Somewhere probably around the time I left for college, though quite possibly a year or two before, I started requiring hugs from the two male cousins closest in age to me. They're three and four years younger than I am, respectively, a set of very intelligent brothers. And for years this was done with gnashing of teeth and whining of how they didn't waaaaant to hug a) family and b) a girl. (Being female meant I definitely still had cooties, even though I was a cousin.) But they put up with it. It helped that after I left for college we only saw each other a couple times a year.
We're all technically adults now. One is out of college, living on his own in a relatively large metropolitan area outside of the state we grew up in, and the other just graduated and is headed for the Master program. But it's become the standard for when we're all home together--at least one hug during a family get together. We joke about it even-- "It's the obligatory hug" on the way either in or out of the party, and I think we'd all miss it were it something that passed away. And I have to say, they give pretty awesome hugs.
I can't take all the credit, but at least I did try to instill in them from a young age the appropriateness of the occasional good hug. Their girlfriends are welcome to thank me.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Episode 21: Don't Wake Me
I'm feeling a bit of a pruny old maid recently.
I was pulled out of dreams by what sounded like car doors slamming. Somehow my sleep addled mind put together that children were being dropped off for day care, explaining the high voices and car doors. Unfortunately, as I started to be come more lucid, this proved to be far from the case.
My hair was still soaking wet and it was dark, not even pre-dawn light, so when I finally pulled my glasses on I was irritated to see it nearly three a.m. Having been short on sleep and shorter on feeling well, uninterrupted sleep of several hours is a necessity to get me through the day.
The noises continued. Whack, thonk, scrape, and two voices. This might not be so bad in an area where there was more grass or ambient noise (and trust me, I've slept through "ambient noise"), but I'm currently in a valley where they've set up the buildings in a circle with parking lot in between. It has horrific acoustics but sounds are certainly enhanced by all the hard surfaces.
Stumbling out of bed and peering out the window, I saw two young men, one with a skateboard. And I felt a twinge of regret that I'm past the rebel age of sticking up for the rights of the skaters. Of course, rights after three a.m. are a little more negotiable.
I headed out to the balcony, hair still soaked, and heaven only knows my jammies weren't the sexiest things but I was decent. It took a couple of tries to get their attention, finally calling "Hey!" I suggested that maybe rather than having one of the neighbors call the cops they head in, it was three a.m. and they'd gotten me out of bed. They apologized, apparently it was news that it was so late, and went in.
And promptly, with noisy girls, headed out to their own balcony. I crawled back into bed and tried to sleep. One of the other neighbors, a guy, took a more direct and profane approach. This managed to turn the volume down so at least I couldn't understand what was being said, which did, after about twenty minutes, allow me to relegate it to ambient noise enough to get some sleep. (At least two of the girls leaving to noisy goodbyes assisted with that too.)
I've certainly gone out late, been up late, hosted parties late, had to deal with drunken friends who didn't want to go to bed, or inside. And I've done that on Thursday nights, as this was. But come on people, recognize that you're in a noisy fishbowl--take it down a notch, take it inside...and put the skateboard away. Some day you too will have to work on Friday.
I was pulled out of dreams by what sounded like car doors slamming. Somehow my sleep addled mind put together that children were being dropped off for day care, explaining the high voices and car doors. Unfortunately, as I started to be come more lucid, this proved to be far from the case.
My hair was still soaking wet and it was dark, not even pre-dawn light, so when I finally pulled my glasses on I was irritated to see it nearly three a.m. Having been short on sleep and shorter on feeling well, uninterrupted sleep of several hours is a necessity to get me through the day.
The noises continued. Whack, thonk, scrape, and two voices. This might not be so bad in an area where there was more grass or ambient noise (and trust me, I've slept through "ambient noise"), but I'm currently in a valley where they've set up the buildings in a circle with parking lot in between. It has horrific acoustics but sounds are certainly enhanced by all the hard surfaces.
Stumbling out of bed and peering out the window, I saw two young men, one with a skateboard. And I felt a twinge of regret that I'm past the rebel age of sticking up for the rights of the skaters. Of course, rights after three a.m. are a little more negotiable.
I headed out to the balcony, hair still soaked, and heaven only knows my jammies weren't the sexiest things but I was decent. It took a couple of tries to get their attention, finally calling "Hey!" I suggested that maybe rather than having one of the neighbors call the cops they head in, it was three a.m. and they'd gotten me out of bed. They apologized, apparently it was news that it was so late, and went in.
And promptly, with noisy girls, headed out to their own balcony. I crawled back into bed and tried to sleep. One of the other neighbors, a guy, took a more direct and profane approach. This managed to turn the volume down so at least I couldn't understand what was being said, which did, after about twenty minutes, allow me to relegate it to ambient noise enough to get some sleep. (At least two of the girls leaving to noisy goodbyes assisted with that too.)
I've certainly gone out late, been up late, hosted parties late, had to deal with drunken friends who didn't want to go to bed, or inside. And I've done that on Thursday nights, as this was. But come on people, recognize that you're in a noisy fishbowl--take it down a notch, take it inside...and put the skateboard away. Some day you too will have to work on Friday.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Episode 20:
Have you ever considered the act of hand holding?
As children we hold hands with our parents or in lines at school. With our parents and other trusted adults, it is a loving connection, most of the time, giving us a sense of protection. It is also how they haul us about when we're misbehaving or loathe to leave our play date. Then there were the times of holding hands so everyone was together and no one was misplaced in a long queue of children. That seems to have gone by the wayside of everyone holding onto a colorful rope, if the local preschool visits are anything to go by. One can't require children to join hands these days I suppose. Too much hamthrax about?
We hold hands in prayer, at a church or prayer circle. A bond between two or more people, united together both by their faith and by the simple connection of hands. The warmth of our hands coming together, and our voices joined....or just our minds.
And we hold hands with our friends and significant others. In high school, at least where I went, holding hands was a sign that you liked someone, that you were dating, something of that nature. It had connotations and those were not boundaries lightly crossed. As I moved into college years it became less a bond of romance and more a bond of friendship. It became comfortable and familiar to reach for the hand of a friend as we walked--finding that ease of touch between two people. Granted, it was mostly with close friends, but trust and friendship can be much stronger than the fleeting initial romances, and should they not therefore be entitled to such a bond?
Therefore, I'm used to holding hands with the boys I'm dating, or the friends that I'm dragging about or who are hauling me somewhere. I have lots of practice at it, and no, that's not a euphemism for anything else. So it surprised me to notice the difference and the intimacy of holding hands with my best friend recently. Think about holding my hand. Our fingers are interlocked and our hands are touching from the wrist down, right? (Had to think about that, didn't you?) Now, imagine a slight shift, so the majority of our lower arms were also touching. And stayed that way. We held hands like that for three days.
It was much more personal, certainly it meant we stayed closer together physically, and I was intrigued. A thousand ways, no doubt, to hold hands, and here was one I hadn't noticed before.
And this is what occupies my mind when I attempt to sleep and find, for neither the first nor last time, that sleep is going to be elusive until I wear myself out. They actually don't recommend exercise--apparently it stimulates the muscles and blood flow.
But my neighbors continue to yak at each other and while they either have amazing ears and can't sleep because I'm typing (doubtful---I figure he would have come over by now) or they never sleep. Either way, I don't feel like listening to his muted mutterings.
As children we hold hands with our parents or in lines at school. With our parents and other trusted adults, it is a loving connection, most of the time, giving us a sense of protection. It is also how they haul us about when we're misbehaving or loathe to leave our play date. Then there were the times of holding hands so everyone was together and no one was misplaced in a long queue of children. That seems to have gone by the wayside of everyone holding onto a colorful rope, if the local preschool visits are anything to go by. One can't require children to join hands these days I suppose. Too much hamthrax about?
We hold hands in prayer, at a church or prayer circle. A bond between two or more people, united together both by their faith and by the simple connection of hands. The warmth of our hands coming together, and our voices joined....or just our minds.
And we hold hands with our friends and significant others. In high school, at least where I went, holding hands was a sign that you liked someone, that you were dating, something of that nature. It had connotations and those were not boundaries lightly crossed. As I moved into college years it became less a bond of romance and more a bond of friendship. It became comfortable and familiar to reach for the hand of a friend as we walked--finding that ease of touch between two people. Granted, it was mostly with close friends, but trust and friendship can be much stronger than the fleeting initial romances, and should they not therefore be entitled to such a bond?
Therefore, I'm used to holding hands with the boys I'm dating, or the friends that I'm dragging about or who are hauling me somewhere. I have lots of practice at it, and no, that's not a euphemism for anything else. So it surprised me to notice the difference and the intimacy of holding hands with my best friend recently. Think about holding my hand. Our fingers are interlocked and our hands are touching from the wrist down, right? (Had to think about that, didn't you?) Now, imagine a slight shift, so the majority of our lower arms were also touching. And stayed that way. We held hands like that for three days.
It was much more personal, certainly it meant we stayed closer together physically, and I was intrigued. A thousand ways, no doubt, to hold hands, and here was one I hadn't noticed before.
And this is what occupies my mind when I attempt to sleep and find, for neither the first nor last time, that sleep is going to be elusive until I wear myself out. They actually don't recommend exercise--apparently it stimulates the muscles and blood flow.
But my neighbors continue to yak at each other and while they either have amazing ears and can't sleep because I'm typing (doubtful---I figure he would have come over by now) or they never sleep. Either way, I don't feel like listening to his muted mutterings.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Episode 19: Frilly Underthings
It's a toss up. On one hand, I'd love to share with you how wonderful my recent shopping experience was, how I waded through pages online, placed an order and was amazed at the fast shipping. On the other hand it's a girl's undergarment website.
Well, you'll just have to suck it up, it's my blog and think of it as edification for when next your girls are carping about VS and all it's 'angelic' clothing. Uh-huh, angels. Right.
I found La Senza during college and was thrilled. Here was no nauseatingly pink boutique that told me I had to overly enhance the naturally given assets. So you can imagine how frustrated I was first when that store closed and later, when I discovered they no longer have any locations in the United States.
Fortunately, they are in Canada and are believers in the mail order business.
Why am I so enthralled? Four reasons:
1) Cute stuff-- I'm a magpie, as is any shopper, and there's stuff for those of us not so prurient of nature without falling asleep from sheer boredom every time I open the top dresser drawer. So yes, I clicked through to see many options of cuteness and had to hone down the cart to a reasonable amount.
2) Good pricing -- Yes, those items of clothing are a necessity, but they're not gold plated. At least, not the ones in my wardrobe.
3) Great Customer Service-- I ordered things late Sunday night and by Tuesday at 2 p.m. it was on my desk. They send out prompt shipping emails and are very straightforward about things like return policies.
4) Stuff fits --I complain about the difficulty of finding clothing to fit often, which is part of the reason I buy as much as I do online. Knowing I can log on, make some purchases, have it arrive quickly and be able to wear things without having to spend 45 minutes in a dressing room trying to guess what size I am in this brand is wonderful.
So yes, I recommend them, and if you go over now (after my order is already here of course) they are having their big sale.
And no, they didn't pay me to write this for them. Though I would be amenable to a gift certificate or something.
Well, you'll just have to suck it up, it's my blog and think of it as edification for when next your girls are carping about VS and all it's 'angelic' clothing. Uh-huh, angels. Right.
I found La Senza during college and was thrilled. Here was no nauseatingly pink boutique that told me I had to overly enhance the naturally given assets. So you can imagine how frustrated I was first when that store closed and later, when I discovered they no longer have any locations in the United States.
Fortunately, they are in Canada and are believers in the mail order business.
Why am I so enthralled? Four reasons:
1) Cute stuff-- I'm a magpie, as is any shopper, and there's stuff for those of us not so prurient of nature without falling asleep from sheer boredom every time I open the top dresser drawer. So yes, I clicked through to see many options of cuteness and had to hone down the cart to a reasonable amount.
2) Good pricing -- Yes, those items of clothing are a necessity, but they're not gold plated. At least, not the ones in my wardrobe.
3) Great Customer Service-- I ordered things late Sunday night and by Tuesday at 2 p.m. it was on my desk. They send out prompt shipping emails and are very straightforward about things like return policies.
4) Stuff fits --I complain about the difficulty of finding clothing to fit often, which is part of the reason I buy as much as I do online. Knowing I can log on, make some purchases, have it arrive quickly and be able to wear things without having to spend 45 minutes in a dressing room trying to guess what size I am in this brand is wonderful.
So yes, I recommend them, and if you go over now (after my order is already here of course) they are having their big sale.
And no, they didn't pay me to write this for them. Though I would be amenable to a gift certificate or something.
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