Wasted Miata and the Olympic tomato bobsled team

Close your eyes. Take a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly like a roll of toilet paper smoothly  and gently unrolling out to infinity.

You are feeling relaxed and refreshed, and ready for your preschool Spanish lesson.

--"Ms. Nancy, I wasted the toilet paper."

Thank you, my child for being honest. Just don't use so much next time or you will clog the potty.

In the background I hear the beginning wail of a kiddie stuck on the toilet seat with no t.p. This is not the best moment for a vocabulary correction. That moment would be after the poop Sherpa replaces the t.p. and guides the stranded mountain-climber off the porcelain peak.   

"Wasted" is not quite the same as "used the last of the roll".

--"Wasted" has a big load of guilt attached. You/I have wasted talents, time, effort, resources and abilities. You/I are not "wasted" in the sense of intoxicated.  Well, maybe you.

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Just don't kick the gravel on the playground...

--Getting out to the playground is like moving a caravan of cats.  The children must locate their partners and hold hands.  Then they must walk in a line out of the classroom, down the hall, and into the school lobby.  The first pair of students, unless they have gotten a whole lotta nose goobies on their fingers during this trek, get to hold the door open.  The children thank them for holding the door open.  They respond with, "You're welcome," unless someone decides to go rogue espanol.  

--Thank you is "gracias".  You're welcome is "de nada".  The preschoolers are vague on which is which and the pronunciation of both.  That leads to long lines of polite kiddies saying:

Granada

Miata

Granada

Miata

Granada

Miata

In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines
Lived twelve little girls in two straight lines
In two straight lines they broke their bread
And brushed their teeth and went to bed.
They left the house at half past nine
In two straight lines in rain or shine-
The smallest one was Madeline.

--Which leads to the mystery of the tomato bobsled team. These perfectly spaced and sized cherry tomatoes were somehow grown in one long vine that folded over to make a double layer. 

It's like the dwarfs are in the glass coffin instead of Snow White. She's on the outside singing "Someday my Miata will come".

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

An elephant fly

Well, now I've seen everything. This is a slightly more grown up version of the patio predator that paralyzed a fly and then sucked out its guts like a giant Slurpee.  We have these little guys at the school playground, too.  I always thought they were baby katydids, and let them run around on my fingers. Now I find they are  musical killing machines--hitmen with marimbas.

What's up with the see-through head?

Actually, this dude has its feeding tube clipped onto its chest where it can make sound vibrations to intimidate predators. Imagine your worst date ever serenading you by tongue-strumming his chest hairs!

If that doesn't scare the predator (or date) away, this insect will unclip the feeding tube and maneuver it to inject a dose of lethal saliva. Okay, stop thinking about that college boyfriend!

That's a feeding tube/noise-maker/killing machine with its own carrying case.

It's all enough to make raising three sons in a small condo seem positively tame, a mere walk down the block to 7-11.  Speaking of which, this is an eighth birthday party with Slurpees before a performance of  "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown".  Those little guys could concoct vile flavor combos at 7-11, but they never hurt anybody!

May 1995

I saw a peanut stand, heard a rubber band,
I saw a needle that winked its eye.
But I think I will have seen everything
When I see an elephant fly. 

...

I heard a fireside chat, I saw a baseball bat
And I just laughed till I thought I'd die
But I'd be done see'n about everything
when I see an elephant fly


(from "Dumbo")

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Hummusketeers

Tomorrow it's my turn to take a special snack to school.  I am planning to bring my blender and make hummus with the preschoolers. I will bring the ingredients, plus Reduced Fat Wheat Thins, baby carrots, jicama and bell pepper strips. The preschoolers will choose their own veggies and crackers for dipping, and choosing is always a big deal. 

I read a funny word, "hummusketeers" in a blog comment. That's when I decided on my special snack. I will go easy on the garlic. Kids will help use the garlic press, measure the liquid reserved from the Reduced Sodium Garbanzos, squeeze lemons, use the strainer, fish the roasted red pepper out of the jar, maybe help with the can-opener, scrape down the blender with spatulas ... Plus we can all dance to the noise of the blender. 

Then we can talk about the Food Pyramid.  The latest nutrition education materials call the pertinent group "Meat and Beans".  That seems to leave out eggs and nuts.  I prefer "Meat and Protein", but that's a bit abstract for young children.  I'm taking my kitchen cat since it was pouting about not being included in the fun. 

M-I-C See you real soon.
K-E-Y why? Because we like you.
H-U-Double M-U-S

In other developments, Dad says he will be twenty-two on tomorrow's birthday. Since he will really be eighty-eight, I wonder what in his head made him divide by four. I'm not sure there is method to his madness, but he does seem to know a hawk from a handsaw when the wind is southerly.

Slowly reading Viki Kind's book, The Caregiver's Path to Compassionate Decision Making:  Making Choices For Those Who Can't.  This morning the section on "care-grieving" hit home on two levels.  First, I could recognize myself as a poster girl for that telethon.  Second, I could reconsider Dad's experience while Mom was ill in 2004.  How very overwhelmed and exhausted he must have felt!  My parents were both totally compliant with whatever doctors said during that time.  It is a fair turnabout that Dad chooses noncompliance as his default mode these days.

....Care-grieving... "the grief that comes with caring for and caring about another person.  Not only is caregiving exhausting, overwhelming, frustrating and emotionally draining, it is also associated with profound grief."  (Kind, p. 105)

• Dad isn't the person he used to be.  The person he is now is often unpleasant, and frequently nauseating.
• Our intense link of father-to-eldest daughter with a shared birthday is gone.
• The father who nurtured my creativity and curiosity is long gone.
• Facility staff members keep asking if Dad was always impatient, aggressive, and combative as if I'm supposed to reveal a deep family secret.  I just want to scream at them, "No!  He was judgmental, sarcastic, sometimes belittling and occasionally  intolerant.  He was hopeless at teaching me to throw a ball, but good at teaching me to fish.  He had impeccable table manners.  He was not abusive or violent!"
• While I don't physically take care of Dad, managing his affairs is time-consuming.  He resents his loss of independence, and I resent this big chunk of my time.  Sometimes his private room can't hold all our frustrations.
• It's really difficult to make time for self-care and managing my own messy life.
• Dad is going to die, possibly soon.
• Dad is not going to die as soon or as easily as either of us might wish, which is not easy to admit.
• People who aren't in my shoes give me a lot of advice, and sometimes they are coworkers.  Fortunately, people who are in similar shoes commiserate with me, and sometimes they are coworkers.
• I'm going to die, too.
• I'm going to die without being able to afford it, so I sure better not linger!
• The people whose support I most need are far away with busy lives.  I often feel like I'm performing without Annette.

It had been over a year since I saw a movie in a theater.  Danger Baby gave me an AMC movie gift card a few months back.  Today I needed to go sit in a dark suburban mall megaplex theater by myself through all the darn ads and previews to see "The Conspirator".  Since I found Gore Vidal's Lincoln in a library at least thirty years back I've been drawn to novels and nonfiction about Lincoln's assassination from various viewpoints.  Except for Kevin Kline's Edwin Stanton, the performances were persuasive. 

Time now to prepare the dipping veggies, pay bills, and iron.  Poulenc's "Dialogues des Carmelites" is in the cd player.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Someday my prince will bowl

See the princess with the bow in her hair?  I didn't either.  Small students were working on a collage of things that begin with S.  They were choosing images from a basket well-stocked with pictures of shells, ships, socks, soccer, smiles, sheep, snakes, snowflakes, plus sugar and spice and everything nice.

This is a bad cellphone photo, but you get the idea of their collage collaboration.  They found pictures of a snowman, spaghetti, the space shuttle, and Snow White!  Yes, that brunette with the bow in her hair must be Snow White, or at least Annette Funicello.

On a more serious note, Dad can no longer remember his SSN#, and he is hazy about his date of birth. This is complicating matters as we try to update his mailing address with various financial, insurance, and governmental entities. Banks want to chat with Dad about these security issues. Dad can hardly hold the cellphone to his ear, and he is pulling random numbers out of the air.


My parents did a great job of preparing for cremation, do-not-resuscitate orders, power of attorney, and many financial transitions. They faced their own mortality, stashed away funds for their old age, paid off their mortgage, and tried to arrange their affairs. Still, they couldn't visualize my father outliving his younger wife. They didn't realize their art teacher/power of attorney daughter would be so dense. They avoided the scenario of long-term care in a skilled nursing facility with vastly decreased cognitive abilities. Who can blame them? Who wants to imagine themselves in that picture?

 

Can you say s-s-s-s-SCARY?

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Hey! there, Hi! there, Hare! brained

Ho! there.  Sitting with Dad this afternoon, I suddenly wondered whether I had blogged about "hair-brained daughters" or "hare-brained" ones.  Which was right?  What could it hurt to ask Dad?

Howie voted for hair-brained.  I leaned toward hare-brained.  The preschool class rabbit is a wonderful pet, but Norton isn't a rocket scientist.  This led Dad to wonder aloud if I would trim his nose hairs.  He came to his senses, though.

Dad's temper can be hair-trigger when he's had it up to here with his hare-brained daughters.  Yes, he responds to the slightest provocation when we are giddy and flighty.

C!  See you real soon.
Y!  Why?  Because we like you.

© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

The Little Marmots

My tiny student demands to look at the "Marmot" book before her nap. I'm surprised that she knows about these North American mammals. Of course I was equally surprised when she counted all the glittery spots on her princess t-shirt in clear non-native English, and when she was able to name all the colors in English.



I'd never heard of marmots until I encountered a colony of the fat, chirping mammals at an abandoned mine in the San Juan National Forest above Durango, Colorado on a newlywed backpacking trip. Their sound was eerie, and they were clustered around every rock and inside every decaying outhouse on the Kennebec Pass trail.

According to the Colorado Division of Wildlife, marmots are fat, grizzled, waddling relatives of ground squirrels and woodchucks. They are social animals of the alpine meadows employing a system of alarm calls against predators. It is easy to see how they might be mistaken for mermaids!



My student actually wants the book about Disney's mermaid Ariel. She isn't interested in driving up the rutted Forest Service road to the trailhead, and probably won't knock the oil pan off the underside of her puke yellow Chevy Nova driving back down to civilization after her hike.





In an equally confusing moment, two year-old Danger Baby demanded "the 'care book" before naptime from his grandmother while I was in the hospital with his new baby brother. Mom looked everywhere for a Care Bears book, but Danger Baby really wanted Dr. Seuss's story about the pale green pants, "What Was I Scared Of?," in The Sneetches and Other Stories. I bet pudgy, chirping, little marmots in pale green pants would make a heckuva children's video!




© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

Ducks Like Rain, Root Beer, and Pretzels

The thunderstorm hit today slightly before class dismissal, a mite earlier than yesterday when we had already taken the children to the playground. Two things surprised me as we sat in a circle for a sing-along:

1. These children are too young to remember Hurricane Katrina. For months after the hurricane kids worried about Katrina flooding whenever we heard thunder.

2. I couldn't remember the words to the Raffi song, "Ducks Like Rain." In the late Eighties I thought those lyrics would never, ever leave my head.

My Woolly Mammoth son doesn't remember back when he was a Raffi duck song addict. It's one of those things I'll toast him with at his wedding rehearsal dinner, along with his fondness for the music from Disney's "Little Mermaid" at naptime (Everything's better down where it's wetter, take it from me!), rainbows, goldfish, and hot air balloons.

I drove thousands of miles in the blue Ford Aerostar minivan with Raffi singing duck songs for little Steven in his carseat. When we weren't driving, I was pushing him in his stroller around the Hafer Park duck pond on Bryant in Edmond, Oklahoma. [It's a very nice duck pond, renovated in 2004.] Once little Steven could walk, I hauled him out of the duck pond when he fell in due to over-duck-dose excitement. His older brothers tended to fall into fishing lakes and the prairie dog habitat at the Henry Doorly Zoo. It's good for each sibling to find his own niche!

In searching for the "Ducks Like Rain" song I found an online video as performed by Dubya. It's not a great video, but it has the whole song.

Ducks like rain! Ducks like rain!
Ducks like splishy splashing in the rain.
Ducks like rain! Ducks like rain!
Ducks llike the rainy weather
Water running off their feathers
Ducks like splishy splashing in the rain

In those politically incorrect Aerostar days the Duck Trifecta was "Ducks Like Rain", "Five Little Ducks Went Out to Play", and "Six Little Ducks That I Once Knew." The six little ducks included:

Fat ones, skinny ones,
Fair ones, too
But the one little duck
With the feather on his back
He led the others
With a quack, quack, quack

When the five little ducks went over the hills and far away back in those days, only the mother duck went quack, quack, quack to call them back. Papa Duck was probably staying at the Embassy Suites and enjoying the complimentary breakfasts and happy hours.

If you are of a certain AARP-age, you may remember "Little White Duck." It was recorded by Burl Ives, Danny Kaye, and others for children's records in the Fifties:

Little White Duck
Written by: Bernard Zaritzky and Walt Barrows - © 1950

There's a little white duck sitting in the water
a little white duck doing what he oughter
he took a bite of a lily pad
flapped his wings and he said
"I'm glad I'm a little white duck sitting in the water
quack! quack! quack!"

There's a little green frog swimming in the water
a little green frog doing what he oughter
he jumped right off of the lily pad
that the little duck bit and he said
"I'm glad I'm a little green frog swimming in the water
ribbit! ribbit! ribbit!"

There's a little black bug floating on the water
a little black bug doing what he oughter
he tickled the frog on the lily pad
that the little duck bit and he said "I'm glad
I'm a little black bug floating on the water
bzzz! bzzz! bzzz!"

There's a little red snake playing in the water
a little red snake doing what he oughter
he frightened the duck and the frog so bad
he ate the bug and he said "I'm glad
I'm a little red snake playing in the water
hiss! hiss! hiss!"

Now there's nobody left sitting in the water
nobody left doing what he oughter
there's nothing left but the lily pad
the duck and the frog ran away, I'm sad
'cause there's nobody left sitting in the water
boo! hoo! hoo!


My little sister had an Australian preschool teacher who sang this song, so we always sang it with an Aussie accent. We loved rhyming water with daughter:

Have You Seen the Little Ducks

Have you seen the little ducks
Walking to the water
Father, mother, baby duck
Grand-mama and daughter

Root beer and pretzels were the special treats I used for distracting my little sons during tornado warnings in Omaha and Oklahoma. I have some fond memories of our basement storm parties. Having a festive family ritual for potentially scary events kept us calm and focused on the joy of family. If I'm ever going to be wiped off the face of the earth in some act-of-God catastrophe, please let me enjoy my last moments with good company, duck songs, pretzels, and root beer!

© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

You'll be out of the will!

$185.00

I thought that I had seen everything until I went to the Sunday matinee of the Dallas Opera. Waiting just ahead of me to enter our section of the balcony was a young man the same age as my eldest. This dapper dandy was wearing black corduroy pants embroidered all over with tiny white skulls and crossbones. He had paired these pants with a black and white herringbone sport coat, and was obviously proud of this fashion statement. I couldn't help wondering if his mother was equally impressed. What about his grandfather who grew up during the Great Depression? I'm sure he has a grandfather like that, but if he doesn't, he should. I wouldn't blame the wizened geezer if he whacked this particular grandson about the knees with his cane!

Ever the compulsive Googler, I had to find out if these pants were the official uniform of Yale's Skull and Bones Society. Sure looked like some members of the royal family were marrying their first cousins and producing offspring with no-limit credit cards and no sense.




Good grief! Our whole country needs to walk ten miles to and from school (uphill both ways)through waist-high snow drifts with only an Oscar Mayer balony and Miracle Whip on Wonder Bread sandwich for lunch. The young man's pirate pants were available for $185 plus shipping and handling. Even more depressing, he might also order pants with the embroidered skulls and bones wearing Santa hats from J. McLaughlin!



Shouldn't each pair have a Surgeon General's warning sewn into the waistband next to the washing instructions?

Spending good money on these frivolous trousers and wearing them out in public will likely result in bruising about the knees and calves and being written out of the will. You're darn lucky if you aren't keel-hauled.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dumbo
Music: Frank Churchill
Lyrics: Ned Washington
Premiere: 1941
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When I See An Elephant Fly

I saw a peanut stand,
heard a rubber band,
I saw a needle that winked its eye.
But I think I will have seen everything
When I see an elephant fly.

I saw a front porch swing,
heard a diamond ring,
I saw a polka-dot railroad tie.
But I think I will have seen everything
when I see an elephant fly.

I seen a clothes horse he r'ar up and buck
And they tell me that a man made a vegetable truck
I didn't see that I only heard
But just to be sociable I'll take your word

I heard a fireside chat
I saw a baseball bat
And I just laughed till I thought I'd die
But I'd been done seen about everything when I see an elephant fly.

Dueling cameras

I tiptoed through the tulips with my sixteen-something son at the Dallas Arboretum's big "Dallas Blooms" spring event for several hours today. It was a near miracle that he chose this outing with his old mom on his only day off from work at the bank during spring break. For many years a trip to the Arboretum was a powerful threat in the Mommy arsenal. "If you boys don't quit that, I'm taking you all to the Arboretum!" "No, Mom, no, PLEASE! We'll be good!"

I marvel that one of my little ninja turtles could grow up to be a nature photographer, and a mighty darn good one at that. For twenty-one years now I've been the mother of boys, immersed in mud, sand, bugs, Tonka trucks, Hot Wheels, toy farm implements, toilet-training, volcanoes, dinosaurs, Legos, falling into duck ponds, fishing ponds, and zoo exhibits, buzz cuts, fishing tackle, karate punches, tool sets, sword fights, camouflage, canteens, Ghostbusters, model train layouts, G.I. Joe amputees, baseball trivia, computer dogfights, science fiction, Civil War reenactments, trumpet practice, cigarette lighters, sweat-petrified soccer socks, smelly casts, chess strategy, crutches, melting green army men with magnifying glasses, creek-soaked Keds, falling off roofs, slide-tackling, muddy cleats, used car classifieds, oil leaks on driveways, guitar lessons, and mustaches.

My 35 mm slr camera weighs ten times as much as his digital camera. I forget to take my zoom lens into the Arboretum. My arm shakes with my "ET" essential tremor. He contorts his body around trees and pillars to get stunning shots he can instantly save or discard. We take photos of the same subjects. We marvel at the glorious afternoon, and get slightly sunburned. He listens to my tales of the many times he and his brothers fell into ponds, escaped from grocery carts, or refused to be buckled into their car safety seats. I remember him in fuzzy fleece one-piece pajamas, pulling himself up to stand in the crib. This little Raffi duck song addict who knew what street we were driving on when he was too little to even see out the car window! The same one who listened to the "Little Mermaid" soundtrack every naptime, and Texas Rangers baseball broadcasts to fall asleep many nights. Who sobbed inconsolably at the fleeting nature of rainbows, hot air balloon flights, and goldfish lives. The funny little kid who stayed sane through his parents' divorce by swinging on a rope over a shallow creek... and who continues to amaze his old mom. I hope he will remember this day as I will!