Once again, my son and I watched "Fight Club" lastnight. Even though most would shudder to think of an 11-year old and their mom watching this film, it's our ritual. Plus, it's one of my kid's favorite films. And my son is non-violent and rather a weenie at times so the action films aren't making him into a crazy whirlwind of anger waiting to lash out at anyone, anytime.
I think real values and responsibility are learned in the home, not by what children are watching on TV. I don't care how much TV they watch although I believe reading is a better pathway to imagination. If the values aren't being displayed at home or if violence is in the home, that's how you produce a child who will take those characteristics on as an adult.
Show me a father who is distant to his son and I'll show you a man whose own father treated him the same way or much worse. There's a pattern developing. No matter how much you say you'll never be like your parents or that they're whackjobs or whatever, the patterns emerge.
I know my own husband still has no idea how to just BE with our son because his own father was stern, upset, publicly spanked him and his brothers ... until they were old enough to be hit in the face. So, my husband thinks it's some great act of parenting that he doesn't yell and hit or spank. "I'm doing better than my own dad." Yet, keeping a distance between yourself and your son, an invisible barrier, or forcefield, isn't great parenting. It's just existing. It's ghost parenting and is why I spend so much time doing things with my son.
It's also why when at the park, my eyes are drawn to the father and son duos. Ball being thrown back and forth. Or frisbee. I spent about an hour watching a father and son in Maine throw a baseball back and forth. This kid threw so hard it echoed after hitting his dad's mitt. He had this perfect stance, this throw, this release. It was an art and I realized, it came from the father. The patience he had, the pride, and the foundation of a close relationship. This feeling of "thank God I have a son!"
I was the one who taught my son how to play baseball with the great help of his first coach. His first coach knew Dad was too busy working for games so took me under his wing. He taught me to throw, to hold the bat, to hit, to catch, etcetera so I could do all the practice with my son. Because Dad was conveniently not around for that either ... and it worked. Yet, my son doesn't have the art of the game down because hell, neither do I!
"Fight Club" is one of those films I can't say enough about or if I do repeat myself about it constantly, I just can't help it. The ideas of living in that film were so overlooked, so frowned upon, that the movie just had a kind of cult following. Sure, people will say, "Yeah, I like Fight Club," but that's because now they know it means something much more. Like the "Napoleon Dynamite" crowd. What the hell is that movie about? Nothing, yet droves of Hollywood elite are wearing "VOTE FOR PEDRO" shirts. The same people who have absolutely no understanding of even being an underdog. Still, it's a cool thing now to back Napoleon. Personally, I liked Kip, but in no way do I feel the movie is a masterpiece.
Not like Fight Club. A movie that says, "I'm wondering if another woman is what we really need." A comment made by Tyler because of having an emotionally absent father and a mother who did her best, yet the characters still feel lost and hollow.
So, in grand Fight Club style ... I am Beth's frontal lobe. I control thought, reasoning, behavior, and memory. I am what keeps Beth up at night wondering if her son will end up leaving home and never talking to his dad again.
I make the plans for the husband and son to spend time together. I decide the length of time it will be and what my husband should say when doing said activity with son to "get the ball rolling" as husband cannot do this for himself. It doesn't come natural to him.
I decide if Beth will get upset when her husband has ignored her son for a whole weekend. When he praises the daughter and doesn't recognize the son even being in the same room.
I flood Beth with memories of natural fathers with sons so she can feel a sense of remorse. I let Beth know what two good men she has in the home so that she can believe the fight is worth it.
At least for five minutes every day, I have a war in my head betwixt the grandma part of my brain and the bodybuilder part.
The grandma section says, "Hey, you've tried your best to be a hardbody. You've been on every crazy diet known to man. You ate healthy and exercised. It's not your fault that you are warm and squishy. You'll be a grandma someday. It's how grandmas are supposed to feel!"
The bodybuilder section says, "If you did it before, you can do it again. It means hard work, discipline, and abstinence. Don't you want to pose in bikinis again? Don't you want to show off your biceps while in the grocery store instead of covering them up? You could carry all of your grandchildren on your back if you stick with me."
Then I just block them both out and begin my day. I do my chores, my renovations, my landscaping, my gardening. I drink some water, eat what I feel like, read, and go to bed. Sure, in between there's playtime with the kids and husband, but that's basically my body's summer.
And every morning when I wake up I tell myself, "Today will be different. This will be when I change and my body decides to rev up and come along for the ride." By 5pm, I'm back to "Oh, hell with it! Who am I trying to impress?"
I'm sure my body would just like me to make up my mind. I'm sure my mind would be amazed if I actually made it up. Yet there's something wedged in there making it impossible for me to just do one thing at all for very long. A Krispy Kreme receptor or something. Ah well, it's time to make the donuts.
In December 2005, my husband and I will have been married 17 years. We married young, straight out of high school, and even though we went through some turbulent times, we have now settled into a peaceful existence.
Sure, we're renovating a home, landscaping acres, and working like mad in between, but life is good for us again. My husband is a trusted friend, devoted lover, and a co-conspirator on all pipe dreams. I feel lucky most days, grateful others.
My daughter's best friend's mother, Cathy, cannot say the same. Cathy divorced her devoted husband and father of her two children because, and I quote, "There wasn't any heat in the bedroom." She admittedly left him broken-hearted and miserable. Five years later, after a slew of bad boyfriends, Cathy wished things had worked out differently. Her ex happily re-married leaving Cathy green with envy, longing for the old days, and again I quote, "Just waiting for the split."
Due to exorbitant spending habits, Cathy has nothing to show for all her labor. Now 40, Cathy has not one deed to her own property, one loan paid in full, or even a savings account. In fact, her checking account is normally overdrawn. Mall first, bills later, life's short. This is Cathy's motto.
Her two children, a boy and girl (12 and 15), are attractive and intelligent. They do well in school and make good choices. Cathy has every right to be proud.
Yet, instead, she can't seem to keep her jealousy of others at bay. Anyone who has more money than she is either "in debt to their eyeballs" or "a bitch" or an "idiot", etc.
Having to be around Cathy for any length of time fills me with dread. I'm not a gossip, I'm not a braggart, and I don't like being around either. I never know what will come out of her mouth, but I know it will be negative.
Yesterday, when I was dropping my daughter off at her home, was no exception. When Cathy saw I was driving a new vehicle, she ran out to bar my exit for one of her stellar conversations. She questioned the model of the vehicle, the year, the make, the mileage, the extras, and finally, how much it cost. Rude, rude, rude! Since I am having more guilt over having a new vehicle than glee, I did not gloat.
Cathy then switched gears. My daughter was asked to play in the All-Star softball game for her division. Cathy's daughter was not. While looking at my vehicle's exterior Cathy said, "I couldn't figure out why your daughter would be picked and not Alex (her daughter). Then I realized, Alex has a knee injury. Otherwise, she would have taken your daughter's place."
Not true, as my daughter is a better player, but I said nothing, which prompted her to continue, "As a matter of fact, I believe there is another good player out with an injury as well. They probably just needed anyone so gave you a call."
Again, after personally viewing the All-Star team, I can say, not true. They were the strongest players in the division. Yet, being in shock, I again said nothing.
After leaving, my mood went from shock to complete and total anger. Cathy has made many of these comments about my daughter in the past and I have always just let it go. I figured she was so miserable in her own life, she needed the slings and arrows to feel better. And I'm grateful for my life and my family, so no harm done.
I came home, told my husband, and receiving no merit-worthy advice, called my best friend, Amy. She too was livid and appalled at Cathy's behavior and words. Amy believes I should not let my daughter even go to the house anymore and should tell this woman why. Amy mentioned if she were there, she would have stopped her immediately and told her exactly what she thought, which made me smile and laugh. I liked the thought of it.
So I ask, what you do? I don't want to upset my daughter or hurt her friendship, yet I have had enough of this woman. Even though her remarks do not make me question my daughter's abilities, does it mean I should subject myself to her bullshit? Any and all thoughts would be greatly appreciated!
Thanks for reading all of this and for all responses.
Now that I'm in that 70's mood, I thought of some obscure shows I loved, but not because of silly crushes (okay, maybe a couple). My father actually enjoyed viewing these with me ... without argument.
Patrick Duffy in "The Man From Atlantis." How many kids looked positively mental trying to recreate his swimming technique?
Before CGI. When you didn't question the outfit tearing exactly the same way, every time ... especially the pants. Or the sweat causing Hulk to have some "caucasian" spots. "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry" - David Banner before he gets Hulkified.
Before Stephen King's "Christine", the General Lee was a car that magically fixed itself on every show. Cooter, the mechanic, may have well been the last time I ever saw a supporting sitcom character with the same name.
Steve Austin would do this funky sight thing with his eyes that made this "do do do" sound, causing me to hide in the kitchen until it was over. My favorite word became "technology" due to this show. "We have the technology ... we can rebuild him."
Pair any of these with my favorite candy bar from this decade and mmm, mmm, good. Or the actual slogan "it lasts a long, long time!"
Even though we were dirt poor, we had the largest TV on the block. Priorities!
My favorite TV show was: Peter Brady was my first big crush. The episodes when he was losing his voice? Dreamy!
It wasn't long until tastes changed and I was singing, "I think I love you" to the grooviest dude of them all, Keith Partridge:
Then it was on to: I had a full length poster of Shaun Cassidy on the back of my bedroom door. His silk jacket, his white teeth, perfectly feathered hair ... fair out! Being a Sherlock Holmes fan complete with homemade spy kit (talcum powder, scotch tape, and magnifying glass), this show was a perfect fit.
And what child of the 70's could forget spending Saturdays with:
The one tooth wonder! Dopey was a dinosaur and NOT a dwarf to the disco decade. Who knew thiw show as all about marajuana?
I also must mention being the only kid in my all white elementary school who loved "Good Times" and "What's Happening," but for some reason, the pictures I had of them wouldn't post.
I'll be doing more flashbacks all this week. I hope you enjoyed this time warp and will host your own soon!
Recently, Mrs. T brought my attention to another blog dedicated to all the reasons why this particular wife hated her husband. She was so adamant about sharing her disgust for her husband, she also asked her son to join in ... and he created his own blog giving all the reasons he couldn't "respect" his stepfather.
Most of the comments she receives, the ones she doesn't delete, are high fives for her infantile behavior.
I mean, this woman has children who are watching her yell at her husband, who watch her husband lock himself away in his room, and on top of that ... they can read all the horrible stuff in her blog.
She and others joke about the husband's mental instability. They cheer her on for putting up with it and joking about it instead of being truly noble and helping the man out or leaving.
I just don't understand it, I guess. I suppose it shows the tone of society. The more disturbing something is, the more we like to read about it or watch it. Like train wrecks, suicide bombings, the new Bobby Brown reality show. If it makes our lives look peachy, good enough.
I just think of my own husband and the problems he's had with depression. I can't imagine not trying to seriously get him help instead of tearing him down. I can't imagine broadcasting to the world if I was too selfish to help him and then pulling my children down because of it as well.
In my world, I demanded he saw someone. I loved him. I wanted him to be happy. I could have used a million excuses why we married too young, but we did it and it was for better or for worse. He did get help and all these years later, we are happy. Yet the children didn't need to be part of all that was bad long ago.
Well, at least I finally deleted the link to this woman's blog. I don't like reading something then feeling ill afterwards.
Sorry for the vent. I just needed to get it out and be done with it.
Well, I am now the owner of a brand new 2005 Ford Explorer Sport Trac and I have my first big monthly auto payment to go along with it.
I'm happy with the vehicle. I love it. The color is perfect ... khaki. Oh, yes, but I am having "new car buyer's anxiety" or something. The thought of a monthly payment actually made me sick today. Sick here is a word meaning "throwing up".
I hope it goes away. The sickness, not the vehicle. The payment going away would be nice also.
This is exactly what I have sitting in my driveway, but I'll stick my own pic in here tomorrow:
Every year of my elementary school experience, the gym teacher would announce, "It's almost time for square dancing. We'll be picking partners soon." Square dancing was done when winter was upon us making outdoor sports unbearable. I was now in 5th grade, it was to be my last chance at a partner I was "ga ga" over, but I stopped really believing it would happen.
Being from a low income family (downright dirt poor), my mother bought all our school clothes at garage sales. This isn't to say the clothes were stained or threadbare ... they just weren't new. Still, I always reserved my best dresses for this time of year ... when I would be chosen and when I would dance. Even as a tomboy, I still loved the way the skirt flared around me as I twirled. Oh yes, I was that silly and girlie underneath.
I wanted Billy House as my partner. Tall, athletic, popular, clean, and well-dressed. ALL the girls loved Billy. I had a feeling I'd end up with Jason Bonaface. Short, chubby, loner, slept with pigs (literally because they were his "friends"), and wore the same suit of clothes every day.
Let's not forget this was the 1970's, but our gym teacher was from even an earlier male dominated generation. Instead of pulling names out of a hat, boys stood in the middle of the gym room while girls sat on the outside around them. They would pick one by one until all the girls were gone. It was "The Lottery" all over again sans stoning.
Square dancing partner picking wasn't like being passed up for Dodge Ball ... where you could blame it on not being coordinated or fast. This was a direct blow to your self-esteem. Being picked last meant, "You were the ugliest girl here. Period."
I had never been picked last, but I had never been picked first either. I never received the partner I wanted. It was a tense, embarrassing time.
I waited to receive my punishment while looking at another girl who shared my first name of Beth. The name itself was finding a niche in the 70's. Beth Elmendorf's parents had money, however. Her outfit was new, her hair looked like Cinderella's ... she glowed. I remember thinking, "Billy will definitely pick Beth Elemendorf," and as luck would have it, she sat right next to me. It's how things work out. Someone else will receive your reward, your glory, and even your man because you just weren't good enough.
The boys began calling names slowly. No one wanted to act like they knew their choices right away. Like they hadn't stayed up the night before just like the rest of us worrying over it.
My head was bowed, I nervously flattened the front of my skirt against my thighs with my sweaty palms. I held my legs tightly together. My shoes were a deep shade of blue and matched one of the polka dots in my dress perfectly. I concentrated on the details.
I peeked over at my best friend. Chrissy was giggling and trying to look seductively at the boys. I don't know if it's the name Chrissy or just my own experience, but every Chrissy I've ever been friends with has been fast and loose. They like sex, they want vast quantities of it ... they're usually bi-sexual. So, Chrissy didn't care who picked her ... she just wanted to be picked, then later fondled by the monkey bars.
I did not want Billy to pick her. I knew she wanted him and I knew she was prettier than me. I would have been green with envy. Beth Elmendorf was still beside me. I was there. Billy was there. Beth was still shimmering. I was sweating. Chrissy had her legs now open on the chair for all the boys to see up her skirt.
Billy was next. I heard, "Beth," then a short pause, then he spoke MY last name quickly. I looked at the floor, then at Billy, then at the other Beth, then Chrissy, and then my teacher. Billy and the teacher were looking straight at me. I remember thinking it was a mistake or a cruel joke, but I don't remember walking to stand next to Billy. I believe I floated or was carried by the angels of square dancing past. I felt like a spotlight was on both of us and at the same time, I knew there was utter disbelief in the girls who were still waiting. When I stood side-by-side with Billy, I smiled and I looked straight out instead of at the floor.
Billy and I were to practice every gym class together. I don't remember Billy being overly nice during all the practices, but I do remember all the times we held hands or locked elbows. It wasn't young love for Billy, but I learned those steps as if my life depended upon it. I made sure my skirt twirled out beautifully. My blue shoes gleamed and I smiled for every dance.
At the big recital, I wore the dress I had picked for the first day. I didn't have many to choose from anyway, but this seemed to be lucky for me. I remember the dance went by quickly and I had not received moon eyes from Billy or even a little note saying, "Will you go out with me ... yes or no." It was as if he picked me on a whim, danced with me, and it was over.
I had visions of him saying to me between "spin her around" and "rip 'n snort" ... "I've always liked you, Beth. I want to marry you and have lots of babies and a big house where you'll have lots of new dresses." OK, I'm not sure what I wanted Billy to say, but he didn't say a thing.
Still, I did receive something from Billy. Not words of love, a great dance partner, or good conversation, but something far more important and that I had lost along the way ... hope. A belief in possibilities once again and that anything can happen ... even if you have given up wishing for it.
So, thank you Billy House wherever you are! May your life be sweet and your wife's toes made of steel. =)
It's summer. No longer do I need to awaken before the rest of the house to pack lunches for the kids. No more breakfasts. No more time clock.
Every night I tell myself, "Tomorrow you will wake up early to make hubby's breakfast, to pack his lunch, to work out, to shower, and begin your day." Every morning (which is right when I'm getting my "good" sleep), I just keep on sleeping. Even if I'm semi-awake, I just continue to stay right in bed.
Before summer, I was attacking the grounds for hours at a time every day. Start a project. Finish a project. Using shovels and whatnot.
Now I pull a few weeds, poke here, push there ... then walk away. I Soft Scrub my fridge, look at the oven, and just walk away. I don't feel the lust for the germ kill anymore. Gardening, renovating, especially building walkways and rock walls outside just isn't enthralling to me anymore.
I have become well, lazy!
Yet I should be taking care of myself ... drinking more water, working out, eating well. I fear being 1,000 pound woman on dried up brown lawn unable to move so just rolling from side to side picking at occasional crab grass.
Did you ever have a friend online (not face-to-face) who you thought you knew pretty well, then after months you were like ... who is this person?
Face-to-face is too easy. You can see the gestures, the soul in the eyes, and all the rest of it, but online or on the phone, you're relying on your Spidey sense. More accurately, you're relying on what they say along with instinct.
So, has anyone else been in a close relationship and after months find themselves saying, 'I don't really know who this person is anymore?'
Or is it just me? It used to happen to me a lot and is the number one reason why I try not to get close with anyone online. My husband is my best friend and good or bad, how many best friends do you really need?
Just some random thoughts. Any of yours greatly appreciated. =)
I was raised in Ford vehicles. Not literally. Yes, my family lived in a little rundown home, but when we left that home, we left riding in a Ford vehicle.
I don't know if I've been conditioned to love them more than other vehicles or if I'm just that smart, but I always buy a Ford .... just never new.
My father taught me to save the money for a vehicle, buy a year or two or three or four older then pay in cash, which is great ... except ... I want a new automobile. I've never had one before. Does this make me greedy? Perhaps.
I just want something that's all mine, made for me, that will be with me until the day I die. Something I can pick up used furniture on the side of the road in, get lumber in, sheetrock in, or run over small objects with. (kidding about that last part)
This means it has to be a truck ... and since it is meant to be driven, it has to be a Ford. Yet prices were staggering. Until Ford decided to go head-to-head with GMC and start the new Family Plan. Oh hurrah, oh hello, a new Ford truck, good to go!
There are cash back options, low financing, 4x4 power, and oh, Lord, heaven! I don't want to look like my name is Bobbie Sue with a mullet, so I'm picking a Ford Ranger except I will go for the Super Cab option.
Sure, I will have monthly payments. Sure, I will no longer be able to say "I paid in cash for that," BUT damn it, I don't care. I want it. It must be mine. And here it is:
... just make it 4-door and khaki. Oh yeah, baby, yeah!
P.S. Home Depot will give you an outdoor package worth up to $870 or a $500 gift certificate just for buying a new Ford truck. Can it get sweeter than that?
A popular saying: Give someone just enough rope to hang themselves with.
Does this mean anyone given more rope than is needed for the job will automatically make a noose out of it? I mean, my clothes line has a rope overhanging off about three feet in length and I've not once been tempted to slipknot, throw it over my head, and jump.
The worst part are these people who TELL you to give someone more rope, like medicine.
You, frantic: "I think husband jetting to Taiwan every weekend to be with whores."
Advice giving friend who isn't concerned with your problems so feeds you nonsense: "Well, give him just enough rope to hang himself with."
So, do you zip it in the pocket of his travel bag? If he's guilty, you get a call from the Taiwanese police stating, "Ya, Sucky Sucky found him when she came out of bathroom after winsing out her fishnets."
You, astonished: "Sucky Sucky is a whore?!?"
Taiwanese policeman, exasperated: "NO, she catches fish! What you think?"
I just don't buy it. Would these people give the dog more leash to see if he'd wander out into a street? Then do a jig once the car hits him like, AHA, told you so!
Do they give a man an inch hoping he'll take a mile? And how the hell do you give someone an inch? Draw a line in the sand and say, "There, that's an inch, go wild with it?!?" How about giving a little more flour to the biscuit mix so he can choke on them? Hey, that could be a new one!
Do these sayings actually help someone? And furthermore, are they sound techniques in the pursuit of living your best life.
These nonsense advice givers are the same people who will be unmarried, pregnant with 5th child, on welfare and meth because, well, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em," right?
I appreciate any comments that you leave always, but would love to see some with these little nuggets of *ahem* wisdom you might have heard and thought, 'What the heck does that mean?' Yes, that would be just grand! =)
Final Entry of Maine Escapades: Beware of the Chipmunks!
July 5th - 3rd day of vacation in Biddeford, Maine
5:45am - in site - Heading to shower in 15 minutes. Slept great. Finally! Back is killing me though. Blow up mattress is only half blown up so ass is always on ground between puffy sides.
6:30am - in site - Family still sleeping. I started the fire to alert mosquitos I was awake and clean, ready for blood sucking feast!
7am - Family still sleeping. Cute little chipmunk found Dru's food. Even posed for a picture. Awww!
7:38am - Still in campsite, family is still sleeping. Cute chipmunk came around the side of me and almost ran up my leg. Now decided, possibly rabid. I shouted, "The food is there" while pointing. Do not know language of the chipmunks. It tried a second run at me, so I stamped foot and yelled, "There!" Squeaked in reply. Proceeded to fill cheeks again with Purina One. At least will have glossy coat to fool other campers into thinking it isn't rabid. Need to boil more water for another load of towels and such. Feeling much like Griet in "Girl With a Pearl Earring".
8am - in site with daughter who asked if I remember any of lastnight. Then asked if I was serious or not. At this point was told I said daughter was evil, son was surrounded by hearts, and husband had 4 eyes (all of which I proceeded to poke), and that we were sleeping in the wrong tent. There was also something about the zipper and how the fabric around it is the "zipper protector" and very important. From there I told the family I needed to read and proceeded to pass out on top of book. Time to clean site, rinse and bag bottles, and finish laundry. Putting Ambienic episode out of mind. Told daughter to do the same, but to remember it if she is offered drugs in future. =/
2:06pm - Lighthouse Depot Gift Shop parking lot with Dru - Tried to find a beach that allows dogs before 5pm. No luck yet. Stuck in hot car with dog while family peruses largest lighthouse gift shop in world. Would like to crawl in own bed with fan blowing and sleep. Love how the children react to this place ... and each other when they're here!
2:29pm - Drake's Island Beach - The good news? We found a beach that is dog friendly! The bad news? Our parking expires in an hour. Recommend this beach highly. Not as crowded and all around nice!
4:47pm - In car on Route 9 - After swimming we ate at Cap'N Jacks. Fresh fish and chips. Son demolished lobster while daughter looked on in horror. Au revoir, $30.50! Tooled around Kennebunk. You can smell the money. Stumbled into coffee bar with young cashier who needs major enema. $6, poof!
5:17pm - in Shamrock site - Husband upset again. Wanted to take picture of street sign, but he rushed past saying I should have taken "action shot." Haven't had red meat since I've been here. Dreaming of steak ... or husband's kidneys. Kids talking quietly in tent. Conspiring, no doubt. Dru sleeping. Where else? My lap!
6:13pm - Husband will not stop playing guitar. Still pouting. Read in tent. Accused of being "major bitch" and rather like the title. Sounds militant with conviction of post all at same time. Thank God tomorrow is last day. Kids left for park store to buy marshmallows.
9:12pm - Teeth brushed. Getting ready to play Bullshit in tent with family.
9:20pm - Out of tent. Almost asphyxiated by lantern fumes. I won game, however. =)
July 6th - Wednesday - Final Morn
7:00am - Woke up early to shower, then start packing up. Kids have adopted rabid chipmunk as goth pet.
9:18am - Shamrock site - Mother duck and babies on pond. Watching them trail behind her. Kids love it. Last baby in chain is pulled under by snapping turtle. Kids and I watch horrified while baby keeps struggling for air while mother duck beats the hell out of water. Baby is down now for about 30 seconds. I look at my husband and say, "Oh my gosh! We have to do something!" WE meaning HIM as water is filled with snapping turtles and leeches. It's hubby to the rescue. I cannot say the tense mood was not lightened by hearing the sudden chug chug of the paddle boat and then this:
9:35am - As soon as husband was in paddle boat, the duckling shot out of the water over it's mother's back ... then headed safely into thicket. Husband still waited while mother duck looked like, "Oh shit, now what?" Duck family starving from adrenaline rush so they came to us for a feeding.
Kids not scarred for life. Maine escapades behind us ... we're heading back to NY. Next time will stick with hotels ... or a cabin ... or possibly break into unused Maine summer home. Thanks for reading and hope everyone is having a great weekend!
3:30am - in tent - Husband throat gurgling, nose whistling all night. Shoving didn't help. Dru claimed my sleeping bag. Shivering. Will brave bugs to take hot shower. Ugh, still dark and cold!
4am - bath house - Shower water cold with dreams of being tepid. Flip flops worked well in the fight against foot fungus. Couldn't help but think about Jason hacking me up ... making flip flops unneccessary and germ fetish strange punchline of tale.
5am - back in tent - Still cannot wake up family. Will use playing with Dru as rouse.
5:30am - waiting in car with kids (sleeping bags on us) - Husband not happy. Heading out for coffee as husband is too good for instant. Just honked to stop husband from smoking instead of leaving. Uh oh. He's really angry now. "Too early for the horn" lecture coming on.
6:30am - back in site - breakfast at McDonald's, coffee at Dunkin' Donuts. Good-bye, $28! Pancakes were good though. Sausage wreaking bowel havoc. Time for bathroom then to race kids in paddle boats.
9am - heading to Biddeford Main Street - Online it was beautiful. Can't wait!
9:30am - Starbuck's stop - Starbuck's while camping. The shame! Lovely Cafe Mocha though. Worth the $11. Barista told me to go to Kennebunk Beach for tonight's fireworks. Said she would see me there. =/ Odd.
9:35am - Just past Biddeford Main Street - Nothing like online. Most shops say "for rent". Feeling lack of sleep. Getting sick of dog being on lap. Feet take turns falling asleep. Heading to Old Orchard Beach!
10:15am - Old Orchard Beach strip - Left Dru in car. Couldn't resist tourist shop. Shirts for mom and kids, shorts for husband, hoodies for all! So long $74! Freaky Indian shopkeeper kept saying to my son, "You the man!" Next stop, Old Orchard beach!
12 noon - back in car - Kicked off beach by musclebound lifeguards because of Drusilla. No dogs allowed. I asked, "It's because she's black, right?" to absolute stunned faces. Different humor in Maine. Kids did swim "some", but wasted all that money in parking meters. John got in water to promptly get back out. Balls supposedly the size of Raisinettes. Not checking to verify. The children and husband at Old Orchard Beach.
12:15pm - Lobster Claw Restaurant parking lot with Dru - Family went in to order food. Clams for me! First camping trip I haven't had to cook all day ... or even once! Feeling guilty ... like Carolyn Ingalls would feel if family had to eat every day at Nelly's restaurant. ("Little House on the Prairie" reference) Adieu, $54!
12:45pm - Shamrock Park site - Came back to insane elderly country band jamming in the middle of park ... with loud speakers! Saw bizarre 90-year old groupie in pink. Scarier than Jason visions this morning. Band just keeps on going. Husband and son taking nap through it. Husband "needed" more sleep. Humph! Will boil water to launder clothes then read. Hopefully bleeding ears do not cause me to pass out before I finish. Actual picture of band in different venue ... no, not kidding
2:30pm - in tent - "Slim", band's singer, just announced he's taking a 15 minute break. Oh joy! Blissful quiet was finally near until he introduced some Carlo fellow who'll be playing during the intermission. May puncture own tympanic membranes. Slim said the "fun" will cotinue until 5pm. Have new definition of Hell.
2:45pm - in tent still - Daughter asked, "Did you hear THAT?" I listened. Hillbilly crooner sings. I question, "I'll never sleep with Willie again?!?" Daughter answers in shock, "No, Mom! I'll never SMOKE WEED with Willie again!" I listened. Sure enough, she's right. Cowboy's a stoner. Sang 4 more songs about marajuana during 15-minute break. Better than any anti-drug commercial ever!
3pm - Family awake in tent - We're all singing about Willie. 120 minutes until reprieve. Clams keep coming up in my throat. Must get Tums, or Rolaids ... or crack.
5pm - in site - When will it end???
6:15pm - in car - Heading to Kennebunk Beach. Enjoyed a few minutes of quiet. Tried to go to bathroom before I left. Lunatic long-haired camper stopped me to give me firewood. Even after I said, "No, thank you," he grabbed my hand to put my arm out. Had wood pile on one arm before I could smack him with other. Piled wood up to my eyebrows. Half-runned back to site with 50 pounds of wood in my arms. Had no defense against bugs. Husband said for me to go back and get more. I think not. Kids want to swim when we reach beach. I say it's too cold. Husband disagrees.
8:30pm - leaving beautiful Kennebunk - Best Main Street I've ever seen! Kids too cold to stay for fireworks -- the whole reason we came! Did not see Starbuck's barista. Both legs are dead. Dru has been on lap for days now with 5-minute breaks to husband. Leaving Wednesday instead of Sunday. Will double dose Ambien tonight to get much-needed sleep tonight. I have a high drug tolerance. Dru and hubby at beach.
Remaining days of vacation along with rabid chipmunk to come ... tomorrow!
9am - in car, in driveway - Late start due to improper packing & fumbled shower arrangements.
9:15am - in car, in driveway - Back due to husband needing to shut water off. Making sure everyone doesn't have to go to the bathroom.
10am - first stop - Husband didn't "go" when I asked and is now in need of restroom. Taking this opportunity to point out that we are overpacked to him. Should have left stupid guitar at home!
10:15am - back in car with assortment of McDonald's breakfast food. Good-bye, $18!
10:30am - still at rest stop - Now smoking while walking Dru, the pug. Take time to once again mention overpacking and guitar. Husband says, "drop it." I demand apology first. Once received, suddenly validated and happy all at the same time.
10:35am - back in car - Finally, back on road!
Noon - still in car - Play radio. Sing songs. Play air drums. Listen to daughter say "hairy babushkas" while rubbing son's legs. Son is screaming.
Somewhere around 3pm - Biddeford, Maine exit. Everyone excited!
3:10pm - in car - Officially lost. Husband finally asking for directions.
3:20pm - Still lost. Husband takes guess from map and it's right. Lone road sign for West St. a mile into road confirms it. Excited to see campsite.
3:25pm - Shamrock RV Park in sight. Husband exclaims, "You've got to be kidding me." Wayward metal homes on wheels and strange children littering yard. Praying tent sites are remote while promising they are to family. Looks like "Deliverance: Part II".
3:30pm - Just left Shamrock check-in. Strange chat with owner, Deb, who greeted us in official Maine accent. Words ending in -er are now replaced with -ah. Driving through park, passing lots of campahs. $58 gone.
3:45pm - in back of Shamrock Park - Cannot find site. Husband says "it's the one next to Aunt Edna," which causes me to gasp. Just a joke. Claiming secluded corner area. Relieved. Time to set up.
5:30pm - Shamrock site - Children notice strange huge man apparently camping alone, yet has 3 children's chairs around fire along with his own. They call him "the lonely wanderer". I call him "weirdo" and said for them to stay away. Camp set up, tent up, beds made. Leaving for food, but cannot cook on fire as this is a "ring" and not a fireplace, no grate. Grrrr! Or Gahhhh! (in Maine now)
5:45pm - Biddeford Wal-Mart. Buying food, realized I didn't pack any of husband's Levi's. Husband angrily heads to men's clothing for "substandard off brand" while I travel to beer aisle. Much needed. $139.56, so long!
6pm - Wal-Mart parking lot - Checking on Dru. Husband and children finally come out to start packing up cooler in trunk.
6:15pm - Head for coastal drive and outside eatery. Starving!
6:30pm - Some nice place in Maine at outdoor restaurant - Seafood ordered. $58. Food is taking eternity. 20 minutes already. Son said, "In NY you order food, you get it. Here, you have enough time to really ponder life before you eat."
7pm - Rocky beach area - Food scarfed down. Delicious haddock for me. Walking on beach. Son cannot find camera 1 foot in front of him on rock. May need to call opthamologist.
8pm - Shamrock site - Hello, Samuel Adams, fire, and 1 billion mosquitos! Cutter insect repellant seems to be bug crack. They can't get enough of me or my dog. Kids in paddle boats. Cute to watch. Great to see them get along. Had them wear life vests just in case fight breaks out and one is thrown over edge.
8:30pm - Dru in arms and on lap, as usual. My lap has permanent pug indentation. Two beers drank by husband. Now speaking in tongues.
9:30pm - Can no longer handle husband saying, "So, what's the greatest name of album ever?" I brush teeth with kids and get ready for bed, forsaking port-a-potty, which looks like a sewage plant hiccoughed inside. Walked by "lonely wanderers" campsite. Afraid to look at fire for fear phantom children in chairs would be looking back at me in the dark.
10pm - In tent - Everyone's asleep. I'm reading The Virgin Blue. Took 1 Ambien to make sure I got a good night's sleep!
This is just a heads up to say I'm off to Maine for a week of camping by the shore. Half of me can't wait ... the sand, the surf, the fresh seafood, that groovy accent. The other half is dreading it ... the cooking over a fire, sleeping on the ground, mosquitos, all that clean up. When we camp, I cook three meals a day. It isn't as fun as it sounds. And if it sounds fun, what's wrong with you?
Still, I've noticed the new breed of campers out there. Not the RV set. I can't even explain those people. Living in a motorized house is NOT camping, people. It's like scaling a mountain with a helicopter and saying you climbed it.
I'm talking about the younger set with those new type of tents, cookware, gadgets, and whatnot. You know, the bright red tent, light bulb battery-powered lamps instead of propane-powered lanterns, meals pulled and eaten out of a cooler, no fire needed or if need be, cooked over portable range.
These people are clean, they smell nice, they spend 5 minutes daily inside their site. The rest is spent mountainbiking or hiking or doing something very strenuous during their vacation, when the body is expecting rest. They come back looking just as great as when they left. Go figure!
Or there could the new type of camper that thinks, "Hey, there's a family across from us. They didn't look at us or wave, but they're playing hard to get. Let's go talk their ear off, tell them our whole life story. Yeah! They'll love that!" This particular type will send me into a panic attack. No doubt.
So, when you wake in the morning, think of me ... crouched over a fire, with wet eyes due to smoke being in them, trying to fry eggs, and crisp toast. Think of me swatting at a mosquito, swabbing off a grease spatter, and leave a message to say you were. I'd appreciate it! =)
Adding some pictures of where I'll be staying, the forecast, etc.