Friday, I had oral surgery. Saturday, I had Weight Watchers. Not a good mix. but because I missed last week's weigh in, I decided I would have DH drive me there, I would just weigh in, pay my price and leave. We brought the kids along and they waited in the car.
Often in my life when faced with injuries or surgery like this, I get a glance into what it must be like to be someone else. For example, when I worked in a dress factory owned by an Italian immigrant and no one in the place spoke English all day, I got an idea of what it must be like being a foreigner in another country. When I broke my leg many years ago, I got an idea of what it must be like to have a handicap. You suddenly realize that all the things we have put into place for the handicapped are often woefully insufficient. Like the handicapped parking spaces at work. It was nice that they were close, but I couldn't open the entry doors once I got to the building because they were so heavy, I needed both feet planted firmly on the ground to open them.
This time, I got an idea of what it must be like having a facial deformity. Everyone stared at my face. OK so it looked like I had a giant jaw breaker stuffed into my cheek. And the bruising on the jaw bone probably wasn't pretty either. Those who didn't stare, looked so self-conscious in their attempts to not stare as to make the situation even more uncomfortable. How could one not feel like some sort of hideous monster under these circumstances.
When I returned to my family in the car, I mentioned to my husband the hideous monster thing. The boys were listening.
When we got home and I settled myself into the comfy chair for some percoset and ice, I noticed Lastborn staring at me with his head cocked to the side. This was the first time he had looked at me since the surgery. Ever seen that shampoo commercial about mothers feeling invisible? Yep. That's me.
So I asked Lastborn, "Do I look like a hideous monster to you?"
"No," he said tentatively. "I don't see it."
Then he walked around the chair and looked at my normal side. He walked back to my right side and said. "Now I see it. Yes, you do look like a hideous monster." Then he laughed.
That became our joke all weekend. Mommy's a hideous monster.
Suddenly, on Sunday night, I wondered if his teacher was going to hear about the hideous monster that Lastborn lives with. Time for some damage control.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Moments of brilliance, moments of . . .
The children get up at an unGodly early hour every morning. Saturday night I had moved to the couch because of yet another insomniac night. Don't worry. It's not stress. More likely the raging hormones of perimenopause. So when the boys got up, they woke me with their early morning stirrings.
Firstborn, laid claim to the gamecube of course.
Lastborn searched the room for a comfortable chair so that he could watch Firstborn work his magic with Pokemon coliseum; always the ardent fan of all things Pokemon and all things Firstborn.
Flash back to Saturday, when DH and I in a rare fit of energy had decided to clean things out a bit in long-term preparation for putting the house on the market. DH carried the old glider rocking chair that is missing a bolt from someplace that I have never been able to identify. Having not been comfortable with said missing yet mysterious bolt for over a year now, I decided the chair should just be tossed. After all, no more babies to rock, and after a year, taking bets on who will be in the chair when it falls apart is no longer funny. With that chair removed, the room looks uneven. So I take the brown naugahide office chair that has been shoved in a space near the TV and place it where the rocker was. DH wants to throw this chair out because it is ugly, office like and just doesn't fit the room (his words). Ah but I have a piece of fabric in the basement that would cover it nicely. So while DH brings the kids out for a movie, I whip together a slip cover for the ugly chair and voila! We have an organized living room.
The catch? This was the chair Lastborn usually uses to watch Firstborn play gamecube. He drapes his body over it in a dubiously comfortable position with legs dangling over one hard wooden arm and head resting on the other.
So lastborn notices that his chair is gone but doesn't remark. He instead climbs into his chair (which he doesn't know is his chair because of the slip cover) and remarks, "This rocking chair doesn't feel right."
So what gave it away. This rocking chair doesn't rock? The old rocker would rock so violently when he climbed in that it would end up tipping over on top of him. Yet another reason to get rid of it. I could understand "Where is the rocking chair." I could understand "We got a new chair?" But not "This rocking chair doesn't feel right." Hmmm.
Later that morning he surprised me with genius though. When I lay on the couch, he likes to sit on top of me. Mostly, to sit on my hip. He perches up there like a bird surveying the room. Finding that the rocking chair was not rocking, he decided to climb ontop of me while I futilely attempted to sleep through their early morning play. As he positioned himself on my hip, he announced, "I'm a pain in the but!" Then he laughed and asked, "does it hurt your but when I sit on you?" "A little," I replied.
"See?" he answered. "I'm a pain in the but. Literally!"
Now. How many 6 year olds do you know who know the word literally and can use it correctly in a sentence?
Firstborn, laid claim to the gamecube of course.
Lastborn searched the room for a comfortable chair so that he could watch Firstborn work his magic with Pokemon coliseum; always the ardent fan of all things Pokemon and all things Firstborn.
Flash back to Saturday, when DH and I in a rare fit of energy had decided to clean things out a bit in long-term preparation for putting the house on the market. DH carried the old glider rocking chair that is missing a bolt from someplace that I have never been able to identify. Having not been comfortable with said missing yet mysterious bolt for over a year now, I decided the chair should just be tossed. After all, no more babies to rock, and after a year, taking bets on who will be in the chair when it falls apart is no longer funny. With that chair removed, the room looks uneven. So I take the brown naugahide office chair that has been shoved in a space near the TV and place it where the rocker was. DH wants to throw this chair out because it is ugly, office like and just doesn't fit the room (his words). Ah but I have a piece of fabric in the basement that would cover it nicely. So while DH brings the kids out for a movie, I whip together a slip cover for the ugly chair and voila! We have an organized living room.
The catch? This was the chair Lastborn usually uses to watch Firstborn play gamecube. He drapes his body over it in a dubiously comfortable position with legs dangling over one hard wooden arm and head resting on the other.
So lastborn notices that his chair is gone but doesn't remark. He instead climbs into his chair (which he doesn't know is his chair because of the slip cover) and remarks, "This rocking chair doesn't feel right."
So what gave it away. This rocking chair doesn't rock? The old rocker would rock so violently when he climbed in that it would end up tipping over on top of him. Yet another reason to get rid of it. I could understand "Where is the rocking chair." I could understand "We got a new chair?" But not "This rocking chair doesn't feel right." Hmmm.
Later that morning he surprised me with genius though. When I lay on the couch, he likes to sit on top of me. Mostly, to sit on my hip. He perches up there like a bird surveying the room. Finding that the rocking chair was not rocking, he decided to climb ontop of me while I futilely attempted to sleep through their early morning play. As he positioned himself on my hip, he announced, "I'm a pain in the but!" Then he laughed and asked, "does it hurt your but when I sit on you?" "A little," I replied.
"See?" he answered. "I'm a pain in the but. Literally!"
Now. How many 6 year olds do you know who know the word literally and can use it correctly in a sentence?
Friday, September 01, 2006
People watching at Lakemont Park
Anytime we go to a public place I wonder if my children notice the interesting people. Especially a park like Lakemont. It's not big enough that you get lost in the crowd. The more eccentric definitely stand out and despite going on different rides, you will see the same faces again and again.
When a person is truly eccentric, opportunities for comments from the rugrats abound. Take for example, the cross dresser. I'm sure once I use that term, you have a vision in your head of pink lacyruffles on a ball gown with oversized pink pumps, lots of makeup and accessories. But no, this one was a bit more difficult to suss out.
He was wearing a pair of shorts that were not too feminine. Maybe like the gym shorts boys used to wear in the 70s. A yellow T-shirt that said something about Girl Scouts, and white sneakers with white socks. Not too much to work with there. It was the wig that was the first clue. Not only was it a bit askew, but it was also a really badly done wig. Just a hair too long and coiffed for a man unless he was still stuck in the 70s. He was walking with another man early in the day. So for a bit I thought he might be an older woman who just wasn't graced with very good looks.
Later, I saw sideburns peeking out the edges of the wig.
Then later, I noticed pink nail polish. So now I'm thinking... female. OK. My mind can get around this, but still, I'm a bit uneasy with that human need to classify and organized everyone and everything neatly into categories that make sense.
When my family stopped for a bathroom break, all questions were answered. He stepped into the men's room just before DH and the boys entered. The room was full, so DH waited outside with the boys for the crowd to clear a bit. Eccentric man exited the men's room Firstborn (yes, that's right, Firstborn this time) yells out, "A girl in the mens room?" Then he mutters under his breath, "That's just not right."
The funny part was that he did it in his best Boston accent. Guhhl. Of course, for Firstborn, this is no accent. He can't produce Rs. The difference is that in Boston, there are no finial Rs. In Firstborn land, there are no Rs at all.
The other funny part was that Firstborn thought this was really a girl. His level of disgust was totally on a 9year old, girls are gross sort of level.
Frankly, I thought we had grown out of this unedited commentary stage shortly after he turned 5 and shouted out in a McDonald's one day, "Mommy, that lady is fatter than you!" While pointing of course.
But no. The week was indeed graced with yet another unedited outburst from the firstborn child.
At another McDonald's on the trip back home (yes, I'm seeing a fast food pattern here), I brought the kids outside to run in a grassy area near the parking lot. At the end of running time, I gathered them together to help DH carry the food to the car, but I had to stop them at the curb and say, "Wait! This lady is trying to pull out." To which Firstborn responds loudly and with great expression, "That's a lady?"
His explanation later was that he didn't know that women drove SUVs. I know. Weak, but give him credit. He's only 9.
When a person is truly eccentric, opportunities for comments from the rugrats abound. Take for example, the cross dresser. I'm sure once I use that term, you have a vision in your head of pink lacyruffles on a ball gown with oversized pink pumps, lots of makeup and accessories. But no, this one was a bit more difficult to suss out.
He was wearing a pair of shorts that were not too feminine. Maybe like the gym shorts boys used to wear in the 70s. A yellow T-shirt that said something about Girl Scouts, and white sneakers with white socks. Not too much to work with there. It was the wig that was the first clue. Not only was it a bit askew, but it was also a really badly done wig. Just a hair too long and coiffed for a man unless he was still stuck in the 70s. He was walking with another man early in the day. So for a bit I thought he might be an older woman who just wasn't graced with very good looks.
Later, I saw sideburns peeking out the edges of the wig.
Then later, I noticed pink nail polish. So now I'm thinking... female. OK. My mind can get around this, but still, I'm a bit uneasy with that human need to classify and organized everyone and everything neatly into categories that make sense.
When my family stopped for a bathroom break, all questions were answered. He stepped into the men's room just before DH and the boys entered. The room was full, so DH waited outside with the boys for the crowd to clear a bit. Eccentric man exited the men's room Firstborn (yes, that's right, Firstborn this time) yells out, "A girl in the mens room?" Then he mutters under his breath, "That's just not right."
The funny part was that he did it in his best Boston accent. Guhhl. Of course, for Firstborn, this is no accent. He can't produce Rs. The difference is that in Boston, there are no finial Rs. In Firstborn land, there are no Rs at all.
The other funny part was that Firstborn thought this was really a girl. His level of disgust was totally on a 9year old, girls are gross sort of level.
Frankly, I thought we had grown out of this unedited commentary stage shortly after he turned 5 and shouted out in a McDonald's one day, "Mommy, that lady is fatter than you!" While pointing of course.
But no. The week was indeed graced with yet another unedited outburst from the firstborn child.
At another McDonald's on the trip back home (yes, I'm seeing a fast food pattern here), I brought the kids outside to run in a grassy area near the parking lot. At the end of running time, I gathered them together to help DH carry the food to the car, but I had to stop them at the curb and say, "Wait! This lady is trying to pull out." To which Firstborn responds loudly and with great expression, "That's a lady?"
His explanation later was that he didn't know that women drove SUVs. I know. Weak, but give him credit. He's only 9.
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