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angelena99
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Name: Angie
Gender: Female
Interests: Parenthood, Serenity, Relationships, Community
Expertise: Everything and Nothing
Occupation: Financial Analyst
Industry: Manufacturing
Message: message me
Member Since:
8/28/2006
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| We celebrated my honey's birthday this weekend! I was perhaps as domestic as I've ever been in my life in just one day.
The Wee Boys and I made some scrambled eggs, with strawberries and coffee and danish for his breakfast in bed. The Wee Pablo went outside and cut some rhododendron blooms for a cheery bouquet on the tray as well. He watched a funny movie and chilled out.
The weather was stunning for a Sunday in April, so the boys went out with bikes and scooters, while I started on the cake he'd requested.
The Wee Diego picked a meatballs and pasta dish to make for his dad's birthday dinner. So we made meatballs from scratch, squishing up the ground beef, chopped rosemary, mustard, and whatever other seasonings Jamie Oliver told us to include.
I should mention that after the outside time, the Wee Diego played in the back yard with the watering hose, so he appears a bit messy. But I assure you that we washed our hands thoroughly up to our elbows before mixing and rolling our meatballs.
The meatballs and pasta were pretty good, but truthfully not as rockin' as the Moroccan dish I made from the same cookbook last week.
After dinner - cake!
Presents included surprises as well as things he asked for (little mpg player for the gym) along with a couple of ear bud options:
His birthday is actually today, so Happy Birthday Ted!
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| It makes me feel like I’m missing something when all sorts of other people are stoked about something and I … just don’t get it. I don’t even mean things that other people love that I hate – there are some things that are just divisive like the Healthcare Bill or Lady Gaga – most people have a strong opinion and either love or hate it/her. (I actually like both of those things.) I’m talking about stuff that is Generally Accepted as AWESOME, about which I go ‘Meh.’ Alfredo sauce for example. You go out to a restaurant with friends, and someone will natter on about whether they should get it because it’s ssoooooo good, but they shouldn’t because it’s soooooo fattening. I don’t think alfredo is nasty, but neither would I stress out over whether to spend my caloric budget on it. Or the subject matter that brought me to this internal discussion – Journey. People freakin’ love Journey. Everyone I know freakin’ loves Journey. People who like rock, of course. But also people who like hip hop or R&B. People who like country. People who like folk, alternative, new age, it doesn’t matter what your favorite genre is – you probably like Journey. I remember the first time I saw a Prince show – the year was 1988 and my friend Paula and I were in Seattle (now, I realize that Prince is more like the Healthcare Bill or Sarah Palin, in that people either strongly like or strongly dislike, but we were both stoked to be there), we got back in the car, turned on the radio and I was just about to shove the Prince cassette tape back into the stereo, when Paula said, “Wait! It’s Journey!” And I remember thinking, “I can’t put Journey in my head with Prince in there! Why would you do that?” I had a boyfriend in college who really didn’t listen to popular music growing up. He was already ‘into jazz’ as a teen. Terribly hip. And HE thought Journey was great! Again, I don’t dislike Journey. It’s just meh. This occurred to me again the other day when I was driving and a Journey song came on. I started singing along and realized I could not anticipate the chorus until we came to it. And now that I’m relaying this story, I CANNOT TELL YOU WHAT SONG IT WAS. It’s just right out of my head. I knew the song when I was singing it, but I can’t remember now, nor could I have told you how the chorus went after hearing only the first verse. I just don’t get it. Please, join me in my confusion: What don’t you get? | | |
| Dad's Memorial
Those of you who know me or have at least been reading along here for the last, jeebus, four years or so, know that my father passed away nearly three years ago. For many logistical reasons, we did not decide right away where we wanted to inter his ashes, and then for the last near year-and-a-half when we wanted to inter his ashes....
We all gathered on his first birthday without him, April 2, 2008, in the Seattle area, because by that time that was the geographic region that seemed to make sense. My dad grew up in Wisconsin, but had been a Pacific Northwesterner for the last 25+ years of his life. And most of those were near Seattle. So that first birthday weekend, we chose a cemetery.
In the following months we chose what we wanted engraved for him - the Wee Pablo drew a picture of a road stretching out to the horizon, to symbolize a life's path, and the joy my father felt finding a new road to try out. His philosophy was always that if you could get home a different way than you got there, you really should. We also went the irreverent route with the quote or phrase option that one often finds on a grave marker - when we were growing up, he would always expect us to do well in school, because we were "smarter than the average bear." Even into adulthood, that phrase crept into many a congratulation. Well, if we were, he had something to do with it. So it's engraved for posterity.
It's unfortunate that you cannot tell from these pictures how truly awful the weather was. I mean, it was raining, but it was April in Seattle, so - not unexpected. But it was colder than expected and the wind was so bad there were weather warnings. So we did not linger as long as we might have liked.
We were given the option to place items in the niche with Dad's remains. I immediately knew what I wanted to put in there. A friend of mine brought back some small trinkets for my family when she went to visit her father in Russia a while back. Including these pretty rocks she picked up near her family's dacha on the Gulf of Finland. I have a great-grandfather from Hango, Finland, whose father was a merchant and sailed regularly from Hango to St. Petersburg in the early 20th century. My Dad and I had done a bunch of genealogy research here in the states and had always hoped to go to Finland, but never did. I thought it was sort of cool that I could at least put something with him that we didn't get to go see together, and something that our ancestor had sailed past a hundred years earlier.
My step-mom put her wedding ring in the niche. I am so grateful for her love for my Dad. I truly believe she kept him with us longer than he would have been, left solely to his own devices. She made sure he tracked his health issues, even when he didn't feel like it. They were a good match, and I liked seeing how deeply fond they were of each other. She read Psalm 98 (at the request of my Aunt Judy), as well as the story of Mary and Martha. (Which is really another entry for me. Don't let me forget to get back to that one.)
My brother put in a map as a tribute to my Dad's love of driving, just for the sake of driving. Of finding a new way to get home. Of finding new places one might want to go see. My nephew put in pictures of my sister and him with his Grandpa. My youngest sister put a CD of Hendrix tunes that she and Dad used to listen to (on road trips). In fact, she had even asked Dad to take her to the cemetery in Seattle were Jimi Hendrix was buried so she could do a rubbing of his gravestone.
So it's a little ironic that when you're standing at the rhododendron fountain where my Dad's niche is, you can look directly at the Jimi Hendrix memorial. (It's that domed thing peeking out from the left side of the pyramid-shaped-middle-of-the-fountain.) If the day had been any less gray, it would be easier to see...
After the internment, we drove through a coffee place of which Dad was fond on our way back to the hotel.
That evening, I had arranged for us to hang out in the hotel's conference room, have dinner together and watch Ferris Bueller Rocky-Horror-Style. You know, where you yell out the dialogue as it happens...?
I ordered a bunch of different species of penguin plush toys - my Dad was fond of penguins ever since his preacher days (because of the black-and-white outfit?) and penguins are just a Dad thing. I have never been much of a plush toy kind of girl, but I gotta say that these penguins were cute.
The kids were all extra sweet. In fact, I don't remember there being any meltdowns that night...!?
My now-middle niece (second from the right) came and sat on my lap for part of the movie and I whispered in her ear that I hardly ever got to have girls sit on my lap so I thought it was awesome. She seemed pleased that I was pleased. The Wee Pablo came through with a spot-on delivery of the line, "Pardon my french, but Cameron is so tight, if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks, you would have a diamond."
My new baby niece seemed to enjoy her first (of many, to be sure) viewing of Ferris.
Here she is again with her Uncle.
Her cousin thought it was important that a penguin also be pictured.
So. It was a lovely time with family. I actually enjoyed planning the arrangements for lodging and food, which is an improvement in my disposition these last few months. I knew I was having troubles last fall when planning events didn't hold any excitement - I generally love that stuff.
I was reminded to back off of any expectations I might have built up concerning the outcomes of my planning when someone I hold dear, in response to my rattling off what I had planned, said, "Wait. You just said that you want to make sure everyone has a good time at a memorial?" Ok, my perspective may have been a little off. So I let the weekend be what it would be, we came home on Saturday, and I purposefully had a pajama day the next Sunday.
Then I went to work on Monday and I was very busy all week. And I was sort of surprised that I felt tired and more than a bit grumpy all week. It wasn't until the weekend that I realized that I'm still in it all. Several people have commented, "Well, I'm sure this felt more like closure, right?" I would have thought the same thing, but it sorta doesn't.
Which is surprising to me.
I suspect (with a bit of dread) that my path lies somewhere in the Mary and Martha story. For those of you who did not have perfect attendance in Sunday School (hello, preacher's kid, remember?) these were two sisters, friends of Jesus. When Jesus came over to visit, Mary sat and listened to his teachings, while Martha bustled around cleaning and cooking. As Luke puts it, Jesus said, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her"
It's pretty clear to me that I am much more comfortable as a Martha. If things are difficult, I just work harder. That's the American way isn't it? Hard work brings reward? Only there's all this stuff that I don't have control over. Actually, it's pretty difficult, when you get down to it, to list things I do have control over.
Sitting still and having an experience with life is uncomfortable. I'm not saying I'm unwilling to do it; I do believe it's necessary and worthwhile. It just feels so damned unproductive. And my anglo-saxon protestant upbringing rails against it.
What is self-care and what is self-indulgence?
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| That's right, baby. Two posts in two days. Feel the love.
This one will be mostly the work of the Wee Pablo, as I just found a packet of work in his notebook that I have decided is post-worthy. They apparently have been studying types of poetry in 5th grade recently; here is a selection of haiku and limericks by an 11 year-old boy:
Limericks
There once was a boy named Eric
Whose schemes and jokes were barbaric
He stepped on a nail
Then he started to wail
That clumsy boy named Eric
There once was a boy named Carter
Who was a really big farter
He started to stink
And turn shades of pink
That smelly boy named Carter
Haiku
Lemont is weird
He pet a llama's buttocks
His hand is stinky
John is a dummy
He kissed an ugly dingo
He needs surgery
Pablo is awesome
He is always respected
He is super rich
How proud I am!
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| I've established that I'm pretty crazy about my kids, right? I post about them frequently - pictures, cute stories, etc. Love love love, cute cute cute, blah blah blah. Well, this post is the other side of that coin. Take this morning, for example: We were all leaving approximately the same time this morning - most days this is not the case because I usually leave earlier - and so I agreed to drop them off at school. Because it would really only be a couple of minutes out of my way. For the next ten minutes, every time one Wee Boy was ready to go, the other was missing somewhere in the house. The Wee Diego had what he needed, but the Wee Pablo was still making his sandwich. Then the Wee Pablo was all packed up, but the Wee Diego had put down his back-pack somewhere and was carrying a book to the car. Finally, we were all in the car and I began the required admonishing for them to buckle up. (At what point do children just KNOW to buckle when they get in the car, for cripes sake?) The Wee Diego took that moment to look IN his back-pack and realize it was completely empty and that he'd left his folder in the house. So I turned off the car, took the keys back to the door, unlocked it, and followed him into the house. He looked in about three different places but couldn't find the folder. I looked down at the table and said, "Here it is," and handed it to him. He then picked up several school library books off of the ottoman (that's where everyone stores their library books, yes?) to take them back. FINE. Let's just go. So he carried his back-pack, his folder, and his library books to the car. En route!! Yay! Maybe I wouldn't be that late for work.... We arrived at the school parking lot, which of course was pretty hopping at drop-off o'clock. The boys said, "Mom! Mom! Just pull over here!" - the area to which they referred was technically the end of the bus lane, but I couldn't see any impending bus arrivals, so I figured we could make it. The Wee Pablo hopped out quickly as he is a 5th grader and shouldn't be seen in close proximity to his mother. The Wee Diego opened the door, then began to unbuckle his seat belt, then started sliding out. I said, "Don't forget your folder!" So he climbed BACK in the car, unzipped his back-pack, and began to attempt to stuff his folder into the back-pack. He was initially unsuccessful. "Honey, can't you just CARRY your folder?" "No!" (shove shove, shove) I caught a glimpse of a school bus turning into the parking lot. At which point I began weeping and banging my head against the steering wheel. | | |
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