Questions To Keep You Up At Night

1. Why do the Las Vegas CSIs always use flashlights? Do murder scenes automatically lose electricity, rendering light switches useless?

2. Does the person who left the sushi in our office refrigerator really think it's still good after all this time? Are they going to eat it!?

3. Is George W. ever going to learn to pronounce "nuclear" correctly? Should we just rename those weapons "nu-cu-ler" so that he doesn't sound so freaking dumb?

4. Where should I take my pretty new purse to have the zipper fixed?

5. When Raisin says "ow-ie!" and pats her cheeks, what does that mean? Her teeth hurt? Her ears hurt? She just likes the new word?

These are the serious issues occupying this great brain, people. Once I solve these, I might move on to deeper problems like whether the United Nations can ever really be effective given its current organizational structure. But don't count on it.

An Update About My Pants

You will all be relieved to know that the icky glue-like stuff came off my pants. BMG, you can cancel that check I'm sure you were sending. Although, if it's already in the mail, I'll take it. I can put it towards that Coach bag the universe owes me. See? It all works out. Karma.

More Adventures in Punctuation

Remember "Bizarro Jerry" from Seinfeld? This weekend I saw Bizarro Grape on the Orange Line from downtown Chicago to Midway. She's from Cleveland, and we ran into her and the three friends she was traveling with as we were all on our way back home. She has a Coach purse, though, and she lives "on the lake." There must be some kind of imbalance in the universe, which can only be equaled out by someone giving me a Coach bag and a house on the water. Anyone?

Also seen in Chicago this weekend: The Blue Man Group. AWESOME! FUNNY! STROBE LIGHTS! CAP'N CRUNCH! CREPE PAPER! HAAAAAA! Except they owe me $50 for the pants that got ruined by the icky glue-like stuff that was on my seat (which of course I didn't notice until after I sat in it). (I doubt I paid $50 for the pants, because I am cheap and buy things on sale, but the Blue Man Group doesn't know that.)

Know what else they have in Chicago? Margaritas! And food! And shopping! Extraneous exclamation points all around to indicate reveling and fun! Whee! It was a great trip. We stayed up late and slept in late. We talked and laughed and got caught up and promised to do it again. I missed DH and Raisin, but I wasn't sad about it like I thought I'd be. They had a good time, and I had a good time, and we were really glad to see each other again last night. But it was really nice to not be the Mama for a few days.

And now, Monday. Coffee. Tired. Hate work. Exclamation points broken. Blaaaahhhhh.

Holy Rambling Randomness!

I have had absolutely zero of interest to say for the last couple of weeks. Of course, I still have nothing noteworthy, but I don't want to have my blogger card revoked, so I'll make up some slightly-more-banal-than-usual drivel to take up space.

Tomorrow I am leaving for Chicago (aka Really Fun City). Woo-hoo! The Blue Man Group is performing while we're there, so we are going to try to get tickets. I've heard they put on an excellent show.

DH and Raisin are flying to California today to spend the weekend with DH's parents. We just saw Flight Plan, so I told DH that he is not allowed to sleep at any point during the trip. I might spike his soda with No-Doz. He's also not to let Raisin anywhere near "Avionics", whatever the hell that is -- he'll have to ask the pilot, since the flight attendants are probably terrorists. DO YOU THINK THAT'S UNREASONABLE? DO YOU!? I didn't think so.

Yesterday on the bus I sat next to a man listening to his headphones. He was very guy's-guy looking. You know, slightly rumpled khakis, Columbia jacket, very not-metrosexual. He was listening to one of the Richard Gere numbers from Chicago. That made my day.

I have spent the last 5 minutes trying to think of one more thing to add, and this is all I've got: Should the comma after "Avionics" be inside or outside the quotes?

Discuss amongst yourselves. Have a great weekend!

Just Quit It!

1. Lorelai and Rory Gilmore, get your cute butts in a room together and work it out already. I started out just blaming Rory, but now you are both being difficult. Just quit it.

2. It's October, and this is Minnesota. Enough with the thunderstorms and the lightning and the worrying about more trees falling on my house and the dirty water in my basement. Just quit it.

3. Metro transit boss-type people, why must my bus route still be detoured? I do not see any dangerous construction. It's making the buses late(-er than usual), and the bus drivers cranky(-er). Just quit it.

4. Paolo family on the Amazing Race, please stop calling each other stupid. You are all stupid, end of discussion. Now, go away.

5. Trouser socks, quit falling down and bunching around my ankles. You are not old and stretched out enough for this to be a problem. And why are you called trouser socks? I don't wear trousers, because it's a word that only Wallace from Wallace and Gromit can get away with, so I shouldn't have to put up with it from you, either. "First thing, Garlic, you've got to requisition a new nickname." (If you get the reference, I'll be your BFF.)

6. People walking in the Skyway (this is the system of gerbil tubes that connects downtown Minneapolis so people don't have to walk outside in bad weather -- see above re: thunderstorms -- it's kind of like the Jetson's, but without the cool moving sidewalks). Anyway, people, walk faster. Or move to one side. Or at least walk in a straight line if you need to walk slowly. It's very hard to speed-walk around you when you are meandering zig-zag style all over the damn place. Get out of my way.

7. Julie, Grape, honey-bear, have you had enough coffee now? Can you please stop being so PMS-y and witchy-with-a-b? If you don't even want to be in the same room with yourself, how must your poor husband feel? Just quit it.

It's Good to Know Where I Stand

Last night, Raisin and I were playing in the living room. She was enjoying one of her favorite pasttimes, in which she points at family pictures and tries to say the names of the people in them. Right now everyone's name sounds like "Mama" or "Da," but the initiated ear can hear the slight differences that distinguish "Gramma," Grandpa," and "Uncle Dan." (Or, the imaginative mother can create those distinctions in her hyper-proud mommy mind. Either way.)

I thought it might be fun to add a new element to the game by asking her to find certain people.

Me: Where's Gramma?
Raisin: Mama! ::points to picture of my mother::
Me: Very good! Where's Uncle Dan?
Raisin: Da! ::points to picture of my brother::
Me: Yay! Where's Mama?
Raisin (gleefully): Mama!!! ::runs across room to point at a plastic jack-o-lantern::
Me: ::sobbing::

It's an improvement, I guess. Last weekend at my mom's she kept calling one of these "Mama." Thanks, kiddo!

Any Questions?

When a 17-month-old answers a question, are they responding to the content, or to the questioning tone of voice? Does anybody know?

I think Raisin must really understand some of our more complicated questions. I mean, she's been responding to things like "Do you want more?" for months -- she recognizes the key word "more" at the end, and makes the corresponding sign. But recently she's started saying "yeah" when I ask "Did you have a good day?" "Are you ready to go to school?" "Do you need a clean diaper?"

But if I ask an unfamiliar question, she usually doesn't respond -- so she must be really listening to me, right? Of course right.

In Which I Reveal My Geeky Historical/Theological Tendencies

Do you ever have those weeks that seem to have a theme? Like every encounter you have is linked to the same basic idea? I am having such a week, and it always makes me wonder if there's something I'm supposed to learn from the experience.

First, I am trying to renew a habit I used to have of reading from my "One Year Bible" every morning during my bus ride. (The editors of this particular version have arranged an Old Testament reading, a New Testament reading, a Psalm, and some Proverbs for each day, and if you stay current you can read the whole Bible in a year. It's not so much that I want to read the whole Bible -- I skip over the begats pretty darn quickly! -- it's just that I used to be more faithful about reading, and this gives me a little more structure and helps me keep up with it more.) Anyway, having just started I am still in Genesis in the Old Testament readings, and my readings this week included Genesis 16 and Genesis 21, which include the births of Abraham's two sons, Ishmael and Isaac.

Now, excuse me for a moment while I wax historical. If you're already familiar with all this, my apologies. Although God promises to "make nations" out of both boys, in the Hebrew Bible Isaac is obviously the favored son. His mother is Sarah, Abraham's wife, while Ishmael's mother is an Egyptian slave woman named Hagar. Ishmael is prophesied to be "a wild donkey of a man; his hand will be against everyone and everyone's hand against him, and he will live in hostility toward all his brothers."

God does also promise to bless Ishmael, but it is with Isaac that he will "establish his covenant." Ishmael is the father of many Arab/Islamic nations. Isaac's descendants formed ancient Israel.

OK, so I'm reading these stories, and as always, I ponder how much of our current Jewish/Christian/Muslim animosity has its roots in things that happened so long ago. Then, while browsing Snopes.com, I came across this item. There's lots of food for thought, but what jumped out at me was the story about God asking Abraham to sacrifice Ishmael, then sparing him at the last minute.

As Snopes points out, this is the exact story the Hebrew Bible tells about Isaac. Hmmm. I didn't know that. So I wonder, what was Abraham's relationship with his sons really like? Is it possible that, aside from the normal sibling rivalry, things were actually pretty peaceful in those tents? I think there are scholars now who think that tensions were high between the Israelites and their neighbors by the time Moses started writing down the first books of the Old Testament. Did that climate lead him to exaggerate some of the stories about Isaac and Ishmael? Did he (intentionally or unintentionally) make it sound like their children were predestined to hate each other, when really that's not what God wanted? Did he fan into an inferno a fire that was just struggling to start? (I am not familiar enough with the Koran to speak to its origins, but maybe something similar happened there?) And if so, what consequences are we still suffering today because for thousands of years, we have all accepted as incontrovertible fact the premise that we were born to be enemies?

With all these ramblings going on in the back of my brain, I boarded the bus this morning, and took a seat near the back next to a Muslim woman wearing a head scarf. I opened my Bible and began to read, then I glanced aside and noticed that she was reading the Koran.

So, Isaac, Ishmael, today on a number 17 bus bound for downtown Minneapolis, two inheritors of your history sat side by side and read from the texts we each hold holy. We didn't speak, we didn't fight, we didn't even really make eye contact. I'm not sure what it means, or if it means anything at all, but I came away feeling hopeful anyway.

Ranty Wednesday

I read a news item today. That was my first mistake, as I am almost guaranteed to find something in the news to be upset about.

I make it a general rule not to watch the personal makeover shows. From what little I have seen, it seems like the producers/personalities involved find some way to revisit every awful, tormented moment in the victim's (I mean, lucky winner's!) life. Then they reinforce that vic-winner's conviction that none of those bad memories would exist if they weren't so darn ugly. Helpful.

So, yes, I have issues with Extreme Makeover and all the other myriad variations on the same theme. And yes, this woman's story is especially sad, since she didn't even get the promised makeover, and is now dealing with the tragic loss of her sister on top of it all. But can I just send a quick GOOD MORNING!! to the people who keep signing up for these things?

ABC (or whoever) is not in this for you. They are only interested in your story as it affects their ratings. They are not doing you any favors by making you relive each embarrassing/sad/hurtful day you've lived. They are not helping you overcome those days by telling you it's because you're not one of the pretty people. And, finally, becoming one of the pretty people (as defined, of course, by ABC) is no guarantee that you will no longer suffer embarrassment, sadness, or hurt.

By all means, change the way you look if it will help you feel better about yourself. Heck, let ABC pay for it -- more power to ya! Just, please, don't let them tell you who you are or who you should be in the process. Thanks.

Kicked to the Curb

Yesterday, I swear Raisin clung to me for a solid hour and a half. She cried and could not be comforted; it was terrible. But she needed me that whole time. Honest. Plus, at home she climbs voluntarily into my lap to snuggle and read stories. All the time. Really.

If I tried to tell this to the teachers at day care, they would laugh pityingly behind my back. When I dropped her off today, she held my hand for about ten seconds, then ran off to the book corner and climbed on the miniaturized couch. I came along behind her, dutifully following the parenting-book suggestion that my presence helps her make the transition from home to day care.

Me: Raisin, are you going to read a book?
Raisin: Bye-bye!
Me (putting on a brave face in front of day care staff): Um, OK, bye! Can I have a kiss?
Raisin (waving more forcefully): BYE-BYE!!! (One can only imagine what she would've said if her vocabulary included more than 10 words.)

Hmph. Transition, my left foot. At least I know she'll need me to feed her, clothe her, and drive her around for the next 15 years or so.

And I took my kiss by force.

Mystery and Intrigue in the Nursery

NB, the toddler formerly known as the Hobbit will henceforward be known as Raisin. She's not really very hobbit-like anymore. She's not much like a sun-dried grape, either, but she's my mini-me, so it's the closest I could get.

So last night I snuck into Raisin's room to check on her and cover her up. The covering up is an exercise in futility, but I am seriously physically unable to leave the room without straightening the covers over her. I know she will kick them off 30 seconds later, but I just can't help myself. Anyway. Totally not the point of the story.

Last night when I went in, not only was she uncovered, but she was diaperless! (The last couple of nights we've put her to bed in just a t-shirt and a diaper, because it's been warm in the evenings. Then, later at night we (try to) cover her up as it gets colder.) After I called DH in to witness this new phenomenon, we had the following sotto voce conversation:

Me: You've got to come see this!
DH: What?
Me (patting her bare behind): She's not wearing a diaper!
DH: She's not? Did you forget to put one on!?
Me: No, I didn't forget!
DH: Well, where is it?
(both of us search around the crib in the dark, trying not to wake up Raisin)
DH: Are you SURE you put one on her?

At this point, I started to wonder if I was, in fact, crazy enough to have read her a story, said goodnight to her entire room a la Goodnight Moon, and put her in her crib without noticing that she was half unclad. Just then, she shifted in her sleep and the missing diaper was revealed under her head (I know, ew -- fortunately she must've shed it early on, because it wasn't wet).

I managed to re-diaper without waking her, but she had squirmed out of it again by this morning. Tonight she's wearing PJ pants no matter what. Good thing the weather's getting cooler; I don't have that many spare crib sheets!

Toddler Cuteness

The Hobbit (no longer really an appropriate nickname, really -- will have to think of something else) is learning animal sounds. When prompted, she will quack, moo, baa, or woof, although sometimes every animal quacks, since ducks are still her favorite.

She could stand to improve her diction a bit, though. Her "quack" sounds exactly like Fozzie Bear, "wokka, wokka, wokka!"

A Different Kind of Tragedy

I feel compelled to make a list of things I've done or will do to help the victims of Katrina. But, then, I am ashamed of that impulse. It seems designed just to strategically place some fig leaves over my own guilt -- selfish. So, instead, I will just add a prayer for forgiveness to my prayers for the victims, and move on to other topics.

In my current state of mind, however, I don't feel up to the funny side of my crazy family vacation stories. Once again, o wise internet dwellers, I would love your opinion on something.

My cousin and his wife have two children. The boy (C1) is 10, and the girl (C2) is 2. C1 was born before his parents were married. While neither pregnancy was planned or particularly welcome, C1 was undoubtedly less planned and less welcome. It shows even more now that his sister is on the scene. (Perhaps relevant, perhaps not: my cousin's childhood was far from ideal. His alcoholic, violent father divorced my aunt when my cousin was very young. My aunt was always very bitter, and it showed in the way she raised my cousin. His marriage and his relationship with C1 very clearly show this same pattern.)

These are both good kids, and both act as expected for their age. C1, however, can do nothing right in his parents' eyes, and C2 can do nothing wrong. C1 also bears all the responsibility for his sister and younger cousins -- his parents punish him for every rule they break.

C1 rarely attracts any positive attention from either parent. There are too many illustrative stories to share, so I will just relate the most recent. On Thursday, C1 was supposed to start 5th grade. Supposed to, but his parents didn't know that it was the first day until they happened to drive by the school, where they saw the other kids on the playground. Did he go on Friday? No, he already had a doctor's appointment on that day, so they didn't send him at all.

This is not his first year in this school.

My question is, what's my responsibility here? When the extended family is together, everyone makes an effort to encourage this boy. We all see the inequity. But we are only together once every couple of months. How do we combat the daily negative input of his parents?

**Updated to note that I have turned on the word-verification feature for comments. I got my first spam today, and I am crabby. Let me know if it's too annoying. Thanks!**

The Big Easy

I am back from vacation, and it was wonderful. And, yes, my family is crazy. More to come on that later.

Right now, I would just like to formally retract every complaint I made about the tree that fell on my house. What seemed like a small disaster to me at the time I now see was actually nothing. My family is completely unscathed, my house is still standing, it is NOT standing in 20 feet of water, and we didn't have to go a single second without anything essential. Hell, we didn't even have to live without luxuries like showers, and it's hard to feel bad about the temporary loss of my own bed when I spent those nights on my parents' pillow-top mattress.

I am feeling simultaneously blessed and unbelievably selfish. For anyone who was affected by this storm, please know that I am praying, I did at least make a donation to the Red Cross, and if I knew what else to do, I'd do it.

I'm Outta Here!

We're off to "Up North." I hope to return with lots of my-family-is-crazy stories. Bye!

Inquiring Minds....

Jenn (thanks for reading! I feel all popular today!) asked about my reunion trip drama. So, the saga:

DH and I hadn't come up with any solutions that made us both feel OK, and he was lamenting to his mom. Lo and behold, she has frequent flyer miles to burn. Fabulous! The Hobbit and DH will visit California for a long weekend.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, everytime a good fare comes up for Really Fun City, it expires before my girlfriends and I can decide to go for it. Ahh, irony, I think. DH will have a wonderful weekend, and I will be stuck at home alone. Serves me right.

Never fear, however! All is now well. Really Fun City, here we come! We found decent fares, the tickets are booked, hurray! Now, please just pray that Northwest's mechanics will not strike, or at least that their replacements will not screw up all the planes. I'm all about solidarity up to a point, but this is my vacation we're talking about!

Also, this will be the first time I've been away from the Hobbit overnight. Ever. How is it possible to look forward to something and dread it this much all at the same time!?

Things That Make Me Smile (Even On Monday)

1. The way my grandma personalizes cards. If she can't find a card for my daughter that says "great granddaughter," she will write in a caret and the word "great" before the "granddaughter," so that no one will wonder if she really believes the Hobbit is her granddaughter. She also crosses out "I" and writes in "we," because she thinks that will fool us into thinking my grandfather gave this thoughtful card a lot of his attention. Hard to believe, since his handwriting hasn't appeared in a card in my 27-year history. We love him anyway.

2. That everyone in my family is hoarding quarters. That way, when we go on vacation en masse next week, everyone will have money to lose to Grandpa when he pulls out the deck of cards.

3. The way the Hobbit has taken to pointing out everything that touches the floor as "uh-oh."

4. The gleeful way she ran from her room this morning, clad in nothing but a diaper and clutching the onesie I was trying to pull over her head. Also, the fact that she was delighted when I chased her down the hall and bodily hefted her back to finish dressing.

5. That as I was getting dressed, she handed me my shirt, even though it covered her almost head to toe.

6. That when I said it was time to put her toys away, she pushed the box into the closet herself. Then, she pulled it right back out again and started taking out toys. Still, I'm counting that as a major listening success!

7. That my husband watches The Gilmore Girls with me, and even lets me talk about the characters like they're real people we know.

8. That he also restrains himself from too much eye-rolling when I reminisce about the best TV show ever, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.

9. That my brother refers to his wife as "Aunt Frank" in front of the Hobbit, in hopes that she will call her that. Officially, I side with my mother and sister-in-law that this is a bad idea. Unofficially, I think it would pretty darn funny if the Hobbit did pick it up.

10. I am 5 days away from vacation!!!!!!!!!!! What should I read, by the way?

I Blame My Father

If anyone was tempted to try the new Starbucks Green Tea Frappucino, please don't. I was drawn in by the cool, refreshing greenness of the ad. Lies, all lies! It was sickeningly sweet and cloyingly thick.

Of course, I drank it anyway, because I could hear my father in my head, "Well, that's $3.65 down the drain!"

Thanks a lot, Dad!

In Defense of Country

If you're looking for insightful patriotic commentary, you've come to the wrong place (at least today). Sorry.

A while back, Jane had a good chuckle because of my confession that I enjoy country music. Because I am a glutton for punishment, I'm actually going to defend myself. Really, how can you not love this stuff? Here are some of the best titles (too good to be true, and yet they are!):

"The American Honky-Tonk Bar Association"

"The Redneck Yacht Club"

"Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?"

"Country Boys and Girls Gettin' Down on the Farm"

And, the crown jewel, with which I torture my husband every December:

"Please, Daddy, Don't Get Drunk This Christmas ('Cause I Don't Want to See My Momma Cry)"

Yee-Haw.

Bad Mommy. Bad, Bad, Bad!

In preparation for spending several hours yesterday in the blazing sun, I slathered myself with SPF 50 sunblock (this is not an exaggeration, they really make it that strong) to protect my lotus-petal skin from damage (that might be an exaggeration, but I'm feeling a little low today, so tell me I'm pretty, ok?).

The Hobbit, who really does have beautiful skin, did not receive this treatment, because while she was outside, she was not in the sun. I therefore believed her to be safe. I'm sure by now you've all seen where this is going -- the Hobbit now has her first sunburn, and I have what must be my 1,357,789th case of mommy guilt.

When we got home, I popped the sunburned, tired, hungry, thirsty Hobbit into her high chair, hoping to remedy half of what ailed her. I pinched her thigh with the buckle as I strapped her in. 1,357,790.

She is now safely in the hands of child care professionals, who may or may not let me take her back tonight.