CSquaredPlus3

Twenty Years

November 4, 1989

 

 

Twenty years later...

 

Happy Anniversary, Chris.  I like you.  You're fun. 

Love,
The Other Chris [the girl]

I Didn't Finish My Post On Procrastination

I had picked up the boys from school, stopped at the liquor store, was driving home and called Chris to touch base...

Me:  Anything new?

Chris:  No. You?

Me:  Not really.  I've had an unproductive day.  Questioned everything I wrote.  I attempted three blog posts because I was procrastinating working on other things.  The first one on Why I Blog turned into Why I Write and it felt too personal.  I wanted to tap into the "attention whore" theory Neil blogged about along with Kyran's post -- which I still need to forward to you -- but I got sidetracked.  I don't have enough time to do all this.

THEN, I started a post on Procrastination and I got all freaked out that I have a psychological disorder after Googling it.  Wikipedia nailed me.  But I found some great articles on how to resolve my reasons for procrastinating.  So that was good... I still have issues though...

THEN, I thought I need to address my running blog because I haven't posted since the last race, but I want to let that blog go, so I need to post something on CSquaredPlus3...like... about how you're running with me now and I'm trying to talk you into doing the Triple Trail Challenge next summer because Supermodel says she's out.

I hardly even looked at my other projects...

Chris:  I think you should finish the Procrastination post and title it "I Didn't Finish My Post On Procrastination".

Me:  And have a blank page?

Chris:  No.  Post what you have written so far.

Me:  I only titled it, then I went to Google so I could paste a definition at the top of the post.  That's when I got freaked out and had to diagnose myself.

Chris:  So you have nothing?

Me:  I have nothing.

Chris:  So... the content is... light.

Me:  Very.

**********

Per Wikipedia [Which, according to my sons, is not a good source because, "...ANYONE can post information on there!"]

Procrastination is the deferment of actions or tasks to a later time. Psychologists often cite this human behavior as a mechanism for coping with the anxiety associated with starting or completing any task or decision. ^[1] Psychology researchers use three criteria to categorize procrastination: for a behavior to be classified as procrastination, it must be counterproductive, needless, and delaying.^[2]

For an individual, procrastination may result in stress, a sense of guilt, the loss of personal productivity, the creation of crisis and disapproval from others for not fulfilling one's responsibilities or commitments. These combined feelings can promote further procrastination. While it is normal for people to procrastinate to some degree, it becomes a problem when it impedes normal functioning. *Chronic procrastination may be a sign of an underlying psychological disorder.

**********

*  Did you read that?  I'm SO freaked out.

I Blinked

As quickly as it began, summer break is ending.  Oldest Boy and Middle Boy return to school next week.  The school they attend resumes classes after Labor Day so we enjoy a summer break like the kind I had when I was a kid.  Three full months.  I love having the boys home and will join Toddler Child next week as he mopes around the house muttering, "I miss the big boys."

Our summer is ending with an assortment of tales to tell, but I've not had the time to chronicle everything publicly. 

Shortly after giving birth to Oldest Boy, I asked Chris if he got any good pictures or video.  He said, "I decided I wanted to experience the birth of our child, not worry about documenting it."  There's balance in that philosophy.  We have photos and journals that I'm thankful we have, but many, many years from now will any person really care?

Abbreviated Tales

Death:  The boys were prepared for Mamaw's death.  They were even prepared for the death of Susan Nelson, the wife of blogger, Fat Cyclist [Elden].  But they weren't prepared for the death of their beloved kindergarten teacher who passed unexpectedly due to a pulmonary embolism.  She was only 48.  These three deaths all occurred in August.  We parented through the death of a woman who had battled breast cancer for several years and left behind her husband and four children.  We parented through the death of an older person, blessed with a full and long life.  And we're still discussing the death of a teacher who appeared healthy one day and the next, was gone.  Rough.

It's Not Funny Anymore:  I had another incident with the car.  I dropped off Oldest Boy at his teacher's house for an ice-cream social.  As I backed out of the driveway [too fast], I hit the front of her husband's parked car.  No one was hurt.  When I called Chris to tell him what had happened, his normally calm and understanding tone was replaced with irritation as he said, "Are you effing kidding me?" 

NOTE:  My parents are refusing to take any calls from me if they see I'm calling from my cell phone.  [I only use my cell phone in the car.  For the record, I was NOT on my phone when I backed into the parked car.]

Birthdays:  Middle Boy turned ten on August 30th and Toddler Child will turn four next week.  Middle Boy thinks it's cool to be in the double-digits, and Toddler Child says he wants to be two, not four.  I told him I wish time worked that way sometimes too.

 

Hummingbird:  We had a hummingbird in the garage.  It flew around and rested on different brake cables of the bikes hanging from our garage ceiling.  I won't make this tale longer than it needs to be.  We were excited at the time.  You would have thought we had a bald eagle nesting on our trash can.  I have too many pictures of a hummingbird sitting on my bike's brake cable.

 

History:  We can't rewrite it.  Isn't that both a tragic and a glorious thing?  For now, this tale will remain very abbreviated.

Goodbye Summer:  I can't believe it's over!  I say this at the end of every school year, holiday, vacation, etc...  And I know I'll say it again.  I'm trying to enjoy the last few days before school starts by ignoring the toys that are left around the house, delaying wiping fingerprints where there typically are none, and avoiding yelling up the stairs, "Take it down a notch, boys!" when I hear them roughhousing.

Today I took my camera upstairs instead of requesting the boys downshift their play.

 

 

I miss the big boys already.

Speedo-Mon

We're home for the rest of the summer so that means the boys will have to play with a hose in the backyard for fun, and we'll take an occasional day trip to check something off the list of Still To Do And See In Utah.

The good news is, our boys love playing in the hose.  Toddler Child insists on wearing his fast swimsuit [Speedo], and Mary joins our nearly-mistaken-for-Jamaican children while they play with water.  They wear plenty of sunscreen.  We're proud of our funky whiteness.

[Click on all photos to enlarge.]

 

 

A couple of days ago, Chris and I took the boys to Antelope Island State Park at the Great Salt Lake.  We've lived in Utah nearly seven years and had never taken the time to visit the lake for which the state is so famous.  I called for information and was told by a Very Nice Woman, that there was a beach, paddle boat rentals, a bistro, public restrooms and outdoor showers.  I was told the salt content in the lake is 3% higher than the ocean, only brine shrimp live in the water, and there are several brine flies at the water's edge.  The Very Nice Woman said the brine flies create a black ribbon on the beach and they will separate as you walk through them.  Don't worry, she said, they don't bite, and once you get beyond them it's just you and the buoyant waters of the Great Salt Lake!

We weren't expecting Maui, but I envisioned a long day on the "island".

We spent two hours on Antelope Island, and one hour would have been plenty. There is a beach, but it should be called something different because the connotation that goes along with "beach" left us all feeling confused and disappointed.  The bistro was run-down and closed.  The three paddle boats available for rent were filthy and full of dead brine flies and live wolf spiders.  We passed on the paddle boat rental.

There were BILLIONS of brine flies.  BILLIONS.  The ribbon the Very Nice Woman described, was several feet wide in places. The flies didn't bite; that part was true.  But they peppered the top of the water as far as my eye could see.  They were... icky.  Middle Boy, lover of all living things, shrieked as he high-stepped through them to get in and out of the water.

Chris and the boys getting ready to enter the lake.

[Chris would like it known that he does not appreciate this picture, but he won't use his Blog Power of Veto.  I think it's the outfit, old swim trunks and Super Friends t-shirt.  I reminded him he was about to enter a cesspool so it was important to wear disposable clothes.]

If you click on the following photo to enlarge, you might be able to see the brine flies [that the Very Nice Woman said would only be at the water's edge] all over the lake.

 

I brought my bathing suit, but couldn't get beyond the smell and the flies.  I kept my clothes on and waded in to my knees, but was miserable as I shooed flies, took pictures, and looked at my watch every 30 seconds hoping the kids would tire of the experience as I tolerated it.

 

Luckily the boys didn't need too much time bobbing in the brine fly water, and Toddler Child got salt in his eye.  We told him prior to getting in the water to be careful of his eyes, and we also told him there were brine shrimp living in the lake.  He confused the two and cried as we walked back to the car, "I have shrimp in my eye..."

I'm glad we saw the lake and swam in it [shudder], but I don't think we'll be returning.  It's big, salty, and interesting, but if you want to check this site off of your list of places to see, call me for information instead of the Very Nice Woman.

Still To Do And See In Utah:  Antelope Island State Park

[The Great Salt Lake from Antelope Island State Park]

The Weapon

Chris was out of town last week.  I can now manage the the kids and the house while he's away without hyperventilating or leaving teeth marks on my tongue from biting it with frustration.  Toddler Child sleeps through most nights and we deal with a nightmare, an accident, or a blood sugar issue only occasionally.  I don't think a child has vomited once in 2009.  [I know.  I shouldn't tempt fate by sharing that fact.]

The week went fairly well.  Except for one day.  It was T-minus 24 hours until Chris was to be home.  I hate coming undone when I'm so close to the end of something that requires a little more from me.  I don't know if I create a self-fulfilling or a self-defeating prophecy in these situations. But I do it almost every time.

I was singing dorkily in the car while taking Middle Boy to his guitar lesson.  His disapproving, yet ironically not disrespectful, glances told me he was embarrassed by my grooves.  I asked him lightheartedly, "Do I ever do anything that annoys you?"

"Sometimes."

"Like what?"

"Well...  I can't think of the word... but sometimes... you're... ... ..."

I knew what he was thinking.  I instantly felt it.  He truly didn't know the word, but he was thinking bitchy.  I waited.  He was innocent and thoughtful as he searched for the word to answer my question.

"... sometimes you're...  grumpy."

I asked him to explain and give me some examples.  The look on my face and the tone of my voice told Middle Boy this wasn't going the direction either of us thought it would.  He nervously described how he dropped a perfectly clean, plastic fork on the floor and I got REALLY mad.  I don't remember this, and I told him so.  I wanted more examples.  I was aware of my subtle but palpable shift to defensiveness partnered with antagonism.  My son was aware too, and chose his words carefully as he answered the assault of questions I threw at him.

When we got home from the guitar lesson I told Oldest Boy about my question to Middle Boy and the answer I received.  He could tell I was irritated and politely and diplomatically supported his brother.  He said some days I'm very patient but other days I get frustrated with them a little quicker than usual.

What did I do with this honest and valuable information from my sons?  I chastised them.  All night.  I peppered what should have been a pleasant evening with, "And ANOTHER thing..."  I reminded the boys of everything I do around the house.  I reminded them how good they have it compared to other kids.  I reminded them that the "other mothers" who are sooo wonderful have GRUMPY days too.  I reminded them that some kids don't even HAVE a mother.  They were pink-eyed and trembly-lipped a couple of times.

Toddler Child was lying low.  Happy for once that he wasn't the boy on the receiving end of one of my manic lectures.

Dinner, showers, bedtime reading routines, all were accomplished successfully.  Toddler Child had been sleeping with something to protect himself and the rest of the family while Chris was out of town.  He requested it for one more night, in case he needed to battack someone.

NOTE:  We're not a gun family.  Chris nor I were raised by parents who hunt, target shoot or have a need for a gun, so we're raising our kids the same.  Our arguments are just passionate enough that if we had a gun in the house, it's possible that one of us would eventually be referred to as "Stumpy".  Or "inmate number 35704-019".

It was after 10:00 PM and all three boys were asleep.  In a span of seconds, I was painfully aware of how heavy I'd been earlier.  Selfishly, I entered Oldest Boy's room, hugged him and apologized for my rant.  He hugged me back and said, "I forgive you."  I repeated the scene in Middle Boy's room.  He's a sound sleeper and didn't respond.  I hoped somehow my words and heart penetrated his dreams.  I would talk to him in the morning.

Toddler Child hadn't been on the receiving end of my behavior directly, so I chose to let him sleep.  I also didn't want to invoke a battack by a plunger. 

One weapon had been drawn too long.  It was time to put them all down.

I'm an Excellent Driver

Earlier this week, in a hurry, I quickly said goodbye to the boys as I grabbed my purse and headed for the garage.  "Dad will be home soon.  Call either one of us if you need anything.  Mrs. Nice-Neighbor-Lady is home if Toddler Child poops!"

I was late for a doctor's appointment.  I usually tap the garage door opener as I exit the kitchen and enter the garage, like most people, but for some reason I skipped this step.  I climbed in the car, realized the garage door was closed, reached up and opened the door with the remote attached to the visor, like most people do when they're pulling IN to their garage.  I started the car, put it in reverse and hit the gas.  Hurry, hurry, hurry.  Then, I hit the garage door.  Hard.

When I was in Arizona visiting my parents in January, I hit their house.  I wrote about it here.  These incidents rarely get a reaction from Chris or my family.

I called Chris on my way to the doctor.  He was in a meeting so I left a long babbling message.

"It's me.  The weirdest thing happened.  I was in a hurry and I didn't open the garage door before I got in the car and I'm used to the garage door being open already after I start the car and so I just backed out like I usually do...  Oh, maybe I didn't say I opened the garage door from inside the car...  It's not that bad.  The door was halfway up when I hit it...  I mean there's damage... to the back of the car... and the top where I scraped it pulling back in... and the garage door... I think if you use a hammer you'll be able to fix it so it can shut... it's stuck... I couldn't assess it totally because I was late. ... ... ...  We've been wanting new garage doors.  Those dark steel ones are cool.  Costco has a great deal...  Sorry.  Call me."

This happened only days after receiving these photos in the mail from the Scottsdale Police Department.

 

 

We were on the final stretch to my parent's house after being in the car for TEN hours with the kids and the dog.  Chris regrettably let me drive from Flagstaff to Scottsdale, an easy two hour stretch.  [Did I mention I get carsick?  Driving is an antidote for carsickness.]  We were less than five minutes from Mom and Dad's house.  It was like a horse seeing the barn.  I was photo radar-ed traveling 63 in a 45.

 

Even though the ticket was addressed to ChrisTOPHER, there's no denying it's me, ChrisTINA.  The document requested Chris either accept responsibility for the offense or identify the perp.  I think I'm going down.

The Cool Chris

It's my husband's birthday today.  He's 42, and yes, I'm older.

When we began dating, Chris was a quasi bad-boy with a solid center of goodness.  He had that cool swagger without any sleaze.  I was a dork.  Chris loved me anyway.

[Dating - 1989]

He used to call me when I was working as a receptionist at a title company and say, "Hello, gorgeous," when he heard my voice.  I melted.  One time he said, "How's tricks?"  I immediately felt jealous.  "Who's Trix?" I asked.  He laughed and explained it was just an expression.  How are things?  I don't know a girl named Trix.

His cool quotient has always been coupled with a calmness that both soothes and irritates me at times.  He is not shy, but he is humble and the saying "still waters run deep" couldn't be more true when it comes to Chris.

[Disneyland - 1994-ish]

He's a good man; a good person.  I can't say that about too many people in my life.  Today I celebrate Chris.  The cool Chris.

[Arizona - 2009]

Happy Birthday, Studbuns.  [He blushes when I call him that.]

He'll be fiiine...

Chris is having two hernias repaired today.  His surgery is scheduled for 10:15 AM and we both understand this to be a fairly routine and simple procedure.  Other than not being able to lift anything heavy for six weeks, Chris is prepared to be sore for a day or two and allow the repairs to heal.  I'm prepared to do all the extra lifting around the house that Chris typically does, like...  It doesn't matter.  I'm sure this will be an opportunity for me to learn to appreciate all the subtle, quiet ways he assists me during a day.

Dad called from Arizona last night to make sure we had everything under control.  He's very sympathetic when it comes to surgeries and procedures.  He's had major back surgery, a kidney removed [cancer -- he's fine now], knee surgery and shoulder surgery.  He also has a serious case of man-sympathy.

"Chris isn't going to feel well when he comes home tomorrow, Chrisy."

"I know.  I'll get him to bed so he can rest."

"I'm serious.  He's really gonna feel crummy.  You have GOT to keep those little boys away from him.  They can't jump on him..."

"I know.  I'm going to take all three of them to Oldest Boy's saxophone lesson later in the day.  I've talked with Oldest Boy and Middle Boy.  They want to be helpful.  I've got soup and 7-Up for Chris.  He'll be fine."

"You might want to get him set-up on the couch.  He could have a tough time with stairs."

"They said this was going to be no big deal, Dad."

"That's what they always say.  I had a friend who had double-hernia surgery and he's fine now, but it was worse than he expected.  ...  I can tell I need to be there to supervise.  Poor Chris."

I've been up since 5:30 this morning, Chris and the boys are sleeping soundly, and I'm getting ready to go for a run.  Dad's famous for his make-sure-you-READY-AIM-FIRE-and-don't READY-FIRE-AIM lectures.  And this one worked.  I just remembered Chris needs to add salt pellets to the water softener and stomp down all the trash in the recycle bin before we leave for the hospital.  I can hear Dad sighing 600 miles away.

Almost

I'm pumped!  Oldest Boy and Middle Boy will be dismissed from school for summer break tomorrow at noon.  Sure, having two more kids in the house means more toilet, sink, and kitchen usage during a day, but overall it's less work than the rigid routine we all adhere to during the school year.  No more packing lunches, driving to and from the school [30-40 each way], and no more homework.

I don't complete my sons' homework for them, but I support, encourage and oversee their various projects and goals.  The level of parental involvement required these days in both public and private schools is a good thing in my opinion.  I've joked about it [here], but I sincerely believe kids who have involved [not controlling or micro-managing] parents are generally better off than those who do not.  Regardless, I'm looking forward to no homework...

... and more family band time.  An old friend was in town Saturday - a friend who can play almost any instrument by ear - and led us in this session...

 

Chris conducted.  Sort of.

We eventually got him to sing and he promised the boys he would contribute more vocally to our family band nights as well as lead us in guitar.  I'll do anything.  I'm not musically talented, but I wish I was.  [Don't we all?!]

I've stocked up on peanut butter, tuna, water balloons, paper towels, flushable toilet scrubbers, popsicles, sunscreen, guitar picks, and patience [send me some of that if you have any extra laying around the house].  We're looking forward to a simple but fun summer.  No more homework!  Almost...

"...it's wasted on the crappiest generation of just spoiled idiots..." Louis C.K.

It's not what you have, it's who you are.  I tell my kids this all the time.  I also tell them, there's no shame in having and enjoying nice things, we simply don't judge people by their possessions.  Someone may have a larger home with more "stuff" to play with - that doesn't translate to good or bad, just a person with more stuff.  Then we review the opposite example...  Someone may have a smaller home with less "stuff" to play with - again, not good or bad, just a person with less stuff.  It's who a person is that's important.  I think our two oldest boys get it.

Cheri at Blog This Mom included a wonderful link in her recent blog post.  It's a clip that's making the rounds so many of you may have seen it.  If not, it's worth the four minutes.  Conan O'Brien is interviewing the comedian Louis C.K., and Louis riffs about how AMAZING life is and how spoiled we are.  It's funny and true.  YouTube embedding has been disabled for the clip, but click on the link and watch it - "Everything's amazing, nobody's happy..." 

Chris and I continually struggle with how much is too much with our kids.  Our boys are far from spoiled, but also have plenty to play with, and have rarely been denied a requested "special" gift for a birthday or holiday.  We've made it clear what the boundaries are so they don't ask for things they know aren't kosher in our home.  They don't seem bothered and haven't complained about desperately wanting something that we don't believe is appropriate.  I can honestly say, I don't think our boys are "bummed" that they don't have game systems [other than Wii], cell phones, or computers in their rooms with Internet access.  Oldest Boy [11], Middle Boy [9], and Toddler Child [3] seem content to play board games, build things with Lego's, watch some television, and play approved games on the family computer.  When they're outside, they play.  I mean, they really play.  They look for sticks and rocks and bugs.  They build forts in the bushes, ride bikes and run to nowhere.

The goal isn't to raise our kids to be so counterculture that other kids view them as socially off.  But my fear is... that it's happening.  Chris and I have discussed this and are united in our opinion that it's not worth it to join the mainstream on some of our issues.  We just can't.

I confess, sometimes I want to.  It's about me though, not the kids.

I spoke with a friend last week and reminded her how much we'd love to have she, her husband and kids over for dinner.  I knew as adults we'd visit and eat and drink and laugh... but, I impulsively said, "Will your kids be okay playing with our kids?  We don't have a big screen TV with a game system in the basement, or lots of cool play equipment in the backyard.  We have rocks and sticks."

She was very gracious and said, "Heck yeah!  They'll have a blast!"

After thinking about how concerned I felt for our boys and the possible social judgment they might endure based on what "stuff" they did or did not have, I realized that when I tell my kids, It's not what you have, it's who you are, I need to remind myself... it's the truth.

It's in the eye of the beholder.

This morning I asked Chris to do this...

So that Mary could do this...

We discussed how we couldn't believe it snowed again, when we've had several tastes of spring - enough to stow away winter things until next year.

This snow will be gone as quickly as it came.  We'll likely be in the yard this weekend working on beds - seriously.  This snow doesn't bother me.  It's too beautiful.

Then again, I'm in the house drinking coffee in my pajamas, with my hair sticking out like Witchiepoo's from H. R. Pufnstuf, while Toddler Child occasionally asks, "Can I touch you ear?" [Ear fondler, remember?]  I'm not shoveling it or peeing in it. 

It's still beautiful from my perspective.

Let's Dance, Baby

The boys had their final Cotillion party a couple of weeks ago.  Overall, they both enjoyed the Cotillion experience, but neither boy wanted to attend the last dance.  It was a school night, they were tired, and over it.

Being the good parents that we are, we made them go.

Oldest Boy enjoys the dancing more than Middle Boy.  He smiles and makes light conversation with his partner, like he was taught in Cotillion.  Middle Boy's expression is solemn, he avoids eye contact and discussion with his partner and he moves like he's counting the seconds until the experience is over.  I felt sorry for his partners.  The little girls love the dancing and there are always more girls than boys.  A polite boy's participation is a treasure to these girls.

Here's Middle Boy in agony on the dance floor, mad that I'm taking his picture.
[Click to enlarge all photos.]

Here's Middle Boy after I whispered in his ear through clenched teeth [resisting the urge to smack him on the side of the head] to, Be nice, smile, and fake it!

After the kids danced the parents were invited to join.  We were taught dance steps by the instructor, then our child was supposed to graciously assist.  Middle Boy didn't even enjoy dancing with me.

Here we are wrestling on the dance floor.

Here I am reminding him to, Try to have a good time.  I'll pay you if you smile.

 

Oldest Boy is a parent pleaser.  He genuinely wants to do the right thing and he's delighted when he catches an approving glance.  We recognize this won't likely last forever.  Oldest boy is either dancing with bells on because he thinks it pleases us, or... he was born to dance!

Look at the joy on his face...

I was a parent pleaser and I enjoy dancing, so Oldest Boy comes by it naturally.  Middle Boy takes a little more after his father.  Notice where Chris is sitting in this picture...

Chris was a good sport to attend the Cotillion party.  Many fathers were unfortunately not willing unable to participate.  Chris was a great photographer, but when I had the camera, he sat in the back row, near the door and he didn't dance.  Not even once.  If I give him a few drinks and make some promises... then he'll dance.

Minutia

"Blogging has become so popular that all meaning has been lost.  People call themselves 'writers,' and ramble on about nothing, as if the minutia of their lives are as important as the big issues of the day, the tragedies that confront us all.

Which brings me to my story of the shower curtain." - Neil Kramer

This was how Neil from Citizen of the Month started a recent post.  I love it.  Neil continues the post and tells a story about something as simple as replacing a moldy shower curtain.  It's entertaining and funny.  Neil's a real writer though.  He can write well about anything and it makes the rest of us look like we're writing a sixth grade essay. [Although I don't believe it's his intention to make anyone feel inferior.  He's supportive of the individuality of bloggers.  He's the "Citizen of the Month"!]

I struggle with how much minutia to include in blogging.  Blogs that are well written interest me and like Neil's, I'll read a variety of content by a blogger who's writing style I admire.  If I haven't been hooked by a blogger in some way [the writing, the photographs, the recipes, a personal friend who I love regardless of what they publish], and the blog is purely a ramble of daily events, with too-frequent postings, I lose interest.  It's like listening to someone whine at length on the phone, and you tap your receiver to make it sound like your other line is beeping - Sorry.  I don't mean to be rude but that's my other line and I really need to take it.  Catch ya later!

This brings me to my story of the cleanse.  [I understand if your phone's ringing, or there's someone at your door.  Go handle it.]

Chris and I have been struggling with cravings for foods that aren't good for us [more than we typically do].  We've also wanted to lose a few pounds that are hanging on like baby opossums.  We know the benefits of eating more fruits, vegetables and whole grains - organic whenever possible.  We've read John Robbins Diet for a New America and May All Be Fed, as well as many other books encouraging vegetarian and earth friendly food choices.  We still grab handfuls of cinnamon bears, chug coffee, and troll the pantry for refined snacks.

We started The Master Cleanse yesterday.  We'll be ending it today.  You're supposed to do it for 10 days or longer.  The basic theory of a cleanse is that a person takes great care in cleansing the outside of the body, but rarely if ever cleans the inside of the body, therefore an internal cleanse is a good thing. [So "they" say.]  This cleanse involves drinking a lemonade made with purified water, lemons, maple syrup and cayenne pepper - I'm sure many of you have heard of it.

A part of any cleanse is eliminating.  "They" say we shouldn't  stir up the dust [toxins] then let it settle somewhere else.  It should leave the body.

Yesterday morning and this morning Chris and I did the "salt water flush" portion of The Master Cleanse.  We followed the instructions and dissolved two teaspoons of sea salt in a quart of warm, purified water, and drank it.  "They" say this will thoroughly cleanse the digestive tract.  "We" say, buy the best toilet paper you can afford if you ever choose to do this.

The jury's still out on the effectiveness of our cleanse project.  We have both sufficiently eliminated.  I'm hungry, but I must admit I'm craving a bowl of steamed vegetables... and beans sound good.  I thought I'd want a cheeseburger and a beer.  I was tired yesterday and today my energy level feels normal.  I'm leaving to run errands soon.

I took a photo of Chris with his laptop and his lemonade this morning.  He was in his pajamas and had a healthy, post-elimination glow.  He doesn't want me to share it.  Too much minutia, he says.

Holding Hands

I don't participate in writing prompts often [publicly], but as I've shared previously, one of the most welcoming group of bloggers can be found over at Deb's of San Diego Momma.  Deb supplies writing prompts every Tuesday.  If you ever choose to participate, I guarantee your writing will be read and your efforts supported and encouraged.  You can't go wrong.

This week's prompt is "L-O-V-E".  You can read about it here.

I worked on a post about "love" and decided it read like I was pontificating.  I don't want to do that.  We all have sweet, interesting, meaningful [to us] stories about how we met our significant other, how wonderful and passionate portions of our lives and love have been.  "We're best friends [vomit].  We do everything together [puke].  We finish each other's sentences [bullshit].  We complete each other [fingers in ears, la-la-la-la-la]."  Even if these things are true, most of it is best kept private - it rarely reads well, people.  It's a select few who can get away with expressing to the world in detail, the love and respect shared between a committed couple.

I used to work with a woman who always talked about she and her husband's sex life.  It ruined my lunch every day because I couldn't get the visual out of my head.  We all have sex.  We've all had good sex.  None of us invented it, so caress your ego somewhere else.  Even better, share all the mush and high-fives with your partner - or Penthouse Forum.

Chris and I have been married 19 years, together more than 20 - just the facts.  For the record, I don't believe someone's time together is an indication of the health of the relationship.  [Chris and I are fine - no worries.]  We've had our challenges and our times of ease.  I assume we'll have more of both in the future.

When I think of the best relationship advice we've received, two examples come to mind.

We'd been married only a couple of years and already felt the need to see a marriage counselor.  [We're the generation that goes to a therapist for everything.]  I was working as an administrative assistant for three PhDs.  One of the PhD's was a man named Charles.  He was in his late 70s and found himself needing to return to work later in life, not unlike many older people in this economy.  He had been married over 50 years and had what appeared to be a very traditional marriage.

Charles and I were often the only two people in the office.  One day Charles overheard me talking with Chris on the phone and I was crying by the end of the call.  He came over and offered me his handkerchief, which I politely accepted even though I'd seen him using it earlier.  He asked me if I needed to talk, so I told him the story.  What Chris said and felt, what I said and felt, what the therapist said...  Charles listened.  In a soft and assured voice, he said, "When you go home tonight, you two just sit on the couch and hold hands.  Watch the news quietly.  It sounds like you kids have talked enough.  Just hold hands, and sit, and don't talk.  Rest."

He was right.  I think we were in a ditch, and the therapist was over-complicating the situation.  We needed to step out of the ditch and walk away from it.  Not analyze from several angles how we got in the ditch, and all the possible ways to get out - just hop out of the ditch.  So we did.

There are obviously times that require labor-intensive communication to resolve issues, but this wasn't one of them.

The second example that comes to mind is something my Mamaw said.  Chris and I were having dinner with she, Papaw, my parents, and Chris' parents several years ago. We were finished eating, enjoying conversation and a little more wine.  Someone asked Mamaw and Papaw what the key was to being married so long.  They shrugged and smiled, the conversation moved along.  We began discussing  sleep patterns, like what time we went to bed at night and got up in the morning.  Papaw said, "I'm an early riser so I go to bed about 8:00 o'clock.  Jane here, she likes to sleep in, so she stays up much later than I do."

Mamaw raised her eyebrows, lifted her glass and said, "That's... how we've stayed married so long."

[Mamaw, Papaw, Oldest Boy and Middle Boy - July 2004]

What's Wrong With This Picture?

This photo was taken last Saturday.  Oldest Boy and I were on a ski lift.

So, what's wrong with this picture?  Besides the too-bright light, too-close (arms length), unflattering angle, shot...   I'm not wearing a helmet.

Chris and the boys wear helmets on the mountain and I don't.  It's not that I'm opposed to it, I've just not taken the time to buy one.  As most skiers/boarders know, 20 years ago we didn't wear helmets.  Those of us with little or no money didn't wear goggles, or even snow pants.  Jeans and a can of Scotch Guard seemed to work fine.

I'm buying a helmet, Chris.  I promise.

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This photo was taken this morning while the boys were riveted to Clone Wars.

So, what's wrong with this picture?  We spent all day yesterday (Saturday) working in the yard.  We obviously didn't use good sun-sense.  [Notice Toddler Child's neck, but all three boys have sunburns on their arms, necks, ears and cheeks.]  Chris has had multiple squamous cell carcinomas removed over the years and our boys inherited his funky white skin.  Shame on us for not applying sunscreen.  It's rare, but it happens.

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The following photos were taken at Utah's Hogle Zoo a little over a week ago.  [Click on photos to enlarge.]

So, what's wrong with these pictures?  Nothing really.  We just had a nice time.

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A couple more... sorry.  [Click on photos to enlarge.]

 

What's wrong with these pictures?  Not much.  Although, Chris should have never photographed my butt next to an elephant's.

The Damn Scam

First Offense:  Phoenix, Arizona - August 2008

Mamaw was watching television, most likely with the newspaper folded in such a way in front of her on the coffee table that she could glance at it and be reminded of the date.  She likes to know what day it is.  The phone rang.  Upon answering, she heard the voice of a young man claiming to be her grandson. 

"Hi!  It's your grandson!"  She was naturally pleased, because it's rare that her adult grandsons call her.

"Is this Patrick?" she asked.  The young man said he was.  He told her he was in some trouble.  Please don't tell any other family members.  He was in jail and needed a few thousand dollars to post bail.

The story didn't jive for Mamaw.  Not because she didn't think it was Patrick, but because she didn't think he should be calling her for money.  Mamaw told Dad later in the day about the call and said she didn't think it was a good idea to send money.  Dad listened to Mamaw's story and quickly concluded she hadn't been called by one of her grandsons.  He explained what had likely happened to her. 

Mamaw is 91 years old.  I've written about her here and here.

Second Offense:  Bellevue, Washington - March 2009

Chris' grandmother received a call from a young man claiming to be her "favorite grandson".   She, like Mamaw, was delighted to hear from one of her adult grandsons.  She assumed it was Chris.  [He's obviously her favorite.]  The young man said he was in some trouble.  He also requested other family members not be alerted because he was embarrassed and would explain later.  He needed $3700 wired immediately - he was in jail in Vancouver.

Chris' grandmother told his grandfather about the phone call and together they made a trip to the bank.  They withdrew money and prepared to wire funds to their favorite grandson.

Chris' grandfather became suspicious while talking with the young man as they were getting specific wiring instructions.  He began asking the favorite grandson questions to confirm his identity.  The perp cracked when Grandpa Ross asked, "What's your dog's name?"  He hung-up.

Grandma and Grandpa Ross are 84 and 85 years old.

Lessons Learned

1. Grandchildren of Mamaw - If you're in trouble, Mamaw might send you a file in a cake to spring you from the clink.  Don't hold your breath for cash.  Go to Plan B.
2. Grandchildren of Grandma and Grandpa Ross - Ensure you have Grandma and Grandpa's contact information on your person at all times.  Specific wiring instructions for your financial institution would be helpful also.
3. Favorites - My brother Mallory Joe is NOT Mamaw's favorite grandson.  Chris IS the favorite grandson of Grandma and Grandpa Ross.
4. Mary [our dog] - She gets extra treats this month for saving Grandma and Grandpa money.  She really is like Lassie...

Seriously, warn the older people in your life about this scam.

Pasta Under the Piano

The Discovery
One week ago today, Chris and Toddler Child were in the basement rolling around on the floor.  [I don't know what they were doing.]  Chris noticed some discolored moisture near the peddles of our piano - an antique upright.

Chris pulled the piano away from the wall and discovered a wet, chunky mess.  Huh, he thought.  He cleaned the big chunks with paper towels and was coming up the stairs into the kitchen just as Toddler Child was telling me, "We have a messy house."

Chris' Description
I looked at Chris curiously.  He said, "Yeah, something weird happened down there.  Someone spilled something under the piano."

I told him that was impossible, the piano's too big and heavy plus the kids don't eat or drink in the basement.  Maybe Mary [the dog] puked, I suggested.  She'd have to stick her little snout right at the base of the piano and projectile vomit to get it under the piano, but it could happen.

"I bet that's it!" he said.

Proud of our genius, I followed Chris to the basement to see what he'd found.

WTH?
Walking down the stairs, I immediately saw the messy house that Toddler Child described.  "Chris!  This is NOT a spill or dog vomit.  Look at the baseboard.  It's a frickin' leak.  Crap."

In Chris' defense, he had been focused on cleaning the big chunks and hadn't spent much time investigating the source of the problem.

Our over-inflated genius heads deflated.  Quickly.  Fear, panic and visions of money flying out the window began visibly filling us.  Like orange water being poured into a clear vessel.  We were running around, orange water sloshing and spilling out of every orifice in our heads - his contaminated water was getting on me, and mine on him.  We were a mess.

The Professionals
Where's Dwayne Schneider [One Day at a Time], Mr. Roper [Three's Company], or Tim Taylor [Home Improvement] when you need them?  We've had every inept plumber, roofer, *mold specialist, and generic repair person at our house the past week.  A professional comes in the house, shakes his head, mumbles, tries to fix something that isn't broken, then charges us at least $100.  We have few answers... and a leak.

*Mold
We don't have a nightmare-mold situation, but there was organic material growing in a small area under the piano.  Some of the staining on the carpet was paint and old mystery stuff that leeched from the piano - not mold.  But the original chunks Chris cleaned?  Most likely... mushrooms.

Because Chris had cleaned the bulk of the mess, I couldn't describe it to the mold guy.  I called Chris at work.

"Hey.  The mold guy's here.  What did the chunky stuff look like?"

"Pasta."

"Really?"

"It was like pieces of pasta noodles."

"Like ziti?"

"I don't know.  It just looked like pasta."

I told the mold guy what Chris said.  He made a few notes, said he's seen much worse and seemed to be amused by my disgust at the entire situation.  Hardy f**king har, asshole.  Here's YOUR hundred bucks. [It's like a strip club in our house, only I'm doling out hundreds and my dancers are fat guys with ungroomed mustaches, jackets that smell like gasoline, and very dirty shoes.  I feel frustrated and irritated I've spent so much money.  Sound familiar, fellas?]

Status
We have a water softener specialist scheduled to arrive this afternoon.  We [Chris and I, NOT the professionals] think the source of the leak is the water softener.  Using our crack analytical skills, we're certain we've honed in on the problem.

The damaged carpet, baseboard and drywall have been removed, and the contaminated piano has been wrapped until we can find someone to move it, and I don't know... remove the organic material from the bottom of it?

There's a HEPA air filter in the basement that's been running since Friday afternoon.  I think we're pretty much defunkified.

I'm convinced there are mold spores growing in my lungs because I've developed a sudden respiratory condition.  I've been the one at home dealing with all the professionals, showing them the mess, watching them touch it and stir it, and float potentially dangerous spores in my airspace.  My condition is one that mimics a virus that's prevalent in our area, but I've reminded Chris if he remarries upon my death - I'll haunt him.  Just in case I have the deadly mold spores in my lungs.

We like to call it a naive charm.

Exhibit A
Oldest Boy (11) and Middle Boy (9) were laughing hysterically at something they'd seen on America's Funniest Home Videos.  I asked what was so funny.

Finishing each other's sentences, like an old married couple, the boys told me about a video with a man and a woman who were being filmed for some telethon.  The boys thought it was at a church.  The man and woman were cheerfully soliciting money for a cause.  Apparently, the man said, "I'll be your host this evening...", and the woman followed with, "I'll be your whore this evening too..." and continued talking, not realizing what she'd said.

Oldest Boy, laughing heartily said, "And Mom, they were at CHURCH!"  Middle Boy howled.  This was a real knee-slapper.

"Do you guys know what whore means?"

Again, finishing each other's sentences and clearly of the same mindset, "Yeah.  You know, like scary or creepy.  She horrified them.  Get it?  She's a horror."

Exhibit B - Part 1
All three boys shower and bathe in our bathroom, more for efficiency than anything else.  Oldest Boy typically showers but occasionally likes to take a bath.  Chris was keeping everyone on task.  Middle Boy had moved from the wash to the dry cycle, Toddler Child was being coaxed out of the tub, and Oldest Boy was still washing in the same tub.  I was in Chris' and my closet tidying things, and I heard the following...

[Loud blowing of nose sound.]

Chris:  Hey.  Don't do that, Buddy.

Oldest Boy:  Mom said it's good to get your nose clean with warm water.

Chris:  She meant in the shower.  Now all that junk's gonna float around in there.

Oldest Boy:  Ohhh.

Chris:  I'll get the bucket.

Exhibit B - Part 2
I walked in to help Toddler Child out of the bathtub.  I lifted him, placed him on the mat and started the hurried, sometimes too rough, towel dry.  "Do you want to go potty in the toilet before we put on your pajamas?"

"No.  I peed in the tub." [quick smile to punctuate]

Chris and I find comfort in the fact that, although they might someday be President and Vice President of the Chess Club, or graduates of the Pond's Institute, the boys know how to have a good time...

[They're drinking root beer and sparkling cider on New Year's Eve in our basement.  They begged to stay up until midnight (a big deal at Ross Inc.).  Toddler Child and I were sleeping, which is why they were partying in the basement - so as not to wake us.  They'll be considerate hell-raisers.  We're so proud.]

If you really loved me, you would.

Oldest Boy asked if we could rent West Side Story.  His dance and music teachers at school have been playing clips from the movie in class.  He convinced Middle boy that it was about gangs and he'd really, really, really like it.  I love old movies, especially musicals, so I was thrilled.  We found a copy at Blockbuster and grabbed Karate Kid II as well.

We watched the first half of West Side Story last week, on a school night.  On our way home from skiing Saturday afternoon, assuming they had forgotten about the Jets and the Sharks, I reminded the boys we could watch Karate Kid II.  Oldest Boy said, "Can we watch the rest of West Side Story first?"  I was so pleased.  Middle Boy was not.

We showered, got in pajamas, made our popcorn and cocktails, and finished West Side Story.

Middle Boy disappeared towards the end of the movie, but he watched longer than I thought he would.  We heard the hum of an electric pencil sharpener coming from his room. [He loves to draw with colored pencils.]

I was sitting with Chris.

Me:  Let's pretend you're Tony and I'm Maria.

Chris:  Sure! [wheels turning]

Me:  Tony has nice hair and a full mouth.  Would you consider a little filler in your lips?

Chris:  No. [buzzkill]

Me:  would you consider hair extensions?

Chris:  No. [double buzzkill]

Me:  Will you at least sing "Maria" to me?

Chris:  I can't sing.

Me:  Yes you can.  Come on.  Do it.  Please...

Chris:  No.

Me:  What about "Somewhere"?  That's so romantic.

Chris:  No.

Me:  Fine.  I'll sing my parts and your parts. [clearing throat]

Oldest Boy:  Dad, sing "Cool" or the "Jet Song".  Those are good!

Chris:  This isn't going how I thought it would.

Me:  My mother almost named me Maria you know...

Eddie Haskell lives here now.

Middle Boy got in trouble last night.  The issue was attitude and I addressed it with him before Chris got home.  That makes it sound like I had a, "Now son..." conversation.  It was more like I was dying to get my hands on him, but knew I shouldn't touch him, because I might touch him too hard.  So I spoke loudly, my face very close to his face.  You know, so he could read my lips if he wasn't hearing me clearly.

I punctuated the conversation with the humiliating Mom-Chest-Poke move.  Before sending him to his room to think about what we'd discussed, I said, "DO [poke] YOU [poke] UNDERSTAND [poke] ME [poke]?!  [Poke, poke, poke - just because.]  He did.

Chris got home, talked to him again and didn't poke him.  We both hugged him and helped him lick his wounds a bit without removing the new expectation.  He was sorry for what had happened and was smiling and in good spirits before dinner.

Eddie Haskell Appearance #1

Middle Boy:  Can I help you Mom?

Me:  Sure.  Would you like to set the table?

Middle Boy:  Yes, please!

Me:  You don't have to answer "Yes, please," Honey.

Middle Boy:  Sorry.

Me:  You don't have to be sorry.

Middle Boy:  Okay. [smiling]

I had cooked a roast in the Crock-Pot.  I threw in a few diced onions, carrots, roasted garlic, a few other spices, and two cups of red wine.  It simmered all day and tasted good, but wine was definitely flavoring the meat.

Chris complimented the meal and asked how I had prepared it.  I told him.  Middle Boy looked concerned.  I explained that it didn't taste exactly like wine and the heat burns off the alcohol.  Try it, I said, you'll like it.  [He'd only eaten his potatoes up to this point.]

He took a bite.  His eyes watered a little and his nostrils flared.

Eddie Haskell Appearance #2

Me:  What do you think?

Middle Boy:  Well [smiling and blinking], the bad taste is 80% gone.

Me:  So it only tastes 20% bad?

Middle Boy:  Yes.

Me:  Would you like a hot dog?

Middle Boy:  Yes, please. [smiling]

As we were clearing the table, I noticed the boys need haircuts.  I cut their hair typically before a shower or bath.  They hate it.  Not having short hair, but the process, whether I do it or someone else does.  It's like flossing to them, or putting gas in the car for me.  Needs to be done, but how about later?  I understand.

Eddie Haskell Appearance #3

Me:  You guys need a haircut.  Want to get it over with tonight?

Oldest Boy: [silent]

Middle Boy:  [smiling and blinking] If you don't mind, I'd rather not.  I was unsuspected.

Me:  Oh.  Okay.  I'll give you more of a head's-up in the future.

Middle Boy: [cheerfully] Thank you, Mom!  I'll go take a bath now.  Toddler Child, would you like to join me?