15 Minutes of Peace

Hillary is Out

2008-06-04T19:19:00.004-07:00

Me: (looking at the NYTimes online) Guess what you guys?

Girls: What?

Me: Hillary is out.

Girls: Really? Then who won?

Me: Well, now it’s between Obama and McCain.

J: (excited, like she knows "the answer") Oh! okay! then I’m going to vote for Obama.

O: Yeah. Me too!

J: Because Daddy says that if Hillary doesn’t win, then we should vote for Obama. Not McCain.

Me: Yeah?

J: Yeah, because McCain is bad.

Me: Really?

J: Yeah, because he says we should use guns and stuff.

Me: He does, huh?

J: Yep. He’s bad.

Girls: We’re going to vote for Obama.

Me: Okay, me too.

Once Upon a Time, by O

2008-05-28T07:39:00.001-07:00

O narrated this story to me and asked me to type it. And I did. Word for word.

Once upon a time, there was a little cottage. And a little girl lived in it. She was three. And one day when she woke up in the morning, her mother said, “Time for breakfast Little One. We’re having Cream of Wheat today.” The little girl said, “whoo hoo” because the little girl, of course, loved Cream of Wheat.

When the little girl was eating breakfast, she heard a knock on the door. She wondered if it was her father. Her father had been away for a long time in Chicago. Her mother said, “I think that’s Dad. Let’s go see.” So the little girl went.

When they opened the door, surprisingly they saw that it was Dad. When they saw that it was Dad, the little girl said, “Hello, Daddy!” and gave him a big hug. Her dad said, “I missed you.” And the little girl said, “I missed you too.”

So her father was very happy and she was happy too. And they lived happily ever after.

The End.

A Mom's Job Just Ain't for the Faint of Heart

2008-05-24T08:31:00.001-07:00

So it seems like all I talk about anymore is poop.

Sigh. Such is the wonder that is my life. Oh, the treasure. Oh, the joy.

So last night I had agreed to babysit a friend's two children overnight. On a school night. Yeah. I'm nice like that. She's in Nepal for 5 weeks helping out in a little health care clinic. She and some colleagues wrote a grant and it was approved. Now she's working on an awesome project and getting nursing school credit for it too.

And once again, the stay-at-home mom friends come to the rescue. Those of us who are not out saving the world. Or rather, those of us who are saving the world one poopy mess at a time. I mean, does anyone out there realize how much us stay-at-home moms contribute to the GNP? I digress. That's gotta be a post for another time.

Anyhoo. I agreed, because her husband works nights, to take her kids a few times overnight while she's away. Other friends are pitching in too.

So last night as I'm yelling at the kids to get their pjs on, I smell something awful. Since I have two dogs, whenever I smell something like that smell, I naturally assume it's them. I searched high and low for dog poop and couldn't find any. Then I entered my bathroom and saw poop in the toilet, a poop smear going across the toilet seat, and a lovely amount of poop smeared all over the rug in front of the toilet.

I immediately started screaming. "Oh my God, what is this?!?!"

The kids, all four of them, the ones who had repeatedly ignored me whenever I made a request for their attention earlier in the evening, all ran to me. And then their mouths gaped open as they stared at the mess.

It was awful. We're not talking a couple of smears here. We're talking a whole turd's worth of poop "fell" out of the toilet and was smeared into the rug below. Eeewww.

After much cajoling and promising not to beat the offender, one child (not my own) admitted that he had indeed pooped in the toilet. And had "forgotten" to flush. But he swore up and down, with his huge sweet brown eyes that when he left the room all of the poop was still in the toilet.

Hmmm.

One child then suggested that "the dog did it." Yeah, just like the time the dog ate my homework. This time, the dog ate a child's piece of poop? Dragged it out of the toilet and smeared it on my rug?

I'm not buying this story. Let me tell you why.

First of all, my kids never flush the toilet. It's like they believe they'll get sucked down into it if they do. And they always leave the lid up.

I know. It's disgusting.

And our dogs have never, not ever, once dragged poop out of the toilet.

I mean, I know dogs can be gross. I'm not naive. Our old dog used to steal poop out of the cat litter box and eat it. But our current dogs have been with us for almost 3 years and have never dragged poop out of the toilet. I wouldn't put it past them, but since we don't have cats anymore, I have no idea if they'd steal poop from a cat box. All I know is that they've never dragged kid poop out of the toilet.

But did they do it last night? If the children are to be believed, they did.

And if they didn't, then what exactly happened?

Shudder.

All I can say is thank God for Clorox wipes and Target's cheap prices for rugs.

Snow on May 23rd

2008-05-23T12:12:00.006-07:00

This is the not so nice thing about where we live---snow.

Today we woke up to snow on May 23rd.

May!! Twenty-third!

On the way into school this morning, in my car occupied by 4 children, I hear the following conversation.

P: I wish I was a Snow Princess.

J: I wish I was a Snow Princess too.

P: You can't be a Snow Princess. I'm already the Snow Princess.

J: You can have more than one Snow Princess.

O: I wish I was a Snow Queen.

P: Okay, you can be the Snow Queen. J and I will be Snow Princesses. J, you have to be the younger one.

J: No. We have to be the same age. Otherwise, it isn't fair.

P: Okay. We'll be twin snow princesses.

O: G, you can be the Snow King.

G: No! I want to be Snow.

O: And I'm the Queen. The Queen says we don't have to go to school today!

Mom: Nice try. Sorry.

I Love James Taylor

2008-05-23T08:31:00.001-07:00

Why is it so hard sometimes to shower the people you love with love? Hmm....

One morning while children sit at the breakfast bar doing nothing but waiting to receive the delicious and nutritious breakfast that Mom prepares. And serves to them. With joy. And then Mom proceeds to make and pack their delicious and nutritious lunches for school.

Mom: (singing) Shower the people you love with love. Show them the way that you feel....

Kid 1: Mom!

Mom: What? (then back to singing) Shower the people you love with love. Show them the way that you feel. Things are gonna work out fine if you only will....

Kid 2: Mom! Stop it!

Mom: Stop what? What am I doing? (singing again) Things are gonna work out better if you only will....

Kid 1 and 2 at the same time: Stop singing!

Kid 1: Yeah, Mom. (sigh, eye roll) It's annoying!

A Few Days Off

2008-05-22T16:25:00.003-07:00

While I'll miss him tremendously, I'm very much enjoying my few days off. You see, my hubby, my delightful husband, is in San Francisco this week at a conference and in his absence, I get a few days off. It's not that he puts any pressure on me. It's just that he works so hard---to the tune of 90+ hours per week---it's hard not to work hard around him.

You see, I am the perfect wife. The perfect mother too. Of course I am. The laundry is always done. The dishes are always done. Dinner is always on the table at just the right time. The beds are always made. The kids are always to bed on-time having read books, taken a bath, and brushed their teeth.

Seriously. Ask my friends.

But man, do I ever need the occasional day off. Two days? Glorious. Three? Fabulous. And four, well, I'll think I've died and gone to heaven.

So last night, as my hubby flew to SFC, I decided to let the dishes rot in the sink. I even left them to smolder while I watched the latest episode of The Office (on nbc.com, my recent discovery). And then today, no laundry. Not a single load. Usually, I do a load a day, at least, just to keep caught up. But today, none. And the breakfast dishes sat in the sink the whole day. While I dined out for lunch with a friend and skimmed through books at a bookstore.

I just may even let the dinner dishes rot again tonight. And instead will shower and settle in for a few chapters of Water for Elephants. Maybe even with a glass of wine.

Yeah. I think I like this.

Why Can't They Just Flush the Toliets?

2008-05-21T18:59:00.002-07:00

I'm on the phone with my bff today and in the middle of a very important (ahem) conversation, I notice the toilet in the powder room. Unflushed. Again. Poop overwhelms said toilet, along with what looks like several bouts of pee and toilet paper.

"Goddamn it! Oh, sorry to interrupt our conversation but dang it! I just noticed the toliet in the powder room was once again not flushed. It's sickening. There's poop practically falling out of the thing."

"Oh, don't you hate that?"

"Dang kids. Oh wait! Did I tell you this already? Here's yet another example of my exemplary parenting. So the other day, I'm in a pissy kind of mood. Yeah, yeah, maybe PMS, whatever. I walk into the girls' bathroom and notice the toilet unflushed. With the lid up. It looked like at least one poop had taken place followed or proceeded by multiple pees. It was disgusting. So in my wonderfully foul mood, I yell at the kids---"Dammit, you guys have to flush the toilet! This is soooo gross! Do you guys even get how gross this is? it's like...okay...from now on, I think I'll start pooping in a bucket. Yep, a bucket! and then I'll leave it on the floor in your bedroom. What do you think about that?!?!"

See, I am the perfect parent.

Freakin' Freaky

2008-03-16T13:37:00.007-07:00

On Friday, O and I went cross-country skiing with her entire 2nd grade class. It was a blast. The kids skied fabulously, and O and I had some wonderful quality time together.

Take this conversation, for example---

O: (struggling to get back up after a fall) Oh, this freakin' ski!

Me: O, you can't use that word.

O: What word?

Me: Freakin'.

O: Why?

Me: Well, because it's a bad word, or rather, it means a bad word.

O: I don't get it. I hear you say "freakin'."

Me: No. I say "freaking," like "I'm freaking out over here."

O: What's the difference?

Me: Well, it's okay to say "freaking out" but it's not okay to say "freakin' ski."

O: Why? What's the bad word that freakin' means?

Me: Oh, you know. That other bad "f" word.

O: What word?

Me: Oh, let's just please forget we had this conversation!

Later, that very same day, I overhear my children have this lovely conversation---

J: Oh, this freakin' pillow!

O: You can't say that.

J: Say what?

O: You can't say "freakin'." Mom said so.

J: Why?

O: Because it means a bad "f" word.

J: What does it mean?

O: I don't know. I think it means "friggin'." And you're not allowed to say "friggin'" either.

Oh my stars! I wanted to hide in the closet!

Here's the Great Thing About Where We Live

2008-03-07T20:16:00.012-07:00

Yes, I complain about the snow. And the cold. And the huge sweaters and coats and jackets and hats and gloves. And yes, I hate dressing and undressing my children from snow pants and boots, both of which are usually very muddy. And I'm sick of kids with runny noses and wet dog prints on my shiny floors.

But here's the great thing about where we live.

We can go from here......

to here in about 45 minutes.
And we can have fun in the winter wonderland doing things like this...

and this....we finally made it to the yurt.... But when we're really sick of the snow, we can go here in about 2 hours.....

It's a tough life. But somebody's gotta do it.

The Injury

2008-02-27T16:54:00.013-07:00

Have you ever seen the movie Fargo? Remember the bloody scene in the snow?

Well, yesterday, we came home to our backyard snow looking like that scene in Fargo. There was blood everywhere. Lots and lots of blood.

Okay, maybe it wasn't quite as bad as that scene in the movie.

Oh, and it was dog blood.

Here's what happened----

The girls and I came home later than normal because I had a meeting and they stayed in the aftercare program at their school for the first time ever. When we are not home, we confine the dogs to the laundry room which has a dog-door leading to our fenced backyard. The dog, the injured one, was nursing his wound in the snow when we found him.

I checked him out and found that he had cut his paw. It was deep, very deep. But it was clean and straight. Not at all jagged.

I decided not to do my usual thing---which is to panic---and instead, I remained calm, wrapped his paw in bandages made from torn old towels, and waited for my husband to come home and give his opinion on whether or not we needed to take him to the vet.

In the meantime, I was trying to get the dog into the laundry room so I could check him out and to help contain the blood to the linoleum flooring of the laundry room.

My girls had other "plans." They twice opened the door that leads to the rest of the house just in time for the dog to notice and run into the house trying to escape from my examination. On his first escape, this led to dog blood on the carpet in my dining room, and on the second escape, led to dog blood going up the carpeted stairs to the room the dog perceives as his den, which also happens to be my closet.

Amongst the chaos, I still managed to remain calm. I guess there's a big difference between your child bleeding profusely and your dog bleeding profusely because had this been one of my children, I would have definitely been panicking by now.

And then J accidentally slammed her finger in the door, right at the same time that I was trying to corral the dog, and she started screaming. I got her some ice but then must have said something like, "Here, honey, you hold it. I've got to get the dog into the laundry room," because she then said, between sobs, "Mommy, do you care more about the dog's boo-boo than mine?"

Oh my poor baby!

"Of course not," I said soothingly. "I care much more about yours, honey. Are you okay?"

Later, I realized she had asked me the much easier question of dog versus child. Had she asked me the much more difficult question of child versus blood-stained carpeting, I may have paused and in my hesitation may have mistakenly given the impression that I cared more about the mess than about her poor wounded fingers. Ahem.

Finally, my husband arrived and was able to examine the dog.

"Well, I'm not really sure about dogs, but if this was a human, he'd need a lot of stitches," he said.

So, being of the pioneer spirit, and uhm, wanting to save ourselves the $150 that the vet would have surely charged us for arriving after-hours, we sutured the beast ourselves.

We put down a few towels. Then attached a bright shop light to shine directly on our surgical "table." I held down the dog while D stitched him up. During the procedure, I whispered sweet nothings into the dog's ear like, "It's okay," and, "Good dog," and I think it was the nicest I've ever been to this poor dog. D numbed his foot with an injection of lidocaine, I cut off the fur around the wound, and then D cleaned the site and stitched him up. Six stitches. Then we applied antibacterial cream, wrapped it in gauze, and stuck duct-tape over the whole thing.

It was awesome. We were like rock stars. Pioneer rock stars. Truly, I wished I'd had a camera.

Everyone was calm. The situation was under control. The dog was seemingly pain free for the time being, and we saved ourselves the dough we would have had to pay the vet had my hubby not had the know-how to pull this procedure off.

Amazing.

I Love My Kids

2008-02-21T12:42:00.001-07:00

When I was a kid, I was allowed to eat anything and everything. I grew up on Twinkies, HoHos, Fruit Loops, Snack Pack puddings, fruit cocktail in syrup, Strawberry Quik, Kool-aid, Hi-C, you name it, I was allowed to eat and drink it.

Not just allowed, I was encouraged to eat it. We had everything in our cupboards. We were the envy of the town. We had Suzi Q's, Frosted Flakes, Fruity Pebbles, Cheetos, Fritos, and Hostess Cupcakes.

That's right, my friends, we were the envy of the town.

My kids? They are seriously deprived. Every single food item I mentioned above, they have never tried.

Never.

So last week, in another one of my diet-deprived moods, I started talking with my girls about the things I had when I was a kid that they have never tried.

And I promised to buy them a Twinkie so they could try one. They were thrilled. On several occasions since then, they have asked me, "What was the name of that food you ate when you were a kid?"

"Twinkie," I told them.

They were intrigued. They wanted to taste this elusive treat that only I had had the privilege of tasting.

So, yesterday, I bought them some Twinkies. Just a two pack. I was drooling just looking at them.

Oooh, they used to be my favorite. But I haven't had one in, oh, about 25 years. I had visions of my girls loving me forever since I allowed them to share in this unbelievable treat.

And guess what?

They didn't like them.

I mean, they didn't gag or anything while eating them (like O does when we make her eat vegetables she doesn't like), but they didn't even want to finish them.

Can you imagine?

They didn't even want to finish a Twinkie?

A Twinkie is not that big afterall. I could eat one in about, oh, one bite.

But no. They were not that interested.

Sigh.

Does this mean all that healthy food I've been exposing them to, because, let's face it, half the time they don't eat it, does this mean that all the food I've been preparing for them, all the meals I've been presenting to them, does this mean all this has paid off? Does this mean that they actually prefer "real food" to food that's been shelf-lifed to last through a nuclear holocaust?

Oh my stars.

I love my kids.

And I must be doing something right.

Pat on the back. Sigh of relief.

Nightstand

2008-02-20T18:20:00.004-07:00

Here are the books and magazines that are currently on my nightstand----

1. Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
2. Julie & Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously by Julie Powell
3. In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto by Michael Pollan
4. Cooking Light, March 2008--cover: Fabulous, Fudgy Mint Brownies
5. Cooking Light, Jan/Feb 2008---cover story: Winter Comfort [Foods]
6. Sunset, Feb 2008---cover story: Slow-cooked Comfort

Okay, there's a couple more items (the Boden Spring 2008 catalog, Summer People by Brian Groh) but are you noticing a trend here?

Yep, you can even tell from my nightstand that I'm on a diet.

Sigh.

You Know You're On A Diet When....

2008-02-14T10:16:00.004-07:00

So I'm at the gym. I'm being good. I'm on the elliptical machine and I'm staring at CNN on the TV. Yep, that's right. Being double good---working out AND watching the news.

But then my eyes wander over to another TV, about two TVs away, where the Today Show has been playing and see a vision. A vision so lovely it stops me in my tracks.

It's a closeup of a warm, inviting-looking beef stew. I see chopped pieces of juicy beef. Bright green peas, some potatoes, carrots, and a delicious sauce. Just like your grandma used to make.

Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm. The vision is melting in my mouth. I start day-dreaming about what I'm going to have for lunch. I wonder if I have any beef at home? Could I make something like this?

I start to salivate.

And then I see it. The slogan for a dog food company.

That's right, dog food.

I'm drooling over dog food over here people. I need help!

Open Marriage

2008-02-08T18:58:00.000-07:00

Does this even happen anymore? Does anyone believe in this crazy practice today?

I thought open marriages died out at the same time as wide collars, polyester pants and sideburns. But I guess not.

Earlier this week, I found out that my friend, the one who I suspected of having an affair, is still having her affair, albeit at a greater distance, since he moved to a city far from her. But she's been taking a lot of trips. Trips by herself. Trips that land her in the very near vicinity of the man she's been sleeping with. The man her husband apparently doesn't know she's sleeping with.

I also found out to my shock and dismay, that the married man she is sleeping with is practicing the deplorable ritual of open marriage.

That's right, folks. Open Marriage.

Or at least I found out that he and his wife used to practice this. Whether the wife knows about it at this time is unknown. But she's been comfortable with it in the past.

So when another friend and I questioned over and over, "How does [the wife] not know?" We were asking the wrong question. Oh, she knows alright. She's just okay with it.

Can you even imagine?

Our Barnes and Noble Days

2008-02-07T08:58:00.000-07:00

On Tuesdays, I have a cleaning lady come to the house. It's best if the girls and I are not around while she's there. We just get in the way, and worse, I feel like I should be helping her.

A bit of guilt?

So to relieve myself of such feelings, we came up with a wonderful plan. We spend the time at Barnes and Noble. I love this idea because it also relieves two other guilts of mine---not spending enough quality time with my girls, and not spending enough time reading.

So on Tuesdays, J and I pick up O from school and head straight to Barnes and Noble. There, we each pick out a new book, and sit in the cafe. We drink tea, we share a treat, and we read to each other from our new books.

Lately, my girls have been obsessed with the American Girl series books. Each week is just enough time to need the next book in the series, so we pick out a book and devour the words, and pictures, while we nosh. The girls also take interest in what I'm reading and ponder what they might read when they are grown women. Sharing this time together, just the three of us, has become our tradition.

And we love our Barnes and Noble Days.

Super Tuesday

2008-02-05T14:34:00.000-07:00

I always cry on election day. There's just something about it. Something about the whole country coming together on the same day to do something positive for our nation. I cry about being a part of something bigger than myself. Something that requires a collective.

And then there's the fact that we even have the right to vote. We are lucky. Not everyone has this right. People die for this right and sadly, many take it for granted.

I remember the time that we, meaning the people of the State of Illinois, elected the first African-American female senator, Carol Moseley-Braun. I was driving from Chicago to Michigan that day, having already voted earlier in the day, when they announced the results. I was alone in my car, but still, I cheered. Then I cried. It was a momentous occasion.

Today, we could do something similar. Today, people all over the country are coming together to vote for who they want to be on the general election ballot in November.

Will we, for the first time, vote for a woman to be the Democratic nominee for president? Will we, for the first time, vote for an African-American to be the Democratic nominee for president? I am praying that we do. This is an incredible opportunity. It is an incredible time in the history of our country.

Yes, I voted and I cried. And yes, I was humbled by the experience.

The Yurt

2008-02-03T12:33:00.001-07:00

Today we had a perfect winter day activity planned. We were supposed to join a good friend and her daughters, with 11 girls in total, to celebrate her daughter's 8th birthday. Her plan was a wonderful one. We were to all slap on either cross-country skis or snow shoes and hike/ski one beautiful mile into the woods to a good old- fashioned yurt. There, we would have a birthday party. On our backs and on sleds we would have pulled and carried presents, hot cocoa, a birthday cake, and lots of yummy snacks. After we had a wonderful time of opening gifts, eating cake, and toasting our good fortune with hot cocoa, we would again don our gear and hike/ski the mile back.

It was to be a glorious, old-fashioned, beautiful winter holiday. A kind of day like our dear blogger friend Heidi often has in the snowy wonderfulness of Norway, albeit much shorter than her typical adventure.

But alas, our fun was cancelled. Cancelled due to the unbelievably enormous storm we are experiencing at the moment. 50 mile an hour winds, heavy snow downpour---that kind of storm. The kind of blowing snow that makes a trek through the woods with 11 kids and loads of gear on your back and sleds not much fun, not to mention the potential dangers involved in driving there in the first place.

Sigh. Maybe next weekend.

5 Things Meme

2008-02-01T13:58:00.000-07:00

Crystal over at My Family Gossip tagged me for a meme. I am to list 5 material things that I want and 5 spiritual/meaningful things that I want.

Five Material Things---
1. To complete the renovation of our family room. Lack of money or rather the amount of money we're paying out to Uncle Sam soon, has delayed our project. Eventually, it will be painted, new blinds will arrive, built-in bookcases will be installed, and I will have a new desk. We do already have the new sofa and chair and they are wonderful!

2. To fix the bumper on my car. It's the leftover from my accident. The insurance company has given us a check, it's just a matter of getting it into the body shop and I haven't gotten around to doing it yet. I drive too much to be without my car for even a day!

3. To drop the 19 pounds I feel I need to lose. Read about my trials and tribulations, and those of others, over at Life on 20 Points a Day.

Honestly, I can't really think of anything else. I do not want for much. I guess we are pretty lucky.

Five Meaningful Things---
1. A new job for my hubby. He's combing the county for a new gig. He is leaving no stone unturned. But we are hoping for a lot---a job with the same or better money, same or better benefits, and considerably less hours. Yes, indeed, we want it all.

2. Health and happiness for my whole family. Sounds corny, yes, but I swear that everytime I blow out birthday candles or throw a penny into a fountain, this is what I wish for.

3. Strong, sensitive, compassionate, generous, loving, happy, and healthy children. More than anything in the universe I want my girls to grow up with these traits.

4. World Peace. Seriously. I'm not going for Miss America over here or anything. I truly want the war in Iraq to end and I want presidential candidates NOT to say things like Guiliani said in his concession speech---"brute strength is the way to peace."

5. For our country to elect our first woman president or our first African-American president. What a wonderful moment that will be!

p.s. I'm posting over at Life On 20 Weight Watchers Points A Day and it's consuming a lot of my thoughts and energy these days. Check out my posts here, here and here.

Where's the Outrage?

2008-01-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

I'm just a little confused over here.

Call me naive about the political process. Remind me that I don't read the paper as much as I used to, and remind me that it's been about, oh, 25 (ahem) years since I took a Civics class.

Go ahead.

But I'm just a little confused.

Where is the outrage? Am I the only one in the universe who's peeved that Hillary can sweep Florida and the pundits act like nothing has happened? That they can actually say afterwards that it, excuse me, didn't count?

That she can literally earn nearly 50% of the democratic primary vote and it doesn't matter?

We've got people saying things like this---

"...some Obama supporters denounced Mrs. Clinton’s act [arriving in Florida after the polls had closed to thank voters for their support] as cynical and urged voters and journalists to dismiss Florida as a meaningless beauty contest" (NY Times online Jan 30, 2008).

A meaningless beauty contest?!?!

“The bottom line is that Florida does not offer any delegates,” said Senator John Kerry of Massachusetts, the 2004 Democratic nominee for president. “It is not a legitimate race” (NY Times online Jan 30, 2008).

Fellow democrats are doing this to her? Fellow democrats are doing this to the voters of the state of Florida?

Oh sure. I get it. Florida, and Michigan incidentally, decided to hold their primaries a bit too early for the likes of the Democratic Party. So the thoughtful, ethical, democratic-process-minded folks over there said, "Fine. I won't play with you for the rest of my life."

Oops. I think I'm confusing them with my 7 year old.

What they really said was "Fine. Hold your primary early. We'll just make it so your delegates don't get a say in who gets to be placed on the general election ballots. We just won't let your delegates vote for a democratic nominee. We'll just make it so that the votes of the people of the entire State of Florida do not matter."

Once again, the people of the state of Florida have spoken. And there ain't nobody listenin'.

Where the hell is the outrage?

p.s. I'm also posting over at Life On 20 Weight Watchers Points A Day. Check it out!

And The Winner Is....

2008-01-28T11:44:00.001-07:00

Lisa! from Life With Our Little Ladies.

Lisa will be the lucky recipient of my very first giveaway prize----an American Girl book titled, Meet Kirsten, a wonderful introduction to the American Girl historical characters.

Congratulations, Lisa! Send me an email with your address and I'll mail it off to you!

Thanks to everyone who participated in my first giveaway!

The Sleep-Over

2008-01-25T19:47:00.001-07:00

I have figured out something kid-related that I am truly good at....

The Sleep-Over.

I'm not talking about slumber parties---the events with 6-10 girls and a high expectation that the night will be awesome. Although I might be good at those, I haven't tried them yet.

No. I'm just talking about your average sleep-over. The one where, like tonight, your girlfriend and her hubby wanted a night out and you volunteered to take her kids overnight. Her kids and your kids are friends. It's a win/win.

I know so many people who stress about this type of "playdate." They cannot get the kids to bed, their houses are trashed, they end up losing their tempers or the kids have major meltdowns and everyone is exhausted in the end. Well, that's just not the case over here.

I rock the sleep-over.

Yep, that's right. I'm even blogging about it while its happening.

Here's what you do.

(1) Pick a Friday night. They're already tired from school and possibly even extra-curricular activities. Like today, mine had ballet and hers had gymnastics. You can't beat a Friday night. If you can't do a Friday, then take them to the park as soon as you get them on a Saturday. Let them burn some serious energy.

(2) Feed them. Feed them immediately so that there's no low blood sugar related stress events. Feed them something totally easy for you, yummy for them, and still relatively healthy with little to no sugar. For example, tonight I fed my crew of four frozen pizza, edamame, frozen mixed veggies, and sliced pear. No fuss. No muss.

(3) Drink a glass of wine. No more, no less. More would make you tired, or worse give you a bit of a buzz which just isn't any good with a group of kids. One is perfect. Just enough to take the edge off.

(4) Bathe them. They love it and it keeps them contained for at least an hour. If you have four, like I have tonight, put two in each of two tubs. It works wonders.

(5) Watch a movie. I know this is standard-issue sleep-over fare, but usually it's done incorrectly. You can't wait until everyone is melting down and over-tired to turn on the movie. Instead, you get everyone nice and snugly feeling after their bath, and you do it close to their normal bedtime. Have them put on some pjs and snuggle up for a movie. Pop some popcorn or eat another relatively healthy snack, and enjoy. Drink water or milk only, please. Oh, and don't expect the movie to put them to sleep. It won't. Read on.

(6) Snuggle them into bed. Don't follow the standard advice on splitting them up if they talk or goof off. Absolutely not. Instead, line all four sleeping bags up in a row, and let them each pick a book. Read said books in order of youngest to oldest (no one can argue with that) and then turn out the lights. Sit with them in the dark until they are asleep. It should take no longer than 15 minutes, what with all the excitement of the day and all. Once they are asleep, then you leave the room, not before. I'm telling you, this method works.

(7) Most importantly, don't try to accomplish anything. Don't even read the paper, and certainly do not try to blog about it while it's happening (but I'm so hot I can do that, heh heh). This is not a night for getting the laundry done, reading a good book, or doing your online banking. This is a night to take care of the kiddos and keep things running smoothly.

(8) Oh and finally, do not sit down. Not until they are all completely asleep. It will just make you tired. I'm very good at this part. Besides, you need to clean as you go. That's right. It's part of the not-sitting-down-thing. Clean as you go.

Give it a try. I guarantee the results.

Oh yeah, that's right. I rock the sleep-over.

My First Giveaway

2008-01-24T09:12:00.000-07:00

With all of the awesome stuff being given away in the blogosphere, this is almost embarrassing. But since it's my first one, please go easy on me! (i.e. send lots of comments and well-wishes!)

As some of you know, my girls are just entering into the American Girl obsession phase. Fortunately, they love, love, love the books, not just the dolls. I bought Meet Kirsten for O before Christmas and meant to give it to her as a gift. We were bombarded with gifts on Christmas Day in Chicago, so I held it back intending to give it to her at a later date when she might better appreciate it. The day after Christmas we headed to the American Girl store where O picked out the doll, Kirsten, who comes with the book Meet Kirsten.

Of course, I have no idea where the receipt is and why would I want to bother returning a book that's only $6.95 in the first place? Oh, and wouldn't it be so much more fun to go to the post office and mail it to some lucky blogger?!?!

C'mon. It's time to introduce your child to Kirsten Larsen, the sweet girl from Sweden who immigrates to America and lives in Minnesota. You know you want it. C'mon!

I'll put the names of those who comment in a hat and give the book away to the lucky blogger who's name I pull from the hat!

Nutrisystem

2008-01-22T13:40:00.000-07:00

So my girls and I occasionally watch HGTV. You know, the Home and Garden channel. But the thing is, I'm still pretty restrictive with them with TV and so whenever a commercial comes on that I don't want them to see, like the dang diet commericals, I mute it. I think I'm so clever. I think I've shielded my girls from our diet-obsessed culture, that they don't know what they're missing when I hit the mute button.

Wrong.

Apparently, I don't catch everything. Sometimes, for example, I'm up from the couch checking my blog comments and haven't made it back to the TV to catch the inappropriate commercials.

Like today. We're watching Amazing Waterfront Properties and that dang Nutrisystem commercial comes on like every other minute. I mute and then I mute again. But then I slack off a bit. Get comfortable. I get up and come to the computer and J comes running over to me--keep in mind that she's five--she says urgently, "Mom! That losing weight commercial is on again!!" Like, "Quick! Get up and mute it!" Not that the muting works. Obviously. She's gotten the message anyway. Lose weight. Lose weight quickly. It's the Most Important Thing in the Universe.

Sigh.

The Defensive Driving Course

2008-01-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

Okay, so did I tell you that I had an accident? I did. I backed right into a guy and smashed the crap out of his very old Ford Escort.

It was pretty comical really, in an awful sort of way. Here's the story. I tried calling my friend, let's just call her J. I tried calling her like five times, and let's just say she likes to screen me. Supposedly, another friend of hers was in crisis and she was on the phone with her and she planned to call me back asap. Really, she promised. (Just kidding, J.)

Anyhooooo.....finally I saw her. She was leaving our children's school just as I was arriving. I rolled down my window to wave at her and since she was on the phone (still!) she didn't see me until she was just about past my car. She stopped, but not until she was just slightly past me. I very absentmindedly decided to stop, throw it into reverse, and back up to bring my car even with hers.

Ooops. There was this little car behind me that I didn't even see. Honestly, when I heard the crunch I thought I had hit a trash can on the side of the road or something. It never even occurred to me that someone was behind me! I mean, the gall, someone having the audacity to be behind me when I needed to back up to talk to a friend! Sheesh.

Well, his car was definitely totalled. I mean the thing probably was worth about $600 and the damage was far more than that. My bumper fell off, but that's about it. I felt horrible for the guy though. He seemed young and he didn't seem to have a lot of money. I'm sure it was a definite hardship for him to be late for work and car-less.

I was nervous and quite shaken. It was my first accident as a real adult. The only other crash I had ever been in was when I was 18--driving my parents' car and still on my parents' insurance. They took care of all the details, of course, including making me commute from college every Saturday morning for over a year to clean their house to pay them back for the damages. They literally fired the cleaning lady so I could take over her job.

In any case, this time, I was supposed to know what to do but I didn't, so I just did exactly what it told me to do on the back of the insurance card. It took forever for the police officer to come and when he finally did, he wrote me the ticket. Duh. Guess you can't get more guilty than I was. The poor guy was just driving along and was probably going only about 20 miles an hour, when I just backed right up and smashed his car to smithereens.

So later, I'm reading over my options and I realize that one of the options I have is to attend Defensive Driving School and get the ticket removed from my record. That sounded like a sweet deal to me, so yesterday, that's just what I did.

I hired a sitter to watch the kids while I was gone. Then I woke up at the crack of dawn, and sat in a room with 60 other traffic law violators.

It was actually kind of fun. And interesting. The guy who taught it was totally Bill Cosby. He was pretty darn funny. Plus, the other violators were an interesting mix of citizens. There was a 65+ year old grandmother sitting behind me knitting. She even brought her own cocoa in a thermos and her own mug. When she was done drinking it, she put it all--spoon, dirty cup and all--into a ziploc. Then there was the 50+ something New Yorker lady who complained about how if she were back in NY, she'd have been walking to work and would have never gotten a ticket. There was the assortment of young punks, dressed in baggy clothes and ridiculous looking sneakers. A couple of professionals, a couple of students, young, old, middle class and poor. Just for the people-watching it was worth the $128. Plus, I learned everything there is to know about DUIs and seat belt laws, road rage and the main cause of accidents, which by the way, is not cell phone use, but rather eating while driving.

And best of all? I got my National Safety Council certificate in Defense Driving. Whoo hoo!

My Chicago Blogger Friend

2008-01-19T15:04:00.000-07:00

Jenny From Chicago, over at Chased By Children, is having a contest. She's asking people to name her giveaway series which will begin in February and last for 5 days. She's judging the entries on how clever you are and how well you know her blog.

My suggestion: Giveaways From Your Favorite Stepford Geisha Who Defends the Martini

She'll send the winner a $100 Target gift card. Get on over there and make a suggestion! Thanks.

I Have Nothing Good To Say

2008-01-16T14:58:00.000-07:00

I have nothing good to write about. I really don't. I can't think of a thing. Nothing. No.thing.

Sure, I've come up with some ideas. I thought perhaps I would post a letter that I had written to a friend. It was one of those thoughtful letters. It was even fairly well written. And then I decided not to post it for various reasons. But that was the best idea I've come up with in days. Days, people.

Then I thought I could write about how my kids and their friends were driving me crazy jumping on those plastic bubbles you get in packages. It was driving me so insane that I almost died, or killed them, or both, but instead I left the room with some tea and the latest Real Simple magazine. But I knew that post wouldn't garner me any Pulitzers or anything.

Then I thought perhaps I would write about how so many of the things in my home are falling apart or dying. Things that I should be taking care of---like the cutting boards and the houseplants. But I knew that would bore my readers to tears.

And then I thought I would bounce off of Jen M's comments about how women are so self-deprecating that it's nauseating. And I would rant about how some women don't like Hillary because of this very thing---that she's not self-deprecating enough. She's too confident. Like a man. She doesn't stand up at a podium, like a woman, and say, "Really, you should just vote for Obama. Basically, we have the same positions on the issues anyway. So, pick him. Not me. I wouldn't be that good at it anyway." But then I felt like I wasn't being articulate enough. Or pissed off enough. I write best when I'm pissed.

So, that's it. There's just nothing to write about. I can't think of a damned thing. Is that sad or what?

Humongous

2008-01-10T22:58:00.000-07:00

"Mom!!!" yelled O. "Come look at these!"

I come running, sensing some urgency to her voice, and find that she has lined up several pairs of her new underwear that I just bought for her.

"What's up, honey?" I ask.

"Mom! I really think you could fit into these underwear!" she exclaimed.

"Are you saying you think they are too big for you?" I ask.

"Yes, mom! Don't you think they are humongous?" She asks, with quite a bit of emphasis on the word humongous.

"Well, they do seem big," I replied, noting to myself that these undies were a child's size 6.

"Oh my gosh! They are so humongous! They would definitely fit you! You should try them on Mom. They are humongous!" she cried.

Sigh.

I guess to a child's eyes, I am humongous. Lovely.

Should I Be Scared?

2008-01-09T19:32:00.000-07:00

The strangest thing happened to me today.

Everything started out normally. After school, I took two of my kids' classmates home with us for play dates. They destroyed the house, of course, and argued over who could do what, and pitted the "big kids" against the "little kids" from time to time, but all in all everyone had a good time.

Then the mothers came to retrieve the playmates and I sighed a sigh of relief. It was time to clean up the mess. I gave my girls 10 minutes more to play, set the timer, and sat down to review a few blogs until it was time to tackle the mess.

Then there was a knock at the door.

I looked out the window and saw two men. I don't know about you but I grew up in Chicago and I don't just go answering the door for any old two men, that's for sure. They flashed badges and I slowly opened the door, knowing that my crazy dog would be growling at them the whole time.

They introduced themselves. "Hi," said the undercover cop-ish looking one. "I'm special agent [whatever] with the Drug Enforcement Agency and this is my partner [blah blah]." The partner looked like a drug dealer. He had long-ish hair and a hat. Plus a beard and an earring. And some sort of raggy looking coat.

Holy crap.

"Can we come in?" he asked.

"Uh, can I see your badges again, please?" I stammered.

"Sure," he said. He showed me his badge. It looked official, though I'm not really sure what I was expecting to see.

I let them in. But only because my dog, who I was holding by the collar, was still growling at them. They stepped inside and my curious girls, now dressed in pjs for no apparent reason, came downstairs to see who was at the door.

"Can we talk somewhere without the children?" he asked.

My heart was beating about 950 miles a minute. Was I about to be raped or worse?

"Girls, go upstairs," I said. For once in their lives, they listened, and headed up.

I still held the dog by his collar. He wanted to be released badly, but not to attack. He wanted to sniff and wag his tail. He's a Lab for crying out loud, but they didn't have to know that.

Then the man said, the one who looked like an undercover cop, not the one that looked liked a drug-dealer, he said, "Ma'am, we just arrested a man with 210 pounds of marijuana in his car. He had your address on a piece of paper in his car. The address had specific directions on how to get to your home. Do you have any idea why he would have had that?"

"Uh. No." Wait. What the hell did he just say?

"His name was [such and such]. Do you know him?" he asked.

"Uh. No."

"How about [so and so]? Do you know him?" he asked again, calmly.

"Uh. No." By now I'm completely freaking out. What the hell is this man talking about?

"Have you ever lived in California?"

"No."

"Have you ever lived in Washington or Oregon?"

"No."

"Where did you live before here?" he asked.

"Well, we lived across the street in that little green house. We rented it while we were building this house," I answered, stammering the whole time.

"And before that?" he asked.

"Uh, well, Tucson," I said.

"So you've lived in Arizona your whole life?" he asked.

"No. I'm from Chicago. My husband and I are both from Chicago originally. We moved here for me to attend graduate school, then we moved to Kansas City for him to go to medical school, then to Tucson for his residency, and then back here," I managed to say.

"So your husband's a doctor then?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And what do you do?"

"I stay home with my children full time," I said. Oh, and I deal drugs on the side. Ha ha.

"Can you think of any reason why this guy would have your address written down in his car?"

"Uh no. Well...." Then I started to think of anything fishy that's ever happened in my life. I recalled the time that my credit card number was stolen and how the criminals had a bunch of stuff shipped to them using my account, including cases of wine and wiring themselves money.

"That stuff is all cleared up now though," I explained.

Then I told him about the time, about last year, I remember it was winter because I was shoveling snow at the time, that a detective came up to me and asked if I knew the people in the green house across the street. The same house I rented while my house was being built. That detective had told me that the lady of the house was wanted on fraud charges and was currently evading the law, and that if I ever saw her white Bronco, er, white Explorer, I was to call the sheriff's office. A couple of days later, I did see her Explorer and called.

And then there was the time when we lived in Tucson and I kept getting calls for someone named [blank]. The calls sounded like bill collectors. They kept insinuating that I knew the person and that I was hiding his whereabouts. I didn't know him. Eventually they stopped calling.

"That's all I can think of," I said.

Then they presented me with their cards and said that I was to call them if I could think of anything. They also told me that they had no indication that there was anything I should be afraid of. That the man in question denied any ties to our town and claimed he had no intention of ever coming to our house.

"Specifically, if you see any suspicious looking vehicles outside, please call."

I immediately called my husband.

"Hi, the weirdest thing just happened and I'm kinda freaking out," I said when he answered. Then I explained the whole thing. "Do you have any patients who might be angry with you or anything?"

"Well, yes, actually, but I don't think that's it," he said. We talked about the situation in exhausting detail and then he thought of something. "You know all the landscapers we've had around here recently? and the Labor Express guys that we have coming to the house to do various things?"

Ah yes, the labor guys. We don't even know their names. That could explain why someone we don't know might have our address and directions to our home in their car.

So I called the Special Agent.

"Great," he said. "Can I come over and show you some pictures?"

Now I was starting to feel a bit like a witness on Law and Order. "Sure," I said. "Come after my husband is home. He'll recognize the men better than I would."

So they came again. The undercover cop and the silent drug dealer-ish looking guy. They showed us some pictures and asked a few more questions. We didn't recognize anyone. Is that fortunate or unfortunate? We couldn't decide.

Then they reiterated what they had said before. You're not in any danger that we know of, we're just trying to find this guy's connection to [our town]. Please be in touch if you notice anything suspicious.

Then they left.

"Hello? Brinks? Yes, I'd like a security system installed."

The Airplane Debacle

2008-01-08T12:37:00.000-07:00

On December 24, 2007, D, the kids, and I headed to the airport. Our airport is 2.5 hours away along mountainous roads so it's important to be strict with the schedule and planning. We had very little time to prepare what with the craziness of D's work, the kids just finishing school, and me with final exams, Christmas shopping, and the like.

But amazingly, we were prepared. Organized even.

We arrived to the airport on time. We dropped off eight bags with the skycap. That's right. Eight. Then drove to the extended parking area. The girls each had a backpack filled with activities and snacks and D and I each had a carry-on suitcase filled with Christmas gifts, wrap, tags, and ribbon. The last thing we wanted was for our luggage to get lost and be without presents on Christmas morning.

We took the shuttle to the airport from the parking area. Still on time.

We stopped to pick up a new book for me, a couple of magazines for D, and some treats for the kids. Still on time.

Then we noticed a lady selling sandwiches and thought it a good idea to take a nutritious bit of food onto the plane so we stopped to buy one to share. Turkey and Swiss. We were still on time, and in amazingly good spirits.

We headed to the gate. We got in line, handed our tickets to the agent, and boarded the plane.

The plane was surprisingly empty. Our seats, in row 25, were in the back, but not as far back as the agent had said they would be. We were slightly surprised, since he said we'd be the second to the last row and these seats were about ten up from the back, but we didn't think much of it. We loaded our gear into the overhead bins and settled in for a 3 hour flight.

Then we looked around the plane and noticed that many of the seats were empty. We had anticipated that it'd be full based on something the agent had said, and then D said jokingly, "Maybe we're on the wrong flight."

Ha ha, right?

Then the guy across the aisle said, "Ya goin' to Charlotte?"

"No. Ha ha, we're going to Chicago," we said.

"Well, this plane's going to Charlotte," he said.

"You mean you're connecting through Chicago on your way to Charlotte, right?" I asked calmly.

"No. We're flying directly to Charlotte," he said rather nervously for us.

So I asked another passenger, "Where are you going?"

"Charlotte," she said.

I asked another passenger, getting more and more nervous, "Where are you going?"

"Charlotte," he said.

Then panicking, I asked the flight attendant, "Where's this plane going?"

"Charlotte," she said.

Oh no!!

I handed her our boarding passes. She took way too long to look at them and said, "You boarded the wrong plane."

What?!?! How'd they let us board the wrong plane?

Quickly, we grabbed our gear and kids and ran off the plane. We showed our passes to the gate attendant, the one who had let us board the wrong plane. He took an excruciatingly long time to look at them, and you could tell he was very nervous. In retrospect, we knew he was realizing that his job was on the line. He then pointed to the gate right next to us and said, "You should be boarding over there."

We stepped over to the next gate. The two were literally right next to each other. The door was closed.

We quickly showed our boarding passes to the attendant who said that it was too late. We couldn't board the plane. The door was closed.

"But (pointing) he let us get on the wrong plane," we cried.

"I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do," she replied.

"What do you mean, nothing you can do?" we cried, "Let us on the plane!" The plane was still sitting there. We could see it attached to the jetway. We had missed it by seconds.

"I'm sorry. After I'm finished with this gentlemen, I'll book you on the next flight," she replied, way too calmly.

Then chaos happened. We all started talking and crying at once.

The girls were crying, "What does she mean Mommy? Why can't we get on our airplane? Will we get to Chicago? Will we be there in time for Santa to come?" And then more hysterically, "Oh no! We're never going to get to Chicago! We'll be late for Santa! What will happen to our presents? Oh no!"

And I was begging, "Please don't do this! The plane is right there. Just open the door! It's not like we were late. They let us board the wrong plane. Please, just open the door!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. We can't do that," she replied.

Again, I was begging, "What do you mean, you can't do that? The plane is right there! Please don't do this. It's Christmas eve!"

And D was angry. "I want to see your supervisor! Get your supervisor over here immediately! They let us get on the wrong plane. We were not late. And our plane is sitting right there. We must get to Chicago tonight! It's Christmas eve!"

The begging, the yelling, and the crying continued. We stood and watched our plane sit there for a full 15 minutes while we begged, yelled, and cried for them to let us on that plane.

They refused.

We gradually lost our wind. Gave up. And sat down. Eventually, we watched "our" plane fly away, along with our luggage. We consoled the girls the best we could. We assured them that Santa would wait for us. That he would make us his last delivery of the night. We hugged them and waited.

"Our" plane was scheduled to arrive in Chicago at 8:25pm. By the time we'd get our rental car and drive into the city and check into our hotel, it'd be 10:00pm or later for sure. We had planned, we checked this out in advance, that D would take the kids to the hotel pool for the last hour that it was open, while I would quickly wrap the gifts. We had it all planned out. We had even packed some Christmas lights, two stockings, a milk box, and some cookies into our carry-ons so that we could "set up" for Santa.

The next flight? It was scheduled to arrive at 12:20am Christmas Day. By the time we would arrive, shuttle over to the car rental place, drive to the city, and check into our hotel, it'd be the wee hours of the morning.

We were not pleased.

D expressed his anger somewhat appropriately and had demanded first class seats on the next flight and some sort of "repayment" for their mistake. The agent had calmly asserted that the mistake was half our responsibility since we boarded at the wrong gate. Not the right thing to say at a time like that! It had only made us more upset.

The mistake could have easily happened to anyone. The gates, 47 and 49, were right next to each other. There was not even a desk or anything in between them. The plane to Charlotte was scheduled to depart at 4:08. The plane to Chicago was scheduled to depart at 4:02. They were boarding at the same time. We had walked over, only noticing one line, and got into it. We were juggling two kids, 4 pieces of carry-on luggage, and all of the stuff we picked up at the shop and food stand. It was an easy mistake.

When we approached the attendant and handed him our boarding passes, he was supposed to check them. There were four of them. How did he not see that they were for the plane to Chicago and not the plane to Charlotte?

The longer we waited, the more numb we became. Finally, the attendant supervisor approached. He admitted that the attendant who let us on the wrong plane would be seriously reprimanded, if not fired. He told us that post-9/11, these types of mistakes were not taken lightly. He also told us that there had been a supervisor on her way to the Charlotte plane to pull us off just as we were exiting on our own accord. He assured us that there were checks in place to make sure these kinds of things didn't happen. And he apologized. He gave us first class seats on the next flight, plus vouchers for dining in the airport while we waited. He also gave us vouchers for a future flight. He did all the right things. And we began to feel sorry for the attendant who let us on the wrong plane. Would he be fired? We felt horrible for him. It was Christmas eve!

In any case, we were determined not to let this setback ruin our moods. We had all been in a very festive mood, excited for our trip, and thrilled that we had planned so well that there were no mistakes. Until we boarded the wrong plane, that is.

So we took our vouchers and ate a huge Mexican meal. D and I each drank a margarita. They were delicious. Then we boarded our plane, checking over and over that it was headed for Chicago, and sat in our luxurious first class seats. There we were served more food, more drinks, and free headphones for the movie. We each got blankets and pillows and we were comfortable. Very. We all decided we could get used to this.

But it was late. Very late by the time we got to our hotel. Luckily, we are blessed with night owls for children and everyone remained in a festive mood. We missed swimming in the hotel pool, of course, but we managed to set out our things for Santa, tuck the kiddos into bed, and stay up to wrap gifts. The girls were asleep by about 2:45am, and D and I by about 3:45.

And then we woke, bright and early at 9am, to the magic of Christmas. Santa had made it to our hotel!

We all breathed a sigh of relief for we had successfully survived our airplane debacle!

Catching Up

2008-01-07T23:00:00.001-07:00

Today, I'm catching up. It feels like forever since I've been able to sit at the computer and read all the blogs I like to read. And importantly, comment on all the blogs I like to read. If you feel like I have neglected you, I am sorry. I will read you today! (and tomorrow and the next day until I'm caught up!)

We had a snow day today and have a delayed start tomorrow and I just had the last four days before that to get caught up. And there's nothing in the forecast. My calendar is empty. I feel like I've been given a new lease on life. Yep, that's right. I have time. Time on my hands. After the craziness of last semester, I feel like a new woman.

Last week, I unpacked from our Christmas trip. I put away all of the new toys and gifts, and even put together a photo book of our trip. I spent the weekend tidying up all of the loose ends around here. And by today, everything is done. The dishes are done. The laundry is done. The floors and bathrooms are clean. I cleaned out a closet today and it looks fabulous. We played in the snow. I shoveled the 18+ inches of snow off the driveway by myself. We've walked the dogs four days in a row. I even took time to refill the bird feeder.

Sigh.

Life is good.

So They Burn Cheese in Greece?

2008-01-03T16:16:00.000-07:00

As I was tucking my two girls into bed extremely late on the night of December 30th, the conversation went something like this----

Me: Ooooh, I had so much fun with you two today. We did so many fun things today. We woke up early and went ice skating. That was so wonderful. Then we went to see the Nutcracker and it was fabulous. Oh, and we went on a (horse-drawn) carriage ride. That was awesome. Wait. Wasn't there something else?

O: Yeah. We ate in (pause)...what was the name of that town?

Me: Oh yeah. Greektown. We had dinner in Greektown.

O: Greek? Just like the coins I have?

Me: Yes. Just like the coins I brought back from Greece. Yes, just like your coins, the food we ate was Greek, from Greece.

O: (thinking for a moment first) So, they burn cheese in Greece?

Christmas in Chicago

2008-01-02T16:22:00.001-07:00

We just got back from our fabulous trip to Chicago. This time, for the first time since we moved away 12 years ago, we decided to stay in a hotel in the city, instead of bouncing between various family members homes in the suburbs.

We love, love, love the city. D and I lived in the city for 11 years before moving away from Chicago. We heart the city big time. And we miss it. Badly. And frankly, we're sick of spending a fortune to visit Chicago and spending all of our time watching TV in the suburbs. Our last trip in August was better, for sure. My Dad took the girls to the Lincoln Park Zoo, and he and I took them to the Shedd Aquarium. He understood that I wanted them to experience some of the awesomeness that the city has to offer. My husband's sister lives in the city too, with her hubby and young son. They always get it. But they don't have room to put us up and while we always manage to get into the city to pay them a visit and do something fun, we always trek back to the 'burbs to sleep.

Other family members of ours just don't get it. They are happy in their suburban ways and I don't even think it occurs to them to say, "Hey, let's motivate and take the kids to a museum or something." Instead, we do a ton of just hangin' in the 'burbs. Don't get me wrong. We love hangin' with family. And we miss them all dearly. But when people come to visit us, we're the first to offer to go to every attraction, both man-made and natural, in our beautiful area so that our visitors can both enjoy our company and feel like they're on vacation too.

So this time, we took it upon ourselves. We stayed in a hotel right in the heart of the action. We had the world at our footsteps and we loved every minute of it!

Let's see...first we woke to presents from Santa. Yep, Santa visited our hotel room! Amazing, right? We hung a string of lights and set out some cookies and milk too, just so he would know he was welcome.

Then we spent all of Christmas Day with family.

The girls crowned my mom as the new Matriarch of the Family.

And had plenty of time goofing off with their cousins.

And then we hit the city. And invited everyone to play with us too (some of whom were happy to do so, and others who weren't too enthused).

My mom and I hit the sales at Crate and Barrel bright and early on the day after Christmas. I shipped home about $170 worth of terrific goods, not bad considering all the stuff I wanted to buy. Sigh. I miss Crate and Barrel.

Then she and I (and our reluctant male better-halves) we took the girls to the American Girl store. Whoo hoo! They loved it! $200 later, we walked away with a couple of these....

And then had dinner at Uno's (yep, that's right, we did ALL the tourist-trap stuff and loved every minute of it!)...

The next day, we checked out the shop windows along State Street at the former Marshall Field's (now Macy's). The windows were decked out in a Nutcracker theme. Our theme of the season.

And then went swimming in the pool on the 19th floor of our hotel. We had awesome views of the city.

From the vantage point of the 19th floor, I realized that Medina Temple, the location of mine and my dh's college graduation ceremony, had been turned into a Bloomingdale's!

Later we grabbed lunch at our favorite Italian deli, L' Appetito. Then we hit the Museum of Science and Industry where we made molded plastic space shuttles (hmm, I have fond memories of that smell!), and got to visit the Star Wars exhibit.

Then we went ice skating in Millennium Park where it was so gorgeous I cried multiple times at how lucky we were to be doing this with our children!

Then we saw the amazing Nutcracker ballet performed by the Joffrey Ballet Company at the beautifully restored Auditorium Theater. Yep, I cried there too.

And had dinner in Greektown at the infamous Greek Islands restaurant, where we noshed on, of course, saginaki (flaming cheese), and other absolutely delectable foods. Opa!

Then we took a horse-drawn carriage ride.

The next day we rode the elevator to the 94th floor of the John Hancock building observatory.

Where it was too cloudy to see much of anything, but was awesome anyway!

We visited a "castle" (the Water Tower).

And spent New Year's Eve on Navy Pier.

Where we ate ice cream, played in the snow, and watched the fireworks.

Then we rang in the New Year at our hotel with some delicious Thai food, too much champagne, and some of our wonderful family.

We probably gained 800 pounds collectively (okay, so I gained most of that), and we stayed up much, much too late, and we spent too much money. But it was worth it. Every minute of it!

The Search for the Elusive Peacoat

2007-12-23T20:43:00.000-07:00

Today we decided to buy peacoats. Girl-sized peacoats, that is. No big deal, right?

We went to the mall first. Sears, Penney's, and Dillards to be exact, with a quick stop off at Bath and Body Works to spend a gift card that needed to be used before December 24th.

We found black, girl-sized peacoats at Dillards. Exactly what we were looking for. Except that they were $80 each, meaning I'd have to spend $160 to buy them for my girls. Instead, at Dillards, we bought black hats, gloves, and scarves to match the coats we were determined to find.

Then we stopped at Target. They had adorable pink tweed coats and red coats, and on clearance for $24.98 each. But the girls wanted black. So we headed to Kohl's. On the way there, O reminded me how desperately she needed a hair extension so that she can more appropriately dress the part of Leia, Princess Leia, that is. So we took a quick spin past Beauty Express which was closed, and then we went to Kohl's.

No peacoats. Not a one.

Then on to Sally Beauty Supply (closed) and to Walgreens (where we successfully bought the hair extension, with O's own money of course), then off to Ross where there was also no peacoats.

Sigh.

Finally, back to Target where we all convinced ourselves that pink tweed and red peacoats were perfect and exactly what we were looking for.....

The Smelly Kid

2007-12-19T00:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I'm watching a lovely dance recital performed by children at my daughters' school. O, my 2nd grader, sits on my lap and a friend of hers, another 2nd grader, sits in the seat next to me.

I comment that one of the children on the stage looks just like a child in their class. A boy in their class named C.

Friend: Ew. I hate C.

O: Me too.

Me: Why? (I'm thinking they are going to say that he threatens to kiss them behind the jungle gym at school or something.)

Friend: Because he smells.

O: His teeth are rotten.

Friend: He never brushes his teeth and his breath smells.

O: Yeah, his teeth are all yellow. You can tell he never brushes his teeth.

Me: (in perfect textbook fashion) That's not nice. Be nice. And be quiet. We're supposed to be watching.

Oh my stars! What to do with this information? I would be mortified beyond belief if my child were being called The Smelly Kid. Not that she ever would be, of course, because she's always perfectly well-groomed for school. Perfectly. Ahem.

Do you remember The Smelly Kid at school? Do you remember how the kids would all call him Pig Pen? Do you remember thinking, "Why doesn't his mother bathe him?"

Oh, this poor child. Oh, his poor mother. The poor, smelly, kid.

Etiquette

2007-12-18T10:18:00.000-07:00

Let me just ask a question.

Say you've been invited to a friend's for dinner. A nice dinner. Let's say even something like Thanksgiving dinner. You offer to bring something. The hostess declines. So you put your thinking cap on and suggest you bring a centerpiece for the table. The hostess gladly accepts.

You show up with a basket cornucopia stuffed beautifully with flowers. The hostess loves it and tells you it is a beautiful addition to her table. She thanks you and you beam.

Later, you decide you want the cornucopia back so that you may use it to put together another floral arrangement for another dinner party you are attending. You call the hostess and ask for it back. She stammers politely. She's already packed it into a Rubbermaid tote in the garage with her other harvest decorations. But even though she has 850 things to do this week before Christmas and before leaving to go out of town for Christmas, she promises to scrounge through the garage to find it and will even deliver it to your home.

You accept.

Is this okay?

By the way, I'm the hostess.

Happy Santa Lucia Day

2007-12-14T08:59:00.000-07:00

My children are learning about St. Lucia in school this season.

Santa Lucia was a young, Italian girl who believed strongly in the Christian faith. At the time, Christianity was banned in her country. When her mother became ill, Lucia persuaded her to make a journey to a Christian holy place. Lucia's mother was miraculously cured, and in gratitude, Lucia decided to give away her wealth. Later, Lucia was put to death by her government when they realized she was a Christian. Centuries later, Lucia was declared a saint by the church. The name Lucia means "light" so she became the saint of vision and light.

The Saint of Vision and Light. I like that.

In Sweden, it is the tradition that on St. Lucia Day, the eldest daughter in the family wakes before everyone else and, wearing a white gown and wreath of lighted candles on her head, prepares and serves sweet cakes and coffee to each member of her family. It is said that she brings "good will and light to the long winter's night."

My eldest daughter O, of her own volition, decided to "practice" being St. Lucia. Each and every morning this week, she woke before the rest of us, while it was still dark, and poured the coffee and presented us with treats. After a couple of days of this, J joined her as her "maid."

So sweet.

Philanthropy Thursday

2007-12-13T09:44:00.000-07:00

After writing the post Give One Get One, I started thinking about the things that make a smart philanthropy project.

I did a little research and believe that Heifer International has got it right. If we want to make a dent in the poverty or educational discrepancies in our global community, donating to this worthy organization seems like an excellent way to do it.

Go on over and give a little.

'Tis the season.

A.R.K.

2007-12-09T16:11:00.001-07:00

We saw the movie Evan Almighty last night, and call me a sap, but I loved it. It has a wonderful message and some terrific dialogue.

Take this for example---

God: If someone prays for patience, do you think God gives them patience or does he give them opportunities to be patient? If someone prays for courage, do you think God gives them courage or opportunities to be courageous? If you pray for your family to become closer, do you think God zaps you with warm fuzzies or does he give you opportunities to show your love for one another?

Heh? Good questions, yes?

If you haven't seen the movie, I don't want to spoil it for you. But let's just say that a Congressman wants to change the world. His campaign slogan is "Let's Change the World." God appears to him and asks him to build an ark.

An ARK?

Yes, says God. How do you change the world? One act of random kindness at a time.

One single Act of Random Kindness at a time. It's a good motto to live by. And it was a sweet movie.

Perinatal Delirium

2007-12-06T22:47:00.000-07:00

My husband has a very interesting job. I love to hear the stories of the patients that he encounters. Some stories are sad. Some happy. Some are funny. Some are interesting or intriguing.

And some just really piss me off.

Like today. He's telling me this sad story about a woman who's baby has anencephaly. This baby will die when born. Or he or she will die shortly afterwards. It's a sad story. Definitely one of the sad stories.

But then he tells me that the mother is pregnant with baby number 9. NINE. Babies 1-8 are not with this mother but rather in various stages of CPS involvement. Some are in foster care. Some are with relatives. None of them are with the mother. Then he tells me that this mother just got out of prison and immediately got pregnant. Oh, the plot thickens.

Okay, this pisses me off. What is this woman doing having baby #9? Yes, this pisses me off. But just a little bit.

What really pisses me off is this---

I ask him something like this. "This might sound strange or whatever, but can you, as her doctor, recommend or at least ask if she's interested in sterilization? If she'd be interested in having a tubal while she's there delivering?"

DH: "Oh yeah we can. We do it all the time. We ask. We suggest. But she has to sign the consent within 30 days."

Me: What do you mean by 30 days?

DH: Well, she has to sign the consent for the tubal ligation within 30 days of her expected date of delivery. If she's closer to delivery than that, then apparently, she's not mentally stable or whatever, enough to sign the papers."

Me: WHAT????

DH: It's a federal law. She has to sign the consent papers within 30 days of expected delivery and within no more than 180 days. If she's closer than that, she cannot give consent for the procedure.

Me: ARE YOU FRIGGIN' KIDDING ME?

DH: No. Of course not. Apparently, there's a lot of litigation surrounding cases where a woman who's "too close" to delivery decides that she wants a tubal and then regrets it afterwards.

Me: Okay, I can understand regretting it afterwards, but why the 30 days?

DH: Because, I guess, your hormones are too out of whack or something and you're not considered mentally competent to make that decision.

Me: WHAT? You're not considered mentally competent to sign a legal medical document when you're perinatal?

DH: Don't yell at me. I didn't make the law. I'm just telling you what the law says and what standard medical practice is. You can't give a tubal if the patient asks for it within 30 days of the expected date of delivery.

Me: You've got to be friggin' kidding me! Could I legally sign for a mortgage at 36 weeks pregnant? Yes! Could I sign for a new credit card? Yes! Could I decide to divorce you? Yes! But I can't sign a medical consent form for a tubal ligation?

DH: No.

Do you see where I'm going with this? Do you see why I'm so pissed off? Oh my stars, this has soooooo many levels.

Don't even get me started.

Give One. Get One.

2007-12-04T23:56:00.000-07:00

This is an interesting idea that just came my way. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, but I wanted to share the information.

It's a philanthropy project titled "Give One. Get One." You buy a $399 laptop computer, and they donate one to a child in a 3rd world country. Actually, you donate a laptop to a child in a 3rd world country, and they'll give you another one for yourself for free. The deadline for purchase/donation is December 31st.

It's an interesting idea. Here's the link.

I am definitely intrigued by the concept. On the outset, it seems like a wonderful philanthropy project. The mission is an important one---"to empower the children of developing countries to learn"---but the method---"by providing one connected laptop to every school-age child" may or may not be flawed. I'm certainly not poo-pooing the idea, I just have some questions and I'm not yet finding the answers.

My most important concern is whether or not the method will actually achieve the goal. Will these laptops empower school-age children around the world? particularly children in impoverished countries where there's not even running water let alone electricity and batteries to operate laptops? Or are there better, more cost-efficient, more intelligent, and culturally-appropriate ways to achieve the same goal? And how does this method translate across the globe? Clearly a laptop donation will be viewed differently depending on where you live. Not all cultural groups are going to view the device, the technology, the gift, in the same way.

You might guess, and hope, that the wonderful people who put this project together have already thought about my question. It is a seriously impressive team of researchers, techies, academicians, and such, from respected institutions like MIT and Harvard. However, well-intentioned, intelligent, thoughtful people have made such mistakes before.

I remember a story told to me when I was a graduate student in anthropology. My advisor, let's call her LA, had done her PhD field research in anthropology in Zambia. In the small farming community where she did her research, an international development aid agency had decided to help local farmers increase their crop production. This aid agency was filled with intelligent, thoughtful, well-educated, do-gooders. They weren't stupid, and they had the alphabet soup after their names to prove it. And importantly, they were well-intentioned. They believed that if they helped this community improve their crop yield that less people would starve. Greater crop production equals more food and more money.

It was a good goal. But their method? Well, their method was a bit flawed.

What did they do?

They donated tractors. Large pieces of machinery designed to help farmers tend their fields.

What LA observed over the two years she lived there, was that these tractors were virtually never used in the fields. Instead, they were being used as taxicabs. Yep, big old, gas-guzzling, expensive tractors were being used to transport people from point A to point B. And the farmers/taxi drivers who were driving the tractors were charging their passengers a fare to do it. Apparently, the local people thought this was better use of the equipment than using the tractors in their fields. And I'm sure they believed this was a better income-generator, or at least knew that it was a more immediate income generator than waiting until harvest for some extra crops and cash.

My point is that we may be intelligent. We may be educated. We may believe we are doing a good thing. But sometimes our Western ideas do not translate well in other places.

This may be the case with the laptops. But it may not be. I'm hoping it's not.

In any case, these are some interesting laptops. Check them out here.

The Nutcracker

2007-12-03T11:46:00.000-07:00

We survived Nutcracker week!

And that's saying something. Every night last week, school nights for my young girls, we had evening rehearsals for the Nutcracker ballet performance. This is the Nutcracker performance in our small town. The dancers pair with the local symphony orchestra and perform the Nutcracker ballet. It's a remarkably professional production with terrific dancers, direction, choreography, and music. It's really incredible.

But the rehearsals were late. Very late. They were from 7:00 to 9:30 each and every night last week. Normally, O and J are in bed by 8:00 at the latest. By Friday, performance night, they were both about to collapse. But instead, they were terrific! Absolutely beautiful in the performance, both remembering their parts completely, and smiling through the whole thing.

We weren't allowed to take pictures during the performance, but here's some before and after pics. Before costumes....

As a Marzipan Sheep and a Chinese Dancer.....

And afterwards with flowers and gifts from Mom and Dad....

It was wonderful!

I Made A Little Girl Cry

2007-12-01T11:23:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, as I drove my girls to school, it was very foggy out. Rare for around here. As a rounded a curve in the road I saw three little kids playing on the parkway. That's the landscaped piece of land between the two sides of the road. These three children were wearing backpacks and were clearly supposed to be walking to school. As I approached, the two older boys ran across the other side of the road to the sidewalk. The younger girl remained on the parkway.

Being the stern mother that I am, and wielding my motherly power, I slowed, rolled down my window, and firmly said to the little girl, "You should get on the sidewalk. It's really foggy today and people will have difficulty seeing you." She stared at me like a deer in headlights for about 2 seconds and then ran across the other side of the street to the sidewalk.

As I drove off, I looked in the mirror and saw the poor little thing crying. Her sweet little freckled face was wet with tears.

Poor little thing. Mean, monster mommy.

I Am A Daisy

2007-11-28T22:52:00.000-07:00

Katrina at Southern Suds and Lather provided a link to a website where you can take a quiz and determine what type of flower you are.

I am happy to report that I am a daisy! (I'm sure the quiz has very adequate test validity!)

Take the test for yourself and see what type of flower you are here.

The Office

2007-11-28T16:26:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like guests in from out of town to make you finish a decorating project. We finally finished my hubby's office.

Here are the before pics.....(embarrassing, I know!)

And here are the after pics.....

Now you want me to come over and decorate your office, don't you?

p.s. the Wrigley Field picture was not my idea.

p.p.s. Blogger hates me. I know it. I can't get these pics to set up the way I want them too. Arggg!!

Photo Meme

2007-11-27T21:52:00.000-07:00

Crystal over at My Family Gossip has tagged me for a Photo Meme. The original version is over at I Invented Motherhood. The rule is that you answer the questions using a photo from the first page of Google Images.

Here are my answers---

1. Age at next birthday

2. Place I'd like to travel

3. Favorite object

4. Favorite food

5. Favorite animal

6. Favorite color

7. First job

8. College major

9. Bad habit

10. My first name

Anyone else tempted to play around with images? and curse your blogger account at the same time? hmm...tempting....yes?

Hillary for President

2007-11-26T22:01:00.000-07:00

Last night my hubby and I were discussing the upcoming primary election. We were discussing the merits of both Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton--the only two candidates either of us have seriously considered.

And then it hit me.

Our girls could grow up in a world where a woman could become the president. The President of the United States.

I hadn't thought about it that way before. I plan to vote for Hillary because I believe she is the most able to "get the job done." She's the most able to pull it off in Washington. She's smarter than sin, tougher than tough, and has the political intelligence and savvy to make things happen. She's got my vote because she has what it takes.

I hadn't been thinking about the fact that she's a girl. A grown-up girl, now a woman. A girl that was told as a kid that she could do anything she wanted to do. That she could become anything she wanted to become.

When I was a girl, I was told that a girl who worked hard enough could do anything she wanted to do. Anything.

But it isn't true. You can graduate at the top of your class at Yale or Harvard. You can take the best internships, work your tail off, succeed at everything you'd ever done, and still, you'd make 70% of what a man in a similar position would make. That statistic is still true today.

And you certainly couldn't become the President. Not the President of the United States of America. Home of the brave, land of the free. Equality for all and all that B.S.

Let's face reality. Class and race matter. Gender matters. We don't like to believe it, but it does. How many people, underlying it all, don't plan to vote for Hillary because she's, as they claim, a b.i.t.c.h? Because she's assertive, intelligent, and achievement-oriented? Because she's not soft around the edges? Because she's not maternal? Give me a f---ing break. How many presidents have we had that were giving and maternal and soft? Like anyone can do anything of substance in this nation without being assertive, intelligent, and achievement-oriented?

But if we elect Hillary Clinton, our girls, my girls, all of the girls of this nation, can grow up in a country where a woman can be the President. The President. The President of the United States of America.

A woman.

That song and dance we were taught as little girls would be true. We could be anything we wanted to be. We could even be the President.

If that doesn't solidify my choice for President, I don't know what does.

Frantic Family

2007-11-17T22:59:00.001-07:00

It's been a week since I've posted. The problem? Mary Alice describes it as Frantic Family Syndrome. I like the term very much and I've started sharing it with others as a way to describe what our family, and me in particular, is experiencing at the moment.

I was foolish to take on this nursing course that I'm taking. Foolish to add it when my hubby is still working as much as he is, my youngest is still only in school half-days, and when I'm as involved as I am in other things---my kids' school, our neighborhood, etc.

Next semester, I'm not taking any classes. I've recently decided that it just doesn't make sense, not when doing so makes our family in such a state of constant rushing craziness. We're always running late. The grocery shopping isn't getting done so we're eating a lot more convenience food and spending a lot more money. I'm skipping the gym in order to spend time studying. I'm chronically behind on the laundry which I cannot stand. I have no time to blog which I really can't stand, and well, I'm just wondering.....why?

If I were a single mom it might be a different story. But I have choices. I do not have to work. My husband makes enough money to comfortably support us and he's happy to have me holding down the fort if that's what I'm happy doing. I do not have to go back to school. If I was turning 41 next month (and I am!) and didn't yet have my bachelor's, I could see sort of frantically wanting to complete my schooling, but I already have a bachelors and a masters. I don't need to do this!

Unless, of course, I want to. If I'm passionate and motivated, then by all means, I should be following my dream. But right now, honestly, it's just not worth the hassle. And next year, I'm praying things will be calmer around here. First of all, my hubby will have hopefully landed that awesome job (or a similar one) which will allow him to be around more. Secondly, J will be in school full time---which (a) means I won't have to worry about childcare for her on the afternoons when I have class, and (b) means that I won't have to be commuting to their school three times each and every day. Not to mention the fact that this is my last semester to enjoy her in the afternoons. Sigh.

So there you have it. Convinced. Not taking classes next semester. Period. Glad we got that over with.

Danny's Song

2007-11-11T08:53:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: This post will remind you of those days, lounging on the floor in your family room, your body snuggled into that orange shag carpeting, pouring over the album lyrics to your favorite song, ooogling to your best girlfriend on the phone, about how the song lyrics so describe your teenage crush.

My husband and I have been together since the dawn of time. Literally since January of 1986. It all started so innocently. We had the world at our fingertips. We were young and in love. We got married in June of 1993.

"Now I smile and face the girl who shares my name. Now I'm through with the game. This boy will never be the same. And even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey, everything will bring a chain of love. And in the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes and tell me, everything is gonna be alright."

In 1995, we made a decision that changed our lives. Since then, Dan's life has not really "been his own." That is to say, in order to follow his dream of becoming a doctor, he had to succumb, for 12 friggin' years, to the demands and requirements of someone else---teachers, preceptors, bosses. Those have been the years of medical school, residency, and now, a service obligation for a scholarship he received in medical school.

During these years, we had our babies.

"Now I see a family where there once was none. Now we've just begun. Yeah, we're gonna fly to the sun. And even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey, everything will bring a chain of love. And in the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes and tell me, everything is gonna be alright."

An ongoing issue for us has been the amount of time this man works. He works a LOT. This week, for example, a typical week, he's putting in 90+ hours at work, not including his commute which is an hour each way. Some weeks are worse. Some are better, but not by much. He hasn't had a full weekend off since early August. And he won't have another one until late December.

The position he has now has been crazy. There is always a shortage of docs and there's always more work to be done. On Thursday, for example, my DH called me and told me he's been "asked" to be on three new committees. Three. At once. Additional work. Probably somewhere around 6 additional hours per month. Might not sound like a lot to some, but when you already work as much as he does, it's asking a lot. And he hates meetings. Despises them.

We argued. I insisted that he decline these lovely offers for additional work. He talked about how he really felt he had to accept and that really, it wouldn't be much additional work. I countered that he'd have less time for (a) family, (b) exercise, (c) sleep. The man gets no sleep! It was not a nice conversation.

We've argued about these same things many times. We've cried. We've yelled. We've loved. It's not been easy. But soon his service obligation will be over and he will be a "free agent." He'll be able to select a job on his own terms. There are a lot of decisions to be made. But the bottom line is always the same. We need more time together as a family. He needs to be home more. We want this badly. Very badly.

Later in the day after we had argued about his new committee responsibilities, he called me to tell me he was sorry we had argued and that he had some good news. He had a potential new job offer. He has to wait 8 months before he could take it, until the end of his service obligation, and I don't want to jinx it by talking about it, but let's just say it would let us stay put in this town we love, it'd be doing something he really loves, with the same benefits, more money, and for a guaranteed 7 shifts per month.

Seven shifts per month! That is still approximately 48 hours a week, but trust me, this is like never working compared to what he does right now. And for more money? And the same benefits? It's like a dream!

It was like he had called to tell me, "Everything is gonna be alright."

Afterwards, in the car (damn that satellite radio), I heard Danny's Song. At the time, I didn't know it was titled Danny's Song, which is pretty awesomely coincidental since my DH's name is Danny. And of course, I cried. What else is new?

"You bring a tear of joy to my eyes and tell me, everything is gonna be alright."

Catching Up

2007-11-10T08:44:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like the friend who calls you and says, "Oh man, I'm late for my period. I hope I'm not pregnant." And then you never get a chance to call her and say, "Well, did you get your period yet?"

That is, I tell you things about my life, and then we have no chance to follow-up later. So, I'm doing that here.

(1) I've temporarily given up my quest for places to live in Chicago. I'm not feeling very homesick at the moment. Plus, DH has a potential job offer right here, an awesome job offer. Keep your fingers crossed, pray for us, all that jazz, please! We're going to Chicago for Christmas though, so my thoughts on staying put may change. We'll see.

(2) I still believe my friend was having an affair. I have good sources who have confirmed that she was. I am confident it is no longer happening because the guy in question moved to another state. She still has not told me the truth and I'm still very uncomfortable around her.

(3) O is doing much better in school. We've met with absolutely everyone at her school---counselor, OT, special ed director, both teachers, etc., and have developed a reward system to shape her behavior at school. It totally works! She seems to be thriving. You can read about that here, here, and here.

(4) Things are still not any better with the person who let us down as told about in this post. I've decided to move on and am relying on others for the support our family needs. This is easier said than done for my DH for reasons I will not specify here so he is still having a tough time with it.

(5) The worst day of my husband's career is still an ongoing issue. The mother of the stillborn child has chosen to sue the hospital where my dh works. Apparently, she had gone in on the weekend between her prenatal visits with a fever. My DH saw her on two consecutive Thursdays and in between she went into the ER complaining of a fever and was seen by a different physician. That night, her baby had a heartbeat. That was the last time her baby was known to be alive. Was there something the hospital staff could have done? We do not know. Now it is time for the attorneys to decide. Fortunately, my DH is not named in the lawsuit.

(6) I have solidified my choice for president. It was really a pretty easy decision and the way I have been leaning all along. I choose Hillary. I believe she has the best chance of getting it done in Washington. Obama is a bit too inexperienced and not quite politically astute enough to get the job done were he to be elected. He'd make an excellent VP and I wonder if either of their egos would allow that to happen? hmm.

(7) My class is going well. So far I have received an A on every exam despite having to memorize things like this, and having to overcome some serious obstacles like this.

(8) We still haven't purchased an iPod, but I have reason to believe Santa might be generous this year. You can read about my desire to have one here, and here.

(9) We took J to the doctor because her Poopy Mondays had begun to extend into other days of the week. The pediatrician believes J is suffering from constipation and of course wanted to prescribe medication. Ugh. Doctors! Fortunately, my DH, also a doctor, quickly suggested to her that we start with some diet changes first. Duh. The pediatrician agreed and now we're adding flax seed oil to everything and eating a lot of beans!

(10) I still have not figured out the problem with my Dyson. I have considered taking Marie's advice and forwarding my post to Dyson with the hope that they would send me a new one. I have yet to do that. I tried cleaning it as Mrs G. suggested but with no better luck. I am still loving the Bissell however and have since scrubbed every stitch of carpet in this place. My carpets are gorgeous! but not thanks to my precious Dyson. Sigh.

I think that catches us up. Let me know if there are things you are wondering about that I haven't addressed.

p.s. In case you were wondering, I'm not pregnant!

Ovarian Cancer

2007-11-09T09:41:00.000-07:00

Another cop out from yours truly. But still. This is a very important message and I was moved to link to it here.

Please go over to Derfwad Manor and read Mrs. G's post on ovarian cancer. It could save your life. Or your sister's. Or your mom's. Or any other woman in your life.

Plus, I love her final comment---"Mrs. G. wants all her readers and their mothers, sisters, friends, to trust their intuitions, question their doctors, demand respect and, most of all, be well."

Well said, Mrs. G!

Garage Sale

2007-11-08T07:55:00.000-07:00

My kids are pack rats. Ridiculous pack rats. They hate to get rid of anything. It can be 12 sizes too small. It can be torn to bits. It can be missing essential pieces. It can be something they haven't played with in years, and they do not want to get rid of it. O especially. She is terrible. I find what I would describe as bits of paper stuffed into the crannies of her room. She considers them treasures. It's hell on earth for a clean freak like myself, a person who regularly needs, needs, to purge.

I'm telling you. This is the longest we've ever lived in one place---2 years. Having moved every one to two years since I was 18 and am now 40, I am accustomed to cleaning out the closets very regularly. There's nary a dust bunny in hiding around here. I gave him away to Goodwill before he was even born.

So one day we decide, against my better judgement, to hold a garage sale. Stuff is piling up in the garage and instead of donating it all to Goodwill, my normal approach, we figure we'll try to get a little extra cash for it all because there's some good stuff in there---a baby jogger, baby backpack carriers, stuff like that, expensive stuff.

We decide to hold this garage sale early--very early in the morning before the kids wake up. We are blessed with children who sleep in when allowed to do so. We open up shop at 6:00am. We sell a host of stuff. The wooden highchair goes. Both baby backpack carriers go. The double jog stroller goes. Tons of baby clothes, cloth diapers, toys, it all goes. Some of the household crap goes too.

Then, around 8:00 am, the kids wake up. They charge outside and see what we're up to. Fortunately, most of the stuff has already gone. Unfortunately, only the crappy stuff remains--the stuffed animals, the Happy Meal toys, the stuff we really wanted to get rid of.

The girls freak. Literally freak out. They both start crying hysterically and grabbing their possessions and hauling it all back into the house. We mostly let them since we're still dealing with potential customers. But they are very upset. Very.

I pause for a moment to ponder what it must feel like to wake up and realize that someone is selling a bunch of your stuff without you knowing about it. Hmm. Probably wouldn't feel too nice.

The next day I realize the girls are playing a little too quietly and go to check on them. On their train table they have set out a bunch of stuff they hauled out of MY closet. My stuff. Out of my closet. My closet is off-limits without permission and they know it.

Me: "Girls! What are you doing?!"

Girls: "We're having a garage sale."

They're selling off my stuff.

I can't help but laugh.

Way to get back at mom!

Guilty....Once Again

2007-11-07T10:52:00.000-07:00

Our new routine is that O's alarm clock goes off 10 minutes before she needs to get into the shower. We do this intentionally so that we can get 10 minutes of snuggle time in my bed before we need to get up.

As we snuggle in bed early this morning, O says the sweetest things to me.

As she says them, I alternate between....

saying to myself, "Remember this conversation so you can blog about it," and

saying to her, "Honey, please. Shhh. We only have a few more minutes to sleep."

And now, do I remember the conversation? No, I don't.

I only remember how I shushed her when I should have been enjoying her.

Enjoying her, dammit. It's going by so quickly. I should be enjoying her.

Why can't I remember that? I alternate between trying to remember so I can blog about it? and shushing her so I can sleep an extra 10 minutes? Are either of these good goals or intentions? No, they are not. Did I even acheive either of them anyway? No, I did not.

This is so pathetic I can't stand it.

Sigh.

Funniest Post

2007-11-06T02:48:00.000-07:00

I am totally coping out here, but instead of writing my own post today, I'm sending you over to Bermuda Bluez.

This stuff is funny with a capital F.

I am seriously up at 2:43 am laughing so loud that I am going to wake up my family! I am crying all over my keyboard!

Check it out here.

Disappointing Dyson

2007-11-04T10:49:00.000-07:00

I can't even believe I'm saying this because I love my Dyson.

I love my Dyson.

But we had an accident today and I realized my baby, my precious Dyson, wasn't adequately doing it's job.

The accident is pretty sick to describe so let's just say that it involved a dog that stole too much Halloween candy combined with this same dog accidentally getting locked into J's bedroom.

Yes, that. Gross.

I've been wanting one for awhile, so this morning, I bought myself a Bissell rug shampooer. It set me back $300 and it took me 80 minutes to put the damn thing together, but oh man, it was worth it.

It works amazingly well. Scrub, scrub, scrub. Suck, suck, suck and the next thing I know, the carpet is smelling and looking gorgeously clean. But the water contained inside that machine, oh my stars, gag reflex starting, it was disgusting. And we're not just talking about the uhm, dog's contribution. We're talking that water was filthy. Solid black. Plus, it contained a ton of dog hair, carpet fuzz, and who knows what else.

Why wasn't my Dyson picking this stuff up? or at least most of it? I had just vacuumed yesterday. Yet this black stuff, this fuzz, and hair, this was all sitting in my carpets?

Dyson, sweet Dyson, why have you let me down like this?

Sigh.

Philanthropy Thursday

2007-11-01T18:33:00.001-07:00

A former 2nd grader at our school has passed away.

Her name was Gema. She was in 2nd grade at our school last year and in April was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor.

This year, had she been well enough to attend school, she would have been in 3rd grade. She was a dear, sweet little girl with two older brothers who also attended our school. When she was diagnosed, the whole family moved to a larger city nearby so that she could receive better treatment for her cancer. She and her brothers were pulled from school. Our entire school prayed for her and her family.

Tuesday, she died.

She was 8 years old.

Not that it makes much difference, but today we donated to her family's account, The Gema Chavez Charitable Fund, so that her parents may better afford the funeral services.

Today, our principal said this when telling us about Gema's death---

"Life on earth with our family and friends is very precious. Please unconditionally love one another each and every moment, for we never know when we will no longer have the opportunity to be together."

I cannot think of a more important message.

7 Random Things

2007-10-31T21:23:00.000-07:00

Painted Maypole has tagged me for a 7 Random Things Meme. Even though it's Halloween today and Philanthropy Thursday tomorrow, I'm at a loss for what to write about. Sad, yes?

So here are 7 Random Things About Me:

1) I hate Crocs. I own two pairs and my kids and hubby own a dozen each, and they are so practical in their waterproofness and all that, but I just can't stand them. Have you ever seen anyone over the age of 10 and under the hotness of my hubby (and he only looks good in them when he's being a hotty doctor in his scrubs and all) that actually look good in them? I look like a fool in them and even though they are the most comfy shoes I've ever owned, I've never worn them in public.

2) I talk too much. People don't even bother pussy-footing around it anymore. The bottom line is I talk a LOT. More than most people. I'm overly enthusiastic too. Especially in public. Most people think I'm insane. Or ADHD. Really, they do.

3) I love to eat and drink. Sigh. It's sad, but true. I could eat and drink just about all day. If I didn't have kids to take care of. And if I didn't have places to drive to. And if I could talk with a terrific girlfriend at the same time? And if she loved to eat and drink too? And if it didn't make me gain 800 pounds? Sigh. I could eat and drink all day.

4) I love HBO. And I love when my hubby is in the mood to love it too. Sometimes, he's too tired to care. One of my favorite things in the world to do is to get the kids to bed, pop some popcorn, pour some wine, and settle in for some seriously awesome HBO. Almost anything will do---the Sopranos, Big Love, Six Feet Under, Entourage, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Sex in the City, oh man and Deadwood. Those are my favorites.

5) I prefer to be bra-less. Granted, I rarely ever get the opportunity to actually go bra-less, but it is my preferred way to be. Usually, the first thing I do when I walk in the door is take off my bra. I'm usually just entering the house from the garage and have no where to set my bra but the top of the dryer, so there's where it sits. As if I just washed, dried, and folded it. One of the many things I absolutely despised about having my BIL live with us is feeling like I had to leave my bra on.

6) I regularly punch myself in the stomach. Really, I do. It's the only part of my physical self that I actually sort of like (so sad, but true), my abs, that is, and so I regularly sock it to myself just to convince either myself, my girls, or anyone else who gives a crap, that I have some seriously buff abs. I'm fond of socking myself in the abs while in front of the mirror in the girls' bathroom while I'm helping them brush their teeth and I'll say something stupid like, "When you do sit ups your tummy gets nice and strong like Mommy's." It's my lamo attempt at helping them to love themselves instead of despising their cellulite-covered thighs. Of course, they don't have any cellulite yet, but I do, and you know, they will someday. Oh bother. Not fond of the cellulite.

7) I only have to do four simple things to please my husband. Really. He's very easy to please. (1) I must make the coffee. Oh my stars this means the world to the man. If I just make the coffee, set the coffeemaker to go off before he wakes up, I am a goddess. (2) I must buy sun dried olives. It's very simple, other than the fact that they cost $14/jar and I can only get them at this fancy-schmancy cook shop. He loves him some olives. (3) I must cook meat. I must cook any kind of meat. Give him the choice between unbelievably gourmet awesomeness with no meat, or slow-cooked pork, and there's no contest. Sigh. (4) Well, you know the last one.

**********

On another note, thank you to everyone for commenting! We hit 14! (but we cheated, sort of). Thank you Mrs G!

Double Digits

2007-10-30T17:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, I am so close to double digit comments, I can taste it.

Two posts---Well Received and Billy Don't Be a Hero---garnered me 9 comments. I'm relatively new to blogging so I guess I can't complain. But man, I'm so close to that elusive double digit ten.
Ah, to have 10 comments.

I'd love to steal Sue's statement on comments. She says,

"If You Choose Not to Comment...
...that's fine - just be aware that I may die. Really. Because every person who reads without commenting kills off another little piece of my SOUL. I just wanted you to know. So you can, you know, have a clear conscience at my funeral. Which might be soon. No pressure though."

And I second her sentiment when she wrote this.

But I won't steal her statement about comments. I'm not ready to guilt you into it (but I'll do that soon if this doesn't work).

Instead, I'll just ask nicely. Here goes....

If you read my blog, please comment. I'd love to hear from you!

How's that for nice?

Poopy Mondays

2007-10-29T22:21:00.000-07:00

I have a friend who graciously babysits my youngest child for me every Monday so that I may attend my Adult Ballet class.

Every Monday.

Every single Monday.

Every Monday my daughter poops in her pants while she is over at my friend's house.

Every single Monday.

I am not even going to remind you how old this child is, but trust me, she is too old to poop in her pants.

Every Monday she gets to wear my friend's daughter's clothes home. Every Monday she gets to take a refreshing shower at my friend's home. Every Monday I get to go home with a bag full of poopy clothing.

Every single Monday.

In case you're wondering, yes, my friend does have a toilet. She has, I think, five of them. It's a big house, but no matter where you are in there, you're bound to hit a bathroom.

Anyone interested in babysitting for me next Monday?

Didn't think so.

Sigh.

Least Favorite Chore

2007-10-28T13:30:00.000-07:00

What's your least favorite chore?

You would think mine would be something like cleaning toilets, or picking up dog poop, right? I hate both of those chores too, but I always manage to muster the strength to do them.

But when it comes to emptying the dishwasher, well, I just can't do it. I don't know what it is about it. I just hate it. Objectively, it's not that bad of a chore. The dishes are clean, for one thing, so it's not at all a nasty thing to do like some chores can be. And it should be nice, just like putting away clean laundry, that a task is completed. It's done. The dishes are clean.

But no. I can't stand it and I don't know why. Fortunately for me, my DH, on the mornings when he's home, puts them away first thing. I love him for it. I lie in bed and hear him clanging around putting away clean dishes. And even though it disturbs my last moments of sleep, I love him for it.

But days like today? When he's not here in the morning? Sigh. The clean dishes sit in the dishwasher all day. All day. I avoid the chore like the plague. I just hand washed two entire sinks full of dishes just so I wouldn't have to unload the dishwasher. What gives with that?

I've done 3 loads of laundry so far today---from start to finish---folding and putting them away included. I've cleaned all three toilets. Yes, three. I vacuumed up the mess O made when she "baked bread" in the kitchen this morning and the mess that J made cracking open almonds. I even walked around the house with my container of Clorox wipes wiping down stair rails, light switches, doorknobs, etc., because it's flu season y'know.

But have I managed to get around to emptying the dishwasher? Nope. We'll be lucky if I manage to do it before dinner. And if I don't? Well, that's okay. DH will be here in the morning.

Field Trip, Raffi, and Go Fish

2007-10-27T12:29:00.000-07:00

I jently stand on the erth. The wind blows my hare and the trees. I here the birds and the srwerles.

A child in O's class wrote the above in her nature journal while on a field trip yesterday. How sweet is that? Below she drew a picture of the beautiful canyon we were in. It was a lovely field trip. Exhausting for the kids, but lovely.

After spending the day with a bunch of second-graders in a canyon, I came home once again to a husbandless home and a hypoglycemic child. After I fed the kids and did a few chores, I thought, "What a perfect night for a movie." Ah yes, let's sit and pop popcorn and who even cares what we watch? Let's watch Cars for the 80th time.

But no. It's TV Turn Off Week at our school and our girls are now old enough to remind me if I slip. Actually, we rarely turn on the TV during the week when the kids are awake. Who has time for all the TV that American kids watch? By the time we come home from school, it's 3:30 three days a week, and 4:45 on the two days a week that the girls have dance. We unload the car. The kids play outside. I do a few chores and make dinner. We eat together and the clean the kitchen together. We help the girls clean their rooms and clean up for bed, and then we read bedtime stories. There's just really no time for TV.

But on the weekends, we love to watch a couple of movies. Sigh. Not this weekend. Darn it.

Instead, I mustered up all my strength and courage (I know I'm sad and weak) and the three of us sat down to a few rounds of Go Fish. We also cranked up the stereo and played, who else? Mr Raffi himself.

It's going to be a long weekend.

Well Received

2007-10-26T09:18:00.000-07:00

Our gifts yesterday were well received indeed.

It was simple. It went like this:

O: Mom, you ask her.

Me: Child 1, O would like you to have this lunchbox if you would like to have it.

Child 1: (eyes beaming bright) Oh yes. Thank you.

Child 1 took the lunchbox to her cubby. Simple. Done. Whew. O went into class.

Next scenario with J and Child 2:

J: Mom, you ask him.

Me: Child 2, J would like you to have this lunchbox. Would you like to have it?

Child 2: (drops what he's playing with in the sandbox, grabs lunchbox) Yes!

Child 2 took the lunchbox to the gathering spot for lunches. He sat there and hugged it. Then stared at it. I noticed his lunch was in a paper bag. Again.

It was amazing how such a simple little thing could be so delightful for these children!

Then I saw the Dad and felt I should talk to him.

Me: For some reason, O and J really wanted Child 1 and Child 2 to have these lunchboxes. I hope that's okay.

Dad: Sure, that's great. (pause) I gave up buying lunchboxes because they seem to always lose them. But this is great. Thank you.

Me: You're welcome. I hope they are useful.

He didn't seem at all offended. He graciously accepted the gifts.

The end.

As I walked off the playground, Child 2 was still hugging his new lunchbox.

Philanthropy Thursday

2007-10-25T07:44:00.000-07:00

Finally, an idea from O and J.

It's a simple thing and may not even be appreciated, but since they came up with it on their own, we're going for it.

Last night at dinner, we got on the topic of a family at school that doesn't seem to have a lot of money. I'm not sure, but it seems like the parents are divorced, and the kids are always showing up to school all disheveled looking. The kids in this family always, always carry their lunches in grocery bags. Not the little paper bags that you buy intentionally for lunches, but the larger paper bags you get when you buy groceries. The dad does work for a grocery store (we have seen him there) and the way the lunches are thrown together (we've seen the contents on field trips and class parties), it really seems like he grabs whatever is dented or free to employees of the grocery store, throws them into a sack, and sends the kids off to school.

I have no idea how we got to discussing this family, but all of a sudden one of the girls says proudly, "I have an idea! We could give them our lunchboxes!" Both girls immediately thought it was the best idea since sliced bread and went on to discuss who would get what lunch box. They each have at least three each and the boxes they've decided to give away are practically brand new.

So today at school we'll give our gifts. Let's hope they are well-received and no one is offended.

Assaulted

2007-10-23T08:06:00.000-07:00

(This post was originally written last Friday, but I've been afraid to post it.)

Yesterday I felt like I was assaulted.

I was driving to the grocery store, past the Planned Parenthood. I must never have driven this way before on a Thursday morning because I have never seen this before.

I rounded the bend and all of a sudden, totally unexpectedly, I saw a huge sign. I felt like it was almost thrust into my face. The man holding it seemed about average height so the billboard must have been almost 6 feet tall and approximately 4 feet wide.

Now here's where you should sign off if you don't want to feel assaulted too.

The picture he was holding was of a baby. Approximately of newborn age. The baby was covered in blood and attached to the baby's cheek were steel forceps. These forceps were pulling the baby forcibly so that her flesh was being removed from her cheekbones.

Superimposed over the top of the photo the sign read, "Choice. This is what you choose when you choose abortion."

I continued driving, slowly, and there were more protesters. Each with horribly graphic signs. But none as horrible as the first.

I was appalled. I was horrified. I could not believe how grotesque the photos were. I was sad. I was stunned that these individuals expected normal passersby to view these horrible depictions of abortion. I felt horrible for the women who were driving into this clinic about to have an abortion. Not only, of course, that they would be assaulted by the sames photos that I had seen, but more importantly because of what they were choosing to do that morning.

They were choosing abortion. Having never been in the position myself, I cannot even imagine how horrible of a choice that would be to make. To be in the position where you feel you have no alternative but to end your pregnancy. To end the life of the fetus growing inside you.

Thursday apparently is abortion clinic day at our Planned Parenthood. Eons ago (we've recently moved back to a city we lived in over 10 years ago), I did an internship at this same Planned Parenthood, though they were in a different location at the time. I even worked on "abortion clinic" days. At this clinic, they only perform abortions on women who are 7 to 12 weeks pregnant. If you are farther along than that in your pregnancy you must go to a larger city for the procedure.

So what also struck me about that huge photograph was it's inaccuracy. Not only have I done my homework---I know what fetal development looks like and the size and shape of a fetus at 12 weeks---but I have actually seen what clinicians prefer to call "the products of conception"---the POC.

And it looks nothing like that picture.

After an abortion, the clinicians need to view the POC to make sure that the doctor "got everything out." Also, they never, ever use forceps to remove the fetus. They use suction. It's kind of like sticking a vacuum up the vagina.

They do not pull the fetus out with forceps.

I hated seeing it back then. But thinking about it now is even worse, now that I have become a mother. It's horrible. It really is. I'm as pro-choice as they come and I still think it's horrible. You still have to admit that you are ending a life. A potential baby. Life in it's smallest and most beginning stages. Life.

But still, it looks nothing like that picture!

So, I'm wondering. Why is it okay to depict abortion in this way? Why is it okay to be so inaccurate in your description? Does the end justify the means? Why do the protesters believe it is okay to deceive the women going into this clinic? to pretend that they are killing full-term babies?

I'm just not okay with it. I'm not okay with any of it. And I don't know what to do about it.

Billy Don't Be A Hero

2007-10-21T13:21:00.000-07:00

So who's idea was this more music thing anyway?

Yesterday I heard a song I haven't heard in ages---"Billy Don't Be A Hero," Bo Donaldson's version.

"Billy, don't be a hero. Don't be a fool with your life. Billy, don't be a hero. Come back and make me your wife. And as he started to go, she said, Billy, keep your head low. Billy, don't be a hero. Come back to me."

The song goes on to describe how Billy volunteered for something courageous during battle and ends up getting killed. His fiance' receives a letter saying he died a hero and she should be proud he died that way. But she threw the letter away.

What a dang tearjerker! Although this song is apparently about the Vietnam War (it was released in 1974), I sat in my car crying and thinking about all of the Iraq war widows. About how their heroes have never come home.

I don't think I can take this music business anymore. I thought listening to the news was depressing. I must be listening to all the wrong stuff!

I need me some Motown. Some Dancing Queen. Some Saturday Night Fever.

My hubby is right. We need an iPod. Time to come out of the dark ages and listen to what we want, when we want!

Winchester Cathedral

2007-10-15T20:14:00.000-07:00

"Winchester Cathedral...you're bringing me down. You stood there and watched as...my baby left town."

I heard this today listening to the 60's station on XM Radio in my car. I listened intently. Had I really ever heard this song before? That is, had I ever heard it sung by the person who actually sings it? No, I decided. I hadn't. The only time I had ever heard this song it was sung by my Dad. Way back when. Probably in the seventies.

I started to cry. Okay, chalk it up to PMS. Either that or I'm a sad, pathetic, nostalgic fool.

I realized at that moment (I know, I'm forty. It's taken me a long time to realize a lot of things) that I grew up listening to music. Lots and lots of music.

I watched myself today, rap-tappin' my thumb (thumb only) on the steering wheel, realizing that this is just what my Mom always did, realizing that there was always, always, music on in the car. And that we were always, always, singing along. I remembered that my Dad had like the most extensive album collection you could have. He had 100's and 100's of albums. Hundreds. My friends were always in awe. Complete awe. He had EVERYTHING. Everything cool, that is. He didn't have any of the sappy, stupid stuff. He didn't have anything that any of the other parents had. He had all the cool stuff. Stuff anyone who appreciates music is still listening to today. The classic rock of the 1960's and '70s. Sure, they had a bit of Buddy Holly too, who could blame them? But most of it was pure Rock n' Roll.

This music was always playing in our house. When we were younger, my parents played this music nonstop with their friends. We did a lot of dancing back then too. My Dad mostly hated dancing, but my Mom and my Aunt were always willing to hear a quick disco beat and danced with us until we were blue in the face. Then, when we were older, we were always "borrowing" my Dad's albums and playing them. Most of the time, this was a positive thing. One day, however, after my parents had enough of us playing Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" over and over, well, my Dad just walked down to our family room, across the orange shag carpeting, and took the album over his knee and broke it. Broke it in two!

It was his album!

My parents loved music. They played it all the time. I grew up with music. I grew up loving music. I still have so much fondness in my heart for the music of the '60s and '70s and love to sing along in the car. But somewhere along the way, it got lost. I spent much of my young adulthood either car-less or listening to NPR. All seriousness. I rarely listen to music anymore, although, thankfully, I purchased the XM Radio option with my new car about a year ago and now we do quite a bit of listening in the car. Since XM, I'm slightly off my NPR obsession, but I'm still musically challenged. I'm still musically deprived. And I found myself today, fearing that my children will be too.

So today, I vow to play more music. Even if it's outdated. I don't care. As long as it makes us sing. As long as it makes us dance. I'm playing more of it, dammit. I am.

What Will You Do ALL Day?

2007-10-15T09:50:00.000-07:00

I'm so sick of this question. What SAHM isn't? Next year J will be in school ALL day. As if it's really ALL day. Hmm. My kids' school day goes from 8:30 to 3:00.

Anyone know of a full time job that starts after that and ends before? Preferably one with benefits and that pays really well?

Since I'm so sick of this question, I decided to start keeping a journal of all the c--- I do around here. All that stuff that fills ALL that time. The ludicrous amount of multitasking that goes on in my life.

By the way, this year J is still only in school until 11:30. By the time I get out of there, walking her into the classroom and everything, it's 9:00. Whoo hoo! A whopping 2 1/2 hours!

Besides, why do I have to know how I'm going to spend ALL that time next year when I don't even have that time yet? That's like spending the money before you make it. No one would praise me for charging up my credit cards before we earn the money---why would they praise me for filling all my time before I've even wallowed in the luxury of it? Wouldn't it be nice to actually have some time and then decide, "Hmm. I'm a bit bored. Maybe I should add some things to my life?" Wouldn't that be a better approach?

But no, people want to know how I'll fill ALL that time. Shit, people have been asking me for about 3 years now how I plan to fill ALL that time. Three years ago. When J was 2! I felt the pressure to start figuring that out. Hence the nursing classes. Sigh.

So I'm starting a journal today. Just to keep track of all my time. To keep track of the varied and crazy crap I do on a regular basis. It's nothing earth-shattering, and it's not saving any lives (my dh takes care of that department), but I can tell you this, it sure takes up a lot of time.

My Dog Ate My Homework

2007-10-14T17:49:00.000-07:00

Really, he did.

See....

Here are the exact chapters I was supposed to study for a quiz on Tuesday....

And the book only cost me about $85.

Nope, not likin' the dog.

What Is This Lady Thinking?

2007-10-13T08:46:00.000-07:00

I don't mean to be a b.i.t.c.h. and I certainly don't mean to imply anything negative about the field of occupational therapy, but c'mon, what is this lady thinking?

Let's see...the OT at my kids' school wants my child to wear (a) a weighted vest, (b) a grin guard, (c) a weighted "snake" around her neck, (d) sit on a funny chair, (e) sit at a funny desk, (f) chew on plastic bracelets, and (g) slide around on some wheely thing.

Hmm. I wonder if any of the other kids would ever think she's a freak? Naw. Second and third grade girls are wonderful to each other. They're never mean. And they certainly never make fun of the kid who's different. Never.

Also, in the morning, before school, yes, before school, when we have so much ample time and I have so much patience (what? you don't believe me?), she wants her to jump on a trampoline, get a massage (from me, of course), take a shower, work with clay, bead a necklace or bracelet, and anything else I can think of that would allow my overly tactile child to use her hands and get some gross motor muscle stimulation.

Call in the dogs and put out the fire! We've got a FREAK SHOW on our hands!

If any child really needs these things, I don't mean to offend. But my kid is just a little anxious, a little introverted, a little scared about those first weeks of school. She's the type of kid who will make about one friend at a time (and she does have a BFF). She's the type of kid that needs a bit of down time after school to recharge her introverted batteries.

She does not need all this ridiculous intervention!

Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I'm one of those overly protective mothers who thinks my children are God's gift to the universe. And if you think that, you'd be wrong. I'm definitely not one of those parents! Really, I'm not.

I just think this woman has taken her interventions a little too far. She hasn't even done any of her own observations in the classroom this year. She observed my child in kindergarten, a full two years ago, and is generalizing not only from her observations back then, but from some label she's assigned my child. It scares the hell out of me. My young child, at this extremely small school (where there's only one class per grade and where all of the children move to the next grade together with the same teacher) does not need this labeling! She doesn't need the other kids in her class to single her out as some sort of oddball. And we all know how girls about this age can start to act. We all know! This is not what my child needs!

What's a mother to do?

Philanthropy Thursday

2007-10-12T08:05:00.000-07:00

I know it isn't Thursday anymore. But yesterday, I really wanted to write about Maya.

I did donate to charity yesterday. Not exactly to a charity I would have chosen, but since the opportunity landed on my doorstep....

A woman came to our door. An attractive young woman. She was selling books. Books she claimed had funded her first year of college. Books she hoped would fund her second.

She planned to be a nurse. She chose her small, Christian college because she wanted to find out who she was and what she believed in before she dedicated her life to helping others. She wanted to do medical missionary work when she was finished. Her father didn't support her idea to attend this small Christian school and therefore didn't help her with her tuition.

My dh is a doctor. I'm currently pursing a degree in nursing. We both dream of doing medical missionary work, albeit not quite the kind she intends to do.

I appreciated her desire to follow her dreams. I appreciated her motivation to do so in the face of family objection. I appreciated her work ethic. So I gave her some money, bought one of her books, and wished her well. Honestly, I wish there were more young women in the world just like her.

Knock on my door. And if I'm in the right mood to appreciate your spirit, I just might give you some money.

Stop for Maya, part 2

2007-10-11T19:56:00.000-07:00

I decided to dedicate another post to Maya. I feel like my yesterday's post was more about blogging safely and not about the fragility of our children and our need to be cautious with their health and welfare.

Maya's story came to me when I was particularly vulnerable.

My Dad told me her story when we were visiting family in Chicago this summer. First of all, every time we go back to Chicago, I long to move back. You can read about this annual/biannual phenomenon here.

If we were to ever move back, and my husband and I have talked about this ad nauseum, we'd move downtown---to Lincoln Park, Lakeview, or somewhere close-by. It was in Lincoln Park where Maya died.

Also, my Dad told me this story about Maya the night before he planned to take my children to the Lincoln Park Zoo without me. I was attending a baby shower for a cousin the next day and while I was gone, he thought he'd take the kids to the zoo. It was after a day at Lincoln Park Zoo that Maya died. In Lincoln Park. On her way back to her mommy's car from the zoo.

The story is horrible. Maya, her mother and brother, were crossing the street right by the zoo. A man in a Lexus sped through a stop sign and hit Maya and her family. Maya's mother and brother were big enough that they were thrown over the roof of the car. Maya was not so lucky. She was dragged underneath the car. The driver dragged her for about a block before he sped away.

Even though the hospital (the hospital where I was born incidentally) was only a few blocks away and she was brought there within minutes, Maya died anyway. Her injuries were severe.

Maya was four years old.

My Dad, of course, ever the dramatist, told the story well. Too well. He also made a minor mistake. He said that Maya was seven. My daughter O, the one he planned to take to the same zoo the next day, was seven.

Oh, the impact of this story!

Please visit her family's website. And think about her whenever you make a FULL and COMPLETE stop at a stop sign.

Stop For Maya

2007-10-10T11:20:00.000-07:00

My two readers may have noticed that I have recently deleted my name, my children and husband's names, and our location from my blog. I did this because I am constantly in need of reminding myself to be more careful, more cautious. I have a tendency, as I hope most people do, to be trusting. To assume the world is a good and safe place and that the people in it want that too.

As we all know, this is not always the case.

This post will not be about blogging safely. Instead, it is about my need to continually remind myself to be more cautious. Especially when it comes to the safety of my children.

When we were in Chicago this summer, my Dad told me a horrible story about a colleague of his. This man's daughter got hit and killed by a hit and run driver who didn't stop for a stop sign. She died right in front of her mother and brother's eyes.

Her name was Maya. She was four years old. You can read about it here and here.

I pledge to myself, again, to be cautious with my children. To remember their fragility and to remember that my husband and I are their protectors.

Please remember to stop at all stop signs. Completely. Do it for your own children. Do it for all children.

Do it for Maya.

Select A Candidate

2007-10-09T21:51:00.000-07:00

I went online and took this interesting quiz. You've probably seen ones like it before. You answer some questions about your positions on national issues and then they tell you which presidential candidate mostly closely shares your views.

Check it out----Select a Candidate

I was not surprised by my answer although there's no way in hell I'll vote for him.

Hmm. Wonder who I will vote for.....

Actually, I still haven't decided between her and him.....(I'm from Chicago after all)

Truthfully, my ideal ticket would include them both with Obama as the VP. Or maybe Hillary and this guy....

Hmm. I guess it's a good thing the primaries are still a few months away!

And just in case you happen to be in this category, please follow this link----

Okay, that's enough political activism for one day! (and enough links!)

Four Things

2007-10-07T21:56:00.001-07:00

Jen M has tagged me for a Four Things meme. I'm new to this game so I'm not sure quite what this means. It seems I can blab endlessly about ANY four things I feel like.

How is this different than anything else I've blogged about?

Blogging means I get to subject you to whatever I feel like writing about---provided you're willing to read about it. Since I have only about 2 readers, I guess I can safely say that no one cares!!

Let's see. Four things.

Four Things I Think I Should Like But Don't (sorry, I've tried)--
(1) poetry (so sorry, I just can't do it)
(2) olives (ick! but I'm Italian! how can I hate olives?)
(3) gardening (I want it to look nice, but I don't want to do any of the work for it)
(4) knitting, sewing, quilting, any of those wonderful womanly arts (they require sitting still, yes?)

Four Things I Like But Probably Shouldn't---
(1) cursing
(2) drinking*
(3) driving fast*
(4) coffee

Four Jobs I'd Love But Will Probably Never Have---

(1) Philanthropist (I'd have to have money for this, right?)
(2) OB/Gyn (I'd have to go to medical school. What? I'm FORTY.)
(3) Mother to Four Children (read above, yep, FORTY.)
(4) Top level administrator or maybe senior researcher at the World Health Organization (would I have to move to Switzerland for that?)

Four Jobs I've Actually Had---
(1) Medical Anthropologist at a bioethics firm (sounds cool, doesn't it?)
(2) Researcher at Planned Parenthood (studied the impact of protester activity on patient care, again, sounds cool, doesn't it?)
(3) Waitress at Eden Alley, an unbelievably hip, mostly vegetarian restaurant in Kansas City. I hope that place is still in business. I could really go for the vodka marinara pasta right about now. Or those awesome black bean quesadillas. Mmm, dipped in sour cream. My absolute favorite restaurant without a wine list.
(4) Cleaning lady. Yes, really! I quit my lamo job at the Gap (where I made like $4.35/hr) to take this job. I think I made $10/hr and had weekends and evenings off. It was ideal. I loved it. Usually, the people were not home and I could crank the music, clean my head off, and then brag to my friends about the curious habits of "rich women." Ah, those were the days.

*I promise I have never done both of these at the same time!

Okay, so now I get to tag four people right? I tag Mary Alice, Sheri, Crystal, and Jenny.

Do It Yourself

2007-10-07T12:19:00.000-07:00

I promised my husband that I would "re-do" his office as a birthday present. I ordered a new desk, bought lamps, a new desk chair, a couple of bookshelves, a comfy leather chair, and had planned to paint, hang his diplomas (finally), and actually decorate the room. Big plans.

A friend ageed to come over to help me paint while my hubby was at work. She later had to change her plans but said she could watch my kids for me while I painted.

My response? "Oh no, I wouldn't tackle something like that myself."

What?!?! I couldn't believe my own ears as the words were escaping my mouth. Had I gone soft? Didn't I just tell Mary Alice that military wives and medical wives were similar in our ability to "do it all?" Didn't I even say that I'd be pissed off if I came home and found my husband doing laundry? Didn't I say that if my husband said something like "we need to de-clutter" that I wouldn't even remotely find that sexy? rather, I'd be extremely irritated and feel like I wasn't effectively holding down the fort while he was gone?

I shocked myself that I had uttered those words. It's true that an extrovert, such as myself, finds strength in numbers, and that we literally find our energy in relationship to others, and that normally, all things being equal, I wouldn't tackle a project like that myself. I need another adult present so that I can muster the motivation to do it. But "single parenthood" has taught me a lot, and my self-reliance has been my strength, so I sucked it up and started painting the room myself.

It was boring for sure, but I did it anyway.

All by myself.

And dang it, it looks good!

And this morning, my girls greeted Daddy by saying we had a surprise for him. They even blindfolded him so that we could lead him to his "new" office. So that he could say, "Dang, this looks awesome! Thank you!"

Philanthropy Thursday

2007-10-04T16:07:00.000-07:00

I gave blood today. I haven't donated blood in ages. I had a relatively recent bad experience that led me to avoid it for years. But today, I decided to suck it up and do it again. And even though I'm still a bit lightheaded from the experience, it felt good. According to the woman at the donation site, I am considered a universal donor since I have O negative blood type. Only 6% of the population can claim this.

I went home and googled it and of course, what she told me is not entirely true. O negatives used to be considered universal donors (we can donate to Os, As, Bs, and ABs, both positive and negative) but now there are more sophisticated methods of matching blood types so that a donor's and recipient's blood can be more closely matched for compatibility. But my husband says that if a trauma patient comes into the ER, they automatically give him O negative blood since there's really not time to "type" him.

So, it's still mostly true and it doesn't matter much to me anyway. It just felt good to finally donate again.

I've donated blood many times in my life. Most of the time, it has gone just fine. But I have had a few bad experiences with blood donation. One time, I fainted. I literally stood up, attempted to approach the cookies and juice table, swooned, and fell on my doofa. Not pretty. Another time, after waiting in line forever, I was turned away because I was under 110 pounds (I wish I had that problem now!). And the last time I tried before today, I was turned away because within whatever time frame I had lived in Europe and could have possibly been exposed to mad cow disease.

It was that last time that did me in for the next five years. This was in 2002 and they turned me away because I had lived in Europe in the 80's---yes, the 1980's.

Here's the story. J was a small baby, maybe 5 or 6 months old and still nursing furiously. O would have been just about 2. We lived in Tucson at the time where it was always extremely hot and we were new to the area and still adjusting to the heat. Also, and this makes for a much better story, I had a navy blue car with no air conditioning (it's true, I swear) and anyone who's ever been to Phoenix or Tucson knows a dark colored car, especially one with no a/c, is not a good idea.

Anyway, I was listening to the radio and heard that all of southern Arizona was suffering a horrible blood shortage. They also said that the most important donors were those with O negative blood type, and since I knew I had O negative blood, I decided I ought to do my civic duty and go out and donate.

So I loaded up the kids and headed out. Back then, loading up the kids was no easy task for me. Yeah, yeah, I was more overwhelmed with motherhood than some, I'm sure, but still. I don't remember every detail of the story---it wasn't that traumatizing. But I'm sure it went something like this---

I looked up the location of the nearest blood donation center in the phone book. Then I dressed both girls, changed both of their diapers (yes, two in diapers at the same time), and nursed J. And then probably changed J's diaper again, because that's just the way it works, right?

Then I went out into the scorching heat and loaded the double jogger into the back of my car. I squirted down both car seats with a water bottle, carried the kids into the car, and buckled them in. We drove about 20 minutes, without air conditioning, to the nearest blood donation site, located at the mall. I parked, covered my windshield with a sun reflector, unloaded the double stroller, loaded each child into the stroller, and then covered their car seats with white towels that I always kept in the car. Then I pushed them to the site only to find that they were located on the 2nd floor and there were only stairs available where we stood. I hiked through the mall to find an elevator, took it up, and walked back to the donation site. Then I waited in line. And my kids? Well, J probably nursed again, I'm sure, and I probably spent a lot of energy trying to keep O from contaminating all of the colorful, plastic, sterile, blood-collecting supplies.

When it was finally my turn, a woman asked me a million questions while my children waited patiently (ha ha) in their stroller. When we got to the question about my time in Europe, she said I had been "deferred"---meaning, you may not give blood today. Deflated and upset, I pushed the stroller back to the elevator and then out to my car. I took each of the two kids out of the stroller, removed the white towels, spritzed their car seats with water, and buckled them in. I folded the stroller and loaded it into my car. Then drove the 20 minutes back to my house, in the heat with no a/c, and unloaded the kids (one of whom was now screaming to nurse again) and stroller from the car. We went back into the house having not accomplished a damn thing.

Not a damn thing. Sigh. The story of my life as a stay-at-home mom to two small children.

So that's why it took me about 5 years to get up the nerve to try again. And today, I accomplished something. A small thing, yes, but something.

84 Days

2007-10-01T19:00:00.000-07:00

It was just a typical day today. I got the girls up for school, we scooted out of the door with just a few minutes to spare, and I had everything in the car that we needed---kids' lunches and backpacks, rain jackets, my gym bag and yoga mat. Just a normal day.

After I drop off the kids, I head to the gym. Just like I always do. I walk up to the door just like any other day and scan my pass in front of the little scanner. The young, buff woman behind the counter looks up at me, looks back at the computer screen, and then back at me and says, "84 days."

"What's that?" I ask.

"It's been 84 days since you were last at the gym."

EIGHTY-FOUR DAYS?

Sigh.

I guess that's right. It's been about 84 days. I mean, approximately, if you want to be precise and all. I knew it had been awhile. Actually, I admit I didn't really go over the summer and it's been hard to get back into the groove since school has started again. But eighty-four days?

84 days. It sounds so much worse when you say it like that. Why'd she have to go and say it like that?

Oh well. Guess I'll be getting my butt to the gym again tomorrow. That way, maybe that ridiculously buff woman will say to me, "You were just here yesterday."

Philanthropy Thursday

2007-09-28T11:07:00.001-07:00

Our girls have been sharing a room since J was born five and a half years ago. We finally decided it was time for each of them to have their own rooms. They have been asking for a while, especially O, our oldest. We agreed that our introverted girl, who now spends long days at school engaged in extroverted activities, and who comes home to an entirely extroverted family, needed some private space to recharge.

So last Saturday, I tackled the project myself while my hubby was at work. I really didn't think it would be that complicated. I just needed to move a king sized bed, plus end table, lamps, towels, sheets and blankets out of the guest room. Then I needed to remove a huge cabinet, a wood butcher block table, bookshelves plus books, stools, and a gazillion totes of craft materials out of my study/craft room. Should have been easy, yes?

Then, of course, I had to not only relocate everything from the girls' room into their two new rooms, but also had to divide up everything they have been mostly sharing for the last 5 and a half years---train table, small table and chairs, mini-kitchen, 4 sets of book/toy shelves, 2 twin beds, 2 canopies, a gazillion toys and games, even more stuffed animals and blankets and doll clothes, plus 2 dressers and tons of clothes hanging in their closets. Piece of cake!

It took FOREVER. Absolutely forever. Three full days, actually. My kids were blue in the face by the end. They wanted to kill me every time I said, "Okay, time to sit down and divide up the [insert category, something like "dress-up clothes"]. In the process, however, I got to sort through all of their stuff like you can only do when you move. I filled only 2 white kitchen sized bags full of trash, but I filled 3 huge, contractor-sized, black garbage bags full of stuff to donate to charity.

Yesterday, I dropped it all off at Goodwill. We are feeling much lighter around here!

Just hope for me that we don't have one of those huge meltdowns a month or so from now when one of the girls realizes that something absolutely essential to her existence is missing.

I'm sure they'll both forget all about those precious toys, right?

Bruxism

2007-09-26T00:48:00.000-07:00

Another word I had learn for my class is "bruxism." It means "teeth grinding" though I don't know why you wouldn't just say that. Anyway, I do it and it's extremely annoying.

My dentist hates it, though he says he does it himself. He uses one of those mouth guard thingys, and he thinks I ought to use one too. Eww.

In bed tonight, I find myself doing it. Why, you ask? Oh, maybe stress? Maybe lack of exercise? Who knows? But I find myself wondering....

Does this make me a bruxist?

So in my head I start thinking about the word.

Bruxist. Bruxism. Bruxarama. Bruxability. Bruxilicious.

I can't help it. I can't sleep! Once something like this gets into my brain, I just can't help myself.

So I get up and I google it---"bruxism," that is. The first thing that comes up is the Wikipedia site so I read it. Here's what it has to say---

Bruxism (from the Greek βρυγμός (brugmós), gnashing of teeth) is the grinding of the teeth, typically accompanied by the clenching of the jaw. It is an oral parafunctional activity that occurs in most humans. Bruxism is caused by the activation of reflex chewing activity; it is not a learned habit. Chewing is a complex neuromuscular activity that is controlled by reflex nerve pathways, with higher control by the brain. During sleep, the reflex part is active while the higher control is inactive, resulting in bruxism. In most people, bruxism is mild enough not to be a health problem; however, some people suffer from significant bruxism that can become symptomatic.

Now, isn't that fascinating? Aren't you so glad you're spending your time reading my blog? And aren't I so proud that I spend my time writing it?

Quick! Call your friends! Alert the media! Let them know there's a new blogger in town and she's a fabulous read!

Yes, insomnia. It's a good thing.

Words, words, and more words

2007-09-25T07:30:00.000-07:00

How the hell am I supposed to remember this stuff? Did anyone tell me I should have taken Latin in college? NO!

Tell me any of these words make sense---

methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus
vanomycin-resistant enterococci
pseudomonas aeruginosa
escherichia coli
streptococcus A
mycobacterium tuberculosis
escherichia coli
pseudomembranous colitis
clostridium difficile
neisseria gonorrhoeae
candida albicans
tinea capitis
tinea pedis

The list goes on and on! Oh yeah, there's more, baby. Lots more. I have a test on this craziness today. Wish me luck!

Small Regrets

2007-09-24T11:46:00.000-07:00

Most of the time, it's the small things I do that I regret. Sure, I have some bigger regrets, but the small things are the most likely to nag at me. I guess it's because the small mistakes are the ones that are easiest to avoid and yet, I still manage to make them. Sigh.

Here's something that happened this morning. Keep in mind that I'm always, always rushing on a school morning.

Child: (sweetly) Mom, what's wind?

Mom: What?

Child: What's wind?

Mom: (slightly agitated) What?

Child: What's wind?

Mom: (slightly more agitated) What's what?

Child: (still sweetly) Wind.

Mom: (still agitated) Wind?

Child: Yes.

Mom: (quickly) It's air that moves through the sky. Now, what do you want in your lunch?

So guess what Mom is doing right now? Yep, you guessed it. Looking up "wind" on Wikipedia and printing it out so that I can read it to the Child when she comes home from school.

Yep, making it up for it.

Hmm. I wonder if there's such a thing as a "wind" shaped popsicle?

A Season for Strength and Courage

2007-09-23T09:31:00.000-07:00

Today is the autumnal equinox. As we begin these first days of autumn, I must say that my kids go to the most awesome school. A school that celebrates all that is beautiful in the world.

Next week begins the season of St. Michaelmas. Our principle had this to say about the time of year we are entering---

"Michaelmas is not just a day; it is a season that extends from September 29, the Feast of Knight Michael, to October 31, All Hallows Eve. It is a time for celebrating deeds of strength and courage by facing challenges, symbolically dragons, both external and internal. It is a time for harvest, a time for work, a time for storing away that which we need for the cold dark months to come. Michaelmas is celebrated at our school through storytelling, puppetry and skits. It has become tradition for the second and seventh grades to prepare and present a Michaelmas play, usually St. George and the Dragon. Another tradition is the children playing games during the festival which require feats of skill and courage. Classes may make dragon bread. The eating of dragon bread symbolizes both the overcoming of the dragon and the assimilation into our own beings the wisdom and power of the natural world. Our Michaelmas celebration evolves from year to year as we strive to make it a meaningful and living experience for all our students, young and old."

Is that awesome or what? I can hardly believe our principle said that. It's just beautiful.

May we all be blessed with strength and courage and a bountiful harvest. Happy Autumn!

I Just Have to Say

2007-09-22T19:37:00.000-07:00

Thank you to everyone who showed their support and empathy when my DH was having the worst day of his career.

My poor DH is still suffering. He sent this poor mother to the hospital to be induced on Thursday afternoon, but she ended up not able to deliver until he was on at the hospital early Saturday morning. So he ended up having to deliver the baby. 36 hours later. Had she delivered sooner, another doctor would have had to deliver the baby. What horrible luck. And oh the ordeal for the mother. Laboring for so many hours knowing that your poor baby is dead.

Oh, that poor mother. Oh, my poor husband.

I just have to say that I'm grateful that he's not jaded. I know that might sound strange to all of us who were so upset by this loss of life, but there are definitely doctors who need to harden in order to survive their jobs. My hubby is not one of them. It's harder to care, of course, but so much more human. I am grateful to be married to such a wonderful man!

Tonight he's back on and please pray all goes well. Let's hope for life and happiness!

*********************************************

On another note, I must admit what I'm doing right now. I'm sitting at the computer, drinking a glass of wine (yes, I'm alone, unless you count my two kids) AND eating a piece of chocolate cake. My children, on the other hand, are using MY stepper and step aerobics video to exercise and have fun. I'm not kidding.

Sad and pathetic, huh?

Does this mean I qualify for slacker mom status?

So Much To Be Thankful For

2007-09-21T07:28:00.000-07:00

My DH had the worst possible thing that could happen to a doctor happen to him yesterday---a baby died at 40 weeks. That's term. The baby actually died on his or her very due date. The poor mother, a first-time-about-to-be-mother, came into the office with her sister all elated with anticipation. She expected my DH to tell her something like, "Well, you're 2 centimeters dilated, it could happen at any time." And instead, my hubby who's known around the office as being the awesome heartbeat finder, couldn't find a heartbeat. He tried. He tried hard. He remembered that earlier that day (an omen?) he couldn't find another heartbeat, and then another. But he remembered that in a few minutes, he did find them.

But with this poor woman, he didn't. He brought in another doctor who also couldn't find the heartbeat. He perused the woman's chart. She had done all the right things. She hadn't missed a single prenatal visit. She had taken all the tests---all but one, one that many women skip---especially women who know they wouldn't personally choose abortion even if they had found fetal abnormalities. She had been to her prenatal visit just last week and everything was fine. He had found a heartbeat then. Why couldn't he find one today?

She was young. She was healthy. He tested her for drug use. Negative. He thought of all the possibilities. Negative. She had done all the right things. All the right things. He has lots of women in his practice that don't do the right things and their babies live. She had done all the right things.

Her baby died. And my DH cried.

Shit. I cried. I told a friend and she cried. Who carries a baby to term just to have the poor thing die? What sad and perverted version of our existence allows this kind of thing to happen?

And ya all wonder why I'm in a pissy, I mean, thankful, mood?

Philanthropy Thursday

2007-09-20T22:28:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay, okay, I know I missed it again! What is it today? Friday? Maybe it's still Thursday night as I write this. Yes! I think it is. Whew!

Again, I got caught up in my own selfish existence. Did I get a chance to sit down with my daughter today and discuss what cause she'd like to support? Did I ask either of my daughters what good deeds they might like to perform today?

No, I did not. I wish I could claim that it was because I am a slacker. Oh, those wonderful slacker moms. The enviable slackers. What I wouldn't give to be a slacker. Sigh.

But let's see.....I did donate $25 today to MoveOn.org partly because I'm just in a pissy mood. I'm sick and tired of the politics in our country. I'm sick and tired of the fact that our troops are not yet home and I'm absolutely sick and tired of people like Bill Maher---someone who has the audacity to compare public breastfeeding to public masturbation, someone who I thought was on our side, someone who I enjoy watching, turn out to be a misogynist pig. I can't stand it and I'm sick and f-ing tired! (sorry to Mary Alice---really, I love that word---maybe I should have said "I'm sick and ferociously tired?")

Okay, so 25 bucks isn't enough. I know it's disgustingly not enough. I get it. But I'm in such a pissy mood that I have no idea whether or not this money will go to the "right place." Should I really have donated more than that?

Then I spend half the day (or so it seems) on the phone with my BIL who just had a restraining order placed on him by his ex-girlfriend. Oh my stars. The details would put you in your grave.

Then my poor hubby, my awesome, thoughtful and sensitive hubby has a horrible day at work. And that topic absolutely deserves it's own post.

And y'all wonder why I'm in such a pissy mood? Maybe I'll have an epiphany at 2AM. If I do, you can bet your bottom dollar that I'll be up writing about it.

A Much Better Day?

2007-09-20T21:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I've gotten some feedback---how do you go from "sad, sad times" to "a fabulous day?" I guess I must have some of those 7 year old hormones you may have read about. You know, bouncing from one emotion to the next in a heartbeat?

A more appropriate title for today's post may have been A Much Better Day.

Whew. I'm feeling calmer already.

Fabulous Day

2007-09-20T21:29:00.000-07:00

Oh, the difference a day can make!

First, J had a play date with two of her classmates, two girls. I got to enjoy a full car ride of singing, and giggling, and little girl talk. I literally said nothing the entire car ride (and those of you who know me know that this is quite a feat in itself as I am usually probing my children's friends for information about what happened at school) and I just sat back and enjoyed the happiness of these precious girls.

Second, and most importantly, I received an unexpected, and extremely wonderful phone call. A family member, someone close to my heart, read my yesterday's post (Just Different) and called because he was bummed that I was sad and just wanted to check in and see how I was doing. He assured me that we were loved and that if there was anything we needed to talk about then we should definitely call. And he reminded me that family members are the ones we are to trust in times of stress and that no matter what I said, no matter how emotional or seemingly irrational, I should feel comfortable expressing these feelings.

Oh, the relief! I definitely felt love today.

It was a good day.

Just Different

2007-09-19T08:00:00.001-07:00

I had a meeting last week with the school psychologist and special education director to discuss my child. Very stressful. As mothers, we always blame ourselves when something goes "wrong" with our child. Blame indeed.

That was Wednesday. On Sunday, I discussed the situation with someone who is close to my family and has a background in these issues. Someone who loves my children and presumably loves me. I assumed that this person would want to hear not only the "facts" as I presented them but also would be willing and interested in how I felt about said "facts." I was wrong. Dead wrong.

This person said that my expression of emotion made her uncomfortable and she wondered why I didn't talk to someone else instead of her. She also said, in what I interpreted as a patronizing tone, that I was "just different" than people she was used to talking to. My husband, who participated in the conversation and who is pretty typically male in his comfort level with emotions, said that I absolutely did not reveal too much, that I did not show too much emotion. He assured me that it was/is a very emotional situation and that he would have guessed that I was right in assuming that I could confide in this person this way.

We were wrong. I gambled and lost. I revealed "too much information." But I'm confident that there's not a mother in the universe, at least one that is currently mothering young children, who would find my comments TMI.

It's frustrating to say the least. And it leaves us feeling like we have one less person with whom to confide. One less person who we trust. And one less person who we can count on in times of family stress.

It is a sad, sad time for us.

Philanthropy Thursday

2007-09-15T11:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I know it's not Thursday anymore. But this week I've had more to do than any other week in recent memory. It was stressful!

Let's see.....we raised a barn (more on that later), I met with the school psychologist and special ed teacher to discuss my child (that's a year's worth of stress in one day right there). We had sod delivered and my hubby, who normally works ridiculous hours as it is, had to put in an extremely complicated sprinkler system and do it all in record time since the sod would die if he didn't. We had the BIL situation which is way complicated---can barely even go into it. We had an unexpected, but very pleasant, out of town visitor, and then expected visitors. We had the first 2nd grade parent night. I had my first exam in my new class, and even taking a class at all is new to me since I haven't done anything like it in the last 7 years. Of course, we had all the normal stuff---school, dance, playdates, etc.

I had planned to let my youngest daughter pick a philanthropy project, but it just didn't happen this week. So instead I did two things that I really think should count. Really. They should.

First, I finally, finally met those neighbors I talked about in last week's post. Now granted I didn't bring them a welcome basket, or cookies or even my phone number, but still! I met them, didn't I? Give me a break!

My second good deed on Thursday is a little more complicated. But it boils down to a few things---restraint, patience, picking up a bird and delivering it to safety, staying enough involved to show you care but not enough that you lose your mind, learning to text on my phone, lots of hugs and smiles, and playing the good cop when you really didn't want to play at all.

Sigh. I love Thursdays.

September 11th

2007-09-11T09:27:00.000-07:00

Is it September 11th again already?

No matter how many years it has been, it still never fails to hit me.

My parents used say, "I remember where I was and exactly what I was doing when JFK was shot," and "when we landed on the moon" and it always bored me to tears. I never really listened and I never really understood the impact it must have had on their lives. Until, of course, our generation experienced 9/11.

Unfortunately, just as I was when my parents repeated once again where they were when John Kennedy was shot, my children will probably be bored when I tell the story. They will have no idea how much this event, this series of events, shook our world. Shook our confidence, our security, our trust in who and what we are and what we are all about. Shook us to the very core of our beings. They will have no idea. Because they will have grown up post 9/11. They will never know what it was like before.

I remember exactly where I was and exactly what I was doing. It is a boring story really, especially compared to the stories of the people who experienced true tragedy that day. But I'm telling it anyway.

O was just about 14 months old and I was already almost 4 months pregnant with Julia. We woke up early that day, early for us, because I had an appointment. In my usual fashion, the first thing I did when I came into the kitchen was to turn on NPR. How else was I to stay connected to the outside world now that I was a 14 month veteran of SAHMomdom?

I heard a few things on the radio that sounded odd. Very odd. But they didn't quite register in my brain. I was busy getting cereal and the like splattered all over my kitchen by my child. And I remember hearing the radio.

What's interesting is that the way I remember the day is that it was Terry Gross on the radio. Maybe there's something in my mind and in my memory that wants it to have been Terry Gross. Someone soothing like Terry.

But in retrospect, it probably wouldn't have been her. She was usually on in the afternoon and this was morning. This radio host had been interviewing someone live and was completely thrown off and seemed like she didn't know what to say. She sounded so strange and unsure of herself and her questions. And it was happening right then. During the interview. News of the events were continually rolling in and I'm sure they were getting bits and pieces of it as they were attempting to conduct this interview. IT. WAS. HAPPENING. RIGHT. THEN.

I vaguely remember leaving to go to our appointment. We had an appointment to meet with someone to discuss refinancing our mortgage. How mundane. I quickly got O dressed and we headed out in the car. By the time we got to the loan office, I sort of realized what was happening---though "realizing" is quite an inaccurate way to describe it. It was still very blurry and undefined. Then, in the waiting room of the mortgage company, I heard a few people say things like, "You know it was those damn Middle Easterners. They hate us, you know" and things like that. And I wondered, "Could this be true?"

O, of course, was oblivious to it all. On the way out of the office, she explored a small landscaped area and fell and hurt her knee. She had that cut and the resultant scar for months. Months. And it always reminded me of 9/11.

It wasn't until we were home and I was smart enough to turn on the TV and see pictures, that I fully realized what had happened. Could this have happened? Did this really happen? What's going to happen now? I found myself talking to the TV. Yelling. Crying. I called a few people on the phone. We cried. We speculated. We wondered why it happened. We cried. Then back to watch on TV and stare and stare and cry and yell for hours. How could this have happened?

It was definitely a day I will never forget. No one will ever forget.

Sit a spell, young child of mine, and let me tell you about it. And don't go telling me you are bored, child. Because we will never be the same.

Sisterly Negotiation

2007-09-10T05:06:00.000-07:00

I love it when my kids actually negotiate their way through a situation! The alternative, of course, is to fight---kick, scream, pinch, whine. It's not pretty. Here's something that happened today:

Scene: We're in the car, the two girls and I, on our way home from Target. J is eating the rest of her big pretzel and O has already finished her snack. All of the following dialogue happens in nice voices. Very nice voices.

O: Can I have some of your pretzel? I'll give you something for it.

J: What will you give me?

O: Something of mine that's special to me.

J: Like what?

O: Whatever you want. Maybe something like one of my gems or crystals or shells.

J: Maybe that purple crystal? the one you got for your birthday?

O: No, that's too special.

J: How about the purple dolphin?

O: No, that's too special too.

J: How about that purple shell?

O: Okay.

J: Okay, here's some pretzel.

O: Can I have more?

J: [silence]

O: I'll give you two things.

J: What else will you give me?

O: How about that green plastic crystal?

J: Okay. Here's some more.

I loved it! I was so tempted to intervene with one of my typical praises---"I like how well you two are working this out. This is very nice for Mommy to hear." But I held back. You never know what can interfere with nice, calm, sisterly negotiations. You might think you said or did something completely innocuous and the next thing you know, they're screaming. Screaming! If you don't have two girls, or if you didn't have a sister yourself, you can't possibly imagine how horrible this screaming can be!

So I saved it for later. And we had ourselves a peaceful, almost beautiful, sisterly negotiation.

Happy sigh.

Opinionated

2007-09-09T12:14:00.001-07:00

People say I'm opinionated. As if that's a bad thing. As if!

I mean, what's wrong with having an opinion? What's worse than a person who can't formulate an opinion? You ask them something and they say, "I dunno." I say to that, "Okay, well, then, think about it. I'll give you a minute."

It's quite simple really---

Step One: Think about the topic critically.

Step Two: Search your soul, your heart, your mind, and decide how you feel about it.

Step Three: Verbalize it.

How challenging is that? This is not that difficult people!

We watched a really cute movie last night titled "The Astronaut Farmer." There's a scene in the movie when Mr Farmer asks a young man what he'd like to do when he graduates from high school. It goes like this---

Farmer: Whaddaya wanna do when you get outta here?

Kid: I dunno.

Farmer: Whaddaya mean you don’t know?

Kid: I dunno.

Farmer: Well, lemme tell ya somethin’. You better know what ya wanna do before someone else knows it for ya.

Is that terrific advice or what? It's the same thing with opinions and ideas---

You better know how you feel about something, what you think about something, before someone else knows it for you.

Yes, I have an opinion. Let me tell you about it.

Philanthropy Thursday

2007-09-06T10:01:00.000-07:00

If you haven't already, get on over to Jen M's blog (http://www.lottakids.blogspot.com/) click on the eBay link, and bid on her ring to support Hurricane Katrina victims who are still suffering.

Or pack up a bag of clothes you don't wear anymore and donate them to your local women's shelter.

Or bring some cookies over to those new neighbors who've lived here for 3 months and you still haven't introduced yourself.

Or sign up with your local PTA. You'd be amazed at the wonderful things they are doing nationally.

Or do what I'm doing, and enlist your children in the process. Today, we decided to support my eldest daughter's favorite cause. Dolphins. Save the dolphins!

We went over to http://www.oceanconservation.org/ and adopted a dolphin. You can actually do that! You pay a mere $50 and they send you a certificate and a picture of your dolphin's dorsal fin, plus some educational info on bottlenose dolphin ecology. It's really quite the deal. They use your dough to help protect the seasonal dolphins who swim through Santa Monica Bay.

In any case, do something! No matter how small. It is Philanthropy Thursday after all!

Did I just rhyme?

Bad Mommy

2007-09-05T19:21:00.000-07:00

O got in trouble at school today. Her teachers didn't make a big deal about it, but just wanted to let me know what had happened. The worrying parent that I am, I ended up speaking with the assistant teacher for 30 minutes about the problem.

I spoke to O about it and she didn't have a lot to say. Then, at dinner, when Daddy was home, I told him what had happened and filled him in on the discussion that I had with the assistant teacher. O again didn't have much to say even though we asked her some questions about it.

After she excused herself from dinner, she went off into a corner of the yard and worked on something. We didn't think much of it because she's always engaged in some sort of "project." A bit later, she came to us and told us there was something she wanted us to see. We walked over to the area where she had been working and she pointed to a heart she had drawn in the dirt with a stick.

"This is a heart for Daddy," she said. It had an O and a D inside it, for O and Daddy. Then she pointed to another heart she had drawn in the dirt, and said, "This heart is for J." It had an O and a J in it. Then she pointed to a square and said, "And this is for Mommy." Daddy asked, "Why does Mommy get a square and not a heart?" She answered, "Because she's a bad mommy."

Honestly, my first reaction was to yell at her and storm off. Fortunately, I refrained, took a deep sigh, hugged her and said, "You're mad at Mommy, huh?" Of course she was. She felt I had betrayed a trust and had "gotten her in trouble" with Daddy, even though I'm much more the disciplinarian in our home. But of course, there's no way I wouldn't share this kind of information with her daddy.

Oh, my poor sweet introverted baby, living in an extroverted family. Thank goodness we are finally starting to understand you.

Later, she came to me again. She had something to show me. This time, I got a heart too, complete with a K and an O in it.

Sigh.

Goodbye Summer

2007-09-04T10:06:00.000-07:00

We started our summer with a trip to Mexico with friends. Lots of friends!

Then we celebrated Father's Day in Sedona.

And Mongo and Papa came to visit.

We played lots of dress-up (pictured here as Batman and Batgirl),

and took two trips to Lake Powell.

We celebrated the Fourth of July,

and O's 7th birthday.

We camped up at Alta Lakes,

and spent a week in Telluride.

Then we spent two weeks in Chicago visiting family.

And then home again, for a daytrip to Slide Rock State Park,

playdates with friends,

bike rides,

and a trip to the county fair.

Finally, we had a Labor Day lemonade stand,

and a run through the sprinkler.

Along the way we laughed and played. We stayed up late and slept in. We relaxed and enjoyed.

We will miss you Summer! See you next year!

What Does This Say About Me?

2007-09-03T09:01:00.000-07:00

Scene: 4 friends sitting around a table, sipping cocktails and munching on chips and dip.

Friend: (standing up) Can I get anyone anything?

Me: I'll have a glass of wine. Oh, and some water. I mean, some water in a separate glass. Not in the wine. You know, (using hands to shape 2 separate glasses) some wine in a glass and some water in a glass.

What does that say about me? I mean, what kind of person needs to qualify their request for water like that? (see post dated Aug 29th)

Sheesh.

How to Save Money

2007-09-02T07:41:00.000-07:00

A friend and I were talking the other day about the sacrifices we made to stay home full time with our children. D was in medical school when we had O and I had been the sole breadwinner. I decided to stay home full time with her anyway because, honestly, the thought of leaving her with someone else almost killed me. I was 33 years old. I chose parenthood. Our parents' generation maybe had kids because that's just what you did, but for me, it was a choice. And I chose to be the one to actually do it.

Of course, we struggled financially. Really struggled. We lived on student loans at first and a ridiculously meager resident salary later. We knew though, that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. We knew that eventually, D would graduate from medical school and residency and finally, finally make some decent money. There are certainly some items on this list that I wouldn't have felt comfortable doing had we not had that light at the end of the tunnel. But it took us until O was five years old to start making money and in the meantime, we had another child. It was not easy. Not easy.

Here's my advice on how to do it:

Do not have cell phones, cable, or magazine subscriptions.
Do not buy organic produce or free range meats.
Do not make car payments. Drive only old, used cars.
Do not hold life insurance policies.
Carry only the most basic phone service and the most basic car insurance (only what the state requires).
Make no contributions to savings or retirement plans.
Buy all your clothes resale or at Target and Walmart.
Shop at Walmart (even though it may be against your values).
Trade children's clothing in at a local resale shop for store credit to buy more clothes when needed.
Use cloth diapers or buy generic.
Do not buy kleenex, disposable wipes, paper towels, cotton balls, or q-tips. Use cheap, bulk toilet paper for all of those needs and wash your own washcloths for wipes.
Make meal plans and use every single ingredient in your fridge and pantry.
Never, ever waste food. Ever. (I was absolutely psychotic about this). If the bananas are going, make banana bread. If you don't have the rest of the ingredients, mix with another fruit or juice and make smoothies, or pour into popsicle molds and freeze for dessert.
Do not shop until there's absolutely nothing in your pantry and fridge. You'd be surprised at what you can whip up from nothing. If it's rice and beans for dinner or homemade bread and frozen green beans, that's what it is.
Do not buy anything that's not on sale and/or the generic brand. Go to three stores if you have to, but don't waste a lot of gas doing it.
Do not buy cleaning supplies. Only buy what you absolutely have to. I'd use water for windows and mirrors, and Bon Ami for everything else. Bon Ami costs about $1.00 a can. I'd buy only Bon Ami and generic dish soap, and splurged on dishwasher soap. Some weeks, I'd hand wash the dishes since I didn't have money for dishwasher detergent.
Do not buy anything extra for the house. If you don't truly need it, don't buy it. That goes for clothes too.
Do not replace anything that breaks if you don't absolutely have to. Most likely you don't really need it.
Whenever you're running short on cash for groceries or gas for the car, hold a garage sale. There's always something you can sell (we did this a ton).
Do not ever use credit cards. Ever. If you don't have the cash for it immediately on hand, do not buy it.
Do not join a health club, or buy memberships at local zoos, botanical gardens or arboretums.
Do not repair anything that breaks on your cars. If you don’t truly need that door handle or that a/c, don’t pay for it.
Do not pay for childcare. Ever. Join a babysitting co-op and swap kids for free.
Never go out to eat. Cook every meal at home—all three meals of the day.
Do not buy anything that’s a convenience food or comes in convenience packaging.
Make homemade Christmas cards and gifts. Have your children create gifts for people who will appreciate them. Make homemade thank you cards.
Buy bulk whenever possible, but only if it’s truly a savings and only if you think you’ll truly use all of it.
When debating between two food items that are both on sale and/or the same price, read the label and pick the one with the highest protein content. It will keep you satisfied longer.
Create a list of things you want or even need but can’t afford and ask for these things as gifts. Be as practical as possible. Include on this list grocery store gift certificates, and Target/Walmart gift certificates. Don’t ask for anything for yourself. Make it something for the house or extra stuff for the kids, e.g. clothes, swimming lessons, etc.
Don’t pay for haircuts. Cut your husband's and children’s hair yourself and don’t get your haircut---wear ponytails.

It wasn't easy. And I wouldn't recommend it for the faint of heart.

But it was worth every minute!

Pesto Recipe

2007-09-01T09:05:00.000-07:00

Why does this always happen? At 2:00AM I have a wave of genius and come up with something great to write about but by morning I'm not nearly as articulate. I may even still have the idea, but it's not flowing out of me the way I expected it to. That happened to me today and so I'm posting a recipe instead.

This is my recipe for pesto pasta. My entire family loves it. Even my finicky little girls. My parents rave about it, friends always love it, so I hope you love it too.

Pesto Pasta

Note: Quality ingredients are the key to this recipe. Do not substitute for cheaper ingredients! It will not be the same! p.s. Trader Joe's has all of these ingredients at good prices! :-)

1lb. of the pasta of your choice---(pesto makes a good cover for that healthy whole grain pasta---no one can tell!)
approx. 4 ozs of fresh basil
½ cup of toasted pine nuts (pignolias)
2 cloves of finely chopped fresh garlic
1 cup of grated parmigiano-reggiano -- (if the hunk doesn’t cost at least $10 at a regular store, then it ain’t the good stuff!)
dash of salt
2/3 cup of premium extra virgin olive oil

Boil water for pasta. De-stem, wash, and dry basil. While pasta cooks, add basil, pine nuts, garlic, grated parmesan, and dash of salt to a food processor and blend. Slowly add olive oil until all ingredients are nicely mixed. Drain pasta (do not add oil) and immediately combine pesto to the pasta. Serve with extra parmesan, pine nuts, chopped garden-fresh tomatoes, freshly ground pepper, and kalamata olives (or anything else you feel like!), and of course, a bottle of very crisp, very cold Pinot Grigio!

Thanks to Lucky Candice (http://www.luckycandice.blogspot.com/) who says she actually appreciates recipes! (it's not just a cop-out when we have nothing else to write about!)

Eternal Sunshine in the Spotless Home

2007-08-31T05:12:00.000-07:00

So how many of you do this? You sit around all day (okay not all day, we do have kids after all), blogging, emailing, and for me, surfing for homes in interesting cities, and then all of a sudden you realize it's 5 o'clock and the hubby will be home in about an hour. So you jump off the computer, still bleary-eyed, and scramble to clean the place up?

I do. I scramble big time. Throw a load in the laundry, set the stuff out for dinner, throw all the toys in the kids' room, make sure all the toilets are flushed, slap a little lipstick on, slide on those cute flip flops (the ones that give your legs a slimming little length, but are still casual enough and comfortable enough that's it's conceivable that you've been wearing them all day), and do it all at about 40 miles a minute. Yes? been there?

Yeah, me too. Then my perfect husband gets to come home to his perfect home filled with his perfect wife and children and well, it's just like eternal sunshine.

Ain't no one need to know what it looked like 60 minutes ago!

Philanthropy Thursday

2007-08-30T19:54:00.000-07:00

My good friend, Jen, over at http://www.lottakids.blogspot.com/ is a genius. A sensitive, do-something-about-it, genius. She and several other bloggers are starting a thing they are calling Philanthropy Thursdays. A day a month, the last Thursday of the month, when we are all to count our blessings and give to those in need. She's selling her rock, her gorgeous rock from the early years of her marriage (her awesome hubby gave her a new, bigger one, recently) on eBay and the money is going straight to the New Orleans Habitat for Humanity. You gotta get over to her site, find the link to her sale on eBay, and catch the spirit. The giving spirit, as they say, and it ain't even Christmas.

It's got me wondering...hmm...besides bidding on Jen's ring, what can I do? What should I be doing? We all get so caught up in our own selfish existences, that we forget there is real tragedy out there. Real suffering. And real needs. Let's all put our heads together and come up with something good. Even if it's something small.

Thanks everyone!

Part Trailer Trash?

2007-08-29T15:42:00.000-07:00

I had a boss once, an extremely fiesty, headstrong, intelligent woman from Texas, who said that you should always be proud of where you are from.

Proud. Of. Where. You. Are. From. Well, easy for her to say, she's from Texas. Aren't they all that way there? What happens when you're not so proud? I spent years, years, not being very proud. I spent many years in denial actually. Or maybe it was avoidance? In any case, it ain't been easy. But now I'm forty. And I'm finally proud of where I'm from.

But what do you do when you finally accept that you’re part trailer trash? I mean, being from Chicago is a place you can be proud to be from. But part trailer trash? How does anyone get a handle on that? and even become proud? Hard to guess it might happen at your grandma's funeral.

I mean, I've always known that I love Velveeta, and that I’d take Miracle Whip over regular mayonnaise any day, but that doesn't make you trailer trash. Does it?

I mean, I know I grew up eating Twinkies and thinking that canned fruit cocktail in light syrup was a fruit. And I was shocked to one day in college actually taste a real pea, one that doesn’t come from a can. But that’s just food, right? It doesn’t make you trailer trash. Does it?

No, it doesn’t. But when you attend your grandma’s wake and realize that there are three, yes three, separate but still part of your own flesh and blood family members hosting tailgate parties in the parking lot of the funeral home and serving Bud Light (or Old Style or whatever) out of a can, and that most of the actual wake takes place in said parking lot? And that you love it? That you are so honestly thrilled to be part of said family that you want to leave your wholesome existence and move back?

Then yes, you can finally admit that you are part, just part, trailer trash.

And proud of it, dang it.