mrtl

Boxed and Vacuous

Today I spent an inordinate amount of time verifying what a vine I found growing in my back yard was after a pot-acquainted friend told me with all conviction that it most certainly was not pot.

 
 I think it's Virginia Creeper
Which makes me wonder WTF it's doing in South Carolina
But I'll respect its decision to creep here
And I'll say hi to Virginia for it.

Beyond that there's not much to do here. All of our stuff is boxed up to be packed into a truck on Monday for our move. The girls are terribly bored, having been banned from watching more television, with limited toys available, and having swum as much as they could bear in the freezing pool that they had happily helped me wipe out kitchen cabinets in an unnecessary attempt to persuade me that I should allow them to use.

And now I'm watching the White House Correspondence Dinner because I deleted all the stupid shit that I wasted time watching thinking I'd never have time to watch it and there's nothing else on. And I don't even need to watch it because WaPo's Chris Cillizza has the highlights covered, which means he's sitting behind Donald Trump, has posted a close-up picture of his hair, and is giving regular updates on Trump's reactions (smiles, claps, handshakes) to the festivities. Could I possibly be missing anything else? The only thing I've gained from watching any of it so far is seeing the ginger-bearded guy from "Modern Family" (I'm sorry I don't know your name, ginger-bearded guy from "Modern Family" - I should be a better fan. Say hey to Sofia for me!), thinking Geraldo Riviera really needs to put some wax in his stache, and believing that each attendee should have a name tag on their front and back that is large and legible. It's annoying to wonder who someone is when the camera is trained on him for so long only to learn when the commentators start up again that it's the president of C-SPAN. And no viewer should have to berate herself wondering if that's Aretha Franklin or Macy Gray or their love child. I know they look nothing alike; the lighting is bad and it's a partial profile.

::sigh::
Seth Meyers is hosting the WHCD, which tells me SNL is a rerun tonight. Confirmed. Rewatchable, but I'm sleepy and fluctuating between Aretha and Macy, which is a clear sign that it's time for bed. I'm a little paranoid that my dreams will be haunted.

----

Update

Just finished watching Seth Meyers at the WHCD. Thank goodness for DVR. He was great!

Extremes of Patience

Traffic on our way home was stopped the other day by a woman who was hovering over a box turtle as it made its way across the road. Drivers were honking, with some pulling onto the shoulder to pass those stopped. When we pulled up to the "car parade" (as the girls call backups), the turtle was very close to the side of the road. Its guardian crouched and shifted back and forth, arms and legs spread as a linebacker, eyes darting to the cars, ensuring none dared hinder her self-appointed objective.

One driver was overwhelmed by his annoyance at the delay. He was waiting to turn left onto an already congested road, but the backup completely halted his progress since the good samaritan's vehicle at the time was holding up traffic in that direction. The man's agitation was apparent from several carlengths away. He flung open his door, marched purposely to the turtle, leaned over, and picked it up. As he straightened, he spun and hurled it like a discus towards a drainage ditch. His skills were as shitty as his compassion; the turtle hit the pavement for several spins before rolling onto the grassy shoulder.

As traffic started moving again, there was a brief exchange between the man and woman. He was marching back to his car to wait to turn left some more as she advanced towards him hollering; his response was short, dismissively tossed over his shoulder without eye contact.

Why didn't she just pick up the turtle and put him in the grass? Why did he have to brutalize an animal to make his point to her? Did he go home feeling like a better human for this?

Not Sweating It

Recently I complained that South Carolina makes me sweat too much. Drinking my morning coffee while wearing jeans made me unbearably uncomfortable. It's disturbing to find huge wet spots on my shirt pits, especially after doing nothing to physically exert myself. To be frank, it's never pleasant to realize that your crap smells better than your pits. My current deodorant was useless against it.

Turns out that a new medication my doctor's having me try is the cause of the profuse sweating, but I wouldn't be on an antidepressant if South Carolina didn't suck so much, so South Carolina? You are not off the hook.

::tangent to be an unpaid Unilever spokesperson::
Degree Clinical Protection is amazing! The wet spots are gone. The smell is gone. I want to go somewhere warm to further test this product. Maybe I'll exercise to see what happens. See that, Unilever? Your product motivates me to exercise.

::tangent to be an unpaid Unilever technical editor::
"How It Works" under "Why Apply at Night?" at the above link has "termperature" vice "temperature." As big of a fan as I may be of your products, I hold your promotional materials to the same high standards. Please fix this.
::endtangent to be an unpaid Unilever technical editor::

::end tangent to be an unpaid Unilever spokesperson::

As if I didn't have enough to make me happy, there's also the knowledge that in two weeks, I'll be out of South Carolina. We're moving on to our next adventure in the civilization of Northern Virginia. I've never looked more forward to a move.

This Brain is My Brain

Most of the time Jem is driving me completely peanuts in a pickup truck. She is scattered, needing several reminders to do tasks that she does every day. Send her to pick out clothes for school the next day and brush her teeth before bed, and fifteen minutes later she has made her bed; rearranged her stuffed animals around her room; jumped on her bed; choreographed a new dance to "Never Play with Fire"; bickered with Bug about not being allowed in Bug's room to play; scrubbed down the counter and the edge of the bathtub with Bug's toothbrush; rummaged around in the cabinet for a bandaid to use as a sticker because it really is just a red mark on her leg and not a skin tear; set the footstools on their sides after hiding a small toy inside the one with a compartment; hidden in the shower curtain; gone to the bathroom; played with the top half of the mermaid Barbie (she prefers it sans tail so she pretend that she's a paintbrush with her long hair) that's kept in the bathtub; smiled at herself in the mirror; stuffed a washcloth into a cup full of water; turned all the lights on and off; attempted to wash the mirror with a washcloth; and spilled half the toothpaste on the counter.

All too often we'll be in bed for storytime and cuddle and she'll announce that she didn't brush her teeth or pick out clothes for tomorrow. She'll jump and thump out of bed, prancing away with a, "I'll be RIGHT back."

She's never "right" back.

All too often she'll come out of her room several times after being tucked in, requesting extra hugs, hug-kisses, kiss-hugs, another tuck in, or to tell us that she is afraid and wants someone to sleep with her or that she loves us one more time.

You see, it makes perfect sense that I want Jem-sized hamster wheel installed on the wall in her room.

As if I didn't need another indication that, although Jem looks exactly like her father, her brain is a miniature of mine, on the ride home from school today she displayed some most keen insight into song overanalysis.

(For reference, recent examples of my work: Michael Bublé Part I | Part II, Matt Johnson of The The, and Current Events.)

On the radio was Leona Lewis's "Bleeding Love." Bug was trying to figure out what was being said, thinking the song said "digging love." Jem jumped in when I told her it was "bleeding love."

Jem turned five in February. Here are the points she made:

• That's crazy.
• Love is something we like.
• Bleeding means you have a booboo.
• Booboos hurt.
• She likes to bleed?!
• Maybe she needs a bandaid.
• Does bleeding make her happy, Mommy?
• It's weird that she likes blood.

Here I suggested that maybe she's a vampire.

• No, she's not a vampire, Mommy. She doesn't sound like a vampire.

What does a vampire sound like?

• Ssssssss!

Her natural sensability at deciphering nonsensical lyrics impresses me. The next time I attempt a song overanalysis, I'll be sure to include her input.

"Bleeding Love"
Leona Lewis

Closed off from love
I didn't need the pain
Once or twice was enough
And it was all in vain
Time starts to pass
Before you know it you're frozen

But something happened
For the very first time with you
My heart melts into the ground
Found something true
And everyone's looking round
Thinking I'm going crazy

But I don't care what they say
I'm in love with you
They try to pull me away
But they don't know the truth
My heart's crippled by the vein
That I keep on closing
You cut me open and I

Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love
I keep bleeding
I keep, keep bleeding love
Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love
You cut me open

Trying hard not to hear
But they talk so loud
Their piercing sounds fill my ears
Try to fill me with doubt
Yet I know that the goal
Is to keep me from falling

But nothing's greater than the rush that comes with your embrace
And in this world of loneliness
I see your face
Yet everyone around me
Thinks that I'm going crazy, maybe, maybe

But I don't care what they say
I'm in love with you
They try to pull me away
But they don't know the truth
My heart's crippled by the vein
That I keep on closing
You cut me open and I

Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love
I keep bleeding
I keep, keep bleeding love
Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love
You cut me open

And it's draining all of me
Oh they find it hard to believe
I'll be wearing these scars
For everyone to see

I don't care what they say
I'm in love with you
They try to pull me away
But they don't know the truth
My heart's crippled by the vein
That I keep on closing
You cut me open and I

Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love
I keep bleeding
I keep, keep bleeding love
Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love
You cut me open and I

Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love
I keep bleeding
I keep, keep bleeding love
Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love
You cut me open and I
Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love 

On Parenting

I'll start this by saying that I don't make a practice of judging other people's parenting choices.* Being a parent isn't easy, and the reality is that more often than not our choices as parents are more influenced upon what we learned from being parented than any amount of book-learned best-practice hype could drill into us. Our childhood is our foundation.

What we take away from our childhoods is a crapshoot. Siblings can grow up learning very different lessons from the same parenting experience. For instance, one child with alcoholic parents may grow up to drink moderately or avoid alcohol altogether, while another could end up struggling with the addiction as an adult. Yet another could hokey pokey between the two. As much as we swore as kids that we would never repeat our parents' "mistakes," they are ingrained in us and will attempt to at least undermine, if not control, who we are as adults.

::tangent for judgment asterisk*::
Believe me I have spent plenty of time judging other people's parenting. Me on my high horse and with a variety of childhood education and entry-level psychology courses in college, I traced every characteristic of mine that I deemed negative back to what my own parents did to screw me up. My six years as a teacher also provided an excess of opportunities to make tree-to-apple observations. When mister mrtl and I decided to start our family, I read the books and took the classes, putting that high horse on a circus highrope platform.

Then I became a parent.

Nothing humbled me -- nothing shut me up -- faster than becoming a parent, from seeing first-hand the tree-to-apple connections for which I was responsible.

We do our best. Sometimes we fuck up and things still work out, and sometimes we fuck up and the consequences are painful. The best we can do is to learn from the mistakes and apply those lessons as necessary.
::end tangent for judgment asterisk*::

That said, let's get on with the intended story here.

I don't hit my kids. I can't wrap my head around what I see as hypocrisy, doing something that I wouldn't ever want them to do.

::tangent on my childhood::
My parents weren't big spankers. I remember my mom threatening a wooden spoon a lot, but don't recall ever getting hit with it. More often we were sent to our rooms. Not a bad lot.
::end tangent on my childhood::

Still, in my weaker moments, I say I can relate to those who do spank. I have felt the frustration that takes my patience away. In those weaker moments, I think I understand the instant of satisfaction that may come from it.

I reached that point once with Jem, giving her a smack on her bottom. It wasn't satisfying at all. It was a disturbing, reflexive action that made my stomach turn. In retrospect I should have just let her scream in her room rather than try to address the situation while I was still angry.

I'm writing about this because I needed to remind myself how that felt today.

My patience is being tried. I had let my guard down; mister mrtl returns from his weeks-long trip today. Bug -- her ear tubes were removed and hearing just checked a couple weeks ago -- now has an ear infection and a ruptured ear drum. I'm worried about her.

And Jem. Jem left the pamphlet that came with her dentist care package in the middle of the hallway, crumpled up. I dared assume it was trash, putting it in the bathroom trash can and pushing it down into a soiled nighttime pullup, rendering it Most Definitely Trash. I was washing dishes when she made the discovery upstairs and started screaming like a banshee. You'd think I'd given her a puppy and then given it to that boy in the class that she doesn't like because he's so bad.

When I started feeling that weaker moment coming, I started writing this.

After a few minutes at the computer, Jem brought over a book she had just bought at her school's book fair, asking if I'd read it to her. I almost sent her away so I could get this out, but I'm glad I didn't. I put down the laptop, got her cuddled up in the chair next to me, and read about SpongeBob playing baseball. It cracked her up.

I love the sound of her laugh.

I miss my husband. Can you tell?

This morning Steve helped me wake the girls. Bug would later ask me not to use Steve to wake her up. Mental note to clarify whether this was because she didn't like his singing of, "Get up, you sleepyhead! Haul your heiny out of bed!" or being prodded in the side with his head.

She asked me if she could tell Steve what to say. I told her I wasn't ready to share him yet. (Actual answer: MINE!)

She told me that she was going to tell Daddy that I like another boy. I told her he already knew ALL about Steve.

She told me that she didn't think adults were supposed to play with dolls. I told her that was inaccurate.

She told me -- knowing I am a bit annoyed with Big Time Rush (How pretentious of them to think they are bigger than Rush!) -- that Steve looks a lot like the guy from Big Time Rush that sings first in their "Boyfriend" video.

 
She has a point.
How perfect that his name is Kendall!

She told me that she didn't like Steve because I like him more than I like her and started to cry. Real tears. I told her to eat her breakfast.

She wasn't entertained AT ALL when I used Steve as a microphone to sing Dead or Alive's "You Spin Me Right Round (Like a Record)" on the way to school. We even danced for her, in full, uninhibited view of other drivers.

Where did she learn this mastering of manipulation? Of course I was a sucker for it. When we pulled up to the curb at school, I held Steve up and asked her what she wanted Steve to say to me all day. She beamed and told him, "I don't like music." After hopping happily out of the van, she flashed me several signed "I love you's" and an extra wave for good measure.

What a booger.

Steve's batteries were thus saved till tomorrow morning. I can't wait to hear what Jem tells him. She enjoyed her "Gummy Bears!" and "STEVE!!" prods this morning, but anything having to do with butts is a safer bet.

Good thing I have satellite radio, which was turned on the second I got home from dropping off the girls. The classic R&B Groove station is the best, and I knew it'd only be a matter of time before Luther Vandross told me what I wanted to hear.

Teddy Pendergrass beat him to it with "Close the Door." Perfect!

Close the door
Let me give you what you've been waiting for
Baby I got so much love to give
I wanna give it all to you

Close the door
No need to worry no more
Let's bring this day to a pleasant end
Girl it's me and you now
I've waited all day long just to hold you in my arms
And it's exactly like I thought it would be
Me loving you and you loving me

Close the door
Let me rub your back where you say it's sore
Come on get closer
So close to me
Let's get lost in each other
Come here baby

I've waited all day long just to hold you in my arms
And it's exactly like I thought it would be
Me loving you and you loving me

Close the door baby
And let me know you're mine
Plenty good lovin' all through the night
And then again and then again
When the morning comes

My Daughters Covet My Boyfriend

Today the girls and I went on a mission. It was dangerous, considering the peeping squirrel that sat on a high branch and watched me pee last week through the bathroom window was found gnawing and scritching at another bathroom window today. I tried to scare him away by tapping on the window. Impudent little bastard just sat up and glared back at me before resuming his extraordinary efforts to get inside. Surely he would scurry through any opened door to eat me.

 

 

 
He knows I'm nuts.

This extreme act of bravery was to go to Walmart. The girls had unused gift cards to use to each get a toy. Jem, more than a little peeved that Bug was allowed to use her slush fund to buy herself an American Girl doll, wanted to trump it with a pink Power Ranger (Mia, her new imaginary friend and so much better than Bug's doll, which she hasn't even gotten yet since it's being mailed). She soon forgot about Mia when she met Walmart's version of the American Girl doll. She gasped! She swooned! She tossed her unceremoniously in the cart and resumed asking for everything else she fancied (read that: everything else she saw).

::Beauty tangent::
Beauty (Jem's doll) wears all purple, giving her purple power. She can shoot fire out of her fingers that kills bad guys. She likes Jem to kiss her a lot, but then tells Jem that she's going to beat her up. I don't think I should be letting them sleep together.
::end Beauty tangent::

The toy aisle stands as one of the best indoor time killers. It has mysterious powers, too. Children will forget how hungry they are, or how much their legs hurt from walking, or how they're so booooored of following Mom around, or how annoying their sibling is. Even if there with a guaranteed purchase, behavior will be exceptional in the hopes of possibly getting something more.

I was just grateful the girls were happily distracted while I checked out the creepy Barbies. Some poor kid out there is going to end up with a collection of half-breasted Barbies.

 
 This is worse than my old Tuesday doll, which had a rotating scalp so she could be blonde or brunette. 

 

Averting my eyes from these mutants, I first saw my new man. He came with the name "Ken," but I'm going to rename him. My brain is still chewing on bull penis limericks, so figuring out his new name will have to wait. No offense to any Ken's out there; I have no attached mental imagery, which is just a waste.

 

He had me at "I LOVE pie!" but I didn't tell him to stop.

It's troubling that this toy is recommended for children five and up with the things that come out of his mouth.

It's more troubling that he doesn't run on rechargeable batteries.

::tangent for thought on name::
His voice reminds me a lot of Steve the monkey from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, and it's uncanny that he does love to talk about gummy bears.

Why am I not disturbed that I'm not disturbed at this mental imagery?
::end tangent for thought on name::

In case you're wondering why Steve shouldn't be around small children:

• He enjoys bondage, and he struggled against coming out of the box. I just about cut myself getting him out of there.
• He calls me Miss Jackson.
• He keeps telling me to take his clothes off. To be honest, I don't care much for his outfit and thought I might have to switch out his clothes with Kevin's.
  
   
  On second thought...
• He told me to ignore the choking hazard on his packaging, that I should be careful.
• He wants me to carry him in my waistband, upside down.

---

Update: Jem just came out and asked if she could take Beauty downstairs to sleep. She is scared of her and doesn't want her to shoot fire at her. Beauty sleeps by the back door.

Acute Embarrassment

I've just discovered that I've committed an unintentional faux pas and I feel absolutely terrible about it.

On Thursday, March 31, I called out Michael Bublé (again) as a "selfish man whore with some serious cooties" and berated him (again) for not insisting that his name be spelled correctly on his official website. I'm not apologizing for the latter, mind you. That acute inattentiveness to detail really does annoy the hell out of me.

I do, however, feel horrible that this happened on Thursday. It is an unfortunate coincidence that this was Michael Bublé's wedding day.

Michael Bublé, I am not so callous as to grieve someone on such a happy occasion. If only I stalked you, I would have known and forever held my peace.

Congratulations to the beautiful couple.
 
She's absolutely lovely, and doesn't look psychotic at all.

I trust that she knows how to accent your e.

We Do Not Like Green Noodles and Ham

Perhaps it was because I bought the wrong cheese, or that I didn't follow the directions to the letter. I won't blame Rachael Ray for the complete and utter fail of her Green Noodles and Ham recipe.

I can't help but think that even if I did everything correctly, it wouldn't have looked much different.

My stomach was hurting from laughing so hard before I even called the girls down to dinner. I had told them that for dinner we were having noodles and cheese, "just like macaroni and cheese." As I slopped the congealing masses onto plates, it conjured mental images of the mom's cooking in Better Off Dead.

 
::tangent to share scary pie::
Click if you dare. 
::end tangent to share scary pie::

I had the foresight to catch Jem's reaction to seeing her plate. Here's the unsuspecting child posing.

 
Now approaching with the initial WTF?

 
Finally, the shock. Bug is keeping her distance, looking wary.

 
"What is this? What is our food? It looks yucky! Can I have sour cream on it? Can I have some bread? ::insert gagging noise for dramatic effect:: Can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? The green stuff looks yucky."

She totally called it.

I'm still laughing.

A Dinner Date

There's a new pizza joint in town, one that the girls have been Very Excited to try out once it opened. We grabbed a pizza last night since we were close. The manager caught me off-guard while handing me my box in the crazily busy store, which is the only reason why I found myself happily saying, "You, too!" to his, "Have a blessed day!"

The girls hated the pizza, as did I, so I can say that we won't be back without involving God at all.

We usually have pizza on Friday, so this afternoon when Bug asked if we could go out, I agreed. It's been ages since we've eaten out. Here are some highlights:

• Theological discussion with Bug, started by her. She said something about me not believing in God, which I disputed. I believe in some higher power, that there's something else at work here, but have a lot of confusion and questions that I've struggled with. She understood that, wanting to focus on something her teacher wrote on the board. It was along the lines of, "Don't believe anything anyone says except me." I can only assume this is some biblical passage, but Bug thought it was her teacher's words. In the midst of all of this, she showed a complete understanding of what mister mrtl and I have been trying to get through to her in regards to her religion, saying, "You told me that I choose what to believe; that I have make my own path." Momma so proud!
  
  One of her classmates lost his uncle this week. She had questions about death, and in particular, the comfort that her classmate and his family find in knowing his uncle is in Heaven. We spent the rest of the conversation talking about what happens after death, and how other religions and cultures approach the afterlife. In talking about reincarnation, I told her about the donkey (maybe it was an ox - memory lapse) in Amy Tan's Saving Fish from Drowning. As I remember (*haha*), the animal is being beaten for not doing what its master wanted. Some of the travelers are disturbed at the cruelty, but their guide explains that the animal should not be pitied. It is what it is as punishment for a previous life's faults. Bug pondered that and said that the Golden Rule applies no matter what or how many Gods people believe in. People should be kind to others and treat them as they want to be treated. Momma even prouder!

::bee tangent::
Bug told mister mrtl the other day about an injured bee on the playground. The other kids were trying to squish it, but she was trying to keep them from stomping on it. It wasn't even trying to hurt anyone. This is her heart.
::end bee tangent::

Then she started talking about how she had trouble believing in some of the stories, too. Like it's so CRAZY to think that this Jesus guy could just say a few words and make a person rise from the dead. Or how it's unbelievable that people nailed Jesus to the cross. [inside voice!! gads] We discussed showing respect for others' beliefs, and how words like "crazy" aren't the best choices when talking about religion anytime. Still, she's showing that she's thinking about these things, and is curious about working out her beliefs and not just taking what she hears as fact. Momma proudest!


• Jem got in on the theological discussion as well. She told me, "Mommy, I want to pray to God." I asked her what she wanted to pray for. Her response, "I want to pray for a person, for [I - her friend at school], to come to my house and sleep with me every night." She then solemnly pressed her hands together and repeated the same words. Then, with a heightened sense of peace about her, she said something along the lines of getting what she wants now that she has asked God.
  
  I just told her the other day that she won't be having a sleepover till she's older. We'll see how she resolves that.


• On the way out of the restaurant, we encountered an elderly couple getting into their car. The man was sitting in a wheelchair. As we walked by, Jem beamed at him and hollered in the sweetest possible way, "Hellllloooo, Old Man!"
  
  I tried so hard not to laugh. Fortunately, his response wasn't, "I'm 37; I'm not old!" (That's another Holy Grail reference, mister mrtl)
  
  We've talked about this "old" bit of Jem's with her so many times. Someday she'll understand the concept and avoid using it on people. ::sigh:: Once back in the van, I addressed it... again... offering her the alternative phrase of an enthusiastic, "HAAAAAY, baby!" Unfortunately, when tested as I type this, she prefers, "HEY GRANNY!" ::sigh::