Daughter and Dude are off for a mini-vacation. They are traveling, via Amtrak train to New York City, meeting up with Dude's best friend and wife, who are vacationing from California. I'm watching the Grands. I'm thrilled. I'm exhausted, and it's only 9:30 on the first morning.
Bigger was up at 6:30am. The cat took the bed. He had to sleep on the chair. He didn't even have time to get a cover. I need to have a cover up there, on the chair, for emergencies. Noted. Stupid of me not to have anticipated this need. Seems obvious.
Baby is playing Lego video games on the touchscreen computer - which seemed like a good idea at the time. Baby loves that computer, he also loves to eat. He does both at the same time....you don't want to know what that screen looks like. I've become a pro at de-sticking the keyboard. Did you know you could pop off the keys with a butter knife?
Pretty Princess is playing with a plastic basket full of baby spoons, forks and knives that she ferreted out of the cutlery drawer. They don't seem THAT dangerous. And, she's occupied...OF COURSE, she could poke something out...but, I'm playing the odds.
The local Fair is in town. I'm sure by tonight we'll welcome the diversion. Tall One loves the Fair, I am ambivalent. I'm actively ambivalent. I'm radically ambivalent.
When it's just Tall One and me, walking through the Fair is a fun, educational experience, full of local color. I enjoy seeing the farm animals at their very best, groomed and fatted, especially the pigs at feeding time. Actually, it's more of the HEARING of the pigs at feeding time. They sound like what a shark frenzy looks like. The smells from the food stands is intoxicating. The rides look like fun. Even a side show! The tiniest woman in the world! According to the banner, her eight year old son is twice as tall! Something for everyone!
And, the crowds! You won't find a more eclectic collection of people anywhere! Not at the beach, not even at Walmart. People-watching at it's very best! Who needs the side-show? The laissez-faire attitude of the ride operators, contrasts starkly with the non-stop banter of the midway game hucksters. Grandma, out for the evening, followed like a mother duck by her half-dozen children and their children of various sizes. The tattooed couple, in shorts and sleeveless tops, proudly showing their collection of "wearable art". The excited wide eyed children, jostling through the crowd to arrive at the show just a bit before their attentive smiling parents.
When we have the Grands with us, the whole thing takes on a sinister connotation. Like the laughing clown that transforms into the leering lunatic. The animals seem uncared for and ill used. Who's sadistic idea is the "petting" zoo? A rickety folding banquet table arrayed with a couple of dozen baby bunnies, wrapped in filthy blankets struggling to free themselves from the maniacal embraces of girls, 18 months to 12 years, as the life is forever squashed from their fluffy soft bodies. Adults, pushing and trampling to gain a prime vantage point for their children to view the hatching eggs in the makeshift incubator. The children watching joyously as the new born hatch-lings, triumphant from their struggle, drown in the filthy water dishes. Kids kicking over the piles of pygmy goats huddling in the corners, climbing on the calves for a ride, poking at the terrified alpacas with sticks or throwing straw on the defeated, exhausted lambs.
The games are nothing more than impossible ripoffs. How dare the foul barkers approach us with their offensive offers of "win" and their pathetic attempts to lure us with "prizes"? The Grands are too young and naive to appreciate the risk that Tall One and I are taking when we mumble "no thanks". All they see are the goldfish and the sun-bleached stuffed Spongbobs! They want to "play". Anathema!
The food stands look filthy. They are ill equipped and understaffed. You risk bodily injury or starving to death in the lines for service. The rides are unsafe and dangerous - erected in 30 minutes by drug addicted, incompetents, and operated by hung-over funny-uncle Bob! NO SEAT BELTS - on the Ferris wheel! Baby's only FOUR! Gaaaahhhhhhh! Everything is overpriced!
And, who ARE all these people and where do they come from? Look out! Oh my god! Nearly run over by the 462 lb. grandmother on her hoover-round. It's a game of "Dodge the Weirdos" as we're jostled and jolted by her slovenly entourage, hell bent on getting that dozen whoopie pies and cotton candy for dessert, BEFORE they finish their pork bar-b-q's, vat of fries, and extra large homemade rootbeers. How can you eat so much, with so few teeth? What the....exactly IS that tattoo? Don't LOOK! Buddy, for the love of....put on a SHIRT, nobody wants to see that...and put out that cigar...you're gonna burn someone's eye out! Sorry, my bad...."Discount Day for Children of People Who've Married Their First Cousins"!
At the Fair, I feel as if I have to grab the Grands to my bosom, shielding their eyes, covering their ears, and running for cover! They, of course, are enjoying themselves immensely!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Hair Today...Gone Tomorrow (I couldn't resist, sorry.)
I'm letting my hair grow.
Throughout high school I had long hair that I took great pains with. I learned to sleep in plastic rollers the size of soup cans. Then I'd spend an hour or so with a "curling" iron...making sure every strand was smooth and straight. You do see the irony? Oh, and I have naturally curly hair. I dyed it. Poured lemon juice and peroxide on it. I washed it every day, lathering twice, and used "creme rinse" to keep the fizz down. I brushed it when it was wet, combed it when it was dry, and generally abused it into submission.
We were married a few years, and I was tired of being held hostage by my artificially straight hair. I decided I needed a perm. I'm really not sure how I arrived at that conclusion. Maybe it was a form of "Stockholm syndrome". You remember big hair? It was going to prove to be just as time consuming as my faux straight style, and I had to buy a pick...but, I needed a change. It would be "different". I would be different, the world would dawn a brighter place, the lion would lie down with the lamb, and I'd be tall and thin...
So I got the perm. I really liked it. Tall One took one look at me and I could tell he DIDN'T. I was crushed. Cried. And, called EVERY female friend, acquaintance and cousin-of-their-boyfriend's-sister-who's-a-beautician for EVERY perm relaxing home remedy known to human kind. I sort of wish I had collected them all in a spiral bond notebook. It would be "fun" to look back at our primitive hair care knowledge or, I could bury it in the yard and give future archeologists a real thrill. I ended up slathering my head in mayonnaise, wrapping that with plastic wrap and sitting under the hood of a portable hair dryer for a couple of days. The perm remained intact, and, I learned a valuable lesson that had nothing to do with sandwich spread. Tall One does not react well to change. I just can't take it personally.
In the early eighties, I decided I needed another drastic change and cut my hair short. It turned out to be a good look. Periodically, over the next two decades I would let it grow, then cut it short again, each time thinking that would be the last time I'd ever have long hair. I was really pushing the "Nana-maxim" - "Thou shalt not have long hair after the age of 25"! Apparently, it's the eleventh commandment. Her "homosexual" (say it without making a sound, just by the exaggerated movement of your mouth, like you're trying to communicate via lip reading to a less than brilliant chimpanzee) hairdresser who lived in the apartment upstairs told her that - 55 YEARS AGO! Seriously, whenever I hear the story, I picture gay Moses (fuchsia robe, eye liner, and a dinner ring) handing down the tablets!
Sometime around our twenty fifth wedding anniversary, I had it cut really, really short. I love that look. Sophisticated woman with an almost shaved do. Except that I don't wear makeup or ear rings, and both of those are crucial to pulling it off. I lost all my femininity. I looked like a cross between a chemo patient and bulldyke (can I say that without offense, or should I just mouth it?). But, it grew out.
Shortly after the tragedy I've memorialized in "A Hair Raising Story of Passion and Loss", I lost interest in my hair. Nothing was working, I didn't hate my hair. I have good hair, it's forgiving and easy going...it was me, not hair. Up until this last cut, my hair style was based entirely on apathy. Now, I'm actively "growing my hair".
Today, my only requisite in a hair style, is that I don't have to mess with it. I like to get up in the morning, stick my head under the spigot, finger comb and go. My hair cooperates with this completely...it still wakes up screaming from the nightmares of it's long ago "Saw"-like captivity. I've found an up-do that works! So I have a bit of diversity. The first time I tried it, Tall One had that look that caused all the problems with my perm. I ignored it. I love the elegant grey-haired-older-woman-in-a-stunning-pashima look. Or, the casual-out-doorsy-older-woman with her braid. God, I hope I don't end up looking like the wicked witch of the west!
Tall One is still petitioning for a short hair cut...I'm not giving in because I imagine his disappointment in finding that by getting my hair cut short...I won't be twenty years younger and twenty pounds thinner.
Throughout high school I had long hair that I took great pains with. I learned to sleep in plastic rollers the size of soup cans. Then I'd spend an hour or so with a "curling" iron...making sure every strand was smooth and straight. You do see the irony? Oh, and I have naturally curly hair. I dyed it. Poured lemon juice and peroxide on it. I washed it every day, lathering twice, and used "creme rinse" to keep the fizz down. I brushed it when it was wet, combed it when it was dry, and generally abused it into submission.
We were married a few years, and I was tired of being held hostage by my artificially straight hair. I decided I needed a perm. I'm really not sure how I arrived at that conclusion. Maybe it was a form of "Stockholm syndrome". You remember big hair? It was going to prove to be just as time consuming as my faux straight style, and I had to buy a pick...but, I needed a change. It would be "different". I would be different, the world would dawn a brighter place, the lion would lie down with the lamb, and I'd be tall and thin...
So I got the perm. I really liked it. Tall One took one look at me and I could tell he DIDN'T. I was crushed. Cried. And, called EVERY female friend, acquaintance and cousin-of-their-boyfriend's-sister-who's-a-beautician for EVERY perm relaxing home remedy known to human kind. I sort of wish I had collected them all in a spiral bond notebook. It would be "fun" to look back at our primitive hair care knowledge or, I could bury it in the yard and give future archeologists a real thrill. I ended up slathering my head in mayonnaise, wrapping that with plastic wrap and sitting under the hood of a portable hair dryer for a couple of days. The perm remained intact, and, I learned a valuable lesson that had nothing to do with sandwich spread. Tall One does not react well to change. I just can't take it personally.
In the early eighties, I decided I needed another drastic change and cut my hair short. It turned out to be a good look. Periodically, over the next two decades I would let it grow, then cut it short again, each time thinking that would be the last time I'd ever have long hair. I was really pushing the "Nana-maxim" - "Thou shalt not have long hair after the age of 25"! Apparently, it's the eleventh commandment. Her "homosexual" (say it without making a sound, just by the exaggerated movement of your mouth, like you're trying to communicate via lip reading to a less than brilliant chimpanzee) hairdresser who lived in the apartment upstairs told her that - 55 YEARS AGO! Seriously, whenever I hear the story, I picture gay Moses (fuchsia robe, eye liner, and a dinner ring) handing down the tablets!
Sometime around our twenty fifth wedding anniversary, I had it cut really, really short. I love that look. Sophisticated woman with an almost shaved do. Except that I don't wear makeup or ear rings, and both of those are crucial to pulling it off. I lost all my femininity. I looked like a cross between a chemo patient and bulldyke (can I say that without offense, or should I just mouth it?). But, it grew out.
Shortly after the tragedy I've memorialized in "A Hair Raising Story of Passion and Loss", I lost interest in my hair. Nothing was working, I didn't hate my hair. I have good hair, it's forgiving and easy going...it was me, not hair. Up until this last cut, my hair style was based entirely on apathy. Now, I'm actively "growing my hair".
Today, my only requisite in a hair style, is that I don't have to mess with it. I like to get up in the morning, stick my head under the spigot, finger comb and go. My hair cooperates with this completely...it still wakes up screaming from the nightmares of it's long ago "Saw"-like captivity. I've found an up-do that works! So I have a bit of diversity. The first time I tried it, Tall One had that look that caused all the problems with my perm. I ignored it. I love the elegant grey-haired-older-woman-in-a-stunning-pashima look. Or, the casual-out-doorsy-older-woman with her braid. God, I hope I don't end up looking like the wicked witch of the west!
Tall One is still petitioning for a short hair cut...I'm not giving in because I imagine his disappointment in finding that by getting my hair cut short...I won't be twenty years younger and twenty pounds thinner.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Grand beginning....
I fully recognize that not everyone is completely enamored by, or even interested in MY grandchildren. I think that, because I choose not to bore people with pictures and "cute" stories, I avoided writing about being a grandmother here on my very own blog. But, all that is about to change! Why shouldn't I write about the most important people in my world! I've written about Tall One, and Daughter and Dude, and O.S., and PhD. and Masters. I spend the great majority of my time and energy with, and on, my grandchildren. I've learned as much or more from them as I have from anyone. I've learned a lot about myself. And, you choose to read about it...or not!
When I talked with other grandmothers, before the birth of Bigger, I heard, "Oh, it's wonderful! You'll love being a grandma! It's really "different"!". And, I thought, "I loved being a mom! How "different" could it be!?!". And, then, Daughter got pregnant with Bigger.
I remember the day Daughter and Dude told us of the "blessed event". I can't remember why I went to their home, it was early in the day, before Dude left for work. They told me, and then Dude called our shop to tell Tall One. "I knocked up your daughter....", he sing, songed. Cute. Well, Dude thought he was cute, and Tall One took it well!
My theory on the utter delight of grandchildren, is simple: All of the joy, none of the crushing responsibility. I've enjoyed wonderful circumstances! Our daughter and Dude bought a home a mile away from ours. I have a good relationship with Daughter. She is my friend, and confident. I respect her. Admire her. I enjoy her company. And, I love her with all of my heart. Dude seems very content to have Tall One and me in their lives. From the time Bigger was born, really before that, he's been a part of my life nearly every day. Our families have meshed in a way that I dreamed could be possible. Daughter works in the business with Tall One. I watch the kids. They have toys here, a computer, a Wii. They have their own sleeping spaces. Their special treats, and food. They don't "come to visit Mammy", they "go to Mammy's house" like "going home".
Bigger was born on the first day of summer. A little over two years later, Baby, burst onto the scene, born on my 50th birthday. Nearly three years later, Pretty Princess arrived, already Queen of our world, on the Ides of March. And, starting today, you'll learn a bit about our journey!
When I talked with other grandmothers, before the birth of Bigger, I heard, "Oh, it's wonderful! You'll love being a grandma! It's really "different"!". And, I thought, "I loved being a mom! How "different" could it be!?!". And, then, Daughter got pregnant with Bigger.
I remember the day Daughter and Dude told us of the "blessed event". I can't remember why I went to their home, it was early in the day, before Dude left for work. They told me, and then Dude called our shop to tell Tall One. "I knocked up your daughter....", he sing, songed. Cute. Well, Dude thought he was cute, and Tall One took it well!
My theory on the utter delight of grandchildren, is simple: All of the joy, none of the crushing responsibility. I've enjoyed wonderful circumstances! Our daughter and Dude bought a home a mile away from ours. I have a good relationship with Daughter. She is my friend, and confident. I respect her. Admire her. I enjoy her company. And, I love her with all of my heart. Dude seems very content to have Tall One and me in their lives. From the time Bigger was born, really before that, he's been a part of my life nearly every day. Our families have meshed in a way that I dreamed could be possible. Daughter works in the business with Tall One. I watch the kids. They have toys here, a computer, a Wii. They have their own sleeping spaces. Their special treats, and food. They don't "come to visit Mammy", they "go to Mammy's house" like "going home".
Bigger was born on the first day of summer. A little over two years later, Baby, burst onto the scene, born on my 50th birthday. Nearly three years later, Pretty Princess arrived, already Queen of our world, on the Ides of March. And, starting today, you'll learn a bit about our journey!
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