southfillmore.com

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Life Goes On, Bra

Mon, 27 Apr 2009 12:20:36 -0500

Things have come to a grinding halt on S. Fillmore. Both the kids are recovering from strep throat and on top of that, Jo has come down with some kind of funky bug. After the first violent episode of vomiting, she turned to me with a bewildered look and asked, “Why dat stuff come out my nose?” Poor thing. Her other symptom is not supposed to be mentioned in polite company, but let's just say that two days ago I caught her standing in the bathroom, gazing at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands, crooning--

Old MacDonald had diarrhea. Ee-i-ee-i-oh!

Clearly, she’s the most gifted member of the family.

Outside in the real world, life goes on as usual. Spring has come to Arkansas and our backyard is abuzz with new life. For the past month or so we have been keeping an eye on Mama Robin who decided to build her nest atop a ladder under our carport, within 10 feet of Ringo the Not-So-Great Pyrenees and directly under a security light. Who am I to question Mother Nature, but I can't help but wonder whether this was the wisest of decisions. Mama Robin must surely know something we don't.

We have kept watch as she tended her nest, squealed with delight when we found three little blue eggs nestled in the bottom, and felt a shiver run up our spines when we discovered three naked baby birds squirming around, eyes closed tight and beaks open wide.

This morning when we went out to check on them, the nest was gone. We found it lying, right side up, on the concrete. Empty. I wonder whether one of the neighbourhood cats got to it or if Mama Robin just decided she'd had enough and it was time for her offspring to fend for themselves.

As for us, we’re ready for a break too. Summer holidays are just around the corner, and I sure hope we don't come down with swine flu between now and then because I'm so, so looking forward to long days at the pool with the kids. In the meantime, excuse me while I don my mask.

(And check out this very simple, but very excellent recipe idea for a robin’s nest complete with little blue eggs. The kids are gonna love this once they’re back to full speed).

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
The Beatles
The White Album, 1968

Getting Mighty Crowded

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 21:13:28 -0500

My mother-in-law, Jan, is a bit of a pack rat. I like to joke that you can open any drawer in her house and find at least one of three main essentials - a tube of chapstick, an emery board or a hair tie. There are countless half-empty bottles and vials for scrubbing and dabbing, primping and preening. It’s a veritable cosmetic wonderland. In her defense, many of the items are left over from the days when her two girls ruled the roost, but you’re also guaranteed to find a whole slew of other goodies--photos painfully documenting the early 90s, a coffee-stained early morning note from Jason’s dad wishing you a good trip home, unopened mail addressed to an old boyfriend, a thank you note from one of the 7 grandkids, diapers in a variety of different sizes, a lollipop or an interesting article she has saved for one of us.

I am grateful my mother-in-law finds it hard to part with things as I have been the lucky recipient of many treasures that I hold near and dear. There’s a box of Jason’s Legos (Jules had torn the perfectly-preserved 30+ year packaging off by Day 2), an assortment of well loved Hot Wheels and a set of John Deere tractors that his Aunt Sandra and Uncle Bruce from Kansas gave him. They were in perfect condition when we passed them along to Jules, the green paint so shiny you could almost see your reflection. Now they’re rusted and strewn across the backyard, broken wheels lay discarded in boxes in his bedroom. Most beloved is a little blue shirt that Jason’s Nana made for him. It is hand embroidered and fit Jules perfectly when he was younger.

Not too long ago, I was going through some boxes of old papers when I came across a rumpled folder Jan had passed along to me. I had completely forgotten about it. A smile spread across my face when I opened it and saw the picture a certain 2nd grader at Columbus Elementary had drawn--a picture of how he might look at the age of 30. There’s little, if any, physical resemblance between the 8 year old boy’s drawing and the actual 36 year old man, but some of the facts still ring true all these years later.

My full name is Jason Ryan Weinheimer.
I am 8 1/2 years old.
I am in the 2nd grade in school.
My hair is blonde.
My eyes are blue.
Favorite color? Blue
Favorite season? Summer
Why? No more school.
Favourite friend? Jason Spohn and Roger.
The thing I like best about the way I look is my face.
Favourite tv show? Dukes
The one thing I can do best is run.
The one thing I wish I could do better is play baseball.
When I grow up I'd like to be a vet, baseball player and artist.
One thing that really scares me is when I am in trubble.
If you could have any wish in the whole world, what would you wish for?
Having two more dogs and thier name is Corky and Bozet. They ran away from me.

And here is a peek into the world of a certain almost-6 year old boy.

My full name is Julian Ryan Weinheimer.
I am almost 6 years old.
I am in kindergarten.
Favourite color? Red. Dark red.
Favourite season? Summer.
Why? I like going to the pool.
The thing I like best about the way I look is - I just want brown hair. I have too much hair. Everyone thinks I’m a girl.
Me: Who says that?
Jules: Ethan. It doesn’t hurt my feelings. I don’t care about that. (We specialize in self-confidence around here).
Favorite friend? Violet.
What about at school? Ethan.
Me: Ethan? But you said he teases you.
Jules: I don’t care, I don’t care. I told you that a million times!
The one thing I can do best is run fast.
The one thing I wish I could do better is stay underwater for a long, long time.
When I grow up I’d like to be a policeman and also a scientist. An archaeologist. A rock collector like Guy does.
Me: What about music...do you want to play rock and roll like Mama and Dada?
Jules: NOOOO - I HATE rock and roll!
One thing that really scares me is: Nothing. (Admits later...) I’m scared of the dark. (News to me!)
If you could have any wish in the world...--To be The Flash, the superhero.

So, take a few minutes out of your busy day and sit your kiddos down. You just might learn a thing or two. And provided you keep the answers, you’re bound to make a sentimental
pack rat very happy somewhere down the line.

(And don’t forget to send me their responses!)

Getting Mighty Crowded, written by Van McCoy and recorded by Betty Everett in 1965
Covered by Elvis Costello
Album: Get Happy!!, 1980

Brutal Youth

Tue, 10 Mar 2009 11:44:22 -0500

“So, how old are you?” asked the chirpy little girl at the park.

It was a beautiful, sunny day and I was digging around in the sand with the kids, making castles and enjoying one of those March days in Arkansas that remind you why it is you live here. (Which come right before those April days that remind you why it is you hate living here. ¡Salud! ¡Dinero! ¡Amor!)

“What, like are you 40?”

“Um, no”, I replied, brushing the hair from my eyes and staring at her. I was, momentarily, stunned. I was wearing sunglasses so she couldn't possibly have seen the dark circles under my eyes that have taken up permanent residence since Jules arrived almost 6 years ago. And seriously, what 40 year old would be caught dead wearing a mint-green tank top with Make Like a Tree and Leave printed on the front?

“I'm actually 36, I mean 37,” I replied somewhat indignantly. Which is a full 3 years younger than 40, you little twit.

“So how old are you?” I asked her.

“I'm 7. Which is like the same. You're 37. I'm 7. 30+7=37.” She shrugged her shoulders, her answer casually rolling off her tongue. She had long brown hair that fell in ringlets down her back and she oozed youthfulness. Far too young to understand that people get together, people break up, people get cancer and babies die long before they should. When you're 7, it's all about the Jonas Brothers and Hannah Montana and whether or not Lulu is gonna wear her pink or red bow to the soccer game on Saturday. Like. Oh. My. God.

So I'm thinking my rock and roll days are over. I'm throwing in the towel. Next time you see me I'll be curled up on the couch wearing sweat pants and watching American Idol re-runs. Wake me up when it's time for my Metamucil.

Elvis Costello
Album: Brutal Youth, 1994

Hard Day's Night

Tue, 23 Dec 2008 22:16:59 -0600

Last Thursday morning, we piled in to the car and headed to Jules' school for the annual Christmas program. We started out in Jules classroom mingling and snacking on Christmas goodies although truth be told, there was not much mingling going on. The parents all stood around staring blankly at each other (what a dull lot!) while the kids ran amok, high on sugar and Christmas cheer.

Soon, thankfully, we were headed to the auditorium for the great Christmas extramaganza of 2008. The kids filed in and took their places and the singing began in earnest. They had just launched in to a hearty rendition of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer when from the back of the auditorium I noticed Jules wasn’t looking so swell. He yawned and then yawned again. He was beginning to look a little pasty. More yawning. Then he closed his eyes and began moving in a very slow, nauseated circle. “I think he might pass out,” I whispered to Jason. It was becoming apparent that if we didn't act quickly, Jules was going to hit the ground with a thud. I squatted down on my haunches and scrambled down the aisle. From my spot on the floor, I could see the tears welling up in his eyes. He feebly raised one hand, motioning me to come up and stand with him. No, I shook my head, come down here. Finally, he mustered up enough energy to stumble off the stage and into my arms. We made a beeline for the exit and headed home, our woozy little man not feeling so Christmasy after all in the back seat.

We arrived home to complete silence which could only mean one thing: that Ringo had probably gotten into some trouble while we were away. And sure enough, the house was a wreck....food strewn everywhere, papers, egg shells and most painful of all, the discovery that he had devoured the entire pot of homemade chicken soup I had spent a greater part of the previous day working on. I was furious. I may or may not have kicked him a few times. You see, Ringo has a bad habit of breaking into the fridge. We keep a roll of duct tape on hand to tape the fridge door shut whenever we leave the house. But unfortunately, we had just run out and the chair I had left propped against the door was not enough to keep a wiley Ringo at bay.

Later that afternoon, after a rest on the couch in front of a movie, Jules was acting more like his usual self. The kids were playing train tracks when suddenly a small voice announced, “Mama, my finger's stuck.” Jules had managed to poke his finger through a train track hole and it was jammed on tightly. Very tightly. I poked and prodded, twisted and turned but the thing wouldn't bunch. Jules was starting to get upset. His knuckle was swelling and his finger had turned a dark purple-red. We tried soaking his hand in ice water. Nothing. I poured copious amounts of oil down the teeniest of teeny cracks, all to no avail.

By the time Jason arrived home 30 minutes later, I had exhausted all efforts. “I give up,” I announced, “it's not budging.” Maybe it was time to call in the big guns. But Jason wasn't buying that. He wasn't about to spend his evening in the emergency room on what would have been Jules' 7th trip. “There's only one thing to be done,” he announced confidently. “We'll cut it off.” Jules and I were skeptical but to his credit, Jules sat perfectly still while Jason pulled out the pliers and set to cutting. Much to our relief, the track was off in no more than 30 seconds and Jules sat on the couch, tears in his eyes, holding up his limp finger as he recovered from the ordeal.

“I hate days like this,” he said later that evening. “Me too,” I agreed. And with that, we headed off to bed to put an end to a very unpleasant day. Qué sueñes con los angelitos. Te quiero más que chocolate. Buenas noches.

A Hard Day’s Night, John Lennon, 1964

All I Want for Christmas

Thu, 18 Dec 2008 21:41:49 -0600

Santa,

Can you get me some Air Hogs,
a Leapster,
and a squishy bat?

All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth
Donald Gardner, 1944

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Mon, 10 Nov 2008 12:52:39 -0600

As you can imagine, there's been a lot of political talk on S. Fillmore as of late. Last Thursday morning, Johanna and I went along with Jason to vote and stood in line at Franklin Elementary School. And although I had to stand back and watch history being made instead of actually participating, I found myself getting all teary eyed and patriotic at the whole democratic process. Which started me thinking: maybe after 17 years of living here it's finally time to go ahead and bite the bullet, memorize the words to the Star Spangled Banner and start cramming for the citizenship test. (Now don’t get your knickers in a knot, friends, I’ve been paying taxes and social security all these years just like the rest of you. It’s just that until this point, I’ve had no desire to forfeit my Australian passport. Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that my children were born on American soil and I seem to have turned into a complete sop since becoming a mother).

Last night, the kids were having a bedtime snack while I looked at some photos of the Obama family watching the returns. Jules was interested in who was who and I spent some time introducing him to the members of the new First Family--Barack, Michelle, Sasha and Malia.

“I'm glad he won. He kinda looks like John McCain,” observed Jules as he looked at photos of President-Elect Barack Obama.

“Really? He does?” I asked incredulously. “And how is that?”

“They're both black,” replied Jules. “Can I see a picture of him? I wanna see what he looks like.”

I quickly googled the former Republican candidate and pulled up a photo of him.

“Here. This is John McCain,” I said.

Jules leaned in, peering over my shoulder. He squinted and then he replied, the relief in his voice palpable.

“I don't want him to be the president. I'm so glad. He does not look good.“

One Rotten Apple

Tue, 23 Sep 2008 14:09:56 -0500

Dear Carpool Mom,

I'm sure there was a perfectly good reason you were in such a hurry this morning, tearing up Mississippi with your frosted blond hair and designer sunglasses with those gaudy gold circles on the side. And I'm sure you had your reasons for laying on the horn when you pulled up behind me at the light and it turned green and I did not move as quickly as you wished. Except, I also happened to be stuck behind a handful of cars and although this might be hard for you to understand, there wasn't much I could do about it, was there?

I was glad I didn’t give you the bird as you zoomed by because a) it’s certainly not the kind of behaviour I wish to model for my ever-observant children and b) it quickly dawned on me that we were probably headed to the same destination.

And sure enough, there we were together, me right behind you in the drop-off line and Jules asking why you were acting like that. ”Some people are just cranky,” I explained. I would have been right behind you all the way through the line except you rudely cut in front of the next-in-line car at the 4-way stop because it would have shaved what, three seconds off your drop-off time. I mean when a girl’s gotta shop, a girl’s gotta shop.

From two cars back, I watched you have problems maneuvering the roundabout and get stuck behind a car parked on the side. Then you threw your head back over your shoulder and glared at us, all lined up behind you, as if we were somehow to blame for your poor driving skills. And slowly, we all had to back up so you could figure out how to turn the steering wheel, inching back and forth, until you finally made it around the parked car. May I suggest a Volvo 240 with its superior turning radius instead of your bohemath Beverly Hillbillies contraption?

And then we'd dropped off our kids (yours named B. - trust me, I asked) and we were driving away from school, me still behind you, and I had to roll my eyes when you ran yet another stop sign and the oncoming car had to brake to avoid hitting you. I tried to look into your eyes and glare smile as we drove side by side back down Mississippi, but you were too busy gabbing away on your cell phone (figures) for me to see if yours were the kind of eyes that looked vacant or crazed. (Probably both).

We only spent 10 minutes together this morning but lady, I've got your number.

If my precious firstborn comes home one day and tells me he's fallen in love with a girl named B., you can call your fancy wedding coordinator and tell her her services won't be needed. I swear I'll have already kidnapped Jules and shipped him off to some remote village in the jungles of Peru before you can say
!Que no se vaya!--I am quite familiar with a lovely little town called Rodriguez de Mendoza--and your daughter will never see the likes of him again.

Because, my dear, the apple does not fall far from the tree and yours, I fear, is rather rotten.

Goodbye and Godspeed

Wed, 10 Sep 2008 14:38:52 -0500

Never mind us. But while we've been going about our business--making plans, making amends, making babies, making music--a bunch of European nuts have been busy working on a crazy-ass experiment. Have you heard about the group of scientists who have spent the last 14 years digging a 14 billion dollar (!) tunnel that stretches deep below the Swiss-French border? It’s really all clicks and whistles to me, but somehow they’re hoping to explain the Big Bang Theory. Problem is that in doing so they may, inadvertently, create some black holes that will be end of the world as we know it. (Really, aren’t there more important causes to spend 14 billion dollars on...like coming up with a cure for Alzheimer’s or cancer or helping reduce poverty?)

Personally, I'm not quite ready to call it a day. Soccer season's just getting started, fall camping weather has already started teasing us with her cooler nights and our annual beach trip via the beautiful city of New Orleans is just around the corner. Jules is having a dandy of a time at kindergarten, Jo has really started coming in to her own and the boondogs new record is due to be mastered next week--you’ll excuse us if we're a little excited about it finally seeing the light of day. But I don’t suppose any of that matters to a bunch of science nerds, does it?

Anyhow, if we all go up in smoke, it's been a pleasure knowing you. And I sure hope we'll meet up on the other side.

(Update 9/14 : So it looks like my fears of the world ending were slightly premature. Turns out you have until the first week of October or so to get your lives lived. Use it well, my friends.)

Goodbye & Godspeed
boondogs
Album: Fever Dreams, 2005

You Say It's Your Birthday

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 12:48:09 -0500

“I wish I had a batman party,” said the birthday boy two days before the spiderman-themed event he had already settled on. “Too late,” cried his mama and then commiserated with her son about the constant second-guessing that has cursed them both.

On the actual day, despite the weather channel’s threats, the sun shone brightly. And the only evidence of Jules' recent encounter with poison ivy were two slightly puffy eyes. We set up camp at recently-renovated Prospect Park and Nana helped decorate the monkey bars and forts with Halloween cobwebs. Slowly but surely, Jules' preschool friends turned out dressed up as their favourite superheroes and the party was underway.

Everything was going swimmingly until The Joker popped in for a surprise visit. He was so convincing that some of the youngest and less hardy superheroes were terrified. There were tears and wailing and gnashing of teeth, but the bravest kids enjoyed chasing The Joker and “shooting webs” at him with cans of silly string (most definitely toxic!)

Soon, however, I noticed The Joker wasn’t looking so hot. I found him down on one knee, head in his hand, feebly attempting to hold off the young superheroes. It was mighty warm under all that carefully applied makeup and wooly-Savers jacket and The Joker, who has a history of fainting under duress and peeing his pants, had to beat a hasty, queasy retreat.

For the first time, we caved on our no-gift policy and Jules got to open presents. There were so many, spilling all over the picnic table and beyond, that we carried armfuls of unopened packages home. It wasn’t till the following day that he finally got to the bottom of the pile, and except for the first exciting minutes, the toys have been stuffed into a plastic bin in his room, all but forgotten.

The neon-orange bicycle he picked out himself, a joint gift from his Nana and Pudge and us, is his pride and joy. He and Jason ride the three-mile loop to the pool most afternoons, a routine that I’m sad to say will end later this week as summer too quickly fades into a new phase in Jules’ life: kindergarten.

Happy 5th birthday, Jules! Here’s to a long, happy life on this good earth.

(Um, we have been enjoying the lazy days of summer so much that this post was started months ago...Jules’ birthday was May 16th!)

She’s Got a Ticket to Ride

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 23:43:34 -0500

This weekend the boondogs headed back into the studio to work on a new record that we began back in mid-January. Our good friend Andre Moran came up from Austin to engineer and the boys spent Friday night setting up and getting sounds while I held down the fort. Saturday we left the kids in the hands of a new babysitter and were rolling tape by noon.

Everything was going swimmingly until I arrived home Saturday dinnertime to find that things had gone horribly awry. It wasn't the fact that the house looked like a bomb had gone off or that there was poo smeared all over the toilet seat or that the babysitter had let Jules watch 3 dvds in a row (for a total of 216 minutes!) or that the kids were allowed to devour an entire box of Annie’s homegrown white cheddar bunnies (not to be confused with your regular ole’ box of much less expensive Goldfish!)

Nope. What put the proverbial nail in the coffin were the dozens and dozens of YouTube videos I came across when, out of curiosity, I checked the laptop’s history. In particular, I was horrified to watch a remake of The Nightmare before Christmas re-cut to Marilyn Manson's version of This is Halloween complete with crucified pumpkins and ghosts and a boogey man singing:

I am the one hiding under your bed, teeth ground sharp and eyes
glowing red!

“She’s fired,” declared Jason after he'd watched the video and confirmed that Jules had in fact seen it. “Oh yes,” nodded Jules, “that's the Night before Christmas.” And with that, the babysitter was promptly relieved of her duties and the boondogs session underwent some last minute changes. While I headed back to the studio to cut vocals, Jason took the next shift and stayed home with the kids.

Fingers crossed the damage won't be long-lasting. Jules' current sleeping arrangement--he’s camping out in a tent perched on an air mattress in Jo's unused room--doesn’t exactly leave much space for a boogeyman to hide. But 5 year old boys have wild imaginations and shadows come alive in the dark. Maybe his belly will hurt too much to notice.

Ticket to Ride
The Beatles, Album: Help!, 1965