My total Flake-Out

I pride myself on not being too dippy in the head, that is, I don't make promises I don't keep, and I usually know where I am going and what I am doing at most times. However, I had a major moment last Fri night, and I am throwing it out there so that your dippy moments look better by comparison.
I had a lot to do on Thursday and Friday, so I made lists and wrote down what I needed at stores, and that type of thing. Brianna was at Gramma's house for the long weekend, so at least I didn't need to keep track of her or entertain her while I was trying to do it all. Not all of it got done, but that is typical for me, in that I write everything out, but in descending priority so that if the last things don't get done, it is not so big a deal. But I didn't write down my appointments, figuring I had them on the calendar and in my head. I was staying in town specifically to go to book club on Friday night, otherwise I might have gone to fetch Brianna earlier.
So I spend a total of 5 hours (over two days) waiting in the smoky lounge for my car to be checked and maintained for my upcoming long drive. I went to four stores out of the six I had intended, but was frustrated because the grocery stores no longer carry Marianni dried cherries which are the only good ones as far as Brianna and I are concerned. I worked on painting, I strung beads (for Mom's B-day), and I knitted (for potential cold weather on upcoming long drive). I watched some garbage on TV for the first time in months. I planned to come back early on Sunday to watch more of the Complete Jane Austen on PBS, wondering how they were going to fit Emma which took 14 hours of CD time into two hours of viewing time. I swept the roof (inhaling metric tons of pollen), vacuumed the porch, sold my iPod on eBay, raked five can of leaf litter, had a teacher conference at Brianna's school (very favorable), washed five loads of laundry, planted daisies, watered them, and grilled some steak, all by Friday afternoon. I was beat! I was considering one more errand to Kmart, but decided to postpone and went to my room where I was confronted by the two remaining loads of laundry yet to be folded and put away. I did that and sat down to read and then paint. It was 9:30pm by the time I remembered my 7pm appointment at BAM. The irony of reading when I should be at book club made full impact. Last month it was just me, wandering the lonely aisles of BAM on a Friday night, wondering why no one can bother themselves to come to a book club meeting if they love to read so much and why are they so busy anyway. And then I obviously couldn't be bothered this month and left some other poor soul to wander the aisles alone. I really had meant to go, I had it scheduled and everything. Why did I forget? Had I gone out on that last errand, it may have occurred to me as I passed BAM as a 'yoo-hoo, shouldn't you be somewhere' little bell going off in my head. I was too tired, too busy, and I let someone down. And all I can do is email my profuse appologies and kick myself mentally. I hate failure, the more so when it is in myself.

Tappity Tap Shoes

It is Wiggles-mania at our house. Brianna who adored the Wiggles at age three, shelved them (I thought) permanently at age four. I entertained the idea of either giving away or selling all the videos and DVDs we had collected of the loveable goofy singing quartet. However, she has recently rediscovered them, enjoying the sillyness, interacting and dancing along with particularly Jeff Wiggle. Her favorite is "Wake Up Jeff" and she also likes the eight-year-old girls that display very good Irish dancing skills. Hence, we must have tap shoes.
Do keep in mind that is the same child who when two, shrieked at me to stop singing or dancing along to these same videos. Now she is all participation, and she wants me to join in. I am flattered, though I have no right to be; it is just the age and stage, I know. Brianna really wants to dance, and to dance well, right now. Unfortunately, she has no talent for it. Now don't worry, I haven't told her that! This is not Simon Cowell's house, and I am not judge nor jury. I don't think you have to be born with dance talent to do appreciably well if you set your mind to it.
I bought tap shoes on eBay for a good price, and we already have the tile and wood floors that make exquisite sounds when being tapped upon. Now all we need is a little instruction. I don't know how to tap dance, but I am pretty good at Step aerobics, and have repeated enough workout videos to at least be able to teach her box steps, grapevines and cha chas. Still, I find teaching Brianna very difficult. She has a short fuse which medically I would deem 'Poor Frustration Tolerance.' She doesn't like me telling her what to do. She wants to do everything perfect the first time. So for once, I am hanging back, though it is not natural for me to do so. I want to preserve the fun for her. If she learns, it may be slow, but I will heartily cheer her on. Perhaps she will surprise me. With a love of dance, or persistence in practice, perhaps she will surprise herself.

Easter Bunny Mom

My daughter knows that I hid the eggs. She is not yet five, but she knew, before I could even tell my husband to entertain her for a bit. She said, "Go hide the eggs, Mom, and I will show you how fast I can find them." For Brianna, skeptic in the making, there was not even a question of 'Did the bunny come?' She told me that she knows that some person is in the bunny costume. I don't think that little Santa Claus thing is going to last much longer either. I tried to remember what we did last year, how she was already so sure that moms hide eggs with treats inside for the kids to find. I couldn't remember specifically, but I do remember her playing with those dratted eggs for over a week, hiding them, finding them, putting treats back into them, making me look for them. So this year, I have already hidden them away until next year. She will not be happy, but how does the religiously conflicted Mom explain Easter and the Passion? I told Brianna, "Many people believe that a man named Jesus died and then became alive again on Easter morning." She responded, "Well, I don't believe it." I am not surprised. Jason doesn't believe it. Although I was raised to believe it, I also have my doubts. I don't know, and I don't think anyone will truly know, and that is where faith steps in. So are we born skeptical? Do we train for it early? I think Brianna has a very logical mind, and she will not entertain concepts of Faith lightly. However, she still wants to travel to the North Pole and hang out with the elves.

Sticky Sap

This happened a couple days ago, and it is too funny not to share, though mortifying to my daughter: Full of Spring Fever, we took a little walk around Thornebrook shops and noticed the blooming flowers. Brianna grabbed one of the bristle-brush type flowers (and almost a honeybee in the process) and wanted to bring a sprig of flower home to put in a dish or a vase. She was in the habit of doing so since last fall when going to Gramma's house; she would pick a few flowers and put them in a dish of water and observe whether they lasted several days or only one. Azaleas are very nice for this purpose, lasting days and days in bowls of water around my house. We got home, prepared the dish, and the bristle flower promptly sunk to the bottom. Brianna was so angry! "Why doesn't it stand up like other flowers?" Ever try explaining surface tension to a four year old? Rather than try, I suggested we go outside and find some other flowers to put in the dish, but this was met with resistance since we only had azaleas and jasmine and both of these had been 'done' before. Outside we went anyway, and Brianna spied the pine tree stump oozing sap from its sawed surface. I explained sap as nutrition for the tree, that it rises from the ground all the way up to the leaves; that, and it is quite sticky. It had to be felt to be believed, and thus prodding and poking ensued. Who doesn't like to play with a ball of sap? What tactile bliss! My SIL can be happily occupied for hours by a single inch of scotch tape, so I know the feeling. After gleefully gluing our fingers together, Brianna then wanted it off - immediately. "Don't rub it on your shirt ... OR mine!" I said, "Go in the house and wash it off with soap." Brianna trotted in, but Goby was right at the door and escaped. So I walked after the old cat to collect him from under the neighbor's car (he wasn't budging) when I heard the shrieking from inside my house from across the street (yes, your old house, Jo!). Brianna came out beet red, crying and screaming at the top of her lungs . . . because the sap wouldn't wash off!
I suppose good mothers wouldn't laugh, but this was too funny. Such out-of-proportion rage for such a little set-back. Then she was screaming at me for laughing at her, which made me laugh even more. Finally, I controlled my smirking face, convinced her to flush the cat out from under the car (which worked like a charm), and went inside to see what removes pine sap. In case you need to know: apply lotion and work it in, wash with liberal amounts of hand soap, apply alcohol based hand sanitizer, wipe vigorously on a towel. And my parting words to daughter, "Now you know sap is sticky."

tent caterpillars

Brianna found a tent caterpillar today. It was a large vigorous one. I figured that if she didn't mess with it too much, we could keep it and see if it formed into a pupa and then turn into the lowly moth it was destined to become. If she didn't mess with it too much. But those fuzzy little bodies are just too much fun to play with. And no matter how much the little guy ran to escape, he was always found, retrieved, plucked from carpet with dextrous little fingers. We left him alone in a box while taking our old cat to the vet. Goby had lost some weight, but he is still not close enough to death to consider euthanasia, although we know his time will come relatively soon. Upon return, the caterpillar was again engaged to be the plaything of a fascinated four year old. This time, it pooped. Oh, how that became interesting! The turd was left on the floor for me to come see it. It was every bit what you would expect coming from a caterpillars butt. So I scooped it up to the garbage while Brianna continued messing, giving me some quiet computer time. Is it wrong to let the caterpillar be played with to death for my benefit (and hers)? After all, she was just exploring. And lord knows how many caterpillars, snakes and lizards I ended up killing in the name of playful learning. Anyway, after dinner it was apparent that the caterpillar was doomed, having lost all his former vigor. Brianna responded by slapping at it saying, "Wake up Fuzzy, Wake UP!" It responded by pooping in her hand. She had the innocence to ask, "What is this?" and didn't like my answer. Then she got mad when I explained that fuzzy was going to die. "Fine, take the friggin' thing outside!" But I think she felt guilty. The beginnings of empathy?

Give Gap ... Take Gap

Give Gap Take Gap was a road sign I once passed while entering the outskirts of south Atlanta one afternoon, doing about the average speed of 65 mph. No sooner had I wondered to myself, "Hmmm... I wonder what that sign means" when I realized I was now merging with another full lane of traffic also doing 65 or better. With barely any time to scream, cry or laugh (all of which I was doing), I gave a gap to the driver on my left and took a gap offered on my right. And it actually worked. None of us died, created a wreck, or for that matter, slowed down even a little. My voice returned to its original octive with a little twitter of insane laughter. My passengers (also with their hair on end, but laughing) congratulated me on not getting us killed and saying, "I guess I know what that means now."
I have never seen a road sign with that phrase ever again, though I have driven in or through Atlanta and other large southern cities before and since. People I have told the story to have posited whether the sign was a joke, a fluke or just a bad experiment by GaDOT. I don't know either, but that sign has stuck in my brain for ten years now. And the more I think about it, the more I like it and think it makes sense, especially now that I have read (listened to) The Secret. Yes, there is a lot of press about the Secret, Oprah et. al. throwing in their take on it, blah, blah, blah. That is why, when I saw it was available on NetLibrary, I had to download it and listen to it and judge for myself. All I can tell you is, I liked it so much I listened to the whole thing twice. Also, thinking about it will change everything you think about and every way you look at things. Like that Give Gap Take Gap sign. That is the Secret in an of itself. If you need to merge, take the gap. If you have merged, and are comfortable doing so, give a gap. It directly applies to driving, but it works in life too. If you really need something, ask for it, then look for it, then take it, and be thankful. If you are content and in a good position, give someone else a break (or a brake). Give Gap Take Gap. You will merge and it will all be okay. Now I say my new mantra whenever I am driving. And it works. Give Gap ... Take Gap

stinky worm

We have been playing, Brianna and I, in her little playhouse for the first time in months. Since it is open to the air, a lot of the toys (play kitchen and food) got very dirty, and I noticed some dried up earthworms on the floor. I broke out the Lysol and wipes and cleaned everything as well as could be hoped including the teapot, all the cups, saucers, bowls, etc. Brianna was a dear and even helped with the cleaning. The first day she played with the pretend lawnmower, until she broke it and no longer whirred to satisfaction. Plastic just doesn't do well in the Florida air. Today we were out again, and this time B was cooking for me. For some reason, she wanted to cook using the sand from the sandpit. No problem since the floor was already gritty with pine and oak pollen. What is a little dirty sand added to it? Then she wanted me to open the pint-sized teapot which has a tight fitting lid. I opened it up and found a dried up earthworm in there, too.
and then the smell hit me...
That was the stinkiest, weirdest smell. I mean, really, who would think that a three inch earthworm would produce a stink like that?!? I almost gagged, then went outside to remove the deceased annelid, which was crispy as one would expect, but stuck a little to the inside of the teapot. Then went back into the playhouse and commented that it still smelled bad, and opened all the windows to their fullest. Brianna made several trips to the sand box and filled the teapot with sand, then poured the sand onto a plate, then into the frypan, then back into a bowl and suggested I eat it 'like a cat'. MMMMmmm.
On her last trip in, bless her, she said, "Mom, it still smells like dead worm in here!"

Where is the Joy?

My young, smart, extremely organized, efficient, go-in-and-get-it-done sister in law had her baby today. I am very excited for her and her new daughter who weighed a nice seven pounds. However, poor M's labor was not what you would hope for a second baby. She labored for over 24 hours. I thought that the second one is supposed to be quicker than the first one?! She got to the hospital 'early' so that she wouldn't deliver in the car on the way over. She needn't have rushed, as she was only a dis-heartening 2cm. Finally by 4 am she was complete and by 7, baby girl was out. But, M had some tears including a painful urethral one. After all that work and effort, all the pain and stitching, M had to ask: I don't feel the joy like with my first baby. Where is the joy?
It is tough when you do not have the labor you hoped for. It is even tougher when you did have it the last time, but not this time. Maybe that is just part of th e pain of labor, that you frequently hoped or wished the experience went better than it did. And it is not from lack of knowledge. Most women really learn about having a baby, the stages of labor and everything. And there are pain control options which complicate everything. Maybe there is just too many variables that can go wrong. It is a miracle any of us got here. Maybe the true miracle is a birth experience that can be enjoyed and remembered fondly. It is time now to thank your mom!

Of stinkbugs and skunk-weed

I had been listening to a book on tape titled "Last Child in the Woods" about the paucity of natural experiences in todays children. It is an exceedingly pedantic book (and read by the most pompous ass with a bad lisp "mitothith" indeed!) but the point of it is good and one I subscribe to: Our kids are being separted from nature and outdoor experiences to their detriment. How can kids care about a rainforest in Brazil when they don't even like to get muddy? How can they hope to save spotted owls when they are afraid of perverts on every wooded trail? I have found a great deal of comfort on hikes, bikes and campings out of doors. And I am the last generation whose parents unceremoniously threw us outside to fend for ourselves when we were being too rowdy indoors. Now we are all afraid of the candy-toting, puppy-calling Stranger(-Danger!) who will kidnap our beloved kids the minute we turn around in our own front yards. Really, the best thing a mom can do is skim this book and reread "Protecting the Gift", say a prayer, and lead our kids out into the great unknown world so that they can learn to navigate it themselves. That said, I took Brianna on a mini-hike to the culvert off 53rd. We were just slipping down the steep embankment when she said "EWww, smelly gas, mom". Why I get blamed for every bad odor, I am not sure, considering the cubic feet of stink that little four year old can output. As it turns out, we had stumbled upon a pasture of Skunk-weed. Okay, I don't know the official name. But it is decidedly skunky in the skunk way. Not as strong as an actual skunk, but there were a lot of clumps of it. It has a beautiful purple flower. So we got down close and smelled it with great theatrics and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Many flowers were picked, water was touched, grass blades were boated, and Brianna was that much closer to the outdoors. She was a treasure that day. Later we took a trip to the Fairchild Oak for a picnic. Near or far makes no difference in her appreciation for the outdoors. Interestingly, it is a lesson that I keep having to teach her, as her inclination is NOT to go out, but play imaginitive games indoors. But then I have to keep teaching myself too, because I am not outside every minute I could be, yet I never regret being there once I am out.
So I mowed the lawn today. It was looking pretty shaggy and bad, and it is impossible to rake when so scruffy. Normally I wait until it actually goes to seed, but with another impending rain front and the ground still damp from the previous, now was a better time than most. The mower only took ten tries to start, and it wasn't long before I got a nose-full of that other odor synonymous with a Floridan spring: the stinkbug. You know you live in FL when you have to leave your Christmas tree outside a few hours so that you don't end up with stink-bug ornaments. Yes, a year ago November, I did have to wrangle a giant two-inch long specimen out of the house, hoping that it would not unload indoors. The stinkbug is slow-moving, bold, and pretty fun to play with, but watch out for its spray. Am I the only one who thinks that the smell is similar to that of red delicious apples? I really hate red delicious apples for that reason. I cannot bite into one without thinking of: This tastes like stink-bug smells. So I managed to mow over or near two stink bugs today. Yummy. Think I will go eat some apples. Happy Spring to you.