Fish prints

Today Son #3 and Son #4 are going to be making fish print t-shirts at the Bay ecology class they're taking. Son #4 is game. Son #3, however, thinks it is creepy to kill something, dip it in paint, and press it to your shirt.

"I don't mind killing a fish to eat it, but I don't want to kill something to make art."

I gave him the classic "this is what your teacher has planned, the fish is already dead, you can't make the fish be UNdead by not using it on your t-shirt, it'll be ok," song and dance that we as parents give our kids. But in my heart, I agree with him completely. I wouldn't have planned this, and I feel bad for the fish.

It's funny: since we don't send our kids to school anymore, these moral quandaries have not come up in a long time.

Also funny: just when I think we are becoming bloodless uber-conservatives, something like this happens to remind us of the mile-wide hippie streak in our souls.

Eh, watch us show up this afternoon and they'll be using fake fish...


UPDATE:

It was, indeed, actual dead fish. And knowing she had several conscientious objectors in the group, the teacher provided shells, sea grass, and other cool things to print with. So we are now the proud owners of two horrendously ugly t-shirts that my kids don't particularly like and I am afraid to wash with other clothes, but at least Son #3 did not have to disrespect the life of a former fish. All's well that ends well.

A Kennedy + Alcohol= fun for all

Patrick Kennedy says he has no memory of the accident, this week, in which he crashed into a police barrier and stumbled out of his car, claiming to be late for a vote. He also says he did not drink that night. My question is, how does he know?

bumble bee

While the boys were at tae kwon do, I sat outside using someone's wireless internet connection. Got some work done, and was visited by several bumble bees, who love to lick my delectable ankles.

Moussaui verdict

I admit I have gone from "kneejerk Catholic anti-death-penalty loyalist" to "let 'em fry conservative Mom" over the past 20 years, but in this case my biggest concern is that now we have someone the nutballs can use as an excuse to kidnap/torture/behead decent people in a bid for his release. And since our prison system is built on making criminals live longer than they would out on their own, it could go on for many a decade.

Not that they really need an excuse.

With due thanks to the Mamas and the Papas

I read a headline in the Washington Times today, and it made me want to sing.

All the priests are gay
And the nuns are dikes
We’ll elect a bishop
Californians like
If we read the Bible
Wouldn’t be this way
Episcopalian bishops
Are in the news today

Walked into a church
I passed along the way
You know the preacher looked real buff
In an effeminate way
I’d be lying to you
If I didn’t say
He’d make a great bishop
Since all the priests are gay

the braces are ON

Son #2 got the lower set of his braces on this morning, so we went for our traditional milkshake. He also told me just how wonderful McDonald's fries are...and then insisted that that did NOT count as a hint. Needless to say, we shared some. I am really enjoying these one-on-one times with Son #2. He and I have not had too much time alone, over the years, so it's nice to just sit and relax with him.

Plus, he likes pepper on his fries. So life is good.

"each of the applicants presented impressive skills and experience"

Of course, when you read that in your rejection letter, it's supposed to make you feel good. But knowing, as I do, that of the 9 of us who were called in for an interview, several didn't even submit clips (thus hinting that they have no writing experience at all, can't even gin up a quick paragraph for application purposes, and at the very least are incapable of following instructions) makes me a little less happy. Oh, well, the hospital job was looking a bit too intense for this year, anyway.

What would I do with an office, if I had one?

My office is tucked behind the living room couch.

Yes, just like the maximum security inmates always complain, I can span the space with my outstretched arms. I can hear the TVs (all three of them, sometimes) and have no graceful way to avoid conversation, should anyone want to talk at me.

Sometimes I imagine how nice it would be, to have a room with a door. Quiet. With a closet, maybe, for all the unfinished projects.

But then again, I am pretty centrally located. I Hear All. I See All. Perhaps this open door policy is the key to life as Mom.

We'll have to re-arrange the seating on the three ships

Now that they've discovered just how unsanitary telephones are.

Another fringe benefit of my career

Not only do they track mud, miss the toilet seat, demand monotonous food, and spend your fun money on stuff like enrichment classes and toys, they just suck your soul dry. Mazel Tov.

The illegal immigrant boycott today

Today is International Workers' Day. The immigrants are boycotting SCHOOL today, too, to show how much they contribute. I can hear the update now: "All urban schools will be on an early dismissal schedule, because holding classes exclusively in English will make things go much faster."

back up to Mom & Dad's

Today made my first trip up to Mom & Dad's since he went into the hospital. We brought Fractured Prune donuts and helped move a couple of fallen tree limbs off of the property. That marked 8 trips up to see Dad in the past 7 weeks.

I don't regret them, but by the same token I have not done that much driving (or that much sitting and making small talk with my mother) EVER, I think. By dinnertime today I was testy as all hell, and Hubby was understanding about it..."You haven't caught your breath since the middle of March." God, I love that man.

At the end of it, I think I have learned the keys to a successful parental visit:

*Don't let them come down. If I go to them, I have some control over when the visit ends.

*On a related note, and this is a classic, but still noteworthy: don't tell them of any plans until after the event. If I had mentioned our intention to go to the Celtic Festival before we went, she would have insisted she join us, thereby making the mellow day we had an unreachable fantasy. Or whined about NOT being able to join us, in a million phone calls.

*Don't tell them when I'm coming. If they know, Mom will plan a meal, which we will not start eating until approximately 2.5 hours after I arrive. By then I will be exhausted and starving, and frustrated that I am stuck staying at least for the next hour.

*Don't eat. If they're cooking, let the food cook. If they're not, let them know you just ate on the road. Let the boys have a cookie if they like, but DON'T get stuck having a meal...this always ends up dragging on forever, and generally includes at least one surreal "Are you ALLOWED to have asparagus?" moment.

*When she asks what Hubby is doing, look her straight in the eye and say "He's at work." Whether or not it is true, it is the only response that she will not complain about for more than a minute or two.

*Bring the kids who want to go, and the kids who have no other plans, but don't force the boys to skip out on a fun thing to sit at their grandparents' place. Son #1 was thrilled to be with his friend for the day, and I know I could have made him miss out on that if I had wanted to, but why? Seeing grandparents should be fun, not something that ruins your weekend.

*Eat out afterwards. Trips to Momville are less driving, less traffic than trips to DC, and there are no crackheads on the road, but there is no getting around that it is still 3.5 hours in the car and a chunk sitting at my parents' place. By the time we get home, I am exhausted. Dinner at CiCi's is not much more than at home, and there's no work involved. Or complaints about the menu.

Swingin' grownup party night!

The boys were all invited to a sleepover last night. Hubby and I went out for Thai food and watched Sopranos. Had to walk the dog after midnight, but otherwise it's been mellow and recharging.

Finally got up the nerve last night to tell Hubby about my mom's comments about her grandmother, and my appearance. He brushed the whole thing aside. "What is she talking about? She's just working out her own insecurities on you. You're a lot better looking than your mother."

It's funny. I really do think that, for the most part, Mom's comments are much less able to immobilize me than they were before Dad's hospitalization. But she still can get in, if she really wants to. I guess I should keep that in mind. She just may up the volume, to make sure I hear her. But hearing her doesn't mean I have to accept it all.

It's not that we're women

it's the job.

am I still a writer...

...if I only write a couple hours a week? If I take frequent breaks to scrub toilets or empty the dishwasher or nag the boys about the condition of their fingernails?

Yesterday I wrote up an advertorial piece and did a phone interview for an article about Big Brothers/Big Sisters. This morning I edited a creative nonfiction piece that has been accepted for publication in an anthology. This afternoon I will meet with the PAO about a weekly column I'll be writing for the base paper. And tomorrow I will write the BB/BS article while the boys are in TKD. I feel like I'm barely writing at all.

Then again, it IS nice to smell cleaning supplies around here. It's a delicate balance.

"The worst part of all this for me..."

Dad should be coming home today. I went up Saturday and he looked great. Almost himself.

So he was finally talking about the whole hospital experience, a conversation I have been looking forward to, though not willing to press him for. I figured he'd talk when he had something to say.

And so he did. He mentioned that he had no recollection, at first, of not only the day of surgery, but several days before and after it. So he woke up after having been returned to ICU and had no idea where he was or how he got there. He assumed he had been in a horrible car accident. That incredible disorientation, combined with the hallucinations caused by the drugs, (and the amazing number of invasive tubes and wires, while strapped to a hospital bed and surrounded by my weeping mother and sister and an ever changing roster of priests,) was his worst moment. Fair 'nuff.

Mom said HER worst moment was when they told her to say goodbye, before the surgery.

My worst moment, as several of you know, was when my mom called to say he'd had a heart attack (when he actually hadn't), a deadly case of pneumonia (before he actually had pneumonia), and, the winner and still champeen, a stroke (which, again, he did not have). If this sounds like the worst part of it for me was the fact that my mom made up bigger, more operatic problems to enhance the whole illness experience, you are right! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding!

A minor, but nagging, additional crappy part was just dealing with my mother's constant criticisms of

*the hospital
*my father
*their friends
*my uncles
*my father's dead relatives
*the entire extended family

and, of course, me. If I have to hear one more time about how UGly my great grandmother was, and how she used to stare into the mirror and CRY about it, and "you're the spitting image of her, Christine", I will scream.

When I saw them last, my mother recounted a dream she had this week about being on the playground, and everyone was teasing her about her grandmother. "Stop teasing me! It's not my fault she's so unattractive!"

I am going to take that as lightly veiled concern that MY appearance is an embarrassment to her. Because, honestly, what else could it possibly be?

And, the third worst part was the weekly confrontation with my absolute inability to drive well in DC. I have taken quite the tour of Anacostia and environs over the past 6 weeks, and am glad to be here blogging about it today.

Commercials work, ok?

I saw a commercial for this today and HAD TO HAVE IT. It is installed in the master bath and Son #3, who shares the bathroom with Hubby, is happy to be in charge. Oh, the joy of a shower I never ever will have to scrub...I can hardly wait.

So, in the spirit of blogger humility, here is Neglected Shower, day one.


Update: After 29 days, this is what I have:

For a guy who says he doesn't want to waste my time...

the owner of L&G Billiards sure was happy to waste a big chunk of it today. We had an appointment for an interview. When I arrived, he refused to speak to me or even acknowledge that, since we had an appointment, it was rude of him to let me show up and then show me the door.

Every few months, I run into one of these guys--business owners convinced that their time is too valuable to call me back to cancel, but my time is so completely worthless that it's ok that I drive around town to see them. At least I am out of the stage where I had to pay a babysitter for the privilege.

Inconsiderate people suck.

Those darn voice recognition things

Had to call Sears today to get an address for sending a payment...ended up with one of those Press or Say One machines. It took forever.

I was press-one-ing while the boys made a ton of noise. Every time I told them to be quiet so I could hear the phone, the machine would hear me and re-route me to another line. I eventually did get the address, but not before I practically had a stroke.

Definitely a total waste of time.

Not the kind of father who goes places or does stuff or looks at you

Today I am going up to the hospital to visit my father for the fourth time in 15 days. He is finally out of ICU but may have pneumonia. It's very frustrating, because it's hard to tell what we as a family could do differently, that would result in him healing and going home quickly.

Son #1 pulled me aside the other day for a conversation:

"So, Pop-pop can't walk around, or do anything much, right?"

"Right."

"He can't talk to you yet?"

"Nope."

"And you drive two hours up there and two hours to get home, right?"

"Unless I get lost in DC, yeah, then it's more like two-and-a-half, yeah."

"So you drive four hours, instead of staying here."

"Yes."

"Can he at least see you?"

"Yes, he can see me."

"That's an awful lot of driving, just to look at somebody

"Yeah, but you would do the same, right?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I would do the same."

This is how civilization is transmitted, I guess.