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The Rise and Fall of the Oscars

For the first time in years, I did not watch the Academy Awards. Usually I tune in to inspect the dresses and hair of actresses who have a lot more money, time, and youth than me. My only opportunity to wear a gown like the ones poured on starlets would be “formal night” on a cruise ship or in the Mrs. Colorado pageant, which I have no plans or worthy-enough thighs to enter. Otherwise, it looks like my opportunity to wear gowns ended on my wedding day. I still appreciate beautiful dresses, of course. But I will wait until I am standing in line at the grocery store to thumb through People and admire the gowns. The checkout can use a touch of glamour anyway.

The lack of energy, money, babysitters, and time means we no longer go to movies on a regular basis. Having an opinion about which movie/actor/actress/makeup artist/studio lawyer should win and why is pointless and phony when I haven’t seen any of them on screen. We did see “Ray” two nights ago on DVD, and I was happy to hear that Jamie Foxx won. He did an excellent job, but the film left me with more questions than answers. We saw “The Incredibles” at an actual theater, which was nominated for best animated picture and won, according to the newspaper.

So there are several reasons why I find the Oscars less appealing as time goes by. Perhaps, in my busy brain, there is room enough for only one Oscar. And he isn’t bald, dipped in gold, and displayed on a mantle over a gas fireplace in Los Angeles. No, he is green, grouchy, and lives in a trash can somewhere on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

I created a handy chart that illustrates my point: oscar vs. oscar

It clearly illustrates the inability for Oscars to co-exist, peacefully, in our house. For now.

Don’t Tread On Me

Gretchen has been after me for some time to write another “guest blog.” I’m not so sure she wants me to write because she thinks the process will be good for me. Rather, I think she feels having my perspective on the year thus far will bring us even closer together. This helps her, of course, and because I want her to be happy I’m bound to oblige.

It’s been difficult for me trying to put everything together this year. If you ever ask Mopsy about me she’d tell you I like to tinker with broken things. When something stops working (or even when it’s working, but not the way I like) you’ll find me tearing into the guts of the thing to figure it out—to see if I can fix it.

This behavior drives Mopsy nuts.
Read her post, Wake-up, Doc! to see just what I mean.

The thing is, while I’m busy tearing into stuff I usually get so focused on the project nothing else can turn my head. This isn’t generally a good thing when you have a house filled with children. It means either she has to look after them during her “time off”, or I was up late the night before and she has to get up early in the morning to look after them on the weekend when I should be the one getting up to make coffee because she doesn’t like her own coffee.

What’s not always so apparent about me is all the time I spend deconstructing things in my head. I don’t think this is a bad thing. But it makes it hard for me to write about stuff—until I can get the “thing” figured out, put back together and summed up in I nice tidy package.

That’s what’s been so tough about putting the pieces of the year so far together. I haven’t had a really catchy way to sum up all of the frustration, the despair, the hurt. Until this morning.

In case Mopsy hasn’t already posted about the latest mess of illness, bruises and the like I’ll tell you quickly. (Not to whine about it all, but to fill in the appropriate background). Joel visited the doctor yesterday. This time for a burning fever. The diagnosis was two raging ear infections and a case of croup. The latest misery sandwich was topped last night by a wonderful face plant (garnished by a fat lip and a wonderfully presented loose tooth).

So, this morning Mom-of-Mopsy called to check-up on everybody. As I was telling her the latest news a picture formed in my mind. It finally brought together all the pieces this shattered year has scattered in my mind. With the jigsaw now complete, I decided to mark 2005 by creating a family mascot.

Therefore, I’m officially introducing you today to Joel as the 2005 Mopsy family mascot. I know the mascot doesn’t usually also play for the team, but in this case I can think of no one better. First, we don’t have that many players. So, all of us are called to take on a lot of different positions—both on and off the field. Second, Joel’s current state of multiple conditions just so perfectly encapsulates the collective beating our team has taken yet this year no other fluffy, stuffed costume could compete.

Of course, a team—err, family cannot exist in a constant state of despair. A team needs a flag to inspire determination, and to bring recognition. This is why I’m also pleased to announce the new family colors.

Gadsden Flag (courtesy of www.gadsden.info)
Gadsden Flag courtesy of www.gadsden.info

This flag bears our new statement of determination not to lie down in the face of hardship. Our new mascot will proudly bear our color, waving it defiantly from his broken, green casted, arm.

Seriously, anyone who knows a bit of our country’s history has at least seen the Gadsden flag. The meaning of its simple statement, “Don’t Tread on Me,” is unmistakable. I’ll spare you the entire history lesson except as it applies to my point. (If you don’t know anything about the Gadsden flag. Shame on you. Google the phrase, “Don’t Tread on Me.” Go learn the basics; and then visit a library to find a good history book).

In any event, one of the images to inspire the Gadsden flag was a political cartoon drawn by Benjamin Franklin in 1754. (It is the first political cartoon known to appear in an American newspaper). The cartoon is of a snake cut into eight pieces, beneath which reads, “Join or Die.”

Join or Die Woodcarving

Franklin published the cartoon as a plea for colonial unity during the French and Indian War. The “cut” snake image was taken from a well known superstition at the time which held that a snake cut into pieces could be brought back to life if was put back together before sunset.

Enough of the history lesson. I think you see where I’m going with this. Our lives often come apart in ways we do not expect. When we’re torn apart we don’t often think everything can be put back together. We get lost in the messy details. We try to fight the battles on our own, and we often fail.

The thing is, our lives can be put back together with the help of others—especially our family. God made people to be together, to fellowship, to live as families, to live as friends; and to seek Him. He knows our weakest moments can make us stronger if we come together under Him. When we do so He will put us back together. He will give us new life before the sun sets.

Destination Unknown

couple
“You need something to look forward to.”

He’s right. I do need something to look forward to. That is why hubby is taking me away on an overnight trip to a mystery location, a la post-rhinoplasty diva, for some “us” time. We are going in March.

Like the post-rhinoplasty diva, I am hoping my time away includes luxurious sheets, room service, and a nice view. Unlike the diva, I won’t have 36 feet of gauze-packing jammed up my nose and paparazzi camped outside my window.

But what if hubby sprung for the “Feel Like A Diva” getaway package? Upon arrival, you are showered with roses, gift certificates to the spa, and enough bum-kissing that you feel slightly damp back there. Then you are ushered into a back room (the door says, but fibs, “VIP Lounge”) where someone grabs you from behind and shoves 36 feet of gauze-packing up your nose. Then, dazed, delirious, and weepy you stagger back into the lobby only to be confronted by several dozen flashing strobe lights and people shouting your name and asking “Is it true you broke up Brad and Jen?” and “Is that Armani?”

When you tell them, “no, I got my t-shirt at Target,” they gasp. When you add “on 50% clearance and from the men’s department,” you make international headlines. The editor of Vogue resigns in disgust.

I hope hubby doesn’t arrange something like this…I want to eat a gigantic practically-mooing medium rare aged steak, a baked potato swimming in butter, and maybe some chocolate cake and wine. The diva would be stuck with one fried egg and a glass of Metamucil she has to stir herself with a celery stick.

I want to sleep in. The diva can sleep in every day—I have diapers to change, a minivan to drive this way and that way and this way and that way, and whites to brighten.

I love my kids. I love my “job” as their mother. But it is time to get away, to have something to look forward to beside the preschool’s Spaghetti Dinner and Silent Auction. For just a day and a night, I will get to step out of the ordinary. I can’t wait to see what hubby has up his sleeve. We have never been away from the kids, overnight, when I haven’t been in a hospital bed cursing the lying Lamaze lady and her laughable coping mechanisms.

I don’t know where we are going. But I already feel like I am there. It is good to have something to look forward to.