Author: halfcnote

Rules of Engagement – Don’t Bleed on the Rug

A friend posted on FB some joke definitions of what her Mom taught her. (Thanks, Michigan Blue)

What my Mom taught me:
Religion – “You better pray that comes out of the carpet”
Logic – “Because I said so, that’s why”
Irony – “Keep crying and I’ll give you something to cry about”
Wisdom – “When you get to my age you’ll understand”
Justice – “One day you’ll have kids, I hope they turn out just like you!!”

Moms or any parental unit for that matter, really don’t realize what power they have over their children or how literal those same kids can be.

Bashert tells the story of the time their father told her sister to “stand right there” in the store.  He moved on to the next aisle and she didn’t.  It took him several aisles to realize that she hadn’t moved with him – she stood ‘right there’.

It got me thinking about the one edict that rang loud and clear through our household:

Don’t Bleed On the Rug

I’m not really sure where this stemmed from initially.  I have visions of dastardly deeds being performed and having to remain spotlessly clean so as to not leave any trace for the CSI team to discover.

Fortunately though, I don’t think my family is that full of intrigue.

I do know that it was a rule that I took hard and fast.  I know because I was tested.

Let us return to the time my family resided in Phoenix, Arizona.  If memory serves me right – and that’s a challenge – I was about nine at the time.

Once again, most of the kids in the neighborhood were outside playing.  We lived on a cul-de-sac and as long as we stayed inside that confine we were all good to go without much direct parental oversee.

This promoted independence and stupidity.

There were only two front yards we could really play on in the cul-de-sac, ours and the Kam’s.  Everyone else either had rock yards or the parents didn’t want their grass (a precious commodity in the desert) destroyed.

So, there we all were in the Kam’s front yard doing our thing.  Chasing each other around, playing catch and popping a rake.

Popping a rake?

Ah, a game of reflex and skill that only experienced gardeners and unwise children undertake.

You see it involves placing the rake on the ground with the tines facing upward at one’s feet.  One then stomps on the tines with just the right angle causing the rake handle to pop upward.   The object is to catch the handle before it whacks you in the face.

Keith Kam (all the Kam children had K names: Keith, Kathy, Karen & Kim – go figure, maybe it saved on monogramming) was deep in the game with a steady series of successful pops.  I, on the other hand, was only marginally aware of this when I heard my mother call for us to come to supper.

Dutiful child that I was, I, ahem, ‘immediately’ dropped whatever I was doing and headed home.

As I made my way, I crossed in front of Keith’s field of play.  At the exact moment he popped the rake, I stepped into the strike zone.  The handle came up with a force, I’m sure I could figure out if I had stayed in my summer Physics course.

It struck a glancing, but firm blow right across my kisser.

Blood began to flow – steadily.

I ran the rest of the way home hands cupped under my bottom lip.  By the time I reached the garage entrance to the house I had a handful of blood collected.

I stood at the door calling out for Mom as best I could with the injured lip.  She replied for me to come in.  I yelled back that I couldn’t.

The shock on her face was quite vivid as she came around the corner to see what could possibly prevent me from entering the house. It didn’t take much to realize that I was holding fast to the number one house rule.

She dragged me into the house and the little bathroom off the garage.  I think she may have laughed a bit.

Forty years, oops, forty-one years later my lip still has a scar, but my pride stands tall.

Nary a drop of blood was spilled on that rug.

Iratus Pennipotenti

Yoda declared “best day ever”.  Again.

We opted to return to a smaller, at home birthday party this year.

But the older Yoda gets the more space his friends occupy, the smaller our townhouse becomes, so we decided to make it a pool party.

The theme, chosen by Yoda – Angry Birds®.

For the most part, Bashert prefers to make decorations and whatnots rather than purchase stock merchandise. The past several days our house has been awash in fabric markers, paints, paper cutouts and multicoloured sprinkles.

I generally stay out of the way of such craftiness.  It works to our mutual benefit.

Bashert creates wonderful, imaginative decorations and I keep my sanity.

She did not disappoint.  Here’s just a quick sample.  Check out bashert04 (see blog roll) for more photos and how-she-did-its

   

Blue Bird Tee - hand painted

Each kid got a home-made t-shirt.  Bashert had ordered three shirts for us to wear, but in the process of washing and drying, both hers and Yoda’s shrunk to fit only a two year old and an anorexic posh.  How lucky was I that my pig shirt survived.

There’s a metaphor or something in that for sure.

We had a bit of a panic when the townhouse manager let us know that our pool was closed for the weekend due to some chlorination issues.  But he offered up the use of the one across the street at the adjacent apartments, so we breathed a bit easier.

Shlepping a cooler and pool toys across the street would be a breeze as opposed to entertaining seven boys in a two bedroom townhouse for 3 hours.

As parties go, it went without much fuss.  There were no injuries or permanent emotional scars. A near tussle over a ball in the pool – boys and their balls (sorry, couldn’t resist) – was the only iffy moment.

We returned to the house just before the rain hit to have cake (complete with Williamsburg candle), egg-shaped peanut butter sandwiches and snacks.  A good time seemed to be had by all.

But of course like all the best parties, the most fun was had at the after-party.

A couple of boys (The Boy & The Barber’s Son) stayed a while after the majority had left.  At that time there ensued a small scale war between the pigs and birds.  Iratus pennipotenti versus viridis sus. It was epic for its size.

When just The Boy and Yoda remained, the dancing began.  Yoda received a KidzBop© cd and wanted to try it out.  The Boy and Yoda gave quite a performance.

We had everything from a mock Charleston to The Boy doing the robot while dressed in Yoda’s Lego Halloween costume.  That we got on video.

Yoda kept saying he wished this day was a dream so that it would not end.  A great compliment to his Momma’s hard work, I’d say.

It’s just before 10pm our time and Yoda is finally asleep.  Bashert is not far behind, so its just me and Shit Dog reviewing the day.

Shit Dog & Viridis Sus resting after the Battle

And a good day it was.  “Best day ever.” Again.

World Premiere 2003

Yoda arrived in this world eight years ago today on his exact due date.  Its nice to be punctual when starting out.

Bashert and I had just reached a song we knew during a PBS special on Elton John.  There we were humming along with Sir Elton and BAM! Bashert exclaims, “I think my water just broke!”

In all my worldly wisdom, I replied, “Get off the couch.”

I can be so compassionate at times.

We got her up and moving toward the door calling to NeNé to come on down, it was time to go to the hospital.

As we got to the door, Bashert stopped, gripped the door frame and said she didn’t think she could do this. I said it was a little late for that now.  She grimaced and said that she meant walking to the car.

We managed to get to the car and sped off to the hospital, which was all of five minutes away.  I dropped the two of them off at the front door and went to park the car.  I think I broke my own speed record running back into the hospital (this was before the Plantar’s Fasciitis set in and I could still run).

The triage nurse wasn’t too on the ball.  She got confused between Bashert and some chickie who thought her water had broken.  Triage Nurse wasn’t too helpful in calming Bashert down either, she wanted to explain procedural methods. Not a good idea.

You see, Bashert wanted that epidural right away.  She introduced herself in the hospital as, “Hi, my name is Epidural Now.”  Triage Nurse didn’t read people very well.

We asked when the doctor would be there.

Turns out as is usually the case, our doctor was not on call that night.  We joked that we would get some dashingly handsome male doctor, whom all the nurses swoon over.

We got exactly that.  Bashert groaned, but he was right on top of things, basically ignoring Triage Nurse and calming Bashert at the same time.

After the initial prep, we were shown to the ‘birthing room’.  The room made up to look artificially cozy and comfortable where Yoda was to be born.  NeNé claimed the couch and began dozing. It was getting pretty late into the night by then.

The anesthesiologist couldn’t arrive fast enough.  Bashert kept asking every ten minutes as to where he was.  She got rather insistent that I question the staff, so I went out in the hall and pretended to speak with the nurse.  It calmed me and placated her.

When the anesthesiologist finally arrived we all rejoiced. Then he and I spent the entire time he was administering the manna from heaven trying to come up with from where we knew each other.  We never did figure it out.

Bashert floated into a wonderful la-la land.  NeNé fell asleep on the couch and I maintained a half sleep/half vigilance state next to the bed.

Around 6:45am we realized that it was time for the shift change.

Into the room walked a woman with long blonde hair and a fully made up face. Great, our child was being delivered by Ken and Barbie.

Surprisingly, Barbie turned out to be very capable and competent. She guided Bashert through the delivery with great understanding and confidence.

Yoda gave us a couple of little scares when he finally came out.  First, meconium accompanied him on his way out and the doctor was afraid that Yoda might have aspirated some during the delivery process and second the umbilical cord had wrapped itself around Yoda’s neck several times.

One would think that would have prevented him from aspirating anything, but they had to make sure.  So, when the doctor cut the cord, the nurses whisked him away to verify all was clear.

I knew all was good when the nurse joked that she couldn’t put a diaper on the kid because he kept pooping.  She’d get him cleaned up and there he’d go again.

When Yoda was placed in our arms for the first time, we didn’t see all the marks his travel to us had brought – scraped cheeks, bruised eyes and fat lip.  All we saw was a remarkable little boy, who vaguely resembled Curious George and sent our hearts to the clouds.  I don’t think we’ve come out of them since.

NeNé snapped a picture of us at that exact moment. Yoda’s World Premiere, 10 August 2003.

Happy Birthday, Potato!

Vacation Souvenirs

Today I found out that I brought back a souvenir from our family vacation.

Its not a t-shirt or baseball cap (first time ever I did not purchase either of these).  Its not a snow globe or even a miniature replica of the Washington Monument.

No, my souvenir took me to the doctor this morning.

Turns out that all that walking and running about resulted in a stress fracture of the second metatarsal of my left foot.

I should have known something was up when it felt like I was shoving my foot into a 5 inch, narrow toe stiletto instead of my sturdy, reliable New Balance® walkers.

Talk about adding insult to injury.

I wish I had gotten the t-shirt.

For those of you new to these posts, I will explain.

My left foot, and by default I, being attached to said foot, have suffered from chronic Plantar’s Fasciitis for over four years.  Together left foot and I have been through cortisone shots, icing, physical therapy, deep tissue massage, numbing creams, splints and three surgeries.

Its only three months out from the last surgery.  Silly me to apply such performance anxiety.

Dr. S. tried to give reassurance by telling me that there’s basically nothing done to treat this type of fracture.

I just love his bedside manner.

I wonder if I can get a copy of the x-ray?

CafePress® could print it and I’d get my t-shirt after all.

“What I Did On My Summer Vacation”.

Post a Week

Okay, I’ve signed up for the Post a Week Challenge from WordPress.

I could have taken up the gauntlet and tried my hand at the Post a Day, but the commitment factor was too intimidating with school starting next week.  Once a week I can handle, she says with confidence.

So here’s to taking up the mighty pen, eh, keyboard and fighting to overcome writer’s block, time constraints, bad grammar and lack of content! En garde!

Big City Syndrome or Near Death on the Red Line

On our last day in DC we crammed in a lot of stuff.   We walked from the Lincoln Memorial all the way back to the National Museum of Art, with museum stops in between.  That’s the full length of the Mall and then some.

Pretty good for an almost 8 year old and a pleasantly plump, 50 year old who has had three foot surgeries. Bashert is disgustingly in love with walking, so she was in heaven.

Bashert also loves the challenge and excitement of the big city.

She weaves in, out and through busy crowds and streets like a pro.  Yoda and I work hard to keep up.

Bashert admits that the city brings out the serious Big City Syndrome in her. Her mother was pure Alabama, but her father, aside from being first generation American, was born and raised in Brownsville, Brooklyn, New York.

Now on this final, active day, we finally had to make a line change on the Metro.  The station where we picked up the subway wasn’t the line we needed, so we mapped out the train switch we would have to make.  Two stops and we would hop from the Green line to the Red line.

No big deal.  We get on; we get off; we get on.  Piece of cake, right?

Enter the Big City soul of Bashert.

We all got off the Green Line train fine.  We located the escalator to the lower level where we were to catch the next train.  Yoda was exuberant to find it in working order, so that we didn’t have to walk down as we had in other stations.

Just as we hit the bottom of the escalator, the Red Line train pulled into the station.  Bashert switched into Big City mode and began to run for the train.

Recall, if you will, from the first few lines of this blog – an 8 year old and an out of shape 50 year old with a bad foot – I do not run well and Yoda was beginning to panic with the speed and activity about.

Bashert hopped into the last car of the train and got a seat.  I grabbed Yoda’s hand and started to run. He immediately plowed into the stomach of a passenger exiting the car.  He halted in his tracks and began to cry. I heard the warning bells going off that the door was about to close.

I’m not quite sure what possessed me to do the next thing.  Idiocy of the highest order definitely played a part.

I shoved my leg in the path of the closing door.

The doors continued to press inward and there I was hung in the literal balance of one foot in the train, the other in the station.  Visions began to swim through my brain.

I was either going to be careening through the underground of the city plastered against the skin of the train, fingernails dug into it’s metal sides or I was going to be dragged along, head butting every jutting support that came along in true slapstick form.

My next flash was that I was going to lose my leg. There I would be floundering on the platform gushing blood from my severed femoral artery, while onlookers screamed, “NINE-ONE-ONE, NINE-ONE-ONE!”.  Those doors don’t play.

Next day’s headline: “Tourist killed in Metro Accident, Inquiry to Follow”.  People would shake their heads and say what a tragedy to go on a family vacation and lose your life.

My last horrifying thought was that I was going to be pushed into the train by another late passenger only to look back and see Yoda left standing on the platform all alone. Oh, no that would not do at all.

Just when that sickening thought popped in, a man grabbed the other door and helped shove it back against the ever so polite, recorded voice that was admonishing us to clear the doorway area because the doors are closing. No kidding.

Yoda was still frozen in place, so I yelled in my ‘listen to me now’ Mom voice for him to jump in the car.  He moved on that one.

The gentleman and I followed quickly behind.  The doors slid shut.

Yoda sat in Bashert’s lap and I plopped down next to them, sweat pouring.

Bashert said she couldn’t believe I had done that.  Me either.

I had all the money, the subway tickets, both phones and Yoda.  I could have easily waited for the next train 6 minutes down the line. Why in the ever loving universe did I do it?

Big City Syndrome.

Its not a pretty thing on small town people.

I think our vacation ended at just the right time.

The Butterfly House

In the Museum of Natural History there is the Butterfly House.

It is a small exhibit.  Its on the second floor of the Museum of Natural History just after the insect zoo.

It took a lot for Bashert and Yoda to make it through there.

We saw the Butterflies advertised outside, but didn’t know we would have to pay to get in, after all it is one of the Smithsonian museums.  But it has been 12 years since Bashert and I have been to visit so we found some things had definitely changed.

At first we said no, but Yoda asked really nicely and since we were ostensibly in DC to give him the experience, we caved and said yes.  Bashert wasn’t happy with the wait time or the somewhat surly distraction of the ticket girl, but we forged ahead.

We busied ourselves in line by looking at the freaky array of caterpillar and butterfly species on display.  We had to give that up because even that was a bit much for the other two.  Nature can be mightily strange.

Our time finally arrived to enter the realm of the butterflies.

After the obligatory be careful speech, the door was opened and we stepped into a cool spray of mist.  Beyond that were about six or seven separate little raised garden areas and a multitude of butterflies of all shapes, sizes and colours.

We couldn’t help but smile.

Everywhere we looked there was a butterfly either flying about or warming themselves on the garden flowers with slow waves.

Wings that seemed to be dull camouflage would open up to be the deepest midnight blue I had ever seen.  There were red, orange, yellow, blue and mosaic butterflies.  There were wings that swooped in like hourglasses and other that were shaped like sails on tall ships.

                        

We were for a time transported away from everything but the beauty in that small room.

Yoda was thrilled when one landed on him.  At first he was a bit nervous, but then settled quickly and said that the butterflies must really like him.

Bashert ended up supporting a few herself.  One on her arm, one on her head and another took a liking to her camera.

A lovely blue one took up residence on my back for a little while.

There is nothing quite like being a perch for such a delicate and fragile thing.

It was kind of sad when it was our turn to move on.  The smiles that we had stuck on our faces as we stepped out more than paid the price of admission. Funny how small things can make such a difference sometimes.

Maybe the cranky ticket girl should spend a few minutes in the actual exhibit.  It would sure do her heart good.

Pole Dancing on the DC Metro

I don’t know if I’ve seen Yoda this excited since he was anticipating his first ride on the ‘train’ at the Riverbanks Zoo.

From the moment he found out that we would be riding the Metro, he was practically vibrating.  This was icing on the cake for our visit to DC.

When we got on the red line toward the Chinatown, Yoda was overjoyed to find out that he could stand in the aisle and hang on to the support pole.  The swaying and inertia was great source of entertainment for him, us and 30 or so other passengers, as we were treated to a 20 minute pole dance.

When we finally stepped up into the light of day on the Mall after that long, vertical rise from the subway depths, Yoda squealed with delight.  “We’re in Washington, DeeeeeCeeeee!”.   Again, our kid is not the Disney Magic Kingdom type.

We briefly toured the National Portrait Gallery.  It had been recommended that we see the ‘electric wall’, that Yoda would get a kick out if, so we felt a bit obligated to seek it out. Don’t go see it if you are prone to seizures.

Next order of business was to find the Spy Museum.

After a couple of prerequisite wrong turns, we found it – taking up an entire block.

We toured the museum.  I’d tell you about it, but then I’d have to kill you.  I’ll just tease you a bit and let you know that Yoda loved crawling through the air shaft and the gift store.

The Spy Museum is located in the Chinatown area.  Neither Bashert nor I in all the visits made up here have ever been to Chinatown, so we took this opportunity.

We ate at a place recommended by the DC for Kids guide, The New Big Wong.  What happened to the Old Big Wong, we didn’t want to know.

This could have been a real gastronomic adventure, but we were tired, hungry and feeling very American by this point.  Lo Mien and Sesame Chicken it was, albeit it was true, freshly cooked Chinese Lo Mien and Sesame Chicken.

I was fascinated by the Chinese family that came in and was seated next to us.  They ordered what we were afraid to.  When the dishes came there was a plate full of what looked like still moving squid and another with vegetables I couldn’t quite identify.

When we finished our meal and I mean finished, we walked about Chinatown for a bit.

Lots of restaurants.  Lots of trinket booths.  Beautiful colours and ornamentation.

Yoda and I were transfixed by one restaurant that had a viewing window where we could watch some dim sum being made.  It was also pretty cool that they had the ducks with the heads still on and complete squid soaking in water.  This was the real deal.

Bashert stood back from that one.

After being on the road for several hours that morning, spending time at Echo Park and then making this trip into the city, we were pretty beat.  It was time to head back to Bashert’s cousin’s house where we are being hosted.

The ride back was filled with chatter and Yoda seeing if he could hear conversations around him with his new spy phone.  Bashert and I felt a bit more like the ‘going’ portion of Norman Rockwell’s painting, Coming and Going.

Day one of our DeeeeeCeeeee visit was complete.

Dinner for Three in Colonial Williamsburg

We have left after two days and a half days in Colonial Williamsburg, VA.

A rousing good time was had by all, especially if we are to judge by the fit of pique that Yoda threw last night.  He was so exhausted he was literally screaming into his pillow.

Ah, good times.

It is a family tradition to recap our favorite thing about our vacations.

From this leg of our week’s journey, Yoda declared, “Everything!”; my favorite was my birthday luncheon in the tavern and Bashert chose yesterday’s recital of the Declaration of Independence.

I think a close second for all of us was the dinner we had a Shield’s Tavern on our final night.

We had very late reservations at 7:15 – okay, late for us.

We normally eat dinner around 5 since I have to go to work immediately after, but that’s neither here nor there for this story.

The program we had attended lasted from 5 to 5:30 and we were stuck with almost two hours of roaming around to do after all the shops had closed down.  Bashert convinced me to go ask if there had been any cancellations.

Luckily there had and we made it in to dine about 6pm.

As it had been in the tavern on Monday, the atmosphere was really fun.  The waitress wasn’t near as saucy, but we were seated in the VIP room, so I guess they needed to be a bit more mindful of their manners.

The food was wonderful.  We each ate more than we thought we could, even Yoda finished all his macaroni with butter sauce and found room for ice cream.

We were entertained by a duo that sang a couple of ballads and a fun rendition of
“Yankee Doodle”.  We even had a dandy come in and give Yoda a lesson in what it was like to attend school during this time period, as well as, the proper way to bring a drink to your lips rather than tipping the head back.

It was all well worth the heart attack I nearly suffered when the bill arrived.

On our stroll back to the hotel, Yoda brandished his pistol and practiced his proper greeting with his brand new tricornered hat.

A lucky couple walking toward the colonial city was treated to his most elegant and flourished bow.  Yoda said the gentleman saluted him in return.

Bashert & I were glad that we had extended our visit for an extra day.

And that we had chosen the right magic kingdom.