Dreaming in Numbers

Last week I had a dream I was back in high school math (did I say dream? I meant nightmare), only I was married to my husband, Ed, who was in the class with me.  The teacher was my daughter Olivia's 4th grade teacher and she wanted me to finish some big math project before the end of the class (even though I'd been out of the room most of the day--probably making copies for her).

I didn't want to do this project because it was one of those that had lots of steps and are supposed to help you learn the basics (even though you may already understand it).
I tried to tell the teacher I didn't have all the stuff I needed to finish the project, hoping she'd let me just skip it ('cause it was high school math, and I'm grown up and married, and she's my daughter's 4th grade teacher who I had done a lot of volunteer work for, including cutting out 600 paper apples with the die cut machine).  Instead she said "That's okay, all the markers and counters are over there so you can finish".

Sigh.

I really didn't want to do this project, as I'd already passed both 4th grade math and high school math.  It was going to take too long and it was almost the end of the day and end of the school year.  And Ed was already done.  (If you're married in high school, can you just do one set of homework?  Washington is a community property state, after all.)

It was at this point that I started waking up.  I was still in that half-conscious zone, where if it had been a real nightmare I'd still be freaked out and my heart would be pounding.  But instead the solution to my math problem came to me (as if in a dream, or half out of a dream):  multiplication!  All I had to do was multiply the numbers to solve the problem and then I'd be done with it!

I'd forgotten about this dream until I ran into Olivia's teacher yesterday at the store and told her about my dream, much to Olivia's embarrassment.

And what message should I take from this dream?  If you're a grown up you get to skip a lot of the boring steps?  Math isn't fun? Or multiplication will save your ass every time.



(I'd like to dedicate this dream to John Scieszka's Math Curse, which perfectly describes my relationship to all things numeral .)

An Ounce of Prevention

Lady parts are back in the headlines again, their magical properties,  proper manners and property rights.  Pro Life and Pro Choice can be argued endlessly and never agreed upon by more than two people on any given day, much less the days leading up to a presidential election.

I know a thing or two about Lady Parts, having been a proud owner these many years.  I have used my magic for both good and evil and have a little something to say on the matter.

When it comes down to Right to Choose versus Anti-Abortion, there are more than two sides to the debate.  Everyone has a story, a different set of circumstances and none of it is black and white.  Here I am, an educated middle-class woman with a liberal democrat ideology and a host of friends who say we must have the right to choose.

But what if we don't get to choose?

Once upon a time, I was a happily married mother of one, planning to add to our family with another bundle of joy. I saw my doctor, I took the vitamins, I peed on the stick.  Happy, happy, joy, joy--it was positive, I was pregnant.  Then at eight weeks I began bleeding and miscarried.  To me this was a child I'd lost.  A planned for, dreamed about, wanted baby.  At eight weeks, with no heart beat and no chance of survival, this was still a child.  I cried, I grieved, I blamed myself. Eventually I went on to produce two more healthy children, but my miscarriage has colored how I view this issue. 

Can I say that it's okay to abort a fetus at eight weeks because it feels no pain, has no mental cognition, no finger prints, no rights?  I think of the child I lost and cannot say for sure, cannot know when life really begins or even when it ends.  That is my set of circumstances, my opinion, my personal feelings.

On the other hand, the thought of someone as out of touch with what goes on in my uterus as Todd Akin telling me what I can and cannot do with that magical organ makes my blood boil.  This is not the price of gas, the rules of the road, or Roberts Rules of Order.  This is my life, my uterus and my own damn business. 

I choose to believe the Anti-Abortion groups really think they are preserving innocent lives when they picket Planned Parenthood and try to pass broad legislation on reproductive rights.  I may be giving some of them more credit than they deserve, but I think of the child I might have had and realize they might not be able to see past the word "baby," either.

The male politicians with a limited understanding of basic human biology, the teenage girl who feels betrayed and trapped by her own body, the Christian groups who feel it is their divine duty to protect us from ourselves and the mother who can't afford another mouth to feed will never agree.  Too many different view points, backgrounds and circumstances.  Doctors can study it until the end of time and still not be able to pinpoint when life begins and a cluster of cells becomes a human being.  It seems this is one of those things only God can know--when we reach those pearly gates and He explains it all to us, it will all seem so obvious--but for now perhaps it's time to let it go.  Give this decision making process over to the woman, her doctor and her god.

Yet, there are still unwanted, ill-timed and dangerous pregnancies occurring.  Perhaps we're all going at this argument from the wrong end.  Maybe instead of fighting over what to do or not to do about unwanted pregnancies, we could put that energy into helping women prevent these pregnancies to begin with.  Support Planned Parenthood instead of bombing it, help those women find decent jobs and reliable child care instead of hurling insults at them.  And, yes, there is still the birth control issue to get through--who pays for it, who can use it, is my church-run hospital legally obligated to provide it--but think about how much time and money has been put into the abortion debate.  Divide this number by 100 and we could still have this problem solved before Todd Akin concedes the senate race.

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. 

Post Apocalyptic Soccer Mom

It recently occurred to me that with my husband coaching our middle child's team, our oldest with a new driver's license and our youngest turning in her cleats, I could go this entire soccer season with out attending a single practice.  For those of you who have not experienced youth sports, you may not realize the significance of this.  (And I'm sure there are a few die-hard team parents out there who would think this bad thing--how can I connect with my child without team sports?)  And while it may be the end of an era, please consider this:  while you're watching your kid do drills in the rain, after a long day at work, and having grabbed some greasy fast food for dinner, I will be at home, in a quiet house, enjoying a hot dinner and maybe a TV show. I will have my life back, if only temporarily.  I have had a kid in team sports for ten years now, with nine years of soccer, and five of those years I had all three kids in soccer. 

Consider this word problem:  Kristin has three kids playing soccer and their practices are all on the same nights, at two separate fields and three different times. Kristin must feed all three children before she leaves the house.  Her husband often isn't done working until one hour after the first practice starts. How far into soccer season before Kristin loses her sanity?

Whatever will I do with all this free time on my hands?  I feel like the lady on the Swiffer commercial who suddenly has time to read, now that she has the special duster (except, of course, I don't dust).  Then I realized there might be a niche for a professional soccer mom.  I could take your kid to practice, making sure he remembers his shin guards, be in charge of the snack schedule, provide an endless supply  of clean soccer socks and keep track of where the next game is.  Meanwhile, you can be relaxing at home, unwinding with a nice glass of wine.  (This has always been my gripe with my kids' extra curricular activities--no adult beverages with dinner, as drunken soccer moms are frowned upon.)

I must confess I have already broken my Zero Tolerance on Practices. My daughter had her first practice of the season and I came by for the second half of practice (after having taking the youngest to swimming lessons--so much for my adult beverage with dinner).  I wanted to see who was on the team this year and visit with the other parents.  I suppose there will be a few more practices that my husband can't make it to on time and I will be called back into duty, but this reminds me that someday I will not need soccer balls and extra shin pads in the back of my stinky minivan.  One day I really will have my life back and then what will I do? 

I will be enjoying an adult beverage with my dinner and reading my book in peace.

Vampires in the Basement

Lon Chaney as the Phantom

Last night I had a dream that we had a vampire living in our basement.  (We, of course, do not have a basement, but apparently the sleeping mind is not concerned with details.)  This was not the Twilight/Robert Pattinson type vampire, but more of the old school, Lon Chaney variety (think Phantom of the Opera).  I believe he even appeared in black and white, while the rest of the dream was in glorious technicolor. 

He's so dreamy..;)

The problem in the dream wasn't that the vampire was living in our basement, but that he was sneaking in his undead girlfriend.  And she was taking extended hot showers in our bathroom (apparently my subliminal brain believes the undead to be a bit chilly), therefore keeping the rightful owner (me) from using the facilities.

Next our vampire tenant invited his family over to hang out--his parents and grandparents were bats, naturally.  "Great", I thought, "now we have bats in the basement.  At least they won't be hogging the bathroom."

I awoke from this dream to the realization that I had a very full bladder.  Evidently this long and slightly weird dream was my body's way of telling me to get up and go pee.

As I thought about this dream later, I wondered if I could fit it all into a Facebook post, but decided a quick blog was needed to do it justice.  After all, a subconscious mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Too Good to Be True

I haven't written anything in quite awhile, but every time I think I should sit down and whip out something, I grow very sleepy.  Too many early mornings and not enough napping seem to be zapping my creative energy.  Maybe that's it, I thought.  Maybe I don't have anything else to say. 

But then, as if answering my cries in the wilderness (of unincorporated Snohomish county), God bequeathed unto me the miracle I'd been waiting for--infomercials.

My husband has been leaving the house by 5:30, and being the good little wifey, I've been rising early with him (that and the dogs bark incessantly after he leaves). With nothing much to do that early (I learned the hard way that my brain is not capable of work before 7am), I turn on the TV, but all that's on are infomercials .  Every time I tune into one I start out skeptical-- I don't care which aging star you hire to hawk your exercise program, I'm not buying.  (Is Chuck Norris really still alive/!)  But there's nothing else on so I sometimes pause and watch a few extra minutes--and that's when they reel me in. Cindy Crawford says the secret beautiful skin is melons grown in an undisclosed location in the south of France!  Maybe I can have rock hard abs and make a $100,000 a year from the privacy of my own home! At first they seem all smarmy, but after 10 minutes I'm a believer. How does this happen?

The Contour Ab Belt is a product that seems beyond ridiculous, like something you'd order from the back of a comic book (along with your xray glasses). This is a belt you wear around your midsection that sends electrical impulses through your muscles, thereby working your abdominal muscles for you. The pulsating belt will give me six-pack abs while I watch TV, iron, or stroll on the beach.   I noticed the fine print as it quickly flashed across the bottom of the screen, in print too minuscule for the human eye (luckily mine are bionic, or I have reading glasses...whatever).  In order to reach the results seen on TV, I would need to eat right and exercise.  Hold the phone--I thought this was the answer to my prayers!  I want to get in rock hard shape without all the fuss and muss, all for a $14.95, 30 day trial. (I noticed they never said what you pay after the 30 days--or I became too disillusioned before they got to that part.)  If I can't trust the Contour Ab Belt, who can I trust?!

The 6 Week Body Makeover promises to let you re-sculpt your body--all you have to do is draw a picture of the body you want over the body you have and you too can achieve your dreams. (Mine would include long thin legs and a curvaceous bust line)  At first I thought this was just another crazy weight loss scheme, but this one actually seems sensible.  You eat regular food and you exercise, all according to the personalized plan they sell you for six easy payments of $19.95.  I listened to the many testimonials from satisfies customers, but was disappointed by the disclaimer:  "Your results will vary depending on compliance, starting weight and other factors."  Other factors? Such as the phase of the moon or whether you break up with your boyfriend in those six weeks?  I can have my results vary for free, thank you very much.

My favorite by far is the Psychic Source.  Now I have nothing against psychics--while not a true believer, you only have to watch "Long Island Medium" to lose your skepticism.  Of course there is the problem of doing a psychic reading over the phone--what if I have static on my line?  Will they misread me and recommend the wrong lottery numbers?  This particular company promotes many types of services, from Pet Psychic ("Now hold the phone up to Fluffy's ear") to Lost Objects ("Madam Fortenza, where did I leave my keys?").  And your first call is only $10 for the first 10 minutes!  Then they flashed the disclaimer and broke my little psychic heart:  "Readings are for entertainment only."  Man, disappointed again!

In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit to once ordering something from an infomercial.  It was a Pilate's DVD that came with some sort of exercise hoop.  Unfortunately the DVD did not show any exercise routines, but only what I could look forward to if I ordered the rest of the DVD set.  And they never told me what I supposed to do with that stupid hoop.

Four Wise Men

It's Father's Day and time to remember all the wonderful dads in our lives. My ideas of  life, parenthood and happiness have been influenced by four men that I have watched in their roles of father/grandfather.  I learned a lot from each of them and count myself lucky to have had them in my life.

Roy Alvick was a first generation Norwegian American, with bright blue eyes and a quiet demeanor.  He was the father of only one son, my wonderful dad, but the grandfather to five active kids. Our grandmother was known to dominate the conversation, but if you could get Grandpa alone he always had something interesting to say.  He could always be depended on to listen closely to what his grand kids had to say, asking thoughtful questions with no sense of hurry.  Grandpa was one of the smartest men I've ever known, though most people might not know the depth of his intelligence by the lack of his words.  He was present at every important event of my life and cried at my wedding.  He lived to be 100 years old and had his wits about until the end. Grandpa taught me it's just as important to listen as it is to talk.

Grandpa Don was my mother's father.  He had a deep laugh, a big belly and smoked a pipe.  He'd spent his life working as a logger, fishing, and writing poetry.  He had three daughters (one who died as a young woman), but ended up with 11 grandchildren.  He was the pied piper of grandfathers--us grand kids would happily follow him wherever he went.  Grandpa Don used to have us pile into his old stinky truck and go up back roads, down to the waterfront of his hometown, or anywhere he needed to go that day.  Sometimes, if we were out in the country, he'd let us sit on the back tail gate, swinging our legs over the dusty road (as long as we promised not to tell Grandma or our mother).  Grandpa Don taught me that kids don't need trips to Disneyland or expensive gifts to know they're loved, they just need your presence and your attention.

My father, Bud Alvick, is indeed a man among men.  He started his career as a math teacher, moved into a position in school administration and eventually became an elementary school principal.  Dad was always a people person and had a way with kids, especially his own  We didn't have a lot of money growing up and our house was filled to the brim with five kids, two parents, a dog, and various pet rats/mice/hamsters.  Dad treated me, the youngest and probably whiniest child, as if I was something special.  He never asked me to be more like my brother, to excel at anything I didn't have a passion for, or to be anyone but who I was.  He taught me who I am is all I need to be and that the men in my life should treat me with respect and admiration.

My husband, Ed, lost his own father to cancer just months before we met.  Although I'd never had a chance to meet his dad,  I got the impression that he'd had set a pretty high standard in Ed's mind of what it meant to be a father.  Our first child was a boy followed by our older daughter three years later.  I could tell he thought this second child would be more mine than his.  He looked forward to taking our son hunting and fishing--what would he do with a little girl?  These days our two girls have their daddy wrapped around their fingers and he happily takes them wherever they ask to go.  "Hunger Games" movies and art galleries may not have been what he had in mind when he started out on the road to fatherhood, but he is happy to make the trip.  My husband has taught me that sometimes what you never expected in life turns out to be exactly what you always wanted.

Happy Father's Day, everyone!

Headlines

While scanning the online news I begin to think the writers are either National Enquirer alumni or Masters of the Obvious.  I realize the headlines for internet news sources are over exaggerated to pull you in, but sometimes they have very little to do with the actual story.  The following are some of those that caught my eye, the weird and the wonderful, the obvious and the obnoxious.


The Most Common Running Injuries And How To Avoid Them 

Well, I thought, walk.  And avoid scissors.


Kim Kardashian: I've Learned to Appreciate My Private Life 

My first thought on seeing this was:  so have millions of men on the internet, late at night, with only one hand on the keyboard.  Kim has been taking a beating lately for things she's said while being followed around day and night by a TV camera.  Apparently she announced that "Indian food is disgusting."  If you or I said this, in the circle of our friends, most would just think we don't like Indian food.  Kim announcing it on national TV was like declaring war on anyone of Indian heritage.  It was the foot-in-mouth moment we've all experienced, but then we're not being paid millions of dollars to be followed around by a TV camera.  (Wait, we're not are we?)


Gun Range Offers Children's Birthday Parties

Hmm, it beats Chuckie Cheese.


Turbulent Tykes Torture Other Travelers 

Okay, I would not have gone with the painfully awkward alliteration.   ("Weary Writer Wrings Words from Week-old Tale of Whiny Whippersnapper")  A child and his father were asked to leave a plane before take off because the child wouldn't sit in the seat belt.  This writer's solution?  Kid-free flights.  Apparently said-writer was never a child herself (or has ever had  the pleasure of traveling to Las Vegas with a bachlorette party or a group of 20-something "men" hoping to get lucky).


Star Refused to Shave Legs as a Kid

WTH???  It was Kristen Stewart and she was 13.  How is this interesting to anyone who is not a complete stalker?  But then I wondered if the real reason Bella didn't marry Jacob is because she's his long-lost werewolf sister.  Then I realize I've spent way too much time thinking about this.


10 Simple Ways to Lighten Up and Let Life Flow

AOL's Health News always has an article like this:  "5 Ways to Be Happier at Work," "Ten Easy Steps to Make Love Last, "3 Things That No One Is Interested In Reading About."  Number 10 in the actual article is  "Smile at strangers."  Umm...?!?  Smiling at strangers will undoubtedly lead to a creeper following you home, in which case you will probably not lighten up.


400,000 Toothpicks Stolen

Why would someone want 400,000 toothpicks?  I tried googling "what to do with toothpicks" and none of the listings had any more than 5 ideas (and that still leaves you with like 399, 995 toothpicks).  One use was plugging a hole in a garden hose--not very imaginative if you ask me.  Turns out this was an inside job--at the toothpick factory (?!?)--and the guy was selling them at a flea market.  Also not very imaginative (and I can't think very lucrative, unless of course you're in the martini business).


I know I spend way too much time thinking about this stuff (so you don't have to!), but I am amazed by what passes for news (or news-like articles).  A couple of these were taken from the "Weird News" listings, but most were just regular news stories.  As they say, you just can't make this shit up.