the prodigal emotion returns...

...and i'm hoping it's only here for a visit and not to stay.

i rushed out the house today because a. i wasn't carpooling and therefore had to get on the road immediately or miss that tiny window of no-traffic opportunity on the 10 freeway and b. i wanted to avoid the MIL. in the process, i breezed past a whiny, needy aly and a solicitous, wistful dylan in my haste to GET THE HELL OUT.

if it's not yet apparent, reason b was the primary reason for my mad dash for freedom. we've been at odds for the past 2 days now and, being women, we have perfected the art of civil silent treatment. i know i can keep this up indefinitely - our house is big enough - but the kids get caught inadvertently in the crossfire and that's what's bringing on the guilt.

stupid prodigal emotion. thought i'd gotten rid of it several lents ago.

anyhow, my levels of guilt are legion, but for the sake of brevity and because i have to let the kids in in less than 15 minutes, let me just highlight the most heart-piercing (although, oddly, also the most seemingly petty) incident of guilt inducement...

dylan has this routine where he stands in front of the garage door - or the front door, depending on which point of egress i choose that day - and seeing me off for work. he's done this since he was little, ostensibly to "watch my wheels go", but nowadays i wonder what goes on in his little man brain. he always looks so wistful, like he wants to go wherever i'm going but knows it's not possible. most times, we've gotten ready at the same time so he's dressed and primped and opens the car door for me, suffering a quick kiss on the head if the boys have come to pick me up and tolerating a hug when i drive myself. sometimes, i leave early and he's still in his underwear so he stops short of the driveway and just watches me leave for the day. regardless, he always expects me to roll down the window, call out "have a good day; i love you!" then give him a honk of the horn before i zoom off. (i've even trained the boys to give him the honk when they pick me up for carpool).

today, it was the same routine, albeit rushed because of the aforementioned reasons. nothing new. same old, same old. right? but dylan actually picked up my rolling cart so it would clear the threshold on my way out. and he actually hugged me back when i asked for one instead of impatiently standing there as is his wont. and when i told him it was GNO (girls' night out), he looked so crestfallen that i almost half-decided to call and cancel.

so, yeah. that's it. i pull out of the driveway and head out - yes, i honked - and it seemed very normal. but something was plucking at my heartstrings and when i examined it during the long drive alone to work, it articulated itself thusly: dylan is a boy. and he will outgrow his "momma's boy" phase soon, never to return to that simpler, sweeter place. in fact, i realize now that he's already been pulling away from me. it's been a gradual process, as most things are, but it's happening nonetheless. i told myself i was relieved that now it's "greg's turn" when dyl chose to hang with his dad instead of going to the mall with me, or happy that i got to spend uninterrupted "girl time" with aly. but in truth, i wasn't really happy or relieved - i was in denial, trying to bury the ache of losing my son under these less painful emotions.

when this particular epiphany hit - somewhere between the milliken and haven exits - i was crushed with the guilt of rushing out of the house without spending a few, precious moments savoring that hug or complimenting dyl's chivalrous lifting of my rolly cart. how many more times will this happen before he becomes too cool for mom? before he decides sleeping in is infinitely more rewarding than standing in front of the garage door, shivering in his underwear, to see me off? when will he become sullen and closed off and refuse "sleepovers" in his bedroll at the foot of our bed because that's for babies?

these questions may seem petty and premature, but can you blame me for trying to guard my heart from shattering? because it's inevitable, you know. a mother's curse. i can only hope that when it happens - the vanishing of my baby boy - i will be able to replace him gladly with the man i hope he becomes.

in preparation for going back to work

heartache comes cheaply

dylan lost his wallet today.  or perhaps it was yesterday.  regardless, we found out that he'd lost it today, so we mark the date as such.  he's currently sitting on the couch, drowning his sorrows in spongebob.  he told me that he "doesn't feel like talking right now because i'm sad.  maybe i'll feel better tomorrow and i'll talk then." 

this broke my heart just a little and i wanted so much to tell him that it was gonna be okay and that i'd replace his wallet and the money in it, but the teacher/lesson giver/miser in me rebelled against being his enabler and i stood firm.  i shook my head, said i was sorry, and left it at that.  i wonder if i did the right thing.

i don't want to fall into the habit of bailing my kids out.  i want them to learn - even if the hard way - that life isn't fair or easy, and that things won't be handed to them all the time.  but it's still tough for me to watch his sad, little face out of the corner of my eye. 

that's the mom in me, i guess.

sadly, i'm not just a mom.  i'm also a soriente.  and that means that i'm just as mad as i am sad.  i'm mad at dylan for being careless and irresponsible.  i'm furious at him for losing seven whole dollars.  i know, right?  seven bucks.  give the kid a break.  but seven dollars was half of the build-a-bear toy we were gonna buy tomorrow for our last "adventure thursday".  or it could've been seven toys from the dollar bin at target that i didn't need to buy the next time we went.  or it could've been candy or vending machine treats or slurpees or any of the other myriad things that tend to add up when i go out with the kids and which i've started making them pay me back for when i buy them. (that was a poorly-constructed sentence but i'm writing this on the sly - dylan keeps passing by now and looking over my shoulder - so forgive the lapse).

so, yeah.  i'm conflicted as hell and i feel like a terrible person.  but this, too, shall pass.  i know this.  and hopefully dylan'll learn to pay more attention and be more careful in the future.  and hopefully i'll be able to reassure myself that seven dollars now is a helluva lot cheaper than hundreds in the future.

you grow wise, young padawan...

i was gonna wax contemplative regarding that last harry potter flick, it being a seminal part of our common culture and being the end of said seminal part and all. but the longer i wait, the more removed i feel and to poke at it now would be tempting fate. (for those of you in the know, you'll remember that i tend to obsess and obsess *hard* over things - can we say "pearl harbor" and 1940s vintage clothing? - and i fear prodding the beast that is/was my HP obsession would be dooming my family to non-mommyhood).

instead, i give you a response to this post of mine by one of my best and brightest. introducing ciku gachiri, former student and current friend:

I just read your post and not only was it a delight to read but absolutely, positively, 100% correct. That's what Tumblr is. A long-form social networking site and by long form I mean it's merely a longer form of people's status bars on Facebook. It's not better, just longer. Your whole thing about punctuation, grammar, etc was also spot on. I was *just* having this conversation at work, actually. It drives me up the wall whenever I read misspellings and oh gawd, bad grammar. I even die a little when I read a typo because it's usually something that if read through JUST ONCE could be fixed! But hey, nobody rereads their work, right? I can't say I'm a saint when it comes to spelling, grammar, punctuation, etc. but at least I try. *At least* I reread through my work whether it be a text, a blog, an email or whatever. Yes, it takes me 10x longer than the average person to send something that should be "instant" (i.e. this very email) but I like to think the quality is a little higher than the average person's too. Though I must add, I'm a little obsessive. Lord knows how many times I've combed through past posts on my Blogspot to correct spelling and typos or change around sentences to make them sound better. It's not like anyone is going to go back and read them but it feels better once I do it. Like now, all is right with the world. Sigh. I blame my parents.

I just wish people cared a little more about what they sent out for the world to read. Now again, I have been guilty on numerous occasions (especially this past quarter in my creative writing class. Oh goodness...) of turning in assignments without having even skimmed through them. The main reason is lack of time (I save things until the last minute) but another strong reason is lack of caring. I didn't care. And I feel like most of society is the same. They don't care how it sounds, if anything is spelled wrong or if they used "effect" instead of "affect" but rather that you got the message. All that matters is that you get the gist of what the person is saying. I blame this on our "I want it now!" culture. For the most part, I love it! Who doesn't like dinner in 3 minutes thanks to the microwave or communication with an entire office in 1 minute thanks to email or being able to chat with a friend in 1 second thanks to texts? But for every good there is a bad and I think you're right, everything is only as good as the next tidbit or soundbite.

As creepy as Mr. Ruiz was (and perhaps still is) I remember him mentioning how when we type, we type with so many typos that are automatically corrected or revealed to us by that red squiggly line that when we write by hand we have the same number of typos, misspellings, etc. but never go back to change them. This left Mr. Ruiz with paper after paper ridden with errors and our generation with atrocious spelling that we think is alright. He then said he wished we had to use typewriters (like he's even old enough to have used one...) because with that, no typos/misspellings were allowed. If you made just one mistake, Bam! You had to rip out the paper and start all over again. His theory was that spelling was a lot better back then than it is now because of the typewriter and although at the time I just quickly nodded my head so he could leave us alone and stop berating my generation, after some time I couldn't help but agree with what he was saying. Because of this, I unfortunately do not believe writing will go back to the way it was.

Unless writing is confined to only the elites who have nothing but an ink pad and paper or even worse, stone to chisel, and all other forms of "showing" are erased (i.e. television, movies, pictures) writing for the masses will never again be beautifully detailed, elegant, and sanstypos. Could you imagine Shakespeare coming out with *any* of his work today? It'd be thrown out! "What's all this about comparing Juliet's beauty to a rose? Just say she's beautiful!" Not to mention no one would understand it. I know you know even the peasants understood his plays. Now writing for the masses is geared towards an 8th grade reading level and even that is a joke. Pole a sample of 8th graders and I'm sure we'd be disappointed at best by the results.

Maybe I'm just being pessimistic but I think writing is only going to get worse. That means people like you just have to continue writing the way you do and pray that it catches on. If not beautiful prose, at least we'd live in a world where slang in an email to a teacher was considered vile, thinking "puppy" was a verb led to jail time and writing using cApiTaL aNd lOwErCaSe LeTtErS aLoNg w1tH nUmb3rS caused a person to be ostracized by society and forced to live in Siberia or the Sahara desert where no one knew of their crime.

That Edwards is a world I would love to live in.

slacker mom confessionals

it's a balmy 77 degrees out. slight breeze. clear, blue skies. i have set my fold-out chair with attached fold-out canopy out in the driveway. my knitting basket is by me and i'm preparing to finish a few rounds while performing my dutiful mommy duty of watching my kids as they ride around on their bikes on the street.

about 40 stitches into my 4th row, i am regaled by stomping and pounding and a raising of voices that soon escalates into a full-blown screaming match. i'm counting stitches and i feel myself becoming irritated that i have to referee yet another fight between the kiddos, losing my count in the process.

then i remembered confessions of a slacker mom, a book i finished in the hour it took me to finally come down from my 2-shot frappucino high (3 o'clock in the morning, after having watched the midnight show of the last HP movie; more on that in a later post). and thus, thinking of the wise words of ms. mead-ferro, i simply sat in my fold-out chair, continued counting and knitting, and proceeded to let the little drama play itself out.

after not very long since the first angry remark, the two did indeed come running up to me, their little tattletale faces at the ready. i shook my head curtly and commanded them to "work things out" without looking up from my knitting. what followed next was a 20-minute exchange that i wish i could've captured with the school ipad. it was an oscar-worthy performance on both parts - every word fraught with righteous wrath, every inflection laced with outrage. as i listened, i was filled half with amusement and half with awe - sure, my children were screaming at the top of their lungs but it was what they were screaming at each other that was amazing. they sounded like two little adults, slinging well-articulated, SAT vocabulary-riddled sentences at each other like seasoned politicians. aly was using the power of pathos, invoking her hurt feelings; dylan was throwing around ethos, stating he needed to be listened to as the older brother. soon the two of them were at it with the logos of children, going back and forth with "well, you do this!" and "you do that too!" but they were still being very intelligent and logical about their arguments. it made my english major soul proud, i tell ya.

but it wasn't the precocious use of language that awed me. it was the end result. after 20 minutes of being banshees, my kids worked it out. all on their own. i'm not kidding. they hugged each other - gasp! - swore they'd never fight again, then came to me to announce their resolution with very sincere, determined expressions. sure, it took 20 minutes. sure, the whole neighborhood heard our business. sure, i probably looked like the most neglectful mother, just serenely sitting in a chair and knitting while world war three broke loose around me. but waiting paid off. i didn't have to raise my voice. i didn't have to worry about taking sides or hurting one or the other's feelings by doing so. i didn't have to stop what i was doing. the kids regulated themselves. i was practicing the art of slacker mom-hood, and whaddaya know? it worked.

i'm glad my MIL and my husband weren't around. it wouldn't have worked had they been because they wouldn't have let it go on for as long as i did; they would've interfered at the first sign of an altercation. at the risk of sounding judgy, i have to say that perhaps this iron-fisted, traditional, "grown ups know best" approach may not be the best solution all the time. it seems like it requires a lot of energy and effort on the grown ups' part, and it takes away the responsibility and problem solving ability away from the very people who should be owning up to both.

i dunno. to each his own. and i'm sure the mommies that read my blog will have loads to say about this. but damn if i don't feel energized and invigorated and proud of what i'd just witnessed. this slacker mom business may just revolutionize life for the edwards clan. at the very least, i'll be able to finish tons of knitting projects.

the undeniability of a disposable society

today, i declare that i officially have long hair. i've been in denial for quite some time, having always been a short bob cut gal all my life. oh, sure, i've had brief flings with shoulder length do's but nothing ever past grazing my collarbone for me.

then i met and married the hubby whose idea of a soothing bedtime activity is grabbing a hank of my hair and twirling it until he falls asleep. couple that with my inherent laziness and throw in a scroogishness when it comes to non-material things like haircuts, et voila! long ass hair that is two inches past my bra strap and gets in the way whenever i drive.

do i sound slightly bitter? perhaps. it's difficult surrendering what i thought was quintessentially me - my bob was veddy asian and made me look like an anime character. win! - for the sake of marital bliss. [this is where i'd be inserting a pic of me with short hair, but all those predate the digital age and i can't be arsed to scan and save any at the mo'.]

however, my "commitment" to long hair - a patient, years-long investment - has got me thinking about the state of our society today. forget for a moment important, thought-provoking information a la the story of stuff (although here's a sneak peek at the 21-minute video that chipped away a little bit of my consumerist lifestyle):



i'm talking about something as simple and seemingly petty as blogging. remember ye old days of livejournal? yeah, probably not. but i do. and it was amazing. here was a community of folks who were brave or stupid or exhibitionistic (is that even a word?) enough to bare their souls for all the world to see and comment on. don't get me wrong; a lot of the journals out there were crap - angsty rumblings of a disaffected culture made powerful by the instantaneous notoriety of the written word. but at least people were writing, investing time and energy and thought into what was, in essence, a public show of self.

but in the search for quicker, faster, more, more, more (and i attribute this to consumerism and capitalism and misplaced ambition), blogging evolved into social networking, where the exhibitionist element was still alive and thriving but what was left on the wayside like spat-out flavorless gum was the depth and passion and sincerity of *thought*.

we've become such an impatient thoughtless society. we don't take the time to take an idea, turn it over and examine all its facets slowly and deeply. instead we chuck it out there for all the world to see in its half-baked, unformed glory. we want to be the first to say it, the first to post it, the first to tweet it. never mind that we lack proper grammar or spelling or punctuation. never mind that we've discarded politeness in our haste to word vomit. never mind that one-liners and emoticons and acronyms have infiltrated even the most hallowed halls of academia. it's all only as good as the next tidbit or soundbite. it's all disposable anyway, right?

this mentality not only breeds superficiality, it breeds laziness as well. case in point: tumblr. i tried one the other year when everyone was grinning smugly about this next best thing. but it confounded me. it seemed the interface was all about following other people's tumblrs and "reblogging". well, score one for literacy because at least it was compelling people to read others' writing, right? well, not really. what most people seemed to be reblogging were pictures and quotes and youtube videos. here i was, trying to set up a tumblr where i could post chapters of my fiction, and i could barely fit a paragraph onto a page before i was unceremoniously kicked off. (ok, that may be an exaggeration, but you get my point). now, to give it the benefit of the dount, perhaps i was just being an ignorant luddite and i just needed a good wiki to guide me through the whole tumblr process, but it still got me thinking about this whole quicker/faster way of life.

it's a wonder i manage to keep my sanity as a teacher of english. i beg and beseech my students that the most vital part of writing is the revision: the pausing and perusing and evaluating of one's words, the manipulation of said words into elegant, articulate, persuasive prose. but no one listens. it takes too long. it's too much work. too much effort. who bothers to read something so long anyway? how many sentences minimum can i get away with to make a paragraph anyway?

sigh.

are we ever going to go back? will the tide ever turn? they say that all things are like a pendulum: wait long enough and everything eventually swings back to the way they were. i can only hope it happens in my lifetime. but while i wait for that day, i'll stick to my blog and politely refuse tumblr, thank you very much.

(and btw, congratulations! all those words and you still made it down this far! there *is* hope for our society after all!)