I just read the dumbest article -- "How to Say No Without Saying No".  It was in Redbook online.

 

First, I don't often read Redbook. It's a little too female for me.  While I didn't read the entire article, it was basically saying no to your kids without them realizing that they're getting a no answer.  It involved explaining and backtracking and compromising.

 

So what's wrong with saying No?

 

Half the problem with kids nowadays is that they can't handle "no".  The world doesn't owe them an explanation, nor will they get one most of the time, when they hear no from outside their families.  So isn't it doing an injustice to kids to always be explaining yourself away?  Perhaps the little darlings just need to respect the fact that mom or dad have said no, & that's the end of it. 

Haven't been around much; haven't had much to blog about.

 

I've been busy with the normal stuff -- cardio kickboxing, carting the kids around, trying to keep up with the house (at which I've actually been a bit successful recently).  I've also acquired an addiction to Guitar Hero for the Wii, and in less than a month's time I've beaten GHIII on Easy & Medium, and GH Aerosmith edition on Medium (didn't bother with that one on easy).

 

It all seems to be a way to pass time to keep from dwelling on junk. I've been having the "What am I going to do with my life" thoughts again -- I feel like I should be doing more than I am, but I don't know what it is that I should be doing.  I'm approaching it very selfishly - I love kickboxing, and I want to be home for my kids and at night with the whole family, but I feel like I should be working, too - at least part time. 

 

I'm also bothered by the fact that I don't feel like I have an ounce of creativity left in me.  I used to feel like a creative person, and regularly took the time out to do something along those lines, even it was just doodling or doing a little calligraphy.  Now when I get an odd hour that I don't have to be doing something else, I'm almost afraid to take out the paints or watercolors because I'm not sure I'll be able to doodle anything worth looking at.  Silly, I know, but I used to really enjoy these things, and now I don't feel quite capable of doing them anymore.  Or I feel like I shouldn't be doing them, like I should be doing something worthwhile ... which goes back to ... I don't know what that is.

 

I don't want to be in school again.  I don't want to work at a grocery store or have a daycare or be a receptionist.  I want to feel like, while the kids are in school & Nick is at work solving scads of problems and being productive, that I'm productive, that I'm doing something worthwhile in the time I have to myself.  I just need to figure out what that might be.

I've always considered Thanksgiving to be a big deal.

 

When we were kids, it generally meant anywhere from 15 to 20 people sitting down to dinner at our house.  One year, when my grandfather's health was starting to decline, my dad had his 5 siblings and a variety of their kids, along with my grandparents, over to dinner, as well as my mom's sister's family & aunts & uncles.  All in all there were over 40 people for dinner that year - we had to clear the furniture out of our family room to make room for huge tables that were actually a train table my dad had built for his electric model trains.  One aunt brought a portable oven (like a big toaster oven) and there was a turkey roasting in it, sitting on the hearth, in the family room, to go along with the huge turkey my mom had roasting in the kitchen.  It was probably one of the few times that many members of our extended family had gotten together.  Except for the Cold Duck (yuck!) that one uncle used to bring, it was a very good time. 

 

Over the years, Thanksgivings got a bit smaller, and then larger again, although not to the scale of that one dinner.  It's become a more stressful tme of year as I've grown up, gotten married to my better half who's birthday falls right around Thanksgiving (this year, ON Thanksgiving) and had kids, and we now must travel to two different houses to celebrate the holiday.  We usually spend as much time in the car travelling as we do at either house, and by the end of the day, we're all exhausted. 

 

I've always considered Thanksgiving to be one of the more important national holidays, and am annoyed at anyone who ignores it as trivial. 

 

Of course, I now equate Thanksgiving with the death of my father, so it's never a completely happy day for me.  This year will be better, since it's also Nick's birthday, but I'm more sensitive, more prone to mood swings, more prone to sadness at Thanksgiving. 

 

But in the spirit of the day, I thought I'd write down some of the things that I'm thankful for.  Just a few quick jottings, so I'm not spending too much time on the computer.

 

 I'm thankful for my family, ALL of my family.  Nick & the kids.  My siblings, who tied me to a chair when I was a kid, and had countless ways of tormenting me for the crime of being the youngest.  My favorite, I think, was being my one sis's personal "remote control" before such a thing existed in our house.  There was nothing quite so annoying as being called downstairs, away from my book, to change the channel for the slug laying on the sofa.  My parents, who had me last.  And all of my inlaws, who make life so much more interesting just by contributing their variety of personalities & senses of humor to our family.

 

I'm thankful for my friends, who along with the family, make me laugh, cry, listen to me bitch, and generally are a lot of fun.

 

I'm thankful for my health, which even as I near the big 4-0, feels no different than it did when I was in my 20's.  Better, actually, since I used to smoke, and haven't now for over 11 years. 

 

I'm thankful for all the beauty in the world -- sunrises (which admittedly, I rarely see), sunsets, animals, flowers, oceans, mountains. 

 

I'm thankful for living in a country where I can freely write down my opinions & not worry that I'd get shot for them if they didn't conform to what someone else thought was the "right" way to think.  I'm thankful for living in a country where no one can tell me I have to wear a headscarf or a burkha or have to walk 5 steps behind the males because I'm not equal to walking with them. 

 

I'm thankful for living in a country where it's not yet a crime to believe in God (although some people act like it's a crime to talk about it).

 

I'm thankful for the soldiers - men & women - who are around the world instead of home with their families for the holidays, putting themselves in the way of danger to try & keep foreign scumbags from ever endangering the US again, and who are helping people rebuild countries torn apart by dictators.

 

But most of all, I'm selfishly thankful for the people in my life -- Nick, Kid1 & Kid2, who make me happy on a daily basis, and for my parents, siblings, nieces & nephews ... I miss everyone who's no longer with us, but I'm glad I have so many people around me to love and be loved.

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Okay. A few weeks ago, I posted about an upcoming sex ed class that the school was ramming down the kids throats - er, I mean, highly suggesting that they participate in. I had to ask Kid1 several times for the permission slip, and she finally gave it to me last week. About an hour after she gave it to me, she wandered into the kitchen. "Mom? Did you fill out the permission slip?" "Yes, Honey. It's already in your backpack, with your homework." "Mom? Did you fill it out for me to go to the puberty talk?" "Yes, Sweetie, I did - but I think we'll talk about it some, before you actually go." "Ummm." not a happy sounding "ummm", either, I might add.

Kid1 was not pleased about having to go to the puberty talks. Told me she was nervous about it and didn't really want to know the stuff yet. I tried to allay her fears, pointing out that she already knew the female side of things, now she'd just have a handle on how everything fit together. No pun intended, btw - this is an 11 year old kid!

So, this weekend, I have some time alone with Kid1. I review the female puberty experience/reproductive system. Then I start going through the information that will be presented, and why (they're trying to lower the teen pregnancy rate in Delaware). We talk about the logistics of being a teen parent, and why it's a situation you don't want to find yourself in.

Then, I cover the male terminology. Other than the word "penis", she didn't know any male terminology, and it became increasingly evident (by her actions) that she was not comfortable with the knowledge. I managed to get in a talk about the scrotum, testicles, & sperm, and how the sperm exits the penis. I couldn't bring myself to say the words "wet dream" to her, although I did explain that while boys don't get a monthly reminder, they do have times of excitement that lead to - well, I don't remember how I put it, but I'll say spillage for the purposes of this writing. Except for some "eeewws" , "gross"es and "Yuck"s, she seemed pretty calm and okay with the information once we had time to discuss it.

I tried to springboard into the next logical step - human reproduction. SEX!!!!! As I tested the waters, saying maybe we should talk about how a woman becomes pregnant, my daughter stopped me.

"Mommy, I feel sick. I mean, my stomach feels sick. I mean, it feels like I've been riding a roller coaster for two hours, upside down & backwards. I don't want to know anymore."

"Okay, sweetie. We can talk about this a little later."

"NO!!! I don't want to talk about this later!!! Not soon, anyway!!!!"

We chatted a few more minutes, with me assuring her that this knowledge changes nothing in her life right now, it's just knowledge that she will someday need, and that if she has any questions, or anything that she needs to talk about - opinions welcome! - she can come to me & I'll listen & answer as best I can. She sort of grinned, and scurried off to the world of Webkins, where there's no such thing as sex beyond the gender of your pet, and tried, metaphorically, to scrub out the knowledge I had just imparted to her by building a virtual house for her Webkin.

I knew she wasn't ready - she's not interested, not asking. Now I have to decide whether she'll continue with the program or not. Today's talk was somewhat boring - mostly it was the ground rules for communication during the program. But I've already told her that if she doesn't feel comfortable continuing - and she was quite disconcerted, I might add, about it being a boy/girl group instead of having the safety of females only in case she wanted to ask questions - if she doesn't feel comfortable continuing, I'll respect her decision and pull her out. Right now I'm running a day-to-day approach - Wednesday is the day that intercourse is covered, so I have one day more ("One more day until the sex talk, we will nip it in the bud/we will play with toys and puzzles, no talk of making love!" sorry, random Les Mis paraphrase there) to gauge her response to all this, and whether it's good for her ---

I know that some people might think I'm odd for worrying over this. Most people that I've spoken with fall into 2 categories: Those who have children, and can sympathize with my dilemma because they've either been there (having sex talks with the kids) or know they will be soon, and how it signals an end to a childhood innocence or, second category - those who don't have children, and don't think it's a big deal to discuss sex with kids. The dividing line really seems to be whether or not you're a parent, regardless of how young your kids started asking questions.

So, I guess I'm wondering - the popular wisdom which I've approached this with for years is always - answer what's asked, and don't force more than they want to know - kids will tell you when they've heard enough. My daughter has definitely stated she's heard enough! So, do I buck popular wisdom & make her continue on because that's what the school wants????

 

 

 

As I sit here in my jammies, sipping my coffee and snuggling deeper into a heavy blanket that I've wrapped around my shoulders, I think to myself, "This is Spring?"

 

Technically, the calendar turned over from winter to spring somewhere around 8pm on March 20th.  Right now, it's 32 degrees, and my weather forecaster on the front page of the blog is calling for SNOW tomorrow.  Hello? This is APRIL 6TH, PEOPLE!!!  This is the Mid-Atlantic, not the Midwest!, or the Lake States, or the Northeast!!! SNOW IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE FORECAST!!!!

 

And so it begs the question - just where is the global warming that we were promised is happening?  Apparently, not in New Castle, Delaware.  My poor daffodils outside are so confused -- they started emerging in December, and then sort of stopped, and then again in January got a little taller, and then froze solid in February -- they finally bloomed in March, but are looking pretty sad right now.  My crocuses croaked before they ever really bloomed. 

 

The only one happy with the turn of weather is, I think, the cat.  Mama Pickles has made a perfect nest for herself in the pile of sheets and quilts in the center of my bed. She looks so content it's almost offensive.  Of course, as I type, Kid2 just let loose with a shriek of "Kitty!' and sailed across the room, diving on to the bed and generally ruining her serenity.  She's stubborn, though -- even with a 7 year old crawling around the bed, she's managing to reposition herself into a tight little ball to defend against future tackles. 

 

What a crappy week for "Spring Break".  I'm seriously considering giving the kids breakfast and then wrapping up in a quilt for the duration of the day, ignoring all the stuff that needs to be done and going for a little early spring hibernation with a book and the DVD remote.  The player holds 5 DVD's for a reason, right?

 

 

 

 

Today I turned 39 years old.  I actually snapped 2 photos of myself - 1 without hair/makeup done, 1 with, so I can remind myself, when I'm thinking about all the women who get stuck on 39 as the last age they'll ever be -- how I look today, so I'll know 10 years from now if 49 is that much worse than 39.

It's been a really good day.  I went to lunch with one of my favorite sisters and my mom, got lots of birthday wishes, and had a good dinner and then cupcakes with Nick & the kids.  I love my birthday present from them!!  Can't wait to see it in action ... I'll have to take before & after pictures. 

 

So, another birthday draws to a close.  I feel very good, and also very unremarkable - I really don't feel much different than I did turning 19, or 29.  Maybe I should feel different, but I really don't.  It's funny how the mind stays young but the body ages - kind of unfair, if it gets to the point that the body won't do what the mind wants it to do.  Working very hard not to let that happen!

 

 

I have had a lot of stuff I've wanted to blog about recently, and I'm starting to forget what it was that I wanted to say.  It's all getting jumbled up in the everyday scurrying around in the rat race.

 

One of the first things I wanted to blog about -- a trip down memory lane.

 

Last weekend, while at friend Sped's house, her daughter and niece had a friend over who is intensely interested in Photography.  If their arts high school has a major in Photography, it's safe to say this girl is majoring in it.  The girls were on a post-photo session high, giggling over photos taken at a local park, in an abandoned building.  Very rustic, crumbling, falling down building.

 

It was like stepping back to my senior year in high school, and the 4 years that followed, hanging out with my friend Kelly, who earned a Bachelors of Fine Arts degree in Photography and who was, in my opinion, truly gifted with an artists' eye, particularly when it came to photographic composition.  I remember her photographing me & a mutual friend in a park not far from our house, walking in the woods, climbing on crumbling walls, going through a meadow.  Going to visit her at a workshop studio in summer one year, and being photographed on the rocks above the chilly Atlantic ocean as waves crashed and tossed frothy spume twenty feet up to where we sitting.  It is the only time I've allowed myself to be photographed in a bathing suit, and a bikini, at that!!!

 

I remember waiting for her to finish in the darkroom (no digital cameras with slideshows 5 minutes later, then!) and the smell of the chemicals.  I remember helping her sort through photos for presentations.  Saying no to posing nude for her human body study.  Going to her exhibits. 

Most of all I remembered all the fun we had while we were screaming around town and countryside in her father's Lincoln Town car, and then in her little brown Hyundai, driving up to Maine and back, down to the Jersey shore and back, and every backroad in Delaware & in Chester County, with music blaring from the radio, singing along to "Joy to the World" by Three Dog Night and "Cecilia" by Simon & Garfunkel.  It almost hurt to think of all the fun we had, and the fact that we fell out of touch, as friends so often do, when one gets married.

 

I had an email address for my old friend that was 5 years old - I did hear from her, briefly, back in 2002.  After some mulling it over, I sent an email, figuring the address probably wasn't good any longer.  No surprise, it wasn't.  So, being the industrious person that I am, I went online & tried to find a new email address for her.

 

When I googled her name (her married surname is fairly uncommon, so I had no qualms about finding the right individual) - I didn't find a new email or street address for her.  What I did find was a county records of divorces in 2006, listing her and her husband.  It made me so sad to think that my old friend, who always had such a passion for life and fun and people and who had so many wonderful qualities, had to go through another bunch of sadness in her life that led to a divorce.  I don't know and can't even guess why they would have gotten divorced.  I didn't really know the man she married very well to hazard a guess or assign blame to one side or the other.  But it saddened me all the same.

 

 

Yesterday afternoon, I ran some errands, to avoid having to run them today, which was rainy , sleety and slushy.   Because I had spent the morning cleaning my house, I had to go out in the afternoon.  I went to the wholesale club and to WalMart, which are in close proximity to one another.  While the neighborhoods aren't really really bad, the stores are located on heavily travelled roads and are surrounded by a mix of lower income neighborhoods that generate some not so nice traffic, at times, in these stores.

 

So I go to the wholesale club first.  The rules of the place are simple.  First, you have to be a member (you have to pay a membership fee).  Second, you go in at one door, showing your member card to an attendant on duty.  Third, after you have completed your shopping experience and have paid for your stuff, you go to the exit door and another attendant matches your receipt to your merchandise.

 

I hope I've managed to paint a picture that clearly shows there are two separate doors.  One marked "Entrance" and one marked "Exit". 

I was leaving, and was wheeling my overlarge cart through the exit door, or attempting to.  A wild eyed woman comes wheeling up with her cart from outside, trying to get in.  She's looking at me with extreme irritation & practically ramming my cart in her effort to get in.

 

"This is the exit," I offer helpfully, and start to move forward.

She looks at me, annoyed, and tries to push past.

 

"This is the exit," I say again, waiting for her to realize her error and move to the other door.  At this point, people who are attempting to leave are stacking up behind me.

 

She pushes again.  I have no where to go, so I continue blocking her way.

 

"This is the EXIT!"  (you freaking idiot,  I finish silently to myself.)  She looks at me, clearly angry.  I manage to push past her, and the line behind me sort of starts moving, but I do note that after I cleared the exit way, she pushes her way through.

 

Do you speak English?  Can you understand that you're coming the wrong way in a one way, and there isn't room for both of us?  And that I'm not inclined to be indulgent, because I have little patience for people who think that even the simplest of rules does not apply to them????

 

The best "I've had a bad day" vote goes to ...

 

Kid1, who informed me that in the rush to get out of the house yesterday morning so she wouldn't be late for steel drum practice, she wore 2 left shoes to school.  Not only that, but, as I pointed out, they were two differently sized shoes -- her newer sneakers are the same style as her older ones, and they got jumbled together the day before - so she grabbed a 1 1/2 left and a 2 1/2 left and wore them to school.  Her teacher let her go around in socks while she was in the classroom.  I advised her that next time, she should CALL ME and I will more than happily bring her some right shoes (though not necessarily matched to her lefts) so she can at least be comfortable!

 

Last year there was an annoying song by a guy named Gnarls Barkley that got so much airplay even I heard it on the radio (I don't often listen to the radio because I think most new stuff sucks.)  The singer's voice was akin to fingernails on a chalkboard to me, and thankfully it went away.

 

Last night, as Nick & I indulged in some video watching on Yahoo's Launch, we saw a song title that Nick just couldn't pass up clicking on because the title was so bizarre. 

 

It was "If Jesus Drove a Motorhome" by Jim White.  And boy, did it suck.  The lyrics were vapid, the tune was actually quite tuneless, and the guy singing sounded like a 45 record played on 33.  He sounded as interested in what he was singing as I am in the mating habits of aborigines.  And I in no way mean to insult aborigines by using them in the same paragraph as a discussion of this song.

 

While I doubt this song will ever attain the popularity that "Crazy" did towards the end of 2006, it has my vote for the suckiest song of the year.  Or, if it's an old song that I've somehow managed to avoid, the suckiest song I've heard so far this year.  And this includes the one night that I watched wannabes butcher good music on "American Idol". 

 

 

 

 

 

1. Can you cook?
Sort of. I can follow a recipe with the best of them! Nick is the MacGyver of cooking - he can turn 3 pieces of stale bread, some old cheese, olive oil & meat into a scrumptious meal.

2. What was your dream growing up?
Dreams were discouraged in my family, but I always wanted to be able to write like Stephen King.

3. What talent do you wish you had?
I'd love to be able to sing.

4. Favorite place?
In bed snuggled up to my honey. Geographically - the Outer Banks, Corolla area, four wheel drive beach, gazing at the wild horses.

5. Favorite vegetable?
It would be much easier to list the ones I don't like, than to pick a favorite ... but summer fresh tomatoes, still warm from the sun are my favorite. (Be quiet. I, too, know that tomatoes are really a fruit.) Okay, raw sugar snap peas.

6. What was the last book you read?
Fiction: "The Dark Tower" by Stephen King. NonFiction: "High Energy Living" by some PhD.

7. What zodiac sign are you?
Aries. Although people who are "in the know", astrologically speaking, say that my compassion pegs me as more of a Pisces.

8. Any Tattoos and/or Piercings?
Ears pierced, one hole each. But I have a lovely array of spider veins on my left thigh that with a few markers and a bit of patience, I can transform into a lovely butterfly tattoo...

9. Worst Habit?
I worry too much.

10. Do we know each other outside of Livejournal?
Mais, oui, mon amie!

11. What is your favorite sport?
To play: It's been years, but baseball.
To watch: Figure skating, particulary women's singles.

12. Do you have a Negative or Optimistic attitude?
Recently, more optimistic. I did suffer a negative stretch for awhile ...

13. What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me?
Try not to expel gas. Not sing along with the musak. Chat.

14. Worst thing to ever happen to you?
Losing my dad.

15. Tell me one weird fact about you.
Growing up, I used to insist that I was alive and at certain events that occured before I was born (most notably my parents' wedding) and would describe details that I "remembered". Past life shining through, perhaps? (I no longer have these "recollections".)

16. Do you have any pets?
Yes. A cat and a gerbil.

17. Do you know how to do the Macarena?
I've mostly forgotten, but I'm willing to make a fool of myself trying.

18. What time is it where you are now?
11:49am.

19. Do you think clowns are cute or scary?
"We all float down here, Georgie ..." SCARY!!!!!

20. If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be?
I used to want raven black hair, but I'm over that. Right now I'm okay with my looks, but in about 20 years, I'll probably want a nose job (the females in my mom's side of the family tend to end up with very large, bulbous noses, and I fear I've inherited those genes ...)

21. Would you be my partner in crime or my conscience?
Probably crime. I'm much more likely to be sitting next to you saying, "That was fun!" instead of being the one bailing you out.

22. What color eyes do you have?
Russet brown

23. Ever been arrested?
No

24. Bottle or Draft?
Don't drink beer often, but I do enjoy draft if beer's the only choice ...

25. If you won $10,000 dollars today, what would you do with it?
(1) plan a trip to Disney with the kids
(2) Oh, wait - the trip to Disney would probably cost $10,000!

26. What kind of bubble gum do you prefer to chew?
Don't like to chew gum, and I hate bubble gum. However, I would chew a piece of Wrigley's spearmint, if someone offered it.

27. What's your favorite bar to hang at?
Don't like bars

28. Do you believe in ghosts?
Absolutely.

29. Favorite thing to do in your spare time?
Read, doodle, listen to music.

30. Do you swear a lot?
Fuck no. Actually, I used to, before the kids were born, but have since curbed my natural tendencies to gutter eruditedness.

31. Biggest pet peeve?
People who think that fire lanes are their own private parking lots. Followed closely by people who are not handicapped parking in the handicapped spots. (Both happen constantly at my kids' elementary school)

32. In one word, how would you describe yourself?
Intuitive (I'm an INTJ, after all)

33. In one word, how would you describe me (Sped)?
Stunning

 

 

 

If you don't read Stephen King, none of the following will make any sense. Oh, well.

 

After many long years - I read the first book when it was originally published, which was in 1983 or 1984 -- I have finished reading "The Dark Tower" series by sai King.

 

He's not even Stephen King anymore.  Sai King.

 

If you read the series at the beginning and enjoyed it (which I did) and were tickled by the multitudes of cross-references in his other books (I was) and suffered through the dry years when NOTHING about Roland and his ka-tet was published (I had other diversions, loosely grouped into something called LIFE, which made me not too irritated, as I know some readers were) and came back to it, patiently, as more trickled forward - this was the payoff.  The schlag on top of the hot chocolate.  Sprinkled with nutmeg.  If you haven't read the books, you won't understand the references.  Oh, well.

 

The schlag was there, the nutmeg, too.  I think there was even a little caramel sauce, for those of us who like that kind of stuff.  I feel like I've actually accomplished something in having followed this through to the end, even though the final book has been out for a few years.

 

(It took me a LONG time to get through Book 5, Wolves of the Calla.  It lost my interest somewhere and took a few hundred pages to win it back.  But it did, and when it did, the pages turned so quickly the edges were singed.)

 

In a way, in the ending, you have to pity Roland, the gunslinger.  Although it seems he might have learned something in his travels, and I wonder, as the wheel spins, how will that affect his choices?

 

This is a series for dedicated King fans.  I'm not usually one for series -- tell me in one book, maybe two, certainly no more than three ... unless, of course, the books are short and come quickly from the publisher.

 

But in this case, I'm glad I managed to hang on and make it up all those steps to the room at the top of the Tower.

 

 

Last night after I tucked the kids into bed, I came into the office to work on the computer a bit.

 

Kid2 calls out to me, "Mommy!  When you make my lunch for school tomorrow, will you put a note telling me you love me in there?"

 

"Of course, Sweetheart!"  My son gives me the warm & fuzzies.

 

"Me too?" chimes in Kid1.

 

"You've got it," I tell my almost 11 year old daughter.  She probably doesn't realize how much it means to me that she still wants to get the occasional note tucked into her lunchbox, and how happy I am that she hasn't yet hit the point where I'm an embarrassment to her if I give her a hug and kiss on her way into school.

 

Next year is middle school, so I'm realistic - all motherly affection will most likely be publicly verboten. 

 

So, I'm grabbing all I can today.

I just finished the book "For One More Day" by Mitch Albom.  I've read his other 2, and really enjoyed them.  This is another winner.

 

If you've ever lost a parent, there's something that you wish you could do that you didn't get the chance to when you were alive, even if you had a good relationship with that parent.  That's what I think, anyway.  This story is about a man who gets one more day with his Mom, even though in the later years, even the day before he died, he wasn't as attentive as he could have been.

 

In true Mitch Albom style, the story is short and to the point.  It shifts time frames, going from childhood to adulthood to the limbo in which he hangs, spending one more day with his mom -- but the changes are easy to follow.  He has one of the cleanest writing styles I've ever seen.  He doesn't waste a lot of time with descriptions that aren't necessary - you get what you need, and nothing else.  At times the story was so real I felt like I was a ghost in the room, watching the events unfold.

 

Of course, if you don't like poignant stories, this is a definite skip. 

 

On the tissue factor -- I'd give it a 1 out of 5 - it's poignant, but it doesn't rip your heart out.  It doesn't apologize & it doesn't slop over.  But it definitely brought a tear and a sniffle.

 

As I said, it's very short.  I think I invested all of about 3 hours in the reading, and that was with stops this evening to watch some of the First Half Superbowl commercials.  Two hours is probably closer to what I actually spent (I'm also a pretty fast reader.)

 

But I do recommend it.

Friday night, I went to a Party Lite candle demonstration. Nothing against those types of gatherings, but they're normally not my cup of tea. I went for two reasons: one, a friend in the neighborhood was throwing it and she didn't care if anyone bought anything, and I know she gets hostess credit based on the number of people who show up. Two, because I rarely go out without the family, and felt the need to indulge some time with female friends that I don't often get the opportunity to hang out with.

The hostess and her family are all Catholic, and although my friend no longer belongs to the parish she grew up in, her mom, sister and cousin (all in attendance at the party) all still belong to a tight-knit, ethnic parish in the city. Her cousin started talking about a friend's website which was begging prayers for Fr. Tony. "What the hell is wrong with Fr. Tony? I was at )(*^"s website the other day and she's friggin' begging for prayers, is the man on his g(ddamn deathbed? I mean, Jesus, does he have cancer or something? Is he dying, for crying out loud? I mean, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what the hell is wrong that I didn't hear about it?"

In the five minutes that the cousin was speaking (I should add that while I don't know her personally, she was a very friendly person who seemed like she would be a wonderful friend, so I'm not knocking her here) she took everyone's name in vain and used a variey of the venial cus words to solicit information about "Father Tony". As she's talking, I can feel laughter bubbling up inside me -- here's this good Catholic girl, concerned about her priest that she hasn't seen in a while and has some sort of malady, and by the time she's done she needs to go to Confession for the way she expressed her surprise & concern. I managed to keep my laughter to myself, but it came back to me today when, sitting in church, our pastor mentioned how certain words and phrases have made it into our conversation as a matter of course, and words that would've gotten our mouths washed out with soap as kids are now acceptable speech.

I had a really bad dream this morning right before the alarm woke me up.  It's probably one of the few times I've ever been happy to hear an alarm clock or be woken up.

 

In my dream, I had a bunch of kids that I was watching -- Kid1 & Kid2, plus about 10 others.  I had to get them onto school buses, and I had them in 2 groups - one for the older grades, one for the younger grades.  When the buses arrived, there were 3 buses instead of 2.  Kid1 got on the correct bus.  Kid2, however, ran to the first bus that came to a stop and clambered on.  I had to fight my way through the bunches of kids trying to get to him, but by the time I did, the bus driver slammed the door shut & sped away, even though I was shouting that he shouldn't be on that bus.  As it passed me, I saw that all the people on the bus were adults of all ages, and they all had some sort of disability, either phsyical or mental.  They were hanging out of their seats, some with their eyes just rolling in their heads, some eyes shut, mouths hanging open.  Kid2 was the only one on the bus that was sitting up & looking ahead of him, straight & normal.

 

The rest of the dream was me trying to find out where the bus went so I could bring him back.  The schools I called wouldn't tell me where the bus dropped off, and I was driving around trying to find the bus, making phone calls like a madwoman.  I never did find him before the alarm woke me up.

 

 

Yes, it's New Year's Day.  Happy New Year.

 

We rang in 2007 with Kid1 & Kid2, who were insistent on staying up until midnight.  Kid1 was laughing when I told her about how we could watch anything we wanted until 10 minutes before midnight - then we HAD to switch over to Dick Clark's Rocking New Year's Eve, and watch the ball drop. When she asked who Dick Clark was, and I explained to her that he was the youngest looking old guy on TV, she was tickled.  When we switched over & his face came on, she yelled, "AARGH! You weren't kidding!  He's kind of scary!"  In a benevolent, too-many-facelifts and too-much-brown-hair-dye kind of way.  It was actually a bit sad, because he couldn't keep up with the countdown since his speech is still affected by his stroke last year.  Although I had a thought -- with some careful makeup & a little more bouffant to the front of his hair, Ryan Seacrest could be made to look like Dick Clark (at least, I think that's what the host on the ground's name was).  Then we dub in the voice and VOILA!  My generation, and the one immediately before & immediately after, can have New Year's Eve look the way it always has for the next 30-40 years.

 

I figured I had to write something today, being that it's New Years.  We slept in, we're probably having nothing more complicated than soup for dinner, and if I have my way, after I clean up the holiday gift that my cat left in the middle of the living room carpet (hairballs plus 9 Lives, isn't that sweet?) I will be an utter couch potato today - either reading, cross-stitching, or watching a movie with the kids.  Maybe a foray into playing a game, who knows.  But that's about as aggressive a day as I have planned.

 

I don't make New Year's resolutions as a rule because they're a sham.  But after seeing the pics of me that were taken at Friends of Friends dance the other night, I am going to try & keep up with exercising, so I can shed the sack of potatoes look, and eat more fruits & veggies & maybe a little less pasta.  Not putting a number to it, but I want my arms to NOT look like I'm a direct relation to the Pillsbury dough boy.  My skin color I can't do much about - I'm just very white, and don't tan well, so there, I'm stuck.  So I guess I'll have to <gasp> pick up some weights and work on those arms & shoulders.  Ick. 

 

 

In the whole "I want to get my arms looking a little better" thought process --  for Christmas, one of my gifts was a sticky yoga mat - I  requested it, and my husband obliged (although he shook his head at the whole "sticky yoga mat" description).

 

I have to say this is probably the single best piece of exercise equipment that I own.  I don't own a lot -- some handweights, an exercise ball, some resistance bands.  But the sticky yoga mat - I'm a novice where yoga is concerned, but two of my favorite positions -- warrior & triangle - are really hard to do when you're afraid that your feet are going to slip out from under you.  And yoga just can't be done with socks & sneakers on -- you can't get into position unless you're in bare feet for 95% of the motions. Now I can actually feel the difference when I do the positions, thanks to the mat - plank & cobra are easier, too, because I'm not worried about rug burns on my hands and forearms.   Handy little piece of sticky material.  Thanks, Sweetheart!  I'm hoping that this helps the upper body, too ...

Blech.

 

That's the word that comes to mind today when I focus on myself.  Blech. Blah. EEk.  Ick.  I'm running out of disgusting noises.

 

I'm tired. I'm frumpy. I'm about as attractive as a wart on a pimple at the end of a witch's nose.  I feel lumpy, bumpy, and out of shape.  I generally just feel disgusted with myself and the fact that when I'm careful about what I eat, I tend to gain weight, and when I'm not careful, I can fit myself into my clothes, but I look like a sack of potatoes.

 

It doesn't help that I'm partially wallowing in a sugar induced hell.  While I didn't get all of the baking done that I wanted to this holiday season, I did get some of it done ... which means I frequently hear the siren call of oatmeal scotchies, chocolate chip and jubilee cookies.  Join that up with a naturally raging sweet tooth and out of control hormones, and you've got a carb munching monster on a sugar crash that can't seem to eat enough goodies.  That's me!!

 

Half of me wants to heave the rest of the goodies into the trash can and not look back.  The other half would just as happily dig them out and eat them from said trash can.  So I've got the blah humbugs - the I-hate-the-way-I-look, detest-the-way-I-feel, and can't-do-a-damn-thing-about-it-in-time-for-Saturday, when I have to put on a little black party dress and go to a cocktail party I really don't feel all that much like going to in the first place. 

 

I do know this.  If anyone points a camera at me Saturday night, they're going down. 

 

 

The weather today is just plain gray.

 

The sky is gray.  The air is gray.  Even the misty fog this morning, instead of looking white, was gray.

 

Not that I mind.  Or usually,  I don't mind the occasional gray day in the fall.  Especially if I'm free to curl up in a chair with a cup of coffee and a book - it doesn't even have to be a good book, just one that holds my interest - for an hour.  But today I wasn't free to do those things, and so it's just a plain, gray day, with a surreal quality that has persisted since I got in the Jeep this morning to take the kids to school.

 

Today I went with Mom to the cemetery, to visit Pop's grave.  I simply cannot believe that it's been 3 years since Pop died.  This will be the 4th Christmas without him.

 

I hate marking anniversaries this way. Anniversaries should be joyful things, occasions we want to celebrate.  Buying a wooden cross decorated with - this is ironic - evergreens is not my idea of a happy celebration.  I mentioned to Mom that we should get a small Christmas tree for Pop's grave.  No better way, in my opinion, to mark the holiday there -- Pop loved Christmas and most of all, live Christmas trees. 

 

Then, I walk into the house after the day spent at the cemetery and then Christmas shopping, and see the half decorated staircase and a box of decorations waiting to go up.  The weird thing is, today is the first time I've felt in the Christmas mood -- sad anniversaries notwithstanding.  I've been doing Christmas shopping to this point with a methodical, get-it-out-of-the-way approach; today the little bit of shopping I did for the kids felt really good - and I was really happy with everything in the package waiting for me when I got home with gifts that I ordered online on Black Friday.  Got to love that.  All the deals, free shipping, and no ignorant people to deal with along the way.  Christmas shopping in my jammies with a cup of coffee and a box of Jubilee cookies.  That's the way to do it!  About 1/2 of my Christmas shopping will be completed online this year, if not more.  What did people do before Amazon.com?

 

So it's still a very weird, surreal day.  I'm sad, because November 29th will always be a sad day for me.  I'm doubly reminded this year, as a neighbor's father died on Thanksgiving night this year, so she spent the Tuesday after Thanksgiving at the wake, and today, Wednesday after Thanksgiving, at the funeral.  Now there are about 20 cars parked down the street and around the corner at her house.  It's all so familiar.

 

But on the other hand, I actually have started looking forward to Christmas now, not in the "I have to get this done" way I have been feeling, but in the "I want to do these things" sort of way.  Maybe this date has become a benchmark in my mind -- get through Thanksgiving, over 11/29, and pass into the holiday spirit, and I need to just accept the fact that for approximately 1 week in November I'll be in a grumpy, sad, bitchy mood that has nothing to do with PMS.  Hmm.

I really don't have time to be at the computer right now, which is, of course, why I am sitting here typing.  5 minutes. Maybe 10.  No More.

 

Around the more usual aspects of my Saturday - family breakfast, trip to grocery store, prepping dinner & trying valiantly to overcome this stupid cold, I have spent a better part of the day helping Kid1 with her monster project - also known as Ecosystems - and having a blast visiting neighborhood ponds and studying them with her for her chosen ecosystem - pond life.

 

Hopefully I'll be able to fine tune a picture of the beaver we found swimming about our storm water management pond.  Apparently he doesn't know the policy of local residents that states that beavers are not welcome in our neighborhood (several years ago, a resident took it upon himself to have a family of beavers relocated).  This guy was swimming about the pond, chewing on reeds and weeds, and even came on shore specifically to get his picture taken.  That had to be it.  As soon as I took his picture & started walking away, he slid back into the pond & resumed swimming.

 

Next few hours - taking samples of pond water & algae collected today, and looking at them under the microscope.  Kid1 & I have had a blast!  She is as fascinated as I always was by the miniature world that exists in the microscope lens.

 

And now I'm thinking - I want a do-over.  Of my college years, that is.  Screw the business degree.  I should've stuck with Microbiology, where I originally started, studying germs, cocci  and bacillum under the lens of a microscope, and learning who knows what that would've helped who knows who.  I know there was a reason why I quit it & decided on a general Business degree, but I can't remember what that reason was anymore.

 

While I know you're never to old to go back to college, I'm a little beyond the student loan stage.  So I'll need to either find a job working at a college that will pay for me to take courses (note to self - see if U of D is hiring!) or win the lottery so I can go to college.  Need to get that do-over.

This past Sunday was spent up at my mom's house, celebrating birthdays:  my brother and two of my nephews.  It was a good day -- lots of food, plenty of people, lots of activity.

 

I thought it was really funny that one woman who was there was just now revealing that she was pregnant.  The last time I saw her, at another birthday celebration at the middle of August, I asked her if she was planning on having a fourth child - I just thought she was pregnant with no real reason to think so.   When she told me Sunday that not only was she pregnant, she was 16 weeks along, I laughed.  "It was so weird that you asked me that back in August -- I was 8 weeks along, but not telling anyone yet."  For some reason, pregnant women just shine a little brighter to me, or something.  Not that there's a "look" -- I've heard people say that there's a glow to pregnant women, and further along I'd agree -- but early on, when someone is just finding out that they're pregnant, for some reason I pick up on that vibe.  I'm very happy for her & her husband, and hope it all works out well.

 

That was weird enough.

 

Weirder was my reaction to a minor bit of change to the scenery in the vicinity of my parents' house.

 

There's a store on a road about a mile away that I've probably passed by thousands of times.  Until a few yaers ago, it was a store called Countryside Furniture that never did any discernible business, but for at least 2 decades, that's what it was.  It finally closed down a year or two ago, and since has remained vacant.

Except for now.

 

Now it's something else.  And it bothers me because it shouldn't have changed. 

 

I can't remember what it's changed to -- a real estate office or a tatoo parlor or a nail salon -- whatever -- but the landscape has undergone a small and almost imperceptible change.  Something about that change made me really, really miss Pop - I guess it's the first thing in the area that I've really noticed that was always the same that is now different.  It threw the almost 3 years since he died into stark relief against the backdrop of time.

 

Things change.  People die. Businesses close. New ones open.  Children are born.  A weird take on the circle of life.

 

Same storefront, different store.

 

It's another step away from what I was accustomed to.  I've only recently (in the past year) gotten used to going to my mom's and not having Pop there, sitting in his recliner.  It hardly seems fair that I have to get used to even a small change in the neighborhood around the house.

 

Hardly seems fair at all.

 

Today in church, before the priest gave the final blessing, he requested a moment of complete silence, to reflect upon the hour just spent and how it can influence the coming week in our lives.

 

There's something about the sound of silence that awes me. 

 

I'm always amazed when a gathering of people who are busy coughing, scratching, fanning through books, shuffling their feet, scolding their children and whispering amongst themselves can, at request, rein themselves in and fall totally silent.

The silence speaks.  It doesn't always give the same message, but somehow the profound lack of exterior physical sound has a voice of it's own.  The quality of that silence - when it's so quiet you can hear the heartbeat of the person sitting next to you, denotes a reverence that can only be achieved, I think, when a group of people are working to reach a common goal.

Stopping, and waiting, and listening.

 

But mostly, I think, listening.

I'd turn it back at least until the beginning of June, when school let out.

 

2 months ago, the summer stretched out before us, a vista of late snoozing days, a North Carolina vacation with family, days at the pool, maybe a day at the beach thrown in for good measure.  There was time to read, time to linger over puzzles, time to be silly, time to cuddle in bed with Kid1 and Kid2, and on weekends, with Nick, too.

 

In just a few short days, summer will be over, even if the calendar doesn't agree.  In 5 days, the school year begins, and another year of changes.

 

Kid1 will be in 5th grade; Kid2 will be in 1st.  It will be his first time out of the house all day at school, and a part of my heart hurts for both kids - Kid1, who will be graduating elementary school this year, and Kid2, who's really getting started.

 

I miss the half days when I had to rush to fit in the errands to be there in time for pickup.

 

I miss the half days when I had company for lunch.

 

I miss the half days when I could take the kids to the park when all the big kids were at school.  I miss it for Kid1, and now I miss it for Kid2. 

But most of all, I miss the summer that went by too quickly, and the autumn that's coming on fast.  I welcome cooler temperatures and turning leaves; of gardens turning to mums and asters from daisies and petunias.  I just don't want the change, quite yet, of my little ones growing up a little bit more. 

 

I just want them little a little longer.