John Wayne Gacy really ruined it for me

I drove to Chehailis on Sunday to have lunch with old friends. 

"Are you afraid of clowns?" their mother asked out of the blue.

"not really, but then again I haven't really come into contact with a lot of clowns, now that I think of it. Maybe your odd rodeo clown, once in a blue moon, that's about it."

We were washing dishes, goofing around and talking hummus breath.

We were looking all over the place for sunglasses.

I was trying to decide if I wanted that green candle. 

We were drinking coffee and dropping chocolate cake on the floor and wondering how hot it might get.

We were sweeping the floor and looking for a dustpan.

We were wondering if it's a good idea for a child to drink a glass of 1/2 and 1/2.

We were laughing about ice packs that look like enema bags and a rusty screw I found on the drainboard.

We were remembering the laundry room in Idaho and how big it was. 

We were lamenting small refrigerators and the high cost of remodeling. 

We were talking about that big buck that just walked onto Uncle Pete's place last week.

We were talking about the gold Plymouth Duster and I was saying only wussies can't drive stick. 

I was telling about the time I drove a 1967 Scout in the snow that was a stick shift, and how happy I was to know how.

We were saying "don't run in the house, don't slam the door, don't pout, use a coaster." over and over.



Karen said "John Wayne Gacy really ruined it for me." and it took a couple of minutes for me to realize that we were back on clowns. 

Hey, Pretty

There was a message in my inbox on Facebook this morning, a nice number 1, which I assumed would be from one of the usual suspects, asking for a playdate with Freyja, or wondering if I could help find a babysitter, but instead it was a message from a stranger that said "Hey, Pretty, how are you doing?".

I am well past the age of being flattered or skeezed out by this sort of unexpected attention, and instead,  thought to myself, You talkin' to me?

I told the very nice man that I was indeed doing just fine, but I thought he might have been looking for someone else, and that I was curious how he saw my photo, since I thought I had made my security settings pretty private, then I deleted his message and went to bed.

It was a pleasant ending to a long and annoying day.  I had planned to help my friend Kimberly make a bunting banner for her wedding, since she is not crafty, or a sewer.  I had also signed up to bring food to a friend that is recovering from major surgery.  Since I had all of that to do in the evening, I ask my mother to come over and let the gal that helps me clean in, while I was at work.  This woman has some mild special needs, and would require my mother to answer questions and generally guide the process.  I thought that would be simple enough, but when I returned home, my house looked as though no one had been there, which was very stressful, because I had all these commitments and now I would have to mop and vacuum too.  So I cleaned up and checked in with my mom, who said that Lynn had been there, but that they had had some communication problems and I am still unclear on how things went. 
I had to get off the phone and get cooking, which I did, and made a big pan of pad Thai, which came out perfectly, if I do say so myself. 
So I was feeling pretty good again, but then my mom called to remind me that she had made an appointment for Maxwell for the chiropractor, and I reminded her that he was at camp and taking a bus home at rush hour and that making a 5:00pm appointment was not very wise. 
Then Kimberly arrived to go to the fabric store and my mom phoned two more times and Maxwell still didn't walk in the door, and I started to get very stressed out, and screamy. I felt exactly like Henry Hill at the end of "Good Fellows", except without the cocaine and police. 

In the end Maxwell did arrive, and Kimberly went with me to find the house of the mother of the sick friend and the pad Thai did get delivered and the bunting is cut out (but not sewn up).  So I guess things will be ok.
I have to work today, which is not awesome, but it is, what it is and I am coping much better this morning, so far. 

finding your inner gangster

http://www.gizoogle.net/

The cat's meow and other things that go bump in the night

I'm tired, terribly, terribly tired. 
I was awakened throughout the night by our cat, which has left me as tired as a mother with a newborn.
Mark has been out of town for work for a week and Freyja was spending the night with my mother, Maxwell was at at a friend's house, so I invited a friend to stay with me, because I felt weird about being alone.  I don't usually, but last night I did. 
Our house is large, old and creaky and it has an odd configuration. 
I am allergic to cats and so is Maxwell, so I always close the door leading upstairs to the bedrooms. 
My friend left the door open- I had gone to bed first. 
She is a cat person, so she imagined that the cat was welcome upstairs.  The cat thought this was some kind of sign, that she should take all of her desire to have been upstairs for the past seven years and act them out in one night.
First she crawled onto my stomach and sat, like a fifteen pound rock, purring wildly and looking at me, until I opened my eyes.
Totally unaccustomed to having the cat in my bedroom I couldn't quite place what was going on, and sort of batted her away, which caused her to start doing that kneading thing that cats do on my HEAD. 
Fully awake at that point, I put the cat into Freyja's room with my friend, thinking, surely that is what she had in mind, when she left the door open, besides, I was feeling too tired to catch the cat and take her all the way downstairs.
A few hours later the cat was back. 
It seems that she was crying and clawing at my door, so my friend let her in.  The went on until around 6:00am when I finally  was conscious enough to take the cat all the way down.
The  phone rang at 8:00 and the day began.

Who am I to blow against the wind?

I am taking a year long course of study on Montessori education, for 0-3 year olds, for my new job. 

The course consists of one meeting, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday a month for a year. 

I'm very excited about this course, as I have been a big fan of Montessori education since I worked in an infant community at a progressive Montessori school when I was in college. 

When I had Maxwell, my parenting choices were strongly influenced by Montessori, Magda Gerber and Steiner. 

The first day's topic were conception to birth, which felt a little boring for me, since I had spent so much time studying alternative birthing options, and natural birth when pregnant with Maxwell and then after, as a sort of hobby.  It also felt hard because his birth was so deeply traumatic for me and reading about all the idealized births brought up a lot of old half healed hurts and feelings of inadequacies.

It also felt odd, as a feminist woman to discuss the topics of conception in a child care and education setting, all and all it was a heavy day.  Not bad, but triggering. By Friday evening I was emotionally, mentally and physically spent.

Today's training was much more theoretical, (although we did watch Ricki Lake's excellent "the business of being born"), covering early theorists, and their various opinions of child development.

One part that was a bit awkward, was when the teacher presented the brief overview on Steiner and theorized that Waldorf education emerged because German culture is so "rigid" and linear.

I couldn't help, but correct her and explain that there is an ancient and deeply ingrained cultural identity of nature worship in German history and national identity (I used the Christmas tree as an example).  Waldorf education is an organic expression of this history. 
I think I sounded a little like some kind of defensive, nationalist zealot, because I was tired, and a little taken aback by the rigidity statement. 
And, besides, who says nature, art and rigidity are not compatible?

Not me, that's for sure.

Anyway, I am not terribly good at keeping my mouth shut, so there you go.

I didn't say a word about Herbart, I SWEAR. 

navel gazing twits

"There's only a wee bit of editing separating your best work from the work of literary humorists."

 

Stop being so self deprecating, was the message I got in my in box today, from a dear old writerly friend. He takes me much more seriously than I take myself, which delights me and pleases me and makes me feel much less alone in the world than I ordinarily do. 

 

I am crazy, deeply grateful for his love and e-mails.

When we were sixteen I was not nearly serious enough for him, now that we are 45,  I can question his intellectual integrity when he tells me he's watched "When Harry met Sally" more than once, recently.

 

It's hard not to gloat a little, over that one.

 

You guessed it S, yes, I may have had tiny, high hopes once, but the fact of the matter is that most of the time I don't try very hard with my writing, which is the story of my life, chronic underachiever, and that is not self deprecation, it's just a matter of fact.  

 

Thank goodness I chose to have Maxwell.  My six pound hail Mary. 

 The most remarkable thing about parenting is that you can throw all of the energy you pissed away for most of your life and devote it to your child and it more than makes up for the lack of editing, discipline, all the self deprecating humor, the fact that you hate opera, can't always remember the Oxford comma rules, laziness and inaction. Parenting has been an antidote to a self centered, navel gazing life, filled to the brim with self loathing.

 

 

Care for the care giver

I had dinner with my friend in recovery, Sunday night.

It's been pretty tough supporting him, since I find drug addiction utterly puzzling, but I try to be a good friend anyway, I try to relate it to my struggles with food, with attachment. 
I'm never totally clear on this whole letting go business. 
Are we supposed to let go of people?
I am terrible at that, so I most likely will never reach Nirvana.
My friend said "call me everyday", which made me feel uncomfortable.  I don't feel like I can take on that level of responsibility for anyone I have not given birth to.
My husband thinks I surround myself with too many needy people.

They surround me.   I tell him, but he is right.  If I really wanted to I could cut them all out of my life, like the bruised part of an apple.   I don't really like apples, though and I don't like to cut people out, even the ones that call me up at midnight, when I need to be up at 5:00am.