OleopteneA blog for Mara Collins

Overheard in My Imaginary Future

September 10th, 2007

Me: You know, back when I was a kid we hadn’t invented the ironic statement as a fall-back excuse for just being plain geeky.

My kids: Whatever, Mom.

Rantiness

September 10th, 2007

Stuck behind a minivan yesterday with two bumper stickers:  ”Pray for the USA” and “If you’re going to burn our flag, wrap yourself in it first.”  Suspect these people may be praying to Cthulhu.  I try to feel compassion, Portland must be a hard town to be all conservative in.  On the other hand how does one fit a good retort to that on the fender of one’s bike?

The Care and Keeping of a Brain

September 8th, 2007

Ok, even a literary novice like myself realizes that the worst possible ending sentence for a book is “It was all just a dream… or was it?” Which makes me fantasize about a prank appending this sentence to, say, every work in the Penguin Classics series. Watch, I’ll never get a job copyediting now.

Still, I’ve realized that one of my on-going themes is distrust of my own brain… It’s been coming up a lot lately in terms of self-doubt, and the odd circuitousness of knowing how your own head works and trying to out-think it, making a habit of filing doubts away right now because they are not useful to the process of making words come out. The funny thing is how doubts don’t like being filed away, and fight back with meta-doubts about the process, generate stories about people who dismissed as doubts their own intuition and good old common sense and came to terrible ends.

I am sure some of it is defensive, my brain having decided ages ago that should it whisper the most devastating things to me it could imagine it would act as an inocculation or homeopathic against the inevitable criticism coming from elsewhere, and yet when I listen to that I become mistrustful of real flesh-and-blood people saying actual nice things to me. Which is not a good direction to go in.

And it is a double-edged sword, how something can seem diamond-brilliant in the evening, and the next morning you re-read it and are embarrassed to have been seen parading about in such cheap costume jewelry, or can seem a bit tawdry at first and then you understand that there is a deeper glint to it. So, you conclude you have no judgement as far as your writing (and perhaps many other things!) are concerned, and that leaves you with the choice between scribbling in journals that you want burnt upon your demise, trying to find safety in reclusiveness, or at least as much conformity as you can muster, or taking a risk and putting it out there.

Sometimes I wonder if my approach to self-doubt and mistrusting my brain would be something more therapeutic or pragmatic or perhaps hypochondriacal had I been a psychology major instead of a philosophy major. Because I tend to look rather skeptically at the premise of certainty, in the end, after all, that it is not just judgement I am not sure of, but the foundation of knowledge itself (foundations themselve?). Or I wonder if I had been a literature major if I would have taken this as the natural unfoldment of story, our understanding of a situation changes, so instead of pathologizing it or taking it as the crack that admits persistent and pervasive doubt, I might instead have learned to appreciate the way it keeps things from getting too static, heightens the drama, keeps things interesting.

But hey, it was all just a dream… or was it?

Co-Written

September 7th, 2007

So my lovely and talented best friend is doing all sorts of cool stuff towards getting a graphic design degree and she emailed last night asking for help with the text of a pamphlet; she’d just gotten back from a road trip, and that inspired the theme of the project, surviving the family vacation.  And so we spent an hour on the phone deciding what to include, and I sat down and typed it up, this is what we came up with…

Perhaps you have run with the bulls in Pamplona, maybe you’ve hunted the rhinoceros in Borneo, participated in the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race, scaled Mt. Kilimanjaro, trekked to the source of the Nile, or seen the glaciers of Patagonia, but no matter how tough, how adventurous you think you are, we want to prepare you for the ultimate adventure:  The Family Road Trip!  Do not go unprepared.  We have listed some of the major pitfalls that can take out even the most experienced of adventurers, and the best approaches for dealing with them.  If you read this and still decided to undertake this risky venture, well, you can’t say we didn’t warn you.  Our slogan?  “Travelling with kids, all of the work of being at home and none of the conveniences!”

 

Pitfall #1

The Potty Stop

There is a law that even though you have made everyone visit the bathroom before getting strapped in in the minivan, sometime between wedging every child in with all of the gear that you, the prepared parent could shoehorn in in anticipation of their (almost) every need and your hitting an actual highway on-ramp you will hear the words “I need the potty.  BAD!”

Solution #1

Resignation.  Heartier souls may carry the coffee can potty kit in the back of the minivan, but it will inevitably be at the bottom of all the other gear you’ve brought, and, to be quite honest, once that can has been filled, you are going to have to find the delicate way to empty it,  a prospect at which even the toughest have quailed.  So, bite the bullet and pull into the gas station/convenience store, where you are going to run smack into pitfall #2, being…

 

Pitfall#2

Snacks

Kids are smart.  They know that their father feels it violates the laws of capitalism to stop at a gas station with a van that was carefully filled with gas in preparation for this trip the night before just for the sake of using the facilities.  They know that their father loves snacks that come in fun and interesting colors and flavors, from tiny balls, to melt-in-your-hand-not-your-mouth goodness, which as a bonus melt in the floormats, also, to smells nature never intended from bananas or watermelons.

Solution #2

Resignation.  Yeah, you might have packed healthy snacks like apples and string cheese and crackers.  These aren’t going to compete with the Dolly Madison ouevre.  So you can comfort yourself with the notion that this is a special occasion, not how you eat every day.  And with the fact that the paternal unit of the family is conditioning children to always whine “But remember that time you bought us the super king-sized candy bar?” every time he enters a store with them, which will give you the chance to give a smug little “You made this bed, you lie in it” shrug, which can be SO satisfying.  More satisfying than that twinkie youre about to eat, even.  Besides, you’re going to be the one detailing the inside of the van when you get home, so you might as well enjoy the bounties of the convenience store before you get busy scrubbing the unidentifiable melting mess.

 

Pitfall #3

Are We There Yet?

Having exhausted the bathroom and snack avenues of entertainment, your child instinctively knows it is time to turn to the “are we there yet?” entertainment portion of the trip.  After all, road trips are Bo-Ring.

Solution #3

Resignation.  You can use this as a chance to hone your with with brilliant answers like “Yes, we’re going to have fun frolicking with those cows!  Just be careful where you step. ok?”

Disclaimer:  You model smart aleck-y responses like this, and guess what those eager minds back there are eagerly learning?  But hey, missy, you made your bed, you lie in it.

 

Pitfall #4

The Golden Arches

When your kids are bored with asking are we there yet and steadfastly unimpressed with your witty answers, they may in the brief quiet tune into the siren call of their own factory-installed Golden Arches Sensors, such that a sixteen month old strapped into a rear-facing infant seat magically becomes aware of the McDonald’s 4 miles ahead and shrieks for you to stop.

Solution #4

Resignation.  Really, the food isn’t that bad.  And maybe the happy meal toys will keep the children entertained, since the stacks of books, coloring books, electronic noisy toys and your attempts to start a family sing-along just like you remember from your own child have done nothing.

 

Pitfall #5

Carsickness

So no child of yours has ever had carsickness before, and you curtly dismiss the “I’m miserable” with the cynical sureness that it it is just one more ploy to keep you from getting where you are going. So at the rest stop you roll your eyes and grudgingly give the child the last of the water in your water bottle, telling him to walk around, get fresh air, he’ll feel better.  And then he staggers up to you and throws up at your feet.

Solution #5

Resignation.  What can you do?  You feel guilty? Motherhood _IS_ guilt, didn’t you get that memo?

 

Pitfall #6

The Backseat Wars

This is an extension of the toy wars, started at home, with the added fuel of body parts touching the wrong half of the bench seat, the “she’s kicking my seat” wars, the “she’s singing” wars, the “she doesn’t like my singing and that hurts my feelings” wars, and the “she made a face” wars.  All accompanied with an appeal to your sense of justice, your power to make the offending sibling stop.

Solution #6

Resignation.  They don’t get along at home.  What makes you think that putting every body into a metal box of 150 cubic feet hurtling along at 70 miles an hour was going to magically change that?

 

Pitfall #7

The Incessant Questions

From the scientific (why is the sky blue?) to the personal (why can I see the skin on the  back of Daddy’s head?), from the legal (why do Mommies and Daddies get to stay up late and we have to go to bed?) to the medical (why am I not supposed to have put that bean up the baby’s nose?) there is no question you can be sure of not hearing, except maybe “Why don’t you relax and enjoy the scenery while I quietly entertain myself back here and maybe take a nap.

Solution #7

Resignation.  It’s such a brief period in their lives when they think you know everything.  In ten to fifteen years when they are convinced you know nothing, you’re going to look back at this time and sigh with longing.  So enjoy it.

 

Pitfall #8

The Forgotten Item

The forgotten will be an item that is completely irreplaceable, a lovey given by  a now-deceased great aunt at the child’s birth or the like.  Or if it is something that can be gotten at the next Wal-Mart, well it just won’t be the same.

Solution #8

Resignation.  What are you going to do?  The unfortunate law is  that the more irreplaceable an object is the greater the likelihood it was left in the branches of a tree watching you picnic at a rest stop you will never ever pass again, so if it was left at home, be grateful for that.

 

Pitfall #9

The Sleeping Baby

The baby falling asleep will inevitably lead to one or more older siblings discovering an intense need to stop again for the bathroom.  And the cessation of motion will set off the baby like the bomb in that movie, Speed, where a bomb will go off if the bus’s speed drops below fifty miles an hour.

Solution #9

Resignation.  Perhaps if the non-driving parent were a Hollywood stuntman, you could attempt to do a roll out of the minivan as it circles the gas station parking lot, but modern carseats make this impracticable with the older sibling.  Which leaves you on the fork of a dilemma, soiled clothes and furious child or screaming infant for the next forty minutes?  Either way, it isn’t pretty.

 

Pitfall #10

The Sleeping Sibling

This is just the converse of the sleeping baby.  As soon as the whining stops and you breathe a sigh of relief that the older sibling has drifted off, the baby will develop one those needs that require Immediate Attention, an exploding diaper, a need to nurse, a worrisome cough that you don’t dare investigate.  And the moment the van stops the older child will immediately do a re-enactment of pitfalls  #1 -8.

Solution #10

Resignation.  Athletic and flexible mothers might think they could attempt the “changing the diaper without removing the infant from the carseat” maneuver or the breastfeeding while leaning over the carseat hoping that the shaded windows give some privacy , but it’s going to require breaking seatbelt laws, uncomfortable contortions, and the high probability that even on an empty highway late at night, there will be sudden braking throwing you against the windshield as you try to climb into the backseat over the litter of backpacks, juice boxes, and chirruping electronic toys to reach the baby.  It really is not advised.

 

Pitfall #11

The Used Condom in the Motel Parking Lot

While you are busy trying to get all of the gear you couldn’t live without for two days into the hotel room, do not be surprised if a child runs up shouting “Look at the balloon I found!”

Solution #11

Resignation.  Or if you are feeling a little at odds with the person who booked this “Travel Bargain!” over the internet,  you could suggest that, since your hands are full right now, maybe daddy would be willing to blow it up.

 

Pitfall #12

The Un-Baby-proofed Hotel Room

You know hotel rooms were designed by the childless, because the glass carafe to the coffee maker is perched three feet above a hard tile floor, the electrical outlets almost have “Play with me, I’m fun” signs, and the phone is kept at the height where toddlers just learning to pull up can reach them on a bedside table.  It’s a bonus to have kids who figure out how to order pay-per-view.

Solution #12

Resignation.  Your alternative is staying at the un-baby-proofed home of a relative and getting to hear about the irreplaceable “Precious Moments” figurine your child broke and tried to conceal breaking by flushing the pieces down the toilet, flooding the bathroom, at all family gatherings for the next thirty years.

 

Pitfall #13

Getting There Means You’re Only Halfway Done!

Yes, that’s right, you get to do it all again to get back home.  Disheartening isn’t it?  Almost enough to make you consider living in the un-baby-proofed hotel room indefinitely.  After all, there’s cable, and somebody else makes up the bed.

Solution #13

Resignation.  Or buying the kids all greyhound bus tickets and promising to pick them up at the bus station when you get back home.

 

 

Nitpicking

September 2nd, 2007

SO someone used the search term “hypographia” to get to my blog.  And I used the term to mean the opposite of “hypergraphia” which means the compulsion to write. There is a difference.  Greek - ‘hyper’ as a prefix  means ‘over’ ‘above,’ ‘beyond’, ‘hypo,’ ‘below’ ‘under’ ‘beneath’.  Right - hypergraphia, compulsion to write, hypographia, struggle to write?  Aren’t I clever?  Sure way to make people look for everything you say that is wrong and stupid.  Or just hate you.  See, high school experience as the walking dictionary taught me something.  But I hate that somebody might be searching for hypergraphia and find my hypographia and think that that is evidence for spelling it the other way.  Stupid Greek to make two almost antonyms sound so similar.  You cannot even find hypographia in the dictionary.  Or not any dictionary I’ve ever used.  (Careful with the qualifiers missy).  Oh, though, I am in a horrible mood, and something about railing about word usage is so satisfying.  I don’t even know why I am in a horrible mood.  Yeah, I do.  It’s the stupid television on.  Too much of the time.  Or the computer.  Or the video games.  This wasn’t how I was going to parent but everything I do or suggest looks kind of dull and stupid next to shooting aliens together on the game that was never going to be played in front of the kids.  SO, they’re watching the idiot box, I’m bored and frustrated, and they’re going to grow up not knowing their Greek prefixes.  And I should enjoy this time to myself, but instead am doing that lovely thing where I clean to show how annoyed I am (my mother and sister do this too).  Not a clear way to send a message.  

The problem with time travel, or thoughts while listening to NPR podcasts

September 1st, 2007

So at dinner last night the conversation went like this,

oldest son: So you know what the trouble with time travel is?     

his father: There are a bunch.  Like the assumption that time is this constant, static thing to travel through…

o.s.: No, I was thinking that it was if you brought currency with you into the past, everyone would think it was counterfeit.

h.f.:  Well, one depressing theory I have heard is that time travel is scientifically inevitable, and the fact that we have not been visited by people from the future is evidence that we’re going to destroy ourselves.

(Cheery thought and I am not even going to go into the problems with that argument, because nothing tops my son’s response)

o.s.:  What makes anyone think that any time travelers would want to visit this time period?

 

On that terribly nerdy note, NPR had two stories in their most emailed stories and 7 am news summary podcasts, one on this giant spider web in Texas — what it is it with spiders this year?  I had a web spun across the top of my water cup the other day when it was put down for just a few minutes, have spider webs spanning it seems the space between any two bushes or structures in the yard, and it wasn’t like this a year ago.  The other story was on a United Nations report presented in Vienna about global warming leading to increased flooding and mosquitoes and disease, particularly malaria.   2030.  I’m all for coming up with time travel to send the giant spider webs to then, but have decided as a precaution to keep with the practice of gently removing the spiders in house and yard to someplace safe and out of the way.