Sometimes Mom, always Dad

"Sometimes Mom, Always Dad"

Anyone ever felt second best? My darling daughter doesn't hesitate to inform me about the family hierarchy as she sees it. Dad is AT THE TOP, then there is a long space, then I come in there somewhere. At any chance to compare, I will be informed of my status: "I am American, like DAD and you are...not. I was born in Maine just like DAD and you were...not. I like what DAD likes.  DAD is stronger than YOU, mom. DAD can fix things better than YOU, mom. DAD likes to play Zelda with me more that YOU do, mom. DAD takes us out to dinner, DAD takes us to the movies, DAD lives in hotels and when we visit, we get to go swimming. YOU just live at home, mom." Even though I am present at these fun things too, just apparantly invisible.

When E was an infant, I looked up her Chinese astrological sign. Disclaimer: I do not logically believe this stuff, but somehow it has an effect anyway.
It says of the Dog, E's sign:  Frequently cynical, they are feared for their sharp tongue and their acid and disagreeable remarks. They give the impression of looking systematically for faults in everything they touch. This is because they are the world's biggest pessimist and expects nothing out of life.
Yeesh.
It also told me that as an Ox, I can expect a lifelong uphill battle with my Dog child.
So maybe when my lovely daughter looks at me and says,"You know mom, I do love dad more than you, I just wanted to let you know that." I can rest assured that this type of thing will probably go on forever.
Good thing I have no time for bunk like that. (right, self? right?)

That is,until she gets an ouchie, or she is scared, or wants a mind story, or food, or wants to play music, or sing, or do crafts, or learn to sew, or read a book, or play dress-up or make leggo worlds, or is sick, or scared, or worried. But as she says, when I point this out to her:"But that is just what you do mom, you are mom." I am like the ground she walks on. Just there. Always. It is totally natural she takes me for granted because there has never been a time where I haven't been exactly where she needs me. Daddy comes and goes. Sometimes we go weeks and weeks without him. Of course he is magic. When he comes home it is always a celebration.

I have to show E pictures of the things we do so she can see we actually have fun together.

Come on! I am awesome! We take puppets on walks! We stomp through icy puddles! We go visit Daddy at hotels! We make chicken masks!

"Ok..." Says E, "But Daddy is still better."

Happy New Year everybody!

We went Down East to ring in 2012 and learned that Eastport was considered "The Quirkiest Place in the U.S. to Celebrate the New Year." (According to Trip Advisor mag.)

As much as I am sure Eastportians would cringe at being called "quirky" I have to say that the moniker works. And here is our experience with it.

We first arrived at the grandparents house and let me tell you about Christmas land at Buggy & Grampy's. I challenge anyone to a Christmas spirit contest with Buggy. This is a life's work. We are talking Christmas trees in every room. (sometimes more than one.) and more Santas than you can count. Literally. One year we got to 160 and had to stop counting. Amazing.



I made this one for Buggy, but I have since stopped being an enabler



This tree is only Santa heads. Buggy keeps it in her room. I keep my collection of shrunken heads in my room too. We have so much in common, my mother-in-law and I!

"Buggy...what...did...we...do?"

Santas lucky enough to keep their heads live in this room.



There is no way out. All doors lead to Christmas Land.



When we arrive, the house is all lit up and smells like mulling spices. The kids go into a kind of trance, Daddy manages his phobia of decorations with a holiday beer and I am not allowed to touch.

But I love this.

And the quirkiness continues...To Eastport for New Year's Eve!

We were to witness the international celebration of a Down East New year, with a Dropping of a maple leaf for Canada, and one hour later, the dropping of an 8' sardine to ring in the year for the U.S.

Daddy and I booked a room at a certain place we shall refer to as "The Motel Yeast" whose "quirkiness" is off the charts.

Here, let me show you the bathroom:

Go ahead, have a looksee

...little closer...

Ohh! what a quirky live bacteria bathtub!

He loves Quirky. Big fan.



D 

The shower head adds to the overall ambiance, don't you think? Great colours! and the best part is the purple light makes the bacteria glow!

The bedroom was just as quirky, but I was too busy inspecting interesting looking dark specks and inhaling the aroma of tobacco smoke on the sheets to take pictures.

The gallery and cafe Rose Garden was putting on a supper, so we went there with the kids for that. Then the kids went home with Buggy and Grampy and we took a nap. (Wild and crazy, right?) We roused ourselves to greet the Canadian new year though and spiked ourselves with baklava and Greek coffee at the Liberty Cafe. Then out into the biting, salted air just in time to see the Canadian maple leaf drop and sing OH CANADA. I used my best falsetto, and of course, choked up.

(WHY?WHY?)

The time between Canada and the States and their New Year's.





Can you see the sardine? There were no spotlights or anything, (the quirk factor) But one could kind of make it out.  The excitement was palpable, let me tell you!

Capturing the silhouette of a bearded Mainer is supposed to bring good luck in the new year. Lucky me!
There was terrific music playing at the Tides Institute between the New Years,
 but as the lights were really bright inside and the room stuffed with people, we decided to stay outside,
wishing they had outdoor speakers to pipe the music to us.
We wandered back up the street to the Rose Garden where we sampled some more local talent. Nice music Eastoprt, I mean that sincerely.

It was nearing midnight and we were out on the street again in the chill when we looked across to a warm looking and good smelling sight.

Ah Bank Square. Pizza and Really Real Mexican Food. Go figure, but it is true. And delicious.  So we went.
We were treated to some of that Down East Hospitality too. Upon hello, I was informed of the proprietor's views of New Year's Eve Revelers. (They stink.)  How pleased she was to be there. (Not so very.) As well as the chances they will open until midnight next year. (No chance in hell.) Having gotten that off her chest though, we were treated to a lovely smile and the most yummy burritos ever. Worth the trip alone. I am happy to have participated in the one time event.

 Almost time for 2012!

Then the OOmpah band played Auld Lang Sine and kids ran around and everyone cheered and lined up to get their picture taken kissing the fish. More good luck!

We finished off our eve with a walk around the town, then retired to our odoriferous abode, llistening to the revelry wafting from the  Happy Crab pub next door: The only place we did not go, but we still got to participate in a way as the scraps and scuffles that took place outside the pub happened right outside our window. I think that is good luck too. According to a good source, if one did venture to the Crab, they were met at the bar by a certain character, arms spread wide bellowing the greeting: "I AM THE ONLY GOD YOU NEEEED!"  Awesomeness.

SO that is our experience with  Quirky New Year celebrations.

we capped it all off with a first hike of 2012 at Shackford Head with our great friends the next day, and before we left for home, we walked the magic path at Papa's, where Daddy used to go as a boy. As we finished the walk, a misty rain was filling the air and I got a picture of a rainbow over Papa's old house. The best bit of luck yet.

Here's hoping your 2012 is filled with Quirky adventures and a good mix of family, friends, history and future successes.

Cheers from the Lincolns.





A short Christmas tale.

"So you want to know why Santa uses reindeer instead of Sled dogs little Jimmy?'





"That's why."

Happy Everything!

full-tilt ramble

Whoops! Dropped out of communication again. I was prompted back into making a dispatch due to the encouraging words of friends who wondered why I stopped. But a lot of time has passed and a lot of things have happened and the voices in my head are making it hard to hear the voices in my head so this will have to be point form.

-Back in October I had a terrific trip to Alberta with the kids.
-I wish very much that we were closer to my family.  I don't like  missing out on all that day to day stuff.
-E & Z got along smashingly with their cousins.
Ok, forget the point form. I am going full-tilt ramble...

It is less than a week before Christmas and my cards are all sitting in a bag on the table, not completely finished. I discovered when I wrote my  little newsletter that I dated it 2010. The document also includes grammatical and syntax errors. But of course I spent money on printing the things out before I properly proof read and damned if I am not going to send them. (Some will be sent accompanied by last year's Christmas cards which I rediscovered while doing this year's cards. Just to add to the confusion.) So be warned: If you receive a late Christmas card from me, you are not in a time warp. And I do know how to write a sentence. And I probably lost your address or wrote the wrong one down anyway.

Which brings me to my next thing: appropriate behavior and why I suck at it. This is plaguing me.
The latest comment of idiocy came just the weekend before last.
I was spending the night at a cabin in Maine. To celebrate life and mourn the recent death of a dear friend's mother. Not really a good time to be an idiot, right?
Weell,  a lovely dinner and some red wine, lively conversation, jokes, then someone brought out some glamour mags and we idled through them making fun. Celebrities came up and I started in. I believe I made a statement declaring them un-human and therefore I viewed them with complete dis compassion. (Except for the passionate loathing at being sucked in at the check out counter.)  They are like a hologram.  I think I actually said something like, "If a celebrity dies, I don't care." Way to go nimrod. I remember an awkward moment then some kind friend smoothed it over and the night went on.
Ever since though, I have wondered...
 Why would I say that? What a bad, ill-timed joke. Do I really think these people are not people? That is how Sarajevo happened. and Rwanda. and  the Nazi's and serial killers . The lack of humanity. I displayed my ability to completely dehumanize another person on this earth. I was joking, but I still said it.  Now I feel like writing a letter to Brangelina to tell them I am sorry I dehumanized them. And also, at my friends retreat?? I mean, come on! Poor taste. Poor, poor taste. So I suppose I am not a sociopath as I have been wracked with guilt about it and that prompted me to do some serious self-evaluation, which involved pondering the human status of nobel prize winners and astronauts and authors and Arab Spring protesters and Steve Jobs and displaced refugee camp dwellers... all whom I feel great humanity for, but why not celebrities?  I heard something about Taylor Swift (that singer/celebrity) being one of the nicest, kindest people, someone who the interviewer said she would like her daughter to emulate, and I thought about Matt Damon, I mean everyone loves Matt Damon. He is like super guy, going around India helping people get clean water, being socially conscious and kind and I was struck with the sense that I am prone to social incompetence, and that is pretty sad. Thanks a lot, celebrities. (Hey! Got to blame somebody eh?) Ok, Fine! I take the blame.

Other instances of social incompetence:
- I was the only female invited to a stag party where I sang "amazing grace" and ruined the party. (Apparantly that song makes dudes totally squirm.)
- My husband brought home some guys from work, telling them how cool and great his wife was and I came home in a bad mood and riuned his man party by way of bad and ill-timed jokes. Now they think I'm a harpy.
-While trying to play Christmas music at the farmer's market, I kept choking up and actually had to stop all together and play only kids songs. (Why do I DO that?!)

And that was just last week's list. (not really, but you see where I am going here.) I think I could use some lessons on how to be a proper human.

On that note, I would like to thank all my friends and family who keep sticking by me and my Hubs who has to spend the rest of his life with me. God bless you every one.

-

Get that boy a gun!

I get ridiculed a lot by my husband, for being a socialist, liberal, gun regulating, beer taxing, universal health care loving Canadian, and that is fine because as an American, he is unfortunalely incapable of understanding that I am right. So when he tells the kids to "eat like an American!" I shudder, but smile and exercise my Canadian understanding of his vulgar American ways. He just wants the kids to eat their sandwiches without dismembering them first. I get it. Of course, now the kids think that all Canadians dissect their sandwiches, They also might think we drive funny, change our clothes too many times before we leave the house, weep at music, and are so politically correct that we are incapable of lauging at any joke that involves poking fun at any ethnicity, culture or special need. Not like there are vulgar jokes being told in front of the kids-yet.
Next week I am taking the kids  for their yearly visit to Canada, where they will play with their 5 (almost 6!) Canadian cousins. I am excited to see my family. I don't get to see them often and I miss them a lot. But as I watch my children play, I wonder...Do they play like Americans?

Case in point: weapons.
Last christmas the kids got nerf swords, shields and  battle axe. I should say, Daddy got nerf swords, shields and battle axe under the ruse of it being for the kids. "I don't like it!" I complained. "I don't want them playing fight games and whacking each other with swords! Oh the violence! Oh the war mimicry! Oh the glorification of abuse!"
I could go on, but basically the conversation ended up like this:  Don't be such a Canadian! I did all that stuff and look at me! (Indeed) And: They are already doing it anyway, and nerfs are softer than sticks. And: This is human nature. Who are you to impose gentility upon beasts.  Don't be such a Canadian.
They got them.
I set up rules:
-you must ask, both must agree.
-you BOTH get weapons
-You bow to each other
-hit ONLY the weapons, not the person
-Bow at the end
-NO CRYING
Pathetic, I know, but I am a Canadian. I need regulations.
But I set my foot down at guns.
NO guns.

Last weekend we had a family get together at Auntie Hi-Yi's.  We get there and Emma and Zac dissapear with their cousin Isaiah, who is a good five or so years older. They emerge with an arsenal. Pop guns, guns that shoot suction cups, cap guns, guns guns guns. I must have blanched because my husband started laughing.
Anyway Zac concentrated very hard and figured out how to work the suction cup gun. His great Uncle John patiently helped.  Then he spent a long time standing very still shooting suction cups at the window in the door. Sure he had to be told not to shoot anyone in the face, but he listened and HE STOOD STILL. FOR A LONG TIME. He collected the suction cups and went right back to his spot. He must have put a hundred suction cup on that door. He loved it. He stood so still, firing off his rounds.
Eventually he ran off and I sidled up to the gun and gave it a try. It was actually really fun. I made the best of it though and soapboxed about gun violence and age appropriate toys and glorifying it and how messed up that is.
Zac reappeared just then with a sword. He let out a blood curling scream and leapt on to the deck and with a cry of  "Ninja! Ninja! Ninja!"  he whipped the sword around his head and HIYA! CHA! chopped the air all around him. scattering elderly relatives left and right. Drinks fall over. People cower.
"Get that boy a gun!" cried auntie Hi-Yi.