Don't hate me because I'm calm

I haven't written in a few days because on top of my usual amount of work, I've been helping Daniel with some school projects. Well, not helping him do the work--more standing by to offer moral and technical support. Finals are next week, and several end-of-semester projects were due this past week. Only a few years ago, I would have refused to help on principle because he'd waited until the absolute last minute to start on projects, but he's been much better about keeping up with work. Unfortunately, he couldn't do much work ahead of time on these projects. For example, for an economics project, he had to include a summary report on how the stock market performed over the past month, and you can't write something like that ahead of time, unless you're Nostradamus.

He skipped going to his dad's Wednesday night and was up late gathering data for his econ project. Then Thursday morning, he had to be at school at 7:00 a.m. for Brain Game practice AND had a meet that afternoon until about 6:30 p.m., and then he worked on his econ project and an English paper as soon as he got home. He was up until 2:30 a.m. and got up again at 5:00 to finish. I stayed up late both nights with him, fixing paper jams, solving computer freezing and CD burning problems, and typing a few things he'd written longhand. He likes to write on paper first because my boy is unbelievably old school. Hell, even I write drafts on the computer, and I'm fairly old-fashioned about overusing technology to do school assignments.

What made those few days even more hellish is that Daniel was suffering from stomach pains and nausea most of the time. I'm worried he's coming down with something and kept fretting over him, offering yogurt, bananas, and tea, but like his dad, he tends to manifest stress as stomach complaints. He was still feeling sick this morning, so he decided not to accompany his dad to Ohio for a family Christmas gathering at his aunt's. Just as well--if he's coming down with something, I'd rather he not infect all his cousins at once. Talk about the "gift" that keeps on giving. Here! Have violent stomach cramps, nausea, and diarrhea for Christmas! You're welcome!

******

Kevin picked up Andrew this morning and headed up north to visit his cousin Sam for the day. Based on some good advice I got from a few people, I've decided to be more hands-off about how Kevin deals with Andrew. I know he feels almost completely helpless to do much about Andrew's situation, and my harping on it isn't helping. The truth is there's not much of anything he can do, and particularly not if he doesn't want to start a war with Andrew's mom. I can't imagine how awful it must be to have so little say or control in what happens with your own child, and I think I need to focus more on understanding Kevin's feelings instead of giving advice, as a wise friend suggested. Sure, I ALWAYS know best (snort), but Andrew's not my kid.

I do think, however, that a tiny bit of my previous talks with Kevin had some impact, or he at least decided to do what little he could to help Andrew. He was talking about Christmas gifts for Andrew and said he wanted to put together a sort of "grooming kit," with an electric razor, aftershave, and the like--things to make Andrew feel more grown-up. That's a positive step, I think. A baby step, but at least one in the right direction.

I realized, too, that I've been guilty of comparing Andrew with Daniel. Comparing any two kids is a fruitless exercise, and when one of them has problems the other doesn't, it's also cruel and unfair. I hate to think this, but I suspect I indulged in some comparisons occasionally because it made me feel the tiniest bit smug about what a great son I have. That's awful of me, I know, but I'm trying to look honestly at how my own behavior has contributed to the arguments Kevin and I get into over Andrew. I've never come out and said "Nyah, nyah, I have a better child than you do!" of course, but it's entirely possible my attitude has spoken for me, and in that case, I can't blame Kevin for feeling resentment toward my "helpful" advice.

You know, I hate analyzing when it turns out I've been wrong. Damn it.

******

Okay, on to lighter topics. Did I mention I got my Christmas tree up AND decorated last weekend? And that I've finished my gift shopping, thanks to the twin miracles of online stores and shipping services? And I have about 80% of said presents wrapped? AND I've already bought my Christmas ham--on sale, even? You can commence with the hating me now. I'd hate me, too, if I weren't so impressed with my bad self. Usually, I'm the one running around on December 23, cursing the very existence of other shoppers, cramming objects into gift bags that are wildly mis-sized, and paying way too much for food for Christmas dinner because I've waited until the last minute, when grocery stores know they have you in a tight spot and can charge exorbitant prices for yams and hams.

I don't know what got into me this year, but I'm not even dithering over the prospect of my parents' visit the Wednesday after Christmas. I am, believe it or not, almost serene. I got up early this morning and baked apricot-almond bread for breakfast, and I'll wrap a few of Kevin's presents while he's gone today. I need to do some carpet shampooing upstairs today, too, but other than that, I plan to relax and watch a movie with Daniel this afternoon. I don't know who I am or what I did with the real Lisa, but I'm certainly enjoying the lack of typical pre-holiday panic and angst!

Brainiacs, Ho Ho Ho, and Wedding Videos

I've been missing out on an feeling all you parents with children who do competitive activities are probably used to: glee that my kid BEAT someone. See, Daniel has never, ever done anything that could be construed as competitive; as a matter of fact, the second any endeavor even hinted of competing with other kids, Daniel lost interest. Oh, I tried to encourage him when he started school, figuring that a little healthy competition is useful, but he couldn't care less about soccer or basketball or T-ball or any other sport. He even dropped out of Boy Scouts when it was time for the little wooden car race thingie (sorry, I can't remember the official name).

So you can imagine my shock when he voluntarily joined the Brain Game team at school. So far, they've done fairly well and even gave last year's state champs an extremely close match. Last night, he came home after a meet with another high-ranked school, and he dragged in looking dispirited. Fearing bad news, I asked "Well, how did it go, son?" He grinned suddenly, did a victory fist, and exclaimed "We won by ONE POINT because I answered the last question right!!" I haven't seen him that excited since he got his new computer last year. I asked him what the question was, and he rattled off a convoluted string of words, from which I picked out "World War II" and "island," and the answer was "Guam." I've been proud of him countless times in his 17 years, but I think this was the first time he's been proud of himself at the same time, you know? Apparently he did have a competitive streak buried somewhere; he just had to find something he cared enough about to compete in, I guess.

******

Kevin had some interesting news when he got home from work yesterday afternoon, too. Guess who's playing the W@lgreens Santa next Monday? Ha! Yes, he gets to take the day off from developing photos, listen to greedy kids recite lists of things they yearn for, and wear an itchy fake beard and a hot, sweaty suit. Why he's excited about it, I have no idea! I'm afraid I'd approach it with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner marching to the electric chair, but he's already practicing his "Ho, ho, ho" chuckles. Naturally, I plan to drop in that day and take several pictures. I hope no overly excited tots pee on his lap.

******

I've been editing several online courses lately, which are usually short, adult-education-type classes on a mix of technical and "lifestyle" topics: a beginner's guide to Photoshop, an introduction to wine tasting, tips on low-carb diets, digital video editing, and the like. Later this week, I'm starting one on wedding videos, and I can't wait to read the tips for hysterical, control-freak brides who are frantic to make sure they have a PERFECT record of their big day. I don't understand the fervor over taping a wedding. I know couples were doing that when I got married back in 1985, but I didn't see the point. I mean, does anyone actually watch these things? Ever?

Well, actually I can say I've seen one couple who watched theirs, but it was one of the more surreal experiences I can remember. My ex's little brother was marrying Jenny the Future Cocaine Addict and Major Hoor, and after the reception, most of his family gathered back at his parents' house to watch the couple open presents from out-of-town relatives. Mind you, the wedding had taken place approximately three hours before. After opening gifts, Jenny cried "Let's watch the video now!" I thought she was kidding and started laughing appreciatively at her sarcastic wit, but she was dead serious. And I'll be damned if everyone didn't sit down and watch the video breathlessly, as if it contained a shocker ending, such as the bride shrieking "No, I don't!" and racing down the aisle or something. Maybe if I watched sports and were accustomed to instant replays, I wouldn't have found viewing a record of something that had JUST HAPPENED so strange, but I did. The, uh, camera "work," performed by my ex's father, was nausea-inducing, too. The first five minutes of the tape consisted of wild swoops between the ceiling of the church and my father-in-law's feet, accompanied by his muttered curses. When he finally settled on a point midway between those two extremes, he couldn't decide between VERY CLOSE UP, at a range that allowed us to see my brother-in-law's nose pores in crystal clarity, or so far away that the priest, couple, and attendants looked like ants.

I suspect one of the first guidelines in this wedding video course will be "Do not let a relative take the video." If it's not, you can bet I'll suggest it.

Searching for my doppelganger

I just saw this facial-recognition test at Robyn's and had to try it out. First, I tried it with my high school picture:

Eh, a little boring. Then I tried it with a more recent picture:

These results were funnier. Oprah will no doubt be delighted to know she resembles a middle-aged white woman. Heh. I have to confess that I tried to be a wisenheimer by trying a picture of Charlie first. The program didn't find any matches for a chihuahua, however.

Pottery Barn can bite me

Indiana weather is just plain screwy. Friday morning, it was 6 degrees. This Friday? It's supposed to be in the mid-50s. Yeah, I have no idea what to wear from one day to the next. Does the weather change that much in other, non-Midwest parts of the country? I've lived in almost every region but New England, and I don't remember the weather being so capricious elsewhere. Maybe I'm just getting old and crochety and prone to bitching about the weather . . .

******

The other day, I took down all the curtains in the dining room to wash them. That room has four big south-facing windows, so there's almost too much light, especially this time of year when there are no leaves to filter the sun. Anyway, yesterday I was stringing lights on the Christmas tree, which I set up next to the piano in there. I happened to look over at the dining room table and was struck blind by the unimpeded sun hitting the billion dust particles everywhere. The whole room looked frumpy and shabby--and God, incredibly dusty--which sent me into a frenzy of floor-mopping and dusting and throwing away piles of junk mail on the secretary in the corner and picking up scattered dog toys, and FUCK.

You know, I look at rooms in decorating magazines or those damn Pottery Barn catalogues that show up faithfully every couple of weeks in my mailbox (even though I haven't ordered anything in three years), and I long for a house that looks as serene and ordered and tidy, with everything looking clean and crisp. My house is a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs, leftover-from-college pieces, some inexpensive antiques I've refurbished (back when I had time to strip paint, sand, and stain), and a few newish things. I hate feeling this dissatisfied, and I suspect much of it has to do with a vague weariness over life in general, not my house specifically.

Also, I'm mad at catalogues and magazines for promoting this myth that EVERYONE BUT ME is neater and more organized and takes better care of his or her home. They set me up for feeling like a failure, damn it. And to be honest, I let them. Why do I think I have to meet some impossible standard a superior marketing snot in San Francisco or NewYork, with way more disposable income than me, decided to create to make me feel bad about myself? I've been in other people's homes (really, I have!), and they don't have impeccably clean, perfectly accessorized houses with actual matching couches and chairs. I've seen puppy chew marks on the corners of their ottomans, shoes and toys scattered on their floors, and juice stains on their carpets. So why do I feel as though I'm alone in my utter shame and disgust over the state of my house? OK, "shame and disgust" might be an exaggeration, but discontent, certainly.

On the other hand, it wouldn't kill me to dust a little more often--AND get my freshly washed curtains up faster before I notice how bad it is!

Edited to add: I had to go out to pick up pita pockets for the tabouli I made and of course wound up getting 17 other things. The bagger kid had a running commentary on almost every item I bought, which annoyed me. After the cashier told me I'd saved $10.08 with my grocery card, the bagger boy said "Hey, don't spend it all in one place," dripping sarcasm all over his Converse high-tops, and then, THEN he . . . uh, how do I say this? He "adjusted" himself. Vigorously. I . . . I'm speechless.

A game and a plea for help

I saw this game at Janet's, so I thought I'd give it a whirl. Comment and I'll give you a letter, and then you have to list 10 things you love beginning with that letter. That beeyotch Janet gave me "J" and I had to struggle to come up with J words!

1. Jumping into a warm bed on a cold night
2. Jam, seedless blackberry
3. Jousting and other things from medieval history
4. Japanese art
5. Jovial people
6. Junior Mints at a movie
7. Jocularity
8. Jaunts to bookstores
9. Jewelry, silver
10. Joining in the carnal sense (hey, I'm running out of J ideas!)

Oh, OK, I'll include Janet in that list, even though that makes 11 items. I promise I'll give you an easier letter if you comment.

******

I love the Internet. A couple of hours online Wednesday morning, and I'm two-thirds done with my Christmas shopping. Yes! I went to Amazon first, and can I say I'm a wee bit disillusioned with that site? On almost everything I checked, Amazon "couldn't guarantee" arrival by December 25 if I picked its much-vaunted free shipping. Oh, if I wanted to PAY for shipping, Amazon would get that package out to me on the double, no messing around. I have a B@rnes & Noble membership card, so I went there and found almost all the books, CDs, and DVDs I needed--and at a 15% discount with free shipping. Take that, Amazon! Who needs ya, baby?

******

This time of year always makes me grateful my job has nothing to do with customer service or dealing with the public. I don't know how Kevin stands it. Of course, the photo department at W@lgreens has been inundated with orders lately, and to make matters worse, several sales and promotions have been bringing in the crazies along with regular customers. A guy came in early the morning a cellphone sale started, demanding to get "one of them phones" he saw in the paper. The main office hadn't sent the stock of cellphones until late the day before, so they still hadn't been unpacked. Kevin dug around in boxes in the back and finally found the right phones and accessories. Phone Guy examined the phone suspiciously and eventually agreed to buy it. After Kevin rang up the purchase, he handed Phone Guy the activation card and explained how to dial the number on it to set up his account.

Phone Guy did a double-take and hollered "You mean this phone doesn't work?" Kevin patiently explained that yes, it would work just fine after he set up the account by calling the activation number.

Phone Guy glared at him and said "I need to make a call NOW. I'm not buying no damn phone that doesn't work!" Kevin wisely decided to let the egregious use of double negatives go and gave Phone Guy his money back. He even refrained from advising Phone Guy to use a payphone instead of buying a cellphone the next time he needs to make a call. Oy.

******

Last week, I bitched about the G@rmin commercial. Clearly, I wasn't paying attention to the content because I thought G@rmin was a department store. Uh, it's actually a GPS device. Whatever. Still an annoying commercial.

******

I need some advice. You might remember me talking about Kevin's son, Andrew, who has Asperger's Syndrome. He's 15 now, and his symptoms have improved a little over the past couple of years. He's still scatty as all hell and has trouble focusing on anything that isn't a cartoon or video game. For example, last weekend, Kevin asked him to empty the dishwasher but didn't stay in the kitchen while Andrew did it. A few nights later, I was baking with Daniel and went to grab the measuring spoons from the hook where I keep them. Not there. I checked the dishwasher. Nope. Daniel and I pulled out drawers and looked in cabinets and tried to think like Andrew. Finally, I pulled out the drawer holding tin foil and plastic wrap, and bingo. I know. Makes no sense, but moving along . . .

Anyway, last Saturday morning, when Kevin was leaving to pick up Andrew, he said "I'm going to take Andrew out for breakfast, so I won't be back for a while." He'd mentioned that he needs to watch expenses to make sure he had enough money for Christmas shopping, so I said "Well, it's 10:30. Andrew gets up early, so I'm sure he's eaten by now." Kevin said indignantly that Mary (his ex) never feeds Andrew before he picks him up Saturday mornings. "Uh, honey. Andrew's 15. Surely he can get himself a bowl of cereal without Mary's help?" I suggested.

Well, from there, the conversation devolved into an argument, with me claiming Kevin makes too many excuses for Andrew and has expectations for him more appropriate for a 6-year-old, and Kevin insisting he doesn't baby Andrew too much. I realize Kevin has typical noncustodial-parent guilt that he can't spend more time with Andrew, and I understand he might let some things slide with his son that he wouldn't if Andrew lived here full-time. He treats Andrew like a small child instead of a teenager in high school, though. He rarely asks him to help out around the house or pick up after himself; he seldom tries to teach Andrew things a young man should know (like how to shave, which Andrew definitely needs to do); he lets Andrew wallow in cartoons and video games the entire time he's here instead of trying to introduce more grown-up entertainment and conversation--maybe talking about the news, for instance?

My worry is that he's doing nothing to prepare Andrew for real life. What happens after Andrew graduates from high school? As he is now, there's no way he could hold down a job, and going to college is unlikely for both financial and academic reasons. Is he going to spend the rest of his life sitting on his mom's couch playing Nintendo and GameBoy? Andrew has no conception of real-world, practical things, such as how a bank account works, how to mail a letter, how to read a map, and on and on. Frankly, I don't think the kid could figure out how to change a light bulb. I know teaching him anything is a frustrating, slow process that requires lots of repetition, but someone has to do it. His mother can't be bothered, and I think Kevin's too scared he'll lose Andrew's love--and the boy does adore Kevin--if he's tougher on him. As a sort-of stepparent, what can I do? That's not rhetorical: I really want to know. I'd appreciate any suggestions.

Chuck Norris mourns my passing

I saw this quiz at Robyn's and thought my results were quite fitting:

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Well, I don't know about Chuck Norris missing me. I've never even watched one of his movies, so it seems unlikely he'd mourn someone who's ignored him. Wait. Is Chuck Norris still alive??

******

I don't think I've done a Fat-B-Gone update recently, but when I went in for a check-up today, I'd lost two more pounds. I'm up to a total of 21 pounds, I think. To be honest, I'm having trouble keeping track of the total, but as long as I'm losing something and continuing to exercise, that's fine. I've never been obsessed with numbers (actually, I try to avoid numbers when possible--you know, math and all). I tend to notice things such as clothes being looser or a reduction in the jiggle factor more. Anyway, the Curv3s women are doing monthly measurements and such on me, so I'll let them keep track of the numbers.

******

I just got off the phone with an editor friend, and we were talking about how Christmas shopping isn't as much fun when you don't have a young child to buy presents for. I used to be able to thrill and surprise Daniel with Christmas presents; now he announces he's added several items to his Amazon wish list, and I can just buy his gifts there. Hmmph! What fun is that?

My mom's "wish list" is a bit more interesting, however. She informed me the other day that she really, really likes that Il Divo group (the pretty-boy singer group formed by Simon Cowell) and wouldn't mind having one of their CDs. Here's the horrifying part: She giggled like a schoolgirl as she added "But the only problem with a CD is that I can't look at them while they're singing!" My mother HAS A CRUSH. On YOUNGER men. Actually, that's kind of adorable of her, but I don't think I want to be in the same room with her while she watches one of their TV specials or concerts or whatever. I might have to gouge my eyes out. Something about those boys makes me shudder, too. Maybe it's the cheesiness factor.

******

Daniel finally got his SAT scores, and damn, that boy tests well. If only that skill translated to his grades, but it doesn't--certainly not in any math-related classes. He has the strangest report cards I've ever seen, I swear: A, A-, A+, D, B+, C-, A. Easy to tell which classes he likes and which ones he hates, that's for sure.

******

I wasn't hungry at lunch, so I had just a yogurt, and now I'm starving. I'm off to go start some baked ziti and salad. Sasha, I'll try to remember to post my chicken pot pie recipe this week--promise!

The bells, the bells . . .

The incessant playing of "merry" Christmas commercials has started already--hell, what am I talking about? They started before Thanksgiving. I'll be sick of every single one by December 1, yet I guarantee they'll be stuck in my brain for several weeks. Hmmm, just long enough to influence my Christmas shopping. How fiendishly clever!

The one that's driving me crazy the fastest is for G@rmin department stores or malls or some damn thing. The jingle is that Christmas carol about bells, I think? But it's just the chorus repeated several times, as far as I can tell, so it's incredibly monotonous yet oddly hypnotic. Yesterday in the shower, I found myself singing a bit from it over and over: Call the salon, need a waxing now, got a UNIBROW. And the woman sporting said unibrow looks damn frightening; she's become a major player in my nightmare landscape. I hear that song all the time in my head now. Curse you, G@rmin Stores! I am unfortunately prone to getting what the kids are calling "earworms" these days, or maybe I have a touch of the OCD. I hate retailers for causing bad song loops in my head.

******

One of my favorite lines from Seinfeld is Jerry describing Kramer: "He falls ass backward into money." Well, Kevin seems to fall ass backward into creative opportunities. I mentioned a few weeks ago that he's going to be teaching some classes on collage for the Sugar Creek Arts Center, but another opportunity fell in his lap. His cousin Sam moved back to Indiana recently and got a grant to start an arts organization/learning center, which also involves overseeing an archive of materials related to arts and literature. The grant includes a stipend for an artist-in-residence, who will be Kevin. I don't know what-all this position entails, but it will include running workshops, teaching art classes, organizing art exhibitions, and so on. He'll also be working with the mayor of the town where Sam lives, about an hour north of here, who's interested in boosting the arts in that community, particularly for school kids. Kevin's so excited he can barely contain himself. I'm afraid he's actually developing a BUBBLY personality (the horror!). It's wonderful to see him happy, of course, but I barely recognize him these days. He was babbling away about his plans yesterday, and I was compelled to ask him "Who ARE you, and what have you done with Kevin?" Maybe I should check him tonight for the placement of a hidden mole that few people besides me would know about.

I'd better scoot and go work out. I have to run to the grocery to pick up a few things for a chicken pot pie I'm making tomorrow. Daniel will no doubt refuse to eat it because all the ingredients are mixed up together under the crust; if he DOES eat it, by some miracle, he'll inspect every bite for evidence of lurking onions. He loathes onions but suspects me of putting them in everything. Too bad, though. I make a delicious homemade chicken pot pie, and I haven't made it in ages in deference to His Pickiness's delicate tastes. The weather is supposed to turn wintry and nasty tomorrow, which calls for a warm, comforting dinner, in my opinion. If I'm feeling magnanimous, I just might hold the onions.