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Otherwise unrelated: the smells of fall, the smell of danger, and cat piss.

18 Nov

One of the things I love about fall are the smells… pumpkin, mulling spices, smokey fires.

So to fully embrace the season, I’ve been doing a lot that involves those smells lately… mulling cider on the stove all afternoon, rubbing a roast down with cinnamon and cloves before baking it, etc. And you know what I’ve noticed?

My place has a weird smell footprint. (I just coined that term. Like it?) For whatever reason, the smell that is created in the kitchen or living room is most vividly detected… in the guest bathroom. What? I’m not running a vent fan or something that would naturally pull the smell in that direction, so it strikes me as odd.

You know what else is odd? That some women report a heightened sense of smell after childbirth. One of my friends from book club was talking about that this week – how more smells now “put her off” since she had a baby four months ago. Someone suggested that it’s a defense mechanism, that new moms have more acute smell so they can “smell danger.” I would say that quantifying the smell of danger seems a bit tough, but we’ve all crossed paths with a pervert who smells like he bathed in Drakar Noir. Definitely the smell of danger.

While my dad has never experienced childbirth (nor will he), his schnoz seems to work overtime as well. Growing up, it was not uncommon for him to pace around the house saying, “I smell cat piss!” and sniffing loudly, while my mom and sister looked at each other like, “What is he talking about?”  and I hustled our cat Chuck into hiding.

Speaking of cat pee, in college one of my boyfriend Brent’s roommate had a cat. One of his other roommates hated that cat and kept arguing to get rid of it – not least because he claimed it was peeing in his sock drawer at night. None of the other roommates had this problem, and Mike took increasingly complicated measures to secure his sock drawer so the cat couldn’t get into it. “I’ll show that f*cking cat…” he mumbled while securing the handles on the drawers with rubberbands.

Alas, one night we were all still up when Mike came home from the bar, went into his room (right off the living room) and passed out. And we were still sitting in the living room 30 minutes later when we heard the unmistakable sound of liquid spraying a sock drawer, so we raced into the room… to find Mike, in a drunken stupor, pissing in his own sock drawer.

 

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A Non-Pithy Post: Welcome to the World, Natalie!

28 Oct

Dear Natalie Ellen,

I learned via a text message from your mother that you arrived in the world this afternoon. From your mom’s perspective – it was not a moment too soon. She’s been ranting for the better part of a week that she was ready to have you.

In fact, just yesterday she publicly stated that she was going to “plead her case” to the doctor. I, on the other hand, have been hoping you’d take your sweet time and come on Devil’s Night so I could pass the cool birthday baton to you. For your sake, I’m glad you arrived today!

But enough about your entry into the world – I’m sure your mom will never let you forget it, so I’ll leave that to her.

I want to tell you about the family you’re joining. Your mother is my oldest friend – we’ve known each other even before we started nursery school together – so I think I can paint a fair picture.

First, be prepared to be photographed. A LOT. Your mom comes by it honestly and can’t help herself. When you get irritated by it, ask if you can watch one of the old VHS tapes of her playing softball, swimming or at a dance recital – and then you’ll realize it could be much worse. And if she EVER tries to make you take piano lessons, ask her to play something for you first. I assure you: that will end the conversation.

Second, let me tell you now: You WILL be a Spartan fan. Some of your favorite childhood memories will be of tailgating with your parents in East Lansing and hanging with the children of your mom’s college roommates. You will learn from an early age how to “Sparty On!” and you’ll be able to sing the fight song before you enter kindergarten.

Her text from the hospital said, “We’re all doing fine. I’ll be home for the big game Saturday!” (For the record, MSU is currently ranked 5th in the nation and is 8-0 thus far this season. You’ll appreciate that when you’re older.)

As for your grandparents on the Dickinson side… they were like second parents to me for much of my childhood. They took me on my first trip to Cedar Point in second grade – when I was still too short and skinny to technically ride the Gemini. Your grandpa rode that ride with me and held me in the seat the entire ride. That’s the kind of guy he is – he likes a good time and wants the people around him to have a good time too. (Oh, and there’s the time when I completely ruined the cream colored upholstery in his new Oldsmobile Cutlass – because I’d gotten grease all over my ass at a McDonald’s – and he didn’t even raise his voice when he saw the damage.) That one is a very cool cat.

And your grandma – who doesn’t like to be called Grandma because she’s entirely too young for that – is one of the craftiest people I know. Had it not been for her sewing skills, I would’ve been fated to dress as a ghost every year for Halloween because my mom couldn’t sew. Instead, I always got to wear your mom’s costume from the year before – a dog, a dinosaur, a witch, a clown, a tea bag… (I know, that last one doesn’t quite, fit, does it?) She also taught me to cross-stitch and how to make a “Triscuit pizza” in the first microwave I ever laid eyes on.

As for your dad… make him your ally. Your mom is a pretty tough customer, but your dad has mastered the art of giving her what she wants and getting what he needs. That’s a subtle art, and you will undoubtedly need to call on it – especially when you’re in high school and hate your curfew. (If he sometimes embarrasses you because we owns binoculars and goes birding, let me tell you: you will one day find that AWESOME, so go with it.)

Your brother? Well, I’m sure initially he’s not going to be your biggest fan because you’re new to the scene and stealing his thunder. BUT, about the time you hit middle school and kids are jerks, you’re going to be VERY glad to have Nolan hovering around ready to kick some asses. Oh – and when he’s 21 and you’re not yet legal – you’re REALLY going to appreciate him.

There are so many stories to tell; I could write for hours. But you have years to hear the other stories, and trust me – the older you get, the better the stories we’ll tell you. One day you’ll fully appreciate what it is to be the granddaughter of a BOM. Just wait for it.

In the meantime, just know that you couldn’t be luckier. The world welcomes you and I can’t wait to meet you.

Love,

“Auntie” Alison

PS~ It is a LOCK that your mom is drinking a Miller Lite tonight to celebrate, if I know her.

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You say tomato, I say Gestapo.

28 Sep

Saturday morning we ran to the farmer’s market so I could pick up some fruit and greens for a salad. (Side note: I discovered kiwi berries, which, if you like kiwi fruit but HATE peeling them, this is the fruit for you – think of grapes that taste like kiwis.)

On the way there, we were breaking one of my pet urban rules: we were walking three-across on the sidewalk. Fortunately, my mom was tuned into our surroundings, and realized someone coming up behind us would need to get around. She stepped aside, grabbed my dad and me by the shoulders, and loudly announced, “Let’s wait a second so this gentleman can pass.”

The thing is, that gentleman had breasts. No sooner were the words out of my mom’s mouth, than my dad and I exchanged an uncomfortable look and my mom clapped her hand over her mouth. We dropped back a few paces and let the woman gain some ground before we spoke again.

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Some people use them for birdwatching. Not my mom.

27 Sep

My parents came to visit this weekend – their first time since I’ve moved.

My mom spends a large portion of her waking time observing (and commenting on) other people. My old place was HORRIBLE for her because it was on the top floor of a five-story building and had limited windows that really didn’t afford street views. She would pace like a caged animal trying to peek out the small windows in my turret, so visits would generally be planned around making sure she was outside and able to see people.

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I hope this means he has rhythm.

18 Sep

Ah, Facebook. What would I do without you? My life is so much richer for having you in it.

Case in point: without Facebook, I wouldn’t realize that my 12 year-old nephew is actually 68% black.

I know, I know. This might come as something of a shock to people who are familiar with his corn-silk white hair, blue eyes and creamy complexion. But according to a quiz he took on Facebook (titled, “How Black Are You?”), it turns out he’s 68% black.

Now, I haven’t seen the questions that led to this conclusion, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t involve a DNA sample. Perhaps he knows some rap lyrics and can appropriately attribute the “I have a dream” speech to MLK Jr?

I just hope he doesn’t take the result too seriously and think it means he is a good dancer. I made that mistake once myself, dancing wildly to Eminem at a discotheque in France shouting, “Detroit in the house! Right here!” and pointing at my chest. Fortunately, no one in France can dance, so it wasn’t as horrific if I’d made that claim in a NY club.

Another reason I love Facebook is because it allows me to crack myself up. Regularly. Last week I was practically in tears coming up with what I thought were funny comments to add when  “Alan is in a relationship” showed up in my news feed. My first response (which I refrained from posting) was, “…with his hand.”

That had me rolling on the floor, in no small part because I had stolen the phrase from one of my nephew’s pre-teen friends. (Yes, I’m admitting my sense of humor most closely aligns to that of prepubescent boys.)

When I told Alan how much this thought had tickled me, he said, “Good thing you didn’t post that, because my response would’ve been, ‘With YOUR hand.'” Which also cracked me up.

For whatever reason, when I get to laughing like this, it reminds me of how Snoopy would laugh on Peanuts, slapping the table with his paw:

So to all the Facebook haters, I offer: anything that causes that much laughter can’t be all bad. It has to be at least 68% good, right?

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