Speaking of Michigan

Speaking of Michigan (in case you forgot, the last entry started off talking about Braylon Edwards), my husband and I have not only passed on Brownsfanitis to our kids, but also a love of the Ohio State Buckeyes. And while I did have to explain to my five-year-old that Michigan is not really evil, that it’s just a game, it’s still a hard distinction for a kid to make. Especially when he’s really into superheroes and grasping the concept of good versus evil and right versus wrong. And when his father will try as hard as he can to counteract my telling him that Michigan is not really evil.

But anyhow, I figured, the Buckeyes played the Wolverines, won, and that was that. We all wore our Ohio State clothing that day, but that was about it for him. I figured we still had to teach him to watch a game before he’d really learn that OSU is good and Michigan is bad. Maybe next year, we figured.

Well, we were wrong. One day, playing in the basement, my five-year-old and two-year-old were both playing with a jump rope. As the two-year-old pulled on it and tried to tie it around himself, my five-year-old had something else in mind. They tugged a while, each trying to play in his own way, until finally, I had to intervene. I told them to take turns and share, and explained to the five-year-old that while his brother wanted to play differently, it wasn’t wrong.

His response, “But he’s playing the Michigan way.”

They Sure Are Something Brown

During this Sunday’s Brown’s game, which the Browns lost to the Bengals, Braylon Edwards grabbed quarterback Charlie Frye’s jersey in frustration, lambasting the team for not trying hard enough and not protecting the quarterback (apparently saying something like, “your jersey should not be this dirty”). The aftermath has been that it was a private matter, and Edwards should not have gone off like that on the field in front of the media and the fans.

But here’s the thing. Far be it for me to agree with someone from Michigan, but he was right. I missed the tirade because I was too bored out of my mind and fell asleep watching. Frankly, I’m glad to learn that at least one of the Browns players cares about winning.

As I see it, as a lifelong Browns fan, it’s frustrated me year after year to keep watching our team suck. I was talking recently to a friend who I suppose felt bad admitting that she, living in Cleveland, is not a Browns fan. Personally, I consider her lucky that she’s escaped this affliction that drains the souls and positive attitude (yet somehow not the hope) of many Clevelanders. Sadly, I have been afflicted with this disease (people call it being a fan) since childhood, and I am passing it on to my kids.

But here’s the thing. The Browns will never be good. Why?
Because we’ve got the best fans here in Cleveland. Through thick or thin (so far, pretty much all thin), Cleveland fans support their teams. People fill the stands of the open-air stadium next to Lake Erie on the coldest winter days, tailgating for hours beforehand. We buy the t-shirts, hats, sweatshirts, foam fingers, Christmas ornaments, dolls, baby clothes, and any other piece of crap novelty item with the Browns logo on it. When they updated their logo, we bought all new stuff. And year after year, more fans come on board, because here in the Midwest, with little else to do when it gets cold, families sit around a television and bond while watching the Browns lose and showing “team spirit”. Being a Browns fan builds families, it builds character, it teaches kids that it’s important to believe in something, that you don’t always get what you want but that it’s all right.

We love our Browns like we love our kids. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose, we tell our kids, what matters is how you play the game. Right? That’s good parenting, and it’s what we all strive for. And so we breed generation after generation of good sports, while those who don’t seem to get that, who somehow still graduate high school with that fierce competitive spirit that is so anathema here, leave.

Well, most of the time. Now we have LeBron, who will, I believe, do his darndest to make Cleveland a championship city. And we’ll see how that plays out, but personally, I think they have the best chance of winning it all because they have the most to prove. The NBA is not as big here, so they’ll have to try harder to win over fans. Of course, I’ve long believed the NBA is fixed; that the big stars who can get the commercial contracts are allowed to travel and commit other fouls that are ignored so that they can make the great plays that look great on the highlight reels; and that with the infusion of celebrities like Usher and LeBron, we’re finally big enough to draw a nationwide audience and thus be allowed to win it all. But that’s beside the point.

The Indians came close, and did display examples of winningness, but in the end, they proved to be a true Cleveland team and have returned to the standard entertainment lineup. Going to an Indians game is a fun thing to do on a warm day, but we could just as well go out for ice cream. By airing games only on cable and keeping ticket prices relatively high (what with the nice new ballpark), the Indians managed to turn baseball in Cleveland from an everyman’s game to a more elite event. And elitists tend to prefer nicer weather.

(Don’t you love my gross generalizations and stereotypes being portrayed here? If anyone is offended or disagrees, you’re welcome to post a comment, you know.)

So anyhow, back to the Browns. In the end, the Browns, the Cavs, and the Indians are all businesses. And they’re here to stay (I know, I know, we thought that about the Browns before Art Modell slinked away in the middle of the night). They generate a good deal of money for their owners. If, without even having a winning season, the Browns can sell tickets, merchandise, and events featuring a Browns player, then why should they win? What is the motivation? Will we stop watching? Will we stop going to the games? My husband wants to write a letter to Phil Savage stating that he’ll not only stop watching, but he’ll also stop buying what the advertisers are selling if the Browns don’t get their act together. That’s a great sentiment, but we’ll see how that plays out this Sunday.

Is Santa Claus Real

So my five-year-old asked me if Santa Claus is real. Honestly, we’ve never presented him as real, but somehow, between television and mall Santa’s, he seems to believe. I have a personal rule that I will never lie to my kids. So there I was, faced with a quandary. Do I allow him to continue to believe in Santa Claus, or do I let him keep his faith in me?
Kid: Is Santa Claus real?
Me: Do you believe he is?
Kid: Yeah
Me: There you are
I thought that was pretty smooth of me. No lies, and he can still believe. I’d hate to crush the spirit of a five-year-old. But still, he wasn’t satisfied.
Kid: So is he real?
So there we were, driving across town, and he just wasn’t satisfied with my answer. What was I to say? Well, I am very proud of the answer I came up with.
Me: He’s as real as God.

Sadly, the story doesn’t end there. Okay, not so sadly. More amusingly to me…
Kid: Mommy, could you cover me with leaves except for my legs so I look like a Christmas tree? Then I can find out if Santa Claus is real.

Déjà vu

Sometimes I think I’m experiencing déjà vu. But then I wonder whether it counts if I’m hanging out with a different kid in hand-me-downs. Seriously, my three boys look alike. I often say that I produce one model, that the latest release is Engineer Boy 3.0.

Civil Disobedience

Yesterday, I was watching my mother try to feed my two-and-a-half year old his dinner, and I realized something. Without knowing it, my son has mastered the philosophy of Mahatma Gandhi. In fact, I bet if you want to understand Civil Disobedience, you need look no further than a toddler. My son ate for a little while and then decided he was done. Normally, I allow that because he should be able to recognize and respond to his own hunger cues. But since he’s been sick, he has not been eating nearly enough food and has gotten out of the habit of eating enough.

So we tried to encourage him. We tried to reason with him, we tried to force him to stay seated, we tried to play games (reverse psychology usually works well – “Don’t take this bite” usually makes my kids rush to take bites). My mom would finally manage to get some food in his mouth, only to watch him open his mouth and let it fall out onto the table (sometimes, he’ll actually get it into a plate; that I appreciate).

But he won’t eat unless he wants to. He doesn’t get mad; he doesn’t yell, scream, hit, or behave violently toward you or the food (unless you consider being spit out a violent act). He will push the food away from himself, which may cause the food to spill if it’s on a spoon, and cause the feeder to yell in frustration, but he doesn’t get mad. He simply doesn’t eat. That is civil disobedience in a nutshell.

There Is A Rage In Me

There is a rage in me that I cannot control. I do not understand from whence it came, but I cannot get rid of it. I am tired, that is for sure. But it is more than that. This day was not, at any point, my own. I stayed up late at the behest of my husband. We watched a movie which I picked out but which turned out to be much longer than expected. The baby woke up in the middle of the night, which I was sure he was done doing. So while I did get to sleep in this morning, it was not as long as I wished, but since the baby woke up and I needed to feed him anyhow, I got up. From then on, I sat to feed, but otherwise not at all. I had three whiny, needy kids, one of which was sick.

We made plans with neighbors to take the kids to a museum. Right before leaving, one kid vomits. So my husband stays home with the younger two, and I actually look forward to taking “the easy one.” Well, he didn’t eat enough before we left, and the bad behavior proved it. He didn’t want to wait his turn, he whined and was selfish, and he wouldn’t listen to me. So I had to take him out of the exhibit and take him to the cafeteria to get him some food. That improved his behavior considerably, and while I was physically pretty tired, mentally, I was much relieved.

And then I got home. My husband calls up that I need to get downstairs right away. I take off my shoes, put away my keys and phone, and am hanging up my coat, as the comments come up that I’m not doing a good job coming down right away. I get downstairs (annoyed at the undeserved attitude I’m receiving) to discover that the sick one has vomited all over the couch and that I need to help clean up. A little heads up would have been appreciated. An hour later, my husband heads off to work, leaving three hungry, whiny kids in a messy house – and mentions that he’d like to go to his parents’ house the next day.

The sick one, the one who keeps vomiting, had a few Wheat Thins and some juice for dinner. The elder one ate his food, but perhaps it wasn’t enough because after their bath, the whining returned.

The battles exhausted me. The neediness tried my patience. I just wanted to talk peacefully on the phone for a few minutes, but they would keep fighting. And when they didn’t, the baby would scream. Finally, they were in bed and I read their stories. Then I “stayed a little while” until the baby fussed and I wanted and needed to go have my own time (with the baby in tow, of course, which makes it really not count). But when I tried to leave, the little one, the sick one, asked me to stay. He even said please, so incredibly sweetly. And I couldn’t do it. I lost it. I screamed. I yelled. I threatened spankings if the talking didn’t stop. My fuse was so incredibly short and kept going off. And all the while I knew – intellectually – that they weren’t being bad, they weren’t being unreasonable. They were just being kids needing their mommy. And I couldn’t be there for them, because I needed to be alone, and so my guilt mixed in with this exhaustion and impatience and anger inside me to make this bubbling, frothing, oozing, rotten cauldron of blackish, greenish, emotional sludge that needed to be gotten rid of.

But I don’t know how.

I take a deep breath. I can do this. I told myself earlier that to get out of this rut, out of this toxic emotional quicksand, I needed to cleanse my body. I needed a healthy snack. I had yogurt. But it wasn’t enough. So I followed that with a slice of cheesecake and a brownie. What I really wanted was an apple, but we’re all out. My husband ate the last one today (after I told him that I’ve wanted to eat it but haven’t because it’s the last one and I can’t deprive my kids). So I’m thinking about how I really need to go to the grocery store tomorrow morning, but I don’t know when. I was thinking about making French toast tomorrow morning with a week-old loaf of bread, but now I can’t imagine having to deal with all those dishes that will surely be waiting for me when we get back home in the evening after visiting my in-laws and my husband goes to work.

I’ve felt like this before. Many times. And I’ve gotten past it. And I’ve discovered that when I’m feeling overwhelmed, when I don’t think I can do it all, and I try to scale back my activity, that’s when the negativity grows. But when I just act, and I try to do more, running a million errands, planning the week’s menu ahead of time and cooking without depending on my husband for help, I do fine. It’s when I think I need help when I am the most helpless. And that is not how I want to feel.

Well, someone needs me. Gotta go.

Meeting Uma

I had a chat with Uma the other day. Each time I drove to the school, she rode shotgun. She wasn’t very talkative the first time around; I suppose she’s upset at me for having ignored her for so long. But later in the day, she was quite chatty. And I learned quite a bit about her. For example, she doesn’t like being “shrinked” and certainly doesn’t like being mocked. She’s a little sensitive to jokes about her past choices. She would probably not like my husband very much, but that’s fine since she’ll never have to meet him. Someday, perhaps he’ll meet her, but even that is doubtful, since he doesn’t like to read.

You see, Uma is a character from my novel. She’s the one I just wrote about revisiting and letting come out of her holding cell. I want to find out more about her. So I decided I would spend some more time with her, not at the grocery store where I won’t be able to focus any attention on her – which would surely piss her off more and make her less likely to tell me anything – but on a car ride where she won’t have to share my attention.

Sounds crazy, I know, but welcome to the mind of a writer (well, this one anyhow).

When Shows End

Last week I went and got my flu shot. There were six people waiting when I got there. By the time the nurse came, there were nine. This was one of those random gatherings of strangers that make up the latest slew of television dramas. “The Lottery” (the Luke Perry show – what happened to that show?) drew together people who all won the lottery. I guess most knew each other and bought tickets together, but not everyone did. “The Nine” brings together people who survived a bank robbery/hostage situation. The characters on “Lost” all happened to be on the same flight together when it crashed on a random island.

So this formula that worked for “Lost” is being tried on other shows. Some will work, some won’t. This brings to mind a couple of questions that intrigue me (though perhaps nobody else).

1) If the Aussie guy really did cause the plane crash by not pushing the button, then couldn’t the survivors bring along more supplies and company by purposefully not pushing the button when a plane comes near? Of course, is there even still a button?

2) What happens to all those characters from shows that don’t make it? Many successful shows take efforts in the finale to show what will be happening to the characters when the cameras stop rolling. In “Charmed”, we got to see how each of the sisters’ lives would turn out. Reunion shows pop up every now and again for “Growing Pains”, “Gilligan’s Island”, and “The Brady Bunch”, letting us know that these characters are still the same after all these years.

So I watched “The Class” on Monday, and I watch it with the assumption that the show will be cancelled. Pretty much every character there is overacting (which I just don’t understand in this day and age – aren’t actors a dime a dozen, and haven’t there been ample examples of good acting that bad acting shouldn’t ever make it on screen?). Seriously, each character is more a caricature, though perhaps, if given the chance, the show will improve. But will it get the chance?

So these characters from short-lived shows, what are they doing now? Not the actors – the best friend from “Caroline In the City” became the wife’s sister on “Rodney”. Courtney Thorne-Smith went from “Day By Day” to “Melrose Place” to “According to Jim” (and probably other shows along the way). So many shows are set in the same cities. Wouldn’t these characters bump into each other? (I thought the “Mad About You”-“Friends” crossover was great). For example, when Monica was working in a restaurant, she probably left the restaurant late at times. Couldn’t she have passed by some crime scene that Cisco and Green were working for “Law and Order”? Or, could you imagine if the girl from “Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pizza Place” met Eugene Young from “The Practice”? He would hate her. Or if Berg applied for a job with the Practice. Then again, I bet Berg would get along with Marshall from “How I Met Your Mother.” Of course, Pete (the third roommate from “Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pizza Place”) might have ended up dating Elliot Reed from “Scrubs”. We all hear about what a small world it is, why not show it on television. Of course, I hear that’s what the show “Six Degrees” is all about.

And now I’m listening to “Enola Gay” by OMD at the coffee shop, and along with reminding me of high school, when I owned this tape (or at least a mix tape with this song on it, I can’t remember which), I’m reminded of many more sitcoms. I mean, who would have though that Zack Morris would join the NYPD Blue and A.C. Slater would be Dancing With the Stars along with Joey, brother of Blossom? I should have suspected, I suppose, that Shaun Hunter could be swayed to convert his religion and almost be willing to sacrifice himself as a suicide bomber (Law and Order: Criminal Intent). But, see, that’s not what I mean. These again are the actors doing different roles. I want the characters reprised, and not just as Doc and Isaac from “The Love Boat” being hired out as entertainers for a party on “Boy Meets World”.

Perhaps, really, what this is all about, is that in some subconscious way, I am trying to motivate myself to write more. I have started about three or four novels, and these characters are all stagnating, sitting around waiting to be more fully developed, waiting to find out where their futures lie. But instead, they are held captive. I am a jailor. I am nothing more than a cruel, insensitive jailor who hold these characters for no cause – they have committed no crimes (at least none that I have even written for them yet) – and for an indefinite period of time. I do them a great injustice in not writing their stories. Shame on me.

Oh, that the guilt would suffice to getting me to let them free. There we go, I have a goal. I shall now be the liberator. I am a freedom fighter. My five-year-old is interested in Gandhi (who he sees as a real-life superhero). Perhaps my mission will not be as noble as his, seeing as those that I wish to save do not actually exist, but it is no less important a mission. I must succeed. Well, I am off (okay, my mission will have to wait for now; I have to go to the grocery store. But maybe I’ll think about my character while I’m there).

Tell you what. I’ll keep you updated. You keep me honest. The first character I wish to liberate is Uma. My story “Uma, Usha, Urmila” is at a standstill. It is my best shot at a completed novel. Basically, if I can give Uma a life – and write Urmila’s story – then Usha too will be freed. If you don’t recall their story so far, I posted the first three chapters back in June. Here are the links:

• Chapter 1
  
• Chapter 2
  
• Chapter 3
  

Well, I’m off to groce. Oh yeah, that’s a verb I’d like to coin. Help me out with that.