May 23, 2004

Lightning hit so close to our house last night that our answering machine and cordless phone went off by themselves, then died, and our computers ceased functioning. Greg, my genius husband, diagnosed the computer problem (fried network cards, but of course!), and repaired our lawn mower. He also fixed the neighbors' electric garage door opener, another casualty of the storm.

"You're a hero to a lot of people," I said. "But I should get credit for recognizing your greatness first." I was only half-joking.

Without even a trace of sarcasm he responded, "Honey, you made the greatness." I think it may very well be the nicest and truest thing he's ever said to me, although it's hard to say for sure.

 Note to self, in the unlikely case I'm ever in a crabby mood and irritated with Greg, I must read this blog entry again to set myself straight.

May 20, 2004

I cracked the email code at the New Yorker magazine and sent a short humorous piece directly to the "Shouts & Murmurs" editor, rather than using their website submission "form" which I suspect leads right to the abyss. I'd heard it's almost impossible to penetrate their old boys network, but decided they'd make an exception for me, since I'm so clever and all. Plus my mom really liked this particular piece, so it was pretty much a sure thing.

I got a rejection the next day; their wording cracked me up.  Something about them "having no use for my submission" but wishing me luck placing it elsewhere. Perhaps I only imagined the tone of derision.

 Oh well....

May 17, 2004

I haven't blogged for a very long time and I don't have an excuse either. 

On the writing front, I just had a short piece published in a book called Life Lessons for Women. You can read the press release here, if you're so inclined. There's a lot of wisdom in the book. It might be too late for me, but I'm going to read it anyway.

And on the grocery store front--has anyone else noticed how enormous strawberries are this season? Holy moly, they're huge and oh so beautiful. If I could paint I'd be setting up my easel and getting out my palette. As it is, I'm just eating them. How do they grow them so big? The strawberries of my childhood used to be as large as a baby's fist, now they're the size of a fourth grader's, easy. I try not to think about what modern science did to accomplish this transformation. 

May 6, 2004

Tomorrow my husband and I celebrate our 21st anniversary. Which means that if my marriage was a person it could now rent a car and purchase liquor. Good thing it's not a person, because driving and alcohol don't mix.

And for those who think Greg and I look exceedingly youthful for such old married people, I have an explanation: we were just children at the start. I look at our wedding photos and think My God, they let people that young get married?  

(This message is for my husband only--please, don't read this unless you're married to me: Happy Anniversary Greg, I love you!)

May 4, 2004

Today when I told my youngest, Jack, it was time to wake up he said, "I'm working on it," which I found hard to believe since he was still motionless in bed, cocooned under the covers.

"How are you working on it?" I asked.

"I already got up once," he said, with his eyes still closed. "I pictured it in my mind. It's called visualizing."

I poked at him through the comforter. "That's all well and good. But now it's time to really get up." 

"Can I just sleep a few more minutes? I haven't pictured breakfast yet." Just when I thought I'd heard everything. And as evidence of how my early morning brain works, it seemed like a reasonable request.

April 26, 2004

Some families have dignified family gatherings where they exchange pleasantries, enjoy fine meals and partake in thoughtful conversation. If your family is like this, I have one question: can I come over sometime and see what it's like?

Yesterday my extended family met at my parent's home to celebrate my sister's birthday. The party was comprised of my husband, myself, and our three kids: my parents, two of my sisters, and my brother-in-law.  Mom served a lovely meal (thank you, Mom) and all was copacetic until the cake was served and someone offered my older son, who is sixteen, an extra gob of blue frosting. Somehow a portion of it wound up on his fingertips; he waved his fingers in the air to show us. I sensed this could take an ugly turn.

But I couldn't have foreseen how ugly. It took my brother-in-law, a man I liked until recently, to make a suggestion that turned things from distasteful to truly hideous. "Why don't you, " he said, "hang a little piece off the end of your nose?" And Charlie did. For some reason this completely grossed me out. I could barely stand to look at him. It didn't have the same effect on the rest of my family; their laughter encouraged Charlie to keep going until his eyebrows and sideburns were frosted blue as well. "You look like a Hobbit," someone said, which you think would have discouraged him, but no, he seemed pleased. 

I fled into the next room, but Charlie followed me, saying words I would normally love to hear --"Give me a hug," he said, at which point I found myself fending off a blue-frosted teenager half a foot taller than me. It wasn't until I suggested that the color in the frosting might be permanent that he retreated to our house next door to take a shower. 

Despite the grudge I'm holding against my brother-in-law, I'm still going to plug his band, STaLL. He doesn't need my endorsement; they're on the verge of greatness as it is, but this way I'll be able to say I knew him when. When he was a bad influence on my son, that is.

April 20, 2004

I just thought up the best idea for an invention and I'm offering it up to anyone who wants it, since I don't have the know-how or money to create it myself. You don't even have to give me credit.

You know how cameras always add ten pounds to your appearance? Well, I think someone should invent one that doesn't. Or better yet, one that subtracts ten pounds. Who wouldn't want one of those? The first person to follow through on this could make millions. It could be big, big, big.

And really, how hard would it be? Whatever is in the camera that's adding the weight, just reverse it and voila!-- the complete opposite. 

So there you have it, the greatest innovation since my idea for A Catapult Bed for lethargic teenagers. I hope someone is taking notes.

April 14, 2004

Recently I had a conversation with my son Jack that didn't go well. He was trying to make a point; I was unaware he'd just read an article describing cars of the future.

Jack: Just suppose that forty years from now, when you are very old, I come and visit you.

Me (heart warmed by this): Oh honey, that's so nice.

Jack: And say as I'm heading up the driveway, I kick your car.

Me: You kick my car?

Jack: Just say I did. And say it left a big dent.

Me: So I'm old and you're vandalizing my property? Why would you do that?

Jack (impatiently): I'm just saying if.

Me: I thought you knew better than that. You don't kick people's cars. That's just wrong.

Jack: But see, the dent would fix itself. Because cars in the future will have a self-healing feature. I read about it in my Popular Science magazine.

Me: Oh. 

Jack: The dent would come out by itself. Because it will be a car of the future.

Me: So, we won't have the van anymore?

Jack: No.

April 12, 2004

I got a package from Philadelphia today. Nope, it wasn't tastykakes; it was something even better. My friend, Mary, sent me both of Josh Groban's CDs. The sequence of events leading up to my mailbox surprise went like this: Mary told me she'd attended Josh Groban's  concert and loved it, I responded with envy and, (always the thoughtful friend) she followed up with the gift of music. How cool is that? Very, I think. 

I've been listening to the CDs ever since--his voice is so beautiful I could live in it. Not literally of course, because I'd still need air and water and other things his voice wouldn't provide. 

If you want to check out Josh click here. And if you don't want to, that's okay too. It's no skin off my nose. I already have the CDs; I'm covered.

April 8, 2004

Okay, more proof that my children are smarter than I am. The other day I was getting irritated because I was highlighting some text, and the ink was coming out so dark I could barely read the print. Of course I was commenting on this fact, griping really, about how it was going to be quite a strain to make out the words underneath the highlighting, when Maria came up, took one look and said, "Mom, that's not a highlighter, that's a marker."

Oh.

I guess that would explain things.

April 5, 2004

And now a word or two about daylight savings time: maybe I'm being petty, but I cringe when I hear radio announcers, anchor people, family members etc. talk about gaining or losing an hour.

People, please. Nobody is giving you anything (or taking it away, for that matter). Twice a year you change the clock--one hour ahead or one hour behind. We're really just borrowing from ourselves and then paying ourselves back. Mind games, that's all it is.

After the clock is changed the first day, nothing is different.  You still get 24 hours, as always. In the spring, a case might be made for gaining an extra hour of daylight, but again, that hour was always there. You're just seeing it on the backend instead of the front. You could have enjoyed it earlier, had you wanted to. But apparently you didn't want to get out of bed. 

Okay then. Enough said.

April 2, 2004

I know I shouldn't laugh when my older son mocks me, but sometimes he's just so funny I can't help myself. His rapid-fire wit manifests itself when I least expect it. He can take a word or phrase and cleverly turn it to his advantage.

For example--the other day I said, half-jokingly, "I'm in peak physical condition."

And Charlie shot back, "Yeah, the peak of the food pyramid--fats and oils."  

Ouch.

He immediately covered  for himself saying he didn't think I was fat, he just couldn't resist. Of course at that point I was laughing so hard I barely heard the words. The kid really cracks me up.

April 1, 2004

Happy April Fool's Day! My one joke backfired, so I'm done for the day. When I went to wake up nine-year-old Jack this morning, I told him there'd been a blizzard and we had three feet of snow. No school! He lifted his head off the pillow, instantly alert. "Really?"

"Nope," I said, "April Fool's!"

He groaned and burrowed back under the covers. Then moaned again, as if wounded. He was still groaning when I trudged into the kitchen.

"I thought for sure he'd know I was kidding," I said to my husband. "It's April 1st. How likely is it we'd have three feet of snow?' Greg shook his head in disapproval. "Everyone knows you never joke about snow days with kids--it's a sacred subject."

Things went downhill from there.  Having thought (for a fraction of a second) he had the day off, Jack, who had a sniffy nose, ratcheted up his symptoms. Over breakfast he developed a persistent cough and also somehow managed to make his eyes look rheumy. And to make sure we didn't forget about the runny nose, he sniffed dramatically. He was so convincing I almost let him stay home. Almost. Except then the joke would have been on me. Instead he got some cold medicine and warm wishes for a good day at school.