Why Should I Even Have to Say It?

My husband and I find ourselves laughing more and more at the stupid things that we say sometimes to our kids.  I’m talking about the “Don’t” statements…those that are trying to save the children either from getting sick, getting hurt, or getting into trouble.  Every day, we seem to add another odd one to the mix.

The newest one that can be heard on most days is “Don’t put your tongue on that!”  Now if someone was just listening, and not seeing what we see, that statement might seem a little inappropriate.  However, this is shouted when our son, Michael, attempts to lick the side of the pool.  Why does he lick the pool?  I have no idea why, and I don’t think Michael does either.  Maybe he’s trying to be a puppy, maybe he’s trying to taste things, or maybe he’s a little nutty. 

And while we’re on the subject of tongues, “Don’t lick the windows” is another popular admonishment heard often in our house.  Again, I have no idea why my son likes to lick windows.  My dog also enjoys this pastime.  Maybe this is a popular hobby with children…although I don’t remember ever licking windows when I was bored.

This morning, Michael came into our room and told us a story.  He said that he went potty all by himself, and he scrubbed his hands because they were all dirty from getting his bouncy ball out of the toilet. ??  Apparently, after a lengthy interrogation, we surmised that he was holding his new bouncy ball while he was going to the bathroom, and when he got up (he still sits to go pee), he dropped his bouncy ball in the toilet.  He reached in to get it out, and he washed his hands, but never washed the bouncy ball.  I am reminded of many years ago, when my daughter (four at the time), told us that her princess figurines fell into the potty.  To both children we had to ask, “Did you mean to put them in there, or was it a mistake.”  And both children replied, “It was a stake.” 

Another one that was heard today, “Don’t jump in the puddles.”  I think every parent who ever had small children knows this one.  Children, especially ones with brand new shoes, are magnetically drawn to puddles, and the deeper the puddles, the stronger the affinity between child and puddle.  Even as an adult, I even from time to time have to step in a puddle…sometimes you don’t have a choice.  But I usually try to avoid taking a running leap and landing two footed in the deepest part of the puddle.  If this was an Olympic sport, my children most likely would have received gold medals.  My teenager has stopped puddle-ducking; it is beyond her station now.  But the little one, I think, was actually born a duck.

Of course, the phrase “Don’t do that!” is probably the most frequently heard.  This phrase can and will apply to the simplest thing or to the oddest behavior.  For instance, trying to smell your toes at the dinner table.  Or perhaps streaking naked through the house after bath time.  I tell my husband not to do those all the time.  Just joking, honey, I know these are only directed towards Michael.  I was just seeing if you were reading…HAHA!

Weight of the World

When you are a mother, sometimes you feel like you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.  There are the small pebbles, like remembering to take your husband’s suit to the dry cleaners.  Then there are the concrete cinderblocks, like deciding which bill can go longer without getting paid, and where the money for the oil bill is going to come from.  Then there are the glacial boulders, the size of elephants, which represent your deepest fears and worries about your children and family.  Most days, we can walk mostly upright, pulling strength from deep within to carry this load.  But there are the dark days that come, when the weight becomes a crushing force.  No matter how many times you shift the load, you find it harder and harder to keep from giving in to gravity. 

A mother’s mind is the eighth wonder of the world.  It holds so much information, a warehouse full of filing cabinets.  We remember every phone number, every birthday, anniversary, what we wore on our first date, what illnesses our children have had.  Sometimes the filing cabinets spill over onto the floor and the file that holds where we put the car keys gets stepped on.  There are dusty, rusty cabinets, which hold our childhood memories.  We break out those files every once in a while when we are in dire need of a good laugh, or in some cases, a good cry.  There are the old cobwebby cabinets in the corner that hold information like how to fix a leaky toilet, how to install a DVD player, how to start the lawnmower.  These cabinets aren’t used very much sometimes after we get married.   But in the middle of it all, there are several transparent filing cabinets that hold our deepest worries.  They are installed the moment you give birth and they are with you until the day you leave this earth.  There are several files with worries about your child’s health, growth, and development.  There might be a cabinet or two devoted to their pains; tummy aches, sore throats, earaches, growing pains.  But there’s also one that is devoted to fear.  Fear about your children growing up properly, if you are a good parent, if they will fall victim to drugs and alcohol, and keeping them safe in an ever violent world. 

The key to those transparent cabinets is always around your neck.   Use it well and use it often.  The more you ignore those cabinets, the larger and more disorganized they will get.  But if you look at those files every week and face those fears head on, you will learn sooner or later that you are fighting the good fight.  Your children are happy and healthy and that inner strength that enables you to carry those boulders overcomes the crushing gravity.  You can keep walking upright, and keep filing the pages away.

“To nourish children and raise them against odds is in any time, any place, more valuable than to fix bolts in cars or design nuclear weapons.”—Marilyn French

“A mother’s life, you see, is one long succession of dramas, now soft and tender, now terrible.  Not an hour but has its joys and fears.”—Honore de Balzac

A Cluster Day and No Chocolate In Sight...

What a day.  It started out okay, but turned into a cluster by five. 

As many of you know, we put in an above-ground pool this past spring.  We love it, and we are in it constantly.  My husband usually takes care of the pool, but I help out, especially when he is at work or away on business.  I know most of the goings-on in pool care, but am hopelessly helpless when it comes to the plumbing involved in having a pool.  Therefore, when something goes wrong, it is an all-out panic attack for me.

Tuesday I noticed that the pool was a little cloudy and I figured that it needed an extra shot of chlorine.  After adding the chlorine, I knew I needed to back-flush the filter a little to clean it out; however I was a little wary because the water level was a little low.  We haven’t had rain in about a week, even though I live in Connecticut; and as of this week was rivaling Seattle in the rainfall totals.  I back-flushed very briefly, put the pump back on “filter” and went inside.  At about ten, I went out and found that the pump was sucking air, usually an indicator for a really low water level.  I shut the pump off for the night, not really sure what to think about what was happening.  This morning I found that the water level was at least an inch below the skimmer, which was puzzling to me.  Could there have been that much evaporation over night?  I worried about it all day and decided that I would put some water in from the well with the garden hose.  I let the hose run for a while, and noticed that the water level really didn’t come up much at all.  What the hell is this? I wonder to myself.  Deciding that I didn’t need more problems, like a burned out well pump, I turned off the water, and proceeded to snap the spigot handle.  This is the type of spigot that turns off inside the house so that it doesn’t freeze in the winter, meaning that this is not an easy fix.  It would probably require a husband, a father-in-law, torches, Pex fittings…you get the picture.  Luckily, it broke in the off position.  Otherwise, I would have had to turn off the main water line to the house.  Nice.  But thank the Heavens, it broke the right way.

Now, back to the pool.  I realized after talking to my husband (across the pond), that it was possible that the valve on the pump wasn’t on “filter” all the way and somehow the pool was losing water.  Sure enough, some sand from the filter must have found its way into the valve and it got stuck open.  Unbeknownst to me, the non-plumber. 

Thus, I found the culprit leak and corrected the problem.  However, we come back to the problem of not enough water in the pool to run the filter, no way to get water from the hose, and no storms or rain clouds in sight.  What else could possibly go wrong?

Throw in the fact that my car had a recall sent out on the transmission, and now I am carless until Friday afternoon.

Throw in the fact that the hubby is in the UK and not scheduled to come back for at least another week, possibly more.

Throw in the fact that the natives (children) are getting restless in the heat and they have no pool to cool off in.  It’s like holding a treat in front of a dog’s nose and just letting her sniff it. 

Throw in the fact that I’m on a diet, have been for 71 days, and haven’t had chocolate or a drink in said amount of days.  Holy CRAP!!

Therefore, I am seriously holding on by a thin thread.  So if anything else comes up in the next week or so, just keep it to yourselves.  It may put me over the edge, and I don’t think you want to see a grown woman bawl her eyes out.  Oh where oh where did my tequila bottle go, or where or where could it be?  Just joking, Mom…I know you are shaking your head in disgust right now.  I desperately need a vacation….

Trains, Planes and Automobiles

(I wrote this a couple of weeks ago.  But because it was on paper, in my infinite wisdom and [cough] organizational skills, I misplaced it for a time.)

This is a first. I’m writing this blog via the old fashioned way, pen and paper.  Why, you ask?  There are a couple of reasons.  A—I am currently stranded on a Shoreline East train, and B—I don’t have my laptop because of the massive Trojan horse that unleashed its fury on my defenseless XP driven, four year old laptop.  So here I sit, “patiently” waiting for the powers-that-be to decide when and if we can start moving.  I swear this state has some real issues with weather-related crisis. A few drops of rain and a couple claps of thunder strike a major discord within this fine railway establishment.  But this blog, alas, is not about the melodramatics of this pathetic state, but the sorry “state” of public transportation in Connecticut.  The railway system is grossly archaic and malnourished, the bus system is pretty much non-existent, and most of the highways are in disrepair.  We are one of the richest states in the union, but no money can be disseminated into the public transportation system. 

My day started out like this.  I left my house at 6:15AM in order to make the 6:55AM Shoreline East train from New London to Union Station in New Haven.  Why so early?  Because Shoreline East only runs two trains; one in the morning and one at night.  I say two trains because the line is always fraught with delays and problems, that it might as well be just the two trains.  I bought my 6:55AM tickets, and waited ever so patiently in the already sweltering morning heat.  6:55 came and went.  So did 7:15, 7:20, 7:25…you get the picture.  The huddled masses finally were able to board the train at 7:35AM.  Finally underway (forty minutes late) we settled in for a rather jarring, teeth-rattling ride through all of the shoreline towns to Union Station in New Haven.  Because I missed the first Metro-North train, I had to book it to the second connection, which I barely made.  I no later sat my ass in the seat when we departed.  I endured yet another jolting ride from New Haven to Grand Central.  My plans for the day were upheaved, because of what ended up being an hour delay, and I didn’t arrive at my destination until 11:00AM.

I finished my business in the city, and took the wrong subway trying to get back to Grand Central (I got my uptowns and downtowns a little mixed up.)  I had a quick bite and made a pit stop, and I was back on the Metro-North heading back to New Haven.

You’re thinking, home free, right?  WRONG!  Just after the Stamford station, we lost A/C and power, and then the train stopped several times.  Somehow I made the connection with the Shoreline East train with ten minutes to spare.  Lucky me, right?  Wrong again.  Because of the thunderstorms, we got stranded at the Union Station terminal for two hours.  We just started moving, thank the heavens.  Thank goodness my babysitter doesn’t charge by the hour!  Here we are, going about ten miles an hour, two hours late, wondering how I’m going to get the car out of the parking garage in New London at ten at night.

Just wait…an update…apparently there is only one track open right now, and we’re on the wrong one.  We were informed that we have to go west (towards New Haven) to go east (towards New London).   Huh?  That’s right…those are your hard-earned tax dollars at work.  So here it is, 8:31, I left NYC at 4:34, and I’m still en route, with no ETA, and no guarantee that this train is going to get me home.  But open your wallets, because here comes the conductor to collect the fare.

In close, I will never take Shoreline East again.  I’d rather take my chances on I-95 in my car, drive to New Haven and get on the Metro-North.  I’ll get there in a quarter of the time, and still have my sanity.

P.S.  We are still going west…now we’re getting behind four east-bound trains waiting in line…oh wait, we’re back at Union Station…WHAT THE F*CK?!?

P.P.S.  8:40PM—still at Union Station---we’ve gone backwards in time.  Is this the paradox of the universe?

P.P.P.S.  8:44PM—we’re actually travelling east?  Could this be true?  Wait…I think that was a woodchuck that just passed us and, yes, he was on foot.

8:57PM Branford

9:08PM Guilford

9:14PM Madison

9:20PM Clinton

9:25PM Westbrook

Uh oh…they came around and counted everyone going to New London…there’s radio banter about not continuing to New London…what the hell?

9:36PM Old Saybrook

10:06PM New London and a scary, dark parking garage…there’s a night teller on duty…at least I won’t have to break through the gate.

Oh good, tractor-trailer versus pickup truck on the highway…someone doesn’t want me getting home tonight.

10:36PM…my driveway, home sweet home.  I realize that it took me eight hours just to get to Groton from NYC.  I could have flown to Heathrow in London in the same amount of time.

Only $9.99, plus a $200 processing fee…

Lately it seems that everywhere you turn, you get ripped off.  I know I’ve blogged about this before, but it seems to be getting worse.  Or I’m just getting older and older and my patience for bullsh*t is wearing thin. 

Recently, I needed to book some airline tickets for a short vacation.  With technology today, making airline reservations is relatively simple, as long as what you are doing is pretty straight-forward.  Of course, mine were not.  After entering my information into the reservation calculator, I was informed that I needed to call the reservation line with JetBlue in order to fulfill my request.  Obviously, because of my dislike for the general public, I cringed to think that I would have to use the phone.  However, I had to give in.  I called JetBlue’s customer service line.  After cycling through seemingly endless menus and options, I was told that I could avoid the $15 phone charge if I went onto JetBlue’s website.  Wait, a phone charge?!?  I have to pay $15 extra to talk to a human whose primary language is not English?  What fresh hell is this?  Isn’t it bad enough that the fuel surcharge is more than the actual ticket price?  Isn’t it insane enough that they charge you for your luggage?  Apparently not, since now they charge you for the phone call that you have to make because you are not allowed to conduct normal business on their website.  Whatever, JetBlue, this is the first and last time I will conduct business with the likes of you.

All of you concert goers out there now what I’m talking about with this next happy detail.  I remember not too far back that the ticket processing fees for buying tickets online were anywhere from $1 to $5 per ticket.  Today, I found myself in the unique situation of buying tickets for a Broadway show that is coming to the Bushnell.  The last time I bought tickets to the Bushnell was two years ago when my daughter and I went to see Phantom and the ticket processing fees were only three dollars.  Today, after buying nosebleed seats at $39 bucks a pop, I was charged a $21 processing fee, plus an additional $2 processing fee per ticket.  @#&!  I let the expletives fly. 

Don’t even get me started on restaurants and their new way of screwing their customers.  A la carte dining is one of the biggest scams to hit in a while.  You pay $30 for a steak, but then have to pay extra if you want a potato.  Whatever, Michael Jordan’s Steakhouse, I guess I’ll stick to the buffet…

So, the way I see it, you are screwed one way or another.  Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.  If you call customer service for one thing, you get charged, and if you try to do things online, you get charged again.  Do these companies just want to cut out the customer altogether?  On the other hand, maybe I can start charging processing and handling fees…something like this perhaps?

Wash and Dry…$5 per load, plus $10 additional if the clothes are extra dirty

Dish Washing…$10 per sink full, plus $5 additional if food is stuck on

Hamper Maintenance…free, unless the clothes don’t make it into hamper, then $1 charge for every article I have to pick up off the floor

Murphy's Law

Murphy’s Law

Murphy’s law dictates that a cake intended for a baby shower will shatter into ten pieces at 7:00 the night before the shower. 

Murphy’s law states that a child will have an accident in his pants away from home as soon as you remove the diaper bag from the car, thinking, “I don’t need this anymore”.  You are wrong, you will need it until the child is at least thirteen.

Murphy’s law allows for the simple fact that once the dog is home from the groomer’s, it will rain for forty days and forty nights, and the all the mud that was in the yard will end up in your house and on the dog.

Murphy’s law claims that either runaway horses or vagrant mice will keep you from sleeping on the one night that you desperately need sleep, for the next day is awfully busy.

Murphy’s law states that on the night you’ve been anxiously waiting for the season premiere of a TV show, either the cable will go out, or a teenage child will have seventy-five algebra problems that she needs help with.  (So you record the show on the DVR, only to find out the next day that the DVR was full and the show didn’t record.)

Murphy’s law says that once you pay off the loan on your vehicle, and receive the title for said vehicle, the probability of that vehicle breaking rises exponentially, so that you have to go buy a new one and take out another loan.

Murphy’s law tells us that kids always speak when you least want them to, like to tell the stranger at the library that Mommy has boobies under her shirt, and he has a tummy under his.

I would like to know who this guy Murphy is…I want a picture of him so that when I find him, I can hurt him badly.  However, his law clearly states that once I do find him, he’ll already be dead.

Sales Pitch

I consider myself to be Catholic.  I was raised Catholic, and I believe in some of the doctrine associated with this particular branch of Christianity.  But there comes a time when you have to stop and begin to question some of the other doctrine and laws that are constantly being thrown at you.  I think many people have this epiphany at some point, either in their teenage years (when you question everything) or when they are facing their own mortality (like when you turn 30).  Looking at other religions and sects of Christianity, you find yourself taking little snippets of this and tidbits of that, trying to piece together your own set of beliefs that make you feel a little better.  But after a while, you begin to hear a sales pitch, like when you are buying a new car:

Salesman:     What can I do to put you into a new religion today?

Shopper:        Umm, well, does the new religion come with tolerance?  Does it judge people before it   knows them?  Does it condemn those who may follow another Holy One?

Salesman:     Well, we have a nice book with many stories…

Shopper:        Oh, okay.  Are those stories open to interpretation, or are they taken for literal value?

Salesman:     (glances around uncomfortably) Um, well, they should be taken for their literal value.

Shopper:        Oh, so when the book mentions that the world was created in six days and that all of humanity came from one man and one woman, you’re saying that should be taken literally?  Does that mean ignoring millions of years of evolution, the existence of prehistoric animals, and the evolution of human kind over thousands of years?

Salesman:     Well, um, every Sunday we come together while one of us preaches, and we sing songs and hold hands; it’s really quite nice.

Shopper:        That is nice.  But if I can’t come on Sundays, does that mean I can’t belong?  Does your God only listen to those of His children who worship on Sundays in His church?  Does He listen to those who maybe follow in His word every day, who decide they don’t want to go to church? 

Salesman:     Er…we offer some nice services.  We have marriage, christening, communion, funerals…

Shopper:        I like services.  But do you offer marriages for same-sex couples?  I know a couple who are in the market for a religion that believes in all marriages, they might be interested…

Salesman:     (backing away slowly) Um, maybe this religion is not the right fit for you. 

Shopper:        Oh, that’s too bad.  I’ve been in the market for a while, but I can’t seem to find the right fit. Oh, I have one more question; does your religion believe in equality between men and women?

Salesman:     Um, I really have to go, I’m sorry we couldn’t do business today.  If your values ever change, come back in and maybe we can make a deal. (Walks away hurriedly)

Shopper:        Gee, I scare off more salesmen that way. (Hangs head and shuffles off)

And just because I wear a crucifix around my neck doesn't mean that it’s open season for offers.  I met a really nice woman at the Library Storytime.  I saw her there last week with her children, and this week she decided that she would talk to me.  After a nice conversation, she pulls out a printed business card with the name of her church and when the services are.  "We would like it if you could come to our services," she says with a smile.  Politely I take the card, thank her, gather up my son and walk away.  Out of curiosity, I punch in the particular sect of Christianity from the propaganda on the card into Google.  It sounds nice, but I can see through the rose colored wording that this religion really wouldn't suit me either.  Mainly because I see the "Our members agree to strive to be devoted to the body life of the church. This includes making whole-hearted efforts, for example, attending each [applicable] meeting of the body…”  You have to go to church everytime they call the flock together.  Don’t get me wrong, I like going to church, the feeling of spirituality and sense of belonging to a community.  But don’t tell me that I’m not a good person because I don’t go to church every Sunday.  I can think of a few awful people who go to church every Sunday, and I can think of a few really good, generous, gracious and righteous people who don’t go to church.  I don’t think Jesus is taking attendance and giving out demerits.  He’s much too busy dealing with bigger issues, like battling true evil, and carrying those who need Him in their hours of darkness. 

So enough with the sales pitches.  Just because I disagree with some aspects of my religion doesn’t mean that I’m ready to convert to another.  A good relationship requires some discord every now and again.  I’m not a sheep, I’m not one of the flock.  I can’t be shepherded.  But that’s okay, I think God understands.