Incompetent to Stand Trial

I am beginning to think that I am the insane one and everyone else is normal.  There can’t be this many lunatics in the world, so I must be seeing it in reverse.  “Huh?” you say, but if you ever visit New York City during the holiday season, then you will understand what I’m talking about.

My sister, my daughter and I journeyed to the Big Apple yesterday to take in some sights, see some stores and have a nice dinner.  First I would like to point out that Connecticut does not put much stock into their rail system, and seems pretty much to have washed its hands of the whole situation.  I’m not sure where all of the casino money and tax dollars go, but they are certainly not funding the railways here.  After a jolting, loud, overheated two hour ride, we arrived at Grand Central.  From there we visited the Museum of Natural History, and ventured to Columbus Circle to walk down Central Park South to Fifth Avenue.  Asides from the pushing, shoving and almost getting run down by a couple of cabs, we found FAO Schwartz.  We proceeded to stand in a line that was an entire block long in order to just step foot in the store.  Once inside, it seemed most people were in some type of feeding frenzy, and my sister was actually physically moved aside by an old woman.  After having heart palpitations at some of the overinflated, ridiculous prices, we moved out of the warm store and into the forty mile-an-hour winds of the city.  We made our way down Fifth and visited Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, and headed towards Rockefeller Center.  A suggestion?  Look at the tree and the skaters in the comfort of your own home on your TV.  It is totally not worth the anguish.  First of all, I thought that the tree was decorated…all it had on it was lights.  Totally not impressive.  There were so many people in Rockefeller Center that you couldn’t even see the skaters.  We moved onto Times Square, which was also so packed that it was shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalks.  Again, we waited in an exceptionally long line to enter the M&M’s store. 

We had an excellent dinner at Vice Versa on West 51^st (pumpkin ravioli…yum!) and headed back into the mayhem of Times Square.  Thankfully there were no lines to get into the Disney Store and Toys R Us.  We walked back downtown to the Empire State Building, went up to the observatory, viewed the city lights from the 86^th floor in sixty mile-an-hour winds, and made our way back to Grand Central Station.  By this time, the three of us are utterly exhausted and freezing; we make a quick pit stop and board the crowded train home.  This is where the real fun began.  We had the absolute sheer luck of sitting with a rather large extended family that took up most of the car.  There was about ten kids and what looked to be four adults, or should I say three adults and one really big child.  The really big child, approximately forty two years old, proceeded to throw M&M’s around the car, hitting his brother in the head, as well as some other unrelated passengers.  In addition, he had a really large and obnoxious mouth, and I know I heard the “F” word said several times in front of his eight-year-old children.  After he tired of throwing candy, he began to roughhouse with his son, who kept jostling into the passengers (unrelated) in the seat across the aisle.  I sat in utter shock, appalled at the behavior of this grown man, on a public train, no less.   

We returned to Union Station in New Haven after two grueling hours of pandemonium, and made our way home.  What a day, what a day.  Overall I think we had a good time, but I don’t think that I would ever venture out to the City during the holidays again.  We were too worried about losing each other in the crowd and getting lost to really take in all of the offerings of the city…the architecture, the cultures, the decorations.  We may do a couple of things differently next time, such as investing in either noise cancelling headphones or large doses of horse tranquilizer for the train ride.  Or maybe large amounts of cash for bail, since I may be charged with manslaughter.  I will just tell the judge that I plead not guilty for reason of mental defect…the defect being I decided to visit the city during Christmas.  You can come see me at Bellevue.

A Mother's Sacrifice

               And so we began our journey out of Galilee in Nazareth into Judea so that Joseph could register with the census.  All of our worldly possessions packed in several bags upon our mule, and I, heavy with our child, upon its back.  My memory flashes back to the night when His Angel came to me, not in a dream but in my waking hours.  He blessed me and said I would conceive and bear a Son, the Son of God.  I was scared and confused, because I had never known a man.  The Angel comforted me and told me not to be afraid, that I was still innocent and I would conceive by the Holy Spirit.  At that moment, my heart was filled with warmth and joy, as the Holy Spirit blessed me with this child.  Thus I became His disciple and my faith ever deepened in the Lord God.

                Now, upon this mule, my child grew ever bigger, comfortable and warm.  My husband told me that this journey would take about two or three days to accomplish, ever aware of my discomfort from being heavy with child.  I looked upon him, leading our mule to his birth city, knowing he still struggled with the knowledge that the child within my womb was not his.  It seemed however something had comforted him, otherwise he may have put me away, or publically shamed me.  He did neither and we married quietly.

                We approached the city of Judea when the sun was high on the third day.  Joseph found shade for me under a date palm, and went to stand in line to register with the census.  The sun was beginning to sink when he returned to me.  We gathered our belongings, and he helped me to my feet.  It was then I felt the warmth of the birth water run down my legs under my robes.  I stayed silent, for Joseph had the trouble of finding us a place to board for the night.

                The city was crowded because of the census, and because of the late hour of our arrival, many of the inns and boarding houses were full to capacity.  We travelled to several different locations, and were turned away.  I could see the lines of worry on Joseph’s face, fearing we would have to sleep out of doors in the cold.  Finally, we came upon a small inn with a tiny stable behind.  The innkeeper told Joseph that he had no more room, but we could stay in the stable with the stock.  It would be warm and as the air cooled, the stable was a welcomed site.

                By this time, the pains of labor were getting worse, and it was difficult for me to dismount the mule.  Silently Joseph led me to a soft spot in the rear of the stable, where fresh hay was piled.  I reclined on the sweet smelling hay while Joseph brought our things from the mule.  I took out some swaddling clothes I had packed and laid them out on the hay next to me.  Seeing this and the sweat on my brow, Joseph quietly assisted me in the preparation of the birth.  The child came into the world without a sound, small and beautiful, with large brown eyes that studied my face.  I cleaned Him gently and wrapped Him snuggly in the swaddling clothes.  I nuzzled Him close, awed by His beauty.  The animals housed with us seemed to sense the wonderment of this child, and came to rest near us to give us more warmth.  They were silent; all that could be heard was their peaceful, rhythmic breathing.

                We rested for a time, Joseph standing guard over us.  Then we heard a slight commotion outside the stable.  Joseph went out to see, and returned with several men clad in the robes of distant lands.  They stood in the entrance for several moments, and then each came forward and knelt before me and the Babe.  They said they had followed a star to the birth place of the King of the Jews, and were present to pay homage to Him and give Him gifts.

                “What is the name you have given Him?” one of them asked me gently.  I looked at Joseph, who nodded, and I replied, “His name is Jesus.” 

                They each presented their gifts.  “Gold,” one man said, “to symbolize His virtue.  The second man offered frankincense, “to symbolize prayer.”  The third man brought forth myrrh, and quietly said, “To symbolize suffering.”  I looked into his eyes, and seeing the fear in mine, he replied, “This child who you hold at your breast, will be a great man.  Many will behold Him and love Him just like you do now.  Centuries from now, people will continue to revere Him, kneel in awe before Him, and many will die in His name.  He will be the Savior for humankind, but He will suffer to save them.”

                For the rest of the night, as the venerable ones kept watch over us, many people, mostly shepherds and stable hands came to kneel before my Son.  He beheld each visitor, and they beheld Him, and so was the beginning of His Kingdom.

               

For those who believe in Christ, this is the true meaning of Christmas.  Remember the reason why we celebrate, and kneel before Him in reverence and love.

Bumps and Bruises

It seems nowadays that you have two types of extreme parenting.  On one side you have the parents that couldn’t care less where their kids are, what they are doing, and if they are playing in traffic.  Then you have the other side, the parents that don’t let their kids do anything.  Mowing the grass is too hard; helping carry groceries is too strenuous, playing outside is too dangerous.  I try to strive to be in the middle ground.  I care about what my kids are doing, I have rules about helmets being worn, and no one is allowed near or on the road.  Both kids help carry in groceries, and no one is old enough to mow the grass yet.  My point is you have to let kids be kids.  Kids get bumps and bruises.  Some may even fall and require stitches and casts.  Hopefully the latter doesn’t happen all of the time, but it’s not the end of the world if it does.   Pick them up, dust them off, and give them a gentle shove back into the world.  If they can’t handle the bumps and bruises as children, how are they going to handle the hurdles of adulthood?

When my daughter was a baby, she loved to chew on a big pink rubber safety pin when she was teething.  And being my first child, I would go through the necessary freak out when said pin would hit the floor or the ground.  I would take it away until I could thoroughly wash and disinfect it.  We went to see our pediatrician for a monthly checkup and naturally she was chewing on her pin.  Of course, as with anything that goes in the mouth, it fell to the floor.  I picked it up and put it aside, thinking I would probably have to roast it over an open fire to rid it of the nastiness that may inhabit a doctor’s office floor.  Our pediatrician shook his head, reached over me, wiped the pin on his pants and gave it back to my daughter.  Meanwhile, the look of horror on my face must have been overwhelming, because the doctor just smiled and said “good for the immune system.”  He told me that someday I would learn.  First child, you boil and sterilize everything, second child you may rinse it off, third child, you dust it off and give it back.  I didn’t make it to three children, but two was enough to convince me.  Especially with some of the horrors I’ve seen my kids do, and they are still living to tell the tale.  I have witnessed my daughter giving her princess dolls a bath in the toilet, and I have observed my son eat a grape off the floor at Kohl’s.  Both are still going strong, and both have had very few illnesses in their lives. 

Both of my kids have also been very lucky in the injury department.  No broken bones to report, and no stitches as of yet.  They are outside all year round, playing in the sandbox, on their bikes, on the tire swing, and on the playscape.  We’ve had some minor medical situations, like bee stings, and some poison ivy.  Both my kids are blessed with the gracefulness of raging alcoholics, a trait most likely inherited from me.  They fall constantly are their legs are covered in bruises.  My son has fallen off of his high chair, out of bed, and off of the couch.  My daughter has fallen from the monkey bars, off of her bike, out of bed, off of chairs, and has tripped over shadows.  Even the dog will trip over herself, and then look back to see what she tripped on.  There is no hope in this household of an injury free day and on most days we look like the walking wounded. 

What is the funniest out of all though, is when you think about what you did when you were a kid, and you say “I would never let my kids do that.”  Every parent says this to themselves, and it can be traced back through generations.  My mother remembers when she was a kid, she used to collect the mercury from my grandmother’s broken thermometers.  She kept it in a little box and would play with it on occasion.  She also remembers playing out in the yard with her siblings and drinking out of the run-off pond when they were thirsty.  When I was a kid, I remember falling off my bike and out of trees, and I even fell off of a deck once.  I remember standing up in the middle of my mother’s car while she was driving.  No one wore seat belts back then.  Now, we don’t move the car unless all seat belts are fastened.  But we are both still alive and kicking, amazed at how so much has changed and wondering how we made it through childhood without major illness or injury. 

In all, there is only so much that you can protect your kids from.  Bumps and bruises, coughs and sneezes, blisters and cuts, these are part of a normal childhood.  No child is blessed with the gracefulness of a swan, or the immune system of a sewer rat.  Just keep your medicine cabinet well stocked with Neosporin, Band-Aids, and Robitussin and all will be right with the world.

Happy Hermit

As I get older and most of the general public becomes dumber, I find myself doing more things online rather than going to a store.  This is especially true during the holiday shopping season.  My husband’s mother and sister always want me to participate in Black Friday, but every year I turn them down.  I can’t deal with the crowds, the rudeness, and the personal injuries.  The fact is I just don’t like people.  There, I said it.  I just don’t like them.  In general, people are rude, uncaring, unknowing, and blissful in their stupidity.  If you don’t believe me, go to Best Buy on Black Friday around five in the morning, and sit back and watch the events unfold.  You’ll be agreeing with me before too long.

Also as I get older, I find myself having absolutely no patience for waiting in lines.  When I was a teenager, I had no problem waiting in line.  My friends and I waited two and a half hours in line at Splash Mountain in Disney World.  We’ve waited in line for concert tickets, and even just to eat.  An hour wait at Olive Garden?  Piece of cake!  Now, if I have to wait twenty minutes for anything, it’s just too long.  Maybe it’s because now that I’m in my [cough] thirties, I can’t waste precious life minutes waiting.  Or maybe it’s because I have too much crap to do; I don’t have time to stand in line!  Those dishes aren’t going to wash themselves!  Yikes, can’t believe that one came out of my mouth.

So in my attempt to avoid people, I tend to buy many things online.  I buy movie tickets, Christmas presents, wrapping paper.  I buy birthday presents, reserve library books, do all of my banking.   I have direct deposit, direct payment…this way I don’t have to buy stamps.  However, I’m not as bad as my mother, who will buy deodorant and shampoo online so she can avoid Wal-Mart.  I’m sure it’s coming though.  If I wanted to, I could buy my groceries online and have them delivered.  Come to think of it, I really don’t have to go outside at all.  I can see my friends and family on Skype.  Now all we need is some sort of teleportation device so I wouldn’t have to drive anymore.  Beam me up, Big Y.

Alas, even though I think I would be happy as a hermit, I would miss Starbucks.  I also wouldn’t be able to get material for the blog.  Drat, I guess I will have to remain a part of society.  At least for the lattes…

Responsibilities

It wasn’t that long ago that I was a teenager.  I’m only 31, so we’re not talking eons here.  But things have changed dramatically since then.  Drugs, especially prescription drugs, are so easily attainable.  Alcohol is also easy to get when you know who to ask or which store to go to.  We blame lawmakers, we blame store owners, and we blame parents.  But we overlook the fact that teens today are smarter than we realize, and that some of the responsibility must lie with them.  It scares the hell out of me when I think of how close my daughter is to her teenage years.  I can only hope that I’ve instilled what values I’ve held on to since my teenage years, and hope that if I give her a big enough boost, she’ll try to reach the stars. 

I was the product of a single parent home.  My mother was our rock, our constant, and the only one that we could always rely on for anything and everything.  We didn’t have much, and my mother struggled for every penny she earned, no thanks to my deadbeat father.  However, I can say that neither I nor my sister ever participated in underage drinking, underage smoking, or drugs on the whole.  I am proud to say that I’ve never picked up a cigarette, and never took any type of drug recreationally.  I’ve never been drunk in my life; I’ve never lost control of myself or my actions.  I’ve always been the designated driver, because to me, it’s just not worth it.  In addition, I can also say that my friends never did the whole peer pressure routine.  And if they did, I was smart enough to know it and to avoid it.

Why do teenagers, especially teenage girls, think it’s cool to binge drink and then pass out on a bathroom floor?  Do they think that it’s attractive when they are vomiting all over themselves?  It is a dangerous world for a young girl to drink to the point of intoxication, and many have been the victims of sexual assault.  I just don’t understand.  All I want to keep asking is “WHY, WHY, WHY?”  Is it because of the media and how they seem to glamorize underage drinking?  Is it because alcohol is so readily available, and so socially accepted?  Do these kids not understand that one night of partying can change their lives forever?  Drunk driving, blood alcohol poisoning, sexual assault, violence—does this sound like a good time to you?  It doesn’t to me.  Consumption of as little as four shots for a teenage girl is enough to cause blood alcohol poisoning. 

Most parents rely on their child’s school to teach them about drugs and alcohol.  There are DARE programs and health classes.  But for some reason, the teachings are not making their mark, not hitting the target.  Yes, the statistics show that the use of illicit drugs among teens has declined, but use of alcohol, tobacco, and prescription drugs has not budged.  Not to mention the use of ecstasy, methamphetamine, overdosing on cough syrup, and skittling.  That one might be the most disturbing of all.  Kids take their parents prescription medications, dump them into a big bowl at a party, and take a handful.  What are they thinking?  Do they realize that they are dipping their hands into a big bowl of death?  Again, I just don’t understand.

I guess that all I can really do is keep talking to my daughter; talk to her about these new fads in drug abuse and talk to her about underage drinking.  I need to know who she is with and where she is at all times.  That’s my responsibility as a parent.  I need to love her and support her, and tell her that she can be anything and do anything with her life.  I will always be proud of her, and tell her I love her.  I will be her rock.  Mom, thank you for being you.  Thank you for saying no and setting rules and curfews.  Thank you for showing me the way, and I hope that I can be the mom that you are to me.  I love you.

Such are the Dreams of the Everyday Housewife

 

Yep…I am a housewife.   I prefer the term “domestic engineer” because it sounds like I may get a salary for this type of career, and it sounds more prestigious than “homemaker.”  I cook, bake, wash dishes, do laundry, take care of the children, and chauffer.  I could add cleaning and ironing to that list, but since I try not to do either very often, I will omit them for the time being.  But being a housewife comes with certain woes.  You have to deal with illness on a regular basis, both mental (usually your own) and physical (usually the kids).  You have to budget time as well as the money.  You have to pay bills when all you want to do is buy those leather boots.  But the worst woes have to do with the little things that the other members of your family inflict on you.  Here are some of the things that I ponder every day.

1.       Why does most children’s clothing have to be ironed?  Can’t they make these items out of something that doesn’t wrinkle? 

2.       Why do children and husbands have to take off all of their clothing inside out?  Is there some sort of mental block that prevents them from taking off their clothes right-side-out?

3.       When the socks go into the dryer, do some of them go into a fourth dimension, or do they disintegrate into the lint trap?

4.       Why do ladybugs have to stink up the entire house when you suck them up in the vacuum?

5.       Why is the husband “He-Man” for most of the year, but turns into a baby when he gets sick?

6.       Why do children and the dog aim for the couch when they have to vomit?

7.       How does shaving gel get on the wall?

8.       How does toothpaste get on the mirror?

9.       Why do I use every pot and pan in the house when I cook a meal?

10.   Why do dogs like to rip apart napkins and paper towels?

11.   Why can’t children be born with the instinct that makes them put toys away when they are done playing with them?  Can we genetically engineer this trait?

12.   Can I design a dumbwaiter system in my house so that I don’t have to bring groceries up the stairs?

13.   Why does the dog walk directly in front of me when I am trying to answer the phone?

14.   Why do telemarketers call at nine o’clock at night?

15.   Why do children begin fighting and crying as soon as you pick up the phone to make a call?

16.   Why do only eggs and bottles of oil drop and shatter onto the floor?  Do they have different gravitational pulls than other items?

17.   Why do windows, televisions, appliances, and glossy wood get fingerprints?  Can’t someone invent a coating that prevents this particular affliction?

18.   Why can’t anyone hang up their coats in the closet when they come in from outside?

19.   Why do the children and the husband demand certain food items only after I come back from the supermarket?  Do they think that I am psychic?

20.   Why can’t I ever find a pen that works when I really need one?

Possessed

I should seriously have my head examined.  Why?  Because I do things that normal people would probably not do.  Maybe my sanity has finally left me for good.  I think it just got fed up and said "I'm outta here, woman."  I suspect this is what happened.  For today, I was muttering to myself, in a store, like a crazy old woman who hoards cats.  But I believe that I brought on this latest psychotic break purely because I went clothes shopping with two kids, of which one was dangerously close to nap time.

Today being “Elect a Liar” day (thanks Jeff); my daughter has the day off from school.  So I thought it would be a good day to do some fun things.  We went out to breakfast at the Shack and got some pancakes.  First mistake, giving a three-year-old sticky food to eat.  He does well with his fork, but if a bite of pancake falls off the fork before reaching his mouth, he picks it up and eats it with his fingers.  That’s okay, this is what kids do.  But as the parent, you have to be quick on your game, and have the wet wipe ready to clean the sticky mess from the fingers before said fingers grab Mommy’s freshly washed sweater.  No coffee + no sleep = slow Mommy.

After getting cleaned up after the breakfast mess, we set off to visit Borders.  My daughter loves this store, and has, at any one time, fifteen gift cards to spend.  We got to Borders without incident.  She had all of her books selected within five minutes of getting there, so I decided to look around a little.  Mistake number 2.  Three-year-old boys do not like book stores.  Yes, they like to touch everything in the store, and run through the racks playing hide and seek, but they do not appreciate book stores like girls do.  On several occasions in the fifteen minutes inside the book store, my son wriggled out of my grasp and proceeded to either run in the opposite direction, or disappear altogether.  Now I know why they have child leashes.  How much are these and where can I get one?

At this point, I was ready to throw in the towel, give up and go home.  However, my daughter reminded me that I needed to go to Kohl’s to get her an outfit for her audition on Saturday.  Therefore, I redirected my car towards Kohl’s.  After warning my son in the parking lot that he either behaves or he would be sorry, we ambled into Kohl’s.  This is where my daughter begins to regress from a rather able-bodied twelve-year-old to a whiney five-year-old, literally dragging her feet through the aisles.  She hates clothes shopping and hates trying on clothes.  I think she would be happy wearing sweatpants and pajamas throughout most of her teenage years.  So with a pouty bottom lip, she tried on several selections.  While I’m trying to help her and look at the fit, my son is on his hands and knees looking under the stall wall into the adjacent stall.  I yelled at him, and secretly doing the sign of the cross thanking God there was no one in the next stall.  How embarrassing!  We finally decide on an outfit for Saturday, and dragging my son through the check out, we made it out of Kohl’s.  By now, the children are still intact, but Mommy is a mess.  I am still afflicted by some phantom stickiness left over from breakfast, which I trace back to my keys.  I heave the younger child into the car seat, who is blubbering still about being forced to hold hands with mean Mommy while crossing the parking lot.  I take a deep breath, thinking that I can go home now, only to remember I still have to go to Big Y. CRAP!

By the time I get to Big Y, I am hoarse from yelling and in my mind I’m wondering how I am not a raging alcoholic.  I place my son in the cart because I’m not in the correct state of mind to allow him to walk.  Once inside the store, I realize I have absolutely no idea why I am there, what I’m supposed to buy, and why children just can’t live on cereal.  I begin to gather what is left of my thought process, and start to collect some items.  By this time my son has given up, thankfully, and lies down in the cart.  Once things are semi-quiet, I can begin to piece together some semblance of meals for the next couple of days.  We get back to the car, get everything in, and start the drive home.  HOME!!!  What a beautiful word, home.  I love home. 

Now I’m sitting here wondering what possesses me to do errands with two kids.  Someone always ends up crying, and most of the time it’s neither of the children.  What possesses me to think that a morning of errands would be fun?  This is why I tell my husband that the next time I get any brilliant ideas, just to shoot me.  But every week, I forget the homicidal or suicidal tendencies and I do it all again.  Maybe I am a glutton for punishment, or maybe I’m just that naïve to think that “it will be different this time.”  Either way, I’m glad I’m doing this with just two kids and not six.  No wonder my grandmother would brandish wooden spoons like tomahawks.  She was possessed too.