Separation Anxiety

Lately, I've been considering abandoning this blog. I am having so much trouble finding the balance between working and mama-ing and housework that the idea of the hour or so it takes to write a decent blog post seems Herculean to say the least. I might as well commit to knitting spring jackets for all the kids or making four course dinners every night.

Puh-leeze. I can barely manage to work out about once a week or so, much less blog a few times a week. And then I guess you'd still expect the entries to be good if not entertaining and engaging; nay, award winning!

I am such a type A personality that I cannot stand to do something without doing it with all the excellence I can muster. Ideally, I can write a kickass entry while three children hang from my body in alternating poses of desperation and maternal need. I can hold off a fair amount of whining and leg clutching with the liberal application of an episode or two of Little Einsteins while I make dinner and wash jelly out of the rug but I have had to abort several sub-standard entries (kinda like the last one) which just cannot allow me to be proud of what I have written. This blog is meant to be an outlet for my creative side, and it's just not fun when I cannot take pride and satisfaction in what I've written.

I frequently write blog entries in my head while driving to work or walking on the track during my lunch break. But I never find the time to vomit them into the internets and hence the universe is saved from my meandering musings. But I miss it. So much so, that I have decided not to kill this blog just yet.

I have held off my consideration of blog-icide with this final act of desperation:

I am going to commit to writing at least one entry per week (barring vacations and other acts of God) and I am going to take the time to make it a thing for which I can be enjoy the creative act. I am doing this for me, because I have so deeply enjoyed writing again. And now that I've told you all about it, my pride will keep me on track on finding the time for this small pleasure.

Maybe next week I will commit to becoming a clown for children's birthday parties (and terrorizing adults, like Dr. P) or some other insanity. Please stop me. I beg you.

Kilroy Was Here

Upon leaving a japanese restuarant:

Hostess: Have a great day. Arigato.

80's Dork (me): Domo (domo) Domo (domo).


I have problems.

And furthermore, just so this song will now be stuck in your head for the remainder of the day:

Domo Arigato
Mr. Roboto (domo, domo)
Domo Arigato
Mr. Roboto (domo, domo)

You're wondering who I am - (secret
secret - I've got a secret)

Machine or mannequin - (secret
secret - I've got a secret)

With parts made in Japan - (secret
secret - I've got a secret)

I am the Modren Man.

I've got a secret
I've been hiding under my skin

My heart is human
my blood is boiling
my brain I.B.M.
So if you see me acting strangely
don't be surprised

I'm just a man who needed someone
and comewhere to hide
To keep me alive - just keep me alive

Somewhere to hide to keep me alive.

I'm not a robot without emotions - I'm not what you see

I've come to help you with your problems
so we can be free.
I'm not a Hero
I'm not a Saviour
forget what you know

I'm just a man whose circumstances went beyond his control

......

The problem's plain to see: Too much technology

Machinesto save our lives
machines de-humanize.

The time has come at last - secret
secret - I've got a secret

To throw away this mask - secret
secret - I've got a secret

Now everyone can see - secret
secret - I've got a secret

My true identity - I'm Kilroy
Kilroy
Kilroy
Kilroy !

Lamb Cakes

You know how they say "March comes in like a Lion and goes out like a Lamb or else March comes in like a Lamb and goes out like a Lion"?

On March 1st, in Georgia, it was in the sixties and sunny. I was thinking: I wonder what the Lion will look like, because this is obviously Lamb weather.

Today, March 11th, is 80 degrees, sundrenched, breezy, and altogether another world from where I come from.

I'm used to the Northland, where March is the month where you finally take off your down parka and only need two quilts at night. March, to me, heralds the change from below zero weather to a balmy 15 degrees ABOVE zero. In March, you might only have to shovel the driveway ONCE a week.

This week I had to dig out the kids' shorts and sundresses, because SPRING is here, and frankly, it's more like summer in Northern Wisconsin. Up at the Lake House, this kind of weather isn't typically seen until August.

So, let me enjoy it, because by Easter I'll likely be bitching about the heat and humidity. (Wow! The Girls can wear Easter dresses without snowsuits this year!)

But for now I will enjoy the birdsong and spring peeper while I sip margaritas on my patio.

Gramma Nonny

Nonny was here for almost two weeks and I only have a handful of pictures to document her existence in our world. Hubby took these few pictures, at my insistence, the day she left, right before he drove her to the airport. Gabe was already at school and I was already at work. Pathetic, is it not?

While Nonny was here, she stayed home with the kids and their new Nanny-type, Rebecca (known to Quin as Wo'becca). She taught Rebecca where to find all our sundry household items and taught her the complicated system we have whereby Quin cannot ingest dairy products and Gabe can, but Ribh drinks breastmilk AND they all can now have milk sometimes, but only if it's the super crunchy non-pasturized, non-homogenized, practically-dripping-right-off-the-cow kind which I drive 45 minutes every other Sunday in order to get.

Nonny kissed the kid's skinned knees and pushed the kids on the swing, and made them snacks, and read the same old books aloud over and over again. She brought a magical suitcase from which she extracted small gifts like stickers and note books and animal pencils on a daily basis. She endured their squirming bodies in her bed, in her bath, on on her lap any time she sat still long enough to make one.

That final morning, as I drove to work , I was thinking about how much fun she was having with the kids, playing with them, seeing all their little idiosyncrasies and listening to them talk. (And talk. And talk.) I thought about much time WE had managed to squeeze in to talk and how she had let me run on and on about my new job and new challenges and lack of sleep and the crazy circles my brain keeps looping through.

I thought about how Nonny made the transition period from full-time stay-at-home Momdom to full time (actually much more than full-time when you count my commute) working mom so much less traumatic for all of us.

I had thought her whole visit was really all about being a hands-on Gramma for her grandkids so far away in Georgia, and all this time she was really just being a Mama. Because she knew all along what I had forgotten: Even her grown up, independent, doctor-type kid so far away in Georgia needed her Mama.

She was just being MY Mama and showing her love for me in all her small kindnesses like mending and button-sewing and dinner making. Because being a Mama is forever.

And then I missed her so much it hurt, and she hadn't even left for the airport yet.

I love you, Nonny. *Sniff*

Title Change

I've decided to embrace my whimsical side and drop the esoteric, high-brow, and wordy title for a nonsensical, retro-inspired, equally wordy title.

Hey, it's my blog. Sue me. Go ahead.

The Whimsical: I fought with the bank today about their moronic bank procedures which they insist are designed to "improve customer service" and "make sure your most important checks all go through", but they are REALLY designed to create as many opportunities for bank fees (and copious hair pulling) as possible. The pod people at the bank speak their egregious lies and half truths with a smile because they know they've got you over the barrel and they can suggest that you take the hanks of hair you've pulled out of your head and knit a nice koozie for the steaming cup of "eat my shorts" they are about to serve you, and you'll just have to run out and take knitting lessons. Because they are the bank, and they are IN CHARGE OF THE MONEY!

But, it more whimsical news, I called around and found another bank which only has like two policies which are totally asinine. Which is a great improvement over the 87 Policies of Shite employed at my current bank. AND they are going to give me $50 for my trouble in switching banks, which is much better than a toaster or "totally free checking" in my book. And the checking is totally free. Ha!

In other whimsical news, I cleaned the house this weekend, and did the laundry, and watered the plants, and watched amovie. So, that was a great weekend, because now I can FIND STUFF. Hubby kicked my butt in the Oscar poll, but since I've won for about 11 years prior, I can be gracious.

Also whimsical: Quinlan cut off her beautiful glorious long hair in one fell slice and I bawled and then swept her off to the mall for additional shaping and molding. So, overall, her hair looks pretty fine now but things were pretty tense for a bit there. THREE YEARS of LONG PRETTY SILKY hair people! Now chin level or shorter. Oh, THE HUMANITY!

The Ultimate in Whimsy: this school report by Gabe (as transcribed by his teacher).

Dd is for Dad

My dad's full name is: ("Hubby", the Boy knew the real thing)
My dad weighs: 36 pounds
My dad is 27 feet and 12 inches tall.
My dad's favorite hobby is: cooking beef (!)
My dad's favorite thing to eat is: beef
My dad's favorite color is: peach (ha ha ha ha ha!!!)
My dad's favorite TV show is: The United States of America (huh?)
My dad's favorite song is: U2 Vertigo
My dad's favorite place to go is: The Bank (true dat!)
When my dad was little, he lived: in Iowa (NOT!)
What my dad likes best about me is: my big brown eyes (awwww!)
My dad sometimes gets upset when I: do bad things
I make my dad happy when I: get green smiley faces
I love my dad because: he is fun

Onward With Whimsy!