Important lessons from reality television

As two of my train wrecks... I mean, "reality television shows"... finish their respective seasons and another begins (True Beauty, You're Cut Off, and Project Runway), I thought I would take this opportunity to pass on the important life lessons that can be gleaned from these important works of art.

1.  If you are/think you are beautiful, the world will revolve around you.
2.  If you are/think you are beautiful, you will never need to use your brain.  Leave the thinking to the ugly people; that's what they are there for.
3.  If you are/think you are beautiful, the people who don't like you are just jealous because you're beautiful.  It has nothing to do with your personality.
4.  If you are rich, you no longer need to be nice.  Poor people are nice in order to get things from rich people.
5.  The richest/classiest broads swear like a sailor on shore leave.
6.  If you have blind arrogance, you don't need talent.
7.  Remember, you are better than everyone else because you have been on a reality television show.  They don't let just anyone be on those shows.

Boycott du jour

Do boycotts really work?  I'm curious about this.  Apparently, I am supposed to be currently boycotting BP for the Gulf fiasco, Lowe's for supporting gay rights, Target for supporting an anti-gay politician, Wal-Mart for being run by greedy bastards, and Arizona for SB 1070.  (I heard someone say he was no longer drinking Arizona iced tea because of SB 1070.  Um...the beverage has nothing to do with the state, dumbass!) 

Isn't it fair to say every corporation has its own agenda, and, unless we do away with corporations, nothing is going to change?  I believe the only way to affect a major corporation is to become a major shareholder, then to apply pressure accordingly.  But, do you want to own stock in a company that you find morally reprehensible?  Ah, the modern quandary.

The Imaginarium of Drake

Other three-year-olds use their imaginations.  Drake is more of a realist.  He tells stories of what has happened more than what he is pretending.  "That's a volcano and it has lava inside and it goes whoosh and it's sticky.  But we shouldn't touch it because it's hot."  I've been concerned because he doesn't pretend very much.  Imagination is a wonderful and glorious thing.  I guess we haven't done enough to encourage it.  Today, he runs into the house to get me.

D: "Mommy, hurry, I made you a mud pie and it's almost done cooking."
Me: "OK, Drake."  (Exit back door to walk to sand box.)
D:  "Three. Two. One. Beep!  It's done cooking."
Me: "Oh, that's wonderful!"
D: "But, Mommy, don't eat it."
Me: (playing along) "Why, because it's still hot?"
D: "No.  Because it's made of sand." 

*Sigh*  Even in the midst of pretend, he's still a realist.

Making the Irish smile

We were out and about yesterday, and, like always, I had to chase down Flynn, calling out his name.  After scooping him up, I noticed an older gentleman smiling at us.  He asked me to repeat the name.  I did, and his eyes just sparkled.  "Do you know what the name means?" he asked with a thick Irish brogue.  "Yes, it's Irish for 'son of the red-haired one'."  He just beamed.  It was like I had unearthed a secret treasure that only the Irish are privy to.  We've met other Drakes, but we've never met another Flynn.  It was kinda cool to share the joy of my son's name with a friendly stranger. 

Unearthing treasures/memories

Now the long process of clearing out Maria's house begins.  Part of her charm was that she had so much random stuff.  We are taking our time going through everything, mostly because there is so much to go through, like five garbage bags full of yarn.  We've all taken a few key items that were near and dear to our hearts. 

Maria had lots of photos.  None of them are organized, naturally. Most of them were kept in an old suitcase. Here are a few that have been unearthed.

Yup, that's me

I showed Drake this picture and explained it's at the same zoo we go to and that is mommy as a girl.  His response, "Oh, you've changed!"

Chipping away at the Berlin Wall, 1990

I didn't know anyone had taken a picture of me doing this.  This is right next to Checkpoint Charlie.  Look how stylish I am in my tapered jeans and my LA Gear shoes.

Smoke if you got 'em

I spent two months in Germany that summer.  I learned very little German.  What I did learn is if you are 16 and an American in Europe, everyone wants to buy you a drink and give you a smoke.  I also learned how to drink out of a 5-kl. pony keg without a tap.  (The mystery hand belongs to a relative.)

Hair of the dog

See previously mentioned comment about buying the American a drink.  This is at breakfast, and I'm hungover.  Note all the bottles of booze on the table.  I am drinking a mimosa.  Maria is having straight-up champagne.  Good times!

Godspeed, Maria

At 10:58 a.m., Grandma Maria passed away quietly, peacefully, and with dignity in her home with my father at her side.  Mom, Flynn, and I were also there, with more family arriving shortly thereafter.  I don't know what was more heartwrenching: watching her being taken away, or Flynn going into her room to find her.

She was feisty till the end.  Her sense of humor remained intact while her body was failing.  On Tuesday, Dad asked, "Mom, do you need anything?"  Her response: "A thousand dollars."

My brother and I spent time with her every summer (not always together, due to the fighting and sibling bickering).  I will always remember the wonderous exploration of the basement and the attic space.  I am still trying to forget how she and her coffee klatch would eat nettles while wearing dentures, and then smile at me with slimy green stuff in their teeth.  She would always have a lottery card waiting for me to fill in the six numbers.  She always took me to Wendy's (we didn't go to Wendy's very often at home).  She taught me how to play cribbage.  She was the luckiest blackjack player I ever met.  She would take me mushroom hunting.  One of her favorite phrases: Ooooohhh, shit.  Gotta love that.

Maria and the boys on her 83rd birthday

We love you and we'll miss you!

New Business Plan

I formulated a new business plan at 11:30 p.m. last night, after a long day and marathon grading session: alcohol delivery.  What is a parent to do when the children are sleeping and faced with an empty wine rack/liquor cabinet?  CPS will come after you if you leave sleeping children to go buy booze.  Why not have the booze come to you?  Ths would be safer than the drive-thru liquor store concept that other states seem to embrace.

I realize the flaws in my plan.  In WA, the biggest flaw is the damn state run liquor store concept.  One can't by vodka at the 7-11.  So, I wouldn't be able to resell liquor out of my garage.  The stores close ridiculously early on the weekends and many are not open on Sunday.  Most people run out of alcohol after 10 p.m. 

The other glitch in my plan is to whom I would market.  I would stick with parents.  I know I could make so much money if I delivered to a college campus.  I don't want that kind of liability.  I know one person would be buying for the whole floor; I wouldn't be able to verify age and distribution.  Some nut job would sue me for alcohol poisoning because his/her innocent child/frat boy over did it with the everclear.

Comfort from a 3-year-old

This afternoon has been horrid-- one of the worst.  Both boys screaming, throwning tantrums, misbehaving, disobeying, you name it.  Bedtime was one of the worst on record.  Once the boys settled down, I went into Drake's room to finish our usual routine (that we couldn't do when he was throwing a fit).  As we were lying in his bed, the following conversation took place.

Drake: Is Grandma Maria sick?
Me: Yes, she is.
D: Is she going to the hospital?
M: No.  She's staying at home.
D: They take good care of you at the hospital.
M: Yes, they do.  She has hospice nurses taking good care of her at home.
D: What's a hospice nurse?
M: It's like a nurse at the hospital, but they take care of you in your own home.
D: Is Meghan a hospice nurse?
M: No, honey, she isn't.

(long pause)

D: I picked my boogers and wiped them on the wall.

(lots and lots of laughing)

D: There was a hamburger, and the hand went like this, and the lightning went kreeeeeekowww.  And the hamburger came to life.  And it had feet.  And it started playing the guitar.  That's silly.

So, there you have it.  When depressed about a dying relative, talk to a three-year-old.  Mine prefers to cheer me up by telling me about his nose goblins and retelling a scene from Better Off Dead.

Behold, the power of Jane Austen

Yesterday, the boys were driving me nuts, between the whining, screeching, fighting, and tantrum-throwing (all before 9 am).  By 6 pm, I was done.  Tim wasn't home yet, and I needed to leave in 15 minutes to go to my MNO.  I turned on the TV for some mindless distraction (something I rarely do when the kids are awake).  Sense and Sensibility was starting.  The strangest thing happened: the boys started sharing toys and playing well together.  No more fighting.  No more tantrums.  Huh.  I guess the next time I have a day like yesterday, I'll just pop in Pride and Prejudice...the 5 hour miniseries.

Shakespeare in a Year

Because I don't have enough going on in my life...

I stumbled upon this group while bored on Facebook one day.  Without the setting of academia, I haven't read much Shakespeare.  I tried reading King Lear on my own once.  Tim and I went to the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, Oregon. That's about it.  I always enjoyed reading the Bard's works and watching the plays.  And now, I have an excuse to pick up the anthology again.

I'm a little behind.  OK, completely behind.  The group has read six plays thus far.  Luckily, I've already read two of the six. 

If you are interested in joining the challenge, check out the Facebook group or the blog.  Happy reading!

Dear Underdressed Symphony Patrons

You are not going to the beach.  You are not hanging out at your friend's house.  You are not going clubbing.  You are attending the symphony.  Showing up in a strappy tank and booty shorts is not appropriate attire for such an event; I don't care how hot is was that day.  And don't give me the excuse that we were going to "Bugs Bunny on Broadway."  The content of the performance is irrelevant.  The conductor was wearing a tuxedo, but you couldn't be bothered to at least put on a skirt?  Five- and six-year-old girls were more appropriately dressed than you.  Show some class, not your ass.

Super Sandbox Success Story

DIY isn't really part of our vocabulary.  If...IF a project is started, it is usually finished weeks/months/years later.  I am thrilled to announce that we started and finished a project in the same weekend.  Behold-- the sandbox!

The boys clearing space.

Dig boys, dig!

One sandbox: some assembly required

12 bags of sand (We need about 12 more!)

The space is prepared.

The cover

Flynn just wants the project done so he can play.

Tim and his trusty helper Drake

The ceremonial first bag of sand

Two busy (and happy) boys

Complete with cover

The project took most of the day to complete.  So, by the time we were finished, the boys didn't have much play time. Don't get me wrong; they played for as long as possible.  Flynn made a beeline for the sandbox when we returned home from dropping off Drake at Miss Tracy's.  He was quite the happy camper.

Drake's baby book

I finally started working on Drake's baby book.  (He's 3 now; it's about time I got around to it.)  I had the wherewithal to write down important milestone and events in a baby calendar, knowing full well I wouldn't remember anything.  As I look back, I continuously crack myself up by reading what I deemed important at the time.
 
     September 4th: First blood producing injury 

     September 24th: Thought he had 1st concussion (thankfully- no)

     December 14th: Climbed into activity table to climb onto couch

     February 4th: Fetched pj's

What has also been fun about this process is looking at the photos.  In the majority of them, Drake is either blurry from constant movement or has the following facial expression.

This is the precursor to the Chandler Bing smile he uses now.  Always hamming it up for the camera!

Funny exchanges from Wednesday

Upon spying the dead jellyfish on the shore
     Drake: Mommy, is it hurt?
     Me: Um...no... it isn't hurt.  It's...um...er...
     Drake: Is it dead?
     Me: Yes. Yes, it is.
     Drake:  Oh.  Can I touch it?
     Me: You can poke it with a stick.
     Drake: Yay!

Via text
     Tim: Howdy.  How's it going on island?
     Me:  good. both boys napping. spent morning at beach throwing rocks and poking dead jellyfish with a stick
     Tim:  Wow, almost the exact same thing I did today! Except replace beach with desk, rocks with expletives, and jellyfish with code.
     Me: :D