Loosen up!

My husband and I recently spent a Friday at the Oregon Country Fair. For those of you who are fortunate enough to have never experienced this event, I'll describe it for you.

The Country Fair is a huge "alternative" fair where people in costumes, people in regular clothes, and people who walk around in nothing more than body paint and a thong all intermix while listening to music, learning about alternative energy and recycling, and angrily rejecting capitalism in the form of spending millions of dollars on arts, crafts and food. This is a place where people can embrace their inner freak and show it to the rest of the world.

I will freely admit that my inner freak and I are not normally on speaking terms, unless a fair amount of wine is involved.

So, I was apprehensive at best when my husband, who is apparently repressing his inner hippie, decided that we should all go to the Country Fair. My concerns were twofold. First, I am NOT a hippie. I'm a registered Republican. I don't smoke "herbs," I don't believe we're causing global warming, and I don't like Barak Obama. I figured I'd stick out like a sore thumb.

Second, the Boy is at that stage where the sight of mere underpants is enough to send him into gales of giddiness. I could only imagine what half naked women and men in skirts would do to him. I predicted he'd begin speaking like Beavis and Butthead cartoons, pointing and saying "boobies" over and over and laughing his little head off while I attempted to silence him by offering to bribe him with some frozen soy non-dairy ice cream substitute.

Needless to say, I decided to loosen up a bit by drinking the better part of a six pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade in the fair parking lot. I got a styrofoam cup, ice and a straw from the place we had breakfast, and got busy. By the time we walked up to the fairgrounds entrance my inner freak and I were close to a breakthrough. Hell, my husband had to spend 15 minutes convincing me that covertly drinking in the front seat of the parked car in the parking lot was not actually a capital crime, and my life would not be ruined if I were caught, and the likelihood I would be caught was slim since all the available police in the area were probably already at the fairgrounds trying scare the fairgoers into waiting to light their joints and pipes until they were safely inside the venue. A 30-something woman with three kids and a styrofoam cup full of alco-pop were low on their list. So much for my life of crime.

I did get some really mean looks when I was spotted taking a giant styrofoam cup into the fair, but by that time, I didn't really care.

Anyway, once inside, we wandered around for several hours with the kids. They immediately began to voice the opinion that we had committed major false advertising, since there were no rides at this particular fair. They put themselves into Whine Mode, asking, "Where are the rides?" and, "How come there aren't any animals?" or, "What's that funny smell we keep smelling?" We had to appease and distract them by pointing out a woman in a very interesting and creative bee costume, and a dude who was wearing what appeared to be a ballerina tutu and superhero mask. When they realized that the woman wearing a butterfly costume, (body paint, bikini bottoms and some wings) was about as close to an animal as they were going to get, they ramped it up into Intense Whine Mode, which most human ears cannot withstand without medical intervention. In IWM, children can actually continue to whine after all air has left their lungs. And, in what should be a public service announcement for population control, all three children were able to whine in sequence, so there were no breaks between complaints. You almost couldn't hear the three-day drum circle drums over the noise they were making. I'm thinking of contacting the Pentagon and giving them audiotapes of IWM to be used in terrorist interrogations.

I began looking for more liquid fortification, but they don't sell alcohol at the Country Fair.

And that funny smell?

I didn't inhale.

It really was all Greek to me.

Thank God I was in a sorority.

I never thought that joining the Greek system would eventually save my marriage, but it did. My sorority saved my marriage because they forced me to learn the Greek alphabet. In what turned out to be one of the most useful 10 minute periods of my existence, I had to learn to sing a bunch of inane songs while bouncing around, acting cheerful and generally pretending that joining a sorority was almost as good as winning the Nobel Peace Prize.

SORORITY SISTERS: Hey! We're Greek! Greek is cool!!! Join our club! Please join our club or we'll never get to stop singing! HELP US!

You may be wondering how singing songs that were supposed to attract potential "sisters" saved my marriage. It's a long story. One of the songs that we learned was a musical version of the Greek alphabet. I'm not really sure when I learned it. It may have been implanted in my mind through advanced sorority brainwashing techniques. At any rate, after several hours of learning peppy songs, I had the Greek alphabet memorized. This information has rarely come in handy, but I have managed to maintain this knowledge in some forgotten corner of my brain. I can't remember where my keys are, or the name of the 9th supreme court justice, but I know the Greek alphabet, by God! Not once had I ever needed this information, and yet, it remained.

But then, last month my husband and I found ourselves in Crete. And, being egocentric Americans who receive more education in sports than in languages, we figured that there would be street signs in ENGLISH. Or, at least in a Latin alphabet. Instead, the street signs looked like this:

Given enough time, I was eventually able to sound out the signs, cross-reference them with our guidebooks and then determine that, without any doubt at all, we were lost.

The sign to the left, for instance says "Slow - Goat Crossing" in English in Greek letters. I would have written it in Greek words, but I'm an egocentric American who doesn't know any foreign languages whatsoever, especially foreign languages which deal with livestock.

So, my husband and I came up with an infallible system, where he drove around at top speeds in the city, asking me every five seconds where we were, and I would look hopelessly around for a street sign, and begin to decode it, only to find that we were still driving, and thus on another street, so my original efforts at decoding were all for naught. This continued until we hit a wall. Well, we didn't really hit the wall, but we did encounter a wall which surrounded the old city of Heraklion. Matt began immediately asking me for our whereabouts, to which I replied, "I don't know."

Matt: Well, look at the map!

Me: I am looking at the map!

Matt: Where are we then?

Me: I think we're at a wall.

Matt: Which wall?

Me: THE WALL. THE GIANT WALL SURROUNDING THE CITY.

Matt: Are you sure?

Me: It looks LIKE A WALL TO ME. If you stop near a street sign, I might be able to find out exactly where on the wall we are.

Matt: I can't stop.

Me: Then I can't tell you where we are, because as soon as I figure out where we are, we're not there anymore!

As each sign passed me in a blur, I began to chant my Greek alphabet song, in a vain attempt to meditate my way to some clue as to where we were. We stopped talking to each other. We kept driving past the one landmark that I knew, and each time would arrive at that landmark from a different direction. By some miracle that I cannot explain, Matt finally stopped the car and went to the nearest hotel he could find to ask for directions. I used these moments of stillness to find out where we were. It was easy, once I could see the signs. And, with the directions that I am still amazed my husband went and asked for, and my ever-expanding knowledge of the Greek Alphabet, I was able to navigate us to our hotel, which we had apparently driven past about 20 times. When we started speaking to each other again, we had a lovely time.

So, without my vast knowledge of Greek, given to me by 60 overly peppy girls wearing bad late-80's fashion and large hair, Matt and I would probably be divorced right now. We'd also still be in Crete, since we wouldn't be able to find the airport.

How to learn Greek in five minutes or less...Guaranteed!

I just found out about a week ago that my husband and I are going to Crete in two weeks. Now I'm stressed.

I have never been good at learning languages. I took two years of French in high school, and the only thing I remember is "Merci Beaucoup," which I think means "Thank you." It's either that, or "I surrender."

I'm sure my inability to learn French was due mainly to the extreme dislike I had for my French teacher. She'd sit in front of the class, eating bonbons and commenting derisively at our pronounciation. Of course, our pronounciation wasn't helped by the fact that this was 1986, and we were all in full valley-girl mode, adding the word "like" six times into every sentence and generally sounding like imbiciles. I knew that if I ever did find myself in France, I would be the hapless tourist who inadvertently starts an international incident because instead of saying "Pardon me, where could I find a public restroom which I don't have to pay to use," I would have accidentally threatened to assasinate the Prime Minister. Or President. Just what is the guy who surrenders called in France, anyway?

So, I gave up on languages. Well, I gave up until I went to Italy and found myself actually needing to speak the language. I gained newfound confidence. I was rather good at it. I started interpreting for my husband. And, I didn't start any international incidents while trying to order a cappuccino, which is my benchmark for learning languages.

So, this time I would actually like to try and learn a little Greek before I get on the plane. I could try to learn it on the plane, using one of those language programs that I can load on my iPod. However, I'm a little afraid of being subjected to a body cavity search by airport security because someone turned me in due to the fact that I was muttering to myself for 25 hours. No, I think I'd like to learn Greek in the privacy of my home, or possibly my car. People already think I'm crazy because I sing at the top of my lungs while driving, or yell at the radio when I hear something on talk radio that really makes me mad. Muttering Greek to myself while driving wouldn't be a big stretch.

My main problem is that my kids are in the car with me, and they are not exactly helpful when it comes to maintaining peace and relative quiet so I can devote my mind to learning. If I try to learn Greek while in the car, the only phrases I'll be able to retain will be "don't make me pull this car over," (unhelpful, since I don't plan on driving in Crete) "stop looking at your sister," (again, unhelpful) and, "I'll give you something to cry about," (guaranteed to result in arrest).

So, I plan on listening to my Greek language lessons at night, while trying to go to sleep. That will ensure two things. First, I will have at least five minutes of uninterrupted study time before my children start asking for water or a de-monstering of their rooms, and second, that every time I try to say "Hello" in Greek, I'll become inexplicably drowsy. I won't even be able to order food without passing out cold on the table at the taverna.

Maybe I should just forget the Greek and speak really loudly in English instead. That usually works.

Earth Girls are Easy

I don't know if I have what it takes to raise a son.

I have three kids. Two girls, and "The Boy." My girls are easy. We understand each other. When my 9 year old falls in a hormone-induced inconsolable heap because her pants "make her look funny," I can sympathize with her and help her get through it. When my 3 year old decides to wear 7 pieces of clothing all in varying shades of pink and doesn't want my help choosing them anymore, I can step back and let her express herself through her appearance. (Of course, I live in mortal embarrassment and fear that government workers will come take her away because I clearly can't take care of children if they're dressed like that.)

But The Boy, now, he's another thing altogether.

I originally noticed this when the first thing he ever did was pee on me. That pretty much established our relationship. The girls never peed on me. I never had to wear protective rain gear to change their diapers. Of course, in keeping with all that male bonding stuff I've read about, his father was pleased as punch. "Way to go, Boy!" he said.

I've lived through obsessions with dinosaurs, superheros, dinosaurs and Legos. And dinosaurs. The Boy is like a dinosaur encyclopedia. He can rattle off dinosaur names like "pachycephalosaurus" without blinking an unfairly long eyelash. He cannot, however, tie his own shoes. Nor does he show any signs of wanting to learn how. I'm trying to convince him that chicks like a guy who can tie his own shoes, but he's not biting.

He also has a listening problem. I know it's not a hearing problem because my friend and I conducted an experiment one day after I talked with her about how I can literally stand in the same room with him and shout his name and he doesn't hear me. I was really starting to think I needed to get his hearing tested. Instead, we tried saying words he was interested in. It went like this:

Me: Luke, what did you learn in school today?
Luke: (chirping crickets)

Me: Look Luke, a DINOSAUR!
Luke: Huh?

Me: Luke, do you want milk or water?
Luke: (wind whistling through the trees)

Me: SPIDERMAN!
Luke: Could I have some water?

If only I could figure out how to apply this valuable knowledge to my husband, who clearly suffers from the same listening problem as The Boy, only he's more selective. He, for instance, only doesn't hear me when I ask him to take out the trash, or do the dishes.

Finally, The Boy is becoming a real challenge as far as telling the truth. He has a very active imagination. Apparently, this has allowed him to live in his own world. A world in which, when I ask him "what did you learn in school today," an acceptable answer can actually contain the words "dinosaurs", "crocodiles" or "Legos". He spins elaborate yarns about how his teacher hatched a real dinosaur egg, or how she wrestled a crocodile, or that they finished all their books and his teacher told him he didn't have to do any reading tonight or go back to school. Ever.
The Boy is also convinced that he will soon go live with his Uncle John on the USS Starship Enterprise where Uncle John will be the Captain, but he, The Boy, will get to push all the buttons. There will also be a fair amount of shooting aliens involved, and they will eat pizza all the time.

I suppose it should make me feel better when my husband's parents often laugh at us when we tell them stories about The Boy. Yes, they laugh AT us. It's as if they're telling us that they remember my husband doing the exact same thing, and that it serves us right. My problem with this is that my husband is clearly the intended target of this reproductive Karma and I don't know what I did to deserve the fallout.

After all, I was just sugar and spice and everything nice. Just like all girls. Right?

Time Warp

I have defined myself with a lot of things over the course of my life. Singer, college student, law student, wife, mother, artist, traveller, chef wannabe. But I think the thing that I have always fallen back on is music. I love music. I listen to music all the time, and I delight in finding something new that I love, even if others don't love it as much as I do. Music is the background upon which all the other ways I describe my life have unfolded.

My husband got me a new iPod for Christmas to hold my burgeoning music collection. And, I have several playlists that I probably won't share with other people, mainly because they expose my utter geekdom. (No, really, that's not Air Supply. I promise)

I read about a playlist life quiz, and decided to try to find it. It sounded like fun. And, thanks to the miracle of Google, I found it in about 10 seconds. So, I took the quiz using my brand spankin' new iPod. I put my iPod on random and wrote down the name of the song that came up for each question, in order:

Life Playlist Survey

When I'm drunk I say: Something the Boy Said - Sting
How will you die? Honey Honey - Feist
At my wedding they'll play: Rest Stop – Matchbox Twenty
What makes me happy is: Faithfully - Journey
My theme song: Just a Girl – No Doubt
My ultimate song for dancing is: Black Velveteen - Lenny Kravitz
My family is described by the song: American Pie – Don McLean
If I reached the top of Mount Everest, what I would scream: Knock me Down - Red Hot Chili Peppers
Behind my back, my friends think I'm: Devil with a Blue Dress on – Mitch Ryder
The story of my life is: Always on Your Side - Sheryl Crow
My make-out song is: Hey Jealousy – Gin Blossoms
My innermost desire is: Don’t Stop – Fleetwood Mac
My alter-ego is: Memphis Time - Gin Blossoms
This song will be playing when I meet the love of my life: Peace of Me – Natasha Bedingfield
My favorite thing to do is: Bottles and Flowers - Juliana Hatfield
Happiness is: Be Good to Yourself - Journey
Will I ever have kids: Watch’a Wanna Do – The Jungle Book Soundtrack
When I'm in the shower, I sing: I’ve been Everywhere – Johnny Cash
My best friend is like: If it Makes you Happy – Sheryl Crow
At my funeral they'll play: Landslide – Fleetwood Mac
If I got lost on a desert island, I would yell: I Alone - Live
My message to the world has always been: Under Pressure - Queen/David Bowie
My day will be like: Rush - Big Audio Dynamite
What I did did last night was: Found Out about You – Gin Blossoms
My birth was like: Every little Thing she does is Magic – the Police
The best thing about me is: Keep it to Myself - Crash Vegas
My deepest secret is: Perfect Kiss – New Order

I'm really not sure what this says about me. I guess it just confirms what I always thought: that music is a large part of my life, and really tells a lot about me. I think it shows that I'm stuck in the 90's for some reason, for example. Or, that I have a strange love for the Gin Blossoms. Or, that I have kids (otherwise, why would I have the Jungle Book soundtrack on there?)

There are many voids that my playlists fill. I haven't had (or made, I guess) time to sing in a group or a show. I miss that. But, singing showtunes along with my iPod while I'm folding the laundry gets me through. I want to take piano lessons, but I can't seem to find the time to do it without letting something else go. So, I listen to piano music and dream about the day I can learn to play like that. I don't get to go out dancing very often (if at all) so I dance in my living room with my kids and they laugh at me because I sing along at the top of my lungs and act silly and embarass them immensely. I can take the soundtrack of my life along with me wherever I go.

And without my iPod, it would be a very quiet life, indeed.

Temporary Insanity

I love holidays. There's nothing like a holiday to bring out the crazy in a person.

Take Halloween for instance. You either love it or you hate it. There's really no in-between. I love to wear costumes, I love to see the kids in their costumes, and I love to carve pumpkins, decorate my house, and watch "The Great Pumpkin" re-runs on TV while eating caramel apples. Holidays allow us to act like kids again, if only for one night.

So, this year for Halloween I'm dressing up as a prom queen. I'm wearing my own Senior Prom dress from 1989. Again, I have to ask myself what it is about Halloween that would prompt me to dress up in a ridiculous outfit that I have spent the last almost 20 years of my life trying to block from my memory. It's that holiday-induced madness that I succumb to every year. I was practically giddy as I spent an hour looking for blue mascara, blue eyeshadow and bubblegum pink lipstick. I bought a wig since I have non-80's hair that just won't work with the costume. I even made a sash for myself with "Prom Queen 1989" on it in large letters. I am beside myself with excitement.

Halloween can be taken a bit too far, though. Decorations, for example. I recently went out and spent perfectly good money on fake cobwebs with little spiders attached. My kids and I happily roamed around the house, putting up cobwebs and spiders. I spread mine out to look like actual cobwebs. Luke, my five year old son, stuck his up in large clumps, as if his spiders were only able to produce cotton balls rather than webs. Maggie eyed everything critically and told me that her cobweb placement was far superior to her brother's. Ella thought the cobwebs were actually cotton candy and tried to eat them.

I suddenly realized that I currently have actual cobwebs in my house that are far better looking than the fake ones I purchased. Every few days I look at these real cobwebs derisively, and mutter under my breath about getting out the vacuum to take care of them. It never happens. I'm afraid of them, mainly because we have actual spiders, too. Not little spiders that scurry under the furniture when you approach; we have large spiders whose apparent goal is to snag one of the cats in the massive web that they have constructed just inside our mudroom door. I'm sure the real spiders would escape the pull of my vacuum and gather to plot some sort of revenge against me involving lurking in my shoes.

I have also purchased those pumpkin carving kits. You know, the ones with the special saws and patterns and such. What ever happened to hacking into the pumpkin with a large knife like I did when I was a kid? Granted, these days I'd have my children taken from me if I snapped a picture of Luke wielding a 12 inch chef's knife in his hand. Yet, there are pictures of me doing that very thing when I was a kid.

My pumpkin design was always dictated by the size of the knife blade, which was the main reason that my jack-o-lantern faces mainly consisted of triangles and zigzag mouths. That was the only way I could get the knife to work. Now, each year my children pick out some elaborate paper pattern of a witch on a broom and begin hacking into their pumpkins with their little saws, before giving up and making a jack-o-lantern with triangle eyes and zigzag mouth. I guess all those extra holes in the pumpkin can be used for ventilation.

Anyway, the holiday madness will only increase the closer we get to Christmas. I am a true Christmas junkie. I love to decorate. I always decorate the day after Thanksgiving. I get out the Christmas music, make myself an eggnog (heavy on the nog) and get to work. I drag out box after box of decorations, and reminisce about where I got them and how long I've had them. I sing along with the Christmas carols. I drink more eggnog. I deck the halls and trim the tree and generally adorn everything that doesn't move with some sort of bow or something. I draw the line at my pets, though. I haven't gotten far enough along in my insanity to put antlers on my dogs.

Are we there yet?

Sometimes, we can learn a lot from children.

Well, maybe not about things like physics, whether the stock market will continue it's amusement park-like ride, or how to find a good mechanic. If you want to know how to irritate your sister without actually touching her, or even being close enough to touch her, but still causing the sister to yell, "MOM! HE'S ALMOST TOUCHING ME," they can teach you a thing or two.

One of the things that kids are really good at is asking questions. A lot of questions. Generally, the same question over and over again. As we were driving to town this morning (actually, we were still on our driveway) my son asked, "are we there yet?" Granted, we have a long driveway. But really, it is evident from the extremely wildlife-intensive surroundings that we are nowhere near town, nor are we going to be in the near future. "NO," I said.

And, I got to thinking. After visiting a dear friend of mine in "the big city" this weekend, I had been pondering whether I really am "there" yet. Am I where I thought I would be? Ten years after graduating from law school, had I even begun to achieve what I thought I would? I suppose the answer is no. If you asked me ten years ago if I would be living in a small town with three kids, two dogs, two cats, a mortgage, minivan and various poultry (don't ask), I would have taken the first tentative steps toward a full-fledged drinking problem.

Oh, pardon me. I was drinking my wine.

So, ARE we there yet? I always knew I wanted kids. I love my kids. They make me smile and have the ability to irritate me at the same time. I understand my mother more now. I have developed a very similar strained smile that tells the world I love my children, even though one of them is distracting me while the other two are currently committing minor acts of vandalism and theft in the checkout line at the Wal-Mart Super Center.

Oh, dear God.

I am living a very good life. I have a wonderful husband whom I love and am very proud of. I have three beautiful children who I would give up my life for. I have a big, new house and lots of land and I have pets. I could give up the pets, really. But, on the whole, my life is very good. It's just not the life I imagined.

I thought I would be a prosecutor for a large county. I figured I would run for judge someday, or at least District Attorney. I thought I would have a nice suburban lawn for my kids to frolic in, a street outside they could ride their bikes on, and neighborhood barbeques. I was supposed to have a nice car with fewer crumbs permanently attached to the upholstery, and a house with toys neatly organized in bins and a guest bedroom with 400 thread-count sheets just waiting for someone to come and watch me be fabulous.

I have some of those sheets somewhere. I believe they are being used to make a fort.

But, you know, I think about all those things, and when I look at my life now, I realize that even though it is different than the one I thought I would have, I still love it. I love (well, not really, but it's a small point) my minivan, and I love my husband, and my house, and my job (usually)and all the other things that surround me every day. I don't love the poultry. If that damn rooster crows one more time in the middle of the night I'm going to take the final steps toward becoming a real-life frontier woman. I have a hatchet and a great recipe for fried chicken.

I think my biggest challenge is to actually take the time to enjoy all of the things I have.

Am I where I thought I'd be? No.

But I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.