Tag Archives: dr who

Time is a four-letter word

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image courtesy of forevergeek.com

I was late to work this morning. It was 7:08 as I started up the onramp. When I pulled up in front of my office ten minutes later, it was 7AM. Evidently I drove through a wormhole on the freeway; either that, or my car is powered by a flux capacitor.

 

 

Sir Isaac Newton told us that time was linear, while Einstein argued that time is relative.

The doctor tells us that, “it’s more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly…time-y wimey..stuff.”

I say tempus fugits. Yes, I am quite aware that I’m saying it wrong. For some reason (the length of time since my last English class, perhaps?) I always say “Tempus Fugits”. I’m sure it irritates people no end. I know it makes me crazy when people abuse the English language (My husband’s insistence on saying  “6am in the morning” makes me cringe every time) – but there you have it. My own personal …what? malapropism? made up word? faux pas? issue? What the heck would it be?

But I digress. I wanted to remind you that Time is an asshole. He speeds up when he should slow down, races when he should crawl and generally doesn’t do what we want him to. Time flies.  Not that we need a reminder. Or I don’t, at least. We’re halfway through November, and I still have a stack of last year’s Christmas cards waiting to be mailed.* They say that time flies when you’re having fun but I disagree. I agree with Mary Engelbreit.

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I spent last weekend with old long time friends. At one point my daughter asked us “How long have you known each other?” As it turns out, we have been friends since before any of the “forever 27” friends were born.

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I didn’t need a visit with friends to remind me that time is flying by. My daughter, who is only 8 years old in Mommy Years, is getting ready to graduate high school. It’s weird. I can clearly remember my senior year of high school (yesterday, on the other hand, is another matter). I remember dances, and high school crushes, being Done With High School (on the first day of my senior year) and fighting with my mother. I don’t know why we fought. I’m sure my friends and family members would tell you it’s because I was a Horrible Teen. I’d like to think I was a Typical Teen, but (seeing that I gave my mother grey hair and shingles) maybe they were right. Or maybe fighting with your mother is a rite of passage. My daughter and I fought last night, because we were ______.

I thought she had lost her mind, and I have no doubt that she thought I was insane. It’s entirely possible that I am, but I wasn’t crazy Before Parenthood (no comments from the peanut gallery). It’s a chicken and the egg thing – which came first, the crazy parent or the crazy-making teen?

She might want to pick up this book:

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Because I’m the mommy, Michael J. Bradley’s other book is at the top of my reading list:

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I’m the mommy. That’s weird.  I don’t think anyone expected to ever hear those words coming from me. I know I didn’t. It’s not that I dislike children, it’s just that I prefer being The Fun Aunt to the Rules and Responsibility of parenthood. Parenting is a four letter word (yes, I’m aware that “parenting” is a nine letter word, but it’s work, which IS a four letter word).  Parenting is not for the weak or faint of heart, trust me on this. And there’s no preparing for it, nobody what anyone tells you. You can read all the Parenting for Dummies books you’d like, and listen to hours of advice from well meaning friends and family members. No matter what anyone says, PARENTING IS LIKE NOTHING YOU’VE EVER EXPERIENCED.

Unless, of course, you’re a rock star:

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I have no doubt that I’ve made mistakes (evidently using sarcasm as a parenting tool is a Bad Thing), but I’ve tried to avoid making the same mistakes my mother made. Not that she was a bad mother (because she was AWESOME, as all my friends would tell you), but I decided to make new mistakes in an effort to raise my daughter to be Different Than Me and an attempt to avoid becoming my mother.

I failed. I have become my mother, despite the best of intentions. The good news is that I’m not alone and it’s not necessarily a bad thing. This paragraph from F Diane Barth LCSW’s post resonated with me:

For example, when I was young and my family teased me about being like my mother (who I did not resemble physically), I felt criticized and resentful. I wanted to be different from her, to have my own personality, separate from hers, and besides, I did not like the things they were commenting on (for example, my bossiness!). But today I am grateful to her for having passed onto me numerous characteristics, including her love of books and her interest in writing, her empathy for others, and her incredible stores of energy.

Of course, there is also plenty to be learned when you don’t become your mother. You can read an excerpt here but don’t come looking to me for tissues. My box is empty.

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I’m sad that my mother wasn’t here when my daughter was born – I have no doubt that she would have had some great parenting advice (not that I would have listened), as well as tips for my daughter on how to drive her parents crazy (not that she needs any tips). I wish she were here to watch her granddaughter/grandchildren grow into amazing young women and men. I know she’d love the fact that my Saturdays for the past three months were spent on the soccer field, volunteering wherever they have a need, and that she’d been thrilled to know that the granddaughter of one of her best friends was on my daughter’s team. If nothing else, I know she’d get a kick out of the fact that her mother’s curse  worked, and that I have a daughter just like me. I hope that one day, my daughter will be proud when someone tells her that she’s just like me.

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Mostly I am happy that my “forever an 8 year old” still tries to climb into my lap at the end of the day. She’s 4″ taller than I am, and doesn’t fit very well, but she tries.  One day, when/if she becomes a mother, I will give her the advice my mother couldn’t give me

Tempus fugits (sic) – whatever you do, don’t blink

(and not just because there are Weeping Angels)

I think Kenny Chesney says it bests.

*Note to friends and family – the printer gave me a discount on my Holiday Cards when I pointed out that they were dated 2016.

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She Blinded Me With Science

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“She” being Marie Curie.

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When I was young(er) I wrote a paper about the mother of modern physics. I was FASCINATED by her, and found her death both tragic and heroic. For a while I wanted to be Madame Curie. I pestered my parents until they bought me a chemistry set, but lost interest when I found that none of the compounds would explode or render my baby brother invisible (or mute).

Just kidding. Maybe. I’d like to tell you that I am a huge science dork. I would like to, but I’ve recently learned that one definition of “dork” is  “whale’s penis” or just “penis” and I’m definitely not a science penis, whale or otherwise.

I did well in science, but only because my mutant superpower was the ability to know what would be on the test (and no, I didn’t cheat). My husband, on the other hand, is enamored of all things scientific (which is incredibly weird for a musician). He loves quantum physics and can spend hours watching programs about string theory. He’s my own Sheldon Cooper, without the creepy smile.

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TBH Science usually makes me yawn, but it’s caught my interest once again. Science has made the news a lot this week. I have to admit I squealed like a fangirl when I heard that The Doctor joined the worldwide march for science. I was equally impressed by the story of a strange light named Steve:

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image credit to dailynewsglobal.com

A new type of light discovered in the night sky has been named “Steve.” Eric Donovan of the University of Calgary initially discovered the light when he did not recognize it as a cataloged variety. The European Space Agency used its Swarm mission to further examine the light. The light is 25 kilometers wide and flows 600 times faster than air. Scientists named it Steve after the 2006 animated movie “Over the Hedge.” – YAHOO

 

and now I find out that the Death Star is REAL

I might have to dig out the old chemistry set and invite my brother to come help me with an experiment.

Last, but not least, because some of you are probably too young for the earworm my title triggered for the rest of us:

I’m Batman*

wp-1456365441728.jpegOk, I’m not REALLY Batman. For one, I drive a Volvo, which is a Good Car, but it is nowhere close to being as cool as the Batmobile. Secondly, I tried saying “I’m Batman” in a gravely voice, but it sounded silly and made me cough. Lastly,  I don’t have a mask or any cool toys. Well, that’s not exactly true. In the spirit of full disclosure (and if I can’t tell strangers all my secrets, who can I tell?) I have toys, but I can’t talk about them on a family friendly blog 😉

I would like to be a superhero, but I am too old and broken to wear the costumes that female superheroes wear. Even if I were younger and in better shape, I find it highly unlikely that I would be able to run, jump, and battle bad guys without having some sort of costume issue (BTW, one of my favorite scenes in Deadpool was Colossus’ reaction to  Angel Dust’s costume malfunction during their battle).

When I was younger, I wanted to be Catwoman. More precisely, I wanted to be Earth Kitt as Catwoman.

 

My dream ended when my mother pointed out that, as a pasty pale blue eyed brunette, my chances of growing up to be a stunning African American woman were slim to none. I have, however, grown up to be a pasty pale redhead, which is almost as good.

Until recently, I thought I was Wonder Woman. I attempted to juggle work, marriage, motherhood,  and social obligations while working 1 1/2 jobs and volunteering as a soccer referee and at school functions. When I wasn’t able to get everything done the way my Inner Perfectionist wanted it done, she told me I’d failed as a human being.  I believed her for a while, but eventually I came to my senses, and decided that Wonder Woman needed a break, or a raise. I also realized that Cosmo magazine has it wrong. You may be able to do/have/be it all, but you can’t do it all at the same time, without giving up sleep, hiring support staff, cloning yourself  or being able to travel through space and time (preferably in the Tardis).

I thought my days of playing superhero were over – and they were, until two weeks ago, when I decided that Enough Was Enough, that ignoring the situation wasn’t making things any better, and that it was time for Someone to speak up. Evidently I am Someone.**

It backfired, of course. It always does. I should have remembered that the person who stands up against evildoers is often misidentified as a criminal (i.e.  Batman, Green Hornet,  or Spiderman). The good news is that, other than for me personally, things have changed for the better. The better news is that I was able to use the situation as a teachable moment for my daughter. I told her that it is important to speak up when injustice is being done, no matter what the repercussions – or that, as Spock told us, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.

I would like to think that my daughter will learn that you don’t have to be bitten by a spider or doused in radioactive waste to be someone’s superhero. Or maybe she’ll be an antihero instead – they have better costumes and a more interesting backstory 😉

*I’d like to send a very special shout out to Suzie Speaks – she really IS Batman.

**I am intentionally being vague, to protect the other people involved in the situation. Names have been changed removed to protect the innocent (and the guilty)