Can I rant?

November 6, 2009 at 10:46 am (Scheir Madness)
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Big Boom

Minor kaboom this morning in daughter Hayley’s room—

It seems that her weekly, hours’ long, quasi-efforts at room cleaning have been helped along by a healthy dose of stuff-shoving, as evidenced by a pile of under-bed junk the likes of which has not been seen since I myself hoarded up my own pile of under-bed junk as a kid back in the 1970’s.

Admitting it is the first step, right?

All the clothes, books, dolls, etc, etc, etc from under her bed is now spread out all over the carpet as if TV slob Oscar Madison had been evicted from his apartment. Hayley is on some serious probation, considering that she’d been hearing Mom and Dad’s “no shoving” clause for months and chose to ignore it. Now she has to pay the piper, in the form of skipping one of two super-fun evening activities tonight and getting the job done. Too bad, as her dad and I were planning on dining out alone during one of them (sorry, Craig). Looks like we all lose on this one. Rats.

It’s not the mess so much as the lying that’s getting me, though as I say that, I think it sounds like, “It’s not the heat, as much as the humidity,” or “It’s not so much dropping out of the sky; it’s more the sudden stop when you hit the ground.” It’s both, really, but somehow it’s comforting to prioritize.

I have to say that this issue comes not long after another disturbing encounter. The other day, Jake owed Hayley some money, but didn’t have enough to cover the entire debt. I paid the remainder and said Jake could owe me. Then Hayley said, “It’s better to owe Mom, because she forgets about it.”

My response: “?!?!!?”

You better believe I followed up on that debt, taking a Reese’s peanut butter cup from Jake’s Halloween candy stash in lieu of the 50 cents I was owed. I had his permission, of course, because, hey, someone’s got to be honest around here.

10 Comments

Small comfort

November 4, 2009 at 11:49 am (Day-to-day)
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insomnia-eye2

I finally thought I had a handle on this sleep thing.

I was wrong.

After resculpting my life so that I limit caffeine, exercise often, worry less, and try to go to bed at about the same time every night, I’m now finding my sleep, daily comfort, and general sanity interrupted by just about everything—the children’s go to bed music, the dishwasher, the dog, the shifting sheets, the too flat pillows, the nighttime chill of autumn, the overheated effect of wearing socks to bed, and the ill-timed and unceasing surprise beeping of electronic gadgetry midway through the night.

All that, plus my hairdresser didn’t give me a short enough trim last time I saw her. Now everything in my life just seems all wrong.

Concurring with my sleep angst, my husband (he’s usually the one who escorts the dog outside at 3 a.m.) suggested a bed makeover. “Yes!” I thought. “As for so many ills of life, the solution is shopping! New sheets! New comforter! New bed skirt! Hooray!”

What I didn’t realize is how many comforter sets are dark, geometric, and look like they’re from Tony Danza’s “Who’s the Boss?” bedroom. Holy 1980’s—yuck.

In the end, I settled on an all white, puffy, fluffy, comforter set (even with pillow shams—I have arrived!). It was a run-off between that and a tasteful green ensemble which, once on my bed, looked like the kind of thing a toad would slip into after a particularly warty evening; the princess and the pea green bed—ewww. Still, while everything is now on and looks great, I have another note for next time: when stripping (or in my case, gutting) one’s bed down to that very icky, shiny, lingerie blue mattress surface, especially when alone, be sure to allow half an hour of work time and to utilize sweat-wicking sportswear.

Perhaps all that work will be enough to make me sleep through the night tonight. We’ll see.

 

9 Comments

Fall Time

October 30, 2009 at 2:11 pm (Scheir Madness Extras)
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188

Fall Time
An acrostic in honor of Autumn
by Hayley (age 9)

Fabulous apple cider
Awesome time for roasting marshmallows
Little bit of light
Late day fires
Terrific times with family
Is a cool time for cookouts
Must wear at least a sweater
Entering Fall is really fun!

3 Comments

No drama mama

October 29, 2009 at 8:48 am (Thankful Thursday)
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scripts

Children’s Theatre auditions for The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe were Tuesday night, and they brought out in me every ounce of self-conscious insecurity that I’ve been toting around since my own childhood. My children, Jake and Hayley, decided to both stick their necks out for this one, a play with around 25 parts for which 84 (!) children tried out. Those 84 included the amazing Sydney, currently playing Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, Eric (playing Oz himself), and Kyle, who is both the mayor of Munchkinland and the president of the William Henry Middle School Student Council. Stiff competition, yes?

But that’s just the thing. I don’t want to look at the other children as competition for mine. I hated myself for thinking, “They wouldn’t choose a kid who’s swaying like that,” or “I can’t understand a word she’s saying,” or “Is that kid serious with that British accent—show off.” Petty, petty nonsense. I can see now how stage mothers are born. That seed of comparison creeps in, and before you know it, you’re taking your kid out of 4th grade and homeschooling her in the car on the way to acting lessons in NYC just so she can come out on top.

Despite telling myself to cool it on audition night, I found the day after a little challenging. Will he get a part, I wondered. Will she? What if he does and she doesn’t? What if she does and he doesn’t? What if neither of them do and both are so devastated and hateful toward the theatre that they swear it off forever, squandering what could be the two greatest stage talents of the 21st century? What then?

When I came to my senses, I realized this: if I am a believer in a God of the universe who listens to our prayers and orchestrates things for our good and His glory, then why am I worried about this? So I prayed, “God, please let the children receive (or not receive) whatever role is best for them…even if it means their disappointment…or some other child’s disappointment. All I want is what’s best for them.” And then I waited for the call.

So Jake (age 11) starts rehearsals tonight for his role as a member of the evil army. He was excited, and Hayley (age 9, and without a role) was excited for him. We all learned a lesson, I think. Jake learned that it’s worth taking a risk. Hayley learned that not getting a part isn’t the end of the world. And Craig and I learned that one disappointment (or even more than one) does not a loser make.

It only took us 40 years on that last one, but here we are, and we’re thankful for it.

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It’s a volunteer organization

October 27, 2009 at 2:40 pm (Reflections)
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volunteer_shirt

“These are volunteers!
Can’t make them stay.
Can’t make them go.
Can’t offer them a raise.”

From Keeping Your Volunteers presentation – Chesapeake Fire Department;
Chesapeake, VA

Yes, after a pretty healthy hiatus of 2 weeks, 3 days, and about 45 seconds, I’ve gone and volunteered again. Unfortunately, instead of the avalanche of gratitude I was hoping for, I found myself on the receiving end of some territorial posturing, abrupt order-giving, and irritated “that’s not our job” kind of responses.

The way I look at it, volunteers should be respectful of an organization’s ideals, interested in its success, and invested in its future. I am that way, almost to a fault; I am loyal, cheerful, not very demanding, and, most importantly, I show up. I may not do my jobs perfectly, but I try hard. I won’t do just any job (I do draw the line at folding papers—when I was a kid, my Mom typed the bulletin every week for church and guess who was her little helper?), but I’ll bake cookies, write copy, sell tickets, take minutes, crank out thank you cards, and speak to crowds of people without a moment’s hesitation.

For me, though, volunteer gigs can only work when an organization who needs volunteer help is eager to utilize my talents (not just eager for another warm body), open to my helpfully offered ideas (not just open to the guy that says exactly what I just said but moved his hand like this when he said it), and welcoming to happy, hard-working newcomers like me (not so busy kibitzing with all of the old-timers that they wouldn’t even notice if I peeled off all my clothes right then and there and started singing, “I’m Gonna Wash that Man Right out of my Hair” on top of the conference table—just think, in an organization like that, you too can play the role of the Invisible Man. Sign up today!).

I guess I’m still getting my feet wet with this new group, so I’ll give the kinks a little more time to work themselves out. A couple of quirky people does not an entire organization make, right? Too bad that as I thaw out from the chilling effect of the not-so friendly attitudes to date, I’m not so willing to get much done.

Guess who’s missing out?

2 Comments

Thankful for…

October 22, 2009 at 9:10 am (Thankful Thursday)
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jumbo muffins
…my jumbo muffin pan

…the smell of fresh-baked banana nut muffins when I walk in the door

…boxed brownie mix

…my electric blanket

…author Ian McEwan, and every heartbreaking page of his book Atonement

…websites that let you turn your pictures into products (shutterfly.com, zazzle.com, cafepress.com, moo.com)

…The Adventures of Flat Alonzo (our “Flat Stanley” friend from Ms. Von Steuben’s class at Ebert-Palmer Elementary School)

…mall walking with Hayley in the morning, before state testing

…straight A’s on Jake’s room cleaning report card

…Craisins

12 Comments

What’s on the menu? Nothing with a face

October 21, 2009 at 10:41 am (Day-to-day)
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veggie dogMany of you already know that my 11-year-old son, Jake, went vegetarian about 10 months ago. His decision was precipitated by the compassion he felt for a beheaded pig we happened upon during an outdoor cooking demonstration on our Colonial Williamsburg vacation last Christmas. Looking back, I can't blame him.

Feeding a vegetarian kid isn’t difficult, in theory. Feeding a vegetarian kid who doesn’t love vegetables, that’s the hard part. Making sure that every meal isn’t some jumbled reworking of black bean vegetarian enchiladas, that’s next to impossible.

That aside, the real challenge for me is working in the meat that the rest of us enjoy without relegating Jake to PB&J five times a week. What every parent really wants is to make one dinner, not one dinner for every member of the family, right? And Jake doesn’t mind if the rest of us eat meat—he just doesn’t want to gag any down himself.

Then Monday, a breakthrough. My sleepless night (see my 10/19 post) gave me some menu planning time, during which I realized that I can use vegetarian main dishes as side dishes on the nights that I’m making a roast or serving burgers. This strategy may have been obvious to everybody else out there, but I guess I’m a little slow on the uptake. And, considering that Monday was the first time I’d done any intentional grocery shopping since…well, I can’t remember when…it was a great opportunity to turn over a new leaf.

Here’s what I’m planning on cooking this week (recipes can be found in the cookbook, Vegetarian Classics by Jeanne Lemlin):

Stuffed Baked Potatoes with Spinach and Feta Cheese (Sounds good with pork roast!)

Baked Orzo, Broccoli, & cheese (Chicken breast as well!)

Bow Ties with Green Beans in Tomato-wine sauce (1/4 tsp red pepper flakes goes in this sauce—tangy!)

Caramelized onion, walnut, and goat cheese pizza w/beer crust (Only for grown-ups tastes? We’ll see. )

Havarti & Sprout sandwiches (Had this on Monday night with pickles and cheetos—HOME RUN!!!!)

Classic Vegetarian Split Pea Soup & Shepherd’s Pie too (Classics—how can we go wrong?)

I’m two days in to my new cooking plan, and so far, so good. I think today will be baked orzo day, with chicken for the carniv’s among us. It’s just crazy enough to work, so keep your fingers crossed!

17 Comments

Less sleep, more often

October 19, 2009 at 1:02 pm (Day-to-day)
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insomnia

You wouldn’t know it by looking at me, but I’ve been up awake since 3:45 this morning. Combine an overstimulating weekend with no exercise, a too early bedtime, and a kid dumping the dog on my bed in the middle of the night, and it’s like a no-sleep potion designed especially with me in mind.

It’s OK, though. I’m usually good on the first day after an iffy night. I’m giddy, I’m kidding around, I’m making my shots at tennis, I’m shopping at three stores in one morning and not even breaking a sweat. This sleep-deprived, get-it-done version of me is the one that makes my husband say, “Mom should get less sleep more often!” Two days from now, though? I’m wondering whether make-up and clever tailoring will conceal my freshly sprouted horns and tail.

My own sleep situation is making me think better of my children, whose less than ideal behavior I often label as “willful disobedience” even though it’s probably caused by something more like “radical exhaustion.” Let’s add up the facts: I didn’t want to get up on Saturday morning, and 11-year-old Jake didn’t either, but he didn’t just get up—he got up and played a regulation-length soccer game in a 40 degree nor’easter at eight-freaking-thirty in the morning! Add to that a junior cotillion ice breaker on Saturday afternoon, a sit up and be charming social engagement with family friends in the evening, church on Sunday morning, and a 2-hour classical music concert on Sunday afternoon, and you tell me how we’re doing on the exhaust-o-meter.

Babies, thankfully, rub their eyes when they’re tired. They nuzzle a parent’s neck. They get cranky and cry. Older kids, I have a feeling, just keep going wherever their parents tell them to, complaining or not, until they hit a steel-reinforced brick wall that will grow poison tipped spikes if watered with enough caffeine, sugar, and sit-still time.

So today I’ll give my kids a break. Not an “I’ll let you do whatever you want no matter how you behave” kind of break. More like an “I’m going to chuckle at your otherwise irritating antics like you’re trying to be funny and get you to bed at a reasonable hour so you can sleep it the heck off” kind of break.

Come to think of it, maybe I should take a dose of that medicine myself.

4 Comments

Still scary after all these years

October 16, 2009 at 8:17 am (Scheir Madness)
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oz

I was watching my daughter’s rehearsal of The Wizard of Oz last night at the The Children’s Theatre here in Dover, and (dork that I am) I seriously started to cry right along with Dorothy when she was trapped in the witch’s castle and wishing, oh wishing, for home. Don’t get me wrong—the teenager playing Dorothy is very good, but thinking back about it now, I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t her acting that got me going.

The truth is, I am not a fan of The Wizard of Oz film. When I was a kid, I thought it was the creepiest thing I had ever seen (the creepiest, that is, next to all those previews of 1970’s Stephen King horror adaptations; prom queen Carrie, drenched in blood—yeah, that’s what your scaredy cat seven-year-old wants to see right before she goes to bed). I’d try to watch the pre-VCR/DVD/DVR annual showing of Wizard of Oz on TV, but try as I might, I’d barely get through that scene in the forest where the witch is on the rooftop cackling her head off; I don’t know about the scarecrow, but she sure scared the stuffing out of me. Once a year I’d give it a try, I’d get to that scene, and I wouldn’t sleep for a week.

I’m not going to tell my daughter that, though. She’s a flying monkey in this children’s production, which would give me the creeps if she weren’t so darn cute. Thankfully, my son pointed out to me that the flying monkeys aren’t really bad; they just work for whoever will pay them, and if the wicked witch is their gravy train then so be it.

I know I’m in the minority here on the Oz front, but in my book, tornadoes, kidnapping, death threats, melting flesh, and mercenary monkeys do not an endearing family classic make. So if you happen to come to The Children’s Theatre production (10/24, 10/25 and 11/1), just do me this one favor: pay no attention to the Mom whimpering behind the curtain.

9 Comments

The rules don’t apply to me

October 13, 2009 at 2:23 pm (Scheir Madness)
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break the rules

I’ve said it for a long time. It’s kind of my personal slogan. It’s what makes me an anti-institutional rebel despite all appearances to the contrary. For those of you who may not have already guessed, I’m Cheryl, and the rules don’t apply to me.

Now before you get all finger wagging at me, let me just say, yes, there are many, MANY rules that apply to me. I meet my writing deadlines. I pay my taxes (and I don’t shade the truth, however painful). When I fly, I put all my liquids and gels into a quart size plastic bag (though I still have it out for that airport security guy who made me toss my apricot-scented antibacterial hand lotion because he just didn’t get it). I certainly obey traffic laws (except for that one way sign behind the TJ Maxx on Route 13 because it simply makes no sense). And call me a dork if you will, but I do pay for online music.

At this point in my life, though, I’m trying not to get wrapped around the axle about certain man-made (i.e., not God-given) rules, possibly to the dismay of many people around me. I try to get books back to the library on time, but I don’t sweat a fine here or there. I fill out permission slips to the best of my ability, but I may bypass the channels here or there because of this or that. I park on the wrong side of the street on street cleaning days (and I haven’t gotten a ticket yet).

Pretty much I look at lots of policies as flexible…unless they’re posted in writing…next to a metal detector.

Just the other day, in fact, I wouldn’t take “no” for an answer from a pizza parlor girl who said that I couldn’t order my pizza by phone, show up to meet it, and then eat in the restaurant instead of taking it home. This from a girl who, when I asked her how big the medium pizza was, told me it was 6 slices. I wonder, if I was really hungry, could she make it 12?

I remember learning years ago about philosopher Immanuel Kant’s approach to ethical decision-making. In short and in my words, he said that if you’re trying to determine which rules or moral principles to live by, just ask yourself, if everyone followed this principle all the time, then would that be OK with me? Sadly, I fear that the rule of “the rules don’t apply to me,” pitifully fails this test.

Just think, if everyone ordered their pizzas to eat in, then surely the heads of pizza parlor hostesses around the world would simply explode. And you and I both know, we can’t have that.

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