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"I Will Love You Over..."
Jul. 2nd, 2009 11:46 pmSo to-day was tolerably insane.
Maria and I went to St. Barnabas' to volunteer this morning, which I think we've done for about four years now--it's really fun, basically it's a week-long summer camp for teeny inner-city kids and "volunteering" is code for "cooking them nommy foods and watching them run around and terrorise the church ladies which is deeply satisfying". And for a couple of years we've had the misfortune to be doing our shift on the same day as these two kind of awful ladies from church who pretty much spend the whole time complaining that the kids are poor so they should eat whatever they get and be grateful for it, and claim that food allergies are just the kids trying to take advantage of something idek it's very weird and entitled and bitchy. To-day the kids were going out to one of the state camps in Halifax to go swimming and do recreational stuff and so we packed them lunches instead of cooking them a hot lunch to eat at the Lutheran church in Harrisburg. So while Maria and I were putting sandwiches in their lunch bags, we noticed that whoever had started packing them before us had left the price tag on every single item of food already packed.
And then we both expended great self-restraint and instead of slamming our heads repeatedly against the wall we went through and picked every single individual price tag off all of the foods.
It probably wasn't anybody's fault or intentional or anything, it's just that after an hour of listening to reasonably well-off older white women complain about what a cross to bear it is to make food for these kids I was about at the end of my patience and. yeah.
Hilariously, one of the kids did come up to Maria and tell her she reminded him of Darth Vader; she pushed her baseball cap down over her face and made horrible breathing noises.
After St. Barnabas' we went to the doctor's because Maria needed a bunch of shots prior to going to college. And she kind of mentioned that she doesn't like shots; what she failed to tell me is that she gets sick when she gets shots. She was acting a little strained while we were leaving and as soon as we were outside she told me she was going to throw up and started sobbing. So I drove her home. I just. I am such a total weenie and I cry over everything and I make a big deal about the littlest injuries, but I have no problem whatsoever with shots and actually enjoy giving blood. And Maria is this tough, strong farm girl with biceps the size of large rocks who can handle pretty much any situation, and she was a total mess. So I told her jokes and played her favourite CD and she was mostly okay when we got home, although she was nauseous for the rest of the day.
But she and Mama hung out during the afternoon, which I think made her feel better. I went and holed up in my room with a movie.
Aaaand then in the evening we drove up to Mama's coworker's house to get Ando! Only instead of Ando we ended up getting Spock and McCoy. They are two of the teensiest, fluffiest little grey furballs you ever saw, with little sweet faces and blue eyes. Spock has shorter fur and stays very calm most of the time and was okay with being smacked at by Hiro, whereas McCoy has really long silky fur and she is a total wreck. She hid under the radiator as soon as we got home. However! I pulled her out and snuggled her all during our family movie time this evening and by the time it was over she was drooped over me like a puddlecat. Her nickname is Tube Sock and Spock's is Pancake; these are fairly apt physical descriptions. Hiro does not like them, but I think he will learn to cope. Maggie has already figured out that they are not single servings of kitten nuggets and is contenting herself with eating all their food when I'm not looking.
And now! I have had all of three hours' sleep last night, been up since six-thirty this morning, run to Harrisburg, Duncannon, Newport, and Dalmatia, and dear lord I am so tired I can barely see. But we made the swing we've been talking about for two years yesterday, and it's wonderful.
I told Mama Tuesday, food is like religion. It is neither good or bad. It has no moral value. It just is. The only way you can make it good or bad is through use and interpretation. Calories just are. They exist. I ate food to-day. There's nothing wrong with that. On the other hand, I should probably stop having granny smith apples, because they make my teeth ache like to die.
Maria and I went to St. Barnabas' to volunteer this morning, which I think we've done for about four years now--it's really fun, basically it's a week-long summer camp for teeny inner-city kids and "volunteering" is code for "cooking them nommy foods and watching them run around and terrorise the church ladies which is deeply satisfying". And for a couple of years we've had the misfortune to be doing our shift on the same day as these two kind of awful ladies from church who pretty much spend the whole time complaining that the kids are poor so they should eat whatever they get and be grateful for it, and claim that food allergies are just the kids trying to take advantage of something idek it's very weird and entitled and bitchy. To-day the kids were going out to one of the state camps in Halifax to go swimming and do recreational stuff and so we packed them lunches instead of cooking them a hot lunch to eat at the Lutheran church in Harrisburg. So while Maria and I were putting sandwiches in their lunch bags, we noticed that whoever had started packing them before us had left the price tag on every single item of food already packed.
And then we both expended great self-restraint and instead of slamming our heads repeatedly against the wall we went through and picked every single individual price tag off all of the foods.
It probably wasn't anybody's fault or intentional or anything, it's just that after an hour of listening to reasonably well-off older white women complain about what a cross to bear it is to make food for these kids I was about at the end of my patience and. yeah.
Hilariously, one of the kids did come up to Maria and tell her she reminded him of Darth Vader; she pushed her baseball cap down over her face and made horrible breathing noises.
After St. Barnabas' we went to the doctor's because Maria needed a bunch of shots prior to going to college. And she kind of mentioned that she doesn't like shots; what she failed to tell me is that she gets sick when she gets shots. She was acting a little strained while we were leaving and as soon as we were outside she told me she was going to throw up and started sobbing. So I drove her home. I just. I am such a total weenie and I cry over everything and I make a big deal about the littlest injuries, but I have no problem whatsoever with shots and actually enjoy giving blood. And Maria is this tough, strong farm girl with biceps the size of large rocks who can handle pretty much any situation, and she was a total mess. So I told her jokes and played her favourite CD and she was mostly okay when we got home, although she was nauseous for the rest of the day.
But she and Mama hung out during the afternoon, which I think made her feel better. I went and holed up in my room with a movie.
Aaaand then in the evening we drove up to Mama's coworker's house to get Ando! Only instead of Ando we ended up getting Spock and McCoy. They are two of the teensiest, fluffiest little grey furballs you ever saw, with little sweet faces and blue eyes. Spock has shorter fur and stays very calm most of the time and was okay with being smacked at by Hiro, whereas McCoy has really long silky fur and she is a total wreck. She hid under the radiator as soon as we got home. However! I pulled her out and snuggled her all during our family movie time this evening and by the time it was over she was drooped over me like a puddlecat. Her nickname is Tube Sock and Spock's is Pancake; these are fairly apt physical descriptions. Hiro does not like them, but I think he will learn to cope. Maggie has already figured out that they are not single servings of kitten nuggets and is contenting herself with eating all their food when I'm not looking.
And now! I have had all of three hours' sleep last night, been up since six-thirty this morning, run to Harrisburg, Duncannon, Newport, and Dalmatia, and dear lord I am so tired I can barely see. But we made the swing we've been talking about for two years yesterday, and it's wonderful.
I told Mama Tuesday, food is like religion. It is neither good or bad. It has no moral value. It just is. The only way you can make it good or bad is through use and interpretation. Calories just are. They exist. I ate food to-day. There's nothing wrong with that. On the other hand, I should probably stop having granny smith apples, because they make my teeth ache like to die.
