Barefoot in the Kitchen.

Having the carpets periodically cleaned is NOT an optional activity in a house with 2 small boys, 2 hairy cats (BLACK!) and 1 very large dog.

Today is the day that Stanley Steemer is coming to remove a year's worth of juice stains, funny-smelling patches that we blame on the dog (because that's less disturbing somehow than blaming the children. Even if they are the more likely culprits than the ridiculously well-housebroken Gizmo). Then, there's the built-up cat hair, ground-in dirt and the occasional coffee or soda spill. Even after going through gallons of Resolve over the course of the year? The carpet still looks like we threw several wild parties and maybe dragged dirty diapers around on it for good measure.

So today was a flurry of activity, getting the house prepped to be deep-steam-cleaned. Rolling up rugs, moving small tables off onto hard floors, and vacuuming the entire blasted house. Also? Many MANY loads of laundry. (Look honey! You finally have clean underwears!).

And so! Once all that was wrapped up, I sat down - sweaty and sore - to catch up on my blogroll and perhaps even add to that other blog of mine.

That's when I realized it.

I'm done. Done with the shopping blog... because? Because with 2 kids and a hefty mortgage and the expense just to get the things we absolutely MUST have (note to self: make eye doctor appointments, find dentist who accepts new insurance, check flex spending account for enough funds to get the thousand dollars of dental work I still need this year)... it's really not any fun any more to spend time looking at things I'd really *like* to have, but cannot justify spending money on.

And so.

And so, I will no longer be updating What Mommy Wants. I'll leave it up for archival purposes for a while, but beyond that... it is finito. Done. Kaput.

But fear not! Lest you crave more of my Buddha-like wisdom than can be gleaned from only the pages of this written wonder that is Stay At Aum Mom... I present to you....

"Eat Drink and Be Married".

I started it almost 1 year ago as a place for T and I to write about our foodie exploits. Okay, so we're dissociated foodies - enjoying homemade lamb curry and frozen fish-sticks, sometimes in the same weekend. That said, we do manage - once in a good while - to make some pretty impressive delights.

And so, hopefully to be updated on at least a weekly basis, and with guest posts from the Man Himself (hopefully a periodic article or two on the gastric delights he will be enjoying as he travels the globe) please to be bookmarking Here. Be nice to him. Remember, the man doesn't just cook (things like rosemary braised tuna steaks with stuffed portabella mushrooms and brown sugar and mustard-glazed salmon filets with homemade whipped potatoes) ... he also does the dishes when he's done.

Picture This...

So the local coffee joint (a very cool, crunchy granola, mom'n pop place) allows local artisan types to sign up for 1 month of wall space at no charge.

It's also worth mentioning that this "coffee bar" was, undoubtedly, originally built to be a regular sort of bar. One wall is bare brick face, the other houses an envious bar, complete with stools and kick rail, that runs the entire length of the building.

Several weeks ago I happened to be chatting with the owner and proprietor of the place, Mike. Talk turned to photography. I mentioned my fledgling portrait business and - blam - Mike told me about this awesome way that the shop helps local artists out.

So today was the day to put up my wall for the month of August. Which I did. 10 of my favorite pieces of work, neatly (and symmetrically!) now hang against the several-hundred-year-old brick wall.

I have only shown my work to a very few people. I have never displayed anything I have created for general public consumption before, with the exception of the poem that won me an award in the fifth grade. I got my picture in the paper with the other regional winners, and my poem published in the local paper. I was, of course, mortified.

I know, given the fact that you are now reading this blog - wherein I lay open my most humiliating and personal thoughts and experiences for the world to see - it may seem like a bit of a contradiction for me to say that I am hesitant to put my work out there for critique by the masses. I have no explanation for this phenomenon, other than to say that I don't usually run into strangers who know me from this blog. When it does happen, my reaction is generally to get exquisitely, painfully self-conscious, and escape as quickly as possible. Go figure.

SO. My photos are now up, along with a flier detailing the number and email address at which I may be reached to schedule a photo session. If the reaction of the regulars and staff at the coffee shop is any indication, maybe this won't be so bad after all. At least nobody threw up. That's a good sign, right?

I *heart* my geek.

My husband projects an image of gruffness and cool when serious, is charming and flirtatious when playful, and full of masculine machismo when surrounded by other manly-manly-men types.

Only those of us who know and love him best know the deep, dark, dirty truth. My husband is a consummate geek. A geek who happens to be married to an adoring but mercilessly snarky wife.

Take, for example, this IM exchange we had today. I was ecstatic to find a copy of "Where the Wild Things Are" for sale at a local kids boutique. Jack and I made plans to read it before his "quiet time" this afternoon. I had to share my find with T, for whom this book also holds a special place in childhood nostalgia.

ME: We went to the consignment shop after coffee. The boutique in the back? It had "Where the wild things are". I bought it for 8 bucks. I regret nothing!

HIM: That's okay, I'm going to GamesWorkshop which I found down the street and spending 300 dollars on miniatures.

ME: Huhwhat? No you're not! Especially not if you want the carpets cleaned, you're not. We have Stanley Steemer coming in on Friday.

HIM: Clean houses don't make me happy! My spiritual center is found within pewter army men with laser guns.

ME: That is wrong on so many levels.

HIM: You should incorporate that statement somewhere in your life. I suspect your life would improve by a good margin for at least 10 minutes after saying that.

ME: Sure. It can be my "incantation of +10 life quality". Now roll for the bonus!

HIM: Come on now! My bag of dice are feeling tender - I don't touch them as much as I used to!

ME: I won't be touching your "bag of dice" either if you spend 300 bucks on pewter figurines. Might wanna take that into consideration...

HIM: Touché.

Breaking Radio Silence

Hello, internets. How have you been?

I'm hanging in there - quite nicely in fact.

A couple of things have happened recently that we should probably discuss.

First up: Jack, my 10 pound wonder-baby, who entered this world with a shriek and made all the other babies in the hospital nursury look like toy dolls, turned 4 years old. I know several "mommybloggers" who write letters to their kids on their birthdays. I do write the letters, but I do it with an ink pen in a journal made of actual paper. Some day, each of my boys will get their own book of those thoughts, written in my own handwriting.

That said, I will mark here that he's like a tiny version of me, only smarter and with better intuition. He is also the most intelligent, funny, and sensitive kid I know.

So. The next bit.

After some discussion, T and I were able to agree that the sting has passed enough to talk about something I was actively not talking about. You might remember vague references to "something that happened" over the past few weeks. There's no easy way to say it, so here it is.

We had a miscarriage.

All things considered, we were very fortunate. It happened early. It happened away from home, and (because it was early) I was able to deal with it without Jack understanding that anything was going on. He was too distracted with all the wonders of our vacation.

So, we're okay. It was tough there for a bit; we were already in pregnancy mode around here - making plans, tossing around names. But we're taking a short break from procreation and just focusing on enjoying this little life we have built for ourselves. Also? We're being very thankful that I didn't go nuts.

A few years ago, this would have devestated me and risked a depressive relapse. Today? I'm sad, but fully accept that sometimes life doesn't go the way you plan, and you have to be thankful for what you have that is going right. In my case, these 2 little boys that make my days so insane and delightful? They are going pretty damn right. Apparently, all that therapy and my cursory foray into Buddhist practices? Actually worth the time and trouble, after all.

It doesn't hurt that Toby has also learned to say "Yeah!" in the affirmative, and now uses it proudly - and with great gusto - at every opportunity.

"Tobin, are you ready to take a bath?"
"YEAH!!"

"Tobin, would you like to have a snack?"
"YEAH!!"

It also doesn't hurt that he usually accompanies this with the international symbol for "GOAL!", arms raised victoriously over his head. It's a good life lesson - to celebrate every small accomplishment as though you just scored the winning shot in the World Cup.

I intend to do some dishes later. I will then follow this up with a very embarrassing end-zone victory dance. Thankfully, only the children and the dog will see this. The children think it's hysterical. The dog thinks I'm insane, but is quickly distracted with a well-time liver snap.

As for my own inner-critic? I just crank up the Mika and drown her out.

The Frailties of Youth Revisited.

I was not, at all, a rebellious teenager. The worst vice I could claim to the age of 18 (other than the very occasional diet coke) was staying up into the wee hours of the morning reading books. This made getting through the following day's regimen of chemistry lectures, english homework, and trig equations somewhat problematic -- especially considering I thought school in general was about as useful as a third nipple.

I grew up. I went back to college for a second time and found that I had hitherto untapped brains, ones that allowed me to.. like.. take notes, and study for exams, and.. read the assigned material. I know - what's your superpower?

Last night, however, I revisited those days of yore. At approximately 6pm on Sunday evening, I discovered that by not checking the mail box on Saturday I had left my copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" in the box for an entire day. 24 whole hours! Wasted!! I resolved to remedy this situation as quickly as possible and, as of about 7pm, I was earnestly engrossed in the pages of this cultural phenom.

Every few chapters I would glance at the clock, marking the minutes that had ticked by. When the big and little hands rolled around to the 12 and I was 3/4 of the way through the book, I gave up trying to put it down and get to bed and surrendered to the superior might of the book. My will was weak, my flesh was willing, and when I finally looked up with a sigh from the final lines, it was 3am.

My husband is exasperated, to say the least, with my total lack of adult control.

Then again, by finishing the book in roughly 7.5 hours? I have cleared the way for him to begin reading it immediately. So he's pretending not to notice that I'm swatting at imaginary insects and wearing a matching set of luggage below my eyelids.

When HE is the one seeing fnords and carrying on conversations with the coat rack? I'll turn a blind eye, too. Because I love him, and because I've totally been there.

The book? It should come with an FDA warning label. S'all I'm sayin'.

Long Live The King

The king has returned. The man? He is back in the castle. All is right with the world.

We celebrated his homecoming by heading out for sushi at the new-ish local place, where they have something called a "Good Time Roll" that includes tempura flakes, cream cheese, and cherry brandy sauce. Need I say more? Yes, the good times... they rolled. And then the children spontaneously combusted at the shock of things going back to normal, and Mommy and Daddy crawled into bed in a stupor and immediately passed out.

I took a mental health day today. For all our sakes, this had to happen.

First I hit up ye olde Haircuttery and had a few inches hacked off my (crooked since I chopped it myself in a fit of frustration) hair. The back is now textured, tapered, and fluffy, while the top and front are still long and shaggy. It's not a bad look for me, and somehow manages to toe the line between Too Much Punk Rock and "oh no!" Mom hair. Pictures to be posted sometime next century or when I find the stupid battery charger, whichever comes first.

Following the haircut I headed over to Kohls and picked up a few things to get me through till I lose enough weight to move completely into the next smaller size. Thank providence for their sales, I got out of there for under 30 bucks with a couple decent shirts.

Capped off the day with a 3 mile jog and a few minutes of David Beckham footage. That man? He is easy on the eyes.

Finally, got the news that my Gram had surgery today, it went well, and it looks like she's going to be okay. I've been actively trying to not think about her being in the hospital - a necessary tactic when one is half a continent away. But she is on the mend, and expected to recover quite nicely.

Remember when I said that everything was going to be okay? I love it when a plan comes together. Cheers.

Search-A-Palooza 2007

My recent favorites among the search terms that have led some poor, misguided souls to this site:

stories of having pants taken down by a woman for the first time for sex and spanking
For the record? A woman has never taken my pants down for sex OR spanking, nor have I ever blogged about such an experience. If it ever happens, though? I'll be sure to post all the sordid details, in between hits off my crack pipe and swigs of Jack Daniels.

jumping jacks dilate cervix
Sadly, jumping jacks at full term will only make the baby angry and very likely cause you to rupture something. I do not recommend this as a means to induce labor, nor to dilate the cervix. Believe you me, I tried.

moms being tickled
And here I thought I had heard about every fetish there was. I mean, if a conservative Congressman can have a diaper fetish catered to by hookers and still help run the country, I guess anything is possible. Just be aware? Anyone who attempts to tickle THIS mom is likely to end up with a sharp knee or elbow thrust in the direction of very tender body parts. (Shoot, there's probably a fetish for that, too, out there somewhere.)

homemade bazooka bean cans
This might be the coolest way anyone has accidentally google'd me - ever! I mean, it's gotta be like a snipe hunt, right? Beans! Explosions! ... Add in a box of matches and a dark room and this is pure (fifth grade) comedy gold!

Tomorrow is Christmas, It's Practically Here!

Tomorrow my husband comes home. In my world, this is much cooler than Christmas. In fact, if you wanted to combine Christmas, New Year's Eve, July Fourth, and my Birthday all into one uber-holiday, still this would not come close to the unadulterated joy that I am anticipating on seeing my man.

In spite of the fact that we have not had an actual evening out all alone since... um... wait, wait.. I know we've had at least one since Toby was born... I suppose last year's Office Christmas Party? Yeah, that would be last December. Merciful heaven, I really should stop trying to remember that, because it's really too depressing to fathom.

BUT! I digress!

In spite of this, we somehow manage to be ridiculously happy and in love. (If you just threw up a little - in your mouth - just then? You should probably stop reading now, as this is only going to get more syrupy.) (It's my blog, I'm allowed.)

When I was a little girl, imagining what it would be like to be married, not a single one of those naive fantasies even came close to the real thing. Instead of the galant white knight who worships the ground I walk on? I got a guy with a sense of humor who does dishes and changes diapers.

Okay, so he worships the ground I walk on, too. But, really, after a few babies? That whole "Does dishes" thing? That's about as sexy as it gets. Like female Viagra, but better (and completely minus the risk for priapism).

We laugh at the same things. We're both obsessed with "So You Think You Can Dance". We're both also obsessed with good food - the more exotic, the better, as long as the taste blows the mind. He bathes the kids, and even though I give him a hard time for having a seat and reading the latest issue of "Wired" while the kids splash around in the tub, he really does get them washed and into their jammies and ready for me to tuck into bed with a kiss and a pat.

After two whole weeks of parenting without a partner, I have realized just how much I depend on him to help me keep this place running. I have also realized how much I depend on him to keep ME running - to keep me sane, and fill my days with laughter and insightful commentary on this mad old world we live in.

And so it is, with heart in throat, that I have realized once again just how fracking lucky I really am. With my Grandma in the hospital, everything we have been through the last weeks and months, and my last nerve beginning to fray as I clean up the second broken glass and third pile of animal vomit, I pause to consider that I have every reason to be a total wreck at this point.

Every reason but one. And in a few hours, he'll be winging his way homeward with stories and presents and one of his world-famous bear-hugs.

Everything is going to be just fine.

Ninja Parenting: Birds and Bees Edition

Jack: "Mommy? When I was a baby in your belly, how did I get out of there?"

Me: "Well, we went to the hospital, and the doctor took you out."

Jack: "But how did he take me out of there?"

Me: "Umm. For now? Let's say through my belly button."

Jack: "But how did the doctor open your belly button?"

Me: "I'm not exactly sure. Ask me again when you're older, okay?"

Jack: "Okay, Mommy! Can we have ice cream for lunch?"

Worth Having Kids Just To Hear Lines Like These.

"M0m-eeeee! Toby ate all my bikini bread!" (zucchini bread)

"You're the best mommy - EVAR! ... Can I have a marshpillow?"

"Today is Pips's Birthday! [his imaginary friend]. Can you make him an imaginary train cake?"

Him:"Mom? I really miss Dad."
Me: "Me too, baby. But I'm glad I have you to keep me company."
Him: "I'm glad you have me to keep you company, too."

But I'm Really A Cynic.

Conversation on moving to the Czech Republic:

T: There's a lot of hold-over from the Soviet days here. Gray buildings, beaten down people.

Me: Is it totally depressing???

T: Not at all. But nobody smiles at each other on the street.

Me: Would I be comfortable there? I mean... I smile at everyone on the street. It's almost a nervous habit, really....

T: You'd be fine. I mean, you might want to tone it down a little, in general....

Me: You're saying the people there wouldn't like me?

T: No, no. They'll love you. But I think they'd be annoyed by your optimism.

Aum Parenting. Don't Try This At Home.

Having been a single mother for almost 2 weeks now (Hi Honey! Buy me something pretty in Prague! Like a handsome Czech manny!!!! (male nanny) Kthxbye!)

Yeah, so it's safe to say that the Zen has been decidedly absent from my own particular parenting zoo this week. Case in point: I once again emoted on my poor hair. This time, I dyed it a lovely shade of medium-chestnut brown with auburn-ish hilights, and it's actually quite lovely, so that's not such a bad thing. Right? Wrong. You see, after dying and drying, I found my neck was all sweaty and the one longer layer in the back was sticking to it and making me too incredibly hot and sticky and I'm hoping this run-on sentence will distract you from the fact that I then reached back and snipped off a half inch or so of hair from my own head. It's actually pretty straight, so it could be much, much worse, but for the record - I do not recommend cutting your own hair in a fit of freak-out-ish-ness. It's not for the faint of heart.

Have I mentioned I'm not going to blogher? Oh, I have? Well, how about in the last 24 hours? No? Okay. So, I'm not going to blogher. But I am at least going to book a nice long pedicure and massage or something when T gets back into town. Or I'm going to spend a month on a commune, growing veggies in the sunshine and reading. I haven't decided which. I'm leaning towards the former, though, as my feet are in dire need of some serious attention. There have been rumors of a neighborhood petition to ban me from wearing sandals outright. It's not pretty, baby.

So pretty much I'm hanging onto sanity by a thread at this point. I'm more anxious than ever to find out about the Prague move on way or another, because if we are not headed to points European as a family, we are at least headed someplace that gives me access to civilization. Preferably, someplace in striking distance of a Metro station - I have not been to downtown DC in so long, I really couldn't tell you when it was. And some small part of me? She needs Georgetown with its snobby vintage shops and funky jewelry stores, Adams Morgan and its spectacular Ethiopian food (Hello Meskerem!), and even the National Zoo. Those silly pandas and their shenanigans...

3 more days. Then? I can go back to being only partially insane, instead of the raving lunatic I have become. A little sanity goes a long way, my friends. Especially when it comes to child rearing.

One Word Meme

Spotted on CurlyGirl. Shamelessly borrowed (Nobody tagged me. Because nobody EVER tags me. Except with the Thinking Blogger award, which I never managed to give away, because everyone I would have given it to had already got it, as far as I could tell.) I have a lot of exposition in there, don't I? That's why it's good this is the ONE WORD meme.

1. Where is your cell phone? purse

2. Relationship? spectacular!

3. Your hair? faded

4. Work? never!

5. Your sister? which?

6. Your favorite thing? sleeping!

7. Your dream last night? none

8. Your favorite drink? Coffee

9. Your dream car? 442

10. The room you’re in? kitchen

11. Your shoes? none!

12. Your fears? death

13. What do you want to be in 10 years? thin

14. Who did you hang out with this weekend? family

15. What are you not good at? living

16. Muffin? bran

17. One of your wish list items? time

18. Where you grew up? California

19. Last thing you did? dishes

20. What are you wearing? clothes

21. What aren’t you wearing? lipstick

22. Your pet? obnoxious

23. Your computer? Dell

24. Your life? insane

25. Your mood? exhausted

26. Missing? Husband!

27. What are you thinking about right now? sleep

28. Your car? minivan!

29. Your kitchen? rules

30. Your summer? vanishing

31. Your favorite color? green

32. Last time you laughed? today

33. Last time you cried? dunno

34. School? someday

35. Love? surrounded!

There. Now I tag Allie, Stitches, and 1LDSmom. I've shown you mine now, ladies. Time to show me yours... *grin*

Reasons To Stay Sane and Flash a Smile.

* Baking waaaay too much zucchini bread.
We had several zucchinis (zucchinii?) that were teetering on the brink in our refridgerator, so yesterday I bit the bullet and baked my little heart out. I used to bake all the time, but have got out of the habit in recent years. So! We now have zucchini muffins, zucchini loaf, and a yet another zucchini loaf baked in a bundt pan. I'm stocking the freezer, and we'll be eating it for breakfast from now until New Year's, I expect.

* Funky Beaded Necklaces
I have quite a collection, now. I love the way the beads rattle together when I run down the stairs to grab something-or-other that one of the boys forgot (and absolutely must have in time for bedtime). I like fidgeting with them when I'm watching t.v. or thinking really hard about something. Like today - I was thinking really hard about what the hell I was going to do with all that zucchini bread. And there they were, handily around my neck, clickety-clacking between my fingers as I pondered this earth-shattering question. And then - BAM! - the answer came to me. This, THIS, is why we bought the World's Biggest Chest Freezer and stuck it, half-empty, in our basement. Tah-dah!

* Sudden rain showers
It was overcast most of the day yesterday - not to mention muggy. It's that antsy sort of weather, the kind where you know that the intent is to rain, but Mother Nature just can't seem to get on with it. Then, unexpectedly, you hear a timid rapping on the back door. You turn, thinking perhaps it is an uninvited guest - maybe a neighbor coming to tell you that the fence is falling apart into his yard again. But before you have the chance to finish the thought - or rise from your chair, you hear the rest of the downpour and realize it's a thunder-boomer. Also - if you happen to be me (and I do - happen to be me, that is) you remember that you left the windows of the minivan cracked open and then you go running out into the storm in order to roll them back up. Of course, you get soaked to the skin in the process and spend the next half hour looking like a particularly bedraggled form of drowned rat. But you don't mind, because it's the first time in a long time you remember being out in a summer rainstorm.

* Fried Green Tomatoes
Thanks be to T's mama and her stop at the Sweet Corn Man's veggie stand. 3 green tomatoes have been camping in my fridge, just waiting for me to get up the gumption to wash them, slice them, and dress them in raw egg and cornmeal wrapping. Today? I had gumption to spare. And they were delicious.

* My Better Half
The bad news? T's Czech adventure was extended by another week, and I won't get to see him tomorrow as planned. The good news? He calls just to hear my voice and regale me with tales of eating pork knuckle and wandering the streets of Pardubice. And he insisted they get him back in time for Jack's birthday on the 24th - because it is important. As much as I worry about him being something of a workaholic, he's setting a good boundary line between work and life at this new job. Just knowing that he's spending half the time thinking "This would be so much cooler if Mel was with me to see it" gives me a really, extraordinarily, spectacularly big smile. Love rocks.

Lots of words... too few illustrations.

My battery is dead and I cannot, for the life of me, locate the battery charger for my camera. So the search will continue, and there are still no photos of the boys or our Ohio excursion. Also? I just realized we didn't take any photos with my sister. Because I am a moron.

So I'm sitting here and feeling rather sorry for myself - not the least of which because I will absolutely, definitely, and completely NOT be going to BlogHer in Chicago at the end of this month. Because there are people there I would really, really like to sit next to and learn from. Also? I would like to find MochaMomma and give her bum a good firm "hello" smack, and then wait for her to figure out who the hell I am. Because once she placed the face, she'd appreciate my unhinged brand of humor. And my fabulous shoes.

I've been thinking about this blogging thing again. Why do I do it? Now that I have family reading it, I have to admit to a certain level of self-censorship. I really need to quit that - to stop holding back because of what it might reveal about me to family. It's difficult, though. It's so much easier to be completely genuine when I have no idea who I'm talking to. It's the same reason I can have ridiculously fantastic conversations with total strangers at parties while I struggle to put my thoughts into words with people I have known for years.

I should clarify that - with some people I have known for years. There are a select few who know me, love me, and forgive (and even sometimes embrace) my meandering stream-of-consciousness ramblings (yes, I do that in person, too). My husband, for one. My friend the Rocash. Dr. Allie. Sheena. Trucker Man Dan. There have been others, but these are the ones who have known me longest and best, and were never frightened off when I start rambling aloud about the nature of existence or pontificating on the nature of morality or the idea of "God" as a way to describe Unified Field Theory, or vice-versa.

I like to talk a lot. Many times, I talk about things about which I have only a very rudimentary understanding. Other times, I talk about crochet patterns or recipes for a better breakfast burrito. (I have a killer one if anybody is interested.)

The problem, though, is that I live in the suburbs. Instead of bringing some sense of community, a "We're all in this together"-ness, I find it a place of isolation. A place where neighbors know very little about each other, unless somebody's husband is having an affair or someone forgets to mow their lawn.

So, in the end, I think the biggest reason that I keep on with this Blogging business is because it is often the closest I can come to having a meaningful conversation. Okay, so the conversation is mainly with myself - but, again, that is something I do in person, as well. It's a habit handed down from my mother, who always said that sometimes it was the best conversations she ever had. Of course, people look at me funny from time to time - like when I'm in the grocery store and don't realize I'm doing it. "Let's see... we need eggs, bread, milk, cheese... Oh! No, wait, I bought cheese yesterday, didn't I.... well, hummus and pitas, then. Something else snacky..."

A few things have happened lately that have made writing here difficult. One is the sheer weight of responsibility in being a wife, a mum, and a housekeeper, cook, maid, and taxi driver. The other, more recent and pressing, is a personal matter that I told my husband I would not blog about. I had no idea it would be so difficult.

Because, in the end, the people I want most to talk to about things are the ones who will just listen. I'm a great listener, too - don't get me wrong. But when my head is full, sometimes I just need someone to listen while the pressure valve releases. Someone who won't judge, or look at me differently because of the self-revelations that may be mixed in with all the chitter-chatter.

My sister mentioned that she and I have always got along - that she always knew I didn't judge her. I simply take people as I find them and, if they want to know something from me, I try to pass it along as best I know how. I don't assume everyone wants my advice. I don't expect everyone else to live according to my blueprint for their lives. I figure everyone is on their own path, and the best I can do is maybe talk when I have something to say, and keep my mouth shut if somebody doesn't want to hear it.

I think this is the one place that I can talk, and it doesn't matter if anyone wants to hear it or not. It's the one place I can have a conversation with myself, and let anyone who wants join in. Very few people have jumped into the discussion, to be sure... but as long as I live the conversation will continue in one form or another.

If I had the chance to describe life on the simplest level, it would be something along these lines: It's all one long conversation that began before I was born and will continue after I am gone, and for a brief, small moment I get to take part in it.

Come Fly The Smelly Skies...

So T made it across the Atlantic and over to the Czech Republic.

When I flew to Las Vegas, I followed the prescribed protocol for items to pack in carry-on luggage, and put the rest in my checked bag. Because T was travelling internationally, he was advised to avoid the hassle of attempting to retrieve checked baggage by taking only 1 carry-on for the entire 5-day trip. Also? My husband has the dark and swarthy looks, including the so-brown-they're-nearly-black eyes, of a Middle Eastern gentleman, especially when rockin' his summer tan. This is especially bizarre, as his heritage - the best we can figure - is actually mostly German and Scandinavian. Even so, on the best of days, he can expect to be stopped and searched at least once on every airport outing.

It is worth noting that the following items were removed from him at the security checkpoint at Dulles:

- Deoderant
- Toothpaste
- Lotion

And so... poor T. His flight was not made any safer (or more comfortable back there in coach) by the confiscation of his toiletries. On the contrary, he merely arrived in Prague with the prospect of spending his first day there sweaty, smelly, with dry skin and bad breath.

May the TSA personnel who did this to him be cursed with horrendous body odor and incurable halitosis. And shingles, for good measure.

Hopefully he enjoys his birthday, in spite of the inconvenience of it all. It's the last time his birthday will start with a "2"... next year is the big 3-0. Just don't tell HIM that. He might spontaneously combust...

Happy Birthday, Baby. You are - officially - older than I am once more. Order a Pivo to celebrate and give yourself a big hug from me and the boys. You deserve it.

Ways Not To Spend A Sunday.

I don't recommend spending your afternoon counting the minutes since your husband left to catch his flight to a far-away land. It's really not productive, and does nothing to get that sinkful of dishes clean.

I also don't recommend checking your email on a Sunday afternoon unless absolutely necessary, as it may possibly contain delicious little tidbits such as the following:

14:00, It has been noticed that our city water is brown.
Independent Fire Company IS using a Hydrant in our neighborhood to fill their truck for a Drill.
Calls are being made to see if there is anything out of order with this. In the interim:
-Do NOT wash clothes
-Do NOT Drink water
-Do NOT Bathe

They report that they are done drafting from our Hydrant, but the backwash (stirred up rust, dirt, etc. from idle pipes) could be in place for up to 24 hours.

That is just so freaking awesome, I can't begin to tell you.

Also? I do not recommend reading the newspaper, as it lately contains mostly bad news. Sitting on a chair to read the news online is also not a good idea, especially if your back is messed up and the pain increases exponentially upon remaining in the same position for very long.

Finally.. I do not recommend eating leftover pizza for lunch while whining on the internet about what a crappy day you are having. It definitely upsets the stomach.

I'm going to go watch a movie with Jack and giggle about all that laundry we need to fold and put away. See it? That laundry? Over there? It's gonna stay there at least one more day. Because the one thing I do recommend doing on a Sunday is taking a nap with a snuggly almost-four-year-old who tells stories about magic cars who visit far away lands. Lands where there are castles. (Because that's where Daddy is headed. Faraway Prague, and its castles.)

That's not a bad way to spend a Sunday.

Ode To A Friday Morning

Jack woke up this morning with a very large grin on his face. He changed out of his night-time pull-up and into his favorite Spiderman underoos. He decided the aluminum foil in his window (our way of tricking him into darkness at bedtime, since sunset now comes to our neck of the woods at the ungodly hour of 9:30pm) was no longer wanted and, very sweetly and carefully, removed it from the window pane. Then? He brought it to me in neatly wadded balls for the trash can. I informed him we should recycle all that foil. Eyes bright! "I will put it in the recycler, Mommy!" "Not without putting on some pants first, you won't, little man." "Awww, MAN!" And of he tromped, up the stairs to find a suitable pair of shorts. Then my genetics kicked in and, ADD assured, he thought to stop and let the dog out of his crate in my bedroom.

I can hear him now, talking to the dog about hurrying outside to go potty. Like a miniature version of me, championing Gizzy along to go and do his business. Positive reinforcement is apparently not lacking around here when it comes to matters of bowel function.

SO! I promised I would talk more about our vacation last week. It was short, sweet, and over much too soon. We drove to Canton on Monday and immediately landed on a tour of Harry London's Chocolate factory. This tour is short, sweet (pun intended) and just about right for small children to get the thrill of seeing all that candy without actually being able to get into any trouble. The tour itself starts with a free piece of chocolate and a short video about Mr. Harry London, himself. Following that, we were led into the room where they store the jillion-gallon tanks of hot, melted chocolate. Also? There was caramel, peanut butter, and confectioner's candy (aka "white chocolate") Next, it's up the stairs to a closed-in walkway above the factory floor. Jack pressed his little face up against the glass of the windows so firmly that I believe we might have left permanent impressions behind. For which I refuse to apologize - they really should expect such things in that place. I had to restrain myself to keep from licking the glass, so thick was the air with floating chocolate particulates.

After the factory tour and a quick check-in at our motel, it was off to my sister's. We took the tour of her new house, then packed up our respective broods into our respective mini-vans and headed out to a local restaurant for the biggest and most beautiful Reuben sandwich I have ever eaten. It consisted of pounds of corned beef and miles of swiss cheese. I ate the entire beast, and I regret nothing. It was sheer bliss.... as was catching up with my sis, and seeing her 3 youngest progeny. They have grown into real people. How this happened, how they have grown into actual humans from the toddlers I remember, is mystifying to me - as I refuse to believe I have aged as much as that. But they were lovely, and it was the perfect end to the day.

Day 2 was our trip to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. For T, this was a visit to Mecca. The building ("The Big Juicer" as our friend Kirkiez refers to it) is really not so unique looking from the outside - save for the giant, elongated football shape that protrudes from the rooftop. I found it somewhat oddly phallic, but admittedly that could be because my mind is a cesspool. I'll let you judge for yourself when I finally post the photos (tomorrow, I swear!).
It was interesting to learn all about the history of football, the teams that didn't make it (The Boston Shamrocks! The Canton Bulldogs!) past those early beginnings. Of course, we scoped out the Superbowl Rings (I kept thinking "Wonder Twins! ACTIVATE!") and the bronze heads of all those who have been inducted to Football Nirvana. It was all so impressive, it nearly convinced me to stop dreading the start of football season this year. Nearly. I'll maybe attempt to understand the regular season competition if T will at least forego the pre-season games. (Hear that baby?). The "I have to check out the players so I can put together my fantasy league team" excuse is not holding water with me this time. Pick up a Sports Illustrated and move it along.

Day 2 was capped off with a cookout back at my sister's, where we were joined by her husband - back early from a cancelled business trip. Except for my back (which earned me no end of taunting as I hobbled around like a 90-year-old woman) it was pure delight. Comfy and cozy and family and good food and all that is golden and soft-focus about summer.

Especially when I nailed an empty can with the pellet gun. From the back deck. At 50 feet. On my first and only try. Ka-Pow! Do not mess with me, because I will totally bruise your delicate bits with my pump-action pellet-gun prowess. (I need to get that on a t-shirt).

Day 3 was a jaunt up to the Akron Zoo. Yes, I saw snow leopards. I was actually left quite unimpressed, as they dozed under the hiding shade of a heavily-leafy tree. The river otters, on the other hand, provided quite a thrilling show. I giggled like a hyena, watching one of them dive and roll and swim through an underwater hollow log and such. Jack caught my enthusiasm, and we spent a good 10 minutes in front of the glass.. just watching the silly, carefree antics. I'm ambivalent about zoos in general... It's thrilling to see the animals up close that could otherwise be viewed only in pictures or on the telly. And I do understand that some valuable research comes of keeping these animals in captivity. But then I imagine how sad and depressing it is to be stuck in the same 4 walls for a long time. Then again, since there's not much I can do about it and - hey - we had a lovely day... well, I'll just leave it at that and enjoy the souvenirs from the gift shop. (A fridge magnet and an explorer's hat for Toby.)

And then it was off again home. The trip that took 5 hours going up was extended to 7.5 hours going home, thanks to the rain storms blowing across our path. This is where I once again stop and thank providence for the invention of the onboard DVD system. Curious George comes highly recommended, as you won't go insane listening to it over and over. (Thank you, Jack Johnson, for making such a re-listenable soundtrack. You deserve a special place in heaven).

So now we are home, a week has past, T started his new job, and life continues on.

T departs for the wilds of Prague on Sunday, so we're celebrating his birthday with his parents tomorrow. Which means I get to make a cake! (CAKE! Have I mentioned I love to make cakes?) And we'll probably try to do some sort of combined celebration for him and Jack when he gets back from ordering pibos with those wild Czechs.

Ahhhh, Summer. Whoever said these days were lazy did not lead my life. But at least these days are sunny and warm. I'll find my peace where I can.

Cork Fell Out, and BOY Do I Stink.

Boy do I ever. Stink, I mean.

This is a good thing, though. Better than good, it's great.

I have recently tumbled into a continuing string of health issues, including more "My Body Is In Open Revolt" adventures while on our vacation (which I will write about soon. later. after tomorrow. I swear. But it rocked. And I want to die in a vat of chocolate at Harry London's.)

I decided it was finally time to dig up my Nike+ sneakers and iPod and put them to decent use. The time has come to respect my body a little more, and to whip it into enough shape that things like my spine will cooperate with me. (Plus, the exercise is supposed to help with the Sciatica... Which, for reasons I'm not at liberty to explain, I cannot get treated professionally until at least next week.) I'm rambling, aren't I? Yeah. Bear with me, people.

SO! Saturday night I strapped on my sneakers and my magic music box (iPod Nano, how do I love thee...) and went for a long run. I would guess it came close to 4 miles. I can't tell you for sure because.. I am broken, and somehow forgot to select the "begin workout" function on my iPod. So the run stats were not recorded.

I say "run" very loosely, since I have not been a runner of any dependability since approximately 1997. Back then I could run 5 or 6 miles with the aid of my trusty Walkman tape player and the mix tape that my friend Jenny made me, which totally rocked because it had a combination of STP and Duran, Duran and - c'mon - you wish you could have been as cool as all that.

10 years, 2 kids, and 30 pounds later it's more of a power walk. Which is actually better, because my knees are probably next to go. I'm not yet thirty, but somehow my body failed to notice this fact. It's under the impression it is closer to about 50 - hence the (likely) herniated disc or two in my lumbar spine.

SO! I got a few miles in on Saturday evening. Again, tonight, I headed out and managed to properly set the sensor to record all the workout stats: 2.95 miles, averaging 15 minutes per mile. Not setting any world records, obviously, but also not too shabby for a broke down old mare. The neighborhood was still light, the kids were out playing basketball and riding bikes while teenage couples strolled hand-in-hand down the sidewalk. I never realized how many young couples with strollers there are in this neighborhood - I always assumed we were in something of a minority that way. It appears I was mistaken.

I can't guarantee I will be able to keep this up... I've had starts and stops, fits and spurts over the years as I attempted to get my body back into a healthy form. Even when we got married and I had only 150 pounds or so on my 5' 8" frame, it was more from calorie restriction, pilates, and ephedrine supplements than from actual disciplined workouts. That said, there is something about working up a good, honest sweat out on the pavement that kicks the senses into high gear and perks up the mind. Those Buddhist monks are on to something with that meditative exercise idea. Clears the cobwebs and pulls everything back towards the center.
Now if it just fixes sciatica, too, I'll be golden. And, hopefully, a few sizes smaller.

Weekly World... Not-So-Much News.

(Back posting because somehow I hit "save" instead of "publish" when this was written on Thursday...)

Strange week. T's last week at his old job. Monday we leave for Ohio, for 3 days of mini-vacation.

First stop: Harry London's Chocolate Factory. My mother would quite possibly club me over the head and sell me for parts in order to take this tour. 45 minutes with a guide to show us around each and every stage of the chocolate making process. Then we get to buy things at the gift shop. Because my pants are not tight enough yet - I can still breathe.

Second stop: Pro Football Hall of Fame and Museum. In which I will smile, nod, and attempt to distract my husband from the fact that I know almost nothing about the history of the game of American Football. Actually, I know almost nothing about the history of ANY sport. I don't know the famous players, I don't know who won the very first Super Bowl, and I don't know who holds the records for most rushing yards in a single season. My husband? He knows all of these things. In mind-numbing detail. So this stop on the Family Sightseeing Tour '07 is completely and entirely for him. Which is totally okay, as it is the almost-30-year-old-man's equivalent of taking a four-year-old to Disney World and telling him that he gets to live there.

Third stop: Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. All the little chicks with the crimson lips yell CLEVELAND ROCKS!! Okay, so I have never been to Cleveland, and I have no personal knowledge of whether or not it does, in fact, rock. That said, I am excited to drool over the Rock and Roll Icons of yester-yore and maybe drool on Janis Joplin's Porsche. Because I loves me some Rock and Roll. (So put another dime in the frackin' jukebox, baby...)

Fourth stop: This will be up for some debate, as we are equivocating between Stan Hywet Hall and Gardens and the Akron Zoo. The manor house and gardens would be more fun for mom and dad to check out, but with the kiddies in tow methinks the zoo is probably the more sound choice. Plus? They have snow leopard. SNOW LEOPARD! Those things are too cute to be real, and provide instant good juju. Plus they're endangered. So if I'm gonna get that snow leopard coat, I guess I should hurry before there aren't any left. (Before I get hacked by PETA: I'm kidding. Besides, Snow Leopard is sooo last season. All the cool kids are wearing Manatee this summer!)

So, yeah. I've been on a Carribbean Cruise. Wandered the streets of Old New Orleans (before the levees broke). Conquered Manhattan. Been beach-combing in Maui? Check.

This year? I brave the wilds of the Ohio frontier. I WILL get to see my sister (HI KIM!) which is waaaay cooler than another trip to some exotic place. (Hey, when you live in West Virginia, almost any place is exotic.)

Happy Fathers' Day.

My Dad has always been a somewhat bipolar personality. Not that he actually has bipolar disorder (at least, not to my knowledge). What I mean is, my dad fluctuates between being incredibly, frighteningly, impossibly serious... and a sort of a coked-up version of a goofy kid show host. (and by "Coke" I mean Coca-Cola, not the nose candy.) (not that it matters, as Dad is an upstanding member of the LDS church and, as such, indulges in neither of the above.)

Letters from Dad tend to be formal. Like a business letter, except from the same guy who used to sneak into our rooms at night for the express purpose of scaring the bejeezies out of us. After which he would cackle hysterically and do the same thing again 10 minutes later.

For a lot of my childhood, may dad was a mystery to me: an authoritarian figure who worked and traveled a lot. He seemed somewhat mystified at how exactly he had ended up the patriarch chief of a veritable village of rambunctious children.

So I think it is with some sense of incredulity that my dad ended up with a daughter like me. You see, in some core tenets of my personality, I am exactly like my dad - only much, much less organized. I'm a perfectionist. I'm stubborn. I work best alone, but I like someone to stand next to me and hold the flashlight. I have a short fuse and hot temper. I don't do things half-way. I'm loyal and honest and I care a lot more than I show.

And so it is that I finally begin to understand my father. I begin to understand how hard it was for him to let me go, to watch me grow into someone he hadn't anticipated, and to let me know that - for all the ways he might wish that I was different - he is extraordinarily proud of who I am.

And in so many ways, big and small, I am also proud of who he is. I am proud of who he has become. We don't have to agree on everything - I don't think any fathers and daughters ever do. But I remember so many things, so many times when I have been happy beyond words that he is my father.

*every time I have hard my father really laugh
*the handful of times I have seen him cry
*every time he asked "Who's the cutie?" to inquire who had caused the latest disaster in our house
*he made every Christmas incredibly organized, but still magical
*he pretended to believe I didn't know how the minivan got that dent in the side
*he surprised us with a trip to Maui, and the childlike glee in his eyes at pulling it off was priceless
*the "date" he took me on for my 16th birthday, which also happened to be my first visit to the Hard Rock Cafe
*he came to the "Prom" send-off parties, took photos, talked gravely to my dates, and told me I was lovely
*the necklace he gave me when I tried out for the fifth grade talent show. ( I still have it.)
*the coin he brought me from Papua New Guinea. I wore it on a necklace until it got stolen in the locker room one day. He brought me a replacement for the stolen coin, and I still wear it as my lucky charm
*The day I got married, it wasn't the kind of wedding he wanted for me. Even so, when he walked me down the aisle, he beamed with pride. When he lifted my veil and kissed my cheek before leaving me with my husband-to-be at the end of that walk, he did it with grace and glowing smile.

Most recently? I remember how he held my infant son in his arms and wondered at him - Jack's broad chest and sturdy bones, his dark hair and deep eyes. The moment I saw in his eyes how much he adored my precious little baby, I fully realized how much he loves me - and how much I love him in return.

Happy Fathers' Day, Dad.

Leggo My Leg, Yo!

So just after I got back from Vegas Expedition 2007, I put on a pair of really snappy wedge-heeled sandals and took the kids to the mall to play on the indoor playground.

Those heels? They were really tall. So as I bent down to pick up Tobin, putting my weight into my heels and hauling all 20 pounds of him up onto my hip, something in my leg went "snap".

Now, I have pulled muscles and such before, and I thought, okay - this is bad, but not the end of the world. I marched my happy hiney (kids in tow) to Old Navy and got a pair of comfy flip-flops. Changing promptly into this more sensible footwear option, I found that my leg was still uncomfortable but no longer excrutiating. I figure I'd baby it for a few days, live with some soreness, and it would heal up just like every other of the million self-inflicted injuries I have endured at the hands of my own clumsiness.

Fast foward about 3 weeks: The injury faked me out with a brief lull for a few days, followed by a ramping up to intolerable levels of pain. Finally, I overcame my innate resistance and scheduled a doctor's appointment.

Of course, the doc still isn't sure what's causing the pain (which is exponentially worsened by going from a sitting position to a standing one). He has instructed me to take a muscle relaxer as needed, take hot baths, do some gentle stretches, and alternate a heating pad and ice to the area. This is no mean feat, as the area starts somewhere around the base of my spine and now radiates down through the back of my thigh, knee, and calf muscle and terminates a few inches above my ankle. That's a hell of a lot of ice, people.

If it's not better in 10 days, I'm supposed to schedule a follow-up for an MRI. Righteous.

Ladies and Gentlemen, please meet the only woman in America capable of doing herself a severe injury just by wearing shoes. If it turns out to be some gnarly injury requiring surgery, please just put me out to pasture and call it a day.

This reminds me of my death. No, really! I have always told T that I would like to be creamated and scattered over the harbor at Camden, Maine. It's the place I was happiest in my life, curled up in our room at the Norumbega Inn with T, playing scrabble in front of the fire place.

I now officially change my position, however. In the event of my death -- or in the event that this stupid, simple, klutzy mishap has caused irreparable harm to my poor leg, I hereby request that I be cryogenically frozen - until such time as the cloning process be perfected and medicine advanced to the point that my brain can be uploaded into the cloned body of Katherine Heigl.

How cool would that be? So much easier than the thought of living with this stupid injury -- one which necessitated that T assist me with putting on my underpants this morning. Now that is GLA-MOUR, baby.

Things The Children Have Fed The Dog Today

So Far:

- 1/2 cup milk, spilled on the kitchen floor (breakfast)

-1 entire carton jerky-strips dog treats (while mommy went potty)

- 1 package tic-tacs. Spearmint. (while mommy was getting the shoes together)

I'm thinking I might want to keep an eye on Gizmo today. I have a feeling there will be an urgent doggy doo at our house this afternoon.

But at least it will be minty-fresh.

Soothing The Savage "Me"

Ok, show of hands: Who knew that June was already nearly half over? Seriously? Because.. um. Didn't we just get through May?

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO MY SUMMER, PEOPLE?!

The time, she is flying. And the Mama, she is not keeping up. And I don't know why I'm talking this way. I think I need a hug. Or maybe a short stint in a padded cell - but I digress.

Tonight we calmed our ruffled nerves (Helllllooooooo. Last 2 weeks. New job for the hubby soon. Little bit of Limbo up in here.) ... (Not the kind with the limbo stick.)...(Or the kind between heaven and hell.) ... (Scratch that. This is exactly the kind between heaven and hell.)

Have I mentioned we won't know for a few months, yet, if we are going to move to Europe? Yeah. I feel like someone shoved a live wire up my butt. You are welcome for that visual, by the way.

... So yeah. Tonight we calmed our ruffled nerves the way we solve just about everything. FOOD!

Grilled Delmonico Steaks (medium rare, of course). Grilled zucchini. Fresh asparagus, pan fried in toasted sesame oil. Sliced button mushrooms, sauteed in butter, chopped garlic, and a splash of red wine.

Bliss. Even if my pee is going to stink to high heaven for at least a week after all the asparagus I shoveled down my gullet. Again, you are so very welcome for that visual.

While we are on the topic of my bodily functions, I should go ahead and mention one other thing. A short while back, I got a comment from a marketing rep for a product called "Align". It's a probiotic that's supposed to help with IBS. They offered to send me a free two-month supply to test out. I checked out the online literature, and it sounded promising enough. So I said, as long as there were no strings attached, hey, I was game. Sure enough, a small package arrived in yesterday's mail.

So, I will be occassionally updating the internets on the state of my bowels. I know, I do that anyway, right? But now it's, like, necessary. I've had trouble eating yogurt since my first pregnancy (not because it bothers my digestion, just one of those annoying aversions) and since that's the only other way I know of to add good probiotics to the system, this is a handy alternative. IF it works, that is. I'll keep y'all posted.

Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to go curl up with some Alaskan Crab Fishermen and a cup of herbal tea. Again? Bliss.

Europa? But I Hardly Knows Ya!

So this new job? The one T will be starting in just a few weeks? It holds the possibility of a move to Europe sometime in the next year.

The few people I have mentioned this to have generally responded with a wide-eyed "Wow! How do you feel about that? With two little kids?!" followed by a 'oh, you poor, misguided soul' stare upon hearing that I would actually prefer such a move.

I have always wanted to visit Europe. Given that I have not yet had the opportunity, it may seem a bit... optimistic... to declare that I am ready to actually live there, in a foreign culture, far away from all friends and family.

Well, not all. My brother's family will be in Rome for the next 3 years, and if we actually make it across the pond? I fully intend to subject the effervescent C.L. ( of Letters From A Broad) to my presence at least once or twice. Beyond that, though, it would be light years away from anything I have thus far experienced.

T has been to Europe several times. His favorite spot, by far, was Amsterdam. Swans meandering through the canals, beautiful architecture, incredibly friendly populace. He assures me it is romantic in the extreme, with bicycling couples (on individual bikes, not the cheezy ones for two) holding hands as they cruise along the boulevard.

So is it any wonder that I'm having a teensy-weensy pity party for myself, stuck in this state of hopeful insecurity about the tantalizing prospect of a European move? I mean, really. Mighty Girl is headed back to Amsterdam (with her husband and, of course, Mighty Baby) after going last year with Bloggers In Amsterdam. With my few dozen or so regular readers (not including the unexpected thousands who found themselves dazed and confused when stumbling here from Gawker that one time) I do not rate a seat at the popular kids' lunch table.

While the really cool bloggers were sitting at the awesomeness table and getting a free trip to Nirvana, I was sent packing to once again eat lunch at my locker with my trusty, dog-eared copy of Nicholas and Alexandra. (True story: That's actually how I spent lunch during my entire Sophomore year of high school. Yes, I really was that big a dork. Please don't pretend to be surprised.)

So Holland tourism board? If you happen to decide to do that whole free trip thing again, and you find you are having trouble finding one last blogger to fill that last spot? (Because everyone knows there is, like, such a shortage of bloggers out there...)

All's I'm sayin' is... If you wanna come barking up this here tree? I am totally your girl.

Change Is Not A Four-Letter Word.

I have this sneaking feeling that life is about to change dramatically.

T will be starting his new job in July. He'll have a few days between the end of his current gig and the start of the new one, during which we are going to attempt our first camping trip with the kids. I'm optimistic that Toby will handle it all okay, though I'm thinking that renting one of the little cabins is a better prospect than attempting to fit the 4 of us in our tent.

T and I used to go fishing together. We would even take a row boat out onto the lake and take turns rowing it around while we tossed in our lures. Now, I'm surprisingly squeamish about a lot of things, but for some reason I seem to handle the whole fishing thing quite well. Okay, so maybe I'd rather use plastic lures than live bait, and I do make him put the worm on the hook in the rare instances we have used worms. I think that's the healer in me, though. I studied Nursing, for crying out loud, so the idea of sticking the poor little sightless critter on a hook to wriggle around until it gets eaten? I find that a little ... distasteful. Don't ask me why I can then clean and de-bone a fish and fry it up in cracker meal. Somehow I have less sympathy for the fish.

Anyway, the point is that I have been thinking about how narrow we have allowed our lives to become since the boys came along. Sure, it's difficult to haul kids to places and enjoy the events as much as we did when we were childless, but I think we somehow bought into this idea that because it's easier to stay home... somehow easier = better.

For the record? Easier does NOT equate to better. Even when it's a total pain to take the kids somewhere, we always have more fun than if we just stayed home. So what's the deal, people? Is it that we just live so far out from the events we usually would go to? Is it that we were reluctant to go camping or hiking when the boys were infants? Sure, that's somewhat valid. But how did we end up here? Where watching our favorite TV shows together is the romantic and/or entertainment hilight of our week?

It's not that I'm unhappy -- far from it. T and I have a great time together no matter WHAT we're doing. We usually engage in witty, sarcastic - yet - adoring banter. We're a little bit co-dependent, sure, but mostly because we have spent the last few years feeling like something of an island unto ourselves. We are actively trying NOT to live our lives by accident, to make our choices without trying to make everyone else happy. And we're quirky types. It's hard to find other quirky types who live close enough to come over for a game of Scattergories, know what I'm sayin'?

Recently, though, I've realized we somehow ended up so caught up in the minutiae of life, we have been neglecting to create the landmarks that break up the monotony and mark the passing of time. The things we don't need other people for, even. The getting out and experiencing.

No more. We are starting afresh - as of now. New Job. Probably new housing situation in the next few months. So, brand-spankin'-new outlook for enjoyment of life, too. The activities don't have to be big and elaborate, we just have to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE and go do stuff. So, we'll start with this camping trip.

I'm going to sit down and fill in the calendar for this summer with THINGS. TO DO. We're going to invite people over more. We're going to venture out to fairs and carnivals and craft shows more. I am going to find a babysitter that will keep the boys while we have an honest-to-god DATE, my husband and I. (Seriously. How did we go so long without that? It's been... more months than I care to ponder.)

If I were the mild-mannered alter-ego of a really kickass superheroine? This is totally where I would totally tear off my frumpy housefrau clothes to reveal a slammin' spandex bodysuit with an Aum symbol emblazoned on the front.

Be glad that I'm not. Spandex and I? We are not such good friends. But - metaphorically speaking? I'm totally taking off the spectacles and unbottoning the starched blouse, baby.

KA-POW!

That Was Zen, This Is Now

The graduation party included all of the usual debauchery and gluttony that one might expect of such an event. Copius drinking, lots of screaming and partial nudity.

Of course, in this case, the graduates were 3 and the beverages of choice happened to be juice boxes. But that didn't stop the preschoolers from partying with more abandon than rowdy teenagers, as they burned some of that boundless energy on the giant moon-bounce-slide-maze-obstacle-course-thingamajig.

Since the whole family was invited, Toby toddled along and stared, bug-eyed, at all of this unfamiliar activity. The baby pools and sprinkler were of particular interest, and before long his poor pampers were holding back more water than the Hoover Dam. The moon bounce and the sno-cone machine were not to be trusted, and he warily kept his gaze trained on both - lest either should decide to sneak up on him, he would not be caught unawares.

Jack, on the other hand, plunged head-first (literally) into the moon bounce and spent the next half-hour reminding me just how strong those lungs of his are. He emerged only to demand a juice box recharge, then immediately plunged into the water activities. After a few sno-cones, some pretzels and popcorn, and a brief (and interactive!) "If You're Happy And You Know It" story time, it was back to the moon bounce.

By the time they hauled out the slideshow at the end, the kids were good and worn out - but, thankfully, in the "tired and thoughtful" sort of way. I fought back the stubborn tears that would have to well up in my stupid eyes as I watched photos of all the activities that the kids and their high school student-teachers had this year. I recorded as much as I could for T, since he had to go into work (not least because he had 2-weeks notice to give this morning) (What? Oh! That. That's a story for another day. Mwahahahahahah!)

Jack got his diploma and a bag of party favors from his teacher. I changed the boys into dry clothes for the drive home. He hugged his goodbyes while I gathered up all of our things, and we strolled out into the sunshine.

In just two half-days a week, he has learned his entire alphabet. He learned to spell his name, and then to write it. He learned to count to 30 and the colors of the rainbow. Most of all, he learned how to listen and follow directions, how to be part of a team, and he started on the long road toward becoming an educated human being.

Seriously, people. If anyone had told me, at any time in my past, that I would be this emotional over preschool? I would have laughed long and loud. For the moment, I'll be content with just choking back the sniffles. Let's just say it's my allergies, 'kay?

Deftly Avoiding A Case Of The Mondays

The morning started with a bang. Literally, as Jack wet his bed once again (back to night-time pull-ups, because the house is actually starting to smell of eau de urine), then climbed into bed with us and bonked me on the head in passing.

Rather than let this portend the beginning of yet another heinous Monday, I decided to buck the system and set out on a determined path to a pleasant day. I put on my new flowy, white, knee-length skirt, an eggplant-colored top, and chunky foho necklace. A pair of khaki canvas flip-flops, and I'm Foho Suburban-Mom Chic. At least that's what I tell myself, and who in Wild, Wonderful West Virginia is going to dare to argue?

Get the kids up and dressed, loaded into the van, then off to the local coffee house that provides my own little slice of Nirvana on a weekday morning. Sugar-free vanilla, skim latte for me, bagels and cream cheese for the kids. Peruse the bookshelves with an ecclectic mix of books for sale from a book store in the next-door historic town, ponder buying civil war book for T. Listen to groovy world-beat music playing softly on the overhead speakers. Regard the limited prints from a local artist, on display on the same wall where my photos will be hung in the month of August.

Finish our liesurely breakfast, load up into the car and head to Walmart. Purchase pool noodles for my curtains project (no, seriously! it will look much cooler than it sounds), grab various household necessities (really? 3 kinds of toothpaste? how did it come to this?), grab soda and butter and string cheese. Try to figure out how those became food groups around here.

Stand in check-out line for 20 minutes. Kill time playing "what could these pool noodles be?" with Jack. Swords, unicorn horns, telephones, alien antennas... Swordfight with pool noodles until grumpy old lady in the next line gives the look of death. Glare back at her, then giggle uncontrollably. Sword fight for another 5 minutes until Toby gets hold of bananas from the cart and bites through the skin of one in order to eat it. Rescue the bananas and start offloading the cart onto the check-out counter. Pay, load cart, head for the exit. Stop to buy a sprite for Jack and a bouncy ball for Toby. Make it to the car, unload, get 4 compliments from strangers on my beautiful and well-behaved children. Smile, load kids into the van, giggle at the carefree feeling of the day. Head for home.

All in all, I would say that was pretty darn fine for a Monday. We'll just say the kids constitute my 40 pieces of flair.

The Cat Of Amontillado.

The title of this post is not a euphemism for anything. Really. One of our two cats, Chloe, actually managed to get herself trapped behind a wall today. Our unfinished laundry room is one of her favorite hiding places, because she can jump up into the ceiling and wander around the space between the floors over the room next door.

Today, it seems, she somehow lost her footing along the far edge at the outside wall and spent a good hour or so trapped behind the sheet rock. We listened to her mew pathetically and constantly for a good half hour or so while we debated the best course of action.

It would be important to note that we were just on our way out the door at the time. The boys were in the van, buckled into their respective car seats, and the dog had been loaded into the cargo bay. We were all set to go spend the day planting Gigi's new vegetable garden (to include pumpkin plants so they boys can grow their very own jack-o-lanterns this Halloween!)

After T spent a few minutes tearing a hole in the wall (with a claw hammer, 'natch) inside the closet where we could hear she was, he found a wood stud between him and our freaked feline. We were debating the relative stupidity of tearing another hole in the wall when, at last, she managed to claw her way back up to the ceiling. She exited the laundry room and nonchalantly settled herself back upstairs on the dining table.

That may be what prompted my immediate vision of doing her in by way of roasting in garlic butter.

So, with the day pretty much shot to hell (not to mention all our nerves), we ate pizza leftovers for lunch and have settled in for a quiet afternoon of sitting as still as possible while barely maintaining consciousness. The upside here? I get to learn to patch drywall! Yet another skill to add to my household repair utility belt.

The downside being, of course, (besides totally scrapping our plans for the day) that there is yet another household chore to be done before we can make a move towards selling this house and moving in closer to civilization.

Which brings me to the fact that I have yet to make the new living room curtains. I think I just figured out what to do with my afternoon. Dang.

Holy Crap.

THIS is decidedly one of the coolest things ever.

More Tasteful Bullet-Point Decor

* Yard sale = success. Sold off a good bit of stuff, bought some other stuff from the neighbors. Space-wise and monetarily, we broke about even. Except now I have a really cool hiking baby-pack for Toby. Which means that (seeing as how we are exactly 2 miles from a segment of it) we might actually manage to meander down a bit of the App. Trail before we die. Or at least before he outgrows the pack.

* Speaking of Tobin, I think aliens have finally taken him over entirely, as he has gone from the "point and grunt" school of communication to sudden speech. I asked him if he wanted some milk, and he turned around to get it and said "YES!". We took him to visit his grandmommy (whom we affectionately refer to as "Gigi") and he managed to call her by name at least twice. I'm waiting for the end of next week, at which point I expect him to say something along the lines of "Foolish woman, bring me my diaper" in the voice of Stewie from The Family Guy.

* I just invented a spectacular cookie. Cream cheese mixed with Nestle Quick plus a dash of cinnamon, sandwiched between graham crackers. It rocks.

* I have decided to delegate all responsibility to Jack for the rest of the day. Please refer all communications directly to him. Expect to receive his own name, typed repeatedly, in reply. It happens to be the only word he has ever typed on the keyboard. It will be at least as helpful as anything my tired brain could come up with today.

Life Management

So the neighborhood yard sale is coming up next weekend. I've been toying with what we should rid ourselves of. It's a tantalizing prospect... selling off all the things we don't need, giving them away if necessary, and clearing up some much-needed storage space.

The problem comes when I stop to consider my completely inexplicable need for redundancy.

Front/Back 2 seat stroller? Check. Side-by-side 2 seat umbrella stroller? Check. But which one to keep and which one to sell? See, the side-by-side is so much easier for street walking, and easier to get the kids into and out of. The front/back combo is much better for mall applications, as the width of the side-by-side makes me a moving target for the unbridled HATE! of people attempting to walk by me through the too-narrow mall hallways. You see my dilemma?

Same goes for the 2 blenders. Now, we have used our blenders (one of them, actually) a total of perhaps 3 times since receiving them as wedding gifts. Only one of those times was for the preperation of frozen beverages -- theoretically the only reason to have more than one. (Daquiris AND margaritas, people!) And yet? We don't actually make frozen drinks. Like, not ever. Except that one time. But the thought of being rid of the extraneous blender makes my palms break out in a cold sweat. What if I suddenly decide to make bulk sno-cones for a birthday party or something?

This all comes, you see, of having parents who are mad collectors. INSANE collectors. Collectors of metal detectors that might sorta work, maybe, sometimes, but were an awesome deal at a yard sale and who could pass that up? Seriously. The fact that I understand the NEED to own a metal detector just because you will never find one for so great a price again? Scares the bejeezies out of me. Because I know how crazy that is. And yet? I own no less than 2 sundresses that I bought at Target and will never wear, but THEY WERE ON SALE. (Is there a therapist in the house??)

So the only solution I can come up with is to convince myself that we should go ahead and sell off the excess stuff and, should a dire need for some object thus extracted from our private cache arise, I will have unhindered go-ahead to purchase a new one.

If nobody can offer a better solution, I'm gonna have to go with this. And so, I'm emptying out my basement of my college dishware, those groovy (but very old and now dilapidated) chairs shaped like sea-shells that we got at the salvation army store for $100 about 5 years ago, and the various sizes and shapes of glass vases for holding flowers. And should the need arise for me to find housing for 15 bouquets of flowers all at once? I'll just have to buy some more. I've given myself permission.

Yup.

Quix Pix

Bubbles In The Garden

Down The Garden Path

5 Things. Because I Can.

5 things you may not know about me, huh? Well, it's been floating around, and I may have done it a few times already, and you may be thinking "But you tell us so very much more than we wanted to know already, could there really be 5 things left that you have not already blabbed??" And the answer is quite simple. Yes. Aren't you the lucky ones?

1) Like the indubitable CrankMama I, too, am a Real Estate Hussy. I lust after a smaller house with a bigger yard, maybe an old townhouse with room in the back for a vegetable garden and some fruit trees. The dark secret is that I currently have both apple and plum trees in my yard, but have yet to make successful use of any of these fruits. Maybe this year I will aspire to making some plum jelly. If you're very very nice, I might send you some. If you're very lucky, it will not give you botulism.

2) I love to garden. Even if I'm not very good at it. This year, I finally got the large hostas divided and replanted, tried my hand at some dainty snapdragons (they're doing very well, thank you for asking) and watched the columbine come to full bloom for the first time. I feel like a six-year-old, full of joyous wonder, every time I plant something in the ground with my two little hands and it actually takes root and blossoms.

3) I have the hiccups. Right this second. Which may be related to the fact that I also have reflux and IBS. Isn't that just lovely? My GE specialist suggested cutting out foods which could aggravate these conditions: caffeine, tomatoes, spicy foods. I suggested she take me out behind the barn and have me put down, as the removal of these items from my life would suck a hefty portion of my enjoyment of it right down the crapper.

4) My eyes were brown when I was a little girl. They have since changed color, and are now mostly a very dark green with just a bit of chocolate brown circling my pupils. I have no explaination for this phenomenon, though I am sure a few minutes on Google could give me some ideas. Come to think of it, I believe my dad's eyes used to be brown, but have turned blue in recent years. Perhaps it's genetic.

5) I am obsessed with the show "Deadliest Catch". T and I watch it together religiously, and are familiar with the names and faces of all of the captains and most of the crew chiefs. I have a huge crush on Edgar Hansen, Captain Sig's little brother. I never, ever thought that watching a bunch of crab fisherman pull 800-pound crab-traps out of the ocean could be such compelling television... or that it would forever change the way I look at ordering a pound of crab legs for dinner.

So there you have it. Time to de-lurk for a moment and show yourselves in the comments! C'mon... share just 1 thing that people probably don't know about you.....

What Happens In Vegas...

... Stays in Vegas?

Well, sometimes it does. Sometimes you bring it home with you.

But more on that in a moment...

I spent 4 glorious days staying up too late, eating too much good food, and sleeping until my body woke up naturally. It was heaven. We watched "Rent" and "The Fountain" (both great movies I had missed out on in the theater). We gambled at Bally's and drank "Pink Cadillacs" at Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville lounge, under the cooling spray of the overhead misters. We ate amazing sushi at Momo, then ate more of it (plus some fantastic, fresh sliced, garlic salmon sashimi) at the $15 all-you-can-eat lunch at Sushi Club.

On my last day, the amazing and lovely (as always) Dr. Allie-sahn set me off in her car to seek out the shopping mall and movie theater. I saw Spiderman 3 (I give it a B- over all) and spent too much on salt scrub and body butter. I had no intention of buying salt scrub OR body butter, but the Ukranian woman who cornered me in the mall was a wicked svengali. She wove a hypnotic tale of dead sea minerals and made my hands really soft. Before I knew what had happened, she was running my credit card and handing me a bag of cosmetic whoozits. Dazed, I finally managed to escape the web when she tried to rub something on "all those wrinkles under your eyes!" Apparently a strange woman touching my face was apparently more scary than the thought she might put a hex on my grandchildren, because I hastily conjured up a tale of sensitive skin and prescription face cream as I slowly backed away. Still a bit dizzy, I headed for a little Starbucks therapy and the nearest shoe store.

It was an amazing parade of humanity in Las Vegas. The casinos are neat and all, and I'm always up for a hot Centurion copping a feel on ye olde bedonkadonk.


But the hilights of the trip for me (aside from, obviously, spending time with my oldest and dearest friend... and, of course, the sushi. Holy fishpaste, Batman, the sushi!) Were seeing the M&M World store and, even more, checking out "Bodies: The Exhibition". I thought it would be macabre, but it was like walking into an anatomy textbook. Fascinating, thought provoking, and life-affirming in an odd way. It helped, of course, to have a medical student along to guide the tour. When Allie mentioned dissecting the male anatomy and removing the testicles, the look on the faces of the guys standing next to us was priceless. Of course, they immediately wanted to know more about all the rest of the exhibits, too. Rocker that she is, she answered their questions with patience, humor, and grace.

It was also really cool to see the actual "non-smoker vs. smoker" lungs in a case. Next to it, the exhibition provided a clear plastic receptacle with a cigarette pack-sized hole so people could toss away their smokes. I watched one guy in his mid-twenties study the twisted, black lung tissue of the smoker lungs before dropping in his pack of Camels on top of 50 or 60 other discarded packs. Who knows if it will stick, but it was groovy to be part of his momentary optimism.


I capped off my existential journey by exercising my god-given right as an American to consume mass-produced-crap, buying post cards and fridge magnets to bring back as souvenirs. I wished I could bring Allie and her husband, the Amazing Wonder Steve, home with me, too. But as they say... What happens in Vegas... Stays in Vegas.

Of course, sometimes? What happens in Vegas comes home with you.

And sometimes it is in your nose.


Oh, yes, my friends. Mama went and got her nose pierced. In Vegas. At a tattoo parlor called "The Precious Slut". It's a teensy-weensy little diamond stud. It was also a not-so-teensy-weensy declaration of mini-van independence.

I already broke the news to my own Mama. I can feel her hands twitching with the desire to remove it - all the way from Africa. But she loves me, and to keep her sanity I suspect she will eventually write it off of as one more of my crazy, liberal eccentricities. Like belief in global warming and allowing the kids to run naked in the sprinklers.


I can't say enough thanks to Allie and the Amazing Wonder Steve for having me out, or to T for sending me. Whenever I start to feel like the zany, madcap moxie of my youth is all but spent, I will look back on this trip and remember that I still know how to strap on my adventure shoes and set out to make a ruckus. And that my family, though they missed me desperately (or so they assure me) survived without me for a few days and emerged, mostly unscathed, to tell the tale.

Viva Las Vegas, Baby.

TGIF. And stuff.

Stuff. It's happening. And I'm actually quite busy and brain-full and not just in the "look at me, I'm so dark and mysterious and totally turned inward" sort of way. There are actual THINGS! HAPPENING! Things which justify the use of all those extra capital letters. Things which I can't talk about yet - and isn't that just the pits? Totally.

Today was a nice, domestic day. Playgroup this morning, kids running wild through the house and squealing with glee as they tried to beat each others' brains out as gently as possible. Messes made and cleaned. Snacks consumed. Many juice boxes drained.

Then bubbles blown, photos taken, more snacks consumed. Naps. Music listened to. Phone calls. Life-altering decisions discussed. Cartoons watched.

It's a strange and wonderful life, isn't it?

Can you tell I've gone off the ADD meds? My train of thought is a bit more like the diverging of a freeway junction at the moment, but it's not a bad thing. Life is joyous, and I'm learning that being quite so focused is not always the answer. Slow down, enjoy the pace, sit in the sun and watch bubbles float away.

All of that, and still no indication of what is going on around here. Isn't that just infuriating? Don't I know it. Many irons in the fire. We'll see what kicks up and I'll let you know soon.

In the mean time? Time to change my hair again this weekend, and do some pre-Vegas shopping. Mama needs some new kicks and some warm-weather wear. 6 days until I board a plane and wisk away to sunnier climes. Climes with blackjack tables and sushi and the most fun girl I know. Mostly that last bit - about the girl who I will converse with until her ears likely bleed. That will be the highlight, the rest is just icing. Sweet, gooey icing.

Life is moving forward again. Isn't it grand?

(Oh, yes. It is.)