Dirty Socks and Pizza

He's supposed to be keeping ME awake

2010-04-22T15:08:00.001-04:00

via tweetie

Posted via web from The Socks Are Still Dirty

Moving Day

2010-03-11T20:40:00.000-05:00

It's an interesting feeling I am experiencing as I prepare to close up shop around here, and begin again at my new home. I know many of you will be lost in the mix, and that's okay. Who knew there would be so much comfort in silly statistics that may or may not accurately reflect the number of eyes that fall on my words?

I started alone and was prepared to remain alone... typing out words that had been locked in my head for so long, with the reward being in the exercise, itself. But, lo and behold, you read my words and accepted them. And accepted me. And supported me. And helped me. And guided me. And reassured me. Such a surprise... such a gift.

And so now the thought of being alone isn't as freeing as when I first began. But it's an opportunity to change and to grow. To do some things, perhaps, a little differently. Which is good.

So, for those of you who want to tag along to help keep my sanity in check, come on over. For the rest of you...

Thank you.

Under the Knife

2010-03-09T15:20:00.000-05:00

Attention: For anyone who is remotely interested in my whereabouts, I am currently undergoing blogger reassignment surgery (BRS). I am having to use every last brain cell I own to make the switch from Blogger to Wordpress, basically because I am an idiot and have no idea what I am doing. I do, however, pride myself in being an excellent direction follower, and since you can find directions for just about anything on Google these days, I am determined to succeed. My new friends in the tech support department over at Bluehost are being very patient and have talked me off the ledge more than once.

So until further notice, go about your blogging business. And don't miss me too much.

PS: As absurd as this all sounds, it is true. I am not being held hostage by my teens and being forced to create a cover story for my absence.

A Cat Tale

2010-02-24T17:02:00.009-05:00

Our sweet little kitten, Sassafras, recently came down with some sort of eye thing. So, I did what any responsible pet owner would do, and tried to resolve the issue on my own, rather than do something crazy like take her to the vet. You may not know this, but veterinary medicine is a scam. I found this out a few years ago, when the vet suggested I give my dog valium (long story). Here I had been buying all these expensive official pet drugs for years, only to learn they were the same as people drugs, but with expensive official pet drug names. Ever since, I have been operating under the assumption that pets are basically just humans with fur. So, take note: When your pets get sick, you can just do to them what you would do to your kid. Or your grandma. Whichever one weighs less.

So, I pulled out my Armageddon kit filled with emergency tampons, Ensure, and drug samples to see if I could find anything that might cure Sassy's eye. Thanks to Moody Teen's disgusting bout of pink eye a few years back, there was some ointment that was sure to do the trick (regardless of what the expiration date might have indicated).

After about three days of treatment, Sassy was slowly getting better. But not quickly enough for my impatient family. They were all concerned and kept begging me to take her to the vet. I was confident in my treatment plan and didn't waiver. I insisted that due to the whole species exchange rate, the medicine might take a little longer to work.

The next morning, we all noticed that her eye had gotten significantly worse! The boys were distraught and blaming me, and my husband was all prepared to launch into I-Told-You-So mode, when suddenly, I noticed something strange...

"Poor" little one-eyed Sassy was favoring the wrong eye. Didn't think we'd notice, huh, Sass?

Teen Talk: Survivors' Stories

2010-02-12T12:53:00.000-05:00

So here we are... alive. A little brain-dead, but alive. Since I have apparently lost the ability to write, I thought I'd break out the camera. I was lucky enough to score an exclusive interview with a couple of survivors of the Mommy Wars. Keep in mind I had only one take, as they were threatening to unionize.

I have been more than a little fixated on all of the angst over the standard, kid-raising fare, that always seems to result in finger-pointing, judging, and general mommy self-righteousness. Breast v Bottle, Cloth v Disposable... you know what I mean. I just don't get it, but maybe I am too far removed. But then I think, maybe it does matter, and I am simply justifying my own actions. That's when I decided to find out from those whose little lives had been molded by my decisions... for better or for worse.

The verdict? Well, although it appears on video that I really screwed up, since my boys can barely string two words together, the truth is they are awesome, and they made it. They are funny, they are kind(ish), they are not in jail (yet), and they brush their teeth. What more could a regular ol' non-green, reluctant breastfeeder, epidural-loving, tv-watching advocate mother ask for?

Three of A Kind

2010-01-27T10:00:00.000-05:00

Oh, these boys of mine... And to think, for all these years, I have been taking the blame for their big mouths. I'm fairly certain that this photo is proof that their blonde hair and blue eyes aren't the only things they inherited from dear ol' Padre.

5 Easy Ways to Raise Girl-Friendly Boys

2010-01-20T13:12:00.009-05:00

So my boys have their flaws. Lord, Lord, do they ever. However, it might surprise you to learn they have some decent characteristics, too. One of which is their ability to interact with the opposite sex in a fairly healthy manner. Not to pat myself on the back, but I think I have played a large part in this. So let me share with you my suggestions for successfully raising girl-friendly boys.

1) Make sure your boys are comfortable around tampons. Preferably still-packaged ones, please! For the younger set, just having the box in plain sight is enough. Once they are driving, there is no reason they can't go buy them for you. If you do try this, be sure to have them purchase a few innocuous items, as well. After all, your goal is to desensitize them, not completely humiliate them. I tried this last weekend and my boys didn't blink an eye when they saw tampons on the list. That's more than I can say for most husbands.

2) Expose them to chick flicks and soaps. This can be tricky. Do not force them to actually watch. However, having General Hospital on the TV, as sort of background noise, will probably be enough to make them subliminally want Luke to finally settle down with Laura (once she is out of her catatonic state, of course).

3) Make sure your boys have at least one good female friend. This is one you have to start early, before they get to the cootie-fearing stage. I remember Moody's very first friend was a girl. In fact, they would have sleepovers, which as toddlers, was perfectly acceptable. Better than at 16, that's for sure!

4) Get them used to apologizing. This is key. They'll need to perfect their technique by the time they're in their first relationship.

5) Insist that your husband pamper you. This is the best way for your boys to see for themselves how a girl should be treated. You should have no problem recruiting your husband, because, after all, doesn't he want your boys to grow up to be respectful and loving men? Of course he does! For beginners, I'd recommend starting with the nightly foot rub.

Growing Pains

2010-01-19T19:28:00.003-05:00

I know you are all dying to read yet another post about how my parenting skills are being tested like Job's faith in God (hyperbole aside, I am being driven out of my mind), but I thought I would try to distract myself into a good mood. Yes, I am dumb (and desperate) enough to fall for my own tricks.

I have been thinking that if I do manage to fail miserably at this whole parenting thing, and my kids end up on the streets (or behind bars), maybe I can salvage a few shreds of dignity and self-worth by being a successful person in my own right! As silly as that sounds, I do see many parents heavily invested in, and buoyed by, their kids' success, and alternatively, completely devastated if things don't work out exactly as they'd hoped. Believe me, good parenting definitely increases the probability that your kids will turn out okay, but it is, by no means, a guarantee (don't I sound wise? I think I must have read that in a book somewhere).

So instead of living vicariously through my kids, which at this point would be a big, smelly nightmare, I am going to invest some time and effort in me. I have already spent many years growing as a person, but honestly, it has been with my family in mind. Doing what I could to become a better mother or wife (although my husband is probably reading this, thinking, "?"... so let's just leave it at better mother).

Anyway, now it's time to focus on being a better me. Period. Yes, I am aware that by improving myself will most likely make my family's life better, but frankly, at this second, I don't care very much about that aspect of my self-improvement plan.

So let's talk about me! What do I want to be when I grow up? How can I help others (that aren't my own blood-relatives)? What makes me happy? What do I like?

Well, hopefully my little pet project will take off. I am going to take it slow and see where it leads. I have a good feeling about it, and I know that moms in my position could really use some support.

I am going to take a class. I've never been afraid to try something new, but I have yet to find anything that I can do with confidence and claim as my own. Maybe I never will, but I am going to keep searching. Photography? Basketweaving?

And, I should probably include something about exercising and eating better, but I don't like to make promises I can't keep.

I realize this sounds like the standard midlife crisis of the suburban set, and I guess maybe it could be. But really, I am tired of being so involved in my kids' lives, and I know they are ready for me to start loosening up those apron strings (since I have never even been in the same room as an apron, I guess we should call them sweatpant strings).

So, that's it. I guess this is the resolution post I hadn't planned on writing. I know you are all on the edge of your seats, waiting to see where this goes.

You know, now that I think about it, I may need to hold off extracting myself from everyone until Moody actually passes Algebra II and Beans remembers to bathe on a semi-regular basis. Ugh, I think I have officially become part of the problem instead of part of the solution.

Psst... Get Over Here Before It's Too Late! And Make Yourself Useful, While You're At It.

2010-01-14T08:30:00.010-05:00

I probably can't keep this photo up too long, as the subject wasn't so pleased about it being taken in the first place. If he knew I was using it for my own self-promotion, he'd have kittens.

So why am I in love with this photo? Because watching my son eat makes me happy. Seriously, chills were running down my spine and I was feeling all giddy. Weird? Hell yes! Understandable? Yes, again.

Calories, fat, salt and protein are this kid's lifeline. He can eat all he wants, and while the rest of us blow up like artery-clogged balloons, he grows stronger, his lungs stay clearer and all is right with the world.

And now, the self-promotion that I promised... Due to a serious of recent events, I have had a bit of an epiphany. I have come to realize that I don't have to use my corner of the internet solely for my own whining, self-pity and craziness (although believe me, that will continue)! I can try to flush out others that are in the same proverbial boat, and perhaps do a little good while I am at it.

I have started something called The Common Thread Project. Don't ask me to define it, because at this point, I don't have a very good answer. Here's who it is for: moms of kids with chronic illness. They're a unique group, with a unique set of responsibilities, feelings and needs, and frankly, they are ignored. And I don't say that to sound bitter. They are ignored because they want it that way. They put their kids first. They put fighting for their kids' lives first. They don't want you to pay attention to them, they want you to get off your ass and help them find a cure for the disease that has taken a most unwanted chair at their table.

But, I feel that there needs to be a place where these moms can go to let their hair down. Maybe even be treated to a little TLC. And that place is HERE. What the site will ultimately become, and how many moms it will help, is yet to be determined. But I have big dreams for it and am committed to helping as many women as I can.

So, if you have any desire to spread the word to those that the site might help, that would be awesome.

And by the way, although it may appear that Moody is eating sour cream straight out of the container, there really is part of a baked potato somewhere on that spoon.

Panic at the Disco

2010-01-12T17:01:00.003-05:00

Okay maybe not at an actual disco, but there certainly is plenty of mayhem, confusion and havoc-wreaking here at home to fill multiple discos. And yesterday, I attempted to face all of it head on, almost like a real grown up, and identify, and tackle, some of the indigestion-inducing issues.

As I see it, there really are only two main sources of stress in my home... Child Numero Uno and Child Numero Dos (although little Sassy with her kitty cold and infected eye is gaining as a strong third). And I treated you all to a little of my bilingualism just then because I was up past midnight typing Senor Moody Teen's Spanish essays he had previously hand-written, but realized at bedtime, needed to be typed. Since teen sleep is in short supply around here, I thought it best that he get to bed and I would type. What else did I have to do (Yes, sleep is the correct answer)? But Spanish isn't what we're talking about here... my children are. Oh, and my incredible parenting skills and insight.

So yesterday evening, I sat the older one down (I figure I have more time to save young Bean from himself, so he got shelved). I explained to Moody how important it was that he start to take on some responsibility for himself. Unfortunately, he was one step ahead of me, and politely agreed with everything I had to say (as it all went gliding smoothly out his other ear). There was no arguing. No negotiating. No threats of military school. But obviously none of it sunk in. He was just beating me at my own game.

I was highly suspicious, but what could I do? Just smile and wait until it all comes crashing back down again? I would think 24 hours would be sufficient time for that to occur, wouldn't you agree? Well that, my friends, is in T minus 2 hours. Do you think that is enough time to find, purchase and read a Parenting Self-Help book, or should I do what any self-respecting parent of teens would do, and have a stiff drink and a bubble bath?

Decompressing

2010-01-05T15:08:00.014-05:00

I know it's not all men, but it is certainly all of my men. They are just so...so slovenly. And unorganized. And smelly. And clueless. Which I know is not the end of the world, and I don't hate them or anything because of their awful, disturbing habits, but surely on my own blog, which is frequented by people who interact with me and not them, I get the luxury of a little complaining every now and again, right?

Oh, and did I mention forgetful and obnoxious?

It's all just so constant. Constant chaos, constant laundry, constant "Oh, I need black felt, a non-fiction book, and a potato by tomorrow"**, constant "You owe me $40 for January's allowance and I need it now," constant noise, constant underwear lying on the floor with the leg holes still intact, as if they just stepped out of them, when in reality they've been there since Sunday, constant everything.

Which, for an above average wife and mom, might not be a huge deal, but for me, it is overwhelming. I need time to think. I need time to assess. I need time to plot revenge. But with all these men of mine up in my grillz 24/7, I find myself having to just react.

And I am not so good at reacting. I snap. I yell. I become catatonic. Oh, and now that my kids are old enough to get it (but young enough still, I suppose, to feel the cruelty), I am sarcastic. And sometimes, I just capitulate. Capitulating when beaten down may actually be the worst reaction of all. Because that means they have sensed my vulnerability and moved in for the quick, decisive kill, prompting my cowardly surrender.

Did I mention I am glad everyone is back at school/work?

And can someone please explain to me how I have managed to go to Target on three separate occasions, looking for some sort of miracle cream to put on my haggard old mug, only to come home, ALL THREE TIMES, with the same stupid stuff that does nothing but make my skin itch?

**no, I'm not making this up.

You Know What They Say...

2010-01-03T13:08:00.005-05:00

The family that performs emergency surgery on Moody's hand at the kitchen table together, stays together!

And a Happy New Year to you all!

And As If Right On Cue...

2009-12-23T13:00:00.002-05:00

The UPS man just appeared at my door with none other than our second annual nightmare... The Turducken.

Is it considered a tradition if it is thrust upon us unwittingly?

Aftermath

2009-12-22T14:38:00.007-05:00

Here's what I have learned...

A little snow = frolicky fun. A lot of snow = hell, in many different forms.

Let me share...

So, things were going swimmingly for the first 3-6 inches. Dogs were prancing, chasing after the wet snowflakes. Kids were red-cheeked and buzzing with anticipation of even more snow to come. I had actually gotten off my ass and hit the store and was prepared to be snowed in indefinitely.

But then, the snow kept falling. And falling. 12-18 inches later, the scene had changed drastically.

The school bus carrying Moody's swim team home from the meet Friday night got stuck on the icy roads, with the scantily clad and still damp team on the bus, until well after 1:30 in the morning.

Our entire little outdoor winter scene, complete with lighted snowman, arctic seal and penguin was buried, shorted out, and declared DOA by Saturday morning.

The dogs have become overwhelmed and disoriented and have no idea where their invisible fence is. Since they no longer wear their collars, they have been venturing way past our yard and are thisclose to being official runaways. Look for them on this week's edition of 20/20, living under a bridge and selling crack for dog biscuits.

Moody keeps insisting he should be able to be out driving in all this mess and is making our lives miserable. Truly.

Apparently, I miscalculated at the grocery store, and while we still have about $200 worth of cookie dough left, we have been out of actual food food since Saturday afternoon. And who the heck wants to eat cookies without milk?!

Digging Out

2009-12-20T13:04:00.006-05:00

Well, it snowed. And snowed. And today, we are digging out, not that we have anything to do, or anywhere to go. The streets haven't been plowed, but Hubby has been hitting the pipe stem pretty hard, snow blowing every 4 hrs or so. We haven't gotten any word about school tomorrow, but I forced the boys to get some homework done, just in case. Once the work was done, we decided to play a little...

Do You See What I See...?

2009-12-18T07:07:00.007-05:00

I have noticed for the last few days that there was something amiss with our tree (other than it being mildly pathetic and small). It took me a while to deduce what was happening, and then another little while to actually catch the perpetrator in the act.

In other, somewhat related news, I hear fur is back en vogue. I am picturing a nice muffler and perhaps a matching hat?

Christmas Miracle, Part II

2009-12-16T14:29:00.011-05:00

Well, it turns out, the real Santa can bite me. I was out of my jolly mood, and back in the saddle of irritation, panic and distress, by sundown yesterday. Whatever, Santa. However... I adore my Secret Santa Soiree partner. She is an angel. A bonafide gift from the heavens.

I must confess that my Secret Santa wasn't much of a secret for very long. Due to my own crass pushiness, and a SSS partner that is such a good person that she is horrible at lying, even through email, I was able to figure it out PDQ. Am I officially kicked out of the SSS program now, Georgie and AmyBo?

Anyway, my unSecret Santa sent me the most wonderful (and needed) box of goodies that, because of the intensity of my emotional crisis, were put to use immediately. Therefore, the photos below may not truly emote the festivity, care and love put into my gifts.

So, without further ado, I present to you my goodies! Lotion and body wash and comfy socks and yummy chocolate... All to de-stress this crazed scrooge. Oh, and they were accompanied by the most hilarious and perfect Christmas card, ever.

Here we have the "before"... yay!

And then the boys got home from school and things began a pretty swift downward spiral...

No, my unSecret Santa isn't stingy... the pail was brimming before I got my hands on it. My mood lifted a bit, until the sugar high passed and I started to crash. Coincidentally, about this time, Moody's math progress report landed in my inbox. I grabbed the 'stress relief' body wash and took a nice, hot shower.

And no, I didn't use the razor next to it on my wrists or Moody's throat! Oh, and I didn't get a chance to photograph the cozy slipper/socks because Sassafras, the rogue, evil, Christmas decoration destroyer kitty, had run off with them somewhere. Take my word for it... they're heavenly.

Thank you, my dear unSecret Santa for being an excellent seasonal Santa, and a true year-round friend!

Oh, and muchas gracias to those big hearted elves, Georgie and AmyBo! I love you both for your commitment (I am sure you are feeling like you are ready to be committed about now, right?) to the season and to us lowly bloggers. I am thankful that there is always room at your inn.

A Christmas Miracle, Part I

2009-12-15T13:56:00.007-05:00

So, I was speeding way too fast along the parkway this morning, in a hurry to just be done with my Christmas errands. My mood was crap, and I was full of dread. Suddenly, flashing lights and sirens caught my eye and I hit the brakes. In the distance before me, I could see that there were motorcycle cops at the next two intersections, and a large police escort was headed my way. My first thought was that it was a funeral procession. A funeral for someone very influential, mind you, but a funeral, nonetheless. I strained to spot a hearse, but couldn't see one.

My next thought was it was some sort of diplomat/politician (Obama in the suburbs? Making a quick arugula run, perhaps?). I live within close enough proximity to "The Beltway," that it was a real possibility. Those fat cats (See, I can use that term fast and loose, too) are always zooming about in their tinted-windowed town cars, enjoying the expensive and ridiculous perks of the job, using those HOV lanes at their own whimsy, since, if you count their huge egos, their vehicles, indeed, carry quite a high occupancy.

No such luck. Turns out it was someone even more grand than any politician. Someone alive and well in Fairfax County... it was Santa Claus! My jaw literally dropped as I watched 12 police motorcycles escort a Suburban with Santa peering happily out the window, waving to us all. And if that weren't surreal enough, the Suburban behind dear Santa was carrying Rudolph, the one and only reindeer!

I couldn't help but smile. I would have expected my response to have been more cynical. But it just didn't occur to me to question the expense or the necessity or the appropriateness. It was what I needed to snap me out of my yearly bad mood. And it worked. The mall didn't seem so crowded, the lines didn't seem so long, and even though I didn't find everything I needed, it didn't matter.

Santa was on the scene, spreading his jolliness to all. By God, I was going to let it rub off on me, even if it killed me! But it didn't kill me. Maybe reveling in Christmas cheer isn't as difficult as I always seem to make it.

And if that weren't enough of a Christmas miracle, when I got home, I had a simple, brown package waiting patiently for me on my front porch, courtesy my own, lovely, Secret Santa.

My Brain is Fried

2009-12-10T18:35:00.005-05:00

The weird thing about my relationship with french fries is I don't absolutely love them. Given the amount of time and brain power I dedicated to them yesterday, you'd think they'd be at the top of my fave foods list (sidebar: that would be thin crust cheese pizza from Vocelli's and Breyer's cookies & cream ice cream). I mean, I like them, and everything, and I certainly never order my burger sans fries, but I don't really obsess about them, like I do other foods (such as: thin crust cheese pizza from Vocelli's and Breyer's cookies & cream ice cream).

In other, marginally related news, I have become a shopping addict.

So, after what is now apparently my daily crazy, overstimulating, expensive trip to Bed Bath & Beyond, I was famished. I made a quick drive through Wendy's, which is, by no means, my preferred choice of fast food, but I was fairly desperate. The burger (with cheese, cut the lettuce and pickles) was a necessity. The fries? Well, why the heck not?

I found myself doing what I always do when eating fast food in the car. Burger sat half unwrapped in my lap, while the fries remained in the bag, which was resting on the console, for easy access. As I drove, I started to think about the deliciousness of the food I was eating. The burger was gone before I could render an accurate verdict, which left me alone with the fries...

The first step was purely tactile. I reached blindly into the bag (I was driving, after all) and began to feel each individual fry. The ones that were shorter than, let's say, 1.5 inches were immediately discarded. The next to go were those that came to a point on either end. The only fries to make it to phase two were those long, luscious, perfectly rectangular specimens.

Which was followed by the visual examination. Any green or black discoloration was grounds for immediate disqualification. If I overlooked any hard or too pointy fries during the touch test, I got rid of those.

What I was left with was the cream of the crop. My mouth is watering right now, just thinking back to those golden, soft but crispy, little gems.

So anyway, back to yesterday. I was munching my way back towards home, with a trunk full of Beyond, when I had to quickly throw on my brakes (Hmm... distracted much?). The carefully screened fries went flying. I managed to bend down and reach most of them, but I saw that, much to my dismay, the fry that I had been saving for last (we're talking at least 3 inches and not a flaw to be found) had landed under the gas pedal. The three second rule, along with the red light, came and went in a flash. I gnawed on my bottom lip all the way home, trying to decide if I had really sunk low enough to want to still eat that fry.

Trust me, you don't want to know how this ends...

(Gray) Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow!

2009-12-09T18:31:00.009-05:00

So, being around my parents and basically having my self-esteem captured, water-boarded, shredded into little bits, and then thrown out with the trash has left me feeling worn down and blue. Suddenly RootWatch '09 feels like Sad Old Worthless HagWatch '09.

It's been quite a journey that I have taken with my own head of hair these last few months. We've reconnected, and I have to say, I appreciate my hair, crazy flaws and all. I had taken it for granted for years. I had been dying it various shades of wonderful and not-so-wonderful since I was thirteen years old! I really had no idea what would be waiting for me underneath.

Now, after letting all the color grow off, I have gotten the chance to see the fascinating pattern of gray around my temples and widow's peak (sort of a Lily Munster/Eddie Munster hybrid). I've watched as the natural curl slowly bounced back, after being suffocated by bleach and peroxide. Life has officially returned to my hair.

But as wonderful as that all sounds, it is seriously time to start chasing the elusive fountain of youth, once again. While a part of me feels free, an even bigger part of me feels dowdy. And that's no fun. I have many, many years ahead to try this little experiment again, and I know when (or if) I am ready to permanently go au naturel, it will be just fine.

Until then, Viva L'Oréal #62B!

Naughty Again This Year

2009-12-07T17:38:00.008-05:00

I have known that they think all of the following for a while now, but it was all reaffirmed for me in many spoken and unspoken ways this past weekend...

I spend too much money.
I spoil my kids.
I am enable my in-laws.
I eat out too much.
I don't call enough.
I watch too much TV.
I am materialistic.
I am wasteful.
I am difficult.
And my personal favorite...
I appear bloated.

One thing is for certain... The message is strong, clear and consistent.

I get it.

But what I don't get is why anyone wants to be around someone as awful as I, any more than I want to be around anyone that feels this way about me.

PS: Can someone please check my grammar on that last sentence?

Purging

2009-12-05T16:32:00.003-05:00

I tell you what... I am pretty tired of looking inward when things get complicated with people. It can't always be me, can it? Do I really need to just be more tolerant and patient and compassionate when others are acting selfish and silly?

Today I want to feel like the injured party, for once. Today I want to be annoyed that everyone around me is being childish. Today I want to feel secure enough in myself to know that I am taking a stand and saying what I want and calling people on their accusations and careless words.

You'd think that the people around me would think twice about judging others and calling people cruel names, such as "alcoholic", especially having one in their own immediate family, and all. You'd think they'd pause before putting others down, yet congratulating themselves on their apparent redemption, while their deep-seated dysfunction remains firmly intact.

Maybe miracles do happen, but I am not buying it. Sorry.

I am irate. I am sad. I am annoyed. I want it to be Tuesday, so I will have my house all to myself and I can finally exhale and relax and try to get these crazy people out of my mind.

Maybe then I will go back to feeling guilty and bad and put the weight of the world back on my own shoulders. For now, I will mope and whine. Maybe I'll even do a little judging myself.

Armageddon II

2009-12-02T06:59:00.005-05:00

Oh, who am I kidding? There won't be any grandiose display of diamonds or cookware under the tree this year (see Part I), and that is just fine with me. My self-preservation strategy this year is to simply ignore Christmas. Call it a desperate measure to keep the anxiety in check, if you'd like.

So, speaking of the Apocalypse coupled with an unhealthy dose of stress...

Those four ominous horsemen have been replaced by an elderly couple, driving a red Toyota Camry cross-country, due on my doorstep in about 10 hours. And if you think I am exaggerating their power to incite mass hysteria and plagues of locust, you obviously weren't around when the whole Texas showdown, precipitated by my brother's near-death experience/alcohol intervention, took place.

Take cover, my people. Take cover.

Seventh Sign of the Apocalypse

2009-12-01T17:43:00.006-05:00

Those horsemen better saddle up because either the world is coming to an end, or I have officially lost my mind (once again).

My husband is quite an amazing gift-giver. He is stealthy and he is generous. Anything I want is mine... and he doesn't even need hints!

So last night, in an apparent act of desperation, he flat out asked me what I want for Christmas. I gave him my standard answer, "Ohhhh, nothing," with that slight martyr inflection, inferring that there might be some little ol' thing that I could think of to put on my list.

And then he let it drop. I began brainstorming. Panic set in. There really wasn't anything I could think of that would put a little extra spring in my step. Except...

It is no secret that I am not so hot in the kitchen. I don't like to cook, and I really don't have a problem with that. That being said, I have been inexplicably drawn to some cool looking non-stick cookware at Target. But honestly, as much as I think I would love it, and how desperately I want to believe that it will make me enjoy cooking, I fear I will just be depressed on Christmas morning when I sit down in front of a really big, heavy box filled with a bunch of Teflon-coated metal just waiting to be used. Which means I would have to actually cook. Ick.

So maybe me wanting cookware isn't the seventh sign of the Apocalypse. Maybe the Pale Horse of Death, as the embodiment of my family's starvation from my lack of cooking (yet abundance of diamond-wearing), is the seventh sign.

Sounds reasonable to me.

And So It Begins...

2009-11-20T07:01:00.008-05:00

We've certainly already endured our fair share of 'grown up' problems here at our house. But yesterday seemed to usher in a new era, one in which the blinders are off, and things will never be the same, no matter what we try to do about it.

My father-in-law died. My husband's dad...the boys' grandfather. I look at the facts, and it really isn't shocking or, if I am being honest, terribly tragic. He was 90. It was peaceful. Life on this Earth, as he would want to continue living it, was over.

My husband is being strong and stoic. But I know he's feeling guilt and regret. But I also know that as seemingly destructive and useless as guilt and regret can be, he will transform it into something worthwhile... More time with his boys. More love shown to those around him now. Being a better father than he already is, if that is even possible. And while that is all good, I hate the weight he puts on his own shoulders.

And I also hate that this is just the beginning. One down, three more grandparents to go. It's inevitable, but it is still jarring. Watching my boys absorb the reality while remaining firmly entrenched in their teen lives of friends and games and homework and life. Should they be sadder? Are they too sad? Do they really get it? Should they really get it?

And while we pass through this final arc of but one great, honorable circle of life, I am humbled by all the other tragedy and heartbreak around us. On one hand, our problems feel so big sometimes, yet, it is very, very obvious that others have so much more to bear.

Why, then, are we always so blindsided by things like this? If it is everywhere, everyday, why are we not calloused and shielded? Do our souls regenerate with new life after each little piece is ripped away?

Who knows, I guess. I suppose our ultimate task is to persevere.

"In the confrontation between the stream and the rock, the stream always wins - not through strength but by perseverance." ~H. Jackson Brown.

The Bean Sprouts

2009-11-11T18:51:00.005-05:00

So I am kind of known around here as the mom of teens. However, the truth is I am the mother of only one (very moody and wonderfully maddening) teen. My other child is not a teen. In fact, he is one very sweet little boy that still likes a tuck-in, is willing to snuggle on the couch, never passes up an ice cream run with Dad, and speaks in full, non-inflammatory sentences.

But that's all about to change.

My precious Mr. Beans is about to officially cross to the dark side. Sure, I have seen subtle harbingers in the form of hormone surges, texts from girls (MANY texts from MANY girls), smelly armpits and even a bit of defiance. But I have heretofore been able to shrug them off because he's still my baby. After all, he's 12, not 13, so any experimental foray into teendom is only temporary, and kind of cute. Until this coming Saturday. God help us all...

And while I want so badly to hold onto him, as he is, keeping him cute and innocent and nice, I also wonder what life has in store for this creature that is unlike any other. I can't wait to meet him after all the messy teen chaos gets sorted out, and he becomes the incredible man I know he will be.

Because while the scenery will change, and hair will grow, and the voice will deepen, the awe-inspiring soul that draws others to him, the smart but gentle humor that comes so naturally, and the courage and self-esteem that make him stand so tall will all still be there, shining brightly.

Let's just hope I haven't lost my mind by then, so I can enjoy him a little.

Eggroll? Eggroll, Who?

2009-10-30T07:13:00.003-04:00

Welcome to the family, little Sassafras Williams. My best advice for you as the newest member of the clan? Don't get sick.

Hell.

2009-10-22T16:38:00.009-04:00

I am not sure how to say this without sounding more unstable than I already seem, but sewing makes me want to jump off a bridge. And we're not talking the real stuff here, like clothes and decorative pillowcases, as I don't have a machine. That would render me completely catatonic. We're talking the little, "easy" stuff. Buttons? God help me. Darning? As if. Hemming? Laughable.

So imagine my surprise and reluctance (and terror) when I was presented with the "opportunity" to sew a patch onto Sweet Mr. Beans's fencing pants. I basically just stared in abject horror until my husband repeated, "He needs it on there by Saturday's tournament. He's gotta show his Club pride!"

Umm...

Well, here I am now, Thursday afternoon, taking a small break to hammer out my frustrations on the keyboard, because...

It took me literally two hours to pin it on, re-pin it on, re-re-pin it on, thread the needle, tie that stupid knot at the end of the thread that everybody claims is so essential, stick my finger, stick my finger again, and finally get the job done. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and so relieved it was over.

So, in walks my husband just now, and I leap up to show him my handiwork. He doesn't really smile. Rather, he looks confused and a bit frightened to say what he needs to tell me.

"It looks great, but you sewed it on the wrong side."

Circle of Life

2009-10-20T08:08:00.006-04:00

So we had this lizard. Yes, had. He is no longer with us, both in the literal and figurative sense.

And for all of you curious reptiphiles and reptiphobes, here's how it all went down...

I guess first, I should provide a little background info, just to get PETA all nice and worked up. A general unspoken rule in our house is any mammalian member of the family will receive appropriate basic veterinary care. If, God forbid, something catastrophic were to happen, well, we'll just cross that bridge when we get to it.

Now, if you reside in our home and are not a mammal... Well, be happy you have a warm place to live and keep an eye on the cat.

And so it went, until this past week when our poor Chinese water dragon, Eggroll, starting acting sort of strange and slow. But the funny thing about reptiles is they'll do that before they shed, or when they are cold. So, we kind of just ignored the weirdness until yesterday. My husband decided to seek medical care for him, which just had disaster written all over it from the get go. His point was a good one, however. His thought was that if it was something simple, and fixable, why not? It was better than just watching him die. So we loaded the lizard in the car, and drove him to the exotic animal clinic.

The whole scene was a riot (until we got to the part about Eggroll's terminal illness). It was exactly how you would picture it... Lots of good-natured weirdos, lots of photos hanging on the walls from appreciative former patients (turtles in Santa hats, iguanas posing with kitties, etc).

Well, the Dr. examined Eggy and pronounced him gravely ill with pneumonia, a skin infection, and possible organ failure. Her treatment plan consisted of immediate hospitalization, tube feeding and iv antibiotics. Basically, lizard life support. To the tune of $1000.

Uhhh....

I felt like the worst person in the world when I asked sheepishly if there was a "Plan B". My husband, by the way, was too busy staring at a spot on the ground and fiddling with his car keys to help me out.

Luckily, the vet was really understanding and presented us with an Euthanasia Plan. Now, I don't mean to sound heartless, but it was pretty hilarious. We could be there with him, if we so chose. We could take his little remains with us, or have him cremated. I think we could even select some sort of commemorative urn for his ashes.

In the end, we chose a clean cut of the cord, if you will. We said our solemn goodbyes to the little wheezing lizard in the orange Nike shoebox, paid our $49, and ran.

We got home and broke the news to the boys. Despite months of basically ignoring the poor animal, they took it very hard... Until I told them we could go to our vet's office tomorrow to look at a stray kitten that's in need of a home.

RIP
Eggroll
1.09-10.09

Home-Grown Terror

2009-10-15T07:10:00.008-04:00

My life tends to run at only two speeds... boring and slow, to the point of mental and physical degeneration, or hypersonic overdrive, feeling overwhelmed and pulled in a thousand opposite directions, making me want to veer off the nearest (and highest) bridge.

So guess which one is my life of late ? Well, since it's not August, it must be the second one. Here's what's on my plate... if anyone can help me figure out how to remain calm, cool and ever so collected, I will write you into my will (which is currently in the red, BTDubs).

1) Father-in-law in hospital. Nothing too horrible, but the man is approaching 90, and he's the healthy one of the bunch. Not a good scene, and part of the reason we do NOT reside in Texas, while the rest of our extended family remains IN Texas.

2) Husband feeling the guilt of being 2,000 miles away from sick dad and needy relatives, and is sort of roaming around in a funk, which is worsened by...

3) Husband just got glasses for the first time (bifocals, to boot) and they are messing with his psyche. I am not good at doling out the TLC, and that is really what he needs. Hey, join the club, mister.

4) Magazine fundraiser at school has been extended for yet another week. Have I mentioned I am in charge?

5) Holiday crap displayed, and crowd-worsening detected, in Target. And you all know what kind of downward spiral/mania this induces. In fact, I am seeing stars and feeling nauseous just thinking about it. Must find a new approach to the holidays this year. Can't deal with Turducken, panic, advent calendars, relatives, and the extra 20 lbs ever again.

6) Dog has a partial tear of her ACL. No, she's not a professional football player. However, she may need to become one to cover her veterinary bill.

7) Kids are hacking and sneezy and semi-sick, but not to the fun point, where they lie silently in bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. They are cranky and annoying, and way too active. Am left with no choice but to try to sneak them back into school. Have vowed not to answer the phone, should I get a call from school.

8) The stupid lizard appears to be ill. If he dies, this will be the second lizard we have had to bury in a year. I am not a good lizard nurse and may need to put Dr. Kevorkian on speed dial... Maybe I can get a group discount.

Will Meme for Food

2009-10-09T06:46:00.001-04:00

You may know that I kind of drew that weird, sudden, arbitrary line in the sand, and decided to no longer participate in any memes. I was pretty heavy into them, and I needed a clean break. So I quit.... cold turkey. And while I am generally very pleased with my decision, I am not unaware of the consequences. I have definitely isolated myself, somewhat. Also, now being left to my own devices for topic inspiration, I have found myself lacking at times. Seriously lacking.

And I am so seriously off-track right now. Enough about me.

So my old buddy, CaJoh, is celebrating his birthday today. And what I love about CaJoh, other than the fact that his nom de plume makes him sound like a cult leader, is the inspired simplicity of his blog.

What does any of this mean? And why should you care? Okay, well, here... let me spell it out:

CaJoh + Meme = Friday's Feast (yay!)

It's a simple one, really. You just have to talk about food (oh darn, right?). So I am going to dig deep within me for any vestigial memeing abilities, and see if I remember how to play.

Here's what I have to say about food:

1. You really can acquire a taste for those God-awful, healthy bran muffins (the hungrier and more desperate you are, the better).

2. If you are interested in obtaining the worst morning breath known to mankind, eat something with pesto for dinner the night before.

3. And now for my all-time favorite, which bears frequent repetition... Oatmeal is a totally acceptable and healthy dinner for your children (and disillusioned but hungry husband).

Happy Birthday, my friend, and Happy Weekend to the rest of you. Oh, and don't get used to all of this sociability... Back to our regularly scheduled programming posthaste!

Past Due

2009-10-07T16:47:00.008-04:00

I've been more than a little fascinated lately by the life-cycle of the blog. Oh, you didn't know there's such a thing? Ah, but there is... and if you look closely, you, too, can easily identify the various stages, and their inherent characteristics. It doesn't take a scientist (which is good, because I ain't one) to figure it out. I won't bore you with the whole explanation, because it has been discussed by bloggers big and small around here.

Now, what is intriguing is how most blogs seem to stall at the cocoon spinning phase, and either just crawl around as a perpetual caterpillar, hungry for comments and approval, or feel the need to change, begin to spin its cozy transformational bed, but then kind of just fall off the tree, never to be heard from again. Rare is the blog that truly undergoes the somewhat painful metamorphosis and grows its gorgeous wings. And the simple reason why?

Fear.

Fear of "letting down readers".

Fear of sounding stupid.

Fear of being boring.

Fear of saying what you actually mean and being judged a bitch. Or uncool. Or unenlightened. Or ungreen. Or just plain mean. And who wants to be considered mean?

Well, that's all going to change. At least around here. I freely admit that I have been guilty of some serious self-censoring, and I don't like it. My one purpose for starting my blog was to, for once in my life, be truly authentic. To just be me. To say what I want to say. Embrace what I really feel. To write about what is inside of me, instead of continuing to portray a character that people around me expect and enjoy, at the expense of my soul.

And if people don't like it, and suddenly I am alone? Well, at least my one constant companion will be a lot easier to look in the eye.

So if you're up for saying what you mean, without fear of being thought of as mean, with no regard to obligation or perception, grab a button (stage left), and... well... say what you mean! Even if it's silly, boring, controversial, sad, happy, upsetting or confusing, if you feel it in your heart, it is worth being read, comments be damned!

Finally, I have to give a big shout out to my pal, Em, who heard my heart, helped me figure out what I was feeling, and then grabbed my hand and jumped off of this bridge with me. And while she was busy taking care of me, she found the time to design that cool button that says it all.

Teen Talk: The Reunion Show

2009-10-03T14:25:00.003-04:00

Back by popular demand... The child formerly known as Sweet Mr. Beans, who now, clearly, is working hard to shake the 'sweet', and well on his way to embracing the whole teen attitude thing. I may have to just recast the role if he doesn't shape up. Or maybe I can just claim him to be his own evil twin.

The Sordid Truth

2009-10-01T06:51:00.004-04:00

So here it is... the truth. I have been avoiding you. All of you. And I guess what I am hoping is you will maybe understand. If not, well then so be it. Please be patient and know that any irritation in my 'voice' is not, I repeat, not directed at you. But since it is illegal to throttle my children and abandon them on the street, I must take my frustrations out on the innocent... you.

Now, why have I been ignoring all the wonderful, optimistic, conscientious, inspiring tales of raising the next generation? Because suddenly I see the futility of it all. The societal judgment lingering in the air, for nothing, has gotten the better of me. The angst over breast or bottle, TV or no TV, green or... well, apparently there is no other choice besides green, or our kids, and the world as we know it, will all just instantly go to Hell.

I guess it seems harsh and, well, rude, to say it just doesn't matter if you do or do not grow your own squash to then boil (But not too long or all the nutrients will evaporate and your children will get rickets. Or is it scurvy?), and then mash, and then strain, and then mash again, and then feed to your children as they listen to Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

And do you know how I know it doesn't matter? Because I've done it. And you know what? My kids still talk back to me. They forget their homework at school. They complain about taking the trash out every single time, even though they have been taking out the trash twice weekly for the last 4 years. They fail tests. They go out with friends, in actual moving vehicles, and don't answer their cell phone for hours at a time. Yes, it happens.

The pressure on teens today is insane, and even in the most laid back of households, they feel it. Kids are depressed, kids feel lonely and isolated, and it has very, very little to do with whether or not they learned the alphabet in Chinese as a toddler. They react to things with little regard to the 'tools' they learned during circle time in kindergarten. Hormones are raging, chemicals in the brain are on the loose, disaster looms around every corner. Yes, it happens.

Or maybe at this point, you are thinking, "Well, it won't happen in my house." And maybe it won't. But it probably will. And, like me, you will be ill prepared for the constant frustration and emotional wrangling.

But, at least I know that when the day comes and my boys are standing in front of a judge, awaiting their sentence, they will remember to say "Yes Ma'am". And the nutrition they banked as infants will sustain them through years of prison food.

Teen Talk Sans Teens (Thank God)

2009-09-06T18:34:00.004-04:00

Okay, forget the teens. I have no words of wisdom regarding those curious creatures, as mine are sending me perilously close to the edge. However, I thought I would share with you a nice little treat waiting for me when I came home from a stressful afternoon of having to interact with actual living, breathing human beings. Enjoy. Oh, and those disturbing black marks on the side of my washing machine are from this hose thing that keeps my mudroom from flooding.

I Pledge...

2009-09-05T12:53:00.002-04:00

To wish my good pal, Em, the happiest birthday EVER!

She has a spirit that shines, a heart that radiates goodness, and the soul of the kind of mother I strive to be.

5 Things I Hate About Back To School Night

2009-09-01T16:43:00.010-04:00

1. I am not the one who, by law, must go to school. I have already been through school. Just teach my kids already, and leave me out of it.

2. It goes against my policy of ignoring and avoiding everyone around me.

3. I have to get out of my pajamas. I tried staying in them one year, and the comfort wasn't worth the dirty/concerned looks I received.

4. It always interferes with some highly anticipated Season Premiere. ANTM, Biggest Loser, DWTS... you name it, I'll have to miss it. Curses!

5. The Teacher's Pets. Yes, they come in grown-up sizes, too. And they sit in the front row, nod their heads maniacally as the teacher speaks, and inevitably figure out a way to 'name drop' their own kids' names, LIKE ANYONE CARES. And of course, they force us to stay after the bell, asking ridiculous questions about the curriculum, LIKE ANYONE CARES.

I'm tempted to play hooky this year, but I want to go scour the walls for my kid's essay/poem/picture hanging there haphazardly. What can I say? I may have a bad attitude, but I still think my kids are the best, just like everyone else.

Oh, and in a show of solidarity with my pal Em, over at Life, Liberty and the Pursuit..., for each comment I receive, I will donate one can of food to the local food bank. Limit one comment per customer, s'il vous plaît.

Snips, Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

2009-08-20T18:16:00.007-04:00

Happy Birthday, my dear, infuriating, wonderful Moody Teen.

Sixteen short years ago, you came into my life rather uneventfully... on your due date, no less! My water broke uneventfully. My one contraction I endured before having the epidural, contracted uneventfully. Before I knew it, you were in my arms.

You were a thrill seeker and a car lover from the beginning... The higher and faster you could get in your swing or bouncy seat, the happier you were. You slept with a Hot Wheel in each hand every night.

You grew into such a confident, adventurous kid... If it looked fun to you, you tried it. You didn't worry what others might think, or if you'd be able to catch on.

Ah, and then the teen years came along, and what wasn't to love? I can honestly say that I only wanted to kill you a (large) handful of times (so far).

Which brings us to today...

You keep me on my toes, you rebel, you argue, you love, you laugh, you even occasionally hug, and you live like no one else I've ever known.

I am so proud of you... Not your grades or accomplishments or determination in the face of adversity or athleticism... but you.

Love,

The Mother To Whom You Are Not Speaking at the Moment Because of the Car Argument

The More Things Change...

2009-08-19T18:28:00.002-04:00

For those of you following along at home, we last left "The Big Family Breakup," with me having a major showdown with my elderly parents in the middle of the airport (with basically me doing both the showing and the downing), as my newly-minted alcoholic brother, fresh out of ICU, headed straight to rehab, as he had been forbidden to return home to his wife and kids. As with any good cliffhanger, I sat on the plane back to DC, torn between cutting all ties and resolving to make amends.

Fast forward three months...

Well, my brother seems to be on the mend, so to speak, but I really only know that second-hand. I'm in my usual avoidance mode with my parents, leading them to believe I'm still a somewhat willing participant in this whole nonsense that is our family unit. But of course, there has been no real dialogue. No actual communication or discussion of feelings, regrets, wishes, solutions. And I am having a hard time accepting that there won't be. There just won't. They can't do it... They don't know how.

Which leads me to feel like I need to be an adult about all of this and throw a little compassion their way.

It's all very weird and extremely sad. It would break my heart into a million tiny pieces if my boys grew up to feel this way. Not only because of the adult relationship we would be missing, but because I would know their distance is a consequence of a childhood gone awry.

And, oh, how I want them to look back and remember the happiness and unconditional love.

Fool Me Once...

2009-08-14T12:50:00.004-04:00

Okay, maybe I am just tired. Or maybe I'm a bigger sucker than I care to admit. But here it is... I think I am going to give Michael Vick a second chance to make me loathe him. I am going to take him at his word that he is sorry. I am going to trust that the US justice system, in conjunction with Tony Dungy's wizardry, actually worked, and he is the changed man he claims to be. It's a big leap for me, I know, but why the hell not?

I do wonder if, had he not gotten caught, his epiphany and subsequent decision to "be a part of the solution" would have occurred? But I look back on all of the bad/wrong/stupid things I have done, and getting caught was most certainly a catalyst for change in some cases. Should that matter?

What's so funny is it is easier for me to be forgiving of someone who a) doesn't need my forgiveness, b) has millions of dollars to make himself feel better, and c) hurt sweet, innocent animals, than it is for me to extend the same to people in my own life, who have done far less. But I guess baby steps, right?

Oh, and Michael? I may forgive, but I certainly don't forget... Just ask my husband.

Life Goes On...

2009-08-09T15:34:00.004-04:00

So I guess it isn't really any surprise to any of you that I am a total maniac. And, hopefully, you read my silly little blog with that in mind... That I am just plain nuts. An emotional nightmare, if you will.

I feel like after my last post, I should explain myself, which is kind of counter-intuitive to the whole notion of blogging for oneself. But, not only am I insane, I also have rather substantial guilt issues. Hence, the need to explain away any kind of emotional outburst that might cause you, my dear readers, any physical or psychological discomfort. Sick, isn't it?

Anyway, the long and short of it is, nobody is dead or on the verge of death, or even within a year or two of dying, for that matter. My son is fine. Life goes on, and let me tell you, that boy knows how to handle life. We should all be taking notes.

But my head is someplace different now. I am changed. I am the one that's not okay, and that's just silly, because I am not the one with the disease. I am obviously sulking and I hate that about myself.

I am all caught up in this whole "He doesn't deserve it" thing, which leads to the whole "Well, but who really does deserve it (besides evil ol' me, of course)?" which just makes me sad for all of us. And being sad sucks.

So, in an effort to snap myself out of this, I am about to do what any self-respecting head-case would do... Make, and then eat, a chocolate cake. Please pardon me while I make myself feel better with food.

Oh, and ps: Thanks for coming to my rescue, once again. Your words, your prayers, your strength, love and humor amaze me. Pat yourselves on the back, people. You deserve it.

The Worst Day of Your Life

2009-08-07T14:33:00.006-04:00

You'd think the day you find out your little five month old baby has a genetic disease that is the equivalent of a death sentence, would be the absolute worst day of your life. Well, you'd be wrong. What actually happens is, you end up feeling blessed because of a salty kiss and a tiny bit of knowledge from way back whenever. You know you should feel sad, but you are thrilled to be given a precious head start. Months, maybe years, to protect your little baby, and your own heart. Time is on your side.

And, quicker than even seems possible, that healthy baby is a healthy teen. A rebellious, funny, intense, larger than life, healthy teen. Everything is on his side. Life is his for the taking. His future, so wide open and brilliant. Congratulations to the boy who is such a brave miracle, and his mom, who must be so brave and strong, herself.

Until the day he coughs up blood. And everything changes.

Suddenly, reality... real reality, is in your face, shaking you out of that blissful cocoon of denial that had been keeping you so safe and warm for all those years. Sure, the doctor has a plausible explanation, but come on... who coughs up blood? Healthy people? No. If your other child, your "normal" child, coughed up blood, you would be a mess. And here is your big boy, with a lung disease, coughing up blood. All you're feeling is a dulled, depressing nausea. And sadness.

So very suddenly, you realize you really aren't very brave at all. Like not at all. It's easy to keep a smile on your face and stay positive when you haven't had to spend one fucking minute actually worrying, other than in theory, about your child's health or future. Sure, it sounds awfully impressive... "Yes, my child has cf and we will probably out-live him." You can get the words out without a tear, and you seem incredibly fearless. But you really aren't. You are nothing, because what no one knows, is that up until today, you didn't actually believe your own words. Your denial was so ingrained into your actual being, that the words would come out flawlessly, never making contact with your heart, much less your soul. Airtight. Your life support.

And now it's gone.

Just Curious...

2009-08-05T19:09:00.007-04:00

I want to take a minute to acknowledge a very rare and interesting breed of the human species... The Driver's Education Instructor. As Moody Teen continues to come home alive each day from "Behind the Wheel" driving instruction, I have been curious about the kind-faced (and obviously insane) instructor, risking his life on a daily basis, in order to magically transform my child into a legal (and safe?) driver.

Is he constantly (and pointlessly) stomping the imaginary brake pedal on the floorboard of the passenger's seat? Does he have to resist the urge to grab the wheel and steer away from the oncoming car/child/bike with every fiber of his being? Does he pop blood pressure pills like they're Tic Tacs? And finally, how often does he accidentally shout out, wild-eyed and in a panic, "For the love of God... You almost got us killed!!"?

Just curious.

The Perfect Storm

2009-08-04T18:59:00.005-04:00

I don't know... Suddenly, everything seems so ridiculous. Blogging is bordering on overly self-indulgent and over-thought. Maybe we all need to be out there actually living life, rather than picking it apart, piece by piece. And yes, of course, I am in a bad mood. PMS, to be exact. I know it will pass, and I'll be putting my "oh-isn't-life-so-kooky" spin on it, right here on this very blog, soon enough. But right now, I want to wallow in it. I want to scream at everyone (even, apparently, the lawn guy), feel bad about myself, and roll my eyes at all things meaningful, joyful and sweet. yuck.

I know there are things that can combat this. Exercise, a balanced diet, water. However, the only things that pique my interest right now are cookies, ice cream and my pajamas. I am not about to get my ass off the couch. I am desperate to get the family out of the house and out of my hair. And if you haven't already guessed, Moody Teen is back from the mountain, and, as God as my witness, I take back every nice thing I've ever said about the kid. Okay, maybe I'll only take back a handful of nice things... But a very large handful. He's managed to smirk, shrug and make his brother cry enough to make me seriously consider boarding school. For me! Isn't there some sort of adult boarding school where I can go and learn about botany and clay throwing? Or is that just called prison? Either way, sign me up! I promise to make my bed every day!

Ugh.

Drug Me Now: A Mother in Crisis

2009-07-31T16:06:00.007-04:00

I haven't cleaned a nebulizer, yelled at Moody Teen to do his chest PT, nor fought with the insurance company in a week, and I have to say it feels, well... strange. All the cumbersome medical equipment is kind of piled up in the corner and the meds shoved to the back of the fridge. Life is awfully quiet, and seemingly stress-free. Normal, perhaps. Is this what normal feels like?

But not jumping through the medical hoops and listening for a cough means my sweet, big boy is gone... Out of my care and my reach. Off to the mountain-top, skiing and jumping and living a teen's life without a care. It's probably a welcomed break for him. His usual daily medicine cut down to the very bare minimum. But just for the week. One week to basically be just like everyone else. To be normal.

He's not homesick... He's loving it. Off by himself, meeting new people and trying new things. His health is in his own hands... completely out of my control. A preview of things to come? The man he's going to become?

As freeing as it is for me, I have to confess that I am a mess. Somebody just put me on a Diprivan drip now, and keep it running for the next 50 years. I want to take care of him forever, but I know that's weird and wrong. Did I mention that normal is not all it's cracked up to be?

Where's Chris Mann When You Need Him?

2009-07-29T14:45:00.009-04:00

You've probably read that "there wasn't a dry eye in the house," while the keynote speakers bared their souls at BlogHer. Well, yes there was. There was one. Actually two. Mine. My eyes were dry. Not a tear to be shed... Not even a slight welling. But to say I wasn't moved isn't entirely accurate. I was moved... eventually. But before you delete me out of your life with indignant outrage, let me try to explain.

The weekend at BlogHer took me utterly and completely off-guard. I had no expectations because, in the weeks prior, there was absolutely no time to think about it. I didn't blog. I didn't twitter. I didn't email. I was offline and living large. In retrospect, not such a great move. I felt fairly detached, and was operating in "observer" mode most of the first day. Blog names sounded vaguely familiar. Avatars, transformed into friendly faces, were a blur. Introductions didn't mean what I thought they would. I was confused.

Day two was a bit better, but I was still overwhelmed. It took everything I had to take it all in. There were lots of blog-unrelated laughs with the handful of women with whom I felt a connection. Easy conversation, easy silences. No need to get every word in, because there would be time later... when the weekend was over, and the actual fostering of relationships could begin.

I spent my days wandering in and out of various lectures and panels, learning about SEO, CPMs, and the apparent apocalyptic arrival of the FTC on my blog's doorstep (who knew?). I finally "came to" in a nondescript chair in the last, nondescript room in a dark, nondescript hallway in the unbearably nondescript basement of the whole damn hotel. I had landed in a sweet little nest of writers, all of whom wanted to talk about the craziest thing at a blogging convention... writing. The panelists began their not-very-thought-out, but very-well-intentioned schtick, which quickly evolved into a fun, smart, intimate and nurturing conversation between us all. It dawned on me that I was in the right place, and walking away with the knowledge that I am, metaphorically speaking, where I really should be, was exactly what I needed to learn.

The puzzle pieces all sort of assembled themselves for me on the plane ride home. The emotion, the connections, the glitz, the baby-wearing, the swag-handling, the reality of it all suddenly took over, and I finally shed those tears that I held so deep inside, unable to release in front of the lovely, crazy, smart, funny, wonderful people I encountered over the weekend.

And then I wanted a "do-over". I wanted to relive the weekend, better in touch with my own soul... But, I guess I'll just have to wait until next year.

What I've Learned...

2009-07-27T19:01:00.006-04:00

Well hello.

The reunion, the explanation for my absence, the gossip from BlogHer '09, and the very important update on my greying roots will all have to wait.

What I have learned today that needs immediate attention is this:

Despite all indication otherwise, one can miss a stinky, silly, immature, belligerent, petulant, manic, perverted 15 year old boy more than a heart can stand.

Waxing Porcine

2009-06-23T22:26:00.004-04:00

So we really are a fickle people, aren't we? I believe that we ride the trends furiously, contradicting ourselves, panicking others, all the while, basking in the glow of being "in the know."

This really hit home for me this week as friends and neighbors started to exhibit various flu-like symptoms, ranging from high fever, cough, and even my favorite old standby, general malaise. Well, wouldn't you know, all these people had succumbed to the dreaded swine flu.

Yes, you heard correctly. Or I guess, read correctly.

So of course, my immediate reaction was to dig out my plastic sheeting and cases of Ensure from the basement, and prepare to shelter-in-place. I was panic stricken. Horrified. Petrified!

However, my husband couldn't be bothered. He rolled his eyes as I broke the news. I think he may have even yawned. Then I called my friend. "Oh, that's good! It's certainly not as bad as the regular flu," she said nonchalantly. Hello? Weren't we all glued to cable news, and following the CDC on Twitter just last week? Wasn't it supposed to be one of the seven signs of the Apocalypse? What's going on?

Well, it seems it's as simple as the story has run its course. It's no longer a hot topic. Everyone has already moved on to more important issues, like Jon & Kate's big announcement. And sadly, that broken marriage, and the eight innocent victims it took with it, will be yesterday's news in 5...4...3...2...1...

Teen Talk 3: Work It

2009-06-10T12:16:00.006-04:00

So today we explore what I think may possibly be the one thing that has saved Moody Teen from boarding school... The summer job. All I can say is, in the words of the late, and somewhat heavily made up, Tammy Faye Baker, "Praise the LORD!"

Things are looking up around here. Oh, and don't fret... An exciting update to the Great Nail Polish Coup of '09 is in the works. Now go enjoy your day!

PS: It is boded, after all.

5 Things That Could Kill Me

2009-06-05T11:07:00.006-04:00

There have been many autobiographical obituary posts floating around the blog scene, and that got me thinking... If I were to, let's say, hypothetically, end up dead, what would be the cause?

Way back in my youth, I was sure it would be homicide. I was very diligent about letting someone know if I had gotten into any sort of altercation with anyone, so if/when I wound up murdered in cold blood, they would know at whom to point the finger.

Now, however, in my old age, I can see my demise realistically occurring in a few other ways:

1. Splenda poisoning. It's everywhere.

2. Adult acne. Maybe it's a side effect of all the Splenda I'm ingesting, but it is only getting worse as I age. Gross.

3. Mauled and eaten by the lizard that lives upstairs.

4. Lack of Flossing. Am I the only one terrified by the repercussions of dental hygiene laziness? I've read articles that link tartar buildup to everything from Alzheimer's to obesity.

5. Homicide. My old standby. I can't rule it out, as I am still so good at enraging just about anyone.

Happy Days Are Here Again

2009-06-04T13:27:00.004-04:00

I've had something really exciting happen to me over the past couple of days that I feel the need to share. I know I have been focused on the negative a lot lately, but that's all about to change!

On with the show...

I have actually gotten nail polish to stay on my fingers, unchipped, for almost 3 days now! I am not sure if the stars are aligned just right, if God is answering my prayer, or if I have finally struck the perfect combination of base coat, color, and top coat. Now if I could only get my cuticles under control, I might actually have hands that don't offend!

I am hosting a contest/research project with myself as the lone participant. I am finally going to nail down exactly how many paper towels I go through in a day. I have already started this morning and I am at one. I know, a bit of a let down, but it's early and I haven't really had any major catastrophes yet. So I have my little pile going, and at the end of the day, I will count them up and have the results. I am going to guess somewhere in the 25-30 vicinity, but I don't want to get my hopes up.

Finally, I hate to lean on you wonderful people more than I already do, but I need help. Am I just buying really crappy jelly or is there some sort of trick to spreading it on a PB&J sandwich? I mean, it all starts out fine, with me spooning a clump of it onto the bread, but when I go to spread it, it all just sort of stays together and rolls around in one big unit. Then I press down with the spoon, hoping to apply enough pressure to cause it to spread, which only leads to flattening the bread. So I start to kind of chop at it, which in turn, completely mutilates the bread. I usually resort to having little pieces of the initial jelly clump placed randomly across the surface area of the bread. Does that sound right?

Catty Much?

2009-06-04T06:51:00.009-04:00

I just have to take a temporary break from shouldering the blame for my general distaste for, and inability to get along with, all other people.

I do still believe that I could do much better in the nonjudgmental and tolerance arenas, and wishing others would change is futile. But all of that boring high road crap is getting shelved today, because I just need to vent. In fact, I wrote the first draft of this post 'on location' at the neighborhood pool, scrawling maniacally on a piece of scrap paper because I was simply so annoyed and enraged by everyone around me. Dire straights, people!

Now let's observe a brief moment of silence while the claws and fangs emerge...

Either there is something in the water in my part of the country, or there is a fundamental screw loose when it comes to kids' sports and the so called "grown ups" involved. Call me a big ol' silly goose, but aren't kids' sports supposed to be for the kids? If so, why then, do parents get over-involved and super competitive? Why do they push their kids so intensely? Why the pressure?

I have witnessed some of the most obnoxious and curious behavior, all from people who are old enough to know better. Coaxing, no, forcing their child into the water, when the child clearly was not interested. Begging the swim coach to talk their child into joining the swim team, when the child has outright stated that she doesn't want to swim, she would prefer to be on the dive team, thank you very much. Kids crying and shivering because it is 58 degrees and cloudy and are being forced by their parents to "suck it up". Parents bragging to each other about how, even though their kids are injured, these elite athletes are so dedicated, they are continuing to practice and compete, even against the doctor's advice. Shoulder injuries at 15? Hello?

Sounds fun, doesn't it? And here I am, right square in the middle of it. Helping to lead the charge, even. Ugh. When I agreed to be the assistant team rep (basically assistant team mom), I thought I could dilute some of the intensity and bring a more relaxed, fun vibe to the scene. Clearly, I have my work cut out for me. If I want to stick to my vision, I am going to have to piss off, challenge, and confront a lot of people and a lot of bad behavior. And oh, how I detest confrontation. Double ugh.

So I am not in great shape if I am this worked up and I am only one week into it. It is going to be a long summer. And I know (sort of) that it really isn't any of my business, and I shouldn't care about the dynamic between parent and child, and just because I am not very competitive doesn't mean I should expect everyone to behave as I do. In fact, if they did, we probably wouldn't have a very good team and nothing would get done. But still... BUT STILL!

Oh, and if you just can't seem to get enough of the complete dissolution of my character, go see what other faults I am exposing over at my little sanctuary from all things upsetting, MWOB.

A New Low

2009-05-26T10:45:00.010-04:00

Picture this... You are walking through the airport and you suddenly encounter a cute little elderly couple getting verbally attacked by a person half their age. The silver-haired woman, in her jewel-toned wind suit and coordinating fanny pack, and the man, in his bifocals and hearing aids, are just standing there, completely befuddled. You would want to intervene on their behalf, wouldn't you? I know I certainly would... except there's only one minor problem. The person screaming at them uncontrollably is none other than me!

Yep, that's how I left things the last time I saw my parents. What is wrong with me? Who yells at old people?

There are issues that run so deep in my family (the family in which I am the daughter, not the one in which I am the wife/mother, thank God!). Issues that can take people down. We have my brother, who is about halfway through his stint at rehab as a stellar example, and my unhinged, slightly maniacal ass, as another. Why can't the skeletons emerge? Why can't they be discussed? Why can't I get any real, concrete answers or feelings or thoughts out of my parents?

And as horrible as this sounds, I still believe I am right. No, I take that back. I know I am right. But I am starting to realize that there won't be any convincing them of that, and even if that miracle were to happen, at what cost? Am I going to be demanding an apology when they are on their deathbeds? Am I going to continue to insist that they acknowledge my feelings, when there may come a day when they don't even know me?

I guess my anger towards them has subsided enough to let the guilt creep in. I was really enjoying my indignant self-righteousness, staking my claim to that ever-so desirable real estate commonly known as the moral high ground.

I have got to find a way to love them unconditionally, in spite of themselves. They've certainly done that small favor for me.

Bun in the Oven?

2009-05-22T07:10:00.001-04:00

Surprised? I bet my husband is! I guess just because I am eating for seven, doesn't mean I am expecting septuplets. Oh well, sorry to mislead and disappoint... no multiples here. HOWEVER, I have blognapped a very wonderful mom of adorable multiples, and the ransom is high, people. I'm not joking. If you think you can help her, go read about my demands.

And a happy Friday to you all...

Teen Talk, Part II (Can You Believe It?)

2009-05-20T11:04:00.005-04:00

Here I am, many days late, and much more than a dollar short (thanks to the wonderful subjects of my video). Nonetheless, I present to you the second installment of Teen Talk. As this series of mine has evolved, the one thought that keeps returning is, I should have looked into boarding school way back when I threatened to the first time. Oh well... At this point, the end of my time as their guardian is drawing nigh, so I might as well use them to my advantage as much as legally possible.

School's (Not Quite) Out For Summer!

2009-05-18T12:24:00.005-04:00

For the next couple of weeks, there is major testing going on at both boys' schools. SOLs, Finals, APs, XYZs... you name it. I have my own particularly strong opinions on all of these standardized tests that really have very little to do with how the kids have spent their last 8 months in the classroom. But, so sorry, that's not what this post is about!

In honor of test season, I have created my own short quiz for you all to take. Not to worry, though, it's multiple choice!

So get to class before the bell rings, and let's see how much you know. And hey... no cheating!

Reflections of An Older Person (Uncut and CLEARLY Unedited)

2009-05-17T17:26:00.006-04:00

I'm not sure what my deal is. I am becoming such a hermit in my old age. I just want most people to leave me alone. I hate talking on the phone (except to the one person for whom I will always answer). I would make an excellent 86 year old man. But is it such a bad thing to just prefer the company of my husband and boys... and myself?

I absolutely adore being alone. I love crawling into my head and mulling things over and over and over. Oh, and I have plenty to mull, mind you. I have at least one problem from all the major problem categories. And as much as I like to think that all my problems don't define me, they actually do. They contribute to the story of my life. They're the chapters, really. I don't look back on my life and think in terms of "pre-going-blonde" or "post-purchasing-really-awesome-metallic-flats-and-matching-handbag". I think about college "before the car wreck", or how I feel about my childhood "since finding out my brother is an alcoholic". Doesn't everyone think this way? I mean, I do think about the good things, too, but they aren't so much chapters, as they are the fuel that keeps me up and running.

But listen, that's not to say that I let these problems get me down or control my actions. They really don't. Well, who am I kidding? Sometimes they do, as you have all bore witness. I get down and frustrated and sad and mad, better (and more frequently) than most. But as weird as this sounds, I don't really consider my problems to be problematic. They're just my circumstances. My hand from the great deck of Life.

And I persevere. These circumstances don't kill me, but they don't necessarily make me stronger, either. They exist as long as I exist. Some will pass, others will remain. Forever. New ones will crop up (oh joy). I don't ever question the fairness of it all. "Why me?" is never entertained.

But I don't say that in a self-promoting sort of way. I don't think I am particularly well adjusted just because I don't ask for an explanation for my path in life. But I am aware that if I am going to ask "why?", I need to be prepared to ask "why not?"

And although I have at least one problem from each of the major problem categories, I certainly don't want anyone who happens to be listening (yes, God, that means You! But I guess You already know that), to think that I want or need any more!

Anyway, happy Sunday and happy my birthday, and thank you all (especially you), for your sweet well wishes.

Habitual Rituals

2009-05-12T15:58:00.006-04:00

I've been blogging for almost a year now, and I have figured some stuff out. Nothing earth shattering, mind you, but interesting. Sorta kinda. Well, let me amend that... I have learned some extremely earth shattering things, but that's not what this particular post is about. Sorry, no buzz kill for you kids today.

So, I've noticed I have writing habits, and that makes me happy. I feel like it legitimizes me as a writer (again, sorta kinda). Which reminds me, my boys have the funniest little rituals they go through before they swim in a race. Sweet Mr. Beans always waves his arms around in big circles and kind of hops up and down. Moody Teen presses his googles to his face with his palms, over and over and over again, then shakes each leg once. Unless he's swimming backstroke, in which case, he sits in the water, gripping the coping, waiting to take off. Boring, I know. He hates backstroke, so he'd wholeheartedly agree.

Anyway, back to me. Here are my behaviors I have observed:

As much as I would like to, I can't listen to music when I write. No iPod, no cd, nothing.

As much as I would like to, I can't plan out ahead of time what I would like to convey. I have to clear my head and just let the words come as I type.

As much as I would like NOT to, I must always be eating when I type. Occasionally pausing for a bite of Reese's Puffs really seems to keep the creativity flowing.

I have to have an empty house when I write. Like, totally empty. No husband, no kids, no cleaning lady. Dogs are allowed, but they have to be silently sleeping (or outside digging in the yard).

Oh, and this one is really weird... and it must just be a habit I developed (duh), but everything has to be written in the little blogger post box. I can sit and stare at a blank word document all day long and the words don't come. However, if I pull up Blogger and click "new post," my thoughts start to crystallize and my fingers begin to move. So even if I am not writing a blog post, I will write it here (in Blogger), then cut and paste in the appropriate format.

And finally, I have a special spot. The whole reason I got a laptop was so I could write on the fly. Sitting by the pool, lounging in the hammock, holed up in the study. But here I am every day, sitting at the head of the kitchen table, hammering out my thoughts. Alone. At the spur of the moment. In silence. With food. And a big ol' smile on my face.

Changing My Tune

2009-05-08T07:51:00.005-04:00

The original inspiration for this post came during our family vacation to Whistler. Although a fun time was had by all, I was ever so disturbed by my boys' complete lack of couth and situational awareness. It would be an understatement to say I was discouraged and perhaps even a little humiliated as my kids belched, ate with their hands, told inappropriate jokes just a little too (okay, a lot too) loudly, and basically ran amuck, while other kids sat cleanly and quietly, exuding politeness and civility (and these weren't just those cute little British kids). I think the last straw was when, at the nicest restaurant we visited, my eldest (Mr. Moody Teen, himself) picked up the creamer pitcher, and took a big swig. Where had I gone wrong?

I've always adhered to the philosophy of 'choosing one's battles' when correcting, guiding, punishing my kids. Clearly, I haven't chosen so wisely. Or so I thought...

While I was back 'home' this past weekend, reliving old nightmares (and creating some new ones) with my parents and brother, my husband and boys were basically left to their own devices. No, baths weren't taken, clothes weren't changed... heck, hair wasn't even combed. Home repair projects weren't completed. There really wasn't much in the way of organized, productive activity, whatsoever.

However, homework was completed (marginally, I assume, but who cares), serious guy time was spent, a home cooked steak dinner was prepared and consumed, and the following little gem was emailed to their mom (me).

They may never be able to eat in public, and no girls will ever want to get near them, but they've won my heart forever.

*author's note: in case it is too difficult to read, the sign says We Miss Mom. also, if you don't find this a big deal, you obviously don't have teens. the sheer will it must have taken for them to a) smile (yes, those count as smiles), and b) hold up a nerdy sign admitting their love for their mother, is staggering. or perhaps their father was holding them at gunpoint. either way, this was a dramatic moment.

Eyes Wide Open

2009-05-06T07:56:00.006-04:00

Okay, I am back from my whirlwind trip with some really exciting news... I am almost 100% sure I am not going to burn in Hell for all of eternity! This is actually quite huge for me, as the uncertainty of my soul's future has been weighing on my mind since I was a child. Let's see what else I learned:

I am now convinced that God has very little to do with the distribution of people's problems. Not that He couldn't be, if he so chose (so don't panic, I am not underestimating His omnipotence), but the whole "God doesn't give you more than you can handle" is a fallacy. An old wives' tale, if you will. Bunk. Bullshit. Soooooo not true. So, if there are any of you out there riding the wave of false hope that it can't get any worse because God won't let it... I am here to tell you to get over it.

It can get worse. It can get a lot worse. People whose lives seemed idyllic can break under the weight of a lifetime of secrets. I happen to be related to someone who can no longer handle the enormity of his pain. In reality, he hasn't been able to handle it for quite some time. And it is so very clear to me that it will probably get worse before it can get even remotely better.

But I don't say that out of bitterness or anger or hopelessness, or even lack of faith. Ironically, after my weekend cruise down the River Styx, my faith remains unshakeable and stronger than ever. But I am no longer certain that "it will all be okay." And I am not so sure all of my ever-increasing, big girl problems are all "for a reason." Which is not to say that I don't think God is with me every step of the way.

In fact, I do know with all my heart that God is here for each of us. Whether we attend church 3 times a week or not at all. Whether we have a prayer chain that extends around the world, or if we are just one weak, tired, confused and hurt voice whispering in His ear.

He Said, She Said

2009-05-01T20:45:00.004-04:00

I interrupt my regularly scheduled gloomy, depressing posts of late, with a query for you, my sage readers. I should disclose that I am not asking on my own behalf, but on that of my incredible (yet slightly misguided) husband of almost 18 years. You may leave your opinion in my comments section or email me, or even remain anonymous, if you fear retribution. Don't worry, though, it's okay to side with my husband. He's all about the external validation, and I'll just be relieved to have him shut up (finally). So here it is (and I quote):

Is it ever acceptable to say to your husband, "So you're going to put yourself first and finish eating your pizza before you rub my feet?!?!!"

In other news, I've come to realize that I may have a comma problem. Or maybe a run on sentence, coupled with a comma, problem.

Navigating the Gray Area

2009-04-30T12:44:00.010-04:00

There's such a fine line between having special needs and being treated specially (read: differently). Well actually, I don't think the line's so very fine for the people who have the special needs. My son, along with many other kids with health issues, will tell you he wants no special treatment, whatsoever. None. He's not interested in being a "poster child" for his disease, he doesn't want to educate people, or even make much of a difference in the world right now. He's fifteen. He wants to hang out with his buddies, talk about girls, make stupid videos and annoy anyone over the age of 21. The last thing he wants is to be constantly reminded of his unfortunate roll of the genetic dice.

But the problem is, he does have needs that are special. Things that might occur outside of the house....when he's at school, or with friends. Things I must address with teachers, coaches, and administrators. And this is where I run into problems. If I make too big a deal of things, I am setting my son up for special treatment... Sideways glances, sympathy, perhaps even preferential treatment (all of which are unwanted!). But if I play things down, inevitably an issue arises that a teacher may not be prepared for, and my son gets in trouble and embarrassed in front of the whole class for something like being in the bathroom for too long.

Some people get it. But those are usually the people who ask questions. The ones who step outside of their obvious comfort zone and really try to understand. The ones who don't, are the ones who are quick to nod "Yes," when asked if they understand fully, and declare, "No!" when asked if they have any questions. The ones that don't want to deal with it, and cross their fingers that nothing happens on their watch.

Kids can be heartless and unthinking. My son has had kids come up to him and matter-of-factly say, "You're gonna die". That kind of blatant idiocy doesn't bother my son. He knows that these are the same kids who would be calling him names or bullying him for other reasons, if they didn't have something so easy to use.

But unfortunately, sometimes it's the most well meaning people who can unwittingly do the most damage. People who want to know how to handle the situation or want information, but are afraid or too uncomfortable to ask. The best advice I can give, simply as a mom, is to just inquire from the heart. Be honest about what you want to know, and be ready to hear what that person has to say, even if it might make you uncomfortable. Look them in the eye and really listen. Take them at their word and don't try to read anything deeper into what they tell you. That's what I do with my son, and sometimes he reveals how he's coping. Or, sometimes he says nothing at all. But it's his story to tell... How he wants. When he wants.

If you want to read other stories of people who have been affected by disability discrimination, go visit Diary of a Goldfish

What's So Bloomin' Great About Spring?

2009-04-29T08:49:00.005-04:00

So it's official... Spring has sprung. Everything is green. No, literally, everything... my car, the sidewalks, the dogs... there is a lovely lime green dusting of pollen blanketing my little corner of the world, and it's making my life hell. I want to claw my eyes out, they itch so badly. Everyone's coughing and complaining. Headaches abound. Sneezes echo throughout the house.

Then there are the animals. A rather large snake in the gutter. A groundhog out on his daily jaunt, before scurrying back into his hole. Deer parking themselves on the driveway, taking their own sweet time getting out of the way (hello, deer? we have a bus to catch!). They don't want to be hurried while scoping out their dinner options (hostas or azaleas?). Bats flying a little too low for comfort. Thankfully, no swine in sight. Oh, and the horses. The expensive show horses that live next door. They have now been sprung from their barn and are galloping free. Only problem is now we have to be extra quiet, as we don't want to scare them (God forbid!).

But as annoying (and frightening) as they all are, these signs of life renew my spirit. Maybe I am just relieved because now that there are leaves on the trees again, I feel hidden away from everyone (which I love). Like it's just me and my little family, alone together. Or maybe all the pinks and reds and yellows from the roses and lillies and peonies brighten my mood. Or maybe I am hyper aware that spring leads us ever closer to summer vacation, which is the ultimate cure-all.

But what I suspect is going on, is God is gently, and ever-so-pleasantly, reminding me that my little problems aren't very earth shattering. Seasons continue to change, life continues to bloom and I need to start looking at all the beauty around me and stop thinking everything revolves around me. Because if, in fact, it did, trees would grow kleenex, and deer would serve me ice cream in bed, while they pack the boys' lunches and find my husband's keys.

Hmmm...

Family Ties

2009-04-27T21:39:00.008-04:00

Nothing like someone else's brush with death to teach you a thing or two about yourself. Now let's see how long I actually ponder these lessons before I back-burner them, and get caught up in the chaos and buzz of daily life. I give myself a month. And that's being très generous. Most likely, I will be complaining about some everyday nothingness by week's end.

I think someone more spiritual, or more perceptive, or maybe just smarter, would be all over these signs and incidents and feelings beating me over the head. I am just getting more confused.

My brother, with whom I am not very close, is suddenly extremely ill. Like ICU, intubation, kidneys failing, kind of ill. My gut reaction was guilt (of course), nausea and sadness. But none of that lasted very long, and I've gone into some sort of 'third party' mode, where I am being very rational and objective about the whole thing.

Except the part about my mother. Even during this awful awfulness, she is driving me nuts. In my robotic neutral mode, I feel for her, and I know this must be heart wrenching. After all, isn't this the EXACT thing I feel like I'm destined to face? The one thing that keeps me awake at night? Worrying I will have to watch my beautiful, moody, maddening boy die? Where's my compassion? It's all mixed in with the annoyance I feel about her little digs toward my sister-in-law, and the way I feel she's, on one hand, acting like my brother is on death's door, yet on the other hand, playing a game with the actual information. AND HOW SICK AM I to even be paying attention to my mom's constant martyr, attention-seeking behavior???

Ultimately, I want to be a good example for my boys. I want them to see how family is there for each other. But that lesson started years ago. That's one thing I really recognized that I wanted for them early on. Perhaps because I didn't have a close relationship with my brother. And it makes it really hard now to just kind of jump into action and "go home," when I am closer to my mailman than I am to my family.

My boys love being around each other. They miss each other when one is gone for even an afternoon. They play together. They fight, and then apologize, unprompted. They share. They laugh and tell each other secrets. They help each other and show each other new skateboard tricks. They stick up for each other. They love each other, although they sure can bicker like two old women. No one makes one of them madder than the other. But then it passes, and they talk it out. Feelings aired. Wounds mended. In their own, bizarro teen, but honest and open way.

They are so ahead of me on this. I should be taking my cues from them. Please God, let it last forever.

Bored?

2009-04-27T11:58:00.000-04:00

Then come visit me over at www.momswithoutblogs.com

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Kids These Days

2009-04-23T07:00:00.006-04:00

I got quite a shock while at computer last night, watching the Idol results show, when this appeared on my Twitter stream...

"Who are these people singing on Idol?"

Uh... excuse me? Not only should you know, you should be alternating between squealing with delight, jumping for joy, and staring reverently at the TV with a single tear streaming slowly down your face. Then you should be breaking into dance, hopping around the kitchen (ignoring stupid, never-really-very-good, mummified KC), searching for your iPod to relive that magical Band of Gold moment over and over and over again. Can I just tell you that at the tender age of 12, although I had not been abandoned emotionally and physically by a husband, I felt every ounce of angst poor Freda sang about? Being rejected and dateless at my very first Sadie Hawkins dance was just as, if not more, painful.

So, in case that previously mentioned tweet was indeed reflective of the younger generation's knowledge of all things disco (and not some sick joke), I have compiled a list of the absolute best of the best for your dancing, singing and general boogying pleasure. No need to thank me. Just get up on your feet, people!

MacArthur Park

Boogie Wonderland

Last Dance

The Boss

More Than a Woman

Shake Your Body Down to the Ground

Night Fever

Le Freak

Ladies' Night

She's A Bad Mama Jama

Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now

Dancing Queen

Shake Your Groove Thing

The Hustle

And, one more thing about this week's show... I have to say that I know the judges are all into 'making it your own' and the contestants are obviously embroiled in a fierce game of one-upsmanship when it comes to song (re)arrangement, but when you take the danceability out of disco, you remove its soul.

Clean and Sober

2009-04-22T15:44:00.012-04:00

Yes, it's true... I'm a recovering memeaholic. I want to share my story with you today to tell you it's okay. I am here for you, whether as an intervener or an enabler. I can do either. But for me, it's better if I don't go anywhere near them, as the temptation is still, and probably always will be, so strong.

I started off as a casual memer, just participating in one every now and again. It was an easy way to produce material without having to think too hard. When my mind was blank, the meme would be a quick fix. However, my recreational use soon turned to addiction, and I found myself sitting on my bathroom floor, laptop in hand, eyes glassy from a morning spent trying to figure out if my photo was indeed wordless or perhaps wordful. That's when I first suspected that I needed help.

But by then, it was too late. Not only was I memeing every day, I started supplying them to others. That's right, I became a dealer to help feed my habit. Pretty soon, my mind just shut off completely and I wasn't able to think for myself, or write any original material. That's when I knew I had to step away completely. Make a clean break. Better to go cold turkey and endure the pain of withdrawal than risk overdose.

So, I have been clean for a couple of weeks now. However, in honor of Friday's Feast (F2), a newer meme by the one and only CaJoh, in which I never got to participate, I am going to share a poem that Sweet Mr. Beans wrote. I solemnly swear that I won't link up. But I encourage all of you to check him out and play along... If you think you can handle it. It only takes once!

Ode to a Pork Chop

When the sizzling wonder meets my eyes

I seem to be hypnotized

I would like to savor

Its rich flavor

Why would anyone give it away?

That scrumptious little pork filet.

Oh, and I am allowed to comment on other people's meme posts. Really, my therapist said so.

Take the Tiara Off the Toddler!

2009-04-18T17:24:00.005-04:00

Sorry, but yes, I am going there. I try to stay away from too much controversy, but I have to believe with all my heart that SURELY everyone in our little sphere will agree with me (or at least not take offense). If I do offend anyone, and I do get run out of town, I'll enter the Blogger-Pisser-Offer Witness Protection Program and be in touch under my newly assumed identity.

SO. Down to business...

I have recently found a TV show on TLC called Toddlers and Tiaras. The title is self-explanatory. I have thought and thought about how I want to go about wording my diatribe, but I've decided to keep it short and to the point.

There is SURELY no need to explain to anyone how demeaning, absurd, offensive, sexist, superficial (which is putting it mildly), misguided, objectifying, and misogynistic the pageants featured on the show are (or any pageant, for that matter, but I don't get quite so angry when they involve grown women). Don't even give me the whole "but it improves their self-esteem" argument, because I simply do not buy it. Sorry. I can think of a bazillion ways to boost a child's self-esteem that don't involve fake eyelashes, spray tans, "shaking their booties", and FAKE TEETH.

I feel slightly better. But I am angry at TLC for exploiting these girls (and a smattering of boys) even more than their own parents are.

I guess I would be happy to have an open and respectful dialogue with anyone that sees some other side to this. No, I take that back. So feel free to rant, if you must, because I certainly have, haven't I?

I am going to just leave it at that.

Olly Olly Oxen Free

2009-04-17T06:53:00.006-04:00

I am playing hide and seek today... see if you can find me!

Hint: It rhymes with Toms With Haute Clogs. Sort of. Well, okay, maybe not so much.

Happy Friday!

Keys to the Kingdom

2009-04-16T07:23:00.006-04:00

I think I've figured out the cure for all my parenting woes! I am feeling like a bit of a genius here, and while I don't want to gloat too much, I just have to take a minute to pat myself on the back.

I am going to start making my kids speak with a British accent. I don't care what they actually say, as long as it is pronounced in that crisp, proper and decidedly smart sounding manner that our friends across the pond use.

While in Whistler, we encountered quite a few Brits both on the slopes and in the village. Many of them being young children. My husband and I were completely entranced by them. In fact, one poor little boy on the lift with us was at serious risk of being kidnapped and consequential assimilation into the classless Williams household.

Admittedly, these children were extraordinarily polite and engaging, but I am telling you, they could have been swearing at me and I would have been charmed by the lilt of their voices and the sophistication of their cadence.

I am convinced that by simply changing the sound of what comes out of my boys' mouths will make them much more tolerable. We'll deal with the content later... After mum isn't feeling quite so cross.

Cheers!

Teen Talk, Part I

2009-04-15T12:25:00.004-04:00

So, yet another series in a series of series. Remember RootWatch '09? The 12 Panic Attacks of Christmas? Well, this new idea of mine, Teen Talk, could very well go the way of those, once I grow bored or get distracted, yet again. But enjoy, nonetheless...

Moving Sale (NOT A Review, Cleverly Disguised As One)

2009-04-13T19:15:00.009-04:00

By now, most of you know about the lovely jewels created by my good friend, Annie, over at Beadiful Things. Although it took me months to stop calling it Beaudiful Things (which is stupid and makes NO sense at all), I knew from the get-go that I would be a lifelong customer. She is amazingly talented and her craftsmanship is impeccable. She creates pieces that just scream 'me' (a little bohemian, a little rustic), but she also makes quaint, ladylike pieces and chic, sophisticated pieces. Now that I have a haircut that I loved, but now hate, I have been pinning my bangs back daily with her cute lil' bobbies.

And I say all of this, not because it gets me any entries into a contest, but because she is someone I sincerely believe in, whose work I love, and I want to make the world a prettier place by dolling up as many of you as I can!

She has a new storefront here. And I am going to plagiarize now (or cut and paste, to use a more politically correct term) so I will be sure to get the details right. She's having a sale, and here's the scoop, in her very own words:

And, in celebration of the fact that I can now accept discount codes and you can enter them in at checkout and get the discount taken right this minute rather than waiting for me to refund you, here's one that you can use until Friday 4/17/09 (at midnight): BLOG10. That's good for 10% off any purchase.

Oh, and she's really funny and smart, has gorgeous kids and a wonderfully honest, straightforward outlook on life. So, even if you're not in the market for cool new jewelry, you may want to check out her blog here.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye...

2009-04-13T11:43:00.004-04:00

I have an announcement. A proclamation, of sorts. And please believe me when I tell you that I mean this with the utmost respect and sincerity, and truly do not want to upset or offend anyone...

I hate everyone and everything involved in the airline industry (except pilots. hi! i love you! oh, and the air traffic controllers! love you, too! don't do drugs!).

I have never been a huge fan of flying. But there used to be these nice people involved that at least pretended like they wanted to make my travels tolerable. And I swear I am not making this up, the counter people would not only greet you nicely and check you in... they would take your luggage from you! Was it all just a dream??

Now everything is self-serve. So I have to check myself in, weigh my own luggage, and then haul it over to the belt to be whisked away. And the one or two people that are actual employees have clearly been instructed to either ignore everyone or bark condescendingly. By the time I am at the gate, I am a sweaty, stressed, defensive mess, ready to take out my frustrations on the vacant, uncaring woman telling me my flight out of that hell hole is going to be so late, I am sure to miss my connecting flight!

It's all so demeaning and depressing because they have finally figured out that they can treat us anyway they want, because we are trapped. There is no alternative. Trains have their own set of nightmarish issues. Cars are limited by time, distance and gas prices. And it's darn near impossible to get your hands on a covered wagon these days.

So we're at their mercy. And they know it. Which, I suppose, is fine. But I guess what I am wondering is, where is fundamental human decency? The smiles? The "pleases" and the "thank yous"? Are people too busy to be pleasant? I'm not even asking for something as outlandish as nice. Is it really too much to ask?

Home

2009-04-10T13:30:00.008-04:00

Oh, the tales that I could tell. However, a mild case of jetlag, eight days of laundry, and some serious cuddle time with the dogs are standing in the way. Here's a quick preview for any of you who may be curious (or extremely bored)...

Here we have a photo of the boys before I decided they need to be shipped off to boarding etiquette school. Although I didn't want to kill them yet, the groundwork had already been laid.

And here, a photo of hubs and me after the traumatic boot incident of '09, but before the wipeout that resulted in a disturbing eye injury and the end of my burgeoning professional stunt-skiing career.

And finally, a glimpse of the last meal of the trip. Why did it take me so long to start drinking?

Lots of fun and adventures were had (not necessarily by me) but glad to be back...

A Sense of Belonging...

2009-04-07T11:06:00.002-04:00

No, I am not back from "vacation" yet. I am missing you all terribly and, although I am surrounded by mountains, snow, nature, and needy family members, I can't wait to get home!

Since I have nothing of value for you to read here, let me take this opportunity to introduce you to some of the smartest, funniest, and decidedly imperfect women in and out of the blogosphere.

Head on over to Moms Without Blogs, at your convenience, and be prepared to be welcomed, reassured and, validated. These gals are the real deal, and somehow I have tricked them into including me!

My first post is up, but if you get plenty of me here, poke around and check out the other ladies. You will be amazed... As am I.

Thinking of you all,

Vacation Sneak Peek #2

2009-04-06T14:55:00.002-04:00

There are people that I travel well with... and then there's my family.

Vacation Sneak Peek #1

2009-04-03T22:33:00.004-04:00

There is simply no better way to start off a vacation than to have to unpack (and repack) all of your luggage on the floor of a crowded airport, at the command of a rude and completely useless airline worker, in order to redistribute the weight of all your crap to avoid a $125 overage fee.

Wish you were here!

Kisses,

Wanted: Rose-Colored Glasses and Advil

2009-04-02T10:19:00.005-04:00

I had begun a worthwhile, thoughtful post about sportsmanship and parenting, but, I am sorry, I just have to get this off of my chest...

If my headache doesn't go away, today's travel across the entire lower 48, and up into British Columbia will be a huge nightmare for everyone involved (including innocent bystanders). It feels like a migraine, but I am sure it is just stress. Why do I do this to myself? We are all packed, we all have legal, current passports (by the skin of our teeth, as you will recall), and the pets have been whisked away to their caretakers. So what gives? Why can't I just relax and roll with it?

Part of it is the actual traveling itself. I am not big on flying, and I have cut back on the drugs I take after the Great Overdose Incident of '97. I, personally, don't really remember too many of the details, but my husband has still not recovered. If he's telling the story accurately (and not simply employing hyperbole to shame me), it involves the boys (then toddlers) running loose on the plane while I'm sprawled out on the floor, alternating between singing and puking.

Another part of it is my children. Although they have been traveling fairly well now for a few years, I just never know what will come out of their mouths, or when they will get into a giant throw-down over, well, anything and everything.

Oh, and of course we have somewhere between 8 and 85 pieces of luggage. Not only is skiing expensive, it requires way too much (heavy) equipment.

My immediate plan is to continue to blog while away. I am counting on my mood lightening and presenting you all with fun-filled, snow-laced posts of a perfect family get-away. Cross those fingers...

Are We Having Fun Yet?

2009-03-31T15:08:00.005-04:00

Just file this one under, "But it seemed like such a good idea at the time." Please... It's the story of my life. They might as well go ahead and engrave it on my tombstone now.

So, I thought I'd be all mom-like and fun and take the stupid dog in the car with me to pick up Moody Teen at the bus stop. She was outside anyway, and she always makes Moody so happy (and he needs all the help he can get these days!). She doesn't normally ride in the car, well, because I never take her anywhere. And it's no secret that she has major mental health issues, but how disastrous could a quick trip to the bus stop be?

She happily jumped in the car without any coaxing from me. However, the minute she was in the driver's seat, she started to freak out (red flag #1 that I stupidly ignored). Suddenly, she grew very still and refused to budge. I tried to shove her over to the console, but she started to growl every time I touched her (nice. ignored red flag #2). So, since I was in a hurry, I just sat down with her wedged in between me and the seat. I was basically 2 inches from the steering wheel. Meanwhile, she started maniacally shaking. And shedding. It was like that pathetic little Charlie Brown Christmas tree, where all the pine needles explode off the tree at once (obviously red flag #3, but at this point, I was fully entrenched in the mission).

I pulled up to the bus stop and yanked her into my lap. She was all shaky and weird and started yawning repeatedly. Seriously. So she was yawning and yawning, and shaking and shedding, and I was starting to panic a little bit. Has anyone ever heard of an animal actually being possessed? I mean, I know, intellectually, that the chances of the dog being possessed are fairly slim, but I am really bad about buying into all that Armageddon hype, and what better way to begin the final battle of Good vs Evil, than to have the Devil steal the souls of all the dogs on Earth?

So I started to look around the street for other dogs, to see if they were acting suspicious, but no such luck. Well, then Pepper started to gag. And what's even better than gagging? That's right! Puking! I managed to push her head over to the console so everything was contained (I had perfected that technique once before when driving in the car with my other dog. Do I just never learn?).

At this point, the bus had arrived, and Moody comes strolling up to the car, completely confused. The plan had totally backfired and I just wanted to get home to check the news for swarms of locusts or blood in the rivers.

We all made it home alive and of course the minute she was back on solid ground, Pepper returned to normal. At least I accomplished my original goal of making Moody Teen happy. He thought the whole thing was hilarious... Until I sent him back out to clean the car!

Coming Out of the Closet

2009-03-31T08:19:00.007-04:00

Last night I introduced my friends to my natural-hair-color growth plan, affectionately nicknamed RootWatch '09. The overall reception was decidedly lukewarm. There was a fairly even distribution of blank stares and puzzled expressions. A few people asked why on earth would I be growing out all my grey. Aren't I afraid of looking old? Why? How long is it going to take? Why? And finally, the all important question... Why?

I came away from the evening feeling like I should be embarrassed by my natural hair color (which I am not), and mad at myself for feeling compelled to justify my decision. I leaned heavily on the "experiment" excuse, stating that it has been 27 years since I have seen my natural hair color and I want to take a peek... with the unspoken assumption that I would cover it back up promptly upon full exposure. And yes, that is part of it. But I am also finding the silvery-white strands on each side of my widow's peak kind of cool. And I am loving how healthy my hair is becoming now that I am not dying and bleaching it to death. So why not just say that?

On one hand, I don't care what people think enough to change my course of action. On the other hand, I care too much to be honest and upfront about it, I guess. Is that what's going on?

In unrelated news, I have been having really weird, vivid dreams. I used to have them when I was younger, but for the past 10 years, or so, I haven't been dreaming at all (or I've just been too zonked to remember that I have). Last night's involved a drug dealer, a house on the water and sea snakes.

And here I am... worried about my hair! Silly, silly me.

Spoiled Rotten

2009-03-27T09:53:00.002-04:00

Now, now, don't you worry your pretty little heads... The pendulum has swung the other way, and yours truly has regained both clarity and sanity. Don't you just love it? After posting basically the biggest buzz kill ever (hey, at least I chose mid-week to have my freak out), and dragging all of you sweet, innocent people along for the ride, I woke up this morning feeling quite at peace! And no, hubby did not slip any quaaludes into my coffee.

Somehow, I am lucky enough to have the most incredible people in my blog life. And I use that qualifier only because the people in my "life" life aren't so great. So, when I began blogging, I thought, in a way, it would be simply an exercise in self-exploration. Why would "blog" people be any different than "real" people?

But we all found each other, one way or another, and thus the journey began. I told you my secrets and you didn't roll your eyes (or maybe you did, but at least you had the good manners not to tell me about it!). I expressed my fears and you offered comfort and sound advice.

And like a petulant child, I keep testing you over and over again. Pushing the limits to see if you'll finally just throw up your hands in exasperation and hit "delete". But look! You are still here taking care of me. Like the smart girl I can sometimes pretend to be, I am not going to question it... I am simply going to embrace it.

But I have to tell you, if your still hanging around because you think you are going to get some really cool prize, don't hold your breath. All I can offer is a shoulder or an ear... oh, and I am really good about not saying "I told you so"... I save that for my husband.

I guess what all this means is... thank you.

The Absolute Pits

2009-03-25T16:44:00.008-04:00

Is that what this is all about? Are we all on here to hold each other's hands while things just fall apart? The old die, the healthy die, the little ones get sick, the sick ones hurt, and we all sit at our computers and watch? We watch and pray and, then what? Do our words of comfort really help, or do they just help us? What do we take away from it all? Realization that we are lucky? But what does that mean? And what if we aren't lucky? My God, someone reading about a sick baby one day, and kissing their kids goodnight could be facing the same damn thing not 24 hours later. A car wreck, a blood test, a fall on the green slope, for crying out loud.

The whole reason I started blogging was to face my fears head on. Say (well, type) the words that have been spinning around in my head for 15 years now. Almost exactly 15 years. The words that the "real" people in my life don't want to hear, or shouldn't have to hear. Barring a miracle, I will have to watch my son die. I will have to hold his hand, stroke his blonde hair and tell him goodbye. And then somehow, pick up the pieces and continue to live. But it's not my time right now, and God willing, it won't be for a long, long, long time. It seems to be just about everyone else's time, though. Loss everywhere I look, making me, somehow, one of the lucky ones. Now how silly am I for even thinking about myself or my distant sadness when everybody, everybody, is hurting so very badly?

I'm confused and sad... not really sad for me, but for all of us. But I am not going to walk away. I am not sure what I can do or what it all means. I don't know...

Tuesday's Tribute: The Next Best Thing to Hell

2009-03-24T06:59:00.006-04:00

Okay, most of you, it seems, have younger children, so this may be totally lost on you. If, after I explain, you still don't know what I am talking about, could you please just pretend to be appalled, annoyed and sympathetic to my plight?

Today's tribute goes out to the "group project", assigned by only the most clueless and/or satanic of teachers. This particular type of assignment involves a) other students and b) work outside of school. "Oh, that sounds fun!" you say? Uh, not so much. And here's why:

Somehow, my son, without fail, whether assigned or chosen, is grouped with the total dregs of the school. We're talking about the kids that are just one pot-smoking, vandalism incident away from military school. Where are the smart, organized girls when you need them?

Once the group is assigned, I am always amazed at the total lack of a plan. It always comes down to the wire. Always.

Me: "When is your group getting together and where are you going to meet?"

Moody Teen: "Uhhhh, I don't know."

Me: "Okay, well do you guys want to meet over here this weekend?"

Moody Teen: "None of them have rides. Can we go get them?"

Me: "Sure. When?"

Moody Teen: "Well, Tom has to meet with his probation officer and Kevin's parents are taking his sister to rehab, so it'll probably have to be next weekend."

Me: "Isn't the whole project due the very next day?"

Moody Teen: "Yeah, but it's okay. We'll get it done."

Me: ....

So the group usually ends up getting one shot to complete the project. And by that time, I am just so over it, I breathe a sigh of relief that they will have something to hand in, even if it is a wadded up piece of notebook paper, with chicken scratch on it.

And then, typically, I load the geniuses back up into my car to drive them home and am completely stunned (although at this point, I shouldn't be) when one of the boys can't give me directions to his own house! Guess his fried brain can only handle so much information in a day. Good grief...

Yet Another Jay and Deb Production.

Blogversations: Knitwit

2009-03-21T11:00:00.000-04:00

Has it really already been a week since my last mindless drivel? I may eventually cave under the pressure of having a weekly topic (which, to me, is the close cousin of homework), but so far, so good... sort of. I'm kind of thinking I may have hit a new low.

So let's get on with it, shall we? And remember, you have Summer to thank.

Now head on over to Le Musings of Moi to check out the real talent.

1st Annual Swap Meet

2009-03-20T11:43:00.007-04:00

I am organizing an activity that will hopefully be such a huge and overwhelming success, that it becomes a yearly event. Let's call it The Dirty Socks & Pizza Annual Swap Meet and Picnic. Since I can't stand having people in my home, I will have to scout out a proper venue for the big day. Maybe the National Mall? Everyone knows where that is, and you can all go be patriotic and/or complain to your ego-driven, corrupt, tele-evangelist, fiscally irresponsible lawmakers while you're here (I'll handle Dodd)! Maybe if I can get my act together quickly enough, it'll be held next month when all the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. Be sure to bring your cameras, Zyrtec and Patanol (I only have enough for me, and refuse to share). Admittance will be free (aren't I nice?) and a picnic lunch will be provided (you can bet if I am hosting, food will be a large part of the event).

Let's see, what else? Oh, I guess you'll need to know what items to bring for the swap. Unfortunately, this is not your typical flea market or junk swap. The focus of the swap is rather narrow... specifically, children. Yep, that's right. Kids. Any and all. Teens, babies, toddlers... Even the dreaded tweens are welcome for swapping. There will be no pre-screening required nor will there be any sort of dress code or behavioral guidelines. Anything goes. However, in an effort to successfully swap your child, you may want to bring proof of citizenship and dental records.

I will have both of my boys available to swap. My 15 y.o. has excellent teeth that won't require braces. The 12 y.o. can play music by ear and writes poetry. If you bathe them regularly, the smell should subside. Oh, and unfortunately, I seemed to have misplaced their report cards. Sorry. They do, however, have current passports and are ready for international travel. Feel free to take them far, far away. In turn, I will be looking for a 24 y.o. accountant that likes bagel bites and pop tarts and is making enough money to live on his own (and possibly support his new parents).

Further information on date and time of the swap: TBA.

Tuesday's Tribute: Spaceman

2009-03-15T19:36:00.004-04:00

I'll tell you straight up... I'm cheating. I am sitting here on Sunday night writing my Tuesday's Tribute. But as I watch the crazy combination of magic, science and miracle that is the shuttle launch, I realize that none of it would be possible without the hard work and dedication of my father-in-law.

Yep, it's true. My almost 88 year old father-in-law helped design the very first space shuttle way back before we'd even landed on the moon. If you do the math, you realize they didn't have too many computers sitting around the lab back then. Their secret weapon? The slide-rule!

I could also tell you many stories about his service to our country. He is a decorated veteran of both WWII and the Korean War. He was a B-24 navigator who once had to eject from his plane, ended up landing in a brussels sprouts field and breaking his back. He was the lone survivor of that crash.

But I am sure he would want me to tell you that his greatest accomplishment has been raising his three kids... the youngest being the man I married almost 18 years ago.

Happy Birthday, Granddaddy!

Who's on your mind today? Link up and let us know!

Yet Another Jay and Deb Production.

Musical Monday: My New Leaf

2009-03-15T17:56:00.009-04:00

I don't know... This is big. I'm not sure how I am going to accomplish it, but I so want to try. I have got to figure out a way to start showing more tolerance and compassion toward others. I don't know what my deal is. I am most excellent at extending an open heart and mind to those who are different, those in need, those who can't help themselves. But I run into major problems with those who have no excuse. Those who are intolerant or close-minded themselves. Those who appear superior or judgmental. How do I show compassion to those people? How do I keep from getting irritated and rendering them not worthy? How do I stop myself from being hypocritical and just see them as human. Like me. Imperfect, but lovable.

I don't know... But this song sure puts me in the mood to try!

rent seasons of love
Uploaded by avajra

Now go see Jori and the rest of the gang (hint, hint). She'll have you dancin'!

Blogversations: Show & Tell

2009-03-14T08:16:00.001-04:00

Ms. Summer over at Le Musings of Moi has lured me in with her welcoming blog, sweet smile and hair expertise (tell me, could you resist?). She hosts Blogversations on Saturdays, and I am joining in the fun today.

And in other news, I am still accepting comments about my overwhelming beauty and stylishness here. I'll announce the grand total that I'll be sending over to Jay on Monday.

Without further ado, I present to you my Saturday show and tell. Come join the fun over at Summer's!

Tales From the Pig Sty

2009-03-13T08:39:00.008-04:00

Can I just tell you that my house can go from fairly straight to a complete disaster in a blink of an eye? I think the scientific term is spontaneous combustion. Sure, I can make some real messes, and yes, I do usually abandon them, but I at least make sure someone (hi honey!) is there to clean it up. But the rest of my family simply does not have a clue. I am constantly picking up random stuff that everyone leaves all over. And just yesterday it was as if Hansel and Gretel had used Lucky Charms, instead of breadcrumbs to find their way out of Moody Teen's bedroom. Fine, whatever... I really don't mind the small stuff, if it can be kept under control. HOWEVER...

I heard a loud crash in Moody Teen's bathroom this morning, while he was showering. I rushed in to discover the ENTIRE shower curtain/rod lying on the bathroom floor, while MT continued to shower. Uh, hello? You want to, maybe, pick that up? He started to yell at me, and it did finally occur to me that he was naked, so I closed the door to let him handle things with some dignity and privacy.

Well, well, well, I went upstairs to start my regularly scheduled waking of the lizard, making of the beds, etc and I happened to glance into his bathroom. Silly me, thinking perhaps MT would have, at the very least, picked up the curtain/rod combo and tossed it into the tub. And I just love the added touches of the UNcapped toothpaste tube on the rug, the toilet paper off its roll, and the random bit of foil in the sink. Oh, and let's not forget the ever-present wet towel wadded up on the floor. And even though decorum dictated that I did not photograph it, yes, there is pee (I hate that word, but urine sounds so nerdy) in the unflushed toilet.

It's Only Hair, Right? RIGHT??!!

2009-03-12T12:52:00.005-04:00

Well, let me tell you, Jay's not the only one that can do something drastic in the name of a good cause. In a rash and un-well-thought-out show of solidarity, I decided to chop off all of my hair, too. However, there was no way I would go completely bald. Except now that it is done, I might as well have. Root Watch '09 was starting to cause major problems, I realized, when I accidentally caught a glimpse of myself in mirrors outside of my home yesterday (the ones in my home are carefully vetted magic mirrors). So, stupid, impetuous me got my hair cut this morning. The good news is I am a giant step closer to getting "back to my roots". The bad news is I look like Napoleon Dynamite.

So in an effort to boost my rapidly waning self-confidence, I am seeking external validation from the one place I know I can get it (and not actually have to hear the laughs). And I am willing to pay for it! But before you get all giddy, here's what I am going to do...

For every comment (one per person, por favor) telling me what a babe I am (and you don't even have to mean it!), I will donate $0.50 to Jay's head-shaving-cancer-curing fiesta. I may have to cap it, or I may force everyone to actually be honest, if comments surpass available funds (I have kids to put through college, people). We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

I guess all that's left is the big reveal...

Can't We All Just Get Along?

2009-03-12T07:25:00.003-04:00

I arose from my slumber this fine morning, opened my laptop while waiting for Moody Teen to finish his 25 minute shower, and saw the following article on my iGoogle homepage. I think I am just going to take a page from VodkaMom's play book and encourage drinking. Lots and lots (and lots) of drinking. Don't worry, I am more than happy to take the lead on this.

Oh, and I am glad everyone enjoyed my interview with Le Bean. I've asked, on your behalf, if he would return on a regular basis. He told me to make him some chocolate milk and contact his agent.

Anyway, to the business at hand:

Make Jello Shots - wikiHow

Family Secrets Exposed!

2009-03-11T06:30:00.002-04:00

So, Summer over at Le Musings of Moi and Jenni Jiggety interviewed their kids last week, and it was just so dang cute, I had to give it a try. Uh, let's just say Moody Teen could not have been more sullen and morose, and in the end I deleted the video because I was afraid it would scare people (I am simply used to the awful behavior, and really kind of over it). Well, that left me with my sweet Mr. Beans. Other than the fact that he is only marginally more cooperative than MT, and calls me out on my guilty pleasure, the video is pretty benign. Unfortunately, it cuts out right before his impression of my (apparently) obnoxious and sea-creature-like laugh. Oh darn.

But I guess the real issue that has come to light is I need to start paying more attention to the back of my hair. Disturbing!

Tuesday's Tribute: The Miracle of True Friendship

2009-03-09T20:37:00.007-04:00

Today I would like to pay tribute to a special friendship that has somehow survived the tests of time, distance, fights, boys, heartbreak, even more time, and greater distance. I have not had many of these relationships, but it's not the number that counts. If you are blessed with even one, be smart enough not to test it, and just enjoy. It's one of the greatest gifts your heart will ever receive.

Who's on your mind today? Link up and let us know!

Yet Another Jay and Deb Production.

Friday's Hi Five: Top 5 Reasons to Follow Halftimelessons.blogspot.com

2009-03-05T16:57:00.009-05:00

The train has not yet left the station, so it's not too late. I am sure most of you already do, but if you don't yet follow Mr. Sunshine over at Halftime Lessons... the time is now.

So, for those of you who are a) stubborn or b) repulsed by his twisted humor, let me give you five great reasons to follow his blog (at least for the next 3 weeks... then feel free to cut him loose!):

1) He is using his super powers for good, instead of his usual evil. That's right, he is taking your spare change, tax refund, disposable income or cash you found while raiding your son's closet (who, me?), and is turning it into a cure for pediatric cancer. I know... Pretty impressive.

2) You will get to point and laugh at him when he shaves his head. Personally? I think the bald head will suit him. But maybe it won't, and we can laugh and laugh and laugh at him. Really... He told me we can.

3) You might be able to score something for yourself. Yep, I've got the inside scoop (because I threatened to show more photos of Prom '85), and he has some pretty cool stuff up his sleeve for the next couple of weeks. Let's just say, you may not walk away empty handed! And, be honest... Except for on Tuesdays, it really is all about you.

4) He has low self-esteem. Now I know that true self-acceptance has to come from within, and I plan to talk to him about that, but for now, let's throw some external gratification his way.

5) One day, when he is on Oprah, discussing his latest book or movie (because, believe me, he will be famous for something), you will want to be able to say, "I knew him when..." and then take note of what a self-obsessed freak Oprah is.

So help a girl out and go visit his blog. Oh, and make sure you follow him in the next coming weeks. I really don't want to be left alone with him.

This PSA was made possible by the fabulous Angela over at Angela's Adventures and Minor Mishaps. Go check her out for more Friday's Hi Five Fun!

Flaming Potato Bags!

2009-03-04T14:11:00.002-05:00

WW: Proud to Be an American

2009-03-04T08:02:00.004-05:00

Even though I am allowed to be wordy on Wordful Wednesday, the details are just too weird and complicated to get into. Suffice it to say, I am now legally allowed to reside and drive in the United States of America. Yay!

I will say, since I can't just leave well enough alone, that how this all went down only encourages my bad behavior. The passport came in record time, without a word about my expired license being used as documentation. I waltzed right into the DMV with my new passport and scored a new driver's license without having to take the written or driving tests (I did almost fail the vision test, however. Oh, but no fights!). I don't know if I learned any lesson at all. I guess we'll find out in seven years, when it comes time to do this all over again.

So, all things considered, I suppose it serves me right that I look like I am hoarding nuts for the long winter inside my cheeks.

For more fun and photos, go visit my girl Angie!

Tuesday's Tribute: Puppy Love

2009-03-03T09:19:00.006-05:00

I figured I should pay tribute to my husband today, as this may be the last time I can come up with anything nice to say for a while. In fact, I may not make it through this post.

Let me just tell you that there is no one on this earth that is better suited for me. He makes me laugh, he loves to gossip, and he capitulates on a regular basis... We really are soul mates. Wait, can you want to murder your soul mate? See? The anger and frustration have already taken over and I can't control my words any longer.

Here's the deal: My wonderful husband is a dog freak. But not just any kind of dog, which, to me, is kind of elitist and dogist. He looks down upon cute, eternally puppy-like, small dogs, and loves big, sloppy, messy, drooly dogs. Gross. Right now, we have one of each, which sort of works out fine. Let's just say, I've come to terms.

Well, now, he has big plans to bring another dog into our home. We are already borderline weird, dirty, dog people. The fur tumbleweeds are everywhere, and you all know how I feel about having to feed the animals on a daily basis. It just doesn't seem right. What would they do in the wild? Don't tell me they wouldn't skip a meal every now and again.

Anyway, there are many reasons this is not a good idea. We like to travel, and boarding two dogs is expensive... so just imagine three! And please, you know who will be the one training it!

This is all just too overwhelming to even type. I'm going back to bed. But please, play along so I will have something else to think about when I awake.

Yet Another Jay and Deb Production.

KMBFBAG: Because Oprah Says So

2009-03-02T08:37:00.001-05:00

I remember watching Oprah back when she wasn't an egomaniacal, judgmental, crazy, know-it-all cult leader (or at least when she wasn't as much of one), and her words have stuck with me. She was discussing exercise and how much she hated it. She explained that once you start exercising, your metabolism will adjust to it, and you hit a plateau. In turn, you will have to amp up your workout, or it essentially becomes ineffective. So the calories you once burned running one mile begins to take two miles to burn. Then three, and then four. And then eventually, 900. Completely unacceptable.

So I write all of this to say, I've decided to work out only once a week. I don't have time to be chained to my treadmill 8 hours a day, 7 days a week, just to burn off a slice of pizza. Well, I guess I do have the time, but who wants to live like that? Besides, who am I kidding? It's never just one slice of pizza... It's one pizza. That could end up taking years!

Well, I hit the gym on Saturday, so I am right on target for the week. I did a little better with my eating, sort of sticking to my basic "diet standards". I definitely could have done better. I recall eating a couple of cookies here and there, but no major stress-relieving pig outs.

The bad news is the weight's not falling off. The good news, however, is I think the weight gain has come to a halt. Hey, I might be onto something with this once a week thing!

It's not too late to jump on the KMBFBAG train! Go see Tena... She's shrinking before our very eyes.

Saturday Showdown

2009-02-28T15:13:00.010-05:00

So this morning, my husband informed me that my puppet wrinkles are not, in fact, wrinkles, but rather sagging skin (aka jowls. JOWLS!). Instead of a quick restylane injection, what I really will need is a face lift. Would somebody please remind me to poison his food?

I don't know if it was residual anger from the jowl diagnosis, or what, but I managed to get in a bit of a scuffle with a lovely couple at the gym today. I should preface the story with some background info...

I am a former showdown queen. I have made store managers cry, several random people threaten me with physical violence, and a water filtration salesman run from my house in fear of his life. It used to be that I would let my emotions rule my actions, causing the gloves to come off rather quickly, and the fur to fly. However, I have mellowed in my old, saggy-jowled age, and tend to let most things slide. But not today. Oh, no.... Not today.

I guess the details don't really matter. A guy took my spot in class and I politely pointed it out to him. Instead of moving, he ignored me. I will admit that I then began talking loudly to my husband about how this guy took my saved spot. His wife turned around and spoke to me, irritating me with her stupid comments. Sorry, but if you engage me, be prepared, right? RIGHT?! (please, somebody say "right!")

So things kind of escalated from there. I made a couple of slightly sarcastic remarks to the wife. Then the perpetrator/husband started in on me. My hubs did the whole, "If you get into with my wife, you get into it with me!" He may have even pushed up his sleeves. The husband/perpetrator actually ended up running off in a huff, leaving his wife alone in the class. She then proceeded to try to bait me throughout the class, and I basically ignored her. Apparently, it had taken her over a month to convince him to come to the gym with her, and I had sent him packing, never to return. Really?! Seems to me, he has bigger issues, if his status at the gym was so fragile.

I felt completely justified in my behavior at the time, but am starting to feel guilty. I am wondering why I keep thinking the right thing to have done was to not say anything and not stand up for myself. That doesn't seem fair.

Anyway, happy Saturday.

There's a New Lesbian in Town

2009-02-27T06:21:00.000-05:00

That's right... Move over, Jay. You may very well have been replaced.

So yesterday, I felt the need to complain about my rapidly and disturbingly deteriorating physical appearance (hello? puppet wrinkles!). And, like the amazing, truly incredible women that you all are, you quickly came running, ready to commiserate with me. But then I got the most ridiculous comment from our resident 1/2 woman lesbian. If I didn't know better, I would have thought a man wrote it. I couldn't believe my eyes. It went something like this:

"You are a beautiful and smart lady blah blah blah..." I stopped reading before I became physically ill. What??? Any woman worth her wrinkles and $250 heels knows not to try to convince a woman she's beautiful!!! A real gal pal needs to jump on board and wallow in the self-pity! So disappointing.

Which brings me to CaJoh... Unlike Jay, he instinctively knew what to say (paraphrasing here):

"That's right, girlfriend. You should see my white hair... It makes me look older than dirt!" And this was after he posted one of his quick and easy recipes on his blog!

This has me thinking... Should we make them duke (claw?) it out, or is there room in this town for the two of them?