live from sublurbia

One drawback of Facebook that is the “like” button exists, but not a “dislike” button. You can blow through and say hi quickly, even if you don’t have a meaningful contribution other than, well, liking something. Sometimes that’s all you have to say, you want to say, you need to say.

This part of the state is a huge, congested, house-to-house, strip mall-to-strip mall, highway-to-highway swath of sublurbia. Traffic is exactly the opposite of Facebook: we’ve only got a “dislike” button, and you can’t casually blow through it.

Not much of the friendly neighborhood “hi there!” honks going on; more the “wake up, snoozer,” your “put down the CrackBerry,” and the “get a flipping move on!” You can’t do much when you’re stuck in traffic if someone does do something nice; you have to “thank” people by waving widely and carefully, tapping your breaks in the non-get-off-my-butt way. The horn of “yay” can get lost if there is a chorus of “what part of GREEN don’t you understand!” drowning it out.

But traffic was high drama today; commuter vs nature again. Continue Reading »

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I think I’m too uptight a parent. My kids have never gotten into catsup, or Vaseline, or diaper cream, or Triple Paste and smeared it everywhere. The permanent markers are carefully stashed away from little fingers, and we’ve had “talks” as they’ve gotten older about “parent” things and “kid” things. The last time the youngest found “parent scissors” lying around, she picked them up correctly and safely, trotted up the stairs, and turned them over to me, as I sat at my desk in the bedroom we converted to a home office.

As they’ve gotten older, though, we’ve started to relax a bit. We’ll occasionally find a washable-marker scribbled kid. We’ve stopped asking every 30 minutes if they need bathroom breaks. We actually sit in the other room as they bathe, doors open, ears listening for trouble. The hard years are over, we think; it’s time to relax.

A recent planned-to-be-rushed morning turned into a relaxing morning at home; lazy day of laundry and laughter, keeping our PJs on instead of racing to swim class, exercise class, play dates at the YMCA. As I sat at my computer, catching up on correspondence, I heard the pitter-patter of little feet and a voice announcing to the world, “I need to go potty!” The toilet seat in the next room clanked and I smiled.

Phew, I thought. I’m so glad we’re at this stage, where the kids are finally really all self-contained and trained. Then she added, “There’s poop on my legs.” Continue Reading »

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