Juggling Life

My Momma Told Me There'd Be Days Like This

We're leaving on vacation for a week (yay, can't wait) on Friday. It might be just in the nick of time. My BIL and nephew, Gangsta Boy are going to be with us a while longer than originally anticipated. Really, I saw it coming right away. I mean "the economy sucks" is plastered on every newspaper and t.v. news report; BIL is definitely not the only person looking for a job right now. We're all readjusting our expectations a bit. For the most part it's gone swimmingly (or at least floatingly). My BIL is anxious to help around the house, cook dinner once in a while, and he's job hunting like mad. The cousins are very happy together.

Dealing with Gangsta Boy is excellent training for me and my teaching career. The thing I have the hardest time dealing with from kids is disrespect. It. Sets. My. Teeth. On. Edge. GB and I have a difference of opinion about what constitutes disrespect. He calls it "being funny." I'm of the opinion that true humor requires knowing your audience and a little thing called "timing."

What is the thing teachers have been complaining about with him since 3rd grade? Disrespectful attitude. His brand is pretty quiet and under the breath and somewhat passive-aggressive. He doesn't have a shot at turning his academic career (4 years of failing multiple classes each semester) around unless he gets a handle on the respect thing.

So many of his issues and behaviors are so clearly linked to the way my sister lived her life and the example she set for him (number one--it's always someone else's fault) that it's easy to see why he behaves the way he does.

Yet, what favor would I do to him by making allowances? The rest of the world does. Not. Care. So I'm taking the tougher road of confrontation and consequences with a liberal dose of explaining why it has to be this way. Will it work? Only time will tell.

In the meantime, I'm going on vacation tomorrow. I cannot wait.

Snapshots: The Boys From Brazil 2008

  Cowabunga: Vinny, Danger Boy (aka Bebe (bay bay)), Victor, Matteas

 

 

              When in America, do as the Americans do . . . shop!

           (Actually, it was their idea. They loved Costco. Billabong shorts for $24.99? Sold!)

                           Shootin' hoops in the cul-de-sac

                              Shootin' pool in the living room

                                   Jenn's Internet Cafe

                              Cultural Exchange

                           Kickin' it San Diego style

 

Trivia from the guys: Apparently Sao Paulo is like Texas and Rio de Janeiro is like California--they're from Rio.

By Way Of Explanation . . .

Since many of my readers didn't realize I had a part-time job, here's the link to the post that introduced the topic. It's from just a couple of weeks after I started this blog.

http://jugglinglife.typepad.com/juggling_life/2008/01/channeling-andy.html

Stories That Might Be Funny If They Weren't True

A customer brought in a prescription that had the name of a family member that was not the person the prescription was actually intended for on it. I had to call the doctor's office to verify who the patient was. (It's a little thing I like to do--treating the dispensing of potentially fatal medications as the dispensing of potentially fatal medications. Call me crazy!) This irritated the customer to no end. Why couldn't I just take her word for it? (See previous parenthetical sentence).

So I call, get it straightened out, tell her it will be ready in 10 minutes. She doesn't move from the counter. She's cleaning out her purse. I say, very politely (I know it was polite because I was really trying). "Excuse me, do think you could wait elsewhere? There are several people that need my help." I gesture to the line of 3 people behind her. She says, "I don't think so. I waited for you." Can I get a collective WTF? I know that's what the woman behind her was thinking.

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An older woman, quite a character, was trying to get a boatload (a yachtful, not a dinghyful) of prescriptions refilled substantially early. She's on a program where the government pays for her drugs. I tell her it's too early, she's not going to be able to get them.

"But I want to take them to the Philippines and give them to my brother."

"Ma'am, you can't do that."

Stunned. "Why not?"

"The taxpayers of the United States are paying for you to have these medicines for your health. Not for you to give them away."

She remained unconvinced. She continued talking about all the drugs and diabetic supplies she usually takes her brother. I barely restrained myself from sticking my fingers in my ears and chanting "I can't hear you!"

Times like this do challenge my liberal bent just a smidge.

Feminism Means You Get To Choose What Makes You Happy, Right?

I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with an empty nest. Right now it's the 5 regulars (Me, Mr. Fix-it, MVP, Danger Boy, Social Butterfly) along with BIL and nephew, Gangsta Boy. Plus there's Victor and Matteas, our Brazilian house guests. My stepsister, TT, also spent the weekend with us.

Some people might be hiding out in their rooms or dry-swallowing Xanax. Me? I couldn't be happier. I get to cook for lots of people. I get to take them shopping and give them the thumbs up or down on whether or not that's a good price on the DC shoes or ONeill backpack. I got to translate Tetanus Shot into Portuguese with my handy dictionary and sterilize and apply steri-strips to a cut that was borderline for needing stitches.

And then there's the laundry . . .

It's not so much that I enjoy doing the laundry. What I enjoy is talking them into handing over. "Oh no, is okay. No is necessary." "Don't make me go get it myself! There's no way you're going back to Brazil with your mom thinking you didn't have clean underwear for 3 weeks. I couldn't live with myself." Laughter all around and I get to do the laundry. They get a pile of clean, fresh smelling clothes that makes them feel like someone cared. I'd call that a win-win.

Every morning after water polo practice, my boys, the Brazilians and a couple of other players descend upon my kitchen.

                The remains of 2 lbs. of bacon and 2 loaves of bread.

In short, I get to be a mom and everyone gets to have a mom: even the ones who have moms in other places. The moms in other places get word that their son's underwear is being washed and they've had a big breakfast and that makes them happy.

Cooking and laundry and taking care of other people aren't the only things I do. They're not even the things I do best (I can also do a wicked literary analysis of 19th century literature and you do not want to try to best me in Scattergories).

These domestic skills are part of what makes me "me"--a feminist, a wife, a mother, a teacher, a friend-- and I'm darn proud of 'em. I get to make other people happy with these skills and that makes me happy.

So It's A Dog Thing Too?

Why, oh why, is it like that?!

Overheard

Cheri's daughter, Courtney has 8 cameras draped on her person as she is taking our group photo for BitchHer 2008.

Courtney: You know there is such a thing as e-mailing a picture.

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MVP has just purchased tickets online for tickets for a concert for himself and Danger Boy. It is to be their "last hurrah" before MVP heads to college.

MVP: 8th row! We're going to be able to see the track marks in the lead singer's (Stone Temple Pilots) arm!

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My nephew finished his first summer reading book, "All Quiet on the Western Front."

Me: What did you think?

Him: It was kind of depressing. They pretty much all died.

Me: Well it was a book about war . . .

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MVP and I are shopping for dorm bedding. We're looking at the selection of Twin XL sheets:

MVP: I am not sleeping on 250 thread count sheets!

We bought jersey. I know; what have I wrought?

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My friend threw a great graduation party for her twin boys. The theme was parent appreciation night and all the grads had to give a little speech thanking their parents. One of friend's twins kicked it off the speeches.

Twin: I'm happy to be leaving, but I know I'm saying goodbye to the cleanest dorm, best meal plan, and greatest R.A. out there.

Twin's mom: I think he just called me his cook and his maid!

Me: He did, but it was in a nice way!

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MVP strumming his guitar and singing an impromptu ditty (his specialty) about Danger Boy's summer camp romance with a Eurasian girl from Edmonton. Thus far, all DB's "girlfriends" have been Asian.

They love him 'cause he's tan

all the Asian girls

love him

'Cause he knows his Pokeman

In Which I (Pretty Much) Overcome My Vanity

There are not too many "bad" pictures me floating around the world. Up until I started blogging and getting together with other bloggers (who all had cameras as big as mine--or bigger (Aaryn!), I pretty much had total creative control.

I always took and developed the pictures and went through them before anyone else saw them. With the advent of digital photography it got even easier--delete!

Last summer a friend took the picture below, without my knowledge and e-mailed it to me. It was taken at about 6:00 p.m.at La Jolla Shores. I'd been at the beach since 5:50 a.m. The occasion was a bonfire for the boys and girls water polo teams; I wanted to give the Brazilians a quintessential San Diego experience. I had arranged food and drinks and rides for a party of what ended up being about 50 people. It was a blast! I had such a great time watching the teenagers--especially the antics of the girls who were meeting the Brazilians for the first time.

But I digress. Back to the picture. When I opened the e-mail I was all "Aaack! My nose! My crows feet! I need to whiten my teeth! I'm not wearing any makeup!" I came this close to deleting the e-mail.

 

Then I ran into the woman that took the photo at Vons. She was so excited to have taken the photo. She went on and on about what a great mother-daughter shot it was. How happy I looked. How great a picture her daughters thought it was.

She was right, I was happy. I was throwing a fantastic party, my family was there, these kids from another country were having this phenomenal time because I was willing to put some effort into making sure they had this experience (have I ever mentioned how I'm so not a morning person and hello? 5:50 a.m.!). And I was ready to hit delete just because I'm vain.

So not only did I keep the picture, I'm posting it for all to see. Why? I suspect I'm not the only person out there that's editing their life's record so that only the pretty pictures remain. I'm beginning to think that might not be such a good idea. Thanks, Susan, for opening my eyes.

Have You Heard The One About The Mother-In-Law?

I have been married for a long time. It will be 21 years on August 1. I have a fairly "strong" personality. In a good way, of course. My mother-in-law has a rather "strong" personality. In a good way, of course. You know that whole saying about magnets and like repelling like? I don't either, but there should be one.

Anywhoo . . . My husband is the oldes of 5 kids and I was the first daughter-in-law. Therefore, I was the one inventing the proverbial wheel.  While the wheel rolls pretty smoothly now, 'twas not always so.

When we first married (and remember, I was almost a child bride) MIL was used to having all her kids around her on all holidays, Sunday dinner, pretty much any time she wanted all her kids around. Which was frequently. You see where this is going, right? My family was my Mom and my niece. Obviously I'm not going to ditch them on all holidays (nor would Mr. Fix-it have wanted me to). I thought the easy answer was to merge celebrations. Thanksgiving was the first major holiday after our wedding.

Since we all lived within 5 miles of each other and my mom had a fairly large house and I am a really good cook (this story leaves no room for false modesty) while MIL is what I call a "can and box cook," why not have everyone to my mom's house where I would cook? Genius, right?

Only, my MIL is all (to Mr. Fix-it) "No, I don't think so, it's traditional for me to cook Thanksgiving dinner." So then I'm all to Mr. Fix-it, "Maybe you should remind her she never had a DIL before." So he does, and she grudgingly agrees to come and she's super nice about it to me and asks what can she bring and I suggest a ham since there's going to be 15 people and their family loves ham and she say's sure and then she doesn't bring a ham but brings a store bought pie. We didn't do that again.

Anywhoo . . . Things continued in that passive-aggressive vein for some time until she and I had a major blow-up in which I told her I thought she was very selfish and inconsiderate and did not appreciate sly digs and guilt trips about our not being at her house at 8 a.m. on Christmas morning and not staying the whole day on Easter and yada, yada, yada.

It was uncomfortable, it was awful, and it was also the best thing I ever did as far as my relationship with my MIL goes. Why? Because it was honest. I was able to quit smiling outside while seething with resentment inside. My husband loves his mom utterly, but he was right behind me as I walked out the door that day. And while he was sad that he had to go visit her without me for a few months, he always said he understood my position and that I was right.

Eventually there was a funeral, we were both there, we let bygones be bygones (aaah, the healing power of weddings and funerals). From that day on, we pretty much "got" each other. She knew I couldn't be manipulated and I knew she was a strong woman who liked things her way, but knew when to call a truce and a draw.

Which brings us to the book review portion of this (lengthy) post.

I hooked up with Sally Shields through MotherTalk and she sent me a copy of her book to review. It's light and frothy and would make a fun shower gift (especially if the MIL wasn't at the shower and you read aloud from some of the rules).

But here's the thing. These rules would never have worked for me. I think that's because I'm not afraid of confrontation. Not everyone is like me though; there are plenty of people that are happier if they can find a non-confrontational way of dealing with people. If you have a friend like that that's getting married, this book would make a great gift. If you have a friend like me, it would also make a cute gift--just know that she'll read each rule and say, "I don't think so!"

My husband and I will be celebrating 21 years of wedded (mostly) bliss this August. My MIL and I will be celebrating approximately 18 years of a respectful and loving relationship among two women who have a lot of people they love deeply in common. Plus, she is a great lady to shop high-end purses and make-up with. Most importantly, you couldn't ask for a greater Nana--in the end isn't that the most important quality in a Mother-in-Law?

Wordy Wednesday And Things You Asked For . . .

It wouldn't be summer with a boy from Brazil.  You're welcome, SB. 

Minnesota Matron, Hen, and Green Girl from Wisconsin have all posted the contents of their fridge. Since I adore an Open House post, I'll play along.

See those 2 gallons of milk? There's 4 more behind them. The 1/2 gallon of O.J.? 3 more behind that. What does my fridge say about me? Perhaps it's saying "Girl, maybe you should get a cow and a couple of laying hens!"

Or perhaps it says, "You mean there's actually a family who runs through the Costco size on a weekly basis? I mean besides Kalynne's."

It definitely says that while I learned a lot from "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle," I haven't actually put it into play yet.

When I posted the picture I was very annoyed by the out of alignment photo buttons on the front of the freezer. As part of my personal, 12-step borderline OCD treatment I posted the picture anyway. Then I went and fixed them.

What does my freezer say? Most everything is in the outside freezer. This is basically a repository for  ice cream, bagels, and smoothie fixings.

Also, you may notice we have no ice maker. It's not that we couldn't afford the refrigerator/freezer that has one . . . it's that we searched high and low for one that didn't have one. You see, we had a very bad experience with a malfunctioning ice maker about 18 years ago. You've probably heard a similar story--vacation, loose fitting, floor replaced . . . Our insurance agent told us the ice maker is the most common cause of household flooding. You don't have to tell us twice!

Since more than one person has expressed interest, I give you . . .

Jenn's Multiple Orgasm Chocolate Chip Cake

1 package (18.25 oz.) yellow cake mix

1 package (3.4 oz.) instant vanilla pudding mix

1 cup milk

1 cup vegetable oil

4 eggs

1 cup miniature semisweet chocolate chips

5 tablespoons grated German sweet chocolate, divided

2 tablespoons confectioner's sugar

In mixing bowl, combine cake and pudding mixes, milk, oil, and eggs. Beat on low speed until moistened. Beat on medium for 2 minutes. Stir in chocolate chips and 3 tablespoons grated chocolate. Pour into greased and floured 10 inch fluted tube (Bundt) pan.

Bake at 350 for 55-65 minutes until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes before removing from pan to a wire rack to cool completely. Combine confectioner's sugar and remaining grated chocolate; sprinkle over cake.

Enjoy!