apostrotastrophe

During a recent perusal of one our favourite haunts, Old Navy, Quinn, who has actually grown to hate the place, and holds his breath when we pass the mall, in in effort to keep us from pulling in, spotted a t-shirt he had to have. It features a red foam finger, something we had just talked about as we watched Jon & Kate (yes we watch, we love, we are deaf to your criticisms) and their foam-fingered brood. The shirt said "#1 fan Mom's." I told Quinn he could get it but upon subsequent inspection I became outraged by the apostrophe, assuming the shirt's message was that "I am the #1 fan of moms," as in plural moms? Moms in general. I was utterly dismayed and told Quinn he could not have the shirt. In fact, where is management? He said he really wanted it, the apostrophe, while misplaced, was small, and the over all sentiment was really important to him. Ugh. I told him I was colouring over the offending punctuation the instant we got home, because my OCD would sooner kill me than allow my child to brandish an errant apostrophe. Well, it just so happens, Quinn has quirks of his own, and taking a Sharpie to his new shirt is one of them. Simple. I made it the condition of the purchase and he had no choice. So we get home, he dons the shirt, I take a picture to show everyone I know, and whip out my Sharpie. Quinn winced, as if to say, "Must you?" And I coloured furiously. "I must."

This is the shirt, in its shame:


Mom's effort to erase the evidence of apostrophe ignorance:


No sooner had I made the world a better place did I realize the mistake, was, um, mine. I suddenly became aware of what the shirt was actually trying to say, which is "Mom's #1 fan," and could also have been read as, "#1 fan of Mom's," both quite correct. In fact, I really have no idea how I came to read the shirt as being wrong in the first place. Somehow I really thought the "Moms" was plural, thereby rendering an apostrophe offensively out of place. But the instant I "fixed" the shirt, it all became clear, and I had, in essence, ruined it. Now "Moms" has to be plural, which will be counter-intuitive when reading the shirt. I don't blame myself though, I mean, who prints sentence fragments on foam finger t-shirts and expects everyone to get it? Least of all me, the ultimate Grammar Nazi.

Let this be a lesson in Old Navy fever, a phenomenon wherein prolonged exposure to the lights, the colours, some good, some bad, two trips to the dressing room, and gift cards burning holes in your purse result in spontaneous illiteracy and half hour contemplation of such things as faded denim jackets that would even make the Indigo Girls cry.

So please, if you're ever going to write me a letter, don't do it on a foam finger.

right now i am grateful for:

My amazing, indescribable, beautiful, healthy children, who love me so unconditionally I am humbled everyday. They make me laugh, they enthrall me with insights one could never imagine in beings so young, they tell me they love me ten times a day, they take care of me if I'm sick, write me precious notes, and damn they're getting good at cleaning!

My mother lion. Enough said.

Todd, hands-down the best father I've ever known, one hell of a provider, a gracious friend, and thankfully, a willing and capable cook.

Friends who are so fantastic I've gotten home two nights in a row as the sun was coming up because they are just.that.great. Friends who will stand beside me in an ambush, make sense of the truly senseless, listen without prejudice, and continue to offer the ever-elusive perspective.

Red bell peppers, my favourite food. (Note: A green bell pepper is not the same, I am eating one now, and am sorely disappointed.)

Meeting new people.

Dasani water (1 ltr.) bottles being on sale for 99 cents.

Truth, as it is in such short supply.

Sharpie gluttony. Good god.

Sam. I know I said friends but she's in a league of her own. There are no words.

Mesina. She's in her own league as well, but abroad. In a few short weeks I will have loved you for 20 years (holy shit!), and I will continue to do so well past eternity.

I mean, Kirkland wipes, obviously.

New activities, new scenery.

Being asked by someone I just met "How did you learn to speak so well?"

Seeing the words "President Obama" every morning.

Elyse hugging me, "Cheyemme."

Visits on the patio.

Being on a run of excellent books.

Nordstrom's liberal return policy.

Love in unexpected places.

Santa Cruz Limeade.

Music. What I salvaged from the wreckage.

Brainless television, because shit, I can't be all reasonable and philosophical 24 hours a day.

The soy yogurts that do not taste like shit.

Scott.

Three-tiered hangers.

Freedom.

Knowing everything that I know, regardless of how I came to know it, even the things that felt like they might kill me.

some people are just this way:

EGO-DEFENSIVE REACTION FORMATION:

In psychoanalytic theory, reaction formation is a defensive process (defense mechanism) in which anxiety-producing or unacceptable emotions and impulses are mastered by exaggeration (hypertrophy) of the directly opposing tendency.[1][2]

Reaction formation depends on the hypothesis that

"[t]he instincts and their derivatives may be arranged as pairs of opposites: life versus death, construction versus destruction, action versus passivity, dominance versus submission, and so forth. When one of the instincts produces anxiety by exerting pressure on the ego either directly or by way of the superego, the ego may try to sidetrack the offending impulse by concentrating upon its opposite. For example, if feelings of hate towards another person make one anxious, the ego can facilitate the flow of love in order to conceal the hostility."[3]

Where reaction-formation takes place, it is usually assumed that the original, rejected impulse does not vanish, but persists, unconscious, in its original infantile form.[2] Thus, where love is experienced as a reaction formation against hate, we cannot say that love is substituted for hate, because the original aggressive feelings still exist underneath the affectionate exterior which merely masks the hate to hide it from awareness.[3]

In a diagnostic setting, the existence of a reaction-formation rather than a 'simple' emotion would be suspected where exaggeration, compulsiveness and inflexibility were observed. For example,

"[r]eactive love protests too much; it is overdone, extravagant, showy, and affected. It is counterfeit, and [...] is usually easily detected. Another feature of a reaction formation is its compulsiveness. A person who is defending himself against anxiety cannot deviate from expressing the opposite of what he really feels. His love, for instance, is not flexible. It cannot adapt itself to changing circumstances as genuine emotions do; rather it must be constantly on display as if any failure to exhibit it would cause the contrary feeling to come to the service.[3]

Reaction formation is sometimes described as one of the most difficult defenses for lay people to understand;[1] this testifies not merely to its effectiveness as a disguise, but also to its ubiquity and flexibility as a defense that can be utilized in many forms. For example,

"solicitude may be a reaction-formation against cruelty, cleanliness against coprophilia",[2]

and it is not unknown for an analyst to explain a client's unconditional pacifism as a reaction formation against their sadism. In addition,

"[h]igh ideals of virtue and goodness may be reaction formations against primitive object cathexes rather than realistic values which are capable of being lived up to. Romantic notions of chastity and purity may mask crude sexual desires, altruism may hide selfishness, and piety may conceal sinfulness."[3]

Even more counter-intuitively, according to this model

"[a] phobia is an example of a reaction formation. The person wants what he fears. He is not afraid of the object;he is afraid of the wish for the object. The reactive fear prevents the dreaded wish from being fulfilled.[3]

The concept of reaction formation has been used to explain responses to external threats as well as internal anxieties. In the phenomenon described as Stockholm Syndrome, a hostage or kidnap victim 'falls in love' with the feared and hated person who has complete power over them. Similarly paradoxical reports exist of powerless and vulnerable inmates of Nazi camps creating 'favourites' among the guards and even collecting objects discarded by them.

The mechanism of reaction formation is often characteristic of obsessional neuroses. When this mechanism is overused, especially during the formation of the ego, it can become a permanent character trait. This is often seen in those with obsessional character and obsessive personality disorders. This does not imply that its periodic usage is always obsessional, but that it can lead to obsessional behavior.

-As familiar as an old blanket...with poisonous thorns stuck in it.

The good news is, unlike other plagues, you can ignore this one and it will go away...unfortunately, to ruin the lives of others instead.

you all come out eventually...

...to don a new shell of course.

thumbs down for 'up'

I'm just gonna say it. Shrek ruined me for all kids' movies. I mean, to be honest, even the sequels left me wanting. For the most part, the allure of kid flicks is lost Quinn and Reilly, but every once in a while they catch the fever and we find ourselves writhing through Ratatouille.

Praise be to Jesus that my dear Mom has taken it upon herself to treat the kids to these movies. I can very seldom sit still as it is, but between admission ($40 just for my ticket), and a bottle of water ($10.50), and some candy for the kids ($30), plus having to silence my cell phone, yeah, I am not a happy camper. Obviously I fake it for my kids, but my mom really enjoys it with them, so it just works out much better.

Yesterday wasn't a great day. I hadn't finished all my cleaning, I was unshowered (at 3:30pm), with an assortment of things on my mind, and Mom calls and says she's coming to pick us up in 15 minutes to see Up. I'd seen some buzz on facebook so I thought, eh, okay. Quinn and I tag-teamed through the shower, dressed, and both moped to the car with mostly wet hair, but happy-ish nonetheless. Mom shone in her grandmotherly glory, with the added coup of successfully dragging her curmudgeonly daughter to some kid movie.

We arrived with 1 liter bottles of pop poking out of everywhere, and then Mom insisted on getting a bin of popcorn for SEVEN FUCKING DOLLARS! Seven dollars! We walked the length of the grapevine highway to our theater and took our seats. Every preview lasted so long I thought it was the movie, and I felt my facade start to slip. A recent discussion at Pamela's house got me to thinking about all the bodily functions and debris that have touched these chairs, and I had to go to my happy place.

The movie: Okay, I will grant that Pixar has knocked a few out of the park. Toy Story for instance. However, I've noticed of late that so much attention is put into every bit of stubble that it is overlooked that the main character looks like quasimoto built out of Legos. His head was the size of Rhode Island, and his comedic foil was a young boy who looked like he had serious thyroid and/or glandular issues. Now, I am easily won over by ten million rainbow coloured balloons but my brain just can't process the juxtaposition of the incredible details, against the fact that no human on earth is shaped like either one of the main characters.

Also, someone dies. What?

So this odd duo embark upon the most implausible journey ever concocted, fighting a torturous battle against foe that could only have been inspired by mind altering drugs, and it ends the way you think it will, about 45 minutes after you hope it will. Thankfully, Jennifer's car stereo got ripped off (sorry Jennifer xoxo), so I didn't fall asleep.

Anyway, I'm a tough customer, what with the cost, the diseases, the misshapen heads. But my kids enjoyed it. I could tell Quinn was semi-indifferent, and we went home and watched US Marshals, but Reilly genuinely liked it, mostly because of the animals.

Just as she is a top-notch grandma, my mom knows just how to put the spring in my step: The Old Navy antidote. We had a blast. They were having a massive sale so we got ridiculous. And, after I spent a half an hour contemplating (read: wearing) a heinous faded denim jacket, the Indigo Girls called to say I had gone overboard, hands off their look, and to exit the store immediately.

So I figured, if I could give serious enough consideration to this disgusting, too-short, 80's relic that just about brought Michael Jackson back to life, I could forgive Pixar for the shapes of the heads in their movie.

It was a good day.

You worked so hard to take it.

You worked so hard to break it.

It is the truest emblem of what was.

found: marbles

Upon removing the refrigerator and the stove yesterday, I amassed this many marbles. I simply had no idea I'd lost that many. That's gotta be...four years worth or so, dang.

Sure explains a lot. If you're not feeling quite right, check under the stove.

I'm glad to have them back.

weighing in:

To whomever I loaned my food scale, I need it back. It looks like this:



(If you have anything lying around you'd like to throw in to hurt my feelings, go ahead, you just might pay more in shipping.)

if you love someone set them free...

...if you were just pretending, then talk a bunch of shit about them until they run away.

homecoming

Some things I was really glad to see upon returning home after what feels like weeks:












(The first fruits of Todd's extraordinary gardening labours.)




Gotta smile at a package from Old Navy, even if they spell your name like a sitz bath.


(Reilly made sundaes for everyone.)

Plus my kids are getting along and I had a wonderful chat with Carmela. It's good to be home tonight.