In Which Deb Attempts to Do the Dishes

5:30 a.m.: It's Saturday, I could sleep longer, but maybe I'll be good today and go downstairs and get some housework done.  The dishes haven't been touched all week...maybe I can load up the dishwasher before the kids get out of bed.

5:35 a.m.: Back from the bathroom, now both children are in my bed, fast asleep with Sven.  Yep, might as well go downstairs.

5:40 a.m.: Having stubbed three toes and bruised two shins because I didn't want to turn on any lights, I arrive in the living room.

5:42 a.m.: Ah, an empty recliner and an unoccupied TV.  I'll watch the end of this Law & Order and then do the dishes.

5:45 a.m.: Hello, children.  Yes, you can have cheese.  Let me get up to get it for you, then I'll sit in the recliner until the end of Law & Order and do the dishes.

5:47 a.m.: Yes, you may have some water, I'll get it for you, then I'll sit in the recliner until the end of Law & Order and do the dishes.

5:49 a.m.: I'll help you clean up the water, then I'll sit in the recliner until the end of Law & Order and do the dishes.

5:50 a.m.: I'll change your clothes after your sister spilled ice cold water all over you, and you can sit in the recliner with me until the end of Law & Order.

5:57 a.m.: There, nice and dry, and we missed the verdict.  Oh, well, another one is coming on...

6:47 a.m.: I must have dozed off with a nice warm baby boy in the recliner.  I guess I can get the verdict on this one, even though I have no idea what the case is.

6:48 a.m.: Oh, it's this one.  Yeah, it's a good one.  I'll watch until the verdict, then get up and do the dishes.

6:59 a.m.: I knew she did it.  Now to the dishes!

7:00 a.m.: Having put away one clean plate, something explodes/bleeds/cries/complains.

Repeat every two minutes until 9:30 a.m.

9:30 a.m.: Good morning, Dear, would you like some breakfast?

9:35 a.m.: Serve breakfast to Sven and children.

9:37 a.m.: Sit down with my breakfast.

9:39 a.m.: Clean up milk spill.

9:41 a.m.: Sit back down with my breakfast.

9:42 a.m.: Kiss wounded finger; insist child come to me so I can stay seated.

9:45 a.m.: Having enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, I now proceed to the kitchen to finish the dishes, having gotten a momentous head start by putting away most of the clean dishes.  In the bottom rack, anyway.

9:52 a.m.: Sven falls asleep in the recliner.  Children discover cache of fireworks in dining room and begin to quietly construct elaborate pyrotechnic display.

9:53 a.m.: Choosing to ignore the fireworks because at least they are playing quietly, I scramble to finish the dishes.

10:00 a.m.: Demands for cheese resume and continue for the next two hours.

12:00 p.m.: The dishwasher loaded, I retreat up the stairs for a solitary nap, knowing I have accomplished something in my day.

12:02 p.m.: Dexy joins me for a solitary nap.

Fin

My Secret Blog Entries

One of the nice things about blogging, one of my prime defenses of it, you might say, is the catharsis that comes from writing about things.  Putting your thoughts or feelings down, particularly when things are careening around my brain.

If you ever read Stephen King's "Firestarter," you are familiar with the concept of "Ricochet."  In the book, Andy McGee, who participated in secret government drug tests in the 1960's, has the ability to "push" people into saying or doing things.  The talent is referred to as "mental domination."  There is a danger, though, that someone who has been "pushed" can develop a "ricochet," in which long-buried trauma, obsessions, or secrets emerge and begin careening around the person's brain until the person goes insane or worse.

I can relate.

I am a worrier.  When something bad happens to me, or to someone I know, I get upset about it.  I worry about it.  I get physically sick over it.  It goes, around and around in my brain, until I would do just about anything to forget about it.  Of course, over time it lessens, and eventually goes away.  It usually stays away, too, unless an almost identical problem pops up again.

One of the ways I cope with this is to write wordy, sometimes scathing blog entries in which I detail every single thing I could say if I was allowed to.  Then I delete the entry, so I can't go back over and obsess over it.  The ricochet now quieted, I can go back to my life.

Unfortunately, that is no longer working; the past two weeks have been that hard.  (Nothing huge, but just a lot of things happening at once.)  I'm feeling the need now to talk to an actual human being, an urge I almost never have.  Someone who will listen to me, provide some feedback about what is reasonable and what isn't, and give dispassionate, sensible advice with just a hint of caring.

Oprah, here I come.

Deb's Post-Oscar Round Up (Or, Tweet Your Heart Out)

(Spoiler alert: if you haven't watched this year's Oscars, now you won't have to.  Trust me, I'm doing you a favor.)

Twitter is a heckler's dream.  As long as each individual comment is 140 characters or less (and any good heckler knows that lengthy heckles lose their punch), Twitter provides a forum for real-time snark unparalleled by anything in real life.

When I think of all the heckles that have gone, unheard, into the ether, I get a little misty.  Now that I have Twitter, my heckles will all be as well-preserved as Barbara Streisand.

"Live tweeting" is when people participate in an event (movie, television show, reading of "Remembrance of Things Past") and tweet their responses in real time.  Some of the more memorable live tweets include "Twitflix," when several comedians attended a screening of some terrible films and all tweeted, to the possible litigation of the producing studio, and Al Sharpton giving commentary during Michael Jackson's funeral.

In this spirit, last night I live-tweeted the Oscars.  Full disclosure: it has been years since I saw all of the films in contention for Best Picture, and even then I watched most of the nominees after the awards.  For the last five years or so, I haven't even bothered to check out the nominees after the awards are given, and now that they have expanded the field to 10 nominees for best picture, I am even less likely to do so (though I did see "Up" this year).

Although I am not terribly invested in the awards themselves, I adore award shows as a form of entertainment in and of themselves.  That is the criteria I was using to judge last night's show: not whether or not the awards were right or fair, but how did the show rate as entertainment.

This year didn't even rate a "meh."  If I had to express my opinion of the show in one non-word sound, I would say, "phbbt."  It was, to put it bluntly, terrible.

Here, in no particular order, are my "beefs" with the Oscar telecast this year:

1. They cut out the performances of Best Original Song, but put in a bizarre, lengthy dance number to showcase Original Score.  If cutting Original Song was a way to cater to the audience's preference to avoid momentum-stopping music that no one cares about, their decision to keep the Original Score dance number is a mortal insult to all of the nominated songwriters.

2. Though they did John Hughes justice with a nice tribute to his work, the other memorialized actors were given very short shrift.  The focus seemed to be more on James Taylor, who performed the accompaniment to the montage; Patrick Swayze's two seconds, at the beginning of the montage, were not televised because they were still showing James.  In addition, the tribute did not mention Farrah Fawcett or Bea Arthur, who, though principally known for television work, did appear in at least as many films as Michael Jackson.

3. Though it was, apparently, too much trouble to properly memorialize the dead, the living got plenty of tributes. The 10 nominees for lead actor opened the show, onstage, each giving a little speech, then each was introduced by a co-star or producer or friend in a sometimes awkward "tribute" before each was, again, announced as a nominee, said announcement accompanied by a lengthy clip.  Enough already!  Please!  We get it!  They're better than us!  And everyone else!


4. Several of the "boring" categories (art direction, sound editing, etc.) were preceded by mini-documentaries that, again, wasted a great deal of time.  If, as they say, the Oscars are trying not to lose the mainstream public as a viewing audience, lay off!  If we care about that kind of stuff, we already know it.  If we don't care about it, you're wasting our time.


5. The "tribute to horror" was one of the worst tribute montages I've ever seen.  First, the adorable Taylor Lautner and heroin-chic poster girl Kristen Stewart give an introduction that states that the last time the Academy honored a horror film was "37 years ago," when The Exorcist won several awards.  The montage then went on to show footage from several Oscar-winning films, like "Silence of the Lambs" and "Misery."  I know those aren't new films, but they weren't made 38 years ago.  Also, the horror tribute included clips of things that are decidedly not horror, like Twilight, Twilight: New Moon, Bram Stoker's Dracula, Interview with the Vampire, Edward Scissorhands, and Chicken Run.  Okay, not Chicken Run, but only by the very loosest of definitions are any of those films "horror."  (Actually, I consider Chicken Run to be closer to horror than Edward Scissorhands.)  (Note to the Academy: having a vampire and/or werewolf in a film doesn't automatically make it horror.)


Highlights:


1. Tina Fey and Robert Downey, Jr. did a hilarious bit in which they discussed the "collaborative process" between actors and writers.  At one point, Tina fantasized about the day in which all actors would be CGI and would let the writers just do it alone, and Robert Downey Jr. referred to writers as "sickly little mole people" who allow the "handsome" people to do their job.


2. Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin taking a break backstage in a couple's Snuggie.

3. Sandra Bullock's speech.  She may not have deserved it, necessarily (I love her and think she's great, but there were definitely better performances this year), but her speech was touching, and tearful, and hilarious.  It showed why we all love her.

4. James Cameron losing to Wife No. 3.  I know the whole "ex-wife" thing was really played up, since Katherine Bigalow was the third of Cameron's five wives, they were only married for 2 years, and they have no children together, but I love to see James Cameron lose.  Losing to the first woman to ever win a Best Director Oscar was awesome, but having that woman be one of his ex-wives was really, really sweet.  (By the way, I loved how Barbara Streisand, who gave that award, wouldn't get out of the frame for a while and actually asked if she could hold the Oscar for Ms. Bigelow.  It made me smile.)

5. The John Hughes Tribute.  Or, as Sven said, "What happened to Judd Nelson?" 

But seriously, it was a touching tribute to a man who seemingly, judging by the clips, worked with everyone in Hollywood 25 years ago.

I may grouse and complain, but I'll be watching next year.  I still have to keep watching until Rob Pattinson gets the award, after all.  That pretty much guarantees I'll be watching for many, many years to come.

In Which Deb Has A Semi-Comforting Epiphany

Things have been rough in the Folksy Family lately.  Sven, who has ignored his chronic back pain for almost 10 years, had to leave work on Monday because he couldn't move.  One MRI later, we have the diagnosis: 3 herniated discs in his lower spine.  We have an appointment at the pain management clinic on March 15, so only a little more than a week to suffer.

This means Deb has been taking the kids to day care, working, picking up the kids from day care, cooking, going to the store, doing the laundry, and maintaining her virtual tropical island on Facebook all alone.  Fortunately, Momz has been helping by sneaking into the house and doing the dishes.

Thanks to these unexpected medical expenses, we are down to a bank balance so low, our payment to the day care next week will cut our available cash in half.  Only a week until payday!  We can get by, I'm sure.  "Best by" is just a recommendation, right?

I worked a 14-hour day yesterday.  The Folksy Children got to go to Grandma's after day care, which they loved.  (I was informed this morning that they expect to return to Grandma's house every day.)  Perhaps because they had so much fun, though, the kids were fussy and upset to be getting home so late, so we didn't get them into bed until after 10.

When I got to work this morning, I was so tired, I just sat in my car and cried.  I'm fine, really, but I just needed to be overwhelmed for a minute, and nothing clears your head like a good cry.  When I was done, I got out of the car and started walking to school.  Of course, because I was late, I was in the space furthest from the building.  I started to trudge in, then realized that I forgot my name tag.  I turned to go back to the car, and saw that I had walked quite a ways away from my car.  So far, in fact, that I literally couldn't process it for a moment.  "How did I get so far?" I thought.

And there it was: I was so focused on how far I still had to go that I didn't realize how far I had already gotten.  I stood there and just stared for a while, then returned to my car.  I know I've come a long way.  I know it's still a long way to go.  But I'll get there.

Nothing

I had an interesting experience at work once.  (Not in my current job, so I'll talk about it.)  An "expert" in the Meyers-Briggs personality types came to our workplace and talked about the different personality types.  It was interesting.  Then she gave us the test, and I began to get nervous.

It was my first day on a new job, you see, and I didn't know anyone.  The expert had talked to us for a good two hours about the difference between introverts and extroverts, and I already knew which one I was.  Next thing I knew, just as I feared, the room was divided with the extroverts (95%) on one side, and the introverts (myself and two other people) on the other.

Welcome! that said to me.  Especially the other music teacher, who walked over to me during the break and said, "You're an introvert?  You really chose the wrong job!  Ha, ha!"  Hilarious.

The one good thing that came from that day was that it explained to me why I had always been so "anti-social," "unfriendly," "withdrawn," "shy," or any other number of negative adjectives.  It's just who I am.  Introverts have to have time alone, or they become completely exhausted.  They have to have time to "recharge" because they find being around other people draining, to the point that they can experience physical symptoms.

Before I had children, "alone time" was the majority of my day.  I read, watched television, or slept a good bit of the time I wasn't working.  Sven was around, and the cat didn't count, but I really got all of the alone time I could want.

Even for me, though, it got to be too much.  It got to the point that I jealously guarded my "nothing" time; if I found out, for instance, that I had to be at an appointment that would take 45 minutes, I would be resentful of the 1-1.5 hours of "nothing" (literally, nothing other than reading or watching TV) that I would miss.  I turned down things, actual things that might have helped me or others, to do nothing.  Nothing became more important to me than anything.  I worked very hard at doing nothing.

Then came the children.  I have almost no "nothing time" anymore, and I can look back on those days with real regret.  How much time did I waste?  I now know my introversion was no excuse; I am tired, yes, and sometimes long for some peace and quiet, but I get along just fine with very little "nothing time."  I make sure to get up extra early every day so I can have some quiet time to myself (anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour, depending on the children), and I snatch a few minutes here and there.  But I'm much happier now that most of my time is filled with "something" rather than "nothing."

Specifically, two somethings who always give me sticky pats and moist kisses and tight-to-the-point-of-painful hugs.  It's awesome.  And I completely mean that.

Confession: I Really Like It

"So," the person will say, after our conversation has exhausted other small talk, "how are your kids doing? How old is the little one?"

"He's two," I answer, as the other person rolls her eyes and laughs.

"Don't worry," they say.  "It will get better.  Is he sleeping through the night?"

"Sort of," I hedge.  "He still gets up and comes to me, but not until 4:00 or so."

"He'll be sleeping on his own soon," they assure me.  "It will be great to get a good night's sleep again, right?"

"Right," I laugh, nodding along.

Confession: I don't want Dexy to sleep in his own bed all night long.  Not yet.

You see, both of our kids were co-sleepers at first.  Princess was an accident; I wasn't planning on a C-section, and Sven's brother passed away the day we brought her home from the hospital, so I had to have her in the bed with me.  We cuddled with her in the bed for about four months, then spent the next six trying to get her to sleep in her own bed.

With Dexy, I talked to Sven about sleeping plans, how I would nurse in his room, maybe set up a little cot or a comfy chair so I could nap in there, and he said, "I just thought he'd sleep with us the way Princess did."  Okay, so he did.

Believe me, those first few months were rough.  When Dexy was tiny, and Princess still didn't want to sleep in her bed, and we all shared the big king-size in our bedroom and I had to literally get out of the bed if I wanted to shift position...well, that wasn't fun.  Fortunately, most of those days are over; Princess has her big-girl bed and Dexy sleeps in his bed for most of the night.

I said "most" of those days are over.  Even though he is a Big Boy with his own Big Boy Bed, at 3:30 or 4:00 a.m. Dexy wants his Mama.

One of the sweetest parts of my day is when Dexy walks into our room and comes to the side of my bed.  "Mama," he whispers, patting my face.  "Mama, want seep."  I pull him into bed with me and we cuddle under the covers.  He goes back to sleep immediately, completely at peace.  Two or three hours later, when he wakes up, his big blue eyes will look into mine and he will smile with complete joy.  "Good morning, Mommy!"

So, I suppose it will be a good thing when Dexy sleeps in his own bed all night.  I understand that.  I'm just not looking forward to it as much as everyone seems to think I should.  Still, I promise I'll let it happen as it happens.  I won't hang out in the hallway, coughing loudly, just in case he happens to be awake.  That was just pathetic.

I've said too much.

Make me a Match

I have noticed more and more online matchmaking services advertised during my stories.  (That's what Sven calls anything I watch, because of course, anything a woman watches must be just mindless soap-opera fluff.  So, for future reference, important, culturally relevant entertainment such as Law and Order, Law and Order:SVU, and RuPaul's Drag Race are now mindless soap-opera fluff.)

Indeed.

I met Sven the old-fashioned way (he offered me free trombone lessons and tricked me into a date), but there's nothing wrong with using an online service to find someone to date, especially now that there are some reliable ones.  In the early days of the internet, people were meeting in chat rooms, which, as Dateline NBC has shown us, are teeming with pedophiles and wine-cooler aficionados.

But now, with sites like eHarmony, Chemistry.com, and J-Date, singles (or those who act as though they are) can, by just answering a few questions about themselves and their ideal mate, be connected with someone.

I don't need a romantic partner.  I have Sven.  From the morning, when I put on his socks, to the night, when I pretend I didn't notice, we have the perfect romantic relationship.  No, what I need is friendship. Not deep, meaningful, starring-Sandra-Bullock friendship: what I need is completely superficial, gossipy, outrageous friendship.

So, here is my questionnaire for my new site, SnarkyFriend.com.  (Totally not my site, but I'm thinking about it.)  At this site, you can be connected with the snark partner of your choice, all from the comfort of your home.

1. Complete the following sentence:  INXS is

     A. A meaningless jumble of letters

     B. A way to spell out the phrase "in excess" with only four letters

     C. An Australian post-New Wave band from the late 1980's/early 1990's.

     D. My reason for living, now that you've reminded me of them.

2. When contemplating a new hair color, a friend's role should be to

     A. Dissuade.  Everyone is perfect the way God made them.

     B. Discuss.  Perhaps a bit of a change would help, but nothing too drastic.

     C. Persuade.  It's about time you brought that silver mine under some kind of control.

     D. Perform.  I happen to have rubber gloves and three different highlighting kits in my bag.

3. Your friend has shown up to lunch after receiving her first Botox treatment.  She takes off her sunglasses for the dramatic reveal.  You:

     A. Smile weakly, gulp some water, and mumble, "It looks good!"

     B. Order the strongest drink your religion allows and try not to look at the left one.

     C. Blurt out, "How long does it stay like that?"

     D. Schedule your own appointment while telling your friend, "Yes, your eyebrows are now in two different zip codes, but your forehead skin looks like a baby's."

4. Children:

    A. Are the reason we are put here on earth.

    B. Are very important, but I understand there are times and places for them.

    C. Should be seen and not heard.

    D. Interfere with my plans to take up boudoir photography.

5. Television:

     A. Has become a moral cesspit that I find both disgusting and discouraging.

     B. Isn't very good anymore.

     C. Can be decent, if you can find the right shows.

     D. Is everything I ever wanted...and more.

6. Sporting events:

     A. Are a great opportunity for family bonding.

     B. Give me some alone time when my husband is out of the house.

     C. Don't interest me.

     D. Always have the sweatiest guys.  I dig that.

7. Books:

     A. Are my passion.

     B. Help pass the time.

     C. Can be interesting sometimes, I guess.

     D. Exist to provide source material for television and film award season.

8. The last movie I saw was:

     A. I can't remember, it's been so long!

     B. The Lord of the Rings

     C. Precious: Based on the novel "Push" by Sapphire

     D. The Squeakwal.

9. My ideal mate would:

     A. Love and respect me.

     B. Treat me like a queen.

     C. Share my interests

     D. Clip his toenails privately and dispose of the trimmings instead of sitting in the middle of the living room in a horribly contorted position, displaying his toes as though they are priceless works of art, then carefully stacking the trimmings where I am likely to discover them in the coming weeks instead of placing them in the garbage can three feet away.

10. The most important thing to me is:

      A. Family

      B. Good friends

      C. Having a good time

      D. Eyeliner that doesn't smudge.

There!  It's as easy as that!  Take my quiz and give yourself a point for every "A," 2 points for every "B," 3 for each "C," and 4 for the "D's."  Then get your friends to take it, too, and compare scores.  How close are you with your closest buddies?

I scored a 57.  Sometimes I go too far. 

News? Not Necessarily.

If there is one thing my childhood taught me, it is that there is grown-up television and kid television.

I was a child in the glorious days of the late 1970's and early 1980's, when black-and-white televisions were still commonly used as the "auxiliary" television, the VCR was a brand new invention competing with many others, and cable television was still, to most people, an idea for the future.  Back then, a "big" television was in the 21 to 25 inch range.  27 inches was positively luxurious.

I still remember our main entertainment center from those pre-everything days: a color television with rabbit ear antennae, no remote control (we had those funky silver dials, one for VHF and one for UHF), and a Hi-Fi stereo system set up next to it so Dad could listen to the baseball game on the radio while he watched it on TV.  That was it.  In those days, the television would go off for hours at a time every day so we could listen to records or sleep.

In my parents' bedroom was the secondary television, a black-and-white 13-incher that we kids despised.  However, it was there we were banished when Mom or Dad were having grown-up TV time, which usually meant "The News."    If there was one thing I learned, it was that grown-ups watch the news at least twice a day, every day, and possibly Entertainment Tonight.

I can't do it.  I'm sick of the news.  I don't watch it anymore.  I might have the local news on first thing in the morning long enough to get the weather report, but that's it.  I don't even watch The Daily Show anymore.  I get too sad with what seems to me to be the needless strife and contention in the world.  I don't want to hear it anymore.

However, I have to keep up with the important things.  "The Soup" brings me my weekly pop-culture round up.  Daily checks of Twitter keep me informed of happenings around the world.  Google News shows me the headlines without bothering me with details.

My one, tenuous link to the world of information was NPR Morning Edition.  Even that is gone.  It was costing me too much money, downloading the Norwegian folk music and feminist rap.  I now listen to alternative comedy podcasts in the morning.  The up side: my improv chops are coming back.  The down side: I have no idea what is going on in the world.

And that's the way I like it.