Dear Todd,
Picture if you can our sweet, little Vegan daughter. She is frazzled. She is in a magenta hoody, pulled tightly over the bun on her head. She is frantically racing around the kitchen. She is sorting out what will go in her lunch, and whether she will pack snacks. "Ugh," she comments as she makes her bag of almonds to go. "We used to be able to have snack in Math and now we can't because some punky kids ruined it." She systematically shuffles around her younger brother who is trying to not be devastated by the recent haircut he received. The hair is shorter, which was the objective, however the bangs, when not styled to the side, look like a mini lawnmower, with a busted blade no less, ran over his forehead. Poor kid.
We scurry into the car and as we turn the car away from the house and toward the school, our sweet little Vegan shows me the bag of almonds she is determined to eat in Math and sings "F the police comin' straight from the underground."
That's how my Thursday started. You?
Meanwhile in Existential Crisis: As a culture, we're doing it wrong. If you see bags packed when you get home, it's not personal...it's Finland. Peace Out. Meet you on the other side of the pond....
And last but not least, I'm pretty sure we have another child. I think it's the tallest one....have you seen him?
Friday, November 15, 2019
Sunday, October 27, 2019
Help Wanted
Dear Todd,
Today, after multiple kind requests, and explanations of how the little people of our home could help us...conversations that turned into a scene from Jerry McQuire, "HELP ME. HELP YOU!" of what inevitably distilled down to "RAKE THE G*DDAMN LEAVES" I found myself singing the line from Major Tom over and over in my head "Here am I floating in my tin can..." I think it speaks to this element of a separation of worlds taking place: the teen world vs the old farts.
As CEO of the Old Farts, in addition to Leaf Raking 101, I have decided to implement a "Safe to Wipe" policy: See something.Wipe something. The goal is to promote self-motivated wiping. I want our children to know that they needn't fear the sponge or the Windex. I want them to know that they will be supported in all incidents where they feel there may be something to wipe. I may need you to design some pamphlets or posters.
Today, after multiple kind requests, and explanations of how the little people of our home could help us...conversations that turned into a scene from Jerry McQuire, "HELP ME. HELP YOU!" of what inevitably distilled down to "RAKE THE G*DDAMN LEAVES" I found myself singing the line from Major Tom over and over in my head "Here am I floating in my tin can..." I think it speaks to this element of a separation of worlds taking place: the teen world vs the old farts.
As CEO of the Old Farts, in addition to Leaf Raking 101, I have decided to implement a "Safe to Wipe" policy: See something.Wipe something. The goal is to promote self-motivated wiping. I want our children to know that they needn't fear the sponge or the Windex. I want them to know that they will be supported in all incidents where they feel there may be something to wipe. I may need you to design some pamphlets or posters.
Wednesday, October 9, 2019
Wednesday
10/09/19
Dear Todd,
It started as a typical Wednesday night. Ya know the drill...wherein I pick our daughter up from dance and she works hard to stay in her little capsule of rage. She's giggling and happy waving bye to other dancer friends, but as soon as she spots her younger brother in the front seat, the pin is pulled and our little grenade sits in her pod of injustice the whole ride home. Today she's seeing the world through a lens of stupidity, fatigue, starvation and...did I mention stupidity? Everything, especially the flu shot she received 12 HOURS AGO, is stupid.
As we walked in to the house, my mouth poised to say something ridiculously brilliant about the meaning of life, our 15 year old jumped down the stairs, barely clothed, dancing to a new musical favorite, "Why don't you strip no more?" Our youngest, finding this to be a fabulous and catchy tune, began to slowly gyrate down the face of the refrigerator as he grabbed various items for his lunch. He warned us all, and I quote, "not to get too distracted by his 'ass magic.'" No acknowledgement from the capsule of rage. Nothing. A steel trap that one. She continued to methodically put her lunch together for tomorrow, while both brothers performed a surprisingly entertaining off-off-broadway performance of Magic Mike.
I, on the other hand, put another check next to my flowchart entitled, "Ways in which we have failed as parents." I think this will be helpful when our children are trying to sort out which parent did the most damage and how. Not sure, however, if I want the responsibility for the emotional shut-in or the male strippers. It's like Sophie's Choice all over again.
Dear Todd,
It started as a typical Wednesday night. Ya know the drill...wherein I pick our daughter up from dance and she works hard to stay in her little capsule of rage. She's giggling and happy waving bye to other dancer friends, but as soon as she spots her younger brother in the front seat, the pin is pulled and our little grenade sits in her pod of injustice the whole ride home. Today she's seeing the world through a lens of stupidity, fatigue, starvation and...did I mention stupidity? Everything, especially the flu shot she received 12 HOURS AGO, is stupid.
As we walked in to the house, my mouth poised to say something ridiculously brilliant about the meaning of life, our 15 year old jumped down the stairs, barely clothed, dancing to a new musical favorite, "Why don't you strip no more?" Our youngest, finding this to be a fabulous and catchy tune, began to slowly gyrate down the face of the refrigerator as he grabbed various items for his lunch. He warned us all, and I quote, "not to get too distracted by his 'ass magic.'" No acknowledgement from the capsule of rage. Nothing. A steel trap that one. She continued to methodically put her lunch together for tomorrow, while both brothers performed a surprisingly entertaining off-off-broadway performance of Magic Mike.
I, on the other hand, put another check next to my flowchart entitled, "Ways in which we have failed as parents." I think this will be helpful when our children are trying to sort out which parent did the most damage and how. Not sure, however, if I want the responsibility for the emotional shut-in or the male strippers. It's like Sophie's Choice all over again.
Monday, September 30, 2019
Magic Land
Dear Todd,
I have found a new favorite day of the year. Tour de Corgi. It's quite possibly one of the happiest days on earth. The Tour de Corgi is a day of Corgi explosion (figuratively)--no Corgi's were harmed in the Tour de Corgi. Corgi's from all over, flood Old Town in costume--often accompanied by other family members in thematic attire. For example, there was an entire cast of Labyrinth: Bowie (holding a chihuahua in the red and white striped jumpsuit), Connelly, in the white ballgown, Bluto, and the corgi was the dog with the stuffed fox jockey. Surfers dressed their corgi in shark costumes, there were "corwhals" instead of narwhals, and "Keeping up with the Corgdashians," in which little dogs were wearing shiny leather pants. Seriously. Shiny leather pants on dog butts. There were so many in clothes, but then even more who just came au natural. Corgis everywhere.
And as if that wasn't miserable enough, Ben and Jerry's was giving out Free Ice Cream Samples of their new flavor "Justice Reform Remix." As I put the chocolate, cinnamon, bits of brownie and cookie dough magic into my mouth, I realized there was a "peace event" happening all around us. Literally. Booths promoting peace, artists making crafts, other vendors preaching advocacy and kindness. Musicians on stage started singing "Imagine" by John Lennon, while a toddler in a sunhat played in the splash park with a thirsty, naked corgi. Norman Rockwell's got nuthin' on this scene. It was like a ginormous bag of Skittles just rained down on Old Town.
Which makes me feel even more like a ninny muggins as I angrily sit here on the couch waiting for our eldest's laundry to finish so I can throw it in the dryer overnight (again gratitude for having a washer and dryer and eldest) but I'm sooooooo tired, and I am grouchy. I mean, I was in Magic Land Saturday and already today I am grouchy. Hardly seems like the way to behave. However, you weren't in Magic Land, and I'm mostly grouchy with you. Perhaps if you also went to Magic Land you wouldn't say things today that would make me mostly grouchy with you. You need to get yo ass to Magic Land.
(Side note...While my intent was clear, it would though, be all the more magical, if you could find a way to ride there on a mule.) That's the kind of healing magic we all need.
Thursday, September 19, 2019
Don't Poop on the Stoop (and other things I never thought I'd say)
9/19/19
Dear Todd,
I'm sitting in the land of EC today. Wondering if you are there too. It's that place where you are looking all around thinking, "What is this all about really?" I walked into the kitchen to make coffee, and was greeted by three chickens staring at me through the back door. Their little nosy heads were lovingly framed by the the shredded bamboo blinds. (Courtesy of our 80lb Aussie/Lab with generalized anxiety disorder). As I opened the door to say "Good morning" to the poultry mafia, they looked up and dropped a load onto the stoop. Now, I realize that I am responsible for my own thoughts, however it did seem to send a pretty direct message: "Hi! Here's my poop."
And then I realized that I'm getting that a lot lately. I'm hearing the "poop" of everyone's day, and then I'm dealing with the "poop" of my own day: Busted blinkers, clogged tub, dead (ridiculously expensive) tree, dog poop in my yard, chicken poop on my stoop, other children being "poopy" to mine, etc.
I started wondering, if our lives are just one big digestive process? We take in the good, relish the moment, the experience, and then we sort of forget about it. Then all of a sudden, we feel a "shift" and are bombarded with poop. Whether it's related or not, it's a cycle. A yin and yang. Perhaps the real key is trying to find the emotional equivalent to a healthy "movement." I think it must have been Ghandi or Yoda who said, "Balance you must find between laxatives and constipation in processing life events." Yup. Pretty sure. One of them. Bumper stickers abbreviated it to "Shit happens."
I find that the adolescents in our house are emotional laxatives, and the adults are emotionally constipated. So much sucks when you are 13 and 15. As adults, for so many, it is so compacted and has to REALLY suck for it to be expressed. And by that time, metaphorically speaking, you may need to pull your toilet, but not before you stand in a pool of overflowed shit-water.
So perhaps the real answer to "what's this all about anyway?" is "enjoy the intake and learn to process your 'internal waste' in a healthy manner." And to that, I repeat, "Don't poop on the stoop."
Dear Todd,
I'm sitting in the land of EC today. Wondering if you are there too. It's that place where you are looking all around thinking, "What is this all about really?" I walked into the kitchen to make coffee, and was greeted by three chickens staring at me through the back door. Their little nosy heads were lovingly framed by the the shredded bamboo blinds. (Courtesy of our 80lb Aussie/Lab with generalized anxiety disorder). As I opened the door to say "Good morning" to the poultry mafia, they looked up and dropped a load onto the stoop. Now, I realize that I am responsible for my own thoughts, however it did seem to send a pretty direct message: "Hi! Here's my poop."
And then I realized that I'm getting that a lot lately. I'm hearing the "poop" of everyone's day, and then I'm dealing with the "poop" of my own day: Busted blinkers, clogged tub, dead (ridiculously expensive) tree, dog poop in my yard, chicken poop on my stoop, other children being "poopy" to mine, etc.
I started wondering, if our lives are just one big digestive process? We take in the good, relish the moment, the experience, and then we sort of forget about it. Then all of a sudden, we feel a "shift" and are bombarded with poop. Whether it's related or not, it's a cycle. A yin and yang. Perhaps the real key is trying to find the emotional equivalent to a healthy "movement." I think it must have been Ghandi or Yoda who said, "Balance you must find between laxatives and constipation in processing life events." Yup. Pretty sure. One of them. Bumper stickers abbreviated it to "Shit happens."
I find that the adolescents in our house are emotional laxatives, and the adults are emotionally constipated. So much sucks when you are 13 and 15. As adults, for so many, it is so compacted and has to REALLY suck for it to be expressed. And by that time, metaphorically speaking, you may need to pull your toilet, but not before you stand in a pool of overflowed shit-water.
So perhaps the real answer to "what's this all about anyway?" is "enjoy the intake and learn to process your 'internal waste' in a healthy manner." And to that, I repeat, "Don't poop on the stoop."
Friday, September 13, 2019
I see your lips moving but....
9/13/19
Dear Todd,
I am finding lately when you are telling me things, I am not being the most mindful, present person I could be. This is not meant to be unkind or rude, though it is...so I apologize. I had hoped that maybe by sharing what is happening while you are talking, you may understand better, me, your wife. However, you may also be thinking, "Wtf? you weren't listening?" And now I've just outed myself for no reason.
Here's the thing...you were starting to tell me something that happened on Bill Maher...and as I watched your hand gestures accompany your lips, my mind starting sharing other thoughts....it said things like,
"If I make the burgers at 2pm, and keep them in foil, they should be ok by the time everyone eats at 5...right? And I can grab the balloon at Safeway when I get the gatorade for after the race in Greeley today. Do I still want to get that thing for J's bday at Kohl's? Yea, I think I do. I could go to Safeway, then Kohls and then loop back to I25 for the race. I would have to leave by 3 at the latest...maybe I could get the balloon in the morning? But how would I smuggle it in? What flavor Gatorade do you think he wants? I can totally get the balloon in the morning, because I have to get donuts when I pick up the corsage for Homecoming. God, I hope those pants fit him...I'm gonna need to get the stuff for the treasure hunt out of the basement before I leave for Kohl's and Safeway....shit I should check and see if J's gift is in our mailbox. Gotta get the burgers started I have a client calling at 2:30 before I leave for Kohl's. Is Kohl's necessary? Yes. Yes it is."
And then I heard you say, "Wouldn't you agree?"
And I said, "Yes." The same way I scroll through all sorts of legal agreements on things without reading them and say "I agree" just so I can move on to the next thing. It's awful. I would like to schedule a "non-distraction" time with you. Realistically in 2026.
XOXOXO
Dear Todd,
I am finding lately when you are telling me things, I am not being the most mindful, present person I could be. This is not meant to be unkind or rude, though it is...so I apologize. I had hoped that maybe by sharing what is happening while you are talking, you may understand better, me, your wife. However, you may also be thinking, "Wtf? you weren't listening?" And now I've just outed myself for no reason.
Here's the thing...you were starting to tell me something that happened on Bill Maher...and as I watched your hand gestures accompany your lips, my mind starting sharing other thoughts....it said things like,
"If I make the burgers at 2pm, and keep them in foil, they should be ok by the time everyone eats at 5...right? And I can grab the balloon at Safeway when I get the gatorade for after the race in Greeley today. Do I still want to get that thing for J's bday at Kohl's? Yea, I think I do. I could go to Safeway, then Kohls and then loop back to I25 for the race. I would have to leave by 3 at the latest...maybe I could get the balloon in the morning? But how would I smuggle it in? What flavor Gatorade do you think he wants? I can totally get the balloon in the morning, because I have to get donuts when I pick up the corsage for Homecoming. God, I hope those pants fit him...I'm gonna need to get the stuff for the treasure hunt out of the basement before I leave for Kohl's and Safeway....shit I should check and see if J's gift is in our mailbox. Gotta get the burgers started I have a client calling at 2:30 before I leave for Kohl's. Is Kohl's necessary? Yes. Yes it is."
And then I heard you say, "Wouldn't you agree?"
And I said, "Yes." The same way I scroll through all sorts of legal agreements on things without reading them and say "I agree" just so I can move on to the next thing. It's awful. I would like to schedule a "non-distraction" time with you. Realistically in 2026.
XOXOXO
Friday, September 6, 2019
PST to EST
9/6/19
Dear Todd,
I'm not sure where this falls...somewhere between the perils of Adolescent Angst and Existential Sleep Deprivation I guess.
I feel really fortunate that we have two teenagers who want to talk to us. I just wish we all lived in the same time zone. Though we live in the same house, it's as if they are on PST and I am on EST and you...well you are nocturnal, but they don't interrupt you. It harkens back to the days when they would come pull me out of bed, the bathroom, or knee deep in a flooded basement and tell me that they were hungry. And I would enter the kitchen and see you in there...making a sandwich...and they NEVER EVEN THOUGHT TO ASK YOU. You discovered, at a very early parenting stage, the cloak of invisibility around the kids. Harry Potter could learn from your wizardly ways.
The hour at which they want to talk to us/me is anytime after 10 or 11pm. It's like waiting all day for the bud to bloom and then there is so much to share. And with two of them they could each easily push my bedtime back to 1am. In my head there is a middle-aged woman in middle-aged pajamas begging with the little people. Urging them to punch my time card and let me go home and go to bed. But instead, as I shift on the pillow to discreetly wipe the drool I say, "Really? Then what happened?" The answer....SO MUCH. SO MUCH HAPPENED...their brains just didn't get the memo until 10pm. It's like these little digital natives are analog when it comes to retrieving information.
If only I could DVR their thoughts and listen to them later. But, once the thoughts are gone, they are gone. It's all highly inconvenient. In addition to the need to cherish these moments of sharing and captured candor, the inside tip that all this SUPER IMPORTANT STUFF will be totally inconsequential by tomorrow afternoon, is the sand in the Sandman's grubby little hands.
Dear Todd,
I'm not sure where this falls...somewhere between the perils of Adolescent Angst and Existential Sleep Deprivation I guess.
I feel really fortunate that we have two teenagers who want to talk to us. I just wish we all lived in the same time zone. Though we live in the same house, it's as if they are on PST and I am on EST and you...well you are nocturnal, but they don't interrupt you. It harkens back to the days when they would come pull me out of bed, the bathroom, or knee deep in a flooded basement and tell me that they were hungry. And I would enter the kitchen and see you in there...making a sandwich...and they NEVER EVEN THOUGHT TO ASK YOU. You discovered, at a very early parenting stage, the cloak of invisibility around the kids. Harry Potter could learn from your wizardly ways.
The hour at which they want to talk to us/me is anytime after 10 or 11pm. It's like waiting all day for the bud to bloom and then there is so much to share. And with two of them they could each easily push my bedtime back to 1am. In my head there is a middle-aged woman in middle-aged pajamas begging with the little people. Urging them to punch my time card and let me go home and go to bed. But instead, as I shift on the pillow to discreetly wipe the drool I say, "Really? Then what happened?" The answer....SO MUCH. SO MUCH HAPPENED...their brains just didn't get the memo until 10pm. It's like these little digital natives are analog when it comes to retrieving information.
If only I could DVR their thoughts and listen to them later. But, once the thoughts are gone, they are gone. It's all highly inconvenient. In addition to the need to cherish these moments of sharing and captured candor, the inside tip that all this SUPER IMPORTANT STUFF will be totally inconsequential by tomorrow afternoon, is the sand in the Sandman's grubby little hands.
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