Schoolyard Ditty

Overheard from some 3rd-graders:

Girls go to college

To get more knowledge;

Boys go to Jupiter

To get more stupider.

Seen Before but What the Hell

Just a reminder that I own this book.

In case you were planning on going camping or something.

Board Bitch

Probably most of you who know me would say that I'm a nice person. Demented and strange, but nice.

But, if you asked any of my fellow Board members to describe me? Hand's down, I'd bet they say, "she is such a bitch."

Background? I serve on the Board of Her Majesty's daycare. We meet once a month. The Board is made up evenly of daycare parents and members of the organization that sponsors the daycare.

And it appears that none of them -- none of them! -- understand the point of a Board meeting. Which is, in my humble opinion, to get through the reports in a timely fashion, discuss relevant issues and make decisions, and get out of there in an hour.

No. Our meetings run an hour and a half, two hours, possibly more, although I wouldn't know because I will get up and leave after we've hit the 2 hour mark. And why so long? Not because we're discussing anything of substance but because people feel the need to return to issues decided upon previously, to suddenly meander down memory lane about how things were done 20 years ago, to ask about completely unrelated issues while a motion is under consideration, and to generally waste time.

And this is where I go from nice to bitch. I have stopped gritting my teeth and jiggling my foot when this happens. Instead, I interrupt, I move the issue, and do my best to bring the discussion back to the issue at hand.

Here's an example from tonight's meeting:

A Board member who was not present at the last meeting sees something in the minutes about a filtration system we have agreed to purchase. She wants to know, what about flouridation, are the kids going to get their flouride? Someone else says, gosh the water in Austin is so good, we hardly need a filtration system. And we are about to be led down the path of discussing the tap water in Austin for 15 minutes.

I cannot stand it. I ask, with not a little rudeness, do we want to bring this issue back to the table, because we approved the purchase last month.

Silence.

She huffs, I just want what's best for the children.

I stare back at her with flat, dead eyes.

We move on. I repeat this throughout the meeting. I badger, I interrupt, I make a point of looking at the clock. About halfway through every meeting, I think, I should just quit the Board, because I'm obviously on a very different page than everyone else.

Ok, ok, I'm venting here. Forgive me, my friends, for venting about this stupid stuff. I am anal, I like sticking to the script, I like order, and, most of all, I like a Board meeting that lasts an hour. Especially on a school night. Especially at dinner time. I don't think it's unreasonable to ask for that.

Hmmph.

Latest from Wonder Boy

Wonder Boy drew this for the dentist when he learned he had a check-up next week.

Because he gets excited about going to the dentist.

Because he hasn't had an obscenely large number of cavities, or a root canal, or a bridge.

Lucky devil.

Well, if he inherited my teeth, this won't be his last visit to the dentist.

Nevertheless, behold: Supertooth, and his arch-nemesis, Mr. McCavity.

My Day

It's quarter to ten and I just got home about 20 minutes ago. This was a long, long day. I should be in bed but I love you all so much that I just have to give you a rundown on the events of the day.

5:44 a.m. Sweet, wonderful sleep.
5:45 a.m. Her Majesty comes into our bedroom. "Mama, I have poop!"
6:00 a.m.-7:00 a.m. Shower, dress, make W.B.'s lunch, make breakfast for two, clean syrup off table and floor, clean up spilled milk, feed cats, oversee dressing and tooth-brushing, wash dishes, pack car, and exit home in South Austin.
7:35 a.m. Drop W.B. off at school. Attempt to settle his overdue cafeteria bill with a check. Not allowed. Pay with loose change in my wallet.
7:40 a.m. Breakfast at bagel place. Honey wheat bagel with peanut butter, yum.
7:55 a.m. Arrive at work downtown. Open calendar on computer and discover dentist appointment scheduled at 8:10.
8:15 a.m. Arrive at dentists' in South Austin. Get permanent bridge put on, am scolded for not flossing, and have teeth cleaned. Apologize profusely for masticated bagel and sticky peanut butter remaining in mouth.
9:30 a.m. Return to office downtown. Check email, make a few phone calls, move stacks of paper from one side of desk to the other in an attempt to "organize."
10:00 a.m. Reimbursement checks distributed. Head to the bank to deposit so that American Express bill can be paid.
11:00 a.m. Leave office to drive to far north Austin for Board meeting. Gobble down lunch (salad) with Board members, take minutes, and schmooze.
1:30 p.m. Shit shit shit! Board meeting runs late. Return to office downtown to drop off coworker and head to Westlake for appointment with therapist.
2:15 p.m. Reveal "epiphany" to therapist. Am soundly congratulated. Don't cry this time.
3:30 p.m. Return to office downtown. Useless to start any work because I have a meeting in a half-hour.
4:00 p.m. Meeting.
5:00 p.m. Call daycare to confirm that children were picked up by family member.
5:30 p.m. Head to north Austin for a committee meeting. Eat dinner at Zuzu's. Another salad--greens twice in one day! A record!
6:30-9:00 p.m. Committee meeting. Discover that I am required to research and report on a possible agency to be funded a week from today, including a site visit and interviews with previous volunteers.
9:15 p.m. Stop for a six-pack.
9:30 p.m. Arrive home. Discover that our much-loved, recently-moved pediatrician has called and given Pod a list of doctors in another city who might be able to solve the whole Wonder Boy/five times in the hospital in 2 years mystery. Sorry I missed him.
9:50 p.m. Blog.

Still to do: clean litter boxes, feed cats, clean out W.B.'s lunchbox, and wash dishes.

Quality time spent with kids? Zip. Quality time spent with husband? Zip. Right now, I just need sleep.

I met a woman named Beloved today. When I told her she had a beautiful name, she said, "dawlin', we are ALL beloved."

Beloved and I crossed paths today at an enrollment session for the agency I work for. She was meeting with one of our senior staff people, when she asked her, "Are you from New Orleans? Because I recognize your face." It turns out that Beloved came to Austin via Katrina and was one of the evacuees who took shelter in the Austin Convention Center. And my colleague was one of the first responders at the Convention Center, spending several days there listening to people's stories and comforting them. My colleague was stunned that she had been remembered, and it turned out that Beloved and her husband had decided to rebuild their lives in Austin after being plunked down here completely by chance. Her husband was working, and she has been taking classes.

As I helped Beloved check out, I stuck out my hand and said, "as one fellow New Orleanian to another, I'm glad you've decided to make your home here."

And then, as with every other conversation I've had with an evacuee, the conversation turned to food. What have you found, we ask each other. Where are the best red beans? Etouffee? Gumbo?

For the record, everyone speaks highly of Miss B's, which I haven't yet tried. And Gene's, which I have. I'm curious about this VII J's restaurant that was reviewed in the paper this weekend. My new friend Beloved told me that she was really impressed with the gumbo at Joe's Crab Shack, which came as a surprise.

But she saved the best for last.

"Have you tried Pappadeaux?" she asked. Not in a long time, I replied. "Dawlin'?" she told me. "Pappadeaux is a big Pappa-DON'T."

So there.

Epiphany

I have mentioned before I am a member of a women's volunteer organization that is commonly perceived to involve tea parties and black-tie affairs, but which in reality consists of women who want to improve the community and socialize a bit while they do it. And some of us are pretty damn rich and some of us live in genteel poverty. (I would be in the latter category, in case you wondered).

Anyhoo, after ten years of anonymity in the organization, I've been invited to sit on a committee that is related to what I do for a living. We had an orientation meeting this morning, and that's where I had my EPIPHANY.

I've always been self-conscious about my membership in this organization--I have always felt out of place at meetings and have not really made any significant friendships over the years. (I have one member I can call a friend, but we actually met outside the League). I have been content to do my volunteer work each year -- at Christopher House, at the Ronald McDonald House, in El Salvador, at Children's Hospital, at the Children's Advocacy Center, etc. -- and to remain in the background.

With that in mind, this morning all the new committee members met and, because we are all going to get to know each other very well this year, there was the obligatory pre-meeting game involving crayons and butcher paper and a chance to put down who you are on paper in two minutes or less.

Because my life may not be an open book, but it is an open webpage, I went for broke. Besides identifying myself as a wife and mother, I called myself a "tattooed debutante," a "rebel," a lover of books, music, and progressive causes, a proud Southerner and Austinite, and someone with amazing friends. (You are. Really.)

And their response? Silence. Crickets.

And suddenly I felt very exposed, shamed, and unworthy.

For about five minutes. Because then I had my EPIPHANY.

The little voice inside my head that has told me for nearly 40 years that I'm worthless and my opinions aren't worth much and that I'm a huge fuckup said instead, "This is who I am. And who I am is great. And I'm willing to shout it from the rooftops. It doesn't matter if they like me or hate me. I'm here because I want to be, and I am going to take something out of the experience, and I am going to contribute something to the experience. And they are damn lucky to have me."

And I have been on cloud nine all day. Because not only did I stop feeling bad that the "story of me" didn't go over, but I realized that deep down I really know who I am--finally--and that I like the person I have become.

Y'all, this is HUGE for me.

Now why couldn't I have figured this out 20 years ago? Age and therapy paid off, I guess.

Questions for The Dentones

Will Pod wear his Charles Nelson Reilly Tshirt? Will Stacy appear in his Elvis suit? Will Alan be mistaken, again, for Jesus? Will Clark reveal his secret identity? What about those band widows? Will they dance? Will Stella dance? Will a scary person tell Bookhart another racist joke when she ducks outside for a quick smoke? Will there be any door prizes? Will they ever play "Safety Dance"?

These questions and many more will be answered on Friday, September 15, at the Carousel Lounge, where the Dentones are booked from 7:00-9:00 p.m. Book a babysitter, drink some beer, hear some good music, and relax. The week is over!

Sept. 9-10

We had a great weekend.

On Saturday morning we loaded up the car and drove down to New Braunfels to spend the day at Schlitterbahn. (Thanks, Malcontent Mama, for sending your trade my way.)
I am embarrassed to admit that I have lived in central Texas for 21 years (this month!) and have never visited “the hottest, coolest time in Texas.” I’m not that much of a theme park person, frankly, am slightly agoraphobic, and loathe standing in line. But Schlitterbahn was wonderful, y’all. It was an overcast day, plus I think there was something going on in Austin that day, so it was relatively cool and practically empty. Pod and I decided that we would have to come back on our own, because neither child showed much interest in the actual rides, just the swimming pools and activity areas. No matter. It was one of those family outings that was slightly magical—everyone was happy the whole time, Her Majesty didn’t shit her pants in the pool (a first), and we just flat out enjoyed each other’s company. It made me reflect that there was no other place I’d rather be than with my family that moment.

And how cool is this? I am wearing on my wrist right now a slim orange plastic bracelet. We took a break from swimming to play some Skee-Ball at the park arcade (and I loves me some Skee-Ball), and W.B. took it upon himself to pay for the tokens with his own allowance, and then purchase bracelets for everyone in the family with the tickets we won. Isn't that sweet? And so mature? I’m not sure I’ll ever take it off.

But may I just make one, rather unsurprising, observation? There are some VERY FAT people in this country. I freely admit that I am heavier than I would like to be, so in some ways this is the pot calling the kettle black, but DAYUM! I didn’t know they made bathing suits in such large sizes. At times I felt positively svelte in comparison. I saw a 3-year-old boy who was so fat that he was probably physically unable to run. How can a preschooler get that fat? How can you let a child get that fat? My children are no strangers to Happy Meals, mind you, but what do you have to feed an active toddler to turn him into a butterball like that? I'm always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt--maybe this child had some kind of disorder--but there were enough fat kids on display that I was left feeling that this "epidemic of obesity" issue the news keeps going on and on about had some validity after all.

And can I say that there are people out there sporting some ugly-ass tattoos?

Then today was Wonder Boy’s 9th birthday. For the first time he planned his own party. He chose the guest list, he thought up (and built, with Pod’s help) the activities, he developed the schedule, and he stuffed the party bags himself. It was so cool. We had just a few boys over and W.B. had a fair. A small fair, actually, with just 3 games, but he raided his toy chest and made sure that everyone got prizes. I wasn’t so sure how it would turn out, but the other boys really loved it. They kept running inside to show off the prizes they had won. Her Majesty tagged along behind them, too young to understand that she was not actually part of the gang.

What made the weekend even better was that I thought I was going to be miserable the whole time. I woke up on Friday morning with the beginnings of a sore throat and head cold—you know, the one that everyone else in Austin has right now—and the idea of getting through a weekend with the activities we had planned (Daytrip. Birthday party. Frenzied housecleaning before birthday party.) horrified me. I gulped down the homeopathic remedy that always works for me on Friday night, and told myself that I could not get sicker this weekend. So far, it’s worked. I’m sneezing like a motherfucker and my nose is running, but so far my throat remains open and I’m able to function.

But I'd like a day off before going back to work tomorrow. I haven't finished the laundry yet.

Numa numa and the angry german kid

You've seen all three (four?) of these probably, but together? With subtitles? Keep watching.

It's Time

For Wonder Boy to have "the talk."

And so, because he doesn't always believe everything I tell him but believes every thing he reads, I found this book for him. And can I recommend it to all of you progressive crunchy-granola parents out there? Not only does it cover the basics in a very matter of fact manner, but it includes sections on homosexuality, adoption, birth control, sexual abuse, and HIV. All extremely age appropriate, respectful, and upbeat. It's recommended by Penelope Leach, Brazelton, and even the Unitarians!

We bought it for him this weekend, and I found him reading it on the couch this evening. He read the whole thing on his own in about half an hour. At one point he said to himself, "this is GREAT science!" We'll follow up with discussion, but, honestly? I don't think he got a sense of it being dirty or salacious, just interesting science.

I had initially wanted to purchase this book, from which I learned the facts of life, but am glad we chose something else. And definitely not this one.

I Coulda Been a Texan, part deux

My family, shortly after we moved to Austin.

NEWSFLASH: I asked my mom tonight about some details of our move back to New Orleans, just to get the story straight. First off, I did indeed attend Casis for kindergarten, but had been accepted to St. Andrew's for first grade. We returned to New Orleans in the late summer of 1973 because my dad got a job as Assistant Director of the library at Tulane.