Yes We Can!

I am so completely happy today. We're nearing the end of 8 dark years. I spent my day at work fighting the urge to hug people. I kept reminding myself that if I hugged a McCain supporter, it might come off as gloaty, but it's hard to believe that there are people (the majority of my blood relations, in fact) who aren't swept up in the hope and the excitement. I spent my drives to and from work listening to NPR, basking in the glow of being a teeny part of something huge, getting all teary-eyed every time they talked about how momentous Obama's victory is.

The thing that excites me most is that he refused to run a smear campaign. He insisted on responding to assaults on his character with even-keeled discussion of facts and issues. When he said McCain's name at a rally and heard boos, he didn't smirk or egg them on, he said "Don't boo, just register." So freaking classy. Our president is going to be classy!

Also, oh my god! Indiana went Democrat! Not since 1964 has that happened. The husband and I kept saying that we would weep if it did. Neither of us expected to live to see the day. In the end, we didn't weep, since we were sleeping when it finally got called. But as an undergrad, it was always hard to muster up enthusiasm to vote, knowing that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of changing Indiana's stripes. But now it matters! Go Lake County!

Now Obama's just got to stay safe and alive. I have heard several people comment on his safety today. I was in the shower when the husband said he was going to give his first speech as president elect (which was beautiful, by the way - our president is going to be eloquent!), and my stomach lurched. It feels like we're about to enter another FDR era. I so hope that's the case, and I'm so excited to get to see it, but I've gotta say I'm scared shitless that it's going to be more like JFK.

But now is not the time to dwell on negativity. Now is the time to be positive! And on second thought, the thing that makes me most excited is that once again, I am truly proud to be an American. I can reclaim my patriotism without reclaiming an ideology based on fear, hatred, and intolerance of those who aren't like me. So in that spirit, maybe tomorrow I will hug a McCain supporter. Or at least smile and nod. Because, like it or not, we're all in this together, and the rift-healing has to start somewhere.

What's the opposite of phallic?

I would like to offer kudos to the US Postal Service for its beautiful salute to female anatomy. Oh, they can call it tropical fruit if they'd like. And if it was just the breast-ish kiwi, or the papaya that looks a bit uterine, I could maybe roll with that. And I'll grant that the star fruit just looks floral, and the only womanly link I can think of for the pomegranate is that it looks like it is infested with ladybugs. (Get it? 'Lady' bugs? Ha ha? No? Well, you can't say I didn't try.)

But that guava? I swear that when I saw it on a postcard in the mail, my first thought was "Why is my dentist sending me vaginas*?" (My second thought, in case you're wondering, was "It has to be too soon for another cleaning," but it totally isn't. Yuck.) (I meant my teeth. A cleaning of my teeth, not... never mind.)

*On later reflection, I realized that, technically speaking, it looks like a vulva, but I'm trying to keep the authenticity of the moment.

Settling in

I have my first program for school-age children at my new-ish job tomorrow, and I've gotta tell you, I'm nervous. I have been working at the library in Jobville (conveniently located in the general vicinity of CollegeTown) for nearly two months, and I was starting to feel like a slacker for not offering any programs for the school-age crowd. But Story Time is a gaping maw that must be fed before all others. When Story Time sessions are delayed by a week because Miss Rachel is new, dammit, and doesn't even know where they keep the shaker eggs, the Story Time moms and grandmas howl. Once you have awoken the Story Time Beast, the children will show up four times a week whether you're prepared for them or not, and they will be left in the room with you, and woe be to the children's librarian who does not have an enticing fingerplay to lead them through.

Oh, and at this library, the Story Time Beast has a sidekick, and it is the Craft Monster. The Craft Monster is present at EVERY Story Time. I had escaped the Craft Monster at all three of my previous children's services positions, but the Craft Monster is wily and doesn't show itself until you have officially accepted a position. The guiding of 10-15 preschoolers through the completion of the craft isn't the hard part, it's finding a series of crafts that fit in with the weeks' themes, aren't too hard to be done without constant assistance, can be completed in 10-15 minutes, and don't require too much prep work on my part. The Craft Monster consumes a lot of glue sticks.

Now that I've got the Story Time Beast and the Craft Monster pretty much under control, however, I've turned my attention to the school-age kids. They are easier to ignore and harder to please. For my first go-round here, I figured I'd go with something I had done before, and planned a Magic Tree House Party. That's a series of books about a brother and sister who travel through time via a magical tree house owned by Morgan Le Fay. (Yes, from Camelot. No, I don't understand it either.) It is quite popular, and has been for years. The program, which is tomorrow, filled up last week, so I added a second session which will happen next week. I got an email tonight telling me that that session is full now. I don't even know what to say about that.

I've got a number of irrational fears that I'll enumerate for your viewing pleasure:

1.) The children who come to the first one will be so bored that they will tell all the children signed up for the second one not to come.

2.) None of the children will come.

3.) Only two of the children will come, and they will stare at each other and blink and not want to do anything.

4.) Most of the children will come, but they won't want to throw paper towel rolls through a hula hoop that is dangling from the ceiling (it's a javelin throw because once Jack and Annie went to the Olympics in ancient Greece), nor will they want to make a toilet paper roll mummy (they also went to ancient Egypt once).

5.) All of the children will show up plus they'll bring friends, and when I explain that registration was required and that I don't have enough toilet paper rolls for them, they will get angry and rebel, and then tell everyone at school that I have a weird obsession with cardboard tubes.

6.) I will forget to buy snacks.

I don't know why I'm nervous. I've done this type of thing many times before. I think it's partly that I am the one and only children's librarian in a small town with a teeny library. If the children decide they don't like me, they may never come back. Also, I get the feeling that they don't usually get this kind of turn-out for this kind of program. Oh, and the person who had this job before me only worked five hours a week, and I worry that I'm not doing four times as much work as she did, and that my boss and co-workers are secretly judging me, and if this program fails, it will confirm what they've been thinking all along. It's totally paranoid (or at least I hope it is), but I think it all boils down to one thing: I really, really like this job, and I don't want to screw it up. So here's hoping the kids like playing with toilet paper as much as I do.

Babies and Obama!

Substantive posts? Bah, that's for "bloggers" with "something to say". Or people with cameras that "function" so they can take pictures of the beautiful shopping bag they knit in just one week. (That is a record for me. My previous record for finished knitted object was something like three months, so it's worth mentioning.)

Instead of substance, I bring you: Obama holding babies! If you won't vote for him because McCain is teetering on the edge of death and/or totally losing his shit, or because Sarah Palin is almost as informed about the pertinent issues as my dog is, or even just because it is the other side's turn to be filled with rage while listening to our nation's leader, then vote for him because he looks hot holding a baby. Please?

The Telltale Sump Pump

So it rained in Illinois. Nothing to compare with the hurricanes, mind you, or even the rain that the Chicago area got, but rain all the same. A consequence of the rain is that our basement flooded. The good news is that the house we're renting has a sump pump, so it only flooded a little. The bad news is that it's been pumping its little heart out since yesterday morning.

Have you ever lived with a sump pump before? I don't think I have. In all honesty, I didn't even know what exactly a sump pump did until we moved here. It turns out that what it does is pump. All. Day. Long. Squish-chug. Squish-chug. It's like a really loud, really persistent washing machine. Squish-chug. The exact same rhythm. Over and over and over again. And in a relatively small one-floor house, there is no escaping its noise.

At various times today I have found myself tapping my leg, petting the dog, and washing myself in the shower to the rhythm of the sump pump. When I was contemplating the writing of this, I checked my pulse, half-convinced that it would be beating in time to the rhythm of the sump pump. If the water doesn't go away, I will soon be in a padded room, rocking and twitching to the rhythm of the sump pump.

That may be a possibility. Along with the fact that it's still drizzling occasionally, the problem is that our basement water is seepage from the ground being so saturated. When the sump pump pumps, the water goes out through a long pipe back into our yard, where it goes back into the ground, and eventually back toward the house and through the wall, starting the cycle again. Over and over and over again. Squish-chug.

I am sorry to sound ungrateful, particularly if you're dealing with rain or, heaven forbid, hurricane aftermath right now. I know that the sump pump noise is a small price to avoid flood damage. I'm just wondering if we should check our renter's insurance policy to see if it covers emotional damage.

Everyone poops (but, dude, only dogs eat it)

Hi everybody! No, I'm not dead. I've been putting off posting for a host of reasons, not least of which is that I was having problems writing an interesting "Here's the story of our move and our new life" type post. And I was whining to the husband (as I am wont to do), and he said, "Um, so don't?" (Actually he said, "Dear god in heaven, stop talking about it and right about something else then," but paraphrasing is everybody's friend.) So, suffice it to say that we're moved, and I'm employed, and more on that another time. Today, though, I want to talk about poop.

Specifically, I want to talk about bunny poop, and its effect on my dog. (I should probably have warned you two sentences ago to stop now if discussions of gross dog habits bother you.) Our little piece of Midwestern heaven is Happy Bunny Land. There is lots of grass and very little traffic, and oh, how the bunnies love it. In our first weeks here, we noticed that the dog, when released into the yard, would sniff around very intently as if on the trail of something. "Oh, how cute," we said to ourselves. "The boy's hunting instincts have been awoken. He's on the trail of something, ha ha."

Then one day, I was out with him when I noticed an errant piece of dog poop. Next to it was a little pile of bunny poop. I went to get something with which to correct the situation, and when I came back, the rabbit poop was gone. The dog had been sniffing there, and the only reasonable conclusion to draw is that the dog ate the rabbit poop.

I fully realize that asking the bunnies of the neighborhood not to poop in our yard is like asking the kindergarten teacher not to bring in paste. The fact that my dog is not the brightest crayon in the box is not the fault of the rabbits (or the squirrels, or the raccoons, or whatever else may be providing my dog with mid-day snacks). And it doesn't seem to make him sick or anything. I just wish that he wasn't so intent about the whole process. If he thinks there's some in the vicinity he will ignore everything (with the notable exceptions of his tennis ball and the word "treat"), until he tracks it down. We feed him, play with him, allow him to share our home, and yet we lose out to rabbit crap. It's enough to make me weep. Or gag. Or, I don't know, fix the gap in the fence that lets the bunnies in.

On reflection, I think I'll stick to weeping and gagging.

Choose Your Own Damn Adventure

First off, a rare bit of good news: we found a home in College Town. It has a yard, and no weird smells. We are cautiously pleased. Now, on with your regularly scheduled blog installment.

When I was about 8 or so, I became enamored with the Choose Your Own Adventure series. You know the ones - you would read a few pages and be presented with a scenario, such as "Suddenly the lion rushes toward you. If you wield your backpack as a weapon and charge toward it, turn to p. 48. If you turn around and run as fast as you can, turn to p. 15." (If you still don't know the series that I mean, you can stop by your local library which, depending on your property tax base, is likely to either have the shiny new reissues of the series or extremely tattered copies of the originals. )

Here's a childhood confession for you all: when I would read these books, I would carry around a little spiral notebook - at least one of which was a pink Lisa Frank notebook of the sort most girls used to write about unicorns or draw Luke Perry's hair. Whenever I would come to a decision point, I would make note of the page it was on, and the decision I made. So in the above scenario, I would write "Page 5 (or whatever) - p. 15" (Even in my imagination, rushing a lion was not going to be my first choice.) I would proceed in this manner through various choices until I reached an ending ("The lion quickly overtakes you and swallows you in a single gulp. You died. The End."; there was no sugar-coating in these books, at least according to my memory.) At that point, I would go back to the last choice in my notebook, and try the one I didn't pick. Once I had attempted all of the options in a given scenario, I'd cross off the entry in the notebook, and go to the one before it on the list. In this way, I would progress through each and every scenario.

I share this with you not just to let you marvel at my nerdiness, though it truly was (and is) spectacular. No, I want to illustrate that from a relatively early age, I was not comfortable with the idea of the path not taken. In case you were wondering, the husband and I have not sold the condo. Early on in this process, the husband would begin to say, "If only we had kept renting" and I would say, "Hush, you. Nobody knew what would happen to the housing market." But lately I am finding myself wondering if, perhaps, we should have turned to the page that involved running far, far away from this place.

The thing about those books, though, was that there were a very limited number of endings, and there were always multiple configurations that led to the same end. And looking back, there were things in our scenario that are easy to conveniently overlook. Like the roach that we saw as we were moving out of our last apartment, in which we had never before seen a roach. And the fact that we really really love this place, and we are letting our stress make us forget that. I have a feeling that if our life was a Choose Your Own Adventure book, there would be a page that went: "You and your husband sit in a room filled with boxes, thinking about the disaster that was your last few weeks in this home. You are also sad because moving sucks! THE END" And no matter what choice we made, we would keep coming back to that.

Or maybe it would go, "You and your husband stand in your new CollegeTown home, surrounded by boxes. Tired and sweaty, you push your couch into the perfect location and think that whatever else happened, it is okay, because it brought you here." Here's hoping we're just a few page flips away from that one.