I made myself a list of things I wanted to remember to talk about, and look, it’s almost a little poem:

Happy with comments
Front teeth; portrait appointments
Lost phone list
Crown, and already chipped
Too much apocalyptic fiction

However, I notice there is only one happy thing on the list. Well, that is consistent with my recent mood, which has been cranky/stressed.

I think part of it can be traced to the last thing on the list. I started with The Road, as I wrote about in this post, which led to a lot of great suggestions in the comments section for other apocalyptic fiction. So then I read Oryx & Crake, which I liked a lot—until the end, when it presented a terrible dilemma, went on a bit about how terrible the dilemma was…and then ended. I don’t have to have every little loose end tied up (even though I WAS hoping at some point for a letter from someone explaining why they’d done something a certain way), but if I have to write the ending myself I want to be paid fairly for it. Worse, because of the many, many times the lead character thought to himself that the clues were there all along right in front of him and he should have been able to figure it out, I felt like the author thought I SHOULD know what ending she had in mind. And I am someone who doesn’t even like to TRY to solve a murder mystery, but instead waits contentedly for the author to let the detective explain it to me.

Then I read Pure. It’s not young adult, but I’ll bet there were a lot of arguments at the publishing house about whether it ought to be. I liked that one TOO, but it’s a trilogy so of course it didn’t END-end, and then my library doesn’t have the second book and there’s an inexplicable “can’t be requested” tag from the library in the system that DOES have it.

Then I started World Made by Hand, and that’s where I stopped. One of the main downsides of apocalyptic fiction is that it tends to be preachy and told-you-so-ish, and this was either the worst one of the group so far or else I’d just already reached my limit on “Look what could happen if you don’t listen to what I think is wrong with the world” lecturing. I think it was the latter. And I’d already been wondering if I should take a break from the theme, because I’d been feeling increasingly paranoid, twitchy, and impotent-despairful, and also unable to tidy the house because IF THERE’S AN APOCALYPSE WE MIGHT BE SORRY WE BLITHELY THREW OUT THIS HOLEY SOCK. So this afternoon I’m going to go to the library, return the rest of the books I’d checked out, and pick out something where the world is still basically the way it is.

Some of the twitchiness and despair, though, can be attributed instead to dental work. I had the first step of a crown done this week, and I just hate everything. A little piece of the temporary crown chipped off the very first day, and I have three more teeth the dentist says need crowns in the relatively near future, and I just hate everything. (Except the new comments system. I do love that.)

I have been allowing spiders to live in my house, and I don’t know if this is a Stretching Exercise or if this is something that will land me in the madhouse, because AIEEEEEE SPIDERS IN MY HOUSE.

This came about because of a meme, in case you have been thinking nothing anyone says on Facebook changes anyone’s mind. If you’d prefer not to click any link in a spider post, it’s the meme where a spider is saying things like “Okay, I got all the termites and ants taken care of for you… HEY WHAT’S THAT BOOK FOR?” and so on. In school, my friends teased me for anthropomorphizing ANYTHING (even on one memorable occasion a crouton) (it’s Paul who makes it so memorable, by never letting anyone forget it), and this just GOT to me. Fine, spiders are good. I accept it. I will attempt peaceful coexistence.

But dear sweet biscuits, there has got to be an UNDERSTANDING. They can be up in the corners, that’s fine. They can even walk from place to place as long as I don’t have to see them do it. But there can be no (NO) dangling down from the ceiling. There can be no (NO) showing up in the shower. And this morning when I turned the calendar page to take a look at May (HOW IS IT ALREADY ALMOST MAY?), I had to add a new rule: no (NO) climbing around in the calendar. IT IS NOT A JUNGLE GYM.

I spent the weekend with my brother, sister-in-law, sister-in-law’s sister, niece, and nephew, and maybe “with relatives” would have been a simpler way to write that. Anyway it was great. I slept 3.5 hours later than usual, which is the kind of thing that can buy a day of re-set perspective. I came home with PLANS: we are going to play with our kids more! and take more walks! and get rid of CLUTTER! and try new things more often! That’s gone now, but still!

My niece and nephew are at particularly great ages: my niece is 4, which according to anecdotes in my own kid-recording journals must be the best of all ages ever; and my nephew is almost 20 months, which means every time I see him he’s made enormous bounds in communication. In December he was saying some words; when I saw him in February he was saying lots more words and putting two together; this month he’s saying little sentences. “Aunt Swis! watch! dancing!” Language acquisition is kind of FREAKY.

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Today I am trying a chignon Gibson Tuck. I didn’t look up how to do it because I thought I remembered how (make a low loose ponytail, then pull the ponytail open right above the elastic and stuff the ponytail into there), but I think I should probably look it up because I didn’t know what to do after THAT. I used little clippies, but it seems like there could be a more elegant method. Also, I wasn’t sure if “stuff the ponytail into there” was the right instruction, or if it would be better to sort of roll it up first or what. Still, overall I like it and will try it again after, like, looking up how to do it [now that I know what it is called].

Would you be interested in discussing a minor ethical dilemma? My mom and I talked about it for awhile this weekend, and we couldn’t come to any solution that seemed Good and Right. And yet it was a small enough issue that it was only interesting, not upsetting. That is, I am not suffused with doubt and anxiety over this; it’s more that I think it’s the kind of thing that brings up a lot of different interesting issues that could then later be applied to larger situations. My mom said it’s the kind of thing that would be in a book of discussion questions for groups, which is what made me think of doing the post.

Here is what happened: I took four of the kids to see a school play. The cost to get in was $3 per person, maximum $10 per family. As we approached the door (so, no time for thinking things over), one of Rob’s friends said (in a pleasant, charming voice), “Hey, can I be part of your family?” Meaning: Could he come in with our group and not pay his $3.

My assessment: Obviously that’s ethically wrong. But it would be extremely awkward to tell him no. And it’s minor, not major. Also, I’m a slow thinker and can’t figure this out.

I said yes. Then I felt a little conflicted about it, but not conflicted enough to do anything, though if I were I could put $3 in an envelope and mail it anonymously to the theater club, since that would at least patch up the money part. So far I’m not that worried about it, but might do it just because it would be pleasing and would remove the element of someone losing out on this situation.

One issue here is the division of ethical responsibility. Rob’s friend is the one who came up with the plan, and the one who involved someone else in a pressured situation, and the one who benefited from it; I paid the same amount of money either way. If anyone were to reimburse the theater club, it should be him. Which is another element that made it harder to say no: it cost me nothing, so it would have been nothing but ethical prissiness behind the no. But it also brings two more details into this: my role was accomplice (as opposed to primary ethics violator), and also it’s important to note that I don’t have authority over the behavior of the teenager involved.

On the other hand, my mom pointed out that one does not want to behave in front of a teenager (one’s own or another) as if such things are no big deal. But then we also agreed that acting in front of a teenager and his friends as if such things ARE a big deal can backfire. And, frankly, such things probably AREN’T such a big deal: this is probably on par with finding after you get home from the store that the cashier charged you for one $2 plastic plate when you bought two. Except since I was not oblivious in this case, it’s more like noticing that the clerk rang up one plate instead of two, but noticing it when it would be awkward and uncomfortable and some minor hassle to fix it (like, after putting my credit card through) and deciding not to. Or maybe it’s like if the clerk winked and rang up both plates as one. Yes, that’s a little better, because it captures the prissiness of response that would be required to Do The Right Thing, and that I’d be bossing/criticizing someone ELSE’S ethical behavior.

You could probably also factor in that for the same $10 the theater club would have let me bring in two more people: Paul and Henry. This doesn’t factor in directly (i.e., the obvious response is “Yes, but that’s because they’re in your family; this other kid was not”), and yet it does add another detail to consider.

So! Isn’t that kind of interesting? We kept circling back to, “Well, it WAS wrong, and I should have said no”—but then getting to “Yes, but then what would I have SAID? Like, what ACTUAL WORDS?” and the fact that it was not a huge deal and that it wasn’t fully my own ethical decision. Which is why it’s so good for thinking through: I DON’T wish in this case to go back in time to do it differently; even with time to think, I would make the same choice in this particular situation. But there could LATER be another situation where I DID consider it a big deal, and all this thinking-it-through NOW can help counteract my slow on-the-spot thinking.

Tonight I am watching The Breakfast Club. Allow me to remind you of the poster:

(photo from IMDB.com)

If this movie was one of the big influences of your teenager / young adult life, I have a question for you: Which boy from that movie was your favorite? I think we’re going to need a poll, though I do hope you’ll go into explanatory detail in the comments. (I was a Judd Nelson girl. The earring.)

[yop_poll id=”2″]

It is good, I guess, to get a periodic reminder that I didn’t do the wrong thing when I switched my major from elementary education to business. I have been VERY FRUSTRATED, because Henry’s teacher has asked me to work with him on his handwriting and I’m finding it…challenging.

I can see that he’s definitely having trouble with his writing: I’m saying, “Okay, now write a lowercase N!,” and he’s making a little hill with no stick, floating in the middle of the dotted-line area it’s supposed to be below. So I say, “No, remember it goes below the dotted line, and it’s a little stick first and THEN the little hill.” Meanwhile I’m thinking it would be super-useful if I knew the terms the TEACHER uses for these things. Maybe part of the issue is that she doesn’t say “little hill” and “little stick” and he has no idea what I’m talking about.

Though it seems like a bigger issue is that he doesn’t seem to have been taught to make his letters yet. I consider it my job to help with homework and reinforce skills (e.g., hold flash cards, practice spelling words, check math problems)—but that’s after the teacher has done her part, which is teaching the skills. If he’s making his O’s from the bottom and he doesn’t know a lowercase N has a little stick and he doesn’t know what the dotted line is for, then I’m not reviewing/reinforcing, I’m TEACHING. I’m not trained or qualified for that, AND IT SHOWS.

Let’s not pretend that “Just go talk to the teacher about it!” is an option here. What’s really going to happen is that I am going to keep working on this with him every day, and then next year he will have another teacher who will either teach him to write or will refer him for special services. He’s only in kindergarten, so I am not particularly worried about it. My main worry is not his writing, but that the teacher will think he’s bad at it because I’m not doing a good job teaching him.

I am having a long, slow, and mild freak-out about moving on to the next stage of life. Perhaps “freak-out” is the wrong word for something slow and mild.

Anyway, I was fretting about my fretting, and kind of SCOLDING myself about it—and then I realized I don’t actually have to do anything about it at all. Fretting about stages/aging is like fretting about breathing, or maybe more like being 30,000 feet up on a non-stop flight and fretting that I don’t really want to go there: it doesn’t matter if I’m mentally on-board or not, because I’m PHYSICALLY ON-BOARD.

I can fret all I like about not being ready or not wanting to go onto the next stage or not knowing what I’ll do when I get there, but it’s not like trying to make myself eat better or exercise more, where if I don’t take action nothing will happen. Assuming the plane doesn’t crash, I WILL continue to get older, and probably WILL start adding “Better than the alternative, har har!” every time I say it. Henry WILL go to first grade next year, and I WILL have a different way of living as a result of it. I WILL have to start paying for teenager car insurance and college educations; I WILL have to deal with the children dating, and bringing new people into the family whether I like them or not, and naming their children whatever they choose, and living wherever they want to live; I WILL have to see my face sliding down. Better than the alternative, har har!

The thing is, as with most other fretful situations, it’s not going to happen ALL AT ONCE, so I don’t need to WORRY about it all at once. When my babies were babies, I had a tendency to pre-freak-out about kindergarten and school bus issues and sleepovers (on one memorable occasion I cried over my 2-week-old baby, imagining him an old man in a neglectful nursing home)—but it worked pretty well to override that as much as possible with a Sufficient Unto the Day Is the Trouble Thereof concept, worrying instead about whether the baby ought to have better neck control by now, and are we almost out of diapers, and is this a tooth or an ear infection. That way, by the time it was actually TIME to worry about sleepovers, I was DONE worrying about diapers and teeth and rolling over and could concentrate JUST on sleepover fretting. No sense doubling up unnecessarily.

So in the same way, it would be silly to fret NOW about what kind of person Rob might marry and what that other person’s family might be like, when I’m already pretty busy worrying about his retainers and his high school course selection sheet. It’s not that thinking “I shouldn’t worry” STOPS me from worrying, but sometimes it lets me redirect the worry to CURRENT concerns.

Where was I? Didn’t I start out talking about aging? Young man, have you seen my purse?

I got a haircut, and I told the stylist specifically what I wanted (“To grow it long, but wear it up”), and she said a blunt cut would be best for that. Then I told her that I also sometimes wanted to wear it down, and that I would prefer to have some layers, and that I didn’t mind if that meant having little pieces sproinging out of the updos. I reassured her about that several times: “I know it means little sproingies! I don’t mind! I LIKE little sproingies!” It turned out that I was wrong about that.

I think I was picturing that the sproingy pieces would be softly and charmingly disheveled-looking, but instead they just stick out everywhere in a bristly, non-romantic way, and keep me from making a smooth braid or twist. Luckily my stylist knows I don’t always know my own mind (it’s one of the reasons I am so loyal to her), and so she didn’t put in MUCH layering (just one long layer and some ends-choppiness) and she didn’t do MUCH tapering (just a few pieces). It’ll be easy to grow out.

But then I’ll have all-one-length hair, and it’ll look like a triangle when I wear it down. Dilemma. Well, there’s just no such thing as having hair that is BOTH of the opposite ways I want it, at the same time. This is how mullets came to be.

I did something really cool with it today (it would be cooler without the little pieces sticking out) (BYGONES), but then got extremely frustrated trying to get a picture of it.

First there were twenty pictures like these first three, as I tried to hold the camera behind my head:

(You see what I mean about the unromantic sproings?)

Maybe it would be better to take the picture in the mirror, so I could get farther away?:

Nope.

Nope.

Hope rises! This is getting better!

Nope.

Okay, just…never mind. I’ll TELL you about it. It’s one of those two-strand twist things, but I started it over one ear, and then did it over the top of my head and around to the back. Then I put the last bits in a bun that ought to look charmingly disheveled but instead looks like a wad of hair-ends. (IT’LL BE EASY TO GROW OUT.)

I often wish we’d get an EARLIER heads-up from school about things that will be needed. The twins’ classes are making bird-nest bags at school, and so we got a note home from the teacher saying each child needs to bring in a net bag (like the kind that has onions or apples in it) by next week, and to please send in extra bags if we have them. If I’d known this, say, a month ago, I could have been saving bags and/or looking for alternative sources for them. As it is, I had to go out and buy two bags of overpriced apples just to harvest the bags.

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I read The Road, and I was very nervous the whole time because I remembered reading something someone wrote about it that convinced me it was not a good book for me to read even though I like apocalyptic fiction, but I couldn’t remember what it was they said. It was okay, though.

I wouldn’t recommend it, however, mostly because it destroyed the Fun Apocalypse Thoughts I have sometimes, like when I stock up on peanut butter or when I buy a hand-crank radio. Now I realize it wouldn’t matter if I were prepared for a genuine emergency or not, because someone stronger and meaner would come and take everything I had within microseconds.

Also, I was confusing it with On the Road, so I was thinking it was a Famous Old American Classic I Really Ought to Read for Cultural Literacy. But actually it’s from 2006 and it’s an Oprah’s Book Club pick—a category I’ve learned through bitter experience to avoid.

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Have you tried DeKuyper’s hot cinnamon schnapps? It has a Swear Word in the name, which I won’t put here since I’m ALREADY getting blocked by some workplaces. I bought it on a whim, and Paul and I tried it, and we both liked it. Paul said it’s like someone took huge handfuls of red hots and melted them into a bottle of vodka, and I was too busy coughing to do more than nod my agreement.

I am not feeling at home here on the new blog. At our house, we refer to this particular feeling as “not knowing where the toothbrushes are.” The phrase comes from when Paul and I had just moved to a new state and town, and we discovered we’d left our toothbrushes behind at the last motel. We went to a drug store to buy some replacements, and I started crying in the store because I couldn’t find the toothbrush aisle—and not being able to find something so normal and simple seemed to symbolize all the new things we were going to have to figure out. I like things to be FAMILIAR.

The only way to make this familiar is to keep using it, though, so here I am. Let’s think of something to talk about. Rob got his braces off and is signing up for high school stuff for next year. William got several C’s on his report card and seems to have lost his trumpet (I say “seems” because he also lost his new expensive down winter coat, and then it turned up two weeks after I’d given up all hope). Elizabeth went to her first sleepover and it went great. Edward has been put in a weekly lunchtime group with the school counselor, and when I saw him at a birthday party with his peers I felt unpleasantly sure that it was a very good idea. Henry has got to be enrolled in something this summer or I’m not going to make it. I think I got my first grey hair, but maybe it was just one that got extra bleached by highlighting conditioner. I did our taxes with tax software today, but it’s saying they can’t be filed yet because the forms haven’t been updated yet, even though the website says all forms are now available. I still can’t get my profile to show up at upper right where it’s supposed to. I took down a curtain we put up in the kitchen when we moved into this house, and I laundered it and it completely fell apart.

Also, I bought myself a Webkinz. Elizabeth has one, as did Rob and William before her, and it looked like fun, and I kept being jealous that she was getting to choose decor and clothes and so forth, and so in an impulsive mood I bought one for myself. I have not regretted it. It’s fun. I got the fox, but he was $9 when I bought him, not $20 as he appears to be now. If you’re not picky about the type of animal, you can get one for way cheaper (around $5 at time of typing: golden retriever, moose, Siamese cat, lamb, pig, frog, polar bear, and about a million others)—and the animal itself isn’t really the point, the point is the games and decorating, and the novelty of buying a toy for oneself at such an advanced age. (Plus, the children were impressed.)