Friday, July 07, 2006

lame-o update

Was it really June when I last wrote? I should be ashamed of myself. But in all that time we have managed to move into our new painted home, chop out all of the scary, thorny bushes and trees in our yard, unpack an assload of things, meet a couple of new people, discover some new playgrounds and even host some friends in our third floor guest room. To top it all off, Ru and El and I have escaped to Nantucket to play for a week. The first few days here couldn't have been more horrible- the girls had fevers and coughs, we took a trip to the fucking island hospital for some asthma meds and ended up having to get Ruby's temperature taken rectally (which I almost refused because not a soul back in Burlington ever took their temps that way) and the end result was .1 away from the armpit reading. Seriously unnecessary and oh-so-traumatic! Ru hates doctors anyway. What a help the ass probing will be on her psyche...

Anyway, I have never ever been so tried for patience and sanity as I was on Monday and Tuesday. Ruby was beyond... well... just BEYOND anything. She was hysterical, she was flailing, flopping, speaking in her demon voice and I wanted to just fall apart. So I yelled a lot, flailed my arms a little and spoke in MY demon voice (which I didn't know I had up until then) and we worked it out. Well, actually, we went out an bought some Benadryl and dosed the two of them so they would go to sleep. RELIEF. I felt ridiculous doing that, but now I think I know how I'm going survive through the cold and flu season of 2006.

Sitting here at this table reminds me of my first posts last June and July... we were here in kooky Nantucket and I was obsessing over the rich people. Honestly, I'm still doing it. I see these people walking around in what I perceive as COSTUMES. I mean, they CANNOT be for real. It's Lily Pullitzer with the Jack Rogers fucking sandals, cable knit cotton sweaters in lemon yellow draped over shoulders on a foggy night, the guys in their reds or better yet the whale pants (done with that "isn't it funny I'm wearing whale pants" kind of JCrew-ey perfection) with the polo shirt. Or no, the polo with the Yacht Club logo, and a pair of madras bermuda shorts.

And better yet, now that these crazy rich people have hipped-out in recent years (those folks who have abandoned all forms of preppy, yankee, WASPy sensibility, or just never knew that existed) we have stores on Main Street that sell $500 shoes and $2000 bags, and every woman over the age of 50 seems to have had some kind of "work" done to their face or body. Is this Nantucket or L.A.? (no wait, there are still too many whale pants to cancel out the L.A. effect, but I swear to God I saw a woman yesterday who looked like she was having an allergic reaction to something- her lips were THAT puffy. I couldn't stop staring. Her dermatologist had injected her one too many times.) Before I forget, did I mention that most of the women here seem to be underweight, and most of the men seem to be overweight? And everyone is most definitely drunk or hung over.

So I'm actually not complaining. I swear. It's just that I sometimes can't get my mind around who the uber rich really are and what their lives must be like. How would it feel to be able to throw down $200 so you could by your 2 year old a cashmere sweater or an Italian dress with hand smocking and some adorable little sandals to go with it? What if you loved your $300 bikini soooo much that you just had to buy it in 3 different colors - and you never once had to think about how that would damage your bank account? What does that level of financial security do to people's heads? You have to wonder...

But you know what else? I still like it here. I think. Like when there isn't a cloud in the sky and my kids are skipping around in 4 inch waves on a sandbar. Or when I eat those fucking divine doughnuts that nobody can reproduce anywhere... they are so hot and fresh out of the grease that you can't touch them, but you shove them in your mouth anyway because you waited 10 months to have these things again and you burn the roof of your mouth... and you slurp your coffee while you watch some picturesque sailboats bob about in the harbor. It smells like honeysuckle everywhere you turn. The air is so filled with moisture at all times - and the towels never seem dry. The "stay-at-home Moms" and grandmas (need I say nannies?) are working hard each day with their popourris and Febreeze to combat eau de Mildew in the linen closet - but they just can't win. The entire roll of toilet paper is damp. It rips off sheet by sheet, but you don't care, because when you finally get a decent handful and you reach back to wipe your ass, you catch a glimpse of your gentle tan lines and you feel so lucky. So embarrassingly lucky to have a family of 10 smashed into a weathered house filled with crazy memories. So lucky to be on a vacation. So lucky to have this ritual.

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