"It's Friday & I'm In Love" Big Brother

There are absolutely no photographs that relate to today's post in any way, shape, or form. They are all from Picture Summer, which Erika and I are participating. Her username is {.erika.} and mine is jillapeno (long story, not worth the retelling). My photos are kinda derivative, but it's getting easier to take them. If you are participating, let us know!
 
It's no real secret that we are reality show whores. Rock of Love? Daisy of Love? Train wrecks, both, but train wrecks that we couldn't look away from. American Idol? For a long, long while, start to finish. The Amazing Race? This is the show that I want to be on. The Bachelor? A girl has her limits . . . but Joe Millionaire, whoa, that was priceless. There have been a few new reality shows that have jumped to the limelight recently (The Fabulous Beekman Boys, Tough Love AND Tough Love Couples) but none - not a single one - can hold a candle to our guilty pleasure: Big Brother.

If you started watching Big Brother from the word go, you may have stopped watching it that first season, and I really wouldn't have blamed you one little bit. The people were too honest, too earnest, too eager to please. Plus, the folks who went home were determined by a national vote. This might have worked in just about every other country, but for some reason, it didn't really gel well here. It was, truly, boring. But the following year . . . whoa! It was the year of Dr. Will and Mike Boogie and the word "showmance." You started to see people showing their true colors, people who were motivated by a big money payout and who did just about anything to stay in the game.

Last summer was Dramatic, which is very, very typical for the show. That "drama" might be why people turn in because sometimes our lives get a little boring. Sure the kids spice it up now and then, but lots of our days - mine, in particular - follow a pattern in the summer. Take Friday. Here is the schedule: laundry before the house gets too hot, dishes during the cycles, pizza for dinner, something that we taped on the DVR. Patterns? Hell, yes. But Big Brother? Escape from reality. I get to watch other people's lives from a safe distance, try and figure out how they can be so naive, and then sit back and watch it all unravel.

The "cast" was revealed last night, and there were a few things that bothered the hell out of me. First, there was a decided lack of ethnicity. It's a mistake, I think. I look at my friends, and we are pretty diverse. A second thing? Several cast members proclaiming themselves "certified genius" . . . dumb mistake, because the smartest people are usually the first to make a hasty exit. They always think they know the game and then make a rookie error. The final mistake: the goofballs. Where the hell are they? Yes, you had the requisite "boobalicious" chick and a blond-girl-who-wants-to-bond-with-the-stereotypical-gay-man-who-likes-the-hunk, but the goofballs are missing.

So this summer (and early fall), I'll be tuning into CBS on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, doing my best to avoid searching the blogs for some spoilers. I don't really know who the saboteur is (the big "expect the unexpected" this season) nor do I really have a favorite. I could do without the red head relying on her boobs to get some attention, but I like the deputy sheriff . . . she's 40. I have to stick with my age group.

Enjoy the weekend!

- Jill

PS - I would willingly go on The Amazing Race with Erika or about five other people. When they did a "family" edition, Dave and the Girls and I joked that our family would be referred to as the "Beep Family" since we would give CBS's censors a run for their money and probably break the budget on the beeps.

A Week of Non-Parenting

Sounds delicious, right?  I'm not sure when my MIL asked, "Erika, I'd love to keep Cooper for a week in the summer.  Would you be ok with that?"  But I do remember my reaction, "Hell yes!"  Ok.  Maybe it wasn't exactly "Hell yes" but it was in the same vain.  I didn't even take a second to ponder the fact that my then only baby would be over 2 hours away from me for a week.  Not a second to ponder how a two year-old would react.  Not a second to worry.  Within a second I became very selfish.  And I don't regret it for a second.

People are funny.  When the conversation starts, "My MIL is taking the boys for a week" I get the same response from most women.  First comes a "Wow"  & that's followed up with "Won't you miss them?"  Again, I don't need a second to formulate my response.  Sometimes afterwards I feel like I should say something to appease them.  Make them think I'm a loving & good mom.  Ease their worry for my kids when I walk out that door.  But I don't.  I don't need a second.  I always respond with a shocking, "No."  I know how that sounds.  Good Mama's don't say "No" that quickly & that passionately.  But it's true.  I don't miss them until the second that car pulls into our driveway.  When I see their little faces light up.  When I see them run to the door.  All that Missing that mothers think I should be feeling all week, slams into my heart within a second.  And all that Missing hurts hard when you take it like a shot.  Imagine the shot scene in Pulp Fiction.  But not painful enough to keep them home.

{Trust me.  I know that 5 year-old shouldn't be lighting smoke bombs with sparklers on a beer can.  I know}

But it still sounds horrible to hear.  And I know some mother's can't do it.  My SIL says she'd miss her girls too much.  I get it.  I do.  But I'm not that Mom.  Remember I'm selfish.  First, I miss the days when it was just Mark & I.  Children are more wonderful than I could ever imagine.  Seriously.  But to be extremely honest, it's nice to be alone with your husband.  No, we aren't running around the house naked all day & night!  But to just be with each other.  To linger in libraries.  To try new restaurants & not worry if the kids will eat what's on the menu.  To not worry about who's got the morning daycare trip & who's getting them in the evening.  We were a lot fun before kids & I like to relive that part of our lives.  See?  Selfish.

 

{He set this up all on his own.}

But I'm also selfish because I think they need that trip.  Even if I'd miss them so much that I'd turn into a puddle of goo, I'd ship them off.  They need to be away from my watchful eye.  Let a different watchful eye be concerned.  They use this time to experience they're grandparents.  To learn from them & about them.  They know that when they visit they'll eat Grandpa's favorite cereal all week.  They know that he'll let them help in the garden.  Sometimes Grandma takes them to her job & they'll get to mess around the art museum.  They know that they'll watch movies & eat candy at least 20 times a day.  They need the space to grow & absorb all that this world has offer.  And I'm not the only one capable of showing & shaping that vision.  There are a lot of people that love them & they should get the chance to show them the world they love.  Only they can present their version of the world.  One that isn't influenced with my thoughts & opinions.  My maternal grandmother showed us how to grow & make stuff.  My paternal grandmother showed us how art could be created anywhere.  I learned that this world was bigger than my home & community.   I know my kids don't understand this message yet.  And maybe they never will.  But selfishly I'll continue to shove in their faces summer after summer.  Not just because I like to see movies with my husband.  But because this world is big enough to let schedules, food choices, tv watching, game playing, bedtimes & my own Missing slip away for one week.  Sometimes I think it's good to be selfish.  And I'm taking a week of it.

-Erika

p.s. Jill, don't call me tonight.  We'll be watching a movie at Studio.  How nutty is it that the only movie they're playing is "Toy Story 3"?  That's not really fair, but I'll take it.

Might Have To Fry Me An Egg

Seriously, I just might have to test out that old theory that it's hot enough to fry and egg on the sidewalk. It could be so much worse . . . it could be humid. Most people that I know love summer, practically worshiping it. Me? Hate it with a passion . . . warmth like this is wasted on someone as pale as me. Cooking out yesterday was brutal, and eating on the deck was foolhardy, but we did it anyway.

Hope you all had a fabulous 4th of July! I'm pretty sure that Erika will have a new tree video up soon . . . as soon as Mark finishes editing it. Off to try to find some comfort in a cold, drink of water.

Jill

A Steep Learning Curve

A week ago, I noted that I had Photoshop Elements 2 and vowed to update my software that day, which I did not. I was bound and determined to buy the latest version, but Erika suggested Lightroom. The educator's discount made it manageable, so I did. One problem . . . I didn't submit the correct proof of being a teacher. Solvable . . . just submit it again. Another problem . . . you have to run it on an Intel processor computer. Solvable . . . I'll download it to my laptop and do it that way. Yet another problem . . . my laptop doesn't want to "recognize" my camera. Solvable . . . upload the photos to the desktop, then transfer them to my jump drive, and then to the laptop. Three problems, all solvable, but this shit is frustrating.

I figured that Lightroom would have a steep learning curve, and I was right. I kind of have the basics down about loading the presets and using them on my photos, but that's about it. Haven't figured out how to rename a photo or to make sure that it even saves. I guess that I will have to do a boatload of reading before I even feel marginally comfortable with it. So far, I like it, but I think that I'll have to withhold judgment until I really understand the concepts behind it.

Dave and I took Jordan and her boyfriend to see a baseball game in the Lehigh Valley last night. We had never been to Coca-Cola Park before and were pleasantly surprised by the seats, the food (roasted corn dipped in butter, Parmesan, and Old Bay), the beer, and the team. All in all, for less than tickets to the movies, we couldn't have asked for a better evening - and I even stayed for the fireworks, fingers jammed tightly in my ears.

Enjoy the 4th of July! We'll be replacing the wax seal around on the toilet . . . and hoping it stops the dripping. Otherwise, we might have to cross our legs through the holiday.

Jill

Edit . . . Dave, who might be getting a handy-dandy toolbelt for his birthday, fixed the toilet . . . and I am in love with him all over again. 

"It's Friday & I'm in Love" Fourth of July Christmas Trees.

Growing up there was one holiday in our house.  Christmas.  My mom loves everything about it.  She has one Christmas sweater to wear on each day of December.  Truth be told, she probably has enough to wear from the middle of November until New Year's Day.  I'm not a huge fan of Christmas.  I hate putting it up & I hate pulling it down.  My hatred has dwindle since having children, but I will never reach my Mother's fanatic love of Christmas.

When I met Mark, he introduced two "new" holidays: Halloween & Fourth of July.  I'd guess that Halloween is his big one.  Why?  Our basement & garage are stuffed full of severed heads, limbs, & hands.  Plastic ones, but severed & bloody.  We've got more Bucky skeletons than one house should own.  And I shouldn't even know what a "Bucky skeleton" is, but I do & I deal with it.  This is about the time of year that we begin whittling down our 2010 Halloween costume ideas.  I'm hoping he doesn't read this because he might start asking & I hate those conversation.  Sexy Alien chick & astronaut?  No.  Zombie Mom?  No.  Sexy garbage collector?  No.  You get it.  The kids get it too.  My all-time favorite daycare question came three years ago in September.  "Umm, Erika?  Cooper said, 'My Daddy has a bunch of dead guys in the basement.  Want to explain?" his teacher asked taking a few steps back.  "Oh.  Those are this year's decorations he's working on." I explained without thought or worry.  Without that embarrassment or second thought, it was that point when I knew Halloween was becoming our family's holiday.  I don't love it, but I've come to accept it.

Second "new" holiday was Fourth of July.  Growing up, we watched firework displays but that's where it stopped.  Jill hates fireworks, so we actually watched less than most families.  But I never felt slighted.  It was any other summer night.  Over 13 years ago, Mark asked if I wanted to go to his family's Fourth party.  Why not?  We were a couple & that's what couples do.  He warned me that this is their big one.  Explained some of the pranks from year's past.  Bottle rockets planted under chairs.  Bottle rockets in make-shift guns pointed at you. Plastic on top of the pool.  A group jumps in & whoever gets out the fastest, wins.  Wicks exposed.  Lighters in hands of babes.  Sparklers waved all day.  One year, they filled a balloon with hydrogen or helium or some bad explosive gas (don't ask how they get stuff.  They just do).  My FIL walks over & lights a make-shift wick.  When it exploded, the windows shook & my MIL ran to him.  It's folklore that my FIL was thrown into the air & had Nam flashbacks, but no one will confirm that one.  He doesn't like to talk about it.

By the time I showed up, it was tame.  Maybe one too many accidents.  Maybe the clan had matured.  But then my FIL had a grand idea.  His Christmas tree had been sitting in the garage all year.  It had died a thousand times over.  The hot sun could have set this thing on fire.  "Why not decorate it with firework 'ornaments' & set it on fire?" he thought.  And so they did.  Every year, a huge group carefully fills the tree with bottle rockets & other small trinkets.  It's always topped with a spinning star.  The adults supervise & the kids poke.  One year, we had two.  A line connected them & a plane powered by more fireworks set the second on fire.  The trees are always finished with a generous splashing of lighter fluid.  Mark has helped light a few of the trees.  I have visions of him trying to get it restarted (that always happens & is never safe) & a stray (aren't they all) bottle rocket hitting him in the eye.  We all sit back very far, but still I wonder if we're far enough.

Last year, was my favorite year.  My FIL put a lot of thought into the starting of the Fourth Tree.  He didn't tell anyone.  And when it was ready to go, he walked out in costume to send 2009's tree to Christmas Tree Heaven.  My BIL filmed it & Mark created a movie for the family.  A long time ago, I spent a lot of time explaining the tree: No they are a trashy family!  Ok, I get it.  It's kind of weird.  It's sort of safe.  It's fun.  I promise.  You just have to see it.  Because I've learned to embrace their Fourth too, I'll share.  Enjoy.  Because come Sunday, I'll be watching the real thing.  I know you're jealous.

They're much safer now. I've never seen the plastic wrap pool thing. They have a sparkler line with a huge bucket of water sitting near the adults. Babes don't have lighters & the bottle rocket launch-spot is designated.  Everyone brings chairs & a side dish.  You find a spot & sit with your family.  You catch up on everything between one Fourth of July to the current one.  The tree decorating begins.  Adults & kids get giddy about how this year's will go up.  Everyone gathers & you watch it burn.  Back to the circles of family.  More catch-up time.  And when sun starts to dip, you find the bug spray & move your spot.  Everyone gets ready & strangers start to show up.  The last sparkler is used & the Puppy Chow is passed out.  And then the Fireworks are carted out & become organized.  These aren't regular backyard fireworks.  No.  Mark's uncle is too dedicated for those pussy ones.  These are the real deal kind.  The kind you'd find in a community's display.  Or in a secret spot in the back of a tractor trailer located in a parking lot.  And just when you think it can't get any darker, they start.  Last year, Becks hated it.  And I'm not sure how it will go this year.  We'll use the 2010's Christmas tree as our measuring stick.  Someday he'll fall in love with it.  Because it's in his blood. 

Happy Fourth!  However you celebrate it, I hope it's safe & exciting.
-Erika.

When Thank You Isn't Enough

School ended two weeks ago, yet I found myself back in the classroom on Monday for a full day. I had been telling friends that I was attending Boot Camp, and they all looked at me like I had started speaking in tongues or something. "Boot Camp? Like push-ups and that shit and people screaming at you?" After explaining that it was a technology boot camp and we would be learning new educational technology implementation strategies and pretending not to notice when they yawned at the second word of that explanation, I started telling people that I was taking a summer class . . . because that didn't require any further words since I have always been a learner first and a teacher second. Put any nonfiction book in front of me, and I'll read it . . . and then tell you about it. See? Learner, teacher.

I think I've wanted to be a teacher my entire life. Sure, I wanted to be a nun for a year (stop laughing), but my first few teachers were all nuns. Then, after our sister Bridget was born premature, I wanted to be a neonatologist for the longest time . . . but honestly, I should have pursued teaching from the word go. It would have saved me years of trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I would have had an excuse for all the bookwormish behavior that I exhibit. Teaching was such a logical fit, but god, did I fight it for a long, long time. 

When the Girls entered kindergarten, I helped out at their school as much as I could and met so many dedicated teachers. They didn't ask for a lot, save maybe some books or left over craft supplies, but they changed more lives than they could ever know. I credit them with pushing me into the teaching profession. Later, when I worked as an instructional aide, the teachers with whom I worked on a daily basis provided more help, support, and knowledge than I ever learned in my coursework. I credit them with giving me the confidence and tools necessary to survive in a middle school. Now, as a teacher, I have the privilege of working with people who put kids first and everything else second. They willingly come in on a gorgeous summer day to learn new techniques because they want the best for their students. They put whatever politics are going around about teaching aside in favor of educating the kids sitting in front of them. I credit them with keeping me fresh, giving our students 110%, and never accepting that "good" is "good enough."

Teaching is in the news these days and not for the best of reasons. Teachers are greedy; they're overpaid; we only work ten months a year; if you can do, and if you can't teach . . . dare I continue? There has been a huge upsurge in homeschooling and cyberschooling recently, and I totally get why people would choose to go that route . . . honestly, I do. I can't read the paper without looking at some piece on how cutting education is our only hope for financial solvency. In a district about 20 miles from here, they cut 72 jobs, including all of their technology positions. Think about it. You use a computer and the Internet and so do your kids . . . who do you think knows more? In the past three days, I've learned more about technology integration than I had during most of the previous school year (I also learned I still hate group work, but that is a post for another time). Without a technology coach, I would be lost and floundering. I credit them with pushing me to be better than I ever could hope to be, helping when I am pretty sure that things have gone pear shaped.

- Jill,

PS - Clearly, I was creatively brain dead after this week . . . but I did sign up for Picture Summer  so maybe there is hope for me yet.

I'm a Big Old Cry Baby

{taken after watching "Jennifer Hudson: Behind the Music."  I cried from the second it started.}

I've always been a Cry Baby.  I came into this world with colic.  What a frustrating thing for a mother to deal with.  I know this because Cooper came into this world as a Cry Baby.  I doubt it was colic because the colic "medicine" didn't do a damn thing.  Our Ped said, "He's just not ready for this world yet."  Umm, thanks doc, but he's here.  But my crying never stopped.  At family meetings, I was the one that cried.  My parents weren't rude or extremely strict.  I just ended the meetings by crying.  I've never used my crying to manipulate, so I'm assuming that I cried because I wasn't being heard.  I'm sure that's what my adolescence self thought.  As an adult, I realize that's ridiculous.  I'm loud & passionate.  Therefore, I'm always heard.  I just didn't get my way.  Enter crying.

And still as an adult, I'm a crier.  I cry when things are sweet & happy.  Show me a scene that ends with someone finding long lost love, I'm crying.  Show me a scene with a baby running towards its Mama, I'm bawling.  Last night, I cried in the airport 3 times.  Time one, I finished "The Gift of the Ordinary Day"  Her oldest son went to college.  Cried.  Time two, a pilot was talking with his daughter about getting home to see her swim.  Cried.  Time three, I watched families greet incoming families.  Cried.  All but Cry One probably wasn't even noticed.  Cry One had to be noticed, but I don't care.  When I got to the last chapter, I almost decided to read it in a bathroom stall.  But I don't want to read a good book with people pooping.   I'm a cry baby & I embrace it. 

There's no good reason for my crying.  Just about anything will do it.  Pearl Jam's cover of "Last Kiss" got me every time I heard it while in college.  I've learned that there are certain movies I will never be able to watch.  "Saving Private Ryan" opened on a flag waving in the wind.  I started bawling.  Mark had to run out of the theater & steal a toilet paper roll for me.  I almost walked out of that movie.  When I was in my 20's, I tried to watch "E.T." a second time.  With salty tears & too much snot, I begged Mark to turn it off.  He did.  When they flash the baby pictures on "Intervention," I start sobbing.  Those pictures were taken when the parents were full of hope.  They couldn't see the darkness of addiction that would eventually rain down on those babies.  I cry.  I cry for the good & I cry for the bad.

You'd think after 30 some years of crying, I'd get good at it.  I know the emotion is coming, so I should be able to wrap it a pretty package of pity.  Nope.  I look so bad when I'm crying.  The emotion bubbles up & contorts my face into an emotional ball of grossness.  Years ago, I watched the  Britney Spears comeback interview.  She was asked some question & I saw it.  I saw her emotion creep up from her hands & then it made her beautiful face crack.  She's an ugly crier too.  Poor thing.  I guess if you could make it pretty, it wouldn't be true emotion.  But man I wish I could.  It might help ease the pain of crying in public.  It isn't a common thing & you'd think your body would take pity on you.  Nope.  I'm an ugly crier.  It's obvious.  It's almost like a vacuum is sucking up all the emotion in the room with a deafening sound.  Something happens on TV & Mark "hears".  He'll look over & say, "Oh shit."  I usually respond with a laugh & then more ugly crying.  I can't help it. 

You name something & I'll cry from it.  Go on.  Try.  Oscar acceptance speeches?  Cry.  Olympic gold medal ceremonies?  Cry.  "American Idol" montages?  Cry.  "Three Little Birds" song.  Cry.  The birth of my sons? 

Here's a strange one...  Not a tear.  Not one single tear.  See?  Deep down I'm a cold-hearted bitch.

Erika.