I recently accepted a part-time teaching job at a private school in our area. I know, I'm very fortunate. In this tough economy, most people are happy just to hold onto the jobs they have, let alone find new employment opportunities that just so happen to meet their family's every conceivable need.
However, right now I must admit that I'd rather be accepting a job at Hogwarts. Maybe as their new professor of phlegmology? Then I could point a wand right at my nose and cast the disappearing spell, "EVANESCO SNOT-O!"
I'm sick of being sick.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Is There a Doctah in the House?
Bubby always had a way with words. They usually went something like, "You never call, you never write...," or "A little makeup couldn't hurt every once in a while," or "Are you really going out looking like that?" The words I heard most often growing up were, "I don't care who you marry as long as he's a Jewish doctor." She was slightly hung up on the idea. I could've been a drug dealer or double agent to the Russians and she would've been as happy as a matzo ball backstroking in a bowl of chicken soup so long as I was married to a chosen physician.
Honk never had a chance with her. ("Not a Jew?" "Not a DOCTOR?") Eventually though, the surfing gentile won her over with his charm and equally sarcastic wit. But not without any residue. For the remainder of her life, she never called him by his first name. Claiming "senior moments", Bubby always referred to him as "Sheldon" in a desperate attempt to Jew-ify his last name. He got her back by always responding to her with some random name, "Yes, Nancy?"
I think she was still secretly hoping I'd make it up to her by becoming a doctor myself. That's the least a good Jewish girl could do for her Bubby, right? But recently I was reminded just how far I really was from fulfilling the medical dreams Bubby had for me.
I had just picked up Lil' Miss from preschool and was meeting Katy and the boys over at Rubio's for lunch. The kids were all huddled around the gigantic aquarium while we were deciding what to order. Suddenly, the room was filled with the shrieking screams of a baby. My baby. I spun around and found Baby Dude hunched over on the ground, his head just inches away from the corner of a metal post. He was screaming hysterically. I raced over, picked him up, and that's when I noticed the blood pouring out of his forehead. There was a deep gash above his left eye. It was gruesome, right out of a horror movie. I'm pretty sure I saw tendons, muscles, and maybe even a few organs exposed in that wound. Blood was spilling out of it and streaming down his face, onto his clothes, and onto my clothes.
There wasn't a moment to lose. Baby Dude needed medical attention, stat! While I was no doctor, I figured it was as good a time as any to prove that I could act like one. And that's exactly what I would have done if the room hadn't started spinning and my legs hadn't turned to rubber. I just stood there, holding my screaming, blood-gushing boy, and crying right along with him. I was about as useful as a latka in a frisbee contest.
But, thankfully, help was on its way. Katy immediately grabbed paper towels and applied pressure to his wound to stop the bleeding (which evidently is a much better approach than just standing there moaning, "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!"). Katy fielded questions and suggestions from the concerned customers crowding around us. Katy kindly refused the creepy church leader's offer to stay at Rubios and watch our other kids while she and I took Baby Dude to the hospital (freak!). Katy moved car seats and ushered all of us into her van after everyone in Rubio's begged her not to let me get behind the wheel. Katy drove us to the ER, steering with one hand and passing out suckers and fruit loops to all of our sobbing children in the back seats with the other. Katy did damage control after hearing my hysterical, hardly-coherent phone call to Honk in which I instructed him to "LEAVE WORK IMMEDIATELY, THERE'S BEEN A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT!" Katy quickly called him back and whispered into the phone, "Your son's fine, but you need to go to the ER and be with your wife." Katy basically saved the day.
When Honk arrived at the ER a few minutes later, he too was a cool cucumber. He calmly picked up our boy, checked out the gash and commented, "Nice one, Frankenstein." Honk helped hold Baby Dude down while the doctors glued his head back together. He watched them with the interest and intensity of an observing medical student. I, on the other hand, stood shaking in the corner, facing the wall with my back to our precious little boy until they were done. As we left the ER, Honk turned to me and asked, "Honey, why are you such a wuss? Seriously, you need to toughen up. He's a BOY. We're gonna be back here with this kid like eighty more times in the next fifteen years." (Don't sugar coat it, Honk. Tell me how you really feel!)
No, I'm still not even close to doctor material and I have a strong feeling that I won't be much better in the future. But I'm sure Bubby would be proud of me. I may not know how to stomach the gory messes of life, but I sure know how to surround myself with people who do. And that's worth some kind of degree, isn't it?
Honk never had a chance with her. ("Not a Jew?" "Not a DOCTOR?") Eventually though, the surfing gentile won her over with his charm and equally sarcastic wit. But not without any residue. For the remainder of her life, she never called him by his first name. Claiming "senior moments", Bubby always referred to him as "Sheldon" in a desperate attempt to Jew-ify his last name. He got her back by always responding to her with some random name, "Yes, Nancy?"
I think she was still secretly hoping I'd make it up to her by becoming a doctor myself. That's the least a good Jewish girl could do for her Bubby, right? But recently I was reminded just how far I really was from fulfilling the medical dreams Bubby had for me.
I had just picked up Lil' Miss from preschool and was meeting Katy and the boys over at Rubio's for lunch. The kids were all huddled around the gigantic aquarium while we were deciding what to order. Suddenly, the room was filled with the shrieking screams of a baby. My baby. I spun around and found Baby Dude hunched over on the ground, his head just inches away from the corner of a metal post. He was screaming hysterically. I raced over, picked him up, and that's when I noticed the blood pouring out of his forehead. There was a deep gash above his left eye. It was gruesome, right out of a horror movie. I'm pretty sure I saw tendons, muscles, and maybe even a few organs exposed in that wound. Blood was spilling out of it and streaming down his face, onto his clothes, and onto my clothes.
There wasn't a moment to lose. Baby Dude needed medical attention, stat! While I was no doctor, I figured it was as good a time as any to prove that I could act like one. And that's exactly what I would have done if the room hadn't started spinning and my legs hadn't turned to rubber. I just stood there, holding my screaming, blood-gushing boy, and crying right along with him. I was about as useful as a latka in a frisbee contest.
But, thankfully, help was on its way. Katy immediately grabbed paper towels and applied pressure to his wound to stop the bleeding (which evidently is a much better approach than just standing there moaning, "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!"). Katy fielded questions and suggestions from the concerned customers crowding around us. Katy kindly refused the creepy church leader's offer to stay at Rubios and watch our other kids while she and I took Baby Dude to the hospital (freak!). Katy moved car seats and ushered all of us into her van after everyone in Rubio's begged her not to let me get behind the wheel. Katy drove us to the ER, steering with one hand and passing out suckers and fruit loops to all of our sobbing children in the back seats with the other. Katy did damage control after hearing my hysterical, hardly-coherent phone call to Honk in which I instructed him to "LEAVE WORK IMMEDIATELY, THERE'S BEEN A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT!" Katy quickly called him back and whispered into the phone, "Your son's fine, but you need to go to the ER and be with your wife." Katy basically saved the day.
When Honk arrived at the ER a few minutes later, he too was a cool cucumber. He calmly picked up our boy, checked out the gash and commented, "Nice one, Frankenstein." Honk helped hold Baby Dude down while the doctors glued his head back together. He watched them with the interest and intensity of an observing medical student. I, on the other hand, stood shaking in the corner, facing the wall with my back to our precious little boy until they were done. As we left the ER, Honk turned to me and asked, "Honey, why are you such a wuss? Seriously, you need to toughen up. He's a BOY. We're gonna be back here with this kid like eighty more times in the next fifteen years." (Don't sugar coat it, Honk. Tell me how you really feel!)
No, I'm still not even close to doctor material and I have a strong feeling that I won't be much better in the future. But I'm sure Bubby would be proud of me. I may not know how to stomach the gory messes of life, but I sure know how to surround myself with people who do. And that's worth some kind of degree, isn't it?
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Babysitter's Note
A few days ago, I subbed at the middle school where I used to teach. I don't leave the kids all day like that very often which probably explains the absurd note I left for our babysitter. If you'd call it a note. More like a case study in maternal neurosis. Here's the note beloved babysitter Amy had to sift through early Wednesday morning:
"Hi Amy!
Thank you so much for watching the kids today. My mom will be here at 1pm to pick them up and take them back to her house. She'll put Baby Dude down for a nap at her house so don't let that fellah fall asleep. Do whatever it takes, Amy, and look alive, little boy. Look alive!
"Hi Amy!
Thank you so much for watching the kids today. My mom will be here at 1pm to pick them up and take them back to her house. She'll put Baby Dude down for a nap at her house so don't let that fellah fall asleep. Do whatever it takes, Amy, and look alive, little boy. Look alive!
Here's just a few "foods" for thought about the day:
Lunch stuff is in the fridge- goods to make pb&j, turkey and cheese sandwiches, etc. I also bought you a salad because I couldn't remember if you were one of those "free-range" types and based on their customer service, I'm pretty sure Vons could care less about the quality of their turkeys' lives.
Help yourself to whatever else you can find- EXCEPT THE SPAGHETTI! It's older than Dick Cheney and probably tastes just as bad.
Baby Dude could also be fine with cut-up turkey, apple slices, string cheese and raisins in case you're like me and get a kick out of making separate meals for everyone.
I left money on the counter for you to take a walk to Golden Spoon after lunch if you want. Be forewarned: Lil' Miss may present a very convincing argument that "My mom MAKES me eat two toppings of m&m's on my frozen yogurt." Be strong, Amy. Be strong.
And some activity ideas...
- play with toys
- read books
- puzzles
- playdoh
- sing songs
- sidewalk chalk
- hopscotch
- go for a walk
- go to the park
- practice shapes and letters
- paint
- play in the front yard
- play in the backyard
- dance (no, I don't know where she learned those moves...)
- brush up on conversational Spanish
- compose sonnets
- joust
- arrange flowers (neighbor's flowers, please...)
- think outside the box
- think inside the box (see Baby Dude's closet for large box)
- party like it's 1999
- study Nostradamus
- reinvent the wheel
- shoot the breeze
- trap freeloading neighborhood cats who use our backyard like a tollroad
- Ignore abovementioned activities and just watch cartoons the whole time (Just make sure you turn the tv off and quickly grab a book to read to them when my mom's car pulls up in the driveway.)
Sorry if I was too detail-oriented (not neurotic, not micro-managing. Detail-oriented.). I just didn't want you to feel stuck or lost like I do most of the time as a mother. Call us if you need ANYTHING! ~Leilen"
Okay, so maybe this wasn't the EXACT note I left her, but it was pretty close. My first draft was even worse. Yes, I write multiple drafts and revisions of my babysitter notes. You got a problem with that?
Friday, March 13, 2009
Marshmellow Heaven
The kids never leave Lainey and Nudge's house empty-handed. The last time we headed home from their house Lil' Miss and Baby Dude were clutching dixie cups filled to the rim with miniature multi-colored marshmellows. Thanks, Mom.
A few minutes into our drive home, I heard Lil' Miss let out a deep sigh and lament, "Huuuuhhhhh! Only one left..."
I immediately jumped on the opportunity to engage in one of my favorite past times- inanimate object impersonations.
"Oh, please! Please don't eat me!" I pleaded. "I know I'm sweet and soft, but I don't want to go in your stomach. I want to live! I want travel, maybe take up watercoloring... I have a family who will miss me!"
To this, my precocious little princess replied, "Don't worry. Your family's ALREADY in my tummy!"
A few minutes into our drive home, I heard Lil' Miss let out a deep sigh and lament, "Huuuuhhhhh! Only one left..."
I immediately jumped on the opportunity to engage in one of my favorite past times- inanimate object impersonations.
"Oh, please! Please don't eat me!" I pleaded. "I know I'm sweet and soft, but I don't want to go in your stomach. I want to live! I want travel, maybe take up watercoloring... I have a family who will miss me!"
To this, my precocious little princess replied, "Don't worry. Your family's ALREADY in my tummy!"
Saturday, February 28, 2009
25 Things
1. I hate tomatoes but love salsa. Yes, I realize they’re pretty much the same thing.
2. I daydream A LOT about Italy. I fell in love with the land, culture, people, and history while backpacking in Europe with friends after college. Sometimes I can hear it calling me back. “Leeeeileeeeennnn, Leeeeeileeeennnn…”, but in more of a big-fat-Italian-woman-yelling-at-me-to-get-out-of-her-restaurant kind of voice.
3. As a kid, I was convinced that my extraordinary young life was the subject of an ongoing documentary. Every joke I told, every milestone, every contemplative moment alone were all caught on tape by hidden cameras tracking my every move. A small part of me is still waiting for the video release of “The Leilen Show”.
4. I’m a wee bit neurotic about matching colors. Shirts match shoes, walls match curtains… you get the point. Working with my dad to choose the color scheme for my website was the only time I thought he might actually throw me out of his office. Being “matchy-matchy” is my one O.C.D.
5. I enjoy the Great Outdoors, but I don’t crave it the way my “woodsy” friends do. I’d rather go to a great museum and stare at paintings of beautiful sunsets and majestic mountains. Embarrassing, but true.
6. I’m filled with dread every time a small utensil slips down the kitchen drain. If there’s ever a time that my garbage disposal would mysteriously come to life I just know it would be when my unsuspecting fingers are dangly in its jaws.
7. I no longer correct people who mispronounce my name. I enjoy hearing the variations of name mutilation. It drives Honk bonkers.
8. I don’t like authentic cuisine. I’d take a greasy plate of nachos at the local Don Jose’s over real south-of-the-border tacos from a stand in Rosarito any day of the week.
9. I spent my entire childhood wishing I could be Pippi Longstocking, that adventurous, big-toothed redhead with levitating braids. I ached to fly an abandoned airplane by flapping my arms, commandeer an island overrun by pirates, and turn a bed into a hot air balloon. The pet monkey and horse I could do without, and maybe that whiney Aunika too, but Tommy I’d keep.
10. I’ve always enjoyed writing but never thought I was very good at it in high school. Now I teach kids how to write.
11. In the sixth grade, I was sent to the school district as a finalist in a penmanship competition. If you’ve seen my handwriting you understand how ironic that is.
12. I think my ears are otherworldly, very Lord of the Rings-ish. At Christmas, Honk always reminds me how good it is of Santa to let me, his most trusted elf, come home for the holidays.
13. I was born into a family of musicians but I can barely keep rhythm. I really didn’t mind except during family jam sessions when I became the “Clapper in the Wings”.
14. I love all things ancient. Someday I hope to go on an archaeological dig in Turkey or Iraq. I’d also love to learn how to read cuneiform. How cool would that be to write my grocery list in cuneiform? Lugging a wet clay tablet around Vons might get old though...
15. I really don’t like being in charge. Second or third in command is fine with me. This is strange considering I was a teacher, but there you have it.
16. I’m a hippie at heart, but don’t tell my husband this. I’ve spent the last ten years trying to convince him otherwise.
17. I love to drive around old cities and look at the houses. Beautiful Victorian architecture makes my heart race. If a wrap-around porch or dormer windows are involved, I might be moved to tears.
18. A bouquet of flowers is always nice, but a bag of starfish or sand dollars could really get my motor runnin’.
19. I was surprised by how natural motherhood came to me. I had never spent much time with babies and never claimed to suffer from “baby fever”. My first ever diaper change was in the maternity ward. But then, if those mothering instincts didn’t kick in! I remember calling Amber a few weeks after Lil' Miss's birth and proudly announcing, “She’s three weeks today! I’ve kept her alive for THREE WHOLE WEEKS!”
20. Of all the world’s heartbreaks, I’m most burdened by abused kids. I hope to be a foster parent someday.
21. I have a thing for hammocks. Add a cozy quilt, a great book, and a glass of lemonade and kids, you’re on your own!
22. I always blame my “fashionlessness” on an unwillingness to spend a lot of money on clothes. But even if money was no object, would I do any better?
23. I value honesty in my friendships. Although the truth hurts, I always feel like my friends really care about me when they call me out on something. How much you wanna bet I get eight million phone calls this week from all of you with old grudges against me that you’re dying to get off your chest?
24. The older I get, the simpler I want life to be. I hope my faith, relationships, and life pursuits become more about love and joy and less about everything else.
25. Maybe I wouldn’t mind teaching college someday. Just throwing it out there.
2. I daydream A LOT about Italy. I fell in love with the land, culture, people, and history while backpacking in Europe with friends after college. Sometimes I can hear it calling me back. “Leeeeileeeeennnn, Leeeeeileeeennnn…”, but in more of a big-fat-Italian-woman-yelling-at-me-to-get-out-of-her-restaurant kind of voice.
3. As a kid, I was convinced that my extraordinary young life was the subject of an ongoing documentary. Every joke I told, every milestone, every contemplative moment alone were all caught on tape by hidden cameras tracking my every move. A small part of me is still waiting for the video release of “The Leilen Show”.
4. I’m a wee bit neurotic about matching colors. Shirts match shoes, walls match curtains… you get the point. Working with my dad to choose the color scheme for my website was the only time I thought he might actually throw me out of his office. Being “matchy-matchy” is my one O.C.D.
5. I enjoy the Great Outdoors, but I don’t crave it the way my “woodsy” friends do. I’d rather go to a great museum and stare at paintings of beautiful sunsets and majestic mountains. Embarrassing, but true.
6. I’m filled with dread every time a small utensil slips down the kitchen drain. If there’s ever a time that my garbage disposal would mysteriously come to life I just know it would be when my unsuspecting fingers are dangly in its jaws.
7. I no longer correct people who mispronounce my name. I enjoy hearing the variations of name mutilation. It drives Honk bonkers.
8. I don’t like authentic cuisine. I’d take a greasy plate of nachos at the local Don Jose’s over real south-of-the-border tacos from a stand in Rosarito any day of the week.
9. I spent my entire childhood wishing I could be Pippi Longstocking, that adventurous, big-toothed redhead with levitating braids. I ached to fly an abandoned airplane by flapping my arms, commandeer an island overrun by pirates, and turn a bed into a hot air balloon. The pet monkey and horse I could do without, and maybe that whiney Aunika too, but Tommy I’d keep.
10. I’ve always enjoyed writing but never thought I was very good at it in high school. Now I teach kids how to write.
11. In the sixth grade, I was sent to the school district as a finalist in a penmanship competition. If you’ve seen my handwriting you understand how ironic that is.
12. I think my ears are otherworldly, very Lord of the Rings-ish. At Christmas, Honk always reminds me how good it is of Santa to let me, his most trusted elf, come home for the holidays.
13. I was born into a family of musicians but I can barely keep rhythm. I really didn’t mind except during family jam sessions when I became the “Clapper in the Wings”.
14. I love all things ancient. Someday I hope to go on an archaeological dig in Turkey or Iraq. I’d also love to learn how to read cuneiform. How cool would that be to write my grocery list in cuneiform? Lugging a wet clay tablet around Vons might get old though...
15. I really don’t like being in charge. Second or third in command is fine with me. This is strange considering I was a teacher, but there you have it.
16. I’m a hippie at heart, but don’t tell my husband this. I’ve spent the last ten years trying to convince him otherwise.
17. I love to drive around old cities and look at the houses. Beautiful Victorian architecture makes my heart race. If a wrap-around porch or dormer windows are involved, I might be moved to tears.
18. A bouquet of flowers is always nice, but a bag of starfish or sand dollars could really get my motor runnin’.
19. I was surprised by how natural motherhood came to me. I had never spent much time with babies and never claimed to suffer from “baby fever”. My first ever diaper change was in the maternity ward. But then, if those mothering instincts didn’t kick in! I remember calling Amber a few weeks after Lil' Miss's birth and proudly announcing, “She’s three weeks today! I’ve kept her alive for THREE WHOLE WEEKS!”
20. Of all the world’s heartbreaks, I’m most burdened by abused kids. I hope to be a foster parent someday.
21. I have a thing for hammocks. Add a cozy quilt, a great book, and a glass of lemonade and kids, you’re on your own!
22. I always blame my “fashionlessness” on an unwillingness to spend a lot of money on clothes. But even if money was no object, would I do any better?
23. I value honesty in my friendships. Although the truth hurts, I always feel like my friends really care about me when they call me out on something. How much you wanna bet I get eight million phone calls this week from all of you with old grudges against me that you’re dying to get off your chest?
24. The older I get, the simpler I want life to be. I hope my faith, relationships, and life pursuits become more about love and joy and less about everything else.
25. Maybe I wouldn’t mind teaching college someday. Just throwing it out there.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Kings and Queens
While perusing the books and toy department of TJ MAXX...
Lil' Miss: Mom, did you know I'm really good at riding my bike?
me: Yep.
Lil' Miss: I'm the Queen of Riding Bikes!
me: Hmmm.
Lil' Miss: And Baby Dude is the King of Diapers!
me: That's for sure.
(Silence.)
me: Hey, what about me?
Lil' Miss: You're the Queen of Diet Coke!
ee: No, you've got me confused with my soda mentor, your Annie Weenie (Auntie Wendy).
Lil' Miss: Oh... well then, you're the Queen of... of... PRESENTS!
me: That's convenient, considering where we are.
Lil' Miss: Mom, did you know I'm really good at riding my bike?
me: Yep.
Lil' Miss: I'm the Queen of Riding Bikes!
me: Hmmm.
Lil' Miss: And Baby Dude is the King of Diapers!
me: That's for sure.
(Silence.)
me: Hey, what about me?
Lil' Miss: You're the Queen of Diet Coke!
ee: No, you've got me confused with my soda mentor, your Annie Weenie (Auntie Wendy).
Lil' Miss: Oh... well then, you're the Queen of... of... PRESENTS!
me: That's convenient, considering where we are.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Beating Around the Blush
Yesterday, I walked into my bathroom and caught Lil' Miss red-handed. Or should I say red-faced? With powder brush in hand, she was dousing her cheeks with my blush. I think she was going for the Russian nesting doll look.
I was shocked. She was busted. But just as I was about to reprimand her for getting into my make-up she quickly reassured me, "No, Mom, it's okay. I'm fiiiiiine. It's me, Mom. It's JUST ME! "
I was shocked. She was busted. But just as I was about to reprimand her for getting into my make-up she quickly reassured me, "No, Mom, it's okay. I'm fiiiiiine. It's me, Mom. It's JUST ME! "Either she really believes I share her fear of face paint, or that was the shrewdest act of punishment evasion I've ever witnessed.
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