AhSu Was Here

Cuz

2007-03-22T23:34:51Z

Re-reading The Dance of the Dissident Daughter.

I've recommended this to some women I know, ones who seem to be in a similar place to where I was when I read it.

But it occurred to me ... I should recommend it to men. Lots of men. Especially men who fancy themselves to be Christians.

I think I recognize this

2006-11-13T21:27:23Z

I'm having the worst time getting moving today. I really need to supervise the bandar log doing chores and schools, because they're just not moving, but neither am I. And I have 2500 words to write, none of which I feel like dealing with. I did not exactly leave things on Friday with an overwhelming sense of what comes next.

Every morning I feel as though I'm going to *have* to quit NaNo; some time in the afternoon, I start feeling like writing. Then I'm tense until I finish. I wish I could get started (with everything, not just NaNo) earlier in the day. Maybe I'd have more cheerful afternoons.

Anybody else out there working on a NaNo? How's it going? Mine's crap -- how's yours?

Refused to even pick up the telephone

2006-11-07T21:42:45Z

I'm running into an interesting problem with NaNoWriMo.

I remember from last year that I would be tense until I sat down and got started writing. It didn't really let up until I had that day's limit. It wasn't any big deal, just not the most pleasant feeling.

This year, I have the same thing going on, but it is threatening to agitate me. And I'm having trouble getting past the tension and getting started. The trouble is, if I don't get started because I'm too agitated to concentrate, I continue being agitated by the tension of not having the writing done.

Honestly. Of all the silly-assed situations to be in.

It's proving to be harder to be disciplined this year than it was last year, and I think it's the increased tension. I know what's causing it -- it's just the extra vulnerability, chemically speaking, from going off of one med and not yet being up to speed on the replacement. I should be fine in a couple of weeks, but the timing, as far as NaNoWriMo is concerned, could be a lot better.

At least I'm continuing with my commitment to working on the Opus as well as the new novel. Right now I'm putting together a "bible" so that I can stop committing the hideous continuity errors I've discovered I made in the manuscript so far.

I may pull the modem card out of my computer and put it in smplmn's custody for the duration of November. That won't keep me off the house computer, of course, but it will encourage me to work when I have the laptop.

Maybe I will go out tomorrow afternoon and spend some time working at the coffee shop.

da Vinci's library -- November

2006-11-06T17:26:07Z

October was another slow month. I can't even claim that I was reading long works of deep importance.

Oh, and Kurt Vonnegut would be one sick pup if he wasn't so damned funny. It's a wonder he's never been crucified, since he has a bad habit of telling the bald truth, and of gross irreverence to cultural icons. I've just finished Hocus Pocus as part of my November reading, and when I wasn't laughing, I was writhing.

1. Interesting Times (Terry Pratchett)
2. Going Postal (Terry Pratchett)
3. God Bless You, Dr. Kevorkian (Kurt Vonnegut)
4. Heartlight (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
5. Feet of Clay (Terry Pratchett)
6. Lords and Ladies (Terry Pratchett)

Mulling over the cider

2006-11-01T04:08:48Z

Didn't have any, actually. We currently own two two-quart saucepans, but no three-quart saucepans. There weren't any decent three-quart saucepans when we went to look, except for a "professional" saucepan that cost $75. I'll take two, thanks. Anyway, I didn't make a second batch of cider, and the first one went to the kids.

smplmn licked the wireless issue using the old wireless router, and returned the new wireless router, which was obviously defective, for a *new* new wireless router, which is currently in place and functioning just fine, thanks. So all is well with the house net.

This might not be such a good thing, really. I've spent most of my time the last few days overseeing the kids, knitting, and reading. And NaNoWriMo, Special Zanne Double-Disciplined Version (I'm going to do my daily word count for the new novel, then spend a timed thirty minutes on the old one,) starts tomorrow. And here I am, cruising all over the net now that I can. Truthfully, being limited to an hour or two, every day or two, might not be such a bad thing.

Bigglest is now involved in yet another concert, involving three extra rehearsals. Any more special rehearsals and we're going to rent a cot in the church where the choir rehearses.

Now I need to go to bed, another area where I should work on being sensible. Tired Zannes are agitated Zannes. Not to mention the fact that agitation is tired, so agitated Zannes are tired Zannes. Either way, bed seems to be indicated. And yes, the agitation backed off yesterday when I took the med, and seems to have retired to its corner for now.

To thirty-six, then sixty-four, and then I'd have done seventy-three ...

2006-10-27T02:41:34Z

I've been thinking quite a bit recently about things like evil and good, and about the ability of human beings to understand each other.

I haven't come to any particularly enlightening conclusions, except that humans are naturally cantankerous. I'd like to hear a biologist explain that one away as a survival trait. (Since I've heard quite a few things that are, I'm sorry, simply bad behavior explained that way.) Man is inclined to trouble, and all that.

I've also come to the conclusion that my youthful certainty that, "If we would all just sit down and talk to one another and get to know one another, there would be peace," is really, really way off. I've finally lived long enough to have had some reasonable discussion with people who have ideas that differ very widely from mine, and it wasn't a matter of misunderstanding one another. It was a matter of just plain not having the same reference points at all. In one case, I explained what a certain set of facts meant to me (it was a parenting issue) and the person I was discussing with agreed with me 100% on the facts. But their worldview meant that they interpreted those facts in a way that made their opinion one hundred and eighty degrees away from mine. Discussion didn't matter; I might as well have tried to persuade them that the world is a watermelon as change their mind about how they perceived the facts we were discussing.

I think this has a lot to do with the way the Left and Right, both political and religious, perceive each other. We simply can't imagine how the other side can possibly believe what they believe given the simple facts of the matter. Not that there isn't an awful lot of spinning going on -- I don't know how anyone in Washington, D.C. can walk a straight line from the sheer dizziness -- but even when you get right down to the bedrock of facts, there are different groups speaking, basically, entirely different languages.

There's a pretty good book on this subject, whose title completely escapes me, naturally. But I got my eyes opened by a conservative Christian friend who just, plainly, disagreed with me about how we raised our children. And we must both have been doing something right, because we both had pretty good kids ... This kind of thing makes me wonder how much of what we think is causal isn't any such thing, too.

All together shout it now

2006-10-26T22:12:05Z

I am feeling an overwhelming urge to slap someone. However, there is absolutely no chance that I'll have the opportunity. So I'll just feel frustrated for a while, and then I'll get over it.

Cuke Skywalker

2006-10-23T22:23:40Z

No cable for a week. Nothing but computer, videotapes, and DVDs. I'll be interested to see how the bandar log survive. I probably won't even notice unless one of them says something.

We sat down before smplmn left and discussed Hallowe'en costumes. I think that nobody is getting anything like the elaborate costumes they envisioned earlier, but everybody is getting something. Gotta buy some dowels and safety pins, and we'll be good to go. Imagination (and greed) is everything on Hallowe'en. And the plans for the Hallowe'en party are safely put off until the next weekend, when smplmn will be back from various parts, known and unknown.

It looks as though Mondays might be taking shape. I drop off Middlest at her job (mother's helper) at three. She watches two little ones while their mother works on her home-based business. Every other week, I drop Bigglest off right after that at the library, which is practically next door, so that he can do his volunteer hours. This week was actually supposed to be an off-week, but the volunteer coordinator called and said he could come in and help her stamp discards if he wanted to. Of course he wanted to. Came home with a Star Wars book and a book on Patton, too -- history for free! Spend some time at the library with Littlest, maybe get a little coffee, then go back and pick up Middlest at 4:30 so that I can take her to skating. Drop her off, pausing long enough to help her into her skates -- I'm guessing that she's probably capable of learning to lace her own skates, but I'm willing to be a sucker on this one -- and then go pick up Bigglest from the library around 5:00. Goof off at home for twenty minutes and go back to the ice rink, arriving just in time to watch the tag end of Middlest's class. Come home and have dinner.

Basically, perfectly relaxed and nicely scheduled. Maybe we'll occasionally schedule pizza for Mondays, because I can call in the order just as we're leaving to pick up Middlest and pick it up on the way home. And everybody gets to do everything they want, including Littlest, who gets spoiled by some one-on-one with Mama.

Stomach rumblings

2006-10-23T01:47:58Z

Whoa. Two days of family and friends and I am toasted. I wish smplmn wasn't leaving tomorrow. Ah, well, such is life. I'll survive, and we have enough pre-made dinners and fresh veggies that I won't be scrambling around trying to feed the kids.

The new freezer came in last week, and we duly transferred the few items that were still in the old freezers, and then the delivery guys -- a nice bunch -- took it away.

Then we put some new stuff in it. It had been on for more than twenty-four hours, so it should have been good and cold. And we could hear the compressor running.

Except that the new stuff didn't freeze. And the old stuff was beginning to thaw.

Oh, shit.

So we called the appliance people, who apologized profusely and who promised to order a new unit immediately and to bring it out as soon as it arrives. The man smplmn talked to had a few choice words to say about the state of the appliance industry -- apparently they end up replacing a substantial portion of the appliances they install, because the buggers just don't work. His comment was that someday we will go to war with a very small country, and we will lose if they know how to make things that work. I've heard enough commentary from folks in the military to think he might be right.

Fortunately, the items we had in the big freezer were able to squeeze into the small freezer after some reorganization, so we didn't lose anything. But we are very grateful that we haven't been called to pick up the year's meat yet. That would have been an expensive investment gone sour.

Walks like a meme, quacks like a meme

2006-10-19T19:41:17Z

And I don't know what else you'd call it. Basically, it says that if you believe in gay rights (LBGT, anyone?) on livejournal, you should repost it on your journal; if you don't believe in gay rights, ignore it.

In other words, post this on your journal or I'll think you're a homophobic jerk. No. Actually, we'll all know you're a homophobic jerk.

I don't take well to people attempting to force my support on a subject, even, or perhaps especially, if I agree with them.

Once someone puts it in those terms, anything I post in my journal becomes, in my eyes, invalid, because there's no way to know if I actually believe what I'm writing or if I'm just trying to look good to someone else.

Besides, if I'm going to write in support of LBGT rights, I'd do better to write my state and national reps and senators, urging them to pass, you know, *laws* that might, you know, actually do something about it. Or I could demonstrate. Or I could volunteer to do AIDS hospice. (Not a strictly LBGT issue, obviously.) Or any one of a number of things, all of which would be more helpful than posting something in my journal just because someone tells me to.

What's he got that I ain't got?

2006-10-13T19:25:22Z

Well, Mr. Minor Medical Mishap (2005, 2006) has done it again.

Last night he got tossed over the horizon at judo. He's not the best uke (literal translation, "floater," rough translation, "partner," in other words, "person who gracefully takes the fall in order to help her partner to learn the throw") in the world, and he managed to take the fall badly. Instead of doing a side fall, somehow he caught himself with his left hand, bending the fingers back. The doctor thinks he's just sprained it, but wants us to get the hand x-rayed just in case.

*sigh*

Does it count as a Minor Medical Mishap if we don't have to take him through the emergency room?

He and Middlest are meeting a family that they may be doing mother's helpering for today. Bigglest is short a hand and has a mouthful of novocaine from having a couple of fillings earlier this afternoon. Hopefully by then he'll be able to talk more clearly. Some impression he's going to make.

When my soul in awesome wonder

2006-10-13T01:24:28Z

Excuse me for linking to Wikipedia twice, but a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do.

While you're lighting a candle for Matthew Shepard, you might think about the sad fact that, while it sure didn't do Matthew Shepard any good to be gay, at least there was an outcry about his death.

But if you aren't white and male, it doesn't matter so much that someone hates you enough to murder you.

So you might take a moment to remember Sakia Gunn while you're at it. Same orientation, same crime ... very little outcry, except from the LBGT community in Newark. Personally, I'm guessing that the stones in New Jersey are beginning to consider whether they might have something to say on the subject, as well.

There's no one who can doubt it now

2006-10-11T22:26:44Z

I almost forgot. This year, for our birthdays (smplmn's and mine,) my mother helped the bandar log to bake cupcakes.

Last year we worked harder to birthdays while we were East, because of the trip being so unexpected and because it was so hard having smplmn's mother in the hospital that we were looking for any excuse. But this year I wasn't expecting anything, because our birthdays aren't until this weekend.

Saturday night my mother had the children to herself in order to carry out her nefarious plans. Baking happened while smplmn and I were innocently watching Model Man's sister get hitched. Sunday night we each got a chocolate-chocolate chip cupcake (the sine qua non of my growing years) with a candle in it.

A re-lighting candle. You know, one of those ones that you can't blow out?

smplmn was a good sport, and blew his out a few times before extinguishing it with water. I, on the other hand, determinedly blew and blew and blew, much to the bandar log's amusement, until I actually got the critter to go out. I'm stubborn.

And everyone sang, "Happy Birthday." It's not official yet, but everyone congratulate me -- I'm thirty-nine. For real, too, not a "thirty-nine over again"!

He was quoted before this season ever began

2006-10-03T01:06:16Z

It's Monday night. Eagles v. Green Bay on ESPN. The camera cuts to a view of Philadelphia City Hall. The camera pans around the tower of City Hall. ESPN announcer: "Ben Franklin, overlooking the city of Philadelphia ..." Cut back to the game.

I hope those guys know football better than they know history. That's William Penn up there, morons. If you want Ben Franklin, try the lobby of the Franklin Institute, instead.

It's the best I could do for hedgehogs

2006-10-02T23:27:23Z

I had to get out of bed promptly this morning, since the electrician was scheduled to come romping through the living room in which I was sleeping at approximately eight. I rose slowly to a state of semi-consciousness and then relocated to my parent's generously offered bed in order to ~~hallucinate~~ dream. Very weird dream, but then, aren't they all? The fire-eaters were interesting, especially in conjunction with the midwives. How very amusing to interpret.

We were supposed to go across the bridge to New Jersey and spend some time with Model Man's parents, but got a call at the last minute saying that his mother was not feeling well enough for visitors. I'm guessing they finally broke out the oxygen today. I am sincerely hoping that this is just over-tiredness from all the wedding hoopla; I don't want to have to come East for a funeral any time soon. Not for Barbara.

In the absence of anything concrete to do, we took Middlest and Littlest (Bigglest spent the day with smplmn's parents) to one of our favorite local playgrounds. The place was built as a memorial to a single mother and her daughter who were kidnapped and brutally killed; in response to the horror the community pulled together and erected one of the loveliest playgrounds I've ever been in. And the slides are killer. Because of the holiday the place was just crawling, too, which is the way it should be.

smplmn and the Penguin packed up after we got home and headed into the city -- Monday Night Football with the Eagles. They went in early to see the ESPN broadcast. They won't be back until whenever. My parents are out at rehearsals and meetings, and Middlest and Littlest are knee-deep in the modeling clay which my mother has thoughtfully provided. I'm knitting, having finally finished winding skein no. 7 into a ball. Three more to go, as I hit those colors in the sleeves.

I'm reading Lakota Woman, by Mary Crow Dog. It's an autobiography, and even though I shouldn't, shouldn't, should not be surprised, I'm having to take it in small doses because it's pretty shattering. Something about involuntary sterilizations, for one thing, hits me right where I live, no matter how many times I hear it or how deeply I understand that this is the simple truth. And that's not the half of it.

History. When my American History class studied the sixties, we didn't hear much about African-Americans except for the civil rights movement. Ignore Black Power, please. But we didn't hear *anything* about the American Indian Movement, or Red Power. This is not new to me, either -- these days I'm on the watch to learn things that were left out of my history classes because they were inconvenient. But it does make me angry.

I have a question for myself, these days. I'm angry, I'm guilty (not a particularly helpful emotion, really.) Soooo ... watcha gonna do about it? Thinking ...

Lost in church

2006-10-01T20:25:11Z

Well, we have Model Man's sister H all married off. Lovely couple, fun wedding. I was amused that after announcing that the happy couple would be married, "In the name of Jesus Christ," the officiant then referred exclusively to the "Great Spirit" in the rest of the ceremony. I guess I don't think of the same thing when I think of the word "ecumenical." I also wished she'd picked some other name besides "Great Spirit." I'm sure she'd be disappointed to hear it, but that one's already taken by another religion, and I don't remember seeing news of a merger.

The evening was dimmed by the rather shattering news that the bride's mother is severely ill with lung cancer. Model Man didn't tell us, because he doesn't handle strong emotion well, but a month ago they were all gathered around her hospital bed hoping that they would be celebrating a wedding and not a funeral. She looked wonderful at the wedding, and had spent the whole five days they'd been in Philadelphia without needing her oxygen once, so we're hopeful. But her husband certainly has a haunted look.

This morning, smplmn went out to spend time with his parents and eventually bring them to my parents' house, while I packed up the bandar log and went to church with my mother.

In case you're wondering, it wasn't my idea. Mostly I went because I knew it was the best way for the kids to see Penguin's mother and sister, their Grandma B and Aunt Crackalyn-Pop, not to mention Crackalyn-Pop's baby girl, Nai-Nai. And I didn't want to stick my mother with the job; she sings in the choir and can't take responsibility for the kids during church.

I took Middlest and Littlest out to children's church in the service. Then I held my breath, ran for the door, sat down on the bench outside, and cried my eyes out, I was so angry. I'd attended Sunday School with Mom, and I like her teacher, but ... The texts he picked were like rubbing salt in wounds. I caught Mom muttering disapprovingly, "prosperity gospel," which made me feel better, but if he'd deliberately picked them to hurt, he couldn't have hit the doel any closer. Then it turned out to be World Communion Sunday, which was no joy. In a mixed community, that church is so damned white ... Then the texts for church. I was sitting outside the church trying not to yell out loud. "I hate the church, I hate the church, I hate the church!"

I pulled it together and went back in, catching the rest of the sermon. Usually, when I get stuck in church I listen politely to the sermon and don't worry too much about anything except counting the minutes until I can leave and stop being bored. Today the minister was preaching about prayer, which meant I sat there thinking, "Until you have a walk that matches the talk, this is bullshit," and glaring at her. I doubt she noticed; we seldom notice other people beaming hatred at us, no matter what it feels like to the person doing the glaring.

I packed it up again during communion. I'm baptized, but I certainly don't believe what the Methodist Church prefers people to believe if they're going to take communion. I don't believe in the symbolism. I'm not, as the Episcopal Church requests, "in love and charity with your neighbors." It would be totally inappropriate for me to take communion. I didn't ask Christ to die on the cross for me, and I'm not in the mood to memorialize it. And it was irritating me, so I left. This time I went into the chapel and cried. Big mistake; I should have gone and cried in the bathroom where there were towels to wipe my face. When I finally pulled it together, I thought I would just go quietly from the chapel to the bathroom to wipe off the tears, but there were people sitting out in the Narthex. What do you do when someone walks past you in the church, obviously crying or just having finished crying? I don't know -- I'm certainly clueless enough -- but ignoring it is a popular option.

I met Crackalyn-Pop in the corridor with Bigglest and Nai-Nai, heading in to communion. I took Nai-Nai, but she had hardly calmed down in my arms before Crackalyn-Pop was back, trailing Bigglest and obviously upset. Equally obviously she hadn't taken communion -- not unless they were throwing the bread and wine to the back of the church and she'd caught it on the run like a seal with a fish.

Turns out she'd headed down the aisle to join her mother, only to have one of the ushers, who apparently didn't realize she'd come from the nursery for the express purpose of taking communion, turn around and tell her very loudly that there were no spaces at the rail, he'd counted very carefully and would she please sit back down.

*sigh* The man probably doesn't know it, but mistakes like that, even though they're born from innocent misunderstanding, are the kind of thing that can lead to people leaving the church. Let her go up to the rail and squeeze in. I'm sure Christ isn't counting the place settings. Crackalyn-Pop felt as though she'd been scolded for attempting to eat at her Lord's table. She stalked into the nursery, took Nai-Nai, sat down in a chair, and cried. She was born into this church and has attended it all her life; as far as she is concerned, she was just scolded publicly in front of her family.

I should add that there is no arrangement to bring communion to either the nursery workers or the teachers of the children's church; if communion falls on your Sunday, you're just out of luck. Poor planning. If someone had brought communion to the nursery, Crackalyn-Pop could have taken it, too, and there would have been no problem.

Then my father showed up at the door, beckoned me out into the hall, explained what had happened ... and tried to make it seem as though it was all Crackalyn-Pop's fault. Excuse me for falling back on an old habit which is no longer spiritually appropriate for me, but Jesus Christ! The woman was trying to take some Bejesused communion.

There were too many people crying at church this morning, and it probably wasn't anywhere close to the number of people who would have been crying if we were all a little less embarrassed about showing with the salt-water.

When we came home, I took Bigglest out for coffee. He's been taking on a lot of responsibility with smplmn on the road, and it was time he had some I'm-a-kid-and-you're-the-parent time. Plus I needed to go somewhere that wouldn't remind me of how furious I was, at least until I calmed down enough to keep a grip on things.

I'm calm now, but mercy, I'm exhausted.

You know, I really do prefer a universe where sometimes shitty things just randomly happen and sometimes people are just evil to a world where I have to wrestle with the complications of a divine consciousness that lets shit happen.

Gonna sit right down and write myself a letter

2006-09-28T03:24:30Z

I'm thinking that tonight's session wasn't very productive. I sat down and my traitorous intestines immediately said, "Bubble." Then they said, "Bubble." After that they said, "Bubble-bubble-bubble." You may see a pattern forming here.

It is very hard to concentrate on therapy when you are concentrating on not letting out an absolutely huge, mind-blowing fart.

On the other hand, my therapist said something he's said before, and I'm starting to sit up and take notice. I'm a bright person. Bright as in intelligent.

Between my father and my teachers, I learned growing up that it was terribly important to be smart. What I didn't learn, because the people around me were so careful not to do it, was to give myself credit for being smart. I didn't get scolded for my grades, ever. (The only thing that was ever done about a poor grade, in first-year German, was that my mother sat down with me and taught me how to study -- intelligent woman. Thanks, Mom.) But I also never, never, *ever* got told that I had done a good job.

This left me completely puzzled. I knew it was important to be smart, and I knew that, compared to my classmates, I functioned on a really high level. But I never got confirmation from anybody that I was performing according to expectations. So I was uncertain about my own judgement that I was bright, and as a result I had a low level of confidence in myself. Being smart was the most important thing, but I didn't know for *sure* that I was. It was distressing. (It would also have been nice if folks had emphasized some other things as being important, because for all my lack of confidence in the area, I have some very ingrained, snotty notions about people who are and aren't smart. I'm working on it.)

Even at the time I knew that part of the issue was that no one wanted to give me a big head about being smart. But the result was that I often put myself down as "not that smart." Test grades got dismissed as, "I have a good memory." Standardized test scores -- and to be honest, mine were always extremely high, although the rumor about my SAT score was untrue *grin* -- I dismissed as, "I'm good at taking standardized tests." While that's true -- I approach standardized tests the way most people approach double-chocolate brownies -- it ignores the fact that you still have to have some smarts to score that well.

Nowadays, it's really easy to forget that intelligence is something I have on my side. After all, what do I do with myself? It's too easy to dismiss parenting, even though I curse every time I catch myself at it. Homeschooling the children is so easy for me that I forget it's not that easy for everyone. And what else am I doing? Because I was never taught to value what I am and what I have, I find excuses to dismiss everything. I have a BA -- so what? I don't have a master's, much less a doctorate. And blahblahblah and so forth and so on.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking, Someday I will do something spectacular and then everyone will know how smart I am. But the person who really needs to know is me, and I'm having trouble listening.

Part of the result is that I'm often reluctant to try things because, "I'm probably not smart enough to do that." Even in the face of very convincing evidence to the contrary. Contrariwise, I am reluctant to exert myself because I learned very late that it's okay to try and fail at things that you don't immediately and instinctively succeed at. (Let's discuss humiliation in gym class ...) If I don't get it right away, why would I bother? Or more importantly, if I don't get it right away, it must be one of those areas where I'm really stupid, right? And if I'm stupid, I'm not going to learn it anyway. A lot of my hassles with science can be traced right back to that attitude. (And to some very poor teaching in that area.)

I try to give the bandar log credit for the things they do well, without making them feel as though doing well is the highest and only criteria. I agree with my parents and teachers that it's just as well not to have a swelled head, but I want them to give themselves proper credit for their hard work and talents.

Now if only I could give myself some of that kind of credit.

Oh, and just as practice -- don't read this, please, and I'm having a hell of a time writing it -- I'm plenty intelligent enough to succeed in just about any field.

Dougie

2006-09-28T00:03:13Z

The middle of my back aches. Right below where the wings attach, know where I mean? We're getting ready to go, and things are going well, but I have an appointment tonight which means two hours out of the house, hours which I could spend improving the edges (which are very messy) and relaxing with the bandar log.

Anyway, the car is packed, except for the stuff that goes in the cooler tomorrow. The house is not clean, but it's cleaner, and most of the stuff that could go bad and stink is dealt with. The petsitter (thank goodness for the Girlfriend) is informed.

I have this feeling that I've forgotten to pack something for myself, but my meds are definitely in there, so anything else can be replaced if necessary.

We went to the bookstore and picked up some books, mostly so that Littlest will have something within her reading level but a little more interesting. I got a copy of, I think, Lakota Woman, and I have made a note to myself to spend at least a little time reading each evening, for the sake of my sanity. Unfortunately, at this time there is no bedroom for smplmn and me at my parents' house, so we're sleeping in the living room, which means it's hard for me to escape early without displacing everyone who is busy being fascinated by the television. It's also hard for me to get any time alone with smplmn. I don't demand vast quanitities, but it's good for me to be able to release some tension by talking to him.

Note to self: when you come back from vacation, pick up The Annotated Alice again. I started it when stephe gave it to us last Christmas, but got distracted; I need the kind of screwy humor it contains, and since I don't yet have a copy of Amphigorey, Too, Alice should be just the thing.

And the three men I admire the most, the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost

2006-09-27T17:09:09Z

What can I say? I'm a traditionalist. I believe that the apples should be peeled before they go into the pie.

I have converted the children to this position, but like all unbelievers, they had to try it out for themselves, first.

In some areas, however, I'm just simply picky. I believe that the produce stickers should be taken off the apples, too.

Today's lesson for your active homeschooler is, When someone tells you to do a chore, you actually do it. You do not read. You do not disappear to your room to play with clay. You do not turn on a book on tape and veg. You do not drift off and look vaguely at the ceiling. You do the job. Theoretically, you do the job the first time you're told, too, although this is admittedly advanced work. Apparently this is a complicated concept, as a result of which I'm going to have achy legs at the end of the day. That's going to be from climbing up on their backs like an elephant's mahout and riding them all the way to the ends of their chores. Anybody got a cattle prod? Giddyap!

Play hard, play fair, have fun

2006-09-27T03:45:14Z

I was just checking out the site of someone I used to be acquainted with on-line. She's a Christian. I stopped following her site because she took it down for a while, and she stopped coming over here right around the time that I started admitting that my faith was crumbling and that I was angry.

Today I checked, out of curiosity, to see if her site is back up. It is. And it had a piece that really made me sad. She was talking about a church she'd seen that had, "Come on over to my house before the game. -- God" on one side, and, "Come on over to my house. Bring the ribs. -- God" on the other.

She was terribly upset. Didn't the people at that church understand that they needed to look at the pleasures of heaven, not the pleasures of the flesh? And then she asked if people really "play" with God that way, and was upset that they might take their relationship with God so lightly.

I don't know about you, but I played with my father when I was a child, and I play with him now. I played with my mother, and we play now. Part of the parent/child relationship is play, even when the child is an adult. (Or at least it should be. It might be any kind of play -- in my family it's verbal play -- but it should be there.)

How sad to see God only as a stern parent, and not one who might be playful. Have you ever read The Color Purple? I like when Shug says that anyone can see that It (god/dess) loves us and wants to be loved back. How can you tell? Because it's always trying to do stuff that pleases us. It invented the color purple, dancing trees, and sex. (And possibly smplmn and I have to say, only a god/dess with a sense of humor could have pulled that one off, although Shug doesn't say so.)

That does not sound like a god/dess who wants their people to be solemn, or to experience only high-flown, "spiritual" pleasures.

One of the things that flipped me out of the church like a water drop in an oily pan was the fact that I was beginning to suspect that the whole denial of the pleasures of the flesh thing was bullshit.

I didn't jump off the other side of the bridge and decide that pure indulgence was the way to go. Even in my state of flaming apostasy, I'm not interested in simply tipping the seesaw to the other side.

But there is one thing I know. If there is no divine (and maybe there isn't,) it's still a good thing to invest in the pleasures of the soul, and there is no requirement to be ascetic about the pleasures of the body. (Ain't a problem if you're drawn to it -- different people balance different ways.) (Don't argue with me about the fact that with no divine there is no soul. Says who?) If there is a divine, if it's a divine with any sense, it wants us to enjoy *all* of the world, not just one straitened part of it.

Funniest part? As usual with Christians who are trying to draw straight lines around their own and other's souls, it isn't even Biblical. David danced before the Lord, Jesus turned water into wine for a wedding, and anyone who wants to tell me that Song of Songs is strictly a poem of spiritual love is extremely naive.

And it's just sad. Mama and Daddy want to play, and Junior thinks he's too grown up.

Trial by Fury

2006-09-27T01:37:03Z

Aha! I found a site (www.cotswoldsavoyards.com) with all the libretti for Gilbert & Sullivan. Hurrah!

smplmn has bought me a couple of recordings, but I like listening to opera with a libretto in front of me so that I'm not distracted by straining to hear the words. I'm lazy.

The people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face

2006-09-26T23:06:24Z

Middlest, in spite of barely making it to a majority of classes in the session, passed out of Basic I in skating and will be in Basic II next session. Backward swizzles, here we come!

I made a little list. smplmn set one up for the bandar log yesterday, so that they would know what their chores and school are this week, and I've been pretty much right on top of it today, so they're getting things done. But I also made one for myself, a list of things that had to get done or be picked up either today or tomorrow so that we would be ready to go on Thursday morning.

In the middle of the afternoon, the bandar log were mostly done, so I declared a break, picked up the Girlfriend, and set off on a round of errands.

Middlest and I made our deposits at the bank, in my case in the face of misplacing my prepared deposit and having to run around at the last minute and find it.

Rabbit food and a salt block have been acquired, in spite of the fact that we forgot that only one pet shop around carries rabbit food in twenty-five pound bags and as a result ended up going to almost every pet shop in town. For the record, the shop by the Home Depot has it, and nobody else. Thank you to the nice lady in the one by the cloth store who recommended other branches of her own store, but I'm not going beyond the city limits when I know for a fact that *someone* around here has the stuff.

We have greens for guinea pigs and quantities of food for the trip East. If it weren't for the fact that my mother prefers to eat a true meal, we could pick her up at the airport and just head east with no major stops until dinner. But that's okay, I don't mind -- she'll want the time out of the car after spending all morning in an airplane anyway.

Middlest, miraculously, walked into the shoe store with me, bitched extensively about the selection (she's into women's sizes, which means she has the same problem with picking sneakers that I do) but still managed to pick out the perfect pair on the first try. In spite of the fact that some fool had packaged a 7 with a 6 1/2 and we had to go back to locate the missing mate. Ten minutes, in, out, done. Shoe-shopping bliss.

The whole lot of us made it to the coffee shop, where Mike teased Littlest and the Girlfriend about the fact that their drinks are obviously Starbucks drinks (caramel macchiato with extra caramel and whipped cream,) and where we played two hot rounds of UNO. Bigglest was disgusted, because he's now ended up holding cards in something like the last six or eight hands he's played. The Girlfriend says UNO is too aggressive. I think the Girlfriend needs siblings to give her a more realistic view of the world.

The car is gassed, and I paid $2.31 a gallon. Now that is stochastic. Clearly the end of the world is at hand. Hey, guess what? Polls show that a majority of folks here in the US think that the sharply dropping gas prices are an attempt by Bush to manipulate the elections in November. I don't know what's behind the price drop (I really haven't paid much attention) but if Big Oil is doing this on behalf of the Republicans, they're a day late and a dollar short. Screw with our freedoms, threaten the very foundations our country is founded on, okay, but do NOT mess with our gasoline. Who do you think you are, anyway?

Now all we have to do tomorrow is more laundry, a couple of chores, and pack, pack, pack. And any idiot can pack -- we do that all the time. Plus remember that I have a therapy appointment tomorrow evening. I doubt I'll get anything constructive done -- I must have forgotten the dates of this trip when I made that appointment.

And my mother, who is concerned about the extra stress on me from having to orchestrate all the preparations myself, firmly assured me this morning that anything that gets left behind can be replaced in PA. I'm not worried, but I appreciate the sentiment behind it. When my mother is not driving me crazy, she's pretty cool.

Note to self: Saturday morning, take Bigglest and walk downtown to the coffee shop to have some Mama time together. The other two have been positively swamped with Mama time, and it's about time he had his shot.

PS -- Dear Zanne, do not forget Littlest's gymnastics class tomorrow. You will go to hell if you do.

And the microphone smells like a beer

2006-09-26T19:40:55Z

I'm paranoid about putting my jeans in the wash. I'm reluctant to let them go, and I sweat bullets until they show up again.

Irrational? You tell me.

I own four pairs, and jeans are about all I wear in the cold weather. One pair is too big, but the others all fit just fine.

At any given moment, the too-big pair is in the dresser, I have one pair I'm wearing, and the other two are AWOL.

It's true. Put my jeans into the wash and watch them disappear for weeks at a time. It isn't that the was isn't getting done, either, because we can wash everything, fold it and put it away, and there's still no sign of my jeans.

I know enough to hunt through smplmn's jeans, since he often gets mine by default. (I have no sympathy for the bandar log on this one, since all they need to do to get them into the right pile is check out the ass; we wear different brands and different sizes.) Sometimes I remember to make Bigglest turn out his drawers; not only does he sometimes get mine, but he'll wear them and comment to me that he really needs a belt. Noticing that the waist is four inches too wide for him and that the legs are dragging the ground is apparently not enough to clue him in to the fact that the jeans he's wearing don't belong to him.

Today, I don't get it. Two pairs just went in, so I understand where they are. I'm wearing the damn too-big pair, because the third pair, which has been in the wash for at least two weeks, is showing no signs. I've pawed through smplmn's stuff, and I know he didn't take them with him accidentally, 'cause he checks. Next I think I will stand over Bigglest with a club, but we just pulled all of his stuff apart to figure out what fits him and what doesn't, and the jeans would have been sussed out then if they were there.

Soooo ... where are my jeans? The Shadow knows. I don't.

Fidelity Fiduciary Bank (Dawes, Jones, Mousely, Grubs)

2006-09-26T19:18:39Z

A couple of weeks ago, we had Bigglest and Middlest open savings accounts at my local bank. They've both begun working as mother's helpers, and Bigglest is babysitting, so they need a place to stash the cash. Up until now, their earnings have mostly been from chores at home, and we keep a credit sheet and Mom and Dad "bank" for them.

Today, Middlest is making her first deposit. She has some cash she wants to save, and a check from me for folding laundry. (Around here, toting, washing, and drying laundry is an unpaid chore, but folding it is a paid job. Reflects Mama and Daddy's own attitudes toward laundry.) She brought out her book, and I showed her in my own book how to fill out a deposit slip, how to endorse a check, and how to write the deposit in and change the balance. All very nicely done.

No one ever showed me this stuff, in spite of the fact that I acquired my first savings account when I was about Middlest's age. I figured it out myself. Middlest muttered, "This is complicated!" in the middle of writing the deposit slip, and I very carefully didn't laugh. It's important for the bandar log to learn to handle money, and this is the way we're going about it, so I might as well take it seriously. I will be very proud of Middlest when she makes her deposit today.

smplmn helped the Bigglest and Middlest open the accounts, and he is on both accounts as trustee. We wouldn't bother, since nothing but their own money will go into these accounts -- college savings are sequestered somewhere else -- and we figure they can decide for themselves how to spend it. The bank, however, insists, probably owing to the fact that there have been incidents of parents putting away the college money in an account available to a child, and then having the child (presumably one nearing eighteen) decide to spend it without consulting. Five figures worth of college tuition, gone on whatever a teenager can think of to do with that kind of money. Ooops.

This is fine with me. I'm a lawyer's brat, and I get the idea of protecting your ass. Folks overdo it, of course, and it can be a curse, but it's no big deal in this case. We'll countersign any withdrawal they want to make, although we may discuss big ones beforehand. And they'll have ATM cards and checking accounts as soon as possible.

I'll tell you what would have sent me stamping out of the bank after refusing to open the bandar log's accounts and closing my own, though. When smplmn questioned the need for a trustee on the accounts, the bank official handling the opening said very snidely, "Oh, you'll be glad when they're sixteen and old enough to drive." I'm sorry, I don't take well to people putting down my children, especially when my children are sitting right there. I suppose it's a good thing that smplmn was doing the job, and not Ms Touchy Bitch. It would have been a nuisance to move my account.

You know, if you assume that all teenagers are irresponsible brats, I'm guessing that you're more likely to *get* teenagers who are irresponsible brats. And maybe yours are. But don't make rude assumptions about mine.

"And it's our promise to bring new technologies home to you first"

2006-09-26T03:50:12Z

The local homeschooling group is getting active again. Last Thursday we had our first indoor meeting, in the community room of a local bank. The idea is mostly to let the kids have time to play with each other, partly to give the adults same.

I made some notes to myself. One, don't stay so long (the meeting was three hours long and the chaos was getting to me by the end of the second hour.) Two, remind myself from the get-go that not everyone handles their children in the same way and that I'm not dealing with small children anymore, so don't go getting judgemental.

A day or two after the meeting, the woman who has (bravely) been doing all the organizing for the group sent out an e-mail about the meeting, very perky and positive.

Today, another mother sent out a different kind of e-mail.

Turns out that other kids were playing with her kids' toys and not giving them back. She mentioned a specific toy that they will not be bringing again. (Silent sigh of thankfulness, here -- about half the chaos in the room swirled around those two toys.) More importantly, some of the kids were calling names and being rather nastily exclusive about who could play.

She wasn't blaming, just looking for solutions, bless her. The only reason she decided to say anything about it was that one of her sons was having nightmares about what happened. (Mom and kid both have my sympathy.)

Some of what she said rang some bells, so I lined up the usual suspects and asked some questions. One of the things I like about my kids is that you can ask them about things they've been doing and they will tell you honestly. Bigglest overheard a bit of what was going on but wasn't involved. He just noted that there seemed to be a sort of territorial conflict between the girls and the boys. Middlest was totally occupied with a board game being played by a mixed group of kids, come join us if you want.

Littlest, once we explained what we were asking about, turned out to have been involved, although it sounds as though she was not the instigator. (Although I'm not sure I like the idea that she just followed along with the others, either.) So we've had a talk about what kind of behavior we expect and what kind we don't. For one, there will be no, "Boys can't play," or "Girls can't play." For another, we expect her to include whoever is present. That doesn't mean she has to give up what she's doing to go do something else, but we do expect her to welcome others. And we do expect her to be kind to younger kids. (It occurs to me that I might want to discuss with her how *she* feels when she's been excluded, usually by circumstances, from something her older brother and sister are doing, and see if I can get her to draw the parallel.) I will remind her before the next meeting.

I also replied to the e-mail (my reply will go to the group) supporting the mom for bringing it up and asking some questions about what we might do as a group, mostly in the area of supervising more closely. 'Cause just between you and me, there were some times when an adult needed to step in and tell kids to knock it off. I made sure the bandar log weren't being too disruptive (although I missed the business between the boys and the girls) but when mom is sitting right there I'm reluctant to step in and tell a toddler or a preschooler what to do. Or an older child, for that matter. If you think little girls and boys can get territorial, it's nothing compared to a mama bear and her cubs. With a little help from smplmn, who is a lot more diplomatic than I am, I think I managed not to make it a matter of, "Well, this is what you should do with *your* kids."

In a way, Littlest is the least empathetic of the bandar log. She can tell you in fine detail how something makes *her* feel (especially if it's negative) but she's not very good at thinking about how others feel. And she does do the typical thing of taking negative behavior that is directed at her and then directing the same behavior at others. Sometimes you have to be pretty specific about what behavior is acceptable and what isn't, because generalizations like, "Don't be mean," or "Be nice," don't register much with her. *She* didn't notice that she was being mean, so of couse she wasn't being mean. If you point it out to her, using specific instances, she'll get it, or at least she'll get that she shouldn't engage in that behavior again.

*sigh* Who would be a parent?