Singing

The other day, David was singing something as he got himself a glass of water.  He doesn't sing much, but when he does you can usually make out the tune.  (Juliana, of course, sings day and night like any good little chirpy fairy girl.  Unfortunately, it's in a nonstop tuneless drone.  Not only can't she carry a tune, but her singing speed is permanently set at dirge.   I'll find her in the recliner with the lyric booklet from the Cheetah Girls CD singing the songs a capella.   Turns out the only time the Cheetah Girls sound good to me is when they are drowning out my daughter's singing.  But she loves to sing and I encourage her to do so.  I sing with her--loudly and at an exaggerated pace in an attempt to get her to find some rhythm.  Any rhythm.)

So, the other day when David was singing, Juliana says to him, "David, you have a nice singing voice.  You would make a good singer, like maybe.....in the circus."  I looked at her for a moment as it slowly dawned on me that she had pulled off a nearly perfect insult of her big brother.  It was said in such kind, complimentary tones.  There was the perfect pause before she said, "in the circus".  It was the kind of insult that takes a moment to sink in.  Hmmm a circus?  People do perform there.  Is she saying he has a performance quality voice?  Wait just a cotton-pickin' minute there!  The circus???

It was beautiful.  And I don't know why, but it just gets funnier and funnier the more I think about it.  "In the circus" has become our family's version of "yo mama".  "Yes, I do think that shirt looks good on you....in the circus."

She Can't Take It Any More!

On Friday night, my mother and I went to Shabbat services at the synagogue.  It's not often that I get to go to the grown up service and I always enjoy it when I do.  Our usual gig is the Family Service, which is an abbreviated service followed by a potluck dinner that occurs once a month.   Every now and then, though, a holiday falls such that we all end up at a regular Shabbat service.  For example, last week the first night of Chanukah fell on a Friday.  Our synagogue celebrated it with a dinner followed by a service.  The week preceding had been a busy one, full of class parties and special events.  By the time Friday rolled around, we were all pretty whipped.  The dinner part was lovely--lots to eat and plenty of friends for the kids to play with.  The service didn't start until 7:30.  We found seats and Juliana began to occupy herself in the usual way: drawing pictures.  Our syngagogue actually shares space in a church, so Juliana spends her time drawing pictures on the prayer request cards.  Here's a typical one of her drawings: 


Soon, however, she was getting tired and antsy.  She passed me a note:


I was under the mistaken impression that there would not be dessert, and told her so.  This did not make her happy.  She scowled and passed me this note:


I whispered to her that the service would be done soon.  (A bald-faced lie, that.)  Now she was practically lying down in her chair and giving me the dirtiest looks possible.  I worked hard on absorbing myself in the service, namely with praying for patience.  Ritu decided he would help matters by passing me note.  Apparently he thought we were at a piano bar, so he put in his request:


Very funny, that one.  <insert eye rolling here>

Juliana wasn't going down without a fight.  She passed me another note:

You can see she was too tired to make an entire sad face.   Again, I encouraged her to hang in there and that we'd be done soon.  She wasn't falling for it.  A few minutes later, I got this:


At this, I actually burst out laughing.  Right in the middle of a solemn part, of course.  Eventually she climbed onto my lap where she stayed for the duration of the service.  I held her and wondered if attending the service was enough to cancel out the murderous thoughts I had when she misbehaved at the synagogue.  Probably not.  

30 Rock

Lookie what Deana taught me to do!

Are y'all watching 30 Rock?  I'll admit, initially I was more excited about the premiere of Studio 60, but now I'm mostly watching that out of  (waning)  loyalty to Aaron Sorkin.  But 30 Rock makes me laugh every week.  This scene, in particular, had me rolling. 

 

Cranky....So Cranky

I realized a few weeks back that I'd missed my Blogiversary!  Yes, one whole year of blogging.  Hell, in that time I've  probably written enough posts to fill six whole months of blogging!  I'd apologize but I'm way too cranky to care about your feelings.  I'm stuck in a big rut of hormonally infused apathy.  I have so much to do (see: kitchen floor, mop; office, vacuum; laundry, til I die) and I'm sitting here instead.  Not only am I cranky, I'm cranky AND crampy.  And I keep going from too cold to sweaty.  And I reheated some cold coffee and ended up burning my tongue.  Also, if they don't stop finding nothing but dead, lost people (New state motto: Oregon: You Won't Find It Here!) I am going to lose the will to drag myself out of bed.  Oh, and I just saw that Mt. St. Helens is sending up steam.  Awesome.  Should we be heeding the message of the earth?  Forgive my misinterpretation.  Instead of heeding, I'm feeding, as in cramming cookies in my gaping maw 'round the clock. 

All right, I'm getting off my ass to vacuum now.  There seem to be a lot of cookie crumbs everywhere.

The Kim Family

The story of the Kim family made the national news, but it dominated things here in Oregon.  It was a story that resonated with many people for many reasons, but I think the reason it was so compelling was that we could all put ourselves in that place.  Right now there are three climbers missing on Mount Hood and while I feel for them and their families, there is an inherent risk in mountain climbing.  My psyche and I can distance ourselves from that event by acknowledging that we would never endanger ourselves that way.  But driving home from a trip through the mountains of Oregon?  Hell, we were on the same part of I-5 (albeit headed in a different direction) on the same day that the Kim family got lost. 

 

We spent Thanksgiving with my family in Lake Tahoe.  We'd broken the drive there into two days by leaving after school on Tuesday and spending the night in Weed(dude!) , California.  The next morning we drove the last few hours to Lake Tahoe.  We took a shortcut on a  small two lane road that made for a glorious drive at high elevations.  This shortcut allowed us to bypass taking I-5 all the way to Sacramento.  Between the holiday traffic and the fact that a stretch of I-5 was down to one lane due to construction, we were hot to avoid that whole area.  Our trip there was uneventful and we easily shaved off an hour of driving time.

 

When it came time to leave, we planned to make the trip all in one day.  We knew bad weather was approaching and Ritu spent a lot of time checking traffic and weather forecasts and studying the available routes.  We were already looking at 12 hours of driving and we toyed with the idea of going back the way we'd come, using that same mountain shortcut.  There seemed to be a chance that we could get up and over the Sierras before the storm hit.  After wavering on the issue for a bit, we ultimately decided to play it safe, drive to Sacramento and pick up I-5 there.  It meant an additional 70 miles of driving, not to mention delays due to construction.   Our trip back was slow going.  We hit snow in northern California and had to chain up to get back into Oregon.  All in all, we spent 14 hours in the car that day, but we made it home safely.

 

How easily things could've turned.  The Kim family didn't do anything that I could point to and say "Well, I never would've done that."  That inability to detach myself from their choices made the story even more unsettling.  When the news came that they were missing it had already been nearly a week.  My trip home from Tahoe had mostly faded into the background.  For some reason, I felt guilty that I had resumed my regular life while they were still out there, lost. 

 

I found myself watching the news and checking websites obsessively.  I didn't see how they could've survived for 9 days.  Not with a baby.  When Kati and the girls were found, it seemed like a miracle and there was hope again.  They knew where to look now; they would find James.  I read news stories and checked again and again.  I found myself with a prayer/mantra:  "Find him.  Just find  him."   It was sometimes silent, sometimes whispered, sometimes yelled at the computer screen in frustration. 

 

I think the worst part was wondering if James Kim died thinking he had failed in his task.  If he was tormented with the thought that he had left his wife and babies to die.  Sure, the experts tell you to stay put if you get lost.  They tell you not to leave whatever shelter you have.  But if you've stayed put for over a week?  If you are watching your children slowly starve?  What then? 

 

In this day and age, we delude ourselves that we can conquer our surroundings.  We have cell phones, GPS, and all sorts of technology to keep us connected.  I think back to the pioneers who lost their lives on the Oregon Trail.  My God, we can travel in a matter of hours what used to take them weeks.  We can gather the information we need and be prepared.  But when that technological crutch is gone, we are no different than those who came before us.  For all of our advances, we end up at a disadvantage.  We ride in comfort in our climate controlled vehicles making the best of this temporary inconvenience we call travel.  We fail to appreciate that there are still parts of this country in which a wrong turn can lead to death.  Unlike the pioneers, we don't travel with months of supplies.  We don't know how to navigate through the wilderness.  We arrogantly believe that we are masters of our environment and it takes a tragic event like this to remember our humble place on this earth. 

 

I don't know what the lesson to be learned from this is.  Or even if there is one.  Maybe the rest of us will venture out better prepared because of this.  Maybe we'll heed the warnings a little more closely.    If nothing else, we'll appreciate just a bit more the health and safety of our loved ones and comforts and security that we too easily take for granted. 

I've Yet To See This In A Parenting Book

Across the street from us lives an absolutely lovely older couple.  They are the nicest neighbors you could ask for.  When we first moved in, they helped explain the three-can trash system to us and mentored us on how to care for our rose bushes.  They get a real kick out of our kids and always make a point to chat with them when we're all outside.   

On Veteran's Day, I suggested to David and Juliana that they make cards for our neighbor as he is a WW II veteran.  We talked about what the holiday meant and how important it was to say thank you to people who had fought in wars.  I pointed out to David that since he had fought in WW II, it was especially meaningful to us, as Jews. 

Juliana, of course, ran to the table to start her card.  Juliana does not need to be told to make cards.  She will make you three cards a day just to tell you she loves you.  Juliana makes the enitre Hallmark industry look like a bunch of impassive slackers.  Juliana goes through so much paper that I can't believe there's a tree left standing in Oregon.  Juliana will cover the aforementioned paper with hearts, rainbows, winged fairies, more hearts, ballerinas, a few more hearts, and unicorns.  

David, on the other hand, is a man of few words--and even fewer pictures.  He will put out the least amount of effort possible for art-related school projects.  I can't say what he would draw for fun because if he doesn't have to draw something, he won't.  But he gamely went to the table with a piece of paper.  At this point, I went upstairs to put away laundry.  Juliana soon brought me her card which was decorated with all sorts of red white and blue hearts.  She had written "Thank You" and "Happy Veteran's Day".  Plus a few more hearts for good measure.

A few minutes later, David came upstairs beaming with pride.  He handed me his card.  The cover had some random red white and blue markings.  The inside was where he had concentrated his best effort.  My child who hates to draw had produced a tour de force.  On the left side of the page was a stick figure labeled with our neighbor's name.  This figure was holding a gun which had bullets flying out of it.  On the right side was a pile of stick figures in various stages of distress.  They were labeled "Notzees" and some were lying prone, while others listed to the side.  One was standing upright.  He was labeled "Hitler".  He had a talking bubble over him that said "Curse you!"  Crayon dashes, representing bullets from our hero's gun, covered Hitler and his Notzees. 

I looked at David who was obviously pleased with his work.  I gave the parental equivalent of not making eye contact with a crazy person by saying, "Wow, I can see you really worked hard on this."  Then I quickly excused myself to the bathroom where Ritu was taking a shower.  I was completely at a loss.  I didn't want to crush David's little spirit by negating his foray into art, but there was no way in hell we could give that to our kindly old neighbor.  I don't know much about his war experiences, but I do know he spent time as a POW.  Ritu and I held a quick conference about what to do.  I took a deep breath and went back out.  Juliana gave me the perfect entry by asking, "Did you see David's card?  Didn't you think it was funny?"  That gave me a chance to say that yes, I had thought it was funny, but that I wasn't so sure our neighbor would think so.  I explained to David that I didn't know what he'd done in the war and maybe David's drawings would bring back some sad or scary memories.  Ok, I was pretty sure our neighbor had never actually shot Hitler, but still. 

David listened seriously and seemed to understand.  I knew that if I asked him to start fresh with a new card, he would bail on the whole project, so I suggested he keep the same cover and glue it to a new page or make a new picture to glue over his drawing.  He decided to make some more red white and blue designs and glued them over his cartoon.  Later, Ritu took the kids across the street to deliver the cards.  Our neighbor was napping, but came by later when my mom was here babysitting to thank the children.  He was extremely touched by the fact that we had taken the time to make the cards and acknowledge him that day.   He didn't say anything about David's authentic battlefield re-creation, so I'm guessing the glue held. 

 

Loving and Hating

Loving:
Having friends who will trim up the ragged edges of my hair in the elementary school library.  (Yes, that's how bad it still is.  People approach me with scissors.)


Call Me When You're Sober  by Evanescence.  That girl can wail.  (I downloaded it on Itunes this week and it's logged more playtime than any other song on my list except Hips Don't Lie by Shakira which single-handedly pulled me out a funk this summer.  It's absolutely seamless on repeat play.)

Friday Night Lights on NBC which gets my vote for best new series this year.  Well-written, well-acted.  I know it's about football.  Get past that and start watching. 

Mrs. Mays Almond Crunch  Get thee to a Costco.  Don't bother looking at the fat content.  Just tell yourself that nuts are healthy and full of protein.  Then sit down with a bag and watch Friday Night Lights.

That I felt this earthquake Sunday night.  It was a little one, but I felt it--as did Juliana up in her bed.  I made sure to fill out one of these forms which is the height of dorkitude. 

Hating:
The fact that my desk chair randomly and slowly sinks to its lowest level leaving me typing with my chin resting on the keyboard.

How the people who bought my old house decided to refinish the floors and had a truck in the driveway that made so much goddamned noise that my entire house vibrated.  It went on all day until 8:40 PM.  Who the hell is still refinishing floors at that hour?  Let me tell you something, I lived in that house for four years.  There's not that much in the way of wood floors.  I'm guessing theywere going for the crispy crust of wood floors since that much sanding couldn't have left anything substantial. 

The fact that Ritu was out of town for three days during which time  I developed a sore throat and a headache, the children turned into demons, and it rained non-stop. Then,  when he came home to save me, it turned out HE was sick with some stomach bug.  Where is the fairness in that?  How high do you think he ranked on my sympathy meter?  I woke up feeling much better this morning, but I'm guessing that was simply out of necessity.  (When I was sick, my thermometer refused to acknowledge that I had a fever.  And everyone knows that you can't receive Official Sickness Sympathy until you have a fever.  (For the record, Ritu claimed that he was most likely feverish last night, but zero proof = zero sympathy.)  I get extraordinarily high maintenance when I get feverish, because as soon as my brain overheats, I immediately start to cry.  Any little thing will set me off into paroxysms of sobbing.  Most people around me know enough to stick a thermometer in my mouth when that happens.)

Ok, 5 loving and 3 hating.   I must be losing my edge.