Just Ducky...so, why be normal?

Go Big Green!

Why be normal? A snowman is just a snowman, but a with a mohawk, he just rocks!

Oh, the weather outside is frightful...

Enjoying a snow day...

Angst takes a plume and scratches feverishly upon the digital parchment

Tonight I had a lovely phone call with my father, who resides (currently, as in during this season) in Florida. My entire family lives there. I am the lone loony tune on the west coast--or am I? Our phone conversation was exactly one hour, two minutes, and forty-three seconds long. A world record conversation, when it comes to my father--whom, incidentally, when in this state will drive 1.5 hours to my home, talk to me for ten minutes, give me a hug, and leave. Yes, he is rather eccentric. I know no one like that.

At any rate, one of the gambits of conversation rested upon my brother, and upon further interrogation, my nephew: Steven. Ah, Steven. I rarely (if ever) use first names here, due to respect of privacy and the ever present specter of the digital world that threatens to haunt us--should we dare utter something incoherent (I frequently do) or worse something not politically correct. Lord knows, anything in history that has wound up in some sort of public medium finds a way of rising from its musty grave of some twenty-odd years or more, and challenging the speaker's credibility--as if we aren't entitled to change our opinion, or become more evolved and more sentient beings as we age. I digress.

My nephew, Steven, and I are only 5 years apart in age. Yes, my brother is nearly 17 years my senior. In a nutshell, without going into particulars, my family has become estranged from my nephew. He has chosen to take his anger toward his father (my brother) out on the entire family, and has eclipsed reason and decided that his father did him wrong, ergo so have I. It is fallacious thinking, but alas, he is only human. I try not to hold it against him. I try.

It has been hard for B.J. and I because over the years, we have tried to reach out to Steven, include him in our lives, and entreat him to allow us into his life. He would make a few baby-steps toward that end, but then forget to follow through with his end of the deal: take our calls, allow us to see him. At any rate, it is difficult (at best) to try to stay in touch with someone who does not wish to be in touch with you. And so, times went by. Two years, as a matter of fact. And within that two years we find that Steven has had a son, Kade. We missed out on 2 years of his sweet little life. Despite our best efforts (could I have tried harder? I will be honest: yes.) Steven, and now his son Kade, slip through our fingers and are lost to the ever shifting sands of time. We hear nothing...nothing...cannot find them...then they show up! A merciful, wonderful, reunion! We are allowed to have a glimpse at Kade and Steven's life.

Fast forward, again, two years. Steven has made us 'persona non grata' and we have not been in his universe. Not, until I get the horrifying phone call last January (2007) that Kade has been killed. We are devastated. We were denied access to his precious life while he was living, and due to poor choices and (somewhat mysterious) occurrences, he is deemed an 'accidental death'. I rush to Steven, as he has finally allowed us to cleave to him in his darkest hour. We weep, he professes his errors, and we forgive him with open heart and arms.

Again, the sands of time bury him, his addictions, afflictions, and misery. He is lost to us. My heart and soul ache for him. He doesn't know what he does, and I cannot change him. I can only sit by quietly, offering my open arms, and should he choose to run to his family, to me, and clasp him to my breast and tell him that I would choose to never let him go. I cannot change someone unwilling to change. I can forgive him, but I cannot make him forgive himself, his father, or his ways. I must wait.

This evening, while talking to my father, I find out that Steven has surfaced, again. And, again, he has another child. A two-year-old boy. I do not even know this child's name. I am so angry, so broken. How I wish he would grow-up, wake-up, 'get over it,' or whatever it is he has to do to see that, yes, he has a genuine right to be angry at his father. He has a right to be pissed off at his father. My brother was wrong, did wrong, and continues to do wrong. I cannot change that. Steven cannot change that. He is old enough now to realize that I am not his father. His grandfather is not his father. We are here to love him. We want him, good, bad, ugly, addicted, unloved. We want his son. He is family.

Do we lose another precious baby to time, anger, and hatred? Does Steven have the right to deny his son his heritage? His family? Does he? I cannot imagine another loss so profound as this, short of losing my own children. I am so angry. Incensed. Yet, do I have a right to my anger? I do not know. I am sure some would say I have no right to be angry, and that I am being selfish, and immature. You're right: I am selfish. I want my family. So many today simply cast off that which they do not want, that which does not acquiesce to their wishes, and ways. And, as I say this I think, directly, of my brother. But he will face his own sins in this life, as will I. Do we suffer another Kade? Do we live our lives and let time go by, without ever being present? What do I do? I know he is approximately one hour south of where I live. One hour. Yet, the gulf that divides us is more vast than the Marianas Trench, the rings of Saturn are closer than they.

Blood is thicker than water.

Tragedy sent this bright, curious, much-loved boy, Kade, Home far too soon. Will we miss out on his half-brother's life, the way that his all-too-brief little life was lost to us? I sincerely hope not.

And, yet, I wait. With prayers and patience, I wait...

...bon anniversarie a moi, and another random quote.

Stolen from the siggy of an email forward:

I'm experiencing deja vu and amnesia at the same time. I have the feeling I've forgotten this before.

Yep. Pretty much sums up my life experience. Who knew? It is possible for me to be succinct (even if it is plagiarism!).

Hope you all have a scrumptious weekend. B.J. has something 'FUN' (his words) planned for Saturday, the day I hit the big _-_ ! (No, I will not indulge you on which two-digit birthday we are speaking of, but I'll give you a hint, the second digit is a 0.)

Wish me luck on my birthday fête--who knows if B.J.'s idea of fun will mesh with my own...

Always busy, always excuses...

It has been a while since I have sat down to post. I'm just too busy. I've been organizing the house (and cleaning--a lot), working on other projects, and exceedingly busy at work (let's just say I finished a fun 'dog and pony show' for a very intimidating suit from the state. Yech!).

Here's a brief (or as brief as I'm capable of) synopsis of the last 3 weeks:

Mission New Lifestyle:

Week 1: Struggled like crazy to keep my caloric intake within approximately 1,500 calories per day. I was constantly starving (though, it never looked like it), and wanted to eat everything in sight. Especially around my bad time of day (3-5pm).

Weight lost: 5.5lbs. Yay!

Week 2: Still struggling to keep my calories to about 1,500. Discovered I have to have a sweet treat in the evenings. If I don't have this treat I think I will die. Skinny Cow makes good treats that are reasonable calorically speaking and yummy enough to 'do.' Healthy Choice fudge bars also fill the bill, and, they're sold in super-mega-bulk packaging at Costco. Oh, how I love Costco.

Weight lost: 0. Zilch. Nada. I felt pretty bummed, but I figured, " Hey! It could have been worse, you could have gained. " Isn't it the second week on 'Biggest Loser' that they always have small numbers? Hmm...

Week 3: Getting easier to keep my calories in the 1,500 range. Also getting easier to plan. I find I am obsessing a little less about food. Weighing every morning is very motivating. I have also started trying to do a long walk a few times a week. Saturday, B. and I walked 5+ miles. It kicked my butt, and I hobbled around like an old lady because my hips ached. Ugh. But, hey, I got moving. Funny, how after a fairly sedentary 15 or so years, your body protests when you actually decide to move. I have discovered if I drink a lot of water and make sure that I have a small (+/- 100 calories) snack every morning around 10 am I do much better. I still feel like one of Dan Akroyd's cone head characters from the movie THE CONE HEADS "...must consume mass quantities." But, it is getting better.

Weight lost: 2.5 lbs.

Overall, I'm feeling pretty proud of myself. I'm beginning to create some new habits (good ones, for a change), and my new lifestyle is feeling less restrictive. I'm getting the fat addiction out of my system, and even as I type, I am anticipating taking an hour long walk in the sunshine (while we have it!). I find that it is becoming rewarding to move and see some small results. Already, with only 8 pounds lost, I feel my clothing fitting a bit more loosely, and I'm looking forward to when I will be able to donate it to a charitable organization--because I'm never going back.

Keep your fingers crossed for me. I am going to do it this time, but a little extra help never hurt.

...because he's a geek. And I love him.

I'm posting this picture of B.J.'s car on my blog because he has to have a geeky avatar on his testosterone-my-intake-works-better-than-your-turbo-exhaust-chipped-tweeker-car website. And, he's experiencing 'technical difficulties'.

Tcha!

These people and their geeky Internet obsessions. It's like they have nothing in life to do but be tied to the digital umbilical. Yeah. What-ever. I'll never understand that kind of behavior.

A (un)Healthy Heaping of Guilt

I received a link to a wonderful article today. It deals with the guilt that parents of children on the Autism Spectrum feel.

Boy. That surely was a big mouthful.

Yes, it deals with guilt. I think becoming a parent (period!) lends you a heaping helping of guilt to an often previously guilt-free (to a certain extent, of course) life. Having a child with any form of disability gives you that same helping of guilt, just multiplied a few dozen times. As the parent of a disabled child and a 'typical' child I feel like I can speak on behalf of both camps. Between the two opposing sides, I'll take the guilt involved with 'typical' parenting, thank-you very much.

Sigh. I've often wrote of my struggles with parenting my little girl, Peanut, here. In fact, I find that I write about it often enough that one of my 'tags' or post-labels is 'parental struggle'. Isn't that fun? No. I didn't think so either.

I really appreciated this article because it addresses so many facets of the guilt that parents of Autistic children feel. The feeling of 'not doing enough' or guilt that you 'should be doing more' is what really struck a chord within me. I find that I am constantly 'should-ing' myself to death: I should do this...I should contact this specialist....I should be doing MORE to help her out; this form of self flagellation, the act of 'should-ing' myself is a non-productive habit, yet I still engage in it.

According to the article's author, Jene Aviram, I am not alone. I'm normal. All parents in this subset of life, Autism, feel like they're not doing enough. Each of us looks at one another, and we do, and compare ourselves to what the 'other' parent is doing: we always reach the same guilt slathered conclusion--they're doing so much more for their child; I should be doing more to help my Peanut out. Aviram tells us to stop. She seeks to give us that unattainable absolution; she wants to give us permission to take a break, and just be.

It doesn't sound like a novel idea to the parent in the 'typical' camp of parenthood "take a break," but really, it is. Just like those who work in education, public health, or social services know, there is always more that you could or should be doing. You fall into that trap of 'well, if I skip this break, I'll be that much further ahead.' Just the only thing is, there really is no getting ahead. There's always something else to be done, someone else who needs help. It never ends.

Thank you to D.C. for sending me the link. I highly recommend reading this article: THE GUILT FACTOR by Jene Aviram, found on the National Learning Concepts Website.

Perhaps you don't have a child with Autism, but I imagine you know someone who does, or someone who has a child with another form of disability--I think this article can be applied to any other disabled child, as well. It is all about perspective. Enjoy.

The Donut's Best Friend (no more)

Today, was a good day--of sorts.

To start out with, B.J. and I have been having some misunderstandings as to what creates a good marriage, a sound relationship, and what mutual respect looks, sounds, and behaves like. We were having one of our (rare) spats. I was trying to communicate with him (explicitly--since we all know expecting him to know implicitly is a pipe dream--really, for all men) what it is, exactly, that I need as a female to feel loved and appreciated. I really am not asking (in my opinion) for much: I need to hear 'I love you' more than just at bedtime before we both fall into unconsciousness, I need him to make some decisions on his own, as a man, without me telling him what to do (imagine that!), and I need him to be a partner in raising our children--as in every weekend day if I'm otherwise engaged between 9:30-10:00 am they need a snack and instead of telling them everything they can't do, please, please, please, take my one piece of parenting advice (to save us all some sanity): re-di-rect!!! I really don't think that is too awful much to ask for. Truly. I'm not asking for a Ferrari, or diamonds (though, I likely wouldn't object to them too much), or a bouquet of roses every night after I clean the house (hmm...again, wouldn't protest if it were to happen). I just want simple respect.

Anyhow, our 'discussion' of the aforementioned issues spilled into this morning. Yuck. I was so annoyed and agitated I just couldn't think. I couldn't say anything nice (and shutting up was excruciatingly painful) so I decided to listen to that little 'nudge' that the Spirit gives me every so often: It told me to leave the house and go for a walk. A walk? You mean exercise? Fresh air? Movement? GASP! Well, I did. I wound up lacing up my sneakers and stuffing my head into a winter cap to go for a walk. As I went about my preparations I went to grab my iPod for entertainment: dead. So, I thought I'd call my neighbor who I often talk with about personal issues and who, like myself, is trying to get into shape: still asleep. So, I stomped out my front door expecting to wilt of boredom on my walk. My walk was anything but boring.

For about the first 1/2 mile of my walk (uphill!!!) I grumbled and griped and complained in my head about what was vexing me. My mood was not improving. Then something happened: I remembered that I could take this time of quiet and solitude to talk with my Creator. And talk I did. I talked to the Boss for nearly a whole hour.

It was wonderful. I poured out my heart and my soul, begging forgiveness for my shortcoming and weaknesses as a mother, wife, friend, and human being. I let out my fears and anxieties. I prayed for B.J. and for myself. It was such a conversation, I nearly didn't want it to end.

By the time I returned to my front doorstep, my mood was improved, I felt a lot better (mostly from my time with my Maker, but also from a vigorous mostly-going-uphill walk in the South Hills), and I was ready to face the day.

With my amended attitude (though still somewhat annoyed--see 'what I need to be loved' regarding Snack) we left for church. We decided to try out a new feature of church: CORE. It was designed with married couples with small children in mind, to meet their spiritual and emotional needs at the point of time in life they are. It is a group of about 40 or so people. Often, I have issues going into established groups like this. I feel all sweaty and nervous and turn into a wallflower (I know, hard to believe, but true). I feel intimidated and I get a case of 7th grade ego: where I think they're all judging me, talking about me in a negative way, and generally finding me not member material. It is silly, but its true.

To my great pleasure they were very welcoming, friendly, and they approached us. They made us to feel a part of the group immediately. I would reckon that about 5 separate couples came up to us and introduced themselves, welcomed us, and inquired about who we are and our children. It was amazing. Truly. In my experience with churches in this town, we have not had a very warm or even friendly reception when we've visited or tried anything out. This was just what I think we needed. One of the topics that they address is marriage building. Visiting this group couldn't have come at a better time. It was also an answer to a small but honest prayer uttered this morning on my walk. Thank you, Lord, for small miracles, and for nudges in the right direction.

I have many lines from movies that are among my favorites; one of my favorite lines comes from the Sandra Bullock film HOPE FLOATS, it is one character addressing another about a formerly chunky high school classmate (who had gotten thin in the interim years):

...Oh, you know Dot: the donut's 'best friend.'

Normally, at gatherings like the one at church today that describes me: The donut's best friend. I always find a way to meander over to the donut and coffee table and find a sugary carb-cake to keep me company (or my mouth full, and unable to talk) when I'm nervous. Today, I went with B.J. over to the donut table where he loaded up a dessert plate full of cookies, brownie, and donut, whereas I, even after being offered said new and improved lifestyle offending consumables, politely declined. Yup. Another small answer to prayer: staying with my decision and not cheating or short-changing myself. I was not the donut's best friend. Amen!

As I've said before, thank God for small victories: I've added another to my list.

B.J. and I will be OK. We're fighters; we don't give up. And, despite all that has gone on this weekend, I'm OK, too.

Click to help Autism Speaks

I received this today:

Please everyone click on the site, you will be touched forever then forward it on.

Watch THIS video clip...click HERE

The band, Five for Fighting, is generously donating $0.49 to AutismSpeaks for *each time* the video is viewed. The funding goes toward research studies to help find a cure. When you have a moment, please visit the link to watch the video and feel free to link to me, or copy/paste and pass it along to your friends and family. They are aiming for 10,000 hits, but hopefully we can help them to surpass this goal.

1 in 150 children have Autism. If you think it doesn't touch your life, you're wrong. By reading this blog, and knowing me, you know someone who loves a beautiful little girl with Autism. By knowing me, you're separated from knowing someone who has Autism by 'one degree'.

This is something that affects all of us. Please, if nothing else, watch the video and learn some new facts.

Thanks, and warmest regards.

Feeling lazy, feeling blue

I have really been lacking the desire to post lately. So, obviously, I haven't posted much. Duh. I know.

Good news: With my renewed efforts toward a healthier lifestyle I have almost made my first 10% weight loss goal. In my first week (which included quite a few flub-ups, and an unplanned trip to Izzy's to celebrate a birthday--yikes!) I managed to lose...drum roll please...a whopping 5.5 lbs.

Whoo-hoo!

I'm .5 lbs away from my first 10% goal: 6lbs.

I have a lot of weight to lose. If I look at the WHOLE-Bigger-than-life picture I'd just give up and sit down with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and mope while watching some sort of ultimately brain numbing chick-flick. So, to keep me from 'relapse' (as in succumbing to the FTW attitude, and fatalistic thinking that gets me stuck on the fast-track to increased fat cells and binging on whatever high-fructose, sodium laden, deep-fried concoction sure to make my serotonin levels even with those of a meth addict...) I'm looking at my first goal as losing a 'total' of 60 pounds.

Much more doable than the other number that I really am striving for.

5.5 lbs. isn't a whole lot. It wouldn't keep me above the yellow line on "BIGGEST LOSER" but it is a firm start. I'm also managing to maintain the attitude of 'get back on the horse' when I 'fall off' rather than subscribing to fallacious all-or-nothing thinking.

Chalk one up to me.

Now, on to the darker side of life.

Mentally, I'm struggling with Seasonal Affective Disorder. I've not received an official diagnosis of S.A.D., however, I suffer many of its symptoms. The peak of my 'blahs' coincides with the winter solstice--the shortest day of the year. I feel like a plant deprived of sunshine: I've withered (emotionally) into this lifeless, shapeless (figurative and literal--unless you count round for my shape. Ha!), blob who is lacking motivation most days to do anything. I want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. I don't want to do anything with anyone. I am just hoping to hit the 'fast forward' button a la Adam Sandler's movie CLICK. I go through this ever year. I have since I was a child...just my mother and I always chalked it up to missing Florida and the winter sunshine and flowers. Sigh. I can hardly wait for May sunshine and more daylight.

On the Autism spectrum: We've definitely been having our fair share (dare I say, more than fair share....as in the Lion's Share) of 'Autistic moments.'

Peanut has been irritable, defiant, tantruming, and tormenting her brother (and me) without end. I know it isn't her fault, and her psychiatrist concurs, the hoopla and lack of structure over the holidays put her over the edge. Heck, it puts typical kids (and most adults) over the edge. So, how could I expect anything different from someone with cognitive and sensory processing difficulties? Still, it doesn't make it any easier to deal with her. Even though I have a 'special needs child' it doesn't give me super-human strength, the ability to see through walls, or any more patience than having a typical child gives to any other parent. My patience still wears thin, and the decibel level of my voice soars ever heavenward. In truth, I've been ready to murder her. (only in thought---the same way we all say 'I'm going to kill you if you eat the last cookie, candy, chip, etc." ). One of the mentor moms at a MOPs meeting I once went to said something to the effect of:

"You're completely normal if you have the feeling that you'd like to
huck your child out the window. Every one of us feels like we would love to
just toss them out to escape the tantrums and difficult times. You're
normal. You're only abnormal if you never get frustrated with your child
or you actually do toss you kid out the window. Don't do that.
(all while smiling)."

This simple statement has saved me much guilt and shame. I'm normal. Lord, I'm so utterly normal, I'm the poster-child for normal. Ugh.

Chublet has been two. He acts two. He IS two. I don't really need to say much more. I remind myself, often, 'this too shall pass.'

Some introspection:

Going back to the lifestyle change, I have realized I am completely and totally obsessed with food. I figure I think about food approximately the same number of times a day as a red-blooded teenage-boy thinks about sex. Really. I think I am obsessing. Maybe that's one of the reasons why my weight has soared so high. I wonder what Freud would say (I'm glad he's dead...Dr.Phil is bad, I can only imagine how wonderful Freud would be...).

Things I'm looking forward to:

The return of normalcy to our daily schedule, and with it the return of a more sane and less psychotic little girl.

Continuing to renew my commitment (daily, hourly, minute-by-minute if need be) to my new healthier lifestyle.

Chublet eventually aging three-years-old (and my survival through his 'terrible two's').

Spring is coming. It is a long way out, but eventually the crocus will pop their periwinkle and opalescent heads though the snow and frost and herald the coming of new life and the return of sunshine.

Small Victories

Thank goodness for small victories. Without them, it makes most tasks that require substantial effort nearly insurmountable.

I have decided on a lifestyle change, or rather (more appropriately) I have decided to renew my dedication to changing my lifestyle so that I can be more healthy. Also, to be perfectly honest, I'm sick to death of shopping in the 'porker section' of the store. There's really nothing terribly attractive in the clothing ( beyond about a size 12) choices I may select from, and, I'm tired of being ripped off.

Yup. If you're a porker, you gotta pay more if you want any sort of selection beyond gold lame, butterfly appliqued sweatshirts, and (shudder) elastic waist poly-synthetic pants. Yuck. It is a complete gyp; if you're big, and I am, you pay more. I can't make use of those uber cool sales racks at the T.J. Maxx store or at Ross Dress for Less because, well, they don't go beyond a size 12 (maybe a 14). I want to be able to satisfy my cravings for good deals and walk away from the clearance rack with an entire ensemble costing less than $20. In the porker section? Ain't gonna happen.

So, yeah, I want to be healthier. Ironically, on paper (minus the figure that represents the total number of metric tons that compose my svelte figure) I'm actually pretty healthy already--a drag, because it makes it harder to stay moivated. Its not like I'm suffering from high cholesterol (I'm pretty proud of the fact aht my total cholesterol is about 138--thought I'm working on lowering it more) or I'm diabetic. I think if I had some serious health issue (not that I want one, I don't) I think it would, possibly, be easier to stay focused and on-task. Also, I want to feel better (lighter), and I want to be around for my kids into old-age without being one of those crippled-up, old fat-ladies who scoot around in a 'hover-round' or some such contraption. But-the shallow end of it is I want to look better, too. So, I'm back to watching what I'm eating.

NO. It isn't a diet.

NO it isn't a resolution. If it were a resolution, it wouldn't be successful; who, after all, actually accomplishes 'New Year's Resolutions' anyhow? They're made to be broken.

So, on to my small victory:

I'm sticking to counting calories. 1,500 calories, daily, to be precise. I'm not worrying about any other aspect of the counting game other than the calories. I don't eat processed foods at home (too expensive), so by virtue of the fact I'm sticking to the 1,500 cal/day I'll be eating foods automatically low in fat, cholesterol, sodium, and sugar. Don't we just love us some good salty and sugary foods? I digress.

I need to go grocery shopping (rates about #2 or #3 on my top ten least favorite activities list), as usual. So I have exactly no food in my refrigerator that would be lunch-ish fodder. Unless you count mustard and every other condiment known to western civilization--I don't. So that left us with a dilemma: what to do for lunch.

I know! Go to the evil grease-empire: McDonald's (not to be confused with THE Evil Empire: Starbucks). But, what can I possibly eat there? Everything is deep fried and smothered in chocolate--wait, that's from Shrek 2--at any rate 'healthy choices' and 'McDonald's' aren't typically found in the same utterance.

Let's just say I did some online homework before we left the house. I looked at the available nutritional information for several fast-food restaurants: Quizno's, Subway, Taco Bell, Wendy's, McDonald's, Burger King, Jack in the Box, and Applebee's. Let's just say if you were to look up what you might typically order off of the 'super value/combo menu' you'll be ill to see how many calories you (and I) consume(d). Of the burger joint variety, to my surprise, McDonald's was the healthiest of the options I researched.

Huh?

Strange but true. Applebee's has the healthiest and most appetizing choices for low calorie dining, but, alas, they're considerably more worrisome to the ol' pocketbook. So off to MCD we went.

I succeeded in enjoying (truly!) my lunch, while not utterly 'blowing it' calorically speaking. I ate a Grilled Chicken, bacon, ranch Salad with low-calorie vinaigrette. Surprisingly, it was really good, very filling, and (angels sing, now) it came in at a modest 260 calories. Add in a Diet Dr. Pepper, and I was good-to-go.

Small victories add up. And, this victory made me do the happy dance. Hmm...I wonder how many calories that burned off....

Happy New Year: 2008 Edition

Welcome to 2008. Can you even believe that we're here already? Where does it go? It seems like I was just celebrating Independence Day and reveling in the Terra-cotta warmth of August, and here we are again already, past the 'holiday 26.2' and the dial has flipped over.

I'm grateful for the beginning of this year. Why? Well, it is quite selfish, really. I have finally recovered from a frightful bought of Viral Gastroenteritis, or for those of us without a score of years spent at med school: Stomach Flu. Most cases run their course within 1-3 days. Not me. Nope. I'm special: I managed to have a whopping 10 day bout of the joyful intestinal upset that keeps on a-giving.

Groan.

Yes, dear friends, I have effectively spent my entire holiday suffering from the stomach flu, in bed, or when not in bed vomiting from either end of my g.i. tract. A lovely image, I know. I'll spare the rest of the details. Let's just say it wasn't pretty.

I regret being sick mostly because of the lost time with my kidlets. Normally winter vacation and the holidays are a time when I enjoy spending extra time with my kiddies, going to OMSI to enjoy the latest (and most grotesque, at times) science exhibits and cool hands-on activities. Or, often we'll head to the Zoo to enjoy a brisk afternoon of learning about exotic and some-not-so-exotic species. We also enjoy just puttering around the house, baking cookies, and relaxing the rules on junk-food, television, and just plain old goofing off. Not so this past season.

Sigh.

B.J. reminds me that there's always Spring-break. It is so rare to be able to enjoy my babies during the part of the day where they're fresh and new and ready to go (mornings), so I really indulge during my vacations. Tomorrow I head back to the daily grind, and with it those beautiful, happy mornings fly with my kidlets back to daycare. Such is the life of a working mother.

On to 2008.

What do I want to accomplish this year? Lots of things. Here's where I'd normally begin to lament all the things I managed to NOT accomplish in '07, and write down a lofty list of 'resolutions' to tackle for this year. Not gonna happen.

I'm not going to look back. At least not today. I often spend so much of my mental 'free time' ruminating about the past and living among the specters and ghosts of my past failures, defeats, and all of the 'should haves' that are a part of my existence. Today (even if only for a day) I'm going to look forward: I'm looking to my future and all the things I can still do. I'm thinking today of how I want to make myself a better person. I'm starting very small. I'm even a little embarrassed to say what my first goal I'm working on is, but here it goes: I will yell less.

There. I said it. It already feels a teeny-tiny little bit better. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I yell a lot. I didn't grow up in a household that yelled. My mother and dad did not yell and scream (they did have discussions, but not drag-down screaming matches or anything close to it). My mother rarely yelled at me; when mom did yell at me I really had it coming, and I was, in fact, deliberately doing something naughty and I knew it. Not so in my household. I find that I start out small: I talk louder to be heard. Then, the ante gets upped and I've escalated a bit more and I'm talking REALLY REALLY LOUDLY...eventually I'm yelling, usually something to the effect of "Quit hitting your brother! Be nice or be quiet! STOP IT! YOU'RE DRIVING ME BANANAS!!". Sad to say it, but it gets worse than that. But, you get the gist. My first goal to make everyone's day a little nicer (including my own) is to yell less. I did not grow up with a screaming dragon of a mother, why should my children?

Yell less. Sounds simple, right? We'll see just how 'simple' it is.

Cheers to you and the new year. What are you improving?