After I picked up G from school yesterday, we headed to SuperTarget. I needed to find a store where I could buy the pasta and mushrooms as well as the wine I needed in order to make my killer spaghetti. SuperTarget fit the bill, carrying both groceries and wine. (And the new lightbulb for G's lava lamp to boot.)
Now, I was highly skeptical of taking G to SuperTarget because the Target logo was one of the first logos that G knew by sight. Target = Toys. (It's right up there with the Golden Arches, which I think is the first logo ANY child born in the U.S. knows.) Still, I was up for the adventure and planned to inform him that any toy he came across would immediately go on his birthday list instead of the shopping basket. I readied G by telling him the specific list of items I expected to purchase.
We entered the store and picked up the light bulb and then proceeded to head across the store to the grocery half, crossing right in front of the toy section. G didn't ask or even blink as we passed the toys and games aisles. I could hear, several aisles down, every parent's worse nightmare. A small child screaming at the top of their little lungs: "I WANT A TOY... WHY CAN'T I GET A TOY... YOU NEVER LET ME GET A TOY! PLEASE LET ME GET A TOY! I WANT A TOY!" Within a moment, a very calm mother pushed a cart across the walkway in front of us and turned back to view the toy section. G and I walked past the standoff quickly. In the Barbie aisle stood a little girl, about three, fists balled in fury, pink-ribboned ponytail swinging madly like the tail of a pissed-off cat. She marched towards her mother, still screaming at the top of her lungs.
G looked at me with wide, innocent eyes.
G: "That girl is having really bad behavior."
Me: "All of us have days like that, sweetie."
G nods in sympathy.
I had to smile at his calmness and matter-of-fact assessment of the situation. I have been lucky with G, a few temper tantrums here and there. A few meltdowns. Most of the time, he's passive by nature just like his dad. (Although, he can certainly be stubborn like me.) I suspect it's gonna be a whole new world with this baby girlchild. I hope G can maintain his calm demeanor when it comes to dealing with his female genetic counterpart. I have hope though. Especially with what happened next...
We passed the girl's section and I stopped to look for items to send in a care package to my nieces in Germany. As I wandered through the section, G acted in typical boy fashion, dashing around the clothing displays with abandon. He would slip into the center of racks and giggle wildly. This was fine, he stayed close and wasn't in anyone's way. It left me free to browse. I soon came across a couple of racks of dancing outfits, items perfect to send to my nieces ages 4 and 6 who *love* their dance class. I pulled out several pink and black items with attached tutus and began to narrow the field when...
G came up to me and viewed the pink velvet leotard with an attached tutu I was holding and exclaimed:
"HOW CUTE IS THAT!"
He felt the tutu material and stated "...and soft too!" He looked at me and nodded his approval with those once more wide and innocent eyes. Then, in a flash, he was off and running around racks again.
I stood frozen in place. Did my ears and eyes deceive me? Did my son just exclaim that a PINK VELVET LEOTARD was actually "CUTE"? I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Seriously? My son appreciated something girlie? Something without an engine. Something you don't hit or kick. Something actually girlie AND cute.
WOW.
I really think we did hit the genetic lottery!
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Differing Views
Unfortunately not too many boy adventures to report. G2 came over only for a few hours Saturday night. At first, G and G2 had a blast together, but G2 just didn't want to be without Mom and Dad for the entire evening. It's understandable, they are just bridging the gap between being 4 and 5 years old. Usually it's all about Mom and Dad during this time. Our last attempt at overnight with friend Jacob, ended early as well, with my husband delivering a sobbing boy home at midnight.
That's more of what I would expect for overnights at this age. G has been overnighting since he was 2 and we've not had any problems. To my knowledge, has never gotten terribly sad at leaving M and I for the entire night. He seems to relish it. Either I am lucky or he really *is* that much of a bullheaded Taurus. ("I am going to go do this." End of conversation.)
Yesterday, prior to G2's arrival, G was out on the back deck and ended up with 3 splinters in his foot. As with any kiddo, he was devestated by the state of foreign objects imbedded in skin. I swooped him into the bathroom and got him on the toilet lid for a foot inspection. One splinter was on the surface and just needed a little tweezer action. The other two splinters were deftly buried under the first few layers of skin and would require both a needle and the tweezers. G looked at me with wide eyes, fearful of my diagnosis.
Me cautiously: "Honey, I am gonna have to use the needle to lift up the end of these splinters, they are a little deep."
G in denial: "No, no needles Mom."
I proceeded to explain how I was going to need to use the needle and talked him through the cleaning of the needle and how I was going to use it. I lightly scraped my skin and his, and still he was skeptical.
The first splinter was easy to remove. The second took a little more concentration. I bent my head down, and proceeded to work at lifting that little sucker. G's skepticism turned into fear of my every movement until....
G suddenly, wonderfully, momentarily sidetracked: "Mom? You have a bald spot on your head."
Me, indignant and trying to concentrate : "I do not!"
G, peering closely at the top of my head: "Yes you do, right there," He touches the top of my head towards my hairline.
Me glancing at him: "No I don't!"
G: "Yes you do... and it's really long."
Me: "That's called a part."
G, indignant back: "Well, *I* don't have one."
Me, now smirking but still working the splinter: "That's because we've always combed your hair all forward. We could start parting your hair if you like."
G, horrified: "Uh, no. I don't want one." Visibly shudders.
I guess I have a sense of how M feels when we tease him about his growing bald spot. I don't think most men take it as hard as a woman would though. And personally, I find my hubby's bald spot sexy... but one of my own? I shudder at the thought too.
That's more of what I would expect for overnights at this age. G has been overnighting since he was 2 and we've not had any problems. To my knowledge, has never gotten terribly sad at leaving M and I for the entire night. He seems to relish it. Either I am lucky or he really *is* that much of a bullheaded Taurus. ("I am going to go do this." End of conversation.)
Yesterday, prior to G2's arrival, G was out on the back deck and ended up with 3 splinters in his foot. As with any kiddo, he was devestated by the state of foreign objects imbedded in skin. I swooped him into the bathroom and got him on the toilet lid for a foot inspection. One splinter was on the surface and just needed a little tweezer action. The other two splinters were deftly buried under the first few layers of skin and would require both a needle and the tweezers. G looked at me with wide eyes, fearful of my diagnosis.
Me cautiously: "Honey, I am gonna have to use the needle to lift up the end of these splinters, they are a little deep."
G in denial: "No, no needles Mom."
I proceeded to explain how I was going to need to use the needle and talked him through the cleaning of the needle and how I was going to use it. I lightly scraped my skin and his, and still he was skeptical.
The first splinter was easy to remove. The second took a little more concentration. I bent my head down, and proceeded to work at lifting that little sucker. G's skepticism turned into fear of my every movement until....
G suddenly, wonderfully, momentarily sidetracked: "Mom? You have a bald spot on your head."
Me, indignant and trying to concentrate : "I do not!"
G, peering closely at the top of my head: "Yes you do, right there," He touches the top of my head towards my hairline.
Me glancing at him: "No I don't!"
G: "Yes you do... and it's really long."
Me: "That's called a part."
G, indignant back: "Well, *I* don't have one."
Me, now smirking but still working the splinter: "That's because we've always combed your hair all forward. We could start parting your hair if you like."
G, horrified: "Uh, no. I don't want one." Visibly shudders.
I guess I have a sense of how M feels when we tease him about his growing bald spot. I don't think most men take it as hard as a woman would though. And personally, I find my hubby's bald spot sexy... but one of my own? I shudder at the thought too.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Wired for Sound
I love my iPod. I think it's one of the greatest inventions since sliced bread. As a tween, I would listen to the radio and frantically try to record my favorite songs on cassette, generally with plenty of annoying DJ talk over. It was my best effort to play DJ and I felt I was pretty good at it. I still have most of my tapes. (In a box, in the attic I believe.)
The iPod has renewed that feeling of being in control of my music. To play ultimate DJ. Power trip to the extreme.
That power is currently being abused.
Now, being a good mommy, I feel I have done my best to infuse good muscial taste in my son. As an infant, I could only listen to the Gipsy Kings and Dave Matthews Band in his presence. As he's grown, we've expanded his preferred music to include the likes of Queen, Cake, and the B-52's.
Especially the B-52's.
Especially "Rock Lobster."
Which is what is currently playing on my iPod, very loudly, in the bathroom of my house.
Over
and over
and over
and over.
G's a little excited because one of his best friends, G2, is coming over to spend the night tonight. The music is just G's expression of his mood. (He gets that from me.) His sheer excitement for the evening ahead. He's wired for sound.
(somebody help me!)
If I had a *fraction* of that energy, I would be Superwoman. I'd have a clean house, a week's worth of meals in the freezer, a fully landscaped yard and solved the world's starvation issues.
Thank goodness for husbands.
Ah... quiet from the bathroom. Guess it's safe to go back there now.
Perhaps not, we're having attitude issues. Great. It's gonna be a long day until G2 arrives. We're all waiting for 6:00.
*sighs*
I am sure I will have plenty of boy adventures to report later....
The iPod has renewed that feeling of being in control of my music. To play ultimate DJ. Power trip to the extreme.
That power is currently being abused.
Now, being a good mommy, I feel I have done my best to infuse good muscial taste in my son. As an infant, I could only listen to the Gipsy Kings and Dave Matthews Band in his presence. As he's grown, we've expanded his preferred music to include the likes of Queen, Cake, and the B-52's.
Especially the B-52's.
Especially "Rock Lobster."
Which is what is currently playing on my iPod, very loudly, in the bathroom of my house.
Over
and over
and over
and over.
G's a little excited because one of his best friends, G2, is coming over to spend the night tonight. The music is just G's expression of his mood. (He gets that from me.) His sheer excitement for the evening ahead. He's wired for sound.
(somebody help me!)
If I had a *fraction* of that energy, I would be Superwoman. I'd have a clean house, a week's worth of meals in the freezer, a fully landscaped yard and solved the world's starvation issues.
Thank goodness for husbands.
Ah... quiet from the bathroom. Guess it's safe to go back there now.
Perhaps not, we're having attitude issues. Great. It's gonna be a long day until G2 arrives. We're all waiting for 6:00.
*sighs*
I am sure I will have plenty of boy adventures to report later....
Friday, March 24, 2006
Quali-Tea
Okay, so I *must* bring this to the forefront because it made me laugh and pays homage to my last two entries: tea and girlfriends.
For those who don't read the comments, my friend Kay posted this in the comments under "Sweet Tea" and had some very valid things to say. Iced tea is a necessity in my world. I hate water. In fact, I say there are rules for water as there are for tea. But that's another blog for another wee hour rant.
The point is: Kay and I are like-minded souls. There *ARE* rules to good Iced Tea. I can't drink Sweet Tea constantly, which is what makes it such a delicacy when I have the hankering. Even my Sweet Tooth can't handle Sweet Tea ALL the time.
So, for all who didn't read, these are the Official Kay's Rules of Iced Tea Etiquette in quotes with my humble supportive opinions:
"These are my rules for restaurant iced tea:"
"1) If you bring me anything other than real, brewed iced tea you will be replacing it with something else."
Well, duh, this is a given. I mean, tea is brewed from dried leaves not made from tiny crystals in a jar. And, oh yes, there is a HUGE taste difference. One that is hard to hide. You can't tell me that the average dried tea leaf is really THAT much more expensive than those manufactured crystals.
"2) I must have a straw to prevent the ice avalanche from falling upon my face while I am drinking it."
Amen. I also prefer the crunchy little ice nuggets as opposed to those squarish cubes that are often so slippery they jump right out of the glass when you try to stir in your Sweet-n-Low. Then you have to use your empty pink packet as a deathbed for the now melting ice cube. Messy.
"3) Iced tea should be limed, not lemoned. If you haven't got a lime, don't even bother."
Exactly. Lemons are good for water, if it's nasty tap water. Helps cover up the taste of the pipes and other inherent minerals. But seriously, if G-d gives you lemons, make lemonade, don't put them in my tea. Limes are for tea. And key lime pie.
"4) MUST HAVE SWEET'N'LOW."
MUST. MUST, MUST, MUST. When Splenda rehit the market, I noticed restaurants opted to rid of the pink packets in favor of the blue and yellow packets. That's just plain WRONG. Equal and Splenda are fine in premixed diet drinks, but they don't make "unsweet tea" very sweet. THINK PINK.
"5) When I get the proper ratio of lime and Sweet'n'Low, do not come over and mess it up with a refill unless I ask. That's just common sense."
A good waitperson knows this. They also know not to leave my glass empty either. Balance in all things. (Zen Teasim) I have forced myself to learn the art of guessing the appropriate packet portion to refill amount and usually get close enough. Still, I would rather not guess.
"6) An essential ingredient in iced tea is ICE. If my glass has runneth out of ice, just filling it with lukewarm tea does not meet the critical success factors for my chosen beverage."
Iced tea is partially named for the ICE. Same with water. I like it nice and cold, ICE cold. I am even willing to drink average tap water if it's cold enough. Okay, MOST tap water. Not Allen city tap water, that's truly nasty stuff.
"7) Iced tea IS for breakfast. It's the perfect accompaniment to eggs, potatoes, bacon and sausage. However, if there is a sweet component to the breakfast (such as pancakes or a pastry) then I must also have coffee. And that requires cream and SUGAR, not Sweet'n'Low. Don't look at me funny when I tell you all this."
As I said, I hate water. Okay, perhaps not hate, but strongly dislike. Water has taste. I like spring water, preferrably Ozarka. This makes it open season on iced tea. Even for breakfast. Even with my margharita.
And yes, coffee is a different beast. Cream and sugar are essential. (unless I am not doing the "sugar thing," then Splenda will work as a decent substitute. NOT Sweet-n-Low, which is for tea.)
Now, what I didn't say in my previous post is there they are a few essentials to Sweet Tea. First and foremost, Sweet Tea is only Sweet Tea when the sugar is poured in as the tea is brewing. Hot water melts sugar, not room temperature water and DEFINITELY not iced water. You can't put sugar in iced tea and get that same Sweet Tea result. When you pour those little sugar packets into iced tea, you get some sweet at the top and end up chewing the bottom third. Ick.
For those who don't read the comments, my friend Kay posted this in the comments under "Sweet Tea" and had some very valid things to say. Iced tea is a necessity in my world. I hate water. In fact, I say there are rules for water as there are for tea. But that's another blog for another wee hour rant.
The point is: Kay and I are like-minded souls. There *ARE* rules to good Iced Tea. I can't drink Sweet Tea constantly, which is what makes it such a delicacy when I have the hankering. Even my Sweet Tooth can't handle Sweet Tea ALL the time.
So, for all who didn't read, these are the Official Kay's Rules of Iced Tea Etiquette in quotes with my humble supportive opinions:
"These are my rules for restaurant iced tea:"
"1) If you bring me anything other than real, brewed iced tea you will be replacing it with something else."
Well, duh, this is a given. I mean, tea is brewed from dried leaves not made from tiny crystals in a jar. And, oh yes, there is a HUGE taste difference. One that is hard to hide. You can't tell me that the average dried tea leaf is really THAT much more expensive than those manufactured crystals.
"2) I must have a straw to prevent the ice avalanche from falling upon my face while I am drinking it."
Amen. I also prefer the crunchy little ice nuggets as opposed to those squarish cubes that are often so slippery they jump right out of the glass when you try to stir in your Sweet-n-Low. Then you have to use your empty pink packet as a deathbed for the now melting ice cube. Messy.
"3) Iced tea should be limed, not lemoned. If you haven't got a lime, don't even bother."
Exactly. Lemons are good for water, if it's nasty tap water. Helps cover up the taste of the pipes and other inherent minerals. But seriously, if G-d gives you lemons, make lemonade, don't put them in my tea. Limes are for tea. And key lime pie.
"4) MUST HAVE SWEET'N'LOW."
MUST. MUST, MUST, MUST. When Splenda rehit the market, I noticed restaurants opted to rid of the pink packets in favor of the blue and yellow packets. That's just plain WRONG. Equal and Splenda are fine in premixed diet drinks, but they don't make "unsweet tea" very sweet. THINK PINK.
"5) When I get the proper ratio of lime and Sweet'n'Low, do not come over and mess it up with a refill unless I ask. That's just common sense."
A good waitperson knows this. They also know not to leave my glass empty either. Balance in all things. (Zen Teasim) I have forced myself to learn the art of guessing the appropriate packet portion to refill amount and usually get close enough. Still, I would rather not guess.
"6) An essential ingredient in iced tea is ICE. If my glass has runneth out of ice, just filling it with lukewarm tea does not meet the critical success factors for my chosen beverage."
Iced tea is partially named for the ICE. Same with water. I like it nice and cold, ICE cold. I am even willing to drink average tap water if it's cold enough. Okay, MOST tap water. Not Allen city tap water, that's truly nasty stuff.
"7) Iced tea IS for breakfast. It's the perfect accompaniment to eggs, potatoes, bacon and sausage. However, if there is a sweet component to the breakfast (such as pancakes or a pastry) then I must also have coffee. And that requires cream and SUGAR, not Sweet'n'Low. Don't look at me funny when I tell you all this."
As I said, I hate water. Okay, perhaps not hate, but strongly dislike. Water has taste. I like spring water, preferrably Ozarka. This makes it open season on iced tea. Even for breakfast. Even with my margharita.
And yes, coffee is a different beast. Cream and sugar are essential. (unless I am not doing the "sugar thing," then Splenda will work as a decent substitute. NOT Sweet-n-Low, which is for tea.)
Now, what I didn't say in my previous post is there they are a few essentials to Sweet Tea. First and foremost, Sweet Tea is only Sweet Tea when the sugar is poured in as the tea is brewing. Hot water melts sugar, not room temperature water and DEFINITELY not iced water. You can't put sugar in iced tea and get that same Sweet Tea result. When you pour those little sugar packets into iced tea, you get some sweet at the top and end up chewing the bottom third. Ick.
Sweet Tea
There is nothing like a good glass of Southern sweet tea to make your day right. Sweet Tea isn't served widely in Texas, mostly at BBQ joints who hold on to that Southern tradition. It's a simple recipe: a pitcher of tea, a cup of sugar. The bigger the pitcher, the bigger the cup. Great REALLY creative persons can change up some of the elements in order to customize the tea to suit almost any palate. We deep Southerners are like the hummingbirds, make ours as sweet as candy. Sugar water with a slight taste of acidic tea. Send your dentist into shock.
Of course, as with any delicacy, one can muck to one's content. I will often use two large tea bags and then slip in a small flavored tea bag or two. Something to give the tea a hint of orange, peppermint, or my personal favorite vanilla. And, as any good Southern woman knows, the absolute BEST way to make Sweet Tea is to fill a large jar with water, drop in the assundry tea bags and sugar and let the sun bake down that mix to it's ultimate charming God-brewed goodness. Sun Tea also comes in the non-sweet variety, for those Yanks that have that kind of hankering. It's damn good. Diffused to perfection.
But as a warning to those who don't travel much in the heart of Dixie here's a tip: When you order "Iced Tea" anywhere in LA, MS, AL and GA, it'll be the sugary confection. Ask for non-sweet tea like a good Texan or a better diabetic. Just don't want you to be caught off guard by our Southern charming ways. We're all sugary sweet down here, and the Tea is just representation.
I don't know why Texas doesn't understand this more often. Texas has always been funny that way, Southern but not. More... refined Southern if you will. Broader than chitlins and grits and proud of it. (Being of Southern origin, I will have to publicly admit that I have never gone the chitlins route... MY palate is too um, "refined" for that delicacy. Everyone has their limits.) :-P
Next time you hear a sweet southern drawl call you "sweetie" it's really a calling to our Southern ways... "sweettea." Then go find or make a glass and you'll feel right as rain.
Side note: Besides local BBQ, fast food wonder, Chic-Fil -$$$(ching ching)-A does a damn good sweet tea and even sells it by the gallon. Go Chickin!
Of course, as with any delicacy, one can muck to one's content. I will often use two large tea bags and then slip in a small flavored tea bag or two. Something to give the tea a hint of orange, peppermint, or my personal favorite vanilla. And, as any good Southern woman knows, the absolute BEST way to make Sweet Tea is to fill a large jar with water, drop in the assundry tea bags and sugar and let the sun bake down that mix to it's ultimate charming God-brewed goodness. Sun Tea also comes in the non-sweet variety, for those Yanks that have that kind of hankering. It's damn good. Diffused to perfection.
But as a warning to those who don't travel much in the heart of Dixie here's a tip: When you order "Iced Tea" anywhere in LA, MS, AL and GA, it'll be the sugary confection. Ask for non-sweet tea like a good Texan or a better diabetic. Just don't want you to be caught off guard by our Southern charming ways. We're all sugary sweet down here, and the Tea is just representation.
I don't know why Texas doesn't understand this more often. Texas has always been funny that way, Southern but not. More... refined Southern if you will. Broader than chitlins and grits and proud of it. (Being of Southern origin, I will have to publicly admit that I have never gone the chitlins route... MY palate is too um, "refined" for that delicacy. Everyone has their limits.) :-P
Next time you hear a sweet southern drawl call you "sweetie" it's really a calling to our Southern ways... "sweettea." Then go find or make a glass and you'll feel right as rain.
Side note: Besides local BBQ, fast food wonder, Chic-Fil -$$$(ching ching)-A does a damn good sweet tea and even sells it by the gallon. Go Chickin!
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Something So Right
Sleeping through the night is such a gift. I am up early this morning, reason unknown. I figured I would let my dear hubby sleep with my "trying to get comfortable" disturbance.
Many things have happened in the past few days, and I guess I am still processing it all. Nothing too significant actually, but I am noticing my reaction to quite a bit of it: negative. I can't seem to get out of this negative funk. And... the longer I stay here, the more things happen that aren't right. Abs, my SIL, and I (teasingly) discussed how something is off in the Universe, like Mercury in retrograde or some such oddness. I don't know.
"When something goes wrong
I'm the first to admit it
I'm the first to admit it
And the last one to know
When something goes right
Well it's likely to lose me, mm
It's apt to confuse me
It's such an unusual sight
Oh, I can't, I can't get used to something so right
Something so right."
~Paul Simon
(and beautifully sung by Annie Lennox)
Why is it so easy for human beings to jump on the negative wagon? Moreover, why do we question the times that go "so right" as if we don't deserve them? Funny creatures we are.
Now, I do recognize that not all people operate this way, but so many do.
I am gonna shift the tables here and now. I am gonna talk about a few of the right things in my life and "we'll jump and we'll see." (Joe vs. the Volcano reference.)
I have been thinking about an entry to this blog in celebration of my friends, and especially my women friends. Talk about something so right! I married the perfect partner for me. He's so kind and thoughtful and patient and just generally wonderful. (I love you M!) There is also my best friend, my male best friend, who I thought I wanted to marry... or at least give a deeper relationship a thought. It is no accident we didn't go there in the end. Having a close kindred relationship suits us just fine, despite the distance.
And then, there are my girls. All of them. I could spend the next few hours writing an ode or love song to the women in my life. They come from so many different places in my life, from different stages of my life. My sister, who shares with me the blood bond. I adore her. We can't seem to bridge many "sins of the past" but it doesn't change how I feel about her. And, there's my other sister, my non-blood related sister. She's part of the family I married into, but more like the sister I need than the sister-in-law that she is.
Going back in time, I have the recently refound best friend from high school. We are sharing an exploring and it will take time to relearn each other's terrain. I am glad she's back, she has always been special to me. I have my college girls, my homegirls, who mostly live here in the Dallas area. They are now fellow moms and great sounding boards for anything and everything. They are a part of that crew that I know if I needed to "call to the mat," they'd be there. They were there, when my mother passed. In force, protective and loving.
There are friends from Austin, who I don't usually see anymore. I keep in touch with only one. A lone soul who knows me well, and I know her well. She's older than I, a sort of mentor in life. We rarely talk, but I know if I truly needed her, she'd be there. Just as I am here for her. As for the other Austin crew, they have faded from my life. Some to great disappointment, some to great sadness and a few, well, it was just time to move on with our lives. We gave each other special gifts and sometimes that is the point in knowing someone.
Then there are new found friends here, Dallas the second time around. I have met other Kindred spirits, friends of friends, online friends, work friends. People I enjoy thoroughly. People I love having in my life. At the end, there is my latest group: other mom friends. This is a trend I am sure will continue as G gets bigger and travels through his school life. I am amazed to find such awesome women along the way. People I really enjoy with the added bonus of having amazing kids to befriend my amazing kid. Talk about win-win situations!
Writing all this, I just feel so blessed to have so many people in my life with whom I get to share. I just need to keep this in mind for the days that look a little glum, a little lonely. I am rich in friendships. I have amazing, wonderful friends. I couldn't be more blessed!
I did forget to mention someone. My mother. Although she's gone, she's one of my best friends in this life. We shared so much beyond mother/daughter. Words will never express my love and gratitude for having you in my life. I love you Mom.
I will take all this into the day with me and I hope it causes my world to shift. (and everyone in it!)
I love you all!
Many things have happened in the past few days, and I guess I am still processing it all. Nothing too significant actually, but I am noticing my reaction to quite a bit of it: negative. I can't seem to get out of this negative funk. And... the longer I stay here, the more things happen that aren't right. Abs, my SIL, and I (teasingly) discussed how something is off in the Universe, like Mercury in retrograde or some such oddness. I don't know.
"When something goes wrong
I'm the first to admit it
I'm the first to admit it
And the last one to know
When something goes right
Well it's likely to lose me, mm
It's apt to confuse me
It's such an unusual sight
Oh, I can't, I can't get used to something so right
Something so right."
~Paul Simon
(and beautifully sung by Annie Lennox)
Why is it so easy for human beings to jump on the negative wagon? Moreover, why do we question the times that go "so right" as if we don't deserve them? Funny creatures we are.
Now, I do recognize that not all people operate this way, but so many do.
I am gonna shift the tables here and now. I am gonna talk about a few of the right things in my life and "we'll jump and we'll see." (Joe vs. the Volcano reference.)
I have been thinking about an entry to this blog in celebration of my friends, and especially my women friends. Talk about something so right! I married the perfect partner for me. He's so kind and thoughtful and patient and just generally wonderful. (I love you M!) There is also my best friend, my male best friend, who I thought I wanted to marry... or at least give a deeper relationship a thought. It is no accident we didn't go there in the end. Having a close kindred relationship suits us just fine, despite the distance.
And then, there are my girls. All of them. I could spend the next few hours writing an ode or love song to the women in my life. They come from so many different places in my life, from different stages of my life. My sister, who shares with me the blood bond. I adore her. We can't seem to bridge many "sins of the past" but it doesn't change how I feel about her. And, there's my other sister, my non-blood related sister. She's part of the family I married into, but more like the sister I need than the sister-in-law that she is.
Going back in time, I have the recently refound best friend from high school. We are sharing an exploring and it will take time to relearn each other's terrain. I am glad she's back, she has always been special to me. I have my college girls, my homegirls, who mostly live here in the Dallas area. They are now fellow moms and great sounding boards for anything and everything. They are a part of that crew that I know if I needed to "call to the mat," they'd be there. They were there, when my mother passed. In force, protective and loving.
There are friends from Austin, who I don't usually see anymore. I keep in touch with only one. A lone soul who knows me well, and I know her well. She's older than I, a sort of mentor in life. We rarely talk, but I know if I truly needed her, she'd be there. Just as I am here for her. As for the other Austin crew, they have faded from my life. Some to great disappointment, some to great sadness and a few, well, it was just time to move on with our lives. We gave each other special gifts and sometimes that is the point in knowing someone.
Then there are new found friends here, Dallas the second time around. I have met other Kindred spirits, friends of friends, online friends, work friends. People I enjoy thoroughly. People I love having in my life. At the end, there is my latest group: other mom friends. This is a trend I am sure will continue as G gets bigger and travels through his school life. I am amazed to find such awesome women along the way. People I really enjoy with the added bonus of having amazing kids to befriend my amazing kid. Talk about win-win situations!
Writing all this, I just feel so blessed to have so many people in my life with whom I get to share. I just need to keep this in mind for the days that look a little glum, a little lonely. I am rich in friendships. I have amazing, wonderful friends. I couldn't be more blessed!
I did forget to mention someone. My mother. Although she's gone, she's one of my best friends in this life. We shared so much beyond mother/daughter. Words will never express my love and gratitude for having you in my life. I love you Mom.
I will take all this into the day with me and I hope it causes my world to shift. (and everyone in it!)
I love you all!
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Navigating the Waters
It was still raining buckets when I got up near noon yesterday. (Yes, I do feel better.) Never underestimate the power of a good night's sleep. I wouldn't bitch quite so much if it weren't such an alusive thing for me and if it didn't result is physical pain. Everyone has their hot buttons, sleep is just one of mine.
Since I was feeling better, we decided to head to our gym for a little relaxing swim and soak in the hot tub. I almost always feel better when I get in the water for awhile. Fortunately G loves it too. However, if you were in Dallas yesterday as most of you were, you'd realize the problem with this decision. (Note sentence above: "It was raining buckets...") The drive was harrowing and although I have seen the dam at White Rock Lake and know that it has flooded over there, it didn't occur to me that closer to downtown is even more infamous for flooding.
So here we are, near downtown Dallas, after days of rain. As we tried leaving the gym after our fun, we realized the fire department was shutting down streets left and right and usually just as we were heading that direction. It took us several tries before we found streets high enough through neighborhoods to get back home. Above all this, my SIL called with an SOS. She and her fiance had gotten stuck and her car flooded out. I had to tell her that we weren't in a position to come rescue as we normally would.
The story ends with all of us getting home safely and only one soppy car to show for it. (Good thing we took the SUV, otherwise we'd have two soppy cars in the family!)
Since I was feeling better, we decided to head to our gym for a little relaxing swim and soak in the hot tub. I almost always feel better when I get in the water for awhile. Fortunately G loves it too. However, if you were in Dallas yesterday as most of you were, you'd realize the problem with this decision. (Note sentence above: "It was raining buckets...") The drive was harrowing and although I have seen the dam at White Rock Lake and know that it has flooded over there, it didn't occur to me that closer to downtown is even more infamous for flooding.
So here we are, near downtown Dallas, after days of rain. As we tried leaving the gym after our fun, we realized the fire department was shutting down streets left and right and usually just as we were heading that direction. It took us several tries before we found streets high enough through neighborhoods to get back home. Above all this, my SIL called with an SOS. She and her fiance had gotten stuck and her car flooded out. I had to tell her that we weren't in a position to come rescue as we normally would.
The story ends with all of us getting home safely and only one soppy car to show for it. (Good thing we took the SUV, otherwise we'd have two soppy cars in the family!)
Like the Weather
It's 4:42 am.
The rain is pouring outside.
I woke up in bed alone, M gone. I hunted him down in my son's room. M's large toes visible on the top bunk. So I went back to bed and made a nice nest for myself out of my large curved maternity pillow and the three Tempurpedic pillows on the bed.
It lasted all of a few minutes. Then I was up trying strategy #2: meds. I took a pain pill and a relaxant. I need to have something to combat the searing pain in my joints. Yes, it's my joints at the moment, not my muscles.
Kind of wishing I had one of those Brookstone contraptions I let Vet talk me into trying there earlier this evening. Divine stuff. I could use the entire contraption, the chair, the boots. Knead me. Love me. Knead me some more. Who needs a man when you're kneaded like this?
I suppose we will family trek to the gym later in the AM. Then I can float in the arthritic pool and stretch. Perhaps some time in the hot tub, perhaps some time in the sauna. Yeah. Cool.
This is my second nightly foray. The first included a few girl scout cookies (2) and a glass of water. It also included waddling back to bed and falling asleep again. I didn't hear my son get up and request his Dad join him in the top bunk or a little cuddle time. I suppose this means I was actually sleeping. YAY!
Wish we had the forethought to put down fertilizer in the yard. Make all this moisture work for us. Still, the yards needed it. It's been a long dry winter. Part of me is anxious to get out into the yard this season. Part of me is anxious to pay someone else to get out into my yard this season. Regardless, it sure would be nice to have a beautiful yard this year. My mom would have loved that.
My mom was a gardner, a landscaper. She would plan and execute, getting her hands deep in the earth loving and working it in order to create magic. It was a time for mediation for her. A time to commune with God. A time to be in control of the beauty of the world. It was her creation, her work, her fruits. It was extremely satisfying. An accomplishment.
It's blowing a little harder now. The sound of the rain has changed. The rain is coming down harder, more impactful. My mom loved thunderstorms like this. I remember being oh, 8-10 and laying on my sister's bed with the windows open. My sister, my mother and I just watching the rain and the lightning. Letting ourselves be lulled by the sound and awed by the acts of nature. It was exciting, watching the world change and being together. It was a time for feeling safe. The storm outside was never as powerful as the love inside. It was one of the most comfortable feelings in the world.
And the rain eases back. It's down to a soft drizzle and drop. Rain is so fickle. Demanding one moment, gentle and passive the next.
Just like that the rain picks up again. Shift. Change. Surge. Flow. It's just nature, including our own.
The meds have kicked, or at the very least, being upright has made a difference. so on this note, I shall try to slumber once more. Perhaps the rain can play me a lullaby. Perhaps I will sleep until noon. Perhaps upon waking the world will be righted once more.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.....
The rain is pouring outside.
I woke up in bed alone, M gone. I hunted him down in my son's room. M's large toes visible on the top bunk. So I went back to bed and made a nice nest for myself out of my large curved maternity pillow and the three Tempurpedic pillows on the bed.
It lasted all of a few minutes. Then I was up trying strategy #2: meds. I took a pain pill and a relaxant. I need to have something to combat the searing pain in my joints. Yes, it's my joints at the moment, not my muscles.
Kind of wishing I had one of those Brookstone contraptions I let Vet talk me into trying there earlier this evening. Divine stuff. I could use the entire contraption, the chair, the boots. Knead me. Love me. Knead me some more. Who needs a man when you're kneaded like this?
I suppose we will family trek to the gym later in the AM. Then I can float in the arthritic pool and stretch. Perhaps some time in the hot tub, perhaps some time in the sauna. Yeah. Cool.
This is my second nightly foray. The first included a few girl scout cookies (2) and a glass of water. It also included waddling back to bed and falling asleep again. I didn't hear my son get up and request his Dad join him in the top bunk or a little cuddle time. I suppose this means I was actually sleeping. YAY!
Wish we had the forethought to put down fertilizer in the yard. Make all this moisture work for us. Still, the yards needed it. It's been a long dry winter. Part of me is anxious to get out into the yard this season. Part of me is anxious to pay someone else to get out into my yard this season. Regardless, it sure would be nice to have a beautiful yard this year. My mom would have loved that.
My mom was a gardner, a landscaper. She would plan and execute, getting her hands deep in the earth loving and working it in order to create magic. It was a time for mediation for her. A time to commune with God. A time to be in control of the beauty of the world. It was her creation, her work, her fruits. It was extremely satisfying. An accomplishment.
It's blowing a little harder now. The sound of the rain has changed. The rain is coming down harder, more impactful. My mom loved thunderstorms like this. I remember being oh, 8-10 and laying on my sister's bed with the windows open. My sister, my mother and I just watching the rain and the lightning. Letting ourselves be lulled by the sound and awed by the acts of nature. It was exciting, watching the world change and being together. It was a time for feeling safe. The storm outside was never as powerful as the love inside. It was one of the most comfortable feelings in the world.
And the rain eases back. It's down to a soft drizzle and drop. Rain is so fickle. Demanding one moment, gentle and passive the next.
Just like that the rain picks up again. Shift. Change. Surge. Flow. It's just nature, including our own.
The meds have kicked, or at the very least, being upright has made a difference. so on this note, I shall try to slumber once more. Perhaps the rain can play me a lullaby. Perhaps I will sleep until noon. Perhaps upon waking the world will be righted once more.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.....
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Demented and Sad.... but Social
I was just starting to get in a Blogger kind of mode when I received my "booty call" for the evening.
"We're meeting at Nordstrom's in the shoe department. We're leaving now."
So, off I go to the mall to meet my three best girlfriends from college for an evening of mall browsing and fine dining. Usually there is nothing better to set my mood straight than to spend an evening with my homegirls. (Especially when there is dining and shopping involved.)
But today I find myself just tired and out of sorts. It's raining, I'm aching, pregnant, and very tired. (bitch and moan, bitch and moan, bitch and moan)
The good news is that I *have* been sleeping better. Just not enough yet. Apparently.
The evening went well as usual. At dinner I publicly brought up my blog and the subject of Bud. Now, you gals will probably read this and read my Bud stories and be even more horrified than you were at dinner. As I said, you aren't alone. Several people have pointed out how creepy Bud is, and I agree. I have said it myself. I do think he's just a lonely old man and pretty harmless. However, he doesn't know boundaries. That much is true. And that's all it should take to get me to shift my thinking. You all have. I am gonna have to work with my boys and get us all on the same page. We're gonna have to talk to Bud and create some boundaries, cause these days you just don't know about people. Better safe than sorry. So, thanks everyone for your input.
And since I have mentioned how tired I am, I am gonna cut this blog short. More to come though... after some rest. :-)
"We're meeting at Nordstrom's in the shoe department. We're leaving now."
So, off I go to the mall to meet my three best girlfriends from college for an evening of mall browsing and fine dining. Usually there is nothing better to set my mood straight than to spend an evening with my homegirls. (Especially when there is dining and shopping involved.)
But today I find myself just tired and out of sorts. It's raining, I'm aching, pregnant, and very tired. (bitch and moan, bitch and moan, bitch and moan)
The good news is that I *have* been sleeping better. Just not enough yet. Apparently.
The evening went well as usual. At dinner I publicly brought up my blog and the subject of Bud. Now, you gals will probably read this and read my Bud stories and be even more horrified than you were at dinner. As I said, you aren't alone. Several people have pointed out how creepy Bud is, and I agree. I have said it myself. I do think he's just a lonely old man and pretty harmless. However, he doesn't know boundaries. That much is true. And that's all it should take to get me to shift my thinking. You all have. I am gonna have to work with my boys and get us all on the same page. We're gonna have to talk to Bud and create some boundaries, cause these days you just don't know about people. Better safe than sorry. So, thanks everyone for your input.
And since I have mentioned how tired I am, I am gonna cut this blog short. More to come though... after some rest. :-)
Friday, March 17, 2006
Just as far in as you'll ever be out...
I love music. I think that music communicates in a way that only words cannot. There's the melody, the tone of the singer, etc. This is what I have been stuck on lately, and it explains alot. If you don't know the song, it's a great one. Here's a taste of the lyrics:
There's a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
If you only try turning around.
2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them, however you want to...
~Anna Nalick
"Breathe (2 A.M.)"
Wreck of the Day
I write this because I think that's the intention of any artist. Just to get it all down. Now... that being said, it's on to other chapters of my life....
There's a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
If you only try turning around.
2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them, however you want to...
~Anna Nalick
"Breathe (2 A.M.)"
Wreck of the Day
I write this because I think that's the intention of any artist. Just to get it all down. Now... that being said, it's on to other chapters of my life....
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Pitch Lake Pity Party Pondered
It's nearly 2 AM. Again. Been here yesterday too, same bat time, same bat channel.
Insomnia sucks.
Fibromyalgia sucks.
Restless Leg Syndrome sucks.
Being pregnant during all this: pricelessly sucking.
Let's do a little early am self analysis, shall we? A little mental download required:
1) Caffeinee - yes, had a coke at 12:30 today. Just one. Loved the bubbly, can't say I enjoyed it though. Cause of insomnia? Probably not. No coke yesterday.
2) Concern - yes, always. Today's concerns: meeting dad's fiance tomorrow and spending day with her. Honestly there are mixed feelings about all this. Want my dad to be happy. Miss my mom. How will she fit in? Mother figure? Friend? Grandmother to the kids? Just a partner for dad? Should I have to her over so she really gets to know me, and my chronically disorganized life? More today's concerns: Do I work? Kay offered me a sweet introduction which could lead to a sweet freelance deal. It's doing something I love. But this is prime example of what terrifies me about the prospect of working, my second 2 AM with only craziness in sight. The last thing I need right now is a failure. I could really use a win through. Huge risk.
3) Meds - mostly not working right now. Pain pills? Not working. Muscle relaxants I shouldn't be taking, not working. Insomnia meds? Definitely not working. Lots of pain and feeling completely off kilter at the moment. How can I be good to anyone like this? At least I went to physical therapy today.
4) Schedule - starting to get way off track. I can't sleep at night (if at all), don't eat lunch until 3, dinner at 8, bed attempt at 10 or 11. Nothing accomplished between. No housework. No planning. (Unless you call TV watching an accomplishment.)
*flops into my tar pool of utter self-pity*
*turns off the lights*
*puts my ipod on melancholy boo-hoo shit*
*does self check to see if this pity party is making me feel ANY better*
Nope.
*Wallows more*
*Ponders*
*opens book of Rumi poetry and beings to asborb*
From Rumi:
Drumsound rises on the air,
its throb, my heart,
A voice inside the beat says,
"I know you are tired,
but come, This is the way."
~by way of Coleman Barks
Stay with the beat, ~L, stay with the beat.
Insomnia sucks.
Fibromyalgia sucks.
Restless Leg Syndrome sucks.
Being pregnant during all this: pricelessly sucking.
Let's do a little early am self analysis, shall we? A little mental download required:
1) Caffeinee - yes, had a coke at 12:30 today. Just one. Loved the bubbly, can't say I enjoyed it though. Cause of insomnia? Probably not. No coke yesterday.
2) Concern - yes, always. Today's concerns: meeting dad's fiance tomorrow and spending day with her. Honestly there are mixed feelings about all this. Want my dad to be happy. Miss my mom. How will she fit in? Mother figure? Friend? Grandmother to the kids? Just a partner for dad? Should I have to her over so she really gets to know me, and my chronically disorganized life? More today's concerns: Do I work? Kay offered me a sweet introduction which could lead to a sweet freelance deal. It's doing something I love. But this is prime example of what terrifies me about the prospect of working, my second 2 AM with only craziness in sight. The last thing I need right now is a failure. I could really use a win through. Huge risk.
3) Meds - mostly not working right now. Pain pills? Not working. Muscle relaxants I shouldn't be taking, not working. Insomnia meds? Definitely not working. Lots of pain and feeling completely off kilter at the moment. How can I be good to anyone like this? At least I went to physical therapy today.
4) Schedule - starting to get way off track. I can't sleep at night (if at all), don't eat lunch until 3, dinner at 8, bed attempt at 10 or 11. Nothing accomplished between. No housework. No planning. (Unless you call TV watching an accomplishment.)
*flops into my tar pool of utter self-pity*
*turns off the lights*
*puts my ipod on melancholy boo-hoo shit*
*does self check to see if this pity party is making me feel ANY better*
Nope.
*Wallows more*
*Ponders*
*opens book of Rumi poetry and beings to asborb*
From Rumi:
Drumsound rises on the air,
its throb, my heart,
A voice inside the beat says,
"I know you are tired,
but come, This is the way."
~by way of Coleman Barks
Stay with the beat, ~L, stay with the beat.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Girls vs. Boys
I am starting to get a clearer picture of the difference between having girl children and boy children. I know, intellectually and from personal experience, that males and females operate on different planes. I know that this girl child I am expecting in June will be worlds apart from my almost five year old geeky boy. Still, there are moments in life when these things become so crystal....
So today I met up with one of the moms from G's school. She has a son we'll call Marcus. I like his mom, Kay, quite a bit, she's funny and fun to be with. Marcus and G get along exceptionally well, two peas in a pod. They are both pretty brainy kids who like to know stuff. I appreciate and encourage their friendship. I joked with Kay that I'd like Marcus to be dormmates with G at MIT. (I am *almost* serious about that too!) Well, after today's shenanigans, that might be a scary thought. I mean, knowing these two, they'd be blowing up stuff together in that dormroom.
Yet I digress...
So, Kay and I also retrieve a mutual friend's girl, Chloe, from school too. Our fellow mom friend just had a beautiful new baby this past weekend. Kay and I thought we'd take the kids out to play together and chat a bit. We loaded up kids in respective cars and agreed to meet at a fast food chain restaurant with a playscape.
Once there, the kids were raring to go play. Kay and I sent them off and proceeded to talk shop. (Turns out we do some of the same work.) Shortly, the one thing I was a little wary of happened. Chloe got bored with all that testosterone and was feeling a little left out. Kay and I each talked to the boys and tried to make sure she was included. Marcus and Chloe are really great friends, when it's the two of them. With G in the mix...
Now, G is not totally a boy's boy; if a group got physical, he'd back off. He is a bit too sensitive for true rough and tumble stuff. At the same time, he isn't very accustomed to playing with girls generally. Most of my friends seemed to end up with boys. End story: when it came to Marcus and Chloe, Marcus is more on his radar.
So Chloe spend some time with Kay and I. I love little girls and can't wait to have my own. It was a joy to interact with Chloe for a bit. We soon realized the kids were running out of steam. We got the gear packed and started to head out. Kay asked Marcus if he needed to run to the restroom. Of course, G wanted to go too. (And men think we women have to go in bunches.) So, we let the boys go off by themselves, with the restroom door in plain sight.
This is the first time I had let G go to the restroom without immediate adult supervision. I am a super-paranoid mom that way I guess. Yet, Kay and I were standing right there, and G WAS going in WITH Marcus. Indeed, it seemed a safe decision...
Kay goes to get a refill and I keep one eyeball planted firmly on the restroom door.
Chloe: "Look at me! See how I can spin?!?" Chloe whirls around in place, large grin on her face.
Me: *Starts to daydream about how having a girl will be SO much fun*
Reality: Restroom doors bangs open. Two boys come tumbling out.
The boys come to a dead stop in front of me. Wide eyed, smirking, long faced with that sparkle to their eyes. Any parent knows this look. It's the look of trouble.
Me: *raises an eyebrow in good mom fashion*
Marcus: *cracks under pressure* "So, we went potty TOGETHER."
Me: "Really, not surprising" (G has always been a natural advocate of the "group pee.")
[Crystal moment forming.]
Me: *thinks* Girls don't get to do that...
Marcus: "And then.." *his blue eyes get wider*
G: *giggles*
Marcus: "We locked the door and crawled out underneath the door so now one else can get in."
Marcus and G dissolve into high pitched fit of giggles.
I look over at Kay. She raises an eyebrow at me.
Me: *Across the restaurant* "They are definitely boys."
Kay: *Puzzled and approaching*
Me: "And... did you leave the door that way?"
Marcus and G: *Wide eyed and silent*
Me: *points to the restroom* "Go fix it."
Kay: "Now what did they do?"
Me: Repeats story.
Kay: *to the boys, smirking* "And did you fix it?"
The boys scuttle off to the restroom to fix problem.
And there is lovely, spinning Chloe. Sweet innocent Chloe. God bless the girl child.
*Crystal moment arrives* My life will never be the same having one of each sex. They are SO different. I will forever be on my toes. :-) Gotta love this life we're in.
So, Kay, I know you read this, can we agree to hide the chemistry kits on overnights? There's no telling what they might do.... *shudders at the thought* OR if chemistry sets are necessary, my hubby M and Peter can oversee the volcanoes and such. Kay and I will go see a chick flick and drink good coffee to boot. Cell phones will be available so we need to meet you at the ER later.
So today I met up with one of the moms from G's school. She has a son we'll call Marcus. I like his mom, Kay, quite a bit, she's funny and fun to be with. Marcus and G get along exceptionally well, two peas in a pod. They are both pretty brainy kids who like to know stuff. I appreciate and encourage their friendship. I joked with Kay that I'd like Marcus to be dormmates with G at MIT. (I am *almost* serious about that too!) Well, after today's shenanigans, that might be a scary thought. I mean, knowing these two, they'd be blowing up stuff together in that dormroom.
Yet I digress...
So, Kay and I also retrieve a mutual friend's girl, Chloe, from school too. Our fellow mom friend just had a beautiful new baby this past weekend. Kay and I thought we'd take the kids out to play together and chat a bit. We loaded up kids in respective cars and agreed to meet at a fast food chain restaurant with a playscape.
Once there, the kids were raring to go play. Kay and I sent them off and proceeded to talk shop. (Turns out we do some of the same work.) Shortly, the one thing I was a little wary of happened. Chloe got bored with all that testosterone and was feeling a little left out. Kay and I each talked to the boys and tried to make sure she was included. Marcus and Chloe are really great friends, when it's the two of them. With G in the mix...
Now, G is not totally a boy's boy; if a group got physical, he'd back off. He is a bit too sensitive for true rough and tumble stuff. At the same time, he isn't very accustomed to playing with girls generally. Most of my friends seemed to end up with boys. End story: when it came to Marcus and Chloe, Marcus is more on his radar.
So Chloe spend some time with Kay and I. I love little girls and can't wait to have my own. It was a joy to interact with Chloe for a bit. We soon realized the kids were running out of steam. We got the gear packed and started to head out. Kay asked Marcus if he needed to run to the restroom. Of course, G wanted to go too. (And men think we women have to go in bunches.) So, we let the boys go off by themselves, with the restroom door in plain sight.
This is the first time I had let G go to the restroom without immediate adult supervision. I am a super-paranoid mom that way I guess. Yet, Kay and I were standing right there, and G WAS going in WITH Marcus. Indeed, it seemed a safe decision...
Kay goes to get a refill and I keep one eyeball planted firmly on the restroom door.
Chloe: "Look at me! See how I can spin?!?" Chloe whirls around in place, large grin on her face.
Me: *Starts to daydream about how having a girl will be SO much fun*
Reality: Restroom doors bangs open. Two boys come tumbling out.
The boys come to a dead stop in front of me. Wide eyed, smirking, long faced with that sparkle to their eyes. Any parent knows this look. It's the look of trouble.
Me: *raises an eyebrow in good mom fashion*
Marcus: *cracks under pressure* "So, we went potty TOGETHER."
Me: "Really, not surprising" (G has always been a natural advocate of the "group pee.")
[Crystal moment forming.]
Me: *thinks* Girls don't get to do that...
Marcus: "And then.." *his blue eyes get wider*
G: *giggles*
Marcus: "We locked the door and crawled out underneath the door so now one else can get in."
Marcus and G dissolve into high pitched fit of giggles.
I look over at Kay. She raises an eyebrow at me.
Me: *Across the restaurant* "They are definitely boys."
Kay: *Puzzled and approaching*
Me: "And... did you leave the door that way?"
Marcus and G: *Wide eyed and silent*
Me: *points to the restroom* "Go fix it."
Kay: "Now what did they do?"
Me: Repeats story.
Kay: *to the boys, smirking* "And did you fix it?"
The boys scuttle off to the restroom to fix problem.
And there is lovely, spinning Chloe. Sweet innocent Chloe. God bless the girl child.
*Crystal moment arrives* My life will never be the same having one of each sex. They are SO different. I will forever be on my toes. :-) Gotta love this life we're in.
So, Kay, I know you read this, can we agree to hide the chemistry kits on overnights? There's no telling what they might do.... *shudders at the thought* OR if chemistry sets are necessary, my hubby M and Peter can oversee the volcanoes and such. Kay and I will go see a chick flick and drink good coffee to boot. Cell phones will be available so we need to meet you at the ER later.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Not the Blarney Stone(s)
Before I say anything else: YES, THIS REALLY HAPPENED TO ME ABOUT 3 MINUTES AGO.
It's Sunday at 1 pm, and we have been major slugs today. The boys are just now finishing up in the shower, I am still in 'jamas, consisting of an oversized s-shirt, on the couch.
I hear a car door close outside and catch the flash of window over my shoulder. I glance out the blinds. Yes, it's who I think it is. It's our insane neighbor, Bud. Yay.
*doorbell*
I wrap the woobie off the couch around me and answer the door.
Bud: "Hi, you remember my chow right?"
Me: "Yes, Bud, I remember your chow."
Bud: "Well the woman who comes to let them out during the day noticed that my chow was having difficultly peeing. I hadn't really noticed but she works at the vet's office and told me the chow was having a problem."
I nod sympathetically.
Bud: "Anyhow, the chow had to have immediate surgery and they removed three bladder stones from her kidney this big" He makes a circle with his fingers the size of a quarter.
I nod sympathetically again.
Bud: "So I wrote this note to the doctor because I don't want any more animals to suffer like my chow" Bud sticks a note written on a hotel notepad piece of the paper up in my face for me to read. It's handwritten in the best likeness of 10 year-old serial killer physician block lettering I have seen lately.
Dear: Dr. [Vet's name]
From: Bud Neighbor* (name altered to protect the "innocent")
RE: Chow Dog Kidney Stones
Please save the kidney stones removed from Chow Dog on 3/11/06 and show to all your clients to prevent further such illness of pets.
Me: *thinking of our four cats* "Yes, Bud, of course."
Bud looks at me a moment, at my disheveled hair and red eyes wrapped up in woobie goodness. "Is everything okay?"
Me: "Yes, Bud, everything is okay."
Bud: "Is everyone doing okay?"
Me: "Yes, everyone is okay."
Bud: "Good, I just wanted to let you know you can see the stones anytime."
Me: "Okay, Bud, thanks."
Bud: "Okay, see you later."
I shut the door and run into the bathroom. The water is off and I hear rustling behind the curtain.
Hubby: *who heard the doorbell in the shower* "Yes?" He peeks at me around the side of the curtain, an amused look on his face.
Me: "Bud's chow had bladder stone surgery and wants the vet to save the stones to show all their customers. He wanted us to know we are welcome to go view them anytime."
Hubby: "He wants us to go visit bladder stones at the vets office?"
Hubby and I share meaningful look.
Me: " I HAVE to go blog about this..."
WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's Sunday at 1 pm, and we have been major slugs today. The boys are just now finishing up in the shower, I am still in 'jamas, consisting of an oversized s-shirt, on the couch.
I hear a car door close outside and catch the flash of window over my shoulder. I glance out the blinds. Yes, it's who I think it is. It's our insane neighbor, Bud. Yay.
*doorbell*
I wrap the woobie off the couch around me and answer the door.
Bud: "Hi, you remember my chow right?"
Me: "Yes, Bud, I remember your chow."
Bud: "Well the woman who comes to let them out during the day noticed that my chow was having difficultly peeing. I hadn't really noticed but she works at the vet's office and told me the chow was having a problem."
I nod sympathetically.
Bud: "Anyhow, the chow had to have immediate surgery and they removed three bladder stones from her kidney this big" He makes a circle with his fingers the size of a quarter.
I nod sympathetically again.
Bud: "So I wrote this note to the doctor because I don't want any more animals to suffer like my chow" Bud sticks a note written on a hotel notepad piece of the paper up in my face for me to read. It's handwritten in the best likeness of 10 year-old serial killer physician block lettering I have seen lately.
Dear: Dr. [Vet's name]
From: Bud Neighbor* (name altered to protect the "innocent")
RE: Chow Dog Kidney Stones
Please save the kidney stones removed from Chow Dog on 3/11/06 and show to all your clients to prevent further such illness of pets.
Bud: "Well I wanted to let you know that you can go up and see the stones any time you want. I don't want this kind of thing to happen to other animals."
Bud: "You do take care of your animals, don't you?"Me: *thinking of our four cats* "Yes, Bud, of course."
Bud looks at me a moment, at my disheveled hair and red eyes wrapped up in woobie goodness. "Is everything okay?"
Me: "Yes, Bud, everything is okay."
Bud: "Is everyone doing okay?"
Me: "Yes, everyone is okay."
Bud: "Good, I just wanted to let you know you can see the stones anytime."
Me: "Okay, Bud, thanks."
Bud: "Okay, see you later."
I shut the door and run into the bathroom. The water is off and I hear rustling behind the curtain.
Hubby: *who heard the doorbell in the shower* "Yes?" He peeks at me around the side of the curtain, an amused look on his face.
Me: "Bud's chow had bladder stone surgery and wants the vet to save the stones to show all their customers. He wanted us to know we are welcome to go view them anytime."
Hubby: "He wants us to go visit bladder stones at the vets office?"
Hubby and I share meaningful look.
Me: " I HAVE to go blog about this..."
WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, March 11, 2006
My Mother's Closet
One chest of drawers.
One rack of clothes.
That's all I manage today. The other two racks and numerous bathroom drawers will have to come later. The delay may make it harder, I don't know. I don't know how people can go in and do this, sort through the things of their loved ones in the days immediately after. I recall when my grandmother passed away, my aunts and my father went in and cleared the two bedroom unit my grandparents lived in. Tough. Tough to see a house full of memories reduced to an empty container, devoid of all personality and life.
My mother passed away in November. My father hasn't really been in a rush to pare down my mother's things. He wanted to keep the closet of clothes so he wouldn't feel so alone. Like my mother could come back if perhaps we wished hard enough. Alas, we all knew better.
But time moves on, people move on. My dad is slowly preparing to sell the house. So much needs to be done. The closet is definitely a daunting task. Another step on this journey.
[Aside:
The room where my mother slept still smells like my mother.
I haven't especially noticed that until today. Before when I have gone in, it just seemed frightfully empty and sterile. So painfully empty. Today is smells like she did when I would come to take care of her. Not necessarily a pleasant smell. It was a smell of cancer mixed with the earthy products my mother used to try to keep her in the best of shape. I haven't touched those products yet, they are still by the bedside. Perhaps the next trip I will clear some of those...]
The dresser was much easier. The things that were personal needed to be thrown away. They are the things people don't share. The rack was more difficult. There were nice dress blouses to ratty t-shirts. Each piece I picked up I had to decide "how does this look? does it have stains? is it too pilled? how old is this?" I had three bags going: things to keep because I will use them, things that someone else would appreciate and use, and things that are now trash. That was the tough part: trash. So many items I could clearly see my mother wearing because she did all the time. Hell, I could probably dig out a dozen pictures of her wearing these old ratty things because she loved them. Several of the items she had were things from my sister and I. Things that no longer fit us, or things we would no longer wear. My mother was frugal and would save them and use them if she could. There were shirts from the days of my sister and I in junior high, high school and college. (And that was a minimum of 15 years ago.) Yet, she kept them. She loved them and now they are trash. No one else will ever love them like that again.
(Trash? It's not trash! It's my mother!)
No... I know better. these things are not my mother. The comforting aspect is that I can hear her voice, clear as day, in my head. "[~L], these are just things." I can see them for that. It's hard, but I can. That pack rat part of me wants to keep these things, to remember.... Things don't hold memories. THINGS DON'T HOLD MEMORIES.
(breathe)
(believe)
(breathe)
(believe)
(breathe)
One dresser, one rack. That's all I can do.
Today.
One rack of clothes.
That's all I manage today. The other two racks and numerous bathroom drawers will have to come later. The delay may make it harder, I don't know. I don't know how people can go in and do this, sort through the things of their loved ones in the days immediately after. I recall when my grandmother passed away, my aunts and my father went in and cleared the two bedroom unit my grandparents lived in. Tough. Tough to see a house full of memories reduced to an empty container, devoid of all personality and life.
My mother passed away in November. My father hasn't really been in a rush to pare down my mother's things. He wanted to keep the closet of clothes so he wouldn't feel so alone. Like my mother could come back if perhaps we wished hard enough. Alas, we all knew better.
But time moves on, people move on. My dad is slowly preparing to sell the house. So much needs to be done. The closet is definitely a daunting task. Another step on this journey.
[Aside:
The room where my mother slept still smells like my mother.
I haven't especially noticed that until today. Before when I have gone in, it just seemed frightfully empty and sterile. So painfully empty. Today is smells like she did when I would come to take care of her. Not necessarily a pleasant smell. It was a smell of cancer mixed with the earthy products my mother used to try to keep her in the best of shape. I haven't touched those products yet, they are still by the bedside. Perhaps the next trip I will clear some of those...]
The dresser was much easier. The things that were personal needed to be thrown away. They are the things people don't share. The rack was more difficult. There were nice dress blouses to ratty t-shirts. Each piece I picked up I had to decide "how does this look? does it have stains? is it too pilled? how old is this?" I had three bags going: things to keep because I will use them, things that someone else would appreciate and use, and things that are now trash. That was the tough part: trash. So many items I could clearly see my mother wearing because she did all the time. Hell, I could probably dig out a dozen pictures of her wearing these old ratty things because she loved them. Several of the items she had were things from my sister and I. Things that no longer fit us, or things we would no longer wear. My mother was frugal and would save them and use them if she could. There were shirts from the days of my sister and I in junior high, high school and college. (And that was a minimum of 15 years ago.) Yet, she kept them. She loved them and now they are trash. No one else will ever love them like that again.
(Trash? It's not trash! It's my mother!)
No... I know better. these things are not my mother. The comforting aspect is that I can hear her voice, clear as day, in my head. "[~L], these are just things." I can see them for that. It's hard, but I can. That pack rat part of me wants to keep these things, to remember.... Things don't hold memories. THINGS DON'T HOLD MEMORIES.
(breathe)
(believe)
(breathe)
(believe)
(breathe)
One dresser, one rack. That's all I can do.
Today.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Blogging under the influence
Once again, today has been a shitty day. Largely because I couldn't get to sleep. This point after I realize that the elusive sleep is no where close, I get up. I get up because it is way more frustrating to lay there, listening to M snore and trying to convince myself that I should be sleeping. Which, never works.
So up I am. And now that I am up, what do I do? I blog. But, this blogging is much more dangerous for you, my reader, than you could know. You see... I am a raging insomniac. I don't sleep without help. (Natural sleep might occur then every third or forth day if I left my body to it's own devices.) Ambien has become my best friend. With Ambien there is a greater chance that I can sleep peacefully. The pregnancy has challenged this, of course. Pregnancy tends to aggravate my naturally occurring insomnia and turn it into a monster. Still, the Ambien presses on and does it's best to slay the wakeful dragon. Sometimes Ambien and I win, sometimes the dragon wins.
If the dragon wins, my new diversion is to blog. Here I am, your fierce leader, blogging away under the influence. So if you were wondering why things may sound and look a little off... they probably are. I try to correct as much as I can in my post sleep sobriety.
*yawn*
I think I will take this as a cue to try once again to head to bed. Wish me luck!
So up I am. And now that I am up, what do I do? I blog. But, this blogging is much more dangerous for you, my reader, than you could know. You see... I am a raging insomniac. I don't sleep without help. (Natural sleep might occur then every third or forth day if I left my body to it's own devices.) Ambien has become my best friend. With Ambien there is a greater chance that I can sleep peacefully. The pregnancy has challenged this, of course. Pregnancy tends to aggravate my naturally occurring insomnia and turn it into a monster. Still, the Ambien presses on and does it's best to slay the wakeful dragon. Sometimes Ambien and I win, sometimes the dragon wins.
If the dragon wins, my new diversion is to blog. Here I am, your fierce leader, blogging away under the influence. So if you were wondering why things may sound and look a little off... they probably are. I try to correct as much as I can in my post sleep sobriety.
*yawn*
I think I will take this as a cue to try once again to head to bed. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Making up is hard to do
My dear hubby M is a Lancome convert. Yes, ladies, it's true. I encouraged the addiction to the products, just as my mother encouraged the addiction to me. Funny how things run in families, and then jump across them.
When I met M, eons ago, he cut his own hair and had a full beard. Why? Because it was easier that way. Why mess with easy? He shortly learned thereafter that there was certainly something to be said for spending time on appearance. Manicure thyself and you make a picture that people will like, be drawn to. So he began to use what I used and soon his world was full of "ooo's" and "aaah's" and soft supple skin. Soft supple skin isn't important to *most* men, although I secretly believe it probably means more than any of those men let on. After all, when we look good, we feel good.
Sure, we can argue here that the $6 bottle of moisturizer purchased at the local pharmacy/grocery store made by the SAME people of the $26 bottle of behind the counter make up goodness in a department store really aren't so far apart. Or are they? (debate, debate, debate....)
I have to say, from watching M try both venues, he asks for the $26 bottle for it's supreme creamy goodness. (Or perhaps because he FEELS he's worth that extra $20.) Who knows. It works for him and makes him happy. What makes him happy, makes me happy. So, we share that cleansing, clearing, moisturizing, masking exfoliating regiment. That glow about him, whether physical or emotional sure makes that worth $20 for me too.
What I find so funny is other people's reactions to the statement that this item is for my husband. The saleswomen and salesmen are thrilled to learn their niche products are coming out of the closet and being used beyond the targeted woman audience. "Yes, this large bottle of PINK cleanser is for my husband, I need to green one for my oilier skin." Even my mother chuckled about this.
As I said, it makes sense, everyone wants to feel good. Nowadays most companies are cluing into the new male skin care market. They don't want to send their customers home with large PINK bottles, and with simple repackaging, it's suddenly an item any man can feel secure carrying around a store. Still, I love that my man still gets the PINK bottle and that he's secure enough to hand it to me to add to my bag of other goodies ask for it back later.
On another make-up note: I haven't been wearing any lately. Not a single stitch. For those who have known me a long time, this is an anomaly. I am usually a make-up queen. I love the stuff. I love figuring out different ways to apply it. Mostly I love how I look when I use it, the features I can play up. Without make-up, I feel plain. With make-up, I suddenly have deep featured eyes, smooth skin, cheekbones and lips with definition and color. I feel pretty. I am pretty.
But
I am pregnant. This happened the last time I was pregnant with G. I just really don't care about making an effort with myself for myself or anyone else. Not unless the situation really REQUIRES me to use my "best face." For example, I recently met my Dad's new girlfriend. That was a make-up occasion for sure. I wanted to look and feel my best. I have a couple more of those occasions coming up too. I have been mentally working on that this evening because I sure do like myself better in the mirror with make-up. I recognize myself. With no make-up, I tend not to linger at mirrors, and I become a glimpse of ghost, just a fleeting moment of myself.
Make-up has power. I was raised to believe that. Make-up will help you feel good about yourself. Make-up will prevent you from sleeping your day away, as it would be a waste of make-up. Make-up gets you noticed in class, by teacher and students alike. Make-up lets the world know you care.
I complained to my mother my freshman year of college that I wasn't finding anyone decent to date. (Lots of indecent people, drunk off the "I'm finally on my own" high that being a freshman seems to exude.) She asked how I went to class. (It was a 9 am class.) I said I got out of bed, put on sweats, hair in ponytail and went to class. She said "that's your problem, you aren't wearing make-up." And so, I changed my routine and did get noticed more. Power. See?
I hereby promise to start practicing make-up again in these times and trials of mine. I promise to look in the mirror more and appreciate who I am and what I have. AND ENJOY IT!
I can't wait to teach all this to my daughter. She'll take it or leave it, no matter. I know it's for me.
When I met M, eons ago, he cut his own hair and had a full beard. Why? Because it was easier that way. Why mess with easy? He shortly learned thereafter that there was certainly something to be said for spending time on appearance. Manicure thyself and you make a picture that people will like, be drawn to. So he began to use what I used and soon his world was full of "ooo's" and "aaah's" and soft supple skin. Soft supple skin isn't important to *most* men, although I secretly believe it probably means more than any of those men let on. After all, when we look good, we feel good.
Sure, we can argue here that the $6 bottle of moisturizer purchased at the local pharmacy/grocery store made by the SAME people of the $26 bottle of behind the counter make up goodness in a department store really aren't so far apart. Or are they? (debate, debate, debate....)
I have to say, from watching M try both venues, he asks for the $26 bottle for it's supreme creamy goodness. (Or perhaps because he FEELS he's worth that extra $20.) Who knows. It works for him and makes him happy. What makes him happy, makes me happy. So, we share that cleansing, clearing, moisturizing, masking exfoliating regiment. That glow about him, whether physical or emotional sure makes that worth $20 for me too.
What I find so funny is other people's reactions to the statement that this item is for my husband. The saleswomen and salesmen are thrilled to learn their niche products are coming out of the closet and being used beyond the targeted woman audience. "Yes, this large bottle of PINK cleanser is for my husband, I need to green one for my oilier skin." Even my mother chuckled about this.
As I said, it makes sense, everyone wants to feel good. Nowadays most companies are cluing into the new male skin care market. They don't want to send their customers home with large PINK bottles, and with simple repackaging, it's suddenly an item any man can feel secure carrying around a store. Still, I love that my man still gets the PINK bottle and that he's secure enough to hand it to me to add to my bag of other goodies ask for it back later.
On another make-up note: I haven't been wearing any lately. Not a single stitch. For those who have known me a long time, this is an anomaly. I am usually a make-up queen. I love the stuff. I love figuring out different ways to apply it. Mostly I love how I look when I use it, the features I can play up. Without make-up, I feel plain. With make-up, I suddenly have deep featured eyes, smooth skin, cheekbones and lips with definition and color. I feel pretty. I am pretty.
But
I am pregnant. This happened the last time I was pregnant with G. I just really don't care about making an effort with myself for myself or anyone else. Not unless the situation really REQUIRES me to use my "best face." For example, I recently met my Dad's new girlfriend. That was a make-up occasion for sure. I wanted to look and feel my best. I have a couple more of those occasions coming up too. I have been mentally working on that this evening because I sure do like myself better in the mirror with make-up. I recognize myself. With no make-up, I tend not to linger at mirrors, and I become a glimpse of ghost, just a fleeting moment of myself.
Make-up has power. I was raised to believe that. Make-up will help you feel good about yourself. Make-up will prevent you from sleeping your day away, as it would be a waste of make-up. Make-up gets you noticed in class, by teacher and students alike. Make-up lets the world know you care.
I complained to my mother my freshman year of college that I wasn't finding anyone decent to date. (Lots of indecent people, drunk off the "I'm finally on my own" high that being a freshman seems to exude.) She asked how I went to class. (It was a 9 am class.) I said I got out of bed, put on sweats, hair in ponytail and went to class. She said "that's your problem, you aren't wearing make-up." And so, I changed my routine and did get noticed more. Power. See?
I hereby promise to start practicing make-up again in these times and trials of mine. I promise to look in the mirror more and appreciate who I am and what I have. AND ENJOY IT!
I can't wait to teach all this to my daughter. She'll take it or leave it, no matter. I know it's for me.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
On Being Neighborly
This is one of those things which inspires people to fall in love with other houses. In other areas of town.
I have learned to hear the car pull up outside and the distinct sound of the car door closing. Within seconds, the doorbell is ringing on my pitch black porch.
G looks at me excitedly and says "I'll get it Mama!" amd proceeds to head to the door. He is unlocking the door as I waddle that direction. I open the door to a heavy sigh from our visitor.
Him: "Hi there. I just wanted to check and see how you are doing."
He stands there with his best look of deep concern mixed with... (places I don't want to go.)
Me: "Hi Bud, I am fine, feeling much better, in fact."
Him: "Oh Good, because J was right out front the other day and said that you were sick and I was worried you had one of your migraines or something and felt I needed to check."
I don't know this J guy personally, the first time I laid eyes on him was when I opened the door to him earlier. He was campaigning for a local candidate. I told him I wasn't interested and shut the door. It was a brief conversation.
I looked at Bud brazenly and said "I have no idea why he said that to you and shouldn't have said that to you. J came by with literature about a political candidate and wanted to know if I would like to hear more about him and I said no. It was simple as that. I didn't tell him I was sick, I just told him I wasn't interested in hearing about his candidate." (because I WAS sick and am six months pregnant and could really give a rat's ass about the local candidate at that moment.)
Him: "Well I was just worried about you with your migraines and stuff and wanted to check. You can call me if you need anything and I will run and get it for you. I have no money, so you would have to give me money and I could pick up whatever you need for you since M, (dear husband,) doesn't get home until 7 or so."
I assured him M gets home earlier than that most days. I also assured him it would be extremely rare that I would need such a favor.
"Bud" then takes a moment to look me over. I had shucked my bra about two hours prior because I had been getting to be sweaty and too much to bear. I was wearing a very smooth, light cotton but dark colored maternity shirt, which leaves little to the imagination.
Bud: "Boy" *sighs* "you look just great L. What are you doing with yourself? Your skin seems clearer and that new haircut really flatters you."
Me: "It's call pregnancy glow Bud. Women who are pregnant just tend to exude this healthy glow. It has to do with hormones and the blood flow through the body."
Bud: "Step here into the light where I can see you better. You look so good!"
Me: "No, Bud, I am fine just here."
Bud: "Step out here and let me see you."
Me: *folding my arms over my chest* "No, Bud."
Meanwhile G is playing at my feet, with the door and between Bud and I and the door.
Bud: "I was wondering if I could borrow just $5 or$10 so I can buy some groceries for the week."
Me: "I don't have any cash right now." (I spent it on my Wendy's cheeseburger for lunch) I lean in to the house and ask a question to which I already know the answer. "M, do you have cash on you?"
M: *Safely from the other room.* "No, I told you I ran out of cash this weekend."
Me: "Okay!" I turn to Bud. "Sorry, we don't have any cash right now."
Bud: "Now, you do have my number, right? I work 8-4:30, except on days where they are letting us go early. I can help you with anything you need. I will just have to come down and pick up some money first since I don't have any and bring you back what you need."
Me: "I have your number. It's just rare that I have a need like that, Bud."
Bud: "Okay, well, have a good night." Goes to leave. "Call if you need anything."
Me: "Good night, Bud." And I immediately close the door and roll my eyes.
Bud "endeared" himself to us one evening when we lost Maxwell, our elderly shepherd mix. I was walking down the street. He seemed sweet and very interested in helping us find Maxwell. We didn't find Maxwell that night, but made a friend in Bud.
Since that time Bud would appear on our doorstep with offers to take us out to dinner (to places with coupons at which he may or may not eat) and invitations to enjoy an evening in his hot tub (which, he has informed us, he feels best when he's enjoying the water naked; of course we would be welcome to bring our swimsuits, if that made us more comfortable.) He also comes by "just to check on us to make sure we are all okay."
All of this neighborly gesture is great, but it can turn into something else, something more disconcerting to me. Bud will often comment on my looks. "You look so nice today!" And it doesn't matter whether nor not I am wearing makeup, or have styled my hair, or hell, even showered that day. I seem to look nice to him all the time. Then, he has proceeded to tell me on NUMEROUS occasions, EVEN WITH DEAR HUBBY M STANDING IMMEDIATELY behind me: "It's too bad your are married. You are so lovely, so pretty. I would love to date you if you weren't married." "You are just my type." Repeatedly.
CREEP
ME
OUT!
Bud, you seem like a nice guy. But you are my mother's age. And you don't take care of yourself or anyone around you. You shower, what weekly? You smell and your house smells from the 6+ dogs and 6+ cats you keep holed up in there. The majority of the cats have lived in the bathroom for the majority of their lives. The dogs have roamed and torn up the place. It's just not right, Bud. You're not right. You're gonna have to pull your shit together, Bud, if you can.
Man, this is such a rock and a hard place. I feel sorry for the guy. He just doesn't seem to know how to help himself, but I don't think any coaching I could give him or M could give him would help him. And, due to the personal creep factor, I can only take so much of him as it is.
So what do you do? How can you be compassionate to another human being and cause change? What if that other human being doesn't operate in a normal, average way? Where are the lines?
What I am left with is two things:
1) Don't talk about your neighbors unless you all know each other really well. This J guy didn't know me at all and had NO business saying ANYTHING about me to someone else on the street. I DO appreciate any concern or alarm I may have caused, but come back to ME to address it. Not another neighbor, even if he says he's my best buddy. How would you know if that is the truth?
2) Common courtesy and etiquette say that one shouldn't drop by (consistently) unannounced. Especially if my porch light isn't on. Call before you come, and if I choose not to answer, it's because I DON'T WANT TO SEE OR TALK TO YOU. I have a right not to pick up my phone and a right not to answer my door. If I don't do one or the other, don't keep trying. I have caller ID. I can see through the window. Let people invite you into their lives, don't force your way in. That just doesn't work.
I don't know what else to say. This leaves me angry and sad and really isn't something I want to deal with right now. Which is why I am committing it to writing, so perhaps I can begin to let this stuff go and/or deal with it appropriately.
I have learned to hear the car pull up outside and the distinct sound of the car door closing. Within seconds, the doorbell is ringing on my pitch black porch.
G looks at me excitedly and says "I'll get it Mama!" amd proceeds to head to the door. He is unlocking the door as I waddle that direction. I open the door to a heavy sigh from our visitor.
Him: "Hi there. I just wanted to check and see how you are doing."
He stands there with his best look of deep concern mixed with... (places I don't want to go.)
Me: "Hi Bud, I am fine, feeling much better, in fact."
Him: "Oh Good, because J was right out front the other day and said that you were sick and I was worried you had one of your migraines or something and felt I needed to check."
I don't know this J guy personally, the first time I laid eyes on him was when I opened the door to him earlier. He was campaigning for a local candidate. I told him I wasn't interested and shut the door. It was a brief conversation.
I looked at Bud brazenly and said "I have no idea why he said that to you and shouldn't have said that to you. J came by with literature about a political candidate and wanted to know if I would like to hear more about him and I said no. It was simple as that. I didn't tell him I was sick, I just told him I wasn't interested in hearing about his candidate." (because I WAS sick and am six months pregnant and could really give a rat's ass about the local candidate at that moment.)
Him: "Well I was just worried about you with your migraines and stuff and wanted to check. You can call me if you need anything and I will run and get it for you. I have no money, so you would have to give me money and I could pick up whatever you need for you since M, (dear husband,) doesn't get home until 7 or so."
I assured him M gets home earlier than that most days. I also assured him it would be extremely rare that I would need such a favor.
"Bud" then takes a moment to look me over. I had shucked my bra about two hours prior because I had been getting to be sweaty and too much to bear. I was wearing a very smooth, light cotton but dark colored maternity shirt, which leaves little to the imagination.
Bud: "Boy" *sighs* "you look just great L. What are you doing with yourself? Your skin seems clearer and that new haircut really flatters you."
Me: "It's call pregnancy glow Bud. Women who are pregnant just tend to exude this healthy glow. It has to do with hormones and the blood flow through the body."
Bud: "Step here into the light where I can see you better. You look so good!"
Me: "No, Bud, I am fine just here."
Bud: "Step out here and let me see you."
Me: *folding my arms over my chest* "No, Bud."
Meanwhile G is playing at my feet, with the door and between Bud and I and the door.
Bud: "I was wondering if I could borrow just $5 or$10 so I can buy some groceries for the week."
Me: "I don't have any cash right now." (I spent it on my Wendy's cheeseburger for lunch) I lean in to the house and ask a question to which I already know the answer. "M, do you have cash on you?"
M: *Safely from the other room.* "No, I told you I ran out of cash this weekend."
Me: "Okay!" I turn to Bud. "Sorry, we don't have any cash right now."
Bud: "Now, you do have my number, right? I work 8-4:30, except on days where they are letting us go early. I can help you with anything you need. I will just have to come down and pick up some money first since I don't have any and bring you back what you need."
Me: "I have your number. It's just rare that I have a need like that, Bud."
Bud: "Okay, well, have a good night." Goes to leave. "Call if you need anything."
Me: "Good night, Bud." And I immediately close the door and roll my eyes.
Bud "endeared" himself to us one evening when we lost Maxwell, our elderly shepherd mix. I was walking down the street. He seemed sweet and very interested in helping us find Maxwell. We didn't find Maxwell that night, but made a friend in Bud.
Since that time Bud would appear on our doorstep with offers to take us out to dinner (to places with coupons at which he may or may not eat) and invitations to enjoy an evening in his hot tub (which, he has informed us, he feels best when he's enjoying the water naked; of course we would be welcome to bring our swimsuits, if that made us more comfortable.) He also comes by "just to check on us to make sure we are all okay."
All of this neighborly gesture is great, but it can turn into something else, something more disconcerting to me. Bud will often comment on my looks. "You look so nice today!" And it doesn't matter whether nor not I am wearing makeup, or have styled my hair, or hell, even showered that day. I seem to look nice to him all the time. Then, he has proceeded to tell me on NUMEROUS occasions, EVEN WITH DEAR HUBBY M STANDING IMMEDIATELY behind me: "It's too bad your are married. You are so lovely, so pretty. I would love to date you if you weren't married." "You are just my type." Repeatedly.
CREEP
ME
OUT!
Bud, you seem like a nice guy. But you are my mother's age. And you don't take care of yourself or anyone around you. You shower, what weekly? You smell and your house smells from the 6+ dogs and 6+ cats you keep holed up in there. The majority of the cats have lived in the bathroom for the majority of their lives. The dogs have roamed and torn up the place. It's just not right, Bud. You're not right. You're gonna have to pull your shit together, Bud, if you can.
Man, this is such a rock and a hard place. I feel sorry for the guy. He just doesn't seem to know how to help himself, but I don't think any coaching I could give him or M could give him would help him. And, due to the personal creep factor, I can only take so much of him as it is.
So what do you do? How can you be compassionate to another human being and cause change? What if that other human being doesn't operate in a normal, average way? Where are the lines?
What I am left with is two things:
1) Don't talk about your neighbors unless you all know each other really well. This J guy didn't know me at all and had NO business saying ANYTHING about me to someone else on the street. I DO appreciate any concern or alarm I may have caused, but come back to ME to address it. Not another neighbor, even if he says he's my best buddy. How would you know if that is the truth?
2) Common courtesy and etiquette say that one shouldn't drop by (consistently) unannounced. Especially if my porch light isn't on. Call before you come, and if I choose not to answer, it's because I DON'T WANT TO SEE OR TALK TO YOU. I have a right not to pick up my phone and a right not to answer my door. If I don't do one or the other, don't keep trying. I have caller ID. I can see through the window. Let people invite you into their lives, don't force your way in. That just doesn't work.
I don't know what else to say. This leaves me angry and sad and really isn't something I want to deal with right now. Which is why I am committing it to writing, so perhaps I can begin to let this stuff go and/or deal with it appropriately.
Window Shopping
I'm in love.
And, I hate it when this happens.
I don't MEAN for these things to happen, they just do. One look and I get instantly emotionally invested.
Okay, perhaps I should take that back, after all, I DO put myself into these situations quite a few times. I go looking and don't necessarily find what I am looking for... and then *WHAM* there it is. The perfect thing.
It has come in the form of cats and clothes and kitchen towels and numerous other items. The feeling you have found "it." I know my husband gets understandably concerned when I go to look for "it" innocently of course, by: 1) going to "pet the dogs and cats at the SPCA" 2) going into any store without a specific need, etc.
Today I was driving. A completely innocent activity. I didn't expect to find "it" while merely driving home. No. I expected to drive home, stumble inside and head straight for the bedroom and hole myself up until 3:15 when I need to pick up G.
But I took a new way home today, and taking new paths often have unexpected consequences. Consequences like, you fall in love.
With a house.
I know, I know. I have a house. A house I mostly like. Okay, a house I mostly love to hate. It's a fine house. I admit, a house with a tremendous amount of potential. Nice layout, good foundation. I can see each room for what it could be.... It is a house of hopes and dreams. A house that with a lot of money and attention paid, would make a really great house for some time.
But.
It's a small house. A house with little character. (A huge amount of history, still a house with little style and character.) It's a 50's ranch. It will never be anything else. I mean, we could try to put a "modern" spin on it's look, but at the end of the day, it's a 50's ranch, box-o-house. Not interesting.
And this house I am in love with? It's Mediterranean/Spanish styled. Dark brick, arched plate glass windows, beautifully landscaped yard... It's a 4/3 which means more space for us and the kids. It does have a pool, which is usually a deal breaker for me, but I would have to see the rest of the house before I wrote it off. It has 2,900 sq. ft. My hubby would appreciate the lawn sprinklers, and room for a workbench in the garage. (http://infotube.net/search_detail.php?photo=1&Adnumber=136330)
No photos there, unfortunately.
*sighs*
I guess I will pine for a few days and let it go.
Breaking up is *so* hard to do.
*sniff*
And, I hate it when this happens.
I don't MEAN for these things to happen, they just do. One look and I get instantly emotionally invested.
Okay, perhaps I should take that back, after all, I DO put myself into these situations quite a few times. I go looking and don't necessarily find what I am looking for... and then *WHAM* there it is. The perfect thing.
It has come in the form of cats and clothes and kitchen towels and numerous other items. The feeling you have found "it." I know my husband gets understandably concerned when I go to look for "it" innocently of course, by: 1) going to "pet the dogs and cats at the SPCA" 2) going into any store without a specific need, etc.
Today I was driving. A completely innocent activity. I didn't expect to find "it" while merely driving home. No. I expected to drive home, stumble inside and head straight for the bedroom and hole myself up until 3:15 when I need to pick up G.
But I took a new way home today, and taking new paths often have unexpected consequences. Consequences like, you fall in love.
With a house.
I know, I know. I have a house. A house I mostly like. Okay, a house I mostly love to hate. It's a fine house. I admit, a house with a tremendous amount of potential. Nice layout, good foundation. I can see each room for what it could be.... It is a house of hopes and dreams. A house that with a lot of money and attention paid, would make a really great house for some time.
But.
It's a small house. A house with little character. (A huge amount of history, still a house with little style and character.) It's a 50's ranch. It will never be anything else. I mean, we could try to put a "modern" spin on it's look, but at the end of the day, it's a 50's ranch, box-o-house. Not interesting.
And this house I am in love with? It's Mediterranean/Spanish styled. Dark brick, arched plate glass windows, beautifully landscaped yard... It's a 4/3 which means more space for us and the kids. It does have a pool, which is usually a deal breaker for me, but I would have to see the rest of the house before I wrote it off. It has 2,900 sq. ft. My hubby would appreciate the lawn sprinklers, and room for a workbench in the garage. (http://infotube.net/search_detail.php?photo=1&Adnumber=136330)
No photos there, unfortunately.
*sighs*
I guess I will pine for a few days and let it go.
Breaking up is *so* hard to do.
*sniff*
Closing Time
I am up at 3 am. Been a short while since I have done this, but alas, I did it with help. Help from the four year old. He was "lonely."
I used to not mind him crawling into bed with us. I love his warm little body next to mine, it makes me feel a little more secure and a little more special. Except... our bed is getting full enough without him.
We have four cats. Four cats who also adore their parents. We usually have at least three who sleep with us, if not all four. I also have the burgeoning belly and accompanying supportive maternity pillow. This makes the bed space at its premium. So, we're juggling, seeing who will budge. Hubby M took Boy G back to his space and I got up because I was hungry and no longer in "sleep mode." I figured if I could write this out, perhaps I too could return to slumber.
I have started a couple of posts, neither of which brought much to fruition. I would like to blog incessantly about my pride of cats, whom I love dearly. Writing their stories will keep them with me always. Besides, they are a hoot! My whole family is a hoot. Our stories should be captured and shared, and laughed over. Why hide something so great?
Since there is no whiskey or beer to be had, I just downed a half of an Ambien, along with pain pill and muscle relaxant. I hope it will do the trick and send me back to la-la land where I can further explore my fears and inadequacies in the comfort of my Tempurpedic. Part of what woke me up, beside young wiggle man, was belly pain. My muscles are doing the "priming" already by becoming painfully tight in practice for the "big day." I am only six months along, and wish we didn't have to start practice so early. I realize the body is a pretty intelligent beast and won't argue much. I just try to remain comfortable in the face of fibromyalgia since my body doesn't bounce back quite like it should. This is making me look forward to physical therapy tomorrow, although I am not sure they will be comfortable addressing the abdominal cramps. We'll see I suppose.
At least *knocks on self* the illness which has plagued me seems to be subsiding on the way out. Just lots of runny snot left, which tissues can handle. Slowly, slowly, my life comes back to me. I always move towards whole and complete. (Which may not be achievable for a while, post birth, post hormones.) I know it will come. It will always come back, even after the darkest hour. I trust that.
I feel as though I could sit here and keep going, probably for a couple hours. Instead I shall opt for another go at sleep. I might be back, but it will be a good sign if I can not. :-)
I know who I want to take me home... take me home.....
I used to not mind him crawling into bed with us. I love his warm little body next to mine, it makes me feel a little more secure and a little more special. Except... our bed is getting full enough without him.
We have four cats. Four cats who also adore their parents. We usually have at least three who sleep with us, if not all four. I also have the burgeoning belly and accompanying supportive maternity pillow. This makes the bed space at its premium. So, we're juggling, seeing who will budge. Hubby M took Boy G back to his space and I got up because I was hungry and no longer in "sleep mode." I figured if I could write this out, perhaps I too could return to slumber.
I have started a couple of posts, neither of which brought much to fruition. I would like to blog incessantly about my pride of cats, whom I love dearly. Writing their stories will keep them with me always. Besides, they are a hoot! My whole family is a hoot. Our stories should be captured and shared, and laughed over. Why hide something so great?
Since there is no whiskey or beer to be had, I just downed a half of an Ambien, along with pain pill and muscle relaxant. I hope it will do the trick and send me back to la-la land where I can further explore my fears and inadequacies in the comfort of my Tempurpedic. Part of what woke me up, beside young wiggle man, was belly pain. My muscles are doing the "priming" already by becoming painfully tight in practice for the "big day." I am only six months along, and wish we didn't have to start practice so early. I realize the body is a pretty intelligent beast and won't argue much. I just try to remain comfortable in the face of fibromyalgia since my body doesn't bounce back quite like it should. This is making me look forward to physical therapy tomorrow, although I am not sure they will be comfortable addressing the abdominal cramps. We'll see I suppose.
At least *knocks on self* the illness which has plagued me seems to be subsiding on the way out. Just lots of runny snot left, which tissues can handle. Slowly, slowly, my life comes back to me. I always move towards whole and complete. (Which may not be achievable for a while, post birth, post hormones.) I know it will come. It will always come back, even after the darkest hour. I trust that.
I feel as though I could sit here and keep going, probably for a couple hours. Instead I shall opt for another go at sleep. I might be back, but it will be a good sign if I can not. :-)
I know who I want to take me home... take me home.....
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Brain Fry'sed
It hasn't been the greatest couple of days. Yesterday Mark didn't go to the office due to a network malfunction. I am always glad when he can spend time with me, especially now, with my pregnancy. I tend to be lots more clingy when pregnant, just part of the territory.
We headed out from the house yesterday with ambitions of a day of lazy browsing about town, starting with one of my favorite places on the planet: Fry's. I love Fry's. It feeds my every geeky need. Should I come of need for another husband (G-d forbid!), I am pretty sure I will find one at Fry's. (Or perhaps Half-Price Books.) Needless to say I could spend hours in Fry's just browsing and "petting" all the various electronics pieces and parts.
We start in the DVD section where I picked up the first season of Grey's Anatomy. (YAY! Love me some Grey's!) Then we mosey on to the TV section, because we had been flirting with the idea of getting G-man a new TV. (That's a whole nother blog entry in and of itself for later.) We browse TVs, then DVD players/recorders when, I start to get this twinge. It
s a twinge I know. A twinge I hate.
Me: "Honey, I think I am getting a migraine."
Him: "Oh?"
Me: "Yeah, feeling like my right shoulder is about five inches lower than the rest of me."
Him: *Gives me knowing look* "Okay, we'll look for DVD burners and perhaps a graphics card and then I'll be ready."
Me: "Okay."
We proceed to the DVD Burners where he *carefully* compares the options. I find a place to rest my six-month pregnant, pre-migraining self.
Him: (After a few minutes of reading and re-reading several boxes, which feels like FOREVER.) Okay, let's go look at graphics cards."
Me: "Okay" (follows him mindlessly)
We proceed to the Graphics card area where he *carefully* compares the options. I find a post that seems to need holding up. After a few minutes I tell him I am going to "pet" the notebooks. This is an activity I usually relish. I want a new notebook so badly.
I find the new Sony FJ series, including the color I thought I wanted: red. Which, isn't red... it's more raspberry and downright pink inside. PINK. ew. That takes all of a minute. I am so done. I return to my pole holding position. I call to him.
Me: "Honey, um, I really need to go"
Him: *Looking at boxes* "Um, okay, just trying to decide." *Walks over with boxes.* "You see I could get this one, but for thirty dollars more I could get more memory, see? Although this one is already four times what we have...." *still staring at boxes*
Me: *rolls eyes* "Please just decide."
The young man between Mark and I starts smirking.
(Cute) Young man says "He needs to find the right one."
Me: "Yes, yes, usually I am sympathetic to shopping, I AM a shopper, you gotta compare to make sure you get the right one... still...." *gives him a miserable look then looks at hubby, still involved in boxes. * "Decide."
(Cute) Young man smirks more. (I tell you, this place swarms with potential husband material.)
As we walk away, I share with Mark how everything in my line of vision is now moving of it's own accord. (If you know migraines, you will know these vision alterations are like; if not, just imagine the entire world moving while you are trying to move through it. Sufficient sea-sick feelings should arise.)
I spend the rest of the afternoon wishing I could take my Imitrex and crushing my skull between two pillows. So much for day of lax shopping with my dear hubby.
We headed out from the house yesterday with ambitions of a day of lazy browsing about town, starting with one of my favorite places on the planet: Fry's. I love Fry's. It feeds my every geeky need. Should I come of need for another husband (G-d forbid!), I am pretty sure I will find one at Fry's. (Or perhaps Half-Price Books.) Needless to say I could spend hours in Fry's just browsing and "petting" all the various electronics pieces and parts.
We start in the DVD section where I picked up the first season of Grey's Anatomy. (YAY! Love me some Grey's!) Then we mosey on to the TV section, because we had been flirting with the idea of getting G-man a new TV. (That's a whole nother blog entry in and of itself for later.) We browse TVs, then DVD players/recorders when, I start to get this twinge. It
s a twinge I know. A twinge I hate.
Me: "Honey, I think I am getting a migraine."
Him: "Oh?"
Me: "Yeah, feeling like my right shoulder is about five inches lower than the rest of me."
Him: *Gives me knowing look* "Okay, we'll look for DVD burners and perhaps a graphics card and then I'll be ready."
Me: "Okay."
We proceed to the DVD Burners where he *carefully* compares the options. I find a place to rest my six-month pregnant, pre-migraining self.
Him: (After a few minutes of reading and re-reading several boxes, which feels like FOREVER.) Okay, let's go look at graphics cards."
Me: "Okay" (follows him mindlessly)
We proceed to the Graphics card area where he *carefully* compares the options. I find a post that seems to need holding up. After a few minutes I tell him I am going to "pet" the notebooks. This is an activity I usually relish. I want a new notebook so badly.
I find the new Sony FJ series, including the color I thought I wanted: red. Which, isn't red... it's more raspberry and downright pink inside. PINK. ew. That takes all of a minute. I am so done. I return to my pole holding position. I call to him.
Me: "Honey, um, I really need to go"
Him: *Looking at boxes* "Um, okay, just trying to decide." *Walks over with boxes.* "You see I could get this one, but for thirty dollars more I could get more memory, see? Although this one is already four times what we have...." *still staring at boxes*
Me: *rolls eyes* "Please just decide."
The young man between Mark and I starts smirking.
(Cute) Young man says "He needs to find the right one."
Me: "Yes, yes, usually I am sympathetic to shopping, I AM a shopper, you gotta compare to make sure you get the right one... still...." *gives him a miserable look then looks at hubby, still involved in boxes. * "Decide."
(Cute) Young man smirks more. (I tell you, this place swarms with potential husband material.)
As we walk away, I share with Mark how everything in my line of vision is now moving of it's own accord. (If you know migraines, you will know these vision alterations are like; if not, just imagine the entire world moving while you are trying to move through it. Sufficient sea-sick feelings should arise.)
I spend the rest of the afternoon wishing I could take my Imitrex and crushing my skull between two pillows. So much for day of lax shopping with my dear hubby.
Friday, March 03, 2006
The Inspiration...
... for the title of my blog comes from Rumi:
All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.
This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
-as translated by Coleman Barks
All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.
This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
-as translated by Coleman Barks
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Streptococcus Borealis
Okay, so it ISN'T strep after all, which is great news. I still had to use this title once I thought of it.
At least I feel better today. Yesterday was the absolute pits. So much so that I went to the doctor, and I do believe that's a record. The first moment I knew I was sick, I called. Good thing too, because those antibiotics helped.
I still managed to get to my appointment yesterday and physical therapy today. YAY ME!
My four year old son cracks me up constantly. He went to the doctor with me yesterday. The doctor had a cool 3D model of how an artery looks normally and then progressively clogged with cholesterol. I was explaining what he was looking at.
Me: This is what takes fresh blood from the heart to the body.
Him: What's that?
Me: That's plaque or cholesterol build-up. When you have that your body has to work harder to pump good blood to you body to keep it healthy. You see, the plaque makes that hole more narrow.
He studies the model for a moment
Me: Cholesterol comes from food we eat and our family history. Cholesterol is found in fatty food like meat. Since you don't eat meat, you probably won't have to worry about your cholesterol.
He studies the model a moment more: "Mom?"
Me: "Yes"
Him: "Then how come you and Dad still eat meat?"
I totally put myself in these situations. I further explained that cholesterol was in other foods and bodies are all different and that people make different choices about foods. He can be so very black and white about some things. I still say he's going to make a great engineer. Or perhaps surgeon....
One can dream, right?
At least I feel better today. Yesterday was the absolute pits. So much so that I went to the doctor, and I do believe that's a record. The first moment I knew I was sick, I called. Good thing too, because those antibiotics helped.
I still managed to get to my appointment yesterday and physical therapy today. YAY ME!
My four year old son cracks me up constantly. He went to the doctor with me yesterday. The doctor had a cool 3D model of how an artery looks normally and then progressively clogged with cholesterol. I was explaining what he was looking at.
Me: This is what takes fresh blood from the heart to the body.
Him: What's that?
Me: That's plaque or cholesterol build-up. When you have that your body has to work harder to pump good blood to you body to keep it healthy. You see, the plaque makes that hole more narrow.
He studies the model for a moment
Me: Cholesterol comes from food we eat and our family history. Cholesterol is found in fatty food like meat. Since you don't eat meat, you probably won't have to worry about your cholesterol.
He studies the model a moment more: "Mom?"
Me: "Yes"
Him: "Then how come you and Dad still eat meat?"
I totally put myself in these situations. I further explained that cholesterol was in other foods and bodies are all different and that people make different choices about foods. He can be so very black and white about some things. I still say he's going to make a great engineer. Or perhaps surgeon....
One can dream, right?
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