Peeta Mellark- I Can’t Come See Your Movie

         Note to self: Don’t see a movie about a teenage character you “liked” in a book.

         That was a lesson I learned thanks to the Twilight series.  Screening the cheesy series for my daughter, I got sucked into the Jacob vs. Edward debate.  It wasn’t much of a choice- vampire vs. werewolf.  Still it was fun and mindless and all over the US at the time.  Its fine to get caught up in your head but then, when you see the age of the actors picked, you feel like a perv.  Was I just debating which 16 year old I liked better?!  Gross!  (Harry Potter did not teach this lesson to me because he was a child when the series started; it would’ve been very Woody Allen to fall for Harry!)

         Despite lesson learned, I now have a dilemma.  A series that I loved is out as a movie and I think I’m love one of the teenage main characters!  The movie “The Hunger Games” is based on the first of a series by Suzanne Collins.  (Not for younger kids!  But younger kids might like her Gregor Series.) Set in a future dystopia it is gripping and sometimes grisly.  It centers on a government-imposed televised fight to the death between children.   The battle is meant to tyrannize a downtrodden population and to remind them of a failed past rebellion. Despite the disturbing idea, the story is engrossing and fast paced. 

         The heroine is Katniss and Peeta is the boy who loves her and fights by her side.  I will say it- I love Peeta.  (Sorry, J.)  But, I think it is perfectly reasonable for me to love Peeta.  The book is told in the first person, which makes me-Katniss!  A teenage girl.  It’s okay for a teenage girl to like a teenage boy.  But a movie will force me to face the face that I am not a teenage girl.  (A problem on it’s own because I refuse to believe how old I am.  Someday, I might be an old woman with feathered hair and purple eye shadow.)  What I can ignore in a book, will be glaring in the visual domain—Peeta is a child.  It would be gross for me to love him.

         So, let me rethink this.  It’s not exactly that I love Peeta.  It might just be that I want my husband to take a few lessons from him.  Peeta thinks everything Katniss does is wonderful, even when it’s terrible and selfish.  His every thought is about making her happy or meeting her needs.  (And he’s a baker’s son so he does the cooking, I’m sure. Bonus!) He remembers what food she likes and her favorite color!   He is hopelessly devoted without being creepy- a la Edward from Twilight.

         I think I want my husband to be more delighted in my every action.  (i.e. “How amusing! You burned dinner again!” or “The place looks charming when you don’t clean all week!”)  Is that too much to ask for?  Some simple adoration?  But, then again, if he was following me all over the house telling me how great I am it might start to piss me off eventually.  Or, maybe, quicker than I think…  The first few days would be probably be great but then I would start thinking he was being sarcastic.  “How amusing; you burned dinner, again!” Every wonderful thing he said I’d probably be shouting back “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

         I guess that’s why Peeta is a fictional character.  Even though he sounds great on paper, that level of devotion wouldn’t work for long in the real world. And, now that I’ve come to terms with his perfection being a flaw, maybe I can let go of the idea of Peeta.  He wouldn’t work for me.  (And you’re off the hook for the adoration thing, J.  You’re welcome.)  I guess I can go see the movie now without feeling like a dirty old woman.  Glad we figured that out!

          

Teen Lit

         I am a big fan of teen/ young adult lit. Why would a not quite middle aged (I am not middle aged) mom like teen lit?  It's easily digestible and manageable. As a mom, I have a limited amount of time to read. When I get horizontal at night, I can read only a few minutes before I pass out. Have you ever tried to read a grownup novel five minutes at a time?  It could take years.  And, if it’s a good book and really sucks me in, I become the worst mom ever.  When I am on a book bender, the house gets dirtier and everyone gets to watch more TV.   Anything goes.  (Hope my kids don’t see this, they will be leaving bestsellers on the nightstand.  What I call bad mom, they call opportunity!) With young adult lit, the writing is lighter, the print is bigger and there are fewer pages.  All equaling the possibility of a good read at a great speed.  If I’m lucky, it’s a great read and my bender is very short lived with no negative household affects.

         When I was a kid, I loved Sci-Fi and Fantasy.  I devoured Madeline L’Engle, Ray Bradbury, Anne McCaffrey and books about magic and witches.  But there weren’t many to choose from.  As a mom stuck in the kid’s room of the library, I started with the Harry Potter series.  Excellent!  Not only was the story terrific but also was exactly what I had liked as a kid.  And once Harry Potter took the world by storm, there were many more authors jumping into the genre.  Some great, some not so great.

         When my daughter was in fifth grade, all the girls were reading the Twilight books.  She was curious but I didn’t know how appropriate they were.  I kept asking around but decided I should just read the book myself.  Complete drivel. (When I told my daughter it was all romance, she said “Ug, forget it.”)  Pages and pages of “he looked at me.”  Somehow it was both chaste and trashy.  So of course, I read the whole series. [Chagrin]

         I couldn’t help it.  And apparently I was not alone.  There is a phenomenon called Twilight Moms.  Moms who were checking into their kids reading habits got sucked into the Team Edward vs. Team Jacob debate.  There are even websites and forums! (No, I don’t do that!)  Okay, trashy as they are, I can see getting sucked into the books.  In the day-to-day life of a mom, there is little in the way of romance.  Supermarket flowers on Valentine’s Day, flannel PJs, considering it sexy when your husband does dishes.  Face it, after 10-20 years, married folks are not on their best behavior anymore. 

         So it’s fun to dumb down the book club for a month and pick a team over wine but no one over 25 (and that’s pushing it) should be wearing Twilight merchandise! It’s a little creepy.  Especially once the movies came out.  It’s one thing to read a book about teenagers and love it or the characters because we are all kids in our heads.  But to go to a movie and sigh over someone who is young enough to be your kid?  Eeww.  Seeing the first movie made me feel a little dirty for even picking a team.   It was a fun-sucker.      

         It reminded me of when I had a huge crush (mostly based on looks) on someone in school that I adored from afar.  Then, when I actually met him, eeew.  Dullsville.  He was soooo much better in my head.  Most books are better in your head as well.  Sometimes it is fun to see someone else’s interpretation and see how your ideas compare.  But, I think when you are a grownup enamored with a teenage character it may be better to skip the movie!  Which leaves me in a bind for a movie that’s out now…

To Be Continued…

Skiing- Victory!

            Been following my skiing saga?  Well guess what!  The saying holds true: Third time’s a charm.  We went skiing again and, despite our weather curse, we had a great time.  In my mind, we would ski on a beautiful, sunny day and would swoosh down the slopes basking in nature’s glory.  In reality, there were clouds and sleet fogging our goggles and making the back of my coat fuse to the metal on the chair lift.  But maybe all this bad weather is honing our skills?

            This time, wait for it, no one went insane.  We all enjoyed ourselves with only some minor despair over being cold, wet and tired.  (And from the one kid who hadn’t freaked out on our other trips.  So it was past due and relieved by a food break.)  I started to see what my husband had been envisioning when he started this whole skiing thing: a great family activity.  As opposed to what I had been seeing: a lot of packing, bundling and crying.  I have drunken the kool aid.  (<--Bad grammar, I know.)

            We swooshed along together.  Sharing falls and laughs and death defying near misses. (In our imaginations; you always have to embellish!)  It really was fun.  And despite only having skied a few times myself, I was getting better.  Still doing a lot of snow plowing but hardly falling!  (Now they call snow plowing the “pizza pie” and parallel skis “french fries”.  Easier to explain to the kiddies but highlighting America's fast food problem?  Why not “pita wedge” and “carrot sticks”?  But I digress…)

            I also gave up my ski poles on that weekend trip and now ski without them!  Impressed?  Don’t be.  It is sooo much easier without them.  I’m going to try and give you a mental image of what I look like when I ski:  I ski like a full body seizure.  I see people gliding down the mountain looking effortlessly graceful and athletic.  I need every muscle in my body contracting and releasing hundreds of time each second just to stay upright.  Imagine the start and stop of a tango on high speed with none of the grace.  Or Lurch in a full body flail. Now imagine two really long, pointy sticks being introduced into the mix.  It’s much better for everyone on the mountain if I am not armed. 

            The last time I skied, I was thinking about what a pain it is to carry them around.  They are useful when you need to push along a flat bit and helped stop me from drifting in the lift line.  But coming down the mountain?  They hung, useless, at my sides or dragging behind me.  I realized that many of the times I fell, I was tripping myself with them.  (No, I really can’t answer how I managed to get them in front of me and between me legs.  It’s a scientific mystery.)  And I have a hard enough time getting on and off the lift without taking down everyone around me.  Add the poles and it’s a recipe for disaster. I decided maybe it would be better for the skiing populace if I tried to go pole-less.  (Maybe strippers should try to go pole-less too.  No?)

            So, I parked my poles in a rack and looked around.  Almost all the grownups had poles but it didn’t look like they really did much with them.  Most of the kids don’t seem to use poles anymore and there were all these newborns in ski school zipping down the mountains with no poles.  I have a college degree; surely I could figure it out!  But then again, I can’t tell you how my poles got in front of me to trip me up…

            It was oddly scary to think about not using poles.  I was afraid of falling and not having them to help me up.  And even though I knew they weren’t doing me any good, they were almost like a security blanket. I was beginning to think I should hold something in each hand to trick myself that I had them.  Like Bob Dole and his pen?  But those are pointy.  Two bananas?  Too weird.  Should I just tear the grips off the poles and carry those?  In the end, I decided to be brave and go it alone.

            Ahhh, it’s hard to believe how much easier it is for me to only have two appendages dealing with things that can make me fall down.  I have no idea what I look like coming down the mountain.  I probably am comically holding my arms in the same positions as when I did have poles.  But maybe I look better.  I’m sure that the poles drew attention to my arms, pin wheeling at a high rate of speed, as I twitched downhill.  I am going to go with the “looking better”.  Maybe I even graceful?  Hahahahaha!  Not a chance but I am happy if I don’t look like I need medical attention for an ongoing stroke!

Skiing- Part Deux

Skiing- Part Deux

         My husband loves the idea of skiing.  He loves that we can do it as a family.  And, theoretically, he is right.  We could come off the slopes rosy cheeked, full of trail stories to share, tired and happy…  It just hasn’t happened yet, at least not for me.  My husband and I have skied at the same times and in the same places this winter BUT have had completely different experiences.

         In January, we took our first real ski trip for a weekend.  It was the coldest stretch of our unusually mild winter.  All the layers coupled with frustration drove one of my children insane.  I handled the situation with patience and grace.  Hahahahaha!  I mean I went insane and hissed and pulled my hair out.  All while my husband skied happily with the two sane kids and even got a chance to go up the mountain on a grownup run.  It was okay with me.  He loves to ski and I am a novice.  It made sense for me to be with the little one. And towards the end of the day, the cloud of insanity lifted and we did have some fun.

         So we decided to try again with a day trip to a slope a few hours away.  I was kind of excited because I was getting a little bit better.  The weather was warmer and the insanity had lifted toward the end of the last trip.  (And it was 80’s weekend at the hill!)  I was hopeful for a good day.  Just to make sure I had a better time my husband and I switched kids.  I would take the older two who were fine last time and he would take the child who had imploded last time.  I’m going to pause so you can figure out what happened next….

         Did you guess?  The child who was so difficult last time had found her skiing mojo.  She and her dad took off for the lifts.  My son, who last time couldn’t be convinced to take a break, imploded.  Not right away, these things take time.  (If it had happened right away, I would’ve realized and switched kids back in a hurry.)  We had a few good runs.  Going slow getting the feel of things.  I’m feeling great, thinking, “I can feel myself getting better.  I just needed to practice!  I can do this! Hubby was right!  This is fun!”  We pick up a little speed and I get a little ahead of my son. Smiling, I turn to look back and he is down and holding his knee.  I pull over and wait for him to get up.  And wait.  I begin to edge my way uphill towards him.  The fun begins…

         This was the first real fall of the day so his particular brand of crazy had yet to ratchet up to top speed.  This time, he “couldn’t feel” his leg.  After a few minutes of sympathy, he gets up dramatically stoic and we continue down the slope.  I am happy he is okay and we’re having fun right?  I know there are no sharks in skiing but if there was a soundtrack to my day a few bars of the Jaws theme would have played right them.  This was only the beginning…

         On another run, I was waiting for him to get up and he didn’t again.   When I got to him I was met with, “You don’t even care that I got hurt?!” We wound up walking down the remainder of the hill.  I got a message from my husband that he and the happy one were taking a break at the top of the hill with a snack and they would meet us later.  They sounded happy.  We decided to take a food and Advil break; hoping everyone would feel better after lunch.

         When we got back out, my husband and the one we now call “Rocket” zoomed by laughing.  Optimistically, we headed to the lifts.  We made it few a more runs; stopping for breaks to rest his knee and talking it slow.  It seemed that every time I started to get into a rhythm my son would fall and be “seriously” injured. Our very last run, I was already pushing the limits of childhood sanity.  My son said he would go one last time despite his pain.  (Have I mentioned his low pain threshold?)  I just kept hoping the mood would turn around.  It was not to be.  One more fall.  More knee clutching. One more dramatic walk down the hill. 

         We meet up with my husband and the little one.  They are all rosy cheeked and laughing.  We were all ornery.  I can’t figure it out.  Why are they grumpy with me? Do I exude noxious mood fumes? We are planning another try the following weekend and there is one more kid.  One who has been calm up until now.  Will she be the next to self-destruct on my watch?  Who should I unload on my husband?!  Decisions, decisions….

Skiing-Or how Memories Differ

           I went skiing with my family recently and my husband loved it.  We have skied in the past but just for a day trip here and there and we always put the kids into ski class.  This was the first time we went for a weekend and all tried to ski together.  In theory, it is a sport we could all do together, something that could bring us closer as the kids get bigger.  We could all ride the lifts together, swoosh down the slopes together, take a break in the lodge together and sip hot chocolate while laughing (TOGETHER).  Our cheeks rosy, hands wrapped around the cups for warmth, we would be happy. 

         It is a beautiful image and I’m sure that is what my husband pictures as he thinks back on the weekend.  It’s funny how the human brain works because I have a very different memory…

         I remember packing the car with so much stuff that I think we should’ve just dragged the entire house up I-95.  It might have been bulkier but it would’ve saved me a lot of time.  I remember driving through a terrifying storm with whiteout conditions, cars sliding into ditches, questionable directions and no cell service.  How wonderful when we finally arrived at the rental!  Oh joy! Oh wait- it was up a huge, slick hill.  It took an hour and lots of tries before we finally got the car (by going in reverse!) up the hill.  That’s okay it was an adventure!  A story the kids can tell their kids- yeah, that’s the ticket.

         Of course, the weekend we decide to ski, the weather swings from mild to arctic.  So, I also remember having to force kids with waaay too many tactile issues into the right number of layers, ski boots, balaclavas, helmets and toss them to the curb to wait in the cold for the shuttle bus to the slopes.  And that’s when it got really fun!

         There was a teensy hill at the base of the actual bunny slope that the kids were practicing on to get their ski legs. (Is that a thing? Like sea legs? It should be.)  Two kids quickly got bored and moved on to the bigger bunny slope.  I kept running up and down the little hill, legs encased in concrete boots, to carry up the third’s skis so she could try again and again.  The hill was too small.  (Really, your comforter makes bigger hills.) Before she could try turning, she was at the bottom.  Let’s just say it spiraled downward from there.  Until someone was facedown weeping in the snow.  No, it wasn’t me.  But only because there were so many people around.  If we were alone, I would surely have crumpled first.  We needed to take a break before I really snapped…

         Next, I remember having hot chocolate in the lodge with all five of us crowded around the three seats we could find.  And I remember the rosy-cheeked young strangers across the table watching as I hissed at my youngest who was throwing a fit.  My usually mild mannered child had been driven completely insane by the frustration of trying to ski, the fear we would force her onto a lift and the seams in the many articles of clothing refusing to lay right.  It was a perfect storm of childhood quirks.  Eventually, everyone settled down.  But not before the nice young couple across the table left to go get sterilized…

         Fortified by food, we headed out to try again.  Very quickly, all good feelings evaporated and it was more of the same.  Frustration, accusations, weeping.  Over skiing?!   When did giving advice become such an unforgivable trait in a parent?   In an effort to not commit a heinous crime with many witnesses, I told my daughter as calmly as I could, “Maybe you just need to figure it out by yourself.  You go up and down as much as you want.  You carry your skis.  I’ll be over here if you need me.” (So much more mature that what I really wanted to say.  That would’ve made some memory!)  

         After laying face down in the snow for five whole minutes, she got up, gathered herself and got to work.  And when dad came over, she suddenly agreed to try the actual bunny slope.  She was suddenly in a sporting mood and he couldn’t understand why I was purple.  Of course, she loved the lift and the big hill.   And, wonder of wonders, she apologized to me!  Then we all skied together on the bunny slope for the little that was left of the day.  Truthfully, that was really fun.  Someday, I may only remember that glorious hour when it was the way we had all pictured it would be.

         Eventually, I will forget my day of rage on the ski slope.  Maybe I am already repressing it because I have agreed to go again.  Hmmm, I wonder if I keep agreeing to go will I be able to build a composite day out of all the best parts of various days over the years.  That’s the day I want to remember!

Happy New Year! (My First Blog Post!)

                     Happy New Year to you all!  Yeah, I know that was a while ago- I’m always behind the times…I’ve been thinking of doing this since the actual New Year.  I decided since today is my birthday, it’s a new year for me and a good time to just do it!  If you are reading this, [insert echo effect] Welcome to My Resolution!  Here I am, in my second adolescence, trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.  Didn’t I do this already?  Where is the freaking guidance counselor in this joint?  Since I’ve stopped drinking the Dora Kool Aid, I have a little free time before I have jump back into the workforce. (As what is anyone’s guess…) Any other full time mom will tell you that they love their job and would never trade it.  All true.  But do they ever ‘fess up to the fact that the monotony can make you crazy?   (Really, I have to feed you again?) And honestly, I was a little crazy to start…

         So I thought I’d shake things up and give this blog thing a whirl.  I like to think I’m funny.  (I always laugh at my jokes.)  I am definitely a little “funny” and like to laugh at the little absurdities of everyday life.  The definition of “touched in the head” is slightly demented or mentally deficient.  I often feel both.  (I know that I am smart but it is a random jumble of knowledge that serves me no purpose in the “real” world. Unless that purpose is playing Trivial Pursuit and how often does that happen?! )

         I’m also a “mental” (you can chose which kind of mental I mean) wanderer. My mind works like a poorly designed flow chart.  Thoughts elbow each other around and the ones who work their way to the front are not the most useful.  It’s not that I can’t see the forest for the trees; it’s just that I can’t see the forest because that tree stump over there is hogging my attention.  (It’s shaped like a butt.)  What can I say? I’m easily distracted. 

         It would be bad enough that the physical world distracts me all the time but I often have these Wonder Years/Scrubs inner montages scrolling behind my eyes.  No wonder I’m always late and confused!  I think a steady childhood diet of Twinkies and sitcoms has affected me on a molecular level.  (Did you ever read the ingredients of Twinkies? With a child’s rapid cell division, that couldn’t have been good for me.)

         Damaged by Hostess or not, nowadays, I am a slightly irregular stay home mom who has no fabulous advice for you. I will never be able to set a beautiful holiday table or tell you how to get stains out of carpet. (Put a towel over it.) I would rather laugh than cook dinner.  In fact, I often make breakfast for dinner.  I’m not a super-Suzy-homemaker.  I won’t be bragging about the wonderful sachets I embroidered.  I’m not even the best mom ever.  My children are not able to embroider French poetry on the nonexistent sachets and I often mess up dinner and forget things.   But they love me anyway and they always feel loved (I hope) and we laugh all the time. 

         So! What will this blog be about?  It won’t be a brag fest. I guess ‘cause I’m a mom there will be a bunch of parenting craziness.  BUT I’m also a wife, a human and once, I was a child. (I’m still often childish.)  I guess I am going to share some of my rambling thoughts with you.  Let you see things as I see them.  I can find a laugh in almost everything.  It’s my type of humor but is it yours?  I hope I will make you chuckle.  If I do, psst, pass it on… (If not, bug off!)

P.S.  I am planning to post tomorrow and then every Tuesday.  (Because who has the time to do anything extra on Monday?!) And, they definitely won’t be long rambly diary posts.  Short and amusing is my goal.  Y’all come back now, ya’hear?