Happy Birthday, Grandma

Today would have been my Grandma's 100th birthday. And while I know that she was ready to leave us at 82, I selfishly wish she was still here all the time.

I remember interviewing her when I was studying the depression in high school. "How did your family's life change when the depression hit?" I asked.

"It didn't," she replied.

Her dad had left when she was pretty young, but through my great-grandma playing piano in movie theaters and a wide network of aunts and uncles, they'd always had enough to eat and wear. It took me about 10 minutes of questioning to discover all this, because my grandma was more interested in recounting all the fun times she'd had during the depression than anything, well, depressing.

Years later, the family assembled in Ohio for her 80th birthday celebration. She'd moved out of her beloved house/town in Pennsylvania a few years earlier to be closer to family, so we were all piled into her small apartment, visiting and watching some kind of sport on TV. I discovered her 1930s era high school yearbooks on a shelf in the corner.

And yes, I mean discovered. My grandma was a pack rat of the highest order, and even though she'd purged a lot in her move, her place was still filled to the brim with stuff. 

I began to look through them and ask questions. Soon she joined me on the couch to walk down memory lane. I was looking for wisdom; she wanted to tell me which boys she'd found cute and which ones she'd dated.

Both of these were much higher numbers than I'd expected. They were also much higher than the numbers my own grandchildren will hear should they ever peruse my yearbook with me. 

I didn't see the wisdom in our discussion for a long time. Knowing my grandmother was boy-crazy was not going to help me decide what to do about my imploding first marriage, I'd thought.

I didn't see her choosing what was worth holding onto.

It didn't gel with the perception I had of my grandmother. I saw her as an overprotective worrier, who demanded my mother call her after arriving at destinations, who didn't want 12 year old me reading 17 magazine, who got nervous from my dad's driving. I saw her as someone who always assumed the worst. And she did - when she was anticipating the unknown.

But every time I asked her about the things she'd survived:  the depression, or how she'd coped having my mom at 20 and my aunt at 21 and divorcing soon after, or surviving 2 more husbands, or surviving cancer, she told me a funny story.

Usually about dating or marriage. Sometimes about her adventures with her cousins. 

She was convinced that every plane any of her family members took was doomed to crash until she heard otherwise. . .but if she'd actually survived a plane crash, her story about it would have involved how she got extra packets of peanuts or something.

I am slowly learning to focus on the positive as I tell my own story - hence this post instead of a regular Trophy Tuesday. She taught me so much more than I ever gave her credit for.

My first solid memory of my Grandma involves a trip to a Woolworth's, or somewhere like a Woolworth's.

Hey youngsters, if you're too lazy to look up Woolworth's, read this. 

There was a ride in front, a horse that went up and down that I'd been looking forward to for the entire trip through the store. Finally, Grandma took me out to it and I proceeded to imagine that I was riding a real horse. I was debating asking Grandma for another ride

I was her youngest grandchild. I think I learned how to exploit this before I learned to ride a bike. 

when I realized that she was talking to two kids by the door. I had an immediate aversion to them.

Grandma had missed me climbing off the horse all by myself because she was talking to them! 

But it wasn't just jealousy, it was fear. I'd never seen kids in such dirty clothes out in public before. And they were glaring at me AND my grandma. My instinct was to run as far away from them as my approximately 5 year old legs would carry me.

I looked at the parking lot of giant cars in front of me and decided to hide behind my grandma instead.

The girl seemed angry that my Grandma had offered them change to ride the horse, but eventually relented enough to let her little brother ride. He exclaimed he'd never ridden on one before.

It took a while for my young brain to process that. I genuinely didn't know about people not having an extra nickel or two for a ride.

Grandma came up with reasons for us not to leave until the kids' mom came out of the store. Looking back, I can only assume that she wanted to check her out. And give her all the change in her wallet.

In the car I got a tiny bit of a lecture on being more compassionate and less bratty, though she didn't use quite those terms. But the way that she reached out to those unpleasant-seeming kids stuck with me forever.

I'm so lucky that she was my Grandma for as long as she was.

Friday I'm in Love: The First Week of July

Hi, internet! I've missed you. I've been doing all this real life stuff - this is my birthday and anniversary week, plus the 4th of July. And the big kids had their first swim meet, too. So, this week I'm loving real life. . .

We went to Rocca, my favorite restaurant, for my and my dad's birthday.

We went to the park.

The team won their swim meet, but I don't know how the kids did. They had fun, though.

We went to my hometown 4th of July parade.

We went on a hike.

Ironflower did not want to come - she had the strength of will to pout the entire time.

I learned it's hard to capture fireworks with an iPhone.

This is the best one that does not have Hot Guy's head in it. 

Fabulous Friday - The Series

Fabulous things from a shockingly un-fabulous week:

1. Cindy wrote this amazing post at Band Back Together. It made me so happy to read it. You should go read it now. 

2. I started getting more creative when adding stuff to my online calendar. "Pay the motherfucking man" and "Dodge old people with shopping carts" sounds so much better than "bills" and "grocery shopping".

3. My mom. She is so awesome. You should go read her blog.

4. I donated the most hideous lamp. Like, it was so awful that I feel almost bad donating it. But it did still work so I couldn't throw it out. I hope some creative type finds it and uses it in a slasher film.

5. Hot Guy. I know I complained about him yesterday, but he's actually been going through a lot of stuff and handling it all pretty well. Plus he's an awesome cook.

6. Technically it's not until Sunday that my imaginary friends Tina Fey and Amy Poehler are hosting the Golden Globes, but they're so fabulous that I'm including them now.

7. Lovebug and his buddy are pretending to excavate dinosaur fossils from a pile of snow on the playground at their school.

8. Whenever Ironflower has a friend over, they do everything in costumes.

9. Hugmonkey is surprisingly into listening to Harry Potter. 

My Cousin Is Cooler Than Your Cousin

I have six first cousins, 3 on each side. As an only child, they are the closest thing I have to siblings and I adore them all. But growing up I was probably closest to my cousin Greg - he was the closest to me in age. We used to make up fake newscasts on my tape recorder when we were bored. None of them survived, alas, but proof that at least was one of us was funny can be seen here:

Skewer System's Tweet It video.

You can check out their other videos on YouTube. Or you can read  my cousin's blog.

The Images In My Head

I don't think my family is good at fun.

Last night was the "Family Fun" night at the kids' preschool. Hot Guy had to work, so I decided that ChunkyMonkey should stay at home with my mom, 2 kids being enough for one tired woman to keep track of at a gathering filled with sugar and small children.

Of course Ironflower was drawn to the painting activity like moth to flame. . .which meant that I spent a lot of the evening cleaning blue paint off of her costume.

And Lovebug hated the noise. He ran into classmates, but they were all shy with each other (as opposed to how they'd been at the hay ride the day before) and overwhelmed by the crowd. So he pretty much wanted to leave from the moment we got there.

I spent most of my night dragging Lovebug around in search of Ironflower. Until the reptile show. Which my kids had enjoyed at a small play date last year, but this year it freaked Lovebug out. And Ironflower claimed not to like it, but I think what she didn't like was the large number of kids between her and the animals. Meanwhile I stood with some other preschool moms, having nothing to say while I fretted over my children's unhappiness.

Somehow I'm reminded of some of  last events I attended in school gyms - junior high dances. Before every dance, I'd have this image in my head of how it would go - the boy I liked would ask me to dance, I'd look impossibly cool while dancing, my friends would all tell me how great I looked - and it NEVER went that way.

These family events seem to go the same way for me. Before we go, I have this image in my head of the fun we're going to have - the kids will laugh and smile, I will chat amiably with acquaintances, the kids will behave - and it never works that way. Lovebug hates something about the event and clings, they both grab food and drink like mannerless heathens, I have brief conversations that I'm too preoccupied to pay attention to and at the end,  Ironflower says it wasn't good enough anyway.

I guess I'm just not destined to live up to the images in my head. Maybe I should stop trying.

Karma. That Bitch Has A Twisted Sense of Humor.

I am a yeller.

I didn't think I would be. I never yelled (okay, except for that one time, but that class totally deserved it and it's just wrong that my principal happened to be giving a school board member a tour that day) as a teacher. I am much more likely to mutter obnoxious comments under my breath, or write them during meetings to the amusement of my colleagues.

But then my kids started to, you know, bite each other. And I discovered yelling was effective.

I realized recently that I may have been doing a little too much of it, as I've had to get really loud for them to notice. Though that may be because once unleashed, my yelling voice has also appeared in traffic and around customer service representatives. So I decided to quit yelling. No matter how naughty the kids were, no matter how frustrated I was, I would not yell.

Today was Day 1.

I awoke at  5am to hear the boys talking to each other. Not that ChunkyMonkey talks, but he sure makes noise. I tried to ignore them, because I've discovered that I can't force them to sleep and that when I talk to them at 5am I am tempted to yell.

By 7am, I had discovered that Lovebug had clogged the toilet with too much toilet paper . . .and pooped on top of it.

At 7:45am, a huge, full, glass jar of salsa fell onto the tile floor of kitchen. While I tried to clean up, Lovebug and Ironflower got into a wrestling match and knocked ChunkyMonkey over.

At 9:05am, a man began tailgating me and flashing his lights at me after I dropped Ironflower off at school. I was doing 36 mph in a 35 zone and he was in a hurry, I guess.

We avoided problems in the grocery store because I bribed the boys with toys and food. My grocery bill was $20 more than it should have been. (Does this mean my children would be well-behaved if we were rich?)

10;45 saw us driving home from the grocery store, with Lovebug yelling, " I have to pee right now!". We were 10 minutes from home and I did not want to clean up pee in addition to the poop and salsa, so I pulled over on a side street. This caused ChunkyMonkey to wail loudly as he wanted out too. I brought Lovebug over to a tree. I reviewed how to pee standing up because he generally likes to sit down. I don't know why. Because of that, he kept trying to squat and I kept trying to make him stand up straight. Eventually he peed .. . . .correctly. . .onto my shoe.

12:00pm Ironflower, in her frustration over having to leave school, threw a rock in her brother's general direction.

It's now 2 and I am proud to say that I have not yet bitten though my tongue.

What do you do about your frustration?

PS If you happen to be a person who links to me - all three of you - could you please, please change your link to jerseygirl89.com? Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Dogs Are Whores. . . And Other Thoughts On The Circus

I mean that in the nicest way possible, of course. It's just that much like Rock of Love contestants and Hills cast members, dogs will do anything for human attention and affection. So while it was entertaining to watch the dog act at Ringling Brothers, Barnum & Baily circus last night (they went on slides! they danced!), I didn't feel that it was the same level as the other acts. Watching the elephants, tigers and even the horses and zebras perform their tricks was so much more exciting and compelling and slightly disturbing. Almost like watching a great actor in a really bad television movie: you can almost feel them swallowing their pride and dignity. But you watch the movie anyway - and it turns out that you kind of enjoy it. Whereas you watch Rock of Love just to see how far the whores contestants will go to win a bone from Bret.

But aside from over-analyzing the animal acts, I had the BEST time at the circus last night. My lousy mood? Gone. Completely. Totally. Utterly gone. The circus is still a magical experience, and Ringling Brothers really caters to kids. Because of fantastic and wonderful Mom Central, we got to go early and meet the ringmaster and the lead clown. They did a little act for us and posed for pictures. Ringmasters have changed since my childhood - this one was young and hot. Er, not that I noticed that or anything. Anyway, because we were there early already, we got to go to the pre-show before it got crowded.

The pre-show starts an hour beforehand - you get to walk around the arena floor and meet the clowns, see tight rope walking, ponies and an elephant up close and even try on clown costumes. Ironflower and Lovebug were overwhelmed in a good way. But as it got more crowded, Mommy and Daddy got overwhelmed in a bad way so we went back to our seats. I fed the kids my snack arsenal (because WOW, stuff was expensive and of course they'd been too excited to eat much at the Mom Central event) in the few minutes before the show began.

And then WOW. Except for having to repeatedly explain to Lovebug that he couldn't actually go down and join the performers, the show was a dream. Ironflower was so enchanted that she was quieter than she's been in her entire life. All the cool rope stuff and trapeze work and cannons and tight ropes and tumbling (now with platforms) and those spinning circles and dancing and wild animals and a story line. . .was so completely cool. It was a great mix of the traditional idea of the circus and all the new ideas more recent circuses (I really wish I could write "circi" there, my two years of Latin - will they ever leave me alone?) have started.

It's still the greatest show on earth, thank you very much. *

*Except possibly for the elephants and tigers sacrificing their dignity for entertainment. But it's not like being hunted was probably all that great either.

What I Learned On My Winter Vacation

One of the things I love about traveling is that you can learn so many things. I mean, sure I loved being in a warmer part of the country (have I mentioned that it actually got down to freezing while we were there? It did.) and having my parents to share so many child-rearing duties, but the best part was going somewhere new. Okay, all the alone time Hot Guy and I got was pretty cool too, but still, I loved exploring. Seeing new things and new for the kids things was fabulous too. But nothing beats the learning.

I learned things about my family:

Hot Guy has an odd affinity for Kool and the Gang.

Feeding Ironflower donut holes and lemonade is a very BAD idea, especially when she's going to be riding in a car that day.

Lovebug has traindar - he can find a train no matter where he is and no matter what he is doing.

ChunkyMonkey must go to sleep at 9pm if he is to sleep through the night - any other time and he wakes up.

My Dad has amazing putting baby to sleep powers.

My mom has mastered her iPhone but is freaked out by the ATM.

I learned things about life south of the Mason-Dixon line and east of Alabama:

Apparently no one there has ever seen a triple stroller. Seriously, people stared at us wherever we went - I now have so much sympathy for those families that are "different" for some reason.

Everyone seems to have missed the highway driving section on the driving test. Also lacking: the parking skills section.

Warm Saturdays are not the day to try to park anywhere near any Smithsonian museums.

All the straight men sound like Larry the Cable Guy.

No one in Florida got the memo about tanning being bad for you.

You can find good NPR and decent country music everywhere except the New York area.

ALL senior citizens want to know "What aisle did you find that baby in?" whenever and wherever you take your infant shopping.

I learned even more about traveling with small children:

Never try it without at least one electronic entertainment device.

Museums are fine, but beaches and playgrounds are better.

And nothing beats having a TV in your vacation bedroom.

Nothing can drown out the sound of a four year old girl's voice or a two year old boy's tantrum, no matter how big the minivan or how loud the radio.

Construction vehicles stop being exciting after ten minutes of construction zone traffic.

Parents should have access to alcohol and/or chocolate at all times.

Is NOW Going To Take Back My Membership Card?

I can't remember a time when I wasn't a feminist. I remember my first political act in the name of feminism, though. I was in first grade.

Since this was back in the dark ages, we actually had free play time in my first grade classroom (yet we still managed to learn to read, write, spell, add and subtract. . .amazing). Every day the boys played with the blocks. Every day the girls created puppet shows or drew pictures. Until one day, when  I we thought that the blocks looked awfully fun. So we went to the block area. And the boys told us that we couldn't play. Completely offended, I marched over to the decrepit substitute teacher. Who told me that girls didn't need to play with blocks.

I don't remember what I actually said to her, but I remember my initial feeling of disbelief. She must not have understood me. I patiently explained to her that we girls WANTED to play with the blocks and that the boys wouldn't let us. She not so patiently replied that blocks were for boys and that I should go do another puppet show. Realizing that I would have no help from the authorities, I decided on a different tactic: Violence.

Dragging the braver girls with me, I marched over to the block area and began kicking down buildings. The boys were stunned. And then angry. Flushed with the thrill of power, I didn't care that every boy in my class was ready to hit me. I told them that I would keep knocking down their buildings until they let me play with the blocks too. Being nice, smart little boys they took me at my word. Blocks were for everyone then on.

Thirty years later, I still believe I am a feminist. I still believe everyone should get to play with the blocks. And yet I judge Sarah Palin. Not simply because I see most of her political views as abhorrent (no abortion for rape and incest victims? no sex ed? letting the business model take care of health care when they've done such a stunning job with mortgages?), but because I don't think much of her mothering skills.

It's not because her children - for the most part - are quite young. It's not because her infant has Down's Syndrome. I'm sure she has lots of wonderful nannies and older siblings to take care of the little ones. While I personally can't imagine being away from my kids that much, that's her business. What I can't stomach is her decision to thrust herself onto the national scene while her seventeen year old daughter is pregnant. Either she's so naive that she really believes the press will leave the poor girl alone (I guess she missed how cruel they were to Chelsea Clinton during her awkward years- not that it seems to have hurt the pretty Stanford and Oxford graduate) or she doesn't care.

And even if the press does leave Bristol alone, she's still going to have to go through the whole thing without her mother. I taught an awful lot of children of teen moms and all the ones who were happy and had great kids also had very involved parents. And there's no way you can tell me that Sarah - or her husband - is going to have a lot of time for Bristol right now. And if she wins, she's not exactly going to be able to help with babysitting. Hell, she probably won't even have much time and energy for emotional support. And while all new mothers need lots of emotional support, I think young ones need more.

As I watched Palin talk about how Bristol and Levi were going to take on all of these adult responsibilities, I couldn't help but think of how cold she sounded. Very "you decided to go against our beliefs by having sex, suffer the consequences, you're an adult now and I'm done." And I think that's shitty - especially since this possibly could have been avoided if she'd been taught about birth control. But anyway, I think this is a lousy time to drag your family into the national spotlight.

And while as a feminist I feel like I shouldn't care about Palin's family, and that I should cheer that even nightmarishly reactionary women are breaking glass ceilings, I just can't.

Merry Christmas, Auntie Frankie and other things

Merry Christmas!

I hope everyone is having a wonderful day, whether it's filled with family and presents or Chinese food and movies. Or some combo thereof.

We are with my father-in-law's side of the family. I am watching Aunt Frankie for signs that she hates my children, simply because they are younger (and, okay, really, cuter) than her grandchildren and last year it pissed her off when everyone fussed over them. I used to like Aunt Frankie until I found out about the jealousy issues and this will be our first holiday together since I found out. I'm not supposed to know about her issues, so I'll have to maintain the WASP front and be nice.

But if either one of my children is upset by her (or her over-active grandsons) in any way, I'm so going Jersey on them.

(This is one of those times that I'm glad no one in my husband's family reads my blog.)
Labels: Aunt Frankie, Christmas, jealousy

Here's The Deal

I am currently in Kansas City. Well, actually, I'm about 40 miles outside of it. In a house with no internet access. Oh, and did I mention that we have no car at our disposal? We are having a very peaceful holiday at my in-laws', who are wonderful but don't really get the whole internet craze.

My own mother will be putting my posts up until we get back. Because she's supportive like that. But she's not so supportive that she'll be answering comments. (Well, she might, but I won't let her. Because I'm territorial like that. And my mom's a great writer.) But that doesn't mean you shouldn't comment. In fact, it means that you should comment more because I will need a HUGE bloggy fix when I get home. And I'll reply when I get home, I promise. And I'll catch up with all of your blogs too. Really.

I am spending one night at my (internet-connected) girlfriend's, but since we plan on drinking and playing cards all night I probably won't check in. No offense, but I can count on one hand the nights I have had adult time with friends since I moved LAST MARCH.

Anyway, merry Christmas Eve!

Haiku Friday - Bridal Shopping

My young cousin
is getting married next year
which is fantastic

shopping for dresses
not so fantastic really
I missed a nap

the saleswomen rude
snippy and so insulting
their choices were awful

this dress after that
on and on and on and on
no place to sit down

mirrors everywhere
do I really look like that
must go on diet

Did she find a dress?
No one got a commission
for their bitchiness

Ha ha ha ha ha
though we all liked this one
let's buy it elsewhere

Haiku Friday - The State of The Fam

I am so tired
How long does tryptophan work?
I was up too late

Lovebug had a dream
He was so unhappy that
he could not calm down

Poor little baby
He seems very happy now
I am relieved

Ironflower sits
enchanted by Little Bill
no bad dreams for her

Daddy is sleeping
how long should we let him rest?
He hates the morning

Pity Party

Someone said to me recently, "Well, I have a JOB."

This was in response to an attempt to make plans.

Of course I didn't respond the way I wanted, "You try to take care of Ironflower, Lovebug and Hot Guy while attempting to make money blogging and any other way that doesn't interfere with the children's outings, schedules and moods and that allows the house to be clean and organized enough to satisfy your Martha Stewart mother and THEN you can brag about your job."

The transition from working outside the home to working inside the home has been a challenge for me. I never thought I'd stay home. But around here, with the cost of quality daycare for toddlers, not to mention the years I'd have to sub just to get a classroom teaching job that I don't even want anymore, it makes sense for us. Most of the time I'm glad to spend enough time with my children so that they can drive me insane but I'm tired of being dismissed as lazy and/or stupid. I'm tired of friends and family members asking, "But what do you do all day?"

Look, I realize that I am lucky to be able to stay at home. But while I do take a break every day during nap time, I spend about twelve - fourteen hours everyday engaged in childcare, household or writing related activities. Lovebug is a very challenging child and his tantrums exhaust me to the point of tears at least twice a week. Ironflower needs constant stimulation. I've given up an extra hour of sleep so I can have time to exercise in the mornings.

When I was a teacher, I trained myself to let go of work issues on my drive home. I cherished my commute. Now there is no letting go. I keep a notebook by the bed so that when I wake up in the middle of the night with writing ideas and parenting strategies I can write them down. Even when Hot Guy or grandparents are watching the kids, I usually feel some sort of residual guilt and worry. I can't help it.

Not that this makes me different than any other mother out there, of course. But I'll be damned if I'm going to let one more person imply that his/her JOB is more important than all three of mine.