Box o' Rocks

My goofy dog, Baci, is scheduled to take a training class on Friday evenings starting this week. I registered him for the basic class, even though he's already good at all that stuff, to try and build up his confidence by surrounding him with other, mostly younger, dogs. He's already had some unpleasant experiences with other dogs, having been attacked by another dog at our home about a month ago, and also in his last class, which let in too many shelter-adoptees who were completely unsocialized and all growled whenever another dog came near. Having had dogs all my life, I feel that a dog who is afraid of other animals is a danger to itself and others, so I really want him to have some positive experiences pronto.

I was looking forward to starting this class until I got a call from the trainer this afternoon. Petsmart won't allow me to use his pin collar in class. The brochure said nothing about restrictions, and PS sells that style of collar. His last class (at a private place) was the same way. I'm really frustrated that I can't equip my dog in the way I know he needs to be equipped. He's 88lbs, but only just turned a year old, and as a lab his puppyhood won't end for another six months so he's VERY boisterous. I've tried flat collars, gentle leaders (which he ingeniously has figured out how to get out of every time - all he has to do is yawn, which stretches out the part that goes around his muzzle, and then yank his head back quickly while closing his mouth -that leaves him with only the slim neck collar on, and that's completely insufficient), clicker training on lead, treat training on lead, everything. Finally, after not even wanting to leave the house with him because he's so excitable after all my efforts, I went out and got a pin collar (or pinch collar, they're sometimes called), which is what I'm trained all my other dogs on. Within five minutes, he was like, 'OH! You meant THAT heel! Pardon me!', and in the past two weeks he's been everywhere, including pick up Patrick at prek where other little kids were crawling all over him, and been calm as could be.

Apparently, the whole dog training theology has shifted in the past few years since I've had a new dog to train, and these collars are now considered mean. My thought is, some kids need some forms of discipline, and other kids need a firmer hand, and it's the same with dogs. Baci has a huge neck with a lot of loose skin, so I can't even tighten a flat collar on him without bunching it all up, whereas the pin collar is loose on him and his many folds until he really pulls in any direction. Obviously, I know that these types of collars can be misused, but they were invented for a reason, and that reason is a 90lb lab puppy who WANTS THAT BIRD ACROSS THE STREET. NOW. I've never had a dog so much as whimper with one of these, primarily because they're self-correcting - dog pulls, collar tightens, dog stops. Generally, the first time they pull hard is the last time, and ever afterwards the collar sits loose on their necks. With my other labs, I've been able to stop using it once they've firmly entered mental adulthood at around three years, and just gone to the plain slip-on style without the prongs.

So, now I'm annoyed that I have to go to this class underarmed to cope with my boisterous baby. Hopefully all the other dogs will be friendly, and he'll get the idea that it's a good thing to see other dogs and not a scary one. Maybe there will be a miracle and he'll have seen the light as far as pulling goes, but somehow I doubt it. When it comes to focusing outside the house, he's definitely a box of rocks mentally. The one good thing is that she said he can wear it, but his leash can't be attached to it, so maybe the weight of having it on will be enough to remind him that just because he's out somewhere exciting there's still no reason to drag mommy like a sled down the aisles of Petsmart.

OK, let the hate mail regarding pin collars begin *covering head with blanket*.

Funky Town

Man, am I in a Funk.

I don't mean, as in 'funky'. I would love to be funky, it sounds fun and happy and, dare I say, hip. But funky is something I am DEFINITELY not.

These past few days, I have barely been able to function and participate in society in a remotely positive manner. The poor kids, I'm trying not to just freak out on them, but unfortunately, if you look up 'being in a funk' in the dictionary, I'm pretty sure you don't see a parenting award sticker placed next to it. I think it's more like a warning label. Or maybe one of those Mr. Ick stickers.

I'm not quite sure what's even wrong with me, to tell you the truth. Maybe it's the fact that I just had my period, and I figured out that I still have at least ten more years of the friggin thing, which calculates out to being something like 600 days o' cramps. O. M. G. That's a LOT of zits that are coming my way. (Why am I still getting zits?! It was a cruel joke played upon us all that acne stops when you're a grown-up!)

Maybe it's that I'm getting that in-between feeling that I always get when we're about to move, kind of like I don't really belong Here anymore, but There isn't home yet, either. I'm not upset about moving anymore, and actually I'm kind of looking forward to it, but it's still unsettling enough to endorse a Funk, I suppose.

Not to mention, this morning, I was pinned in my driveway for two solid cycles of the stoplight that's near our house, because everyone in town seemed to have a burning need to hurry up and wait at the light rather than let me out of my house. Nothing inspires the Crazy Lady in me more than sitting in my driveway watching some Drama Queen yak on the phone and pretend not to see me watching her in my rearview mirror! Watching isn't really the word... plotting her demise is more like it. When that happens, I have a total Ally McBeal moment and imagine myself slamming into reverse and WHAM! Cell phone is permanently lodged in her ear! (Hell, she should be grateful - it would get her hands-free, after all.)

I also think that Funkiness is something you can catch, and in turn pass on. I've been noticing that there seem to be a lot of Funkified people out there lately, so I probably got contaminated somehow, like while standing in line at the library (has anyone else noticed that the vast preponderance of librarians seem to really not like kids, or even people, all that much? What is that?!!!) listening to the woman at the desk hiss at some poor kid who was talking to his sister too loudly.

I'm doing a lot of reading and video game playing to try and trick myself out of all this, but really I think it all comes down to a Vitamin D deficiency, the kind that can only be fixed by the S-U-N. I thought I was going to like this early clock change bit, but so far all it's done is show me more of the cold daytime I can't go out and enjoy!

Boy, In His Natural Environment - Observe!

Today I took Patrick to his annual visit at the Child Development Lab at the University of Maryland. Since he was two, he's been part of a study on child interaction.

I enjoy taking him to these things as much as I loved taking personality tests when I was a kid - which is to say, a lot. It's a chance to see kids in their natural environment, as they would be (and, I assume, are) when there are no adults around, because their play takes place in a two-way-mirrored room that is also shown on a closed-circuit TV that the other mom and I watch from next door. I'm always nervous, although less so this year than when he was going through his Running Man Tantrum phase at around two, that he'll behave in a way that will expose me as a slovenly, overly permissive fraud of a mother who shouldn't even be allowed to take her child home.

Until this year, the kids always did the same thing: free play, restraint testing (to see whether they would hold off on doing something until the student came back into the room, haha), following directions, snack, and individual interviews to see how they described their time there.

Today, they had a little bit of free play, during which the other mom and I had to fill out a mountain of questionnaire paperwork. I had to rate Patrick's levels of spontaneousness, nervousness, outgoingness, etc. Just when I got to the one about whether or not he was concerned about engaging in play where he might get hurt, he and his little friend Tom began that Run At the Wall and Bounce game, where each child in turn hurtles at the wall (which in this case was made of glass - mental note - discuss the unwiseness of throwing oneself at glass with Boy at later date) to see who can bounce off it farther and with the most outrageous death-noise. Um.... that would be a negative five on the 'concern regarding safety during play' scale.

After free play, the kids were instructed to pick up their toys (further mental note - reflect on why Boy tidies up for stranger but not for me), and one of the students brought in a K'nex toy. They were supposed to follow directions to build some creature or other. I can't say how far they got, since I was STILL filling out paperwork, but it couldn't have been far, because as soon as the girl left the room, the two of them got into a Who Can Barf The Loudest contest. I have to say, the ability of a five year-old boy to fake vomit while simultaneously laughing hard enough to make himself ACTUALLY vomit is impressive.

Once that debacle was over, the boys again picked up the stuff, and the Girl brought in snack, which was graham crackers and juice in these little juicebox holding containers which were very cute and clever, and which the boys promptly removed. The Girl Student went back in almost immediately to show them how to keep the boxes in and still drink, which they dutifully did, exclaiming over how cool it was, right up until she turned her back, at which point the containers found their way right back off. (HA!)

After snack, it was computer time. The boys had to listen to directions, and then use the mouse to blow up a balloon on the computer, earning points. They were told that the more points they got, the bigger prize they would get, and they were shown the prizes they were playing for - crayons, pencils, etc. I was expecting some fighting over this, since they had to take turns, but they did really well! They screamed and laughed over Tom blowing up the balloons too much so they popped, and cheered over his doing well. Tom got three stars from the game, so he got a three-star prize. Patrick's turn was quieter, I think because they were starting to get a little tired from all the excitement, and he only got two stars in the end, probably because he never uses a mouse with my laptop. I was expecting him to be upset about not getting as big of a prize, but he didn't say a word about it! Phew!

Then they had to share a Leapster, which was funny because the other boy had no idea how to use it, and rather than taking it from him Patrick told him what to do, hovered around him for a minute, and then went back to miming barfing in front of the mirror. I suppose that's sharing, sort of.

At the end, Patrick had to go through his individual interview, during which Girl Student got a lot more information out of him than I am usually able to do after he does something (What did you do today? Um, I forgot. What did you have for lunch? Um, huh? Who did you play with today? Dunno.) and he got to pick out a big prize, which today was an Imaginext gorilla thing.

The Students today were a lot better than they have been in the past. I remember being in college and feeling like my studies had obviously made me smarter than regular people, so I know that their age and inexperience were what made some of them be a little...urm...obnoxious in the past. They were never overtly rude, but for instance, one year one girl had an obvious Idea of what a SAHM was, and it was somewhere between Betty Rubble and Lucille Ball. I put up with her condescending tone for almost the entire time, and then on our way out we talked about the research and when it would be published, and whether she would get any credit. I told her that she should make sure that she did, because I was credited in a book one of my professors wrote that I helped him with even though I had graduated before it was completed. I wish I'd had a picture of her face! Today the girls were very sweet and respectful, or at least had the sense to appear to be!

Today was the last visit for a few years; we don't go back until he's seven. I think it's fun, though, and I believe that there have been a few things published based on their findings so far, and that there's a website. When I find it, I'll post a link.

Now, That Jus' Ain't Right

This afternoon the appraiser for our property showed up to take a few more pictures and measurements. I swear, the guy's about nine hundred years old, and he walks exactly like Tim Conway from the old Carol Burnett show. He was supposed to have finished this appraisal LAST weekend, but says that he'll actually be done this weekend. So, no offer from the county for us this week. What could I say? I didn't want him to have a stroke right here in my house because I got upset with him... as it was, I followed him around because I was terrified he was going to fall in our uneven back yard!

Then, not twenty minutes later, our elderly neighbor showed up on my doorstep. She's probably about 65 or so, and we've been friendly since we moved in, although since we have a privacy fence (we live near a small business, so I wanted the bigger fence) we don't talk as much as we otherwise would. Well, I opened the door, and the first thing out of her mouth was 'I need to talk to you.'

So, as an extra bonus to our entire moving situation, I got to tell this poor woman, who has lived in her home for fifty-plus years, about the demolition project that's coming our way. She had heard rumors of it a week ago from her neighbor on the other side who had had his house on the market until the county told him he couldn't sell it on the open market, and thought I might know something. I have to say, that was one of the most unpleasant experiences I have ever had.

She held it together pretty well, and talked about how she hopes to hang onto the back half of their property, which is about twice the size of ours, so they can build a smaller home on it. Her kids have all been born since they lived there, and two of them still live with her.

As an ultra-bonus, I got to have her drop the N-bomb, in addition to other inappropriate language, in front of Josie, who thank God wasn't listening that closely, I believe. The woman kind of slipped it in there, and I didn't say anything to her about it, because she's old, upset, and I didn't want to draw Josie's attention to it. If it was someone younger, or a different conversation, or someone we were going to be seeing regularly, or if Josie had heard clearly / not been there, I would have said something. As it is, I'm trying to think of a way to figure out if she heard it in a roundabout way so I can talk to her about it if she did. Ugh. At our last house, she was the only white child in her class two years in a row, so moving here to White Bread, USA was a big shift for us, particularly because we do run into racism more often now. Still, I was shocked to hear it.

Anyway, the Neighbor stayed for about forty minutes, and I was as helpful to her as I could be, giving her names of people I have talked to and telling her that I'll be in touch when we get our offer from the county so she'll have an idea what they're doing for us. I'm thinking I'll give her those things when we're ready to leave and everything's taken care of, just in case we're not technically supposed to share info. I could tell that she was close to tears a few times, but hopefully since they have a plan of what they want to do, it will get easier once they're adjusted to it. I can't imagine being in their position. Being in ours was shocking enough.

I feel like I should bill the county for mental health / PR assistance or something. I knew they hadn't talked to her as of last week, but seriously, you'd think once they've visited one neighbor, they'd talk to them all. Jeeze.

Going Lando

My darling son, little Patrick, light of my life, is completely fixated on his penis. I walk through the living room, and there he is, hand in his pants, just sitting there.

'Is anything wrong?' I ask.
'Nope.'
'Just making sure it's still there, then?'
'Yep.'
'OK...ummm... carry on.'

This happens daily. One time, I even found him asleep in bed with Bill, because they had both dozed off reading stories. I went in to pick up His Highness, pulled back the blankets, and there he was, dead asleep on his back, hand in his underpants, holding on to the thing like a lovey. Which, I suppose, is what it is?

Lately, his latest fixation is going 'Lando'. In normal homes, this would be commando, but he's a Star Wars boy through and through, and that's what he's decided it is. It's cute, so I haven't corrected him, and besides, from what I remember of Lando Calrissian, it fits. He was definitely the type to hang onto it All The Time, kind of a role model, if you will. Maybe I should email Billy Dee to tell him he's the proud inspiration of a new term?

So far, I haven't caught him with his hands in his pants in public, thank God. I do occasionally see him feeling for it over his pants, and all it takes to get him to stop is a 'Do you need to go potty?', so I'm not concerned that he's about to be booked for being a dirty...young man, but I don't want him to grow up to be one of Those teenagers you see on the street, holding onto the thing like a life preserver!

I am, obviously, a girl. I have no brothers, no uncles, no cousins, no father. There was not a shred of testosterone within a yard of my body until I was ... well, never mind about that. I was too young, and don't you even think about it! (in case Josie ever stumbles onto this when she gets older)

So, for those of you with boys, does this little obsession quiet somewhat, or at least go underground, soon? I mean, it's funny now, sort of, but then I get a flash-forward of him at thirty, slouched on the couch, one hand holding a beer and the other one his penis, and I feel like that Scream picture! Is there hope? Or am I doomed to accept Penis McGrabb forever?

Me First!

Has anyone else noticed that it is impossible to do ANYTHING if a child sees you looking like you're about to do Something? I'm beginning to think that my kids have weird radar brains that track my every movement. It must go something like this - the kids are upstairs doing whatever it is they do when I'm not looking, like licking the cat or throwing legos behind the radiators, and then suddenly a little warning light in their brains starts flashing, 'Warning! SOMETHING is about to happen! Be FIRST!' , and like zombies they rise and walk to wherever they feel I am, following the scent of potential accomplishment. They see me near the stove, see that there's water on the stove, and eureka! 'Mommy!!!! Can you make me some hot chocolate?!' And then the other child, whose sense is either numbed by TV or just plain hasn't gotten to me yet, yells, 'MOMMYYYY!!! Can you make me some cocoa!!??!?!'

Take this scenario, and multiply it by about a billion, and there you have my day. If I'm walking towards the computer, zip! They're in front of me, wanting to play a game. Was I looking at the bathroom? Flash! They're little heinies are on the pot, and their usual Potty Time Opera Practice commences. (If they're having a particularly good day, they can take over both bathrooms at the same time and have competing arias.) Lord forbid I even THINK about the phone, because that REALLY throws their senses in a tizzy. That must be a Red Alert or something on the Brain-a-tron system. It's not so much that they want the phone, it's that if I'm moving towards the phone, that means that I actually am planning on doing NOTHING for a few minutes except talk, and oh, do they have better ideas for me!!! It's like living with two small, drunken bosses.

Why do I put up with this obnoxiousness? Really, the question is, how do you stop it?! I can't tell them that they don't have to pee, because that would be the one time they really did need to go, and I'd have to deal with guilt, laundry, and mopping, and still wouldn't get to pee in peace, to boot. If I'm boiling water for coffee, is it really that much extra trouble to make a few cups of cocoa while I'm at it? No. But the constant nature of it, and the fact that I can always EXPECT it, is what drives me bananas. From the minute something pops into my head, I can almost start the mental countdown to when their shining little faces appear (or they just holler from another room).

Even more obnoxious, the animals do it, too!!! They can tell if I get off the couch and come racing down the stairs like big, hairy gangbusters to see if I maybe, possibly will drop something, anything on the floor, preferably something that was alive at some point. Baci, the youngest one, will even watch me through the kitchen window if he's outside! Seriously!

Book Review: People of the Book, by Geraldine Brooks

I first found out about this book when I was listening to NPR (yes, I'm a radio geek, through and through) and GB was being interviewed by Diane Rehm. I loved March, which she wrote about two years ago, because it extrapolated on my favorite story of all time, Little Women, to tell the father's side of the story, including how he and Marmee met and what his time at war was really like. It was very well imagined and written, so when I heard her discussion of this newest work, I requested it from the library immediately.

GB was a journalist for many years, and it definitely worked to her advantage in People of the Book, which is the story of a literary artifacts restorer on the trail of historical data relating to a recently rediscovered, several-hundred year-old haggadah that has been rescued by a librarian during the bombing of Sarajevo. Hanna follows the clues discovered in the pages - a drop of wine, a strand of hair, missing clasps - to understand the history of the book, and on a larger scope, that of its people. Following each chapter of discovery by the protagonist is a chapter detailing the fleshed-out tale of how the item came to be in the book. These 'background' chapters are included in reverse historical order, following the centuries, and are truly amazing short stories within the larger scope of the book that even alone would be a great read, and left me wanting to know more about the fates of the characters within, particularly that of the book's original creator's daughter (I'll say no more on that, because it would be giving something away).

Woven into the story of the book and its people is the tale of Hanna herself, her relationship with the book's most recent savior, her dealings with her complex tyrant of a mother, and her discovery about her own past. The ending of the book, which while not as smooth and effortless as the rest of the book was still adequate, is a six-year jump into the future that shows exactly how far some people will go to secure their own desires.

I will not be surprised if this novel earns GB another nomination for the Pulitzer Prize. It's at least as good as March, and, for non-fans of Alcott's work, probably more so. In addition to the work being just plain interesting and entertaining, I actually learned a good deal about Jewish history; the story is based on actual events, and the haggadah is in fact a real find that GB fleshed out in gorgeous detail.