So I'm back, and you have never seen a more relieved husband than mine. It's an odd thing, really - he is perfectly composed dealing with CEOs and angry citizens, but leave him in charge of our household schedule for 4 days and the man completely loses his cool. Fortunately for all of us, the weekend report from K is that he wasn't "too yelly" aside from one lost religion book. (And at that point, all parties concede that the yelling was warranted, mainly because we are all fairly terrified of the religion teacher and she was not going to be pleased.)
Business travel can be such a luxury, although it completely wipes me out - the pressure to actually do my job in a timely manner and without panic makes me incredibly tired. It's such a facade for me, and one I'd much prefer leave behind. On the other hand, talking to someone I'm not related to during the day is a treat - and since I'm the only one that lives out of a major metro area, my Mayberry stories are a total novelty act.
Here in Mayberry, there's no novelty - just the 3 ring circus that defines our lives. Drop offs, pick ups, the cross country run that is motherhood. I did create a bit of havoc today by refusing grocery bags at our local store - I used my tote, and you would have thought I grew a 3rd head while in line. (Ah, the price of being green.)
But I'm home. And it feels great to think of Mayberry that way.
Monday
Bloom where you're planted
I'm getting ready to head out on business again this week, my annual trip back north. This should be no big deal, it's to an office I've been in before, I know the area pretty well, and I used to travel all the time, so I feel like I'm a pro at this.
So why am I completely freaked out?
Here's the thing. I have completely slowed my life down. Like a back to the 50s slowdown. No traffic, no schedule to speak of... I now get miffed when the dry cleaners changes their counter help and I actually have to explain my starch needs and that there are two families in Mayberry with the same last name. I don't think the ice age moves any faster than I do these days.
And while I love my job, I truly do, I love it best when I'm doing it at home in my PJs and I can freak out in private if something goes horribly wrong. Not, say, in a conference room with my boss and his minions with People Who Matter recording the day's events. (And rest assured, no matter how much planning I've done, something will go horribly wrong. It is the way of this project, and success is based on the amount of wrongness, not the lack of it.)
But I am going. I have booked flights, sifted through 42 pages of train schedules, and issued project plans. Part of me is looking forward to it. A few days of quiet, a few days of letting my husband worry about packed lunches and color cards and homework.
A little more of me, though, is realizing that I like it here. And that maybe, just maybe, I've put down some roots.
So why am I completely freaked out?
Here's the thing. I have completely slowed my life down. Like a back to the 50s slowdown. No traffic, no schedule to speak of... I now get miffed when the dry cleaners changes their counter help and I actually have to explain my starch needs and that there are two families in Mayberry with the same last name. I don't think the ice age moves any faster than I do these days.
And while I love my job, I truly do, I love it best when I'm doing it at home in my PJs and I can freak out in private if something goes horribly wrong. Not, say, in a conference room with my boss and his minions with People Who Matter recording the day's events. (And rest assured, no matter how much planning I've done, something will go horribly wrong. It is the way of this project, and success is based on the amount of wrongness, not the lack of it.)
But I am going. I have booked flights, sifted through 42 pages of train schedules, and issued project plans. Part of me is looking forward to it. A few days of quiet, a few days of letting my husband worry about packed lunches and color cards and homework.
A little more of me, though, is realizing that I like it here. And that maybe, just maybe, I've put down some roots.
Wednesday
It ain't easy being green
Learning is such a funny process for me. For instance, Sweet Husband is on a renewal resource / environmentally friendly tear. Not that we all shouldn't be, but still, it is a bit surprising to find my yuppy consumer husband now insisting we use as little of any given resource as possible. But I digress.
So as part of the environmental forced march we're currently on, it was strongly suggested to me that we switch to fully recycled content paper products. Great. Easy enough, I've seen them around, surely they will be easy to get my hands on.
Oh, wait. I live in Mayberry, land of the single source. No recycled paper goods here, those were 45 minutes away in the Land Of Plenty. So... do I drive 50 minutes in my incredibly wasteful SUV, have them shipped by UPS from another source, or waste trees by using plain old paper towels? Which is the best choice? Is there one?
I am overwhelmed by my confusion. If I have to "waste" resources to get them by driving or shipping, does that fully negate my recycled paper towels? And I know I should switch to cloth napkins - but then I'll be doing even more laundry then usual. Which puts me back in the increased energy & water usage category.
And don't even get me started on other product warnings of late. Do I no longer use plastic water bottles because of the Bisphenol A (BPA) warnings? What about the face creams I use - do I get rid of them if they contain anything scary? And then what do I choose? Does just buying organic cover it? Or do I need to try and buy locally, too?
I'm usually pretty good at making a decision, but in this case, I have no clue what I'm doing. With everyone embracing the green movement, it's hard to tell the hype from fact. I know I can make a big difference with the small things like light bulbs and recycling, but what happens when you want to take the next step? I realize I may be overthinking it here, but still - how do you make any kind of decision?
Is anyone else overwhelmed with the information overload on this one?
So as part of the environmental forced march we're currently on, it was strongly suggested to me that we switch to fully recycled content paper products. Great. Easy enough, I've seen them around, surely they will be easy to get my hands on.
Oh, wait. I live in Mayberry, land of the single source. No recycled paper goods here, those were 45 minutes away in the Land Of Plenty. So... do I drive 50 minutes in my incredibly wasteful SUV, have them shipped by UPS from another source, or waste trees by using plain old paper towels? Which is the best choice? Is there one?
I am overwhelmed by my confusion. If I have to "waste" resources to get them by driving or shipping, does that fully negate my recycled paper towels? And I know I should switch to cloth napkins - but then I'll be doing even more laundry then usual. Which puts me back in the increased energy & water usage category.
And don't even get me started on other product warnings of late. Do I no longer use plastic water bottles because of the Bisphenol A (BPA) warnings? What about the face creams I use - do I get rid of them if they contain anything scary? And then what do I choose? Does just buying organic cover it? Or do I need to try and buy locally, too?
I'm usually pretty good at making a decision, but in this case, I have no clue what I'm doing. With everyone embracing the green movement, it's hard to tell the hype from fact. I know I can make a big difference with the small things like light bulbs and recycling, but what happens when you want to take the next step? I realize I may be overthinking it here, but still - how do you make any kind of decision?
Is anyone else overwhelmed with the information overload on this one?
Monday
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
Mayberry is a baseball town, they keep telling us. Nice fields, lots of former collegiate players and one very special Major League MVP. And I love baseball. I have no actual skill, but there is almost nothing that beats warm summer nights spent on bleachers with popcorn & some friends.
But in spite of all of this "we're a baseball town" nonsense, we've noticed a few things. Namely, they have no idea how to actually teach a team of children how to play baseball. We accepted the fact that no one understood soccer and the finer points of coaching, because, well, we're pretty sure that no one except my Yankee husband has ever actually played it. But Baseball? Mayberry's pride and joy? These awesome players must have been in some other league, because the baseball system as it stands right now stinks for little kids.
And although I have sworn time and time again that I would never ever become "that parent," here I sit. Cranky that there are 17 children on a single team, that there are 400 bored 7 year olds in the outfield, and that no coach is positioning a child's bat correctly. (And let me remind you? I have no skill. So if I notice the poor form? That poor kid might as well just share my popcorn, because he isn't hitting a beach ball, much less that thing they're throwing at him.) We are becoming the whiny parents. And I do mean whiny with a capital W.
I must digress here, and state that we're not becoming those parents who yell, or throw things at the coach, or anything like that. (That seems to be primarily reserved for hockey or soccer - baseball is much too lazy a sport for violence, I think.) We're just... disgruntled. Sweet husband has stepped into practice, worked the field during games, corrected batting form, and started to get more involved so that we're not just Whiners. We try, we say, yet no one wants to embrace the change.
But every game, we're gritting our teeth. Next year, we state, we will take over. Our child will have better instruction than this. And more fun, and less time to count daisies. And while we're at it, no U. South Carolina colored items. We (and the other parents sitting with us) know better, so we shall do better.
And our child? Does he feel the angst and the pain of large teams, boring outfield duty, and the poor color choice of socks? Does he too, wish and hope and pray fervently for rainouts?
Heck no. Our child happily throws his bag over his shoulder, runs onto the field, and has the time of his life.
Looks like we'll need to sit still, bite our tongue, and take a few for the team.
But in spite of all of this "we're a baseball town" nonsense, we've noticed a few things. Namely, they have no idea how to actually teach a team of children how to play baseball. We accepted the fact that no one understood soccer and the finer points of coaching, because, well, we're pretty sure that no one except my Yankee husband has ever actually played it. But Baseball? Mayberry's pride and joy? These awesome players must have been in some other league, because the baseball system as it stands right now stinks for little kids.
And although I have sworn time and time again that I would never ever become "that parent," here I sit. Cranky that there are 17 children on a single team, that there are 400 bored 7 year olds in the outfield, and that no coach is positioning a child's bat correctly. (And let me remind you? I have no skill. So if I notice the poor form? That poor kid might as well just share my popcorn, because he isn't hitting a beach ball, much less that thing they're throwing at him.) We are becoming the whiny parents. And I do mean whiny with a capital W.
I must digress here, and state that we're not becoming those parents who yell, or throw things at the coach, or anything like that. (That seems to be primarily reserved for hockey or soccer - baseball is much too lazy a sport for violence, I think.) We're just... disgruntled. Sweet husband has stepped into practice, worked the field during games, corrected batting form, and started to get more involved so that we're not just Whiners. We try, we say, yet no one wants to embrace the change.
But every game, we're gritting our teeth. Next year, we state, we will take over. Our child will have better instruction than this. And more fun, and less time to count daisies. And while we're at it, no U. South Carolina colored items. We (and the other parents sitting with us) know better, so we shall do better.
And our child? Does he feel the angst and the pain of large teams, boring outfield duty, and the poor color choice of socks? Does he too, wish and hope and pray fervently for rainouts?
Heck no. Our child happily throws his bag over his shoulder, runs onto the field, and has the time of his life.
Looks like we'll need to sit still, bite our tongue, and take a few for the team.
Thursday
Lost in Mayberry
I probably should feel guilt, I suppose, what with skipping out on the family park outing tonight - it's an 80 degree day here in Mayberry, with clear evening skies, aside from the green pollen haze that's engulfed us. Next week we're back in chilly (for here) weather again, so I should be enjoying it, but... I didn't quite hear what my husband said as I wandered up the stairs. No, really.
I was wandering to do yet more laundry when I realized that once again, we have been overtaken by the 3/4 phenomenon. What, you don't know it?
We only have 3 of 4 shoes. Ever. Like forever, ever.
Like the socks that randomly get eaten by the dryer, we are perpetually missing the 4th shoe. For convenience, I buy two exact pairs of shoes for the boys to wear. I don't care who wears which ones, as long as they each manage a pair out of the larger set. I know, the shoe people are ready to shoot me, yes, I've read all the "bad foot formation" articles. If you've seen Finn's feet, there's no room for worse formation, so I think we can safely be exempt.
Anyhoo, we cannot seem to hang on to that 4th shoe. I know who doesn't put his shoes in the closet, that much I've determined. But where the 4th shoe is, I've nary a clue. And this is the 2nd set this has happened to - you would have thought I could just buy a 3rd pair, but their feet grew, so we're back in the same place. Again.
Do you think "Lost Croc" posters around the 'hood will bring them home, or just attract gator hunters?
Updated to add - I now have 4 crocs (sorry, Mindy, no Mickey Mouse) but only 3 sneakers. Maybe it's the 7/8 rule?
I was wandering to do yet more laundry when I realized that once again, we have been overtaken by the 3/4 phenomenon. What, you don't know it?
We only have 3 of 4 shoes. Ever. Like forever, ever.
Like the socks that randomly get eaten by the dryer, we are perpetually missing the 4th shoe. For convenience, I buy two exact pairs of shoes for the boys to wear. I don't care who wears which ones, as long as they each manage a pair out of the larger set. I know, the shoe people are ready to shoot me, yes, I've read all the "bad foot formation" articles. If you've seen Finn's feet, there's no room for worse formation, so I think we can safely be exempt.
Anyhoo, we cannot seem to hang on to that 4th shoe. I know who doesn't put his shoes in the closet, that much I've determined. But where the 4th shoe is, I've nary a clue. And this is the 2nd set this has happened to - you would have thought I could just buy a 3rd pair, but their feet grew, so we're back in the same place. Again.
Do you think "Lost Croc" posters around the 'hood will bring them home, or just attract gator hunters?
Updated to add - I now have 4 crocs (sorry, Mindy, no Mickey Mouse) but only 3 sneakers. Maybe it's the 7/8 rule?
Tuesday
One Smart Dude
I wish I had something profound to say, but I think this is a better use of a post. His brother proclaimed that he looked like "one smart dude," which made him giggle a good bit - I think he's more interested in if he can still bat those long lashes and attract the ladies...
Thursday
Random Wanderings
Ok, I promised I wouldn't abandon my blog (and y'all) for months on end, but I did not promise I would be coherent the entire time I was here. So bear with me.
Things here are a little crazy, compounded by the fact that my in-laws called last night at 9:30p to announce that they were coming. Today. There should be a ban on all short-notice visits.
And the cutie who carries laundry? It's a wonder the child could find the stacks at all (although they are graciously large) because his vision? Dreadful. And apparently color-compromised as well. Our newest party trick, since it's really noticeable in one eye, is to play "Which of these is really green?" while alternately covering one eye then the other. We seem to be fine with red, but if you've ever taken those dot tests where you strain to find the numbers in the circle painted in red & green? He failed in spectacular fashion. No flight training for him, which will be a relief for the general public.
And mentioning the washer, it has gone kaput. As much as I love feeling all smug & green for using a front-loader, this is the second one in two years that has dislocated something, leaving me washerless while I wait for a repair. If I have to get a new one, I'm thinking old and mechanical, just what the repairman ordered. I may be forced to head to the laundromat if they can't fix it tomorrow, which while not only lowering my social standing, is a bit like appearing on stage with Jerry Springer. Yikes.
Back to the grindstone - more interesting fodder next week, like how we've become parents who actually care about how baseball practice is structured. Oh yes, I'm turning into that mom.
Things here are a little crazy, compounded by the fact that my in-laws called last night at 9:30p to announce that they were coming. Today. There should be a ban on all short-notice visits.
And the cutie who carries laundry? It's a wonder the child could find the stacks at all (although they are graciously large) because his vision? Dreadful. And apparently color-compromised as well. Our newest party trick, since it's really noticeable in one eye, is to play "Which of these is really green?" while alternately covering one eye then the other. We seem to be fine with red, but if you've ever taken those dot tests where you strain to find the numbers in the circle painted in red & green? He failed in spectacular fashion. No flight training for him, which will be a relief for the general public.
And mentioning the washer, it has gone kaput. As much as I love feeling all smug & green for using a front-loader, this is the second one in two years that has dislocated something, leaving me washerless while I wait for a repair. If I have to get a new one, I'm thinking old and mechanical, just what the repairman ordered. I may be forced to head to the laundromat if they can't fix it tomorrow, which while not only lowering my social standing, is a bit like appearing on stage with Jerry Springer. Yikes.
Back to the grindstone - more interesting fodder next week, like how we've become parents who actually care about how baseball practice is structured. Oh yes, I'm turning into that mom.
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