Rest and Recovery

I know it's hard to believe but my silence has been due to a hijacking of the holiday kind. For the first time I went under. I wish I could say that I fought valiantly, that I slayed Christmas cards and Christmas lists alike with an attitude of cheeriness, but that would be a complete and total lie. No, I went under in a BIG way. If it hadn't been for Braveheart and Songbird putting up the tree, we wouldn't have had one. It's cute because the lights only go up as far as Songbird can reach.

I think Leo the cat enjoyed the holidays the most. His daily frolicking in the tree branches and chewing of the lights were never completely deterred. His shenanigans added to visitors, parties and online shopping made every day a full throttle experience. And now, all I want is a little rest and recovery.

Ah, yes, rest and recovery after the disaster zone recovery effort that has been scheduled for tomorrow, all hands on deck, all family members present and accounted for. We will take back the garage, the house, the refrigerator and all semblance of normalcy! Just in time for New Years.

Now Serving Crazy

I'm sitting at the kitchen table. This will probably become my new perch. Why, you ask? Well, let's just say that in order to keep Prince Lawn Gnome and Braveheart from killing one another during homeschool, they need a little extra mommy supervision. All I wanted was a shower, just a shower and to blowdry my hair, because when I wait too long then it's done for for the remainder of the day. What do I hear three rooms away? "MMMMMOOOMMMM!" Settle the first dispute, lay down the law, remind children of their current responsibilities and return to hairdryer. What do I hear three rooms away? "MMMMMOOOMMMM! Prince Lawn Gnome stuck the calculator down his pants!" (I loath 15 year old boy humor.)

Prince Lawn Gnome appears with squirted water dripping from his forehead, no doubt from the spray bottle meant for Leo the cat to keep him out of the Christmas tree. Oh, yeah, you know Braveheart isn't all innocent in this one. But, since I also need to use said calculator from time to time, I must do something. "Would you like it if I stuck the calculator down my pants and then made you use it?, I ask." Obviously, I'm not above coming down to his level, but the shock value of even thinking about your mom's underwear and the pure gross out factor should work, right?

"You always take her side, you're just sexist!" Prince Lawn Gnome asserts. "It's sexist!" Now, let's review... I've had one cup of coffee this morning not my usual, required two. I've had an interrupted shower time, and guess what, no schoolwork is getting done. Now, I'm being called a sexist in MY OWN HOME, the one I allow Prince Lawn Gnome to dwell in! Seriously, are we serving crazy today? Because, I can serve crazy!

And, for the topper, today's lesson, poetry! Lord, please help me.

Obsessed??

So, last night, my hubby spent a little time here catching up on my blog. He says to me, "you crack me up, but it's like you're obsessed," (Meaning with the whole food, Weight Watchers thing.) Obsessed? Well, maybe I am. I mean I've always been an all or nothing personality type so why would this be any different? When I had a baby, I immediately decided to have another... in for a penny... in for a pound right? When I decided to be a stay-at-home mom, it lasted for seven years. When I do go shopping, I GO shopping.

That's not to say that being an all or nothing person hasn't bit me in the butt, exhibit A the aforementioned having kids one right after the other. When you're in the habit of jumping feet first into the pool, you often look around and wonder why no one less is totally exhausted from all this wading around? Often times, others are on the side, with looks of pity in their eyes, asking, "what was she thinking? Poor, poor woman."

Obsessed? I bet if we were talking about sex and not food then my hubby wouldn't think I was obsessed. I'd be dedicated! Triumphant! Eye on the prize kinda stuff! Obsessed... plllease.... it sounds so negative. I'm not about to embrace that as my identity, even if there is a grain of truth to it, no let's just agree to say (what's the politically correct phrase I'm looking for here) oh, yes, conscientious! Consistently conscious, yes, that will do.

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow!

You won't find me listening to the forecast. You won't see me all bothered by the "impending doom" coming our way. I'm looking forward to the snow and I almost never say that. But, now I have a secret weapon, one that I will wield with full power!

You see, my hubby purchased a Christmas gift for me. And, this time it's a REAL gift not one with fringe benefits! This is a REAL gift, because I know that if it were just up to him, he wouldn't want it. He would kick it to the curb. But, he loves me and so, the gift. I have it early because while he went to special lengths to pick it out, he didn't really hide it very well. Not that I was snooping or anything, after all, it was in my very own closet.

I am the new, proud owner of my very own electric blanket!!!! Twin sized, so that I don't have to share with anyone. So while others may be dreading the snow, I say, "bring it on!" I will snuggle in all cozy and warm and crank that baby. I see a day of nothing but old Christmas movies and coffee in my very near future. So, thank you hubby! I absolutely LOVE it!

Update

It's 3:30 in the morning, in the oceangypsy house and I'm wide awake. Of course, I have company, Leo the cat. He is a little miffed that I've interrupted his playing with the Christmas tree and has since decided to retaliate by clawing my furniture. Oh, but Leo of little brain, you forgot we declawed you months ago for just such reasons. Proof that I am a higher life form!

Thanksgiving was amazing, great food and great visit with relatives. I was pretty good diet wise but the proof will be in the pudding at my weigh in this Thursday night. I'm dreading it slightly. My temptation was tempered a bit when on the day before Thanksgiving I went clothes shopping. I highly recommend this as a yearly ritual. I was ecstatic to get into a smaller size and didn't want to jeopardize that and conversely if you went up a size then perhaps the reality would also be a motivating factor.

Here's the crazy thing. I was actually glad when Thanksgiving was over so that I could get back on plan. It's like I stepped out into the big, bad, real world and just knew if I spent too much time there then I'd crack for good. I was actually thankful to be back in the safety net of point counting. Isn't that crazy?

I do miss my family though. It was so fun to spend time together, when you live far apart you forget all the quirkiness that goes on. Granny was true to form when she tried to convince me that you can get a bladder infection by walking barefoot on the concrete. My sister, always the chronic late one, inspired a pool for which we took bets on what time she'd roll into town. Her arrival has never been so closely anticipated. My mom and stepdad had the usual, yearly argument on how to correctly position and set the table. My brother and his girlfriend interacted like an old married couple, the dogs worked up over all the visitors. Ahhh, to be home.

So, now on to the next holiday season. The season for which I am feeling anxious and unprepared. So much so, that Braveheart and Songbird actually set the tree up for me. They did a pretty good job, and I'm pretty picky about the tree. But, alas, I'm learning that as a working mom, I'm just going to have to let some things go. It's not really necessary that I bring out all the ornaments that they forgot. After all, Leo the cat would probably just bat them around anyway! Do I really need to bring out the rest of the decorations for the house for just a couple of weeks? For the first time, I just don't want the hassle. It feels overwhelming.

And as an extra emotional bonus, Braveheart turns 17 this month! How is it possible that she has gotten so big? Wasn't it just yesterday that she was playing dress up and tea party? Wasn't it just yesterday when she crawled up in my lap for a story and her artwork covered the refrigerator door? Now, she spends her time trying to convince me to let her work the night shift (ain't no way), driving all over town and planning out her future as a rockstar. I am excited for her, and at the same time, a little sad that she's not little anymore.

4 am now. Still wide awake...even Leo the cat has given up and curled up into a ball on the couch going to go and try to follow his example.

Pumpkin Pie!!!

T minus 4 days and counting till Turkey day!!! And, only T minus 1 1/2 days till we head to Grandma's house for the blessed occasion. Blessed occasion, indeed, all occasions that include pumpkin pie with Cool Whip, pecan pie, Grandma Rosie's rolls, and all the fixin's is high on my priority list right now. Maybe it's because since I started Weight Watchers my thoughts are obsessed with food.

I can hardly watch television without salivating over the commercials. Someone walked by me at work today with a bag of McDonald's fries and I nearly grabbed it out of their hands. Another group sent out for Starbucks! I was good, I didn't cave and actually it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. But, mostly because I'm telling myself, just look forward to the pumpkin pie. It better be good. You know how you can work up a thing in your mind to near perfection... at this point, I can settle for no less.

Don't get me wrong, I have no intention of undoing the work that's been done (8.8 lbs in one month), but I plan on enjoying every bite to the fullest. I can't undo the work, because that would mean I would actually break down and cry in front of a group of complete strangers and then I'd have to change meetings. Yes, there is an ample amount of vulnerability there. I'm feeling FRAGILE. There should be a sign on my forehead "Explosives: Handle with Care."

So, here's looking forward to the food and the family, the fun and the not-s0-fun, the same ol' and the brand new (New Moon). Hope you have a blessed Thanksgiving!

Blah

I knew it was coming, the Winter Blah. The Blah that you have to push through in order to get anything accomplished. The Blah that just lulls you into bed and a marathon of bad t.v. Yes, the Blah that seeps into your soul and robs you of any desire, joy or ambition. Oh, I hate winter.
I need sunshine! I need birds chirping and welcoming me into a great day outside. Instead, there is a drizzle out there, a cold damp that you can't quite shake. It's going to be a long season.

It's scary because it is at times like this when I think, "maybe, a vibrant shade of red on my hair would perk me up?" Or, "maybe a little shopping would help?" It's scary because this time of year puts me on the edge, the very edge. Where it doesn't take much to push me off into a bad haircut and sweats. I'm already teetering from the changes I've been forced to make over Weight Watchers. Last night I came home from work to a pan full of brownies WITH NUTS. Major temptation! I cut the smallest piece known to man. It tasted so good it scared me straight out of the kitchen. I can't go back in there. Obviously, chocolate is my crack.

Just how am I supposed to combat the Blah if chocolate is taken out of my arsenal?

Oh, Christmas Tree

I've been fighting it, but it's really on my mind. I know it's not even Thanksgiving yet, but Christmas is just pulling at me this year. I think that it jumpstarted when I pulled into the driveway of a very good friend expecting a typical week of bible study. Imagine my surprise to see Santa waving me in. That's right, she decorated her house and cooked a Christmas meal with all the trimmings as an early surprise. It worked. The whiskey soused turkey put it over the top!

So, all day today I fought the urge to drag out all the decorations from the attic and set them up early. I mean, after all, I'm not hosting Thanksgiving.... why not? And then the thought of the ol' Christmas tree came to mind. And all the trees of Christmas past. When we first bought our artificial tree I swore that it would always look good. I vowed not to smash it back into the box from which it came. Every year, I carefully pack it away and bag up the tree top to leave PLENTY of room. But, seriously, it hasn't helped. Last year, I noticed that it took an incredibly long time of fluffing and sprucing to fan out the branches appropriately. Yet, huge holes resembling the Charlie Brown tree were still there. I hung exceptionally large ornaments in the holes, trying to camouflage... Still, not great.

And, then a brilliant thought! Why not buy a new one? A smaller version. One that actually didn't require the removal of living room furniture to fit into the room (I swear it didn't look that big on the showroom floor). One that wouldn't take half a day to wrap in lights and that would only hold the best looking ornaments. Surely, I could just set one on a coffee table near the window. I mean seriously, gifts for teenagers come in very small electronic sized packages or money envelopes.... no more bikes or Tonka trucks to wrap. Why not evolve?

Yes, it is a brilliant idea, but why does it make me feel OLD? Like the Grandma that doesn't care enough to go all out anymore? I twinge of guilt struck. So, I asked Prince Lawn Gnome what he thought about getting a new tree, "maybe, a smaller one?" A look of complete betrayal, similar to the time when he found out Santa wasn't real came across his face. "We can't get a new tree! Not unless it's a REAL one."

A real one... I had not thought of a real one. We used to trudge out into the tree farm looking for the perfect tree, back before I realized that such adventures are detrimental to marriages. A real one? Not a bad, nostalgic idea... so maybe, just maybe we will venture out once again trying to appease five conflicting personalities all in the name of memories.

An Argument With Myself

Good Self: Let's make an apple pie to welcome fall. I have plenty of points left in the day!

Good Self: MMMM!!! Yummy

Two days later
Good Self: Why is no one else finishing off this pie? It sure was good. But, I'm not going to have any. No, I will be disciplined!

The next day
Bad Self: Oh, well just one more piece. I'll account for the points. It'll be worth it later.

Good Self (Later that day): Man, I'm low on points...must have been the pie. Not sure it was worth it.

Two days later:
Good Self Fighting with Bad Self: I'm going to have to throw the last two pieces of this pie away. What a waste (notice the frugality here). Well, I could eat one piece... only 8 points...

Bad Self: "It's only really like one piece left, I mean really, half the filling is falling out of the other one...I could just finish this off and there wouldn't be any waste."

Bad Self: Okay, mark down 8 points.

Good Self: Who are you kidding? That was a full piece and a half worth of pie at least and that is at least 12 points.

Bad Self: Oh, come on, you think? Really?

Good Self: If you can't be honest with me then it's never going to happen.

Later that day: Dang, negative 3 points for the day. Mental note don't eat any more pie till Thanksgiving.

Anyone else out there actually arguing and lying to yourself? Very revealing.

A Big A** Mess

It's rainy today and we all slept in, late, very, very late. Feeling guilty as other people's children were staying here as well, I decided to make a nice breakfast. Now, I don't like to cook, but breakfast now that's my specialty. Only problem was we were limited on clean dishes since we had run out of dishwasher detergent and dish soap two days ago. "No problem, I'll just use little plates and pull out some pots and pans we don't usually use."

Breakfast was good.

Still raining out and it felt like a good day for homemade soup. Homemade vegetable chili at only 3 points a bowl, without having to go to the grocery store for any ingredients... awesome! More dishes... not so awesome.

While trying to put the extra three individual servings of soup in the fridge, I realized that there was NO WAY they were going to fit. I admit it, I leave cleaning out the fridge for as long as humanly possible...and today was humanly possible. So, out with the old and outdated. Out with the disgusting and putrid, out with thirty-million Tupperware containers (that's where they all were), out with the crockpot, no kidding, the entire crockpot.

Sent hubby to the store for detergent, EMERGENCY!

One dishwasher full, three sink-loads of dishes, one full load of cookie sheets, and all the refrigerator drawers and guess what time it is.... 5:30. Yep, just in time to make dinner. Damn.

A Perfect Day

It's a perfect, beautiful day! Love 65 degrees and the most gorgeous fall leaves everywhere! Missouri really is beautiful in the fall. It makes me remember when I was a kid and I'd walk home from school crunching all the leaves in the gutters. Or, running and jumping into a huge pile of them.

I love fall for pulling out sweaters, football games and crisp air, apple cider, pumpkin pie and the richness of colors everywhere. This has always been my season!

Determination

Well, I've done it. I've faced the scale, the mirror and the horrifying reality that I am headed in the wrong direction. It's not new, just evident. When last year's fall wardrobe isn't looking like it did last year and last year wasn't all that, well, I can't lie to myself any longer. I have every excuse there is... too busy... working nights... too lazy... too convenient to pick up food... hate cooking... God doesn't care what size I am... too stressed... too emotional... etc...etc...

I guess what I'm sharing is that I'm tired of being the undisciplined sort. I'm determined to put caring for myself into my daily routine. It's been a bit of a wake-up call to think about my hubby's future mobility and my future ability to help take care of him, to enjoy life with him. Thinking about it, skating around the subject and downright ignoring it are not helping. It's time. Man, I feel like a statistic; it's depressing.

So, it is with a decent amount of determination and a wee bit of hope that I've started going to the doctor again (that's why I pay for health insurance right?), joined the dreaded Weight Watchers, and am actually forcing myself to take vitamin supplements. I'm even making an effort to actually do the exercises assigned by the chiropractor and plan to implement an exercise of some sort when released to do so. I feel like I'm in full blown mid-life now. That's the depressing part. When did I get this old?

Here's the part where I'm going to be brave... I'm putting it out there... anyone who knows me won't be shocked... I have a total of 94 pounds to lose to hit my ideal weight. (Seriously thinking about hitting the backspace button here.) That is more that Songbird's entire body! It's going to take at least a year, and that is if there are no setbacks, no moments of weakness that creep up on me and if I stay committed. But here's the thing, I don't think I'll make it if I just look at 5 or 10 pounds as a goal. I think I'll just stop there and give up. I think I have to tackle the entire enchilada, okay bad analogy. The whole wheat tortilla, filled with low fat chicken and low fat cheese, covered in a spicy (to still have taste) sauce! Ha!

Anyway, pray for consistency and determination please... this is no longer a want, it is a need.

Sugar or Splenda

It has been recently brought to my attention that I am blunt. I can't say that this news comes as a surprise, but seriously, I thought I was doing a much better job at tempering my comments. I cannot tell you how many times I mull over what I really want to say and try to cushion it in a response that is encouraging, and overall, well, sweetened up a bit. Maybe, all this agonizing over words isn't fooling anyone. Maybe, it's like the difference between sugar and Splenda. Splenda may parade around as actual sugar, be a derivative of sugar, and have "healthier" attributes, but let's face it, it ain't sugar!

Blunt? It sounds so offensive, why not honest, or forthright. Blunt can be a time saver, you know. Haven't we all had a friend that sucked the life blood right out of you with the one millionth version of the same ol' problem? You know the one, the one that made you start screening your phone calls (thank the Lord above for answering machines.) Anyone can spoonfeed Splenda and dance around the solution to the problem, hand-hold over the problem and then rehash the problem once again. I seriously just don't have the patience anymore.

I have a rule. No more high maintenance friends. Those that are still around have been grandfathered in by time and high school shenanigans, okay okay, they have too much dirt on me to be cut loose. They are the reason I can never run for political office. But all new friendships must be of the sugar variety. There really is no substitute for the real thing. I guess that means that, yes, by choice, I'm blunt.

My Kingdom

Ah, my kingdom, my kingdom for a margarita.

I Can Smell Dinner

I'm feeling accomplished today. Dinner in the crockpot, cookies cooling on the counter, homeschool finished for the day. Just waiting for Songbird's choir concert and then we will eat. Sounds very Betty Crocker doesn't it? Are you jealous? Does it sound like I have it all together? Well, it is true until you consider the following:

The kids hate crockpot dinners and probably won't like this one either. It has onions, which means Prince Lawn Gnome will pick at it until I can't stand looking anymore. He'll no doubt eat only the pieces of sausage and still be hungry at midnight.

It's a new recipe, which means that no one will like it, because those don't usually go well for me.

Homeschool may be finished for the kids, but not really for me. I have a mountain of grading to do and seriously, I don't want to. It's like I'm being punished for all those years that I only half paid attention to my teachers.

Songbird's choir concert. Yeah, well, I'm forcing her siblings to go. I've instructed them that they have to pay attention. They cannont under any circumstances eat from the vending machines as dinner will be waiting when we get home. I don't care if they think it's boring. I don't care if they don't feel like it. We're going as a family to support her despite the fact that she has a cold and probably won't perform very well anyway.

The Best Mother In Law

It's hard to watch any sitcom without the usual mother-in-law jokes. I laugh at them, but I don't identify with them at all. My mother-in-law is GREAT (and I'm not just sucking up). She raised a caring, responsible, loving son. She embraces her children and their spouses fully, warts and all. It is a joy to be around her, really.

One of my favorite things to do when we visit is to listen to her tell a story. She has a particular talent for weaving a story together over a kitchen table and a cup of coffee. It is a lost artform. You'll laugh, you'll cry and somehow you'll learn all about the people that you've lost contact with and feel that you haven't missed a beat. She can bring a disconnected world into the perspective of small town charm effortlessly.

But don't let the softy, grandma reputation fool you. Just under the surface is a ferocious tiger if her family is endangered or perhaps if she's playing cards. Cunning and sly served best with a smile, my favorite combination.

So, it is with great pleasure today that I wish this great mother-in-law of mine a "Happy Birthday!" I hope it is filled with as much grace, love and kindness as you. I love you dearly.

Restless

Lately, there has been a restlessness deep within that I cannot shake. I want to shake it free, I want to wrap it up neatly and put it back on a shelf, back to the dusty recesses of my heart and mind and leave it there. That is, after all, where it belongs. But, I can't. I can't seem to let it go. I can't stop thinking about my Dad.

Every few days I have this nagging feeling that I should call him, but I don't. Part of me knows that our relationship as father and daughter has run it's course. He knows it. I know it. Why pretend? It's too painful to pretend. And yet, I can't seem to let go. For so long I've wanted to just let by-gone's be by-gone's, to just move on, to be free from relational guilt so why is it so hard to let this relationship go? Why is it bothering me now? Why is this creeping up on me?

I know that as an adult, as a Christian that I should honor my father. I should be willing to take the first step, but the true heart of me knows I shouldn't be the one making the overtures.

Thinking back, I remember a picture from my childhood. I was around five years old. In the picture I have my arms around my Daddy's neck and I am squeezing him for all I'm worth. Because, when you're five and you want to show someone you love them you squeeze really, really hard because more is always better. That's the last time I remember feeling that way about him. And that's what I want to just put back on the shelf, that memory, that time, that part of our relationship that was genuine and real.

It's not like that now. I'm restless. I cry. I lose sleep. And why? Why am I doing this to myself? Why can't I just let it be?

Top Ten Reasons I May be Headed to the Looney Bin

10. The lack of cleanliness for which I am subjected on a daily basis. i.e. the band aid I found stuck to the couch cushion today (the top of the cushion, I was afraid to look underneath).

9. Homeschool and Algebra II... damn fractions I never got them the first time around.

8. The repeated visits to the chiropractor for which I always come home feeling worse.

7. What must be an unusually high volume of hair loss in the shower. Am I going bald?

6. The reality that my comfort eating is worse than ever (stress!!!!) but I have NO TIME to attend Weight Watchers and no money for a more convenient solution (liposuction).

5. All family members have outgrown their fall wardrobes simultaneously. My hubby for lack of smoking, me, well, we already discussed this, and each kid looks like they are waiting for the flood to arrive any day now.

4. Car repairs and the unknown $ amount they represent.

3. Flu season in the urgent care. I truly understand job stress now and why people play the lotto.

2. Did I mention the messiness of the house?

1. No me time!

Back by Popular Demand

Okay, okay I hear you. Remember when I said I was an undisciplined sort? Well, this last month off from blogging proves it. I went on vacation, accepted a promotion (sold my soul to the devil) and it all went downhill from there. Now, I catch myself wanting to blog, but usually that is when I'm at work and since I'm trying to be "a good example" I must refrain. Then I get home, and well, if you saw my home, then you'd understand.

I've caught myself frequently daydreaming of the Bahamas and the life of luxury I left there. No servants came home with me, no constant buffet of food (that I didn't prepare), no swimming pool with a pineapple umbrella drink waiting for me. No alone time with my hubby.

Now we're back to the usual. The usual strewn laundry from one teenager's bedroom to the other. The usual strewn dishes from kitchen to T.V. to basement to the depths of Prince Lawn Gnome's lair. Back to the usual ringing cell phone, barking dogs, stress of homeschool and work. Is it too soon to take another vacation?

Yes, I miss the teal water. I miss the perfect breeze from the beach. I miss gazing at the stars from the ship's deck. I miss having a romantic dinner with my hubby every night. I miss the peace. I miss the quiet. Now, I know why the lady that's been on 81 cruises has returned so many times. It's Post Vacation Stress Disorder!

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

I'm awake. I'm awake and I'm not happy about it. Only those that work nights can truly understand how possessive I've become about my sleep. Only today, there won't be any rest for the weary all because of an itsy, bitsy spider. Somewhere, somehow without my knowledge a spider bit me. I don't think I've been bit by a spider since I was a kid. But, now after throbbing pain, fire like pain to the touch, radiating heat and knot like feel... I'm worried. Worried that the itsy, bitsy spider in question may be of the Brown Recluse variety. So, I'm going to the doctor and you know I think it's important if I'm a)losing sleep over this and b) going to see the doctor who has the bed side manner of a pet rock.

Do you have any idea how incredibly pissed I'm going to be if this disrupts my vacation? If I'm unable to get into the water or swim with the dolphins? Do you know how incredibly pissed I'm going to be if I have to have any part of my abdomen cut into and it isn't because of a tummy tuck?

Sorry, I get a little cranky when I'm tired.

Say a little prayer for me in hopes that this will all stay under control.

Rest and Reflection

Today my bible study was on rest. How to run a good race with appropriate physical and spiritual rest throughout the journey. It was enlightening. So many times when I think I'm resting, I'm really just being lazy. Or even if I'm truly resting, I'm feeling guilty for doing so.

This particular topic is calling out to me like an ambulance with a big red shining light on top. We need to rest. As a family, as a couple, as individuals we have been running a race to tend to the urgent. Our time is spent running from one activity or project to another. Funny how the projects never end. There is never a day when every one's needs are met and all are content.

I think all these reasons are why my hubby is soooo happy that he and I are taking a vacation to celebrate our anniversary. Yes, the Oceangypsymom is returning to the ocean! We are taking our first cruise. Now, I'm excited, but before I can officially relax, there are a lot of details to attend to. My hubby on the other hand, is excited now. Everyday, he counts down the time till departure. Everyday, he finds another element of the trip to check into. I don't think I realized how fast he has been running his race until now. I think all this excitement is a direct result over having run a particularly long and energy-draining time. He's in the home stretch and rest is just around the corner. Oh, Lord, I pray there is not a hurricane!

Working Through the Boring

So, after so many posts, I've been, well, bored with myself. Bored with blogging about my life, and seriously considering if this whole venture has run it's course. But, then, well, I decided that it is probably part of the process. I'm sure this is what the whole "writer's block" is about. And, wouldn't you know that life would offer up a little drama.

Within the last forty-eight hours I've experienced:

1. God's provision. The Cavalier was making a weird grinding sound. No doubt, Braveheart hasn't noticed as she has been all over town with the radio BLASTING. Anyway, just as I was making a mental note to tell the hubby about the sound, the car died. It literally died, and God's provision, it died just as I pulled into the driveway!

2. New job stress is here. Yes, this job is real now. My first month to do the schedule and there are seven vacation shifts to fill and one coworker has decided to retire... in two weeks. So, now that puts it at 15 shifts to fill for September.

3. The overhearing of a very disturbing conversation that involves a tampon. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say that even I, as a woman, am fairly grossed-out.

4. And, just so I don't get too high-and-mighty, I just noticed that a button on my blouse was unfortunately undone. Undone and revealing a peek-a-boo game with my post three babies, stretch-marks are natural stomach, I can only hope no one else noticed! So, maybe, just maybe, boring is over and life is back in full swing.

Open Your Eyes!

I've often heard news stories about women that were repeatedly abused by their husbands. I often wondered why they would subject themselves over and over to that kind of treatment. I find it hard to wrap my brain around it. But, then I met a VERY special lady. She is a saint on Earth. Her marriage is hard, very hard. Her husband a control freak. Over the years, I've seen him isolate her more and more. I've listened to her complain about how he controls and manipulates her by controlling all the money. I've listened to her. I've prayed with and for her. I've prayed for him. And still, no answers, no improvement.

They have bright, sensitive and all around wonderful children, but they can't help but be warped by this type of situation. I wonder what kind of marriages they themselves might have one day. I wonder if they will try to intervene when they feel that they are big enough. Will they try to defend their mother and be caught in the crossfire?

My heart aches for this friend. I've been downright in her face, "this is not normal" and "this is not safe." She's not listening. She is rationalizing. She rationalizes every action and reaction. I want to help her, but I don't want to send her husband over the deep end, and as a consequence, isolate her more. I don't want to turn on the news and see their story. How can you help someone that won't open her eyes and see the situation for what it really is? She is too close to see the forest from the trees.

There are no easy answers to this, I know, but I am looking for any advice as to how to actually help without making things worse for her. I feel paralyzed and the waiting for her to do something, anything is excruciating.

I Found Something!!

I've known my hubby for nearly 19 years now. When we first met, we had lots to talk about, lots to learn about one another and lots of plans to put in place. As is typical, over the years we have learned all one another's stories, idiosyncrasies, and such. We've tried to find hobbies over the years that we BOTH would enjoy to no avail. I'm not much into bowling or golf, he's not much into trips to Barnes N Noble for overpriced coffee and the smell of new books.

The children have filled in the void nicely. At first, they gave us lots of joy and laughter and then heartache and gray hair. (Typical, I know.) But, now they too are getting older and we're not as enamored with them anymore. The reality of them eventually moving out is becoming more and more real. I actually packed four "Kick Out" boxes of dishes the other day.

So, it has come to our attention that we need to find an activity that we enjoy together. Prospects were looking grim and then tonight we sat down side by side with our new-to-us laptops and spent some "quality" time together. True, he is a little aggravated by my obvious lack of computer know how, (I think I heard a growl), but as I see it, this is his chance to teach me something I don't already know. And, I promise to be a good student! No back talk! So, I think I might have found something, at least for now.

It's Not for the Faint at Heart

Today has been a thought provoking day. It all started when for the one-millionth time I rubbed/snagged my dry, crackling heel across my bed spread. I've tried to do the home pedicure in an attempt to be fiscally responsible, but in the end, it's not the same. I'd had it. I was going in for professional help. On the way there, I decided to treat Songbird to a pedicure as well because she thoroughly enjoys them. Then my thought process went further and I decided to also treat Prince Lawn Gnome to one as well. After all, the feet of a 15 year old boy can definitely use a little primping.

So, here we are, all seated in the massage chairs, soaking. We soaked and soaked and waited and waited, "oh, yes, it's Friday, I should know better than to just walk in," I tell myself. Finally, it was our time and that's when it hit, the guilt. I always feel completely guilty for these foreign women that speak with a heavy accent I can barely make out. They sit on these tiny stools in a position that would cripple me for life. I can't help but apologize, "I'm sorry. I know. I know, they're bad. I'm sorry." The woman just smiles a smile that means "I pity you" in any language. Then she comments on my feet to her friend. The friend looks, and comments back. More smiles. "Yes, yes, I know," I find myself saying, but really, I don't know. What the heck is she saying?

I'm sure I don't want to know. It's one thing to feel bad that someone else is scraping and sloughing because I'm too inept to do them myself. It's another thing to hear about it. All in all, I'm glad I couldn't make it out. Three pedicures... $70. Tip+guilt an additional $18. Smooth heels, and knowledge that Prince Lawn Gnomes feet have been cleaned at least once this season, priceless.

Happy 100!!!!!

Believe it or not, this is my 100th post!!!! I think that should qualify me as an official blogger now. It's hard to believe that I've had 100 thoughts on anything... or at least 100 such random thoughts.

Thought for the day... I'm getting old.

I've spent a better part of the day thinking about fun and exciting games for the youth group this fall and I've decided that if it weren't for the Internet I'd be in BIG TIME trouble. Because, for the most part, it's not in my nature do such crazy, messy, disgusting games. The mom in me wants to worry about the ruined/stained clothing and all the cleanup each game requires. It's not cool to think about those things. It makes me old.

Cool/young people probably don't use the word cool anymore.
Young people recognize the musicians on MTV.
Young people have seen more than two movies in a theatre this year.
Young people don't have to pray before they start their cars, they drive convertibles.
Young people don't watch the news and wonder what the world has come to.

So, basically, what I'm trying to say is... I'm preparing to fake it. I'm preparing to fake that I have a tiny bit of fun left in me, that I have an once of an idea of what is going on in the world that young people care about, and you know what, it scares me to death. It scares me because all the youth I know can spot a fake a million miles away.

I am reminded of the saying, fake it till you make it. Not so sure that will work, but am running with it for now. I can use any advice out there I can get as the fountain of youth has been elusive.

Times Are A Changin'

The new school year is approaching with warp-like speed. All the children are winding down with all their vacation plans and all their camps for the summer. The school supply lists are out and the physical appointments are made. I find myself wondering where summer has gone to. It feels like it just began, and yet, here I am smack dab in the middle of planning out our fall.

My job has taken a turn for the better, and as it turns out, its turning into a career after all. Which means that I will have to return to school myself. So between, two homeschoolers and one in public school, and myself, our lives will revolve around schoolwork for a while. Will it even be possible to keep it all straight? I'm starting to question my sanity.

To top all this stress off, I am convinced that I need a chef, a maid and a gardener. Anyone out there willing to work for gratitude alone?

These Are the Days of the Dentist

Once upon a time there was a happy hubby that was not so happy anymore. He was suffering from horrible tooth pain. The oceangypsymom was at her wits end with the hubby due to his constant complaining. Unfortunately, her hubby suffers from the ridiculous concept that the dentist is not for routine maintenance. He believes that they wait by the phone and for him to have an emergency so that they can be ready, willing and able to assist. Oceangypsymom was feeling put out because she needed to call all over town to find a dentist that would see her hubby STAT.

God was smiling down upon oceangypsymom and her hubby and provided just such an appointment! This office was helpful, cheerful, and in a nutshell, all that the oceangypsy family could ask for in a dentist. Regular appointments were scheduled and kept! Indeed, this particular dentist and his assistants were becoming part of our regular and daily lives.

For those of you that may have forgotten, oceangypsymom hates going to the dentist. However, this office is good with the nitrous so she sucks it up (literally) and gets through. The assistants are always kind and ALWAYS ask about the hubby.

About a month ago the hubby blew off a dentist appointment for which oceangypsymom caught flack (hell) from the assistants about. When asked if she would like to reschedule for him, oceangypsymom replied, "you will have to ask him about rescheduling, here is his cell #". The conversation seemed of little consequence and was soon forgotten, until.... the hubby actually goes to the dentist and is asked by all the caring (nosy) assistants if he and his wife are still together. He answers yes, and laughs it off.

The next appointment was for oceangypsymom who is also asked if her and the hubby are still together. Nosy! Nosy! Nosy! Now I'm a little upset that anyone would even think that we weren't together anymore and make a vow to choose my words more carefully in the future lest anyone get the wrong idea.

Fast forward, hubby goes in for a followup appointment. Now the assistants, each and every one of them, make a point to come by his room and "check" on him to see how he's doing. The hubby, not accustomed to such volumes of unabashed flirting, comes home smiling from ear to ear.

Now, ladies, I ask you... are these women after my man? Because, it seems to me that they are in the business of making our business their business if you know what I mean. I don't think these assistants are the least bit concerned for the health of our marriage. I think they're like vultures circling the area hunting for easy prey. And if so, what should oceangypsymom do about such flirtation? Should she a) kick the office to the curb and take her business elsewhere
b) take it as a compliment and leave it at that or c) cause a scene?

Who Is This Crabby Woman?

I'd like to say that it was lack of sleep or the impending illness I feel coming on, but truthfully, it's more than likely not that. I'd like to say that it's not me, but my hubby would roll his eyes and laugh at that one. I don't know when it's coming on. I can't seem to control it. Before I know it, I open my mouth and out comes EXACTLY what I really think. No filter.

Today, it was the poor server at my friendly neighborhood Applebees. I ordered a bowl of french onion soup for my sore throat. What I was served was a soggy crouton and the smallest ration of broth that I'm sure would rival concentration camp cuisine. Oh, and it came with a plastic spoon! The plastic spoon that when put into the bowl was not even covered with broth. Pitiful, really.

The next thing I remember is the horrified look on the server's face when I explained to him in DETAIL that such a pittance of soup was NOT what I had ordered. I had ordered a BOWL of soup and this surely was NOT representative of a BOWL of soup. I went so far as to suggest that he bring this egregious error to his kitchen manager's attention so that he could remedy the problem. Picture a deer in the head lights and you know what my server looked like. Picture a look of slight amusement and "you're not married to her" eyes and you know what my hubby looked like.

Our server brought out two new "bowls" of soup. I use the term "bowls" loosely as they were exact replicas of the aforementioned problem. I couldn't help but complain about the price soggy croutons paraded around as soup cost these days. And that's when I felt old. I was ready to go to the mat over the price of a "bowl" of soup. Who is this woman that I've become? I'm beginning to feel like Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes, "TOWANDA!!"

Mama Bird and Baby Bird

Some children come with an extra dose of imagination. They live in their own little worlds full of imaginary friends and wonders. To the untrained eye, these highly intelligent children may seem a little "off", especially if engaged in an argument of some sort with them self. But, to the parent in the know, these children often hold special places in our hearts. Not only can they entertain themselves for hours on end, but once in awhile they let you into their little world. My youngest, Songbird, is such a child.

Yes, I've been known to set an extra place at the table for the imaginary friend. For a full year, I watched every step in the yard as not to accidentally step on "sticky" and wreck his house. But, my favorite was momma bird and baby bird.

Songbird would come snuggle up to me in my bed and gather the blankets around her in an attempt to build a nest. She would then cheep, cheep like a baby bird. As the momma bird, I would wiggle my finger in her direction as if it were a worm and she would pretend slurp it down. This would continue until I tired of the game and then told her it was time for the baby bird to learn to fly. She would protest and not want to leave my bed. Inevitably, the momma bird would have to kick the baby bird out of the nest in an attempt to get on with the day.

Songbird is twelve now and it's been a long time since we've played momma bird and baby bird. But today, I was reminded of this, oh so, telling game. Today, Songbird flew on a plane for the first time, by herself. Today, Songbird faced her fear of flying and boarded a plane to the busiest airport in the continental United States... alone. Part of me just wanted to shelter her and keep her home and walk right out of that airport! But, taking a lesson from the momma bird, I knew that she HAD to face this fear. She needed to spread her little wings and learn what is out there past the neighborhood nests.

I used to feel sorry for the baby birds, now I feel sorry for the momma birds, they need just as much courage.

Back to the Grindstone

Back from vacation and I'm exhausted. I need a vacation from my vacation. The fireworks tent was a great success and I'm very thankful that it is all said and done for another year. I thought I'd never get the gunpowder residue off me. Braveheart is unfortunately sporting a souvenir from the season. She has a burn on her arm from an artillery shell that fell over. She IS brave indeed. She has never even shed a tear! (For all Grandma's reading this entry... she is fine, really. We are taking good care of her.)

My stepdad, came up for the week to help with the tent. He was great and is running circles around me. Now that he's had his heart attack and new stints put in, he is so full of energy I can hardly believe it. He never stopped for a minute. On top of helping at the tent, he made five or six batches of homemade ice cream, fixed my dryer, did all the laundry (think mountainous), cleaned out the furnace filter, took out the trash, ran errands, etc... I may start referring to him as the Energizer Bunny.

My mom joined us after all the fireworks fun (she's no dummy). To her credit, she did not drive me crazy with advice or guilt over Braveheart's arm. Instead, she accompanied us to the doctor's office where we were held hostage in the waiting room for 45 minutes watching Michael Jackson's funeral. I have never seen a more glorified and celebrated pedophile in my life. Sorry MJ fans, but it's a sad day in America when we gloss over the truth and concentrate only on the image and the music; proof that we really are going to hell in a hand basket.

Now, I'm back to the grindstone. Back to work, back to trying to figure out all the home school stuff, back to running kids all over the place and did I mention that I need a vacation from my vacation?

It's that time again

This blog has been temporarily interrupted for fireworks season. Will post after July 5th.

Have a Happy and Safe 4th of July!

Ha Ha

Remember when you were a pre-teen and just really noticing boys? Remember the one that was oh, so fine and in high school. It didn't matter that he was "older" because that probably meant that he was more "mature". He drove and in your mind's eye you could picture yourself sitting shotgun with the wind blowing through your hair. He would reach for the radio the same time as you and just so gently, his hand would touch yours. He was the one that stopped time. His mere glance in your direction was hard proof that someday he'd be interested in you.

In my life this oh, so hot guy was Sean. Our families hung out together and by default we sort of hung out together too. Actually, he hung out with his much older friends and I tried desperately not to fall into the "little kid" crowd. I was much too self confident to fall to pieces when he would bring a girlfriend around. I knew that someday he'd see me. One day, I'd be his girlfriend and this current floozy, a distant memory.

One day Sean's mom was cleaning out his closet. She nearly threw out his John Elway jersey! Thankfully, I rescued the jersey from destruction and wore it as a pajama shirt for years. Yes, it was a way to FEEL closer to this near perfect man. Unfortunately, wearing his jersey was the closest I ever came to Sean. Despite my young, pre-teen heart full of hope, my love for Sean was unrequited.

Imagine my surprise when his name came up at a dinner party the other night, 23 years later! I had nearly forgotten him! Allowing for my cousins to make MAJOR fun of me, I admitted to my long time crush. "Oh, he still lives at home," my cousin remarks, "in the basement."

It's hard not to just say "Ha!" You missed out Sean, you missed your chance. And, thank the Lord for unanswered prayers!

My Hero

If you stay married long enough, you begin to reveal things about yourself to your spouse that you NEVER thought you'd share with another human being. It starts out small. Maybe a little gas or belch. Then it's "honey, while you're out, can you pick up some pads?" Childbirth, need I say more? Oh, and one of my personal favorites, snoring. With each passing year the layers peel away, little by little and if they don't completely horrify you then they bring you closer. When you've revealed the worst and are still loved... it's a good feeling.

Getting older is adding a whole new dimension to this phenomenon. We are truly mere shadows of those strangers that stood up and said "I do" 17 years ago. In many respects it's a good thing. They were shallow and very selfish. I'd like to think that we've grown since then.

This week I experienced a new, personal low. I fainted while in line for a roller coaster. Now, I can deal with the whole fainting part. I can use every excuse in the book. It was hot. I'm out of shape and there are three flights of stairs, blah, blah, blah. I can accept that, but what is sticking in my craw is the look on my husband's face when I came to. It was a look that I've never seen before and I know all his looks, or at least, I thought I did.

You see, I remember thinking as I was waiting in line that after this ride, I was going to have to find the nearest bathroom.... and that's when the lights went out, game over, woman down, bladder relieved. That's right, I peed. Thankfully, my darling hubby, my hero, caught me. Later, he said that he was trying to shield me from the crowd. But what I couldn't quite make out, and maybe I don't really want to know the answer, is was he trying to shield me from the crowd to hide my embarrassment or his? That look on his face. It was unreadable.

Now, he spent the rest of the day taking care of me. Fetching me water and being completely attentive, just like when we were dating. Hmmm... note to self. Just kidding. Anyway, I WANT to believe the best in him. I WANT to believe that he was only thinking of me and being noble. But, really, what if he was just going through the motions, because that's what husbands are supposed to do. What if really, deep down, he's disgusted? Who could blame him? It's not like you ever plan on having a day like that.

For now, I'm content to refer to him as my hero and leave it at that, and hopefully, it stays that way.

What?

It's painful, downright painful. It makes me want to scream out to God, "Are you freakin' kidding me?" I married young, had kids right away and basically spent my youth living for everyone else. So, here I am, smack dab in the middle of middle age, trying hard just to survive through the teenage years with the kids. I'm fighting the good fight, trying to grow and nurture a nearly 20 year relationship with my hubby. I'm working in a job and not a career because turning a job into a career is very time consuming and time is at a premium right now. So, it is (in my humble opinion) a cruel twist of fate that I am thrust forward into this new phase.

I knew that there was SOMETHING going on with me, but frankly, I was chalking it up to simply going off the deep end. Something a few bottles of wine, a weekend away with my girlfriends and a little chocolate could cure. But then it happened, and then, it happened again and again and again. I started dying of heat in the middle of the night. I caught myself burning up while the AC was only on 64 degrees. That was an ah-ha moment of my own. Still in denial, I asked my hubby if I felt feverish. But after several weeks, the mysterious fever that came and went in the middle of the night was not making sense. So, I braved it. I braved the Internet and that oh so charming website that can scare the crap out of you, WebMD.

My WebMD diagnosis.... perimenopause. I'm 36 freakin' years old people! Am I not entitled to a few good years before all this crap starts? Perimenopausal? It's kinda hard to deny when you have 10 out of 11 symptoms on the freakin' chart. 10 out of 11! I can't do anything halfway.

Here's my favorite part of this web info and I quote, "Menopause is a natural part of growing older. You don't need treatment for it unless your symptoms bother you." Bother me? Right now, EVERYTHING bothers me. I'm having a flashback to when I was 12 years old and mom was telling me not to be worried about getting my period. That it was "natural". She sold me a bill of goods then and this is strangely like deja-vu.

Oh, yeah, another favorite tidbit of advice, "Limit caffeine, alcohol and stress." SURE, I'LL GET RIGHT ON THAT. Did I mention that I'm only 36 years old? Now, I really have to make that OBGYN appointment that I meant to keep a few years back. Let me get out my red pen and put a big circle on that day. I'd frankly rather have a root canal.

I'm sorry. This blog might just turn into some aches and pains, put me out of my misery type of blog. I'll try to keep it under control. I don't want to be THAT woman. Shoot me if I turn into THAT woman! So, in the interest of sanity and all that is holy, I am open to advice. Pour it on people, I'm clearly behind the eight ball here.

Okay, So I Lied

I would like to think that for the most part I am a pretty honest person. I learned my lesson as a kid. I would spin lie after lie and then really have trouble keeping track of all of them. Every so often I'd be subjected to a family meeting in which I'd be asked about all the lies I had perpetrated upon my family. I hated those meetings, because my clever stepdad never really revealed just how much he already knew. I had to be very careful not to rat myself out further.

Eventually, I figured out that it just wasn't worth the effort. The energy it takes to live the lie is exhausting and never pans out anyway. Truly, having led such a checkered childhood has had its advantages. For instance, I can spot a lie coming out of a child's mouth a mile away. Yes, this is one of my best super power mommy skills.

So, it actually came as a surprise to myself, when I heard the lies coming directly from my own lips. I didn't think about it before hand, I didn't mull over the best lie to tell, it just popped out all natural like (maybe a leopard can never really can change its spots). It was a small, white lie, but still. My dental hygienist surprised me, "how many times a week do you floss?" What kind of loaded question is that? It reminded me of when the lady at the drivers lisence bureau asked me how much I weighed. Seriously, these questions are of a personal nature.

The thing is, I hate going to the dentist. When you have had perpetually bad teeth your whole life, and every time you go you're made to feel like a criminal and then charged $600 for the lovely experience, well then, a few white lies here and there just make the whole thing tolerable. Ummmhh... "four times a week" (Obviously lying here). And, now, I'm thinking four times a week! I'm really going to have to actually step up the whole flossing routine or I'm definitely getting caught in this lie. Basically, I'm a 36 year old, fairly well adjusted, woman that turns into a lilly livered, coward whenever it comes to issues that have to do with taking care of myself. Don't ask me about my weight either!

So, I lied... sue me.

I Have a Dream Too

In fifth grade, Mrs. Falling proclaimed that one day oceangypsy would be a writer. It made me blush, but I was proud. I was proud that someone thought I could do it and a writer seemed a noble thing to be.

In twelfth grade, I overheard Mr. Pendergast saying, "oceangypsy has all the makings of a really good writer." It was one of my best days.

That was eighteen years ago and dare I say that I still have a dream. I recently started a novel and the process is exhaustive. My plot plays out like a movie in my mind, but the written word takes so much longer to actually articulate. Maybe, it is the fact that I've taken an extended break from this craft. I find myself fumbling for words and they seem too simple, but I guess that's how I think.

And then, I consider a murder plot, but need to know how to make it convincing. Only, I chicken out on Googling any plausible ideas on the off chance someone in my life might come up shall we say, expired. I cannot have the evidence of researching a crime right there on my computer! Prison may offer a continental breakfast but I'm not quite ready for that country club just yet.

This process feels like being pregnant. I can't stop thinking about the "baby", but it exhausts me. I want the "baby" but am not sure if the whole labor thing is gonna work out.

The Lazy Days of Summer

This is my favorite time of year. Eighty+ degrees, soft breeze, lush green lawns, neighborhood kids playing ball, BBQ on the back patio with a side of cucumber and onions, and watermelon, yes, I love summer. I love the calming effect of watching fireflies. I love chatting with the neighbors over coffee on the front porch. I love gazing at a clear sky full of stars just after dark. Summer nights in the Midwest are magical.

Summers in the oceangypsy house mean gardening, swimming, camp, bonfires, fantastic grilling, and fireworks! Yes, the countdown to fireworks season has begun, only 22 days till delivery. Running the fireworks tent is one thing we all enjoy. There's nothing like it. Grandpa comes to help for the week and that means homemade ice cream!

And, so it is with deep, heartfelt sadness that I spend this terrific summer evening at work, bored to tears (apparently everyone is enjoying the outdoors). I am sitting here reminding myself of all the reasons I come to work: hubby transitioning into new career, bills, bills and more bills, electricity, water, food, healthcare, gas, clothing and generally not being lazy. I know I just need to be thankful for my job right now, but, please God, can one of these perfect summer nights land on a day off?

A Whole New World.....

It's been 36 years. For 36 years I've lived with a smoker. My dad smoked, my stepdad smoked and my hubby smoked. It's been over a month and my hubby is doing great. Dare I say it? I think he's quit, officially quit. And now, it's the little things that we're noticing, like no ashes to dust off the end table. No ash trays need emptying. Today, I washed my curtains and guess what, they won't smell like smoke in a week! The car window isn't always cracked open (which was highly offensive after a night of rain). The next time I travel and open my suitcase, the smoke smell won't knock me on my butt!
But, by a long shot, the very best side effect to my hubby not smoking is the fact that we can actually go places on time! We no longer have to make the last minute run to the gas station for cigarettes and coffee. QuikTrip will definitely see a decline in their profits.
Even my hubby has noticed lifestyle changes. He is trying to figure out how to decompress after being anxious or angry. He no longer has the two minute smoking ritual to calm down. And, he actually commented on how bad his car smelled! I cannot believe it. Finally. He finally knows what I've been putting up with. It really is a whole new world.

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

I've been a tee ball mom, a softball mom, a baseball mom, a soccer mom, a karate mom, a basketball mom, a golf mom, football mom and now a volleyball mom. I hadn't realized the depth of my resume until just now, but I do believe that it uniquely qualifies me to comment with authority when it comes to the wide world of children's sports.

I also live in a small town that takes it's sporting teams seriously, very seriously. You don't have to look far to find the over-involved, overly opinionated parent. They're everywhere. Coaches must come with a thick skin as a prerequisite and a membership to the good ol' boys club. Having said all that, I would like to state a few observations that I've made over Songbird's volleyball season:

1. Girls just wanna have fun. They high five one another after EVERY point. Win the point, lose the point, you MUST high five. Boys don't do that.

2. Even the tiniest, scrawniest, chicken-legged little girls can wallop an overhand serve.

3. Volleyball (at least in the beginning levels) can be a level playing field for the athletically inclined as well as the couch potato inclined.

4. The team name and team cheer are VERY important followed by more high fives.

5. Time out is for tying shoes and fixing pony tails. Boys don't do this either, they stratigize and hunt for the first aid kit.

6. Sacrificing the body for a point is optional, but elicits a huge round of applause from the audience.

7. Beauty queen and Marla Hooch look alikes are treated with the same enthusiasm, love, appreciation, tenderness and high fives! (Adult women could learn a lot from these girls.)

I am loving this season!

Mum's the Word

I know it's been a week since my last entry. Sorry. I've been purposefully keeping my mouth shut. When I was a kid, a friend once told me, "never mail a letter until three days after you've written it." That was pretty good advice and so I decided that I could not be trusted to blog without regret this week. You see, every three or four years my hubby and I have a knock-down drag out over our schedules, the kids, our relationship, money, etc... Basically everything. It's never pretty, but always productive. This was the week.



I am proud to report that we have called a truce and decided that, yes, we are willing to still fight the good fight side by side. He's a pretty good guy and I think I'll keep him.

If I Only Had A Brain

I am dragging. There will be no witty post today as my brain is on autopilot. I'm physically, emotionally and spiritually tired. It's the overworked, under rested, too much housework, too many bills to pay, friendships that need tending, laundry that needs washing, garden that needs tending, children that need mothering thing. I know you know what I mean.

It's just for a season. It won't last forever. I'm lowering my standards as not to beat myself up and generally just doing the best that I can. Still, I would trade places with Rip Van Winkle in a New York minute. Was he the one that slept 100 years? Can't really remember right now... perfect example of minimal brain activity. Remember when Winnie the Pooh was called a bear of very little brain? I resemble that remark.

It's Mutiny I Tell You

I originally only joined Facebook to keep tabs on my children. Good thing I did. I've had one child that put out a picture of his knee that looked suspiciously like a butt crack and yesterday another child that posted she "got a cat today."

Apparently, while I was at work she went to a garage sale and purchased a kitten for the bargain basement price of $5.00. Now, Braveheart is 16 and she did drive to the garage sale, but she does not look 16 by any means. I ask you, what kind of person lets a child buy a kitten without an adult present? And what kind of kid purchases a kitten without permission from her parents... Ahhhem... one just like me. Yes, I did the same thing when I was 17 to my dad. I even moved out of state and left him with the cat come to think of it.

Which puts me in a quandry because the last thing I ever wanted to do again was smell another litter box. I'm a dog person now. Poor Rascal and Rufus they just looked through the sliding glass window all pitiful like with an expression that read, "don't you love us anymore?"

As much as I am upset with Braveheart, I am equally upset with my hubby. This is the man that in the past NEVER wanted cats. He has always been the heavy in these kinds of situations. I thought I could count on him, then I saw him with the kitten. "Isn't he cute? How can you say no to those blue eyes?" I'm like: "who are you and what have you done to my husband?" I knew it. I knew right then and there that there was no point in arguing or trying to assert any objections. I was too late. The cuteness factor had taken over. Then I witnessed a truly amazing sight, one that I'm positive marks a new chapter in our lives together. I actually saw and heard my hubby "baby talk" to the kitten. He's smitten. I had a glimpse of what he will be like with grandchildren someday. Mr. Jello, Mr. No Spine, Mr. Stay Puff Marshmallow Softy, yes, that will be him, the fun one. And, you know who that leaves me to be... the heavy, the disciplinarian, the no-fun Grandma. It's mutiny, down right mutiny!

The Mini Fridge

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, yes, I definately believe that when it comes to my son. Prince Lawn Gnome has always cared deeply about food. He was born picky. At two, I discovered that time-out and taking toys away was completely ineffective where he was concerned. He didn't care about anything but the food. And, you can't take away food! I tried to send him to bed without dinner once and I think it really did hurt me more.

As a growing teenage boy, Prince Lawn Gnome, along with his friends strongly resemble locusts. They travel around from neighborhood house to neighborhood house devouring everything in sight. No frozen pizza is safe.

So, it came as no surprise when Prince Lawn Gnome spent his birthday money on a mini fridge. He stocked it to the hilt, buying more pop than any teenager should be allowed to buy. The mini fridge quickly became a status symbol among his peers. I was seriously concerned. Not just about the possible caffeine intake but about the pyramid of pop cans growing in his room. I was not cleaning a second fridge!

Fast forward three months.... City Wide Garage Sale Day. Prince Lawn Gnome is strapped for cash. He sold the mini fridge for $25! I happen to know he paid $80. That is one fast deprectiation. I CANNOT understand for the life of me why he would sell the fridge. One day he loves the fridge... the next day he wants cash... no matter how stupid the deal. When, oh, when will he look more than 10 minutes into the future?

I didn't advise him. I didn't say a word, even though I am screaming about it on the inside. I'm trying to let him learn from natural consequences, but it's excruciating to watch.

An Intimate Conversation

Today I braved the Intimates department at Kohl's, during a sale. My loving family had purchased a gift certificate for me for Mother's Day. Hubby explained later that it was for replacement of "grandma" bras only. Confession time: yes, the bras were definitely "grandma" as I hate shopping for them and put it off as long as humanly possible. I've been known to rip out a piece of underwire in a bathroom stall due to puncture torture (way more effective than waterboarding by the way), only to wear said bra in the future... for an undetermined length of time. I'm ashamed to admit it. Victoria's Secret is a long ago faded memory. Now it's more like Victor Victoria, well, maybe not all that bad. Okay, yes, yes it is.

So, with a swallowing of pride I forged ahead. I searched and searched for fit, for comfort, for sexy, for utilitarian, support, separate and supported, and everything in between. After submitting to the almighty dressing room mirror of horrors, I made a startling discovery. Now, you must remember that I had lost one size last summer after hours and hours of slave-like labor in the garden, and apparently part of that weight was in cup size. I'm okay with that. I can live with a one cup size reduction. It's not that. It's the fact that it emphasizes all my boobs have gone through. Breastfeeding has turned that which was previously perky to small grapefruit in pantyhose likeness. And one hard to please child, who shall remain nameless, played favorites leaving me permanently lopsided, not by a lot, but enough that the mirror of horrors saw it, in plain sight. Anyone know of a store that sells separate cup sizes in one bra? It was depressing!

Nearly as depressing as the fact that every cute design, sexy or desirable style stopped short one size before my size. Seriously, people the full figured would like to appear somewhat more attractive than an old Sears catalog model. Sexy was out... utilitarian was in. I had no choice but to resign to the fact.

Trying to lift my spirits, I ventured over to the Clearance sale items. I needed pants for work. After waiting, actually waiting in line for a dressing room, I tried on a million pants. Again, I was subjecting myself to the mirror of horrors and once again it revealed an ugly little secret. All the pants were too long. I have shrunk! Literally shrunk! I made myself try on a petite pair just for verification... it fit. Damn, I've shrunk. What the hell?

I am a lopsided, deflated, short and now depressed woman. And, my hubby wonders why I hate shopping.

Membership Has Its Privledges

Welcome to the I've Become My Parent Club...

Membership is available to all who have children and have recently been known to utter any one of the following phrases:

"Just wait till your father gets home."
"If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right."
"Is it a want or a need?"
"Less talk, more eat."
"Don't you know there are children starving in _______ (insert country of choice)"
"I don't care if Sally Jo's parents let her do it. Sally Jo is not my child."
"Nothing good happens after 11 PM anyway."

All members receive a complimentary prescription for Valium once your children reach 13 years of age. Members may bring special cases for consideration to the board if particularly mouthy children are in the household.

Workshops are available to all members free of charge. They include such topics as:

Getting over guilt: How to spend money on yourself
Creating a retreat: How to booby trap your bathroom drawers so that teenage daughters will not successfully raid your make-up
Today's slang: Appropriate use of
Texting as a Foreign language (college credit is available)


But wait... there's more

The I've Become My Parent Club also offers tech support, 24 hours a day. You will no longer be held captive by your teenagers lack of helpfulness. Specialty services include:

How to reset my ringtone
Resetting the TV back to normal TV viewing
Easy DVR usage

As a club member, you will also be privy to our most popular service, Parental Discipline Support.

You may request a "meaner" parent to visit at any given time
Policemen or Military personnel are on stand by for extreme intervention
You will have access to our 101 Ways to Grounding that Doesn't Ground You website

Here at I've Become My Parent Club we believe that Time Out is for the grown ups! A monthly spa treatment and night on the town with your significant other is required. "Meaner" parents are available for babysitting upon request.

Keep Your Enemies Close

We've been spoiled. Our oldest daughter, Braveheart, and our middle child (son), Prince Lawn Gnome have fallen into the "Late Bloomer" category. They are vying for independence some days and others they still act like little kids in an imaginary land. I'm thankful, very thankful, especially when I see them next to other teenagers. We aren't into make-up and hairspray, we aren't all about cell phones and texting. Their favorite stores of choice are GameStop and Guitar Center. They don't just go hang at the mall. So far, there have been no instances of smoking, drinking, sex, or drugs... only rock-n-roll.

Our days of relatively peaceful teenage angst are numbered. Songbird has a boyfriend, one that she admits to. There have been others, but none that lasted more than a week or two and none that have been introduced to her parents deliberately. I've always known that she would be the one to put us through the (wringer) more typical teenage experience. She loves make-up, begs for a cell phone, lives for the mall, her friends are her life, fashion is of ultra importance, in short, she's normal.

My poor hubby, he's like "I quit smoking and now this?"

When I left for work Songbird was on the phone with said boyfriend, we'll call him, Skater Boy. That's right, he's a skater, with long blond hair. ***Sigh*** My heart has plummeted to the bottom of my stomach. I feel sick.

Note to self: Pray harder for Songbird. Must initiate deeper and more deliberate conversations with her. Need to schedule a time for a Birds and Bees talk. Also, must remain calm, cool and collected as to appear nonchalant when rooting for details about Skater Boy.

Car Share

It's the gift that just keeps giving. When Braveheart turned sweet 16, we presented her with her own keys to the car. The car that I would share with her until further notice. It seemed like a good idea. It felt like the responsible action to take as a parent. This way we could still yank the car if Braveheart acted like some of the new found drivers we know.

It's been five months, five long-suffering months. I've encountered a McDonald's cluttered car (the smell of fries is undeniable), the seat is always up way too far, the mirrors all wrong, the radio stations have been changed and are blaring, the gas tank has been empty, one key lost, two new keys made, and today a flat tire as I was leaving to go to work.

I need my own space. I'm trying to be patient. I know that these are learning experiences and valuable to keeping family communication going. And yet, I cannot pass a For Sale sign on any vehicle without drooling. I refuse to have another car payment ever again, so any ol' car will do. Just something to have as my own or at least my own until Prince Lawn Gnome wants to practice driving.

I Missed It sniffle sniffle

I consider myself a person that is fairly good with directions. I can read a map. I know North, East, West and South directionally. So, it is with great sadness that I missed it. I missed Songbird singing to the congregation this evening. Cursed MapQuest! You know that feeling when you know that you must be close, but you can't seem to find the right street? That's me.

I'm driving in circles then backtracking, finally I had to give up. I had to go to work.

And, then the working mom guilt set in. You know the little voice that says, "You know, you ARE a mom first. How can you miss your daughter's performance? A better organized mother would have previously driven the route. You really can't be a good mom and be at work on time."

I hate that little voice. It lies to you and it never remembers all the good things that you do do. I've been a mom for 16 years now, and I know that things happen and sometimes the best laid plans fail, but I never seem to be able to squelch that little voice entirely. Maybe, you never get rid of that nagging little voice. Maybe, it stays with you forever?

*****update**** Apparently, Songbird did a good job and didn't even notice my absence (whew). Additionally, she will sing again in upcoming weeks at our own campus! Take that little voice!

Suey!

When I was a kid we used to have great fun playing Pig Mania. The game entailed throwing two pig figurines like dice, depending on how they landed, you scored points. We loved this game. We particularly snickered when the pigs would land touching, we'd shout "makin' bacon!"
I recently saw this game at Target under another name. I almost bought it for ol' times sake. Now, I'm thinking of buying it as a stress buster.

I work in a hospital. I am so sick of Swine flu and it hasn't even been that long. I think we are particularly upset by this because we already told ourselves that we had survived flu season. Every winter is hard to get through, but by spring the numbers are supposed to go down. We're tired.

Yes, a little Pig Mania is in order.

Help!

Can you hear it? Can you hear my tiny voice calling, "Help me!" from beneath the laundry pile? "Somebody help me!" I can't help but whine. I just realized that last week at this exact time I was cleaning up after everyone for the one-millionth time and here I am again doing the exact same chores. There's got to be a better way to live. I gave myself two full hours to whip as much as I could into shape. I only made it 45 minutes when despair kicked in.

I guess I'm feeling sorry for myself because I'm the only one who seems to notice that we're out of clean bowls, or the lint on the dryer, or the hair in the bathroom. Where can I buy a pair of blinders like the ones my family seems to have?

***This blog has become a great excuse to procrastinate***

Okay, okay, I'm going back to it...

The Booby Snatch

Friends and family:

I know that this plea will not pertain to any of you (and if it does then please I don't want to know) but I am making an all out plea to women everywhere.....

CAN WE PLEASE DISPENSE WITH THE BOOBY SNATCH!!!!!

Just today, another coworker was subjected to a visual sexual assault. In complete innocence, she asked to see an insurance card. The very well endowed mother proceeded to pull her complete breast from her bra. She then searched the bra for the card and proceeded to hand it to my horrified coworker.

This is not the first time this has happened. In another office, I have personally witnessed a similar incident in which damp, rank money was retrieved for a copay.

This is 2009. Purses are available on nearly every street corner. Seriously, this practice needs to die out. It should be an urban myth by now. Ladies, I implore you... no more booby snatch!

Tread Lightly

It's been over a week and hubby has had no nicotine!!! We are still treading lightly as not to disturb the sleeping giant. Every once in a while you can hear his roar and feel the trembling of the house, but if you throw a piece of candy in his direction, the roar quiets down to a mere grumble and we can live with that.

This week brought sunshine! And so, I planted flowers in the pots and marveled at their beauty. Then Rascal, dug up one, laid down on another and basically basked in the sunshine on top of my flowers! I replanted them and ordered him to another area of the yard (for Pete's sake he has the whole yard). Rascal would be well advised to tread lightly.

Braveheart is finished carting Prince Lawn Gnome around in the car. It's no longer fun. Today she left him in the dust and went off on a shopping spree all by herself. He tried to stand in front of the car to convince her that he really, really wanted to go. Braveheart simply revved the engine and lunged forward. Prince Lawn Gnome would be well advised to also tread lightly as Braveheart has not had her license for long and dear God, please don't let her run over her brother!

A close friend informed me that her son let her in on some very valuable information. He is all of 12 years old and his friend, a friend of Songbird's, has been know to play "three hours in heaven." We were reeling from the actual stabs of pain through the heart at the realization that such games are being played by kids we actually know. Please children tread lightly with these valuable pieces of info as your parents may not be able to take it.

I did find it amusing that it's now "three hours in heaven," it must be the effects of the Viagra generation.

Day Two...

Can you say powder keg? Day two of hubby not smoking has been typical. Edginess, crabiness, downright rudeness... mental note... call Chantrix 1-800 number to complain about lack of effectiveness. I have spent a good part of the day using avoidance as a self defense mechanism. However, that was only possible for half the day. Jointly, we went to Satanmart (commonly know as Walmart) to pick up birthday party supplies for Songbird. It wasn't pretty. Hubby found it necessary to comment on each item on the list. Then, we bought up all the no smoking aids we could find, otherwise known as on-sale Easter candy. Have you spent an eternity in the card aisle with a grown man that has to listen to every single musical card out there before? Again, not pretty. By this time I'm reverting back to Lamaze breathing techniques... patience... just a little patience...

What seemed like an hour later, we finally made it to the other side of the store. I'm picking up coffee creamer for myself. I swear there's something addictive in the Coffemate Creamers. I was bummed because it looks like they may not be making Chocolate Raspberry anymore. I should have never mentioned it out loud, because once again the hubby finds it necessary to comment on the choices. Still doing Lamaze, I continue halfway down the aisle ignoring his rant, when suddenly I hear, "Woman! Are you listening to me?"

Now, I LOVE my hubby. I know he's edgy. I know he is not acting with any ounce of normalcy, but did I hear him say "Woman?" He did NOT just call me "Woman!" in the middle of Satanmart! Major Lamaze breathing at this point. More breathing. More breathing. It is possible to come down from a near murder pinnacle if you really, really try. Oh, my gosh. It is only day two.

An Early Christmas!!!!!

Okay, okay, I know I just posted, but this is too exciting to keep to myself! Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus! Christmas has come early! John Madden is retiring!!!!!!! Finally!!!!!!

No, longer will I be subjected to the repeated "He's the best player in the NFL today" comment!
No more thirty million turkey legs!
No more bus tours!
And, it is worth saying more than once (as we are always subjected to it more than once a game) "He's the best player in the NFL today." Never mind that this time he's referring to a different player!

I know he is a legend.... I know he's been an untouchable... I don't care. He drives me CRAZY. I am extra excited that I won't have to listen to him drivel on and on this season! I cannot stop with the exclamation points!!!!!!!!!!! I am that excited!

Oh, happy day! Oh, happy day!

Day One...

Day one... my hubby is trying to quit smoking... again. I had actually forgotten that today was D day until I heard the unwrapping of multiple Jolly Ranchers come from his side of the bed. This time he's trying Chantrix. It's worked for two people that we personally know. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, because, well you see, I've been here before. I've been at day one before... four times. Day one really isn't all that bad in comparison to let's see... day 14. The day that is forever ingrained in my mind when I actually heard myself say, "This is ridiculous just smoke already!"

For the record, I hate the smoking. I hate the smell. I hate that my clothing smells like smoke too, even though I've never been a smoker. I hate that each time I wash my curtains they come out looking two shades lighter in color. I hate the ash trays that I constantly empty. I hate the smell in the car. I hate the money spent on the cigarettes.

I go back and forth on how much I blame my hubby and his responsibility for all this or the tobacco companies. Truly, he is addicted. His efforts to quit have been genuine and they are long and drawn out battles. He suffers and we suffer as a family. The kids are bracing for major grouchiness and edginess. It's hard to be good cheerleaders when we've been bit by this before only to go back to the regularly scheduled smoking program. And, yet, there is that tiny, glimmer of hope. In the meantime, we will keep a well stocked drawer of candy and tread lightly.