Oh look! Another post and it hasn't even been a full week. I'm ambitious.
We're on spring break this week and the weather is not spring break weather. It was in the 60's yesterday. People are saying how refreshing it is. It isn't refreshing. If this was the middle of August and we were having 99 degree days with 150 percent humidity, then it would be refreshing. But people, really, what on earth are you being refreshed from? The weather has not been warm here. Stop being careless with your words. This weather is the opposite of refreshing - it's annoying. Someone said yesterday, "well, it could be worse, it could be snowing out." No, actually it really couldn't be snowing out. We live in Florida. We don't get snow, so no, please just stop making ridiculous arguments. I want warmth. I want to be out walking in the morning and actually break a sweat. I want to get off my bike and be drenched. So come on Florida, get your act together and get warm.
Speaking of walking in the morning...I was out the other morning finishing up my walk and while I was on the corner of Highland and Liberty, I happened upon a man laying face down in the bushes, covered in toilet paper. Thankfully I was in my car when I saw him. Sometimes I leave for my walks straight from my house, but other times I get in my car, drive down the street and park somewhere. I do this so that on the way back home I can avoid the slow walk up my hill in which neighbors see me and wave and sometimes talk. If I'm in my car I can just drive up my street and get out of my car and look down at the ground, avoiding contact with chatty neighbors. So anyway, I was in my car pulling out of the parking lot on Liberty and Highland and that's when I spotted what I was pretty certain was a person. Because it was so early out and still quite dark, I decided to flash my high beams and sure enough, up popped a person's head. Said person just stared at me as though I was rude for waking him and honestly I did feel kind of bad about that once I realized he wasn't dead. I asked him if he was okay and he made some remark about having had a fight with his boyfriend the night before and so I guess he found his way there to that nice cozy bush.And really, who among us can claim to have never fallen asleep in a bush? No judgments from me on that one. I asked if he needed anything and he said no thanks and went right back to relaxing face down, right in that bush. I hope he worked it out with his boyfriend. Sleeping in a bush for one evening is okay, anything more than that and it becomes somewhat uncomfortable.
Speaking of men and their boyfriends, did you hear that the Supreme Court is hearing arguments regarding same-sex marriage? I know, you hadn't even heard about this and now you have me to thank for informing you! I like to stay on top of things. Okay, I admit, I didn't know any of this until about five minutes ago when I went on Google and something about it popped up and I thought, hum what's going on, should I make myself aware of this, should I educate myself and become involved and concerned? Well, as it turns out, the way the Supreme Court works it doesn't even matter what I think about any of this ( RUDE!), nor does it matter if I am at all educated on the matter, so I decided to just check back in a few months when all of this will be decided. Yes, it's true. It seems that a ruling on the matter won't be given until June so we only have two to three more months to listen to people on both sides give profound and moving insights into why they are right and you are nothing but a complete ignoramus. Do you care to hear my insights? Oh please, you should know better. I don't talk about this stuff. Rest assured though, if you feel like giving me your thoughts on the matter I will listen and then, depending on your stance, I will either think you are brilliant, or an ignoramus. Roll the dice and take you chances, people. You just never know where you'll end up with me.
Well, children are getting restless and my behind is getting numb from sitting here so I will end this. Don't forget to watch the Florida Gulf Coast/ University of Florida Gainesville game on Thursday night. While we may not all share the same views on gay marriage, there is one thing I know we can all agree on - Gator Nation is filled with the largest number of arrogant jerks ever to roam the face of the earth so with any luck, Florida Gulf Coast will win. GO EAGLES!!!!!
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Friday, March 22, 2013
Some things
I keep on letting way too much time pass between posts. Here is some stuff from recent days.
Maggie - I'm going to be an astronaut when I grow up.
Me - That's awesome, Maggie. Why do you want to be an astronaut?
Maggie - So I can blast off into outer space and see the whole world!
Me - (trying not to melt from her cuteness) Well, that's great. You have to work really hard in school and do all your work if you want to be an astronaut.
Maggie - (stares at me for a minute) I don't want to be an astronaut, I was just kidding.
Um, we may have an underachiever among us, but she sure did make me laugh hard with that one.
And here is a typical conversation from Anthony that we have just about everyday.
Anthony - Mom, do we have hydrogen peroxide, bleach and matches?
Me - No. Just no.
Anthony - No we don't have those things, or no, we do have them but you won't let me have them?
Me - Get out!
He's a royal pain in the ass, but he makes me laugh. A lot.
Kate and I went to the library to see a talking presentation of two actors portraying Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd Lincoln. Would you care for some highlights?
First, the audience. Kate and I were just about the only people in the room not eligible for AARP. We expected this as it was 2 pm and honestly, the only people who have leisure time at that hour are old people, and me and my kids. The crowd shook their heads yes and no a lot and laughed at all the right parts. By the way, who knew Abe Lincoln was such a hoot? I kept looking at Kate because I found the whole scene somewhat amusing and then she turned to me and told me to stop it. Yes, my fourteen year old does routinely have to tell me to behave.
Maggie - I'm going to be an astronaut when I grow up.
Me - That's awesome, Maggie. Why do you want to be an astronaut?
Maggie - So I can blast off into outer space and see the whole world!
Me - (trying not to melt from her cuteness) Well, that's great. You have to work really hard in school and do all your work if you want to be an astronaut.
Maggie - (stares at me for a minute) I don't want to be an astronaut, I was just kidding.
Um, we may have an underachiever among us, but she sure did make me laugh hard with that one.
And here is a typical conversation from Anthony that we have just about everyday.
Anthony - Mom, do we have hydrogen peroxide, bleach and matches?
Me - No. Just no.
Anthony - No we don't have those things, or no, we do have them but you won't let me have them?
Me - Get out!
He's a royal pain in the ass, but he makes me laugh. A lot.
Kate and I went to the library to see a talking presentation of two actors portraying Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd Lincoln. Would you care for some highlights?
First, the audience. Kate and I were just about the only people in the room not eligible for AARP. We expected this as it was 2 pm and honestly, the only people who have leisure time at that hour are old people, and me and my kids. The crowd shook their heads yes and no a lot and laughed at all the right parts. By the way, who knew Abe Lincoln was such a hoot? I kept looking at Kate because I found the whole scene somewhat amusing and then she turned to me and told me to stop it. Yes, my fourteen year old does routinely have to tell me to behave.
Lincoln had a parenting style I quite like. He let his children do whatever they wanted because he believed children shouldn't be too restricted by parents and their rules. Parenting is hard and exhausting and I've spent an enormous amount of time and energy trying to get out of actually doing it. I don't mean I want to get rid of my kids, I just want to get out of having to parent them. When I learned today that the same man who championed the 13th amendment was lax in his parenting style I decided, hey, if it's good enough for him, it's good enough for me. This frees up a lot of my time.
Mary Todd Lincoln was a rather unpleasant person on occasion. She was given to ridiculous fits of hysteria over things that would have had other people simply shaking their head in mild annoyance. Oh Mary , you had me at ridiculous fits of hysteria. This particular behavior of hers wasn't news to me, but the following was - one of the main reasons she wanted her husband to win re-election was because she had gotten herself into so much debt buying all manner of fancy things that if her husband won the race she would have four more years with which to hide her money troubles from him. Is it possible I am Mary Todd Lincoln reincarnated? The fits of hysteria, the hiding of money woes from spouse. If I had learned she picked her lips it would have been all over and I would have had no choice but to get up and leave. It would have been too much to bear.
The actor portraying Lincoln recited a few of Lincoln's speeches and would you believe I nearly cried while I was listening. What can I say. I am a hopeless sucker for the well written speech. I may also be getting my period soon.
I have included all of my children in this post except for my eldest. Hum, I think I can sum up the past few weeks from Jane by saying she has asked me to drive her to at least 4398 places. I said no to most of those requests. She's also been out and about with friends and since she's fresh out of babysitting money, right before she heads out she asks me or her dad for money and she always says this, "but I mean I probably won't need it, it's just in case of emergency, I'll bring home the change." We all know how that ends. Also, she wants her haircut and every night, right around 11:30 PM she asks why I haven't made an appointment for her to which I always say, why are you bringing this up at 11:30 at night. Remind me during the day. Then, the next day, around 11:30 pm, she asks me again when I will make her appointment. This has been going on for several days now. I guess since I have just written about it I should go make the appointment now while it's on my mind, but then I will miss her asking me tonight at 11:30 if I made the appointment, so no, I think I will not do that.
So there you have. A brief glimpse into my life the past few weeks. And yes, it is exactly as glamorous as it seems here in this post. Have a good weekend!
The actor portraying Lincoln recited a few of Lincoln's speeches and would you believe I nearly cried while I was listening. What can I say. I am a hopeless sucker for the well written speech. I may also be getting my period soon.
I have included all of my children in this post except for my eldest. Hum, I think I can sum up the past few weeks from Jane by saying she has asked me to drive her to at least 4398 places. I said no to most of those requests. She's also been out and about with friends and since she's fresh out of babysitting money, right before she heads out she asks me or her dad for money and she always says this, "but I mean I probably won't need it, it's just in case of emergency, I'll bring home the change." We all know how that ends. Also, she wants her haircut and every night, right around 11:30 PM she asks why I haven't made an appointment for her to which I always say, why are you bringing this up at 11:30 at night. Remind me during the day. Then, the next day, around 11:30 pm, she asks me again when I will make her appointment. This has been going on for several days now. I guess since I have just written about it I should go make the appointment now while it's on my mind, but then I will miss her asking me tonight at 11:30 if I made the appointment, so no, I think I will not do that.
So there you have. A brief glimpse into my life the past few weeks. And yes, it is exactly as glamorous as it seems here in this post. Have a good weekend!
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Dear Maggie,
Someday you'll grow up and you may not remember much about being six. I'll be old and there's a possibility that I will have lost the rest of what is left of my mind by then. When you ask me about this time in your life I won't know what to say, so I think I should jot down a few things now, while I still I have my wits about me.
You were very excited on your birthday this year. You woke up and came bursting out of your bedroom door, skipping and yelling, "I'm six! I'm six!" It was such a happy show of complete joy that I almost started crying. I don't get to see that kind of unbridled enthusiasm anymore with your three older siblings. Two of them are teenagers and the other is twelve and something happens around that time. They believe overt displays of happiness and glee are a bit gross. Dramatic exits and entrances are much more their style, and if they really want to make a statement they're prone to sit in a room and stew and seethe in silence hoping that I finally beg and plead of them, "What is the matter? Please tell me what is wrong! I must know!" They sigh and say, "oh nothing" and then they get up and slowly walk into another room, but not before turning around to see if I am following behind to ask them just one more time what's wrong. (Maggie, I hardly ever follow anymore. )
You were very excited on your birthday this year. You woke up and came bursting out of your bedroom door, skipping and yelling, "I'm six! I'm six!" It was such a happy show of complete joy that I almost started crying. I don't get to see that kind of unbridled enthusiasm anymore with your three older siblings. Two of them are teenagers and the other is twelve and something happens around that time. They believe overt displays of happiness and glee are a bit gross. Dramatic exits and entrances are much more their style, and if they really want to make a statement they're prone to sit in a room and stew and seethe in silence hoping that I finally beg and plead of them, "What is the matter? Please tell me what is wrong! I must know!" They sigh and say, "oh nothing" and then they get up and slowly walk into another room, but not before turning around to see if I am following behind to ask them just one more time what's wrong. (Maggie, I hardly ever follow anymore. )
Someday you too will stew and refuse to tell me what's wrong, but right now you are at a point in your life where you have no inhibitions. Whatever is on your mind, whatever emotion you are feeling, it just spills out of you. If someone has a blemish on their face, you are the first one to point it out ( you're sisters and brother don't find this as amusing as I do) . When you asked a few months ago how I fed you when you were a baby and I told you I fed you breast milk, you gagged. You found the thought of it so revolting that you ran in your room and sobbed for a full five minutes. When you finally came out you told me you were mad at me and said to never talk about that again. Then you got over it and went back to talking about unicorns and pink dolphins and the giant lollipop I promised you earlier in the day. You move on from upsetting things at a brisk pace. There is no mulling over and discussing and obsessing and that's good because someday you'll spend entire weeks mulling over things as ridiculous as whether or not someone you knew saw you and tried to pretend they didn't see you ( even though you were doing the same thing to them). Enjoy your carefree days while you can. They are fleeting.
You came home from school last week and told me you wanted to invite everyone in your class to your birthday party, except for that one girl who doesn't want to be your friend. You weren't mean about it though. You know she doesn't like you and so you realized she wouldn't want to be at your party anyway. It hasn't entered your mind yet to try and make her like you. People either like you or they don't and it's of no consequence to you. Your feelings aren't hurt by this. Embrace this for a little while Maggie, because unless you are like your dad, you will come to a point in your life when you will try desperately to get someones approval. Sadly the person who you are trying to get it from will probably be a total ass not worthy of your time, but I won't bother telling you that because you would only raise your eyes and tell me I don't get it, I don't understand. Of course the good news is that as you approach mid-life you'll go back to not caring who likes you and you will hardly ever go out of you way looking for approval.
You tell me ten times a day that you never want to move out of this house. When Jane or Kate or Anthony mention things about going away to college someday, or getting married eventually and moving into their own home, you say no, no one can ever leave here, and then you cry and sob until we all say, okay, okay, no one is ever moving out. It's incomprehensible to you that we won't always be together forever in our tiny little house. The logical part of my brain, the part I try to ignore, knows that someday you will not feel this way, that you'll want to leave here and you'll want to start making memories that have nothing to do with all of us.
Life moves forward regardless of how much I keep telling it not to. Next year, you will be different from this year, and every year that passes after that will put your six year old self at such a distance that all you'll really have is feelings of this age. I know this because that's what has happened to me. I have a picture of me and Nana DeVito hanging above my desk. I bet I'm six years old in it. My hand is on Nana's shoulder, I'm standing behind her and she's sitting down opening a present. I have no memory of that day, only a feeling. I was excited and happy. If every memory of this time in your life vanishes from your mind I hope you at least can remember the feeling of it, the feeling of being adored and cherished.
One last thing. If you're reading this as an adult, you by now have encountered someone who felt it necessary to tell you that you, Maggie Hacic, are not the center of the universe. If that person was me, please remind me that I spoiled you more than I should have and made a much bigger deal out of every one of your accomplishments than was appropriate and that it was I who created the monster who now thinks she is the center of the universe. And if it wasn't me who told you that, tell the person to kiss your ass and then send them my way.
We love you, Maggie!
You came home from school last week and told me you wanted to invite everyone in your class to your birthday party, except for that one girl who doesn't want to be your friend. You weren't mean about it though. You know she doesn't like you and so you realized she wouldn't want to be at your party anyway. It hasn't entered your mind yet to try and make her like you. People either like you or they don't and it's of no consequence to you. Your feelings aren't hurt by this. Embrace this for a little while Maggie, because unless you are like your dad, you will come to a point in your life when you will try desperately to get someones approval. Sadly the person who you are trying to get it from will probably be a total ass not worthy of your time, but I won't bother telling you that because you would only raise your eyes and tell me I don't get it, I don't understand. Of course the good news is that as you approach mid-life you'll go back to not caring who likes you and you will hardly ever go out of you way looking for approval.
You tell me ten times a day that you never want to move out of this house. When Jane or Kate or Anthony mention things about going away to college someday, or getting married eventually and moving into their own home, you say no, no one can ever leave here, and then you cry and sob until we all say, okay, okay, no one is ever moving out. It's incomprehensible to you that we won't always be together forever in our tiny little house. The logical part of my brain, the part I try to ignore, knows that someday you will not feel this way, that you'll want to leave here and you'll want to start making memories that have nothing to do with all of us.
Life moves forward regardless of how much I keep telling it not to. Next year, you will be different from this year, and every year that passes after that will put your six year old self at such a distance that all you'll really have is feelings of this age. I know this because that's what has happened to me. I have a picture of me and Nana DeVito hanging above my desk. I bet I'm six years old in it. My hand is on Nana's shoulder, I'm standing behind her and she's sitting down opening a present. I have no memory of that day, only a feeling. I was excited and happy. If every memory of this time in your life vanishes from your mind I hope you at least can remember the feeling of it, the feeling of being adored and cherished.
One last thing. If you're reading this as an adult, you by now have encountered someone who felt it necessary to tell you that you, Maggie Hacic, are not the center of the universe. If that person was me, please remind me that I spoiled you more than I should have and made a much bigger deal out of every one of your accomplishments than was appropriate and that it was I who created the monster who now thinks she is the center of the universe. And if it wasn't me who told you that, tell the person to kiss your ass and then send them my way.
We love you, Maggie!
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Kindergarten
Maggie started school in January. I know school starts in August around here, but I didn't feel like sending her then, so I didn't. Someone asked if I could even do that, just go ahead and pick a time and month for school to begin and I said, well I did it and no one stopped me, so yes, I can. Around here we kind of do what we want regarding the kids and really, everything else. We do this so that in fifty years parents the world over can look at our family and see what not to do. We consider it our public service to all future generations.
Maggie started school on the Thursday after Christmas break ended. Greg and I brought her in together. (The rest of the family begged to come in as well, but I refused to let them as I worried it may create a Hee Haw effect.) We hoped to meet her teacher, but she was absent. One of the other kindergarten teachers came to greet us and she looked at me and immediately recognized me as the parent of one Anthony Hacic. I laughed and said oh yes, there's no denying it, that lad is all mine!
Greg then took it upon himself to give this teacher some random information about our daughter. He mentioned that Maggie is almost always barefoot so getting her to put shoes on this morning was a huge struggle. She's never been to any kind of school and her very best friend is an 80 year man from West Virginia, and oh, she doesn't really like to go to bed before eleven PM. I couldn't make him stop talking by staring intently at him, so I finally talked over him until I was drowning out the sound of his voice and the teacher was forced to listen to me talk about the fact that we've done some school at home, and Maggie was so excited and eager to be here and she does wear shoes more often than my husband was making it seem, she wears shoes at least once a week for sure when we go to church. We left. I didn't cry. I felt happy knowing that we hadn't met the real teacher. I knew if I could get in there without Greg I could make a good impression and not make Maggie sound like a mountain goat.
I went to school the next day and again, the teacher was absent. I wanted to say, couldn't the teacher have gotten sick on vacation? I mean I was showered and dressed and wearing make up two days in a row now hoping to meet this woman and the chances of me being able to pull this off a third time seemed unlikely, but I left and put the whole thing out of my mind. Finally, on Monday morning I was able to meet her. She seemed nice and I made no mention of Maggie's aversion to shoes or her 80 year old best friend from West Virginia. She told me Maggie would be fine and not to worry about anything.
Every morning I drove Maggie to school and every afternoon I went to pick her up. She was always excited to tell me about her day but she always started by telling me she had some worksheets to finish because she hadn't finished them in school like all the other kids. I said, are you sad that you are the only one bringing work home and she said, NOPE! After this happened several days in a row, I wondered if maybe I should go ahead and ask the teacher if Maggie was the only child not finishing her worksheets. I sent a note in. A few days passed and I heard from the teacher, who said, yes, please feel free to come in, so that's what I did. This made four days in one month that I had showered and dressed, and put make up on, and done my hair, and worn something other than yoga pants, all before 8 AM. No matter what the teacher would tell me about Maggie I was proud of myself. School was turning out to be good for me.
I got to the class and sat down in one of those tiny chairs and waited to hear what the teacher would say. She said, "Maggie knows everything she needs to know. She is really cute and kind to the other kids. But she is slow. Not as in mentally slow, as in, she does what she wants at her own pace and doesn't seem to be at all bothered by the fact that she is slow. I tried to get her to work faster by bribing her with rewards, but she just looked up at me and told me she didn't feel like doing these worksheets because they are boring and instead why doesn't she just go and play in the centers. ( here the teacher laughed as though this was funny and not annoying. A good sign) Maggie talks about centers a lot. She puts her pencil down and wanders over to the centers and when I direct her back to her seat she says, very politely, those are boring, I think I should do centers instead. And when she does agree to do a worksheet she is slow." So I said, "hum, is she confused?" And she said, "no, she is not confused, she just doesn't seem to see the need to hurry and she really doesn't like the worksheets."
So then I had to do it. I had to tell the teacher about Maggie's 80 year old best friend from West Virginia. I had to tell her how Maggie gets up and walks over to Jack's house in her bare feet and goes into the chicken coop with Jack and they take several minutes to gather the eggs and then they go into Jack's kitchen and Maggie washes her hands and gets the bacon out and they separate it and fry it up and scramble some eggs or sometimes they boil them and yes, boiling takes some time, but these two have nothing but time. Sometime around two hours after they've started breakfast they are ready to sit down and eat and that takes about two more hours. I'm really sorry about this. I think Maggie would probably be perfectly suited for West Virginia mountain life, but I could see how her ease at letting everything happen at its own pace was probably not too much fun for the teacher and I would be willing to do whatever I could to make things easier for both her and Maggie.
The teacher seemed to be amused by Maggie and her best friend and said, well, I have to tell you she isn't even the slowest child here. There's a group of them who are quite relaxed, and I said, so they are special like Maggie and she laughed and said, yes, I think someday I'll stick them at a table together and see what happens. I said I thought that would be a terrific idea, could I come and document it. We agreed that we were both okay with Maggie only doing one worksheet and not the five that the rest of the class was doing. She felt confident that in a few weeks Maggie would be fine and doing everything on time and there was nothing to worry about. Sure enough, today Maggie she got into the car and said she finished all her worksheets and when I opened her backpack to make sure she was telling the truth this time, she was. Success!
Next time I'll tell you about Valentine's Day and Maggie's attempt to steal the fancy chocolate I bought for her teacher.
Maggie started school on the Thursday after Christmas break ended. Greg and I brought her in together. (The rest of the family begged to come in as well, but I refused to let them as I worried it may create a Hee Haw effect.) We hoped to meet her teacher, but she was absent. One of the other kindergarten teachers came to greet us and she looked at me and immediately recognized me as the parent of one Anthony Hacic. I laughed and said oh yes, there's no denying it, that lad is all mine!
Greg then took it upon himself to give this teacher some random information about our daughter. He mentioned that Maggie is almost always barefoot so getting her to put shoes on this morning was a huge struggle. She's never been to any kind of school and her very best friend is an 80 year man from West Virginia, and oh, she doesn't really like to go to bed before eleven PM. I couldn't make him stop talking by staring intently at him, so I finally talked over him until I was drowning out the sound of his voice and the teacher was forced to listen to me talk about the fact that we've done some school at home, and Maggie was so excited and eager to be here and she does wear shoes more often than my husband was making it seem, she wears shoes at least once a week for sure when we go to church. We left. I didn't cry. I felt happy knowing that we hadn't met the real teacher. I knew if I could get in there without Greg I could make a good impression and not make Maggie sound like a mountain goat.
I went to school the next day and again, the teacher was absent. I wanted to say, couldn't the teacher have gotten sick on vacation? I mean I was showered and dressed and wearing make up two days in a row now hoping to meet this woman and the chances of me being able to pull this off a third time seemed unlikely, but I left and put the whole thing out of my mind. Finally, on Monday morning I was able to meet her. She seemed nice and I made no mention of Maggie's aversion to shoes or her 80 year old best friend from West Virginia. She told me Maggie would be fine and not to worry about anything.
Every morning I drove Maggie to school and every afternoon I went to pick her up. She was always excited to tell me about her day but she always started by telling me she had some worksheets to finish because she hadn't finished them in school like all the other kids. I said, are you sad that you are the only one bringing work home and she said, NOPE! After this happened several days in a row, I wondered if maybe I should go ahead and ask the teacher if Maggie was the only child not finishing her worksheets. I sent a note in. A few days passed and I heard from the teacher, who said, yes, please feel free to come in, so that's what I did. This made four days in one month that I had showered and dressed, and put make up on, and done my hair, and worn something other than yoga pants, all before 8 AM. No matter what the teacher would tell me about Maggie I was proud of myself. School was turning out to be good for me.
I got to the class and sat down in one of those tiny chairs and waited to hear what the teacher would say. She said, "Maggie knows everything she needs to know. She is really cute and kind to the other kids. But she is slow. Not as in mentally slow, as in, she does what she wants at her own pace and doesn't seem to be at all bothered by the fact that she is slow. I tried to get her to work faster by bribing her with rewards, but she just looked up at me and told me she didn't feel like doing these worksheets because they are boring and instead why doesn't she just go and play in the centers. ( here the teacher laughed as though this was funny and not annoying. A good sign) Maggie talks about centers a lot. She puts her pencil down and wanders over to the centers and when I direct her back to her seat she says, very politely, those are boring, I think I should do centers instead. And when she does agree to do a worksheet she is slow." So I said, "hum, is she confused?" And she said, "no, she is not confused, she just doesn't seem to see the need to hurry and she really doesn't like the worksheets."
So then I had to do it. I had to tell the teacher about Maggie's 80 year old best friend from West Virginia. I had to tell her how Maggie gets up and walks over to Jack's house in her bare feet and goes into the chicken coop with Jack and they take several minutes to gather the eggs and then they go into Jack's kitchen and Maggie washes her hands and gets the bacon out and they separate it and fry it up and scramble some eggs or sometimes they boil them and yes, boiling takes some time, but these two have nothing but time. Sometime around two hours after they've started breakfast they are ready to sit down and eat and that takes about two more hours. I'm really sorry about this. I think Maggie would probably be perfectly suited for West Virginia mountain life, but I could see how her ease at letting everything happen at its own pace was probably not too much fun for the teacher and I would be willing to do whatever I could to make things easier for both her and Maggie.
The teacher seemed to be amused by Maggie and her best friend and said, well, I have to tell you she isn't even the slowest child here. There's a group of them who are quite relaxed, and I said, so they are special like Maggie and she laughed and said, yes, I think someday I'll stick them at a table together and see what happens. I said I thought that would be a terrific idea, could I come and document it. We agreed that we were both okay with Maggie only doing one worksheet and not the five that the rest of the class was doing. She felt confident that in a few weeks Maggie would be fine and doing everything on time and there was nothing to worry about. Sure enough, today Maggie she got into the car and said she finished all her worksheets and when I opened her backpack to make sure she was telling the truth this time, she was. Success!
Next time I'll tell you about Valentine's Day and Maggie's attempt to steal the fancy chocolate I bought for her teacher.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Writing and riding and living
This blog is in need of a major update. My mood in December took quite a long time to lift, but I've been feeling relief the past couple of weeks so I will force myself to sit and write.
Although I haven't been writing lately, I have been doing a lot of reading about writing and every book says the same thing; in order to get better at writing you need to write everyday, even when you don't feel like it. This piece of advice ends up applying to many things. The more you do the thing you should do (but that you have no desire to), the easier it becomes, the better you get, the more you enjoy what it is you are trying to master. As a woman mired in mediocrity and doing just what I have to do get by, I find all of this irritating. Even though I know there are many things I should be doing every single day, it's just not going to happen because all of that doing is hard.
Writing is hard. Even bad writing is hard. I know because I've been doing it for years now. This is when you all come in with the comments about what an amazing writer I am (please!) and I fend off the compliments with my self deprecating wit. Did you know that using cheap gimmicks like I just did right there is a sign of a bad writer? That's the great thing about reading books about writing. You learn about all the things that make for shitty writing and then you become gripped with with fear to the point of not even wanting to write and then when you do decide to maybe put something down on paper, you have no idea what you are doing anymore.
So yes, I read several books about writing and the only thing I can remember is all the stuff about what to avoid and now I just want to start using bad cliches, and switching tenses, and adding useless words like very over and over, and just being wordy in general. I always feel some compulsion to do what I was told not to do. I think many people are like this. Like when people see me drinking diet coke and tell me it causes cancer. I want to drink more and sometimes I even want to throw some diet coke in the face of the person who feels compelled to tell me how to live my life. That's the kind of person I am. I seem pleasant enough, but most likely if you piss me off I'm thinking about ways to inflict some kind of humiliation on you. It sounds cruel and petty, I know, but really it amuses me and keeps the rage at bay.
Speaking of which, I went for a bike ride on Saturday and I was feeling ragey for a solid three hours. It was windy and grey and awful outside. Rage can ruin a bike ride. I started yelling out things as I was riding like argh, and son of a bitch, and I finally succumbed and dropped a loud f bomb over on 561. It was so windy that it honestly got to the point where I could barely pedal and I thought about giving up and calling Greg to come get me. But that would involve admitting where I was and then he would have given me a lecture about how he needs to get more life insurance on me because I ride in places I shouldn't be riding. I would have said, please, this is perfectly safe, plenty of people ride over here, and he would have said he isn't married to plenty of people. I would have looked at him and imagined throwing a huge diet coke in his face or maybe even a bike, since I do like to keep my imaginary acts of violence related to the topic at hand. And I probably would have called him a dream killer too. Suddenly, having him come get me didn't seem worth the trouble. I finished the bike ride and ended up being happy at the end, which is always what happens when I finish a ride.
My bike ride was much like the past several weeks of my life. Things sucked and I wanted to quit, but then things got better and I was happy again. I kept calling people and annoying them. People like my sister and my dear friend, X ( not her real name), who just sat and listened to my nonsense. At one point I told X to just go and find new friends because I was lousy and would only infect her with my lousiness. This was X's first experience with my truly horrible and immature behavior and although she was probably shocked by my awfulness, she thankfully she didn't let on and didn't run away. She will never get rid of me now. My sister, she is used to me, but still, the phone calls filled with negativity and feeling sorry for myself and lamenting every choice I ever made must have been tiresome. If you manage to find people who sit and listen to your foolishness and resist giving you unsolicited advice, you should be grateful. My sister and X are the opposite of the diet coke police. They are fully aware that I'm acting like an ass but they know enough to just shut up and listen and make some jokes now and again to try and alleviate some of the misery. They know how to avert having an imaginary diet coke thrown in their imaginary faces.
For the most part, so does my husband. He was forced to live with me and endure hours and hours of my obsessive worry. He listened and every once in awhile he would say something and I would think, oh whatever, what do you know. So I went and talked to Fr. Robert to get some expert advice and he kept saying things which sounded vaguely familiar, and at one point it hit me and I said, oh, you know what, my husband said that. And then he said something else and I said, oh yeah, my husband said that too and after this went on for a little while Fr. Robert looked at me and said, Ann Marie, maybe you should start listening to your husband. What a novel idea! Ladies, have you ever heard anything so interesting before? Listen to your husband? Who knew? Anyway, I went home and told my husband and he didn't even gloat, he kind of laughed for a second and went on doing whatever it was he was doing and I realized I really do like him of a lot. That's the thing about marriage. You wake up in the morning wanting to throw diet coke at your spouse and by the end of the day you are wondering how you would have made it through the past twenty years without him or her.
So yeah, the past several weeks were not so great and I complained about stuff a lot and didn't write anything, but then, because life is the way it is (thank you, God), something happened and suddenly things looked brighter and less hopeless and there was some relief. There was a little shift that made getting out of bed much easier and it made me thankful I had gone through some weeks of agony because what's the point of life if you are always living on a high. It gets boring. At least for me it does. And hopefully for a little while now I will I write more than once every couple of months. Thanks for listening, capicola farts! I hope I didn't lose you all in my absence.
Although I haven't been writing lately, I have been doing a lot of reading about writing and every book says the same thing; in order to get better at writing you need to write everyday, even when you don't feel like it. This piece of advice ends up applying to many things. The more you do the thing you should do (but that you have no desire to), the easier it becomes, the better you get, the more you enjoy what it is you are trying to master. As a woman mired in mediocrity and doing just what I have to do get by, I find all of this irritating. Even though I know there are many things I should be doing every single day, it's just not going to happen because all of that doing is hard.
Writing is hard. Even bad writing is hard. I know because I've been doing it for years now. This is when you all come in with the comments about what an amazing writer I am (please!) and I fend off the compliments with my self deprecating wit. Did you know that using cheap gimmicks like I just did right there is a sign of a bad writer? That's the great thing about reading books about writing. You learn about all the things that make for shitty writing and then you become gripped with with fear to the point of not even wanting to write and then when you do decide to maybe put something down on paper, you have no idea what you are doing anymore.
So yes, I read several books about writing and the only thing I can remember is all the stuff about what to avoid and now I just want to start using bad cliches, and switching tenses, and adding useless words like very over and over, and just being wordy in general. I always feel some compulsion to do what I was told not to do. I think many people are like this. Like when people see me drinking diet coke and tell me it causes cancer. I want to drink more and sometimes I even want to throw some diet coke in the face of the person who feels compelled to tell me how to live my life. That's the kind of person I am. I seem pleasant enough, but most likely if you piss me off I'm thinking about ways to inflict some kind of humiliation on you. It sounds cruel and petty, I know, but really it amuses me and keeps the rage at bay.
Speaking of which, I went for a bike ride on Saturday and I was feeling ragey for a solid three hours. It was windy and grey and awful outside. Rage can ruin a bike ride. I started yelling out things as I was riding like argh, and son of a bitch, and I finally succumbed and dropped a loud f bomb over on 561. It was so windy that it honestly got to the point where I could barely pedal and I thought about giving up and calling Greg to come get me. But that would involve admitting where I was and then he would have given me a lecture about how he needs to get more life insurance on me because I ride in places I shouldn't be riding. I would have said, please, this is perfectly safe, plenty of people ride over here, and he would have said he isn't married to plenty of people. I would have looked at him and imagined throwing a huge diet coke in his face or maybe even a bike, since I do like to keep my imaginary acts of violence related to the topic at hand. And I probably would have called him a dream killer too. Suddenly, having him come get me didn't seem worth the trouble. I finished the bike ride and ended up being happy at the end, which is always what happens when I finish a ride.
My bike ride was much like the past several weeks of my life. Things sucked and I wanted to quit, but then things got better and I was happy again. I kept calling people and annoying them. People like my sister and my dear friend, X ( not her real name), who just sat and listened to my nonsense. At one point I told X to just go and find new friends because I was lousy and would only infect her with my lousiness. This was X's first experience with my truly horrible and immature behavior and although she was probably shocked by my awfulness, she thankfully she didn't let on and didn't run away. She will never get rid of me now. My sister, she is used to me, but still, the phone calls filled with negativity and feeling sorry for myself and lamenting every choice I ever made must have been tiresome. If you manage to find people who sit and listen to your foolishness and resist giving you unsolicited advice, you should be grateful. My sister and X are the opposite of the diet coke police. They are fully aware that I'm acting like an ass but they know enough to just shut up and listen and make some jokes now and again to try and alleviate some of the misery. They know how to avert having an imaginary diet coke thrown in their imaginary faces.
For the most part, so does my husband. He was forced to live with me and endure hours and hours of my obsessive worry. He listened and every once in awhile he would say something and I would think, oh whatever, what do you know. So I went and talked to Fr. Robert to get some expert advice and he kept saying things which sounded vaguely familiar, and at one point it hit me and I said, oh, you know what, my husband said that. And then he said something else and I said, oh yeah, my husband said that too and after this went on for a little while Fr. Robert looked at me and said, Ann Marie, maybe you should start listening to your husband. What a novel idea! Ladies, have you ever heard anything so interesting before? Listen to your husband? Who knew? Anyway, I went home and told my husband and he didn't even gloat, he kind of laughed for a second and went on doing whatever it was he was doing and I realized I really do like him of a lot. That's the thing about marriage. You wake up in the morning wanting to throw diet coke at your spouse and by the end of the day you are wondering how you would have made it through the past twenty years without him or her.
So yeah, the past several weeks were not so great and I complained about stuff a lot and didn't write anything, but then, because life is the way it is (thank you, God), something happened and suddenly things looked brighter and less hopeless and there was some relief. There was a little shift that made getting out of bed much easier and it made me thankful I had gone through some weeks of agony because what's the point of life if you are always living on a high. It gets boring. At least for me it does. And hopefully for a little while now I will I write more than once every couple of months. Thanks for listening, capicola farts! I hope I didn't lose you all in my absence.
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