Motherhood From the Edge...of MATURITY!

It’s not that I'm a huge fan of nudity, it’s just that I’m not a huge fan of making a big deal out of human anatomy. Let’s face it, when you make something taboo, it becomes a million times more interesting and exciting. Plus, I was a model for a human figure drawing class my sophomore year of college, and as they say in the South, I was completely NECKed! To me, it was no big deal, just a really great paycheck!

Don’t get me wrong, we don’t prance around our house like nudists. Nothing inappropriate. So if my kids happen to see Andrew or I getting in or out of the shower, and they see that Mama has this and Daddy has one of those, and they ask questions and we give them accurate, mature answers, then *hopefully* they won’t be TOO overly fascinated by the mystery of human anatomy later on.

So when V came in while I was showering the other day, I noticed that rather than talking to me, she was kind of staring. Our shower is clear glass and runs the width of the bathroom, so there was kind of a lot to see, I suppose. When I got out, I could see her curious toddler eyes moving across my chest, back and forth.

V: Mama, what are THOSE things?

She said, as she pointed to my busoms.

(Me thinking: “I breastfed her! What the eff? Is she JUST seeing these puppies for the first time? No wonder she was such a fussy eater…” And of course, her query caught me COMPLETELY off guard, no anatomically correct lingo here, I went straight for the slang…exactly what we’d planned NOT to do.)

Me: Uh, those are my boobies.

V: Boobies?

Me: Yes.

V: Where are MY boobies?

Me: (lifting her shirt to show her) Here and Here.

V: (Interested, but also slightly disappointed) Mama…I have small boobies. (Thinking…) And Mama, you have BIG boobies!

While all of this was going down, M was (thankfully) elsewhere playing and Andrew was closing out our March budget, a task that almost ALWAYS leads him to an instant bad mood, and me to the “doghouse” for over spending. After having this conversation with V, and then reenacting it for Andrew, he gave me his mock-disapproving face, but turned back to his budget with a HUGE smile.

Redemption

Most, if not all, relationships follow a sine wave. My marriage ebbs and flows just like everyone else’s marriage (if you don’t think that you have speed bumps in your relationship—you’re lying); there is a reason our wedding vows said, “in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, for richer or for poorer,” it’s because the vows follow the natural patterns of life. Sometimes you “got it,” sometimes you don’t. It’s not that we ever have any real problems, more like we aren’t always on the same page. Sometimes even the same chapter. Or book. Ha ha.

So when Andrew came home from TEN days out of the country on business looking like this:

And feeling like this (note: I'm the kitty-cat):

And I was feeling like this: (note: poor Andrew)

It is easy (and kinda funny, sorry Andrew) to see why there was some “tension.” I can’t help it if it takes me a while to “get my groove back” after ten days of abstinence! Subsequently, that “tension” kind of snowballed into “friction” (not in a good way) which turned into a lot of bickering. It’s the worst. It’s like fighting with your favorite ice cream flavor or your favorite comfy sweatshirt. It seemed the only thing we could agree on was how excited we were to visit Northern Virginia. Having been away for so long, and now viewing our amazing Carolina town as “home,” we have forgotten many of the effed up things that sent us running for the hills. Literally.

I must admit, I am so excited about seeing all of our old friends and family, I have butterflies in my stomach. And of ALL the people and places we are visiting, I just can’t wait to drive through my old home town. Granted it’s TOTALLY changed, and shallow and inundated with wealthy, self-centered morons…but for me…I will pretend I am going back in time, to the town I remember growing up in…Mmmm, I can still taste Thelma’s homemade black raspberry ice-cream…

But there was one teeny tiny thing nagging on my mind…what are we going to do with Sparkle, our Amazing Outdoor Wondercat!? I mean, while we are home, Sparkle hangs around outside during the day (barely venturing from our yard of nearly an acre and NEVER (say never!) crossing the street) and comes into the garage at night, for safe-keeping. Our three indoor cats will be just fine under our neighbor Tina’s watchful eye (there will be a blog about Tina in the future…she ROCKS and kicks it old skool…and I LOVE HER), but I would hate to put the pressure of watching out for Sparkle Ohley-Oh on anyone else.

So last night, with Andrew and I barely speaking (although not particularly angry at one another) I gently broached the subject.

“Um, when we go to Northern Virginia, um, what uh, do you think we ought to do with um Sparkle?” I asked.

“I was thinking the same thing.” He said.

“You were?” I asked SURPRISED!

“Yes.” He said.

“Why didn’t you TELL me?” I asked.

“I was thinking about it last night but I didn’t want to upset you.” He said.

“Well, what do you think we should do? I was thinking about um, well, boarding her.” I said, gingerly, knowing, just knowing, Andrew would fight me on it.

“I was thinking the same thing.” He replied.

I was DUMBFOUNDED. Andrew pretends that he doesn’t care about the cats. He uses ANYTHING as an excuse. Time, money, the fact that they are “filthy animals,” (Ha ha) but at the end of the day…I know the truth. I know he loves them. I know he loves me, and he knows I love them, and that’s part of the reason he loves them. But he’s also kind, and gentle and loving; and the cats are part of our family.

When Andrew said (ON HIS OWN) that he wanted to board Sparkle while we were away so that she would be safe and we wouldn’t have to worry about was all I needed. Marriage is about choosing battles. It’s one, big Kenny Rogers song… “you gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em.” Andrew knows that next to the kids, the cats are my greatest worry. Redemption. All bets were off. The reset button was hit. POOF! We were BACK on the same page.

Folks these days are so quick to throw down their cards and fold their hand before the game was even played. But sometimes the best part of the game is played out when both players seem down and out, and if they wait long enough, they’ll realize they are both winners. There aren’t many things I know for sure in this life, but I do know this: I absolutely married the right person. The proof is in the puddy tat…I'm glad we're sailing this life boat together. Happily Ever After.

S.N.A.F.U

It’s Thursday (yes, I know what day it is today!) and I’m back from “The Twilight Zone.” V and I were working puzzles together and M was upstairs playing (can you guess?) Legos. Suddenly we heard a horrible shreak. At first I thought M’s K’nex or Lego project he was working on dropped or fell apart. But when M yelled, “MOMMY!” he sounded like he’d been bit by a snack, or was about to throw up. I could hear the fear and tears in his voice. I leaped up from my puzzle and ran to my panicked son.

“What happened, Honey? What’s wrong?!” I screamed equally terrified.

Wait for it…wait for it…

“I stuck a Lego up my nose and I CAN’T GET IT OUT!”

Oh.

It seems my little Jimmy Neutron (I write with a grain of salt, and tongue in cheek!) decided it would be interesting to cram a K’nex wheel spacer into his right nostril. I’m sure it seemed like a great idea at the time, however he did NOT have a plan for extraction. I took a deep breath and told him to look up. I was positive I was going to look in there and find that it was so far up in his head I was going to have to bring him to Urgent Care. So I was pleasantly surprised to find the culprit sitting just inside the orifice. I held the opposing nare shut, and ordered…

“BLOW!”

And out the wheel spacer flew, like Mr. Naughty shooting across the treadmill yesterday. As usual, nature keeps her balance. Maybe M will be the first person in history to win a Nobel Prize AND a Darwin Award, poor kid. No Physics proofs today, today we are stuffing foreign bodies into our face. And (thankfully) I am happy to report our status as Situation Normal, All Fu--- well, you know the rest!

Long, A Little Braggy and Weird.

Kind of a weird day. The kiddos are on Spring Break which has thrown my “Rainman”-like need for a predictable schedule into a complete shambles. Subsequently, I have gone the ENTIRE day thinking it’s TUESDAY. It is, in fact, WEDNESDAY. Oh. I somehow even managed, confused as I was, to bring M to occupational therapy, thinking it was Tuesday. At least my subconscious was functioning.

Adding to the weirdness…I am a 32 year old, semi-mature mother of two, but…I can’t stop laughing at, “Yo’ Mama” jokes

Funny...
Thought provoking...
Now that one's just WRONG! (But still funny, sorry, but I'm laughing!)
Ok, now I just can't stop myself...

They have been runnin’ around in my head all day. Since I’m NOT in high school (and it IS Spring Break, after all) I have no one to sick my jokes on…so instead, I stood in the shower after a 3 mile run (we’ll get to that in a moment), telling MYSELF the joke, and giggling like a newly admitted psych ward patient scrubbing down for their first committed shower. Here two favorites... oldest to newest; old fav and new fav…

Yo’ Mama's so fat…her nickname is “DAMN!”

And

Yo’ Mama's so scary, they replaced “Halloween” with “YO’ MAMAWEEN!”

However, the REAL weirdness occurred when my darling 4 year old son not only discovered Newton’s First Law of Motion, but also Newton’s Second Law of Motion…and then proceeded to do a series of experiments. A HATES bragginess, and so do I. So please, take this as it is...one mother's observation. I mean, don't we ALL think our kid is Einstein? Now, it’s not unusual for M to tell us he’s working on “a project” or that he needs to go to his “laboratory” (the playroom) to do “experiments.” The boy IS science-minded. He has a biologist mother, an engineer father AND grandfather, AND a Ph.D accredited Geophysicist grandfather, let’s face it, he comes by it honest. So here’s what happened. While V played nicely with a puzzle and her Squawkers the Talking McCaw; and M was building with Legos (surprise, surprise), I SQUEEZED in a 3 mile run on the treadmill. We were busy all day (remember they are home for Spring Break) and I HATE putting their needs second to my own vanity. But since they were content, and I was in the same room, I hopped on the ol’ hamster wheel and started a-runnin.’ For some reason, Mr. Naughty (one of our four cats, he is my beloved black and white boy...more of a "roommate" than a "pet") LOVES when I run on the treadmill. He is mesmerized. And today, for Lord knows why, he decided it would be a great idea to have a go at it with me. Before I could look down and shout “NOOOOOOO!” he was on board, but at over 5 miles per hour, he didn’t stand a chance. He entered from the front, made his best attempted at running, (unfortunately due to his entry point he was running in the wrong direction) and shot out the back like a cannonball, and hit the wall with his shoulder. Although I don’t believe his person was hurt, I am positive his pride suffered a devastating blow, and he sulked away like the 1^st runner up in a beauty pageant.

M, ever observant, witnessed the entire transgression. He laughed and poked fun at Mr.’s nonsense, and I reminded him that it isn’t polite to guffaw at the short-comings of others. I continued to run. Presently, Max came to my side with a “Little People” school bus he hasn’t even touched in ages.

“I want to play with this, Mama!” he said.

Exstatic that he was interested in ANYTHING other than Legos or Transformers, I encouraged this.

“…And,” he added, “My experiment is to watch it ZOOM down the treadmill, just like Mr!”

Oh.

I made him wait until I was done.

I have a very basic understanding of high school physics, but all I could think to myself was, “an object in motion, stays in motion, unless…” and then I forgot the rest. But was it possible that M was TESTING this very Physics Priciple??? No…of course not…he’s only 4…

When all was said and done, M had indentified AND demonstrated Newton’s First and Second Laws of Motion, (also in Latin, just in case M is reading this…ha ha, just kidding):

Newton's first law: law of inertia

Lex I: Corpus omne perseverare in statu suo quiescendi vel movendi uniformiter in directum, nisi quatenus a viribus impressis cogitur statum illum mutare.

Every body perseveres in its state of being at rest or of moving uniformly straight forward, except insofar as it is compelled to change its state by force impressed

Newton's second law: law of acceleration

Lex II: Mutationem motus proportionalem esse vi motrici impressae, et fieri secundum lineam rectam qua vis illa imprimitur.

The rate of change of momentum of a body is proportional to the resultant force acting on the body and is in the same direction.

When I was finished running, I allowed M to demonstrate…He eagerly approached the treadmill with his bus. WHOOOOOOSH! Down it went, just like Mr. Naughty. M squealed with joy.

“See Mama??? It goes faster and FASTER on the treadmill until the wall makes it STOP!”

Then he sent it up AGAINST the forward motion of the treadmill.

“See what happens now, Mama??? It’s SLOW, because it’s going the WRONG WAY!”

Ugg. I’m sure I’m just looking too far into this. He’s just playing…RIGHT?

Again and again it hit the wall behind the treadmill, and I could practically SEE the gears turning in his brain. Watching a 4 year old perform experiments is pretty awesome stuff. I think when I was his age I was eating paste and play-doh, picking my wedgy and plotting ways to send my little brother back UP from where he came…which was in my mother’s tummy.

So yeah, all in all, it was kind of a weird day, it’s Wednesday (I guess) and now I’m drinking wine.

The Highest Honor

Our baby girl has more in common with Scarlett O’Hara than simply just her name. Sure, she looks creepily like her namesake (the brown hair and blue eyes really through us for a loop!), but also, much like Scarlett, our baby girl RULES. Sorry, we mean no offense. She’s just the sweetest baby girl there is. No contest.

Our little one, at less than age 3, is just her own little person. The nicest thing she can think of to say to you is, “Happy Birthday.” In our home, that is regarded at the highest compliment, and is answered with, “Thank You! Happy Birthday to you, too!”

In addition, from the time she was able to speak, the other highest honor in V’s world was (and IS) awarded to whomever she chose to “potty” her. We often envision her like Scarlett O’Hara entertaining beaus at the Twelve Oaks barbeque; choosing, which one of many, would be the one lucky enough to fetch her plate. The greatest award comes in the form of a PUP, (our word for POOP), if she manages to force one out (“I want to tinkle AND pup!”) for said honoree. Not so cute, anymore.

Tonight, we enjoyed an impromptu dinner with our best friends (our next door neighbors) and one of their sons. Knowing that it had been a while since V tinkled, I queried, “V-Do you need to tinkle?”

“Yeth,” she replied with her always adorable, soon to be outgrown, ever-present frontal lisp.

“Do you want me to take you tinkle?” I asked, (Of course not! I knew.)

So I asked...”Who do you want to take you tinkle?”

V regarded the question. She thought about it, looked around the room. She got that, “Scarlett-at-the-BBQ-look” on her face…

“I want…I want….I want Mr. Tony to take me tinkle!” V emphatically, enthusiastically replied.

Mr. Tony, our patient and understanding neighbor,, didn't miss a beat. He instantly and willingly obliged. Andrew, humiliated that V chose the only man in the room not related to her by blood to assist her in the bath, tried to help, but Mr. Tony, to the thrill of our little one, was fully capable of taking a 2 year old to the loo.

V did her business, complimented the neighbors in the way only she can, and balance (as usual) was restored to the universe.

"Size 6"

My son is “in between” size 5 and size 6. Subsequently, most of his Spring/Summer shorts are size 5, while a select few pairs (consignment store, of course) are size 6. They are too big.

The other day I accidentally grabbed a pair of size 6’s while getting M dressed and out the door for a fun day with Daddy! With a black “I do all my own stunts” t-shirt (complete with little stick figure man falling down), and cute (if not large) cargo shorts in full effect, the boys left the house and the girls ran out to the bike store to purchase big brother’s first two-wheeler.

When we all returned home, M’s pants were fitting noticeably better. Since I am married to a Design Engineer and NOT a SARTOR, I felt it necessary to investigate. While what I found didn’t necessarily horrify me, it didn’t surprise me either. Big Daddy discovered that his pants weren’t staying up properly so he solved the problem as only an Engineer could…

Engineer Daddy + Son with Loose Shorts =

That's hot. As usual, we're fashion icons...

My Muscle

I took a picture of my arm muscle because I've never had one before. I've never had a "collar bone" either, but I do now.

What Makes A House A Home?

“It takes hands to build a house, but only hearts can build a home.” ~Author Unknown

I spend so much time in my house making sure that laundry is done, toys are picked up and kitchen counters are wiped down; crumb and germ-free. We eat here, sleep here…we live here. We live in a building, four walls, roof and floor that keep us safe and comfortable; our lovely family of four and our four cats (yes, even the outside cat gets brought into the garage at night, for safety!)

Then there are the moments that make a house a home. What fabulous, warm feelings those are! On Thursday, I (reluctantly and worriedly) hosted my son’s preschool Easter Egg Hunt at our house. During the night before, I awoke, with horror, to hear rain falling outside. Luckily, the next morning was sunny and cool and the Egg Hunt could go on! I had about 200 candy-filled Easter Eggs to hide in my backyard. The sun was shining, birds were chirping and the air was fresh and smelled like Spring. The “dread” and stress I was feeling about hosting the event evaporated instantly. I had so much fun and I silently hid eggs among my emerging Day-lillies and Hydrangeas. When I was done, I stood back and looked at my yard, grass glistening from last night’s rain, littered with pastel-colored "virgin" easter eggs waiting patiently for the excitedly giddy, sticky hand of a 4 year old to come and find it, and place it excitedly in their Easter Basket. AH! When the kids arrived, I noticed that they were all dressed up. It made me feel good to see that I wasn’t the only Mom who put their children in Easter clothes for the egg hunt. Somehow, all the little dresses and sweater vests made the Easter Egg Hunt more of an event. Seeing all of those eggs scattered around the playset and yard, and all of the children laughing, playing and having a great time was wonderful. In the end, I was so happy and thankful that I had the party here after all, it became one of those magical moments that makes a house a home.

HAPPY EASTER!

Look closely to see some of the eggs hidden!
I hid eggs on the playset (check out the eggs on the climbing wall and swings!)
Finding eggs...
Friends comparing booty

"Helping Verbs"

My 7^th grade (middle school) “GT” English teacher, Mrs. Curry, made us commit to memory a poem she wrote to help us, by rote, learn a bit of grammar that she felt necessary to the sanctity of the English Language, and perhaps (she acted like), for the goodness of all Humankind. At the time, I thought it was a bunch of useless bunk, another lame classroom teaching that would serve no purpose in the “real world.” To me, it was just another teacher asserting her power over helpless kids, who, by no fault of their own, were being held captive by society in the confines of a public school classroom. Naturally, like a good little pre-teen sheep (or lemming, however you choose to look at it,) I learned her poem; and then I went on to graduate from high-school, and then from college with my Bachelor’s Degree in (of all things) English.

Surprisingly though, in all those years of school, there was just about ZERO classroom instruction in the rules of English grammar. That was then. I was eleven. This is now. I am thirty-two. Thank goodness for the old school, rote memorization and recitation style of Mrs. Curry. She actually made us stand up, one by one, to recite her little verse. And of course we all did, lest we endure the nerdish humiliation that only occurs among those consigned to the Perfect Storm of Geekdom…a “GT” classroom, the adolescent need for peer acceptance and the desire to “obey,” still lingering in the sunset of our waning childhoods. All was not lost to the vacuum of short-term memory. So, burned indelibly into the brain of a fledgling writer was the poem titled simply:

Helping Verbs

And here it is…

Be am is are was were been,

Has have had,

Shall will should would,

Does do did,

Must may might can could.

Being.

AhHA! I’ve STIL got it!

Don't Hate...Celebrate! Let My Fashion-Plate...Inspirate!

The consignment store I shop at “rules.” End of story. It is in a semi-seedy looking shopping area tucked back away from the road, and flanked by a dermatology office/surgery center (mine…hence the way I first found it!), a Laundromat (of all things) and a Barbecue joint (go figure.) The first time I stepped inside, I was expecting a typical small thrift store type place, where you have to sift through outfit after outfit to find one semi-wearable garment. I tend to have horrible luck at places like Marshalls and TJ Maxx, I just can't ever seem to find a bargain! So, I usually play it safe and shop the sales at Old Navy or Target and wait for holidays and birthdays to get the expensive brand name "label" clothes as gifts for the kids from relatives. However…the racks and racks of brand name joy and ridiculously low-priced, high quality, barely worn excellence was enough for me to abandon everything I hold to be true and good in this world, and leap with both feet forward into creating two mini-fashionistas (meanwhile, I'm wearing Old Navy yoga pants and a sweatshirt someone's friend left in my dorm room in 1995.) But ALL of my kids' clothes are new...NEW TO THEM!

In my beloved consignment store, the racks are literally CRAMMED with shirt after shorts after pants after dresses…one thing cuter than the next. On my last visit, I dropped $260 and carted home two huge TRASH BAGS full of clothes. Plus, one of the owners was like, “This is just a tiny fraction of what we have, we simply don’t have enough space to put everything we have out! You should see what we have in the back…” That was enough to tickle my curiosity. Now, I have ONE rule...NOTHING over $10, preferably not over $7...For t-shirts and shorts or just "general playwear," nothing over $2.98 (one of their standard prices.) Even though I thought I was finished for the season (God love him, so did Andrew) a rash caused by wool socks and rubber boots (thanks Farm) sent me to the dermatologist, and I couldn’t resist poking my head in the consignment store. Again.

My “pull” this time was unprecedented. A very small quantity, but Oh My…the finds!!! Again, don’t “hate,” appreciate…Here goes…

Because who doesn't love a 3 year old in a Sailor Dress...especially when your dad is USNA Class of '71? Definite "bonus points," no demerits here!!!


This one was "new with tags," again, RIDICULOUS, and STILL within my "only under $10" rule. And this one literally screams "V!"
A little bit "risque" for Fifi, however, SOOOO cheap, I purchased this sassy little number as a costume for when we sing "Proud Mary" by Ike and Tina together. Of course, I get to be Tina and V has to be an "Ikette." You don't just get to BE Tina. You have to EARN IT!
A snazzy little July 4th number, in the $5 range. It's Andrew's favorite holiday, so I figured, "why not?"

And let's not forget our favorite boy!
M will look so sporty in these Polo shorts!

My piece de resistance...although a Size 8 (M wears a Youth 6), I couldn't resist. They are Brooks Brothers boy shorts... and SO totally adorable in real life. As I was leaving, one of the owners winked at me and said, "You just bought the best deal in the house!"

If the Consignment Store was a dinosaur, it would be the T-Rex from "Jurassic Park" at the end, where it eats the Raptors...because at the end of my shopping trip, the The Consignment Store Ruled the World!!!

The Blue Menace: Everything's Illuminated...But Not In A GOOD Way

I suffer from horrible insomnia. It is one of those annoying little things that you learn to live with; like an insufferable hangnail or cowlick you just can’t comb the right direction. Don’t offer advice…I’ve tried it all. My own physician cautioned against prescription medication because even though the FDA says they are not addictive…they are. The line between “addictive” and “dependent” is very grey. Instead, she recommended diphenhydramine. For those of you not into “pharm-lingo,” that meant Benadryl. Hmmm…I wonder if that interferes with wine??? Probably. And yes, I am well aware that wine, or any alcohol for that matter, can affect sleep patterns. But friends, let me assure me, my insomnia is more powerful than a simple glass of wine (or 5.) In is indiscriminate. It will wake me, regardless.

That being said, my nights are ruled by a serious of “devices” whose sole purposes are to get me to sleep…and to keep me there. These devices include: TWO professional grade “white noise” machines, most commonly employed by mental health professionals to maintain privacy while “in session.” However, for us…one keeps the kids asleep (thus preventing unnecessary “hall walking” at night) and one blocks out the subtle noises of (dare I say it?) a spacious house…and don’t even get me started on the late night MUSINGS of my cat Mr. Naughty, who lately thinks 3 am is the PURRfect time to sing Kitty Opera. AHHHH!

Another thing we use to get me to sleep (no, it’s not that, get your mind out of the gutter! That only works for him, NOT for me) is letting me fall asleep with the TV on and set to “30 minute sleep” which means the TV shuts itself off after 30 minutes. Yes, it’s like I’m a little old lady. I’ve dealt with it, you can too.

The problem with, “Did you put it on ‘Sleep?’” is the little, blue, LED light that stays on…indefinitely, MOCKING me from the Direct TV box. So when I wake up at 3 am (it’s like I’m a freaking’ Cuckoo Clock…(“CUCKCOO! CUCKCOO!”) that little blue light illuminates my room like a little, blue, SUN. It’s really just an (and when I say, “an” I mean ONE) itty, bitty, teesy, weensy, widdle, teeny, tiny light…but to my sensitive eyes, it’s a HUGE, TURQUOISE BEACON OF DOOM. We have a name for it. In the middle of the night, when I wake up and am blinded by the blue beacon haunting me from across the room…I ever so gently nudge (SHOVE) Andrew and politely (WHINE) ask, “Can you PUH-LEEEASE turn off the…

BLUE MENACE??!!!?”

Recently, we joined the rest of the 21^st Century, and upgraded all of our receivers to high def. In fact, we just got our very first DVR Baby Steps! Andrew had hyped the machine, telling me that it was MUCH fainter than our old machine. Poor guy. He was right…about he one in the Great Room…However, the one in OUR bedroom, the one with the DVR, was much, much worse. Andrew didn’t know how to break the devastating news to me that instead of the SMALL annoying blue light, we now had THIS:

Sometimes ALL of the lights are illuminated.

Sometimes only a few...And sometimes (when I just KNOW the “eye” is looking at me, or “thinking”) the lights spin round and round…round and round…like a record spinning right round right round…

(That’s an action shot of the round and round action!)

Laura (Me) : [The Blue Menace] is real! [It's] been having me since I was 32. And, the diary was hidden too well. There is no other person who could have known where it was. [It] comes in through my window at night. [It’s] real. [It’s] getting to know me now. [It] speaks to me.

Harold Smith (Andrew) : What does [the Blue Menace] say?

Laura: (Me) [It] says [it] wants to be me, or [it'll] kill me.

Ok, ok, fine. So that was a scene from “Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me,” but you can understand WHY I would want to over exaggerate the power of the light. The thing is, on top of the lights, it also hums. Even when it is turned off. I’m not sure what that’s all about.

Maybe I don’t understand new technology. Maybe my circadian rhythm is totally bollocks. Maybe I just need to stuff a pillow over my face, prop my sleeping Andrew, (a literal AND figurative “McDreamy,”) up on a remote control, rendering him immobile and unable to move onto his back in order to snore…Oops, nevermind…I already do that.. Is it normal to be afraid of your Direct TV box? As long as I don’t wake up tonight and hear, “Hello Brownie, I can hear your thoughts. …are you having trouble sleeping?” I think I’ll be alright. Maybe. Goodnight.

Finding Inspiration

This is not easy for me to write, because in doing so, I am admitting that I am not perfect (and who likes to do that?!) However, I think it is important and interesting to see how one little sentence can be the catalyst for so much positive change.

Most humans love to boast, at least those who live in Western Culture. It’s true that by the time I am finished writing, I will be somewhat guilty, as well. I find, however, that the people who boast the most are the ones that have the least to be proud of. Bragging is their way of fluffing themselves up, presumably to attain the awe and approval of others, thereby bolstering their own, suffering self esteem. As my friend JT writes, there is a “…subconscious need that exists for [some] people to want others to be less 'great' than they are.” Some…but not all.

Braided into, but acting antagonistically, lies the inability for most people to identify, acknowledge and accept their shortcomings. I’m sure that is due, in part, to a natural tendency to want to focus on the positive, and reject the negative. For myself, I know that there have been many times in my life I’ve used the “if I ignore it, it will go away/it doesn’t exist” strategy. I believe it is also referred to as, “putting your head in the sand.” In a twist on human denial also lies the fascinating psychological phenomenon of disliking someone because you see in them something you subconsciously dislike about yourself; or because you are subconsciously jealous.

A while back, I read something that stuck with me. But it didn’t stick with me in a comforting, “oatmeal breakfast on a cold snowy day,” way, it stuck with me in a “when I ate that hamburger last night I should have remembered that red meat gives me middle-of-the-night colon spasms” way. It was like a nagging cramp that wouldn’t let me forget. Like a finger, repeatedly poking me in the deltoid while saying, “Why can’t YOU be like that?” over and over again. The words going through my head were from my dear friend Sunny’s myspace page. The words said, “i love to say "i'll do it!" even if i don't have time to.”

Why was that one little sentence running through my head? What about it, at the same time, both interested and irritated me? After a while, I figured it out…I ALSO love to say, “I’ll do it” even if I don’t have time. The difference is, I DON’T.

Originally I thought I was annoyed with Sunny, which made me feel terrible. Sunny is one of the most amazing people I know. She is smart, kind, funny, talented beyond words and incredibly kind and sensitive. When I was going through one of the worst times in my life last Fall, out of the blue, Sunny and her daughters sent me a single page out of a coloring book. It was the Powerpuff Girls and a rabbit, and at the bottom it said, “Once again, Emily saved the day.” The thing about it is, Sunny had NO IDEA what I was going through, other than the fact that she knew something was amiss, and she was one of the only people who reached out to me. She was like the 7^th son of the Crocodile King on Sesame Street. She picked me up when I was down. Sunny is a great mom, a wonderful friend and well, I felt like a total jerk for feeling any kind of misguided irritation! So Friend…please accept my most humble apology (even though I’ve already told you all of this!) and also, thank you so much for your inspiration!

I decided to funnel my emotions into something productive. So I decided to give, “I’ll do it” a try. Sometimes the best ways to face our shortcomings is to dive straight in…like Captain Jack Sparrow fighting the Kracken. Laugh if you will, but I actually saw a lot of brave poignancy in his courageous effort.

I was already at the kids’ preschool ALL the time hovering, spying, dealing with “this and that.” So when M’s teacher asked me to substitute for her for part of the day while she took her son to the dentist, I took a deep breath, (drank some Airborne and loaded up on hand-sanitizer, and faced ANOTHER one of my demons…my fear of kiddies and the germs they carrying around…haha) and said…wait for it…wait for it…

“I’LL DO IT!”

Ahh…that felt good. And it was actually fun hangin’ with the class. M is very lucky to have a great group of kids in his class. I actually had no idea how much fun a bunch of 4 year olds could be.

When a local wildlife rehabilitator asked me to count the ducks and geese at a pond in our town; as well as feed a few injured ones, I replied, “I’ll do it!” Subsequently, one day a week, V and I not only feed the ducks, but we also count and identify them to make sure everyone is present and accounted for. It’s fun for both of us to have such a unique Mother/Daughter activity, and it’s nice to be outside even when it’s cold-ish. I simply fill out my little form and email it back to the lead rehabilitator and it’s turned out to be a really fun and rewarding experience!

What I am most proud of (here comes the bragging…ha ha) is something I did all by myself. Our local animal shelter announced in the newspaper that Pedigree food was no longer going to participate in donating dog and cat food. As a consequence, the shelter was about to run out of puppy food, and the dog and cat food was not far behind. Two emails later (one to my neighborhood Ladies Bunco group) and one to my Moms Club, I am pleased to report that I was able to collect 357 lbs. of dog and cat food, and donated it to the shelter. My goal was to collect 200 lbs., and to exceed that by 157 lbs. was very exciting! I now hope to create a “rolling donation” program, where folks can drop the food off at my home, and I can bring it to the shelter in batches.

It is difficult to face the fact that we are not flawless and accept our shortcomings. It has been my experience, though, that once I am able to own my problem areas, I am better able to work them out for myself. It is liberating to be inspired, rather than jealous. Thankful, rather than bitter. I wonder if I would have volunteered so often at my kids’ school, took on the Duck/Geese Project and collected the pet food had I not been, in a way, negatively, impacted by reading that one simple sentence.

I suppose I’ve created a monster now…my own version of “My Name is Earl.” Except rather than right all the wrongs I’ve done to others, I have my own little checklist of self improvement. Now…if I can only stop picking my fingers, and chewing on my cheek…hmmm…In the mean time, I am proud to honestly say (and mean it)

I love to say “I’ll do it” even when I don’t have time!

Animal Farm

I LOVE working at the farm, and this past weekend was VERY exciting! First of all, there’s the fact, that although I am usually wearing some dude’s old camouflage hunting pants from Goodwill, I envision that as I am working, I look like this:

While somewhere in the distance, “Lonely Goatherd” and/or “Edelweiss” is softly playing.

Plus, there were SO many new babies, and many of the “Moms” were first time fresheners. In fact, one new Mom decided she wanted nothing to do with the hospital pen, so she wandered down to one of the many “houses” in the small paddock and gave birth to twins there. Oops, silly girl! Just like a teenager at Prom…

Subsequently, there were so many goats to hand milk (like, from 1 the previous weekend to 12 the next!) Further complicating things, the “boss lady”/co-owner of the farm was out of the state judging a competition. She is usually the more “hands on” boss, so there was a lot of slack to be picked up in her absence. It may not seem like a big deal, but hand milking takes a heck of a lot longer than mechanical milking and is a bit more physical and awkward. Plus, first time fresheners don’t know how to stand on the risers in the parlor properly, and so there is a bit of acrobatics involved. Thankfully, when I arrived at work, I discovered that I was to be in charge of all the “outdoor” chores, while a high school boy was called in to help the one of the two full time farm employees do the milking. Yeah!

My favorite part of the farm is that I never walk the same footsteps twice. The farm is dynamic; nothing is the same from one week to the next. It is my therapy. It is my peaceful time to myself. It is Zen. It’s the place where I am nobody’s Mother and nobody’s Wife. No one knows me for anything other than myself. It’s the place the Boss Lady spoke the words that let me know that I was profoundly accepted there…”Believe me, we understand different here.” And if you know the farm, you know why!

So things last weekend were going great…at first. I was super excited because I knew I had to be present to help bring the “girls” in for milking, after the hand-milkers were finished…and that meant…Border Collie time!!!

Usually the Boss Lady works the dog because he belongs to her, she has the most experience and he listens to her the best. But I knew, with her out of town, now was my chance to work him all by myself. I think I did an “ok” job, but let me put it like this…the full time employee, who was there to milk, is not a native English speaker, and I’m pretty positive she could have spoken ANY language to the dog and done a better job than me. I swear, at one point, the dog looked at me like this:

He is SOOO smart…if he could have said, “Huh?” he would have. I felt so sorry for him. He totally knew what he was doing, and then I yelled, “Look back!” and he looked at me like, “You idiot,” and then followed my command, which *kind of* worked in getting the herd in. If I had just let the dog do what he was doing, the way he wanted to do it, he probably could have brought the girls in AND balanced my check book. Stupid humans…always interfering.

After the milkers were brought in and the “dry” goats released (that means they aren’t “in milk”), it was time for me to hop on my farm utility vehicle and fill the feeders. After I loaded twelve 50 lb. bags into the bed of the vehicle, I was off! Most of the fences are electrified, so I had to jump down from my seat, unlatch the gate, unlatch the electric fence, enter and the feed out the bags. The girls are so well trained, they never try to get out, but for some reason, one of our older guardian dogs has taken to wandering out while feeding is taking place.

He never goes far, and truthfully, I never thought it was a big deal because he always , but ALWAYS comes when called, and is NEVER out of eye-shot. However a few weeks ago my Boss Lady caught the guardian dog trying to leave and really hollered at him, so I made a mental-note to keep the dog by my side. So of course, this past weekend with her out of town, the dog got out, and THIS got IN!

Yes, one of the many, many pot-bellied pigs on the farm! I carefully pushed on her and pushed on her to encourage her to return from whence she came, but she didn’t and wouldn't budge an inch. She did, however, squeal, scream, whinny, shimmy, shake and carry on like I was killing her. On a side note…when I brought my mother to the farm, she was amazed by the size of our pigs…she said, “Wow, look at that BACON!” and M (my boy) said, “No, Ni-Na…” (as if she were a total idiot…) “That’s not bacon…that’s a BUFFALO.”

You have to admit, the kid’s got a point.

THAT’S how big these gals and fellas are! So I’m a-pushin’ and a-shovin’ and it's like I'm a flea trying to push over a brick. So I decided to give the piggy “parlay” and hoped that if and when I could get the guardian dog BACK in the field, he wouldn’t be all, “INTRUDER!” and make himself “No Eggs and Ham” for lunch.

It was about that time of giving up that I realized I was at a very awkward angle relative to the electric fence when……BBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZBZBZBBBBBBZ!

My hand hit the fence. It was a very “Tom Cruise On Top Of The Couch With Oprah” moment. After realizing that I did NOT, in fact, wet my pants or swallow my tongue, I discovered a nasty and instant burn on my hand, accompanied by a silver-dollar sized bruise. OUCHIES!!!

So much for my “easy” day. But I got the dog back in the field, and evidently the pig sneaks into the field all the time (apparently the fastest she EVER moves is the short time the fence is open. The poor thing…she must save up all of her pig energy and plan her whole pig day around the 10 or so yard walk into the field…no small feat if you are a 300 lb. pig!!! ) So in the end, I finished my chores and beat feet before any new babies were born or at the very least, before I could electrocute myself again, after all, the next time at the farm would be another day; and I never walk the same footsteps twice…I hope!

Free Spirit

On the phone to my friend Sunny...(with V, getting into EVERYTHING, dancing around my feet...)

Me: (to V) STOP THAT! (To Sunny) I'm Sorry...V is such a trouble-maker!

V: No I'm not! I'm a HAPPY-Maker!

Yes, yes she is!

(Note to self...3 year olds are ALWAYS listening!!!)

The "LOST PUPPY" Cartoon Allegory

Why didn't anyone tell the lady in the cartoon that the dog was in her butt?

Hypothetically speaking, have you ever walked by a mirror and noticed you had something green stuck in your teeth and then realized that it’s 4 o’clock in the afternoon and you’ve picked up the kids from preschool, been to the grocery store, the library, the dry cleaner AND interviewed a new cleaning lady since you ate lunch and NOBODY mentioned the small GARDEN sprouting from your lateral incisors?!!

And have you ever had one of those “You know you’re a (fill in the blank) when…” moments, but instead of making a joke about a stereotype, you are actually being serious and talking about yourself?

Well, combine those two, and you have…

I wonder how long I walked around like that?!?

Instead of a piece of food in my teeth, it was a lollipop stick stuck to my shirt. And to be honest, my life is always such a blur of activity, I can’t actually remember what I did the day I walked around with some of my children’s TRASH stuck to my sweater, but you get the idea. Knowing my two, they probably thought I was wearing the best jewelry ever! I’m damn lucky that both of my little ones are potty trained…I wonder if I’d notice a diaper taped to my sweater? So much for trying to be a "Posh Spice/Victoria Beckham” mom...ok, ok, at the very least, simply "put together" on a regular basis. It doesn’t matter how many pairs of Lucky Jeans or 7 for All Mankind jeans you have (and FYI…for me, that is 1 and 0 respectively!), or how small of a size they are. It doesn’t matter if you have perfect highlights, “enhanced” boobies and drive a Suburban instead of a minivan, lest people discover that you have, in fact, given birth. When you walk around all day with candy stuck to your tummy, you’re busted.

“You know you’re a mom when your kids were given lollipops at the bank at 10 am, but you didn’t discover the lollipop stick stuck to your tummy until dinnertime.”

Running Music

I went for a nice run today and finally used my cell phone's pedometer feature. It was slightly inaccurate (I was supposed to have it at my hip, but only had a back pocket) but all in all, it was pretty good. I have noticed a real improvement in the amount of running I'm able to do, as well as the distance I am able to travel. I'm no Flo-Jo, but I'm pretty "ok" as far as first time runners go.

I have revamped my "Running Music" playlist, and I think that really helped. Re-tooling my music kept me in the "zone" and allowed my mind to wander to other things besides, "Ugg. I have a cramp" or "Ugg. I'm excercising." In fact, I have to admit, I really enjoy getting out and running my brains out.

Here it is:

I'm Going Home - Sacred Harp Singers (I warm up to this one)
Din Daa Daa - George Kranz (Get's me started really well, hypnotic)
I'm A Believer - Smash Mouth (Very important to NOT use Monkee's version)
Shake Your Thang - Salt -N- Pepa (I try not to stop and dance when the part comes that says, "Stick out ya butt an' shake what you got!)
There's Hope - India.Arie (I *LOVE* India.Arie, and this song IS me)
Proud Mary - Ike and Tina (the slow part is a good chance for me to walk a little or at least slow and take a breather)
Girlfriend - Avril Lavigne featuring Lil Mama (VERY important to get the Lil Mama version)
Ya Mama - The Pharcyde (features the lyrics, "Ya Mama so fat...How fat is she?..."gives me funny motivation in the middle of my run)
Stronger - Kanye West (this happened to come on while I was walking a STEEP hill that I don't normally run...and got me PUMPED!)
Push It - Salt -N- Pepa (another kind of hypnotic song, good beat-but sometimes I skip over it)
Rehab - Amy Winehouse (sometimes, well, most of the time, I sing right along with Amy in order to make sure I am still breathing at this point...and you all know me, I do NOT care if anyone sees me doing this)
Punk Rock Girl - The Dead Milkmen (Great song, great beat, keeps me going)
Gay Bar - Electric Six (see above comment for Punk Rock Girl)
Smack My Bitch Up - The Prodigy (provides much needed ass-kicking motivation at this point)
On A Plain - Nirvana (I love this song!)
Pass That Dutch - Missy Elliot (fun song, great beat, perfect for winding down)

Just thought I'd share in between blogs!

Cool Tool

There were many advantages to moving to our small Carolina town. Well, actually, small isn’t exactly the right word. The town we live in is actually pretty big, acreage wise, but population wise, it’s the “biggest small town” I’ve ever known! Some of the benefits of living here are ridiculous housing prices relative to the amount of house and luxury you get, great schools, a surprisingly state-of-the-art medical system and lots of “green,” (i.e undeveloped land…mostly rolling hills and farms. Just lovely!) We have great restaurants, no traffic and blue skies as far as the eyes can see. But one thing we lack…shopping. Before the renovations started last year, our mall was pitiful. Aside from at least being “interior” style, (meaning you don’t have to walk outside to go from store to store) the mall made me feel like I was going back in time…requiring me to “frost” my hair, wear rainbow legwarmers, a quilted Michael J. Fox from “Back to the Future” ski vest, (FYI…if V had been a boy, her name would have been “Emmett.” If you are not pop culture savvy enough to get the reference, then Google it),

dangly gold earrings, fingerless white lace gloves and a mini-skirt.

As I scoured the stores for children’s shoes, I sadly discovered that there literally was no children’s shoe store. I tried the major retail chains…JC Penney (although nice) was no dice. Belk surprised me with its quality and made me feel like I was shopping in the DC suburbs again (instead of 1979 rural South Carolina) but…their kids shoes lost me at “Crocs.” As in…that’s pretty much all they had. We have Target, we have Lowe’s AND Home Depot…for all of our size, we are just about to get our very first Starbucks (big deal…I don’t even drink coffee…) and maybe someday, I won’t have to drive too far to get to Whole Foods…in the next big town over. So…

A 20-30 minute drive (which means 20-30 MILES on the HIGHWAY because as I mentioned before…NO TRAFFIC…which also means FAR FROM HOME!) later, I was at the WONDERFUL, wonderfully MODERN mall in the next largest city where I shopped till I dropped (“or the money said ‘stop’”) at the Stride Rite store, Williams Sonoma and of course, my BFF…the M.A.C counter. But here’s the deal…the so called “toys” they have in the Stride Rite store make me wanna barf. It’s that wooden activity cube found in every pediatrician/dentist office that NEVER gets wiped down, a virtual square-shaped virus machine, if you will. I mean, for all practical purposes, I might as well hand my kids a piece of POOP to play with. Gross. And don’t even get me started on those mall “play centers.” Goo.” I’ve seen your kids sneezing, wiping their runny noses on their hands…I’ve heard you say that he’s “just getting over the stomach flu” so you had to bring him “here, rather than preschool.” No thanks. Y’all can play with yourselves. Ewww. Second, (and no offense) but the “shoe handler” is ALWAYS some chick who just needs a pay check who does NOT have kids, but has a “niece” and/or “nephew” they can’t WAIT to tell you about for a half an hour, while I TRY to wrangle my screaming kids AWAY from said Activity Cube of Doom.

Therefore, in light of the lack of shoe stores in my precious little town, I decided, TWO years ago, that rather than deal with retail hell, I can be Al Bundy,

In the privacy of my own home!

So I purchased…this:

Oh yes, you’ve seen it, you’ve used it, and now you know that it’s called a Brannock Device, and you can purchase one of your very own! When I told Andrew I was buying said object, he of course, said, “NO! Whaddaweneedthatfor?Youjustwannawastemoney” yadda yadda yadda. He did NOT want to listen or hear that I didn’t want drive all over the effing place, or corral my children from touching disease infested objects of entertainment in an over-priced, under-staffed shoe store. I wanted to measure the kids AT HOME and order the shoes online. End of story. No arguments.

Now that Spring and Summer are approaching, it is time to re-measure the kids’ feet. Well, I’m over it. I’m over hiding my deep, dark secret. If Andrew doesn’t like it, well, he can shove the Brannock Device up my ass. Or, rather, up his OWN ass. Ha ha. As I poured over shoes on zappos.com, I decided to come out of the closet and send Andrew on a scavenger hunt to find my hidden truth…

“Go into V’s room…look in her closet, on the second shelf, deep in the back, in a small, brown, cardboard box…” Yes, bring that to me. I could tell that Andrew was mildly disappointed…He had told me “Don’t buy it,” (two years ago) and I said, “Ok,” and bought it anyway. But! Andrew was fascinated!!! He was like, “Can you show me how to measure their feet?” So together, we measured the kids. It was TONS of fun, nerdy, but fun. Who knew two people, with two college degrees could appreciate measuring kids’ feet?

The children now have several pairs of shoes coming their way courtesy of zappos.com (and I ordered myself a pair of these):

And I LOVE them! (But don’t tell Big Daddy! They are listed in our check book under “thing.”)

So the next time your kid sits crying while the slightly overweight salesperson with a mustache (and vagina) jams your kid’s foot in a shoe while they scream in terror at the stranger man-handling their sweet, widdle tootsie, consider the Brannock Device. You’ll be glad you did…unlike the miter saw your husband insisted he needed, it’s the tool that keeps on giving!