TiMER

Goodness, there certainly are LASTING EFFECTS from online shopping! Dearest online retailers, may I give you a WEENSY little tip? Sending a new customer emails every single day is unlikely to result in anything except a click right to the unsubscribe button, especially since many of us were new customers because we were shopping for a gift for someone else. I assure you that I personally am not interested in all these emails about exciting tool/hardware specials. If you dialed it back a bit, though, I might be reminded of you the next time I was shopping for that same person. Instead, too late! Unsubscribe! Now I am forgetting all about you, instead of having your company name on my mind like a sweet scent on a gentle breeze!

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I watched TiMER (Netflix link), and although I have complaints, I am also feeling obsessive and thinking about it A LOT, and I want everyone else to watch it too. Just for starters, the lead girl is played by Anya from Buffy, and she was one of our top favorite Buffy characters. (I liked her in this movie, too, but "turning 30 next week," my foot.) And then the lead guy (John Patrick Amedori) is played by a guy who reminds me strongly of my high school boyfriend, so.

The plot is that it becomes possible to get a wrist implant (a TiMER) that counts down to the day you'll meet the perfect person for you---but ONLY if that person ALSO has a TiMER. (I apologize in advance for how annoying it is to read "TiMER" written like that. I will try to use it as little as possible.) So you might get the implant (you can legally get one at age 14) and it could be blank---and it might STAY BLANK YOUR WHOLE LIFE, if there's no perfect person for you OR if your perfect person never gets an implant. Or your perfect person might get an implant and then your blank TiMER suddenly pops up some countdown numbers!! You'd have to glance at it a million times a day!!

Are you fascinated? I am fascinated. I didn't even really want the movie so much as I wanted a multi-volume set of short stories telling me every possible way this could go. (I felt the same way about Death Match, a book on a very similar topic.) What about someone whose perfect person dies before they meet? Does the screen suddenly go blank? What if you've already met your perfect person? Does it just countdown to the next time you meet them? What about all the people who were already partnered when this technology was invented? Would they get a TiMER or not? (Would you?) Did anyone do that and find they were already with their perfect person? What if your perfect person was already, say, your sister's/friend's husband? Could anyone have more than one perfect person? Could there ever be a situation where the numbers would change---like if there's a different perfect person for you, or if your perfect person dies and a new perfect person is substituted? The movie touches lightly on some of the issues, but mostly focuses on these:

1) What if your TiMER is blank and you get kind of obsessive about it and keep trying to get every guy you meet to get an implant?

2) What if your TiMER has a date far in the future? Like, you're 21, but your implant says you won't meet the love of your life until you're 45? What do you do about dating in the meantime? (And do you go ahead and have children with someone else?)

3) What if you meet a great guy and your TiMERs don't match? Do you date him while you're both waiting to meet your perfect person? and then, like, break up when the timer is at zero? Or what?

4) What if you get the implant when you're 14, and the countdown is for a few days later? When you're not even really ready for dating? Won't that be kind of weird for everyone, including both families?

5) If this technology exists, should everyone use it? or not? Does it make things work better, or does it mess things up? (I appreciated the way the movie didn't get heavy-handed here: I wasn't even sure which side it was coming down on in the end.)


My main complaint was this: If we really did have these countdown devices, it would take mere microseconds for everyone to be online comparing numbers and matching them up to try to find their perfect matches earlier ("Okay, everyone with a countdown to June 5th, 2013 go to THIS forum, everyone with a countdown to June 5th, 2014 to THIS forum..."). But then...that would screw up all the numbers, right? Because they'd all meet sooner. So what about THAT? I would be willing to let that go, though, with the smallest attempt at addressing it---just a mention that people tried it and it messed everything up and didn't work and the numbers got all wonked so everyone stopped. (But still. Wouldn't you be like, "Hey, your device says June 5th, 2021? What a coincidence: so does my friend's! I should introduce you!")

Now I would like someone to start writing the stories, please. I want MORE.

Shade and Valance

To tell you this exciting story about replacing a window shade in the bathroom, I really, really should have taken a Before picture. I could show you just the After picture, but that's no good at all. Seeing only the After picture, you would have nothing but criticism and mehs. "That really doesn't seem worth either the fuss or the celebration, and also she has no concept of window design, and really that whole bathroom is kind of depressing-looking," you'd say. "Here Swistle has been for YEARS representing herself as a person on the forefront of home decor trends, and now we find out she doesn't even know how high to hang a valance! And that she still uses SHADES!"

No good. In order to really APPRECIATE the hero of this story (me), you would need to see how it looked BEFORE. THEN you would see the difference and be amazed. But there is no Before picture. And since I didn't take a Before picture, there will also be no After picture: instead I will call on your imagination. (I am saying that in the SpongeBob voice, with hand rainbows.)

So this is what you should imagine. We begin twelve years ago, when Paul and Swistle have just bought a house and now are in the process of switching from third-person to first-person. One of our very first home improvement projects was to take down the DARK GREEN window shade in the bathroom and replace it with a white one. Window shades apparently need to be cut to fit by a store employee. Our store employee did such a crappy job, I can't imagine how he handed us the shade with a clean conscience: the shade was ragged all the way down one side, with actual little ripped bits sticking out. He surely would have noticed this, even though we did not.

Did we return it, as we should have? No. I was a week or two from giving birth to William, and we had one zillion other things to do with the house, and even just changing from "battered dirty green" to "ragged new clean white" was such a vast improvement we weren't so concerned with the little details.

Next what happened was that because one of the ragged places was right near the stick that goes through the bottom of the shade, the sticked area gradually ripped off completely; I trimmed the edge with scissors to make it tidier. Still we did not replace the shade: we had a toddler and an infant, and that was for me the most impossible stage of parenting. Going to Home Depot for a new window shade seemed like it belonged to an alternate reality.

Let me see if I can speed this story up a bit. Next the shade got some sort of mold/mildew issue, and then Henry used scissors and snipped it in the middle, from which point it continued to rip until nearly the entire shade was in two pieces. A ragged-edged, mildewed, no-bottom-edge-thingie, ripped up the middle shade, for YEARS.

(This is where my dad cut into the story I was telling, saying "So this is when you started thinking it might be time to start thinking about needing to replace the shade sometime in the near future," and my mom said to him reproachfully, "SWEETheart.")

MEANWHILE, there was no curtain on this window, even though I'd thought it would look nice. There was a lot of mental whining every time I turned my mind to the issue. "But I don't know what style of curtain to use! There are too many/few choices! And what COLOR? I don't want it to MATCH the shower curtain, but it should Look Right with it. And the shower curtain is kind of whimsical/babyish, but curtains aren't---unless they are, and then it looks like a Kid Bathroom when it isn't. And I like to change shower curtains periodically, and then the curtain won't go with the new one and I'll have to go through all this AGAIN." And then, at the store, more whining and indecision: "They're charging $14.99 for a 1x4 piece of fabric I don't even really like?? Outrageous! I see these on 70%-off clearance ALL THE TIME. I will just get one THEN." And then, when there is a clearance display: "There are too many/few CHOICES. This is such a messy pile. I don't know what would look nice. I should just pay full price and get the full selection. I'll do this later."

Okay, so how is your imagination working? Good, good. So you can see that the situation was dismal, and not likely to improve after a decade or so of no progress. It was not a situation for drops in the bucket; only big SLOSHES would accomplish anything here---and big sloshes are in short supply and have to be reserved for big priorities such as choosing a new calendar.

But then, unexpectedly, RESOLVE kicked in. New feelings and thoughts emerged: (1) The situation was bothering me every single day, and (2) the situation was fixable. I used one of my Coping Thoughts For Hurdles: "This will not be fun but I am technically capable of handling it; by this time tomorrow it will be over AND done." (Some of you reserve such thoughts for, say, childbirth, or for a move, or for a major remodel. Different strokes.) I scooped Henry up, and off we went. First to Home Depot, where I chose a shade and got it cut. (Fortunately I'd thought to measure the old shade before starting out.) Then to Target, where I went to the shower curtain aisle and got the same shower curtain we have, and took it with me to the selection of seriously four valances they had, chose the one I liked best (a sort of butterscotch color), and paid $14.99 full price for it with hardly any flinching and only minimal whining.

Then I went home, forgot to take a Before picture, took down the old shade and threw it away, did a little wiping of the dusty window frame, put up the new shade and adjusted the tightness, found a curtain rod in the basement, realized it was all bent and found another curtain rod in the basement, put up the new valance and tidied it in a finicky way, and DONE.

It was not that big a deal, but IT WAS A HUGE DEAL. (This is where my dad cut into the story to say "Wait, is this the same window you're replacing in the spring? That new shade isn't going to fit," and my mom said, "SWEETHEART.")

Okay, fine, here is the After picture, since I do have one. I trust your imaginations to handle it:

Poll: What Number Am I Thinking Of?

William is doing a little experiment for fun: he asked a bunch of kids at school to guess a number he was thinking of between 1 and 10 (inclusive), and he recorded their answers. He's intrigued by the results, and wants a bigger sample size, and I said I could ask on the blog, so that brings you up to where we are today. I'm putting a poll over to the right. (Avoid looking at comments before you vote.) [Poll closed; see results below.]

Skip Some Things

Note to self: When tearing computer apart looking for document written in first half of January, look under previous year's date. I wonder how many 2012 files I saved with titles like "20110102 Post About Something," considering how many 2013 files I've already saved with titles like "20120102 Post About Something"?

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Well! We were certainly ready for everyone to go back to school/work today! Or, I was. Do you know what is difficult to do with five children and a spouse in the house? EVERYTHING. But especially anything involving putting thoughts into a more solid form.

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I didn't make any resolutions this year, even though I always do. I was getting a little agitated about that, and then I heard Temerity Jane in my head saying, "There's no rule." It would be another matter if I were agitated because I WANTED to make resolutions and hadn't---but in this case, I don't feel like it this year, and all I'm agitating about is that I don't feel like it. But that matters not one whit. So I won't do it this year! It is okay not to do all the same things all the same way every single year! It doesn't BREAK anything to not be utterly, persistently, relentlessly, unnecessarily consistent!

It is odd how difficult this can be to remember. If I were going to do one of those "pick a concept to meditate upon for the whole year" things, that would be my concept. It's okay not to make resolutions this year, even though I USUALLY want to. It was okay not to write in the Christmas cards this year, even though I USUALLY want to. It was okay not to get out the special dishes for Thanksgiving, even though I USUALLY want to. There is no need to think of it as starting over at square one after ruining an important unbroken record, or as the first year of a permanent new way of doing things; it is nothing more than "not doing it this year."

In fact, if I were going to make a resolution, it could be "Skip some things that have been allowed to build up into feeling like an important unbroken record, to alleviate the unnecessary pressure caused by such build-up." That's a little bulky for a resolution. "Skip some things." That's better.

New Year's Eve

Rob first asked to stay up for New Year's Eve way back when he was 7, and the twins were about a year and a half old, and I was pregnant with Henry.

Looked pretty much like this all the time, but with a second toddler too.

Yeah, it was more like that. With me barfing nearby.

(That first photo, by the way, is an argument for "Keep photos of yourself, even if you hate them and can't bear to look at them and have to hide them because if you have to look at them you won't be able to help shredding them." I hated that picture so much when I first saw it, I thought Paul must secretly dislike me to have taken it. Now I love it and am so grateful to have it, and I don't care whether it's flattering per se.) (But Paul really does need to learn about not photographing from up under someone's chin.)

Anyway, I almost couldn't bear the idea of staying up when I COULD BE SLEEPING. I first tried to talk Rob out of it, with the argument that he didn't want to stay up. It was boring, I said. Nothing happened, I said. It was 30 seconds of watching a ball drop on television. It was a long wait in the middle of the night, and then it was over in one minute. I was not going to want to party, or play games, or in fact interact at all. I might even doze in the chair. He would be basically on his own for hours and hours, and he would have to be quiet and not wake up his father or siblings. It would be BORING, I said. He did NOT WANT TO, I said.

Well, but he did. So I let him, figuring I probably COULD manage such a sacrifice for just one night, but saying he had to stay in his room until 9:30, and then IF he was still awake when I came to get him, THEN he could stay up. I added further cautions about how it was not worth it and he would be disappointed and he would be sorry he'd tried it.

He was not sorry. He was not even very tired.

The next year was even worse. I was spending my days with two 2-year-olds and a nursing infant, and continued to be unable to bear the idea of staying up until midnight when I COULD BE ASLEEP.

Tiiiiiirrrrrrrrd

Especially since, at midnight, I would have to face the excruciating dilemma of "Do I go ahead and just stay up until what will likely be a 12:30 feeding---but then maybe end up sitting awake and grinding my teeth and crying with despair at 1:00, 1:30, 2:00, as the baby DOESN'T awaken as expected and I count the time I COULD have been sleeping but now with every passing minute it would be crazier and crazier to go to bed? Or do I go to sleep at midnight, possibly to be awakened by a baby riiiiiiight as I'm drifting off, throwing me into Night Mother Rage? Or do I wake the baby early to nurse before I go to bed, feeling stupid for waking a sleeping baby AND maybe not successfully nursing anyway, only to face the same dilemma at 12:45 instead of at midnight?"

God, the small-baby nights can be unpleasant. But we did it anyway: Rob and I stayed up for New Year's again. I seem to have blocked out what I did about nursing. Isn't memory merciful sometimes?

The year after that, William wanted to stay up too. I had the same rule, now for two children instead of one: if they were awake when I came in at 9:30, they could stay up for New Year's.

They both made it. William just barely.

I'm not sure which year it started feeling like a party instead of an ordeal. I think it took me a couple of years to recover from night-nursing and to feel again as if I could imagine staying up late without suffering. It was probably two New Year's Eves ago, in 2010, when Henry was 3 years old and Rob and William were 11 and 9. Instead of making them stay in their rooms, I let them just stay up and play video games and watch TV. Instead of deliberately making it no fun in the hopes that they would not want to do it anymore, I bought Festive Snacks: pizza rolls, Doritos, M&Ms, soda for them and champagne for me.

I still made it a low-interaction event: I would like to spend my New Year's Eve filling out the next year's calendar, being on the computer, reading a book, doing some puzzles, writing in a journal---not playing with children. But if the children would like to play nearby, that is fine.

And last year and this year, I've even looked forward to it. The boys and I plan ahead of time what snacks we would like to eat (my favorite is the boneless buffalo wings; I am also fond of champagne). We go out together on a special shopping trip to obtain those snacks, in case another snack idea needs to be considered on the spot (this year it was ranch-flavored chicken fries: we were intrigued) (edited to add: ick).

Paul has started watching a movie with them in the early evening, to give me some time to recharge before the evening ahead. (Paul himself hits the hay at 10:00 sharp. He is not tempted by our offers of snacks and Ryan Seacrest and grumpy tiredness the next day.) This year they're all watching the first Harry Potter movie while I sit in the computer room, typing and looking through old photos.

Also, this year the twins are the same age Rob was when he first stayed up. They have been given the option to join us. Elizabeth is ALL IN. She won't have any trouble staying up: sometimes when we go to bed, we have to tap on her door and say "Lights OUT, Elizabeth." Edward is uncertain: he usually has dark under-eye circles by 6:00 p.m., and he is asleep 5 minutes after he goes to bed, so he doesn't know if this will work. Either way, we have plenty of snacks.


Edited to add: They did it!

(William is not taller than Rob; Rob is standing down several steps.)

Spam Blog Take-Over; Candleholders; Cousins Once Removed

If you subscribed to the feed of another blog I used to have, you may have noticed that the address (which I politely gave up when I was done with it) has since been taken up by a spammy fake site. So if you ever linked to that old blog in a blog post and/or in your blogroll, your blog is now linking to spam! Yay! Aren't people LOVELY? Any time a chance to bottom-feed opens up, people RUSH IN to take that chance! No opportunity too low!

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I bought something. Two somethings. They are hard to photograph in the morning lack-of-light, so perhaps I should have waited for later, and perhaps I could have dusted that shelf first, but bygones.

You can still perceive their loveliness, right? Even with the shadows and poor lighting and the dust? They're candleholders. I got them at Home Goods. Each one can be adjusted to take a variety of candle sizes/types. They came in other colors, too; I saw a turquoise one, a bronze one, and one other color I forget. Cream or white, I think. (The little metal birds were a gift from a friend. The thermometer/hygrometer belonged to my grandparents.) It bothers me a TEENSY bit that the smaller one has blue jewels and the larger one has clear jewels, but I think of it as good psychological exercise.

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Two of my girl cousins (sisters to each other) are both pregnant at the same time (both for the first time), and I am quite excited. It's fun to have babies to look forward to and buy little baby things for. And I love the idea of sisters pregnant at the same time. My second-cousin and I had overlapping pregnancies once and we had SO MUCH FUN emailing back and forth about it. And of course I am looking forward to hearing the NAMES! And one baby is a boy, and the other baby will hopefully give up that information this coming week!

And it's fun that the two baby cousins will be so close in age. I wish I'd been closer in age to my own cousins. One girl cousin is four years older, so she was kind to me but she was always at a completely different stage of life. My other four girl cousins were all born when I was in the 10-15 range, so we're a half-generation apart and they were always little kids to me, and I've always been ancient to them. I'm closest to my second-cousin, probably in large part because we're almost the same age.

My own kids are stepping-stairs with their cousins: my kids are 13, 11, 7, and 5, and their cousins are 3 and 1.

Are you close in age with your cousins? If you have kids, are they close in age with theirs?

Caterpillars vs. Butterflies

Leeann is right: it's been awhile since I've written about the kids or put up photos of them. It's gotten difficult to talk about them: Rob made me self-conscious and nervous by asking a lot of questions about my blog, so now I know he could theoretically read anything I write here. Is there any way to say "Some days I hear other people talking about how much they want children and I think 'No, no, don't do it, save yourself while you still can'"---in a way that your children can safely read it?

I don't think they're LIKELY to read it, though. My mother saved a box of all her journals, fantasizing about how she would let her daughter read them one day---and when that magical day finally arrived, I read part of one and was completely uninterested in reading more. Repelled, even. It seems reasonable to assume my children would feel the same way about reading my journals. Still, the idea that they could do it so easily, and with a search feature---it's off-putting.

A general summary of how things are going right now is that as the children get older, I am getting out of the stage I basically like (not all of it, of course, but in the sense that I was glad I'd made the decision to have kids), which is babies and little kids (like, up to pre-adolescent). And as we get out of that stage, I am not very happy about it (even though I felt like I was ready to be done with it), because I don't like the stage that's happening now.

I realize it's ridiculous, because it's not like the literature doesn't explain how this works, but I feel like I signed on for one kind of life and got another kind of life. It's as if I thought long and hard about a pet, and decided after much research and reflection to get a pet caterpillar. It's not that I don't like butterflies, but that's not what I wanted. Now I'm stuck taking care of a pet that's completely wrong for me.

And what can I do about it, right? Nothing, that's what. It's the very thing that's so scary about deciding to have children in the first place: there's no way to know if you'll like it or not, and if you DON'T like it, there's no way to take it back. I can read the pamphlet and understand that the butterfly stage will arrive---but there's still no way to know if I'll like it or not. And if the caterpillar stage had gone so much better than feared, why wouldn't the butterfly stage be the same way? But it isn't.

Rob is almost 14, and he'll be going to high school next year. Elizabeth's Brownies troop has their meetings there, so I've been in the building a few times; it's the same building where I went to high school, so that's freaky. I had what was probably a mild-but-actual panic attack the first time I took her in there: there were several dozen high school kids hanging around (there was a sports event going on in the gym), and I was looking at them and thinking about how extremely stupid and powerful they are at this stage. It's like when a small child's mobility exceeds his brains, so he can move all over the house looking for ways to kill himself---just like that, but with cars and sex and alcohol, and with future career/family happiness on the line. Why was I worried about my stupid baby, when I could easily make him safe by putting him in a playpen or strapping him into a high chair?

Meanwhile, I feel like I live my life constantly on the verge of being drawn into a bewildering confrontation. Rob can be so nice and so companionable, working side-by-side with me in the kitchen getting dinner ready---and then five minutes later I feel like I have to stay calm and think fast so the troll under the bridge will be tricked into letting me pass. I dislike confrontations. I especially dislike confrontations where I am making complete sense on a very simple topic, and yet what I'm saying has no effect on the other person at all---a person who is suffering the delusion that HE is making complete sense. It's like some sort of game: can I get out of this conversation alive AND without getting exasperated to the point of temper AND without crying later in private? If this were my spouse instead of my child, I would be secretly siphoning money out of the checking account in preparation for escape.

And then, most of the blogs I read by other parents of teenagers are self-conscious about writing too, or else only cover the good stuff. So I see basically a series of snapshots of the "nice and companionable working side-by-side in the kitchen" part of life, and it feels like everyone else's teenagers only do that part, and also are SO GREAT AND FUN AND AWESOME to hang out with, while mine is defective and I'm screwing the whole thing up. It's like having a newborn and having mixed feelings about the experience, but finding nothing but bloggers writing about how over the moon they feel, and how they were always meant to be mothers, and how they feel fulfilled like never before---and it's either all true, which is terrible and discouraging, or else all of it is lies because those mothers don't want their babies to grow up and read the blog and feel bad. Either way, USELESS.

William is 11 and in the 6th grade, and I see him as the next of four more train cars coming unstoppably down the track. Or as the next of four more cocoons forming on the twig, to avoid introducing a second metaphor. He's grown much taller and he needs deodorant, which are like Signs of the End Times for childhood. He's mostly still the same kid he was in elementary school, but with weird outbreak moods: I'll ask him to wipe up the honey he spilled while making a sandwich, and he will go dark and moody and STOMP and SLAM as he does it, with me absolutely perplexed. Is it not fair that I asked him to do it? HE spilled it! Who ELSE should clean it up? And I asked perfectly pleasantly! Why do we seem to be in the middle of a Scene, then?

The twins are 7, and in the 2nd grade. One of the huge upsides of having lots of kids and/or wide spacings is that the kids in one stage make me appreciate the kids in a different stage exponentially more than I would have otherwise. When Rob was a second grader, I wasn't seeing him as adorable and sweet and little-kiddish the way I currently see the twins with the contrast of middle schoolers. I wasn't noticing that I could still pick him up or pull him onto my lap, and mentally calculating how many more months that might last. ...Well, actually, that's because Rob even as a NEWBORN didn't want to be picked up. But with William, say: I didn't appreciate 2nd grade William in the same way I currently appreciate the twins, because when William was in 2nd grade, the twins and Henry were tiny, so William was a big kid (and I did appreciate him in that way, because of having littler kids). The twins, though, are 2nd graders and still caterpillars, and the butterflies make me notice this. They're in an exasperatingly forgetful/disorganized stage, but who cares? They're only 7! Look how cute!

And Henry! Henry would be making me wring my hands with worry and despair if I didn't have the middle-school kids. He can be so WILD and ROUGH and HEEDLESS, and I feel like I have to tell him everything a million times. But it's like when you have your second newborn, and instead of thinking "I'VE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE AND I'M DOING EVERYTHING WRONG" like with the first baby, you think, "Eh, this is just a stage. It can be hard, but it'll be over soon."

I try to make myself see the entire butterfly stage that way, but I'm not finding that to be possible. It feels as if the entire pregnancy/baby/little stage is over, which it really IS, and that the butterfly stage stretches into the entire future, which maybe it does. Just as some people really don't like the baby/little stage, I may be someone who doesn't like anything else.