Domestic Psychology

bad foreplay

In no particular order and requiring no explanations, five actions that warrant the bad foreplay card:
1. punching partner in the face
2. noxious gas from any orifice
3. “I like this one best, because it’s bigger.”
4. “One of the animals threw up in the other room, but we’ll clean it up afterwards.”
5. “I’m sorry. I drifted off for a few minutes.”

Surprisingly, this post does not fall on the list.

middle-aged Saturday

Him: “What do you want to do today?”
Her: “We could work in the garage or we could start thinning out the junk in our closet. After that, Evan needs new shoes.”
Him: “I was thinking it’s a good day to plant grass in the yard. We have some spots that are full sun and some that are complete shade, so I’d like to compare the different varieties of seed at Home Depot and Ernie’s and . . . <- At this point in the conversation, my mind started composing our conversation into a blog post, but I was subconsciously following the key words enough to know that the topic didn’t change. -> . . . get seed out before tomorrow’s rain.”
Her: “Okay.”
Him: “Okay what?”
Her: “You hunt for grass seed while I play on the computer.”

Twitterings

Until I have the time to sit and write, last night’s Twitters:

* Uggs and shorts at Pilot on Cumberland. #spring about 16 hours ago
* Blazer, cut-offs and flip-flops on campus. #spring about 16 hours ago
* This room is filled with middle-aged women and the temperature is about 80F. about 15 hours ago
* Knox County represented at DC Race to the Top presentations by Dr. McIntyre. No other TN Supers there. about 15 hours ago
* Great Schools Partnership changing name to reflect that they are a private foundation. Board asking why he believes he can raise $. about 15 hours ago
* This conversation about teachers’ pensions is cold. Almost brutal. about 14 hours ago
* When one specific board member speaks, my eye twitch starts up again. about 14 hours ago
* Love the board member who thinks one ream of paper a month is going to make a difference in the budget. about 14 hours ago
* Gah! Why don’t you explain how the fees are used so that parents pay them? about 14 hours ago
* All the teachers in here are shaking their heads in disagreement with this budget discussion. Were they excluded from the planning? about 14 hours ago
* Was he allowed to attend his child’s high school orientation or did he just hear about it second hand? about 14 hours ago
* Got bored. Filled out my census form. Same person still talking. about 13 hours ago
* No new textbooks this year. Maintenance being cut. Teachers being cut. They “hope” they won’t have to cut central office staff. about 13 hours ago
* Yes! Karen Carson gets it! Tell how money is used. about 13 hours ago
* Trustees and 3 million dollar fee topic of extensive complaint. about 13 hours ago
* Please stop grandstanding and let the meeting finish. about 13 hours ago
* I just sent an e-mail to the person sitting beside me. #easilyamused about 13 hours ago
* The a/c just clicked on. I’m guessing that is to wake everyone. about 12 hours ago
* I’m going to steal @lolaalapo’s cooler full of food. about 12 hours ago
* I’m hungry and we are talking about the results of the 2010 census. Please move forward. about 12 hours ago
* Schools should take turns running a refreshment table in the hall during these meetings. about 12 hours ago
* If they interrupt Mr. Milligan, there will be a riot in this room. about 12 hours ago
* After 3 1/2 hours of School Board budget meeting, the 13-y-o informed me that he has a birthday party immediately after school tomorrow. about 11 hours ago

leaving them to starve

As a rule, I try to always be at *home on school nights and be a part of the evening routines. As frantic as the evenings are, I can’t imagine not getting to tuck my children in bed at night. It’s probably much more important to me than it is to them. Don’t tell the children I still peek at them while they are sleeping every night. Tonight, I am making a rare exception and attending a meeting. Instead of preparing a healthy meal before I leave, since I really hate cooking, I’m leaving two boxes of organic mac ‘n cheese for the babysitter (aka the 16-y-o) to prepare. The question is, will she-who-shuns-organic prepare the mac ‘n cheese or will the children forage the fridge for crusty leftovers? Place your bets now.

*Why, oh, why can’t the social media folks have their gatherings on the weekends?

domestic detective

“What is this goo in your hair?”
“Who put a booger here?”
“Where is that smell coming from?”
“When did this get left on the counter?”
Why is that in the bathtub?”
“Which animal threw up?”

If I am going to spend all my time at the schools, maybe they will let me take some of their chemistry and forensic classes to solve the daily mysteries.

lost in translation

When the familiar name and face took the stage in the intimate auditorium, I felt a rush of fan-girl adrenalin. I clicked to his IMDB profile and tried to silently explain the significance of the speaker to the 13-y-o. The 13-y-o looked blankly at the credits that meant nothing to him. I clicked to the celebrity’s Wiki page. The 13-y-o was visibly confused. Half the adults in the audience spent the next fifteen minutes trying to get a picture of the speaker. When he left the stage, a few brave souls shook his hand and tried to glean more words from the man whose life experiences make him a Superhero to middle-aged hippies. I nudged the 13-y-o outside to talk about the significance of the speaker.

Have you ever tried explaining a television celebrity to a child who only watches TV on the DVR or DVD? “The whole family would watch him every Sunday night.” “Why?” Doug and I spontaneously sang the commercial for the show’s sponsor. The 13-y-o looked at us like we were in need of medication. “He did it before all the guys on The Discovery Channel.” “I thought that guy died.” We attempted to describe a world without Internet, where other countries might as well have been other planets. “Seeing things that you had only read about felt magical.” “Didn’t books have pictures back then?” We tried to explain philanthropy. “So, the guy who was talking has lots of money?” “No. He has no money. He gives his time and talents.” “What?”

Eventually, we thought that the 13-y-o had a vague idea who the evening’s speaker was, even if he didn’t understand why we were so enamored of the man who looks like a movie star, but lives like a monk. “Tell your grandparents who you heard speak tonight.” “Oh, uh, I saw some guy named Stan who used to wrestle alligators and now he flies planes.”

big attitude

What do you do if you are the smallest second grader in the school? You lean left and right to be seen. You stand on tiptoes. You grin, make silly faces and wave at the audience. You mouthe the words when someone else is speaking. You make big, exaggerated movements with your arms and face. Most of all, you never miss a chance to sing directly into the microphone. Amy may not stand tall, but she carries a big attitude.

Doing it wrong – Dentist’s Office Version

A few weeks ago, I spent an afternoon at the pediatric dentist. Based on the crowd in the waiting room, the staff was working with a full schedule of small, wiggly children. My personal goal was to keep Evan calm and cooperative. Sitting still is not his forte. In short time, we were called back for x-rays and cleanings.

Before we even made it to the exam room, I could hear the anguished whimpers of a frightened child. Stepping in the room, Amy and Evan stood and stared at the child begging to leave as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t wanna be here. Please let me go home.”

Amy hopped in her assigned chair while Evan sat motionless for x-rays. The usual banter in the room was non-existent as everyone stared at the sobbing child. The mother of the terrified child sat at her side, telling her to hush. The hygienist silently tried to do her job with an unwilling patient while the dentist sternly told the crying child that she needed to cooperate.

I tried to distract my children with chit-chat until the stressed hygienist was ready to clean their teeth. Evan sat silently, but his eyes were fixed on the scene that everyone was aware of, but nobody could help. Amy’s forehead was scrunched up with worry.

The dentist didn’t have the girl scheduled for a mini-visit to a nearly empty office to gradually work her up to an anxiety-free cleaning. He made it clear that her next visit would be scheduled in the hospital under general anesthetic. The hygienists couldn’t do their job and they looked like they were seriously concerned the child might bite them. The mother was exhausted, frustrated and overwhelmed. The child looked like she just wanted someone to pick her up and hold her tightly.

In what felt like a slow motion train wreck, I watched the mother’s “Hush now” become “shhhh” and then a hard slap on the girl’s leg. Shhh, slap. Shhh, slap. Over and over she hit the child while everyone in the room pretended not to notice. I sat paralyzed and did nothing. Several minutes or a few seconds later, I couldn’t tell how much time had passed in the swirling vortex of emotions that surrounded one scared child, the dentist said that they were done trying.

I finally found the courage to speak. “She’s going to …” I spoke too late. The girl sat up and projectile vomited several feet across the room. The hygienist stood up and jumped backwards as she shrieked, “Get her in the bathroom.” The mother scooped up the girl and nudged her toward the bathroom as the vomiting continued like an angry volcano.

The hygienists immediately gathered in a corner for some kind of impromptu meeting. The one who must have drawn the short straw came back and slowly gathered cleaning supplies. Suddenly, the girl’s mother reappeared and mopped up everything with the girl’s new-looking winter coat. The hygienist stood and watched as the mother ruined the coat that her hysterical and sick child would need in the cold February air. In a flash, the mother was gone and the room was silent.

Everything about the visit felt wrong. I should have left the appointments happy about my cavity-free children. Instead, we raced to get out of there and away from the chaos. I just wanted to hug my children. Tightly.

Today’s euphemism: adult time

Our beaker is extremely full. Adult time is so important that it should be a large rock. In reality, it is somewhere between gravel and sand. The boulders that take top priority don’t just make time something that we have to use whenever it is available, they complicate space availability. In other words, if we want adult time, and we do, we have to be constantly aware of opportunities for time and location, irregardless of the unconventionality of the time and location.

Soooo, these nontraditional time and location choices frequently lead to unexpected consequences. The best, albeit unplanned result is laughter and we do get to laugh at ourselves a LOT. On the other hand, every so often adult time results in injuries. Don’t get me wrong, the injuries are accidental and invariably hilarious, but they just aren’t as much fun as laughter without the pulled muscles and, well, the black eye.

We have two very large dogs whose primary household job seems to be maintaining watch over the family members. The fact that we can successfully hide from the children, but not the dogs is a topic for another post, but a fact nonetheless. Large dogs are surprisingly stealthy, especially when you are distracted by the companionship of another adult. We have several pocket doors in our house. If you lean on a pocket door, it acts more like a pocket flap and makes a frighteningly loud noise. Large dogs who have quietly found their way to that pocket door only to discover that their people are on the other side of a pocket door, will make a sudden and unexpected noise that causes grown adults to demonstrate the Moro reflex.

I.e., the dog bulldozed through a door and Doug punched me in the face.

Then, we laughed so hard we cried.

facebook is the new aol

“Augh! My paper that I spent an hour writing is GONE!”
“Relax. Let me see if there’s a saved copy of it. Were you using Word?”
“I was typing it up on facebook.”
“Facebook? You were writing a school paper on facebook?”
“Yes.”
“Open up something other than facebook and start over.”

“Did you see the links to colleges with art programs that I sent you?”
“No. Where did you send it?”
“It’s in an e-mail.”
“I never check e-mail. Send it to my facebook.”