Ode to Joe

Sometimes he slurps pop.

Sometimes he smells funky.

Sometimes he is really, really crabby about work, but acts all indignant if you call him out on it.

Sometimes he interrupts the romantic part in a movie with a joke.

Sometimes he's too loud.

Sometimes he says the exact opposite of what any normal person knows is acceptable.

Sometimes he snores.

Sometimes he leaves dirty plates in the family room.

Sometimes he brags about what his SAT score was FIFTEEN years ago.

Sometimes he makes large, unnecessary messes in my kitchen.

Sometimes he hides his razor from me.

Sometimes he pretends he's going to use my toothbrush, just to freak me out.

Sometimes he makes me so mad I swear it makes me want to...want to pluck out all his nosehairs and eyebrows while he's sleeping.  One by one.  Because I think that would hurt a lot.

With all of that, I still feel better about everything in the world when he walks in.  

Good night.

Going For a Spin

Having children does nothing for my self esteem.

We were heading to Grandma Judy's for dinner, but discovered she was not yet home from work.  Ignoring my feelings of disgruntled irritation (I really wish people would just drop everything and be THERE for me already), I suggested to the boys that we "go for a spin."  They responded with their usual enthusiasm; this is one of their favorite things to do.

At Halloween, we like to go through neighborhoods and shout out about the best Halloween decorations. At Christmastime, we drive around to see the twinkly lights.  Today, there was nothing much to see so we just drove through town with the radio playing.

The radio is kind of a pain.  First of all, in this age of "On Demand" everything, Noah and Joey really don't understand that I really can't just make Bon Jovi come on.  Or Selena Gomez.  Or the Glee version of "Forget You," because they think Cee-Lo sounds weird.  Additionally, Joey listens to the radio on the bus, and thinks he knows what's up.  He shouts at me as I try to drive and radio surf, "Put on FM 96!  Put on FM 96!  It's the BEST!" Noah can't EVER be outdone (or outshouted) so he begins yelling, "I want 'Baby, Baby!'  Put on Justin Bieber!"

To combat this, I put on my favorite oldies stations and turn the music up really loud.  The boys are super offended by oldies--I have no idea why because they are awesome...?  Anyway, today "Happy Together" by the Turtles was playing and I was really feeling the groove as we approached an intersection.  I mean I was really belting out, and was just getting into the fantasy that a music producer would pull up alongside my car with papers to sign me up because I was singing THAT well when Joey exploded into coughs and gags in the back seat.  Joey, who is prone to carsickness and, also, random, meaningless (but gross nonetheless) vomiting.

Luckily, the light was red.  I whirled around in horror.  "Are you okay??"

He smiled serenely.  "Yes, I'm fine," he said.

I turned around and was just about to chorus, "Me and you, and you and me," when suddenly I froze.  I turned back at Joey who was staring at me.

"Were you trying to get me to stop singing?" I asked.

"Well, Mom, sometimes I just like to hear the music, if you know what I mean."

Hey, Mom, There's Something In the Bathroom...

Today was a day that a blog entry formed itself before my very eyes, before my very eyes even wanted to open.

Today is Air Duct Day in our house, which means we (I) hired a company to come and suck out all the dirt, guck, dust, and germs from all the airways in our house.  Every year Joey and Noah get colds that don't go away and aren't really contagious to anyone, and this was one of the things recommended to help that (and we know the REST of my house is clean, don't we).

But this meant that men would be showing up at my house at 8:00.  I take Joey to school just before that, so I was feel a bit harried.  I couldn't get Joey to school too early, but I also couldn't NOT be here when the Duct Men arrived.

That's not all.  Joe is away for work again today, and the Duct Men required a lot of prerequisite work.  Man's Work: moving furniture out of the way.  I had to do all that, too.  I meant to do it last night, but Glee was on and then I was so awfully tired....

Being awfully tired meant that I skipped my night shower and had to take one this morning, plus move the furniture, plus all the regular stuff (making breakfast, cleaning up the kitchen after breakfast, and dressing the boys for school which is like trying to put clothes on two jellyfish, I swear).

Being awfully tired was an awfully big mistake.

Of course I overslept.

Then Noah took twenty years to eat four French Toast Sticks.  And dripped sticky Mrs. Butterworth's every which everywhere.  He said, "Mommy, I just don't want to eat anymore.  My tummy hurts."

"Can you eat a cookie?"

"Yes."

"Then eat your French Toast Sticks."

"But my tummy hurts."  Ugh!  You need to understand, Noah is a Master Manipulator.  One day, to help me out while I was sick, my mom came over to help me put the boys to bed.  Bedtime is a no-nonsense routine that takes fifteen minutes.  Period.  Bath, jammies, teeth, story, GOOD NIGHT.  No frills.  No lingering, lovey conversations.  Imagine my surprise when I finished up with Joey and saw Noah's light was still on.  Imagine my surprise when I opened his door and found MY MOTHER, the QUEEN of No Nonsense (the one person in the world I would have pegged as impossible to manipulate), lying in Noah's bed beside him, giggling and snuggling.  "I'll finish up," I said.  When I went downstairs, she greeted me with, "You weren't kidding about him.  He REALLY thought he was going to manipulate me."  I said, "Mom.  He totally did."

So this morning, I said, "Eat the French Toast Sticks."

Next I ran through the house moving the furniture (3 couches, 1 console table, 1 baker's rack, 1 nightstand, 1 giant globe, and 2 dressers; not that any of things actually BLOCK vents, because I have a complex about that, but they were infringing on the required four square feet of space near all vents).

At this point I was sweating and it was 7:20.  The boys were in the playroom.  I poked my head and said in the Serious Voice Reserved For Serious Moments, like serial killers invading our home, "Mommy's taking a shower.  Do NOT fight and do NOT leave this room."  Both boys nodded, well, seriously, and said, "Yes, Mommy."

I tried to take the World's Fastest Shower, but it made no difference.  As I stepped out, Joey was screaming.  "MOMMY!  MOMMY!  NOAH POOPED HIS PANTS AND IT'S ON THE FLOOR!!"

Noah was already yelling, "I'm sorry!  I'm so, so sorry!" as I raced through the house leaving footprinty puddles and clutching my stupid towel.  I was about to curse the world and cry out, "WHYYYYYY?" when I realized exactly why.  All the pieces fell into place.

Noah tried to tell me his tummy hurt.  I told Noah, in My Serious Voice, to NOT leave the playroom.

It was kind of (totally) my fault that he had his first accident since being potty trained.

But then I had to clean him.  Clean the poop.  Remove all traces of poop from the carpet (SHOUT! it out!).  Disinfect the carpet.  Disinfect Noah.  Disinfect me.  Get dressed.  Put on makeup (because the people of Joey's school REALLY care what I look like).  Dress the boys.  Hide the laundry.  Put their coats on (WHY do they become unhelpful snails when it's time to put on coats?  They WANT to go out...).

On the way to school, we hit every light.  I got trapped behind a bus and a minivan.  Don't even get me STARTED on minivans.  Pulled into school, there was some jerk blocking the driveway.  Drop Joey off, watch him mosey at .2 mile per hour into the school, stopping twice to readjust his backpack.  Fly home.

When the Duct Men arrived?  I opened the door calmly.  I smiled.   I said, "Come in, come in."   The picture of Normal.

Yeah, right.

Cliche

I really hate cliches, and I hate it even more when they are the only appropriate thing that comes to mind in a situation.  Like today.  

When it rains, it pours.

I took this year off from work to be home with my children.  To balance being 100% devoted to your children and working a full-time job outside your home, well, it's REALLY hard.  Even when we give Working Moms a lot of credit, we're not giving them enough.  

I wanted to bake cookies, read stories, do crafts, sing songs, and just be more of a presence to my boys.  Up until now, I'd been dealing with medical problems that made me anything but crafty.

And last week, I had my surgery.  My long-anticipated, seeming-never-to-come surgery--the one that would fix everything.  I feel like a new woman.  I'm all settled down to bake cookies, read stories, do crafts, sing songs, and be more of a presence to my boys.  And then today...well, my family had some bad news.

My grandmother is sick.  We have been worried about her for a long while now, since last May or June.  It's been a slow process.  A lot of careful testing and tip-toeing around what everyone feared would be.  Today we had our fears confirmed, and I feel sick all over again.  But instead of the physical pain, it's the other kind.  The kind that gets inside and squeezes your heart and turns your belly inside out and goes up behind your eyes and sucks out all the water so they feel dry and prickly.  That kind of pain.  And never mind the worry we feel about what my grandmother must be feeling.

I could go into how wonderful she is, but I can't do it tonight.  I can't get into it tonight, because I know I've always taken her for granted and God forgive me, but I just want to keep taking her for granted. She's in her eighties and she's a marathon runner and she's beautiful and her life is full and good and that's everything to be thankful for.  But I want it to stay this way.  Like a little kid, I'm closing my eyes really tight and hanging on to what's right in front of me.  

Deep Breath.

On the upside of things, Noah went to vote with Mommy and Grandma Judy today and scored a free pen.  He calls it his "Wucky Pen," and carries it everywhere.  

Joey and I are excited that I will go into school and read his class a story tomorrow.  He's a little nervous about my reading style.  He said, "Mo-om.  You can't be like THAT.  Moms are just supposed to read quietly and ask us questions.  WE get to be all fun and wild."

I said, "And how am I reading?  What's so bad about it?"

He pointed to his head and twirled his finger around and around: the Crazy Sign.  

And the three of us dealt with a Giant Ladybug Attack tonight.  Man, I hate those things.  Did you know that they are impervious to Lysol?  Don't worry.  We handled ourselves.  We had to--it was us or the Ladybugs.

And that's what I'll keep on doing in every aspect: Handling myself.  Life's tricky that way, isn't it?  It doesn't really matter if you think something is too much to deal with.  When it's happening, it's happening.  All you can do is...keep going.  One day at a time.

Taking Out the Trash

Am I the only old-fashioned girl left who believes the husband should take out the garbage?  Forgive me for what I'm about to say, but...it's Man's Work.

I know, I know what you're thinking.  You'll be shocked to know I have a story that matches your thoughts.

In high school, if any of my friends had to work, it was fairly routine that the rest of the gang would swing by and visit to make the hours a little more enjoyable for said friend.  One time, we stopped to see my friend Carolyn who worked at a little hamburger place in South Buffalo.  We went in, kind of giggled through our orders (because it's a little funny to order food through a friend, I guess), and sat down.

While were eating, Carolyn came out from behind the counter to chat and introduce us to a coworker.  I don't remember the coworker's name, but I do remember that it was clear Carolyn had talked about all of us to her friend, because with each name, she gave a nice little, "You know, the one who..." and everybody felt complimented by the whole thing.

When Carolyn got to me, she said, "And this Mary Pat.  She's a princess."

I was not offended.  On the contrary, I was thrilled that she got it so right.  She tried to gently tell me later that it might not be the compliment I thought it was, but I was okay with it.  Still am.

I was definitely ALL princess today, as I lugged two VERY heavy, oversized Rubbermaid garbage cans the three hundred feet from my garage to the end of my driveway.  And I was having THOUGHTS.  Things like, "I can't BELIEVE my husband forgot to do this," and, "Probably EVERYONE driving by is feeling really sorry for me because these garbage cans are huge and I am clearly hurting myself."  I definitely pulled a muscle in my back, by the way.

And yes, there were brief interludes of, "I am so empowered, I am Taking Out the Trash," but it was all overshadowed by, "I am so getting Joe back for this."

I really can't think of any good revenge ideas right now, mostly because I'm so flustered by the whole experience (in a heated argument the best I can come up with is, "I know you are but what am I?"), but I'm open to suggestions if you have any.

EXCEPT "Suck it up, MP."  That one's no good.

You Make Me Feel So Young

As a Middle School teacher, I don't think I've yet reached the pinnacle of Age Jokes.  A few students have tried to make them because they recognize that insulting your teacher's age in a light-hearted moment will earn you laughter and peer approval (and, in most cases, a good-natured eye roll from the teacher herself), but really at 32, I don't really feel that the "Old" jokes have hit me hard.  I'll definitely acknowledge that some things those ratty yet lovable tweens come out with are definite indicators that they simply have no concept of age, but that's not quite the same thing.  In a whimsical Friday afternoon poll, I learned that my students determine my age anywhere between "23?" and "like, 50."  Basically, I'm a Grownup.  I'll take it.

But my son and HIS contemporaries are another story.  Somehow, that seven year gap seems to make all the difference.  Or is it my role as Mom?  I'm not sure.

Today, while out shopping, Joey (6) and his BFF/Cousin spotted nutcrackers among the various Christmas decorations newly on display.

"What's a nutcracker?" asked my nephew.  "Does it really crack nuts?"

"Well, THESE don't," I said.  "But I think they actually were used to crack real nuts in the Olden Days."

I was figuring that, like me, anything labeled "Olden Days" would bring to mind any one of the Little House on the Prairie episodes, or, if you're pushing it, maybe The Waltons.

I was wrong.

My nephew dropped the topic, but a little while later returned to me with his large questioning (challenging) brown eyes.

"So, when you were little you REALLY used nutcrackers to crack nuts?"

I'm a little slow on the uptake.  I went to correct the little chap with, "No, I said they used them in the Olden Days."

"Right," he said.  "When you were little?"

It's rough, but I'm getting used to the insults.  And they aren't limited to age.  Here are just a few of the things Joey has said in recent months that have REALLY boosted my self-image:

"Mom, it's so nice that your face looks sun-burned ALL the time, even in the winter."  Yeah.  I have splotchy skin.

I kissed Joey on the cheek and teased, "I got lipstick on you." But he was unaffected.  "Yeah, right, Mom.  You don't look like you're wearing any makeup AT ALL."

On the beach, in a two-piece bathing suit that has since been incinerated,"I just love those fancy stripes on your belly."  This was in reference to the stretch marks that my husband INSISTED were "just in my head."

And my absolute favorite, delivered in moments of absolute seriousness:
"Yeah, but Mom, you're CRAZY."

Memory Lane: The Grape Jelly

The night I met Joe was not the introduction to the world's most perfect romance, and anyone who knows us well knows that.  There was a lot of Bad Timing through high school and definitely through college, but I think two things made it all end so well.  One is that we stayed friends pretty much no matter what, because we genuinely liked each other.  There's a lot of magic in meeting someone new and "falling in love"--those fantastic beginnings in relationships where everything is fresh and wonderful and exhilarating.  What Joe and I had was friendship, and magical moments.  And like any girl who got her happy ending, I've held on to all of them.

Senior year in high school was probably among the best in my life (though I admit I've had a lot of Good Years).  I had finally overcome many of my issues with self-consciousness and uncertainty, and learned to--really--just be myself.  I had realized that there are actually people out there who will like me for who I am, and constantly trying to be anything else just isn't worth it.

I had more friends this year than I'd ever had before, and probably have had since.  They were good friends, too.  There are two that are contained within every memory of that year, and they are Alice and Carolyn.

One cold night in November, Alice and Carolyn drove to my house and picked me up.  Our plan was to go nowhere.  No, we were't staying at my house.  Absolutely not.  We had access to a CAR!   Instead, we were going to drive around town and enjoy the freedom of Driving Around Town.  And hope to be seen by other people also Driving Around Town.  Because if you're a senior in high school who doesn't drink much, doesn't try to get into bars, and stays away from illegal drugs, Driving Around Town is Awesome.

"Where should we go?" Alice asked, pulling out of my driveway into a dark and snowy night.

"Hmm, I don't know," said Carolyn.  "Any ideas, Mary Pat?"

"You know what would be SO funny?" I asked, trying to sound like this was a complete whim and I had zero personal interest vested in the idea.  "Driving by Joe Bielecki's house."

It should be said I hadn't talked to Joe in quite awhile.  Periodically one of us might call the other for a, "Hey How Are You" but as for hanging out, it had been at least since summer.  But Alice knew Joe well enough through her boyfriend Pat, and that meant Carolyn knew him, too.

And let's face it.  They both knew I was secretly in love with Joe.

So after a little bit of straining our memories (or me pretending to), we found our way through the wintry streets of Western New York to Joe's neighborhood.  Alice pulled through the turn with extreme care and caution, one of the few decent adolescent drivers ever, and as her headlights fell on the street where Joe lived, they also fell on a lone figure walking.

It was a blond teenaged boy wearing a Canisius High School varsity jacket (complete with white leather sleeves; eat your heart out).

"Is...is that Joe?" asked Alice.

"Why is he just walking down the street?" I wondered aloud.

"We're totally stopping, Mary Pat," Carolyn declared.

My heart started racing.  It was pounding.  It was November in Buffalo and my hands were sweating and I was pretty sure the walls of Alice's mom's car were closing in around me. Alice was pulling the car over to the sidewalk.  Joe was walking away from us, so he didn't know we were there. (How did he not hear us?  It was a suburban neighborhood on a silent winter night and no one else was around.  I say he's LUCKY it was just a trio of girls.)

I quickly took stock of the situation.  Alice and Carolyn were seated in the front.  I was in the back.  If Joe got into the car, he'd be in the back seat with me.

"Do I look okay?" I squeaked as Carolyn rolled down her window.

"You look fine," she said without turning around.  "Beautiful."

"You're not looking!"

Alice faced me and made reassuring eye contact.  "You look fine, MP."

By now, Joe was slowing his pace and turning around.  I scooted over to the window and rolled down it down.

"Joe!"

He squinted his eyes to see in our windows (which was stupid since I'm pretty sure I was hanging out of it from the waist up), and recognition dawned in his face.

"Al?  MP?" he said uncertainly, and walked over to us.  Yeah, I guess it wasn't nearly so casual as I'd hoped.  He lived pretty out of the way and his street led to nothing but other streets within the subdivision so there was really no way we were just passing through.

"Hey!" I said with forced cheer.  Sound Fun and Exciting, sound Fun and Exciting.  "Wanna go for a ride?"

"Sure," he said, and actually climbed in.  I slid back over behind Alice and made room for him.  He brought with him the smell of outside, and the distinct Smell of Boy.  The good kind.

As I've said before, we had no actual destination in mind and scrambled quickly to make it look like we were trying to figure one out just before we "happened" upon Joe.  He suggested Friendly's Ice Cream, and off we went.

The waitress seated us in the back of the restaurant, probably because we were automatically deemed trouble-making teenagers (even though the trouble-making sort would probably be off binge drinking, doing illegal drugs, or trying to get into a bar, as far as I could figure).  It was a four-seater booth, and Alice and Carolyn immediately and smirkily slid into one side of it together.  My favorite part of it is that I had never once had to say, "Make sure I sit by Joe," or "Joe really gets my blood racing."  They just knew, like good friends should.

I slid into the booth with what I hoped was the right amount of perk and confidence: a fun girl with personality.  I immediately picked up my laminated menu, as though ordering was the only thing on my mind.  Joe slid in next to me with the ease and grace of a teenaged boy a bit too large for the booth.

We ordered and passed the time playing Truth or Dare (very Disney Channel) and always choosing Truth since we weren't the sort of trouble-makers who'd cause a ruckus at Friendly's.  I was conscious of every move Joe made.  That he laughed at all my jokes, and seemed to look directly at me even when Alice and Carolyn were talking (and that's awkward when you're in the same side of the booth).  Suddenly, he leaped out of the booth.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he said, and disappeared.

Alice and Carolyn exploded.

"He likes you," they said together.  I felt my face grow hot and stretch into the kind of smile that hurts an makes you feel like should do nothing but try to stop smiling as soon as possible.

I barely had a chance to get involved in a serious questioning of, "Why do you think so?" "What did it mean when  he...?"  because suddenly, there was Joe, back at the booth.  He was smiling.

He slid onto the bench we were sharing, his arm sliding across the back behind my neck. I felt my hair move against his sleeve.  He leaned very close to me and looked quite boldly into my eyes with what I can only describe as a Twinkle.  Across the table slid his other hand, placing in front of me a foil grape jelly packet.  Smuckers brand.

"This," he whispered, "is for you."


I don't know if I've had a more charged moment in all my life.  And I STILL have that exact same grape jelly in the bottom of a large pink box labeled: High School Stuff.  And of course, I had no idea that an identical grape jelly was looming in my future, waiting for Good Timing.