Stalking The Stacks

We took the kids to the library tonight. I took Madeleine over to Louisa May Alcott's Little Women.

"This is the best book ever," I tell her. "It's about four girls-Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy...and their adventures."

Madeleine examines it. I tremble with joy.

"Why are you trembling?" asked the spider.

"I'm trembling with joy," replied Wilbur.

"Then my name is Joy," said the young spider.-Charlotte's Web

Next we visit the magazines. I spot American Girl.

"I used to read this," I tell Madeleine. "The Civil War version, of course." I crack myself up. Nobody else thinks I'm particularly funny.

"Cheryl Tiegs used to write an advice column back in my day," I remember. "She once said 'The sun does great things for your skin! Get out there and soak it up!' I tried, but I never got a tan. Woman ruined my teenage years. Wonder what she thinks of that advice today. I bet her skin looks like an alligator."

Nobody is particularly interested. I flip out my mirror and do a quick wrinkle check. Still holding steady. Being a sun phobic bookworm does have its advantages.

I spot another book.

"I read this book as a child," I reminisce to Roger. It's Up A Road Slowly. I flip through the pages.

"It was a different time, a different place," I say. I show Roger the paragraph that confused me so. Something Very Bad had happened. But I didn't know what.

"We heard that Carlotta had gone to spend the winter with an aunt from Ohio, an aunt we had never heard of."

"NOW HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW-AT AGE 10- THAT MEANT AN ILLEGITMATE TEENAGE PREGNANCY?" I bluster. "I wondered what was so bad about spending the winter with an aunt! Was she beating her or something? Nowadays, I guess they'd do a whole chapter on how she got in that condition!"

I try to get Madeleine into the timeless Beverly Cleary books. But she's a diehard Junie B. Jones fan.

"God I hate Junie B. Jones!" I remark. "SPEAKING OF BEATING, IF JUNIE B. JONES WAS MY CHILD, SHE'D BE CALLING CHILD PROTECTIVE SERVICES."

Roger takes my hand and gently leads me away.

Now I'm off to reread Little Women for the one hundredth time.

Sleeping Together

Last night I approached our bed and viewed a most unappetizing sight. Roger was, as usual, sprawled on the sofa snoring and two snorting, twitching, sweating, breathing kids were occupying Roger's place.

This is not unusual. We sleep all over the house. Everybody starts out in one place and changes to another. It's like a G-rated episode of Melrose Place or something.

I composed a poem on the spot:


The family bed,
Makes me wish I were dead.

Of all the snorty tworty granola eating breast feeding sling holding non circumcising theories of child rearing out there, I hate the Family Bed stuff the most. I'd like to slap the Family Bed proponents right upside the head with a lead filled pillow.

GIVE ME MY SPACE DAMMIT. GET AWAY FROM ME WHILE I SLEEP. PREFERABLY IN THE NEXT BEDROOM.

Man, I'm so filled with the love while awake that I have little bluebirds singing around my head. I hug and kiss my family all day long. But when I'm ready to go to sleep, I want to sleep alone. I do not want any sweaty, loud, vigorous co-sleepers.

I was lying there last night thinking about it. I absolutely refused to let a child in bed with me back in the old days. Of course, that was easy, because there were no children in the house. Once the kids came, I softened up like a stick of butter in July.

I read somewhere that orphanage kids "needed a break" and for once I allowed love and compassion to fill every fiber of my being. I kind of agreed with that. The poor kids had slept in a lonely, hard crib during their earliest days. The least I could do was cut 'em some slack. They are allowed to sleep with us when they have a bad dream. Interestingly enough they seem to have a bad dream every night about 4:00 AM.

Oh but gawd I hate it.

My sister is responsible for this, just like most other bad things in my life (cough) splitting the inheritance (cough). I had to sleep with her as a child. Graduate students rarely have large houses. She twitched, sweated, snored, and flung her arms around while sleeping with me.

I guess my parents thought it would make us close, but I felt much closer to her while lying in my very own double bed in my very own bedroom at age 8 (after Daddy got a job as a professor) and remembering her endearing qualities from afar.

Yes, I achieved nirvana (my very own bedroom and double bed) at age 8, and it was such a special thing that I still have my first set of sheets because they make my heart lift every time I look at them.

I remember the last night my sister and I shared a bed, right before we moved to our new house. I woke up at 2:00 AM due to her hideously annoying flailing about. I tiptoed into Mom and Dad's bedroom and told Mom that I Could. Not. Deal.

"What do you want me to do, dear?" whispered Mom, undoubtedly thinking very loving thoughts about me at that moment.

"Please! Can we get the new double bed mattress out of the den?" I begged. "I WILL SLEEP ON THE BEDFRAME--ALONE--before I'd spend one more second with that brat!"

And that is just what I did.

And it was glorious.

Thirteen Kisses

The kids and Roger were out for Spring Break this week.

Madeleine let us know right smart quick that it was going to be a long week because she was going to be separated from her boyfriend. That's him in the picture. Their friendship goes back to the diaper days.

Sunday she came to her father with the phone. "I know you hate to call people, Mommy," she began. "But I must talk to Boyfriend. Daddy, will you call him?" Daddy, who hates the phone as much as Mommy, obligingly dialed the number. Madeleine keeled over with giggles. I'll have to say, Boyfriend is a gentleman. They chatted for awhile and then he asked to talk to Meredith and Roger.

"Mr. Roger, when are we gonna hang out?" he asked.

It was agreed that a play date would happen. Boyfriend would be back in touch soon.

Tuesday Madeleine came to me on the back porch and grabbed my arm.

"Why hasn't he called?" she wailed.

"Because he's a man?" I wanted to reply.

Instead, I reminded her that their love was true and deep and I was sure that he would call soon. Indeed he did and a play date was set for Thursday.

He came over and they went to the park and played. Roger wouldn't let them kiss on the lips, but Madeleine told me that they kissed each other on the cheek THIRTEEN TIMES.

There's only one problem. She wants him to take her last name when they get married, and he wants her to take his last name. 

Literally Speechless

International adoption was still a pretty rare phenomenon back in 1998, but most people that we told were very happy for us. One friend told me that we should stick to our own kind, but then she called back later and said that she had seen a Chinese kid in the library with a Caucasian woman, and the kid was cute, so she guessed it was ok.

I've been waiting a long time for the conversation. The one where I would have a chance to unleash my venom on a deserving person. Yet the years flew by and nobody ever said anything mean. Oh yeah, lots of "are they real sisters" questions, but nothing with any malice.

Today we exited church following mass (and believe me this is a strange thing for me to write) and we heard "ROOOOGGGAHHHHH!!!"

Rogggahhhhh is always being recognized after mass, because he was raised here and attended the local Catholic schools. Today the person recognizing him wheeled over. His obsese body was stuffed into an ill fitting sweatsuit showing an unseemly expanse of naked belly.

I had heard stories about this man. I'll call him Dick. Dick and Roger had played basketball together in high school. Dick had developed MS many years ago and had apparently turned into a mental case.

"DO YOU REMEMBER ME?" Dick hollered. Roger couldn't think of his name.

Finally Dick identified himself. "SO WHY DINCHA YOU HAVE YOUR OWN KIDS?" he tactfully inquired.

Roger, taken aback, replied..."Well..we didn't feel like it."

"SO YOU HADDA GO AND GET SOME LITTLE FURRINERS, EH?" he asked. "WHAT'S WRONG WITH AMERICAN KIDS?"

"That's who we....decided to adopt...." Roger replied.

The little furriners were oblivious to the conversation. They were chatting and climbing all over the playground equipment.

What was I doing? Why I was standing there with a frozen, stunned, lunatic smile on my face. Circuits were misfiring so fast in my head that I'm amazed I didn't have smoke coming out of my eye sockets. We're having a conversation after church with an old school friend of my husband who is saying this?

"I have MS, you know,"Dick continued. "I'm just wondering....if God leads you to...if you could help me some. My family has disowned me and I'm all alone in the world...."

I came up with a real snappy comeback.

"Come along children, let's go explore the old cemetery. Nice to meet you, Dick." I smiled politely and walked away, my heels clicking on the sidewalk.

As I explored the old tombstones, I thought about it.

I could have taken off his head if I had my wits about me. But this man had been hanging around the church, in a wheelchair, begging old friends for money while simultaneously insulting and ridiculing them.

I was glad I didn't engage. Why argue with a madman? Why give him the sick, twisted satisfaction...

Madeleine came up to me and I pointed out the inscription on a tombstone.

Reginald Patrick White, MD
Died 1875 at age 30 while fighting a yellow fever epidemic.
He aided his suffering and dying patients until the third plague hit.
He dropped after hours of tireless service

I'd rather think about Reginald Patrick White, M.D.

Way Ahead Of Their Time

Here is a picture of my kids climbing a tree. I was not allowed to do this as a child.

You've probably seen this email floating around the internet. I got it the other day and started thinking about how my parents were way, way ahead of their time.

TO ALL THE KIDS WHO WERE BORN IN THE
1930's 40's, 50's, 60's and 70's !!

First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us.
Don't know about that one. I'm adopted.

They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes.
ditto

Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paints.
Plain little brown crib, from the pictures.

We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking.
I was allowed to ride my bike on my street only until I was FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. I was warned that hitchhiking would cause me to appear on "Do You Know Who This Decapitated Skull Belongs To?" posters. Medicine was locked in the highest cabinet in the kitchen.

As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.
I remember seat belts from childhood on!

Riding in the back of a pick up on a warm day was always a special treat.
BWAHAHAHA! My parents once refused to let me attend a birthday party when this was on the agenda.

We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle.
My mom has a BS in Biology and a MS in Public Health. My dad had a BS in Chemistry, MS in Public Health, a MSSE (Master of Science in Sanitary Engineering) and PhD in Epidemiology. Guess how many garden hoses *I* was allowed to drink from?

We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this. Soft drinks? NEVER. Ginger ale whenever sick. that was it.

We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but we weren't overweight because......
My mom was a devotee of Adele Davis "Let's Eat Right To Keep Fit" and we ate whole wheat bread, used only margarine, and drank plain white milk.

WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!!
Not me. I wasn't allowed to play with the kids in my block because they played in the street. I was allowed to go on occasional play dates in "nice" neighborhoods--we lived in student housing neighborhoods most of my early childhood. I spent my entire childhood sitting around reading. I never played one minute of sports, either organized or street games. NOT ONE MINUTE!!!!!

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.
See above!!!

No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K.
My mom could reach me at all times. "Lorrie, put down the book ..."

We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.
What is a go-cart?

We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no movies, no surround sound, no cell phones. We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.
I never climbed a tree in my life. NEVER. It was not allowed. My Dad was a doctoral student at UNC-Ch and one of my classmates had a 3 inch tv in 1965. Her dad was an engineering professor and they were developing it. I was absolutely blown away.

We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.
Any worm that dared to think of taking up residence in the body of a child whose parents had 4,545 degrees in Public Health would have died from sheer intimidation.

We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays, made up games with sticks and tennis balls and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes.
What is a BB gun?

We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them!
Nope.

Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!
Nope.

The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!
True dat.

Oh My Darling, I Feel Wonderful Tonight

Prom Day

T minus 9 hours and counting:

"Big floofy curls," I instruct the hairdresser, waving my hands around my head.
"Ok, but I have to use hairspray. You know how you hate it," she replied.
"Huh? I LOVE hairspray," I reply, startled.

And we all gain a little more understanding of each other and the world is a better place.

T minus 2 hours:

Roger gets so nervous every time we do a self timer photo shoot. (See Christmas photo shoot story). But I decide I'm going to exercise a new Zenlike calmness this time.

I quietly set up the self timer on the new $1200 Nikon camera with the new $175 flash. I quietly notice that I can't figure out how to work the self timer. I quietly curse and quietly put it away.

T minus 1 hour:

I load up the evening bag my aunt carried for her debut in 1935. I apply the Vampira dark red lipstick that I've used for the Christmas photo shoot since 2001. Mom calls. "I need some eye drops, would you run by CVS before you bring the girls over?" Sure. I decide to purchase some new lipstick for the first time since 2001. The sky is the LIMIT for prom night!

T minus 15 minutes:

I hand the Sony ($300) camera to a five year old and ask her to take a picture. Meredith snaps the above shot. She then drops the camera on the tile floor. I make this sound:

aaaahhhhhhheeeerrrrgghhhheeeeeeeeeeee!

But the camera is all right, because Magic Is In The Air.

T minus 3 minutes: Mom's house:

We go into the living room for another photo shoot. "Take a picture of me with my hand on the dresser-- I just posted a picture taken there in 1978 on my blog," I say sweetly. "Can't," says my photographer husband. "I'm getting bounceback (light reflection) from the picture behind you."

"DADDEH NEVER COMPLAINED ABOUT THAT IN 1978," I reply sweetly.

"At least we won't have to pay for the *#$#$ prom pictures after all these shots," says my husband wearily. I shoot him a Look Of Incredulity.

LIFTOFF!

"Are we at the Oscars?" we ask each other. For the dresses worn by the girls at this, the wealthiest high school in the state, would transfer to the red carpet with nary a hitch.

I'm so excited. I love dance parties.

We enter and go into a big, dark room. The DJ is spinning rap music at eardrum blasting levels. I remember Mom asking me which orchestra would be playing at the dance.

When do they play "Stairway To Heaven?" I muse aloud.

Finally, the first song that I recognize comes on.

It's Hollaback Girl.

"Let's dance!" I scream gaily.

"I ain't dancin' to no 'Ain't No Hollaback Girl'", Roger cleverly quips.

Now here is the weird thing. The kids are just sort of hanging out in the middle of the dance floor. They aren't dancing. They are just standing around. Hundreds of kids. Just standing around. I snap a quick picture.

Don't they like to slow dance?, I wonder. I mean, that was the thing back in the day. Aha! "Wonderful Tonight" comes on. We move out on the floor and look in each other's eyes and I'm lost in the ecstacy. A photographer snaps us. Shots of the dancers appear on a big screen. I wonder, briefly, if anyone will think I'm a high school girl. I then wonder, briefly, if I truly am insane.

Oh my darling, I feel wonderful tonight.

The only other song I recognized came on an hour later. It's "Baby Got Back."

"Let's dance!" I scream gaily, again, hopped up on three Diet Cokes.

"NO," responds my darling. "But don't let me stop you. Just go join the herd."

"Yeah, me and 300 17 year olds on the floor? I don't think so."

I settle for singing along. The music is so loud that nobody can hear me.

So Cosmo says you're fat!
Well I ain't down with that!
To the beanpole dames in the magazines,
You ain't it, Miss Thang!
Gimme a sistah, can't resist her,
Red beans and rice didn't miss her,
BABY GOT BACK!

LA FACE WITH AN OAKLAND BOOTY!!

All right, we've eaten, I've admired the gorgeous dresses, Roger's admired the gorgeous girls, I've drunk three diet cokes, what have I forgotten? Why, it's the Prom Picture! "They're free for us," assures a fellow faculty member.

We get in line. Roger hates waiting in line. Some guy is mumbling "what a waste of time," behind us. Roger and Guy exchange long suffering looks. "chill..." responds his date, with a great Jersey accent. "chill..." I agree, squeezing Roger's hand "lovingly".

I watch a young lady in an Academy Award style gown scribble out a check for $75 for prom pictures and wonder, nervously, how much they'll cost in 2016.

We pose. I hope I remembered to suck in my stomach.

And we go home.

And today we went to a kid's birthday party, and painted the storage shed, and I'm all grown up now, but I will always have that April Fool's Day in 2006 where, just for a few minutes, it was Let's Do The Time Warp Again.

Why don't you guys, like, dance?

This is what I mean. The kids just stood around most of the evening.