Girl Power

Ali and I were watching Percy Jackson and the Lighting Thief today when she turned to me and said, "Mom, I think there's something really wrong here."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! Dude! Do you see all the dudes? Like Percy Jackson and Harry Potter and all those movies. There aren't any girl heroes. It's so totally not fair."

"You're right."

"And there's NEVER been a girl president," she informed me.

"Maybe YOU can be the first girl president," I said.

She pondered that a moment. But she has other plans. She wants to invent a chemical you can take that will let you age to about 50 years and then stay alive but never get any older and always stay healthy.

It's all part of her plan to keep Jeff and me around and healthy because she doesn't want to go through the heartache of losing us. She's also planning to invent a new way of eating that everyone -- even hoboes --can afford so no one will ever go hungry.

She spent part of the afternoon Saturday hanging out in back of the Subaru. She's got another idea of inventing a car that will have magic amounts of room so if you lose your job and have to live in your car, it won't be so bad.

These magic cars will be available on a sliding cost scale: a dime for hoboes or other down on their luck and millions of dollars for the rich, who don't really need the cars but will want them because they're going to be super cool.

She claimed hanging in the Subaru was part of her research. I tried to tell her that people who actually live in cars don't have laptops, books and snacks in there with them, but she wasn't to be dissuaded.

Continuing on with her plans for the future, she tells me, "And the only way to die will be from getting shot or murdered."

"If you can invent something so great like that chemical and those other things, can't you find a way to stop murder and crime?" I asked.

"No, Mom," she said, firmly. "Some things you just can't fix."

I'm going to start an account for her post-graduate needs right now. It can easily be turned into a campaign fund. The way I see it, she's destined to do something great regardless of what she decides on. Let me know if you want in....

***

Jeff spent the last two weeks negotiating with a replacement window salesman. I stayed as far away as possible because whenever Jeff gets going, we always get a fabulous deal but I want to slip his poor victim some money, or at least bandage their wounds. Jeff hit another home run and we finalized the deal on Saturday.

Within a month, the American WeatherTECHS crew should be breaking out the windows that were installed back in 1951 when Herr Gelb built our home. I'll submit a consumer report on Angie's List when they're done installing our fancy, energy efficient panes.
So far, the experience has been good. Well. It's been good for TeamReed. I do feel sorry for poor Dave.

I was telling Jeff's dad about the negotiation process and Ali overheard me. She grabbed my arm and said, horrified, "Did Dad really torture a man and make him give him his baby?"

I had some 'splanin' to do...

***

I saw a bunch of old Statehouse Press Corps friends this week. It's been more than 15years since I toiled in the basement during the legislative season. I had one of those moments when you see folks you haven't seen for a while and you wonder how it came to pass that they got so much, uh, more mature... And then you catch a glimpse of yourself in the elevator doors and you realize that you fit right in...

It was great fun, though, and I wish my friend Mike Smith only great things as he steps away from feeding the beast every day...

Well, the Colts have won, most of my fall decorations are up, we managed to get in one bike ride amidst our couch laying this weekened, and we're powering down to prepare for another work week. Have a great one!

***

Oh! I almost forgot. I've finally managed to drag my sorry butt across the acceptable weight range for my height, according to Weight Watchers. Cross your fingers that I get closer to the middle and can soon stop hanging on the outside railing like a first-time roller skater...

Once that's accomplished, I can go about trying to figure out how to stay there. Ugh. It'll be a never ending battle.

But with nearly a full 9 months in, a trip to the Bahamas in the spring and Jen's wedding in the summer, I have incentive to stick to it. Wish me luck!

Great Weekend: could I have another?

We had Book Club Friday. The book was "One Day" by David Nicholls. At the risk of sounding like a chronic crank (we were united on this one) don't buy this book. It's awful. The characters are awful and their relationship is even worse. Another $16.95 and six hours I'll never get back.


But Book Club itself was way fun. Kate and I got into a giggle fest that brought me back to high school. Remember when you and a friend would laugh about something and then you just couldn't stop even though whatever sent you off the first place wasn't that funny? I swear I earned an activity point just from laughing.

Ali came home from her Friday sleepover early Saturday afternoon only to be absconded nearly immediately by some neighborhood girls. They flitted from house to house until our neighbor's little girl's birthday party, after which I came home with two extras.

With Ali gone Saturday morning, Jeff and I wandered around the Broad Ripple Farmer's market for an hour. It was beautiful weather and we ran into Duane and Kirsten, so it was even more fun. We finally got back to our happy threesome this afternoon some time.

Growing up in the country like I did, there weren't that many homes with kids my age nearby. Yeah, I was overrun with siblings, but the girls were too much older to really want to hang with me and the boys were, well, boys.

This weekend, I could hear and sometimes see Ali and the girls, all within a few years of each other, as they giggled and joked and ran around like gerbils from this house to that house to back to that one again.

Jeff and I did a little more yard work Saturday, but today the only real activity was a short evening bike ride.

Along the way, I made Weight Watcher's zero-point soup, cleaned the house a bit, did the usual chores and even started a closet purge. Not sure when that project will end. I'm going to call in Jeff for an ugly check.

The way I look at it, I'll have a better chance of keeping the weight off if I have to buy a bunch of new clothes. The guilt (and my cheap gene) will keep me on track if nothing else will...and whether I like to admit it or not, Jeff has a way keener sense of fashion than I do. So I'll end up with a more attractive wardrobe even if I don't buy anything new.

My favorite fitness trainer, Kelsey Taylor, claims she saw some muscular definition in my arm last week, and I could swear one day, also last week, I saw a thigh muscle overtaking a wad of fat in my thigh. I could be wrong. It's not like I'm actually familiar with real fitness yet.

My point is, I'm on the upswing. Maybe. We'll see what Weigh-in Wednesday brings...

My leg needs something to kick

Alison got off the couch the other day and started repeatedly kicking out her left leg.

She's been taking Tae Kwon do lessons, she had been watching an Invader Zim marathan for a few days in a row (it seemed to me) and she's sometimes fidgety, so it wasn't that unusual.

Then she said, "Hey, Dad. My leg feels like it needs to kick something."

He'd been equally stationary for most of the afternoon deep in replacement window or fantasy football research, depending on when you asked him.

"Oh yeah?" he said, in a fog.

"Yeah. It's been a while since I kicked your butt in Mario Kart."

And it was on.

It had, actually, been a long while since they'd taken a break from their racing addiction. Ali had a long, long record of besting the old man. But she was confident. Some might say cocky.

When he won the first race, she was suprised. When he won the second, she was annoyed. By the end, she was wishing she'd stayed on the couch.

Yesterday morning, I heard noises from downstairs early, but I ignored them and rolled over. Then, I decided I'd go work out rather than laze around and when I came back, they were at it again.

"She practiced," he said glumly.

And so she had. The crown is back on the red head. And they're back to the races.

Saving Susan(s)

Mother Nature is a bitch and worse, she thinks she is the boss of my yard.

I spent a good portion of the past three days reminding her that there's plenty of greenspace left in the world and she can just keep her nose out of mine.

It's the neighbors' fault, really. Mark and Jerry are going to take down most of the brick wall that separates our yards on the east side of the house. It's leaning. (The wall; not our house.) I wonder how much of that can be blamed on small red head and her gang of assorted fellow urchins who may or may not have used it as a tower to jump from, a balance beam to walk on and a "betcha can't do this" platform.

I'm trying not to wonder so much that I offer to pay for a portion of rebuild. I'll probably just blame Mother Nature. The wall is old. It was here long before we arrived. I'm sure it's not our fault...

Anyway. I have a bed of black-eyed susans that have basked in the shade of that wall for a few years now. Mark warned me that the wall crew comes this weekend. To save the susans, I had to dig them up and move them.

The first wheel barrow full of flowers went to the fence that separates us from the west side neighbor. They'd originally come from her yard years ago, and they've proliferated like crazy in ours. They grew so well, she actually got a little jealous, so a couple of years ago, I dug some up and gave them back to her, planting them alternatively on her side of the fence and then mine, thinking they'd poke through the pickets and be pretty for both of us.

They don't seem to like her yard as well as ours, so I've had gaps on my side this year. It's really been annoying.

I don't have any gaps any more.

The second wheelbarrow of black-eyed susans went to another flower bed across the yard, under the back porch windows. It's the crime scene where my backside was stung by a bee this summer, so I was wary. but I filled in some holes there, too.

On Saturday, I started working on the third wheelbarrow full of flowers but got distracted by the state of my front yard. My good friend Pamela planted some flowers and plants for me after I had Alison. It's filled in nicely, but it's all sort of at war. I moved the Lamb's Ears, which had been languishing as the flox, spikey grass and ground cover tried become lord of the range. We'll see how it does out in the open away from the battleground.

The spiky grass has been bullying the flox from Day 1 but I haven't ever really put the hammer down on the grass. I introduced the ground cover, thinking it would sneak in and choke out the spikes. I spent a good three hours digging out spikes. I relocated a little bit but bagged most of it.

I eventually relocated some flox across the walkway to fill in the areas left bare by the spikey grass eradication. It was bumping up against some other flowers in that bed. Why can't they all just get along?!

Today, I went back to the brick wall and got a third wheel wheel barrow full of susans and put them under the magnolia, and along the shorter end of the brick wall in the front yard. (That end is in good shape and won't be dismantled.) Then, I had to move some ferns that had overrun the stepping stones Ali follows to climb the magnolia.

In between all of that, we made time for a couple of walks, a bike ride along the tow patch and a trip to Lowes where I spent all the birthday money I'd gotten from my Maine family on nine new perinneals to fill in the bed along the driveway.

I told Jeff I was stopping at noon today, but it was probably after one o'clock before the tools were returned and the debris picked up. I stopped counting activity points, but I did allow myself some wine with and after dinner tonight. (I walked during that last glass, so I'm pretty sure I evened it out...)

Earlier, I'd made the mistake of noticing that the lilies of the valley that came with the house were encroaching again. Those things have more crazy roots than I do 5 1/2 weeks before my date with Julie at Ado Hair salon. And like mine, they refuse to stop coming back. It's maddening.

I ended up with four lawn bags full of crap, dead tree root and the remains of the tiger lilies and irises to show for my work.

There are still dozens of black-eyed-susans still along the back yard wall. I think I'm going to see if they can survive the great wall demolition and reconstruction project.

Jeff, who hates yard work, was a great help. Alison not so much. That's not really true. She makes a pretty good waterer, when she's not trying to water me. She even brought me an unsolicited cup of ice water this morning.

She's recently been allowed to subscribe to Moshi Monsters. Actually, seconds after I'd said yes, she'd found my credit card and was subscribing herself. It's been occupying a lot of her time, lately. I'm telling myself that it's educational...

I'm tired of the yard. As for Mother Nature, I think I'd remind her that I saved a bunch of susans this weekend. Surely she can find a better place for all the plants I don't want to see spring up next year...

An apple a day...

Biking home from Taco Bell the other day, Alison informed me that she was kind of glad that Eve ate the apple.

"Oh really? Why is that?" I asked my daughter, whose last diatribe about Eden was to cast doubt on the whole theory of Creation.

"Well, after she ate the apple, they put some clothes on," she said.

We're having a quiet weekend. Alison's getting a cold and we're trying to stave off the respiratory issues that usually follow her sore throats and coughing. She slipped into bed with me Friday night before Jeff got there and didn't get out until the next evening.

She spent all day in just her pj pants. (It's OK to go shirtless as long as you're INdoors in your OWN house: Alison Reed Rule #1).

I checked in with her in between chores, reading a book while she watched TV. At one point, she seemed to be enjoying herself and dreaming that maybe she'd be sick on Monday and get to miss school. So I brought her homework in. She claimed sitting up to copy her spelling gave her a headache.

She decided a little later that she didn't really like being sick all that much, afterall. I know she's really sick, though, because she hasn't asked for ice cream or candy, and she IS coughing and a little warm. Ramen usually shoots her into recovery, but it hasn't worked its magic yet.

She perked up when Kirsten and Duane stopped by to replenish her gum ball collection. She put on a shirt when she knew they were coming over and she might be seen.

She's still not sleeping well. She slept downstairs last night, and Jeff ended up with her after a midnight incident. So far this morning she's made it to the downstairs couch and still hasn't eaten.

I haven't yet informed her that she'll be finishing her homework. Or taking a walk.

Wish me luck.

Book Club -- critique No. 1

I didn't make it to Book Club Friday night. I know you all wanted to hear what I had to say, though, so here it is. I might have to do this every month...

Book Club Book:
The late, lamented molly marx
a novel
Sally Kosklow

This is a Target Club Pick billed as "Delightful, comic, romantic, a page-turner from the word go." It is none of these things. Target should stick to retail therapy, stop supporting homophobes and give us better, cheaper books. If your book club is considering this production, you'll be wise to reconsider...

My assessment: Blech. Not even worth checking out at the library.


I do not lament the late Molly Marx. Frankly, I'm glad she's gone, think she could have gone sooner and I wish she'd shut up about her self-absorbed, selfish, utterly wasted life.

Her sister, Lucy, now she's a girl I might want to spend some time with. I cheered her kidnapping attempt and was pissed that the parents never seemed to support her (or even like her) as much as they did her sister.

Or Brie -- now there's a best friend anyone would be lucky to have. (Although I should point out here that her given name is Sabrina; therefore her nickname should be Bri.) I liked it that she tried the other team but send Isadora packing. I loved it that she (and Lucy)gave it to Molly straight.

Molly deserved neither of them -- nor did she deserve Luke. What she did deserve was Barry. If you ask me, Sally Koslow has a lot to answer for -- her nickname spelling the least of it.

I suffered through this terrible piece of fiction because I felt like I owed it to Book Club to finish. It was supposed to be a fun and witty read.

There's nothing funny about a four-year-old whose mother dies. (While Molly Marx is a pinhead of a main character, she did love her daughter, which may be her one redeeming quality.)

Among the flaws in this insipid novel.

1. A newlywed who finds her husband screwing a guest before the cake is even cut should not join said husband to cut said cake. She traded her soul for money and status. Dead or a live, she learned nothing and contributed little to the world.

2. Didn't Hiawatha Hicks have any other cases? Even the worst NYPD detective would have closed the case and moved on to another (more deserving)corpse within a month. The department would never have flown him to Chicago, and if one failed case sends him to law school, I bet he's a shitty lawyer, too.

3. I would have flipped to the end to determine who offed Molly and end the drivel if it wasn't against my own, personal book-reading rules. Frankly, I didn't care who killed her. And it was no surprise to find the jewelry was for the girlfriend. It was not all that surprising to learn who did the deed.

4. The only moment of intrigue was when she had Luke at the park, too. But it was too little, too late. And wouldn't he have gone out searching for her after a while? It's not like he didn't know where she was going...

5. Truth be told, we may owe Stephanie a silent thank you. Sure, murder is never a good thing and she paid for it the end (sort of), but we don't know that she meant to kill -- only that she didn't do anything to save Mollythe biker after she went over the edge. Anyone would could feel so passionately about a schmuck like Barry can't be trusted as a rational being anyway, so she would have gotten off anyway. And for Molly to snidely point out that Barry's money made it easier for Stephanie to deal with things -- hello pot: meet kettle.

6. Three hundred and three pages and we don't know who was charged with the murder? I could live with that had she not tried to tie up all the other loose ends.

7. The chapter where she wraps everything up was just stupid. After all the intrigue, cheating and lying AND being fingered as Molly's murderer, Luke gets to play Annabell's uncle? Why would either Barry or Stephanie allow him to see that little girl, let alone let him become so close he gets to be godfather?! Hicks becomes a rich attorney partnering with rich Brie? No mention of Kitty's demise? How could she not have three sentences to spend on that horrible woman? And the long-suffering Luke doesn't get a break and get to have even a schmear of happiness? Molly Marx is not worth mooning over for 20 minutes -- let alone 20 years.

8. Tabloid coverage? A made-for-TV movie? Puh-leeze.

Mother of the Year -- again...

So last year, I didn't realize that Alison didn't have aftercare her first day of third grade.

About 1:15 or so, the school called to alert me that school had ended 15 minutes ago. I work about 20 minutes away, downtown.

I scrammed out of work, sped like a maniacal demon up College and across Kessler, remembering all times I seethed, feeling embarrassed and neglected as I waited for my own mother to look up from her Harlequin Romance and remember I was at band practice and needed a ride home.

I arrived in record (if not safe) time and found Alison sitting patiently on a bench at school, reading a book and not even remotely mad at me.

Becky Mueller, the fabulous woman who serves as the CKS traffic cop greeted me with a smile and shrugged off my apologies. “It’s always someone. This year it’s you,” she said. I’m certain she didn’t think another thing about it. I, however, relegated myself to the bottom of the Worst Mothers of the Year gob pile.

I apologized 20 times and promised Alison that it would never happen again. I’m sure I took her home and stuffed her full of candy and ice cream trying to make up for it.

This year, I remembered the early dismissal. Not that anyone gave me credit. Lisa almost called me, but silently sent me vibes to remember. Shortly after noon, my boss checked on me at my desk to see why I was still at work. (I'd arranged for afternoon care, thank you very much.)

While summer was great and I didn’t want it to end, I was ready for 4th grade. I was so ready. We’d tried on all her uniforms and cleaned up her backpack. She’d even gotten a hair cut at a real salon where her wild ends were evened out after a year or so of my hacking at her in the kitchen while she squirmed.

I'd bragged to all my friends who were running madly here and there, checking flyers for sales and picking up each item on the classroom list of school supplies. CKS, superior school that it is, has a service that for a price, those tedious items are delivered on Day 1. No muss. No fuss. Just a check.

I was sure I'd written it. So when I picked Ali up on Day 1, I was prepared to hear all about the wonder of 4th grade. Instead, I was greeted with, "Mom. I'm very disappointed in you."

The school supply service wasn't offered for this school year. Yeah, there were no supplies delivered to any CKS desk this year. None. As in, no pencils. No notebooks. No crayons. No nothing.

So yeah. Alison was the only kid who went to school that day with an empty backpack.

I am so stooopid.

We spent Thursday night running here and there picking up the 25 different items on the list of things all fourth graders need. We had to go to three stores to find erasable pens. (erasable pens? WTF is that all about anyway!?) She really wanted a notebook with GIR on it from Invader Zim. So, just like the candy last year, we went to Castlton to find the closest Hot Topics and a folder with GIR on it. I'm not going to tell you how much it cost.

Just like last year, she'd forgiven me for the oversight before I even arrived. She's a good egg like that. As we drove across Hell's Half Acre shopping for supplies, we spent a good amount of time remembering how we’d stuck our noses up at the Back to School section in every store all summer because we knew we were ahead of the game. We wondered how it was we (as in I) had missed the memo of no supplies at the desk thing.

CKS starts almost two weeks after the other local school bells ring. Guess how many school supplies remain in the bins after school has started...

When we finally struggled in the door, laden like pack mules with 17 different bags, we still had homework. She started in as I unpackaged the pencils, erasable pens, index cards (and pink lock box to hold them) markers, crayons, folders, and notebooks. I got her lunch for the next day started. (CKS has no cafeteria and the delivered hot lunch doesn’t start til September, that I’m sure of.)

Her homework was to assemble a "Me bag" -- 5 items of things that told a story of who she is -- and to decorate the outside of the bag. I printed out some things for her, got her paint and a glue stick from last year. We’d strategized in the car and we finalized our ideas for just how to accomplish the mission. She’s out to earn the full 30 points possible – five for each item and another five for her bag design.

Her Me Bag included the following items: a Wii remote, a glob of pink to represent her favorite color, a stick of bubble gum (we were out of gumballs), a kitty Webkinz and a book mark.

God bless her, she worked away, tongue sticking out a little bit as she concentrated on clearly writing her name and gluing down a photo of herself and clip art of her favorite Mario Kart game and the Facebook Happy Pet and Aquarium games.

I checked on her progress as I sorted trash from recyclables from the shopping spree and assembled piles for backpack packing.

She looked up and said, "Mom, you make my heart warm."

"Yeah? What makes you say that?" I ask.

"Well. You’re a good mom. You get my supplies and you make my lunch and you help me with my homework. You make my heart warm."

I love that girl.

Next year, I'm not going to screw up her first day of school.