This post will serve mainly as an update on previous conditions...
1. I oversee attendance at our school. I am not the Attendance Lady, but I am the Attendance Enforcer. I assign detentions, Saturday Schools, and send late kids to the office for a pass when they try to scuttle off to class under the radar. So imagine my dismay when I received the phone call this morning that my daughter was not in school.
"Yes, she is," I argued with the Attendance Lady from my kindergartener's school. "My husband dropped her off." I spoke with the assurance of a wife who had touched base with her spouse after school started.
"Well," she offered, "we don't know that unless he brings her to the office when SHE'S LATE."
Late? Scandalous!
As an explanation, Husband let me know that he was not going to continue to Freak Out in the mornings when his daughters caused late departures with last-minute wardrobe changes, etc. He was just going to go with the Slow Flow.
Besides wondering aloud if my husband's cover-to-cover reading of the newspaper each morning might contribute to Slow Flow, I kept my mouth shut on this new philosophical approach.
2. But we took the opportunity at dinner to broach the issue of Morning Cooperation, so Mom and Dad won't get busted by the elementary school front office.
"Okay," agreed our daughter. "And I forgot to tell you that I also got part of my name accidentally erased by the teacher today."
"What???" We stared, agape, at our daughter. "For what?"
"Well, I accidentally...okay, not accidentally..." She paused to eat some taco. "I threw my classwork at the teacher."
Threw...classwork?
First, I pictured paper airplanes. And then I imagined Indignation. Outrage. And my little innocent-looking kindergartener exhibiting those emotions outside the safety of her own home, where she lets them fly freely on a regular basis.
"Were you...being naughty? Or mad?"
"I was mad. I was mad, because the work was TOO HARD! It was math, and it was TOO HARD! I couldn't do it!"
"So you threw it at the teacher?" And then I remembered. "Wait...did you throw it at The Substitute?
She nodded.
Fascinating. I pleaded with her to show me just how this went down: "Here [handing her a piece of mail off a pile on the dinner table], show me what you did..."
But she shut down, with vague "I can't remember" statements she learned from CEOs and Politicians on TV.
We reminded her that there's a certain mechanism called "Asking for help" that might be employed in similar frustrating circumstances.
Husband will ask the teacher about the event tomorrow. But it's quite possible that what happens with the Substitute stays with the Substitute, and it won't be till Geometry in 10th grade that she lets another math paper fly.
Stay tuned.
3. In more good news, we received a letter in the mail today from The City about our bougainvillea growing against the fence along the alley. Specifically, it reads: "A recent inspection shows that Vegetation Growth along the rear of the property at [OUR ADDRESS] is encroaching over the alley. This is creating an Encroachment Problem [ed.: a little redundant, wouldn't you say?] and is in violation of...Municipal Code Section...and/or...California Civil Code..."
The dilemma is that Husband only weeks ago trimmed said "Vegetation Growth," so I do not know if he has nipped our Encroachment in the bud (pun intended) or basically accomplished nothing in this endeavor. He plans to call and find out.
I plan to call and direct The City to the alley behind my brother and sister-in-law's house a few blocks away, where a Strong Smell of Marijuana Growing Under Heat Lamps encroaches on my sense of What Constitutes Legal Vegetation Growth.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
List: 10 House Projects I Could Tackle
After three weeks of my single parenting on the homefront, Husband abandoned the traveling sailing team this weekend and I abandoned our kids to go visit my Dear Friend From Fifth Grade and her two chilluns, one of whom is pretty Brand New.
The plane ride was just long enough for me to read a novel on the way to and fro, satisfying my need to digest something remotely literary beyond email and half a Newsweek article (average daily reading before falling asleep). Thank you, Jodi Picoult. Meanwhile, I am intimidated by my Book Club's book, Team of Rivals, which, like a wholesome meal, will be good for me, but which, like a five-pound weight, looks too heavy at the moment.
At my friend's house, I got to snuggle Baby G, who was showing off his new smiliness (and I swear he laughed for the first time today, too); make goblin paintings with Sy, my buddy's three-year-old daughter; and bond with her husband, with whom I've shared pithy ponderings recently via Twitter.
But the best part was reconnecting with my friend, who was navigating adding a second child to her nest. And also balancing wanting a new pair of pants and a clean house and a preschooler who eats a square meal. It was so great to leave my own issues behind and help her (and while I was gone, Issue #1 slapped Little Issue #2 Right In The Face).
Among her many talents, my friend has an interior design degree and fabulous taste, and her children's rooms are zen havens of cool colors and coordinating textiles. But like any self-respecting Keeper of Hearth and Home, she has a million plans and fantasies for transforming the rest of her house.
Back at our bungalow (and all across America?), Big Ticket Projects like installing irrigation systems, remodeling the kitchen, and adding on new rooms have slipped behind the hills of Mounting Debt. So I satisfy my urges for home improvement by painting things. Changing out light fixtures. And throwing crap away.
But sometimes I have trouble prioritizing. My little idea is that I should swallow my pride and invite five different friends over, asking each of them, if this were your house, which ten (cheap) projects would you tackle first? I mean, when you enter our manse, which piles of papers or lame lampshades bug you? Tell me, because I will be motivated to take care of them.
When I shared this idea with my friend, she got that hungry Bring It, Sister look on her face. So I meekly started pointing, and in between entertaining and feeding a baby and preschooler, we spent Sunday reorganizing bookshelves, cleaning her kitchen, and making lists and piles. And when I got overly aggressive with the trashbag, she bravely fought back.
Now I can't wait for her to visit. My bedroom needs a makeover and there are some cupboards and drawers waiting for her discerning eye.
Here's what I'd like to Presto Change-O at our house:
1. Replace carpet in bedrooms, hallway
2. Replace monstrous fluorescent lighting box in the kitchen with recessed lighting and/or skylight
3. Paint kitchen a slate blue
4. Paint bedroom some elusive, perfect color
5. Replace bathroom vanity (which is crumbling away in the corner. Stop splashing in the bath! Sheesh)
6. Permanently close up chimney (which is apparently detaching from the house)/replace with energy-friendly heating device
7. Buy a new stove (unfortunately--or fortunately--not necessary yet)
8. Replace gross kitchen linoleum
9. Repaint peeling doors
10. Get rid of crib in kids' room, rearrange furniture
You're welcome to swing on by! Give me your top ten! And when you suggest deep-sixing my favorite piece of tchotchke, I'll just ignore you.
The plane ride was just long enough for me to read a novel on the way to and fro, satisfying my need to digest something remotely literary beyond email and half a Newsweek article (average daily reading before falling asleep). Thank you, Jodi Picoult. Meanwhile, I am intimidated by my Book Club's book, Team of Rivals, which, like a wholesome meal, will be good for me, but which, like a five-pound weight, looks too heavy at the moment.
At my friend's house, I got to snuggle Baby G, who was showing off his new smiliness (and I swear he laughed for the first time today, too); make goblin paintings with Sy, my buddy's three-year-old daughter; and bond with her husband, with whom I've shared pithy ponderings recently via Twitter.
But the best part was reconnecting with my friend, who was navigating adding a second child to her nest. And also balancing wanting a new pair of pants and a clean house and a preschooler who eats a square meal. It was so great to leave my own issues behind and help her (and while I was gone, Issue #1 slapped Little Issue #2 Right In The Face).
Among her many talents, my friend has an interior design degree and fabulous taste, and her children's rooms are zen havens of cool colors and coordinating textiles. But like any self-respecting Keeper of Hearth and Home, she has a million plans and fantasies for transforming the rest of her house.
Back at our bungalow (and all across America?), Big Ticket Projects like installing irrigation systems, remodeling the kitchen, and adding on new rooms have slipped behind the hills of Mounting Debt. So I satisfy my urges for home improvement by painting things. Changing out light fixtures. And throwing crap away.
But sometimes I have trouble prioritizing. My little idea is that I should swallow my pride and invite five different friends over, asking each of them, if this were your house, which ten (cheap) projects would you tackle first? I mean, when you enter our manse, which piles of papers or lame lampshades bug you? Tell me, because I will be motivated to take care of them.
When I shared this idea with my friend, she got that hungry Bring It, Sister look on her face. So I meekly started pointing, and in between entertaining and feeding a baby and preschooler, we spent Sunday reorganizing bookshelves, cleaning her kitchen, and making lists and piles. And when I got overly aggressive with the trashbag, she bravely fought back.
Now I can't wait for her to visit. My bedroom needs a makeover and there are some cupboards and drawers waiting for her discerning eye.
Here's what I'd like to Presto Change-O at our house:
1. Replace carpet in bedrooms, hallway
2. Replace monstrous fluorescent lighting box in the kitchen with recessed lighting and/or skylight
3. Paint kitchen a slate blue
4. Paint bedroom some elusive, perfect color
5. Replace bathroom vanity (which is crumbling away in the corner. Stop splashing in the bath! Sheesh)
6. Permanently close up chimney (which is apparently detaching from the house)/replace with energy-friendly heating device
7. Buy a new stove (unfortunately--or fortunately--not necessary yet)
8. Replace gross kitchen linoleum
9. Repaint peeling doors
10. Get rid of crib in kids' room, rearrange furniture
You're welcome to swing on by! Give me your top ten! And when you suggest deep-sixing my favorite piece of tchotchke, I'll just ignore you.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Because An Artist is a Person in Your Neighborhood
One way I drive into my neighborhood takes me past a house that has intrigued me for a couple of months. The driveway is short; the house sits close to the street, near a busy corner with a liquor store and flower mart.
Last spring I noticed a table saw set up adjacent to the garage, and over summer weeks, three-to-four-foot wooden obelisks being assembled. One night as I drove by, I could see a man at work in the driveway in the dark, a tarp overhead and a string of light bulbs illuminating the space. I began admiring his mysterious project.
It appeared to me that his painstaking process involved gluing together boards of wood and then shaping or sanding them down. More recently the vertical, cylindrical pedestals were topped with wooden globes, and I imagined them to be crude sculptural representations of people.
Tonight I made up for my missed weekend run by heading out on my usual route at 6:15. It was darkening already by the time I reached the midpoint at 6:45--the bottom of a hill. I don't much like running in the dark. Although I know I run faster at night, I feel unsure of my footing--and kind of drunk as I estimate the sidewalk below me. I also have a healthy fear of running down dark, empty blocks. So I chose to go straight up a more oft-traveled street on my way home versus turning right through a quaint neighborhood.
Not far from home, I remembered that the next corner I rounded would take me past the sculptor's house. I vowed to stop and ask him about his constructions if he was outside at work.
Hence, the serendipitous encounter this evening that has me feeling thankful for where I live:
I stopped, sweaty, and introduced myself to James, who was hammering copper onto one of the obelisks. The other three pillars surrounded him: cylinder bodies with wooden globe heads. Clearly a family.
He confirmed my guess by explaining that his work represented himself and his three children, 24, 21, and seven years old (the latter adopted). The sculptures are versions of Japanese Kokeshi dolls, but he adds scrap metal in sun, moon, and other archetypal designs to depict each individual's connection to the myths of man.
I couldn't have been more excited to hear the intent and symbolism behind the figures I had watched evolve in his driveway. He talked more about his work and the influence of mythology on his art, pointing out additional pieces in his garage. I shared that students at my school read The Power of Myth before delving into world literatures.
"Ahh, Joseph Campbell!" he exclaimed. "Of course!"
I discovered that my neighbor is a former teacher and currently the building manager at the city jail--a job which affords him more time with his art. He has taught younger children and older, in elementary and high school and even court and community schools, where he made puppets with at-risk youth. Through art, he helped them learn to see--and represent--themselves in new ways.
And so our neighborhood has this privilege.
Before we parted, I asked him if he ever spoke to school groups. I imagine him talking with our students about art and mythology, about his career path and influences.
And I thanked him for inspiring me. What a wonderful Wednesday.
Last spring I noticed a table saw set up adjacent to the garage, and over summer weeks, three-to-four-foot wooden obelisks being assembled. One night as I drove by, I could see a man at work in the driveway in the dark, a tarp overhead and a string of light bulbs illuminating the space. I began admiring his mysterious project.
It appeared to me that his painstaking process involved gluing together boards of wood and then shaping or sanding them down. More recently the vertical, cylindrical pedestals were topped with wooden globes, and I imagined them to be crude sculptural representations of people.
Tonight I made up for my missed weekend run by heading out on my usual route at 6:15. It was darkening already by the time I reached the midpoint at 6:45--the bottom of a hill. I don't much like running in the dark. Although I know I run faster at night, I feel unsure of my footing--and kind of drunk as I estimate the sidewalk below me. I also have a healthy fear of running down dark, empty blocks. So I chose to go straight up a more oft-traveled street on my way home versus turning right through a quaint neighborhood.
Not far from home, I remembered that the next corner I rounded would take me past the sculptor's house. I vowed to stop and ask him about his constructions if he was outside at work.
Hence, the serendipitous encounter this evening that has me feeling thankful for where I live:
I stopped, sweaty, and introduced myself to James, who was hammering copper onto one of the obelisks. The other three pillars surrounded him: cylinder bodies with wooden globe heads. Clearly a family.
He confirmed my guess by explaining that his work represented himself and his three children, 24, 21, and seven years old (the latter adopted). The sculptures are versions of Japanese Kokeshi dolls, but he adds scrap metal in sun, moon, and other archetypal designs to depict each individual's connection to the myths of man.
I couldn't have been more excited to hear the intent and symbolism behind the figures I had watched evolve in his driveway. He talked more about his work and the influence of mythology on his art, pointing out additional pieces in his garage. I shared that students at my school read The Power of Myth before delving into world literatures.
"Ahh, Joseph Campbell!" he exclaimed. "Of course!"
I discovered that my neighbor is a former teacher and currently the building manager at the city jail--a job which affords him more time with his art. He has taught younger children and older, in elementary and high school and even court and community schools, where he made puppets with at-risk youth. Through art, he helped them learn to see--and represent--themselves in new ways.
And so our neighborhood has this privilege.
Before we parted, I asked him if he ever spoke to school groups. I imagine him talking with our students about art and mythology, about his career path and influences.
And I thanked him for inspiring me. What a wonderful Wednesday.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
The Election Hinges on the Sea World Issue
Here is a transcript of the conversation between me and three girls, including my daughter (five years old), and two friends/sisters, ages five and seven, in the minivan on our way to soccer games this morning:
7yo: What is that sign in your front yard?
Me: Well, there are elections coming up...
5yo: What are 'lections?
Me: It's when people vote for leaders.
7yo: Who are you voting for for President?
Me: I am voting for Obama.
7yo: (nodding) Yep, that's who my family is voting for.
Daughter: Who's that other guy who is never going to be President?
Me: (laughing) Well, that other guy could be President, and his name is McCain.
7yo: He's going to do it just like President Bush.
5yo: I couldn't remember 'Bamo's name, so I was cheering for the white-haired guy, but then I remembered it, so I started cheering for the brown-haired guy.
7yo: The reason I don't like President Bush is he took out the bestest part of Sea World and put in the Elmo stuff.
Me: (laughing again, and trying hard to commit this dialogue to memory) So, President Bush is the reason they changed Sea World?
7yo: Yeah. He ruined it. But...if Oback Obamo is elected, he will put in some more parks.
7yo: What is that sign in your front yard?
Me: Well, there are elections coming up...
5yo: What are 'lections?
Me: It's when people vote for leaders.
7yo: Who are you voting for for President?
Me: I am voting for Obama.
7yo: (nodding) Yep, that's who my family is voting for.
Daughter: Who's that other guy who is never going to be President?
Me: (laughing) Well, that other guy could be President, and his name is McCain.
7yo: He's going to do it just like President Bush.
5yo: I couldn't remember 'Bamo's name, so I was cheering for the white-haired guy, but then I remembered it, so I started cheering for the brown-haired guy.
7yo: The reason I don't like President Bush is he took out the bestest part of Sea World and put in the Elmo stuff.
Me: (laughing again, and trying hard to commit this dialogue to memory) So, President Bush is the reason they changed Sea World?
7yo: Yeah. He ruined it. But...if Oback Obamo is elected, he will put in some more parks.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Purse Strings
Our kindergartener came home from school this afternoon with a foreign object: a small black velour purse."What's that purse in your backpack?" I asked our daughter, who was busy making the non-alcoholic sangria I promised she could have since she lusted after the real kind I made for a shower on Sunday.
"Oh, that's a purse Mr. D found." Fork in hand, she mushed up the oranges in her cup.
"Who's Mr. D?"
"He's the man who cleans our school. He came in our class and asked if the purse belonged to any of us."
"And you said it was yours?"
She looked at me wide eyed and nodded.
"But, honey, that's not your purse."
"I thought it was." Her head down, she focused on furiously smashing fruit.
"Sweetie, did you really think it was your purse, or did you really want that purse?"
And then big tears welled up and overflowed onto her flushed cheeks.
So we had a little talk about lying, and returning that purse and, well, confessing to Mr. D or Ms. D, her teacher (no relation).
"But then Mr. D will know I LIED..." she wailed.
"I know, honey, but if you bring the purse back, Mr. D and Ms. D will understand that you want the owner of the purse to have it again, and that you're sorry. You learned something important, right? Everything will be okay, I promise."
But I could tell she was not convinced, and her wheels were turning.
Next I found her rummaging in her "office" for a piece of paper.
"What are you doing, sweetie?"
"I'm writing a letter to my teacher. I don't want to tell her I lied, so I will just give her a note." She began sounding out the letters.
A few minutes later, she presented her confession, written in black crayon on orange construction paper: "UM I THOT DAT PRS WUS MYN IM SRE MES D" [the rest of her teacher's name crawling up the side of the page].
She read aloud, "Umm...I thought that purse was mine. I'm sorry, Ms. D."
...maybe next time she semi-truthfully confesses her sins we will suggest that opening an admission with "ummm" slightly diminishes the strength of the message...
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Reason I am an Amateur Blogger instead of a Professional Writer
is because I can't seem to express how I feel about Sarah Palin as accurately and confidently as Kathleen Deveny does in this Newsweek column.
At the end of the day, and at the end of this Election, I imagine we will agree with Deveny that "when there are enough women in our political life, maybe we will be able to judge them as individuals, rather than representatives of all things uterine."
At the end of the day, and at the end of this Election, I imagine we will agree with Deveny that "when there are enough women in our political life, maybe we will be able to judge them as individuals, rather than representatives of all things uterine."
Sunday, September 21, 2008
List: Who's in Your Minivan?
I think a coworker and I were comparing Survivor contestants one day last year when the topic of conversation drifted to Celebrity Crushes. I recall mentioning my husband's affinity for Winona Ryder, which I don't get (I mean, she looks fabulous with short hair and has those doe eyes...but her Weird Factor kind of ruins it for me).
I began naming a few folks whose profiles--or personalities--I admire.
"Oh, like, who's in your minivan," my colleague nodded, encouraging me.
"Who's in your minivan?" I replied, bewildered.
"Yeah: if you could have five passengers in your minivan, who would they be? With special attention to who rides shotgun, of course..."
Now, my Mazda MPV minivan seats seven, so my list shall have six passengers. Starting in the back:
1. In the last row, to my right: Brandi Carlile. Have you seen this woman sing? She's beautiful in a very normal, not-even-trying way, and her voice and guitar fill up an arena. She's awesome. I'd like to be her friend.
2. In the last row, squeezed in the middle seat: Brad Pitt. I know it's trite. But it's trite for a reason. The guy doesn't have perfect skin and has some pretty funky cowlicks, but he's got It. And while I hate to jump on a People Magazine Sexiest Man Ever Bandwagon (he's the "first solo two-time winner," egads), he's gotta be in my minivan. He's in the back, but still. It's about how he's helping save the world, and stuff.
3. In the last row, left side: Matthew Fox. It pains me to put him in the far back behind me, but we'll hang out during pit stops. It's his earnestness, his facial hair...he's absolutely My Type, if this is based on appearance alone. But as Charlie on Party of Five, he was the big brother I never had. Only I didn't so much want him to be my big brother when I was watching.
4. Middle row, to my right: Lenny Kravitz. I need him there so I can glance over my shoulder for a glimpse now and then. And so I can hear him humming to the music we're playing in the minivan. When he sings "American Woman," I start running for the border.
5. Middle row, behind me: Hilary Swank. I think she's incredibly talented and sexy and sort of mysterious. She sits there because I don't mind if she and Lenny hook up...but I would be jealous if she and Matthew Fox got it on.
6. SHOTGUN: Jon Stewart. I would mostly likely crash the minivan with Jon as my copilot, because I would be alternately laughing and trying to make out with him*, but it's worth the risk.
Who's in your minivan? Post your passengers.
*I asked my husband if it was disrespectful to him to say I wanted to make out with Jon Stewart. "No, honey," he answered. "He's not very good looking." If that makes you feel better, honey.
I began naming a few folks whose profiles--or personalities--I admire.
"Oh, like, who's in your minivan," my colleague nodded, encouraging me.
"Who's in your minivan?" I replied, bewildered.
"Yeah: if you could have five passengers in your minivan, who would they be? With special attention to who rides shotgun, of course..."
Now, my Mazda MPV minivan seats seven, so my list shall have six passengers. Starting in the back:
1. In the last row, to my right: Brandi Carlile. Have you seen this woman sing? She's beautiful in a very normal, not-even-trying way, and her voice and guitar fill up an arena. She's awesome. I'd like to be her friend.
2. In the last row, squeezed in the middle seat: Brad Pitt. I know it's trite. But it's trite for a reason. The guy doesn't have perfect skin and has some pretty funky cowlicks, but he's got It. And while I hate to jump on a People Magazine Sexiest Man Ever Bandwagon (he's the "first solo two-time winner," egads), he's gotta be in my minivan. He's in the back, but still. It's about how he's helping save the world, and stuff.
3. In the last row, left side: Matthew Fox. It pains me to put him in the far back behind me, but we'll hang out during pit stops. It's his earnestness, his facial hair...he's absolutely My Type, if this is based on appearance alone. But as Charlie on Party of Five, he was the big brother I never had. Only I didn't so much want him to be my big brother when I was watching.
4. Middle row, to my right: Lenny Kravitz. I need him there so I can glance over my shoulder for a glimpse now and then. And so I can hear him humming to the music we're playing in the minivan. When he sings "American Woman," I start running for the border.
5. Middle row, behind me: Hilary Swank. I think she's incredibly talented and sexy and sort of mysterious. She sits there because I don't mind if she and Lenny hook up...but I would be jealous if she and Matthew Fox got it on.
6. SHOTGUN: Jon Stewart. I would mostly likely crash the minivan with Jon as my copilot, because I would be alternately laughing and trying to make out with him*, but it's worth the risk.
Who's in your minivan? Post your passengers.
*I asked my husband if it was disrespectful to him to say I wanted to make out with Jon Stewart. "No, honey," he answered. "He's not very good looking." If that makes you feel better, honey.
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