Goodbye Scrubs: Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . May 9, 2009 . 9:30AM

When my husband got Tivo, I winced and then glared and then was passive aggressive for a nice long time. For me, it was just another shiny new gadget that would ultimately get stuck in some orifice of the house and would do nothing to enhance our life. I was wrong, so, so wrong. There are many reasons I was wrong, but the main reason I was wrong has to do with my obscene love of the television show Scrubs.

For the last several years, Scrubs has been my “go to” show. The show itself addressed this phenomenon in one if its episodes. We get attached to the show, the characters and the way it allows us to go somewhere outside of the hectic activity or stress of our own lives for a while. I have used Tivo to its fullest and through the wonder of Tivo, I frequently have no less than 5 episodes a day that just wait for me to watch them in an insomniatic daze.

I have my favorite characters (Elliott and her neuroticism reminds me of me), my favorite lines (when J.D. tells a potential suitor that Elliott is a dude) and my favorite episodes (air banding). I think there are plenty of commentaries out there about the finale, so I won’t add to them other than to say that I think it was superb. It’s exactly what I wanted and the haters can hate. It took the show back to its roots and the die hard fans know that it was the only true way to end the show. I would have liked a little more J.D./Turk interaction, but the thing is that they have moved past that point as characters. As a viewer, I am the one who hasn’t moved past that point.

For us, as viewers, there is a grieving process as our favorite characters go on without us. I think it was keenly felt at the ending of “Friends.” I feel it more now, as these characters were always accessible to me in a way that I never felt that “Friends” were. They were realistic. They had the thoughts I had. Dr. Cox said the things I keep in my head.

From here, we give the characters the privacy to move on with their own fictional lives and we search for something else to fill the void. Or we buy the full series and watch them over and over and over again. Or watch them on Tivo. Thank you, honey, for buying tivo. I wish I could say I will never doubt you again, but we both know that’s not true. Quit buying shiny gadgets. Now that I have Tivo, I’ll never be hungry again. Or something like that.

Parental sportsmanship under strong duress

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . May 8, 2009 . 9:30AM

Ok, ok, ok.

I admit it.

I like watching my son play Little League ball.

I more than like it.

I may be addicted.

For the last week, it’s been raining cats, dogs, iguanas and banana popsicles where I live. What that means is that my poor little boy has not been able to play his baseball and his poor parents have been missing their socialization time. It’s not something the league advertises; It’s simply a perk of being the parent of a talented little player. You become part of the screaming, yelling, slowly losing their sportsmanlike behavior exhibiting pack of hyenas known as Ball parents.

We’re the ones that make the poor high school Umps wish they’d taken that job at the Baskin Robbins. We love our kids and it’s almost impossible to tone down those Mama Bear instincts. I’m not saying we don’t try, but what you have to remember is that, if our kid is in a sport, chances are that one or both of his or her parents were in a sport. It’s hard to turn off that team spirit aka the “argue button.”

I first realized this was a problem for me when AJ played basketball. Out of nowhere, the words would come flying out of my mouth. “C’mon Ref! How come you didn’t call that?” The refs at the local Y didn’t appreciate that as it’s supposed to be a place motivated by the love of Christ. I was motivated by…look, he was BLIND! Couldn’t he see it was a foul?! You get the picture.

Baseball is much better for me. I played basketball for only a year, but softball for 8. To say I love everything about the sport is an understatement and having AJ play baseball is awesome for both of us because Leon played baseball as well. We don’t care about him winning, we just want him to do his best.

I just lied. To you.

I want him to skunk the soup out of those other little boys. I want them to run after his hits and overthrow his bases. I want him to raise his hands and jump on the bases and I’ll even let him twirl on third like he did last week (please don’t ask). I am FAR too competitive and I’m aware of my fault.

Baseball has been gone for a week. Little league is better than the majors, in my opinion. I miss it so much that I was tempted to pick a fight in the grocery store tonight just so I could ask someone if they were blind. With my luck, I’d pick on the one blind person in the store.

Come back, little league. I need other parents that understand and an outlet for my aggression.

Hissy fit : Or what to do when your stylist does whatever she wants instead of what you ask her to do

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . April 22, 2009 . 11:09PM

Long-time friends are aware that my hair needs have changed dramatically over the last 10 years. Over my lifetime, I’ve had most hair colors, avoiding the crayola dramatics, but embracing the classic shades. Highlights have been my friends and enemies. I’ve been a long haired grecian goddess and a pixie wench. For the last year or so, due to my inherent need for self-awareness, I’ve embraced my naturalistic ash brown forest earth mother look with flowing, long locks of a singular length.

All of that changed yesterday and turned into this.

It was a normal day, with the exception of the massive caterpillar across my face that made me look like a yeti with hirsutism. I’d been holding off on the waxing because of the unattractive sunburn I’d received from Little League baseball watching 2 weeks ago. It was time. I was resolved.

While I sat there waiting for the stylist, AJ was hitting my last nerve. I examined my greasy hair and hugely split ends and became even more resolved to do something about my current hair state, if for no other reason than I needed a break from the constant chatter of a hyper 8-year old. Nothing exotic or large was going to happen. I just wanted the split ends removed and no layers. I’ve been growing my hair out for over a year.

What my stylist heard, her of the 1993 Meg-Ryan-duck-butt-blonde-hair-flare that had grown to her shoulders, was that I wanted 4 INCHES OFF OF MY LENGTH AND A FULL SET OF LAYERS. I think my first inclination that something was wrong was when I asked her how much she’d need to take and how bad my split ends were was that she giggled nervously and replied, “Oh, I can’t really tell how split they are when your hair is wet. The water mends your ends so unless it’s dry, I won’t know.” She said this while cutting. I started to fidget nervously and watched a hunk of hair fall off the scissors.

That was the end. She started cutting like a madwoman. I’ve never seen anything like it. Her already squinty eyes became irrationally beady to me. I started to sweat. She kept trying to talk to me about AJ, but all I wanted to do was leave. When she was done, I threw my hair back into a ponytail and jetted. I got home and stewed. That Delilah! How dare she cut my hair like that? It was specifically what I said I DIDN’T want. Cutting a woman’s hair is like cutting off a man’s penis. Ok, maybe not that bad.

When I finally had the courage to take it down and look at it, I winced and slowly turned to Leon. His response, “It looks great!” The response of my friends, “It’s hot. I love it! I’m sorry it’s not what you wanted, but I really like it. It brings out your natural curl.”

Hrmph. But like a petulant child, I want what I want, dang it! Don’t do what I don’t want, even if I look better. I look hot? I look great?

Ok. Maybe it’s growing on me. I might go back.

Leftovers

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . April 12, 2009 . 7:38AM

April 6, 2009
There isn’t much in life that is as cathartic as making a list of songs that you can listen to over and over again that have meaning to you and then just putting them on shuffle when you are having a bad day.

April 1, 2009
I can say with unequivocal authority that is is not good when your husband instant messages you when you are in the middle of the lecture and the following pops up on the powerpoint screen: “Illusions, Michael. A trick is something a whore does for money. Or candy!”

March 31, 20009
If I could see myself the way AJ sees me, I’d never doubt myself or my capabilities ever again.

Obscene children’s art

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . April 7, 2009 . 5:38AM

Many mothers wouldn’t have written this post. They would have hidden this in a box to be brought out when “the one” comes to dinner, or when they have grandkids or when they find the pot or the porn under a mattress. I’ve considered this post for a month now, even before this blog existed, and I have decided that I have to write about it because Husband and I can’t be the only ones that see this. We just can’t. It’s unfair to…well, humanity. Or, at least, to the one person that may or may not read this blog.

AJ often surprises me with the items he carries home in his bookbag. I have yet to find anything that was once alive, so I’ll say that I have thus far been pleasantly surprised with the things he carries. Generally, he is good about showing me the things I need to see and allowing the non-important items to sit in there for a month or so. I’m not an overly hovering mama, but I am still up in his grill, if you know what I mean.

One day, AJ brought home a piece of artwork. I didn’t immediately see it as Husband or AJ had put it on the couch to surprise me or send me into early menopause. I was walking through our always messy living room and I saw a stack of papers on the couch that I had been looking for when a bright piece of blue craft foam material caught my eye. There are no delusions of grandeur about my son’s talents. He is what he is and what he’ll be is up to him. I’ll support him and tell him he rocks and he’ll rock. I never expected him to be an artist. AJ loves art. He loves to draw and color and paint and I encourage it by getting him a new art set every couple of Christmases so he can nurture that activity. He also loves athletics and video games and I nurture those things, too. Granted, he never brought anything home from those that was quite like this.

On the back of his artwork was a little sign, which makes me believe this art may have actually been hung in his school building. At the thought, I started laughing so hard I was gasping. Not at my baby’s talent. He is so, so good. My laughing was at what those poor adults must have implied. When Adrian was asked what he was drawing, according to Husband, he simply replied, “People, Daddy. They’re people. That one is standing on his head.” We have no idea which one it was. I’ll let you judge for yourself.

AJ’s art inspired by Keith Haring