Good Fences Make Good Neighbors?

I think the neighbor lady across the street is mad at me.

You might ask, Is this the same neighbor with whom you’ve had very few conversations? The one that you merely exchange pleasantries with and then move on? The one who you used to suspect might be interested in a friendship – you do both have little boys, after all – but after one flat play date, you both thought better of it?

Yes, one and the same.

And it wasn’t the failed play date that did it. We have had conversations since then, and they have been fine. At least I think they were fine…

For though I used to be a practicing psychotherapist (one who, of necessity, picks up on the subtleties and nuances of other’s behavior), I have been known to be a bit focused when going about my business, so I may not have noticed if things weren’t okay.

After all usually when we say hello, I’m heading to work trying to wrangle a preschooler who has a penchant for making me late or I'm heading out for an evening walk - my precious alone time. Add to this that I loathe chit chat with the same fiery hatred that I typically reserve for asymmetrical tank tops, and you may have a recipe for my missing some signals here.

What I can clearly tell you is that recently while leaving for the aforementioned walk, this neighbor has been shooting daggers at me with her eyes – if she deems to look at me, that is. She has also started turning away just as I would come into her field of view, pretending that she doesn’t see me. And then a few days ago, she actually spoke behind her hand to two other neighbor ladies as I walked by.

And my issue is not that I feel bothered by this. Rather my angst is that I feel like I should be bothered by it. If she’s angry at me, then I must have done something (albeit unintentionally) to make her feel slighted or hurt.

And while I act all bad-ass on this blog, I really don’t want to be the type of person who hurts and slights others willy-nilly. Really, it’s not my style. I prefer distant cordiality in most circumstances, but – if pushed – I will attend to the emotional needs of those outside my established circle of family and friends.

So I think I should at least try to make some attempt to talk to her in an effort to re-establish friendly neighbor relations, but – and here’s the crux of the matter - I don’t really feel like it.

We don’t have much in common. Our kids don’t necessarily play well together (mostly because her child tends to hit and kick), and I’m not necessarily interested in making new friends who live across the street and therefore can stop by anytime. Also, I don’t feel like I have the excess energy required to placate someone who’s being kind of stupid about a slight that I don’t even remember.

So I’m torn between acting the part of a decent neighbor (requiring effort on my part) and my natural inclination to ignore her until she eventually moves away (relatively less effort on my part).

It’s really a battle between the person I want to be (kind and neighborly) and the person I am (emotionally unavailable and lazy).

What’s a girl to do?

Because Mothering is Glamourous

While at our local crossing gate watching trains go by, Zane hands me a very small, round, flat object. (think a piece of confetti)

Zane: Mama, is this pink?

Me: Yeah, it’s kind of pink, and it’s also kind of red.

Zane: It’s pink and red?

Me: Pink and red and a little bit brown, too, isn’t it?

Zane: Pink and red and brown. (smiles with satisfaction)

Me: Yep. What is it, buddy? Where did you get it?

Zane: My nose.

Sunday Evening Lunacy

I consider myself a relatively smart person. I mean I’m no Stephen Hawkings, but I was valedictorian of my high school class. And if that doesn’t convince you of my intellect (perhaps because you know I went to high school in southern Ohio with a student body of less than 400 people), than you should also know that I was a National Merit Scholar.

And I can almost hear you thinking, “Well maybe she’s book smart, but does she have any common sense?”

So I’ve heard this one a lot – the one where someone is called book smart as if it is derogatory with common sense becoming the gold standard of intelligence. Although to be truthful, I’ve never heard it before in reference to me. I assume that this is because to the casual blog reader observer, I appear to be neither book smart nor particularly full of common sense.

Whatever. In my life, my mother is the Queen of Common Sense. I guess growing up in a poor Irish farming family with an alcoholic father and bitter, bitter mother is the recipe for developing common sense sovereignty. I’m not quite sure if that’s the case, but I do know that the woman knows a no-nonsense answer to every quandary.

At least three times a week, SRH and I have the following discussion:

Me: I don’t know…what do you think?

SRH: (Shrugs) I don’t know…what do you think?

Me: Maybe I should call my mom?

SRH: Yeah.

Anyway, I may not have the common sense of my mother, but I’ve never considered myself a slouch in that department.

So explain to me how, this very evening - when I was washing about 250 plastic balls in bleach water to fill up Zane’s new ball pit, which incidentally, the OT is thrilled for him to have because, you know, it provides deep pressure which is helpful for both his tactile and proprioceptive systems. And anyway, I had to clean the balls in bleach water because my dear friend, M, got them off Craigslist for mere pennies, but they were filthy because their previous ball pit home was located out of doors - I had a huge breakdown of sound judgment.

Why, I ask you, would I …

…choose to do said bleach water washing in my new cute lime green top…

…while standing on the irreplaceable Scottish wool blanket that SRH and I bought in London on our 5^th anniversary trip…

…and upon realizing the idiocy of this behavior by noticing white spots on the aforementioned top and blanket, I would STILL run my fingers through my hair before washing my hands.

I’m sure that tomorrow morning, I’ll have unflattering orange highlights on both sides of my head. Because that’s what happens to Black hair when it’s bleached, right? It becomes an unwieldy, nappy burnt orange? It doesn’t become blonde does it?

Because if you’ve known me for more than 5 minutes, you are aware that I think that Black people with blonde hair are an abomination. Something nature never intended. (Even Beyonce, beautiful woman that she is, struggles as a true blonde.) And I feel fairly certain that the superstar doesn’t get her ‘do by running bleachy fingers through uncombed hair while trying to put together a toy for their child at 9pm at night after a long, exhausting weekend of play dates, cleaning house, and brunch making.

So, um, yeah, I think we’re clear on the verdict here: I may be a little book smart, but not so much with the common sense.

"Meme" is the word

Both Zany Mama and I were tagged by people to do this here meme. The “8 Things” meme has been flying around the web like wildfire. Mommy Blogs, Quilting Blogs, FanFic Blogs, Cigar Blogs, PoliSci Blogs, Comic Book Blogs, and even Spammish Marketing Blogs have all been infected with this meme. Zany Mothering and Under Construction were sadly not immune. But Wifey and I have decided to buck tradition and do things our own way, damnit! So we decided to post 8 things about each other on each other’s respective blogs. So, without further ado, 8 things about my wife.

Here are the previous rules:

Here are the rules:
-list 8 facts/habits about yourself My Partner
-post the rules at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed

-tag 8 people and post their names, go to their blogs and leave them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and ask them to read your blog.

Things About Me:my partner:

Thing the first: Zany Mama hates listening to commentators during sporting events, even though she loves watching the human interest stuff that obscures the Olympics. Hey, color commentary is just that “human interest” crap without the extra pictures and schmaltzy music.

Thing the second: Occasionally she loses all sense of impulse control. This typically happens around me and annoying behaviors. For example she once gave me a “wet-willy” and was surprised that she actually had done it (so she says…).

“I… I… couldn’t stop myself…” Yeah, sure

Thing the third: When she gets seriously stressed/scared she sometimes finds herself laughing hysterically. In many ways it makes her look a bit insane. Many ways…

Thing the fourth: Zany Mama hates replacing the toilet paper roll. I know that is usually a guy thing, but it is true.

Thing the fifth: Wifey loves the movie, “The Clash of the Titans.” This is something that has been mentioned previously on my blog via one of my “20 Questions Tuesday” posts, but most of you folk don’t read my drivel and especially don’t read my archives. ---- Just between you and me, I don’t blame you. I ramble and prattle too much for my own good.---- Sure, sure, some of you know this stuff but most people don’t.

**Author’s Note: Holy Shnikies, this meme is hard!**

Thing the sixth: She will stay in bed for hours after she realizes that she needs to pee. The bathroom is 20 steps away from the bed.

Thing the seventh: She prefers to sleep naked. I prefer her to sleep naked as well. (Who wouldn't?)

Thing the eighth: Zany Mama hates the sound of Legos. Not the sounds of Lagos, but that is only because she has not experienced the sounds of Lagos.

Thanks for reading

& I tag no one.... ever. That's just how I roll.

--SRH

So,This is Cool

At my dinner table this evening were folks from North Carolina, Bolivia, Australia, South Africa, and Hungary.

We talked about climate change and possible transformative action around the issue.

I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Did I mention that they serve dessert every night in heaven?

Hello, eh!

So, I’m out of the country right now.

(I’m in Nova Scotia, so I’m really barely out of the country, but it felt like a dramatic way to begin a post.)

Anyway, I’m trying something new – I’m going to blog about work a bit.

I usually don’t blog about work because, well, that’s not what we’re all here for. For me, blogging is actually a bit of an escape from work, but since I’m going to be gone until Saturday and I have no idea what’s happening at my house (what you don’t know, can’t burn down the house, right?), I thought I might just give a few quick updates this week.

I am here - at a conference with an incredible group of people talking about amazing topics that are really important. (ah, hyperbole!) So it was starting to feel a bit “inauthentic” not to talk about this really cool thing happening in my life. Especially since I typically bore you with health crises, rants about occupational therapy, and my love of steak.

So, I do find it difficult to articulate what occurs for me when I go to these types of gatherings – it’s lots of deep conversations and connecting to people that I wouldn’t meet in any other context. And there’s lots of me going, “OMG – I can’t believe I’m here! Okay, okay, play it cool Dr. J. You can run with the big dogs. Anyway, they like you, you like them. Just don’t tell them about your encyclopedic knowledge of all things celebrity, and it will be all good.”

In trying to figure out what to write about my experience here so far, I thought I’d just give you a couple of quotes from the conference that are sticking with me from today:

“What if we created a world that was biased toward wisdom and compassion?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Everywhere I look, there is another of my favorite people.”

Okay, the last quote was from me, but it’s true. I’m like a kid in a candy store – and I’m totally on a starburst high!

I think I’ll try to post a few times from here – we’ll see how this blogging about work goes. I’m struggling to find a witticism or self-deprecation in this whole experience, but I’m sure I’ll get there.

Stay tuned.

A Conversation and a Story

Dear blog reader, we have been having an ongoing conversation today, you and I. It goes something like this:

You: Hey, Zany Mama.

Me: Hmm?

You: Why don’t you give us an update?

Me: You can call me Tuesday, you know.

You: Indeed, it is Tuesday. Anyway, why don’t you give us an update?

Me: An update on what?

You: Don’t be deliberately obtuse, lady. You haven’t mentioned Keith Richards for approximately 3.5 posts now. That’s shady. What’s up?

Me: Oh Keith Richards! (hits forehead dramatically)

You: So…

Me: Okay, I’ll tell you a story, but don’t interrupt me…

There once was a beautiful young maiden who developed a terrible pain in her belly after eating prime rib for 4 days straight. Everyone in the kingdom thought it would pass once she resumed her normal repast of steamed chicken and vegetables (ha!), but, alas, it didn’t get better.

The beautiful lady’s discomfort caused much pain and strife in her kingdom. It caused famine and widespread ill-humor. Thin broth and melba toast filled the damsel’s days, and grey clouds hovered over her castle.

With near-legendary patience, the gentlewoman went through many, many medical tests until it was discovered that in her lithe mid-section there was a heinous liver tumor. A big, fire-breathing, dragon-like liver tumor.

Upon the advice of her friends, she named the tumor Keith Richards.

Once it was determined what caused her malady, the doctors told the lady that she must co-exist with Keith Richards for several months in an effort to make him shrink.

You know those Keith Richard types, the doctors said, if you simply do not feed them drugs (or birth control pills) and you limit their adult activities (leading to pregnancy), eventually they will get bored and flee your delicate system.

Although our heroine wasn’t sure about the “wait it out and it will shrink method”, she dutifully followed her doctor’s orders for several months. And finally, this week she took her carriage to the doctor’s office to hear the results of the barbaric MRI she’d been subjected to the week before.

While there, the doctor gave her grave news indeed: the tumor was not shrinking. It was the exact same size as it had been before.

The pain was better, to be sure. But Keith Richards was still living the high life in her gut.

You: So are they gonna take it out?

Me: I believe I was clear that I am not tolerating interruptions. One more and Keith and I are leaving.

Ahem…so the lovely maiden was quite disheartened – especially when the doctor said that she could expect to have this tumor FOREVER and that there wasn’t much else to do at this point.

You: But wait. You aren’t supposed to get pregnant or be on birth control with this tumor, right? What are you supposed to do?

Me: Second warning, Chatty Cathy – that’s the last time you get to interrupt. This is painful enough without your completely relevant and reasonable questions.

You: But…

Me: Oh cripes, you’re ruining the story. Fine. We’ll skip to the ending.

So the maiden was referred to her "lady parts" doctor for further evaluation and treatment. The end.

You: But that kind of sucks doesn’t it? You just have to live with a liver tumor which may or may not flare up at any time?

Me: Yeah. But the “kind of good” news is that it appears that the tumor is not affected by hormones. So hopefully, I’ll be able to, you know, resume normal operations around here. But I’m sticking to my guns here…I said one more interruption, and I was leaving.

You: But I didn’t interrupt you. You said, The End. You were done - there was no interruption.

Me: Whatever. Good day, sir. I said, Good day!

(Harumphs out of the room with a hand on her upper right quadrant crooning softly to Keith Richards.)

Toys Will Be Toys

Not surprisingly, our family has been caught up in the "Thomas Recall" madness. We always knew that The Man would try to corrupt and impede Zane from reaching his full potential. Who knew The Man would do it by covering Zane’s favorite playthings with lead paint?

Here’s a photo of the Thomas toys that have been recalled:

Oh good. There for a minute I was worried. Zane only has 5 of the 23 toys that contain lead. I’m quite sure this means that he has only a 21.7% chance of having ill effects. Conversely, though, I’m canceling his OT appointment on Monday as I’m sure that any and all of his delays are Thomas-induced.

Geesh.

(Actually, all offending toys have been removed from the train table, and the little spoiled guy hasn’t even noticed.)

In other toy-related matters, Zane has rediscovered a gift he received from his last birthday.

FYI, the babies’ names are “Cabbage” and “Truck”, and he put them in their “Baby Box” so that I could take a picture.

While I find this very charming (as is his insistence that we call him “Whitey the Tomcat”), I am now slightly concerned it’s the lead talking.

The Poppies Are Merely For Decoration

I have recently come to believe that I have led a rather sheltered adult life. No one could argue that my childhood was rosy sweet, but something changed once I reached my twenties. SRH and I got married, found some couple friends, occasionally went to see a movie, and considered life good.

Oh sure, we have had our share of “couple friends” issues. You know the type: I really like Person A, but SRH hates Person B. Or SRH gets along well with person C, but Person D and I couldn’t have less in common. (I remember a particularly painful evening spent with a woman who had mean things to say about every other woman in the room.)

But these are minor issues. As we become increasingly parent-ified, we are more likely to have parent/couple friends, and commonalities become easier to find. We no longer seek “couple friends” in the way that we used to. Instead we are thrilled when we meet and click with new parent/couple friends – something which seems infinitely easier to do.

Me: Hey, didn’t I see you with your bossy kid at the paint store?

Generic Other Parent: Oh yeah, that’s right.

Me: Why don’t you come over for a play date?

GOP: That would be great.

(Volia! Friendship ensues.)

It’s been like this since Zane was born. Friends somehow come out of the wood work. I meet neat people at the park, at preschool, at the OT’s office (well maybe not there, but you get my drift), at the pediatrician, in the grocery store.

I am in the baffling position of actually liking more and more people. Strange, that.

But recently, one set of our most favorite parent/couple friends seems to be becoming… well…un-coupled.

And I am completely unprepared for this. SRH and I have lived in a bubble for the past 12 years where none of our married/committed friends have broken up. Truly – not one serious couple has decided to end their relationship.

Their partnerships might be train wrecks. We might think they’d be happier apart. We might even wonder how in the world they ever got together, but none of them have decided to call it quits.

And lest you forget, I worked with battered women for years. I am totally down with ending a relationship which is not good for you. I think that kids are happiest when their parents are happy – however that happens. I don’t believe that most people leave their relationships lightly, and I absolutely respect their right do so.

But this…this feels different somehow. This is a couple that we adore - both of them. They are both wonderful people who are completely devoted to their child. They are good, kind people who simply can’t figure out a way to stay together.

And that just doesn’t seem right.

It’s making me wake up from this shelter of the past decade and look at the complexity of love and relationships. It is no longer the simple: you love each other, you work hard at your relationship, you stay together. It is something more like: with love, hard work, and a fair bit of luck, you might end up together.

And truthfully, I have never been close to a break-up where one person can’t be painted as the villain (or at least more villain-like). I just don’t have a good handle on this one.

No villain. No blame. No answers. Just sadness.

And because you know that I can’t stay with sadness long, here are the three ways I have decided to deal with this – and all future - No-Fault Breakups:

1. Arbitrarily assign fault – I’ll flip a coin, spin a bottle, paper/rock/scissors – whatever. I’m assigning blame, and it doesn’t matter where it lands.
2. Ruthlessly mock SRH – This might seem nonsensical, but it sure makes me feel better.
3. Quit my job – Oh wait, I did that last week. Turns out, my friends didn’t reconcile, and my boss wouldn’t accept my resignation.

Any other ideas?

TMI

One of the more pleasant “extras” of a liver tumor is that I am not allowed to be on birth control pills. As an additional benefit, I am also not allowed to become pregnant.

Uh-huh.

There is so much abstinence/rhythm method fun at my house right now that I could just scream.

And really, it’s been quite some time since I’ve not been on birth control pills AND not been pregnant, so I had forgotten one particular side effect of this dreadful non-combination – acne.

I’m a girl who has never had clear skin. Well, I suppose I did when I was six years old, but from about age 11 on, I’ve been pimple-y.

It’s not awful. It’s not all over my face. It’s not cystic acne. There are no scars. Rather, it’s a niggling, why-does-my-face-still-look-like-I’m-a-pre-teen type of thing. Much like my “nuisance” tumor, I have a completely non-serious and yet exasperating case of acne.

And it bugs the crap out of me.

So this week, I decided to do something about it. You know, besides wash my face, use a toner, and some oil-free lotion a few times a day. I went to the store and perused the anti-acne aisle – something I’ve not done since my teenage days.

After much reviewing of product and price comparison (because while I’d like to be done with my blemishes, I don’t want to pay a lot for it), I decided on an “adult acne” regimen. My thoughts were along the lines of I have sensitive skin, so I don’t want to use the teenage-y stuff. Too harsh. Plus, I’m an adult, yo. I need some adult medicine.

I had a bit of trepidation as I used it last night. After all, I do have pretty persnickety skin. I once got a rash for 6 days after using a new soap. And my skin could actually be characterized as “combination” rather than oily, so I didn’t want to over-dry in my quest for a smoother complexion.

But I bravely applied, with high hopes for a clearer, smoother complexion in just one week.

And this morning, I woke up to a face which was, apparently, molting.

Good grief: rare sex, acne, and now skin peeling off my face. Things just get better and better around here.

This liver thing better resolve soon.

Partner Meme - Part 2

So Thea tagged me for a meme. But I couldn’t really figure it out – was I supposed to do my favorite restaurants or the reasons I blog? Both? I didn’t know. And since I’ve already done the Reasons I Blog meme, and my restaurant choices are generally uninspiring, I decided to do neither.

But what I am going to do is finish the meme the Thea tagged me for months ago. You may recall that I did the first twenty-five questions as a “partner meme”, and here are the rest. Same thing: my answers come first, and SRH’s follow in blue.

26. What is your best childhood memory?

Although I have several really craptastic childhood memories, I actually have a fair number of good ones as well. This was hard to pick. I think some of my best memories of flipping around on the gymnastic mat – just having fun. Before I entered that whole “competitive” phase of gymnastics.

I still love being upside down.

She does indeed love being upside down. Why just the other day we were in line at the grocery store, and, well, I am just happy that she wasn’t wearing a skirt.

27. Ever been to Africa?

No, and to be perfectly honest I’ve never especially wanted to go – until this year. In the past year, I’ve met two people from Zimbabwe and several people from South Africa. Now, I really feel that I must go there. I must experience it. I can’t believe I was the boob who never wanted to go.

2010 World Cup, BABY!

28. Ever been toilet papering?
Yeah, in high school. But I don’t really remember whose house. I don’t think I was that invested.

She is quite the pro with the TP now, though. Little Man’s butt is sparkling clean when she is done wiping him.

29. Been in a car accident?

For a while there, my car had a target on it. I was rear ended on a highway and spun around into oncoming traffic, and then about 6 weeks later, I was broadsided when someone ran a red light. Fortunately, I wasn’t hurt in either accident. Unfortunately, my Saturn SL-1 survived both accidents.

When people used to ask me this, I used to say “I change cars like I change my underwear. Once a year and only after a BIG accident.”

30. Favorite day of the week?

Saturday – usually begins with yoga and ends with laziness.

Some Saturdays of hers start with laziness and end in sloth.

31. Favorite restaurant?

I don’t really have one. Our eating out has decreased significantly due to Zane’s food allergies. So I’m just happy to eat out – where doesn’t so much matter as long as it’s not seafood.

If she can find an all-you-can-eat prime rib, some restaurant is gonna lose some money.

32. Favorite flower?

I’m partial to peonies. And tulips.

Yes she does. If I get another email, text message, cell phone call asking for flowers again… Oh she’ll get some flowers. Oh, she’ll get some flowers all right…

33. Favorite ice-cream?

I’m a vanilla ice cream gal. I prefer Dairy Queen soft-serve. (How exciting I am.)

She is also partial to Edy’s Double Churned Vanilla Bean as well. If she has to have hard ice cream. Have I mentioned that she makes a mean hot fudge sauce?

34. Favorite fast food restaurant?
McDonald’s - the fries are crack.

You know what she hates? Taco Bell, that’s what.

35. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
One time. I failed the maneuverability (aka parallel parking). Thanks for bringing it up.

For those of you not “in the know” so to speak, Ohio’s “maneuverability” is a bit more than rigorous. My wife ain’t a failure, so all of you who think she is can go… wait, is this thing still typing?

36. From whom did you get your last e-mail?
You don’t want to know. It was work-related. Bluck.

I wish that were odd for a Sunday.

37. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?

This is a tough one. For clothes, I would probably pick Anthropologie. For the reality that is my life, I would probably choose Target.

Oh, she could live off of Target, but she should have chosen the “online store” Amazon.com.

38. Last person you went to dinner with?

SRH – this evening.

She had the prime rib, if it were an all-you-can-eat, we would still be there.

39. What are you listening to right now?
I’ve got the media player set to shuffle, but this second Cake’s Arco Arena is playing.

I am listening to ZM ask me why it is taking me soooo long to finish this post. Lay off, Wifey!

(But in real life, I humbly apologize and ask your forgiveness oh Wonderous Wife. I will be quick.)

40. What is your favorite color?
This changes a bit. But I really enjoy yellow – a bright, sunny yellow.

But she shouldn’t wear it…

41. How many tattoos do you have?

Two. Of course I want more, but I want to stay employable, and I’m already on an edge there.

They are small and discrete so if she continued along that vein she could get another. My name would look nice on her butt. No really.

42. Who are you tagging for this meme?

No one, but everyone is free to partake should they like.

If you partake, try to partner up with someone you know.

43. What time did you finish this blog entry?

I’m not done yet. But I ‘spect it will be about 9pm. (wrong, it was 8:45pm)

She finished at 8:45. I will be done at 9:15

44. Favorite magazine:

Inspired House – too bad they stopped making it. I hate people.

For a long time it was US Weekly, it really is too bad her sophisticated mag was cancelled.

45. Coffee or tea?

Tea, I guess. I’m hate coffee.

She has to have un-caffeinated though. I swear one night she seemed like she was hopped up on goofballs when she merely had drank a can of Pepsi.

46. Do you tan easily or burn easily?
Uh, I’m black, yo. I tan pretty much constantly. Only burned once in my life.

Unlike me, I am sooooo pale I am light blue.

47. Do you color your hair? If so, how often?

Nope. I am truly a low-maintenance kind of gal.

If she did, she would go with electric blue or candy apple red. No really?

48. What was the first car you ever purchased without the help of your parents?

Saturn SL-1. I had it for about 8 years. Then people started hitting it with their cars, I had a baby, and I traded it in.

The thing had a target on it for reals!

49. What is your most dreaded household chore?

I hate to do dishes. Hate it with a passion bordering on pathological. Hate it with the fire of a thousand suns. Hate it with the keenness of a…well, I just hate it, alright?

And I don’t think she ever did them since we were married.