The Art of Threats and Bribes

I've been trying to get Evan to clean his room for, I don't know, months and months. He says he won't do it, he says it's his room and he knows where everything is. It's disgusting, though. Wrappers strewn about, an old science project growing mold in a petri dish. The thing that really irks me is that, for some reason, he can't keep a fitted sheet on his bed. The boy can work a computer, he can do all kinds of complex tasks but he seems to not be able to stretch some elastic over the corner of a bed. I tried to speak his language. I pleaded, can you pretend that the bed is an enemy soldier, and the fitted sheet is your weapon, and if you encase your enemy in the sheet you will win the battle?

Today he wanted to go to Games Workshop and I told him not until he cleaned his room. It worked. He cleaned for a few hours and I saw some real results. Observe:

Before:


After:


Parenting, it is the art of threats and bribes.

Solstice Skeleton

The presents are wrapped. It's Christmas Eve and I'm finishing up the night drinking wine and listening to Uncle Tupelo. We spent the evening at my dad's house. Me, my kids, my dad, my sister Cara and her husband Dan, and their two teenage daughters Koty and Kiley. We had a nice dinner--my dad grilled salmon and asparagus. I brought a mushroom galette and Cara brought cheesy potatoes and chocolate chip cookies.

I had given Cara my stethoscope to bead, and she made it all fancy for me for Christmas. It's awesome. I hope my clinical skills will be as dazzling as my stethoscope. If not, then I hope my stethoscope will serve to distract my patients from my incompetence. This picture does not do it justice, I'm going to try to get a better one.



My dad gave us typically tasteful gifts, plus some cash which is always welcome. A nice little sweetgrass basket, a harmony hollow cranberry plant knicknack, which was the kind of cute little botanical thing my mom was into, a fancy candle. He gave my sister and I these Minnesota Ojibwe dictionaries, so if any of you start talking Ojibwe smack to me I'm going to be able to look up what you're saying.

I gave my sister and dad handmade leather purses that I bought at the Shadow Art Fair. With Cara's I included a wine bottle vacuum sealer. In usual eerie fashion, it turned out that she had bought one of those for my dad as part of his gift. I didn't buy him one because he finishes any bottle of wine that he opens and I didn't think he'd start drinking less so he could vacuum seal it. Now we figure he can keep drinking more, maybe one and a half bottles and vacuum seal the rest. Cara and I are always doing weird synchronous things like that. One time near Christmas she called and I was making cranberry white chocolate oatmeal cookies, and at the same time she was making the same cookies for me. It wasn't like those cookies were some tradition, either, it was out of the blue. Freaky!

When we got home I got the kids straight to bed so I could get down to serious Santa work. It used to be that I would wrap presents in the basement while Gerry managed the kid situation, but last year I remember being really tired and just doing it in the living room. Luka had been told about the realities of Santa because I'm not going to lie if he asks me about it, but still he acted startled when he was faced with a half-hidden pile of gifts in the living room. He had been coughing all night, and had gagged himself into throwing up all over the place. So we had gifts to wrap, vomit to clean, and a kid that would not stop coughing. He ended up coughing all night long and there was no reprieve until I called for some narcotic cough syrup the next morning. It was awful. Anyway, I thought last year that we had established that I was Santa.

So this evening he kept getting up and I had to usher him out of the room several times. He started bawling and saying something about Santa not existing!! I was like--please!! He said, why did you say Santa existed. I told him that I am Santa, and that I do exist. I feel like I'm living Groundhog Day but it's Christmas instead.

With classes finishing up so late, I didn't get a chance to get a tree until right before Christmas so I said forget it. I just didn't have the time to go running around looking for one, so I bought some cedar garland in which to wrap our skeleton and Evan decorated that on the solstice. The cedar makes it look more tropical than I really like, but the cedar can burned when I'm done. Burning cedar smells really good, a fact that I am including here for my pyro readers.

Luka wasn't into the skeleton idea, so he decorated my little fake tree. Amongst the traditional decorations he hung some fondue forks he found in the kitchen. He put up a sign that directed Santa to put Luka's presents there.

Christmas morning. I think they made out pretty well. Evan got some Warhammer 40K, a soft and sparkly severed unicorn head, again from the Shadow Art Fair (which he said he LOVED), a holy toast stamp where you can press the image of the Virgin Mary into a piece of bread and then toast it. Luka got a gel ant farm colony, some sour cream and onion crickets to snack on, and some Beatles stuff. They both got IPods, books, maps, the movie HELP, the Wii game Big Brain Academy. When Luka opened that he stood there going hmmm... with a doubtful look on his face. I ordered--"look excited for Santa!" and he gave me the reaction that I was looking for, a little overkill actually. The kid is so opinionated.

I Think I Molted

Thanks to those who have offered up help and suggestions for winter semester childcare. I think I have the afterschool situation covered, and backups, and now all I need is the two early morning shifts covered but I have some leads to follow up on.

This past week has been interesting. On the day that my divorce was final, a knot developed in my center that I carried around for five days. It was the weirdest thing, as generally I'm not a gastro-stressy person. Then it disappeared. It just went away, and I felt great. Really great, like I've been carrying around this sublevel anxiety that was suddenly released. I have just as much to do, but it doesn't feel ominous anymore. Instead of this nebulous feeling that the things I have to do are a gray sky above that I'm trying to clear by making wind with my hands, they just became a canopy of fruit that needs to be picked and I can just reach up and grab it.

I feel like I gained Deep Understandings of Life, without reading any Chicken Soup for the Soul books. I can focus on schoolwork, but then feel okay about setting it aside for awhile to play games with the kids or laugh with Evan over hilarious headlines from his book of compilations from The Onion. Six Flags Killer Still at Large, Says Souvenir-Bedecked Police Officer.

I think I molted. Perhaps somewhere in the neighborhood my crunchy shell is lying amongst this year's shed leaves, unseen for the cloak of early snow.

It's Crunch Time

Oh my goodness. It's the end of the semester, holiday obligations are making themeselves known, and I need to line up winter semester childcare. Help!

Starting in January, until the end of April, I have clinicals starting at 7 a.m. on Wednesday and Thursday mornings at St. Joes and I need someone to help me with my kids. I would like someone to be here around 6:30, and the main thing would be to get my kids up, fed and off to school. My younger son (age 8) would need to be driven or walked by 8:30 a.m.

It also means that if there is a problem, if Luka is sick and I'm already gone, that the sitter would have to deal with it the best they can. They would have to make the calls to find someone to watch him, construct a velcro wall and stick him to it with some food and videos, or stay themselves...because attending clinicals is mandatory. They've assured us that if we miss a clinical, that those hours will have to be made up and they will find something even more evil than usual for us to do. And when you're talking human bodies...hoo boy, I don't even want to go there.

I will also need afterschool care on Mondays until 7 and Thursday and Fridays until 6:15. It wouldn't matter if it were my house or not.

So...are you interested or know anybody? Let me know and we'll talk money. Contact me at sfallis@sbcglobal.net

Or feel free to suggest places to go to recruit some help. EMU Childcare Institute is one place that's been mentioned, I have yet to do that.

Glad, where?

What a day. After a 6 month process, I showed up in court on my appointed day of today and then waited for what seemed like ages for a courtroom full of people to sign in. I then gave my testimony when called, which took about a minute, and I was done. I held up my right hand, swore in, and answered a battery of questions asked by my attorney with "yes yes yes yes yes yes yes". And now it's over.

Georgina accompanied me for moral support which was super fab of her because it was all pretty boring really. It could have been less boring if we could have knit, but we couldn't take our needles in. We talked about how strange it was to wait with all those people, all knowing that they're going through the same process. All these random people end up in this one spot on one day for the same reason. Like when you're waiting for a mammogram, and you know everyone there is going to get their boobs smooshed. Or when I saw an eating disorders psychologist years ago, and if there was someone waiting in the waiting room when I came out I felt like I had this automatic bond with them, that I knew that they were messed up, but I didn't know if they were throw-uppers, or anorexic or what. And I was curious about that. But your eyes don't even meet because that would be weird, because we wanted our screwed-upness to be anonymous. How things have changed, because here I am posting about it on my blog.

Now I just feel exhausted.

I got a message from the ex today that said that he was thinking about how the last time he told me he loved me, and that I told him that he only thinks he loves me. And he said maybe I was right.

What is love anyway.

I'm so tired, I can't even function right now. My dog keeps looking at me with concern. Or maybe she just wants to get fed. I think I've secured my dog's love with food, but that sure doesn't work with people. That's just a pile of empty gladware containers.

Jive Turkey

It's Thanksgiving weekend.

Our usual Thanksgiving gig was cancelled due to the stressiness of my aunt that would have hosted. My grandfather broke his hip and had surgery, and she's been the one helping her mother out and getting her back and forth to the hospital. When she called on Sunday to tell me, I was similarly stressy from the party that was shortly due to start at my own home to celebrate Luka's birthday. His birthday was the Sunday before but I just couldn't do it then, too much going on. So when my aunt called, I shrieked, "I know where you're comin' from sister!"

So the boys and I spent Thanksgiving at home, and I rather looked forward to it. I like to hang out with my family, but it's been so chaotic here that I was glad to be able to just come to a screeching halt for a second. I planned a beta-carotene Thanksgiving--I was going to make stuffed acorn squash with veggie sausage, smashed potatoes, turnips and baby carrots with faux chicken gravy, and carrot soup. For some reason I bought what seems like a bushel of baby carrots at Costco for Luka's b-day party and I have to use them up. I figured my kids wouldn't be thrilled with the pervasive carrot theme, but we all like fake meat. Boca makes good stuff, and so does Tofurkey. I don't really like their fake roast, but their sausage is good and I was going to chop up some of their Italian sausage to put in the squash.

Late afternoon, I took the boys to see Bee Movie. I am not a huge fan of going to the movie theater, and became less so when I had to fork over $21 for the three of us. I thought there was a discount for getting there early, but I think they were gouging us for the holidays. I brought my knitting and two little flashlights to knit by that turned out to have dead batteries, so for a good portion of the torturous movie I was holding up my knitting to be silhoutted against the screen so I could see what I was doing. We discussed the movie afterwards, and I taught them a new word--"formulaic".

I was starving by the time we left, too hungry to go home and cook the planned dinner that they probably wouldn't appreciate anyway, so we decided to search out an open restaurant. I figured our best bet was Asian, but Tuptim and DaLat weren't open. We stopped at Pita Pita and ate there. I'd been there before, but I never noticed how dirty it was. I took Luka to the bathroom, and started immediately telling him "don't touch that! don't touch that!" He grabbed the door handle before I could wrap it, and so I made him rewash his hands. I know from Microbiology what would grow on some agar if any door handle were swabbed and cultured, and normally I don't make a big deal about it but this place was gross! Then I noticed everything that needed to be cleaned and I started getting a headache thinking about how disgusting the kitchen might be. I guess that was kind of a depressing Thanksgiving dinner. We went home and had a nice time playing board games, though.

Yesterday I took the boys to their Grandma's and they're staying for two blissful nights. There is so much I want to get done, but unfortunately I discovered that the furnace wasn't kicking it out as it should. I had a heating and cooling dude out and found out that the fan is broke and it can't be replaced until Monday. Well, it could have if I coughed up an extra $100 because the supply house was closed for the holiday and they would charge extra to go open up. Thrifty as I am, I said nah, I'll wait. So it's currently 51 degrees, calm wind, barometer steady in my living room. When I was drinking coffee, I could see my breath. Now I just want to sit here swaddled on the couch, but I can't let some good freedom go to waste so here I go. I'm going to try to warm up this place with some cleaning energy and I suppose it's a good time as any to fire up the oven and cook that squash.

Turn 42, First Tattoo

I turned 42 last week.

Georgina threw me a party at her house, which was loads of fun. We ate delicious food, including a pesto pate thingie that was demolished and a roasted veggie soup that Brooke made. I know there was a can of Campbell's soup in there, and according to Brooke, that was the magic ingredient. Andy brought a cake that eventually was blazing on its entire top surface. We also demolished a case of Dark Corner.

I missed Julie, who didn't make it because she was sick. I guess the upside is, as I decided to wear something lowcut, at least she wasn't there to steal my boob thunder.

We danced! Thanks to Brooke and Shawn for providing the tunes, as well as entertaining us with their dance routines. A highlight of the evening was reenacting Tara's fourth grade dance routine to Devo's Whip It. We did that twice.

I also did double duty in the spanking machine. It was supposed to be a progressive spanking machine, although the first time it didn't work out that way so we redid it. I ended up with elbow burns since there was some low-clearance areas that required some elbow-shimmying. It was an all-ages spanking machine, and there were some young 'uns that were more challenging to get through. Our parties are family-friendly, after all.

I felt lucky to have such great friends to celebrate with. I am glad to have the vim and vigor to make it through a spanking machine. I hope to still go through spanking machines when I'm 82, truly.

The day after the party, I got my first tattoo. I met up with Leo Zulueta of Spiral Tattoo, and he proceeded to draw the design on my wrist. I had been into his place before and looked at this portfolio, and I loved the wrist tattoo that he had done on another woman. It's not his usual style. He is known for his work in tribal tattooing, the big bold Polynesian style tattoos. Another thing about Leo is that he draws the tattoo freehand, which apparently is unusual because a lot of tattoo artists use stencils. That's my understanding anyway, but like I said, this was my first one.

I spent a probably a total of three hours there, and I'd say that it took two hours to draw, and one to actually tattoo. Leo was meticulous, and kept redoing the art. Other than starting to feel a little hypoglycemic, I really enjoyed the whole process. Leo is very knowledgeable about the history of tattooing, and talked a lot about that. His partner, Diane, was there, a tattoo artist herself and photographer, and they were the cutest thing together. She oohed and aahed over my tattoo, and they smooched each other when they crossed paths, and he told me how she was his biggest supporter. He told me how he thought tattoos are a sort of rite of passage, and that those are missing in our society. He told me he thought the tattoo would help me, and how he knew they helped Diane. I asked her in what way, and she told me about how it's helped her claim her body and herself, no matter what society tells her is appropriate. She showed me something that she had framed on the wall, that was attributed to Nelson Mandela but when I looked it up I found that it was actually written by Marianne Williamson, and it goes like this:

"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some; it is in everyone. And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Other than the God stuff, I can relate.

I love my little tattoo. I like that I can see it, because I do think of it as a little ritual that is marking this time in my life. There are a lot of changes going on with me now, and it's kind of a hard time because I'm juggling a lot with home and school. I look at my tattoo, and I think--I can do it, I have to do it. I like that there was pain involved in the process. I like that the design is evocative of water and feathers, and that it encircles my wrist, one of the toughest parts of my body on one side, and one of the most vulnerable on the inside. The two dots on the inside represent my babies, and I didn't think of this at the time, but I think it's fitting that they are on the side where the skin is thinnest and you can see the vessels that carry my blood.