May 2008 Archives

My mother has the ability to embarrass me simply by speaking. One time, after I returned home from a choir competition, I asked my mother what she and my step-dad did all weekend.

"We got naked and sat all over the furniture," she responded in an unintentional impersonation of George Carlin.

It seems that Liam has inherited her power.

A couple of weeks ago I took the boys with me to shop at Trader Joe's. As we wound through the aisles Liam asked a multitude of questions about this or that; he's responsible for reading my grocery list and locating the items we need. He always greets people and knows no stranger; despite all the worried emails I get about how homeschooling will turn him into an unresponsive social freak.

He knows many of the checkers in the store and grills them about their jobs, why certain things are on sale, even what my motivation may be for denying him a box of the candy near the register. They always chuckle and engage him. During this particular excursion our checker was a woman with a disfigurement around her eye. I never dissuade Liam from asking questions and try to view them as an opportunity to teach but sometimes I just want him to shut his mouth - like the time we saw a little person while visiting my uncle in the hospital and Liam stage-whispered in my ear: "LOOK, MOM, he's like Mike T.V. from Willy Wonka."

I swiped my card at the register and chatted with the clerk while monitoring Liam from the corner of my eye. He stood silent; his head cocked to the side as dogs often do, and stared at the cashier. I could sense his questions coming. Just don't, just don't, just don't I said to myself. I tried to send him a message with my eyes: IS RUDE. NO. His eyes responded: WHATEVER, I'M NOT LISTENING. WE'RE IN PUBLIC.

"What happened to your eye there? Why does it look all funny?" he asked. I know I said that I don't discourage him from asking questions OK, but I was raised to not ask any question which may cause someone else discomfort. Honestly though, I don't know what's more discomforting: asking someone a personal question or pretending that an aspect of a person doesn't exist so as to not cause yourself potential embarrassment. Luckily the woman was very laid-back and demonstrated the enduring patience of one who is used to children.

"I shot a firecracker and it hit my eye," she told him as she put my frozen stuff in my velcro bags.

"Did it hurt?" Liam asked.

"It did. I lit up a bottle rocket and wasn't being careful." She explained it a bit, including how he should always be careful with fireworks. I had to practically drag him out of the store so we could leave. He wanted to ask which particular fireworks might put out his eye, and he wanted to know whether or not her eye came out at any time and it was all I could do just to grip his wrist a little tight, talk over him, and usher him out to the car. I forgot my wallet in my rush, which she kindly brought out to me in the parking lot, right as I was telling Liam that if he MUST ask a question, ask A question, don't grill the woman. He understood. I don't want to scare him away from natural curiosity but at the same time, there's a way to decorously go about it.

I'm still learning how to teach him that.

I am recovering from a very busy weekend, one which included karaoke of Tom Jones' hits post four beers. Then there was the terrible Heart cover of "Magic Man" in which my caterwauling sliced through bar patrons' ear drums with all the ease of a dull, serrated knife. I normally do not seek out karaoke bars because I can only endure so many drunken frat boys singing off-tune pop-country songs, but I recently reconnected with my best friend from high school who's always loved karaoke. As it was her birthday, the birthday girl sets the rules. Plus, it's always much more fun to karaoke with people who can actually sing - and by "sing," I mean if it weren't for the smoke and the Roger Daltry look-a-like running the board, you'd swear you were witnessing a Grammy's performance. I danced and screeched and the birthday revelers put all the other karaoke singers to shame. Chris took video and I respect the art of music too much to post it. However, I am a bit concerned as he now has his own Flickr account.

Earlier that same day we had the first public meeting of the St. Louis Bloggers Guild, which was crazy and fun, and I met new cool people. We're partnering with Playbackstl to start St. Louis's first interactive festival in conjunction with Play:STL. It's very exciting and I'm looking forward to pulling it off with so many other talented individuals.

Now we're going to go out and enjoy some sun.

I walked into a Dierbergs, a locally-owned grocery store here, for the first time in my life yesterday. I recently stopped buying Trader Joe's meat as Chris and I are very particular about cuts of meat and I'm just not happy with the selection TJ's offers. I hate having to go to a frillion places to get one week's worth of groceries. The Schnucks (another locally-owned market) off of Loughborough has a great butcher, but I don't want to drive back and forth between two interstates. So I stopped into Dierbergs to check out their meat.

Ohmygawd.

Their produce sparkled like diamonds. The kids and I were in such awe that passerby must have thought that we were urchins who'd never set foot inside a grocery store before. Their bell peppers? They were meticulously arranged so that all their little butts were pointing outwards. I am freak about my food and we are instant BFFs if you order your kitchen items with a dash of OCD. There wasn't a withered piece of produce in the bunch; there's always a suspicious bag of grapes or a browned apple in the mix but not at this store. I like to touch, smell, and feel up my produce, not unlike foreplay, before I place it in my cart. It seemed pointless to do it here. They had everything categorized. There was a giant ORGANIC sign marking all the naturally grown products. I wish Schnucks organized their organics as thoughtfully. As I only popped in for meat - and OMG those cuts were SMOKIN' - I didn't go through the whole store but I'm sure that the aisles were paved with tiles made from crushed unicorn horns and that there was a pot of gold in the last aisle. We briefly considered erecting a tent in the cereal aisle and just like, live there for ever.

When we approached the register there was - GET THIS - a bagger waiting at the end of the conveyor belt. In some other stores, even when business is slow, I have to practically shake down a cashier to get a bagger. And when one isn't available there's this awkward moment, you know, when you attempt to bag your groceries and you try to hide how you bag them so the cashier doesn't glance over and roll their eyes. You stand there like an unwelcome houseguest as your groceries accumulate at the end of the conveyor belt, like should ... should I start bagging this? No? Is that a bagger over there? Is he...he's coming over here - no, no he's going on a smoke break. Ok, so I bag? When the cashier has to bag your groceries the people behind you in line are all "Gawd, we HAD to get behind a FAMILY purchase," because all they have is a box of wine, toilet paper, and beef jerky (party!) and boooo on you for buying family-size quantities of food. Ok, maybe it's just me. 

But anyway, there was a bagger there and he just stood there and then when my groceries came down the belt his arms went blurry and he bagged the hell out of my groceries like I have never seen them bagged before. When he was done his hands were actually smoking and he blew on him like a gunslinger blows on a gun after winning a draw. Slightly exaggerated, but still. Then the checker gave the boys stickers and because they are bought and sold with anything miniscule so long as it's free, they were all "WE LOVE IT HERE." 

(I was seriously not paid, contacted by, or cajoled by Dierbergs to write this. I just get really excited over little things.)

This Saturday I'm meeting with some of the St. Louis internet for the first public meeting of the St. Louis Bloggers Guild. We'll be at Benton Park Cafe, owned by a friend of ours, and my saying that it has some of the best eats in the city isn't bias, it's truth. They're graciously putting the Guild up and serving as our home base-of-sorts. Many thanks to John and Jess.

Please join us if you can; we'll be there from 1 - 3 p.m. and are discussing our first big project. Click here for details and to RSVP.

A friend of ours whose in-laws work with Energizer recently gave us his-and-hers gift bags full of trimmers, razors, and other cosmetic things. Chris is fascinated by gadgets, no matter how small or for what purpose. While I watched television he disappeared into the kitchen bathroom and I heard the small "reuuuuuuurr" of tiny machinery. He reappeared some time later, walked up to me and smiled.

"Notice anything different?" he asked, raising and lowering his eyebrows repeatedly.

"Um ...?"

I just trimmed my nostril hair. Electronically." 

Thanks to those of you who contribute your 2c in the last post. We haz opinions! LET US SHOW YOU THEM. I never begrudge a civil disagreement because it gives us something to talk about other than how we have to wait an entire summer for the next "Rock of Love" installment. Disagreement? C'est la vie. It's more fun to party. Which brings me to the topic of smooth.

I have wasted over an hour of my time watching the "Yacht Rock" episodes on Youtube. The series is the fictitious backstory based upon the music of Kenny Loggins, Michael McDonald, Hall & Oates, the Doobie Brothers, and other artists whose smooth music defined a genre. It's lampooned hysterically in this series; Chris busted in the house one evening with his giant iMac and was all "WATCHTHISOMG."

It's a good series if you like music + comedy, though please note, parts are so NSFW. If you can't start from the beginning at least start with this episode. It grows on you. I swear. Before I understood the aesthetic I was all what the ...? Episode #9 is about the interesting production-marriage of Ted Templeman and The Halen and it's my absolute favorite. Turn up the smooth!

Chris spent all last week in Madison, Wisconsin, mixing a record at Butch Vig's studio. He left last Sunday night and no sooner did he close the door behind him than Ewan erupted into a chaos of tears and wails. It was a hard week for the brothers Loesch. I've said it before in this space so many times: I cannot fathom how military wives deal with their husbands' absence for so many months.

I slept with a firearm responsibly located near my bedside. I've no apologies; I'm a woman with two young kids in the city and it, along with our alarm system, gives me peace of mind. The boys understand firearm responsibility and I've written about it extensively here and other places. I was even more glad to have it after I received email alerts about a guy claiming to be from the water department attempting to force his way into homes in my area.

While at his homeschool gym class, Liam overheard one of the kids say that guns were "stupid" and "people who use guns are stupid." Liam said "What about for self-defense?"

"No," the kid replied. "All of it is stupid. My mom says we're safer using swords."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Liam responded. The exchange angered him and he refused to interact with the kid. He waited to tell me about it until we got home.

"Well that's just goofy," I explained. "It's the people who aren't familiar with firearms who are scared of them the most and it's usually those people that end up causing or being the victim of an accident. That's statistical."

It wasn't the gun conversation that shocked me; this was my first real headlock with an opposing parental view. The strength of how we raise our kids, the quality of what we instill in our kids is tested in moments like these. I was impressed with how Liam handled the situation. No matter what we teach him, I hope we continue to successfully incorporate respect and tolerance into his viewpoints, like mortar to the bricks, despite what he may experience in future disagreements. 

As we walked into Liam's art fair/competition on Wednesday night I immediately scanned the room for his entry because shame and I, we've never met. I finally saw his piece, an interpretation of a work by Jackson Pollack, with a red third place ribbon affixed to its corner.

I checked in my purse to assure that I'd packed a jar of Vaseline so as to get our egos back out the door before showing him his ribbon and congratulating him. Liam is at the stage where he could accomplish quite a lot artistically (more so than now) if Chris and I wanted to really push him, really cultivate him. But we don't. We let him do as much as he wants. We first thought that perhaps we were doing Liam a disservice, holding him back. We've since decided to the contrary. I always second-guess my parenting decisions. (I'm sure that will make the kids feel fabulous when they read this as teenagers. Hi! We've no clue as to what we're doing! Love, Mom and Dad.)

When I first began homeschooling we decided that our major goal was to discover each of our kids' particular gifts and then teach and encourage them to use those gifts for societal benefit. I don't want to burn them out on their passions during their childhood, besides; I want them to enjoy their youth. We know another young artist whom I believe to be equally advanced as Liam. He's always in some art workshop, studying in a mentor program, doing this, doing that, going here, going there. He's a brilliant kid but he doesn't act like a kid. Perhaps he's just super mature for his age but the last time we were around him and his parents in a social setting I fully expected to see him smoking a cigar and clutching a glass of scotch. I want Liam to run and revel in all that defines childhood. We have a period in our life where we're afforded a free pass to behave immaturely and explore all of our options because of our age. I want him to enjoy that. Besides, I think he does wonderfully as it is.