Life on the Streets is Hard

More and more, recently, I find myself wishing to be deputized. Oh, for a police siren mounted to the top of my car that I can illuminate at will when someone-for-whom-the-rules-don't apply pisses me off. And a nice, shiny gold badge (or a cool flip-out) would go down quite nicely too.

I've been hearing stories all summer about the parents who send their kids to sleepaway camp with two cell phones because they are not supposed to have phones at all and one might get confiscated. I know I've already described the mother who only put down one instrument on the choice form because she wanted her kid to get the violin. Why don't the rules apply to them??!

There is a sour-faced woman who parks every morning in the fire lane outside the coffee shop and runs in for her morning cuppa. I know this because my kids catch the bus for camp just outside said cafe and many mornings this woman is told to move her car to let the bus pull up. But she persists in parking there every morning, leaving her engine running, and ignoring actual parking spots not 20 feet away.

Well, this morning I decided to get a coffee after the camp bus left. I was third in line, when this lady parked out front, strode in looking harried and asked the woman at the front of the line if she could cut in because she was in a rush. She didn't ask the rest of us and if she had, I would have told her to either make her @###%^$% coffee at home OR, if she was in SUCH a hurry, go without.

To add insult to injury, after she got her coffee she stopped to chat for 10 minutes with the woman who let her cut! Car idling (and polluting).

What exactly are the paramenters for making a citizen's arrest I wonder ...

You Cannot Bee Serious!

The kids were at camp all day last week so, having let a few things slide, I made myself a to-do list and began working through it methodically. Some of the things on it were fairly urgent as you can tell by the fact that it took me until Thursday to get around to calling JP McHale about our bee problem.

We hadn't seen many bees since that horrible day in June but once in a while we'd find two or three clinging to the curtains in my daughter's room. So two guys came out, took one look at the nest, took one look at each other and said, "We can't help you." Apparently, we have honey bees nesting in our wall/roof and honey bees are officially endangered.

So I now have a bee-keeper coming out tomorrow. On the phone he estimated the removal to cost several thousand dollars (he, himself only charges $200/hour and is "usually done in a day") which will include finding the hive, usually 15-20 feet into the wall between two studs, opening up either the roof or the wall, removing the hive and taking the bees to their new home and re-insulating and closing up the roof or wall.

My husband, never one to spend a dime saving when he could kill, suggested getting someone in to just blast the little critters. Mr. Bee-keeper replied that while not exactly illegal, this would not be the advised plan of action because we would then have 30-60,000 bee carcasses and a hive and about 5 gallons of honey rotting/pouring down the inside of our walls which would no doubt attract other, more aggressive varmits.

Guess I'll have to wait a while longer to tick this off my list. Next up: calling JFK's Lost and Found to see if they found the iTouch my son left on the plane. Yeah. Good luck with THAT.

Wonder Woman

My parents were pretty far ahead of the curve in terms of health awareness and nutrition.  In addition to promoting an active lifestyle and mindful snacking (only one sweet or soda per day), my mom cooked and served a healthy, complete meal (and salad) every night-- an impressive feat that shames me on those days when the best I can manage is to warm up leftover leftovers. 

There was no official list of forbidden foods in our house but there were many processed goodies that never crossed the threshold: including all sugar cereals, anything by Hostess, and Wonder Bread.

I work hard to instill healthy habits in my kids.  Be active and eat right.  I'm not inventing the wheel here: if they develop good habits now hopefully they'll keep them up for life.  The activity side is easy-- both kids are happily  involved in lots of different sports.  The food side takes more effort.  I feel like I'm always at the store buying produce.  And reading labels. And trying new recipes. And searching for the perfect luunchbox foods.

Bread is particularly tough.  It has to be wheat (whole grain).  No HFCS.  No "hearty" texture.  I've determined that there is only one kind of bread that meets all my needs and my kids' particularities (at least until someone markets a crust-free bread, which would be a huge hit) and sometimes I can't find it on the store's shelves.

The other day I was faced with that very problem.  No bread.  I started half-heartedly to check the other loaves on the shelves.  It was slim pickings.  Seeds, nope. Extra Hearty, seriously? Corn syrup, nope.

Wait, what's this?  Wonder Bread Wheat?  I picked up the happy red, blue and yellow package assuming I'd soon be sneering and putting it down because c'mon, it's Wonder Bread.  The devil's bread would have to have high fructose corn syrup in it, right?  But guess what?  It passed all my tests.  In what felt almost like a rebellious move I bought the Wonder Bread.  My kids are so lucky, I thought, remembering the few times I made squishy yummy dough balls out of Wonder Bread at other kids' houses.

And.... my son hated it.  The pieces were too small for him.  He called it mini-bread.  And he celebrated the end of the loaf.   "No more Wonder Bread!" he happily cheered to his sister.  Thirty-seven miles away, I imagine my parents were high-fiving.

No Piggin' Way

My mother and her beloved dog, Eloise, gave birth to their first babies within weeks of each other.

A new baby requires loads of time, energy and attention.  As a matter of course, the naming of the new dog was not a top priority.   And so it was that the puppy was forever known as Puppy.

I came along six years later.  By the time I was old enough to appreciate Puppy she was almost gone.  We never got another dog, despite my best efforts.

As a consolation gift (actually, it was a birthday gift), I was given another fluffy, four legged animal.  A guinea pig.  I know I always rush to hyperbole but a guinea pig has to be the Worst Pet Ever.  And, like a couple who inexplicably tries to save their marriage by having a kid (or another kid), I thought having a second guinea pig would make the first one more fun.

I was wrong.  Babies ensued (We had a boy and a girl in the same cage! Galactically stupid!).  And then a premature follow-on pregnancy that killed the mother in childbirth.  And then infanticide by the father.  And then my brother had to feed the surviving son by dropper every few hours because I was away at camp.  And years and years of chirping and pooping and rat feet and...... ugh.

Last week I was at an impromptu birthday gathering for a ten year old girl who was visiting from out of town.  A married couple that has known the father for years came up from the city and brought "their boys"-- two guinea pigs.

I know that my husband and I kind of treated our dog as our first baby (my mom even calls her her granddog) but, really, guinea pigs??!   I could not imagine anyone loving guinea pigs that much.  I had to ask lots of questions.  And the answers left me gobsmacked.

Their boys don't live in a cage.  They have two living areas in the apartment and are allowed to run free.  They poop in one spot only.  They come when called.  Ooooookay.....

My daughter loved holding and playing with those guinea pigs.  I told her don't even think about it.  I'll get her a puppy first. 
 

Siri-ously Lacking

Those iPhone Siri adds with John Malkovich are pretty creepy, right?  I mean, it is one thing when my kids try to engage Siri in actual dialogue, but a grown up sitting alone in a semi-dark room conversing with computer code?   What exactly are they selling?

Not that it wouldn't be nice to have a computer friend.  It would love and support you unconditionally like a dog but could also keep your calendar, scour the internet for the answers to trivia questions, and compose emails.  But Siri is not that gal.

Yesterday I had scheduled-- partially out of convenience and partially out of necessity-- a mammogram, my annual gyno exam, and the extraction of two wisdom teeth.  A hideous day.  Did Siri care?

What's my schedule for today?

You have 5 appointements for today [list].

Ugh.

I do not understand what you mean by "hug."

No, Siri.  No, you really don't.

But she is reminding me to take my meds.  So there's that.

Method in the Madness

I do believe that we are all in need of a little light relief from the fifth circle of HELL that is soccer tryout season. So ... remember two years ago, dear faithful readers, when my daughter made a coffee-tin Daniel Boone for a school biography project?

Here I am again with another 3rd grade masterpiece, this time from my son. Presenting (drum roll, please) Mr. William Shakespeare!

Let Rome in Tiber melt!

Is There a Doctor in the House?

In sixth grade I spent countless hours on the phone with my best friend.  I called her so many times that, to this day, I still remember her telephone number.  I also remember her cold-as-ice father answering the phone sometimes....

 "Hi Mr. Bestfriend!" I would chirp politely, "This is [Snark], may I please speak with Bestie?"

"Dr. Bestfriend," he would correct me.  He was an opthalmalogist.

Even at 11, I knew he was a ridiculous pompous ass and was kind of embarrassed for him that he was so proud of his title that he couldn't let the occasional "Mister" go.

We are currently negotiating the sale of our house.  The potential buyers just sent us, through their broker, an infuriating letter presenting and justifying their final, painfully low offer.

My husband keeps reminding me not to take it personally and I'm doing my best.  But I refuse to overlook the extreme lameness of their signing their letter "Doctors X and Y Smith."

Are you kidding me?  Assuming we proceed with this deal and it goes smoothly (fingers crossed!), it will take every ounce of self-restraint I have to make it through the closing without referencing and ripping them for that. 

All the best,

Weaselsnark, Esquire

Be Careful What You Wish For

Last post, when I was sort of complaining about having a quiet week and writer's block ... what an idiot. After posting, I went upstairs to take a shower and heard weird buzzing sounds coming from my daughter's room. I poked my heard around her door looking for the source and found 179 bees frantically making themselves at home. I know the exact number because I counted them the next day when I vaccuumed their dead corpses (are their any other kind of corpses?) off her curtains and rug. I don't know why I counted. I was just curious I guess.

But, wait, there's more! Rewind. I saw the bees, shut her door, went to take a shower, then gathered my things to make a quick drive into town to pick up bee traps and a nest-destroying chemical flame-thrower. Just as I was closing the door, I heard the phone ring. It was the school nurse to say that my son had suffered a minor concussion at school. Apparently, while standing and attempting to retain a pencil moustache on his upper lip, he leaned backwards and sat down, missing his chair, and hitting his head on the chair then the floor.

Fortunately, he was fine. In fact, when I picked him up from the nurse's station he's was flirting outrageously with a fourth grade girl. Still, a concussion is a concussion, meaning no physical activities for a week AFTER the last headache. He missed all the soccer try-outs and I had to add faxing them the dr's report to my to-do list. He missed the state-mandated hearing tests because of the the almost constant ringing in his ears.

Do bad things happen in threes? I really hope not. Maybe I can count the general state of my hair as my third giant disaster.

I will NEVER again complain about life's quiter moments.

Cut it Out

On our street there are ten kids in elementary school and each morning-- at the bus stop-- they attempt to jam two hours' worth of activities and mini-dramas into ten minutes.

I am often the only parent at the bus stop in the morning (don't get me started).  So, usually, my role is equal parts referee, town crier ("CAR!"), and volume modulator.

Yesterday morning, the kids were playing some hybrid of tag and sheer physical intimidation that had my daughter using me and our dog as cover/base.  I was talking to another parent but took a moment to point out the leash to my daughter and how she couldn't run through it.  Can you see where this is going?

Sure enough, her brother came running at her and she took off-- tripping over that same leash and hurtling herself face first (or so I feared) onto our bumpy road.

After helping her up and ascertaining that the worst of her injuries was a scraped up knee, I lit into her for not listening to me.  Didn't I just say not to run through there?  That the leash would trip you?

Nice, huh?  And I couldn't let it go.  It was like there were two of me:  the chastiser, finding 50 different ways to say "I told you so" to a crying seven year old; and the loving, soothing mom shooting the chastiser the death glare.

When I went into the school at 9:30 for a meeting, I stopped in at the nurse's office to make sure my daughter had gone in to have her cut cleaned up.  I'm fairly friendly with the nurse so, while I was there, I confessed to her my shame over my reaction at the bus stop.

To my surprise she commended me for how nice I was before yelling.  With her kids, she said, she always jumps immediately to "What were you thinking?!!!" without even stopping to brush off the dirt.

She said the yelling is the release after the fear for their safety and that it actually shows how much we really care.  It comes from love.

That's her story and I'm sticking to it.

Much Ado About Nothing

I've had writer's block for several weeks now. Nothing very extraordinary has happened is why. So seeking stimuli, I decided to get my soccer mom butt to the gym this morning but the only thing of note there was a man who grunted loudly wth every sit-up he eked out (and he eked out quite a few, I can tell you). I could hear it even through my headphones - I won't tell you what I was listening to ... oh, all right, it was James Taylor ... hey, I was winding down, ok?! It was Monica-Seles-at-Wimbledon awkward and everyone was staring at him.

So, nothing to really write about there. My soccer drama continues of course. My older daughter is trying out for a couple of different teams for next year, one of which will mean a huge family commitment in terms of traveling across state lines to games and tourneys. That's the team she most wants to join, natch. My son has tryouts for our town team this weekend and may get bumped down to team B, which will probably mean he won't want to play anymore. And Minx is on the fence about a private club vs. AYSO but do we really need a private club at age 6, and for someone who, granted LOVES soccer, but still cartwheels on the pitch during games?

I haven't even scratched the surface. There is baseball, t-ball and basketball to contend with as well as piano recitals, end of year teacher's gifts, the drama of state testing and making a coffee-can Will Shakespeare (remember Daniel Boon?).

Other than being spread too thinly and driving too much, though, I have to say that life is pretty good. Summer is most definitely in the air, laundry loads are getting lighter, I can pick flowers from my own garden and BBQ to my heart's delight. Aaaaaaaaah.

Now, if I could just figure out how to rid myself of a wasp infestation ...

Take THAT, writer's block!