To Kill a Mockingbird

Wow. I am in awe again. I firmly believe that the best book ever written is "To Kill a Mockingbird", but the movie, a gift for my birthday, is phenomenal too! I watched it over a span of two days, Paige's head in the crook of my arm while Tony demanded food every seven seconds and vroomed his cars and helicopters and toys around the room.

The movie was way over their heads, although they did stop to stare at the screen when the climactic music began, and Paige would ask questions throughout the whole thing - is that the bad guy? Is Atticus the good guy? (Oh yes!) And she was enthralled with Scout and Jem, claiming that they were "bad" because they stood defiant in front of the crowd of people outside the jailhouse where Atticus set up camp to protect the prisoner. When Atticus told Jem to go home, Jem crossed his arms, and said, "No Sir." I explained to her that their presence there turned the bad men around, that the protection (what little of it they gave) was a reminder to these men that Atticus was a stand-up guy and deserved their respect despite the fact that he was defending a black man (falsely accused, I might add), and they were so backwards-minded that they didn't understand.

And Atticus! Oh Gregory Peck was sensational... when he stood in the courtroom and pointed to the girl who accused Tom Robinson of raping her, and said that he pitied her! He pitied her because she was so ignorant and ashamed of her own behavior that she had to accuse an innocent man of this crime so that she could live with herself, that she had to redefine the truth of what really happened so that she could live with herself!

Atticus tells Scout to step into the skin of others and walk around in it for a while, and because he follows this rule of compassion, when the ignorant Mr. Yule spits in his face, he reaches into his pocket, after a tense moment, pulls out his handkerchief (Side Note: "fazzolari" means roughly, handkerchief in Italian - didn't know that, did you?) and wipes the spittle from his face and walks away, leaving Mr. Yule with egg on his face!

Atticus tells Scout that killing a mockingbird is a sin because the mockingbird does nothing but make music; it is not an unkind animal. (Boo Radley is a mockingbird in this story, as is Tom Robinson).

Oh my, and Boo Radley! Robert Duvall, I don't even think he had a line, rescues Jem and Scout from Mr. Yule's drunken attack simply because he loves the kids. Jem and Scout have tormented this man, and falsified his personality throughout the movie, but when it comes down to it, he is the stand-up guy, and Scout recognizes him immediately and takes his hand.

The story is amazing - so many great features of "character" interwoven, and the greatest of these is compassion, recognizing it, unfolding it and spreading it over ego, and living by it. Amazing. Amazing. The best story ever told. Harper Lee, you are one of my idols, sensational authoring. Atticus, I hope you rubbed off on me, and I pray to be the female version of you as a parent to my children.

How this applies to this blog is this: It's a story about character, and good people, and I share it because you, my dear readers, are some good people! Do yourself a favor, rent the movie or read the book again. There is a reason why it's the best book in the world!

Game Over

In the last seven months, I've gone on about seven first dates.  I have met some decent people, and for one reason or another, a second date didn't occur.  In the majority of the cases, I just didn't feel a connection and at 39 years old, I am no longer interested in exploring it ad nauseum only to realize three months later that my initial gut feeling was right on.  Why waste that precious time?

Perhaps it's the romantic cupid that resides in my heart, but I need to feel the butterflies on the first date so that I can get to the second or third or fourth date.  I haven't felt that in a long time, and that's okay because eventually, I'll be old and wrinkled and the butterflies will have long been dead.

I write this post because, as I said, I've gone on first dates and many of the men are really great people--just not great for me, and unfortunately, I should be more honest on the first date and just tell them that I'm not interested at that point.  Yet, I have this terrible habit of ruminating things, and by that time, they've lost interest or determined that I'm not interested.

I'm getting better though.  Yesterday, I met someone for a lunch date.  Initially, I had no interest in this man because he reminded me of my ex-husband in many ways and I didn't want to deal with that again.  Yet, he pursued me and asked for just a date-- just one date-- and if I wasn't interested, that would be the end of it.  So, I went to lunch with him. 

The conversation was great.  We laughed, we spoke of his line of work, of which I was very familiar because it was exactly what my ex does.  We talked about the death of our fathers -- not in depth, just a recognition of the pain.  We talked about football.  I'm a Bills fan.  I'm not likely to find a Bills fan in Maryland and so I've come to accept the Skins and Ravens fans, even cheering for them from time to time.  So I asked if he was a Skins fan or a Ravens fan.  When he shook his head, I knew that he was a Dallas fan--another thing in common with my ex.  I was okay with that, and I even made the mental note that it was okay as long as he didn't say that Dallas beat the Bills in two Super Bowls because every flippin' Dallas fan has to say that to a Bills fans.  And what do you know?

"It's okay you're a Bills fan--they're the underdogs-- after all, they lost twice to Dallas in the Super Bowl."

Way too familiar.

Having been divorced before, he did say something that I wholeheartedly agreed with:  "If there is a 1% doubt I have about the next woman I think I want to marry, I won't do it.  I want 40 years with my next wife."

"If there is a 1% doubt after the second date, I won't go on a third."  I answered, taking a sip of my water. 

In any case, this is a typical first date.  You test the waters, have a nice meal, share surface feelings, assess the looks, mannerisms and potential.  Then either call it a day, or mention interest in a second date.  Makes sense, right?

Now, let's get to the point of this blogpost and the title Game Over.

Sometime back, in a frustrated moment, I mentioned that the next person I dated would have to knock on my door and ask me for a date because on-line dating, picking people up in bars, etc. is just not something I'm comfortable with.  I'll go on blind dates or meet friends and hope there is a decent person within the crowd, or as I said, if he knocked on my door and asked for my number.

Never again.

This is funny though, and you'll see why.  My gutters were overflowing and in some places falling off my house, so I called a company to come and look at them, give me an estimate and get the work done.  When the two guys who would be doing the work showed up, I was in sweats and a yankees shirt, packing the truck to go to Ocean City at 7:30 in the morning--no makeup, no shower, nothing.  One of the guys asked if I was from New York because of my shirt, said he was a Yankees fan too and we had a nice conversation.

The estimate was finished and two weeks later, they showed up to do the work.  The nice guy was wearing a Yankees hat.  I said, "Nice hat."  He answered, "I wore it for you."  Nice--flirtatious, but not overkill.
They were there for about two hours and since I was working outside, I got to talk with the nice guy a little more. 

After I wrote the check and bid them good-bye, I went back into the house.  Several seconds later, the doorbell rang and the nice guy asks if I would be interested in going on a date with him.  I said sure and gave him my number.  Here is the text exchange (exactly as written):

---
JULY 27

Him:
7:10pm - Carri its Barry (made up name) i got some things i got to take care of can i call u between 8 and 9

9:20pm -  I really hope i get to meet u and find out more about u

Me:
10:07pm  So sorry, my battery was dead.  Call tomorrow, ok?  Look forward to it.

Him: 
10:12pm - Cool i promice i will

JULY 28

Him:

11:57AM - Im getting off work early today what r u gonna do today would u like to kick it with me

Me: 
12:00pm - Would love to but I can't.  Have two interviews and son's football tonight.  My schedule is awful, just so u know.

Him:
12:02pm -Thats ok soon we can link up i hope

12:05 pm - Good luck on your job interviews

12:22pm - I dont mind kids thats a part of u i would like to get to know ya my son is 11 and hes a big part of my life i know busy thats ok

3:31pm - I really like u i dont like most i hope we can be cool

4:11pm - I had the best befor u r better

6:56pm - I am a good guy

7:00pm - Sorry i guess i back up now i hope u r ok

8:28pm - I just wanted u to b my friend first u couldent even b that good luck
 (1st time)

8:28pm - I just wanted u to b my friend first u couldent even b that good luck
(2nd time)

8:28pm - I just wanted u to b my friend first u couldent even b that good luck

(3rd time)

8:29pm - I wanted u to b my friend first

Me:

8:30pm -  Seriously?  I just got home from a busy day.  Appreciate the offer, but I'm not ready to drop my life for a date.  Sorry.

Him:

8:35pm - Sorry i drank tonight and i got issues from my last i need a new friend

Me:

8:36pm - I'm sorry, I'm not interested.  Please don't be upset.

Him:

8:37pm - Im not

8:43pm - Its cool i aint mad at u

8:57pm - If u meet me i think u would have liked me

8:59pm - If u woulda met me i think u woulda liked me goodbuy c

10:35pm - If u didnt want to b happy y did u text me

10:40pm - Im sorry i will stop real supposed to reconize real

----

Game over. carri is dun with datin i promice u that dun friend u can be sur of that dun

Butler and Adele

Other than Mike Butler http://www.soundclick.com/bands/default.cfm?bandID=407513, I must say that the best CD I've listened to in the last six months is Adele. 

Can't go wrong with Butler's song: Should've Been by Now http://www.soundclick.com/player/single_player.cfm?songid=2958712&q=hi&newref=1 and Adele's song: Someone Like You http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jc4IloO2oy4.  She is incredible-- not just this song but all of them.  

Same with Butler, who I am fortunate to see performing at least two times a month.  He is amazing!

Do yourself a favor.  Download both and listen.

Great, great stuff.

Whatever Works

[I wrote this years ago.  Tony was still in diapers, barely able to talk.  I share it now for all those who have toddlers and are going through the terrible twos and the f**ing threes.  I had a riot writing it, and nearly every word is true, including the conversation with my mother.]

Alarmed by the sudden change in Paige’s behavior, I began researching childhood illnesses that would cause a sweet child to imitate the cry of a dolphin being skewered by a swordfish at an octave normally used in airplane hangars, while biting, slapping, mauling and kicking. My research suggested ‘the terrible twos’. Since Paige was nearly three, I was convinced it was more life threatening. I checked Paige’s temperature – normal. I checked her stool – it certainly looked normal although it smelled like she ate and digested a horse’s hoof. I even checked to see that her gums were pink. Paige’s gums were as pink as the bubble gum she rubbed into the crown of Tony’s head.

Putting the book aside, I called my mother.

“Mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Did I ever go through the terrible twos?”

“Did you?! You used to lie on the floor, kicking and screaming. It drove me crazy.”

“What did you do?”

“I ignored you until you passed out. You’d stay down for at least twenty minutes…” My mother sighed.

“Nice…”

She hung up.

I turned to my friend Amy for advice. She recommended a dark, quiet closet, preferably in the basement level of the house to let Paige cool off on her own. Another friend recommended getting a puppy (free to a good home!) to keep me occupied.

I opted to revisit the parenting book, which advised me to always maintain eye contact, to set boundaries and time limits, and if appropriate, to offer a choice. Thus, if Paige wanted to color, I had to look her in the eye, let her choose where and how long, but should not let her choose the marker (permanent) or the canvas (her brother’s upper lip and eyebrows) anymore.

During breakfast the next morning I put a plan into action.

“Okay, here’s the agenda for the day. We’re going to the store to pick up bananas and milk, and then we’re going to come home, eat lunch, take a bath and go for a nap.” I said.

Paige looked up from gnawing the nail polish off her thumb and said, “No.”

I silently counted to three. “Paige, that’s what we’re doing and I need you to be a good girl and get your sandals on.”

With her hand stuck down a half-full glass of milk, she countered with, “Um… no.”

I pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser, and wiped Paige’s hands, remembering the book’s advice: maintain eye contact and offer a choice. I sat in front of Paige to summon eye contact, but Paige ignored me. I soon fell into a daydream about sucking tequila shots from George Clooney’s collarbone while rubbing cocoa butter on his. . .

“Mommy!” Paige was gawking at me.

Nearly forgetting my reason for sitting there, I hastened to ask, “Do you want to put your sneakers on or your sandals?” Please say sandals, please say sandals. Your sneakers have laces longer than the hallway. It takes forty minutes just to knot them up so you don’t trip.


“Sneakers!” Paige jumped from her stool and raced to the closet.

I cleaned the breakfast dishes, changed Tony’s diaper, put his shoes on, let the dogs out, vacuumed the cereal crumbs, cleaned the microwave and guzzled a lukewarm cup of coffee, while I waited for Paige to wrestle into her shoes.

Paige ignored both her shoes and her feet, and was intent on eating the pink polish off her nails. I sat beside her on the floor and raised each sneaker, remembering that I needed to give her a choice.

“Which shoe do you want to put on first, your right or left?” I asked.

“Left!” She said.

I reached for her left foot.

“No. I do it!”

Paige struggled to get her foot in the shoe, and Tony attempted to use my ponytail as a pulley to shimmy up my back and onto my shoulders. I ignored him, he was being quiet and I could handle the pressure of his foot prodding my rib cage for a few more seconds.

“Okay, let mommy tie your shoe.”

“No, I do it!”

“You’re still a little young and it’s really, really hard to tie your shoe.”

“No, I do my other shoe.”

Paige succeeded in getting both feet into her shoes. Tony succeeded in clawing a hole in the apple of my cheek. I swatted his hand away, and he clutched my hair to regain balance.

“Oh, you did a great job! Now let Mommy tie them so we can get to the store.”

“No! I do it!”

“Okay, honey, cross over the laces and pull it through… good, good.”

Tony used the gap in the back of my jeans as a step, and dug his fingers into my eye sockets, mimicking a rock climber tackling Mt. Fuji. I repositioned his hands so that he merely throttled my windpipe. I leaned forward and took hold of the laces.

“Okay, now let Mommy do the rabbit ears and you can pull it tight.”

Paige furrowed her eyebrows, closed her mouth and pushed out her lower lip.

“No!” She pulled the laces apart again and slipped one shoe off.

“Paige Lauren!” My voice was tinged with warning and disappointment.

“I do it, I do it, I do it!”

She spun on her butt so her back was to me and yanked the laces from every hole in the shoe. I reached around her and grabbed the shoe. Tony blew spit in my ear and swung from my ponytail like a bull rider.

I began re-lacing the shoe. I glanced at Paige just in time to witness the explosion: lips pursed, cheeks puffed, face purple and BAM! The monster shriek was liberated – the one that frayed my nerves, made me feel horrible as a mother, made me question my abilities as an intelligent human being and made me curse my husband for ever buying the laced sneakers in the first place when I was completely against them and insisted on the Velcro kind until he said, “But she can learn how to tie earlier than all the other kids,” and I was thrilled with the idea of my genius daughter showing off her motor skills with a class full of snot nosed children who still wore Velcro shoes.

“NOOOoooaaarrgghhh!”

The screech went on and on, and I repeatedly chanted, “It’s okay, it’s okay. . . ”

I visualized my future self, sitting in the middle of a padded room, rocking back and forth, begging “Please stop crying, please stop crying."

Tony would be sitting beside me with every strand of my hair entangled in his sticky fingers.

People would visit me and say, "She just couldn’t handle it.” And then they would look at each other and ask, "But why is she bald?”

I grew annoyed by my own begging voice. “Stop crying right now or we’re not going to the store at all!”

Paige retorted by kicking me in the mouth. Holding my lip with one hand and Paige’s feet with the other, I counted to ten to regain composure.

“We’re putting your shoes on and we’re going to the store now! You keep crying and you’re going to bed. Tony, get off my back!”

I reached behind my back and slid him off; placing him away from Paige’s flailing feet. He began to cry. Paige paused, looked at Tony, gulped more air, and resumed her broadcast.

I shoved both shoes on Paige’s thrashing feet and began tying the laces. Just as I tied the final knot, my hair was torn from my head as Tony climbed on for another ride, snot running out of his nose and all over my t-shirt. Paige, squealing, yanked at the laces I had wrapped around her ankles and tied in a quadruple knot.

“Stop Crying. Stop! Tony, get off me!”

Tony wailed, Paige cried and I sat there, the situation sucking every fleck of patience from my being. I contemplated hiding in the quiet closet down in the basement until they both passed out. Instead, I feigned despair.

“Oh, I’m so sad. Boo hoo hoo.” I covered my face, and howled. I rubbed my eyes, and wailed, my chin quivered, and real tears started to appear. I fell back onto the floor, kicked my feet into the air, and screamed, imitating Paige’s pitch and tone.

The children grew silent. I sat up, my hands covered my eyes and I continued to blubber. I moved a finger away to peek at them.

They sat and stared.

Stared and sat.

And then, miraculously, giggles erupted.

“It’s okay Mommy,” Paige said and patted my knee. Tony, instead of hitching a leg up, tilted his head to my arm for a hug.

They sat on the floor together. Hushed. Peaceful.

The door opened.

“Daddy!”

The kids jumped up and raced to their father. He lifted a white plastic bag and said, “I got milk and bananas so you didn’t have to worry about it.”

I hooted and fell back in laughter, thankful I didn’t pass out.

Lessons

It's been a heck of a week.  A HECK of a week.  I learned a few things:

1.  When you tell your kids not to hit each other, they'll pinch each other.

2.  Sometimes you regret the words you couldn't say more than you regret the words you did say.

3.  Sending out resumes to jobs you don't really want, kinda sucks.

4.  Wishing you could win the lottery is not nearly as much fun as it is to pretend that you did win it.

5.  If I could write all day, every day and make a living, I'd be a very happy woman.

5.  When you tell your kids not to hit or pinch each other, they'll kick each other.

6.  iCarly is a rather humorous show, and I'm likely to watch it while the kids are away for a week vacation with their dad.

7.  The thought of a week away from the kids, starting tomorrow, kinda sucks.

8.  The past is always lurking in the present, ready to pounce on you.

9.  My son, though he doesn't know it, might be the most romantic boy in the world.  How do I know?  He said to me the other day:  "Sometimes I take a nap at Daddy's just so I can go to sleep and dream about you."  (Yeah, I know)

10. When you tell your kids not to hit or pinch or kick each other, they'll bite each other.

11. Sometimes a floor puzzle is all you need to bond with your child and turn the day around.

12.   I miss my sister and cannot wait to Skype with her soon.

13. After spending hours cleaning up the muddy mess your little bastard, Enzo makes, there is still more mud to be cleaned up.  (It was like Cujo took over the house). 

14. When Paige touched my cheek and said she thought I was the most beautiful woman at Tony's football practice, my heart jumped with joy and gratitude.

15.  It is possible to cry with joy for someone else while feeling sorrow and regret because of that joy.

16. Tony can make me laugh all the time.  Two examples:  At a Chinese restaurant he was inhaling Lo Mein and he said, "I wish I was a noodle so I could eat myself;" and after I asked him if he liked playing football, he looked me square in the eye and said, "It sucks.  Bad."

17.  When you get fed up and bite your hand to stop from screaming at your kids, they pay attention and stop hitting, pinching, kicking and biting eachother.

That's all I have for now.  It's been a heck of a week, I tell ya.

Good News / Bad News

Good News:

There was a 2 hour thunderstorm yesterday that sent the 100 degree weather away.

Bad News:

- Enzo, the little bastard, found the muddiest spot in the yard to dig a hole.

- After soaking himself in mud from head to toe, he barreled up the deck stairs and proceeded to jump against the door, barking incessantly until someone let him in.

- Paige let him in and said, "Mom, um, Mom?  You need to see Enzo."  I walked down the hallway and saw muddy footprints and slides of mud on the hardwood floor, the rugs, the sofa and the kitchen floor.  I followed the trail with my eyes and did a double-take when I saw Enzo panting on the kitchen floor --chameleon-like because the floor is brown and rust, and so was he.

- "Bath time!"  Paige yelled.  Enzo leapt to his feet and ran the other way.  Somehow we got him upstairs into my bedroom and bathroom where I could use the shower to scrub him down. He leapt, rolled, panted, barked and jumped for about 15 minutes.

Good News:

- After we got him into the shower, he sat there and I swear he was moaning with pleasure as I soaped him up, praising him for being such a handsome bastard.

- I hadn't yet taken a shower yet so I wasn't required to re-wash my muddy arms, legs, hands, fingers, feet, toes and nostrils after the entire debacle.

Bad News:

- I had to mop the kitchen and living room floors; scrub every window where he leapt;  scrub the rugs and the couch and the blinds and the kitchen table and the refrigerator and the dishwasher, the ceiling fan and the entire upstairs hallway and master bedroom.

Good News:

- He's a handsome, clean bastard.