Tales from the Shark Tank

Thanksgiving happened, as it generally does, on Thursday. The downstairs was quite presentable, the food mostly good, (and sufficiently abundant that the less edible things wouldn’t be missed and so were left off the table), almost everyone present, and the conversational temperature warm. That last is noteworthy because there was an extended period when a couple of members of the extended family managed no more than icy civilty. No one could see the bobbles, so as far as I’m concerned they didn’t count. Of course, my stock pot is sitting out on the deck as I type this to let burned soup soak off the bottom without perfuming the house with eau de carbonized legumes. Even without the soup, no one could mistake the meal for anything but a feast. There was salad, salmon and beef both, since some of my guests don’t eat fish and others don’t eat beef, savory pumpkin custard, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. Dessert was apple pie (I will never again use a ready-made pie crust) and home made lemon-rasberry angel food cake. I had potato and pumpkin bread from Li, and eggshell bread I made myself. The 20 year old brought her miniature churn and whipping cream and made fresh butter with lemon and dill. I hadn’t known butter could be that good. I sent plates home with my mom, (my in-laws declined) and I still won’t have to cook for a week unless I want to.

I’m going to track down Coincidence and her brother Murphy, though, for the express purpose of beating them up and taking their lunch money. In order for everything to get done I had to get up fairly early. I did not quite manage that feat, with the result that dinner, called for noon, happened at 1:30 p.m. The reason was the night before.

At 12:30 a.m., our small son came into our room, waddling with his underwear around his ankles and telling me he had an accident and needed my help. I got up, of course, and followed him into the bathroom. There I discovered that he had missed the potty spectacularly; the only saving grace was that it was a hard surface floor and not a bed. I cleaned the floor. I began to clean the child. I took stock of the situation, ran warm water in the tub, dumped child in, washed him off, removed him, then put him back to bed and returned unto my downy couch.

And someone tapped on the door at 2:30 a.m. One of my guests was having a severe asthma attack which his inhaler could not control. So another of the guests and his girlfriend, who lives here, took him to the nearest emergency room. I admit to great gratitude that there was a 20 year old to drive; all nighters are easier at 20 than 45. I gave K. (the only one of the three with a driver’s license) my car keys, chivied the one who talks a lot when nervous into clothes and out the door instead of letting her explain the reasoning to me, and went back to bed. Getting back to sleep took considerably longer after that awakening. And then, of course, their return woke Joseph – at about 5:00 a.m. Wick had stayed up cleaning until midnight, so he hadn’t had much sleep even though the alarms of the night had passed him by. And I’d been wakened twice for things I couldn’t just sort of sleepwalk my way through. The other three people in the house had been up most of the night. To describe us as zombified doesn’t half cover it.

Yesterday? The day after Thanksgiving? It didn’t exist for me until about 5:30 in the evening. I woke up with a cold and slept most of the day. And looking at the saga as written, I’m thinking it’s a miracle the only bobbles were burnt soup, forgotten ice-cream, and unmade cranberry ice.

On the other hand, Joseph sat at table through most of the meal, sandwiched between his Nona and his Daddy. He was in seventh heaven. I had my parents, my in-laws, my favourite aunt and uncle, and a couple of my fledglings at our table. He wants to do Thanksgiving again. In spite of Murphy’s best efforts, I agree.

I haven’t managed to spin myself right off the planet, but it isn’t for lack of effort. It’s ironic, really. I don’t handle crowds well at all, and yet seem to attract people with great regularity. So I have an even dozen coming for Thanksgiving dinner, and I’m ready to pull my hair out. Not that the housecleaning isn’t proceeding apace; it is. Most of the cooking is done, and one of the people attending was even kind enough to volunteer her freezer when mine began to overflow.

But still. Including those who inhabit regularly, our house will have 6 bodies sleeping in it tonight, with the potential for another 4 to come over just to spend the evening. And then there’s the morning flurry, with dinner moved up to noon so that my aunt and uncle can get home to Cleveland tomorrow evening. I’d counted on having Thursday for finishing touches, and it’s just not going to happen. Oh, well. Having Don and Judy is much more important than qualifying for House Beautiful – a thing Judy excells at, and I will never manage.

I still have to get ice cream, and find a place for it in the freezer. I have to pick up a guest who doesn’t drive, and then my son.

Next week I have to finish a form that would have been done today but for a hungry computer. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere, but I can’t find it and ran out of patience to try. Then there’s damage control on the latest id theft ring. It hit the news yesterday, and the local Republican Party Chairman did not permit the growth of any moss upon his response. So there will be damage control to accomplish on that as well. Life busy? Well, just so one might notice. I am so ready for a long weekend!

And oh yes, I need to remember to breathe. Most doctors recommend it for their oxygen-metabolizing patients, I believe.

I just spent an hour in a meeting where the last person they needed was an attorney. I didn’t say a word, and no one asked me a question. I’d been asked ahead of time about getting out of a contract, but they’d even gotten that answer on their own before I arrived. In short, it was an utterly pointless exercise from my perspective. And of course, I have to finish my response to a discrimination complaint today.

So once I’d made a list of things I need to do before T-day, I started listing all the other, more worthwhile things I might do with my time. By the time the meeting ended it had gotten pretty silly out, so I thought I’d share a few.

- Shampoo the guinea pig. It’s not even my guinea pig.
- Gild the leeks for soup.
- Peel the split peas.
- Illuminate the soon to be cancelled contract.
- Animate the spider plant. A walking spider plant would make a good conversation piece, I should think.
- Frost the ficus tree. (Anyone want an 8 foot tall ficus tree? I need to find this one a home.)
- Pin the leaves back on the butternut in the front yard.
- Etch the entire text of a novel on the head of a pin. Use a silk pin for additional challenge.

I think that will do to go on with.

Thank you, gentle readers, for putting up with the other day’s rant. Life is better now, courtesy of decongestants by Drano and modern non-sedating painkillers. I am told I have an impacted sinus infection.

A non-flattened Mommy managed to make Joseph a very happy little boy last night. Two weeks ago, he was begging me for a particular carrying case for Thomas the Tank Engine with such persistence that it spurred inspiration. I wouldn’t give it to him, I said, but he could earn it. Then I set specific things he had to do, all of which amounted to good behavior. I put in things like picking up toys, coming when called, getting dressed for school without the runaway-catch-me game, and so forth. Each day of good behavior would be rewarded with a gold star. When he had ten gold stars, he could acquire his train bag. I made a chart with the numbers 1-10 at the top, the words “Joseph’s Gold Star Train Bag” underneath, and a clip-art drawing of a steam train at the bottom.

It worked. It worked so well I wish I’d thought of it earlier. It took him 14 days to earn his 10 stars, and he immediately had me make up another chart with a picture of a trestle bridge, which is the next toy he wants to earn. We raised the ante by adding dressing himself (except for socks, which he really does need help with) to the list, and now the stars are blue. He already has two.

So last night after work we went to the toy store. He got his train bag, enchanting the store staff in the process. He browsed through the other train toys for 45 minutes, pointing out the next 5 things he wants to earn with his stars. Then we paid for the bag and he took it home. This morning he woke his Daddy at 6:30 and immediately explained the wonders of Thomas’ carrying case in detail, complete with solemn assurances of future utility to convey his beloved trains and paraphenalia to Grandma and Papa’s house. He was so small, and so excited and earnest at the same time, that it was a complete stitch.

And I’m thinking about letting him earn an extra star if he helps clean up the house instead of playing while the adults work tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll set up a green star chart so that he can earn stars for one-time helpfulnesses, and then redeem for another toy when he has accumulated 10. I need to talk to Wick about it. Meanwhile, he’s taking enormous pride in being my gold star kid. That’s the neatest thing of all.

There was a recurring theme in the “Peanuts” comic strip when I was a kid. Every so often, you would see Linus setting small cylinders in a circle around big sister Lucy, who would be sitting on the floor with a black cloud over her head and the grumpiest expression imaginable on her face. Someone would ask what he was doing, and Linus would say “putting out flares”.

Someone needs to set flares out for me today. I haven’t been in this rotten a mood in a long time. I’m tired of being sick. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of having a headache. I realized yesterday that the damn thing had been with me, at varying levels of intensity, for a month! (Yes, I’ve been to the doctor and I’m going back tomorrow. I’m not ignoring it.) I’m tired of being asked the same question for the thousandth time, and I’m tired of having to tell people who are asking me for things “It’s on your desk. Just look for it.” I’m tired of having to be “on” from the second I wake up to ten minutes past the time I fall asleep. My son’s special ed resource teacher commented that all kids need some time when they don’t have to be “on.” Well, so do grownups.

I’m tired of phrasing the same question 5 different ways and still getting incomprehension. I really am speaking English, and I’m being careful not to speak legalese, so I it feels like willful obstructionism even though I know it isn’t. I’m tired of worrying and wondering what bomb is going to land in my lap or my mailbox next.

I guess I’m just tired, period. I get a 4 day weekend next week. Yes, I’m putting on a feast, but it’s small as feasts go and I have lots of help. I’m looking forward to it tremendously.

My secretary just came in to ask me who gets notified if a motorist is uninsured. We talked about it for a few minutes, and then she called back and inquired in a little more detail.

The man who called was reporting his soon-to-be-ex-wife. He boasted that he had cancelled her off their car insurance today, had not informed her of the fact that she needed to get her own insurance, and now wanted to get her license suspended for not having insurance.

B. and I are agreed; we will not be used that way. She’s notified the department that gets those letters that it’s coming and needs to be sent back to Legal. Once it’s here, and I have the woman’s name, I’ll try to track down her attorney. That’s simple enough; all I have to do is call the clerk’s office in her county of residence, give the names of the parties, and ask the question. Then B. will call the attorney and tell him or her what has been done to their client. If there isn’t an attorney then I’ll call the prosecutor, because our telephone buddy told B. there was a restraining order against him. That kind of vindictive b—–d, I’ll just bet there is! One way or another, she will get word.

I admit it. I’m profoundly grateful this isn’t my case, and that I don’t do that kind of law any longer. But providing an avenue for revenge and harassment is not the purpose of the financial responsibility statute, and I’ll be damned if I’ll see it – or this agency – used that way. This man is trying to make us a cat’s paw. He’s going to discover that he can get clawed too.

More and more, it seems that we have to pay closer attention to see the effect of the change of season. Strawberries, once an early summer luxury, are available all year now. Local asparagus is confined to early spring, but I can still get fresh spears at the neighborhood grocery, and did so this weekend past. The same is true for most other varieties of produce.

But not tangerines. No one seems to have figured out how to make them as ubiquitous and as tasteless as navel oranges or commercial tomatoes, for which I am eternally grateful. Tangerines qualify nicely as my favorite fruit of all time. My mother still occasionally talks about the time she bought a huge bag of tangerines, something like 18, only to have me wander into the kitchen less than a day later and announce that we were out. Upon inquiry she determined that dad had eaten one, and so had she. That meant I had accounted for 16 tangerines in less than 24 hours.

And they’re back. I found my first box of clementines yesterday. They came home with me, and I expect to need a new supply by tomorrow or Wednesday. The honey tangerines will follow shortly. Fall and winter are great and glorious. The pollen is gone and the tangerines are here. It’s all good.

Saturday was a lovely quiet day, which is exactly what I’d hoped for my birthday. (Beware the Ides of November!) I took my son over to visit my folks, and then later went out to dinner with my much-loved husband while our housemate stayed home and babysat. My son spent much of the day building elaborate structures of wooden train tracks, blocks, and big lego blocks, then calling me to come see because he’d made me a birthday present. Sarah was over at her boyfriend’s most of the day, so Joseph and I had the house to ourselves. That was pleasant. Very little happened that was newsworthy, but that very uneventfulness is in and of itself noteworthy!

Sunday was different. Sunday began with a migraine that really didn’t let go until evening. I slept through the worst of it, but I don’t have time to be flat right now, so as soon as I could open my eyes without wincing, I was downstairs directing the cleaning efforts. Now, cleaning is not my strong suit, and neither is organizing it. But Sarah doesn’t yet know where things go and what can be trashed, and Wick wasn’t doing it for whatever reason. So I turned into a polite general, and gave people assignments while working on other things myself. The result? Perceptible progress in the living room, family room and kitchen. (Yes, Viriginia, there are kitchen counters.) Yaaay! I’m beginning to believe we might actually pull off this Thanksgiving thing.

Of course, by the time I gave it up for the day, it was a tossup as to whether I hit my bed or it hit me. Sleep struck, doing 10 points of damage…..

Until 2:30, when Joseph crawled in, asked for a drink of water, and then, while I was using the bathroom, proceeded to deposit large quantities of pre-owned hot dogs on our bed. We washed the kid. We washed the bedding. We washed the mattress. (Vinegar is wonderful stuff). By that point he was in the bathroom, whereupon I washed the kid again. I got an e-mail tribute to mothers from a sister-in-law a couple of years ago that said, among other things “this is for all the mothers who sat up all night with sick toddlers in their laps, wiping up barf laced with hot dogs and Kool-Aid, saying ‘it’s ok, honey, Mommy’s here.’” It was that kind of night. You know you’re a parent when a wet spot on the bed doesn’t mean anyone had fun earlier. It did, however, mean that we weren’t sleeping there after cleanup was accomplished. I had planned to sleep on the library sofa, but Joseph had other ideas. So Daddy slept on the couch downstairs, and I slept in the recliner in Joseph’s room – or rather, sat in that recliner with the little boy in my lap.

Thank goodness for housemates and sick time. I called in for half a day and went back to sleep while she watched cutie-pie. He’s still home with her, and I’m at work now. It’s quieter here. I love my son dearly, but I must admit I’m glad I have a place to retreat and regroup in the company of adults.

Of course, work is a case of litigation interruptus. I was busily writing a brief on Friday, which I was going to polish and deliver today. But when I got here, I found that opposing counsel had gone to a county judge and trumped us. So here I am, full of arguments and no place to go.

Anyone got a set of pells I can borrow?

Last entry was that not much was going on. I shouldn’t have said that; the universe was listening.

Today I ended up trying to draft 3 documents at once, and of course completing none of them. Joseph’s Education Plan conference was also this morning, and having been scheduled to take 45 minutes, ended up taking very close to 2 hours. The good news is that he’s doing really, really well, so much so that the socialization problems simply aren’t problems any longer. Communication and coordination, yes, but not social interaction. That is so utterly marvelous.

I’m conniving with my sister in law to find out what the H…is going on with my in-laws. They’re talking to the kid in Colorado about my mother in law’s health problems, and of course she’s there and can’t do much. But I’m here, and she is worried enough that even though she “doesn’t want to put too much on [me]“, she’s asking me to check in on things. So she gets to feed me information, and I get to act on it. I have some plans already, oh yes I do!

Then there’s the Thanksgiving cleanup and planning that’s gone into high gear, and …. wait, I think that’s quite enough for now. I’m going to go get my son.

I went home Monday with all sorts of grand plans for things I wanted to do while I was off work on Tuesday. Most of them involved cleaning my house or doing some private legal work.

I accomplished exactly two things. I had lunch with my husband, and I slept half the day. And as my husband pointed out, if I could sleep until 11:30 in the morning (after waking up thoroughly to get kidlet off to school) it was a pretty clear sign that I needed to.

Next project: the kitchen counter. It’s beginning to counter-attack.