Cold Spaghetti

As some point during the 4 years we worked together, one of my graduate school mentors, a woman similar to me in voluptuous shape, suddenly began to play adult indoor soccer with gusto. Why? Because of the shock of her 6-year old son declaring that she wasn’t cool because “she didn’t have a sport.”

Now that Will is 5, I am up late some nights wondering, “will my son suddenly find me uncool because I don’t have a sport?”

I’ve made extra effort to teach him how to swim in the ocean and snorkel in the surf. I’ve gone outside to throw a ball with him. I’ve danced and done yoga. But do these count as having a sport? Am I close to losing Cool Mommy points for something that doesn’t involve forcing him to eat lima beans or wiping? Because that would be terrible.

Paul and I have had many discussions about wanting to do more exercise as a family, but things (aka: the fact that we are independently renovating our 100+ year old foreclosed home for the 4th year running) tend to get in the way. In our ‘non-work’ hours, Paul works on the house and I entertain the kids. I do my best to take them to the park for exercise, but a runny nose, a need for the bathroom, my forgetting to pack snacks, or a fall over a twist tree root can bring even the best plans to a crying, whining, fussing halt. Sure, we do yoga together, more a practice in laughter than actual stretching, but we have not found our exercise-together-niche.

The battle of the bulge looms greater as the pressure for a household video game player has been mounting. Will played his first video game while visiting my brother and sister-in-law last summer, which spurred my Dad to get an Xbox so that he and Will could play when we visit them.

And Paul? Oh, my, poor Paul.  When we met, Paul was a GAME GUY.  He did side work as a pinball machine programmer.  He collected and restored classic pinball machine and video games; games that with each move, he’s had to leave more and more of behind.  In short, Paul is foaming at the mouth for a console, but knew I was completely against them, hating the idea of our kids sitting on a couch staring at a screen.

Then I learned of the Wii and in particular, the Wii Fit.

It was Melanie who turned my head.  Melanie made a commitment to being more fit a few years ago and has become one of my exercise heros — and she says that the Wii Fit is a great exercise tool.  She made me believe it would work for us, too. So I emailed her for Wii information last month and started to plot how I would manage a Wii for us for Christmas. I began to believe it was something that could put us all in better shape simply by making it easy for us to include fitness into our day as a family.

Then Paul caught on. First he started on the “we have no money for Christmas” route, which I ignored. Then he flat out figured my plan, which I blogged about in a huff. Finally, he sat me down to look at Quicken in detail. Yowza. We closed up our holiday wallets for the long winter.

But we still want a Wii, specifically because of the Wii Fit.

And even more than I could dream of wanting it, the other three in the household are dreaming of it.

Especially Will.

Inspired by his recent viewing of Star Wars for the first time, Will made this video for Magpie Musings, who is giving away a Wii Fit this coming Monday.

It’s based on Leia’s plea to Obi Wan to help her fight the Empire.  (I’m trying to ignore the implication that I could be the Evil Empire in this scenario.)

“Help us Magpie Kenobi,” says Will, “you’re our only hope.” I can only add to the plea that maybe, with us playing sport and fitness games as a family, I may avoid the loss of Cool Mommy points in the future.

Will’s plea for a Wii Fit to Magpie Kenobi from Cold Spaghetti on Vimeo.

We heard that there might be snow, so while feeding the kids breakfast I turned on the TV.  Quickly, I rushed the kids to the set — LOOK, I said, it’s SNOWING not far from here!  Will was the most excited, “when will the snow be here?”

“Oh, Will, we live in New Orleans.  We don’t get snow here.”

I was wrong! Paul called home right between Will walking into his class and driving Kate to her building.  Heavy, heavy snow.  Kate asked for the phone and banged on her window, screaming “SNOW, MOMMY!  SNOW!”

And it stuck.  For a few hours, at least.  Paul took these pictures around 10am.

Here’s our little house.  Can you believe we still haven’t unstuck the shutter on the right?  I’m so embarrassed.

I’m also a little bummed we hadn’t put up any Christmas decorations yet.  Our house is ADORABLE dressed up for the holidays.  (The orange caution tape in front is to protect the hardie, which Paul is working to carry to the back — it is so heavy and unwieldy that he builds a special gig to hold the long boards for the trip to the backyard and can only bring 50 or so back per session.)

Here’s our street:

Holly in the snow…

Hmm, the azaleas were looking a little leggy anyway.

Poor pansies.  I have no idea if these are the winter variety.

Our little house.

Remember these?  It’s one of the three skylights Paul installed in the renovated area in the roof he built.  Check out that frozen snow on the glass — the sign of a darn good job insulating to keep the heat inside!

Around 11:30, we left to get our friend Carmen to take her to a nice lunch before she moves next week.  On the way, we stopped to get a quick picture of a little snowman on top of the streetcar sculpture at Audubon Park.  By the time we were done with lunch, everything had melted.

Here’s video of it coming down, taken by Paul this morning:

SNOW in New Orleans from Cold Spaghetti on Vimeo.

Now that the frozen variety are washed away, snow stories are flying around the city.  Is it true that a snow in New Orleans signals a bad hurricane to come the following spring?  Or is this just because the last snow, Christmas Day 2004, was the year before Katrina?   There are conflicting reports regarding the winter before Betsy.  Anyone have insight into this?

On one of those fantastically delicious hot and sticky summer days, like last week*, we took the kids waaaay out to the Louisiana countryside to feed wild geese.

Oh, okay.  We went to City Park.  That’s the New Orleans Museum of Art in the background.  FUN FACT: NOMA does not allow strollers.  So we’ve not been, kind of as a point.  But Will went on a field trip earlier this year.

We had about 4 bags of bread — collected from frozen ends of loafs and other assorted stale varieties that I stock pile in the freezer for days like this.

And the kids went at it.

So did the birds.  Will, who had recently discovered the delicacies of duck, suggested we bring one home for dinner.

Just kidding, buddy.

This was only a few months ago, but I can’t believe how much smaller they look, especially Kate.

Then, we realized that a new group was interested in sampling our wares.  Momma and her 5 babies.

Don’t these two look like they are playing “Cee Cee My Playmate?”

Fast moving, with sharp little teeth.  And very bold.

But cute.

Sort of like Kate.  Fast moving, sharp little teeth, and bold.  We were a little afraid that she would try some of her favorite playtime activities with The Cat, Scout.  Things like sitting on his back, pulling his tail, and zerbering his tummy.  He’s a pretty chill cat.

Paul is ready to scoop her up if needed.  Will, on the other hand, wanted to stick to the ducks.

When they had their fill, they climbed up on branches right over our heads…

… and went to sleep.

*Actually, it was in early August.

There is a very distinct chance we will not have a Christmas tree this year.  And I am blaming it all on this:

The Man Palace that demanded attention and took away from the progress in the part of the house we actually live in.  (No, no, no bitterness here.  Just don’t get me talking about having to blow the rest of our savings on COBRA, then you’ll hear some bitterness.)

But it sure is pretty.  Paul finished installing the windows this weekend and built the headers in the front of the roof.  It’s ready for hardie.  The sides have corrugated metal sheets along the fence(s) and then will have hardie in the areas that are open to the elements.  The center section will remain open — storage will be on either side.  We’ll get walls up in the center with big doors leading into each side.  The center will be a patio-like space for grilling, etc.  Paul really wants to put in a built-in grill here, and I admit, it would be pretty cool.

See the windows in the back?  Those are to let in more natural light into the open space.  Neat, huh?

Meanwhile, Will’s bed sits in the front room where our tree should go.  His bed cannot be moved until the study is moved.  The study cannot be moved until the floor is installed in the back.  The floor can’t be installed in the back until the painting is done.  The painting can’t be done until the floor is cleaned and tools put away.  The tools can’t be put away until they can be locked in the outbuilding… and so, here we are.

We talked about putting up a leg lamp and decorating it, instead.  Maybe the titillating joy of electric sex in our window would make us feel better?  But, no, I think it would just remind me of the beautiful tree sitting safely (?) contained outside.  Next to Paul’s fermenting hockey gear.

The picture above is the backroom that needs paint and flooring.  I wasn’t kidding about the massive amount that needs to happen back here.  All that wood?  That’s SOME of the trim that still needs to be installed in the bathroom (most of the places where we could see the dirt below the house are covered, now, though.)  Paul doesn’t want to put down the floor until all the trim is done.  I’m pretty sure I threatened bodily harm with one of those trim pieces when he suggested this.  Not that I’m feeling impatient; I maintain that I am the epitome of patience!

Here is proof.

This is some of Will’s homework from last week.  Patience and great sense of humor are imperative when doing three pages of this in one evening.  (Will doesn’t usually have that much homework, it’s just that Daddy missed it on the night he was suppose to do it with Will because Mommy was in a meeting.  And I wonder why the kids love Daddy more?)

My favorite part of the homework is Will’s cake.  I also like how Will is writing his lower case “a,” with the little curly puppy tail.

There’s been a lot of moaning over here lately regarding my first born.  It’s been well-deserved moaning.  Over more than excessive amounts of whining.  More than general not-listening.  More than forgetting to be nice.  More than things that make my head actually lift off of my shoulders.  The sort of stuff that makes me pause and look around for the hidden camera, because it’s way more than conniption causing… it makes me sound like my Mother.*

Then yesterday evening, the Universe smiled down upon me and granted me the greatest wish, one that every parent longs to receive.  The one where we learn that other children are possessed by the same demons as your own.

A saw a friend whose child also attends an immersion school and she lamented on how hard the first few months were… how tired and cranky and difficult and unpleasant her child was for those first few months… AND HOW THE SCHOOL TOLD THEM THAT WOULD HAPPEN.  Yes, I understand it must have been an unpleasant back-to-school note: “Dear Parents, be warned that your child’s behavior over the next few months will turn you into an alcoholic.  In November, we will start an evening AA group with free babysitting to help you get past this hurdle and safely into the rest of the school year.”  Still, it’s a note that would have helped us tremendously as I contemplated how old a kid has to be before Boarding School.  At least I know now and can relish in the relief that my kid is not in need of exorcism, he is simply adjusting to a big transition.  For the record: acting the angel all day long, collecting girlfriends left and right covering 3 grade levels, and excelling everywhere — while coming home to pick fights, whine, refuse food, throw tantrums, miss bedtime, and insult family… THIS is what ‘adjusting to a big transition’ looks like.

Now that Will has set the bar, I have a much clearer picture about what I am going to do when I hit menopause.

*Incidentally, when I share these episodes with my Mom, she finds them HILARIOUS.  As in, snorting milk through her nose, a total riot.  Which I will remember when I pick her nursing home.  (Hi Mom!  I love you!)

Youtube is eating my videos and randomly re-categorizing ones as private, so we’re moving on to try Vimeo.

Here is my brother, strummin’ away, while the kids try to destroy listen — compliments of Vimeo.

Uncle Skip Plays for the Kids from Cold Spaghetti on Vimeo.

(Writ in the style of “The Piggy in the Puddle” — my favorite children’s story to read out loud.)

See the Mommy.
See her study.
See the Mommy in the middle of her silly little study.
See her cruddy, see her bloody
in the fuddy, duddy, study.
See her muddy, down and ruddy, in the silly little study.

See the Daddy,
chummy-tummy, chummy-tummy, chummy-tummy.
“Don’t you get all crummy, dummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!
You are much to smart and sassy to be in the down and ruddies.
Research is oofy, research is poofy, research is oh-so oofy-poofy!
What you need is lots of HOPE.
But the Mommy answered, “oofy-poofy, oofy-poofy, NOPE!”

See her Babies.
Cutey-tooty, cutey-tooty, cutey-tooty.
“Just stop that writing – lighting, nighting, fighting, miting, citing!
You are much too Mommy Dearest not to be so often near us.
Research is willy, research is nilly, research is oh-so willy-nilly.
What you need is lots of HOPE.”
But the Mommy answered, “willy-nilly, willy-nilly, NOPE.”

Now they all stood by her research,
Right beside the murky research.
And they looked into the ‘search,
What a messy, murky, murch!

There was Mommy, cruddy and bloody,
getting beat up by her study.
She was reading, she was writing,
she was drinking to be wired.
She was listening, she was talking,
she was very very tired.

Said the Daddy,
Mummy-Mommy, you have made me very proud.

Said the Babies,
Mommy-Mummy, you are a sun behind a cloud.

Said the Mommy,
I thank you, but for this I am avowed.

See the Mommy and her study
with her family in a huddy.
They are loving, they are listening,
to the very daunting study.

Said the Mommy,
“Oofy-poofy, willy-nilly, oofy-poofy…
Indeed,” said tired Mommy,
“I think we lack in hope.”

But Daddy and the Babies answered,
“Oofy-poofy — NOPE!”

This post is a Monday Mission, to write a post in the style of a children’s story, as inspired by The Painted Maypole.

I’ve been feeling uninspired lately and needed to remind myself of a few things.

We head home tomorrow, after the two days of monsoon rains have moved on.  Will is complaining of sore throat and an ear that hurts when he swallows… we may not be done trading viruses quite yet.  Progress on all fronts continues to painfully crawl forward.

The outbuilding work will continue when we get back.  Here is a video of progress as of the 15th, with a good look at the back of the house, the old outbuilding face, and the huge pile of growing debris.

Be warned that I speak on this video.  I may even laugh.  I apologize and completely understand if the sound compels to you run screaming from the room.

The combined force of the holiday, the family, and the pending inevitability that Someone Else (aka: my parents) would show it to him first, we did it. We showed The Little Man Star Wars.

Parts were scary. Parts we had to explain. At one point, he asked to turn it off for a little while. It made me feel vindicated, in a way, to have to my point made about why we had wanted to wait in the first place. But at least now he knows, he’s been there, and we can move on. But there are some things that remain difficult to understand.

“Mommy, why did Darth Vader kill Obi Wan?”

“Well, they had a big disagreement and fought over it… but Obi Wan really didn’t die, he became one with the force… you know it’s all pretend anyway.”

“But why did they fight?”

“Sometimes that’s how people handle disagreements, in movies and in life.”

Quiet. Thinking. Squirming.

“You know that Mommy and Daddy believe that fighting is not the best way to solve problems.”

“Why?”

“Well, we just think that fighting hurts people and makes them want to fight back.”

“Then why do people fight?”

“Because… it’s what they know. It’s harder to think of other things to do when you’re upset. It’s easier to just fight.”

Pause.

(Tentative, in a whisper.) “Mommy, when you yell at me, it’s just like fighting.”

Quick, deep breath. Wipe away sudden tears.

“You’re right Will, it is. Let’s work together so that I can learn a better way, too.”

We don’t dress up for holiday dinners anymore, so there is no more of the tradition of ruining an outfit playing outside. It was just straight up, regular play.

Kate may have inherited my athletic prowess. Just check out how she throws the football…

(What is that football doing behind her in that picture below? Oops.)

The good news is that the fact she can’t keep pants on (note picture above) may be a sign that she somehow missed the voluptuous gene which has been passed down in my family from Mother to Daughter since time immortal.

Will got into the action, too. He even kicked the ball to me a few times.

There was plenty Daddy-tackling.

At some point, I proposed a walk to find pine cones. I figured we could find something crafty to do with them… somewhere in my head are memories of pine cone turkeys, pine cone people, pine cone bird feeders, pine cone holiday decorations, and more. All that thinking of crafty pine cone projects made me start to think all artsy, and I started to play around with the camera. Note Will, my unwilling muse, holding the pine cone… normal picture:

Then the ZOOOOM into the pinecone! I’m all about playing around with the shutter these days.

I also tried the technique with a Japanese maple in my parents’ front yard. The breeze meant that I needed help keeping the branch steady — so I didn’t get to play for all that long, but here’s a sample:

My contribution to my Mother’s usual spread of veggies, turkey breast, and stuffing was Mushroom Gravy. Randy made this for us one Thanksgiving in Blacksburg. The same Thanksgiving my future in-laws came to visit and I decided to make squash soup ahead of time… only to discover that my allergy to pumpkin innerds extended to squash. It was a brilliant plan, really, since everyone was very willing to help out to make the meal — no one wanted the woman with huge, swollen, hive-covered hands touching the food.

Randy’s gravy became the stuff of legend. The recipe, in nearly direct quotation from Randy, goes like this: “Put a LOT of onions, a LOT of mushrooms, and a LOT of oil into a pot. Add some liquid. Let it cook. Add something to thicken it.”

Which is pretty much what I did this year. It was really good, even if this picture makes it look a little funky?