Archive for February, 2007

The girls will need jobs to pay for their addiction.

The new American Girl catalog came in the mail yesterday. If you are related to, or at least acquainted with, girls between the ages of six and ten, you understand what this means. A new AG catalog is essentially porn for pre-teen girls. My girls practically salivate when they see it on the kitchen table when they come in from school. I have actually found AG catalogs stashed in hiding places in their bedrooms. The AG catalog is the embodiment of all their fantasies.

Looking through a new AG catalog takes time. A LOT of time. The girls usually take turns — a system they’ve honed over time. One girl gets to look first, while the other is allowed to look over her shoulder, but not touch or make any notes on the pages. Once the first one is done, they change places. It can take a solid 45 minutes for each girl to go through the catalog. Each page must be carefully examined. Captions read, photos studied. There’s a lot to see and so much to learn. Prices are discussed, often with indignation at how greedy the AG company must be to charge so much money. Commentary must be made over how cute a new doll outfit is or how fun a certain accessory looks.

Elegant reads with a pen at the ready, in order to mark anything that catches her eye. Everything catches her eye. She designates each item she likes with a big ink “E” next to it. There are a lot of Es on each page, including items that aren’t even for sale, such as a dog that’s just a prop in one scene or a bike a girl is riding. Graceful, on the other hand, tends to be more discerning. She only considers items that go with her doll Felicity or that would go with her modern doll. She understands she cannot have everything, so she marks only those items she truly likes and hopes that she’ll be rewarded for her efforts.

Elegant was carefully perusing the newest catalog yesterday, pen in hand. Graceful was standing beside her, offering almost non-stop commentary. Griping about the prices. Telling Elegant that thus and such was too expensive or that it didn’t go with her doll. Elegant worked hard to ignore the background chatter, but it was pretty difficult. Finally, she looked up from her reading and said calmly, but firmly, “Graceful, thanks for all this information, but I can only concentrate if you are out of this room.”


Add comment Wednesday, February 28, 2007

DNA and saving the world

It’s funny how DNA works. When a couple is expecting a child, they speculate endlessly over what it will look like. Blonde hair or brown? Blue eyes or green? Tall or short? After the baby is born, the new mother and father spend hours looking at their offspring, talking about whom it resembles. Pete and I are no different. We got a good mix with Graceful and Elegant: Graceful looks like me and my sister, but with Pete’s blonde hair and blue eyes. Elegant looks like Pete, but with my brown hair and green eyes. Very fair.

Expectant parents sometimes think about what talents and interests their child will have. Will he be a football player? Will she love to garden? In terms of personalities, we hoped for, and were lucky enough to get, two girls who love to read. They’re also quite intelligent and in our school’s gifted/talented program. We expected no less. What we never expected, however, are other personality traits. For example, as I’ve previously written, Elegant is a total fashionista. She loves shoes, clothes, and accessories. Her day can be made — or broken — by just a hair ribbon. Last week a police officer visited the first grade and gave each student a shiny gold “Junior Police Officer” sticker badge. Elegant wore hers home proudly and, at bedtime, transferred her supposedly temporary bling to her pajamas. Now these weren’t just any old pajamas. Oh no, they were special ones. Lavendar satin. We all know how good satin feels on adult skin. Now imagine how fabulous it is against the skin of a six-old-old who has just bathed with American Girl apple scented bath gel. It was that good. Elegant was almost levitating, she was so high with delight. In fact, she minced and sashayed through the living room, stopped by the TV to admire herself in the reflection on the screen, flounced and preened a bit, and continued on her merry humming way. She was very pleased with herself.

Another thing we were not expecting when we became parents was Graceful’s huge reservoir of compassion, empathy, and kindness. She feels quite deeply for everyone and everything. She launched a mini campaign to save the rainforest when she was only five. She loves all babies and animals, especially dogs, cats, and horses. She worries about the plight of endangered animals all over the world. All parents want their children to be compassionate and kind, but Graceful takes it to a new level. She’s very earnest in her endeavors and wants only to be successful and to save the world. It’s very sweet and sometimes a little heartbreaking.

When Graceful was five and almost finished with preschool, one of the other school families journeyed to China to adopt a second daughter. We all knew the story of Zoe’s adoption when she was just a toddler in a Chinese orphanage; now we waited breathlessly as Zoe waited to become a big sister. When the family returned from China , they brought Leah to the preschool so that Zoe could introduce her new sister to her preschool class. Graceful went up to the mother and said, with tears in her eyes, “I really want another brother or sister, but my mommy says we’re done having babies.” I almost caved at that moment.

I always look over the children’s papers when they come home from school and am often amused by what I see. Graceful recently learned about China in school. She brought home a paper with the following:

Facts about the Great Wall of China
very bad Mongolians
everyone worked on the wall
10,000,000 million workers
very, very hard work
watch towers & guards
no rest
very, very wide
10 years of building
3,750 miles long

Notice her order of facts? Most children would have started with the length and other construction statistics. Graceful, however, started with the human aspect and focused immediately on the cruel labor practices.

A couple of months ago, she wrote the following:

“My gift to the world is better orphanages. Some orphanages are horrible. Some of them have awful owners. Some are full of rats. To take care of our orphans, we have to give them better orphanages!”

Granted, Graceful’s facts of the situation are not completely accurate, but her intent is true.

It’s wonderful to see how much Graceful wants to take care of everyone and everything. It’s also interesting to speculate what she’s going to do with all this as she gets older. I’m predicting she’ll be a teenager who does a lot of community service (and not the court-mandated kind) and this will continue through college. As for later, it’s hard to say, but I can easily imagine Graceful having a career helping others. She says she wants to be a vet or possibly a trainer at Seaworld. She’s also planning to have a farm with lots of animals and, of course, a passel of children of her own.

All that really matters is that she’s true to herself. That’s all anyone can wish for their children.


Add comment Monday, February 26, 2007

I have an advanced degree from Motherhood University.

The girls had dental appointments this week. Everything looked good and we were pleasantly surprised to find out that Elegant has not one but TWO loose teeth. Whew. Finally. She was starting to think it would never happen and so were we. The dentist also said it’s time for us to start teaching Graceful how to floss and, in order to be fabulously efficient, Elegant gets to learn at the same time too.

Our resident six-year-old thinks that flossing is one of the greatest things ever, and can’t believe she is lucky enough to use “flossers” on her teeth. I, on the other hand, have to grit MY teeth during these dental lessons, as I truly loathe the sound of teeth being flossed. Pete’s not allowed to do it unless he’s in the bathroom with the door closed AND I’m in another part of the house where there’s no chance whatsoever I’ll hear him.

Flossing lessons are not the only classes we’ve offered here recently at the Jen Academy for Girls. Other courses include:

Dishwasher 101 — How to load a dishwasher and start it. May as well get the girls started young and teach them right. For some reason, Elegant thinks that getting to put the soap into the dispenser is a huge privilege and she lobbies for the opportunity nearly every day. If I let her push the buttons to crank it up, I really am the greatest mom ever. I wonder how long that thrill will last?

Religious Diversity 101 and 102 (combined course) — How (and why) to avoid Mormons when they knock at our door. Our neighborhood must be considered Sodom and Gomorrah, because we have clean cut young men on bikes coming through almost monthly. The last time the doorbell rang, and it was clear that the young Mormons outside were ignoring my “go away and leave us alone” sign, I had to explain to Graceful and Elegant that Mormons aren’t evil but that we’re not interested in talking with them. The children thought this was a fascinating bit of information and discussed it for a long time. “Well, Mommy says they’re not bad people, so they must just be boring.” So we’ve been talking lately about different religions and how some are a bit more, um, intense than others.

Personal Hygiene 101 — How to cut and file fingernails. How to massage cuticles with a towel after a shower. How to squirt out the proper amount of lotion and massage it into one’s hands. No one ever told me about this in Lamaze class. Learning how to cut baby fingernails was hard, but teaching this to two children is way more time consuming and involves explanations about things I’ve never really thought about.

More courses to be added as needed.

It really seems to the girls as if we are revealing the mysteries of the universe to them. Really. They’re just so in awe of the most mundane things because, of course, it’s not mundane to them yet. I’m always amazed by how magical things are for children before the reality sets in. When the girls were each about a year or two old, stores were the most fascinating places ever. There were lights to look at and people who’d coo and gurgle at them. Shopping carts were more fun than any amusement park ride. Now … well, it’s not as though stores are boring, but they seem to have lost their luster for some strange reason.

And there are just so many fascinating things out there that we adults never think twice about.

Both girls think that self-sticking postage stamps are one of the greatest inventions ever. Since I tend to send out a lot of mail for my job — including mailings that consist of hundreds of pieces of mail — both Graceful and Elegant beg to be allowed to affix the postage and I happily subcontract tasks out to my child laborers. They work for M&Ms, which is probably illegal but works well for us.

Credit card swiping machines are just so cool. Elegant has even tried to swipe her library card in one, but surprisingly got no results.

Vacuum cleaners are truly just plain magical. There have been numerous discussions about what exactly could be sucked up. Dirt, yet. Shoes, no. Beads and other small pieces of plastic, yes, frequently. Young children’s body parts, no and don’t worry so much.

And umbrellas are truly wondrous tools that the girls love to use. We should move to Seattle just so that the girls can get more use out of their rain gear. Well, maybe not.

There are so many things that parents know from the start how to teach their children. Potty training is a big one early on. How to tie shoes. How to ride a bike without training wheels. Later on, how to drive. How to manage their earnings from working at Barnes & Noble during the summer. Sex education.

But it’s those little daily things that I never think about until they come up. And I end up learning a lot in the process myself. It’s really quite cool and I just love seeing the world through their eyes.


Add comment Thursday, February 22, 2007

I have no street cred yet

I went to the dentist today to have my broken molar dealt with. It’s amazing how much I didn’t know before today.

When I went in last week, they neglected to tell me that this would be a 90 minute procedure. And it wasn’t 90 minutes of fun and joy. Oh no, it was 1.5 hours of tooth drilling, tooth digging, and tooth hammering. The dentist never mentioned that it might take two attempts to get my mouth numbed and that during the first attempt I would most definitely feel the needle poking repeatedly. Nor did he mention that, as he drilled, I’d be able to experience first-hand the smell of burning bone. Or that it would take two attempts to get the right impressions of my teeth — while holding still for five minutes each time and trying to bite down hard with a numbed mouth. Better yet, no one mentioned until today that I would be receiving a temporary inlay and that in six weeks I get to go through this again when the gold one is put in.

So after all that, I haven’t earned either of my new street names: Jeninem, which is the one I came up with, or Vanilla Wife, which is Pete’s idea.

At least the dentist did wear his face mask today. Yay!


Add comment Monday, February 19, 2007

Wash on Monday, iron on Tuesday, churn on Wednesday…

I love a clean house. I find it almost painful to live in dirt and clutter, so every day I clean, pick up, organize, and whatnot. Yes, one could speculate all sorts of things about my mental state and throw out such terms as obsessive compulsive, anal retentive, blah blah blah. All that really matters here is that I like a very clean and tidy house.

That presents a bit of a problem for me, as I don’t actually like to clean and I resent picking up after other people. Since Pete and the girls are pack rats, tidying up is an ongoing project. I rarely clean the entire house in one fell swoop. Takes too long and I don’t usually have that kind of time. Instead, I tend to clean in spurts — making the beds while the girls are getting dressed for school, throwing the laundry in to wash while I’m printing out documents for work, mopping the kitchen floor while I’m on the phone. I’ll clean my bathroom while the girls are having their showers in their bathroom. My boss and I were having a phone conversation once and I used that time to fold laundry and iron a bit. It’s pretty rare that every room of my house is clean all at the same time. More like in varying stages of clean, reasonable, and filthy.

There are some jobs that I just loathe and put off as long as possible. For some reason, I hate to clean and dust the bedrooms. Always have. It could be because it’s a multi-step process that takes a while. We have hardwood floors with area rugs, so I have to first dust the floors and moldings before I can actually mop the hardwood. Only after that can I vacuum the rugs. I also have to move furniture around and cleaning around the legs of the nightstands and dealing with electrical cords irritates me. The girls’ rooms are worse because I have to actually pick up the mess before I can even clean. That means hundreds of Polly Pockets and accessories, dozens of American Girl outfits, loads and loads of books. The stuffed animals piss me off and it’s all I can do not to load them into garbage bags and pitch them out the windows. It can take me two hours just to clean their rooms and then another hour to dust and vacuum all three bedrooms and the upstairs hallway. (And yes I have the girls working alongside me, but sometimes I don’t want them around in case I’m trying to throw away some stuff as I work.) Consequently, I postpone it as long as possible. I should do it every week or maybe every other week. But I’m so sluttish that I’ll wait four, six, or even eight weeks. In that time the dust bunnies have multiplied, colonized, and achieved developing nation status. If I wait much longer they’ll join the U.N. and start voting on aid to Africa.

[My use of the word "sluttish" is based on the primary definition of the word "slut": a slovenly, dirty woman. Definitions involving immorality are secondary. And all definitions refer to women, not men. It's interesting how promiscuity and filthy cleaning habits are 1) defined as women's problems only and 2) both considered equally negative. A Ph.D. student could probably do an entire dissertation on the sociological implications. But I digress.]

Most people would assume that, because I work from home and only part-time, that I have loads of free time to clean and pick up. It doesn’t work that way at all. By the time I walk the girls to school and then come home and shower, it’s time for me to get to work and then I usually need all the remaining time I have until they get home. And that’s if I don’t have to run any errands or I’m not volunteering at the school. When the girls get home from school, I’m focused on hearing about their days, monitoring homework, finishing up my own work, and starting dinner. After dinner, I’m exhausted and don’t feel like cleaning. Invariably, however, I have to fold laundry, work on plans for my Brownie troops, etc. By the time we put the girls to bed, Pete and I are exhausted and just want to read and relax, not clean.

Pete is really great about splitting household chores with me. This is partly because he’s a great guy who understands how much work is involved with running a household and partly because he’s too cheap to pay for cleaning help. Our agreement is that, as long as Pete carries his load of the cleaning, I won’t call in Molly Maids. If, however, he balks, I start dialing. Unfortunately, Pete wouldn’t notice filth even if it bit him on the ass while he’s sitting on the toilet. I have to tell him what he needs to do or he won’t notice it needs to be done. And I have to be very specific. For example, several years ago, I instructed Pete to “clean the crapper.” I used those exact words. Two hours later, I asked him when he was going to get busy with the job. He pointed out a gleaming toilet, while the rest of the bathroom oozed scum. He thought I only wanted the toilet — the actual crapper — cleaned, not the entire room. I’m not sure why that would ever be a viable option, but he thought it was reasonable. He’s never made that mistake again. And, because his mother did all the cleaning when he was growing up, and never had any of the children helping in any way, I had to teach him HOW to clean, including exactly WHAT needs to be cleaned in each room. We alternate kitchen duty every night and it has taken me years to get him to do most of the job and not just part of it. In fact, I’m still working on that one.

Graceful and Elegant think that picking up is b-o-r-i-n-g but that cleaning is fun. It’s like pulling teeth to get them to deal with their messes — unless I just simply pull out the vacuum and prepare to work on whatever room they’ve messed up. Then, they move with a great deal of alacrity and haste and miraculously the mess just disappears before I have a chance to hoover up their Legos. The girls are fascinated with some tasks, such as sweeping, mopping, and vacuuming. I’m trying to teach them, but the vacuum is proving a bit tricky since it’s so heavy for them. I can almost always give Elegant a dustcloth and she’ll flit through the living room working industriously.

I know some people love to clean and I have a friend who actually likes to scrub her bathrooms. Really, I am not making this up. Beth grew up in a large family and all of the siblings had set chores growing up. Beth’s job was to clean the bathrooms, which I would assume would automatically make her loathe the job now. On the contrary. She loves it. The rest of her house may be — and often is — a bit messy and chaotic, but her bathrooms always sparkle. I’ve seen them. They seriously gleam as if they were new. It’s truly a wonder to behold.

I tend to do a lot of housework on Sundays. I know, I know, it’s supposed to be a day of rest; however, I feel so good on Monday mornings when we start the week with a clean-ish house, that it’s worth it to work a bit on Sunday morning. I strip the beds and put on clean sheets, do several loads of laundry, pick up, etc. Yesterday I had to clean the bedrooms and I spent hours doing so. So I guess that means I’m done until the spring. :-)

So now it’s Monday morning and my house looks pretty good — if you ignore the bathrooms that I didn’t get to yesterday, but I’ll deal with them in a bit after the caffeine has entered my bloodstream and I begin to levitate a bit.

I have a dream.

I have a dream that one day my children will clean up after themselves. That they will deal with their own messes. That they will manage their own laundry.

I have a dream that one day my house will almost always be clean and tidy. I will hire a cleaning service and eat bon bons while other people vacuum around me.

I have a dream that my husband and I will one day have separate walk-in closets so that I can just put his newly-laundered clothes in there and shut the door, instead of nagging him to put everything away.

I have a dream.


1 comment Monday, February 19, 2007

"I cannot live without books."*

I just love books. [happy sigh] Love ‘em, love ‘em, love ‘em. Is there any greater pleasure than sinking into a comfortable chair and diving into a good book? Add a tasty snack and you have the makings of a really great hour or two. Or three. Hell, find a babysitter and make it an entire day.

Our local library is truly one of my favorite-est places in town. I know the librarians, they know me. We talk about books when I come in, which is pretty much weekly. If I skip a week, someone is sure to ask if I’m okay. Our library offers a monthly publication, The Book Page, which is a little newspaper filled with book reviews. I go through it very carefully, mark the books I’d like to read, and then go online to the library’s website and put them on hold — always with a feeling of great anticipation. Right now I have 19 books on hold. What a great feeling. All of those books, just begging to be read. Hours and hours of entertainment. And it’s free. Anyone, and I mean anyone, can get a library card.

I find that what interests me has evolved over the years. I’m skewing more toward non-fiction and I’m taking notice of what’s on the New York Times bestsellers list. I used to be a real pulp fiction whore and would read just about anything, but now I’m a bit more discerning. I also won’t read a book until it grabs me within the first 50 pages or so. I’m not be a typical American with a short attention span — or else I wouldn’t be reading — but simply not reading a book unless I think it’s good. Even authors I used to like who aren’t always grabbing me.

Here’s a partial list of authors I used to like but now won’t even consider, no matter how highly rated their current books might be:

Jeffrey Archer — Early books — excellent. Newer books — SSDB (same shit, different book). Plus he’s a smug, perjurious, unfaithful jerk.

Michael Crichton — Yawn. He gets so technical that a typical paragraph goes something like this: “… and then the DNA was spliced, words words words, blah blah blah, bored Jen.” If I were interested in the sciences, I would not have majored in history and would have spent more time in labs.

Clive Cussler — In the beginning, the Dirk Pitt novels were just action-packed fun, but now it’s just SSDB. Cussler has branched out into different series with related characters, and each series has a co-author who clearly does most of the writing. He’s practically a McDonald’s franchise. There’s the Dirk Pitt series which has long since jumped the shark, and the Kurt Austin series, which I see doing the same. I do, however, still enjoy the Oregon series, which is still intelligently written and doesn’t have gratuitous sex and violence — probably because it’s written by yet a different ghost writer, ahem, I mean co-author.

John Jakes — There’s no question this guy does his research and his historical details are accurate as far as I can tell. However, he has a propensity for gratuitous violence that has actually turned my stomach when reading his books.

Jan Karon — She’s a perfectly lovely woman and the first few books in the Mitford series were delightful but the others were not so much fun. I was hugely disappointed by the final book, in fact I could have cried from the let down.

Perry O’Shaughnessy — This writing duo has produced the Nina Reilly series, which were great in the beginning. Now, not so exciting. However, I posted a book review on this blog not long ago about the new O’Shaughnessy book, which was a departure from the series and was quite suspenseful.

Romance novels — I don’t do ‘em. Period.

Stuart Woods — Wow, this guy’s early books were just phenomenal. I absolutely recommend Chiefs and also Palindrome. Unfortunately, Woods’ story lines are starting to get thin — another case of SSDB. And he seems to have a fixation with sex and his characters get into it within 12 hours of meeting, sometimes as much as 24 hours, but it’s always a given. And, he’s pretty graphic. Look, there are two types of readers, those who’ve done it and those who have not. For those are getting some, they don’t need graphic descriptions; they can play out their own fantasies in whatever way they choose, as long as no one gets arrested. For those who have not, well, there are books to help with that. I suggest the Kama Sutra or at least some good quality porn.

Linda Fairstein (Go ‘Hoos!) and Kathy Reichs are on the fence with me and may soon be kicked over to the Do Not Read side…

There are so many terrific authors out there, including some popular ones, that no one should ever be bored or nauseated when they read. Some of my current favorites:

David Baldacci — Intelligent, suspenseful, entertaining. Plus, he’s a ‘Hoo.

Bill Bryson — A Walk in the Woods and In a Sunburned Country are two of the best books I’ve ever read, hands down.

John Grisham — The man still has it, no matter how many books he cranks out and how many millions he has in the bank.

Rosamunde Pilcher — Sort of a guilty pleasure, like eating Twinkies, but she’s British so she can’t be too bad.

Ann B. Ross — Author of the Miss Julia series, which are just hilarious. But that could just be a southern thing, or maybe a woman thing, or both. I wouldn’t recommend these to my husband.

J.K. Rowling — I effing cannot wait until July 21!

Adriana Trigiani — Author of the Big Stone Gap books, as well as some others — All of which I recommend.

Of course, book preferences are subjective. Some people prefer histories, others like science fiction, and still others like romance novels. I guess what is most important is that we all read — that we broaden our minds and learn new things.

* The quotation in the title was by Thomas Jefferson.


Add comment Thursday, February 15, 2007

Why I won’t win "Mother of the Year" in 2007 — or ever

Elegant is the Empress of Stalling when it comes to bedtime. She hates going to bed and looks for any reason to avoid it. If she had her way, she’d play until she actually dropped and then one of us would carry her limp sleeping body to bed. At it happens, we know our child pretty well and we know what her sleep needs are, so it’s never a surprise to us that she’s usually asleep within a few minutes of being tucked in. And we’re pretty savvy about all Elegant’s delaying tactics.

“Mommy, I’m thirsty. Can you bring me water?”

“Daddy, I have a boo boo and need a bandaid.”

“Mommy, my [some random body part] hurts.”

And so forth.

Last night was no exception and Pete and I ignored a five minute fake tantrum that was so obviously fake that we were practically stuffing pillows in our mouths to mask our snorts and giggles. When it finally became obvious to Elegant that we were not going to take pity on her sufferings, she switched tactics and tried fake humility with a little hypochondria thrown in.

Elegant, “Mommy, my foot itches.”

Jen, “Then scratch the itch.”

Elegant, “But it really, really itches.”

Jen, “Well, I can just cut your foot off and make the itching stop.”

[Stunned silence as Elegant processes this thought.]

Elegant, “But then I wouldn’t be able to walk.”

Pete, “We could give you a crutch to help you walk.”

Elegant, “But it might hurt and I might bleed and die.”

Jen, “So perhaps you should just scratch your itch and go to sleep.”

Elegant, whining and getting a bit indignant that we’re not taking her seriously, “But. My. Foot. Itches!”

Graceful, piping in from her room next door, “Just scratch your itch!”

Jen, “Really El, I’m perfectly happy to just remove your foot so that it won’t bother you.”

Elegant, a bit quieter and sounding sleepy, “Nooooo, I’ll just scratch it.”

Graceful, a little more quietly, “Good one Mommy.”


Add comment Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Gangsta Mama

During dinner last night, a piece of one of my molars broke off. My first thought was, “Shit. There goes my Monday.”

Having a hole in one’s mouth means playing with it all the time. Seriously. It’s like my tongue can’t help but to check things out, as if it’s been magically fixed in the 60 seconds since I last checked it out. That said, I’ve tried hard to not think about it and entire minutes have gone by without my tongue wandering over there.

I saw the dentist today and he told me that the piece of tooth that came off was right next to a filling I have there and that, while he could put more filling stuff in there to patch things up, it’s a temporary fix and won’t last long. The long-term alternative is to dig out the old filling and put in a gold inlay that will fill the entire crater. You know how they say diamonds are forever? Well, for a mouth, gold is forever.

So I’m going to have gold in my mouth. As soon as Dr. Y. told me this, I looked at him with total horror and blurted out, “You mean I’m going to look like a rapper?” Given that this is a molar w-a-y in the back, and that the inlay will be primarily in the back of the tooth, it shouldn’t be too visible. All the same, I’m not terribly happy. Dr. Y. is going to be digging around in my mouth and then putting hot molten gold in there. And, how do I kindly ask the man to either pop a breath mint or put on his damn mask?

Oh, and I get to pay almost $600 for all this fun. And that’s after the part that insurance covers.

After my appointment, I was filling Pete in on all the details. Here’s how our conversation went:

Jen, “…and I’m going to have gold in my tooth, just like a rapper.”

Pete, “Maybe I’ll go buy you some thick gold chains to wear.”

Jen, “Do that and I’ll knock your head off. Seriously, I will hurt you.”

Pete, “Well at least you’re getting into the role already.”

Sigh…

Call me Jeninem.


1 comment Monday, February 12, 2007

Elegant’s full body workout

Earlier in the week I included a link to one of my favorite blogs, the QC Report. Reading about Lulabelle the cat and her feline exercise got me thinking about Elegant’s version of exercise.

Elegant has ADHD and she’s not medicated, so she has a lot of energy to burn off every day. Interestingly enough, at school she really struggles with the AD part, but at home it’s the H part we deal with. I think it’s because Elegant works so hard at school to follow the rules, do her work, and generally be a good citizen that when she gets home, she has a lot of steam to blow off.

When Elegant comes home from school, she almost always heads straight for the easel in our study, whereupon she begins the ADHD aerobics. Elegant first warms up with some quick sketches — stick figures, for example. Physically, she’ll add some basic ballet moves, such as an arabesque — this is a child who vogues a lot in general. Then, as she gets further into her workout, she adds the step portion of her class and begins jumping up and down almost constantly. As the class progresses, Tae Bo is added, thereby really ramping up the energy levels with kicks and lunges. Eventually she tires and slows down for the cool down part of her class.

An observer sees the following: Elegant will draw something, such as a person. She’ll be thinking out loud and saying something like, “…and then the fairy saw a rainbow.” She’ll step back and jump up and down wildly a few times and then step forward and start adding the rainbow. More drawing, more talking, more jumping. As the session progresses, Elegant will be pretty much jumping up and down constantly. She’ll still be thinking out loud, but she’ll start to breathe heavily so her narrative will not continue quite so fluidly. She’ll start to get hot and will strip off layers of clothes. The longer she makes art >>> the more involved the story is >>> the more elaborate her picture becomes. Eventually, she’ll not only be jumping up and down but also side to side and back and forth. She’ll usually start flapping her hands and even waving her arms. Occasionally she’ll knock over a chair or crash into something but always quickly rebounds. This art & aerobics session can go on for a long time; the more she has on her mind, the longer the period of time. Last fall, when she was trying really hard at school and feeling a bit stressed about it, she’d spend easily two or three hours in front of the easel — from walking in the door until dinner.

Elegant’s art is very narrative. A picture is not just of a fairy flying over a garden. Oh no, it’s a full-blown story that progresses with each jump. It can take hours for her art to reach its final form and, by the end, the paper is just full of images. Sort of like a first grade version of a Hieronymous Bosch painting. Only, without the torments of Hell.

My office is in the room under Elegant’s easel and the thumping is headache-inducing — and that’s even though she’s jumping on a thick rug with a thick pad under that. I tend to not work very much once she gets home from school and I certainly don’t make business calls during that time if I can help it.

Elegant started this jumping thing last year after she started kindergarten. She would jump just a little bit. As the year progressed, she jumped more. At the time, the easel was put away most of the time, but somehow I got wise and set it up permanently, which has really allowed Elegant to develop both her oeuvre and her workout.

During the summer, she developed the full blown aerobics class — mostly in front of the easel but also sometimes while drawing at the table or even while playing. As long as she’s deep inside her head, she’ll jump. Sometimes she’ll start playing with some toys and the jumping will start immediately. She only does this at home and I’ve only seen her do it outside the house once and the teachers have seen it at school only a few times.

Because Elegant is having a very hard time staying focused and on task at school, we have contemplated medicating her, but always resist because we don’t want to squash her essential Elegant-ness. This is child who doesn’t walk places — she skips, dances, and twirls. She doesn’t just shower — she vogues because the poses supposedly help her get cleaner. She doesn’t just wear clothes — she color coordinates and accessorizes based on her mood. Hot pink and purple are the foundation colors of her wardrobe. She loves knock knock jokes and pun. She giggles and laughs and chuckles. The word “butt” causes full-on guffaws.

From the moment Elegant wakes up until she drops with exhaustion at the end of the day, she’s on the go. And she makes our lives so much richer as a result. Yes, getting her to focus on her homework can be a trip to Dante’s seventh circle of Hell. And, yes, dinner can be stressful because she simply cannot sit still. But Elegant’s an adorable, endearing, happy, fabulous charming girl who is absolutely worth every overturned chair, every phone call from the teacher, and the countless hours spent thinking of new ways of engaging her in class and getting her to stay on task.

Well, the girls have finished their Sunday morning pancakes and Elegant is headed for the easel.

Let the workout begin.


Add comment Sunday, February 11, 2007

Does Victoria’s Secret sell maternity stuff?

I’m going to a baby shower in a couple of weeks. I’m actually very excited about this social event because the parents are my brother Michael and his wife Grace. The baby is going to be a BOY and I’m sure he’ll be gorgeous because I still maintain Michael was one of the prettiest babies I’ve ever seen. And, since both the mother- and father-to-be have brown hair, blue eyes, and fair skin with freckles, I think we all can guess what the baby will look like. Yes, that’s right, swarthy and dark.

So anyway, getting to the point of this entry, I have to tell a funny story about my husband. We were discussing this shower and whether or not I should take Graceful and Elegant with me. I thought it would be a good idea, as the girls are really excited about this new cousin and they did behave themselves quite well two years ago during all the wedding festivities.

Pete, on the other hand, seemed dubious, but I couldn’t figure out why. Finally he said, “But aren’t baby showers racy?”

I just looked at him, really puzzled. You know, one of those “WTF?” looks.

Pete said, “Isn’t there like lingerie and stuff?”

I still couldn’t quite comprehend what I was hearing. Racy? At a BABY shower? My brain actually froze there for a moment and I couldn’t even articulate actual words. I just sort of stuttered.

Finally I asked, “Have you ever been to a baby shower?”

It turns out that Pete has never been to a baby shower. The best I can tell, he somehow confused bachelorette parties with baby showers. I’m still not sure why he thought that an EIGHT MONTHS PREGNANT woman would want lingerie. That’s just asking for mama-to-be to go all postal on her girlfriends for trying a stunt like that. Since we all know what got her into this condition, she’s really not too eager to work her way through the kama sutra in her third trimester.

And by “her” I’m talking generally about pregnant women and not at all specifically about my sister-in-law, the wife of the person whose diapers I used to change.

And, no I was most certainly NOT channeling porn stars when I was pregnant, so I have no bloody idea where Pete got this notion.

Lingerie at baby showers. As if.


Add comment Friday, February 9, 2007

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