I was just a little pre-menstrual. . . .
Or Maybe
August 10th, 2006What the Middle East and I Need, or The Solution According to Rollie
August 8th, 2006I have been kind of down the last couple of days. I do get depressed sometimes, but have realized that my depression is usually situational, not chemical, although I do tend to get it a little worse around that time of the month. Most often, though, when I am depressed it seems to be the result of stress of some sort, or something sad happening in my life. The other thing that seems to effect me is boredom and monotony. I have had a little of that the last few weeks, too. The hot weather and our attempts to curb family spending have left me with a decidedly “rainy summer day, age eight” feeling. You know the one. The one where it is raining and you are bored (so much so that you have already built a fort out of chairs, tables, and blankets) and your mom keeps suggesting activities and NONE.OF.THEM.SOUND.AT.ALL.FUN. In fact, the only thing that would make you feel better is to be in someone else’s skin, and so you actually wiggle around and flail and try to get out of your skin, and it only results in you feeling worse and more trapped.
So, part of my depression is the boredom I am feeling right now, and part of it is the stress of keeping a house clean, day after day, while trying to sell said house, but then nobody ever comes until the one day when you DO leave it in disarray. So, I have been depressed and thought it might be the usual. As I usually do, when i feel a little down, I made it to the gym. Seems like sweating always puts things into perspective somehow – I guess it just makes me feel better being present in my own skin (and maybe a little endorphin boost is responsible, too). Oddly, though, today I ran a mile and was still just . . . blue. I actually felt, while running, that I could cry. Usually by the time i make it to a mile, I am already feeling better and thinking about how much farther i want to run. Today, though, I just realized that i needed to get the kids home to meet Todd for lunch, and I quit at a mile. (Okay, there was some chatting about the depression with Vanessa, which took a good fifteen minutes up before i ever started running. I can’t blame it all on the depression. I’ll blame Vanessa and the kids, too for taking so long that I didn’t have time to run.)
So, i was still feeling down, and then i was talking to my friend Harmony (yes, I was late as fuck for lunch), and she said that she was kind of down after hearing the news this morning and I realized that is the source of the blues. More than anything, I am depressed because no matter how good or bad my life is, it is still better at its worst than all the SHIT that is going on in the world today. Hell, I’m not depressed, so much as I am world weary.
Too bad that Rollie doesn’t run things. He was reading after his nap, and opened up to a torn page, and said:
“Mama, it’s broken. Rollie broke it.”
[He looks thoughtful and then something dawns on him.]
“Let’s get some new ba-err-ies [batteries] to fix it.”
Ah, if only things were that easy. If only everything that was broken could be fixed with new batteries, the way that Rollie thinks they can.
Little Miss Serious
August 7th, 2006This is our little miss serious. She does smile, but it isn’t quite as frequent as Rollie. It seems that she wants to check everything out first, before she gives it her okay. She’s not a pessimist, just a realist! Much like her mother.
Playgroup Goes to the Zoo
August 3rd, 2006Matilda, Rollie and I invited our friends Camille and Tara and their kids to the zoo yesterday. It was hot as Hades, but pregnant Tara was a trooper, and it really wore the kids out. (Always a good thing.)
Tiller and Julianne, keeping cool in the shade
Charla and Rollie in the gorilla house
Chase looks on the Willie B statue with suspicion
Charla says, “I wouldn’t take the picture if i were you.”
Charla and Rollie with Willie B statue
This pretty much sums up what everyone looks like when they get hungry 
Long Live the Streak!
August 1st, 2006The last year or so, I have been lamenting the fact that nothing I have read or listened to has really lit a fire under me. I have to say that still holds true for the listening part – I am not sure if it is because I don’t have the free time for true listening immersion that I once had, or if it is that my persepective has changed so radically after having children. (I actually like it when REM does “Shiny Happy Monsters” or Goo Goo Dolls do “Pride” on Sesame Street; I even think the beginning of the Go, Diego, Go song “Rescue Pack” sounds like the beginning of Janes Addiction’s Had a Dad. I am sure you see how this is problematic?) Or maybe the music is just totally sucking. It seems that I used to have a love affair with a book or CD every month or so. To be fair, I must say that I am liking Band of Horses and Kings of Leon a lot right now. But am I in love with them? Not really. Anyway, if anyone has been blown away by something they listened to lately, for God’s sake, drop me a line and let me know what the fuck it was.
Then, suddenly, I read Ecology of a Cracker Childhood. Magic! I had not been so excited over a book in years. (Well, excepting the Diana Gabaldon Outlander series, which is more of a crack-like addiction than something that sings in my soul. Okay, actually, that is not a fair comparison, but i will have to blog about Outlander some other day. Suffice to say, Gabaldon herself says that the best Outlander description she has read was by Salon.com:
“The smartest historical sci-fi adventure-romance story ever written by a science Ph.D. with a background in scripting ‘Scrooge McDuck’ comics.”
Well said. Check them out. Fun reads.
Whoa. Tangent. Okay, as I was saying, Ecology of a Cracker Childhood excited me in a way no book had in years! I even blogged about it here. My sister and husband were not quite as thrilled with it as I was, but their tastes simply aren’t as refined as mine. Todd and I often share books with one another, because while we both have our own interests (I like redemption, he likes the dregs of society stories), there is a common ground where those interests overlap. Todd picked up a used copy of Ferrol Sams’ Run with the Horsemen at our local independent bookstore, Bound to Be Read. After he finished it, he mentioned that I might like it. I opened it, and a streak was born!
Run with the Horsemen was like reading Mark Twain for the first time. The protagonist, Porter Osborne, Jr. is as puckish as Huck and as smart as Holden Caulfield. Did I mention that he is laugh-out-loud funny? I may be in love with a fictional character. (Wouldn’t be the first time.) Porter struggles with adolescence, and education, race, and the realization that his parents might not be as perfect as he thought they were. And it all takes place in 1930s Depression-era Georgia, so it is close to my heart. Todd and I both couldn’t believe that we had never heard of it before, and wondered why it was never taught in literature classes. (This would have to take place at the college level, though, because Porter is quite preoccupied with breasts, wet dreams, and penis size.) For the second time in months, I was sad to see a book end.
Then, when I visited my friends James and Dana (a voracious reader herself), I looked up at their bookshelf to see Run with the Horsemen, and come to find out that they also love Ferrol Sams’ Porter trilogy. Trilogy? Trilogy!? Praise the Lord! There are more of them! We have purchased the second book, The Whisper of the River, and if it is half as good as the first, I will write about it here, I am sure
I picked up The Secret Life of Bees, with not a lot of hope for a repeat of the pleaurable reading experienced during Run with the Horsemen, but I was wrong. Sue Monk Kidd’s novel is smart, beautifully written and echoes with the emptiness an absent mother could leave in a daughter. It deals with being Southern, and with race, but also with the universal theme of love and finding it in the most unexpected places. Kind of like the way that the riches of a good read are found in the most unexpected places. Long live the streak!
There is No Fucking Santa Claus
July 29th, 2006Okay, I realize I am way behind on this. It is old news, but it is so completely offensive to my sensibilities that I must comment on it. Todd and I don’t make it out to the movies much any more. Babysitters are hard to come by, and so usually we will see something on our own while the other watches the kids. We watch a lot of stuff on NetFlix, but are usually pitifully behind on watching new releases. For example, we just saw The Chronicles of Narnia last night. I have been looking forward to seeing it for a while now. The Narnia Chronicles were among my favorite books as a child, and after the success of childhood favorite Lord of the Rings becoming a film, I had high hopes. I couldn’t have been more disappointed.
I am assuming that if you wanted to see it, you would have done so already, so i am going to go ahead and tell you: They put a fucking Santa Claus character in the movie. I have nothing against Santa. I rather like Santa when it comes down to it. But there is no fucking Santa Claus in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe! Todd mentioned that maybe they wanted to delay revealing Aslan to the viewer, but as he pointed out, did they have to use a Santa to give the Pevensies their gifts? Couldn’t the fucking badgers do it?
Or, better yet, maybe the fucking arrogant assholes in Hollywood could realize perfection when they see it and not bother mucking it up. Does anyone actually think that they can improve upon the story-telling of C.S. Lewis? At least Peter Jackson showed proper respect for Tolkien when making his films. He couldn’t include everything, but he didn’t make random shit up to add to the film.
I think I speak for millions of Narnia Chronicles readers everywhere when I say that the makers of the film RAPED THE IMAGINED WORLDS OF MY CHILDHOOD.
You fuckers.
Pool Party
July 28th, 2006Yesterday, Rollie, Matilda, and I journeyed up to North Georgia (okay, Alpharetta) to go swimming at Dusty and Tara’s neighborhood pool.
Tara and Natalie, fearless moms
Matilda shows concern at pool
Tara and Kim seek shade
Anna Bobanna
Julianne – Pretty girl’s eyes
My four sorry attempts at getting a shot of the older kids; Just like herding cats.
(From left: Rollie, Beau, Carmella, Chase, and Charla)
Rollieism, Part II
July 26th, 2006Overheard today, near the child’s potty in our downstairs bathroom:
Me: “Rollie, do you need to go potty?”
Rollie: “Yes.”
[Takes excruciatingly long time to pull down pants and pullups. Sits down on potty.]
Me: “Are you peeing or pooping?”
Rollie: “Peeing. The poop is sleeping in my butt.”
Me: “Ah. I see.”
Thanks to Aunt Lisa, by the way, for teaching him to say “butt” instead of “bottom.” It sounds almost as classy to hear him say “butt” as it does for kids his age to say, “Oh, My God!”
Rollieisms
July 25th, 2006Rollie has been saying some really funny stuff lately. A few gems:
Me: “Rollie, do you want to go swimming at Aunt Lisa’s today?”
Rollie: “No.”
Me: “Why not?”
Rollie: “Lisa drinks.*”
*Rollie is not very observant of his surroundings, or he would realize that Mama and Dada drink way more than Aunt Lisa does.
Me: “Rollie, what is your sister’s name?”
Rollie: “Tilda.”
Me: “What is Papaw’s name?”
Rollie: “Cecil.”
Me: “What is Grandma’s name?”
Rollie: “Beginia.” [Virginia]
Me: “What is Mama’s name?”
Rollie: “Unnie, or And.”
Me: “What is Dada’s name?”
Rollie: “Paul.*”
*This should come as quite a surprise to both Rollie’s father, whose name is Todd, and to our friends Paul and Harmony, or “Hummery,” as Rollie refers to her.
Finally, here is our family favorite Rollieism:
Me: “Rollie do you want to go see Grandma and Papaw?”
Rollie: “Yes.”
Me: “What about Meemaw?”
Rollie: “No.”
Me: “Why not?”
Rollie: “She sleeps around.*”
*Admittedly, Rollie is correct on this one. Meemaw is in her 80’s, and does indeed fall asleep at the drop of a hat, all around the house.
Mama
July 24th, 2006
The discomfort of pregnancy, two months of nausea, the pain of labor. The sleepless nights, and the constant crying and whining. Scaring the bejeesus out of me by coming down with RSV at eight weeks old. The pinching and hair-pulling and scratching. (Must you be so quintessentially girl?) The near-constant smothering need to be held by someone, preferably me. A year of not being able to ever sleep late, not once. Even when I go out of town and you stay with Dada or Grandma and Papaw, or Aunt Lisa, even then, you are with me, because I have to pump first thing in the morning and then every three-four hours during the day.
Sometimes, I am exhausted with it all.
But then, yesterday afternoon, after a long car ride home from the Lake, we set you on the floor in the family room, started unpacking the car, then I sat down to check my email while Daddy flipped channels on the remote. You immediately started whining, then quickly shifted gears to all-out crying. Daddy and I looked at each other and then at you. I said, “Matilda, it’s okay. You need to spend some time on the floor, or you are never going to learn to crawl.” Daddy and I looked back at our respective screens. And then I heard it, clear as a bell. One word.
“Mama.”
I picked you up and held you, tears in my eyes. You haven’t said it again. I’m sure you won’t, not until you get really desperate. Hearing it really made all of the difficulty worthwhile, though. We went out to dinner last night, and sitting at Little Azio’s, I realized I was smiling, all because you said my name. One time. Under duress.
Or maybe it was the half carafe of wine I was having with dinner.