Tummy Troubles

So I'm basically going to now re-paste from an email that I sent to my momzer and a few other close types today. I wasn't gonna, but then I thought "Hey! The whole world is completely DYING to know the intimate details of my digestive system!" SO! Here you go...

Since my gall bladder was removed in 1997, I've had IBS. (Hooray!) The last few years, I've also had intermittent "attacks" that feel like what I felt with gallstones. Not pleasant, to say the least, but rare enough I didn't worry over much about it.

When one of these attacks started Friday-ish, I chewed a few tums and waited for it to pass as it usually does. Eventually it did, only to come back with a vengeance a few hours later. Lather, rinse, repeat until yesterday.

Yesterday. Immediately following yet another root canal (I think this makes #7, with another 4 or 5 to go before all is said and done, but I digress...) another attack started,. Even though I had an appointment with my general practice for the next day, the pain was intense enough that I hauled myself over to the ER at the nearby hospital. They ran several tests, checked liver and pancreatic enzymes, and everything looked pretty good. Since I was slated for a Celiac Disease panel to be run at my doc's office, they decided to go ahead and run it off of the rivers of blood they had already sucked from my poor little body.

The results from the Celiac Disease test will be back in about a week.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I headed towards home with prescriptions for Prevacid and an anti-spasmodic.

Today, T and I discussed it and decided that - since our insurance does not require a referral for a specialist - we would cut out the middle man and attempt to get me into a specialist ASAP. Found a Gastroenterologist covered by our insurance and called them up. They were booking 2 months out (!!!) but had happened to have a rare cancellation for this afternoon, and could I come in at 3:30? ( You bet yer sweet bippies I could! )

SO! After taking a good history (first time a doc has actually paid attention and asked good probing questions about family history and my possibly inter-related symptoms) my new favorite Doctor (one of the top 10 docs in the DC area according to Washingtonian Magazine, as evidenced by the framed cover on the wall of her office) said she wants a CT scan ASAP.
I'll be going for an abdominal/pelvic CT scan on Thursday morning, which could rule out several things right off the bat. (ovarian cysts, obvious masses, and other stuff I can't remember because the boys were with me and generally screaming as loud as they could.)

So after the CT and once the results from the CD serology tests are back, I will find out if I need to have an endoscopy and biopsy done, and possibly a colonoscopy. (FUN for kids of all ages!)

For the present, the Gastro Doc says she definitely wants me to take the daily Prevacid, and use the anti-spasm drug for my "intes-tynes" (must be said with a slow, west-virginia drawl) as needed.

If anyone wants to know more about celiac disease, http://www.wikipedia.org has some good info.

I guess that's really it for now. Could be nothing. Could be something. Either way? It'll be taken care of, and the tummy aches should soon be a distant memory. If the CD test is positive, you will know it because you will distinctly hear the reality-shattering scream of pain and loss that accompanies the realization that I actually have to give up bread. Because bread? Is life. And Bread and Cheese and Red Wine and Chocolate? They're like a family... the staples of edible joy that make life worth living. And I would really really miss bread.

But hey. That's all the future, and for the moment it's neither here nor there.

Between the boys being sick, family tragedies, and my own tummy troubles... well, I've been incommunicado of late, to say the least. I'm not gone for good, just out in the Big Blue Room experiencing the life I had previously been watching through the window.

I promise to report back when next I come in from the cold. Because I just KNOW you're hanging on every word as soon as the phrase "spastic colon" comes up. You're masochistic like that... and you should probably seek help immediately.

No Words.

It has been a strange few days. Without going into over-much detail on a topic which I'm still struggling to wrap my brain around, my brother and his darling wife had to bid farewell to their baby girl this week.

They never got to say a proper hello. She was 37 weeks due, and was gone before she got to come into the world.

I'm a bit weary today. I'm taking a few days to rest, nurse a toothache, and wait for the icy roads to clear. In case anyone is looking for me.

-MeL

I've Been Writing. Just Not Here.

I've been flexing my writing muscle lately. Just little things, self-assigned essays here and there on a myriad of topics. I feel like I'm working up to something good, but not a clue yet as to what it might be.

For the moment, though, here is this morning's pontification on the drive home. Not today, of course, as today is late winter and not nearly as pretty as it was back September. In that vein, let's call this "September's Drive".

*****************************************

Route 9 meandered through the hills on those outlying reaches of Northern Virginia, winding between upstart neighborhoods with their sprawling estates and shiny sport utility vehicles. The new construction was incongruous to the sprawling landscape, and the houses gazed at each other across their grassy meadows as though surprised to find their suburban splendor exiled to this lonely place.

The road curved off and away, further out into the countryside. Only here and there was the blank horizon dotted with ramshackle houses and the occassional unmarked dirt road. Out on the down slope of an unremarkable hillside stood a solemn old farmhouse. Antiquated plows and harvesters tucked snugly up under the well-seasoned planks of its eaves. An ancient American flag was stretched and tacked to the exterior wall, flanked on either side with buntings that had long ago faded in the eastern sun.

Soon fences rose up and dotted the hillsides, blending into the slopes. They blurred into weathered rows of trellis, clamboring with thick vines and heavy with fat, purple grapes. Modest, hand-painted signs named the myriad vineyards. A few announced seasonal dates, hours for tours.

The landscape dropped off sharply as the hills rose higher and higher into the Shenandoahs. The trees swooped up on either side of the road, ensconcing it swiftyly and silently in dappled shadows before shuttering out the sun entirely. The dark woods, foreboding in the bare starkness of winter, were lush and green and comfortable in the shaded relief from the
late-summer sun.

Here, tiny cottages and run-down trailers hid among the rich foliage. Small signs of civilization began to peek out at the road - a small restaurant with signs advertising Keno games, a faded yellow pawn shop, an incongruous elementary school. The curves in the road grew sharper as they slalomed back down the side of the mountain, as though the road were enjoying an exuberant frolic down the slope after the relentless climb to the top.

The trees and vines fell away without warning, and a gleaming cement bridge crossed the broad expanse of the river. Below, the calm water was dotted with the fluorescent craft of the river-rafters and the occassional kayak, heading off downstream in pursuit of the frothier adventures to be found there.

There was a sharp bend in the road, a billboard announcing a new housing construction project just down the way, and suddenly the empty farmland stretched away and was filled with the imposing form of a huge cathedral. In the sunlight it was the color of dried blood, capped with an alabaster spire that stabbed into the clear blue sky. A small cement sign, just past
this incomprehensible house of worship, announced the entrance to a modest subdivision.

At last, then. Home.

You Don't Know How Lucky You Are.

So I had typed up a very explicit retelling of the ordeal with the dog and his rectum yesterday, but it appears that blogger has more sympathy for your sensitivities than I do. The whole post somehow got eaten, and I am left staring at a blank page at oh-dark-thirty.

I should be sleeping, but I have been panting over my Stylehive bookmarks, attempting to get some good stuff up there in a vain attempt to be worthy of the listing they gave to AlternaMom on their blogroll. I'd link to it, but my internets tubes are apparently clogged, and I'm too lazy to look for a direct link on the google at the moment.

Did I mention that it is snowing? Like REALLY snowing? We've been instructed to expect upwards of 5 or 6 inches by morning, and just an hour or so away there was apparently a Thunder-Snow-Storm which lasted 45 minutes or so. I've never seen lightning in the snow, but I suspect it's one of those things I would regret missing if I gave into this assinine urge to go to sleep and maintain my sanity. So, I've been sitting here on the sofa, just listening in the silence for a muffled crack of thunder.

Time to surrender, though, or the next "crack of thunder" I hear will be the dog barking at me to put him in his bed... or it will be T, barking at me to get myself into bed.

Did I Not Mention I Was Taking A Vacation?

Oh no no, not a real vacation. Just a "Blogation" as it were. Things have been so insane, so ridiculously busy, that I actually managed to misplace my blogging bug for a bit. But
Fear Not, devout, adoring masses. (*cough*)

Why, just this morning I got to remove a 14 inch strip of pig hide from the dog's rectum. WITH MY HANDS.

SEE? I'm full of all kinds of thrilling adventures to share! You can rest assured I will continue to thrill you with such anecdotes as "How I ate a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast, and topped it with the very last of the smoked salmon, and how I feel absolutely no guilt about that."

Oh, and the Chai-Spiced Coffee Creamer? Sounds heavenly in theory, but I have found it is not-so-much-heavenly in the actual consumption. Ah well. A drop or two combined with (look away Mocha) .......powdered creamer (from WalMart, no less. I'm an insult to coffee lovers everywhere, ain't I just?) and the Chai stuff is at least somewhat palatable.

Ah well. My afternoon Toffee Coffee from Barney's Coffee and Tea Company pretty much made up for it. I sipped it while the boys clamored about the indoor play area at the (not-so) local mall. I also shelled out the 3 bucks so the boys and I could take the 3 minute "train" ride on the mini train that drives around the ground level of the mall. They loved it, and my feet loved the rest.

All in all? A good day. I capped it off by purchasing a pair of funky black pants from the Suburban Mom Uniform Supply Company (also sometimes called "Old Navy"). They're cute, they were on clearance for $6.97, and if you squint really hard and turn your head to a 41 degree angle they even make my bum look almost perky. Also, it might help if you are legally blind... and perhaps brewing some cataracts. But I'll take what I can get. And... Hey! New Pants!

The One With All The Herpes

So all these red things on my face that look like horrific cold sores? Turns out they're actually.... horrific cold sores. Huh! Go figure.

Apparently my respiratory virus plus oodles of yummy life stress equals a rampaging herpes simplex the likes of which has never before been seen (outside a dutch brothel, anyway).

Well, okay, that might be overstating it just a bit. I mean, really... it's only 10 or so ugly, weeping, crustules painfully scattered across the landscape of my face. See? Not so bad when I put it that way, hmm? What's that? Oh, I'm desperately sorry... no, I wasn't aware you were eating. My bad. Totally.

Long story short? T, the best husband in the known universe, picked up my prescription for Valtrex from the pharmacy - because apparently the same drug is used to treat the facial outbreaks as the sexually transmitted ones.

So T officially gets to be known at the local (small town) pharmacy as "that guy whose wife has got The Herpes".

Oh joyous day.

And A Time To Every Purpose...

So as I recover from The Plague(tm) of 2007 and begin to peep, in charming, prairie dog fashion, out from behind my candy-colored pity party, I find several key points to ponder.

1) Paint. Changing the colors of ones environment quickly evolves into a sick obsession; once the door is opened on the sheer god-like control of it all, well... that power cannot be easily surrendered. I may need to check into a twelve step program soon. Right after I answer to the stair well -- it's begging to be coated in a smooth layer of Glidden's "Creme Brulee".

2) Skin. My epidermis is showing, and it is in open revolt. I have an appointment with my friendly family physician in the morning, at which point I am fully prepared to hear her say something along the lines of "OhMyHolyHellWhatInTheWorldAndYeeHaw!" as she glimpses the horror that is my face. At first, I thought they were a couple of cold sores. Then? They bred. Like rabbits, they mated and spawned and filled the canvas of my freckled face.
Truth? Methinks that perhaps the stress is beginning to have just a weeeee bit of an effect on my person. Ed McMahon, if you are listening? I could totally use that 10 million and a life of leisure. My disfigured face thanks you, my husband thanks you, and my children will thank you when the nightmares have ceased.


3) People. People are something of an enigma for me. I don't do well with them, and they seem generally baffled by me. You might call me "quirky" but you would be understating it. You might call me "eccentric" but I lack the requisite trust fund to rate that particular adjective. At the end of it? There are those who "get" me and those who don't, and I really need to learn to let go of the inevitable disappointment that comes with realizing that one of my friends really doesn't "get" me.

4) Sleep. I must either get more of it, or get more books on Da Vinci so I can figure out how to be more like him and learn not to need so much of it. Oh, and also? I must figure out how to get my children to do it much more often. 5:30 is an ungodly hour to be awake and demanding to watch "The Upside Down Show", even if I am weirdly obsessed with Shane's strangely perfect-shaped bald head. When the pre-dawn wake-up and USD Show demands have spanned several weeks in a row? It's time to break out the tranquilizer darts and consider suspended-animation beds for the munchkins. If you don't believe me? YOU try attempting to navigate a universal remote in the dark before coffee.

That's pretty much it. I'm sure I have pondered other things, but really.... how could they compare to these questions for the ages? Unless, of course, someone has discovered a useful purpose for belly-button lint. Then? My mind will be blown wide, once again.

In Which I Ponder The Nature Of Time

The month of January is nearly half over, and I don't think I have yet come to terms with the fact that it is now 2007. The world, of late, has become quite insular for us; most of my time has been spent working on home projects and caring for sick kids. That is, until today -- when I became the really and truly sick one around these parts.

Have you ever had one of those colds where your nose just runs, perpetually? Not snotty, sticky mucus or anything... just a river of clear saline. It appears the thick stuff is still cheerily lining my sinus cavity, where the pressure builds toward the ultimate goal of actually blowing the top off of my skull.

And so it is that I take an involuntary break from organizing the newly converted guest room-turned-playroom to recline and sip heavenly, spiced tea. I spent the entire day doing my level best to NOT think about all of the projects and chores that remain undone, without much success. Of course, it doesn't help that T was in a football coma on the sofa. His intermittent outbursts would indicate that the New England/San Diego game was pretty intense, but keeping track of playoff games is entirely outside my realm of possible ways to fill my brain at the moment.

And so it is that I post-and-run, off to rest and recover and attempt to clear my body of this raging viral misery. Cheerio, dah-lings.

Ring In The True

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
~Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1850

Ring in the true, indeed.... and the truth, dear internet, is that I have been avoiding you. It's not you, it's me. You see, for once The Crazy was not mine alone, and the world actually lined up behind me in that whole "without pants" brand of insanity.

So, I took a nice break and enjoyed many hours of absorbing the wonder of my boys as we celebrated our holidays and generally hid away from the world in our little suburban kingdom. It was incredibly lovely, to tell the truth. Because when I say the world went a little nuts? Well, that's maybe the understatement of the year. So far.

So, I'll just give my list of excuses and we'll move on because - frankly, dear internet - I'm a bit knackered by this year already.. but that probably has more to do with the Hercules Virus my children bestowed upon me as an extra special Christmas present. It is currently raking my throat over hydrochloric acid and coating the backs of my eyeballs with sandpaper. So I'd like to think it's really just that, because after The Year that was 2006, I figure we're about due for a better 2007.

In Brief:

- Mom returned from Africa for emergency surgery - the particulars of which I will not detail here, as they are her particulars and not mine. That was the first wonky detail -- which was compounded by the fact that my parents are somewhat insane in their own right and decided to keep it something of a secret.

I cannot begin to clarify the numerous horrors involved in finding out a parent has returned unexpectedly from a foreign continent for a critical surgery that is taking place in one day and you had no idea because you were the last to know that said parent had already been in the country for a week. SO! Note to parents: I'm in enough therapy already, thankyouverymuch. It is stunts like that which pose a very real risk of emptying your grandchildren's college savings accounts to pay for mommy's psychiatric interventions. When things like this happen? Tell your kids. That's pretty much what family is for. Got it? Good. Glad we cleared that up.

- Next? The little brother, he is getting married. In about 10 days. Which means that I won't be able to fly out to be around for the festivities - not that I would actually be going to the wedding itself, as it is a Temple affair and I am an unwashed heathen who regularly defiles her eternal soul with Starbucks and Wired Magazine. But it would have been nice to be within a few hundred yards when my only younger sibling takes the plunge. But, ah. I digress.

- Across the street is a beautiful house, about twice the size of mine, that has been vacant since the most recent owners were evicted. They purchased the house last summer, lived in it for 3 or 4 months (during which time, apparently, they failed to make .. you know... mortgage payments) and then the bank quietly foreclosed. All of this is simply the preamble to state that the house has not exactly been as vacant as we believed, as it appears there are squatters making use of it with some frequency. I know this because we (the direct neighbors) have secured it no less than 3 times only to find it again open within a few days. The empty beer cans in the basement were a bit of a tip-off as well.

This would be the part where I try not to dwell too much on what connection this could have to the recent car break-ins in the neighborhood, and decide that maybe the 40 bucks a month for our ADT security system isn't a waste of resources after all. Especially considering the fact that the local Mayberry Deputies have assured us there is not a darn thing they can/would/are willing to do about this situation. The last hope is finding out which bank actually holds the title and attempting to encourage them to take measures of their own to secure the property.

The real tragedy of this? The house is spectacular. Hard wood floors, brand new paint and such... *sigh* perhaps I'm just bitter I didn't come up with the idea of squatting there first?

And on that note, dear friends, I am spent. So, happy holidays and happy new year and happy Wednesday, come to that. I'm here, I've just been dozing, and I'm full to the brim of stories to tell and musings on the vast spectrum of events in this mad existence. Stay tuned. It's gonna be a mad, mad, mad, mad, mad, mad year.

Blue Christmas...

Christmas seasons past have, for us, often included multitudes of gratuitous celebrations, typified by an immense over-abundance of baked goods and adult beverages. So far I attended a Holiday Cookie Exchange. We have got only T's office Holiday party on the calendar for next weekend... and no babysitter lined up for that event. That's it for adult gatherings. Oh, there'll be Jack's preschool "Jingle Bell Party" to attend, and the MOMS Club party as well. Those will be just me and the kids, though.

There is, of course, the HOA Caroling event to look forward to. If I wasn't stressing out so much about all of the negative feedback on .. well, pretty much everything I have done to get the ball rolling on this event, I would probably be looking greatly forward to it. Probably.

This is the first year - maybe since T and I met - that I have considered not devoting an afternoon to the concocting of the traditional Christmas fudge and one or two experimental varieties of my own creation.

I sat down to write the holiday letter to our friends and family... and came up with a very depressing catalog of the past year. Consciously, I am aware that I lead a very charmed life in many ways. There have been so many positive things in our lives the past few months that it seems a bit pathetic for my holiday spirit to be in such dire need of a jump-start.

But T and I find ourselves on something of an island this Christmas, with no close friends in easy striking distance for a short visit with the kids. Even fewer in number are those brave souls willing to traverse the distance across our mountain to our cozy abode.

So there it is. A loneliness born of circumstance, and a holiday season tempered by the realities of a somewhat gloomy December. There is, however, beauty also in sorrow. There is warmth to be found in the somber quiet of the sleeping season.

I stopped to pump gas on my way to the Cookie Exchange. I was in T's little car with the heater that can only try so hard to produce warmth. I had promised to plug a few gallons into his tank so as not to leave him on empty for his drive to work the next morning. The air was bone dry and bitterly cold; each exhale of breath made a ghostly halo under the stark floodlights.

From the inky expanse of sky they came, dancing and swirling on invisible currents of razor-cold air. Tiny and dry, like fine paper confetti. If you listened intently, you could hear the individual touchdown of each nonchalant flake as it clacked against the pavement.

The first snow of winter.

It was too dry, too impatient to stick as it landed. Instead, the singular flakes kept their distance apart, swirling and drifting across the charcoal expanse of road like a thousand sparrows in cloud of flight.

It was a brief dance. The flakes gradually retired off into the darkness - until they fell no more, leaving the night once again clear and cold and deeply silent.

Solemn. Heartbreaking. Beautiful.

And perhaps I have spirit, after all. The spirit of the Solstice, that deep winter day of the longest dark, when we celebrate the beginning of a new journey to the long days of sunshine ahead.

And on Earth, Peace... and good will toward Men.

You Can Share My Umbrella....

Have I ever mentioned that I am really not good with - well - people?

I should clarify a bit. I'm a loyal friend, a good listener, and I do my utmost to be thoughtful and sensitive and helpful and all those things that are valuable in a friend. In short, I'm somebody you'd usually be glad to have on your team.

The problems arise when I have to communicate with people I don't know very well. If there's not an immediate connection - that spark of recognition when you meet someone who floats on the same wavelength - then I tend to flounder a bit. I fail to pick up on cues and misread tone and body language. I get antsy at uncomfortable silences in conversation. I rabbit on at a manic pace, desperately seeking a talking point that will elicit some spark of interest from the other party. In the end, I usually end up apologizing for all the bouncing around and do my best to slink away with a shred of dignity while the other person is left to puzzle over what in the world I was getting at and why I looked so terrified.

I can't recall exactly when I realized that my skills in verbal conversation where somewhat uneven, but I suspect it was fairly early on. It's something to do with why I started writing in the first place. It was only through conversations with myself, as it were, in a piece of writing that I began to find my path to really reaching other people.

It is in that vein that I present, with a wee bit of abashed pride, my first foray into publication. My article on LDSwoman.net went up today (in the "Time For You" section) along with some spectacular photos that superbly capture the mood of the piece. The photos are not mine, though I could wish they were. And although the irony of being published for the first time in an LDS-Inspired forum is not lost on me, I am incredibly impressed with the concept of the site and the combination of the striking photography and inspirational content brought a tear to even my cynical eye. And, crankypants that I am, tears that don't involve rage or frustration are a rare treat for me these days.

So go read it. And tell your friends to read it. Then tell them to come here and read about my experiences with accidentally purchasing adult novelties on someone else's credit card, just so it's clear I don't claim to be some sort of fountain of great wisdom. I'm just a girl who had a story to tell, and who tends to tell much better stories when I'm having the conversation with myself. Because I don't do so well with, you know... other people.

Sweet NaBloPoMo, I hardly knew ye....

Is it bizarre that it didn't occur to me until today that this is the last day of NaBloPoMo? I mean, the month started out in a flurry of giddy excitement - I was a joiner! I joined up and wiggled my way into the wooly crowd. And then?

And then the sky fell. Oh, not in an overly-dramatic sort of way... at least, I don't think so. I just got so busy I nearly lost my mind. And I capped it off by filing a lawsuit today. I've never done that before. I know plenty of people who have, and my first paying job (other than babysitting) was as a legal assistant. It is not as though the law and I are total strangers, after all. And hey, I have gone to court before. Okay, it was to pay a speeding ticket and once to apply for a marriage license...but hey! I'm familiar with the lay of that land, so-to-speak. And yet? I've remained fairly obstinately naive with regard to the actual "suing" parts. Which, I think, is not a bad thing. And yet?

So it was a surreal moment, to say the least, when I found myself dropping off papers at the Magistrate's office to file on behalf of the HOA. Oh, and the kicker? Both boys have suddenly come down with a raging cold virus. So imagine my frame of mind when I hastily typed up the official complaint this morning. Which explains why about 2 hours after I filed it, I found a few typos that will undoubtedly come back to haunt me. *sigh*

The metaphor, though, for the last year? It came after the trip to the bank, after the visit to the courthouse, and even after I took my poor, sick boys to get a raspberry scone and a smoothie at the coffee shop as a sorry apology for dragging them out on this dreary, hazy day. (And myself? I learned that a good cappuccino and a well-made scone can make almost anything seem less daunting.)

You see, we have parking meters in our little town. They are the old sort of parking meters - they take only nickels and dimes, no quarters thankyouverymuch, and each dime buys you an hour. Now, it was only 2 dimes that I popped into that meter when I parked under the gray sky and misty rain this afternoon. Just twenty measly cents.

And yet? (Here's where that very highly obscure metaphor comes in...) During the time that I was going from courthouse to coffee shop? The meter maids came around and inserted the "Happy Holidays! Free Parking!" cards into the meters.

Yes, indeed. Free Parking.... but only after I'd already paid.

C'mon, you totally have to see the irony in there somewhere. And one way or another, it all wraps up into this past month of posting-madness. Which reminds me, I must declare that I do not intend to continue the insanity into December although I will be posting with regularity as much as is humanly possible through the remainder of this weary 2006. Putting the imaginary gun to my head to post every day this past month resulted in a few posts that I wouldn't acknowledge on the street, but it also gave birth to the two ideas that I developed for publication. I do believe it also gave me the necessary impetus to begin to write again, this time with gusto. You see, there is a story somewhere in this brain of mine that begs to be told.

Perhaps I can coax it out with copius doses of cappuccinos and scones. Do you think?

Farewell, NaBloPoMo. Ours was a bittersweet journey, an affair to remember, and perhaps even the portent of even greater things to come.

See you next year - oh ye charming sadist, thou dominatrix of the blogosphere.

Time Out, Time In

I promised you meat - I did, I did. What you really want is pudding... but how can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat? But tonight, I am so drained... so devoid of mental power from the grueling events of this week, I find I have little to say.

That's not to say I'm depressed tonight. Far from it, really. I've accomplished so much recently. Perhaps that's why I am so tired. So I'll give you a brief recap tonight - of events past and future, accomplishments of late and even a bit of the "other stuff" that is probably best left alone. Because I never do seem to be able to just leave it alone, now, do I. (That wasn't a question.)

SO! Here you are:

- Completed the photo package from the baby shoot from mid-November. Not as laggy as it sounds, what with the holiday weekend eating into work time and all of the HOA madness. Plus? It's a complimentary session, so I don't expect my client will complain over much.

- Did a photo shoot this morning with a new baby girl and her two big sisters. Also? Realized that I am nowhere near ready to think about a third kid. Sticking to my guns on this one, there will be a healthy break to focus on these two boys before I consider going back into that ring. I'm not shutting the door, mind you. Just putting up a "baby gate" for now, if you will. The door is open, but the barrier is firmly in place.

- Just realized how much all of that above babble sounded like one long euphemism for birth control. Which it was not - truly. But it's funnier if it was, so let's pretend it was intentional.

- In case you missed the part where I went back and removed the content of an earlier post from this month, I'll explain. Knowing someone involved with a Webzine finally got a fire under my buttocks to submit something for publication. SO! I reworked it a bit and off it went, and lo and behold? Somebody thinks I can write. And it's going to be published.

- Now to the caveat. When I tell you who is going to publish the article, some of you might take a pause. You see, it's a WebZine run by LDS women. Yes, you remember correctly, I am no longer LDS. But that has little relevance here -- you really should check out the site. If you are not bothered by the religious references (yes, some of them are specifically LDS, but if I can take it so can you, baby) you will find it's really quite a cool concept. Great photography abounds, as well as articles ranging from the educational to the spiritual to the just plain fun. (Recipes! I *heart* recipes!) So check it out. I find the music a little annoying, but I can easily turn it off and surf around the flash-happy menus and generally snake a few minutes of totally indulgent "feel-good" time.

- So! I have the bug. And so I reworked another short essay and submitted it to our itty-bitty local paper. Just on a lark, really. I sent it in through their website and promptly emptied the thought from the recycle bin of my brain... until today, when the very nice editor wrote to thank me for my submission and say that they "will definitely consider it for publication as a Guest Column". Not an official "you're in!" by any means, but it gave me a reason to smile for a few extra minutes today. And when is that not a good thing?

- When is that not a good thing, huh? Answer- (you so thought that was a rhetorical question, didn't you?) - when I get to spend a good portion of my day tomorrow at the courthouse, filing a civil action on behalf of the HOA against a member of the old board who is holding hostage a slew of HOA property: financial records, the corporate seal, the key to the P.O. box, and every contract and vendor contact item on file. Yeah, that makes it kinda hard to get anything done, doncha know. SO! The board has talked, called, emailed, been ignored, sent certified letters, been ignored and/or told off some more, and finally? Finally we are filing a lawsuit. Because on control-freakish woman can hold an entire neighborhood hostage. Fun, right?

- Okay, but we'll end on a happy note. HAPPY! I may actually go a little bat-you-know-what crazy and do something in the "grand gesture" family for Christmas this year. You know why? Because we deserve it. We've been very, very good this year (mostly) and I think this household deserves something magical this holiday season. But, alas, I fear I have already said too much.... SO!

Good Night!

Once again, for the last time

With all the work I've been doing on photo stuff lately, I know I have been somewhat slacky on the whole writing thing. So, I promise this is the last time in the month of November - oh ye sacred NaBloPoMo - that I will post just a photo. There will be more meaty stuff tomorrow, okay??

But what a photo, kids, do I give you. This was just October, and already? The grin you see here is gone, replaced by one so very much more toothy.

*sigh*

Nesting Cup

Because every misty-eyed anecdote really should have its own poignant photo, don't you think?

Tea for Two

Thanksgiving is past, the turkey leftovers are all but consumed, and the time has arrived for the Christmas decorations. I adore this part of the year, the pulling out of the mounds and mounds of boxes from the basement and opening each one with the same thrill of surprise as I come across things I had forgotten we have.

Last year we finally took the plunge and purchased a full-size artificial tree. We've never had a real tree, at least not since we have been married, and as much as I relish taking in deep breaths of pine-scented air I have not yet overcome my fear of real (and very heavy) trees around toddlers and pets. Plus, okay, I'll admit I really don't relish the mess they make, either.

But our fake tree is big and full and pre-lit - all things which I appreciate. It also has the advantage of allowing me to manipulate the branches to best support some of our heavier ornaments and fill in bare spots.

As I unwrapped the various ornaments - funky clothespin reindeer, painted plaster figures, delicate swiss angels and tole painted snowmen each going up in turn - I came upon my Tea Ornaments.

You see, my mother-in-law and I used to live much closer together. On my frequent trips to her house, we always seemed to end up curled up in comfortable chairs to talk over cups of piping hot tea. It was our tradition, of sorts.

Another of their family traditions was that everyone received a Christmas ornament from Mom under the tree on Christmas morning. My first Christmas with the family I got a teacup and saucer ornament. Just a simple white cup and saucer with a pink pinstripe around the edge and a dainty lace-edged napkin resting on the saucer.

Thus began the tradition. Some years it was a cup and saucer, sometimes a teapot, and once a stiffened crochet set with both. Each one is unique and, spread out over the tree as they are, you might never notice the theme running there in the background.

By the time decorating day comes around each year I find myself surprised to be looking at that first unwrapped teacup. It brings back mental images of sunny summer mornings in the window-enclosed sunroom, drizzly spring afternoons under fleecy blankets in the basement, and lazy breakfasts over warm croissants at the kitchen round table. In each memory there is also a hot cup of aromatic tea and a long conversation. Sometimes there were smiles, sometimes tears... more often than not there was brainstorming for future projects or crafts or home decor ideas.

I think about who I was when I first met T's family. I was lost, I was lonely, and I was moving into unfamiliar territory in my life. I had left so much behind, but without knowing where I was going. I was forging ahead in my work, my spirituality, and my relationship with T - all with no idea where it would end up. I had no point of reference for where I found myself, for the foundation that was crumbling beneath me. I needed someone to tell me that I could walk my own path, that I had to follow my heart and trust my intelligence and be my own woman. I needed to know there was someone who would give me a shoulder to lean on as I floundered in this new reality.

And then I met T's mom. She made me call her "Mom" right away. She lamented my total lack of cooking know-how and immediately began my culinary education. She taught me to be brave - in the kitchen and in life. I learned to follow my instincts, to not be afraid to attempt the complicated recipe or challenging project. She taught me the proper way to brew loose tea and imparted the sacred family Gumbo recipe. She has even taught me to prepare fried green tomatoes that would knock your socks off and all the complicated rules to playing Bridge.

Our relationship has been a bit tumultuous at times. Over the nearly 8 years that T and I have been together she has been through drastic life changes - as have I. We don't always see eye to eye on everything, obviously. And now that I have boys of my own I can begin to understand how difficult it must be to have another woman become the most important one in your son's life. Not that sons love their mothers any less once they find their partner in life, but when your son gets married... suddenly someone else is finishing the project that you started - helping him pick out clothes, decorating the apartment, taking him home to their own family on holidays. After a lifetime of keeping a child firmly next to your heart - it can't be an easy thing, that learning to let go.

But over the years, we have developed a sort of rhythm. We have taken turns being mentor and pupil, therapist and patient, supportive friend and friend in need. In spite of the geographical distance and the struggle to find a new rhythm after all that has changed, as I unwrapped the ornaments and placed each on on the tree I found myself reliving - in golden soft-focus - the moments that our relationship was built on.

I am content with knowing that, no matter what may come in this uncertain future, when the days have passed and I am facing the reality of letting go of my own boys as they grow into their own men... each Christmas as I open the box marked "Mel's Tea Ornaments" I will be remembering the shining moments of a truly remarkable friendship. All the rest is just the smoothing of the rough edges. All that matters is that the good times came to pass, and they were real and essential. Difficult times will come, "a little rain must fall" and all that... but there are more good memories ahead, too. And, hopefully, more Tea Ornaments to recall them.

Mustang Santa

Jack has been begging for weeks now for the Power Wheels Mustang for Christmas. They have it at Wal-Mart, and every time we go there (which is more often than is probably decent to admit) he asks, very sweetly, to please go and just look at the mustang. "Please Mommy? Please, can we? Please, I just look at it?"

And so, in spite of my better judgment (and the fact that we have absolutely nowhere to store the dang thing) it appears Santa may just bring Jack his heart's desire this year. But, of course, he doesn't know that. And so he still, at every opportunity, reminds us that he has not forgotten.

Our Vonage service provides a toll-free number to call Santa and leave him a voicemail, which they then email to you as an audio file. Because I'm gratuitously obsessed with my child, I decided to share the wonder of this with you all. And, yes... that's me in the background, prompting him to talk louder because Santa can't hear you when you whisper. Which makes no sense, when you think about it. I mean, if he sees you when you're sleeping and he knows when you're awake... well, he certainly should be able to figure out what you are whispering to him on his voicemail, right? So I suppose I was totally in the wrong on this one, but thank heaven I made him speak up because the voice you are about to hear might just make you weep for sheer joy at the wonder of such perfection. (Referring to his voice, of course, and not mine... which sounds suspiciously adolescent and kinda reminds me of fingernails on chalkboard. But you can ignore that, right?)

Here You Go.

A Picture Worth A Thousand Words

Or at least one very quick blog post....

Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Pie Eater...

It has been a long, satisfying, and very food-filled Thanksgiving. And I'm cheating, because this? This is my post for today.

The thing I am most thankful for this year... is my family. I love my extended family on all sides, don't get me wrong - but in this case? I am referring to my own little family. My T, my boys, and our crazy zoo of a home. I am thankful to them for giving me a reason to keep going, especially on those dark days many months ago this year when they were sometimes the only reason. Because it was enough. Because I love them, and I will love them forever. Because they are the reason I live and breathe. And because we are all really great dancers, as evidenced earlier in the week when there was some serious booty-shakin up in here to the Elvis Christmas album.

Happy Turkey Day to all, and to all a good bite.

One Potato, Two Potato, Sweet Potato, Floor

Yesterday was the "Thanksgiving Feast" at Jack's preschool. Picture little kids and their parents sitting in too-small chairs at teeny little tables... eating sliced turkey and a potluck spread of whatever the frazzled parents could prepare.

I got up all bright and early to prepare the mashed sweet potatoes I had been planning to make for over a week. I had purchased the raw yams a few days in advance, just so I'd be totally prepared. Then? Well, first, my sour cream went missing. So I had to fudge the recipe a little to figure out how to make them taste right. You see, they're one of Jack's favorite foods, and I was working on improving the image I managed to gain when I officially became "The Mom Who Forgot To Pick Her Kid Up From Preschool" last week.

In my defense? I thought T was picking him up that day, and I was wrapped up in a photo shoot. But? I am now "that mom". You know the one -- she shows up with her hair in a frizzy mess, two different socks, and the shmear of baby puke on one shoulder. And she sometimes forgets to pick up her kid. Because, you know, she's a little flaky and the other moms kinda think she's maybe a drunk, but she's really just a bit scattered and it's totally the ADD and this is why I am in therapy so just get off my back, will ya?

Phew. Um... yeah. I might need to cut back on the caffeine again.

SO! I finally get the sweet potatoes made and in the crock pot. I get Toby, myself, and our plethora of gear into the car. We head down the road. And then? And then I have to slam on the breaks to avoid hitting some ... um... (deep breath) "very inconsiderate person" who slammed on their breaks in order to take a left turn off the main road without so much as a signal. And the crock pot? You guessed it. Not anchored well enough. So it flings sideways, the lid flies off, and sweet potatoes end up all over the floor of the car. Well, maybe not ALL over, and I did manage to stand it back up before too much of the orange mush escaped.

In fact, maybe it really wasn't so bad. I mean, I didn't even have to pull over -- just used the dish towel that was wrapped around the base to scoop it up and dump it out the door onto the side of the road. Not so bad, right?

I call T to tell him I'm now running a bit behind, and luckily he is almost at the school already. I'm breathing a sigh of relief as I drive down the road, telling him that I think maybe I'm not cut out for this whole Classroom Mom thing when - suddenly - I realize the construction on Route 9 has begun anew and they have stopped traffic. Unfortunately for me, I realized it about a second before the guy in front of me did, and ended up slamming on the breaks again.

You already know what happened next, don't you? Oh yes, my friend. Over went the crock pot, out came more potatoes, and Toby learned some brand new words, which - thankfully - he is too young to be able to repeat with any clarity. ("Look honey! The baby says "donut" now! Isn't that sweet?")

So there I am, scraping mashed sweet potatoes off the floor mat of the car and dumping them off on the shoulder of the highway, right where it ran across the river. All I could think was, "Man, the deer are absolutely going to get nailed trying to get out here to eat this mush." Then, hands sticky with what was fast becoming orange super-glue, I finally came upon the idea of using the picnic blanket we keep in the car as padding to keep the crock pot upright.

SO, a long-ish period of time, several dish towels, and one yam-soaked picnic blanket later, we finally arrived at the school in time to see the high school students who help with the class give a rousing rendition of "5 little turkeys" with enthusiasm at a level falling somewhere between "emergency root canal" and "Diagnosis: Murder marathon".

All in all, though? Jack had a terrific time, it was sweet to see his classroom in action and meet the teenage girls (who, by all indications, are totally smitten with my kid), and the look on his face when I let him push Toby's stroller back to the car was absolutely priceless.

Next time? I might just skip all the beginning stuff and go straight to letting him take his brother on the joy-ride. With all the bells and fanfare, it's still the simple stuff that brings out his biggest smiles.

Ah, to be 3 again.