Yes, Master-Slave pillowcases from the 1950s,  beautifully hand embroidered and crochet-trimmed.  He’s smugly reading his science fiction, she’s exhaustedly holding a feather duster.

I put them on etsy and they sold almost instantly, for quadruple what I paid.    I was kind of amazed.

Last night,  having read the on-line obituary of one of my dad’s neighbors, I followed the link to the guest book at the funeral home.  Instead of going to the “please share your thoughts here” page, I was taken to this:

http://www.memorialfuneralhomeandcemetery.com/caring_center/cremation_jewelry.html

That’s right.  Cremation Jewelry.   You can put ashes in a necklace or bracelet so your loved one is always with you.  Your memories of the person are not enough, you must also accessorize with the dearly departed.  This site also offers “Tear Jars” which are exactly what they sound like.  By this site,  I was completely amazed.

Rounding out my astonishment quotient this week was a photo in the Philadelphia Inquirer of the scene of yet another urban shooting.   The usual impromtu memorial had sprung up on the curb:  Balloons.  Flowers.  Candles.  Teddy bears.  So far, nothing surprising, all part of the American necrology, circa 2010.  But at the far right edge of the teddy bear mound, sitting splay-legged and grinning hugely, was a giant stuffed Spongebob SquarePants. 

Talk about cognitive dissonance.  If you’re thinking of contributing a stuffed creature to a streetscape memorial, you should think twice before plopping down Spongebob.  Think “somber” or at the very least “comforting,” not “insanely mocking.”   

I was totally amazed.

So when a buddy called a month or so ago and asked him to go surfing in Costa Rica for this particular week, one which coincided with the boys being away, we pondered it for only a few minutes:

Dave’s thought bubble:  Awesome.  A week of surfing and I don’t have to feel guilty about leaving the boys with Em!

My though bubble:  Awesome.  I will be ready to kill him at precisely this point in the summer and this will save him from death by spousal contempt and spare me from a life in Cell Block H.

Done deal.

I try hard not to begrudge his free time; I do so much better when it’s not staring me in the face.  He almost died one day last week when after spending the entire morning chained to my laptop working, I emerged briefly to run downstairs to make some lunch before continuing my drudgery.  There was a container of hummus I had been fantasizing about for the last hour.  Dave had done pretty much nothing all morning and was sitting on the sofa watching TV with the dog. A dirty plate sat in front of him.  And suddenly I knew.

Is there any hummus left?

Uh, I ate it.

How about the guacamole?

Sorry I finished that too.  Do you want me to run out and get you some more?

NO!  I WANT THE HUMMUS NOW AND I DON’T WANT YOU TO GET ME SOME MORE BECAUSE THAT ONLY ACCENTUATES THAT FACT THAT YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN TO GO TO THE STORE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREAKING DAY AND BUY ME HUMMUSSSSSSSSSS!

I didn’t say this out loud. But the words ricocheted off the walls of my head, compelling me to run from the house before they escaped.  I made it out the door just in time, and proceeded to take a little drive  contemplating all the ways you could kill someone with hummus and make it look like an accident.

Rest assured MoB readers, I did not kill him.  Sometimes marriage is best served by being apart rather than together.  Dave is alive and well and happily surfing.  And I miss him.  He will survive another summer. And so will we.

It happens to the best of us.  For Dave and me, it happens almost every day.  It is a necessary evil for busy parents with busy kids.  I took the Winter Music Concert; he took the Bar Mitzvah meeting.  Both events were mandatory and began at the exact same time.

Presumably a two-parent household is easier to run than a single parent one.  But the level of coordination required so as to avoid serious familial malfunction takes a ton of time and energy.

First you have to decide who is doing what.  Lately, the plum gig around here has been the Sunday/Hebrew school run as the driver gets to drop off both kids and then sit in the Burlap and Bean with a huge mug of something hot and yummy and write (or do schoolwork) for an hour and a half.  For the past several weeks we have each been graciously offering to take that major burden off the other one’s shoulders.  But usually the parent with the more pitiful day gets to go, while the remaining spouse is assigned an awesome task like food shopping.  Its can be a 5-10 minute discussion before this decision is made.

Then there is the “check in” along the way that involves several cell phone calls which inevitably begin with, “Hey, it’s me.  Could you…would you…should I….could I ___________________?” (Fill in the blank).  If circumstances change, there is a whole new level of coordination as our internal GPS systems need to recalculate.

Lastly, there is the oft unspoken aspect of the parental split – fairness.  It is rarely addressed directly, but fairness is pervasive and necessary for marital harmony. 

“I know I got the Hebrew School run three times in a row, but who’s counting?” 

Uh… Dave is.  And so am I if the situation is reversed.  When one of us is inexplicitly cranky, it may have something to do with getting the Cub Scout gig for the last month.  I’m just sayin’.

Every now and again, Dave and I will part ways for a few days, due to my work or his play.  And suddenly all the coordination stops because there is only one of us who does it all.  While shouldering the heavier burden is difficult, it is partly offset by the fact that no energy is expended checking in with the other parent.  And suddenly you realize how much time you spend synchronizing.   It could be an Olympic sport.  But Dave and I wouldn’t stand a chance against those families of six or more.

For those concerned MoB readers, Dave and I got back together late last evening.  But we all know it won’t last.

My “to do” list for last evening…

… note that it is no longer a “honey…do” list as I am now the acting MOB!:

• Sign the family up for new health club membership (even though it isn’t listed anywhere as a New Year’s resolution).
• Hurry home to feed and walk the dog.
• Check on the boys’ homework (already finished!)
• Check on Em… semi-conscious curled up in the fetal position in bed.
• Check on the boys…playing video games reasonably getting along.
• Go to the garage fridge…ponder the merits of soda vs. beer…opt for the former wishing for the latter…granted this is definitely an FOB trait. Em would go for the Merlot.
• Prepare dinner for the family…chicken with ketchup and Pepsi… seriously…this one’s pretty good!
• Check on Em…unconscious.
• Clean up from dinner.
• Feed the cat.
• Take Em’s temperature (99.5)…  I think she was hoping for more?…
• Try to convince her to “take something”.
• Work with Chase on his pinewood derby car…wait!  That’s a dad thing!… and a whole other topic I should write about!
• Break up argument over changing channels during commercials and promptly threaten early bedtimes.
• Drag myself to the computer to post for the MOB.

Just another typical day.

Get well Em!

Now I am asking all the wives out there: If you were me and came across this scene in your home you would:

A) Begin to believe that over time owners really do begin to resemble their pets.

B) Stand there with tears in your eyes because nothing is more sweet and deserving of a huge snuggle and ten thousand kisses than that adorable puppy husband of yours.

C) Hover dangerously close until someone senses that they are being stared at by the woman who just completed five loads of laundry, emptied the dishwasher, fed the children and still has a s*#@ load of work to do.

To be fair, and I have attested to this fact before, Dave is one of the good guys. He cooks, does all the yard work, cleans the cat litter box, is extremely handy, plays with the kids and will basically do anything I ask of him as long I am prepared to ask at least four times. Unfortunately for him, he married me, a tender yet admittedly sometimes wenchy creature who rarely sits as long as there are chores to be done, projects to be started, or world hunger to solve. Somehow, my knee jerk reaction to Dave’s perfectly innocent rest time is, “NO ONE RESTS UNTIL MOMMY RESTS!” But the trouble is, I don’t rest.

Acknowledging this family dynamic for once, I resisted my usual response – C – and chose B with one exception: I snuggled and kissed the dog. I may have forgotten to mention one tiny piece of information: Dave had run the Philadelphia Half Marathon earlier that morning at a personal best time. I figured he earned a break.

Especially from his wife.

I have been a single parent for six straight days. I kind of liked it. It’s not a situation I would want to become permanent. But there is something about claiming all parental controls for your very own for a few consecutive days that is rather appealing. I think I saved at least five hours of time that I would have spent coordinating with Dave by just talking to myself instead. Call it a little vacation from team work. And a chance to have the brothers all to myself.

On Saturday morning before Dave left for his teacher technology conference I went food shopping and stocked up on what Dave refers to lovingly as crap goodies. TastyCakes, Oreos, Reeses Puffs Cereal, Klondike Bars, Chocolate Chips, Frozen Lasagna, Cookie Dough. It was an impressive cart, I must say. Plenty of Vitamin H! For “Happy”. Here is some of the things we did these past five days:

• Went to see the Treehouse exhibit at the Tyler Arboretum
• Barbeque at Nanny’s House
• Camel Beach Water Park with Pop-Pop
• Chase and I made a meat loaf
• We all made our own chocolate dessert cups with melted chips
• Went to Hibachi grill and caught shrimp in our mouths
• Handel’s Ice Cream, Dairy Queen, Rita’s Water Ice, Seven Stones Cafe dessert runs
• Started reading them a Jerry Spinelli chapter book that I realized could be a little too “mature” for them in the middle of chapter 4. Oops. They now know exactly what puberty is.
• Went to the neighborhood where I grew up and walked around
• Noah went to karate
• Chase made a replica of the Empire State Building with foam squares
• Shopped at 10,000 Villages, a free trade store in our little town

PS. The dog is still alive. Chase says he likes my cooking better because I use the oven instead of the grill. (For those of you who know what a gourmet cook Dave is, you know this was the highlight of my week.) I did not have to use my karate on any intruders (I was totally prepared to do so). I slept diagonally. I only had three two glasses of red wine because I wanted to not because I HAD to. And there is still beer in our garage refrigerator despite the fact that I accidentally left the garage door open all night Monday night.

I travel a lot for work; Dave has the logistics around my absences down to a science. I have the luxury of throwing science to the wind and decreeing his absence a big ol’ recess! Though I’ll be glad today when the teacher comes back. We need a little order around here. And someone to rub my toes against at night. And maybe some vegetables.

http://www.957benfm.com/MorningShow/WOTW/tabid/111/Default.aspx

THE DOOR TO THE STUDIO WHERE THE MAGIC HAPPENS

JASON LEE (PRODUCER), MARILYN RUSSELL, ME, DAVE CRUISE

I loved Marilyn who could easily have been all “I am the hip, witty DJ who has mastered Philly morning radio and you should be grateful that we even considered you”. Instead, she was extremely gracious, thanking ME for coming in and taking some serious time to chat after we were through the interviews. I invited her to be our first celebrity guest blogger so, Marilyn – if you bring it, we will post!

I have to say that I am fascinated by fame. And I will admit to the MoB readers that part of me craves it. I often wonder what it’s like to be Dave, married to this person who is constantly seeking the extraordinary in life, to varying degrees of success. I’m relentlessly thinking about the next big thing. He is firmly rooted in the now. Dave is far from simple but, unlike me, he is at peace with the status quo. Where I struggle mightily with my identity, I think Dave knows exactly who he is – a guy who really loves family, his dog, and his surf boards. It’s pretty ordinary – but it’s enough. And when I go off chasing book deals, and writers workshops, Hawaiian healers and DJ’s, I know that he will always be there when I come home to keep me grounded and safe.

Today is our 14^th wedding anniversary.

And I’ve come to realize how extraordinary my ordinary is.

I might agree that Brad is the best looking dad in the world. But THE BEST? Put him up against my husband in a fathering smackdown and Brad would be toast.

Perhaps my spouse’s finest achievement is teaching the boys never to assume a woman is pregnant. A lesson he himself did not learn until his 40′s. (I will blog about this another time, under the heading “Never Take Your Spouse to a Reunion.”

A sports and car nut, Chris has shown our boys that real men also know how to shop and cook – every day. He indulges a bit of their pyromania with schoolwork burning bonfires and fireworks festivals each summer. Since I get woozy at the sight of blood, he’s the household medicine man. Chris is the one who taught the boys to bait a fish hook, tie a Windsor knot, fix a bike chain, mow the grass, strum a guitar, and play fantasy baseball. He’s made killer Halloween costumes. Standouts include a meticulous cardboard Thomas the Tank Engine construction that toddler Ian wore for exactly two doorbells and later, also for Ian, the perfect Howard Hughes ensemble, complete with Kleenex box shoes. And he has shown the boys how to gently hold their new cousin.

Mr. Pitt has people who do all this sort of thing for him. I seriously doubt Brad is making any Halloween costumes. I imagine the Pitt-Jolie houses around the world are full of personal chefs, personal shoppers, personal trainers, personal gardeners, personal drivers and personal nannies.

That leaves very little space for personal parenting. And personal parenting is exactly what makes a dad the best on Earth.