now that I've posted this most embarrassing aspect of my personality...
Dr. Who fan (since 1983).
09 April 2011
06 April 2011
Extra Extra - Read all about conflict in NJ
Had battles with both of my children (the ones at home) yesterday.
Day begins with very tired L who is finally almost caught up with his work since the musical ended a few days ago. He didn’t e-mail me the work he needed to print before he went to bed last night, so I turn on his laptop to check on it and send it to myself (from L’s laptop to my computer which has a printer)... As I’m working on it to make sure the bibliography & citations are correct, I have to get L out of bed TWICE; he kept getting back under the covers after breakfast.
I noticed that he had failed to include an important source in his bibliography (although he cited the author’s name after a quote). That was especially galling for me, because it happened to be a source I had lent him and I’d been asking for him to return it for days. Instead he had to find it that morning. Anyway, when I see another source is missing from the bibliography, it’s too late - L has to go – I had to print it and, in fact, I had to drive him to school.
For days, I’ve been frustrated because I’ve suspected L has been getting back in bed in the morning. I know he’s tired, but the thing is – those ten minutes of shut eye probably don’t give him any relief and just cause him to rush out of the house in the mornings without preparing himself for the day (and then he calls to have me deliver things if he’s forgotten something – although he is doing this less now).
So, as we’re going out the door, I hand him the only money I have in my wallet, a twenty, but I tell him that I couldn’t make his lunch because of the work I was doing for him as he went back to bed, and so , whatever he used for lunch would come out of his allowance. Lucas looked shocked, but beyond the incredulous question, we have no time for an argument: I’m a sight – as I pull the twenty out of the little wallet attached to my keys, I drop all my credit cards and papers on the floor and ignore them as I frantically look for shoes and run out the door. When we got out to the car, I had those uninterrupted five minutes with him and I softened my tune a bit. “He’d only have to pay for half his lunch, but he HAD to stop getting back into bed in the morning. It does you no good -blah” (Only one blah, because I really didn’t go on and on – It was very civil.)
I dropped him off, and told him I loved him; there was no door slamming or ugly looks from his side. And as I drove home I realized that L could give me a ten when he got home, tell me he’d spent ten, and he could actually make five bucks out of this awful punishment... Sigh... Next time I won’t wimp out.
So, how much did my poor son spend on lunch? Well, he didn’t get home until about 4:00 and then he headed straight to the computer to check facebook etc. When I called him downstairs to ask for my "change" about 20 minutes later, he gave me the entire $20.00 back. I asked him what he’d eaten and he insisted that he hadn’t eaten anything. But, I know that kid. If he hadn’t eaten all day, he would have rushed right to the kitchen that afternoon. (My psychic powers are telling me that he mooched off his friends... Here’s a possible scenario: he tells everyone that I didn’t make his lunch today – maybe he even tells them that his mom said he should buy his own. These kind souls take pity on him and he ends up eating more than usual...) I’m okay with whatever happened – I’m even okay with being the bad guy – I’m just glad I wasn’t faced with the moral dilemma of how to handle it if he’d come home claiming to have lost the money or something. L is a good kid.
Oh, the ONE thing I am really ashamed of, and KNOW I have to change is that when L sends me a paper, I can’t just print it – maybe fix his bibliography. No, I always read things and even add the odd sentence. God, it’s true, and I know how wrong it is. In fact, many a time (including this specific incident) I’ve added something, realized that I’ve gone too far and then deleted it completely. This paper was especially hard on me because I'd given L a source last night and explained it to him - to help him clear up a point he'd been confused by. Instead of correcting it, he just took the entire point out of the essay. So, I was stuck on that for a few minutes.
So this tendency or pattern of mine is not good, and it also means that, while it’s true that L didn’t do his part (he was days late with the essay etc.), my obsessive nature also slows this printing process waaaaay down. It’s my terrible secret, but it’s not that I’m an overly ambitious mommy – no it seems to be an obsessive-compulsive trait. My students get a lot more comments on their papers than students of other professors. Just this weekend, another example: my husband gave me a chapter of his book (textbook) to review, and begged me just to give it a “once-over” and fix any big errors. I was NOT to polish for style or anything else... I could not do it. For example, when he included a quote that I found poorly worded, I spent a half hour trying to write the paragraph with less text quoted so that it wouldn’t include the offending snippet of that quote. When H and I bickered about it as he reviewed my revision, I accused the author he was quoting of not having a good editor. Then we lost another five minutes as H changed my brilliant reworking of his paragraph.
But wait, Amazing Almost-Invisible Woman, you haven’t told us about the other fight.
Well, since day before yesterday I had been getting calls for my daughter V (my husband’s daughter who lives with us when she isn’t staying at her partner’s parents’ house). The caller won’t leave a message except that it’s about “personal finances,” but this isn’t the first time V has received calls and letters because she hasn’t paid a bill. Once –the first time- I even sent a check to a collection agency to get them off her back (later, she swore she’d paid the bill...)**
Back to the current crisis: So, I call her, I e-mail her, I call her partner and leave a message saying she needs to call me or check her e-mail. Later, when my son answers the phone, they actually tell him that it's Victoria’s Secrets... (Note to self: if you get the call which begins with the recording with a fake sounding British accent telling you to wait for the important call, it’s Victoria’s Secrets bill collection department.) At that point I use my cell phone to text V, “pay victoria secret.”
I tell her dad that evening and he says, “What? Again? I’m going to have to sit down and talk with her.” But, who can talk with the disappearing, theoretically adult and independent daughter. Knowing that we have bad news for her, she stays away. Yesterday, I only got one call for her – so I was hoping she paid the bill. She doesn’t get home at all until probably after 1 am yesterday: worked until 11 or so and then went to the gym with partner... So, her dad wakes up, opens our bedroom door and yells down the stairs – something about the calls (I don’t hear the exact question as I’ve just woken up.) She answers that she doesn’t know and is starting to explain something when he interrupts her, “Victoria’s secrets. kiss kiss kiss kisss.” Seriously, that’s how angry he is. He gets up but doesn’t go downstairs, doesn’t call her out on what was probably going to be a lie- that she doesn’t know who was calling – and sends her kisses.
So, now I was wide awake and frustrated with H. These calls are upsetting to me. I went downstairs to talk to V, but when I didn't see her and she doesn’t answer me, I go back upstairs. Yes, that’s me – I still mean to talk to her, but I want this to be a real chance to talk... (excuses excuses – it’s that I dread confrontation). Anyway, when I come back up, H is mad at me because now I’ve woken him up completely when I sniped at him for his handling (NOT) of the situation. He gets up to go downstairs and so I go downstairs and this time I’m not retreating until I talk to her and she gets the message. I’m in the kitchen and she can’t hide out in the bathroom forever.
She comes out; I ask her, “What’s up?”
It’s a bill she has to pay but she didn’t have the money – but she was definitely going to pay it “tomorrow.”
I ask, “Why do you even have a bill with Victoria’s Secrets?” She doesn’t answer, she just looks down. My hubby comes into the kitchen and sits down to listen at some point. I basically tell V that I feel as though “I am enabling her by taking these calls from creditors and being discreet about it.” In a way I’m acting as though this were normal behavior, and it’s not normal. She’s making really poor financial decisions. I’m not willing to continue to do that – Next time I’m going to ... I don’t know ... tell her mother. I ranted, but not too long. V wasn’t responding anyway; she just looked at the ground. So, I hope that main point was really clear. I’m not going to just continue to take these calls and collaborate by being discrete about this.
I didn’t say this to her, but it is very frustrating to me to worry about her, but have no power to really demand anything. She is the best person I know at making sincere promises and then NOT follow through. She has mastered the art of strategic disappearances and being incomunicada.
Bottom line, I have no threat to make – and, believe me, my numerous attempts to reach her through $$ incentives have failed... In a way my only power is to hand this thing off to her mother who is currently living near-by and who will hound her. I know V doesn’t want her mother involved and my hubby and I have supported that decision. V’s emotional and physical separation from her mother was a huge turning point in her life, and she was so proud to see, after she survived, that she was stronger than she thought. She was about 19 then – so it has been over 5 years, but I know that she still has to defend her space a bit. Of course I don’t want to gratuitously involve her mother against V’s will.
For V, it goes beyond just her mother butting in; as far as I can tell, V doesn’t let her partner know about her $$ errors. I mean, some months ago, Toyota started calling her and was on the verge of repossessing her car. And, as far as I know, nobody found out. V just disappeared to her partner’s family’s house and managed to pay the bill...
Here’s the strange thing: these are problems over smallish bills – They don’t have to become major crisis. For example, if she wasn’t lying to us, her Toyota Bill of $200 a month was only a month late – in other words, she owed two months or $400.00. Last night her dad asked her how much the Victoria’s Secret’s bill was. She said she was going to pay $60.00. Her dad caught the hedging and insisted, “How much do you owe?” She says only $120.00.
But I think V doesn’t want to ask for help from us, from her partner – her mother has no money anyway, but might be able to help her. No, nobody. Still, she lists our home phone as her phone number – and I have to take these calls – and see the letters.
So, this morning, V got up before 7:00 am came out to the kitchen and told me that she’d set her alarm for 7. “Oh,” I said, “you set it for 7 so you can pay your bill?” Yes. “Do you have the money to pay it?” Yes... It ocurrs to me that it’s not payday – so why did she have the money today but not yesterday or the day before? But I’m never going to find out, probably.
So, last night I went to bed and felt a bit guilty that I hadn’t offered to lend V the money to pay the bill (instead of waiting for her to ask to borrow it – which she didn’t). We got back up to bed at 2:30 a.m. and I couldn’t sleep. I turned on a lamp and read, of all things, a book about “Mao’s Great Famine.” H hugged me and said he knew I worried about everyone. I had set the lamp on the floor, but still I worried about whether H would sleep with the light. I am worried a bit about H. The other day I looked at him, and he seriously suddenly looked older. Sigh. So, I turned off the light but couldn’t sleep; lay there for a good hour to let H sleep, but I HATE this lying in the dark when I can’t sleep. If I can’t turn the thoughts from preoccupations, it’s not good to lay there in the dark. Finally about 4:00 am, I reach over and slowly open up the drawer in my bedside table where I’ve seen a little reading light that came with the snuggie that V gave me for X-mas this year. I keep reading about famine in China and about how the Chinese are exporting grains and cotton in those years (1958-59...) even as people were suffering from the cold and from hunger. I realize that I am very hungry and also simply too cold to be able to fall asleep (WHY oh why do I go to bed without socks on in the winter when I know that I shouldn’t?), but I don’t want to wake husband. No, the irony of the situation isn’t lost on me – my puny problems are really nothing compared to the people I was reading about.
Finally, I get up and get on two pairs of socks and another pair of pajama pants. Grab a pillow from the side room – wrap myself up in a sheet and read some more with my little reading lamp, snuggled under the covers next to H. Ahhh... I’m feeling so much better. At 4:40 a.m. I turn off the light and don’t have another conscious thought until 6:25 when H gets up and gripes about the cats who have once again clawed at the carpet under our door until it’s so bunched up that you can’t open the door whithout pulling it straight. And I’m off to another day.
______________
**funny --but also kind of sad—story. The bill that had gone to a collection agency came from car insurance. Not long after she came to live with us, she got fed up at her dad’s “meddling” (and mine I’m sure) and decided to move out. Well, she’d already gotten her own car insurance when she realized that she couldn’t afford to move out. Wow – this must have been about 4 years ago. So, she cancelled the car insurance but still owed a day or two... It wasn’t more than 40$. What was the “meddling”? Well, it was certainly after the one time her dad seriously did intervene in her financial decision-making (he’s very very laissez-faire). She still had no income, but had managed to put over $1000 on her first credit card. He took it away from her. I think the “meddling” in question was more that he was asking her constantly about her classes... and I was always asking her if I could help her with any of her class work (Didn’t work anyway – to constantly ask her, that is).
Day begins with very tired L who is finally almost caught up with his work since the musical ended a few days ago. He didn’t e-mail me the work he needed to print before he went to bed last night, so I turn on his laptop to check on it and send it to myself (from L’s laptop to my computer which has a printer)... As I’m working on it to make sure the bibliography & citations are correct, I have to get L out of bed TWICE; he kept getting back under the covers after breakfast.
I noticed that he had failed to include an important source in his bibliography (although he cited the author’s name after a quote). That was especially galling for me, because it happened to be a source I had lent him and I’d been asking for him to return it for days. Instead he had to find it that morning. Anyway, when I see another source is missing from the bibliography, it’s too late - L has to go – I had to print it and, in fact, I had to drive him to school.
For days, I’ve been frustrated because I’ve suspected L has been getting back in bed in the morning. I know he’s tired, but the thing is – those ten minutes of shut eye probably don’t give him any relief and just cause him to rush out of the house in the mornings without preparing himself for the day (and then he calls to have me deliver things if he’s forgotten something – although he is doing this less now).
So, as we’re going out the door, I hand him the only money I have in my wallet, a twenty, but I tell him that I couldn’t make his lunch because of the work I was doing for him as he went back to bed, and so , whatever he used for lunch would come out of his allowance. Lucas looked shocked, but beyond the incredulous question, we have no time for an argument: I’m a sight – as I pull the twenty out of the little wallet attached to my keys, I drop all my credit cards and papers on the floor and ignore them as I frantically look for shoes and run out the door. When we got out to the car, I had those uninterrupted five minutes with him and I softened my tune a bit. “He’d only have to pay for half his lunch, but he HAD to stop getting back into bed in the morning. It does you no good -blah” (Only one blah, because I really didn’t go on and on – It was very civil.)
I dropped him off, and told him I loved him; there was no door slamming or ugly looks from his side. And as I drove home I realized that L could give me a ten when he got home, tell me he’d spent ten, and he could actually make five bucks out of this awful punishment... Sigh... Next time I won’t wimp out.
So, how much did my poor son spend on lunch? Well, he didn’t get home until about 4:00 and then he headed straight to the computer to check facebook etc. When I called him downstairs to ask for my "change" about 20 minutes later, he gave me the entire $20.00 back. I asked him what he’d eaten and he insisted that he hadn’t eaten anything. But, I know that kid. If he hadn’t eaten all day, he would have rushed right to the kitchen that afternoon. (My psychic powers are telling me that he mooched off his friends... Here’s a possible scenario: he tells everyone that I didn’t make his lunch today – maybe he even tells them that his mom said he should buy his own. These kind souls take pity on him and he ends up eating more than usual...) I’m okay with whatever happened – I’m even okay with being the bad guy – I’m just glad I wasn’t faced with the moral dilemma of how to handle it if he’d come home claiming to have lost the money or something. L is a good kid.
Oh, the ONE thing I am really ashamed of, and KNOW I have to change is that when L sends me a paper, I can’t just print it – maybe fix his bibliography. No, I always read things and even add the odd sentence. God, it’s true, and I know how wrong it is. In fact, many a time (including this specific incident) I’ve added something, realized that I’ve gone too far and then deleted it completely. This paper was especially hard on me because I'd given L a source last night and explained it to him - to help him clear up a point he'd been confused by. Instead of correcting it, he just took the entire point out of the essay. So, I was stuck on that for a few minutes.
So this tendency or pattern of mine is not good, and it also means that, while it’s true that L didn’t do his part (he was days late with the essay etc.), my obsessive nature also slows this printing process waaaaay down. It’s my terrible secret, but it’s not that I’m an overly ambitious mommy – no it seems to be an obsessive-compulsive trait. My students get a lot more comments on their papers than students of other professors. Just this weekend, another example: my husband gave me a chapter of his book (textbook) to review, and begged me just to give it a “once-over” and fix any big errors. I was NOT to polish for style or anything else... I could not do it. For example, when he included a quote that I found poorly worded, I spent a half hour trying to write the paragraph with less text quoted so that it wouldn’t include the offending snippet of that quote. When H and I bickered about it as he reviewed my revision, I accused the author he was quoting of not having a good editor. Then we lost another five minutes as H changed my brilliant reworking of his paragraph.
But wait, Amazing Almost-Invisible Woman, you haven’t told us about the other fight.
Well, since day before yesterday I had been getting calls for my daughter V (my husband’s daughter who lives with us when she isn’t staying at her partner’s parents’ house). The caller won’t leave a message except that it’s about “personal finances,” but this isn’t the first time V has received calls and letters because she hasn’t paid a bill. Once –the first time- I even sent a check to a collection agency to get them off her back (later, she swore she’d paid the bill...)**
Back to the current crisis: So, I call her, I e-mail her, I call her partner and leave a message saying she needs to call me or check her e-mail. Later, when my son answers the phone, they actually tell him that it's Victoria’s Secrets... (Note to self: if you get the call which begins with the recording with a fake sounding British accent telling you to wait for the important call, it’s Victoria’s Secrets bill collection department.) At that point I use my cell phone to text V, “pay victoria secret.”
I tell her dad that evening and he says, “What? Again? I’m going to have to sit down and talk with her.” But, who can talk with the disappearing, theoretically adult and independent daughter. Knowing that we have bad news for her, she stays away. Yesterday, I only got one call for her – so I was hoping she paid the bill. She doesn’t get home at all until probably after 1 am yesterday: worked until 11 or so and then went to the gym with partner... So, her dad wakes up, opens our bedroom door and yells down the stairs – something about the calls (I don’t hear the exact question as I’ve just woken up.) She answers that she doesn’t know and is starting to explain something when he interrupts her, “Victoria’s secrets. kiss kiss kiss kisss.” Seriously, that’s how angry he is. He gets up but doesn’t go downstairs, doesn’t call her out on what was probably going to be a lie- that she doesn’t know who was calling – and sends her kisses.
So, now I was wide awake and frustrated with H. These calls are upsetting to me. I went downstairs to talk to V, but when I didn't see her and she doesn’t answer me, I go back upstairs. Yes, that’s me – I still mean to talk to her, but I want this to be a real chance to talk... (excuses excuses – it’s that I dread confrontation). Anyway, when I come back up, H is mad at me because now I’ve woken him up completely when I sniped at him for his handling (NOT) of the situation. He gets up to go downstairs and so I go downstairs and this time I’m not retreating until I talk to her and she gets the message. I’m in the kitchen and she can’t hide out in the bathroom forever.
She comes out; I ask her, “What’s up?”
It’s a bill she has to pay but she didn’t have the money – but she was definitely going to pay it “tomorrow.”
I ask, “Why do you even have a bill with Victoria’s Secrets?” She doesn’t answer, she just looks down. My hubby comes into the kitchen and sits down to listen at some point. I basically tell V that I feel as though “I am enabling her by taking these calls from creditors and being discreet about it.” In a way I’m acting as though this were normal behavior, and it’s not normal. She’s making really poor financial decisions. I’m not willing to continue to do that – Next time I’m going to ... I don’t know ... tell her mother. I ranted, but not too long. V wasn’t responding anyway; she just looked at the ground. So, I hope that main point was really clear. I’m not going to just continue to take these calls and collaborate by being discrete about this.
I didn’t say this to her, but it is very frustrating to me to worry about her, but have no power to really demand anything. She is the best person I know at making sincere promises and then NOT follow through. She has mastered the art of strategic disappearances and being incomunicada.
Bottom line, I have no threat to make – and, believe me, my numerous attempts to reach her through $$ incentives have failed... In a way my only power is to hand this thing off to her mother who is currently living near-by and who will hound her. I know V doesn’t want her mother involved and my hubby and I have supported that decision. V’s emotional and physical separation from her mother was a huge turning point in her life, and she was so proud to see, after she survived, that she was stronger than she thought. She was about 19 then – so it has been over 5 years, but I know that she still has to defend her space a bit. Of course I don’t want to gratuitously involve her mother against V’s will.
For V, it goes beyond just her mother butting in; as far as I can tell, V doesn’t let her partner know about her $$ errors. I mean, some months ago, Toyota started calling her and was on the verge of repossessing her car. And, as far as I know, nobody found out. V just disappeared to her partner’s family’s house and managed to pay the bill...
Here’s the strange thing: these are problems over smallish bills – They don’t have to become major crisis. For example, if she wasn’t lying to us, her Toyota Bill of $200 a month was only a month late – in other words, she owed two months or $400.00. Last night her dad asked her how much the Victoria’s Secret’s bill was. She said she was going to pay $60.00. Her dad caught the hedging and insisted, “How much do you owe?” She says only $120.00.
But I think V doesn’t want to ask for help from us, from her partner – her mother has no money anyway, but might be able to help her. No, nobody. Still, she lists our home phone as her phone number – and I have to take these calls – and see the letters.
So, this morning, V got up before 7:00 am came out to the kitchen and told me that she’d set her alarm for 7. “Oh,” I said, “you set it for 7 so you can pay your bill?” Yes. “Do you have the money to pay it?” Yes... It ocurrs to me that it’s not payday – so why did she have the money today but not yesterday or the day before? But I’m never going to find out, probably.
So, last night I went to bed and felt a bit guilty that I hadn’t offered to lend V the money to pay the bill (instead of waiting for her to ask to borrow it – which she didn’t). We got back up to bed at 2:30 a.m. and I couldn’t sleep. I turned on a lamp and read, of all things, a book about “Mao’s Great Famine.” H hugged me and said he knew I worried about everyone. I had set the lamp on the floor, but still I worried about whether H would sleep with the light. I am worried a bit about H. The other day I looked at him, and he seriously suddenly looked older. Sigh. So, I turned off the light but couldn’t sleep; lay there for a good hour to let H sleep, but I HATE this lying in the dark when I can’t sleep. If I can’t turn the thoughts from preoccupations, it’s not good to lay there in the dark. Finally about 4:00 am, I reach over and slowly open up the drawer in my bedside table where I’ve seen a little reading light that came with the snuggie that V gave me for X-mas this year. I keep reading about famine in China and about how the Chinese are exporting grains and cotton in those years (1958-59...) even as people were suffering from the cold and from hunger. I realize that I am very hungry and also simply too cold to be able to fall asleep (WHY oh why do I go to bed without socks on in the winter when I know that I shouldn’t?), but I don’t want to wake husband. No, the irony of the situation isn’t lost on me – my puny problems are really nothing compared to the people I was reading about.
Finally, I get up and get on two pairs of socks and another pair of pajama pants. Grab a pillow from the side room – wrap myself up in a sheet and read some more with my little reading lamp, snuggled under the covers next to H. Ahhh... I’m feeling so much better. At 4:40 a.m. I turn off the light and don’t have another conscious thought until 6:25 when H gets up and gripes about the cats who have once again clawed at the carpet under our door until it’s so bunched up that you can’t open the door whithout pulling it straight. And I’m off to another day.
______________
**funny --but also kind of sad—story. The bill that had gone to a collection agency came from car insurance. Not long after she came to live with us, she got fed up at her dad’s “meddling” (and mine I’m sure) and decided to move out. Well, she’d already gotten her own car insurance when she realized that she couldn’t afford to move out. Wow – this must have been about 4 years ago. So, she cancelled the car insurance but still owed a day or two... It wasn’t more than 40$. What was the “meddling”? Well, it was certainly after the one time her dad seriously did intervene in her financial decision-making (he’s very very laissez-faire). She still had no income, but had managed to put over $1000 on her first credit card. He took it away from her. I think the “meddling” in question was more that he was asking her constantly about her classes... and I was always asking her if I could help her with any of her class work (Didn’t work anyway – to constantly ask her, that is).
04 April 2011
my non-recognition policy
I recently took on a volunteer post in my son's school play . As I became bogged down with the work, I was still glad to have done it, not only because it eased a burden of guilt for not contributing more, but because I was meeting other parents. I made an effort to learn names, and when I actually saw the parents involved (most of this work was done via e-mail) I tried to link the face with the name.
Well, on the final night of the show a woman says "Hi" to me, and I look right at her, study the face briefly as one does; I know that I should recognize her and search the old data bank; then I say, "Sandra, right?" She looked upset and reminded me that her name was "Carolyn"* - My friend and neighbor J who had come with me, also corrected me with a practically shocked expression...
Now, I know people make mistakes with names all the time, but here's how BAD this one was... Carolyn is somebody I had interacted with for years, albeit only very occasionally. What's more, she has a hair lip (not a bad one - she's perfectly nice looking, but it's not a face that anyone with social skills can mistake). So, in case there was still any doubt...
* As usual, all names are changed to protect the innocent.
14 March 2011
one moment
I just want to save this image.
Last night I was trying to get L organized for what is going to be a long week and get him headed to bed before it got too late. He's in the last weeks of play rehearsals, so every day of this upcoming week is booked.It was one thing or another and he's not heading toward bed. At one point he has me watch a video of a TERRIBLE singer autotuning an ode to Friday... "we so happy it's Friday"[sic.]. I tried to click the video off, but he maneuvered my hand away and we sat there staring, expression of disdain on his face and, on mine, awe at how bad a music video could get.
I confess that I was also sabotaging my own efforts to enforce reasonable bed time by issuing contradictory commands as I needed him to look for a worksheet, organize papers, and get to bed - "Oh, and did you take out the trash?"
The final distraction was the cutest, "Where'd you put my new soccer gloves?"
They weren't where he had left them sitting on the desk in what used to be his bedroom (minuscule room, now used for storage - laundry to fold, teaching material, papers, etc.).
I had put the gloves in a bag and hung them on a bulletin board.
Switch to present tense for the real moment I want to save:
When I go to check on him, he's sitting on the floor trying on the gloves. It's clear that he can't wait to use them --this is about the fourth time he's tried them on-- but they're too good to use for practice. Anyway, I find him so adorable on the floor like that and, armed with fresh patience, I remind him to "hurry up." He sets the gloves BACK on the little desk to keep them safe, but I manage to convince him that it's not a good idea; the desk is not sacred, untouchable territory. My bulletin board safe-storage-solution doesn't satisfy him, so I suggest an old mesh basket hanging from the ceiling.
When L notices that it's full of his old plush
I put the gloves in the basket and hang it again.
Will I ever get this kid to bed?
13 March 2011
Love, actually
I've been pretty nice to H (husband) lately on these pages. But, today he made me really cross - so mad that I was actually thinking the "D" word... Sigh...
This isn't uncommon. That's the whole point. Constant forgiving and tiny efforts at generosity of spirit and memory are at the center of a relationship.
I made H mad too - of course. Here are the embarrassingly mundane details:
--He comes upstairs after his shower, and as usual he puts his deodorant on in the upstairs ("my") bathroom .
--I tell him not to turn on the water because I just cut my hair and I'm going to vacuum the hair out of the sink and off the floor.
--H tells me that when he cuts his beard he puts a newspaper in the sink, and I should too.
Well, I know that he puts a newspaper in the sink, and I also know that I always have to finish cleaning up after him... So, it galls me a bit that he lectures me. Yes, I know it wasn't a lecture, just a "helpful comment," and I try hard NOT to say what I'm thinking. That is, I really don't want to scold, nag, or be pettty. Instead I choose to react with a smile and a small insiders joke - let's see - a song we heard recently in some movie... Something about my haircuts being special...
Doesn't work: H won't let me off the hook without responding to his suggestion... so I do make the above two points: [one] I know he uses newspaper, and I always clean up after him anyway and [two] since I'm going to do the cleaning, does it matter whether I use the newspaper. (No question mark, because, to me, it's clear that this is a rhetorical question.)
Humberto get's mad. He claims that it's about minimizing the hair and that HE is the one to unclog my drain. The latter isn't true - the drains in the upstairs bathroom have never become clogged - but H does periodically do the thankless task of pulling up the stopper in the bathtub downstairs to get out the gross gunk which starts to slow that drain.
I won't pretend to remember all of the dialogue here - and I won't pretend that I was a saint, but I can swear that I was working hard NOT to get excited or worked up.
H was steamed, though, because I wasn't recognizing that from now on I would definitely use the newspaper over the sink like he does.... And truth is, I could have said that, and it probably wouldn't have been so incredibly difficult to say it or do it.
But H overreacts and I get stubborn.
Behold! The central image I have from this argument; it was about this point that the D word crept into my imagination: H comes out of our closet in his underwear, he's holding his socks in his hand, and he SLAMS them down on the bed and loudly says, "Damn, damn, damn, Fu..., damn..." He goes on to say that I "always discard his things." By this he means that "siempre descarto sus sugerencias."[descartar: verb - to throw out, can be used to imply something thrown out without any thought or consideration[.
Actually, later that day, and even days later (this post being written over several days - btw) I giggle when I think of the sock-slam. You see, if you're frustrated, slamming socks down is just not a very effective gesture. The only thing worse is to do a sock-slam while wearing only tighty-whities...
I try to make H understand that he chooses whether or not to let these little issues make him mad. He can't help it - he gets mad. Am I evil because I refuse to placate him right away? That is, I can't predict that he will be infuriated by my reaction to any one comment, but it would be pretty easy to just practice the, "Yes, I'll do that."
But, I can't. It isn't me. Sometimes it's a matter of not agreeing with him - others it is just stubbornness.. or maybe I'm going to think about it - look it up, whatever. But should I say I'll do it - and then ignore him if I decide that I don't agree? Maybe I could be much more tactful. Still, that's a recipe for disaster too - because then the next time he sees me doing "it" wrong (whatever "it" is), he'll really explode. So, I try to stay honest, unless it's some very particular comment about something I'll probably never do again... or something like that.
He's so convinced that I "descartar" his ideas that he over-reacts. Probably ten minutes after the explosion had ended, but when we were both still irritated, I explained it to him well and mollified him. I pointed out that for four decades I'd always put a lot of the hair clippings from my haircuts into the toilet to flush. I'd only changed that behavior because I had listened to what he said to me a few months ago; he'd seen me do that and told me not to because it could clog the toilet. Now, that objection did seem possible to me, and so I changed my method.
"See, H., I do listen to you and I do change my behavior based on things that you say." I think he might have hugged me there and I let myself be hugged for a few second and then hugged him too.... I'm guessing about this scene because I took too long to finish writing this - but it is something we would do.
A few thoughts to wrap up .
One: I hope that nobody thinks I believe I am without guilt. Heck, I don't even think I'm capable of describing this situation without bias. But, I do often wish I could record these interactions - except I couldn't know they were being recorded. See - it's impossible.
Two: What do I mean about "thinking" about the D word? Hmmm.... As H is yelling or behaving in a way that I find unreasonable, I'm wondering - "would I" "could I" "what would it be like" It doesn't usually last long; it's been a really long time since there has been some sort of situation which even made me take that idea to bed at night. Instead, nowadays, I just let it go. It's easy to get back to equilibrium - back to seeing us as a "yunta" - back to recognizing . . . (STOP! This is getting too far away from the idea I wanted to build in this post)
Three: You know who I've observed who is very good at agreeing with H and acting as though she believes H is right? His ex-wife. (Because their daughter V lives with us, naturally my husband's ex-wife has stayed with us more than once and, as much as H would rather avoid a lot of interaction, they have talked about things a number of times over the past decade. It was only during her last stay, however, that I observed a conversation or two and suddenly it clicked... She was really good at saying he was right or acting like she thought it. But, you can be damn well sure that - let's see... How to put this? Oh, Hell, this is like quicksand; even though I wasn't planning on saying anything insulting about his ex, it would probably end up sounding mean-spirited in a way I didn't intend. So, let's leave it at this.
This isn't uncommon. That's the whole point. Constant forgiving and tiny efforts at generosity of spirit and memory are at the center of a relationship.
I made H mad too - of course. Here are the embarrassingly mundane details:
--He comes upstairs after his shower, and as usual he puts his deodorant on in the upstairs ("my") bathroom .
--I tell him not to turn on the water because I just cut my hair and I'm going to vacuum the hair out of the sink and off the floor.
--H tells me that when he cuts his beard he puts a newspaper in the sink, and I should too.
Well, I know that he puts a newspaper in the sink, and I also know that I always have to finish cleaning up after him... So, it galls me a bit that he lectures me. Yes, I know it wasn't a lecture, just a "helpful comment," and I try hard NOT to say what I'm thinking. That is, I really don't want to scold, nag, or be pettty. Instead I choose to react with a smile and a small insiders joke - let's see - a song we heard recently in some movie... Something about my haircuts being special...
Doesn't work: H won't let me off the hook without responding to his suggestion... so I do make the above two points: [one] I know he uses newspaper, and I always clean up after him anyway and [two] since I'm going to do the cleaning, does it matter whether I use the newspaper. (No question mark, because, to me, it's clear that this is a rhetorical question.)
Humberto get's mad. He claims that it's about minimizing the hair and that HE is the one to unclog my drain. The latter isn't true - the drains in the upstairs bathroom have never become clogged - but H does periodically do the thankless task of pulling up the stopper in the bathtub downstairs to get out the gross gunk which starts to slow that drain.
I won't pretend to remember all of the dialogue here - and I won't pretend that I was a saint, but I can swear that I was working hard NOT to get excited or worked up.
H was steamed, though, because I wasn't recognizing that from now on I would definitely use the newspaper over the sink like he does.... And truth is, I could have said that, and it probably wouldn't have been so incredibly difficult to say it or do it.
But H overreacts and I get stubborn.
Behold! The central image I have from this argument; it was about this point that the D word crept into my imagination: H comes out of our closet in his underwear, he's holding his socks in his hand, and he SLAMS them down on the bed and loudly says, "Damn, damn, damn, Fu..., damn..." He goes on to say that I "always discard his things." By this he means that "siempre descarto sus sugerencias."[descartar: verb - to throw out, can be used to imply something thrown out without any thought or consideration[.
Actually, later that day, and even days later (this post being written over several days - btw) I giggle when I think of the sock-slam. You see, if you're frustrated, slamming socks down is just not a very effective gesture. The only thing worse is to do a sock-slam while wearing only tighty-whities...
I try to make H understand that he chooses whether or not to let these little issues make him mad. He can't help it - he gets mad. Am I evil because I refuse to placate him right away? That is, I can't predict that he will be infuriated by my reaction to any one comment, but it would be pretty easy to just practice the, "Yes, I'll do that."
But, I can't. It isn't me. Sometimes it's a matter of not agreeing with him - others it is just stubbornness.. or maybe I'm going to think about it - look it up, whatever. But should I say I'll do it - and then ignore him if I decide that I don't agree? Maybe I could be much more tactful. Still, that's a recipe for disaster too - because then the next time he sees me doing "it" wrong (whatever "it" is), he'll really explode. So, I try to stay honest, unless it's some very particular comment about something I'll probably never do again... or something like that.
He's so convinced that I "descartar" his ideas that he over-reacts. Probably ten minutes after the explosion had ended, but when we were both still irritated, I explained it to him well and mollified him. I pointed out that for four decades I'd always put a lot of the hair clippings from my haircuts into the toilet to flush. I'd only changed that behavior because I had listened to what he said to me a few months ago; he'd seen me do that and told me not to because it could clog the toilet. Now, that objection did seem possible to me, and so I changed my method.
"See, H., I do listen to you and I do change my behavior based on things that you say." I think he might have hugged me there and I let myself be hugged for a few second and then hugged him too.... I'm guessing about this scene because I took too long to finish writing this - but it is something we would do.
A few thoughts to wrap up .
One: I hope that nobody thinks I believe I am without guilt. Heck, I don't even think I'm capable of describing this situation without bias. But, I do often wish I could record these interactions - except I couldn't know they were being recorded. See - it's impossible.
Two: What do I mean about "thinking" about the D word? Hmmm.... As H is yelling or behaving in a way that I find unreasonable, I'm wondering - "would I" "could I" "what would it be like" It doesn't usually last long; it's been a really long time since there has been some sort of situation which even made me take that idea to bed at night. Instead, nowadays, I just let it go. It's easy to get back to equilibrium - back to seeing us as a "yunta" - back to recognizing . . . (STOP! This is getting too far away from the idea I wanted to build in this post)
Three: You know who I've observed who is very good at agreeing with H and acting as though she believes H is right? His ex-wife. (Because their daughter V lives with us, naturally my husband's ex-wife has stayed with us more than once and, as much as H would rather avoid a lot of interaction, they have talked about things a number of times over the past decade. It was only during her last stay, however, that I observed a conversation or two and suddenly it clicked... She was really good at saying he was right or acting like she thought it. But, you can be damn well sure that - let's see... How to put this? Oh, Hell, this is like quicksand; even though I wasn't planning on saying anything insulting about his ex, it would probably end up sounding mean-spirited in a way I didn't intend. So, let's leave it at this.
08 March 2011
Secret
There’s an address (connected to website) where people can send secrets. I understand the urge. There are some things which are just too shameful to be shared... but not sharing is a burden. This is why, I’m inviting EVERYONE who reads this to post a secret in the comments. (Anonymously if you want). Trust me, nobody is reading this. Your secret is safe here.
My secret is shame-inducing (to me) beyond all rational logic because my husband has been so nice to me. The day before yesterday I couldn’t sleep, and he was so understanding and loving toward me (rubbing my back – coming down to lie on the sofa with me after I got out of bed to read – you know, those little gestures that communicate a lot). Last night, again, he was especially tender with me.
As my son said so famously (see future post?), “I’m not worthy.”
Yesterday, you know what I did all day? I sat on the sofa next to my kitty cat and played a Nintendo DS game called Brain Age (puzzles)... over and over and over. The winter sun beamed on us through the kitchen windows and, every once and a while, the little kitty would start purring for no reason. It was very gratifying, and would be a happy memory if I had kept at it for less than an hour (59 minutes tops).
WHY? Why the Hell can't I just put the game down, period.
But... I kept saying, “just two more times. No! That one didn’t count because..."
I roused myself from this lethargy long enough to walk to the post office to mail my Netflix movies, to stop by the grocery store for dinner ingredients (on my way home), to roast a chicken for dinner, and clean kitchen. I mean, I wasn’t a wild-eyed ratty-haired looser of a housewife. No, I even finished going through all my income tax work (a trial run to see how painful this was going to be).
Oh, when L got home from school, I hid the game from him – and we spent a long time on line together trying to get him some soccer equipment... But, when he wasn’t watching, I was at the game again. At a certain point that evening, I didn’t even bother to hide it from him, although of course I acted as though I just pulled in out for a little while.
That evening I said to hubby, “I did the income taxes...” and I made myself sound pretty productive. But, seriously, I’d tracked down the necessary papers earlier, so doing the taxes involved sitting at the computer screen and just typing in the appropriate numbers (I have a program) – and trying out a few things (like what would happen to my tax return if I opened an IRA account). My tax work on our behalf was nothing to boast about...
When I got to a question which asked whether I’d ever paid the alternate minimum tax because there might be some tax credit, my reaction was kind of, “How the Hell should I know?” Yes, I did do the taxes last year, and the year before, and so on... But, BLAH – I just skipped the question. If the U.S. had more tax payers like my family, the country’s deficit would be a lot smaller. I’m all about “Just get it done.”
So...my deep dark secret... I didn’t do anything on my numerous long-term projects yesterday AND there are intense occasional jabbing pains in my shoulder because I used that tiny little stylus in such excess. The repetitive slight tensing of the muscles... murder on the aged (or, maybe I should say, it's aging me).
Today, I’m trying to be more productive, but the forces of inertia and chaos seem to be aligned against this effort. For example, not only am I wasting time on this post, but . . . read on.
This is bake sale day at my son’s school – and I had just popped the first batch in the oven when I went to check my e-mail. I saw a message, “Bake sale today – READ THIS!” So I did. It said not to bother baking because this week’s bake sale would be the “clean out the freezer effort.” In the meanwhile, as I got caught up answering e-mails, I burnt that first batch. I’m wasting precious time ruining cookies that I shouldn’t even be making.
My secret is shame-inducing (to me) beyond all rational logic because my husband has been so nice to me. The day before yesterday I couldn’t sleep, and he was so understanding and loving toward me (rubbing my back – coming down to lie on the sofa with me after I got out of bed to read – you know, those little gestures that communicate a lot). Last night, again, he was especially tender with me.
As my son said so famously (see future post?), “I’m not worthy.”
Yesterday, you know what I did all day? I sat on the sofa next to my kitty cat and played a Nintendo DS game called Brain Age (puzzles)... over and over and over. The winter sun beamed on us through the kitchen windows and, every once and a while, the little kitty would start purring for no reason. It was very gratifying, and would be a happy memory if I had kept at it for less than an hour (59 minutes tops).
WHY? Why the Hell can't I just put the game down, period.
But... I kept saying, “just two more times. No! That one didn’t count because..."
I roused myself from this lethargy long enough to walk to the post office to mail my Netflix movies, to stop by the grocery store for dinner ingredients (on my way home), to roast a chicken for dinner, and clean kitchen. I mean, I wasn’t a wild-eyed ratty-haired looser of a housewife. No, I even finished going through all my income tax work (a trial run to see how painful this was going to be).
Oh, when L got home from school, I hid the game from him – and we spent a long time on line together trying to get him some soccer equipment... But, when he wasn’t watching, I was at the game again. At a certain point that evening, I didn’t even bother to hide it from him, although of course I acted as though I just pulled in out for a little while.
That evening I said to hubby, “I did the income taxes...” and I made myself sound pretty productive. But, seriously, I’d tracked down the necessary papers earlier, so doing the taxes involved sitting at the computer screen and just typing in the appropriate numbers (I have a program) – and trying out a few things (like what would happen to my tax return if I opened an IRA account). My tax work on our behalf was nothing to boast about...
When I got to a question which asked whether I’d ever paid the alternate minimum tax because there might be some tax credit, my reaction was kind of, “How the Hell should I know?” Yes, I did do the taxes last year, and the year before, and so on... But, BLAH – I just skipped the question. If the U.S. had more tax payers like my family, the country’s deficit would be a lot smaller. I’m all about “Just get it done.”
So...my deep dark secret... I didn’t do anything on my numerous long-term projects yesterday AND there are intense occasional jabbing pains in my shoulder because I used that tiny little stylus in such excess. The repetitive slight tensing of the muscles... murder on the aged (or, maybe I should say, it's aging me).
Today, I’m trying to be more productive, but the forces of inertia and chaos seem to be aligned against this effort. For example, not only am I wasting time on this post, but . . . read on.
This is bake sale day at my son’s school – and I had just popped the first batch in the oven when I went to check my e-mail. I saw a message, “Bake sale today – READ THIS!” So I did. It said not to bother baking because this week’s bake sale would be the “clean out the freezer effort.” In the meanwhile, as I got caught up answering e-mails, I burnt that first batch. I’m wasting precious time ruining cookies that I shouldn’t even be making.
02 March 2011
Take my advice. . . please
For a few years now, as soon as I start dancing, my son demands (begs, huffs, vomits, cries, sneers) that I cease and desist. At once.
Usually this goads me into dancing even more.... although sometimes I stop for a little while, until I start again. It is very hard NOT to dance because we listen to music in our kitchen. Well, when I'm in the kitchen, I'm typically doing boring unskilled labor - so music sustains me. My son, on the other hand, is often reading, doing homework, talking - all of which, for him, require the music at high volume. You see my dilemma. It's not that I want to be a pain in the neck. . .
I ALWAYS used to say to him that the problem was that he was just too easy to provoke. I'd say, "If you ignore me, I'll feel like an idiot, and I'll stop." I'd say something similar about other situations; for example, when his sister V would provoke him. Oh, or his dad... when he'd try to rob L's food, or something. WHY can I not think of any better examples? My point was that, at times by reacting too obviously to something, we make ourselves too irresistible a target, right? I mean, I still think there is some truth to this.
Guess how my son finally managed to get me to stop dancing around in the kitchen? A simple xylophone riff indicates that we've entered flashback:
I had been noticing that my son didn't react to my dancing as much, and I was beginning to think, "Hallelujah! I can finally enjoy the music without expressive censorship again! L is growing out of that phase, I guess."
Until, not too many days later, L says to me, "Mom, you know how you said that I should just ignore you when you dance. . . to get you to stop? Well, I've been trying, and it doesn't work."
It was such a lightning bolt to me. I had given him bad advice (well, see qualification above). Well, du-uh. It turns out that I like to dance spastically as I work in the kitchen. It wasn't just to provoke my poor child.
Since that moment, I have sincerely tried to stop dancing when he's around.
P.S. Surely he'll grow out of his aversion to my dancing? With any luck this'll happen before the arthritis makes it impossible for me to get down with my salsa moves. ha ha aha ha ha ha
Usually this goads me into dancing even more.... although sometimes I stop for a little while, until I start again. It is very hard NOT to dance because we listen to music in our kitchen. Well, when I'm in the kitchen, I'm typically doing boring unskilled labor - so music sustains me. My son, on the other hand, is often reading, doing homework, talking - all of which, for him, require the music at high volume. You see my dilemma. It's not that I want to be a pain in the neck. . .
I ALWAYS used to say to him that the problem was that he was just too easy to provoke. I'd say, "If you ignore me, I'll feel like an idiot, and I'll stop." I'd say something similar about other situations; for example, when his sister V would provoke him. Oh, or his dad... when he'd try to rob L's food, or something. WHY can I not think of any better examples? My point was that, at times by reacting too obviously to something, we make ourselves too irresistible a target, right? I mean, I still think there is some truth to this.
Guess how my son finally managed to get me to stop dancing around in the kitchen? A simple xylophone riff indicates that we've entered flashback:
I had been noticing that my son didn't react to my dancing as much, and I was beginning to think, "Hallelujah! I can finally enjoy the music without expressive censorship again! L is growing out of that phase, I guess."
Until, not too many days later, L says to me, "Mom, you know how you said that I should just ignore you when you dance. . . to get you to stop? Well, I've been trying, and it doesn't work."
It was such a lightning bolt to me. I had given him bad advice (well, see qualification above). Well, du-uh. It turns out that I like to dance spastically as I work in the kitchen. It wasn't just to provoke my poor child.
Since that moment, I have sincerely tried to stop dancing when he's around.
P.S. Surely he'll grow out of his aversion to my dancing? With any luck this'll happen before the arthritis makes it impossible for me to get down with my salsa moves. ha ha aha ha ha ha
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