My seething cauldron!

Catching Up...

2009-12-31T11:04:00.000-08:00

The holidays are soooo crazy - I just realized that I haven't posted anything since the middle of November! And because it has been so long since I've updated anything, you just know this is going to be a l-o-n-g post...plus, I know there are a bunch of people who check in every once in awhile, and want to know how things are going. So this is the catch-up post. Not like ketchup - catch up. As in getting caught up. So here goes:

First, I have to share the coolest message KirKo sent me for Thanksgiving (I was sick, and it was pretty uneventful, other than his text). I woke up, and the light on my phone was blinking to tell me I had a message. I turned it on, and like always, got that little smile in my heart when I saw it was from my guy. Then I read it. It about brought tears to my eyes. This is what it said:

"I am thankful for timing and ditto and me dos. I am thankful for hand holding and kissing and countdowns. I am thankful for the feeling in my stomach when I first see you. I am thankful that I have found someone that I used to only dream about. I am thankful that we are the people in the story that we love to tell so much. I AM THANKFUL FOR YOU! I LOVE YOU SWEETHEART! Happy Thanksgiving. KirKo."

How awesome is he? Answer: Way.

We were supposed to wait until Christmas for him to come back out, but 37 days was just too long to wait, so he ended up coming out the weekend of December 7. It was, like always, wonderful. We went to Christmas Village, among other things, and that's where this picture was taken:

I love this photo because we both look so dang happy - probably because we were! Well, Kirk looks a little cold - probably because it was - but he was such a trooper! He hung out with the kids and the family and on Sunday, before he left, we spent the Best. Hour. Ever. together, just talking and stuff. I just can't say enough good things about him.

Anyway, that brings me to Christmas. It was great - best ever, in fact - just very busy. Kirko got in around 4:30 PM on Christmas Eve, and from there we went straight to a family party in North Ogden. Well, we swung by home first and picked up my girls, and THEN headed for North Ogden! Kirk just hung out and made himself at home there - he seemed really comfortable, which was cool, because don'tcha just hate it when you have to worry about somebody and whether or not they're OK and stuff? I mean, you do it, anyway, when it's someone you care about, but it's nice to know that you don't have to do it, if something else should come up....

We came home around 8:00-ish, and played a couple of board games (even Bretten, who was only *mildly* sullen, played!) while we waited for my mom and dad to swing by - they always give us Christmas jammies the night before, so even Kirk got a pair this year. I think he was a little surprised to be included with that! After that, we sent the girls to bed, and Kirk helped me play Santa Claus - a first for him. He was so cute! We set out all the kids' gifts and stuffed stockings, etc., and then we went to bed, too.

Morning came all too quickly...I won't go into any of the gifts except to say that Santa was very good to all of us and that Kirk has exceptional taste. :)

After doing gifts at my house, we went to my Grandpa Bob's (Kirk keeps pretending to forget he's my grandpa, and calls him Uncle Bob, Field Marshall Bob, and even Sideshow Bob...) and had breakfast and more gifts. Then the girls went with the Ex's parents, and Kirk and I went back to my place.

While we were at my Grandpa's, though, and I was helping make OJ and stuff, Kirk held my 10-month-old niece on his lap and BS'd with my cousins, etc., like he's been a part of us forever. When I had a bit of a break, I tried to go get my niece to come see me for a minute, but she didn't want any part of me. She was just happy being Kirko's girl!! Hmmm....maybe it runs in the family?? HA!

Well, I said I wasn't going to go into detail about the gifts, but I have to tell this story so I have to give you at least this much background: Kirk did give me an absolutely gorgeous bracelet, presented very creatively around the neck of a stuffed bear, wrapped in a Crown whiskey bag (he is still a guy, after all!!).

I'd had a hard time getting the bracelet's clasp undone to get it off the bear, and then I couldn't get it done up right when I put it on when I was getting ready to go that morning...and we traditionally have champagne with breakfast on Christmas morning, anyway (I am saying that in my defense NOW...). So when we got home from Grandpa's around noon, I was tired from going to bed late, getting up early, helping in the kitchen, chasing kids, etc., so I took a nap. Of course I took off all my jewelry first, to get comfy, and stretched out....

Later that afternoon, Kirk said, "It's OK if you don't like your bracelet enough to wear it..." and I was like "OMG - what the @#$%! did I do with it?!?!" because I honestly couldn't remember what I had done with it!

So my first thought was, "Well, it's got to be with my watch and ring and stuff!" I went up to my room to look, but it wasn't there. I seriously thought I was going to puke as the panic set in! (Vomit is too polite of a word for the feeling I had in the pit of my stomach!!) I called my mom to see if anybody had seen it at Grandpa's house, and I looked everywhere in the house and car, and in all the gifts that we'd brought home from Grandpa's, etc. - and couldn't find it. I was about in tears - just absolutely *sick.*

And then Kirk said, "Did you look in your purse?" And I had already, but I figured I'd look one more time....so I pretty much dumped my purse out on the floor, and there was the bracelet, in the bottom of my purse, thankfully. I about bawled in relief. Actually, a tear or two actually did escape....not so much for the dollar value or anything, but just because of the sentimental value, you know?

That evening, after my girls got home, we went down to my brother's house in Clinton and did more gifts and ate *again.* My mom and dad and little brothers found some gifts that Kirk really liked and I think it surprised him that they kind of spoiled him the way they did. My youngest brother gave him one of those vinyl stickers of the Peeing Calvin, with Calvin peeing on a Broncos logo (Kirk is a major Broncos fan), and my mom gave him a little Broncos snowman Christmas ornament and a Broncos nutcracker, along with some other things. My other brother gave him a Christmas beer glass filled with pistachios, I think - to tell you the truth, it was so chaotic with all the kids simultaneously ripping into their gifts, I'm really not positive!

The next day (Saturday) we took the twins to see "The Fantastic Mr. Fox" - *excellent* movie with surprisingly adult humor, even though it is a kids' show - and then went to see some old friends who were in town for the holidays that night. We went to another friend's party for a bit, and then just hung out at a dive bar in Layton for a couple of hours, just BS'ing and playing everything from Patsy Cline to Megadeth on the jukebox, so that was fun, too. Then the next day, he watched football and I pretty much napped all day, until it was time to take him to the airport.

When it came time to leave, Kirk left the nutcracker at my place, because he said he didn't want it to break in his bag on the way home, and it would just "be coming back to stay soon enough, anyway." I have quite a collection of nutcrackers that I call my Nutcracker Army, so I told him it couldn't join the army at my place until he joined the family, and he said, "That's fine. It'll happen soon enough!" BIG smiles from me at that one!!

So that's all the factual stuff. Here's the sappy stuff:

It is absolutely *great* when he is here. He fits in my house and my life so smoothly...I can't even describe just how...meant, I guess, it feels. Just so absolutely comfortable and right and...I don't know. I don't know how to describe it; it seems I lack sufficient or appropriate vocabulary to do it justice. And every time I have to send him back, it hurts worse. Seriously, like my heart has been ripped from my body and is no longer my own to do with as I will - it goes, instead, where he goes.

I have honestly never felt like this with anyone ever before. I have heard a few people describe it with their significant other, but I kind of think a lot - maybe even most? - people "settle" for something less. Something pretty good, maybe, but certainly less than this. I know I did before. I never felt about the Ex the way, over time, I came to realize I wanted to feel about somebody, and the Ex never felt the way I wanted someone to feel about me - at least that he was capable of demonstrating. Which isn't to say we had a bad marriage or whatever - in many ways, it was better than a lot of them. It was just never this, is all.

And he is such an absolutely good man - I just feel like I couldn't have chosen a better person to give my heart - or my love - to. He is respectful to me and my parents, down-to-earth with my extended family, and most importantly, good with my girls: patient and understanding with each of them in the ways they need. He listens to Cyd and lets her talk Pokemon with him, comments on her drawings, asks her questions, etc. He tries to draw Bretten out of her shell, tries to find things to compliment her on, and puts up with her cold shoulder. It's so funny - Bretten actually has to TRY to be ornery to him. It's like she catches herself warming up and being semi-nice and likable, and then is like, "Wait a minute!! What's this?!? Must....Remain....Crabby...."

And Mychael seems to quite like him and feel really comfortable with him. She layed in bed with us Sunday morning/afternoon and looked at a book with me, while Kirk lay next to me watching football on TV. Mychael and I laughed and took turns showing Kirk pictures we thought were funny, and it didn't feel awkward or weird at all. In fact, it felt so natural to me that I didn't even think twice about it until Kirk said something about it later!

In fact, she is so comfortable with him, that on the way into the movie Saturday afternoon, when Kirk just remarked casually, to no one in particular, "Geez, it's so much warmer here during the day than at night...." Mychael said to him, kind of sarcastically, "Uh, yeah. That might have a little something to do with the sun being out."

Kirk was such a good sport about it, Mychael and I just laughed! So on the way out of the theater, Kirk says the same thing back to her, sarcastically, "Gee, it's so much warmer during the day!" Mychael just went along with it and teased him back, saying, "I thought we cleared this up earlier - you know, the sun and all?" It was really cute.

Even the dog likes him. The morning after he left, Sarah came running into the bedroom, jumped up on the bed, sniffed his spot, then jumped down and ran around both sides of the bed, looking back at the bed all the while. Then she jumped back up and sniffed the bed again, then hopped off the bed, ran downstairs, and then came back up, again. Then, she sat in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom and just stared at me like, "What'd you do with him?!"

What did I do with him? Sent him back to Phoenix, for now. What am I gonna do with him, though? Keep him.

Was It ALWAYS Supposed To Be Like This?

2009-11-17T16:24:00.000-08:00

First, a little business to get out of the way: the answer to last post's quiz was (trumpet blast) The Greater Evil!! A.K.A. Bretten. I know, I know, y'all are quite surprised. Not! Now for the real post:

I have been rolling this blog topic around in my head for several weeks now, and I hope I can do it justice. It’s about expectations, and not missing what you never knew you didn’t have, and stuff like that.

Let me just start by saying that I hate to always rag about my marriage. It seems like a lifetime ago, and I am in such a better place now, emotionally, mentally, physically – just about every "ly" you can think of! – that it seems a shame to keep bitching about it. However, it does make for an easy target...LOL!! In all reality, though, I have learned so much in the last year and a half or so, that I almost, almost feel like I owe the Ex a debt of gratitude. I look back now and I can't believe I stayed married for as long as I did. Not that it was all bad, all the time, because it wasn't...well, horrible, I guess...and if I hadn't, I wouldn't have my kids (although there are days when that’s not exactly working in its favor!). But the point I am trying to make is that the more I get to know Kirk, the more I begin to realize that the way my marriage was, wasn't necessarily the way a marriage should've - or could've - been, anyway.

Some examples:

Number 1: I had to go to an Army “family conference” meeting in LA over the weekend a few weeks ago. The only time I ever liked the Army was when I worked there, 23 years ago. I do like many individual soldiers, and support and appreciate them, 100%. After all, there is a definite need they fulfill, and I am glad somebody is willing to step up and do it. But the Army as an institution leaves something – a great, big, steaming pile of something! – to be desired, at least by me, personally. I just don't have the type of personality that can do the military scene without seriously chafing at not only the restrictions, but also the “jump first and ask questions later” mentality.

So here I am at this meeting, not only seething at the whole military structure of the thing, but also just gagging on all the flag-waving and self-congratulating that was going on. I honestly thought some arms were going to break from the contortions people were going through, just to pat themselves on the back for being such “heroes.” I’m sorry – I thought you actually had to do something to earn the title of hero, not marry it or claim it because it came with your beret or something.

I listened to Army spouse after Army spouse talk about the honesty and commitment and integrity of “their” soldiers, and contrasted it in my mind with the experiences I had with “my” soldier over the years. It was tough – and more than once I just wanted to stand up and scream that they were wrong – they had no idea how many of these so-called heroes just played the game to get out of it whatever they could for their own personal gain, how many of them spouted integrity in one direction and turned around and cheated every other way, and so on. And more than once I was brought to tears with the frustration of not being able to correct what felt like a horribly biased and one-sided portrayal.

I had done plenty of bitching and moaning about having to attend the conference before I went, and had even vented to Kirk periodically throughout the day. The conference was supposed to be finished about 5:00 PM, and I was doing some serious clock-watching and fidgeting, watching that last hour just d-r-a-g. At about 4:10 or so, I received a text from Kirk, unbidden and totally unexpected. “Almost done, baby,” it said. “Hang in there. I love you.”

How thoughtful is that? How sweet, how utterly charming? I was blown away by the consideration. Is that what it’s supposed to be like? Forgive me for not knowing the answer – stuff like that never happened to me before.

Number 2: I’ve blogged before about my inability to sleep with any type of predictability or regularity, and my need to attend remedial sleep training or something. I’ve been this way, off and on, for about the last ten to twelve years or so. I’ve followed all the things conventional wisdom recommends, as best as I am able: no TV or computers or other light sources right before bed, develop a routine and stick to it, no caffeine, etc. I have also tried the not so conventional remedies: valerian, lavender, melatonin. And the medical remedies: Ambien, Lunesta, Trazadone. Basically, everything but the prescriptions are good for about two to four hours of sleep – but at least they don’t give me a hangover! The prescriptions are good for more like eight hours of sleep, but then I have the wicked drags the next morning...it seems you cannot have your cake, and eat it, too, as they say.

Anyway, right now I am in a period of not sleeping very well. My mom has suggested that I go down to the sleep clinic at the U, but I have been dragging my feet. I don’t want to take the leave from work, I don’t want to do the driving back and forth, I don’t want to add yet another doctor to my arsenal of health care providers I’ve been racking up over the years, etc. I may eventually do it, I don’t know.

But almost every night, as we finish our nightly telephone conversation, Kirk says to me, “And please, get some sleep, baby.” Which makes me feel very...cared for. And the other night, he said, “I’m gonna have to get with your mom and get you into one of those programs at the U....”

I joked and, kind of smart-assedly, said, “OK...Dad,” because whenever I tell him something like that, that is good for him, he teasingly tells me, “Whatever, Mother!” So I was being flippant, too.

But then he said, with all seriousness, “I’m just looking out for you. You know I just have your welfare at heart.”

Again, how sweet is that? How caring and thoughtful? Once again, I was...amazed, for lack of a better word, by Kirk’s consideration and...I don’t know...protectiveness? So again I ask, is that what it’s supposed to be like, what it’s supposed to have been like, all along? Because obviously it wasn’t, and the fact that it is now – with Kirk – often just leaves me shaking my head in wonder. Who knew? Not me!!

Number 3: Kirk came to visit last weekend. It was the first time he met my parents, and the first time he met my kids. I really could not have asked for anything to go better – it was all very low-key - and Kirk seemed to fit right in. It was all just perfect. My kids like him (even the Greater Evil confessed that the only reason she was trying not to like him was because she is mad at me!) and my parents like him, too. I even remembered to take some pictures this time!!

I have said before that I am a “word girl.” I love words, and I absolutely thrive on them. Actions are nice, too, of course, but I think I could go longer without the actions if I have the words, than I could go with the actions if I didn't have the words, if that makes sense. I just need the words. And Kirk can give them to me like no one ever has before. The sweet ones, the serious ones, and the funny ones, too. And when I comment on his ability to do that, he just says, "That's my job!" like it's no big deal, when it's everything to me.

Sunday, we were going to go watch football with some friends, and then he decided he’d just rather hang at the house and do nothing – which was fine by me. And he said, “When you enjoy doing absolutely nothing with someone 24/7, you’ve found your ‘one’ – and I have!” Stuff like that just makes me melt...

And later, when I had to take him to the airport, I bawled all the way home. I know I’m going to see him again at Christmas, and it’s really not that far away – only 37 days (that’s no longer apart than between when I went there in October and he came up here in November...), so I don’t know why it hurt so bad. But it did – I felt like my heart was literally breaking in two, even though at the same time I was feeling so good about the weekend and him and us and that everything was so truly worth it – and will be so truly worth it – in the long run.

But this is what The Sweetheart (yes, it absolutely deserves capitalization)sent me before he boarded his plane: “I have never felt so right about anything as I do about US. I cannot wait to see you again and am reliving every second I just spent with you. I feel like you complete me in so many ways. I love you with every fiber of my being. YOU are the absolute love of my life.”

I have asked this over and over again, I know, but how sweet is that? How thoughtful, how caring, how romantic? When he knows what I need, he gives it to me, unselfishly and with such amazing generosity. And one of the truly awe-inspiring aspects of this whole thing is that I feel like his openness and honesty and willingness to give so generously and genuinely, from his heart, have inspired some of the same things in me. Stated simply, being with him makes me a better version of me.

Was it supposed to be like this, all along? I don’t know. To tell you the truth, at this point, I really don’t care. I guess you cannot expect to have what you never really knew existed, after all. But I am so beyond happy that I know it exists now. Whether it’s always like this for everyone or not, I still don't know. But it is finally like this, for me.

Easiest Quiz Ever

2009-11-09T12:27:00.000-08:00

Here's a little quiz for you. It is very easy, as it only consists of one problem. I will present you with a scenario, and then, based on that scenario, you get to answer a single question. Anybody who misses this needs to go back to remedial "Beneath My Placid Exterior" and re-read old "My Seething Cauldron" posts!!

So, I've got the twins, a.k.a. the Greater Evil and the Lesser Evil. Based on my summary of a recent conversation, see if you can guess which one (i.e., GE or LE) I was, um, "speaking" with:

The other day, we were arguing over something stupid. I remembered something happening one way, and she remembered it happening another way. We went back and forth and back and forth.

Me: "It was when we were standing right there, and you said blah, blah, blah..."

Her: "I would never say that! I never said that!"

Me: "Why would I remember you saying that, if you didn't say it?"

Her: "I don't know! I just know I never said what you said I said!"

Etc., etc., etc.

After about 20 minutes of this, I finally conceded that neither of us was willing to give in and admit that the other person was right. In an effort to model problem-solving skills and conciliatory behavior, I therefore decided to offer a truce, of sorts. I wanted to put an end to the yelling (on both our parts, but mainly because I was getting hoarse!) and the eye-rolling (on her part, as I was half-way afraid if she rolled her eyes any harder, they would pop out of her head and roll down the stairs, collecting carpet fuzzies as they bounced down each step....).

"Well," I said, "People often remember the same situation a little bit differently from one another, according to their own perspectives. So, I can see how your memory of blah-blah-blah would be different than my memory, and I am willing to admit that your version of events is at least as valid is mine is. Can you, then, also be willing to admit that my version of events also has some validity, too?"

"NOOOOooooOOOOOooooo!" she wailed.

Totally surprised and taken aback (for I thought I had made a pretty fair offer!), I barked, "Why not?!?!"

She fairly spat her response: "Because! Your version is just based on your opinion!! My version is based on fact!!"

So yeah - guess which one said that?

Answer tomorrow, as if you were really in any doubt....

It Never Gets Old...

2009-10-26T15:44:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday we went to my daughter’s orchestra concert. It was their annual fund-raising dinner first, followed by the fall concert. The dinner was only “meh” (cold spaghetti with Ragu sauce from a jar...), but the concert was very good and Grandma and Grandpa came to watch, too. It was a fairly low-key evening, but a fun one, nevertheless.

It has become somewhat of a tradition that, whenever we have an “event” such as a dance review or an orchestra concert, we end the evening with some sort of a treat, like an ice cream cone or something. This evening's event was no different, and as soon as the concert was over, we went to a little burger shop nearby to get some milkshakes.

For some reason known only to the owners of the burger shop and, perhaps, God, it has never occurred to said owners of this little drive-in to go to the school administration and request a calendar of events scheduled to be held at the school. With said calendar, said owners might actually be able to correlate the likelihood of their having extra staffing needs with the dates of the school’s extracurricular activities. Perhaps all this will click with them, someday...I wouldn't count on it, but it might.

Anyhow, that is how the little burger shop came to find itself crowded full of people on a Thursday evening, with only three employees to run the entire restaurant – including taking orders, preparing food, running the drive-thru, and cleaning up the lobby, plus who-knows-what-all other miscellaneous tasks are involved with the day-to-day running of a burger shop. We – meaning me, the Evils (Cyd stayed home), and the Grands – placed our orders and then settled in to wait, knowing it might be awhile.

As soon as we had settled into the booth, with my parents on one side and me and my girls on the other, my mother immediately narrowed her eyes and pointed at me across the table. “You’re going to vote, aren’t you?”

You know there’s only one right way to answer a question like that, right?

“Of course!” I replied.

“Because KSL says our mayoral election is the tightest race in the entire state!!” Mom exclaimed. “Do you know you’re going to vote for?”

“Yes,” I said. “Curtis.”

I usually vote anti-whoever is in power, which means I usually vote “throw the rascals out,” or anti-incumbent. In this case, though, I am deviating somewhat from my usual rule. Curtis is the incumbent – but the challenger is a member of a family with a long history of insider politics and "string-pulling" in our little town. So, in the grand scheme of things, even though he isn’t technically the incumbent, the challenger in this race is definitely the one with the power. So I’m anti-challenger this time around, and instead of voting to throw the rascal out, I’m voting to keep him out.

So, again, I agreed I was voting for Curtis.

“Well, good!” said my mother. “That race is tight, and I’m trying to get as many people to get out and vote for Curtis as I can. We can’t have that Stevenson in there. He’s just a whiney, old....”

She paused while she searched for an appropriate word to express her displeasure with Stevenson. Meanwhile, my father, who was sitting next to her on the molded plastic bench seat, filled the gap in conversation by shifting his weight and lifting one gluteus maximus cheek to let out a gigantic fart.

Of course my girls thought this was hilarious! And I have to admit – as much as I can - and do! - sometimes put on the air of sophistication, and pretend that such things just totally gross me out, I totally thought it was funny, too.

So my girls and I are all laughing so hard tears are rolling down our faces, and my mom and dad start to get the giggles, too. My mom tries to pretend she is thoroughly disgusted with our lack of manners and refinement and manages to choke out, “Geez, Lynn! Just because you can’t hear it, doesn’t mean nobody else can, either! I swear, I am the only cultured one in this entire family!!”

We are still laughing so hard, we can barely talk. But then Mychael caps it by summarizing what we have all just witnessed:

“Gosh, Grandma!! You guys have been married for so long, Grandpa finishes your sentences for you!”

And we all giggled some more.

I just don’t know. Maybe I am uncouth, or uncultured, or whatever. But a good fart story will make me laugh every time. It just never gets old!

Best. Trip. Ever. Part Four. Or, The Last Day....

2009-10-13T14:53:00.000-07:00

I don’t know how many of you know this, but I am sleep-challenged, and have been, off and on, for years. Since I have a special-needs daughter, I try to stay away from the word “retarded,” but saying I am sleep-special-needs sounds stupid, so let’s just say, I don’t sleep well. I have trouble falling asleep, and I have trouble staying asleep once I get there. I really need remedial sleep training. If I can sleep more than four hours at a stretch, I am happy. Every once in awhile, I will actually sleep seven hours or so, and I’m downright ecstatic. Don’t get me wrong – I am not one of those people who are all perky on only four or five hours of sleep a night. I really need a full eight. Every night. I just can’t figure out how to get it.

But for some unknown reason, when I was sleeping next to Kirk...I slept juuuuuuust fine. There is probably some scientific explanation involving endorphins and oxytocin and neurotransmitters and stuff, but I think it has something to do with the peace that comes when you can be yourself with the one you love, and you know you are loved in return. That, and physical exercise. ;)

Anyway, I’d been sleeping uncharacteristically well, until the last night, in Kirk’s sister’s guest house. The bed was great, and couldn’t have been more comfortable. The temperature was fine, and I was definitely plenty tired. Everything was absolutely conducive to a very good night’s sleep. But at 3:00 AM, I was wide awake, and immediately stricken with an almost unbearable sadness with the knowledge that I’d be leaving today. Kirk had been able to get the day before off, but would have to work for a little bit this morning, so I knew I couldn’t wake him up. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t be very nice if I did. So I just laid there, feeling the tears begin to well, and my nose start to burn the way it does when you know the crying is about to commence. I kept trying to talk myself out of it. “Don’t cry ‘cause you’re leaving,” I told myself. “Be happy because you were able to come in the first place!”

I just wanted so badly to drink him in, to stash away memories that I would be able to pull out and savor later, when Kirk would be far away. I was getting mad at myself for being so pathetically sappy, so I went into the bathroom, turned on the light, and sat on the floor and tried to read for a bit to distract myself, not entirely successfully. After a bit, I gave up and went back to bed, but kept looking at the clock, still just so restless. Finally, I leaned up on one elbow, and just...watched. Watched him sleep. Because I could.

It's the best way to wake up - just to be in the arms of the one you love, and feel that absolute safety and warmth and security and contentedness and acceptance and...love. It still makes me bawl just thinking about it. I can't tell if they're tears of happiness for even ever having been able to experience it at all, even if only for a little bit, or tears of sadness for not having it now and missing him, or a little bit of both..... Even now, more than a week later, that pain feels so fresh that I have to swallow the lump in my throat that comes with the memory of it.

It almost feels like I love him too much for my heart and soul to be able to contain, and whenever I try to quantify or explain or whatever, it wells up and starts leaking out my eyes in the form of tears. How weird is that?!?! I hope I will kind of get accustomed to feeling so much someday, so that I don't cry every time I think about how much I love him.... Just believe it when I say I have never loved like this before, and never knew it was even possible. So I think I was just feeling a little overwhelmed that morning, too.

I woke him up by tickling his back, and with his voice still groggy with sleep, he said, "What are you doing?"

"Watching you," I said.

"Why?"

"Because I can..." was all I choked out, before the torrent of tears just came. He held me while I sobbed, but eventually I got it back together. We talked and, I think, both cried a little bit - I told him I knew that I needed to be happy we’d been able to have the time together in the first place instead of sad it was coming to an end, and he said that we needed to remember that if it wasn't as good as it is between us, it wouldn't hurt so much to part, so it was just proof of how good it is, how right we are together, etc. And I really appreciated his spin on things. He is so good about giving me the words I need to hear!

Anyway, he went to work, and I finally went back to sleep. I got up about four hours later and took my time in the shower and getting ready, etc. And then when he got back, we ate some chips and salsa and yogurt (a surprisingly tasty combination!) at his sister's before leaving, and then just bummed around for a little bit. We went to a local brew pub so I could get a "Kiltlifter Ale" T-shirt – absolutely perrrrfect for me!!

Then we just drove and talked and kind of took our time on our way to the airport. I was doing a pretty good job holding it all together, I thought. I didn't want his last memory of me to be of red-rimmed, mascara-ringed eyes and a red, runny nose, so I was chewing on the insides of my lip something fierce to keep it all under control. We were joking that throughout the whole entire trip, I did not take one single picture!! I was too busy making memories to think to take any pictures of them – I guess that girl gene must have skipped me somehow, because I am lousy at taking pictures and always have been. So we were talking about trying to stop and ask a Skycap or even some stranger to take one of us for us, just so we'd have one, but the closer we got to the airport, the more tenuous the control on our emotions was getting.

By the time we got to the curb at the airport (turns out there’s a reason those are called the “kiss and cry” lanes!!), and he stopped and got my bags out, I was really having a hard time. I felt like if anyone so much as said “Boo!” to me, I would lose it. So we didn’t even try for a picture. We stood there and kissed good-bye and exchanged our "I love you's," and I just kept telling myself "Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't CRY!! DON'TCRYDON'TCRYDON'TCRY!!!!" And I could tell Kirk had a little tic in his jaw and his voice was a little wavery, too. So I went into the airport and he left, and I didn't look back (bad luck to look back....).

As I was walking through the airport up to security, my eyes were leaking and every time I'd wipe a tear, a new one would magically spring up to take it's place. I kept dabbing at the corners of my eyes with a tissue that, by this time, was pretty much a soggy, wadded-up, mascara’ed mess – definitely the worse for wear. I got to the security gate, and the TSA guy looked at my ID, looked at my boarding pass, scribbled something, and waived me on, but I could tell he was thinking, "What's the deal with her?"

I was still dabbing at my eyes as I put my bags on the conveyor belt and my shoes, sweater, and belt in the tub to go through the x-ray machine, and I was still chewing, chewing, chewing on my lip trying to keep from disintegrating into a full-on bawl. Just then, the X-ray guy stops the conveyor belt, backs it up, and calls, "Bag check on Lane 1!" and a TSA guy comes over and gets my bag and says to me, "Ma'am, is this your bag?" And I. Just. Lost it.

"Yeeeeesssssss!" I wail.

He looks at me, panick-stricken. "It's OK, Ma'am. There's no problem - your number just came up, that's all. We're just going to have a quick look and we'll get you on your way!"

I'm all, "I - I - I kn-n-noooow. I'm s-s-s-orry!!"

He unpacked my bag and put everything in a tub, so he could run it and the bag back through the x-ray machine separately. Meanwhile, I'm standing there, bawling my head off in great big, heaving sobs. There is another lady, about 10 to 15 years older than me, on the other end of the table where the TSA guy had unpacked everything, and she is going through the same ordeal. "It's OK," she says to me. "This happens to me all the time. It's no big deal!"

She is being so nice - I don't know what to say. I know it's not the TSA people's fault, I know it's not my fault, but I hardly want to tell them all the real reason I am bawling in the middle of the Phoenix airport!!

My poor little tissue is as good as useless now, and I try to reach into my bag for another one, but the TSA guy holds up his rubber-gloved hand to stop me and says, "Uh, Ma'am, please don't try to reach into your bags until I'm finished with my search."

I'm still blubbering, and I apologize again. "I - I - I'm s-s-s-sorry-y-y-y!!!!" I wail.

By this time, there is the one TSA guy helping the nice lady on the other end of the table, the one TSA guy on the x-ray machine, the one TSA guy helping me on my end of the table, and then about six TSA people standing around my guy with their arms folded, watching me. I can tell they think I am a certifiable lunatic.

My TSA guy gets everything done, and brings it all back over from the x-ray machine, of course giving me the all-clear. "Would you like to put your bag back together, Ma'am, or would you like me to do it?" he asks, oh-so-politely. And I'm hiccupping now, I've been crying so hard this whole time, but I said I'd do it...so I put my bag back together, face red and blotchy, nose running, mascara completely gone....stomach aching....it was awful.

Crying in the airport = embarrassing. Crying so hard when the TSA guy pulls your bag that they apparently think you're going to go off the deep end on them so they call in reinforcements = embarrassing x2!!

But then, just as I was boarding the airplane, I got a text from Kirk. "You are my world. I absolutely love you. Let the next countdown begin!" And he sent me a picture of his hand that just said, "Mine misses yours already." So how stinkin' sweet is that? How stinkin' sweet is he?

And by the time I landed in SLC, I had a message waiting for me from him that said, “This says it all...I love you!!! ‘Missing someone gets easier every day because even though it’s one day further from the last time you saw each other, it’s one day closer to the next time you will.’” Honestly, could he be any better?

Suffice it to say that it was a grrrrrrrreat trip. He is every bit as wonderful as I remembered. We are as absolutely right together as I thought.

So, I guess I probably either need to figure out how to move my ass to Phoenix, or get his moved up here. And I need to figure out how to get my girls to be OK with having him in their lives. He's gonna be in their lives one way or another, but I'd rather them like him and be OK with it, than not. But it's the weirdest thing - I just feel so strongly somehow that Kirk and I were meant to be together, and that things will ultimately work out, that I just have a certain sense of...oh, I don't know, peace and "rightness," almost...that everything will fall into place when and where it is meant to do so. I just have to try to make myself be patient and wait for it to unfold, instead of push to make it happen on my own timeframe, as I am wont to do. Damn this Type A personality tendency of mine - it can be very difficult to manage, at times!!

But that's all down the road a piece. For now, it really was the Best. Trip. Ever.

As always, comments, advice, etc., welcome and appreciated... :)

Best. Trip. Ever. Part Three. Or, My Favorite Day.

2009-10-11T16:31:00.000-07:00

Monday was my favorite day.

Once again we took our time waking up that morning, and then when we finally decided to get up and get going, I had what was perhaps the best shower of my entire life. Man, Kirk can kiss like none other!! ‘Nuff said. Other than I am one verrrrry lucky girl. :)

Anyway, he was giving me a hard time about taking so long to get ready, and the more he teased me, the more time I took. I’m contrary like that, sometimes (!). Besides, girls always take longer. If my hair was a fraction of an inch long and I didn’t have to put make-up or anything on, it wouldn’t take me so long to get ready, either!

We couldn't decide if we wanted to go for a late breakfast or an early lunch. Kirk kept saying I had to decide, and I kept saying it was his town and he should choose, and I would choose when something was really important to me one way or another. He eventually settled it by writing a “B” (for breakfast) on one hand, and “L” (for lunch) on the other, and telling me to choose right or left. I chose left, which ended up being breakfast.

We left the house and started out for the breakfast place. I couldn’t tell where we were going – in Utah, you always have the mountains to kind of orient yourself with, but in Phoenix, it all seems very flat and relatively the same, no matter which direction you look. Long story short, it ended up not mattering because we couldn't find the breakfast place and when Kirk finally broke down and called first his brother, then his sister, and finally his mom for directions (apparently this happens a lot, which I think is hilarious – I couldn’t help but giggle, and his mom thought it was pretty amusing, too! Good thing Kirk is a good sport about it...), it ended up being closed that day, anyway. So we went for the early lunch, instead. It was this really cool salad place where you get to watch them make it pretty much to your specifications. Kirk had the standard Caesar and I had a Cobb with some yummy pork tenderloin. They were both huge, and absolutely dee-lish!

Then we went to a really upscale mall, which was really interesting to see and experience but was almost overwhelming for what I am used to. I definitely felt like the proverbial country mouse. It was about four times the size of the Layton Hills Mall, easy, and had Nieman Marcus, and Nordstrom, and Dillard’s, and Macy's in it, plus a Barney’s “coming soon,” a Cartier's, and a Tiffany's and maybe even another jewelry store where entry is by invitation only (i.e., you have to buzz to be let in - you can't just wander in and out at will....). And that doesn't even begin to cover all the little boutique shops and your mall standards like Aeropostale and Abercrombie & Fitch and Victoria's Secret, Sephora, etc. We window-shopped and played with the puppies in the pet store and sampled hand lotions and basically acted pretty much the way my younger brother has repeatedly accused me of: like a 40-year-old going on 16. Sigh….

After that, we went to Old Town Scottsdale, which was a lot of fun, as well. We went to this ice cream parlor called "The Sugar Bowl" (here’s a link: http://sugarbowlscottsdale.com/). It has been there since 1958, and is still owned and operated by the same people who opened it up way back then. And, it looks like it hasn't changed a bit in the 51 years since. It looks like a 50’s poodle skirt - all pink and white. Pink vinyl upholstery on the booths, pink Formica with gold flecks in it on all the table tops, black and white checkered floor, pink and white stained glass light fixtures, etc. Bil Keane, the guy who draws The Family Circus comic, apparently lives near the area and is a frequent patron. His comic panels are featured decor, and are included as part of the menu, etc.

The menu itself is kind of hard to figure out, like what columns are flavors of sauces, and which ones are ice creams, and how many of these make one of those and what of this goes with that, and so on. And some of their standard menu items are weird...like, there would be vanilla and orange ice creams with strawberry sauce and you'd think, "Oh, that sounds good..." and then you'd read, "...with Turkish coffee sauce," so you'd be going, "Oh, wait...no, not the Turkish coffee...." So we had a really hard time deciding what we wanted. The waitress must have come by to take our order four or five times.

Finally, we decided to get the Spectacular Banana Bowl, which is basically an "everything on it” banana split, and a small caramel sundae, because that was the one thing the banana split thing was missing, and we'd just share 'em both. So when the waitress finally came back, and took our order, she says, "It took you all that time, just to decide on that?" Then, as she was walking off, Kirk goes under his breath, "Well, there goes your 15%!!!" That made me laugh!

We sat across the aisle from this old couple who were probably in their 80's. The old guy was just bitchin' up a storm. I couldn't understand a word he was saying because it seemed like his dentures were loose or maybe he had hearing loss or some other speech impediment or something, but I could tell he was just bitch, bitch, bitch. The little old lady sitting across from him didn't even bat an eye or even, from what I could tell, acknowledge or respond. Kirk commented a couple of times that he loved people watching, and that old people were great - he could watch/listen to them all day, and he wondered what Grandpa was bitching about, etc. When the waitress finally brought the old guy his sundae, he just tucked into it and didn't even make a peep after that. It was funny! Kirk was all, "Well, there's the secret to keeping him quiet, right there! Bring the man his ice cream!!" I can relate. Ice cream keeps me quiet, too.

Some other couples came in after that and sat near us, and had difficulty ordering, too, so it wasn't just us. We talked about redesigning The Sugar Bowl’s menu for them, and we watched the same waitress - whose nametag said she had worked there since 1964 or something like that - be bitchy to them, too. So Kirk says to me, "I want to order something that's not on the menu and totally mess her up - just blow her out of the water. I'll say, ‘Yeah, I'd like a mayonnaise malt, please!’" And I just lost it - totally got the giggles!!

So then both he and I were just laughing to the point where all we had to do was look at each other and we’d start laughing again!! These two teenage skater chicks had been seated in the booth directly across from ours – and who you'd think we, being the adults, would normally be looking down upon - instead looked down upon us and said, "Hmph!! Apparently, something over there is *awfully* funny!!" And that, of course, made us laugh even harder!

Afterwards, I made Kirk go into a Christmas ornament shop with me, and he said, "See? This is how you know its true love, right here: I am voluntarily going into this store with you!" When we went in, there was some awful glockenspiel muzak playing, and there were these two little old ladies in there with more money than sense. Everywhere you look, there are signs that say, "Please do not touch," and "Please ask for assistance," and these two women (they had a slight accent - I couldn't tell if it was slightly German or what....) were running the sole salesclerk ragged. One would lean over and grab something and the clerk would run over and try to help her, and the other one would start talking from the other side of the store about something else, so the clerk would leave the first one and run over that way. Then the first one would start messing with something, and knock something over...more than once, we'd hear a “crash!” or “thud!” and then one of the old lady's voices would say something like, "Sweet Jesus!!" Then we'd see the sales clerk roll her eyes....and Kirk and I would giggle over that, too!

We went and did a little more souvenir hunting in Old Town, and then we went and met his family (mom, brother and sister-in-law and kids and sister and kids) for pizza. It was some of the best pizza I've ever had. We had wings and some chips and salsa for appetizers - the salsa had shrimp in it, and I know it has a special name, but I can't think of it - and it was scrumptious, too. The pizzas are small - maybe 13"-14" is all, about enough for two people to share, so his sister-in-law and I shared one that had sun-dried tomatoes, fresh basil, fresh sweet corn, and goat cheese on it. OMG, it was good!!!

And Kirk’s family – I know I already said this, but they really are, to a person, the most down-to-earth, sincere, warm, genuine, and gracious people I have ever met. I didn’t once feel awkward or out of place or uncomfortable, one bit. From my perspective, at least, it felt totally effortless to be around them. And there aren't very many people I can say that about - hell, some of my friends take effort, y'know?

His brother is as funny as he is, his sister-in-law is pretty and warm and friendly and out-going, and their kids are cute and well-mannered and charming. His sister is attractive and polished and generous, and her kids are well-behaved, precious and affectionate and cute as can be, too. I was especially struck by how well-mannered and yet, out-going, *all* of the kids were – the oldest nephew is only 8 or 9, I think, and then there is another nephew who is around 5 or so, and two little nieces who will be turning 4 in a couple of months, a boy and a girl each for his sister and his brother. Compared to all the little monkeys I am accustomed to associating with, no one was swinging from the chandeliers, no one flung themselves on the floor to bawl, no one attempted to run away, there were no fights….it was actually really nice.

And his sister’s little girl was just precious. She must have asked her mom a dozen times through the course of the evening, what my name was. When it was finally time to go, she whispered to her mom that she wanted to give me both a goodbye hug AND a kiss, but she was too embarrassed! So I leaned down and gave her a hug, and told her that that was very nice and I would be happy to give her a hug anytime. So stinkin’ cute!!

After that, we went to see his sister's house. Her hubby is Phil Mickelsen's caddy, so they are comfortably well-off, and live in a gated community where all visitors have to sign in, etc. Their home has a pool and a hot tub and a guest house, etc., and everything in their home is, of course, very nice, with the 15' ceilings and 10' doors, the Viking refrigerator and range and the granite-topped island in the kitchen, and the hand-scraped hardwood plank floors, etc. Absolutely gorgeous! And oddly enough, decorated very much the way I might do it, if I lived there....

She very graciously invited us to stay in the guest house that night. I was a little torn – part of me wanted to go back to Kirk’s and just hang out in his space for some purely emotional need, but the desire for creature comforts ultimately prevailed and we decided to take her up on her offer. We had to run back to Kirk’s, anyway, to get his stuff for work the next day, and while we were there, he opened the birthday present I brought him. It was just a picture of us together, taken the night we met at the barbecue, but I think he liked it OK. I have one just like it. Once my kids actually get to meet him (which I hope will be soon), I will put mine up in my room, too....

Anyway, long story short, I did not sleep in the same bed twice the entire time I was in Phoenix.

Tales of my last day in Phoenix, coming soon.... I promise – you will laugh and cry. But maybe not in that order. 

Best. Weekend. Ever. Part Two. Or, It's Not The What, It's The Who.

2009-10-09T12:25:00.000-07:00

Continuing from where I left off on my last post....

Sunday morning, we woke up early but just laid around in bed for a couple of hours. Now, before you start giggling, Beavis, remember, it’s not so much the what, it’s the who. And I am NOT talking about the band!! It was just so nice to just lay there and talk, or laugh, or snuggle and cuddle, or some combination thereof. As much as I like “the deed,” I like that, more. Because really, when you look back at your life, there are a few big milestone moments, but when you put those together, they comprise only a fraction of the time you’ve spent here on earth. The vast majority of your lifetime is made up of the little things, those small, everyday moments that, strung together, are the hours and days and years and decades of life. If you don’t enjoy those little moments when they happen, you’re not enjoying your life when it happens, either.

Enough preaching!

So, even though we were up early, we got going kind of late and were supposed to be at this sports bar that Kirk hangs out at to watch the Denver/Dallas football game before too long. Kirk’s best friend, Shawn, came over first, so I met him – he is a super nice guy. We had just time enough to enjoy a red beer (I’d never had one made with spicy V-8 before – yummy!) and watch a little TV, then we headed for the bar.

I’ve traveled before so of course I know this, but it never ceases to amaze me when I go into a bar in a state where they treat you like grown-ups. Not all bars are dives! This one, in fact, was really nice. It actually looked more like a restaurant than the average bar in the Beehive State does. It was decorated in very muted, neutral tones of caramel, pumpkin, and gray, and was very clean, as well. There were a multitude of flat-panel TV’s hung everywhere, with a large bow-front pass-through into a stainless steel kitchen in the rear left corner. Other than the giant horseshoe-shaped bar in the middle of the place, it could’ve been any mid-to-upper range restaurant. The whole place felt very...classy.

We arranged to watch the game in one of the bar’s private rooms. There was a leather love seat that Kirk and I claimed (natch!), and four or so matching leather club chairs, plus a 6-top table and chairs and some other smaller cocktail tables. His brother and sister-in-law soon arrived, and though I had already met Eric (Kirk's brother) when they were here in Utah, I’d never met his brother’s wife, Cari, before. I was a little bit nervous, but they are both as down-to-earth and genuine as Kirk – truly fun people.

Kirk likes Denver and his brother likes Dallas, so they were giving each other a hard time the whole afternoon. And whenever either team would do anything good, they would clap so long and loud and hard, their hands would be bright red and my ears would ring!! We ate there - it was really good food; not your typical "bar" food at all. On Kirk’s advice, I ordered the chipolte chicken pasta. It was a little spicy, but really good - like pasta alfredo except with mostacolli, and the addition of tomatoes (which – hang on to something – I am beginning to develop a slight taste for!), and the creamy alfredo-like sauce had that smoky/spicy chipolte flavor. It was dee-lish.

A little while later, Kirk and Eric’s mom showed up. She was the one I was most nervous about meeting. I really wanted her to like me – you know how boys are about their mothers, and how moms can be about their sons’ choices for female companionship. Plus, my former monster-in-law...er, mother-in-law was never very warm or companionable or affectionate at all. So I was more than a little scared.

I shouldn’t have been. Mom is awesome – a nicer lady, you could not ask for. She is gorgeous; an accomplished realtor, but warm and sincere and easy to talk to and just fun. As totally opposite from my former mother-in-law as night is from day. I guess that must be where Kirk gets some (if not most, or maybe even all) of his charm!

So, for most of the rest of the game, Kirk’s sister-in-law and his mom and I just sat and only half-paid attention to the game, and talked the rest of the time. Eric and Cari and Mom all left right after the game got over – Denver won, by the way, which made Kirk really happy. And that, of course, made me really happy. That's love - when you are just as happy when something happens to make the person you love happy, as you would be if that happy event had actually happened to you, instead.

After the game, we hung out in the main part of the bar for a little while longer and I met a bunch of his friends, and they kept buying him/us drinks - partly because "his" team won, and partly 'cause "his girl" was finally there, and so they were all just happy for him. Kinda hard to tell which event made them happier, but I’m just going with a 50/50 split 'cause I probably don't really want to know – HA!

A couple of Kirk’s friends had invited us to stay at their place for the night because they were going to be out of town for the weekend, taking their little boy to Disneyland for his birthday. It would give us a chance to be away from everybody/everything – including the elusive roommate that allegedly exists but whom I never actually met (however, I did see some evidence of his passage so I’m assuming he’s just shy...). It was really nice of them to offer, not only because their house was really nice (they had a gorgeous master bath – all chocolate browns and baby blues and antiqued silver and coppers and creams), but also because it is definitely more comfortable to not have to worry about disturbing anyone or who might be lurking in the halls if you have to make a midnight potty run or something. So we took them up on their offer and ended up going to their place for the night afterwards, instead of back to Kirk's.

And all I’m saying about that, was that it was another w-a-y fun evening. And, you are never too old to learn new things, as I learned a few new things, myself. I believe I may have taught Kirk a few, too. Tee hee!

But the important part, the best part, is just being together. ‘Cause it’s not the what, it’s the who.

More to come...

Best. Weekend. Ever. Part One.

2009-10-08T14:46:00.000-07:00

I just got back from Phoenix the day before yesterday after a perfectly lovely three-day weekend. I have ZERO complaints, but way too much went on to consolidate it all into a single post. So, I’ll put as much as I can into this one, and pick up wherever I leave off in the next post, and so on….

First, how I ended up in Phoenix in the first place: After a couple of weeks of talking on the phone for two or three hours every night, and missing and loving Kirk so much I thought my heart would burst with it, he and I were trying to figure out when would be a good time for either him to come see me, or me to go see him. I really wanted him to come here. I don’t know why, exactly – it just seemed... easier, or safer, or something, to have him come to me, and, I don’t know...unseemly, somehow, for me to go to him. Like I was (gasp!) chasing him or something. I am a thoroughly modern woman in many, if not most, respects, but I guess there are some parts of me where I am still just an old-fashioned girl!

Anyway, his birthday was coming up (it’s today, as a matter of fact – Happy 41, KirkO!) so early last week, I asked him what he wanted for his birthday. His answer? “To spend some time with you.” What girl doesn’t melt over an answer like that?

But I was being practical, so I said, “Well, I don’t know if I can swing that. What’s your second choice?”

He gave me some smartass answer about joining the priesthood, then, and I said I couldn’t do anything about that one, either, so he’d better give me some other suggestions. His answer again: “I only have one thing on my list, and that is to somehow, someway, hang out with you.”

So, just out of curiosity, I looked at some airfares. I had been looking, off and on, for several days, but hadn’t spotted any real deals until suddenly, one jumped out at me that was almost half the price of what regular airfare seemed to be running. It seemed like a sign, like it was pre-destined, like so much of this thing with Kirk has been. So I made a quick phone call to my mom to make sure she’d be OK watching my kids for a few days, then hurried to book the flight before the rate changed. Then I texted Kirk.

“Can you pick me up at the Phoenix airport on Saturday, 10/3, from Delta Flight 1235, at 9:07 PM?”

His response? “ABSOF*CKINGLUTELY!!!!”

And he was so cute about it! Genuinely like a kid waiting for Christmas! I would get countdown texts: “76 hours and 23 minutes!” “59 hours and 12 minutes!” “12 hours 10 minutes!” And lists of things he was doing to get ready: “Dinner. Check. Laundry. Check. Dogs fed. Check. Head over heels, crazy, out of my mind in love. CHECK.” And on the Friday before I left, "So, what are you doing tomorrow night? Wanna make out?" And on Saturday morning, "Can't wait to see you tonight!" And truthfully, I couldn’t wait, either.

But, I was getting more and more nervous, too. A little bitty part of me - I'd say about 2% - was kind of afraid that there was a chance it had all been a fluke - that as cool as it was just hanging out with Kirk while he was here, and as comfortable as I felt with him, and as much I was digging him on the phone, etc., the possibility existed that in reality, it would turn out that it was all just a honeymoon phase or a fantasy or something. I mean, you can't really just "click" like that in reality and have it all be so perfect, so 100% right, so quickly, can you? Certainly not 24/7, day after day....

Finally Saturday rolled around – but I couldn’t leave early because The Family (the huge extended one) had already scheduled a major family portrait event with all 50-some-odd members participating. I would be leaving straight from the pictures to go to the airport, and my nerves were not helped by my brothers saying things like, "Geez, can't you get a booty call a little closer to home?" (Silly boys, they don’t understand! This was no ordinary booty call!!) and my little beasties, or rather one in particular, being her usual-of-late beastie little self. As I was leaving, I kissed each girl and told them the same thing: "Good-bye. I love you. And remember, no matter what - I'll *always* come back to you." The eldest said, "Bye, Mom. Love you. K." The Lesser Evil said, "OK, Mom. Love you, too. I know - thanks for telling me, though." And my beautiful, black-hearted Greater Evil, bless her rotten little soul, just looked at me and said, "Why would you say that?" Grrrrrrrr.......

Anyway, Kirk had asked me to look for a certain type of sunflower seed that I was unable to find on the way to the airport, so I put out a request to all the shoppers in the family to keep their eyes out for both the cracked pepper and bacon flavored varieties; and then I was off – but still as nervous as ever! Because now, not only was I worrying about the “what if it’s a fluke” thing, but I was also worrying about all the practical matters of morning breath and bed head, stretch marks and C-section scars, and all that other stuff, too. Those of you who know me well, know that I am actually fairly well accomplished at working myself up into a regular lather – I am just generally equally accomplished at hiding it well, is all!

So I was stressing in the airport and on the plane, too, even though there were no lines, my flight was on time, and everything was just as smooth as butter. And so of course I stressed upon landing and in the airport in Phoenix, too – even though it seems to be a pretty easy place in which to find your way around. I texted Kirk when I got there, and he told me what exit to use so he could pick me up. My flight got in a little early, and I didn't check any bags, so he ended up being about 5 minutes late picking me up. He said he would be in a silver Corolla - well, I have no idea what a Corolla looks like!! So he says, "Do you know what a Maxima looks like?" and I'm like, "No...." and he goes through a whole list of cars, and I just keep saying, "Nope." "No, sorry..." "Nope!" And so then he finally just says, "Just walk outside. I'll find you!"

So I walk outside, and Kirk finds me outside the airport with no problem (but not before I was semi-accosted by a panhandling drunk looking for money to visit his grandmother in the hospital in Florida, or something like that...welcome to Phoenix!! Ha!). Anyway, my nerves at this point feel like they are frayed to the breaking point under the tension I have built up for myself. I know I have no one to blame for this self-induced tension but me, but it doesn’t seem to keep me from doing it, ever!

I watch as he pulls over, parks, and gets out. He just walks over, gives me a great big hug and kiss and says, "Hi, baby!" Just like that, something magical happens. All my nervousness melts away. It was just like before – an immediate click, like a puzzle piece snapping into place, with no awkwardness, no uncomfortable silence - just like all of a sudden, my world righted itself and was back spinning on its axis, smooth and steady once again. Funny how just his touch and two little words made everything OK….

Anyway, he grabs my bags and throws them in the back of his car and opens the door for me. Sitting on the passenger seat is a little package with a card with my name on it. "What's this?" I ask. He says, "Oh, I don't know - someone must've left something in my car for you. You’d better open it!"

I open the card, and on the front is the cutest black and white picture of a little boy of about three or four, holding the face of a little girl of about the same age, while he kisses her. Inside, it says, "I needed ya. I got ya. I'm keeping ya. Love ya." Then Kirk wrote the following: "I got chills when I saw this card. It totally reminded me of the 1st time I kissed you. I can't express in words how in LOVE I am with you but I absolutely love every second of it. You are the best thing to ever happen to me and I'm thankful every day. I love you!!!" and then he signed it. And the little gift was a bottle of DKNY Be Delicious - I had told him, when he was up here before, that I thought he smelled good, so he bought me the women's version of the same kind of cologne he was wearing at the time. How thoughtful is that? But I think I almost like the card better than the gift itself...it's the little things, y'know.

And, to make it even better (as if it could be any better!), as soon as I got in the car, Dean Martin's "Ain't That A Kick In The Head" began to play. In one of those weird coincidences, we both love Dean Martin, and that song is one of our favorites! Of course, Kirk had it on a CD and set it up that way, but still - very thoughtful and very romantic. I swear I thought guys like him only existed in trashy romance novels and Sandra Bullock or Renee Zellweger movies. As one of my best guy pals put it, Kirk is a genuine, certified, Knight - fer sure.

Anyway, Kirk said something about only living 15 minutes away from the airport, is all, and that he could always drive straight to the airport, but that it was really confusing to get back out of it - so if it took him longer than 15-20 minutes to get home, I'd know he was lost. Long story short, it took us about 40-45 minutes to get back to his place - LOL! We just giggled...which is one of the reasons I love him so. I always laugh when I am with him, or when I talk to him. It's great!

So, back at his place, we took a tour of the house he rents and shares with a friend (never did see the friend - he works nights, I guess ), then had a beer and watched TV, then went to bed. All I will say about *that* part of the evening is this: it is definitely, definitely true that who you are with is w-a-y more important than what you are doing.

Because for the most part, I didn't do anything I haven't done many times before in my life, but it was all so indescribably....better.

Plus, it's an awful lot of fun to wake up in the middle of the night and actually want to snuggle and/or fool around, instead of think, "Geez! I hope I didn't wake him up, too, because dammit, if he wakes up and wants to ****, I'm gonna be really pissed!!" I think you can probably guess which of these I spent the better part of the last 20 years doing – and this way is w-a-y better, fer sure!!

But you know what? Even if we hadn't done anything sexual at all, just to be able to lay there next to Kirk, with his arm around me, was pure heaven....

That’s a good place to stop, for now. More on my fab weekend in my next post....

Another Nausea-Inducing Post...

2009-09-24T12:55:00.000-07:00

It don’t get any better than this.

Sorry – I am still being the annoying friend who makes you want to throw up in your mouth a little. Perhaps when I tell you why, you will understand and forgive me a little bit – and in the meantime, grab your saltines and gingerale, because I think this makes a pretty cute story:

First, the back story: I’ve been dating. I haven’t really blogged about it much, if at all, because really – not many of the dates were worth my time to write about or your time to read about. There was the guy who still lived with his mother, did multi-level marketing, and said “Me likey [this]” or “Me no likey [that]” about everything. There was the guy with gray teeth who called his shiny, jacked-up 2010 Ford truck his “piece” and actually thinks Iggy's has good food. And the guy who apparently did not realize that napkins are generally placed on a table with the intent that they be *used,* and are not merely placed there strictly for decor.

But there were a few I liked: The guy who owned his own business, supplying bathroom fixtures to hotels and condominiums. The systems engineer for a defense contractor. The EMT. The artist.

For a time, I was actually pretty smitten with the business owner. Remember the butterflies post? I had butterflies with him. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was clue that things were unbalanced - and thus, not right - with him...and it turned out to be the case as he promised (via text and e-mail) to call for four days straight, then went out of town on a business trip *without* keeping said promises, then promptly dropped off the face of the earth after that. Haven’t heard from him since. Don’t miss him.

And it was somewhere around this time that I first read the butterflies article (see previous post), and I realized that what I was feeling for the business owner, wasn’t what I was supposed to be feeling when I found “The One,” anyway. I didn’t want to acknowledge that at the time, necessarily, but it was such a revolutionary thought – that idea that butterflies aren’t all they’re cracked up to be – that it hung with me, still, and I continue to keep coming back to that idea.

I was also supposed to go out with the artist a week or so before Kirk came to town. The artist texted me a couple of hours before we were to actually meet for the first time, and he told me he was sick and throwing up, and he’d explain later. Turns out he'd had a massive hernia rupture, and had to have emergency surgery, and he ended up being in the hospital for the next week! It seems things happen for a reason, though – I never did actually meet up with him.

Because I met Kirk.

And let me tell you: he absolutely *is* worth writing about.

He's awesome.

We have talked on the phone almost every night this week for at least two hours, each time, and we text back and forth several times each day. One of the things I love the most is that, every time we talk, I laugh. And not just polite little chuckles or whatever - but great, big, belly laughs. And, he just...gets me. We have soooo much in common, it's spooky. And being such a “word girl” at heart, I love that he is not shy at all about giving me words - telling me things to make me laugh, things he thinks I’ll think are interesting, the things he likes about me: he thinks it's cool that I'm smart, he's amazed at how I can write, he likes my values, etc. And he does it in ways that seem honest and real and sincere, and not smarmy and calculated or whatever. And I know that he is smart enough that if he were just out for a piece, he would have picked one geographically closer to him - HA!

I may have been smitten with the business owner. But the difference between that, and what I feel now, truly is what the piece about the butterflies described. I had butterflies before. I don't have butterflies with Kirk. Don't get me wrong - I get all tingly in various places when Kirk kisses me and stuff, for sure! - but when I think of being with him, of talking to him, of depending on him, of having a future with him, etc. - it all feels very....solid. Calm. Certain. Right. And I have *never* felt that with anyone - anyone! - before. Not even the ex.

Speaking of which – I was talking to a friend today and told her, essentially, what I just wrote, above. And she asked me, “Don’t you just want to call [the ex] and rub his nose in it that you found someone that makes you feel that way when he never could or would?” And I thought about it for only a half a minute, before I said, “There’s a part of me that would like to tell [the ex] that I finally met someone who actually makes me feel like he never did, except that (and this sounds *cray-zee*) I care for Kirk too much to use him just to take a dig at [the ex]. I could honestly not care less what [the ex] thinks or knows. It's enough for me that Kirk is in my life, period.”

Now, I know some of you are going to say, “Wait!! It has only been 13 days!” or whatever, but I honestly feel like it could be 13 months or 13 years, and it wouldn't matter. I have tried to put on the brakes and be "logical" and talk myself out of it, etc., etc., and tell myself it's just the honeymoon phase or I'm just infatuated or whatever, but there is a little voice in my head that is saying, "Girl, you know yourself better than that. That's not what this is, and you know it." And it is a very calm voice, too. Like, "Tell yourself that if you want to, if it makes you feel better, but at the end of the day, you know that this is it. That this was meant to be." Which is also strange - because the little voice inside my head is usually going all, "No! No! He wears a pinky ring!!" or, "Are you kidding me? He spends more time on his hair in the morning than you do!" or, "You only think you like him - eventually that thing on his nose is going to start bugging you," and I have to tell myself, "Oh, just give it a chance! You can learn to live with a pinky ring!" or whatever.

And that brings me to the latest: yesterday, the defense contractor systems engineer asked me out for this Saturday. I have just totally lost interest in all other guys – even the ones I used to kinda like and think "Mmmm, maybe there's a possibility here...it's worth another date to see....," so I didn't really want to go. But on the other hand, it would be stupid of me to just sit around and pine for Kirk all the time if Kirk intended to go out with other women (I can see how you can be emotionally involved with someone long-distance, but could still want someone close at hand to be an occasional date or a buddy or companionship, whatever....).

So anyway, I said to Kirk, "I have kind of an awkward question to ask, and I'm not sure how to word it. I like things to be spelled out, defined, put in their boxes, so to speak. I've been asked out by someone I've dated a few times before, and I don't know what to say. I don't really want to go out with him – because of you. But if you're going to date other people, it would be foolish of me to say no and just sit home while you're dating - so what are your thoughts on us, on what we are to each other and the status of whatever we have between us?"

He basically said it was up to me - I could/should do what I wanted to do. And I said I knew that, but I really wanted his input, too, since I cared about how he felt about it. He said, "Well, you know, if you want to go on buddy dates or whatever, by all means, go ahead! I'd be OK with that."

"No, he likes me likes me - this wouldn't be a buddy date, at all!" I said. There was kind of a pause. “What would you do, if it were you?”

Finally, Kirk said, "Well, would *I* date? Am I going to date? No. I wouldn't. I couldn't feel about someone the way I feel about you, and go out with someone else. I've never cheated on anyone in my life and I'm not about to start now. So no, I'd have a hard time with that. But if you want to date or go out with other guys or whatever, I can respect your decision - but it doesn't mean *I'm* going to date."

So I said, "That's all I needed to know. I'll tell him 'no,' then."

He was so cute. "Whew!!” Kirk said. “That's a relief! When you first started this line of questioning, I thought you were just going to tell me, 'Hey, I'm going out with this guy and I hope you're OK with it,' and I just got this big knot in my stomach!"

But wait – he gets cuter, as if that were possible:

After he said that, I told him I cared about him too much to just go out and do that to him without talking to him about it first, which is why I wanted to have this conversation, awkward as it was, in the first place. And he said, "I've been thinking this for days, and I wasn't going to say it yet, but to hell with it - I'm just going to come out and say it: I love you. I love everything about you. Talking to you is the best part of my day, and every little thing I learn about you is just something more to love." A girl just couldn’t ask for a better first declaration, I swear.

I keep saying this, and I can't think of any better way to describe it: it just feels so "right." Very centered. Very secure, stable, solid, and real, in a very calm, knowing, sure kind of way. And I *truly* have never felt this way ever before.

So of course I told him I loved him back - because IT'S TRUE! - and then he told me this: when he got off the plane in Phoenix after getting back from Utah, his mom picked him and his brother up from the airport. They were getting in the car, and his mom asked, "How was your trip?" His brother said, "Really good!" and Kirk said, "I think I found the girl I'm supposed to marry." His mom said, "What?!?!" And he said, "In 40 plus years have I said that before?" and she just said, "Nope!" and smiled....and then Kirk says to me, "Oh, God!! I can't believe I just told you that!! How sappy am I?" And we laughed - I said, "Pretty sappy - but I love it!"

And I do. And I love him, too. And I know, I know, you want to go throw up now. Sorry.

Sorry, I Can't Help It!! and The Butterfly Effect

2009-09-19T12:28:00.000-07:00

Everyone has had those friends who, on occasion, are so disgustingly, sweetly, swoony and smitten that they just make you want to vomit, right? Well, I am apologizing in advance because, right now, I am that friend. I even make myself want to throw up a little.

See, I was crushing on Kirk pretty bad (see last post), I admit. But then, something happened that made it kinda go from a crush to...I don't know. A seriously major crush? A super-bad case of extreme like? I don't want to throw that other L-word around too lightly so I'm not going there yet, but...I'll just quit trying to explain it and tell you how I got there, instead:

Last week, the neighbors that live in my old house while The Ex and Mrs. Ex ("Cupcake") are in Iraq invited me to a "pants party" (it's like a Tupperware or jewelry or anything else party, only for clothes...) being held in, of course, my old house. I have been over there a couple of times before, and it hasn't really bothered me too much. But last night was the first time I've been in there in three months or so. Technically, I still own half of it - on paper, at least, and will until The Ex pays my equity out, which he is supposed to do by 12/31/09. And of course, all the furniture, etc., I had to give him as part of the divorce was in there, same but - different, and they'd painted and stuff before they left, etc. And not only had they just re-painted, which was to be expected, really, but some projects that I had wanted to do and was always told it was too much money or whatever, were, *of course,* now done. Which, I have to admit, kind of torqued me.

So, it was just one of those times where the whole craptasticness of divorce just snuck up on me - not so much missing him or my life then, because truly, I feel so much better/happier now I can't believe I lived for so long being only half as alive as I feel now. But more because I'd poured so much of myself into what had been my “dream house,” and now it wasn't mine anymore, and being confronted with the dishonesty and disrespect from someone you spent 20 years of your life with, all over again, etc.. So anyway, I came home feeling really wimpy and booby.

So I sent Kirk a text, and I just said, "Are you busy?" And he texts me back a few minutes later and says, "No, waht's up?" and I reply, "Can I vent/boob to you for a few minutes?" And he says back, "Sure." I am thinking as I am texting him this big, long, three-part text of the story I basically just wrote, above, about the house, that this will be a real test, of sorts - I am either going to totally scare him away, or overwhelm him, or he is going to think I am loony, *OR* he is going to be so sweet about it, I am going to fall head over heels....in any event, no matter how he reacts, it is going to tell me *alot* about him. So I am sitting there, texting the last of my big story, and the tears are just leaking out of my eyes because it just really shook me up (I absolutely HATE how those things sneak up on you – you go months and months and months thinking you are doing soooo good and then BAM!!).

Anyway, not 3 seconds later, my phone rings, and it's Kirk. I immediately start seriously crying because I was surprised and happy he called, and sad still because of the stupid house thing, and he just says, "I knew from the end of the second part of your text that this story wasn't going to be one of those with a happy ending, and that it deserved a phone call and not just a text back. I'm so sorry you have had to go through all this....what an asshole-ish thing for him to do. Granted, that’s not a real word and I just made that one up, but I can't think of a better one to describe him or what he’s done, and I just had to call you and try to get a laugh or a giggle out of you..." etc., etc. Anyway, he managed to not only say *all* the right things, but we ended up talking on the phone for three hours!! And then, when we *finally* hung up, he sent me a text that said, "I could talk to you for days. I hope this helped a little bit. You've sure made my last few days a lot brighter. Goodnight!" How stinkin' sweet is that?

Then, the next day, he sent me a picture of a piece of paper on which he wrote, “KO likes JL (a lot!) :)” How cute is that?

I recently read an article that talked about how many people think that the way they'll "know" when they've met their soul mate or whatever is that they'll get those butterflies in the stomach, and that you even have to have butterflies in the stomach when you meet "the one" or it's not "real," or whatever. This particular article talked about one woman, in particular, and how she always thought she should have "butterflies" when she met "the one." However, she just ended up having a string of one disappointing relationship after another.

She eventually decided to stop dating for awhile and was seeing a counselor for a variety of other reasons and in the course of her counseling, she mentioned this "butterfly" effect and how she thought she'd just "know" when she met "the one." Her counselor told her that what she was calling "butterflies" was really that these guys she had been seeing were making her feel uncomfortable/unbalanced, and she was mistaking that sort of "uncertainty" she was feeling in their presence for "butterflies."

So she took a while to digest this idea, and in the meantime struck up a friendship with a guy she met at her local coffee shop. She mentioned a book she needed for a project she was working on at work, and he brought her that book the next day. She mentioned feeling bad about something, and he surprised her with flowers. They never went out on a "date," per se, but one day, after about three months of being together and counting on him and him being there for her, etc., found that she *was* attracted to him and that she felt something even BETTER than butterflies: she felt security.

So I don’t know, exactly, what to call what I feel with Kirk: extreme like, swoony, smitten, or yeah, even security. There is, of course, the obstacle of living in two different states, but I honestly feel when something is right, its right, and you can find a way to make it work, if you’re committed enough. And I think I am. Now you'll have to excuse me - I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. ;)

The BEST Weekend...And Keep Your Fingers Crossed

2009-09-16T10:45:00.000-07:00

I had soooo much fun last weekend! Primarily because I went to a BBQ/party thrown by an old school friend for another old school friend who moved to Arizona right after we graduated from high school, and who had only been back once since.

It didn't start out that great. I had stayed out too late on Friday, so I slept in on Saturday and didn't get nearly as much done as I wanted to, and was kind of behind the power curve all day. So, by the time I got to the grocery store, the liquor store, made the salad to take to the BBQ, got cleaned up, and got over there, I was running late and was more than just a little rattled, y'know? I really wished I would've had someone to go with, but I just had to show up by myself and walk in alone....

But anyway, when I got there, it was like when Norm walked into Cheers and everyone turned and said, "Norm!" I walked in and was immediately swamped. Everyone was like, "Joi Lin!" "I'm so glad you came!" "Hey, buddy!" "Can I have a hug?" "What are you drinkin'?" "Come sit over here in the shade!"

And it was awesome.

I haven't laughed that hard in soooo long - I mean, everyone was just BS'ing and telling stories and teasing each other and stuff, but it was just really cool.

And the best part was, I reconnected with someone from high school who, back in the day, I wouldn't have even thought twice about. I've known him since sixth grade, and never thought of him romantically before, ever - we just ran in different circles. He was always kind of a smart aleck, and I think I was a little bit intimidated by him. But guess what? After 23 years, you grow up some.

Anyway, he is *wicked* funny and really smart (he was actually in all the honors classes, etc., with me up through junior high, then he started partying and went that way, and I continued on the honors track....) and yet, way laid back and chill about politics, religion, etc. He's into music, which I like, and he can SPELL, which - I don't know why, but - I just think is hot, and he just had me in stitches all night. And then later, when I went inside to use the restroom, I came out and he was there, he said, "Can I kiss you?" I thought, "What the hell? Why not?" 'Cause there were some sparks there, and I was wondering.... So I said, "Sure!"

So he did, and it was awesome. Like, perfect from the very first moment. And he's like, the best kisser I can remember having kissed in a really long time. And I kind of think he must look at me and still see the drill team queen or something because he has that kind of adoration...I don't know. I just think it's pretty darn groovy. I am all about smart men who can make me laugh and are willing to adore me, at least on occasion, y'know?

The one down side to all this is that - yup, you guessed it - he was the guest of honor, who now lives in Phoenix. Leave it to me to fall for the one guy it would be most difficult to have any sort of lasting relationship with! But, he asked me if we could hang out together some on Sunday since he had to fly back home to Phoenix on Monday, and I said sure. I ended up going to Boston's to watch some football and have a few beers with him and his brother and a friend of ours from HS.

Now bear with me while I explain this: Phoenix guy is named Kirk, and his brother (who also lives in Phoenix) is Eric, and they grew up living next door to Sean, who is the same age as Kirk and me, and Sean's younger brother, Chad. Chad lives in Layton now, and is married to Lisa, but Sean just got a job here and had to relocate so for the moment, is living with Chad and Lisa. And then, when Kirk and Eric came to town, they stayed with Sean at Chad and Lisa's place.

Eric and our HS friend left Boston's before Kirk and I did. We stayed a little longer and just talked, and then I took Kirk back to Chad and Lisa's. Kirk walked in first and I followed about three steps behind him (I was just making sure the screen door didn't slam shut behind me...).

Chad and Lisa's house is kind of an open-plan layout so that there is a short entry hall, then a dining room straight ahead, with a kitchen on the right and a great room on the left. Kirk walks down the entry hall and emerges into the kitchen, where Lisa is making dinner. Chad, Eric, and Sean are watching TV in the great room - they can see me, still in the entry hall, but Lisa (and the kitchen) are out of sight. So, Lisa sees Kirk, but not me, and says to him (teasing, of course) first thing, "So, did you get laid?"

Of course, Eric, Chad, and Sean bust up laughing 'cause they can see me and know I heard her and know that she doesn't know I heard, and I couldn't help it - I cracked up, too. And Kirk - who is really quick on his feet - says, "Geez, Lisa, I might have had a chance, but I think you just ruined it for me - why don't you ask her?" And then he pulls me forward so Lisa can see me. Ohmigod - I thought she was going to pass out. She was just mortified!! It was heee-larious, though. I couldn't stop laughing.

Anyway, I had a really good time. Kirk and I just really clicked, right from the first. He kind of reminds me of that bad boy on the outside, good man on the inside, kind of thing, if that makes sense. It's just too bad he lives in Phoenix - but when he left he said he was already planning his return trip, because he definitely had a reason to come back. So I am kind of cautiously optimistic about this one...but the living in two different states is a pretty big hurdle. I guess we'll just have to see what, if anything, comes of it.... Keep your fingers crossed. Or say a prayer. Or sacrifice a chicken - whatever you think works best, in these sorts of situations.

I Should've Gotten A Puppy

2009-08-24T15:19:00.000-07:00

No one ever thinks you’re serious when you offer to trade your children to them in exchange for a puppy, at least not when the children in question are teenagers.

And, since the twins turned 13 earlier this month, I am now officially the mother of three of those beastly little soul-sucking demons otherwise known as teens. That’s right – I no longer have any babies. No kids, no children left. All three of mine are now teenagers. And I really do think having a puppy would be easier. Case in point:

I had to stop at the grocery store yesterday to pick up a few things. I remembered a couple of weeks ago that one of the twins had mentioned she was out of "feminine hygiene products," but, being new to the whole regime, she is still a little embarrassed to talk about it. So, when she told me she was out, she told – no, that’s not exactly correct. She ordered me not to tell anyone. However, I couldn’t remember when, exactly, we’d had that conversation. Had I been to the store since then? Was she still out? Did I need to pick some up?

So as we passed by the "feminine products" aisle in the grocery store, and I was reminded me of the earlier conversation, I said to her, "Do you still need...um..." (caught myself just in time!) "...girl stuff?"

"Yes!" she hissed, rolling her eyes wildly from side to side, searching for evesdroppers.

"What kind?" I asked.

"The same kind as last time!" she said with great exasperation. Apparently she was also practicing her ventriloquism technique because her lips barely moved, despite the vehemence of her statement.

The other twin is looking back and forth between us as if she were following a tennis match, totally bewildered. Finally she asked what was going on.

"Oh," I said, "apparently, your sister is too embarrassed by normal human bodily functions to actually use appropriate biological terms, so instead we have to use code words."

"Oooohhhh," that twin said, understanding dawning.

"MOM!!!" the other twin wailed. I am still mystified how she managed to drag that word out into six syllables. "You promised not to tell anyone! You are SO rude!!" And off she stomped through the grocery store.

Well, I threw a package of said "girl stuff" into the cart and chased down Her Royal Highness, my Drama Queen, and proceeded to have a little chat with her about it being a perfectly normal, natural thing that no one even thought twice about, and that everyone there either had one, would have one, or knew someone who had or would have one, and that she was drawing more attention to herself by running away and flouncing off through the aisles of the grocery store while in high dudgeon than if she’d just treat it like it was no big deal.

“Well, you’re just rude,” she said.

Silly me. I then tried to explain how, in 40 years of life experience, I thought I might probably have a better idea about what constituted “rude” than she did in 13 years. Apparently, however, 40 years is just enough time to get really, really, stupid. Just ask her.

So, though I am not proud of it, I was getting so frustrated by her attitude and sass that I finally just said, "Oh, grow up!"

And she said, "Why don't YOU grow up!"

And I said, "I AM grown up!!"

I just wasn't acting *that* grown up, is all....

I think next time I will just go get on the PA system at one of the checkstands, and make the following announcement for everyone to hear:

“Attention, Shoppers!! [insert name here] Allen has officially joined the ranks of womanhood, and can now be found perusing the feminine hygiene products on aisle 23! Please congratulate her as you go by!”

Or, I will leave her at the store, and buy a puppy on the way home, instead.

When Your Stomach Hurts So Bad From Laughing...

2009-07-28T10:11:00.001-07:00

...that you can feel sore muscles the next day, you know it was a Good Time.

The week before last, I had a huge BBQ at my house for all my relatives, to tell them thank you so much for helping with the move last January (it was too cold to BBQ then!). I served hot dogs and hamburgers and macaroni salad and chips and drinks to 40-some-odd people of all shapes and ages - I had wanted to do steaks, but the budget just wouldn't allow it.

Anyway, I had been cracking the whip over the kids for a few days beforehand, trying to get things clean and ready. I even took the Friday before off from work, so that I could be home to supervise (I think lots of TV gets watched and lots of internet gets surfed, but not much actual chores get done, when I am not there....).

A month or so ago, I bought a storage rack that I intend to put down in my storage room, when I finally get it all cleaned out and organized. However, up until the day before the big BBQ, the unassembled storage rack was just hanging out in my laundry room, impeding the doorway. I figured I needed to take it downstairs to it's new home in the basement, and I was mentally groaning at the thought of carrying that awkward, heavy box down the stairs.

Then, inspiration struck.

"Oh, Mychael!" I called in my best, cheery voice.

"What?" She was immediately suspicious - I don't understand why.

"Do you want to ride the box down the basement stairs, like a sled?" I asked her.

With a look of uncertainty on her face, she declined.

"Oh, c'mon!" I pleaded. "It will be fun!"

More sure of herself now, she firmly said no.

"Why?" I asked. I may have even whined it - I don't remember.

"Because!! I'm scared I'll get hurt!" she said.

Bretten, of course, overheard this (there is not a thing that goes on in that house that that kid is not aware of!) and immediately volunteered. "I'll do it! I'll do it!"

Then the doubts (or perhaps sanity?) crept in: "What if I crash?" she asked.

"Well," I said, thinking quickly. "We'll put a bunch of pillows down at the foot of the stairs so you can land in them!"

The twins and I quickly gathered piillows from all the bedrooms, plus the couches and chairs in the family room, and piled them deep at the bottom of the stairs to the basement. Then, we maneuvered the sled/box into position at the top of the stairs. I ran to get my camera, and Mychael and I sat down in the basement hallway just beyond the crash pad. We shouted encouragement.

"Go! Go! C'mon!! Do it!" we yelled.

Bretten would scoot up to the edge, almost to the point of no return. Then she'd chicken out. "Wait, wait, wait. I can't do this. I'm scared!"

And Mychael, no doubt educated by years of serious cartoon-watching, intoned: "Mission status: Abort! Abort!"

And the giggles, which had merely been the occasional snort up until now, erupted full blast.

After going back and forth for a bit, with Mychael and I encouraging Bretten to just go, and Bretten teasing us by coming soooo close but ultimately declining to launch, Bretten finally talked Mychael into going down with her.

"Wait a minute!" Mychael said. "What if we bump heads?"

Having too much fun to give up now, I said, "Well, wear a helmet!"

So the adventure was put on pause while Mychael ran out to the garage to get her bike helmet.

With suitable (that's questionable!) safety gear now, the girls sat on the box at the top of the stairs, while I sat at the bottom, camera at the ready. While Bretten was saying, "OK, on the count of three: ready? One..." Mychael gave a mission status update:

"Mission status: countdown sequence initiated!"

And finally, the event that started out as a joke and which, quite frankly, I thought might never actually happen, happened.

Bretten said three, they pushed off, and down the stairs they came, box and all.

Mychael bailed half-way and hung on the railing before sprawling out on the stairs. The box made it another quarter of the way before running into the wall and coming to rest, while Bretten made a dive for the pillow-filled landing pit.

Mission status? Epic fail!

Of course we were all laughing so hard, we could barely breathe. If I had had a drink, it for sure would've been coming out my nose.

As we were all holding our sides from laughing so hard, Cydanie came to the top of the stairs to see what was going on. "What's all that racket about?" she demanded. We were laughing too hard to tell her, but I think the photos explain it all:

Sorry if they're a little blurry. I was laughing so hard when I took them, that my stomach hurt the next day....

Fourth and Last...For Now!

2009-07-16T12:47:00.000-07:00

Since the ex and Cupcake left a couple of weeks ago for Iraq by way of Texas (I wanted to give him a shirt with a bull’s-eye printed on it as a going away present…AND I hope it's absolutely *blistering* hot and humid there in the Lone Star state for him!), he celebrated the twins’ birthday early, on the last Saturday in June. They had a little family party at his parents’ place, and his mom and dad heated up the pool for the occasion so whoever wanted to could go swimming.

Well, Mychael has grown a lot – and I mean *a lot* - since last summer. About six inches and 20 lbs bigger, to be precise. So, none of her swimming suits from last year fit her. I get home Saturday morning from taking the car to get the tires balanced (woot!) and she meets me at the door.

“Mom,” Mychael says, “I don’t have any swimsuits that fit and Dad is mad at me because now I can’t go swimming at Grandma’s!”

I am immediately torque’d. He has plenty of time to drag them off to Disney World and Park City and Yellowstone and all sorts of other “fun” things the Disneyland Dad and his Cupcake can think up, but he doesn’t have time to get his daughter a freaking swimsuit? So I say to Mychael, “Well, HE is taking you swimming to HIS mom’s house, so why didn’t you tell HIM to buy you one?”

Her response?

“I did, and he got mad at me, and told me to tell you to do it.”

I am not about to put Mykie in the middle of it. I ask a few more questions, and contemplated calling him back and letting the totallity of my wrath rain hellfire down upon him, but Mychael said he was at work and so he couldn’t do it, anyway – he wasn’t even coming to get them until after 5:30 that night because he didn’t think he could get out of the building until then.

So, once again, he weasels out of something and leaves me to clean up the mess (I gotta work on this bitterness thing - it is soooo not becoming!). I can’t let Mykie miss her own birthday swimming party due to lack of a suit, so I pack her and Bretten up and we head out. All the while, I am muttering under my breath about what a tool their father is, and Bretten immediately says to me, “He couldn’t go get it, Mom – he has to work today!” That was a match to the gas leak, right there.

“No,” I say, “he chose to work today!”

Ever the stout little defender, Bretten pipes up and says, “He has 250 guys there and they’re getting ready to go to Iraq so he HAS to be there!”

There was lots more going back-and-forth, but I will spare you the bloody details and skip to where I said, “Bretten, he did, too, choose it. He doesn’t *have* to put the Army before his family. He doesn’t even *have* to be IN the Army. He chooses to. Besides, that only accounts for today. What about the trip to Yellowstone? He knew she didn’t have a bathing suit then – surely he could’ve stopped somewhere on the way there or back, right?”

Stumped, Bretten reverts to yelling. “NEVERMIND!!” she shouts, and stomps off, arms folded across her chest and flaming daggers shooting at me from where her eyes used to be.

Well, it's a few minutes further on into the bathing suit shopping, and I am still kind of steaming. I finally just said, “I am just going to say one more thing on this, and then I’ll let it go: I want you to pay attention to who changed her plans, who came to the rescue here, and who just drops in every once in awhile to play ‘Good Time Charlie.’ And I’d like to know why, when I am not the one who left my family, and I am not the one who chose to put my career ahead of them, why I always end up being treated like the bad guy, like I am the enemy.”

Bretten, who had been muttering under her breath (nothing flattering, I’m sure) said out loud, “I don’t treat you like the enemy.”

Well, if how she treats me means she considers me a friend, I’d hate to see how she really DOES treat an enemy, then!!

I have to say that this was all a couple of weeks ago, and she has been much better since then, for the most part. It is Mychael who is giving me fits lately. I think I will finally have to break down and cart us all off to a divorce support group. I thought we were doing OK on our own, with periodic visits to the headshrinker, but there is just too much "snippiness" going back and forth between them and whoever else they think they can get away with being rude to, including me, on occasion. So I'm guessing there's an awful lot of suppressed anger there, that has to find a more productive, healthy way out.

OK, I'm done bitching. For now. :)

Here It Is, At Last...

2009-07-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

....Bitch #3:

So the ex is keeping the old marital home – at least for now, and according to Bretten, for the next three years or so (ugh!). It is exactly one block north from my current residence, is all. This is really nice for the kids, as 1) their dad is close – when he chooses to actually be a dad, that is, and 2) they didn’t have to give up all their old familiar things immediately upon us moving into the new place. Whenever he eventually sells (and I hope to God he is actually going to, and not live there for the rest of his natural life!), for the kids it will have been a more gradual distancing from it and the "old" family unit, to the new one.

The part I am bitching about now, though, is that - before they left for Iraq by way of Texas - ex and Cupcake like to go on walks. Holding hands. Looking like the bent-over, grizzled and gray old man he is, and the perky, annoyingly obnoxious redhead she is. That’s all fine and dandy. But MUST they take these walks on *my* street, past not only my house, but the houses of my parents and brother, as well? Apparently, the irony in this is lost on them. Despite the fact that there is plenty of neighborhood further west, north, and east of their place, they choose to come on the one road that is directly south of them, and that I (and some of my other family members) happen to live on. Very smooth. And thoughtful!! Did I say thoughtful?

I saw them walking up the street a week or two before they left, as I was coming down it after running a few errands. It was probably a good thing I wasn’t driving, or I may have ended up being under investigation for vehicular homicide right now. Grrr.

And...And....AND.....Bitch #2:

2009-07-10T12:44:00.000-07:00

Here it is, my second bitch of the many that I have been saving up:

So, not even two months after the divorce was final, the ex goes and gets married to the person he swears he was not having an affair with. Yeah, right, whatever – that’s not what I’m bitching about here (she is welcome to him!), because to paraphrase the All-American Rejects, he’s a fool and she is just as well. What I am bitching about is that about a month later, he sends me an e-mail that says the following:

“[Cupcake] found out some information about Tricare for you, so you might want to call Andrea about it. I thought it was nice of her to send it. Her number is (801) XXX-XXXX.”

This is his message to me, attached to a forwarded message from her to him, in which she doesn’t even spell my name right! Granted, I have an unusual name, but still: does this mean Cupcake and I are supposed to be friends now? ‘Cause ya know, she’s so considerate and all...a real peach, for sure.

On a completely unrelated note, my dad is making over my front door for me, so that hoepfully, by the end of this weekend, I will have a way cool new red front door with antique stained glass sidelights! The nasty 1970's panels (complete with lion's head door knocker) highlighted with the gold wavy glass sidelights will soon be a distant memory. Yay!!

Also, the week before I did my hair purple, the twins did their hair, too - one pink, and one red (picture posted below). So now we are a multi-colored family, except for Cyd, who is still au naturale.

Speaking of Cyd: the other two were horsing around, wrestling and giggling and stuff, and it was really winding Cyd up. She told them mutliple times to calm down, stop laughing, etc., and of course the twins weren't listening. So Cyd says, "PLEASE stop it!" and you know how little sisters are: "No, Cyd, we don't have to!"

So Cyd says, "Well, I just said please!"

And the twins reply, "So!!! We don't have to do what you say just because you said please!!"

And Cyd growls and says to them, "Oooooh!! You are making me so piss!!!"

It was just another time when Cyd said something funny, but where a wise woman knows better than to even crack a smile.... :)

As Promised....

2009-07-09T11:22:00.000-07:00

....Bitch Number One:

My divorce was final about 10 days after the ex and I passed what would’ve been our 20th wedding anniversary. In retrospect, I am very glad that it took that long to get everything squared away, because as it turns out, I am now entitled to *full* military benefits at his retirement.

I wouldn’t have been eligible for these had we been married even 19 years and 364 days. But, that puts it into perspective why he was in such a damn hurry to get everything done, doesn’t it? Him being such a stand-up guy and all…thank goodness the attorney dragged his heels, ‘cause it turns out that the ex wasn’t able to cheat me out of something I didn’t even know I was entitled to, after all. But shame on him for trying.

On a completely unrelated note: I did it. I cut off all my hair and dyed it purple. And, I think I like it!! It is such a different look for me; I haven't had hair this short in 10 years or better. And I've never had it purple!

Here are some pics - but be warned that I took them myself, with a camera phone, and everyone knows (or should) how technologically retarded I am when it comes to A) cell phones, and B) cameras. But at least you get an idea:

Yay!!!! He's Gone!! Woot woot!!!

2009-07-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

The Tool left for Iraq by way of Texas yesterday, and I couldn't be more delighted. A blissful 10 months with no Tool or Cupcake drama loom ahead of me, and I am positiviely giddy with it! I hope Texas is sweltering and that he is cranky and miserable (he has about zero tolerance for heat), and I hope Iraq is worse. Muwah ha ha ha ha! (<-- evil laughter)

Of course, she-who-shall-not-be-named bawled like a baby, but my other two were just copacetic with the whole thing. The oldest was only concerned that he would be missing her 17th birthday, but when I assured her that he would either send her a present or some money, she was cool with that. After all the tears and drama from the one twin, I figured I'd better check on the other one, just to make sure she wasn't upset, too, but doing a better job of hiding it. It was bed time, and she was already laying down, reading, when I went into her room and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"Yup."

"Does it upset you that you're not going to see your dad for another 10 to 12 months?"

"No, not really."

So I asked, "Are you just saying that because you think it's what I want to hear?"

Her eyes dancing, she shook her head as she said, "Nope!"

So I said, "Are you kind of relieved that there will be a little less drama and stress in your life for awhile?"

"Yes!!"

I said, "OK - but you'll let me know if that changes, right?"

"Yes, Mommy," she agreed. "I will."

So I left it at that.

Earlier, when I had been talking to The Drama Queen (believe me, it is 100% worthy of capitalization!), I basically told her to remember that it was his choice, that he was doing something he'd been wanting to do for a long time, and that when you love someone, you have to be happy for them even when they are doing things that make you UNhappy, if those things are the "right" things for them to do. And, I told her to remember that so that she would know the impact her choices had on the people who loved her, too - the choices we make affect everyone around us, so it's even more important to make good ones.

I have a big, long post of saved up "bitches" about The Tool so you can appreciate how thrilled I am that he is finally out of my hair - even if it's just for a year. I am hoping that I'll be in a better place when he gets back and he won't be able to "get" to me so much. Rather than deluge you with all my gripes at once, though, I think I'll do them one at a time, for the next few days.

Here is bitch number one:

(coming soon....)

To Cheat or Not To Cheat?

2009-06-29T11:44:00.000-07:00

I am thinking about cutting my hair - really short. I have not been at all happy with it lately. It is floppy and flat and annoying.

I had been having thoughts along those lines, anyway, but last week I saw this girl walking down the street, and she had dark brown - almost black - hair, in a pixie cut with long bangs. Cute enough, but....but!! But the crown of her head was highlighted in a lilac/lavender/periwinkle blue color - very subtle, yet very distinct. And it was beautiful.

As I was walking toward her, going into my building, she stopped and looked like she was waiting for me. Turns out, she was! She told me she was a hairstylist, just starting her practice at a shop on the same street as my office, and she handed me a card for a free haircut. "I'd like a chance to earn your business," she said.

I want her hair.

Actually, I more than want it. I covet it.

So you are probably thinking, then do it! What's the big deal? Just make an appointment with her, and do it.

I am really, uncharacteristically nervous about doing that, though. Those of you who know me well, know that I have had short hair, long hair, and hair about every color between blond and black, including various forays into the reds and auburns, and often some combination of all of the above. But this time, I am kind of freaking out about it. What if I don't like it? What if people think I am "too old" to be wearing such a cute, young, hip hairstyle? I mean, I know I am kind of too old for purple hair, but I was thinking: what, am I going to be *not* too old for it next year or something? If I want to try it, it might as well be now....

This is kind of what I am thinking of:

Only with color more like this:

But worse than the scary, what-if-I-don't-like-it jitters (after all, it's only hair, and it grows, right?) I am thinking about being unfaithful to my hairstylist. Tisha has been "my girl" since I was pregnant with the twins - so about the last 13-14 years!! In all that time, only two other people have done my hair - once when Tisha was on maternity leave, and once when the previous salon she worked at closed and she didn't have a booth at another one yet. Both of those were understandable and undertaken with Tisha's complete knowledge and approval.

But this - this idea of going to someone new, for something major, behind Tisha's back? I don't know if I can do it.

And yet, I don't know if Tisha can do the hair I want. It seems like even when I take her pictures of cute new hairstyles, I always come out looking somehow, the same. And I really want *different*.

And, it's not like I can just not call for an appointment anymore, because Tisha always calls ME. She only works one day a week, but the day varies, so as I am paying for my last style on the way out, she usually writes down the week I will most likely want to come in for my next trim. Then, she calls me at the beginning of that week and says, "This week I'm working on Tuesday (or Wednesday, or Thursday, or whatever....). Are you ready for a haircut yet?" Then I tell her yes, and she says, how is whatever time, and so on. So when she calls me, and I have strayed, what will I say?

Since she has been doing my hair for so long, I knew her when she was single, I was invited to her wedding, I brought her baby gifts for each of her two children, we exchange Christmas gifts every year, and so on. Lately she and I have been comiserating over divorces, too, since she is also going through one, and her ex was also unfaithful. And, I know money is really tight for her, since she had been a stay-at-home mom and reduced her client load to the one day a week prior to kicking her scumbag ex out. She is trying to build her client base back up, but still! How could I do that to her?

I imagine that what I will probably end up doing, is taking pictures to Tisha, describing what I want, and then having her cut it but not quite "get" it. Then, I will end up going to the new girl to have her fix it, and - finally! - give me hair like hers. Then, since Tisha will have been the one to cut all the length off, maybe she won't notice that I had gone to the chair of another....

What do YOU think?

Father's Day Article, plus: I Have Been Tagged!!

2009-06-18T10:48:00.000-07:00

Hey, I am now a published author!! Well, sort of. You know the blog post I posted on what makes my dad a good man? Here, I'll help: http://beneathmyplacidexterior.blogspot.com/2009_02_01_archive.html Anyway, our local newspaper put out an ad looking for stories of 500 words or less, about why you admired your dad, that they could print in honor of Father's Day. I decided to edit that post and send it in.

I struggled with writing and re-writing that blog post to get it down from around 1,300 words, to 500. I spent days and had at least three people read it and make suggestions, etc. I made it to about 800, and then just said, "Screw it!! This is as good as it's going to get. They can either not print it, or print it and cut whatever they need to to make it fit." They're the professionals at that kind of stuff, anyway - right?

To my surprise, they not only printed it, but they printed it in it's entirety! I almost missed it - I was expecting it would be in the Father's Day paper, but instead it was in last Sunday's (June 14th), and by looking on the outside of the section it was in, I half-way thought it was just an ad. I was going to toss it without even looking at it!! But I did, and there it was! And in an excellent spot, as far as newspaper placement goes: the upper right hand corner, just as soon as you open the little suplement.

So, I am now officially published. I hope you saw it!!

And also, I've been tagged! So here it is, both for fun, and for the fact that it has been almost two months - two months!! - since I've posted. And, as a bonus, this is a nice, easy subject!

8 Things I am looking forward to...

1. Being thin again (if it ever happens....)
2. Getting a new front door
3. Retirement
4. The weekend
5. Having my life in order (if it ever happens...)
6. Finding the man of my dreams
7. Coming home to a clean house (again, if it ever happens. Hmmm...this appears to be a recurring theme in my life.)
8. The day when I DON'T fight with at least one of my kids, 5 out of 7 days of the week

8 Things I did yesterday...

1. Rode 2.5 miles on the Aerodyne
2. Took the stairs at work - 5 floors!
3. Fought with Bretten over Sonic v. Pace's v. Burger Stop
4. Started reading a trashy romance novel
5. Went on FB
6. Ate leftover pasta salad for lunch
7. Bought a teeth-whitening kit
8. Stayed up too late

8 things I wish I could do...

1. Play the piano
2. Roller skate
3. Have more time at home
4. Keep my house clean, or get a maid
5. Budget/save my money better
6. Get up early and *immediately* feel like exercising!
7. Fit into a size 8
8. Find the man of my dreams

8 shows I watch....

1. Burn Notice
2. NCIS (what can I say - I'm old! And I have secret soft spots for both Gibbs and McGee...)
3. Big Bang Theory
4. Curb Appeal
5. Color Splash w/ David Bromstead
6. CSI: Las Vegas
7. Criminal Minds
8. Reaper - or I did, until they canceled it!!

8 People Tagged.......

1-Kim Whitesides
2-Mindi How Time Flies...
3- Krystal Four Little Chihuahuas
4- Dana - http://boboandbugbug.blogspot.com/2009/06/finally-some-kitchen-pictures.html
6- Blake
7 - Suzanne - if she reads this
8- Hmmm....I think maybe that's all I can come up with!

Here's hoping it's not another 6-8 weeks before I post again!

Why I Rarely Throw Anything Away

2009-04-29T11:08:00.000-07:00

I am still finding places for stuff in my new house. You’d think, now that 80%+ of it is done, that it would be easy to finish up these last few little odds and ends. But instead, I think it gets harder. I have done all the obvious stuff, like put food in the pantry and toothbrushes in the bathroom and books on the bookshelves, etc. Now, I’m left with questions like where do I put a wreath that I don’t necessarily want to hang 24/7, but that I don’t want to give up yet? Where should my huge electric roaster go? It’s not like I use it everyday, but it’s too big to take up valuable kitchen storage space. So anyway, I am struggling with things like that. Those of you who helped me move, know how much *crap* I have accumulated over the years, and how difficult it is for me to part with my "stuff." I won't say I never throw anything away, but it is a pretty rare occurrence, indeed.

In my old house, I had a CD-player that held 200-some-odd CD’s. When my ex and I purchased it roughly 10 years or so ago, we loaded it up then and there with all the CD’s we had. The slots on the CD-player were numbered, and it came with this handy book filled with plastic sleeves, each of which was numbered, as well. The idea was that you would put the liner notes insert from the CD’s jewel case, into the sleeve with the corresponding number matching the slot number on the CD-player, into which you had just inserted the CD that accompanied said materials from the jewel case. When we were done, we had roughly 190 or so empty jewel cases, which we promptly tossed in the garbage. “Ha ha!” we laughed. “We’ll never need these again!”

Oh, reckless youth. Turns out that since I left the outdated PITA CD-player with the PITA ex but took my CD’s with me, that now, ten years later, I DO need jewel cases again. (Note to Kim and Mindi: This is why I never throw anything away.) So, roughly $50 in jewel cases later, I thought it would make a great task to delegate to my children, to have them match the CD inserts up with the CD’s again, and insert them into the new cases I bought. I had visions of shelves full of neat stacks and rows of CD’s, alphabetized by artist, organized by genre: a mess made soothing to the soul by its newly-found orderliness. Aaaahhhh! I could hardly wait!

I usually make a list of chores to be done, and let the kids take turns choosing which ones they want to do. So, because she picked it, the CD project started out being Bretten’s job. Somehow, though, she never quite got around to finishing it. I was getting annoyed and wanted the pile of CD’s and cases and inserts gone from my family room floor, so I finally assigned it to Mychael and made Bretten pay her to do it.

Several more days passed. I knew Mychael was working on it, but I still had a pile of CD booklets in my family room. WTH?!? Finally, I asked Mychael: “What’s the deal with all the CD booklets and stuff – weren’t you supposed to put them in the cases, and match them up to the CD’s?”

“I can’t, Mom!” she replied. “They don’t fit!”

“What do you mean, they don’t fit? All CD’s are the same size! They have to fit!” I said.

“No, Mom,” responded Mychael, patiently. “You got the slimline cases. They only hold a CD. They don’t have the little tabs that hold the booklets in the covers, and even if they did, the booklets are too fat to put in there, too. The cases won’t close with them in there – I already tried.”

“So you’re telling me I got the wrong kind?”

“Well,” she said, “Yeah, if you want to put the booklets in the cases, too.”

“Grrr!!” I thought to myself. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another!!” Out loud, I said, “Well, never mind, then. I’ll figure something out.”

I thought I might have to resurrect the book or something, but instead I just stacked the inserts and liner notes up and gave them their own space on one of the shelves in my new CD cabinet. It’s not as neat and orderly as I would’ve liked the finished project to be, but it’ll do. At least there is no longer a pile of cases, booklets, boxes, and discs on my family room floor.

This would normally be the end of another “Meh!” post about how children are sometimes (and often, with increasing frequency) more on-the-ball than their parents. However, Mychael put the icing on the cake. My mom, who was at my house at the time and witnessed the exchange about the CD cases between Mychael and me, later reported to me the following: As Mychael was leaving the room after I told her that I would take care of the liner-note-insert problem, Mychael brushed past her and muttered under her breath, “Phew!! Squeaked my way out of that one!”

Lesbian Day At The Supermarket

2009-04-28T11:56:00.000-07:00

This is the long-awaited (and much-promised) “Lesbian Day at the Supermarket” post. Sorry it took me so long to deliver, and I hope I can do it justice.

A couple of weeks ago, I was in a different part of town than I normally frequent as I had some kind of medical appointment (at least, I think – there have been so many between me and the kids with Mychael’s ears, Bretten’s strep, dentist, eye doctor, orthodontist, counselor, etc., etc., etc. But I digress.). I found myself in the southern part of Ogden – it could have even been South Ogden, but I’m not sure of the boundaries in that area. I needed to go to the grocery store and pick up a few staples, and rather than go all the way back past my house to the neighborhood store I usually frequent, I decided I would save a little time and get my groceries from the store closest to my current location. It happened to be Smith’s – the one on Harrison across from WSU.

I am actually kind of excited as I am walking into the store. "Woot!" I think, "New layouts to wander, new products to discover!" This is an indication of how dull/lame my life is lately - it takes very little to excite me. Anyway, I grab a cart and head to the left. I notice out of the corner of my eye that two women had entered just behind me, and were also heading left. I thought to myself, “Hmmm…those two look kind of butch-y. I wonder which one is the fem?” but immediately, I chastised myself for being so judgmental. “You can’t judge a book by its cover!” I lectured silently. “Appearances can be deceiving! They’re probably just good friends who play together on the women’s softball team or something!”

I stopped to look at something on a particularly well-arranged endcap display and then continued on, pretty much forgetting the two women until I happened to look over and realized they had gone past me while I was browsing. They were now in front of me….holding hands! And not like, “Oh, Good Friend, come over here and look at this!” but more like, “I’m so comfortable with the one I love, I just want to maintain that connectedness by linking hands with her.”

I am pretty liberal, so I don’t much care whether they were holding hands or not. It’s just that, we live in Utah, of all places. I would guess that we have fewer than average practicing homosexuals here. Note that I said practicing – I’m sure we have as many gays here as anywhere else. It’s just that the heavy influence of the predominant religion and the overall conservative nature of local politics here probably tends to keep more of them in the closet than in other areas. So to see not only a gay couple in Utah, but an openly gay couple, and an openly gay couple in public, in Utah – well, let’s just say that was a little unusual.

A little later in my shopping trip, I saw two other people. At first glance, they appeared pretty normal, if a little WT. The girl was a little on the heavy side, not very attractive, but OK, I guess. She was wearing a black T-shirt and red sweatpants, both faded, and had what appeared to be a leather necklace with silver studs on it around her neck. Think narrow dog collar. The guy was rather wirey and skinny dressed in a white T-shirt and white pants, with big chains around his neck and wearing one of those ginormous leather watch bands with the metal studs on them around his boney wrist. Picture hip-hop, but with a mullet. Kind of reminded me of Kevin Federline, actually....

When I first saw them, I thought “Eew. They’re probably going to breed. Surely there should be laws against that.” And again, I immediately followed that with a stern talking-to to myself to be more charitable in my thought processes (it’s a daily struggle…). I also noted the studded-leather accessories, and wondered if it was one of those unity/solidarity things, or something creepier, like a “control” thing (again, think dog collar...).

As I got closer to this second couple, though, I noted that the hip-hop Mullet Man in white had rather large man-boobs (moobs?), even for man-boobs. Don't think Holstein or anything, as they were still small and perky - just sort of....noticeable, is all. As I got closer still, I realized why they were noticeable. They were not, in fact, man-boobs, but rather real-live, female boobs - and apparently she was cold and did not believe in wearing foundation garments. As I'm registering all this and taking it in, I'm also thinking, "Holy crap! Yet another lesbian couple!"

Two openly gay couples in the same place, at the same time, and in Utah as opposed to say, San Francisco – that’s rather extraordinary, don’t you think? Enough for me to declare it “Lesbian Day at the Supermarket,” anyway.

After that I kind of got lost in what passes for fun for me, browsing the aisles of a foreign grocery store for treasures not carried by my neighborhood market. I didn’t really think much about either couple again until I was checking out. Then I looked over to see the second couple standing in the frozen food aisle, about 20 feet to my immediate right. The plumpish, more “fem” one with the dog collar was standing, gazing (longingly?) into one of the freezer cases. The butchier one in white, with the mullet, had her arms around her, with her (his?) chin on her shoulder and his (her?) hands tucked into the waistband of her sweats. Kind of icky enough, but then Hip-Hop Mullet Butch began grinding her pelvis into Plump Little Dumpling’s ample rear. They were swaying to music apparently only the two of them could hear....

I was pretty grossed out – but lest you think I was being my naturally highly-critical, judgmental self, I just want to say that I think PDA’s that are that blatant are gross in both hetero and homo couples, not just the lesbians. Get a room, fer hell sakes.

And this brings me to the point of this whole post: Obviously, the first couple was just a regular lesbian couple. Maybe a little on the masculine side, but no obvious gender-bending going on; just a couple who cared for one another, running a routine errand to the store. The second couple, however: I think they had some issues going on, what with their appearance and actions, etc. They were obviously (in my opinion) going for the shock value. Butch, especially, had some gender issues. I mean, a mullet and a leather wrist band? C’mon, really?

But it got me to thinking: Assuming that a transsexual would be a soul born into a physical body of the opposite gender - if I am a male soul born into a female body, and I happen to find a female soul in a female body that I love, am I homosexual or heterosexual? In other words, is it the body’s physical characteristics, or the soul/personality/essence (or whatever you want to call it) of a person that is the deciding factor?

Personally, I believe that the physical body is just a shell, and I would basically still be “me” whether I was born into the body I happen to have now, the body of a man (wouldn’t that be great? It would greatly cut down on my toilet paper consumption and I would never again pee on my socks! But again I digress…), or the body of a turtle, for that matter. Therefore, I am leaning towards a transgendered person being in love with a same-physical-gendered-but-opposite-“essence” person actually being a heterosexual. But what do you think?

Bad Blogger! Bad!!!

2009-04-27T15:47:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it has been more than a month since I last posted!! I guess I am not a very good blogger - sporadic at best, is all. It's not that I don't have things to blog about - I do. I just haven't had the time to do it, or when I do have the time, I either forget or don't have the energy.

Unfortunately, I'm not sure I'm going to be any better at keeping up with things, any time soon, as I have another case heating up at work. Bleah. It makes me ornery when they won't just play by the rules and resolve themselves the way they're supposed to. Grrr.

But, just in case I AM able to get back to this soon, I have to tell you about Lesbian Day at the Supermarket! Also, my house is *almost* put together. There isn't any one room that is 100% done, but most rooms are at the 80-90% level, at least. So I'd like to post some pics of all that soon, too - because I also got a new camera, to replace the one that was in my purse when it was stolen in January. Woo HOO! And, my bestest friend (from Massachusetts) and her mom are coming to stay with me for a week, one week from tomorrow. So that will be fun. Cydanie is still Cydanie (I have a story about her not wanting to hang out at her dad's place and being really mad at him), Mychael is still Mychael (funny story about chores), and Bretten is still Bretten (not so funny stories - yes, as in multiple! - about her surliness. Only she doesn't like me to say she's a surly "pre-teenager." I tell her to stop acting like one, and then I won't be able to use that word anymore, but the logic is lost on her...).

So anyway - lots to report!! Hope I am able to find the time soon to do so....

Why? Or Rather, Why Not?

2009-03-03T12:13:00.000-08:00

One of my surly pre-teen daughters and I had a bit of a “come to Jesus” meeting this weekend. Or as my father would put it, “an eyeball gathering.” I had made a list of chores that needed to be done, and then my daughters and I took turns choosing items to do from the list. We each ended up with three items ranging from taking the trash out to folding the laundry to doing the dishes.

To try to keep the kids from getting overwhelmed, I broke garbage detail into two steps – taking all the trash from the house out to the big green can was one step, and then taking the can out to the curb was the other. I did the same on laundry, only I broke it into even more steps (take the dirty laundry to the laundry room was one, sorting it was two, move things from the washer to the dryer, etc., was three, and four was haul it back upstairs, and finally, five was fold it/put it away). I thought I would be more likely to get voluntary compliance if each chore was divided into manageable pieces – rather like eating the elephant one bite at a time.

One child – who shall remain nameless in order to protect the guilty, in case she ever reads this – selected “moving things between the washer and dryer” as one of her chores. However, silly me! I forgot to add “load the washer” on the chore list, and this delightful (is the sarcasm coming through?) youngster was quick to point out my error. I tried to explain that you can hardly move clothes out of the washer, over to the dryer, if you don’t put anything in the washer first, can you? I apologized for not putting it on the list, but honestly – did I really have to? If I have to do that, then why don’t I just go ahead and put “put detergent in washer” and “push start button” on the list, too?!?

We were going back and forth like that and I was getting more and more frustrated (funny how kids can do that to you!). I finally just explained that there are certain universal rules that apply to every group, whether you are talking about a pack of wolves, a colony of bees, a company, or a family unit.

Rule 1 is that all members of the group have to pull their share of the load for the betterment of the group as a whole. Not all wolves hunt, but the ones who don’t, help care for the young, or keep watch over the pack. All bees collect pollen for the use of the whole hive, and any who don’t, are caring for the colony’s larvae and the hive itself. Employees work to make a profit for their company, so that it can stay in business and will be able to keep paying them, so that they can pay for their homes, groceries, etc., and so on.

Rule 2 is that there is always a leader, whether it’s the alpha wolf, the queen bee, the boss, or the parent. And Rule 3, if you don’t pull your fair share of the weight, the entire group suffers and you are punished as a result. The wolves don’t eat, the drones are driven from the hive, poor-performing employees are fired, kids get grounded or put on restriction or parents get reported to DCFS, etc., etc. It’s just the way the world works, and there is no escaping it.

I was feeling kind of proud of myself for explaining things so logically, and tying household chores into life lessons that would, hopefully, serve my girl for the rest of her life. I was quickly deflated, however, when she said, “Yes, but why do I have to do it? Why me?”

Which brings me to my real point: why me? Why any of us? There are a lot of mysteries in life that I have not resolved, and a lot of questions for which I have no answers. But this question of “why me” is one I actually think I might have figured out. The answer is: why not me? Everybody has something. If you ever meet anyone who looks like they don’t, it’s just because you haven’t figured out what their “something” is yet. Because trust me – everybody has something.

So when I feel myself succumbing to a bit of a Pity Party and I start thinking, “Why do I have to have a kid with autism?” or “Why do I have to get a divorce?” or “Why did my sewer have to back up and flood the basement?” or even “Why do I have to weigh 35 lbs. more than I want to?” I just remind myself, “Why not me?” What makes me so special that I should be exempt from any problem in particular, or from problems in general? There is always someone else who has it worse, so shouldn’t I be willing to shoulder my share of the load -- out of gratitude that I am not that someone having it worse, if nothing else? Shouldn’t we all be willing to step up when it’s our turn?

My explanation for “why her” didn’t convince my Little Miss that she should just put the laundry in the washing machine and start it, unfortunately. There was w – a – y more drama after that (heavy sigh!). It was just another day in my house, that's all. Why not? ;)

Life Lessons: Making the Best of a Bad Situation

2009-03-02T12:05:00.000-08:00

I may have told this story before, so if this is familiar to you already, I apologize. I guess that’s how you know you’re getting old – you start re-telling the same old stories, thinking they are new!

Anyway, when I was in the 8th grade, I took algebra from a very funny man. I loved Mr. Larsen – he was hilarious! He’d write equations on the blackboard (we still had blackboards in those days – ha!), demonstrating various problems and their solutions, and then turn around and wink at the class and say, “See that? Smooth as a baby’s bottom!” Or another personal favorite, “Boy, that’s slicker than Vaseline on a doorknob!” Or sometimes, it was "slicker than snot!" He really made algebra fun and (relatively) easy.

For both my 7th and 8th grade years, Mr. Larsen was the only math teacher who taught the more advanced math classes, so I naturally assumed I would have him for geometry in the 9th grade, too. That’s just the way things went. So, I was quite surprised to receive my class schedule just before 9th grade started, and see that I was assigned to take geometry from a Mr. Daly instead of Mr. Larsen. I was devastated.

I complained to my parents, who said, “Give him a chance! You never know, he may be even better than Mr. Larsen!” I was skeptical, but saw their point. The first day of 9th grade dawned, and I (rather sullenly) went to my geometry class, fearing the worst but hoping for the best.

It turned out to be even worse than I had feared. Mr. Daly was a huge man, shaped like a mountain. Or, maybe that was just my perception. He only seemed like a mountain due to his partiality for wearing brown corduroy pants and green plaid, flannel shirts that made his lumpy, close-shaven skull look like the snowy peak of Mount Baldy as it sat on his wide, sloping shoulders. I craned my neck up to watch his face as he paced the front of the classroom. Like Mount Baldy, Mr. Daly seemed just as cold. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that slid down on his nose as he tipped his head back to survey the class, and his face was set in a permanent scowl.

Knowing that looks can be deceiving, I tried my best to be optimistic. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad…. That thought lasted just as long as it did for him to call the class to order, and hear him say, “That was once…” when no one complied. He called us to order a second time, and was met with only partial success. “That was twice,” he said. He tried one more time to gain the classes’ attention, and then BAM!!! Out of nowhere, a yardstick slammed down on Mr. Daly’s desk.

Everyone jumped! As we all turned in our seats to face him, we were shocked into silence. “That’s three,” Mr. Daly said, his grim smile showing small, neatly-spaced teeth. I already hated him.

Over the next few days, I would hear stories from my friends who were lucky enough to be in Mr. Larsen’s class, about how much fun they were having. They would tell me how funny Mr. Larsen was, and how he picked on this person or that person, and made this joke or that joke. Meanwhile, I dreaded going to Mount Baldy’s class.

After the first week, I begged – literally begged – my parents to transfer me out of Mr. Daly’s room. I couldn’t stand it! Please, please, please, please, please?!?!?!

Finally (probably out of sheer self-preservation) my parents agreed to go talk to the school counselor about getting me out of that awful class. I had high hopes that I would soon be back with my beloved Mr. Larsen.

We went into the counselor’s office and sat down. My parents explained that I was having difficulty with Mr. Daly and wanted to be in Mr. Larsen’s class, instead. The counselor asked me why. Well, because!! Mr. Daly was big and scary and stern and not nearly as nice or as funny as Mr. Larsen, and all of those other things that seem terribly important to a 9th grader.

I will never forget what that counselor said: “Well, a lot of times in life, we don’t get to choose our situation. We’re just handed what we’re handed, and we have to figure out how we’re going to deal with it. But even though we don’t get to choose our situation, we do get to choose how we’re going to handle it. You have to figure out how to make the best of what life hands you. When you grow up and get a job, you can’t just quit your job if you don’t like your boss. If you do, how will you pay your rent, or buy food to eat, or gas for your car? Nope – you have to figure out how to make the best of the situation. So, this is as good of a time as any to learn that the one thing that determines what kind of experience you’re going to have, is what kind of attitude you choose to have going in to it.”

At the time I was upset. I could see the counselor’s point, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. But my options had been exhausted. So I ended up staying in Mr. Daly’s class. I even managed to have an OK time, eventually – occasionally catching a glimpse of a rare smile from Mount Baldy when we did particularly well on any given geometery lesson.

I must admit, however, that the counselor’s lesson has stayed with me far longer than any of Mr. Daly's - and been infinitely more valuable.

A Good Man

2009-02-27T11:41:00.000-08:00

Per yesterday’s post, today’s topic on the little rolled-up slip of paper is, “What quality do you admire most in your father? Why?”

Well, like most girls, I admire my father for a lot of things – and those things have changed over time. When I was really little – like 3 or so, I used to love the smell of coffee on his breath in the morning (actually, I still do). I may be the only person in the country who actually likes coffee breath!

When I got a little older, I admired how physically strong my dad was – how he could pick me up and swing me, or get down on the floor and wrestle with me, and I could pound on him with my little chicken arms to my heart’s content without fear of hurting him. As I got into school age years, and beyond, I admired (and still do) how smart he is, how hard he works, how willing he is to drop whatever personal things he has going on to help someone he loves, and how he still opens the car door for my mother – every single time.

But I didn’t discover and/or realize what I admire most until I was well into adulthood. I knew my father had an unhappy childhood – we were never particularly close to his side of the family, since they all lived “back east” and we lived “out west.” He would talk about how many chores he had on the farm as a boy, and how his mother had to sign a waiver to let him enlist in the Air Force at just 17. He left home then, and never looked back.

For awhile in my early 30’s, my father and I carpooled to work together. As we sat in bumper-to-bumper commuter traffic, more details about his childhood emerged. He told me how his father (my grandpa) had a terrible temper, and would beat my father regularly. Sometimes, when “Harold” (as we refer to my dad’s father - often with the word "Weird" in front of it...but that's another story!) would be “on one,” my grandma would give my dad a sandwich and tell him to get lost – to go spend the night in the woods, and don't come back until his dad had calmed down (usually the next day). My father was only six years old at the time.

We recently saw a picture of a razor strop – a long piece of leather used for sharpening razor blades in “the olden days.” My dad said something about it making a good “whuppin’ tool,” so I asked him if his dad had ever beat him with one. “We didn’t have one,” he replied, “or I’m sure he would have. He beat us with everything else.”

I also asked him if Harold just wailed on the kids, or if he beat Grandma, too. “Oh yeah,” dad said. “He beat her, too.”

Recently, with the events of my divorce and the ample evidence I have that The Tool is definitely not the kind of man I want my daughters to grow up to marry, I have begun reflecting on the qualities that make a good man. Largely, they are the same qualities that make a good dad, too. I have been very worried that my girls, who pretty much adore their father the way most daughters do, will think that their dad can do no wrong, despite evidence to the contrary. I worry that they will accept the things he’s done, and the choices he’s made, as “OK.” Worst of all, I worry that they will grow up to select someone with equally shifty character traits as the father of their children, and thereby have to endure some of the hurts I’ve suffered over the last year or so. I would desperately like to save them from that pain, if it’s at all possible.

So – back to the topic at hand. I realize that many abusers are people who were, themselves, abused. I don’t have to look much beyond the character of The Tool’s family to figure out how he came to be the way he is. So the thing I admire the most about my father, is that despite the fact he came from an abusive household, he never, ever purposely hit me or physically hurt me in any way. Oh, sure, sometimes he’d give me a playful swat on the butt that stung more than he intended it to, and there were some times when we were wrestling that things got out of hand (Don’t they always? I can still hear my mom saying, “OK, that’s enough! Somebody’s gonna end up crying!!”).

But the point is, long before “breaking the cycle” became the buzzword for preventing child abuse, my dad made a conscious decision not to raise his own family the way he was raised. He didn’t want to put us through that drama/trauma. He made that promise to himself, and he kept it – no matter how disobedient or whiney or smart-alecky us kids were, or how tired or mad or edgy he was. I can’t imagine the kind of self-discipline and strength of character that required, over and over and over again, for the 30-some-odd years he had kids in the house.

Witnessing his triumph, even when I didn’t completely understand the struggle, gives me hope for my own situation on two fronts: one, that the cycle CAN be broken. Just because my girls have a father who turned out to be not as good of a man as I had hoped or wanted (let alone as good as I once thought he was) doesn’t mean that they will automatically accept character traits like their father’s as being indicative of “a good man.” The kind of man he is doesn’t have to mean that he will automatically be the kind of man they want to marry or be with as an adult. And two, since my girls can know my dad, know what he’s done for us, know where he came from and where he is now, they will know what a REALLY good man is all about.

Finally, since this turned into kind of a Dad Tribute Page (and it’s not even Father’s Day!!), I will leave you with this poem, attributed to Hilda Bigelow:

I had a father who talked with me --

Allowed me the right to disagree,

To ask questions – and always answered me,

As best he could, and truthfully.

He talked of adventures; the horrors of war;

Of life, its meaning; what love was for;

How each would always need to strive

To improve the world, to keep it alive.

He stressed the duty we owe one another;

To be aware that each man is a brother.

Words for laughter he also spoke,

A silly song or a happy joke.

Now time runs along, and some say I'm wise –
That I look at life with seeing eyes.

My heart is happy, my mind is free,

For I had a father who talked with me.

Blogging Ideas

2009-02-26T13:47:00.000-08:00

If any of you are like me, sometimes you have both the time and the inclination to blog about something, but you haven’t the foggiest idea of what you should write about. Then, when you are too busy to do any updates, ideas come flying at you right and left!! But then, when you sit down to blog again, damned if you can remember any of those stories that seemed like such good ideas before!

I guess a potential solution to that problem would be to write notes to yourself. I am not a very good note-taker – I guess I just figure if I have time to write a note, I have time to do the whole shebang. But my mother is excellent at notes. She is the Note-Taking Queen. I bet Post-It could stay in business on her contributions alone. I can remember times back when I was still living at home when the entire front of the microwave was absolutely covered with “little yellow stickies” that said things like, “Milk!”, “Donna’s B-day!”, or “Call insurance!”

Which brings me to today’s topic. I bought this neat little thing at a craft fair awhile ago. It is a lidded jar, full of curled up slips of paper, and on each paper is a topic. The idea is that each day, you pull out a topic, and by the time the jar is empty, you’ve written your life’s story. On the one hand, it sort of feels conceited to write my life’s story – who am I to think I’m so special that someone else would want to read about me? But on the other hand, I think, “Wow! That would be SO COOL if I had my grandma’s life story, written in her own words!” So I decided to do this project, not so much for y’all, but for “future generations.” Assuming I don’t kill my children before they have a chance to grow up and create those future generations – it’s iffy on any given day!

Anyway, today’s topic is, “Did you and your mother share an interest in any special activity?” At first, my response was, “I don’t really think so!” I mean, it’s not like we have a hobby that we do together or anything. But then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that family is our hobby. All of the activities that we do together and like the best, revolve around family. Whether it’s shopping for someone’s birthday, or celebrating the holidays, or catching up on how everyone is during a marathon phone call, family is the common denominator that links us together. And it seems like when you are doing things with and for the people you love, ANY activity is special.

So yeah, “Family” is the special activity my mother and I share. Because it sure as hell ain’t note-taking.

They're Still Cute!

2009-02-24T19:02:00.000-08:00

As Cydanie has gotten older, she doesn't say as many of the really cute, funny things that I used to get such a kick out of when she was little. I don't know how much is due to the fact that she has a much better command of language now, or how much is because she is more self-conscious than she used to be... Either way, I miss all those little gems.

The other day, though, she proved she still has it in her. My mom and dad have been helping me so much at my house - putting in shelves, unpacking, organizing, changing out the water heater, etc., etc., etc., while I'm at work. I try to make it up to them by, at the very least, making them lunch and/or dinner or treating them to the occasional Wendy's or pizza or something. It's the least I can do.

So, we're sitting on whatever available surface we can find (things are still a bit of a wreck!), eating dinner. I can't even remember what I made - chicken pot pie, I think. We ate, watched a little TV, and finally around 7:30-8:00 PM, my dad got up with a groan.

"C'mon, Mother," he says (he always calls my mom "Mother" unless he's mad - then it's "PEG!"). "Let's get going." He's walking along to the front door, hobbled over with sore muscles from all the hard labor he's been putting in. "Man, I'm tired!" he groans.

And with total and complete innocence and sincerity, Cydanie says, "Because you're old?"

We all busted up laughing! Poor Cyd didn't get it. "Well, he is!" she says to me, full of indignity.

So yeah, she's still got some of those things in her, and they're still cute. I hope they never go away completely.

Geez, Louise!!

2009-02-23T13:48:00.001-08:00

HOLY CRAP I can't believe it's been six weeks since I've written anything!! In my defense, though, it has been a really crazy six weeks. Let's see, we've had health scares (weird mammograms and colonoscopies and junk like that), mortgage paperwork problems (being almost divorced apparently requires three times as much paperwork as being either completely divorced or completely married), fights with children (what else is new?), turning 40 (sigh....), having my purse stolen (from the DI, of all places - shouldn't there just be a bunch of good LDS people hanging out there, instead of thieves?!?), moving to the new house (a lot of work but with A LOT of help from my most excellent family, we got out and in all in one day!), having the sewer back up and flood the basement two days after moving in (seriously - I am not making this up), moving Cyd back out of the basement and upstairs with me while repairs are made (I am no longer fond of having a room mate), and having not only my homeowner's insurance but also my home warranty company BOTH refuse to cover any part of the flood (seriously, I am not making that part up, either)...yup, I think that about sums it up. You'd think my life could be a country song lately!

Seriously, I was thinking about asking this Native American woman that I work with, if she would come out to my house and burn some incense or something to chase all my bad juju away. Or that maybe I needed to light some candles, or sacrifice a chicken, or go to church, or something to break this crazy cycle of craptastic luck I've had lately!

It may be too early to say, but it turns out that the chickens are safe from me, for now. Things seem to be looking up. My insurance agent persuaded the insurance company that after only being in the new home two days, he hadn't had a chance to finalize my policy so they couldn't assume that I had declined sewer and drain coverage. So, they are going to cover putting things back to rights, after all. Yay!

And, I picked up the rough draft of the final divorce settlement and stipulation from the attorney last week. There are a couple of little errors (mostly typos) that need to be corrected, but still - we are VERY close to that being final, too.

And, my new place is kind of getting squared away, little by little. I owe a HUGE debt of gratitude to my parents for all their help. I truly don't know what I'd do without them.

So all in all, I think the destruction and dismantling portion of my life has about run out of steam (knock on wood!), and I can finally concentrate on the rebuilding and creating part. I am holding out for nothing but good Karma from now on!! However, if you want to light a candle, say a prayer, or perhaps even have a chicken that is on it's last legs, anyway - I think I could still use the good thoughts. I'm just sayin'.

As Promised, Mychael's Cheese Story

2009-01-09T10:50:00.001-08:00

The other night, I was telling my cousin, Mindi, about this funny blog I had read about a constipated preemie baby, and it reminded me about something my daughter, Mychael, had said when she was just a little girl. It still cracks me up - and if you know Mykie, once you hear this story, you'll most likely think it is just so "her." So I was re-telling the story, and we were all laughing, and Mychael said, "You should put that story on your blog, Mom!" I told her I would, and as I promised yesterday, I am posting it today - and even though this happened probably seven or more years ago, it's still pretty dang funny. Either that, or I have a seriously warped sense of humor and am raising heathens for children. Both options are equally plausible.

OK - imagine Mychael at the age of about five. Round face, chubby cheeks, and sparkling eyes full of mischief, and W - A - Y too smart for her own good!! We had the whole family running around doing some errands of some sort - I don't even remember what we were doing or where we were going, except that we'd been out for awhile and still had more places to go. The kids were all starting to get tired and hungry and cranky, and I think one of the places were going to go was maybe to dinner - or it could've been that, at that point in time, we couldn't afford to go out and feed everyone in a restaurant that day, or something. For whatever reason, going through a drive-through at a fast food joint just wasn't an option. So instead, we stopped by a grocery store, and I ran inside and got some snacks for everyone to share, to hold off the grumbly tummies until we could finish our errands and go get "real" food.

I ended up getting a bag of cheese curds. It's quite possible I also got some Gator-Aid and some pretzels or something like that, too, but all I really remember is the cheese curds. Why? Because my kids were shoveling them down like mad. You would've thought that this was the first food they'd had in days by the way they were hoovering them up. So finally I had to say, "Hey, guys - slow down with the cheese curds. If you eat too much cheese, it could make you constipated!"

Mychael says, "What's constipated?"

I reply, "It's what they call it when you can't poop, or if it's too hard to poop, for a long time. Sometimes cheese can make it hard too poop, if you eat too much."

Mychael then says, "How do you fix it?"

"Well," I say, "it depends on how bad it is. If you're only a little bit constipated, you can just eat something that gives you the poos, like lots of cherries or some prune juice or something."

Ever the curious one, Mychael says, "What if it's bad?"

As I am thinking of how best to describe the process of suppositories and/or enemas to a five-year-old, she answers her own question: "They probably stick a fire hose up your butt and blast it out, huh?"

Why, yes, Mychael. That is precisely what they do! More or less. Anyway, hope the story was worth the wait.....

Summing Up

2009-01-08T13:21:00.000-08:00

My favorite movie in the entire world, is "The Princess Bride." It is over 20 years old, I've seen it a million times, I have the regular DVD and the Anniversary Edition DVD, and yet I will still watch it on TV when it comes on. And I will still laugh! I put that thought out there so that you will understand what the voice in my head sounds like when I say that much has gone on in the six weeks or so since my last post, too much to catch up: "Lemme 'splain. No, there iss to mauch. Lemme sum up."

So here I am, summing up, in no particular order:

I had another one of those "Worst. Day. Ever." kind of days yesterday, based mainly on the fact that The Tool can't get his act together to give me a schedule of when he's going to take the kids, and how upset the ensuing uncertainty makes the kids and makes me. And also the fact that Cyd was mad because they are having her attend a couple of "functional skills" classes next semester, and she wanted to take Art, instead. I said, "Are you going to cooperate and try your best to listen to the teacher and do the things teacher tells you to do, when you're told, and in the way the teacher says, no matter if you want to or not, every single time?" She said, "Well, I'm not sure about that." And I said, "That's why you don't get to take Art!" So after that, I was a "jerk mom." But then Mindi came over and helped me pack and we talked and I cried and I went to bed (too late!) feeling a lot better than when the evening started out.

The Tool is taking over the house - YAY! He should close, hopefully tomorrow but if not, sometime next week. Then I can close on my new place, three days later (we have to wait for the title to the old place to record before they can rescore my credit to put the loan for the new place through....). That is why Mindi and I were packing last night.

I had my gall bladder out on December 30th. I think I had unrealistic expectations about this surgery. Everyone told me, "Oh, it's so easy now, with the scope," and, "This will be a piece of cake! You'll bounce right back!" I'm hear to tell ya, there ain't no bouncin' goin' on around here! Anyone who knows about the problems I've had with my knee, knows that I am no stranger to painful surgeries. So it's not like this one was the worst I've ever had - far from it. I'd put it in my Top Five, though. It's just - truly, I think I just thought it would be easier than it has been.

My parents usually have both our family's Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve parties at their place, but since our extended family has grown so big, and my parents' house has been in the process of being remodeled for the last two years or so, I had both at my house this year. I've been having the New Year's party for years, and will most likely continue to do so. But I haven't had the Christmas Party for a long time. I remember I used to get all twisted up in knots at the idea of people coming over, wanting everything to be just so and all the cleaning and prep and everything. This year, I didn't even take a shower or put make-up on for the New Year's party. I guess when you have a lot of crap going on that you worry about, SOMETHING has got to give, and for me, it has been fussing about what my house looks like. Either that, or I have r-e-a-l-l-y lowered my standards....

That pretty much brings me up to date. Christmas was one of the best ever - not nearly as traumatic (for me, at least) as Thanksgiving (Thanksgiving by myself was hard). The kids are all doing pretty well, all things considered. The divorce is almost a done deal - The Tool and I have pretty much agreed on a settlement, and it is with the attorney being finalized right now. When he is done, Jeff and I will each sign it, then the attorney will file it with the courts, and just like that, nearly 20 years of marriage will be undone. Whatever. Now it's on to bigger and better things.

And at Mychael's request, I have an old story about her comments regarding the propensity for cheese to bring on constipation, that I will share in an upcoming post, plus I want to do a "100 Things About Me" post. And, if you get a chance, you should check out another Natalie Dee post (not for those easily grossed out or offended by foul language) - this one regarding getting relief for a poor constipated preemie, the 11/20/08 post, here: http://blog.nataliedee.com/

So there. Now I have 'splained. Or at least, summed up.

Worst. Day. EVER! Well, Almost.

2008-11-24T22:10:00.000-08:00

OK, can I just say being a single parent sucks?

Yesterday, I was supposed to go to Cyd's school to meet with her counselor to discuss her classes for next year, then take Mychael to the orthodontist. I printed out Cyd's appointment when I made it on-line, but for whatever reason, did not write it down in my little appointment book. I remembered to call The Tool (easier to write than "my Soon-To-Be-Ex") to tell him about the appointment, though.

And, the orthodontist's office is really good about sending reminder e-mails and phone calls before the appointments, too. And, just as a safe guard, I did write this one down in my appointment book.

So there I was, just going along with my regular day, when I get an e-mail from my friend asking me if I want to go to lunch or dinner one day this week. I get out my appointment book to see what I have going on, and realize that I have completely spaced the orthodontist appointment! No worries, though - I still have about an hour and a half or so before I need to leave work to grab the kids on the way to the ortho.

I am working, working, working, and as usual, leave it until the last possible minute to squeak out of there and race to get the kids. I belatedly realize that I so entirely, completely, just plain forgot about this orthodontist visit, that I didn't even remind the kids about it! So, I hurry and text Mykie on the fly. Or at least, as fast as I can, given my limited texting ability during the best of times, let alone while walking to the car.

Just as I hit "send," I remember Mychael has lost her phone, and won't get the message, anyway. So, I think, "No problem! I'll just call Bretten!" Which I do, and she answers as she is on the bus home. I tell her to tell her sister to be ready as soon as she gets off the bus because I'm on my way to get them to go to the orthodontist.

Bretten says, "Well, Dad just called and says he already has Cyd and he's going to meet us at the first bus stop and take us from there."

"What? Why?" I say. Bretten starts to explain, but I can hardly hear her for all the background noise of the junior high bus. Frustrated, I say, "Nevermind. That's fine. I just wish someone would tell me what's going on," and I hang up.

I build up a head of steam as I call The Tool, all ticked off because, no matter how many times I have asked him to communicate with me directly, it seems he is prone to make plans with the kids, and none of them remember to tell me what's going on - or, I get bits and pieces of things from the kids that I can't decipher and then they feel like they're in trouble when I quiz them to try to figure out what is happening, when. I hit "send" and wait for him to pick up, ready to pounce as soon as he answers.

"Hello?" he says.

"Hi," I say. "What's going on? You're taking Mykie to the orthodontist?"

"Well, yeah," he says. "I figured I'd better. I tried to get ahold of you earlier to see what was going on when you didn't show, and I couldn't find you, so I just planned on doing it."

"Didn't show? Didn't show for what?"

"Cyd's appointment with the counselor."

It had completely, and I mean completely, slipped my mind. The appointment was there, written down on a paper, and I had totally, 100% forgotten about it. Suffice it to say, I was mortified. I hate messing up. I am not good at it. I am not gracious about it under the best of circumstances, though I manage to apologize to The Tool and figure out what's going on now and what I need to do to get back on course.

The Tool takes the kids to the ortho, and shows up at the house about an hour later. We exchange information about Cyd's appointment and Mykie's next ortho appointment, and then he says, "By the way - I forgot to change the direct deposit on my travel checks. They have been going in to your account, so I am just going to deduct that amount from the child support check I give you this weekend."

Not that I don't trust him, but I don't. I went and looked at the bank account, and sure enough, there is a deposit that is just labeled "Federal" but it is a weird amount - obviously not my regular salary. So yeah, I owe him the money. I never did the bills when we were married, and I have been really trying to get the financial crap all squared away because he always told me I wasn't good at it. I had kind of been thinking, "See? I can, too, do it!" because I've gone five months now with no late payments, no bounced checks, etc., etc. I even managed to pay for San Francisco and fit Christmas shopping in there, too, with minimal impact to my savings. And yet, here was evidence that I am not nearly as good as I thought I was, as I will only have half the money I was counting on for December.

So after absorbing that blow, he leaves and I turn to the girls to tell them the plans for the rest of the day. Before I can even open my mouth, one of the twins (I won't say who, to protect the guilty), says to me, "Where were you?!? Why did you forget?!?!"

Well, I'd had it. I got all teary (I usually try to do my crying in private) and just said, "Well, excuse me. I've had kind of a crappy day!"

And of course, the sight of me in tears immediately has her crying, too.

So now I am thinking I can't manage the kids' scheduling crap, I can't manage the money, and I can't even manage to be "The Mom" without falling apart! It seems I can't do anything right today!!

But then I remember some wise words from one of my cousins, who was born and raised in the southeast (North Carolina). "It's okay," she said. "Tomorrow is another day, Scarlett."

It's true. Oh, sure, it feels like the most totally craptastic day, ever. But I'm alive, I'm healthy, I have a house to live in and food to eat. Most importantly, I am surrounded by people I love and who love me back - who remind me that tomorrow is another day, when I need reminding. What would I do without them all?

So it was not the Worst. Day. Ever. Just almost. ;)

Make It A Good One!

2008-11-20T10:57:00.000-08:00

I am not the best housekeeper in the world. In fact, I am pretty much a sucky housekeeper. I don’t clean my house at all – I pay to have someone else come in and do it. I manage to keep the surface of things picked up pretty well, but the interiors of my cabinets, drawers, and shelves mostly have all sorts of junk stuffed in them higgledy-piggledy. My desk at work is no better, and neither is my car.

My car is probably the worst of the three, because I have no cleaning company or janitorial staff to take care of it for me or to force me to pick it up in preparation for the deeper cleaning of their visit. In fact, I am often guilty of leaving a half-empty bottle of juice, a handful of receipts, or an unwashed lunch container in my car for several days (geez, I hope it’s not weeks, but time does fly….) at a time. In my defense, though, it’s not just me: my kids help contribute to the mess by leaving candy wrappers, fast-food bags, school papers, and dirty socks in the back seat, too.

So, although it doesn’t happen all that often, it’s also not horribly unusual for me to get in my car, breathe in, and say to myself, “Whoa!! Time to clean out the car!!” Yesterday was such a day.

I picked the girls up early from school for an appointment to go get flu shots. I picked Cyd up at the high school first, and then went over to get the twins at the junior high. I parked in the visitor’s space and asked Cyd if she wanted to go in with me to get her sisters.

“How long will you be?” she asked.

“Well,” I said, “Not that long, but I’ll have to get them checked out and everything so it might be a little bit.”

Cyd decided to wait in the car.

I went into the school and walked to the attendance office. It is run by students so it’s kind of a slow, laborious process to fill out the papers, have the student look up the class, call the teacher on the loudspeaker, and repeat the process for the other twin. Then, of course, both girls are on opposite sides of the school, about as far away from the attendance office as you can get. They finally appeared, and then we had to stop by the locker to drop off books and pick up backpacks, too. So, by the time we got back out to the car, probably close to 10 or 15 minutes had lapsed.

As soon as I got in the car, I immediately noticed a rather unpleasant odor. As I prepare to pull out of the parking lot, I have my "time to clean out the car again" thought and begin mentally running through the checklist of things I may have left in my car that could be the origin of such a funky smell: hmmm, haven’t been through a fast-food drive-in for a while, didn’t take my lunch to work today, Mychael washed her gym clothes over the weekend…what could it be?

Then it dawned on me. “Cydanie,” I said, “while I was getting your sisters, did you make a fartie in Mom’s car?”

There was a long pause, and then she finally replied.

“Well,” Cyd said, “it was only one!”

So, the moral of the story is, if you’re only going to make one, make it a good one – whatever it is.

It's Been A Long Time - Next Time Will Be Better, I Swear!

2008-11-17T14:12:00.001-08:00

I have been so busy at work lately - I have sort of fallen out of the habit of posting. I know that I am being paid to actually work while I'm at work, and believe me, I feel plenty guilty that I don't give it my all, all the time. But let's face it: between the stuff at home (kids, cars, house, etc.) and the divorce crap, a half hour or hour at work is really the only time I have to do it, when I also have the energy to do it! I could give you a list of stuff that has happened lately, but it's all gross and I don't want to think about it, let alone write about it.

Suffice it to say that my car broke only 6 weeks after the warranty expired, and it cost me over $200 to get it fixed - it was possessed by something otherworldly, which caused the lights and dials and gauges and stuff to go on by themselves, even when the switches were off. Oh, yeah, and it wouldn't start. On the bright side, it turned out to be a relatively simple problem which was corrected by replacing the battery, and it didn't cost the $400 that the dealership told me it would. But it was still a lot of running around for parts and stuff, and I had to make my dad help me (I still suffer guilt because he is 70 and I should be helping him, not him still taking care of me...).

One of the twins is not turning in her math homework again. On her first junior high school report card, she got around a 2.9 or 3.0 or something like that. Which I would say was fine, except that I know she can do so much better than that. Her sister got a 3.9, fer pete's sake - all A's and only one A-! I know that one just "does" school better, but still - I would've thought their grades would have been a little closer. That is the downside about having multiples - the regrettable tendency to compare them to one another, and always find one of them "less than" the other. Don't get me wrong, I love them equally! But I catch myself thinking, "I wish this one was as organized as that one," or "Why can't that one be as accommodating as this one?" For me, at least, it is a constant struggle to appreciate them each for their own individual strengths and not always be wishing that each had the other's strengths, too. And this is not helped by the fact that THAT one won't do her math homework!!!

And since I am complaining about school stuff, I might as well tell you that Cyd growled at her Foods teacher (sigh...). I guess I am used to it when Cyd goes "Urgggggh!!!" at me, and I just laugh it off. However, I can see how a teacher might be shocked if she got that noise, just for asking Cyd to copy down a recipe. So, now I can't laugh about it anymore; I need to train Cyd to realize that growling is not "socially appropriate."

And then there's the whole divorce thing. We are still battling over finances and assets and all that. I long for the day when my description of "me" can just be about me, and not include "soon-to-be-divorced" as one of the qualifiers.

I am truthfully less angry with Mr. Soon-to-be-Ex about all the mechanics of the divorce than I am about the idea he seems to have that you can divorce your kids as easily as you can your spouse. Sure, we have been squabbling back and forth about possessions. I continue to doubt his continuing denial of the existence of any type of "inappropriate relationship" with a woman he works with. I am irritated that I have just now discovered a mysterious multi-hundred dollar expenditure in an out-of-state jewelry store that occurred back in April, especially since the person he is NOT having a relationship with (yeah, right!)happens to live in the town where said jewelry store purchase occurred. Hmmm, I think I would remember if I were the recipient of anything from such a store, don't you? But that's all petty crap which, in the long run, doesn't mean much.

However, I am completely bewildered as to how Mr. Soon-to-be-Ex either is not aware, or just plain doesn't care, that his slavish devotion to his own happiness has so negatively impacted his own children in one way or another. I have had to explain to Cyd more than once that the whole concept of divorce means that Daddy doesn't get to have a birthday party at Grandpa Bob's this year, even if Dad's birthday is in December, because that was Daddy's choice. Do you think he's even explained that once?

I have another child in therapy now because she is struggling so much. All the therapist had to do was ask her where her dad lived, and the shaky hold she has on her emotions just burst. She could barely choke the words out through her tears. Why doesn't he get to witness this, and feel the knife twist in his gut the way it twists in mine when I see how miserable they are? The therapist asked her what her dad was like, and the only answer she could think of was, "He's in the Army." You know, I think I could tell you a dozen things about my dad, and never once mention what he does (or did) for a living.

Granted, I am an adult with supposedly better communication skills, but still....I would be embarassed if my kids ever thought of me as such a one-trick pony. And I'd be ashamed if any child of my own grew up to be that way, too. How could I have lived with and loved a man such as this for all those years? Were those years a lie, or is who he is now the lie?

Oh, now look: I wasn't going to write about any of this crap because it was just all too gross, and here I ended up doing it anyway. Next time, if I can't think of anything more fun, I am going to borrow a cute idea from my cousins and make a list of 100 things about me which WILL NOT contain anything about car trouble, kid trouble, or divorce crap.

Blog Thievery

2008-11-03T15:25:00.000-08:00

I am super busy at work this week, and so likely won't have time to do a "proper" blog post. However, I read a blog today that I thought was totally hillarious and worth sharing. If you have ever heard of Natalie Dee, she is kind of a sureal, off-the-wall, web-based comic artist who, in my opinion, is extremely funny. I won't pretend to "get" all of her stuff, but the things she draws and writes about her pug, Chester, are absolutely hillarious. As is 80% of the rest of the stuff she does. If you have ever seen Dana's shirt that has a cupcake plus a multivitamin on it, with the caption "Super Breakfast," or my cat-in-the-catbox shirt that says "Free Samples," those are Natalie Dee.

Anyway, Natalie just had a baby, a little girl. The baby was born prematurely, as Natalie had fairly severe pre-eclampsia. In addition, the baby was breach, so not only was Natalie on bed rest, she also had to stay in the hospital for longer than normal, have the baby via C-section, and take home a 4 lb. baby. All of you who have ever been on bed rest, had a C-section, had a preemie, or even just a lot of swelling and/or a really, really tiny baby, will recognize just how accurate (and yet, bitingly funny!) Natalie's portrayal of those experiences is. I am warning you in advance, though, that she swears. A lot. Try to overlook it, though - you don't want a little thing like freqent use of the f-bomb to keep you from enjoying such priceless observations.

So - here's the link: http://blog.nataliedee.com/ Go to the October 30th entry, and I challenge you not to laugh.

Enjoy!

Can You Say "Stubborn?"

2008-10-23T14:33:00.000-07:00

I'm sure you'll all be happy to know that no table slapping was required last night. The next four pages of Foods homework have been completed, and with minimal belly-achin', and we only have three left to do tonight. Woo HOO!

And because there was minimal bellyachin', Cyd earned some free time on the computer last night. Normally, she visits Pokemon websites, Cartoon Network, or You Tube to watch Sailor Moon; Pokemon; The Grimm Adventures of Billy & Mandy; or Trick My Truck episodes. Every once in awhile, though, she'll play a game - usually Pokemon related somehow.

So, though she plays her Nintendo DS every once in a while, games aren't really her "thing." Imagine my surprise, then, when last Saturday at Target, she brought me a computer game called "Cake Mania" and told me she really, really, really wanted it. It was only $10, but I was thinking that's kind of a lot of money for just a treat for no reason. But then, the twins saw it and chimed in, too. "Ooooh, Mommy, yes, yes, yes!! We love this game!! It is soooo fun!!!" they said. "Please let's buy it, OK, Mommy? OK?!?"

I figured $10 divided by 3 kids was less than $3.50 per kid, which is a more reasonable amount for a "treat." So I looked at Cyd and said, "Well, OK, but if I buy it, you have to share it with your sisters, OK?"

She looked back at me, and said in all seriousness, "Why would you want me to do that?"

We have been working on this "sharing" concept since she was 3, so I am used to explaining "why I would want her to do that." So I explained it to her once more: the game was $10, and it was kind of a lot of money, so if I was going to buy it, then it had to be for all the girls, not just her. That way all the kids could play with it and enjoy it, and not just her.

"But I don't want to share it!" she whined. Really? I hadn't guessed!! But sarcasm is lost on her.

So instead I said, "Well, you can pay for it with your own money, then."

I get the big, heavy sigh. "But Mom, you know I'm saving my money so I can buy a vehicle!" (see my post of September 9, 2008)

I repeated my earlier explanation of $10 being an expensive treat for just one girl, and if I bought her a $10 treat, I'd have to buy a $10 treat for Bretten and a $10 treat for Mychael, too, so that it would be fair. Then that would be $30 in treats. But if all the girls shared the game, then I only had to buy one $10 treat, and so on.

She gave me a look full of disappointment and disgust. "Fine!" she said, and stomped off to put the game back.

I called her back over, and tried to explain that sharing the game might not be as fun as owning it all to herself, but even if she had to share it, at least that meant she still had the game, and that would be better than not having the game at all, wouldn't it? But she was having none of that.

"Mom, I told you, I just don't share."

Well, the twins had observed this exchange, of course, and were jumping around and yapping at me, afraid their slice of the $10 was going down the drain. "Mommy, Mommy!" they cried. "Don't let her put it back, Mommy. You said we could get it. Can we still get it, Mom, huh, can we? We like it, too!! Please, Mommy, please, can we get it, huh?!?!"

"Fine!" I said, and they ran happily off after Cydanie to get the game, anyway. I figured that once we had the game home, the temptation of playing it would help Cyd get over her aversion to sharing and she would end up enjoying the game, anyway.

Flash forward to Cyd's free time last night. I noticed that one of the twins had left the Cake Mania game out right next to the computer as Cyd came in and sat down in front of it. I stealthily tried to observe her as she logged on, while trying to look like I wasn't observing anything (if she knows I'm watching her, she gets irritated with me). I was fully anticipating that as soon as she got started, she'd go ahead and put the CD in and play the game and act like she'd gone along with this "sharing" business from the start.

Imagine my surprise when, instead of putting the "Cake Mania" CD in the computer, Cyd Googled "Cake Mania," instead - and then began playing the free version via the internet!

The internet version has fewer levels, fewer rewards, and runs a lot slower. But apparently, in Cyd's world, it is better to play an inferior game on the internet, than it is to capitulate and actually share a better version of said game with your sisters!

Can you say "stubborn?" Grrrr!

If All Else Fails, Slap the Table

2008-10-22T10:11:00.000-07:00

My oldest daughter (the one who has autism) goes to school in what our local school district calls a “self-contained learning center.” That’s a fancy name for what is, essentially, a class room that is set apart from the main school. It has its own lockers and a restroom so that the kids in that class never have to leave it during the school day. All the core subjects are taught there, and my daughter and her classmates only leave to attend whatever “mainstream” classes they might have, or to go to lunch. They wouldn’t even have to leave for lunch necessarily, if they bring their lunch from home.

Anyway, these types of classrooms generally have two teachers and only 10 to 12 students, all of whom have some kind of learning disability and/or sensory or behavioral problems. The small pupil-to-teacher ratio ensures that the kids get the extra academic help and support they need. The fact that this also limits the amount of time they are swimming with the all the neurotypical (i.e., “regular”) kids in the main hallways helps them, too, by minimizing what could be overwhelming sensory input/stimulation, thereby reducing the chances of conflict with any less-than-tolerant neurotypical students.

One of Cyd’s mainstream classes this semester is Foods. Back in the day, we used to call this class “Home Ec.” The name may have changed, but the gist is the same: a couple of days of classwork learning about nutrition and measurements and so on, and then a day cooking in the lab. Cyd loves to cook, so this is, naturally, one of her favorite classes. At the beginning of the school year, I emphasized to Cyd that if she didn’t cooperate on the classwork part, she wouldn’t earn the privilege of being able to cook in the lab part. I assumed she understood, and the school year was just floating along smoothly.

Silly me.

Yesterday, I get a call from Mrs. K, the Foods teacher. She just doesn’t know what to do, because Cyd is missing 11 assignments and is getting a D-, and the term ends Friday. Mrs. K doesn’t want to fail Cyd, but she can’t, in good conscience, give her a B based on labs alone. I panic. I know it’s “just” Foods. It's not like its Calculus or Chemistry or something really hard or even part of the “core” curriculum (like reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic)! But, seeing as this and gym are the only two mainstream classes she has this semester, it's important that she at least do all the assignments and maximize her participation points to help offset any difficulties she might have in other areas. I tell Mrs. K I understand her dilemma, of course I don’t expect her to pass Cyd if Cyd is not doing the work. I ask if there is some way Cyd can make up these assignments and bail her grade out of the toilet.

Mrs. K says sure - all the “assignments” are, are end-of-unit summaries/quizzes that Cyd has just plain refused to do. None of them have more than 20 questions, and the questions are not difficult. But, I explain that Cyd has always had a test-taking "thing" (from the age of 3 and her first autism “diagnostic inventory”), so I am not surprised that when they tried to get her to do these in class, she would just cry. So then Mrs. K said she told Cyd she could just copy them out, giving her the answers and everything, but all Cyd would do was put her head down and pretend to sleep. Why Mrs. K waited to tell me about the problem until the last week of the term, I'm not quite sure, but that’s a different story.

This story is about doing homework with Cyd, and I had to give you all that background so that you could fully appreciate the following:

Knowing that any homework is enough to set Cyd off on a melt-down, I try to be very cheery when I get home and ask Cyd for her papers from Mrs. K. I get Cyd some freshly sharpened pencils and some notebook paper, and set Cyd up at the dining room table. She is ready for business! I give her one paper that has 18 questions on it. They are mostly just pretty basic things, like, “The US Food and Drug Administration recommends six servings of grains per day for optimum nutritional health,” and “Unsaturated fats tend to be liquid at room temperature, and consist of monounsaturated (found in olive oil, avocado, nuts and seeds), and polyunsaturated (found in walnuts, soybeans, and oily fish such as sardines and tuna).” All Cyd has to do is copy these sentences, as the words that were left blank in the “real” quiz have already been filled in for her on this copy.

I explain this to Cyd. “Just write these sentences,” I say. “Copy them onto your paper, just like they are written here. I’ll be in the kitchen, so just holler if you need any help.”

I go into the kitchen to read the newspaper, do the dishes, and just putter. It is dead silent in the dining room. About a half hour goes by, and I go in to check on Cyd. The paper in front of her is blank. She has not done a thing but sit there and stare at it for 30 minutes.

“Cyd! What are you doing? C’mon – get started!” I say. She looks up at me from underneath her too-long bangs, and tears well up in her eyes.

“It’s hard!” she wines.

“Oh, Cyd, you don’t need to cry! C’mon! Just write your name at the top of your paper. You can do that, can’t you? That’s not hard!”

“I just don’t want to do it,” she moans.

At this point, I’m still full of patience and sunny optimism. “I know you don’t want to do it, honey, but, if you don’t do it in school when Mrs. K asks you to, then you have to do it at home. All you need to do is just copy the words – you don’t even have to look anything up or guess. The faster you start, the faster you’ll finish. C’mon!”

All I get is more tears.

Mind you, an hour has now gone by, and she still has not so much as even touched the pencil in front of her, not even to write her name. Tears are dripping off her chin and leaving dimples on the paper. And mind you, she has eleven of these pages to copy!

The minutes tick by. I pull out all my tricks. I bargain: "If you finish one, then you can have a break and get a snack!"

“Mom, I told you, I just don’t want to. I don’t do homework!”

“Well, if you don’t do it in school, you certainly DO do homework, alright! That’s the rule – do it in school, or do it at home. Either way, you’ve got to do your work.”

No response except the occasional sob.

So then I plead: "Please, Cydanie, Mommy doesn't like to fight with you – just please do it! C’mon!"

All I get in reply are more sobs.

Now I am losing my cheeriness (!) and am starting to get mad. I threaten: "If you don't do what Mrs. K says and write down these sentences, she won't let you be in her class anymore. Then you'll have to spend all your time with Mr. B! And even worse, you’ll be in trouble with Mom!"

Cyd continues to stare morosely at her pencil.

I am ashamed to say that this is the point at which my last button was pushed. I smack the flat of my hand down on the table, the loud bang making Cyd jump and look up at me. I yell, "That's IT!! You are acting like a baby! Grown-up kids…” Here, Cyd interrupts me.

“I’m not a grown-up!”

I roll right over the top of her words. “…Grown-up kids who want to get driver's licenses do their work when they’re told. But if you want to act like a baby…”

Cyd interrupts again. “I’m not a baby!”

“Well,” I growl, “you’re sure acting like one! If you want to act like a baby, then I'll treat you like a baby - a big, almost 16-year-old baby!”

Cyd interrupts again. "But Mom, I'm not 16. I'm only 15!"

I am all worked up now. I shout, "I don't care! 15 OR 16 - it's too old to act like this! I'm going to count to 10 and if you are not writing by the time I get to 10, I'm going to spank your butt!" I grab her hand and put the pencil in it, and set the point on the top of the blank sheet of paper.

“NOW WRITE!!”

I flop back in the chair across from her, red-faced and breathing heavy, and stare her down. Finally, she starts to write her name. I hold my breath as she starts to copy down sentence number one. She stops midway, and looks up at me. I narrow my eyes and point back to her paper. She goes back to writing.

We continue this way for the next 90 minutes or so. I keep getting the stink eye every now and again. She writes a line, glares at me and complains for a couple of minutes, then writes another line, then glares and complains some more, then writes a line, then glares/complains....

At the end of the evening, we had finished four of the eleven papers that are due Friday. That means four tonight, and three Thursday night, and then she’ll be all caught up. I certainly hope we don’t have to repeat this entire process tonight to get her started on the next batch. I think I'll go straight to the slapping the table part, if so.

A One-of-A-Kind Souvenier

2008-10-15T13:42:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a quick trip to San Francisco. We stayed in a hotel about two blocks away from Fisherman's Wharf. We visited Chinatown and the North End ("little Italy"), as well as took a cruise around the bay and a ride on a cable car. I had some of the best meals I've had in a l - o - n - g time: roasted mussels with garlic, gnocchi with spinach and walnuts, a burger from In-and-Out, and so on. San Francisco is one of my favorite towns - it has a sensibility and an eclecticness that just seem to "match" me. "Weird" is normal there, and that appeals to me.

I truly love the wharf area, though. I love the smell of the ocean and the faint, lingering, fishiness of the day's catch. I love the smell of sourdough baking. I love the sound of sealions barking and gulls squawking. I love all the "only in San Francisco" sights, from the beautiful orange bridge rising out of the bay, to the glass cases full of pink shrimp and red crab lined up like soldiers in formation, to the numerous oddities you find populating the piers: the homeless lady who drops down to the sidewalk like she's going to do push-ups, only to lick the cement; the "Bush Man" hiding behind his fake shrubbery to jump out at unsuspecting tourists; what seem like dozens of "robot man" guys who paint themselves silver (one was gold!) and pretend to be statues as they stand on top of a milk crate, and so on. I love the feel of the sea breeze in my hair and the salt mist on my skin, and the kaleidescope of brilliant colors in all the cheap tourist-trap shops along the Embacadero. If I were ever going to live in a "big" city, San Francisco would definitely be on the top of my list.

My brother, Bert, asked me to bring him "something cool" from my trip. I was only too happy to oblige, since he was taking care of my dog while I was gone. However, since I was not exactly sure what qualified as "something cool," I asked him to be more specific. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe something hippy?"

So with nothing more specific in mind, I wandered up and down the Embacadero. Finally, I saw something that would be perfect for him. I walked past a man, sitting in one of the flower planters that line the sidewalk, wearing what were clearly last week's clothes (if not last month's) and eating something unidentifiable out of a styrofoam container. He had a sign made out of cardboard propped against his chest, and on it was scribbled in marker, "Why lie? Need money for beer. Out of luck - spare me a buck!"

I approached him and said, "Hey, I'll buy your sign from you!"

He had a hard time making both eyes focus on me at the same time. His right eye seemed to be looking at me, but his left eye was squinting and looking off to the left somewhere. "You aren't going to go panhandle with it, are you?" he asked me.

"No," I said. "I just want to buy your sign."

"If I sell you my sign, what will I use?"

"I don't know," I said. "You can make yourself a new one."

He hesitated. "Welllll..."

"I'll give you twenty bucks for it."

"Sold!"

I handed him a twenty, and he gave me his sign, and we were both happy with the deal.

As I walked away, I heard him mumbling under his breath, "Geez, I should just make signs...." I laughed, and congratulated myself on scoring a truly one-of-a-kind souvenier that pretty much epitomizes San Francisco.

The next day, we were out on the wharf again. I saw my former business partner sitting in the same flower bed. Guess what? He had a new sign that read, "Why lie? Need money for beer...."

Guess it's not so "one-of-a-kind," after all.

How do YOU determine the worth of a soul?

2008-10-06T09:18:00.001-07:00

As promised, here is my blog post on determing the worth of a human being.

As I wrote in an earlier post, my counselor gave me a task: determine how to ascribe worth to a soul. Ostensibly, this is so that I can try to see myself as valuable not because of how much I make, how many degrees I have, how hard I work or how much I accomplish, but valuable just because I am. We got on this topic because I mentioned to her that I come from a family who, to a person, is probably "better" than average in terms of kindness, intelligence, generosity, goodness of heart, etc., and yet probably a good 75% of them feel "unworthy" somehow. No matter what they know about themselves empirically, they struggle to believe it emotionally.

And, if you go back and read some of the writings of my great-grandmother's mother, you realize that it has been this way for us generation after generation. Why is that? Especially when there are those out there who are less of all those characteristics that I think "should" lead to lots of esteem, and yet somehow they are convinced that the planets revolve around them (and everything else should, too!). How does that work?

So anyway, the counselor told me to try to determine what makes a soul worth something, and how would I determine that one soul, for whatever reason, might be more or less worthy than another one. Here is where I am at so far:

At first I was thinking that all people had worth simply because they were alive. But then I thought, well, cows and chickens are alive, too, but I don't think they are worth as much as a human being. So the mere fact of being a living, sentient being is not the determining factor - at least, not for me.

So then I thought, well, anyone who makes the world a better place has worth. But, I think everyone makes the world a better place. It's just that some do it by coming into it, and others do it by leaving! So anyway, that's not going to work, either.

So, to all three or four of you who actually read this, I am conducting a poll: How do YOU determine the worth of a human soul? And using whatever you use, how do you determine what makes one person better than another? I'm looking forward to your input...

Returning To Your Roots and Karma

2008-10-02T11:28:00.001-07:00

Some things have happened lately that make me realize that who you are as an adult, has a lot to do with how you were raised. You can fool yourself for a little while, trying out different lifestyles, etc., but you generally return to your roots, I think. For instance, if as you were growing up, your parents emphasized honesty, responsibility, charity, kindness, etc., chances are that you will emphasize those same values in raising your own children. Or, if you were raised to believe that you've always got to be looking out for Number One and you are perfectly justified to plan and scheme every weasel-ish way to work a situation to your advantage (like someone who shall remain nameless - but I bet you can guess who it is!) then you will eventually go back to that, no matter how many years you tried to live your life a bit more honestly/generously.

I know that I was not nearly as nice of a person 20 years ago as I am now. Not saying I'm nice now, mind you, but I'm nice-er. Case in point: when Grandma Jean was still alive, we were at the park celebrating a birthday. I think it was my brother, Elj's, but I'm not sure how old he was at the time - maybe 10 or 12? Anyway, my grandma was diabetic and diabetics tend to have a lot of circulatory problems in their extremeties, so she had been having trouble with her feet. So here we are at my brother's birthday - a big day in the life of a little kid, for sure! My mom (Pegge) is rushing around, organizing the big "Happy Birthday" song and trying to light candles and everything, but my grandma was like, "Pegge? Come look at my toe. What do you think, Pegge? Do you think it's OK, Pegge? How does it look? Pegge? Pegge?"

My mom dropped everything to go look at my grandma's toe, and for some reason, it irritated the crap out of me. I was like, "Geez, Grandma - this is Elj's birthday! Can't you wait a minute? Gosh - why does everything have to be about you! Can't you see my mom is busy? Don't you realize a kid's birthday ought to center around him, and not his grandma's toe? Can't we at least sing to him first? Fer cryin' out loud!" I didn't say anything like this, of course, but I was having a lot of uncharitable thoughts about Grandma and my mom, too, for getting sucked in to Grandma's "poor me" quest for attention. I thought to myself, "Man, I'm never going to be like that with my mom, or anyone else! How would anyone know that that is inappropriate behavior, if I reward them with attention? Grrr!"

Skip 18-some odd years into the future, to a day earlier this week. I was telling my mom about a recent visit to my counselor, and how she had talked about how easy it is to assign value/give worth to others, but how hard it was for me to find charity in my soul for myself. The counselor gave me an assignment: how do you determine the worth of human being? What is their intrinsic value, not because of who they are or what they have or what they've done, but just because they merely exist, and just are? This is a topic worthy of it's own separate blog post, to be sure, and I'll get around to it, eventually, but I was telling my mom how difficult of a question I thought this was to answer.

My mom proceeded to tell me, for at least an hour if not longer, how she would answer the question. Oh. My. God. I thought I would die from boredom. I kept blanking out, as unfortunately, her voice was like the hum of an air conditioner, or the sound of far-away lawn mowers on a sunny summer day: just a distant, steady, droning of "Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz. Buh-bzz, bzz, bzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz!" If I was still the same person I was during Grandma's toe incident, I would have been all, "Uh, yeah, OK. Thanks, Mom! Gotta go! Buh-bye!" about 10 minutes into the monologue - afterall, this was a question about me, from my counselor, that I was supposed to answer for myself - NOT my mother's views on life!

But, I forced myself to practice charity and listen generously, even though I didn't particularly want to, because I knew she was enjoying having the chance to have an intellectual discussion and a willing ear. I was surprised at my mom's depth of insight. She's actually quite a philosopher, in her own way, and rather wise for someone who never got a college degree or ever, according to her, even felt particularly intelligent.

And I realized, also, that not only will who I am now listen to an hour's worth of "speechifying" from her mother and try to find value in it, even when it's difficult - who I am now would've stopped the party to pay attention to my grandma's toe, too, if I had the chance.

I guess my mother raised me right, after all, even if it took me a while to figure it out. I must have learned, unintentionally, from my mom's example, how to be a kinder, gentler person. I did come back to my roots - or at least, I'm in the process of it. Perhaps the Karmic pay-off to my mom for listening to Grandma's toe complaints all those years ago and making her feel valued, was me learning to listen to my mom now and making her feel valued. And one day, my surly pre-teens will (hopefully!) learn to do the same for me, and that will be my Karmic pay-off.

So, yeah, I was raised to be nice, and I think I'm nicer now than I was. But - I am not nice enough, to not sincerely hope that the Karmic pay-off for individuals who return to their weasel-y roots, will come back to bite them in their weasel-y little (bleep!)!!

My Two-Cents' Worth

2008-09-26T11:21:00.001-07:00

OK, since I live in what has got to be the most polically-conservative state in the entire nation, I generally try to avoid broadcasting my own political views in order to avoid confrontation and the odd Relief Society mom looking at me like I am from another planet. Suffice it to say that I am a good bit more liberal than the majority of my friends and neighbors. I try to be respectful of all opinions, though, and don't try to ram my own viewpoints down others' throats (would that many of my conservative friends might practice the same....).

However, I have to admit that the selection of the overwhelmingly underqualified Sarah Palin has really got me in a lather, and I have just got to vent - especially after reading transcripts of her recent interview with Katie Couric. Specifically, I point to the following:

"...When [Palin] struggled to respond to Couric's suggestion that the $700-billion bailout might be better funneled through middle-class families instead of Wall Street firms, [she said] "That's why I say I, like every American I'm speaking with, we're ill about this position that we have been put in . . ." Palin began, before meandering off in fruitless pursuit of coherence.

"But I'll let the governor speak for herself:

" . . . where it is the taxpayers looking to bail out. But ultimately, what the bailout does is help those who are concerned about the healthcare reform that is needed to help shore up our economy. Um, helping, oh -- it's got to be all about job creation too. Shoring up our economy, and putting it back on the right track. So healthcare reform and reducing taxes and reining in spending has got to accompany tax reductions, and tax relief for Americans, and trade, we've got to see trade as opportunity, not as a competitive, um, scary thing, but 1 in 5 jobs being created in the trade sector today. We've got to look at that as more opportunity. All of those things under the umbrella of job creation. This bailout is a part of that."

OK, how did the bail-out vs. middle class refunds, get to be about health care? I have heard better "current events" responses from Miss America contestants and high school debate students!!

And "reducing taxes...has got to accompany tax reductions"?!?!?! Duh! Does she even listen to herself?!? Does anyone from the McCain campaign even go back and read transcripts of this woman?

Oh. My. God. I find it stunning, the amount of arrogance she must possess to think herself actually qualified for the #2 job in the land, if not the world. I'm afraid she knows so little about what's entailed, that she doesn't even know what she doesn't know, but should!! How could any self-respecting, half-way intelligent person think this woman even minimally qualified for the VP slot, much less the best qualified?

OK, rant over. I can't afford to continue my zealous public critique of Ms. Palin, lest I end up being forced by the majority of my friends and neighbors to begin wearing a giant scarlet "P" on my person....

Seriously, all I ask is that you dilligently research the candidates, and actually think about them and the issues and what kind of America you want for your children. Then vote your conscience - not just the party line.

An UGH Mood

2008-09-24T07:19:00.000-07:00

Last night, I was really, really tired for some reason. I got home from work, made spaghetti for the kids, and then pretty much just veg'd the rest of the night. All I wanted to do was park my butt in front of the TV and just zone out as much as possible until I could justify going to bed.

Cyd, however, had other plans. She came up to me after dinner and said, "Mom, is it alright if I make some desert?"

Normally I am OK with this, as Cyd is a pretty good cook. However, her clean-up skills leave a bit to be desired. And, since I am trying to sell my house, I have to stay pretty vigilant about having it "showing ready" at the drop of a hat. So I weighed Cyd's desire for desert with my desire not to have to clean any more than absolutely necessary, and with a heavy sigh, I caved.

"Ugh! Fine!" I said.

Cyd bounced off, then came back a few minutes later with a box of spice cake mix. "It's not 7:30 yet and I just have enough time and so is it OK if I bake this?" came out of her, all on one breath.

I don't like cake all that much. In fact, the only kind of cake I really, really like is chocolate with white frosting, but Cyd doesn't like chocolate anything (besides brownies, that is...). And, Cydanie and Mychael generally only have one piece of cake each, and Bretten won't have any at all because she doesn't like any cake. That means whenever Cyd makes a cake, I either eat 3/4 of it by myself, or I end up throwing away almost a whole cake - both of which drive me crazy. I didn't have any better suggestions for Cyd, though, so once again, I caved.

"Ugh! Fine!" I said.

Off she runs again, only to come back five minutes later to say, "Is it OK if I just go over to Kerry's house and borrow some eggs because our eggs are all gone and I only need three!" Again, I am irritated - besides the fact that I don't like to borrow stuff, in general, and now I would have to go to the store sooner than I was planning on so that I could return the eggs to my neighbor, I was also thinking that if Cyd would only read the box before starting and assemble all her ingredients, then she'd know we didn't have eggs before she even started! Then I could convince her she couldn't make a cake, and then I wouldn't have to eat it all or throw it out, or clean up the mess afterwards! But no, it was too late - the mix and the oil and the water were already in the bowl. So, here I cave again, with another exasperated sigh: "Ugh! Fine!"

I am sitting there, reading the paper, thinking that finally Cyd is all set and I don't have to worry about her until it's time to clean up. It was not to last, as Bretten comes in with the bowl in her hand.

"Mom," she says, "is this all stirred up good enough? Cyd can't stir it all the way, and neither can I, but when I told her to come tell you, she's all, 'Mom's ugh.' Then I said, what do you mean, Mom's ugh? And she said, 'Mom's just ugh.' So I asked her what that meant, and she said, 'Mom's in an ugh mood.' So I asked her what an ugh mood was, and Cyd said, 'Everytime I tell Mom anything, she just goes 'ugh!'"

Of course, then I felt guilty for saying "Ugh" to Cyd all night, but I was also a little bit tickled at her perception, since recognizing and understanding other people's moods is generally a struggle for people with autism. And that was enough to get me out of my 'ugh' mood for the rest of the evening.

Everything I Need to Know, I Learned from a Slumber Party...

2008-09-22T13:46:00.001-07:00

As predicted by some of you, my Friday night experience is showing up on my blog:

I went to a "Slumber Party" Friday. A Slumber Party should not be confused with a slumber party. For those of you who don't know, a slumber party is when a bunch of girls get together to spend the night at a friend's house. They watch movies, play "Truth or Dare," paint each other's toenails, eat popcorn and pizza and other crap, and prank call boys, among other things.

On the other hand, a Slumber Party is a little get-together similar to a Pampered Chef or candle or Avon or Tupperware party. You get a bunch of friends together to look at some products and then the hostess gets to credit a portion of the sales from her party to her own order. The only difference is that instead of cooking utensils or cosmetics or whatever, the commodities to be purchased at a Slumber Party are...ahem...how do I say this in a family-friendly manner? The commodities to be purchased are designed to enhance personal relaxation and/or pleasure.

Anyway, I am no prude! I enjoy a raunchy joke as much as the next person. I have seen my share of pornography, and even have a couple of volumes of erotica in my own vast book collection. I still have a naughty pen that I got from Paul Arguello in the eighth grade (it has an inch-tall spread-eagled man on it. When the pen is right side up, the man is wearing black speedo trunks. But when you turn the pen upside down, his trunks slide back into the pen to reveal the tiny man in all his nekkid glory. But I digress...). When I worked as an investigator, I went into numerous stripper bars, and have sat in the dressing rooms of the dancers and listened to their conversations with one another, etc. I have even been into Spencer's in the mall - more than once. I, myself, have even danced with a lesbian!*

What I'm trying to say is, I know the facts of life. I am very accepting of all genders, persuasions, and orientations, and generally believe that whatever happens between two consenting adults is their own business and none of mine. I have not led a sheltered life by any stretch of the imagination - especially compared to the vast majority of The Beehive State.

So, I didn't really think I'd be embarrassed about this Slumber Party. And I I wasn't, not really. I mean, I was thinking along the lines of, "Geez! I was married for almost 20 years! And I wasn't a virgin when I got married, so, I know stuff! They can't surprise me!" I was expecting things like edible underwear and the odd 'personal massage tool' or two. Maybe even some padded handcuffs or flavored lube or something.

They had all that, and more. I didn't have any trouble recognizing the various "products" the sales consultant brought out, or why there might be a market for such products. That is, until she got to a pink, gell-filled, pillowy thing about the size of a can of soda. It rolled back and forth in the consultant's hand, and I thought it looked like one of those water-weenie things you used to get in your Happy Meal back in the day. You know, the ones that were like an extra-long doughnut, hard to hold onto because if you squeezed it too tightly, all the water inside the tube squished to one side and it would just pop out of your hand?

Anyway, the consultant said this thing was called a "sleeve." I'm thinking, "A sleeve? For what?" I was actually thinking that a girl couldn't possibly have any fun with such a thing - how would she use it? Is it supposed to go on top of your Wascally Wabbit or something? And what good would that do? How could that possibly make things any better or more fun? I truly was clueless.

I voiced my confusion. "I don't get it," I said. "What are you supposed to do with it?"

Answers seemed to come at me from all around. "It's for the man!" came one voice. "You just hold it!" came from another. "You can use it together, or by yourself!" said someone else. I still didn't get it. How could holding this bubblegum pink, water-weenie tube-pillow-sleeve thing be fun together OR by myself? It wouldn't fit in anywhere, and what good would it do to just hold such a thing - even if you were holding it together? I'm sure my confusion showed onmy face.

Luckily, my cousin has purchased something similar to this item before, and this was not her first Slumber Party! "Oh, fer hell sakes!" she said. "Put some lube in it and give it to me!" The consultant squirted some goo into the center tube of the pink jelly roll thing, and passed it over. Grabbing my hand, my cousin said, "Here! Stick your finger in there! Now do you get it?"

Oh, I got it, alright. As the pressure from the gell-filled tube closed around my finger, and the warmth of my skin warmed the lube inside the tube, my cousin began to move the sleeve back and forth on my finger, creating suction. The proverbial light bulb went on!! I now know exactly what such a thing is used for. Turns out it's not really for us ladies, after all! Oh, I s'pose you could hold it for him, if you wanted to, but I do believe this thing was designed with the gentlemen in mind...

So what did I learn, besides what a "sleeve" is for? Well, for one, I learned that you really do learn something new, every day! Or at least you can, even if you are fast approaching 40 and think you've seen it all. Just go to a Slumber Party...

*See 9/15/08 post

Why Divorce Sucks

2008-09-19T12:15:00.000-07:00

I'm sure anybody who has gone through a divorce - or even a bad break-up before - could give a list of a million of their own particular reasons for why divorce sucks, but here is one of mine:

I had a meeting with the attorney the other day and it was very stressful. It went as well as that kind of thing can go, I guess, but after it was over, I was totally drained. Wiped out. Exhausted. Just plain pooped. And yet, at the same time, I was also antsy, keyed-up, and just a little bit wired. The twins had gone to a Young Women's activity with the neighbors, and Cyd was off doing her own little thing, so I was just sitting there, twiddling my thumbs, going a little bit crazy.

Thankfully, my next-door neighbor called just then and told me her daughter's friend was over at their house with some beaded bracelets she had made, and would I like to come over and see them? I about jumped at the chance to be distracted by bright, pretty, shiny things, so I walked over there. Before I left, I told Cydanie to make sure she told her sisters that I was over at Kerry's house when they got home, and she said she would. I also happened to see Mychael across the street doing her Young Women's activity and waved to her as I was walking up to Kerry's front porch.

Well, the night was fun. Kerry's house is always full of stuff going on - she has three daughters who all have at least two or three friends, each, coming in and out, and Kerry is very social, herself. So, for someone like me who doesn't do idle chit-chat all that well, I can just find a chair and observe. I listened to their stories, laughed at their jokes, and generally, was very effectively distracted from the day's earlier stresses. I even bought a piece of jewelry from the friend.

I looked at my watch at one point and it was 9:40, and I thought,"Wow! I'm going to have to leave pretty quick to get the kids in bed!" Then I kind of let myself get lulled back into listening to a few more stories, following the banter back and forth between Kerry and her kids, and being distracted by bright, shiny objects. Then I looked at my watch again: it was 10:20!! "Oh, crap!" I said. "I've got to go!"

I ran home, and of course Cydanie was in bed. Bedtime for her is 10:00 PM, and she goes to bed at 10:00 PM come hell or high water. In fact, if she is tired at 9:15 PM, she waits to go to bed until 10:00 PM (all part of the joys of autism). Anyway, Mychael was on the computer, so I was going in to tell her to get off and get ready for bed. Bretten met me half-way there, arms folded across her chest, toe tapping, and a ferocious scowl on her pretty little face. I stopped short.

"Where were you?!" she burst out.

"I was at Kerry's - I thought you knew. I told Cyd to tell you guys when you got home, and I saw Mychael on my way over there, so I thought you knew. In fact, I was kind of surprised I didn't see you over there." I explained.

"Oh, I knew you were over there. Why are you so late?!?"

That kind of caught me off guard. "Uh," I stammered. "Well, I lost track of time. I was just talking with Kerry and stuff and looked at my watch and it was 9:40 and I was thinking I needed to leave soon, but then the next thing I knew it was after 10:00, so then I came right home. I'm sorry I'm late."

She grunted and stomped past me in a huff. I hollered in at Mychael to get off the computer and go to bed, and followed Bretten to the stairs.

"What's the matter?" I asked her, reaching out to turn her around. "Why are you being so grumpy to me?"

"Because!" she stormed. "I don't LIKE it when you're out past bedtime!!"

A million thoughts were going through my mind just then. What was this all about? She stays by herself all the time! I go places without her and even stay out late sometimes, and I don't get this reaction. What's going on? Then it hit me.

"Honey," I said, in my most patient, sincere tone. "I will never, ever leave you forever. Even if I ever have to go away for a little bit, I will always, always come back. I promise. Never doubt that for a minute."

And then she buried her face in my chest, wrapped her little arms around me, and just sobbed for all she was worth. The whole time she was crying, shoulders shaking, soaking my shirt, etc., I was thinking, "Damn that man for giving her this separation anxiety. Even if he came back, he can't take back this 'gift' of worrying about being left behind. This is an 'issue' she'll carry with her throughout her whole life, and who knows what kind of crazy company she'll end up keeping, just so she can feel secure; or how many times she'll shoot herself in the foot just so she can do the leaving instead of being the one who gets left."

I calmed her down as best I could, and we all went upstairs and got ready for bed.

But that, dear friends, is just one good reason why divorce sucks.

So I Was Dancing With This Lesbian....

2008-09-15T11:37:00.000-07:00

I'm sure that headline got your attention, eh? Well, the story goes like so:

I went to a concert at Redbutte Gardens last week. G. Love and Special Sauce were the headliners, and the John Butler Trio and Tristan Prettyman opened up the show. I had never heard of JBT or Ms. Prettyman (I understand she is married to Jason Mraz of "I'm Yours" fame...), but I have heard of G.Love, et al. I am not a big fan of theirs, by any means, but I was mostly going for the company and just the fact that it was something to get me out of the house. A little break, if you will...

If you have never been to Redbutte Gardens, it is the absolute best concert venue for having a good time. Maybe not for acoustics, necessarily, but for just a pleasant ambience, it can't be beat. It is set in the foothills behind the U of U, and there is a little rushing brook with a bridge over it and several stands of trees, expanses of green lawns and planters full of flowers, etc. The restrooms are large, clean, and well-lit. And perhaps best of all, you are refreshingly treated like an adult when you go there. You can pack in your beverage of choice (adult or otherwise) and no one asks to go through your bag with a flashlight, nor are you frisked or otherwise patted down or anything! That must be what it's like to live somewhere other than The Beehive State....

The crowd was really fun. There was a real sense of camaraderie among the concert-goers - people seemed to be laid back, pleasant, and generally into one another's well-being. This is also a refreshing change from many "large crowd" types of gatherings I have been to.

Soon after we arrived (I went with a friend I used to work with, and four friends of hers that she works with now) Tristan Prettyman took the stage. I apologize in advance if you are a fan - it just seemed like generic folk-guitar stuff to me. However, it rained during her performance, and the rays of the setting sun shining through the light sprinkle formed a brilliant rainbow over the canyons behind the garden. I enjoyed some cheese and crackers and sushi and a little Dewar's and water. It was so pleasant - the good food and drink, the sounds of the little stream beside me and the guitar of Ms. Prettyman, the smell of rain and green grass, the beautiful gardens and wild canyons all around...it has been ages since I was so relaxed.

Then, when the John Butler Trio took the stage, the rain stopped. I think I liked this group the best. The main guy - I'm assuming it's John Butler - was an absolute master on the 12-string. Even though I had never heard of him/them before, I couldn't help but be impressed. He is an enormously talented individual.

But what about the lesbian, you ask? Well, G. Love and Special Sauce's style of music is quite a bit more electric/bluesy funk style. They're best known for the song "Cold Beverages," but I personally like "You Get the Ankles, I'll Get the Wrists" better. The first two acts were nice "sitting-and-vegging" music, but G. Love, even if you're not really into him, makes you want to dance.

So there I was, along with my friend and her friends, and we were all just standing and dancing, clapping along to the music like ya do at a concert. I felt someone come up behind me and start the bumpin' and grindin' kind of thing. I was feeling very happy and was kind of getting into G. Love (even though I mostly think he's just "meh") and I just assumed it was either my friend being a smart***, or one of the guys she had brought with her making a pass at me.

Imagine my surprise when I turned to find it was not a guy at all, but one of my friend's female co-workers!! Silly me, I didn't want to offend her, so I just kept dancing, trying to inch away slightly while pretending like that wasn't what I was doing at all. Then, I started thinking that maybe I had misinterpreted what was going on - maybe it was just that crowded, and she couldn't help it or something. Besides, it was dark - maybe she didn't even realize I was a girl! So I just danced on through the rest of the song and tried not to think about it.

I sat down on my blanket and took a breather after that song was over. I had about convinced myself it was all in my imagination - maybe she was just a MAJOR G. Love fan, and had just been carried away by the music. My friend/former co-worker asked me to go to the restroom with her (you know how girls are...). So, as we are walking over there, she very casually says to me, "You know L [I'm not going to use her real name] is a lesbian, right?"

"Oh, really?" I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, she's pretty out of the closet. In fact, she thinks she can 'turn' anybody."

I couldn't help it - I just blurted it out: "Well," I said, "I might be able to hold still long enough for someone to practice on me, but I'm sorry - I just can't get up any enthusiasm whatsoever for doing something to someone else!"

My friend laughed and said, "That's OK. She's a bit of slut, anyway. I just wanted to let you know what you were getting into!"

Needless to say, I tried to keep my distance from "L" the rest of the night lest she be under the mistaken impression that, in any way, shape, or form, I was interested in being "turned!"

Since my avoidance strategy seemed to be fairly effective for the rest of the night, I kind of thought that maybe my friend had been over-reacting with her "warning" to me. In fact, it was so outside the realms of stuff you expect to happen to you, I was still unconvinced that "L" had made a pass at me, specifically (it was dark - how could she know?) in the first place. Well, apparently, it was no mistake on L's part as she said to me, on the way to the parking lot after the show, that if I was ever interested in "exploring," to give her a call, OK? Uh, yeah...sure....

Y'know, I read all the time about men who prey on the recently divorced because they think they'll be easy to get into the sack. I had no idea the same applied to lesbians, too. I guess you learn something new every day!

Somedays, it's a miracle....

2008-09-11T08:55:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has no children, or only has very young (i.e., baby) children, will probably think I am the worst mother in the world when I say this - nevertheless, I offer the following confession: sometimes, one of my children will make me so mad that for at least a minute or so, I think I might gladly be able to peel off her skin and toast her over an open flame.

Case in point: One of my girls, who shall remain nameless at this point to protect the guilty, brought home a paper from school the other day. Mind you, this is a child who tests smarter than 97% of kids her age (this is the honest truth - I am not making up random numbers just to brag). School has only been in session for two weeks, but she brought home a paper from her algebra teacher two days ago that said she was getting a C+ so far - and that if she didn't have at least a B+ by the time mid-terms rolled around, she would be put into pre-algebra, instead. This particular child had pre-algebra in the 6th grade, and she managed to do just fine, so I was both puzzled and concerned.

I therefore went to discuss the matter with this daughter. "What's going on, sweetheart?" I asked. "Have you turned in all of your assignments? Is it just that much harder than last year? What can I do to help?"

"No, Mama," she said, her voice cracking. "I've turned in all my assignments. It's just too hard. I get too many wrong! I don't know what you can do to help because I don't know what to dooooo!!" she ended on a wail.

At this point, my heart is breaking as her tears overflow and run down her cheeks. "Oh, my poor baby!" I think. I fold her in my arms, and give her a hug and tell her everything will be OK - we'll figure something out, because she'd feel bad if she had to go back to pre-algebra, wouldn't she? Yes, she said. She would.

So, being the proactive mom, I e-mail the algebra teacher and ask, "What concepts is she just not getting? Is there anything in particular I can work with her on?"

The teacher responds, and I quote: "The concept of the importance of turning in all of her assignments would be a good place to start!"

Grrrr. Like I said, for at least a split second, I could've gladly squished her like a grape. Somedays, it's a miracle they survive....

Duh, Grandpa!

2008-09-09T11:29:00.000-07:00

Another Cydanie funny:

Cyd's favorite TV show these days is "Trick My Truck," on CMT. For those of you not familiar with the show, it is where a bunch of mechanics surprise some deserving trucker with a complete overhaul, update, remodel, and/or restoration of his "rig," generally centered around some central theme. Like, the guy who hauls cases of honey around to grocery stores, got his 18-wheeler painted to look like a beehive, complete with bees and honeycombs (the real kind, not the cereal!). Well, Cyd likes this show so much, she is now saving to purchase her very own "vehicle" - she's got $29 saved so far! And she is very specific, as well - it will not be a car, nor a truck or van, but a "vehicle." She is always asking about what kind of "vehicle" she should get, as well. Lately I think she has it narrowed down to a GMC....

Anyway, the other thing Cyd loves to do is draw. Sometimes it's Pokemon characters (Ready? Sing to the tune of "Milkshake:" "My Pokemons bring all the geeks to the yard, and they're like, "Do you wanna trade cards?" And I'm like, "Yeah, I wanna trade cards. I'll trade you Jynx but not Charizard"....) Anyway, sometimes she draws other TV cartoon characters, sometimes it's outfits for playing sports or battling Pokemons or whatever, and sometimes it's food or outerspace or bakeries or....well, you get the picture. So, in keeping with her latest "Trick My Truck" focus, she's been drawing trucks.

Her truck pictures aren't "just" a truck, though. She usually does a full-on 18-wheeler, complete with decorated cab, fancy wheels, and psuedo-air brushed murals. Normally, she will break her drawing down into an "outside" picture, and an "inside" picture of what the "sleeper" part of the cab will look like. She finished one recently that had a stagecoach on the outside of it, and the interior picture she drew featured diamond-tucked upholstery, carriage lanterns, a flat-screen TV complete with "media cabinet" to store her DVD's and DVD player, and an easy chair placed front-n-center in front of her plasma TV.

She was quite proud of this picture and spent a while designing and coloring it. Well, my mom and dad stopped by for a minute last night, and she finally had her picture done so she was excited to show it to them. The carpet was a brick red, the upholstery kind of a cordovan, her lanterns bronze and her media cabinet and TV a rich, woodsy brown.

However, she left the TV screen uncolored. My dad, puzzled by this one little bit of unfinished (to him) detail on what was an otherwise fairly complex and detailed picture, said, "Very nice, Cydanie. Now, you know what this needs? This TV needs a picture on the screen!"

And little practical Cyd says to him, "Well, Grandpa - the TV's turned off. Duh!"

Hard to get mad at her for being a smart-*** when she's so funny, and makes such perfect sense at the same time!

Where Did That Man Go?

2008-09-04T11:08:00.000-07:00

I am warning you ahead of time: today's blog will be a divorce rant, of sorts. If reading all that angst, etc., makes you uncomfortable, you probably ought to skip this one.

It doesn't rain, but then it pours. I have had plumbing problems, cat-odor problems, clutter problems, pond problems, wasp problems, balcony problems, and so on and so on, in trying to get my house ready to sell so I can move to a place that is more "psychically soothing," and Mr. Soon-to-Be Ex can get his all-important share of the equity from our house. Anyway, it seems like I just get one thing crossed off my list, only to add two or three more to the bottom. It's been very frustrating because even though I have had A LOT of help frommy wonderful family, I have still felt no small amount of stress just thinking about the sheer magnitude of the thing, and about being responsible for it all, all on my own.

Technically, the stress comes not just from ME feeling solely responsible, but is also due, in part, to no small amount of frustration with him (i.e., Mr. Soon-to-Be Ex). I have to say it hardly seems that he is pulling his fair share of the load. He spent a couple of hours once doing yard work one day, and he patched a hole in the ceiling, too. But that's it. That's all he's done. And, the hole in the ceiling was caused by the plumber, that I researched, hired, found someone to be at the house for while he came and worked, and who ultimately, I paid for (although, to be fair, Mr. Soon-to-Be Ex did give me a check later to help with some of the expenses). I also researched, hired, paid, and took off work to meet the guy who did the gardening and the carpet cleaners (twice). And it has been me and my family members who have repaired and cleaned the windows, cleaned out his junk-filled office and laundry room, found the attorney, paid the filing fees, found the realtor, signed the papers, etc., etc., etc. Yep, me, me, me. Honestly, I am feeling like it was his idea to leave and dissolve our family, but I am doing 95% of the work it takes to make that happen in such a way that leaves no more scarring on any of us than is absolutely necessary.

The latest crisis occurred the night-before last. I had finished up packing, sorting, and cleaning for the night, and was just going to put a few dishes in the dishwasher and start it before going to bed. Well, the dishwasher door wouldn't shut! I looked at it, but couldn't see any way to fix it. So I just said a few choice words and went to bed.

The next morning, I called Mr. Soon-to-Be Ex to see if he could either tell me what to do, or come look at himself. This is approximately how the conversation went:

Me: The dishwasher door is broken, and I don't know how to fix it. The latch won't work - is there anything in particular I should try?
Him (with irritation): Well, I don't know. What do you want me to do about it?
Me: Well, didn't it do this before?
Him: Yeah, but it just had something stuck in it. Just look at it and see if you can get it unstuck.
Me: I looked already, and I couldn't see anything. I couldn't even see anywhere where you could stick a screwdriver in it to pry it up or anything.
Him: (heavy sigh) Wellllllll........
Me: Do you think you could look at when you come over to pick up the girls?
Him: (long, exasperated sigh) I guess. I mean, I don't know how to fix those things!
Me: Well, you certainly know more than I do!
.....long silence.....
Me (cont.): Or do you just want me to call my dad and see if he can come look at it?
Him: (quickly, and with noticeable gratitude!) Oh, well, yeah, sure! I mean, if your dad wants to, you might as well just have him look at it! I mean, he's better at that stuff than I am, by far!"

Geez. Thanks a lot for nothin'.

By this time, I am all for dissolving our union. I just want a little help with making the dissolution happen, for heaven's sakes!

And, I want it to be fair. Mr. Soon-to-Be Ex has told the attorney that he no longer does much business on e-bay because he is "too busy." However, I have print-outs from e-bay showing that he continues to pull in $2-3K per month. So I guess what I want, is a little help, and some equity.

Contrast the man I just described, with one who, about 16 years ago, told me that the little girl we found out we were having and had decided would be named "Cydanie Marie," should really be named after my grandma, instead. My grandma had been in poor health and it meant alot to me that he would be the one to suggest such a way to honor her. When my grandma passed away almost three months to the day of what would've been her first great-grandchild's birth, I was doubly grateful that he had suggested the change, and that we had had a chance to tell "Grandma Jean" about it before her death - I know she was touched. And that is why Cydanie Jean is Cydanie Jean, and not Cydanie Marie.

What I want to know is, where did that man go? He's not the one I've seen lately - maybe not even for the last few years. And that is what is most depressing of all.....

Honestly - the Things You Find in a Freezer!

2008-09-01T08:38:00.000-07:00

As most of you know, I am going through what feels like a long, drawn-out divorce right now. I'm sure no divorce is easy, and this one may not be all that bad, comparably. But since it's the only one I've ever been through, it feels that way to me. I am in the process of selling my house, and due to the market conditions, I've not had much interest. So, I am slowly decluttering, packing, etc., both to better-prepare the house for showing, and to get ready to eventually move.

I have had a lot of help in this process, most notably from my best cousins ever, Mindi and Kim. Last Friday, I was having a pity-party kind of day, left over from an emotional meeting with my attorney and the soon-to-be-ex. Mindi had planned to come help me pack and sort some more, but I just didn't have it in me. I called her, bawling, to beg off, and bless her heart, she and Kim showed up on my doorstep a couple of hours later, anyway, with root beer and ice cream in hand.

We had an absolutely lovely time sitting around the kitchen table, eating (drinking?) root beer floats and laughing about squishing bugs and snakes (Mindi can do bugs, but Kim and I can't - however, snakes creep Mindi out, but they don't bother Kim or me at all) and how hard it is to patiently listen to seemingly never-ending stories from your children when all you want is a few minutes to yourself to unwind before bedtime or shower or just breathe!

Well, I freely admit to not being the best housekeeper in the land. For people who know me at work, they would think this out-of-character, but at home, I agonize over decisions. If I have pink and white shirt that needs to be washed, I dawdle, going back and forth over whether it should go in the "whites" laundry pile, or the "reds" laundry pile. If I have duplicates of an item, I struggle over throwing away or otherwise getting rid of the old one (I might NEED it!) - thus the explanation for the work described in the first paragraph!

Anyway, mid-root beer float party, I had to run out and pick up the twins from a "back-to-school" party they had been at with friends from their elementary school. When we got back home, I was surprised to see Mindi and Kim cleaning out my refrigerator! I was chagrined to realize that when they had tried to put the root beer away, they couldn't find a place for it - so they were compelled to clean out my refrigerator in the process of making room for the 2-liter bottle of root beer. For the record, the oldest item in there were some bacon bits that expired in 2000....

I helped finish the fridge, and we started on the freezer. Mychael came down stairs and said, "Hey, we might still have Cyd's snake in there - did we ever bury it?" I had forgotten all about "Slips," a little green garter snake that Cydanie had as a pet a couple of years ago. It didn't last long - it was our first experience with reptilian pets and either we didn't care for it correctly, or it wasn't very healthy to start with, or the stress of bringing it home did it in. It only lived for a month or so after we brought him (her? Hard to tell, with snakes...) home from the pet store. It was winter when it died, and Cyd wanted to bury it, but we couldn't because the ground was frozen. So, we put it in a little baggie, sealed it up, and put it in the freezer to await a proper burial service in the spring.

I was telling Kim and Mindi this story as Mindi was wiping out the door of the freezer and I was working with Kim on deciding what in the freezer would go, and what could stay (yes, this decision-making stuff is a two-person job for me). I was fairly certain that we had already done away with Slips - I hadn't seen him in a very long time so I figured someone had finally sent him to his final resting place in the bottom of the trash bin. It could have even been me, and I had simply forgotten - my memory is not what it used to be!

Shortly after I had assured them that we likely would NOT be finding any snakes in the freezer, Kim reached over to the door next to Mindi, grabbed a little plastic bag with Christmas packages printed on it, and said, "Here, this can go - it has Christmas presents on it!" All of a sudden, Kim screamed! She dropped the bag and bolted out of the kitchen. Mindi was hot on her heels, screaming hysterically as well! And I? Well, I was just standing there, looking around wondering what the heck just happened! Then it dawned on me - could Slips be in the Christmas baggie?

Sure enough - I picked up the baggie and there was Slips, remarkably well preserved. For the morbidly curious, he had little freezer burn, considering he had been in there for at least two years. All of us - including the twins - were now laughing so hard we could hardly breathe. I thought perhaps Kim had picked up the bag knowing that Slips was in there to save Mindi from discovering it, given how she feels about snakes. But no, she was not being altruistic at all. It was just a split-second thought on Kim's part. Sad to say, Slips didn't get his burial - he went in the garbage sack with the rest of the freezer's contents, baggie and all.

Perhaps it was one of those "you had to be there" moments. I am leaving out the parts about how far away some people ran, and who was laughing so hard she drooled, to protect the guilty. However, I bet the next time Kim and Mindi go to clean out a freezer, they will be a little bit more wary about just diving in. Though I hope it wasn't sufficiently traumatic to discourage them from bringing root beer floats to me some other time....I promise there are no more snakes in my freezer.

The Incredible Shrinking Problems!

2008-08-27T09:56:00.000-07:00

The kids started back to school this week - Cyd in high school, and the twins in junior high. It has been kind of hectic, to say the least, as we have reviewed, read, and/or signed lists of school supplies, class disclosures, permission slips, bus schedules, and so on. Cyd has had a hard time trying to decide which pictures to take to show her teachers. Bretten has had to figure out how to get her violin to third period out in the armory, after her second period Spanish class that is upstairs and clear on the other side of the building, since she doesn't have time to visit her locker in between. And Mychael has had to figure out how to see the board in her algebra class, since she is so tiny and, thanks to the teacher's seating chart, has ended up sitting behind a much-bigger eighth grader (one with an afro, no less).

As I talked with each girl over the past few days about these "problems," I found myself thinking about my own days in junior high and high school. Remember when your biggest problem was finding something "cool" to wear? Or whether that cute boy in 4th period would actually talk to you today or not? Back then, it was the absolute end of the world if your best jeans were in the laundry, or if Cute Boy didn't even look at you that day! I compare those problems to the ones I have on my plate today - things like, "When will this @#$! divorce ever be final?" "Will I ever find someone I trust enough and care about sufficiently, to marry again?" "And if I do, what if, 20 years from now, he turns out to be as big of a jerk as the first one?" "Will my house ever sell?" "How am I going to get all the crap and clutter out of my house in time for my yard sale?" "How am I going to get the kids through this first holiday season without their dad?"

Those kinds of "heavier" concerns made it especially nice to set them aside for a little bit, and concentrate on possible solutions for my girls' issues. Those school-girl issues seem so light in comparison!! However, in the process, I also realized that 20-25 years from now, my girls will look at the problems of choosing pictures, getting classroom materials to the right place at the right time, and seeing around large afros as being relatively minor problems, too. On the one hand, that's kind of sad because one of the reasons those formerly major issues become minor, is because you now have larger issues to compare them to! However, I also think the human brain is designed to forget trauma. Otherwise, who would ever be pregnant more than once, or get back on a bicycle after a particularly nasty fall, or make peace with someone after an argument?

Whatever the reason for big issues shrinking with the passage of time, I can only hope that it will eventually apply to my current problems, too - I want to look back at them and realize that they really weren't as big as I think they are now. It just better not take 20-25 more years for that to happen - I am not that patient!

"Will Make Faces For Food"

2008-08-25T09:15:00.001-07:00

Most of my stories/moments so far have been about things that happened a while ago - sometimes a long while ago! However, just because Cydanie is older, doesn't mean she doesn't still come up with the occasional funny moment anymore.

Case in point: last week was hectic as I had relatives visiting from the east coast, the twins had "Cub Camp" in preparation for starting 7th grade (today!), and I have a big trial going on at work. Well, in order to get everyone where they needed to go last Thursday, I dropped Bretten and Mychael off at Cub Camp and left Cydanie home alone for a couple of hours. The plan was that my mom would pick Cyd up on her way to get the twins from the junior high, and then take all three of them down to Kim's place for the rest of the day. As I was going out the door, I was giving Cyd a bunch of last minute instructions: "If someone comes to the door, don't open it unless you know the person!" "No cooking on the stove or oven - microwave only!" "Don't forget to bring Bretty's stuff!" "Call Grandma if you need anything!" "Remember to put the dog in the laundry room before you leave!" and so on.

Well, I got home that evening and was quizzing Cyd on her day. "Did you remember to put the dog in the laundry room when you left?" I asked her.
"Yeah. And, I just gave her some food, too."
"You did, huh? Good job!"
"Yeah, she told me she was hungry, so I feed her."
At this point I am secretly smiling, but I maintain a straight face as I say, "She told you she was hungry?"
"Yeah."
"Hmmm...how did she do that?"
"Well, she made a face at me. So, I feed her."

Cracked me up! She gets very offended if you laugh at her, though, even when she's done something cute, so I had to struggle to keep the giggle in as I pictured our dog, a slightly chubby Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Sarah, making faces at Cyd in exchange for weight-control formula Purina One.

Learning and growing...

2008-08-19T11:08:00.000-07:00

I was reading the blog of my dear friend (and cousin), Mindi, today (here's a link: http://www.jmfletcherfamily.blogspot.com/). She was writing about her little boy's attempts to wipe his own bum after pooping in the potty (he's not even 4 yet), and it reminded me of this story from my own experiences:

When one of my twins, Mychael, started talking at about 18 months old, she never stopped. She sort of "skipped over" the one- and two-word phrases and jumped right into full sentences. So, one evening shortly after she started talking - she couldn't have been much more than two - I had her in the bathtub with her sister. I had filled the tub up to roughly their armpits, scrubbed them all and washed their hair, etc., and was ready to get them out. I got Bretten out first, wrapped her in a towel, and sent her on to her dad. I hadn't let the water out of the tub yet because I didn't want Mychael to get cold while she was waiting for me to finish with her sister. Mykie, however, anticipating that she would soon get out, stood up in the tub, anyway. She was kind of crouched down with her hands still in the water, when suddenly she straightened, turned to me, and with a look of wonder on her face, said, "Hey!! I've got a HOLE in my bum!"

I don't miss all the work of those earlier days, but I do miss witnessing that constant joy of discovery on little people's faces. Every day would bring something new! As my girls get older, they are still learning, of course (I used to have a boss who said "learning is growing, and if you're not growing, you're dying." I think he was right!) but apparently they get used to it or something because they don't get as excited by their new discoveries as they once did. Now they just have their noses attached to computer screens or buried in cell phones as their thumbs text away. Next I guess it's probably school dances and boyfriends. I can't wait to tell the "hole in my bum" story then....

Looking at life a little differently....

2008-08-18T09:54:00.000-07:00

So, most of you reading this know that my oldest daughter was born with autism. She is considered high-functioning, so often times you almost forget that she is any different from anyone else. However, every once in awhile things come along that remind me, that how she sees the world is very different from how I do!

As an example, we were at the grocery store on Friday night (yes, I know - its pathetic but that's my big weekend night out. Woo hoo!). I asked my other daughter, Bretten, whether or not we needed any eggs because a) I knew she and Mychael had been eating scrambled eggs for breakfast fairly often, and b) I also knew that she and Cydanie had been baking lately, and finally, c) Cyd informed me earlier that she intended to make cookies - all of which would indicate that our household consumption of eggs was on the rise! Bretten assured me, however, that we had plenty of eggs. I was being a typical grumbly parent and said, jokingly, "OK, but if we end up running out of eggs, I'm sending you to the store to go get more. AND, I'm making you walk!"

Bretten, pre-teen that she is, just rolled her eyes at me. Cydanie, on the other hand, said, "Why would you want to make her walk to the store, Mom?"
"So that I don't have to drive her," I replied.
"Why don't you want to drive her?"
"Because I don't want to waste the gas it would take to bring her all the way back to the grocery store just to get eggs," I said.
Then Cydanie gave me one of her priceless looks that seemed to say that she thought I was just about the silliest person on the planet, and said, "Well, you could just get some eggs at the gas station, you know!"

Yes, I know. She's absolutely right, I could just go get some eggs at the gas station....

Which reminds me of one other example of Cyd's unique outlook on the world. One time, about three years or so ago (I think Cyd was in the 7th or 8th grade at the time), we were on our way home and drove by a small pasture on the corner. In this pasture was a horse, I think of the "paint" type - a white body with large black splotches on it, kind of like a Holstein cow. The route was one we use fairly frequently, so I didn't think much of it one way or the other. But Cydanie said to me, "Mom, is that a horse or a cow?"

I marvel at how her brain works and how the world must seem to her. I looked at the horse, saw it was the outline of the horse, and without even thinking about it, assumed it was horse. Cydanie saw the outline of the horse, but with the coloring of a cow, and deliberated on how to weight that information - is the outline of the figure more telling, or the way the figure is filled in? Sometimes I think it would be absolutely fascinating to walk in her footsteps for a day, and look at life a little differently....

2008-08-14T08:37:00.000-07:00

I always thought it would be kind of fun to have a blog, and yet, now that I actually do, I can't think of what to write about! I mean, I feel like my very first post should be momentous, somehow, but unfortunately, all I can come up with right now is - well, this!