confounded

Little C: Mama? How can this be? There is a button here but nowhere for it to go?

He was trying to button a shirt and had the top one off a notch and the bottom one correct. He spent 4 long minutes redoing the three buttons in between over and over but they never quite matched up. And I let him. It was four minutes of not hearing him ask me to play Monopoly with him. And four minutes of me not saying no and suggesting other games with fewer pieces and fewer rules. One where I won't have to play both sides of the board.

passive-aggression at 9:30 am

Funny, little neighborman:

Do you really think I am unaware that my asphalt driveway is in pretty tough shape? Or maybe you thought that bringing it to my attention this morning while I was outside in my pajamas picking up toys would inflict sufficient degradation as to send me, shamefully, off to find the yellow pages?

Well, I have news for you.

For starters, I don't keep a phonebook. You seem like the kind of guy who updates his phonebook every time a new one gets dropped my his mailbox. Me? Straight to the recycling.

Also, did you see what I was wearing? I have no shame either.

What I really wanted to say to you while standing there trying to hold up my breasts with my arms full of various, plastic weapons and stray shoes was: "We are just waiting for it to revert back to gravel on its own. Won't that look great?"

Hollywood Remake

(It is cool and rainy here today. Taking a break from my diligent housekeeping, I overheard my three big kids playing trains in the basement. This is the best I can summarize.)

Sir Tophamhat is in prison with Mr. Pigg.

James took over the Island of Sodor and demanded that all trains pledge allegiance to him.

Many trains refused and Thomas and Lady became the leaders of this Resistance. Goldy and Toby were the seconds in command. Percy was the third.

The Resistance moved to Agriculture Island. It had belonged to Mr. Pigg. Lady and Goldy worked there prior to James' uprising. James imprisoned Mr. Pigg in an attempt to take over Agriculture Island. But The Resistance used a Chinese Dragon to defeat James's biggest weapon, Cranky the Crane, and drove James and the Allegiance back to Sodor.

Skarloey was almost captured on a recon mission but Thomas saved him, getting captured himself in the effort!

What will happen next? Will Sir Tophamhat and Mr. Pigg escape? Will the Resistance stop James for good? Where the heck is Diesel 10 in all of this? And will Annie and Clarabel give up information to James, turning double agent, in an effort to save Thomas' life? And no one has seen Henrietta for some time now. Stay tuned...

(The biggest fiction in this piece is the part about my diligent housekeeping!)

That is the Power of Mo Willems

I think Little C's soul is tuned to the same resonance frequency as Mo Willems. The Pigeon Books, Knuffle Bunny, and most recently Elephant & Piggie.

Little C found these at the library without even knowing that Mo wrote them. He flipped the first time he saw Pigeon in one of the Elephant & Piggie books. To ease his plagiarism and copyright infringement concerns, I explained that the same author/illustrator wrote both books so it was all going to turn out ok for Mr. Willems. (The BEST kids books are always written and illustrated by the same person.)

Cut to this morning. He is the first one up and we each grab a book and sit on the couch to cuddle-up and read. I chose Kenneth Oppel's Airborn and he grabbed an Elephant & Piggie called My Friend is Sad. I peeked over his shoulder and saw all the FABULOUS! punctuation and visual cues to indicate tone and expression. On page 9 Piggie, dressed as a cowboy says, "Yee-Haw!" trying to cheer up Gerald the Elephant. My mama-must-teach mode kicked in and I pointed out the large, bold type. The exclamation point. I tried to get Little C to read it with some expression.

Mama: (in first grade teacher mode) Look at Piggie's face. How is he feeling?

Little C: (lethargicly) Like he is happy and having fun.

Mama: Look how the words are printed. What do you think the big letters want you to do?

Little C: (quietly) Be loud.

Mama: And the exclamation point?

Little C: (Eyore-ish) Be excited.

Mama: So read that page to me again!

Little C: yee. haw.

Mama: But Piggie is saying Yee-haw!

Little C: Yah, well Piggie might be all Yee-haw! but I am still very tired.

Marshmellow Sofa

Nothing about you was appealing as you sat across the furniture showroom. In fact, I was most certainly repelled by your lumpyness and grand scale. Not my style. But when I tried to walk around you my hand brushed against your upholstery and I will never be the same. You felt like a plushy, microfiber blankey. I paused. I leaned in. You compressed like my favorite pillow. Knowing the risk I was taking falling into something I would never own I thought I could just sit at the edge and test the seat cushion. Which, I'm sure you remember, quickly turned into testing out the reclining feature. I shifted and curled and your armrest perfectly held held my head as the rest of me sank into you. And for that moment, in that huge warehouse showroom of furniture I hated, I loved you.

"It all comes from not having front doors big enough."

I asked the boy sleeping over at our house what time he wakes up in the morning and he told me he is not sure but he usually gets up with his dad. The panic part kicks in because I know that the dad leaves for work around 4:30 IN THE MORNING!

Now, I am pretty sure he can't tell time and the weekend is fresh in his mind. There is no way that kid gets up at 4:30. He is 7. But I will be honest and admit the first thing that went through my head was, "Why, oh why, did I ever invite that bear to lunch?"

(Truth be told, they are up there playing legos like little brick-laying angels. And since they can't tell time they will never know that 9:00 is not super late. And since it is their first sleep over they will be content with following the rules to the letter. Because when I told them all about sleep overs I made sure to emphasize the being quiet and following rules parts.)

UPDATE (9:30): They are already asleep!

MORNING REPORT: They slept until 7:00. Whew. And when they woke up they came down to tell me they were going to be upstairs playing legos. Too cute!

Revision Suggestion

Attn: DSM-IV-TR People

When you are considering new disorders for the 2012 DSM-V, please consider adding Hyper-Attentive Disorder.  It is sort of the opposite of ADD.  Let me toss you a case study to consider involving my middle child.

Big C was born paying attention to things.  He was the quietest baby I had ever seen and at first we were very concerned.  Once we figured out he was studying us it just got creepier.  Our worry only increased when he didn't talk at all until 2 1/2 but then jumped right in with big conversations.  Nothing he did followed the books.  I mean, seriously, how many 14 month old boys spend an hour organizing their train set and then another two hours playing with it?  We used to drop Miss M off at preschool, come home, dive into the trains for 3 hours, and then go get her from school. 

He still holds a grudge from when he was 3 years old.  He had his trains all organized.  It had taken a few days of work to get them just right.  And Dear Pete (also 3) came along with a foam bat and and swept the table clean in a single blow.  When we see him Big C still grits his teeth.

When he finds a series of books he likes he will read them.  All.  Without taking a breath.

We have an invisible door in the middle of our house.  Ever since he could walk he will open it to go through and then close it behind himself.  He is 9 and still does it.  But at least he finally stopped insisting we all open and close it too.

While the object of his attention can change from month to month (known as Serial-Focus, occasionally Serial-Foci as long as the two matters relate as Mythology and Ancient Greek History) there is no fleeting jumping from one thing to the next.  He exhausts a subject before moving to the next.  Like the aforementioned Greek Mythology: we are on Month 7 now.  The boy corrects the documentaries we have been watching on the History Channel. 

But why is this a disorder, you may ask?  Let me tell you.  The world is not organized in a way to allow for this type of learning.  Especially at school.  In fact, the typical classroom feels a little ADD to kids dealing with HAD.  What is wrong with these teachers that they do not allow him to do Science all day every day for a week?  Can't they just do Math all of next week?

Do not be confused the use of the term "Hyper."  The hyphen should have made it clear that I do not mean the adjective use but rather the prefix implying "above and beyond."  

empathy and confusion

Know who I am feeling sorry for these days?  Hookers.  I think they are probably not doing well right now.  I don't think it has anything to do with the economy, either.  It is more of a matter of truth in advertising.  I mean, when many teenage girls walk around half naked on a daily basis, what's a Hooker to do?  Hot pants and thigh high boots are no longer enough to let people know that she has a little something to offer.  It has all become too mainstream.  What's a girl gotta do to let prospective clients know she is more than your average college co-ed?

On a related note:

Did you know they sell hot pants in a 4T?  And padded bras for a 20" rib cage?  And shorts with a 3" zipper and 1" inseam?  Who buys these things?

Lief,

Well, he also shoots Force Energy out of his laser eyeballs. And Hugh Hefner is his Padawan.

So, I have this boy...

...and I have a very big crush on him.

This picture is from First Grade, just prior to his first episode of IBD.  The pictures after this look gaunt and haggard for 8 months.  Then there are 4 months of photos where he is bloated on Prednisone to the point where people who knew him well didn't even recognize him.  Then there are about 6 months of losing the bloat (and the hair he grew on his forehead) and then 6 more months of actually growing, re-calcifying his bones, and putting on muscle mass again!  Which just about catches us up to the present day:

Ta Da!  Happy and healthy fourth grader!  (I think one eye is looking at the camera and one eye is looking at himself on-screen.  Don't even try it.  It is a Jedi trick.)

didn't I have this dream when I was 14?

I took Miss M out for some clothes shopping today.  The girl has boycotted the Mall altogether and insisted on getting school clothes at REI.  Makes me feel like I am doing something right with that one!

You may have gathered that Miss M is not a big shopper.  In fact, she only went because I told her she could buy a magnesium fire starter.  She has little experience in a dressing room since, until quite recently, I have been able to figure out what size she needs and I just get things for her.  But now she is not so girly and a little more young-womanly so the size-guessing thing I had going is not working for me.  The "guess your age" guy at the Mall has nothing to fear from me because (1) my child won't let me go there and (2) I cannot match his skill.  (Moose can, but that's another story.)

I waited outside the stall while she tried things on one at a time and showed them to me.  We organized into "keep" and "not keep" piles.  And at the end of it all the girl was spent.  Know how I know?  The girl was missing something when she came out of the stall.  That's right.  My budding woman-child came out in her shirt and shoes and underpants.  Missing: shorts.

The WHOLE store could hear her laughter (and mine) for the next 10 minutes she spent locked in the stall unable to compose herself long enough to re-enter the world of shopping.  She wasn't even embarrassed!  She was just laughing too hard to get her shorts on right side out and buttoned AND zipped.  

Ahem, I hate to be the one to bring this up...

...but maybe it would be best coming from a friend

Dear one, you got that cast off when? It has been 5 weeks of nothing at Worn Ragged. How do you not have 5 weeks worth of raggedness wearing on you? Did you scratch out some ideas left-handed at least? Maybe the 5 weeks not working removed all the edginess from your mommmie-self. Maybe not. But I have missed reading you! Get to work. And I don't mean your job, chica!

Brunette it is, then.

But only for the weekend. I think.

Rodent Lover

This cute set of rings is on sale over at Sundance right now.  I want to buy two sets so it can say "EVOLVE."  On chipper days I could spell out "ELLO" and walk around greeting people with a fake British accent.  

Or maybe "VOLE LOVE."  Cause who doesn't love them some voles?

I love you, three-year-old

Our former neighbor's son's son...did you catch all that?...is next door today playing at our former neighbor's daughter's house.  Did that make sense?  It is all in the family, just not our family.  Anyway...

I get my occasional baby or preschooler fix by hanging out in the yard with the little kids.  Today it was a pair of three-year-olds.  Miss L is very fancy, even by 3 year old girl standards.  And Little Man W is all boy but in a gentle giant kind of way.  He is all about balls and trucks but is sweet and kind too.  He has these huge dark brown eyes and a husky old voice.  He does a little dance when you give him cheese.  He is the little one who looks up at Miss M and quite seriously tells her, "I Love You, Miss M.  I really do."  Oh.  I almost lost it right there.  But I will hold myself together because it just gets better.  I was up in the kitchen chatting with my friends/former neighbors who were watching all three of their grandchildren today at the house they used to own which is now owned and occupied by their daughter and her husband and two girls.  Staying with me?  So Little Man W comes up to the kitchen for some cheese and a little dance.  He looks over at me and says, "Hey, your friends are downstairs if you want them."  By friends he means my three children.  But if he looks at me and thinks I might be their peer, who am I to argue.  

Wish me Luck

I just entered my first recipe contest!  After the winners are announced and I am not on the list the Contest Militia will no longer have their cannons aimed at my house in case I break a contest rule and then I can share it with you.  It might not be until sometime in September.  But it is worth the wait.  If you can't wait, come over and I will make it for you.  My neighbor, who is a local restraunteur, ate one dish of it and asked for the recipe for one of her restaurants.  But since I love you all so much I will share it with you too!  Just not until the Militant Branch of the contest organizers stand down.  (I don't blame them, though, big cash prizes and publication in their County Cookbook are at stake!)

NFL vs. CJS

I know I have told you all I not an affiliate before.  So I normally don't pay attention to sporty headlines.  But I clicked on one today.  So please explain something to me: why is it the NFL's punishment of Dante Stallworth is tougher than the criminal justice system's punishment?  I mean the guy drove drunk and killed a man.  He spent 30 days in jail.  Only 30 days.  But the NFL has suspended him without pay through the 09-10 season.

Maybe I should be asking the criminal justice system why they lost this match to the NFL.  It was barely a win at that.  Feels more like a soccer game that ended in a zero-zero tie that had to be decided by a shoot out.  

Mama Sings

The kids are upstairs listening to "The Watsons Go To Birmingham" audiobook from the library.  They just love Christopher Paul Curtis's books.  His writing is so honest and never talks down to kids.  He describes things in a way that makes you think, "I've felt that way a hundred times but never described it as perfectly as that."  Plus he makes them laugh.

And me?  Well, I am barefoot in the kitchen in my jammies doing the dishes.  So to remain sane and dignified, I am playing my Mama Singalongs mix on iTunes.  I have never noticed before how perfectly Broadway Baby feeds into Roxie.  Both musically and thematically.

Now all I need is a follow spot in the kitchen.  

Play With Me: Redux

Originally posted on december 30, 2008:

Does any one else completely LOVE the funny word verification words on Blogspot?  I thought of a game for us to play.  You hit the comment button, tell me your random letters, and then define the word for us all to enjoy.

I just had "imoan" over at lftec.blogspot.com  TOO EASY!  

Gimme sumthin worth my time.  We can all ring in the New Year together with some "kingfean" fun!

 

Feel free to go back in time and read the few my cousin and I came up with.  Now that a couple more people read this page, I am thinking it might be more fun.  Since last time it was pretty much just me and my cousin....and um, me again.  Work WITH me, people.

Moose's debut

My camera is still lost. The cute little red Kodak one. And I can't hold the video without wiggling a bit to capture a good still.  But I do have my little phone camera.  And I have been using it all summer.  But the resolution is something awful.  I'll show you.  Here are two of the boys in my house:
And here is the other boy:

(I swear that is a Root Beer.  He just can't hold his bubbles.)

And here is my girl in front of some Wide Open Spaces:

I am sorry I can't show them to you any larger.  But when I do, this happens:

Same thing when I try to make them small.  And if I try to pull them into iPhoto they look like a Tetris game.

It would seem that Summer 2009 is going to be the Phantom Summer with no quality photographic evidence that it ever even happened.  Which is a shame, because it has been a very lovely summer!

Beetle-Mania

Did you all know I collect bugs?  I have a set of 3 aluminum boxes each filled with 18 round aluminum boxes that have glass lids.  I have all kinds of things including three stages of a dog day cicada, metallic wood boring beetle, a spider that laid an egg sack in her box, and about 120 pin prick sized baby spiders that hatched in the box.  But today I caught a great specimen!

I found a pair of mating japanese beetles.  They are not rare.  They damage grape crops and other things as they devour the leaves.  So I did not feel too bad about capturing the pair mid-coitus.  The male didn't mind either.  But the female was less pleased about it.  So I opened a beer and thought I'd watch.  

(Try reading HE with a John Cleese voice and SHE a little more Catherine Zeta-Jones.)

INT. METAL BOX WITH GLASS LID--DAY

SHE

Oh my god!  We aren't on the leaf anymore!  Where are we?

She Beetle frantically runs around inside the small container.

HE

Hold on.  I'm not done yet...

SHE

Oh, I think you are.  We are trapped dammit!  Come on, climb the sides and help me find a way out.

HE

Babe, I am thrilled you finished, but if you could...just...get back here...

SHE

Stop panting like that you are wasting oxygen!

HE

Ouch!  Hey!  That was my leg.  Ouch!  That was my face.  What do you think you are, a Black Widow or something?

SHE

You didn't care when I said "ouch."  That thing is barbed!  Do you have any idea what that feels like?  Forget it.  Listen to me.  If we don't work together to get the lid off this thing we are both going to die.

HE

Um...would you mind if I finished before then?

SHE

What?!  How will it matter if you pass along your genetic code if the vessel you spill it in is dead?!  Huh?  Where does that get you?

HE

Babe, my options at this point are your "vessel" or this metal one.  Honestly, I'd prefer yours.  

SHE

Are you feeling dizzy?  It's getting hard to breathe in here.

HE

You're larger than me.  Maybe you're just feeling the effects before I am.

SHE

It is getting harder to move in here.  I can feel my life being drained out of me.

HE

Well, then!

SHE

Get off of me!  I can't...breathe...with you...pressing on me like that.

HE 

Shhh.  Hold still.  You're wasting oxygen remember.

SHE

Oh lord.  I am going to die like this.  Trapped in a box with some idiot male on my back.

HE

Ouch!  Quit that!

SHE 

I am not...going...to waste...the last...moments of my life...having sex with you!

HE

What else are you going to do?

SHE

Um.  I don't know.  Anything.

HE

That's really too bad.  Because when I first saw you out on that grape leaf I thought you were the most metallic female I had ever seen.  The way the sun glinted off your elytra.  You took my breath away.  All I could imagine was spending the rest of my evening with you.  Nibbling on some leaves, getting to know you, making larvae with you.

SHE

You did leave me the soft parts between the leaf veins.

HE

You bet I did.  And you know what else?

SHE

What?  Tell me now.  The light is fading.

HE

Once we were trapped I didn't even care because we were together.  And if all I could have for the rest of my short life were these moments coupled with you I would die a happy beetle.

SHE

That was beautiful.  

HE

No, you are beautiful

The beetle pair lay exhausted, gasping for breath.  Side by side, their legs intertwined. 

SHE

I am sorry I didn't let you finish.  I would have liked for you to have that.  But now it is too late I am so close to gone.

HE

If you would let me just...climb up there...

SHE

No WAY!

HE

Hey!  That was my other leg!  You might as well just let me because you are going to die first and I'm just going to do it then anyway!

SHE

Not if I make this my last act!

HE

NOOoooooo!  That was not my leg!

SHE 

Now let's see who finishes first, you grub!

Censorship--facebook style

A friend of mine (since we were 8) is in N-Y-C (sing the song from Annie with me now!) with her mom and sister.  Friend does not have facebook but her sister does and friended me last week.  Which was weird.  But nice too.  Only weird still.

All along the trip the sister has been posting little updates: where they are, what they are seeing, where they go next, what will be eaten there, and also what they are buying.  So when she said something about having just designed their own sneaks at the Nike store I quickly commented.  There is a running Nike joke at my house.  About them sponsoring my golf game.  But, anyway...my point is I like their products.  I even pay full price for them.  But I made the mistake of the following comment to the sister of someone I know.  It looked something like this:

Big Sister and Little Sister just done designing shoes at NIKE.

Alpha Monkey Do they email the specs for those 

to the child laborers in Mexico or do they keep 

some in the City too?  Can't wait to see the shoes.

And I shared, because sharing is good.  And it was right there for about 8.3 seconds.  Then it was deleted.  Turns out, Big Sister is not so sure she likes Friend of Little Sister's "attitude."  (I like to call it "sense of humor."  Geeesh.)  

So then she posted a great picture of Friend and Mom on their way to see Jersey Boys on Broadway (again, N-Y-C!! or maybe Broadway Babeeeeee...) and I countered with the generic:

Alpha Monkey That is a fabulous photo!  Enjoy the show.

And I got to stay on the Wall.  Now that I know her weakness if flattery, I might try mixing it up a bit.  

I need a Drink

I just saw a headline in passing that looked like it read "Expert Women Drink More."  So I started thinking that is an interesting thing to look at.  If women who are experts drink more than women who are not experts.  Instinctively I would predict an inverse correlation but maybe the people conducting the research project are, in fact, expert women.  Maybe this impacted the results: either their desired outcomes or perhaps their impaired fine motor skills and diminished rational decision making.  But maybe they don't mean alcohol.  Maybe the title was a way to catch the reader and what the researchers actually found was that Expert Women drink more green tea.  Either way, I should look at the article to see if they have a guess at why.  Or maybe they are implying causality.  Fascinating.

And then I read the article title again.  "Experts: Women Drinking More."

Well, now, that is not nearly as interesting to me.  But suddenly I am thirsty.

Dear Middle School,

I know you didn't know that I am just kind of hanging on here without all three of my kids home this week.  I would never expect you to consult with me before sending out a mass mailing, especially one as important as the back to school info packet.  Nonetheless, your timing could not have been worse.

I am unable to send you my oldest child in a few weeks.  See, she might be ready for you all but I am not.

Please feel free to try again next year.

Sincerely, the mama

Ontario Tourism

I've been to Thunder Bay a number of times.  I've also been to Kenora, Sault St Marie, and driven across southern Ontario on my way to Winnipeg.  I don't remember having any trouble communicating with the locals.  No language barrier to overcome.  I ordered pizza, bought petrol, and found lodging for the night.  I even figured out what those goofy chevrons on the road mean.  Nothing seemed lost in translation at the time.  So I am wondering how this one slipped through the office of tourism:

ROMANCE!

CONFLICT!

ADVENTURE!

This "slogan" is written on several billboards promoting tourism in Ontario.  My only guess is they first wrote it in French to plaster around Quebec and then had Gus who fills the ink at the print shop handle the translation for the English version.

I even looked up CONFLICT! in the thesaurus to maybe see what it should have said: 

DISCORD!

FIGHT!

WAR!

ENGAGEMENT!

ANIMOSITY!

HOSTILITY!

The best I can get is that it should have said ENGAGEMENT!  Like, "Hey, bring your loved one to Ontario, have some adventurous romance, and then propose marriage!"  It makes as much sense as "Virginia is for Lovers!"

Passing Notes

Occasionally my children do not get along.  The little one tends to stir the pot.  But the biggins tend to not listen to him when they play.  It is a give and take situation.  I try to get them to (1) recognize their role in the conflict and (2) find creative ways toward resolution.

I just ran across a couple of notes written by the biggins and addressed to the littl'in.

I love you Little C!

from,

Miss M

P.S. Please don't sit on me

From: Big C

To: Little C

Please don't sit on me!

P.S. Don't sit on me!

I appreciate that they try new ways to reach him.  He can read and all so the notes were a good idea.  I also like how the actual message completely reflects their attitudes toward the boy.

For Heather and Alice et. al.

I don't get comments.  Well, not enough to keep me running back to my Mac just to keep up with them.  The ones I get are from people I know or occasionally someone I read/like. (I thought I was the shit when Winona/daddylikey commented!  Did a little dance and everything!  Called people in real life and bragged.  Uh huh.)  

I read several blogs almost daily (including yours) and I gaze at the occasional comment.  There seems to be a point in every blogger's career (too strong?) when they start getting dumped on by nasty commentators.  If you draw a line graph of blog age compared to number of readers I am assuming the following (I enjoy guessing likely scenarios based on random information, this is why I kick ass at Physics): 

The line is low, the blog is young: comments come from your cousins and maybe a friend or two.

Line creeps up a bit, the blog is young: you have made a few online pals, follow some blogs, and enjoy the cross-traffic.

Let me just add that this is where most blogs sort of peter-out.  They remain in this low-traffic-limbo.  If the author (too strong?) is content with just re-reading her own posts the life of the blog continues.  If the author was expecting more attention and adoration her interest will wane and the blog will slowly die.  However, there are many that continue on...

Line turns up again, there are enough old posts to entertain someone for an afternoon at work: kind people who enjoy your writing send the link to friends who start reading and commenting and driving up the number of unique viewers (because, face it, the ex who keep clicking your profile picture over and over does not count).

Line jumps up huge: the best example is the old Faberge shampoo commercial with Heather Locklear telling two friend who tell two friends and so on and so on and so on.

Based on the number of readers, blogs at this level are bound to get trolls reading and commenting.  I actually think that the vaguely anonymous nature of the comments brings out a higher percentage of negative loudmouths than you find in the general population.  This happens for two reasons.  One: unhappy, angry people need to vent.  The people in their lives get terribly sick of them.  But the blogosphere is a space where they can off-gas all their shit all day long without any repercussions.  They never have to answer for it and certainly never have to address the root of their emotions.  The second reason is that even people who would never say those thinks out loud, who are generally considered lovely people, need to vent.  Maybe these more than others because they spend their days bottling up their emotions so people like them.  

I think of personal narrative blogs as a way for the writer to present a mostly-true version of their life and thoughts.  Much mental editing is done long before the laptop finds a wireless connection.  The writer is creating a persona based on their life.  They are presenting themselves in a way they are comfortable being seen.  Some of these are more open and honest than others.  Some are much more controlled and contrived. 

Which brings us back to the trolls.  While the bloggers are putting down things that show themselves in a certain light, the trolls are less edited and more honest.  But not necessarily with themselves.  See, I think these comments reflect how the commenter feels about themselves.  They are outward, sometimes hostile, expressions of their own feelings of self doubt, self worth, and self hatred.  Something written by the blogger triggers these emotions and the reader/troll has no means to process them authentically.  If they did, they would not be filled with such negative, corrosive energy to begin with.

So Heather, Alice, and others like you who actually generate some revenue off this funny little convention, those comments are not about you.  Not about the size of your ass, the shape of your teeth, the parenting choices you make, the shoes you paired with that dress, or the meds you take to be a better person and parent.  It is the trolls way of reacting to the trigger in their own life that keeps them under the bridge.  My advice, put on some heavy soled biker boots and stomp your way over to the other side.

Sweet Bedtime Mutterings

Interior. Bedroom--Night

LITTLE C is cuddling with his MAMA after a long day.  He has his arms around her and is re-telling a tale from his earlier childhood.

LITTLE C: Uh, Mama, you are kinda squishing my emergency arm.

MAMA: What? 

LITTLE C: My emergency arm.  You are laying on it.

MAMA: Why is it your emergency arm?

The mama sits up and the boy gives a sigh of relief.

LITTLE C: It is there in case something happens to my essential arm.  You know, if it gets hurt or in a cast or knocked off.

MAMA: What makes it essential?

LITTLE C: It is the one I write with and light saber duel with.  The other one is a replacement arm.

Moral Dilemma

 It is wrong of me to use my children to get free sushi?  Let me explain.  The adorable sushi lady at our trendy little grocery store appears to get a kick out of my kids ordering sushi.  She makes the rolls very nice for them and instead of 12 pieces she gives them 16 for the same price.  Last time we were there I had my kids place my order.  For the ones I wanted to eat.  They are simple rolls: a little mango, a little avocado, asparagus when it is in season, something crisp like carrot or cuke, and then tuna or salmon.  

So my dilemma is this: I did not ask for the 4 extra pieces, nor did I sneak them out of another pack and put them in one already priced out.  Sushi Lady is making the choice to give the little happy extra and not charging more for it.  But she was not intending it for me.  She was rewarding my kids for being polite and interested in her product and for asking questions about her skill.  And I used them like a tool for my own gain.  Bad mama.  Or am I?  I can't decide.

Gifts as metaphors

I don't usually look at a gift received and analyze it.  I try to put care and thought into picking out gifts for others and I really don't even care if I get a thank you note or not.  I just want to make that perfectly clear before we start here so I am in no way jeopardizing future gift receiving on my end.  I really like getting thoughtful little things.  And then this happened:

If it wasn't called "Friendship Bread" it wouldn't have struck me as funny.  If it had been labeled "sourdough starter" or "Herman" or whatever else people call the gooey mass they keep on the counter I would have fed him and stirred him and shared him and then eaten him.  But this particular blob was called "Friendship Bread Starter" which got me thinking about the symbolism of giving fermented goo as a symbol of friendship.   

It comes with directions to stir and feed it.  It multiplies.  It is not unlike a low-maintenance house pet that you can eat.  And one would, presumably, give this to someone who likes to cook as a way of saying: "Here is a homegrown product that was given to me by a friend.  I have tended and cared for it.  And I love to eat the baked goods it leavens SO much that I want to share it with you as well.  This isn't fast food.  This kind of quality takes time and is worth waiting for.  We will tend and care for this together and you can also enjoy the yummy pancakes and loaves of bread.  Because I am your friend and you are my friend.  And sharing is good."

But what does it say about the friendship when the starter was passed on in a sandwich sized baggie along with the reminder that it needs a bigger home? Immediately.  It was labeled "day 3" and I can only assume this is correct but there were no directions attached so I can't be certain.  A day later a scanned-in copy of a fax was emailed but is very difficult to read.

I have decided it says "I was thinking that maybe we could start a friendship but I am not very good at this sort of thing.  Perhaps you would take care of that for me?  And maybe you could figure out how to do that without me because I am a terribly busy person.  I am expecting minimal contact most days, with a call on day 6 and then maybe an invitation to dinner on day 10.  Thanks, you're the best!"

It is the thought that counts.