To Pee, Or Not To Pee.... (story)

My mother is a sweet lady.  I love her to bits.  She's polite.  She's well-dressed.  She's pretty and articulate and makes a mean grilled cheese sandwich. 

But.  Put any one of her cubs in danger or distress?  You're asking for a smack-down. 

Once, many moons ago, there was an elementary school near our house.  The principal there was rather ... old-school, shall we say.  Apparently a kid at the school did some drawing on the walls of one of the bathrooms, and This Is Vandalism.

The principal decided that meant that NONE of the kids in the school should be allowed to use the bathrooms At. All.  There was an announcement made over the loudspeaker that day, telling us that the very next day would begin the great No Bathroom Access All Day punishment.  The vandal had not confessed, and It Would Be So until we knew who did it.

My mother was incensed when she heard this.  "It's not healthy!" said she.  "It's not SAFE!" "You need to be able to go to the bathroom!" she cried, pacing about.  "What is WRONG with those people?"

So, in her quiet, wearing-a-nice-dress way, my mom staged a sit-in the very next day.  She simply went to the principal's office and told the principal, the secretary, and the school nurse (to whom she gave a serious scolding about this) that until the kids were allowed to use the restrooms, the adults would not be allowed to either.  All. Day.  And my mom said that she'd make sure of it. 

I can only imagine that at that point, she crossed her legs, arched an eyebrow, and sat back.  Waiting.

Guess what!

The bathrooms were opened.  Kids peed freely.  And my mom, no doubt, picked up her handbag, gave a gracious smile, and strode out of there with perfect posture. 

Thanks, Mom.

Baby Brain is Real

I just read a facebook post by a good friend who recently had a baby.  She was lamenting the fact that she couldn't organize her thoughts enough to write anything.  It brought back a memory from when I had my first.

I actually went to a neurologist a few months after Allie was born because I thought I was losing brain function or suffering some kind of tumor or something. My husband was telling me about entire conversations we had, of which I had literally no memory.  

The neurologist saw the spit-up on my shoulder and asked if I had a baby. I nodded, and she burst into peals of un-doctorlike laughter, and said I didn't need a brain scan. I just needed a couple nights of uninterrupted sleep, and a WHOLE LOT LESS of the baby-feeding hormones. 

 

Baby mush brain is not a medical diagnosis, but it sure is real.

FB: It's Like Anti-Amnesia

I think we (40-somethings etc.) are in a rare, wonderful group. We are the adults who can still remember what it's like to grow up NOT knowing what happened to Mary Judd from 5th grade, or Becky from kindergarten.

And then we DID. 

We have been on both sides of the divide. Remember fantasizing about how gorgeous our first crush might have grown up to be? Or how ugly that snotty girl might be? And having it still be fantasy with no real (easy) way to confirm?

And now, there's so little unknown. My memories of Ricky Martinez still show him as a 9 year old boy who usually wore shiny dress shoes and would ride down the big metal slide on the soles of those slippery shoes, then LEAP into the air at the last moment. But if I wanted to, I could look him up and that memory would be covered by an image of (probably) a chubby, balding middle-aged man with three daughters.

I kind of like my first memory of him better.

There's no question that to have old friendships rekindled is a wonderful thing. But there's also a kind of uncomfortable 'tetheredness' when the mystique of childhood and all the stories and myths and memories are open for confirmation or rebuttal. Did I really hit Clint Vestal on the forehead with a rock that day? And did he really fall flat on his back like I remember? What if I discover that after 38 years of thinking so, I discover that I missed? And that he tripped on his shoelace?

There was a sweetness in knowing that you'd never know.

Confessions: One From High School, One Later

First, on the weekend of our college orientation (during our Senior year, I imagine), my dear longtime friend Mark J and I met.  He was my First College Friend.  Luckily for me, he was a complete sweetheart and funny and cute to boot!  The night between our auditions/entrance exams and our day of fun tours and such, he and I went out "for a walk."  My parents were staying on campus at a dorm/hotel for this kind of thing, and Mark and I walked ALL over campus.  We checked everything out.  Including climbing the 10-foot chainlink fence at the stadium.  We sat there on the bleachers long into the night (much to my parents' chagrin, later) and talked about ourselves, our pasts, our futures, our hopes and dreams.  It was one of the best nights I'd ever have.  It was certainly one that has remained fondly tucked into my memories.  But mom and dad?  Sorry.  Should have called.

Second:

During the classes my husband and I took to prepare for the birth of our first child, the nurse in charge told us about the blissful smell of a newborn, and how we should enjoy it.  She said that there was no smell in the world quite like it, and that we should enjoy it since it doesn't last very long (once you bathe the baby, it's gone).  Well.  I had a sinus infection when I had my daughter.  No smell.  Whatsoever.  I pretended (to the nurse, when she visited) that I had been able to sniff my daughter's newborn head.  Not so much. I basically tried not to get boogers on her when I sneezed.

Bummer.  The odd things that surface sometimes.

Allie & Friend's Kitchen: A Loose Transcript

Right this minute, my 11 y.o. daughter and her 10 y.o. across-the-street best friend are trying to make cupcakes or muffins or something.  I can hear them from the next room, but can't see them.  BTW: I have NO idea how any of this relates to VAMPIRES.  No idea.

Overheard:
BFF: How are we going to do this?  Can we just make it up?
A: Well, yeah.  But...
BFF: Maybe we can use a recipe?
A: But that's boring.
BFF:  Well, we could just ... let it guide us.
A:  YEAH!  WE can add stuff!

---
BFF: Let's divide it up.  It says "wet" and "dry" ingredients are separate.  You be wet, I'll be dry.
---

BFF:  Ok.  Um.  How much flour?
A: 2 cups?
BFF: You sure?
A.  Uh.  Let me check.  OH.  2 and a half.
BFF: Is that 'two AND a half' or 'two halves'?
A: I think two and a half.  It says .... "two, one slash two." That's two and a half.
BFF: OK

--
 BFF:  Now it says "baking powder." What's that?
A: It's up there.  The round one ... no.  Not that one.  The next one.  Right there... yup.
BFF: How much?
A: I think.... um.  A tablespoon.
BFF? Tablespoon?
A: The big one.
BFF: You sure?  Or is that 'teaspoon'?
A: "T B is tablespoon.  T S P is teaspoon."
BFF: ohhh
---

A: Ok. Butter.
BFF: How much?
A: It says a half stick.  How much is that?
BFF? Well, a half of a stick.
A: But our butter comes in a round thing.
BFF: Hm.  Let's see.  OH!  It says "4 TB" also.
A: Oh.  Ok. Then four tablespoons.
BFF: Just dump it in? OK
A: WAIIIIIT!  It's supposed to be melted!
BFF:  Whoops.  (clinking sound heard)  There.  Took it back out.
(microwave beeping)
A: Careful.  You never touch the bowl when you've heated something like butter.  It's really hot.
BFF: Ok.  (drawer opening heard) Can I use this?
A: Yes.
---
(Beeping of oven temperature being set)
-----
A:  LET'S ADD OUR STUFF TOGETHER!
BFF: YAAAAY!
(much clanging of spoon on bowl heard)
A: GO GO GO GO GO!
BFF: Stir hard to get ALL the lumps out!
(clangclang)
-----

A: what do you wanna add?
BFF: chocolate?
A:  YEAH!  And maybe ... strawberries?
BFF.  Oooh. yeah.
---
 BFF: I wanna use the big, BIG spoon.
A. Here.
---
 A: I, like, got this pan for CHRISTMAS.  It has an anti-stick thing on it so if you spill stuff on it, it just slides off.  It's so awesome.
BFF: (giggles)
---
BFF: (giggle) Allie! You're squeezing the strawberries.  Eeewwww.  Let ME do it now.
A:  HA!  Oh no! Teddy (the dog) is eating something!  NO, TEDDY! Oh dear.  He's eating the butter wrapper.
 ---
BFF: Ok.  I need to wash my hands now to make mine.
A: Ok. Good idea.
BFF: I'm going to add strawberries ON TOP.  To make them attractive.
A: Oh, they're SO ADORABLE!
---
BFF: (clanging of spoon) Oh.  That is SO chocolatey and gooood.
A: Mine don't taste too strawberryish now, but I think they will once they're cooked.
BFF: Oooh!  They're nice! I can taste the cinnamon.
---
A: Oops.  OhhhH!
BFF: How much did you ADD just now?  DON"T STIR IT IN? DON'T!
A: Well.... too late.
BFF: HAHAAAA! Oh, that is PINK! Get your mom to see. HA!
---
(concentrated quiet, with the occasional clang of a spoon on bowl, and the crunching of muffin papers being rearranged)
---
(Beeping of the oven timer being set)
---
BFF: I'm going to do the strawberry ones now.
A: I'll do the chocolate.
BFF: Ok.
---
BFF: We should probably do the dishes.
A:  Mmmmmmph.
---
BFF: I only did one major one.  I mean, one that's completely full.  I wonder how it'll turn out -- probably splat out all over the place.
A: mmHmmm
---
A:  I have an idea!  We'll each use a big big big big pan and use the rest of the batter.
BFF: What kind of pan? Can we use cooking spray?  Do you have spray?
A: MOM!  WHERE'S THE COOKING SPRAY?
---
(spraying sounds heard)
---
(giggling and clanking)
----
BFF: Here, put some of THESE over there.  What did YOU DO, Allie? ALLIE.
A: Ooops.
BFF: Oh, Allie.
---
(many more short sprays heard)
---
A: C'mon batter! Go faster! (tapping sounds heard)
BFF: Maybe we could just.... (clanging sounds)  Hmmm.
A: Oh, LOOK!
BFF: Both of 'em?
A: Yes.
---
(Oven door opening, cautious sliding sounds heard.  Beeping of timer being started)
---
And then?  CLEANING sounds begin. Rumbling of chairs being dragged around, cabinet doors opening and banging closed.
---
BFF: When these are done? You can like, put them on a special tray, but don't put them there yet.  Vampires. You know?
A: Mmmmhmmm.
----
A: WHOA!  Look at YOURS!
BFF: WHOA!  Look at YOURS!  Look at YOUR Neapolitan one!
A:  LOOK at YOUR Neapolitan one!
---
BFF:  ALLIE!  50 seconds left!
A: OH!  OK!
Together: 10! 9! 8! (giggles) 7! 6! 5! 4! 3! 2! 1!

Post Script: 
Muffins were good. A trifle tough, but quite good.  And there were two very proud little girls who made a nice memory of an afternoon off of school.  But I'm still wondering about the vampires.

Memories: How to Make Them

A few days ago, I reported to all 14 of my FB friends that, while in our local Aco Hardware (No, that's not a typo.  It's a cheap knockoff of Ace Hardware) in search of a drain snake (the metal kind, not the OMG THERE'S A SNAKE IN MY TOILET kind),

I was overcome by the piped-in atmospheric music, and had to STOP! Because, apparently, it was Hammertime.

Imagine this pose, but with a 41-year-old woman in a winter coat and a red handbag. In the plumbing aisle of a hardware store.

One of the best responses was from Rachel, a lady of impeccable maturity, who said, "HA! Kate, you make the world your amusement park!"

Yes. Yes I do.

And WHY, you might inquire?
Because if you do nothing noteworthy, you will FORGET things. 

Think back to 6th grade.  Remember the day before Christmas break?  No?  Well, if you had chosen that day to stand on your chair in Social Studies and start singing "The 12 Days of Post-Soviet Russian Christmas," you'd remember that day.  Precisely.  [Example only.  Did not happen.]

How about your birthday, 16 years ago.  No?  If you had pulled over while driving, and got out to pick some cotton in the field RIGHT THERE (while wearing cherry-red ballet flats, as I recall), and sang -- out loud -- "Nobody Knows the Trouble I Seeen.  Nobody Knows, but Jeeeesuuuuuuuussss," you'd be able to remember it down to the temperature, the shoes, and which side of the road you'd been on.  [Example that REALLY DID HAPPEN.  In Texas. It was the right side of the road, heading south.  It was balmy -- probably mid-70s in late March.]

Cotton is rather harder to pick than one might assume.

A Tuesday night, two years ago, mid-December.  Midnight.  SNOW DAY had just been declared for my kids.  I got them up, had them toss coats and snowpants and boots over their footie pajamas.  We went out and had a midnight snowball fight, then came in for hot chocolate.  They still remember that!

So, sometimes memories are thrust upon you (my daughter being born about 1.5 hours after arriving at the hospital), and sometimes?  You have got to make them yourself.