Rambling

Tonight we embark on a 6+ hour drive to Arcata, carefully planned to the sleep cycles of Madelena, She Who Does Not Enjoy Long Car Rides. Our plans include fueling up on forbidden caffeine from Peet's coffee, flashcards to keep our brains active and Benadryl for all under three feet. The one thing I had not planned on was a sudden heat wave in Arcata, reaching 87 degrees today.

Holy mother of god. 

I will be spending 3 nights in a mobile home in Arcata, far from sea breezes and close to a number of homes with carved wooden donkeys and bathtubs filled with flowers. I will be sharing my room and possibly my bed with a squirming and sweaty kid of some gender, and am already stressed by the possible lack of diet foods available to me and necessary for my Body 2008 goals. And now the wrath of god on Arcata in the form of stifling heat? I know China, Myanmar and others have problems, but what about MY NEEDS?

It will actually be a relief to be in Arcata, where newspapers are printed weekly and internet service is only found at Starbucks for the low, low price of your SOUL. Recent news from China, Myanmar and friends in Guatemala have become overwhelming in my mom-head as of late, and I find myself waking up at 2am to think of all of the grief being felt around the world this week, summed up by the phrase "what if that were MY child?"

Everyday we complain to our friends about our childcare, the cost of repairs to our Volvo or BMW, how difficult it is to find just the right organic produce or a yoga class that works for us. We drive a few miles to stock up on fresh food and organic milk, pick up flowers every week without a thought about cost, download the lastest iTunes without a blink, buy our $14 per pound olives and then pass that guy on the street so distastefully panhandling. And we go home to kiss or complain about our always well-dressed, well-fed, well-educated and generally healthy children who most likely have no obstacles before them that can't be overcome by themselves, their family and their U.S. citizenship status.

So while we drive to Arcata without worrying about floods, cyclones, PGN, mortar rounds or the prospect of prison for driving out of our neighborhood without papers, I will try to focus on the blessed life that I live rather than any screaming coming from the back seat. And perhaps by doing that I will also stop worrying heat and the availability of Atkins bars and realize that while other mothers in other countries are looking for their lost children or struggling to find basic food and supplies.... I know exactly where my child is and that we will have everything we need tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. 

Namaste.

Author's note: This was written with a 12 ounce bag of frozen sweet corn on my neck to battle the heat stroke that is imminent in our 100+ degree house, which may have also affected the rambling quality of this entry. Thank you, global warming.

Just saying hello

In the opening scene of "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" the lead character is surprised by his girlfriend as he steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. By way of greeting, he drops the towel and twists his body back and forth while just below his hips — out of camera range — we hear a distinct "slap slap slap".

"Oh, that's a WW," says Gregg.

"A what?"

"A WW. You know."

"No, I don't."

"It's a weenie wave. EVERYONE knows that. It's just KNOWN."

And thus my husband teaches me something again that I did not know nor want to know, but now will forever have lodged in my brain next to the information about how tofu is made and how to identify lice nits, somewhere behind an image of a liver curdled by cirrhosis. 

Teach your children well

Shawn Joaquin is a rules kid, subject to daily heart attacks from Madelena, who is not. He follows her around shouting "you should not do that - that's dangerous for children" or saying to us, following cross words, "you should not talk to peoples like that - it's not polite." When friends come over and try to shoot the cat with their finger, he is incensed and firmly reminds them that in our house we don't shoot animals or babies. It's not polite. When they jump on the furniture, he stamps his foot on the ground and tells them to get down immediately - we don't do that here. 

I was very puzzled as to where this all came from until I realized that while I myself am not always a rules follower (except those that make sense, of course) I am quite the rule maker. And like Shawn Joaquin I am quite tempted to follow people around and remind them of my rules, and only decorum or - more honestly - lack of time keep me from doing so. 

To save myself some time and yourself some embarrassment when in my presence, I have decided to note some of my more obscure but helpful rules in order to improve your life/avoid embarrassment/display my own idiosyncrasies/freakishness.

Send thank you notes. The only time this is not mandatory is when you have two children under the age of five - then you can make a phone call to thank someone because putting a pen to paper and having it destroyed/gummed/lost in a diaper bag is a high probability. Emails do not count, no matter how amusing they are - unless they include a video of the person enjoying the gift. Then it's welcome home, Web 2.0.

Do not chew gum in public. If you chew it at home, keep your mouth closed. If I see your gum, get ready to spit it out.

Pick up your movie trash. Just because someone is paid to clean a theater (and is desperate enough to take a job that underpays them, puts them in ill fitting uniforms and subjects them to Joe Public daily) does not mean they need to pick up the crap you have strewn on the floor. You are perfectly capable of gathering and placing it in one of the conveniently placed trash receptacles near the door. If you are not, rethink independent living and consider a facility for special needs citizens. 

Say thank you, even if it's crap. Someone spent some amount of time choosing something they thought you would enjoy, even if they mistakenly think you would enjoy a small box carved out of driftwood with a leaping dolphin burned into it and smells of sandalwood. You could keep your weeeed in it.

Hug your good friends. It won't kill you and will make anyone who is not creepy very happy. If someone does not enjoy it, move them to the "possibly creepy" column and test them with random pats on the back and other forms of physical affection to test tolerance.

Share your books, but don't expect someone else to love them and report back. Some of us like frock dramas, and others would rather jab a sharp stick in our eye. And then set that stick on fire.

Turn off your cell phone. Unless you have a sitter that you have left your precious children with or have a partner who will call when they've got the bedroom ready, there is no reason to have a cell phone on at a social occasion. It tells other people that they're not the people you want to be with at that moment, and in fact you would welcome a call from someone, anyone, other than them, even a prerecorded message from a Republican presidential candidate.

Don't text at the table or when socializing with others. See note above. And also check your I.D. stat to make sure you are not some 14-year old in rebellion and armed with a Blackberry.

There are a few other tried and true rules to abide by, not necessarily limited to my rule book: say please and thank you, don't talk with your mouth full, keep your elbows off the table and your napkin in your lap, pack out what you pack in, recycle, do no harm to others, give what you can, and tell the people that you love that you do - OUT LOUD - without fear and often. If you follow these rules and those of your local jurisdiction there's a pretty good chance that you'll have some good karma comin' back you and avoid the wrath of rules people like me and my boy. 

Goodbye and - of course - thank you. Thank you very much.