My old house had a built-in vanity in the bathroom. I am lazy, and I am vain, so I liked very much getting to sit down each morning to apply my makeup and fix my hair in front of a well-lit mirror.
This house --- does not.
So I bought a writing desk to put in my bedroom, to use as a vanity. To apply my make up and fix my hair and make myself beautiful each morning.
Then I bought a mirror to put on the desk, so I could watch myself apply my make up and fix my hair and make myself beautiful.
Then I bought a new chair to sit at the new desk and look in the new mirror and apply my make up and fix my hair and make myself beautiful.
The chair was too high. I couldn’t see in the mirror without scrunching down like a little old lady with bad posture.
So Blaine took the covered ends off each of the chair legs, cut off a few inches of each of the chair legs, and tried to put the plastic coverings back on the ends. But they were a tight fit and wouldn’t go back on easily. And his hammer was way far away in the garage. So he grabbed my hairbrush and started banging.
So that the chair would be the right height, so I could sit at my new vanity, and look in my new mirror, and apply my make up and fix my hair and make myself beautiful each day.
The hair brush was apparently not an adequate replacement for a hammer. It snapped in half while he was pounding on the chair legs.
So now, I have a new vanity, and a new mirror, and a new chair. And un-brushed hair every day because I can’t remember to go to the store and buy a new brush. And much like the hairbrush was not an adequate replacement for the hammer, my fingers are not an adequate replacement for the hairbrush.
Un-brushed hair? After a few days?
Is not so beautiful.
I look like a bush.
So much for vanity.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Freudian Snack
Kristie: "Kendrie, I just went to the grocery store today -- I'm sure you can find *something* in the pantry to eat."
Kendrie: "But, mom, you didn't buy any of the vagina sausages that I like!"
(pause)
Kristie: "Do you mean Vienna sausages?"
Kendrie: "Yeah, whatever."
Kendrie: "But, mom, you didn't buy any of the vagina sausages that I like!"
(pause)
Kristie: "Do you mean Vienna sausages?"
Kendrie: "Yeah, whatever."
Saturday, January 12, 2008
4:28
Where's that US State?
So, what's your time?
(PS. 3:42 the second time. But it's really not nice to gloat when you beat your nine-year old son, is it?)
So, what's your time?
(PS. 3:42 the second time. But it's really not nice to gloat when you beat your nine-year old son, is it?)
Friday, January 11, 2008
Another Funny Wedding Ring Story. If Being Called a Fat-Ass is Funny to You. Because Whoo-Boy, it Sure is To Me!
When I got pregnant with Kellen, I gained 60 pounds. (No, that’s not a typo. Six-zero.) I lost fifty of them before getting pregnant with Kendrie. Then gained those fifty back when I was pregnant with her. Why no, I don’t suffer from morning sickness or nausea; how did you guess?
While pregnant with Kellen, my hands got so fat (along with every other cell in my body) that I had to quit wearing my wedding ring. Same thing when I was pregnant with Kendrie. But after she was born, I don’t know if my finger joints had permanently puffed up, or if the stubborn ten …. fifteen …. OK, TWENTY pounds I still had hanging around was making the difference, but I couldn’t get my wedding ring back on my finger, no matter how much hand lotion or spit I used. (That’s a lovely image, isn’t it?)
So I finally caved and went down to have my ring stretched. Or expanded. Or whatever it is they do to make them bigger. And while the lady at the jewelry store was nice, I’ll admit I was self-conscious and a little embarrassed about it. Who wants to make the public confession that they’ve gotten so much fatter, even in the fingers, that their jewelry doesn’t fit?
Then, like being mortified by my fat-ness in front of one employee wasn’t enough, when I went back later to pick the ring up, there was a different girl working. She handed me the ring to try on, and asked me if it fit better. This is the conversation that followed:
Her: Does it feel better?
Me: Yes, actually, much better. I can at least get it past the knuckle now.
Her: Were you having it sized up or sized down?
Me: Oh, sized up. (feeling self-conscious, so doing that stupid self-deprecating thing that I do) I guess that’s what happens when you’ve gotten pregnant twice only eight months apart …. Your fingers get bigger and you need to get bigger rings (embarrassed laughter)
Her: Well, I suppose. But after you have this one, you’ll just have to get it sized back down again.
Have this one? HAVE this one? Did I mention that I had already HAD the baby? Like, THREE MONTHS earlier????
So, needless to say, since I was already at the mall, I called Blaine and told him I was going shopping. For clothes that did a better job of hiding my post-baby tummy. Sadly, it’s been eight years and I’m still searching the racks. (sigh)
While pregnant with Kellen, my hands got so fat (along with every other cell in my body) that I had to quit wearing my wedding ring. Same thing when I was pregnant with Kendrie. But after she was born, I don’t know if my finger joints had permanently puffed up, or if the stubborn ten …. fifteen …. OK, TWENTY pounds I still had hanging around was making the difference, but I couldn’t get my wedding ring back on my finger, no matter how much hand lotion or spit I used. (That’s a lovely image, isn’t it?)
So I finally caved and went down to have my ring stretched. Or expanded. Or whatever it is they do to make them bigger. And while the lady at the jewelry store was nice, I’ll admit I was self-conscious and a little embarrassed about it. Who wants to make the public confession that they’ve gotten so much fatter, even in the fingers, that their jewelry doesn’t fit?
Then, like being mortified by my fat-ness in front of one employee wasn’t enough, when I went back later to pick the ring up, there was a different girl working. She handed me the ring to try on, and asked me if it fit better. This is the conversation that followed:
Her: Does it feel better?
Me: Yes, actually, much better. I can at least get it past the knuckle now.
Her: Were you having it sized up or sized down?
Me: Oh, sized up. (feeling self-conscious, so doing that stupid self-deprecating thing that I do) I guess that’s what happens when you’ve gotten pregnant twice only eight months apart …. Your fingers get bigger and you need to get bigger rings (embarrassed laughter)
Her: Well, I suppose. But after you have this one, you’ll just have to get it sized back down again.
Have this one? HAVE this one? Did I mention that I had already HAD the baby? Like, THREE MONTHS earlier????
So, needless to say, since I was already at the mall, I called Blaine and told him I was going shopping. For clothes that did a better job of hiding my post-baby tummy. Sadly, it’s been eight years and I’m still searching the racks. (sigh)
Thursday, January 10, 2008
With This Ring …..
A year or two ago, after Blaine had radiation, he went through this weird sort of “swollen” phase. His hands, his fingers; even his feet and ankles. For months and months, pretty much, he looked like me at about eight months pregnant. And while we could laugh at the indentions around his ankles that his socks would leave, he did hate the fact that he had to stop wearing his wedding ring. He hadn’t gained any weight (which is the reason why *my* wedding ring doesn’t fit me anymore, and why now I just wear my anniversary band on my left hand) but still, that twenty-year old ring wouldn’t go even past his knuckle. And I guess maybe the joints expanded or something, because even after the swelling finally went away, the ring still didn’t fit.
He asked for a new wedding band for Christmas this year, so that’s what I bought him. He had been carrying his old band around, attached to his key chain. After he got the new ring he took the old ring off the key chain and set it on the windowsill under the kitchen window. He mentioned casually that he didn’t know what to do with the old ring, and I said to definitely keep it, that I might like to wear it on a chain sometime. Which sparked the following conversation:
Kendrie: Well, can I have it?
Blaine: What do you want my old wedding ring for?
Kendrie, in total seriousness: To give to Nicholas.
Blaine (practically snorted with laughter): No, you can not have my first wedding ring to give to Nicholas!
Kendrie: Well, then, could you take me shopping so I can get him a new ring?
Kristie: Kendrie, why do you want to buy him a ring? Isn’t that sort of a grown-up gift?
Blaine: No, honey, I don’t think you need to send Nicholas a ring, new OR old.
Kendrie paused, and just looked at us like we had no good common sense, before replying: Mom, Dad, he’s READY for Phase Two!
He asked for a new wedding band for Christmas this year, so that’s what I bought him. He had been carrying his old band around, attached to his key chain. After he got the new ring he took the old ring off the key chain and set it on the windowsill under the kitchen window. He mentioned casually that he didn’t know what to do with the old ring, and I said to definitely keep it, that I might like to wear it on a chain sometime. Which sparked the following conversation:
Kendrie: Well, can I have it?
Blaine: What do you want my old wedding ring for?
Kendrie, in total seriousness: To give to Nicholas.
Blaine (practically snorted with laughter): No, you can not have my first wedding ring to give to Nicholas!
Kendrie: Well, then, could you take me shopping so I can get him a new ring?
Kristie: Kendrie, why do you want to buy him a ring? Isn’t that sort of a grown-up gift?
Blaine: No, honey, I don’t think you need to send Nicholas a ring, new OR old.
Kendrie paused, and just looked at us like we had no good common sense, before replying: Mom, Dad, he’s READY for Phase Two!
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Off to a Great Start
Sorry for the lack of updates the past two days, but the vast majority of my time has been spent at our rent house. Yesterday, from 8:30 in the morning (floor guy) until 10:30 at night (cabinet guy). Since I can’t paint while they are sanding the floors, I spent the vast majority of the day sitting in a lawn chair in the master bedroom, watching “The 40-yr old Virgin” and “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants” on our portable DVD player and re-reading Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. I did leave long enough today to have lunch with my mom, though, and Blaine took the evening shift tonight to give me a break. Although sitting alone at the rent house while big burly men work is a lot easier than being in the “real” house and having to get these three hooligans bathed and in bed at a decent time.
On another note, I began the New Year with the plan to eat healthier and be more active. So, by sitting down, watching movies and reading all day, I think my EYE muscles are going to be good and strong. I’m definitely accomplishing at least one of my goals. And who cares that my mother introduced me to the goodness that is fried green beans today -- have you ever *had* fried green beans? No? Then trust me, you should get you some. I’m pretty sure that the healthy-ness of the vegetable cancels out the bad-ness of the fried and that the bean juice will help unclog my arteries.
Yeeeeeaaaahhhhh. Diet. And exercise.
I’m off to a rollickin’ good start, aren’t I?
On another note, I began the New Year with the plan to eat healthier and be more active. So, by sitting down, watching movies and reading all day, I think my EYE muscles are going to be good and strong. I’m definitely accomplishing at least one of my goals. And who cares that my mother introduced me to the goodness that is fried green beans today -- have you ever *had* fried green beans? No? Then trust me, you should get you some. I’m pretty sure that the healthy-ness of the vegetable cancels out the bad-ness of the fried and that the bean juice will help unclog my arteries.
Yeeeeeaaaahhhhh. Diet. And exercise.
I’m off to a rollickin’ good start, aren’t I?
Sunday, January 06, 2008
The only thing …
The only thing more grueling than trying to keep three high-energy kids entertained during a too-cold-to-play-outside-for-most-of-it Christmas Break with nothing but a paint roller for company?
The anticipation of getting them up at 6:30 am for their first day back to school.
It’s 10 pm now, and they are still going strong upstairs. I hear running. I hear squealing. I hear laughing. I hear yelling. Their’s, and Blaine’s.
Lord, deliver me from tomorrow morning. Thank you in advance.
The anticipation of getting them up at 6:30 am for their first day back to school.
It’s 10 pm now, and they are still going strong upstairs. I hear running. I hear squealing. I hear laughing. I hear yelling. Their’s, and Blaine’s.
Lord, deliver me from tomorrow morning. Thank you in advance.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Blaine’s turn for a nervous breakdown
The scene: Our bedroom, this evening.
The prop in question: The writing desk I just purchased.
The conditions: Blaine’s hair, standing on end. Well, if he had enough to stand on end, that is.
Blaine: No, of course I don’t **mind** putting it together for you. It’s just that it’s never as easy as they say it's going to be. This is the third or fourth piece of some-assembly-required furniture that you’ve bought since we moved here. It takes, like, all day to put them together, and it never makes sense, and I always wind up with an extra bracket or a missing screw or a piece of the instruction booklet is torn out, or something! This shit makes me crazy!
Kristie: Well, I’m sure it will look great when it’s done; you always do a really good job.
Blaine: Yeah, if I don’t lose my mind first.
Kristie: Hopefully this one will go smoothly and will only take a short time.
Blaine: Uh-huh. And maybe MONKEYS will fly out of my butt.
Kristie: Well, when they do, hand them a hammer and a screwdriver and tell them to get cracking.
The prop in question: The writing desk I just purchased.
The conditions: Blaine’s hair, standing on end. Well, if he had enough to stand on end, that is.
Blaine: No, of course I don’t **mind** putting it together for you. It’s just that it’s never as easy as they say it's going to be. This is the third or fourth piece of some-assembly-required furniture that you’ve bought since we moved here. It takes, like, all day to put them together, and it never makes sense, and I always wind up with an extra bracket or a missing screw or a piece of the instruction booklet is torn out, or something! This shit makes me crazy!
Kristie: Well, I’m sure it will look great when it’s done; you always do a really good job.
Blaine: Yeah, if I don’t lose my mind first.
Kristie: Hopefully this one will go smoothly and will only take a short time.
Blaine: Uh-huh. And maybe MONKEYS will fly out of my butt.
Kristie: Well, when they do, hand them a hammer and a screwdriver and tell them to get cracking.
I am not qualified to be a landlord. Or a parent. Or a homeowner. Or probably even a human being at this point.
You know, normally I pride myself on my optimistic attitude. Normally I don’t get bogged down by silly stuff and can see the bright side of things. *Normally* I consider myself a relatively cheerful person. But I must admit, the past six weeks or so I’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed.
The move, living with my mom for a week, setting up the new house, trying to ready the rent house, getting the kids in their new school right off the bat, trying to merge my “old” Oklahoma life with my “current” life, and then just about the time I felt I was coming up for air, the holidays fell on my head. None of these things are bad or stressful or evil by themselves, just that you add them all together and I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off, busy all the time, yet feeling like a total loser because my “to-do” pile is consistently bigger than my “already done” pile, no matter how hard I work. It sort of hit an apex this week when Blaine was sick because instead of using this Christmas Break as an opportunity to get lots done like I planned, well, I’d look over at him, huddled under a blanket, alternately shivering freezing and then burning up and then getting up to puke, and good wife that I am, I just felt like, “Geez Louise! One more #*(&$#(*& thing to take care of!!” (Yes, he is one lucky man, isn’t he?)
I hate whiners, and yesterday I decided I was tired of listening to myself whine about it. About my life, and the stress in it. (Waaaah. What a baby. Was my kid diagnosed with cancer today? No? Then it was NOT a stressful day, is all I need to remind myself.) So I decided to get up today and make a fresh start --- mainly with my attitude. As long as I accomplish *something* every day, then it will eventually all get done, right? And I’m going to feel good about it in the meantime.
We needed a new cable outlet in our living room, and had Cox scheduled to come to the house this morning between 8am and 10am. I set my alarm for early enough that by the time he showed up at 8:30, I had already made a triple batch of chocolate chip pancakes and done two loads of laundry. Pretty good start, eh?
Then, the minute he was done, I loaded up the kids and drove to the rent house, where I met with the “handyman” I hired and discussed the work I want done. (OK, to clarify, the work I *can afford* to have done at this time.) But he seemed very competent and pleasant and receptive to my ideas, so when we were finished, I was feeling pretty damn smug about myself.
I had planned a bowling outing for my kids and let them invite a few classmates in an attempt to help them make friends here at their new school. So two moms that I don’t even know were meeting us at the bowling alley at noon sharp to take advantage of the free bowling passes that were given out on the last day before Christmas break started.
We had exactly enough time to make it to Home Depot and purchase a new medicine cabinet before going to the bowling alley … exactly. And not wasting a minute of time fell right in line with my new “Total Efficiency Time Management Strategy” Since I was on a roll and wanted today to be as productive as possible, off we went.
Walked in, found the precise size and color cabinet I needed, paid for it, walked out, and BLAM!!! The Oklahoma wind, which was blowing at about thirty degrees below zero and at about a bazillion miles per hour today, slammed into the cabinet, flipped it out of my cart, and the mirror shattered all over the Home Depot parking lot.
It was one of those slow-motion moments, where I could see the cabinet falling, and tried to catch it with my foot (the hell? What was I thinking? Do I have, like, a bionic foot?) A lady several parking spaces over saw what happened, looked me right in they eye, and said, “Wow, that sucked.” Yeah, thanks.
So I picked up as many broken shards of glass as I could, as the wind was whipping the curse words in an icy frenzy around my head, and then traipsed the entire length of the parking lot because for some reason I don’t understand, you have to walk IN one end of Home Depot and walk OUT the complete other end, so I had to carry that broken medicine cabinet (did I mention HEAVY broken medicine cabinet, despite my freakishly strong arm muscles??) all the way to the other end. I tried desperately to find a way to blame it on my children, but no, it was just the wind, and the fact that I’m too moronic to securely place things properly in the cart.
Kudos to Home Depot, they offered to let me change out the cabinet for a new one, no charge. I looked the customer service lady right in the eye and said, “But you understand there was nothing wrong with this one except the fact I’m a LOSER who broke it??” and she kindly said, “I’ll get one of the guys to help you get the new one loaded in your car.” Now how nice was that?
Except, we were now running a little short on time. And I had apparently bought the very last 30x30 surface mounting tri-fold mirror with white edging medicine cabinet they had. Oh, wait. Except for that one waaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy up on the very tippy-top shelf, so they had to drag that motorized ladder from another part of the store in order to reach it.
And we were now officially late for the bowling alley.
Despite the fact I made a terrible first impression by asking these moms to meet me, then not showing up on time, they were both still waiting for me in the parking lot, free passes in hand. Free passes to the WRONG bowling alley, because I didn’t look closely enough and just assumed I was telling them the right alley. Because I’m a mirror-breaking moron.
So I loaded up their kids in my van and drove everyone to the correct bowling alley, telling the other moms that we’d eat lunch at the bowling alley, then bowl a few games, then I’d bring the kids home. I drove all the kids there, got out of the van, traipsed into the bowling alley, and discovered the restaurant doesn’t open until dinner time. So right back out to the parking lot we went, because I am a mirror-breaking, bowling-alley-protocol moron.
I took all the kids to what might have been the slowest working Burger King on the planet, but after a while, we had all been served, had eaten, and were ready to hit the lanes. Finally!
Kellen and his friend decided they didn’t want to use the bumpers, while Brayden, Kendrie, and Kendrie’s little friend did. Oh, did I mention that Brayden was already pouting because we had invited three school friends to go with her and none of them were available? She kept going on and on about how “I’m the only one here without a friend!” and I wanted to say, “What about your brother and sister? Don’t they count for anything?” Hoping things would calm down once everyone got shoes that fit (dear heavens, is that a trial all of its own or what!?!?) I put myself on a non-bumper lane with the boys, and Brayden and the two younger ones on the lane next to us, WITH bumpers.
Now, my kids enjoy bowling. They really, truly like it. But this was the first time Kellen had ever chosen to bowl without bumpers, and once he realized how much he sucked, the scowling began in earnest. By the fifth frame, when he had bowled seven gutters and had a total score of 19, he declared bowling was the stupidest game ever and he wasn’t doing it anymore. And sat down, crossed him arms across his chest, and refused to go again. When I FORCED him to finish the game, because hello, you have a GUEST here, and you are acting like a 2-yr old baby and embarrassing both yourself AND ME, he began just flinging the ball down the lane willy-nilly, not even trying, not even standing there long enough to see if he knocked any pins down. Just rolling the ball and walking back to his seat immediately with a big huge ugly pout on his face. (I’m sure if my mom is reading this, she’s laughing to herself because apparently I was a big pouter in my younger years, too. And if Blaine reads this, he’ll laugh because he says I still pout now.)
Then Brayden got beat by an 8-yr old, which really made her mad, and then Kendrie got tired and started laying down between frames. I had to admit that the only two kids acting properly were the two friends we had along, and my own children were not only embarrassing the hell out of me, but perhaps are candidates for youth boarding school. Abroad. Or, a swift kick in the ass. Either one would have been fine with me.
Then Kellen’s friend wanted to go play arcade games and I had to tell him no, because no way was I going to let him go by himself, and even bigger no way was I going to reward Kellen’s shitty behavior with money for pinball. And the longer I sat there, and watched my kids act like brats, the clearer it became that perhaps Blaine and I should have simply bought an iguana or something ten years ago instead of trying this parenting gig, at which I am so undoubtedly failing.
Finally the bowling was over, and I drove the other kids home. Riding back to our house, I lectured all the way (because we all know how much attention my kids were really paying to my rambling, right?) about how it will be a cold day in Hell before I plan anything fun for them if that’s how they’re going to act, and blah blah blah, their eyeballs were rolling back up in their heads.
Then we arrived home, I opened the garage door, still lecturing, and realized that in my rush, I didn’t pull the door closed securely enough when we left that morning. So now, the back door has been open all day, and I’ve paid good money to heat the double-car garage. Greeeeaaaaat.
That’s when it hit me. I’m too klutzy to be a good home-improvement landlord. Too easily frustrated to be a parent. And too irresponsible to be a homeowner.
Maybe I should just buy LOTS of iguanas, and try iguana farming.
Oh well, to quote Scarlett, after all, tomorrow is, another day. I’ll just keep trying, until I get it right. Or until I give the hell up and move to someplace where no-one owns a home or has any children, because that might be the only place on earth I’m qualified to live. With my iguanas.
The move, living with my mom for a week, setting up the new house, trying to ready the rent house, getting the kids in their new school right off the bat, trying to merge my “old” Oklahoma life with my “current” life, and then just about the time I felt I was coming up for air, the holidays fell on my head. None of these things are bad or stressful or evil by themselves, just that you add them all together and I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off, busy all the time, yet feeling like a total loser because my “to-do” pile is consistently bigger than my “already done” pile, no matter how hard I work. It sort of hit an apex this week when Blaine was sick because instead of using this Christmas Break as an opportunity to get lots done like I planned, well, I’d look over at him, huddled under a blanket, alternately shivering freezing and then burning up and then getting up to puke, and good wife that I am, I just felt like, “Geez Louise! One more #*(&$#(*& thing to take care of!!” (Yes, he is one lucky man, isn’t he?)
I hate whiners, and yesterday I decided I was tired of listening to myself whine about it. About my life, and the stress in it. (Waaaah. What a baby. Was my kid diagnosed with cancer today? No? Then it was NOT a stressful day, is all I need to remind myself.) So I decided to get up today and make a fresh start --- mainly with my attitude. As long as I accomplish *something* every day, then it will eventually all get done, right? And I’m going to feel good about it in the meantime.
We needed a new cable outlet in our living room, and had Cox scheduled to come to the house this morning between 8am and 10am. I set my alarm for early enough that by the time he showed up at 8:30, I had already made a triple batch of chocolate chip pancakes and done two loads of laundry. Pretty good start, eh?
Then, the minute he was done, I loaded up the kids and drove to the rent house, where I met with the “handyman” I hired and discussed the work I want done. (OK, to clarify, the work I *can afford* to have done at this time.) But he seemed very competent and pleasant and receptive to my ideas, so when we were finished, I was feeling pretty damn smug about myself.
I had planned a bowling outing for my kids and let them invite a few classmates in an attempt to help them make friends here at their new school. So two moms that I don’t even know were meeting us at the bowling alley at noon sharp to take advantage of the free bowling passes that were given out on the last day before Christmas break started.
We had exactly enough time to make it to Home Depot and purchase a new medicine cabinet before going to the bowling alley … exactly. And not wasting a minute of time fell right in line with my new “Total Efficiency Time Management Strategy” Since I was on a roll and wanted today to be as productive as possible, off we went.
Walked in, found the precise size and color cabinet I needed, paid for it, walked out, and BLAM!!! The Oklahoma wind, which was blowing at about thirty degrees below zero and at about a bazillion miles per hour today, slammed into the cabinet, flipped it out of my cart, and the mirror shattered all over the Home Depot parking lot.
It was one of those slow-motion moments, where I could see the cabinet falling, and tried to catch it with my foot (the hell? What was I thinking? Do I have, like, a bionic foot?) A lady several parking spaces over saw what happened, looked me right in they eye, and said, “Wow, that sucked.” Yeah, thanks.
So I picked up as many broken shards of glass as I could, as the wind was whipping the curse words in an icy frenzy around my head, and then traipsed the entire length of the parking lot because for some reason I don’t understand, you have to walk IN one end of Home Depot and walk OUT the complete other end, so I had to carry that broken medicine cabinet (did I mention HEAVY broken medicine cabinet, despite my freakishly strong arm muscles??) all the way to the other end. I tried desperately to find a way to blame it on my children, but no, it was just the wind, and the fact that I’m too moronic to securely place things properly in the cart.
Kudos to Home Depot, they offered to let me change out the cabinet for a new one, no charge. I looked the customer service lady right in the eye and said, “But you understand there was nothing wrong with this one except the fact I’m a LOSER who broke it??” and she kindly said, “I’ll get one of the guys to help you get the new one loaded in your car.” Now how nice was that?
Except, we were now running a little short on time. And I had apparently bought the very last 30x30 surface mounting tri-fold mirror with white edging medicine cabinet they had. Oh, wait. Except for that one waaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy up on the very tippy-top shelf, so they had to drag that motorized ladder from another part of the store in order to reach it.
And we were now officially late for the bowling alley.
Despite the fact I made a terrible first impression by asking these moms to meet me, then not showing up on time, they were both still waiting for me in the parking lot, free passes in hand. Free passes to the WRONG bowling alley, because I didn’t look closely enough and just assumed I was telling them the right alley. Because I’m a mirror-breaking moron.
So I loaded up their kids in my van and drove everyone to the correct bowling alley, telling the other moms that we’d eat lunch at the bowling alley, then bowl a few games, then I’d bring the kids home. I drove all the kids there, got out of the van, traipsed into the bowling alley, and discovered the restaurant doesn’t open until dinner time. So right back out to the parking lot we went, because I am a mirror-breaking, bowling-alley-protocol moron.
I took all the kids to what might have been the slowest working Burger King on the planet, but after a while, we had all been served, had eaten, and were ready to hit the lanes. Finally!
Kellen and his friend decided they didn’t want to use the bumpers, while Brayden, Kendrie, and Kendrie’s little friend did. Oh, did I mention that Brayden was already pouting because we had invited three school friends to go with her and none of them were available? She kept going on and on about how “I’m the only one here without a friend!” and I wanted to say, “What about your brother and sister? Don’t they count for anything?” Hoping things would calm down once everyone got shoes that fit (dear heavens, is that a trial all of its own or what!?!?) I put myself on a non-bumper lane with the boys, and Brayden and the two younger ones on the lane next to us, WITH bumpers.
Now, my kids enjoy bowling. They really, truly like it. But this was the first time Kellen had ever chosen to bowl without bumpers, and once he realized how much he sucked, the scowling began in earnest. By the fifth frame, when he had bowled seven gutters and had a total score of 19, he declared bowling was the stupidest game ever and he wasn’t doing it anymore. And sat down, crossed him arms across his chest, and refused to go again. When I FORCED him to finish the game, because hello, you have a GUEST here, and you are acting like a 2-yr old baby and embarrassing both yourself AND ME, he began just flinging the ball down the lane willy-nilly, not even trying, not even standing there long enough to see if he knocked any pins down. Just rolling the ball and walking back to his seat immediately with a big huge ugly pout on his face. (I’m sure if my mom is reading this, she’s laughing to herself because apparently I was a big pouter in my younger years, too. And if Blaine reads this, he’ll laugh because he says I still pout now.)
Then Brayden got beat by an 8-yr old, which really made her mad, and then Kendrie got tired and started laying down between frames. I had to admit that the only two kids acting properly were the two friends we had along, and my own children were not only embarrassing the hell out of me, but perhaps are candidates for youth boarding school. Abroad. Or, a swift kick in the ass. Either one would have been fine with me.
Then Kellen’s friend wanted to go play arcade games and I had to tell him no, because no way was I going to let him go by himself, and even bigger no way was I going to reward Kellen’s shitty behavior with money for pinball. And the longer I sat there, and watched my kids act like brats, the clearer it became that perhaps Blaine and I should have simply bought an iguana or something ten years ago instead of trying this parenting gig, at which I am so undoubtedly failing.
Finally the bowling was over, and I drove the other kids home. Riding back to our house, I lectured all the way (because we all know how much attention my kids were really paying to my rambling, right?) about how it will be a cold day in Hell before I plan anything fun for them if that’s how they’re going to act, and blah blah blah, their eyeballs were rolling back up in their heads.
Then we arrived home, I opened the garage door, still lecturing, and realized that in my rush, I didn’t pull the door closed securely enough when we left that morning. So now, the back door has been open all day, and I’ve paid good money to heat the double-car garage. Greeeeaaaaat.
That’s when it hit me. I’m too klutzy to be a good home-improvement landlord. Too easily frustrated to be a parent. And too irresponsible to be a homeowner.
Maybe I should just buy LOTS of iguanas, and try iguana farming.
Oh well, to quote Scarlett, after all, tomorrow is, another day. I’ll just keep trying, until I get it right. Or until I give the hell up and move to someplace where no-one owns a home or has any children, because that might be the only place on earth I’m qualified to live. With my iguanas.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Not his fault
I feel like I should point out, in Blaine’s defense, that he was interested in hiring a painter right from the get-go for the rent house. *I* was the one who was all, “Hey, let me! I’m pretty handy, and I’ll save us all kinds of money, and Vern Yip makes it look so easy --- it will be FUN!” And for the most part, it has been fun. Just slightly annoying because I so drastically underestimated how long it would take, and how many coats it would take, plus add in a loss of electricity due to an ice storm which slowed me down by almost a week, and a husband who caught the flu or a stomach bug or *something* on New Years Eve and JUST stopped puking TODAY and who for goodness’ sake expected all sorts of unreasonable things like for me to pour him Sprite and bring him Saltines really, the nerve, didn’t he know I had painting to do???? …… and so bottom line, the painting is not going to be done when the guys come to put in the new floors on Monday like I had hoped.
Other than *THAT*, it’s been fun.
And while I still haven’t caved and called a painter (although dudes and dudettes, the ceilings? Seriously? I rolled the bathroom ceiling with primer tonight and my GOD am I out of shape, even with my freakishly overdeveloped shoulder muscles there is no WAY I am doing the entire rest of the house … funny, when we were thinking about living in it, the house seemed so tiny, and now that I’m painting it, it’s a freaking mansion is all I’m saying) I do have a handyman coming to give me an estimate on replacing the bathroom cabinet and sink tomorrow, and an electrician coming next week to replace all the lighting, and honestly, there’s a wee bit of light at the end of the tunnel and I am SO extremely hopeful for the final outcome.
Whew! Pictures to follow, whether you want them or not.
And for now, I think I'll shut up about it.
In the meantime, in an effort to not let our entire Christmas Break be a wash, I promised the kids I would take them bowling tomorrow. As you might remember, we don't always have the best of luck bowling. So wish us luck, 'kay?
Other than *THAT*, it’s been fun.
And while I still haven’t caved and called a painter (although dudes and dudettes, the ceilings? Seriously? I rolled the bathroom ceiling with primer tonight and my GOD am I out of shape, even with my freakishly overdeveloped shoulder muscles there is no WAY I am doing the entire rest of the house … funny, when we were thinking about living in it, the house seemed so tiny, and now that I’m painting it, it’s a freaking mansion is all I’m saying) I do have a handyman coming to give me an estimate on replacing the bathroom cabinet and sink tomorrow, and an electrician coming next week to replace all the lighting, and honestly, there’s a wee bit of light at the end of the tunnel and I am SO extremely hopeful for the final outcome.
Whew! Pictures to follow, whether you want them or not.
And for now, I think I'll shut up about it.
In the meantime, in an effort to not let our entire Christmas Break be a wash, I promised the kids I would take them bowling tomorrow. As you might remember, we don't always have the best of luck bowling. So wish us luck, 'kay?
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
The Ugly Voice of Reason
Blaine: “All I’m saying is that it’s taking a really long time, and maybe we should explore some other options. ”
Kristie: “Wah-wah-wah” (imagine the sound of the teacher voice in the Charlie Brown movies.)
Blaine: “Well, no, just that we both thought you’d be done by now. At least with the first coat.”
Kristie: Charlie Brown voice.
Blaine: “Yes, I *know* that it’s not your fault that the kids are off on Christmas Break and don’t want to spend every day there. It’s also not your fault that the Home Depot guy was all liar liar pants on fire about the paint and primer and now it’s taking longer because you’re having to do three and four coats …. It’s just that, well …..”
Kristie: Charlie Brown voice.
Blaine: “I would help you if I could, but I can hardly take off work from my brand new job to do it during the day.”
Kristie: slightly cranky Charlie Brown voice
Blaine: “Of COURSE I think you’re doing a wonderful job --- the parts that are finished look great. You’re swell, honest! It’s just that …. Well …. We need to be realistic and weigh the cost vs. the savings.”
Kristie: Charlie Brown voice
Blaine: “You know, compare what we’re saving to what we’re losing. For every week you spend painting, that’s a week we can’t have renters in it, and another week we’re getting no rental income. So in the long run, the savings of not hiring a professional painter, and the time we’re losing, is costing us money.”
Kristie: Charlie Brown voice
Blaine: “No, it’s not that I think a professional painter could do it better, and certainly not with as much love and caring as you’re doing it, just that they would do it ….. well ….. faster. You’re slow.”
Deathly. Still. Total. Mutinous. Silence.
Blaine: “Ow! Ow! Stop hitting me with your freakishly overdeveloped arm muscles!!!”
Kristie: “Wah-wah-wah” (imagine the sound of the teacher voice in the Charlie Brown movies.)
Blaine: “Well, no, just that we both thought you’d be done by now. At least with the first coat.”
Kristie: Charlie Brown voice.
Blaine: “Yes, I *know* that it’s not your fault that the kids are off on Christmas Break and don’t want to spend every day there. It’s also not your fault that the Home Depot guy was all liar liar pants on fire about the paint and primer and now it’s taking longer because you’re having to do three and four coats …. It’s just that, well …..”
Kristie: Charlie Brown voice.
Blaine: “I would help you if I could, but I can hardly take off work from my brand new job to do it during the day.”
Kristie: slightly cranky Charlie Brown voice
Blaine: “Of COURSE I think you’re doing a wonderful job --- the parts that are finished look great. You’re swell, honest! It’s just that …. Well …. We need to be realistic and weigh the cost vs. the savings.”
Kristie: Charlie Brown voice
Blaine: “You know, compare what we’re saving to what we’re losing. For every week you spend painting, that’s a week we can’t have renters in it, and another week we’re getting no rental income. So in the long run, the savings of not hiring a professional painter, and the time we’re losing, is costing us money.”
Kristie: Charlie Brown voice
Blaine: “No, it’s not that I think a professional painter could do it better, and certainly not with as much love and caring as you’re doing it, just that they would do it ….. well ….. faster. You’re slow.”
Deathly. Still. Total. Mutinous. Silence.
Blaine: “Ow! Ow! Stop hitting me with your freakishly overdeveloped arm muscles!!!”
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
New Years Resolutions
You know, it’s almost too depressing to even write down. Same thing every year ---- lose weight, exercise more, eat healthier, blah blah blah. It’s exhausting, repeating myself like this every year and then dragging around the weight of the guilt and shame of never actually doing it. What? What’s that you say? The weight of shame doesn’t actually WEIGH anything? So dragging it around *isn’t* technically exercise? Well, crap, no wonder I’m not losing anything --- I thought that counted as a cardio activity!
I also vow every New Years that I will try harder to be organized, not let clutter overtake my life, and not be so discouraged by the never-ending piles of laundry. Now that last one, I think I have a handle on this time. Although I was moaning and complaining about the expense of having to buy a brand-new washer and dryer two weeks before Christmas, I can say, after using them for a few weeks, that they are fabulous. I can wash loads twice as big, and dry them in half the time. Plus my utility room is nice sized in this house so I’m not hitting my head on the dryer door when I bend over or bumping my big fat rear against the washer whenever I turn around. In fact, next to my pantry, the utility room might be my favorite room in this house --- I’ll have to share pictures so you guys can truly know the depths of my goober-ness.
But back to the weight thing. As I was stuffing my face last week with all the chocolate and carb-y wonderfulness that is Christmas, I asked myself, “What can I do this year that will be different? That will encourage me to actually stick with a diet and exercise plan past the 2nd of January? That will motivate me to in fact GET ON the treadmill, instead of telling myself that since it’s upstairs, by the time I get up there I’ve already exercised enough?”
Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that this past Sunday, I had to wear maternity pants to church. MATERNITY PANTS. And I’m NOT PREGNANT. I’ve just gained so much weight that none of my dress slacks fit me. All one pair of them, that is. Obviously, I haven’t gone shopping for church clothes in the pasttwenty pounds few years, and it’s time to either hit the mall, or the gym.
(sigh) You know which one I want to choose, don’t you? Is it that transparent?
In the meantime, I’ve dvr’d The Biggest Loser tonight. I’m going to go sit in the living room, watch tv, and eat all the leftover spice drops from our Gingerbread House Making Extravaganza this afternoon. Hey, if I eat *enough* spice drops, maybe I’ll eventually qualify as a contestant on the show ……
Seriously. I have no idea why I have a weight problem.
Happy New Year to you, too.
PS. I didn’t journal about it because I gotcompletely freaking overwhelmed with the move and the house and the new school and the unpacking and good heavens I’m going to have a nervous breakdown busy with the holidays, but Blaine and I attended the TSO concert last Saturday. I love, love, love that band and normally play their music on my site the entire month of December. However, I think I must have let the domain name where I store my music expire because all of a sudden I can’t upload music or access the site anymore, and quite frankly, I’m so computer-challenged that to sit down and figure it out is more than I can undertake right now. But for a hysterical and VERY TRUE account of the concert, go here and scroll down to her Dec 21st entry. She is right on the money and I laughed the entire time I was reading it.
Now, where are those spice drops?
I also vow every New Years that I will try harder to be organized, not let clutter overtake my life, and not be so discouraged by the never-ending piles of laundry. Now that last one, I think I have a handle on this time. Although I was moaning and complaining about the expense of having to buy a brand-new washer and dryer two weeks before Christmas, I can say, after using them for a few weeks, that they are fabulous. I can wash loads twice as big, and dry them in half the time. Plus my utility room is nice sized in this house so I’m not hitting my head on the dryer door when I bend over or bumping my big fat rear against the washer whenever I turn around. In fact, next to my pantry, the utility room might be my favorite room in this house --- I’ll have to share pictures so you guys can truly know the depths of my goober-ness.
But back to the weight thing. As I was stuffing my face last week with all the chocolate and carb-y wonderfulness that is Christmas, I asked myself, “What can I do this year that will be different? That will encourage me to actually stick with a diet and exercise plan past the 2nd of January? That will motivate me to in fact GET ON the treadmill, instead of telling myself that since it’s upstairs, by the time I get up there I’ve already exercised enough?”
Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that this past Sunday, I had to wear maternity pants to church. MATERNITY PANTS. And I’m NOT PREGNANT. I’ve just gained so much weight that none of my dress slacks fit me. All one pair of them, that is. Obviously, I haven’t gone shopping for church clothes in the past
(sigh) You know which one I want to choose, don’t you? Is it that transparent?
In the meantime, I’ve dvr’d The Biggest Loser tonight. I’m going to go sit in the living room, watch tv, and eat all the leftover spice drops from our Gingerbread House Making Extravaganza this afternoon. Hey, if I eat *enough* spice drops, maybe I’ll eventually qualify as a contestant on the show ……
Seriously. I have no idea why I have a weight problem.
Happy New Year to you, too.
PS. I didn’t journal about it because I got
Now, where are those spice drops?
Sunday, December 30, 2007
All In The Family
"So, kids, what did you do for your Christmas vacation?"
Jimmy: "I visited my grandma and grandpa!"
Susie: "I went to Disneyland!"
Johnny: "I went skiing in Colorado!"
Escoe Kids: "We were put to work like the free slave labor we really are!"
"Ugh, mom, this stuff is messy!"
"Hey, why are we working so hard and you're wandering around taking pictures?!"
"That's exactly what I want to know, too."
"Just don't look at her and maybe she'll go away."
"I'm telling you, keep your nose to the grindstone and we'll be finished with this room and released from this nightmare so we can go outside to play. You hear that Mom? PLAY, like kids are SUPPOSED to do on Christmas Break, not work our fingers to the bone painting?!?!??"
"Well, look at the bright side. By the time we're done, we'll have freakishly over-developed arm muscles just like our mother."
Jimmy: "I visited my grandma and grandpa!"
Susie: "I went to Disneyland!"
Johnny: "I went skiing in Colorado!"
Escoe Kids: "We were put to work like the free slave labor we really are!"
"Ugh, mom, this stuff is messy!"
"Hey, why are we working so hard and you're wandering around taking pictures?!"
"That's exactly what I want to know, too."
"Just don't look at her and maybe she'll go away."
"I'm telling you, keep your nose to the grindstone and we'll be finished with this room and released from this nightmare so we can go outside to play. You hear that Mom? PLAY, like kids are SUPPOSED to do on Christmas Break, not work our fingers to the bone painting?!?!??"
"Well, look at the bright side. By the time we're done, we'll have freakishly over-developed arm muscles just like our mother."
Friday, December 28, 2007
Picasso I’m Not
Power was restored last week. Can you guess what I’ve been doing??
Lesson #1: Primer is a necessary evil in life.
Lesson #2: You might think lesson #1 only applies to walls or large spaces, but in fact, it also applies to doors, trim, baseboards and cabinets.
Lesson #3: Especially in houses where the wood that makes up the doors, trim, baseboards and cabinets is a bazillion years old.
Lesson #4: Painting on wood that is a bazillion years old is the equivalent of painting on a sponge.
Lesson #5: Our rent house is approximately a bazillion years old.
Lesson #6: Those fancy paint rollers you bought won’t work too well on wooden doors with recessed panels or trim or baseboards or cabinets …. So make sure you buy a good brush, because you will paint it all by hand. ALL by hand.
Lesson #7: “Yes, ma’am,” said the Home Depot guy, “This is the best primer on the market today. One coat of paint over the primer should be all you need” equals BIG. FAT. LIE.
Lesson #8: One coat paint plus one coat primer plus one coat paint plus one more coat of paint because for pete’s sake I can still see the streaks equals a lot of fucking coats, all done by hand.
So, I hope today’s lessons have been helpful.
Signed,
Kristie, the girl with the freakishly overdeveloped right deltoid muscle
Lesson #1: Primer is a necessary evil in life.
Lesson #2: You might think lesson #1 only applies to walls or large spaces, but in fact, it also applies to doors, trim, baseboards and cabinets.
Lesson #3: Especially in houses where the wood that makes up the doors, trim, baseboards and cabinets is a bazillion years old.
Lesson #4: Painting on wood that is a bazillion years old is the equivalent of painting on a sponge.
Lesson #5: Our rent house is approximately a bazillion years old.
Lesson #6: Those fancy paint rollers you bought won’t work too well on wooden doors with recessed panels or trim or baseboards or cabinets …. So make sure you buy a good brush, because you will paint it all by hand. ALL by hand.
Lesson #7: “Yes, ma’am,” said the Home Depot guy, “This is the best primer on the market today. One coat of paint over the primer should be all you need” equals BIG. FAT. LIE.
Lesson #8: One coat paint plus one coat primer plus one coat paint plus one more coat of paint because for pete’s sake I can still see the streaks equals a lot of fucking coats, all done by hand.
So, I hope today’s lessons have been helpful.
Signed,
Kristie, the girl with the freakishly overdeveloped right deltoid muscle
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Christmas Letter, 2007
{Sorry, just a few days late with the annual Christmas letter. I'd blame the post office, but that wouldn't really work for the internet, and the truth of the matter is I've been too busy stuffing my face with pumpkin pie to post this.}
{That's a total lie. I don't even like pumpkin pie.}
{It was pecan.}
*************************************
Cards courtesy of Erin Leigh Photos and LD Images.
Escoe Family, Circa. 2007
Well, as you probably know if you’ve received our Christmas letter year after year, I normally pride myself on having them in the mail relatively early. My goal this year was to mail them obnoxiously early, to make sure all of you had our new address so you could send us YOUR Christmas cards and letters and pictures, as well (not that that’s a hint or anything -- ahem.) But considering it’s already the 16th of Dec and I am just now sitting down to start the letter, chances are this year I will be one of those people who doesn’t mail their cards until New Years. Or at the rate I’m going with the unpacking, they might become July 4th letters. **
Yes, that’s right, in case you weren’t aware, we finally, after five and a half years in Georgia, PCS’d. We are now the perfect example of “full circle”, moving right back to our hometown … in fact, only four blocks from where we lived when we first got married, and from where the Air Force came and packed us up the very first time we left home, back in 1988. Guess in our case, there is something to be said for returning to your roots.
Blaine is still active duty, and started a new job at Tinker AFB last week. He does something …. With contracting …. {vague hand motions} … Or something. Not exactly sure, but he seems glad to be back on familiar territory, having worked in the same building fourteen years ago when we were last stationed here. He’s still on the road of reconstruction as far as his surgeries and procedures go, but so far he likes all his new doctors here. And as long as the cancer stays gone this time - FOR GOOD - then all is manageable.
I am thrilled to be back on my old stomping grounds, with my kids attending the same school I attended as a child. We’re back in my childhood church, and I see old classmates almost every day, as their children attend the same school. Depending on your outlook, it’s either very Norman Rockwell, or very lame and creepy. I *have* been surprised at how much I miss Georgia and our life and friends there. I didn’t realize it was possible to move “home” and then still feel “homesick” for the place you left behind.
The kids seem to be adjusting well and like their new school. We do hear from them on a regular basis about how much they miss Georgia …. But overall, the move has been a positive one. They LOVE being in the same school as their four cousins, being closer to my mom and Blaine’s dad, the Texas cousins, and they think it’s cool that we live close enough to walk to and from school (Although I’ll confess that I still drive them if it’s cold --- see? I’m lazy AND a wimp!)
Brayden gets first mention as the oldest -- she’s ten now and in the 5th grade. I am alternately shocked, proud, and tearful at the realization that she’ll begin middle school next year. Whatever happened to the sweet little angel who used to projectile vomit strained peas across the dining room? If I could stereo-type for a moment, she is our artsy-musical one, and loves all things crafts. She swings back and forth, with no predictability whatsoever, between being the sweetest, most helpful child on the planet and behaving like a complete over-the-top melodramatic. I would probably be online researching multiple personality disorder if my friends with older girls didn’t reassure me that this is normal “tween” behavior. So for now, we just enjoy the sweet moments and breathe deeply through the others.
Kellen is definitely the easy-going one who just rolls with the punches, Mr. Flexibility. He is nine, in 4th grade, and still considers recess and PE the best parts of his day. He played basketball and soccer this past year and recently said he wants to learn to play the piano, although he might change his mind when he finds out actual practice and lessons would be involved. This move has gone well for him; it probably helps he has a cousin he adores in the same grade, hence ready-made friends. He joined the chess club at school and transferred from one gifted program to the next --- both sound lofty until you realize his idea of a good time is running around the house in his underwear, telling fart jokes.
Kendrie, eight and in 2nd grade, well, she’s still my baby, although she reminds me every day that she would like us to have another baby so that for once, *she* could boss somebody else around! The move has been hardest on her, I think, because she had the tightest little group of school friends to leave behind. She also transferred into the new gifted program, and is excited to continue soccer in OK. In between that and school, she’ll hopefully settle in soon. She just hit the two-year “done with chemo” mark and every day we count our blessings. In her spare time, she sneaks chocolate chips out of the pantry and holds the world record for most amount of dirty clothes on a bedroom floor.
As a family, we got to do some neat things this year: Spring Break in the DC - Virginia - Pennsylvania area, visiting good friends and *trying* to expose the kids to a little bit of history. We got to spend a Lighthouse week at a Florida beach in June, always a highlight, and then Blaine and I went on our “Trip of a Lifetime”, a two-week cruise/visit to Alaska in July to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. (Thanks again for the babysitting, Mom!)
This fall was pretty much taken up with move preparation stuff, and shortly after we finished unpacking in OK, we had to put everything back up and drag out all the Christmas stuff. Needless to say, I’m almost eager for the holidays to be over so we can get in some semblance of a routine. Our only sad note this year was the loss earlier this month of our dog Lager, who graced us with his companionship for over fifteen years. So all told, and except for missing him, which we do, we had a pretty fulfilling, successful and blessed year.
I hope you and yours enjoyed the same.
Love,
Blaine, Kristie, Brayden, Kellen and Kendrie
**For the record, these letters were totally ready to go by the 17th. Then thanks to an ice storm we lost power in our house and I couldn’t print them. I realize that’s almost as lame of an excuse as “my dog ate my homework”, but it’s the truth, it’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
{That's a total lie. I don't even like pumpkin pie.}
{It was pecan.}
*************************************
Cards courtesy of Erin Leigh Photos and LD Images.
Escoe Family, Circa. 2007
Well, as you probably know if you’ve received our Christmas letter year after year, I normally pride myself on having them in the mail relatively early. My goal this year was to mail them obnoxiously early, to make sure all of you had our new address so you could send us YOUR Christmas cards and letters and pictures, as well (not that that’s a hint or anything -- ahem.) But considering it’s already the 16th of Dec and I am just now sitting down to start the letter, chances are this year I will be one of those people who doesn’t mail their cards until New Years. Or at the rate I’m going with the unpacking, they might become July 4th letters. **
Yes, that’s right, in case you weren’t aware, we finally, after five and a half years in Georgia, PCS’d. We are now the perfect example of “full circle”, moving right back to our hometown … in fact, only four blocks from where we lived when we first got married, and from where the Air Force came and packed us up the very first time we left home, back in 1988. Guess in our case, there is something to be said for returning to your roots.
Blaine is still active duty, and started a new job at Tinker AFB last week. He does something …. With contracting …. {vague hand motions} … Or something. Not exactly sure, but he seems glad to be back on familiar territory, having worked in the same building fourteen years ago when we were last stationed here. He’s still on the road of reconstruction as far as his surgeries and procedures go, but so far he likes all his new doctors here. And as long as the cancer stays gone this time - FOR GOOD - then all is manageable.
I am thrilled to be back on my old stomping grounds, with my kids attending the same school I attended as a child. We’re back in my childhood church, and I see old classmates almost every day, as their children attend the same school. Depending on your outlook, it’s either very Norman Rockwell, or very lame and creepy. I *have* been surprised at how much I miss Georgia and our life and friends there. I didn’t realize it was possible to move “home” and then still feel “homesick” for the place you left behind.
The kids seem to be adjusting well and like their new school. We do hear from them on a regular basis about how much they miss Georgia …. But overall, the move has been a positive one. They LOVE being in the same school as their four cousins, being closer to my mom and Blaine’s dad, the Texas cousins, and they think it’s cool that we live close enough to walk to and from school (Although I’ll confess that I still drive them if it’s cold --- see? I’m lazy AND a wimp!)
Brayden gets first mention as the oldest -- she’s ten now and in the 5th grade. I am alternately shocked, proud, and tearful at the realization that she’ll begin middle school next year. Whatever happened to the sweet little angel who used to projectile vomit strained peas across the dining room? If I could stereo-type for a moment, she is our artsy-musical one, and loves all things crafts. She swings back and forth, with no predictability whatsoever, between being the sweetest, most helpful child on the planet and behaving like a complete over-the-top melodramatic. I would probably be online researching multiple personality disorder if my friends with older girls didn’t reassure me that this is normal “tween” behavior. So for now, we just enjoy the sweet moments and breathe deeply through the others.
Kellen is definitely the easy-going one who just rolls with the punches, Mr. Flexibility. He is nine, in 4th grade, and still considers recess and PE the best parts of his day. He played basketball and soccer this past year and recently said he wants to learn to play the piano, although he might change his mind when he finds out actual practice and lessons would be involved. This move has gone well for him; it probably helps he has a cousin he adores in the same grade, hence ready-made friends. He joined the chess club at school and transferred from one gifted program to the next --- both sound lofty until you realize his idea of a good time is running around the house in his underwear, telling fart jokes.
Kendrie, eight and in 2nd grade, well, she’s still my baby, although she reminds me every day that she would like us to have another baby so that for once, *she* could boss somebody else around! The move has been hardest on her, I think, because she had the tightest little group of school friends to leave behind. She also transferred into the new gifted program, and is excited to continue soccer in OK. In between that and school, she’ll hopefully settle in soon. She just hit the two-year “done with chemo” mark and every day we count our blessings. In her spare time, she sneaks chocolate chips out of the pantry and holds the world record for most amount of dirty clothes on a bedroom floor.
As a family, we got to do some neat things this year: Spring Break in the DC - Virginia - Pennsylvania area, visiting good friends and *trying* to expose the kids to a little bit of history. We got to spend a Lighthouse week at a Florida beach in June, always a highlight, and then Blaine and I went on our “Trip of a Lifetime”, a two-week cruise/visit to Alaska in July to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. (Thanks again for the babysitting, Mom!)
This fall was pretty much taken up with move preparation stuff, and shortly after we finished unpacking in OK, we had to put everything back up and drag out all the Christmas stuff. Needless to say, I’m almost eager for the holidays to be over so we can get in some semblance of a routine. Our only sad note this year was the loss earlier this month of our dog Lager, who graced us with his companionship for over fifteen years. So all told, and except for missing him, which we do, we had a pretty fulfilling, successful and blessed year.
I hope you and yours enjoyed the same.
Love,
Blaine, Kristie, Brayden, Kellen and Kendrie
**For the record, these letters were totally ready to go by the 17th. Then thanks to an ice storm we lost power in our house and I couldn’t print them. I realize that’s almost as lame of an excuse as “my dog ate my homework”, but it’s the truth, it’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Dear Santa
Dear Santa,
Please consider this letter my request for 2008. I realize I’m writing just a tad earlier than normal, but what I want for next year is a bit ambitious, and I think you and your hard-working elves might need the entire 364 days to come up with what I need. You see, I want something bigger than a doll or a football or even a pink pony. I want something bigger than a new camera or new computer or even a shiny new car. In fact, what I want is bigger even than the end of famine, the resurrection of the rain forest … bigger, even, than world peace.
I want v-chip technology so I can program my kids’ personalities next Christmas to NOT be total brats.
I want the ability to pre-determine the attitudes and behavior of my children on Christmas Day. Maybe even a few days before and a few days after … but if that’s too greedy, just Christmas Day would be enough.
I want children who stay in their bedrooms until 7am like I’ve asked them to. I want children who don’t argue over whose turn it is to play Santa and pass out the gifts. I want children who don’t argue over whose turn it is to go FIRST when I say we’ll take turns playing Santa.
I probably won’t change any part of the actual gift-exchanging-and-opening part of the morning. My kids, thankfully, are pretty gracious receivers, and have always been genuinely excited to share what they’ve picked out for others. So for about an hour yesterday morning, things were good. But Santa, it was all downhill from there.
I want children who can manage to make it five minutes past the gift-opening part of the morning without losing part of their new toys already. Children who listen to me when I say it’s not necessary to open up every single game and every single accessory first thing, before we’ve even had a chance to organize ourselves and throw away the trash. Children who don’t pitch a complete fit when they realize the plastic shark’s tooth from their “totally awesome shark activity book is missing, aaahhhhhhh!” because they didn’t listen to me and ripped the damn thing open even though I told them to wait.
Children who don’t fight over who gets to watch their new movie first. Children who are willing to pick up the new toys and games and actually carry them upstairs to their rooms. Children who are willing to hang up their new clothes, for Pete’s sake, is that asking too much???? Children who will FREAKING LISTEN TO ME when I tell them we don’t have all the things we need to run the stupid, stupid, “I will kill my sister for buying him this” Creepy Crawlers factory, and who open up all the bottles of dye even though I told them not to and then pour the dye into the molds without putting down newspapers first like I asked on my brand new dining room table because why on earth should you listen to mom and then spill the dye on my brand-freaking-new placemats and who then, then, THEN have the nerve to get mad at ME because I don’t have a 60-watt candelabra light bulb which you of course need to make the Creepy Crawler factory work and what does he suggest I do just PULL ONE OUT OF MY ASS??????
Children who don’t call each other “Idiot!” and then cry when they lose at Kerplunk. Children who don't get angry when they can't do their new Wii Dance Party Revolution perfectly the very first time so they stomp around and talk about what a stupid game it is and how it's probably defective, anyway. Children who don’t misplace their brand-new iPod the very first day and children who don’t get mad at one another when one of them leaves his new chess set sitting on the edge of the table and then yells at the kid who walks by and bumps it and knocks everything to the floor, scattering kings and queens and knights all over the place.
Most of all, dear Santa, I need v-chip technology so that next year, we go more than one day past Christmas without hearing those two most dreaded post-Christmas phrases ever known to man:
“I’m bored!”
and
“There’s nothing to DO!”
And Santa, if you can’t manage the v-chip, please let me change my request to an adult-only Christmas next year on a beach, just me, Blaine, some palm trees, and big ole’ pitcher of amaretto.
Yours truly,
And I swear I’ve been good,
Kristie
PS. I suppose the highlight to all this, Santa, is that we're not Jewish. Because Dear Lord, if I had to go through eight days of this Hell, I would cancel Christmas and Hannakuh and Valentines Day, too.
Please consider this letter my request for 2008. I realize I’m writing just a tad earlier than normal, but what I want for next year is a bit ambitious, and I think you and your hard-working elves might need the entire 364 days to come up with what I need. You see, I want something bigger than a doll or a football or even a pink pony. I want something bigger than a new camera or new computer or even a shiny new car. In fact, what I want is bigger even than the end of famine, the resurrection of the rain forest … bigger, even, than world peace.
I want v-chip technology so I can program my kids’ personalities next Christmas to NOT be total brats.
I want the ability to pre-determine the attitudes and behavior of my children on Christmas Day. Maybe even a few days before and a few days after … but if that’s too greedy, just Christmas Day would be enough.
I want children who stay in their bedrooms until 7am like I’ve asked them to. I want children who don’t argue over whose turn it is to play Santa and pass out the gifts. I want children who don’t argue over whose turn it is to go FIRST when I say we’ll take turns playing Santa.
I probably won’t change any part of the actual gift-exchanging-and-opening part of the morning. My kids, thankfully, are pretty gracious receivers, and have always been genuinely excited to share what they’ve picked out for others. So for about an hour yesterday morning, things were good. But Santa, it was all downhill from there.
I want children who can manage to make it five minutes past the gift-opening part of the morning without losing part of their new toys already. Children who listen to me when I say it’s not necessary to open up every single game and every single accessory first thing, before we’ve even had a chance to organize ourselves and throw away the trash. Children who don’t pitch a complete fit when they realize the plastic shark’s tooth from their “totally awesome shark activity book is missing, aaahhhhhhh!” because they didn’t listen to me and ripped the damn thing open even though I told them to wait.
Children who don’t fight over who gets to watch their new movie first. Children who are willing to pick up the new toys and games and actually carry them upstairs to their rooms. Children who are willing to hang up their new clothes, for Pete’s sake, is that asking too much???? Children who will FREAKING LISTEN TO ME when I tell them we don’t have all the things we need to run the stupid, stupid, “I will kill my sister for buying him this” Creepy Crawlers factory, and who open up all the bottles of dye even though I told them not to and then pour the dye into the molds without putting down newspapers first like I asked on my brand new dining room table because why on earth should you listen to mom and then spill the dye on my brand-freaking-new placemats and who then, then, THEN have the nerve to get mad at ME because I don’t have a 60-watt candelabra light bulb which you of course need to make the Creepy Crawler factory work and what does he suggest I do just PULL ONE OUT OF MY ASS??????
Children who don’t call each other “Idiot!” and then cry when they lose at Kerplunk. Children who don't get angry when they can't do their new Wii Dance Party Revolution perfectly the very first time so they stomp around and talk about what a stupid game it is and how it's probably defective, anyway. Children who don’t misplace their brand-new iPod the very first day and children who don’t get mad at one another when one of them leaves his new chess set sitting on the edge of the table and then yells at the kid who walks by and bumps it and knocks everything to the floor, scattering kings and queens and knights all over the place.
Most of all, dear Santa, I need v-chip technology so that next year, we go more than one day past Christmas without hearing those two most dreaded post-Christmas phrases ever known to man:
“I’m bored!”
and
“There’s nothing to DO!”
And Santa, if you can’t manage the v-chip, please let me change my request to an adult-only Christmas next year on a beach, just me, Blaine, some palm trees, and big ole’ pitcher of amaretto.
Yours truly,
And I swear I’ve been good,
Kristie
PS. I suppose the highlight to all this, Santa, is that we're not Jewish. Because Dear Lord, if I had to go through eight days of this Hell, I would cancel Christmas and Hannakuh and Valentines Day, too.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Where I Stand
After reading the Dad Gone Mad post about the Jamie Lynn Spears pregnancy announcement and the various ways in which Nickelodeon might or might not address it, and then in reading all the comments, from people who seem to feel strongly one way or the other, I’ve been considering my personal feelings on the subject. In one way, I agree with pretty much everyone, a little bit. And in another way, I don’t really agree with anyone completely. See? See why my photo is in the dictionary next to “wishy-washy”?
I don’t agree that she should be stoned, or made to wear a big PMS (pre-marital sex) embroidered upon her chest, or held up for public ridicule, or punished for the situation she finds herself in. She’s certainly not the only pregnant teen in America, that’s true. I also don’t agree that hey, let’s just roll with it, it’s nobody’s business anyway and who are the rest of us to judge her???
Here’s the gist of it, for me. And let me preface this now with an “it’s only my opinion, blah blah” kind of statement. FOR ME, the truth of the matter is, I hold Jamie Lynn Spears, and any public figure, to a higher standard of behavior. I think that with the reward of their chosen profession comes responsibility, and that they should conduct themselves accordingly. Maybe that’s wrong of me, maybe it’s not my place to do so … but I do. If she and the executives at Nickelodeon are going to stand on my front porch every week (metaphorically speaking, of course) and knock on the door and ask to gain access to my living room and my children, then for me, there are certain standards that need to be met, and a certain example that needs to be set.
No, I don’t use the tv as a babysitter, and no, the shows and movies my children watch are not their only moral compass. But short of moving to a remote ice house in Siberia with no electricity or cable or satellite or messenger polar bears, access to celebrity news, especially teen celebrity news, is not something from which I can shelter my children one hundred percent.
Like it or not, agree with it or not, teens (and more likely, pre-teens) think she’s fabulous, and therefore anything she does is fabulous. Yes, it’s easy for me as an adult to separate the actress from the character she plays, but that’s not as easy for the 8-9-10 yr old set. My kids understand that “Zoey” isn’t pregnant, but the girl who plays her is, and how is that possible when she’s not married and will the baby be on the show and will they make Chase the dad or will they just cancel the show and etc. Bottom line, I am not happy that JLS the actress, and Nickelodeon, her boss, asked for our endorsement and patronage and viewer-ship (is that even a word?) and then failed (again, only my opinion) to hold up their end of the bargain, which was to deliver an entertainment program showcasing young celebrities who aren’t the polar opposites of the characters they play. Don’t ask to come into my home each week as a wholesome teen celebrity, and then show up pregnant. Or in nude photos, like Vanessa Hudgens from High School Musical (lest you think Disney isn’t as plagued as Nick). It makes me feel cheated and tricked.
I feel the same way about other scenarios, as well. Take the Miss America (or Miss USA, or whatever) pageants, where previous winners have been stripped of the title when compromising pictures show up on the internet. Sure, I get that these girls have lives outside of the realm of pageantry. But if you are going to stand up and ask to be chosen as a representative of the young women of this country, then I think there is a standard to uphold. These women want to be identified as cream of the crop --- I don’t think cream of the crop behavior is too much to ask.
Same thing for athletes. Don’t ask me to buy tickets to your sporting events, or your merchandise, or to watch you play Monday Night Football or Major League Baseball from the comfort of my couch, and then admit later that you cheated by taking steroids. Don’t ask me to watch you cleat an opposing player in the head because you got angry on the field. Don’t hide a file in your back pocket and then deny it’s yours when the camera CAUGHT YOU tossing it away from you on the field. And for the love of all that is holy, don’t ask to be held up as a role model for sportsmanship and then confess to taking part in a completely UN-sportsmanlike activity like dog fighting.
To the people who say “Hey, Michael Vick didn’t ASK to be anyone’s role model. He just wants to play football, and then be left alone to live his personal life on his own” --- my reply is, “Oh yes he DID ask to be a role model, when he willingly signed that contract with the Atlanta Falcons and all that goes with it” -- the same way JLS signed on as a public figure with Nick.
The same way I think it’s disgusting that a man would run for the highest public office this country has to offer, and then get caught with his pants down in the Oval Office. I do hold the President of the United States to a higher standard of behavior then getting blow jobs from an intern underneath the Resolute Desk (I have no idea if there really is a Resolute Desk, but we saw National Treasure II this weekend and I just think it’s a cool idea.) To the people who might say that is a private issue, to be handled between him and his wife, and that what goes on behind closed doors is no one else’s business, I say I respectfully disagree, with regard to public figures such as this.
What goes on behind closed doors *is* private business, as long as it stays behind closed doors and effects no one else. But when Monica Lewinsky shows up with a semen stain on her dress, or Lindsay Lohan passes out drunk in public, or Britney Spears keeps flashing her nether-regions getting in and out of cars, or Jamie Lynn Spears announces a pregnancy, or porn tapes or nudie photos of young stars keep surfacing, it’s no longer private. And don’t ask for me to vote for you in the next election, or watch your tv shows, or buy tickets to your movies, or buy my kids any of the merchandising crap being shoved down their throats at every commercial, unless you are willing to maintain a respectable level of accountability. In other words, yes, if you put your life out there, people are going to be watching it.
Bottom line, when you rely on the public, and the public’s wallet, to keep you where you are professionally, which athletes and celebrities and politicians do, then I think you have an obligation to that public to behave in a manner that is not completely out of line with decent societal expectations.
And to the people who say we Americans are uptight and hypocritical and puritanical. Well, perhaps we are. But this is our country and that is your country and that’s just the way it is. I think the biggest way we are hypocrites is the way in which we decry these behaviors, then forgive them so quickly. Why are all these celebrities released from rehab and still making blockbuster movies? Why is corporate greed, and even crime, rewarded with book deals? The above-mentioned Oval Office skankbag has a pretty good shot at being our country’s first-ever First Husband, which makes my stomach churn, but that’s just me. And what makes me even more disgusted about the Michael Vick dog-fighting scandal is that I bet you anything if he were to be released from prison tomorrow, and given a position with a professional football team, there would be tons of people showing up to his first game with “We Heart You Michael” posters in the stands.
So, back to the JLS situation. Am I shocked that a 16 yr old would be sexually active and wind up pregnant? No, I’m not shocked. Just disappointed. Do I think they should cancel Zoey 101? Well, I hope they don’t, because too many other cast and crew are employed there as well. I would hate for all those people to lose their jobs due to a show cancellation. What I would like to see Nick do is either bring in a new actress to play Zoey, or even simply continue the show without her. And I would like to see Nick release JLS from her contract with them, but not as a punishment. Rather, as a show of support for the situation she is now in. Let her move back home to Louisiana and take this time to prepare herself for impending motherhood.
Do I think Nickelodeon should air a teen pregnancy special, like they’re supposedly considering? Well, I don’t really care because I wouldn’t let my kids watch it anyway. The message I keep trying to hammer home with Brayden is that this isn’t a typical teen pregnancy because JLS isn’t a typical teen. She already has the financial resources to handle an unplanned pregnancy and a baby. She has a private tutor and won’t have to face public high school as an unwed teen. She doesn’t have to worry about pregnancy compromising a minimum-wage paying job. She can afford the material needs of a newborn, and won’t have to worry about finishing school, or finding a sitter so she can make it to her part-time job after school. I don’t ever want my daughters to think just because a celebrity does something, that means it’s alright for them to do it, too.
I do imagine that’s it’s next to impossible to maneuver the minefield of adolescence in the public eye without making some sort of slip. Do I think it should be acceptable, even embraced, that JLS is pregnant at sixteen? No. Do I think she should have sipped away in the night for an abortion? Of course not. She’s too well-known for any kind of adoption scenario, I would think. And remember her older sister Britney? Before the train wreck that became *her* life, do you remember when she was cute and young and adorable and dating Justin Timberlake and she went public with the announcement that she was a virgin and hoped to stay that way? Do you remember how people mocked that, and rolled their eyes, and made fun of her?
If you stand up for abstinence, people think you’re either ridiculous, or lying. And heaven forbid you make a public statement and then change your mind. Don’t have sex. If you have sex, use birth control. If you use birth control and it fails in some way, you’re condemned for being pregnant. And for having sex in the first place. But don’t act like you’re not having sex because no-body will believe you anyway. And let’s not even open up the can of worms that is the male-female double standard.
Truly, being a teenager is hard, hard work. I can only imagine how infinitely more difficult it is to do it as a celebrity. But you know what? These people have asked for their celebrity status, and in doing so, must accept that our children look up to them. So I wish they would behave in a way that makes them worthy.
And like Forrest Gump, that’s all I have to say about that.
I don’t agree that she should be stoned, or made to wear a big PMS (pre-marital sex) embroidered upon her chest, or held up for public ridicule, or punished for the situation she finds herself in. She’s certainly not the only pregnant teen in America, that’s true. I also don’t agree that hey, let’s just roll with it, it’s nobody’s business anyway and who are the rest of us to judge her???
Here’s the gist of it, for me. And let me preface this now with an “it’s only my opinion, blah blah” kind of statement. FOR ME, the truth of the matter is, I hold Jamie Lynn Spears, and any public figure, to a higher standard of behavior. I think that with the reward of their chosen profession comes responsibility, and that they should conduct themselves accordingly. Maybe that’s wrong of me, maybe it’s not my place to do so … but I do. If she and the executives at Nickelodeon are going to stand on my front porch every week (metaphorically speaking, of course) and knock on the door and ask to gain access to my living room and my children, then for me, there are certain standards that need to be met, and a certain example that needs to be set.
No, I don’t use the tv as a babysitter, and no, the shows and movies my children watch are not their only moral compass. But short of moving to a remote ice house in Siberia with no electricity or cable or satellite or messenger polar bears, access to celebrity news, especially teen celebrity news, is not something from which I can shelter my children one hundred percent.
Like it or not, agree with it or not, teens (and more likely, pre-teens) think she’s fabulous, and therefore anything she does is fabulous. Yes, it’s easy for me as an adult to separate the actress from the character she plays, but that’s not as easy for the 8-9-10 yr old set. My kids understand that “Zoey” isn’t pregnant, but the girl who plays her is, and how is that possible when she’s not married and will the baby be on the show and will they make Chase the dad or will they just cancel the show and etc. Bottom line, I am not happy that JLS the actress, and Nickelodeon, her boss, asked for our endorsement and patronage and viewer-ship (is that even a word?) and then failed (again, only my opinion) to hold up their end of the bargain, which was to deliver an entertainment program showcasing young celebrities who aren’t the polar opposites of the characters they play. Don’t ask to come into my home each week as a wholesome teen celebrity, and then show up pregnant. Or in nude photos, like Vanessa Hudgens from High School Musical (lest you think Disney isn’t as plagued as Nick). It makes me feel cheated and tricked.
I feel the same way about other scenarios, as well. Take the Miss America (or Miss USA, or whatever) pageants, where previous winners have been stripped of the title when compromising pictures show up on the internet. Sure, I get that these girls have lives outside of the realm of pageantry. But if you are going to stand up and ask to be chosen as a representative of the young women of this country, then I think there is a standard to uphold. These women want to be identified as cream of the crop --- I don’t think cream of the crop behavior is too much to ask.
Same thing for athletes. Don’t ask me to buy tickets to your sporting events, or your merchandise, or to watch you play Monday Night Football or Major League Baseball from the comfort of my couch, and then admit later that you cheated by taking steroids. Don’t ask me to watch you cleat an opposing player in the head because you got angry on the field. Don’t hide a file in your back pocket and then deny it’s yours when the camera CAUGHT YOU tossing it away from you on the field. And for the love of all that is holy, don’t ask to be held up as a role model for sportsmanship and then confess to taking part in a completely UN-sportsmanlike activity like dog fighting.
To the people who say “Hey, Michael Vick didn’t ASK to be anyone’s role model. He just wants to play football, and then be left alone to live his personal life on his own” --- my reply is, “Oh yes he DID ask to be a role model, when he willingly signed that contract with the Atlanta Falcons and all that goes with it” -- the same way JLS signed on as a public figure with Nick.
The same way I think it’s disgusting that a man would run for the highest public office this country has to offer, and then get caught with his pants down in the Oval Office. I do hold the President of the United States to a higher standard of behavior then getting blow jobs from an intern underneath the Resolute Desk (I have no idea if there really is a Resolute Desk, but we saw National Treasure II this weekend and I just think it’s a cool idea.) To the people who might say that is a private issue, to be handled between him and his wife, and that what goes on behind closed doors is no one else’s business, I say I respectfully disagree, with regard to public figures such as this.
What goes on behind closed doors *is* private business, as long as it stays behind closed doors and effects no one else. But when Monica Lewinsky shows up with a semen stain on her dress, or Lindsay Lohan passes out drunk in public, or Britney Spears keeps flashing her nether-regions getting in and out of cars, or Jamie Lynn Spears announces a pregnancy, or porn tapes or nudie photos of young stars keep surfacing, it’s no longer private. And don’t ask for me to vote for you in the next election, or watch your tv shows, or buy tickets to your movies, or buy my kids any of the merchandising crap being shoved down their throats at every commercial, unless you are willing to maintain a respectable level of accountability. In other words, yes, if you put your life out there, people are going to be watching it.
Bottom line, when you rely on the public, and the public’s wallet, to keep you where you are professionally, which athletes and celebrities and politicians do, then I think you have an obligation to that public to behave in a manner that is not completely out of line with decent societal expectations.
And to the people who say we Americans are uptight and hypocritical and puritanical. Well, perhaps we are. But this is our country and that is your country and that’s just the way it is. I think the biggest way we are hypocrites is the way in which we decry these behaviors, then forgive them so quickly. Why are all these celebrities released from rehab and still making blockbuster movies? Why is corporate greed, and even crime, rewarded with book deals? The above-mentioned Oval Office skankbag has a pretty good shot at being our country’s first-ever First Husband, which makes my stomach churn, but that’s just me. And what makes me even more disgusted about the Michael Vick dog-fighting scandal is that I bet you anything if he were to be released from prison tomorrow, and given a position with a professional football team, there would be tons of people showing up to his first game with “We Heart You Michael” posters in the stands.
So, back to the JLS situation. Am I shocked that a 16 yr old would be sexually active and wind up pregnant? No, I’m not shocked. Just disappointed. Do I think they should cancel Zoey 101? Well, I hope they don’t, because too many other cast and crew are employed there as well. I would hate for all those people to lose their jobs due to a show cancellation. What I would like to see Nick do is either bring in a new actress to play Zoey, or even simply continue the show without her. And I would like to see Nick release JLS from her contract with them, but not as a punishment. Rather, as a show of support for the situation she is now in. Let her move back home to Louisiana and take this time to prepare herself for impending motherhood.
Do I think Nickelodeon should air a teen pregnancy special, like they’re supposedly considering? Well, I don’t really care because I wouldn’t let my kids watch it anyway. The message I keep trying to hammer home with Brayden is that this isn’t a typical teen pregnancy because JLS isn’t a typical teen. She already has the financial resources to handle an unplanned pregnancy and a baby. She has a private tutor and won’t have to face public high school as an unwed teen. She doesn’t have to worry about pregnancy compromising a minimum-wage paying job. She can afford the material needs of a newborn, and won’t have to worry about finishing school, or finding a sitter so she can make it to her part-time job after school. I don’t ever want my daughters to think just because a celebrity does something, that means it’s alright for them to do it, too.
I do imagine that’s it’s next to impossible to maneuver the minefield of adolescence in the public eye without making some sort of slip. Do I think it should be acceptable, even embraced, that JLS is pregnant at sixteen? No. Do I think she should have sipped away in the night for an abortion? Of course not. She’s too well-known for any kind of adoption scenario, I would think. And remember her older sister Britney? Before the train wreck that became *her* life, do you remember when she was cute and young and adorable and dating Justin Timberlake and she went public with the announcement that she was a virgin and hoped to stay that way? Do you remember how people mocked that, and rolled their eyes, and made fun of her?
If you stand up for abstinence, people think you’re either ridiculous, or lying. And heaven forbid you make a public statement and then change your mind. Don’t have sex. If you have sex, use birth control. If you use birth control and it fails in some way, you’re condemned for being pregnant. And for having sex in the first place. But don’t act like you’re not having sex because no-body will believe you anyway. And let’s not even open up the can of worms that is the male-female double standard.
Truly, being a teenager is hard, hard work. I can only imagine how infinitely more difficult it is to do it as a celebrity. But you know what? These people have asked for their celebrity status, and in doing so, must accept that our children look up to them. So I wish they would behave in a way that makes them worthy.
And like Forrest Gump, that’s all I have to say about that.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
A Worthy Link
Go here. A worthy discussion (read the comments, as well) about a timely topic. Normally he makes me laugh, but today he is wise. :)
Friday, December 21, 2007
A little Christmas Cheer
Kellen was given an assignment in school this week involving Christmas stockings. His teacher gave each child a sheet of paper with a drawing of three Christmas stockings on it. Each student was to color their picture, drawing in whatever gifts they would like in the stockings, then create a story telling how the presents got in the stockings. Here is Kellen’s tale, in all its fictional glory:
************************
Christmas Stockings
By: Kellen Escoe
The presents got in the Christmas stockings by a robber that stole Santa’s toys. You see, he was trying to steal them but he accidentally dropped them and they landed in the stockings. So it turned out that Christmas was saved after all. So the children woke up happy as a clam. Before they die.
***********************
The teacher gave him an A++ for creativity. So I’m not sure which is more likely in his future: Literary acclaim, or a need for therapy?? What do YOU think?
************************
Christmas Stockings
By: Kellen Escoe
The presents got in the Christmas stockings by a robber that stole Santa’s toys. You see, he was trying to steal them but he accidentally dropped them and they landed in the stockings. So it turned out that Christmas was saved after all. So the children woke up happy as a clam. Before they die.
***********************
The teacher gave him an A++ for creativity. So I’m not sure which is more likely in his future: Literary acclaim, or a need for therapy?? What do YOU think?
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Perspective
In the past six days, the following events have occurred:
*I locked myself out of my house.
*The power went out in our rent house and despite the fact it is the ONLY house on the block with no power, and I have tons of painting to do, and have made numerous calls to the power company, it remains cold and lifeless. Sort of like the way my kids’ breakfast pancakes look each morning when it takes them twenty damn minutes to get out of bed despite my repeatedlyyelling and threatening encouraging them lovingly to wake up and get moving already.
*The power went out in my personal residence. Also cold and lifeless, but at that point we bagged it and spent the night at my mother’s. Thank goodness we were only without power for about a day and a half.
*My washer went out.
*I started my period (you’re glad I shared that one with you, aren’t you?)
*My dog died.
Needless to say, I was starting to get just a wee bit discouraged about the way this past week was going. And perhaps I sought solace in a box of Russell Stover chocolates (yes, the entire box in one sitting, do you have a problem with that?) and then perhaps I was even more discouraged because even my fat pants no longer fit.
Then, I realized. Not that I had forgotten, by any means. I will never, ever, ever forget. But I remembered specifically what we were doing exactly two years ago this weekend --- celebrating the final days of my daughter’s twenty-six month battle with leukemia. Celebrating the final days of chemo, spinal taps, bone marrow biopsies, shots and pills and port accesses and surgeries and bald heads and nausea and steroids and toxic drugs and mood swings and fatigue.
Two years since she won.
She has not relapsed. Friends have.
She is still with us. Some friends are not.
In light of the incredible blessing the past two years have been, I think I can get over a few temporary modern inconveniences.
And in the even bigger, bigger picture --- if the sweet baby Jesus can be born in a barn and not complain about it, I should be able to hang out in my garage for two hours, on a futon, wrapped in blankets, waiting for the locksmith, without being such a whiner.
See what I mean? It’s all perspective. :)
*I locked myself out of my house.
*The power went out in our rent house and despite the fact it is the ONLY house on the block with no power, and I have tons of painting to do, and have made numerous calls to the power company, it remains cold and lifeless. Sort of like the way my kids’ breakfast pancakes look each morning when it takes them twenty damn minutes to get out of bed despite my repeatedly
*The power went out in my personal residence. Also cold and lifeless, but at that point we bagged it and spent the night at my mother’s. Thank goodness we were only without power for about a day and a half.
*My washer went out.
*I started my period (you’re glad I shared that one with you, aren’t you?)
*My dog died.
Needless to say, I was starting to get just a wee bit discouraged about the way this past week was going. And perhaps I sought solace in a box of Russell Stover chocolates (yes, the entire box in one sitting, do you have a problem with that?) and then perhaps I was even more discouraged because even my fat pants no longer fit.
Then, I realized. Not that I had forgotten, by any means. I will never, ever, ever forget. But I remembered specifically what we were doing exactly two years ago this weekend --- celebrating the final days of my daughter’s twenty-six month battle with leukemia. Celebrating the final days of chemo, spinal taps, bone marrow biopsies, shots and pills and port accesses and surgeries and bald heads and nausea and steroids and toxic drugs and mood swings and fatigue.
Two years since she won.
She has not relapsed. Friends have.
She is still with us. Some friends are not.
In light of the incredible blessing the past two years have been, I think I can get over a few temporary modern inconveniences.
And in the even bigger, bigger picture --- if the sweet baby Jesus can be born in a barn and not complain about it, I should be able to hang out in my garage for two hours, on a futon, wrapped in blankets, waiting for the locksmith, without being such a whiner.
See what I mean? It’s all perspective. :)
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