Sleeping With One Eye Open

 
    My son is a Disk Jockey and he works later than most kids his age because of the nature of his business.  Of course, he only has to to work twice a month to make the same money I once made at seventeen flipping hamburgers and wearing that horrible "Wendy's" blue cotton uniform that looked much like a French maid with its puffy sleeves and low cut neckline.  I try hard to stay awake to make sure my son returns home safely, but at those late hours I am known to cat nap while he is out.  I have mulitple alarms set on my phone to go off every hour on the hour so I can stalk him properly and make sure he isn't late and lying in a ravine somewhere.   I lie on the couch and doze in and out with one eye open and one hand on my phone.  My son knows the rule that he must wake me upon return so I can turn off the alarms and then move into a regular sleep pattern.   The problem with this is that my cognitive reasoning is dulled after going in and out of sleep several times and I tend to agree with most anything said to me as my body aches to return to sleep.  My children have discovered this flaw in my plan and have used it to their benefit. 

    I recently discovered my children's brilliant scheming when my daughter was going to be out later than normal and I made the same deal with her.  "Make sure you wake me up when you get home so I won't worry."  My children don't understand how I could be worrying if I'm asleep, but real sleep is far from what I go through while waiting for them to return.  My son shook his head and continued on with his dinner.  I overheard him tell my daughter that all she had to do was tell me the next morning that she did wake me and I would never know the difference! Gads!   Had I failed as a parent!   

    Truth be told,  I suppose I've done something right because I do have good kids and I don't worry too terribly much.  I know they have been placed in safe situations and pray they will return at the correct time.  But this new piece of information left me concerned. As the clock nears midnight, I simply can't keep my eyes open and I begin setting alarm clocks.  Recently, my son came in around midnight smelling of a perfectly baked triple tiered sweet 16 cake.  Knowing he was home safely, I rolled over, turned off the alarm clocks and returned to REM sleep.  About twenty minutes later, he woke me again to inform me he was going to the movies.  "Movies are fun.  What a great idea!" I thought, in my half awake haze located somewhere between reality and dreamland.  As my son and friends were headed out of the door, my mind kicked in and I remembered that the theater was fifty miles away and it was already after midnight.  Those kids just think I sleep through all of this.  Needless to say, nobody went to the movies and I returned to my bed with a house full of children trying to figure out what to do next. 

    I now realize that they were up the rest of the night, based on the evidence strewn from my kitchen to the pool house and the teenage boy asleep on my couch whose name I don't know.  I think you have to look for blessings and I should be glad that it wasn't a teenage couple on my couch.  It can always be worse, you know.   Deciding coffee would make a wonderful addition to my morning,  I headed to the kitchen, but it appears that one of my children was the self appointed coffee barista last night as the bag of grounds was empty and the frappe machine was still humming a low sound of overuse.    When I was my kid's age, we had the hand-crank Snoopy Snow Cone machine with off-brand Kool Aid mixes. Nowadays, these kids are downloading instant coffee beverage recipes and blending up mixtures of caffeine and confections surely to keep them wired long enough to cook all the frozen pizzas in the house.  Is this the entrance ramp to the path of destruction, I ask!   I suppose it could be much worse.

    As my children sleep uninterrupted, I'm left with the following morning beverage choices, none of which I find appealing...   the bottom of a bottle of Mountain Dew Black (I think you can boost your car's mpg rating with that stuff), the last of a gallon of room temperature milk left on my counter from last night, or some lemongrass black tea obviously purchased by me when I thought I would try this healthy vegan eating thing that lasted about three days.   My mother lives down the street and I could grab the dogs, walk over with them, dig out my old Snoopy Snow Cone machine and make some double raspberry snow cone drink.  Or.... there is the McDonald's drive thru!  

So, The Tin Man Needed A Heart

   At a recent benefit, I heard a speaker take the Wizard of Oz story and parlay it into a magnificent tale of giving, caring and courage.  A tin man, who was empty on the inside, needed a heart.  A lost man made of fluff needed a brain and a lion simply needed his courage back. Everyone knows how the story ends as we discover that we all fit these roles from time to time and that Toto still remains an irritating dog to this day. There were other lessons learned from this great story, however, and I think they are often overlooked. 

   If you are mean person or even a wicked witch, a giant house can and should fall on top of you, leaving nothing but a great pair of shoes for the taking.  A good heart could have served that witch well. I have known a few people that I wished had larger hearts, or any heart or even a house on top of them, although I realize that makes my heart a little smaller for wanting a giant dwelling to land on these people. But, perhaps it would knock some kindness into them.     

   This great story also taught us that those without hearts gather friends like flying monkeys. This alone, should be a red flag that one should change their ways and seek better company. I'm always on the lookout for flying monkeys as I want to make sure my heart is well and I've not fallen prey to bitterness and any loss of joy. Once you start running with this crowd, it's hard to break away unless you melt your hardened heart.  

   I realize that heart health is very important and that we should fill our hearts with joy and kindness. We should seek out higher standards of giving and have the courage and knowledge to do the right thing, even when attacked by flying monkeys.    

   So, whether it is my children who have been affected by heartless people, myself who has taken a blow, or a tin man who stands alone in the forest, it is my hope that heart health kicks in and all of these good people will move forward with light in their hearts and courage to lead with kindness even when there are witches on the perimeter and falling houses looming overhead. 

Reach Out and Touch the World

    It was around 11:00 at night when I discovered my daughter still awake in her bed with string cheese hanging from her mouth as she "Face-Timed" her friend who lives four hours away.  While she was having fun streaming video of the stringy dairy product hanging from her mouth, she informed me that she had forgotten to do her Science homework on DNA and that she needed me to wash a pair of jeans. This instantly told me I would be up early in the morning washing clothes and googling up things such as how many chromosones a cat has.  I had forgotten about the small dog living in my laundry room who had just been neutered and the fact that he would need my attention too.   My morning schedule was already being stretched to the hilt and I hadn't even gone to bed yet.  Oddly, I happen to have a representation of the building blocks of life made out of Starburst and Licorice and I hoped we could work it into her Science homework to save us a little time in the morning.  

    While mornings are stressful, I am thankful that my son operates on autopilot and needs little assistance getting off to school.  He is wonderfully independent yet still allows me to drop a pop-tart crust and a Zrytec in his mouth as he hurries out the door. He'll take a big swig from the milk jug, squirt a jet of Hershy's syrup in his mouth and shake his head to stir.  This is far from the healthy breakfast I wish he was having, but it does get him off to school with something in his stomach and all histamine-induced wheal responses temporarily held at bay.  I am next out the door and some time after, my daughter and husband will make their way out.  

    On my ride to work this morning, I played with my new phone that allows me to do hands free texting.  I've discovered a whole new world of communication that has shaved minutes off of my schedule once occupied with useless small motor movement for texting with two thumbs. I sent messages to everyone I know even if I had nothing to say.  My son finally sent me a message that said, "I'm at school - stop texting me."  I was truly a kid with a new toy.

    Realizing that everyone was just as busy as I, I gave up on my unsolicited messaging and began asking random questions to my personal phone assistant who just happened to  know the chromosomal count of a cat. Still asking useless questions, I discovered there are two other people with my name and realized about that time that I probably needed real people to talk to.  I could text the other two Melissa Bs without lifting a finger, but they might find that odd.  I believe I would.   

    I do wonder what we did before we traveled with Smart Phones and small computers in our pockets that allow us to reach out and touch the world.   Oh yes - we reached out and touched the world.  We talked to people eye to eye. We read golf magazines in doctor's waiting rooms and we walked around ignorant of the number of chromosones a cat has. Our phone bills were $42 instead of $342.  We used pay phones in bad parts of town and the germs on the handset didn't kill us.  We talked to strangers in gas stations as we asked for directions and we had real conversations over dinner.  We went to bed after prayers and a story and we didn't stream images of food products in our mouths. Don't get me wrong, I love modern technology, but while it is intended to make the world smaller, I believe it just may be separating us from one another as we operate behind a world of text, screens and unnecessary messages.   My children will text each other from one room away instead of getting up and walking into the other room to speak.  After completing this week's Science review on DNA, I can see where we are headed for genetic adaptations that will result in a society full of footless, big eyed, thumbless people that know nothing about golf, prayers or being lost in the middle of nowhere.  I only pray that our body types won't change so that we are as tall as we are wide just so we will always fit properly in 12" x 12" photos as Instagram is now the standard for a generation of people who take and post perfectly square pictures of everything they see, do or eat.  

    As I write this, I realize that I should just put all the phones away at bedtime and everyone could get some sleep.  Our bodies could relax and no genetic adaptations would be required.  No images of half eaten food products would be sent from my house and mornings would welcome a family full of rested individuals prepared for the day. 



    

  

The Highway Maker

Photo property of Erik Johansson 

http://erikjohanssonphoto.com/

    The road to the city was once a four lane interstate that deteriorated over the years under the weight of big trucks.  While I was not invited to the Highway Department planning meeting, I learned late that the road would be replaced.  One day the highway was there and then suddenly it wasn't.  Giant equipment moved in like something out of a Dr. Seuss book and broke concrete, stirred dust, ripped out the highway and carried it away.  It seemed to happen overnight.  I still question where one carries off an entire interstate to, but I'm certain there is a mountain of concrete around here somewhere. 

   The southbound lanes are now shared for traffic coming and going and all of us can watch as the other side of the highway is carried away and is now being rebuilt.  It is a strange sight to see miles of dirt where once a highway stood.  But the most amazing thing is the giant machine they brought in, that we have named The Highway Maker.  It appears that as this monster machine slowly moves forward, it spits out a freshly poured thick slab of interstate.  Much like the EZ Bake oven, there is nothing on one side and yet magically, a perfect product rolls out the opposite side of the machine.   It's nothing short of magical. Insistent that we capture a photo of this giant wonder, I pressured my children to hang out of the car windows with cell phones in hand as I drove precariously close to a concrete retainer wall that separated us from oncoming death, screaming, "Did you get it? Did you get it?" My son gave it his best, but we were unable to capture a decent photo of this machine in its full glory as we drove by at reduced speeds in single file.  Had we taken the picture below, it would be proof that we had made a wrong turn and were currently driving in Portugal. 

Picture by www.GOMACO.com

    I am incredibly intrigued with the idea of being able to drive a machine that spits out a new road to anywhere.  The power of such a tool is endless. I picture Dr. Seuss's Sneeches with stars on their bellies driving The Highway Maker over mountains and through deserts and possibly across oceans at very high rates of speed. Before long, we would have a spaghetti bowl of highways and byways and exits and more.   People would be coming and going and crossing each other's path until it was a giant maze of confusion. The road making would never cease because the Highway Maker, properly known as the Slipform Paver, is wider than the road itself, so it obviously would have to keep making road to continue forward to anywhere. It's mind boggling when you think about it.  

    With half the highway gone, we now drive on the left and share lanes with oncoming traffic.  I have always been happy knowing that we drive on the right.  I find comfort in that simple rule.  Upset that constant and things begin to get strange.  My daughter is most concerned about this as she has always had some internal formula for determining if traffic is coming or going and while we've found no logic in her assessment of travel patterns, she is undoubtedly certain which side is coming and which side is going. On our way to the city, on the wrong side of the highway, she declared that we were "going."  The people on the other side of the concrete wall were "coming."  I asked if we would be coming or going when we were on the other side and she was quick to let me know that we would obviously be going. It leaves me bumfuzzled.  

    The Highway Maker is definitely going and will be in a perpetual state of "going" as it lays down an endless road of concrete to new and wondrous places.  Trapped by the nature of it's own existence, it will never be coming or returning, as a road once traveled is all the Highway Maker will ever know. 

   I wish for just an hour or two that my kids and I could jump aboard this fantastic machine, sit under the cool umbrella, shift the gears, raise the flag, mold some concrete, sip on a cool drink and lay down a new path at 105 feet per minute.  It would be empowering! 

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Thank you Eric for letting me use your very cool photo! -m

Dog Days of Summer

   As a hurricane nears ours shores and a faint, cool breeze blows the remnants of summer away, the Fall football season is upon us and with that comes football games, cheerleaders, and a strong need for a professional organizer and a personal dry cleaner armed with a "Tide To Go" stick.  Let me explain...

 
   My daughter is one of those cheerleaders and great effort has gone into preparations for our Fall kick off event known as "Dog Days" where kids are given their first opportunity to take to the football field and show the world their skills.   After selling hundreds of dollars worth of ads and bulldog magnets, securing just the right outfits with matching bows, t-shirts and rain gear, and paying for private lessons with Cirque du Soleil to perfect a tumbling pass on the sidelines, we were ready for Dog Days and all the joy that comes with it.    

   The afternoon of the event, my child was missing in action as she and her father were tooling around town running errands, sipping on snow cones and enjoying their afternoon without a care in the world.  They are much alike and operate in their own timezone, not shared with any other people that I know. Like a crazy woman, I tracked them down and redirected them back to our house so we could get ready and go.  In minutes, she was dressed, packed and out the door.

   As we arrived at the field, my daughter hopped out of the car with great excitement.  Before I could exit the vehicle, she had rounded the hood and was coming at me like a freight train with that look on her face of complete panic.  I've seen this look many times before and knew that it meant we had either forgotten something vitally important, I had just run over a kitten, or that I was about to be introduced to    some type of problem that would require precision time management skills and a race to some store twenty miles away. 

   This time, it was simply a bow we had forgotten, and I raced home to retrieve the black and silver hair accessory that went with her crisp, white uniform.  I had five minutes to drive ten miles and decided it would be wise to entertain moving closer to the school and save myself a nervous breakdown sure to be drawn out slowly over the next five years of school.     

   Back at the stadium again, the girls in white, ran off to practice and we took our places in the stands armed with a variety of cameras, zoom lenses and mobile upload devices.   It was sweltering hot as it had been all summer and the occasional hint of a breeze was a welcome relief. We had been in drought conditions for the past three months and I would like to state that the odds of locating a puddle of mud were a million to one, unless you were my child and you were dressed in a bright white, shiny uniform with matching bow.  It didn't take long before I spied her coming at me, once again, like a steaming freight train, seeking me out in the midst of a crowd, wearing that same look of panic.  I took a deep breath and waited to see what impossible task was about to be thrown at me in hopes of a quick resolution.  I heard the panic in her voice and sensed a tear in her eye as she called out "Mom!"    She looked perfectly fine, so I couldn't imagine what could be wrong, until she turned around and it was clear to all that she was covered in mud from the bottom of her skirt to her neckline.  "How?" is all I could muster up.  It had been over a hundred degrees for months.  There was no water anywhere around.  And yet, somehow, she had managed to tumble right into the only mud puddle within 500 miles.  With a precision landing, her feet stuck firmly in the small body of watery goo that instantly shot mud splatters straight up the backside of her crisp, clean uniform.   

   With no time to race home, I pulled her into the nearest restroom, stripped her of her muddy white uniform, hand-washed it in the sink, beat it against my own jeans to try to dry it as much as I could and sent her back out on the field.  No one would know that her uniform was soaking wet. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for me, as I took my place back in the stands looking like I had been hosed down from my waist to my knees.   Eventually, Dog Days began and as the band marched around the field and the teams took their places, I looked out and saw both of my children, all of their friends and a sea of proud parents, none of whom would be focused on my child's wet uniform.  I settled back and settled down and enjoyed the show!

   Before the first game is upon us, I know that we must come up with a better plan that places both of us in the same timezone with a pre-flight checklist we should review before leaving the house.  I cannot continue to race against traffic or take over public restrooms without prematurely aging and knocking off years of my life.  It's time to truly get in the game.

   

Moose Cleaners Doesn't Clean Moose

   There is a small business in town which goes by the name Moose Cleaners.  The name, alone, brings me happiness and while I have never actually taken any clothing to Moose Cleaners, I enjoy knowing such a place exists.  We have passed by Moose Cleaners a million times as it serves as a landmark that sits on our path from the bookstore to Olive Garden.  

    Just this weekend, we turned that familiar corner on our way to get tasty Italian food and discovered, much to our chagrin, that Moose Cleaners was no more.  It had been replaced by Asian Nails and a Liquor Store.  We all stared in silence as we grasped the fact that change had come and our favorite cleaners, that we never used, was now gone. My daughter spoke up from the back seat and said, "Where will people get their moose cleaned now?"  This question begged more questions like, "Really?"  and "How many people do you know that have a moose... a moose that needs to be cleaned?"  She smiled and said, "Yeah, but wasn't it nice to know you could clean your moose if you wanted to."  I realized that my child did not truly think one could clean their moose there, but had grasped the fact that change had taken something away, even if it was just her belief in the possibility of something very cool.  Perhaps we should have supported Moose Cleaners and dropped off some dirty laundry there.  I could always do with less laundry.   Of course, an interesting thought crossed my mind.... what if I toted in a basket full of wrinkled shirts and pants only to discover that they only cleaned Moose.   That would have made my day! 

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In Search of Downy Goodness

If ever an intervention was needed, it would be led by a group of concerned friends and family as they tackled my large appliance issues.  I am currently on my third washing machine in a year as I cannot find one that actually cleans clothes and leaves them smelling Downy fresh.   

My first choice for cleaning laundry was a matching set of front loading appliances that were energy efficient and saved on water.  It only took a few wash cycles to realize that a tablespoon of water, spritzed on dirty laundry and spun at high rates of speed, would not clean one's clothes. I sat in front of the tiny oval window of the washer and watched as my clothes were spun around for almost an hour and wondered when the water would actually fill the unit and begin washing away dirt and grime.  After 57 minutes of gaping through the window, waiting to see bubbly suds, I had a better understanding of energy efficiency and water savings.  It wasn't long before the Lowe's truck arrived to haul away my high tech washer and replace it with a Whirlpool Cabrio, top loading unit, that appeared to be built to fill with sudsy water. I suspected I had violated some unspoken appliance code by breaking a set as the delivery man looked at me in disapproval. 

  Satisfied with my new purchase, I loaded the new unit with shirts and shorts and all kinds of dirty laundry and waited for my clean clothes.  A locking mechanism in the lid prevented me from looking in to see if the unit was full of water.  It was the first red flag that I had no control over this washer.  If I stopped the unit in mid wash, it would drain the water before it would unlock and allow me to peer inside as if it was hiding some great energy efficiency secret.   No matter how I tried, I was never able peel back the layers of locks and drain cycles to see if my clothes were swimming in glorious suds.   After 57 minutes of trying to outsmart my washer, the lock finally opened and my clothes were ready.  As I pulled them out, I noticed that they felt almost dry and were so wrinkled that no fabric softener or dryer sheet could ever get them smooth again.  

  A little internet search led me to groups of angry people who detest the Cabrio washer and it's wrinkled clothes.  I was not alone in my despair. Over the course of several months, I attempted to jimmy the lock and gain a better understanding of the ridiculously high rate of speed in which my washer spins my laundry. It became a madness of mine to resolve an issue that Whirlpool would not acknowledge and to figure out how to wash clothes in a tub of soapy water and have them finish in a semi-dry state without wrinkles.  It's not a big thing to ask for, but it's been completely out of my reach for almost a year. I studied this washer and learned about the Coriolis effect and the centripetal acceleration that spins my clothes into a giant wad of wrinkles. Without a physics teacher living in my laundry room to solve this problem, and no help from Whirlpool, I accepted defeat and ordered yet another washer.  

  I went to the store, with a crazed look in my eye, and my clothes not quite Downy fresh, and asked for the most energy inefficient, non-locking, environmentally unfriendly tub of a washer that they had.   My requirements were simple:  Fill with water, don't lock me out, and clean my clothes.  My very basic, super size washer arrived this week.  The same delivery man was sent to my home and unfortunately, he remembered me.  As he hauled away the perfectly fine $800 washer and replaced it with a simpler, kinder washer, he gave me that same look of disapproval.   As he stood in my all too familiar laundry room of mis-matched appliances, he looked me in the eye and asked, "Why?" All I could say is that I have washing machine issues.  As he drove off, he said he would see me again in a few weeks.  Sadly, I knew he was probably right. 

  I was instantly thrilled with my new unit that washed an entire load of clothes in 22 minutes and left them smooth and looking good.  It's been almost a week of laundry satisfaction and then, just this morning, I pulled my son's clean shirt out of the washer and noticed the faint smell of his cologne still lingering on the shirt.  Instant panic sat in as I suspected that this unit, while full of water, doesn't actually agitate properly, leaving the washing process completely ineffective. I'm back at square one and afraid to tell anyone of my new realization, as they may think I'm crazy.  I'll sit in front of this washer today and watch to see if an acceptable level of shaking and stirring is occurring.   I do hope it was my imagination and that nothing is wrong with my washer, because my next and only choice is a river rock and rapidly flowing water.   It is with high hopes that I will wait to see if my agitator agitates, my washer washes and my dryer dries.