So we went to our friend's memorial on Saturday. First we had the funeral mass. Those things are long but you've gotta do them to make sure your loved one gets into heaven.

Then we had the viewing at the funeral home. You wouldn't believe this place. (Well, maybe you would. I don't know.) I have experience only at the Catholic cemetaries. This place looked like a hotel. Huge lobby with armchairs and sofas and lots of windows, with a reception desk - seriously just like a hotel.

Then you go to each wing and you walk through several living rooms with different seating areas, coffee tables, nice lamps, etc., before you get to the chapel. We filled the chapel and spilled out into the living room. People spoke for 2 hours and could have gone on longer. G was the only non-family member to speak, and he did a great job. R was a musician as well as a doctor, and he encouraged lots of his younger siblings and cousins to pursue music. A few of them wrote songs in his honor and performed them. It was really moving. And the whole time there was a slide show of R and his family and friends. A couple of the photos had been taken at our wedding.

Then there was food in a room adjoining the chapel, I guess so you could get your little sandwich and then mosey back into the chapel to tell R how the food was. The casket was open the entire time, and the kids didn't seem weirded out by it at all. I'd never had a reception like this in a funeral home - it was actually really nice.

So. In Other News.....

A. is very into mysteries at the moment. He carries around his little Thomas notebook and counts things, saying he's collecting clues. I guess a pillow was moved recently in the living room, and A. was on the case. He found footsteps and decided it was PAPA who'd moved the pillow. It was all very dramatic and needed much documentation and Speaking! In! Exclamation! Points!

Ben screeches in a pitch that I'm sure is going to break glass someday. I admit I've had fantasies of those operations where they cut a dog's vocal cords so he can't bark. Don't come after me, BBM, I'm not in favor of those operations on dogs. But on Ben....well, let's just say sometimes it sounds like a good idea.

We bought both a refrigerator and a dishwasher tonight. We are using a refrigerator that my mom and dad bought when I was a teenager, and I'm now 41 so....it's time to put the thing out of its misery. It has really been quite the tough little soldier, though. It's still chilling and freezing like a champ, at least 25 years later. But the stripping is all worn off and I'm pretty sure it's at least 20% responsible for global warming with the energy it takes to run. And stainless steel is going to look better in our kitchen.

The dishwasher has gotten tired and has recently been trying to do its job without water. I appreciate the conservation effort, but it's not getting the plates clean. So we're getting a silver one of those too. Our tiny little postage-stamp kitchen is going to be the most stylish room in the house.

Now if we could just get a new stove/oven. Tonight it took over an hour to warm up. There's no indicator on it to tell me when the temperature is right. There's no broiler. The temperature gauge is off, anyway. But hey, I'm not complaining. One (or two) appliances at a time.

AND, I now have a Home Depot credit card (so we could get an additional 10% off). That's like G having a Macy's credit card. Will wonders ever cease?

All day long, and all night too, I think of blog posts. In my head, I record what's happening immediately into blog-style prose. Except my recording equipment sucks and I can't remember any of it when I sit down to the computer. This is also why I don't get any of my longer-term projects done (like the scrapbook for my sister's birthday...back in January). I do what's right in front of me and if it's not right in front of me, it doesn't exist.

That seems to be the status quo for my brain, but complicating things in my head is that an old friend of G's died last weekend. He was a groomsman at our wedding, and was instrumental in getting G to realize his terrible mistake in breaking up with me (before we got engaged). He wasn't much older than G, and he just dropped dead of a brain hemmorrhage. Life is short, people.

So right now I'm in this state of mind where I think, "Hey, that's kind of funny. That could be a blog post," and then I think, "R. is dead." I'd planned to invite him and his wife to G's birthday dinner next weekend.

And then when I have a moment at the computer, I can't remember anything to write about. So. Until my brain kicks back into slo-mo from no-mo, I'll be a little quiet.

Just to Gross You Out

As the mother of sons, I am beginning to appreciate the Gross-Out-Factor. Today I had a cyst removed from my chest and let me tell you, it ranked way the heck up there on the GOF Scale. I won't go into excruciating detail, and I didn't take a picture (although I considered it), but here are the highlights:

Since it was on my chest, and the table was tilted slightly up, I could watch the whole thing. I expected that he'd make a small incision and then pop the thing out, like a baby (which is pretty much the sum of my experience with surgical incisions). No - you gotta pull the thing out bit by bit and carve away at the tissues around it to "release" it. Carve, carve, carve, went the scalpel. Watching him carve into my chest like a turkey on Thanksgiving was weird.

Meanwhile, he pulled the thing up and out while he carved and it felt like he was tugging at my sternum. That was weird, too. The cyst was much bigger than I'd guessed, too.

At one point, the doc must have knicked it with his scalpel, because the thing burst and squirted all over both of our faces. Yep. Top that one. That's gotta win me Gross Out Award of the Year.

So much for sparing excruciating details. Sorry. But when you're watching something so gross coming out of your own chest, you've just gotta share.

He's Cracking Me Up

A. is so high off his present-giving that he's decided he needs to wrap up random household stuff every night. Tonight I tried to talk him out of it.

Me: Honey, what makes it special is that you don't do it every night. I think you need to rest.

A: But I'm just going to wrap up one thing and then I'll rest the rest of the night.

Me: You've done enough for Mother's Day. Really.

A: Well, this is for Papa.

Me: ::::sigh::::::

(a few minutes later....keep in mind this is well after our goodnights and tucking in)

A: I need tape.

Me: What happened to the roll of tape I gave you last night?

A: I don't know.

Me: OK. Here's the last roll of tape. Don't use too much.

A: Why?

Me: Because we're running out!

A: Well, besides, I decided to go to the office store tomorrow.

Me: Oh, you did?

A: Yeah. To get some more tape. Because we're running out!

Good thing he has a plan.

Livin' on the Wrong Side of the Tracks

Tonight at dinner we were talking about how fun it will be to visit Washington D.C. when the boys are a little older. A. asked what Washington D.C. was.

Me: It's where the President lives, and they run the whole United States from Washington D.C. It's where they make all the laws.

A: (thinking)......Oh. So up there is where they make all the laws. And down here is where they break them.

Happy Mother's Day, Part II

So today's surprise from A. was an old book of G's off the bookshelf (from his wild bachelor days) and what A. described as a "dead, bumpy leaf."






Also, several drawings of hearts, and a border of typewriter-key stickers with a circle around the 2 in the middle (some sort of secret Mother's Day code).




Wow. Butt Paste, sticks, a tantra book (is he angling for more brothers or sisters?) and a dead leaf. Oh, and don't forget the old "bronzed" Nike. He's going to have a hard time topping this year.



And just because I like it, a picture he drew this week at school. "Giraffe Standing Next to Flower, 2007"

Happy Mother's Day

So we celebrated Mother's Day today because G has a wedding to go to tomorrow. Last night A was up really late in his room with paper, tape and a pen. This morning I discovered what he was working on:

He'd found a half-empty tube of Butt Paste and wrapped it up in paper and tape on which he'd written, Happy Mother's Day Love A.

Then he wrapped up two sticks he'd found in the backyard. They were good sticks and I was quite honored. He said they were good for scraping things and for hitting together and making music.

I was also surprised with breakfast in bed (pancakes with apple pieces, corn flakes and coffee), and the results of a survey G had taken with the boys.

Q: What do you like best about Mama?
A: She gives me food and plays with me.
Ben: Pink.

Q: What do you think of Mama's hair?
A: She's pretty.
Ben: Ro ro purple.

Q: What is Mama's favorite color:
A: Black and pink.
Ben: Purple.

Q: What's your favorite thing to do with Mama?
A: Play I Spy cards.
Ben: Pink.

Q: What is your favorite place that Mama's taken you?
A: Berber King. (that's how they pronounce it so now we all call it Berber King)

Q: What do you think is the hardest thing about being a Mama?
A: Putting me to bed.
Ben: Purple.

Q: What does Mama like best?
A: I think she likes me best.
Ben: Purple!

Q: What's Mama's favorite food?
A: Broccoli soup. (?)
Ben: Orange.

Tonight A. suggested that perhaps tomorrow I might like to bring him breakfast in bed. I suggested that Mother's Day continue tomorrow since tomorrow is the REAL Mother's Day. Now he's back there in his room with more paper and tape. I'm really wondering what he's cooking up.

Oh, one more thing. Last week we were told to bring in an old shoe to A's school. Friday I discovered why - they'd painted the shoe with bronze paint and filled it with candy for Mother's Day. It was very cute, but if I'd known what they were going to do with it, I would've sent a nicer shoe.

"Teacher said the moms could share the candy with their kids, if they wanted to. Teacher also said moms could keep the shoe forever and ever."

Sorry

Shoot, people, I got nothing for you. G's mother and sister came to visit. It's always much easier (for us) to have them visit here. When we visit them, we all (the four of us) have to sleep in the same room and the boys require constant supervision. Grandma is great at playing with the kids, and his sister is very sweet. So it was a nice visit, if exhausting. And it gave us a reason to clean the bathtub. We went to the zoo, SFMOMA, it was hot, and I got a blister.

Here are some links (thanks to Martini and Tucker Max):

My favorite link when I need to laugh
A few funny ones
Military Hand Signals

More Sleeping Beauties

Went to see Jersey Boys last night, and when we came back to my sister's to pick up the boys, we found A. turning his cousin LK into a doorway convert. We might just let Ben have his bed and give A. the doorway.


Jersey Boys, was, as expected, fantastic. I'm such a groupie, but there was a lady behind me in the bathroom line who was on her 11th time. She was in SF for the weekend and planned to attend every performance.

G and I hung around the stage door and I got Erich Bergen's and Deven May's autograph. I told Deven that he needed a new MySpace photo because his current one is an old one from his Bat Boy days with his head shaved, and he's got such nice hair, so he should show it.


Good thing I didn't say anything STUPID, huh? Sheesh.

And Another Thing....

The Montessori school that A. attends has the kids wear uniforms from K-3. I wore uniforms from 1-12th grade and hey, if it's good enough for me...yada yada yada. Uniforms are getting so common that JC Penney, Target and Mervyn's carries the stuff. And I've got boys, so I don't need to deal with plaid.

When I went to the Kindergarten Open House, the teacher told us to buy the sweatshirt with the logo and the plaid jumpers from Land's End, but otherwise to go for the sales at the aforementioned stores.

Wednesday we got a flyer from the school saying the uniform code had changed and all uniform pieces, shirts, pants, etc., HAD to be purchased from Land's End. Oh, and here's the code so the school gets a kickback. The cheapest pants are $22.50.

I complained about it today to the administrator and was told that there had been too much variation in what the kids were wearing, so they changed the rules. I know all about variation - we were pros at it in high school. We tried to wear lace on our anklet socks, shirts with no collars, etc. We generally didn't get away with it and we went back to our plain socks and blouses. Whatever. We cheered when they changed the code to allow white polo shirts.

I'm not sure why this annoys me so much. I'm getting quite Libertarian in my old age, and I don't like being told I have to buy a white shirt from this company and only this company. I'm actually tempted to pull his application, but that's probably a little extreme.

He's Pissing Me Off

I'm listening right now to Alec Baldwin defending himself on The View. He's basically saying the people responding negatively to his stupid rant to his 11-year-old daughter are reacting that way because of their own pain. Oh, OK. It had nothing to do with the fact that you called your daughter a pig.

And also, he really meant to say it to her mother, Kim Bassinger. She drove him to it by keeping his daughter from him. Ooops. Ya know what? You got a problem if you're mixing up your daughter and your ex-wife. And, besides, you shouldn't say that stuff to her mother, either, no matter how big a bitch she is. You should have bitten your tongue because you wanted to show your daughter how grown-ups act.

Don't get me wrong - I believe Parental Alienation syndrome exists, and I also believe courts sometimes favor mothers over fathers. But I've also seen good men work their best to be the bigger person, to show their kids that they don't need to react to Mom's craziness with venom. They are there for every scheduled visit, they call their kids all the time, whether or not the mom allows the kid to call back. They put the kids first, and they say, "No way is my kid going to ever say 'My dad forgot about me. He gave up.' "

I told one dad, "If your ex-wife is as crazy as you say she is, your kids are going to really need you to be a model for them. They need to see there's a way to cope with her with compassion and with appropriate boundaries, instead of with more craziness." If you have to have someone stand by every time you exchange the kids as a witness, OK. If you have to have all communication in writing, that's what you do. You don't stoop to their level and let loose a 5-minute rant to your daughter blaming her for everything.

Give me a freakin' break, Alec. Yes, everyone gets angry at their kids. Sometimes we say things we wish we hadn't. But, geez, grow up. All I'm hearing is "Poor me...poor me," how 'bout "Poor kid?"

Sleeping Beauties

Ben has this thing about chewing his food. He puts it in his mouth, chews it a little bit and then stores it behind his bottom teeth. Once I picked him up after his nap, and noticed he was chewing something. Turned out to be the chicken we'd had for lunch 4 HOURS prior.

So here he is in the car. With a not-even-half-eaten pb&j sandwich. Food usually isn't sticking out of his mouth like this, but I guess he was really tired.




And here we have A., who was put to bed an hour before, and then told several times that under no circumstances was he to leave his bedroom again. Here he is in lying in a doorway from which he can see the TV but I couldn't see him. And he fell asleep. Way to cover your tracks, buddy.

A (first day back to school after spring break): Teacher asked us all what we did for Spring Break.

Me: What did you say?

A: That we went to the mall and ate pizza.

Me: Did you tell her about going to Mama's old school (UC Berkeley) and seeing the T Rex skeleton?

A: No.

Me: Did you tell her about going up to the top of the Campanile and seeing all the way to San Francisco?

A: No.

Me: Did you tell her about going to the airplane museum?

A: No.

Me: Did you tell her about going to the library and playing at the fountain?

A: No.

Of course not. He told her he went to the mall and ate pizza. I feel like I should send an explanatory note:

Dear Miss Michelle,

On A's Spring Break, we did not go to the mall and eat pizza. We went to the mall and ate chicken nuggets. But that was just one day and it was after an hour at the bouncy house. On the other days we did very educational and enriching activities that I assure you A. enjoyed while he was doing them.

Thank you,
A's Mother


And because I feel like sharing pictures, here are the boys at Costco. A is asleep in the cart. He fell asleep on the way there, so I propped him up in the back of the cart and he slept like this through the entire shopping trip. This was just before I took them out and put them back in the car. People don't believe me when I say nothing wakes that kid up.

Ben: "A. westing. Shhhh."











And here's after A. discovered the self-timer on the camera (I was taking before and after pics of myself). He was fascinated by it and wanted to show G how "the camera can take a picture all by itself!"

So we did a family shot by propping the camera on the table and Ben's like, "What the hell?"

The World and the Way I See It

I hate eye exams. "Which is better, A or B? B or C? C or D?" I don't know! One is fuzzy on the left side of the letter and one is fuzzy on the right side of the letter and I don't know which I prefer! Then they get all impatient and sigh heavily and go, "OK. Whiiiich is beeeetttteeer, Aaaaaa or Beeeeee?" I UNDERSTAND the question, babe.

I learned yesterday that I need bifocals, or "progressives," as they are now called. Eye doctor said I could wait and get regular lenses now, but if I did, in 2 years I wouldn't be able to read anything and I'd be back for new glasses. Some people stay with the regular lenses for a while and just take them off and hold the menu at arm's length if they need to read it. "That won't work for you because you can't even see there's a menu at the end of your arm if you take your glasses off. So you might as well get them now."

I expressed concern about getting used to "progressives."

"Oh, it's just like the ATM. Or bill pay. It's just like bill pay."

"I'm sorry?"

"You know - you hate it at first but then you love it. Like bill pay."

I'm not sure what to think because I'm not aware of either loving or hating bill pay, but clearly this doctor develops intense relationships with things, and I didn't want her to hate or love me, so I just kept quiet.

I was told I have bad astigmatism, which is why I had trouble focusing with my uncorrected contact lenses. So now I'm getting "torque" contact lenses, which are about an inch thick on my eyeball. Well, they feel like it, anyway. I also learned I have "steep" corneas, so they have to special order the contacts.

I don't know why they don't just put me down now.

After the contact lens fitting, I picked out some Coach frames, got measured for the progressives, paid for the lightweight, anti-glare lenses, gave Major HMO my right arm and leg (because steep, torqued contacts are also about 3x as much as regular contacts), and walked out of there with nothing. The glasses certainly aren't going to be done in an hour or less because this is Major HMO we're talking about. The contacts will arrive in a week or two.

I don't so much have a problem with the weird, thick contact lenses, or the bifocals, sorry, "progressives," themselves. I mean, at least my vision can be corrected, right? What I have a problem with is getting old. I mean, if my vision is like this at 41, will I really be blind at 70?

"You're going to need glasses, too, if you have my eyes," I told A.

"I don't have your eyes," he scoffed, while rolling said eyes. "I have my own." Good thing, too.

You'll never believe what happened tonight.

Ben was complaining, yelling, having all sorts of tantrums in his crib because he didn't want to go to bed. This is not unusual. I was reading to A. in the next room and we have both gotten pretty good at ignoring Ben's screams. When I was done I went into Ben's room and said to him, "What can I do for you?"

"Nooo! Waaaaaah! Get up!"

"No. Time for night-night."

"Noooooo! Get up!"

I picked up his monkey blanket (a whole post in itself), said, "Night-night, monkey." Then I asked the monkey, "Monkey, is it time for night-night?"

Monkey, being smart and totally in my control, nodded yes. He also said, in a high-pitched monkey voice, "Benjamin! Please go night-night with me!"

Then I did the same with lion blanket. Lion also nodded affirmatively when asked if it was time for night-night and added, "Ben! I need you to lie down with me! Oh, please lie down with me!"

Ben stopped screaming, grabbed Lion and lay down. I didn't hear another peep out of him. He's asleep now.

I realize this trick will never work again, but I can't believe it even worked once.

My idea of a fun evening on the couch: searching for stupid MySpace comics to put on friend's pages.

G's idea of a fun evening on the couch (OK, his third choice*): "Hey! Did you read about the 9-part PBS series on Al Qaeda and terrorism? Where's the remote?"

*Second choice was looking at SunRiver vacation sites to spend a week with his family. I'm not telling you what his first choice is.

Cul-chuh

Gotta love the cultural component of Montessori. A. recently wrote his very first sentence. They pick a picture out of a pile of magazine clippings and write a sentence about what's going on in the picture.

A. picked this picture:



And here's his sentence, "The men are wting to ply bingo":


Now is that a first sentence or is that a first sentence? Screw Dick and Jane. Let's talk about loiterers.

More A. and B. Stories

A, (seeing a no-smoking sign in the store): Look! No Pencils Allowed!

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A. has started a paperclip collection. He has six. He scours the house, looking carefully in all corners. "Wow, it sure is tough work to spot paperclips!"
G: "But so worth it!"
A: "Yeah, you have to look very carefully for something shiny and shaped like a paperclip."

After he ran a "race" G gave him not one, but TWO paperclips as a prize. He was ecstatic.

--------------------------------------------------

He also, inexplicably, galloped around the house the other day yelling, "Bareback Mountain!" but couldn't tell us where he'd heard it.

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Whenever we correct Ben or say "No!" to him, he immediately counters with a very sad face and a plaintive "My finger hurts!" We kiss it, figuring he's either looking for affection or trying to change the subject. It just occured to me that he might have misunderstood something about someone getting their feelings hurt and thought instead that their finger got hurt.

Real Moms

Our favorite Boobless Brigade Mistress tagged me with the "Real Moms..." meme. Unlike listing my shoe size and the last song I listened to, this one actually requires writing a post. Pssshhh. Girl knows I can't say "no" to her and is exploiting it, if you ask me.

So my first thought was "Real Moms are afraid," because I'd been meaning to write about how terrifying motherhood is. But if you look back at the blogger that tagged BBM, Lizard Eater, you see that has already been done, better than I could have, certainly.

So. "Real Moms are saggy." Yeah, but not much to write about that.

"Real Moms are tired." Yeah, but again, sort of self-explanatory.

I keep coming back to "Real Moms are afraid." I mean, besides the love I feel for my boys, I don't know any other emotion I've felt for them as strongly as fear. It's wound so tightly around my heart that it feels indistinguishable from the love. The more I love them, the more terrified I am of losing them. In this whole "Let's Be Honest About Motherhood and Write Books and TV Shows About How Crazy It Is" atmosphere, I wish someone would be honest about being crazy-terrified about losing their kids.

And I do mean crazy. For a reasonably logical person, I've become awfully superstitious about this. Every night I pray. I've always said a prayer asking for blessings for all the people I love (when I was a child, I used to name everyone, until I shortened it by referring to "my list of usuals") and thanking Him for good things. Now, every night I say Thank You for my beautiful boys, for their health, for their wit and intelligence and sweetness. I know how lucky I am.

But the prayer also holds a tinge of bargaining, just in case G_d is up there saying, "Now, whose kids am I going to take today?" he won't look at me because I really do appreciate them. I must - I say Thank You for them every night, don't I? No lessons need to be learned here, thanks.

Then I feel awful because I have friends and relatives who have lost children who were no less appreciative or loving of their kids than I am. Of course I don't really believe that losing one's child is some sort of horrible life lesson. It's a completely base, ridiculous impulse. Like the impulse that led me, shortly after both A. and Ben's births, to search out websites about infant loss. See G_d? Look how unafraid I am, how willing I am to face other people's pain! See? You don't need to make me go through it! Just skip over me, thanks!

I'm more afraid for Ben than I am for A. I tell myself that it's because he almost died at birth because that's logical. Thank goodness I've never been prescient, because if I had ever accidentally predicted something like who was on the other end of a phone call, I'd think my fear for him is an omen. As it is now, if he's fussing in his bed and stops, I have to go make sure he's still breathing. There's something about the brightness of his smile and his sweet little laugh that is so beautiful, I'm afraid it will burn out.

I remember hesitantly mentioning to a mother in my mom's group that sometimes I was overwhelmed by visions of something happening to one of them. She agreed, and, hopeful that I wasn't alone in this anxiety, I ventured further, "I think about it at least once a day." She frowned and said, "No, it doesn't hit me that often." Oh, OK, so it IS just me, then.

Ironically, I'm not super-over-protective. I don't panic at bumps and bruises, I let them climb stuff and ride their bikes in our cul-de-sac. I know I can do some things to protect him, but on a larger scale, I am not in control. And I know that so clearly as I'm falling asleep (no wonder I get insomnia). I start out politely praying that I'll get to see both boys grow up, and before I know it I'm silently roaring to G_d "YOU CAN'T HAVE THEM!" with my eyes flashing and my teeth bared.

I think lots of parents are able to shake the fear back to some dark crevice where I guess it stays quiet or maybe they can ignore it. For whatever reason, mine is quite active especially at night as I'm falling asleep. Then in the daytime it's a bit quieter. I'm reluctant to let it get too quiet, though. At the very least, it keeps me grateful.

My senses real: the sweet, greasy, aromatic funnel cake calls to me.

Today's title comes to us courtesy of my Spam folder. It was one of the more poetic entries.

Yesterday I think someone was trying to tell me something. We dropped A. off at school, then drove down the street to the bank. There is only one bank branch in town with a drive-through ATM, which I love because I don't have to take Ben out of the car seat. But a branch from a tree had fallen and the drive-through was blocked off. Fine, my account has enough padding that I can put the deposit off until another day.

We drive on down the street on our way to the lake where Ipower-walk most mornings with Ben in the jogging stroller. The freeway on-ramp was closed due to construction. There really isn't an easier way to get there, so I double back and go home, figuring I'll do an exercise video later.

We get home and I remembered that I was out of contact lenses. Actually, I had plenty of lenses for my left eye - I was only out of the lenses for my right eye. Guess they tear more easily, I don't know. I tried to order them ala 1-800-Contacts, and it didn't work - my brand was discontinued. OK. I called the number they gave, 1-800-288-2288 (yep, I figured out afterward that this special customer number was, in fact, 1-800-contact). Oh, gee, they'd be happy to call my eye doctor and find something else that would work. I hold....Gee, I'm sorry but they won't verify anything because you haven't been in for 5 years.

Really? Has it been that long? Gee. No wonder I can't see anything. No way I can get contacts without a new prescription. I'm fine with getting a new prescription - but I can't get an appointment until April 19th and the sun is shining and it's blinding me and I don't have prescription sunglasses, and believe me, no one wants me doing anything without corrective lenses.

All avenues were blocked, in all directions. I decided the universe was telling me to lie down and take a nap, so I did.

Update because I know you're concerned: I did get my old eye doctor to give me a trial pair of some new lenses, but I had to go pick them up 40 miles away. Small price to pay for the ability to wear sunglasses while driving. And there's a good frozen yogurt place out there. And a good park for the munchkins where they could play in a fountain. I guess everything's back to normal.