Two nights ago L and I were walking home from the park.* I had noticed an older couple walking on the other side of the street, and I purposely had stayed on the opposite side so as not to crowd them. But, as we got closer to our house, we ended up crossing and coming up behind them when they were just 3 meters from our front door. So, we come up pretty close.
The woman is right behind the man and rushing to keep up with him and they're having some conversation. She asks him a question and he answers without really looking back. At the same time he lets out a looooooooong fa-aa-aa-a-rrrt. My first thought is that the man is deaf and doesn't realize he's doing this, but then I remember that the couple has been having a normal conversation, while walking and with one person behind the other --not the sort of conversation one engages in if one is hard of hearing. My second thought, maybe this is self-defense? Like the skunk. "Back off, dudes." After all, L. is getting pretty big now.
So L and I stopped abruptly (as a self-defense strategy, it did have an effect) turned out backs to the couple and looked at each other for about ten seconds. Then we ran in the house stifling our laughter.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
*back to why we were walking home from the park at night (nice day to remember later).
We went to the park to play tennis - it was a gorgeous late afternoon. PatL (code name, shhhh) was over playing monopoly, chess and magic (he's in a monopoly crazed phase right now). But it was a shame to miss that weather. We convinced PatL to put the game away and go to the park.
When L couldn't round up a friend to join him for tennis except for a very unenthusiastic PatL "I don't like tennis", I tagged along. PatL rode his bike to find his father to play a game of basketball first so L. and I got to hit the ball back and forth for awhile. But, first we had had to stop by D's house to borrow a racket. Anyway, it was dusk, but we finally got to the tennis courts!
Yea! It seems I hardly ever get to play because there's always one extra player and I'm always the old person and "host" of the group in a way (this often happens when older son comes to visit and he'll often bring a friend, i.e. girlfriend). So, I'll volunteer to sit out the games.
L wants to join the tennis team next year (school's team is excellent). This is a big change in L. because, for years, ever since he once felt foolish and humiliated in a community tennis class, he vehemently professed his hatred of the game. He began to lighten up a bit about a year ago and this spring he went to the other side completely. It's lovely to see. He has no form, but I guess he can do enough to pose at least some threat to opponents in his group of friends. (He was even holding his own against good friend A. who has taken lessons for years - until A. got new glasses and could see the ball again....)
L is really interested in getting in shape for soccer season. He has been begging for a 30 pound weight and his dad and I have been saying, "No. Find other things to lift - the 30 lb. weight is just going to sit around the house, and it costs money when there is no reason really to spend it. Plus, it could damage something blah blah blah"
So L. borrowed two weights from A. and was lifting them as he did other activities. Last night one fell off as he was watching SNL with us and lifting... I shudder when I think that he'd been lying on the floor with that weight over his head about 10 minutes before that moment.
Must go, have to wake up L to take him to swim practice.
27 June 2011
13 June 2011
List ... for future reference
This was the list I typed up in desperation when my daughter was headed for her first ever trip to Europe and didn't know where her passport was... Before a vacation to the Bahamas a few years ago, I had been forced to tear the house apart when I realized that I couldn't find her passport. So, this time, when she asked me if I had her passport, I started looking for it in the obvious places. I pretty quickly concluded that, no, I didn't have her passport but, given my history with it, I wasn't willing to swear that I didn't.
Well, SHE wasn't looking for it and my search could only end definitively when the damn thing turned up.
The days went by...her trip was only a week away and the passport still hadn't appeared. Since it didn't seem to me (or to H) that she was seriously working on this, I printed out the check list below so that she would understand that the ball really was in her court. (The list was also part of my effort to make sure I had left no stone unturned - I had been frantically tearing things apart, pulling things out, sorting and shredding for days).
Finally, a friend's mother found V's passport in a safe.
I didn't have to say anything; V. decided that she would, from then on and forever more, put her passport in the care of an organized person (her mama I think).
When she landed in Berlin, her sister confiscated her passport. We were all laughing about it, and V is a good sport.
So, I won't need this list for V's passport, but who knows what document I might need to turn up in the future?
bank deposit box (2 times)
drawer with misc. papers in kitchen
m. bedside table (empty)
h. bedside table (empty)
files in computer desk (completely empty out drawer)
top drawer computer desk (completely empty out)
all shelves in computer desk (completely empty out)
h. top “drawer” in closet
other drawers in closet
white shelves in closet (empty out)
m. plastic drawers in closet
m. desk in closet
sweater box in closet
y colorin colorado, este cuento se ha acabado
Well, SHE wasn't looking for it and my search could only end definitively when the damn thing turned up.
The days went by...her trip was only a week away and the passport still hadn't appeared. Since it didn't seem to me (or to H) that she was seriously working on this, I printed out the check list below so that she would understand that the ball really was in her court. (The list was also part of my effort to make sure I had left no stone unturned - I had been frantically tearing things apart, pulling things out, sorting and shredding for days).
Finally, a friend's mother found V's passport in a safe.
I didn't have to say anything; V. decided that she would, from then on and forever more, put her passport in the care of an organized person (her mama I think).
When she landed in Berlin, her sister confiscated her passport. We were all laughing about it, and V is a good sport.
So, I won't need this list for V's passport, but who knows what document I might need to turn up in the future?
bank deposit box (2 times)
drawer with misc. papers in kitchen
m. bedside table (empty)
h. bedside table (empty)
files in computer desk (completely empty out drawer)
top drawer computer desk (completely empty out)
all shelves in computer desk (completely empty out)
h. top “drawer” in closet
other drawers in closet
white shelves in closet (empty out)
m. plastic drawers in closet
m. desk in closet
sweater box in closet
y colorin colorado, este cuento se ha acabado
01 June 2011
Fa la la la la
Son didn't go to a soccer game tonight because he had an activity with one of his choir/singing groups. I felt bad because the soccer team was massacred and they had no goalie there.
L looks at me and says, "I knew I wasn't going to be able to go. I'm prioritizing. I mean I'm not going to be getting a scholarship for soccer, but I might get one for singing."
ha ha ha! When I pointed out that there really aren't scholarships for singing... he smiled and joked, "WHAT? No scholarships for singers?"
I guess it wasn't actually a surprise.
Here I am, trying NOT to put everything in those terms - - - NOT putting everything in the light of "What will help me more for college?" Nevertheless, L has picked it up.
P.S. The fact that he felt the need to say that he "knew" he couldn't make the game makes me wonder whether he even remembered he had a game. If he didn't know, it wouldn't be completely his fault because the coaches of his team have been struggling a bit in the communication department. But... we'll just give L the benefit of the doubt. Sigh...
L looks at me and says, "I knew I wasn't going to be able to go. I'm prioritizing. I mean I'm not going to be getting a scholarship for soccer, but I might get one for singing."
ha ha ha! When I pointed out that there really aren't scholarships for singing... he smiled and joked, "WHAT? No scholarships for singers?"
I guess it wasn't actually a surprise.
Here I am, trying NOT to put everything in those terms - - - NOT putting everything in the light of "What will help me more for college?" Nevertheless, L has picked it up.
P.S. The fact that he felt the need to say that he "knew" he couldn't make the game makes me wonder whether he even remembered he had a game. If he didn't know, it wouldn't be completely his fault because the coaches of his team have been struggling a bit in the communication department. But... we'll just give L the benefit of the doubt. Sigh...
overheard...
in our house at 6 a.m. this Memorial Day morning.
We're still asleep when a thunderstorm started very suddenly. My husband said to me, "Oh no! The kitchen windows are open!"
I figured, "What the heck, I might as well get up to get the windows since the cats will likely make me get up soon anyway..."
I got up and closed the kitchen windows. My husband followed me downstairs. He's in his underwear standing slightly off kilter, his regular posture. I don't know why I felt the need to share that - it's more that I have this silly image of him in my mind that I'd like to recapture later when I read this.
As I head toward the stairs which lead to our bedroom, H. says, "The newspaper already got here. It's on the lawn." (Ya llego' el periodico - etc.)
Well, he's in his tighty whities (whiteys???) and I at least have on an attractive pajama ... So, without a word, I walked out into the rain to retrieve the newspaper.
I came in and handed him the newspaper and, as I started back up the stairs, H said to me, "Are the car windows closed?"
That put me past my willing to be nice and take a hint quota for the day --"YES!"
Later I laughed my head off as I replayed that conversation for my husband. The way he never actually asked me to do anything... He was able to laugh about it also (a leetle bit), but, in his defense, he said he'd gone out himself to check on the car windows. He can't help it - There's that little obsessive-compulsive part of him.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
A little later that same day, my son and I had an interesting conversation.
L had to go to a band event at the memorial Day celebration in our town. He had three sheets of music and, as he was preparing to leave the house, he asked for a folder.
I asked him if he wanted me to somehow attach the sheet music to the folder to make it more secure for playing outside.
"No," he said.
I insisted a bit... "It'll be easy to do... If I don't, it could blow away."
"NO," he insisted. "It WON’T blow away."
He was so adamant that I can't resist the temptation of an advance-told-you-so, “OK, remember, I’ll be there to witness it if your music blows away.”
“It WON’T blow away!”
GUESS WHAT I SAW AT THE EVENT? Lucas’s music blew away and he had to chase it down (he denies "chasing it"– According to him he just took a step or two) – Seriously, a step or two which took him through the row of players in front of him... whether or not that counts as "chasing" is academic. No?
He played that song with some of his music between his knees and then he clipped it into his folder. Turns out that they had clothes pins there for the players, but Lucas hadn’t put his on his music... Say, what?? My son the optimist, who'd've thought?
Within 60 seconds of him walking into our house afterward, I admit - his dad and I had our little gloat. I'm only human. I was begging him to just say, “YOU WERE RIGHT, MOM,” but he refused.
We're still asleep when a thunderstorm started very suddenly. My husband said to me, "Oh no! The kitchen windows are open!"
I figured, "What the heck, I might as well get up to get the windows since the cats will likely make me get up soon anyway..."
I got up and closed the kitchen windows. My husband followed me downstairs. He's in his underwear standing slightly off kilter, his regular posture. I don't know why I felt the need to share that - it's more that I have this silly image of him in my mind that I'd like to recapture later when I read this.
As I head toward the stairs which lead to our bedroom, H. says, "The newspaper already got here. It's on the lawn." (Ya llego' el periodico - etc.)
Well, he's in his tighty whities (whiteys???) and I at least have on an attractive pajama ... So, without a word, I walked out into the rain to retrieve the newspaper.
I came in and handed him the newspaper and, as I started back up the stairs, H said to me, "Are the car windows closed?"
That put me past my willing to be nice and take a hint quota for the day --"YES!"
Later I laughed my head off as I replayed that conversation for my husband. The way he never actually asked me to do anything... He was able to laugh about it also (a leetle bit), but, in his defense, he said he'd gone out himself to check on the car windows. He can't help it - There's that little obsessive-compulsive part of him.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
A little later that same day, my son and I had an interesting conversation.
L had to go to a band event at the memorial Day celebration in our town. He had three sheets of music and, as he was preparing to leave the house, he asked for a folder.
I asked him if he wanted me to somehow attach the sheet music to the folder to make it more secure for playing outside.
"No," he said.
I insisted a bit... "It'll be easy to do... If I don't, it could blow away."
"NO," he insisted. "It WON’T blow away."
He was so adamant that I can't resist the temptation of an advance-told-you-so, “OK, remember, I’ll be there to witness it if your music blows away.”
“It WON’T blow away!”
GUESS WHAT I SAW AT THE EVENT? Lucas’s music blew away and he had to chase it down (he denies "chasing it"– According to him he just took a step or two) – Seriously, a step or two which took him through the row of players in front of him... whether or not that counts as "chasing" is academic. No?
He played that song with some of his music between his knees and then he clipped it into his folder. Turns out that they had clothes pins there for the players, but Lucas hadn’t put his on his music... Say, what?? My son the optimist, who'd've thought?
Within 60 seconds of him walking into our house afterward, I admit - his dad and I had our little gloat. I'm only human. I was begging him to just say, “YOU WERE RIGHT, MOM,” but he refused.
25 May 2011
(g)routed
Scenes from my recent grouting:
Act one
Scene one: Tuesday night... after stalling for days (well, technically speaking, I was preparing the surface for days) I finally slap on the grout. I read that I shouldn't buy regular grout; for a few dollars more it behooved me to get a polymer yadda yadda yadda. I also knew that I needed sanded grout because the space between the tiles and my tub is too wide. And, according to the experts at one site, it didn't matter that some of the spaces weren't very wide, I could just use the sanded grout everywhere.
So, I went out and bought PRE-MIXED sanded grout. (Forget all the crap about polymer blends - I thought my extra cents should go to avoiding the catastrophe that is moi + mixing precise amounts of ingredients.)
The directions said to use my rubber grout tray to apply the grout at a 45 degree angle, so, naturally, I used my finger tips to shove grout into the space. Surprisingly difficult to get the grout to cooperate. That sanded grout was so course that it didn't go into any of the grooves between tiles easily.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that I started on the wall around the faucet (the most vital area) rather than the back wall...
When I was done, I had a royal mess on my hands. It just didn't look right at all. The sanded grout didn't seem to be doing the trick on the narrower spaces - and it just didn't seem like this was going to be water proof ("Don't leave air holes," the instructions say). Sigh.
I said out loud to L. who was in the kitchen. "I want to kill myself." What a terrible thing to say. L responded a bit seriously, "No, you don't." (He said it twice because I replied something or other to his first, "No, you don't.") Just when I was about to feel really really guilty about what I had just said, L - bless his soul - saved the situation. He called out to me, "Drama queen." And that was that. I was being a "drama queen" rather than a puerile simpering baby... Situation defused. I went to bed feeling really really bad about the job.
Did I mention that L. had his choir concert and, what with having to wash a shirt for him by hand etc. etc., I didn't start shoving the grout into the spaces until about 9 pm?
So, I tossed and turned and the next morning went to a hardware store determined to buy a non-sanded grout. Oh, this is scene two...
Scene two: Wednesday morning at the hardware store. "Hmmm... this pre-mixed non-sanded grout is the right color. But what's this? Here's a pre-mixed non-sanded grout that is also a glue? That could be useful... not only would I grout the tiles, but I'd make sure they were still really stuck to the wall." My train of thought is interrupted by one of those rare employees (this was one of the huge hardware store chains). He's just asking me if an abandoned cart belongs to me. I say no, and then I ask him about the difference between the regular grout and the grout/adhesive combination. It appears he is Russian or something, because he doesn't understand my question. In a nice accent he just says that, of course I can use the grout/adhesive. With this expert advice, I decide to take the glue-grout.
Back home - I'm frantically cleaning the house, because V has called me to say she's at the airport. She's going out to eat with a friend (Sh) but she'll be home before too late.
Finally I'm ready to grout - this time I'll start on the far wall. My 45 degree technique with the rubber grout spreader is much much better. Or maybe not. I'm wondering WHY it didn't occur to me to look at a you tube video on grouting.
This tub of grout is used up long before the job is finished and long before I had actually covered the square feet that the grout should cover. hmmm...
Gradually - as I'm desperately trying to clean the excess grout off the tiles, it dawns on me that I've elected to spread GLUE all over the place and somehow I'm going to have to ger the glue off the tiles. The consistency is soon terribly sticky. I wipe and wipe (damp sponge - circular motion - just like the direction say). I scrape. I scratch. It just can't be cleaned. I give up. Tomorrow I'm going to have to figure it all out - and I still have half a wall to cover.
3) Final step: let everyone know that we'll all be sharing the other shower for a while... Luckily it's in my bedroom - because I'm really looking forward to having everyone traipse through at all hours. V doesn't even get home from work most days until 11 pm... Oh well, this too shall pass.
Act one
Scene one: Tuesday night... after stalling for days (well, technically speaking, I was preparing the surface for days) I finally slap on the grout. I read that I shouldn't buy regular grout; for a few dollars more it behooved me to get a polymer yadda yadda yadda. I also knew that I needed sanded grout because the space between the tiles and my tub is too wide. And, according to the experts at one site, it didn't matter that some of the spaces weren't very wide, I could just use the sanded grout everywhere.
So, I went out and bought PRE-MIXED sanded grout. (Forget all the crap about polymer blends - I thought my extra cents should go to avoiding the catastrophe that is moi + mixing precise amounts of ingredients.)
The directions said to use my rubber grout tray to apply the grout at a 45 degree angle, so, naturally, I used my finger tips to shove grout into the space. Surprisingly difficult to get the grout to cooperate. That sanded grout was so course that it didn't go into any of the grooves between tiles easily.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that I started on the wall around the faucet (the most vital area) rather than the back wall...
When I was done, I had a royal mess on my hands. It just didn't look right at all. The sanded grout didn't seem to be doing the trick on the narrower spaces - and it just didn't seem like this was going to be water proof ("Don't leave air holes," the instructions say). Sigh.
I said out loud to L. who was in the kitchen. "I want to kill myself." What a terrible thing to say. L responded a bit seriously, "No, you don't." (He said it twice because I replied something or other to his first, "No, you don't.") Just when I was about to feel really really guilty about what I had just said, L - bless his soul - saved the situation. He called out to me, "Drama queen." And that was that. I was being a "drama queen" rather than a puerile simpering baby... Situation defused. I went to bed feeling really really bad about the job.
Did I mention that L. had his choir concert and, what with having to wash a shirt for him by hand etc. etc., I didn't start shoving the grout into the spaces until about 9 pm?
So, I tossed and turned and the next morning went to a hardware store determined to buy a non-sanded grout. Oh, this is scene two...
Scene two: Wednesday morning at the hardware store. "Hmmm... this pre-mixed non-sanded grout is the right color. But what's this? Here's a pre-mixed non-sanded grout that is also a glue? That could be useful... not only would I grout the tiles, but I'd make sure they were still really stuck to the wall." My train of thought is interrupted by one of those rare employees (this was one of the huge hardware store chains). He's just asking me if an abandoned cart belongs to me. I say no, and then I ask him about the difference between the regular grout and the grout/adhesive combination. It appears he is Russian or something, because he doesn't understand my question. In a nice accent he just says that, of course I can use the grout/adhesive. With this expert advice, I decide to take the glue-grout.
Back home - I'm frantically cleaning the house, because V has called me to say she's at the airport. She's going out to eat with a friend (Sh) but she'll be home before too late.
Finally I'm ready to grout - this time I'll start on the far wall. My 45 degree technique with the rubber grout spreader is much much better. Or maybe not. I'm wondering WHY it didn't occur to me to look at a you tube video on grouting.
This tub of grout is used up long before the job is finished and long before I had actually covered the square feet that the grout should cover. hmmm...
Gradually - as I'm desperately trying to clean the excess grout off the tiles, it dawns on me that I've elected to spread GLUE all over the place and somehow I'm going to have to ger the glue off the tiles. The consistency is soon terribly sticky. I wipe and wipe (damp sponge - circular motion - just like the direction say). I scrape. I scratch. It just can't be cleaned. I give up. Tomorrow I'm going to have to figure it all out - and I still have half a wall to cover.
3) Final step: let everyone know that we'll all be sharing the other shower for a while... Luckily it's in my bedroom - because I'm really looking forward to having everyone traipse through at all hours. V doesn't even get home from work most days until 11 pm... Oh well, this too shall pass.
19 May 2011
grout
I really have some serious things going on in my life now. I have scheduled the praxis test for early June (professional test). I have family crisis coming out the kazoo (extended family, fortunately, not anything too dramatic within this house). I have a _______ __ ____ _redacted __ __XXX ______.XXX.. Well, I am not going to fix any of those problems today. Today I am going to start to fix the grout in the downstairs bathroom.
V. is in Europe and I said I would do this. Evey day I wake up desperately searching for an excuse not to do it... The stupidest things can leave me paralyzed.
So, I have now announced this to the world. Don't say hi to me the next time we talk or write. Say, "So, did you do the grout?"
I need the pressure - only the guilt and embarrassment can save me now. I can't let V get back from Europe and find no change. She'll listen to my excuses; "I was able to fix the leak problem with this attractive plastic curtain that I have hung all around our shower/bathtub, and really, that is a much safer and cheaper solution." (Um, that's the only excuse I've been able to come up with so far.)
V will be nice about it, but - oh God - the shame. My reputation as a mechanical failure and inept house keeper will be further cemented in everyone's mind.
NO
I will not let that happen. God save us all - I'm gonna fix the house.
V. is in Europe and I said I would do this. Evey day I wake up desperately searching for an excuse not to do it... The stupidest things can leave me paralyzed.
So, I have now announced this to the world. Don't say hi to me the next time we talk or write. Say, "So, did you do the grout?"
I need the pressure - only the guilt and embarrassment can save me now. I can't let V get back from Europe and find no change. She'll listen to my excuses; "I was able to fix the leak problem with this attractive plastic curtain that I have hung all around our shower/bathtub, and really, that is a much safer and cheaper solution." (Um, that's the only excuse I've been able to come up with so far.)
V will be nice about it, but - oh God - the shame. My reputation as a mechanical failure and inept house keeper will be further cemented in everyone's mind.
NO
I will not let that happen. God save us all - I'm gonna fix the house.
17 May 2011
The tour?
Heard in my house last Thursday night.
My son P. is home for a visit with his new girlfriend Ja. Hubby picked them up at the train station and they came in to much general rejoiocing. They hadn't been in the door for 5 minutes when I hear P say to Ja, "Let me give you the tour."
The tour, P? The TOUR??
Why???
Whose family have you been visiting lately, P?
Around here nobody talks about "tours" because my home, dear as it is to some of us, well...
1 -- it's teeny tiny
2 -- anyone who knows me, knows that no matter how spiffy I managed to get the living room and downstairs bathroom... maybe even the front porch, THE HIDDEN PARTS OF THE HOUSE will probably embarrass me. If I had managed to finally clean the basement, I would have announced it.
3 -- some doors, such as the one leading to V's den, simply should never be opened, period
4 -- my closet (see point 3)
5 -- I have no taste, stomach or budget for interior decorating
So, right away Ja discovered who we really are. But, good news. I think she liked the cats.
My son P. is home for a visit with his new girlfriend Ja. Hubby picked them up at the train station and they came in to much general rejoiocing. They hadn't been in the door for 5 minutes when I hear P say to Ja, "Let me give you the tour."
The tour, P? The TOUR??
Why???
Whose family have you been visiting lately, P?
Around here nobody talks about "tours" because my home, dear as it is to some of us, well...
1 -- it's teeny tiny
2 -- anyone who knows me, knows that no matter how spiffy I managed to get the living room and downstairs bathroom... maybe even the front porch, THE HIDDEN PARTS OF THE HOUSE will probably embarrass me. If I had managed to finally clean the basement, I would have announced it.
3 -- some doors, such as the one leading to V's den, simply should never be opened, period
4 -- my closet (see point 3)
5 -- I have no taste, stomach or budget for interior decorating
So, right away Ja discovered who we really are. But, good news. I think she liked the cats.
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