Ridiculousness

I've caught myself in several moments of ridiculosity lately where I had to laugh at the absurdity:

-reading an article about how Ricki Lake lost so much weight while eating my lunch of pepperoni pizza (even more ridiculously, I felt strangely righteous as if reading about someone losing weight automatically makes ME healthier).

-shutting myself in the sunporch to do my finals on a beautiful spring day when my children wanted nothing more than my presence. Did I mention I'm studying child development? There's definitely a note of ridiculousness about neglecting my own children so I can do an advanced degree in child development.

-ditto Mother's Day. I hit a wall of exhaustion. Somewhere in the last week or two I've acquired the sleeping habits of a newborn, where my body wants me awake through the night but I crave sleep all day. So the Good Guy I'm married to took one look at me and insisted I head back to bed, where I stayed until 1 p.m. On second thought, that's not ridiculous...it's just fantastic...the best Mother's Day gift I needed. But it still felt strange not to do any mothering for most of the day.

-catching myself spending way too much time reading great writing on blogs when I'm moving in 12 days and should be packing like a maniac. You know how on the NPR show car talk they say at the end "well, you've wasted another hour listening to CarTalk..." That runs through my head as I surface from being online & realize that, yes, it really has been another hour. And those boxes ain't packin' themselves...

Next time I'll make sure I turn it off...

So I was in church on Sunday, sitting with the kids on the second row pew as usual. We sit there so we're right in front of where G sits on the stand so he can turn the evil eye on a squirmy child if needed. (Actually he only winks and smiles at us, not because we're not squirmy but because he doesn't really have an evil eye look in his repertoire. That would be my category.) Anyhow. We're in the middle of the quietest, most reverent parts of the meeting and someone's phone goes off. How annoying...don't people realize this is a worship service? It takes me about 1.7 seconds to realize it's my phone. Oops. I lean down to get the phone and G raises his eyebrow at me.

When I open the phone to turn it off, it says that G is calling. That's weird. He's right in front of me and definitely not on the phone. I mouth to G "It's you!" and he mouths back "It's Drew?" and I say (with pointing) "No! It's you!" I'm imagining that he's lost his phone and someone is trying to find out who it belongs to. Or maybe someone at his office is calling from his office line? He fumbles in his inside coat pocket and draws out his blackberry. Now I get to raise my eyebrow. Apparently he accidentally leaned his elbow in at just the right angle to click the wheel that just happened to be highlighting my name/number. What are the chances? Score: G 0, Blackberry 1.

Happy 05-06-07!

Confession: I like number patterns in a freaky, rainmanish kind of way. If the digital clock reads 11:11, you can be sure that I'll mention it. But even by my standards, I've told way too many people that today is 05-06-07. In fact, I've run out of people here so I'm expanding my notification service to you.

Hey! I just noticed it's 7:37! Cool.

By the way, I only managed to have one of my children on a cool date: S was born on 8-8-98. (You are hereby invited to a blow-out bash for his tenth birthday on 08-08-08.) Thanks for tolerating my geekiness...go have 5,6, and 7 of something yummy to celebrate.

Mind tripping

Since I can't go there in person right now, here's where I'm going in my imagination today. Love this photo taken near Cwmystwyth, Wales. I think I'd like to wander through those fields (a la Elizabeth Bennet) and then have a good spot of farm lunch afterwards. (Photo from the fantastic British site The Happy Campers.)

Finally Spring!

Look, internet, this is me doing work in the courtyard at Tufts. That's right. Outside. Just had to share my happiness at blue skies and blossoms. Hope there's some around you today, too.

I swear this is true...

Have you ever heard the "urban legend" of the baby on the car roof? Impossible, right?

Well, no.

It really happened.

I know because it was my brother on top of the car. Yes, really. His recent post reminded me of this fantastic-but-true family story. I remember this so clearly: remember the lady's expression on her face at the intersection when she rolled down her window and yelled in that shrill, emotion-filled high pitch (she was near tears) "There's a baby on top of your car!!!" (In my mind, she is the one who started the urban legend by telling every one of her 589 acquaintances a slightly different version of this harrowing experience.) I was only 3 or so but these things stick with you.

I need to clarify that my parents were--and are--great parents. This was just One Of Those Things where there were too many people loading into more than one car and everyone assumed someone else had the baby. Ironically, my husband's family (also wonderful parents) left his youngest sister at a rest area in the desert. Didn't notice her missing until the kids in the camper (they were separated from communicating with the parents in the cab of the truck) held up a sign to the back window of the truck that said, "Where's Debbie?" 30 minutes later. Brakes were screeched, hands were trembling, hearts were frantic, and they returned to the rest area where Debbie was eating an ice cream and sitting on the curb. Just waiting.

It's nice to have these things in common, don't you think? (Especially since everything turned out okay...)

I went to the woods....

I live about a mile from Walden Pond, Thoreau's famous nature retreat outside of Concord. I've adopted it as a favorite spot of my own; there's still a reverent, hushed quality to the pond and the trails surrounding it. Last summer we tried to hike around it at least once a week (at first it was the overly ambitious once a day--what was I thinking?) and, while our early enthusiasm wavered in late July, I think we made it probably ten times. I love the idea that Thoreau just decided, "I'm going to live here for now" and set up camp. I wonder what would happen if I did the same thing in the same spot today? Probably be kicked out before sundown, I would guess.

I completely believe in the restorative power of a good retreat. Stie's recent post from her lovely kids-free retreat (courtesy of a certain travelin' oma) reminded me of my great-grandma Brockbank (I've already posted about her here and here). She had nine daughters and, as you can imagine, her life was full of laughter and noise and laundry and teaching. Every once in a while (maybe yearly?) she would say "I'm going to live with the bears" and she would pack up and leave her daughters in good care with a relative (or with each other as they grew older) and check in to the Hotel Utah in Salt Lake City for a week.

She took a whole suitcase full of magazines with her (I really am her granddaughter in so many ways). From her journal: it was "my therapy. I could get a room for five dollars, and I read and slept and shopped and renewed myself for the next year...I'd sleep late, then out for a hearty breakfast, then didn't need to eat until dinner." Only a few select friends were invited to visit or lunch or shop with her and no one else was allowed to contact her, even in emergency. At the end of her stay, she would return to the house rejuvenated and restored and ready to go on mothering. And she sent the message, loud enough so I still hear it a couple of generations later, that it's okay to be good to yourself, no matter who you are or what you do.

Where would you go live with the bears?

p.s. My apologies if any of my few readers actually subscribe to this blog...I've edited and republished this one about five times!