W.O.W. - 5/31/10

Today is Memorial Day, and I should write something about the veterans in our family. Of course there's Grandy - JBL's grandfather - who flew P-31s and was shot down over occupied France. Then there was my own father, who was a mechanic who worked on B-29s in southeast Asia. He used to cry whenever he watched Memphis Belle, which was often.

Today is also the fourth day of a heavy cold, which is unusual both in its severity and duration. (Boy, does that sound stupid following the mention of my heros' brave history.) I could write about the possible reasons for my queer malady, of which there are many. I could also write that I haven't run for 3 days, mostly because of The Cold, and how the break is affecting me emotionally. Hint: it's not a good feeling.

What I will write, however, is about something that popped into my head just now as J was reading to me. (A benefit of losing your voice - it's a good excuse to make the 6-year-old do some independent reading.) I was so proud of J as she plowed through one of our favorite books - a mutual love-fest of a tome called I Love You. The range of emotions I felt made my internal cynic throw red flags galore, and I paused.

This post is addition to my Words of Wisdom list. It's a bit wordy, so pull up a proverbial chair.

You will be taught that certain emotions are bad. You will be taught that, as a parent, you should not want your child to be advanced. You should just love them for who they are at every developmental level. If you feel your child is advanced, and that thought gives you a secret thrill, this feeling of superiority-by-proxy implies you are trying to deal with some inadequacies within yourself, which is an unhealthy way to feel.

You will be taught that any prejudicial feelings you have are wrong. If you pass someone on the street and immediately assume you know something about them based on their skin color, clothes, age, or body shape (and usually the thoughts you have will be negative), you are a bad person.

You will be taught that it is wrong to try to Keep Up with the Joneses. That little pang you will feel in your twenties when your friend buys a BMW and you still have the hand-me-down 15 year-old car? Wretched. That anxiety that fills you when your other friend gets the window office and you're stuck in a cubicle? Deplorable. The dismay you feel when you can only afford a week at the beach (splitting the cost with your in-laws) while your kid's friends take trips to Europe, after skiing out west over Spring Break, fitting it all in around a month-long summer camp in Maine? In the immortal words of Gomer Pyle: "For shame, for shame, for shame!"

But I am here to tell you that you will have all these feelings. The trick of being an adult is what to do with them. I say understand there are valid and good reasons to have ambition, pride and prejudice. If the feelings are only serving some negativity - eating away at your insides, or making you feel separate from/beneath others, stop and examine your thoughts a bit. Chances are they can be turned into a way to change your own perceptions, or to set goals for yourself that are reasonable. The answers are usually right there, within you.

Likewise, always check yourself if you feel a spike of righteous indignation. The answers are usually somewhere out in the middle, somewhere gray. (Usually.) Gray can be good. You're rarely 100% right and you're rarely 100% wrong. Think it out. Be mindful. Understand why you think what you do. Know as much as you can, but don't be too hard on yourself when you don't know.

Ok, that was a lot of words, and possibly very little wisdom. And I certainly fall prey to these very natural tendencies to be negative, both where myself and others are concerned. But I want the girls to know you don't have to stop there, and you don't need someone else to tell you how to think and feel. The wise answers are often more simple, though much harder to reach than you might think.

Back in the big yellow chair with J in my lap, I let my pride wash over me. I am excited that she is confident and capable with her reading skills. And if she ever reads this list, these words of wisdom, I hope she realizes there's no shame necessary in my pride or hers.

Borrowing lyrics

This is the first day of my life
I swear I was born right in the doorway
I went out in the rain suddenly everything changed
They're spreading blankets on the beach

Yours is the first face that I saw
I think I was blind before I met you
Now I don’t know where I am
I don’t know where I’ve been
But I know where I want to go.

Remember the time you drove all night
Just to meet me in the morning?
And I thought it was strange
You said everything changed
You felt as if you just woke up.
And you said, 'This is the first day of my life.
Glad I didn't die before I met you.
And now I don't care
I could go anywhere with you
And I'd probably be happy.'

I'm glad I didn't die, too.

Forging ahead

I think saving magazines after I've read them, including dog-eared cooking magazines, has been overly optimistic.

I'm having one of those days where even walking across the kitchen seems like too much effort. I need a goal.

I think I'll go clean something.

W.O.W. and other lists

So I was thinking lately that there are a handful of 'Words of Wisdom'-type things I'd like to pass along to the girls. Nothing big, really, considering I'm mostly an idiot. But I wanted to jot them down from time-to-time. Here are my first thoughts:

1. Always shake out your gardening gloves and clogs, in case spiders have crawled in.
2. As great as it is to make food from scratch, there is no point in trying to replicate box brownies or canned pumpkin.
3. In the kitchen, as in life, you have to clean up one mess before you can start making another.

That's all I have for now.

Oh, but I have a new entry for my uninspiring church signs: "God doesn't have a plan *B*!" (Why the asterisks?) I am really not sure what that is supposed to mean. Am I supposed to be worried about that? Does it imply that I, too, should never have a plan 'B'? Should I get everything right the first time? Any way you slice it, this sign does not make me want to walk through those church doors.

Checklist - status

Peppers, tomatoes, basil are in. First peas and strawberries hit the counter yesterday. Now, just need to get those vinca in, and disperse the rest of that damn mulch. Phew!

I have time to plant the annuals this afternoon, but I will run now, and see if there's time afterward. Hopefully my system will let me do 6....

(So 'afterwards' is not a word? Wow, I learn something new every day. I guess I am a white middle-aged Republican rube after all.)

Updated: My system let me do 6 and then some. A speedy run like that makes all those sucky times worth it!

Not guilty

I'm giving myself one more hour to write today. It's really feeling good.

Awkward to say the least

Well, the weekend was great - totally relaxing from the start, even though J was more rattled by my departure than I thought she would be. I'll keep the memories of my overnight away in my back pocket to poke me out of my hermit habits from time to time.

Anyway.

A couple months ago, the father of one of the boys at our bus stop - a junior at J's school - approached me as I was getting back into my car. We shared some small talk as I stood, waving to J in the departing bus, holding onto my open driver's-side door. (I thought it was odd that this dad had gotten out of his car to talk to me since he normally speeds off to work as soon as his son's second foot hits the pavement.) Oh, we'd talked before. His wife is a runner like me. He went to college where JBL got his master's degree. I'd even taken his son home one day when both parents had late meetings.

But I knew something was up that morning. Suddenly, the man blurted out, "I am not a molester or anything. I just wanted you to know why I always smile at your daughter."

Now, I don't know about how you would have felt, but my reaction to that statement was a mixture of doubt in his veracity and abject fear. Adrenaline flooded my system, and everything about the moment crystallized. The dark pink of the cord holding the corporate badge around his neck became garish. I could see each individual salt-and-pepper hair of his goatee. The winter air around us smelled overwhelming. But I kept my congenial smile as he continued.

Apparently his younger sister passed away when he was 7 and she was 3. Though J is charming enough to warrant glowing smiles from any random passer-by, she especially affected this man because she reminded him of the sister he lost so long ago. As if that abrupt admission weren't awkward enough, he just kept talking - describing how he didn't want to make me uncomfortable by saying 'hi!' to her every morning, and wondering if his friendliness seemed too much.

I fumbled over myself to reassure him that his greetings were consistent with how other people approach J (she is a cute little kindergartener in a plaid uniform with a backpack as big as she is - who wouldn't smile at that?). But, really, I just wanted him to stop talking so I could get in my car and drive away quickly. And never see him again.

Eventually I was able to break away and return home. I told JBL, and mentioned it later to some friends. Everyone was shocked at the man's candor. It would be easy enough to write him off as a loon, and yet... I struggle daily with determining how I feel about him.

I mean, who would admit to being a pedophile? But then again, how sad that this man lost his sister and longs for a relationship he'll never have. And maybe he's just an awkward person. Maybe he just doesn't know how to connect with other people, or has a touch of Asperger's syndrome. I for one have no room looking disdainfully at people who say the 'wrong' thing, or won't stop talking once they've made their audience uncomfortable. The chronicles of my social ineptitudes could fill the Library of Congress.

But still. Am I going to ever let him bring J home from the bus stop (not that he's offered)? No way in hell. And how do I approach him every single day at the bus stop? So far I have subtly ignored him (so stated because I ignore everyone - I'm the mom who stays in the car rather than chatting with travel coffee mug in hand), but will smile and chat when spoken to. It's just...well... so awkward.

Oddities

Struggling a little today - anxiety is sitting heavy about my weekend away. Yes I did just type that. I am going for a hiking and spa overnight with a few friends, and though I know I will have fun, I am uneasy. It's great being me.

I have to shake off the worries:
- K will be happy to have a weekend here without me around
- J will feel miss me (a little - time with JBL and K will blot me from her mind, for sure)
- General uneasiness being away from JBL - don't ask, I don't really understand it either
- General need to be close to home/secure my hermit-like tendencies

The weekend will be good and healthy and I will have fun. I'm just glad I can write this stuff here, hopefully helping to shelve my oddities.

It's official

Every one of J's classmates has now had/invited us to a birthday party. Ok, I may be missing one kid... two, tops. The parties have varied from simple to elaborate, but none have just been a craft at home followed by cake, which is the extent of effort and expense I could manage if I had thrown such a party.

You see, J did not have a birthday party including her classmates. I honestly thought, back in September, that this type of thing was anomalous. I mean, who can really afford gifts from themselves, along with 'jump zone' party with pizza, cake, and a goodie bag for 18 kids plus parents? How is a parent going to top a party with ice skating lessons for all attendees, or a magician who puts on an hour show and also makes balloon animals, for their 5-year-old? (By the time they're 10, what...are they going to rent out the Maryland Zoo?!) Surely it would only be a handful of invites for the year. Or not, as the case may be.

God bless J - it hasn't occurred to her that she is the only one who has not had such a party. The age of kindergarten has its advantages, after all. But what happens next year, or the year after that? I have often written about my concern (ok, fear) of keeping up with the other more affluent families at this school, along with my need to support certain values for J. As with her foray into lacrosse, I just didn't think the birthday thing would come to bear so soon.

I have to keep my eye on the end game, while making J feel included, socially accepted, and...well...not abnormal. Hmph. My stomach hurts.

Haven't we all

I absolutely love some of the books J and I read at bedtime. Junie B. Jones? *shudder* Princess stories? No way in hell. Mary Poppins, the original version? Now you're talking. From Chapter 6 - Bad Tuesday:

'"Shall I let out the water?" he enquired in the rudest voice he had. There was no reply. "Pooh! I don't care!" said Michael, and the hot heavy weight that was within him swelled and grew larger. "I don't care!"'

(we all know that hot heavy weight, don't we?)

'[And Michael] was a little astonished at himself.... But he was not astonished for long, for he began to wonder what he could do next.... he ran away with Miss Lark's angry, outraged voice screaming in his ears, and his body almost bursting with the exciting weight of that heavy thing inside him.... And all that time he was enjoying his badness, hugging it to him as though it were a friend, and not caring a bit.'

You just don't get that kind of real, true emotion in today's sugar-coated stories - not that I have found anyway. Best of all, J seems to love it as much as I do...

On passion and fruit

My mother was a larger-than-life person. She dominated every room she was in - either by her conversation, or simply with the sheer force of her emotions. My brother inherited her mayor-like qualities. My daughter carries on her ceaseless chatter.

She was a passionate woman. She laughed loudly. She loved deeply. She took things personally. She would say things like, "I forgive, but I never forget," or, "Never stop dating your spouse - it is so important." She would give the world's longest lectures when my brother and I would bicker a little too much. I can remember her saying, "Life is a two-way street," but I have no idea why. She was so intense when she said it, however, we would just nod knowingly. We just wanted her to finish so we could get out of her storm.

When I was very young, she loved to throw parties, as I am certain I have written before. Music would fill the house while we prepped and cleaned. Mom would give me hosting advice that I would not be able to use for twenty years, such as, "When your guests arrive, you fix them their first drink, showing them where the bar is. Then they can make their own drinks after that." She always made a point to finish getting ready well in advance of the appointed hour so she could relax and get ready to smile for her friends. She would lay on the floor in the living room, listening to the Hollies or Credence Clearwater Revival, singing to herself.

Then my brother and I would be ushered upstairs with snacks and soda - a party of our own. We were discouraged from coming downstairs, even if we were fighting. I would sometimes sneak down anyway, undaunted by the scene greeting me at the bottom of the stairs. I would weave through the crowded living room, dark except for candles and firelight, to find my father sitting in the corner (he might have been chatting with someone, but he was so introverted...he didn't really enjoy the jocularity). The smell of liquor hung in the air along with cigarette smoke. Above it all, I can still clearly smell my dad's whiskey sour and my mother's perfume.

I would yell over the music into Dad's ear a description of some minor transgression of my brother's. With a hug and his assurances that CB would be disciplined in the morning, I would return upstairs to watch the rest of Sonny and Cher, satisfied. As I passed the coffee table, pushed off next to the sofa to make room for dancing, I would see the usual assortment of hors d'hoevres - a port wine cheese ball covered with nuts, a crudite platter, bread sticks, shrimp dip.

For smaller dinner parties, Mom would rearrange the furniture so the coffee table was directly in front of the fireplace, surrounded by pillows for sitting. The '70s-yellow fondue pot would sit in the center, surrounded by meat, vegetables and bread cubes. After dinner, there would come dessert, of course, and one of my mother's favorite desserts was brandied fruit (to be served with champagne). I get a headache just writing that. This time of night is when my brother and I would hear the most uproarious conversations, the loudest laughter.

I love to remember this aspect of my mother's complex personality. She was so confident in a crowd, so happy to shower guests with what she felt was the best of everything. I guess I inherited these traits from her.

As I was leafing through a new cookbook this morning, looking for inspiration for my own Mother's Day meal, I was greeted by a recipe for brandied fruit. And I smiled. If I can picture my mom in heaven, she is that 30-something version of herself - the woman who regularly went to 'exercise class', the one who had just the right jewelry for every event, the one who showed me how to spray perfume on my pulse points as I watched her get ready for her party. The excitement radiated from her as she set her bottle of Chanel 22 down and rubbed her wrists together. "Your husband will love the way this smells when he kisses you," she would say with sparkling eyes and a conspiratorial smile.

I love you Mom. I hope you're having a party tonight, that Daddy is helping you get ready, and that all the guests will be as happy as they were in your home 30 years ago. Happy Mother's Day.

Holding on

At 6, she still wants me in the bathroom with her.

At 6, she still wants me to hold her for just a minute before I go downstairs to make breakfast.

At 6, she will still take an invisible 'love' from me to put in her pocket for safekeeping til she gets to school.

At 6, she will still let me hug her before scampering onto the bus.

At 6, she is still delighted by everything new thing she learns.

At 6, she still thinks it's funny to burp at the dinner table.

At 6, she still wants me to dry her off (and snuggle in the process) after her shower.

At 6, she still wiggles and fidgets uncontrollably at bedtime.

At 6, she still asks for one more giant hug before I turn out the light.

Thank you God for 6.

Such is life

My vegetable garden has evolved slowly over the past 5 years or so. When I first started, I only grew peas and herbs - the former because J and JBL love peas, and the latter because we use herbs in cooking frequently and hate paying through the nose for them at the grocery.

From there, I gradually added plants until last year, when I had a decent-sized plot (6' x 10') that included peas, parsley, basil, rosemary, jalapenos, cherry tomatoes, plum tomatoes, string beans, carrots, cantaloupe, and watermelon.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what I am doing, so my success rate is mixed at best. The cherry tomatoes took over their space and that of the beans. This was providential - as it turned out, I was the only one who wanted to eat the beans anyway. Based on 3 full rows (planted a second time when there was little action after 4 weeks) I received exactly 4 anemic carrots. The peppers and basil floundered in the shade of both tomato plants. The melons went wild - I ended up wrapping them around the perimeter several times - but didn't actually produce ripened fruit til September. I spent my days shaking my head in consternation while either watering or weeding.

The only plus (well, besides watching the whole process, which was cool), was that I found JBL and K actually enjoy home-grown cantaloupe after actively dissing store-bought melons for years.

This year I am taking a pared-down approach. No melons. Only plum tomatoes, and only 2 plants at that. Ok, maybe 3. Lettuce in place of beans and carrots. Same herbs and peppers. That's it.

So far, the cool weather veggies are all that I have planted. The peas are going gangbusters, as always. I could write a whole post on the various trellising systems I have employed, but it would bore us both to tears. Let me just say I have found success this year with rabbit fencing, and will use it also for the tomatoes in place of those ridiculously ineffective wire cones.

The lettuce, on the other hand, has been fickle. I have now planted two full rows twice and have only a handful of plants to show for it. Oh, they're vigorous little things, but what about the others? It is beyond frustrating to have no idea when my efforts in the garden will come to...ahem...fruition.

Easy enough, you may say. You plant seeds, and amend the soil where needed. You water when it doesn't rain enough. Sometimes the seeds grow and sometimes they don't. But you don't understand. What does that do to you? I for one am more than troubled when I plant something and I just...fail. Without adequate reason. But such is life, my mother used to say. Such is life.

So out I will go this week, finally buying shrubs for the west side of the house (hello Steeds Holly and Silver King Euonymus!), and perhaps purchasing annuals for my front-porch containers. I will think and plan and hope and plant. In the garden, at least, I am not paralyzed by fear of failure...