Tag: memoir

What fresh hell can this be?

Published on by cmglife

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a surviving victim of the catholic school system.  When Allison came home telling me she was assigned St. Catherine of Bologna as a history project, I almost choked on my mouthful of  Lean Cuisine.

After getting myself together, she told me the class was learning about important figures from the Renaissance.  The other kids were assigned fabulous characters like King Henry VIII, Queen Elizabeth I and Joan of Arc.  What evil forces were at work when she was assigned a nun? Allison was far from pleased to have to wear a nun’s habit when  the other girls were going to be decked out in all the Renaissance splendor that the era is known for.

Not only did she have to research St. Catherine, but also dress up like her, memorize and recite an entire page of a single spaced typed biography. Oh, yeah, spoken with an Italian accent, oh mio Dio!

No, she is not enrolled in a college preparatory school.  No, she is not in an arts school or even a gifted and talented program.  Just a little ‘ole 5th grader in a charter school that take themselves far too seriously.

The preparation it took for the final presentation was more labor intensive than the summer Olympics in London last year.  Hours of researching, typing, memorizing and  practicing a renaissance era Italian accent with just the right Bolognais dialect.

We started looking at photos of St. Catherine on the internet.  I found some perfectly lovely drawings of her, but all Allison could focus on was the mummified body of the actual original nun preserved and sitting in the chapel of the Poor Clares in Bologna, Italy.  I do not exaggerate.

And then there’s me, catholic PTSD every night I have to think about sewing that damn costume! I am not usually a procrastinator, but with this particular project I could not get my act together and left it until the last minute, or until the Saturday before the Monday she was going to present.  Off we went to store to buy a few yards of white, brown and black broadcloth.  I then proceeded to drape and cut and do a little (very little) sewing.  I thought she looked fabulous, for a dead nun.

That morning I was on pins and needles wondering how it was going. Was she going to choke? Was the wimple staying in place?  Did she remember the rosary?  Was the Little House on the Prairie book wrapped in brown cloth believable as a bible?

She ended up choking on the speech part (cazzarola!), but got an A for effort.  Phew! I’m glad that is over. Yesterday I got an email from the school announcing a “Civil War Re-Enactment and Ball” for the 5th and 6th graders in April.

Oh, what fresh hell can this be?

Tootsie Rolls

Published on by cmglife

Is it shameful of me to turn my music higher because the voices of my fighting children are bleeding through the music?

I haven’t turned the music that much louder. I can still hear a sharp inflection in one of their voices here and there. I don’t leave the music blaring for very long, my conscience won’t allow me. I tentatively pause my music every two or three minutes and turn it back on when I hear a moment of silence. Unfortunately, I am not totally removed from my family, I can still feel the angry footsteps as they approach.

Tonight the argument is about sorting Halloween candy. My ten year old has just gotten around to dumping out her pillow case full of candy on the floor. My 16 year old, who acts like a 10 year old, is harassing her about giving him the candy he wants before it is thoroughly sorted into piles. I remember how important the sorting was. I asked him if he could remember that far back, have a little empathy. He just gave me a look while loudly chomping on a tootsie roll…..I guess not.

Shattered Dreams Shattered Urinal

Published on by cmglife

Have you ever driven with a teenager? It is a harrowing experience. My son is sixteen and has been driving for about three months. What I don’t quite understand is when I am in the car with him he has no desire to impress me with his honed driving skills, just the opposite. He seems hell bent on showing me just how fast he can take corners, how close he can get to the car ahead of him by slamming on the breaks at just the last moment while changing the songs on his iPod. Needless to say, I drove back home on that trip.

My son lost the first game of the state finals that took place during basically a blizzard. My husband, two daughters, granddaughter and I stuck it out during the rain and wind that turned to snow. It was a heartbreaking loss that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. It was mostly because the boys had endured the atrocious weather conditions for 90 minutes in shorts, played so well, and then at the last ten seconds the other team scored! That is not the point of my story though. After the game, with testosterone and adrenaline pulsing through his system, Tristan jumped in his pickup and tore out of the parking lot. In this process he cut me off! Yes, that’s right, his own mother!

A couple of days later, John asked Tristan to pick up a urinal from the local hardware store. No, this is not a normal request (my husband is building a shop). He instructed Tristan to put the urinal in the back of the pickup, but make sure it is on something so it’s not rolling around the back of the truck bed. This is good advice for the way Tristan drives and it would have been even better had he heard anything John had said. Tristan arrived home with the thing shattered in the back of the bed of the truck. I’m sure he was employing his usual driving techniques and no amount of bubble wrap would have saved it.

So, now he owes for a $50 shattered urinal and is still licking his wounds over his shattered dream of winning the state title. Being a teenager is hard.

Gnat in a Glass

Published on by cmglife5 Comments

I am not a violent person as a rule, unless there is a house fly or a fruit fly around. Tonight I am trying to write and having a glass of wine. For some reason the one fruit fly in the house has supersonic scent receptors (making all these scientific terms up) and is buzzing around my head in front of the laptop screen. It’s driving me crazy, I cannot relax. The thing is obviously trying to take a nose dive into my wine. I am trying to keep track of it. Luckily I type better without looking at the key board or the screen. I wonder why that is?  I always type better when I’m talking on the phone too.

Back to the fruit fly….I keep trying to kill it by clapping my hands around it, but it is too small and it keeps getting pushed out on the air stream created by me.

The other day I was trying to take a short nap after work. I lay straight on my back with the tv off and the door to my bedroom open. This way when I fall asleep, a child, a dog or a phone call will inevitably wake me up after 15 min or so. If I don’t do this I will sleep for an hour and then berate myself on how much time I’ve wasted.

This particular afternoon I was lying there, dead tired, when a fly came into the room. Not just your run of the mill house fly, but one of those huge (Blue Bottle?) slow, noisy flies. It would not stop and I couldn’t help follow it with my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t have to get up and find the flyswatter. It did leave at one point, but came back. I finally had to go after it and I did, with a vengeance. Actually enjoying the final kill against the window!

I was trying to get all philosophical about the aggression and the fly and why it is easy to kill a fly, but I am too old and busy for that! Hate to say it, but “been there done that”!

You know that fruit flies have a 5 day lifespan; well I think it has died. Or it’s made its way into my glass and I’ve swallowed it without knowing, either way, it got what it deserved!

Wardrobe Malfunctions

Published on by cmglife

I’ve decided I’m going to just throw this shirt away. It’s been slipping over to one side or the other all day. I went into the bathroom and saw that my bra strap was exposed. How long has it been that way? My mind searches the last few encounters…who have I interacted with my undergarments showing?

Yeah, I’m throwing it away as soon as I get home! I’m not going to wash it, put it in the back of the closet until a few months go by. One morning on a desperate “nothing to wear day” I pull it out not remembering why I put it back there in the first place.

I’m going to throw it away tonight so I don’t innocently wear it and then look down and see my bra strap again. Then what am I to do? I have to spend the whole day adjusting and pulling the bra strap back all while trying to look perfectly normal.

I should go through my closet at the same time and throw out those pants that the button has been missing for a year! Sew it back on you say? Maybe in a former life! I will throw out that shirt that is just a smidge too low in the front and therefore having to hike it up every two minutes! I’m going to finally take out the staples of the hem of my favorite pants and replace it with two sided tape!

Yes, I’m feeling liberated already!

My cry is “NO MORE WARDROBE MALFUNCTIONS”!

Dog Stories

Published on by cmglife

I had two heart stopping moments yesterday, both with dogs.

My little dog, Henry, is a white miniature poodle. He is a lovely little dog with a ready to play attitude. Unfortunately for us he has psychotic breaks when it comes to the mailman, the UPS man or the FedEx truck. One time he ran out the door and tried to get into the UPS truck! If he wasn’t so short he would’ve done it too! We almost had a block on our house from the post office because he ran out the front door and chased the mailman! I had to go down to the post office and plead my case to the supervisor.

What happened today relates to his severe dislike of delivery people. I just came home from work to eat lunch. I was in the kitchen preparing it when I heard some sort of commotion in the back yard, all sorts of barking and a voice. My heart started pounding! I immediately thought someone (Tristan) had left the back gate open! The mailman had come early and Henry was chewing his leg to the bone!

I dropped my lunchl and ran out through the front door to the gate at top speed! The barking and yelling had stopped as soon as I got there and out trotted Henry with a milk bone sticking out of his mouth! The woman was a meter reader; she didn’t seem bothered at all! I, however, had to go in and have a Margarita with my Lean Cuisine!

My second heart attack of the day came later when I went back to work after lunch. I work in the front office of a school. Once a month or so the drug dogs come to the school to do a sweep of the lockers, etc.  They never find anything, thank goodness, but it is great preventative step.

The dog and her handler came into the office to have an invoice signed and give us the thumbs up. There is a tall counter that runs almost the length of the room and my desk sits behind it. The handler and the dog were at the counter. Out of the blue,  the massive beast came from around the counter and lunged at my desk. She was so fast I thought she was going over the desk and I instinctively raised my arms to shield my face. The other two people and the handler also had the same idea because everyone gasped! The handler quickly got the leash and the dog under control. She explained that the dog smelled the alcohol in my hand sanitizer. Now, I try to prepare for everything, but I did not see that coming!

In conclusion, I need another Margarita!

Someone, please slap me!

Published on by cmglife4 Comments

I just needed to write about how I’m feeling right now.  I had to discipline my son because he not doing well in Chemistry.  What a wicked mother! Do you think so?  I hope not. His discipline is to stay home this weekend and study, catch up on sleep, clean his room etc.  Ever since he got his license he is never home.   This summer he started out a quiet kid with a couple of friends, now he has more than I can keep up with. He’s out every weekend with them.  He plays sports so he is at practice everyday and then homework is an afterthought.  He is a junior, this is no time to be slacking off.

The problem with discipline and my children is that it doesn’t agree with me.  My approach is pretty gentle, but my husband, is a knee jerk kind of disciplinarian.  I suppose our kids have needed us to temper each other.  I hope it’s worked out that way anyway.

So now, Tristan is feeling sorry for himself.  He started out yelling at me, his dad is out of town, or he wouldn’t have dared.  He stomped off swearing.  I yell after him, “If I hear you swearing again…..” What kind of a threat is that?  He was already in the basement.  Pathetic!

So after he had calmed down a bit he was back upstairs with tears in his eyes and a hitch in his voice as he pointed out how much he had already studied tonight.  Talk about pulling out my heart  through my chest!  I am always a sucker for men crying, but my own son, who just looks like a man is more than I can stand.

I did not give in.  I feel like crap.  I mean I really do.  I never want to see my children suffering at all, but when it is at my hands it feels much worse.  This all leads back to my overdeveloped sense of empathy for everyone.  I need to work  on it.  It might be too late at this point.  He is only grounded for god’s sake.  Someone, please slap me!

Exotic Currency

Published on by cmglife3 Comments

Today I was in the store buying a pair of sunglasses that would fit over my glasses. I know they make prescription sunglasses, but I am too cheap to buy them and I would probably lose them anyway. I thought this was a great compromise. My children are so embarrassed by me wearing my regular sunglasses over my glasses. They make me look I’m wearing those old fashioned mad scientist’s goggles.

Anyway, I counted out cash, 29 dollars, and handed it over to the cashier. She looked at me as if I’d just given her a handful of monopoly money.

“Oh,” she said,” I don’t usually take cash.” She counted the exotic currency while I was busy shoving receipts and stuff back into my wallet that had been freed when I took out the cash.

“Are you going to pay with some cash and some on your card?” she looked confused holding the money up.

Then it was my turn to look confused.

“There’s only nine dollars here,” the poor thing says.

“Oh,” I say, “I must’ve put the twenty back with the receipts!” And I gave her the twenty.

Then, trying to be helpful, she asks, “Do you have 16 cents, so you don’t have to break a dollar?”

Why couldn’t she just have left well enough alone?

“I think so,” I say and start digging in my coin purse, being careful not to give her the stray hair that is at the bottom. I put the 16 cents on the counter and kind of edge it over to her.

She begins to count it, picking up one very shiny coin to examine.

“This is an interesting one, ” she says and holds it up for inspection.

I’m thinking this girl has got to be kidding! It’s a *!?* penny for god’s sake! Then I realize what she’s got.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that is probably an English penny,” and I go into to a rambling explanation as to why I have an English penny in my coin purse, “I was in England in June and I haven’t gotten around to giving my coins to my dad.”

The question begs to be asked. Why do I still have those coins in my purse? Why am I carrying them with American coins? This has been an accident waiting to happen all along.

 

How Vain Can I Get?

Published on by cmglife

About 5 months ago my first granddaughter was born. It was out of state so I was staying at my daughter’s house.

Emily and Paul left for the hospital.  After a couple of hours Paul called from the hospital to tell me that Emily was in labor and it was time to come down. I had just gotten out of the shower and was just about to blow dry my hair. The dryer broke. Luckily I did finish my bangs first. When my hair air dries it becomes curly in some spots, wavy in spots and straight in yet some more places. I look like I’ve dried it by sticking my head out of a moving car. Oh, well, I thought this isn’t about my hair it’s about the birth of my granddaughter, see how selfless I really am?

We arrived and it was just as Paul had said, Emily was in labor, but only just beginning. She was still lucid and just sitting up. So I mentioned my hair dryer and she casually suggested I use her dryer which was in the bag she had brought for the hospital. At first I resisted because, I mean how vain can you be? Daughter in labor, mother blow drying her hair straight in the bathroom? But I did it anyway, I am ashamed to admit. It didn’t seem so appalling at the time, but in retrospect I really should have refused.

Hang Ten Atlantic

Published on by cmglife

We were in England last June. It was a different kind of a trip because my kids were along this time and I wanted it to have a bit more activity than simply visiting the relatives and seeing old things. One of the things I planned was surfing. My son, Tristan, 16, was very gung ho about the whole thing so I signed him up for lessons. I know, kind of unusual thing to plan in to do in England.

As the story continues, we made the arrangements but the date was cancelled because the “waves weren’t big enough” that morning. They said check back tomorrow. So we decided to go look for something else to do instead.

We were free for the whole afternoon so I took a chance and did a search on the Garmin for castles. Up came “Lynfield Castle” that wasn’t too far away. It was only 40 or so miles, that was alright, we had all afternoon. My dad was game, and of course we were, and more of course, I was!

We drove, and drove and drove. The roads we were taken down! The hedges were so huge on some of the roads it was claustrophobic! I had terrible premonitions of other vehicles coming the other direction, but strangely one never did!

Finally after driving for a good hour we arrived in Lynfield. I pealed my fingers from the dash and got out. Lynfield was a pub, a few houses, a church and the “castle”. Which wasn’t a castle at all, it was a first century prison!

Now the surfing story begins. We headed down to the beach and stopped at the lessons place, they said the waves were good today. After Tristan got his full body wet suit on he headed out. We noticed we could tell him apart from the other surfer students because he was the only one with his shirt on backwards.

While we were hanging around the surfing shop, Allison, 10, decided that she would like to try. After much discouragement, (from me) she decided on body board surfing instead. She got into her full wet suit.

Out to the beach we went. The waves were crashing that day. The weather was very cold for those of us not in wet suits, us being my dad and I. We watched as Tristan had his lesson. He seemed to be getting pretty good form there on the beach.

After a half an hour or so of lessons they headed into the water where the “form” that had been attained on the beach turned into a bunch of scrambled arms and legs. Occasionally his head would pop up above the froth of the waves, but none the less it was not a pretty site. Tristan continued on though. Taking his board and walking out to the break, waiting for a wave, hoisting himself up effortlessly and falling. His new nickname is now “hang four”.

So after watching Tristan for 10 minutes, Allison finally decided it was her turn to try. I attached the strap of the body board and off she went crashing into the waves. She seemed to be having a hard time of it. The waves kept throwing her all over the place and the board kept hitting her in the head! This went on for a few more minutes until I got a tap on my shoulder from the life guard. He said,” The strap is supposed to attach to her ankle, not her wrist!”

We fixed it to the correct limb and it was sort of better. Allison doesn’t have much patience, especially when it’s something new she’s learning. She kept at it though.

She was supposed to stay between the two tall flags located on the beach. The only problem was she kept moving further into the flagged area designated for surfing only, not body boarding. After yelling and waving our arms a lot to get her attention didn’t do any good, I waded out up to my knees trying to get her to pay attention to the flags. Finally, the lifeguard gave up too and flipped on his lights and sirens. That got her attention. She got over to her side, flipped the body board over and it hit her in the head again. We are always on pins needles with Allison’s temper; it has been a terrible thing in the past. And today was no different. She stomped out of the water and up on the beach slamming the board down with a “Damn board”. It had to be bad, she’s only 10 and not allowed to swear! I didn’t even say anything. I was just glad I didn’t have to pick up any body board pieces!