Thursday, February 19, 2009

Anniversary with the Big Manky Mouse


Today is my ninth wedding anniversary and I am spending it at Chuck E. Cheese's. If you'd have told me nine years ago at this moment that I'd be getting two kids dressed to go to Chuck E Cheese's I'd have been pretty depressed. But it's not like that. David is in Washington D.C. on business this week and that's why I'm heading to hang with loud kids and a big, frightening lip syncing mouse. And I feel totally proud of myself because a week alone with the kids didn't terrify me. And I didn't have to fly to another state just so that I wouldn't be here alone with the kids. And we're getting along pretty well and learning a lot about each other in this time of just us. So, no, it's not the perfect way to spend your anniversary. But it's the way life looks like now. And I appreciate David in my life this week so much because I know what it would be like without him. Plus he sent me the most beautiful bouquet of orange roses with sculptural sticks, and only he would know how much I like sculptural sticks. Cheers, David, onward to double digits, lots and lots of them.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Your Roof

After Gustav, the entire city of Baton Rouge, it seems, has been replacing its roofs. This does interesting thing to a community. Fly into the city, and you'll see a crazy quilt of blue that doesn't have an equal hue, unless you count the skies in Colorado, of course. But even this western girl doesn't wish to see more of that color. Not now. At any rate, this past week, we joined our fellow roof replacement enthusiasts and watched (and listened!) as a brand new roof went up. We are so relieved that the job is finished and the work is good. Along the way, I have been intrigued at the kinds of conversations that have taken our city over. "You are getting architectural shingles, aren't you? They're the only way to go," my good friend tells me. "What's that?" I ask. That was a few months ago, and was only the beginning of my roofing education. Then we learned the difference between thunderstorm gray, Oxford gray and Colonial gray. Then we heard about the roofing nails. "Watch out for those," one of my husband's co-workers told him. "They walk around with a big magnet, but they can't get them all." This is confirmed, as I picked up two while talking to my neighbor a few hours ago. And then, the final, most scary admonition of all. "After the job is done, put a blanket under your attic door and open it. You will be amazed at the debris that falls out." We have yet to build up enough courage to take this step.

Scary, Isn't It?


Scary, isn't it? The long hair. The beauty queen crown. The lipstick. All atop the body of a 3-month-old baby. What truths does something like a child's toy hold about American society? If dolls are talismans that embody our feelings as a culture, and propel us forward, then what, I ask you what, is happening with a specimen like this? It showed up in a thrift store bulk toy buy. Charlotte has a love/hate relationship with it. First she wants to hug it. Then she tosses it aside. I know, I know I've written far too much about Charlotte and dolls in this blog. But I am fascinated and, I admit it, a bit obsessed with the lore of dolls. And, again, I say, when I look at this doll: Scary, isn't it?

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

When there's no separation, not even in a sentence.

We are sitting in the lobby, watching our kids play at a train table. The mom across from me seems like a neat lady. I am fascinated by this woman who has adopted at least one child from overseas and is enough of a storyteller--or at least has a loud enough voice--that she is prone to wax poetic about the joys and traumas of raising a child from another country. I admire her. I want to be her friend. She seems really cool. Who else but someone who is really pretty cool goes overseas and adopts a child. How brave. How smart. How...

And then she says it. "We have struggled with allergies since we moved to Louisiana last year."

Thud. It's a small thing, I know, to pay so much attention to philology, especially among fellow stay-at-home-moms, when our numbers appear to be dwindling based on a nonscientific notation that I run into the same mothers almost every place I go. But still.

Because it is the linguistic representation of my biggest fear. That this job I am doing, this role I am fulfilling will become me. That these beautiful, huggable, almost always good smelling and sweet creatures I birthed will overcome me. And I, fair readers, will become a WE.