My Kind of Town

Election Day

There is still hope in the world. I know that the voter turnout today will probably be very low (a symptom of severe contentment, I believe). But, it was nice to walk into my polling place and see people I know serving as election judges--the neighbor's teenage son, the grandfather of my daughter's friend, and a mom from our parish. They are the reason there's still hope. Younger, older, and in-betweener, it would have been easy to say that this election is no big deal. They didn't. They were there with a half a dozen others to hand out ballots or voting cards with a smile.

Citizenship lives.

Lesson For Today

No good deed goes unpunished...

I broke the index finger on my right hand. It got caught in the door that I was holding open for a co-worker. The top part of my finger was almost all the way off, but it's stitched back on now. Typing is a pain--literally. Screw politeness. I'm not holding doors for anyone anymore.

Apple Trees

There’s that old saying about how, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” As I get older, I see how true that is.

Remember how dad used to yell at us when we would get huffy with him about something? He’d be all, “Don’t you exhale at me.” I remember several years back, hearing those same words come out of Sister #1’s mouth during a minor quarrel with her husband. (FYI: He then proceeded to dramatically inhale at her.)

I see bits of dad in all of us. Like believing in The Force when things are scary or crazy…or scary crazy. I was gently talking my daughter through some breathing issues that strongly resembled an asthma attack (but wasn’t), and I heard dad’s words, but coming out in my own voice. As I held her and rocked her, massaging her back and chest the doctor showed me, I was softly whispering, “Mommy’s here. There’s nothing to be afraid of. The Force is with us.” Like a twenty-month-old would know what I’m talking about, right?

There are universal traits among the four sisters that undeniably come from dad—like the look. The look that says, “If you say one more word to me, I will have no choice but to yank your lower lip up over your face.” And there’s that slightly odd posture we all have—it looks slouched, but it’s not, and all of us sort of curve our necks forward. People tell me all the time that it looks like I’m a predator on the loose, seeking out some unsuspecting prey. Maybe that’s a good thing! Or that thing we do when we’re walking away from someone who has pissed us off, only he or she just has to get in one more word, so in an eerie, time-suspended sort of way, we slowly turn around and look back at the offender—and for a split second, we feel our faces morph into something that’s not quite human and we whisper out, “Excuse me?” When I do that, the offender usually swallows hard and responds with, “N-n-nothing.”

Of course, we did get some things from mom—our hips certainly didn’t come from dad. Hahahahaha! Seriously, though, when we’re really, really pissed, we all get that shrilly tone of voice that commands attention. It’s not always good attention, because people are usually thinking, “What the hell is that sound and how do I make it stop?” And I think we’re all slightly OCD—that whole thing about symmetry in decorating. I remember mom spending hours trying to center something on a wall until it looked just right.

Now, as I watch my little girl grow and change, I see some of her dad in her mannerisms (and in the strength of her farts), and I see a lot of me in her, too. Like when she sees a single drop of milk on the table and runs for a napkin to mop it up…or when she makes her bed over and over, until it’s “just right” and when she snorts because she’s laughing uncontrollably and there are tears running down her chubby little cheeks…or when I ask her to do something and she pauses, looks up at me, raises an eyebrow and quietly, but firmly, says, “No.” And, like a dumb mom, I’ll ask her again, but her simple response is “Nope. Don’t think so.”

There is truth in the statement that, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Or maybe the apple never falls at all.

Promises, Promises

Anyone?

It seems as though there are so many opportunities throughout the year to "start fresh." For many people, the academic calendar triggers the back-to-school, clean-slate feeling long after we've left the classroom. For others, there's the confetti throwing promise of New Year's Resolutions when we toss out the old year. And then, for some, there's now. Lent. I remember being younger and the emphasis being on the giving something up. Sr. Jean-Michael sponsored the bowling club, and somehow she knew exactly which students had given up pop for Lent by the dip in their bowling scores. As the years went by, there was a shift--talk of doing good deeds, not just abstaining from bad habits (we should do that anyway, but for our own good, and not just for forty days). I continued, for the most part, to give something up every year: chips, cake, caffeine. Last year, I asked the kids to give up asking for fast food meals that come with a toy. It worked out fine, but this year, I want to focus on good deeds. I will probably let them decide, to the best of their ability, what they can accomplish. For me, it's a bit more complicated.

My Lenten Promise: Mindful Living

The pastor of my parish, in his Lent/Easter letter, summed things up by writing, that the "resurrection asks us to receive the human spirit deep inside each one of us. The empty tomb encourages us to be empty enough to be filled with God."

And so, some mental decluttering is in order to make way for mindful living.

I have the feeling it would have been a lot easier to give up potato chips...

A Valentine's Day Poem

Roses are red

violets are blue

the diaper pail is full

so the hall smells like poo.

A long day at work

but I'm almost free

to get home and begin

shift number three.

Shift number one

started this morning at three

with a teary-eyed child

who was calling for me.

Shift number two

began this morning at eight

it lasts until six

so I'll be running late...

Have to get dinner on the table

catch up on laundry, too

and dispose of the bag

that still smells like poo.

A bath for the baby

then rock her to sleep

squeeze in a workout

and change the bed sheets.

Clean up the bathroom

and mop all the floors

check that the locks are secure

on all of the doors.

Prepare for the next day

that's looming ahead

so much to finish

before I go to bed.

The hubby comes home

for some Valentine's nooky

but I just glare at him

and give him a...right hookie!

Hahahahahaha! See, the problem with the whole mushy-mushy, lovie-lovie Valentine's Day stuff is that women hear, "Oh honey. Don't worry about [insert chore here]. Just relax." We wives/mothers also hear this on Mother's Day and our birthdays, but how many of us can really relax when mentally, we're trying to figure out how we're going to cram in all that was UN-finished today into tomorrow's already hectic schedule!

Argghh. The good news is that I have an art project to do with the munchkin tonight. It doesn't involve glitter sand, but it does involve torn tissues and a lot of glue...

Glitter Sand and Snowflake Scraps

It's a mother's version of champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

It was a craftalicious weekend here at my place--Valentine's Day coming up and everything. The children made glitter sand art projects and then there were Valentine snowflakes cut out, too. So, the house is literally infused with glitter sand and and bits of white paper.

It's like heaven.

Dancing Tissue

Question: How do you make a tissue dance?

Answer: You put a little boogie in it!

There's a pile of Puffs Plus doing The Macarena in my living room right now. Can someone please tell me HOW a child's teeny-tiny nose can produce so much snot?