Perhaps you are familiar with the concept of road rage, which is defined as: "aggressive or angry behavior by a driver of an automobile or other motor vehicle".
Now, I would generally agree that this is a bad thing, and not something that one should be proud of. That is, however, unless one frequents Costco.
Look, shopping carts and cars really don't require differing skill... You stay to the right, look both ways before turning into another lane or aisle, and you never, ever just stop in the middle of the road to just spend time contemplating whatever the hell it is that you are contemplating. Never!!
Why do people at Costco not know this? They stop their carts wherever they want, oblivious to the people behind them. They randomly turn carts this way and that into varying lanes like a free for all, and they certainly don't stay to the right. It's more like Rome, or Paris where everyone just goes, jockeying for position. Getting through the warehouse is like doing battle -- battle among driving morons. Infuriating!
Usually by the time I leave Costco, I have fantasized about running numerous people over with my cart, I'm muttering under my breath about how everyone is an idiot, and I'm once again reminded about my fellow Americans and that they vote. A dismal thought.
I think police should be allowed to watch the cart driving at Costco and give tickets where they see fit. It may save some poor schmuck from getting killed in real life by one of those same people driving a car, not to mention create revenue for endless cash strapped states...
Just saying...
Friday, December 24, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
groundhog day, all over again
Life with smalls is challenging. Yes, for all the reasons you imagine, and then especially for those times when your envisioned day blows up, leaving you stranded. Take, for example, when one of your smalls suddenly gets sick. Usually the indication of said event occurs at 3 o'clock in the morning. Many times it involves projectile vomit. Sometimes, it's just wheezing and coughing. Either way, aside from feeling badly for your small, you can also kiss the following day, and all that you had planned, good-bye.
With my luck, I usually have an appointment that requires a 24 hour cancelation notice, lest you be billed. Or, the thing that I have wanted or waited to do for eons was happening just that day -- poof -- gone. Or a friend is visiting from out of town and you squeezed in a lunch before they headed to the airport.
Also, one must remember the corollary to one offspring getting sick: if there is another offspring, he or she will get sick too. After the sleepless nights with the first, you now get the added bonus of sleepless nights with the second. Bonus.
Now, for those of you who have yet to experience sleeping with a small in your bed, or even worse, a sick small in your bed, let me share...
Smalls do not sleep like regular grown up people. They may be, well, small, but they miraculously take up an amazing amount of space. Perhaps you are wondering how, so let me help -- this amazing spatial feat is usually achieved by the small imitating the hand of a clock: slowly moving their way around the bed in a circular motion.
Initially the night starts out with seeming normalcy, the small laying parallel to you. Suddenly, out of nowhere, one is startled with a powerful head butt as the small flings him/herself perpendicularly to you. Then there is the charming knee to chin, or foot to nose that occurs next, as the small spins again, landing with feet on pillow and their head on your legs. I think you're getting the picture. And in case you're wondering, yes, this - continues - to - happen- all - night! Eventually one finds themselves clinging to the edge of the bed for dear life, like a raft in the middle of the ocean, shell shocked from the beating they've had to endure.
Now, I've recently been living in a house of pestilence. Some sort of plague found my two smalls and lasted for 5 days in toto for each of them. That's consecutive, mind you, so we're talking 10 days of illness. 10 days of getting out of bed bruised. 10 days of all plans going down the toilet. Day after day; interminable.
All I can tell ya is that it's a good thing my kids started feeling better. Really. If it went on too much longer, I might have maimed them.
With my luck, I usually have an appointment that requires a 24 hour cancelation notice, lest you be billed. Or, the thing that I have wanted or waited to do for eons was happening just that day -- poof -- gone. Or a friend is visiting from out of town and you squeezed in a lunch before they headed to the airport.
Also, one must remember the corollary to one offspring getting sick: if there is another offspring, he or she will get sick too. After the sleepless nights with the first, you now get the added bonus of sleepless nights with the second. Bonus.
Now, for those of you who have yet to experience sleeping with a small in your bed, or even worse, a sick small in your bed, let me share...
Smalls do not sleep like regular grown up people. They may be, well, small, but they miraculously take up an amazing amount of space. Perhaps you are wondering how, so let me help -- this amazing spatial feat is usually achieved by the small imitating the hand of a clock: slowly moving their way around the bed in a circular motion.
Initially the night starts out with seeming normalcy, the small laying parallel to you. Suddenly, out of nowhere, one is startled with a powerful head butt as the small flings him/herself perpendicularly to you. Then there is the charming knee to chin, or foot to nose that occurs next, as the small spins again, landing with feet on pillow and their head on your legs. I think you're getting the picture. And in case you're wondering, yes, this - continues - to - happen- all - night! Eventually one finds themselves clinging to the edge of the bed for dear life, like a raft in the middle of the ocean, shell shocked from the beating they've had to endure.
Now, I've recently been living in a house of pestilence. Some sort of plague found my two smalls and lasted for 5 days in toto for each of them. That's consecutive, mind you, so we're talking 10 days of illness. 10 days of getting out of bed bruised. 10 days of all plans going down the toilet. Day after day; interminable.
All I can tell ya is that it's a good thing my kids started feeling better. Really. If it went on too much longer, I might have maimed them.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
time management
Ok, beat me with a wet noodle. I've been lax in my posting. I've been MIA. I've been out to lunch.
I suck.
In my mind I think about posting something...sometimes... Usually it happens when I'm nowhere near a computer, so the actual pressure to perform disappears before I connect again with technology. Then there's the stress of having to come up with something pithy, or clever. And, well folks, lately I'm all out of pithy, while clever left the building, uh, like weeks ago.
The last hurdle to overcome is the fact that I never seem to have enough time. I know, I know, a banal excuse if ever there was one... But hey, my lists just keep growing, and my ability to cross off things from said list apparently pales in comparison to life's ability to add to the damn thing. Then there is the tired factor. By the time that I actually do have time, I'm knackered; I can barely string a sentence together. It's embarrassing.
So, today I post this. My equivalent of "the dog ate my homework." It is my excuse for being remiss to my blog.
It ain't eloquent, but it's truthful, and I'm gonna try to do better. Really. I gonna. Fingers crossed...
I hope.
I suck.
In my mind I think about posting something...sometimes... Usually it happens when I'm nowhere near a computer, so the actual pressure to perform disappears before I connect again with technology. Then there's the stress of having to come up with something pithy, or clever. And, well folks, lately I'm all out of pithy, while clever left the building, uh, like weeks ago.
The last hurdle to overcome is the fact that I never seem to have enough time. I know, I know, a banal excuse if ever there was one... But hey, my lists just keep growing, and my ability to cross off things from said list apparently pales in comparison to life's ability to add to the damn thing. Then there is the tired factor. By the time that I actually do have time, I'm knackered; I can barely string a sentence together. It's embarrassing.
So, today I post this. My equivalent of "the dog ate my homework." It is my excuse for being remiss to my blog.
It ain't eloquent, but it's truthful, and I'm gonna try to do better. Really. I gonna. Fingers crossed...
I hope.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
the new birth control
I am making a proclamation! Health, Sex Ed, or Birth Control need no longer be taught the old fashioned way we've become accustomed to...
From now on, all that we need to do to help our youth appreciate the responsibility of parenthood is as follows:
#1 - Have them plan and attend the birthday parties of a handful of smalls.
#2 - Have them install carseats in and out of a car numerous times, and to up the ante, time them.
= Nobody will be suffering with an unwanted pregnancy.
Revolutionary!
From now on, all that we need to do to help our youth appreciate the responsibility of parenthood is as follows:
#1 - Have them plan and attend the birthday parties of a handful of smalls.
#2 - Have them install carseats in and out of a car numerous times, and to up the ante, time them.
= Nobody will be suffering with an unwanted pregnancy.
Revolutionary!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
chaos theory
| cha·os the·o·ry (plural cha·os the·o·ries) |
noun |
| Definition: |
| theory of apparent randomness: a theory that complex natural systems obey rules but are so sensitive that small initial changes can cause unexpected final results, thus giving an impression of randomness. |
The older I get, the more I find the theory of chaos to be true, unfortunately. I wish it weren't so, but there you go.
I'd love to cloak myself in the confirmation of karma: that what goes around comes around. But, this just doesn't seem to be the case. I'd love to wrap it up all nicely with a bow, believe in destiny, God's will, or some such other construct. That would make living with the chaos so much easier. In fact, it wouldn't be chaos anymore, it would have purpose, and not feel like a random bolt of lightning just blew up your life, even momentarily.
Whether it be the malfunctioning of an appliance, a traffic ticket, a fender bender, or the loss of some important or valuable bauble, we all have felt the heartache, or should I say headache, of these sudden occurrences.
And then there are times that make the former list pale in comparison. The tragedy that leaves its mark for life, whether it be literal or figurative. If we are a metaphorical nucleus, these are the electrons that we try desperately to avoid.
When and why these things happen when they do, or to whom they do, is anyone's guess. Sometimes they appear to be deserved because of some moronic decision made in the spur of the moment. Other times they seem to come out of thin air, somehow directed at you to make your life a wee bit more difficult or just fundamentally rock your world.
I'd love to cloak myself in the confirmation of karma: that what goes around comes around. But, this just doesn't seem to be the case. I'd love to wrap it up all nicely with a bow, believe in destiny, God's will, or some such other construct. That would make living with the chaos so much easier. In fact, it wouldn't be chaos anymore, it would have purpose, and not feel like a random bolt of lightning just blew up your life, even momentarily.
Whether it be the malfunctioning of an appliance, a traffic ticket, a fender bender, or the loss of some important or valuable bauble, we all have felt the heartache, or should I say headache, of these sudden occurrences.
And then there are times that make the former list pale in comparison. The tragedy that leaves its mark for life, whether it be literal or figurative. If we are a metaphorical nucleus, these are the electrons that we try desperately to avoid.
When and why these things happen when they do, or to whom they do, is anyone's guess. Sometimes they appear to be deserved because of some moronic decision made in the spur of the moment. Other times they seem to come out of thin air, somehow directed at you to make your life a wee bit more difficult or just fundamentally rock your world.
I have fallen prey to both kinds.
And while I reluctantly believe in the general randomness of events, I try to remind myself that the randomness isn't always equal to a negative. There are random acts of kindness that one sometimes encounters and that some espouse practicing. They might not feel as prevalent as the other, but still they occur. A small comfort.
Yet, perhaps, the only true comfort one can find in the midst of disorder is perspective.
This comes top of mind given a recent random tragedy that happened at my son's school. A mother, whom I did not know, apparently died from a fluke accident of the most routine kind. The sort of thing that no one can believe, but, perhaps, could have happened to anyone. An e-mail was sent out from the head of school, sharing the sad news with the community. A wave of shock came over everyone who read it.
This woman left behind two children. Two high school and college graduations that she will not attend, possibly two weddings where she will be unable to dance, and potentially grandchildren that she will not be able to hold, coochie-coo, or burp. A tragedy, that, even as a stranger, profoundly breaks my heart, because I am a mother too.
So today I am grateful. Not for the burden of powerlessness the chaos creates, but rather for the moment, independent of what the next moment brings. For the day's smiles and the hugs at bedtime, and even for any and all irritations felt the last 24 hours.
I'm lucky tonight. And so are many of you. Because, chaos or not, I have now. And while I have many problems, none are too big to stop my breath, hurt my smalls, or cause tears to flow that feel like they will never be able to stop.
Today, we are nuclei that have avoided an electron. Our world, while problematic, is not rocked.
Today, we are nuclei that have avoided an electron. Our world, while problematic, is not rocked.
Hug the ones you love, tell the others that you cannot reach for, that you love them too; know that you have this moment, and chaos can't screw with that.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
you feel lucky, punk?
I know it's uncouth for a middle-aged person to desire retribution on a 5 year old. Hell, I'm embarrassed to admit it. I even sometimes contemplate losing sleep over the impulse, but that feeling usually passes, replaced again with a burning desire to give said 5 year old a swirly. (Think toilet water and hair.)
Witnessing the transgression, I'm overcome. I'm a mother lioness. And mother lionesses hate to see their cubs hurt, especially by obnoxious 5 year olds who are so entitled, that even at their young age, they don't curb their behavior when an adult is watching.
I fantasize making a voodoo doll of the little shit and sticking a pin through his eyes.
It's beneath me, I know. I'm the grown-up, the literal bigger person, but in that moment, watching a small's soul get crushed just a little with some nasty, mean comment, I have an overwhelming urge to forego any thought of chronological age. I want to channel Dirty Harry, make the little shit pee in his pants, ensuring he'll think twice about ever being that not nice to anyone again. You feeling lucky, punk?
Come on. I know you've felt, at least in passing, the same primal urge rise up in you too.
These moments give such clarity as to who these mean smalls are going to grow up to be. I recognize people I know, people I dislike and, in turn, I get a clear sense of who they were as smalls.
Compassion is not the by-product. I just don't feel it. Big or small, I wanna punch them out either way.
Somehow, I find the inner strength to control myself. I dazzle.
Then, I make a note to self: stay away from the little shit's parents, because I just probably witnessed the kind of people they must be...
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
fantasyland
Everyone has fantasies. Maybe when you were small it was the fantasy of the purple bike with the flowered banana seat. Perhaps you even went so far as to imagine it with a basket.
Later, it was the fantasy of blue eyes when you had brown, or curly hair if you had straight. Fantasizing about being taller, thinner, prettier, smarter... We've all had some of those.
The college years, and maybe into your mid-twenties, we fantasized about the perfect job or perfect career. We obsessed about a guy or several guys, imagining what it would be like to be with them. Of course, the fantasy of taller, thinner, prettier and smarter still existed, it's just that the list of fantasies grew longer.
Then, when you found the right guy, it was fantasies with him -- your life together, what that life would be like, the imaginary kids you'd have in that fantastic fantasy life...
And now, having actually gotten a taste of some of the fantasies that you wished for, one finds themselves fantasizing about the life you had before it all. Not forever, mind you, just for a day or so, or maybe every now and then.
You know, where you fantasize about a guy you aren't going home to, in a life where there are no consequences or kids or laundry. A life where you go to the spa and the gym whenever you want and look fabulous, so that, even at your age, some guy might still fantasize about you.
But, as I wait to pick up my beloved real life smalls, who are no longer a fantasy, I wouldn't mind a couple of days of the other. A car's horn brings me back to reality, and perhaps, the torture of middle age...
Yet there is one constant : I still long to be taller, thinner, prettier and smarter.
Later, it was the fantasy of blue eyes when you had brown, or curly hair if you had straight. Fantasizing about being taller, thinner, prettier, smarter... We've all had some of those.
The college years, and maybe into your mid-twenties, we fantasized about the perfect job or perfect career. We obsessed about a guy or several guys, imagining what it would be like to be with them. Of course, the fantasy of taller, thinner, prettier and smarter still existed, it's just that the list of fantasies grew longer.
Then, when you found the right guy, it was fantasies with him -- your life together, what that life would be like, the imaginary kids you'd have in that fantastic fantasy life...
And now, having actually gotten a taste of some of the fantasies that you wished for, one finds themselves fantasizing about the life you had before it all. Not forever, mind you, just for a day or so, or maybe every now and then.
You know, where you fantasize about a guy you aren't going home to, in a life where there are no consequences or kids or laundry. A life where you go to the spa and the gym whenever you want and look fabulous, so that, even at your age, some guy might still fantasize about you.
But, as I wait to pick up my beloved real life smalls, who are no longer a fantasy, I wouldn't mind a couple of days of the other. A car's horn brings me back to reality, and perhaps, the torture of middle age...
Yet there is one constant : I still long to be taller, thinner, prettier and smarter.
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