oceangypsymom

Me time

2010-09-28T09:44:00.000-07:00

Me time! I'm actually enjoying some today. Oh, how I've missed it. Thankfully, it looks like more of it may be on the horizon with the new development of Prince Lawn Gnome's part time employment. It's been a long stretch of someone always wanting me around, needing something from me, or housework calling to me. The housework is practically yelling at me today, but I'm yelling back, "Leave me alone you tyrant, slave driving, energy sucking, never ending saga!" Clean clothes, groceries and dishes are overrated right?
Anyway, I plan to spend my me time writing. Writing what? I'm not sure yet. AHHHHH, me time over??? Braveheart just walked in the door!!!! Seriously?

We'll call him Rico

2010-06-21T00:22:00.000-07:00

The oceangypsy house sits kitty-corner from the oddest neighbors ever. For years we have been subjected to various Christmas decorations that definatly are in the running for Griswold of the Year awards. In the spring, their lawn is decorated with tulips scattered throughout the grass. There is no actual flower bed, just random tulips. Smack dab in the middle of the yard is a fifteen foot weed that they claim is a tree. Now, I may not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but I dang sure know what a tree looks like and this ain't it. Even the squirrels won't climb it!

Now, I admit that the oceangypsy house isn't always all that. There are currently weeds in the flower bed and the carcass of the former black, conversion van in the drive. (To be towed away as soon as hubby is not paying attention.) The sound of drums and guitars frequently resonate from our basement and I often put out enough trash to rival the city dump.

But.....

Nothing compares to the new live-in boyfriend that has moved in there. I was first made aware of his presence when his very hairy chest was displayed beneath his silk, Hugh Heffner like, robe on their front porch while waving the kids off to summer school. Choking back the gag reflex, I immediately ran for cover, screaming, "my eyes... my eyes." The image has permanently burned into my brain for which I may never recover.

A few days later, during my garage sale, I was again subjected to the new neighbor, we'll call him Rico Suave. Apparently, he enjoys sitting on the front stoop, in the aforementioned Hugh Heffner robe, as he stayed there for at least a half an hour. I was beginning to think that maybe I should check the registered pedophile list in my area.

Then the unthinkable happened. Something that made me long for the random tulips and the god-awful Christmas displays. Something that instantly brought down the property values of the neighborhood by at least $20,000. Something that makes the carcass of the black van look like a Maserati. Rico Suave moved in, by tow truck mind you, a conversion van decked out in complete camo. That's right one, big camouflage van. It screams home-grown-terrorist. Oh, but that's not the kicker. The best part is the professional decal across the front that says, "A-Team" above the windshield. The horn, is akin to the sound of an elephant followed by a la-cooka-rocha rhythum.

I kid you not! I couldn't make this up if I tried! It's so over the top I'm not worried about pedophilia anymore, it calls way to much attention to itself. My only hope is that Rico won't stay long, that he will be a passing fancy. Although, the appeal of such a man is way beyond me.

Relaxing Summer?

2010-06-18T17:52:00.000-07:00

Every year around the holidays I wonder where all the time went. The days all run into one another and I can barely get through the endless, daily "to do" lists. Lately, I've been feeling that way about summer too. We have celebrated graduation after graduation. We have hosted a garage sale and hop-skip-and jumped to the lake for a few days. Now, fireworks season is upon us, then camp, camp again, a quick trip to Chicago and maybe a squeezed in baseball game. At some point I'll be working in Eclipse and Toy Story 3, if I'm lucky. And all the while, I need to be working on my tan! I need some pool time with a new book that takes my brain off reality for a while.
The weed patch, I mean future vegetable garden, is grossly overgrown with looming bits of poison ivy taunting me around the fence line. If I don't address it soon I'm positive that my neighbors are going to turn me in to the over-zealous code enforcement officer in town. An all out war against the family of mice that decided to move in has ensued and I am proud to announce that this week the casualty count is four!
Every day the chore list is endless, today I actually cleaned out the fridge and found all the missing Tupperware. Nothing like the looming possibility of food poisoning to force a little grocery shopping. I actually found an old yogurt shoved in the back that expired last March. Thankfully, the children mostly just stare with blank looks on their faces declaring, "there's nothing to eat!" I'm not sure I'll ever answer, "find something" any more... too dangerous.
Let's see, tomorrow is a wedding that I still need a gift for. And Sunday is Father's Day for which I still need to shop. Guess those cards will be a little late. Tried to shop 1-800 flowers for Father's Day, and found a beer stein made of carnations, but since my hubby is a recovering alcoholic, I decided that it probably wasn't the best flower arrangement to send.
I'm sure you are all just as busy as I am, but it's not too late to hope for a few bits of relaxation this summer is it?

Dare I Say It? Could it be?

2010-05-17T03:57:00.000-07:00

The Oceangypsyhouse has come under a spell. A spell that is all-powerful, all-encompassing and downright scary! Dare I say it? Could it be true? Could it be young love? The smiling grin from ear to ear across Braveheart's face is a tell tale sign. The constant texting, another sign. The gagging aroma of perfume that one obviously must have bathed in, permeates throughout the house.
It is both amusing and downright terrifying at the same time. I so remember that "he really likes me" feeling. I remember my cheeks aching from all the smiling. I remember trying not to smile and not quite being able to achieve it. I remember the anticipation of the first kiss, the cloud 109 effect it had, the "I can't breathe without you near" intoxication and that's what scares me. I swear I can actually feel my hair turning gray at the roots!
What if this one is "The One?" What if he isn't? What if he breaks her heart? (It's okay if she breaks his.)
I'm trying to be nonchalant about it all. Trying to not crowd them but remain diligent. Why the hell did we buy a house with a basement? Why didn't we ever think about the future movie watching, hand holding, snuggling that would occur on that couch? I'm pretty sure that I could get rid of it under the guise of redecorating and replace it with a rod iron chair or two. In the meantime, I'm working under the keep your enemies close mentality. I've befriended him on Facebook and done all the digging I can there... didn't really find much but sappy love posts to my daughter! Not very comforting.
So, basically Braveheart's running around with a butterfly in the stomach feeling and the hubby and I are running around with the "I could puke any minute" feeling.

Is Anybody Out There?

2010-04-30T22:05:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm not even sure if anyone still checks this blog or what, but I definitely need to purge the cobwebs from my brain so here goes... I've been cyber stalking other blogs but rarely posting comments. I haven't posted anything here because I went back to school and holy mother of you know who I was way in over my head. Actually, I was doing pretty good and writing about a million papers about crap I'm sure won't make any difference to anyone anyway, but nonetheless it was okay. Then I took Philosophy. And I went under, down, down, deep, way down. I spent hours trying to comprehend the Who am I? Where am I? Who are you? How do you know God exists theories. I spent hours writing papers arguing and defending my point of view only to be ripped to little, tiny shreds by my professor. He actually made me cry and let me tell you, I'm not a delicate flower here! I cried, real tears! Professor better hope he never catches me in a dark alley because I may forget my Christianity and take out a little aggression.

Let's not forget Music Appreciation where I was subjected to the sound of a cement block being drug across a cement floor and then digitally enhanced. Call me crazy, but when that professor asked if "anyone didn't consider it music" I opened my big, fat mouth and it was all down hill from there. Still waiting on my grades.... not too optimistic....

I would just like to say that I have a very, bad taste in my mouth for all this going back to school nonsense, even if it was all my idea. I'm taking the summer off and re-engaging in my life. I cannot believe what passes as actual instruction these days and am slightly concerned that I am pushing this whole college experience so strongly to my kids. Seriously, who has time to sit around and contemplate if and when the government took control of your brain and put it in a jar, would the essence of you be in the jar or in your body? Seriously, if the government actually took control of my brain, then I might actually get the vacation I so richly deserve. Now, I know why binge drinking is so big on college campuses!

And, let's not forget the little thing called "my actual life" that basically was held together by one stressed out hubby and a very thin thread. Prince Lawn Gnome was so neglected that he actually is anti-pizza now. He willingly ate a green pepper and a sauteed onion today! Who knew all it would take is eight weeks of neglect for him to actually like vegetables! Braveheart is thankfully wrapped up in her own world right now, so basically, the whole self-absorbed teenage thing actually had an upside. Songbird has essentially become the typical Jr. High, teenage, cheerleader, all my greatest fears are being realized, kid. Mental note... must deal with her immediately! The hubby, bless his heart, has tried he really has, but he too suffered neglect and the stress of a crazed wife that couldn't print out any papers correctly herself.

So, I should be posting more often this summer. I actually have lots to say, but am fearful that I have lost you already (if you really are still there). So, anyway, here's to summer and one semester down!

The Art of Getting Smaller

2010-03-13T22:34:00.000-08:00

Call me Alice, call me Alice because it really is true. If you eat or drink just the right thing you do get smaller. And like Alice, I have entered into this strange new world where everything seems to be too big, or is it just my perception. My altered perception of reality because my brain has not caught up to this world yet.
While I love this world, I feel like a visitor here. It's not comfortable yet, but very attractive. The clothes in this world are Mediums! Size 14 jeans! I haven't worn those in 15+ years. The food here is very good and not as sweet. And despite my smaller appetite, I cannot seem to order just the right size meal at a restaurant. I keep over-ordering.
I just had my wedding ring resized and it looks tiny, but the reality is it's still one size larger than on our wedding day all those years ago. Truly, it looks like something I'd buy for my daughter. How can it be for me? But, it is.
My husband is excited, he's gaining back the woman he wed. My coworkers keep commenting on "how thin your face looks," they never knew me when... It's good, but strange, the attention is wanted and not so wanted all at the same time. But the best, the absolute best this week was when Songbird went to give me a hug and said, "my arms can go all the way around you, Mommie! Look, I can grab my wrists!" That was a fabulous welcome into this new world.

Hello March!!!

2010-03-02T09:55:00.000-08:00

It's March! It's March! Oh, praise God, it's March! Almost spring!!! I have never been so happy to see a page on the calendar turned. I am in complete and total need for spring to arrive. I live to see the tops of the tulips peek out from underground. I live to actually do that first week of yard clean up. I actually dreamt last night of a porch area with furniture, flowers and twinkling lights that invited a glass of wine in the dark. Summer is my favorite time of year and I plan to enjoy it ...outside.
That's right, I've had it with being stuck in these four walls. I will not be locked into school work on the computer. The freedom of the grill and the garden are beckoning to me. I cannot wait. Before I know it, it will be time for summer camps, fireworks, and a great tan! I'm actually looking forward to swimsuit shopping this season. It figures that one season after I broke down and spent a million dollars on the Miracle Suit that it would not fit anymore. By the way, the miracle that suit promises to deliver... sub par. Oh, well, no worries! Coco butter and one margarita later... no worries. Here's wishing you a happy, warm, no snowflakes in sight, spring!

Current Musings From the Oceangypsy house

2010-02-22T04:24:00.000-08:00

Why is it that the day you start taking vitamins, you get sick?

Why is it that the day after you send the hubby to wait in urgent care with Songbird for a strep test, she feels 100% better?

Why is it that when Songbird finally, finally, Lord Hallelujah hangs up her coat on her own, her older brother, Prince Lawn Gnome, purposefully takes it out of the closet, dumps it on a chair and waits for her to get into trouble?

Why is it that after eight and a half years of living in the Oceangypsy house no one can remember where the laundry chute is? I distinctly remember them being excited about it when we moved in.

Why is it that exactly two months and $600 later, the car is making the same noise it did in the first place?

Why is it that on a nearly nightly basis Oceangypsymom hears what is surely a HUGE rodent in the kitchen, that turns out to be Prince Lawn Gnome foraging for his fifteenth snack of the day?

Why is it that Braveheart will not listen to her mother's wise advice about her leg cramps that plague her at 2:30 each morning? Why is it that such advice to drink milk, and eat a banana meet such skepticism? Are nightly lunges really all that?

Why is it that the hubby can DVR every minute of the 2010 winter Olympic games, but when Oceangypsymom adds on cotton pickin little show to the cue there's an inquisition?

and why oh why is it that this winter is dragging on FOREVER? Florida and Arizona are sounding pretty good right about now.

When Caffeine Isn't Enough

2010-02-18T20:02:00.001-08:00

I'm drinking it, but it doesn't seem to be helping. Just what am I supposed to do now that caffeine doesn't even seem to be enough to keep my sleepy eyes from closing? I wonder just how long I really would sleep barring any barking dogs, phones ringing, TV's up too loud or such. Even with all those things, I could easily take in 11-12 hours at a time. In a perfect, Temperpedic, condensation levels within the air just right (too much heat in the winter time), quiet house, I might never wake up.
I think Songbird is right there with me. Poor girl, she comes home from school exhausted. She's fallen into a pattern of taking a nap right after school until dinner time, then she can't fall asleep before 11 or 11:30. School bus comes at 6:55, and her morning routine takes at least an hour, you do the math.
Hubby is also not sleeping well. His back hurts, it's too hot, or he's trying to catch up on the Olympics that he's DVR'd. All of the Olympics grant you. He watches all of it, wistfully dreaming of how he could have been an Olympian if only.....
The only two in the house that seem to run ninety-to nothing without any negative side effects are Braveheart and Prince Lawn Gnome, but I attribute that to their age. Stinking teenagers just get faster and faster as we get slower and slower. They are in and out of this house so fast it makes my head literally spin. I simply cannot keep up with where they are and when. I'm about to implant homing devices just to have a clue.

The Talk, Well Sort Of...

2010-01-26T08:29:00.000-08:00

The hubby is a total crack up. I actually caught him watching Dr. Oz yesterday. The topic? Oh, the gentle topic of having the sex talk with your kids. Now, mind you, Dr. Oz is not a show that the hubby would normally tune into. If it's not blowing up the Earth, the imminent demise of the Earth and all its inhabitants, the latest volcanic eruption, or the doom of the next asteroid to into our atmosphere, he usually doesn't watch it. So, why now? Could it be from our previous day's conversation?
Previous day, after church: "Where's Songbird?" I innocently ask.
Hubby: "At the movies."
Oceangypsymom: "With who?"
Hubby: "Friends."
Oceangypsymom: "What kind of friends? You don't know who she went to the movies with?"
Hubby: "Of course, I do. She went with ***** (name protection)."
Oceangypsymom: "Well, if she went with *****, then you can be sure that they are meeting some boys there."
Hubby: Dead Silence
Oceangypsymom: "Honey, you really have to be up on this kinda stuff. I mean, I'm counting on you here. You ALWAYS need to know the who, what, when, where, why and how of every situation."
Hubby: More Silence, then the subtle thud of a daddy's heart into the pit of his stomach.

Back to the sex talk and Dr. Oz. Not five minutes after the Dr. Oz episode, Songbird comes home from school. Poor girl, she is completely unaware that her father is teetering on the edge of the abyss, that he is clinging to the edge and desperately fighting not to fall off. In an attempt to be a good father, to not let an opportunity pass him by, and with complete and utter lack of planning or preparation he asks, "Songbird, can you name 5 STD's?" Great opening line, don't you think? Nothing like putting her at ease and making her feel completely comfortable.
One hour later, not much conversation has taken place due to Songbird's fingers in her ears and her curled up fetal position on the couch. She's yelling, "I'm only 12!"
Bless my hubby's heart, but my work here is never done. Now, I know why God hasn't called me home yet. These kids do still need me!

A Tortoise

2010-01-22T08:39:00.000-08:00

Slow and steady wins the race right? That seems to be the theme of our lives lately. Everyday there is more to be done than can possibly be accomplished, but everyday we try, everyday we have some successes and some failures, and we're learning to be okay with that. Okay, I'm learning to be okay with that. It's hard to do a little of everything and not really do any one thing well. Case in point, my first class (in forever). I misunderstood the directions for the first two weeks, result.... a D. It's okay, I can make it up. Now that I'm clear as to the expectation, I can meet it, but truly living that philosophy physically requires me to take a deep breath.
It's okay that the laundry table is overflowing with laundry...right? At least everyday an attempt is made at keeping it in process. It's okay that expiration dates should be checked before drinking any milk from the fridge, right? It's okay that homeschool is having a sick day today for a low grade fever, right?
So, for those whose phone calls haven't been returned promptly, please don't take it personally. No one's calls are being returned promptly. I am the tortoise that is in the race for the long haul. I'll eventually catch up to you and the world that keeps on spinning. Someday, I'll actually see the Oscar nominated movies before the Oscars!
One piece of good news, 21 lbs of weight loss so far!!!! Feeling motivated in this department. Starting to see clothes that are way too big come out of the closet!!! I will have to go shopping soon and I'm actually looking forward to it.

Strangs Groans from the Basement

2010-01-08T09:15:00.000-08:00

There is a particularly nasty sound coming from the basement. Groaning??? Or maybe a cat in heat??? All to a rhythmic banging of sticks... no it sounds vaguely like chanting, as if some ritual sacrifice was taking place. But no, it's yet another version of Rockband and all the neighborhood kids playing. Why, oh, why won't they let Songbird do the singing? Why do we all have to be subjected to this monotonous, blood-curdling exhibit of lyrics just for points?
I think that it's just ridiculous to encourage the poor boy any further. He cannot sing! I can barely take it and I'm one floor removed. How they can all be in the same room for hours (marathon session) and continually subject their ears to such obvious lack of anything melodic is beyond me. Oh, yes, they are making it much easier for me to look forward to going to work today!

In with the New

2010-01-04T14:03:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! I am coming to you from under the complete warmth of my electric blanket. This is my new perch as it seems Old Man Winter has decided to come in with a vengeance and hasn't any plans of leaving. I seriously hate the cold. I actually skipped church yesterday as not to leave the cozy, cuddled up security of my bed for the frozen reality of the outside world. Scraping windows is on the Top Ten List of things I hate to do.

When not completely hunkered down, the Oceangypsymom family has been cleaning, organizing, and entertaining. It is with great enthusiasm that I announce that we have taken back the house. It was temporarily hijacked by holidays and all the paraphernalia that goes with them. But, alas, when combined in a common cause, a worthy one at that, we prevailed. And just in time for all the new beginnings ushered in for the New Year.

New beginnings you ask? Yes, in a moment of complete and total lack of sanity, I re enrolled as a student. You heard me, a college student. You know the kind... sleep deprived, caffeine dependent, paper writing, test taking sort. I willingly added myself to their ranks and now the reality of that decision has come full circle. First online class begins today. Am I crazy or just plain stupid? The "why???" question has been plaguing me since I logged on and discovered that I have an outline due for a final paper in five weeks. Five weeks! Five weeks in my world is like a blink, and seriously, I haven't written an outline in at least ten years. Do you think the instructor would accept the following?

Assignment

I. Random thoughts on assignment.

a. Not substantiated by any real research as I am soooo used to my opinion being the end all of any needed research.

II. Opinionated tirade on assignment.

a. Again not substantiated by any research other than the opinions of girlfriends who more than not will simply agree with my first point.

Probably won't fly huh? Hope all is well for all of you in 2010. Keep me in mind as you go about your business, perhaps looking for a white flag of surrender in case I go down in flames.

Rest and Recovery

2009-12-28T14:58:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-10T10:00:00.000-08:00

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??

2009-12-08T08:00:00.001-08:00

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!

2009-12-06T19:35:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-02T01:35:00.000-08:00

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!!!

2009-11-21T21:35:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-14T13:34:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-13T01:01:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-02T02:55:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-29T15:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-28T09:39:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-23T08:31:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-21T09:39:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-16T20:34:00.000-07:00

Ah, my kingdom, my kingdom for a margarita.

I Can Smell Dinner

2009-10-15T15:26:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-13T09:56:00.001-07:00

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

2009-10-11T00:52:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-07T18:48:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-01T23:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-31T06:49:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-25T08:19:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-17T03:59:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-08-05T12:51:00.001-07:00

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!!

2009-08-04T19:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-31T18:01:00.001-07:00

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!!!!!

2009-07-27T00:52:00.000-07:00

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'

2009-07-24T03:54:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-17T16:24:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-07-13T00:06:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-11T13:50:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-10T03:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-27T23:43:00.000-07:00

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

Have a Happy and Safe 4th of July!

Ha Ha

2009-06-27T14:26:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-22T00:25:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-06-15T04:19:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-12T14:30:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-08T04:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-06T18:04:00.001-07:00

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.....

2009-06-05T21:21:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-30T13:52:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-29T13:50:00.001-07:00

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

2009-05-22T15:15:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-17T18:29:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-16T13:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-15T14:04:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-11T03:45:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-09T13:38:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-08T14:47:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-03T18:37:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-05-02T21:01:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-04-28T08:48:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-25T13:26:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-24T19:14:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-04-17T15:50:00.000-07:00

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!!!!!

2009-04-16T09:19:00.001-07:00

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...

2009-04-16T08:35:00.000-07:00

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.

Fame and Fortune

2009-04-13T04:02:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer. I was certain that I'd make it and everyone would see me on t.v. They would be envious and I would dance and dance till my heart's desire. It would be the best! I didn't know that after a few years television shows (particularly bad ones) get canceled. I needed a new plan.

My plan definitely included being interviewed by Barbara Walters! I often rehearsed my very serious interview out loud. I don't remember what I desperately wanted the world to know and that wasn't really the important part anyway. The important thing was that people would WANT to hear what I had to say. Now, I turn on The View and I think, Barbara Walters should just give it up already. blah...blah...blah...blah...blah

When I was a preteen, I could often be found with a microphone a.k.a. hairbrush or spatula. Certainly, I was every bit as good as Anne or Nancy Wilson. Yes, a rockstar would work too. I could tour and wear leather pants. Oh, yes, and I could dance too! I would have millions of adoring fans. Now, I know that my voice only emulates my rockstar heroines when I'm in my car with the windows rolled up and the volume up way too high. (It's a magic car.)

As a young mother, a fantasized about being on Oprah. She would praise the ingenious stylings of writing in my first novel. Naturally, it would be considered one of the greatest American novels of all time. It would be a best seller and this was before her book club. Yes, I have a pseudonym all picked out. I would toy with the idea of going on her show as myself or in disguise to protect my much needed privacy. After all, aren't reclusive authors more interesting? Now, I watch Oprah and I think, this show has gone down hill. She should also give it up. And, then I think, crap, I better get it together or I will never have my great American novel done in time!

Now, as a 36 year old wife and mother, I desire just a little fame... and just enough fortune to carve out a little niche for myself. Some things never change.

A Happy Hubby

2009-04-11T13:49:00.000-07:00

What a difference a day makes. What a difference working in your giftedness makes. Last Tuesday, my hubby was fired, everyday since he has been soooo happy. He is so excited about the new prospects on the horizon that he is up early and brainstorming late. It's as if he just received a huge energy shot. Even the neighbor noticed his mood change. It is great to be around.

I've lived with him through tough jobs and worse jobs. I've lived with him when he didn't want to get out of bed and face the day. This is better. This is much better.

I am so thankful.

Going to the Dogs

2009-04-10T18:41:00.000-07:00

It has been long since overdue that I introduce you to our dogs, Rascal and Rufus. (No changing of names here as they are illiterate and unconcerned about privacy.) They are miniature Daschund, one long haired, one short. They are loving and unassuming most of the time. Their good natures have won me over. I'm not a cat person anymore.

Rufus is very laid back. He is happy with life. His days are spent chasing birds and squirrels, barking at the mailman and licking our faces. Rascal, on the other hand, spends most of his time trying to firmly establish that he is the top dog. While, he is codependent upon Rufus for entertainment and snuggling, he is not about to let him lick our faces without then asserting himself into the situation and touching his cold, wet nose to ours. He is jealous. It does not matter that we love him the same or share affection equally. To Rascal the dog dish is half full.

I was becoming somewhat irritated at dinner the other night when they would not stop begging for food. I don't mind giving scraps from time to time, but downright under your feet begging is crossing the line. Braveheart (who really should entertain the notion to become an attorney) took up the case for the dogs. "Mom, wouldn't you beg? Wouldn't you beg if all you ate every day was cold, hard, dry chicken and beef pieces. And, when you woke up in the morning to face a new day there they were again in your bowl." I had never thought of it that way.

So, even though some will disagree and say they'll be unhealthy, I cannot condemn them to a life of dried, hard, cold food between that and the kennel it resembles prison a little too closely. These are the dogs that wag their tales at warp speed when we come home. They immediately flip over on their backs to submit and receive a belly rub in return. They love us unconditionally, the least I can do is fork over a little bacon now and again.

It's Our Job to Trust

2009-04-08T22:25:00.000-07:00

This week is a case study in trust, as I am sure, the coming weeks or months will be too. My darling hubby was let go from his job yesterday. I know that there are many, many of you that understand. We are not special. And, yet, we are not somber or whirling in chaos, really it's just a feeling of agitation. The kind of agitation that resides in the muscles of your shoulders and feels achy.

I know, intellectually, that it is God's job to provide and our job to trust that He will. Intellectually. Living out that trust is going to be a great test. It's as if God is saying to me, "You say that you believe, but do you really?"

You see, my hubby and I believe that it is God's desire that he goes into full time ministry. And, while some positions come with a nice salary, our particular church very much lives on God's good graces. It's not clear where a salary would come from right now. Again, for those of you who don't personally know me, I must reiterate that I am a control freak, a planner. Trust in financial matters is hard for me and yet, I feel relatively peaceful about it. Physically, though, like I said, there is a strange agitation. It even crept into my dreams. I dreamt of the cheesecake I had just made. I dreamt that Songbird had cut a huge chunk out of the cake. I was weeping in the dream, sobbing really, and I awoke so tensed up. I don't remember ever dreaming a dream like that before.

So, if you feel so inclined, I would appreciate any prayers. Prayer for the trust factor, prayer that my hubby will finally step into the position that he is supposed to be in. Pray that I can be responsible with the money that does come in. Thanks.

Groceries Part II

2009-04-06T00:46:00.001-07:00

Okay, I did it. I went to the dreaded grocery store and you know what, I AM PEEVED. Once, just once, I want to get through the line without someone asking me...

actual quotes here...

"Are you shopping for your family or are you hosting an event?"

"How many people DO you have in your family?"

"Do you work for a nursing home or something?"

I'm beginning to feel like a freak show. I know I'm not the only mom out there buying for hungry teenagers. True, I am buying for a three week period at a time, but still, do I really stand out that much? And, why does everyone feel it necessary to make a comment? I'm not standing in line judging their baskets. "Oh, my, how does your family not starve to death with this pittance of food?" I'm finding it harder and harder not to be caddy. It's a blessing and a curse to be flippant.

You know what's sad, this grocery shopping wasn't even half of what I've been known to do. Maybe, I could sell tickets, you know, raise a little to offset the bill.

Oh, yes, and I forgot the wine.

One Step Forward...

2009-04-04T20:18:00.000-07:00

I made it. I didn't subcomb to the Krispy Kremes. But, currently, I'm munching on M&Ms. Two steps forward, one step back. The call of the chocolate was too much to resist. I don't think I could live in a world without chocolate.

It just occured to me that all my posts this week have centered around food. That's not entirely suprising. I would say that a good 80% of my life revolves around food. Buying food, preparing food, throwing out food, listening to children whine for more food. Growing up, food was the center of every get together. It still is.

Practically everyone I know is currently on Weight Watchers. (I had to sneak the M&Ms down the hallway for fear that someone would reveal how many points they're worth.) The amount of will power they exhibit as a group is admirable. They are actually achieving REAL results. Maybe... just maybe... I'll consider adopting some of their ways. Of course, I need to get through Easter first and then there's always Mother's Day. Who wants to diet through the holidays?

I know that I'll do better once I can get into the garden. Home grown tomatoes, strawberries, watermelon... yum. If only it would stop raining-freezing-snowing all the time. I'm ready for Spring! I did notice two tulips bloomed today but they are no doubt under siege with temperatures in the 20's tonight.

Sorry, rambling along here. Ah, yes, M&Ms....

Krispy Kreme

2009-04-03T22:37:00.000-07:00

I will not have one... I will not have one... I will not have one despite the fact that no less than three dozen of them are sitting on the counter taunting me.

Life would be so much easier without skinny coworkers that can down any number of Krispy Kreme donuts and then still run the treadmill in the morning. They have no consideration for those of us that are INCREDIBLY challenged in the self discipline category. Seriously, three dozen!

I will not have one... I will not have one... I will not have one...

Groceries

2009-04-02T14:24:00.000-07:00

I'm posting because I'm procrastinating. Procrastinating making a grocery list, procrastinating balancing the checkbook to figure out how much money I don't have to spend at the grocery store. I was doing good for awhile. I had purchased a freezer full of bargains and enough bulk pancake mix and syrup to really last. I was on top of it. Then, the remodel happened. So, basically, I've used up just about everything. And this time when the kids whine, "there's nothing to eat" they're right. I'm afraid, very afraid, of just how high this particular bill could get. It's not easy feeding three teenagers. They're like hobbits. First breakfast, second breakfast, first lunch, second lunch etc.... you get my drift.

Since groceries have gone up so much, I've really been trying to shop only bulk or sale items. This is not my favorite activity. I'm not a bargain shopper by nature. Mostly, I just buy something because I'm already in the store and don't want to have to come back later. I figure time is money, right? Fortunately for me, my two closest girlfriends are VERY thrifty. They are my opposite when it comes to money. Like the time we were on vacation and I was forced to park a million miles away from the entrance into Silver Dollar City so that we could park for free. I'm like, "it's only $20 to park up close!" I hate to admit it, but I was glad when I left the park and still had some money in my pocket. That $20 made a difference. ( I admitted it already, don't expect me to say it again.)

So, here I go... off to peruse the ads for this week. Off to make a list and check it twice. Off to balance the dreaded check book. Wine is definitely making the list!

The Three Little Pigs

2009-03-30T02:20:00.000-07:00

I hate to refer to them as the Three Little Pigs, but they've certainly earned the title. I thought I'd give an update on all the children as I still have NO LIFE of my own.

Braveheart is killing me. Along with her new McDonald's career, she is convinced that she is going to be a rockstar. She spent the night with my sister and her hubby. I think they created a monster. You see, they also thought they would be part of the rockstar scene and they actually got pretty close. They interviewed with the manager for Nine Inch Nails and had the same agent as Jewel for a while. But, like most VH1 Where Are They Now? episodes, the band had a falling out and split up. Oh, what could have been is now turning into fuel for the fire in Braveheart's rockstar dream. She was sent home with Billboard magazines, Rolling Stone and a few books on the business side of music. Seriously, she probably will be famous someday because when this kid puts her mind to something there is no stopping her. It's extremely aggravating.

Prince Lawn Gnome and I are spending time on very, very thin ice lately. He is 15 and thinks he's 20. He also thinks that I am a complete idiot and that I am trying to control his life. I feel the need to remind him that if it weren't for me he wouldn't even have a life and if his tone doesn't change then I will certainly do the honor of extinquishing it for him. Oh, how I long for a son that speaks to me as if I am an actual person and not just an ATM. Intellectually, I know this is a phase that we must get through, but honestly, it is wearing me down. When will he be motivated to do something besides eat, play Halo and eat some more? I keep waiting for him to turn the corner and come out with some maturity under his belt, yep, I keep waiting and waiting... And, just what is with him only wearing shorts in the winter? Is there some body temperature thing I don't know about that goes along with puberty? Somebody clue me in here, please.

Songbird had volleyball tryouts today and was encouraged as she "almost made the competitive team." I find that hard to believe as she is as uncoordinated as they come, but maybe she is coming into her own. Now, she is completely obsessed with which team she'll be on because of who else might be on that team. She's all about the social aspect. And, once she knows which team, she'll be all about the glamorizing up of the uniform. I overheard talk of a Bedazzler.

She also tried out for choir. I hate to sound like one of THOSE mothers, but she'll be a shoe in. The kid was born to sing. But part of being in choir means that she will be in 7th grade next year. 7th grade? 7th grade is still part of me, I remember it vividly, 7th grade helped warp (I mean shape) me into who I am today. How is my baby old enough to be going into 7th grade? It's unreal. You know what comes along with 7th grade? Make-up, boys, the shaving of legs, usually a first heart break and so much else that I'm sick just thinking of it. Oh, Lord help me!

Oprah was Right and Shock and Awe

2009-03-29T18:28:00.001-07:00

I cannot tell you how many Oprah shows I've seen over the years and after awhile she started getting on this kick of your home being your sanctuary... blah...blah..blah... And, I'd think, well sure, if I had as much money as Oprah and no kids in the house then maybe I'd even consider trying to have a sanctuary, a place to call my own. At the time, I would have just been happy to pee without interruption. Well, it is with an ample amount of humility that I admit that Oprah was right. How do I know? Let me sing it from the mountain tops that the bathroom remodel is done!!!!! Yeah, that's right, you heard me and guess what? It's beautiful! My hubby did a fabulous job! Kuddos to the hubby! He has just deposited a hundred million brownie points in the bank.

Of course, I had to match the paint color in the bedroom and guess what? It turned out fabulous too. It reminds me of the movie Under a Tuscan Sun. Yes, Oprah was right, EVERYONE should have a sanctuary away from children, telephone calls and the demands of life. I may never come out. And, if I catch any children using my new towels it is off with their heads!

Speaking of towels... when my darling hubby called to tell me that the remodel was officially done, he mentioned that he folded the new towels in such a way as to fit perfectly in the shelves that he custom built. I could barely hear the rest of the conversation over the *ding* ding* ding* in my brain. It kept saying, what? He knows how to fold towels? I've known this man for eighteen years and I've witnessed him folding a towel maybe twice. I couldn't help but mention this little fact to him, no matter how much I tried to keep it in. I can only compare it to something akin to Shock and Awe. To which he replies, "Oh, sure, my first job was in domestics. I've just been playing dumb."

Lucky for him, he had so many brownie points in the bank as I am taking 1,000 brownie points away for every year of "playing dumb." But, even this revealing confession cannot take away my glee. The bathroom is done! The bathroom is done! And, I loovvveee it, yes, I loovveeee it.

Oh, Spring Where Art Thou?

2009-03-28T13:20:00.000-07:00

Spring, why oh why do you play with my emotions? You flirt with me throughout the winter months. Beckoning to me with your alluring sunshine. You call to me on not so gentle breezes to come out and play. But, where oh where have you gone? Why do you hide yourself from me and let Winter take center stage once again? You know that you are my true love. No snowflake, ice crystal or slushy street can compare to your beauty. Spring, oh spring, I am willing to forgo any relationship I have with ol' man Winter for the rest of my days if you will only come back.

I looked and looked and found signs of you everywhere. The tulips, irises, and peonies bursting forth from the cold hard ground gave me hope and brought a smile to my face. How cruel it is for you to beckon them forth only to forsake them to the dreaded snowdrift. Won't you come and save them from sudden death? It is only by chance that my schedule would not bend to your warm advances and have saved me and the garden from the agony of early defeat. You are sly my true love. Why do you toy with me?

Oh my darling Spring do not envy my ability to maneuver slick and slush filled streets that no snow plow has dared to touch. Do not cherish my glow in the dark white, dry and flaking skin. Spring oh spring, the turtleneck is not all it's cracked up to be. I can hear your laughter at my feeble attempts to start a warm and crackling fire. It should come as no surprise to you that I can never remember which pull opens the flu.

It is with long suffering that I endure your mockery. How can I turn from my love for you? It is ingrained within my being and I am unable to control it. I long to feel the warmth of your kiss on my cheek instead of the sting of a winter slap. Spring oh spring, why are you so cruel?

I'm Sore!

2009-03-27T15:33:00.001-07:00

I'm sooo sore. I should know better, but once again, my all or nothing personality got the best of me. I have had IT with this crazy bathroom remodel. It is the project that never ends. I need to have my life back. I need my little spot for my toothbrush and hairdryer away from children. It's almost done, but almost isn't done... and when oh when will it just be done already?

This really does have to do with me being sore. You see, the paint color in the bathroom was going to clash terribly with the bedroom decor. It's been six years, so I decided to match it up. And, well, yesterday I decided it was the day to get it done. I took down wallpaper, Spackled and painted all in one day. I don't do ladders so I climbed up and down off and on a chair a million times over. I stretched, I bent down, I kneeled on hardwood floors all in a manic episode of nesting. I thought my darling hubby was going to kill me when I announced that he would not be able to sleep in his own bed as I was finishing up NO MATTER WHAT.

I awoke early and knocked out the rest... hanging curtains, making up the bed with all new bedding, rearranging the furniture. It looks great! I finished just minutes before I had to be at work. And now, boy can I feel it. Everywhere.

But, did I mention that I'm done?

Do you want fries with that?

2009-03-22T18:41:00.000-07:00

Braveheart is ecstatic! She is ready to conquer the fast food world. This week she was offered her first real job at McDonald's. It is adorable how excited she is about minimum wage, just wait till she learns who FICA is. Funny how you never really want your child to grow up and say, "do you want fries with that?" And, yet, for a first stepping stone, it is entirely appropriate. Do you remember when you thought McDonald's was the best restaurant ever? Well, this child not only grew up with that mentality, but she is also a product of the Playland generation. Which mostly meant that we always ended up fighting some unknown virus 7-10 days later, but when you're desperate for grown-up conversation a McDonald's Playland will always offer up another mom in the same boat.

I want her to learn so many lessons from this experience: the value of GOOD customer service, how to stand up for herself and not be taken advantage of, how to SAVE a buck or two, how to organize yourself so that work doesn't become your entire life, how to balance school and work, how to stand on your own two feet and NOT fall for the completely sexy, wild and possible drug addict that works with you.

I suppose she would object if I tried to go to work with her. No doubt, she would be made fun of if her mom stepped in when customers were rude to her. I'm sure she would be completely annoyed with me if I tried to work out the best possible schedule ever with her manager. Maybe I can sneak in a good comment card on her behalf from time to time.

She is growing up and I am sipping the mixed cocktail of anxiety and pride served best, of course, with a side of piping hot fries.

Emotional Curveball

2009-03-21T19:21:00.000-07:00

I am a creature of habit. I shop at the same grocery stores. I buy the same items. I buy my gas at one particular gas station, at one particular pump. I ALWAYS have two cups of coffee with just the right amount of creamer before I face my day. I park in the same place at work consistently. It's not that I cannot bend or be flexible, its just, well, that I work best with structure or deadlines. If I have all day to get stuff done, then it generally takes all day. If I have thirty minutes, well then, it's amazing how much can get done.

These past two weeks have had anything but structure. Of course, there is the ongoing bathroom saga (remodel), ungrateful company, quick trip to Iowa to visit relatives, messed up work schedule due to vacation, and then the phone call. You know the kind. The phone call that comes as a surprise and takes your breath away. My stepdad, had suffered a heart attack.

Now, I can say that he is doing well. He actually feels better now (according to him). But, I don't. I am overcome with emotion. Besides my darling hubby, he is the one man I care about most on this Earth. This is the man that is not my biological father, the man that I was down right mean and rude to, the man that didn't have to try, the man that hung in there no matter how ugly, the man that has loved my mother through thick and thin, the man that has embraced me as his daughter. He suffered the heart attack and I suffered the attack of heartache.

I know this situation is not new to so many. I know that I am getting to that age when such events will be more common place... but may I just say THIS SUCKS!

Now, I'm just hanging on... I feel emotionally and physically drained. The "To Do" list is taking up too much brain space. I feel disconnected and out of sinc. My routine is out of whack. Which makes me wonder "how old am I really?" Emotional curveballs are not my style.

Back in the Land of the Bloggers...

2009-03-16T19:47:00.000-07:00

I'm back, back in the Land of the Bloggers. I missed you guys. I really did. I don't think I realized how cathartic it is to vent regularly! And, boy, did I need to vent. Truly, I have no one to blame but myself. The company that decided to come at the worst-time-ever tried my ever last nerve. Then they did a Conga on that ever last nerve. Needless to say, I have sworn up and down that from now on I am NOT going to beat around the bush when I would prefer that company NOT come.

Every morning before I even put my size 9 feet on the floor, I would pray for the strength and patience to make this a pleasant visit. I cooked, I cleaned, I cooked, I cleaned some more, I spent time visiting, I rose early and went to bed late, and in the end my company seemed completely ungrateful and downright rude! And, the whole time I'm screaming to myself "JUST LEAVE ALREADY!"

I blame my upbringing. I was always taught to be polite under all circumstances. My mother taught me to clean the entire house and basically turn ourselves inside out for company. There were company dishes, company towels, and for goodness sake I even have a recipe called, "Company Potatoes!" She couldn't help it, her mother taught her. Guess what? Here I am perpetuating the INSANITY. Why do we do this to ourselves? I'll tell you why, because most of us don't live in a state of perfection. Most of us have children that leave clothes, dishes, toys and such lying around. Most of us have husbands that also leave stuff lying around, and let's be honest, most of us leave a few things lying around too. None of us want to be judged for it! None of us want to be criticized for not being PERFECT.

Here's the thing. I have spent a lot of time being supportive to this particular friend, tons of phone conversations listening to the latest drama and believe me there is always drama. I have agonized for her and with her. I have gone so far as to consider actual murder, of very deserving individual, on her behalf (unfortunately God commanded against it) and all I would like in return is a little GRACE. Is it to much to ask to let me parent my own children? You may disagree with it, but please, keep it to yourself. Don't just assume that I have nothing better to do than entertain you endlessly and therefore extend your visit without asking first or bring additional people with you! Please, I would never do this to anyone!

I know, I know, I should have just spoken up. I should have just told her the truth. What do I expect? You are my witnesses, NEVER AGAIN. I am going to be true to myself and my family. We are NOT going to go through this three ring circus of phoniness again. Life is too short! True friendships are mutually edifying. I hate to say it, but the older I get, the fewer tried and true friendships I seem to have. Is anyone else experiencing this or is it just me?

Longing for the Ocean...

2009-03-09T03:56:00.000-07:00

Just looking at the picture I choose to post of the ocean makes me miss it. I miss looking out onto the water. I love the water. I thank God for water. It soothes me.

I need to be soothed. My nerves feel raw and exposed (stress). I need solitude and maybe a good nap. I think that this concept is one that I find hardest to explain to those around me. I NEED alone time. It's not that I don't love or like you. No, I'm not mad at you. Yes, I am ignoring your phone calls, but don't take it personally. I just need time. I need personal space without someone needing or wanting anything from me. I need to unwind the whirlwind in my brain. Life is always so busy that I can't hear my own thoughts.

This week I'm taking a blogging vacation, and hopefully, will enjoy some peace and quiet. Yes, mom, now I know what all the hub-bub was over "peace and quiet."

In the meantime, if you check in and I haven't posted... just take a minute to enjoy the ocean view (pic) and take a deep breath. I'll be back... I promise.

Running Around Like a Chicken

2009-03-07T14:05:00.000-08:00

I always think of my Granny, who is Hungarian, and has a great knack for translating slang into her own personal language. "Running around like a chicken with his head cut off" is simply to her "Running around like a chicken." This phrase sums up the total of my life right now. I can live in this spiralling vortex and actually pull it off for a while. I can put up a pretty good fight. I've had years and years of experience. But, what I've mainly learned from all that experience is that it can only last so long. The human body can only give so much. The human brain is capable of snapping under too much (laundry) pressure. Ask my children, they can literally describe what a conniption fit looks like.

It is so much more desirable to stop and smell the roses. And, maybe if I weren't the one that has to plant the roses, water the roses after thawing out the hoses that were left out all winter, threaten Prince Lawn Gnome with his life if the weed eater gets too close to the roses, mourn for the roses when he does weedwack them to death because he can't be bothered to take an appropriate amount of time around them when there is playtime to be had, collect the remaining roses and arrange them in a beautiful vase that I will proudly display on a table after I clean that off... well, then maybe I could just enjoy a stroll through the yard and enjoy smelling the roses.

So, truly, the spiralling vortex principle applies to EVERY area of my life right now. Even a simple task is not so simple. Add the bathroom remodel, that is taking forever, into the mix and the house is less than desirable. Of course, this is the time that an old friend would decide to stop in for a few days. Doesn't the threat of no running water at any given time mean anything to anyone anymore? I thought that was a rather pointed clue, that no, this isn't a good time for us, apparently not pointed enough. Guilt from not promptly returning her phone calls of late kept me from just outright saying "Are you kidding me? Absolutely not." Instead, I heard myself say, "Oh, great. I'm so looking forward to having some time to visit, just us." Hope she doesn't mind spending hours in the garden reclaiming it for spring or actually tiling the bathroom floor. Both items are on the agenda and CANNOT be put off further. Just add it to the vortex!

Oh, yes, and the daily vortex is still churning around work, homeschool, bible study, youth group an upcoming vacation weekend, and yes, another set of relatives coming to visit. Yes, that will about take care of March.

Cream O' Wheat for the Ages

2009-03-02T02:38:00.000-08:00

There is a distinct advantage to raising independent children. Especially when it comes to being able to throw together a sandwich or a grilled cheese for oneself. Prince Lawn Gnome can make a mean fried egg. True, there was more than one casualty when he was learning to flip them in the pan. Thankfully, you can count on the dogs to be nearby to lick up the spillage.

Lately, Songbird has been trying her hand in the kitchen. Her latest, Cream O' Wheat. Which explains why we went through a gallon of milk in the blink of an eye this week. I don't know about you but I love Cream O' Wheat. It's a down-home kinda food. Low cost, good for you and reminds you of the kind grandma used to make. It also has some miraculous qualities. My favorite is its bonding capabilities. Move over SuperGlue 'cause you don't have nothing on the Wheat. This is an attribute that Songbird learned firsthand after over boiling it onto the glass-top stove. I didn't make the discovery until well after the cooling process and the adhering had officially taken place, as I had worked the night shift (occupational hazard).

I'm quite certain that in a pinch I could mortar a house with the stuff. It's just a rumor, but I heard it was used to build the Great Wall of China and the Pyramids.

A Sad but True Tale....

2009-02-28T14:10:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, in her freshman year of high school, Oceangypsy (not yet a mom) ran for the VP of student council. Now, this was before she became part of the "cool" crowd. This particular year she was somewhat quiet, reflective and suffering from acne and perpetual bad hair. Oh, what a difference a year makes. However, that image was not her self image. In her mind's eye, Oceangypsy knew that she could make a difference.

She spent hours working on posters with creative and witty slogans. Her entire family participated and it was a bonding experience. The result was a campaign that resembled the California Raisin commercials. "I heard it through the grapevine..." Sorry, momentary lapse into song... lucky for you, you can't hear me right now. Her speech was awesome. It was funny, targeted, and promised real change.

What Oceangypsy didn't know was that in politics popularity trumps substance nearly 100% of the time. Her rival was a fun, cute and networked cheerleader. It didn't matter what her campaign was as she only needed to put her name on the ballot and the deal was sealed. However, Oceangypsy let her idealism carry her through to the end. Of course, the writing was on the wall and when she went in to see the final vote tally she was in for a real shock. Let's just say that Oceangypsy knew that it was improbable that she amassed any real number of votes, but the number on the page was simply excruciating. Five votes. Five votes, one of them being her own.

It is one of the defining moments of Oceangypsy's life. A true life lesson in how to hold your head up high. Thankfully, the following year she transferred to a new school and redefined her social life.

You may ask why I feel compelled to share this sad but true tale at this time? Nearly everyday I am encouraged by a friend or family member that feels compelled to say, "I just love your blog." I am so flattered. I am really, really glad. And, sense I seem to have no real life of my own other than that of my hubby and children, this blog represents a new chapter in staking a claim on one. So, I am encouraging my friends and family to cast their ballot and actually sign up as followers. There are currently eight followers (which is a great improvement over my pitiful five votes) but surely we can do better than that.

I do not want to be deluded like all those contestants on American Idol that think they are actually good because their mother told them so. I want to earn your comment (vote). I would love to read what you are thinking.

7 years, 44 days and 1 hour

2009-02-27T20:40:00.000-08:00

Don't be surprised if you see me on the eleven o'clock news:

Oceangypsymom literally jumped off a cliff today when she realized that she had 7 years, 44 days and 1 hour left to go before her children moved out! She was seen wandering the neighborhood mumbling, "how many times have I picked up these socks?" Friends and neighbors feigned surprise, but they had been privy to the routinely unkempt oceangypsy house. According to their reports, mountains of laundry, crusted dishware, and a yard full of bicycles or skate boards was the norm. When questioned by authorities, her hubby, revealed that she frequently fantasized about a clean house in which she could relax and breathe deep. No amount of Yankee candles, Downey softener or Merlot seemed to make a difference.

The perpetrators (otherwise known as the children) of the messiness proclaim that they are innocent of all charges "wasn't me." They have no known memory of repeated pleadings, to pick up clothing off of bathroom floors, to turn off lights when leaving rooms or to feed the dogs. This reporter was surprised at the lack of empathy the perpetrators had towards their mother's plight. They were instead more concerned with their Rock Band, Runescape and Facebook status.

The final straw appeared to be a half eaten meal that was prepared "just the way they liked it last week." Apparently, the rendering of the meal was met with a pitiful amount of gratitude and swiftly set aside for the dogs to eat. Unable to force herself to clean the dishes just one more time, the Oceangypsymom penned a quick note to her hubby. Remember me as I was once. Remember the woman you fell in love with. With that she took off in the neighbors Mustang convertible and never looked back. Onlookers, report her last words were... 7 years.... 44 days... and 1 more hour...

Cooking with Love?

2009-02-25T23:00:00.000-08:00

Some of you may know that my hubby worked as a chef for many years. And while, he is content with a can of Cheeze Whiz and Doritos, he can whip up a mean meal if he wants to. He'll always be my Top Chef. However, we, like many other families out there, are addicted to reality t.v. Top Chef is one of our favorites.

I just wanted to give a shout out to Carla, my favorite contestant. Okay, okay so Fabio was my all time favorite (love that Italian accent.) But, I was really pulling for her in the end. She kept saying that she cooked with "love." Which made me think about my own cooking. I can't even remember the last time I felt like I cooked with "love." Disdain, yes. Frustration, always. Regret, yes. But, love, umm... not so much. Now, eating with "love," I've got that down. I appreciate the effort that goes into a good meal. I appreciate that it looks pretty. I especially appreciate it if I'm not doing it. I will doubly appreciate it if I don't have to cook it or clean up after it! I guess I just don't have the patience or creativity for it. You either have it or you don't. It's like singing, which, I'm sad to say I don't have either.

A virtual margarita toast to Carla who clearly cooks with "love" and is to me a Top Chef.

Putting DIY and HGTV to the test

2009-02-22T17:57:00.000-08:00

It happens if you stay in the same house long enough. I like to refer to it as the money pit syndrome. The time when repairs start piling up faster than money comes in. Eventually, you have to pull the trigger. Eventually, you have to stop thinking about fixing that leaky shower and actually fix it. Over the years, I have confidently tackled differing decorating projects spurred forward by my favorite decorating shows. Some results have definitely been better than others (don't even ask me about wallpaper.) But, tackling a complete bathroom redo is another matter. If you make a mistake, it's more expensive. If it looks awful, you can't just paint over it for an additional $25.00.

My hubby is very handy. He normally would take this project and whip it out in no time, but with his back issues he is falling into a supervisory role on this one. So, I along with Prince Lawn Gnome, will take on demolition, shower installation, tile, and paint. Lord help us all. It has been my past experience that while my hubby means well, he sometimes gets a little snippy when giving directions. And, maybe it's just me, but in the past I haven't received direction well either. So... hopefully we will survive this. Hopefully, the results will be worth the effort.

The last thing I need is a bathroom redo that I have to redo again.

And, I would be remiss if I didn't commit on the complete corner of the market when it comes to the price of shower doors! Who knew? It's glass, tempered yes, but it's not like I'm flying the space shuttle here. The number one consideration is how hard it is to clean, because, let's face it, just because the bathroom looks new doesn't mean I'm going to want to clean it more often.

This will definitely be the tell tale sign as to whether or not I should even watch another DIY or HGTV do it yourself episode. It always looks so easy...

Fear Factor

2009-02-20T18:31:00.000-08:00

This week was one full of fears.... First Braveheart took and passed her driver's test. Talk about real, in your face fear. This is one of those stages when your imagination goes wild, when you realize all the dangers associated with driving. Your mind starts to recall every crazy newstory you've ever heard about teenage drivers. I was ever so thankful for an independent agency that gives the final passing grade. This is when your parenting really starts coming into question. Have we taught her enough over the years, raised a responsible teenage girl that can be trusted not to joyride all over town?

My fear was offset a little when Braveheart came home with a huge smile across her face, lit up like a Christmas tree. She had gone through the drive-thru at McDonald's all by herself! She was ecstatic! My fear was offset a little more when she offered to return the movies to Blockbuster on time! (Yes, there is a benefit to all this!)

One of the most fearful experiences of the week had to be when Prince Lawn Gnome, who received his learner's permit, drove from the license bureau home. It started to occur to me that this is the same child that drove a four wheeler off a cliff into a ditch a few years ago. The memory was jostled from the recesses of my brain when he took a corner like he was driving a go cart! Oh, why didn't I space these children further apart in age? Not to have any break between driving lessons is just a heart attack waiting to happen.

Sandwiched in the middle of all this chaos (life) was a planned Fear Factor experience with the youth. Finally, a little time to turn the tables around and be the perpetrator of the fear! A little redemption was just what the doctor ordered.

I'm glad that I enjoyed it while it lasted because the next onset of fear came when I cleaned out Songbird's bookbag and found my make-up remover at the bottom of the bag. Dear Lord, can I please catch a little break here?

The answer to that prayer: a resounding no.

The very next day, a new fear. My hubby is put on a one week of rest per the doctor to help his fubar, I mean, aching back. I'm thankful, so thankful for that. Even thankful for the massive amounts of drugs he's on. It is seriously funny. But, yes, there in again lies the fear. Fear that a man who has done nothing but physical labor for twenty some years is going to really rest. Fear that his employer will say, "nice knowin' you."

So, if you don't mind, shoot up a prayer for me. A prayer to deal with the fear, to keep it in check. And, if you live in the KC metro area, you've been duly warned.

A Happy Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T18:13:00.000-08:00

First, I'd like to say that traditionally Valentine's Day for us has been pretty much like every other day. My hubby always worked (was overworked) and we were always broke. And, while those two circumstances haven't really changed, this year is different. This year, he took the time to meet me for dinner on my lunch break. This year, he went out of his way. This year he thought about it ahead of time. This year he didn't just take the easy way out.

And guess what? It worked. I feel genuinely blessed to have him in my life.

Happy Valentine's Day!

The Dork Squad

2009-02-13T20:07:00.000-08:00

I don't know how I got mixed up with this bunch; I was one of the cool kids. Of course, that was over 20 years ago and I'm not sure how much longer I can hang on to that reputation. Anyway, I'm beginning to feel a little like I'm in the land of misfit toys when it comes to my family.

Perhaps, a little explanation is in order. Over the summer we went to the lake with friends. Braveheart took one of the younger children aside when he needed to go pee. So, now they are forever know as "pee buddies." Which in and of itself is an endearing tale, but now, it's beginning to take on a life of it's own. For her 16th birthday, Braveheart has decided to order personalized license plates that say PBUDE. When I was 16, I would have sooner died then advertise this fact. I am further annoyed that I might actually drive this car with said license plates from time to time. And while having to go pee constantly after three children, or crossing my legs when I sneeze is a major part of my life now, I'm not ready for the PBUDE sign.

Secondly, I'm fairly certain that Prince Lawn Gnome has actually shaved part of his eyebrows. He vehemently denies doing such, but stubble is stubble. I'm not sure what he was thinking, but a monobrow is definitely growing in.

And now today, Songbird calls me at work with an "emergency." It seems that all three kids have locked themselves in the basement and cannot get out. Just how exactly do you lock yourself in the house? Long story short, they did. However, this still did not constitute an actual emergency in my book as they have a bathroom, two televisions, Internet access, every game system known to man, and a mini fridge fully stocked with pop, string cheese and an ample supply of Doritos. My response, "just wait till your Dad gets home."

I love these guys from the bottom of my heart, but truly sometimes I feel like the mom of the dork squad.

Wash and Wear or Underwear?

2009-02-12T16:27:00.000-08:00

I swear to you that this actually happened. I am not making it up.

I decided to try a new salon that opened near my home. It's always a little scary trying out a new stylist. But, today I was feeling brave and thought "why not?" I was encouraged when I could walk right in no problems. The stylist was very friendly and listened intently to what I wanted. She did a very good job. She got it right. Cuddos on the haircut. Her personality was also very nice, but she didn't chit chat too much. I hate small talk. This was just the right amount. So far so good right?

Well, I started looking around the place and noticed that the updates to the building were a little shabby at best. This was not the work of a professional. Weekend warrior was more like it. The two preschool aged children of the stylist were also playing nearby. They were well behaved children and seemed to be very involved in some imaginary game. And, then I glanced over to the counter behind the register and there it was. I wasn't sure at first so I stared for a long time to be certain. It was a pair of little pink panties wadded up in a ball. They weren't folded as if they had come out of the laundry. Just wadded up... there on the counter... for all to see....

I thought about asking the stylist about them, but I didn't want to offend her. After all, my hair was still in her hands! I thought about mentioning it before I left. Certainly, she would be embarrassed and appalled. Certainly, this is not the image she wants to display to her clientele, but I chickened out. Not only did I chicken out, but I tipped her handsomely.

Now, I can't decide if I am appalled enough to look for another stylist or if I'm happy enough with the cut to give her another try. I'm looking for advice on this one. What would you do?

Where did all these kids come from?

2009-02-12T00:37:00.000-08:00

I know for certain that I only birthed three, not all at once, thank you. Yet, somehow, more and more of them keep showing up. They wander in and out, in and out and in and out again. If you follow the trail of dishes and empty pop cans, you know exactly where they've been. My phone rings constantly! I don't even answer it anymore, I simply let it go to voice mail.

One of these extras has actually taken to calling me "mom." Several have spent the night so many times that I don't even bother to make sure that they have pillows and blankets. (They should know where they are by now.) It's not unusual to find extra clothing in the laundry. Clothes that I am positive look familiar, but don't actually belong to anyone in this household. I find this particularly insulting as my laundry mountain is tall enough. I don't need any help in this department.

But, the latest and somewhat disturbing trend, is that I am actually losing sleep over other people's children. Awhile back, I mentioned to my hubby that I would like to adopt another child. He wasn't thrilled. He hasn't said no, but he hasn't said yes either. He really hasn't said much of anything. And, now, I'm beginning to think that my life is being filled with all these teenagers that need a surrogate mom for a reason. There are a lot of them and their problems are real. They make me thankful that my own kids are late bloomers.

I'm trying to wrap my brain around it. I'm trying to wrap my heart around it. If I give up the dream of enlarging my family, will that hole somehow be filled? Can it really be the same? Is influence given in bits and pieces the same as raising a child completely?

Love is in the air...

2009-02-09T01:12:00.000-08:00

I can honestly say that yesterday I was a wedding crasher! Never thought I'd do that. I debate long and hard over going to weddings of those I do know, much less someone I've never even met before. Weddings just aren't my thing. Now a good reception... that's another story. In fact, I think that's when the whole wedding scene started turning sour for me... dry receptions. I mean what's the point?

So, just why would I crash a wedding? Let's just say... love was in the air. I innocently went to church and part of the service was a chance for all married couples to renew their vows. My husband is always off doing tech support so I was surprised when he was waiting for me at the front of the church! Yes, there were tears in both our eyes. It's amazing how much more those vows mean when you know the full extent of them.

To have and to hold... despite times of tiredness
For richer for poorer... how about for poorer or poorer
In sickness and in health... we're getting older and just really facing sickness head on
In good times and in bad... it depends on how you look at them
As long as you both shall live... if even out of nothing but pure stubbornness!

Yes, those vows mean a lot more now.

Well, I was all caught up in the moment, feeling loved and feeling blessed to have such a great hubby. That's when they announced that there would be a wedding of a young couple directly after the service and we could stay if we wanted to. Just one week ago they were merely living together and now they wanted to make it official before God and everyone. They didn't want to wait and prolong the process. The marriage was the important thing, not the wedding. It was romantic! (Remember romance?) And, yes, I cried. I cried and cried and when will I learn to carry some Kleenex in that over sized purse of mine?

Oh, and how young they looked. They looked really, really young. Did we look that young? We must have. There is something completely endearing about the hopefulness of young newlyweds. Their biggest assets are determination and love. What else do they need? Yes, love is in the air...

Helpful hints from Urgent Care...

2009-02-08T19:49:00.000-08:00

I would like to start by saying that I, too, have had my freak out moments as a mom. Yes, I am guilty of going to the PCP (with my firstborn, Braveheart) for ridiculous reasons. So, yes, I understand. I know that sometimes completely rational people lose all common sense when it comes to your children and illness. However, I cannot survive another flu season in the urgent care without passing along some helpful hints.

First of all, I guarantee that your child's fever is NOT 108 degrees.

Second, please plan to spend at least 3 hours in the urgent care. This is a normal amount of time. If you get out sooner then consider yourself lucky! This is flu season people, everyone is sick. You will not be bumped ahead of other families because you are "just waiting for strep results." So is everyone else. You are not special today.

If you come to Urgent Care every week, then it is probably because you are repeatedly exposing your child to a million germs in the waiting room every week.

Please, I beg you, do not hand your insurance card to your coughing, runny nosed child and then tell them to hand it to "the nice lady." The nice lady is trying very hard not to be sick too. Her hands are dry and cracking due to all the hand washing.

When your child presents with vomiting, you should bring a bowl or bag of some sort to avoid the upchuck scene at the front desk. I often wonder, didn't they take a bowl in the car? Weren't you worried that your child would throw up on the upholstery? Seriously, am I the only mom that assigns a bowl to any queasy child? The designated bowl goes where you go.

WHEW! That about covers it for now. I do have to say that for the most part, parents out there are great. Nice, polite, and simply doing the right thing in making sure that their child is going to be okay. I understand, I really do. I think I must just deal with an abnormal amount of parents that fall under the "don't have a clue" category. They don't call it a compassion crisis for nothing. I will definitely work on that.

Who are you, really?

2009-02-06T19:38:00.000-08:00

I'm beginning to wonder if it's possible to ever really know a person. For that matter, is it really ever possible to honestly know yourself, to be objective? It seems that we go to great lengths to portray who we want to be, or who we want others to think we are.

Exhibit A: The following entry made by a friend's husband on his web acct, "I do my own laundry and believe that housework is family work. Not women's work or skirt work. It's easier to help around the house then to lay around and complain about it." I think he forgot that there are those of us who know better. There are those of us who have lived through the trials and tribulations his wife has suffered in the long journey to housework self discovery. However, I am encouraged by this remark as it is proof that you can teach an old dog new tricks!

Exhibit B: The insane cleaning frenzy that occurs before company comes over. If you haven't seen the clean version of the oceangypsy house in awhile then consider yourself elevated to true friend status. You no longer qualify as company.

Exhibit C: Dressing up for church on Sunday morning. I would love to show up in my pajamas, slippers, no make-up and an IV pole with a direct line for the caffeine. (This could be a great social experiment.)

Exhibit D: An oceangypsymom stuck in the middle of the midwest. Where's the water? Where's the beach? Brad Paisley said it best, "I'm so much cooler online."

For the Underdogs...

2009-02-01T19:37:00.000-08:00

Watching the Superbowl today, I realized how much I love the underdogs. I can't help it. Come to think of it, I think we are predisposed to root for them. There should be an underdog hall of fame. The Little Engine that Could... underdog, The Pokey Little Puppy.... underdog, Clark Kent.... underdog, Cinderella... underdog, The Beaver... underdog, The Chicago Bears... always the underdog, The Cubs... again, always the underdog... and now living in KC, the Chiefs, who define the meaning of underdog. And, didn't you hate it when poor Fredo gets whacked in the Godfather? Poor Fredo, he was definitely an underdog. How about ordinary, working class folks that win the lotto? Oh, yes, and Rocky! Can't forget Rocky! And now, Kurt Warner, gotta love him.

So, here's to all the underdogs out there (lift your virtual margarita's high) I salute you!