Friday, June 30, 2006
Empty Nest Syndrome
As of yesterday evening, my wife and I are empty-nesters. I drove Garrett to the airport, where he left for Warsaw for 5 days, and thence to Israel. Meanwhile, Alice drove the twins to sleepaway camp. While packing Wednesday, we decided we would have dinner together that night. I had always imagined being overjoyed at being "on our own" again, and hadn't really understood the empty-nest syndrome, but thinking about our special last supper as a family made me sad and actually brought a tear to my eye. There must be a special parent gene triggered by children leaving home. It wasn't to be a happy vacation after all. I was actually sad. I'd miss my kids.
Reality check: Dinner (at the Taquería México) was the usual affair of listening to Eliana tell endless unfunny jokes and riddles (an intelligible form of yabbering), Katie and Ellie squabbling, both girls trying to climb into their mother's lap while she was eating, and finally Katie, from that lap, leaning over and putting her head against Garrett in an attempt to show and receive affection, while Garrett suggested he might be more affectionate if she didn't head-butt him. The memory of the delicious nachos con todo w/chorizo, and my excellent Fiesta plate, which has a chicken enchilada w/ green sauce, a barbeque flauta, and a quesadilla, overwhelms me as I write this. Yum! Ellie didn't want to go because she doesn't like the food there, but I suggested she get Mexican rice and a plain carnitas taco, and when I asked her how she like the taco, she gave me a big thumbs up! She didn't even blather endlessly about it because her mouth was full. Katie became too full to eat any of her quesadilla or finish her chorizo taco, because she has learned to like nachos. The food was better than the nostalgic emotional expectations of our last supper together. I didn't shed any tears during the meal.
Now I have time to make blog posts, and worry incessently about whether I packed warm enough clothes for the girls to survive the bitterly cold summer we are having. Alice misses the girls so much she regrets sending them. I don't regret sending them, but I sure hope it warms up, because I'm worried nonstop. I'd rather be worrying about them schvitzing to death.
Ellie didn't seem to worry about going, only said goodbye once, and was off to camp for a certain fun time. Katie suffers from anxiety and worried about going and waved all the way out the driveway after multiple goodbyes. She will probably hate it for the first week. I'm not worried about Garrett. He's having a blast, I'm sure.
As of yesterday evening, my wife and I are empty-nesters. I drove Garrett to the airport, where he left for Warsaw for 5 days, and thence to Israel. Meanwhile, Alice drove the twins to sleepaway camp. While packing Wednesday, we decided we would have dinner together that night. I had always imagined being overjoyed at being "on our own" again, and hadn't really understood the empty-nest syndrome, but thinking about our special last supper as a family made me sad and actually brought a tear to my eye. There must be a special parent gene triggered by children leaving home. It wasn't to be a happy vacation after all. I was actually sad. I'd miss my kids.
Reality check: Dinner (at the Taquería México) was the usual affair of listening to Eliana tell endless unfunny jokes and riddles (an intelligible form of yabbering), Katie and Ellie squabbling, both girls trying to climb into their mother's lap while she was eating, and finally Katie, from that lap, leaning over and putting her head against Garrett in an attempt to show and receive affection, while Garrett suggested he might be more affectionate if she didn't head-butt him. The memory of the delicious nachos con todo w/chorizo, and my excellent Fiesta plate, which has a chicken enchilada w/ green sauce, a barbeque flauta, and a quesadilla, overwhelms me as I write this. Yum! Ellie didn't want to go because she doesn't like the food there, but I suggested she get Mexican rice and a plain carnitas taco, and when I asked her how she like the taco, she gave me a big thumbs up! She didn't even blather endlessly about it because her mouth was full. Katie became too full to eat any of her quesadilla or finish her chorizo taco, because she has learned to like nachos. The food was better than the nostalgic emotional expectations of our last supper together. I didn't shed any tears during the meal.
Now I have time to make blog posts, and worry incessently about whether I packed warm enough clothes for the girls to survive the bitterly cold summer we are having. Alice misses the girls so much she regrets sending them. I don't regret sending them, but I sure hope it warms up, because I'm worried nonstop. I'd rather be worrying about them schvitzing to death.
Ellie didn't seem to worry about going, only said goodbye once, and was off to camp for a certain fun time. Katie suffers from anxiety and worried about going and waved all the way out the driveway after multiple goodbyes. She will probably hate it for the first week. I'm not worried about Garrett. He's having a blast, I'm sure.
Lost in Kids: My Dinner with Raphael
Our family were dinner guests at someone's house last week. I was sitting in the middle, with the adults on my right, and the kids across from me and on my left. Kids can be pretty loud, so I was having trouble following the adult conversation. The young child on my left, who I had somehow managed to not yet meet, was blathering endlessly. "Blah blah styrofoam bones blah blah." I turned to listen and he was looking at me and continued, "Hep wop hammer and blah blah blah. It was fun."
"Are you talking to me?" I asked.
"Yeah. We all did it. Blah blah blah and then blah the bones came out. It was fun."
"Are you speaking in English?" I asked. (This is a favorite question of mine to kids I can't understand.)
"Yes. Hitting the blah blah and all the dirt rarch dun blah blah was fun."
I have a daughter who can pratter on nonstop (and I do mean the entire day) and I have developed the ability to just turn off the ears. Or rather, I don't have the ability to keep my ears on after a while. I've watched others attempt to understand her and asked afterwards if it made sense, and usually they say it did not, so I haven't felt it necessary to train myself to listen to endless streams of incomprehensible nonsense. However, I thought this was an opportunity to be lost in kids, so instead I paid attention and asked, "Are you making any sense?"
"Yeah. The best part was pulling out the styrofoam bones."
"Styrofoam bones?" I asked incredulously.
"No, dinosaur bones. We hit 'em with a hammer to get the dirt off."
"You hit dinosaur bones with a hammer? Do you mean you were digging them out of dirt?"
"Yeah. We dug out an entire stegosaurus. Well, not an actual stegosaurus, but the bones like you see in a musem. They dig those out of the ground just like we did. It was fun."
"You dug up an entire whole stegosaurus out of the ground?"
"Yup. We dug it out by hitting the dirt with a hammer. Well, not hitting hard because you can hurt the bones. It wasn't actually a hammer. It was one of those pointy things for digging."
"You mean a pick?"
"No. One of those things you use like a hammer but has a point on it."
"Yeah. That's called a 'pick'."
"Oh, OK. Anyway, we'd hit the dirt with the hammer and knock it all apart and then pull out the dinosaur bones and carefully wipe off the dirt. The whole class did it together. It was fun. Well, not everyone. The teacher didn't do it."
"You mean at school everyone dug dinosaur bones out of the ground? Were these real dinosaur bones?"
"No. They were made of plastic. We just were digging them out of the dirt. I don't think it was real dirt, either. And it wasn't in the ground. It was a big block of dirt with the stegosaurus inside. We'd hit it with the hammer and pull out the bones. It was fun."
"OK. I can believe this now. By the way, we haven't met. My name's Jack. What's yours?"
"Raphael."
"Hi Raphael. Do you spell that with a "PH" or an "F"?"
"With a 'PH'. 'PH' makes a sound just like an 'F'."
"Uh, yeah, I know. That's why I asked. Hey! That's just like that ninja turtle who uses the, uh, a tsai, or no," my memory of that nonsense from my older son is seriously fading, and Raphael didn't seem willing to help me out, "um, I don't remember. You know the ninja turtles?"
"No."
"Oh they don't have ninja turtles anymore?"
"Yeah. There's a turtle named Raphael, just like me."
Our family were dinner guests at someone's house last week. I was sitting in the middle, with the adults on my right, and the kids across from me and on my left. Kids can be pretty loud, so I was having trouble following the adult conversation. The young child on my left, who I had somehow managed to not yet meet, was blathering endlessly. "Blah blah styrofoam bones blah blah." I turned to listen and he was looking at me and continued, "Hep wop hammer and blah blah blah. It was fun."
"Are you talking to me?" I asked.
"Yeah. We all did it. Blah blah blah and then blah the bones came out. It was fun."
"Are you speaking in English?" I asked. (This is a favorite question of mine to kids I can't understand.)
"Yes. Hitting the blah blah and all the dirt rarch dun blah blah was fun."
I have a daughter who can pratter on nonstop (and I do mean the entire day) and I have developed the ability to just turn off the ears. Or rather, I don't have the ability to keep my ears on after a while. I've watched others attempt to understand her and asked afterwards if it made sense, and usually they say it did not, so I haven't felt it necessary to train myself to listen to endless streams of incomprehensible nonsense. However, I thought this was an opportunity to be lost in kids, so instead I paid attention and asked, "Are you making any sense?"
"Yeah. The best part was pulling out the styrofoam bones."
"Styrofoam bones?" I asked incredulously.
"No, dinosaur bones. We hit 'em with a hammer to get the dirt off."
"You hit dinosaur bones with a hammer? Do you mean you were digging them out of dirt?"
"Yeah. We dug out an entire stegosaurus. Well, not an actual stegosaurus, but the bones like you see in a musem. They dig those out of the ground just like we did. It was fun."
"You dug up an entire whole stegosaurus out of the ground?"
"Yup. We dug it out by hitting the dirt with a hammer. Well, not hitting hard because you can hurt the bones. It wasn't actually a hammer. It was one of those pointy things for digging."
"You mean a pick?"
"No. One of those things you use like a hammer but has a point on it."
"Yeah. That's called a 'pick'."
"Oh, OK. Anyway, we'd hit the dirt with the hammer and knock it all apart and then pull out the dinosaur bones and carefully wipe off the dirt. The whole class did it together. It was fun. Well, not everyone. The teacher didn't do it."
"You mean at school everyone dug dinosaur bones out of the ground? Were these real dinosaur bones?"
"No. They were made of plastic. We just were digging them out of the dirt. I don't think it was real dirt, either. And it wasn't in the ground. It was a big block of dirt with the stegosaurus inside. We'd hit it with the hammer and pull out the bones. It was fun."
"OK. I can believe this now. By the way, we haven't met. My name's Jack. What's yours?"
"Raphael."
"Hi Raphael. Do you spell that with a "PH" or an "F"?"
"With a 'PH'. 'PH' makes a sound just like an 'F'."
"Uh, yeah, I know. That's why I asked. Hey! That's just like that ninja turtle who uses the, uh, a tsai, or no," my memory of that nonsense from my older son is seriously fading, and Raphael didn't seem willing to help me out, "um, I don't remember. You know the ninja turtles?"
"No."
"Oh they don't have ninja turtles anymore?"
"Yeah. There's a turtle named Raphael, just like me."
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Dead from Exhaustion
Our ants died. The instructions claim they only need a pinhead sized piece of food every eight days, but I'm wondering if they maybe meant for each ant. Or maybe they want us to buy more ants. They did finally cash the check for $4. What's the life span of an ant, anyway? A good part of theirs was used up waiting for the P.O. and shipping.
The mound being built to the escape hatch was promptly relocated over the farmhouse. I took this picture the next day after they had moved the mound over the barn.
Maybe most of them were crushed in collapsing tunnels as insufficient sand remained in the bottom to support the vast network. They have finally taken a long rest.
Next: Patio ants! Or maybe I'll gather a few carpenter ants before the exterminator gets here.
Our ants died. The instructions claim they only need a pinhead sized piece of food every eight days, but I'm wondering if they maybe meant for each ant. Or maybe they want us to buy more ants. They did finally cash the check for $4. What's the life span of an ant, anyway? A good part of theirs was used up waiting for the P.O. and shipping.
The mound being built to the escape hatch was promptly relocated over the farmhouse. I took this picture the next day after they had moved the mound over the barn.
Maybe most of them were crushed in collapsing tunnels as insufficient sand remained in the bottom to support the vast network. They have finally taken a long rest.Next: Patio ants! Or maybe I'll gather a few carpenter ants before the exterminator gets here.
