Mental Health Day

Listen to: Live from the Hovel on the hill, No.21

(apostrophes and quotes removed on purpose, ...its complicated....)

Mental health day

Heres some good advice, never give a son a mental health day, especially when you have more than one son. Not if you dont want to spend the rest of your life explaining to the others, why today is not a mental health day.
I have no idea where the concept came from, or even why suddenly I have to deal with it. If it was likely I might get one then, maybe it would be worth it. But Im not, so it isnt.
My 15 year old mentioned the whole mental health day issue to me, in whining terms, the first day after spring vacation. Absolutely, that is when a young mans mental health is most threatened; after a week of lying on the couch and video gaming his brains out.
I gave his suggestion due consideration, looked at it from every side, weighed the pro and cons and then threw him out the door on to the bus. It did wonders for my mental health.
Unfortunately the idea was still hanging around for the next three weeks, darkening each night, clouding up breakfast and generally threatening to become the main focus of every conversation. So, I though about it some more, counted up the days he had actually been absent from school, calculated the time of least impact and gave in.
Thats when the second front began. It was just like the story of the little Dutch boy, except I had pulled my finger from the dike for a second. Whistling and walking away were no longer an option. The water was coming through and it was time to look for scuba gear.
My youngest was appalled. How did this happen? For years he had tried every conceivable disease, every delaying tactic. He had even tried holding on to the kitchen table and when that failed, running for the hills. And here, his brother has accomplished the impossible, a full and free day home from school, with a mere mention of mental health.
His campaign began immediately. He whined. He threatened. He exhibited every sign of insanity he could think of, and then researched the internet for more. He told me that the unfairness of the situation had caused him to have a split personality, and now he needed two Mental health days.
I told him he had a problem. I pointed out that he had already taken more than his fair share of days, and that any more could result in a mental health year while he repeated the fourth grade. Unfortunately, it was risk he was willing to take.
Pretty soon his attacks broke down into 3 categories. The oh, Please, please, P l e s e! ploy, the This is so unfair! I hate you! frontal assault and the desperate You promised! attack from the rear. I thought I was holding up pretty well. But like his brother, he was relentless.

Dad, this is your last chance. I am taking a mental health day tomorrow.

Tomorrows no good, going to rain all day. What about some time in July?

Thats summer vacation!

Not for you, Im planning on getting you a tutor.

Thats it! I hate you forever! Good bye!

Good for you. I hate me too! I stink!

I mean it! I’m leaving home!

Ok. Hey, take one of these smelly dogs with you will ya? You might get hungry.

Dad!

Somehow, he felt that his room was sufficiently far enough to have left home. Still, I folded about a week later, for reasons of mental health, mine.

This is the last one ever. Period, never again.

What! I get one a year! That’s the deal!

Yes, one a year, after your 26th birthday.

Dad!




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Valentines

Listen to: Live from the Hovel on the hill, No.20

(apostrophes and quotes removed on purpose, ...its complicated....)

Valentines Day

Here it comes. The day of hearts and flowers, the day of hundreds of tiny scrawled out cards, the day on which 17 tiny bags of candy hearts come home to attack our teeth. Cupid is leading the charge, bow drawn and ready to shoot deep into my wallet. The grocery stores have filled up with pink hearts and sappy cards. However, hiding just underneath it all, are pink, green and blue foil wrapped chocolate eggs. Unless Cupid is really careful, he may hit the Easter bunny. Its all part of the endless circle of holidays.
As far as cost goes, Valentines day is pretty minor, even with spending 4 dollars for a card (four dollars?). I can judge the expense of a holiday by how many boxes we have stored for it in the basement.
Fourth of July, one small box. - Hot dogs and fire works, no big deal on cost here.
Easter, one big box. - Three Easter baskets to be filled. Possible presents. (who authorized the Easter bunny to go around giving people presents?)
Hallowen, two big boxes. - Some dry ice, many bags of candy, lots of soda and wine, snacks and possibly some extra costume parts. Substantial, but hardly devastating.
Christmas 6 big boxes - The Daddy Warbucks of holidays. If I can afford Christmas, I am probably asleep and dreaming.
I think we all have our own reasons for celebrating Valentines day. Some see it as a re-affirmation of a long love, some hope for the promise of new love, some, like my youngest, are hoping for larger bags of candy hearts this year. But who was Valentine, and how did all this card passing start? I actually did some research and one story is that Valentine was a roman priest, in the time of Emperor Claudius. Claudius felt that army enrollment was down due to all the young men getting married. Being the emperor, he abolished marriage and waited for the volunteerism to pickup again. Unfortunately, a few priests like Valentine went about marrying people anyway. Needles to say, Claudius decreed that 10 or so of his centurions would help Valentine find the jail. After receiving a merciful sentence of death by clubbing, Valentine wrote a note to a girl he liked, signing it from your Valentine. We all found that so touching we have been signing notes to our loved ones that way ever since.

The other story is that during this time in February, the people of Rome celebrated the festival of Lupercalia. It was basically a spring festival, a celebration of planting, new growth, fertility and general naughtiness. One of the features of the festival was to have all the eligible women in town put their names in a jar and the bachelors would pick them out. The new couple would then spend the next year together having sort of a learners permit marriage. Although a large percentage of these temporary unions would end in a real marriage, the Pope took a dim view of this practice. Once again by Roman decree, it was announced that, while there didnt have to be any actual clubbing this time(at least none was recorded), everyone was just going to send cards instead. To provide an excellent example to all, the church produced the story of Saint Valentine, who died right after writing the first valentine card, in a romantic (although painful) way, totally bereft of any naughtiness.
To me as a parent, Valentines Day means I need a class list, because no one in my eight year old’s class can be missed. Even if one of his classmates is beating the tar out of him every day at recess, the psychological blow from not getting a paper-tag valentine with Scooby Doo on it, could result in a life misspent or prison. When I was in school, in some grades later than third, I remember Valentines day being a very nervous time, fraught with the danger of getting your valentine rejected, or not getting any Valentines at all. Consequently, I highly approve of everyone getting and giving valentines, even if prison time is indicated.
Once I get the list, then comes the big choice; does he write the cards or do I? Meaning, does it take three days or 10 minutes. I think he should do the cards and bag the candy. So, we will sit for hours at a kitchen table that is littered with little square Valentines, small individual bags and one greedy dogs tongue(fishing for a possible lost Necco heart or Hersey kiss), while I encourage him not to eat all the candy himself. I will also create a few valentines for my sons and they will make some for me(Probably right after they wake up and see theirs, tommorow morning).



Please visit my website www.prentissgray.com

How to ignore necessary repairs

Listen to: Live from the Hovel on the hill, No.19

(apostrophes and quotes removed on purpose, ...its complicated....)

How to ignore necessary repairs

I need things that dont breakdown, dont wear out, and dont whine no matter how I mistreat them. The old phrase With a house, there is always something has always made me long for that house. With my house there is always at least two or three somethings, and sometimes as many as 9 or 10.
I treat these somethings in three different ways. There are the things I pointedly ignore, like the stains on the ceiling tiles down stairs. They have no business being stained. Ive replaced them three times and re-done all the bathrooms at least once. Im not replacing them again until all of the boys either leave the house or stop taking showers that make the bathroom floor a swimming pool.
There are the somethings that I just forget about until I see them again. I can see them 3 times a day, but I still have no problem having them disappear from my mind as soon as I look away. This is because either they are too expensive to remedy without a big raise or a stiff drink (the tattered carpet in the dining room), require too much time and effort(cleaning the storage room floor in the basement), or the potential for a horrible realization is too terrifying to contemplate (the suspicious blurp-blurping sound the drains make down stairs when they dont think anyone is listening).
Finally, there are the things that I do get around to fixing or doing something about. What qualifies something to be gotten around to is either an opportune moment or this thing/condition/dilemma has gotten so bad I just cant ignore it any more. The best and most recent example of this is my cleaning of the garage.
I could not get from one end to the other with out using all my hands and feet, like a mountain climber negotiating a crevasse. Even though this required an entire Sunday and half of the following Monday, I toiled relentlessly against years of happy neglect. I can see the floor now, or at least I could until my son covered it with seats from the van.

Hey! What are all these car seats doing here? I asked in a hurt and stunned voice. He had whizzed in and clogged up my Opus Cleanus!

I want to see what my car is like without all the seats crowding it up.
Often, there are so many things wrong with a spoken sentence from my son, I have to work hard to focus on the most offensive part. I found the words my car made this very difficult.

Excuse me, what if I want to see what MY workshop is like without all MY CAR’s seats crowding it up? I countered.

Come on dad, this is a garage, It’s supposed to have car stuff in it. It must be tough being saddled with such a backward father.

Did you say Garage? I think you meant Alternative storage and work area. We dont have a garage. If we did, we would keep cars in it. I dont see any cars in here, do you? Nope, therefore you must remove these seats and put them back in MY CAR(Mine, mine, mine)and give up these foolish dreams of Garages and seatless vehicles.

Keeping ahead of three boys in repairs is not easy. Just keeping the house from falling down or the neighbors from feeling it might, is not easy. My house needs paint. So, much so, that I caught it trying to look appealing to the painters when they were working on the house next door. There were definite signs of come paint me rays emanating from my house. Needles to say the painters were un-seduced. Having the house painted is one of those things I avoid by saying yes, Ill get that done right after I re-do the trim that need replacing or something like that. I often build little domino trains in my mind of things that need to be done first before I get to the real problem.
Its the same with the front yard. Cant fix the front walk until I decide what to do with the garden, cant decide what to do with the garden until I get retaining walls in. Cant get retaining walls in, until it stops snowing for a minute or two.
However, instead of redoing the front yard, what if I just went with the whole Cannery row/ Couch on the front porch, refrigerators sprinkled around the yard, look? Already have a couple of extra car seats for the lawn. It would make a bold statement and no one would notice the paint, they would be too busy lighting torches and shouldering sharp farm implements for a midnight visit to the Grays.


Please visit my website www.prentissgray.com

It's never really over

Listen to: Live from the Hovel on the hill, No.18

(apostrophes and quotes removed on purpose, ...its complicated....)

Its never really over

Anyone who has owned a house, or shared one with a bank, knows the danger of fixing things. When I worked in the world of gigantic corporations, we always were looking for the root of the problem. The best advice I have for home owners everywhere, is that when you have a problem, don’t look for the root, move a large piece of furniture in front of it, paint over it or sell the house immediately.
Recently, we had a small problem at Chateau Gray, the septic system failed. The system in question, no longer available for comment, was comprised of a long metal pipe that ran invisibly under the ground, to an even more undetectable concrete tank. As it was explained to me, everything that - goes down the drain - in the house, dish water, GI Joes, and lost home work sheets, all travel through the pipe and then are forever magically hidden from view.
When this system failed, we figured we had three choices. First, we could get a truck load of watertight boxes and tape, then UPS what was meant for the magical tank in the backyard to the deserving peoples and companies of the world; a smelly job, but possibly very satisfying. Second, we could ignore the problem and go to the YMCA or the neighbors with our dishes and bathroom needs. We could then turn the toilets and tubs into large, self-watering planters. Third, we could bring in the magicians and wizards of waste and Fix the problem; It was the least inviting solution.
So, ignoring the talents of a really good UPS man and putting aside the invention of the world’s first shoulder mounted dish rack; the Domestic Shower Goddess; just shower your dirty dishes away! We bravely(foolishly) decided to do the right thing. Now we have to live with it.
Of course, on planet earth, doing the right thing is always the hardest path to follow. Its fraught with trips to local engineering offices (for two different towns) with large checks, contractor negotiations (begging sessions) and dodging matches with dueling backhoes. It also entails living like the early settlers of our fair land; without air conditioning.
It didn’t seem like a big deal on a cool, early summer morning. The big outside condenser had to be disconnected and moved. It was in the backhoe’s way. I now know what happens to anything in the way or even near to the intended path of a back hoe, it is crushed, mangled beyond recognition and covered with several layers of fine brown dirt. I wanted to avoid this fate for our beloved air conditioning, so, we had it disconnected and moved a foot back, out of the way. Having it moved back was not very expensive, but it turns out it that making the return trip, over that same foot, cost three times as much to travel. It must be up hill in some way I dont quite perceive.
The day came when the great operation would commence, we had done our best to prepare; we practiced sweating, a lot.
Three days later, we surveyed the masterful work of the wizards of waste and were awed. Our house, a small ranch situated on the side of a hill surrounded by carefully stepped gardens was now the neighborhood ground zero. It looked as if -that wacky writer- had put a crummy old house on a freshly cleared plot of land. Or course there were benefits. Now all those annoying bushes, retaining walls, patios and pachysandra had been replaced by a low maintenance swath of simple brown dirt.
As part of any construction process, the guy with the checks is asked to make decisions. This is where the newly planned sentiment for my tombstone came from - He couldn’t leave well enough alone.
Because one end of a raised concrete walk had to be removed, I determined it probably would be better to take the whole thing out. And because there was some suspicious decay on the front of the house covered by an adjoining patio, maybe it would be better take that out too. I see my error now, what I should have said was - Just take out the whole house, we ll be ok, we have tents.
While it might not be all bare breasts and grass skirts here, it’s not all bad news either. We now have blue water in the toilets, courtesy of a product specially selected from the grocery store and clearly marked - Not safe for septic systems or planets supporting life. May cause blueness of Dog tongues. Showers are longer, we flush with out fear of the sudden return
of the toilet contents, and the action figures are lined up to discover the mysteries of where no plastic man has gone before.

Please visit my website www.prentissgray.com