There is a sickly sweet way that women have of talking to each other when they strongly dislike each other but, for instance, pass each other in the grocery store and a greeting is unavoidable. This is exceedingly odd to me, but I find that I even do it myself. You smile hard with your smile muscles, gritting your teeth gently, and look a little past the other person. "Hi-ee," you say with a long saccharine drawl. This is to prevent further conversation from developing.
She sings, "Hi-ee," back at you and follows with an obligatory, "How are you?" whilst pushing her cart quickly past.
"Great," you gush, "and you?" as the distance increases and you have your backs to one another. Neither of you turns to look back.
"Fantastic," she lies eloquently, "it's great to see you." And then the separation is complete, each of you is now well behind the other, the dance has been danced. You head off towards the organic peanut butter, she peruses brand name breakfast cereal, and you both hope not to meet again soon.
At least I understand this now. About ten years ago, I didn't. I was out in the front yard with Jonathan, who was little then and playing on his scooter. A couple of neighborhood ladies came by, on a walk. I think one of them had a son in a stroller, about a four-year-old, I'd guess. Jonathan was about six. They smiled and waved and asked if Jonathan and I would like to go along with them on their walk.
Thrilled at the prospect of company and exercise, I accepted the invitation and we stepped out into the road to join them.
Then began the exchanged looks (these looks were not exchanged with me, in case you were wondering), the fast pace, the backs turned toward me and the conversation in low tones about things I knew nothing of (nor was there any offer of filling me in). I loped along behind them, calling to Jonathan to ride his scooter safely and to keep up, feeling as though I was back in junior high and the popular girls were leaving me out. I began to feel angry; why would they invite me to go on a walk with them if they didn't want me to go on a walk with them? First I was angry at them, and then I was angry at myself for being dumb, for not understanding the social cues, for not knowing that when they said, "Why don't you come for a walk with us?" they did not mean that I should really go for a walk with them, any more than people care about the answer to, "How are you?"
I was humiliated. When I finally got home, I ducked into the house and hid my burning face, reliving my shame for days and trying not to cry. One of these women has since moved out of the neighborhood, and I have not exchanged a single word with the other one since that day.
I did not understand then, but I do now. And that is why, in the grocery store, when I pass a woman of that ilk, I am prepared to smile my sweetest smile and get the heck out of there.
It is pretty sad that life is like this, but at least it helps you recognize and value your true friends.
It is important to use these kinds of lessons for good in your life. My take-away is this: be kind to people. Go out of your way to make people feel comfortable when they are on your turf, and you have the power to set the tone. Be inclusive. Of course, there will be times when you are simply in a hurry in the grocery store, and you would not have time even to stop and chat with your best friend. But a cheerful, honest, friendly, "Hey! Great to see you! Gotta run!" is pretty easy to distinguish from the catty, hair-raising, sickly-sweet fake politeness of virtual enemies.
And what about forgiveness? Have I not forgiven that woman, the one with whom I have not exchanged a word in nearly ten years? I do not wish her any harm. I do not want to get back at her. I want to protect myself from being hurt again, and I do not want to offend her by my presence or my conversation (since she was obviously offended by them that day so many years ago). I think I have forgiven her, because if she approached me, I would be willing (even happy) to speak with her. I have not needed to go out of my way to avoid speaking to her; she has pretty much taken care of that herself... she's probably afraid that if she offers a simple pleasantry, I might jump into an all-out conversation. Little does she know how much she taught me.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
1000 words
I have a picture in my head, but I probably can't paint it in 1000 words.
We went to Wheaton earlier this week. David is considering transferring. He'd like to have the college experience--minus the drugs, alcohol and sex--before the opportunity passes him by. Wheaton has a very nice Christian campus and a really decent jazz program, considering. And their academics are excellent. It is a good fit, all but the money. There is always money to be considered. In heaven, there will be no money and no worries about the lack of it.
But I digress (money will do that to you).
Shawn and David and I went to Wheaton together, and it was not a bad trip, all in all. I felt very small, accompanied by these two tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut men in their leather jackets and blue jeans. It was like being with army guys or something.
(To end a sentence with "or something" is a Minnesota-ism, but I only figured that out about two years ago.)
On the drive home, DJ drove the second to last leg. We had stopped to see Lulu, who shone like starlight on her PA campus, looking stylish in a small-waisted black jacket she found on clearance at Kohl's for $15 the last time she was home. She sat by David in the Mexican restaurant where we went to have supper together, and they put their blond heads together, his nearly shaven and hers with straightened hair streaming down, and they laughed hard, looking as much like twins as they always have.
And afterwards, heading north to Erie, David drove as the sun set on our left, and I lay down in the back seat because I was shot. My head rested on a couple of pillows flung over a cooler full of the remnants of healthy food we had packed to take along. My view was of the v shaped triangle formed by the backs of the leather car seats sloping down towards where they met each other at the armrest. Along each slope ran the dark leather clad arms of each of my men, David's on the left and Shawn's on the right, their shoulders protruding powerfully beyond the backs of the seats. Above each seat rose the top of a neat, regulation-looking head which occasionally they would tip toward one another as they discussed things like jazz musicians and college basketball players. And in the center of the v was the car's control panel, now lit because the daylight was fading, lots of buttons and symbols, mostly there to control the climate in the car and the radio. Centered above this was the bright GPS, and then a space, and then the rear view mirror up high, midway between those two clean, confident heads. The background, the windshield, was a softly glowing blue, brighter than the silhouettes on each side of it, but dimmer than the GPS and the control panel lights.
The freeway bumped and the car swerved a little now and then; I suppose he was avoiding the worst pot holes. It has been a hard winter. I closed my eyes and opened them on and off, feeling like I was in a science fiction movie. The car could have been a plane or a rocket, and my men could have been special ops pilots or even astronauts.
DJ played a recording of some really old jazz that he said I would like from off his iPod. And I didn't mind it. I couldn't sleep, but it didn't bother me otherwise. I listened to the voice of some radio announcer from the 1940's making corny statements about each upcoming song, and my brain tried to follow the notes of a dusty sounding saxophone blowing out long, intricate solos, and the light faded and we passed trucks, speeding on towards New York and home, and for awhile, for a period of time, for a few hours, nothing was changing and everything was fine.
We went to Wheaton earlier this week. David is considering transferring. He'd like to have the college experience--minus the drugs, alcohol and sex--before the opportunity passes him by. Wheaton has a very nice Christian campus and a really decent jazz program, considering. And their academics are excellent. It is a good fit, all but the money. There is always money to be considered. In heaven, there will be no money and no worries about the lack of it.
But I digress (money will do that to you).
Shawn and David and I went to Wheaton together, and it was not a bad trip, all in all. I felt very small, accompanied by these two tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut men in their leather jackets and blue jeans. It was like being with army guys or something.
(To end a sentence with "or something" is a Minnesota-ism, but I only figured that out about two years ago.)
On the drive home, DJ drove the second to last leg. We had stopped to see Lulu, who shone like starlight on her PA campus, looking stylish in a small-waisted black jacket she found on clearance at Kohl's for $15 the last time she was home. She sat by David in the Mexican restaurant where we went to have supper together, and they put their blond heads together, his nearly shaven and hers with straightened hair streaming down, and they laughed hard, looking as much like twins as they always have.
And afterwards, heading north to Erie, David drove as the sun set on our left, and I lay down in the back seat because I was shot. My head rested on a couple of pillows flung over a cooler full of the remnants of healthy food we had packed to take along. My view was of the v shaped triangle formed by the backs of the leather car seats sloping down towards where they met each other at the armrest. Along each slope ran the dark leather clad arms of each of my men, David's on the left and Shawn's on the right, their shoulders protruding powerfully beyond the backs of the seats. Above each seat rose the top of a neat, regulation-looking head which occasionally they would tip toward one another as they discussed things like jazz musicians and college basketball players. And in the center of the v was the car's control panel, now lit because the daylight was fading, lots of buttons and symbols, mostly there to control the climate in the car and the radio. Centered above this was the bright GPS, and then a space, and then the rear view mirror up high, midway between those two clean, confident heads. The background, the windshield, was a softly glowing blue, brighter than the silhouettes on each side of it, but dimmer than the GPS and the control panel lights.
The freeway bumped and the car swerved a little now and then; I suppose he was avoiding the worst pot holes. It has been a hard winter. I closed my eyes and opened them on and off, feeling like I was in a science fiction movie. The car could have been a plane or a rocket, and my men could have been special ops pilots or even astronauts.
DJ played a recording of some really old jazz that he said I would like from off his iPod. And I didn't mind it. I couldn't sleep, but it didn't bother me otherwise. I listened to the voice of some radio announcer from the 1940's making corny statements about each upcoming song, and my brain tried to follow the notes of a dusty sounding saxophone blowing out long, intricate solos, and the light faded and we passed trucks, speeding on towards New York and home, and for awhile, for a period of time, for a few hours, nothing was changing and everything was fine.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
March
When I was growing up in Minnesota, I did not understand the picture books that depicted the month of March as a green, windy month with lots of kites in the air. I guess I assumed it was symbolism or something. February was red hearts, and March was kites. Whatever.
In Minnesota we had snow into June, on the north side of the house. I remember how one spring I was "saving" a patch of long-lasting snow in the shade under the evergreen bush by the bricks on the north, and one day in June my dad came by with a shovel, chopped up my snow and spread it out.
"Hey!" I said, "I was saving that. Now it's going to melt."
"Good," said my dad.
At the time I was consternated, but now I completely identify with him.
We had a blizzard here on the first Sunday in March. By the providence of God, Shannon had elected to leave Dartmouth a day early (she was visiting their graduate school, and I went along for the drive because, you know, I just can't get enough of driving and riding in the car on the New York State thruway).
Anyway, we drove home on Saturday in weather that was only slightly rainy, and on Sunday I sat in my house drinking hot tea with cream, looking out the window and thanking God that we were safely home and did not have to be out on the road in that weather.
Actually, we did venture out to go to church, and Shawn very nearly rear-ended a snowplow on our way home (you'd think the road would be in good shape directly behind a snowplow, but no, the plow had its blade up, and it was saving its salt for after the next turn). I prayed out loud. Shawn steered onto the shoulder. Our car slowed to a halt just inches from the snowplow blade, which was sticking out into the shoulder in front of us.
That is the second time in my life when I blurted a prayer out loud to God for safety during an out-of-control road situation involving snow and ice. The other time was a number of years ago. We were driving to Minnesota, for Thanksgiving I think (but it might have been Christmas). It was snowing hard. We were on the long stretch of I-90 that runs along lake Erie between Buffalo and the PA border. Snow fell heavily, and the road was getting iffy.
Traffic was light, but a few cars plugged along around us. Shawn drove with a tense grip on the wheel, his jaw thrust forward. He always drives, because I am not much of a driver. Sometimes I spell him if the weather is perfect and the traffic conditions are light. Sometimes.
But he was driving, holding the road, and he said, "It's getting kind of slippery."
Just then a car about one hundred yards in front of us skidded out of control. The car to the left of it swerved to avoid it.
Our kids said, "Wow! Look at that car spinning around!"
Shawn said, "Oh no," and probably tried to figure out how he would maneuver around a pile-up after it happened.
I watched in horror as cars ahead of us splayed from their lanes while the car-out-of-control turned a figure-eight. Unconsciously, I put my right hand in the air, palm towards the windshield and shouted, "Dear Lord God, please help that man get his car under control!" As the words fell from my mouth, the car finished its figure-eight facing forward and swooped off the road on the right hand side, clipping a mile-marker, which slowed it down. It was resting calmly beyond the shoulder by the time we passed, and the other cars resumed their positions in their lanes. There was not a single accident.
My kids were stunned by the power of God. One of them said, "Wow, Mom." But mostly they were speechless. Shawn started breathing again. We all had a very strong feeling we had just witnessed a miracle.
God is good. He may not have gifted me with great driving skills, but He taught me how to pray and He answers me when I do (not always the way I am hoping, but that day He poured clear grace and mercy all over a bunch of us).
Ahem. I was talking about March. It is pouring rain tonight, and the wind is howling. Here in New York, March is a little more like the picture books. When I say this, I mean more than Minnesota. Anyhow, it's windy. Very windy. Speaking of which, I probably ought to bring in the Christmas wreath from my front door. It isn't trimmed in red, so I thought I could get by with leaving it up indefinitely, but here in New York if you don't take your wreath down by March, it's liable to blow away. Wind puts you in mind of kites, but our March wind would probably shred a kite into nothing but flailing, stringy scraps.
Some year I'd like to experience the seasons in Roanoke. I think Roanoke sounds just about perfect.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thumbs down for Continental
This weekend Shanny visited Notre Dame (the university) to check out their graduate program in chemistry.
It was a good visit. When it was over, a grad student host picked her up at her hotel to take her to the South Bend airport. This was Saturday morning, yesterday, to be precise. They got a late start because the other "prospective" had been up very late partying very hard the night before, and he overslept. So through no fault of her own, Shanny got a late start.
When she checked in at the airport, the check-in people said, "Oh, so you're going to Cleveland?"
"No," she said. "I am going to Syracuse, through Cleveland."
"That's odd," they said. They looked at her ticket for awhile, and at the computer monitor. "Oh," they said, "it leaves at 3:21. That's why it isn't showing up."
Since she was late, Shanny hurried on through security and over to her gate, all the while worrying that something was not right. She was sure that she was supposed to arrive in Syracuse at 1:57. So how could her flight leave Cleveland at 3:21? There were a couple of minutes before boarding, so she pulled out her laptop and found the site where she could check her ticket. The website informed her that her original flight out of Cleveland had been canceled and that she had been re-assigned to a flight at 3:21 p.m. on Wednesday. Yes, folks, on Wednesday, four days later.
Shanny called her father in a panic, wondering whether she should get on the plane to Cleveland. He told her to go ahead and get on it, that there would be more options out of Cleveland than there were out of South Bend.
So Shanny boarded the plane and her father called Continental where a rude "customer service agent" (and I use that term very loosely) told him that Shanny never should have gotten on the first plane, because once she began to use a ticket her options became severely limited. After being rude, unhelpful and downright nasty, as well as untruthful (agent: "It was canceled due to weather." Shawn: "I have a map of the US doppler radar up on my computer right now, and there is no weather in Cleveland or Syracuse at this time.")... finally she said that she would book Shannon on a flight to Washington Dulles on Sunday morning where she could then catch a flight back to Buffalo, NY and we could go pick her up there.
Now, if Shannon were actually old enough to rent a car, the obvious thing would have been for her to rent one (at Continental's expense) and drive home from Cleveland. But she is not yet old enough to rent a car. She didn't even have any way to get to a hotel to spend the night, so she would have had to spend the entire day and night in the Cleveland airport and then fly all the way to Dulles and then all the way back to Buffalo, and we would have had to drive three hours out to get her and three hours home.
So we did the only logical thing. We got in our car and drove to Cleveland to get her. It took us five hours to get there, and seven hours to get home. Because in the end there was weather, but it did not start until four hours after Shannon's originally scheduled flight would have been finished and landed and she safely home. It did not even start before Shannon would have been safely home, had she been old enough to rent a car and drive herself. No, the bad weather started right as we were picking her up at 5:20 p.m. at the Cleveland airport, and it followed us all the way home, where we arrived, exhausted, at a quarter past midnight.
Continental did nothing for us, not one thing to try to make up for their horrendous business practices. The professor at Notre Dame told Shannon to send him receipts from our drive home, and he would see that the university reimbursed us. Continental did not so much as say they were sorry. The "customer service agent" told Shawn, "It is your daughter's responsibility to educate herself on our policies before she flies our airline."
Needless to say, this has left an exceedingly bad taste in our mouth where Continental is concerned.
It was a good visit. When it was over, a grad student host picked her up at her hotel to take her to the South Bend airport. This was Saturday morning, yesterday, to be precise. They got a late start because the other "prospective" had been up very late partying very hard the night before, and he overslept. So through no fault of her own, Shanny got a late start.
When she checked in at the airport, the check-in people said, "Oh, so you're going to Cleveland?"
"No," she said. "I am going to Syracuse, through Cleveland."
"That's odd," they said. They looked at her ticket for awhile, and at the computer monitor. "Oh," they said, "it leaves at 3:21. That's why it isn't showing up."
Since she was late, Shanny hurried on through security and over to her gate, all the while worrying that something was not right. She was sure that she was supposed to arrive in Syracuse at 1:57. So how could her flight leave Cleveland at 3:21? There were a couple of minutes before boarding, so she pulled out her laptop and found the site where she could check her ticket. The website informed her that her original flight out of Cleveland had been canceled and that she had been re-assigned to a flight at 3:21 p.m. on Wednesday. Yes, folks, on Wednesday, four days later.
Shanny called her father in a panic, wondering whether she should get on the plane to Cleveland. He told her to go ahead and get on it, that there would be more options out of Cleveland than there were out of South Bend.
So Shanny boarded the plane and her father called Continental where a rude "customer service agent" (and I use that term very loosely) told him that Shanny never should have gotten on the first plane, because once she began to use a ticket her options became severely limited. After being rude, unhelpful and downright nasty, as well as untruthful (agent: "It was canceled due to weather." Shawn: "I have a map of the US doppler radar up on my computer right now, and there is no weather in Cleveland or Syracuse at this time.")... finally she said that she would book Shannon on a flight to Washington Dulles on Sunday morning where she could then catch a flight back to Buffalo, NY and we could go pick her up there.
Now, if Shannon were actually old enough to rent a car, the obvious thing would have been for her to rent one (at Continental's expense) and drive home from Cleveland. But she is not yet old enough to rent a car. She didn't even have any way to get to a hotel to spend the night, so she would have had to spend the entire day and night in the Cleveland airport and then fly all the way to Dulles and then all the way back to Buffalo, and we would have had to drive three hours out to get her and three hours home.
So we did the only logical thing. We got in our car and drove to Cleveland to get her. It took us five hours to get there, and seven hours to get home. Because in the end there was weather, but it did not start until four hours after Shannon's originally scheduled flight would have been finished and landed and she safely home. It did not even start before Shannon would have been safely home, had she been old enough to rent a car and drive herself. No, the bad weather started right as we were picking her up at 5:20 p.m. at the Cleveland airport, and it followed us all the way home, where we arrived, exhausted, at a quarter past midnight.
Continental did nothing for us, not one thing to try to make up for their horrendous business practices. The professor at Notre Dame told Shannon to send him receipts from our drive home, and he would see that the university reimbursed us. Continental did not so much as say they were sorry. The "customer service agent" told Shawn, "It is your daughter's responsibility to educate herself on our policies before she flies our airline."
Needless to say, this has left an exceedingly bad taste in our mouth where Continental is concerned.
Friday, February 18, 2011
A Spring Day
Today I ventured out of hibernation and took the dogs for a walk apiece. Glorious day!!! My heart is filled with thanksgiving as I sit here back at home with the heat off and the windows open wide to the sounds of water dripping off roofs and running down storm sewers, wind blowing, and happy kids exalting in how good it feels to be out in the sun.
I was walking Schubert when the bus dropped off the high school kids at the corner of Choke Cherry. There are about 100 of them; they used to be in elementary school together, and then middle school, and now they are all in high school because this is a pretty single-generational neighborhood. Off they all came, hopping down the last step off the bus into the wind and sunshine and puddles, landing all around us like raindrops. And Schubert, with the wind blowing back his furry ears, looked this way and that in delighted confusion not knowing whom to pounce first.
The internet says it is only 49 degrees, but I think it must be at least 57. I went for a walk with my jacket unzipped all the way, and a strong spring wind blowing in my face, and I still worked up a slight sweat. Given those facts, I'd guess it was more like 65.
Generally, I am not much for demolition phases. When our bathrooms were remodeled, the first day when they tore out all the old stuff was by far the most traumatic for me. I do, however, take great joy in the demolition of winter. There is little more satisfying than the sight of a snowbank shrinking, decomposing and trickling down a drain. As the banks thin and take on that crystalline look where you can see the particles of sand suspended in snow, translucent now instead of solid, foreboding white, you just have this feeling of triumph, and you know it won't be long before the daffodils arise.
We had a blizzard on Groundhog Day this year. My heart has this crazy, cock-eyed hope that we really will have an early spring. Anyway, we are having an undeniably beautiful spring day today, and for that my heart rejoices.
I was walking Schubert when the bus dropped off the high school kids at the corner of Choke Cherry. There are about 100 of them; they used to be in elementary school together, and then middle school, and now they are all in high school because this is a pretty single-generational neighborhood. Off they all came, hopping down the last step off the bus into the wind and sunshine and puddles, landing all around us like raindrops. And Schubert, with the wind blowing back his furry ears, looked this way and that in delighted confusion not knowing whom to pounce first.
The internet says it is only 49 degrees, but I think it must be at least 57. I went for a walk with my jacket unzipped all the way, and a strong spring wind blowing in my face, and I still worked up a slight sweat. Given those facts, I'd guess it was more like 65.
Generally, I am not much for demolition phases. When our bathrooms were remodeled, the first day when they tore out all the old stuff was by far the most traumatic for me. I do, however, take great joy in the demolition of winter. There is little more satisfying than the sight of a snowbank shrinking, decomposing and trickling down a drain. As the banks thin and take on that crystalline look where you can see the particles of sand suspended in snow, translucent now instead of solid, foreboding white, you just have this feeling of triumph, and you know it won't be long before the daffodils arise.
We had a blizzard on Groundhog Day this year. My heart has this crazy, cock-eyed hope that we really will have an early spring. Anyway, we are having an undeniably beautiful spring day today, and for that my heart rejoices.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
A tough morning (a bawdy tale of toilets)
Is there a theme developing here?
So last night was not as bad as the night before. I only had to get up once to let Piper go out and sprinkle the night with diarrhea, at 1:30 a.m., and it was not snowing, so that is practically miraculous.
However, my morning...
Let me preface this by saying that the contractors took the toilet out of the kids' bathroom yesterday. So the one bathroom that has a working shower has no toilet, sort of like the European salle de bain. That is the kids' bathroom. Our bathroom (Shawn's and mine) has a working toilet and a wet saw for cutting tile and a bunch of tools, tiles and sponges. And by "a bunch" I mean you really have to watch out when you try to turn around in there.
Laura's room, because she has the honor of being away at college, is filled wall-to-wall and floor to ceiling with tools... tools on carts, tools in boxes, tools in cases... etc. After the first day of work, I told Shannon that they'd cut a hole in her closet to get to the plumbing in the kids' bathroom. She said, "I guess I'll move into Laura's room until this is over."
I said, "I do not think you will want to do that."
"What?" she asked, "Do you really think Laura would care that much? All I'm going to do is sleep in her bed."
"I don't think you will be able to do that," I informed her. Then she and David went upstairs, and they immediately began taking pictures on their phones and sending them to Laura. In the end, I received a forlorn text from Lu stating, "Please stop sending me pictures of my room like that. It makes me sad."
But yesterday, when the guys took out the toilet, they set it in a rubber bin in David's room. I texted a picture of that sight to Laura and it cheered her up considerably.
Anyway, all this verbiage is just to show that there is a certain discombobulation in the bathroom situation over here. Last night Shannon and DJ got home from college at about 10:45 p.m, only to find the toilet rearrangement. The powder room on the main floor has been getting a lot of use lately. A lot.
So... when I was up with Piper at 1:30 a.m. I decided to use that powder room on the main floor while I was waiting for him, and I noticed it was not flushing properly. I went back to bed.
In the morning (Jon had school, so it was a 6:30ish kind of morning), I needed to use the bathroom while Jon was eating his breakfast, but I remembered that the toilet down here had not been working. I tried an experimental flush which did not go so very well. So I headed upstairs to our bathroom to get the plunger. Since Shawn was not up yet, I tried to tread quietly. And since our bathroom opens into our bedroom, I was also trying not to turn on lights.
Dawn was starting to glimmer with signs of sunrise, so I thought, "If I can just get the window shade up, I'll be able to see well enough to find the plunger in the closet next to the toilet." I took hold of the shade and tried to give it a gentle tug to send it upward, but something went wrong and it flew out of my hand and loudly snapped upwards with a THWACK. I jumped, very startled, and tried to catch my breath. My right hand came down to steady my tired, unbalanced body... and felt something softer and warmer than a wet saw, something which I suddenly discerned, in the gray glow of dawn, was a man on the toilet. I began to scream in abject terror, even as I recognized my own husband, the very one I was trying so hard not to disturb. We stared into one another's wide eyes and I screamed the primordial scream of death.
It was an epic fail in the "do not disturb" book.
When I finally got myself under control, although I was still shaking and my heart was pounding, I heard him ask, "What are you doing, anyway?"
"I am getting the plunger to fix the downstairs toilet," I replied, but the dignity I tried to muster utterly forsook me.
Later that morning, while trying to get a gallon of milk out of the refrigerator, I sent a whole pumpkin pie tumbling to the floor. The pie had been balancing precariously on top of four gallons of milk, and I had even posted a note on the refrigerator for people to watch out for it. But I forgot (or maybe someone moved my note?), and I pulled out the milk, and the pie came tumbling down. Piper ate quite a bit of it, which probably does not bode well for my sleep schedule yet again tonight. Also, I screamed for the second time of the day (and it was only about 7:30 a.m.), but honestly, it wasn't much compared to the fright I'd had earlier. It's funny how things can attain perspective in light of one another.
When Shannon came down to breakfast she smiled and said, "Hey Mom. Tough morning?"
So last night was not as bad as the night before. I only had to get up once to let Piper go out and sprinkle the night with diarrhea, at 1:30 a.m., and it was not snowing, so that is practically miraculous.
However, my morning...
Let me preface this by saying that the contractors took the toilet out of the kids' bathroom yesterday. So the one bathroom that has a working shower has no toilet, sort of like the European salle de bain. That is the kids' bathroom. Our bathroom (Shawn's and mine) has a working toilet and a wet saw for cutting tile and a bunch of tools, tiles and sponges. And by "a bunch" I mean you really have to watch out when you try to turn around in there.
Laura's room, because she has the honor of being away at college, is filled wall-to-wall and floor to ceiling with tools... tools on carts, tools in boxes, tools in cases... etc. After the first day of work, I told Shannon that they'd cut a hole in her closet to get to the plumbing in the kids' bathroom. She said, "I guess I'll move into Laura's room until this is over."
I said, "I do not think you will want to do that."
"What?" she asked, "Do you really think Laura would care that much? All I'm going to do is sleep in her bed."
"I don't think you will be able to do that," I informed her. Then she and David went upstairs, and they immediately began taking pictures on their phones and sending them to Laura. In the end, I received a forlorn text from Lu stating, "Please stop sending me pictures of my room like that. It makes me sad."
But yesterday, when the guys took out the toilet, they set it in a rubber bin in David's room. I texted a picture of that sight to Laura and it cheered her up considerably.
Anyway, all this verbiage is just to show that there is a certain discombobulation in the bathroom situation over here. Last night Shannon and DJ got home from college at about 10:45 p.m, only to find the toilet rearrangement. The powder room on the main floor has been getting a lot of use lately. A lot.
So... when I was up with Piper at 1:30 a.m. I decided to use that powder room on the main floor while I was waiting for him, and I noticed it was not flushing properly. I went back to bed.
In the morning (Jon had school, so it was a 6:30ish kind of morning), I needed to use the bathroom while Jon was eating his breakfast, but I remembered that the toilet down here had not been working. I tried an experimental flush which did not go so very well. So I headed upstairs to our bathroom to get the plunger. Since Shawn was not up yet, I tried to tread quietly. And since our bathroom opens into our bedroom, I was also trying not to turn on lights.
Dawn was starting to glimmer with signs of sunrise, so I thought, "If I can just get the window shade up, I'll be able to see well enough to find the plunger in the closet next to the toilet." I took hold of the shade and tried to give it a gentle tug to send it upward, but something went wrong and it flew out of my hand and loudly snapped upwards with a THWACK. I jumped, very startled, and tried to catch my breath. My right hand came down to steady my tired, unbalanced body... and felt something softer and warmer than a wet saw, something which I suddenly discerned, in the gray glow of dawn, was a man on the toilet. I began to scream in abject terror, even as I recognized my own husband, the very one I was trying so hard not to disturb. We stared into one another's wide eyes and I screamed the primordial scream of death.
It was an epic fail in the "do not disturb" book.
When I finally got myself under control, although I was still shaking and my heart was pounding, I heard him ask, "What are you doing, anyway?"
"I am getting the plunger to fix the downstairs toilet," I replied, but the dignity I tried to muster utterly forsook me.
Later that morning, while trying to get a gallon of milk out of the refrigerator, I sent a whole pumpkin pie tumbling to the floor. The pie had been balancing precariously on top of four gallons of milk, and I had even posted a note on the refrigerator for people to watch out for it. But I forgot (or maybe someone moved my note?), and I pulled out the milk, and the pie came tumbling down. Piper ate quite a bit of it, which probably does not bode well for my sleep schedule yet again tonight. Also, I screamed for the second time of the day (and it was only about 7:30 a.m.), but honestly, it wasn't much compared to the fright I'd had earlier. It's funny how things can attain perspective in light of one another.
When Shannon came down to breakfast she smiled and said, "Hey Mom. Tough morning?"
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
A tough night
I am even more tired today than I was yesterday. This is because my night went something like this...
11:00 p.m. -- Went to bed having taken aspirin and rubbed down my knees with arnica gel. Was really hoping to get some good sleep.
12:45 a.m. -- Phone on my nightstand jolts me out of slumber. A recording of a harsh man’s voice tells me that some building at Northwestern University in Evanston, IL has undergone a power outage and crews are working around the clock to attempt to rectify this horrible situation which is a virtually impossible job because of several factors which I was too exhausted to absorb or comprehend.
2:15 a.m. -- Northwestern University's automated emergency response system calls again, to give me an update on the building with the power outage. I hang up without listening through the recording.
3:30 a.m. -- Shawn gets up to go to the bathroom and discovers that Piper has had diarrhea on the tile in the bathroom. The good news is that (1) it was not on a carpet or a rug, and (2) Shawn did not step in it. Shawn cleaned it up himself, without me. He turned on the lights so he could see what he was doing and used toilet paper which he flushed repeatedly down the toilet. After much light, water and toilet paper had been expended, Shawn sprayed the floor thoroughly with Lysol which spread its strong disinfectant fumes into the adjoining bedroom (in other words, up my nose). Don’t get me wrong. I am not complaining about Shawn. I am thankful that I did not have to get up and do all this. I am just explaining that I was thoroughly awake and not enjoying the experience much, for all how thankful I was that Shawn took the brunt of it. When he finished, he put Piper into his crate.
5:00 a.m. -- Piper awakened and whined to go outdoors. Knowing that he had diarrhea, I got up quickly and took him downstairs, where I opened the deck door to The Storm of The Century. All right, it wasn’t really the storm of the century; it was supposed to be, but it wasn’t. Not quite. However, there was deep snow stacked up so that when Piper hopped over the threshold, he found himself up to his chest in new-fallen snow which was still coming down in sharp spicules from the sky. Afraid that he would have diarrhea in the house again, I closed the door on him and left him out there while I hurried to put on Shawn’s boots and jacket over my pajamas and grab a hat and some gloves.
When I returned to shovel, Pipe had waded to the edge of the deck where he stood trying to ascertain exactly where the stairs had gone. I waded through the snow towards him, and a lot of it came over the tops of Shawn’s boots onto my bare ankles and feet inside. I needed to clear the deck steps first, and make a small area for Piper on the ground. That accomplished, I began to backtrack, shoveling out a path back to the door. It was messy, but I did it. Not well, but I guess well enough.
Back inside, I tried to wipe Piper off with a towel, but it was futile. He was encrusted with snow all through his fluffy white fur. So I tucked him under my arm and carried him back upstairs where I deposited him into his crate and Shawn turned on the TV to check for snow cancellations. Jonny got a snow day. Shannon and DJ did not.
After that, I snoozed until 7:20 when I dragged, literally dragged myself out of bed and made a kefir smoothie for DJ and tried to finish my shower before the contractors arrived at 8 a.m. I got out of the shower, looked out the window in Shannon's bedroom, and saw Shawn and the head contractor clearing out our driveway so the contractor could get his truck in.
Thus my morning began. Whether I was ready or not. Remember how we used to play hide-and-seek and the “it” person would yell, “Ready or not, here I come!” Well, that’s what morning did to me today.
I am afraid that I am ready for this remodeling to be done. Yes we have one working shower, and yes, I am grateful for it. But we don’t have any towel bars. Nor are there wastebaskets or washcloths in places where I can find them. Also, my space heater has disappeared. I am ready for a night when I can sleep from 11 p.m. to 8 a.m. and then get up and have nobody but immediate family in the house, and I can make coffee and tea and eggs and toast at my leisure and take a shower after I have eaten. Yes, that would be really nice.
These bathrooms are going to be great when they are done. I can already see that. I will try to find a way to take an inconspicuous nap with contractors in my house, and then I will feel better.
11:00 p.m. -- Went to bed having taken aspirin and rubbed down my knees with arnica gel. Was really hoping to get some good sleep.
12:45 a.m. -- Phone on my nightstand jolts me out of slumber. A recording of a harsh man’s voice tells me that some building at Northwestern University in Evanston, IL has undergone a power outage and crews are working around the clock to attempt to rectify this horrible situation which is a virtually impossible job because of several factors which I was too exhausted to absorb or comprehend.
2:15 a.m. -- Northwestern University's automated emergency response system calls again, to give me an update on the building with the power outage. I hang up without listening through the recording.
3:30 a.m. -- Shawn gets up to go to the bathroom and discovers that Piper has had diarrhea on the tile in the bathroom. The good news is that (1) it was not on a carpet or a rug, and (2) Shawn did not step in it. Shawn cleaned it up himself, without me. He turned on the lights so he could see what he was doing and used toilet paper which he flushed repeatedly down the toilet. After much light, water and toilet paper had been expended, Shawn sprayed the floor thoroughly with Lysol which spread its strong disinfectant fumes into the adjoining bedroom (in other words, up my nose). Don’t get me wrong. I am not complaining about Shawn. I am thankful that I did not have to get up and do all this. I am just explaining that I was thoroughly awake and not enjoying the experience much, for all how thankful I was that Shawn took the brunt of it. When he finished, he put Piper into his crate.
5:00 a.m. -- Piper awakened and whined to go outdoors. Knowing that he had diarrhea, I got up quickly and took him downstairs, where I opened the deck door to The Storm of The Century. All right, it wasn’t really the storm of the century; it was supposed to be, but it wasn’t. Not quite. However, there was deep snow stacked up so that when Piper hopped over the threshold, he found himself up to his chest in new-fallen snow which was still coming down in sharp spicules from the sky. Afraid that he would have diarrhea in the house again, I closed the door on him and left him out there while I hurried to put on Shawn’s boots and jacket over my pajamas and grab a hat and some gloves.
When I returned to shovel, Pipe had waded to the edge of the deck where he stood trying to ascertain exactly where the stairs had gone. I waded through the snow towards him, and a lot of it came over the tops of Shawn’s boots onto my bare ankles and feet inside. I needed to clear the deck steps first, and make a small area for Piper on the ground. That accomplished, I began to backtrack, shoveling out a path back to the door. It was messy, but I did it. Not well, but I guess well enough.
Back inside, I tried to wipe Piper off with a towel, but it was futile. He was encrusted with snow all through his fluffy white fur. So I tucked him under my arm and carried him back upstairs where I deposited him into his crate and Shawn turned on the TV to check for snow cancellations. Jonny got a snow day. Shannon and DJ did not.
After that, I snoozed until 7:20 when I dragged, literally dragged myself out of bed and made a kefir smoothie for DJ and tried to finish my shower before the contractors arrived at 8 a.m. I got out of the shower, looked out the window in Shannon's bedroom, and saw Shawn and the head contractor clearing out our driveway so the contractor could get his truck in.
Thus my morning began. Whether I was ready or not. Remember how we used to play hide-and-seek and the “it” person would yell, “Ready or not, here I come!” Well, that’s what morning did to me today.
I am afraid that I am ready for this remodeling to be done. Yes we have one working shower, and yes, I am grateful for it. But we don’t have any towel bars. Nor are there wastebaskets or washcloths in places where I can find them. Also, my space heater has disappeared. I am ready for a night when I can sleep from 11 p.m. to 8 a.m. and then get up and have nobody but immediate family in the house, and I can make coffee and tea and eggs and toast at my leisure and take a shower after I have eaten. Yes, that would be really nice.
These bathrooms are going to be great when they are done. I can already see that. I will try to find a way to take an inconspicuous nap with contractors in my house, and then I will feel better.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)