Driving Charlie to the bus this morning, we were talking about the election, and I asked who he’d vote for.
“Whichever one is going to speed up global warming.” He said.
“So, your main issue is?”
“I’m cold.”
Most of the day was pretty good. I’m feeling a little sore throaty, and I’m not sure if that’s the clean sinuses plus the smoking, or the purge, or some combination of the two.
In my body I’m having weird things – neti pot related, I can actually FEEL the sinuses in my forehead and under my pituitary when I’m done cleaning them – purge related, I am losing an old sensation I get from time to time of having like, thick sludge in my bloodstream, and kind of feel tingly blood flow under my skin in some places. (My arms and face. Get your minds out of the gutter.)
So I typed up the days one through five entry, and then in the middle of it Scott got home and I was all of a sudden very very GROUCHY! Man, if he had set out to go to the store and buy every single thing I am not eating right now he could not have done one millionth of a percent better than he did not even trying.
THEN, oh, THEN, he decided that THAT? That moment right there? That was the moment that he decided it would be PERFECT to go over all the things you could recycle and how much you can get for recycled BRASS! COPPER! And Amy Amy Amy – Did you KNOW? Did you EVEN KNOW? That it is less expensive to recycle aluminum than it is to mine bauxite to produce it? And somehow he had misinterpreted Scott, I DON’T CARE, to mean Scott, if you keep telling me this then I WILL CARE, and the more I tried to explain him that no, I really didn’t? Well, the more recycling facts he pulled right out of thin air. And then my head exploded.
GAH. I was in this whole long rant of like – you didn’t even READ the labels and why are you feeding the kids all of the things I am reflecting on the utility of and OMG ICE CREAM IS NOT A FRICKIN NECESSITY. I swear on all that is holy he shops like he’s stoned.
Then I went off on a rant about how he NEVER supports me with the kids and, as if to prove my hypothesis, he got in the middle of something I was asking the kids not to do and explained why he thought it was an okay thing to do, (which, was, by the way, going into our room when we’re not home to make sure we’re turning all the electricity in the house off and OH MY GOD I JUST WANT SOME PRIVATE SPACE IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?????)
Then I realized that I was very much reacting to the whole evening much like Charlie does when he gets angry or upset. Charlie’s a pretty laid back guy, but when he gets upset? He goes ballistic. Last year when we were driving to Montana he spilled a little peanut butter oil on the rental car seat and “Dammit, I spilled something” accelerated into “and what idiot INVENTED putting oil in PEANUT BUTTER ANYWAY” and “WHY WOULD ANYONE EVEN SELL THIS PEANUT BUTTER????” in a matter of seconds.
I think I might be experiencing withdrawal from something or other. Either that or it’s PMS. From hell. Riding on a tornado.
Posted in Dietary, Family, health, Mom Stuff, Respiratory, Wife Stuff
So. This was a long week. A long week of speaking in support of something I care about. A long week of tugging on Superman’s Cape, spitting into the wind, pulling the mask on the ol’ Lone Ranger, and a week of messing around with Jim.
This week, an article about The New School appeared in our local paper. It was mostly accurate, mostly neutral, kind of cool. It appeared on the FRONT PAGE, for heaven’s sake. That was enough to send some people into a frenzy of twitchiness… MEL.
Then it started to get kind of ugly. Did you all know that there were some REALLY angry people on the internet? Seriously. Who knew.
When I was really little? My favorite music was from Man of La Mancha. Specifically, my favorite lyric? Was “to bear with unbearable sorrow, to run where the brave dare not go.” What this means is that, as a very small child, I had the combination of depth and idiocy that will likely carry me to my death. Seriously. I was probably three. It set me on the trajectory to weirdness.
Whatever.
So here’s what I tried with the angry internet people. Reason. Here’s how it worked. Not well. Angry people on the internet are very, very, angry. And they like it. So I would assume they were asking questions because they were interested. And so I would answer them. And they would say “WE WANT FACTS,” “YOU’RE IN A CULT,” “YOU HAVE DRUNK THE KOOL-AID.” And I would say, here are some facts, Kool-aid has refined sugar and artificial colors and it’s not good for you, stop calling me names, I’m not calling you names.
Then they would say “DISGRACEFUL” “YOUR CHILD’S LIFE IS WASTED” “YOU DRANK MORE KOOL-AID.” And I would say here are some answers to questions you’ve asked, here is why I decided on this for my child, I DON’T EVEN LIKE REGULAR SODA, LET ALONE KOOL-AID.
Finally they said, “Cult cult cult,” “disgraceful disgraceful disgraceful,” “How would a creepy internet person break into your child’s school?” I said – “Guess what? I’m Done. Nice talking to you. ” And another person said, okay, I’m going to try to answer your question, and they said “HA. GOTCHA AGAIN.”
Now there’s something new. And they’re being pretty openly threatening. HEY – they are saying – MAYBE WE SHOULD CALL THE AUTHORITIES ON YOUR SCHOOL. And I completely freaked and had to be talked down. And then I remembered I’m not doing anything wrong. But still, part of me? Is still in the corner in the Evil Miss MacNamara’s class, with Miss MacNamara in the doorway saying to the principal – This Is the First Girl I Have Ever Had to Put in the Corner. (And as an aside, even though Miss MacNamara is dead? Her zombie corpse is now invited to bite me.) The adult in me tries to talk the six year old off the ledge.
And then the adult in me fantasizes heavily about making a new user name, with no association to the school, and pointing out to these people how absolutely teensy weensy their penises must be. And the six year old in me kinda goes, HELL YEAH.
We made it home from The West a few weeks ago. Things got busy at my Mom & Dad’s pretty quickly, and I had to stop posting. (again)
The trip was really wonderful.
My Dad is that Dad that never really took much time off, never relaxed. I think, in retrospect, that his idea was that he would work really hard and then, when he retired, he would have all the fun he’d put off. In retrospect, I kind of thought "Fat Chance."
But damned if he isn’t doing it. The family togethernessfest in Yellowstone was his idea, and his gift to us. I had a great (albeit long) walk, that started out as a walk with Charlie & Scott & Mom & Bridget & Dane and Dad, that turned out to be a walk with Dad, 2.5 mile to a geyser that Mom wanted to see, and that we all missed actually blowing. He told me stuff about his work, and about his retirement, and was as open and talkative and cool and wonderful as I’ve ever seen him. Relaxation actually suits him, which, I guess, makes sense, given that he’s procrastinated it his whole life.
It was fun to see my mom, and to have Scott beat her more than once at Scrabble, which served her right for all the times she creamed me at Sorry when I was four. She’s busy from dawn til dusk, attending to most everyone else’s needs.
My younger sister Kate is just plain kind, and a wonderful, doting Mom. Sam and Ella have really distinct personalities, and she delights in them both. I don’t envy her that little kid stage, but she just seems to thrive on it. She’s married to the magnificent Dan the man, and through any ups and downs, they are a great match. She is also very girly, and bound and determined to girl me up, as a care package full of dresses proved. And, actually, I love them. I do fear that the next care package might be makeup! She invited me to go a-waxing before we hit Yellowstone, which, thankfully, having seen the results, I’m glad I declined. Because ouch.
One of the high points was getting to know Will, Peter’s oldest, who, by now is five. It was hard to get a good photo of him because HE DOES NOT STOP, but he let us take him out to dinner without his Mom and Dad, and he did come knocking on our door a couple of mornings, quite early. Peter is raising him to be a phenomenal fisherman, and, of course, the one time my camera caught him still, he was fishing. Speaking of Peter, I am blessed with a really terrific sister-in-law in Bridget. She is as down to earth and straightforward a person as you could ever meet, and she is really great with her kids, and, totally due to her patience, Willy will eventually be able to be still long enough to have his photo taken.
Kenny, the little one, has the dryest and pointiest wit. He’s fun to be around, and I won’t flash the picture of him in his long johns in reaction to his telling Kate that he thought they were the only two with fashion sense in our family. Unless, of course, you want to look at my flickr page. I’m worried, because he wants to go into the military, and I hate the military, and the war, and war in general. And the military. I wish he’d go to law school instead, but I guess a lot of people hate lawyers too.
We stayed, in Yellowstone, near Old Faithful, and millions of geysers. There was one that only blew in the middle of the night, and Charlie really wanted me to get up at 1 to see it go. But I didn’t. There was fishing. Scott and Charlie went in a couple of rivers, and then we went up and met Peter and Dan and Bridget and the boys at a lake.
There were buffalo (a word Ella picked up on day one) all over, including in our camping area, and Charlie was fascinated with the marmot around. Okay. So was I.
Yellowstone did not explode while we were there, and for this, I was thankful.
Pete brought a grill and did much cooking for all of us.
Dad wore a cap and smoked a cigar which, with his beard made him look like Castro.
And it was all over too soon.
Every once in a while, someone has just the child they deserve.
When Kate was little, maybe two or three, I remember scolding her for something (as I was the older sister, and knew all the rules). Her reply: "That’s just the way I live my life." It’s funny how people are who they are who they are who they are. Were I to pick an epitaph for her, that would be it.
Miss Ella Bella Portabella seems to be cut from the same cloth. Darling, and in charge.
It appears to be impossible to take a bad picture of Ella.
Like her brother, and, incidentally, her mother, Ella’s language skills appear unstoppable and advanced for her (15 month) age. By the time we left on Monday, she was saying "Amy", "Scott", and "Charlie" appropriately, and with ease.
Scott and I went by yesterday morning to help Kate with some last minute errands (on accounta she now has zero hands). When we got there, Ella was at the top of the stairs, and I helped Kate get her other foot into her pjs, and zipped her up while she squirmed into and out of Kate’s lap. When we came down the stairs she bounced over and said "HI Scott!" before plopping herself into her car seat.
It’s just the way she lives her life.
Sam and Charlie share a sense of humor. They played for quite some time, at sword fighting.
And decapitation:
The hardest thing about being so far away from my family is missing the day to day growing of the new human beings. Since my last visit, both my sister and brother have grown whole new human beings.
I talk to Kate frequently, which means I get to talk to Sam frequently. On Monday we went by Kate’s to see Sam, and meet Ella. Kate was away having carpal tunnel surgery when we got there, and Dad was babysitting for her.
When we first got there Sam was a little shy, Ella, not so much. Finally I asked Sam if he knew who I was, and he shook his head no. When I told him I was his Aunt Amy, his entire face lit up, and he said "I know you. You’re my friend."
Then he reached into my chest, pulled out my still-beating heart, and stuck it in his pocket.
The most amazing thing about our trip so far is that we left on time. I ended up driving through the night which earned me a lecture from my mother. But it really happened quite logically.
When we got to Toledo, it was only 10:30, and I wasn’t really tired, and figured that I could make Saturday’s 17 hour day a little bit shorter by heading on to Elkhart. But Elkhart was closer than I’d thought, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s waking up in Indiana, so I pushed through to Chicago, to avoid driving through the horrible Chicago daytime traffic.
And then, of course, we aren’t going to pay Chicago prices for a hotel room, and, by the time we’re through Chicago, well, you might as well just drive through.
My mother’s lecture is impervious to the logic of this.
The sun came up over the Wisconsin Dells, and we were into my favorite part of the trip, where it gets a little earlier every couple of hours, and the landscape is always changing twisting morphing into something bigger than you are, something that makes you wish you could see the history of time in its proper perspective, and that if you could, you would know the meaning of life. This is what South Dakota does to me, always.
Scott told us the things he knows about how the landscape is formed, and the Indians that lived there before we got there, and we wondered about the travellers from the east, seeing that landscape for the first time, and the people who were already there when they got there.
On Saturday evening we’d finally had it, and couldn’t make it on to Billings, like we’d hoped, and we stopped in Sheridan Wyoming. Television in Wyoming is better than television in Delaware, because it includes a whole channel of guys riding the bucking broncos and television is always better if there is a chance, however remote, that someone might die. There was one guy that got kicked in the head by a bull, and they showed that clip over and over. Which would make football better, I think, if there were more replays of guys getting kicked in the head by bulls. And the rodeo guys, they aren’t wusses like football players, because instead of helmets, they wear cowboy hats, which provide zero protection from getting kicked in the head by bulls.
Sunday we drove to my Mom and Dad’s, and even though it was a five hour drive, it seemed quite easy, in comparison.
When I first met Scott he was not a reader. Oh, he’d read every morning, "magazines," which, quite frankly, were actually catalogues. When he and I were married, my mom got him a copy of Undaunted Courage for Christmas, and my husband, who actively hated both reading and history, was hooked.
This has opened up all sorts of present giving options for me, and he recently read The Omnivore’s Dilemma which I gave him last year for Christmas.
This turns one story into another, which is the story of how, when I first met Scott, I was trying to raise my family vegetarian. This did not go well. The first time Scott cooked for us, he made spaghetti, which, he pointed out, was "almost vegetarian." You know. Except for the MEAT.
Anyway, The Omnivore’s Dilemma got Scott’s attention, insofar as the weird politics that go into food production, and when we talked about giving things up for lent, he was willing to try to go meatless.
This sent me, as all food inventions do, to Philadelphia’s most excellent Asian Food Stores. There’s one I particularly love, on Washington Street, that is in an old abandoned supermarket, of some sort. It reminds me a lot of living in Thailand, and sticking out like a big, ethnic sore thumb. There are tanks and tanks of fish, lobster, and frogs, all the most wonderful cuts of head on meat you can imagine, produce that you can’t find anywhere else, and every spice or ingredient that you need to make any delicious recipe of your choice.
Missing the cuisine of Thailand, as I do, I’ve been having a field day. I’ve made dishes upon dishes of Thai food, and, at the end of the day, all I have to do is throw rice in the rice cooker, and we’ve got a meal. OH! One of the best things at the market is fresh bamboo. And fresh tofu. Like maybe even made on the premises fresh. In a big bucket. With tongs.
Anyway – we’ve been having fun. And in my quest to expose my family to the wonders of Thai Cuisine, I found this terrific foodie blog, with easy to follow instructions (not to mention conversions) and today I made this awesome Thai snack, which I have not had in 25 years. Thai food is known for a perfect balance of (sometimes unusual to the Western Palate) flavors, and when I gave Scott one of these, he said, "Wow, I didn’t expect the scallions, but that was perfect." I didn’t have the mini-pancake pan recommended, so I put a couple of tablespoons of the batter into the bottom of muffin tins, and baked them at 350 for about 10 minutes. So mine weren’t as golden brown on the bottom as the ones here, and I’ll probably have to either look for one of the mini-pancake pans she describes, or something, but the taste is phenomenal, anyway. Yay Appon! and thank you. (The other thing is that the batter is way too thin to just cook like pancakes, if you know what I mean, but my version worked okay.
Best thing? Charlie, who hates EVERYTHING, asked for seconds on the mini flan. I know that scallions in a sweet sounds weird, but Charlie ate it. I’m just saying.
Next, I mean to try to make these, and would have already, if I had thought to buy sticky rice flour and tapioca flour. I’ll probably substitute a very firm tofu for the meat in this one. I’ve been tasting these since I found this recipe, and I’m pretty sure that this particular delight is responsible for at LEAST half of the weight I put on in Thailand.
Seriously, how cute is this kid?
Welcome to Earth, baby boy.
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