Unhistoric Acts

a hard lesson

Here's a life lesson for you: sometimes (meaning ALOT of the time) we have to do things we don't necessarily want to do.

Case in point. I don't like to cook. Now, could you garner my dislike for culinary activity from all of the recipe posting and dinner making I write about on this blog? No. Well, maybe. The point is, I don't cook because I enjoy it...I cook because my family needs healthy meals, and I firmly believe in all of the benefits touted in family how-to books about sitting down for a meal together. So I cook. And yes, I am a martyr.

And there are lots of other things I could include on my NOT-FAVORITE list like: laundry, feeding the dog, taking the dog to the vet, dentist appointments, staph infections, grocery shopping, chauffeur-ing....really, anything beyond reading, eating, or watching my DVR (oh, or going to San Fran with my peops). I know. I'm shallow. But I do all of these things. I'll lather up staph-infected sores with bactroban, I'll drive to the high school TWICE in one day. Heck, I'll even drop the dog off at the vet ON THE WAY to the dentist.

So, from where I'm sitting. I'm working the task list. I'm getting things done, even though...and here's the kicker...I DON'T EVEN WANT TO. And still, I feel like I spend a great deal of my life cajoling people into completing those tasks they'd just rather not do. I'm a cajoler. I don't want to be a cajoler...I want to be inspirational, or organized, or peaceful. I emphatically do not wish to be a cajoler.

Still. I'm cajoling away.

I wake up and cajole my little ones off to school. Mostly this includes Parker. I bring his clothes down. I fix his breakfast. I make light morning banter while he eats, and I make his lunch and pack his snack and vitamin-enhanced water bottle. Often I'll tie his shoes, even though he is perfectly capable of tying his shoes all by himself. All of this I do to ensure that he gets off in a good mood, that there is no break down, no crying, no disgruntlement of any sort.

I cajole Sterling's clients on the phone.

I cajole my students. They don't want to write papers, or read novels, or consider the way gender constructions have influenced literary criticism over the past 20 years. They sigh and shift in their seats. And I crack jokes and tell funny or intriguing stories to garner their interest, to stop the seat-shifting and the sighing. I don't pack them snacks. I have to draw the line somewhere.

And then it's back home where I cajole for piano practice and lessons, and homework, and to please...FOR THE LOVE OF MIKE...stop taking off your socks and throwing them about the living room...one on the couch, one on the other side of the coffee table. Also, stop teasing your sister. And you, the grouchy one, please go take a 30 minute nap so you'll feel more human.

You can't? You have too much homework?

Okay. Well then just grump at me for the rest of the night. All of the cool kids are doing it.

[I have now typed 'cajole' enough times that it no longer sounds like a real word to me.]

And, I know that there are more legitimate things to complain about than a cart-load of cajoling. In fact, upon rereading this I feel like a giant heel. But tonight, I'm weary of dragging people by the hand through school and life and down the aisles of HEB. I'm ready for soaring...like a swift mother duck with her ducklings just behind...forming a perfect V.

Of course, they'll be honking and quacking and pecking at each other...but I suppose all of that seems much more bearable with the wind beneath your wings. Right Bette?

a few thoughts on homecoming

After Becca's party Friday night, we had to clean up and change gears for the Homecoming dance. Both Madison and Jordan had plans to go, and Sterling and I were faced with another late night. I know it sounds silly, but I'm seriously sleep-deprived from this weekend. Even though I was only up WAITING for the girls to get home, I wasn't sleeping. And honestly, I'm a morning person. Early to bed, early to rise works best for me. However, with years and years of teenage activity ahead of me, I predict a fair amount of grumpy mornings for myself. Hey, I'm not afraid to admit my own weaknesses. Work with me.

Here's our beautiful Maddie WITH STRAIGHT HAIR. She fretted over her hair for a good portion of the day. I just kept trying to talk her down from the ledge..."So what if your hair gets frizzy? Just enjoy the dance." I said this over and over. Really, she didn't need the pep talk; she just wanted me to keep moving with the flat iron, which I did. Because I'm easily intimidated.

Maddie's group...on our now famous Homecoming bench. We accidentally left the bench in the yard overnight and my neighbor DAVID yelled at me. Hi David!

The girls rode in style to Macaroni Grill for dinner and then to the dance. Sterling and I drove around in our semi-filthy suburban the rest of the night. Does that seem right to you?

She had a good time at the dance and has now been officially inducted into the I've-been-to-a-high-school-dance-and-witnessed-and/or-been-subjected-to-all-manner-of-humiliation club. Not that she was humiliated in any way, but I figure such experiences (like high school dances) are a right of passage of sorts. Not sure what they pass you along to...so make of that comment what you will. Or ignore it entirely. I recommend the latter. Why am I rambling under such a nice picture? Maybe because it is 12:06 AM and my internal clock is messed up. Blame it on homecoming. And too many candy corn.

But let us not forget the first born.

The first born also attended the dance...in what I like to call the 'shark-skin' dress. You all remember it...the one that took SEVENTEEN YEARS to find. Okay...really about two hours. But sometimes, when you are as old as me, two hours in the mall feels like SEVENTEEN YEARS.  Maybe I should have availed myself of one of those masseurs who give sitting-down massages in the middle of the mall. But those chairs are ookie. And it's so public. And yucky. Nope...it was SEVENTEEEN YEARS for me no matter how you spin it. Nice necklace though...right?

Really? When I look at this pic...I start to feel better about the SEVENTEEN YEARS. Time well-spent I must say. And yes, I'm fickle.

We were going for an unposed look here. And just to clear up the no-dating-til-16 policy. This was just a group. Yes, there were three girls and three guys. But no one particular girl was with one particular guy. I know. You are shaking your head and laughing at my utter naivete. But I know these kids AND we drove to dinner and the dance and we were keeping a close eye on things. No one told me parenthood involved such heavy and tricky surveillance. Boys, stay away from my baby girls. They have important things to do...like medical school and paying consistent and eternal homage to their momma. Thank you. Love, Mrs. Jones.

Jordan's friend, Rachel, suggested the jumping pic. Really, I find the jumping pic immensely satisfying and entertaining. I think I'll call this one....'Jumping Shark.'

more birthday OR the mother is close to losing it...

Last night was Becca's "friend" party. I keep thinking (maybe more hoping) that my kids are growing out of the birthday party stage. In fact, with each party I agree to...I agree in the spirit of "Well, this may be the last kid party they have." I know that by the time I was eleven or so, I pretty much stopped having friend parties. Contrary to my own experience, however, this does not seem to be the case with my girls. Jordan had a big 15th party last year and is currently trying to warm me up to the idea of a killer 16th birthday bash with catering and a DJ and all manner of costly activities. I keep saying no; she keeps asking. I'll let you know how the debate works out sometime around December. My money is on Jordan (both figuratively and literally).

But back to Becca.

She invited seven of her closest friends for pizza, a movie, and a sleepover.

Since we were seeing Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, I figured spaghetti-themed cupcakes were the natural choice.

I followed the directions from Hello, Cupcake! ... seriously super easy and fast. The meatballs are Ferrero Rocher chocolates tossed in a delightful bath of strawberry preserves. And the parmesan? White chocolate. The spaghetti is canned frosting tinted with just a bit of unsweetened cocoa and yellow food coloring.

And really, what's better than leaning over a plate of pasta with gleaming candles? Can anything ever really replace this moment? A moment where my child equates a mother's love with artfully placed chocolate candies?

Of course not. And the fact that I was pulling my hair out just moments before the party began? That never happened. All Becca knows is that a) her mom is freaky and b) I'm willing to go the distance with the cupcakes.

On the menu was pizza, some vegetables with ranch dip, AND...because I wanted to appear the fun mom... a heaping bowl of Scarecrow Crunch. See the fantastic Orla Kiely pear bowl? Yup. Full of Scarecrow Crunch. Check out the recipe here (scroll to the bottom).

Also, I had this great idea to play a variation on the white elephant game with movie candy (to be taken to the movie later in the evening). Becca wrapped all of the boxes and then the girls would play to claim their particular box. I have to admit, the game was a dud. But no one seemed ready to hold me personally responsible...and they all appeared to have eaten their candy. No harm done (except possibly to their teeth). I did walk into the theater with a bag filled with all of this candy and 8 water bottles. I was perfectly prepared to defend myself against any surly movie employees. Luckily, no such surly encounter occurred. Phew.

My biggest triumph of the evening? The timing. We ended up taking them to a movie that started at 8:50. So by the time the girls ate dinner, opened gifts, and played my lame game...it was time to leave for the theater. Several of the girls fell asleep during the movie. And they were ALL ready to go to bed by the time we got home. They rolled out their sleeping bags, turned on Hairspray, and I never heard another peep. So...if a sleepover is in your future I highly recommend Friday (cuz they're tired from school) and a late movie.

Because this has been such a banner weekend...tomorrow I will regale you with pictures and tales of homecoming 2009. In fact, I have to go take pictures now...the light is fading.

happy birthday becca!

My Becca is 12.

Isn't she stylin'? Since I'm not sylin' now, at 38, I can guarantee I was not stylin' when I was 12. But Becca, this girl has been putting together her look since she was two. When she was two she changed her outfit multiple times a day, and nothing was more beautiful to her than clothing that SHOWED HER STOMACH. How we laughed about that then...and still do.

One of my favorite memories of Becca as a baby occurred while we were on a family trip to Arkansas. (Who goes to Arkansas, by the way?) Becca was about a year old, and our family of five was staying in one measly hotel room. When evening rolled around we proceeded to set up her pack-n-play and put her to bed...while her 3 and 4 year old sisters meandered about the room--her sisters, who were extremely demanding babies...who couldn't sleep without complete silence and isolation. After about ten minutes I walked by the crib and looked in...there was Becca, sound asleep in the middle of semi-chaos. I was baffled, amazed, blown right out of my mind.

That was Becca. She ate vegetables and fruits and fish and all manner of healthy foods. She napped when I put her down for a nap. She sat in her stroller when I put her in her stroller. She colored nicely in her high chair at local restaurants. She's what people call an "easy baby." Easy babies are fun. I know because I have Becca.

Becca is definitely my most enthusiastic sous chef. Sundays have become our day to try out new recipes...which usually includes a new and decadent dessert. Every Sunday, without fail, Becca joins me in the kitchen and asks what she can do to help. She chops, she hunts down ingredients out of the pantry, she stirs, heck...she'll even set the table. Whatever I ask her to do...she does cheerfully. I kid you not.

When we moved back to Houston four years ago Becca was a tiny second grader. Jordan, at the junior high, was in the big time. We thought everything at the junior high was BIG, AND DIFFICULT, AND ADVANCED. I can remember wondering how our little Becca would handle it all. And this year she has her chance and is doing beautifully. She was ready to have a locker and to remember what (specifically) to take to each class. She does her homework ahead of time. She takes her assignments VERY seriously. And really...fashion-wise...she was ready for junior high ages ago. Last weekend she went along with the big girls on the hunt for homecoming dresses. She was so funny and enjoyable...never seeming to mind that all of the shopping was focused on the older two. I could tell, however, that she had put together any number of homecoming ensembles in her head. She'll be an easy shopper when her time comes.

While I am so grateful for each of our children, today is our today to be especially grateful for Rebecca. She brings laughter and peace and harmony into our busy home. She is colorful, quick with a smile, and eager to help. She calms me down when I seem likely to be blown away in the frenzy of our everyday life. She seems always ready to enjoy the everyday, to take the simple moments and make them into something wonderful. I'm so lucky to be her mom.

Happy Birthday baby.

because one can never have enough pus....

So.

My mouth is better. That's a good thing. Thank you antibiotics.

But in a family of six, one good turn deserves another. And Saturday night, when Madison pointed out the bulging, red lump on her leg, I just knew it wasn't a good sign.

But I gave her warm compresses and hoped for the best. By Sunday evening...things were not looking up.

This is why on Monday morning, at precisely 8 AM, I began phoning the pediatrician. And phoning. And phoning. And without going into a long, dull diatribe about phone tag, and too many patients, and flu hysteria...let me just say that Maddie's ever growing lump was not seen.

I was concerned not only with the lump but with the red ring around the lump that was growing bigger... AND BIGGER. So, I made the executive decision at 4:00 to take her to the emergency room. I was pretty certain they would want to drain the darn thing.

And when we walked into the ER, which was pretty much wall to wall sick people...we turned around and walked right back out. And launched ourselves into one of these lovely, suburban urgent care places. Whereas the ER was plastic seats and haggard, pale, germ ridden people that give you the heebie-geebies (the germs, not the people per se), the emergent care place had artfully painted stucco walls, with stone accents, and a large flat screen with the volume turned down just so...enough that it never became annoying. And there were only two people in the waiting room: Madison and sicky, flu girl. So, we stuck with urgent care.

The doc there stuck Maddie's EXTREMELY tender and swollen leg with a good size needle. I won't lie...she shed a few tears and nearly tore my hand in two. But who am I to judge? I cried the last time some bearded-guy ran over my toe with his grocery cart. After the shot, she plugged into her ipod while the doctor took a quick swipe with a scalpel and let a good amount of pus and blood run free of her enflamed leg.

Was I grossed out?

No. Once I get passed the worrying about my baby part...I totally dig the blood and guts part. I was glad to see the bad stuff go. Then they packed her wound with a long, skinny strip of medicated gauze, put a glob of neosporin on top, and sealed it off with an XL band aid. I, believing fully in the healing power of sugar and cream, took her by Coldstone on our way home.

I didn't buy any ice cream for myself...not because I was sick to my stomach or anything. But I figured if I was going to lose every hair on my head from child-induced stress, I should probably avoid being bald AND fat. I was trying to neutralize the evil nature of the universe. I gave up sugar...the universe gives up staph. Seems fair.

that was the weekend?

This weekend flew by...not much relaxing here. And next weekend promises to be even more hectic with Rebecca's sleep over birthday party and homecoming.

But back to me.

I had all of my hair cut off this weekend. I tried to get the girls to take a picture of the new do this evening, but it was low light and they couldn't quite get it. Just Saturday morning I had a good foot-long pony tail. Now...not so much.

You might not remember this...but one of my peculiarities is that I really don't enjoy things touching my neck. In fact, it makes me hot...and frantic. That's why my long hair is most usually in a pony tail. That's why I can't wear turtlenecks. That's why this one necklace I bought from Ann Taylor Loft (it's kind of chunky) lives permanently in my bathroom drawer. So, despite the moment of gut-turning fear that gripped me as I felt the scissors begin to snip right at the nape of my neck...the cool breeze that followed was nothing short of liberating. Yay for free necks. I should probably print up some t-shirts about free necks. Who wants one?

After the hair cut, the girls and I set out for the homecoming shopping extravaganza. Madison found her dress 10 minutes into the trip. We walked into Macy's, picked up a dress, hit the dressing room, and BOOM...we were done. For Jordan? Not so much. At one point I got so desperate that I marched her into White House/Black Market and offered here ANYTHING in the entire store. And there were some beauties. I was dreaming up some fancy affairs for myself. But then I woke up...and BEGGED Jordan to buy one of their exquisite dresses.

Nothing doing. At that point I almost gave up. I almost told her the quest was pointless, and I would need to return home to my room, where I could lay in the dark, in a fetal position, and contemplate the velvet and taffeta concoction I wore to Homecoming '88. But I kept my mouth shut and pressed on to Dillard's. It was the last store in the entire mall. At Dillard's I plopped my world-weary self down on a chair in the dressing room area, right next to the most adorable grandma-lady. She was shopping with her 15-year-old granddaughter for a "party dress." She told me her granddaughter wouldn't even look at a dress "with a bit of sparkle on it." She said that when she was a girl she had an aunt that could sew anything...she'd see a person on the street with an outfit she liked...and she'd go home and sew one up just like it. And she sewed every party dress this darling little grandmother had worn in her youth. Just before she got up to leave she leaned over to me and said, "The teenage years? They're just terrible." But she said it in just the right way...like they are terrible and wonderful all at the same time. Like she felt I would probably make it through. Probably.

Cute, grandmother lady departed and Jordan came waltzing out of the dressing room with a dress she loved.

And order was restored to the world.

And tonight? I made Mexican Chicken Soup from Shutterbean. Extremely tasty...with just enough vegetables to make me feel I was serving something healthy while simultaneously allowing cheese and sour cream and avocados. And then...after a rousing game of Guesstures...I pulled Pioneer Woman's Apple Cake out of the oven. It was good...but it doesn't hold a candle to the apple dumplings. Of course, the apple dumplings are just butter, sugar, and crescent rolls...all drowned in a river of Mountain Dew. It's basically crack for the conservative (and fatty) crowd. That Pioneer Woman...she really makes our Sundays special. And she makes my jeans feel just a little bit tighter. I don't know whether to stalk her or ignore her cooking site entirely. I'm probably going with the stalking. Yeah. I'm definitely going with the stalking.

nice honey

I've made no bones about my undying love and devotion to my iPhone. I love it. Really, as much as you can love an inanimate object...that's how much I love my iPhone. I love the music and the movies. The pictures. The calendar. The limitless apps. Oh, and Google maps. Don't even get me started on Google maps.

But you know all of this already.

As an avid iPhone devotee I've been trying to get Sterling to jump on the bandwagon. When he calls me for directions I chide him, "You wouldn't need to call me if you had an iPhone." I have been known to tempt him with it's fantasy football capabilities. And the texting...it's so much more fun.

And the games. No one likes a strategic game like Sterling.

Still, he has resisted. He had a perfectly good phone, and he's not really one to replace a perfectly good, working piece of technology just to gain a few bells and whistles. But yesterday his phone finally went kaput, and he broke down and bought the new iPhone 3GS. Lucky guy.

And then he came right home, handed me the new phone, and took my old one.

Let's hear it.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh."

I know, right?

Okay, enough unicorns and rainbows. Want to hear something gross?

I've got some nasty, pus-producing infection brewing in the spot where my wisdom teeth used to live. I have lived with a taste in my mouth like unto rotting mouse guts for the past two weeks. Something was decaying anyway, and I couldn't decide if I should hope it was me...or a foreign object lodged somewhere in my jaw.

I went back to the oral surgeon today who diagnosed a raging infection. Hey! Me too. Maybe I could pull a few teeth myself. 

He wanted to "irrigate" the small hole still left from the surgery. I was all like, "Yeah...just flush a little water over that swollen, irritated, pus-producing gum...and all will be well." 

Shows you what I know.

The assistant started squirting water...and then she had me spit. And lo and behold I was spitting out all manner of debris. Ummm... Ew?

So now I'm on an irrigate and antibiotic plan. I even went all wild and crazy and irrigated with listerine. I felt like a wacky exterminator...spraying tiny droplets of blue, minty listerine at those noxious, stinky bacteria.

And let's just consider for a moment that all of this infectious decay is happening in my MOUTH. It's like licking a weeping scab. All day. 

How's that for upbeat and peppy?

nature, sort of

I was so pleasantly surprised this morning to find a cool breeze wafting about the porch while waiting for Parker's ride to school. I mean, intellectually I am aware of the changing seasons, but as a long-time Texan I don't want to count my cool breezes before they've arrived. After a long, hot summer...a cool breeze seems hardly possible.

In celebration of this breeze I opted to take my morning reading out to the porch. This always seems like such a lovely idea, but I do find myself somewhat distracted by the strange noises of the outside (can you tell I'm reading Brit lit right now?). And sure enough, I hadn't been reading 10 minutes before I heard a curious tapping. See the woodpecker? Knowing that I was hard up for blog material (and having always wanted to give bird photography a try) I quietly opened the front door and grabbed my camera. Unfortunately, after just one click he (or she) flew off...which was too bad since I didn't even begin to capture his rather adorable fluffy, red head.

And yes, my life has achieved a new level of dullness when my blog posts are relegated to random bird sightings.

Oh. But I did go to the high school open house last night. Each armed with a schedule, Sterling and I headed out to the high school...Sterling following Madison's classes and myself attending Jordan's. We moved from class to class, spending only seven minutes in each classroom (really, what can you say in seven minutes?). And during the class change times? The rather spirited principal came over the loudspeaker, charging the parents to "pick up their step," and to not be late to the next class. Afterwards, Sterling and I camped out at the Marble Slab, eating large amounts of sinful ice cream and continually exclaiming over how HAPPY we were not to be in high school. Not that the girls' school isn't delightful...but there are just some experiences that don't bear repeating. Oh...and as a side note...I practically had to gnaw my arm off, but I was able to restrain myself from commenting when the English teacher began her spiel. Out of respect for her, I won't go into specifics, but I didn't agree with much of what she said. And I so badly wanted to offer a few well-placed comments on the study of literature, but I was circumspect enough to realize that such comments weren't going to help anyone. And that maybe such comments would be more showing off than offering constructive criticism...since I couldn't get very far in less than seven minutes. So, I kept my thoughts to myself and then stuffed them deep, deep inside with spoonful after spoonful of cheesecake ice cream mixed with Butterfinger. It's called self-medication with food...it comes highly recommended.

good morning monday!

I'm pretty enthused about this Monday. I'm hoping to get lots done today...in complete contrast to last Monday. While I loved sleeping in and have a lazy Labor Day, I think I was running from behind for the rest of the week. No more running behind, please. Escpecially with the orthodontist for the older two and teeth cleanings for all four. After this week everyone will be officially checked-up, immunized, and have clean teeth. That's about all I can do. After this week they are on their own.

Right?

We're also currently in the market for two Homecoming dresses. Jordan shopped with friends this weekend but reportedly found NOTHING. Such a state of affairs does not bode well as she tends to be more free and easy shopping-wise without me. Looks like Maddie, Jordan, and I will have to do some heavy shopping this weekend...which is 1/3 delightful time spent with my girls and 2/3 absolute torture. I'm just not a shopper, and the older I get the less able I feel to commit my energies to any mall-like locale. It just sucks the life right out of me. Too many choices, too many fabrics, too many mall rats. I'm getting the willies just thinking about it.

Also on tap? Our Becca's birthday. She's going to be twelve! And, I thought, perhaps, she had moved beyond the birthday party phase of her life. I suggested taking a good friend (or two) to lunch and a movie. Somehow, through the magical orchestrations of Becca, this has morphed into taking seven friends to the movie, feeding them dinner, and then having them sleep over. Apparently I'm a sucker for almost-twelve-year-old requests. (Also, when I told Sterling my plan...you know, for back up...he gave me this look like, "Why wouldn't you want to give her a party?") Needless to say, we worked up the invitations this weekend. She wanted a photo invite, which was great because I got to work with Photoshop...no longer my BFF...but a good friend nonetheless.

 

I've already uploaded these to Walmart so that I can pick them up today, before the birthday girl can ask me one more time...when am I going to give out my invitations?

I have some great ideas for setting up a candy bar, so the girls can put together a bag of treats before the movie. Don't you think that's okay? I can't see buying popcorn and drinks for 10+ people, what with my children expecting groceries on a daily basis. And homecoming dresses. And homecoming hair.

I think I may be in trouble....

to drive...perchance to exceed 20 mph

I've really glossed over a monumental event, the fact that we now have a teenage driver in the house. Jordan, as our first child and "the great experiment" (that's what I like to call her) passed her permit exam and is now in possession of a piece of paper which allows her to drive (granted, with certain restrictions). That piece of paper, however, does not magically imbue the owner with the ability to drive. And Jordan? She is SCARED TO DEATH when behind the wheel. All things considered, I like this...the scared to death thing. It means she really grasps the responsibility and dangers of driving a vehicle. On the other hand, creeping through the neighborhood at 10-15 mph has its disadvantages.

Yesterday we took an half an hour or so jaunt just in the neighborhood. It was good. I should have brought a blood pressure cuff because I'm sure Jordan's blood pressure was through the roof (I came to this conclusion based on the whiteness of her knuckles and the ABSOLUTE fright in her eyes). And I did my best to be soothing and calming...commenting on those things she did well, giving her plenty of instruction on those circumstances that make her so insecure. But still, it's mostly a matter of practice and feeling confident in one's ability to maneuver the vehicle. And to gain those two things I'm afraid WE WILL HAVE TO DRIVE AGAIN.

Just kidding, Jojo.

This is the cake Jordan made to thank a nice and generous woman in our church who guided us through the process of parent-taught driver's ed. She even went so far as to make up practice tests for Jordan. And really, those practice tests were invaluable. I recommended she make cupcakes with various street signs as cupcake picks...but Jordan thought that was lame, a cop out.

Since when are cupcakes a cop out? What is she learning? Next thing I know she'll be voting Republican. Geez.