Without Plot

My dad and stepmom had a long-running argument about the movie “2001: A Space Odyssey.” My stepmom loved the movie while my dad held it in disdain, sniffing contemptuously that it had no plot.

Sometimes, I worry that the problem with this blog is that it has no plot. If I’d written it in other decades of my life, the suspense would be killing you. Where will she enroll in college? Will she survive a summer working as a nanny? Who will she marry? Does her dad really die when he’s 47? How does the whole infertility thing work out? Does a birthmother choose her? Pregnant? She’s pregnant? When–and where–will the baby be born? Does her husband survive his throat cancer? Will the family move across the country or stay in rural Michigan?

Yeah, well, this blog occurs during a plotless part of my life. And here’s a terrible confession–on dismal, cloudy days when I’m feeling trapped and suffocated by the laundry, I think of horrible occurrences that might shake up my life. Even as I permit these wretched thoughts to amble through my mind, I scold myself. How dare I do anything but give thanks for the blessings in my life–my home, my husband, my children, my health, my friends, my extended family?

The thing about a crisis is that in short order, your meandering, messy, mundane life immediately narrows into a sharp focus, like sunlight through a magnifying glass narrows into one red-hot point of light. You don’t have a yard full of sunshine anymore, but a single searing inch of scorched grass. (Or a slug, if my kids have anything to do with it.)

Laundry doesn’t matter.
The dust under the beds doesn’t matter.
Cooking? No way.

All that matters is The Crisis.

It’s completely sick, of course, to long for a crisis. And I don’t, not really. But when I read that “good” blogs have a plot, I realized I am sans plot. Plotless. Empty, devoid of plot. Plot negative.

Wouldn’t that be a great blog title? “Without Plot.”

Well, sure, I do have a plot of sorts, but it’s not the type of plot you’ll find in any book sold in the grocery store. It’s the dull “lead a responsible life and raise responsible children” kind of plot.

I wonder if some people keep making bad decisions because they long for a plot, for the excitement of a page-turner? The truth seems to me that life is less like a novel and more like a slide show, the kind that your dad used to show you in the darkened living room after he got home from Europe. One castle looked like the next and the Alps? Boring when all you really want to do is call your friend and check the rumor mills for juicy gossip. But your dad kept clicking the slides, giving a droning explanation of each one, “and there, if you look at the left, you can see the blah, blah, blah, blah, and on the right, see that speck? That’s blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

See? Now, if I had a plot, I’d just tell you breathlessly about the latest trauma or drama. But I have no plot. Tomorrow we’ll wake up after the sun rises. Shower. Welcome DaycareKid and CuteBaby–he’s crawling now, his mom says. Play, keep kids from shoving each other, start laundry, make lunch, settle little ones down for naps, check email and blogs, answer the inevitable “what’s for dinner?” question, fold laundry, offer snacks, play some more, walk around the block, wait for moms to pick up their kids, cook dinner, eat dinner, clean up, give baths, read . . . and another day will end. I’m a girl with no plot.

Tomorrow will be sort of like today. And today was kind of like yesterday. It doesn’t make for exciting blog fodder, but it makes for a pretty good life. If you can stand the monotony.

What I Did. And Didn’t.

While the rest of the country is having a heat wave, our weather is perfect. Sunny, warm, blue skies, gentle breezes. I planted orange and yellow flowers in my flowerpots outside and then we went to the pool. We tried to go in the van, but the battery is drained–again–and so after being completely buckled in, we all unbuckled and switched to the car. The battery in the van (aka The Deathtrap) was dead when we returned home from our trip last week, so before he left yesterday, my husband jump-started it and drove it around awhile to make sure it was working. Which it is not now.

The kids are incapable of simply staring out the car windows when we go anywhere and just leaving each other alone. They have circular conversations about video games or the restaurants they’ll own one day. They plan what the menu will be and who will cook for whom and if they’ll give discounts to relatives. Even my daughter has taken to pleading, “BE QUIET! STOP TALKING!” when we go somewhere in the car. They also cannot stop poking, touching, wrestling, grabbing, shoving and tormenting each other.

When I wasn’t busy doing summertime stuff today (and laundry), I was busy creating a reciprocal blogroll which you can see in my sidebar over there to the right. I think I linked to everyone who links to me–so if your name is missing, let me know. I’m all about reciprocity and I love the fact that I just used that word (“reciprocity”) in a sentence.

For those who were wondering, yes, I did make milkshakes–finally–last night. I am a woman of my word. Unless I forget.

My only regret for the day is that I failed to make my youngest son a Serengeti Trek t-shirt by ironing on the iron-on transfer. And I failed to get caught up on laundry, dust the house, clean the toilets, weed the garden, sweep up the patio, pick up clutter on the floor, empty the kitchen counter, scrub the George Foreman grill, iron those pants hanging on my exercise bike, put away my daughter’s clothes, start an exercise program, write a best-selling novel, teach my youngest son to tie his shoes, “clean sweep” the storage room, clean the litter box, vacuum the floors, mop, organize the kitchen cabinets, make a plan for lunch tomorrow, pay bills, wash windows, sort through school-at-home materials, solve the crisis in the Middle East, and figure out what to do with my hair.

Other than that, it was a day well-lived.

The Power’s Out! And My Pants are Aflame!

Last night I revised my roster for Vacation Bible School, wrote a letter for distribution to parents and compiled a list of volunteers for the church bulletin. I tucked those papers into my leather bag, ready to take with me this morning at 8:30 a.m.

When I woke up this morning, the room seemed strangely dim. After brushing the cobwebs out of my hair and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I cracked open the bathroom window to find rain, rain, rain everywhere. Rain? We rely upon this week in July to be traditionally rain-free! Never in my four years of running VBS have we had rain. Did I mention that the game session is run outdoors?

Uh-oh.

When I arrived at church, I pulled the papers from my bag that needed photocopying. The letter–the one I needed 65 copies of to distribute to parents as they signed in their kids–yes, that letter, was missing. I searched, double-searched, and searched again. No letter. I called my husband and he assured me he found the letter on my desk. I’d have to go back and pick it up.

But first, to sign in all eighty children. As I sat greeting parents the most unexpected thing happened. The power went out.

Someone reported that they’d seen a crashed car, a broken utility pole, and downed power lines trapping the driver of the car inside. We figured it would take all day for the power to be restored. A call to the utility company confirmed a large area of power outages.

My fabulous teenage song leader began leading the children in the songs they’ve sung all week. Someone began to hunt for batteries to power a portable CD player. I realized we’d need a portable DVD player for the theater area. I called home to ask my husband to ready ours for pick-up, then ran home and picked up the paper I’d forgotten and the DVD player. Of course, I couldn’t photocopy the letter without electricity.

And as it turned out, the DVD was stuck in the regular DVD player. Without power, we couldn’t get it out.

I called a couple of churches, located a DVD we could borrow and prepared to go pick it up. And then, the unexpected happened. The power came back on.

And the rain stopped.

And eighty-two children enjoyed their final day of Vacation Bible School. Afterwards, to celebrate, I drove my kids to McDonald’s before going home. Big mistake. The intersection where the car had crashed into the power pole was still blocked. Four utility trucks worked to replace the pole while several police cars blocked the road and officers directed traffic. McDonald’s couldn’t give us pop with fizz or a milkshake.

And YoungestBoy really wanted to dip his fries into a milkshake. I shrugged off his disappointment with a glib promise to make milkshakes at home. Later.

Late in the afternoon, while I was helping my husband pack for his business trip, YoungestBoy appeared in the room. With stern determination he said, “Mom, do you want to know the new name I have for you?”

Puzzled, I turned to him. “What?” I said.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” he said. I did not laugh, but I wanted to. “You said you were going to make milkshakes and YOU . . . DID . . . NOT!” he proclaimed.

I said, “Is this day over?”

He said, “No.”

And I said, “Well, there you go.” And there he went.

My husband chuckled and then I laughed, too. Liar, liar, pants on fire! The might sound disrespectful to some, but when delivered with the righteous indignation a rosy-cheeked seven-year old can muster up, it amuses me. He amuses me. He saunters through life with such good cheer and confidence that it makes my heart glad.

Even if I am Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire.

In other, less entertaining news, we dropped off my husband at the bus stop (to take an airport shuttle) and went directly to the pool. At seventy-five degrees with a light breeze, the late afternoon was perfection. Babygirl had the pool to herself and danced and twirled and floated around. I wanted it to last forever–the sun on my arms, her crooked smile, the chlorine-blue water–and yet my head hurt and I was looking forward to her bedtime, too.

And now, the moment is gone–poof–and she’s asleep and the house is quiet except for the hum of the computer fan. Tonight I’ll pretend that I can sleep in, but the truth is that Babygirl will be awake around 7:00 a.m., ready for action, or at least ready for Cheerios. And so it goes.

The Moon and Reality Television

The moon followed me home tonight, one of those full moons like a flashlight full of new batteries shining in your face. I came home with tears brimming in my eyes and a need to blow my nose because I saw one of those amazing, inspirational movies. Tonight it was “Cinderella Man.” I laughed, I cried, and I thought how great Renee Zellweger looks on film compared to how squinty-eyed she looks on late night talk shows. When I ducked out of the theater, I said to myself, “Great movie.”

And, as so often happens, after seeing a movie or reading a book, I am inspired to write, but alas, it’s past 11:00 p.m. already and tomorrow morning is our fourth day of Vacation Bible School. The “Watering Hole” Station Leader asked me if I would be directing the VBS next year and I paused, but she didn’t really wait for an answer. She just told me that she’d be willing to work with me–no one else–and that if I’d do it, she’d do it and meanwhile, she’d be keeping an eye out for quarter-cup measuring cups because they’d come in handy for almost every day of snack-making.

The weird thing is that this year of running VBS seemed so easy that I will probably do it again next year. I have the most amazing volunteers who agree to work with me year after year, and kids who return each year and I am so good with running a program behind the scenes–why pretend otherwise–that I may as well do it. (I know, Cuppa thinks I need to take a “dirt” year (one in which I say “no” to everything). Maybe she’s right, but running VBS is almost as simple as breathing for me.

Or maybe I have actually gone insane.

As I was saying, tomorrow I have another day of Vacation Bible School. My husband has been staying home with Babygirl and DaycareKid. They aren’t quite old enough to participate. Each day, he loads the dishwasher while I’m gone. He’s going away on church business (despite his sabbatical, he still needs to attend this annual meeting) on Friday night. He’ll be gone for about a week. That’s one reason I went to the movie tonight–when he’s gone, I’ll be shackled to my home, just like Martha Stewart is shackled to hers, only my estate is somewhat less luxurious than hers, plus her ankle monitor can be removed and my four children cannot.

By the way, does anyone else get emails purporting to be from television networks who are recruiting families to appear on reality shows? I would never appear on a reality show. Unless a lot of money were paid to me. Or a new wardrobe given to me. Or the possibility of a tummy tuck were offered.

I’m just saying.

(I’m kidding, people! Me? Reality t.v.? Uh, no. Though I did once appear on a television show produced by Jim and Tammy Faye “You’re on the Brink of a Miracle” Bakker when I was an intern. I was just in the audience, though, sitting directly behind the man who would become my husband and his then-girlfriend, a blond Texan who’d been a cheerleader and who is now a flight attendant.)

Numbers

Children who attended Vacation Bible School today: 83
Volunteers at Vacation Bible School: 25
Dirty glasses in the kitchen: 17
Baskets of clean, wrinkled laundry: 2
Loads of dirty laundry: 7?
Glasses of Diet Coke consumed at anniversary dinner: 4
Years married to my husband: 18
Cats owned since wedding on July 18, 1987: 6
Cars owned during marriage: 6
Homes lived in since wedding: 8
States lived in since wedding: 4
Vacation Bible Schools I’ve been in charge of: 7
Jobs we’ve had during marriage: 13
Vacations involving airline travel and no kids: 1
Trips that included kids, hotels and traveling: 4
Hospital stays: Husband–twice (throat cancer);
TwinBoyA–once, corrective surgery when he was 3
Adoptions: 2
Births: 2
My shoe size on my wedding day: 8
Current shoe size: 9.5
Hours until I have to be back at church for Day Two, Vacation Bible School: 8.5

I Can’t Think of a Title

One of my favorite sights in Texas was the disco ball hanging from a tree in the rural yard at my sister-in-law’s house. A mirrored disco ball!

One of the funniest things I heard came on the day I was trying to convince my 12-year old twins to ride “Pirates of the Caribbean.” This was after I coerced them into going on “Tower of Terror” and “Rock’n Roller Coaster.” I said, “It’s not even scary!” and TwinBoyB leaned closer to me and said in a serious voice, “Mom. We are scared of butterflies.”

One of the coolest things I saw in Texas was a do-it-yourself carwash, which
featured a stall for washing your dog. Brilliant idea.

Tonight, I was at the church using an overhead projector to make an elephant. I took the outline outside and spraypainted it behind the church, in the grass. I noted that the air was already chilly since the sun had set. What a difference a week makes–last Saturday, I was sweating in the Florida humidity and heat. I could never get used to the idea that the darkness of night doesn’t bring cool air.

Whine, whine, whine

I dragged myself through this day, from my wake-up call at 6:00 a.m. (Babygirl, ready for a shower, Cheerios, and a video) through the delivery of three weeks’ worth of mail and an afternoon at the church, preparing a neglected room for twenty-five preschoolers next week. And it seems like I accomplished very little, yet I am so tired.

It’s that time of year, that time when I ask myself, “How did I get this job?” I am braiding together the three strands that comprise a church’s Vacation Bible School–the volunteers, the participating children and the materials. I have details swirling around in my brain–“must remember yarn for nametags”; “need to find that animal print fabric”; “call those two volunteers to see if they are in or out”; “finish banner for entryway”; et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I am juggling a billion slippery details.

Not a big deal, except my brain feels like a giant colander and the details like grains of rice, slipping right through the holes.

We already have more children signed up than we have slots. I’m going to have to stand up in front of the congregation and plead for more volunteers. I hate doing that. I hate making phone calls. I hate my hair.

Did I mention how tired I feel? Send methamphetamines.

Daisy-Petal Plucking

My daughter should be upstairs, watching a short video before she goes to bed at her scheduled bedtime in twenty minutes.

Instead, she’s in the backyard, wrestling five-feet tall daisies to the ground so she can pluck their petals. She’s wearing fuzzy footy pajamas and her yellow rainboots. When I went out to take her picture, she pointed to the sky and said, “Look! A tiny moon!”

She is addicted to flower-petal plucking. I need to make her stop and go to bed. But I can’t. God made two-year olds this cute so you don’t keep them in a closet, gagged, until they turn four.