Duchess Pandora's Box

An Ode to My Husband

2011-10-10T09:45:00.002-04:00

Here’s the thing, you’re not perfect.

You’re not the most emotionally available man in the world.

You either talk a lot or not at all. Many times when you do talk, it’s not so much “to” a person, as it is “at” a person. When you don’t feel like talking, you just simply DON’T.

You can be extremely harsh and hypercritical of others.

However…

You let me be me.

You are strong enough to know to let me chase down my dreams and goals, no matter how they may grow and evolve over time. You don’t take them as a threat. You don’t view them as attempts to run away from you. You give me the space and the encouragement to continue becoming whomever it is that I am going to be, which is the only reason that I keep trying some days.

You get that it is more important to provide me with the good soil to plant my own garden, than it is for you to bring me flowers. What we can grow together is more beautiful than anything we can buy from someone else.

You recognize that I don’t need you, but I want you. You realize that this is a good thing. If I were with you out of need, I could just as easily fulfill those needs with someone else. But I’m not. I’m with you out of want. No one else can be you, no one else could ever fill my “you shaped” hole.

You’re not perfect, but neither am I.

Somehow though, when you put us together we are.

Terror

2011-09-06T13:50:00.001-04:00

It’s a funny thing, that terror. It can sneak up on you when you least expect it, and strike at you from angles that you have never even considered, let alone girded yourself against.

As the child of a 2 time breast cancer survivor, I am perhaps a bit jumpier about my health than the average bear. I have been getting yearly mammograms since my early thirties, and try not to take my health for granted. In fact, to that end, I have just completed my annual gauntlet of medical appointments: dentist, family doctor, gynecologist, ophthalmologist, bloodwork and mammogram. Rinse and repeat. Having completed these, and received a clean bill of health, just in time for my 36th birthday, I smugly thought that I was in the clear for the next 360 or so days.

Until Sunday.

While at church services, I smoothed my dress, one of the many times that we stood up during worship. In the process of smoothing my dress, I noticed a lump, on my right hip, that I don’t remember ever having felt before. Attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible, I began quietly investigating it with my fingertips, and realized that it felt like a very large swollen lymph node or something along those lines. I immediately excused myself and headed to the rest room to investigate more thoroughly. There was no pain, no real discomfort and no real visual clue as to why I might have a lump there. The lump moved fairly freely, within a restricted area. Though there was no external bruising, now that I knew where to look, I realized I could faintly see the shape of it in the mirror.

I hustled back in to church, took communion and willed the rest of the time to pass, so that I could get home and talk to my husband about it.

At home I had him come upstairs and feel it himself. He looked calmly at me and said, “Call the doctor. It could be anything from…a cyst? A localized infection? An internal bruise? Call the doctor.” We looked at one another, both knowing that it wasn’t the “from” that was scary, it was the unspoken ground, on the other side of “to”. We also both knew that it was Sunday. Which meant no doctor available.

The rest of the day was spent immersed in busy work. Straightening the house, putting up the laundry, looking after the kids. On the surface, all was status quo. Internally, the terror had started to set in. It began as a dull anxiety, poking its head to the surface every once in a while, to remind me that all was not as typical on this Sunday as it would seem.

The next day was Labor Day. Still no doctor available, so it would have to keep. As the day progressed, the anxiety began to turn to momentary bouts of panic. As is my fashion, I launched into research mode, to try and assuage my preliminary fears. Bad idea. Seriously bad idea. And one that I should have known better than to indulge in. The internet…home of everything in the world is a portent of something fatal. Knowing this, I went back for a second helping. This time, rather than searching for ailments to cause my one, lone symptom, I picked a few slightly more palatable maladies to search, and see if my symptom would find kin there.

This morning, I drove myself to work, waited until the office was open and called the doctor. They were able to get me in straight away, so I turned about and went back home. As I drove home, I started thinking about the “what if’s”. All of the scoundrels that waited on the other side of “to” introduced themselves, and vigorously pumped my hand, up and down, thanking me for inviting them to the party. Fears of missed birthdays and mourning children gripped my heart with potent ferocity. I started to feel faint and nauseated, just from driving the car. I did the only thing I knew to do, and called my mom, and asked her to meet me at the doctor’s office. Having her there, having someone to hold my shit together in front of was a powerful salve, and just what I needed in order to beat back the terror.

The doctor says it is likely a lipoma, or cyst.

She wants to do a CAT scan, just to be sure, but in her educated opinion, it “doesn’t feel like cancer”.

Which makes me feel a little better.

The terror though, it is still in there, waiting.

When I Grew Up...

2011-08-18T13:04:00.001-04:00

When asked as a small child, what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d take a deep breath and answer with the most off the wall thing that I could come up with. Some days it was a brain surgeon for guinea pigs. Other days it might be a sign language singer. The more unexpected of an answer I could come up with, the more gusto I would deliver the answer with. I delighted in nothing so much, as seeing the surprised and amused expressions on the faces of my inquisitors. Rarely did my answer not give them pause and merit me the exact reaction that I was hoping for.

As a teenager, staring down the barrel of college, I realized that I had better come up with a more respectable answer than that, and so I scrambled about, attempting to come up with a real answer and some real clue of what I actually wanted to do with my life. Having grown up relatively poor, I felt a moral obligation to want to follow a path that would lead me to wealth and luxury. Unfortunately, none of the “marquis” professions really appealed to me. “Maybe I could be a doctor,” I would think. Until I considered the blood I’d have to deal with. “Perhaps a lawyer,” I would ponder, but the idea left me flat. Finally, in my senior year of high school, I had a teacher that looked at me directly and told me that I was a writer. A writer! Oh, yes! Everything sort of fell into place for me after that, and I decided that I would major in English. I was going to become not just a writer, but a rich and famous one at that.

Off to college I went, with a declared major of English. Just to be cheeky, I entered a concentration of eighteenth century British literature, and waited to hear the approving noises of my inquisitors. People would ask what I was majoring in, and I would proudly say “English!” and await the obvious follow up question of “Oh, so you want to be a writer?” Instead, I quickly discovered that nobody went to school to become a writer, or at least that was what the evidence suggested. Upon hearing that my major was English, people always, almost without exception, jumped to the conclusion that I wanted to be an English teacher. Knowing that no one ever made a fortune as a teacher, I would wrinkle my nose and say, with no small amount of distaste, “No, I want to write.”

Fast forward a few years, and I found myself at something of a cross roads. Personal circumstances led me to leave the university and attempt to strike out on my own. Never one to aim low, I took on a job as a copywriter, and learned three very important truths: 1 – I was a writer, regardless of whether or not I had the degree to back it 2 – I was neither rich, nor famous and 3 – I didn’t really enjoy writing for other people. If you had asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up then, my answer quite simply would have been “old”.

In the intervening years, I tried on many different iterations of myself. I ran a coffee house, I designed brochures for a textile company, I ran customer service groups for insurance companies and financial institutions. I became a wife and I became mommy. At some point in all of these different jobs, I discovered that there was only one thing that I relished as much as sitting down and writing, and that was public speaking. Over time I found a way to channel that love into something that felt very meaningful and “right” to me, training others to help them succeed in their jobs. I found that I could write the curriculum and then present it to people and the end result was that they learned something useful, they enjoyed learning it, and they walked out of my classroom better able to do their jobs, and therefore happier to do them. It was an intoxicating experience. Adding to the allure was the fact that I was very well paid. Despite my lack of a degree, I had achieved what my initial goal was; to make a lot of money. Or at least what seemed a lot to me.

Unfortunately, as life is so wont to do, I was thrown a curveball, and in late 2007, I was laid off from the job that I loved. After the initial shock and humiliation wore off, I immersed myself in the business of being a stay at home mom. Before the ink had even dried on my termination paperwork, I had signed up to be on the PTO, to run the local Cub Scout Pack, to start a Girl Scout Troop and to volunteer at my church. To fill the blank hours in between, I taught myself HTML and started designing and coding websites on a freelance basis. I also picked up a collection of freelance writing jobs as well. I made myself beyond busy.

Over time, I began volunteering in my children’s classrooms, and working with their teachers and the other students in their classes. Without exception, their teachers marveled at the fact that I had never pursued teaching, and admonished me to do something about that. At church, I began teaching Sunday School and before long, became the head of Christian Education. It seemed that everywhere I turned, I excelled at one thing in particular, and that was finding opportunities to “play teacher”.

Three years into this adventure, my husband was laid off from his job. The entire tenor of our home changed, as we began a friendly, but necessary race to see who could become gainfully employed first. With the usual generous dose of irony that life is all too happy to serve up, we both were offered jobs, practically simultaneously. I went back to the company that had laid me off, and began working as a project manager. It took me about 3 weeks to realize that it wasn’t what I really wanted to do. I missed being in the classroom. I missed being able to participate in the learning process. I realized finally what it was that I wanted to be when I grew up.

As a child, I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up. As a grown-up I know what I was born to do. I just needed to grow up, in order to learn what it was that I wanted to be. It is for this reason that I want desperately to go back to school, and finish my English degree. Not with the hopes of becoming a rich and famous writer, but with the hopes of becoming a high school English teacher.

Somewhere in time, the college me is wrinkling her nose distastefully.

Scouting Is...

2010-11-07T15:16:00.002-05:00

For our family, Boy Scouts is something that we are passionate about. It may not be particularly in fashion any more, but I feel that it has value, and I will fight to make sure that the integrity of the organization is maintained, to the best of my limited abilities...and here's why:

Scouting is a strong foundation on which young boys and young men can plant their feet, in order to jump off and become anything that they wish. Scouting is meant to provide an echoing sentiment to the values that parents, schools and religion are supposed to instill in young men. For a Scout, his leaders and unit should embody and personify the kind of man that he strives to become, and they should be for him the role models which he aims to emulate.

For me, this has always been the compelling reason that I have wanted to be involved in Scouting. At times when the direction I should follow is unclear, and the action that I should take is uncertain, I have turned to the words of the Scout law to guide my steps and my hand, and in the ranks of my fellow Scouters, I have found kindred souls, who are just trying to do the right thing. There are most assuredly times that I have failed miserably at doing this, but at the end of the day, I have always tried. And that, above all, is what I have always wanted for my boy.

I want my son to see the word in terms of all of the things he *can* do, if only he wants to try. I want him to know that no matter how well he does a thing, there is honor in simply making a good, honest attempt.

I want him to know that loyalty to your friends and even your foes will always serve you in good stead.

I want him to know that if he can be kind to other people in all times and all places, regardless of whether he agrees with them, or even likes them, that he will be a man that is worth knowing and liking.

I want him to know that bravery isn't only about rushing in to a burning building, it is also about making sure that everyone has a chance to speak and speaking up for those that may not have a voice themselves.

I want him to see that reverence is not something to be embarrassed by or to hide, but is rather something that he should exude. You don't need a reason to be reverent, the fact that you *are* is reason enough.

I want him to know that keeping your word is not optional, being trustworthy is the only acceptable choice, and I want him to be able to trust that, what others say to him, they mean, that there is no double meaning, nor hidden agenda.

I want him to see the world in terms of how he can help to make it a better place. I want him to view every chance encounter as an opportunity to do a good turn, and to give back to the community and world that sustains him.

I want him to always extend the hand of friendship to those around him, and to truly believe that there is no one that is not worthy of being called friend.

I want him to know that common courtesy is not "uncool", that having manners is not stuffy, but instead is the mark of a good man.

I want him to know that bringing a smile into a room is better than any other gift you can bring, and that the simple act of being cheerful can actually make you healthier.

I want him to remember that obeying the rules means that he can spend more time learning from mistakes than he spends paying for them.

I want him to know that we do not live in a disposable world. Just because a thing is used or imperfect, does not mean that it is trash. This goes for people as well as things. Just because a newer, fancier friend enters the picture, it does not mean that you should bear the expense of losing an old friendship just to get the newer one.

I want him to be clean, but let's face it, he's a little boy, and that is an uphill struggle, so I will pick my battles there.

I want him to know all of these things, and to understand that it is not just mom and dad being stuffy and old fashioned for wanting these things...and this is why we have him in Scouting...so that he can see that it *is* cool to be Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, Reverent, and that we are not the only ones that think so.

Understanding

2010-06-16T08:04:00.002-04:00

There is much in this life that I don't understand.

I DON'T understand why people like to toy with one another's emotions.

I DON'T understand how people fall out of love.

I DON'T understand how anyone can hurt a child or an animal.

And the list goes on.

But I think I am finally starting to understand a little bit about my father.

Recently my stepson reached out to me. It has been nearly 3 years since we had any form of direct contact. I am not sure what exactly prompted it, but he used every channel that he could to find me and get in touch.

He found one of my websites and emailed me.
He found me on Facebook and sent a message.
He created a Twitter account, and then found and followed me there.
He came here, and read some of this.

I proceeded cautiously, responding to his inquiries and letting him know we were happy to hear from him, while trying not to overwhelm him with over enthusiasm. A pleasant conversation emerged, and I was very encouraged and hopeful, though utterly mystified and frankly worried.

---

See, I have been him. I was that child who had NO CONTACT with my father for years. For reasons that I wasn't conscious of, or responsible for my father dropped completely out of my life. And I wondered why? Why didn't he love me enough to be there? How could he just turn his back on me and walk away?

My mother loved me so fiercely that I couldn't imagine how any parent could walk away. The only times that I ever really even considered finding him were those when something truly miserable was going on. In good times, the thought of going out on limb and tracking down someone that so clearly wanted nothing to do with me was much too masochistic.

---

I always knew that the day would come when he would come and find us. I knew this, because my day came. So I always figured that, when that day came, I would be prepared. I was not.

Hearing from him was wonderful, but the first thought that popped into my head was "Oh no! What's happened? Is he OK?"

So our careful guarded and wary little dialogue continued. Until the other mother cut it off abruptly. And then she called me.

To say that a very passionate conversation ensued would be putting it mildly. Accusations were tossed back and forth. Vitriol was spewed. I would like to think that some demons were perhaps at least moderately exorcised, but that may be an overstatement.

What did emerge was an understanding on my part of my own father that I don't believe I ever fully consciously realized that I had developed, until this turn of events. Or at least an understanding of his choice to walk away.

I always thought that it was out of a lack of concern and love that he walked away when he did. I always believed that it was a thoroughly selfish decision, and that it was because of how very little he loved me that he turned his back. Not being a part of my life was proof positive to me that he was something of a monster. The fierce, almost primal love of my mother by comparison made that all the more clear.

What I know now is that sometimes, SOMETIMES, loving someone means having to walk away.

Like my own mother, the other mother loves the boy with a savage ferocity. She and my husband don't mix well, and have clashed tremendously over the years. Battles have raged and this poor child, whether he was fully aware of it at the time or not, was stuck in the midst of it. For a time, I was able to force a calm over the group. Constant effort and engineering on my part kept most of the animosity at bay, but not enough. When we would see the boy, we could see the inner conflict, the confusion, the sense of betrayal.

When the storm became something that I could no longer control, we let it roll over us and wash us away. And then, to get the boy out of the line of fire, to prevent him from having to continue to be tossed around, we backed off. It hurt, and it sucked, but we wanted a good and stable life for the boy more than we wanted anything else, and we recognized that our presence in his life was not bringing love and stability. It was bringing suffering and confusion. We knew that with other mother, other father he could have a "normal" life. With four parents, he could not. And that was what we want most for him. To have a home life that brings him peace and comfort, rather than turmoil and frustration. Too young for full disclosure, he needs the protection that youthful ignorance can bring, and this situation only stood to rob him of that.

So we let go.

And waited for the day when he would seek us out.

And somewhere, SOMEWHERE, in the back of my mind, a connection started to form. I could remember my father offering me an explanation for his absence. I had thought it an excuse. He gave up fighting for me, because he realized that the fight would never end. That I would always be trapped between two different parties that wanted the best for me. That I had two parents that wanted me to be with THEM. That I would be, as he put it, a ping pong child. Forever destined to bounce back and forth between the two of them. And he didn't want that for me.

At the time, I felt relieved to have an explanation that didn't include my mother being painted as a monster or myself being depicted as unlovable. But I also felt it was never his choice to make. I remember thinking "How dare you decide to walk out of my life for my own sake??? That wasn't YOUR decision to make! It was MY life!"

I was 17.

At 25, I still couldn't understand it.

When I became a stepmother, a mother, and a mother again I still didn't understand it. If you have a child, not being a part of their life is not an option. End of story. Only the very weak would ever give up, right?

It wasn't until I matured more as a parent, and started to see clearly the toll that this was taking on my stepson, my first baby, that I finally started to get it. But I didn't even realize what it was I was getting.

It was not until that phone call, that fateful phone call, when I was forced to put my own thoughts into words, that I truly realized that for the first time, on some small level, I get him. Though his later actions I may never be able to move past nor understand, that one choice, that one PIVOTAL choice, I get.

---

I am still not sure what exactly prompted our brief reunion. What I do know is that he wanted to speak to his siblings. Which he has. Once. And then nothing more has been heard from that front. And I am torn between wanting to let him have his space, and wanting more. I want to know how his day went, and about the girl that he likes. But I also want him to have what he needs.

There is also a part of me that wants to cry out that it is not fair to my children to dangle their brother in front of them and then take him away again. But I know that I can dress those wounds for them well enough.

For now, I will wait, with my leaves and my limbs and my trunk intact, ready to be taken if they are needed.

And Rabbi, I finally get it.

The Girl Child on Doggy Birds and Bees

2010-06-11T17:01:00.003-04:00

Upon hearing that Grandma & Grandpa's miniature dachshunds are expecting puppies :

"So what? Did they fall in love and get married or something?"

Yeah, I'd say that falls deeply within the "or something" category...

The Family I Never Really Had

2010-05-31T08:52:00.006-04:00

I have a secret to confess...my life? It has been the stuff of a made for TV movie.
An afterschool special if you will. So many cautionary tales, all rolled up into one.

Want divorced family? We've got that here.
Want blended family, struggling to succeed? We've got that too.
Want said blended family crumbling to pieces? Check!
Want long lost family reappearing and reuniting? Double check!
Want vile actions driving people apart? Score!
Want alcoholism, drugs, abuse, suicide attempts? Tune in.

Basically any cliche you could dream up, you can find here.

There are people that I am related to that I do not talk to. These people have never met my husband, have never seen my children, have not spoken to me or me to them, for over a decade. And before that, they had only seen or talked to me for a handful of years, following a nearly 2 decade absence.

I was raised by my mother. For better or worse, she has been my family, my WHOLE family, for my whole life. The only child of an only child, with no living grandparents, it was just the two of us.

At times, I have had a stepfather and step siblings. I desperately wanted them to be real. I wanted to be a big, happy family. And she wanted that for me. She endured years more of a bad situation than she had any reason to, in a brave attempt to give me a family. There players were all there: mother, father, sister, brother, aunt, uncle and cousins. Except that they weren't. They were the family that I never really had, but sort of did.

I picked up a stepsister, who is as close to a real sister as I will ever truly understand having.

But when you dig down really deep and push comes to shove, it has really always been mom and I.

My father sent child support through some convoluted state managed process, which meant that there was never an address or contact information attached to either end of the monetary transaction.

We moved alot.
We were not the easiest people to keep track of.

At the end of high school, with the cost of college and more immediately, the cost of college applications looming on the horizon, I got back in touch. It had been more than 15 years since he had seen me. I had no memory of him.

We had a whirlwind courtship and moved in together.
I had a family?

The next 7 years were a hellstorm of ups and downs, as we struggled to forge some sort of relationship. Years of expectations and wild imaginings about the true nature of the other crashed headlong into the reality that was one and other, and it wasn't always pretty. After several attempts at being who I thought he would love, and trying to fit myself into that shape, I realized that it was me or him. And hard as it was, I chose me.

I chose to cut myself off from the only person in the world that I looked like.
I cut myself off from the object of my fascination and longing for most of my childhood.
I rode off into the sunset, while I still had one or two unblemished, genuinely fond memories intact. I hoped that on some level, I would be missed.
I made myself nothing more than a blip in the story of his life. And the life of my stepmother, stepsister and the rest of the family that I never really had.

The intervening decade has been an incredible ride. I got married, had children and embarked upon the wild journey of raising my own family. Mother, father, sister, brother, and yet...

My husband has a family. Always has had one. Whether he wanted them or not, his parents and siblings were always there, in the periphery. He has cousins. Lots of them. Plenty of spares that he chooses to have space from.

He also has a son that is not mine.

When we met, my husband was a mess. Emotionally fragile and permanently fractured from the failure of his first marriage and subsequent loss of his son from his day to day life, he was completely immobilzed by his loss and depression.

I set off to try and make it right.
I provided the solution to all of his fatalism, forcing him to find positive outcomes and ways to get at least a little of what he wanted.

Through time and a mammoth effort and sacrifices on my part, I was breifly able to turn 7 people that had very little chance of ever interacting civilly into the most unusual of family units. It was complicated. It was exhausting. It was the juggling and balancing act of all balancing acts, but it seemed to be working. Mother, father, sister, brother, brother, other mother, other father. It was the family I never really had.

A few strong gusts of emotional wind, and the delicate house of cards that I had worked so hard to build, for my children, his child, myself was scattered on the wind.

But something was different. Mother, father, sister, brother. We were still a family. A damaged family. A family reeling from the loss of losing a part of itself, but a family nonetheless.

Time and technology has given us ways to keep tabs on the people that we have lost over the course of our lives, and I have used it liberally, as a virtual bush to cloak myself in, while I search for clues of what is really going on in their lives. A glimpse here, a long hard stare there, and I am able to comfort myself that at least they appear healthy.

I can see my father, looking much the same. I can read his blog and gain his persepctive of the world. I see alot about him. I see him fondly referring to his daughter, an unrestrained measure of pride in his voice. He speaks of my stepsister, with whom he has had more than twice as many years with than we ever shared. The one thing I never see, is an absence of me. But he seems happy, and that matters to me. I am happy for him, and the family that I never really had.

I can see my stepsister, aunt and cousins. Bolder now, I have reached out, and been granted permission to watch the parts of their life that they choose to share with the internet unfold. As people that I am blood related to, I sometimes yearn to be a part of their lives. To be missed. However I never expect it. I have no idea how my absence was explained to them, and I am not sure that I want to ever see the picture that was painted for them. They seem happy though, and that matters to me. I am happy for them, the family that I never really had.

I can see my stepson. Tiny glimpse. Just a blip. I can see the other mother and other father, a glance here, a glance there. I know that they are alive. I know that they are together. I can only assume that things are good for them. And I am happy for them. The family that I never had.

I often wonder what I would do if, from my long distance perch I saw something terrible happen. Would I, could I find a way to make it better?

I might just get that chance.

It's Just That Kind of Day...

2010-05-20T17:16:00.002-04:00

One of my articles got flagged for plagiarism...the article that I am accused of potentially plagiarizing from? An article that I wrote on the same topic about a week ago.

Can you plagiarize yourself?

Raw

2010-05-19T09:16:00.002-04:00

Well, our little family has just embarked upon a new and unexpected little journey...we former "city mice" have decided to go a little less urbane with our diet and have started drinking raw milk.

Raw milk, for the uninitiated is simply milk fresh from the cow. It is not pasteurized (cooked) as typical, store-bought milk is, nor is it homogenized. This means that the cream will separate out. It means that our whole milk is *truly* whole.

On average, our family of four drinks about 6-8 gallons of milk a week. (What can I say, the kids and the husband are milk drinkers...) At current local prices nearing $4/gallon, that is a healthy chunk of the grocery bill. This past Sunday, after church, we went to a small local diner with some friends. In typical diner fashion, the placemats had little ads all around the border. One of the ads was for raw milk, $2.50/gallon. This prompted a lengthy discussion, and the decision to venture out and try it.

So Monday afternoon I drove out to the dairy farm, picked up a gallon and we gave it a test run. It certainly has a slightly different flavor, but the kids and the hubby have decided that they like it.

There appear to be many potential health benefits to drinking raw milk, and it is certainly less costly, so we'll just have to see how this works out over the next several weeks.

Sick...of Being Sick

2010-05-12T14:53:00.002-04:00

It is now Day 2 of the great green days of May for me. I know, I know you never even knew it was Day 1...Last week the girl child was stricken with a nasty stomach bug, that her firmly parked on the couch for 2 days. What had started as a perfectly ordinary morning quickly changed, leaving the boy child to trudge on to the bus stop alone, and the girl to practice her mad vomit aiming skills. Thankfully, as these things typically do, it passed.

Yesterday morning I got up and felt ill. Like rollicking, going to toss my cookies, just what did I eat last night ill. Ill enough that when it was time for me to venture out, to pick the kiddies up at school and take them for piano, I didn't bother to put on a bra. Or proper pants. I ventured out in my lovely pink puppy fleece pajama bottoms. Because I am especially classy that way. Oh, I didn't brush my hair either.

I had hopes that today would be better. And in brief shining moments it has been. Then there are all of the *other* moments. You know, the ones where I wish I at least had had a really good night of drinking under my belt to show for all of this nausea.

**side note: The proper way to say it is that you feel nauseated, not that you are nauseous. Nauseous refers to an odor, so if you tell me that you are nauseous, you can expect me to plug my nose. It is a pet peeve of mine, and I know it is a bit OCD, but I decided to embrace my inner Mr. Monk a long time ago. **

OK, now back to my regularly scheduled whining.

Anyway, all of this queasiness has led me to the same cold sweat fear that I always land at when I feel sick for more than a millisecond...

Which led me to wonder if I am normal to always jump to the same unlikely yet terrifying conclusion, or if this is something which ALL women - or at least all women that have had children - immediately default to?

Because the only other times that I can recall feeling this sick for this long for no reason were those times that I was pregnant.

Which is obviously not actually true...because I know that this is at least the 4th time that I have had this same fear in the last 2 years. Which means that it has happened, I just have chosen not to remember it.

And is not even really possible, since I have successfully had an IUD for the last nearly 5 years. (This November I will need to get a new one...aren't you relieved to be in the know on that??)

So is it just me? Or does every woman "go there" every time she feels like technicolor hurling?

Great Expectations

2010-05-10T08:16:00.002-04:00

As Mother's Days go around here, yesterday was pretty decent. Typically, almost any day that is used for the purpose of celebrating any single individual within this household is met with an underwhelming lack of fanfare. Sure, sure I make a big deal about the kiddos birthdays but the husband usually manages to effectively mar those efforts by being a complete and utter asshat. There is apparently something about birthdays, Mother's Day and other "Hey, this is YOUR day" type events that triggers some mild form of psychosis in the man.

Being that this is the custom, I have learned to pretty well dread these otherwise festive occasions, and do my best to shield the kiddos from the nasty demon in the the daddy shaped flesh suit that comes to visit us on those days.

This year started off about a week ago, with the husband actually asking me what I would like for Mother's Day. Which nearly made me swallow my own teeth. Recognizing that I had a rare possible window of opportunity here, I put in a quick plug for the porch swing that I have been wanting since the very day that I first set eyes on our home. For four years I have wanted one. For four years I have been forbidden to purchase one because, and I quote "That's a ripoff, I can build one much cheaper."

Yes, yes I am sure you can. Of course it will take you until the 5th day of Christmas 2033, and by the time that you are done, NONE of us will be speaking, you will have insulted EVERYONE involved in the process and it will weigh enough to keep any portion of the Titanic that may have considered floating to the surface firmly pinned on the ocean floor.

At any rate, I offered the coveted swing up as a wish list item. Which was met with the rejoinder, "Get the %$$%@ Christmas trees off the porch, and we'll talk." For the record, there are *no* "Christmas Trees" on my porch. There are two lighted fir trees in pots at either side of the door. Sure, I had originally purchased them as Christmas decorations, but thought "Heck, why not use them year round to spruce up the porch."

A few days later, I jokingly pointed out a very.expensive. car stereo and claimed "That's what I want for Mother's Day." This immediately elicited a sneering remark about putting something like that into a Ford.

Anyway, the mere fact that he remembered that Mother's Day was coming and was making noises like it was going to be acknowledged set me completely off balance. But in a good way.

Exceeded expectations.

A few days later, he called from work and mentioned that there was no.way. that I was getting that stereo, as he had priced it, and it was waaay more than he had ever spent on a deck, but that maybe Kenwood or Clarion make a model that I would like. Honestly, that was the closest I think I have come to swooning in a dog's age.

Far exceeded expectations.

Saturday arrived, and he informed me that the odds of him coming to church the next day were slim, as the Chelsea/Wigan game was coming on at 11, and he wanted to watch it. Which would mean that I would be in church with both kids, dealing with any behavior hiccups that might occur, on my own, on Mother's Day. Typical. A little part of me started screaming "DVR the damned thing and come to church you asshat!!!" Unfortunately, that little part was not connected to the mouth bone, so no one heard me shouting it.

Meets expectations.

Sure enough he stayed home from church. ANd I could feel my aggravation level r-i-s-i-n-g QUICKLY. Someone suggested that perhaps I would walk in to a great spread that he was getting ready for me? I responded saying "Yes, if that happens, you can visit me at the hospital, as it will be the big one Margaret."

Meets expectations.

So I loaded the kiddies up and contemplated NOT going home. But I had on sandals, and my toes were cold, and I wanted socks. As I turned onto our street, I immediately noticed that the garage door was opened, his car had been moved and was backed up to said garage, and he was stalking about in the garage with a broom and a large stack of wood.

Potentially exceeding expectations.

I walked inside and found flowers - granted inexpensive, last minute, purchased at the grocery store flowers, but flowers none the less.

Exceeds expectations.

My aggravation quickly changed to cautious hope, thinking wow, he is DVRing the game and building me my swing, at long last!!!!

I ran upstairs and got changed.

He called me out to the garage.

And started asking me my opinion - which we all know he doesn't REALLY want - on whether it would be better to leave the boards at their original thickness or to rip them in half. Because they would likely be too thick for the desk that he wants to build. For the kids.

Meets expectations.

Ripping boards is one of my least favorite things to "do together". I am alway sin the "catcher" position on the far end of the board, which he feed it along the table saw. And I always manage to "Do it wrong" and get yelled out.

My blood started to boil realizing that he had the notion that I should help him rip boards on *MY* day.

Meets expectations.

I went inside and seethed for a minute or two.

He came inside and started watching the recorded game.

We never discussed the boards again.

Apparently he can get a clue every now and again.

Exceeds expectations.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, with me going to the store and picking out what I wanted for lunch and dinner the rest of them be damned.

For our household, that is a fairly successful personal holiday. It would be fair to say that it exceeded my original expectations.

And then, after the kids went to bed he said to me, "So I saw you were looking a the Crutchfield catalog. Did you find one that you liked?"

Exceeds expectations.

Perhaps he is learning.

Understatement

2010-05-05T11:23:00.001-04:00

Me: I think I killed my lawnmower.

He: Oh? Why's that?

Me: It started smoking, then the oil cap shot off, and oil flew out of it in all directions.

He: Yeah, that's typically not a good thing.

I Smell A New Family Hobby Brewing

2010-05-03T08:47:00.005-04:00

This weekend we tried our hands at a little outdoorsy adventure with some friends and the kiddos. As they have gotten a bit older, daddy has been chomping at the bit to get them outside and into the wilderness, to re-enact all of his days of scouting and tromping through the woods. Visions of backpacking, hiking, camping and "roughing it" have danced through his head for years now.

When the boy entered scouts last year the excitement started as a dull humming, but has consistently built to a near deafening roar in the last several months. Insistent that we stay true to his childhood memories, he has scoffed at all of the new fangled conveniences that have come onto the market to make "roughing it" more like "temporarily-relocating-your-fancy-modern-ass-outside-ing it". Not surprisingly, he has long contended that GPS devices are one of the great evils of the world, and that we should all throw them out and just learn to use a *&^%$#@ map.

Seriously. You would not believe the long winded rants that this man has embarked upon for the singleminded purpose of extolling the many flaws and evils of the little box with the voice on the dashboard.

Some of his sparklier gems of wisdom include:

"That thing will tell you that you can drive from here to Paris if you let it!"

"If it told you to go off a cliff, would you?"

"It can't even pronounce the street names correctly!"

"All of you GPS users are lemmings!"

Many a time have I been severely chastised for either using a GPS, associating with someone else who uses one or even doing something as depraved as printing out and using directions from Mapquest. But then I am just an ugly sinner like that.

But I digress...

It seems that we have finally found a place in his world for GPS. We went geocaching with some friends yesterday and had a blast. Our local council scout camp has a geocaching course that is open to the public, so we hopped in the car and drove up...

using a dashmounted GPS...

which, (wait for it)... kept giving the wrong directions...

making the hubby simultaneously crazed and smug...

and leading him back to his original assertion that we should just use a compass and a map...

which threatened to turn this first foray into a torturous endeavor.

Thankfully, he was quickly taken in by the ease and simplicity of just following the darned directions. (One has to wonder if his own constant mantra to the non-computer Geeks of RTFM was echoing somewhere in the back of his head)

Armed with the trusty handheld GPS of our fellow treasure hunters and dear friends, the kids were able to uncover many a fine treasure and even a few trackable items. For the uninitiated, geocaching is a form of modern day treasure hunting. Cachers post coordinates of a cache box on the geocaching website, and intrepid hunters then embark on a journey to find said cache. Inside there can be any number of items, including a log book, where one can record their visit to the cache, small items that you can take, as long as you replace them with another similarly small item and even numbered items that can be tracked on line, and delivered to other caching locations around the globe.

The kids found many small things, such as a baseball, a sewing kit and an emergency flashlight. The also uncovered a couple of trackable treasures, one of which was a rubber ducky, that is a "travel bug". Cindy Duck has been stealthily making her way around the globe since 2006, and comes to PA from the Netherlands originally. This was, for the kids, the single coolest thing that could possibly have happened!

Seeing how many miles this simple toy has traveled and checking out the points on a map was a great (fun) lesson in geography, and one that they are excited to be a part of. We have plans to go again, and I can see this quickly becoming a part of any family roadtrips in our future.

Of course the next time that we go, we will probably not use the dashboard GPS to get us to the general spot, since it apparently can't read a map.

The Birds Are Back

2010-05-03T08:30:00.004-04:00

And with a vengeance.

Those of you that have been following for a while, are familiar with the great bird saga of 2008. Those of you who are not, may go and get caught up here and here and here and here and finally here.

Last year, I thought I would outsmart those persistent pains in the arse by skipping out on the hanging baskets altogether. Which seemed to have genuinely done the trick, though making me a bit sad in the process.

Much to my dismay I launched into this spring sans beautiful hanging flowers, just to avoid such antics again.

I am t-h-r-i-l-l-e-d to announce that it is once again Robin mating season in the PA and apparently our yard has been voted one of the top 10 sexiest places for robins this year.

We have nests. 4 of them at last count. Each complete with eggs and babies.

That is one on the front porch, ON THE RAILING(!!!!!!), two in the tree in the front yard, and one in the forsythia bush around the side of the house. In the dog's yard. Where the nest can be a constant source of temptation, frustration, confusion and anxious whimpering for three 100+ lb dogs. Excellent.

The front nest has already begun hatching, and I frankly have neither the energy, nor the courage to investigate the others. On the upshot, at least my neighbor with all of the 100's of birdhouses that go vacant each year can hear and see the birds, and at least *pretend* that they are living in her avian housing development.

Message to a Long Lost Friend

2010-04-29T08:16:00.006-04:00

I understand your silence and can forgive your unease. I know that the actions of my youth caused you great pain. I reach out, not to bring you back to that dark time, but instead to reach beyond it.

Every chance encounter, every acquaintance, becomes a part of our individual story. I know that I am a part of yours, just as you are a part of mine. I bear a permanent mark to remind me of that, in the most literal of ways, as do you.

There are facets of who I am that simply would not be, had I not met you, all of those years ago, and for the most part, I am glad to have each of them.

I am sorry to intrude upon your personal distance, but I just want to know where life took you, and who and what you have become. When I knew you, I had every intention of being a part of the rest of your story, but a few plot twists here and there, and I wrote myself out of the story.

I suppose it is somewhat selfish to assume that I have any right to know, but I guess on some level, some part of me feels a sense of responsibility in shaping at least the next road that you took, and I wonder what awaited you there. I hope whatever greeted you, whatever new adventure beckoned, led you somewhere wonderful, because it is what you deserved.

"A pistol shot at 5 o'clock

The bells of heaven ring
"Tell me what you done it for"
"No I won't tell you a thing

"Yesterday I begged you
before I hit the ground -
all I leave behind me
is only what I found

"If you can abide it
let the hurdy-gurdy play -
Stranger ones have come by here
before they flew away"

I will not condemn you
nor yet would I deny"
"I would ask the same of you
but failing will not die

"Take up your china doll
it's only fractured -
and just a little nervous
from the fall"
- R. Hunter

Teachable Moments

2010-04-27T23:07:00.004-04:00

As a parent, I sometimes see our day to day lives as little more than a string of teachable moments, held together with moments when we can attempt to live out those lessons. At times, I try to seek out as many teachable moments in our days as I possibly can. Sometimes though, it is the moments that you don't even see coming that are the best.

Our church is very involved in community outreach programs. One such program is a produce outreach, where low income and needy folks in our community can get fresh perishable food goods on a monthly basis, in the parking lot of our church. This happened to be the day that those goods were distributed.

Today is also the day that my daughter's Daisy troop meets at the church. I happened to have both kiddos with me when we arrived to a very full church parking lot. My children surveyed the scene and marveled at the sheer number of cars. Seeing a small girl with her parents, my daughter asked if this was another new Daisy, come to join our ranks. I explained quickly that no, these were people coming for the fresh food outreach.

My son, playing the older and wiser sibling role immediately attempted to translate for her and explained "Yeah, those people are collecting food for the needy..."

I gently corrected, "No honey, actually those people *are* the needy."

To which he looked up at me with wonder and surprise in his soft brown eyes and said simply, "But mom, they look just like us."

There is no better lesson that I could have hoped to teach my children today than that: there is nothing that separates us from those that are less fortunate but luck and circumstance. There is no "us" and "them". No superiority. No distance.

I only hope that message can stick with them as long as it will stick with me.

There is Alot I would Like to Say

2010-02-21T20:39:00.002-05:00

But I am not sure that I can even begin to muster up the energy to do it. And I am not entirely sure how safe it is to say it anyway. For one, saying things "out loud" is like ringing a bell. You can't unring a bell, and there is nowhere that is more out loud than the internet. For another thing, I am afraid to get to attached to an idea right now. I need to remain open minded and truly consider the paths that stretch out ahead of me. I know myself well enough to know that I can latch onto an idea and turn off every other possibility, and that is not a luxury or expense that I can afford right now.

The only thing that I do know is that here? This place that I am in right now? Its not good for me. It not good for my kids. And based upon how he acts, it is clearly not good for my husband. It cannot be possible for someone to be as unhappy as he apparently is and *not* need a change.

My heart is ripped into so many tiny shreds and I am so tired of hiding it. There has to be a way that I can take control of this situation and make it better. Before I can truly do that though, I need to have a few contingencies worked out. You can't make a threat that you aren't willing to follow through on, and I can't follow through on them, should I need to, without getting my ducks in a row.

I just wish that he even noticed that this was going on.

And By the Way...

2010-01-27T09:01:00.004-05:00

Can I just say, I really enjoy that Google has placed this ad on my blog in response to my "garbage cart adventure"?:

Nothing Doing

2010-01-27T08:48:00.002-05:00

Not too much to report around this neck of the woods right now, which is primarily because we are all so busy that I don't think there is even a single, solitary spare second to to or say anything even remotely amusing or "blog-worthy". Between the hubbers stepping up to take on the role of Cub Master (and all of the additional work that entails for ME, ya know, the one that *didn't* volunteer for the position), my Daisy troop having their investiture ceremony, and normal kid's activity/PTO/Church stuff we are go-go-go all the time around here.

The Daisy troop has been an interesting experience thus far. Mainly because of the other leader. I have learned that I am not a terribly good follower. I know that I am capable of taking direction, and I am capable of giving direction. What I am not so good at is having NO direction. I am supposed to be the Assistant leader of this little venture. Unfortunately, the leader has no leadership experience. And is shy. And a bit disorganized. And not a good communicator. So I am staging a coup. Because this is too important to my little girl, and my friends' little girls. And it was making my teeth itch.

Don't get me wrong, I have tried to guide her and mentor her and offer her assistance and leadership advice. She doesn't ever take me up on any of it. When I was just letting it go, it meant extremely unstructured meetings that were nothing more than a weekly playdate for the girls, where they would color and play. Which is nice and all, but I have no desire to pay for. Nor do any of the other mothers.

I had set out *not* to be the leader because I wanted to have one thing that I was *not* in charge of. Now that is the case, and it is not working out for me. So I have grabbed a hold of the horns and taken off with it.

On the one hand I feel badly about running right over this other young woman. On the other, my kids come first for me, and I want all of our girls to have a good, solid program that they can learn and grow from. I want them to make memories, and learn to be strong, fair, independent women. So...she'll just have to either grab on and come along for the ride, or deal with the skid marks.

Start your engines....

Oh My Goodness...

2010-01-22T20:32:00.000-05:00

I have just discovered that I am married to an 80 year old woman...

My husband just looked at my son, and asked him to go fetch him his 'housecoat'.

Understandably, my son looked at him as though he had just asked him to bath in a tank of hungry piranha.

He said "What sir?"

And he asked again for our son to go and fetch him his housecoat.

The poor boy looked helplessly at me and I simply said "robe."

My husband looked at me and said "What? It *is* a housecoat."

OK Ethel.

Squeee!!!!

2010-01-22T16:45:00.002-05:00

Have you ever had one of those days, where you were just waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel? One of those days when nothing is going particularly wrong, but it also isn't overwhelmingly right? Somehow though, despite the overarching mediocrity of it all, you truly believe that something good and right it meant to come of that day? Well, today is one of those days. Even the weather seems to agree with that fact, being at times gloomy and nasty and at others, letting small streams of golden light through.

And if you haven't ever had one of those days, just bear with me...humor me people, I don't get out much. Or don't. The door is over there ---->>.

Today was a dear friend's birthday. Unfortunately, her big day was overshadowed by the loss of her beloved grandmother. Though not a surprise, it is still very clearly, painful. I want to comfort her, but I don't even begin to know how to. I mean really? Is there anyway of comforting someone on the death of a loved one that isn't sort of meaningless?

I struggle with how to handle death of a loved one. Not really having any family that is aging out and passing away, I can't really understand what it feels like. My own grandmother passed away rather violently and unexpectedly when I was a small child. My mother has no conscious memories of her own father. My paternal grandparents have never really been known to me. I am aware that one of them is alive and one of them has passed on, and I have met them, but I have no connection with them. So how you are "supposed" to act and feel is a mystery to me. When I try to ponder it, by imagining losing one of my loved ones, I just want to curl up and cry. And the tears? I have never been good with the tears. They send me into a crazy place, where I just need to organize things. Someone starts to cry and I need to bust out with a list.

Anyway...

We did celebrate the occasion, but the celebration was decidedly subdued. Though my normal inclination is to make a birthday a REALLY BIG DEAL, and to go a bit over the top (go big or go home...at least when it comes to birthdays. That's always been my theory) I kept myself in check, so as not to be disrespectful. We enjoyed ourselves to be sure, but I'm still not sure if we hit the mark on that one or not.

At any rate, as the day has worn on I have been busying myself with taking out parts of my neverending to-do list and writing my articles (all about nutrition today!! Wooo!!! At least there are no dildos on the reference site!), taking breaks between each one. On one of my regularly scheduled breaks, I checked in with one of my favorite bloggers. (Yes, I have favorite bloggers. They are like friends, and I have never even met them. Most of them I have never even gotten up the gumption to comment to, so they don't even know that I exist. So yes, I am a dork. See above re: I don't get out much...) Lo and behold, what should I see but that *my* blog has been added in her links of places she likes to go.

I feel like a rockstar. At least in my own little world. And that my friends, is the light at the end of my tunnel for today.

The One In Which I Channel Oscar The Grouch

2010-01-14T17:01:00.005-05:00

So, I really needed to vacuum today. Three dogs, 2 kids and all that will do it to you. So I needed to empty the canister on my Dyson vacuum. Which I did. Into the trash cart, out in our garage. Unfortunately, in the process of doing so, I also dropped one of the attachments to my vacuum into the trash cart. (gross)

In retrospect, I probably should have left it there.

But I didn't.

I tried to go in after it.

I lifted the lid, got up on my tippy toes, bent over the side and flailed about desperately, trying to retrieve it.

And then I fell in.
Like ALL THE WAY IN.
And the lid slammed shut behind me.
I threw myself out.

But wait, that's not enough mortification for one day. We eat embarrassing situations for breakfast here at Casa Pandora!

You see, the trash cart is neatly stored below my pantry shelf, in my garage. You can lift the lid *most* of the way, but not quite enough to flip it all the way open, so you always have to hold it open.

So, finding myself at the bottom of the trash can (did I mention: GROSS) I immediately jumped up and tried to fling the lid open. Only to have it crash back down upon my head. Which hurt. My pride and my head. Not sure which one most.

Regaining my composure, I lifted the lid again and attempted to climb out. But with one hand occupied with the business of keeping the lid lifted I couldn't quite get the leverage to get out.

At which point I got the brilliant notion to throw myself against the side of the cart in order to rock it over onto its side. Which would have probably hurt alot more than I ever considered, had it worked.

It didn't.

You see, the trash cart, as I may have mentioned, is in the garage. Do you know what else is in the garage? Cars.

I crashed the trash cart into the side of the car, with me in it. And the lid? Now was wedged under the side view mirror.

I was still inside the cart.

My thoughts? &^&^%^^#@^$#@$^#@$#@

I did finally manage to bounce it along well enough to get the lid somewhat open and scramble out. Which may or may not have involved me getting stuck, one leg in, one leg out for a rather longish time.

All I could think the whole time was that the kids were going to come home and find me in the garbage can.

really? There are not enough showers in the world to make me feel clean today.

Related: I tweeted about this...and Dyson responded! Apologized for what I went through, wished me well with getting it back and offered a URL where I could buy a replacement. I think they deserve a round of applause for being so quick to notice and to respond with a human voice!!!

Who Needs Sleep?

2010-01-11T18:22:00.004-05:00

From the Bare Naked Ladies Song "Who Needs Sleep"

Lids down, I count sheep
I count heartbeats
The only thing that counts is

that I won't sleep

I countdown, I look around

Who needs sleep?
well you're never gonna get it
Who needs sleep?
tell me what's that for
Who needs sleep?
be happy with what you're getting
There's a guy who's been awake
since the Second World War

My hands are locked up tight in fists
My mind is racing, filled with lists
of things to do and things I've done
Another sleepless night's begun

Seems that sleep has always been a somewhat fleeting phenomenon around the Pandora household. As a kid, I suffered occasional bouts of insomnia, whenever something exciting like going back to school was on the horizon. My husband was such an insomniac that he almost burned his house down as a child, reading with a lamp under a flammable 1970's blanket. (Yes, he's older than I am).

In college, I would routinely be up until 2, 3, 4 5AM every night. Every morning, as I dragged my butt to class (or didn't) I would promise myself that I would go to sleep at a reasonable hour that night. Every night I would fall well shy of keeping that promise, as some drama or other always seemed to beckon my attention.

As a young couple, many of our deepest and most passionate conversations took place in the wee hours of the morning, when most people were fast asleep. Our insomnia was an aphrodisiac of sorts - we fell in love because no one else was awake. The night we met, we talked for 36 hours straight. Then we napped for about 2 hours, then went our separate ways for the day.

Our first date started at 10PM one night, took us to Denny's, Walmart and the beach, finally ending at 7:30AM, when he could no longer put off leaving for work. And 100% of that time was "pre-intimacy". All talk, no action.

Pregnancy, though planned, took us by surprised. The overwhelming exhaustion of the first trimester was horrifying, as I became essentially narcoleptic. No matter how badly I wanted to regain my swerve after that, I just couldn't. The sun went down, and so did I.

When our first child was born, we learned how to operate on the worst kind of sleep - interrupted sleep. Many a night were spent jolting in and out of the jagged kind of sleep that comes from keeping one ear open for the inevitable cried that will rouse you from your slumber ever hour or so. The boy never slept for more than 2 hours at a clip. For the first 10 months of his life, he ate every hour and a half to two hours, round the clock.

When our daughter was born, she was a sleeper. Right out of the hospital, she slept an unbelievable 5 hours at a clip, ate, then put herself back to sleep. Right up until the very moment that I went back to work. Within less than a week, she started sleeping through the day and nursing through the night, as she deemed all bottles entirely objectionable.

We co-slept for most of the next year.

Finally, once our kids hit the year and a half and 3 year mark, both of them were sleeping soundly, for 12 hours a night. And we were free to go back to our own insomniac ways. Admittedly, having kids cured me of much of the night owl ways that I used to hold so dear. Days left running from work to mommy mode left me longing for bed sometime around midnight every night, which was like turning in when the sun was still up to my former self.

Now, with the kids 6 and 8, we suddenly have a sleep problem. The boy, it seems has developed an acute case of insomnia out of NOWHERE. He was fine. A regular Rip Van Winkle, for the last 5 years. Both kids had adopted the wonderful habit of sleeping for 10-12 hours, regardless of the time that you put them down. If they went to bed at 8, they would be up around 7. If they were up until 10, they were out until at least 8:30.

All of this suddenly changed for the boy on Sunday, January 3rd. He simply could.not.sleep. No matter what he tried, he was UP. Attempts to fall asleep were fruitless. Any slumber that he did drift off to, quickly interrupted. This went on until the wee hours of the morning. He finally succumbed to a good, deep sleep around 5AM. Just in time for his alarm to go off at 7:30. Needless to say, we missed the bus that morning.

The next night was even worse, with him in hysterics because he was so worked up over his inability to fall asleep.

That morning I took to Twitter and Facebook with my sleep deprived angst over what to do. I was greeted with a plethora of suggestions, ranging from giving him melatonin to rubbing him down with lavender. There were suggestions of massage, meditation and letting him read.

We decided to let him read. Which seemed to work. Sort of.

The first night with the lamp and the book he was asleep for good around 1AM.

The next night it was closer to 11:30PM.

The next night he was up about eleventy million times, but then Saturday night, he was asleep by 9:10PM and slept straight on through until about 8AM.

So we thought we were finally in the clear last night.

Not even close.

So now I ponder, what is at the root of the problem. Is something bothering him (he says no)? Or has he just inherited insomnia from dear old mom and dad? Do I move on to something more radical, like giving him melatonin, or do we just whether the storm, remain calm and keep the pressure off until his body regulates itself again?

This is the part of parenting that stinks.

The Nature of Friendships and the Happiness Project

2010-01-04T16:14:00.003-05:00

Recently, a blogger that I follow closely has blogged that she intends to embark upon a personal happiness project. I am not entirely sure what that means, but then, neither is she and as she has admitted repeatedly, she is making it up as she goes along. The first part of her project included creating a list of the 10 things that she likes most about her new, adopted hometown. At the end of her list was her group of friends, which are the reason that she and her family moved to the city that she now lived in. She qualified it by saying that although it was not truly about her hometown per say, she would be remiss to omit them. She then left an invitation to link your own "Top 10" about your hometown.

Which got me to thinking...

I love it here. I really do. And I am fairly certain that I could rattle off 10 highpoints with no problem whatsoever. The biggest part for me though really is the friends that I have made in the last 3 years, since moving here. I have some of the best, most fulfilling friendships that I have ever had in my whole life with the people that I count as friends here.

And I mean no disrespect to any of the friends that I have that are not from here. If you are still around, you are obviously an important and special part of my life. No, the "old" friends to whom I will be referring are, generally speaking, not really a part of my life any more.

I am the only child of an only child. I have step siblings, with whom I am close and I refer to them as my siblings, but as a kid, I was definitely by myself. Singletons have a different sensibility about us, as so many of our earliest experiences dealing with people are with adults. What this translated to for me was that any time one of my girlfriends and I would fight, and ugly words were exchanged, I took those words at their face value. After all, when a grown up says something to you, generally they mean it! I just assumed that rule applied to everyone. More than once, statements from my best friend that she never wanted to speak to me again sent me home in tears, convinced that she never wanted to speak with me again. My surprise was palpable when she would start talking to me again, the next day at school, as though nothing had ever happened.

For about as long as I can remember now, the friends that I have had have been great. Fun, funny, smart ladies (and gentlemen) that I really cared a great deal for. Funny thing though, nearly without exception, they have all been friends that, if I did not call them, I would not hear from them. With the sole exception of when they specifically needed something, every interaction that we have had, every plan that we have made, nearly every conversation that we have ever had has been initiated by me. If I stopped calling, there simply would be no friendship. I tested this more than once and in some cases am still waiting for that elusive phone call nearly 4 years later.

Today, not quite 3 years after moving to PA, I am truly blessed. I have made friends and all of these friendships are true give and take friendships. They call me as often as I call them. Heck, sometimes, when I am having a bad week, they call more often. When they call, it is not just because they need something, rather it is just because. And I cannot even begin to tell you how awesome that is. Having always been the initiator for so many years, I found that I became reticent to ask to do anything, for fear that I would become a pest. Today I don't think twice about calling up any of my girlfriends and saying "Hey, wanna get lunch?"

So if I were to make a list of the top 10 things I love about this town, you had better believe that my friends would take up quite a few of those spots!

Overheard at Dinner

2009-12-30T11:09:00.002-05:00

From the six year old girl child:

"I have a plan, and eeeeviiiiillll plan."

Greeeeaaaattttt....I can hardly wait for the teenage years.

Why Being Nosey Never Pays

2009-12-21T08:26:00.004-05:00

So I have been keeping myself busy doing some freelance writing. Its an interesting opportunity that provides me with constant need to educate myself about new and different topics. Everyday I will get a pack of 5-15 articles on a particular topic or topics that I need to write 400 word articles about. Typically, these packs include a website that I will be writing for, so that I can see what point of view or position I should be supporting. When I receive these packs, my first step is always to check the link, to make sure that it is working.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago. The general topic for my articles was improving your married sex life. A little more risque than I had been assigned before, but heck, I'm a grown up, I can hack it. I checked the link, and it worked...it brought up a website called "Why Am I in a Sexless Marriage?" Not surprisingly, it featured pictured of vibrators and dildos and such. Since the kids were home, I quickly clicked on another tab, effectively leaving the images buried, and then rushed out the door with the girl child to go to Daisies.

That left the boy and his dad at home. Alone.

Apparently the hubbers needed to use my computer for something. And saw my tabs.

The next day, I called him, and he asked "Why?", I replied that I was thinking of him. Again, he asked "Why, what did you do??". I replied "Nothing really, just the articles that I am writing today are making me giggle."

"Oh, why? What are they about?"

"Improving your married sex life."

"Oh THANK GOD!!! I thought we maybe needed to have a talk or something."

And that should teach him to snoop.

Dude, I am Totally Stroking Out

2009-08-30T21:09:00.002-04:00

So, less than 12 hours from now, I will be putting my two littlies on the bus together for the first time for school. I am a wreck. Which is quite amusing, considering that both of them have been to school before. Of course, they were going to *different* schools, and I didn't have to put them *both* on the same bus...but still. I can't quote put my finger on it, but I feel like I am going to LOSE IT.

The boy has recently been striken with a rash of violent behavior toward his sister. 3 times this summer, I have had to speak to him about punching her...which is *so* not like him. I keep trying to delve into his 7.5 year old psyche, to figure out what is troubling him, with no luck. I *think* that he is just not real happy about her starting to go to HIS school. Last year he had his school, she had hers, and never the twain should meet. This year it will be different for him (and her). The thing is, she is delighted. She tends to pretty well think that her brother hung the moon, so she derives no small amount of delight from the fact that she will be able to see him in the hallways. Add to that the fact that she has his teacher from last year, and she seems to pretty well think that she won the lottery. He on the otherhand appears to be rather distraught about having her invade his realm.

Trying to look at it objectively, I suppose I can understand where he is coming from. The boy has a very sweet, very submissive personality. He would rather not be the center of attention, unless it is to make people - and very few people at that - laugh. He is fine with being praised and lauded for his athletic prowess, but he really never seeks out the limelight. *She* of course spends her life dashing from spotlight to spotlight. A born performer, this child LOVES to have all eyes - and ears - on her. She is a pretty little thing (if I do say so myself), and knows how to work a room. Anytime that the two of them have a shared territory, the boy sort of lives in her shadow. He spends countless hours being embarrassed by her attention getting antics. ANd he is constantly having people coo all over his little sister and then make comments to him about how cute/sweet/smart/talented/whatever his sister is. That has *got* to get old for him.

My maternal instinct wants to shield him from this. But how can I protect him from the horror that is his adorable, outgoing sister without squelching her personality? As far as I can see it, I can't. All that I guess I can really do is hug and love him, and give him whatever spotlight he wants here, at home.

Here's to the back to school bruhaha. I hope that this year brings academic success to all of the students, teachers and administrators, and some well deserved pece and quiet to the parents. May their bus rides be safe, they lunchrooms be clean, and their homework be turned in on time. Have a good school year! We'll talk again soon.

Face Time

2009-08-08T10:43:00.002-04:00

When I was in high school I was extremely blessed. My skin got through 4 years without so much as a single blemish of note. College was much the same story. I often looked with a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity at those who suffered from acne. As I entered my early twenties though, there was a shift in the weather, and I started to experience breakouts. Which I was entirely unprepared to deal with. I had always washed my face with a facial cleanser and toned and moisturized. Nothing in my routine had changed, but still, I found myself with red bumpiness appearing hither, tither and yon.

This led to years of frantic searching for the *right* combination of skincare products. Things that would render me blemish free and dewy, able to face the world without makeup. Like most people, I only had minimal success. Neutrogena, Almay, Clinique...it didn't seem to matter, none of them quite did the trick. I spent about 2 years relying on a combination of Neutrogena "Pore Refining" products that kept things, *mostly* under control. Even then though, it was only mostly. On my best day, I still required some sort of make-up to hide some discoloration.

Pregnancy and breastfeeding were very good to me in this aspect. My skin had not looked so good since high school. And I loved it. And I think on some level, it was why I was so happy to have my babies back to back...I was able to go for a solid 3 year period without having to suffer problem skin too badly. Alas, this too had to come to an end, and I went back to my routine.

It was around this time that I got hit with a terrible and fateful bit of insomnia. I laid in bed, listening to my husband snore, and the baby grunt and couldn't find the remote. The TV programming switched to an infomercial, and I sat there helpless to look away, as some lady extolled the virtues of some make-up line that seemed to hinge on a product called "Mineral Veil" and apparently only worked if you "swirled, tapped and buffed". In my late night delirium it seemed interesting. And more expensive than I would be indulging in any time soon. And it was an infomercial, so I divined that it must be a buncha whooey.

Oddly enough, the next day when I went into work, I stumbled upon one of my employees applying her make-up. Even from a distance, I could clearly see her swirl, tap and buffing herself. As I got closer, I couldn't help but to ask, "Is that that Mineral Veil stuff?". It was. And she loved it. And continued on to gush about the wonders of Bare Minerals. What an odd coincidence.

A few weeks later, I was again trolling for sleep with no success when the infomercial came back on. This time I thought to myself "Excellent! It was only midly intersting the first go round, so this is *bound* to knock me out." The next day, we left for a trip to Disney, where we met up with my step-son and my husband's ex-wife. She and I got to talking, as we were wont to do, and somehow, the subject of make-up and skincare came up. Turns out, she had been using Bare Minerals for a few years and loved it. It was at that point that I decided that the universe was trying to send me a sign. When we got home from vacation, I ordered a starter kit, loved it and have never looked back. I have since turned at least 3 friends on to the stuff, because it is wonderful. I find that my skin always looks better if I sleep in one or two nights a week.

It was around that time that I also stumbled upon the philosophy line of skin care. Their Purity Made Simple and Hope In A... lines made my skin look better than ever before. I happily trotted up to Sephora every chance I got, and stocked up.

Then we moved. And the only way for me to stay stocked was to order my make-up and skin care stuff online. Which I hate. I finally found somewhere within driving distance to buy the make-up (which honestly I only need to replenish every year or so), but no dice on the philosophy products.

I recently ran out, and have been trying to find a suitable, less costly replacement that I can buy in a local store. I figure if I can find one, great! If I cannot, then I will feel less guilty about the indulgence.

I have re-tried Neutrogena, and find that I don't like it.
I am now trialing the Burt's Bees Radiance Line. The jury is still out. Anyone else use this, or have any insight?
Do any of you have any good recommendations? By the way, in case you were wondering, no one paid me to do this. Though if they would like to... ;-)

Because It Wasn't Enough to Dress Her Like a Showgirl...

2009-08-04T15:04:00.002-04:00

Back to school shopping season is in full swing once again and I am now fretting and genuinely missing the school uniform experience from last year. You don't realize how relieving it is to not have to make wardrobe decisions for a 5/6 year old girl until you are confronted with the meager offerings that are out there. And by meager, I don't mean a lack of selection. I mean a lack of substance.

Apparently dressing your grammar school girl like a hooker is all the rage. And I didn't get the memo. And it really makes me angry. Not the part about not getting the memo, the part about the tiny hookers. Seems like, unless I am willing to take out the necessary 2nd mortgage required to afford a Gymboree wardrobe I am supposed to dress my daughter for a day at the brothel. To go to school. Sequins, snotty sayings, super tight jeans, super short skirts, rips, slashes and see through places in spots that aren't even worth looking at on a 5 (almost 6) year old yet. Apparently I am either hopelessly UNhip or there is some big practical joke that I am the butt of.

I blame the Disney channel. Which you have to believe, pains me to no end. I love me some Disney. Love.IT. However...as the home of Hannah Montana they have to shoulder some of the blame here. Hannah Montana dresses like a rock star. Which makes sense, being a singing sensation and all. She is flashy. And a little skimpy. But hey, she is a tween/teenager, so that is OK. Unfortch, it seems that the old marketing geniuses at Disney decided that the tween crowd wasn't enough, so they market her show/clothes/cult following to kids as small as a size 4. Now. Don't get me wrong...I think Miley Cyrus is a lovely role model for tweenagers. She is appropriately angsty and innocent...boy crazy and mild. She has completely age appropriate trials and tribulations, and I could hope for nothing more than for my daughter to take after her...when she herself is a tween. But she is not. She is 5 (almost 6). She has NO BUSINESS watching that show. And so she doesn't get to. I know however, in a few short weeks, she will skip off to public elementary school where Miley Cyrus is all the rage. And I know enough to realize that I can't prevent her from learning about and hearing about Hannah Montana from her friends. Her friends who will all be sporting flashy/trashy Hannah Montana hooker gear...

I suppose the upshot is, that if I did dress her like a hooker she could bring in the cash to fund a Gymboree wardrobe? Not that I would pimp out my kid. But seriously.

Whooo are you?

2009-03-15T18:51:00.002-04:00

I keep seeing hits here on the old blog, and I have to ask, who are you people? I figure if I am letting ya down by not updating more often, I should at least know who I am being a major disappointment to. Who knows, maybe it will even inspire me to subject you to my drivel on a less infrequent basis...

Not a whole lot going on here...just sort of keeping my head above water, and figuring out what to do with myself now that my partner in crime is in school.

The Magic of Icing

2009-03-09T15:35:00.005-04:00

True proof of just how much I love my little boy...we built a car together...out of cake...I think it came out rather swell!

And he was pretty proud!

Why School Girls are So Popular

2009-02-25T23:07:00.002-05:00

We are in SOO much trouble

Wonder if we can get a discount on uniforms for the cuteness factor???

My little big kid...jumping right in and joining the class

The One Where I MIght Actually Get Burned at the Stake...

2009-02-22T00:34:00.002-05:00

See, there is a reason that I was given that book when I was...

In order to enroll Sabrina in private school, we have to fill out a questionnaire...because it is a Biblically driven program, we have religious questions to answer...because I am me, I find it physically impossible to answer these questions without firmly planting my tongue in my cheek...and since this is a Christian Academy, they probably won't laugh at all...and because we need them to accept her, I wrote my answers in pencil, erased them and will have to hire a ghost writer to fill them out appropriately for me...

1. Explain your relationship with Jesus Christ.
He is my mother's cousin's husband's brother's mother-in-law's neighbor. So mostly we only see him at Easter and Christmas. Except this one time, when we both had a little too much egg nog, and went streaking through the neighborhood...and woke up naked in a jail cell together, with a really bad hangover...but it didn't mean anything, really...

2. What is the place of the Bible in molding values and discipline?
If you get just the right angle with it, it is wonderful for beating some sense into your kids with.

3. Describe the practice of prayer and Bible study in your lives.
See above. Mainly the kids pray that they won't get brained by that darned book again.

4. Explain your understanding of the Bible's instruction concerning authority in our lives.
We should listen to all burning bushes, for they have all of the answers?

5. For what reason(s) are you sending your child(ren) to a Christian school?
Because none of the atheist fuckers would take her?

Flame retardant clothes baby, that's what I am wearing this Sunday!!!!!

Religion Can be Fun

2009-02-20T20:33:00.002-05:00

A couple of years ago I surprised myself and those around me by joining a church. At the time it seemed a perfect fit for me. Things changed though and I found that this lovely place was no longer a haven that I felt a part of. I won't get into great detail but suffice it to say that I felt less than comfortable being ministered to by someone who kept ogling my rack.

At any rate, we have found a new church home and I think I may possibly have stumbled into the best possible fit ever. Seriously. Last Sunday, the pastor gave me a book, to help me navigate the particulars of this specific denomination...the book is AMAZING!

...the first thing that I noticed was a section on how to stay alert during services...among the suggestions? Pinch yourself. Excellent. Even better than that? I found a whole chapter devoted to "How to Avoid Getting Burned at the Stake". Apparently, if you believe that burning is imminent, you should wear flame retardant clothing...and if you actually wind up bound to a stake, you should request dry wood, because it will burn faster and hotter, resulting in a quicker, less painful death. Seriously, where else am I going to get helpful tips like these? I think if more people knew that church could help you with things like this, more people would go. Or maybe more witches at any rate.

A Star (Pupil) is Born

2009-02-19T15:30:00.000-05:00

Just like that..after more than a year of fighting, Sabrina is starting Kindergarten on Wednesday. She will be attending a very good Private School for the second half of the year, and in the fall, she will be attending first grade. And there is NOTHING that the district can do to stop her.

Sabrina - because she is Sabrina - is DELIGHTED. We are talking actual squeals of happiness. Her massive joy is derived mainly from the fact that she gets to wear "an outfit" for school...I know of no other child who would be so enthused by a dress code which insists she wear a plaid jumper every.single.day. I'm not surprised though. This was also the compelling reason to sign up for soccer last year.

I am happy-sad. I know that this is the best thing in the world for her. I know that she will do tremendously. I also know that I will miss spending my days with her so badly that it hurts.

Guess there is nothing left to do now but go and get a job. Anyone hiring?

Like a Groundhog, Only Fatter...

2009-02-17T08:42:00.002-05:00

Yawn...I guess it is time to wake up from my long winter's nap...or at least that is what my mother and other devoted reader have been prodding me about...that the box has been decidedly empty as of late...and this simply will not do! So here I am, poking my head out, and checking to see if my shadow is there to greet me.

The last several months have been busybusybusy...nothing terribly exciting or unusual, just regular life type stuff...only more of it. Which is, I suppose better than regular life stuff only less...at least if I operate under the assumption that less life stuff means less life. Anyway...

We are toying with the notion of me getting a job...well, some of us are toying with...others are impatiently tapping their foot, waiting for the job to come...I'll leave it to your fertile imaginations which one is which...

My ongoing battle with the school board is about to go nuclear...the principal & Assistant Superintendent have joined forces to try and prevent the girl child from entering first grade in the fall. I suppose I *should* or *could* be flattered that they think me formidable enough to need to forge an alliance to ensure my failure, but instead I am just pissed. I was left a message that, though much wordier, basically came across as "You gave birth to her, now get over it....we will make all of the decisions from here on out." If you know me, which most of you do (Hi Tonya!!), you know that I am waaaayyyy too possessive to put up with that. So now I am taking a three pringed approach to my new attack.

The first is collecting information from other school districts, that do make exceptions, and trying to get the documentation of their policies to present at a future school board meeting...which I will bring the girl child with me to...and perhaps have her read the policies to them?

The second is contacting private schools (and neighboring districts that are less pig-headed) to see if anywhere will accept her, halfway through the year as we are, so that our home district will have no choice but to accept her in the fall.

The third is to have her tested by a shrink, so that we can have her labeled as "Special Needs" as a gifted child..which leaves the district no choice but to make any accomodation for her that she requires.

All of these are, on some level repugnant to me, as I think that the way that the policy is being administered is retarded. If I, as a parent were to tell the district that I felt she wasn't ready to start school in the fall and that I wanted her to wait another year, nobody at the district level would challenge me. (And they admit this) Nobody would second guess my judgement as a parent and would instead readily defer to my understanding of my child. Because I am telling them that she is ready earlier than their policy allows however, my judgement as a parent is viewed as worthless. Apparently I am only qualified to comment on my child's shortcomings, not on her talents.

What they don't seem to understand is that, as her parent, her advocate, I will not stop fighting for what I feel is best for her. If I stop fighting on her behalf than I am at risk of failing her, and failure of that magnitude is not an option. I have alot more to lose in this battle than they do...so, I will fight.

Wishing Well

2008-12-05T14:48:00.002-05:00

Well, it's nearly Christmas time, and for the littlies, that of course means that it's time to take the brakes off of the wanting and just let us all have it good, by compiling a list of everything earthly thing that they desire. As a kid, I thought this was a guarantor of getting more than just socks and underwear...but always felt somewhat self conscious about really letting it all hang out, so I can remember going to great lenghts to prevent my list from coming across as too obscenely huge...you know, by only asking for one pony, rather than eight.

As an adult, I have a new appreciation for this sport. It is a highly amusing look into the inner-most workings of your child's mind.

So the grandparents had all requested that they be furnished with copies of the ~~roadmaps to the kids hearts~~ wish lists, so I threw the task out to my offspring, and had them compile their lists. Good golly...who knew that actually charging them with this could consume almost a week of their time?? There was much gnashing of teeth, rending of clothes and careful studying of the Walmart and Target toy flyers...which were both hidden inside of Sabrina's kitchen, for fear that mommy might throw them out. Thanks goodness we didn't get the Toys R Us big book delivered!!!!!

What they delivered was beyond priceless...and as I transcribed it for the grandparents, I questioned them about some of the items on their lists...and being the ~~horrible~~ loving parent that I am, I added my own commentary.

Now, without further ado (or expectation on our part, for those of you who are blood related to us and thinking that this is some sort of subliminal message directed squarely at YOU...) here are the wish lists of my two darling cherubs...with some mommy commentary thrown in:

Sebastian: (Or as we shall now call him, Mr. Caviar-tastes)
Ben 10 Alien Creation chamber
Rock em Sock em Robots
Erector SpyKee Robot - ok, this thing is a bit over his head...it is a robot that you build (which he could do with daddy) that then is controlled using the wiFi in his computer...it can record pictures, act as a surveillance system, talk to people, take pictures of them...all sorts of cool stuff...I think ultimately, daddy would enjoy this more than Sebastian
Bakugan starter kit - Apparently this is something similar to Pokemon, but with balls instead of cards? Not sure...still trying to figure out Pokemon to begin with.
Star Wars the Clone Wars action figures
Razor Power Wing Scooter - He already has a regular Razor...which he uses all the time...no idea what the deal is with this thing.
Nintendo DS - My Sims Kingdom, Star Wars Clone Wars, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon games - Sebastian really, really, REALLY wants a DS. In fact, in the original letter to Santa, the DS wanting was used almost as though it was punctuation. Daddy doesn't like the idea, because he is afraid that it will become a problem like it is with some of the other children that we have known with Gameboys and the like. Mommy is of the opinion that it is not the toy that is the problem, it is the parenting...I know *we* will not be getting him this...but I can say that this is what he wants more than anything else, and that if it were entirely up to me, he WOULD be getting it.
iDog Dance - He and Sabrina both asked for this...when asked if they understood what it was and what it does, they explained perfectly that it dances to the music played by your iPod...which neither of them have...at which point they explained that they wanted it for me, to use with my iPod. Which is sweet...but utterly besides the point of their Christmas lists...but I just had to add this in, because it made me chuckle.
Playmobile Roman Kingdom - sort of a Lego-y thing? I think?
Lego Star Wars V-19 Torrent - This lego set would REQUIRE daddy to help him...it's rated ages like 10 and up or something. And I say daddy because I drew the short straw for the 500+ piece pirate ship of last year...and I still have a tick from the 3+ hours it took to assemble that creation...so it's his turn.
Pokemon cards - Seriously, you can never go wrong with this. Dammit. Will the pocket monsters never go out of style???
D-Rex -This is a robotic dinosaur...a very expensive dinosaur at that. Which I suppose could run around with and eat all of the other robots that he is lusting after. Chomp, chomp, chomp...

Sabrina:(Little Miss "Everything on this Page")
A big soft Barbie - We got her a My Size Ballerina Barbie, but it is *not* soft...she wants one that she can sleep with. Is there such a thing? I have no clue...happy hunting. ;-)
Dora Prance n' Fly Pegasus
Stuffed animals - This is always a sure fall back with her...she loves animals, and loves plushies to sleep with...current favorites are the new edition beanie babies (called Beanie Baby 2.0), Rescue pets My ePets and the Little Pet Shop VIP's...they have codes that allow them to log into a secure site and play games with electronic versions of their toys...while their real toys sit and look on in vapid horror.
Pixos Super Studio - Some odd art type thing...but hey, it's creative...
Rose Petal Cottage - this is basically a softsided playhouse that can be set up and taken down inside the house.
Baby Alive Learns to Go Potty - OK, ewwwwww!!!! but whatever...she is a girly girl
Tini Puppini Designer Plush Puppy - A dog to dress up...because ours don't fit in any of our clothes. And don't cooperate when you try to gussy them up much beyond a bandana.
Barbie Party Cruise Playset - "Mommy, you need to use REAL WATER with this." Mommy is overjoyed.
Caring Corners Mrs. Goodbee Interactive Dollhouse - Apparently the house tells you what you need to cleanup in it for you. Mommy would like a lifesized version of this if it actually gets them to do their chores.
Bratz Dolls and Bratz World House - Uggg...these things are obnoxious...but then, in her own way, I suppose Barbie is too. I know, I'm a heretic. I guess I can't keep her 2 forever.
Littlest Pet Shop Game for the Wii - Actually,she asked for it for the DS...but she doesn't have a DS (see above). She too would love to have one, but is less concerned about it than her brother...in fact, if it weren't *for* her brother, she probably wouldn't want one.
iDog Soft Speaker - again with the things for mommy's iPod...though Sabrina isn't nearly so "really, it's for you mommy" about it...
Littlest Pet Shop Monopoly - They already have Monopoly Jr., she only wants it because it is Littlest Pet Shop.
Littlest Pet Shop Fitness Center - think dollhouse for tiny dogs and cats...only with a workout theme. At least it can't mess with her body image - right?
Ponyville Sweet Sundae Amusement Park - My Little Pony is making a comeback. And shrinking. Much like Britney Spears.
Rescue Pets Swim to Me Puppy - Her:"it actually swims to you mom!!! Just like I swim to you!!!" Me: "Again with the water???"
Lucky the Wonder Pup - This is a "magical puppy that does whatever you tell him to do"...just what the future cult leader needs to practice her minion commanding skills.
FurReal Cat - "Well mommy, your kitty is afraid of me. This one won't run away."
FurReal S'mores Pony - This is about as close to a real pony as it comes. It is a ride on, whinying, electronic monstrosity. I seem to remember Daddy buying her a large stuffed pony for Christmas when she was 2 so that when she grew up and asked him to buy her a pony, he could tell her that he already did. Apparently she wants an upgrade.

So there you have it.

My New Voicemail Message - In Open Letter Format

2008-11-03T19:11:00.003-05:00

Dear Democratic Party,

If you are calling to badger me, yet again, about my choice of presidential candidate, please let me reiterate to you that I am voting for Obama...just as I was at 9AM, 11:30AM, 1:45PM, 3:20PM and at 4:45PM when you sent someone knocking on my door. I have been planning on voting for Obama since the moment that I knew the alternative. I even *voluntarily* put a (now purloined) Obama sign on my front lawn. (Granted, at least 60% of the reason that I did this was to needle my Republican friends, but still!) For heaven sake, stop stalking my vote.

I would like to ask though, that the dogged determination that you are displaying to check my position on the election be carried over, into the presidential term. It is my fondest wish to have a president that is as concerned about my opinion on the War in Iraq, the Bail out of the Banks and Gay Marriage as you are about my own, single, solitary, PRIVATE vote. Such an administration would truly be an inspiration and lend us all the sense that change was actually possible and on the horizon...I for one would gladly lay down my life for such a Commander in Cheif. If however, the calls stop on Wednesday morning, I have to admit, that I will feel sort of like the cheerleader that puts out on the first date...and then never gets a second call.

Yours Truly,
Duchess Pandora

Vindicated!

2008-11-03T19:02:00.003-05:00

For those of you following the epic battle of the girl-child's education, mark one in my column!

Today, while at the boy's school, we were in the copy room, making booklets for the class. These booklets are actually small books, called "Decodable Readers", that all of the first graders get every couple of days, to read in class. We discovered, a couple of weeks ago, that Sabrina is more than capable of reading these.

Today, we were reading the spellbinding "Wake up Nate!". Or rather, Sabrina was. Loudly. Well, who should walk in at that very moment but the principle of the school "Dr. FancyPants". This would be the same educator that assured me that making her wait would be better because that way she would be at the top of her class. And that I would be glad that we did when we get an extra year of having her at home before she leaves for college. And that he did it for his daughter, so it should be good enough for her too.

Well, he walked in and heard her reading, and commented, "Wow, that is some mighty good reading you are dong - how old are you?"

Sabrina: "I'm 5. And I go to kindergarten at home, with Mama."

DFP: "Oh, umm, I see..." looking at me, as it registers that I obviously have one child *in* school so there must be a reason that I am homeschooling this one "Wh-wh-what is your plan?"

Me: (heh, heh, heh...I have been WAITING for this very moment for MONTHS) "Well, you and I have exchanged NUMEROUS e-mails about this. She missed the cutoff by a couple of days...and her pre-school didn't want her to come back, because she is so beyond their curriculum. So I bought as much of the same curriculum as you used with my son, last year in Kindergarten and am using it with her, at home. We would like to have her in First Grade next year."

DFP: "Hmm, I ah, well, I think we will have to check with the Assistant Superintendent to see...I don't know if we ever thought about homeschool as being an acceptable, accredited school to substitute for Kindergarten...when is her birthday?"

Me: "September 12."

DFP: "Oh, well, my daughter was September 4th, and she was reading like well, maybe like this..."

Me:"Those are first grade books she is reading."

DFP:"Oh...well...umm...keep me posted on this..."

At which point he beat a hasty retreat back into his office. The look on his face said it ALL. He clearly knows she should be in Kindergarten now that he has met her, and seen her in action...if he had ever bothered to meet her when I first contacted him and asked him to, then we wouldn't be where we are today...but he didn't...and now he is going to have to explain to the school board why a homeschooler is challenging to be let into 1st grade on his watch.

The moral of the story?

Don't fuck with the mommy. She plays to win.

Oh.Bloody.Hell!!!

2008-11-03T08:25:00.003-05:00

Somebody actually stole the Obama sign right out of my front yard. I don't even know what to say about that.

My kids are convinced that John McCain took it.

Sarah Palin *was* here last week to speak at the college...but I doubt there is a real connection.

On Raising a Tiny Vigilante

2008-10-27T08:48:00.003-04:00

My son is a good boy, with a big, tender heart. He is whip-smart, funny and aims to make people happy. He is the kind of kid that will play with anyone, regardless of what they look like, how they have treated him before or whether or not everyone else is playing with that person. He is also quick to root for the underdog, and anxious to defend the weak. Like I said, he is a good boy. And I am very proud of him.

Like all kids though, he makes bad choices sometimes, and gets in trouble...which is today's overly PC euphemism for "being a little punkass". When he is at home, we can and do closely monitor what he is doing, so that we can guide and advise him for or against certain actions (read tell him "knock it off, right now, or I will auction you off on eBay") and decide on appropriate punishments for his various "crimes" ("You are grounded until your grown-up teeth are all in!"). At school on the otherhand, we are at the mercy of the teacher's rules.

Sebastian's classroom, like so many today, uses a card system to track and quantify behavior. If a child keeps all of their cards on a given day, they did well. If they lost all 3, they are on a one-way trip to juvy hall, or worse, the principal's office. I've never been a big fan of this format that starts every child out, everyday, being the best that they can possibly be, and giving them nowhere to go from there but down. But it is not my classroom, and I understand that my role, as a parent, requires me to show a unified front with his teacher. I would much rather let my child start out each day with a clean, neutral slate, which he can then improve upon. But maybe that's just me. Either way, it is what it is, and I am along for the ride, whether I get car sick or not.

Sebastian has been losing cards. Almost everyday he loses at least one. And he will get off the bus, shoulders slumped, hang dog expression pasted on his face, upset to report back that, yet again, he has been judged a "bad seed". See the thing is, in this color-coded, card stock brand of justice is all crimes are judged the same. There is no "misdemeanor" versus "felony" level of misbehavin'. You do exactly what you are told, or you will lose a card. And if you lose said card, there is no defense. You are guilty. You are wrong. You are bad.bad.bad. Reading a book while the teacher is talking? Bad. Lose a card. Throw a pencil at someone's head, because you don't like them? Bad. Lose a card. Help a classmate tie their shoe, when you are supposed to be sitting at your desk? Bad. Lose a card. Call someone a retard, and make them cry? Bad. Lose a card. ...Now, again, maybe it is just me, but I tend to think that some of those things are worse than others. I also think it is an odd message that we are sending to our shoelace tying friends about the inherent "rightness" of being altruistic. Personally, I think first grade is a bit young to be learning that no good deed goes unpunished. And as for the "no ifs, ands or buts about it" aspect? I think it is a bizarre lesson to teach in the land of "innocent until proven guilty."

So, the litany of his sins?

Monday: He lost a card for finishing all the sheets in his packet for that week, even thought they had only been assigned the first one.
Tuesday: He had his hat pulled down over his head and was pretending he couldn't see anyone as he was sitting at his desk, waiting for his bus number to be called.
Wednesday: He blew his pencils off of his desk, and onto the floor during reading time. He had finished his work.
Thursday: He was seen tackling another child to the ground.
Friday: He kept all of his cards.

As the parent, trying to show the unified front, I have to attach some consequence to these transgressions, but really? Sometimes I just don't see the point in meting out further punishment for a crime that, well, I don't really understand as so wrong in the first place.

So what can I, as a parent, do to ensure that my child doesn't become a"good, card keeping at all costs" citizen, who in order to keep those precious cards looks out for only number one? And almost as importantly, what can I do , without totally subverting the rules of the classroom? The answer that I ahve come up with is simple: I talk to my kid...which I would have done anyway. Rules are rules, and if you break the classroom rules, you have to bear the punishment. If the rule that you break in the classroom is *also* a family or house rule, there will be further consequences at home.

So the day that he did all of the work? We told him that he couldn't have any candy. That was all. To us? To me? To our way of thinking? This was a stupid thing to punish him for. He gets the work, he knows how to do it, he just wants to be done.

The day with the hat? No candy...but really? I bet it was pretty funny.

The day day that he blew his pencils on the floor? No candy and no dessert...he was distracting the class and being inconsiderate...to us, that doesn't fly.

So you can imagine that, the day that he came home and had to tell me about tackling another boy, that he was quaking in his boots. And I am sure that you would guess that the punishment was more severe...and it would have been...except for this:

"Why did you tackle "little Johnny", who is 6 inches shorter than you? "
"Because he was kicking "Mikey" and throwing his notebook away from him, so that he couldn't finish his work."

My little vigilante...he was doing the wrong thing, but for the right reason. And the real rub? "Little Johnny" is one of his best buddies. "Mikey"? "Mikey" has been known to push Sebastian in line and take the ball from him on the playground. Even though he doesn't truly *like* Mikey, he knew that what Johnny was doing was wrong, and he did what he could to stop it.We talked him through it, and explained the concept. And then hugged him, and told him that although using his words, and telling a grown-up would have been a better choice, we were proud of him for looking out for another person. That doing the wrong thing for the wrong reason will always get him in trouble, but doing the wrong thing for the right reason, when he has no other choice...well, that is a different thing altogether.

Now I guess we just have to order him up his very own "Bat Symbol".

Because He Is My Son...

2008-10-22T15:22:00.001-04:00

When asked at a recent Cub Scout meeting to tell what his favorite "Healthy Food" is, the boy reported back:

"Chicken Cordon Bleu".

When asked to tell one thing about himself, he answered:

"I'm responsible."

Um, yeah...that's my boy!

Back to Cool

2008-10-13T08:08:00.003-04:00

The boy has been back to school now for a month and a half. Since I am home right now, I have been taking advantage of the opportunity to volunteer in his classroom. This has several perks: I get to see my little guy for a few hours, a couple of days a week; I get a taste of what the girl child will need to know in order to succeed in 1st grade next year and so, have been able to modify her homeschool curriculum ever so slightly; I get to see how his days go; I get first crack at going on field trips, and lastly but certainly far from leastly, the girl child gets some experience with being in a classroom setting.

All in all it has been a pretty fun little activity, and has really made me wish that I had pursued a teaching certification when I was in college. I really enjoy being in the class with these kids. The thing is, it has also brought me face to face with some of the very real challenges in education today.

There are 22 cherubs in the boy's 1st grade class. And there is one teacher. I know that there are districts with worse ratios, but I don't live in those districts...so for now, for this post, they are not my concern. Of the 22 cherubs, there are at least 4 distinct groups: children that are not sure where they are or why they are there; children who know where they are and wish that they were anywhere else; children that are fully cooperative and fully engaged, and children that are bored to tears waiting for the other groups to catch up. And 1 teacher left to try and provide all that these diverse groups need simultaneously. Which is impossible. Which is why, I suppose, my offer to help out was jumped on like a hooker in prison. While the teacher works with the kids who are "above grade level", I can herd the stragglers back to their seats and help them understand what they are supposed to be doing. While the teacher works with the children who are struggling so, I can prevent the small geniuses from plotting the overthrow of the classroom, and instead point them in the direction of the books.

Within each of these groups, there is an amazing study in human behavior and psychology happening. Of the lost little lambs there is one who continually gets up and wanders about the room, looking blankly around continually confused as to why she is being shown back to her seat. There is another who stares in wonder at his classmates and continually asks when his mom is going to pick him up. The rest are clearly going through the motions, much as a tourist does in a foreign country, when they don't speak the language...they look for cues from their peers, and laugh and react in kind with what they see...but have no idea why they are doing it.

At the other end of the spectrum the boredom is being handled in a number of ways as well: one child just calls out the answers when his classmates are struggling to speak it. Another looks for ways to entertain himself which, being a six year old boy means making loud noises and generally being a pest...which lands him in the principal's office at least once a week. Another sits quietly and politely there, making more of the work than is really required, but hey it's better than being bored - right?

I don't really remember my first couple of years in school comprehensively enough to know whether or not this is how it always was, but I know that starting in about 3rd or 4th grade I was always in a class with children who were very "similarly skilled" with me; AKA the Gifted Class.

I realize now what a saving grace that was. There are educators and philosophies that state that classroom leveling is wrong! All wrong!! for kid's proper social development, but now, more than ever, I disagree. While the more average students might not get the push from the above average crowd, the slower group doesn't get lost in the shuffle. And those above average kids? They get better challenges and learn to think independently, rather than being forced to quell their innate curiosity and learn to shuffle along obediently with the herd. Or become regulars in the principals office.

Now, I know that parent's can have their child tested for the gifted program, starting in the 3rd grade, but I also know that this is a once a week, 2 hour respite from the doldrums for the kids that qualify. In my humble opinion, that is not enough. 2 hours out of 27 and a half hours in a school week is less than 10% of their time.

I am not sure what all of the arguments against leveling are, but I know that alot of it has to do with this "no one can lose" mentality that is so widespread when it comes to our kids. Wanting to keep everyone together and not make anyone feel "less special" seems to me to be a disservice to those kids who are MORE special - in either sense of the phrase. And it is not a realistic portrayal of what is to come in the real world. In the real world, there are rewards for achievement - not punishments. In the real world, if you get your work done quickly, you don't have to sit around and wait to do anything else until everyone else catches up. Or if you do have to wait, it is temporary, as that kind of performance will merit a promotion. Likewise, if you continually fall behind, there are consequences. If we don't clue kids in to that early, that there are rewards attached to succeeding, then what is the motivation to succeed? If we don't show those that demonstrate more limited academic prowess that there are other areas that they can excel at what are we doing to their spirit?

I am sure that there are reasons that I don't see...and I am not about to try and overthrow the district but I can say that I feel much more understanding about any "behavioral infractions" that might come home with my children. (My most eye opening moment to date was when a child had to pull one of their behavior cards for the day because they went ahead in the work and did the next set of problems in the math lesson, before the class was working on it. If I was a student today I would probably be expelled, as I finished my texbook in November...)

And the boy child? How does he fare in all this? Let's just say that I am just glad that I have the opportunity to be there and help keep the ants in his pants from getting the better of him, while he waits for the rest of the class to figure out that d-o-g spells dog.

Vacation Is Over

2008-10-07T15:15:00.003-04:00

OK, ok, ok...so technically vacation has been over for almost 2 months. And I never really let anyone know that I was taking a vacation per say...and it sort of seems odd to be taking a vacation from something that isn't particularly taxing to begin with, but I did it anyway. I'm such a Maverick.

Truth of the matter is that I had no concept of how busy I would be with nothing to do. And 2 to 4 kids doing that nothing with me at all times. Really? It was more of a full time, full tilt, balls-to-the-walls, go-go-go than any job could ever hope to be. Or at least any job that I have had. Especially for the pay.

Now school is back in. The boy is in first grade, and three days a week so are the girl child and I. And the rest of the time, we are doing homeschool kindergarten. And PTO stuff. And ballet. And soccer. And Cub Scouts. And I have never used my planner as much as I have in the last 2 months. I chuckle thinking back on how I used to obediently carry it from meeting to meeting with me in the office. You'd think I had something hard to keep track of going on the way that I clutched that thing to me for all of those years. Truth be told, it was more an accessory than anything. Now? Now that I am home and have two active children? Now it is a tool. An indispensable, mission critical, absolutely necessary tool.

We recently celebrated the girl's 5th birthday with a Puppy Party. It was probably our most successful shindig to date, other than the Pirate Party. And maybe even moreso. Because almost every parent there commented that this is something I should be doing for a living after this party. Whereas all they said after the Pirate Party was something to the effect of "Thanks, now my kid's party is going to suck." Course, none of them offered to hire me to plan their party...apparently I should be doing this for a living for someone else. Which stinks. Because I would love to plan parties for someone and then have me pay them. I just have no idea how to convince people that a kick ass party is a worthwhile investment. Especially in this area. I mean, this isn't exactly Beverly Hills 90210. And with the economy being what it is, what are the odds that there are buckets of people chomping at the bit to throw an elaborate child's birthday bash.

In unrelated events I am fascinated by the ~~hysterical~~ historical electoral proceedings that are going down. This has seriously got to be one of the most compelling elections that I have ever witnessed. We have some hard choices and frightening options spread out before us. Nevermore has the phrase "lesser of two evils" been applicable than now...and never before have I felt a greater need to vote defensively...I'm not truly, wholeheartedly voting for one candidate, I am voting against the other. I think one has to truly examine the running mates in this election, because both candidates (unfortunately) have about the same odds of surviving in office. One because of age, and the other because (again, unfortunately) there are still loons out there that might shoot him down in a fit of racism. If that were to happen, what does that leave us with? A Hockey mom who has more greatly polarized women than any other single issue in my lifetime - which is saying alot, because us women? We can be a divisive lot...I dare you, just dare you to walk into a salon and proclaim that breast is best...or that a woman's place is in control...just watch what happens - or Biden, who tends to be a bit of a loose canon. Unfortunately, voting for "C. None of the above" does nothing more than negate your vote altogether. I really want a candidate that I can stand behind and cheer on to victory. I am a Dem at heart, but I cannot agree to all that I hear from Obama...I don't however feel the luxury of taking an "all or nothing" stance, so it's going to have to be a "better than nothing" decision instead.

How about you?

The Great Equalizer

2008-10-04T12:00:00.000-04:00

Over the summer, one of our constant "slacker" activities was the community pool. Without fail, every time that the hubbers would call and find out that we were at the pool the name calling would commence. And not just from him. He would get all of his co-workers in on it too. Apparently they thought I was there just working on my tan...apparently none of them have been to a pool with two children under the age of 7 lately...let alone 4 children under the age of 7. It is a constant exercise in vigilance. "where is Sabrina?" "Is Sebastian running?" "Does he look like he is getting a little sunburned?" "Is she shivering?" "Is there a logical reason that this pool is like an ice bath all day, every day?"...that and of course the constant female concern of "Am I the fattest, oldest mom here?" "Do I look as bad as her in that suit?" "Will I ever wear a bikini again?"... There was also the back breaking work of cponverting 2 non-swimmers into proficient little fishies. It was with no small amount of pride that we closed out the summer as a family of 4 swimmers.

In the midst of all this frantic and repetitive thought and direction came an interesting realization:

Kids today are alot different than they were back in the day.

Our youth is much more mature, much more savvy, much more entitled and much less "child-like" than I remember us being...until you dunk them in the water.

At the pool, nobody is the poor kid...or the geeky kid...or ironically enough, even the fat kid. At the pool, you play with whomever is there. Nobody has a nicer cellphone than you do, and no one has a higher score on their DS, because in the water, those things get WET and FIZZLE and DON'T WORK! In the water, sullen mini-adults, who are usually strutting their stuff and trying to be way more alluring and provocative than their years should allow jump and splash around like the 12, 13 and 14 year olds that they really are. Tweens that are usually trying to channel Miley Cyrus or some such thing are squeezing their eyes shut, reaching their arms out and calling "Marco???"

This reflection set me very much at ease. I looked around at all of the young, wet people and saw only what summer was meant to be, breathless, waterlogged, carefree fun.

She's a Genius!!!

2008-06-24T14:12:00.004-04:00

I know I am a proud parent. I usually try to temper my opinion of my kids with a healthy dose of skepticism about how smart they are, realizing full well that all parents think that their children are prodigies. Having said that...Sabrina is a genius.

Sebastian has always shown academic promise and prowess. Heck, by the end of Kindergarten, he was working on fractions, contractions and compound words, which I have come to understand is not...how would you say?...normal. We knew before he started school that he would do well, as he easily and quickly "got" just about anything we threw at him. Our biggest concern had to do with how he would handle boredom when the other children in his class were learning the things that he already knew.

Sabrina on the other hand has always been more laid back in the area of academia, choosing instead to apply her efforts to social skills that will serve her well in her quest for world domination. She's not going to take control by force, it will be by charm alone. Apparently she has decided that her work there is done for now. Within the last couple of weeks, I have seen her inner reader emerge at break neck speed. It started with the sight words that she knew, from pre-school...anywhere that she would see "can", "was", "it", "the", she would proudly proclaim it...next she started to make the letter sounds of anything that she saw in front of her...usually at the top of her lungs and to the great amusement of anyone that was around. Mothers, fathers, grandmothers and Uncles all would stop to praise the precious little peanut that was working so hard to sound out c-e-r-e-a-l in aisle 4. This attention of course did not go unnoticed, and must have given her a bright idea, because now she is putting the sounds together and forming her words. This week she has read 6 Dick and Jane stories and is starting to branch out to slightly more complicated books. And oh yeah, in case you weren't keeping score, she is 4.

Wow. For just this moment, I have taken my Jade colored classes off and am proudly sporting a rosier hue...my child is a GENIUS. My two little geniuses are sitting at the dining room table, reading their respective library books...and I couldn't be prouder.

Of course, this again raises the question, what the heck am I going to do with her for a whole year while she waits to be "old enough" and therefore "ready" to go to Kindergarten???

I need some good info on homeschooling STAT!

Finally Cashing In On Reproducing...

2008-06-24T11:18:00.002-04:00

Last night the incredible, the wonderful, the long awaited happened...I was folding laundry and the girl child asked if she could help...so I lobbed a cloth napkin in her direction and said "Have at it!" Moments later she held it up for me to see, "Here Mama!" and there it was. A perfectly folded napkin, that *I* did not fold. That is a first in our house. I clapped enthusiastically...perhaps more so even than I did at her recital, and presented her with more to fold.

Finally, someone else can help with the laundry! I don't know as I have ever been prouder....

Sabrina on Bats

2008-06-23T09:28:00.003-04:00

"Fruit Bats eat fruit, Vampire Bats eat butter."

And now you know.

I'm SOOO Mature....

2008-06-11T21:51:00.002-04:00

I stumbled upon this nifty site that will gauge the reading level needed to understand your blog...I know, just what I need, something else to fret over...anyway, because I am terribly predictable and clearly a bit narcissistic, I plugged in the url for this here blog 'o mine and was slightly dismayed when I learned that my ramblings clock in at a tepid "Junior High School" reading level. I quickly changed the screen, lest anyone else (read: Tim) amble by, look over my shoulder and scoff at my pimply faced writing...then clicked back and typed in the url of a few of my favorites.

Boy was I relieved and somewhat smug to learn that the Godmother of Blogging, Dooce, scrapes by at a paltry Elementary level!

So, what that means is yeah for you, gentle reader, is that you could totally read some of the Babysitter's Club or Sweet Valley High series! And with little to no difficulty! Just don't try to bust out with some Tolstoy, or we might both be in trouble.

Kindergartner No More

2008-06-06T16:54:00.002-04:00

Congratulation my little man, on finishing your first year of school. Hard to believe that it has been a whole school year already! You are now officially a first grader!!! And it is now officially summer vacation...and you two are now officially stuck home with mommy, all day, every day until September.

Heaven help us all.

If a Dog Could Be Nominated for Sainthood

2008-06-05T11:38:00.005-04:00

Yesterday was a fun day at the old Boyum Ranch...the boy woke up crying that his tummy hurt, so he stayed home.

We kept it nice and quiet, with the boy laying on the couch watching me go through the paces on Wii Fit (more on that later) and Anya, my trusty Husky/Shepherd mix, laying on the floor, directly below him.

All of a sudden I heard a noise, and the dog jumped up and started running around in circles. I looked over and the boy said, "I threw up." I saw the pile on the rug, so I sent him to the bathroom to rinse out his mouth and proceeded to grab the garbage can and paper towels to get up the big stuff and the carpet shampooer to get the rest. After all was restored I gave the boy a bucket and prepared to get back to my Yoga...and the dog ran by again, looking anxious.

I turned to tell her to calm down, when I noticed that the boy had thrown up ALL OVER her back...and she was trying to get at it, but couldn't reach it. After I got done laughing my ass off, I cleaned her off...at which point she went right back over to the boy, licked his hand and laid back down below him.

I don't know that I would have forgiven him so fast.

Mystery Solved...

2008-06-03T15:52:00.004-04:00

We have located at least one of the other chicks...apparently they haven't gone far...

It is entirely fascinating to me how quickly they have gone from ugly jelly bean birds to fairly self-sufficient creatures. Really impressive.

Now I am ready for them to GO AWAY.

No more bird poop please.

What's the Big Hairy Deal?

2008-06-02T13:49:00.004-04:00

As I think I have mentioned, or at the very least alluded to, we have 3 rather large dogs. All of whom are at least 50% husky. All of whom are keenly intent on shedding as much of their hair onto my floors, clothes and furniture as is canine-ly possible. Anyone who has ever had or read about a husky knows that 2 times a year they lose the soft downy undercoat in an extravaganza that has been affectionately dubbed a "Blow-Out". Unlike the usual, year round shedfest, the blowout involves massive patches of hair just falling off like some cartoon version of hair leprosy.

Seriously, cautionary tales of what a mangy mutt might look like have NOTHING on what a Husky mid-blowout looks like.

During this festival of fur dropping my vacuum never gets put away. Instead it is called to duty 3-4 times a day.

Happily we are passed the summer blowout session and I have been able to trim back my vacuuming to once a day.

Until yesterday.

I had read about some magical tool, called a FURminator on Dooce.com a couple of weeks ago. Dooce went on to extoll it's virtues after using it on her trusty pooch, Chuck. Although I was impressed with her enthusiasm I was lukewarm about the product since Chuck is a short haired, sleek looking pup, rather than a great fuzzy beast like our pack.

Yesterday I was over at a friend's mother's house for a girly activity and was admiring how hair-free her floors were, despite the fact that she has a rather long haired golden retriever. Well, out she pops with the FURminator and explains that this marvelous tool was the key to her hair free floors.

I "Oooo'ed". I "Ahhh'ed". I inquired where I could obtain such a magical instrument. And then I found out the cost. $60 for a doggy brush. For reals. I was crushed. There was NO WAY that my husband would EVER green light such an extravagant expense for grooming...not when he already spent $500+ on my Dyson Animal so that I would have the suction needed to clean the hair up in the first place.

So, while I sat there, considering which organ I could best do without in order to sell it on the black market and gain the proceeds needed to purchase this magical item, she popped out with another one, which she had been planning to give to my friend. My friend, being wise enough to recognize the look of desire in my eyes generously invited me to take it home and give it a test drive...all I can say is WOW.

Seriously folks, this thing ROCKS. The dogs aren't real impressed, but DAMN the hair it gets out. And for the first time, EVER, I can pet the dogs without being covered in their hair. Of course I have been running the vacuum cleaner about every 5 minutes to collect the gigantic piles of hair that I have been brushing off our dogs, but I feel very confident that I will be able to step back my usual efforts to once every other day or so once I have finished torturing them. And then I suppose I will have to give it to my friend. Because I would very much like her to remain my friend. And she too deserves a hairfree house.

And Then There Was One...

2008-06-02T13:35:00.004-04:00

I found a better, clearer picture of the ugly featherless cherubs from the day they were hatched...curiously enough, this one was taken with our old, point and shoot camera, whereas the other was taken with our nice, expensive SLR...which I couldn't get to focus on the babies to save my life...

See what I mean?

Anyway that was taken on May 23rd.

These are from today...and only one of them is still in the nest...and the nest is decidedly un-nest-like now. I had no idea that they grew up so quickly...again, these were taken with the old point and shoot...

Can it really be that they have left the nest so early? That amazes me...and is a relief. Though Mama Bird and I had come to a grudgingly peaceful coexistence I was *not* loving the bird crap on the porch...and she was equally unfond of the frequent powerwashing of the porch to remove said crap that I was doing. Once this last one leaves I can ponder replacing the plants in my hanging baskets as the Robin Ordeal has killed off my fuscias. Mama killed the one with the nest, and what I can only presume was Daddy Bird killed off the one next to it by constantly hanging out in it. Sadly the third one, on the end, died of neglect, because I just couldn't bring myself to deal with that one when the other two were beyond rescue...anyway, another chapter ends...wonder what is on the next page.

WOW! They were WAAAYYYY cuter when they were just eggs

2008-05-30T15:26:00.003-04:00

I mean seriously? If baby humans came out looking like this, Canon, Nikon and Shutterfly would go out of business!

Sort of takes the whole "You lucky bitch, all you had to do was sit on the egg and your baby came out..." and puts it into perspective. Incidentally a few days later I walked out to find that one of them was out of the nest and in a basket that I had out on the porch with Christmas lights in it. I suited up in rubber gloves and put it back in the nest without further incident...but I couldn't help wonder, did you jump cause you're fugly little bird or do you truly have a face that not even your mother can love?

It Ain't Easy Being Green...But It's Worth It

2008-05-26T10:59:00.004-04:00

I have been reading alot lately about the damage that we are doing to our childrens' planet and frankly it makes me sad. Sad because it is so selfish. Sad because it is so ugly. And sad because the odds of everyone doing their part to make a difference are so slim as to be nearly non-existent.

Having said that, I personally am going to try to do my part. Slowly but surely we will get our family there, if not the world.

A couple of weeks ago I made my first move in this direction by getting a bunch of reusable tote bags to use for shopping. I am proud to say that, in the last month I have only introduced 2 plastic bags into the house. I try to remember to bring at least one of my reusable totes with me anywhere I go, but as with all new behaviors, sometimes I forget.

The next item I tackled was to reduce the amount of garbage going out by eliminating paper plates and napkins from our daily lives. I have had cloth napkins since long before I even met my husband. And when we were first together, we used them. Then we had children, and as any parent knows a small child requires multiple napkins for a meal. Our children were no different...although perhaps our son was a bit extreme - that boy wiped his face and tongue after every.single.bite. and he couldn't stand to have anything saucy or sticky or even wet on his hands...so he would go through literally a dozen napkins in a sitting. Paper quickly became a more practical or at least convenient alternative. Fast forward 6 years, and our children are big enough to use a napkin properly and aside from the occasional spill, only require 1 to get through a meal tidily. So I pulled out all of the old cloth napkins and we haven't looked back since. We now use washable plates for each meal as well. While we have to run the dishwasher a bit more frequently, we are throwing away much less. And in response to the increased usage of the dishwasher we are no longer using the heat dry cycle.

Something about doing the right thing is sort of addictive, because my next target was the excess packaging that I was bringing into the house weekly in the name of portion control for my children. They love those little jello and pudding cups. As I was putting them away one day it occurred to me that I had a bunch of small tupperware containers with lids that were about that size. So I traded in the $3.00 6-packs for $.59 boxes of jello and pudding mix and now make my own. As an added bonus the kids love the expanded selection that they get and enjoy being able to help make their own snacks.

The kids and I also got together and planted a pretty ambitious vegetable garden this year. Last year was the first time that I had ever had a garden and I was delighted with how easy it was and how big our bounty was. We had potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce, spinach, peppers and green beans. Lots of them. We gave most of it away, and froze what we could, but it felt good and was so yummy to eat foods that we had grown ourselves. The kids loved being able to harvest food and learned alot about the growth cycle of plants. This year we dropped the potatoes and added corn, peas, sugar snap peas, cucumbers, carrots and broccoli. So far everything is sprouting and, if we can just find a way to keep the bunnies at bay, we should be able to get a good way through the summer and fall months without having to buy any veggies.

My next goal is to start using less gas for in town travels. We live literally a quarter mile from our grocery store and 1 mile from my daughter's preschool. We all have bicycles. We are all healthy people. So why are we always piling into our car to go a distance that doesn't even allow for a single song to play out on the cd player? I have one of those kid trailers for the bike and the more I think about it, the more it seems like I should just use it to bring my daughter to and from school. And while I am at it, I could probably stop at the grocery store and put the groceries in it on the way home. I say probably to all of this because I haven't tackled this one yet, but I plan to. Soon.

Baby steps, they are each small and won't be enough to swing the fate of our planet on their own, but they certainly can't hurt. So what things has your family done to reduce the refuse? I'd love to hear some more ideas.

I'm Still Not Convinced

2008-05-21T13:39:00.003-04:00

So I have made exactly ZERO headway on my campaign to get Sabrina into Kindergarten in the fall. It is roadblock after roadblock, deaf ear after deaf ear. There are NO exceptions. After months of trying to find someone who would listen I finally started to think that maybe another year at home wouldn't be so bad for her...maybe she could use some more time to get ready...

Then the other day, at Giant, she started reading the signs in the deli case. She asked me what the big Boar's Head sign said, and after I had read it to her, she went through, picked out all of the words that she new and started sounding out the others. The deli counter worker looked over as she was sounding out "ff"-"iiii" - "lll" - "lll" - "eeehhh" - "rrrrr" - "sssss". "FILLERS!!!! Mama, it says fillers!" The deli worker said "Wow, did you stay home from school today?" Sabrina said "No, I go to preschool." The deli worker looked at me and said "Wow." Sigh...

At the library today I was chatting with one of the other moms - all hail the mighty bangs, bringer of female companionship and conversation - about Sabrina and her readiness for Kindergarten. This mom's boy, who we shall call Eldon for the sake of anonymity, is going to be headed off to Kindergarten in the fall. He's ready she says, though he is still a bit shy. Ummm, the child has spent every one of the last 12 weeks of story time HIDING behind her legs. The poor thing is going to stroke out when he has to get on the bus and go to school with no legs to hide behind. When I told her that Sabrina misses the cut off she just gawked and said "Well what are you going to do with her next year?" I lamely said "Ummm...well...I guess send her to preschool again."

There has got to be a better answer than that. I really need to find a decent homeschool curriculum. Something. I can't just let her stagnate for a year. But then if I do push her some more, what happens in fall of 2009 when she *is* allowed to go to Kindergarten? Will she be bored to tears? Or do I have her tested for 1st grade and have her miss out on the whole Kindergarten experience? Argh, argh, argh.

Anyone have a magic eightball with the answers that they would like to share?

Can People Get Moldy?

2008-05-18T10:48:00.007-04:00

Goodness but it has been rainy lately. We have had to reschedule rescheduled soccer games because our rain date got rained out. We are on super high alert for any water entering our basement. Raincoats and umbrellas have become our uniform. And "When is it going to warm up and be spring?" has become my husband's mantra. Also, all of this liquid sunshine is totally derailing my attempts at becoming more physically fit as well. I am committed, but not so committed as to be willing to walk the dogs in the rain. In the rain I figure it is better if they go in the back yard and walk themselves.

Mother's Day was nice. Kind of rainy, but nice. I had the whole day off and fully took advantage of it. Every time the kids said "I'm hungry" I said "I'm off, talk to daddy about it." And then started cackling maniacally. The hubbers gave me a wonderful new camera that is so fancy schmancy that I feel like I should be selling the images. Or at least I should if I ever find someone that really has a burning desire to buy pictures of my plants, dogs and children.

Say it with me now....

"Ooooooo"

"Ahhhhh"

"Awwww"

"Oooohhhh"

I can totally feel a future for me as a sports photo journalist for the pee wee leagues:

Seriously though, not too much else going on here. I just wish it would stop raining. What's new in your world?

Did You Know That They Make Showgirl's in Pint Size?

2008-05-09T13:25:00.005-04:00

So, last week was National Dance Week. Did you know? Were you all a twitter with excitement? Did you even know that such a week existed? Yeah, me neither...

In honor of the highly anticipated, week long homage to the art of visual music, our tiny dancer took to the stage of our local mall and wowed the crowd with her relative lack of rhythm, coordination and timing. She comes by this naturally. As a small child, taking ballet, I was awful. So awful that my mother has often recounted to me the tale of watching my recital and having the parent next to her point me out and say "Well, at least my kid is better than that one." To which she of course had no choice but to say something to the effect of "Yes, at least you can hold on to that...course when she's not dancing, my kid is waaay cuter than yours."..Ok, she probably didn't say that, but I am sure she wanted to...as soon as she got done hiding under a rock and exercising her right to the plausible deniability that her blond hair and blue eyes lent her in regards to her green eyed, raven haired progeny. Honestly though, what she lacked in coordination she more than made up for in enthusiasm. And cuteness. Seriously, doesn't this level of cuteness just sort of give you a tooth ache?

As for the showgirl costume, we parents were given no say so in these sassy little, one shouldered numbers...all we were given was the bill. Had I know that my $69 wasn't even buying me two shoulders, I probably would have insisted on a discount. Of course, they did throw in the feathers for free. And after the recital is over we can send her off to Vegas to recoup the cost. I hear the market for pint sized chorus line rejects is hot.

I Lose...

2008-05-09T13:22:00.003-04:00

This must be part of that whole survival of the fittest thing that Darwin was so keen on...apparently if stubbornness and persistence were the only deciding factors in evolution the Robin would be driving a Lexus and I would be extinct.

The New Hair-do

2008-05-07T20:50:00.007-04:00

A few months back I posted about my apparent lack of attractiveness to other mommy types in the area. This phenomenon has continued to plague me and has in fact become a source of humor and endless jokes around the house, and with the one friend that I had successfully managed to not frighten away. It appears however that, at long last, I have discovered the key...unlocked the door...crossed some sort of bridge...and all it took was a haircut. Who knew?

For years I have toyed with the idea of cutting bangs to my long, mainly one length hair...and for years, I have chickened out. The excuses were many...I have a small forehead...they might curl up like the wicked witch's feet after the ruby slippers were removed...I'll look silly...it'll be too much upkeep...blah, blah and more blah.

Finally, last night I succumbed to temptation and had my hair wizard - and really, she *is* a wizard at the very least - add a frontal fringe to my look. And then, since I was being so "Devil-may-care", I told her to go ahead and style it wavy, rather than torturing her with another marathon, hours long straightening session. Because I am charitable that way. It's just the kind of girl I am.

The resulting look is a huge change from 24 hours ago. And apparently has worked some sort of magic trick.

We had story time at the library today...and one of the other mothers actually started a conversation with me. Willingly. Then, in the craft room, another mother smiled at me. Wow. I checked to make sure that there was no one behind me - all there was were books. Then, at ballet tonight 2 separate moms struck up conversations with me...fairly long conversations...and during one of them, another mom even jumped in and joined in the fun. It was amazing...people actually talking to me. Tomorrow I think I may try hang gliding.

I jest...but truly this is something of a milestone...a miracle...a turning point I daresay. And apparently all it took was bangs. Who knew?

I guess any fool could have told me that this:

Is way scarier than this:

Take No Prisoners

2008-05-05T19:36:00.000-04:00

Recently my mom and step-dad visited for the weekend. We had a perfectly pleasant time and it was nice visiting...and of course, their visit also brought some funny along with it:

One night, my step-dad was wearing a Sweatshirt that said "Proud to be a veteran". After working long and hard to sound the words out, the kids looked at me and asked "What's a veteran?". Since I am always quick to pass the buck on explaining things I offered "Why don't you ask Nanny?" To which Nanny deftly explained what a veteran is and illustrated the point by saying "Nanny is a veteran because she was in the Navy and Poppy is a veteran because he was in the Army." Sabrina seemed satisfied with this answer....Sebastian on the other hand immediately looked concerned and said "Poppy, did you survive??"

Umm...I swear he's bright, really.

And Just Like That, I’m OLD…

2008-04-29T19:40:00.000-04:00

Ring, ring…

Me: “Hello?”

Little voice: “Is Sebastian at home?”

Me: “Yes…”

Little voice: “Can I please speak to him?”

Me: “Uhhh…sure…who’s calling?”

Little voice: “This is Rob.”

When did he get big enough to be getting his own phone calls?

Of All the Bird Brained...

2008-04-22T13:06:00.002-04:00

Hello bloggy friends...I know I have been a bad girl as of late and haven't checked in with anything in quite some time...truth be told, the spring weather inspired me to try out something new...like actually getting a life. My expanding rump forced me to admit to myself that I was becoming something of a slacker. I was spending waaay more time than I can quite bring myself to admit simply surfing the internet, looking for something interesting to read. Meanwhile I was getting precious little accomplished other than eating too much and cleaning. So. I decided enough of that, and have been limiting myself to about 1 hour a day. And I have been walking with one of the dawgs every morning. For about 2 miles. Which feels good. And I am hoping will do more to curb my squishy tush than the simple act of counting calories has been doing. Aside from that I have been mowing the lawn and gardening and just trying to be active. Yeah for warmer temperatures!

Course spring has brought with it a new challenge...and I am reaching out to you - all 3 of you - (see I am giving ALL of you props now, instead of just mom) for some advice.

Our home has a lovely front porch. One which I have been dying to be able to sit out on and leisurely watch my kids from for the last nearly 2 years. Every spring and fall I have hung flower baskets and then promptly forgotten to do anything like water them...resulting in some luscious dead plants. At least monthly, I have obsessively searched for cost effective seating solutions. Every month I have found something more pressing to spend money on...

The hubster and I began discussing the summer and how this year would be a bit different with me home and all...I told him that I really wanted a comfortable place to sit and watch them...and so off we went and got some comfy seating. Yeah!!! I also went out and got some beautiful fuschias to hang...and I have been watering them...and life seems to be turning around finally for my front porch...

Until last week.

On one end of the porch we have some lattice, which is home to a lovely flowering vine of some sort or other...on Thursday, I noticed a Red Robin flying onto the porch, which seemed somewhat odd...so I peeked outside. And discovered that the Robin was building a nest on the porch railing, right up against the lattice. My first thought was "COOL!!!!! The kids will love this...they'll get to watch the lifecycle of baby birds!!!!". Then my inner worry wart came shoving to the surface and said "oh, NO! Absolutely NOT! That mama bird is going to get broody...and will start attacking us every time we come through the front door. She will fly at our faces and peck at our eyes."

Now, that may seem a bit extreme of a reaction to something as innocuous as a Robin, but let me explain...I have a rather deep seated fear of birds. As a small child my mother took me to the duck pond to feed the birds. Armed with small crusts of bread I approached the birds - a mixture of ducks and geese - with awe and excited anticipation. As the birds got closer my eyes opened wide and I drank in their beauty. As they moved ever closer and stretched out their necks to reach my offering I marveled at their beauty. As their beaks clamped down hard on my chubby baby fingers I cried and began running backwards, all the while clutching the bread. And so I ran, round the pond, with the geese and ducks chasing me, bread clutched desperately in my fingers, as my mother laughed hysterically, unable to advise me to just drop the bread. This started a lifelong panic attack any time I see ducks. Years later, this was exacerbated by a pet bird that my mother had, Molly.

Molly was a moluccan cockatoo. For those of you that don't know, moluccan cockatoos are BIG, PINK birds. When Molly came to us she was several years old and had a wing that had been badly broken and never set properly. She could flutter it enough to break her fall but could not fly. Molly was a smart bird, and very funny. She was also diabolical. She had little bits of comedy that she would entertain us with and she picked up speech pretty quickly...of course being the demon bird that she was, most of what she picked up was profanity and naughty limericks. One of Molly's favorite tricks was to call the dog over to her cage and then make a lunge at his nose once he got there. The thing was, she could mimic my mother's call so perfectly that the dog fell for it. Every. single.time. Countless hours were spent with Molly attempting to lure our poodle into becoming her snack. Apparently, after so many hours the poodle became boring quarry to her, and she moved on to larger game.

Molly had bonded rather strongly to my mother right from the day we brought her home... apparently, at some point, she decided that my mother was her mate. She also apparently determined that I was another suitor. So she began hunting me. Now you might think that a flightless bird is a fairly inadequate hunter, but you are wrongwrongwrong. Molly could walk silently along the ground, peeking around corners and ducking under tables and beds for cover. She could use her talons and beak to climb right up the side of a couch...and the next thing I would know, Molly would be right at my side, lunging, beak open, crest extended, prepared to maim and disfigure me so that I could no longer be a threat to her status as Mom's mate. I think mom initially thought it some odd fashion of "sibling rivalry" and she just sort of laughed it off. I would come home from school and go to my room, shutting my door so as to be safe from the demonic bird...mom would come home and Molly would cuddle up to her. No big deal. Until one day, Molly decided that she wasn't going to let a little thing like a door hold her back. So she ate the bottom corner of the door. When mom got home, I was waiting outside. Molly's reign of terror ended when she accidentally bit my mother in the face, while trying to get at me. Molly found a new home, I found a new peace and Mom found a new bird.

Anyway, back to the Robin...armed with so many years of bird fear, I decided that I needed to jump into action...so I went outside, and moved the nest to a lovely tree in our front yard. I really rather think that, if I were a bird, it is exactly the sort of place that I would like to build a nest.

Apparently I am no bird.

Anyway, the nest remained uninhabited and I figured that the bird had gone on to make a new nest., somewhere else.

Then came yesterday. I noticed the Robin flying in to the porch once again. Back and forth, in and out, to and fro. I looked at the railing. Nothing. So I kept on going. Later in the day, I was on the phone, and happened to look out the window. That's when I saw it. That danged Robin was up in my hanging flower basket, making a nest there! So I promptly went out and moved nest number 2 over to the tree. My efforts were rewarded with the bird just starting over. In the hanging flower basket. I consulted the hubster, and his helpful offering was that I wasn't going to win...that if I didn't want the Robin setting up house on the porch, the only way to stop it would be to shoot it. Thanks hon, I'll get right on that... I figured that if I staked out my porch, and sat there, the bird would give up and finally be forced to find a new location for it's nest.

By yesterday evening, there was no sign of the Robin, so I declared victory.

This morning, the nest is back. In my flower basket. On my porch. Right in front of one of my chairs.

What to do?

Confessions of a Snot Nosed Brat

2008-04-05T20:22:00.002-04:00

So the last week has been full of rest, fluids and phlegm. Sounds like a vacation doesn't it? What started innocently enough as a hacky cough on a Thursday quickly spiraled into a blazing fever, aching body and general all over yuckiness by Friday.

On Wednesday of last week I decided to poke some menacing fun at a friend of ours who was a bit under the weather. We have standing plans on Friday evenings with this friend's family and for the last several weeks said plans have been cast aside due to various health and travel issues. Anyway, the poor fella was really not feeling well and I gave him a stern talking to about how he had better rest up and be well by Friday...which of course explains why I woke up Thursday coughing. Karma, she'll get you every time.

By the time Thursday evening rolled around, I was sufficiently pathetic that my husband opted to bring home supper rather than allow my fetid breath to linger over anything he was going to ingest. He asked me "So what's wrong with you anyway?"

I told him "My hair hurts."

"Your hair hurts? How exactly does hair hurt?"

"I don't know, it just does..."

"OK then..."

By Friday evening I had a fever of 102.something...and before long it had climbed to the 103.something range. At which point my husband muttered something about cooking my brain and slapped a cold, wet washcloth on my forehead. My little Florence Nightingale tended to me all night - seriously, it was 4 in the morning and he was still tending to my swelling then shrinking fever.

By Monday, I decided it was time to drag my sorry self into the Dr. Which I did. The Dr. took one look at me and said "Wow, you look pretty rough. What's going on?" Lovely, thanks for noticing. Anyway, a few swabs and pokes and jabs later and it was determined that I had myself a good old fashioned case of the flu. Yuck. The Dr. patiently explained to me that she would give me Tamiflu and that I should feel better in about a week. But that I must remain vigilant for any backward sliding as it could indicate a secondary infection, which is really the more dangerous part of the flu. She then proceeded to check out just a few more things...

Funny thing is, I apparently already had myself some secondary infections. An ear infection, a sinus infection and I was hovering precipitously close to pneumonia as well. Apparently I had decided to make the secondary infection an artform...I was collecting them like charms for a charm bracelet.

So she sent me on my way with a prescription for antibiotics as well.

It is now Saturday night, and I have only today determined that I might just live.

The flu is not for the faint of heart.

Now go wash your hands.

What Do You MEAN I'm Not on the List

2008-03-24T08:36:00.003-04:00

I was recently reading one of the blogs that I stalk, and she was very distraught because she basically lost the list of all of the blogs that she likes to stalk. And she was asking for people to remind her of what they might be, or point her in the direction of blogs that we, as her devoted readers, would like to recommend. So I did. I whipped out my list of personal favorites and hovered over the publish button...and then something occurred to me...is it my place to invite other people to read the blogs of people that I read? In some cases I know these folks...and it just seems like that would be inviting someone else to their wedding. Like I am propping up a big sign outside their ballroom that says "Party Crashers Welcome".

So I deleted most of them and left only the three that I know are already published and have ads and stuff and so I would think are *looking* for folks to read them.

So if I left you out, know that it was only out of my deep and abiding love and respect for you. That and I was afraid that you would beat me up on the playground.

If You Don't Believe, You Don't Receive

2008-03-23T21:00:00.001-04:00

I cannot believe how quickly my kids are growing up...I look at them, and I can still see my sweet, soft babies...but then, they open their mouths and I am astonished at what they already realize. And a little bit afraid.

I love holidays. I love the decorating, the cooking, the celebrating...and I especially love the tender and fun traditions and stories that we use to introduce our kids to the concept of the holidays...and then you know, hook them for life. I firmly believe that, but getting them interested and excited about the more secular aspects of the holidays they will be more apt to listen and absorb the true "reason for the season". Being something of a perfectionist and a control freak (hey, I am embracing it this week), I have anxiously and doggedly pursued a careful consistency in our stories and traditions from year to year.

Seriously, I have sat my husband down and demanded that we have a serious conversation about how Christmas and Easter and such would go down in our home:

Me: "Honey, we really need to talk...we need to figure out how exactly we are going to broach the subject of Santa."

He: "We do?"

Snarky look shot here.

He: "Right. We do."

I have cited the importance of making sure that we decide what our family traditions are before the kids are able to remember things being done differently or not at all. I have whined about needing to make sure that we do it exactly-the-same-way each year to throw the kids off the scent...you know, coordinate our alibis...

All this, in the pursuit of extending their innocence about it for as long as possible...hey, I don't want to be the only one excited about the prospect of Santa and the Easter Bunny...that, and I would hate to lose the "Santa is watching..." threat from my discipline arsenal. As far as my kids are concerned, every store that has a video surveillance camera in it is actually taping their behavior and broadcasting it *straight to the Easter Bunny and Santa* - ALL YEAR LONG. (feel free to use that one yourself) I hoped that, by being rigorous in our commitment to the story we would be able to milk a good 7, 8, 30 years out of it.

But then I guess I was thinking we had someone else's kids. You know, kids that aren't having all-nighters in their rooms the minute we go downstairs....

This Easter season has been peppered with portents that the end is near.

4 Days before Easter, in Walmart:

Sebastian: "Mom, is the Easter Bunny real? Or is it just some guy in a bunny suit?"

Me: "Where did you hear such a thing?"

Sebastian: "Nowhere, but..."

Me: "Look honey, soccer balls!" Redirect-redirect-redirect....

3 Days before Easter, in Giant.

Sabrina: "Will we look for eggs outside?"

Me: "Hmmm, probably not honey, it's going to be cold...but don't worry, the Easter Bunny can hide the eggs inside like last year."

Sabrina: "The Easter Bunny didn't hide our eggs...Aunt Robyn did. While we were at church."

Me: "Look honey, milk!" Redirect-redirect-redirect....

Sabrina: (She is my stubborn one...) "Well, I guess maybe the bunny could have come after we left and before she got there...but...I don't know. Maybe she saw him? I should ask her. Can we call Aunt Robyn????"

Me: "Maybe when we get home..."

2 Days before Easter, while in line for Easter Bunny Pictures.

Sebastian: "Mom, is that a real bunny or a guy in a bunny suit?"

47 pairs of children's eyes fix on me, breathlessly awaiting my next words. 90 pairs of grown-up eyes glare at me warningly. Shit.

Me: "That's the Easter Bunny honey."

Sabrina: (cause she has to get in on this action too) "Yeah, but is the Easter bunny a rabbit or a guy in a bunny suit...his hands look like people hands, in bunny gloves."

Sebastian: "Yeah, and his eyes don't blink."

Me: "Well, umm, the Easter Bunny is magic...look kids, it's our turn."

Frankly, I am exhausted by these exchanges...and I was sort of blue, imagining what the incredulous reaction might be on Easter morning, when they went down and saw the eggs hidden. I was afraid that I was going to get called out on my lame hiding tactics. Thankfully the soft, sweet, baby parts of them prevailed and the excitement of finding eggs hidden overrode, even if only temporarily, whatever seeds of doubt they have planted about who is really doing the hiding.

Somehow I don't think we will make it to 7.

It Looks So Good I Could Eat It...But None For YOU

2008-03-20T15:54:00.003-04:00

So I got the most wonderful surprise today...an edible arrangement from my best friend. It really is awesome.
See? Notice the 90lb puppy in the background, pondering whether she can get to it before I can thump her?

There is something poetic about her sending me a fruit basket...what with me being the fruity basketcase that I am and all...

So I must wonder, is it wrong of me to have told Sabrina that the "big brown things" were just decoration when in reality I know that they are chocolate covered strawberries and they are mineminemine?

Rebel with A Cause

2008-03-18T19:27:00.003-04:00

I've never been a rule breaker. Well not much of one anyway. I get that rules are there for a reason, really I do. I appreciate that, no matter how ill conceived or inconvenient a rule may be, it serves, or at some point in it's history served, some purpose. I am trying to raise my children to appreciate and abide by the rules and so, I am teaching by example.

Until now.

I have come up against a rule that I just can't sit idly by and obey. Ironically enough it is a rule about one of my children.

Our son is 6 and in Kindergarten. He is brilliant. Intellectually, he could be in first grade. In fact, he is already spending part of his day doing first grade work. He is reading and doing math and we are unbearably proud parents. Socially he is exactly where he needs to be.

Our daughter is 4 and just months away from finishing the pre-K4 program at her preschool. She will be 5 in September. She is bright and social and looking forward to starting kindergarten. Every other child in her preschool class will be enrolled in Kindergarten in the fall. She is at the top of her class, yet the rules state that she needs to wait a year longer than her peers before she can start because she misses the age cutoff by 11 days. Less than 2 weeks.

On the one hand, I understand that a line has to be drawn somewhere, and September 1 is that line. As I said before, I am a rule follower so in principle I *get* the black and white of it and on some level admire it's simplicity. I understand that if you start making exceptions it is a slippery slope before that line becomes so muddied that every parent is appealing it. I also don't want my children to ever have the notion in their heads that the rules don't apply to them.

However...

On the other hand I know my children. I know that they are not cookie cutter and that blanket policies don't always work with real world situations.

My son missed the cut off by MONTHS, so we never bothered with it. Sure, when he started kindergarten he already knew and could write his letters and numbers, could read small words, could count to 100 forwards and backwards, could do single digit addition and subtraction and was working on multiplication. He already had the curriculum basically licked. (Did I mention that we are unbearably proud???) Socially though he was very tender, and we felt comfortable that the extra time would serve him well. So, when the time came for Kindergarten, we just sort of crossed our fingers and prayed that it would all work out, and that he wouldn't be bored.

Thankfully, it did. My son is the kind of kid that, if you give him a task to work on, he will dive into it and work independently quite happily. He self manages beautifully. This has been put to the test and proven in Kindergarten, as he is given special "extra work" to do while the rest of his class continues to work on items that he has already completed. No disruptions from him, and he isn't bored.

My little girl is a whole other story. She too knows her letters and numbers. She too can write them and she can do some very basic math. She is not nearly as academically advanced, though still more than capable of handling the work that we see coming home with our son. Socially she is beyond ready. Her attention span is unnerving and she is beyond precocious. The thing is, she loves people. She wants to be engaged. She wants to be involved with everyone. If she is not, she is very skilled at getting everyone involved with her. She *will* get your attention. Her school did Kindergarten readiness assessments and there were 3 skills that she had not mastered: skipping (hey, she comes by this natural...what she lacks in grace, she more than makes up for in clumsiness, just like her mama), buttoning buttons (seriously? Find me kids' clothes that have buttons on the front of them and I will have her practice) and zipping her coat. When I heard that last one, I had to laugh. She *can* zip up. She just refuses to. Think about it...when you have to zip up a child's coat they have 100% of your undivided attention. You stoop down to their eye level, and carefully make sure that you aren't catching any hair or skin. While she has you there, she will strike up a conversation with you to ensure that she keeps your attention. That is our little diva in training. So no, make no mistake, she will get your attention. ..Our great fear is that, if we make her wait another year she will be a disruption both in preschool next year because she will be bored and, if we try to use the same "special work" concept with her as is being used with our son in Kindergarten, the year after as well, because she wants to be working with the group.

I have reached out to the school district to see what can be done...I explained to them that I was aware of the policy and was curious if there was any provision for children that were so close. Their answer was to sent me a copy of the policy, which I clearly was already familiar with (otherwise how would I have known to question it) and to tell me that by making her wait another year she would have the opportunity to be at the head of her class. Because clearly that is what is important. Making sure that your kid is the valedictorian rather than the child that loves school.

I. could. just. scream.

So now what?

I Am the Christopher Columbus of the Ice Cream Aisle

2008-03-18T09:09:00.002-04:00

As a special favor to all 1 of you who come here and read what I have to say, I must share with you that I have uncovered the holy grail of decadent frozen treats...

Hagen Daaz, Special Reserve, Pomegranate and Dark Chocolate Ice Cream bars.

There I was, haplessly wandering down the aisles of my Giant Food looking for a sign, any sign that would lead me to chocolate craving salvation. And that's when I saw them.

I have long been a fan of the Pomegranate. Though as a kid, honestly I thought they were called Chinese Apples. Whatever. Of course, in recent years, pomegranate has hit the big time, what with all of the antioxidant blah-blah-blah surrounding it's ruby like seeds. Whereas years ago you could scarcely find the darned things, now, everywhere you look there is pomegranate juice, pomegranate flavored lip stain (honestly, I swear...and yes, I have some) pomegranate yogurt drinks (incidentally, also yummy...goooo Dannon!!!!)...but it never occurred to me that someone, someday might make it into ice cream. So much for being clairvoyant - eh?

Dark Chocolate has also been a lifelong love with me. I can remember being the only kid that wanted the "Special Reserve" dark chocolate bars out of the Hershey's Minis bag...and thinking that although there was clearly something wrong with me, if loving dark chocolate was wrong, I didn't want to be right...So you can imagine my special brand of joy when reports started surfacing about the healthful effects of dark chocolate (in moderation) (but I didn't really hear the moderation part. Did you? Did somebody say moderation? Yeah, didn't think so.). Where I used to have to sneak off in a back alley with a bar of baker's bittersweet chocolate to indulge my craving, I was now finding granola bars even with dark chocolate chips because, yeah, dark chocolate was now a health food!!!!

Anyway, as I was saying...there I was in the frozen food aisle, scanning the Ben and Jerry's and the Edy's for something, anything that would inspire me enough to be worth the extra heaping of calories. Because I am easing into a diet plan. Right now I am just counting calories...and so far I have found that I can count really, really high. Perhaps someday I will limit the number of calories I allow myself, but for right now, I am content with the counting...I am like the Rainman of calories. Except that Tom Cruise isn't my brother. Which is good. Because incest = bad. At any rate, Ben and Edy were leaving me empty...nothing so tantalizing that I just hadtohaveit. I dutifully scanned the gold foil section of the ice creams, seriously not hoping too hard, because Hagen Daaz, while deliciously creamy is not often inventive. That's when a picture of my beloved "Chinese Apple" caught my eyes. At which point I jumped and zoomed in for a closer look. I was so overwhelmed with excitement that I actually opened the freezer case door into my own nose. (See, because I know that there is only like 1 of you who reads this, I have no fears about letting that one slip....Hi mom!!!) Working through the pain I grabbed two boxes...one to hold on my throbbing nose and the other to examine for clues that I might be being Punk'd. Thankfully the ice cream angels were smiling down upon me (probably laughing their asses off) and it was in fact the real deal. I started looking around tearfully, for someone to share the news with but the only people there were staring at me rather dubiously and shuffling away muttering something about drugs being bad.

With no one to preach to I looked back to the freezer section, vessel of all that is frozen and delicious, and noted that they also make a pomegranate dark chocolate chunk ice cream in a convenient 1 pint single serve helping. Overcome with gratitude I felt weak in the knees and so checked the calories...the bars are 280 per bar. And there are 3 per box. I bought one box. They are now gone. Amen.

Spring is in the Air...and so is the smell of Cabbage

2008-03-17T17:39:00.004-04:00

So here we are, just a few days away from the official first day of spring, and apparently someone sent a memo to our dogs about it. Because they are going berserk today. I mean like bats in the belfry, cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, taste the rainbow CRAZY...

Earlier today, as we were eating lunch, I let the puppy and her mother out and then back in. At which point they started chasing each other's tails. Which sounds cute and harmless enough. Until you consider that, between the two of them, they have more body mass than my son's entire soccer team. And apparently more energy.

We headed upstairs to read a book and lay down for nap and the two of them decided to channel their inner Martha Stewart and redecorate. And then, when they had finished, they came barreling up stairs, bounced off of her door until it opened and hopped up on her bed with us...which resulted in shrieking...and yelling...and sobbing. And Sabrina looked at me all, "Will you please stop blubbering and *DO SOMETHING* about this?!?!?". And I was all "Isn't it your turn??"And she was all "Hello, I'm 4?!?!?!?"

So I went downstairs to see what the big deal was...

ALL of the couch and love seat cushions were on the floor.
The dining room rug was moved from the center of the room over to the windows...along with the table and 6 chairs that normally hold it nice and securely to the floor.
The kitchen rug was flipped over and put back , perfectly in place, rubber backing up.
The bedding from each of their crates was strewn out like some sort of hairy, fleece canal through the hallway.
Their rawhide bones were scattered like some sort of grisly crime scene.

Never underestimate the amount of damage that 180 lbs of dog can do in the span of one Angelina Ballerina story.

Sweet Dreams are Made of These

2008-03-13T20:50:00.003-04:00

I am just the luckiest girl in the whole wide world. Seriously.

In about 24 hours I will have my dearest, closest friend here and my newest nephew in my hot little hands. Bwa-ha-ha...I will get to sniff baby head, nibble baby toes and smooch baby cheeks for 2 whole days...and then...I DON'T have to put him through college or potty train him!!!

How did I stumble upon such riches you may ask? Well, seems the little guy has taken to partying hard all night already and mum needs a someone to pinch hit the chaperoning duties. Which we are MORE than eager to do.

Seems her mummy-hearing is preventing even the best intentioned attempts at sleeping through the sounds of baby from being successful at home, so we are finally going to be able to put the fact that we have spread out our living area across three floors of our home to good use. (Heck, if we just finish off the attic we could send each member of the family to their own floor and not see one another for days...hmmm...I see a trip to Lowe's in my future...hmmm) Tim and I had already stumbled upon the interesting fact that, from the basement you cannot hear anything that is going on on the second floor. Of course we figured this out only slightly after our children did. Like a month after.

Apparently they have been waiting until mommy and daddy retire to the basement to play pool or (honestly, more often...) World of Warcraft - there, I said it, it is out in the open...I have become a video game playing chick - and then they host dance parties and raves up there. We were clueless for who knows how long...though it does explain the bouncer we keep finding at the top of the stairs....unfortunately no one told them that they should be charging a cover, so there will be no supplemental income from that.

Sabrina is the one that actually ratted them both out the other night...she crept down the 2 flights of stairs and then cleared her wee little throat:

"Mommy...I losted the back of my earring." Bottom lip pulled out for full pitiful effect...

"Oh Sabrina...where?"

"In Sebastian's room.." I look at my watch...it is 9:30. Bed time is at 8:00. You do the math.

"Umm...*how* did you lose the back of your earring in Sebastian's bedroom an hour and a half after bedtime?????"

"Well, when we were playing Star Wars..."

Nuff said.

I think the little mum should have no problem sleeping soundly.

Breathe Easy

2008-03-12T20:45:00.004-04:00

Well, I am pleased to announce that the cold turkey quitting of the pig ears has finally led to a resolution to our gas problem. It was a tough go there for a while as apparently cutting a 90+ pound puppy off from her beloved piggy treats will indeed cause a case of the DT's...it's just harder to recognize the signs as she is most always a twitching, drooling, slobbering mess. Now she just doesn't fart nearly as loudly or as often.

Oh, and I now know that at least some of the malodorousness of recent times is to be pinned squarely on the broad shoulders of my non-four-legged loved ones. And I can't even blame it on the pig ears. Oh well.

In other bright news I was finally able to haul 3 weeks worth of trash out of my garage and to the curb last night. So my garage is no longer a war zone. My car thanks me.

Aren't I just a bundle of useful information and entertainment tonight?

Kid's Say the Darnedest Things...

2008-03-07T14:48:00.002-05:00

At dinner last night...(the night before, hubby had been in a particularly foul mood and mommy advised them to give him a wide berth...)

Sabrina: "Daddy, are you still having a bad attitude??"

Some moments will live in eternity. The look on his face and the stillness of the room at that exact second was one of them.

The Sanitation Situation

2008-03-05T09:06:00.002-05:00

That's it. I've had it...I would like to report a crime. There is a conspiracy going on between Mother Nature and my trash company. I already knew that the latter were a bunch of thugs. This is clearly demonstrated by the fact that, although they claim Wednesday is my trash pick up day, they actually come to pick it up sometime between 2 & 3Am on Wednesday, which in my younger, glory days was not technically included in Wednesday as I had not yet bedded and ended the Tuesday portion of my week at that time. This latest transgression however has less to do with them and more to do with the fact that clearly Mother Nature - or should I call you Godmother Nature...yeah, that's right, I'm onto you - is the one orchestrating this heist...

The last two Tuesday nights have offered the absolute worst weather imaginable for placing trash outside...last Tuesday it was so windy that Dorothy whisked by me and asked if they were perchance serving peanuts on this flight. A quick bit of common sense and we were able to surmise that, lugging our trash bins out in this sort of gale would surely leave our unmentionables strewn across all of our neighbors' pristine, winter brown yards. Not wanting to be *those neighbors*, we opted to hold off and put out our trash this week. So last night, when we went to lug the refuse to the end of the driveway we opened the garage door, only to discover that, apparently last week's windstorm had transported our house, Dorothy style, to the Amazon. And it is apparently monsoon season. Due to not having braved the winds last week, our lids aren't shut...which means that the water streaming down from the sky would be joining our trash. Which would make the trash bins entirely too heavy for the thugs, I mean garbage collectors, to lift into the vehicle. It rained so much that our basement flooded. The sump pump is pumping it's little heart out. This is the first time that I have EVER heard it go on. We have been here almost 2 years.

So now we have to wait for next week. With 2 weeks of trash in the garage. My car is mad at me for locking it up in the garage with the trash, but someone has to keep an eye on it.

I'm not throwing anything out this week...kids, no more napkins, use your sleeves.

2008-02-29T17:22:00.003-05:00

All in all it has been a tame couple of days. Sabrina woke me at 5 something o'clock yesterday morning by moaning loudly in the hallway. ..That's my girl, subtle to a fault...anyway, she said her tummy hurt her...which is Sabrina code for any number of things other than an actual tummy ache...a touch to her forehead quickly confirmed that she was burning up. 102.8. Not pretty, but OK...throughout the course of the day her fever would go down and then back up, depending upon what medicine I was giving her at that time...around 11 I took her temp and it was around 102, so I gave her Motrin. About 30 minutes later, I looked over and her eyes were watering...I took her temp again and it was at an alarming 104.2!!! A cold dread gripped me as visions of her brain being boiled or her small frame being wracked by febrile seizures or...think HAPPY thoughts mom...maybe I should stop watching House obsessively...let me go turn on Scrubs...gripped me. I put her in a tepid bath and we played for about 15 minutes...her fever was now up to 104.3. I took her out and toweled her off. Thankfully that seemed to cool her off a bit. Her temp started dropping. Long story short, Motrin doesn't work on my girl, so we will be sticking to Tylenol for her from now on.

This morning she had a 102.somethingorother fever, so she has ridden the couch all day. The fever is gone now, but the whining has set in. So in otherwords, the status quo has been restored, things are exactly as they should be.

Except for the gas. Honestly I am not entirely sure which of these mangy mutts it is. I think it is the puppy, but then...I don't know for sure. She is a wiley one...constantly chewing on one of the other dogs, which makes it much harder to pin the flatulence on her...my husband started suggesting that I should change her dog food. She has been on the same food since she started eating solid food. The idea of switching it pains me...it's Iams...it's good food...she stinks. In the last several weeks I have been giving the three of them pig ears...so I stopped that, thinking maybe it was causing the gassiness. 2 days and there are still noxious clouds floating about the house. Can you give a dog Bean-o?

On Fire

2008-02-28T14:08:00.001-05:00

Is there some rule that states that all fevers must present themselves at precisely 5AM?

5 AM is SOOO not my friend...

Zzzzzz

Who's Your Daddy?

2008-02-27T20:57:00.004-05:00

"Mommy, who is Daddy's Mommy?"

"Grandma is."

"Who is Daddy's Daddy?"

"Grandpa is."

"Who is your Daddy?"

I have been dreading this question for every part of the last almost 7 years, since I found out I was pregnant with our son.

Think, think, think...how are you going to answer her...

"Poppy is like my Daddy."

"OK, but who is your real Daddy?"

Damn these smart kids...how can a 4 year old possibly be astute enough to see through that answer? OK...now what. I won't lie to my children, I can't do it.

"Honey, you don't know my father, you have never met him." OK, so far so good...

"Does he live far away?"

"Yes, he does."

"Like in heaven with Jesus and the angels?" This is slightly amusing, as my father is a rabbi...yeah honey, he and Jesus are tight, they are like *this*...

"No honey, he's not dead. Mommy didn't grow up with her father."

"But why?"

"Let's talk about something different..."

Thankfully we did. My mind didn't really move on from there though. And it still hasn't. I always want to be honest with my kids; I always try to give them a real answer. This question though? I don't really know how to answer it. It is true, Mommy grew up without her father. But not without a father figure. Not without a Daddy.

My parents met, hitchhiking across country, in the early 70's. They were hippies. All that weed and free lovin' eventually led to a failed marriage and me. Mom raised me without him and I never saw or heard from him until my senior year of high school. Even then, it was only because we tracked him down to help with college. The years that followed were dramatic and painful. And probably the most formative that I could have ever asked for. Years of pining to look like someone, answered. Dreams of seeing how the "other half" lived, fulfilled. Hopes of having a doting father, dashed. We spent years trying to break one another's spirit and in the end, I followed my father's admonishment that a tiger never changes it's stripes and cut ties. 17 years without him had made me a positive, happy person. 7 years with him had left me insecure and lifeless. I got to a point where I couldn't make my voice express how my heart felt. I could say the words I felt, but I couldn't make them sound sincere. I love you rang hollow, and that was just not acceptable. I mobilized, shook it off and cut ties. Nearly 7 years have passed since that day. I have never spoken to nor seen him again. He has never met my husband. If he knows of his grandchildren, it is through no choice of mine. It is sad, but I am confident that it was the right choice.

It occurred to me, that when I was answering my daughter, I was answering her about my father, not my dad.

When I was a very little girl, I met my dad. He was a big bear of a man. He was taller than my wildest dreams and stronger than any monster could be. In short, my dad could beat up your dad. But he never would. The relationship between he and my mother was rocky at best. There was alot of drinking involved and much drama ensued. It was always very clear to me and I suppose to him, that I was my mother's child. I was a loaner to him. When they were *on*, he was my dad, I was his little girl and to be treated as such. When they were *off*, I was his ex's daughter, he was a memory and not at all accessible. But he was still my daddy. I missed him, and would wish that we could all just be together again. When I was 16, they split for good.

They say that you don't get to pick your parents...even if your parent is an abusive one they are still your parent. He might not have always been an ideal dad, but he was my dad. I realize that now. I also realize now that some of his imperfections were not really bad, they were normal conflicts of interest between what a child wants, and what a parent can bend on. I remember when they split for the last time, I basically wrote him out of my life story. I had my reasons at the time, but there was also a certain element of "He wasn't ever my father, therefore he was never my dad." I guess meeting my actual father, and learning that he would never be my dad sort of showed me how twisted my logic was. I always sort of assumed that he felt the same way. That he had washed his hands of me when they divorced. That he never grieved for a child lost to him. Looking back now, with the clarity that being a parent myself has given me, I am not so sure.

Out of their long and rocky relationship, my mom and dad gifted me with a (step)SISTER. Even though our parents divorced, we didn't. We are sisters. When my heart hurts, I know she gets it. She feels it too. When someone makes her feel less than she really is, I want to claw their eyes out. Back off buddy, whoever you are, you will always be waaay beneath her, you will NEVER deserve her...once you understand that, we will get along just fine...Recently we have talked alot about our viewpoints and memories from when we were all a family. It's amazing how different things look from our two lenses. She is 10 years my senior and was privy to some facts and details that I was either shielded from, too young to understand or too self absorbed to notice. I guess that has all been part of what made me really come to terms with the fact that he was my dad. Is my dad. Will always BE my dad in my mind and heart.

The irony of this realization is that my father and my dad both live in the same state now. What are the odds? OK, so the state is FL...the odds are better than you might think. Regardless, my answer to my daughter still stands, he lives far away and she has never met him.

Mom has since re-married (yeah mom!!!!) and her husband is my children's grandfather. He has been since the day that they were born. I couldn't ask for someone to love them more. Mom has always done her best to give her daughter safety, security and love. And I have wrapped that around myself all my life. Her husband treats me as though I was his daughter, and I love him for that. He is like a dad to me. Again, my answer to my daughter is still right, "Poppy" is like my dad. Somehow though, she knows that he isn't my dad.

I am slowly working up the nerve to call my dad, and thank him. I want to thank him for being a dad, when he didn't have to be. For being a dad when I thought I didn't want him to. And for not being a dad when I decided that he wasn't anymore. Only a parent can love you enough to let you go. I also want to apologize. I am sorry that I never saw him for what he was. I am sorry that he always had to live in the shadow of who I thought my daddy really was. I am sorry that he never got to see what, with his help, and input, I grew up to be. And ultimately, I suppose I want to try and get the real answer to my child's question, "Who is Mommy's Daddy?"

Call him coach

2008-02-27T14:48:00.002-05:00

So The Soccer Mom called today. They want hubby to coach the boy child's team for the Spring. He had grudgingly half agreed to do it back in the fall, but only if they *really* needed a coach. Poor deluded dear actually thought that they might *not*. Well apparently they need several. And several of the children on the boy child's fall team actually wrote on their applications that they were requesting hubby as a coach. Tee hee. This will be great fun.

I can hardly wait to tell him. Of course he is all tired and sick and grumpy today, so it will have to keep...unless I am willing to risk mortal injury.

Child for Sale...Real Cheap

2008-02-26T20:55:00.001-05:00

At a Wendy's, as I am sliding in to sit next to her in the booth:

"Mommy, how come your butt's so big?"

Anyone want her??

Don't I know you?

2008-02-26T10:11:00.003-05:00

how did I forget? how could I have been led so far away from me? how many years, how many roads, how many hands have pushed me to here, and how do I get back to me? why was it so easy for me to become convinced that I was not who I have always been? is it too late to go back? is it fair to those around me if I do? and if it is, why does it feel so like a betrayal? can you love me the way that I am meant to be? Or only the way that I have become?

track back...try to find it...linger in the moment, the split second, the blink of an eye when it all happened. When did I put down the pen and stop thinking that I was creative and instead decide that I was only crafty? Was it something in the water at work that made me think that I was meant to scale the corporate ladder, rather than go on flights of fancy? Did the money pervert my sense of art and bribe me into stopping up my creative juices?

Maybe the how and the when of it are less important now. And the why? I think maybe the hurts were too fresh, too new, too close to the surface. When I'd start to create all that would come out was pain, and I wasn't ready to deal with it. I couldn't bring myself to expose it like that. What makes now different? Some of it doesn't hurt any more. And those that still do are demons that I guess I need to exorcise. Which would make writing my holy water.

The stopper is out, the hunger to create is back, I am ready to tilt at windmills and I think I have found and old ally. Or maybe it was me that needed to be found.

Violently Gassy

2008-02-25T19:51:00.003-05:00

I think we need to have the puppy's ass registered as a lethal weapon. She is clearly dead on the inside. You look at her and she farts. loudly. And then licks you. And then farts some more.

I'm going bald.

ugh...

What's my age again???

2008-02-24T10:02:00.003-05:00

I have lived in South Florida for the majority of my adult life. I don't now (Praise the Lord and Pass the Prozac) but the simple fact that I did, has left an indelible mark on my neurosis, uh, I mean personality.

South Florida is like this caricature of stereotypes. You have the horrendously, unimaginably poor...who are conveniently installed on every street corner to remind you how good you've got it. You have the unrelentingly rich, who are busy cutting you off on I-95 in their Ferrari's. You have the young and innocent that are frantically trying to prove that they are sex symbols, in their barely there shorts and skirts and see through shirts with peek-a-boo bras. You have the old and withered that refuse the be called Grandma and insist on dressing, ironically enough, identically to the young girls who have the fashion sensibilities of a hooker.

Living there can teach you alot about what you don't want to be...and can give you some pretty disturbing insights into the values of this country...my favorite illustration of this had to be the apartment complex that I lived in for several years in my early mid-twenties. The apartments were nice...the rent was truly a bargain...the location was quiet and serene...what masqueraded as the school district was something more akin to cell block D. Anyway, what amazed me more than anything was the number of Porsche's, BMW's and Mercedes that were parked there...I never could figure out why, if you had the money for both rent *and* an enormous car payment you wouldn't do something reasonable like, oh, I don't know, BUY A FRICKIN HOUSE?!?! Honestly the answer was simple...no one sees you drive your house. Only the people that happen to be there at the moment that you are turning into the driveway have any notion that that house might belong to you...or that you are delivering pizza there. Either way...me? I never got that.

Anyway, one of the lessons that I gleaned from this experience came directly from the "Glam-ma's"...and that was that I never want to be one of *those* women...you know, the ones that dress 20 years too young. Now I am in my 30's and no where near South Florida. And I keep worrying that I have become my own version of this...now, before you start busying yourself with calling me a hussy, let me to explain...in FL I never worried that I was dressing like the club kids...I keep as much of myself covered as the weather will allow. Mommyhood has added so much too my life...much of it around my mid-section, so I will keep that to myself, thankyouverymuch. Now that I am in PA, I still don't dress scandalously...the coverage is strictly G rated. BUT. I don't dress like the other moms. At all. I don't wear cardigans and mommy jeans. I am not a turtleneck and loafer girl. I wear cords and funny t-shirts, Doc Martens and funky hats. My wardrobe lends itself well to playing with the kids...my shirts make me laugh (or at least smile), my pants give me breathing room enough that I can crawl around or run, my shoes ensure that I can step anywhere and not worry that my socks will get wet. I am comfortable this way...when I look in the mirror, I think I look fine...the face I see is the same as I have always seen, so it doesn't look haggard to me, perched atop whatever ensemble I have pieced together from skulls and witty sayings...but I wonder...especially since it is not so different from how my kids are dressed.

None of the other mom's talk to me. For the year that I was here as a single parent, I chalked it up to me being viewed as something of a threat...NOBODY was a single mother at any of the venues I went to...the husbands didn't talk to me out of respect for their wives (or perhaps fear for their lives...not sure), the wives didn't talk to me out of ?? Fear that single parenting was contagious? Not really sure...I would talk about my hubby all the time, to any one that would listen...I wanted to reassure them that I really wasn't some cougar out after their man. That I was a wife, just like them. After a year they were (I guess rightfully) skeptical.

When my husband finally arrived, I wanted to trot him out at every possible occasion...like as though I was saying, "See, I told you I had a husband!!!". I figured the ice would thaw and the other mothers would welcome me to their little club. We could schedule playdates and carpools and...yeah, didn't happen.

My husband rationalized well, you know, they stay at home and you work full time, outside of the home...you are the major bread winner, so you are kind of different from them...maybe you seem a little threatening. A little odd. I mean we are in the middle of Amish country after all...

Then I lost my job. A part of me thought wow, now I really am on a level playing field. I have a husband - see him? Over there? - I stay at home and care for my kids. I have girl parts...so, can I join? Apparently still not.

I take my daughter to story time at the library...the mothers all seem to know one another, and hang out. I try saying hi and half of them don't even acknowledge me. So I play with the kids. The kids seem to like me well enough.

I take my daughter to dance class...we all wait out in the waiting room for the full hour. I actually have a friend there...we talk for most of the hour, and occasionally the other mothers talk to her too. When she is not there? Nobody even looks at me twice. Or at least not while I am watching.

I go to birthday parties with the kids. The parents all stand around and watch, and catch up on what little Johnny and Sally have been doing since last they saw one another...I smile and look hopefully at them. Nobody engages me in conversation...well nobody except for Weird Uncle Joe, decked out all in Camo, that hasn't been right since that cow kicked him in the head. He talks to me. And he drools. And he smells. Please someone, come and take Uncle Joe away...

My hubby says that the problem is that we moved into the 1950's. He is supposed to make friends, then when we socialize with them, I can be friends with the wives. Clever. Except that he is anti-social at best, and only grudgingly socializes with anyone that he didn't either marry or produce from his loins.

I am wondering if the problem isn't more superficial...I look around at all of the mom's and I notice that they all look sort of similar. They all have this short, highlighted hair-do. This has different degrees...from barely distinguishable from their husbands' haircut to just brushing the shoulders. The color is a warm, medium brown...again variations in there range from dark blond to kind of auburn. Me? I have waist length black hair. No curls, no waves, no highlights - though I am thinking of adding some funky colored chunks (see, this might be the problem). It's not a bad haircut...in fact it looks really nice on a lot of hem...I don't think I have the face for it. They are all wearing sweatshirts or fleece that have either repetitive patterns, are plain or have some kind of animal on them. (Quick story, this one rather "well endowed" mother had on this forest green sweatshirt with puppies cuddling on the front. Every time she would move, the puppies would bulge. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying "Let the puppies free!!!" - I am clearly not right). Me? If it has anything on it, it is likely a skull. Or Tinkerbell. Or some snarky saying such as "I'm the evil twin". Because I am. Did you read the part about the puppies???

So I am wondering, in short, if they are put off by my appearance. Do I not look "mom-ish" enough? My kids seem to think I am the real deal...I feel like they look at me as the "teenaged mother" of the group...the funny thing is, I am probably more Martha Stewart than 90% of them. Ya know, if Martha Stewart wore combat boots...to church...

Does there come a point in time when we are supposed to stop dressing how we like and how we feel and instead dressing like we *should*? When I was working, I did lots and lots and lots of dressing how I should...Monday through Friday from 7AM - 6PM. The way I dress is sort of like me wearing my personality on on my sleeve. I am comfortable, ironic, whimsical, useful...and if I follow that logic I suppose dead...because skulls are nothing if not dead. But still. Is their outfit an indication of who they are? Is there a stay at home mom uniform that I am supposed to don in order to fit in? And if I did, and it got me in, would my personality get me kicked out? Because my personality is a far cry from puppies in fall leaves...and I can't take that off.

That Ain't Natural...

2008-02-23T21:28:00.000-05:00

In the car, on the way back from a birthday party:

He: "Mommy, my balls glow in the dark."

Me: "Damn, what the hell was in that cake?"

Will you visit me in hell?

One of these things is not like the other one

2008-02-22T10:07:00.003-05:00

I'm an only child. My mother is an only child. Based upon this I think there is little wonder as to why I have always been fascinated with large families. Siblings have always been something that I regarded with a certain amount of awe and envy. I mean, I have had step siblings...in fact I am still very close with one of my "sisters", but the idea of having someone that was made up from the same two parents...who jumped out of the same genetic pool that you did...it seemed to me that must be the most idyllic experience ever - to have someone that was like you. (I think part of this also stems from never looking like ANYONE in my family...I look most like my father and never having known him as a kid, well, the thought of having a resemblance to someone was the coolest thing ever.) It is no shock then that I have 2 children. 2 Children that have the very same parents. That grow up in the very same household. That are so different that, had I not been very present and conscious for both their conceptions AND births I might question their parentage...

for example...

Several Valentine's Days ago, my Mother in Law gave each of the children a Valentine's Day card. It was several days before Valentine's, and the kids sat in the back seat of the car, in their carseats, as we drove home, clutching their cards. It was not yet Valentine's Day after all. I told the kids that they could open the cards any time if they wanted.

Sabrina, who was 2 at the time, ripped her card open and a dollar bill fell out...she quickly scooped it up, hugged it and started chanting "MoneyMoneyMoneyMoney"...

Sebastian, who had just turned 4 was eyeing her and her new found wealth with a mixture of horror and curiosity...in utter silence. My pensive little boy...

After about 5 minutes, he said timidly, "Mommy, d-do you think that there is a dollar in MY card?"

"Well honey, I can't imagine that there isn't, but you won't know until you open it. Would you like to open it?"

"It's not Valentine's Day yet mommy."

"I know, but it is OK."

"No, I-I-I think I will wait."

OK then....

About five minutes later, he piped up again...

"But mommy, what will I *do* with a dollar?"

"Well, you can put it in a bank and save it, or maybe if you are good, mommy can take you to the dollar store and you can buy something for yourse..."

"I want to save it!"

At which point Sabrina interjects "I want to EAT my dollar!!!"

...I swear honey, they are both yours!

So it is going to be one of THOSE days...

2008-02-22T09:11:00.001-05:00

5:02 AM -
Small girl child: "Mommy, I throwed up in my room"
Sleep-adled Mommy: "Oh honey...go get some water, mommy will be right there"

5:03 - 5:10AM
Cleaning up of remnants of last nights' dinner - stuffing must be related to corn, it still looks the same...who knew? - taking of temperature - wow, 97.3? Really? That sounds more like a radio station than a temperature, but OK -, administration of kid's Pepto, retucking in of said small girl child.

5:10 - 5:19AM
Snuggle back in bed, and wait for the sweet mistress sleep to take me back over - I get until 7:15 dammit!!!

5:19 and 12 seconds AM
Zzzzz

5:20AM
"This is your Sadistic Wake-up Call from the school district to let you know that School is CLOSED today". Peachy.

5:21 - 5:23AM
Zzzzz

5:24AM
Small crying boy child: "Mommy, I had a bad dream"
Sleep-adled Mom: "Oh, well sweetheart, it's all over now"
Sleep-stupor Dad: "Want a good dream???"
Sleep-adled Mom: "You have no school today...come here, let mommy give you a hug and tuck you back in...jumping Jehosophat, you're burning up!!!"

5:25 - 5:30AM
Frantic search for thermometer begins...small boy crawls in bed with father, who quickly wraps him up ad proceeds snoring and drooling on him...thermometer found - mental note, get one of those lo-jack things for the thermometer, stat - temperature taken. Thermometer begins beeping a shrill, alarming tone and the display turns red...101.4. Grand. Administration of Advil and re-tucking in commence.

5:31 - 5:40AM
Search for sleep recommences...

5:41 - 5:59AM
Zzzzz

6:00 AM
Small girl child: "Mommy, I throwed up on my door."
Sleep-adled Mommy: "Oh honey...go back to bed"

6:01 - 6:03AM
Clean up puke...I am no longer fascinated by the stuffing.

The Sushi Incident

2008-02-21T16:11:00.004-05:00

So... long ago and in a lifetime far, far away I was taking a college course through my job. Yeah, back when I had one...I know...Anyway, we had this project assigned, to write a paper ab0ut a goal. Shocking, I know, expected to write a paper in a college course. And of course, since this was being sponsored by my employer the assumption was made that I would use this opportunity to write about a, ya-know, WORK goal. Hi, have we met??? So let's let it go without saying that good ol', "out of the box" me chose a NON-work related goal. Sushi. Specifically the making of. I wanted to learn how to make sushi by Valentine's Day. Because that will help speed the processing time of merchants globally right? OK. Fine. Have it my way.

Being the gigantic DORK that I am, I wrote not one but two papers for this. I did one that was all formal and proper sounding...and I did another that was how I actually think and write...like I am a neurotic stand-up comedian, and you are sitting at a dimly lit table with a watered down cocktail laughing and hooting at my humor and wit. I handed them both in...I am pretty sure that my professor thought that I was unhinged...but she enjoyed them both...or was so afraid that I might repeat her course that she gave me an A. Funny thing, I got laid off a week before the final. Further proof that she was afraid I would find a way to repeat? she allowed me to take the final via e-mail.

Anyway, I actually did follow through on this goal and did successfully make sushi for my husband on Valentine's Day. For raw fish, it takes alot more effort that you might think.

I consider myself pretty handy in the kitchen...I'm no Martha Stewart - though I do long to be, oh the longing...sorry...and I'm smart, right? So I should be able to do this.

I wisely got a kit, complete with bamboo rolling mat and cookbook so that I could become a sushi wizard. I read the instructions eagerly (young grasshopper) and then proceeded to do with it what I do with all recipes when I see them for the first time...mentally made minor modifications and substitutions based upon what I already have on hand. Because that's how I roll.

Given the precise and exotic sounding nature of the ingredients, I left those intact, but when it came to the utensils? Yeah, I basically pooh-poohed the admonishments about needing this implement or that, chalking it up to some giant conspiracy with Williams-Sonoma to bleed me of my severance. More on that below though...

Anyway, fast forward though my arrogance and we are at V-day. According to my sushi almanac, the most important ingredient in sushi is the rice. The fine print at the bottom of the page should have told me something, but I thought it was "amusing". "It may take a year to perfect your sushi rice, but it is only good for one day. Never attempt to use sushi rice beyond that". OK, fine, if you say so, but hey, I why would I save it, I could always make more...silly publishers...so I begin my foray into the unknown and exciting realm of sushi preparation.

Step one, put sushi rice in a bowl and fill the bowl with cold water. Mush around (technical - eh?) until water gets cloudy, rinse and repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And...the water needs to run clear. Argh.

OK, 20 minutes of molesting the soggy rice and we are at step 2. Drain rice in the strainer and leave it there for 30-60 minutes. OK, drain rice in the...wait a minute, strainer? Don't have one of those...I mean, I have several colanders, but no strainers. Never really saw a need for one. I remember my mother ALWAYS having one. I remember that strainer playing a rather flashy role in a drunken chorus line number I once put on in my kitchen when I was in high school ( hi mom), but other than using it to drain small amounts of something, I never saw any huge importance to having such a tool in my kitchen...especially since my children have sharply curtailed the drunken performances. Anyway, so here I am at step 2, with no strainer. I did what any good boyscout would do, I improvised. (And yes, I meant boyscout. Story for another day...) I used a paper towel in the colander and silently made a mental note to myself that it might be worthwhile to pick up a strainer after all. When I finally had to empty the rice off of the paper towel I made a much less quiet mental note about it...

Next, put the rice in 3 cups of water plus 3 teaspoons (really, 3 teaspoons? Will they make a difference?? OK, I'll humor you) in a medium sized, heavy pot, with a tight fitting lid. Hmmm...I have medium sized pots and I have lids...would I call any of them heavy or tightly fitting? Well, not any more I wouldn't...Cover. Wave it bye-bye when you cover it, because you will not be allowed to see it again until it is of legal age to marry...in other words DON'T OPEN THE LID. EVER.

Place pot on medium-high heat, until it boils. Then...wait...it's covered, how will I know that it is boiling? Apparently the lid will jiggle and a white foam will attempt to escape (slightly gross)..slightly less apparently, if the lid is not as tightly fitting as you thought it was, it won't jiggle. It will just start boiling in secret with you none the wiser.

Anyway, in a perfect world...once it boils, you are to raise the heat to HIGH for 2 minutes...then lower it to medium for 5 minutes, until you hear the rice crackle. (What about snap and pop???) Once it crackles, you need to remove it from the heat and let it cool COVERED for 15 minutes...then remove the lid, wrap in a cloth and cover again for another 15 minutes.

Sidebar...while you are watching the lid jiggle and listening to the dulcet tones of crackling rice you are also supposed to be cooking up this mixture of sake and sugar and rice vinegar and salt...which I obediently did...heat it until the sugar dissolves, then allow it to cool. Cool.

In bizarro world, where I actually reside, what happens is I frantically pull the rice after oh, eleventy minutes too long on medium high, open the lid, (which apparently really is tantamount to seeing the bride in her wedding dress on say, the Tuesday BEFORE the ceremony.) shriek obscenities and throw out the burned mass that is mocking you from the bottom of the now DESTROYED pot. Or at least attempt to throw it out. But it has become very attached to the pot. Like long term commitment attached. Like, "while you weren't looking (because we told you not too) we got hitched attached". Like "me and the pot are going to have lots of metallic, ricey children" attached. Perfect.

I now scan furtively around my kitchen for a pot with a tight fitting CLEAR lid. I want to watch. I want to be a peeping tom...I am the voyeur of sushi rice dammit, and I am not afraid to admit it. I am however cursing the fact that I have to start all. over. again. This is like getting sent back to Plumpy and his gingerbread plums from Queen Frostine!!! Sooo close.... (If you don't get this reference then please come to my house immediately, so that my children can school you in the wonder that is Candy Land, you poor lost soul...or just come to my house and take me with you, your pick. Aren't I a sport?)

So, after rice, round two, I need to dump the rice into a wooden bowl and poke at it with a wooden spatula, to separate the grains or some such nonsense. A wooden bowl??? How archaic. Haven't I read a million times that wooden cooking tools=salmonella or anthrax or leprosy or something? Doesn't the CDC tsk-tsk every time I break out the wooden cutting board? Screw that, I am using a ceramic bowl....how much difference can it make. I dump, I poke, I feel vindicated. Hmph, there...no big deal. Now I need to pour the concoction from before slowly into the gelatinous mess that is the rice and mix it around. Which I obediently do. It works this small wonder and separates the grains from one another will still leaving them the inherent ability to bond to one another like 5th cousins on the Family Feud. At this point I stupidly think I have this licked...no problem. Next step, take a hand fan and fan the rice to room temperature. Oh. Come. On. Do I need to peel it a grape next? I don't have a hand fan, so I grab some random object and begin fanning my rice...and fanning...and fanning...and did you know that ceramic bowls retain heat ALOT better than wooden ones? Apparently the wisdom of having a wooden bowl is that the rice will cool down sometime THIS month...

Right around this time my husband comes strolling in. (What I have failed to mention is that I have simultaneously made the kids an alternative meal and fed it to them...don't hate me, I am superwoman.) (OK, so it was hotdogs and easy-mac heated up in the microwave but still. It was food.) (Tell me I'm fabulous again...please???) Anyway, the silly, unsuspecting man walks in, looks at me and says "What's wrong with you?" I sob "This is harder than I thought." He says "Eh, I'm not really hungry anyway." I say "You effing pig. Go rot." No, not really. But I thought it.

Anyway...it was now time to make the rolls. Which was surprisingly uneventful. Until the cutting incident. The book said that a good knife is very important. OK, sure it is. I mean, a knife is a knife - right??? And I have a gigantic set of them already (thanks Garry!!!) that I have to dust, oh once a week at least because I only use the steak knives. And sometimes the paring knife. In a really "devil may care" moment, I might even break out the utility knife (whoo). Oh, and the shears. Love them shears. Other than that? Dust collectors all. They sort of scare me to be honest. But then I have the scars to prove that they really, truly are vicious little monsters that are trying to steal custody of my fingers. (I want more than visitation with my digits dammit!!!) Anyway, I got cocky and assumed that my meager, "non-Japanese blade of death" would be plenty sufficient. I assembled the other accessories that the book deemed requirements - a wet, folded dishtowel and a bowl of rice vinegar, for wiping and dipping my knife in, between each. and. every. cut. - after all, I didn't want my knife to get jealous and think it wasn't as cool as all the harajuku knives...anyway. Long story short - ok, shorter? - my knife? Didn't cut it...well I mean it *cut* it, but not in a nice, uniform, aesthetically pleasing sort of way. It more like ripped through the roll and left jagged edged tears between sections.

But still....it was edible. It was tasty even. And now I need to go shopping.

Damn the Paparrazi

2008-02-19T13:11:00.002-05:00

I have come to the conclusion that I feel for Britney Spears, really I do. Sure she has made a gigantic mess of her life and ruined more than one good thing, but beyond that, I am getting a small (OK, microscopic) taste of what her day to day - albeit somewhat self imposed - pursuits must feel like. Every moment of this woman's day is immortalized on film. Every breath, every scratch, every yawn, snap-snap-snap, captured for all to see and comment on.

How is it that I have developed a sudden sense of pity for the poor dear? Well, I find myself suddenly hounded by my own eager little press corp. Morning, noon and what passes for night around here, I am constantly at risk of being photographed living my life. I wash a dish, snap-snap-snap. I brush my teeth, snap-snap-snap. I take a 4th helping of chocolate covered pretzels out of the bag...you get the idea.

These "stalkerazzi" are persistent...they lay in wait pushing, shoving and jostling one another, angling to get the best shot of me doing...whatever it is that I am doing at that given moment. They capture my every folly from the most unflattering angles - seriously, has any good ever come from a camera lens being pointed UP at a person? Especially a person that has given birth to other people and does not have an army of trainers, chefs and stylists to ensure that all visual evidence of said offspring is erased from their visage?

Of course, unlike the Britster, I suppose I am fairly safe in trusting that these images will never be leaked to the internet, or sold to some seedy publication for countless sums...unless of course there is some seedy publication out there specializing in the day to day excitement that is generated by being a stay at home mom. Oh the luxury, the excess, the...yeah, didn't think so. If they do come out with one of those however, we might reconsider. Not only am I an amazingly UNintersting subject, but my shutterbugs aren't nearly technologically savvy enough to get the unauthorized images that they work so hard to accumulate off of their cameras.

I also suppose that, much like Ms. Spears, I have brought the constant glare of attention on myself...it was after all MY brilliant idea to get the children cameras for Christmas...ah well, I guess I should just go find myself a small dog to tote around and some enormous shades to hide my weary eyes...

The one where she loses her job...

2007-11-15T13:10:00.000-05:00

On Thursday of this past week, exactly 1 week before Thanksgiving, I was laid off form First Data Corp, after 7 years of loyal service. I didn't see it coming, and it felt surreal...like I some sort of dream that you know can't possibly be realistic, but sounds and looks real enough for the moment. It's Saturday now, and I haven't woken up yet, so I am guessing this isn't a dream.

I'm really not as freaked out as I expected to be. I am actually almost excited. Or perhaps the word that I am looking for is delusional? Hmmm...not really sure. At any rate, there are a great many things in this life that I have always thought I would love to do...but with the nice, fat, steady paycheck coming in week after week, the thought of chasing down any of those notions was unthinkable. Well, now with it being taken from me, I feel entitled to try them out. And the biggest blessing of all is that my husband is 100% supportive and behind me on this...I sort of wonder if a part of him isn't almost satisfied to finally, after 6 years of marriage be able to stake his claim as the bread winner...and you know what, if that is part of his "enlightened" approach to all of this, so be it! I am happy for him...

For now, I am going to stay home and be wife, mother, homemaker. We'll see how long this idea enchants me...though something tells me it will be quite some time.

I really do think that I am going to be OK...at least for the next hour or so.

So this is blog...

2007-07-06T22:20:00.000-04:00

I can remember fancying myself something of a writer when I was growing up...actually had the notion that I would someday sustain myself through the feverish scribblings of my pen...then, one day I just sort of stopped writing. The funny thing is, when I think about the exact moment that I stopped, it seems to me that it was the exact moment that I actually, finally had something interesting to say.

So many years have passed since then, and so many thoughts, stories, poems have gone unwritten...now, it just feels right to write. So off we go...

And in the bath...

2007-06-06T22:32:00.000-04:00

He: What's your favorite planet?
She: Pluto
He: Pluto's not a planet anymore.
She: The moon
He: The moon's not a planet either.
She: Earth?
He: Huh, well my favorite is Venus. And Jupiter. And Mars. I like all of the planets.
She: Oh yeah, me too...

I dunno, but somehow I don't think that I knew that many planets at 3 & 5...

Overheard at dinner

2007-06-05T22:31:00.000-04:00

From the mouth of my 5 1/2 year old son:

He:Who is God's wife?
Me: He doesn't really have a wife...
He: He must have a wife, he has so many children!

He: Who made God?
Me: Ummmmm

Wow, to be so black and white again...

What do you believe?

2007-05-30T22:30:00.000-04:00

Lately I have been thinking alot about fate, destiny and the words "meant to be". There are basically two camps when it comes to this sort of thought...those that believe in such things, that believe that everything happens for a reason; and those that believe that life is random. That things happen because of the choices that people make.

Years ago, when I was in college, I believed wholeheartedly in the "meant to be" brand of life. I had my share of negative episodes in my life, and rather than believe that I just had shitty luck, or bad karma to burn off or whatever, I needed to have that romantic view that this was all leading me to somewhere or something that was bigger and more important than I could imagine...that it was all supposed to happen. If everything is supposed to happen and is somehow pre-ordained then you can have no regrets. Your actions are not truly your own doing, you are being moved along by some cosmic hand. Just as my belief in this started wane, as things were looking interminably bleak - which I now realize is a fairly indulgent outlook for someone who was a mere 19 years old to possess - something came along to renew my belief that I had not endured my own set of trials for nothing...I found something that truly made sense. I met a boy! To me this was not just a boy though. This was my soulmate. When I looked at him it was like looking at myself, only with all of the mysteries that I couldn't puzzle out about myself right there in front of my eyes to discover. With that "fateful" meeting, I felt sure that my destiny was sealed, that I had found my purpose, achieved my greatest goal: I had found "the one". Every moment seemed life changing, and every day seemed unbearably important. I abandoned the idea that life had a special and individual path for me to take, and instead happily resigned myself to sometimes follow and sometimes lead this boy wherever we were supposed to go. And life seemed much less intimidating, knowing that I would never be alone again. So much uncertainty had been stripped from it...there were no more choices, just living out our own special life script. Time rolled on, and as I look back, we were together for a relatively short time. We were very young, and drama and foolishness intervened. Our parting was loud and messy and I don't remember an actual moment of it, but I can relive it at a moments notice. We made choices and they were different. Our paths no longer seemed intertwined. Needless to say, I was crushed. It was a short time, but it left a mark on me permanently.

I spent a rather longish time trying to recover my sense of self, of individuality. I was looking for my path...and at some point, I gave up on it. I decided that there was no master plan. That I was the only one controlling where I woke up and where I rested. That life was random and there was only the now. And thus I stumbled along for what at this point in my life, adds up to a great many years. I am sure, when I look back upon my life from the vantage point of death it will be but a season, but for now, it appears to be a vast expanse of my history. At any rate, with this newfound conviction that destiny was merely a cliche, I made alot of mistakes, which I set about learning from as soon as I recognized them. I dwelled on things when it suited me, and brushed things off as I saw fit. No longer hostage to a pre-ordained future, I took whatever liberties pleased me at any given time and felt no guilt at much of anything. I was just enjoying the landscape that I was discovering all around and inside of me.

One night, I woke up. I came face to face with the man who would change my life. This was not my soulmate. This was not the yin to my yang. This was not someone to lead nor follow me; but it was someone with whom I wanted to make the rest of the journey with. This was fate and destiny and free will, all in one package. I didn't HAVE to be with him; I wanted to; I chose to. I realized that, had I not made the choices that I had made, I would not have found myself presented with him at the exact right moment. But those were my choices. I had been fickle. I had been careless. I had been completely and utterly shortsighted. Yet it had all gotten me to the right place at the right point in time. We went on to create two beautiful children, whom I realize are my purpose in life. They are what I was put here to create...to protect...to nurture. I have continued to make choices which I believe are entirely my own to decide and I have found that whichever choice I make, it is the right one, because it is the one that I have made. So life it would seem is both random and pre-ordained. Once I figured this out, I felt a certain peacefulness wash over me. A certain sense that I may not know where I am going, but that is only because I haven't decided yet.

Fate. Destiny. Meant to be. They are interestingly ironic little buggers. Just when you think you have found their place in your life, they pop up unexpected and unbidden. It would seem that somehow, in attaining this inner peace, I welcomed them back into my life. Once I figured out that destiny and free will could peacefully coexist, that cosmic hand reached out and opened up a door. On the other side, having taken his own path to get there, stood the boy. With the wisdom of the years behind me, and the confidence of mature love on my side, I realize that he is not a sign of things to come, he is not a threat to all that I have struggled to create, he does not dictate the path that I must walk. He is a part of my life story, the story that I alone have chosen.And I like it that way. Welcome back boy.

New & Interesting

2007-05-03T22:29:00.000-04:00

So, recently I found myself doing something that I had never envisioned...on Tuesday I actually joined a church. I have been going to said church for a number of months now and had not actually burst into flames, which I took to be a mightily good sign.

I don't know quite why I found this simple act so surprising, as when I look back on my life I know I have been searching for some sort of Religious identity for years and years...

Upon meeting my father the Rabbi, I assumed that all signs pointed to Judaism and really, with a parent "of the cloth" what choice did I truly have? I immediatrly set about trying to be the best Jew that I knew how. I figured hey, with a Rabbi Father as a role model I should be on the right track. I found somethings unsettling though...other than the obvious edict against Christmas trees, reindeer and jolly old elves...you actually had to pay for membership. And there were times that the doors were locked. Did you know that worship actually has "Hours of Operation"?? This sort of set me a little off center...I mean for me, I could pretty much always count on preferential treatment and after hours access to spiritual guidance should I request it...or at least in theory, this is afterall MY father we are talking about, who those that know me understand means he is not that available to anyone that isn't there for the specific purpose of lauding his achievements and personal greatness...unless there is an audience...but I digress...as I was saying, for me, the Hours meant nothing, I had a key (literally) to the sanctuary. But what of those poor lost souls whose spiritual crises did not have the good sense and courtesy to occur during convenient business hours. Or even worse, what of those in need of comfort who had NOT written out a sizable check to ensure that their souls would have a place to gather with kindred souls? Is it me or does this seem to be basically the antithesis of what people seek when they are in Spiritual need?

So anyway, I joined a church. It was utterly painless and took almost no time at all. The people are very straightforward, well meaning folk...not too fussy or prissy, just level headed and compassionate. I have never gotten the impression from any of them that they seek to compete with one another, in order to determine who is *more* devout. (I have always wondered, what does one who wins this contest receive? Is there a VIP section in Heaven? Do you get the fluffiest cloud?) And they have all regarded me with nothing more than the usual idle curiosity that one might expect when you walk into a room where no one knows you...which one must realize, in my religious history is something of a novelty...being a Rabbi's Kid (albeit unknown and invisible until the age of 17) I became quickly accustomed to being scrutinized constantly. On the plus side, it did improve my mimicry and thicken my skin somewhat to being in the public eye. On the minus, it made me feel exposed and inadequate..like a fake who was mere moments from being uncovered. Thankfully I found the solution...absent myself entirely from the whole mess, including said egomaniacal Rabbi Father...voila, no more stress...but I digress again...I really feel comfortable when I am there, and I find that it sets me on the right track for the week. I think it is safe to say that we are all the very best versions of ourselves that we can be when we are in church...if even only for that hour, it reminds me of the kind of person and parent that I really, truly want to be...and for that hour, I am that person...and I leave with that...and I think every week, I manage to remain that person for a slightly longer time...

...so I joined a church!

Living life Day by Day

2007-04-23T22:27:00.000-04:00

Speaking of living life day to day...(I know, I know...you are thinking, when were we speaking about living life day to day???) sometimes, when you are sure you have as much to deal with as you think you can and you are sure that you can't take any more, God shows you how much confidence and belief he has in YOU by giving you more. I thought my plate was full enough, but I just got 5 more helpings...Skorja, our husky, just had 5 puppies yesterday...I didn't know she was pregnant until Thursday.

I was panicking...I was freaking out...I was pretty dismal...but now they are here, and they are real, and I realize that it would be an insult to God and Mother Nature and all of their infinite wisdom to bemoan their arrival...they are new life, innocent and full of potential...5 little opportunities to complete some family out there...5 little "missionaries" of soft lapping tongues and the comfort born of a dog's soulful eyes. Pets are certainly part of God's master plan for people, and I have a handful worth of his rawest talent, that will someday deliver unconditional love and joy to someone - how lucky am I? How honored and special I must really be to aide and assist in rearing such life and spreading such joy.

At least that's my story today...