Am I Losing My Mind?????

Mollie writes:

It's Wednesday, and I've lost an hour somewhere. I officially lost an hour on Saturday, but managed a two-fer this am.

I sprang forward, like a good little masochist, on Sunday morning. But I didn't wake up this am until 9:16 am. Gosh honestly, the clock said 9:16! But when I went to the kitchen to fix my coffee and croissant, the clock clearly stated 8:16. So I toddled back to t he bedroom, and there it was, 9:17.

I drank my coffee, shared my croissant with Boatsie-The-Wonder-Dog, and groped my way back to the bedroom. And there it was, plain as the age-spots on my face, 8:32 am.

Well, the Kidney Island vortex has raised its ugly head again. Clocks spin forward, spin back, and sometimes stop altogether, as in the case of the guy who's supposed to come over and give us a "quote" on refinishing the hardwood floors. NEVER let be said that wood floors are low-maintenance. This will cost dearly and my inner spinner will go kapluey.

Life is never dull when you live in an alternate universe. I'm getting my hair and nails done today. If you'd told me ten years ago that I'd be living the life of a high-maintenance bimbo on an island in Puget Sound, I wouldda laughed you into the clouds. But here I am, on Kidney Island, celebrating the fact that I've passed no more Whidbey stones in two weeks.

Aging has its perks. Just ask my husband. He's in the back yard, teaching the Wonder Dog the art of soccer.

Mutual Sick Days

Well, both Phil and I were down for the count today. We've both been fighting some sort of ick for quite a while now, and by this morning it was bad enough that neither of us felt up to going into work. This was a little unusual for us; in the 3years that we've lived together, this is only the second time we've been home sick together, and we're still figuring out how that works, exactly.

First and foremost, a good rule of thumb seems to be that one of you should not be spending too much time and energy taking care of the other if you're both sick. We've both spent the day trying to make the other lie down while we make soup and tea and put in a movie and fluff the pillows and do the laundry, but the fact of the matter is, we should BOTH be taking it easy. This isn't to say that you shouldn't take care of each other, but trade off on tasks; one of you gets up to make tea, the other one can go hunt down more DayQuil. It can be difficult, and may make you feel guilty that you're not doing more, but if nobody rests, nobody gets better.

Also, remember that a sick day is not the same as a weekend or a vacation day. Don't worry about looking cute for each other, and don't feel obligated to spend the whole day in each other's company. It's perfectly possible that your spouse would rather be left alone to cough and vomit in privacy, or just wants to sleep all day. Don't take it personally, and don't push too hard.

However, it's also possible that a sick day together can have its upsides. If you're both feeling up to it, cuddle in bed or on the couch (or make a nest out of pillows and blankets on the living room floor) and watch bad movies or read. Take naps together. Play games together. Just sit and talk for hours at a time.

Just make sure you both make the most of your sick days . . . even though they can be made fun, they'll get old after three or four in a row!

Detective Mcgillicuddy!

Mollie writes:

At any one time, you can walk into any bathroom and see a person's life story. When I had my first apartment, my bathroom was BARE - except I had a set of really nice towels that if you touched 'em, I'd hunt you down. I was so proud of my 500 square foot domain with a teeny bathroom of my own. Remember, I had five brothers and sisters and a bath of one's own beat a room of one's own hands down.

If I had the good fortune to actually buy towels (most of mine were family hand-me-downs), I hung them on the towel rack and protected 'em. I do that to this day.

At some point, my towels were all mine, and I moved up in the world. In came a shower curtain and then, the march began. In came the cosmetics, bubble bath, facial masques and other accoutrements of glamor. I was a chick on her way.

When we married, John and I first shared a bathroom and immediately realized that true love stops at the bathroom door. She says: Touch my towels, baby, and you die! He says: Lock me out of the Latrine and YOU die. It was just that simple. So we bought a 3 bedroom 2 1/2 bath split entry in Gresham Oregon, and the waters of our aggravation calmed.

When babies came home, out went the designer towels (ok, they went into the linen closet) and in came the duckies and bunnies. Potty chairs that sang ruled the throne room. Into the tub went the rubber duckies, yellow submarines, snorkels, washies and plastic buckets. And the "towels du jour" - Big Bird hung on my sturdy wooden racks.

At some point, Big Bird was replaced by Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, dinosaurs, Big Wheels and Transformers. You couldn't take a leak without genuflecting first at the Super Hero hanging in the bath. Intimidating, yes. Glamourous, nope.

At some point, we moved to "the big house" and once again, my towel fetish reared its ugly head - with a vengeance. We had 500 count towels - John hates them and thinks that if you don't leave chafe marks you really aren't dry. We had earth tones, jewel tones, and, if the Meier and Frank "Friday Surprise" meant anything, you had luxurious Egyptian Cotton towels.

We lived in towel heaven. The boys had their own bathrooms and decorated them with acne cures and after shave (no razors, however since they didn't shave. . .). John's shower room had 100% sandpaper towels, and my soaking tub . . . well, anything I wanted.

Our linen closet was actually loaded with towels and sheets??? !!! We were a middle-class family livin' the dream.

Our lives went on, and the next thing you know, the boys are packing up our old towels and moving into little shrines of their own.. We moved to "the little house with big pretensions" and in came the designer towels.

Except the linen closet turned into a medicine cabinet - at least in the master bath it did. Open our linen cabinet these days and all you see are ace bandages, ointment, hemorrhoid balm, kidney stone strainers, analgesics, laxatives, fiber pills, cuticle trimmers, toe nail clippers, Vick's Vapor Rub, bath salts, room deodorizers, controlled substances, sharpie containers, sailing magazines and SPF 30 sun block.

We are, if anything, ready for old age.

The bathroom IS clean, it always has been, but that has been the only constant in our lives. The rest has always been up for grabs.

So, Detective Mcgillicuddy and her erstwhile assistant, Commander Smarty-pants, cleaned the bathroom this weekend. Hairs were removed from all surfaces, women in HazMat suits cleaned the "sitting area." The tub twinkles in pristine purity AND we re-grouted the tile!!!

But anyone walking into the bathroom knows that a couple of old geezers live here. Just open the linen closet.

Stage Mom

Millie writes:

Hi, my name is Millie and I'm a stage mom.

I admit it. I've been encouraging my little dears to perform since 3-year-old Joy donned her first tutu. It's not because I want to live (or re-live) my personal glories through them, it's because they're so darned talented.

I was raised in a musical family, and I took a few turns at speech and theater in school. While I was merely pleasantly adequate at these endeavors, they did give me an appreciation for people who can perform with panache. It turns out that each of our kids is gifted in some area of the performing arts, and it's always given Lance and me a peculiar pleasure to encourage them to explore these areas as far as they care to take them.

Performing – whether it's dancing, acting, singing, playing an instrument or giving a speech – is as necessary as breathing to some people. For others, it's the act of making art – whether it's a poem, a painting or a song – that's important. 2/3 of our kids took high-intensity dance classes during their junior-high years, and the other two engaged in sports. This physical activity helped them all through that “awkward age” when it was so difficult to keep track of where their knees and elbows were at any given time, and the performances – whether recitals or games – taught them about taking themselves seriously.

Our musicians are self-taught, with a sprinkling of Community Center lessons for a summer or two. A couple of them have perfect pitch and a couple of them are naturals on their instruments, but they have learned on their own that it's the practice they put in that makes the difference between talented and good.

Have we insisted that they take up an instrument or an activity? No. However, if they express an interest, we're right there cheering them on – and we do insist they finish what they start. We will furnish a beginner with a good instrument – a “play” instrument insults both the music and the musician – but the rest is up to them.

Oh, but I must admit . . . if one of our kids has a part in a play, I will help them learn their lines. If one of them has a solo in an upcoming performance, I will beg them over and over to sing it for me. I'll talking composition with a budding painter, practice comedic timing with an after-dinner speaker and dissect the finer points of Buddy Rich's technique with a drummer. I will make that kindergarten practice reading “Fwosty the Snowman” aloud over and over until she's got it down perfectly, because – once she's stood up there in front of people, done her very best and received the applause that is her due – there is no thrill to equal it.

For her.

Or for me.

And Another Link!

Isn't the internet wonderful?

Here's a link to another organization that steps up when times are hard:

http://secure.gbgm-umc.org/donations/umcor/donate.cfm?code=3021317

Tsunami Relief Effort

Mollie writes:

Not one of us can save the world, but with group effort, we can make a difference. The Japanese are enduring the earthquake disaster with dignity and perseverance. Even the smallest donation will help feed a person, mend a home, re-establish electrical power or supply a hospital. To be part of the rebirth, consider making a donation to Red Cross.

Text REDCROSS to 90999 or click on this link to go to the Red Cross Website.

Thanks!

Millie writes:

There's a sort of emotional "cushion" when a disaster of this scale happens on the other side of the globe. Mentally you know it's awful and you feel a great deal of empathy for everyone involved, but you're spared the most gut-wrenching anguish because it doesn't touch you personally.

I don't have that luxury this time.

My first husband's second duty station was Misawa Air Base, in northern Japan. We lived there for almost five years. That headline photograph we've been seeing so often, the one with the bridge spanning ships laying on their sides on top of the debris that was once a town? That photograph was taken in Hachinohe, the nearest "big city" to Misawa. I've been there many times. We bought Joy's first teddy bear at the Nagasakiya Department Store there. There used to be an art store in "Hatch" that had a funny little signboard hanging outside: it was an oversize artist's palette decorated with tubes of paint on which the colors had been written in English. Two of the tubes said "Led" and "Brue."

So - there you have it. I have witnessed that these are real people, people like you and me and our next-door neighbors. They have senses of humor. They love their spouses and their children and their pets, hate weeding and being packed into the subway. Wednesday morning they thought they had problems: that big committee presentation, the gas bill, homework. Now they're looking for food, clothing, shelter and their missing loved ones.

Probably two of the most universal concepts we parents try to instill in our young are the concepts of "share" and "play nicely." Please help - however you can.

Holmes Harbor Tsunami Watch

Mollie writes:

We've had our share of snow and wind in the last two weeks, but today is something new. We've lived on Whidbey Island for 6 years now, and are finding that, indeed, we live in a different world.

We are only expecting a 1 foot 'change' in our local waters, but looking out my back window, I see the "highest" tide I've seen for a while. We aren't expecting much in the way of flooding, but just the idea that we are actually here in this geologic event is a little thrilling.

The worst we expect isn't damage to our home, we are out of the tsunami range even in the worst of circumstances - our house is so high off the waters. But our sailboat is moored in Anacrortes and we are concerned not with the height of a wave but with the moments right before the tsunami when the water recedes. If it recedes enough before the wave hits, our sailboat might "run aground" and damage the rudder.

This is a precious minimum. We watch out our window, and in the driving rain and the bursting gusts (yesterday we had 60-mph gusts) we realize we are so blessed. We are safe, everything is tied down, and La Nina, not the tsunami, is our biggest worry.

We are a small world, and we are all interconnected. We have tsunamis to worry about, a word derived from our Japanese culture. We fret over the snows, rains and winds of of La Nina, a word derived from our hispanic brothers and sisters.

An 8.9 earthquake off the coast of Japan has impact on our side of the Pacific rim. I pray for our friends in Japan. I can sit in my living room and watch the "tide" come in and take peace and joy that we are safe.

None of us really lives on an island. We are interconnected.