Stop the ride - I want to get off

Life is moving waaay too fast right now. I would even go so far as to say that its picking up speed as we go. How did this happen? Why is it like this?? How do we make it stop? I've talked to three different moms today who feel the same way. Everyone sounds so frantic and so scared. There is so much to worry about these days - suicides, drug overdoses, sexualized kids, bullying. Was it always like this? I think that, with the media coming at us in so many forms and so many different ways, we are overwhelmed and completely saturated with bad news. Scary news. It's no wonder we're all terrified and running off to get ourselves on anti-depressants!! It's as if we're on a speeding train that won't slow down. The only option is to jump off but that ain't much of an option. 

And what about the kids? What are we teaching them by running around in a million different directions looking panicked and unhappy? How many times a day do I say to my kids "I can't come and watch you (jump on the trampoline, climb the tree out front, do a stunt on your bike or look at a picture you drew) because I'm too busy. I have way too much to do. Or, we're running out the door (late) to get to someplace I usually don't want to go. Is that really living? I have made one decision to try to slow things down. I have chosen to not have my kids involved in extra-curricular activities. Really. I know that this is bucking the trend and I've actually had parents ask me why I would do such a thing. Like it's child abuse or something. I know, that for my family, adding on extra stuff is a step too far. It came to me last year as I was fighting with my son about going to swim practice. He didn't want to go. I had paid the money already and he was going. Then it occurred to me, as I was physically stuffing him into the car, that this was lunacy. Wasn't the whole swimming thing supposed to be for his enjoyment? And if he's not enjoying it (and neither was I at that moment) then what was the point? I'm not advocating raising a bunch of quitters who sign up for stuff then decide they don't want to do it anymore. I'm advocating that a 10 year old kid shouldn't have extra commitments that stress him out and make him cry. 

 But there doesn't seem to be a way to slow the rest of it down, short of running away Up North and living off the land in seclusion. That's something I might consider except there aren't any good restaurants, we'd be too far from the movie theater, the nearest grocery store is too far away and there might be bears. Plus, if we didn't have Internet access, I'd have to deal with Joe's withdrawal symptoms. See, more work for me! I want to go back to the 1950's. Ok, the 1950's minus the threat of nuclear war and having to wear heels and pearls to clean the house. I want to go back to a time when we didn't have all the technology that we have now and I didn't have to remind my husband not to call, text and/or answer email at the dinner table. A time when kids ran freely through neighborhoods, dads went to work, moms stayed home, dinner was on the table, and a lot more time was spent together. (To be fair, I wasn't alive during the 1950's so I could be way off on some of that but it sure sounds good to me.) So for all of you that are running to swim practice, youth group and Spanish class tonight, trying to figure out how to prepare a dinner at 3:00 that will still be good at 8:00 (when everyone gets home), I salute you. And I wish you rest. Or at least cancelled swim practice....

Halloween Fun

Well, we've done it again. We've hosted yet another Halloween party and given countless children some crazy nightmares that are not to be believed. It starts off  with food, a hayride and a bonfire.

Then things get dark. Really dark. Seriously, after seeing what Joe and his friends and family are capable of I'm totally sleeping with one eye open. Really, what kind of "normal" people do these things??

I try to keep it light so the children aren't completely terrified. I prattle on about how "It's all fake and just silly. The monsters won't get you, I promise." Still, the little ones are scared out of their minds and I usually don't even let them go on the trail at all if the "monsters" are present. The ten and eleven year old boys are another story altogether. They LOVE it. They LOVE to be scared to death!! My son's gaggle of friends walked the trail at least 5 times!! Maybe it's a Darwin thing, you have to test yourself and see if you can outrun the bad guys?

The trail was bigger and better than ever this year. Seriously first class stuff. It's pretty funny to see how things shake down when you have no idea what might happen. For instance, the teenage group that I thought would be super brave wouldn't even ENTER the building that housed the "Butcher Shop". They ran around it, through heavy brush and thorns, just so they wouldn't have to go inside. When the guy with the chainsaw came out, they shoved the only girl in the group toward him so they could get away. I swore that I sent three boys and a girl down the trail but all I could hear was high pitched screaming and it WASN'T the girl...

I sent my Mom, Aunt and cousin down the trail and then listened as they made their way along. There was a lot of jostling for position - mostly jostling out of the position of being in the back, front or sides, which doesn't leave much. I also learned later that my mother in law fell on the trail. I felt really bad about it until I heard that she was trying to run away from her SON (my brother in law) who was covered in fake blood and acting like a complete lunatic.

The "monsters" were fantastic this year. They were positioned where you'd least expected them and would jump out before you could see them coming. Joe's Dad was hiding behind a stationary ghost and just as you were walking by, thinking you were safe, he'd jump out and make this loud, crazy noise. We had at least two kids fall to their knees with that one.

Jamie was hiding on the outside of the Butcher Shop with a machete. Enough said.

My sister's husband, JC, was hiding outside of the black light house. You'd enter this house with florescent words spray painted all over it. Just as you were coming through, he'd start yelling "Get out of my house!!" and then he'd chase you down the trail. Good stuff.

Greg was positioned at the end of the trail in the campsite scene. You weren't quite sure what was going to happen until you heard the rustling in the weeds off to your right. Then Greg would come charging out of the underbrush and chase you until you couldn't run anymore (or you fell down).

The guys put so much effort into this whole thing and they really love it. At the end of the night, two girlfriends and I decided to get them back a little bit. We hid out at the campsite scene as they were all coming down the trail. We were not quite as professional as the guys so getting into position was not exactly well orchestrated. Still, we persevered and were able to scare the hell out of them as they rounded the corner. Awesome night!!

How I Spent My Birthday

Yesterday was a day for the record books. First and foremost it was my birthday – which made it a good day. Scheduling, being what it is these days, also made it the day that I had to take the pig to the vet to get castrated. Totally weird day.

I had to make A LOT of calls to get this pig thing figured out. I started with my goat/llama vet but he said he didn’t do work on pot-bellied pigs and that I should call another vet and so on and so on. I finally called a vet’s office in Saline (they specialize in exotic animals – not that a pig is exotic exactly…) and they were willing to do it. I was VERY clear on the phone about the whole deal. I said “I have a pot-bellied pig, he’s a rescue, so I don’t know a lot about him and I need to get him fixed. He is NOT a small pig – probably about 75 pounds. Can you do this?”

No problem, they said. My beloved sister, Susan, offered to help me get him to the vet’s office that morning. Susan showed up at my house, (wearing make-up, mind you) and we began the process of moving the pig. As I said, he’s not a small pig. Still, I completely underestimated his size by quite a bit. Phineas, in the cage, on the scale topped out at 165 lbs. Sue and I struggled, tugged, lugged and pulled (and almost got llama spit on us) before we finally got the cage and the pig in the car. Whew.

It’s kind of strange to be driving down the road in a minivan, listening to the radio, talking with my sister and hearing a pig making "pig noises" in the back. Honestly, I just never knew that my life was headed in quite this direction. Halfway there, the pig had to attend to “business” and the smell was not to be believed. The minivan will be never be the same. Bless Sue’s little heart.

We arrived at the vet’s office and I went into the lobby to tell them that we were there. The lady looked and me and said, “Ok, here’s a leash, you can just bring him in.” Uh, not so much. “I’ll be right back,” I said.

So Sue and I dragged this giant cage with this big (and totally freaked out) pig in it into the main lobby. No one knew what to think. The staff got all flustered and said, “Oh, my. That is a BIG pig.” Yup, just like I told you on the phone...

They took Phineas to the back and put Sue and I in a consultation room. The vet, interestingly enough, mistook Sue and I to be “life partners” (which is strange because we look a LOT alike) and was talking to us as though Phineas was the child we never had. “We’ll take very good care of him, he’ll be just fine”. Yeah, whatever, how much is this going to cost?

Then the vet broke it to me that she didn’t think Phineas was a pot bellied pig at all. In fact, she said, he looks more like one of the feral pigs you find in Florida. Oh. I asked if she thought he might be just a regular farm pig (because then we could just eat him and be done with it) but she said no, that she thought he was some strange mix of a few different breeds. Just another misfit for the Nowak menagerie.

Once we got the pig dropped off Susan was kind enough to take me out to lunch for my birthday, so that was nice. I’ll be totally honest and tell you that I did indeed enjoy an alcoholic beverage during that lunch. Wouldn't you? Seriously, it had been quite a morning and it was already after 12:00 pm so I figured it was ok.

I called the vet’s office back around 2:30 and said, “Hi, this is Julie Nowak and I’m calling about my pig. I'm just wondering how he’s doing.” Of all the things I thought I’d never say…

All went well and he was ready to be discharged home. Poor little piggy. Once we got him into his enclosure at home he was just about the happiest pig I’d ever seen. The llama was pretty darn happy to have him home too because he takes his caretaker responsibilies very seriously.

So now Phineas is a changed pig and hopefully it’s a change for the better. We’re hopeful that we can train him to do tricks (while NOT biting us) and to be a little bit nicer overall. Of course, he’s still a little angry about the whole deal so we’ll have to give him some time to reflect on that. ..

Teenage Angst

We went to a concert at the high school last night. It was actually a Pink Floyd cover band with a laser show to boot. Of course, I was a little hesitant to go because I kind of came "of age" in San Francisco and the Pink Floyd laser shows there were UNBELIEVABLE. Still, we figured that the kids wouldn't know any better and they might like it. They did. The lasers were cool and we got to wear 3D glasses which makes everything more fun.

The best part of the concert for me, however, was watching the row of teenage boys in front of us. It was fascinating!! There were probably 10-12 boys all in a row and, if you studied closely enough, you could figure out the social standing of each and every one of them based on their position in the row. At different points during the concert there was a lot of switching of seats and some moving around. The most critical point came when two girls arrived.

Two of the bravest boys moved forward to see what was what with this new "presence". I was able to follow the entire scenario based on body language alone. The boys jostled for position, then the girl made her choice. However, once chosen, the boy wasn't quite sure what to do about it. He got himself in position next to her and I waited to see if the arm went tentatively around her shoulders. (It didn't). The poor girl was giving him signals like crazy but he was SCARED TO DEATH.

Let me be clear about one thing. It was all very sweet and innocent. There was nothing untoward happening at all - just the usual high school boy/girl "stuff". As a matter of fact, all of the boys in the row were extremely well behaved and polite. And there were a LOT of them so that's saying something.

So this poor girl is giving off signals that could be picked up from outer space and the boy was really focused on the concert... Sort of. You could tell that he was aware he should be doing something, he just didn't know what that should be. At one point, the girl and her friends were messing around and they shoved her into his lap. The poor boy froze like a statue. It really was almost painful to watch. He was VERY careful not to touch her. At all. She was clearly inviting him to rest his hands on her waist or her shoulders or SOMETHING and he sat there like King Tut with his arms laid across his chest.

She gave up and returned to her seat beside him. He continued to talk with her and enjoy the concert beside her, rspectfully. I should also add that I know the boy. He's a friend of my nephew and he's a really good kid. The kind of kid that you want your kid to be friends with. Solid parents, solid values, nice kid. So I was kind of relieved when he didn't make any "moves". I felt like he bought himself a few more minutes of just being a kid and for that I was grateful.

We didn't stay until the end of the concert. Zoe was thirsty, Max was hungry and everyone was starting to whine. That's just where we are right now. Still, it was fun to witness and remember the drama of new relationships, young love and nervous confusion. So not ready to watch it with my kids!!!

Classic Julie, just classic.

It’s lucky for me that Joe and I were good friends long before we started dating. On our very first “official” date we decided to rent a movie at the local video store (Yes, I did say “video store” and yes, we probably rented a VHS movie). We had made our selection and we were walking out of the store when it happened. My long, flowing skirt got tangled in a cinder block that I didn’t see (because I was walking backwards – always a bad idea for someone like me) and I fell – I mean “*ss over apple-cart” fell. Down to the ground, skirt around my hips, legs kicking frantically trying to right myself. Can you even believe that he asked me out for a second date?

Now, no one would ever mistake me for someone who is graceful. I’m not one of those girls who took ballet from an early age and who learned to make everything look effortless and smooth. Quite the contrary actually. I trip and fall a lot. Plus, I bump into things a lot. I’ve always accepted this as a part of who I am though and I’ve usually muddled through with a few apologies and a lot of embarrassment. The other day, however, was just plain awful.

I’ve been making some changes in my job and have been given some additional responsibility that I’ve been excited to take on. I’ve been working hard to step up my professionalism and appear competent and responsible. I had a meeting with my boss the other day to discuss some of these additional responsibilities and that’s when the “bad thing” happened.

We were going to be making a phone call that might prove to be tricky. My boss was basically going to watch me try to deal with a difficult person to see how I handled it. I was good with that, I was ready. Right before the phone call, one of my papers fell to the floor.

Let me also clarify, because it just occurred to me, that I was wearing a skirt (stupid skirts). Not only that but I was wearing a skirt with knee high nylons because the skirt was really long (like you’ve never done it…). So when you’re wearing a skirt with any kind of nylons the skirt can sometimes cling to said nylons. Ok, on with the story.

I looked down at the paper and bent to pick it up. At that very moment, the chair (which was, sadly, on wheels) shot out from behind me and I was rocketed to the floor. I landed on all fours and just kind of froze.

My boss, probably bewildered by my sudden disappearance, leaned forward over her desk and said, “Are you ok?” Aside from dying a million deaths? Yup, I’m good. In the process of trying to get back up and get back into the chair, my stupid knee highs got all clingy with the skirt and, in essence, hobbled me. `

By the time I got it all figured out and made my way back to the chair my boss was just kind of looking at me. Was it pity or confusion? I couldn’t really tell, I just wanted to get the heck out of there. I think I have some shopping to do. For pants.

Are we still fighting about the tree?

I was over at my Dad’s house the other day and noticed that the tree I had planted on my beloved horse’s grave was dead. I was devastated. I knew that Dad had tried to protect the tree from the other horses, who loved to chew the bark off, but it appeared he had lost the fight. Let me just say that the horse buried under that tree, Cocoa Puff, was the love of my life. My best friend and confidant from the time I was ten years old. Was I a little overly emotional? You could say that.

When I got home I explained the situation to Joe (he had helped me plant the original tree) and told him that I wanted to plant a weeping willow on our property in honor of “Puff”. He said, and I quote, “Those trees do really well in swamps.” WHHHAT? This simple conversation took a sudden turn and morphed into an ugly altercation with me leading the charge.

“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Just stick my “stupid tree” off in the swamp somewhere so nobody can see it,” I fumed.

“Um, ok, where did you want to put it?” he said.

“I wanted to put it in the field where we will one day have a riding ring. It can be in the center of the ring so that we’ll have some shade while we’re watching the kids practice on their (currently imaginary) horses.” I said.

“I thought we were going to plant the pumpkins there,” he said.

Wrong answer. I WENT OFF. It went a little something like this… “You don’t even KNOW me at ALL!! How can you not know that, all my life, I’ve planned to have horses in the field and a riding ring and a barn? How can you NOT KNOW that? (At this point I paused for a breath and noticed his “deer in the headlights” stare which did nothing to slow me down.). So I want to plant a MEMORIAL tree for my BEST FRIEND (in the equine way) and YOU think that your stupid PUMPKINS are more important than that, don’t you? It’s just ALL ABOUT YOU, isn’t it? Why can’t you stop and think about someone else every once in a while? HUH? HUH?”

He took one careful step back and said, “Are we still fighting about the tree?”

No. We were not still fighting about the tree. To be fair, he never saw it coming and he didn’t stand a chance. I don’t get too riled up emotionally very often which might explain why it’s such a big deal when I do. It means I’ve been bottling up whatever I’m upset about for months and it’s going to take a while to get it all straight.

If I could offer some advice to the men out there it would be this. Pay attention every now and then. It doesn’t take a whole lot of time or effort to figure out why the person that you’ve chosen to spend your life with is freaking out. If he would’ve stepped forward and said, “Oh honey, I’m so sorry about Puff’s tree. We’ll plant a new one wherever you want,” the situation would have resolved on its own.

Granted, my wild flailing, gesturing, sarcasm and tears probably scared him a little and stepping in for a hug probably seemed risky and dangerous. Still, we women are unique and different creatures who have to be handled in very specific ways. There is an art to understanding your partner. Someone should offer classes….