Grounded!

A series of unfortunate events led to the grounding of the boys last Thursday. Their punishment? No screens: no tv, no computer, no Xbox. Nothing. After the expected weeping and gnashing of teeth, a calm came upon our house.

Saturday was fabulous! Knowing they could not turn on the screens, the boys planned out their day. First, a game of Army men. Then, a bike ride. They played soccer outside. Went for a long walk with the dog. Ran some laps. Sport colored a picture. Lego reorganized his collection of military collectibles. I was left alone to garden. I was not called upon to negotiate any of the complex treaties that go along with obtainig screen time.

It was heavenly.

Today the screen ban will be lifted. After school, the boys will break their 6-day hiatus with a viewing of the UEFA cup final. And Saturday I will undoubtably be bombarded with pleas: "Can I play the Xbox?" "Can I watch the Military Channel?" "How long can I get on YouTube?"

I can't wait until we can ground them again.

I sing of pianos and plumbers

I have two reasons to be happy this morning. Sport participated in Guild on Saturday and did very well. In fact, he almost did too well. Let me explain.

The last six weeks have been a nightmare with this child. Ever since he started taking piano, he has wanted to compete for the best scores, the biggest medals, the largest trophies. Since his teacher is a member of the National Guild of Piano Teachers, she expects all of her students to participate in Guild each year. At the age of 6, he started off with memorizing ten pieces in order to go for a gold medal. This year, it was again 10 pieces. As he gets better, the music becomes increasingly difficult.

As of Friday, he was still memorizing the last piece in order to perform on Saturday. I was literally chewing my knuckes. I told SO, "If he pulls this off, it will be a miracle."

Well, cue the choir of angels. He did it, scoring a 98 out of 99 points and earning a top talent award, plus that damned gold medal he wanted. Wednesday, he'll be getting a whole new batch of music. I don't know if I can do this another year.

On the bright side, the Abbott and Costello of plumbers who have been driving us crazy for the last 11 days finally unclogged our bathroom pipes. We now have a working tub and sink! The only problem is the stains left behind by 5 inches of clay-filled water. SO scrubbed the tub for hours. Alas, it looks like we are to have a constant reminder of our plumbing woes.

Sunday morning with Sport

Lego had a migraine this morning, so that left me with Sport while we got ready for church. It's always a challenge to be alone with Sport. For one thing, he's full of questions. Here's what I got hit with at breakfast and on the way to church:

1. Do serial killers chop people up?
2. Can ants swim?
3. What is Flag Day?
4. If I get in a car crash, couldn't you identify me by these two scars and my teeth?
5. Can I start the car?
6. Can I pull the car out?
7. Do ants hibernate?
8. What happens if the polar ice caps melt?
9. Did you know there's only 13 more days of school left?

It's no wonder I find the weekends so exhausting. But I do it to myself. I find it hard to sit still when there seems to be so much work to do. I used the afternoon to clean off the back porch and get it all set up for spring. By summer, it's just too hot to sit out there, but I like to clean off all the furniture and rinse out my tabletop fountain. When I find the time, I can sit in one of the cushioned chairs and listen to the water running. Usually the boys are fixated on either the TV or the computer, so they don't miss me.

Another busy week lies ahead. With only 13 more days of school left, the next 3 weeks are filled with activities.

Take me to your leader

I have been chosen to participate in a program for upcoming leaders here at work, thus, all my free time has been eaten up by readings, meetings, departmental visits, etc. My goal to put up a new blog entry has been pushed to the backburner, but since I'm down to 2 faithful readers, I think you guys will understand!

Also, looks like I'm going to be the proud author of a new book! Yes, it's been about 2 years in the making, but it went to press this week. Check out the website if you dare. And I'm expecting you'll buy several copies for family members, nieces, nephews, and random strangers on the street.

Tommorow I will be going out to get Sport another pair of glasses. He had 2 pairs; one broke several months ago and the other gave up the ghost the day before his eye appointment. I'm going to get plastic frames this time. Those metal ones are too delicate for an athletic kid. He wants to get red glasses. Since he's gotten all A's the last 2 semesters, I think I can splurge for a little color.

Lego has one more science project to work on. He's actually got a game plan this time (although he came up with it after we forbade computer games and the X-box until he had something written down on paper). He's still so laid back, he's practically lying on the floor. I guess it's great not to get stressed out about the little things (like finishing a project worth 1/3 of his entire grade) but it makes me crazy!

Believe it or not, we'll be getting a new roof for the house next week. The hailstorm a couple weeks back finally pushed us to take the money from the savings and just do it. SO doesn't like to see the bank account shrink, but I'm tired of the drab condition of that roof. Next year, we'll have the paint the house. That won't be fun.

Volunteers, anyone?

The Old Man and the Stump

It seemed like a daunting task. When our beautiful Bradford Pear tree was shattered in the ice storm, we weren't sure what to do with the stump. It was expensive to have a tree service come out and grind it down. For a while, we thought about disguising it as a bird bath, just putting a container on top and letting it be.

But SO couldn't stand the unsightly stump. Plus, it reminded him of the tree we'd lost, a tree we'd loved, a tree that had protected us from the harsh rays of the summer sun.

"I'm taking it out!" he declared.

He and the boys, armed with shovels and hand spades, attacked the base of that old stump. They dug for days (well, he did -- the boys gave up after about an hour) and finally exposed all the roots. Then, SO started hacking and sawing at the roots.

For such a young tree, it sure did have an intricate root system. I can't imagine what the root systems are like on some of the trees in our neighborhood that have to be at least 60 or 70 years old.

One evening after a rain, SO stood in the gaping hole in our front lawn, ankle deep in cold mud. He worked with an axe until the sun went down. When he finally climbed out of that hole, he almost fell over. His toes were blue and numb from the cold. But he had done it! It was ready to go.

Thanks to a kind neighbor, the stump was ripped from the ground via a chain attached to a truck. All that hard work had paid off. Now, we've just got to carve out some time to re-sod the lawn.

Or let the weeds take over.

Wedding bells

My 3-year-old niece got married on Sunday.

Okay, she's in her early 20s now, but when I look at her, I see the toddler I adored when I was dating SO. She was precocious, red-headed, and full of personality. Now she's self-absorbed, beautiful, and the most talkative person I know. I'm hoping her new husband will handle her (with kid gloves) and be a loving stepfather to her 4-year-old son. I'm hoping he's a keeper.

The most disconcerting moment of the whole weekend was when the ladies were pulled into one room and shown the lingerie my niece got at her personal shower. After looking at all that lace and see-through nylon, I had to turn away.

"Where's the flannel footie pajamas?" I asked.

She looked at me with pity. I guess I did sound pathetic. And old.

Sigh.

Have a Bud Light, and don't throw the chocolates!

Enjoyed a rare Saturday night out when I participated in a fundraiser for Special Olympics. I signed up to be a member of a Trivia Team, and competed against 63 other teams. Our ragtage group assembled by 7 o'clock, and each of us were afraid we'd be the fatal flaw. Mel, our fearless leader, gave us an encouraging talk.

The first round of questions stumped us, and we only got 5 right, but the second round focused on Harry Potter books and we cleaned up on that. Okay, we missed two, but how obsessed do you have to be to know Harry Potter's birthday and the shape of Hermione's patronus?

We managed to do rather well the rest of the night, but the first round handicapped us. Other categories were Sports (I took that opportunity to run to the bathroom), TV Moms, Food, and Movies. I was disappointed in some of the categories. I was really hoping for History, Current Events, or Astronomy. Sadly, I couldn't put those parts of my brain to good use.

Group dynamics are interesting. Invariably, we came up with a number of answers for each question, and sometimes the right answer was discarded in favor of one that seemed correct but wasn't. No one played the role of bossy know-it-all, which was nice. I've known too many people like that when serving on library committees.

After 10 rounds and lots of donated beer, some of the tables were getting unruly. Our emcee had to chastize some of the Trivia Teams for throwing chocolate candies. It was like a scene from a high school cafeteria.

"Don't throw the chocolates! People are being hit in the face! They can be seriously hurt by the chocolates!"

Just about everyone at our table won a door prize. (No, not me. Of course not me!) A teammate -- a big woman -- won a tiny t-shirt. Seriously, it was probably made for a 2-year-old. Emblazened across the front was "Bud Light." We laughed so hard over that t-shirt. Can you imagine giving that to your baby grandchild to wear?

"Here you go, sweetheart. Have a Bud Light."

Just eat your apple pan dowdy

Another strange case of serendipitous reading. I was in the library staff lounge during my lunch break, and saw that someone had baked and left a generous serving of "apple pan dowdy" for us to enjoy.

Apple pan dowdy? What the hell is that? I'd never heard of it. It wasn't something my generation made for Superbowl parties or other get-togethers.

I picked at it with a fork and took a bite. Definitely not for me.

So, I sat down to eat my lunch and read my book, Free for all, by Dan Borchert, and when I turned the page, I came across the phrase "apple pan dowdy." Apparently, someone had baked one for the author and delivered it to his library via cab for the staff to enjoy.

What to make of this bizarre coincidence?

Sicko

Our city is in the throes of a nasty trio of disease: the flu, an upper respiratory thingy, and a stomach virus.

Sport had the stomach virus yesterday. He threw up all morning and was as weak as a kitten for the rest of the day. But this morning he hopped out of bed without being prodded eight different times. "I'm just happy to be alive!"

Our best pals were laid out by sickness and walking pneumonia for more than a week. I got a call from one friend who said her husband was sick -- again. Another friend emailed with a hilarious account of his illness:

"...a combination of the flu and a lack of will to live that may or may not have been related. I choose to think they were because when I was in the depths of the illness I wanted to be neither asleep nor awake and was uncomfortable in whatever position I found myself. It was truly an existential crisis."

I work in a library. SO works at the airport. We are both exposed to the general public every day. We live in dread of exposure, which has led to the development of an OCD-like obsession with handwashing. If I could get away with it, I'd wear a face mask or even an epidemiology body suit like they get at the CDC.

Oh yeah, remember the roof repair? Well, the torrential rain we got on Saturday opened up a leak and took out a patch of ceiling in our department. Three computers were destroyed. We are now dealing with a nasty stink and a roof that has yet to be fixed. When I come to work, I get nauseous. But no one will remove the carpet until the leak is fixed. When will that be? I don't know.

Ahhh, bureaucracy.

Tarred and bothered

I don't have a significant head injury story to share, but I am slightly nauseous. Our aged building is getting a new roof, and the smell of freshly melted tar is wafting through the office. It's like the La Brea tar pits out there, but I doubt there are any mammoth fossils to be discovered. Most likely a cigarette butt or too have been unearthed while scraping away the old tar paper. The roofing crew don't even wear masks. The smoke coming off of that tar machine is really thick, but they seem impervious to the fumes.

This morning, due to high winds, patches of insulation went flying over the side of the building and landed near the entrance. A couple of stray pieces fell onto a customer's car. The stuff looked exactly like plywood and I was afraid it was going to conk somebody right on the head, opening us up to a lawsuit, so I went running down to find the security guard. He was standing by the front window, watching the insulation fall.

"You need to tell the roofing crew to keep this stuff from falling off the building," I said. "It's going to hurt someone."

"Yeah, I was going to go out there at 9 and tell them."

Our security guard was watching it happen, actually saw a customer go and remove it from the hood of her car, yet stayed inside, transfixed by the sight. Unbelievable. He's more of a bystander than a security guard, if you ask me. It's enough to make me want to go and learn how to shoot a gun, maybe even get a conceal and carry license so I can protect myself and my co-workers. It's obvious if something really big goes down, our guard will be the first casualty. Probably his gun flap is rusted shut or something. Sheesh.

I guess there's a very real chance I could end up with a significant head injury by the time this roof is finished. Pray for me.

"Coolness"

I've never been cool.

I accepted the fact that I wasn't cool long before I could really even define what cool was. There was no way I could be cool -- not by wearing clothes out of the church donation box or, later, those found in discount stores. In high school, I loved being a band nerd. At least I had plenty of band nerd friends with whom to congregate. Safety in numbers.

My boys, however, strive to be cool. They aren't yet asking for the expensive tennis shoes or blue jeans, but they certainly want to blend in with the crowd: hairstyles, attitude, and mismatched socks.

Apparently, it's not "cool" to wear a warm coat. Even though it was 15 degrees outside this morning, neither child would don anything heavier than a hoody. If the bus should break down or the family van run out of gas, those two would freeze their tushes off. They don't know the meaning of the word "preparedness."

Lego could style his hair to accentuate the curls he was born with, but he prefers to slick it down over his forehead. Sport has a closet full of nice clothes, but he wears the same ratty t-shirts to school every week. When we do our Saturday running-around, they invariably leave their coats at home, counting on the van heater to keep them warm.

If we do end up with a flat tire, I'm not giving my coat to anyone. Unlike the boys, I don't strive for coolness. I'd much rather be comfortable. And nerdy.

Mental health break

How many 5-year-olds could you take on in a fight? I took the test and I could take down 15 of the little rugrats. Check it out:

http://www.howmanyfiveyearoldscouldyoutakeinafight.com/

Be brutal. They'll fight dirty if given the chance.

Mix and match

I've seen it all.

While waiting for the incredibly inept pharmacy assistant to train the excrutiatingly slow cashier how to download and print a digital passport photo for me, I passed the time by watching shoppers amble up and down the aisles at Walgreens. Entertaining me while comparing prices for a variety of cold medicines was a woman clad in sweatpants and a real fur coat.

It was real, I'm telling you. The luxurious pelts swayed gently as their owner squatted to look at the ingredients in Tylenol Cold & Flu.

I'm not big on fur anyway, although I wouldn't harrass anyone and I certainly wouldn't waste a perfectly good bucket of red paint by tossing it at a hapless flu victim, but I did turn down my mother when she tried to pass on her mink coat to me. It's just not cold enough here, I reasoned. Plus, I don't know a single person my age who wears furs. Wearing one would really make me feel out of place. And I'd never mix and match it with a worn pair of sweat pants.

But who am I to make fashion judgements. I have been known to throw on my purple sweats, a pink shirt, and my husband's oversized red coat. Not exactly color-wheel friendly.

When I finally got my passport photo handed to me, I looked like I just got out of rehab. Perfect.

Hand over the chocolate...

It made national headlines: our mayor put the entire city on a diet. Our family, without his prompting, had already decided to cut out the junk we'd been grazing on throughout December, substituting fruit and low-fat snacks.

Everyone is starting to get cranky.

I bought a bag of chocolate chips over the weekend and have been doling them out -- one chip at a time -- after dinner.

"It's not worth it," SO protested, eyeballing the tiny nub of chocolate. I made a motion to put it back in the bag. He stopped me by popping it in his mouth.

"Let it melt and you'll get a satisfying taste of chocolate."

"I'd find the whole bag satisfying," he retorted.

When my back is turned, I find the kids raiding the fridge, desperate for something that isn't healthy. They want that bag of chocolate chips.

I've hidden it, but it won't be long until they find it and finish it up. Their willpower is waning in the wake of grapes, yogurt and energy bars.

We are the 15th fattest city in the country. I know this is true. When I'm shopping at Target or one of the grocery stores, I inevitably see people wedged into those motorized grocery carts. These people aren't handicapped. They are just extremely obese. In fact, I can't remember the last time I saw someone in one of those things who had some kind of physical challenge, other than carrying around way too many pounds.

I really hate those motorized carts. They always block the aisles when I'm trying to load up on bags of chocolate chips.

Champagne and bean dip

New Year's Eve has never been a big celebration in our family. Growing up evangelical, santimonious, and holy, we rather looked down on those revellers who needed alcohol to get high. We were already high on Jesus -- what more did one need? So we always stayed in, watched a little Dick Clark on TV, then went to bed.

For one, I don't like being cold. The idea of getting out in 20 degree temperatures, with the added benefit of a cutting Oklahoma wind, just doesn't appeal to me. A couple of my very young friends drove down to Dallas to go to a bar they like. So while I salute their energy and enthusiasm, I kept to the time-honored tradition of warm pajamas, a can of bean dip, and Dick Clark (bless his heart, still soldiering on despite a stroke.) Weakened by endless commercials, we cheered feebly when the newly refurbished Times Square ball (it's eco-friendly!) came down to usher in the New Year.

SO and I toasted with a glass of bitter, dry champagne, while the boys drank their sparkling cider. I eyeballed my flute glasses nervously when they insisted on clinking them together.

"Cheers!"

Lego begged to try a sip of alcohol.

I, of course, refused.

"There's alcoholism in your genes. One sip, mister, and you could be in for at least 36 years of hard core addicition, a couple of divorces, loss of a limb, and the repossession of your home." Lego rolled his eyes, a typical response to my overly-imaginative ramblings, then staggered into the kitchen, perfectly imitating a drunken man. That kid can act, I'm telling you.

The next day, Sport checked the calendar.

"Is it 2008?"

"All year."

He sighed. "I really miss 2007."

All I wanted for Christmas

Well, I asked for world peace, but I guess I'll settle for some Tinker Toys.

I did finish a major project, though. In the last few months, I've been hard at work with St. Fiacre, and there's a real possibility that we'll be getting our JNF book published shortly featuring the biographies of 10 Oklahoma heroes. Pretty exciting. I'm trying not to be too anxious to see the finished project.

I didn't get what I wanted for Christmas, but plans are in the works. My heart's desire was to get a new passport. Mine expired years ago after taking a really amazing trip to Israel and Egypt. Now I want to have one in case I ever get the chance to go somewhere overseas (Australia and New Zealand, I'm thinking) or need to make a quick getaway when Bush dissolves the Constitution and declares himself King of America. I have my application all filled out and have located the closest office to my home and I even pulled my old passport out of storage. All I need now is to figure out if it will serve as proof of residency or if I need to get a certified birth certificate (another $27 -- ugh!).

Funniest thing that happened during our Christmas break: Sport was practicing for his Christmas recital and he was barely concentrating, making all kinds of mistakes.

Aware of the kid's reputation for wowing the audience, SO told him, "You are going to lose your legacy."

"What, are you going to tear them off?" Sport asked in a huff.

Be careful what you wish for

I will have to remember this maxim the next time I start moaning and groaning about the dullness of our routine: Be careful what you wish for. While it is often rather boring, I prefer the routine to chaos. And what we've got this week is chaos.

Sunday evening was the beginning of the Great Ice Storm of 2007. Monday morning, 2:13 a.m. The power went out. By 7 that morning, our waterbed was feeling a bit chilly and the bedrooms were getting cold. Looking outside our front window, we found our beautiful Bradford Pear tree had been peeled into 4 pieces, just like a banana. We'd planted that tree 10 years ago when Sport was a baby. We were all rather sick at heart to see it splayed out in such an undignified way. It was blocking part of the road, part of our driveway, and some of the front door.

"We'll panic at noon if the power doesn't come up," I said to SO. We bundled up and went out to start cutting limbs. Next door, my sister-in-law and niece were trying to de-ice their cars. An occasional CRACK! would have us shouting, "Run!" as we dodged large branches snapping and falling from the top of their tree.

Down the street, an enormous branch of a sycamore tree was blocking the road. We joined a group of neighbors to help move it out of the way. That sucker was heavy! But it was nice to see neighbors working together toward a common purpose.

At 12 o'clock on the dot, I said to SO, "We'll panic if the power isn't on by 4." The boys played with their army men while the adults tried to read but all of us ended of falling asleep. Another branch fell, taking out our telephone line.

By 4, we started to panic. Actually, we started making long-term plans for the night. Our gas-lit fireplace would keep the library and tv room warm, so we closed off the rest of the house, dragged in the boys' mattresses, and gathered up blankets, candles, and flashlights. For dinner, we ate at a local diner, along with just about everyone else who had no power. Despite it all, we were in a festive mood. We even got a piece of chocolate pie to-go. The house was pitch black and we all were asleep by 7:30.

The next day, it was more of the same. SO and the boys headed out to his folks' house to hang out while I went into work at 10. This morning, with school cancelled once again, I grabbed the crock pot and ingredients so I could whip something up at work using the electrical outlets. It looks like we could be living this way for a week to ten days, although I'm praying the power will come back on tonight. Sleeping on the couch is hard on my spine!

We're lucky, though. We have hot water and so many friends have offered to take us in. At this point, we are still willing to rough it. I'm really rooting for those OG&E guys to make it to our neighborhood today.

5 things

In the last couple of weeks, these 5 things have made me happy.

1. Sunrise this morning, 7:05 a.m.: The clouds looked like cotton batting colored with a mix of magenta and pumpkin hues. I tried to imagine what that kind of sunrise would have looked like 100 years ago, without all the buildings, telephone poles, and highway bridges blocking the view.

2. Dinner at Louie's last night with SO: the fried cheese was delicious, we took our time, and no one interrupted us to tell us about video games or wrestlers. Every now and then, we just have to get out of our routine.

3. Botero exhibit at the art museum: I enjoyed seeing another perspective of the human form.

4. A box of flexible straws: My dear friend at work knows of my obsession with straws and she bought me an entire box!

5. A spontaneous hug and "I love you" from LegoGuy, and a competitive game of cards with Sport. He was killing us in a game of 21. He laughed so hard, he like to bust a gut.

Satan's secret garden

Years ago, when Lego was in the 4th grade, we decided to read The Secret Garden together. Lego was only starting to like reading. A late bloomer, he didn't much care for independent reading, but he enjoyed being read to. We spent many pleasant hours with Mary and Dickon and Colin. He took the A.R. test at school and passed with flying colors.

With Sport entering the 4th grade, I decided it would be a good idea to repeat the project. Instead of hours of enjoyment, the book became a hellish nightmare. Sport, unlike Lego, could not sit still for more than five minutes without an attack of the wiggles. He twitched and spasmed as I struggled to read prose written in the early 1900s. We were more than halfway through by the end of the summer, and I refused to give it up. All I could focus on was the 7 A.R. points he would get after we were done.

I began to dread picking that book up. If we could get through a couple of pages each night, I felt like we'd accomplished something. Sport was supposed to be reading a several paragraphs out loud to practice his skills. Some of the writing was torturous to get through:

"Oh! Mary!" he cried out with a half sob. "Shall I see it? Shall I get into it? Shall I live to get into it?" and he clutched her hands and dragged her toward him. "Of course you'll see it!" snapped Mary indignantly. "Of course you'll live to get into it! Don't be silly!" And she was so un-hysterical and natural and childish that she brought him to his senses and he began to laugh at himself and a few minutes afterward she was sitting on her stool again telling him what she imagined the secret garden to be like but what it really was, and Colin's aches and tiredness were forgotten and he was listening enraptured.

Sport prefers action-adventure stories and he really didn't have the patience to read a book like this. He would probably have been happier if there'd been some kind of demon lurking in the garden rather than slumbering bulbs and perennials. I must confess by the end of the novel I was right sick of the entire plot and each and every character. I wanted to smother Colin and ship Mary back to India. Really, I only could bear Dickon because he was so great with animals.

We finished the thing Sunday night and thank God I don't have any more kids with whom I might be deluded enough to try reading it again. Sport did a victory dance when we got done. I'll do one when he takes that damn A.R. test and passes.

Psychic abilities

Another Sunday, another volunteer opportunity with the Kindergarten and 1st grade Sunday school classroom. All fourteen bright and shiny faces watched eagerly as their teacher passed out the craft materials. As her helper, I stood by to assist in the project.

"Today, we will be making ears of corn to celebrate Thanksgiving."

First came the pipe cleaners, then an open tub of beads. Hundreds of beads. Thousands of beads. Tiny little beads.

Immediately, I flashed forward into the future. I saw myself on my hands and knees, picking beads off the floor. I knew without a doubt that in minutes, that tub of beads was going to be dumped over.

I worked with a group over at my table. Our beads were distributed from a plastic baggie that I kept firmly gripped in my hands. One of my boys wanted all silver beads for his corn decoration. When he had exhausted our supply of beads, he went over to the other table to search for more silver.

Of course, the tub went flying. Beads spread all over the floor and to every corner of the room.

Sighing, I went in search of a broom. Another psychic might have used it to fly away from her duties. Instead, I cleaned up the floor.

"I admire your patience," said the Youth Director. He'd mistaken my calm acceptance for patience.

The next time that box of beads comes out, I swear I'm running out the door.