Saturday, March 31, 2007

Need Bamboo?

I adore our neighborhood. It's quiet, safe, woodsy and sunny, sociable and private, a great place to rear kids. I love our yard. In fact, I like our yard better that I like our house. We've got a big, grassy front yard and a private, decent-sized back yard. We also have a bamboo grove that charmed me before we moved in but now just plain haunts and annoys me. Wikipedia's bamboo entry says that,

If neglected, [bamboo]can be invasive over time and can cause problems by moving into adjacent areas. The reputation of bamboo as being highly invasive is often exaggerated, and situations where it has taken over large areas is often the result of years of untended or neglected plantings.

The invasiveness of our bamboo is not at all exaggerated which only means we have totally neglected our bamboo grove over the six years that we've lived here. Our neighbors continually have to deal with the root runners that spread like wildfire to disrupt their yards and gardens. For at least two years our closest (in proximity) neighbor has been telling us of ways to corral and control the spread of the bamboo. David and I keep talking about doing something but then something more pressing, like rearing kids, always seems to come up. The time is now.

I wish we were both a little more handy at making furniture, or curtain rods, or serving trays with babmoo, because we totally have this amazing renewable resource literally growing in our backyard. We have put the bamboo to some use, though. David has made primitive flutes, way cool tee pees for the kids, a rose trellis, and most used yet, light sabers and swords.

Seriously, does anyone know anything about getting rid of bamboo? Does anyone around here want any?? Because we really do need to do something. The neighbor I mentioned above? She teaches in the School of Social Work.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Bird and Road Kill Mama: Straight from the 1980's

This is us and some guy getting into trouble before Youth Group. We're all holding chickens. We thought that was wildy funny back then.

We used to go the mall every weekend and this is us getting those wacky mall-booth photos. I'm cringing at my braces phase.



This is RKM and me in Boone the night of our Senior Prom. I wore my mom's high school prom dress from the 1950's that was only slightly altered. Looking back, I think it's so cool that I did. I know it meant a lot to my mom then, and it means even more to me now.





I only went to two dances in high school. One Homecoming and one prom, both my senior year. Both of my dates for those dances (different guys) were 'just friends.' They both ended up not liking girls. I hope I didn't have anything to do with that.
















Here we are the summer I went to Atlantic Beach with her and her family. We look a little nervous because we knew we were going to sneak out that night once her parents were asleep. We did sneak out and went walking on the beach, looking for trouble. Eventually we saw this middle-aged couple walking towards us and RKM said, "Oh, look at those cute rednecks." Those "cute rednecks" were her parents that were hoppin mad and worried as Hell and had called the police looking for us. RKM got grounded for a week. I got off scot-free.




In NYC, FAO Schwarz.



Here we are in the late 80's on a high school "arts" trip to NYC dressed ready to go to the Broadway show 'CATS.' One of us looks cool, stylish and modern, and one of us looks like an Amish Moravian Quaker.
















Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Good News!!

Today's post was going to include high school photos of me and my best friend Road Kill Mama, but those will have to wait until tomorrow, because...I just found out that I've been accepted into UNC's School of Social Work Masters Program! I've been waiting and waiting to hear, so Monday I called to ask when I might hear, Tuesday I got a call saying recommendation letters had been mailed, and today I just got a voice mail message congratulating me and that my "letter is in the mail."

Today is the first day of the rest of my life...

Monday, March 26, 2007

Give Peeps a Chance

If you didn't make it to the 2007 Peeps Festival in Chapel Hill this past Saturday, you really missed something quite special. Luckily my kids, Uncle Matty and I attended and I have pictures to prove it. Enjoy! Oh, and that picture that kind of looks like baked beans? Yep, peeps-n-beans. Made me want to gag.


Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Zipping Through

Don't you just love being enraptured in a book to the point that you know pure gold is waiting for you at the end of the day, or whenever you can steal a few minutes to read? I'm going through that now with Haven Kimmel's Memoir A Girl Named Zippy. Kimmel lives in the Triangle and has agreed to do another fundraiser for the Orange County Literacy Council this summer, so I decided it was high time I see for myself what all the hype was about. Here's a made-me-laugh-out-loud-wish-I-could-write-like-this-passage from page 222:


Mrs. O'Dell was conferring with Mrs. Denver in a loud whisper. Mrs. O'Dell's dentures weren't the most seamless fit, and sometimes she looked like she was grimacing when in fact she just couldn't get her lips all the way down, and sometimes when she talked it looked like the left side of her dentures were about to get away. Plus when she got excited she thrust her head forward like a turtle, and today everything was going wrong at once. She was spitting and her dentures were flapping and her head was bobbing around at about the level of her chest, and the total effect of it caused me to forget to listen to what she was saying. Soon other students began to arrive, and it was time to start another day of fourth grade.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Walk This Way

It's time for the 21st Annual Carrboro-Chapel Hill CROP WALK, and it's time for me to tell you about it. I walked in the CROP WALKs growing up in Boone and then when I became involved in the social justice committee at my church about six years ago, I began organizing my church's efforts in the Carrboro-Chapel Hill walk. In a nutshell, the CROP WALK is an effort to raise money and awareness for international and local hunger relief. For me, though, it's more than that. It's become a way to connect with others in my church, old and young, and then for our church as a group to connect with the Chapel Hill-Carrboro community. It's also a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon with my family and friends who decide to join me. Last year, I used the kids as props and had them wear grown-up CROP WALK t-shirts over their clothes then stand up with me to make an announcement at church. That made an impact on people because they're still talking about it, and it made an impact on my kids. I like to exploit them in good ways. We're all bombarded with bad stuff going on in our world near and far, atrocities that can completely overwhelm, but getting involved with the CROP WALK is but a small way that my family and I have decided to serve. And, oh my gosh, NC is rockin the CROP WALKs nationwide! For over ten years, Charlotte has had the #1 walk in the country (#1=raised most money), Greensboro has been #2 and Durham has been #3!! Chapel Hill-Carrboro is #20 or #21, but still, way to go NC! So here are the details. You're all invited to participate:


What is it? The CROP WALK is a four-mile walk through the diverse streets of Carrboro, Chapel Hill and UNC with rest stops along the way and refreshments at the end. The goal of the CROP WALK is to bring communities together to raise money for international and local hunger-relief efforts.

Who walks? Anyone who is willing and able. Personally, I'm recruiting walkers from my church, University United Methodist, and my goal is to recruit 50 walkers.

When? Sunday, April 15th at 2:30 PM (Registration begins at 2:00 PM)

Where? We meet at Carrboro Town Commons/Farmer's Market

How does it work? The Church World Service sponsors the CROP WALK nationally, and the Inter-Faith Council for Social Service sponsors it locally.

Who benefits? The Church World Service distributes 75% of the money raised to grassroots, hunger-fighting development efforts in 80 countries. 25% of the money raised stays in Carrboro and Chapel Hill to support the IFC's hunger-relief programs (food pantry, community kitchen, emergency relief, etc)

How can you help? By walking and raising money yourself, by sponsoring me and my family, or by sponsoring a group of IFC guests and clients. My family's personal goal is to raise at least $100 and the goal I've set for our church is $5,000. Any amount helps us reach our goal so thanks in advance to all who donate.

Thank you and please e-mail me if you have questions, need more info...
sarah.cooley@gmail.com

Monday, March 19, 2007

Questions

Grace: Will I have to start using this hand (her right hand) when I start kindergarten? (She's
left-handed).

Grace: Why do you call me Psycho G?

Grace: What your name is?
Stranger: Mary
Grace: Why?

Saturday, March 17, 2007

The Power of Suggestion

We just got back from the mall where my dad bought Grace her first real pair of running shoes.

Last Saturday, we all went down to Pittsboro to the one-mile loop around the CCCC Campus. I ran, Kate roller-bladed, Johnny rode his bike, and even though Grace started out on her scooter, she ended up on David's shoulders. We were making a big deal out of Johnny riding his bike (with training wheels) for a whole mile around the loop when I imagined Grace wasn't feeling too good about her abilities on sports equipment with wheels or sports in general. She began running and I said, "Look everyone! Grace is a runner!" At that moment, a runner was born.

She's got the perfect ectomorphic body-type to excel at running, you don't need to be super-coordinated to get started, and it's something she's not afraid to try.

Johnny is a natural-born athlete. Grace isn't. But she's decided she's a runner and began practicing the minute we got home. That went so well, that I think I'll tell them both that they are going to lead very successful careers, make loads of money, and support their parents for as long as they can. We'll see what happens.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Very Funny Biscuits

My mother-in-law turns 80 on April 10 so we've decided to take our annual trip out to visit her in Iowa over Easter/her birthday/Grace's spring break rather than our usual summer jaunt. The kids are already looking forward to staying in a hotel, and David and I are already looking forward to the cups of coffee we'll drink that will help ensure that this road trip does not become a marriage-ender/deal-breaker.

We took many a road trip growing up, and 'tho there was lots to loathe (such as the endless pleas from my little sister to play/talk/read with her when all I wanted to do was listen to my walkman and escape into my own little thoughts, and the stinky, Vantage, cigarette air that we all inhaled in the 70's and 80's when we went everywhere in our beat-up green Ford and then Chevy station wagon when my dad still smoked) there is much to look back on, laugh about and even wish for.

My mom was on all of the road trips that I remember: either all five of us, just her and the kids, or the two trips that she and I took out to Colorado. Most of our trips were from Boone to KY to visit our grandparents, et al, and they always started off with a trip to the Hardees Drive thru in Banner Elk. My mom was a health-food nut and we were raised on carob chips and tofu...together....so getting to go through Hardees was a twice-a-year treat. My mom was usually driving, even when my dad was in the car, because for as long as I've known him (and that's been all my life), he's never woken up, even when he's awake, until at least noon. In fact, when the movie Dancing With Wolves came out, we all decided that my dad's Native American name would be 'Sleeps-til-2:00.'

She'd gather breakfast orders ten or so minutes before her turn at the window and then she'd have to rattle off all of the various biscuits that we wanted. I can't remember when, exactly, it started, but one year, she said the word 'biscuits' in a way that positively set Daniel, Kate, and me into fits of laughter. I don't even know what can be funny about the word 'biscuits' (maybe she enunciated the 's' longer than usual so it came out 'bisssssssscuit' and since she had 5 to order it got funnier every time?), but from then on the highlight of our road trips (make that the highlight of our year) was to anticipate and laugh at the way my mom ordered biscuits at the Hardees Drive thru. It got to be that we would all begin laughing so hard as we drove up, when it became her turn to order, she couldn't do it because she too had lost the plot. This went on for years, and up until the last trip we all took together, it was the kids' mission to make my mom laugh so hard that she'd be unable to order the bisssssssscuits.

Another thing we kids did to embarrass my mom was to tear up little pieces of paper and put them in her hair without her knowing. Lunch was often at Wendy's, and second to the biscuit hilarity, nothing was funnier than my mom in line at Wendy's with a nest of paper-filled hair that she seemingly didn't know about. It dawns on me that she did know, and she happily played along so as not to spoil her kids' fun.

There was the time that we drove up to New York City, just my mom and the kids, where she was scared shitless from the moment we hit the New Jersey turnpike. We kept telling her it was no different from driving in NC (yeah right) all the while insisting that we listen to the Beastie Boys' 'No Sleep Til Brooklyn' until we got to Brooklyn. That was another thing my mom played along with...listening to the Beastie Boys on these road trips. She might have rolled an eye or two at some of their lyrics, but I'm sure she felt a sense of secret motherly affection, the same I'm feeling when Johnny tells me he wants a skateboard or heelys when he turns 4.

But the funniest thing about the road trip to NY was the way my mom freaked out the day we were leaving. She was petrified to get in her car and drive off in the actual streets of Brooklyn, NY!!! Paralyzed with fear, all of us packed up and ready to go, she simply wouldn't budge. We must have sat there in the car waiting to drive off for at least fifteen minutes. I didn't have a driver's license, and she wouldn't let my brother drive. She just kept saying, "I'm really unsure about this, what if somone hits me?" Early on what was probably a Sunday morning, on a, believe it or not, relatively quiet time in this Brooklyn neighborhood, only twenty feet away from Prospect Park, exasperated, I finally raised my voice, "But, Mama! There aren't any other cars on the road!!"

Monday, March 12, 2007

I Bet He Doesn't Even Realize He Said This...

Yesterday's yoga class was taught by a substitute. I like mixing it up and seeing how people teach classes differently... female vs. male, young vs. old, talkative vs. not-so-talkative. Every instructor I've ever had emphasizes the do-what-feels-right-with-your-body; postures-shouldn't-hurt principles. Yesterday's new guy was all about telling us to "be kind to yourselves. This is a safe place. I want you to fully relax in this environment. This is not a competition...not with others in the class and not with yourself. This is not about what you 'should be able to do.'" Then he went on to talk about the divinity of all things on the Earth and the light within each of us. And how we can't spread complete love and compassion to others until we first center that complete love and compassion on ourselves. Then he was trying to remember the following quote:

"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience." Ram Dass

But he kept getting it slightly wrong. He was like, "What's that saying...we are spiritual beings having a physical, no...that's not it...we are physical beings having a...wait, how does it go?"

We'd all heard it and finally someone got it right. The instructor then surprised me. He said, "Yes, that's it...'We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.' I can't believe I couldn't remember that. I'm such a REE-tard."

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

March Madness

Yesterday was the most stressful day of parenting David and I have ever had.

Rage Against the Machine

Johnny's been on a bender since Friday. Not a drinking spree, but an inexplicable raging spree where he's just impossible and hates everything, even his favorite things, including everyone in our family. We've been told numerous times over the past 5 days, that "I HATE these shoes, and I HATE that pizza. It's YUCKY! I HATE everyone in this family and you're not my FRIENDS anymore!! I HATE your new car, Mommy, and I HATE my backback" AHHHHHHHH!! The more he cries and rages, the more it sets Grace off and she starts throwing and hitting. How old do boys have to be before being shipped off to boot camp?

Did you hear the one about the constipated Mathematician? He worked it out with a (#2) pencil.

Not until Monday did I notice Johnny mentioning that his stomach and bottom hurt. That means he has to go #2. I guess it's been building up since Friday, I honestly can't remember; but finally it all came to a head. Grace woke up yesterday morning crying that her ear hurt and that she thinks a dragon bit it. (She also thinks a spider bit her under her lip causing a sore spot that I mistook for pizza sauce and rubbed relentlessly to no avail). I decided to take both kids to the doctor. We were 15 minutes early for our 10:00 AM appointment, and the doctor did not see us until 10:45 AM. Johnny cried for a solid hour saying his "butt hurts" and he "want(s) to go home" and "I don't want to get a shot," all the while Grace, the truly sick one, kept running off, not listening to me, and getting increasingly fed up with Johnny. I tried numerous times to gently force Johnny on the john, but he was having none of it. He was in a rage! And a panic. When we finally got put in our little room, he just wanted out. Every time he opened the door, a nurse closed it. His crying was getting to everyone else, too.

The Biology of Behavior

I'm a full believer in the biology of behavior and that kids act how they feel. I had figured out by now that Johnny's rages were due to his extreme discomfort and fear of needing to poop. We were all desperate, and when the doc finally came in to see us, I asked if he could have an enema. She said, "No, that would be too traumatic." Getting it all out in a doctor's office where they are equipped with cleaning supplies and extra hands for me couldn't have been more traumatic than what happened next.

On our way to the CVS drugstore to drop off the prescription for a powdered laxative, Johnny fell asleep. My eyes welled up with tears under my sunglasses as I drove the kids around for 30 minutes. My boy finally got some relief, which meant we all did.

Johnny Rotten

He woke up just as I was sandwiched between two cars in the CVS drive-thru line. OMG. He flipped. He was screaming and panicking and saying he had to poop in his pants. I told him to go ahead, that I wouldn't be mad. I had to carefully scoot out of line and park at the nearest establishment with a bathroom. It was an ice-cream parlor in our neighborhood shopping center. I dragged both kids out, kicking and screaming and went straight to the single bathroom, the one we monopolized for the next 30 minutes.

Johnny had pooped and peed himself, and he wasn't near finished. I took his shoes and socks off, underwear and jeans, and began washing those off while attempting to keep him on the potty to catch the rest of the debris. It was a complete mess. Poop was everywhere on him and the floor. Meanwhile, Grace was in full-on 'out-of-sync-child-mode' and started flipping the light switch on, off, on, off, on, off, on, off, on, off. I asked her twice to leave the lights on. On, off, on, off, on, off. I lost it and can't repeat what I did and said next; Grace cried, but by God, the lights stayed on. Many many paper towels, toilet flushes, and words of encouragement later, Johnny was basically cleaned up. But his jeans and underwear were completely soaked. I tried tying his sweatshirt around his waist, but it didn't provide enough coverage. I had on a trench coat and being the ever resourceful mom that I am, told Johnny that we were going to do something kind of different and kind of funny. We were going to dress him up like ET in Mommy's big jacket and walk out to the car. No one would have to know that he was naked from the waist down on the inside. I've never seen a humiliated 3-year old until yesterday. Johnny couldn't wrap his advanced-for-his-years head around walking around in Mommy's coat with no underwear on. I scooped him up, all 45 pounds of rough and tumble boy, and ordered a pint of cookies-n-cream ice cream. Until that moment I had successfully given up desserts for Lent, but by God, we were all having ice cream for lunch.

Johnny's in the basement mixing up the medicine...

We got home, and I mixed up the first dose of Johnny's laxative that he was to take in his drinks 3 times a day for the next 10 days. As I turned the kids over to David for his shift before I salvaged a few hours at work and the gym, he said, "Good job today. That's all I ever wanted in a wife--one who would be able to deal with days like this." We burst out laughing.

When I made it back home at 7:00 PM, the house was quiet and calm, and David was tucked in between our angelic children reading them one last bedtime story. I thought, "That's all I ever wanted in a husband--one who is capable of doing the nighttime routine by himself while I was blowing off steam at the gym."

The Devil Wears Osh Kosh

I was completely erroneous in my assessment that David's shift had been much easier than mine. Over ice-cold Newcastles (that have never before tasted so good), David shared his version of the afternoon's events. After an few outings in the car (where, thankfully, both kids fell asleep), David stopped at a gas station and told the kids they could each pick a snack. They both wanted a bag of cheetos. Johnny specifically asked for fiery-hot cheetos and Grace specifically asked for plain cheetos. Once the kids were safely strapped back in their seats and heading home, they tore into their bags of cheetos. It only took a millisecond for Johnny to realize that he did not like the fiery-hot cheetos because they were sting-y. "I HATE these cheetos, Daddy! Turn the car around and go back and get me a different bag!" David says nothing and keeps driving home. "I HATE you, Daddy!" as he kicks the back of David's seat and his shoes fly off.

Johnny was sent straight to his room, and when David opened up the door about 10 or 15 minutes later, Johnny was smoking a cigarette! (When David told me this, I laughed so hard I spit beer halfway across the living room).

A couple of minutes before bath, Johnny was in the living room and told David he needed to poop. David told him to go to the bathroom. Johnny didn't and pooped in his pants (again) and this time it got all over our brand new rug. I can't repeat what David said that he said, but he yelled at Johnny like I had yelled at Grace earlier. Later at bathtime, Johnny had to pee, and as he successfully peed in the potty, poop came out the other end and got all over the floor and the newly cleaned bath rug that I had just washed because of Grace's bloody nose the day before. David told me that he literally put his hands to the Heavens and asked, "Why? Why do I have to put up with this? Why is this part of my job description?"

Shaking his head, David said to me, "It's a new day. We've entered a new day of parenting."

You don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows.

Monday, March 05, 2007

HEEL Yeah! Part 2

Grace: I have a crush on Hansbrough.

Johnny: I have a crush on the blue Team. (That little devil)

Dirty foul? Hard to say. Deep down, I think not, but then again, it was rough. Dirty foul or not, I don't hate to see a Duke player ejected from a game and then suspended. I'm still mad as hell over the Laettner stomp, and I'm not ready to make nice.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Happy Bird-Day to Me...Almost

It's March 1 and that means my birthday is right around the corner. I'm not allowed to tell you which day it is, and I'm not allowed to tell you why I'm not allowed to tell you...most of you know already anyway. But with every March 1 that rolls around, it puts me right back to the 3rd day of my mom's last 10 days. I count back to the day that I was called home that final time. It's been four years but, honestly, this anniversary time doesn't feel very different from the first. Except that now I have blogging. And man, do I love blogging! I never knew writing for an 'audience' would resonate so well with me. But it does. Even for the lurking readers that I imagine are out there that I know nothing about. Because I do feel like there are lurkers. I am a lurker and read many more blogs than I let on about.

I have begun and will continue the rest of these ten days to write in depth about losing my mother and really, my family. However, I can only imagine what a downer that might be to the readers of this blog, so I have decided to create a new blog devoted to this writing that you can either take or leave.

This just-around-the-corner bird-day is a significant one for me, the big three five. For a woman, 35 is the magic age when fertility rates start dropping off dramatically and chances for conceiving a child with birth defects begin to sharply rise. I remember vividly taking with a friend, before I even got married, about my desire to have three children before I turned 35. Oops, missed that goal. Unless I've mothered children out there that I'm not aware of. I do think I'm finished giving birth, but I have not given up on the idea of being a mother to more children. I've always wanted three children, and I'm sure that has a lot to do with my having two siblings. Both of my kids have been sick this week, and David and I have been reminded of the unpleasant sides of parenting and living with miserable kids. I've been told to remember this week when a.) I start having serious daydreams of having more kids and b.) wishing I were a full-time SAHM.

But, I do daydream that one day we might adopt a brother and a sister, maybe from a Spanish-speaking country, maybe from China, maybe from down the street. If we could ever afford it. But I found out recently that adopting from the state's foster system is free. We shall see.

So in addition to my insides beginning to dry up, 35 also signifies the year I'll get my first mammogram as breast cancer runs in my materal family line. But I hope it's also the year I run my first marathon and the year I begin graduate school. And, hey, I'll be old enough to run for president. Would you vote for me if I ran for president? I wouldn't either.