Its a Tuesday, What Do You Want From Me?

 

Ok, I've been attempting to post something for the past half hour to hour now. Anything that I come up with comes out formal and stiff (this is where someone would throw in a That's What She Said joke). I am an idiot to think this would just come back to me like I'd never stopped. Writing is hard. This sucks.

I don't know why I'm surprised - aside from life getting busier, this is why I stopped. I didn't have the energy, the time, the dedication to take my writing further. Or that was the excuse I threw out. Yet I know a handful of people who do everything I do in my daily life (not exactly, but the same routines such as a job, family, house, cleaning, etc) and MORE and still devote time to writing or painting or playing/writing music. In some cases, they have busier lives but still make time for speaking engagements or a regular band schedule all across the area, their weekends ending when some of us are getting up for work.

So why do I let this excuse hold me back? Duh. It's been easier to just give up than to be scared and go somewhere unknown. The biggest fear? Just plain sucking at something I love(?) to do and having it amount to nothing. So I didn't even try. And here I am years later, still having flashes of inspiration here and there, only to get stuck at some point and stop. Overthinking, not enough doing.

I came to a conclusion the other day that I'm tired of being scared. My dream isn't to write for a national magazine or write The Great American Novel that will be published in 22 countries and in different languages and eventually be the subject of a TMZ article. My dream has always been to just write. To create stories, to capture a moment or a feeling in a poem, to be able to remember things for the future through writing. But I let myself get intimidated and think, "Hey. None of this is permanent. None of it will matter in the long run." How do I know? Maybe whatever I leave behind will inspire someone in the future. Or maybe my family will read what I had to say at certain times and they will be excited to know what our family was like at this time.

So I contacted a friend of mine, Jenny - we were classmates in high school in an online writing class - and we decided to be writing partners. Support for writer's block, easygoing but honest criticism for stories, someone to sound off with for ideas. We are on Day 3. This has been great so far - feeling like I have an outlet, really thinking about what I want to write. It's been great to see someone else have the same struggles and want to work on something they enjoy, too. Our current goal - to make it on a regular schedule for a month to start. I think we're making good progress so far. Thanks for reading my beginner, rambling crap and wish us luck. Smiley face.

 

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The 8-year-old and The Cell Phone

The other day, we bought our daughter her first cell phone. Belle is 8 1/2 - she's becoming more independent. Yes, I hear the various grumblings - I got them from my MIL as well. "She's too young! What 8-year-old needs a cell phone?"

Look, we discussed and bemoaned the entire thing. Neither Tom nor I really wanted her to have one. We drive her practically everywhere - she's with her grandmother when we're at work, not a day care - if she's with friends or the dive team, we know she is with trustworthy people. But we also have to be realistic - Belle is growing up. She's learning more responsibility and we are learning to give her more trust as she earns it. We also live in an area where you can't reasonably walk to a lot of places. If she's at a dive meet and her ride needs to leave for whatever reason and she can't get another person we know to bring her home, I want her to be able to contact us. I will be the first to admit it - I am anxious and overprotective. So, while I'm trying my best to loosen up, I still have my limits.

So, despite AT&T's best attempts to buy our daughter a smartphone (she wanted an iPhone - my husband and I just laughed), we found the most basic phone possible. It makes calls - it can send text messages (no phone out there is without that) and we can limit who can call her. We've set up basic boundaries - she can call or text myself, Tom or Grandma - and that's all its for. No games, no internet and definitely no Facebook (of which she doesn't have an account). Also, don't lose it. Unfortunately, Belle has inherited my absent-mindedness. Sad face.

Guess who has become a texting fiend? Wow. I get the appeal and its cute - remember when walkie-talkies were the coolest thing? You wished they could reach as far as the next block or down the street, so your best best friend and you could talk to each other when you were supposed to be asleep? Same thrill. Belle sends me messages at work and in the evening, she checks up on her grandmother.

I realize I've created the monster - I realize that this is the decision we made - but underneath the grumbling, I just can't help but laugh. Belle is so cute - she's growing up way too quickly. I already asked her to slow down - she grew two shoe sizes in response. Little butthead.

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Sunday Afternoon at the ER

 

Last night was the first Saturday evening that our family was able to really enjoy in 2 weeks. 2 weeks prior, Tom was recovering from pneumonia and a week after that, I was recuperating from bronchitis. So everyone, especially our poor kids, was looking forward to having fun. We made plans with 3 other families we know from the kids’ martial arts classes – bowling at the local AMF lanes and dinner. Everyone had a blast – the adults making fun of each other’s scores, cheering on the kids when they got strikes and eating bad (but delicious) food. The blacklight bowling started at 9, a DJ started playing music and we finally left at 10:30. Everyone slept in, which means it was a really good time (no matter what, Baz usually wakes up between 6 and 7 am on the weekends). We were all looking forward to a quiet afternoon.

So after sleeping late and making breakfast (coffee!), we all started in on our household chores. The kids started their laundry and began cleaning their rooms (which is more like rearranging their stuff in different places to make it look like they cleaned). Tom was changing the sheets on everyone’s beds – I was in the kitchen. I’m in the middle of steam-mopping the kitchen floor when I heard a crash and a cry. Trying not to panic, I walked out to the living room. Baz was standing, bent over at the waist, in the glass portion of the coffee table. It looked like he was leaning his weight on the glass, trying to fix this toy train crane that he plays with and the glass broke beneath him (he is not a little boy in size).Taking a look at his arm after I freed him from the glass, he was already bleeding profusely. Thankfully, he was fairly calm – crying, but not hysterically. Baz kept telling me he was sorry for breaking the table. I got him into the bathroom to clean him up and knew right away he was going to need stitches. So after bandaging up his hand, we were on our way to the ER. Thankfully we don’t live far away.

We were taken to the pediatric ER and looked at fairly quickly. Baz was great – except for the shot to numb the laceration around his thumb, he was very cooperative and in a good mood. We talked, played a train game on my iPad and watched “Despicable Me” while waiting. The stitches were quick (he blew bubbles with a wonderful nurse throughout the process, as you can see above) and we were on our way shortly after that.

Maybe this is something I need to get used to. We were at the ER back in May for a case of croup Baz developed – Baz, myself and Belle at 2:30 in the morning – and the doctor who saw Baz then remembered him today. Good thing he’s a tough kid – but he’ll have plenty of opportunity with martial arts class 3 times a week.

Happy Sunday to you all.

 

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Reading to My Kids

I am a reader - I have been for as long as I can remember. As soon as I found out I was pregnant for the first time, I started planning the books I would read to my child. I was very ambitious, in that eyes-wide-shut way to actual parenting life. I will read to my kids every night, no exceptions! Well, real life has bit me in the ass and laughed at me more than a few times. So while we haven't read every night for every bedtime of my kids' existence, there are also very few periods in between where it doesn't happen.

The book choices have run the gamut from reading the same book over and over for at least a week to a month - to asking them if we could read a particular storybook that I really enjoy and having it rejected. Sad face. We have discovered books that looked sketchy at first and turned out to be HI-LARIOUS (that's high-larious, for everyone outside the household) and other books with wonderful pictures that turned out to be weird or confusing. Mostly it has just been fun, silly cuddle time. Thankfully, I'm still Mommy; they appreciate and even laugh hysterically when I make silly voices or act out wild and crazy story climaxes.

This summer, with Baz learning to read and Belle well into chapter books, I decided we were going to do more than read our regular stack of picture books. I usually let them both choose one book and that's what I read before bed. Belle and I have read chapter books together, but Baz was never interested in sitting down for a chapter or two before now. So, going over all the possibilities we had, I asked them to pick out a longer chapter book that we would read before bed this summer. They chose "Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone." I have read the series more than a few times and greatly enjoy it - so much that, I bought a set just for the kids because my own were so dog-eared.

It has been wonderful. We talk about what I read the night before to refresh our memories, I ask them questions, like what they think about Harry's aunt and uncle - "Harry's cousin turned into a pig?!?" - and they always want to know if I can read an extra chapter when I'm done. I have managed to interpret and bring out Hagrid's brogue (which my husband finds incredibly amusing), Professor McGonagall's strict tone and Hermione's shrill, bossy squeal. What's more astonishing is that they love it. They love it when I read to them. I was afraid this was something I would be forcing on them, that reading a book Mommy loves before bed would be boring. But even my puppy-in-boy-form Baz loves to lie down, snuggled up with his long-suffering stuffed dog Scooter and listen to me tell Harry's tale. I love it so so much.

I wish it were this easy to work with them both on reading practice. Anabelle is off the charts in reading at school, but doesn't like our help with talking about books or essays and questions for school. Baz is interested in learning to read, but is easily discouraged - he loves books, especially about trains, but would rather make up his own stories than read the words when they get difficult. I think the trick may be asking Baz to read to me.

I have a reading list a mile long for them - I hope they stay as excited as I am.

Girl vs. Girl

Dear Mini-Van Mommy-

Hi. I'm the Blue Explorer you just cut off. I realize you were distracted and busy. Talking on your Blackberry and replacing the cap on your child's cup while driving. I realize I was probably in the way as you were racing to get to a playdate or the grocery store or a Starbucks. But it was fairly tough to not run into you as you skidded to a halt next to me at the stop sign. In the parking lane, not an actual lane. And turned, just as I was starting to turn right.

I see so many mommies and mini-vans just like yours these days. The ones going way too fast, running through stop signs, cutting in front of other people on 495. All I can see as you leave me in the dust is those family stick figures and a soccer bumper sticker seared to my eyeballs. I run into you and your friends everywhere I go. You all cluster together like little cute suburban lemmings. Identical college or breast cancer ballcaps with a Mommy-cut ponytail, some kind of Gap shirt and khaki capri pants with perfectly white running shoes on. Top of the line stroller and other baby accessories. Your kiddos of various ages are dressed like they're on the way to a magazine shoot. I bet you shop in the Petite department.

You see me coming and I can just feel the narrowed eyes. T-shirt, jean shorts, sandals. My hair not highlighted, down to my waist, tattoos showing, no makeup on. I'm not petite in height or hip-size. My kid, who is twice the size of yours and not as impeccably dressed, squeals, "Awww! A baby! Mommy, see the cute baby?" (He loves babies - he tells me he wants a brother). He tries to go up to your baby and you immediately shift, looking at me like I can't control my child. Because he thinks your baby is cute. I'm such a horrible mom.

You know the problems girls have with other girls? It never goes away. I don't know exactly when it starts. For some, it's high school. You've been friends with Joe Next Door forever. But once you get to high school, the two of you can't be friends anymore. Because Hot Cheerleader Girl likes him - but she doesn't like you. Or Type A Girl decides to make you miserable because both of you want to be the editor of the yearbook. For other girls (like myself), it starts as early as kindergarten. I can remember playing dolls with Amy Down the Street on a regular basis. But about a week after kindergarten began, she wouldn't come over. I asked her why. Amy told me dolls were for babies. She wanted to practice putting on makeup. I can remember distinctly thinking, "But we're 5."

Just when you think it could be over - (after graduating high school or maybe even college) - just when you think, Ok, maybe we can all grow up and stop hating other girls now (because goodness knows, dealing with guys at that age can be enough. Sorry boys) you have an encounter again. It's either Kristin Ice Queen at work who thinks she deserves a promotion over you or Random Sorority Chick at the bar who thinks she can steal your boyfriend away from you. Maybe a friend even, Anna Who Loves Scrapbooking, who gets mad when you give her an honest opinion about her latest project. Then it just keeps going - your fiance's cousin Sally who liked his old girlfriend better than you. Your former boss Mary, who sent your co-worker Elizabeth to the amazing business conference because they were best friends, not because she was better qualified. Gwen, the girl at your husband's workplace who goes to him for dating advice and thinks he's "so great". On and on, until you're an old lady, arguing with Maude up the street about who looked better back in 1999, Ricky Martin or Will Smith.

But what's with all of the girl hate? You'd think that we could at least have some kind of mutual respect for each other, as women. Maybe it's not even just a woman thing - maybe it evolves into a class or race or working mom vs. stay at home mom thing. Whatever the deal is, it sucks. I'm just as guilty as anyone else out there, but it's still lame. I wonder if other women are internally criticizing my body when I randomly get dressed up. I think bad thoughts about the mommy in the fast food line who lets her kid drink Coke with her fries and cheeseburger. I get irritated with the mommy struggling with her kid having a tantrum at Target when you know for sure, I've gone through the exact same thing with both of my kids. Who am I to criticize anyone else for what they go through?

The worst part? No one can come out and call anyone on it and move forward. I can't ask the mommies at the mall, "What is it that freaks you out? My son likes babies and he thinks yours is cute. I'm a mom, just like you. Just because I don't look like you, doesn't mean I don't love my kid or don't make him wash his hands." I can't follow you, Mommy in the Mini-Van to your next destination and say, "Hey, I know you're busy, but you cut me off and I almost ran into you because you were talking to your friend about a post on Facebook and helping your child with a snack. While you were driving.

I think guys have it easier. Yes, seriously. Most guys I know, they can get along with everyone. If they have a problem with someone, they either call them on it, punch them and have a beer later. Or they avoid the guy. Maybe girls make things too personal - we think everyone could be our best friend. But we can't exactly go around bitch-slapping everyone, either. (My husband says that Jello wrestling would be a better idea. Yes, I punched him in the shoulder).

Why can't we just be honest with each other? Why can't we respect each other? We are all different, we are all different kinds of women - career-driven, creative, readers, talkers, fashionistas, mothers, pet-lovers, independent, etc, etc. We're not all going to be like Meredith and Cristina or the Sex and the City girls or Mary and Rhoda, even - but enough with the hate.

So, on that note, I'm going to try to change. Enough with the Girl Hate.

Sorry for the long tangent, Mini-Van Mom. I hope you at least heard me screaming out the window as you cut me off. Aside from making the rest of us Moms look bad - you're f*cking dangerous. So get off the phone, get your kid's snack ready before you get in gear and PAY ATTENTION.

(What? Just because I said I was going to change, didn't mean I wasn't going to be honest).

Kat

*Disclaimer: I know more than a few women who drive better than the average taxi driver. I have nothing against mini-vans or women personally - more often than not, the combo results in crazy.*

FYI

Hi, gang -

I'm working on a handful of posts right now, inbetween school dropoffs, soccer practices, Girl Scout meetings, finding a new job and spending a third of my day at the kitchen sink cleaning. Blah. In other words, I'm busy like everyone else. :(

But I'm hoping one post in particular will be done for posting tonight, so yay!

In other news, I'm changing the address of the blog. I've never been good at the titles of things and I'm not liking this one too much. So I'm going to change it and I hope that you'll find me still here. If anyone needs help, send me an email: kjthomas29@gmail.com

Kat

Afternoons at the Movies

I love to watch movies with my kids. We like going to the theater as much as staying home and watching something on the couch (though these days, the couch option is much more affordable). My kids are still learning the trick of asking questions after the movie vs. during the movie, but otherwise it's always a great time. Popcorn, usually the younger child ends up in someone's lap and a warm feeling of having gone on a trip when it's over. One thing about this ritual that I love much more now, with my own kids, than I did when I was a kid and I went to movies with my parents, is the content.

I remember going to see movies like Benji and Fantasia with my parents. For both films, my dad was asleep 20 minutes in. There was no conversation before or after or even during the movie. Just a basic, "Did you like it? Good, let's go home." The films themselves, while good kid-aged fare, were nothing that broke the mold. Yes, everyone knows the sequence in Fantasia with Micky Mouse called The Sorcerer's Apprentice. I liked it then, I like it now, but I'm ok with not seeing it again anytime soon. Live action kid movies from my childhood, while they appear dated (it was the 80's, come on), hold up fairly well: The Goonies, ET, Never Ending Story etc. Cartoon movies, not so much. I can think of only 2 that stand out - The Land Before Time (1st one, not the many, many direct-to-video releases) and An American Tail. But animated movies were not in the same quantity that they are in today.

We live in the Pixar age. I seriously believe that the guys over at Pixar could take any half-finished computer-generated cartoon movie and turn it into a work of art. My husband disagrees with me on this one, but I have enjoyed every release they've put out. Yes, even A Bug's Life. Yes, even The Incredibles. Every one of them. My kids even have favorites that I wouldn't have expected. My son is currently in love with Ratatouille. A movie about a rat that can cook is the favorite of a 4-year-old boy obsessed with trains and tackling people for fun. How cool is that?

One of my more favorite scenes from the Pixar movies is the ending of Ratatouille. I watched the movie with my kids expecting a funny movie about a rat in Paris who can cook - ironic circumstances leading to laughs. It was deeper than I expected and the ending hit me right in the chest. I watched one of the obstacle characters, a renowned food critic known for his scathing reviews named Anton Ego, become transformed by one bite of the main dish served to him - ratatouille, a "peasant dish" as another character calls it.



Aside from breaking my heart as I remembered my own comfort food from childhood, my brain was screaming, "Awesome!" It was like the food was just talking to Ego. "Hey, so you're a badass food critic? Check this out - we're serving you a peasant dish. A gourmet peasant dish. The same one served to you by your mother to feel better after your bike kicked your ass. Remember that? See how badass we are?"

At the end of the day, who is anyone to say what is art and what isn't? It all comes back to a feeling, a connection that the artist had with the resultant work which is carried over to the person experiencing the art. The food was so good, he had a flashback to childhood. The food was so good, he believed that a rat had cooked it. The food was so good, it made him question everything about who he was and what he was doing in his career as a food critic. I adore the review he writes for the restaurant - "But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new." The choice of Peter O'Toole to bring Ego to life was exemplary casting. I also love that the movie had another small twist ending - that despite the excellent review, the restaurant was still shut down because there were rats in the kitchen.

I love the unique messages that Pixar movies have - it's not always Good vs. Evil, not always Do Your Best and Be Rewarded. The endings feel true, feel like struggles that we average people deal with. An ant who leads his colony to a better life they didn't know existed, a rat who proves that art can come from anywhere, a toy who just wants to be appreciated but knows his purpose is to make a child happy. These are the New Fairy Tales. In a Pixar movie, you can aspire to and be anything, even if it's not what you originally planned. The little guy can be great and the big guy can step aside and let someone else shine. There are other computer animated movies that we love, but no company has been as consistent for us as Pixar has, parents and kids.

So while I look back at my childhood movie experiences and grimace a bit, I really hope that the excitement and entertainment that my kids have with my husband and I (and occasionally, Grandma) stays just as exciting when they're older with children. Hopefully, they'll live in a Pixar world, too.