The Lake

     I'm at the Lake today.  The lake has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.  I've been coming here since I was an infant.  My father has been coming here since he was around four or five.  His Aunt Marie and Uncle Lohmie (pronounced all as one word --Uncooloamy-- by everyone I know) had a little cottage here.  Back then it had an outhouse out back, and a dirt and gravel road. 
     When I was five, they built an actual house, with a garage up back that still had some of the feel of the old cottage, with a small shower to wash off all the sand before you trooped inside.   It was definitely more comfortable to visit after that, but it had lost some of its charm. 
     When I was about 13, my parents bought a small cottage about three doors down.  They named it Shadynook, after a cottage my mother's family had had when she was little.  This new Shadynook was tiny.  It had one central room with an L-shaped screened in porch around the front and north side.  Two bedrooms off the main room, which had a kitchen of sorts at the back.  The kitchen area was so small there was no room for the fridge, so that was kept in the small bathroom, along with canned goods up along a supporting beam that became a shelf.  The shower was made out of thin metal that boomed like thunder every time you hit it, turning showering into a far more exciting experience than usual.  Not long after my family had cleared out 30 years of dust and dirt, we had friends over, and one of my brother's pals announced "Excuse me while I go to the pantry."
     There was no A/C, the walls didn't go to the ceiling, and the only phone was a single rotary dial up on the wall.  Important phone numbers, like the one pizza place that would deliver,  were scrawled up on the wood next to it.  Exposed two-by-fours of the un-drywalled walls were turned into bookshelves that housed hundreds of old paperbacks, and dozens of decks of cards.  There was no TV.   Entertainment during the day was the lake itself, and the dozen feet of sandy beach before it.  Two canoes, a rowboat, fishing tackle and enough pails and shovels to dig our way to China should we choose.  In the evenings we played Hearts and Spades or Oh, Hell and talked.  We played solitaire with actual cards.  And talked and talked and talked.  We were our own entertainment. 
   That little cottage is long gone now, with its thunderous shower, no privacy and mice, spiders and every other kind of critter imaginable sharing the space with us.  In its place is a lovely house that still hosts more critters than I would like, but it boasts Wi-fi, more computers than occupants, multiple flat screen TVs, gaming consoles, DVD players, DVR, gourmet kitchen with a huge walk-in pantry that doesn't feature a toilet, and three full bathrooms.  And it has central air.  Were it still the cottage, we couldn't be out here because it would be too hot to breathe.  So I'm not saying that I'd like to have the old Shadynook back instead.
     But every now and then I'd like to go to "The Lake."  I wish I could have the little cottage next door, where I could go and not be surrounded by the hum of electric gadgets, where everything was casual, and there was nothing between you and all the gorgeousness of nature but an old window screen.  I wish I could take my children there. 
    And then I'd want to come back into the air conditioning and get onto the computer. 

updated goal

     I'd really like to finish that story I started a while back.  I don't think I can post on it every day, though, so I think perhaps an updated goal will be to write each day, even if I don't post, to try to finish it.  I know where the story is going, and maybe how it ends.

    I have few deep thoughts today.  I've discovered that having lovely long nails may be aesthetically pleasing, but it's lousy for typing.  And while I enjoy having nail polish on, it's lousy for housework and any other job requiring use of my fingers.  I can't quite bear to cut them, though.

   So that's it.  Nothing much today.

The 60 minute nap

2:00 PM  Naptime.  Take kids upstairs, get them settled into their rooms.  I have time to lie down for 60 minutes!  Hooray!  I'm very tired, since DD was up several times with nightmares last night.

2:03 PM  DD wants her blankie.  Blankie is at daycare.  Alternate blankie is NOT acceptable.  Ten minutes of calming and distracting.

2:12 PM  She's in bed.  Ok, 48 minutes of a lie down till the handyman comes at 3.  That's a decent rest.

2:13 PM "Mommy!  I need help to go to the bathroom."  On the potty.  Off the potty.  On again.  "I want to go in YOUR bathroom"  "I want to go in MY bathroom"  On the potty, off again.

2:24 PM  Okay.  She is back in her bed.  I can lie down for 35 minutes!  That's pretty good.

2:26 "Mommeeeee!  I'm huuuuunnngry!"
     Me:  Do you want string cheese?
     DD:  No.
     Me:  Square cheese?
     DD:  No.
     Me:  What DO you want?
     DD:  Olibes.
     Me:  We don't have any olives.
     DD:  Why?
     Me:  We didn't buy any at the store.
     DD:  Why?
     Me:  We just didn't.
     DD:  Why?
     Me:  (time for a change of subject)  You can have graham cracker with peanut butter.
     DD:  I just want a cracker.
     Me:  Just a cracker?  Do you want peanut butter on it?
     DD:  No.  I just want a cracker.
  
Downstairs. Up again.  "Here's your cracker."

     DD:  I WANT PEANUT BUTTER ON IT!
    Me:  But, OhfortheloveofMike....No.  That's not what you said.  You are stalling.  You can have the cracker or nothing.  What do you choose?
     DD:  (takes cracker, begins to wail)

2:44  She's wailing, but in her crib.  I can rest for 16 minutes.  Okay.  That's something. I settle in.  I can ignore loud wailing.

2:46  DS:  Mommy!  I need help wiping!  (are you kidding me?!)

2:50  OKAY.  Now they are both in bed.  Pottied. Washed.  Fed.  Quiet.  I can rest for...10 minutes.  It's better than nothing.  Ahhhhh.... Lying down......

2:53  (Knock, knock, knock!)  The handyman is here.

<sigh>

Ribs on the Sidewalk Incident -- Part 3

  On our way out we went past another playground, and believe it or not, the kids wanted to play on it.  Now, the adults in our little merry band had not eaten, were hot, dusty and sticky and wanted something cold to drink. I knew this. But I was determined that this was not a bad idea to take my kids here and in my deranged, hungry brain, I knew that the way to prove this was to allow them to play on the super-overcrowded playground. Again.  

     I watched DS like a hawk. This time, he did do his usual routine.  Larger kids and teens kept pushing him around, nearly kicking and stomping on him, with me using my best teacher-voice to tell them to cut it out. C loitered at the edge, feeling a bit like the strange-single-man-hanging-out-inappropriately-at-a-playground. Eventually it was time to go, and the kids did NOT want to leave.

    We had to drag them away as they thrashed and screamed. I was hungry and tired and now feeling very bad for doing this, and for J not having found anything to eat, (and C, too, for that matter) and just wanting to get the hell out of there. J was famished by this point, but trying his best not to show it.  I could tell, though. It is really bad for him to get overly hungry, and I know this, and I felt like it was my fault, which made it worse. Suggesting stopping to get him something to eat, or asking why he didn't get himself pizza earlier didn't help. He just wanted to get the kids out of there, us into the car and himself back to Origins. I was getting desperate at this point, wanting to get him some food, something he'd like, to help make up for bungling this whole thing from the start.

     We left C at Comfest, where he could wander off and enjoy its delights sans increasingly deranged parents and cranky kids. J and I headed back towards the Convention Center and the car. As we passed the last of the food stalls, I tried to figure out a way to insist that we stop and get some food but didn't manage it with the kids being absolutely "done" with everything and us wanting to get away from the crowds as quickly as possible. Both kids were throwing monumental tantrums. I was very close to being completely out of my mind.

     Then I saw it. Food! Right there on the sidewalk! Right next to the Convention Center was a table, covered with barbecued ribs, chicken, macaroni salad, a few other side dishes and cake! Right there for the taking! A man noticed my interest and said it was leftover from an awards banquet they'd just had, and we could have as much as we wanted for $5. What a bargain!  I turned to J in absolute excitement -- here was food for him and this would save the day. He could get a plate of this delicious sidewalk food of indeterminate quality and age from a complete stranger, eat it as we walked to the car and all would be well! I was already digging in my wallet when J's voice penetrated my haze of deranged happiness. He was saying that he really wanted to keep going, he only had twenties, he just wanted to get the kids to the car first.... I couldn't believe my ears. He didn't want this? He can get kind of unreasonable when he's hungry, was that it? I even started to get a little angry with him. Hmph.

     As we walked away I expressed my total bafflement at this ungracious refusal of what was clearly a perfectly good meal. With what must have been an enormous expenditure of patience on his part, he explained to me like one would tell a small child or someone in a straitjacket that he didn't actually like barbecued anything, or macaroni salad and was most certainly not going to eat something sitting on a table outside the Convention Center that had been there for god only knows how long.

     Oh. I, um, hadn't thought of that. I was monumentally embarrassed, but all I could think of to say was, "I didn't know you didn't like macaroni salad."

     Once I got home, and everyone was cleaned up and in bed, it finally dawned on me how utterly ridiculous it all was. I called J and discovered that he'd gotten a Bratwurst from Schmidt's, which is what he'd wanted all along -- but never said. I guess I wasn't the only one not communicating well.

    I'd love to be able to pin this on him in some fashion, but I really can't. It was all me, and a monumental fail on my part. It's okay though. If you're going to completely humiliate yourself, the best you can do is do it in front of someone you love.   

The Ribs On the Sidewalk Incident - -Part 2

   We left our story with me realizing I couldn't find DS.....

  I circled and circled the small playground, and started to panic as I couldn't find him anywhere.  His SOP on playground equipment is usually to find one thing he really likes to do, like a slide, and do it over and over and over again.  But he wasn't doing the slide. He was gone.  Just. Gone.  I panicked.  C started looking.  I desperately tried to call J but couldn't get through.

   The one and possibly only non-brainless thing I had done that evening was put DS's name and my phone number on a sticker on her shirt.  His sib had one, too.  I knew, if he was found, that someone could try to call me.  Except phones weren't working because there was just so much traffic. J finally returned and began looking with us. My baby was missing and I have never felt so afraid in my entire life.  

    When I am panicked, or even anxious, one thing that frequently happens is that I cannot see well. I mean, I do see things, but I can almost never find the thing I am looking for when I am upset or worried or in a hurry. Once I'm calm, the thing I need usually surfaces right where I'd been looking.  I find this terribly annoying. One learning theorist has a book out about lateral dominance and how it can affect our ability to take in and process information.  I love her work and what she says about how we function under stress fits me to a T.  

     So, I am at Comfest, surrounded by thousands of people and more stressed than I have ever been and I am trying to look for my child. Then my phone rang. It was a number I didn't know.  I answered, shouting "DID YOU FIND HIM?  DO YOU HAVE MY CHILD?" only to hear a woman's voice say "It's going right to voicemail."  But I knew, then, that he was safe.  A kind stranger had found him, was holding him, and trying to reach me.  I calmed down immediately, turned around, and saw him.  In a woman's arms, crying.  He was, maybe, 10 feet from the playground area-- just across a sidewalk.

     Relief.  Ohthankyoujesusthereismybabysweetbabychild.  I had him in my arms before the woman who had been holding him was able to finish asking if he was mine.  I have never, once, made fun of people who have their children on little backpack-leashes, but I have been near people who scoff and insult those parents. In the future, should anyone make such a comment around me, I will slap them.

     We rounded up DS and J and C and we were all hungry, and hot and DS was still hiccuping and anybody sane would have said: "Let's get the hell out of here and find someplace with A/C and food," but we didn't. J had found the right stage so we plowed on towards it and got there 20+ minutes early (see, I told you I'd planned for time to stop and eat. Maybe not time for playing on the playground and losing my kid, but you can't plan for everything.)

    The kids were close to ravenous, even though I'd brought granola bars and drinks for them. J, who was hungry himself, and none to happy about it, decided to get them pizza. DS will eat nearly anything.  Older child is much, much pickier, but will usually eat pizza. J returned nearly half an hour later, pizza in hand. We were sitting, watching the show.  It was pretty good.  I think C enjoyed seeing lots of womenflesh in sparkly outfits shimmying around. I did too, but probably for different reasons. The kids were intrigued for a little while, but were starting to fidget. DS was briefly entranced by another audience member -- a nearly nude woman in full black and white body paint.  We got to watch another 20 minutes of the show while the kids ate, but when that was done, so were they.

  ....final part tomorrow, I promise.  

The Ribs On The Sidewalk Incident, Part 1

This is about an incident earlier this summer, during one of the heat waves...

     J was at Origins, a huge game convention (boardgames, LARPs, Miniatures, etc.) and ComFest was right outside. Comfest is a huge gathering of people with alternative lifestyles and all those who come to enjoy watching them, buying their art, listening to their music and inhaling their secondhand pot smoke.  For some reason, I decided it would be fun to attend said event with the kids and go see belly dancers from my belly dancing school.  I'd never seen them perform and thought it would be fun.

   Already, it is clear, that my brain had derailed.  I'm taking my children, at dinnertime, on a very hot, muggy day, to an extraordinarily crowded event filled with people who like to revel in their own strangeness.  (Actually, Origins is filled with rather the same kind of people, but it's less crowded and there's good A/C.)  J loves Origins.  He loves to play games.  And I was proposing to take him away from it for a couple hours so that we could struggle to herd our children through this throng to watch belly dancers.  My original plan was that we would stop at a food stall on the outskirts on the way in, and once everyone was full up, we'd forge ahead into the melee to find the right stage.

    I failed to communicate this plan in any way to J, or to C, our friend who was coming with us (and, as of this writing, has not spoken to me since.  This could be a coincidence, though.)  We marched into the middle of Comfest, passing food tents left and right while struggling with the double stroller and two increasingly fussy children.  I kept thinking "we should stop for food" but some bizarre unspoken group-think had us all pressing forward to get to the performance on time.  The thing is, I'd had us set out over 90 minutes early, knowing we were stopping for food and knowing that an hour and a half to go approximately 1/4 of a mile with my children in the middle of Comfest is about right.  But since I am perpetually late for everything, I think my husband and friend sort of figured we were in a hurry to get there, and we just all sort of plowed forward.

     It was very, very crowded.  The stroller became a battering ram and we held the kids and just used the stroller to push through the throng.  We couldn't find the stage.  We were hungry.  Food lines for anything in the middle of it all were horrendously long.  Our smart phones, overloaded by the sheer number of people on the network, weren't working.  (C's was, but there was no map of where things were at Comfest to be found.)  Eventually, we found a playground swarming with children.  Both kids were immediately begging to play on it, despite the fact that it every square inch of it was covered with children. And teenagers.  And some adults.  But when you are hot, tired, hungry and a little bit lost, you let your kids play on the playground.  So off they went.

    C and I stood on the side and J decided to explore the park on his own to see if he could find the right stage.  A good plan.  C and I chatted, watched the kids, watched the people, and on one of my passes to make eye contact with both children, I couldn't find my son.

 

NPR asked people to submit answers to this question....

They asked about, oh, two weeks ago.  I'm sure the deadline is long since passed. I started the answer a day or two after they'd asked, then, well....


Has parenthood changed you? Was there a moment or incident that sparked the realization?
I'd like so much for the answer to this question to be a glowing endorsement of parenthood, of how it has made me a shining example of dignity and respect, love, tolerance and endless patience.  I could shine up my parental halo and wax eloquent about how my children have taught me the true meaning of life.

Um, no.

Parenthood has changed me from an intelligent, articulate human being into someone who is really tired a lot of the time.  I'm still intelligent, occasionally articulate, but my time to even sit down and write something like this has been compressed into the brief span after my children have finally gone to sleep and before I collapse into bed for the night.  This is not the best time to be an answer to a question you're planning to submit to NPR.  Parenthood has reduced my time for critical and creative thinking involving something other than how to get out mystery stains to an hour before bedtime, which is not my best time.

I used to spend my free time playing games (board and computer), or reading books, or doing a wide variety of arts and crafts, all of which involved tiny pieces of something and sharp cutting edges.  I did a lot of community theater.  After the first baby, most of that went.  I still read, but now all too often my reading is reduced to a glance at the cover of the novel I'm trying to start before I turn out the light.  Parents of older children tell me that some of these things return as the kids grow.  Hobbies that involve sharp tools, small bits or stirring things on a hot stove can eventually be part of my life again.

Parenthood has made me realize what an amazing, versatile, creative (and sometimes quite grumpy) person my husband is, though.  He is a better father than I could have hoped for, and I had some high expectations in the first place.  I think he could probably say the same about me.  Parenthood is a magnifier of the best and worst in us, and sometimes makes us pare life down to the things that are truly important.  The one thing that has truly, utterly changed, then is that my list of "Important Things" now permanently has my children in the top slot on the list.

I love them like I have never loved anyone in my entire life, and could not live without them.  But sometimes, oh sometimes, I do miss my sleep.