Bored Ramblings

I have a copy of a photo on the shelf above my computer that I got from my mom of my great-great grandfather, Charlie Gale, and his mother, Sarah Hoak, taken in Indiana sometime around 1870 when Charlie was a year or two old. It's a cute photo, a cheek to cheek pose, Charlie sitting on the arm of Sarah's chair, her arm wrapped protectively around him (presumably to keep him from falling off). I would post it here, but my stupid scanner broke-- well, stupid me, that's what I get for not paying attention and plugging in the wrong power cord... Anyway, It's the typical old-timey photo where no one smiles. Charlie took it to the extreme with a big pouting frown. It's really cute because he had such chubby cheeks.

Henry saw it one day and asked me why the baby was sad.

"Because his mommy made him get all cleaned up and dressed up in a suit and made him be quiet and sit very still so they could get their picture taken together."

I like this photo a lot. Not just because I'm named after these people (I'm a Sarah, too, and my middle name is Gale: my grandma's maiden name). I like its clarity, that you can see the little details of their homemade clothes, the buttons and tassels on Sarah's dress, Charlie's stripy socks and beat up shoes. I look at the photo and wonder how long it took Charlie to sit still, whether or not he pitched at fit, what they did after the picture was taken. I wonder a lot about Charlie's father. I have no photo of him, just a name on Charlie's death certificate.

I have two other photos of Charlie, one as a young man, bald and mustachioed, and as an old man, a little chubbier, sans mustache, even more bald. The young man photo looks eerily like my uncle Doug.

I like photos because I can stare at the people in them without them getting frightened and starting to think I'm a psycho.

Henry just asked me, "What's die-able sores?"

It took me just a moment. Usually I have to run a mental review of everything Henry's seen or heard over the past week to figure out what he's talking about. But I remembered this one pretty quick. Because Henry likes to watch a certain Power Puff Girls DVD over and over again.

"You mean 'diabological spores', Henry."

"Yeah, die-able sores."

I had to remind him that the evil broccoloid army invaded earth and were surprised when the kids didn't get hypno-zapped like their parents and Blossom says, "Cause we didn't eat none of your diabological spores!"

I had hoped that that episode would help Henry eat his vegetables, but no luck so far.

Finally a Beautiful Weekend

Yes, it's finally a sunny, beautiful Saturday morning. After weeks of beautiful week days followed by rainy weekends (not complaining, we really need the rain) . Ben's been complaining about that lately since he's stuck at work when it's nice and then when he's not it's raining. Well, he's sick today, so I guess that's what he gets for complaining.

I ought to realize how futile it is to complain. Because I already know in advance that things are going to snag, my expectations will not be met, something will go wrong, and I'll feel guilty because I read a book instead of folding laundry. But that's okay. The little snags in life keep me on my toes and help me build up patience, which I'm running low on. Like when I try on a pair of jeans at the mall and everything appears great and I buy them, only to have them magically grow a size too large after I've washed them and can't return them.

Henry surprised me by being nice for my dental appointment, yesterday. The last time Ben was in for a cleaning we took Henry along, so he'll be acclimated when it's time for him to get a real check up. I gave him a good talking to yesterday before I took him with me to the dentist's, hoping he'd remember the lecture and behave. Which he did for the most part. I only had to tell him to stop touching the x-ray machine twice. The hygienist and dentist are both really cool, which made things easier for a lone mom with a very active little boy. Then of course, he picked out a toy with lip gloss inside and promptly applied it all over his body.

Then that night, because I was letting my happiness at his good behavior overcome all rational thought, I let Henry drink a root beer when we ate out. Yes, I'm a moron. Soda, or "liquid candy" as I like to call it, has a similar effect upon Henry as gasoline does on a grease fire. Under normal circumstances he's revving up into hyper psycho mode by seven thirty every night; it's a completely normal event to have him bouncing off the walls right before bed time. Last night, he went into overdrive and switched on his nitro boosters. I did not pick him up by his head and hurl him into bed like a football, but he was so high on sugar I'm not sure he would have noticed if I had.

This morning I awoke happily untainted by Ben's plague. I hooked Henry up with breakfast, video games and cartoons, and left him with his sick father while I went to the doctors for some lab work. I'd been there a few times before but never on a weekend. Apparently on the weekends you get completely ignored after following proper procedure. According to the sign posted on the wall you sign in, press the button and sit down, and a person will call for you "shortly". I sat and killed time reading a newspaper and looked at my watch and it had been like forty five minutes. I knew I wasn't overlooked because an office worker looked at me like ten times and confirmed I was in for lab work. A sign on the wall told me not to get pissy if every person in the room, including those who came in a half an hour later than I, was seen before me because a lot of different testing took place at that facility. But I was pissy anyway and went up to the counter and made my presence known to a woman occupied with paperwork.

Me: "Hey, I've been sitting her for forty five minutes and haven't been seen yet. What's your definition of 'shortly'?"

Her: "You haven't been seen yet?"

Me: "I'm still standing here, ain't I?"

Of course, being the complete wimp I am, I was really much more polite. And to credit them, it was only about ten more seconds before I was seen. Then my freaking veins wouldn't cooperate. They're dinky and like to roll around a lot, so the guy missed on the first stab. Got to love those fruitless punctures. Then he switched to my other arm and my arm jerked because it for some reason hurt like hell and in consequence the needle pulled out of the vein and he spent a few minutes getting it to stop bleeding. He flunked out apparently, and another nurse had to have a go at it. Luckily she, using a smaller needle, was successful on the first stab back on the elusive vein because I was starting to get a little queasy. Then I got to drive myself home with two sore arms instead of one.

Life. Don't talk to me about life. Hey, Marvin, I feel for ya.

Ben, not so grizzly anymore. As the first buds of spring open and blossom, Ben sheds his woolly cocoon and emerges a full five years younger. Too bad shaving my head would only make me look like a freak.

I have nothing to say so I'm posting this photo instead. I kind of like this one. For one, it's rife with symbolism. Check out the whole maternal love theme: mom smiling with love/triumph as she subdues her crazy little kid (you can tell he's evil by the red eye effect). Plus there's the scratched up arm of the sofa, indelible evidence of my failure to properly discipline the cat. The scriptures seemingly balanced atop my knee, with the little Spanish dictionary perched on top, a constant reminder that I have to study and pray otherwise I'll never learn Spanish before we get released back to the English ward. Yeah, stuff like that. And another thing: the carpet looks fairly clean.
Okay, I need an outside opinion: do I have dog elbows? Ben says I do. I guess because my forearms are freakishly hairy, we're talking Esau goat fur hairy, and my elbows are are these naked bony protrusions poking out from the fur. It makes me laugh to think about it because somebody else once told me I had bizarre elbows, too.