Shambling and mumbling - zombies and teenagers have a lot in common, actually

Angus is thirteen. He's not stuck to my side like he used to be, voicing every thought. He no longer wants to help me do everything from fastening my bra to unloading the dishwasher. When my parents are about to see him, they take bets on how many questions he can answer with the single-word statement "Good".

Two or three years ago we asked him if he would mind switching bedrooms with Eve, since his was twice the size of hers and she spent more time in her room than he did. He said sure, so we got a nice tv to go with the video game console that he'd bought with his birthday and Christmas money and a nice beanbag chair and put them all in the basement.

Now he spends a LOT of time in the basement. He does his homework down there. He has his chill time down there. On week-ends and holidays he often sleeps down there, in the bed in Matt's man-cave. I don't really mind this - he works hard on schoolwork and sports; some days he leaves the house at six-fifty a.m. for volleyball practice and doesn't get home until around four. He does any chores assigned to him without complaining (much). I just sort of miss him sometimes.

A few years ago, my husband brought home a PVR. I thought it was stupid, that we were doing perfectly well with VHS tapes and it was a huge waste of money. Now I LOVE the PVR with a slavish, passionate devotion.  I love that whenever Matt and I have a Friday evening free we can watch two Doctor Whos and a How I Met Your Mother, or three Modern Familys and a Big Bang Theory, all without having to track down the right tape from the right day and hope that stuff hasn't gotten accidentally erased or recorded over. But partly because of that, and partly because of crazy sports schedules, we don't tend to be a family who watches tv together. When the kids were younger we had Sunday dinner on tv tables and watched the Wonderful World of Disney like I did when I was young, and when Matt's away sometimes the kids and I watch the Simpsons, but we don't really have a standing date.

Angus used to get scared of things on TV or in the movies a lot. We had to leave Finding Nemo because when the swimmer in the big diving mask popped up and captured Nemo in the net Angus freaking freaked. We had to screen all movies very carefully for many years. Eve was fine in Ice Age 2 - Angus was a basket case and spent most of the movie with his head in my armpit. He's gotten better, but he's still cautious; before we went to see Captain Phillips, which he had selected, he asked me some very specific questions about what kinds of injuries might occur in the movie.

So imagine my surprise when I came home from a week-end away last year and he announced that he had watched Seasons one and two of The Walking Dead on Netflix. EXCUSE ME? Some kind of developmental leap dovetailed nicely with some kind of lapse of parental judgment or attention on the part of my husband, I guess.

When the new season started being advertised, Angus asked if he could watch it with me. I hesitated. Was it inappropriate? Did I want to include someone else in something that was kind of a private pleasure? Would he ask a bunch of questions and be annoying? Then I thought, if my son wants to watch a zombie show with me, what the heck am I waiting for? And if my friend Collette can watch Game of Thrones with her 14-year-old son without prescreening, what the hell am I whining about?

So now Angus and I watch The Walking Dead together every Sunday night. There is no talk of PVR-ing it to watch later - it must be watched at the very moment it is available to be watched. For the season premiere, Matt and Eve were away for Thanksgiving and we were alone. Angus started out cocky, intoning "in a world without haircuts..." over the opening scenes, but by the end of the episode he was on the couch with his head in my lap. Then he announced that he was sleeping with me. He followed me up to my room and asked if I was going to take a shower before bed. "Yes," I said. "Do you want to come with me?" "No!" he said "uh, just maybe leave the door open a crack."

We watch the show. We talk about the characters. We wonder certain people do what they do - sometimes we argue about someone's motivations. We find different things different levels of disturbing. And we talk about all of it. Then we PVR Talking Dead (the after-show) to watch the day after.

Sometimes you just have to watch so carefully, or your bonding opportunities will sail right by.

Halloween this year

Last year (when she was the biker) and this year, Eve decided fairly early exactly what her costume would be and pulled together all the elements herself - well, I did order her biker boots online, but come on, how could I not bring the awesomeness of Eve together with the awesomeness of biker boots, given half the chance?

It was a leather vest in her closet that inspired the biker costume. I'm not entirely sure what set her off this year, and truthfully I found the whole thing a little bizarre, but she was enthusiastic enough beforehand and convinced enough that it was 'epic' when it was all finished that I decided not to intervene. I've always said that costumes pulled together from stuff you already have are better than costumes you buy. Right?

For your viewing pleasure, my daughter.......

The Vampire Rapper.

...named J.Z. Dawgy Dawg. (I suggested J.Z. Bitey Bite as an alternative. She was unimpressed.)

For the Halloween party at our friends' place, I was going to just wear pajamas. Eve vetoed that handily. So I found some zombie stuff in our costume box. But the day of the party I just couldn't face the thought of plastering myself in zombie make-up. So I found a blue dress and put on some blue lipstick and made this sign.

Get it? 

Yes, I did give some thought to whether proclaiming myself FREE for use of the PUBLIC for the evening, and inviting all and sundry to PULL to OPEN (have you SEEN the crowd I hang around with?). As it turns out, there was one ten-year-old boy dressed as The Doctor who kept trying to get inside me all evening. It was slightly inappropriate and yet adorable and hilarious. 

Angus was a bag of Eminems. Matt was in France. 

I know. I'm surprised Eve consented to be photographed with us. 

NaBOOPoMo

Halloween was a bit of a bust this year. Matt's been travelling an insane amount, and was away until the day before. I pulled out the Halloween stuff but couldn't motivate myself to do anything with it. Eve did some decorating, and of course there were her fabulous mini-pumpkins. We managed to get the pumpkins carved Wednesday night after African drumming. Both kids went trick-or-treating with friends that are nearby but not next door, so we weren't really involved in that, which was fine, good even, because I was sick and Matt was jet-lagged, but it felt kind of sad. We had some really cute kids at the door, and the bigger kids were all polite and grateful. So I guess all the bases were covered, if barely, but I feel like I faked most of it.

To console myself (or possibly make myself weep for the next twelve-to-eighteen hours), I'm revisiting Halloweens past.

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I guess I asked for it when I bought a minivan

My dad used to drive me and my sister and our friends all over the place. My friends were bad enough, but my sister had some who raised even my sanguine father's eyebrows with what they were willing to discuss with him sitting there, from their crummy marks to boy problems to their "red friend" (he tells about that one repeatedly). This morning I drove over to Angus's school with him at seven to pick up five other volleyball players and drive them to another school for a tournament. At the end of the day, I went back to watch them play the final (they won) and then drove them all home. My experience with driving Angus and teammates has been mostly confined to a couple of baseball players or a basketball guy who gets in, sticks in his earbuds, says nothing for the entire drive and grunts in a faintly grateful manner on his way out. So I wasn't sure what to expect.

Turns out a bunch of thirteen-year-old boys are not appreciably different from my sister and her friends.

"Gabby texted me!" "What did she say?" "Hi. It's Gabby."

"Angus, can you put some music on?" (I reach for the CD button. He jabs the radio button. I jab the CD button. He jabs the radio button again. Wow, he is REALLY afraid I'm going to play Taylor Swift or the Glee soundtrack).

"I am Titayyyyyyyneeeeeummmmm" "Are you actually trying?" "No, I'm really a good singer, I'm in my church choir."

"She asked if we're on a bus back to school and I said no, we're with a parent driver, and she said what's that." "You have to break up with her. She's dumb."

"Shhhh! Angus is calling his parents. Uh, I mean his.....thingy." "Who's Eve?" "Angus's sister. Is Eve his sister?"

Kid who also plays on competitive city team:""I have volleyball practice tonight." "Tonight?!" "I'm going to tell my dad I'm tired and sore and ask if I still have to go." Me to Angus: "If his dad is anything like your dad, he's screwed." Angus: "Yep." (He was).

"She says you can't have her." "Who said I wanted her? Tell her I am a good boy who likes staying home."

"Thank-you for the Timbits! Uhhhhh, my hands are sticky." "Just lick them." "Okay." "Ohhhh, remember how we rubbed the bottoms of our shoes with our hands because the floor was slippery?" "Yep. And I just licked my whole palm. Oh well."

They all thanked me very politely for the ride. Then on the way home I asked Angus a question about the game in a slightly apologetic tone and he told me consolingly that it's very confusing and explained everything carefully.

I am currently feeling bemused but largely optimistic about the state of today's youth.

Surly Tuesdays on the Margins or Something

I wrote that post title last night and then stared at it for a while and then went away and whined on Twitter about being brain-dead and spinning my wheels and feeling creatively bereft, and some lovely people commiserated and offered words of wisdom and comfort. So I took a deep breath, did some loin-girding and.... decided screw it, and went out for a beer. But I came back today.

While I was staring at my post title yesterday, and then procrastinating by looking at Facebook and checking if my assignment grade had been posted yet and uploading pictures to print and then emailing Kim when I saw a picture of her at my house last Christmas and remembered I hadn't answered her last email, Eve was across the table with paint, construction paper, toothpicks and pumpkins. She had been home sick with a cold for the day, and after I got groceries I came home and asked if she felt well enough to go get pumpkins. She said yes, so we went to the pumpkin patch and she picked two big ones and three little ones.

 She then spent the rest of the afternoon cuddled up in my big chair making sketches of how she was going to embellish them. So while I was dealing with an utter lack of inspiration, and feeling that sinking, panicky feeling which is kind of dumb and yet kind of understandable, because it's not like this is my JOB, it's not like I get PAID to do it, it's not like anyone calls me on the carpet if I don't do it the day I meant to do it, it's not like it's really discernible that anyone even CARES whether or not I do it more than a pathetic once-a-week or so, but then since I don't HAVE a job I do sort of consider it an important thing that I make myself keep to some sort of structure and accountability, and if I start letting it slide it's usually indicative of larger problems in my life (insert deep breath)..... while all that was going on, THIS is what was coming from across the table:

"The littlest one is going to be the ultra-cute little mouse pumpkin. Well, a were-mouse. I don't care what you say, I think it will still be cute even if it has veiny eyeballs."

"The biggest is going to be non-cute. It's going to be a dragumpkin. A mix between a dragon and a pumpkin."

"What should I do with the middle one? A bat? Good idea. I'll make wings and tape toothpicks to them and stick them in. Oh, and then put dark glasses on it. It'll be a rapper bat. Oops, I stuck the toothpick in the wrong place. Ooh, now it's leaking. It's like....a SHAVING accident! *puts red paint and a small piece of kleenex on it* It's an adolescent rapper bat! Hey, look, the stem looks like a witch's hat! It's an adolescent rapper bat WITCH pumpkin! Ah, I don't feel like putting glasses on it."

"I need another toothpick. Too bad I don't have an assistant. Then I could hold out my hand and say 'toothpick!' and she would hand me one. And then she'd say 'you're so creative! and smart! and pretty! No, I'm sure I don't have a fever."

"I can't believe I painted my costume shirt AND did all of these and I haven't made a mistake and had a big freak-out yet. Can you believe that?"

"Where's my paintbrush?WHERE'S MY PAINTBRUSH? Assistant! *I point to the paintbrush in the cup of water and ask 'that paintbrush'?* "Yes, THAT paintbrush. My assistant would have known where that was."

"I'm so glad I made them little costumes. Lots of people paint them but I'm tired of painting them. I love the little costumes."

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Amanda said on Twitter yesterday that maybe she and I were just balancing out our usual awesomeness with a fallow period so somebody else could use the awesome for a while. It's pretty clear who was sucking up the creativity in THIS house last night.

Maybe she'll let me use it when she's done.

Shaky Thursday

How do I do this again? Blog without a specific event and pictures to anchor me? It's been a while.

I was feeling a touch surly last night, although mostly still shaky. I'm taking a basic Computers course in my Library Tech Diploma. Until now I've been able to muddle through all the courses even though I'm not terribly comfortable with computers and they keep changing course platforms on me; but NOW, I'm supposed to be learning about computers ON A COMPUTER. It feels somewhat akin to learning how to race cars by building my own car and then racing it - I worry there could be a catastrophic injury.

So I was starting a little late because of all the World Series nuttiness, then school starting, then Matt being in Asia and Eve having the flu, then Blissdom, because I knew the first assignment wasn't due until next week. I was working through the chapter on Windows 7, clicking all the buttons and thinking this was pretty good, useful and simple even - some instructions were just to 'notice' things. I can notice things! I'm a kick-ASS noticer! Then I got hung up on something (displaying windows side-by-side, if you must know, STOP LAUGHING, I'm good at other things!) and had to email the instructor, and then I started reading through the learning plan just to make sure I hadn't missed anything (of course I'd missed anything, I'd missed lots of things, did I mention they keep changing course platforms and I'm really bad at computer stuff?) and there way at the end is this one line: Exam at Mohawk.

Say what?

Since I'm doing the embarrassing confession thing already, let me just be up front about the fact that the first couple of courses I registered for were ONLY offered through Mohawk - it doesn't really matter, it's all through Ontariolearn.com, which is a clearing house for courses offered through a whole bunch of colleges. But some of the later courses are actually offered through Algonquin, which is the college nearest to me. But the Algonquin college registration interface is completely impenetrable, as far as I can tell - I've never been able to find the page where I register. So I went on registering through Mohawk, which has a really user-friendly interface but is in goddamned HAMILTON, five hours away.

Look! I figured out the snipping tool!

So I fired off a panicky email to my instructor, but it was almost midnight because I'd spent the evening helping out a friend who is solo-parenting her baby for the week and then Matt tried to install some viewing program that buggered everything and then spent another forty minutes trying to UN-install it, so I wasn't going to get an answer last night.

Whatever. Fine. I'm cool.

NO,OF COURSE I'M NOT COOL, ARE YOU INSANE? I might have totally screwed up because I was too stupid to figure out how to register at Mohawk, I might have to drop a whole course and be that much further behind in the diploma that I'm ALREADY doing so slowly that disco will probably be cool again by the time I'm done. That or drive five hours to write an exam at Christmastime.

No, no, enough of that. I'm a grown-up. I can accept that I make mistakes, and even if the worst-case happens here, it's not the end of the world. It's not death or dismemberment. It's only community college. I went to bed, played some Words With Friends, read a little and hardly laid awake all night worrying at all.

This morning there was an email from my instructor. She said of course I can write the exam at Algonquin and sent me a link to register for a proctor. Then she congratulated our family on the Little League World Series thing, because yes, I'm not above still using that as an excuse for everything - "I'm distracted in this course halfway through October because baseball".

Shut up.

Blissando

I freely admit that I attended Blissdom under somewhat fraudulent circumstances. I did the same thing with BlogHer last summer, because Marilyn said it was legit to just go to hang out with your girlfriends in New York AND she offered to room with me, but I thought that would be my first and last blogging conference. I went to Blissdom because when were Nicole and Hannah ever going to scoot their little butts from Calgary and Halifax, respectively, to Toronto at the same time ever again? When you have a chance to catch lightning in a jar - or awesomeness on a hotel room couch - you take it, right?

My preciouses

I had thought that my biggest takeaway from BlogHer (along with the fact that I kind of hate the term 'takeaway' and yet I'm still using it, WHY?) was that I am a personal blogger and that 'branding' or 'monetizing' my blog just wasn't going to happen. I tried one giveaway when I was sent a product that I did really like, and it went over with a resounding thump. What I'm comfortable with is reviewing books and sharing my snark-skewed view of life, the universe and goddamned baseball. 

But here's the thing - I am a slow learner with retrograde amnesia when it comes to lessons in life and blogging. And the thing I learned at BlogHer and then learned again this week-end is that everyone will probably get different things out of something like this, and that's okay. It's also okay if I'm one of those people that only gets one to three things out of it, and not a person that goes home to write a new Manifesto containing Seventy-Six Articles of Faith.

When someone like Eric Alper says something like "you can do ANYTHING you put your mind to", I looked around and saw a bunch of people nodding. Personally, I was thinking "what if I put my mind to jumping off the CN Tower and trying to fly by flapping my arms? Eric, you're cute, but you're tripping." But when Schmutzie says "you are you, and your success won't look like anyone else's", suddenly this wellspring of recognition and gratitude overflowed out of my eyes and I knew if I learned (re-learned) nothing else that week-end that this would still be enough. And who knows? Someone else was probably all over the Eric Alper thing and saying fuck you Schmutzie, I am SO William Faulkner (oh relax, I'm exaggerating for effect, NO ONE SAYS FUCK YOU SCHMUTZIE). And then I hung around her like a stalker trying to think of something really good to say even though I try never to meet my heroes because I know I'll just go all mushy-minded fan-girl stuttering "you're just....so awesome and I just....awesome" and I did, I really did. Whatever, I got hugged by Schmutzie (even if it WAS out of pity), I'm good. 

Schmutzilicious

So I could list all the stuff I liked  - okay fine, I'll list the stuff I liked: the blog to book session with Julie van Rosendaal, who is SO nice and funny and sweet and generous with her knowledge; the power hour which gave me the conference experience I never expect to have, where for one moment I shed my cynical snarkskin and feel completely engaged and transported; floating in the hot tub and solving the world's problems with Nicole and Hannah (I touched their HAIR. I know what their VOICES sound like.) The Bigstorming creative session with Marilyn Barefoot, which I suspected might be cheesy and 'motivational' in a fake way, but turned out to be surprisingly (only because I'm a bit of a douche) practical and helpful, and I LOVED our group (Organic Vomit Party for the win!); Jully Black at the Outdoor party - wow. Just wow; the lentil lunch by Canadian Lentils - I have never shoveled that may lentils into my gob in such a short time. My meal plan for the next two weeks consists of lentil main dishes, lentil side dishes and lentil desserts; and the pajama dance party on the last night - most brilliant idea ever. 

What did I not like? Well, I actually don't want to talk bums, unless we're discussing Nicole's fabulous ass.

I know, sweetie. If I had one like that I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off it either.

(Kidding. She's playing heads or tails trying to win one of Julie's cookbooks)

Also, I regret that I didn't get a picture of Nicole with both her legs behind her head on the hotel room hallway floor.

I DID get Hannah in bed, though. 

What I learned (again) I think, is that it's pretty much impossible to come to this sort of thing and NOT get splattered with a little inspiration, enthusiasm and positive energy, even if you ARE a grumpy, depressive malcontent with relentlessly low self-esteem.