Good Mother

The Thin Line

2012-02-03T09:29:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning, I came downstairs to have some coffee and on the kitchen counter, I found a syringe and a rubbery tube with a cap. Curious, I unscrewed the cap and inside the tube were small crystals. Naturally, I freaked out. My first thought was, “OH MY GOSH, one of my kids is a drug addict!!” I grilled son B when he came downstairs, but by his blank stare I could tell he had no idea what I was talking about. I let my daughter off the hook because she is only 9, so that left Number 1 son to take the blame. K was not home at the time so I fretted and worried and only just barely stopped myself from going to the school to pick him up and confront him.

When I talked with K, I worriedly told him of my suspicions and he jumped on the band wagon with me, casually asking the cop who patrols his work parking lot what kind of drug it was. The cop fortunately didn’t arrest K for drug paraphernalia and said that he didn’t think it was drug related as the syringe was too large.

On the tube in small letters was the word Oasis which I was sure must be the new recreational party drug amongst teenagers and I googled it numerous ways, looking for any information and came up with zilch. K also did the google routine and came up with nothing as well.

When Son A came home from school, we pounced on him like tigers, asking him about it, demanding that he tell us what it was.

He was puzzled why we were so concerned about his GUITAR DEHUMIDFDIER!!!!

http://www.google.com/products/catalog?client=browser-rockmelt&channel=omnibox&q=oasis+guitar+humidifier&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=shop&cid=14455280251702486017&sa=X&ei=xvEqT8HFNozWiAL04J3CCg&ved=0CKABEPICMAc

Ah, well….better safe than sorry, or perhaps more apropos better to be embarrassed than sorry. Laters.

Tis The Season...

2011-12-21T12:00:00.000-05:00

Today, I let my daughter eat a chocolate truffle for breakfast. Because I am super awesome like that. The caveat was that she had to eat two pear slices to offset the sugar. It makes sense, right? Besides, its Christmas time and we all know that calories don’t count at Christmas.

This month, we’ve been busy, busy, busy. Too busy in fact for me to feel like I was actually enjoying the season, I can’t remember that happening to me before. I feel like I should be standing on a street corner, belting out Faith Hill’s “Where Are You Christmas?” and then the spirit of the season might just come upon me. Or not…

But in truth, the moments of joy I have found have always been when I am doing something for someone else. The recurring theme of my life for the past few months has definitely been inward focused me equals feelings of doubt and discontent, outward focused me equals satisfaction and peace. That makes sense too, right? I know I am always most satisfied when I am a part of something bigger than me, though I confess, I really had to push myself to even care about being nice. Santa must surely have me on the naughty list. But I have learned that you can never put a value on something as small as just speaking a kind word to a friend and asking them how they are. How they really are, and caring about their reply.

We are winding down and I look forward to visiting with family and enjoying life in the slow lane for a few days. Above all, I am grateful to enter this sacred season with my health, my family healthy and presents under our tree. We are most fortunate and blessed. Laters.

Hmm... what she said.

2011-12-13T12:58:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about this time of year and how I need to remember the sacredness of the event, and find peace in the frenzy, then Maya Angelou said it one hundred times better than I ever could, so I'll just let her run with it. (thanks Kara)

Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem

snow in bethlehem

By Maya Angelou

Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues.

Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.

We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?

Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.

It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.

Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.

In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.

We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.

Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
implore you to stay awhile with us
so we may learn by your shimmering light
how to look beyond complexion and see community.

It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
On this platform of peace, we can create a language
to translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.
At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ

Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues the coming of hope.
All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices to celebrate the promise of
Peace.

We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and Nonbelievers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace.

We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace.

We look at each other, then into ourselves,
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation:

Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul

Great Balls Of Fire

2011-12-01T15:14:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning at 5 a.m. screaming from a killer charlie-horse. (another not so lovely side effect of my meds) I alternated between a weird wheezy scream and outright hollering. Since I was awake and in need of some support, I made sure that K was awake too so that he could enjoy the moment with me. With the screaming, you’d think he’d be awake already, but what can I say, the man is a sound sleeper. I emphatically suggested that he rub my calf and he gave it his best effort, but again, he’s not on his game much that early so it was a little anti-climactic. The pain brought out some colorful phrases and the urge to yell "ay-yi-yi" and "Dios Mio" in a Spanish accent. The cramp lasted somewhere between infinity and eternity and made my calf so sore, I could barely walk on it this morning, not to mention wear my work heels. I schlepped around for most of the day in flip-flops and then gingerly tried on my heels for a walk to the post office. I was still no better and in fact in standing position, the muscles twitch and jerk and threatened to cramp again at any moment. I’m just lucky I guess. Laters.

What I Saw

2011-11-11T10:33:00.000-05:00

Today as I came into the atrium of my office building, the crazy lady who always asks for a dollar and wears flip flops in the snow was standing outside the plate glass doors on the other side with a large tooth comb, fixing her hair just so. She focused on her reflection intently and took time to reach every strand, smoothing the salt and pepper mass into a sort of wind tousled submission. She went over the stubborn places several times, until all the hairs were smoothed to her satisfaction and finished her coif just as I arrived inside. I saw her quickly pocket her comb to shuffle over to the man taking a smoke break to ask for a dollar.

Laters.

Midnight Convo

2011-10-28T09:34:00.000-04:00

For the past few days I’ve had either a small head cold or an allergy flare up. The nose is running and the eyes are watering and the sneezes abound. I’ve been taking Sudafed to combat the symptoms and it works pretty good, but as I am a medicine wimp, I only take one at a time and not the recommended two, and still , I get a pretty jittery feeling. Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and looked at Facebook and did all kinds on mental sheep counting but nothing worked. Finally K said, “Can’t you sleep?” Which really means “Be still, I’m trying to sleep over here.” I said no and then I thought that I would share the fun, racing, jittery thoughts I was having with him.

J-“Babe”

K-“Hmmm…what?”

J-“Do you remember when we were in Dublin at Christ Church Cathedral and we saw the mummified cat and mouse?”

K-“Yes”

J-“Wasn’t that cool?”

K-“zzzz….snort, Yes”

J-“Babe, do you remember the curtains we had at our first apartment?”

K-“zzzzzz”

J-“Babe!”

K-“hmmm….yes… no, not really”

J-“says many other inconsequential things”

K-“snoozes and snores and replies occasionally”

THE GRAND FINALE

J- “Babe, do you like me?”

K-“Babe, I love you.”

J-“Tell me why you love me.”

K-“I love you when you are quiet and let me sleep.”

Laters.

On A Roll

2011-10-18T11:14:00.000-04:00

There it sat; the lonely roll of toilet paper, far away from its spindle holder high on the wall. Why you ask? Why was the toilet paper lonely? It was I, I made it so because I am the only one, I said, THE ONLY ONE, who can put it lovingly on its holder to properly function for one and all. (did I write about this before? stop me if I have, no, no really don’t, its best to get it all out in the open)

I carefully considered it and I’ll have to say that this might be the thing that drives me crazy. I mean I say it all the time, (that I’m going crazy, I mean) but finding toilet paper on the floor while the bare, brown, cardboard tube dangles above just sends me into an instant state of rage. Did I just say rage? I know, geeze, see how shallow I am, how I lack self-control? Working on it now. Laters.

The Truth Is Out There...

2011-10-04T09:21:00.000-04:00

How do you do your garbage? We do ours stinky, gooey and running over the can before ANYONE (ahem, me) will take it out. We like our garbage in bags that rip just enough to spill curlicues of dried cucumber peelings, eggshells and coffee grounds over the kitchen floor upon extraction from the can. We like bags that leak a bit from the bottom so that the whole can is infused with the delightful aroma of chicken packaging goop that sits for a few days marinating. Ah, there is nothing, nothing I tell you that can match that assault on a person’s sense of smell. We like to scrape moldy leftovers into the can and let them blossom into their full bouquet; just the delicate bloom of scent that lingers a bit too long in the air.

Since we’ve lived in our house, a yard dweller of the animal persuasion has made nightly forages to our gloriously smelly trash to take part in an epicurean smorgasbord and this particular animal without fail, knocks over all the cans, that I know are quadruple its own body weight. I blame the two sassy squirrels who live in the apple tree; they just have a guilty look about them in general. K thinks that it’s a raccoon, and as he scoops up the goopy, smelly garbage every morning, I’m sure he would skin whoever it was alive if he could catch them. The two of us invented a system of bungees and an old piece of wood to weight the cans down and secure them and it has been working well for the tipping over part, but the animal is still partaking in the feast as evidenced by the torn bags inside and the leftover scraps on the back porch. Yes, this animal can get the lids off the can. Don’t look at me; I’m just reporting the facts.

On Sunday night, Reag went out to put something in the recycling bin and came face to face with what may be the actual perpetrator, a very large skunk. When I asked him what he did, he nonchalantly replied, “I shut the door really fast.” Laters.

Pancake Breakfast

2011-09-20T14:55:00.002-04:00

The hubs informed me that he thought it was a good idea if once or twice a week, we got up early and all had breakfast together as a family. My immediate thought was, “ghaahh… what? early? breakfast? cooking?” I love my kids more than anything, but my idea of a healthy breakfast is eating a piece of toast wrapped in a paper napkin while running out the door. And my idea of morning is to lie in bed until the last possible second, sipping coffee with eyelids half open. I can get ready faster than anyone you’ve ever seen and it suits me to laze about and ease gently into the day.

So I said, “yeah, yeah,” and then hoped he’d forget his great idea, but then he reminded me last night as we went to bed, so I said “wake me up and I’ll make pancakes.” It sounded like an awesome, motherly thing to do at 10 p.m. at night and I had pancake mix so it also sounded easy. But at 6:30 a.m. I wasn’t as excited and I wondered why I had so many darn kids in the first place and why they wanted pancakes at 6:30 IN THE MORNING!

In retrospect, I’m not sure that they did want them, as they were mostly sitting dazed at the table with massive bed-head, looking puzzled at why they were awake so early, but the hubs and I were chipper and we served o.j. and chocolate milk with verve and pizzazz! In true Martha Stewart fashion, I offered the children their choice of pancakes; blueberry or plain and after much bartering on their part, I relented and made some with chocolate chips. ‘Cause that’s just the kind of good mother I am. Laters.

Perfect Sense

2011-09-16T12:59:00.000-04:00

A small peek inside my head.

This morning while waiting on the train:

“Should I have worn boots? I have awesome new boots! I don’t know, is it too hot for boots? It’s cold now but it might warm up later, but then my legs would be hot all day, and these jeans aren’t right for boots anyway. Way to go, you buying those awesome boots on sale in July when no one thinks of boots. Are my skinny jeans clean? ‘Cause I’d have to wear those with the boots. Shoot! Laundry, I should have started a load before I left. Left, eek! I left my book at home, what to do, what to do on the train now? Do I have towels in the dryer? Great, I didn’t give Sher lunch money. Should I have worn boots? I don’t know, is it too hot for boots? Oh, look here’s the train” ** slurps coffee** Laters.

Last Time?

2011-09-09T12:01:00.000-04:00

Breast MRI yesterday, which was exactly one year since the last and final lumpectomy. In typical fashion, I couldn't help but second guess all my treatment decisions while I was stuffed into the tube with the knocking and clicking, wondering if I had done enough, been aggressive enough. Still have a headache from all the noise, but no I.V. bruise which is a miracle. If I get the "all clear," then I suspect the worry wort in my brain will start to settle down a bit and I'll be able to put it all behind me. That sounds good. A year is long enough to deal with that kind of stuff. What I need now is a year of good things, like shoe shopping every day and lattes delivered to my desk every morning and a vacation to Bora Bora. Just look at this picture, this is where I need to be. Laters.

Mea Culpa

2011-08-29T12:30:00.000-04:00

Ok family, don’t feel too free to jump in and toss me under the bus, but I have a way with birthdays; mostly a way of forgetting them. Remembering birthdays is the most broken New Year’s resolution that I make, other than the whole losing 10 pounds thing. Sometimes, I look at magazines to store up good ideas for parties and vow that this is it! This is the year that I will make cakes of fondant and layers, that I will adorn our house with streamers and serve organic breakfast pancakes to the birthday child or spouse. That I will have cards on hand and lovely gift wrap ready to bedeck the thoughtful gifts that I purchased way, way ahead of time. So far, that year has not arrived. I have a sister-in-law who went to the “Martha Stewart School of Making Me Look Bad” who does all the fancy cakes and streamers and beautiful celebrations and I envy her talent and forethought. (did I mention that she makes me look bad?) My mother is a wizard at parties and celebrations and you can count on her birthday cards to show up at least three days prior. But me, I am more of a text on the birthday of kinda gal. I’ll just say that this is my only major shortcoming in life and if you’ll agree, that would be great.

This year, I blew it worse than ever with my hubs. It started with the fact that he had to perform a wedding on his birthday, and our kids not being with us for the day, and me thinking that I would have time to shop on the way to the wedding, (I know, I know, call me crazy) and then me leaving his birthday cards on the dining room table as we rushed out the door. Then we stayed overnight, so I couldn’t make the cake until the next day, (homemade cheesecake, though) and then he had to work and I still didn’t have a gift, so I thought to myself, “I’ll stop on the way home from work to buy one.” Except then I forgot to stop and he never got a gift. I mentioned a few weeks later that I needed to get him something and he testily told me that I had passed the statute of limitations. What a jerk I am and so insensitive. I’m still getting him something; I just haven’t figured out what yet. Laters.

Sunday Drive

2011-08-22T09:06:00.003-04:00

Did I ever tell about the time mom was hot-rodding our obese green van and we had a wreck?

As I recall, it was a Sunday morning and we were running late to church and as the pastor’s wife and kids, it was generally frowned upon for us to arrive after the singing started. I can’t really blame mom though for our tardiness as she had about a dozen kids (no joke) to get ready. So we all hopped in the green machine for our mad dash into town for service, flying down the Oklahoma thoroughfare with red dirt pluming behind and gravel spitting. Just after the bridge, mom lost control; we skittered and veered, did a slow and easy tip, landed on the side of the van and slid ever so neatly past a cattle guard and into a barbed wire fence. With a fence post punching through the side window, mere inches from mom’s head, we came to rest, suspended half on the road and half hanging off in a ditch, shaken but not stirred.

After a chorus of “are you ok’s?” mom started dropping kids out the window and we all climbed our way up the ditch to the side of the road to wait for a car to pass so we could get help. I can’t remember who picked us up, but I’m sure that he got more than he bargained for with all us kids crammed into his pickup. We made it to church only minimally late and any brownie points that were deducted due to our lateness were promptly restored when all the good saints heard about our harrowing experience. Oh, and by the way, did I mention when we dropped into the ditch, that it was rife with poison ivy? And that I was wearing a dress? And that all the flora and fauna came in close contact with my inner thighs and abdomen? (and arms, and legs, and hands and feet) And that I spent the next few weeks of my summer with the worst case of poison ivy known to man? In all the most tender spots. Laters.

I Wear Short Shorts

2011-07-25T14:14:00.000-04:00

I never mean for it to happen. But I was seduced, seduced I tell ya! Summer, that sneaky vixen came in a rush and all my good intentions flew away to hover somewhere above the heat dome.

Each year around March, I give myself a stern lecture about how the time has come to put away childish things (AKA-string bikinis) and how this year, I **should** buy a sturdy, motherly swimsuit. I shop around, L.L. Bean, JCrew, WalMart just to see what’s out in the responsible swimsuit department but what can I say, I’m not interested.

All it takes is sunny skies, a few days of temps in the ‘80s, and a jamming ‘90s mix on Rhapsody; and I tell myself while hurriedly pulling on my trusty two-piece, dashing to a friend’s house to swim, “Ah, you don’t look that bad.” Then, I let it all hang out.

Literally, in some kind of delicious summer denial that grips me in its madness and holds me ‘til early September where I sit in a Panera Bread wearing a pair of micro cut-offs, counting spider veins on my legs, wondering how on earth I ever wore them out in public. And then, the next year, it all begins again. Laters.

Apple Tree

2011-07-07T09:23:00.000-04:00

We have an apple tree in our back yard. Last year it had no apples. This year it is covered with tiny apples, but I noticed that it is dropping a fair amount of apples before they have time to grow.

I work at a land trust- our primary focus is to steward and maintain open space and in conversation with our environmental director, we somehow strayed to the topic of apple trees and I shared the scoop on our apple-dropping tree.

“Well, you know that trees are like people,” he said. “They shed things when they are stressed.” So, apparently, I have a “stressed” apple tree. But a tree that is smart enough to shed the stress.

I like to take good advice where I find it. I leave on vacation today. Here’s hoping I can shed some apples while I’m gone. Laters.

A Year In Somewhat Fuzzy Pictures

2011-07-01T15:01:00.000-04:00

One year ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The best part of breast cancer is that you get Percocet and dinners from your friends while you re-cooperate . The worst part is that you have cancer and that you have to wear ugly socks. Laters.

August 2nd Surgery Hawt Hospital Socks

Leaving for the hospital August 2010. Notice that we are all attired appropriately in pink!

Before they wheel me away 3rd Surgery Sept 2010

Ok, well maybe one more shot, 3rd Surgery

Ye Olde Faiythful Ice Packe

Bruise easily? All I.V's are torture!

Bracelet by my niece, Hayley. Reminded me to stay strong!

Note from my bro after I started radiation. The darling gift box made by my sis-in-law. One present for each day of treatment.

Radiation markers or perhaps my new tattoo?

Last day of radiation, I wish I looked more excited.

One year later- happy but stuck at work.

What I Did For A Klondike Bar

2011-06-29T13:05:00.000-04:00

About 4 years ago, K and I were separated for a little over a month when he moved to CT to start a new job. The job came about very quickly and we weren’t ready for a big move, so I stayed behind to organize and pack the house. I worked hard during the days, closing out accounts, paying bills and packing our belongings into bubble wrap, but most of the nights, I spent watching NCIS or CSI reruns and eating Klondike bars and potato chips. The reunion of our family was to be at Disney World in Florida, and about three weeks into the Klondike fest, I realized that in a few short days, I would be in a swimsuit. In public.

I began riding my bike around the neighborhood 2 or 3 times a day to burn calories and started doing lunges on my front porch steps, throwing in some arm exercises for good measure. If you know the June humidity levels in Tennessee, you realize that June in TN is no good time to start an outdoor exercise program padded with 3 weeks worth of Klondike bars, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do. I reduced my portions and sweated the time away packing and exercising. I can’t remember if I lost much weight, (sigh…probably not) but I think just putting the effort into it made me feel better.

The week before the trip, in addition to losing the pounds, I realized that I **had** to bleach my teeth. Why? I can’t really say. I was traveling with my parents, who never care if my teeth aren’t at the peak of whiteness and K would be glad to see me either way, but I spent the last few days carefully applying bleaching strips to my teeth to achieve a pearly smile. K noticed neither the bleaching nor the weight or lack thereof. Hmph.

Laters.

Recommendations 3

2011-06-13T16:01:00.000-04:00

Our family has been using www.mint.com to set our monthly budget and help us manage our money. Mint categorizes all expenditures, synchs with your bank accounts, credit cards, loans, etc. and lets you see exactly what you spend and exactly where it goes. (eek, for me on the Starbucks and shoes) In the words of my sis-in-law, “that sounds scary,” but in reality setting a budget and sticking to it is a good thing. They also have an iPhone app so really, being fiscally responsible couldn’t be easier. Oh, and it’s free.

A beauty product I love right now is Nars Illuminator. For me, it works a little like a bronzer and it looks good with my fledgling summer tan. A little shimmer on the décolletage is nice too, and this works nice for that. As always, my go-to for this kind of stuff is Sephora, but I’m sure you can get it at most department stores. http://www.sephora.com/browse/product.jhtml?id=P284301&categoryId=B70

I know its summer when it’s time to buy flip-flops and tanks at Old Navy. I think that their simple cotton tanks are great and I wear mine all year for layering and they usually get pretty threadbare by the time the next summer rolls around so it works out perfect. Don't think I need to list this site as I'm sure every closet has a pair of their flip-flops, but just in case you've not been informed, www.oldnavy.com

Trader Joe’s; bad for my waistline mini-milk-chocolate peanut butter cups. So tiny and tasty and the perfect size to grab a handful (or 3) as you walk past, I keep them in the fridge so they stay cool in the summer temps.

Me First

2011-06-06T11:16:00.000-04:00

I expect it was the enormous lunch stuffed in my back pack that gave me the edge or maybe it was the Monday angst, but either way, I won.

There is a certain fellow, I like to call him “Mr. Not So Nice Guy in a Yankees Cap,” or worse things depending on my mood, but everyday he pushes in front of me to get on the train.

Raised in gentler, more mannerly climes, I expect men to defer to a lady or least not push her out of the way, but I’m pretty certain that this is a Jersey boy or a Bronx man, or from wherever they raise chubby, rude, sweaty men who don’t have manners.

He is a train runner, by that I mean he is the type who likes to start at the end of the platform and run alongside the train as it comes to a stop. Runners seem surprised by the whole process each morning and determined not to miss their golden opportunity. I am waiter; the train stops every day in the exact same place, so I pick my spot, wait there, the doors open, I enter and I am whisked magically away to work. I suppose Hat Guy does not understand the mechanics of routine, or of waiting his turn, or of being nice. He must have been a terrible kindergartner.

As I saw him making his sweaty run for it this morning, I thought, “not today, Bub!” and I put myself squarely in the path of his running, angling my overstuffed-backpack laden frame just perfectly, so he had to stop and wait his turn. He could hardly stand it, and he tried to squirm in front of me at the last minute, even as I was stepping onto the train from the platform. Which I don’t have to tell you is dangerous business; ohhh, it makes me steamed just thinking about it. Since I was first, I took the last open seat in the car. Sayonara Sweaty!! Laters.

Recommendations 2

2011-05-17T08:00:00.002-04:00

For a dye hard (haha, get it?) do-it at home hair colorist, I like this product, Clairol Perfect 10. It literally takes 10 minutes, so you have to be quick when you apply, or else before you’re done, it’s time to rinse. It comes with 2 different applicator tips so you can do only roots or whole head- I usually do a little of both. You can get more info here. http://www.clairol.com/niceneasy/perfect_10/index.jsp

Back on the Sally Hansen bandwagon, this stuff, Nailgrowth Miracle Serum works! My nails, especially my thumbs, split way down into the quick as a rule; ugly and painful. I’ve been using this in conjunction with the polish strips and no breaks in over 4 weeks. A real record for me, but since I’m singing SH’s praises, I’m sure I’ll break one today. http://www.sallyhansen.com/products/nails/nail-care/nailgrowth-miracle-serum

Off the beauty subject and not relevant unless you live in CT, but oh my goodness, the chicken salad from Stew Leonards is AMAZING! We been buying it for a while and it never disappoints. I prefer to eat it on crackers, (Trader Joe’s has these amazing, tiny rye crackers that compliment it superbly) that way I feel like I eat less, but delish any way you serve it.

And on to a more boring subject; laundry. Gosh, how much time have I spent doing this and to make it easy, the Bounce bar has an adhesive strip and you just stick on your dryer and forget about fabric softener. I think that it works well to control static cling and keep clothes soft; my only negative comment is that it doesn’t leave a strong scent. I like my laundry to smell like summer rain or fresh cotton, or lavender fields (fill in fabric softener tag line) and I don’t notice it as much with this. I feel like I have to replace mine a bit more frequently than they recommend, because my laundry day seems to be every day, but from a convenience view point, it can’t be beat. http://www.bounceeverywhere.com/en_US/products/dryer-bar/video.jsp

Pa Rump Pa Pum Pum

2011-05-16T12:24:00.000-04:00

Looking the mirror getting ready for a friend’s birthday party, I remark to K, “wow, I have a Kim Kardashian butt!” What I meant is her rump is like mine, and they are both substantial. Sometimes when the new Victoria’s Secret magazine comes to my house, I peruse it for hours, not for the bras or swimsuits but to try to see what make those skinny flanked models tick. It is inconceivable to me how anyone could have such tiny haunches. How exactly does one roll down the street without the weight of a sizeable derriere to ground them? Given our unknown (to her) connection, I found it amusing when one of the grocery store rags blared the headline over the weekend that Kim K’s mamma is to blame for the size of her rump by forcing her to get “cheek implants.” I suppose my mother is to blame too, for marrying my dad and forcing the ba-donk-a-donk rump into my gene pool. It is entirely my dad’s fault. He is to blame when I have to jump and stuff myself into my jeans after I wash them, and he is undoubtedly at fault when I have to shamefacedly ask the sales girl for the next size up (or two) when trying on pants. Truthfully, having a unicorn horn sprout on my forehead would be no stranger to me than imagining having a svelte posterior. Yikes, TMI, is this the weirdest post I’ve ever written or what? Laters.

Vasovagal Syncope

2011-05-06T13:29:00.002-04:00

Last night I went to a “fun raiser” to support the Whittingham Cancer center. I thought that it would be a nice thing to do since they have done so much for me (though I am not very thankful for the boob burning) they are all nice people and were very kind to me in my hour of need. The event was a wine tasting, with several different restaurants present cooking delicious food. (shout out to B.J. Ryan’s for the excellent pulled-pork sliders)

We meandered around tasting food and wine at all the stations but by the time we gathered to hear the speeches from hospital V.I.P’s I was fanning myself furiously with my tiny paper napkin. I had been having pretty severe hot flashes all night and at this point, I was feeling pretty miserable. Things went from bad to worse in about 30 seconds. I began sweating profusely and my vision started getting black around the edges and dotty. I whispered to K “I don’t feel well. I feel very light headed!” At least, that’s what I think I said as I immediately passed out cold, striking my head on the marble counter top as I fell. (K says it was very hard and that the sound was so loud in the room)

This was my first attempt at fainting. I’m hoping that I pulled it off well; though K says it was a very dignified faint so I’m taking his word for it. Evidently, I was out for about 2-3 minutes and K thought I wasn’t breathing which scared him to death. I came to very confused, wondering why a million people were calling my name and slapping my face.(very gently) All of the 25 doctors at the event, (Excuse me, is there a doctor in the house?) made it their business to resuscitate me while we were waiting on the ambulance. Yes the ambulance came, and we proceeded with all pomp and circumstance out the door, past the crowd of attendees, and into the ambulance for a ride to the hospital, with me trussed up on a back board like a Thanksgiving turkey, neck enclosed in a cervical collar.

I went to the hospital, had a barrage of tests, i.v. fluids and found out that nothing is wrong with me and that I hadn’t cracked my head. My doctor said it was the “perfect storm” of events for fainting, hot room, hot flashes, standing for a long time, etc. One of the oncologists who had attended to me post fall came by the E.R. to see how I was and one of the very lovely VP’s of the hospital (whose speech I interrupted with my fall) came by as well and held my hand while I got my i.v. I am a huge baby about things like that, even after all the surgeries.

I went home with a lump the size of a lemon on the back of my head, a possible concussion, and the sweet sound of this; as she was holding my hand, the VP said to me, “Oh, as they were rolling you out, we were all commenting on how cute your shoes were.” Take me to the hospital fireman, my work here is done! Laters.

Recommendations

2011-05-04T14:00:00.000-04:00

A few of my favorite things right now:

Tom’s Shoes- comfy, cute and such a great cause. You can find them here. www.tomsshoes.com

Sally Hansen- Salon effects nail polish strips that last about a week. Adorable prints! Also available in chic, fun colors. I love these because I **hate** waiting for nail polish to dry. These go on quick (the first time took a bit longer, after I figured it out, a breeze) I buy mine at the local drugstore. http://www.sallyhansen.com/products/nails/nail-color/salon-effects-real-nail-polish-strips

Urban Decay Eye Shadow primer- for real, use this and your shadow and liner will stay put ‘til the end of the day!! I like Sephora so I buy it there to get the freebies. http://www.sephora.com/browse/product.jhtml?id=P284716&categoryId=B70

Adorable dresses for any taste (cute swimsuits and things for little girls too) www.shabbyapple.com

In The Spring

2011-04-27T10:27:00.000-04:00

Yikes! I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been emotionally cranky. In my head, the point of my blog is to be inspirational and humorous. I’ve recently felt that I was drifting off that a bit because of my internal emotions and I thought I would just stop and center and see if I had anything left to say. I guess I do. Or I’m pretending to at least. It’s hard to stomach the fact that you might have lost your “inspiration and humor.”

Our family shared a nice Easter together and it was the first warm, sunny day in a long, long time. I industriously tried to take my Sunday nap, but it was so warm out that I took the dog for a long walk instead. I **love** warm weather! Here we are in our Easter finery, in case you want to see.

As we walked into the church in the midst of the birds and sunshine, I fervently said, “Thank you Jesus for such a nice warm day!” Sher looked at me and said, “Mom, it’s not Jesus, it’s Mother Nature.” Ha, that kid! Laters.

Socks

2011-03-31T13:15:00.000-04:00

Sometimes late night in the basement, it’s just me and the washer and dryer; the washer chugs along, whompa, whompa, whompa, and the dryer whirs along right beside. I spend my time there folding clothes and sorting clothes and looking at stacks of junk stored haphazardly that we don’t really need. My least favorite part about laundry is folding socks. I always leave that part to the very end and even then I try to put it off as long as I can, then I just sigh really loud, shake myself and then go ahead and get it done. But I still don’t like it. Socks are a big mystery at our house. We buy lots of socks, yet somehow, no one ever has any. Most mornings, the boys go from bedroom to bedroom looking to see who has socks available and there is usually a rumble over who gets the last pair. I suppose that part of the problem is that no one likes to come down to the basement to pick up their clean laundry; I do my part by washing and folding (even though I don’t like it) and then the clean clothes often sit, waiting on the appropriate child to come and claim them.

Last week while folding, I found myself exasperated because the piles of clothes were getting large and I had reminded the kids but still, no one had showed to pick up clothes. I was especially irritated because just 15 minutes before, K had told me that we needed “to buy socks.” I was alone in the basement thinking,” If they need socks, why don’t they just come down here and get them? They need socks, here are the socks they need, but they don’t have them because they haven’t come for them.”

In the quiet basement, God reminded me that he works like that too. He has good things for me, folded up and ready, but if I don’t pick up my stuff, he can’t give it to me. The socks are ready and waiting whether my kids pick them up or not, and so is God’s grace and provision. He is there working for me (for my good) even when I don’t accept or acknowledge it. God never stops caring for me and never stops matching up things that I need. I like thinking about all the socks God has folded for me just waiting for a pick up. Laters.

Coffee Break

2011-03-22T12:02:00.001-04:00

Today, like a direct snub from the cosmos to me, everyone on the train (except me) was sipping from a hot cup of coffee and my seatmate was very elderly. I seriously contemplated snatching his coffee and running because I didn’t think he could catch me. Yes, his coffee smelled that good. He must have sensed my wicked intent because he kept giving me furtive glances, and he moved across the row as soon as a seat became available. As I walked to work, I called K and told him the story and he mentioned how I might be the kind of person, who in an apocalypse kills/maims other people solely to hoard and drink the last bits of remaining coffee. I couldn’t deny it, and in fact the only other person that I would be afraid of in the coffpocalypse would be my mother, who might love coffee even more than me. I suspect that she might have already hurt a park ranger for his coffee once when we were camping and my dad forgot the coffee pot. All I know is that there was no coffee to be had, she disappeared, and then there she was, smugly sipping a steaming, white, to-go cup. I can tell you, we children gave her a wide berth that morning and minded our p’s and q’s.

I was able to restrain myself until I got the coffee pot going at work, but, in the coffpocalypse, it’s everyone for themselves!! Laters.

It Was The Right Time

2011-03-18T12:22:00.000-04:00

For almost two years, I’ve lived in my current house. The walls are white because it’s a rental and I hate them. What’s my ideal color scheme? Think the Caribbean, vibrant blues, bright pink, rich yellow, purple….birds of paradise and peacock feathers; I love color. Every time I pass a white wall (which is often because I live there) I think, “ugh!!” I almost painted last year but things were in a toss-up whether we would stay in the house or not, and I thought of all the work involved and the repainting if we moved, so I just decided to take a nap instead. But sometimes the heart needs things that it really doesn’t need. Sometimes we need adventure and excitement and things that don’t make sense except to make us happy. Sometimes we need to paint things, even though tomorrow we may be moving on. It took me almost 2 years to realize how happy that one simple act would have made me, but I will remedy that this weekend. I am painting.

Addendum: I wrote this last week and my mom came for an unexpected visit over the weekend and we painted. I am happy, happy with my new turquoise kitchen. **smiling**

Laters.

I Bear-ly Slept Last Night

2011-03-07T13:47:00.001-05:00

It’s often nice to have someone to sleep with, unless that someone is a cover-hogging, black bear type. Sleeping with my hubs is like goat wrestling at the rodeo. It sounds like fun, but sometimes it isn’t.

K has a bad habit of cover stealing. He also pulls the sheets untucked from the end of the bed. Sometimes at 2 or 3 in the morning, I wake up, unable to untangle my legs, completely encapsulated in a large king size sheet that has no beginning or end. (I can’t sleep with the sheets like that, so I am forced to re-smooth and re-tuck right then and there or else I would lie awake all night thinking, “the sheets are untucked, the sheets are UNTUCKED!!!”

And though we have a king size bed, we typically use very little of it. I lie on a miniscule 5 or 6 inch portion right by the edge and he lays on me. I figure that we could easily go to a twin, open our bedroom up space wise, and add a latte machine in the corner. In addition, he has the core body temperature of a small black bear. I appreciate the waves of heat in the winter when I have cold feet, but most of the time it feels like sleeping while hugging a space heater set on high. And now with the Tamoxifen induced hot flashes, it borders on sleeping with a space heater, set on high, vacationing in Dante’s Inferno, in the hot season.

At times to garner a little relief, I kick him (softly, oh, so softly) in the leg so that he will move over. And he always does the same thing; he sits straight up in bed and in a puzzled voice says, “Babe, why did you kick me?” I usually answer something witty like, “just for the fun of it,” but my reply doesn’t really matter- he never remembers any of it in the morning anyway. And besides, I know, that he knows why I kicked him, it’s just a little game we play.

I suppose it’s no coincidence that as he often reminds me; his love language is “touch” while mine seems to be “giving (soft) kicks in the leg.” Laters.

Lions, Tigers, and Bears

2011-02-17T15:23:00.000-05:00

I can’t remember if I’ve told you this one before, so stop me if I have. A few years ago K and I drove from Albuquerque, New Mexico to a little town in Colorado close to Aspen. We were there for some introspection and time away. While the scenery was lovely, I had been white-knuckled for most of the drive due to how close the road was to the side of the mountain. We drove higher and higher into the mountains and the drop became more intense, and in this part of Colorado, there were no guard rails. Despite the elevation, we enjoyed our trip and as night fell, we had almost reached our destination. Several miles before, I had begun to see wildlife signs with, “Watch for Bears,” “Moose Crossing” and the like. I was pretty excited about seeing wildlife alive and its natural habitat, when suddenly in the darkness, I saw the amber reflection of animal eyes and I yelled at K to turn around. I’m not sure why, but I was immediately convinced that I had spotted a mountain lion. Why a mountain lion? I don’t really know; there weren’t signs posted for mountain lions, and I’d had about 2 seconds to come to my conclusion, but I was convinced. We whipped a quick u-turn on the deserted country road and whizzed back to see the mountain lion, which was really a cow eating grass in a ditch. Imagine my bitter disappointment.

This is a similar story to the time that I saw a shark when we were on vacation in South Carolina that was really a dolphin, but that story is for another time. Laters.

Lovey Dovey

2011-02-14T14:45:00.000-05:00

Because I often think about weird things, I’ve thought a lot about this: if by one death (yours) salvation came to many, would you voluntarily lay down your life? I could say a pretty strong “yes” for my kids, a shaky “yes” for family members, and an “I hope I’m that big of a person” for the rest of humanity.

Romans 5:7-9 states: “We can understand someone dying for a person worth dying for, and we can understand how someone good and noble could inspire us to selfless sacrifice. But God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him. Now that we are set right with God by means of this sacrificial death, the consummate blood sacrifice, there is no longer a question of being at odds with God in any way.” For me, understanding Scripture is realizing how I can best apply/interpret them for my life. I thought about this verse today and as I tend to be an object lesson learner, this is what I got.

K says that his song for me is “Wave on Wave” by Pat Green. (I’ll post the lyrics below) One line states, “Am I the one you were sent to save?” And I feel like that; he is the one. The one I was sent to save, the one I am supposed to be with. And in doing so, sometimes I have given up everything to be that salvation. Love in the good times is as easy as falling off a log, but love in difficulty is another matter all together. Often when we choose to love, we consciously choose to die to ourselves by giving that love to another, even when they aren’t good and noble; even when they don’t deserve to be loved. Even when they let us down and are of no use to us in a literal sense. Love works perfectly just like that. I don’t pretend to understand the concept, but I like it, I like laying it all down to rescue the “one” and I like receiving the same splendid love in return. Laters.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJWnIFlYKjs

Wave On Wave

Pat Green

Mile upon Mile I got no direction.
We’re all playing the same game
We’re all looking for redemption
Just afraid to say the name
So caught up now in pretending
What we’re seeking is the truth
I’m just look for a happy ending
All I’m looking for is you
It came upon me wave on wave
You’re the reason I’m still here
Am I the one you were sent to save?
It came upon me wave on wave
I wandered out into the water
I thought that I might drown
I don’t know what I was after
Just know that I was going down
That’s when she found me
I’m not afraid anymore
She said, you know I always had ya baby
Just waiting for you to find what you were looking for
It came upon me wave on wave
You’re the reason I’m still here
Am I the one you were sent to save?
It came upon me wave on wave
Wave on wave
Wave on wave
The clouds broke and the angels cried
You ain’t gotta walk alone
That’s why he put me in your way
You came upon wave on wave
It came upon me wave on wave
You’re the reason I’m still here
Am I the one you were sent to save?
It came upon me wave on wave

Bad DOG!!

2011-02-11T11:07:00.000-05:00

Last night, we guesstimate that our dog ate up to 12 Hershey Kisses. K brought her upstairs to me and said, “Guess what she just did? She ate 12 HERSHEY KISSES!!” Holly (the dog) snuffled in her endearing way, pretty much clueless to the fact that I reminded her about. Me: “Holly, you dummy! Chocolate can kill dogs!!” (Again, picture her cute, hairy, and unconcerned)

The real culprit; our darling daughter, always the completer of tasks, long before they are due and her bag of prematurely finished Valentines for her class, left untended in the floor. Each Valentine had a special note and included a fun size bag of 3 Kisses. This special bag of goodies was left next to her backpack ready to be taken to school. The mudroom door was open and Holly managed to tear into the bag and gorge herself on chocolate.

After reading about chocolate online, (luckily milk chocolate is less toxic than dark, see here-Doggy Chocolate Chart) converting ounces of Kisses to her weight, and gauging her behavior, we decided to wait it out to see if she displayed any symptoms. She didn’t. I feel fortunate that she is ok for several reasons, one- we like having her around and two- the only thing worse than a midnight trip to the E.R. is a midnight trip to the doggy E.R.

Laters.

Winter Wonderland Or Something

2011-01-28T10:25:00.002-05:00

Snow and more snow, I felt a tinge of the Donner party madness coming on me last night after a long snow day when the kids were being super loud and emitting teen pheromones in my personal space. Luckily (for them) no one was eaten. We settled for salad and mac & cheese instead.

After a week of self-reflection for the upcoming year, I’ve decided a few things:

I still need that tummy tuck
I need a project or cause to work on, something that motivates me passionately
I would gauge myself as aware of my issues, overcoming some and working on a few (don’t question my evaluation process- it’s very complex)
One can never get the space between in hard wood floors really clean
I need a new mattress-I’m thinking a memory foam or sleep number
Waiting on things is very, very hard
So is not knowing
Peace in spite of all the unknown is the icing on my cupcake (and boy do I love icing)

Here’s hoping that sunny days are here to stay to melt all this snow. (I know, I know, snow in the forecast for tonight but a girl can dream, right?) Laters.

This Reminds Me........

2011-01-13T19:33:00.000-05:00

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/40885541/ns/us_news-life/?gt1=43001

I saw this on MSN the other day and it reminded me of a funny experience I had growing up.

The year was 1988 and I was rocking a spiral perm and a pair of leg warmers. Or maybe my dad’s old trench coat and a pair of black combat boots; I was always pushing the envelope of fashion. In our Christian community, the small paperback version of “88 Reasons Why The Rapture Will Be In 1988” was making the circuit. Not that we were believers in the theory personally, but my dad liked to have his hands on the hot sheets as it were, to form his own opinions. The pros and cons, the possibility of accuracy was weighed in on by the faithful at many of the small bible studies held at my parent’s dining room table. I alternated between dreamy dozing on the couch and blatant eavesdropping on conversations I could only understand pieces of; though the parts I heard were enough to worry me. Based on my imperfect information, I began to worry that I would be left behind in the rapture.
The day of the predicted rapture dawned, and I woke apprehensively, tuning my ear so that I could hear the trumpet just in case the angel sounded. I gave myself a few testing sort of jumps to be certain that I could leap heaven bound at a moment’s notice if called upon. My parents were surprisingly blasé about the whole thing and didn’t mention it at all. Honestly, the day passed pretty uneventfully, until I got home from school. My mother was a stay at home mom. When I say, stay at home. I mean that she stayed there. She rarely went out, and hardly ever in the middle of the day. I suspect now that she spent most of her time taking naps and eating bonbons, but I can’t prove it. Throughout the day, I had been doing surreptitious checks on other kids that I thought might make the rapture too, just to make sure they hadn’t been called away without me noticing. When school ended, we were all present and accounted for and my brothers and I rode the school bus home.
Instead of the usual hustle and bustle of our home, dead silence greeted us at the front door. We let ourselves in and when I saw the vacuum cleaner standing all alone in the middle of the floor in mid sweep, I knew it, my mother was gone and I had missed it. The Lord had taken her up right then and there as she vacuumed. My brothers and I went around the darkened house calling in vain for our mother, who had clearly gone on with Jesus leaving us behind to fend for ourselves. As oldest, I didn’t want to let on to them what a mess we were in so I encouraged everyone to have a snack while I thought about what to do. I sat bemused on the couch for a while, wondering how such an event had transpired without my knowledge and what I could do to fix the situation. But then, sweeter than candy, the most welcome sound in of all my 15 years, I heard the sound of the turning door knob as my mother returned from her mysterious errand. We were saved! Laters.

Under the Influence

2011-01-03T21:22:00.000-05:00

Sometimes when you have cancer, kind people from the hospital will call and match you with a “cancer angel.” Cancer angels are like minded in their suffering, breast to breast, pancreas to pancreas, throat to throat, if you catch my drift. It is a mentor who has been there, done that, to walk you through all the difficult decisions and tell you that things will work out just fine. I signed up for my cancer angel hoping to find someone who had faced my decision of mastectomy versus lumpectomy and lived to tell about it. I wanted someone who could give me a little information to sway me towards the decision that I needed to make. As it turns out, I had to think about my decision rather quickly and without any help at all from my cancer angel, I decided to go for the lumpectomy and pray that the outcome was good.

I think that I have mentioned this before, but while anesthesia and I are good friends and well acquainted, when we go out, I’m not left standing at the end. After arriving home from the procedure, still heavily sedated, I dozed in my room, essentially unaware of the comings and goings of my friends and family, my phone rang. I couldn’t tell you why I answered it, but I did, perking out a gravelly hello, that would have done a chain smoking truck driver proud. It was my cancer angel calling to chat with me and answer any questions I might have about my upcoming treatments. With a tongue that felt a mile long and twice as thick, I proceeded to explain to her that I had just returned from surgery not two hours before. She seemed taken aback and sweetly stated that she would call me back at a more convenient time. I kindly told her that it was a fine time for to talk, it wasn’t like I was going anywhere and using careful words and speaking slowly I began to share my story. I imagine that on her end, she felt the similar amusement a police officer experiences when pulling over a drunk driver while listening to proclamations of innocence, slurred speech, the painstaking use of signals, and driving 5 mph in the fast lane. I told her all about my diagnoses, my tests, my vacation, my surgery, any anything else I deemed appropriate for at the time. She listened, making commiserating noises at all the right times and when I couldn’t hold my eyes open or the phone any longer, she told me to feel better soon and said goodbye. I am now very embarrassed by all my ramblings and while I haven’t heard again from my angel, I suppose that times like those are what angels are here for. Laters.

Til We Meet Again

2010-12-09T16:15:00.000-05:00

I am wallowing in laziness. I don't expect to post much the rest of the year. I am spending time enjoying my family and health. Since I'm done with cancer stuff, not much exciting is happening any way, so don't think I'm holding out on you. I love Christmas time- this year has been a treat too as I have gone all digital. I'm shopping online and with a click of the mouse, it's all delivered. Now I can just go to the mall, try to find a parking spot and fight the crowds just for fun, not because I need anything. I hope your holidays are spectacular and blessed with warm fires, lovely presents, family, and kisses under the mistletoe. See you in 2011. Oh, and if I do get the urge to post, read this one last. Laters.

This Is It!!

2010-11-22T10:52:00.000-05:00

I am done, done, done, and here is the proof! I am generally feeling warm and fuzzy about the whole thing being over. (along with feeling an intense itch from all the peeling skin and healing)
I always appreciate this time of year and I love the experience of tallying up all the things that I have to be thankful for, but this year, wow! Adversity can make or break you, and I will not be broken. I am alive and I am extremely grateful for all that I have. Laters.

Rock Of Ages

2010-11-09T11:25:00.000-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0ZicY7Oqmg

I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t. But there they were, my toes tapping along to Joan Jett, a rebellious sneer forming on my third grade lip. “I love rock-n-roll, so put another dime in the juke box baby….” Yes, hell was feeling a bit chilly the day the JUKE BOX was installed in the cafeteria of Paoli Public schools. If we brought a dime, (or was it a quarter?) we could personally participate our own debauchery. Raised as a conservative Christian, I knew that I shouldn’t, but man I couldn’t help myself, I DID love rock and roll and Joan Jett. It was auditory heaven, though I studiously tried to act sanctimonious; like I wasn’t enjoying it at all. To this day, I can’t even imagine how the juke box was installed in the first place. Who was the mastermind to circumvent the school principal, committees and parents and sashay in with a juke box as bold you please? I still wish I knew. If my recollections are right, the juke box spent most of its time unplugged in the corner due to complaints from parents. But on those occasional, glorious days of acoustic freedom, we who were born to rock at Paoli Public Schools, ate our fish sticks and pudding with a sassy twist. Laters.

A Room Of My Own

2010-11-05T13:46:00.000-04:00

It was while scraping the peel off a cucumber that I experienced true pangs of housewifery. In a Virginia Woolf/Sylvia Plath kind of way, so you know it was very bad. I thought, “Is this it? Is this what my life amounts to? Scraping peelings into the sink while lecturing my kids about discarding Halloween candy wrappers in random places?” It happened again while I sat in the basement on the cold concrete in front of the dryer, sobbing quietly folding dishtowels. Everything I did seemed so pointless, like I was trapped in an endless Groundhog Day of the mundane.

Things have not been easy as of late and sometimes it’s like a cloud settles on me and I can’t find happy. I moved the sad party upstairs to the bath tub and cried a while in the steam too. I thought about many things- dreams that I have put to the side out of necessity, dreams that I have put to the side out of neglect, where I am and where I thought I would be, and how those two places don’t always match up. I cried over missed opportunities and would haves and should haves. I cried because I am still angry about being a bigger person than the person I am angry at, I cried because I had to be angry in the first place. I cried because sometimes people are idiots and it’s not my fault. I cried because cancer makes me feel out of control of my own body. I cried because I’m probably the most ungrateful person alive because I should be content that I have laundry to fold, and cucumbers to scrape and kids to lecture. I cried because life isn’t fair, but I always try to be and it just doesn’t work that way. I cried because sometimes, even having the whole world is not enough to make me happy.
Then K came into the bathroom and asked me if I was crying. I lied and said, “No, why would I be crying? I’m getting out now and coming to bed.”
Laters.

((Sigh))

2010-10-29T11:22:00.000-04:00

My boob:

The radiation death ray:

The after effects- Like this:

Or this:

It feels a little like this:

But when I eat this:

Or this:

It all feels like this:

I will:

Laters.

I Can See Clearly Now

2010-10-19T12:13:00.000-04:00

I found out Kev’s secret last night- despite all his blustering, despite all the mean things he’s said, despite putting them on top of his “all time hated teams” list, he really, deep down inside, likes the Yankees. He says he hates them to avoid saying how much he likes them. He likes to pull for the underdog and underdog is one phrase that can’t be matched with the Yankee’s payroll. Once it became clear to me, his endless cycle of yap and smack talking made much more sense. Otherwise, why would a grown man with two available thumbs to flip channels watch a team they detested for 4 ½ hours? The cold, hard, truth is this; Kev is a closet Yankee lover.

To understand it better, I equated it to my complaining about my soft tummy pooch while secretly liking it and thinking that concave bellies are way overrated. When I put it in perspective like that, it all made sense to me. I can see now that Kev has been using reverse psychology on me all these years. And now I know just what he really wants for Christmas. Laters.

A Fall List

2010-10-15T14:09:00.002-04:00

Things I like about fall:

1. Apples

2. Pumpkins

3. Fires in the fireplace

4. Beautiful Foliage

5. Pumpkin Spice Lattes

6. Cozy boots

7. Flannel Sheets

8. Watching t.v. covered in a fuzzy blanket

9. Soups and stews

10. Thanksgiving

11. Lower utility bills

12. Christmas anticipation

13. Baking

14. Cardigans

15. Turning on the heater

16. Hot Chocolate

17. Hay Rides

18. Thermal Underwear

19. Finding last year’s cash in my coat pockets

20. Pie

Laters.

When Hairy Met Kevie

2010-10-02T10:10:00.000-04:00

Often, it is the little things that bring the most joy. I have been known to bliss out over a small cup filled to the brim with coffee and frothed milk. Or how about a cupcake? Small, yet tasty and delicious-an instant, “oh yeah” moment. Life often rewards us with small chunks of delight, where we least expect them and I do appreciate that. I received one such small gift this week.

Now is the time of year where I start to feel like a frisky Shetland pony, growing its wooly, winter coat. The days are cooler and the need for the razor becomes less and less of a priority. I suffer (and I use that word in all seriousness) from appallingly sensitive skin, and summer’s rigid shaving requirements often have me feeling quite out of sorts with my irritated and bumpy armpits. As the sleeveless blouses and tank tops are replaced by longer sleeves and cardigans, my armpits and I both rejoice. In the fall and winter, I like to take a week or so between shaving to cultivate things in a more European fashion. No one sees it anyway with my toasty wardrobe. Iam a big fan of warm clothing.
I should interject here with the staunch and steadfast displeasure that this cool weather ritual brings to my hubby. Having lived in Europe for some time, he is a distinct non-fan of the au naturel look and to be frank, disgusted by it on many levels. His trauma started with a hot German girl on a crowed bus, him being 15, and a quick grab by standing hottie for the hand strap; flashing a hirsute underarm in his young and unsuspecting face. It was all downhill from there, as my abused and over shaven underarms can testify.
I have often tried ways to redirect his way of thinking, but he is pretty set on the matter. But then the ultimate bargaining chip fell directly into my lap, the proverbial gift from heaven, in the form of an info packet from the radiation oncologist on Wednesday, holding perhaps the best news in the world. The packet cautioned me that through out treatment, I should not shave my underarm. And just like that, my fall starting looking up. Way up. Laters.

I'm Postive It's Negative

2010-09-24T13:11:00.000-04:00

I like pregnancy tests. They are pass or fail and you don’t even have to study. I have taken a few in my day. OK, a lot- 4 were positive but only three ever materialized into breathing humans. But the second you pee on the stick, there is the agonizing wait to see if the “magic” line appears. That minute is a long, long minute. Confession: I have never wanted mine to be negative. There is always that tiny moment of, “What if?? Oh my, a baby?” And then, the small sigh of relief and strange lurch of disappointment when no lines appear. I now am past those days, I think.

During the recent surgeries, I had to take a pregnancy test every time I showed up for an operation. There is a Russian woman of a certain age, who works as an aid at the surgery center. Each appointment she would, in her heavy accent, request, “a tiny bit of urine.” I would donate and then wait on pins and needles to find out the results. Even though I knew I wasn’t; strangely relieved to hear her announce, “It is negative.”

Sher has asked me numerous times recently for a baby sister and I guess that’s what made me think of being pregnant. I hate disappoint her, but she already calls me her dolly’s grandma. I guess that will have to do for now. Laters.

On The Craft

2010-09-14T18:59:00.000-04:00

I just found some old term papers from my college days (magna cum laude June 2007) not really that far gone, though it seems like a lifetime. As I scanned through them, I thought, “Wow, I’m a genius, and an excellent writer!” I should probably tack “modest” on the end just for good measure. It was a gentle reminder that, yes, I should probably go back to school and of how much I truly like to write. My mom always used to say to us, “Foolish names and foolish faces always appear in foolish places.” This was her adage to remind us not to write our names where they didn’t belong; on bathroom walls particularly. She was very much against that. I had such a fear of appearing foolish that to this day, I have never scrawled my John Hancock anywhere it wasn’t allowed. Some writers say that if they didn’t write everyday, they would die, Stephen King, I think in his book, “On Writing” was one, but I wouldn’t swear to that reference. While I love it, I have never felt that way. For me writing was less about the action, and more about having something to say. I don’t like to write if I am not inspired, motivated, happy, or mad…..well you get the idea. I would say that I am a writer who must have a purpose. Less of a purist and more of a task oriented person, I suppose. But that’s how it flows for me. I love a good, looming deadline.

Oh, and the surgery was a success. Now 6 weeks of radiation and I’ll be on to the rest of my exciting life. Laters.

My Left Foot

2010-09-03T13:57:00.000-04:00

When I was very young, about 5 or 6, I got my little toe stuck in the automatic door at Safeway. It was much more traumatic for my mother than me, as I don’t remember it at all. She still tells the story in vivid detail, down to her frantic screaming,” don’t let it cut off her toe!” at the store manager who was trying to release me from the door. I imagine that I was up to some sort of mischief in the first place, and that was how the whole event happened. I have nothing but a story to remind me of the incident at all-no memory, no scar. That is not the case with breast cancer. I feel like I am scarred for life and I’ve realized after wrestling with the mastectomy vs. lumpectomy decision that there really is no good option. I made a pretty long list of pros and cons for each, but in the end, this is a situation where one must make the best choice they can and pray that it all turns out well. I keep in mind that I am one of the lucky ones who found out early, that I have options, that I feel well. I have choices and others do not. Another surgery next week and that is my last shot to keep the right one. I might need that trumpet after all. Laters.

118 The Message

2010-08-20T16:12:00.000-04:00

Psalm 118

Thank God because he's good, because his love never quits.

Tell the world, Israel,

"His love never quits."

And you, clan of Aaron, tell the world,

"His love never quits."

And you who fear God, join in,

"His love never quits."

5-16 Pushed to the wall, I called to God;

from the wide open spaces, he answered.

God's now at my side and I'm not afraid;

who would dare lay a hand on me?

God's my strong champion;

I flick off my enemies like flies.

Far better to take refuge in God

than trust in people;

Far better to take refuge in God

than trust in celebrities.

Hemmed in by barbarians,

in God's name I rubbed their faces in the dirt;

Hemmed in and with no way out,

in God's name I rubbed their faces in the dirt;

Like swarming bees, like wild prairie fire, they hemmed me in;

in God's name I rubbed their faces in the dirt.

I was right on the cliff-edge, ready to fall,

when God grabbed and held me.

God's my strength, he's also my song,

and now he's my salvation.

Hear the shouts, hear the triumph songs

in the camp of the saved?

"The hand of God has turned the tide!

The hand of God is raised in victory!

The hand of God has turned the tide!"

17-20 I didn't die. I lived!

And now I'm telling the world what God did.

God tested me, he pushed me hard,

but he didn't hand me over to Death.

Swing wide the city gates—the righteous gates!

I'll walk right through and thank God!

This Temple Gate belongs to God,

so the victors can enter and praise.

21-25 Thank you for responding to me;

you've truly become my salvation!

The stone the masons discarded as flawed

is now the capstone!

This is God's work.

We rub our eyes—we can hardly believe it!

This is the very day God acted—

let's celebrate and be festive!

Salvation now, God. Salvation now!

Oh yes, God—a free and full life!

26-29 Blessed are you who enter in God's name—

from God's house we bless you!

God is God,

he has bathed us in light.

Festoon the shrine with garlands,

hang colored banners above the altar!

You're my God, and I thank you.

O my God, I lift high your praise.

Thank God—he's so good.

His love never quits!

I Never Promised You A Rose Garden

2010-08-17T09:25:00.000-04:00

Last Tuesday, I returned home from surgery, slightly addled and mostly nauseous. This is my typical response and nothing to be alarmed about. I stumbled groggily from the car to my bed, elbow-guided in the right direction by my resident stud muffin, Kevie-Kev. He doesn’t let me run into walls or anything and he always holds the plastic throw-up tub for me, even though it grosses him out. Once I was settled, mom brought in a vase of beautiful roses, (pink, of course, I’m sure you see the connection) and said, “Look what came for you!” My brother David and his lovely wife Caroline had sent flowers to brighten my day. I lay in the growing twilight, admiring my flowers with a loopy grin on my face.

By Friday, two more arrangements had joined the first and my room smelled like a flower garden. I was beginning to feel glamorous like Zsa Zsa Gabor, who I always see photographed with massive sprays of fresh flowers sprinkled behind her, and even when I came up the stairs, and my bedroom door was closed; I could still smell the flowers. I was reading in bed on Saturday, when Sher came into my room. She said, “What’s that smell? It smells in here!” My Zsa Zsa bubble promptly burst. Laters

Hey, Nice Rack!

2010-08-09T21:23:00.000-04:00

thanks to Google for the pic- sorry, I have no idea who to credit

Another surgery tomorrow- a lumpectomy, sentinel node biopsy and probably radiation in a few weeks. The results from the last reconstructive surgery were so awesome, that I’ve convinced myself that I need to do some kind of public showing of the new breasts before they go under the knife again. I am thinking something spectacular, something I could get arrested for, something that will make the newspapers, but to be honest, the best I will probably do is to go sans bra in my fuzzy bathrobe when I take the dog out to potty. You know, in the dark and all.

I’m hoping not to lose the girls when this is all said and done. It looks like they will be around for quite a while, but I suppose that you can never tell with these kinds of things.

I was thinking of a funny story though, a friend that I knew from some years ago had a double mastectomy and the night before the surgery, she and her husband had a goodbye party for her breasts and it was very symbolic and therapeutic for them. They even had a trumpet in the mix to herald the occasion. That is my favorite part of the story, I can just see them….marching solemnly around the room, blowing the trumpet, “dah-dah-dah…… we now say good bye to the breasts!!” How sweet were they?
I thought we should try it, but I doubt I could convince the hubby, and besides, where would I get a trumpet at this late hour? Not very likely; though we might have a kazoo abandoned in a toy box or a recorder from school band. Hmmmm..... all good ideas, but maybe I’ll save it for later. You know, just in case. I would appreciate your prayers tomorrow. Laters.

That Look

2010-08-02T11:43:00.000-04:00

A trip to the City on Saturday. I went for some new shoes, but got an American Girl doll instead for Sher. I guess that's just the way this mothering thing goes.

We have visited the store several times, but my cheap little heart could never pull the trigger on a doll that cost more than most of the clothes I own. But Saturday, after multiple trips of being put off, Sher had that "look" as we waked around the store; me fingering tags, wincing at the prices, she looking longingly at the rows of dolls in cardboard cases. She got one- I couldn't bear the "look" in her eyes. She held her doll lovingly all day, frequently kissing the top of her head, making sure her tiny, purple shoes didn't fall off as we walked through Central Park. She named her Christina Elizabeth, but only after making sure I approved of the name. She loves stories, so I told her the one about how her name was almost Elizabeth, but that we settled on Sheridan at the last minute. It made the name feel just right. I am the biggest sucker ever, but was also informed that I am the "best mommy ever," so I'll take that as one of the dearest compliments I've ever received. Laters.

Big Boy

2010-07-26T18:34:00.002-04:00

My son turned 14 last Friday. I saw him briefly that afternoon, long enough to hand him his birthday gift of video games and feed him some buffalo wings. (2nd on his fave food list, right under pizza) That, my friends, is the definition of irony; buying more video games for an avid teenage gamer. To be honest, the only clue I have that he is alive and present some days is the water running for his two-hour showers. But who am I kidding, I love that boy like crazy and he is a solid, industrious chap. Awesome really, and taller than me already. We are in full scale summer mode here. That means a nightly argument about why bedtime should not exist when school is out of session. Left to themselves, the boys usually opt for the 3 a.m. option and sleep ‘til noon or 1. It is amazing really, but I suppose a rite or right of summer, depending on how you look at it. I am just now grumpily easing back into the work routine myself after two glorious weeks of vacation, so I can’t really blame them. I pulled a few late nighters myself, practically giddy with the freedom of uninterrupted, alarm-clock free sleep. My thoughts after his momentous occasion are that I am so fortunate. Each stage of life I have experienced with my kids I thought to myself, “Wow, this is it! This is the best age. Look what they can do now!” I have loved it all and I’m happy because it just keeps getting better. Laters.

The Vacay Is Over

2010-07-18T14:56:00.000-04:00

Vacation is over. The pool and beach are behind me. I am tired of looking at everyone's cellulite, including my own. The kids had a great time and are as brown as nuts, in fact we all are. Every morning, I thought, "why can't vacation be everyday?" I know the answer, but it is nice to imagine my days consisting of lying by the pool while sipping a cold drink. Now, we are on to the less fun portion of the trip, the driving home, but that is to be pleasantly interspersed with visits to old friends, so I still have something good to look forward to. Summer is my very favorite. Laters.

A Poem for Poetry Thursday

2010-07-08T13:10:00.001-04:00

Address To The Lord
by John Berryman

Master of beauty, craftsman of the snowflake,
inimitable contriver,
endower of Earth so gorgeous & different from the boring Moon,
thank you for such as it is my gift.
I have made up a morning prayer to you
containing with precision everything that most matters.
'According to Thy will' the thing begins.
It took me off & on two days. It does not aim at eloquence.
You have come to my rescue again & again
in my impassable, sometimes despairing years.
You have allowed my brilliant friends to destroy themselves
and I am still here, severely damaged, but functioning.
Unknowable, as I am unknown to my guinea pigs:
How can I 'love' you?
I only as far as gratitude & awe
confidently & absolutely go.
I have no idea whether we live again.
It doesn't seem likely
from either the scientific or the philosophical point of view
but certainly all things are possible to you,
and I believe as fixedly in the Resurrection-appearances to Peter and to Paul
as I believe I sit in this blue chair.
Only that may have been a special case
to establish their initiatory faith.
Whatever your end may be, accept my amazement.
May I stand until death forever at attention
for any your least instruction or enlightenment.
I even feel sure you will assist me again, Master of insight & beauty.

Unwelcome News

2010-07-07T14:22:00.000-04:00

A post I wrote a few days ago after a talk with my doctor. More testing to follow, then options and decisons. I am feeling good though and very, very optimistic. My family has been amazing and my dad said I'm gonna be just fine and he knows everything.

I have cancer.
I have non-invasive cancer.
I have cancer.
Oh my God, I have breast cancer.
C-A-N-C-E-R……………………
Sort of like dancer, move a letter, shift the alphabet, except that I can’t dance…… not at all.
It seems like I’m speaking about someone else. This is not me. I am just a regular joe. I read about people in books, see them on T.V., those people have cancer, but I don’t. This doesn’t happen to me, only poor schmucks who don’t know any better.
I had a lump removed two weeks ago with the side benefit of a hoist and lift. I’ll can tell you, you my boobs haven’t been that perky since 1996. With all the bandages, steri-strips, and Percocet, I’ve hardly even seen the little dears to properly admire them. They are black and blue and between antibiotic ointment applications I have tried to peek at them. Is it bad that my second thought after I heard the news was, “oh, my boobs, my perky new boobs, what will happen to you now?”
The news made my mother cry and my husband call me 20 times to see if I was ok and talk with a funny catch in his voice. All in all, I feel lucky, this seems to be in the earliest, earliest stages, and I meet with my doctor tomorrow to discuss all the options and get all the particulars. I would appreciate your prayers. Laters.

Lamott Inkshed

2010-06-29T11:24:00.001-04:00

Yesterday afternoon I lay in bed for a while reading Anne Lamott’s book, Plan B- Further Thoughts on Faith, amazed at how someone could both eloquently explain Jesus and use an F bomb so freely in a sentence. I liked her aplomb and the fierce, unapologetically introspective look at her life. It made me wish that I had the pluckiness to drop more cursing in my own writing every now and then; it really seems to get the point across. Not, that our writing is on the same level at all, but I suppose I could up my cursing and see what happens. My favorite section was titled, O Noraht, Noraht and as I read, I realized that often, complete frankness makes me uncomfortable. When she talked about her mother, and her Ahlsheizmers and what a terrible mother she was, I thought, “ugh, I really don’t want to know this” because mothers are not supposed to be terrible. They should always nurture and protect and give inspiration and hope. I know that everyone doesn’t have a mother who does, but no matter where I read it, fact or fiction, it always pains me to think that it’s true. But I realized that even though Anne was disappointed in her mother, she couldn’t help but admire and love her, and when the time came, she couldn’t really say good-bye. Feeling blue, I finally had to put the book down and come downstairs to my own little slice of heaven and be glad for my own dear family and the fact that at present, none of us were bitter or angry or facing horrible disappointments in each other. The story reminded me that each time I think that I understand God and how he moves on this earth; I am shown a new facet to his love. The things I consider terrible and unfair that I have experienced would pale in comparison to parts of Anne’s life, yet she has found joy and peace where she is, just as I have. My quest for acceptance and my desire to know my place in life is no less valid than a former addict because I have not been in recovery. We all need to know where we are headed and it seems that no one has an easy road to get there. I felt thankful that God chooses to repair things that are broken and shower love on the unworthy and forsaken, for if he didn’t, I’m certain that I would be in trouble. In my moment of sweet revelation, the faces of my loved ones seemed brighter and dearer to me, and I watched from the back deck as my daughter shimmied up her rope swing, her face almost ethereal. Laters.

Enter Sandman

2010-06-24T21:17:00.000-04:00

I have weird dreams. Often they involve terrible, faceless things that I can never see and they chase me mercilessly through dark alleys and empty rooms. And it never stops, and I never see their faces. After a while, it is more like a never ending game of Duck, Duck, Goose; more aggravating than scary and this is where I usually wake up. Once while having a massage, I fell asleep and dreamt that someone was chasing me. Using my ninja skills, I screamed, “hii-ya” and delivered a hearty round house kick to the terrified masseuse’s midsection. Yes, I did have to tip extra. Most of my massage time these days is spent trying to keep myself awake and lucid so I don’t get a bad name in the spa community. Another time, while sharing a bed with a fellow bridesmaid the night before a wedding (we were all poor and economizing on motels) I woke to find her pushing me to my side of the bed while saying, “Can you please just sleep on your side?” We really didn’t know each other well and I couldn’t tip her so we just tried to avoid each other for the rest of the wedding. I suppose my dreams had led me to seek some cuddly solace and she wasn’t biting. I slept a lot this week and my dreams were exquisite, full of majestic leg kicks, random jerking, finger twitches, and waking with my heart pounding. The frustrating thing is that I can never exactly remember the dreams and I did spend quite a bit of time trying. What is scaring me? What am I running from? I still don’t know. My consolation is that by now, with all the kicking and exertion, I figure I am nearing a black belt level in dreamland, so pretty soon, I will be doing the chasing. Laters.

A Sad Story

2010-06-18T09:55:00.000-04:00

I have a hard time keeping my writing consistent and interesting. I tend to post from the heart-my posts being something that happened to me during day or a cherished memory that I am thinking of. Lately things have been off and I feel like I have been off, so my posts have decreased. I am trying to hold myself to posting at least once a week and this “interesting” story about my thoughts while I ate a smashed sandwich was all I could come up with. Pray that my muse finds her way back.

Being a good hausfrau and an economical saver and all that stuff I try to take my lunch to work, but the conundrum is always, “in what?” How do I transport it? It might seem like a question with an easy answer, but it is not. To take it in an actual lunch box would cost me and I put “lunch box” on the list of things that I never want to pay for, like nightgowns and checking accounts. Why buy a silk teddy when you can sleep in the t-shirt you got for free at summer camp when you were twelve? I personally don’t know why anyone would.

Most of the time, I stick with the grocery bag theme and they vary between Wal-Mart and Stew Leonard’s, the latter being the most sturdy, but then I am faced with the disgrace of a cheap lunch box and so I always just shove the bag down deep in my purse and end up with a very squished sandwich. Squished or pay? Pay or squished? Please, don’t worry; this post has no deeper meaning than my sandwich and me not wanting to pay for a lunch box. Laters.

Deep Thoughts 44 1/2

2010-06-07T21:58:00.001-04:00

I remember the trip we took one summer to Colorado. At that time, it was just me and K and the boys; two little brown nuts in the backseat. Those were the days of sippy cups and binkys and I remember driving alongside a river with the windows down, Kev’s hand on my leg as the radio blared and the boys napped in their car seats in the dying summer sun, all of us sunburned, but blissfully happy. I thought to myself, “Life could never be better than this.” And it was, better, I mean. But it was worse too, and sometimes the worse went on for miles and miles before the better ever came to town. It was both, good and bad, happy and sad, the perpetual juxtaposition of the way things are. I came to realize that life is the thing that puts the grey in your hair and the ache in your back, but it is also the thing that crinkles the corners of eyes into laugh lines, bringing depth and dimension to the once unmarked face. I begin to see that life had happened to me, that things had changed me, that I am rearranged; I am different, things are different, things are new. And then I wasn’t nostalgic for the old times, I wanted these times, the present, the life that is here and now.

K resigned from his position a few weeks ago, and just like that, I was footloose and fancy free. Church and the Sunday service have been the focus of my every weekend for as long as I can recall and I confess, I hardly know what to do with myself, but I am giving it an honest effort. Where was I this week while the holy hullabaloo I know as church was happening? Swim suited-lying on a lawn chair in my backyard, eating watermelon, making daisy chains with my daughter. Who had a better day; those with the three songs and a sermon option or me? It’s hard to tell, but I was certainly enjoying myself. God truly abides in those places where we least expect him.

Life seems determined to bring me the delights that I never anticipated. In fact, it is safe to say that so far on the journey, nothing has been what I expected. But as “they” say, (man, don’t you just wish you knew who “they” was? I’d sure like to smack them) life is a beautiful ride. And it has been and continues to be. Why, if my life weren’t so crazy, I would be bored and I would hate that. Laters.

No, That's Not What Happened At All

2010-05-27T15:35:00.000-04:00

I worry a lot and I do it well. I have literally driven myself to tears, worrying about things that could happen, yet never did. A favorite quote of mine goes something like this, “I know that worry works, 90% of what I worry about never happens.” I like to think that all my worry has some sort of talisman effect on my life to prevent all the bad stuff from popping up.

In case you want to know some of the weird things that I worry about, I am including a few snippets here. (Please note that I have only included extreme examples and that I should not be considered crazy)

• When I wear a dress, I worry that my skirt will blow up just as board a train full of people, and everyone will laugh at my underpants, cellulite, or both. You know- the granny panties and all.

• I worry quite a lot about pepper, etc. being stuck in my teeth without anyone telling me.

• Ditto on my nose and boogers.

• I also have a paralyzing fear that when I die, that the morgue workers will use me for bizarre experiments. I can’t really explain it other than I always think of the Bugs Bunny cartoon where the guy makes the frog dance, by moving its legs. I know, I know, but I can just see it…. “Hello my darling, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal….” and me flopping all around, dead to the world. Literally.

• I also worry that I have contracted rare diseases that I see on television. After watching, I am almost always convinced that I have the exact symptoms and that I should seek immediate medical attention. K tries to limit my medical television watching for that very reason.

• Sometimes I worry that if my part of the earth ends catastrophically, like say, Pompeii, that I will be frozen in volcanic ash doing something embarrassing like sitting on the toilet and future scientists will ponder and postulate about my last few minutes, wondering what the ancient connection was for Cosmo and bathrooms.

So, as you can clearly see, while worry has kept all these terrible things at bay, the 10% of trouble that has come to pass has been of the sort that I could deal with, though perhaps I didn’t think so at the time. As I grow older, I can more clearly see the wisdom of the old proverb, “One day at a time,” and I understand more and more the scriptural admonition, "So don't worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today's trouble is enough for today. (Matt 6:34)

I am here to live each day as it comes, to enjoy my blessings and to pass on my joy to others. Each day is its own testing ground, its own trial, and bringing the unnecessary and unneeded worry about “what if” only spoils the joy of living in the present. When I completely learn this lesson and stop worrying about a secret, midnight, zombie attack, I’ll let you know. Laters.

Closet Ninja

2010-05-17T15:30:00.000-04:00

I have convinced my boys that I was a ninja assassin before I married their father. It is a good ploy and works well most of the time to help me keep their rowdiness in check. Yesterday, after a series of unfortunate events, the king of all unfortunate events happened; our car broke down on the Triboro Bridge in NYC. Harlem to be exact, in intense stop and go traffic, that we had already been stuck in for an hour and a half just trying to go five miles. As the car died, K and I just looked at each other in disbelief. After tossing a few ideas back and forth we realized that we were not far from the train station at Harlem and 125th and that luckily, a jogging/bicycle path runs alongside the FDR. We decided that I would walk to the train station with the kids and head home, and that he would stay with the car waiting for the tow truck. The jogging path is grandly titled an “esplanade” in the many posted placards and notices to not allow your dog to poop on the trail, as if walking on an esplanade is grander than walking on a regular old walking track.

The kids and I set off on the esplanade and began to make our way over through the streets of Harlem. That was an adventure in itself, but it was a nice neighborhood and we walked as fast as we could in order not to miss our train. I had to clarify directions a few times with some of the beat cops patrolling the neighborhood, but finally, from about 2 blocks away, we could see the train tracks.

It was at that corner, that we passed the first collection of huddled of ne’er-do-wells. Ry turns to me deadpan and asks, “Mom, how many can you take?” I took a close look at the guys and said to him, “at least five or six.” He turns to Reag and says, “Mom has most of them, and I can get two. Can you get one?” Reag said that he could and so we progressed on toward the train with the boys secure in my abilities to kill with my secret ninja skills. Luckily, the dudes were cowed by our keen skills and continued smoking and talking without bugging us at all. Just a warning, you should be afraid, be very, very afraid of the secret mommy ninja. Laters.

Mother's Day

2010-05-10T15:41:00.000-04:00

I got breakfast in bed yesterday, except it was really dinner, but that was all my fault. K asked me if I wanted it in the a.m. but I can’t stomach breakfast ever until around 10, so I just waited until dinner to have it. I was lounging in bed reading and Sher came to take my order, with a long pencil and a piece of pink paper folded into a small square. “Good evening, ma’am,” she began in a formal voice, “I’m here to take your order.” (in a whispery undertone, she said, “as long as it’s something that Dad can cook”) I thought about my options and there weren’t many. So I grandly declared, “Eggs and toast! I shall have eggs and toast with coffee.” She painstakingly wrote down my order, and departed for the kitchen. On her way, she yelled at her brothers, “Hey you guys, we’re making Mom dinner. Are you coming or not?” In a spate of motherly affection, the boys decided to “not” and they continued their zombie killing on the Xbox. And I, in motherly affection, forgave them for desiring to kill zombies on a video game instead of making me toast.

Eggs and toast were brought to me in short order, heralded by some da,ta,da,da trumpeting by Sher. (imagine the Wedding March played while you eat eggs and toast in bed and you will pretty much have the idea) The food was delicious and a tasty dessert of M&M’s finished off the meal quite nicely, but what I most enjoyed was the love that my meal contained. I hope your day was a nice as mine. Laters.

Coffee Connection

2010-05-04T20:07:00.000-04:00

I have found a new man, Ranjeet the donut guy at the convenience store Dunkin. You remember my hookup at CVS with the photo department guy? Well, this might just be a better connection. Who loves coffee with a deep and abiding love? Me, check! Who loves blueberry muffins? Me, check! Who loves (in)sincere compliments? I guess that is me again. Check, check and double check.

It was a good one too, he pulled, “is that your son? I thought you were his older sister” out of thin air without missing a beat on my sprinkles/no sprinkles donut order and the coffee was just right. My son is tall, looming over me already and he tends to wander off. As I scurried around the chip aisle looking for him, I called out exasperated, “Bud, where are you?” And that small display of maternal affection started the ball rolling. “That is your son?” Incredulous, shocked. Me smiling proudly, “yes, he is.” He stated, “no way, you are too young.” I flippantly replied, “way, he’s mine.” We passed time with similar comments and replies until I got my receipt, grabbed my cup and thanked him kindly for the compliment. On the way out the door, Ry said, “what did that dude say? “Oh,” I replied causally, “he thought I was your sister.” Ry snorted inelegantly and said, “Weird.” Yeah, I know, right? Laters.

The Day It Was

2010-04-26T21:14:00.000-04:00

Mondays; what a lot of crap they take, but oh how they deserve it. On Monday, when I ride the train to work, all of Twitter is abuzz with whining, groaning, and "the week-end was too short" posts. But tell me honestly, have you ever had a good Monday unless it was a National holiday or you won the quick pick in Powerball? Me either, and I tried to think of one really hard. (It obviously goes without saying that vacation Mondays don't count. That first vacay Monday, leading to a week of nothing is bliss) Monday is just a frustrating day. Back to work, back to school, back to reality. Places that no one wants to be. But hey, I made it through, made it home and now it's almost over. Laters.

I'm Like Fine Wine, Baby

2010-04-23T11:44:00.001-04:00

My husband has been saying the phrase, “middle-aged” a lot, as in, referring to himself, as in, lumping me in his “old” category, as our birthdays are only months apart. This is uncomfortable to me and I don’t really think I even need to explain why. Saying you are old is like having a rash on your butt; it really sucks, but you can’t scratch it because admitting to it would just be weird. You can’t really do anything about getting old except accept it and do it gracefully. Or so I’ve heard.

With my usual savoir faire, I plan to just skip it all and deny, deny, deny. Take my dad for instance, he accepted it. He wears long, black dress-socks with shorts and sandals, the epitome of senior citizen, and he is totally fine with it. In fact, we even have pictures of it and he never looks one bit embarrassed. He also does a lot of crossword puzzles too, but I will let that slide.

The quandary for me is this; all the older people I know never feel old, so how do you know when you are? How do you know when to start wearing fanny packs and lace up Naturalizer shoes? How does one discern just when the peak moment is to dye ones hair blue? Is there a section in department stores filled with *shudder* elastic waisted pants with garish designs and zip up crinkly jackets? Does bright, blue eye shadow and pink-frosted lipstick just show up at your door one day or do you have to make a special trip for it? What about open-toed orthopedic sandals worn with brown pantyhose, how will I know the time and place for such snazzy footwear? How about doilies, lap blankets, and towels to cover my car upholstery? How do I get that stuff? I can tell the middle age road towards being old is fraught with decisions, none of which I know the answer to, but I do assume that the key word is “comfort.” I imagined myself as an old lady still rocking long blonde locks and wearing my stilettos to Bingo, but that is a little creepy so I may have to change the game plan.

I had a serious discussion with K a few weeks ago about which road I should take towards old age, the “nip/tuck” or the “au natural.” He was no help so I had to figure it out on my own. I think my current solution is to “nip” the parts that are visible to the rest of humanity and “tuck” the other offenders into good foundation garments with plenty of wire support. But mark my words, I will never wear sandals with black socks or flamingo print Bermuda shorts or sun visors with permed hair fluffing over the top. And I will stick to that as firmly as my pledge to never own a minivan. Laters.

Ooh, La La

2010-04-20T21:25:00.001-04:00

Girl's Weekend was fabulous. We wined and dined and the velvet rope in the nightclubs was lifted just for us. We shoe-shopped kid-free and care-free and came home loaded down with packages. Our dinners were delish and our desserts to die for and our waiters ever attentive. We slept two in a double bed and I stayed straight and true on my side, careful not to drool, snore or try to sneak a midnight cuddle on my unsuspecting sister-in-law. How embarrassing would that have been? Some of our taxi drivers were crabby and some were nice; they were all maniacs, but we always made it to our destination. Some trips were faster than others though, I mean, whoa! We tipped lavishly, as though we had money to burn and as we trod the City streets in our Chanel sunglasses from Chinatown, Starbucks in hand, I couldn't help but feel a little Carrie-ish. Oh, the memories, the midnight run to Times Square where we took pictures with all the tourists, they asked us to, we looked to divine to resist, the fancy hair, the spiked shoes, the feathers and silk on dresses, what a time we had. What a weekend. Laters.

My Baby Girl

2010-04-08T10:28:00.000-04:00

I went to my daughter’s parent teacher conference this morning. Besides being a creative genius with a 5th grade level reading and writing ability (she is in 2nd) and getting 66 out of 68 right on her, “per the teacher” very hard math placement testing, she is a kind, sweet ray of sunshine. As we reviewed her work, I couldn’t help but notice her liberal sprinkling of smiley faces above her answers and sweet notes to her teacher. Almost everything she turns in is personalized. I love that she never thinks twice about reaching out and spreading joy. I just want to express how amazing I think she is; one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I have ever met. Gosh, I love her. Laters.

BooHooHoo

2010-04-06T21:54:00.001-04:00

I thought, I won't blog today cause if I do, it would look something like this:
Drrrrooool, drooooll :( :( drool :( :( :(
As you can see, that stuff gets old pretty quick. When I got home, K told me that I should go straight to bed but then I was mad at him cause he immediately pegged how tired I was and I was like, "Bed? Who, me? I'm not even tired." He just looked at me. So I went to bed.
In bed, I played solitare on my iPhone and refreshed Facebook every five seconds to see if anyone else had a more exciting life than me. The answer to that question is yes. Then that got old and I texted K to see what he was doing and he was all manly- like,"I'm watching baseball." And I was like, "oh, ok, yea baseball!" all sarcastic. Then he was like "sigh, sigh."
So I blogged. Laters.

Yes, It Happened Exactly Like This....

2010-03-31T14:27:00.000-04:00

On Monday, K texted me to say, “I plan to work late at home after dinner.” And I was like, “Urghh!” (except I didn’t text that back, I just said “ok” which is what I always say when I don’t like something)
Several things happen when, “late working at home after dinner” occurs including the following:
1. Said work not beginning until after 10 p.m. due to various and sundry distractions
2. Me, lying down for a nice snoozearama knowing that I will be interrupted at say, oh, 1 or 2 a.m. by loose change thrown on the nightstand and Uncle Loud Shoes.
Uncle Loud Shoes tromps upstairs, bada-bing, bada-boom, stepping on every squeaky tread, sometimes twice for emphasis. Trompy, tromp, tromp, up the stairs, “oh, oopsie, I forgot something downstairs,” tromp de tromp, tromp, back down again. Now, squeaky stair tread, squeaky stair tread, trompy, tromp, tromp, right back up again. “Hmmm, I should probably go into all the kids rooms and make sure everyone is ok.” Tramp, tramp, tramp, stompy, stomp, stomp. Open door loudly, close door loudly- times 3. “Ok, all is well on this floor,” so back down again stompy, stomp stomp.
“Now into my bedroom” tromp, tromp, tromp “so I can open the closet door sixty-five times. Oh, that was awesome! Now, to the bathroom, to drop something heavy, like say, the hairdryer,” bang, “ then I'll sit on the bed to take my socks off. Hey, what about a few more closet door open and shut combinations just for kicks?" squeak, squawk "Extra awesome!”
"Now a little cover fluffing,” fluffy de dee, fluffy de da, “and I’m settling in for a long siesta.”
“Hmmm, I wonder why fire and brimstone are shooting out of my dear wifey’s eyes? Oh, well, she probably just has PMS.” nighty nite, sqeaky mcsqueaky, bedie, squeak squeak
Now you see why I dislike “late working at home nights.” Laters

Wish I Was There.

2010-03-29T15:09:00.000-04:00

Coming home is like a trip to a spa and bed and breakfast combined. My mom's home is love. She tinkers constantly and makes everything beautiful. I can only feel envious and hope that one day her talent for arranging and beautifying will somehow rub off on me.
If you are in the neighborhood, let her know. Her room rates are cheap and she always makes bacon and fried eggs for breakfast. Laters.

I'm A Baller, Yo!

2010-03-26T16:05:00.001-04:00

I hate it when I don’t know what to wear. I have been invited to a party where the instructions are, “wear your favorite team’s jersey.” For me that would be a great big, “whaaa?” I have no favorite team. I have no jerseys. None. At all. How can I be an American, how can I be a human, how can I exist without a favorite team? I have sincerely felt like a big loser all day.

I did attend a hockey game last week where I ate an awesome hotdog, but having a good dog really isn’t the same thing as being a fan is it? I have tried, believe me, to be all sporty and stuff. I have joined softball teams, tried volleyball, played beach football, but instead of getting awesome playing time, I am mostly asked politely not to ever, ever come back. And even after 16 years of marriage and too many football games to count, I still don’t understand the rules, the downs and the penalty declining. (I, personally, would always decline a penalty) K can’t believe that I am that dumb, but just ask him about D-Gate.

Oh, I am in such a quandary. If only shopping were an organized sport. Laters.

The Wall

2010-03-25T09:34:00.000-04:00

I can't remember if I have posted this one before, I am almost certain that I have, but as I just finished writing an article on the "Stone Walls" of New England, this poem has constantly been in the back of my head. Anyway, this is certainly a poem that deserves a re-read. Since I have been working on this piece, I see stone walls everywhere I go. It's maddening. Laters

The Mending Wall
by Robert Frost

SOMETHING there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.”

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

“Why do they make good neighbours? Isn’t it

Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offence.

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,

But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his father’s saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, “Good fences make good neighbours.”

So, Tell Me About Your Childhood....

2010-03-22T12:04:00.000-04:00

I knew it all along. All these years, it hovered in the back of my mind, a sneaking suspicion that I couldn’t elude, but concrete confirmation came to me last week on March 17th, 2010 as I bustled around; reminding my children to wear green, lest they get pinched- my mother had no respect for holidays other than the ones she liked, Christmas, Valentines, Thanksgiving and Easter.

On other celebratory days, we were thrown to the wind. Mom never reminded me to wear green. My story is a sad one, I mean really, how many St. Patrick’s Day pinchings can a poor, bespectacled girl endure, while frantically shrieking, “You can’t pinch me, my eyes are green, look my eyes are green?”
That tired old mantra never worked and I was pinched mercilessly. She never bought me leprechaun socks or July 4th hair bows. Sure, we had fireworks, but do they really say, “I’m patriotic!” as well as an outfit fashioned from the United States flag? I think not. We never made homemade Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria boats to float in the tub in honor of Columbus Day. President’s Day slipped by with nary a construction paper top hat to mark the occasion, and I’m sure that this lack of proper celebration has had some large influence on my lack of creative abilities. Now, other than cautioning my children to wear green, I am quite unsure about how to properly celebrate these lower holidays, and thus we propagate the non-celebration standard to a new generation.
I suppose that I will just have to content myself with remembering her spectacular Easter baskets, extravagant Christmases, the loaded Thanksgiving table and elaborate Valentines Dinners, holding those memories dear, while letting go of the negative. Who needs a paper top hat anyway? Laters.

Deep Thoughts 3.756

2010-03-12T11:27:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I feel that I am receiving so much divine guidance that I can hardly comprehend it all. On those days the sun shines a little brighter, I approach tasks with confidence; I make firm and wise decisions. I am kind to my family and take joy in the smallest things. (My clothes also fit looser, but that could just be wishful thinking)

I really, really love those days. But some days, I get nothing. No inspiration, no motivation, and I feel a like a useless lump in general. I know that divine spark is missing and I feel like I can’t operate without it.
After some serious consideration, I have come to a couple of conclusions, the first being that I wish God would speak steadily and constantly to me instead of giving me huge insights in spaced intervals. Does that make sense? I want to know all the time, and waiting for the days of inspiration is hard for me. On the other hand, one thing I have realized about God is that he generally operates in ways that seem crazy to me.
The second option, is that God does speak constantly and steadily to me, but I just choose not to notice. I have also realized that the second that I stop caring about people, or looking for positive ways to interact with my friends and community, that is often the second that I feel lost and alone. If I were tracking it, I would say that PMS and my inability to hear God’s voice often coincide on the same week, but that is neither here nor there as long as I have a bag of Lays.
I have known people who wouldn’t be taught, who always thought that their way was the only way, people who have refused the counsel of both friends and experts; people who have no room to grow in life, because they are too important in their own minds. I have learned that if I am not growing, learning, wrong, challenged, discontent, inspired, or searching; I might as well be dead. Life is over if you are not learning. My prayer for the week has been that I would be aware and present in my life. That I would learn from my mistakes and always be a willing student, graciously valuing lessons learned and looking for ways to apply those lessons to future endeavors.
Remember, this is a prayer not an accomplishment. I am still learning. Laters.

Don't Push My Buttons, Ok?

2010-03-11T10:19:00.000-05:00

Let me tell you about the panhandler who often lurks outside my office. She is short, plump and posses a tidy, grey Dorothy Hamill bob. She crosses the street frequently between my office building and the Starbucks on the other side. ( perhaps the answer to the age-old question about the chicken crossing the road. The answer is obviously,“to get a Starbucks") I also see her at the library where she always tries to buy her library books. She throws wads of cash at the librarians, but they have lots of patience with her, returning her money and wishing her pleasant day. When we meet in the street, she asks me for a dollar, never more, never less. As I have seen her library money and her constant intake of Starbucks, I always politely decline to contribute.

But honestly, more annoying to me than the panhandling is her abuse of the cross-walk button. Most mornings as I am walking toward my office from the train, she is headed the opposite way, straight for her morning coffee. While she waits for the light to change, she pushes the cross-walk button continuously, at a steady, rapid-fire pace, for the length of the entire light. It is not a short light either. This series of staccato beeps literally drives me crazy, but she never deviates from the pattern. When the light turns, she gives the button a final “just for good measure push” before she crosses.
Looking for the moral lesson, I realize that I am guilty of the same thing. Pushing the button over and over, expecting the light to change before it is time. I’m probably reaching a little here, but I am in a waiting phase right now and I need that reminder. The light will change, it always does, and my button pushing will not speed up the process. So, I’ll be here if you need me, at the light……………waiting. Laters.

Louse-y

2010-03-09T22:20:00.001-05:00

Friday, March 5th in the year of our Lord 2010 shall henceforth be called "the day head lice came to the Mullins home" and shall never, ever be mentioned again. This epidemic came to us courtesy of the second grade class at Marvin elementary and we of course, thank them kindly.
I try to be a mom who is never grossed out by things like dirty laundry, vomit or poo and the like. But the tiny crawling bugs defeated my cast-iron-will and left me thinking, ewww, just ewww!
The unlucky owner of the louse and his buddies was my darling girl, Sher, who had a very important party to attend at school and a new red shirt to wear. You have probably never heard the levels of weeping and
wailing that were done when I told her she couldn't go to school. I experienced so much mommy guilt over her sorrow, that we did the fastest de-louse on record and sent her on to school, an hour late with a scrubbed raw head and strict instructions not to mention it to ANYONE at school lest she get sent home early and miss the party anyway. And the combing, oh Lordy, don't even get me started on the combing.
Waist length hair and nit combing should not exist in the same sentence or galaxy even for that matter. Her return home from school at 3:00 began another round of decontamination and we all slept in shower caps with oiled heads (this was from the home remedy for lice site I googled) just to be on the safe side. My washer chugged along for 24 hours straight keeping up with the rugs, sheets, and blankets that all had to be sanitized. All is well now, but lice, in my opinion, are horrible. Laters.

I'm Great, How About You?

2010-03-04T16:11:00.000-05:00

Since I saw you last a few exciting things have happened.

I had a spectacularly gigantic fight with the hubby, fumed, then made-up. The make-up was spectacular too, but that is none of you business. I only mention it to show how exciting my life is.
I listened to my eldest son speak wisely and poised to a group of adults while my heart hammered and beat so proudly in my chest that I thought it just might fly away.
My sticky fingers managed to mistype www.hotmail.com at work. If I haven’t yet introduced you to my work monitor, please allow me to; the screen is roughly the size of a football field. This typo pulled up a man in an “oh so tiny” blue thong in full living color. This was especially awesome as the office was full of board members and co-workers. I would count that as one of my most horrified moments.
I have managed to stick to a strict budget for over 30 days. A first for me and something I plan to repeat. I have found that shoe shopping is actually more fun when I budget it in and don’t have the guilt of overspending. (Ok, that is all a huge lie, I love to shoe shop completely unchecked, but I do feel very responsible)
And last but not least, today, I was the lucky recipient of a free Starbucks latte. Laters.

Flannel

2010-03-01T14:52:00.001-05:00

I lie in bed, wrapped in flannel sheets and the green blanket I bought in Mexico when I was pregnant with my oldest.
The dog lies on the rug, half on the corner of my discarded flannel bathrobe.
We are both asleep, sort of.
I am sick and the dog is snoring; we produce a cacophony of snores and snorts.
I snore because I am sick; coughing and blowing and snoring slightly out of the left side as I breathe in.
The dog snores, because she is plump and bears the smashed in nose of her breed. She cannot help it. She always snores. I do not. At least to my awareness.
We pass the time in genial companionship, not bothering one another while lost in the music of a lazy Sunday. Laters.

Poetry Thursday

2010-02-25T12:48:00.000-05:00

A song for poetry Thursday- here is the link if you want to hear it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8FBFLMOrnw

Laters.

The River and The Highway

sung by Pam Tillis

She follows the path of least resistance

She doesn't care to see the mountain top

She twists and turns with no regard to distance

She never comes to a stop

And she rolls, she's a river

Where she goes, time will tell

Heaven knows, he can't go with her

And she rolls, all by herself

All by herself

He's headed for a single destination

He doesn't care what's standing in his path

He's a line between two points of separation

He ends just where it says to on the map

And he rolls, he's a highway

Where he goes, time will tell

Heaven knows, she can't go with him

And he rolls, all by himself

All by himself

And every now and then, he offers her a shoulder

And every now and then, she overflows

And every now and then, a bridge crosses over

It's a moment that every lover knows

And she rolls (and he rolls)

She's a river (he's a highway)

Where she goes (where he goes)

Time will tell (Time will tell)

Heaven knows she can't go with him (he can't go with her)

And she rolls all by herself

And he rolls all by himself

Fare thee well

February 24, 2010

2010-02-24T09:27:00.000-05:00

I feel as though I haven’t blogged in forever. The reasons why? They are myriad and numerous, but in a nutshell this; I have a terrible cold and don’t have my usual joie de verve and I am working on a piece for work about the stone walls of New England and it is sucking all my creative energy. I am sure that it will be a real fun read; who doesn’t love an inch by inch description of glacial movement?

Despite the chest cold, I have personally experienced a pretty good week. Often times, I feel that I stumble around in a fog, hoping that I am living right, being a good wife and mother, and making positive contributions to the world around me, but seriously lacking any tangible proof. Then, sometimes I experience the rare moments of clarity that my life does have a purpose and that things are right on track. I’ve experienced a few of those crystal- clear minutes this week and the results are amazing. Renewed faith, restored conviction, and a gentle kick in the rump to keep moving on; I couldn’t make it without these times of reassurance. Enjoy my euphoria, I could be grumpy tomorrow. Laters.

Pilgrim Song

2010-02-18T16:24:00.000-05:00

Psalm 124

A Pilgrim Song of David

1-5 If God hadn't been for us —all together now, Israel, sing out!—

If God hadn't been for us

when everyone went against us,

We would have been swallowed alive

by their violent anger,

Swept away by the flood of rage,

drowned in the torrent;

We would have lost our lives

in the wild, raging water.

6 Oh, blessed be God!

He didn't go off and leave us.

He didn't abandon us defenseless,

helpless as a rabbit in a pack of snarling dogs.

7 We've flown free from their fangs,

free of their traps, free as a bird.

Their grip is broken;

we're free as a bird in flight.

8 God's strong name is our help,

the same God who made heaven and earth.

Snow War

2010-02-17T09:42:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a snow day.............again. I am tired of snow. Sher and I took walked to the park between the flurries to play in the snow. We also took Holly. (our dog) Big Mistake! Holly refuses to walk on her leash and our walk was really a drag Holly, while she yelped pathetically. I kept looking around for dog snitches, hoping that I wasn't being reported to PETA for animal cruelty. Holly yelped and shivered so, that I finally had to put her inside my coat. It is hard to play in the snow with a dog tucked inside your coat. Sher and I tried to make a huge snowman, but I couldn't lift the huge snowballs and stack them with the coat/dog combo, so we just settled for a snow fort and lobbing snowballs at each other. Don't worry- we are both terrible at throwing and no one was actually hit. Laters.

Dear, dear Pig. Happy Valentine's Day!

2010-02-12T14:08:00.000-05:00

This picture came to me in a packet for a work project. We were discussing how expensive portraits were in the 19th century. My thought was: some guys sure do love their pigs. Laters.

I Am Not Screaming 4 That

2010-02-10T16:28:00.000-05:00

Snow Cream-another reminder that some things are best left in childhood. I made some today after our record (I think, it was record?) snowfall. While Sher heartily dug into hers, I only took a few half-hearted bites after seeing a few tiny black flecks that might have been dirt; or perhaps paint chips off our barbeque grill. I also thought of the happy squirrel that I often see on the deck and wondered where he most often used the bathroom facilities…….regardless, I couldn’t enjoy it and left it for the kids to finish. I am gladly giving snow cream over to the category of “things I gave up to grow old gracefully.”

In this category, I have also put: thin thighs, anything spandex, heart-throb posters, and bubblegum lip-gloss. And I’m ok with that. Laters.

Scissors and A Quest

2010-02-08T13:11:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, because my mom reads my blog, I feel like my posts should have have a moral lesson attached, but just so you know, there isn’t one attached to this- just an observation- I must tell boring stories.

On Saturday night my baby girl had a female melt-down. She was tired, over stimulated and more than ready for her bed. I tucked her in and kissed her, tiptoeing out of the room. A few minutes later, I heard her quietly sobbing. I went in to lie down with her, rubbing her head and telling her that everything would be ok, but she couldn’t stop crying. So I said, “shush now, and momma will tell you a story.”

I really didn’t have a story, but I thought quickly and began like this….

“Once there was a princess……………, “ then I couldn’t really think of anything.

Then, I got it- “who never thought of anyone but herself”…… see how the moral lesson always hovers, trying to fit in?

I then went on and on about the princess meeting a magic fairy who put her to the test regarding her selfish traits and general nastiness.

Imagine this all told in a halting whisper as I tried to think of the next test the princess had to face. After a few minutes, Sher said, “Is this really a fairy tale or are you making it up?” “Making it up” I said, “just listen.”

I told her that the princess was forced to leave the castle on her quest taking only three things in a small purse.(which I consider to be a task of utmost difficulty-if you wonder; my tiny purse always contains lip gloss, iPhone, and a tissue-I have persistent allergies)

I told her the princess brought these things in her tiny purse; scissors, an apple and here is my problem, I named the third thing, and just as quickly, I forgot what it was. I have no idea why I named scissors at all. Who puts scissors in their purse anyway when faced with three item dilemma?

As I made up some hooey about the scissors and apple, I racked my brain for the elusive third item, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. Finally, I gave up and whispered to Sher, “What did I say the third thing was?” She had no answer as she was fast asleep. Laters.

Deep Thoughts 2.0

2010-02-03T09:56:00.000-05:00

I am walking down the stairs, not normal stairs, but Connecticut house stairs, designed specifically for falls and knee banging. Because I don’t want to make two trips, I am carrying the following: an empty bottle, my morning coffee cup, my purse, a wet pull-up, the dog, shoes to put on at work, and two Financial Peace books. The whole time I am thinking, “Don’t fall, don’t fall!” I didn’t, but I was reminded of how precarious my grip on life is sometimes. I am left with the thought that sometimes, for my own safety; I need to lay something down or make two trips. I can’t carry everything all at once. Laters.

Cool List

2010-01-29T11:36:00.000-05:00

Here are some cool things for this Friday:

1. When I got to work this morning a ziplock bag containing 5 Kit Kat’s and 1 Peanut M&M packet was lying on my desk. Probably from the candy fairy. ((Sigh)) Me likee the candy.

2. My friend James knows Snooki- here is the proof.

3. I think I lost 2 pounds while I was sick. They will probably show up again by this afternoon when I eat the candy, but I feel skinny now.

4. I don’t have anything do to this weekend.

5. I repotted some plants here at my office so I feel industrious.

Have a good weekend! Laters.

Here's A Good One

2010-01-27T20:10:00.000-05:00

What is better than a good knock-knock joke as told to you by your 7-year-old? Not much, I’d say. It was the good one, you know the one where you say banana 50 times before you say “orange you glad I didn’t say banana?” I must confess that I was glad she didn’t say banana, but that’s just me. You might like it. As I am not feeling well, Sher has camped out in my bed to keep me company, armed with a bag of trail mix, (yes, honey those are coconut flakes on your side) a few knock-knock jokes, and a rap song that she learned at school about communities, she is all about making me feel better. I would say other than the fever and body aches, this is a pretty good night.

Knock-knock, who’s there?
Laters.
Laters who?
Just kidding, Laters.

Run For Cover

2010-01-25T12:48:00.001-05:00

So, my dad and ambulance chasing, also known as, my dad versus the tornado. There are many stories that fall into this category, yes; there are many tornado encounters to choose from. Some involve driving over to a town hit by a twister to see how he can "help." Others involve lots of channel flipping between The Weather Channel and CNN so that he can professionally gauge the threat level. One particular story goes something like this, if one were to put it in outline format:
1. Tornado warning
2. Mom and us kids in closet
3. Dad not sure if the forecast and sirens are correct
4. He “needs” to watch the weather from the porch
5. Tornado lands right in front of house
6. Dad makes mad dive for cover
7. Bed is the nearest place for cover
8. Posterior of dad and bed frame fight for space
9. Laws of physics rule, i.e. matter cannot occupy the same space
10. Bed frame wins and dad is stuck half under the bed while the tornado passes
11. Mom laughs hysterically from closet
12. Family is safe
13. I have my first awareness that the Glenn posterior might cause difficulty in small spaces

Oh, and right now as I type this, sirens are whizzing by. My longing for a scanner is brought to a fever-pitch. I too like to "help" people. Laters.

Breaker, Breaker 1, 9

2010-01-13T09:54:00.000-05:00

What I need, really need, is a police scanner. My grandma had one on her nightstand and she knew all the goings on of the whole town at her whimsy. Police dispatches and fire alarms were broadcast in beeps and static. Sometimes it was simply on; a low hum in the background and sometimes, when things were looking serious, she pulled up a chair and gave the radio her full attention. Her police scanner coupled with the fact that my grandpa drove a semi-truck with an awesome radio, could have had influence on my early career aspirations to be a truck driver. I guess I like me some CB radio.
Yesterday, the kids and I passed the scene of an accident. As is the Mullins tradition, we all closed our eyes (except me, of course, I was driving) and said a prayer that everyone would be ok and that God would help the person who was hurt. Following closely on the heels of the Mullins traditional prayer for safety, was the Glenn tradition to know exactly what happened. I wanted to know who was hurt, who was at fault, how many ambulances were called, you know all the necessary and pertinent information. This “need to know” has been faithfully modeled by my father who is probably the nosiest ambulance chaser ever, but that is a story for another day.
When we got home, I Googled the local news sites frantically; looking for some scrap of information, but nothing could be found. I had to read it in the paper this morning. Hence you see my urgent need for a scanner. Laters.

The Mullins Have Gone To The Dogs

2010-01-08T13:22:00.000-05:00

I don't know if I've introduced you to the newest member of our family. This is Holly Berry, a close cousin to the actress, Halle, but she has less money. Sher got her for Christmas and I have to say that she might have been the most well-received gift I have ever given. Sher was ecstatic! Holly is settling in well with the family and she goes on her pee pad at least 30% of the time, sometimes with no prompting. She is a messy eater, and I sweep up a lot of dog food, but she is very cute and that makes up for it. Holly has also perfected what I call the "cobra strike." As you hold her, she appears very benign and passive, then without warning, she lunges up for a quick bite or lick on the chin. She is very fast, and my reflex jerk away is often not fast enough. I say "no-no" loudly to her, but she doesn't seem very sorry for her poor behavior. She has slept all night the past two nights so things are looking up for K and me. I had almost run out of dark circle eye cream to mask the sleepless nights. Now if we can reduce the accidental poops, I will be the one who is ecstatic. Laters.

Late For A Very Important Date

2010-01-07T10:03:00.000-05:00

As a fellow commuter and I were commiserating this morning over the lateness of the trains and the amount of coldness we were experiencing while we waited, I thought of something funny. We tend to migrate and converse about the bad. I don’t remember ever striking up a conversation with a stranger by saying, “Hello, stranger! I would like to tell you about the perfectly pleasant day that I am having.” Usually shared misery that is the bond that glues strangers together.

This complete stranger and I struck up a conversation. He said, “Man, the trains are really late today.” And I agreed and we chatted for a while about the train that we normally take, which one we take if we are running late and how full the 7:57 usually is. We heard the announcement of “mechanical difficulty” around 8:20, and as we chatted, the 8:01 passed us by without stopping. It chugged right on past and left us standing in the cold, our breaths puffing out in clouds of steam. He was a jovial fellow and didn’t seem too worried. I, on the other hand, was a touch more peeved. My train is a local and they are less frequent. As was true in ancient days that all roads lead to Rome…….so all trains end up in Grand Central Terminal, which is where he wanted to be. Not so for Cos Cob, my humble stop. He told me that he had his laptop and planned to work on the train, so he was less concerned than me; presently laptop-less. As the next train pulled in (an express to GCT, I might add) he hopped on and we wished each other good days. I gave up on my hope for an on-time local and called K for a ride.
Today is not looking good so far, for me to have the perfectly pleasant day, but the next time I experience one, I plan to tell everyone, strangers and friends alike. Laters.

Going Out With Hottie

2010-01-06T15:04:00.002-05:00

As I was telling a friend, I love Red Lobster with a deep and abiding love. More specifically, I love the cheesy biscuits. If they are fresh and hot, they are a taste bud explosion. And who doesn’t love watching banded-claw lobsters swimming in a tank of doom right before they eat? The Red Lobster fits perfectly with the Mullins creed of sit, eat, leave, and on to the next item on the agenda. I have asked K to on a date for Friday night and that is where I intend to take him, nothing but the best for my hubby. I will personally have the “Create Your Own Feast” 2 portion combo. Shrimp scampi and shrimp pasta with a Caesar salad, dressing on the side. Just like I always do. I am a girl who likes her routine. But wait, I forgot about current special where two people can eat for $29.99. Hmmm, I might have to forgo the routine for the price break. Laters.

Once In A Blue Moon

2010-01-04T15:35:00.000-05:00

While walking this morning in the frigid air, I had a few moments to recollect. I thought to myself that 2009 was a pretty decent year, I learned a lot, mended a few fences, and grew into my own skin a little more than last year. I like the feeling.
I felt pretty satisfied when I closed my eyes after ringing in the New Year by watching a car fly over water on ESPN. This was a show my kids picked, not me, but I almost wet my pants when the driver made the leap safely. I suppose that the Mullins family New Year's eve tradition will be watching extreme stunts from our beds in a hotel room.
I also made a resolution to look around a little more, to be aware, to live in the present. I thought of how there was a blue moon in December, which is rare event. I thought about how someone watched the phases of the moon close enough to know that there were two full moons in one month, and how those only come around once in a while. I realized that I often tend to be so unaware that I would never say, “Oh, look, another full moon!” I would just be busy and preoccupied and look at the night sky and think, “Oh, the moon is out,” and never realize that I had missed an event that only happens every few years.
This will be a good year and I don’t want to miss anything. Laters.

Candlelight

2009-12-17T10:38:00.000-05:00

I can see in the window of my neighbor’s house. My view is from my kitchen into theirs. Normally the view is vanilla, they make dinner. I make dinner. Sometimes I see him early in the morning moving about in a white undershirt; that is the extent of the raciness. I try not to get caught picking my nose or walking around in my granny panties. I am sure they would be suitably thankful if they knew this.
For Christmas, they have put electric candles in each window. Just like mamaw used to have. I feel teary and sentimental every time I see them. I remember the long, long drive to my grandmother’s house; turning down the street that led to her house, the winter air pitch black around us and hardly any other lights on the road. Then all of a sudden, there they were, the Christmas candles, alight with welcome, and the promise of family and warmth. Hers always had orangey, red bulbs, tiny red pinpoints of holiday cheer.
My neighbor’s bulbs are a clear white, but that’s ok, I don’t mind. They still take me home. Laters.

We've Got S-P-I-R-I-T Yes We Do!

2009-12-15T15:56:00.000-05:00

I really want to put on the perfect Christmas, but something always happens. I want to be Martha Stewart and bake a steady, never-ending stream of cookies and strudel, make homemade ornaments, and hand- carve special treats for my kids out of wood that I found in my backyard. I want to hand flock my Christmas tree and have special Christmas dishes, kitchen towels and throw pillows for my couch. Oh, I am such a Christmas failure.

The reality is that some years, the ordeal of getting out the tree and decorations is such a chore for me and I am more like the Grinch than I want to admit. I have had better years than this one. Despite all the Christmas parties, I have had a hard time getting in the Christmas spirit. Last year, K and I went out on black Friday and got almost all of our gifts, and I was smug all season knowing that my basement hidey-hole was full of presents. It was so easy- all I had to do last year was drink eggnog and eat cookies. This year I have done practically nothing. And that stresses me out. I am feeling distinctly stressed. But as K said to me this morning, “Don’t worry, these things always work out.”
And I guess they do. Laters.

My Lunch

2009-12-11T12:06:00.000-05:00

Hail to soup in can, or raviolis, or Spam in a pinch- extra points if the can is a pop-top and needs no can opener. Lunch is condensed into a cylindrical explosion of mystery goop advertised as all white meat with no MSG or trans fat. Almost all the food groups condensed into 18.6 ounces, meat, veggies and grains swimming in a broth of artificial colors and flavors. And all this fits neatly in your train bag and needs no assembly. Tantalizingly advertised as low-calorie per serving, you eat the entire can before you realize that the can holds 3 servings and you just ate a lot of calories. But perhaps your bag of peanut M&M’s will counter balance those errant calories, because after all, nuts are good for you, right? Laters.

Poem for 12/10/09

2009-12-10T13:04:00.002-05:00

A poem I wish I had written, but Jane Kenyon did........

Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . .

When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me. . . .

I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . .

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden. . . .

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge. . . .

I am the heart contracted by joy. . .

the longest hair, white
before the rest. . . .

I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow. . . .

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name. . . .

Jane Kenyon

I Just Thought Of Something

2009-12-08T12:52:00.000-05:00

Sometimes when K is already in bed, warm and toasty, I think of things. Things like, “did we lock the front door?” or “is the thermostat down to 65?” Sometimes, I might just ~~want~~ need a glass of tea and just happen to casually drop that into conversation. Not that I would ask him to get up and get it, more like just thinking out loud. He almost always gets up, but he often gives me the stink eye and he complains about it and says things like, “why can’t you think about the thermostat before I lay down/am warm and cozy?” I don’t know why I can’t, but laying my head on the pillow seems to press right on the switch of “what did we forget downstairs.” It might be easier if I weren’t the only one who thought of things. Laters.

What I Did

2009-12-07T23:25:00.000-05:00

What I Did This Summer
by Jacinta Mullins
This summer I went to the beach. I dug holes in the sand and put my feet in the holes but water rushed up and covered my feet and filled in the holes so you couldn't tell they were ever there. I got a sunburn on my nose and I also ate a whole bag of Lays potato chips all by myself while I read a book in bed.
I ate fish and seafood and fed live alligators hotdogs at Fudpuckers. The alligators were so full of hotdogs from all the people, that they barely could move and little pieces of hotdog were scattered all over their enclosure.
I also swam in the ocean and it was so blue and tiny fish swam all around me but I could never catch even one, though I tried all the time.
I lay on a beach blanket and got sand in my suit, but it was still fun. The condo had a pool and that was nice too, but not as nice as the ocean. I didn't get sand in my shorts at the pool. The sun was so hot but it felt so nice and I lay on my beach blanket til I was so warm that I couldn't breathe and then I ran into the blue ocean. That was the best. My summer was fun. Laters.

Fire For Me

2009-12-03T13:33:00.000-05:00

We spent Thanksgiving in New Hampshire and I have only good things to report. We stayed in my boss’s cozy cabin nestled right in the woods and Sher saw a moose. (maybe a deer, but moose to her) We did ham instead of turkey and I made pie and everything was tasty and we all got spectacularly full on too much food. (I will not discuss the kidney stone/kidney infection that appeared the day after except to say that the hospital was nice and I didn’t have to wait too long.)

My favorite part was the family time, just being together and enjoying the company of those I love. My favorite moment was this- the house had two fireplaces and though the weather wasn’t that cold, we kept fires hopping in both fireplaces just because they are cool. We almost drove ourselves out of the house on Thanksgiving Day because the kitchen was so hot with the oven, stovetop, and fireplace raging but we never let the fire die out because we were enjoying it so much. I am both happy and impressed to report that K can make a darn good fire. I didn’t even know that he had fire starting abilities until that day and I was so pleasantly surprised. On Friday night, when I came home from the E.R. he made a fire for me, even though he was out of kindling, it was rainy outside so he couldn’t gather more, and he had to tear up a Coke box and feed the pieces in one at time. As he and Sher crouched over the fireplace, painstakingly feeding the small sparks, I thought to myself, “that Kevin Mullins, what a good guy.” He looked so cute rocking himself some plumbers crack from bending over and I was glad that I knew him. Don’t you love those brilliant moments of clarity? Laters.

Thanks, but no Thanks

2009-11-30T14:57:00.000-05:00

I got a certificate today in my work mail for a free chair massage at Staples. It is a perk for a special sale with special hours designed for my holiday shopping convenience. The special sale hours are from 6 am to 8 am, but I am not feeling terribly motivated to take advantage of either option. I wonder who really thinks, “hmmm… it is 6 am and I am really jonesing for some copy paper and hey, a massage at a mega store with everyone watching me would be great right about now too!”
If they could bring the massage chair to my house and rub my neck while I watch NCIS reruns at night after dinner, then I might take them up on the offer. I don’t normally get up at 6 am for anything and $10 dollars off my entire purchase just doesn’t do it for me. If you want the coupon, just let me know. Laters.