Every so often, in spite of all the self-education I have on teenagers, I feel like the ground under me is not so stable. I wish I could say this was a simple case of "The Enemy" attacking, as some Christians I know might say.
But I think it's a more complicated issue of the collision of free will(s), the object being a Wii or an MP3 player, and the conflict between my 13-year-old son's free will saying yes, and my free will saying no.
We had the discussion last night about his Christmas gift list, and my first response was $200 is too much money to spend on Christmas gifts. He, teary-eyed, said I was mean and that all his friends got way more than that. Me, tired, replied that we weren't his friends' parents. He, defiant, said you got that right. Then he stomped off.
I have several problems with the thing. It's not like it's all that new -- we had the Sony walkman 20 years ago and they all do the same thing: allow you to listen to music at any time you like. So my first objection is the ever presence-ness of it -- you can't get away from the music, and there's never any possibility of silence. Not silence in the sense of Mom and Dad can't stand the racket, cuz the things are glued to ears and it's hard to hear when you're on the outside. But the silence that's necessary for life. The distraction is not entirely safe, at least this is what I tell my son, though I've never heard of a teenager hit by a car because they were so wrapped up in their headphones.
Secondly, I object to the downloading of music, for two reasons. The first is, most people download illegally, that is don't pay for it. But the second reason is that you choose only the individual songs you like, so that the "collection" comprises unrelated pieces of music. There's no way a kid gets to hear a musician's whole canon. There's no possibility for nuanced variations in a musician's vision, and even though I might not like the music, I do recognize that every musician has some kind of worldview or vision.
Third, there's no way for a parent to vet lyrics on 300 songs. My stipulation has always been this: while I might not personally like the music, I do recognize your (teen child) choice in music. But I will have a say in the lyrics you're consuming.
Fourth, I do think there's an eardrum issue here -- potential for later damage.
Now that I've had the chance to sleep on it (and where did that expression come from -- anyone who's had to wrestle with something never sleeps, but lies awake tossing and turning, about the problem) -- tonight we will have a family conflab and I will list all the reasons why I'm opposed to giving an MP3 player for Christmas, and I will invite his reasons why he should have one. If they are solid and reasonable, chaos will set in once again, I will spend another night not sleeping and mulling and chewing this over, and we will go back to the negotiating table.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Absence makes the heart feel guilty...
It's been two whole months since I last posted on my own blog, and judging by the site meter results, it looks like my visitors have dwindled down to those accidental tourists who get directed here by their own googling mistakes.
But if you think I've ignored the blog, you should see what's happening in my house! My 13-year-old has just discovered -- no embraced -- the true meaning of anarchy. And my 7-year-old, not to be outdone by her older brother, has quickly followed suit.
In the past two or three weeks, they have refused to go to bed, eat their fruit and veg, pick up wet towels, put away dishes, or turn off the TV and video games when asked. Their dad is looking a little gimlet-eyed of late, too -- he exploded (a lot from a very mild-mannered guy) the other day about how nobody listens to him. That would include me.
And don't even get me started on the house. I was going to go get a new prescription for eye glasses but have decided against it -- I don't want to see the dirt sticking to baseboards like a leech to a swimmer's legs, or the dust that coats the tops of doorjambs and picture frames like newly fallen snow (in a snowstorm).
As if I wasn't overwhelmed enough, I've taken up reading Revelations (it's the subject of my new seven-week Bible study course and not some form of twisted punishment). It could actually be viewed as a book of hope, except for those who refuse to bask in the light of God's illumination.
It's like the dust in my house -- I don't want to see it, so I'll walk around without glasses. But we can't do that with God, cuz if we hope to get closer, the light emanating from his glory and presence is so blinding that it shows off all our dark and dusty corners.
There's one big difference between housekeeping and faith, though, and that is Jesus parable of leaving the interior home so spotless it becomes an open invitation for Diabolo to take up residence. While we're meant to tidy up our messy interior, we're also supposed to fill it immediately with the Holy Spirit.
I'll take that parable into the mundane -- or the profane, as my house looks today -- and exploring my neglect of children, house, husband, and dog (whose nails I only managed to clip last night after three months). In light of those preoccupations, it means that I not only have to sweep out the cobwebs -- the dust and dirt -- but also the bad habits of relating ("whaddya mean you have no clean socks, underwear or towels, if you don't like it, then wash them yourself -- I'm on strike!").
It also means filling my home with a certain kind of presence -- praise of God, focus on Jesus, a relationship with the Spirit. That's the only thing that gets you anywhere in trying to mend fences with those you've disconnected from.
Cuz, anyone who's ignored their kids for a period of time will tell you that it's not easy sidling up to them after you've gone awol (even if it was to work so hard you could afford braces for their crooked little teeth). They're like pets you've left at the kennel for holidays -- they ignore your attempts for a statutory three days then they're all over you like a pig on a sofa.
It's not so bad, though -- usually all they're looking for is food, a hug, and a word of praise.
But if you think I've ignored the blog, you should see what's happening in my house! My 13-year-old has just discovered -- no embraced -- the true meaning of anarchy. And my 7-year-old, not to be outdone by her older brother, has quickly followed suit.
In the past two or three weeks, they have refused to go to bed, eat their fruit and veg, pick up wet towels, put away dishes, or turn off the TV and video games when asked. Their dad is looking a little gimlet-eyed of late, too -- he exploded (a lot from a very mild-mannered guy) the other day about how nobody listens to him. That would include me.
And don't even get me started on the house. I was going to go get a new prescription for eye glasses but have decided against it -- I don't want to see the dirt sticking to baseboards like a leech to a swimmer's legs, or the dust that coats the tops of doorjambs and picture frames like newly fallen snow (in a snowstorm).
As if I wasn't overwhelmed enough, I've taken up reading Revelations (it's the subject of my new seven-week Bible study course and not some form of twisted punishment). It could actually be viewed as a book of hope, except for those who refuse to bask in the light of God's illumination.
It's like the dust in my house -- I don't want to see it, so I'll walk around without glasses. But we can't do that with God, cuz if we hope to get closer, the light emanating from his glory and presence is so blinding that it shows off all our dark and dusty corners.
There's one big difference between housekeeping and faith, though, and that is Jesus parable of leaving the interior home so spotless it becomes an open invitation for Diabolo to take up residence. While we're meant to tidy up our messy interior, we're also supposed to fill it immediately with the Holy Spirit.
I'll take that parable into the mundane -- or the profane, as my house looks today -- and exploring my neglect of children, house, husband, and dog (whose nails I only managed to clip last night after three months). In light of those preoccupations, it means that I not only have to sweep out the cobwebs -- the dust and dirt -- but also the bad habits of relating ("whaddya mean you have no clean socks, underwear or towels, if you don't like it, then wash them yourself -- I'm on strike!").
It also means filling my home with a certain kind of presence -- praise of God, focus on Jesus, a relationship with the Spirit. That's the only thing that gets you anywhere in trying to mend fences with those you've disconnected from.
Cuz, anyone who's ignored their kids for a period of time will tell you that it's not easy sidling up to them after you've gone awol (even if it was to work so hard you could afford braces for their crooked little teeth). They're like pets you've left at the kennel for holidays -- they ignore your attempts for a statutory three days then they're all over you like a pig on a sofa.
It's not so bad, though -- usually all they're looking for is food, a hug, and a word of praise.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
The Snowball Effect
For the past two years, I have sat at my desk, in full view of my kitchen floor. A kitchen floor that's always top of mind and the to-do list -- always in need of washing and waxing. When it was installed 11 years ago, the hunter green and white checkerboard effect was stunning, and being linoleum tile, it was less expensive than ceramics, and gentler underfoot.
Now, however, it's cracking in spots, and breaking off at a few corners. It can still look good if stripped and re-waxed -- an arduous hands and knees job.
But it needs to be replaced. And there's the rub. Is it worth replacing the floor now, if I'm going to change the cupboards in a couple of years? They're 11 years old and some of them are getting shabby. And if I replace the cupboards, I might as well knock out the wall between the dining room and kitchen that I've wanted to do for a long time now. And if I do that, I might as well enlarge the opening between the dining room and the little den/TV room that's now my office, in full view of the kitchen floor. But if I do that, I'll need to replace the hardwood flooring throughout the main floor, because there's no way to match 80-year-old flooring with new bits and pieces. So if I'm going to go that far, perhaps it would be best to do an addition on the back of the house, enlarging the kitchen to make it big enough to eat in and entertain in. And while we're at it, we might as well go up and add on to the second floor.
Which is why I'm back to doing nothing with my kitchen floor because it's going to end up costing me $80,000.
Now, however, it's cracking in spots, and breaking off at a few corners. It can still look good if stripped and re-waxed -- an arduous hands and knees job.
But it needs to be replaced. And there's the rub. Is it worth replacing the floor now, if I'm going to change the cupboards in a couple of years? They're 11 years old and some of them are getting shabby. And if I replace the cupboards, I might as well knock out the wall between the dining room and kitchen that I've wanted to do for a long time now. And if I do that, I might as well enlarge the opening between the dining room and the little den/TV room that's now my office, in full view of the kitchen floor. But if I do that, I'll need to replace the hardwood flooring throughout the main floor, because there's no way to match 80-year-old flooring with new bits and pieces. So if I'm going to go that far, perhaps it would be best to do an addition on the back of the house, enlarging the kitchen to make it big enough to eat in and entertain in. And while we're at it, we might as well go up and add on to the second floor.
Which is why I'm back to doing nothing with my kitchen floor because it's going to end up costing me $80,000.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Daily Ablutions
It's no secret to the people nearest and dearest to me that I must, in order to pay the grocery and orthodontic bill, write stories about the interior design of model homes and condo suites. Occasionally, a truly spectacular building -- low rise home, or condo project -- will come along. But for the most part, these are dreary creations, often with gratuitous embellisments meant to make the place look pretty. That's the architecture.
And then there's the interior design. If you can call it that. The subdivision homes are the worst by far. They have endless hallways and staircases, which consume about a third of the square footage, and then there are the double height ceilings in the formal living room.
I can't, of course, slam this stuff, because I'd never write again in this town. But you can't imagine what I'm thinking while waxing cheesy poetic from my keyboard.
Today, for example, I had to extol the virtues of very high end spa baths and gourmand kitchens. First of all, nobody has the time to luxuriate in that spa, nor to rustle up delicious vittles in that fancy kitchen with its two wall ovens, two sinks (one for washing lettuce!) and stainless steel fridge with glass doors -- only neatniks need apply, since every fingerprint shows up here.
Secondly, how much more retreating from the public sphere are we going to do? At least if you belong to a gym and go to the spa, there's a communal sense to it. You can even take a friend along. But can you imagine inviting a friend to join you in your bathroom, no matter how nice it is?
If you play out the scenario, there you are in terrycloth robes lounging away, perhaps even leaning up against the bidet or the commode. For heaven's sakes, who can relax, up close and personal, next to the "seat" of ablutions?
Most of the women I know are so busy that they take those precious few moments of their uninterrupted shower time to scrub out the tub. Like me, they've even got the sequence of rituals down to such a fine art so that they can shave a leg with one hand, while squeegeeing the walls with the other, as they wait for the conditioner to set. The only quandry is whether to wash it all off before hauling out the industrial size Vim or after. The advantage of the latter is that they can scrub the tub bottom with the soles of their feet slathered with Ajax cleanser -- and so save the high price of a pedicure and pumice stone treatment.
And then there's the interior design. If you can call it that. The subdivision homes are the worst by far. They have endless hallways and staircases, which consume about a third of the square footage, and then there are the double height ceilings in the formal living room.
I can't, of course, slam this stuff, because I'd never write again in this town. But you can't imagine what I'm thinking while waxing cheesy poetic from my keyboard.
Today, for example, I had to extol the virtues of very high end spa baths and gourmand kitchens. First of all, nobody has the time to luxuriate in that spa, nor to rustle up delicious vittles in that fancy kitchen with its two wall ovens, two sinks (one for washing lettuce!) and stainless steel fridge with glass doors -- only neatniks need apply, since every fingerprint shows up here.
Secondly, how much more retreating from the public sphere are we going to do? At least if you belong to a gym and go to the spa, there's a communal sense to it. You can even take a friend along. But can you imagine inviting a friend to join you in your bathroom, no matter how nice it is?
If you play out the scenario, there you are in terrycloth robes lounging away, perhaps even leaning up against the bidet or the commode. For heaven's sakes, who can relax, up close and personal, next to the "seat" of ablutions?
Most of the women I know are so busy that they take those precious few moments of their uninterrupted shower time to scrub out the tub. Like me, they've even got the sequence of rituals down to such a fine art so that they can shave a leg with one hand, while squeegeeing the walls with the other, as they wait for the conditioner to set. The only quandry is whether to wash it all off before hauling out the industrial size Vim or after. The advantage of the latter is that they can scrub the tub bottom with the soles of their feet slathered with Ajax cleanser -- and so save the high price of a pedicure and pumice stone treatment.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Happy Holidays
Lately, I've been wondering if I even know what it means to be joyful. The past two weeks I've been off from work, and the kids and I have been supposedly doing holiday things. What I'd envisioned as a lark -- merrily off to enjoy the sights, smells, food, and events of summer -- has turned into hours upon hours of them watching TV or playing video games, while I've tried to corral the mess in the house. Them going to bed later and later every day, while DH and I struggle with lack of sleep. And the endless bickering! Arguing over who has a millimeter more of cream cheese on their bagel.
Mark Gaskill author of Systemic Parenting says that problems with kids indicates a larger problem with the family as a unit. So what does that say about our family? Probably that we're stressed, and trying to do too much.
As the summer winds down and school is about to start -- and we haven't even gone on our away vacation yet -- I find myself writing more and more to-do lists. All those things that were on the summer to-do list have been pushed on to fall.
And what a list it is!
What kind of drug was I on that deluded me into thinking I could paint the living room, hallway, all the wood trim up and down, replan the garden, add a bit onto the deck, take the kids to myriad fun summer activities, write model suite stories for the paper, AND finish the book manuscript????
I think a big part of it is we are living way too much in our heads -- that everlasting to-do list and the miscalculation of how much time it takes to complete.
The pope just came out with a declaration against too much busyness and his conclusions are spot on -- too much activity, leads to distraction and hardness of heart. Barbara Killinger says much the same in her book on workaholics -- that the drug of work can render you numb to feelings.
What's the alternative? Drop everything? Do nothing? Go fishing?
Paring back is important -- in fact, today we are not heading out to Ontario Place, but instead staying home, getting ready for our trip and walking down to the lake and dipping in our toes.
Paring back though has to be accompanied by a new perception of all that we do. Yesterday's Christian quote of the day had this pithy quotation which applies:
There is no one in the world who cannot arrive without
difficulty at the most eminent perfection by fulfilling with
love the obscure and common duties.
... J. P. de Caussade (1675-1751)
Mark Gaskill author of Systemic Parenting says that problems with kids indicates a larger problem with the family as a unit. So what does that say about our family? Probably that we're stressed, and trying to do too much.
As the summer winds down and school is about to start -- and we haven't even gone on our away vacation yet -- I find myself writing more and more to-do lists. All those things that were on the summer to-do list have been pushed on to fall.
And what a list it is!
What kind of drug was I on that deluded me into thinking I could paint the living room, hallway, all the wood trim up and down, replan the garden, add a bit onto the deck, take the kids to myriad fun summer activities, write model suite stories for the paper, AND finish the book manuscript????
I think a big part of it is we are living way too much in our heads -- that everlasting to-do list and the miscalculation of how much time it takes to complete.
The pope just came out with a declaration against too much busyness and his conclusions are spot on -- too much activity, leads to distraction and hardness of heart. Barbara Killinger says much the same in her book on workaholics -- that the drug of work can render you numb to feelings.
What's the alternative? Drop everything? Do nothing? Go fishing?
Paring back is important -- in fact, today we are not heading out to Ontario Place, but instead staying home, getting ready for our trip and walking down to the lake and dipping in our toes.
Paring back though has to be accompanied by a new perception of all that we do. Yesterday's Christian quote of the day had this pithy quotation which applies:
There is no one in the world who cannot arrive without
difficulty at the most eminent perfection by fulfilling with
love the obscure and common duties.
... J. P. de Caussade (1675-1751)
Friday, August 11, 2006
Going to the Dogs
OK, now I finally get it. The other day I saw a guy out walking (or maybe it was jogging) and he had a pooch in a stroller. How ridiculous is that. Well, apparently, not very....
Today I was reading some back clippings, stuff I'd saved for a time such as this, and I read about the doggie strollers that are like baby jogging strollers. Isn't the whole point of a dog, though, to let them get some exercise?
Continuing in this vein, there's a store in Toronto devoted to dogs, and it sells school uniforms (yes, for dogs), hoodies, tennis dresses, Hawaiian shirts and even wedding dresses. (I wonder -- if it's a same sex marriage, who gets to wear the dress??)
Lastly, there's a much bigger trend in small dogs, like Yorkies, daschunds, chihauhaus, etc. because of the travel lifestyle, and the ease of being able to carry a dog on board when it's as small as that.
Now all we need is for Al-Quaeda to figure out how to make a walking suicide bomb out of a lapdog.
Today I was reading some back clippings, stuff I'd saved for a time such as this, and I read about the doggie strollers that are like baby jogging strollers. Isn't the whole point of a dog, though, to let them get some exercise?
Continuing in this vein, there's a store in Toronto devoted to dogs, and it sells school uniforms (yes, for dogs), hoodies, tennis dresses, Hawaiian shirts and even wedding dresses. (I wonder -- if it's a same sex marriage, who gets to wear the dress??)
Lastly, there's a much bigger trend in small dogs, like Yorkies, daschunds, chihauhaus, etc. because of the travel lifestyle, and the ease of being able to carry a dog on board when it's as small as that.
Now all we need is for Al-Quaeda to figure out how to make a walking suicide bomb out of a lapdog.
On Being Inoffensive
I've just finished reading a great book on writing, by Sol Stein. His last chapter talks about the writer as shill, the one who will write inoffensive pap in order to put food on the table, or in my case to pay the orthodontic bills so that my kids will have a perfect, even set of choppers.
This leads to what I write in order to pay said doc. I write decorating stories about model homes and model suites -- those lovely little airless vignettes intended to dictate to the consumer what an interior should look like. The mantra should read like a William Morris anti-statement: I will have nothing interesting, unusual, beautiful or even remotely functional in my home.
After a year and a half of writing this mindless drivel, I can tell you pretty much that 90% of these builders don't know what it's like to live in the real world. And, incidentally, most of them are men.
You can't imagine how many pictures I get of "lovely" furniture (for the most part, cheap offshore construction, dark stain on particle board with a plastic varnish to give it the durability that will withstand the abuse the public can give out.) If you can unglue your eyes from the arresting decor for a moment, though, you'll notice all the flaws. Like electrical outlets in places they have no business being, and several of them clustered together. These little white squares are jarring on an expanse of builder beige or taupe.
Layouts: formal front living and dining rooms pay lip service to the name and function of these spaces. In reality, they look more like doctor's waiting rooms, uncomfortably crammed into the small space beside the door.
Corridors, Scarlet O'Hara staircases, double height ceilings with no sense of proportion or scale, eat up a goodly portion of these monstrous homes, so that if you parse it down to room sizes, it's clear that these subdivision homes have precious little more room than a standard three-bedroom semi in the heart of the city.
OK, that's enough for now. I will continue my rant anon.
This leads to what I write in order to pay said doc. I write decorating stories about model homes and model suites -- those lovely little airless vignettes intended to dictate to the consumer what an interior should look like. The mantra should read like a William Morris anti-statement: I will have nothing interesting, unusual, beautiful or even remotely functional in my home.
After a year and a half of writing this mindless drivel, I can tell you pretty much that 90% of these builders don't know what it's like to live in the real world. And, incidentally, most of them are men.
You can't imagine how many pictures I get of "lovely" furniture (for the most part, cheap offshore construction, dark stain on particle board with a plastic varnish to give it the durability that will withstand the abuse the public can give out.) If you can unglue your eyes from the arresting decor for a moment, though, you'll notice all the flaws. Like electrical outlets in places they have no business being, and several of them clustered together. These little white squares are jarring on an expanse of builder beige or taupe.
Layouts: formal front living and dining rooms pay lip service to the name and function of these spaces. In reality, they look more like doctor's waiting rooms, uncomfortably crammed into the small space beside the door.
Corridors, Scarlet O'Hara staircases, double height ceilings with no sense of proportion or scale, eat up a goodly portion of these monstrous homes, so that if you parse it down to room sizes, it's clear that these subdivision homes have precious little more room than a standard three-bedroom semi in the heart of the city.
OK, that's enough for now. I will continue my rant anon.
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