Christmas - Tulum and Cancun

Human Nature

Last night after dinner, I was doing dishes and Marin asked if she could use my computer to get on YouTube to watch funny cat videos. I said yes, so she began hunting for any kitty that would make her laugh. She watched "Oh, Long John", and then one click lead to another, and I heard her say "Mom! There is a cat dancing to Thriller." She loves that song, and was cracking up at the special effects designed to make the cat appear to dance. I heard the song play for a few minutes and then I heard an abnormally long silence. All of a sudden, Marin gasped loudly, the choking kind of gasp, and screamed "WHAT WAS THAT? WHAT AM I LOOKING AT? MOMMY! MOMMY!" and with total abandon, she threw her body under my desk like she was on fire and slid the chair in front of her as protection. I put the dishes down and went to aid my shrieking child, who was too terrified to even tell me what she had seen that put her in hysterics. "I don't want to talk about it, Mom, because then I might see it again in my head. I am NEVER going on YouTube again. Never." I coaxed her out of her hiding spot, but as soon as her feet hit the ground she took off to the family room and hid between the two couches, screams vigorously renewed. Perplexed, I sat down on the couch and she curled up under my feet.

Me: Marin, will you sit up on the couch with me?

Marin: No, Mama, I might accidentally see your computer with that thing on it.

Me: My computer screen saver is on. It's just our own pictures now. It's fine.

Marin: No. I'm hiding here for the rest of my life.

Me: What did you see?

Marin: I don't know. Something scary. A picture of something. I don't think I can get that picture out of my head, even when I'm 88. This is even more scary than a warning sign.

Me: Tell me what the picture looked like.

Marin: I don't know. Maybe a person, but not really.

Me: I'm going to walk over to the computer and see what you looked at. Maybe I can help you if I know what you saw.

Marin: (sobbing and staying crouched) Ok, but I'm STAYING DOWN LOW.

I went to my computer and activated it. And do you know what it was that put such terror into my six year old? A picture of Michael Jackson, post plastic surgery. The one where the tip of his nose was starting to fall off and his eyes looked like something out of Planet of the Apes in make-up created by a twelve year old. He had weird facial hair and a strange little smile on his face.* It must have been at the end of the video of the cat dancing to Thriller. I walked back over to the couch and tried not to, but I could not help myself. I laughed. I laughed so hard that I couldn't breathe. I laughed so hard that tears ran down my face and the cat jumped off of the couch and ran away. I laughed so hard that even Marin, sobbing at my feet, finally said "What's so funny? THIS IS SCARY, NOT FUNNY."

Trying to explain the correlation of plastic surgery and misery, I basically told her that Michael Jackson was a real weirdo. Ultra talented, but not ok in the head. Tried to explain the problem of fame and fortune. That yes, he was human, but no, I don't know why he intentionally did that to himself.

Marin: (firing questions) How could a person be that scary? Do you think Michael Jackson's doctors thought he looked weird? If they thought that, why did they make him look like that? If I saw him in real life I would be scared, in this weird way that I am now. If I become famous, would I have to change myself like that? I WILL NEVER BE FAMOUS THEN.

We talked some more, her sobs turning to hiccups, and she moved up from the floor to my lap.

Marin: Do you forget things when you're dead? I hope you forget things when you're dead because I need to get that face out of my head, if it takes me the rest of my life.

Me: I don't know. I don't know any dead people that I can ask.

Marin: Will you find out? Look up if any dead people have forgotten things like Michael Jackson's face. Oh. I guess you really can't. (long silence) Mama, how could a person be that scary? Are you sure that was a face? A real face, not a mask?

She did ask me to get the ipad and show her pictures of Michael Jackson before his multiple surgeries, to which she said "Mom, he looked really nice and really normal. Why would he have wanted to do that? Was it to make Thriller a REAL scary video? Because that would make it scary and I WOULD NEVER WATCH IT. In fact, I will never watch it again. I will never use your computer again, I will never be able to forget how his nose was about to fall off and - why did he have girls hair? Do not ever turn your computer on again, don't ever make me look at it, I will never....

And that was the rest of the night's dialogue. This morning's, too.

*I would post that picture here, but I don't think Marin would speak to me ever again.

*Human Nature is a song from the Thriller album.

Cavities

This Thanksgiving, Lisa and Dwayne are coming to our house for dinner, and I'm really excited about that. If there is one thing I never have trouble being thankful for, it's the friends who grace my life. Among other things, Lisa and I share a love for cooking, kitchen gadgets, wine, and the belief that Thanksgiving should be kept traditional. The protein should not be something you swim with, the potatoes should be mashed, gravy is the key to a holy meal, and the stuffing should not be wild and crazy. It didn't occur to me to mention to her that I don't technically use the stuffing properly, meaning I don't stuff it anywhere. (then call it dressing, my mom said.) By the time I did communicate that to her, which fortunately didn't send her running to make new plans with normal people, I was left thinking about why I don't participate in this weird ritual.

I've never put the stuffing in the turkey. Meaning I've never used stuffing as actual stuffing. I make the stuffing separately because animal innards gross me out. The word "cavity" in reference to anything other than something wrong in a tooth turns my stomach. So shoving my hand into a cavity - or poking foreign objects into a cavity - with something I intend to eat later has never actually worked out well for me. (remember... all those years I was 98% vegetarian... some things never go away.) I do all kinds of other things to keep the turkey full of flavor - like surrounding his roasting pan with nice, gentle, non-violating items like aromatics. I think it's like aromatherapy for the turkey in that it relaxes him, enabling him to bring out his juices, as opposed to having something shoved up his ass while he tries to get all moist and tender for us. That would just make him uptight, if you ask me, leaving him stingy with the juice.

A couple of months ago, Jon was going through just a bit of stress when he was interviewing with the CIA wanna-be's, and I worked double time to be a good wife. It doesn't come natually to me, being an extra good wife, so it is actually something I have to plan out. On one particular stressful night, I think he was in the garage obsessing about the Yeti, so I pulled out a whole chicken, knowing he wanted Beer Can Chicken for dinner. I hovered over the dead bird for a few minutes mustering up the will to touch it's raw flesh, and then slowly, carefully, inched my hand into the chicken's cavity and pulled out the unmentionables from inside of it. Awful things came out of it. Awful. While my dog and my cat were scurrying about at my feet wanting to snack on the unmentionables, I focused on surprising Jon with something he never, ever suspected I would do. It would be like me coming home and finding that he had cleaned a bathroom, toilet and all. As much as we don't like to admit this, we have our roles; I pay Marin to clean the potties and he sticks his hands into a chicken's cavity. But there I was, my hand up (or was it down?) a dead piece of poultry and I wasn't passing out! Total victory for me. Feeling inspired by my own guts while throwing the chicken's guts away, I even peeled some garlic to insert in the beer can, massaged the chicken with olive oil, and tied his legs up with butcher's twine. But when it came to the beer can and where I was supposed to shove it - I just couldn't. And when it came to eating later that night, I couldn't really do that well either. The chicken and I had just had too much intimacy for me to carve him and chew him. But the whole preparation thing - Jon was very happy with me.

I asked my mom why she doesn't stuff a turkey either, and she mentioned the problem of food poisoning multiple people have with stuffed turkey. Apparently it messes with the temperature somehow and has given a lot of people some very bad Thanksgivings as a result. As for me, I'll just rename the stuffing "unstuffing" and call it good. And I'm happy to cook every single item on our Thanksgiving menu, just as long as someone else's hand goes up that turkey's cavity to clean out the frightening things left in there. (or is it down?)

You Can't Make Me Look At You

Yesterday, Marin donated her lunchbox to her kitty. She put it on the floor in Sammy's favorite sunbeam and put a toy near it. How did the cat thank her? By picking Marin's backpack to lounge on. Marin ate breakfast, loaded her homework into her backpack and we went upstairs to dress for school. When we came back down, Sammy was settled. What made Marin laugh so hard was that no matter what I did, Sammy refused to make eye contact with me, as seen above. So much for the cat not having thoughts.

I love cats. They are endlessly awesome.

Options

Knowing that cats like to curl up in places they don't fit, we gave Sammy some sleeping options beside Marin's lunchbox to see if she would prefer them instead. I really don't think it helps Marin socially to open her lunch at school and have a puff of hair burst out of her bag. Sammy considered each of them, (We think. We don't actually have evidence that Sam has much brain activity) but never actually set a paw in them. In the end, we wasted our time. The lunchbox is insulated, after all. Marin officially gave the cat this lunchbox and we are going to cease setting the others out at night.

Frightening. I don't know what's more alarming - the house and its creepy things or that we did this purposefully.

A Cat Where It Doesn't Belong - Again.

And what could be more frightening than finding a kitty in a lunchbox not just once...but three times? Actually, there is something. It involves the dog, but Marin told me I am never allowed to talk about it to anyone ever. Marin didn't need yet one more reason to dislike Belle, and I usually defend my sweet hearted golden retreiver, but I have to say I'm on Marin's side on this one. Even I had a hard time looking at Belle for a day or two.

The Most Annoying Facebook Posts

I'm not really this grumpy, I promise. But being nice has it's limitations. Over the last few days I've been noticing a few repetitive posts that always make me pause and think "now, why did you just post that?" Maybe it's just a problem I have with my Facebook friends, which then points the problem right back at me, but it annoys me nonetheless.

Annoying Post #1:

"I'm so bored." And after reading that post, now so am I. Thanks for spreading the boredom around. What we are really reading when you say you are so bored is that you are a very boring person who is now expecting something from your Facebook friends.

Annoying Post #2:

"I'm so busy. My life is so crazy." Here's a suggestion: get off Facebook and that will free up ten minutes of your busy life. If you're so desperately busy, what the heck are you doing on Facebook, anyway? Truly busy people don't have time to Facebook. What we are really reading when you say you're so busy is that you are feeling very, very important and want us all to know about it.

Annoying Post #3:

Go Raiders! or Go Broncos! or Go Colts! I don't care who the team is. Now, I love sports, especially basketball. And I don't mind a celebratory "we won!" comment. But I definitely don't want a play by play analysis of a football game I just watched. I can go to ESPN for that; I don't want it on Facebook.

Annoying Post #4:

Posts that only a few people will understand the meaning of or posts that require explanation. I get baiting your friends playfully to ask more questions - that can be fun, but posting without intention of explaining? No.

Annoying Post #5:

Vomiting on Facebook. This annoys everyone and makes everyone feel sick, too.

Annoying Post #6:

"Joe Jones is at the movie Moneyball!" I have a hard time visualizing why this is even slightly appealing to either the person adding this to his status or to anyone reading the status. So Joe got his popcorn, his drink, got seated and while the previews were playing, took the time to update that he was at the movie? The only way it's plausible is if Joe got to the movie 25 minutes too early, but if that's the case, play Angry Birds and save us the snooze fest.

Next week, I'll list my all time favorite Facebook posts.

This will go on "The List of Things That I Will Always Like".

My family tells me I'm Claire. But here, it's a little more like Gloria learning to ride a bike. Minus a few assets.

Here Is A List of Things That I Will Never Like: VOLUME I

Many years ago, I was reading one of my Calvin and Hobbes collection books. Calvin made a list titled “Here is a list of things that I will never like.” The idea stuck with me, as great ideas tend to. (Really, in terms of “great”, Calvin and Hobbes falls just slightly below Shakespeare, Lost, Ryan Adams, David Sedaris and Van Gogh.)

I was reminded of how important it is to have a list like this when Jon asked me today: “Do you have any stamps?” To which I replied “No.” He said “No? You don’t?” Again, I said (and I really hate repetition) “No.” Jon asked “Well, what happened to them? You had some a while ago.” I replied “The usual thing happened to them. I put them on envelopes and sent them out.” “All of them?” And I replied “Again, that is what I implied in answering NO when you asked if I had any stamps.” He appeared dumbfounded and then asked “Why are you laughing?”

Because stupid questions always make me laugh? It was a real problem of mine when I was teaching 9th grade.

Here is a list of things that I will never like: (not in order, because... who has the time to do that?)

1. Stupid questions.
2. Whistling. Does anyone like other people’s whistling?
3. When Marin says “I know a noise that everyone hates!” And then she makes the noise.
4. Watching a horse/dog/cat/tiger/bear/dolphin die in a movie.
5. Hearing someone tell about the time their horse/dog/cat/tiger/bear/dolphin died.
6. Melon fake-flavored anything. (candy, gum, shampoo)
7. Words that end in rrhea (diarrhea, gonorrhea, seborrhea…)
8. Drying off with a cold, wet towel. Or someone using my nice, clean towel as their own.
9. Cat litter. The cat box in general. I do not have good feelings about this box.
10. Goat cheese. It tastes like goats smell - pungent, sour, ripe.
11. Retail workers who answer the phone while they are “helping” me.
12. When women let their toes or heels hang over the edge of their shoes, namely because their shoes are a size too small.
13. Going into a bathroom stall after someone three times my age comes out.
14. Sweet potatoes with marshmallows.
15. I don’t have superpowers.
16. Any TV show like Toddlers and Tiaras, Dance Moms... I would rather eat sweet potatoes with marshmallows than watch those shows.
17. Wal-Mart. Unless I’m looking at the site www.peopleofwalmart.com, and then I'm deeply thankful for Wal-Mart.
18. Cat hair on my pillow.
19. When my cat sneezes on me in the middle of the night.
20. The smell of unwashed hair. (I’m talking to you, Mr. Stringyhair from the card isle)
21. Making small talk with weird people.
22. Crazy grammatical errors like “I could of done that.” or “Don’t take that personal.”
23. Someone talking to me while I’m on the phone with someone else.
24. Loud breathers. Nose breathers, too.
25. Trying to sleep in a hot room.
26. A great book coming to an end.
27. Sticking a hook through a minnow.
28. Taking Marin to a public restroom.
29. When the dryer beeps at me to indicate it’s finished but the clothes are, in fact, not dry.
30. The incessant itch of Mosquito bites.
31. Loud popcorn eaters in a movie. (crunch, cruch, crunch, dig, dig, dig, crunch...) On that note, people who take too long to open their Twizzlers, too. Cellophane and auditory entertainment do not mix well.
32. Small creatures (namely my child, my dog, my cat) running in front of me while I’m trying to get somewhere quickly.
33. James Taylor. Actually, I don't think of him enough to put him on this list. But I heard his grating voice yesterday, and I'm still getting over it.
34. Applebees.
35. Sweetened iced tea. (In the south, it's called Sweet N' Nasty. Say it quickly a few times and you'll see why...)
36. That I don’t live beside an ocean.
37. The way gum feels after it's been in my mouth for longer than three minutes.
38. Peeps.

Shoe Shopping

Fall is here once again, and the cooler weather means that it’s time to do some fall shopping. I need new jeans, a few new shirts, and definitely some shoes. While I adore shoes, I find it kind of a frustrating shopping experience because there are so many types of shoes that I love and were I a gazillionaire, I would find it easy to drop insane amounts of money on shoes. (either that or I would just wear flip-flops every day... I could go either way) But I am not filthy rich, so I am selective and careful about what shoes I buy. Before shopping, I always take inventory of what is still wearable from my closet and assess what needs I have for the season. Currently, I’ve got a sturdy pair of Dansko’s, quite a few ballet and/or flat type shoes, boots galore, and plenty of athletic shoes, but other than the Dansko pair, nothing much in between fancy and casual, at least in the color black. (How did I get so many pairs of silver shoes?) With that in mind, I began shopping. Almost all of the shoes I love are shoes I don’t need even a little bit - heels, wedges, shiny heels, shiny wedges, and light boots. I don’t wear heels anymore after the unfortunate sprain incident from a year and a half ago, so with heels I can look but not touch.

That refined my search to practical. As much as I hate that word, that was the type of shoe that made the most sense. If I bought the pairs that I really wanted, where would I wear them? I am a stay-at-home mom and a part time editor/writer; I do 100% of my work from home. I can’t see myself sitting at my computer all day only to leap up and get Marin from school in the perky wedges that I adore, then running home to help with her homework and cook dinner. So I’m left with practical. Is it weird that I want an office job just to be able to buy less practical shoes? Who am I kidding. I sprained my ankle in a pair of wedges in my own home. I'm stuck with practical.

At the shoe store, I talked with the salesman and told him what I wanted, now that I had my head firmly wrapped around practical. He listened and brought me a bunch of boxes. Most of what he brought me was either approaching the $200 mark or well above it, and I needled him a bit for that. (don’t let my compete lack of jewelry and $9 flip-flops fool you, buddy. I really won’t pay that for shoes.) Then he revealed this much less expensive pair, pictured above.

I did not get excited when I saw them, (except for the more gentle price tag) but I wasn’t repulsed either. But then I put them on and oh holy comfort, they were like walking on a cloud. There was no pinching or squishing or weighted feeling, just soft billowy shoes. I bought them.

When Jon got home that evening, I showed him the clothes I bought (not for his approval necessarily, I just like to play with my new things). There was some eyebrow raising, but not too much; he liked my purchases for the most part, though I do think he always sees my clothing as too practical and relishes the idea of a modestly slutty housewife, a Betty Crocker Pamela type. But gliding on approval, I pulled out my shoes. He stared at them for a while, and - a true phenomenon in the opinion department - said nothing. “You don’t like them.” I said. He laughed. “No. They are so ugly. Horrible. Awful. They are shiny and strange. I hate them.” Surprised, I talked about the comfort, showed him a few of the shoes I currently own, and explained my reasoning. He stopped me and said “Seriously? You should probably be asking one of your friends about this. I don’t claim expertise on women’s shoes.” Good advice. (And, as I would soon discover, a greater truth had never been spoken) I took a picture of my shoes and emailed them to Corene and Lisa. Corene said "Not only are they cute, they look comfortable!" Lisa said "UGLY. So ugly that my reply was forced to be bolded and larger font."

A true dilemma! Two friends whose judgement and taste I totally trust! What to do! When I finished laughing after reading Lisa's reply, a brilliant solution came to me: the next morning, I would drop Marin off at school and make Jon go shopping with me. He didn't have anything to do anyway, is by far the worst bored person I’ve ever known, was at a stand still with the Yeti, so he agreed to go shopping with me. We went to Nordstrom and he starting looking around at the ladies shoes. First he picked up EXHIBIT A. (See below. blogspot won't let me incorporate the pictures into the text. Very annoying.)

I giggled a little and explained that while yes, I do want casual, I needed it to be a little more fancy and feminine. So he brought this to my attention, (see exhibit B.) which just said “little old lady” to me.

"Then this one." He sounded firm. “Put that down.” I whispered. (exhibit C)

He was getting irritated but he kept on. “This?” (see exhibit D)

I gagged. “Jon, old ladies those shoes. Not only do they not have even a slight youthful air, they make toes look like overcooked sausages that would burst if you touched them”. Gross, just gross. Why, why, why did I bring him shopping with me? He put the fancy farm shoes down while I only said one or two more rude things and then reminded him that we were shopping for colder weather. He was back on the hunt.

After more shoes like the examples below, I got it. (see all remaining exhibits) He likes his girls butch. In fact, based on the shoes he presented to me, I think he was harboring a fantasy about me being a butch little old lady. A lesbian Betty Crocker Pamela in butch shoes! I said this to him, and we simultaneously called off the shopping spree, agreed that the original shoes were keepers, and decided to get lunch. He just asked that I not wear my new shiny shoes on a date with him.

I think that’s fair.

EXHIBITS

Yes, I know the pictures are off and not well labeled. (Blogspot, you annoy me sometimes.)

exhibit A

exhibit B

Exhibit C

Exhibit D

The rest

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"But these stories don't mean anything when you've got no one to tell them to..."

Joy. Loss. Grief. Laughter. Worry. Love. All bound together with hope. What a wild ride life is.