Suburban Kvetch

Should I be part of the chain gang?

It’s no secret that I always wanted glasses but I was pleased I didn’t need them until a month before my 44th birthday. It’s also no secret I’m a glutton for punishment when it comes to accessories. I love jewelry and scarves, purses and capes, and yes even glasses. A multipurpose add-on, like a purse - glasses add function and fashion.  Plus with the addition of the frames to my face I was convinced I looked really smart. Well, smarter, you know.

So it didn’t bother me much when, by the time I was almost 45, I needed upgrading and intensifying. One pair of singular prescription glasses for the computer — and a pair of heavy duty progressive three prescription babies for everything else. Although I don’t have to wear them all the time — I wear glasses for reading, writing, computer time, TV watching and driving. Doesn’t leave too much else. I often wear them at the gym, since I must either listen to a book or podcast (which requires pushing small buttons and/or spelling) or watch TV while I sweat.  Sometimes I take them off in a department store because the multi-lens thing can give you a psychedelic experience. I change glasses at my desk, remove them to dry my hair and put on make-up. I lay them on the table when I eat and on my night stand when I sleep.

And I lose them.

Or more accurately, I misplace them on a regular basis. And these puppies were quite dear with their invisible progression and special super sonic non-reflective coatings.  And the frames? Let’s just say they weren’t in the “A” category of frames. No sirree. We were meandering somewhere around “M” when I found them.

Tonight I misplaced these glasses for three hours. I went out to dinner with friends who had a grand time reading me the menu making up dishes and prices. Luckily I CAN see without them, it just gives me a headache.

As I kvetched a little through dinner about always losing my glasses, I looked at my friend and said it might be time for one of these:

My friend is12 years older than me, but she rolled her eyes, threw her head back and laughed.  But I was completely serious.  I’d just wear it in the house and think it might save me a lot of time and angst and headaches in the future.  Self-preservation is the name of the game folks and anyway…it totally looks like an accessory to me!

Oh, and  just for the record, whenever you go looking for your glasses, don’t look further than under your own kitchen table.

I’m just sayin’.

Picking your battles can lead to pleasant surprises

My 17-year-old son stared at the laptop.

“Uh huh,” he said.

“Uh huh what?”

“Uh huh I’ll empty the dishwasher in the next hour.”

Of course that meant he’d do it in 59 minutes, but that was enough.  If it were me, I would do it right away and get it done, get back to laptop.

Same goes for meals.  He has always saved the veggies for last, because he likes them least.  I save the best for last - which usually means the carbs, or I eat it all at the same time.  Goes to the same place, y’know.

Whatever works.

I’ve learned that with my son, if I ask him to do something within a certain period of time, without nagging (reminding is ok - which I tell him) then it usually gets done.  It can be in 5 minutes, an hour, the next few days.   If it’s urgent then so be it, but let’s be honest, how many household chores are truly of-the-moment?  He’s the tallest, strongest person in the house, so he lifts, carries, moves and reaches at a moment’s notice.  But for those things not even I like to do, I don’t mind saying “When the game is over please take out the trash.”

I was sitting at my desk when he came in and said he was going to the driving range.  I kissed him good-bye and continued about my business. But when I walked into the kitchen, the dishwasher was full.  And no, I did not even think to ask him if it had been emptied before he left.  I didn’t assume he did it, pressing matters prevailed. I just didn’t think of it.

I’m not of the mind to call a kid back from practicing for varsity golf tryouts to empty a dishwasher that will still be amply full when he returns.

I went back to work.

And while in my mind I hover over my kids, in reality, I do not.  I keep close tabs on their internet expeditions, but I do not check, double-check and triple-check if homework or a chore is done.  I ask who he’s with and where he’s going, but even when he called me at 11:55pm to ask if he could sleep at a friends (he has a midnight curfew) I said yes, and did not get out of bed and drive to see if his car was where he said he was , although I thought about it.  I also did not do it when I awoke the next morning as I had promised myself.  He hasn’t given me any reason not to trust him - so I do.  That, and I was really tired.

A while later I texted him with the age old mother-son question.

“Sushi?”

His answer: “Ya”

I’ve learned “Ya” is short for “yes,” (because that’s so long), not short for “you.”

Then my phone rang.

“Hey,” I said.  It was golfer/non-dishwasher emptying son.

“Want me to go pick up the sushi?”

“Sure,” I said. “Thank you.”

If you’ve read this blog, or anything regarding sushi that I’ve written before, you know that the suburb we live in is not a foodie’s dream.  Sushi we like is about 10-15 minutes away — which meant my son volunteered for a 20-30 minute excursion without me asking. I didn’t remind him about the dishwasher.  I didn’t scold him for leaving his chore undone.

He returned home and we indulged together, chatting and watching Food Network in our family room.   He got up from the sofa when he was done, presumably to throw away his chopsticks and containers.

And I heard dishes clanking.

Bad blogger, me

Forgive me blogosphere, it has been five days since my last “real” post.

I was not on vacation.  I was not sick.  But, I did not write and I did not read.  I did not think of quips for the next entry. I did not click on links. I did not post a comment. I did not ponder the latest blogging dilemma with regard to integrity, ads, products, reviews or polls.

I didn’t Tweet and I didn’t Facebook (much).  I didn’t LinkedIn, SheWrites, TwitterMoms, Red Room or Backspace.

I did take a break.   And now I’m faced with catching up — or just picking up from here.

I’m taking care of a sick, old dog who doesn’t always act sick or old, but is.  I have to take another dog to the vet because she won’t stop shaking her head.  I’m working on projects around the house, client manuscripts and my own personal to-do list.  And when I squeeze it in, I’m writing.

When you are busy or preoccupied, with little blog worthy fodder in your day — do you put it all aside and remain a good, dedicated blogger or do you give yourself a break?

It’s a shame she’s not having any fun at camp

And as thrilled as I am,  I’m also SO over it.

The paci princess

My daughter wasn’t the baby I expected. Oh, I knew she was going to be a girl and I knew she would one day play with Barbies. I assumed she’d have blue eyes and blonde hair. What I didn’t imagine was, as an infant, she would be nothing like my son in more ways than toys and wardrobe. I thought she’d coo and cry when wet — like he did. I assumed she’d swing when it was time to swing and sleep when it was time to sleep — like he did.

I did not think she would have colic and reflux and never nap for more than twenty minutes at a time. And I never ever thought our family would single-handed support the pacifier industry.

But we did. And we did it for more than three years. That’s right, my daughter was a Paci Princess until four months past her third birthday.

She became our paci princess almost immediately. And we were her obedient court. Paci’s in every room, diaper bag, purse, drawer and suitcase — sometimes paci’s on my fingers just in case. She was stuck on the hospital paci’s at a time when you could only order them from the manufacturer, in Boston, and on a limited budget I could only manage to get six at a time.

But those pacifiers not only soothed my daughter - they soothed our family. We knew what worked for her and made it work for us. I am a quintessential Type B mom, I go with the flow even when it throws me for a loop. I was never against pacifiers, I just never considered them. But, I sure did once I knew that a piece of silicon made her happy and helped her sleep.

Bringing the pacifier on board made my daughter reliable. She reliably carried her ba-ba, paci and baby everywhere she went. She took it out to eat and drink and eventually to talk a blue streak. She put it in her cubby at preschool, along with her Baby.

Much to the chagrin of many, we were unwilling to take the pacifier from her until she — and we — were ready. And that came one sunny, warm December day when we lived in Tucson, and she removed the paci and I saw a rash around her mouth. That was it. That night, the Paci-Fairy came and took all the pacifiers away and left a green talking Teletubby in their place.

My daughter never looked back — she only looked at that Teletubby. Luckily that was an obsession that didn’t last as long as pacifiers.

Even though my daughter dons braces, she didn’t get buck teeth from years of worhipping at the Temple of Paci Perfection. She didn’t go to kindergarten with pacis in her pocket. And now — she’s fourteen.  The memory of the Paci Princess is a happy one.  We smile when we look at old photos - our (my) favorite being the one where she’s asleep in the carseat, paci securely in place, and a piece of Kix cereal loosely at the tip of each nostril.  That’s a keeper — added to by newer memories like that of the Pink Hair Princess.

And yes, my dedication to the parenting philosophy “whatever works,” continues.