Got My Head Up My...

I think I have my head wedged tightly up my bum.  Seriously...

I totally forgot to call my Dad on Father's Day.  Who does that?  Me...  I did text him when I remembered it, but that was at 10:30 last night -- and he's on EST, not CST like me.  Sorry, Daddy...

And then, I realized that I changed purses and never mailed a Mother's Day card to my Grandmother.  Sigh...  I am clearly not going to win "Most Favored Granddaughter" status this year.  Sorry, Grandma...

What is going on with me?

I think the end of the academic year came rushing at me like a freight train on speed -- recovering from that has left me floundering, my head spinning right round like a record, baby.  When you add in the amazing traveling husband, the t-ball playing, birthday partying boy child and the potty training girl child you get a mama about as organized as my Mom's junk drawer.  Oh, yeah -- there's the chickens, house, laundry, cooking, cleaning, bill-paying, weed-filled gardening and trying-to-lose-weight-by-running, too.

I don't really have an excuse because when said hubby isn't traveling or working a show during the evening, he's a pretty darn helpful guy.  Unfortunately, June has seen one opera, one trip to Texas, and the current week-long sojourn to Nebraska for this poor, overworked daddy.  Poor fella spent Father's Day in a rented van driving through thunderstorms to recruit aspiring thespians. 

And then, when I did get a chance to talk to him, I groused about the four empty ice cube trays in the kitchen.  No one else uses ice, ice, baby.  Just him.  And the wonderful wife that is me took the opportunity to complain to him about it in Father's Day.  Sorry, honey...

So, yeah...  I've got a big ol' head wedgie right now... 

A piece of cake

What a fun weekend! Milo had a friend over for a sleep-over and both little boys did great, though they were so wound up it took them until 10:30 to fall asleep. Which would have been fine, but on one of their umpteen trips down the stairs, they realized that they "forgot" Violet, who was in her crib trying to sleep. At least until they charged back upstairs to get her and realized that neither of them could possibly get her out of the crib. She did fall asleep before they did, but I had to pull the "Daddy will get grumpy" trick on her.

For some reason, even though I will completely admit that I am usually more apt to be short-tempered with the kids, Violet will tell you that daddy is the only one who gets grumpy. In fact, I can be in the middle of a grumpy moment and ask her, "Is mommy grumpy?" and she'll answer, "No, Daddy's gwumpy." I don't know why she thinks that, but sometimes the only I can get her to lie down in the crib and stop asking me to nurse is to pretend that I've heard someone on the steps and tell her that daddy's on his way up. She whispers, "I lie down so daddy doesn't get gwumpy!" This even works when he's not home... poor gullible babe...

Saturday morning brought on a flurry of household activity. The boys were playing Wii and Violet was content coloring, painting, and playing with her babies, so I scrubbed the dining room floor and Scott moved our big old TV into the basement in a way that was a complete tribute to his maternal grandfather, Harry. You see, Harry was sort of an impatient fellow and was generally hell-bent on doing things on his own schedule, the rest of the world be damned. He was infamously stubborn and prone to ramming through things without thinking of all of the options -- or consequences, for that matter.

Scott had been waiting for another adult male to come over to our house so that he and the other adult male could move the huge TV down to our basement to be set up with the treadmill. Due to weather issues, no man under the age of 60 has been out to our house since before Christmas except for my little brother and he helped Scott move the treadmill to the basement. For some reason, moving the TV was going to happen this weekend, come hell or high water. Or mushy snow, in this case.

It started off innocently enough -- Scott says, "I think I figured out a way to move the TV downstairs."

Oh, really?

"Yeah. I'm going to strap it to my wheeled cart and take it out the back door."

Oh, really?

"I figure I'll get it down the steps, then I'll put it on a sled and drag it around the the basement door. I won't have any problems getting it in that door and down into the basement."

Why didn't I grab the video camera?

He got the TV out the back door, down the steps, and onto the sled. He pulled the sled half-way around the side of the house, where it hit a bump in the snow. Then the TV and the cart to which it was still strapped, tumbled sideways into a snow bank. Scott righted the TV, paused for a second, and decided to skip the sled, so he dragged the TV on the cart the remaining 15 feet to the sidewalk. True to his prediction, getting the TV back into the house and down to the basement was a piece of cake. Especially when you think that the TV was frosted with snow...

Live Long and Prosper

Yesterday was the thirteenth anniversary of our wedding -- happy anniversary to my dearest love. Lucky thirteen years!

We celebrated by going to the new Star Trek movie. I must preface this by saying that Scott had been helping his parents re-side the house on Saturday when his cousins dropped a piece of siding on his head. He went to an insta-care and ended up with three staples in his head and a tetanus booster. Apparently, he's having some odd side effects from the vaccination as he's been chilled to the bone since then. He's not feverish, but he has been bundled up like a sumo wrestler on ice. So, he was clothed in a dark sweater, dark pants, and a dark stocking cap (because his hair hasn't been washed in three days) and shivering, so I apparently spent my anniversary with a man who looked like he was a junkie in withdrawal. Classy, huh?

So this post should probably be one about my darling husband and the wonderful love we've had for each other through the years, but it's going to be about Star Trek instead. Not necessarily the new movie, though I did enjoy it as an action flick. But as in the iconography of Star Trek and how that has impacted my life thus far.

"Space... the final frontier..." Well, yes, this is true. But not a frontier that this person can fathom, nor enjoy exploring. I enjoy looking at the startling images brought back to us by the Hubble telescope, but the enormity of the universe frightens me and thinking about the distance involved in space travel sort of makes me feel like I'm drowning a bit, so space is not my likely frontier.

So what is? Where can I "boldly go where no man has gone before?" Aside from the rather obvious entendre, I get stuck on BOLDLY. I am not a bold person. I don't know that I ever have been bold. In fact, I think that I am rather introverted. I really don't like the telephone and my preferred method of communique is email. My handwriting really stinks and I'm a much better and more fluid typist than I ever expected to be. So I think the only bold you'll see from me goes with Crtl b.

The characters from the original Star Trek series are as familiar to me as my uncles. Star Trek was one of the shows (and later movie series) that my whole family would watch. If someone were to ask me "Star Trek" or "Star Wars," my easy answer is Trek. By a mile.

In college, Scott and I watched "Star Trek: The Next Generation" and "Deep Space Nine." In graduate school, it was "Star Trek: Voyager." I even went one Halloween as a Klingon. We used the music from the end credits of Star Trek 4 as our wedding recessional. I will admit that I've never seen en episode of "Enterprise." Life got too busy to make it appointment TV.

I did, however, realize that I am a Spock kinda girl, particularly after watching the updated movie. I have always found the journey that Spock goes on as a character to be the longest and most difficult. Sure, Kirk got all the glory, but, oddly enough, Spock had all the heart.

I think that, as a tween, I sort of saw my father in the rakish Kirk -- he'd talk about his escapades as a kid and I could see some of that "Oh, yeah? You wanna make me?" rebellion in him. He was a smart kid masquerading as an average student, a pioneer as an early baby boomer. I often wonder if he'd been just a bit more bold himself, if he wouldn't have run with the counterculture, ditching the security of his Iowa home for the romance of following Route 66. That maybe with a little nudge, he'd have stepped into another universe. With his sandy blonde hair and round baby face, it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine my dad as Captain James T. Kirk.

And yet, still Kirk was not my favorite. I think that as I was entering those formative teen years, the struggle and angst not unusual to a pubescent girl drew me towards the conflict Spock felt as an inter-species love child. The part of me that wanted to be so dang grown up and capable was the Vulcan, the little girl who was afraid of growing up, changing and becoming a person unto myself, then Earthling. As I said, the usual teen angst. That whole ego/id struggle, you know.

And then during my parents' divorce, my perspective changed -- about nearly everything. I began to see what I thought was silence and disconnect from my father as the Vulcan in him, bravely trying to hold the all-too-human in him back, to reign in the fear, loss, and yearning. Captain Kirk had lost his way, and Spock had come to find him. Never again have I regarded his slow intake of breath as disinterest -- I realize now that my father's love is so consuming that one drop over the dam would start a flood. That all of the times I was searching for a word of encouragement or display of pride, that all he could safely muster was a hug and a pat on the back -- to show more would betray his passion.

Thankfully, as Spock ages he finds no need to reign in the human influence over his heart -- and the same can be said for my father. Getting to know him as an adult has been one of the best things in my life. Perhaps this is the final frontier... knowing one's self. I think it might be mine and I think I want to go exploring, boldly or not.

And Scott? Well, I must admit that I did marry a Scottie -- he's got a solution for everything if you just give him a minute, his sense of humor flaps behind him like a superhero's cape, and he's never met a donut he couldn't refuse. Live long and prosper, my love!

Scott's Lazy Day...

I was on one of the parenting boards that I frequent and a question was asked, "Why did you get married?" This is what I posted:

I like him, I love him, I want some more of him...

We got married because we fit together well. Alone we stand up just fine, but together we interlock and make the walls of our family. We support each other, care for each other and make the other a better person. We guide each other, laugh together (a lot), and see the world in a similar way. Are things always perfect? Nope. But we end each day the same way -- spooning on our left sides, his arm wrapped around me. I couldn't ask for more.

It's been almost 13 years that Scott and I have been married and I am still amazed by the man. Yesterday was a perfect example.

The kids and I got home from daycare a little early and were greeted by all six of our garbage cans rolling around in the street. I swerved to avoid hitting them as I parked in front of the house, all the while glancing to see if the front door would open and Scott would burst forth to rescue the dancing cans. No such luck...

I get Milo out and ask him to stand on the sidewalk, but he is the ever helpful child and, while I was extricating Violet from her car seat, he started dragging the first garbage can onto the easement. I peered nervously up the street to make sure that there was no oncoming traffic and, like is most common of our street, it stared back at me, silent except for the lusty spring wind. Together he and I rescued and lidded all of the jolly cans, parking them in our front yard. As I was nesting the recycling bins together, Scott appeared on the porch, looking surprised that we were home early.

He greeted the kids enthusiastically, asking them if they had had good days and what they did. Milo was concerned about ferreting out a Tootsie Roll and Violet was protesting entering the house. Both dogs tap-danced by the front door, eager to nudge their family for affection.

As I entered the house, I noticed that the dishes that were in the sink from breakfast were still there, plus a few more. I deduced that the dishwasher hadn't been unloaded and that, likely, no housework had been done. Scott asked me how my day went. I said, "Fine. Busy afternoon -- speaker on campus. How was your day?"

"I played my game all day long," he crowed. My heart fell. Here I was, at work all day. Bringing home barely-trained monkeys who were screeching for food (Milo for Tootsie Rolls, Violet wanted to nurse), stumbling through the front door to find a bigger mess than I'd left. Seriously, who can walk by a sink full of dishes all day and NOT want to put them away? It takes less than fifteen minutes to tidy our kitchen if one is not being helped by imps. And he'd played World of Warcraft ALL.DAMN.DAY. I started unloading the dishwasher.

"I'm getting a shower." What? What?

"What? Why are you getting a shower NOW if you played your game all day?"

He stopped in the bathroom doorway. I noticed that he was flushed and sweaty. He looked at me, smiling, realizing that I was not amused and said, "Courtenay, look outside."

I peek out the kitchen window. I look at him, eyebrows raised and stride past him to the family room door and look out at the deck. It has been partially re-deceked and there are landscape timbers carefully drawing an outline around our back fence. He'd been landscaping, and from the looks of the results, he'd been at it most of the day.

I turn to him sheepishly and say, "Thank you -- that looks great!" Fortunately, he's not held my initial reaction over my head. In fact, we spent a pleasant afternoon outside with the kids, discussing how we are going to transform the rest of the backyard swamp into a place where the kids can run without having to worry about stepping into landmines of the stinky variety.

Yep, that's my guy...