins and Gomez managed to work up a special day for you.
As she often does, Wordwitch brings up a good point. Those of us who work full-time outside of the home spend A LOT OF DAMN TIME at work. Having cordial relationships with your coworkers is quite pleasant, particularly if you do something that involves hours spent staring at a computer screen or pile of papers and doesn't require a lot of face-to-face interaction. Being cordial does not take a lot of effort (well, at least I don't think it does), and everyone HAS a birthday; it's not that hard to remember when someone's is, and how (or if, for all you Jehovah's Witnesses out there) they might like it to be recognized.
Having friendly relationships with your coworkers is even nicer. I don't know about you, but I like to know all kinds of things about my coworkers: where they commute from, where they hail from originally, what they studied in school (I find that particularly fascinating: not only what they studied, but how they ended up in the current job if it's not something immediately related to what they studied), if they watch TV and what shows they like, if they enjoy reading and what sort of books they like, etc. It turns out that I'm far more social than I would have thought, had you asked me back when I was in high school wearing my black trench coat. Or maybe I'm just practical. I'm spending at least forty hours a week working in close proximity to these people, and I like my workplaces harmonious, thanks.
I've had both "cordial" and "friendly" workplaces (shoot, even when I had that temp job back in February, I ended up in a department full of people who watched Lost and 24, and those are great icebreakers right there) and haven't often realized that I've been fortunate to have such. Thanks for reminding me. May your office wise up and get cordial. If they don't, send them to me for lessons.
As she often does, Wordwitch brings up a good point. Those of us who work full-time outside of the home spend A LOT OF DAMN TIME at work. Having cordial relationships with your coworkers is quite pleasant, particularly if you do something that involves hours spent staring at a computer screen or pile of papers and doesn't require a lot of face-to-face interaction. Being cordial does not take a lot of effort (well, at least I don't think it does), and everyone HAS a birthday; it's not that hard to remember when someone's is, and how (or if, for all you Jehovah's Witnesses out there) they might like it to be recognized.
Having friendly relationships with your coworkers is even nicer. I don't know about you, but I like to know all kinds of things about my coworkers: where they commute from, where they hail from originally, what they studied in school (I find that particularly fascinating: not only what they studied, but how they ended up in the current job if it's not something immediately related to what they studied), if they watch TV and what shows they like, if they enjoy reading and what sort of books they like, etc. It turns out that I'm far more social than I would have thought, had you asked me back when I was in high school wearing my black trench coat. Or maybe I'm just practical. I'm spending at least forty hours a week working in close proximity to these people, and I like my workplaces harmonious, thanks.
I've had both "cordial" and "friendly" workplaces (shoot, even when I had that temp job back in February, I ended up in a department full of people who watched Lost and 24, and those are great icebreakers right there) and haven't often realized that I've been fortunate to have such. Thanks for reminding me. May your office wise up and get cordial. If they don't, send them to me for lessons.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
I get knocked down
Update on the previous: today was the boys' last day at Reality Bites. Earlier this week, enough red flags began waving at once that I said the hell with it, called their old daycare center, and asked if they could chill there awhile until a spot for Action Hero opens up at another center closer to home. This one comes recommended by Once Former, About to be Current Again Daycare, and is run by a nice director who was kind enough to sit down with me and talk about her center when I arrived at ten minutes before closing accompanied by two rambunctious children who converged on the center's snack cracker basket like a horde of ravening wolves. Future Center won't have a spot open for a while, so once again the boys and I will be spending a lot of time in the car. But at least we'll be spending our time going to, and coming from, somwhere that they will receive proper supervision. But...wait! I've only mentioned a spot for Action Hero! What will Boy Wonder be doing this fall, you ask?
Watch this space.
In the meantime, having recently posted about the awesomely intelligent Boy Wonder, I'd like to dedicate this post to the little guy, Action Hero, who remains a sweet, smiley, mellow toddler despite the recent high-stress daycare experience.
Today, Action Hero is fifteen months old! Developmental check: just as physical as his big brother was at this age. During a recent visit, a friend mentioned that her friend's daughter, just turned one, could now stand on her own. Well, so can Action Hero...on the coffee table. After he climbs up there all by himself. I had to do a little furniture rearranging after I observed him trying to step right up onto an end table from his then-current perch on the toybox. He can also climb onto the futon, couch, and recliner, and then will proceed to dance on all of them. It's no wonder that his first phrase is "Dit dow!" I'm not sure if he's shooting for "Sit down!" or "Get down!" Could be either, as he hears both frequently.
That's his only phrase, but he has a few other words. Oddly enough, four of them (hi, uh-oh, dog, and ball) were Boy Wonder's first words too. Another one, of course, is "no," used vociferously and in context. His most recent, and most important (ahem) word is Mama, said so clearly that in one instance I thought Boy Wonder had called me. I am rather impressed with that last one, as it took Boy Wonder a darned long time to get around to the "M" sounds and words. Of course, he didn't have another small person, running around shouting "Mama! Mom! MOMMY!" every three minutes, to provide an example.
He is very clingy and cuddly at the moment...could be recent daycare stress, or could just be what toddlers do at this age. If he is tired, hungry, angry, lonely, or otherwise in discomfort, nothing will do but the Shining Maternal Presence. If the Shining Maternal Presence leaves the room, or is in the room but not holding him, gently patting his hair while he sucks his thumb and rests his head on her shoulder, the tiny tears flow like a river. When the Shining Maternal Presence must perform domestic duties, such as preparing a meal or washing the dishes, Action Hero must be right there with her, "helping" by noisily rattling pots, pans, Tupperware, and kitchen utenils. (The other day, he grabbed a large Tupperware container and filled it methodically with smaller containers and container lids. If I were writing a parenting memoir, I'd use that as an example of his brilliance: why, my child doesn't need TOYS! He can make a toy out of ANYTHING! Since I blog to an audience of perhaps five, I'll just say that it was darned cute.)
Action Hero likes his older brother, and wants to do everything he does. He is sometimes happy to play with him, and will cheerily subject to being covered by a blanket, given a stuffed animal, and told, "Go to bed, Action Hero! It's sleepytime!" Other times, he will get up, grab the blanket, and run away, oblivious to the cries of, "Mom! Action Hero isn't playing! It's his pretend bedtime and he WON'T GO TO BED!" (Gosh, I wonder where he gets that.) He plays peek-a-boo with great flair, likes stuffed animals, and still has a fondness for plastic toys that beep, talk, and sing. And he just loves, for some reason, the Dora theme song. Boy Wonder recently experienced a resurgence of Dora love, and we had to get some Dora movies from the library. Now I think we should watch Dora movies all the time, because once that song starts, Action Hero begins dancing and clapping, whirling crazily around the living room and laughing like the happiest toddler in the universe.
Dance on, little guy!
Watch this space.
In the meantime, having recently posted about the awesomely intelligent Boy Wonder, I'd like to dedicate this post to the little guy, Action Hero, who remains a sweet, smiley, mellow toddler despite the recent high-stress daycare experience.
Today, Action Hero is fifteen months old! Developmental check: just as physical as his big brother was at this age. During a recent visit, a friend mentioned that her friend's daughter, just turned one, could now stand on her own. Well, so can Action Hero...on the coffee table. After he climbs up there all by himself. I had to do a little furniture rearranging after I observed him trying to step right up onto an end table from his then-current perch on the toybox. He can also climb onto the futon, couch, and recliner, and then will proceed to dance on all of them. It's no wonder that his first phrase is "Dit dow!" I'm not sure if he's shooting for "Sit down!" or "Get down!" Could be either, as he hears both frequently.
That's his only phrase, but he has a few other words. Oddly enough, four of them (hi, uh-oh, dog, and ball) were Boy Wonder's first words too. Another one, of course, is "no," used vociferously and in context. His most recent, and most important (ahem) word is Mama, said so clearly that in one instance I thought Boy Wonder had called me. I am rather impressed with that last one, as it took Boy Wonder a darned long time to get around to the "M" sounds and words. Of course, he didn't have another small person, running around shouting "Mama! Mom! MOMMY!" every three minutes, to provide an example.
He is very clingy and cuddly at the moment...could be recent daycare stress, or could just be what toddlers do at this age. If he is tired, hungry, angry, lonely, or otherwise in discomfort, nothing will do but the Shining Maternal Presence. If the Shining Maternal Presence leaves the room, or is in the room but not holding him, gently patting his hair while he sucks his thumb and rests his head on her shoulder, the tiny tears flow like a river. When the Shining Maternal Presence must perform domestic duties, such as preparing a meal or washing the dishes, Action Hero must be right there with her, "helping" by noisily rattling pots, pans, Tupperware, and kitchen utenils. (The other day, he grabbed a large Tupperware container and filled it methodically with smaller containers and container lids. If I were writing a parenting memoir, I'd use that as an example of his brilliance: why, my child doesn't need TOYS! He can make a toy out of ANYTHING! Since I blog to an audience of perhaps five, I'll just say that it was darned cute.)
Action Hero likes his older brother, and wants to do everything he does. He is sometimes happy to play with him, and will cheerily subject to being covered by a blanket, given a stuffed animal, and told, "Go to bed, Action Hero! It's sleepytime!" Other times, he will get up, grab the blanket, and run away, oblivious to the cries of, "Mom! Action Hero isn't playing! It's his pretend bedtime and he WON'T GO TO BED!" (Gosh, I wonder where he gets that.) He plays peek-a-boo with great flair, likes stuffed animals, and still has a fondness for plastic toys that beep, talk, and sing. And he just loves, for some reason, the Dora theme song. Boy Wonder recently experienced a resurgence of Dora love, and we had to get some Dora movies from the library. Now I think we should watch Dora movies all the time, because once that song starts, Action Hero begins dancing and clapping, whirling crazily around the living room and laughing like the happiest toddler in the universe.
Dance on, little guy!
