We've been assailed by vicious storms these last few days, storms which we welcome heartily with the hope that our drought-afflicted reservoirs will recover, but from which we recoil in fear of traffic accidents and power outages (it took me two hours yesterday to make what should have been a 42 minute drive on 280; two horrendously stressful, white-knuckle hours during which I hydroplaned twice and drove past three accidents). The children and I looked about cautiously as we were leaving the house to take Iris to her evening writing class. "Is it going to rain?" they asked me.
"I think so."
Lola took offense. "You're racist!"
"What?" I didn't get where that was coming from.
Lola explained. "Maybe that is a colored person cloud, not a rain cloud. You're racist!"
I stared at Lola nonplussed. Iris explained. It turns out there was an all-school assembly today in honor of the Dr. Martin Luther King, and Lola was quite impressed by it. Why she would take this new-found commitment to acceptance to turn against her own mother, who baked a cake on MLK Day in remembrance of one of the most celebrated graduates of her own beloved university, Boston University, though, remains obscure.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
dashing
an original song, sung in a sweet, tuneful voice by Lola:
Have you looked at your buttocks this morning?
They are looking so dashing.
You should look at your buttocks right now.
They are looking so dashing.
Are they looking dashing, are they looking dashing?
I think they are...
Oh... who doesn't like buttocks?
I am even better than a cat
Seven year-old Lola presented me with a bright pink Post-it note. It said:
a poemI was deeply moved as Lola said proudly, "Even better than a cat!"
MOMMA RULES
MOMMA RULES
HATERS DROOL
MOMMA ADORES
KILLERS IGNORE
MOMMA IS BETTER THAN THAT
EVEN A CAT
Saturday, January 16, 2010
making friends in the insect kingdom
I ran across an interesting Carolyn Hax advice column today, where an aggrieved mother-in-law complained about a disastrous Thanksgiving visit which had led to an estrangement with her son's family.
Last year there was a major lice infestation in Iris uber Alles's class at school. Iris did not go unscathed (by the end of the year, 70% of her class had lice), and there was a lot of sturm und drang at the school. There were many parents who took a very common sense attitude and just worked hard to eradicate the lice without drama. There were other parents who also worked hard to get rid of the lice, but who had some drama along the way (some wanted a scheduled overnight field trip canceled). And there were some parents whose children (allegedly) did not have lice, who you would think would be happily sitting on the sidelines, but had a lot of drama anyhow regarding those of us who did and got it treated. Several parents weighed in that those of us using professional lice treatment clinics were idiots.
Most memorably one mother sent a couple of angry emails to the class email list, rather condescending emails about how she is a medical professional who "could not remain silent any more", so anger-provoking were our emails back and forth about the status of treatment and preventive measures. We needed to know that lice were not considered a disease in many countries, and that many schools do not check for lice, and we should just let the lice go. (It is true that some public schools in our area no longer check for lice, but it's because they cannot afford to stay lice-free. Schools get funds based on each day that a child actually attends, and a child who must stay away due to lice causes a little cessation of state funding. Additionally, one district determined it would no longer bar lousy children because the lousy children would perform poorly on tests if they missed a lot of school, and this could result in a loss of school funding and local administrative control under the No Child Left Behind laws).
At school one day I had the misfortune to run into that angry, louse-loving mother. The conversation amongst the parents waiting for their third graders turned, naturally, to the ongoing lice epidemic, and that mother glared at me angrily, and, with a loud, raised voice and with veins visible in her forehead, ranted, "LICE IS NOT A DISEASE!!"
"I never said it was," I said firmly. "But it's a disgusting parasite which I don't want to live with. You can live without parasites." The louse-lover was disgusted and furious, and she stomped off. Another mother whispered to me, "She thinks we should all just learn to live with them. She thinks that's the right thing, like those countries where they do that."
"Where do they do that?" I've lived on three continents but had never met a louse-lover before.
"England. I think she used to live in England."
On Friday morning, the new wife said she had bug bites. I said that twice in the past I had bites also and thought they were from bedbugs. We had done some Internet searching and gone to my dermatologist and discovered bedbugs are not medically dangerous and not the result of uncleanliness. We gave her hydrocortisone and sympathized with her.Leaving aside the spellbindingly unsubtly veiled hatred of the "new wife", this letter fascinated me due to the accepting approach the writer took towards bedbugs. She "discovered bedbugs are not medically dangerous and not the result of uncleanliness", and so she decided to do nothing about them but instead live with them peacefully. This reminded me of someone I know with the same live-and-let live attitude about parasites.
That evening, they moved into the hotel. Our son said his wife was absolutely adamant that they get out of our home as soon as possible. She has the reputation of being a "strong" woman, and she earns a very high income, so she is able always to get her way.
My husband and I felt embarrassed and disappointed that she reacted that way, but we are aware that a first-time, 45-year-old mother probably had mother-bear hormones at play, and we don't blame our son too much for giving in to her demands.
Last year there was a major lice infestation in Iris uber Alles's class at school. Iris did not go unscathed (by the end of the year, 70% of her class had lice), and there was a lot of sturm und drang at the school. There were many parents who took a very common sense attitude and just worked hard to eradicate the lice without drama. There were other parents who also worked hard to get rid of the lice, but who had some drama along the way (some wanted a scheduled overnight field trip canceled). And there were some parents whose children (allegedly) did not have lice, who you would think would be happily sitting on the sidelines, but had a lot of drama anyhow regarding those of us who did and got it treated. Several parents weighed in that those of us using professional lice treatment clinics were idiots.
Most memorably one mother sent a couple of angry emails to the class email list, rather condescending emails about how she is a medical professional who "could not remain silent any more", so anger-provoking were our emails back and forth about the status of treatment and preventive measures. We needed to know that lice were not considered a disease in many countries, and that many schools do not check for lice, and we should just let the lice go. (It is true that some public schools in our area no longer check for lice, but it's because they cannot afford to stay lice-free. Schools get funds based on each day that a child actually attends, and a child who must stay away due to lice causes a little cessation of state funding. Additionally, one district determined it would no longer bar lousy children because the lousy children would perform poorly on tests if they missed a lot of school, and this could result in a loss of school funding and local administrative control under the No Child Left Behind laws).
At school one day I had the misfortune to run into that angry, louse-loving mother. The conversation amongst the parents waiting for their third graders turned, naturally, to the ongoing lice epidemic, and that mother glared at me angrily, and, with a loud, raised voice and with veins visible in her forehead, ranted, "LICE IS NOT A DISEASE!!"
"I never said it was," I said firmly. "But it's a disgusting parasite which I don't want to live with. You can live without parasites." The louse-lover was disgusted and furious, and she stomped off. Another mother whispered to me, "She thinks we should all just learn to live with them. She thinks that's the right thing, like those countries where they do that."
"Where do they do that?" I've lived on three continents but had never met a louse-lover before.
"England. I think she used to live in England."
Monday, January 11, 2010
plays well with others?
First grader Lola was upset when her older sister quit playing a game with her and burst into a room, handed Iris a note, and ran out. Iris looked at the note and said incredulously, "Lola just gave me a note saying 'Play another round or you go hell"!?" When that note failed to pay dividends, Lola acquired a huge poster-sized piece of paper and wrote, "ANOTHER ROUND OR GO HELL love Lola" in foot-tall letters.
Friday, January 08, 2010
the look which is not of love
First-grader Lola reports excitedly, "Iris is looking at me with guilt!"
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
the further adventures of Lola's friend, Audrey
"Okay so once upon a time, there was a venomous fly trap, and it bit Audrey. This was not just any Venus fly trap, it was a poisonous venus fly trap. And then she got very very sick, and she was just a second away from dying, but she didn't die. She lived on and on. "
(This particular story has been repeated to me by the Sober Husband, Iris uber Alles, and Lola herself).
(This particular story has been repeated to me by the Sober Husband, Iris uber Alles, and Lola herself).
Monday, January 04, 2010
being pressured into discovering one's true team
It has probably escaped almost nobody's attention that "Twilight" in all its forms has gripped the girls of North America with a firm, expensive grasp. I myself read all the Twilight novels last year, on the theory that in a few years Iris uber Alles would be reading them and so I should stay on the jump and know what the phenomenon was all about [I found the books weirdly absorbing for something so repetitive(how many hundreds of pages about dry humping can one woman write??), and I commend the author for her creative revision of the vampire and werewolf mythologies].
Fourth grader Iris uber Alles brought up Twilight with me some time ago. She shared that a friend of hers was very ostentatiously reading the books "but she doesn't understand them, I don't think." I told her that I thought the books were fun but highly repetitive and that they probably wouldn't make so much sense to a pre-adolescent, who wouldn't quite understand why a tortured teen would act like hormonally-driven Bella. Iris decided to wait a couple of years before getting into the whole Twilight thing.
Then the "New Moon" movie came out. Suddenly the fourth grade joined the higher grades, which had already been Twilight-obsessed (when I read the books, I was unable to get them from my private library or from the school library, as the private library had abstained from buying them and the school library's were always checked out. My friend and hairdresser loaned me the first one, and I bought copies of the others, which I donated to our school library after reading. The librarians were grateful indeed to get more copies). Evidently Twilight is now the primary topic, and all the fourth graders were reportedly taken to the movie, which they to a child loved.
Iris felt left out and felt a lot of peer pressure to see this movie. "My reputation will be ruined if I don't see it." But neither of her parents wanted to take her. I let it slide, hoping someone would invite her if they went back to see it again or that she'd forget about it. Then I unfolded a piece of paper I found in the kitchen and discovered a list she'd composed and left lying around the house, a list of arguments for her being allowed to see the film. I realized this was a much bigger deal than I'd thought, and I decided to get Iris to that damn movie.
First I devised a fun and painless plan. We would invite a friend of Iris's who also hadn't seen the movie, and I would take the girls to a particular theatre which has lovely tables and couches just outside the entrance to the screening rooms, near the popcorn vendor. I would stay there, on a couch or at a table, with an engrossing book and my laptop, while the girls enjoyed a modicum of independence and saw the film by themselves (the Sober Husband argued a bit that I should be right by the girls, which I countered by saying that we were overprotective parents and that I'd be right nearby and that if anyone bothered Iris, she could say, "My mother and attorney is here if you would like to speak to her"). This ran into a snag when the invited friend (who attends a different elementary school, a Catholic school, where it appears the nuns and priests have kept that damn vampire nonsense out for the most part) reported back that after some investigation, her father had decided she wasn't allowed to see that film and could we go to "The Fantastic Mr. Fox" instead on that same night?
Seldom defeated entirely, I created a new plan which was also pain-free. I suggested strongly to the Sober Husband that he take Iris to the film on his last night of holiday vacation, so Iris could return to the fourth grade no longer a Twilight ignoramus, able to hold her head up high and proclaim some opinions. He recoiled on the grounds that he needed to get some sleep before returning to work, but I shot that down, pointing out that an early showing would work just dandy with his REM cycle. Iris booked the tickets on the spot using the Sober Husband's iPhone. That night they set out, the Sober Husband having no idea what he was in for. I instructed him tongue-in-cheek upon his departure, "When you come back, you need to tell me whether you are on Team Edward or Team Jacob." [This inspired Iris to inform us quite gravely which team each of her friends is on. They really do take their teams seriously, these girls].
When they came back, Iris was buzzing. She couldn't stand still, and "Yeah. It was great."
"Was it better than 'Avatar'?"
Pause. "They were about the same. Both good!"
"Which team are you on?"
(very emphatically) "Team Jacob!!"
"Who is your favorite vampire?"
"The Volturi!"
"But those are the bad guys."
"They're Italian and cool! They have style!" [Iris uber Alles vacationed in Italy as a toddler, and it was a formative experience].
The Sober Husband said, "Can I whisper something in your ear?" He had no opportunity until much later after I'd had a long talk with Iris about what was good about the movie (Taylor Lautner), what was not good (Bella "is just depressed and doesn't do anything, she doesn't have a personality") and my question, "How much do the vampires sparkle?" answered ("A lot. It's like they're suns, with rays coming out of them"). Finally the Sober Husband said to me vehemently, "That was the worst movie I ever sat through. It was PAINFUL."
"Why do you think I wanted you to go? Why did you think I wanted to sit in the lobby?"
Fourth grader Iris uber Alles brought up Twilight with me some time ago. She shared that a friend of hers was very ostentatiously reading the books "but she doesn't understand them, I don't think." I told her that I thought the books were fun but highly repetitive and that they probably wouldn't make so much sense to a pre-adolescent, who wouldn't quite understand why a tortured teen would act like hormonally-driven Bella. Iris decided to wait a couple of years before getting into the whole Twilight thing.
Then the "New Moon" movie came out. Suddenly the fourth grade joined the higher grades, which had already been Twilight-obsessed (when I read the books, I was unable to get them from my private library or from the school library, as the private library had abstained from buying them and the school library's were always checked out. My friend and hairdresser loaned me the first one, and I bought copies of the others, which I donated to our school library after reading. The librarians were grateful indeed to get more copies). Evidently Twilight is now the primary topic, and all the fourth graders were reportedly taken to the movie, which they to a child loved.
Iris felt left out and felt a lot of peer pressure to see this movie. "My reputation will be ruined if I don't see it." But neither of her parents wanted to take her. I let it slide, hoping someone would invite her if they went back to see it again or that she'd forget about it. Then I unfolded a piece of paper I found in the kitchen and discovered a list she'd composed and left lying around the house, a list of arguments for her being allowed to see the film. I realized this was a much bigger deal than I'd thought, and I decided to get Iris to that damn movie.
First I devised a fun and painless plan. We would invite a friend of Iris's who also hadn't seen the movie, and I would take the girls to a particular theatre which has lovely tables and couches just outside the entrance to the screening rooms, near the popcorn vendor. I would stay there, on a couch or at a table, with an engrossing book and my laptop, while the girls enjoyed a modicum of independence and saw the film by themselves (the Sober Husband argued a bit that I should be right by the girls, which I countered by saying that we were overprotective parents and that I'd be right nearby and that if anyone bothered Iris, she could say, "My mother and attorney is here if you would like to speak to her"). This ran into a snag when the invited friend (who attends a different elementary school, a Catholic school, where it appears the nuns and priests have kept that damn vampire nonsense out for the most part) reported back that after some investigation, her father had decided she wasn't allowed to see that film and could we go to "The Fantastic Mr. Fox" instead on that same night?
Seldom defeated entirely, I created a new plan which was also pain-free. I suggested strongly to the Sober Husband that he take Iris to the film on his last night of holiday vacation, so Iris could return to the fourth grade no longer a Twilight ignoramus, able to hold her head up high and proclaim some opinions. He recoiled on the grounds that he needed to get some sleep before returning to work, but I shot that down, pointing out that an early showing would work just dandy with his REM cycle. Iris booked the tickets on the spot using the Sober Husband's iPhone. That night they set out, the Sober Husband having no idea what he was in for. I instructed him tongue-in-cheek upon his departure, "When you come back, you need to tell me whether you are on Team Edward or Team Jacob." [This inspired Iris to inform us quite gravely which team each of her friends is on. They really do take their teams seriously, these girls].
When they came back, Iris was buzzing. She couldn't stand still, and "Yeah. It was great."
"Was it better than 'Avatar'?"
Pause. "They were about the same. Both good!"
"Which team are you on?"
(very emphatically) "Team Jacob!!"
"Who is your favorite vampire?"
"The Volturi!"
"But those are the bad guys."
"They're Italian and cool! They have style!" [Iris uber Alles vacationed in Italy as a toddler, and it was a formative experience].
The Sober Husband said, "Can I whisper something in your ear?" He had no opportunity until much later after I'd had a long talk with Iris about what was good about the movie (Taylor Lautner), what was not good (Bella "is just depressed and doesn't do anything, she doesn't have a personality") and my question, "How much do the vampires sparkle?" answered ("A lot. It's like they're suns, with rays coming out of them"). Finally the Sober Husband said to me vehemently, "That was the worst movie I ever sat through. It was PAINFUL."
"Why do you think I wanted you to go? Why did you think I wanted to sit in the lobby?"
Sunday, January 03, 2010
lost
Over dessert tonight, Lola asked out of the blue, "Did I miss anything? I was lost in the whipped cream."
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
the sweet love between mother and child
Yesterday I made the children go hiking in Marin, since we were all in desperate need of some exercise and I felt like seeing some nature. This was a deeply unwelcome activity to the children. As Iris noted, "If you wanted me to be so into nature, why did you have me in a city?"
At one point we crossed a creek on a little board bridge. Crabby fourth-grader Iris said vehemently, "I could fall and hit my head!" I had a hard time restraining my laughter. Iris upped the ante.
"If I fall, I am going to sue you!"
"I'm not going to send any children who sue me to summer camp." (Iris uber Alles has taken to perusing summer camp websites like a adolescent boy looks at porn).
"I could have a concussion! I could die! I am going to sue you!"
"If you sue me, I am NEVER sending you to summer camp, and I'm not having any more birthday parties for you, ever."
"Stop threatening me!"
"You threatened me first!"
"I stopped threatening you, so you stop threatening me."
At one point we crossed a creek on a little board bridge. Crabby fourth-grader Iris said vehemently, "I could fall and hit my head!" I had a hard time restraining my laughter. Iris upped the ante.
"If I fall, I am going to sue you!"
"I'm not going to send any children who sue me to summer camp." (Iris uber Alles has taken to perusing summer camp websites like a adolescent boy looks at porn).
"I could have a concussion! I could die! I am going to sue you!"
"If you sue me, I am NEVER sending you to summer camp, and I'm not having any more birthday parties for you, ever."
"Stop threatening me!"
"You threatened me first!"
"I stopped threatening you, so you stop threatening me."
Monday, December 28, 2009
I guess she won't be reading much Dan Brown
The Sober Husband mentioned the Holy Grail. He was referring to Monty Python, but he ended up having to explain the concept of the Grail and the Crusades to fourth grader Iris uber Alles. "Let me get this straight," she said. "They went on a quest to find some cup? Were they idiots? It's just a cup! They didn't even know what it looked like! It could have been any cup!"
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Frowstcam
Iris gave me a wonderful Christmas present, something I had been longing for: a petcam. It is a small camera which you clip on a pet's collar, which then takes a picture every fifteen minutes to document what your pet has been up to. We specifically wanted this to see what our most glamorous pet, longhaired Frowst, got up to. "I'm afraid we'll see a lot of dead animals", one child worried. Disagreeing, "I think we'll see his friends and other houses," a family optimist said.
What we have learned is that Frowst is much more boring than anyone suspected. You can see that he often spends over an hour without moving. When he does move, he generally seems to lurk about in trees.
I never noticed that he went under our beds, but he spent an hour lying next to Iris's rollerblades. This is all extremely disillusioning.It's not all over for the petcam, though. I plan to attach it to the Sober Husband when he goes back to work. "I could just take a picture every now and then," he offered, but I said that wouldn't be the same.
"You'd be thinking about it then, and you'd plan the pictures. This will be different."
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
a holiday thought from Lola
Recently Lola presented her father with a beautifully drawn, colorful, sweet Christmas card, showing him getting his Christmas stocking. "Awww," I said. "I'm jealous."
Lola then happily presented me with her handmade Christmas card for me:
It's Holiday Road-Raging Mommy! I especially love how I'm driving on the wrong side of the road. Lola explained, "You are shouting at idiots! See, you are saying, 'Hurry up, it's Christmas!'"
Lola then happily presented me with her handmade Christmas card for me:
It's Holiday Road-Raging Mommy! I especially love how I'm driving on the wrong side of the road. Lola explained, "You are shouting at idiots! See, you are saying, 'Hurry up, it's Christmas!'"
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
one miracle of St. Audrey
Audrey, a child in the first grade, exercises a sort of fascination over Lola, who believes every word Audrey says. "Once Audrey was at the top of the climbing structure [at school], and she fell off, but a big wind came, and she floated, and she landed on top of the roof [of the kindergarten building]!"
"Lola, you know THAT'S NOT TRUE!" said big sister Iris, who finds these Audrey stories maddening.
"But Audrey told me," insisted Lola.
"Lola, you know THAT'S NOT TRUE!" said big sister Iris, who finds these Audrey stories maddening.
"But Audrey told me," insisted Lola.
Monday, December 21, 2009
they like big butts
Iris, who is a sponge for pop culture, was singing that enduring classic, "I like big butts" around the house the other day. "Lucy! You sing it, too!" she commanded her little sister.
After a pause, Lola, who didn't know the words, gamely sang, "I like big butts when I have them for dinner."
After a pause, Lola, who didn't know the words, gamely sang, "I like big butts when I have them for dinner."
Sunday, December 20, 2009
the disagreement
Last night we were driving home after seeing "The Hard Nut" (enjoyed greatly by fourth grader Iris uber Alles and me; first grader Lola wanted to leave early. I myself could watch fifty-something, paunchy Mark Morris dance forever; that man is magic). Somehow the Sober Husband brought up the subject of Arthur Kade, who exercises the kind of fascination over me that a maggot-ridden corpse would for a small boy with a stick.
The Sober Husband (who has not even read Arthur Kadyshes' stupid website or watched his maddening videos) opined that Arthur Kade is a genius and an artist, a performance artist.
"No! He's not! He is for real!" squawked Iris (also an Arthur love/hater) and me.
"You're just saying that because of Sacha Baron Cohen and the Borat movie, but Arthur's for real," I said.
"Yes, Daddude, a guy from 'Philadelphia' magazine followed him around for a couple of days, and he's for real!" Iris said very earnestly, but her father was not to be dissuaded.
"He is an artist. He makes me think of Andy Kaufman." [There followed a long, squabbly and emotional debate, where I called Andy Kaufman "a comedic genius" and the Sober Husband called him "a horrible person who shouldn't be on TV." So why, if the Sober Husband dislikes Andy Kaufman so much, was he comparing Arthur Kade, whom he proclaimed to be a genius and an artist, to him?].
The Sober Husband would not back down on this issue, and he grew loud and animated. "Look at you. You're torqued because I called Arthur Kade an artist and a genius. That proves he is. He has such a powerful effect on you. I can't believe calling him an artist torques you like that."
"Ummm, Daddude, can you focus on driving? I hate to say it, but you are waving your hands around, and the car is moving around," said Iris worriedly. It was true. The car was weaving as the Sober Husband, with shining eyes, gestured and ranted about Arthur's genius and artistry.
"I am going to be really torqued if you get into an accident because you are calling Arthur Kade a genius and comparing him to Andy Kaufman. I will be laughed off The Lego Wig," I said very firmly.
"Why is that called 'the Lego Wig'?"
"Because Arthur got this really bad free haircut from his stepmother, and someone posted on his blog, 'Arthur, you appear to be wearing a wig made from Legos', and everyone thought that was funny."
Iris laughed uproariously. A wig made from Legos! We were all able to join together, for a moment of pretend harmony, in ridiculing Arthur's hair.
The Sober Husband (who has not even read Arthur Kadyshes' stupid website or watched his maddening videos) opined that Arthur Kade is a genius and an artist, a performance artist.
"No! He's not! He is for real!" squawked Iris (also an Arthur love/hater) and me.
"You're just saying that because of Sacha Baron Cohen and the Borat movie, but Arthur's for real," I said.
"Yes, Daddude, a guy from 'Philadelphia' magazine followed him around for a couple of days, and he's for real!" Iris said very earnestly, but her father was not to be dissuaded.
"He is an artist. He makes me think of Andy Kaufman." [There followed a long, squabbly and emotional debate, where I called Andy Kaufman "a comedic genius" and the Sober Husband called him "a horrible person who shouldn't be on TV." So why, if the Sober Husband dislikes Andy Kaufman so much, was he comparing Arthur Kade, whom he proclaimed to be a genius and an artist, to him?].
The Sober Husband would not back down on this issue, and he grew loud and animated. "Look at you. You're torqued because I called Arthur Kade an artist and a genius. That proves he is. He has such a powerful effect on you. I can't believe calling him an artist torques you like that."
"Ummm, Daddude, can you focus on driving? I hate to say it, but you are waving your hands around, and the car is moving around," said Iris worriedly. It was true. The car was weaving as the Sober Husband, with shining eyes, gestured and ranted about Arthur's genius and artistry.
"I am going to be really torqued if you get into an accident because you are calling Arthur Kade a genius and comparing him to Andy Kaufman. I will be laughed off The Lego Wig," I said very firmly.
"Why is that called 'the Lego Wig'?"
"Because Arthur got this really bad free haircut from his stepmother, and someone posted on his blog, 'Arthur, you appear to be wearing a wig made from Legos', and everyone thought that was funny."
Iris laughed uproariously. A wig made from Legos! We were all able to join together, for a moment of pretend harmony, in ridiculing Arthur's hair.
Monday, December 14, 2009
love blossoms, but not politeness
Today we drove to Doggy-o to pick up the Sober Husband after work. While we were waiting in the tiny parking lot, fourth grader Iris uber Alles got out of the car and tried to moon her little sister. Iris was not tall enough to effectively moon, and so she was trying to jump up in the air while bent over with her butt stuck out. Little sister Lola shrieked and shrieked with laughter, and then shouted exuberantly, "I LOVE IRIS!" Then reality sunk in, and Lola said, "Oh my God, did you hear that? I love Iris? I LOVE IRIS? What is this?"
Eventually the Sober Husband showed up. On the way home Iris shared about how she'd been forced to write an essay about the meaning of Christmas with a classmate, and she was assigned to work with the child she considers her archnemesis, a very religious girl given to correcting Iris, and as a result, their joint essay was largely about the Baby Jesus. Iris wondered aloud why non-religious people celebrate Christmas, and her father attempted to explain, until this civilized discussion of ideas about Christmas was interrupted by first grader and noted Jesus fan Lola shouting, "YOU ARE A JEW! SHUT YOUR YAPHOLE!" In yet another display of hideously bad parenting, I was taken by a fit of uncontrollable laughter lasting several blocks.
Eventually the Sober Husband showed up. On the way home Iris shared about how she'd been forced to write an essay about the meaning of Christmas with a classmate, and she was assigned to work with the child she considers her archnemesis, a very religious girl given to correcting Iris, and as a result, their joint essay was largely about the Baby Jesus. Iris wondered aloud why non-religious people celebrate Christmas, and her father attempted to explain, until this civilized discussion of ideas about Christmas was interrupted by first grader and noted Jesus fan Lola shouting, "YOU ARE A JEW! SHUT YOUR YAPHOLE!" In yet another display of hideously bad parenting, I was taken by a fit of uncontrollable laughter lasting several blocks.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Pigwidgeon as Pygmalion
The Sober Husband has been very sarcastic about my African grey parrot's failure to speak. Pigwidgeon spoke on one memorable occasion, when desperate for attention (the girls and I were ignoring her while we ate lunch), she said, "Hello" in a sweet, piping voice, and we fawned over her for hours. She never spoke again.
"My parrot can talk," the Sober Husband snarks. "Yours is stupid."
We researched the matter and learned that most African greys don't talk until 1-2 years old. Therefore Piggle is not delayed in her speech. However, I tasked bored Lola with working on Piggle's speech. Seven year-old Lola took this assignment very seriously and went off to write down some phrases to teach the parrot. Returning, she pulled up a chair next to Pigwidgeon's play tree and, in a very serious voice, intoned certain phrases over and over again, including notably, "[The Sober Husband] was wrong. [The Sober Husband] was wrong."
"My parrot can talk," the Sober Husband snarks. "Yours is stupid."
We researched the matter and learned that most African greys don't talk until 1-2 years old. Therefore Piggle is not delayed in her speech. However, I tasked bored Lola with working on Piggle's speech. Seven year-old Lola took this assignment very seriously and went off to write down some phrases to teach the parrot. Returning, she pulled up a chair next to Pigwidgeon's play tree and, in a very serious voice, intoned certain phrases over and over again, including notably, "[The Sober Husband] was wrong. [The Sober Husband] was wrong."
packing
Iris has a sleepover tonight, and Lola is happy to send her off. "Pack your bags, Iris! Pack them fast! Pack them fast!"
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
a doctor and a plan
Today I saw the specialist, a doctor whose practice is devoted to fibroid tumors, and I liked her a lot. She discussed my ultrasound results, gave me a physical exam, and covered the various options, and we made a plan. I will have a hysterectomy on "the first available date", which will most likely not be until late January or even February.
I feel so relieved. The Sober Husband was just dismayed and depressed sounding when I called him to fill him in, but he kept to his prior commitment not to second guess me or my medical advisor of choice (and I am so glad to finally have a doctor handling this whom I like and respect).
I feel so relieved. The Sober Husband was just dismayed and depressed sounding when I called him to fill him in, but he kept to his prior commitment not to second guess me or my medical advisor of choice (and I am so glad to finally have a doctor handling this whom I like and respect).
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