I Am Deeply Embarrassing

My fifteen year old is participating in an all-day Chinese immersion program, which is being held at the university where I work. This means we get to commute in and back home together. Everything’s gone swimmingly these first couple of days on our commute into school/work in the trusty minivan. Our conversations have been filled with warmth, laughter, and mutual understanding. But as if by magic, the moment we step out of that enchanted vehicle, I suddenly metamorphose into the most embarrassing creature that ever crawled on the surface of this planet.

I swear I’ve tried to follow the rules. OBVIOUSLY, there is no physical contact. I mean, of course I have my faults, but at least I understand the basic rules of engagement. I walk a little distance away from my son, with my eyes focused straight ahead. It might be possible for strangers to see us and assume that we were not together. Despite our similar features and coloring, it might not even be entirely obvious to the casual observer that it was I, who spent 20 hours in labor bringing this boy into the world.

On Monday, there was a parents’ meeting scheduled for 8 am. It happened to be taking place in the auditorium that’s located on the floor right below my office. My boss walked in and noticed me and the other parents and students milling around. When he asked what was going on, I explained to him that the organizers hadn’t shown up for the information meeting that was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago. I sincerely believed that I was uttering these words in a subdued, reasonable tone of voice. It appears, however, that in fact, I was shrieking loudly, raucously, and in an utterly mortifying fashion.

My son’s childhood drawing of me.

The entire time I was speaking with my director, my son stared at his iPod, thumbing away with furious intensity, all while muttering under his breath:

Stop. Mom. You don’t have to do this. You’re talking so loudly. Why are you doing this? 

This morning I told him that he could walk to class and make his way back to my office on his own in the future, but that I would drop him off and pick him up today, just to make sure he knew where to go.

He heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “You don’t have to walk me. I can go by myself. I know exactly where I’m going.”

“So, where are you going?” I asked.

“Your office is in Cabell,” he replied with brisk alacrity.

I had to break it to him. It’s what we repugnant monsters are programmed to do:

“You‘re going to Cabell. My office is in Minor.”

I walked the boy to class.

Weekend Snapshots 27

Saturday

A pit stop for ice cream sweetens the prospect of running boring errands all morning:

Kirt’s Homemade Ice Cream

While we were running around all over town, my husband finally got to do something he’s always wanted to. He spent the day volunteering for Habitat for Humanity, putting up drywall at this house:

I used to take my professor husband’s princely soft hands into my own calloused fishwife’s hands and jokingly hmph, “It’s clear you‘ve never done an honest’s day labor in your entire life.”

I guess I can’t do this anymore. Instead, the kids and I have been serenading him all weekend at the top of our lungs with: “BOB, THE BUILDER! CAN-HE-FIX-IT?! YES! HE CAN!!!”

I think he kind of likes it.

Sunday

In the morning I gave a presentation on “Adjusting to Life in the U.S.” for some new international students. I used this slide to illustrate culture shock:

In the afternoon, my family went to see a performance of Puccini’s tragic opera Madama Butterfly at the Paramount:

We did not experience tragic consequences in pursuit of this photograph:

As we drove back home I could hear Adventure Time playing on the DVD from the backseat, where the two youngest were sitting.

“Remember when you used to sing the Adventure Time song?” I asked my oldest son with fond nostalgia. I used to love it whenever he would sing the theme song with sweet and artless enthusiasm.

“Ugh. I did a lot of cringeworthy things back then,” my fifteen-year old replied ruefully.

“NO! I LOVED listening to you sing that song. I was so sad when you stopped,” I said.

“I’m going to tell you a sad truth about life,” my husband interjected, “Whatever you’re doing right now…in three years’ time – you’ll think is cringeworthy.”

I had to laugh, but I really hope that’s not true.

For now, I’m just going to enjoy the hymn of this lovely night: the thrum of crickets, the hum of the dishwasher, and the soft snoring of dogs at my feet.

Oh, lovely night! Stars unending! Never have I seen them so beautiful! Throbbing, sparkling, each star in heaven, like a fiery eye is flashing. Oh! how kindly are the heavens, Every star that shines afar is gazing on us, lighting our future for us…Ah! Lovely night! Thy perfect calm is breathing love near and far!

The Caterpillar

The kids are having the perfect, lazy summer. Every morning I leave for work, slightly envious of the day they’ll have, but so delighted for them to be experiencing the joy of unscheduled time. Most days they are at home with each other. They are reading, making music, dreaming, scheming, having sleepovers in each other’s rooms, hanging out with friends… 

In the spirit of laziness, here’s a post I wrote a couple Julys ago:

Last Friday morning I was in a big fat rush. It was going to be a busier day than usual at work. I woke up stressed out about all the documents I needed to crank out, the emails I had to answer, and the presentation I was going to give that still needed fine-tuning. The kids would be spending the day at our neighbor’s house, and I wanted to get them there early so I could get to work.

To my frustration, instead of letting me drive them there, the children begged to be allowed to walk. I didn’t have the heart to say no, but I warned them that they would need to hurry. I drove the short distance myself, passing them as they walked. I parked the car at our neighbor’s house and waited for them. While I stood there waiting, acorns turned into mighty oaks, mountains eroded into plains, and species evolved.

I was reminded of my son’s first tee-ball experience. During one of his games I was standing behind the fence right behind his two coaches. Whenever it was time for the two teams to switch sides, they would tuck their chaw into one cheek with their tongues so they could yell out, “HUSTLE, BOYS! COME ON! HUSTLE! HUSTLE! HUSTLE!” as they stood there with their arms crossed over their beer bellies. All the little four year olds would run across the field as fast as their little legs could carry them. My son would lope along at a gentle pace a few yards behind the pack. At one point, one of the coaches turned to the other with a look of disgust and spat, “That boy don’t know the meaning of hustle.”

As I waited by the car in front of our neighbor’s house I could see my children slowly ambling along the road and thought, “Come on kids, hustle, hustle, hustle!” As if in perverse response to my mental plea, I saw them slow down instead, and then drop to the ground to inspect something.

“Come here, Mom! You have to take a picture of this!” my son called to me.

For a second I thought about scolding them and reminding them that I was in a hurry. For some reason, (OK, probably because my son so adroitly played to my photo obsession), I grabbed my camera and walked back to where they were.


To be honest, I was kind of disappointed at first when I realized they were just looking at a caterpillar. But they were both so completely entranced that I crouched down to look at it myself. I could see their point. The translucent lime green skin! The perfectly segmented body! Those curious speckles!

The caterpillar was a cosmic gift. For a moment, the mere fact of its existence arrested time, that most precious commodity of all, and we were wonderstruck. Oh, to always have the open heart and reverent eyes of a child…to slow down enough to see the abundant miracles around us and to know instinctively that appreciation of these wonders must always take precedence over lesser concerns.

Weekend Snapshots 26

Friday

After a difficult week at work, I was giddy with relief when Friday arrived. The office was closed for the 4th of July holiday and I got to play all day!

I took the kids to MarieBette Bakery and Café for breakfast:

We spent a leisurely hour at the bookstore:

I handed the kids off to their dad and met up with my friend for lunch and a trip to the nursery like we used to do all the time before life got too busy. It was just like old times…

When I got home that afternoon, I found my son delirious with joy. The last parts he needed for the computer he was building had arrived:

The moment of truth…

It’s working!!!

It’s nice to have your own personal cheerleader…

We took the kids to see Inside Out. My husband and I were fully expecting to fall asleep half way through, like we usually do whenever we watch the formulaic entertainment churned out for kids these days.

“Nudge us if we start snoring too loudly during the movie,” my husband instructed the kids.

There was no need to wake us up – Inside Out was great. Every single one of us, from the oldest to youngest loved this smart, moving, and entertaining movie.

Saturday

After a little internet research, my husband came upon a cure for the relentless itch of poison ivy.

Yes, I am now slathering my skin with constipation medicine. At least it’s “Fresh Mint” flavored.

We had a barbecue with old friends to celebrate the 4th of July…

Sunday

Another cookout with friends and the 2015 Women’s World Cup Final!

After watching the electrifying game, we made an abortive attempt to set off a few celebratory fireworks in the rain…

But who needs fireworks anyway with the dazzling finish delivered by the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team?

It was a wonderful, wonderful weekend!

Poison Ivy

I couldn’t bring myself to post anything all last week, because on top of an extremely challenging and stressful week at work, I’ve been dealing with an incapacitating poison ivy rash. I must have rubbed up against some poison ivy by mistake when I foolishly ventured outdoors a few weeks ago. (When will I ever learn?! Indoor kitties should stay INDOORS). 

For more than two weeks now I have been dealing with a repulsive, oozing rash. Whenever I see people (and I see people ALL DAY LONG), I feel compelled to blurt out awkward things like, “Oh, hi, I swear I don’t have leprosy or Ebola…it’s just poison ivy. The pus isn’t contagious, but you probably don’t really want to shake my hand.”

Just poison ivy, but the itching! – the torturous, unrelenting itching that has brought me more than once to tears of despair! I can only describe the feeling as having insects crawling underneath my skin. I have become a bag lady, toting ice packs everywhere I go. Ice is the only thing that brings any kind of relief, and believe me, I’ve tried everything.

My mother was aghast when I turned up at her house last weekend, dripping from ugly patches all over my arms and legs. Unable to sleep for worry over her miserable daughter, my poor dear mama got up in the middle of the night to consult with everyone’s favorite primary care physician, Dr. Internet, who told her that chicken was the cure. I woke up to the smell of chicken soup. Even though I stopped eating meat years ago, I ate bowl after bowl of the soup, and maybe a dozen eggs that weekend. At this point, I would eat raw, pulverized worms if I thought it would help. Alas, the chicken cure has not had any discernible effect. What’s more, when I later googled “chicken” and “poison ivy” myself, I could find nothing. Could this all have been a ruse devised by my crafty mother to get me to eat meat again?

“Do you think it’s because Mom was searching on Korean websites?” I asked my husband.

“Of course,” he replied with an authoritative air, “She would have been looking on mudang.co.kr or something like that.”

Mudang means shaman in Korean.

If I thought insurance would pay for it, I’d ask to be put into an induced coma for a couple weeks. I’ve resorted to knocking myself out by trying sleeping pills for the first time in my life, with mixed results. I’ve engaged in fisticuffs with my husband, who tries to grab my desperately clawing hand to prevent me from tearing at my festering pustules.

Well. If you’re still reading, I’m astonished. Thank you for indulging me. I know there’s nothing more tedious than to hear someone complaining endlessly, so I will conclude this mournful lament with a solemn vow to never speak of such things ever again and a whimper: uuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggghhhhhwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

 

The Rest of Us

Some of us are visiting stately homes…

Some of us are deciding which jaunty beret to wear today…

Some of us are wandering around in beech hedge mazes:

Some of us are in Wales visiting Castle Conwy…

and picturesque waterfalls:

Some of us are taking a leisurely tour of the Lake District:

Ambleside

And the rest of us?

Well, the rest of us are up to our usual no good…

Weekend Snapshots 25

Even I, dogged chronicler that I am, have to admit that some moments are impossible to capture in words or on film. This weekend was full of those moments…

Friday

My fifteen year old came back from his pilgrimage with his youth group to Arizona. I picked him up late at night in the church parking lot. I drove him home with a smile on my face as I listened to him talk about the adventures he’d had.

“The Grand Canyon is amazing. Even more amazing than you can imagine. Pictures don’t do it justice.”

As we pulled off the interstate we slowed down so that I could show him another of the world’s wonders in our own backyard. There is a scrubby, weedy tree to the left as you exit the highway onto the dark country road which leads to my house. I believe it’s called a Tree of Heaven. In the daytime you wouldn’t look twice at it. For the past few nights, the whole canopy has been full of twinkling fireflies. The effect is indescribably beautiful.

Saturday

My very dear friendy Wendy, whom I’ve known since high school, came to visit me this weekend to say goodbye. After teaching elementary school kids in Arlington for almost twenty years, she is moving on to a new chapter of her life. Sadly for me, that chapter takes place all the way on the other side of this great big country.

My friendy Wendy

There would have been more photos, but for the fact that we spent the afternoon, evening, night, and the next day doing nothing but talking, talking, talking. (OK, and maybe we ate a little, too)!

Mas Tapas

As we drove back home late on Saturday night, I was glad to be able to show her the firefly tree.

Sunday

The next day as my friend prepared to drive back, I tried to express the ineffable sense of joy I felt for the new direction her life is taking mingled with my sorrow that she will be so far away.

“It’s NOT goodbye, Ada,” she said, using my old childhood nickname, “We’ll see each other soon, I promise!”

Later that night, I met up with my friend Katherine to go to the Charlottesville Free Clinic’s annual benefit concert at the Pavilion on the Downtown Mall. I was dismayed to see all of the signs forbidding any photography or recording. But as I sat with my friend in the sultry summer air and listened to the Indigo Girls and Mary Chapin Carpenter without once picking up my camera, I felt like I could swim in the music. For the final song – in gorgeous three-part harmony, some of it without any accompaniment at all – all three women sang The Water is Wide. I was spellbound.

On my drive home, I decided that I had to record an image of the firefly tree. I exited the highway, and pulled off to the side of the road where I tried and tried to capture the picture. No matter what setting or camera I tried, all I could get was a black frame. I finally gave up and drove the rest of the way home. My son was still up when I got back. We chatted about the music I had heard, and I looked up some of my favorite songs and played them for him on youtube. It just wasn’t the same. I kept finding myself saying apologetically, “It sounded much more amazing live…”

The truth is, sometimes the most beautiful moments can’t be pinned down. You just have to show up and be there.

Related Posts:

The Torpedo Factory with my Friendy Wendy

 

 

Morning

My loyalties will not be bound by national borders, or confined in time by one nation’s history, or limited in the spiritual dimension by one language and culture. I pledge allegiance to the damned human race, and my everlasting love to the green hills of Earth, and my intimations of glory to the singing stars, to the very end of space and time.

Edward Abbey, Confessions of a Barbarian

Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect. 

Chief Seattle