Monthly Archives: June 2010

Sunkissed

My mom used to sing this really weird song to me when I was growing up.  It went something like this:

She’s got freckles on her…   but…  (butt…)  she’s cute.  Get it?  Yeah, well, I did mention it was weird.

Anyway, Wendy and I live in Oregon.  This summer, and I use that term loosely, it’s FINALLY getting sunny.  Now that I’m old, I have to make the dramatic decision:  Stay out of the sun and forfeit vitamins that build bone and potentially break a hip which will kill me–or–go out, get some skin cancer, which will kill me.  I think, you gotta weigh the pros and cons very carefully.  Hmm.  Yeah.  (Bear with me, I’m thinking).  There is that…  then again…

Okay.  So I’m gonna go out and get some more liver spots and wrinkles because, as everyone knows, that makes your cellulite look better. 

That’s my final answer.

Now, to go find the perfect bathing suit that shaves off 25 years and 25 pounds.  I’m liking this model, here, because just think how cool she’s gonna look when she gets all those bare spots bright red.

Carolyn

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Like Totally

 

You like want us to clean? What's up with that?

 

I have teenaged girls. I love it, as I am a connoisseur of sarcasm and they just give me so much…fodder.   

Take today for example:   

15 year old:  Mom, when a man has his prostate removed, is he still, like, a man?   

Me:  No, darling.  The moment the prostate is removed, the poor slob becomes a unicorn.   

13 year old:  I would rather die, than eat a fly.   

Me:  You’re telling me that you’d rather light yourself on fire than eat a house fly?  Be torn apart by a grizzly bear?  Eaten by an alligator?  Sit on a stick of dynamite?    

15 year old: Mom!  Look!  The dog is lactating!  Eeew!  Hey…I wonder what it tastes like?   

Me:  Why don’t you hold her over your cereal bowl in the morning and find out?   

I know, I know, I should aim for a more mature, maternal tone.  But come on.  Like, they both totally wanted to throw their stupid printer away.  Until I plugged it in.   

Carolyn

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Filed under Children, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, parenthood, The Bi-Racial Family

Yurt Locker

OMG! I'm so totally beautiful!

 I just spent the week in a Yurt at the beach with 6 middle school girls (one of them was my daughter) for a Science Field Study.  Ohmigosh.  The shrieking, the mess, the ADHD, the horrible house-keeping skills and that’s just ME. 

 The girls?  Hopeless.  

OVERHEARD IN MY YURT:

“I’m incredibly beautiful.  Not to brag or anything, it’s just true.  But, when I straighten my hair?  I’m even more beautiful.  Not to sound vain.” 

“That’s okay.  It’s good to be vain.  And you are really beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

 WHAT DATING IN 6TH GRADE REALLY MEANS: 

 Sit at the opposite end of the cafeteria and don’t look at each other.  Ever.  (Looking is for 7th grade).

 Getting to wear the boy’s hoodie?  You’re as good as married.  Pick out the china.  

 OVERHEARD IN THE CAFETERIA: 

“I gave his hoody back!”  Mass hysteria and giggling.  “And I loaded the pocket with candy!”  More mass hysteria. 

“Ooo, tight move!”

“Yeah!  He like said, I love candy!”  MASSIVE HYSTERIA.  “He said love!”

 DURING TRUTH OR DARE:

“Next time?  I dare you to give his hoody back and tell him you never want to wear it again because it totally smells like B.O.” 

 OVERHEARD ON THE BUS:

“Don’t worry, Mr. Smith, but you might want to count noses again…” 

 Alarmed, Mr. Smith asks, “Are we short a student?” 

“No.  But I’m pretty sure I saw that guy–don’t look now–the one sitting in the back of the bus–I said don’t look–The scruffy one with the flies buzzing around his head–don’t look–yeah, that guy, I saw him hitch-hiking about an hour ago…” 

“No, no.  That’s Carolyn.  Gracie’s mom.  She’s in a Yurt with all 6th graders.” 

“Oh, right.  That explains it.” 

 ON ORGANIZATION: 

 Kid: “Has anyone seen my flashlight/pillow/towel/sleeping bag/makeup/backpack/sleeping mat/text book?” 

 Me:  “What did you do with the last six flashlights/pillows/towels/sleeping bags/makeup/backpacks/sleeping bags/text books I gave you?” 

 Kid:   “I dunno.” 

 ON BEING SEXY: 

“I know everyone thinks the boy I like is a total Spaz–”

“Because he IS!”

“But that’s only because you don’t KNOW him!”

“I know he eats his boogers.”

“He’s still sexy.”  

Going on a field study is a great way to get to really know not only your own child, but the kids he/she pals around with all day at school.  It’s comforting to know that when you get home, you can lock your darling up and home school them until they are 35 and have completed basic training for nunnery boot camp. 

Carolyn

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The 35 Symptoms of Menopause. Symptom#4: Mood Swings

I went through “pre-mature menopause.”  At 44, my period just up and disappeared.  When I saw my doctor and asked her to make it come back, she ordered a blood test and congratulated me.  “You just had the easiest transition into menopause that I’ve seen.  I have women sobbing over my desk.  Consider yourself lucky.”

I did.  Well, not so much as my face changed every day (See the post:  Symptom # 36, Every Day You Get A New Face).  But in general, I felt pretty good.

However, as I rounded the bend on year four of menopause, The Change began to look less like hormonal fluctuation and more like a Werewolf  Walk-In.  “Mood Swings”?  PULL-EASE.  I respect you too much not to use full disclosure.  Symptom #4 is actually:  Menopause- Induced Multiple Personality Disorder.  An example:

Situation:  I look into the refrigerator and realize we are out of the broccoli I was going to make for dinner.

Before Menopause:  Order pizza.

Post Menopause:  “My God, WE’RE GOING TO GET RICKETS.  What kind of mother doesn’t have broccoli?”

Husband (soothingly):  “I’ll order pizza.”

Menopausal me:  “Are you out of your mind?  ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR TINY, PEA-SIZED MIND?  (Symptom #5: “irritibility.”  Riiiiight.)  I swear to holy heaven, if you pick up that phone, we are THROUGH.  (Searching refrigerator.)  There’s got to be a vegetable in here.  There’s got to be!”

Husband (fearfully):  I could… run to the market?

Turning, my blue eyes glowing orange (he swears they did), I growl.  No words, just a growl.  Then I eat two ice cream sandwiches, find half a bag of frozen peas in the back of the freezer and burst into tears.

At first, I told myself I was just being seven.  My DD has scenes like this occasionally.  But after several such episodes and fearing imminent admission to a psych ward, I phoned my doctor.   She gave me bio-identical hormones and said I should see some improvement in a couple of days.  Two days later, I stopped crying–over EVERYTHING.   I should add, she also gave me amino acids to deal with the attendant menopausal symptoms anxiety and depression.  I feel like me again.

Now there is only one seven-year-old in the house.   My husband is happier.  We’re out of broccoli again, but Papa Murphy’s is only a mile up the road.

Wendy

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That Pioneering Spirit

"Oh goody. It's raining."

 If you enjoy wearing a pioneer woman costume and sleeping in a damp tent that you set up in the pouring rain while wearing your soggy pioneer bonnet and a soaked pioneer skirt that gets tangled around your legs as you try to pound a tent spike into solid rock while 3 third graders (also in pioneer garb) complain about the inclement weather under your feet…then you’d LOVE the field study I just returned from (see Wagon’s Ho blog entry) with my kid’s Living History charter school.

 We had a fabulous time.

Learned a lot.

Stood at the bottom of the famous Laurel Hill (shoulda been named Laurel Jagged Cliff) on the famous Oregon Trail (shoulda been named Let’s Commit Suicide by Wagon Train) and I thought, “Wow, I wonder if I ‘d have let my husband talk me into hurling our wagon/worldly supplies/children/oxen over the edge like the pioneers did back in the olden days?”  and “What the hell were they thinking?”  and “I wonder how far I am from Starbucks, right now.”

Apparently, one pioneer woman (her name escapes me at the moment), pregnant with her eighth child gave birth three days AFTER getting her family down the hill.  I’m such a loser weenie.  I rode to the historic site in a heated touring bus, ate the 6 thousand calorie meal we’d packed that morning for lunch, and felt sorry for myself because I was probably gaining back all the weight I’d recently lost (see the Gym post).

This trip shattered every illusion I had about being a pioneer in any sense of the word.  I am a wimp-o-neer.  A pio-weenie.

Luckily, the next field study (leaving this Monday with daughter number 2) is being held at the coast.  In a Yurt.  Gonna feel like the Hilton, compared to the tent. 

Carolyn

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