Friday, November 28, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
I love flying.
I hate -- HATE, HATE, HATE!!!! -- the night before a flight: the stress of leaving my family, writing little notes and sewing sock puppets at 2am (yes, I'll post pics when I get back),sorting through piles of clothes, packing your life into little baggies and too-small compartments, having to actually CHOOSE outfits in advance, which always makes me feel claustrophobic in some way - constraints on my freedom - loss of free choice...
what if I change my mind?
what if I'm not in that mood?
and how, in God's name, can I leave any shoes behind?
But then I'm at the airport, and I invariably find it all to be surprisingly calming when I have to travel somewhere by myself (emphasis here). Something about being alone, though, amongst a sea of strangers, the anonymity of it all, the disconnectedness, feeling free of any social or familial obligations. I don't know exactly.
And I tend to feel really confident when I travel -- despite whatever shit I happen to be going through at home because, well, because these people don't know me. They don't know any of my faults, can't catalogue my insecurities -- hell, I can be whomever I choose to be. So, I walk around feeling really self-assured and can see in the faces of others that I'm obviously projecting. But not that bitchiness that I know you're thinking I'm referring to (Elise!). It's something else, I think. Because, evidently, I'm very approachable.
Men and women. Old and young. Speaking varying degrees of English and needing assistance. Everyone seems to think it's okay to talk to me -- that my personal space forcefield has been temporarily disabled -- that I'm at their personal disposal. And the most surprising part is that I'm uncharacteristically not so annoyed.
People are always so kind and really helpful to me. With the lifting of my fashion-sans-function bags into the overhead, and with the changing of seats if I'd prefer the window or aisle that day, and with my always taking up way too much space with all my accoutrements overflowing onto the seat next to me.
I never end up sitting next to the woman who's coughing up a lung, or just won't shut up about her aching corn-adorned feet, which of course she must reveal during the course of conversation , or the man who drools while his head falls on your shoulder as he naps, or the obsessive networker with no impulse control or ability to self-censor. I almost never get the annoying child kicking my seat - and the few times that I have, I've had no problem standing up and turning around to ask him directly to stop when his mother chooses to ignore it (which works like a charm, by the way).
But, for whatever reason, I seem to have pretty good travel karma. And my faith in humanity, trite as that sounds, is temporarily restored. Or else it's just that the flight attendants have been especially generous with my vodka tonics these days.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
"Yes, babe, I know," I reassure her. "I've got it."
"Mama," she cries, "the cobbler is going to burn," as she sniffs the air when the peaches begin to drip on the oven element.
"Don't worry, honey," I say. "I'll take care of it."
"Mama," she calls out again, "the pasta is boiling over."
"No, sweetheart," I say through gritted teeth. "It really is just fine. I've got it all under control. Trust me."
And that's when I realize that she doesn't. It why she's always mothering her brother, and contradictory with her Mommy, and all up in my kool-aid (a favorite Amyism). She doesn't trust that any of us can do a better job than she can.
And where most people would say, "Oh, poor baby, what have I done?" I can't help but beam a little on the inside - because on the outside, of course, she's on the verge of her third freaking timeout for smarting off again!!
Friday, November 14, 2008
And I've been to the grocery store at least 5 times, Costco an easy 3, Starbucks EVERY single day since, and Target a cool 8 times. And not just to the one closest to me. PUH-lease! The shame. The horror. No, no, I patronized 3, yes 3, different Targets in 3, yes 3, different cities in less than 14, yes just 14, little days.
And do you know what the first thing I noticed each and every Target has in common? Just how many things there are out there that I just never realized I needed! No, seriously, people -- neeeeeeeded!
How did they know? These brilliant minds, these geniuses of branding and demographics research, these Einsteins behind Target marketing. My god, it's like they're reading my mind! Around every corner was something I just had to have more than the last. How had I so clumsily missed these treasures on previous visits? How had they escaped my grasp? To think I could so brazenly call myself a decent cook without that 12" teflon aerated pizza pan all these years?! How I had made my family suffer through an infinite number of soggy crusts! And here it was on sale. What an utter fool I'd be to walk on by. And oh, how considerate of them, the gods of the bullseye, to place this teeny-tiny muffins pan right here on the next shelf. Why, I don't even have to move to get my hands on that one. So now I'm not only feeling like a better person, but dammit if I'm not just the freaking pillar of efficiency!
And trust me when I say that I am really good. I'm just zooming along, boy, knocking out my actual legitimate list in less than 20 minutes. But that was just the tip of the iceberg. It was only 9:30, afterall, and I didn't have to pick up the kids from school until 1.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
This is about watching Chago draw the other day - his current obsession is with little spiral bound notebooks - one picture per page. No, it's more like one scene per page -- like a comic book, you know? And after going through several notebooks in just two weeks, I finally ask him why he only draws in black ink, thinking it must have something to do with the fact that he's just always in a hurry, no time to go back and color things in, always on to the next picture in his head, right?
No, he tells me. "They're stories from long long ago, Mom," he explains with just a hint of condescension in his 5-going-on-15 voice. "That's why they're in black and white."
Monday, November 03, 2008
After 4 years (and of that, at least 3 1/2 years too many), I finally gave my notice and walked out the door.
Ever the worry wart, however, I'm of course plagued with the gnawing "what the hell am I gonna do now?" question pounding in my ears. What kind of a person walks away from a perfectly good job with the economy in such a state, with poverty at such a high, with unemployment rates skyrocketing, for f*ck's sake?! WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING!!????!!!
Why, I'll just start a new blog, replies one of my more optimistic personalities. I'll chronicle my new life (temporary though it may be -- or not, depending on my mood that day), note my every new adventure, make this a grand social experiment, chart my new journey, gory details and all...YAY! a new project!
Hey, it's either that or another baby.