i must say, i am impressed and somewhat bewildered with man's ability to entertain himself with a ball. because to be honest, if i were bored, i would find no value in a ball. i require a book with words. a computer with facebook. or, you know, an actual human being that i like to converse with.
my mom says i am cerebral that way.
a couple nights ago after my son's baseball game, we went out to eat with some of the other boys' families. we sit down and my husband tells me that a friend of his has invited him to join their fantasy baseball league.
"what?" i say. "would you really be playing baseball with grown men? is there travel involved?" because i'm thinking that could be nice. good exercise, male camaraderie, but i'm already seeing an issue with where the time for all this would come from. i can think all these things in about four seconds.
"no," he tells me. it's all kind of make-believe, things you can do from your computer.
"does it cost money?" that is my next question. because the words "fantasy" and "baseball" had better not be drawing any funds out of our family coffer.
there is a pause. no. no money. hmm.
he explains fantasy baseball to me. i listen to maybe .10% of what he is saying. my next question: "why is this fun?"
that question gets a laugh from the table. i did not know we were being spied upon. so then, at this point, the other men start telling me how they make lists, and check stats, and sometimes are on the fence who to pick for their lineup, how one bad choice can send them spiraling from the No. 2 spot all the way down to No. 5.
i am stunned. because these are grown men with real jobs. pretending like they are some kind of fantasy coach picking a make-believe team. and what's worse is they find many, many other men who want to take part in this. it's like grown women playing barbie dolls. but weirder.
so then, the next day, i have sack patrol at school. this is where myself and other moms watch the kids at recess and lunch to give the teachers some extra planning time. for me it provides an excellent spy opportunity. that is why i sign up for it every year. i get to see who my kids hang out with, what they do, who they sit with at lunch, all that. as an added bonus, i get to know all the other kids they talk about. who's bad, who's good, who's funny, who's odd.
my fourth grader has brought a tennis ball to school. this thrills several other boys because they are going to play "wall ball." i don't know if this is a real game or if they invented it. but they all seem to understand the rules. i, however, do not.
it seems that my son is some kind of "ref," most likely because he brought the beloved ball. they throw it as hard as they can at a wall. if you touch it but don't catch it, bad things happen to you. if you get hit in the back of the head with it, everyone will laugh. if you catch it, several people will cheer and then you get to throw it again. there is lots of movement, kind of like dodgeball, but not. sometimes you have to go touch the wall as quick as you can, and try not to get pegged. kind of like dodging a yellow, fuzzy bullet.
some girls come to watch. they are giggling and trying to push each other into the game. the boys ignore them. now, THIS is getting interesting to me. finally, a girl just puts herself right into the game and the boys all seem a little confused. why is she here? should we go easy? what is happening? they seem to tone it down a bit. but only for maybe .724 seconds.
the groups of girls will no longer be ignored. they hold hands and run, headlong, into the game. this is so much like life, i cannot even tell you. the boys ignore. they wait. the girls plot and finally just insert themselves into the scenario. now the boys are really confused. the girls are giggling and out of breath. i am 100% entertained. what will happen next?
the boys are looking at each other and shrugging. too old to tattle. too young to flirt. too into their wall ball to be inconvenienced for even one more second. they throw the ball as hard as they can, the game resumes. someone gets hit in the butt. another gets hit in the head. the girls run, screaming away. silly girls.
it's only just beginning, little girls. you will be competing with one ball or another for the rest of your life. unless you find a nice, cerebral type......
Friday, March 27, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
a typical conversation
tonight my young son and i had the following conversation.
setting: home, getting ready to go to his baseball game. i have told both children to get into their team uniforms, then go to the garage where their filthy cleats are kept and be ready to roll out in five minutes.
me: "um, who has left their dirty clothes hither and yon all over the stairs?"
young one: "me. that would be me."
me: "so, do we have a maid now and no one told me this?"
young one: "no. no maid."
me: "ok, then who are you thinking is going to be picking all this up?"
young one: "i have no clue."
me: "here's a clue. it is not going to be me. because i am not a maid."
cut to scene 2. after the game, we are driving home. he has managed to spill half his cherry icee on the bleachers, the rest on the way to the car. i now hear him stabbing at what is left with the plastic spoon.
me: "if you had a million dollars when you grow up, would you want to have a maid live with you?"
young one: "why would i want a maid?"
me: "to pick up all the stuff you leave all over the house."
young one: "no. would you?"
me: "no, i would not. i pick up after myself."
young one: "me too."
okay, by this point i am very confused. and not quite willing to drop it. because now i am actually fascinated at what this young child might actually use his million dollars for.
cut to scene 3. at the dinner table, just me and him. he and i. whatever.
me: "so. if you had a million dollars, you really wouldn't want a maid?"
young one: "no. i'm not a slob."
me: "so then what would you use the money for?"
young one: "mainly food. and also, like if a bomb exploded, i would need it to pay my hospital bills."
he is completely serious. he keeps eating. i try to compose myself, not to laugh at his money choices.
people. i could not make this stuff up.
scene.
setting: home, getting ready to go to his baseball game. i have told both children to get into their team uniforms, then go to the garage where their filthy cleats are kept and be ready to roll out in five minutes.
me: "um, who has left their dirty clothes hither and yon all over the stairs?"
young one: "me. that would be me."
me: "so, do we have a maid now and no one told me this?"
young one: "no. no maid."
me: "ok, then who are you thinking is going to be picking all this up?"
young one: "i have no clue."
me: "here's a clue. it is not going to be me. because i am not a maid."
cut to scene 2. after the game, we are driving home. he has managed to spill half his cherry icee on the bleachers, the rest on the way to the car. i now hear him stabbing at what is left with the plastic spoon.
me: "if you had a million dollars when you grow up, would you want to have a maid live with you?"
young one: "why would i want a maid?"
me: "to pick up all the stuff you leave all over the house."
young one: "no. would you?"
me: "no, i would not. i pick up after myself."
young one: "me too."
okay, by this point i am very confused. and not quite willing to drop it. because now i am actually fascinated at what this young child might actually use his million dollars for.
cut to scene 3. at the dinner table, just me and him. he and i. whatever.
me: "so. if you had a million dollars, you really wouldn't want a maid?"
young one: "no. i'm not a slob."
me: "so then what would you use the money for?"
young one: "mainly food. and also, like if a bomb exploded, i would need it to pay my hospital bills."
he is completely serious. he keeps eating. i try to compose myself, not to laugh at his money choices.
people. i could not make this stuff up.
scene.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
scenes from a life
first off, the dog always feels left out. she sees others having fun, gets excited, and slowly realizes that she is just a spectator. she sees balls flying, people running, she wants to join the fun. about five seconds after this picture is taken, her tail slowly starts to fall. but hey, at least her prison bars offer up a view.
nanny is inside the kitchen window doing what she does best: clean. and if you like to constantly clean, then a house with boys is the place for you to be.
this is squirt. he rolls alone. he is practicing catch by throwing a tennis ball onto the roof and waiting for it to roll off. see how he points? he does the same thing when he plays baseball. he does it without thinking. points where he wants the ball to go.
dad comes home from a long day's work and this is how he likes to relax. catch in the front with anybody who is willing.
here is mr. willing. he likes to do stuff, and talk while he's at it. a most companionable companion.
mom shows up once in a while to sit and watch. or take pictures. pictures that they always ask me, suspiciously, if they are for my blog. well, so what if they are?
it is a scene from my life, too.
nanny is inside the kitchen window doing what she does best: clean. and if you like to constantly clean, then a house with boys is the place for you to be.
this is squirt. he rolls alone. he is practicing catch by throwing a tennis ball onto the roof and waiting for it to roll off. see how he points? he does the same thing when he plays baseball. he does it without thinking. points where he wants the ball to go.
dad comes home from a long day's work and this is how he likes to relax. catch in the front with anybody who is willing.
here is mr. willing. he likes to do stuff, and talk while he's at it. a most companionable companion.
mom shows up once in a while to sit and watch. or take pictures. pictures that they always ask me, suspiciously, if they are for my blog. well, so what if they are?
it is a scene from my life, too.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
spring has sprung
i just have to show you what a pretty bush i get to look at through my bedroom window. our backyard is furry. it needs trimming. mulch. sod. lots of stuff but i like it furry. i like that no neighbors live behind us. it's very lush and appealing.
i mean, look how pretty.
this azalea bush was a nice surprise, seeing as how we moved in last may after blooming season. i love blossoms. i love bushes with surprises.
so, that's all for today. happy spring.
i mean, look how pretty.
this azalea bush was a nice surprise, seeing as how we moved in last may after blooming season. i love blossoms. i love bushes with surprises.
so, that's all for today. happy spring.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
having fun in a closet
i spent all morning in my closet. then my sons' closets. organizing. tossing. culling. moving spring clothes to the forefront, winter clothes to the low bar, and getting real with myself about stuff i have no intention of ever wearing again. there are things i should never wear again. and they are now in a bag, in a line, waiting to be taken to goodwill.
i am tall -- almost 5'9" -- so i tend to steer clear of shoes with heels so i don't have to stoop to have a conversation with the rest of the population. this explains the absence of jimmy choo's and manolo blahnik's in my closet. yes. that and the fact that i would never in my freakin' life spend over $100 on a pair of shoes.
i like flats. i like comfortable shoes. but i did toss a pair of born slides today that i saw an old, old lady wearing. it bothers me that she and i bought the same shoes. it makes me feel like i am a hop, skip and a jump away from orthopedic shoes.
so anyway, i did my closet like the movie stars do it. one shoe out, one shoe in. i grouped browns together. blacks together. flip-flops in a basket. i found shoes i had forgotten about. now, if only i had someplace to go.......
i had so much fun (heavy with the irony here, people) doing my shoes, that my clothes just seemed ..... really sad hanging over there all harey-carey. and i remembered something my friend andy did with his clothes many years ago: he hung them by color. only his closet looked like a multiples set of crayons. greens! yellows! oranges! whites!
mine is a little more -- subtle. heavier on the blacks and whites. but hey, i like color. and here's a trick i learned many years ago. once i wear something, and wash it (or not), i hang it to the back of its section. that way i don't wear the same thing over and over again. this came about because when i was first married, i did laundry so often that i realized my husband only ever wore the same two undershirts over and over again. so i started moving the clean shirts to the bottom of the pile. i know, brilliant, right? it only took me 31 years to figure that one out. you're welcome!
and then there's my young son's closet. if he had it his way, he would wear camo pants every day. with a bright blue shirt. orange socks. and crocs. he just does not care. the other day on the way to school, i looked at him and realized he looked like a nut. his hair was . . . i don't even have words. i said, oh, your hair. it looks crazy.
he kept walking. i said, do you care?
he said, no. not really.
well, okay then. neither do i.
after he wears something and i wash it, i have to rotate it up to the top bar. the bar he can't reach. because he has favorites that he will just continue to pick, making it look as though he only owns three shirts. i told him this once, and you can guess what he said.
i don't care.
do you see the spongebob slippers? yes, well, he wore them to school one day. granted, it was pajama day and all, but most all the other kids wore sneakers. or slippers. normal slippers.
and his new baseball glove his dad ordered for him in the mail? three guesses what color it is.
brown? no.
black? no.
RED? yes.
did you know they made such a thing? they probably wondered who in their right minds would buy it. oh, WE WILL. and if it came in orange, i'm sure that would have been first choice.
i am tall -- almost 5'9" -- so i tend to steer clear of shoes with heels so i don't have to stoop to have a conversation with the rest of the population. this explains the absence of jimmy choo's and manolo blahnik's in my closet. yes. that and the fact that i would never in my freakin' life spend over $100 on a pair of shoes.
i like flats. i like comfortable shoes. but i did toss a pair of born slides today that i saw an old, old lady wearing. it bothers me that she and i bought the same shoes. it makes me feel like i am a hop, skip and a jump away from orthopedic shoes.
so anyway, i did my closet like the movie stars do it. one shoe out, one shoe in. i grouped browns together. blacks together. flip-flops in a basket. i found shoes i had forgotten about. now, if only i had someplace to go.......
i had so much fun (heavy with the irony here, people) doing my shoes, that my clothes just seemed ..... really sad hanging over there all harey-carey. and i remembered something my friend andy did with his clothes many years ago: he hung them by color. only his closet looked like a multiples set of crayons. greens! yellows! oranges! whites!
mine is a little more -- subtle. heavier on the blacks and whites. but hey, i like color. and here's a trick i learned many years ago. once i wear something, and wash it (or not), i hang it to the back of its section. that way i don't wear the same thing over and over again. this came about because when i was first married, i did laundry so often that i realized my husband only ever wore the same two undershirts over and over again. so i started moving the clean shirts to the bottom of the pile. i know, brilliant, right? it only took me 31 years to figure that one out. you're welcome!
and then there's my young son's closet. if he had it his way, he would wear camo pants every day. with a bright blue shirt. orange socks. and crocs. he just does not care. the other day on the way to school, i looked at him and realized he looked like a nut. his hair was . . . i don't even have words. i said, oh, your hair. it looks crazy.
he kept walking. i said, do you care?
he said, no. not really.
well, okay then. neither do i.
after he wears something and i wash it, i have to rotate it up to the top bar. the bar he can't reach. because he has favorites that he will just continue to pick, making it look as though he only owns three shirts. i told him this once, and you can guess what he said.
i don't care.
do you see the spongebob slippers? yes, well, he wore them to school one day. granted, it was pajama day and all, but most all the other kids wore sneakers. or slippers. normal slippers.
and his new baseball glove his dad ordered for him in the mail? three guesses what color it is.
brown? no.
black? no.
RED? yes.
did you know they made such a thing? they probably wondered who in their right minds would buy it. oh, WE WILL. and if it came in orange, i'm sure that would have been first choice.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
iphone: it loves me, it loves me not
my name is courtenay, and i do not understand the iphone. i am told i am a party of one.
use your left brain, they say.
it's so intuitive, how can you not get it? they ask.
i am told that perhaps i am the problem.
and yes, people that know me and supposedly like me, tell me these things. i am suspicious of them all. i think there is some insider's club, some secret class, that they all take to learn all the buttons. but in return, they sign a paper swearing they will not admit it. i am trying to get invited to this secret class. because i swear, once i learn it, i will make other people feel like a total numbnut for not understanding.
oh my god, i will say. really? you don't get it? gosh. it was so easy for me.
this phone is a little bigger than a pile of credit cards. and it is seriously like packing a whole computer, hard-drive and keyboard into your purse. that is how much stuff it does. are you driving? just type in where you want to go and you will see yourself driving on it. you can post on your facebook. check your email. chat. take photos. check the weather anywhere in the world. check stocks. watch youtube. type notes. it's an ipod. it's a phone. you can surf the internet.
it does all this, and guess what?
please guess.
it does not come with a manual. why? oh, because it is so, so intuitive. they sprinkle fairy dust on it, too, so that all those who pick it up know exactly what to press. only my phone - yes, no fairy dust. my hairdryer came with a manual. and it only does one thing: DRY MY HAIR. this phone walks on water. no manual.
it's like giving a new pilot a lollipop and a barf bag.
it's like going on a scavenger hunt with no list.
and the apple people? at the apple store? i want to punch every last one of them in the face. they are so friendly and helpful. really, i mean that. and when you buy something there, there's no counter or cash register. no, my lord. that would be way too common. they just whip this little labelmaker looking thing out of their apple pocket and input all your life's numbers, ask you if there's anything in the world you need to know, and hand you a perfect little apple receipt.
and they smile. because you are now one of them. and you can carry the world in your pocket.
and you know, we have other apple products in our house. we have an imac. it has a cordless keyboard, a cordless mouse. it came in a flat box. small, simple. we opened it and wondered where the rest of it was. that is what you always wonder with apple products. this is it? where's the rest of it? it is such a show-off. honestly, if this computer was a person, it would be the pretty girl with the perfect hair and body, but she's so nice you can't hate her. you look for flaws and there is none.
but back to the iphone. i am told you can hold it up to a song you like and it will know what the song is and where to get it from. and this is intuitive? like, this should just come to me to hold my phone up to a radio when i hear a song i like? on what planet?
do you see what i'm saying? i feel like i'm a detective trying to bust a big ring of liars open.
so anyway, guess what. i'm going to an iphone class at the apple store next week. and i'm not gonna tell anybody. i'm going to take notes, and stay after, like i'm studying for a big final exam. i heard you're not allowed to ask any questions. see? it's like a cia operative.
then i'm going to spend an hour with my 9-year-old, get him to spill everything he's figured out about my phone, which -- believe me -- it's quite extensive.
and in the meantime, one of my very nice facebook friends who does not make me feel completely stupid said she will walk me through anything i want to know (and the great, great irony of this is that her name is courtenay, too -- spelled exactly the same. she got the apple gene. i did not.)
and by then, in a week's time, i should know how to play a song. or, you know, answer a phone call.
and apple, i solemnly swear, if you will send more of your secret agents to teach me these top-secret confidential things, i will act like i knew them all along. i will pretend like it's so intuitive. i will help you sell more iphones by talking it up.
just, please . . . a clue, apple. that is all i'm looking for.
use your left brain, they say.
it's so intuitive, how can you not get it? they ask.
i am told that perhaps i am the problem.
and yes, people that know me and supposedly like me, tell me these things. i am suspicious of them all. i think there is some insider's club, some secret class, that they all take to learn all the buttons. but in return, they sign a paper swearing they will not admit it. i am trying to get invited to this secret class. because i swear, once i learn it, i will make other people feel like a total numbnut for not understanding.
oh my god, i will say. really? you don't get it? gosh. it was so easy for me.
this phone is a little bigger than a pile of credit cards. and it is seriously like packing a whole computer, hard-drive and keyboard into your purse. that is how much stuff it does. are you driving? just type in where you want to go and you will see yourself driving on it. you can post on your facebook. check your email. chat. take photos. check the weather anywhere in the world. check stocks. watch youtube. type notes. it's an ipod. it's a phone. you can surf the internet.
it does all this, and guess what?
please guess.
it does not come with a manual. why? oh, because it is so, so intuitive. they sprinkle fairy dust on it, too, so that all those who pick it up know exactly what to press. only my phone - yes, no fairy dust. my hairdryer came with a manual. and it only does one thing: DRY MY HAIR. this phone walks on water. no manual.
it's like giving a new pilot a lollipop and a barf bag.
it's like going on a scavenger hunt with no list.
and the apple people? at the apple store? i want to punch every last one of them in the face. they are so friendly and helpful. really, i mean that. and when you buy something there, there's no counter or cash register. no, my lord. that would be way too common. they just whip this little labelmaker looking thing out of their apple pocket and input all your life's numbers, ask you if there's anything in the world you need to know, and hand you a perfect little apple receipt.
and they smile. because you are now one of them. and you can carry the world in your pocket.
and you know, we have other apple products in our house. we have an imac. it has a cordless keyboard, a cordless mouse. it came in a flat box. small, simple. we opened it and wondered where the rest of it was. that is what you always wonder with apple products. this is it? where's the rest of it? it is such a show-off. honestly, if this computer was a person, it would be the pretty girl with the perfect hair and body, but she's so nice you can't hate her. you look for flaws and there is none.
but back to the iphone. i am told you can hold it up to a song you like and it will know what the song is and where to get it from. and this is intuitive? like, this should just come to me to hold my phone up to a radio when i hear a song i like? on what planet?
do you see what i'm saying? i feel like i'm a detective trying to bust a big ring of liars open.
so anyway, guess what. i'm going to an iphone class at the apple store next week. and i'm not gonna tell anybody. i'm going to take notes, and stay after, like i'm studying for a big final exam. i heard you're not allowed to ask any questions. see? it's like a cia operative.
then i'm going to spend an hour with my 9-year-old, get him to spill everything he's figured out about my phone, which -- believe me -- it's quite extensive.
and in the meantime, one of my very nice facebook friends who does not make me feel completely stupid said she will walk me through anything i want to know (and the great, great irony of this is that her name is courtenay, too -- spelled exactly the same. she got the apple gene. i did not.)
and by then, in a week's time, i should know how to play a song. or, you know, answer a phone call.
and apple, i solemnly swear, if you will send more of your secret agents to teach me these top-secret confidential things, i will act like i knew them all along. i will pretend like it's so intuitive. i will help you sell more iphones by talking it up.
just, please . . . a clue, apple. that is all i'm looking for.
Monday, March 9, 2009
battleship texas
sunday. we take the scouts to see the battleship texas. boys like this. they dig it. it's big. there's weapons. what's not to like.
the firing of the cannons. this is the best part. they can rotate these cannons up and down, side to side, and take aim. i have no idea why boys like to aim and shoot things so much, but they just do. the girls take pictures.
the barbershop. i am confused as to why they have a full bar set up in the barbershop. until another mom tells me, dear, those are hair tonics. oh.
the bed situation. we are told that scouts can spend the night on said ship. but i don't want to sleep in a swinging bed. they smell. much like your grandparents' house.
this is where the rich people eat. that's what one boy said. and truly, these accommodations are much nicer than what we saw for the regular soldiers. it's all relative. because a captain's bedroom was the size of a utility room, as opposed to having one of the swinging beds. see? relative.
the scouts, and really, all the parents except for me, decide to climb up the battleship. i do not like tiny stairs. or people's butts in my face. or someone right on my heels. i stay on deck, take pictures, and check my facebook.
when we leave, i say a quick thank-you-god that it is 2009, that i never had to be a soldier, and that there is a mcdonald's right up the road.
god bless america.
the firing of the cannons. this is the best part. they can rotate these cannons up and down, side to side, and take aim. i have no idea why boys like to aim and shoot things so much, but they just do. the girls take pictures.
the barbershop. i am confused as to why they have a full bar set up in the barbershop. until another mom tells me, dear, those are hair tonics. oh.
the bed situation. we are told that scouts can spend the night on said ship. but i don't want to sleep in a swinging bed. they smell. much like your grandparents' house.
this is where the rich people eat. that's what one boy said. and truly, these accommodations are much nicer than what we saw for the regular soldiers. it's all relative. because a captain's bedroom was the size of a utility room, as opposed to having one of the swinging beds. see? relative.
the scouts, and really, all the parents except for me, decide to climb up the battleship. i do not like tiny stairs. or people's butts in my face. or someone right on my heels. i stay on deck, take pictures, and check my facebook.
when we leave, i say a quick thank-you-god that it is 2009, that i never had to be a soldier, and that there is a mcdonald's right up the road.
god bless america.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
photo essay: field trip to a ranch
the fourth graders, me, and some parents took a field trip out to a ranch today. i had no idea what to expect. i was just glad it wasn't the alligator farm we went to last year.
i enjoy fourth graders. they are controllable. unlike, say, being in charge of three kindergartners at a zoo, which is what i was doing four years ago. sound easy? let me paint a picture. everyone in the city chose that particular day to field trip to the zoo. picture BILLIONS of kids all wearing bright yellow, green or orange.
my child stayed right by my side. the other two, however, decided it would be great fun to explore on their own. the first child walked way ahead of us, going in whichever direction his heart desired. he is wearing a yellow shirt, remember, just like 4,396 other kids all his same height and build. my third compadre, he is the slow sort. he likes to stop and gaze at whatever catches his eye. so i spend my time yelling for the first yellow shirt to stop, the third yellow shirt to hurry up, and asking my own child, what on earth is wrong with these kids.
by the end, i think i had told these two stragglers more than once that i no longer cared if they made it home safely or not, that their job now was to keep up with me.
okay, so fourth graders at a ranch. way easy. piece of cake. loved it.
this is a house on a plantation where a worker slave lived. parents got the bed, children slept on the floor. it was small, smelly, and it lacked a flat screen and double-door fridge.
these are the chickens that run wild. they are prized for their eggs, not killed for their meat. they have a coop to sleep in at night so that coyotes and owls don't eat them.
this is a darling pig with fur that feels like straw. the kids just read "charlotte's web" so were very pleased to see such a fine example of pigdom.
each child was given a cloth diaper to wash with lye soap. my son, on the left, did a surprisingly good job. probably because there was no actual poop on it.
then they had to hang it with old-fashioned clothes pins on a line to dry.
my least favorite part of the field trip. there just HAD to be an alligator. a baby one. which, you know, means mom and dad are lurking nearby.
my most favorite part: the picnic tables were all full by the time we got ready to sit down so my son took his lunch and sat down in the field. within moments, all his cronies joined him. you might have to be a mother to understand what that feels like. but it feels pretty awesome.
the picture-taking part. where myself and other parents ruin their fun by asking that they smile repeatedly for the camera. with mixed results, as you can plainly see.
a most awesome tree deck.
the sweetest horse, who just ate all this attention up. she licked the boys faces, and here is seen trying to take a playful bite out of this child's shirt. and i swear she was doing it just for laughs. because we were all in near hysterics, and she kept doing it over and over with the most bored look on her face.
a beautiful blonde, getting her nose tickled by a teacher.
i love field trips. but moreover, i love it that my kids ask me to go with them on these jaunts. my fourth-grader may not say much to me when he's with his friends, but he will sneak glances at me to see if i'm watching him make someone laugh, or if someone says something a little daring. i'll wink, or raise my eyebrows, and he'll smile back at me. the kind of smile he tries to contain.
it's the subtle dance of mother and son, the ebb and flow. i'm with him, but i'm not. i'm invited, but i'm more or less ignored. we both know that later, alone, is when we will really talk about it all.
it's a quiet deal. it's a private deal. but it's a deal i would never pass up.
i enjoy fourth graders. they are controllable. unlike, say, being in charge of three kindergartners at a zoo, which is what i was doing four years ago. sound easy? let me paint a picture. everyone in the city chose that particular day to field trip to the zoo. picture BILLIONS of kids all wearing bright yellow, green or orange.
my child stayed right by my side. the other two, however, decided it would be great fun to explore on their own. the first child walked way ahead of us, going in whichever direction his heart desired. he is wearing a yellow shirt, remember, just like 4,396 other kids all his same height and build. my third compadre, he is the slow sort. he likes to stop and gaze at whatever catches his eye. so i spend my time yelling for the first yellow shirt to stop, the third yellow shirt to hurry up, and asking my own child, what on earth is wrong with these kids.
by the end, i think i had told these two stragglers more than once that i no longer cared if they made it home safely or not, that their job now was to keep up with me.
okay, so fourth graders at a ranch. way easy. piece of cake. loved it.
this is a house on a plantation where a worker slave lived. parents got the bed, children slept on the floor. it was small, smelly, and it lacked a flat screen and double-door fridge.
these are the chickens that run wild. they are prized for their eggs, not killed for their meat. they have a coop to sleep in at night so that coyotes and owls don't eat them.
this is a darling pig with fur that feels like straw. the kids just read "charlotte's web" so were very pleased to see such a fine example of pigdom.
each child was given a cloth diaper to wash with lye soap. my son, on the left, did a surprisingly good job. probably because there was no actual poop on it.
then they had to hang it with old-fashioned clothes pins on a line to dry.
my least favorite part of the field trip. there just HAD to be an alligator. a baby one. which, you know, means mom and dad are lurking nearby.
my most favorite part: the picnic tables were all full by the time we got ready to sit down so my son took his lunch and sat down in the field. within moments, all his cronies joined him. you might have to be a mother to understand what that feels like. but it feels pretty awesome.
the picture-taking part. where myself and other parents ruin their fun by asking that they smile repeatedly for the camera. with mixed results, as you can plainly see.
a most awesome tree deck.
the sweetest horse, who just ate all this attention up. she licked the boys faces, and here is seen trying to take a playful bite out of this child's shirt. and i swear she was doing it just for laughs. because we were all in near hysterics, and she kept doing it over and over with the most bored look on her face.
a beautiful blonde, getting her nose tickled by a teacher.
i love field trips. but moreover, i love it that my kids ask me to go with them on these jaunts. my fourth-grader may not say much to me when he's with his friends, but he will sneak glances at me to see if i'm watching him make someone laugh, or if someone says something a little daring. i'll wink, or raise my eyebrows, and he'll smile back at me. the kind of smile he tries to contain.
it's the subtle dance of mother and son, the ebb and flow. i'm with him, but i'm not. i'm invited, but i'm more or less ignored. we both know that later, alone, is when we will really talk about it all.
it's a quiet deal. it's a private deal. but it's a deal i would never pass up.
Monday, March 2, 2009
nice try, acura. but no dice
we are car snobs. well, let me just speak for myself: i am a car snob. there are certain brands of car i would never in-a-million-years buy. and they are called american.
i love my country. i don't even travel outside of it. but until they can make a kick-ass car that can get to 200k miles without falling to pieces, i am not impressed. honda and toyota have always been my tops. although my first car, a toyota starlet, was no great gem.
i was 16. and i desperately wanted this starlet that our neighbors were selling. as i recall, it was $3,000. my parents made a deal with me: we'd get it, but i had to pay them back for half. DEAL. SOLD. GIVE ME THE KEY. i paid $100 a month for 15 months. and it was worth every dollar of freedom.
this poor starlet broke down so much that my parents decided they had to buy me a new car. a NEW car. these words are like sparkling diamonds to a college kid. i was taken to get a bottom-of-the-line toyota. we walked out with a celica that had pop-up headlights. my dad was mad. he had been outnumbered two-to-one by determined women. he never had a chance.
i loved the celica. there were certain conditions to me getting it, one of which i remember was that no one besides me was ever to have their rear end in the driver's seat. again, sorry, dad. it was a fun, fast, awesome car. and my college friends all thank you.
then, a few years later, i got a wild hair. i wanted a convertible. specifically, a volkswagen convertible. it is my personal belief that everyone should have a convertible once in their life. even my mother had one, for god's sake. and she doesn't like her hair to move. i went to the used, pre-owned office at volkswagen and bargained a monthly payment i could meet on two part-time jobs. and i drove out, top down, happy as all get-out.
and that, my friends, was a fun car. many was the night i would pop in a cassette and just drive with the top down. one of the small, great joys in life.
then comes marriage. we need a real car. a prepare-for-kids car. we go to acura and walk out with what i feel is a rolls royce. it was an integra. that was 1997. we are still driving that car. it has over 150k miles. do you think i love it? i love it. it's never given us any problems. we're going to drive it until it falls apart. until i have to get out and pick up pieces of it off the street. and even then, if they can be glued on, we will keep it.
our other car is an acura mdx. that was a pricey buy. hoo baby, pricey. but it was either that or a minivan. i'm not a minivan kinda girl. and i needed something that could seat multitudes. because quite often, i am driving multitudes. of kids. it can seat 8 comfortably. and yes, there are times when i'd like to stop and dump out half of my passengers. but i don't. i just turn the music louder. but that's a whole other blog story. i am the car that all the kids want to go in. and that's what i wanted.
these are our two, beautiful-because-they're-paid-for acuras:
and last week, the little guy (the integra) needed some work. needed some love. and we gladly give him the love because he keeps us from buying a new car. a new used car. since dave ramsey's spirit is now in our life. never a new car. never again.
and do you know what the acura dealership gave us as a loaner? a brand spankin' new, fully loaded TL. it did not even have a key, that's how fancy it was. i had no idea how to turn it on. it had GPS. xm radio. you could talk out loud and someone or something would talk back to you. it freaked me the hell out. so david drove it....david -- fell in love. i told him to live vicariously for these few days because our sweet beater was coming back home to roost.
that loaner got driven to the moon and back. i just constantly saw it leaving. my 9-year-old figured the whole car out in, oh, five minutes. i could not even find a radio station. or the a/c controls. it had enough buttons to power a rocket launch.
and get this: when we got our paid-for, 11-year-old car back from the dealership, days and many dollars later, they had hung a "new car smell" air freshener from the rearview mirror. really, acura? do you think we are that easy?
because the woman in service told me a story i will never forget. god bless her. she told me of a customer that drives an '88 acura legend that has -- get this -- 530k miles on it. she has given me a new goal to strive for. and i love a challenge.
so nice try, acura. with your new car smell and your fancy talking car. but you know what i got? i have two reliable, paid-for cars.
i can't blame you for trying. but baby....no dice.
i love my country. i don't even travel outside of it. but until they can make a kick-ass car that can get to 200k miles without falling to pieces, i am not impressed. honda and toyota have always been my tops. although my first car, a toyota starlet, was no great gem.
i was 16. and i desperately wanted this starlet that our neighbors were selling. as i recall, it was $3,000. my parents made a deal with me: we'd get it, but i had to pay them back for half. DEAL. SOLD. GIVE ME THE KEY. i paid $100 a month for 15 months. and it was worth every dollar of freedom.
this poor starlet broke down so much that my parents decided they had to buy me a new car. a NEW car. these words are like sparkling diamonds to a college kid. i was taken to get a bottom-of-the-line toyota. we walked out with a celica that had pop-up headlights. my dad was mad. he had been outnumbered two-to-one by determined women. he never had a chance.
i loved the celica. there were certain conditions to me getting it, one of which i remember was that no one besides me was ever to have their rear end in the driver's seat. again, sorry, dad. it was a fun, fast, awesome car. and my college friends all thank you.
then, a few years later, i got a wild hair. i wanted a convertible. specifically, a volkswagen convertible. it is my personal belief that everyone should have a convertible once in their life. even my mother had one, for god's sake. and she doesn't like her hair to move. i went to the used, pre-owned office at volkswagen and bargained a monthly payment i could meet on two part-time jobs. and i drove out, top down, happy as all get-out.
and that, my friends, was a fun car. many was the night i would pop in a cassette and just drive with the top down. one of the small, great joys in life.
then comes marriage. we need a real car. a prepare-for-kids car. we go to acura and walk out with what i feel is a rolls royce. it was an integra. that was 1997. we are still driving that car. it has over 150k miles. do you think i love it? i love it. it's never given us any problems. we're going to drive it until it falls apart. until i have to get out and pick up pieces of it off the street. and even then, if they can be glued on, we will keep it.
our other car is an acura mdx. that was a pricey buy. hoo baby, pricey. but it was either that or a minivan. i'm not a minivan kinda girl. and i needed something that could seat multitudes. because quite often, i am driving multitudes. of kids. it can seat 8 comfortably. and yes, there are times when i'd like to stop and dump out half of my passengers. but i don't. i just turn the music louder. but that's a whole other blog story. i am the car that all the kids want to go in. and that's what i wanted.
these are our two, beautiful-because-they're-paid-for acuras:
and last week, the little guy (the integra) needed some work. needed some love. and we gladly give him the love because he keeps us from buying a new car. a new used car. since dave ramsey's spirit is now in our life. never a new car. never again.
and do you know what the acura dealership gave us as a loaner? a brand spankin' new, fully loaded TL. it did not even have a key, that's how fancy it was. i had no idea how to turn it on. it had GPS. xm radio. you could talk out loud and someone or something would talk back to you. it freaked me the hell out. so david drove it....david -- fell in love. i told him to live vicariously for these few days because our sweet beater was coming back home to roost.
that loaner got driven to the moon and back. i just constantly saw it leaving. my 9-year-old figured the whole car out in, oh, five minutes. i could not even find a radio station. or the a/c controls. it had enough buttons to power a rocket launch.
and get this: when we got our paid-for, 11-year-old car back from the dealership, days and many dollars later, they had hung a "new car smell" air freshener from the rearview mirror. really, acura? do you think we are that easy?
because the woman in service told me a story i will never forget. god bless her. she told me of a customer that drives an '88 acura legend that has -- get this -- 530k miles on it. she has given me a new goal to strive for. and i love a challenge.
so nice try, acura. with your new car smell and your fancy talking car. but you know what i got? i have two reliable, paid-for cars.
i can't blame you for trying. but baby....no dice.
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