In grade school, recess was one of my most anxiety producing times. I was always worried that I wouldn't get picked to play with. I was actually one of the most popular girls when I went to private school, and yet, there were times when I would ask, "Do you want to play?" and the huddle of other girls would whisper and then tell me, "No." I have to say that on some of the days I was part of that huddle telling others we didn't want to play with them too. It was a crushing experience. What factors made me play-worthy? Why didn't they like me today but yesterday I was cool? When I switched to public school this really didn't get much better. Now I didn't need to ask if I could play with others; it was just understood that the Mormons played with the Mormons and the non-Mormons played with the other non-Mormons. It didn't matter if it was Tuesday or the moon was full; kids are just plain mean.
As I got older I watched groups sort out into cliques. There were the preppies, the jocks, the nerds, the popular crowd, and the misfits. People were judged by what they liked, who they were with, what they did. Even when I joined a sorority I found that this larger clique had subgroups. Gossip, stealing boyfriends, spreading rumors, and alienating others were common occurances. I skipped my 4th year in the sorority just to avoid the drama. When were people going to grow up? Perhaps never.
Its amazing how the coping skills of fourth grade kick in even when you are middle aged. I had two friends decline to come to my wedding last September because they felt like an afterthought. They had their own huddle and then wrote me mean emails telling me that they wouldn't come because they received their invitation later than others. In all reality, it was the bride and grooms fault for not being more organized and just sending them out as they were getting addresses vs. in one lump. However, the email alone ended with a line about how now I could invite someone more popular because they wouldn't be coming. Its been 7 months and I'm still hurt. Of course other friends told me that I wouldn't want friends like that anyway. Somehow, it doesn't make it sting less.
When I was in the first grade, my class put on a production of "The Wizard of Oz." Every little girl wanted to be Dorothy. The head huddle pusher on the playground was cast as the star and I became a munchkin. However, she was my "best friend" so I supported her in the role. I was actually grateful not being cast in the end as she had so many lines and had to be in front of the audience alone. Recently, I had a good friend get a job that I thought perhaps one day I would be in. I actually encouraged her to apply. She got it and although it stung just a little bit, I know that she really will do an exceptional job in that role. My job as a supportive friend is one of the most important roles I can play. What would have been worse is for me to have told her to not take the chance because I was selfish. Its like having your best friend in high school tell you to not try out for cheerleader because you aren't pretty enough or your round-off isn't as good as it should be and then they secretly sneak in their name into the ballot. That is crushing and not at all what a friend does.
Recently my father had a round of hang-ups/redials with a sibling. My father is 55. Honestly, when I heard this I just laughed. Why in the world would two grown, adult, mature men engage in this type of power struggle? They were arguing over time spent with Dad and a guitar. Attention and stuff. Its the same things they probably fought over when they were little. Will my brother and I be doomed to drawing the same invisible lines down the middle of the backseat of the car daring them not to cross it, "or else?"
We may be graduates of high school, but it seems that adults are still not above giving each other wet willies and spreading rumors that so-and-so has cooties. No gives.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
The Savior of the Lambs
Recent conversation with my Mom on Easter:
"So, I didn't get the lambs."
"What?" This made no sense to me what-so-ever.
"How long has it been since I talked with you? Well, remember how every year Emigration Market brings in baby lambs at Easter?" She was referring to live lambs opposed to the shanks I was in the middle of preparing. The local neighborhood market sets up a sort of seasonal petting zoo.
"Yes, I remember you were excited about taking the dogs to see them." Its a ritual to take the dogs to see the lambs or at Thanksgiving, the turkeys, just to see how they react. Off hand note: those turkeys are way bigger than Scottie dogs.
"Well, I never got the dogs there. But, JT had 4 baby lambs brought in. The mother wasn't well enough to produce her own milk and I was there when they arrived. I helped bottle feed the runt. Oh he was so cute! He didn't know how to work the nipple and his tongue kept sliding around it, but he finally got the hang of it."
"You fed the lambs?"
"Well, JT needed help. They were all scrawny. I don't know how he was planning on managing all 4 lambs at once since that mother was no help at all. So I offered to take a couple if he needed me. You know, I would just put them in the dog crates, set them up in the kitchen, and sleep on the couch until they said, 'maaawww,' and then I would go feed them." This is something my mother would completely do. When she was little, Mom was known for her odd group of pets including Henry and George the ducks who got imprinted on the vacuum cleaner and would follow it around every time Ginny spruced up the house.
"The kitchen?"
"Well, yeah. I didn't think anything of it, but then one afternoon JT called. He was going out of town and needed me to take two of them for a couple of nights. He already lost the other two the night before, including the runt. He said that he already took them home and bathed them in the bathtub. Boy that mirconium really is sticky stuff." This broke my heart. We always had a soft spot for the runts. My first dog, Henry (perhaps named after the duck), was the runt.
"Well, when I told your father he got very quiet. The tv wasn't on, no computer, nothing. He just sat quietly for about 30 minutes." I began to laugh. He is typically quiet, but there is always something on.
"Finally, he came to me and said I was crazy. But I was thinking that if you were still in your old house, we could have put them in your basement and then I would have slept in the spare bedroom when they said, 'maaww.'" Ok, so this is probably something I would have done too, pre-marriage. I'm still getting used to consulting with another person when I want to do something that seems totally reasonable like take in orphan farm animals for a sleep-over.
"What did Ginny say?"
"Well Ginny said she would take care of them if I could sneek them up to her condo." I could actually see my grandmother with her oxygen and dowagers hump trying to bottle feed the lambs while they ran all over her condo, even though they don't allow animals.
"And what did my brother say?" After all, he might help as he is living with them.
"Well, he didn't say anything, but I'm guessing he thought I was crazy too. So I called JT and told him that my husband couldn't do it. And I guess it was a good idea. After all, we did just get the hardwood floors refinished in the kitchen." I tried to imagine knobby kneed lambs sliding all over the new floors. My father would have had a fit. "JT understood and ended up shipping them back to the ranch early."
My Mother: Attempted Savior of the Lambs.
"So, I didn't get the lambs."
"What?" This made no sense to me what-so-ever.
"How long has it been since I talked with you? Well, remember how every year Emigration Market brings in baby lambs at Easter?" She was referring to live lambs opposed to the shanks I was in the middle of preparing. The local neighborhood market sets up a sort of seasonal petting zoo.
"Yes, I remember you were excited about taking the dogs to see them." Its a ritual to take the dogs to see the lambs or at Thanksgiving, the turkeys, just to see how they react. Off hand note: those turkeys are way bigger than Scottie dogs.
"Well, I never got the dogs there. But, JT had 4 baby lambs brought in. The mother wasn't well enough to produce her own milk and I was there when they arrived. I helped bottle feed the runt. Oh he was so cute! He didn't know how to work the nipple and his tongue kept sliding around it, but he finally got the hang of it."
"You fed the lambs?"
"Well, JT needed help. They were all scrawny. I don't know how he was planning on managing all 4 lambs at once since that mother was no help at all. So I offered to take a couple if he needed me. You know, I would just put them in the dog crates, set them up in the kitchen, and sleep on the couch until they said, 'maaawww,' and then I would go feed them." This is something my mother would completely do. When she was little, Mom was known for her odd group of pets including Henry and George the ducks who got imprinted on the vacuum cleaner and would follow it around every time Ginny spruced up the house.
"The kitchen?"
"Well, yeah. I didn't think anything of it, but then one afternoon JT called. He was going out of town and needed me to take two of them for a couple of nights. He already lost the other two the night before, including the runt. He said that he already took them home and bathed them in the bathtub. Boy that mirconium really is sticky stuff." This broke my heart. We always had a soft spot for the runts. My first dog, Henry (perhaps named after the duck), was the runt.
"Well, when I told your father he got very quiet. The tv wasn't on, no computer, nothing. He just sat quietly for about 30 minutes." I began to laugh. He is typically quiet, but there is always something on.
"Finally, he came to me and said I was crazy. But I was thinking that if you were still in your old house, we could have put them in your basement and then I would have slept in the spare bedroom when they said, 'maaww.'" Ok, so this is probably something I would have done too, pre-marriage. I'm still getting used to consulting with another person when I want to do something that seems totally reasonable like take in orphan farm animals for a sleep-over.
"What did Ginny say?"
"Well Ginny said she would take care of them if I could sneek them up to her condo." I could actually see my grandmother with her oxygen and dowagers hump trying to bottle feed the lambs while they ran all over her condo, even though they don't allow animals.
"And what did my brother say?" After all, he might help as he is living with them.
"Well, he didn't say anything, but I'm guessing he thought I was crazy too. So I called JT and told him that my husband couldn't do it. And I guess it was a good idea. After all, we did just get the hardwood floors refinished in the kitchen." I tried to imagine knobby kneed lambs sliding all over the new floors. My father would have had a fit. "JT understood and ended up shipping them back to the ranch early."
My Mother: Attempted Savior of the Lambs.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Easter, Bubba Style
No surprise here, the Easter Bunny came to our house. Well, I should say, the Easter Bubba. Somehow Edgar's nickname has morphed from "Baby Puppy" to "Buppy" and now "Bubba." J and I take much delight out of narrating the dog's life as if he had a voice. For example, if we are taking Edgar on a walk and he begins to skip (and, yes, he does skip), then one of us would exclaim in a deep voice, "I'm a Bubba Dog on a walk. Nose down, tail up!" Or, when he brings you a toy and pushes it against your leg as if to say, "Here, guys, its my fun toy, here, here, here. Take it!" And then we burst into fits of giggling. Yup, we focus a lot of attention on the dog.
This morning, J resurrected himself after working a twelve hour shift and getting home in the wee hours. (Don't mean to be blasphemous, just thought the verb worked well.) To what does his wondrous eyes doth appear? A Easter Basket! Complete with a note from the Easter Bubba. There was fun stuff like cell phone head sets, fun beer from all over the world, an exotic chocolate bar, simple syrup for J's famous mojitos, mini french lemonades, a star fish: and of course racquetballs and an alligator toy for the dog. The Easter Bubba left me some beautiful Stargazer lilies and an add on "Seasons" component to the Sims 2 (this could be a separate post within itself).
I cleaned the house yesterday and put on my spring decorating hat to arrange something festive to welcome/invoke the warmer weather. Invoke is probably the better word as it is only in the mid-thirties today. I clustered similar styles of glassware (always in groupings of 3 or 5), filled them with sand, sea shells, and candles. Just call me Martha.
While I had intended on cooking an elaborate Easter dinner complete with Lamb Shanks and Asparagus for the two of us, J's ER schedule changed and he was back on the 12-midnight shift. Damn. So instead I made smoked salmon scrambled eggs, strawberries and warmed up some pastries from our favorite bakery. This doesn't mean I'm not having the lamb tonight. It will just be Bubba Dog and me.
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