The Day to Day

Crap

2009-03-23T19:10:00.000-07:00

She's at it again.

I'm heaving the sigh of a leaden hearted mother. Again.

I thought we were FINALLY past the eating the hair stuff. But, after a year plus hiatus, she's back to chowing down on it.

How utterly revolting. We'd finally decided that she could grow out her hair 'long and pretty' the way she wanted to (just like a princess), and things had been going so swell, until tonight. Yup.

I'd caught her every so often with her hair in her mouth, but only for seconds at a time. In fact, when she thought I wasn't aware of her actions, many times I saw her hair fall toward her mouth and watched her impatiently brush it away; out of her mouth.

Not so anymore. Whether she's eating her own hair, or off of the floor again remains to be identified. What has been certified is that she had hair in her fecal matter.

Eeew, gross.

And, the saddest part of it all? As I flushed the toilet, perplexed at the revolting pica rearing its putrid head again, it dawned on me to save said offense, to submit to the laboratory and finally, finally get her the 1:1 aide at school she so desperately needs. And, that 1/1,000 of a second my synapses fired too slow, away went the evidence that would grant her access to what she needs on her IEP.

Crap.

Apparently, my life still revolves around it.

Civil Disobedience: 2009

2008-12-02T09:07:00.000-08:00

The late Charleton Heston, civil rights activist offered these words of wisdom nearly a decade ago about the culture war, and I certainly think they apply here [in today's climate]:

"You simply disobey. Peaceably, yes. Respectfully, of course. Nonviolently, absolutely. But when told how to think or what to say or how to behave, we don't. We disobey the social protocol that stifles and stigmatizes personal freedom.I learned the awesome power of disobedience from Dr. King who learned it from Gandhi, and Thoreau, and Jesus, and every other great man who led those in the right against those with the might.

"Disobedience is in our DNA. We feel innate kinship with that disobedient spirit that tossed tea into Boston Harbor , that sent Thoreau to jail, that refused to sit in the back of the bus, that protested a war in Viet Nam .

"In that same spirit, I'm asking you to disavow cultural correctness with massive disobedience of rogue authority, social directives, and onerous laws that weaken personal freedom.

"But be careful. It hurts. Disobedience demands that you put yourself at risk. Dr. King stood on lots of balconies. You must be willing to be humiliated, to endure the modern-day equivalent of the police dogs at Montgomery and the water Cannons at Selma . You must be willing to experience discomfort."

..."So that this nation may long endure, I urge you to follow in the hallowed footsteps of the great disobedience of history that freed exiles, founded religions, defeated tyrants, and yes, in the hands of an aroused rabble in arms and a few great men, by God's grace, built this country."

A run on guns...

2008-11-07T18:05:00.000-08:00

Here's your interesting factoid for the day: gun dealers cannot get AR-15 rifles.

Huh?

Apparently, the general public has gotten so frightened by president-elect Obama, and his extreme anti-gun policies, that the factories that make these weapons are unable to keep up with the demand.

What will become of our Second Amendment, and its "negative liberties" under the Obama regime?

Only time will tell.

The 44th President of the United States of America

2008-11-05T21:43:00.000-08:00

Well, he did it.

We have finally overcome whatever racial issues/prejudices we have held, as a country, and elected our first Black president*. We've come a long way. I can hardly even imagine: we've come from the 1860's where there were Blacks who were slaves, to the bigotry and prejudice of the pre-civil rights movement America, to today; we are finally beginning to see people instead of color.

Or, are we?

I have such mixed emotions about President-elect Obama. I would like to believe that people elected him based on his merit, his experience, and his political platform. However, I can't shake the idea that this particular election was more about race and prejudice than we want to admit.

Howard Stern proved how ignorant some of us are when he chose to do 'man on the street' interviews in the Bronx. Stern's show was asking passers-by who they intended to vote for, when the people answered "Obama" the interviewer would prompt with questions like "are you voting for Obama because of his pro-life beliefs and platform?" or "Because Obama wants our troops to stay in Iraq?" and the respondents would, shockingly, agree and say things like "yeah...I'm pro-life, and I'm voting for Obama because he's pro-life. And yeah, we don't want to pull out the troops." Essentially, the interviewer twisted everything around and presented McCain's platform, but saying it was Obama's. It was heartbreaking to me to hear it. To realize that so many of our American citizens are uninformed and so proud of their political beliefs/understanding and yet they have an equal vote to those who are informed...I can do no more than just shake my head. It makes me believe that they were voting for Obama not based on his political platform, but more for the pigmentation of his skin.

On the other side of the coin, we have McCain: the typical White Male In Power. By all accounts, if we Americans are as judgmental (racist) as we're portrayed to be, McCain should have won by a landslide. But, he didn't. In fact, he lost. One of the reasons that was brought to my attention was because of his age. "He would be, at age 71, the oldest president elect." To look at his age as a factor that counted against him i.e.(he's too old and doddering to make coherent decisions), isn't that yet another form of discrimination? Prejudice? Isn't it ageism? Does that mean that all older adults are incompetent, and that they should not be considered sentient, cerebral human beings? I sure hope not. That isn't to say that some folks as they get older don't suffer from diseases and 'old timers' that makes their intellect less sharp than it once was.

But, truly, can we say this election wasn't about prejudices? Is this yet another example of the 'Fleecing of America'? Let us hope not.

Let us not take what is evil and say that it is good. Let us not pervert the truth. Let us pray for our leaders that they make right choices for all of our people and the world, and that they do what is right, and good, and just. Let us hope...**

*(I don't like saying African-American, as all of us are equally American. Are we trying to suggest they feel more patriotic toward their ancestors' birth place? By suggesting 'African' first and 'American' second, it somehow seems anti-patriotic. We are all members of the same race: the human race. And, as an example, I don't refer to myself as a Norwegian-American...likely I am un-PC, but I don't mean it in any type of disrespectful way. I am described as 'white' they don't say 'Caucasian'. Sometimes I am referred to as 'Anglo' although, I find them term insulting. By assuming that I am Anglo based on my skin tone, you are completely discounting my heritage, it really can spiral out of control...you get the idea.)

**I hope I have not offended anyone. I don't wish to say one candidate was a better choice than the other. When it comes right down to it, I wasn't particularly impressed by EITHER candidate. I only write to sort out my own feelings and thoughts, that I might look back in the coming weeks and months to see what I was thinking at this time.

Decaf Coffee, and Other Forms of Horror

2008-11-04T10:36:00.000-08:00

I survived day 1 and day 2 on the Atkins diet. Whew! Amazing.

For me this is huge. Gigantic. Ginormous! I usually seem to always cheat (myself), and when it comes down to it, I'm pretty far from a meat-atarian. In fact, for many years I didn't eat red meat at all (technically a lacto-ovo vegetarian). That worked well until I wound up in the hospital with anemia. So, even the doctor said that my 'diet' was ridiculous. Needless to say, I was bummed, but I learned to eat a hamburger now and then and I ate chicken.

Many of you have heard that when on the Atkins diet "if it has a face on it, you can eat it." That pretty much sums it up. Truly. And, for yours truly here, a non meat lover, this is tough. Really tough.

While at Yuppie Mecca (Costco) yesterday I about nearly keeled over dead just smelling all the fatteningly delicious baked goods: they were baking those damnable muffins while I was there. Curse you, Costco Bakery!! I even went so far as to be muttering "I'm going to die" under my breath. It is amazing just how fantastic of hearing my child has--the three year old got all freaked out and said "Mommy, you going to die?" I had to assuage his fears that, in fact, mommy wouldn't literally keel over that second. Fun. So, I had to suffer in silence, all while pretending to be happy about purchasing cheese, bacon, and tilex.

I have found, through a little creativity, that I can indulge in veggies--to a small degree. On the 'free list' of foods, salad greens show up. This is a happy thing, as I can have 2c. of mixed field greens topped with shredded cheddar and some grilled chicken breast for lunch, while leaving me an 'allotment' of 1c. of salad greens with dinner. The no fruits part of the diet is proving to be more challenging than I thought.

Just like me to pine away for apples or bananas while on the diet, whereas when I could eat them ad nauseum I could care less about them. I call it the 'Disney World Syndrome': every day of my life I can drink as much free, clean, drinkable tap water as I can handle--consequently I don't want it. I want coffee, soda, whatever, just not water. While at Disney, where the bottled water is roughly $6 a pint, I want nothing more than to chug it by the gallon. Go figure.

On the positive (maybe?) side, I have not had a single, solitary, drop of coffee [caffeine] since Saturday. I am seriously jonesing (bordering on 'triple shotgun murder'), so this morning I went to Wally-World and bought (gulp) decaf coffee. UGH! GAG! RETCH! But, at least I get to smell coffee-scented air, and have that hot, bitter liquid touch my tongue. At least my olfactory bulb is happier.

So far, so good. Keep rootin' for me. It helps (and probably the sub-lingual B-12 tablets, too!).

The last great frontier-

2008-11-02T18:09:00.000-08:00

So, a long time ago I wrote about my "new lifestyle". Yeah, ahem, it didn't stick. I have been futzing around all year, and over the course of the summer I managed to gain back basically all of my weight.

Grumble, grr, ugh.

But, what was I to expect? I didn't try, and I had days where I downright binged on junk food. Why, oh why, was I not born one of those people, you know, the kind who whine that try as they might, even after eating the entire pan of brownies, they just can't seem to lose weight. Poor little darlings, someone should just drown them in a sack, like an old crotchety farmer and his unwanted barn cats. Put them out of their misery. (not really, but I do feel like saying nasty things when I hear folks like that; I want to say stuff like "yeah, you really are fat. You should go on a diet. Your cellulite shows when you wear shorts." But I don't...at least not out loud).

Anyhow, I have jumped on nearly all of the diet fad roller coasters, and had some measure of success on each of them--I just fizzle out and get lazy. I decide that the chips/cookie/mocha/whatever really is that important to me right now, and so I deviate from the 'plan' and sooner or later I fail.

I have heard the definition of insanity is 'doing the same thing over and over yet expecting a different result.' Based on that little tidbit of wisdom (and the fact that B.J. is getting fat--I told him only one of us is allowed to be fat, and well, I've already filled that position) I decided I'd try something utterly radical for me: Atkins.

I am and have always been a carb addict. Bread, cookies, cakes, chips, white starchy stuff, you name it, I'll crave and cram it. It is quite sick, actually. I can even trace the exact period in my life when I became severely addicted to carbs, or more specifically any kind of bread: I was just barely 8 years old, and it was shortly after my family's home had burned down (with my father and myself inside of it--it was 70% destroyed), and I found that if I stuffed my gullet with enough bread, I got this high. I suddenly would feel happy. And, let's face it, at the time I was homeless, momless (she had gone to take care of my ailing grandma, and was not home when all this went down), and pretty devastated and, upon reflection, in a deep depression: the bread made me happy. As an adult, I've realized it wasn't really the bread that did the trick, but the serotonin that was released as a result of eating that made me happy, so I guess that technically makes me a neurotransmitter junkie--I digress.

Anyhow, it was pretty much all downhill from there. I began my diet roller coaster of ups and downs, always seeking to be 'thin'.

Ironically, as an adult, I now realize that at the time I thought I was 'fat', at 5' 8" and 121lbs. I was anything but.

Sigh.

How warped we all see ourselves; perhaps, I had a touch of body dysmorphic disorder. At any rate, I talked myself into being fat, whether or not as a kid I really was. Don't fool yourself, I had some pudge in the middle, but nothing compared to today's belly shirt wearing juveniles who have a 'hangover' or 'muffin-top'.

So, in my roundabout-stream-of-consciousness type of writing, here's the point: I've decided to commit myself to 2 whole weeks of Atkins--virtually no carbs, and definitely not a slice of bread in sight.

B.J. has (reluctantly?) signed on with me. He told me he'd give it 2 weeks (all that I asked), and boy did he whine and complain today! You'd have thought he'd been sentenced to a desert island with nothing more than salt and lime to keep him company. I'll admit, I got a little edgy when I was at Life Source buying vitamins and I smelled the fresh apples--they were like a little slice of heaven on earth, I seriously had a tough time not buying a few to snack on.

For our first day, we did pretty good. Scrambled eggs with cheese for breakfast with DECAF (yag!) coffee (Atkins forbids the use of caffeine the first 2 weeks, to establish whether or not we are addicted (in my case, a big fat DUH!)). Lunch was a whopper, sans bun, with a side salad and diet coke. And dinner was fantastic. I made a recipe off of the Atkins site "Cheese N Chili Chops with Cauliflower Salad." It was absolutely delicious. Very easy, quick, and I had all the ingredients I needed, with the exception of cream cheese. Whether or not you are dieting, I would highly recommend this recipe. It is just scrumptious--a little bit of bite, and the pork is so tender, you could cut it with a butter knife.

So ends day 1. Wish me luck for patience, perseverance, and a sense of humor. I need it.

To post, or not to post...is it even a question?

2008-11-01T08:05:00.000-07:00

Here we are again, NaBlPoMo.

Already.

I have hardly posted this year...I don't know why, I suppose because I haven't felt it for a while. And, here we are, November 1, 2008: the big question I've been asking myself is 'do I post or not'. And, truly, I'm not sure I've got an answer for myself.

So, in honor of my indecisiveness, I'm posting on 11-1-08, because, let's face it, if I decide to 'toss my hat into the ring' and I don't post this AM, well, it's all for naught.

Today the Peanut and I are headed up to OHSU for our LAST (Hallelujah! Can I get an 'Amen'?) appointment. We've been taking part in the Prosody of Language study for what seems like forever, and frankly, although it is good on many different levels to do it, I'm tired of dedicating all day every Saturday to it. I'm very much looking forward to having Saturdays for fun stuff again, even if 'fun' stuff only means a trip to Costco to spend entirely too much money and reinforce my shopping-for-groceries-once-a-month habit. Ahh, Costco...so much to look forward to.

Welcome aboard to a new year of (possible) posting insanity. Do you have your ticket to ride?

....Tastes like chicken....

2008-10-30T07:20:00.000-07:00

This is funny no matter who you are going to vote for. Enjoy.

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

SARAH PALIN: Before it got to the other side, I shot the chicken, cleaned and dressed it, and had chicken burgers for lunch.

BARACK OBAMA: The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a change! The chicken wanted change!

JOHN MC CAIN: My friends that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road.

HILLARY CLINTON: When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure right from Day One that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn’t about me.

GEORGE W. BUSH: We don’t really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

DICK CHENEY: Where’s my gun?

COLIN POWELL: Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.

BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your definition of chicken?

AL GORE: I invented the chicken.

JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken’s intentions. I am not for it now and will remain against it.

AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens.

DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken doesn’t realize that he must first deal with the problem on this side of the road before it goes after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he’s acting by not taking on his current problems before adding new problems.

OPRAH: Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I’m going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.

ANDERSON COOPER, CNN: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed access to the other side of the road.

NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he’s guilty! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.

PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.

MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer’s Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.

DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I’ve not been told.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain, alone.

GRANDPA: In my day we didn’t ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.

BARBARA WALTERS: Isn’t that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart-warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its lifelong dream of crossing the road.

ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.

JOHN LENNON: Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.

BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken 2008, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken 2008. This new platform is much more stable and will never crash or need to be rebooted.

ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?

COLONEL SANDERS: Did I miss one?

Yes, this is from an email going around (written by ??), and yes I pirated images, however, I seek no financial gain, only to make you laugh.

This little piece of satire is particularly funny and strangely poignant. Please be sure to vote!

Saturday in the Waiting Room

2008-10-11T11:07:00.000-07:00

Saturday is typically a day of fun, errands, marathon house cleaning, or what-have-you; it is a day that I typically choose what it is I want to do, with whom, and where. Not so nowadays--or at leas the entire month of October.

Sigh.

At this very moment, I am sitting in a small 12x12 waiting room up at OHSU's Beaverton Campus. Prior to these appointments, I had no idea OHSU even had a 'west' campus. The things one learns and how.

Why, you ask, am I up here in a waiting room on a Saturday, or all days? Well I can sum it up in one word: Peanut.

Yep. We're here in order for Peanut to be a guinea pig of sorts for a research study. Yes, we are contributing to the greater good of society by participating in a research study. But, before you fill yourself with warm and fuzzy thoughts about me or my progeny, I (and my girl) am not as altruistic as this scenario may sound.

See, we're taking part in this research study on the prosody of language for two reasons: 1. for the betterment of mankind, and, 2. (the real reason) so that I can have copies of the numerous and exhorbitantly priced testing that they do as a part of the study which I could not afford on my own.

And. on that note, and with a whining little brother who wants to comandeer my laptop in the name of DVDdom, I must sign off. More to come...maybe.

Dear Kauaiian Diary

2008-06-26T10:28:00.000-07:00

NOTE: I will be editing, spell checking, and filling in names, photos, and other details later on. :O) As for now, here's my personal notes to remember our visit.

Stay tuned...

Kaui Vacation 2008

Friday June 20:
Good flight from P. to Honolulu; probably the smoothest take-off and landing that I’ve ever experienced. Both kids were excellent on the plane ride. Chubber got a little grumy toward the end of the first 5 hour leg, but B. took him up and down the aisle a few times and it seemed to help a lot. The short, 30 minute, flight from Honolulu to Lihue was also very smooth, in spite of the fact that we were on a very small aircraft.
Rented a Chevrolet Impala SS (B’s choice), and was amazed that the trunk comfortably accomodated all of our luggage (1 large suitcase, 1 small suitcase, 1 wheeled carry on case, 2 backpacks, 1 large dive bag, 1 computer briefcase, 1 DVD carrying case, and a partridge in a pear tree).
Drove through the 'Tunnel of Trees'--a naturally formed tunnel made by gigantic trees that arch over the road--to Poipu (Po'ipu) to get to our lodgings. Found our condominium with minimal trouble (we got lost once). It is a beautiful condo with 2 bedrooms, small living room, dining area, kitchen, 2 bathrooms and laundry closet. From the front balcony porch and master bedroom we have stunning views of the ocean and the mountains. There is no a/c, however with the windows open the ‘trade winds’ blow a strongly enough that it keeps us cool and comfortable.
After settling in, we went to the pool and swam for an hour or so. The kids had a blast, and we had fun too. Interestingly enough we were talking to a man who was at the pool, and through our conversation we discovered that he lives in Ocala, FL and was born in Williston. What a small world! I explained to him that Aunt J lives in Williston, and that S comes from a town called Wacahoota (sp?) and whatnot. The man’s name was L. C., and after we left the pool and called Dad and S, we were able to discover that Mr. C did in fact know S’s family. Again, what are the odds of running into someone from such a small part of the world that we have ties with? I think the chances of winning the Lottery is more likely.
Had dinner at a place called ‘Breneke’s’ that B loved from his first time to Kaui. Nice little open air restaurant, rather spendy, but as we’re discovering: everything in Kaui is expensive.
After dinner walked over to Breneke beach, where as the Kids and I were walking to the playground we discovered a toad hopping in the grass. Kai and Lani both loved seeing him hope along, and I had a tough time keeping them from touching it (I figured it was poisonous like the frogs/toads in Florida). After a short 10 minutes or so at the play structure, we walked over to the surf to watch the sun go down. As we were walking along B and Chub came upon the tiniest of sand crabs—no bigger than a quarter’s diamater. We all had a pleasant walk, barefoot, in the surf and sand.
What a lovely first day in Kaui.

Saturday, June 21:
Woke up at 3am sharp. Wide awake and ready to start my day. Too bad we needed to sleep another 3 hours to make getting up decent. The kids suffered from jet-lag, too. Had a tough time getting them to go back down to bed (including a poop-on-the-floor incident (yuck!)), but eventually they conceeded to play quietly in their room.

Enjoyed a lovely sunrise from the front porch, followed by coffee and breakfast outside, too. Before the kids got up as I was going inside for a refill of my coffee I noticed something little on the carpet. I thought it was a dead, dried-out lizard, but when I got down close to look at it, it was a tiny little gecko! B was so surprised, as he’d never seen on so little before. Me, being who I am, told B to grab a cup from the kitchen so we could scoop the little thing up and show it to the kids. Both kids loved seeing the tiny creature. We let them each hold it in their hand. Even in the kids’ hands it looked tiny—it was about a ½ centimeter wide and maybe an inch and a half long. We’re having so much fun with all the wildlife here in the islands, an enjoying seeing the kids’ sense of wonder and their joy in the simplest of things. I imagine when they are asked what their favorite part about Hawaii was they’ll no doubt say: “the chickens, the baby gecko, and the frog!”
Started the morning searching for the elusive Foodmart that Mr. C told us about (best food prices in the vicinity). En route took a detour down a road to see a waterfall [find name of waterfall from photos taken]. While viewing the waterfall, saw an ancient Hawaiian [prayer sacrifice alter place]. The kids weren’t impressed with

either feature, but sure did have a blast chasing the wild chickens and their chicks. Tried to see { } arborateum, but the road into the actual facility was flooded, and was impassible in a car—though did see a few trucks ‘ford’ the road. The scenery was absolutely amazing. As we climbed up the road and into the lower mountains you could physically detect a change in climate: it changed from beachy type conditions into bonified jungle—humid, close, and about 10 degrees cooler. I am at a loss for words to actually do any justice to describing the lush vegetation. My photographs will have to do the talking.
Finally got round to Foodland. It was similar in prices to the Safeway or Roth’s stores on the mainland. Expensive, but in comparison to some of the closer local shops (Foodland was in W-I [check town name from map North of Lihue]. The local food shops listed a gallon of milk at over $8, whereas Foodland had it for $5. I picked up a ‘club card’ to get the ‘local’ prices. We left $103 lighter in the pocketbook, but I believe we have enough food for breakfast, lunch, and most dinners to eat at home. The cost of eating out is so expensive as to be prohibitive.

It is now 3:20pm, and we have finished our simple lunch of sandwiches, chips, grapes, and water. Well, all of us except Chubbers. Mr. Andersen has been asserting his “two-ness” to the Nth degree for the past week. As soon as he decides to eat ONE single grape, we will be off to Poipu beach. That is how I have time to write right now, Chub is being stubborn, and I’m taking advantage of the down-time. I do hope he decides to eat soon. I really want to go play at the beach!
Finally won. Chublet ate not only one, but two grapes! Went swimming at Brenneke beach. Came home, ate bbq burgers, rice and had chocolate ice cream. Went for a walk over to the Kaui Poipu Grand Hyatt. BEAUTIFUL grounds. Spent 2+ hours. Saw little girls do hula show.

Sunday June 22:
Going to try out church in HI. Interesting service, very contemporary and the kids loved going to the nursery.
Waimea Canyon—see pictures. Picnic in Waimea canyon (PS: don't you just love that guy's butt? Yeah. Me too. Makes it look so classy).

Went to Kaui Coffee Company tour, very cool. Learned a lot about coffee, including that 60% of the WORLD’S coffee comes from Kaui Coffee. Then went to the Salt Pond park, outside of Hanapepe. A lot of fun, full of locals. Big fat undertow, but nobody got swept out to sea.
Came back into town and had dinner at Poipu Beach Broiler—great food, expensive price. For two ‘bar menu’ dinners, one kids meal, an orange juice, and two Mai Tais (plus tip) we were out $50. OUCH!
Then a relaxing evening at home, as we were all bushed.

Monday June 23:
A relaxing day. Visited Kilohana (meaning: unsurpassed) Plantation. In its heyday it was the most expensive and extravagant home in all of Kauai. It was built in the 1930’s by sugar tycoon George Wilcox for his wife, who wanted a house as fancy as any that could be found in Hollywood. In its day 40,000 acres of sugarcane was planted and harvested by the 12 hour work day. Today, the estate is still run by family members but is only a fraction of that. They no longer harvest sugar cane (interesting fact about sugar cane: it takes one whole 6’ tall cane to produce only one tablespoon of sugar), but instead harvest fruits and plants for botanical spa products. We chose to tour the plantation via plantation train. Chub and Peanut loved it! It was a fun way to see a smidgen of what plantation life looked like ‘back in the day.’ To this day, some people who work on the plantation still live in the original plantation ‘shacks’ (small homes) that were used by the original workers.
Inside of Kilohana there is one room (living room) restored to its former lavish glory, with the remainder of the interior open to the public to enjoy: an expensive restaurant called Gaylord’s (think $25+ per plate), and various artisan shops selling Kauai made products.
After visiting Kilohana, we tried to find the Alakoko Menehune Fish Pond. Call us lame or crazy, we found a beautiful lookout point, but no success in actually finding the swimming area of the pond. So, we went, instead, to Nawiliwili Beach to play in the ocean and dig in the sand. It never ceases to amaze me just how content the children can be to simply dig in the sand. They can dig for 45 minutes or more without stopping. Our trip to the beach ended when mother nature decided it was time to water the vegetation (rain). But, that was OK since the kiddies were getting tired, us too.
After a morning at the beach and a nice nap for the kiddies we went to the condo’s pool to splash and play. It was absolutely delicious: the air was warm and humid and the pool was cool and refreshing. Sometimes it is just perfect to hang around ‘home.’

Tuesday June 24:
Went into Lihue to do some shopping. No visit to Hawaii, at least for our family, is complete without a trip to Hilo Hattie’s to get ripped off buying a Hawaii shirt. We spent about an hour or so looking around, and managed to find goodies to take home to family and friends as well as ‘outfits’ for each of us (at 40% discount, whoo hoo!) to wear for our evening’s festivities—a Luau!
Headed out to Wailua around 4pm to go to the requisite Luau. How can you possibly come to Hawaii and not go to a Luau? You can’t. So, we chose to check out the Smith Family Garden Luau. Interesting fact: by booking though ‘Activity Warehouse’ we saved about $130 on our Luau over booking through Smith’s itself. Weird, huh?
Smith’s Luau? Yes, Smith. I don’t suppose you could get any more English of a name if you tried, but we gave it a shot anyway. The grounds boast 30 acres of lush tropical gardens, ranging from local Hawaiian plant varieties to Japanese and Philippino. The gardens were spectacular, in a word. Once we were admitted to the grounds we hopped onto a little tram (think tractor pulling wagons with seats) to take us through the gardens with a narration of the plants. It was cool, because we got to learn a lot about different plant varieties, and I got to finally get a name to put to the most interesting plant that I find everywhere here: spider lilly. The kids loved the tram ride, well, because it was a ride and because they got to throw heaping handfulls of birdseed to the myriad of chickens and peacocks. Yep, peacocks. B’s favorite bird—we weren’t terribly impressed with the royal turkeys because of our old neighbor having them and us constantly finding them on our back porch, driveway, roof…. But, the kids sure got a kick out of them. We also were treated since it is mating season, the males had all their plumes fanned out to impress.
The dinner was good. We were seated next to a friendly single-mom family from California whom we talked to at length. She told us some of the tidbits about Kauai that she found helpful and was, in general, a lovely dinner companion. The food was good, although not as good as other Luau’s that we’ve been to (I rated it about a 6 out of 10 in comparaison to the Polynesian Cultural Center’s –-a 10+). There was macaroni salad, cucumber salad, green salad, sweet-n-sour mahi-mahi, Kahlua pig, bbq chicken, fried rice, mashed potatoes, mixed steamed veggies, and, of course, Poi. (blech! If you’ve never had it, think eating purple Elmer’s glue). Following this spread was a fruit/dessert table: mangoes, pineapple (all that Chubb would eat—nothing else), coconut milk jello, coconut white cake, and Peanut’s favorite: rice pudding. We also got to partake in AYCE mai-tais, but after one, I was sufficiently sugared out and turned to coffee.
The dinner show/hula show was decent. There were dances from Japan, China, Philippines, Fiji, New Zealand, Samoa, and Hawaii. Our favorite dances had to be the Fiji men’s and women’s dancing (the fast grass-skirt hip shaking dances—Hawaii’s hula dances do NOT involve grass skirts, that’s from Fiji). But the bes of all was the Samoan Fire Knife Dancing. It is always the best.
Peanut and Chub did pretty good through dinner and the show. Though, by 1/3 of the way through the dancing show Peanut was begging to go home and go ‘night-night.’ Chubbers was absolutely rivited to the dancing the whole show.
Both little kiddies crashed on the way home from the Luau. What a lovely way to end our day.

Wednesday June 25:
Headed out to the beach again, just this time we went to Lydgate Park, just south of Wailua on the East Coast of Kauai. What a great park! It was just perfect for the kids, and B and I managed (with children in innertubes in tow) to get in some snorkeling, too! We saw all sorts of fish, some of the fish we saw were: Unicorn Fish, Needle Fish, Moorish Idol, Eye-Stripe Surgeonfish, Saddleback Wrasse, Yellowfin Goatfish, Bandtailed Goatfish, Ornate Butterfly Fish, Longnosed Butterfly fish, Convict Tang, Seargeant Major, Blue Crevalle among others! Chub cried most of the time we snorkeled, Peanut loved it! She got such a kick out of being the ‘helper’ to hold the rocks and shells we found.
While in the kiddie area Chub-chub was the master of finding little blue crabs (about the size of a mini-bagel). He has the most amazing little eyes! I would likely have never spotted them, but he sure found them easily. It was fun watching this tiny little boy crawling around the rocks and where the breakers hit standing so still, only to discover he had found marine life all on his own.
B has been obsessed with going to this hamburger joint called ‘Bubba Burgers,’ so after leaving Lydgate park we finally indulged his obsession and went to have lunch at the place that touts that “We cheat tourists, drunks, and attorneys” on its sign (pretty creative, if not honest!). The burgers, drinks, fries, onion rings, and a t-shirt (for B) came to $47.50. Ouch! The food was OK, but nothing to write home about. But, at least B’s itch has been scratched.
Then, a quick trip to Foodland for provisions, and back to home. We are just loving the beach and the laid-back atmosphere here. This white girl is getting less white (think: I don’t look like like the milky-bluish color of skim anymore), and Brent…well, another few days and he will be as dark as a local. The kids? I’ve been doing well by them with the SPF 50 (they have a tiny bit of a tan, and no burn!).

Fear of Flying....

2008-06-19T21:12:00.000-07:00

Long time no post. Yeah, yeah, yeah. My bad. Actually, I've wanted (a little) to post, but overall with the end of the work-year and all the wrapping up activities I've just been too lazy/tired/busy to post (select your excuse).

But, alas, here I am. Posting on a Thursday night. Nothing particularly special about this Thursday, except that in less than 24 hours I will be 'cruising at an altitude of 30,000 feet'.

YIKES!

I hate flying. I don't know why, or how but I have an irrational fear of flying. Not quite a phobia, but not too far off. I just don't like it. I keep hoping that they will invent the Star Trek transporter--for real! I'd just love it. I'd gladly play triple fare to go on the instantaneous transporter. You want to go to Korea? Sure. Push the button **whoomp!** you're there. That's what I keep hoping for. In the meantime, I'm left with good ol' fashioned jet propelled transportation. It is kind of ironic that I'm afraid of flying: I suffer from wanderlust, and truly, the two just don't jibe. Sometime in my early twenties I just had one flight where I suddenly felt my mortality stronger than I had ever felt it, and so began my dislike of aircraft.

Every flight for about the first 20 minutes I sit ramrod straight in my uncomfortable little seat, white-knuckling the armrests and praying, fervently, "please don't let us die, please don't let us, die, oh sweet Jesus, please make sure all of us get safely to our destination without incident or trouble..." and it begins again. It is really quite embarrassing to be the only one in my entire row who is near hyperventilating, and who breaks out in slick little beads of sweat at the first jostle of air turbulence. Yeah. That's me. Then, after that initial 'take-off' and things get to 'cruising altitude' I'm fine. Well, that is until it is time for our 'final descent'. Then, I begin to tense up again, begin my 'breath prayers' and pretty much sit petrified in a state of utter terror until we stop moving on the tarmac and arrive at our gate.

Tomorrow, I get to experience this lovely scenario. With children. Small. Squirmy. ADHD. Two Years Old. Children.

Lord, Help me.

I'm off to Kauai until the end of the month.

Wish me luck. Say a prayer for me (that I don't freak out and that the kids are at the very least better behaved than I am). I'll see if I can post some pictures and tell you the tale of how I survived my first family trip to Hawaii.

Aloha.

5 years old...

2008-04-28T15:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Peanut,

I can hardly believe it, you're 5 years old today. Five, as of 2:53pm.

We've already had quite a few adventures. I've learned so much from you, about you, and even more about me. I had no idea all those years ago just how drastically my life would change. The cliche is that once you have a baby 'normal' ceases to be. It is also said that it takes about a year to 'recover' from having a baby. Well, baby, I'm still recovering, and I know that my life will certainly never be the same.

On that glorious April day so long ago, you were forced into this big old world earlier than any of us imagined, nearly a month premature. The doctors watched my pregnancy with you as carefully as any other mommy-to-be's. Everything went just about as you would expect. I felt sick and miserable the first few months after you made your presence known. Then, life started to 'normalize' again, and I felt better. In fact, we were cruising along at quite a good clip. I got a new job, and your daddy and I moved to a strange new city, all alone, and looking forward to the adventure that was to be you.

Then, about 7 months into my pregnancy, the doctors spotted some abnormalities: you weren't growing. You were so tiny. I had to go on bed rest, and the doctor considered putting me into the hospital to rest, in order to keep you safe. It turned out you had a condition called 'intra-uterine growth restriction (retardation)'. It meant that for reasons unknown you just stopped growing the way you should. Because of this, the doctors decided that you could 'cook' inside of me no more: it was time for your eviction. Should you stay inside of me any longer, the chances of you surviving got smaller and smaller, and we'd hoped and prayed for you and wanted you so badly, that just couldn't be. So, your introduction to the world was scheduled: you would be born on April 28, 2003.

And so you were.

I labored to give birth to you for exactly 5 hours and 23 minutes. I pushed for a total of 10 minutes, and two pushes until you came out. You see, the doctor was worried about your little heart and all the stress that being born would put on you, so she told me that we were going to have to have you via cesarean delivery. I would have done anything to protect you, and the doctor knew it. I think she saw the silent tears slide down my cheeks, she saw I was so worried and scared for you, that she said to me, "you're going to have this baby right now. Now push!" And so I did, and so you were born.

You were such a tiny little thing! Only 5 pounds 12 ounces, but so long--19.5". You breathed right away and I heard your tiny little mewling cries, and I knew we'd be OK.

Your first days in this world were tough: You wouldn't eat, and you had jaundice so badly you were as yellow as a squash. You had to sleep under bilirubin lights (like a tanning bed!) to help your little body break down the excess iron in your system, and we had to measure what you ate in cc's (that was to be the way of it for the next few months, you so disliked eating!).

Your daddy and I drove you home, all by ourselves, and walked into our tiny little home thinking to ourselves, "oh my. What do we do now?" Life was pretty hard. We were all alone in a new city with nobody to help us and nobody to call to ask advice. Our introduction to being your new parents was a real trial by fire. It is by the grace of God alone that we made it.

Both your daddy and I were out of work by the time you were 2 months old, and so your daddy went to school to learn to drive commercial trucks. Soon, he was done with school, and headed out on his new career. It was hard for us, because your daddy was gone for as much as a month at a time, and it was just you and I; no family and few friends. It is a wonder to me, as I look back, how we ever made it at all. I suppose it was due to how stubborn you and your mommy are.

Time has gone at such an erratic pace over these years. We struggled with you every day. Your little body was so weak, and you were so tired all the time, you didn't make your 'milestones' when you should. I took you to a big city, an hour's drive away, to the physical therapist's office, to help you learn to roll over, sit, crawl, and eventually at 17 months of age, to walk. It was a long and emotional journey.

As a baby, you hardly made a sound, and you didn't much care to be held. I always thought it was because I did something wrong, or that you were rejecting me on some level. It left me with many 'hard' feelings. But, we learned why you acted this way much later on.

You didn't talk when you were 'supposed' to talk, so we took you to doctors and specialists to try and help you out. You didn't talk until you were about 3.5 years old! And, when you did talk it was only your mommy who could understand you.

It turned out the reason why you didn't talk, and why you didn't like to snuggle was because of a disorder you have. It is called PDD, and it is on the Autism Spectrum. Your doctors said because of this, you learned from the world in a different way, and you would interact in a different way. It doesn't mean your way is wrong or better than my way, it is what it is: just different. We work each and every day to make your world more understandable to you, and to understand you better, ourselves. It is a journey of a thousand steps, and we're only 5 steps into it.

We've come so far, together, you and I. Despite all your challenges, from birth-on, you've come through far better than anyone could have predicted. You laugh, and smile. You sing and dance. You love to go to gymnastics and swing on the bars, and bounce around in the 'cheese pit'. You're learning how to swim! (and to think, you used to scream and cry if any water so much as touched your head) Just last week, I watched you do 40 'dunks' under water, with nary a tear! You have your bad days (and boy are they bad) but, the older you get, the more your days seem to be good, really, really, good.

You are an amazing little girl, and you amaze me each and every day. Just when I feel like your challenges are insurmountable, you do some sort of little, ordinary, every-day miracle, and in that instant the sun begins to shine, and all the little challenges and struggles we face, melt away for that glorious little instant.

Happy birthday, my precious little miracle. You are my bestest girl; always.

Love,

Mama

Friday, bloody, Friday (or the day from Hell)

2008-04-25T20:49:00.000-07:00

Where do I even begin? Well, for starters, if you've got a squeamish stomach, skip this one; if you're not into listening to drama, skip this one; if you're just not willing to listen to me whine and rant and rave, just skip this one and check back another day, like on one of the days where I post goofy pictures (like the peeps) or photos of slumbering, fuzzy kittens in the sun.

Warning: Today was a bad day.

Things were going 'swimmingly' up until about 11am. That's when my dear friend, who was watching the kidlets, calls me at work to let me know there's been an 'incident' with Peanut, but that she was ok. Whenever someone says there's been _______ "but such-and-such is OK" you know it is bad. What they're really hoping is that they can be responsible and let you know what happened, all the while silently praying 'Oh dear God, please don't let them freak out. Please don't let them freak out'. You know that prayer. The one you say when you're certain all of it (and then some) is going to 'hit the fan.' Yup. That one.

Well, after the phone call, it is pointless to say, I immediately left work, and headed out to get the Peanut and do damage control. En route I phoned the pediatrician's office, silently thanking God for the invention of cell phones and the affluence of my family to be able to afford one. The receptionist clicks onto the line: "Dr. K's office. Can you hold for a moment?" Uh, lemme think about this for a nanosecond: 'No, not really." And then I explained my situation. Thank goodness the receptionist was having a good day or had taken her happy pills or taken a huge hit of meth or whatever--she was so pleasant, and was willing and able to put up with my mild hysteria.

By the time I finished talking with the pediatrician's office I arrive at my friend's house: there's peanut, sitting on the couch with my friend's sweet husband, ice pack on her little head. She doesn't look any worse for the wear, but the truth is: My little monkey had been jumping on the bed (no, really) and she fell off and hit her head (we think it was on the foot board of the bed), mama (me) had already called the doctor and the doctor said: "tell me just exactly what she did to her head!". Poor little peanut had managed to get quite a gash on the back of the crown of her head, about one inch in length and I'm guessing 1/2 a centimeter (???) in depth--deep at any rate. It had mostly stopped bleeding by the time I got there, and amazingly enough she wasn't in any pain and wasn't complaining.

Whew!

My poor dear friend, on the other hand, was a wreck. She was so upset, and worried over Peanut getting hurt, and worried about how I'd react (normal reaction, I'd be the same way). I felt so bad for her because she was so upset she was in tears, and even though I wasn't (and still am not) mad at her, nor do I find she did anything wrong, I couldn't reassure her that I understood, and that it was just a freak kid accident--it could have just as easily happened at my home as at hers, or with any other kid. I do hope that she feels better tomorrow.

At any rate, I decided yes, Peanut did need stitches, so off my friend, my Peanut, and I went to: The Emergency Room. (duh, duh, duh). There we sat. And sat. And we sat some more. We sat, with a bleeding four-year-old child in the waiting room for the upwards of almost 2 hours before they took us back.

I guess the old saying is true: you could, technically, bleed to death while waiting to be called back into the emergency room. Huh. Who knew?

After a short visit with the E.R. doctor and a nurse, they decided we needed to suture up her head, as my friend and I figured, and that they were going to use staples.

What?

We went to the E.R. for the purpose of letting my girl be sedated a bit for her stitches because we didn't think she'd be able to handle it 'the old fashioned way' (given that on the 7th of this month it took 3 adults to restrain her for a single blood draw--that is a story unto itself). Well, the sage doctor decided we'd try the staples first, and if that didn't' work, then we'd do sedation. At this point in time I was like "whatever will work. Let's just get this over and done with." All the while, Peanut has been an excellent patient--no whining, crying, or acting up (that was her mother who was doing that!!).

So, there we were, in the E.R., Peanut on my lap, my legs wrapped about her waist, holding her in a 'bear hug' while the gentleman nurse (a fantastic human being, I might add) held her head steady and the doctor stapled her scalp shut.

Ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk, and one final ca-chunk.

And it was done. Nearly 3 1/2 hours after we arrived, and $100 lighter in the wallet later, the girl was sutured up and we were on our way.

And to think, we could have had the same results, at the Pediatrician's office, and been in and out in less than 30 minutes. GARG!

Then, back home again. Peanut was feeling frisky and fine (the child was doing somersaults on the couch (getting blood everywhere-eew!) and had to be told to calm down and relax, so her sutures wouldn't be disturbed), and mommy's blood pressure was through the roof. Not the way I'd wanted to spend the afternoon.

At least my little girl was 'good as new' and feeling fine. That was the most important thing.

After both children were fed, and the boy put to bed, I headed out to run the last of the birthday errands I had left. Originally, I'd planned to do all of the errands and 'to-dos' this afternoon, but the trip to the E.R. disrupted that train of thinking, so it had to wait until after dinner.

I wound up taking care of all of my errands, with a little insult added at the gas pumps ($20 for 5.45gal. of gasoline! ***#$@@@$*$*$* insert expletive), only to walk back into the house, ready to frost the cupcakes for Peanut's party tomorrow, to discover my darling husband had only bought one can of chocolate frosting--to decorate 54 cupcakes in 'rainbow' colors. So much for being prepared the day before the party.

Needless to say, my evening ended on a truly aggravating note. But, the silver lining to this cloud is that the Peanut is OK, she's feeling good, she's going to be five, and has five staples in her head, someday this is going to make a great story to retell; and, hopefully my little monkey has learned her lesson: 'no more monkey jumping on the bed!'

Patsy Cline said it best: "Crazy"

2008-04-24T14:31:00.000-07:00

Here I am, 2:31pm, home and already had my second cup 'o java for the afternoon (I had 2 this morning before leaving for work, and I cheated and had a small (6oz.) cup of BLACK coffee at work...). Apparently I'm working my addiction up to a full pot of coffee a day. And, to think, I'd been doing so well at only having one measly little cup (black!) in the morning before going to work. I've tried to quit coffee, go it the 'tea' way...but let's call a spade a spade: living among roosters as I do, working, having the PEANUT (note: the caps is on purpose)...facing the day without waking up to the smell of syrupy thick espresso strength coffee, to be guzzled by the 12 oz. mug, is like asking me if I'd like a visit from Jack Kevorkian (life without coffee? yes, pencil him in at 3...). So much for the reduction of caffeine. On to bigger things:

I love my Peanut. Peanutzilla; the Chubber calls her "peanut-butter", B.J. often calls her a pain in the _________ (fill in the blank: neck, butt, etc...). I do. I love her so much, I often go into the 'red' caring for her and all of her various needs. I do without, so does B.J. and the Chubb, though the latter doesn't yet realize it. Ask me how long it has been since I had a whole-hog, pull-out-the-stops-vacation. I'll tell you: I don't rightly remember. Far. Too. Long. Ago. After all, I'm the girl who buys (bought) airline tickets to Europe or Hawaii on a spur-of-the-moment 'this price is too good not to buy it' whim. Sigh. Those days are looonnng gone. I'd like to be able to go to the salon every 6 weeks and get my highlights done without my mental abacus going into guilt and worry about bills overdrive, and so I don't look like the bus driver from South Park; I'd like to be able to go shopping once in a while without feeling like I'm going over the precipice and landing us into debt. I'd like to stay in the black, but it just seems like it isn't gonna happen.

Already, this month alone, we're up to about $200 in medical co-pays for Peanut, and it isn't even the end of the month yet. Not to mention, the $2,000 invoice from OHSU that we received the other day that we may be 100% responsible for (maybe the insurance will pay it, maybe it won't. I think that BCBS uses a 'magic 8-ball' to decide on what it pays out on.).

Back to the Peanut, and, more specifically our current situation: Her psychiatrist has recommended we take her to a psychologist (main difference: the former is an M.D., the latter is a Ph.D.) for 'neuropsychological evaluation....[to] rule out other neuropsych dysfunction; to include IQ/LD'. Blah, bluh, bla? Yes. I know, it is partly Greek to me, as well. Basically, we want to find out a baseline for Peanut's cognitive performance. The psychiatrist doesn't do that kind of testing, the psychologist does. So, off I go with referral in hand.

Cha-ching.

The referral we've got in our hot little hands is for an out of network provider. Translation: mucho dinero. I, of course, don't have to have this testing done, but being the compulsive problem-solving mama that I am, I am going to. Because, after all, if this sheds more light on Peanut and how to deal with her 'quirks' I'm all for it. But! It all comes at a price.

The evaluation Peanut needs will run the gamut of $1,200-$2,000, quote that the psychologist gave me over the phone.

Choke-to-death. [insert gagging and vomiting noises here]

The insurance will pay up to 70% of what they deem 'usual and customary fees' (after I've paid my $300 deductible). In normal human being speech that means they will decide what a doctor should charge, and based on what the insurance deems to be the 'appropriate' charge, they will pay up to 70%. So, if they say this type of testing should cost, for simplicity, $10, then 70% of 'usual and customary' would mean they pay $7, leaving me to pay 30% of the balance, or $3. Sounds relatively simple, but when you're dealing with multiple zeroes after the numbers it gets a bit more...hmm...how shall I say it...distressing. Furthermore, if Peanut's psychologist doesn't charge $10 for the testing, but charges $17 for the testing, the insurance still only ponies-up $7, and I'm left with the balance of $10. So, basically I'm a bit on the screwed side.

What is a parent to do? What I always do: try to do the best I can by my peanut. I continue to mumble and grumble over medical costs--but I'm lucky: I at least have insurance. Some folks aren't so lucky, and once upon a time in the recent past I was one of those folks who didn't have insurance...and by God, did I pray I didn't get sick.

I continue to be more and more political; I follow the insurance legislation for my state. I send letters to my representatives and legislators. I've been scheduled to testify in front of the legislature before (though the meeting was cancelled). All in the name of providing my daughter with the necessary medical care she needs to live the fullest and most productive life she can live. So that my husband and I can have some semblance of normalcy in our family: we know and remember all to well what life was like before Peanut had the appropriate therapies and help; life with an untreated child like my girl is sheer hell.

So, the song that plays in my mind's Mp3 player, today, would have to be Patsy Cline's "Crazy," because I'm crazy in love with my girl.

Guilt

2008-04-22T06:29:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted in a long time. This, I realize. While things have been humming along in my life, as always, I haven't felt particularly inspired to 'put pen to paper'.

Ironically, I started up this site as a means of purging my thoughts and maybe lessening the mommy-guilt load that all of us with offspring and who are of the X chromosomal variety experience, and in doing so, (tee hee) and not posting I have felt this cumbersome guilt hanging around my neck: I am not posting, hence my reader (singular) will become bored of my site, and fly far, far away. (I do have that bit of vanity, sorry to say)

A quick recap: Spring vacation--good, fast, over and done with; April: seductively waltzed into our lives like an innocent little lamb, only to sink its deadly lion-like fangs into our jugular and let us know that this spring will be a bumpy ride.

My Princess Peanut will soon be five years old. I'm majorly freaking out over this life milestone. She's in a preschool cum elementary school ecstasy "I'm going to be FIVE!" When did this happen? When did that yellow, squalling, doesn't want to eat and you can't make me, 5 lb. 12 oz. bundle of pain turn into a school age child?!? I'm utterly blown away.

We're planning her party for this Saturday at NWKC, so, I guess that means the games have begun. I know some people will think it a bit bourgeoisie for us to pay that much for her party, but let me tell you, the price is chump-change for the sanity! Last year we had her party at the carousel, and it was beautiful: the kids (the few who could make it) showed up, they rode the horses in circles enough times I wanted to puke, they ate cake, peanut ripped into the gifts, the mess stayed there, we went home to peace and quiet, voila! perfect.

For something new, and to (hopefully) take some of the focus off of the gluttony of gifts, we've decided to have a book exchange in lieu of gifts. I've requested each child who comes bring a gender-neutral, wrapped story book (not labeled to Peanut) and when we get to the 'open gifts' part each child will get a book to open--that way everybody gets to open a gift, and I get to get out of goody-bag duty! (I know its sneaky, its cheap, I love it!) I hope that this exchange works out well. Truthfully, Peanut doesn't need a single new toy, but I can't see her not getting to open something at her party, and I'm not so altruistic (yet! working on it...) that I can tell my daughter's guests to simply make a donation to a favored charity...so, maybe this plan works? I'll let you know. If you have any feelings, good or bad, please post a comment--I'd love to get some thoughts on the idea.

Well, it sounds as if my sweet little terrorists are waking/no longer content to play in their rooms, so I must sign-off. Having major daycare crisis right now--my poor dear babysitter has injured her back in some excruciating manner, and as of now: I have no back-up care, hence I am home from work today (B.J. was home yesterday) so among the many things I must do today, finding a backup daycare provider is pretty high up on the list. Sigh. It never ends.

Dipping Sauce

2008-03-31T20:42:00.000-07:00

I've been pretty quiet lately, hence the lack of posts. I wanted to get in at least one more post for March, as it charges out 'like a lion' so here it goes:

Tonight, for dinner, I served my family the most healthful, organic, locally produced farm-fresh foods...what? You don't believe me? OK, I admit it, it was frozen fish sticks, but here's the fun part, and, as you can guess it involves children, or specifically the boy child:

Chubbs is smacking away at his fish sticks and noisily slurping his milk, blowing bubbles intermittently for good measure, when I notice that he's dipping. My chubber loves to dip his food. I don't know what it is, but I think most kids have the same affinity: food is just somehow better if you can dip it into something before cramming it into your mouth. Chubber is my 'little dipper' and tonight was no exception. He chose to have a small blob of ketchup on his plate, sort of a little decorative garnish (heaven forbid he ever actually use his ketchup for anything other than a viscous substance with which to 'drive' his 'food-car' through as a means of vicariously living the life of a monster-truck driver...), but fish sticks just aren't as good if you don't actually dip them into something.

Well, tonight, folks, the Chublet has reached a new echelon of grossology: he devoured his fish sticks after liberally dunking them (repeatedly!) into his apple sauce.

Y-U-C-K-Y!

Can you even imagine a more disgusting combination than frozen fish-sticks dipped into organic (for real!) no sugar added apple sauce? That was just way too nasty for me. Ranks right up there with the Scottish delicacy of a deep-fried Mars bar. (shuddering in revulsion, here)

So, tell me, what's the nastiest thing your sweet little offspring has decided to 'dip'?

Happy Easter!

2008-03-21T08:44:00.000-07:00

Wishing everyone in the Blogosphere a happy and reflective Easter.

As the most important holiday in the Christian calendar approaches, let all of us reflect on what was done on our behalf. We don't deserve grace or mercy, yet it is freely given to us (John 3:16).

It isn't about astrobright plastic eggs, candy (even peeps!), or pretty dresses on Sunday. Sometimes we lose sight of what it is all Truly about.

Give thanks for the grace that He has extended to us, and let's all of us work on extending the kindness, grace, and love He gives to us, to everyone around us.

A lofty goal, I know. I will continue to work on it, and perhaps, in time, I will come closer to achieving it.

Happy Easter.

More about ma' Peeps

2008-03-15T18:20:00.000-07:00

Taken from the April 2008 issue of Parenting magazine:
by: Deborah Skolnik

4 Ways Kids are Like Peeps

1. They're sweet, though almost always a bit sticky.

2. You can give them a little squeeze if they're yours--but not if they're a stranger's.

3. They're a known cause of stubborn belly overhang.

4. It can be hard to stop at one, but after two or three, the mere thought of having another may make you queasy.

Lovin da peeps and lovin, y'all, ma' peeps!

Parental Advisory: Explicit Content

2008-03-13T15:15:00.000-07:00

In honor of my all time favorite Easter basket treats:

The Peep Show

Get on the bus...

2008-03-12T14:26:00.000-07:00

Breast Cancer Petition
Urge Congress to stop "Drive-Through" Mastectomies!

"Desperate Housewives" star Marcia Cross joined Lifetime, Senator Landrieu (D-LA) and Representatives DeLauro (D-CT) and Moran (R-KS), at a Capitol Hill press conference on Wednesday, January 23, to give voice to the 20 million signatures collected on myLifetime.com urging Congress to end the practice of “drive-through” mastectomies, when women are forced to leave the hospital following their physically and emotionally difficult breast cancer surgeries before they and their doctors may feel they are ready to go home. Senator Landrieu and Representatives DeLauro and Moran are championing the bipartisan Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2007 (S.459/H.R 758), which includes no mandates but allows a woman and her doctor to

Please visit the website, if you're so moved, sign the petition, and help keep women healthy.

Sign the petition.

Thanks.

PS: this is authentic and verified through Snopes, and your information will not be used for any other purpose than to sign the petition.

PS2: After you sign the petition, treat yourself to a little procrastination and fun by creating a 'be my bra' character. Hey, it's free, fun, and goes to support a good cause.

Little Bathing Beauty

2008-02-28T13:57:00.000-08:00

Last night I gave the Peanut and Chubber a bath. Yes, I know, what a surprise: a mom bathing her preschool children. Well, ya kind of have to, its in the job description, and--after about 4 days or so they really start to smell.

So, upon pulling peanut out of the tub she says:

"Mommy! (looking at her naked arm and little tummy) I have DUCK BUMPS!"

Translation: Goose bumps.

I just thought that was the cutest little thing.

Jury Duty

2008-02-25T19:57:00.000-08:00

I wound up being called for jury duty, and actually had to show up at the courthouse this morning.

See, this is how it works: One day you check your mail and contained within its junk mail, and bill confines is this innocuous little piece of paper informing you of your summons to appear for jury duty. No biggie, just sign the page, return it, and let them know you'll show up (unless, of course you have a valid reason to defer).

This morning, I got to sleep in until a whopping 6:20am! Whoo-hoo! The reason being, I had to report for jury duty by 8:00am. I did not have to wrangle my sweet little children (like the usual 7am morning madness), as dear sweet B.J. was home to watch them (my babysitter is sick, but that's another story unto itself!). So, it meant I didn't need to leave the house until about 7:40am to make it to the courthouse on time.

Upon arrival to the 'Jury Duty Reporting' entrance, I walked into what appeared to be the bowels of the courthouse. A downward sloping sidewalk led me to a door into an institutional white hallway complete with post-9-1-1 security screening. After being screened, I was admitted to yet another bland and cheerless room where I filled out two forms: one to give my name, juror number, and whether or not my employer would pay me for my time away from work to serve on the jury; the other form was a general survey of who I was--my age, marital status, educational background, and hobbies. With those two forms filled out, I waited in a short line to be counted 'present' and be accounted for, to fulfil my charged duty.

What followed was approximately two hours of sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair alongside the perimeter of the dour, fluorescent-lighted space. Thankfully I had my copy of Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. While I was fully diverted by my choice in reading material, the only excitement I was to have while in the Jury selection room was a $1.50 discount coupon to be used at the courthouse espresso bar (which got me a skinny coconut latte-yum!), and listening to Pam, the juror coordinator (I don't know her actual title, but she was the one who made the announcements and herded us around the bowels of the courthouse like a well work-worn Australian Shepherd moves his flock with so little effort). Pam was great. She was as entertaining as watching BBC America, that droll, dry sarcasm and dark humor that I so appreciate.

Toward the end of the 2 hour period I, along with the others, became restless. We wanted to know if we would see 'action' or, if not, could we please just get a move on and get out to live our lives!? Finally, the the announcement came: There would be no jury trials today. We had fulfilled our civic obligation of 'jury duty' for the interim next two years--so, should we receive a summons, we would be able to check the handy little box that states 'ineligible: jury duty in the last 2 years'.

So, while I wasn't exactly thrilled to go, I was able to get out early, having done my 'job' and was able to go and enjoy the remainder of the day with my husband and children.

To celebrate, we made our very first pilgrimage to Chuck-E-Cheese. It was very fun, and the kids had a blast, and, surprisingly enough, they actually make a pretty good pizza.

The great American Justice system and Chuck-E-Cheese. What more can I ask for?

...the blind will see...the lame will walk

2008-02-19T17:24:00.000-08:00

Life has a funny way of coming at you--especially when you least expect it. One of the great promises in life is that 'you'll never be given more than you can handle.' I love this promise, because when I'm gasping for air, and the life-ring is too far to reach and the waves are crashing over my head, threatening to pull me under for good, something comes along and buoys me up just long enough to grab that ring, and I make it to safety.

Autism is often that sea that I find myself sputtering in and desperately trying to tread water in order to stay afloat. Peanut has a form of Autism, PDD-NOS (there is debate as to whether or not PDD-NOS is under the 'Autism umbrella' or if Autism is under the umbrealla of PDD-NOS...but, for what is is worth, if you've got either label you're seeing and experiencing the world in a different way.). And, one of the characteristics of PDD that she has is speech and language development delay (communication disorder). She wants to talk to us, tell us things, but the way she can communicate is not always the conventional way that we can and do communicate--leaving both she and us frustrated and incommunicado.

I, just this very hour, read a wonderful article about a 13 year old girl with Autism who was unable to speak (she has apraxia--as in NO language at all) whom, for the first time in her life, has found a way to communicate with her family, and , consequently, the world. Before, the family and 'specialists' thought her to be possibly low functioning cognitively and unable to communicate--other than in non-standard ways (screaming, hittng herself, banging on furniture). She found a way to talk. To commuicate; and, she does so very effectively.

You can read all about her miraculous story of hope here.

Please read it, and file it away in your memory for the next time you're out in public and you see a person having a 'melt-down' or a 'fit' --self-injurous behaviors, screaming, yelling, and the like. Maybe, like the little girl in the article, they just haven't found a way that we understand to communicate with us.

God works in mysterious ways. This article was one of those ways He worked for me: I've grabbed hold of the life-ring, and am being pulled into safety.

Plagiarism....and stuff

2008-02-15T12:59:00.000-08:00

So, if the MLA or APA folks come around, just 'X' out this window...because I stole it! It is from an email forward (anonymous), and is too funny not to share. That, and I got lousy news at work today: My partner is being transferred to another location--executive decision by the top brass. I'm completely and totally bummed. We both were in tears. So, with that in mind I'll cheer myself (and maybe you, too!) up.

For your consideration:

If you are 30 or older (or close to it) you will think this is
hilarious!!!!

When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious
diatribes about how hard things were when they were growing up; what
with walking twenty-five miles to school every morning ... uphill
BOTH ways

yadda, yadda, yadda

And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no
way I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on kids
about how hard I had it and how easy they've got it! But now that...
I'm over the ripe old age of thirty, I can't help but look around
and notice the youth of today.

So here it goes . . . . .

When I was a kid we didn't have The Internet . If we wanted to know
something, we had to go to the library and look it up
ourselves, in the card catalogue!! There was no email!! We had to
actually write somebody a letter .with a pen! Then you had to walk
all the way across the street and put it in the mailbox and it would
take like a week to get there!

There were no MP3's or Napsters! You wanted to steal music, you had
to hitchhike to the record store and shoplift it yourself! Or
you had to wait around all day to tape it off the radio and the DJ'd
usually talk over the beginning and mess it all up!

We didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting! If you were on the
phone and somebody else called they got a busy signal, that's it!
And we didn't have fancy Caller ID Boxes either! When the phone
rang, you had no idea who it was! It could be your school, your mom,
your boss, your bookie, your drug dealer, a collections agent, you
just didn't know!!! You had to pick it up and take your chances,
mister!

We didn't have any fancy Sony Playstation video games with
high-resolution 3-D graphics! We had the Atari 2600! With games
like 'Space Invaders' and 'asteroids'. Your guy was a little square!
You actually had to use your imagination!! And there were no
multiple levels or screens, it was just one screen forever! And you
could never win. The game just kept getting harder and harder and
faster and faster until you died! Just like LIFE!

When you went to the movie theatre there no such thing as stadium
seating! All the seats were the same height! If a tall guy or some
old broad with a hat sat in front of you and you couldn't see, you
were just screwed!

Sure, we had cable television, but back then that was only like 15
channels and there was no on screen menu and no remote control! You
had to use a little book called a TV Guide to find out what was on!
You were screwed when it came to channel surfing! You had to get off
your butt and walk over to the TV to change the channel and there was
no Cartoon Network either! You could only get cartoons on Saturday
Morning. Do you hear what I'm saying! ?! We had to wait ALL WEEK for
cartoons, you spoiled little brats!

And we didn't have microwaves, if we wanted to heat something up we
had to use the stove ... imagine that! If we wanted popcorn, we had
to use that stupid Jiffy Pop thing and shake it over the stove
forever like an idiot.

That's exactly what I'm talking about! You kids today have got it
too easy. You're spoiled. You guys wouldn't have lasted five minutes
back in 1980!

Regards,

The over 30 Crowd

My Heart On My Sleeve

2008-02-14T16:58:00.001-08:00

This is a photo of my parents at our wedding.

The last photo that was taken of my mom and I before she 'got sick'.

Valentine's day is for my mom. I miss her every day, but especially today, of all days.

In loving memory.

Barbara Lee

October 2, 1940 - February 14, 2002

Some day I'll find the courage and energy to post the story of my mom. For now, this is what I've got.

I miss you, mom.

...haven't dropped off the face of the planet (yet!)

2008-02-12T16:57:00.000-08:00

Its been a long time since I've posted. A lot has been going on. I don't even know where to start. I guess, I can briefly mention that Peanut had a homicidal moment (not said tongue-in-cheek), and, understandably, I had a near nevous breakdown as a result of it. Safe to say, life is slightly closer to 1 standard deviation away from the mean (i.e. 'normal'), thanks to an emergency visit to her psychiatrist.

It is fast approaching the 6th anniversary of my mom's death, so I'm a bit melancholy, and have been mentally working on a post for the past month--though, haven't committed it to paper-yet.

My goal this week is to get some of my thoughts sorted out and on 'paper' out into the blogosphere for your consideration.

As for now, we're surviving. Day to day.

Fulfilling my Civic Duty (maybe?)

2008-02-05T19:34:00.000-08:00

Dun, dun, dun....I've been called for....JURY DUTY!

Ahh!

I have been summoned for jury duty exactly three times in my lifetime. To date I have served on exactly 0 trials. The first time that weighty little letter showed up I was about 22 years old, and, while nervous as 'all-get-out' after dialing the phone-in line, I was relieved of my duty: the trial had been cancelled.

The second time I was summoned was during my year-long leave of absence (read: when I was a S.A.H.M. to my Peanut and Chubbers). Due to the sensitive nature of my living situation (read: heavily lactating-mommy moo-cow who was nursing a 20lb. Chublet every 3 hours), I was able to decline to fulfil my Civic Duty.

It is always said that the "third time is the charm", and with that in mind, this past October, I received my third offical summons to appear as a juror in service of our magnificent American justice system. Unfortunately, at work, I was heavily inundated with offical State business (yet another fun audit or the like...honestly, I can't remember what legal-ish situation was going on, but it was something high-stakes (apparently) or else I wouldn't have been able to defer...) so I was able to postpone my summons until a later time.

Being the industrious little worker-bee that I am, I looked at my handy-dandy calendar and marked which bank holidays occurred in which months, and I zeroed in on February as my choice of month to commit myself to my Duty. Why February, you ask? Well, it is the month with the fewest bank holidays/inservices/out of the office days, of course. And, if I'm going to get stuck doing something I don't particularly want to do, I might as well do it and have a day out of the office, in a month where there are few days away, while I do it. Makes sense, right? Yeah, I thought so too.

So, here in my post box this afternoon what was I to find? I found the Safeway weekly mail insert (yuck--who cares, the poor slaughtered trees and environmental waste is what always pops into my brain), a Discover card advert (who cares? Aren't Americans, as a rule, entirely too far in debt? Isn't the Fed, as we speak, working on contriving a way to keep us out of a recession due to our overzealous spending habits and the poor investment choices of people with NO CREDIT have made? Isn't coroporate America crying 'poor, poor, poor, me...save me! while our Leader has (thank GOD) resolutely refused to dole out yet another form or corporate welfare...aherm...climbing down off the soap-box now). And, tucked neatly between the glorious waste of paper in my box, you guessed it, my Jury summons.

Should prove to be interesting, at the least. I wonder if I will wind up not being needed, as before. Or, will I get stuck on some sort of O.J.-esque media circus where I'll be sequestered (detained, Northern Korean prisoner-of-war style) in a swanky hotel, away from all outside influences and my precious family?

Who knows.

I call into the automated response system on February 24th to see if I will be needed on the 25th.

Wish me luck.

Just Ducky...so, why be normal?

2008-01-30T10:58:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-01-29T06:19:00.000-08:00

Enjoying a snow day...

Angst takes a plume and scratches feverishly upon the digital parchment

2008-01-27T19:40:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-01-25T13:40:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-01-23T13:42:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-01-17T20:52:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-14T13:38:00.000-08:00

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)

2008-01-13T20:23:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-10T13:44:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-09T17:46:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-05T13:44:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-01T18:24:00.000-08:00

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?

Virtual Christmas Wishes to You

2007-12-21T08:14:00.001-08:00

Warm Christmas Wishes to you and your family.

Happy 2007, let's make 2008 Great!

Bah! Humbug.

2007-12-19T20:32:00.000-08:00

Go Scrooge yourself.

Make sure to turn on your speakers.

Can you even believe that we're less than a week from Christmas? Wow! Time sure flies.

I'm living with roosters!

2007-12-17T06:02:00.000-08:00

I'm going utterly crackers, here. (As if it were something unusual-ha!)

My evil little children insist on being up at the pre-crack-of-dawn. I've said it many, many times before: Mommy don't do kids before 6:00 am.

I. Just. Don't.

There's just something very sick and wrong about children being awake and up (playing loudly) before 6:00am. I can't and don't want to handle it.

BUT!

My children have consistently been up and awake at 5:00am, 5:20am every. single. morning. I don't know what to do about it. I've tried to put them to bed later (10, 15, 30, 60 minutes (and more) past their bedtimes): still up in the 5:00am hour. I've tried to run them around and wear them out more in the afternoons: still up. I'm at my wits' end with what to do.

I am up early, early in the mornings. Part of my early waking is insomnia (ironically I could easily go back to sleep about 6:30am...too bad for me, that doesn't work), the other part is that from 5:30-about (ideally) 6:00am that is my private do-whatever-quiet-activity-I-want-to time. Just one problem: evil little monkeys who refuse to a) sleep until a reasonable hour, or, b) the same evil little monkeys who refuse to sleep until a reasonable hour also refuse to stay and play in their rooms.

So, dear reader, this is where you come in: I need your help! Desperately!

I'm looking for ideas of how to get my kids to sleep until at least until 6:00am or how to get them to play quietly in their rooms until 6:00am. Let's face it folks: I'm not picky. In my perfect world my kids would sleep until 6:30am weekdays and 8:00am weekends. But, at this point I'd settle for staying in their rooms until 6:00am.

Please, please write in. Help me find the 'magic bullet'. I'm open to just about anything--as long as it works.

I'm counting on you, dear friend, help me out!

What I get for driving without the radio on...

2007-12-14T13:59:00.000-08:00

Driving home from work today I kept the radio/CD/satellite/DVD off.

Amazing, I know.

Actually, I turned it all off on my way to work today. Sometimes I crave quiet, and driving sans electronic gadgets blaring is one sure-fire way to get it.

Peace gives me time to think--it is a good thing and a bad thing, both.

Anyhow, as I was nearing home I drove past an 'Oil Can Henry's' and I glanced at the reader board:

Come on in. Free WiFi.

Huh?

I had a couple of thoughts: are we so addicted to entertainment that we have to take our laptop to get a 15minute (or more like 30 mins) oil change? And, I also thought: 'free WiFi' Is is possible to have WiFi for a charge (other than your own personal home account)?

Have you ever seen signs: WiFi $.15/minute for the first 30 minutes, and $2.75/hour after the first half hour?

I certainly haven't. Could you even charge if you wanted to? People drive around neighborhoods with their laptops open looking for a signal so that they can steal WiFi. I know this because the laptops that we have at work have a very limited range of reception so that random freaks can't park in the lot at night to steal our WiFi. It's a security issue.

Hmmm.

So, does it "Free" and "WiFi" said in the same breath (or reader board) make the statement an oxymoron?

See. Sometimes thinking gets me into trouble.

What do you think? What do you know? Can you charge for WiFi in a public space? I'm curious to know. If you have any idea, post a comment, will ya? Thanks!

Because, well, inquiring minds deserve to know.

Nikon: No Longer Gone!

2007-12-12T19:16:00.001-08:00

Oh, sweet Nikon, how I do love thee, yes oh yes, it's surely true.

Oh, sweet Nikon I so missed you, you are my favo-rite little toy.

The days have been so long and dull.

I haven't been able to snap and click.

You are now clean and spark-ling, after just a month been gone.

Oh sweet Nikon I do love thee, I can't wait to click away.

(to the tune of Beethoven's 9th symphony, 'Ode to Joy')

Yup. It's official: I need a serious vacation.
Probably the kind of 'vacation' that has the staff in white lab coats.

But a break, nonetheless.

Pinkeye

2007-12-10T08:29:00.000-08:00

The boy has pinkeye. Again.

He got it this July when we were on holiday in Sunriver. I have no idea how he contracted it or from whom, but he did. We were there a few hours, took the kiddos to the playground, and voila! the next morning the Chubber woke up with a green, goopy, crusty eye. And, of course, it was on a Sunday. After a trip to the urgent care center in Bend he had some nasty antibiotic eye drops, and 5 days later he was good as new.

Now, this go around he started to have a bit of redness in his left eye on Friday. I didn't think much about it--the poor kid is a walking allergy, and I figured it was nothing. Saturday his eye is a bit more red looking. I still wasn't concerned, again, I figured he's a little boy---they're destructive--and he likely poked himself or something. Sunday shows up and his eye is really red, and he's grumpy. I think to myself, "Oh, no. Not again. I bet he's got pinkeye."

So, being the semi-decent mother I can be, I phone the pediatrician and leave a message with the answering service. About an hour later I get a call back from the triage nurse saying the on-call doctor can see the boy. Yay!

I must say, I really like our pediatrician, and the clinic we go to. From this Sunday's events I found out that they are open from 9:30am-7:00pm, weekdays, 9:00am-4:00pm, Saturday, and 9:00am-12:00pm on Sunday. What amazing hours, huh? I'm fortunate in that my kids are rarely sick, and because of it I don't necessarily (before yesterday) have the clinic hours memorized. I remember the days when you only saw the pediatrician during 'banker hours' and you could forget about weekends--if you were sick over a weekend you had two choices: 1) lay around the house and 'die' waiting for Monday (and hope there's an appointment open), or, 2) go to urgent care downtown and have a better chance of dying of whatever illness you had while waiting, or worse, contract whatever other awful disease from the guy who passed out on the couch next to you after a week long alcoholic-bender (I'll never get the olfactory memory erased from my head: the smell of unwashed transient and booze puke that emanated from the urgent care center).

So, clearly, compared to the 'old days' we're living in the lap of luxury.

Today I'm home from work and have the Chublet with me since he's not quite out of the contagious (24 hours on antibiotics) period. Peanut is at the sitter. I felt kinda bad dropping her off, but I don't want to risk her catching pinkeye (though, if she were to get it she'd probably have it by now). To prevent the rest of us from getting it I am on a mission to sanitize...well, pretty much everything. Chublet touches everything, so I need to clean everything. Oh joy. But, I suppose the alternative is getting pink-eye. I've never had it before, and I don't really want to find out just how fun it is. So, I've got my work cut out for me.

Ratatouille

2007-12-05T16:08:00.000-08:00

I had a very interesting start to my morning.

For starters, the evil Chubber was up at who-knows-what-time (when I got out of the shower and walked into my room, he was standing in the doorway--staring at me!), so I had a super early start: 5:30am. Ugh. I really need, honestly need a half-hour to myself first thing in the morning after I get out of the shower. With the Chublet being up so early, my 'personal time' instantly evaporates. At any rate, despite the early, early start with kids, the first part of my morning went smoothly. Where's the interesting part, you ask? Here it comes:

Once I got to work I was really productive. Rare for me, as I like to socialize a little bit in the morning with my co-workers and catch up on the goings-on (I miss out on a lot since I don't technically work full-time. Yeah, right.). I got the art materials we'd be using prepped and ready to roll for Friday, and the only thing I was missing was a few gallon-sized ziplock bags.

I started to look for the bags I needed. None to be found in my supply closet, desk, or random piles of detritus that inhabit my work-space. Bummer. That left me with having to cruise down to the second floor to look in the 'science closet.' I am in this closet constantly (I have a bit of a penchant for science...) and I know that there are not only gallon-sized ziplock bags, but quart-sized bags. Oh joy! As I was opening the storage closet a friend walked by and started to chat about what was going on, and, being me, I turned and said hello and got filled in on this very important 'memo.' As I'm standing there I'm noticing a foul odor emanating from the science closet. It is nasty and somewhat familiar, though I can't quite place it. Finally, important office talk taken care of, I begin to turn around to look in the closet when I hear it (slow things down to slow-motion): the plat-plat-plat of little naked rodent feet.

Eew, yucky!

Then, it all becomes odorifically clear: that smell was rat and/or mouse pee! And, those little feet that were scuttling across the floor were rat and/or mouse feet.

At this point, the elapsed time is approximately 0:01.05 seconds. I SCREAM! and jump up in the air, doing a fair imitation of my 'arachnoleptic fit' (the jiggy moves I perform when I happen upon a member of the arachnids--I do not like spiders!). To my horror, there are two small children in the a hallway who witness my 'freak-out-fit' and I run (think 'fairy princess' in the derogatory sense of the saying) to another co-worker's office.

Talk about a wake-up-call!

I complain to the appropriate department, and find out:

1. The appropriate personnel is aware that there is a (moderate) rodent problem
2. An exterminator is to be coming soon (I asked "soon? As in we're getting our new copy-machine 'soon' (it was supposed to have been installed some time after JUNE!))
3. The appropriate personnel had, in fact, killed a mouse in said science closet that very morning

Oh, how I do love working for the US government. Your tax dollars at work, baby! Nothin' but the best for our future.

So, Disney had a 'cute' rat in their new Disney/Pixar film "Ratatouille". We have disgusting, bad-smelling-pee, nasty little scuttling pink feet, dirty ghetto rats.

Hmmm.

How did they ever think rodents were cute and cuddly? I'll never know.

The Last King of Scotland & My 100th post

2007-12-04T06:33:00.000-08:00

Last night B.J. and I watched a pretty powerful movie: The Last King of Scotland.

Yes, yes, I know it is old. I know it won an Oscar and a Golden Globe (best actor: Forest Whitaker), but it was new to me. So, I'm going to add my 'two-bits' about it.

The movie takes place in 1970's Uganda, during the tyranny years of Idi Amin's administration. It is a fictionalized version of what took place during the years 1971-1979.

I was completely blown away by this film. I, like a typical American, know very little about Africa and its myriad of problems within specific countries (I'm ashamed to admit it, but its true. I have no excuse). I appreciated this film, because it, although fictionalized, strove to portray what Amin was like: both as the monster and the man. It showed Amin as a well-loved political leader (president) of Uganda, and how hopeful the people were that he'd make things better. He was portrayed as a friend and caring father. And, of course, he was shown as the madman master-mind behind the ruthless and systematic murder of 300,000 Ugandan people.

Forest Whitaker (Amin) did a bang-up job in his role; doubtless, why he received such accolades for it. I cannot imagine being able to act so well and engross myself into a character so much that I would 'become' that person. Whitaker, to me, becomes Amin. His multifaceted talent showcases the spectrum of 'people' that was Amin.

What was most striking to me was the extras on the DVD. It interviews the characters and the Ugandan actors about how the feel about portraying Idi Amin and his regime in Uganda. As one Ugandan woman put it: "Idi Amin has not returned to Uganda since 1979 [he spent the years '79-'03 in exile in Saudi Arabia]. I don't know if I like the idea of Amin coming home."

The film was shot on location in Uganda, using Ugandan actors who, incidentally, in real life, survived the Amin years. Their interviews were, I believe, paramount to the credibility of the film. Actor after actor, and extra after extra, over the age of about 25, recounted with sadness and apprehension tales from their lives during the Amin administration. Brutal treatment of innocent and guilty alike, dismemberment, mutilation, humiliation, and unspeakable terror made up the composition of their lives. The worst of it, being, that the young Ugandan people (under age 20) do not know/remember about the Amin years. The atrocities are not spoken about, and people are not educated. This leaves the door wide open to yet another megalomaniac like Amin to waltz into power, romance the people, and commit the same types of atrocities over again.

It is very much like the Holocaust during Nazi Germany's rise to power during the first half of the 20th century. As people forget, or worse--are told lies that the atrocities NEVER HAPPENED--it leaves the history books open to be re-written and for the horrors to surface and happen all over again.

The Ugandans interviewed on the DVD hoped that by raising the specter of Amin, in Uganda and the world, that it would help the world to remember the cruelty and inhumanity that took place during the 1970's. They hoped that it would help the youth of Uganda to know a version of their past, a version of the truth, so that it could set them free from future tyranny.

I cannot recommend this movie enough. Watch it when you're in a 'space' to appreciate all that it encompasses. I know it was sitting on the top of my television set for a the upwards of two weeks (gotta love Netflix and the 'no late fees' policy) before I was where I could truly sit down and watch the movie. I'm glad I waited, and I'm glad that I was able to see it.

Do, find time, watch The Last King of Scotland.

Tomorrow is December 1, 2007

2007-11-30T13:13:00.000-08:00

That means that NaBloPoMo is over. I will be able to say "I DID IT!!" and "I survived posting every single day in November (albeit, not necessarily thoughtful or good posts, but I did manage something).

Yay!!

Thanks to those of you who felt and/or posted your sympathy for my Bad Day. I'm really on a roll, today, albeit not as bad as yesterday, has been extremely aggravating. Thus, I'm having an aggravating day in lieu of a bad day. Does that count for anything? I didn't think so.

So, what was so bad about yesterday/today? (you may want to check out the list of links on my sidebar right about now, 'cuz the violins are coming out).

Rewind to Wednesday.

Work: the homo sapiens whom I deal with were great. Others, who, unfortunately, interact with my little universe were not. In fact, the description "wild-monkey-crazy-animals" would not be an overstatement. Can't go into any more details than that, because then it would be too specific,and the laws, and blah, blah, blah. At any rate, the behaviors (note: PLURAL) that were going on at work caused me to leave in a FOUL mood. I was so anxious and 'keyed-up' it took me the upwards of 2 hours to quit 'vibrating-internally' (you know, where you're so stressed out your guts feel like they're twisted in knots, and you start obsessing about what happened, and you get more and more upset--the negative cycle). Then, as a result of my stress I got upset stomach and started to have (am I actually going to publish this?) diarrhea.

Oh. So. Gross.

I was a very unhappy camper.

Then, I got to go back to work from 4:30-6:00pm for a conference/seminar that was mandatory. I'm currently taking a university class, and I have already done 25 classroom hours, and to finish it out I have a 'class' for 1.5 hours every month that I have to attend to receive my grade/credit. Oh joy. So,whatever 'unwinding' I had accomplished got undone when I walked in the doors for class.

Thursday:

Woke up at 5am still feeling ill. I have never had a somatic reaction like this to stress; ever. I rolled around and hoped I'd feel better...in the end I called in sick and spent the day feeling queasy and had unhappy intestines.

It gets better.

Wednesday afternoon after getting the mail (drove to the mailbox because, well, you know, I'd melt if I had to walk to the mailbox in the rain. You saw the Wizard of Oz, right? That was my sister), I noticed a tap-tap-tap noise. I figured I had a rock stuck in the tire of my van. Turns out I ran over a BOLT! AHHHHH!

So, after picking the kids up from the sitter (you thought I actually took a sick day and kept the kids home? Yeah. As IF.) I drove us to the Honda Dealer to ask about the tire. They told me to go to America's Tire Co. because they were really busy, and it would take a few hours for my car to get worked on.

Ok. I can do this.

We get to America's Tire Co. and my (evil screaming hellions) children behave like a 4 and 2 year old, respectively: they run around the shop, climb the tire/wheel displays, and scream like banshees. The tire guy looks mortified, and offers to 'work quickly' sine he sees I have "little ones." Great. Thanks. I appreciate it, I do. But, he tells me it is going to cost me $75 to fix my tire.

GAG!

Who pays $75 to fix a tire? Me, that's who. See, one of the joys of a 2006 Honda Odyssey Touring Model is this great little invention called run-flat tires. In a nutshell, run flats let you drive for 50 miles at speeds of up to 55mph without having to change the tire. The idea is so that if you're out and about and a tire gets a hole/leak you will be able to drive long enough (at highway speeds) to safely get to a service center without the hassle of changing a flat. Great idea. Poor design. Run flats wear out in about 30,000 miles of driving use. To replace them they are a special order, and here's what Consumer Reports had to say:

Consumer Reports magazine, said the tires offered a safety advantage, but the
tire forum on its Web site (consumer.org) had many complaints from run-flat owners about
higher-than-expected replacement costs, difficulty getting repairs and what some
considered excessive wear.

Ok. This is my only complaint about my van. Pretty good, don't you think, if that's my only gripe? I guess it is my 'just desserts' for insisting on the 'top-of-the line' if I were to cross over to the dark side of mommy-hood: driving a minivan.

The problem became, after I walked a sick me and two squealing, hungry little piggies up and down Lancaster Dr. and found a Chinese restaurant to feed us dinner (By now it was 5pm), was when we got back to the tire center an hour and a half later the tire was not fixed and he had, surprise-surprise, really GOOD news: It wasn't fixable.

I need 4 new tires (they're worn out) and I would have to immediately buy 1 new tire if I was to drive my van home. Great. The estimate he had for me for tires--ONLY, was $1,200.

It is amazing that I didn't barf right there on the counter.

Thankfully, by this time B.J. had met me at the store, and I let him take over the haggling.

In the end, since it was taking for-ever to get a tire changed, it is 6:45pm now, and we'd gotten to the tire shop just past 4:30pm, I pitch a fit, get the car seats squeezed in (should have used WD-40 to help) to the backseat of the Eclipse, if that is what you call the little shelf behind the front seats. Let's just say, preschooler and toddler in a sportscar is a real trip, in both senses of the word.

The kids and I get home. B.J. arrives about an HOUR later, with USED tire on the van, $150 lighter in the pockets for a USED FREAKING TIRE!!

We were so not loving the fancy tires, last night.

Friday:

Today was aggravating because my Nikon is still not back, got a call from the shop saying that it will be $95 to 'fix it' --huh? it is in the shop for a warranty-covered cleaning. I'm blogging right now so that I don't return the phone call and totally chew-off the store clerk's ear. My 1pm dentist appointment was cancelled. Let's just say I was dreading the cleaning all week long, and now that it has to be rescheduled, I have another new week to dread the cleaning, once I call back to reschedule.

Does it ever end? Oh, yeah, B.J. and I decided to buy new rims and tires for the Honda. No way can I put cheap-o steel rims on it (way too tacky, even for me) and that's gonna set us back $1800. But, that purchase (we're trying to hold off) is for next month--as in January.

But, to put it all into perspective, I'm grateful for what is a 'bad day' or an 'aggravating day' to me. Because, after reading about what the Ugandan people have to deal with, on Prose of Sharon's blog, I have nothing at all to gripe about. Even in my 'bad moments' I'm blessed beyond belief.

Here's to the weekend, and all the troubles I'm blessed with. I hope I can keep this perspective tomorrow, when we get picture re-takes of Peanut and Chubber.

We did it! Last post for NaBloPoMo.

And, how perfect is this? "The Twelve Days of Christmas" by The MacKenzie Brothers is on the raido right now. Their attitude sums up NaBloPoMo. Perfectly.

Bad Day

2007-11-29T18:38:00.000-08:00

I'm having a bad day.

A very bad and very expensive, bad day.

And, I'm somewhat on the sick side. My guts are writhing and I want to barf.

And, not just from feeling ill.

UGH!

God Save the Queen

2007-11-28T19:38:00.000-08:00

Our European vacation (pun intended) was quite the 'whirl.' We managed to cram in a tour of 9 countries. Being who I am, I would have liked to go to a few more, but time was against us. Our backpack tour included visiting these countries:

England

Belgium

France

Netherlands

Germany

Austria

Switzerland

Italy

and

Vatican City.

My, that is quite a list. It is really staggering, to me, to think that I've actually set foot in all of those places with their varied cultures and languages.

I have some good stories about the various places we went to, but I think that I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. Let's begin with England:

My, gotta love those Tube passes. They look like the Essex version of 'America's Most Wanted.'

I guess you're bound to look that way after foregoing sleep for a mere 36+ hours.

At the time, I thought these passes were so cool because they were an honest-to-goodness form of European identification.

Poor B.J., he looks like he's been on a 5 day meth bender.

And, what trip to England would be complete without a visit to good ol' Buckingham Palace? Geez, who is that? A fat Axl Rose? Gotta wonder what I was thinking taking that 'brain spider' (hat). I remember why I wore it--greasy hair! I thought the hat looked better than the four-day-unwashed hair. Hmmm...what would Stacey and Clinton say?

Big Ben vs. the Thumb

Tune in this Saturday to find out who will win this celebrity death match.

We had to visit the Hard Rock Cafe--the one in London is the original. I had wanted to visit this particular Hard Rock since I was about 7 years-old. The reason why I wanted to go there is because when I was about that age my brother went to England for an extended period of time, and when he came back he gave me a couple of souvenirs: a sweatshirt from Oxford University (no, he wasn't a student there...unless you count earning a degree in pub crawls), and a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt. That was my most cherished t-shirt for the longest time, and it is one of the artifacts from my past that inspired my lifelong goal of going to Europe, so needless to say, it was reaching one of my life's major goals to be able to take the cheesy (there's that Axl Rose chick, again) picture in front of the shop.

Interesting fact: Stonehenge is made of stones from the Presley mountain range--200 miles away. Nobody knows how exactly the stones got to where they are, but there they are. Also, no matter the time of year, it is cold. The Stones themselves, also have different temperatures (touch) to them as well; some stones feel 'warm' while others feel 'cool.' And, they really do.

Why is it I always have to act like a jerk and make 'the face'? Do any of you ever feel compelled to make the face in pictures? For any reason?

For what it's worth, I don't know. Maybe it is an excuse to show off just how Gene Simmons-like my tongue is? (I can, in fact, touch my tongue to my nose. How's that for random trivia?)

At any rate the exchange rate was about $1.60 (us) to one Pound (British). Our money didn't go very far in England, so
if nothing else, the look on my face says it all: The U.K. is very expensive.

Goodbye to England and the white cliffs of Dover.

Jumping the Pond

2007-11-27T14:47:00.000-08:00

As I've said, travel was to be a major part of the relationship that B.J.and I would have. After our initial trip to Florida we'd traveled around the state, and taken a fun week holiday to 'Fabulous Las Vegas', but, the best trip that we ever took (to date) was to spend nearly a month in Europe.

It had always been a dream of mine to be able to sight-see and experience a taste of life on the 'continent.' Ironically, B.J. never really thought about or cared to visit Europe. I never really thought it would be a reality (at least not in my impovershed youth), due to the expense of flying, quite literally, to the other side of the world. So, when the opportunity presented itself, I didn't waste any time mulling it over--I ran with it!

I remember it clearly: I was at University and it was right around the noon hour, and as usual, I was in the student union building. I generally did not take classes past noon (my circadian rhythm says it is nap time around 1pm, so taking classes meant I'd fall asleep in class. Very embarrassing.) but I had this one geology class that was only offered at like 2pm, which left me with approximately 3 hours to 'bum around' and study. Hence, my 'tenure' at the S.U.

Contained within the walls was of the EMU was the student travel agency. It was my habit to look in the windows whenever I went past. To this day, whenever I pass a travel agency I can't help but look at the specials advertised in the window and fantasize. This particular afternoon, while meandering aimlessly through the corridors with nothing in particular to do, I saw a flight and a price I could not refuse: Portland to Gatwick (London, UK) RT for $175.00.

No, that wasn't a type-o.

Even back then, people's eyebrows would meet their hairline in surprise over the price. I could hardly believe the good luck and the sheer economy of price, myself. I remeber, later that year, after our Europe trip, we flew to Florida on Southwest Airlines (gag!), and the tickets were about $100 more--just to fly from the West coast to the Southeast. It did (and does)boggle the mind.

Me, being a bit of a hedonist and eternally a shopper on the lookout for a good deal,hightailed myself into the travel agency, slapped my Visa card on the counter, and 15 minutes later walked away with two round-trip tickets to Europe and not a clue what else I'd do with them.

It was so much fun telling B.J.about my executive decision that we'd be going to Europe in March (this was at about the end of January,2000). He blanched (slightly) at the thought of the trans-Atlantic flight, but soon settled into the idea and joined in on my manic mood.

The flight was one of the worst I'd ever been on. I can remember flying out of Portland and watching the overhead storage bins sway alarmingly to and fro (with about a 8-10" arc of motion) and being convinced that the next bump of turbulence wouldn't end in just a mere 300' drop, but a 'final descent.' I just knew we were going to die. The terror of the terrible take-off ended about 45 minutes into the flight. It was the longest stretch of 'turbulence' that I'd ever endured (or hope to endure). Our connecting flight from Newark, N.J. to Gatwick was much more smooth, and the armrests of my particular seat, upon deplaning, did not show any evidence of my having occupied it--there were not, thankfully, 10 crescent shaped depressions from my white-knuckling it through the flight--as there were on the first leg.

Thirty hours and about 6,000 miles later we touched down: Europe.

My dream had become our reality.

1,000 words and more...

2007-11-26T18:16:00.003-08:00

...And I want a computer for Christmas, Santa.

...the award for grumpy face goes to...

And, if all else fails, cuddle your mommy

B.J.'s Big B-Day

2007-11-25T13:49:00.000-08:00

Today it's all about my hubby: I'm going to tell you about how we celebrated B.J.'s 35th.

It all started about a month ago. I was sitting at the table eating lunch with the kids on a Saturday when I heard that Billy Joel would be coming to town for one night only. Immediately, I thought to myself, that's it! That would be the perfect Birthday gift for B.J. He's tough to shop for (what man isn't?), and I'm perennially broke, but this would be such a surprise.

The only problem (besides money, of course): it was an evening concert, and I have two small kids. What to do, what to do?

What I did: I got on the line with my friend B., and asked her if she and her family would be home on Thanksgiving weekend and would they be willing to host my monkeys over-night so that I could surprise B.J. As luck would have it, they would be home and, generous as she is, my friend said "bring 'em on over." THANK YOU B.!

So, all that left me with was purchasing the tickets.

I've said it before, and I'll continue to say it: I love the Internet. It allows me to shop from the convenience of my own home and maintain my sanity. Without online shopping I'd have to publicly lose the few marbles remaining in my head while trying to wrestle 2 naughty Little monkeys at the Ticket-master counter. Thanks to high-speed internet, and two tries and a credit card number later, I had 2 tickets for the show, including parking, purchased and en route via USPS within the next 14 days.

The tough part came when I realized I'd have to keep my big mouth shut for nearly a month in order to surprise B.J.. I'm as bad as a kid, when there's something really good, I can hardly wait to give it. The concert was no exception. To get the most 'bang' out of it, I had this huge plan orchestrated (with my friend B. in on it) where I'd tell B.J. that I've planned a night at the movies, and B. agreed to watch the kids, and instead of going to the theatre, I keep driving all the way to the Concert Hall and SURPRISE! we're not going to see the Sponge Bob Movie (or insert whatever horrible film is out currently in place of S.B.), but we're here to see Billy Joel!

It was a nice fantasy while it lasted.

Since B.J. loves Billy Joel, and, you're never gonna believe this, listens to the radio and heard about the concert (what a knee slapper!), he kept bringing up that he wanted to go. I'm thinking to myself 'oh no, what if he gets online and buys the tickets?'. I had to do something to prevent disaster: 4 tickets for twice the price!

So, whenever I would leave the house I'd admonish him: "DON'T buy ANY-THING online. Promise me you WILL. NOT. BUY. ANY-THING." He'd always say "yeah, yeah I'm just looking." Poor guy, must have thought I was the biggest shrew...Anyhow, B.J. will. not. shut. up. about the concert, so I finally gave up and handed him the invoice for the concert tickets and said that the kids and I were going to surprise him, but here's his gift early.

He was speechless. And, had a grin that split his face from ear to ear. Needless to say, he was very happy. I then explained why I didn't want him to buy anything online. And, this is classic, his response was: "I thought you were talking about me buying car or motorcycle parts. I'd have never thought to look for concert tickets."

DOH! Oh well, the best laid plans of mice and men, right?

So, we headed up to the concert last night. En route we stopped at Bridgeport Village and had a nice dinner at the California Pizza Kitchen. It was a bit more expensive than the average Red Robin dinner, but well worth it--especially since we were sans children. A short drive later and we were parking for the concert.

Let me just say Billy Joel is phenomenal in concert. I was highly impressed, as was B.J. Our experience is that many recording artists sound great on their albums (after what they've done has been mixed and mastered to perfection) and when you hear them live we're often left, puzzling our puzzlers, "who was that?". They don't sound at all very good. Joel, on the other hand, if it were possible, sounded better live than recorded. A real A++ performance. He played many 'B-side' songs and other 'obscurities' (to use his word), and threw in a few 'greatest hits' for good measure. He finally ended the concert with and third encore: "Piano Man".

Overall, a great performance. B.J. was pleased, and I was thrilled because we had so much fun, and I really hit a home-run this year with his birthday present.

Too bad I was such a boring date on the way home: 2 blocks from the venue, and I was conked-out and snoring in the car. And to think, we used to stay out until 2, 3, 4 in the morning before calling it a night. My, things have changed...

Family Portraits

2007-11-24T09:55:00.000-08:00

Yuck.

I mean,truly, it was a horrible experience. Wardrobe malfunctions aside, usually family portraits are at worst OK and at best a lot of fun. Our family portrait, for this year, sucked.

Yep. That is the best diction that I can muster to describe it: it sucked.

We didn't do a family portrait last year because I truly did not have the energy or the need for a new picture in my living room. This year, since the Chub is not an infant, and you can't tell who it is in the picture (well, any reasonable human being with two brain cells to rub together can...but I digress) it was time to get a new one done.

Oh, yay.

The kids' outfits, as I said yesterday, matched perfectly. (I'm so completely jonesing for my Nikon--that still isn't back from the shop yet) If I had the capability, I'd post a pic of their cute little outfits. You'll just have to trust me. I'll eventually be able to post. B.J. and I did not go shopping for a new outfit for pictures. Why? I don't know. Chalk it up to lethargy or cheapness. Either would work. Amazingly, B.J. rummages though his closet and finds a pair of black slacks and a purplish dress shirt that coordinates nicely with the kids' clothes. That left me. Oh, joy.

I have had a continual wardrobe crisis for about the past 8 months or so. I lost enough weight that my clothes got too big. A good thing, right? So, I did the Dr. Phil thing and promptly got rid of all my too-big clothes (Dr. Phil says get rid of them unless you plan to fit into them again...I do NOT plan to fit into them EVER again). And, because money is always tight, and time even tighter I have not really gotten around to replacing my wardrobe. My poor co-workers must be sick-to-death of seeing me in the same 5 outfits; I know I am. Back to pictures: I have a purplish sweater but it didn't work, along with just about every other thing in my closet. I finally settled on (through barely contained tears) dark wash jeans and a (too embarrassing to admit) old black velvet top. I resolved that we'd just have our portrait 'from the waist up'. WRONG!

Whatever the photographer was thinking, I'll never know. Clearly, the whole family, except mom, looks great. Dressed up, color coordinated, picture-perfect. I tell her about my 'waist up' theory. Fat lot of good it did. She poses us, on the floor, mom (me) in front sort of leaning over to the side full body shot, B.J. squatting behind me, Peanut standing behind me on the other side, and a cranky, screaming, whiny chublet in the front of me. This is just the beginning.

Internally I'm groaning to myself, what part of 'from the waist up ONLY' did she not understand? And, to make matters worse, she is trying to get chubber to look happier than someone marching to the guillotine (his current pose) by making silly noises, playing peek-a-boo through an empty box. Normally, this type of activity makes little kids giggle and smile. Or, at least snap out of their funk. It succeeds grandly in making Chublet more and more angry. He actually becomes incensed, complete with more screaming, and, my personal favorite, throwing himself on the floor in the 'rug' pose. Can this woman simply not shut up? Can she not see she's not helping, but making things worse? For all intents and purposes, she cannot.

So, we scream our way through the family shot. When we reviewed the pictures, there was only ONE shot where we were all looking the same direction, and Chub was not openly screaming: the picture with me, full-body in front. With B.J.'s white sweat socks showing. Classy. I think we'll be the modern equivalent to a Norman Rockwell...

Family portrait done, we proceeded to torment ourselves and the kids some more: sibling shots. Let's just say that went over like a lead balloon. For a change, Peanut was compliant, smiled on cue, tilted her head 'just so' and sat still. Who was this child? On the other hand, there was the chublet: cranky, angry, flopping in the floor. The proverbial little kid pitching a fit in the grocery store. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

The kids' photos were so horrible, I didn't buy even one of them. Even the photographer who reviewed the proofs with us covered up Chublet's face and said, "these would be great if we could cut this out." I agreed.

So, the moral of the story? I don't know. All I do know is that my wardrobe malfunction will be immortalized in our 2007 Family/Christmas portrait. I'll forever remember how entirely two years old Chublet was, and that the Peanut was proportionally angelic to Chublet's evilness.

We have rescheduled the kids' portrait for next weekend. Let's hope it is less of a toddler rodeo. Please.

Ham Day...part deux.

2007-11-23T18:57:00.000-08:00

Do you ever have days where you feel like you accomplish absolutely nothing, yet when you go through your 'to do' list, you've hit 99.5% of what there was?

Well, believe it or not, today was a 'I feel like I got zilch done, but really we did a lot' kind of day.

Kitchen cleaned (for the 12th time). Check.
Fall/Harvest decorations down and put away. Check.
Christmas storage bins down from attic (minus the nagging, I only asked B.J.one time). That's a 'double' Check-Check.
(Faux) Fir tree assembled. Check.
Christmas tree decorated. Check.
Main living areas ho-ho-holiday-fied. Check, check, check.
Broken antique Christmas ornament cleaned up. Check.

Christmas portraits. Check.

Here's where you insert the needle-scratching-vinyl-record soundbite.

This is another post, for tomorrow, entirely.

Let's just say, it was SOOOOooo much fun, it gets its own entry. Nuff said.

Christmas lights (minimal) up outside.

So, despite all my accomplishments for today, I feel like I just went in circles and got nothing done.

I'll post more tomorrow. About Christmas portraits. (insert soundbite from shower scene from PSYCHO....here!).

Happy Ham Day!

2007-11-22T13:38:00.000-08:00

Wishing you, your family, and closest friends a wonderful Thanksgiving.

We truly have so much to be grateful for. Even the least of us, the most socio-economically challenged people (as in Americans) have more than the overwhelming majority of the world. It's a staggering thought, but it is true.

While my family is enjoying a bountiful menu of ham, fresh baked bread, green bean casserole, fruit salad, mixed winter veggies, and pumpkin chocolate chip cookies for dessert, there are so many who have nothing.

Inspired by Stephanie I'd like to include a link to FREE RICE. At this site you get to play a vocabulary game (geeks unite!) and for every word you get correct through the website/sponsors the UN is able to give 10 grains of rice to help end world hunger. Pretty neat, huh? It is for a very good cause, and while we sit in the respective 'lap of luxury' digesting our way out of a turkey coma (or in our family's case, a ham coma) you can play a game and feel good. You'll feel good because you're not just goofing off on the computer, you're doing a little something to help someone else who does not enjoy the luxury of enough food to eat.

We sure do complain a lot, me included, for all that we're blessed with. I've gone on about it before, we, as Americans, are the luckiest individuals in the world. What we consider obstacles to overcome, are nothing compared to the rest of the world. At least we have the opportunity to overcome the obstacles in our paths.

With a heart of gratitude and blessing, happy Thanksgiving to you. May the abundance that God blesses each and every one of us with spill over onto those less fortunate than ourselves.

I'm tired

2007-11-21T18:46:00.000-08:00

Truthfully, I don't particularly want to post tonight. But, since I committed to doing a post Every. Single. Day. In November, I'm sticking to it.

Got both the kids' hair cut today. Peanut has a 'bob' very short, and cute. She can't get the hair into her mouth--good news for me: no dread-locks coming out of her derriere from eating/swallowing her hair. It is just as disgusting (and worse) as it sounds.

Dealt with a screaming, thrashing Chublet who did NOT (vehemently did not) want his hair cut. The stylist (hair BUTCHER!) who cut his hair, totally whacked it off. He looked like the 'hack job' from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. It was everything I could do not to cry right there in the salon. I requested Chubbs hair trimmed and layered up, but still long--as in chin-length. The guy who cut his beautiful long blond hair chopped it off in a typical little boy hair cut, except Chubber's hair looks awful. Like a little boy cut about 6 months overgrown. I am just sick to my stomach. Yes, yes, I know its just hair and will grow back. But I loved my boy's long hair (past his shoulders). So, I'm just bummed out.

I want to post more about B.J. and I, but that involves scanning photos to do the post the way I want to. I'm too lazy. Whine, whine whine.

So, on that uplifting note I'll leave you with this rockin' YouTube video. Go on, waste 8some-odd minutes of your life. Its gory, but fascinating, in an ANIMAL PLANET sort of way. I found it at DOOCE.

Click here and lose some brain cells.

Happy Early Turkey Day.

I hope everyone has a great holiday with minimal stress; and remember, the calories don't count all day Thursday.

Worst day at work. Ever.

2007-11-20T07:15:00.000-08:00

I'm so totally wasted. Work last night completely stank. I try not to let work seep into my little corner of the blogosphere, but last night was the worst night at work. Ever.

I had a heck of a time falling asleep, then woke up several times last night. Finally, I woke up this morning thinking about what happened. That's just how bothered I am.

I wanted to post about it here. In fact, I even drafted a post. However, upon second thought I have chosen not to post it. There are too many legal implications. I think I may be in violation of confidentiality laws, it isn't ethical, and I can't risk either.

Let's just say my last 'worst day ever' at work involved physical violence (by an adult) and legal action. That was a royally sh***y day. By far, last night was worse than that, and involved no physical violence at all.

I hate this. Because of what I do I cannot vent for fear of legal recourse. It is so utterly unlikely that anyone would ever connect up the 'dots', especially since I write under a nom de plume, but there's the chance.

Some days I really hate my job.

Some of my Favorite Things: Favorite Pool in the US

2007-11-19T05:40:00.000-08:00

This is my favorite pool. In fact, this pool is one of my all-time favorite places in the entire United States.

This is Coral Gables Venetian Pool. I count some of my happiest memories as a child as coming from spending time with my mom and my grandmother at Venetian Pool.

There is quite a lot of history to this beautiful place. For my family there are at least 3 generations worth of history at this pool. My grandmother took my mother and her siblings as children to swim. And, if I could dig through family photos and find them, there are pictures showing that I was brought her as a little girl to swim, too.

I always loved coming here. It was so refreshing, and, in some instances, downright cold to swim in the clear spring-fed waters. I loved to swim with my grandma into the 'grotto' and under the water into the caves that were formed from the native coral rock that is everywhere in Miami.

Thinking of Venetian Pool, I can't help but remember stories of my mother and her siblings playing in the water here. One story in particular always springs to mind: When my Aunt J. was about 3 years old she managed to climb to the top of the rock cliff all by herself, and jumped off. Yep, they said even though J. couldn't swim a stroke, she took a flying leap off of the 25' high cliff and landed in the water. Luckily people jumped in right away and pulled her out of the water before she drowned. Nobody could believe she did it, and they were never able to figure out just why she decided to jump off. All of this took place in the mid 1940's.

I am so glad to see that this pool is on the national registry of historical places. It gives me peace of mind that such a treasure in the 'Gables will be preserved for many generations to come. I look forward to someday being able to take my own children to swim at Venetian Pool, to continue the legacy that was left to me by my mother and my grandmother.

This post is dedicated to you, Grammy and Nana. I miss and love you both. Thank you for giving me such good memories and for all the good times playing at the pool (and the beach!). I will never forget.

Inseperable

2007-11-18T07:38:00.000-08:00

After our first date, B.J. and I were nearly inseparable. That, dear ones, resulted in majorly ticked-off friends. To be precise, my friends were angry as hornets that I was spending so much time with B.J. Funny how that happens, especially since it was those friends who so forcefully pushed me to go out with B. J. Guess it is true: be careful of what you wish for, because you just may get it.

Angry (jealous) friends aside, B.J. and I really hit it off. We found we had a lot of things in common: movies, music (to a lesser extent, I never could enjoy the twangy country music he liked), going to the coast, shopping. Yes, you read that correctly, B.J. likes to shop . (Yes, I heard angels singing, too.)

We spent nearly every weekend driving over to the coast. B.J. and I enjoyed lots of dinners and lunches at little mom & pop dives, long walks on the beach collecting shells, interesting rocks, random detritus, and countless hours driving to nowhere in particular.

::sigh:: I miss those carefree days every once in a while.

Those certainly were the days. It really set into motion a theme of travel in our relationship.

Three months into our relationship we took our first long-distance trip together. We flew to Florida for two weeks. The trip was to celebrate me (amazingly) completing of high-school. It was such a wild and exhausting (in a good way) trip. I can hardly believe that my parents consented to letting me do it, but they did. Will I be such a cool parent? Lemme think about that...NO!

I remember the green Chevy Blazer that we rented, and the fact that I was not even remotely old enough to legally drive it. We drove from north-central Florida to Key West and back on that trip. I can't say I didn't enjoy myself the whole time. How could I not? Eighteen years old, cute boyfriend, and on a wild and crazy road-trip up and down the sunshine state. Life was good.

Our trip included visiting my family (currently, my entire family resides in Florida), driving on the sand in Daytona, going to Disney World, Miami Beach, and the Keys.

Disney World was, as to be expected, very diverting. I don't believe I ever remember my feet hurting so much before (or since!) from walking. We spent 3 days at Disney, walking here, there, and everywhere. I can remember after the second day my feet hurt so bad that to get to the bathroom from our bed I crawled across the hotel floor to get there. That was certainly a first. Generally one thinks of crawling to the bathroom to, uh, worship the 'porcelain god' after a rough night, not after a day of truly innocent fun.

B.J. and I probably had some of the most fun moments cruising around Key West on rented scooters. If you ever have an opportunity to go to Key West, go. Be sure to check out the cemeteries there. Key Westerners are known for being unique and their tombstones are no exception. Hands down, one of the best headstones I saw read something to the effect of "...at least I know where he'll be tonight."

Before our trip together, B.J. had never spent any real time in Florida, so when a typical southern Florida storm rolled in on our last day in the Keys he was blown away. In south Florida, it isn't uncommon to have beautiful calm, blue skies in the morning, and within minutes black stormy clouds rolling in, blackening the day to night. That is exactly what had happened to us.

We chose to stay in a floating hotel while we were in the keys--an old boat that had been converted to hotel rooms--and that last morning it was sunny, blue, and beautiful. By the time we had gotten out of the shower the wind had picked up, and black thunder clouds had begun to roll in at an alarmingly fast pace. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but since we were in the islands, if there was a truly big storm the problem about leaving becomes this: there is only a single little 2-lane South Dixie Highway that leads in and out of the islands. Meaning, when serious storms hit, if you don't leave immediately you ain't gonna leave. Since we were staying in a floating hotel, we decided it would be best to head out sooner rather than later. B.J. was terrified. The storm was getting progressively worse. In the space of about 20 minutes we had gone from sunny and clear to pitch-black--at 8 o'clock in the morning--with sheeting rain and 40+ mph. gusts of wind.

Welcome to paradise. There will be no cheeseburgers served today.

We packed up and headed north, to Miami. In the end, the storm wound up nothing more than a typical tropical squall. Nothing out of the ordinary. The storm managed to blow itself out by 3pm that day. Some days, up here, I miss those storms a lot. I certainly miss the fact that in Florida, when it rains, it rains. Then the storm is over. The rain is done. Up here it rains, and drizzles, and mists, and pours, and rains some more. For days on end. Very slow. Very soggy. Very much we can't do anything. (I am clearly not a true north westerner...doubt I ever will be. In fact, I always carry and use an umbrella.)

This trip was just the first of many that B.J. and I would embark on during our 'courtship' years.

Why did both of them have to get sick for us to have a nice day together?

2007-11-17T18:27:00.000-08:00

That is the question B.J. asked me as we were cleaning up the kitchen this evening.

I don't know. Why is it that once both of our little monkeys are with the sniffles that we have a nice family afternoon together? Maybe it is because they've both slowed down enough to leave 'warp drive.' Maybe it is because, praise the Lord, we had an entire day free of sibling squabbles and rivalry. Maybe we'll never actually know.

We really did have a nice afternoon today. We decided that since it was so rainy and ugly outside today that there were two options open to us: 1) lay around the house all day like slugs, watching DVDs (for the millionth time), or 2) load up the family in the mommy-mobile, spend some of the money burning a hole in our pockets up at IKEA.

We chose option 2.

On the drive up the kids snoozed and/or spaced out. It was quite nice as it allowed us a modicum of peace and quiet that we usually do not get to enjoy on family car trips. The drive would have been really nice if I hadn't been white-knuckling the arm rest all the way to the store. When it rains and pours (as it often does in this state) and the traffic doesn't slow down and there's oh, say, less than 2 car-lengths between the cars--and very poor visibility--I turn into a nervous wreck. I worry (with what possible change to life's outcomes, I don't know) endlessly that there will be a massive pile-up of cars on the interstate. It is fruitless for me to do so, but I suppose it is a little Post-traumatic stress left over from a really bad car-wreck I was in when I was about 18 (it was a 3 car pile-up).

While we were at IKEA the kids were fantastic. They stuck with us, followed directions, ate their lunch without any screaming, throwing of food, or planning a massive coup d'état. I call that a successful trip. Although we did not have any luck finding the right measurements for wooden mini-blinds (dang! that means it will be at least $100 per window...and I have how many windows in my house? 1...2...5....7....) we did find some really neat little gadgets and storage devices.

Once home, the peace continued. After checking my vital stats more than once to see if I had passed to the hereafter, we managed another beautifully orchestrated and peaceful meal. The chubber was too tired to keep his little eyelids open, and passed out in my arms on the couch post-meal.

This left us open to make some pumpkin bread (thanks for the inspiration from Martin Bliss). Generally Chublet is my co-conspirator in gustatory experimentation, but tonight Peanutzilla wanted to help out. Normally, Peanut attempting to be my helper in the kitchen results in a melt-down (hers and mine) because impulse control and the ability to follow simple directions are more difficult that you could imagine. But, tonight the good vibe of the afternoon followed with us. Peanut was compliant, helpful, cheery, and we had fun measuring, dumping, and mixing the dough. Not a temper-tantrum or melt-down to be seen.

I just love when we have good days. They truly are so far and few between for our family. Usually Peanut and Chubb-chubb like to 'tag-team' with the naughty behavior. Once one is subdued the other jumps in with 'round 2' of bad behavior. Today, it wasn't the case. It makes me wonder if this is what an average middle-of-the-road family experiences on a somewhat frequent basis. I hope so.

What a lovely day. Perhaps sickness is underrated? I hate to think today was as good as it was due to both of them having a cold...

I'll just savor the memory of this afternoon, and hold tight to it for those days that are more frequent in this household, the days where mommy is red in the face and the monkeys are swinging from the proverbial chandelier.

TGIF BABY!

2007-11-16T15:49:00.001-08:00

I made it back. Alive.

In all seriousness, it was a great trip. There were 70 little monkeys and not nearly enough adults, but everyone had a great time, and nobody lost any body parts or got left behind.

It rained...and rained...and rained some more. Even my Gor-tex Columbia jacket soaked through. I hate being cold. I hate being cold and wet even more. I. Do. Not. Like. The. Cold. Did I mention I was soaked all day long? Ok. You get the point.

At any rate, I'm glad we did the trip. I can't believe I've more or less already signed-on to do this again. For two whole days. In June. Should't be cold and rainy then. SHOULDN'T.

B.J. stayed home with the Peanut today, as when she woke up she sounded like a barking seal. I felt bad, because today was the one day I absolutely could not take off of work. And, there was my baby girl, barking and feeling ill. B.J. phoned in to his job to take care of her.

The doctor said she has a little bit of a sinus infection, so B.J. decided to run by Costco for her prescription on the way home from the Dr. Chublet is at the sitter until B.J. can pick him up (I had the 2-door non-kid-friendly-car today= no car seat = I can't pick up the boy). So I have approximately 30 minutes left until they get home.

I'm STILL cold.

Hi ho hi ho it's off to my hot tub I go...

T.G.I.F.!!!

Just a little bitty rant

2007-11-15T21:40:00.000-08:00

It's 9:41pm. I just got home.

Today was really really busy. Worked until 3:45 today, picked up the kids at 4ish, and left again at 4:30 (I have a super-sized portion of working mommy guilt tonight).

Went to dinner at Da Vinci's with co-workers and then went to Crystal Apple awards to support a friend who was nominated (she didn't win--I'm so bummed). GREAT food, muy expensive-o.

I'm so totally toast right now.

I have outdoor school/field trip tomorrow. Found out I have no clean laundry ARRRGH! I didn't have time to run a load today, and B.J., gotta love him, didn't do anything besides play computer games. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. Never even crossed his mind to throw a load of laundry in the washer (how can he forget about the mountain on my bedroom floor that is 3 feet tall!!). So, should be fun trying to find something remotely appropriate to wear tomorrow.

Time for bed. I hope the Advil I took kicks in soon. Mental note to self: no wine to drink in the middle of the week. Wine=Pounding headache. Bad idea.

More Coffee Humor

2007-11-15T05:57:00.000-08:00

A friend who knows I'm utterly addicted to coffee sent me this little link.

Follow these directions:

1. Click this link.
2. PUT THE COIN IN THE VENDING MACHINE
3. CHOOSE YOUR DRINK
4. CLICK ON THE CUP WHEN IT IS READY
5. CLICK ON "APRI"

Don't forget to click on "APRI" in the last box !!!

Happy Thursday!

Blogger Homework

2007-11-14T13:56:00.000-08:00

I'm excited to go to the blogger get-together here, and while getting ready I have homework.

How great is this? I almost have a built-in post ready-made for me. I just have to add a few important details, and Voila! Instant post for NaBloPoMo!

Yee-haw! Thanks girlies.

Here it goes:

What is your motto? Uhhh...I don't really have one? I guess if I had to choose I'd pick the one my mother told me many moons ago: When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. What sage words of wisdom she imparted upon me. Nothing gives quite the pick-me-up as a little retail therapy. Cheaper than the shrink, too!

What superhuman power would you most like to have? Gotta agree with Alida, here. I'd love to be able to fly. I've always fantasized, since I was a kid, how neat it would be to fly. As an adult I'd love to be able to do that Star Trek transporter thing. Just think, how easy would long-distance travel be with kids. Uh-huh. Now you're crackin'...

What makes you laugh? Reading all these wonderful blogs. I'd also have to admit to a gloriously unrefined joy in listening to the 'Blue Collar Comedy Tour' CDs.

Cats or dogs? Once upon a time (read: pre-children) both. Nowadays, 1 kitty cat. In the future, say in 20 years or so when Sparkle-boo kicks the bucket, none. The chublet was tested at the allergist's office, and he's super allergic to cats and to a lesser extent dogs. **sigh** B.J. was really hoping to get a Bengal Cat, guess it has to wait 'til chublet is in college.

Would you rather be a little smarter or a little sexier? Sexier. Hands-down, sexier. (not PC...but ya know what? I don't care!!) See, I know what its like to be a bit of a brain, but the sexy part...well, all you have to do is read this previous post to get your answer. This pic is for you, Alida (the one I finally got around to scanning):

I'll just get someone to whack me with the 'smart stick' and I'll be both sexy and smart!

What is the one thing you'll never understand? Why, despite all our education, technology, and free social programs, there are such a high number of unwanted children born in our country. I just HATE this social epidemic, and I'll never understand it. There is absolutely no reason for it, and EVERY child should be wanted. Ok. Climbing down from my soap-box, now. However, I am still debating getting my very UN-p.c. bumper sticker made to stick on the back of my mommy-minivan:

Abstinance is best...but, it is easier to change a CONDOM than a DIAPER.

My life would be simpler if? I had all the answers to solve the moral, social, and ethical dilemmas that face our world. I don't, but it doesn't stop me from getting angry and outraged.

A self-cleaning house would be a good second-runner up to make life easier.

The big decision I'm currently wrestling with? Do I accept my Dad's offer to help pay for us to fly down to Florida for Christmas? The last time we flew down (on our nickel) we had such a lousy trip. In a nutshell (and to save this from being a rant) my Dad was a terrible host. So, do we chance it, with his financial help? Or do we stay here? What to do, what to do...

Helpful hints for cleaning hot tubs

2007-11-13T05:49:00.000-08:00

Every few months it becomes necessary to clean the hot tub. Somehow, despite all the nasty chemicals, an ozonater, and mineral wand, micro-organisms manage to survive, multiply, and make the tub unsanitary.

Hence, the need to clean it out.

Here are some practical tips anyone can employ to make this boring (but necessary) chore easier:

Tip #1:

Get someone else to clean the spa. Plead, wheedle, whine, bribe, blackmail--all techniques work, it just depends on your personal preferences. Once someone else is doing the job, you can sit back, relax, enjoy that 5th cup of coffee and read/blog/watch paint peel.

Tip #2:

If tip #1 doesn't work, or isn't employable at this time this time-saving tip, courtesy of a suggestion from my friend B., works like a charm. Once you've got your hot tub mostly drained--as in as far down as the drain will let you, and you're down to the extra fun part of the task where you 'bail' water out, get out your shop-vac.

Yes, your shop-vac* Simply turn on the suction, plop the hose into the tub, and watch the machine do the bailing for you.

This so-simple-its-stupid tip (notice, however, that I wasn't smart enough to come up with it all on my own...) saves you 30+ minutes of labor intensive (OK, well, long and boring, but easy) work.

I am so in love with my new strategy for cleaning the hot tub, it makes the chore so much less tedious, and speeds up the process a lot.

Try it out. Let me know how well it works for you!

*make sure your shop-vac is a wet/dry model, and that you have removed the 'dry' feature filter.

First Date

2007-11-12T08:13:00.000-08:00

Saturday morning (11am) rolls around in all its sunshiny glory. I am a nervous wreck. I can hardly believe that I am going to call B.J. and try to figure out how to get to his house on the other side of town, the rich side of town.

I heave a few humongously deep breaths and phone him. He's pleasant, cheerful, and gives me his address.

"Do you know how to get here? Do you need more directions that that?" He asks, already considerate of how I may or may not be directionally challenged.

"No. I think I know how to get there." I lie. Flat-out, through my teeth lied. I have not the foggiest clue of where his house is or even less, how to get there. "So, I'll see you as soon as I get there!"

"Great. See you soon." Click.

I'm thinking to myself, I'll just look up a city map in the phonebook (this is before Mapquest, or at least before I knew how to access maps online--at this point in time it's like $1.99/minute to use the Internet. Hard to believe we actually paid for it by the minute.). I locate his street and the cross street he gave, so I'll just follow the streets across the city that look like they're the most direct routes.

WRONG!

I climb into my dirty car and try to traverse the city. I was so painfully naive. It was quite a lesson in city planning, for me, that afternoon. I had no idea how many streets dead-end and are one-way and not marked as such on the map in the phonebook. As I'm driving, and getting more and more lost (no cell phone, those days, either) the minutes are ticking by. I began to worry that he would think I blew him off, and that I wasn't going to show up because by this time it has nearly been an hour! The drive, he said, should be about 20 minutes. Oh, man, was I a wreck.

Finally, by the mercy of God (whom I didn't know, at that time, either) I made it to his house. He teased me good-naturedly about how long it took me to get there, but at least I'd arrived.

He told me how to drive half-way around the block to access the alley that led to his back-yard/driveway. That was quite a little adventure in and of itself. See, my car was a little Plymouth Colt (aka Mitsubishi Mirage) and at its stock sitting height it could conservatively be called a 'low-rider'. It was a small wonder how I managed to navigate my little car up the steep driveway that led into the alleyway without tearing a hole in the oil pan!

At any rate, I'd finally arrived at B.J.'s house, safe and sound, albeit 40 minutes later than originally anticipated. B.J. had all the accouterments needed to clean my car (in all actuality he wound up detailing my car for me) and he had me park myself on the edge of his porch while he went to work.

In retrospect, I can't believe what I chose to wear. On that 'first' date I showed up at his house with my hair in a ponytail, a pair of Nike's, black sweats, and a t-shirt that said "Fukengruven" (a la the old VW ads that utilized "Fahrvergnügen" in their campaign).

Doh!! (Clearly, I was not thinking)

B.J. was not the slightest bit daunted (or at least he didn't appear so). He cleaned my car, until it was its proverbial 'squeaky' self. And then he came and sat down on the porch next to me.

My heart must have been pounding at least loud enough for the surrounding zip-code to hear it. We made some small talk for a few minutes, but before it knew it he was scooting closer and closer to me. He was right next to me! Aak!

I kept thinking to myself, I really sort of like this guy. He seems so genuine and sweet and thoughtful.

That was when he leaned over and kissed me. Our first kiss was right there, that sunny sun-drenched March 9, 1996 afternoon, sitting on the edge of his porch, our legs dangling, with a view of my very shiny and newly clean little purple car. I'll tell you this much, electricity surged through his lips to mine. Not only was he a good kisser, but there was some instant chemistry.

Oh, yes, chemistry indeed...

Nikon-gone

2007-11-11T06:47:00.000-08:00

D-50. Mucho mega pixels. Almost 3 photos per second.

And, I can't use any of it right now. That's right, I haven't had my baby (camera) for going on 2 weeks now.

Sigh.

I never realized just how much and how often I grabbed my camera before it went out of use. See, it's not lost or broken or anything dramatic like that (thank goodness!). It was well overdue for a general cleaning, and most unfortunately the shop that we bought it from has pulled out of our fair hamlet, so I had to drive the hour north to the bigger city to have it worked on.

I really miss it. I can hardly wait until we get that glorious call from the shop saying we can come and pick it up.

My fingers have been absolutely itching to be able to set my f-stops and aperture to capture the beautiful fall foliage that is directly outside my kitchen window (my Japanese maples are showing some to-die-for crimson and orange right now). But I can't.

Not yet anyway.

I hate waiting.

In pursuit of better diction

2007-11-10T07:03:00.000-08:00

I read. A lot. (I bet you remember that) And, as I read I discover just how limited my understanding of language is.

Yes, I speak my mother tongue (English) fairly well (most days), and I speak Espanol (badly, most days). When we were over-seas I mumbled and stumbled through Francais and Deutch well enough to get around. But how much do I really know? Or understand?

The point of this meandering ramble through language(s) is that I'm always learning more and more. Take for instance this little tidbit:

In flagrante delicto.

Whos-its-whats-its-huh!?

That was what I was thinking the first few times I read it. So, being the geeky type that I am I had to immediately throw caution to to the wind and look its meaning (gotta love Wikipedia):

in flagrante delicto = Latin for "caught in the
act of committing an offense", caught red-handed, caught in the act; The Latin
term has come to be used far more often as a euphemism for a couple being
caught in the act of sexual intercourse;
Well. Now you've been learn-ed.

You'all can talk like a Cambridge scholar too (it sounds like I should add in: for ONLY 6 payments of $19.95, plus S+H...).

So, the next time you're hanging out at Chuck-e-cheese, you can drop this little kernel in your conversation (gossip) about the neighbor's, cousin's kid's best-friend's nephew.

Whew!

I just love new words and random arcana, like this new phrase. After all, you never know when Alex Trebek will call and tell you there's an opening on Jeopardy!

Cruising toward the end of an epoch

2007-11-09T06:21:00.000-08:00

I just love Craig's List. It is like the eBay for weenies. Like me.

You know the people who pretend to be techno-savvy, but are really only mediocre at the computer stuff. The folks who would love to be able to be one of those eBay whizzes who sells snow to Eskimos online and makes a mint doing it? Yea. That's me. Craig's List is less hassle, less risk, and no credit card numbers involved. I can and do handle that. It lets me dabble in online sales, without all the commitment.

I sell random stuff on Craig's list. Probably the strangest thing I sold (in under 24 hours, mind you) was my old Amana Dryer. It worked as well as you'd expect a 10 year old used dryer to work. And, someone bought it *snaps fingers* just. like. that.

The most recent of my sales on the list was this: A three-sided 'Little Tykes' play structure.

Over the summer I watched my two babies play on/with it less and less. It was becoming clear that its usefulness and time at my doorstep was coming to an end. It was with mixed emotions that I posted it to Craig's List. A part of me was thrilled to have more room on my back porch, but another part of me didn't want the fun with it to end.

I remember when I found the little play structure, I was so thrilled! I had been coveting one of these structures for Peanut because it would be a lot of fun for her, and it would be easy enough that (given her physical limitations) she would be able to play on it and feel good about herself.

Peanut, and later Chubbers, had such fun playing on it. They both could climb, slide, and play under it in the 'fort'. It was just the right size. But, as I said, over the summer it became more and more clear its time was done.

So, it was with great sadness that I posted it on Craig's list. I half hoped it wouldn't sell. If it didn't sell, silly as it sounds, it was a way to keep a small vestige of 'babyhood' around. I've been slowly but surely getting rid of all my baby paraphernalia. The baby-car-seat: Gone. The changing table and glider rocker: gone. I have the crib disassembled and ready to be sold in the garage, but I'm dragging my feet.

I don't know why, but it seems so sad to let go of all these things. I posted it online about a month ago, and as of yesterday the play structure is gone.

It is the end of a period in our lives. I debate with myself, and B.J. whether or not we want a third baby. I know in Heaven I will have all three of my babies, one is already waiting for me. But here, on Earth, I wonder if we're done. Most days I know that we are; but then there are other days where I get this dull ache in my core that yearns for another of those sweet little bundles. I sometimes really miss that sweet milky breath, and rocking a tiny little love to sleep. Some days.

I feel like if I get rid of all of my baby stuff, it sort of seals the deal: we're done. Finito. Fin.

*sigh*

I am looking forward to the new stages we're about to enter: Kindergarten and (for Chub-chub) preschool. It just seems so strange to think: no more babies.

I wonder if all moms feel this way? Do you ever find that peace where you know in your heart and your mind "I'm done."? Some days I think I have that feeling, but then something happens--I see or smell or hear something that pulls on my heart strings and I'm lost, all over again.

Gimme a lift?

2007-11-08T05:47:00.000-08:00

Soon enough, time came to pass that I was to run into B.J., again. This time we really had some time to chit-chat and get to begin to know one another. I instantly liked him, because he was fun and made me laugh. But, it was in a guy-friend sort of way. Not in a romantic-I-would-like-to-date-you sort of way.

He was unattached, and so was I. My friends, God love them, got to conspiring and decided that they needed to set me up with B.J.--forcefully. The decided we would be a perfect match.

Again, I wasn't looking for anyone at the time. I had never felt a need or desire to be with a guy at any one time in my (albeit brief) life. I was quite as content in life to be single and hang out with my girlfriends as I was if I had a guy to date. I really didn't care. I didn't think I'd ever want to get married, and I certainly did NOT want any children in the remotely foreseeable (as in up to age 40) future. I was just happy to be me. So, the fact that my friends wanted me to go out with this guy, wasn't exactly unappealing, but neither was it a priority.

It all shook out like this: I agreed, grudgingly, to go out with B.J. on the condition that we go to a party I'd been invited to and he take my girlfriends along --since they needed a ride. I know it wasn't even remotely nice of me to deal with him that way, but like I'd already said I was fairly self-centered at this point in my life.

B.J. picked my friends and I up, and we went to the party. It wound up being broken up sooner rather than later on account of some drunken fools who decided it was necessary to brawl. It was a bit of a drag, but so be it. B.J. drove us (what a sweet guy he was, to put up with 3 very drunk and very rowdy girls) home, and managed to drop me off last (pretty smooth move, on his part). As we were sitting in my driveway, at 3am, he and I started to talk. Now, when you're me, and slightly inebriated (or as this case was: totally plastered), you talk about the highly philosophical or the utterly mundane; my conversation that evening took a dramatic, ninety-degree turn straight into the mundane: how my car was dirty and needed washed.

Doh! (a la Homer Simpson)

Somehow, B.J. and I decided to meet up again. He gave me his phone number, and told me to call him the next day for directions to his house so that I could drive over and he could help me to make my car clean.

Our first 'official' date was set for the following Saturday afternoon: B.J. was going to wash my car.

The Second Encounter

2007-11-07T06:31:00.000-08:00

After the first party, I didn't think about B.J. again. I had no reason to think about him. In fact, I was still with the guy from the party B. But, our paths were to cross very soon.

"Stranger than fiction" has always been a theme in my life, and in dating there were no exceptions.

B. and I had gone out on a few dates. As I said before, I was not looking for anyone at the time, and what did come my way certainly wasn't going to be for anything long-term. We had a good time, but I knew it wasn't 'the one', whatever that was supposed to mean. We were just enjoying one an other's company for the time being and it was just fine. I was barely 18 and B. was somewhere between 23-25 (I've forgotten over time) and he worked at a pizza parlor. Sad to say, but I knew he had no ambition in life and was just one of those folks who'd be happy to float along on life's current, wherever it would take him. Even at the tender age of 18 I was a 'hard driver' and high-strung; I knew I needed someone in my 'future' who wasn't entirely aimless. I'll be brutally honest: I was very self-centered and wasn't above dating guys for their cars or the good time I'd get to have with them (gosh, that sounds just as awful as it is; no way around that). I was with B. just to have fun.

Since 'fun' was on the agenda, it came to pass that he and I were asked if we wanted to go on a double date with this couple, C. and B.J. Yup, my B.J. We decided 'why not?' and so the date was set.

It is funny how some things work out. On that date C. and B. decided it would be a lot of fun to get 'messed up' on some illegal substances. At this point in my life I had started to 'wean' myself off of any sort of 'stuff' (if you catch my drift), as I was about to go to college and partying was getting old. In retrospect, it is hard to believe all the partying I did and the kind of partying my friends and I did. Just totally wrong, in every way, shape and form. I chalk it up to good experience nowadays, and I don't necessarily regret it, but sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if only I'd done things differently. But, that is another stream of posts all together. As usual, I'm off on a tangent.

Anyhow, B. J. and I had declined any stuff and that left us stranded in a living room together, without our respective dates. We talked for a while and enjoyed some laughs. Eventually we wound up leaving, separately, in our own cars.

At this point in time, I thought B.J. was a nice guy, and pretty up-right. Never had done drugs, and aside from his twenty-first birthday didn't drink--one bad hangover, his first, was enough to end that type of activity.

I was still not exactly interested, but it was quickly becoming clear that the dating that B. and I had enjoyed was soon to become past-tense.

The Beginning: First Sight

2007-11-06T06:48:00.000-08:00

I'd like to start to jot down some notes on how B.J. and I met and became 'us.' Here goes nothing:

I'd love to be able to tell you it was ever so sweet, full of roses and hand-holding and 'sweet nothings' but it isn't. It's much more raw and gritty.

But, such is my life.

The first time I saw B.J. was at a party. I had been feeling lousy and just wanted to stay home and be a blob on the couch and suffer with my 'cold'. But, as luck and posession of a car and driver's license would have it, I was not to be a party pooper that night. My friends H. and J. wanted badly to go to a party across town. I tried to wheedle and whine my way out of driving 'us' to the party, but 'no' was not an answer they'd take. So, off the couch, into a pair of Doc Marten's and away we went.

The party was in a semi-sleazy part of town (the wrong side of the tracks, if you will) and it was full of people I didn't know, didn't care to know, and was generally content to ignore. I was not in a particularly chipper mood. I can remember being introduced to a score of people as I lit my cigarette and glanced around the room. That was when I saw B.J.

I wasn't terribly impressed, to be truthful. B.J. is a nice looking man, but I wasn't exactly 'looking' for anyone at the time. I do remember two things about B.J. from that night: 1) he was considerably 'older' than the rest of the 18-21 year-old crowd (he was 23), and 2) he was very tall and dark.

Beyond that initial meeting, if you could call it that, I didn't take notice of B.J. the rest of the evening. In fact, I wound up with another guy that night, again, not in my initial intentions.

The Gridiron, part 3

2007-11-05T05:46:00.000-08:00

Once we got into the game, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the tickets that we had turned out to be our old season ticket section. I thought that was kinda cool, it definitely added to the feeling of nostalgia.

See, B.J. and I went to the games while I was an undergrad/grad and 'sat' in the student section (a.k.a. the section with seats that never sits down!). After I graduated we had season tickets in Section 17. Our tickets for Saturday were Section 17, row 43, seats 11 and 12. It was such a treat to be there, and it took us back to a less dramatic time in our lives: pre-children, when both of our mothers were still happy, (relatively) healthy, and still alive.

Saturday's game was...interesting. By far not the best game I'd ever been to--that would have to have been when Joey Harrington was playing (I heart Joey!), the 2000 game against Stanford. It went into overtime. What an adrenaline rush. I lost my voice at that game, that's how good it was. Ah, what warm fuzzy feelings thinking of old games brings up. Back to the point, the November 3, 2007 game. The first quarter ducks came on strong. They had a reasonable offense and a great defense (they always have a good defense). They scored 14 points in the first 4 minutes. What a rush! The Sundevils had about equal possession time of the ball. It looked dismal at the end of the 4th quarter, but then Dennis Dixon does the rockin' fake-out pass type move, where he didn't pass, and rushes it down the field for a TD! Man! that was a-some.

Then came the second and third quarter. SNOOZE! What the heck the Ducks were thinking...I'll never know. Good thing, too, I don't think I'd ever be the same if I actually knew what 19-22 year-old college football playing men thought. That would probably (definitely) earn me a trip to the state mental facility...hmm...come to think of it a nice vacation wouldn't be too bad. I'd get to see Oprah, uninterrupted! Well, except for the other crazies in there with me probably wouldn't ever shut up. Maybe I'll stay here...I digress.

In the second and third quarter the only good play, according to moi, football expert extraordinaire (hee hee) was at the end of the second (or third, can't quite remember) where there was only one minute left on the clock and, somehow, some way, they managed to rush the end zone for an actual TD--not a field goal, or a two-point conversion, an honest-to-goodness TD. Pretty hot stuff.

The game finished out with a little more pep in the fourth, but let's face it, it wasn't what you'd call great football. We won. Against a previously undefeated Arizona State, but the victory was Luke-warm.

After the game, and helping my FIL break down the tailgater (all of about 5 mins!) we had a choice: wait in the 500+ person long bus line to get a ride to our car, or walk to the car. We decided to walk. It was a good walk--wound up being 4.5-5miles. A bit longer than I guessed it would be, but that was fine. We enjoyed the crisp autumn air, the relative quiet, and just time together, alone. B.J. and I used to go for walks in the evening all the time. I hadn't quite realized how much I missed those walks until then. Of course I love my children, more than life itself, but sometimes I don't realize just how much they have re-ordered the flow and ebb of my life until quiet moments like these. We didn't talk much on our walk. We just were. Sometimes the best times are those that aren't spoiled by unnecessary chatter.

Once we got back to my Dad's house we were regaled with how well both children did. Peanut ate and Chub did not (whoa!? That was weird). They were happy, well behaved, minded my Dad and his wife, and generally did not wear out their welcome (praise the Lord!). However, my Dad showed us a bandaged finger that resulted from watching my kidlets.

A bandaged finger? Yup. My Dad had a bandaged index finger.

I asked my dad, "So, how did that happen?"
He replied, "Well, I had some work to do on the roof with the gutters to get finished up, so I climbed up on the roof to knock it out. The next thing I know I'm moving the metal around and I catch something out of the corner of my eye."

At this point I'm thinking 'oh no.'

"And I turn and look, and there's Kai! He's on top of the roof, just standing there, watching me! I couldn't believe it. The baby is on the roof. Well, I'm scared to death that he's going to fall or get hurt, so I tossed the gutter aside quickly, and in the process sliced open my finger--a good inch-and-a-half. Probably should get stitches. Blood was spurting everywhere."

I'm a little green around the gills right now, thinking of my dad gushing blood--he bleeds like a stuck pig--and having visions of my little man on the roof.

He continues on, "I went right over to him and grabbed him. He was sure interested in watching my finger spurt--I don't think I got any on his clothes--and I carried him down the ladder. What I couldn't figure out," and he gestures here with his hands to indicate 14-16" space, "is how he managed to climb up the ladder. He's just a little guy...it scared the hell out of me."

I, on the other hand, was not the slightest bit surprised that my Chublet managed to shimmy up the ladder. He's part monkey, I swear. Didn't mean I wasn't mildly FREAKED OUT that my 2 year old managed to climb up a ladder and find himself standing on the roof, but I wasn't even remotely shocked that he could climb up there.

In the end, no harm, no foul. Dad's finger will be OK. Chubb-chubb was just trying to 'help'--he is my helper-boy, to a fault. And everyone had a good time.

The drive home was uneventful--I passed out just as we were leaving town, and woke up about 2 miles from home. What a great day.

I just love college football.

The Gridiron, part 2

2007-11-04T06:44:00.000-08:00

Saturday, game day, was a total blast.

I felt like a little bit of a 'weenie' with my post about it on Saturday, but, I figured, at least I made my goal: one post per day in November. That certainly doesn't mean that the post(s) are all going to be prolific, but at least they're going to be there. Enough said.

We arrived at my Dad's house without incident, and with leftover Chinese food.

What could be better?

The kidlets, B.J. and I stopped en route to my Dad's house at our favorite Chinese food restaurant (read: dive). When we lived in that city, we'd hit Lok Yauen at least every other week (sometimes more than that). The food was fresh, hot, and ever so yummy, and when you're young and poor (wait a minute, I'm still poor...something wrong here...) cheap and good fits the bill perfectly. I still have yet to find a 'replacement' Chinese restaurant in our current home-town. After 4.5 years, I'm doubtful that I ever will. At any rate, the kids were well behaved (if you don't count the fight that occurred when we arrived--both kids insisted that they sit by mommy. Nobody would sit by daddy (bummer for me). So I wound up eating my lunch stuffed in the booth with not just one, but two squirming, fried-rice and sweet-n-sour flinging foodies) and we enjoyed our food.

We rushed in and rushed out when we dropped the kidlets off. I felt mildly bad about the quick "hi" and "bye" but we had to get a move-on, or else traffic...

Arrived at the bus depot, and the lot was already chock full, despite the 2 hour-early arrival we'd managed. In line we found out the bus fare would not be free, or $1 like it usually had in the past. This was bad for me, as I never carry cash. Thank goodness I'd snagged my old student (as in 10 years old, even though I'd only finished my Masters a couple years ago) ID in a feeble hope that it would score me bus fare--it did!! Yea! So, it's a little dishonest. I figure I more than paid for the trip in my student and incidental fees over the course of 5 years that I could get a 'donated' $3 bus fare for the game. B.J. on the other hand, got stuck paying.

The bus driver said the ETA for the trip to Autzen Stadium would be approximately 30 minutes. Four minutes after that announcement we were at the stadium and disembarking and on our way to the Tailgater. Ye-haw!

It was a laid-back affair. About 20 people in all (small, compared to Tailgaters of yore). There were hoagie-sandwiches, chips, Waldorf salad (you know, you can't possibly have a football party in the parking-lot without Waldorf salad how bizarre...though not as weird as the Sushi in the past) among other goodies. Since being stuffed with (likely) MSG ridden food, I partook of a glass of Cabernet, with a Coors chaser. By the time we'd had our drinks and socialized it was time to head in for some college football!

To be continued...

We won!

2007-11-03T23:06:00.000-07:00

I'm so totally toasted right now, I can hardly see straight enough to type! It's 11pm and I just rolled in to the driveway.

The super-condensed, short version of the story: We won! 35-17--against a previously undefeated team.

Victory is sweet.

Fun Contest & The Gridiron

2007-11-02T16:34:00.000-07:00

So, I'm always (wasting time) looking for new and interesting things online.

And I found this little contest, here, at a great li'l blog I often read, The Fabulous Mommy Fussypants' Guide to Life.

Hope you have a chance to take a peek. Have a great weekend. I'm already gearing up for tomorrow: Ducks vs. Arizona. I'm so stoked I get to go to this game. It has been a long time since I've had a chance to watch live college football.

Tomorrow's itinerary looks like this: Play with the kidlets all morning (B.J. has to work, and will be home around 10am--I hope!). Drive south about an hour and half, drop the kidlets off at my Dad's house. I'm so thrilled that my dad has graciously offered to watch my monkeys--it allows us to totally enjoy the game and, or course, The Tailgater!

Once we become singlized (as in, kid-less), we'll head to my FIL's house, park the car and walk the mile or so to Autzen Stadium, and get ready for some FOOTBALL! We'll enjoy the little soiree in the parking lot (I may even enjoy a beer--or three) and off to the game. It should be really good--they're ranked no. 4 in the Pac10 and it is going to be televised on FSN, the local stations, and ESPN. Pretty cool, huh?

I can hardly wait...

I'll update you...well...tomorrow!

Weird word of the day

2007-11-01T13:29:00.000-07:00

OK. So, I'm a really random type of person. I'm an official cyber-card-carrying-member of NaBloPoMo, and I was planning on going with the theme of "B.J. and Lee: The True (unedited) Story" and "Travel" for the month of November, but, alas, I'm not going to stick to it rigidly. I'm going to use those themes, with a little ADHD (randomness) thrown in for good measure. Like this post:

Schadenfreude.

Ever heard of this one before? I certainly hadn't, and I consider
myself a reasonably literate member of the species. I've encountered it at least twice this week, alone, so I thought I'd share with you a little schoolin'. Here it goes:

Wikipedia defines it as:

a German word meaning
'pleasure taken from someone else's misfortune'.

Who knew there was and actual word for being a nasty little human being?

We all know someone who this definition fits to a 'T'. Heck, I'm sure at one time or another we have been that person who is guilty of committing this particular sin (not moi, of course...being facetious here. Sad to admit it, but hey, I'm not into lying...unless it is about my weight, but that is an entirely different issue in and of itself).

I just love the Internet. I learn so much, and at such weird hours, too!

Ok...gonna jump in feet first

2007-10-31T16:10:00.000-07:00

I've really been thinking a lot about NaBloPoMo and I'm gonna go for broke. I'll do it.

I am not going to rigidly stick to any one theme, but I'll probably hit on these two the most: My hubby and I, and, travel. Two of my favorite things (if you don't count my kidlets!).

Wish me luck. I'm gonna need it. And, some Zoloft or Prozac, or something (I'm right there with ya, Leslie!!).

Let the Games Begin!

Strangest Magazine Ad I've Seen in a While...

2007-10-30T13:51:00.000-07:00

Well, let's just start out by saying I don't exactly endorse things like this, but the shock value was too great not to make some sort of comment on it. I'm such a shy little wall-flower, as you all already know. (She snickers, to herself)

I don't want a bunch of 'flames' or any other sort of negatives. OK? 'Nuff said.

B. J. was reading (yet another) one his motorcycle magazine tonight while I was innocently looking at articles online (getting my daily blog-crack-fix) and he comes over to me and says:

"You've got to check this advertisement out." and he hands me his magazine, folded in half.

"Um. OK." I reply, wondering why do I remotely care about some overpriced motorcycle part advert. "OH!"

It was one of those moments where if we were on a television sitcom you would have heard the 'needle scratching across a vinyl record' soundbite.

Behold, this is what I saw in the very back of the advertising section of the November 2007 issue of Cycle World (resolution isn't great--thanks to my scanner) :

Sorry ladies, it was just too weird to not post.

Who knew these types of advertisements were found in mainstream (read: non-pornographic) media. (scratching my head, here). Guess I gotta crawl out from under my proverbial rock more often.

...Like a clean litter box.

2007-10-28T06:45:00.000-07:00

I want you to think about cats.

Yes, cats.

Those cute little fuzzy, four-legged meowing machines. Now, I want you to imagine a cat litter box. Sufficiently grossed-out, yet? Good. Here's the point I'm attempting to get at: Have you ever seen a cat around a freshly cleaned cat litter box? It is a bewildering sight. As soon as the pet owner cleans out the litter box (be it barely used, or putrid) the first thing the cat does is run and jump into their litter box, walk around in circles in it, more or less love on it, and then, of course, use it. It is like a potty-par-tay. The cat couldn't use the litter box 2 minutes earlier when it was dirty, oh no, they have to wait until it is fresh and clean to leave an unappealing little gift smack-dab in the middle of it in all its nasty glory.

With that little tidbit in mind (a la the 1960's TV show The Outer limits) , I present to you for your approval or disapproval, the following:

Saturday morning rolls around in all its 5am-why-the-heck-are-you-up-you-evil-little-offspring loveliness (sorry folks, I'm not very nice when I'm decaffeinated), and I decide it is time to change the household linens. Yuck. I've been meaning to strip the beds of their summer linens for oh, say, about a MONTH now, and I've effectively been able to procrastinate doing the deed, until then. B.J. had to work, so I figured it would be an opportune time for the kids and I to indulge in a 'Cinderella Saturday' (a working/cleaning day followed by fun in the afternoon).

I start my chore in the Peanut's room, and move through the house in a counter-clockwise fashion.

As I am stripping the bed linens I notice something peculiar: my children are ramping up and beginning to boing around the rooms like super-balls gone supernova. They are ecstatic about the sheets being changed. They can hardly wait to jump into the dirty linen piles and roll around in them--it looked something akin to Dachshund a finding a rotting salmon and rolling in all its putridness. Very weird.

Then, once the beds were 'naked' the kids would hop on top of them and bounce around madly hooting and hollering like demented little popcorn balls. Who knew changing the beds could be so entertaining and be such a cost-free fun activity.

This high-thread-count euphoria continued through each and every room. The children couldn't contain themselves. In no way, shape, or form could they manage to keep themselves off of my freshly made bed. Somewhat annoying, since I'd have liked to keep the beds looking neat for, oh, say a nanosecond! But, hey, they had fun. I got my job done. It was an interesting science experiment to see how similar kids with clean beds are alike to cats with a fresh litter box.

My parental learning curve just accelerated.

Tempus Fugit

2007-10-26T13:43:00.000-07:00

Here I am, Friday, and no posts.

How does that happen?

A week goes by, and I don't indulge, even momentarily, in one of my guilty little pleasures (blogging). I suppose I could see it as depressing, or (what I will do) see it as I'm busy living life.

I can hardly believe that next week is Halloween. What happened to this year? I've already done a little bit of my Christmas shopping (my personal deadline this year is to be totally done before Thanksgiving--same goal I have every year, yet, inexplicably, since hatching the Peanut and Chub-chub I haven't accomplished it...).

How does it happen that we always get so busy? Times like these, in my mind, I can time-travel back to an age where I was living South of the Boarder. Time meandered, down there; up here time flies--roughly, at the speed of sound. Perhaps it is our modern American culture (who am I kidding, of course it is!), but don't you think we need to slow down? Are we really enjoying our lives? Our time? What we choose to devote our energy to?

Sometimes I can answer, honestly, 'Yes!' Other times, I can weakly muster a squeaky 'no.'

I've been contemplating joining up with NaBloPoMo, but how on earth can I actually do it, if I can't seem to manage more than one post per week? Sigh.

Something to think about....

Walking On The Moon

2007-10-19T18:49:00.000-07:00

"da da la ma nocking on the-moon."
(instrumental refrain)

"baa baa baaa naaa moon"
(instrumental)

"naaa naa leds don't break....maaank on the moon."
(percussion)

I was treated to sounds of those melodic choruses drifting up to the front seat of my van on Thursday. Melodic? You ask. Yes. Indeed, very melodic. My lips curl upward in satisfaction as I recall those magic moments, now, as I am writing about them. We've come a long way, the Peanut and I. I marvel at what she has managed to accomplish, in such short order.

Thinking back to October of 2006, I remember an angry, out of control, constantly agitated little girl with quick blue eyes and snarled blond hair. A little girl who rarely talked in intelligible phrases (unless you were me who was listening, of course), and who could not attend to a single task long enough to remotely come close to mastering it. I remember a little girl who sent me into paroxysms of guilt or frustration, and often had me in the grips of depression--all over the worry I felt for her and her (lack) of development. October of 2006 was nearing the end of the last six months of total darkness that I staggered through day after day, parenting an Autistic child with little or no hope. What a terrible thing to admit to, but it is cathartic to do so.

The Peanut has made such incredible leaps and bounds in her growth and development. When we had her formally evaluated (a year from this past January) by the E.S.D. for her speech and cognition, she ranked equal with that of a child aged 1 year and 9 months. That meant my daughter, who was nearly 3, was on par with a typically developing child aged 1 year 9 months for speech, logic, communication, and overall cognition. I remember the day I got the results, I knew she was low, but I had no idea she was that low. What a blow. To come back to the point, peanut is growing and accomplishing in quantum leaps. She is nearly on par with her typically developing peers (low-normal range) in speech, and cognition and problem solving abilities are steadily coming along. I am so proud of her. I am so proud of us, the Peanut and I, as a team.

It is amazing how, when you find the appropriate therapies, you can help your child to grow. We have searched (and continue to do so) for therapies and interventions that will allow my little love to grow, catch-up, and to develop so that she can reach her full potential as a human being. We have a long way to go, but the little singing episode, from the back seat of my car, sure was a great barometer of how far we've already come.

Before, Peanut couldn't say 'ma-ma', and now she loves to sing along to The Police from the back seat. (we listen to kid music all the time, too, but every now and again mommy needs to hear something other than "...old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O..."). The human brain is such an amazing organ, and my little Peanut's brain is no exception.

So, while Sting sang of feeling alone in the song, hearing my beautiful girl sing the chorus made me feel like I was walking on the moon--not in solitude or from feeling isolated, but from such joy at hearing all that my little love can do. Days like today are precious jewels that I hoard, in my memory, for the 'other' days; days where I hope those hundred million bottles will, for me, wash up on the shore.

An Hour

2007-10-17T14:02:00.000-07:00

Today was a good day. Things were hopping at work, light bulbs were going 'on', and nobody wigged out. In my line of work, you can't ask for much better.

The kidlets are safe at the sitter, taking their naps, I have managed (how?) to escape work on time today, and now I find myself at home. My bookwork is done, the kitchen is reasonably clean (not sparkling, but we won't get salmonella poisoning, either), and I find myself with an entire hour. Alone. To myself.

A whole hour and I can do whatever it is my little heart desires. Hmm...this is difficult. I'm a hyper and naturally high-strung person, and as a result sitting still and just being isn't always an easy task for me. I am much more easily able to obsess about cleaning, organizing, or my all time favorite de-stressor, scrubbing the WHITE grout on my kitchen floor. (You all knew I was a bit neurotic, before, right?) Who on Earth puts WHITE grout on the kitchen/dining room/bathroom floors? WHO? It is the constant harbinger of strife in my life. No matter what I do, I don't seem to be able to keep the grout as clean as I'd like. Sigh. I digress...

So, here I am with my free hour. What do I do? I'm already wasting some time blogging (my dirty little not-so-secret hobby). I have vowed, to all that is mommy, I will NOT clean (grout included). That leaves me with what to do? I'm thinking, that with the remnants of my hour (51 minutes to be exact) I'm going to don a baseball cap, strip down, and hop into my hot tub. Yup. That sounds pretty nice. I'll pretend I'm at some sort of lovely day spa, in a warm and comforting meditation room waiting for my Lomi-lomi (hot rock) massage, and with my orange baseball cap (NOT Beaver, mind you, I am faithful to my Alma Mater) I will ignore the large, cold, October raindrops pelting my skull. Yep. I think that's just what I'll do.

An hour...

Suzie Home-maker

2007-10-15T14:11:00.000-07:00

What a wild ride of a weekend. B.J. worked some monstrously long hours, Parents Night Out was a fiasco (due to his long work hours--I had a PNO with my friend P., rather than my husband), and Peanutzilla lived up to her name (the -zilla part).

It is always when I think life is all neatly planned out and I've got something lined up for every facet of my day (or weekend) that life tends to generally fall apart. Isn't it funny how it happens? Again, I find that cliches are so utterly...cliche! "The best laid plans of mice and men..."

On a more positive note, my dad surprised me with one of his uber cool garage sale finds: A barely used bread maker. Pretty cool beans, huh? I would have never thought to look for a bread maker at a yard sale, but alas, I am not the 'queen of yard sales', in fact, I'm not even a 'lady in waiting' of yard sales. Frankly, I have about no luck. My dad? He has all the luck.

So my new appliance is a: Welbilt_ABM4900 Bread Machine

I LOVE IT!

I have made two whole recipes, count 'em, TWO! in my new machine: Banana (no nut) Bread and Honey-Oat Wheat bread. Both recipes turned out pretty good. The kidlet love the Banana Bread, and keep asking for more (a plus, since I'm trying to help the Peanut put on some weight). And, B.J. loves (have I ever mentioned how picky this man is? Well, if I haven't, he could give any two-year-old a run for their money in pickiness) the Honey-Oat Wheat bread. He thinks it tastes just like the stuff they used to give you to nibble on while you were waiting for your salads to be served a the Black Angus Steak House (they're called Stuart Anderson's nowadays). B.J. actually likes it. It is totally amazing. Remember those old LIFE Cereal commercials, the ones where the one kid says to the other "Mikey likes it!". Yeah. B.J. is like the Mikey of my universe. Can't even begin to tell you how happy I am I have finally found (well, made!) a bread he will eat.

For the Honey-Oat Wheat bread recipe I went to my favorite online recipe book, AllRecipes.com
If you've never perused their cache of lovely recipes, I highly recommend it.

I can hardly wait to try out a new recipe. But, I gotta wait until at least 1/2 of the bread I made is gone. Can't carbo load to heavily.

If you have any favorite recipes for the bread machine, please post a comment of email me, OK? I'd love to try it out.

Linky-dinky-doo!

2007-10-12T07:28:00.000-07:00

I don't have time to really write a thoughtful or funny post, so I'll send you over to a blog entry by The Fabulous Mommy Fussypants' Guide to Life. I loved it. It is on the Oprah and Dr. Oz show on Kids that aired recently (...wish I had seen it. Guess that is what happens when you don't turn on the TV in, oh, say two or three weeks. Sheesh! I really do live under a rock!). I hope you will enjoy this post like I did, too.

Everyone needs a little humor (or if you're me, sarcasm) to start the day.

Enjoy.

Tear Drops in the Pool

2007-10-08T19:32:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here practicing my 'deep breathing' and trying not to absolutely fall apart.

One deep breath in through the nose, and slowly out of the mouth. And, again.

I am having this complete flood of negative emotions right now: sadness, anger, grief, frustration, annoyance, all gently folded in with some helplessness for good measure.

B.J. is sick with 'sinus' issues (whatever those happen to be), Chubber has a snotty nose that is perpetually dripping greenish goop, and he insists of flailing wildly while shaking his head back and forth yelling 'NO!' every time I attempt to wipe it. That combination, two 'sick' males in one household, is a powerful 1-2 punch that knocks me on my butt every time. Males, in my experience, don't do well with being 'sick.'

At any rate, tonight, B.J. had to go to the doctor, and he 'generously' took the Chub with him-- since mommy & me swim lessons were out of the question and Peanut still had her lesson to go to tonight (no way I could possibly take a 2 year old to the pool without expecting a MAJOR melt-down when he found out sister could swim but he couldn't...). That left the Peanut and myself to go to the pool for her swim lesson.

Normally, swim lessons are pretty even-keel and Peanut looks as normal as any other little girl. She splashes, slides along the edge of the pool, and obligingly kicks her legs in the water to play the splashing games that they do in her class. She looks, in a single word, typical. I cherish the moments in time where she is, for all intents and purposes, normal. Normal isn't, well, normal here. We have our share of Autistic moments, but that is 'normal' when your child is on The Spectrum. So, when swimming lessons come around, it is, for me, a joy to see my girl because I am able to catch a single little glimpse of who she really is on the inside: a beautiful, energetic, four-year-old girl. I see her as the daughter I always dreamed she would be. But, tonight wasn't to be one of those sparkling, glorious glimpses into 'typical.'

Tonight, in a nutshell was awful. Peanut was sullen, grumpy, and uncooperative. She was showing, in all its glaring, astrobright loudness her place on the Autism Spectrum. At first she wouldn't even get into the pool. After a time, and some talking, she agreed to sit on the steps and her teacher attempted to entice her further into the pool with a beautiful purple ball. It worked--temporarily. From there, the Peanut proceeded to rock back-and-forth in the water, while sitting on the steps. She receded into her own little universe further than I've seen her disappear into it in a long time (perhaps even a year or more). She shrieked and barked, dementedly in the horrible ear-drum piercingly high tone she so favors. She climbed out of the pool, and crawled around on the deck.

I tried to talk with her and tell her she could go home if she wanted to. She wouldn't have any of it. She was lost in her own oblivion. She refused to join her class, but also refused to leave. All I could do was humor her and hope that she would journey back toward earth. She eventually got into the water and started to participate in class. It was short lived. Soon after, she was back on the swim deck and began the howl and bark again while rocking back and forth, flapping her arms against her head. I have not seen her stim (self-stimulate) this badly--ever.

As I watched my daughter in horror, unable to help her to 'come down' or to come back-- I realized I could only support her in the way she needed, and that was sit patiently by as she danced through her own universe in a ballet that I did not recognize. As she was doing this I felt the mortar in the wall of bricks around my heart slowly begin to disintegrate and the walls of self-denial, or protection, or whatever you want to call them--my self-protection mechanism--came crashing down, one painful brick at a time.

It was all I could do to 'hold it together' while I watched my girl. I wanted to weep, and rage, and disappear all at once. I felt so terrible for her. She was disturbed in some way that she could not communicate to me, and I was utterly helpless.

I wanted to cry for her, but more than that I wanted to cry for me. I feel and felt so alone. I'm back to being adrift on that desolate ice floe in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by the void that I cannot cross. I think I manage to deny my disappointment (at not having a typical child) for a long period of time, so long that I can almost forget it exists. Then, there's an event like tonight. My girl stumbles backward, and continues stumbling, until she's undeniably NOT normal. Then all the bricks around my heart, my self defense, crumble, and the vulnerable, bleeding, soft pink parts of my soul become exposed, again, and I am reduced to tears.

As another blogger put it "it isn't PC to feel this way [that you wish your child was normal], but I do." And, I do. Some days I just wish she were normal. I wish I didn't feel such shame and guilt that I don't celebrate and rejoice in having a 'special needs child', but I don't. If I could do something, anything, to make it so that she was typical I would. I imagine any parent, even those who love the fact that their child is 'special', would wave that magic wand if it appeared in front of them.

I love my little girl as much as I love life itself. I can't imagine my life without her--I wouldn't have the same life without her, nor would I want a life without her--I just wish in moments like these things could be easier. That the pink parts weren't always so raw when they get exposed. That I didn't have to find the mortar to glue everything back into place.

Gift Bag

2007-10-05T06:06:00.000-07:00

Look out folks, I'm gettin' creative over here. Better sound the alarms... Martha has some competition...

But, seriously, take a look:

To celebrate one of my colleague's birthday I decided I'd make her some treats, and rather than settle for the gift bag de rigueur, I wanted something different.

I stepped outside 'the bag.'

And came up with the idea to use a trick-or-treat pumpkin ($2.49--roughly the same price as a paper decorative bag). I thought it would be cute, and that my friend could reuse it (as in, probably give it to her 6 year old.)

What, might you ask, do you put into a jack-o-lantern gift bag? Well, you put these into it:

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip cookies, of course!

Roughin' it

2007-10-02T17:47:00.000-07:00

Our hot water heater took a nose dive. In fact, it doesn't actually heat water anymore. Does that make the 'hot water heater' part a moot point?

Some time on Saturday our water heater ceased heating water. Too bad we didn't actually notice this wee factoid until Sunday morning. 6:30am, is, in fact, when I did notice that we had a substantial lack of hot water--we didn't even have tepid water. So, I told B.J. and he decided it wasn't heating due to a (likely) blown circuit breaker. He reset it. I chilled out and got my morning caffeine fix (if coffee could be given intravenously, I'd sign up...).

After an hour or so, what would have reasonably been long enough for said water heater to begin heating water, I tried to shower. Again. And, again, no hot water. This was a major drag, and a slight inconvenience to our morning. Given that by this point in time it was 8:00am, and we were slated to leave by 8:30am, to go visit family in another city, it necessitated a hasty (and unsatisfactory) baby-wipe-bath and sticking my head under the freezing cold tap to do something with the mass on the top of my head that greatly resembled a rooster's comb.

B.J. decided (reasonably) to reset the circuit breaker (again) and reset the circuit directly on the hot water heater. We figured that by the time we returned from our trip, some time that evening, we would once again be a part of the western world with hot running water.

WRONG!

Too bad we didn't realize it until 9:30pm Sunday evening--we still had a non-working hot water heater. Too late in the evening to actually work on fixing it/get parts. What that meant is that I got to (oh joy) go to work without a morning shower--yet another day being filthy. At this point it has gotten a bit...um...old. When I was 18 or 19 a shower was optional--hey, I was semi-hippie, and rebelling against the system a bit. But, at this age (undisclosed, you might notice) as a working professional, I don't do mornings without a shower.

Monday comes and goes. By the end of the day the children are beginning to resemble the poor street urchins that you see on the Sally Struthers 'sponsor a child' television commercials. I decide that I can't quite send my babies into the world looking like they are in need of social services to rescue them. To accomplish a bath I have to find out how to wash them in reasonably warm water: I boiled a huge stockpot of water on the stove, slogged it (without spilling or burns--on anyone! Hallelujah!) to the kids' bathroom and dumped it into the bathtub. This produced a bath of approximately 1/2 cm. deep water. To cool it down and to give us enough to work with I ran cold water into the tub, to make it about 2" deep.

I have a whole new appreciation for my great-great-grandmother and the womenfolk before her. What a chore to boil water to have a warm bath. It is no wonder why our ancestors only bathed monthly (and semi-annually before that). I also have a bigger appreciation of the differences between the classes--the upper classes could afford to have servants who would boil and slog up hills, stairs, and who-knows-where-else to provide a hot bath for their employers. What a thankless task that must have been, for very little return. I'm, again, grateful that I was born where and when I was born.

Tuesday arrives with all of its unshowered, ripening, hate-to-stick-my-head-in-the-cold-water ugly rainy day glory. I get to be present and accounted for at my place of employment, with only a sponge bath and some (very expensive) perfume to (hopefully) disguise any of my not-next-to-godliness (you know, like the old proverb: Cleanliness is next to...). B.J. takes the day off of work to solve our hot water woes.

In the end, it turns out that it is a simple and inexpensive fix. Yay!! B.J. brainstorms with the guys at George Morlan Plumbing and with my Dad (Mr. Fix-it of the universe--this man can fix it, build it, design it--from cars to appliances to building houses (which, as a matter of fact, he built the one he currently live in--by himself!!)). The end result: our hot water heater needed a $33 part (a new thermostat) and, voilà! We have hot water.

I can hardly wait until I put the kidlets to bed so that I can go and be decadent, and wallow in a super hot, turn-me-lobster-red, ultra luxurious hot water shower.

Random quote for today

2007-10-01T13:17:00.000-07:00

So, I was at my father-in-law's birthday party last night, talking with my sister-in-law, J., and she says to me:

J: So, I asked Peanut if she was going to school right now.
Me: Yea. So, what did she tell you?
J: She said "I don't go to school. I'm going to CHURCH!"

Poor Peanut, she still doesn't have any concept of time or the days of the week. This was so hilarious to me simply because Peanut had asked if today (Sunday) she was going to 'my school' and I told her that, no, today wasn't a school day, but that we were going to church. Her response to J. made it sound like she doesn't ever go go school, but only goes to church 6-10 times a week, like some weird cult...

Gotta love kids. Bill Cosby definitely had it right: Kids do say the darnedest things...

Date Night

2007-09-29T08:12:00.001-07:00

Last night was date night. Whoo-hoo! Let the good times roll.

I am so grateful to Easter Seals because the wonderful therapists and volunteers over there who put on a once a month "Parents Night Out" event. This event is specifically designed for parents of special needs children who, after parenting at the 'above-and-beyond' level needed for atypical children, are in dire need of some respite.

And, respite it is.

We feel safe leaving our kiddos because everyone at PNO has had a criminal background check, and most are the people and therapists who work with our special needs kiddos on a daily basis. In short, they know how to care for 'high needs' children, and we, as parents, can breathe a sigh of relief because should our children 'wig-out' or 'melt-down' the PNO staff can handle it.

So, with the weight off of our shoulders for the evening, we headed out for some much needed R & R.

Being 'single' is a strange sensation. At first, we feel disoriented, and uncertain of what to do ('You mean, I don't have anyone to strap into their car seat? I can, once again, get in and out of my car by unbuckling my seat belt and shutting the door before walking away, with nothing else to worry about? Bizarre...). Once this sensation of being 'lost' wears off, a certain giddiness sets in: We can do whatever we want, for 3.5 whole hours!! Now what?

We started out our evening by visiting various Tattoo establishments here, in our fair hamlet. The variety of shops and varying levels of how hygienic those shops are, always amazes me.

B.J. and I both have one (me) or more (B.J.) Tattoos. I, personally, love them. They require utter devotion to the art and a 100% commitment on the part of the tattoo-er and the tattoo-ee. Currently, I'm in the market for a few (yes, plural) 'tats'.

The tattoo I have now is of the "Scabious Fairy"; originally drawn in 1923, by the botanical artist Cicely Mary Barker. I was 'inked' with my little fairy when I was 18. I still love her. She, to me, has become my personal icon of The Peanut. I intend to have her name written below the fairy on my back. And, since I have two kiddos, I can't possibly have one tattoo of one of my children without a corresponding tattoo for the other (Chub-chub). Hence, I'm going to have another Flower Fairy, a boy riding on a dragonfly, tattooed on me to be my personal icon of the Chubber, complete with his name below it. Fair is fair. This is just the first tattoo I want to add to my living canvas.

The next 'series' of tattoos I want to get is for more aesthetic reasons. In a nutshell, I had some moles removed from my back (they required 5 and 8 stitches to close the wounds, respectively). They left some BIG ugly scars (looks like I was attacked with a hole punch) that became keloid. They're just ugly, and I'm very self conscious about them .

My choices to 'fix' my scars are: 1. go to the plastic surgeon, shell out beacoup bucks, still wind up with scars (albeit, if all goes well, much smaller and less freaky looking), 2. go and get a cover-up tattoo (yet another 'scar' if you will, but of the artistic variety). The tattoos won't be cheap, either, but they'll hide the scars and I like tattoos--a lot.

We found a few ideas on our 'rounds' however I believe that I have not, to date, found a tattoo artist I would trust to permanently mark me in my home town. I will go back to the original artist who did my Tattoo and the one who did a part of B.J.'s tattoo (cool story--I was the one who sketched the art to go around an Orca on his back, and he liked it enough he had it tattooed around the orca...amazing what happens when you're doodling on a cocktail napkin!).

That 'chore' out of the way, B.J. and I enjoyed a relaxing evening of cruising around, sharing a piece of pie at Marie Callendar's, and perusing books--in PEACE!--at Borders. Things that we once did and totally took for granted, before we had kids.

PNO gave us a much need recharge, and we had the chance to reconnect, as husband and wife. What a great date night. We're looking forward to the October 12 PNO.

Thanks to all the folks at Easter Seals, for making it all possible. You folks are a blessing--more than you probably even know.

Fat Chick on a Mission

2007-09-27T14:34:00.001-07:00

Whew!

Life has finally started (started, I said, not is) to find a rhythm, and I'm beginning to be able to navigate the ebb and flow of being a working mother again.

Work: doing good.

Finally mastering some aspects of my day, and beginning to build some confidence with our new S.F.A. curriculum. (gasping for breath here, like I ran 1/2 a block or something...). My boss and team leader keep popping into my work space while I'm inspiring and moulding young minds during said new curriculum delivery, and they are smiling and nodding their heads "yes." They're doing this--a lot. (They seem to think what they're seeing is exceptional or something--little do they know...). They want to video tape me doing my deed, and I resolutely refuse to have any sort of image recording device, of any kind, near me.

Uh, uh. No way, Jose.

The 'powers that be' (as I warmly refer to them) want to tape me to show what I do to others. Like I'm some sort of role model.

Eew. I don't think so. Don't put me on a pedestal; I'm afraid of heights.

For starters, the day they would tape me would be the day that Chicken Little's prophecy comes true, and it all comes crashing down. In my room. Loudly. Furthermore, it will also be the day that I model the most inappropriate, developmentally 'wrong' methodology (Murphy, is, after all a distant cousin of mine...or should be if he isn't). And, to put the icing on the cake: NOBODY is gonna wanna see my fat patootie on camera--very LEAST of all, ME!

So, that brings me to my mission: To stop being a 'Fat Chick'.

I am going to reshape my body.

Notice how I didn't say 'I want to' or 'I'm going to try to...' I AM going to get into shape. (Yes, yes, I do know round is a shape. But, let's face it, I've "been there, done that" for entirely too long).

Notice that I also didn't say (in a whiny voice), "I'm going to go on a diet." The word 'diet' is, to be cliche, just another four-letter word. I don't like to use profanity on my blog, so I won't.

I'm starting small. I'm being conscious of what, and more importantly when and how much I eat daily. And I'm making a fantastic effort toward a 30 minute walk (or other sustained activity) every day. So far: I'm doing a brilliant job of it.

I need to take better care of me. If I don't do it, nobody else will. I want to be in better health for many reasons, but the most prominent right now is so that I can finally quit feeling so much shame about how I look when I: see myself in the mirror, see myself in a current photograph, or, (God forbid) on video. I want to look at myself (in any format) and think to myself "I'm not a 'perfect size 6' but I'm good enough for me".

I think that is a reasonable request. One I intend to fulfill. One little step at a time (pun intended) and one day, and probably one minute (depending on the day) at a time.

I've been fat long enough.

It is time to try out the world in a new form, and shed the 'cocoon'.

Overheard at the Playground

2007-09-15T12:10:00.000-07:00

Today a friend of mine and I took our kiddos to the playground to get some fresh air and burn off a little energy. While the kids were playing we heard my friend's 5 year-old son say:

(to kids he was running with)

"This is my girlfriend. I call her Peanut. But her name is ____."

This was just so stinkin' cute. I laughed so hard that tears came out of my eyes.

Like the old Visa commercials: Priceless.

...another day older and deeper in debt, St.Peter dontcha call me 'cause I can't go, I owe my soul to the company store

2007-09-06T18:31:00.000-07:00

Second week back to work. It is only a 4 day week, and I'm only 3 days 'in'. I feel like this week is draaaaaaaging on and on and on...

Did you ever see the Tom Hanks movie Joe Versus The Volcano ? Today, after my super long day, I feel like he did-- complete with my own little 'brain cloud.' Ugh.

More to come later.

Yippee-ki-yay

2007-08-31T13:36:00.000-07:00

Life with small children is never dull. In fact, life is always a surprise, and you never really know what type of surprise it is going to be.

Sometimes, the surprise is: Look at me! I learned how to take my diaper off and finger-paint with poop! (that is one unpleasant surprise I walked into after my 18 month old daughter woke up from nap...eugh, that was awful). Other times the surprises are like: Wow, I'm a big boy now! I learned how to climb up the ladder to the BIG slide at the park and I can now go up and slide down all by myself (yet another, more pleasant, surprise I had with my son...at the age of 13 months old (a mite scary, truth be told). He was so proud of himself).

Life is always interesting, especially with my little rugrats. Take for instance, the morning toddler rodeo. Toddler Rodeo? you say. Yes. Toddler Rodeo.

Every morning life gets extremely interesting anywhere between 6-6:45am (oh, joy, I just love early morning adventures...NOT). Chubbers wakes up with what my husband and I have come to call "monster pee-pee pants"--super soaked and fully filled wet diapers--and needs to be changed immediately (or there are...shall we say, nasty repercussions). Chubbers doesn't like to have his mega pee-pee pants changed. I don't know why he'd like to stay in them. If it were me, after a good 10+hours of marinating in my own urine, I think I'd like a fresh pair of diaper pants to, well, soil all over again. That is not the case with the boy. At least you can't say we don't get our money's worth out of the before-bed diaper.

The toddler rodeo begins with parent A or B walking into Chubber's room and saying good morning, giving him hugs, and gently telling him he has wet pants (we're trying to get that association with potty-wet pants for toileting...it may prove to be futile...) and needs to get his pee-pee diaper off. It is at this point in time that Chub defiantly (and definitely) shakes his head and protests "NO!!". Then he squirms to get down, or performs my all time favorite pose "the dead fish" (where he gets extremely heavy and limp, while simultaneously 'melting' out of my arms).

Once those tried-but-true tactics fail, he proceeds to allow us to lay him down to change him--but it is all a part of his carefully crafted master-plan of escape (too bad that the two-year-old don't realize that when you apply the same tactical strategies every morning, the unsuspecting victim (parent A or B) anticipates your moves...). He looks sweet and innocent laying there, until you start to remove the wet diaper. Then, a la salt water crocodiles from Australia, he begins performing death-rolls. It is amazing just how incredibly difficult it is to pull an angry-doesn't-want-a-diaper-change-toddler out of a death roll.

At this point in time whichever parent is changing him employs his or her own strategy to whip off the sodden (2lb. +) diaper and reposition the boy onto a clean diaper. I, personally, like the technique where I plead, pathetically, for the boy to be still followed up by getting him more or less spread-eagle and pinning his arms and legs with my legs so that I can complete my task.

Changing Chubbers in the morning is one of those tasks that I don't even attempt without at least one cup of coffee in my system. I just don't.

Now, the Rodeo wouldn't be all that awful, really, except for the fact that Chubbers has his own cheering section: The Peanut (heh, heh...like a 'Peanut Gallery'...). Peanut, likes to wander into his room as we're changing him and loves to watch her brother flip and flop around like some sort of game fish landed on 20# test line. She grins with glee while chorusing "I want to see the poop!" regardless of whether or not there is any fecal matter. I can already see visions of my sweet little girl on the playground in the future, being the one to instigate the chanting of "Fight...fight...fight" when Johnny and Isaac have a little tête à tête on the first grade playground. Lord, help me.

By the time that the monster pee-pee pants have made their way into the pee-pee bucket (the Diaper Champ) the elapsed time is approximately 10 minutes, parent A or B is thoroughly exhausted, and the boy toddles off to start his glorious, brand-new day.

Parenting; never a dull moment. Nope.

Le Pièce de Résistance

2007-08-30T19:55:00.000-07:00

Okie-dokie. I made it. I am a card wielding member of the elite group of folks who've completed the 'Wilton Cake Decorating Course 1'.

Ain't I somethin' special? (she says while grinning her best Clampet smile)

Here's the cake I did for class 3 (two weeks ago):

This is my first 'attempt' at roses. Notice how they're a lovely shade of orange...and that they appear to have had, perhaps, a bad LSD trip.

What can I say? Roses are a heck of a lot harder to do than they look. Now, every time I go into Safeway (or some store with a bakery) and I cruise past the 'ready to go' birthday cakes that are loaded with roses, I have a whole new appreciation for just what a pain it is to do them (and at the point this picture was taken I could only do roses very badly).

See, I learned (besides technique) that to properly create roses out of sugar and hydrogenated fat (or, if you must, butter creme icing) you need two separate consistencies of icing: Stiff (for the foundation of the rose) and medium/stiff (for the petals). You also (clearly?) need two different icing tips, and as a result, two different bags of icing with their respective consistencies. Furthermore, you need to have a 'flower nail' to build your rose upon. If you're me, this is approximately 3 too many separate objects to manipulate at nearly the same time.

Creating roses, beautiful roses that is, is a true art form. I am utterly a novice.

This Wednesday I completed my final Course 1 class. Sadly, J., my friend whom I was taking the course with, couldn't make it due to a non-life threatening illness (she just felt like crud). I was bummed that she wasn't able to make it (and thus is not a certified Wilton Course 1 card carrying member...oh the division of the classes, will it never end?). But, I carried on and completed the last class, with J. in my mind, and I did my Girl-scout best in her place. Here is the artsy view of my pièce de résistance:

The cool thing about my cake is that while I was making it I really had no idea what direction I wanted to head as far as decorating it. I just started making roses and plopping them onto the cake. I was so thrilled that I was finally starting to get the rudimentary elements of forming the flowers down, I forgot to plan what they were going to ultimately 'do' on my cake. So, due to copyright laws I can't show you the picture of the Wilton cake in the course book, but trust me this one looks pretty dang similar (in the book the roses and sweet peas (on the base) are lavender whereas mine are sort of a pink-ish color). Unfortunately, when I took the photo I had the white balance on my camera set for 'incandescent' lighting, when I truly should have had it set for 'fluorescent' lighting, so the picture is a bit dark, but I think you can still get the main idea.

For your viewing approval (or not):

In the end, I'm glad I took the class. I had a great time, and felt a myriad of emotions that ran the gamut from frustrated and grossed out to a sense of accomplishment and renewal.

It is true what 'they' say (whomever they happen to be): when you run yourself ragged and have given everything you have away and you don't stop and spend some time renewing your own spirit, your reserves do run dry. After taking this class just for something fun for myself, I feel renewed, and I learned a few new skills.

I'm looking forward to being able to improve on what I've learned, and to use the skills to buoy the spirits of others. I need to get back into the habit of giving to others and this might just be one small way I can do that. Who wouldn't be pleasantly surprised (diets not withstanding) with an out-of-the-blue cake or confection?

Crazy Ebay Auction

2007-08-28T15:08:00.001-07:00

This was just too funny not to post. It is an Ebay auction that you just have to check out.

Click HERE.

How I can so totally relate.

The End of an Era

2007-08-27T13:55:00.000-07:00

Another milestone

This weekend I was out with my children for a leisurely Saturday morning shopping trip—yes, indeed I did say leisurely. (The secret is to buy them a bag of popcorn and a drink for $1.) I loaded my amply bribed children into the shiny, red, oversized shopping cart and began to amble through the aisles of merchandise. We maneuvered along the freshly polished, gleaming tiles, bypassing many tempting mommy-esque departments (namely, handbags, and the women’s clothing department) to attempt our first objective: buy the toddler a new pair of shoes.

Children’s shoe shopping, for me, is a real chore. I am super picky about the shoes that I allow my children to wear. Clothes, I buy new on-sale or second hand without any problem—I like to save money like anyone else. Shoes, on the other hand, are something else. You only get one set of feet and your feet are the foundation of your body. So, shoes need to be decent quality or I don’t buy them. In fact, I may buy myself cheap shoes from that nation-wide cheap-shoe retailer that advertises “BOGO” all the time, but for the kids, I generally wind up in a honest-to-goodness old-time shoe store, or a higher end shop like Nordstrom—they are the only places I find the quality I want for my kids. In other words, I will often get stabbed with paying $40-60 on one pair of shoes for my two-year-old, whereas I spend $15 (after hemming and hawing whether or not to waste the money) on shoes for myself.

This particular shopping trip I decided I’d give the inexpensive retailer a shot, to find Chubb-chub some shoes. I’d already struck-out at two other stores, so I figured what’s one more before heading to Nordies? I hit pay dirt, almost immediately. A decent pair of shoes that actually wound up being made by the Buster Brown Company. Chub was happy with the pictures and lights on the shoes, I was happy with the quality (and price!). We were doing well.

So, since the little girls’ and boys’ section was just ‘round the corner from shoes, I thought I’d peruse the selection and see if there were any good deals. There were.

This is where the story gets good.

I have shopped in the baby-toddler section, exclusively, since having children. My daughter has never fit into the ‘age/size’ that she should—ever. For instance, she was 2 years old and could still easily wear a size 12 months pair of shorts, with room to grow. She has never been, for example, 3 years old in a size 3T.

Things have been changing.

Peanut is still painfully skinny, but she is so tall now that I can’t squeeze her into ‘baby’ clothes so that they fit. Now, I have to find adjustable waist pants to fit her in the waist and length (usually means I wind up at Gap or if I’m lucky Old Navy—either way, more money than I want to spend). On this particular shopping trip I found one pair of pants, with adjustable waist on a clearance rack. Oh, happy, lucky day. So we continued on.

As the children happily munched on their ‘snack’ I wheeled us around the rest of the store. I was content meandering and ‘window shopping’ and they were pleased to be along for the ride (secretly, I think they were in some sort of preservative-induced trance from the movie theater-style popcorn they were eating—but, I’m not complaining!). As we cruised toward the registers we passed the ‘big girls’ section—elementary age girls’ sizes. I always look at what retailers try to pass off as ‘little girls’ clothes—more often with disgust than anything (Why are we trying to dress them like hootchies? Can someone please tell me?) As I am making my mental critique of what I think is darling and what I think is downright inappropriate I notice the sign says “Sizes 4-6x”. Size 4? If they have adjustable waist…I bet Peanut could wear it!

As it turned out, they had size 4 SLIM with Adjustable waist jeans on sale. I parked the cart next to the rack and slipped a pair of the pants over Peanut’s leotard (she had to wear her Gymnastics uniform to shop…). Hallelujah! They fit! And, they fit her really well. Most of the time the legs/seat are so baggy that she looks like…well…a bag lady. The SLIM jeans fit her perfectly. All we had to do was cinch in the wait a bit, and presto! My little girl is no longer shopping in the baby/toddler section.

My baby is no longer a baby. She really is becoming a big girl.

After the checker handed me our purchases and I was walking to the car, one child in each hand, it completely struck me: we’ve passed a brand-new milestone. Peanut is shopping in the big-girl section.

How quickly they grow up and these milestones sneak up on us. My baby really is becoming the ‘big girl’ we tell her she is.

The Party is Almost Over...

2007-08-23T08:46:00.001-07:00

I have 2 (weekdays) until I go back to work.

I don't officially start until Tuesday, August 28, but I'm going in on Monday because, let's face it, 3 days to get my act together is not long enough. (I'm supposed to work 'contract' days, August 28, 29, 30. And it is supposed to be sufficient to get everything ready. Yeah, right!)

It is always this time of year that I feel like a deflated balloon. I look back at my summer and wonder if I got the 'most' out of it; I wonder if my kids had the best of me, and enjoyed our time together. I know it isn't possible to do 'everything,' but I certainly try.

There's definitely a list of stuff I didn't get taken care of that I'd hoped to do over this summer. For instance, yard work-- I had hoped to get my yard into better shape--trim the 2 gigantic hedges in my back yard, plant more annuals for some color, and, at the least, get some fresh bark-o-mulch down in the front yard. I'd also hoped to get Chubb's baby book finally completed (let's face that one for what it is--I didn't even so much as look at the pictures/scrapbook stuff). He's two, now, I should at least have slapped the pictures into the book (I've given up on cutesy, artistic pages), but I haven't. Sigh. Maybe by the time he hits high-school I'll have it done (forget about remembering what the pictures are about!!!). I'd also hoped to de-clutter my house a bit more. I managed to clean out my dresser of clothes that are too big/that I don't wear. So, at least that counts for something.

It is strange, I have a friend in the same line of work as me who feels this depressed sensation after the end of the year, about a week after she's on vacation. I haven't felt that. She misses the action and the routine and feels a bit overwhelmed by the possibilities of summer. After about a week, though, she feels great. I feel deflated because the time goes by so quickly. I will have to put my kids back in daycare, and be back to the 'daily grind.' I miss my kids when I'm at work. I count myself lucky, though, since I get summers and holidays with my kids. I know it is a lot more than most people get with their kids. And, I know I'll be fine after the first two weeks. I always am. It is just tough to wind through the last two days of summer before I'm back to busy, busy, busy.

I'm trying to decide what I want to do with the kiddos today. Yesterday we played 'Bob the Builder' and drew pictures all morning, followed with two separate trips to the Park. They had a blast (I did, too). I would like to take the kids to the nearby theme park, or to the children's museum, here in town, the only problem is a significant lack of funds. Sometimes, I need to throw caution to the wind and just 'go for it'.

Today may be one of those days.

We can't preserve today and use it for tomorrow. Once today is passed, we can never get it back again. There's a great sticker that I often see on the helmets of Harley riders, it says: 'Ride it like you stole it.' Isn't that great? Sort of live life to the fullest, full-throttle. I want to start to live more of my days that way.

Care to join me? Let's live, full-throttle.

He's Officially a NOT a Baby, but a Toddler

2007-08-20T15:16:00.001-07:00

Recipe to Celebrate Chub's Second Year of Life

Ingredients:

1 (or 2) Birthday Kid(s)

A cake

People to celebrate

A gift or two

A song

Lots of Fun

Endless Love

Make a wish, little one, all your dreams will come true.

Cake is fun, candles shine bright, you have your whole life to live, and live it right.

Happy 2nd Birthday to you, my beautiful little boy. We love you.

May the future hold more joys than sorrows, and may your heart always be light.

Here's to 2 years on this Earth.

What a wild and wonderful two years they have been.

I can hardly believe the time has gone by so quickly. Tears rush to my eyes to think that you're no longer a baby, and again a baby you'll never be.

Soon, my boy, soon, you'll be a full grown man.

The Good Lord grant me that I raise you well, and teach you right.

How true it is that we do today, echoes in eternity.