(NSFK)
Two women were playing at the park with their combined nine children, all under the age of six it looked like. I was surprised and gathered that maybe they were a day care or babysitters but wasn't entirely certain of this.
I have four children and I'm the oldest of five so it shouldn't be surprising to me that other people have large families, but these women seemed potentially younger than me and there were no cars other than ours in the parking lot, this park being a little further out than most people would walk to and being they would be walking past two other parks in the interim. Magic women with their many children and their little red wagons.
They were an odd pair as well, the younger of the two had a giant belly and huge arms but tiny little legs and was wearing a very well worn lavender tank top and baggy black sweat-shorts. She had very blond hair pulled back in a little bitsy pony tail that stuck out like a bundle of straw on the back of her head. She had fairly nice features, a broad mouth and light eyes that turned up at the outside corners and I could see her being very pretty if she was took better care of herself.
The older of the two or at least it seemed that way, had a baby on one hip and was so thin it looked as though she might collapse under the infant's weight at any moment. She had a short severe bob which was dyed a very shiny black and wore one of those hemp necklaces I never liked and never understood being that number one, they're ugly as hell and number two, they seem like they would actually hurt your neck wearing them. The one thing I kept noticing about this woman was that her elbows jutted out at such an impossible angle it made me stare, look away and stare again. I came away from literally staring at this woman being sure she suffered from some kind of bone disease or something of that sort to induce those odd elbows.
As is my nature I stayed back a distance from the odd couple and their many children, walking Blueberry around the perimeter of the park while I kept an eye on my children with their buckets wading in the stream.
After a while the women brought their monster of a group to the stream and my children retreated away from the chaos in order to better catch crayfish. But inexplicably I stayed down stream for a wee bit after starting to pick up snippets of the women's conversation.
They spoke loudly and laughed often but the topic of their conversation was more for hushed tones and embarrassed glances in my opinion. They were talking about how the heavier blonde woman was "fucking her neighbor" who, and this gets much, much more interesting and horrible, is "like Danny's age, 10th grade!"
They continued to laugh and the thin woman is not as shocked as she should be and the children are uninterested but are completely able to hear the women's conversations. Oblivious they start to disperse towards the muddier bank across the shallow stream.
"I made him go down on me for a half hour, I didn't even feel anything. He wasn't very good at it." the blonde said unabashadly, her hefty breasts and arms shaking with laughter.
No shit he wasn't good at it you giant disgusting oaf! He's 15 years old.
I have a 15 year old sister and two younger brothers who were 15 not so long ago. I have four children who I wouldn't want assaulted by an older neighbor woman and then treated so entirely callously. I was starting to get so mad but instead of saying something or doubling around the park and meeting my own children upstream I instead wandered around the area where the two continued their cacophonous carrying on about this boy.
"Did he come really fast? Like in his pants?" The thin woman's eyes were greedy with interest. She did to her credit drop her voice slightly when saying this.
"Not really, no. Actually he didn't come at all, I didn't let him screw me." The blonde woman said with pride, "I've got enough kids already to deadbeat baby daddy's!"
It's called contraceptives you pig. So this poor boy had to force himself between this beast's legs and he doesn't even get to get off?
I was tempted to called Child Protection Services or the police or my mom or Jeremiah but I don't. For some reason I came closer to the women and the children, reigning in Blueberry's leash a little tighter. I can't think of any excuse to talk to the women, so I just stand there and wait till they notice me. Blueberry barks finally at the children splashing wildly now and the women turn and look at me.
The thinner one takes me in and smirks, then bounces the baby on her hip and stares me down. The blonde woman is not so bold and with increasing awareness of my appearance and her own, her behavior and my own and how I had obviously heard their entire conversation and that's why I was now staring at the two in disbelief she turns her back and actually hangs her head. She moves into the stream with the children and sits on the muddy bank and begins to play with the youngest toddler, now covered almost entirely in mud.
The sight of the muddy child makes me remember my own children suddenly who were still in sight but further away than I was comfortable with. I turn my back on the woman and the thin woman, still staring at me says under her breath to the blonde woman, "Some people have more money than sense."
Which makes no sense whatsoever.
I didn't counter this nonsense laden remark, I did however chuckle mightily when I wrote it just now.
MORE MONEY THAN SENSE! How about more morals than filthiness? More integrity than slimeballishness?
More sense than senselessness.
When we left the park and made our way past them I didn't glance their way but Rosey said to me in hushed tones, "Momma those ladies scare me, I feel bad for those kids!"
I do too Rosey.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
The Re-Introduction of Me
In order to get back on the blogging train (woo woo) (did I really just say woo woo?) (this isn't really going exactly as planned) I thought it might be a good idea to reintroduce myself.
But then I considered the fact that most of my 'good ideas' generally turn out to be bad ones and thus...
I decided to reintroduce myself anyways.
My name is Erin, I am older than previously imagined and I have been maintaining this blog, a bastion of sanity and often sole pillar of my sense of community for four years. I started the blog to keep in touch with my extended family and friends instead of constantly emailing them photos and stories about my children and then it became a window to share first my side handmade crocheted gifts business, then my very part time freelance editing and writing, then my more full time freelancing, fiction writing and warehouse of writing samples for my resume.
AND THEN I got my first full time job ever a few months before I turned 30. I work at home as a German to English translator and transcriptionist. It's hard.
I have four children. I share custody of my daughters Rosey, Olive and Maxine Jane with my ex husband.
My son Elijah lives with my partner Jeremiah and myself full time and recently we added a puppy to our family and the children named her Blueberry.
She pees when she's excited, which is often.
This is me and that puppy who's luckily not peeing on me in the photo:
My oldest daughter Rose is 12. She's sporty and lovely and most of the time she's uptight and more uptight and yes, uptight. She's a perfectionist and easily stressed. I encourage her to drink more water and take deep breaths which stresses her out even more. She also happens to be incredibly kind and empathetic, I find myself in awe of her sweetness on a day to day basis.
Her sister Olive at 9 couldn't be any more different. She's artistic and generally laid back, sometimes too much so and likes to relax, sing, relax, draw, write stories, lay around and not pay attention to anything anybody else is saying ever, especially when it concerns her chores. She's a flighty and wonderful human being.
My seven year old daughter Maxine Jane is as I often call her, 'the love of my life, bane of my existence'. She has always been a sensitive, generally difficult little thing and because of this I've spent most of my life the last seven years caring for her and helping her overcome a lot of her issues. She's now a much more well rounded little girl, happier, healthier and yes, unfortunately still prone to incredibly horrifying fits. Despite or maybe because of all of this I adore her and so would you.
My baby boy one is four years old and was a wee babe when I started writing this blog. I love that I have this little journal online recounting his existence on this earth. He is a happy, funny and delightful little boy with a creative mind and a quick tongue (albeit sometimes he is impossible to understand, a product of infant hearing loss that is now repairing). He's the joy of my every day.
My life partner Jeremiah is a mercurial and deeply talented man who I absolutely adore. We were teenage sweethearts that broke up and in a fit of madness rekindled our romance years later. Let's just say it was much, much, much better at 26 and 29 than at 16 and 19.
So was reintroducing myself a good thing or a bad thing? I feel so-so about it. And I think I need a nap.
But then I considered the fact that most of my 'good ideas' generally turn out to be bad ones and thus...
I decided to reintroduce myself anyways.
My name is Erin, I am older than previously imagined and I have been maintaining this blog, a bastion of sanity and often sole pillar of my sense of community for four years. I started the blog to keep in touch with my extended family and friends instead of constantly emailing them photos and stories about my children and then it became a window to share first my side handmade crocheted gifts business, then my very part time freelance editing and writing, then my more full time freelancing, fiction writing and warehouse of writing samples for my resume.
AND THEN I got my first full time job ever a few months before I turned 30. I work at home as a German to English translator and transcriptionist. It's hard.
I have four children. I share custody of my daughters Rosey, Olive and Maxine Jane with my ex husband.
My son Elijah lives with my partner Jeremiah and myself full time and recently we added a puppy to our family and the children named her Blueberry.
She pees when she's excited, which is often.
This is me and that puppy who's luckily not peeing on me in the photo:
My oldest daughter Rose is 12. She's sporty and lovely and most of the time she's uptight and more uptight and yes, uptight. She's a perfectionist and easily stressed. I encourage her to drink more water and take deep breaths which stresses her out even more. She also happens to be incredibly kind and empathetic, I find myself in awe of her sweetness on a day to day basis.
Her sister Olive at 9 couldn't be any more different. She's artistic and generally laid back, sometimes too much so and likes to relax, sing, relax, draw, write stories, lay around and not pay attention to anything anybody else is saying ever, especially when it concerns her chores. She's a flighty and wonderful human being.
My seven year old daughter Maxine Jane is as I often call her, 'the love of my life, bane of my existence'. She has always been a sensitive, generally difficult little thing and because of this I've spent most of my life the last seven years caring for her and helping her overcome a lot of her issues. She's now a much more well rounded little girl, happier, healthier and yes, unfortunately still prone to incredibly horrifying fits. Despite or maybe because of all of this I adore her and so would you.
My baby boy one is four years old and was a wee babe when I started writing this blog. I love that I have this little journal online recounting his existence on this earth. He is a happy, funny and delightful little boy with a creative mind and a quick tongue (albeit sometimes he is impossible to understand, a product of infant hearing loss that is now repairing). He's the joy of my every day.
My life partner Jeremiah is a mercurial and deeply talented man who I absolutely adore. We were teenage sweethearts that broke up and in a fit of madness rekindled our romance years later. Let's just say it was much, much, much better at 26 and 29 than at 16 and 19.
So was reintroducing myself a good thing or a bad thing? I feel so-so about it. And I think I need a nap.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Summertime Blues
Turning 30 didn't work out too well for me. I had usually been of a pretty bright, optimistic and generally rosy disposition until then and that is when a creeping malaise set in to my skull.
Or maybe it began directly after my birthday when my beloved grandmother died?
Or maybe it began soon after my grandmother died when I went through the most incredibly difficult and heartbreaking (and achingly personal) experience of my whole entire life?
Who knows. All I am sure of is that my energy is sapped from time to time, I wallow in buckets of self pity more often than I ever have and worst of all, I can be bombarded with waves of body drenching sadness that although it is usually easy to overcome still depresses me because of it's blasted existence.
I have a ukulele and before I started making dinner last night I began learning a new song, "I Can't Make You Love Me" originally done by Bonnie Raitt and recently redone by Bon Iver, either way I've always loved that song. And of course it makes me cry. Then I became overwhelmed while making dinner because the puppy and the boy child were directly underfoot in our tiny kitchen and would follow me in and out of the house as I went back and forth to the grill and then back to the kitchen. So I was frustrated, already tender from the dumb song playing and then every time I would pass the game room where Jeremiah was blissfully napping on the way out to the grill, boy and puppy in tow I would get angry.
Then the combination of sadness, frustration and anger starting boiling around in my head for the rest of the night while I thought over and over again, 'I like my job, it's fulfilling, I adore my children and am proud to care for them, I share custody and it's a wonderful thing, and although I share custody I handle all my daughters' school work, medical needs/insurance and all of their clothes and shoes purchases/cleaning and that's just fine, I am happy to take care of my home and it's occupants, budget our finances and take the blame when absolutely anything goes wrong in the confines of my increasingly burdened responsibilities, but this boat is taking on too much water and if someone doesn't bail me out I will surely go under. Say that ten times fast.
By the end of writing this short and whiny bit on my long neglected blog I have already started to feel better. Maybe this whole process of catharsis via blogging is more important than I had recently assumed.
Or maybe it began directly after my birthday when my beloved grandmother died?
Or maybe it began soon after my grandmother died when I went through the most incredibly difficult and heartbreaking (and achingly personal) experience of my whole entire life?
Who knows. All I am sure of is that my energy is sapped from time to time, I wallow in buckets of self pity more often than I ever have and worst of all, I can be bombarded with waves of body drenching sadness that although it is usually easy to overcome still depresses me because of it's blasted existence.
I have a ukulele and before I started making dinner last night I began learning a new song, "I Can't Make You Love Me" originally done by Bonnie Raitt and recently redone by Bon Iver, either way I've always loved that song. And of course it makes me cry. Then I became overwhelmed while making dinner because the puppy and the boy child were directly underfoot in our tiny kitchen and would follow me in and out of the house as I went back and forth to the grill and then back to the kitchen. So I was frustrated, already tender from the dumb song playing and then every time I would pass the game room where Jeremiah was blissfully napping on the way out to the grill, boy and puppy in tow I would get angry.
Then the combination of sadness, frustration and anger starting boiling around in my head for the rest of the night while I thought over and over again, 'I like my job, it's fulfilling, I adore my children and am proud to care for them, I share custody and it's a wonderful thing, and although I share custody I handle all my daughters' school work, medical needs/insurance and all of their clothes and shoes purchases/cleaning and that's just fine, I am happy to take care of my home and it's occupants, budget our finances and take the blame when absolutely anything goes wrong in the confines of my increasingly burdened responsibilities, but this boat is taking on too much water and if someone doesn't bail me out I will surely go under. Say that ten times fast.
By the end of writing this short and whiny bit on my long neglected blog I have already started to feel better. Maybe this whole process of catharsis via blogging is more important than I had recently assumed.
Monday, April 30, 2012
April 30th, 2004
Although the bar I was working didn't serve alcohol and wasn't housed in a pub the clientele was still as potentially volatile. Teens swarmed me from all sides, blocking me into the bar, yelling out for more pop, more pizza, asking how much could they get for free, requesting this song and that from the DJ in the sound booth behind me.
I listened to them all, waited on them with patience and when the wave finally subsided I stepped up to the booth and looked in, folding my head into the crooks of my arms for a moment of rest. I watched my friend who was in charge of the music for the dances the Teen Center held weekly listening on his own personal earphones to something very different than what was playing for the teens on the dance floor. I watched him for a moment and appreciated the peaceful look he always had when he listened to music. As of late he had looked thinner and I knew him to be anxious and a bit morose. His eyes were dark and always mixed with a sense of unsure and incredibly sure of himself. When he finally met my gaze his eyes did shine a bit mischievously as he slid off his headphones and motioned me closer to him, a smile creeping across his sprite like face, a faint uneven mustache growing around the curve of his lips.
"Lemme guess little girl, they want Mo' Money Mo' Problems and Tha Crossroads?" Smiling wider now he gently pawed at my hand for a moment and asked for a water. He smelled of cigarettes, sweat and faintly of something sour. I was sure that it wasn't necessarily natural to worry about someone older than you, but I still was. I gathered he was unhappy, gathered that he was fighting some demons, gathered that he was tired and sad. I always had the feeling I wanted to wrap my arms around him, hold him close, beg him to tell me what was in his head, but I never felt it was my place. I was just a little girl he knew, I told him my problems and not the other way around.
After the dance was over and we cleaned up in silence, listening to a band he suggested to me that met in between of the two styles of music we enjoyed. We both had walked to work that day and had decided to walk around together towards Main St. and talk and smoke. He listened while I complained and cried about my boyfriend, who wasn't really a boyfriend but rather a menace and he said nothing for a very long time. I thought he was annoyed with my blithering girl talk.
He stopped and looked at me, reached out and rubbed my shoulders with his small soft hands. He was a small man but still taller than me and he looked down into my eyes. How could someone's eyes be so wise and yet so clouded with confusion? He was an enigma to me. He brought me into a generous hug, hugs I had loved so much to get from him and without the slightest sexual force he brushed his lips on mine and then hugged me again. In my ear he said very softly,
"There are good people and bad people in the world. (Your boyfriend) is bad and he will always be, you are good and you will always be. You are a light and my little girl."
He let me go and then just walked on. I stood there for a second disbelieving that somebody had spoken such sweet, kind words to me, like something out of a novel, like the way people talked in my dreams. The unexpected whisperer of truths and wisdoms my friend walked on and I hurried to catch up with him. He took my hand in his and we walked a ways and when we were closer to my house than his, we parted and I went home.
I spent time with him on and off during the years to come, our friendship turning into closer friends and then into not as close acquaintances with the passing of time. After I was a mother and busy and changed we ran into each other and I was so incredibly happy to see him it hurt. We went to the local coffee shop and although I had daughters at home with a sitter waiting for me we talked and talked for two hours.
He told me about his wife who I had known from high school and about how she was pregnant with their first child, his second child. He was excited, rounder, clean and healthy looking, almost buoyant. When we parted again it was with promises of keeping in touch and although we didn't I felt that we would see each other again and looked forward to when we did.
But we didn't. My friend Anthony Lewis Snow died 7 months later unexpectedly, eight years ago today, April 30th, 2004. When he died he was the same age I am now. He was an interesting man, a lovely man, a sensitive man, a rough man, a soft man, sweet, caring, brusque, intense and yet easy to get along with. He was a riddle and an open book and I loved him very much.
I fall asleep in the full and certain hope That my slumber shall not be broken; And that, though I be all-forgetting, Yet shall I not be all-forgotten, But continue that life in the thoughts and deeds of those I have loved. -Samuel Butler
I listened to them all, waited on them with patience and when the wave finally subsided I stepped up to the booth and looked in, folding my head into the crooks of my arms for a moment of rest. I watched my friend who was in charge of the music for the dances the Teen Center held weekly listening on his own personal earphones to something very different than what was playing for the teens on the dance floor. I watched him for a moment and appreciated the peaceful look he always had when he listened to music. As of late he had looked thinner and I knew him to be anxious and a bit morose. His eyes were dark and always mixed with a sense of unsure and incredibly sure of himself. When he finally met my gaze his eyes did shine a bit mischievously as he slid off his headphones and motioned me closer to him, a smile creeping across his sprite like face, a faint uneven mustache growing around the curve of his lips.
"Lemme guess little girl, they want Mo' Money Mo' Problems and Tha Crossroads?" Smiling wider now he gently pawed at my hand for a moment and asked for a water. He smelled of cigarettes, sweat and faintly of something sour. I was sure that it wasn't necessarily natural to worry about someone older than you, but I still was. I gathered he was unhappy, gathered that he was fighting some demons, gathered that he was tired and sad. I always had the feeling I wanted to wrap my arms around him, hold him close, beg him to tell me what was in his head, but I never felt it was my place. I was just a little girl he knew, I told him my problems and not the other way around.
After the dance was over and we cleaned up in silence, listening to a band he suggested to me that met in between of the two styles of music we enjoyed. We both had walked to work that day and had decided to walk around together towards Main St. and talk and smoke. He listened while I complained and cried about my boyfriend, who wasn't really a boyfriend but rather a menace and he said nothing for a very long time. I thought he was annoyed with my blithering girl talk.
He stopped and looked at me, reached out and rubbed my shoulders with his small soft hands. He was a small man but still taller than me and he looked down into my eyes. How could someone's eyes be so wise and yet so clouded with confusion? He was an enigma to me. He brought me into a generous hug, hugs I had loved so much to get from him and without the slightest sexual force he brushed his lips on mine and then hugged me again. In my ear he said very softly,
"There are good people and bad people in the world. (Your boyfriend) is bad and he will always be, you are good and you will always be. You are a light and my little girl."
He let me go and then just walked on. I stood there for a second disbelieving that somebody had spoken such sweet, kind words to me, like something out of a novel, like the way people talked in my dreams. The unexpected whisperer of truths and wisdoms my friend walked on and I hurried to catch up with him. He took my hand in his and we walked a ways and when we were closer to my house than his, we parted and I went home.
I spent time with him on and off during the years to come, our friendship turning into closer friends and then into not as close acquaintances with the passing of time. After I was a mother and busy and changed we ran into each other and I was so incredibly happy to see him it hurt. We went to the local coffee shop and although I had daughters at home with a sitter waiting for me we talked and talked for two hours.
He told me about his wife who I had known from high school and about how she was pregnant with their first child, his second child. He was excited, rounder, clean and healthy looking, almost buoyant. When we parted again it was with promises of keeping in touch and although we didn't I felt that we would see each other again and looked forward to when we did.
But we didn't. My friend Anthony Lewis Snow died 7 months later unexpectedly, eight years ago today, April 30th, 2004. When he died he was the same age I am now. He was an interesting man, a lovely man, a sensitive man, a rough man, a soft man, sweet, caring, brusque, intense and yet easy to get along with. He was a riddle and an open book and I loved him very much.
I fall asleep in the full and certain hope That my slumber shall not be broken; And that, though I be all-forgetting, Yet shall I not be all-forgotten, But continue that life in the thoughts and deeds of those I have loved. -Samuel Butler
Sunday, April 22, 2012
I Talk Shit. Literally.
I am a secret keeper. I might not do that great of a job keeping your secrets but I have so many of my own secrets locked away in my little dark head.
I seem outgoing and friendly but really I'm never totally honest with you. I won't really tell you what I feel, just an abstract version of it. I'm not lying to you, I just don't want you to really know what I'm thinking.
Those kind of sad things being said I decided to in an act of catharsis share something with you, my readers (or any of you that are actually left from The Great Blogging Decline of 2012).
My brother Benjamin is tall, lanky and has an effervescent personality. Sometimes he annoys the hell out of me but I mostly and generally adore him. He also is, despite our nine year age difference, pretty much my only friend. He also is a pretty gassy fellow. His burping and farting is legendary as well as is his prolific pooping. It seems like he's always taking a shit, talking about taking a shit, planning on taking a shit.
He often stops at my house for lunch once or twice a week and then poops, gets the boy child all riled up and then leaves. He did this the other day and I had happened to be up at my parents house later in the evening and low and behold there he was on the shitter again. It then dawned on me that the reason I notice his excreting habits and think of them as strange is because I never poop. I have never once in my life considered myself constipated or even irregular but when I Googled both the terms I found I could be considered as such.
To let it be known I only poop once every two or three days. And before I realized that this was potentially unhealthy I was delighted with my disposal system. How wonderful to only have to deal with pooping twice a week! I have been dealing with the shit of four little people for the last 11 years, 22 if you count since my younger siblings have been born. If I pooped every day it might just throw me over the edge of sanity.
I really didn't want to talk about it with anyone because Ben still makes fun of me for the time I came up with the idea that cheese has cow hormones in it and makes me depressed, which I still think is valid. So I took matters into my own hands and started taking the detox colon cleanse set that Jeremiah bought, took two pills and then stopped using because it gave him incredible stomach cramps. So yes, the pills that were giving my partner horrible stomach cramps just seemed like the absolute best option.
Although I didn't have horrible cramping I shit myself silly for two days straight before I got fed up, my asshole got sore as hell and I had taken fifty thousand hot baths. I stopped taking the pills and haven't pooped since.
I may die young and I may be ten pounds heavier because of my slow acting digestive system but for pete's sake it beats taking the time out of my very busy day to take a dump.
I don't have time for you, poo. You stink.
I seem outgoing and friendly but really I'm never totally honest with you. I won't really tell you what I feel, just an abstract version of it. I'm not lying to you, I just don't want you to really know what I'm thinking.
Those kind of sad things being said I decided to in an act of catharsis share something with you, my readers (or any of you that are actually left from The Great Blogging Decline of 2012).
My brother Benjamin is tall, lanky and has an effervescent personality. Sometimes he annoys the hell out of me but I mostly and generally adore him. He also is, despite our nine year age difference, pretty much my only friend. He also is a pretty gassy fellow. His burping and farting is legendary as well as is his prolific pooping. It seems like he's always taking a shit, talking about taking a shit, planning on taking a shit.
He often stops at my house for lunch once or twice a week and then poops, gets the boy child all riled up and then leaves. He did this the other day and I had happened to be up at my parents house later in the evening and low and behold there he was on the shitter again. It then dawned on me that the reason I notice his excreting habits and think of them as strange is because I never poop. I have never once in my life considered myself constipated or even irregular but when I Googled both the terms I found I could be considered as such.
To let it be known I only poop once every two or three days. And before I realized that this was potentially unhealthy I was delighted with my disposal system. How wonderful to only have to deal with pooping twice a week! I have been dealing with the shit of four little people for the last 11 years, 22 if you count since my younger siblings have been born. If I pooped every day it might just throw me over the edge of sanity.
I really didn't want to talk about it with anyone because Ben still makes fun of me for the time I came up with the idea that cheese has cow hormones in it and makes me depressed, which I still think is valid. So I took matters into my own hands and started taking the detox colon cleanse set that Jeremiah bought, took two pills and then stopped using because it gave him incredible stomach cramps. So yes, the pills that were giving my partner horrible stomach cramps just seemed like the absolute best option.
Although I didn't have horrible cramping I shit myself silly for two days straight before I got fed up, my asshole got sore as hell and I had taken fifty thousand hot baths. I stopped taking the pills and haven't pooped since.
I may die young and I may be ten pounds heavier because of my slow acting digestive system but for pete's sake it beats taking the time out of my very busy day to take a dump.
I don't have time for you, poo. You stink.
Friday, March 30, 2012
I Serenade Elly with a Halting Version of Love Me Tender
For Christmas I got my darling Olive a ukulele, a tuner and a cutesy ukulele kids book. She didn't touch it once except to take this photo:
So I started messing around on it and voila! I became an uke addict in several weeks. At first it was difficult because although I can read music I have never played any instrument and aside from watching Jeremiah play classical guitar wasn't really sure how you played/strummed etc.
I learned though and loved it.
Now my friend Elly who plays ukulele like nobody's business is sick and I guest uke'd for her 'cause she's got the unholy shingles from hell. Let's all wish her speedy recovery!!!! HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER SWEET ELLY GIRL!
Regardless I posted a video for her and am on her site today.
If you promise not to make fun of me either publicly or privately I will link you. OK? Promise? Uke Me Tender at Buggin Word
So I started messing around on it and voila! I became an uke addict in several weeks. At first it was difficult because although I can read music I have never played any instrument and aside from watching Jeremiah play classical guitar wasn't really sure how you played/strummed etc.
I learned though and loved it.
Now my friend Elly who plays ukulele like nobody's business is sick and I guest uke'd for her 'cause she's got the unholy shingles from hell. Let's all wish her speedy recovery!!!! HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER SWEET ELLY GIRL!
Regardless I posted a video for her and am on her site today.
If you promise not to make fun of me either publicly or privately I will link you. OK? Promise? Uke Me Tender at Buggin Word
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Well Check Up's My Ass
I don't like to take our children to the doctor that often because honestly 'well check up' seems like an oxymoron when you're in fact taking the children to a hot bed of illness for essentially no reason.
So I skip lots of check ups and once about every two years, other than in the case of the multiple cases of strep throat and ear infections our children are blessed with every year, I take all four children together to get weighed, measured, vaccinated and eye exam'd <---- I just made that up. So clever.
Regardless I made this maneuver the other day with Rose, 11, Olive, 9, Maxine Jane, 6 and Elijah 4 with a reluctant life partner Jeremiah in tow. Every year I think it's a good idea to get everyone's check up just done and over with and although Jeremiah reminds me of the horrors of the previous years I still do the same thing.
First Max had to change her clothes four times before she felt comfortable enough to go on the short walk to our doctor's office.
This is her waiting in the waiting room with Jeremiah:
Then each child had to be told over and over and over again on the walk, in the waiting room and in the exam room that we had no idea which children were going to get which shots and how many. All I knew is that Rose was missing one required chicken pox vaccination and so as far as I knew she was the only one getting a shot. It took forever for the nurse to weight and measure my lovely giants and then even longer to take a history and ask pertinent growth/milestones/health questions about each child.
Not to mention the excruciatingly long eye exams where Maxine decided she didn't 'want to be tested right now!' and could only read the top line on the chart. She also told the nurse she didn't really know her alphabet (she can read) and that she had to do the symbol part that toddlers do instead. She is a joy.
After all that madness it turns out that all the children are wonderful and exceptional and although Max doesn't know how to tie her shoes and Elijah can't write his name they seem to be doing just fine.
The room seemed so freaking small:
Then the shot tally came. Rose was getting three, Olive two, Elijah four and Maxine not a one. She then began to taunt her siblings and shake her butt at them, "All right now! Shake yo booty, shake yo booty!" in front of the doctor and when we admonished her for this she locked herself in the hall bathroom and screamed for ten minutes.
Our doctor happens to be a very young actually kind of strange yet cool woman (when I say very young I mean my age of course) and she agreed to guard the bathroom so that Max couldn't make a run for it. Then Jeremiah and I split up the remaining three kids and I went in one room with Rose and a nurse while he stayed in the other with Olive and Elijah. It turns out he lucked out because his two were tough as nails without any tears and Rose was a mother fracking mess.
"NO! No. Mom I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this. MOM! No! Oh my Gosh! I can't do this, tell them no! I can't." Nothing like a shaking, sobbing, normally tough 11 year old to top off an exceptional doctor's office visit.
I wonder if next year I'll do the smart thing and split the visits up over several days/weeks.
Probably not.
So I skip lots of check ups and once about every two years, other than in the case of the multiple cases of strep throat and ear infections our children are blessed with every year, I take all four children together to get weighed, measured, vaccinated and eye exam'd <---- I just made that up. So clever.
Regardless I made this maneuver the other day with Rose, 11, Olive, 9, Maxine Jane, 6 and Elijah 4 with a reluctant life partner Jeremiah in tow. Every year I think it's a good idea to get everyone's check up just done and over with and although Jeremiah reminds me of the horrors of the previous years I still do the same thing.
First Max had to change her clothes four times before she felt comfortable enough to go on the short walk to our doctor's office.
This is her waiting in the waiting room with Jeremiah:
Then each child had to be told over and over and over again on the walk, in the waiting room and in the exam room that we had no idea which children were going to get which shots and how many. All I knew is that Rose was missing one required chicken pox vaccination and so as far as I knew she was the only one getting a shot. It took forever for the nurse to weight and measure my lovely giants and then even longer to take a history and ask pertinent growth/milestones/health questions about each child.
Not to mention the excruciatingly long eye exams where Maxine decided she didn't 'want to be tested right now!' and could only read the top line on the chart. She also told the nurse she didn't really know her alphabet (she can read) and that she had to do the symbol part that toddlers do instead. She is a joy.
After all that madness it turns out that all the children are wonderful and exceptional and although Max doesn't know how to tie her shoes and Elijah can't write his name they seem to be doing just fine.
The room seemed so freaking small:
Then the shot tally came. Rose was getting three, Olive two, Elijah four and Maxine not a one. She then began to taunt her siblings and shake her butt at them, "All right now! Shake yo booty, shake yo booty!" in front of the doctor and when we admonished her for this she locked herself in the hall bathroom and screamed for ten minutes.
Our doctor happens to be a very young actually kind of strange yet cool woman (when I say very young I mean my age of course) and she agreed to guard the bathroom so that Max couldn't make a run for it. Then Jeremiah and I split up the remaining three kids and I went in one room with Rose and a nurse while he stayed in the other with Olive and Elijah. It turns out he lucked out because his two were tough as nails without any tears and Rose was a mother fracking mess.
"NO! No. Mom I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this. MOM! No! Oh my Gosh! I can't do this, tell them no! I can't." Nothing like a shaking, sobbing, normally tough 11 year old to top off an exceptional doctor's office visit.
I wonder if next year I'll do the smart thing and split the visits up over several days/weeks.
Probably not.
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