Generation Exhausted

Life moves pretty fast...

It cannot possibly be early May already. I still have Christmas presents I haven't put away!

We seemed to have sailed from winter to almost-summer in a heartbeat. No jacket weather here; we've gone right from snowpants to capris with nary a pause. This is good, in a way. For some reason, the past few winters have seemed successively longer. It may be just me, and my moods, but there it is.

The dandelions outside my office window have turned into fluff, ready to scatter across the lawn and make more dandelions. At some point, I will have to think about getting out there and doing some yard work. And then once I'm done thinking about it, I'll actually have to do it.

Perhaps that's why I'm avoiding thinking about it.

This bodes well for the week to come

Lots to do in the next ten days before I can start packing for the great Florida journey. I woke up spontaneously at 6:30 this morning (I KNOW!) and couldn't go back to sleep, so up I got and to work I went. I also made eggs for the childrens before they went to school.

It's always interesting to watch how the kids react to this sort of thing. On the one hand, they're pleased - mornings are not my job around here, Dad does a great job. On the other hand, mornings are not my job, and while they're tucking away their hot breakfast you can tell it makes them nervous. Mommy's up, what's wrong? Mommy's cooking, what's REALLY wrong?

Keep 'em on their toes, that's what I always say. They can take it up with their therapist or Oprah at some point in the future.

So. I have cooked, I have worked, I have even washed the dishes. Now it's that awful lull before 9 when I'm waiting for the REST of the world to be at their desks and answering the phone.

And I fully anticipate that I will completely crash by noon.

Listen, and repeat

I've added Spanish lessons to my podcast list. I started with "Useful expressions." It should have been titled "Phrases for moms." This is a sampling of the expressions featured:

"Listen to me."

"Come here."

"Get outta here."

"Quickly."

"Wait for me."

After listening to the same podcast three times, so far all I've mastered is the instructor's "Listen and repeat" and "Very good."

But eventually, I'll be able to nag my kids in a whole 'nother language. Lifelong learning - it's a good thing.

There will be boys

It's 8 a.m. and the washing machine is already running. Aren't you so darn proud of me?

Linda is encountering a new phase of life with teenaged girls in the house, and my instinctive reaction is...

Hahahahahaha.

Sorry, as the mother of girls, I just couldn't resist. But truly, I sympathize. I feel your pain. Other than sympathy, however, I can offer little else. Because where there are teenaged girls, there are teenaged boys. It's a given, kind of like the fact that where there's a McDonalds, there'll be a Burger King not too far away. There's no escaping it.

The benefit of hindsight has taught me several things, and these bits of wisdom I offer to Linda and others. There will be boys you like, and boys you don't. There will be boys you like at first and then grow less fond of, and vice versa. There will be boys that leave you with a little niggling feeling at the back of your head that says "Alert!" and boys that will leave you wondering, "What the h**l is she thinking?" And just wait until the break-up that breaks YOUR heart as well as hers.

No specifics - my children would kill me. But trust me on this. The hardest part is knowing when to keep your mouth shut. I don't always do so good with that one.

In my most humble opinion, the presence of boys plural, at the age of 14, is better than the presence of one-boy-to-the-exclusion-of-all-others. Hell, that'd be my preference at 18, but we can't always get what we want. Today it's boys - tomorrow it's relationships. Now THAT's scary.

But if you've got girls who seem confident and secure in who they are and where they're going, regardless of how many boys are lurking around, then it's probably going to be okay. And realizing that Mommy's got a telephoto lens and knows how to use it may just keep them on their best behaviour.

Talk about performance anxiety

A comment from a reader led me to do a little digging, and lo and behold! The good folks over at Island Parent have this little ole blog listed in a sidebar in their current issue. Guess I better make sure there's something fresh for folks to read then, huh?

~~>gulp

So, May 1. Where did April go? It went where it usually goes...a couple of birthdays, a brief flirtation with housecleaning, pondering the dandelions. Racing like mad to get out the magazine. An article assignment. Laundry.

Oh, the laundry. It's quite possible that when God comes to call me home to the kingdom of heaven, I may be heard to say, "Wait! Just let me throw a load of whites in before I go!"

I fought the laundry, a brave and valiant fight, lo these many years, and I'm afraid that, this winter, the laundry finally won. It never ends. Never will end. And I'm afraid I've all but stopped trying.

Which isn't good. Children who can't find clean socks (no matching required) are ornery little creatures. Hubbies without clean underwear are not happy campers. And since I don't fold laundry (nor do dishes, nor cook meals), putting it in the washer and dryer is my job and I haven't been doing it very well. They are reasonably irritated.

May First Resolution: Win the laundry battle.

May First Resolution #2: Blog more.

The other evening I found myself wandering along a nature trail holding hands with a five-year-old. I was responsible for four little girls that evening, as part of the volunteer work I do. None of my kids were present - it was just me and somebody else's kids. My little buddy chatted away, telling me about her sisters, and what songs they liked to sing, and who had gotten sent to the quiet chair at school that day. The girls were all giggling and doing that half-run half-walk that kids that age tend to do when there's lots to see and hear and investigate.

And I realized that I'm really, really glad I went back to this volunteer position this year. I'd "retired" from it - and all other volunteer work - three or four years ago, and then last fall, partly as a way to reconnect with my own grown-up daughter, I got involved again.

It's not as time-consuming as I remember it, and in spite of the minor chaos it adds to my Wednesdays, it's been very...settling.

Almost everything I've ever read about having a balanced, happy life insists that volunteer work is a necessary component. There is something about giving back to your community - however you may define that community - that lightens the heart, quiets the mind and adds purpose to your days. I knew that. And now I know it even more. It wasn't until just recently that I realized how necessary it is for me to have something that isn't based on earning, or taking care of my family, or even taking care of me.

Slowly, but surely, I'm getting back in balance. And that's a good thing. It will leave me in a better frame of mind to win the Laundry Wars.

In five...four...three...two...

You're on the air!

Ok, you're not, really, and neither am I. But a lot of people are. Except, I guess it's not "on the air" so much as "on the Web", or, more commonly, "on my iPod".

Since the New Year, there are two new elements to my life:

1) the cutest little iPod you ever did see, that my Big Girl bought for me (note: children with jobs and credit cards buy nice presents for their mommies. At least until they have mortgage payments of their own)

2) A fixed amount of time each week - approximately 4-6 hours-  where i get to listen to my Cutest Ever iPod uninterrupted and undistracted by anything else.

So once I'd mastered adding all my favourite songs to my playlist, and listened to them over and over - and over - again, I started looking for some of these newfangled podcast things I'd been hearing about for a while.

I don't know quite what I expected, but it turns out I lurrve them! They're just like radio shows of old (by which I mean before my time) and I'm in awe of the effort that goes into the ones I've found. They're very entertaining, as well as informative, and I'm once again, madly envious of the talent involved.

When I was about 9 or so, I went through this fascination with the family cassette player. We kids would gather and create what we called the Quick Divnich Radio Show (the other kids' name was Quick) Four of us would experiment with creating sound effects using household items, tell a few jokes, sing a song or two, fake a newscast and then segue to a 15 minute rendition of our version of the Dukes of Hazzard TV show.

Yes, the Dukes of Hazzard part is a little sad, but it was 1980. What can I say? Other kids were running the streets- we were playing with a cassette recorder and Matchbox cars. Which is worse?

And it was fun. And now here we are, 25 28 years later, and people make their own, albeit much better planned and produced, little audio shows.

And now I'm thinking I want to podcast. After all, I love to talk (and talk and talk) and writing, for me, is often like talking to paper. Podcasting would be like writing out loud! So, I'll put that on the list of things I might do eventually, (only no Dukes of Hazzard) and give it some serious thought.

Old Luv Thang pal Lani's Will Write for Wine has quickly become a favourite listen. Make sure you check it out!

Showing up, the Sequel

Does it count as blogging two days in a row if I technically blogged less than 24 hours ago? Why yes, yes it does. Blogging Statute Number 23,468, Article 93, Subsection (iii). Look it up.

I'm running out of room on my walls. It may be time to do some sorting soon.

When the basement office was built, I specifically asked that the drywall not be finished. That smooth expanse was a ready-made bulletin board, and I didn't want to be consumed with guilt every time I jammed a thumbtack into a taped, sanded, primed and painted wall. So, bare walls, as bare as you can get and still have a wall. And I promptly commenced tacking.

So now, 7 years and a bit later, I've given whole new meaning to the term wall-paper. I have deadline sheets, important letters that I would have lost if they hadn't been posted right in front of my face, drawings that the little one made for me, certificates, accolades, a four-year-old one-line fax praising my efforts on a particular issue of the magazine. I have jury-rigged inboxes made from file folders that I stuffed to the point of falling off the wall and then found somewhere else to stuff my stuff. Special copies of the magazine.

I have a few squares of corkboard, which are rather redundant, as they too are tacked to the wall. A white board, a calendar, thumbtacks posing as hooks from which hang lanyards with ID cards and conference passes. My "I'm Going To Write If It Kills Me And It Probably Will" award from Momwriters in 2001.

And in January, I bought a whiteboard/calendar/corkboard combo to hang on the wall. I finally got around to putting it up last week.

Darn thing wouldn't be thumbtacked or push-pinned At. All. I had to use screws and anchors. And couldn't find a screwdriver, or a drill.

But, like all women know, a good nail, a butter knife and a decent hammer (or heavy shoe) are all the tools a girl really needs. Hubby came down to see what the noise was about, shook his head and went back upstairs. Drywall abuse disturbs him.

But it hasn't fallen down yet. So there.

Jericho finale tonight, as it has in fact been cancelled once and for all. The show might have had a chance if they hadn't gone with the stupidest time slot known to man - 10 p.m. on a Tuesday. I mean, 10 p.m. is the time when us creative types are usually gearing up to rearrange the stuff on the wall.

What, you mean I have to show up once in a while?

I celebrated Easter weekend by re-reading Lamb, The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. Sadly, since reading it the first two times, I have been unable to sit through a church service without recalling certain passages from the book. Who knew my spiritual state was so susceptible to influences like these?

It occurred to me that it must be hard to be Christopher Moore. Or any incredibly talented author who is so obviously smart and wise at the same time. To be able to - or perhaps unable to avoid - seperating yourself from your surroundings enough to indulge your imagination and create such fanatastic, entertaining stories. Am I in awe, or am I envious?

It's hard to tell. Maybe a bit of both. Finishing the book, I'm struck, like I so often am, by the thought, "How does he DO that?"

Maybe a little less Facebook time and a little more keyboard time? Maybe a committed effort to put butt-in-chair, hands-on-keyboard, Word-document-open-on-the-screen?

Or maybe it's the indulgence of an unavoidable need to just write-the-damn-thing-before-it-drives-him-crazy.

Note to self: A serious point to ponder.

I know I've got it, I'm just not sure where I put it

I've managed to adopt a mostly Zen attitude toward Emergency Room waiting, I think. As we sat and sat, I observed humanity at its best and worst, but more than anything, I saw humanity at its most impatient.

I can empathize with people who are worried about themselves and their loved ones, particularly children. But to start complaining loudly at the 90 minute mark, I think, is unrealistic. I resisted the urge to share that "This is nothing, there are times we've sat here, the person in pain barely conscious, for 7 hours plus. Really, two hours is an improvement."

Does that make me stoic, or cynical? I don't know. But the wait is what it is, and I tried to perform my own Random Act of Kindness by fetching an unasked-for coffee for a mom who was there alone with her two-year-old. It lessened her stress not one whit, but maybe it reminded her to have faith in humanity? Who knows.

Anyway, in between waiting and waiting some more, I immersed myself in the talented creations of others this weekend.

The first thing I did was read Lani Diane Rich's new "A Little Ray Of Sunshine." It was very, very well done, and reminded me of vintage Lani. Heroine that's not easy to like at first. Nice twist at the end. Overall, written in a way that makes the sentences sing.

I get so jealous when I read good writing. Not just good writing, but smart writing.

Last night, spur of the moment, I went to see Juno. There's something about pregnant teen movies when you were once a pregnant teen - you go prepared to criticize the unreality, you anticipate the cliche, you know that on some level you'll like the movie, but you doubt you'll like like it, you know?

Juno was simply fantastic. Again, smart, smart writing. While Juno does not reflect, on almost any level, what MY reality was way back when, it still feels real. Not cliched. Other than the giving-up-the-baby part, I wished that I'd been a little bit more like Juno. You know, hanging onto a little bit of the "teen" in "teen mom" instead of being so quick to trade my t-shirts for maternity smocks. (ugh, yes really)

I like liked it. Stranger still, I fell in love with the soundtrack. Normally, I don't get excited about movie music, but Oldest gifted me with an iPod shuffle a couple of months ago, and I've been re-examining how music fits into my life, what it's meant to me in the past and what it means now. It's one of the areas where I shed the "teen" in "teen mom" all those years ago, and now I'm trying to find it again.

The Juno soundtrack, completely different from almost anything I've ever listened to, speaks to me. It's definitely on my shopping list.

I like the story behind Juno too, mostly for its Cinderella-story quality. According to Wikipedia, Juno was made for about 6.5 million dollars and to date has grossed over 130 million. Plus an Academy award. That's the fairy tale that almost every writer/creator dreams about. Most writers I know believe their work is good. But when you get a result like that, essentially other people saying, "This is good," it means something different. Something more.

So, I find that once again, I'm where I always am after being immersed in smart writing. Feeling satisfied, even stmiulated by it, but at the same a little bit frustrated. I can write smart, or at least I could once. But lately - and the lately grows longer with every day that passes - I just can't seem to tap into it. Is it trying too hard? Was I cosmically allocated a finite amount of talent and used it up without knowing the beginning balance was so low in the first place?

And if that was the case, and I'd known, would I have done anything different?

It's one of the reasons I don't show up here very often anymore. The quality of my writing here - to me - is not what it once was, and it feels uncomfortable to try to replace quality with quantity. And yet, part of me wonders if I'm caught in a chicken/egg nightmare - do I not write more because the writing sucks, or does the writing suck because I don't write more?

Littlest started learning to pitch in Little League last year. She had a very dedicated pitching coach, who focused first on the way the girls rotated their arm. His mantra was "Don't worry about aim, don't worry about speed, that will come together once you have the rotation down to a science." I believe his recommendation for practicing at home was 30-50 rotations a day. So this little girl, walking to school, watching TV, just hanging out, would randomly give her arm a spin, over and over again.

And you know, by the end of the season, her speed was improving, and the ball was crossing the plate.

I think the talent is still there, in me. I'm just not sure how to access it. But I'm willing to consider that maybe I need to focus on the wind-up for a while, and not worry about aim and speed. It might make for some pretty crappy, disjointed material here, but I'm willing to give it a shot.

Who's with me?

The One With The Extra Day

My Fan Club has spoken. They miss me, they really miss me. However, I will point out that the obligatory "I hate February" rant appeared in this space on January 15th, as a Side Note, where I wondered aloud if January was the new February. Weren't you listening?

But if you insist-  February is grey, gloomy and ugh, and this year, it not only seems longer than usual, it IS longer than usual. Satisfied? But in a few hours, February will be OVER. Cue the marching band.

Spent a few hours in the ER with the Oldest tonight. It is very odd, this adjusting to parenting an adult business. I remembered to ask if she wanted me to be in the examining room with her, and was prepared to wait outside if I had to. I mostly kept my mouth shut as she answered the questions the nurses and doctor asked. I tried not to "parent."

It was very hard. Hard to realize that I didn't have to be there at all. Hard to realize that she got to sign her own consent forms, etc. Hard to realize that in a few months, she'll be a thousand miles from home, and I won't even have the privilege of driving her to the Urgent Care if she falls and breaks her arm.

I'm such a Suzy Sunshine, aren't I?

On an up note, we went shopping earlier this week and she picked out bedding and towels for her new lodgings at the House of the Mouse. It was fun, and she let me pay for it.

Honestly, I'll be glad when Spring arrives. There was more snow today and yesterday, and I'm done with Winter, even if Winter's not done with me yet. I dreamt last night about doing yard work, which on some level is very sad, but I felt all motivated and energetic at the idea of weeding and trimming and raking. If it weren't for the freezing temps and four inches of snow on the lawn, I could really have gotten some work done.

I will try, really try, to blog more often. Be prepared for some nonsensical posts, as I try to get back into writing shape. But I want to very badly, and more than that, I need to, so bear with me.

Bring on the Spring!