I know that loyal Green Room followers (we're up to 16 now!) are eagerly waiting for this blog to weigh in on Chicago's bid for the 2016 Olympics. No time like the present, because the announcement comes in a little over a day.
At first, I was completely gung-ho in favor of Chicago's bid to host the Olympics. I mean, how great would it be to have The Olympics HERE, in our own backyard? Think of the glory! Think of the excitement! Think of the infrastructure improvements and business opportunities!
Then I started reading more about the bid, from both opponents and supporters. Now I'm all confused and undecided.
This recent opinion piece in the Tribune from Edward Snyder, Dean of the University of Chicago School of Business, superficially suggests that the Games will "result in lasting value for generations to come." Setting aside the barren cliches and repetitive phraseology (the more degrees a person has, the more his writing suffers!), Snyder asks one relevant question--will investing in the Olympics "create lasting value" for the city?--but does not supply adequate proofs for his affirmative answer.
Chicago2016.org persuasively argues that Chicago is a great place for the Olympics in terms of venues, convenience, beauty, and accessibility. But the real question is, will hosting the Olympics hurt Chicago financially in the long run, or help it--and there is substantial disagreement on this point. The 2016 Committee, of course, asserts that the proposed operating budget is realistically in the black.
The Civic Federation's analysis found that the Chicago 2016 proposed operating budget "provides adequate protection for taxpayers" at the same time that it recommends strategies for managing the real financial risks. The International Olympic Committee called Chicago's financial plan "ambitious but believable" with "an extensive sponsorship program."
Our city council voted unanimously earlier this month in favor of a "full governmental financial guarantee" for the city's $4.8 billion bid. I don't know whether the alder-creatures' full support makes me feel more secure about the financial risks of the bid, or more nervous. After all, these are the people who put the parking meter fiasco in motion.
On the opposite side of the bid, we have Chicagoans for Rio 2016, a satirical look at some real reasons to take a pause about backing the bid. CfR2016 even offers an online store selling shirts, bags, mugs and magnets emblazoned with the Chicagoans for Rio logo, featuring a runner dropping the Olympic torch. We love satire here at the Green Room.
Plus, my Edison friend Matt Farmer has been a one-man media blitz, posting his opposition more than once on Huffington Post and even tunefully opposing the bid with a YouTube satirical melody.
No Games Chicago attempts to make the case that we face an either/or choice between creating better hospitals, housing, schools and trains versus hosting the Olympics. I really don't get this argument. Are the nabobs saying that if we don't get the Olympics, the city will spend more on those items? Are they saying that if we get the Olympics, they will suck money away from schools and housing?
Some think that the Olympics will have the opposite effect: The Chicago Tribune recently suggested that "the games represent what could be [Mayor Daley's] best chance of overcoming the financial troubles that have made his job increasingly difficult." As in Snyder's piece quoted earlier, however, the reporter doesn't back it up.
As I said, I'm conflicted. I really, really want to be on board, to welcome the world to Chicago in 2016. I just don't know.
How's that for fence-sitting? And what do you think?
UPDATE: I'm sure you've heard by now that Chicago lost in the first round of IOC voting. I felt like I got kicked in the gut. My heart wanted the Olympics here, even though my head said it would probably end badly for Chicago taxpayers and (many) residents.
Now I'm just pissed off at the people who are using this as yet another opportunity for Obama-bashing. But I guess that's a blopic for another day.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Indian MIL Savory Ground Turkey
Tonight I baked a delicious, zesty Glazed Lemon Bread from one of my favorite cooking sites. It came out of the pan at 9:30, and by 9:35 it was half gone.
And then I shared it with my family.
The recipe calls for a bit of cardamom, which I happen to have on hand because I have a couple of Indian recipes from my friend K-Rolly that my family enjoys. The first time I tried to buy cardamom at our local independent grocery store, they didn't have any on the shelves. When I asked the store owner about it, he told me, "Our inventory shows we have some, but if it's not on the shelf, it probably got stolen. It's a high-theft item." Who knew. Apparently cardamom is popular among shoplifters because it's very expensive--about $13 for 1.75 ounces.
Anyway, my friends have enjoyed my Indian food leftovers enough to ask for the recipe and make it themselves, so I thought I'd share it with the Internet. You're welcome.
Here's the recipe, slightly revised and cleverly re-named in honor of the woman who taught K-Rolly how to make it:
Tip: use fresh ginger and garlic for enhanced flavor.
Ingredients
2 tbsp vegetable oil
2 medium onions, chopped
2 small jalapeno peppers, seeded and chopped
2 tomatoes, chopped
1" ginger, peeled and diced tiny
2 medium potatoes, washed and cut into 1/2" dice
5 cloves garlic, peeled and diced tiny or crushed
1 - 1.25 lbs. ground turkey
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground cardamom
1/2 c. frozen peas
Method
1. Heat 1 tbsp. oil in non-stick frying pan or wok on high heat.
2. Add onion, pepper, tomato, and ginger. Cook until onion is clear, about 2-3 minutes.
3. Add potatoes and cook another 10 minutes.
4. Add garlic and cook 2 more minutes. Remove everything from pan and set aside.
5. Heat remaining 1 tbsp. oil in pan on high heat.
6. Add ground turkey and salt; cook 10 minutes on medium heat until turkey is no longer pink.
7. Add vegetables mixture back in to pan. Add spices (clove, cinnamon and cardamom); cook another 10 minutes.
8. Add peas and cook until most moisture is gone and peas are cooked, about 8-10 minutes.
Serve over rice. Serves 6-8.
Nutritional Information: Well, let's see. This recipe is mostly vegetables, uses a low-fat protein source, and calls for only 2 Tbsp of oil and 1 tsp of salt, so I'm going to say it scores a 9 on the E. Peevie NutritionMeter. You can up it to 10 if you serve it over brown rice.
Of course, the NutritionMeter is completely fictitious, so you can up it to 10 even if you serve it over M&Ms.
And then I shared it with my family.
The recipe calls for a bit of cardamom, which I happen to have on hand because I have a couple of Indian recipes from my friend K-Rolly that my family enjoys. The first time I tried to buy cardamom at our local independent grocery store, they didn't have any on the shelves. When I asked the store owner about it, he told me, "Our inventory shows we have some, but if it's not on the shelf, it probably got stolen. It's a high-theft item." Who knew. Apparently cardamom is popular among shoplifters because it's very expensive--about $13 for 1.75 ounces.
Anyway, my friends have enjoyed my Indian food leftovers enough to ask for the recipe and make it themselves, so I thought I'd share it with the Internet. You're welcome.
Here's the recipe, slightly revised and cleverly re-named in honor of the woman who taught K-Rolly how to make it:
Indian Mother-in-Law Savory Ground Turkey
Tip: use fresh ginger and garlic for enhanced flavor.
Ingredients
2 tbsp vegetable oil
2 medium onions, chopped
2 small jalapeno peppers, seeded and chopped
2 tomatoes, chopped
1" ginger, peeled and diced tiny
2 medium potatoes, washed and cut into 1/2" dice
5 cloves garlic, peeled and diced tiny or crushed
1 - 1.25 lbs. ground turkey
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground cardamom
1/2 c. frozen peas
Method
1. Heat 1 tbsp. oil in non-stick frying pan or wok on high heat.
2. Add onion, pepper, tomato, and ginger. Cook until onion is clear, about 2-3 minutes.
3. Add potatoes and cook another 10 minutes.
4. Add garlic and cook 2 more minutes. Remove everything from pan and set aside.
5. Heat remaining 1 tbsp. oil in pan on high heat.
6. Add ground turkey and salt; cook 10 minutes on medium heat until turkey is no longer pink.
7. Add vegetables mixture back in to pan. Add spices (clove, cinnamon and cardamom); cook another 10 minutes.
8. Add peas and cook until most moisture is gone and peas are cooked, about 8-10 minutes.
Serve over rice. Serves 6-8.
Nutritional Information: Well, let's see. This recipe is mostly vegetables, uses a low-fat protein source, and calls for only 2 Tbsp of oil and 1 tsp of salt, so I'm going to say it scores a 9 on the E. Peevie NutritionMeter. You can up it to 10 if you serve it over brown rice.
Of course, the NutritionMeter is completely fictitious, so you can up it to 10 even if you serve it over M&Ms.
Monday, September 21, 2009
I Feel Safe Here
Last week, as we pulled into the parking lot of the hospital where A. Peevie sees many of his "-ologists," I was surprised to hear him say fondly, "I like this place."
"Really, A.?" I asked. "That's great. How come?"
"Because all the people here are really nice," he said. Well, that's an advertisement waiting to happen for Lutheran General Children's Hospital.
"Also," he continued, "I feel safe here."
OK, first of all, how great is it that this child understands his own feelings and articulates them so...well, so articulately?
And secondly, isn't the irony almost too much? That he feels safe at the hospital?
This is a boy who thinks about health and safety concerns more than the average 11-year-old. He went through a phase a few years ago when he talked about death and dying constantly. "Will you still think about me when I'm dead?" he'd ask. Or I'd put him back to bed for the eleventy-seventh time, and tell him to go to sleep, and he'd say, "I don't want to go to sleep, Mom. I'm afraid I won't wake up in the morning."
Like that didn't break my achy heart.
He made me a mother's day card this year that referenced health issues 6 times in 19 sentences. He said things like
(I posted the story of A. Peevie's rough start here, in case you missed it the first time around.)
Anyway, we saw Dr. O, an electro-physiologist who specifically handles the rhythm issues of A. Peevie's heart. We got a good report, and A. Peevie had a fun tickle-fest with the playful million-dollar specialist. I was glad to walk away with no changes other than an additional prescription.
I want this boy to feel safe all the time. I think a child should feel safe, and one of the most important jobs of a parent is to help her child be and feel safe. I'm happy that he feels safe at the hospital; but I'm sad that he's had the kind of life experience that has put him in a place where the hospital is the place where he feels safe enough to actually notice and comment on feeling safe.
The boy also makes me think hard about health care in the United States. Without changes in our system, he will be out of luck when it comes to health care. He has so many pre-existing conditions, long-term medications, and high-risk medical concerns that the only way he'll get health care coverage is if he marries a cardiologist or ends up working for a large company that's required to provide health insurance to all of its employees.
It's not right that someone like him, through no fault of his own, will be at high risk for bankruptcy-by-healthcare-bills if somebody doesn't do something.
I saw a bumper sticker today on a big, gas-sucking SUV that read, "Defeat ObamaCare." What I want to know is, what do they have to say to A. Peevie about his healthcare options once he is no longer a dependent of Mr. Peevie and his excellent healthcare benefits?
"Really, A.?" I asked. "That's great. How come?"
"Because all the people here are really nice," he said. Well, that's an advertisement waiting to happen for Lutheran General Children's Hospital.
"Also," he continued, "I feel safe here."
OK, first of all, how great is it that this child understands his own feelings and articulates them so...well, so articulately?
And secondly, isn't the irony almost too much? That he feels safe at the hospital?
This is a boy who thinks about health and safety concerns more than the average 11-year-old. He went through a phase a few years ago when he talked about death and dying constantly. "Will you still think about me when I'm dead?" he'd ask. Or I'd put him back to bed for the eleventy-seventh time, and tell him to go to sleep, and he'd say, "I don't want to go to sleep, Mom. I'm afraid I won't wake up in the morning."
Like that didn't break my achy heart.
He made me a mother's day card this year that referenced health issues 6 times in 19 sentences. He said things like
"You love me...you get me food. You give me medicine and make sure I take my meds...When I am sick you get me Motrin or Tylenol. When my forehead is warm you take my temperature. When I have trouble breathing you take me to the hospital...When C. Peevie or M. Peevie are being mean, you yell at them and help me get away from them. (Yaaay!!!)"Maybe when you've been through what he's been through, you pay more attention to feelings of safety, and you don't take it for granted that someone will take your temperature when your forehead is warm. His medical chart is about 19 inches thick with the details of two open-heart surgeries, one closed-heart surgery, two cardiac ablation procedures, half a dozen additional cardiac catheterizations, and multiple hospitalizations for pneumonia, RSV, influenza A, and once for an infected gland.
(I posted the story of A. Peevie's rough start here, in case you missed it the first time around.)
Anyway, we saw Dr. O, an electro-physiologist who specifically handles the rhythm issues of A. Peevie's heart. We got a good report, and A. Peevie had a fun tickle-fest with the playful million-dollar specialist. I was glad to walk away with no changes other than an additional prescription.
I want this boy to feel safe all the time. I think a child should feel safe, and one of the most important jobs of a parent is to help her child be and feel safe. I'm happy that he feels safe at the hospital; but I'm sad that he's had the kind of life experience that has put him in a place where the hospital is the place where he feels safe enough to actually notice and comment on feeling safe.
The boy also makes me think hard about health care in the United States. Without changes in our system, he will be out of luck when it comes to health care. He has so many pre-existing conditions, long-term medications, and high-risk medical concerns that the only way he'll get health care coverage is if he marries a cardiologist or ends up working for a large company that's required to provide health insurance to all of its employees.
It's not right that someone like him, through no fault of his own, will be at high risk for bankruptcy-by-healthcare-bills if somebody doesn't do something.
I saw a bumper sticker today on a big, gas-sucking SUV that read, "Defeat ObamaCare." What I want to know is, what do they have to say to A. Peevie about his healthcare options once he is no longer a dependent of Mr. Peevie and his excellent healthcare benefits?
Sunday, September 20, 2009
27 Socks and a Headless Stag Beetle
Today, under A. Peevie's bed, I found:
27 socks
8 shirts
4 pairs of pants
19 stuffed animals, including 4 manatees, assorted sizes
1 full box of colored pencils
3 army guys
7 pens and pencils
7 drawings
2 plastic cups
3 candy wrappers
1 spoon
small change
a colored easter egg with the shell mostly intact except for a ragged-edged, dime-sized hole through which you can see the petrified yolk.
It's kind of like what I found IN another kid's bed not too long ago.
In related news, when I took A. Peevie to see HeartDoc last week, they had a conversation that went like this:
A. Peevie: Wanna see what I have in my pocket?
HeartDoc: Sure.
AP: (shoving his hand deep into his sweatpants pocket and trying to extricate something delicately) Just a minute...just a minute...Here!
HD: (Looking at a decapitated stag beetle) Wow! Cool!
AP: It's a stag beetle.
HD's nurse: Ack! Get it away from me!
HD: Where is its head?
AP: Oh, hold on a sec. (Shoves his hand into his pants pocket again.) Here it is!
HD's nurse: Ack! Ack!
HD: Wow, look at those horns. Where'dja get it?
AP: On the playground during recess. My friend BiF found three of them, and he gave me one.
HD: Nice friend.
The deceased, headless stag beetle currently resides in our living room, in a place of honor on the speaker. Until the next time I remember it's there, and THROW IT OUT.
Ack.
27 socks
8 shirts
4 pairs of pants
19 stuffed animals, including 4 manatees, assorted sizes
1 full box of colored pencils
3 army guys
7 pens and pencils
7 drawings
2 plastic cups
3 candy wrappers
1 spoon
small change
a colored easter egg with the shell mostly intact except for a ragged-edged, dime-sized hole through which you can see the petrified yolk.
It's kind of like what I found IN another kid's bed not too long ago.
In related news, when I took A. Peevie to see HeartDoc last week, they had a conversation that went like this:
A. Peevie: Wanna see what I have in my pocket?
HeartDoc: Sure.
AP: (shoving his hand deep into his sweatpants pocket and trying to extricate something delicately) Just a minute...just a minute...Here!
HD: (Looking at a decapitated stag beetle) Wow! Cool!
AP: It's a stag beetle.
HD's nurse: Ack! Get it away from me!
HD: Where is its head?
AP: Oh, hold on a sec. (Shoves his hand into his pants pocket again.) Here it is!
HD's nurse: Ack! Ack!
HD: Wow, look at those horns. Where'dja get it?
AP: On the playground during recess. My friend BiF found three of them, and he gave me one.
HD: Nice friend.
The deceased, headless stag beetle currently resides in our living room, in a place of honor on the speaker. Until the next time I remember it's there, and THROW IT OUT.
Ack.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Missing C. Peevie('s Help Around the House)
C. Peevie has been indisposed of late due to the inconvenient breaking of his tibia. And by inconvenient, I mean inconvenient to me.
Mr. Peevie and I believe that one great reason for having kids is that you can then put them to work around the house. Really, all they're doing is jobs that, for the most part, would not exist if they had not complicated the family by being born. That's kind of circular reasoning, isn't it? Oh well.
C. Peevie and his friends have discussed who does what chores at home, and it seems that C's friends are truly amazed at the frequency, variety and quantity of chores that he is responsible for. Mr. Peevie and I, on the other hand, are frequently amazed at how easy C. Peevie's friends reportedly get off in the chore department.
Before the whole broken leg fiasco, C. Peevie was enjoying his last month of freedom before school started up again after Labor Day. He'd hang out with friends, watch TV, play video games, and yes, he'd do chores for me.
One morning he had gone out with his peeps for a couple of hours, and then showed up back home just before lunch time. "I came home because I knew you'd want me to do some jobs around the house," said Captain Responsible. I was amazed and grateful.
"I told K-Lite and Lil' Biscuit that I had to come home and do chores," he continued, "and they couldn't believe it."
Why couldn't they believe it? I asked him.
"Because they can't believe how many chores I do," he said. "Lil' Biscuit says he only does chores on Saturdays, and K-Lite said he only does chores when there are things that need to be done." I don't know about K-Lite's only-child-single-mom household, but there are ALWAYS things to be done in our zoo of a household.
Here's the list of jobs that C. Peevie does at various times when he doesn't have a giant black cast up to his thigh:
Empty dishwasher
Load dishwasher
Wash dishes
Put away clean dishes in drainer
Take dirty laundry to basement
Sort laundry
Bring clean laundry up from dryer
Put own laundry away
(the more I typed the word "laundry" the weirder it looked to me.)
Clean up living room
Clean up dining room
Clean bedroom
Vaccuum
Mow lawn
Collect trash/all rooms
Empty kitchen trash daily
Sweep kitchen floor
Clear and clean kitchen table after meals
Of course, he doesn't do all of these jobs every day; but he does do jobs every day. When he doesn't have a broken leg. He does jobs to support the running of the household because he derives benefits from the running of the household. It just makes sense to me.
A. Peevie and M. Peevie do chores, too, but obviously, since they are 11 and 8, respectively, they do fewer chores, less often. I'm just now starting to shift some of C. Peevie's chores, like emptying the kitchen trash, emptying the dishwasher, and taking the laundry downstairs, to A. and M.
So what do you think? What's your philosophy on getting kids to help around the house? Are you going to call the Department of Labor and report us for violating child labor laws? Or are you even tougher than we are?
Maybe you can suggest some jobs that C. Peevie can do for me while he's in a giant black cast up to his thigh?
Mr. Peevie and I believe that one great reason for having kids is that you can then put them to work around the house. Really, all they're doing is jobs that, for the most part, would not exist if they had not complicated the family by being born. That's kind of circular reasoning, isn't it? Oh well.
C. Peevie and his friends have discussed who does what chores at home, and it seems that C's friends are truly amazed at the frequency, variety and quantity of chores that he is responsible for. Mr. Peevie and I, on the other hand, are frequently amazed at how easy C. Peevie's friends reportedly get off in the chore department.
Before the whole broken leg fiasco, C. Peevie was enjoying his last month of freedom before school started up again after Labor Day. He'd hang out with friends, watch TV, play video games, and yes, he'd do chores for me.
One morning he had gone out with his peeps for a couple of hours, and then showed up back home just before lunch time. "I came home because I knew you'd want me to do some jobs around the house," said Captain Responsible. I was amazed and grateful.
"I told K-Lite and Lil' Biscuit that I had to come home and do chores," he continued, "and they couldn't believe it."
Why couldn't they believe it? I asked him.
"Because they can't believe how many chores I do," he said. "Lil' Biscuit says he only does chores on Saturdays, and K-Lite said he only does chores when there are things that need to be done." I don't know about K-Lite's only-child-single-mom household, but there are ALWAYS things to be done in our zoo of a household.
Here's the list of jobs that C. Peevie does at various times when he doesn't have a giant black cast up to his thigh:
Empty dishwasher
Load dishwasher
Wash dishes
Put away clean dishes in drainer
Take dirty laundry to basement
Sort laundry
Bring clean laundry up from dryer
Put own laundry away
(the more I typed the word "laundry" the weirder it looked to me.)
Clean up living room
Clean up dining room
Clean bedroom
Vaccuum
Mow lawn
Collect trash/all rooms
Empty kitchen trash daily
Sweep kitchen floor
Clear and clean kitchen table after meals
Of course, he doesn't do all of these jobs every day; but he does do jobs every day. When he doesn't have a broken leg. He does jobs to support the running of the household because he derives benefits from the running of the household. It just makes sense to me.
A. Peevie and M. Peevie do chores, too, but obviously, since they are 11 and 8, respectively, they do fewer chores, less often. I'm just now starting to shift some of C. Peevie's chores, like emptying the kitchen trash, emptying the dishwasher, and taking the laundry downstairs, to A. and M.
So what do you think? What's your philosophy on getting kids to help around the house? Are you going to call the Department of Labor and report us for violating child labor laws? Or are you even tougher than we are?
Maybe you can suggest some jobs that C. Peevie can do for me while he's in a giant black cast up to his thigh?
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Barely Coping
This broken leg thing brings way more pain, trouble and inconvenience than you might imagine.
Poor C. Peevie. When he arrived home on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend, he moved awkwardly and painfully. His temporary cast seemed bulky, but provided only a minimum of stability and protection. Even a slight bump of the pillow under his leg made him cry out.
The parents-on-call in Door County for that first night after The Break managed C. Peevie's pain medications assiduously and conservatively. HarMom checked on him frequently, timed his doses down to the millisecond, and doled out a single Vicodin every six hours. The narcotic would take the edge off for few hours, but the last two hours would bring increasing discomfort and pain.
"I think it's good for him to try to manage some of the pain without medication, don't you?" she asked. Actually, I don't. She was more concerned about the dangers of addiction than about pain. I'm the opposite, probably because I'm so pain averse myself that I request nitrous oxide at the dentist. For cleanings.
So when C. Peevie started showing signs of pain, and then more signs, and then overtly complaining, I made the executive decision to increase his dose and his frequency, to one-and-a-half VicoLalas every five hours. "Stay ahead of the pain" is my motto.
Even with the increased dose, though, we'd spend hours every day before and after each dose managing his pain and discomfort. The nights were the worst.
Even with the increased dose, though, we'd spend hours every day before and after each dose managing his pain and discomfort. The nights were the worst.
Instead of starting high school on September 8, C. Peevie went to the orthopedic surgeon. We were so glad he didn't need surgery, but Dr. Ortho said the swelling would not allow him to put on a permanent cast yet. He prescribed a wheelchair for safer mobility, and I spent the next two days making phone calls and researching medical equipment companies online. Once the wheelchair arrived, C. Peevie spent hours doing wheelies, crashing into furniture and walls, and getting in the way.
Pain levels fluctuated over the next week. By Thursday and Friday, C. Peevie was managing his pain with OTC helpers; but over the weekend, pain returned with a vengeance and he was back on the VicoDuh. Between the pain of the break, the mysterious pain in his heel and Achilles tendon, and his fidgety, can't-find-a-comfortable-position-on-the-couch vexation, the two of us were getting an intermittent total of four hours of sleep per night.
"You don't need to help him so much," instructed my friend Dr. Vespa, a physical therapist. She taught him how to get up, sit down, and maneuver himself on crutches. "He can do it. His balance is better than yours or mine," she assured me. So I backed off a little, grateful for the reprieve, but still anxious that he'd topple over.
On Sunday at ridiculous o'clock a.m., I was waiting for him to finish in the bathroom, when I heard a slide-crash-thud. "Mom!" he called out with fear and desperation in his voice, but I was already there. He had somehow fallen while standing in front of the sink, and was half-kneeling, half-lying on the floor, with his broken leg stuck out in front and his good leg--if it was still good-- scrunched underneath him.
"Get me up!" he said urgently. "Get me up, Mom!" I lifted him up from under the arms and sat him down on the toilet seat.
"Sit!" I said. "Just stay there. I'll go get the wheelchair." I wheeled him back to the couch and laid him down. Scared and suffering, he shook and whimpered for half an hour afterward. So did I. He had no idea why he fell.
The whole process of coping with a kid with a broken tibia is exhausting and stressful. I was telling my therapist that I feel like I'm crashing: I complain all the time, and overnight I went from feeling like I was getting healthier and stronger and happier to feeling like I was just hanging on by a piece of used dental floss.
"This is a family crisis," he said simply. "You are dealing with a crisis."
This simple explanation brought enlightenment and ironically, relief. A crisis? I wondered. It never occurred to me that this was a crisis, because it does not involve life and death. But it makes sense; everything has been affected, inconvenienced, complicated. Hearing the word "crisis" caused a paradigm shift that allowed me to give myself a break. In a period of crisis, it's OK if all I can do is barely keep my head above water.
And that's what I'm doing: Ordering lots of carry-out. Doing just enough laundry to avoid having to turn my underwear inside out. Washing just enough dishes to avoid food poisoning. Taking just enough showers to avoid smelling like butt.
Most of the time.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Separated at Birth
Mr. Peevie and I were both futzing around in the bathroom the other day, and I was looking at my astonishingly attractive reflection in the mirror.
"I think I look a lot like the Cowardly Lion," I said. "Do you think so?"
The correct answer, as you might guess, would be an immediate negative: "No, honey, of course not. You're beautiful." But my lawfully wedded husband, my constant friend, my faithful partner, who has too much integrity for his own good, did not take the safe route.
"Hold on a sec," he said, "Let me get my glasses."
Oh, I held on a sec, all right. And another, and another.
Then: "You have to get your glasses in order to tell whether I look like the Cowardly Lion or not?" I asked, not quite believing that our marriage had survived 25+ years.
"Well, I can't see a thing!" he said, digging himself in deeper.
"Think about it, dear," I said, patiently-but-with-an-edge. "I'm asking you if I look like the Cowardly Lion. The COWARDLY LION."
"Oh," he said, penitently. "No, of course not." Good boy.
"But wait!" I said, changing the rules, as I am allowed to do, thus keeping Mr. Peevie off-balance and on the defensive
(an excellent marital tactic for you newlyweds out there), "look at this!" I put on my best Cowardly Lion face. "Now look!" He looked.
"OH!" he exclaimed. "OH! HAHAHAHA!"
"See?" I said, "I DO look like the Cowardly Lion!"
At this point, Mr. Peevie was so confused that he walked out of the bathroom and mixed himself a dirty martini.
But what do you think? Vote in the comments. Does it look like the Cowardly Lion and I were separated at birth?
"I think I look a lot like the Cowardly Lion," I said. "Do you think so?"
The correct answer, as you might guess, would be an immediate negative: "No, honey, of course not. You're beautiful." But my lawfully wedded husband, my constant friend, my faithful partner, who has too much integrity for his own good, did not take the safe route.
"Hold on a sec," he said, "Let me get my glasses."
Oh, I held on a sec, all right. And another, and another.
Then: "You have to get your glasses in order to tell whether I look like the Cowardly Lion or not?" I asked, not quite believing that our marriage had survived 25+ years.
"Well, I can't see a thing!" he said, digging himself in deeper.
"Think about it, dear," I said, patiently-but-with-an-edge. "I'm asking you if I look like the Cowardly Lion. The COWARDLY LION."
"Oh," he said, penitently. "No, of course not." Good boy.
"But wait!" I said, changing the rules, as I am allowed to do, thus keeping Mr. Peevie off-balance and on the defensive
(an excellent marital tactic for you newlyweds out there), "look at this!" I put on my best Cowardly Lion face. "Now look!" He looked."OH!" he exclaimed. "OH! HAHAHAHA!"
"See?" I said, "I DO look like the Cowardly Lion!"
At this point, Mr. Peevie was so confused that he walked out of the bathroom and mixed himself a dirty martini.
But what do you think? Vote in the comments. Does it look like the Cowardly Lion and I were separated at birth?
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