Ginger Unplugged

So, I think it's very possible that I'm losing some of my hearing. This first occurred to me several years ago at the Disneyland equivalent of a book club where a woman I didn't know was trying to talk to me while 50 other women I didn't know chatted in a crowd around the divine artichoke dip. Not being able to even yell loud enough to convey the thought, Hey! I can't hear you!! I dutifully smiled and nodded and before I knew it she had completely held and exited the conversation I had no idea was coming to a close. As she wended her way through mobs of passionate book lovers, I deeply hoped that I hadn't smiled and nodded at something terribly embarrassing to us both. My family has caught onto this and there have been a lot of whispers around here which sometimes I DO hear, and sometimes I've been told about. Here are my favorite three from just the last week. Whisper 1 Sleestack: Waaaa-haaa-haaaa (this was not the whispered part). Monkey: That...

In case my husband Facebooks this, I wanted to get the real story in writing...because I like to think was justified! Back Story: Around bedtime tonight, Sleestack whines and whines for me to put her to bed. I explain many times that she has to actually get ready for bed before I can put her in it. Her father is trying to help her with this but she keeps crying and yelling for Mom to put her to bed. Ack. She is finally ready and asks me to change her pajama shirt because there is some undetectable something in the elbow that is causing her great pain. Fine.  She is finally in the bed, and I'm sent to get her water. I sing her choice of song. It's time for her to pray and she's suddenly forgotten how and I am out of patience. Normal people would probably just say the prayer for the child. Do I? No. I'm sick of being ordered around by a two-year-old. Me: You're not going to pray? Sleestack: I don't know how. Me: Seriously? Fine. Then we won't...

Crash: What's Mom's name? Monkey: Ginger. Crash: What's Dad's name? Monkey: Dear.

We were on our way to Crash's first outdoor performance of the musical Coconut Island. Crash was moping in the van and saying (and I quote), "Musicals are a pit of humiliation with no point." I was hoping Husband would offer encouragement having been in many, many musicals himself. But no. So I nudged him. Me: "Have YOU been in any embarrassing musicals, Husband?" Husband: "Ooooh yes. Dracula and the Bogus Pompadour." Crash: Pompadour? Husband: Yeah. It's a really bad hairstyle. I was Dracula with big hair. And the whole thing was written and directed by a guy we called Captain Cloud. On off nights I was Hulk Hogan and got to rip off my shirt and stuff. He ends up defeating Dracula's pompadour you know. I'm not sure it helped Crash feel better but he did stop complaining.

because I just can't take it! All those medals won in swim meets across the nation should be given straight to the parents of those swimmers. Those kids just had to swim. Do you know what their families had to do? First of all there are those practices every single weekday (and weekends for older swimmers). And it's not like you can stay with them while your little ones play at the park like with soccer or baseball. It's just a heck of a lot of driving. Now I've just attended my first swim meet--what a madhouse. These are my top seven most hideous moments. 1. Being told to go through the women's dressing room to get to the pool. "All of us?" I asked with my 5 children, including 10-year-old Crash in tow. "It's the only way," I was told. That's a direct quote. Well somewhere along the line Crash got kicked out or something because when we emerged through the maze of benches, lockers and teeny-tiny tiles--no Crash. I put three childre...

Crash ended his prayer this morning with "...and please bless that Monkey won't be evil today." Husband put forth the theory afterward that "there are limits to miracles the Lord can perform." _____________ Later that day it was determined that Monkey had been much more agreeable and happy than usual. Just FYI. Thanks, Lord.

...at least in cooperation with Husband. He has several rules: No last names--like Taylor or Hunter or Harrison. No place names--like Dakota or Berkeley or India. No natural names--like Sage or Misty or Ginger. No names that rhyme with anything or remotely sound like anything else. So with this baby, here's the extent of our cooperating. Me: "How about Ellery?" Husband: "Rhymes with Celery." Me: "Embry?" Husband: "Embryo." Me: "I like Emery." Husband: "It's a nail file." Me: "What about Chloe?" Husband after a long pause wherein I KNOW he's trying to rhyme it with things starting with all 26 letters of the alphabet: "I kinda like Chloe." So there you are. Most of our kids' names are decided in the hospital. Is it my fault someone called Jared "Jarhead" when he was little? Whoever it was has ruined the naming of all my children forever. Thanks a lot!

After twenty-four years of waiting I have finally seen The Police in concert! I still wish I could have gone with my dad when I was twelve but for some reason he wasn't too excited about taking me. I sulked in my room all that night while drawing a pencil sketch of Sting. I was very good at sulking. Husband and I had a lot of fun watching dancing grannies and being the young people at a concert. Oddly enough, Sting looked like my dad (especially my dad after a week of camping) and I was worried the guitarist (Andy Summers) didn't have his teeth in. Whether he did or didn't, the guy can rock. Stewart Copeland, the drummer, looked like he was having the time of his life. He was amazing. Random Observations 1. "Doodle-up" is a very weird thing to repeat in the middle of a song a thousand times. 2. If you haven't heard the serious percussion version of Wrapped Around Your Finger , you need to fill that hole in your life. 3. Sting still pronounces Nabokov wrong b...

I am trying desperately to get someone to attend the Dave Matthews Band concert with me. Husband said, "You know, I like to be with you and all, but I've got to draw the line somewhere." However he doesn't want me going alone since "hot guys will pick me up." Yeah. Right. My kids said, "Who? Elvis ? We would go if it were Elvis." Husband interjected, "Heck, I'D go if it were Elvis." "My gosh," I said, "It's DAVE MATTHEWS . He's full of heart, talent, passion." Blank stares. "You know?" I added, " Otis on that Winn-Dixie movie ?" But that was still apparently unconvincing. Butterfly, who's 5, finally said she'd come with me out of pity if I brought coloring books or the Nintendo DS for her to have something to do. My gosh. Does any adult I enjoy being with actually know who Dave Matthews is and like his music!? I think I'll sneak to it myself if not. I've had plenty of ex...