Today is going to be FABULOUS! It's going to be 85 degrees here in Northern Virginia tomorrow it will be 65 degrees - I'm so sorry sinuses, I wish I could make it better). My normally blue car is covered with a blanket of sticky, yellow pollen. It sort of resembles a tennis ball except for the fact that it rained a little during the night, so instead of one solid shade of Dunlop yellow, I have little rivers of blue protruding through the yellow muck.
Shall we discuss the state of my hair? Why not! I may have mentioned in an earlier blog that my hair is in a transitional stage, so on a good hair day, it borders somewhere between the style of an awkward 4th grader with static, and Keith Partridge. Today however, it closely resembles that of Tippy Hedren after her unfortunate encounter with . . . well, you know what I mean.
It is 9 am, and my sinuses are already making small noises of complaint. Alright, I have to get to work now. Tune in tomorrow when the temperature drops another 20!
Monday, April 11, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
I Should Write
I got up early this morning, so that I could get a jump on some editing while the house was still quiet. I walked the dog, had my coffee and Cheerios, and read The Washington Post. From there I went on to the paper's inserts ie. checking out the coupons (Reynolds Wrap Aluminum Foil - 75 cents off 2!).
Might as well check my email and facebook - oh and Twitter. That led to checking my phone messages. One from my son who's away at college. "Did you get those Nantucket Red khakis? I want to wear them on Easter." My son has learned that I will buy him almost anything if he claims that he'll wear it to Mass). And no, I had not purchased said trousers for him. Hmm, I thought to myself, I could sneak out of the house now, before my daughter wakes up and wants to come with me.
If I bring her along, it means we will spend most of our time feeling our way through the darkness of Abercrombie, while being simultaneously bombarded with excruciatingly loud music and overwhelmingly strong cologne/perfume/body enhancing aromas DUDE! It's very similar to being in a giant MRI - one where you're permitted to walk around. No, I knew I had to go it alone, and so I did. I sneaked out of the house and went to Pentagon City.
It was a successful trip - Nantucket Red trousers purchased as well as Clinique #4 Pink Blush blush . . . oh, and Slate eye liner - because if I purchased the eyeliner, I would get the free (?) gift which consisted of blush that is the wrong color, three shades of eye shadow (which I don't wear) and yet another cosmetic bag to add to the 16 other ones I have stacked up in my linen closet (honestly, there must be something that can be done with these colorful cosmetic bags - they appear to be waterproof on the inside - perhaps sew them all together and make tents with them? No? O.K., never mind).
I looked at my watch - 11:30. I need to get home and write! So, after arriving home and making my once a month heart attack-inducing grilled cheese, fried egg and bacon sandwich, I headed for the computer. As I sat down, one of the wires from the speakers became wrapped around my chair. My husband, who works for the Container Store had brought home a cable zipper a few weeks ago, and naturally I decided that this was the time to get my cables in order. My daughter who was still sulking around because I had snuck out, was enlisted in this task. She has learned that when I flatter her in to helping with a task that I'm too stupid to execute on my own, eventually she will be left holding the bag. Therefore, she approached with caution. She quickly determined that this was too great a task for her, and begged off. "Besides, someone needs to drive me to work" (she is a lifeguard, it is an important job that requires her to sit in a chair high above the pool, while simultaneously twirling her whistle - it is a job she was born to do). Back to the cable zipper. Eventually my husband, who had seen a video demonstrating how to install the zipper, took care of the unsightly cables. I should write.
This floor is sooooo dusty. I should vacuum. I did vacuum. I made a deal with my husband that if he would dust the bedroom and put all of those non-essential items away, I would write the pool announcement for the community newsletter (in addition to working for the Container Store, my husband is also the Chairman of the Pool Committee - it is a job he was born to do.)
It is now 6:15 pm. I should write.
Might as well check my email and facebook - oh and Twitter. That led to checking my phone messages. One from my son who's away at college. "Did you get those Nantucket Red khakis? I want to wear them on Easter." My son has learned that I will buy him almost anything if he claims that he'll wear it to Mass). And no, I had not purchased said trousers for him. Hmm, I thought to myself, I could sneak out of the house now, before my daughter wakes up and wants to come with me.
If I bring her along, it means we will spend most of our time feeling our way through the darkness of Abercrombie, while being simultaneously bombarded with excruciatingly loud music and overwhelmingly strong cologne/perfume/body enhancing aromas DUDE! It's very similar to being in a giant MRI - one where you're permitted to walk around. No, I knew I had to go it alone, and so I did. I sneaked out of the house and went to Pentagon City.
It was a successful trip - Nantucket Red trousers purchased as well as Clinique #4 Pink Blush blush . . . oh, and Slate eye liner - because if I purchased the eyeliner, I would get the free (?) gift which consisted of blush that is the wrong color, three shades of eye shadow (which I don't wear) and yet another cosmetic bag to add to the 16 other ones I have stacked up in my linen closet (honestly, there must be something that can be done with these colorful cosmetic bags - they appear to be waterproof on the inside - perhaps sew them all together and make tents with them? No? O.K., never mind).
I looked at my watch - 11:30. I need to get home and write! So, after arriving home and making my once a month heart attack-inducing grilled cheese, fried egg and bacon sandwich, I headed for the computer. As I sat down, one of the wires from the speakers became wrapped around my chair. My husband, who works for the Container Store had brought home a cable zipper a few weeks ago, and naturally I decided that this was the time to get my cables in order. My daughter who was still sulking around because I had snuck out, was enlisted in this task. She has learned that when I flatter her in to helping with a task that I'm too stupid to execute on my own, eventually she will be left holding the bag. Therefore, she approached with caution. She quickly determined that this was too great a task for her, and begged off. "Besides, someone needs to drive me to work" (she is a lifeguard, it is an important job that requires her to sit in a chair high above the pool, while simultaneously twirling her whistle - it is a job she was born to do). Back to the cable zipper. Eventually my husband, who had seen a video demonstrating how to install the zipper, took care of the unsightly cables. I should write.
This floor is sooooo dusty. I should vacuum. I did vacuum. I made a deal with my husband that if he would dust the bedroom and put all of those non-essential items away, I would write the pool announcement for the community newsletter (in addition to working for the Container Store, my husband is also the Chairman of the Pool Committee - it is a job he was born to do.)
It is now 6:15 pm. I should write.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Review of Bradford Morrow's The Diviner's Tale
Check out my review of Bradford Morrow's latest novel http://bestdamncreativewritingblog.com/2011/04/04/review-the-diviners-tale-by-bradford-morrow/
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Blech!
So, this has been quite a day. After reading the paper, I went online to check on the following: Email, Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, and Water For Elephants website.
Not much new there. Proceeded to walk Terrier, ate Cheerios, drank coffee. Went online to check (see above). Made beds, folded laundry, loaded dishwasher. Went online to check (again). Ate lunch. Warned 18 year old son about the hazards of drinking in public (this as usual, proved to be a waste of time, as he knows everyting already - “I’m a lifeguard, I’m going to play college football, and have awesome hair” - hmmm).
Drove husband to work. Called daughter to see if she was ready to be picked up at friend’s house post-sleepover. “Not yet, we can’t leave Rose home alone and she is having a meltdown because she can’t find her seal. I’ll call you when we know what we’re doing.” Fine - go to the library and look for Metropolitan Opera’s recording of Das Rheingold (1989 James Morris, Siegfried Jerusalem, Christa Ludwig etc.) - no, don’t have. Ended up borrowing The French Connection - will watch later.
Came home and went online to check (go ahead and guess). Daughter called, “Ok, can you pick us up and drop us off at Guapos?” she asked in her best Mommy, I love you sooooooooooo much voice. “Yep, I’ll be there in a few”. Pick up teenage daughter and friend and drop off at said restauant. Resist the urge to drive by son’s friend’s going away party to check on alcoholic beveridge/females presence (as per football and awesome hairness). Went home instead and went online to check (you got it).
Daughter called to say “We’ll be finishing lunch in a few minutes. Can you pick us up and take us to Baskin and Robbins because some of Sue’s friends are there and want to hang out?” She asks hopefully. “Ugh! Can’t you walk to Baskin and Robbins? I’m a little tired of driving.” She and her friend decide to walk. Now, I’m feeling like a bad parent. I wonder if Sue is allowed to walk to Baskin and Robbins - hmmmm.
I’ll finish up later, right now I need to go check (is there really any point?)
Not much new there. Proceeded to walk Terrier, ate Cheerios, drank coffee. Went online to check (see above). Made beds, folded laundry, loaded dishwasher. Went online to check (again). Ate lunch. Warned 18 year old son about the hazards of drinking in public (this as usual, proved to be a waste of time, as he knows everyting already - “I’m a lifeguard, I’m going to play college football, and have awesome hair” - hmmm).
Drove husband to work. Called daughter to see if she was ready to be picked up at friend’s house post-sleepover. “Not yet, we can’t leave Rose home alone and she is having a meltdown because she can’t find her seal. I’ll call you when we know what we’re doing.” Fine - go to the library and look for Metropolitan Opera’s recording of Das Rheingold (1989 James Morris, Siegfried Jerusalem, Christa Ludwig etc.) - no, don’t have. Ended up borrowing The French Connection - will watch later.
Came home and went online to check (go ahead and guess). Daughter called, “Ok, can you pick us up and drop us off at Guapos?” she asked in her best Mommy, I love you sooooooooooo much voice. “Yep, I’ll be there in a few”. Pick up teenage daughter and friend and drop off at said restauant. Resist the urge to drive by son’s friend’s going away party to check on alcoholic beveridge/females presence (as per football and awesome hairness). Went home instead and went online to check (you got it).
Daughter called to say “We’ll be finishing lunch in a few minutes. Can you pick us up and take us to Baskin and Robbins because some of Sue’s friends are there and want to hang out?” She asks hopefully. “Ugh! Can’t you walk to Baskin and Robbins? I’m a little tired of driving.” She and her friend decide to walk. Now, I’m feeling like a bad parent. I wonder if Sue is allowed to walk to Baskin and Robbins - hmmmm.
I’ll finish up later, right now I need to go check (is there really any point?)
ADHD, Legos and Condoms
I have two hours to myself this evening, and so I am sitting here thinking about the fact that my son is leaving for college in two weeks. To quote Jerry Garcia, “what a long strange trip it’s been.” If you’re a parent, you may have some idea of what I’m writing about. If you’re not a parent, but think you might be one one day, take note - raising kids is one heck of a ride.
Nick was diagonosed with ADHD and put on medication when he was in the third grade - couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t focus on what was being taught in the classroom if his life depended on it (hmm, where could he possibly have gotten that from?). 6th through 10th grade remains a blurred nightmare of testing, meetings, more tests, more meetings, accommodations holy mother of blah blah blah. We’d just get the classroom issues solved, when a sports issue would surface. We’d get the sports issue solved when Nick would begin to backslide in his studies. We’d get the studies back on track, and he’d suffer a sports injury, sidelining him for the remainder of the season (oh the humanity!). And then, just when we’d gotten all of Nick’s ducks in a row, a nasty case of social anxiety reared it’s ugly head (“let’s put him Zoloft,” said the Doctor. “Now, we’ll have to monitor him closely, as some teens have become suicidal while on this medication.”) Gosh, that sounds like a swell idea Doc!
Keep in mind that this is just what my son was going through. We have a daughter who is three years younger, who I swear must have raised herself for 6 years (why she doesn’t hate us, I’ll never understand - unless she’s planning on doing us in in our sleep … no, she’ll wait until we get her braces off, so I have time).
When Nick was going into his junior year, we transfered him to our neighborhood, public school. He went from 10+ years (nursery school included) at a small, catholic school, (where everyone knew everything about everyone else - believe me, we all knew way too much), to a public school with the highest percentage rate of kids living below the poverty level in our state. Needless to say, my Zoloft dosage was quickly increased. Fear, anxiety, hopelessness, helplessness, paranoia, and embarassment coursed through every cell in my body. He’ll join a gang, he’ll take drugs, he’ll get someone pregnant, he’ll flunk out, he’ll kill someone, he’ll be killed, or worse - maimed (not that beautiful face - oh my baby!) While all of these thoughts were swirling and brewing in my head, my son was … thriving! No kidding, he just, dare I say it … blossomed (I know, not the best choice of words to describe a boy - he did take autoshop though, and can seriously rock an oil change.) For the first time in his life, he went out and pursued all of the activities that he was too afraid to pursue in the past.
He now appears to be ready for college - we shall see soon enough (she said, through gritted teeth). So when he goes off in two weeks, I’ll cross my fingers, say a prayer (and perhaps slip a few of his legos into his bag - my husband will probably be secretly slipping condoms in there - but aaahhh, whatever), and hope for the best.
If you’re still a kid (and still reading this - I’m impressed, and possibly concerned), hang in there. Life really does get better, smoother, easier, at least for awhile (until you become a parent HA!) If you’re a parent, same goes for you as well. Teething, tantrums and terrible twos eventually turn into adolescence, acne, and possible anxiety (scratch that, most definitely anxiety). But it’s ok.
Alright, that’s enough. Have a great weekend.
Nick was diagonosed with ADHD and put on medication when he was in the third grade - couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t focus on what was being taught in the classroom if his life depended on it (hmm, where could he possibly have gotten that from?). 6th through 10th grade remains a blurred nightmare of testing, meetings, more tests, more meetings, accommodations holy mother of blah blah blah. We’d just get the classroom issues solved, when a sports issue would surface. We’d get the sports issue solved when Nick would begin to backslide in his studies. We’d get the studies back on track, and he’d suffer a sports injury, sidelining him for the remainder of the season (oh the humanity!). And then, just when we’d gotten all of Nick’s ducks in a row, a nasty case of social anxiety reared it’s ugly head (“let’s put him Zoloft,” said the Doctor. “Now, we’ll have to monitor him closely, as some teens have become suicidal while on this medication.”) Gosh, that sounds like a swell idea Doc!
Keep in mind that this is just what my son was going through. We have a daughter who is three years younger, who I swear must have raised herself for 6 years (why she doesn’t hate us, I’ll never understand - unless she’s planning on doing us in in our sleep … no, she’ll wait until we get her braces off, so I have time).
When Nick was going into his junior year, we transfered him to our neighborhood, public school. He went from 10+ years (nursery school included) at a small, catholic school, (where everyone knew everything about everyone else - believe me, we all knew way too much), to a public school with the highest percentage rate of kids living below the poverty level in our state. Needless to say, my Zoloft dosage was quickly increased. Fear, anxiety, hopelessness, helplessness, paranoia, and embarassment coursed through every cell in my body. He’ll join a gang, he’ll take drugs, he’ll get someone pregnant, he’ll flunk out, he’ll kill someone, he’ll be killed, or worse - maimed (not that beautiful face - oh my baby!) While all of these thoughts were swirling and brewing in my head, my son was … thriving! No kidding, he just, dare I say it … blossomed (I know, not the best choice of words to describe a boy - he did take autoshop though, and can seriously rock an oil change.) For the first time in his life, he went out and pursued all of the activities that he was too afraid to pursue in the past.
He now appears to be ready for college - we shall see soon enough (she said, through gritted teeth). So when he goes off in two weeks, I’ll cross my fingers, say a prayer (and perhaps slip a few of his legos into his bag - my husband will probably be secretly slipping condoms in there - but aaahhh, whatever), and hope for the best.
If you’re still a kid (and still reading this - I’m impressed, and possibly concerned), hang in there. Life really does get better, smoother, easier, at least for awhile (until you become a parent HA!) If you’re a parent, same goes for you as well. Teething, tantrums and terrible twos eventually turn into adolescence, acne, and possible anxiety (scratch that, most definitely anxiety). But it’s ok.
Alright, that’s enough. Have a great weekend.
Father and Son
My son is leaving for college in 10 days, and all that he and my husband do, is fight. Well not really fight – more like bicker.
My husband, who upon finishing dinner, had retired to the living room to read the paper. Looking up at my son he said, “Please go shave.”
My son, who was looking at his chin in the mirror replied, “I’ll shave when I get to school.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I don’t want you going off to school looking like that. Your Mother and I didn’t raise scruffy-looking kids.” Where upon my son retrieves his college football directory and opens to page 1. “There! See, a beard,” he began turning the pages . “And oooooh look … dreadlocks”. He settles on page 5. “Oooooooooh and this one has both a beard and dreadlocks. And this one - has no hair at all,” he says, pointing to a picture of an offensive lineman, who could have played Magwich in a local theater production of Great Expectations.
My husband looked out from the side of the newspaper. “I don’t care, they’re not my kids. Go shave”!
“No.”
“Why not,” asked my husband, obviously trying a new tact.
“Because, the longer the whiskers get, the darker they get. Right, Mom?”
Oh Lord, I think, please stop me from laughing. “No,” I reply, while trying to hear what Lester Holt has to say about gay marriage in California.
My son looks at me for a moment and then says “Well, once they get long enough, I’m going to dye them darker.” He has put down the football directory and has shifted to lifting a pair of rather intimidating looking, 30 lb. hand weights.
At this point, my husband has abandoned any hope of reading the paper in peace and says “YOU ARE NOT DYING YOUR WHISKERS!”
No longer able to contain myself, I start to laugh. Both my husband and son turn and look at me with disgusted expressions. “Well, I’m getting a Mohawk when I get to school,” putting down the weights and flexing in front of the mirror.
My husband looks heavenward and says “That’s going to look pretty silly with your Vineyard Vines belts, and rep ties and pink polo shirts.”
“I’ll make it work”, he says, snapping his fingers in a “Z” formation.
My husband shakes his head – “Go clean your bathroom.”
My husband, who upon finishing dinner, had retired to the living room to read the paper. Looking up at my son he said, “Please go shave.”
My son, who was looking at his chin in the mirror replied, “I’ll shave when I get to school.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I don’t want you going off to school looking like that. Your Mother and I didn’t raise scruffy-looking kids.” Where upon my son retrieves his college football directory and opens to page 1. “There! See, a beard,” he began turning the pages . “And oooooh look … dreadlocks”. He settles on page 5. “Oooooooooh and this one has both a beard and dreadlocks. And this one - has no hair at all,” he says, pointing to a picture of an offensive lineman, who could have played Magwich in a local theater production of Great Expectations.
My husband looked out from the side of the newspaper. “I don’t care, they’re not my kids. Go shave”!
“No.”
“Why not,” asked my husband, obviously trying a new tact.
“Because, the longer the whiskers get, the darker they get. Right, Mom?”
Oh Lord, I think, please stop me from laughing. “No,” I reply, while trying to hear what Lester Holt has to say about gay marriage in California.
My son looks at me for a moment and then says “Well, once they get long enough, I’m going to dye them darker.” He has put down the football directory and has shifted to lifting a pair of rather intimidating looking, 30 lb. hand weights.
At this point, my husband has abandoned any hope of reading the paper in peace and says “YOU ARE NOT DYING YOUR WHISKERS!”
No longer able to contain myself, I start to laugh. Both my husband and son turn and look at me with disgusted expressions. “Well, I’m getting a Mohawk when I get to school,” putting down the weights and flexing in front of the mirror.
My husband looks heavenward and says “That’s going to look pretty silly with your Vineyard Vines belts, and rep ties and pink polo shirts.”
“I’ll make it work”, he says, snapping his fingers in a “Z” formation.
My husband shakes his head – “Go clean your bathroom.”
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