This Midwestern Life

The first time I saw the word "metropark" it was above the entrance to an indie/urban/hip-hoppy over-priced clothing store that had just opened in a mall in California. Metropark became one of my favorite stores to haunt because of their awesome clearance racks.

Imagine my surprise when I moved here and the locals boasted about the wonderful and well-maintained Metroparks Cleveland has to enjoy. A collection of 16 reservations totaling in 22,000 acres of bike trails, fishing spots and nature centers. The Cleveland Zoo is included in that total.

Wait...what? These are actual parks like with trees and bugs? But I wanted to buy a trendy hat and some over-sized hoop earrings. I'm sure some people must like these actual "Metroparks".

David does. He likes to fish and so does his coworker Jay. Often times after work they will fish in one of the parks just 30 minutes down the freeway. I have been to the park a few times but yesterday was the first time I went while they fished. The park really is a beautiful piece of land and every time I go I am impressed with its vastness. There is a marina and a multi-use trail that some of the bikers refuse to use because of the walkers. So the bikers use the street and get in the way of the cars which angers David and Jay.

David didn't catch much. At least nothing to write home about to the fishermen he left in So-Cal. David and Jay both caught little fish but threw them back. We saw some carp and lots of geese. It was like a ride at Disneyland but real. Next month I am supposed to go camping with Jay and Emmy down in Southern Ohio somewhere. That should be a real adventure with even more fishing and less civilization! God help me.

Scaredy Cat

David came to a realization last night. Most likely something he has known for a long time but chose to ignore. He realized that I am scared of EVERYTHING. My brothers call it "Axe Murderer Syndrome". One of David's little brothers is fond of telling me, "DON'T LIVE, YOU MIGHT DIE!" when he hears me panicking about something or other.

David challenged me to list all the things I am scared of. Generally, after making a list like that the scaredy cat would try to work on overcoming some of those fears. I don't think I am going to do that. We are just going to marvel at the number of my fears. This might take a few posts.

Thinking about all the things I am afraid of made me want to quantify my fears. Some of the things I am going to list are phobias. Some stuff I am semi-afraid of. A lot of the items are related but just because I am afraid of "natural disaster A" doesn't mean I am afraid of "natural disaster B". David mentioned some things he thought I was anxious about but really I just don't like. For instance: squirrels (they have diseases) and being pulled over (cuts into my shopping time).

This all makes me wonder how did I get to be so afraid? I don't remember being a daring or a scared child. I wouldn't say I lived a sheltered life. I guess fear is irrational. Especially when it can't be explained like most of my fears.

Phobias:

Hydrophobia
-drowning
-swimming in the ocean
-anything but shallow water

Arachnophobia
-mostly big spiders

Melissophobia
-bumble bees, wasps, yellow jackets
-anything with wings and a stinger

Agoraphobia
-traveling alone
-air travel, airports
-plane crashes
-walking alone
-crossing busy streets
-driving a car
-being away from home and my stuff for long periods of time

Severe Weather Phobia
-rain, hail, sleet, snow, ice
-wind
-thunder
-lightning
-tornadoes

Achluophobia
-mostly nighttime darkness

Acousticophobia
-noises at night
-sometimes loud music
-cars driving down the street (Then I get freaked out when no cars drive down the street so go figure.

I could go on and on and on with the phobias. Some of the listed items have their own phobia name like fear of crossing streets is "dromophobia". Whatever I did some condensing. Plus, you can make up your own phobia name by just adding "phobia" to the end of the word of your choice. For example: being afraid of Britney Spears could be called Brit-Britphobia.

We will continue this list tomorrow or later this week depending on how paralyzed with fear I am.

Highlights of Children: A Companion Piece to "A Case for Procreation"

Here is a belated, but brief, highlight reel of Tuesday's babysitting adventure:

The Three-Year-Old Boy:

Sat on the floor with me, crawled into my lap, gave me a hug and said, "I love you."

-Yeah, I bet you do you manipulative, little expletive deleted. For I am the giver of apple slices and peanut butter sandwiches and therefore THE GIVER OF LIFE. Fine, GIVER OF LIFE is a bit much just GIVER OF SNACKS then.

As I was changing the one-year-old's diaper, to prepare her for a nap, the three-year- old saw the bottle of milk waiting for his sister, grabbed it and said, "Oh no, this is much too hot for baby sister!" He then ran into the kitchen, out of my sight, and prepared to do God knows what to the bottle. I, of course, can't follow him. He returns, triumphantly, and I ask, "What did you put in the bottle?." I don't know why I asked he is going to tell me milk even if he put bleach in it. So I take everyone back to the kitchen and prepare another bottle for the napper. Better safe than sorry.

-FYI that bottle was NOT too hot.

I ask the boy, "Where is your brain?" and he points to his crotch. To be honest he could have been pointing to his stomach or liver. He was obscured by the couch.

-Not the first little boy I have seen or heard of doing this. I'm sure if you asked a little girl she would point to her head or if you want to get stereotypical and saccharine maybe even her heart.

After changing his diaper he tells me he needs another change not ten minutes later.

-Okay, that's just typical and annoying.

He kicked me or threw his shoe some act of senseless child-on-babysitter violence and I tell him, "That was not nice. It was uncalled for and you need to apologize to me right now." He throws himself on the floor and screams, "I CAN'T SAY SORRY TO YOU!"

-He might of meant he WON'T say sorry or he could have just not known how to pronounce my name.

Overall, the boy was a handful but manageable. There were few meltdowns and he came out of any hissy fit quickly. I threatened him with "time-outs" but he never actually needed one. I never threatened him with the age-old, "You better behave just wait until your father gets home."

The One-Year-Old Girl:

She was not a handful. Her worst offenses were: not napping, throwing her bottle out of her crib and thievery. Mostly, trying to pry my cell phone from my pocket and attempting to hijack whatever her brother was eating. She is at that stage when eating is fascinating and you can't feed her fast enough. The world is her restaurant. She'll have what you're having and she wants it RIGHT NOW! FASTER MINION! PICK UP THAT BOTTLE I JUST THREW AND GIVE ME THAT SANDWICH!

This exercise has still brought me no closer to a decision about having children of my own or not. Maybe I need another day with the three-year-old...nah, I'm good.

This Midwestern Life

This is a "sump pump".

(Sorry about the picture quality. I used a cell phone camera while holding a flashlight and trying not to drop my phone into the abyss under the house.)

The sump pump lives in our crawl space and its sole function is to pump water (like melting snow) from underneath our house so it doesn't flood and damage my clothes. Does that make sense? I hope it does because I have scoured the Internet trying to understand what this thing does and how it needs to be maintained and still don't get it.

During the walk-through, before we moved in, the landlord lifted the carpet and trap-door saying, "Here's the sump pump." David must have been poking around in some other room so I just nodded like I had seen thousands of sump pumps before while in my head I was screaming, "WTF is a sump pump? OMG! Is that icky crawl space where I will have to hide if there is a tornado? Is that a spider?" We don't have sump pumps in Southern California. There is no water to pump out from under the house because So-Cal is always in a drought.

Welcome to another fascinating (stressful) aspect of Midwestern living. Had I been our landlords I would have never rented a house to a couple like David and me. We have no idea how to take care of a house especially a house that comes with all this extra shit like furnaces, sump pumps and pipes that can freeze.

I assume our pump is working. I've never heard it turn on but the house hasn't flooded so that's a good sign, right? David asked one of his home-owning co-workers and they think our pump is set to turn on when the bucket thingy gets really full. Another friend keeps telling me to dump some more water in it force it to turn on. I am so not doing that. Knowing my luck that's when the pump will decide to malfunction and then I will be sitting in water until David gets home to yell at me for messing with things neither of us know anything about.

Bored? Read all about sump pumps here.