No Child Left Behind My Ass

I hated seeing the signs at the school... my daughter was attending another school that was backing the 'no child left behind' wagon. Of course, what this means is, she's being left behind. Or rather, allowed to pass on to grade after grade, because she is being left behind and in the left behind program, all children must succeed.

All this program seems to do is require that my daughter pass a multitude of tests. Well, she has ADD, *of which she's being reevaluated for because she's being left behind in class...* and she is anxious about tests. So, you see how this works for her. My sister was a, as my father would say, piss-poor, test taker. She barely passed the ones that mattered. But she KNEW the stuff. She just froze. She had major test anxiety. To compensate for this anxiety, she would study soo hard, study everything, even the minutest, minorist thing, and then, when she saw the test, forget it all. Panic. If only they allowed us to smoke during tests. She probably would have aced them.

You can see why she had problems with me. I know how to study. I had an instinctive understanding of how to study only the relevant things that mattered. I am an example of one of those children who put in the least amount of effort required to get grades good enough to be considered smart. Not smart enough to be tested for special IQ genius level classes, just smart enough to make it into a few honor classes, just smart enough to make the honor's roll enough times no one ever actually asked about homework, just smart enough to do well enough without actually doing anything. If I think back, it's amazing how much work I got out of. I assumed my kids would get that side of me. Well, my daughter didn't get that gene. She can't study either. She's smart, but she can't just memorize and regurgitate. She needs to understand WHY she's memorizing and regurgitating. She can do her homework with me. She can't do it with her father. *The irony being, he has more patience when it comes to her homework... She hates reading so when she reads she doesn't pay attention. Her teacher calls it 'critical thinking.' My daughter recognizes it as 'effort I'd rather not expend on something this mundane and boring.' Her teacher was surprised she did so well on a few readings, but not on others. Well, I'm not. the readings she did well on? She liked. So she paid attention.

Now, her teacher isn't bad, but there is only so much you can do with a nine year old who simply isn't interested. I think my daughter is the only child I've ever known who will, while taking an assessment test, stop midway through to draw, on the test itself, a rendition of herself and her crush at the altar getting married. She's also the only girl in class not allowed to wear jewelry *a distraction.*

Thus, she's left behind.

My husband and I do what we can to help her, but I honestly believe that she's going to be left behind until she, on her own terms, 'gets it.' To this end, I make her do extra math sheets for the second grade math, even though she's in third, because I know she didn't ever GET second grade math. We'll cover third grade this summer. I am trying to enroll her in summer school. * I know, mean mom...* and I will continue to buy flashcards and spend an hour a day after school about three days a week *it should be five, but it's stressful tutoring your kid* working with her on reading and math, hoping that between my work, her brain, and the ridiculously under-funded institution we call public school, she will 'get it' sometime before she graduates high school.

But I do have something to say to all those parents who whine about how their genius kids must suffer in classes with doodling daydreamers like mine who need more attention. VOTE FOR MORE SCHOOL FUNDING. I mean, what do you want when your state pays less for your child's education than Alabama? Don't take it out on my kid. The state is, as far as I'm concerned, correct in helping the ones that need it the most. Your kid probably isn't even a genius anyhow, it's just not hard doing well in elementary school in America. Unless you're a daydreaming doodler who stares at the clouds all day....

My Blog Sucks!

I have blog complexes. And blog anxieties. I've read so many other better blogs. Which wouldn't normally bother me. Nobody can be perfect, somebody in fact, is always better than you or can do more than you or is better at more things than you. This is true of everyone, until you reach God. God created everything in nature to be perfect. If this is true, than I think Satan had a large hand in my garden.... But the point isn't the garden that God forgot, it's that my blog is crappier than everyone elses. Now, not many people read the blog, so it's not a huge issue, however, well, I used to think I was amusing. Then again, before the boys, I used to think on a daily basis. Now I only get thoughts about once every few days.

So today I made a decision. Cleanliness is just not attainable throughout the whole house. I will pick up the living room. I will pick up the kitchen. I am no longer holding myself responsible for my daughter's room, the family room downstairs, any of the bathrooms except for a monthly bleach-offensive where everything must die... or even my bedroom beyond laundry and a walking path. The boys room, well, I"ve put everything in their closet and locked it. I plan to paint over the pencil marks on the wall some day. For those who are mortified at the thought of pencil marks remaining on a perfectly good wall for months at a time let me know, I'll give you my address and paint color preferences. My house wouldn't be an issue if ANY of the other members would be willing to oh I don't know, CLEAN SOMETHING once in a while...

OOOH I finally bought a shredder. This is going to help me throw out years of paperwork that go past seven years and months of junk mail, as well as file important papers. File being subjective. I have a file cabinet. I put important papers in it. I hope to one day use the hanging folder thingies, with labels. I can't wait to use the shredder. I love shredding things. Who knows when that will be...

I have also made another decision. Two hours of writing, 1-3, even if there is mold or fungi speaking to me from the fridge, sink, boys diapers, et al. That is a time I am always home. I can't leave between 1-3 because the boys nap around that time, and when they wake up, they are cranky bears for another half an hour. Getting them to get out of the house and go anywhere is impossible. And my daughter gets home at 3:30. She's not old enough to stay home by herself.

My only gripe today is my trainer. He yelled at me. Hurt my feelings. Made me cry. Okay no. But he did yell at me. Because I was jogging. And I think, if I were someone else, he wouldn't have said 'what the hell do you think you're doing,?' he would have said, "Hi, you know, you don't need to be jogging. Slow down and let me explain this.' Nooo. I get 'What the hell do you think you're doing' so I stated the obvious. "Jogging." "No." "Yes." "No, you were running." "I was jogging." "Same thing." "No." "You're working too hard." Okay, now I"m listening. "Walk. Just walk, walk fast, but don't run or jog." Okay here's my problem with this. I like running. I start walking, and intend to walk, and not jog or run, but once I start walking, I got my ipod on, I got my music on, I'm walking, then faster, and faster, and then Avenging Angels comes on, or some other crazy song only I like, and I'm running, and my mind is off, and I'm running and daydreaming at the same time, it's wonderful. Except when I start daydreaming I'm being chased... but anyhow... so I have a hard time just walking. But I know I'll lose more if I stop running and just jog... bah.

I actually do have more important things to worry about than whether to jog or run, but I just don't feel like whining about them right at the moment.

Two days til my anniversary weekend. Yaay. I plan to shop ridiculously.

Mid Day Blog

Update: dinner with dread-law sucked, but whatever, he's gone. Lets hope this deal doesn't go through so we don't get to see him more.

Now, it's mid-day, 1 p.m.-ish. I just showered, and am wandering around in my bra and underwear and socks, hoping that I will find my toothbrush, the second one this week my sons snagged. Yesterday they threw my lip gloss in the toilet and tried to flush it. I did just find the shampoo, though, so there is that. To this end, my dear husband is going to move my computer into the living room where I can monitor the darlings and keep my room off-limits so I can actually write and do my classes. If he doesn't, I am simply not going to do things he expects me to do to make his life easier, like cook meals and wash his clothes.

We have our anniversary weekend this weekend, and I haven't done anything to get ready for it. Go me. We'll pack on Thursday. I will worry about packing Thursday night. I'd like to you know, put some thought into it, but that would require me to think ahead, and I got the hotel already, didn't I?

p.s.

Somebody I know isn't updating their blog, and I am left to wonder, where is that paper shredder now?

Sunday nights

I live for quiet Sunday nights. If I don't have a quiet Sunday night, the rest of my week is all off.

I am hopefully mostly recovered from the weirdest case of 'can't move from the couch' ever. I hate having that really achey tired feeling because that is all about 'getting sick' or 'still sick' or something.

So now my back hurts, but okay, it's because I gardened all day today. I totally cut back these brambly, thorny rose bushes in the front yard. I cut them down far, so they are just stems. They will grow and blossom still, just bigger, prettier, and um, less prickly. They had gotten out of control. Then I transplanted this low-lying plant with bright small flowers from the bed against our house to the front of the rose bush, with two other plants like it. I don't know what they are called, but they are cute, and the flowers are bright. Then I planted heather. I love heather. I planted summer flowering heather, and got rid of this funky grass thing that I hated that was going everywhere. This is all still in the bed that has the now-trimmed rose bush. The summer-flowering heather is nice and yellow with white flowers when it blooms. I have another one to plant in a container. The winter flowering heather doesn't look as lively. I'm going to put it in a container, but it's purple is pale. I have some winter flowering heather out in the back already, and I totally should have cut it back. It looks a bit flat, so when I get to that bed, I will be doing some massive heather cuttings. I think there's too much purple there, though. I love blues and purples in gardens, but maybe in that one area, there's just too much purple.

So my other gardening feat today was to plant some snapdragons, some blue lobella, and two black knights. I'm eager to see how the black knights work out. I planted the lobella and snapdragons to fill in some bare spots. I'm trying to get a mostly perennial garden/yard, because it's um, easier.

My tulips, still growing... hoping they will bloom soon. My hyacinths bloomed, they are gorgeous.

As horrible as my garden looks right now, I'm still excited about it. This is because the rosebush and the area around it that I just cut, looks good. Now I'm going to work on the beds along the side of the house. I'm taking it area by area. If I don't, I'll go nuts. Oh, but I am solving one problem, there is this one bed that has nothing but groundcover, I'm tearing the ground cover up, and planting marigolds straight into the ground. Then I can deal with that bed next year. This year, I have to really deal with the problem of chives. They rule my rose bushes!!!! I wonder if I can make chive soup.

Well, I'm off for an early night of lounging about on the couch or the bed or maybe, who knows, I'll switch... Husband is doing his homework and the kids are all tucked away sleeping and I have to get up too early to go see a trainer and ask him what he recommends since I obviously have hit a plateau weight wise, which I'm not happy about. All I can think of is doing more cardio, sooo I will have to incorporate cardio into my life somehow with the boys. Maybe if it stopped raining, we could do daily walks... oh but wait, rain. Okay it didn't rain today, and I gardened, see? Cardio.

G'night

Ten Years

Ten years ago, on April 1st, I married this cute, lean, *okay okay skinny, but muscled from lifting lots of big bombs* red-headed airmen that worked on the flightline and rode a shiny red motorcycle who's aspirations at the time involved finding a way to get into motorcycle racing and thinking about trying out for a position that involved doing something dangerous on helicopters.

He's grown up now, has me, three kids, owns an SUV and a sedan, has a nice oh-so-cliche-ish split-level home in a burb, *with an admittedly ugly turquoise carpet* and makes games for a living. His main goals now are to teach his boys to do all the dangerous things he liked doing, but safely, and to get his daughter to stop figuring out how to use her blonde hair to rule the world.

And we're going to celebrate our tenth anniversary alone. Without the kids. Dumping them off with my sister while we go play.

We're staying at the Vintage Plaza in Portland, and it's too expensive, really, for a hotel room, but you only have one ten year anniversary, and we never did much on all the other ones. We only think the decades are important... all the years in between, just filler.

We're going to lounge on a huge king-sized bed *we could have had solarium windows to the night sky, ahh the romance, but no, someone's main request for the weekend was a big ass bed... * plus the jetted two-person jacuzzi, (if i'm not getting the night sky, I'm getting a jacuzzi tub* and I ordered the romance package so yes, for the first time in my life, there will be rose petals... rose petals!... scattered on our sheets ahhh... champagne and breakfast....

I'm debating a massage. I would like one, but I don't really see how to fit it in since the night we arrive we'll probably eat at the restaurant and um, have a pillow fight later on... the next day we'll be shopping and eating and hanging out in the pearl district... www.shopthepearl.com or something, and that night, well, more pillow fighting... the next morning we'll probably do breakfast and depart for more pearl district shopping before we pick up the children. Maybe I can do a massage that morning.

Ahh.

Ten years.

Wow.

Okay everyone married for more than ten years is like, yeah what's your point. Oh and married... people who lived together + married equaling ten years, that doesn't count. The first part is cheating. You don't get to count it, because it's like, um, it's like a game beta. Yeah it's just like the real thing, but it's not really, because it's free and there's no real committment since you can walk at any time... but then beta ends and you have to pay up and oh all of a sudden, it's a little bit different... yeah...a few more complaints to CS cuz now you're paying and you expect there to be less bugs but somehow, there are more...you think maybe you should cancel your account, but you aren't sure because you've already put some time into it and you like the game if only it would work better...

Nope. Whole nother world. That little bit different part is the part where you realize that you can't just be a seperate person anymore. No, you are no longer seen as a separate entity, nor are you a seperate entity. You've been morphed into one entity, a Mr. and Mrs., rather than so and so and his girlfriend or so and so and his boyfriend, now it's "the pluralized version of your name' and words like husband and wife sort of start rolling off people's tongues when they talk about you. All of a sudden, when you think about what you want you must now automatically consider in your brain what your spouse wants, and factor that in to your wants, and that occasionally changes your wants.

It's like, yeah, deep dude.

Ten years.

Well anyhow. Enough on that for tonight.

My main blog was going to be about how today sort of blurred to me. I woke up a bit tired, but had some coffee and was ready to goooo... I was going to go walk with the boys for cardio, then take them to playtime pals, then deposit a check, run some errands, come home, clean, etc etc. I got the boys clothes, but felt, odd, so I thought, I'll sit down for a second. So I sat on the couch. Then, I sort of morphed into a laying on the couch position. Then I got up, and realized, getting up, not such a good idea. So, I laid right back down, and let the boys run amok after changing them and feeding them something, anything, that didn't require effort. I got up to get them a snack or two, and to get them to stop playing with the toaster *one of my smart toddlers tried to toast his own bagel...* then it was their nap and my nap time. I slept for three hours in my bed. Woke up, moved ot the couch, and um, stayed their til my husband came home with soup for me, waffles for him, and well, I thought, i should at least do dishes, *he hates dishes* and he said 'stop doing dishes' ahhh.... a keeper that one.

But if I look back to today, one big sleepy blur. Now it's 11 p.m and I'm tired. From all that sleeping. Really, I'm only up because I had one last essay to do before my week-long break from classes. My sister thinks I'm regretting the whole master's program. I don't know if I'm regretting it. I just don't know if my brain is ready for it. It's been a while. Ugh. Plus, my own writing... I will sort it out. Right now, I'm just taking my sick, sleepy self to bed. I cancelled my trainer appt. tomorrow. I'm sick today, there is no way I'm getting up at 5:30 a.m. just so I can pass out at the gym.

last night I dreamt about cake
oddest dream ever, since I'm not even really a cake person...

Yes, the sun is setting on La La Land... and all the La La's are going to sleep in their happy, comfy, La La beds where they will have happy happy La La dreams...

nap

I've decided, before I answer the final question and b.s. for three more pages on points of parity and all that, that I will nap for about five hours.

Midterm blues

Man.

All through school and college, I've done well. Mostly. Minus a few courses here and there.

I am convinced I'm going to fail this midterm. Mainly, because I don't know what the guy wants! He's only graded one essay. Didn't grade the conference. I'm sooo confused about what he's looking for ,AND this midterm is essentially seven pages where I need references. Um. References. Okay. the text book? He said mid-term, he didn't say 'term paper' or 'research paper.'

Argh.

I only have three more pages to go. Like a smart person, I'm not actually turning it in until I go over it again tomorrow and put the like, two, references I have in order. Like a dumb person, I waited until tonight to start it and it's due 9 p.m. tomorrow. Of course I can't do anything until 8 so my sons will have to just watch tv and eat cookies for an hour, whatever it takes for the quiet.

Go me.

Man.

I hate school.
Yes, I'm thirty-not-telling and I still hate school. I could be doing so much more with all this time!

Like sleep.

Midterms and marketing

I am about to take, or begin, my mid-term in marketing.

The teacher is insane but aside from that, this entire class is about 'explaining' how marketing is beyond sales, it's more than sales, it's about product innovation and development and blah blah blah but in the end, no matter what you say, it comes down to, profit which is, sales. Marketers aren't inventing products or innovating because they have a passion, or an idea they just have to try, that they will then try to sell, and yes, that is sales, but these people who sell things with passion and belief, are selling it with passion and belief because they truly DO believe in it and are passionate about it and that's why they created it. Marketers, people who make a living marketing? Whatever they do, it is not out of passion. So, sales, convince people to buy shit they don't need.

I hate marketing.
I also hate this marketing class.
And the mid-term is going to kill me. I have no idea what my grade in that class is, because none of the grades are posted.

Roast Lamb

Lamb lamb lamb...

I could eat lamb forever. I first got a taste for it in England. My husband wanted to try the local grocery stores instead of the base one. He brought home a pre-seasoned lamb roast with mint and some funky rice. Mmmm. So we're having roast leg of lamb with um stuff. Okay, with cous cous for me and rice for the wimps and veggies or salad. Probably salad. We've got three bags. I know, you all really care about my meals...

So I am avoiding the scale. My spacey trainer said it's best if I don't go near it. I, of course, went near it, and I am finally losing weight. At first, I gained, but it was because I was gaining muscle and losing fat. So I LOOK thinner, but now I finally am seeing the weight loss. I didn't do any of my cardio this week because my sons were sick. I'm not going to worry about it though, because I worked out Monday, am working out tomorrow and Friday, and can get at least two cardios in tomorrow and Friday. Also, housework counts for something. Besides, and this is important, DIET counts toward 80 percent of your success in losing weight. So eating right is by far the most important part of getting trimmer. I want to go to 125. My trainer set me at 132. He wants me to hit that. I am ambitious, apparently. I can do this by sticking to a 1500 calorie day. 1200 is too low and bad. 1550 good. 1551 bad. 1450 good. 1449 bad. Okay dude. I get it. Oh and I can't just eat one meal a day or two and call it good. I have to eat breakfast.

Breakfast. What is breakfast? In high school, breakfast was a cupcake and coca cola. Mmmm. In my first year of college, it was um, same, but with diet coke. IMPROVEMENT.... In the military it was coffee. Post-military, coffee. Post-military job, coffee unless it was wednesday, and then it was coffee and doughnut. Stay at home mom? Back to coffee. So breakfast is hard. Right now, I can do a granola bar and a fruit and um, coffee. I occasionally get to slip in a bowl of cereal or something. I'm not good at breakfast. It's hard to eat that early!

Next week's big meal: New England Boiled Dinner
I'm from New England, and we never ate this. But hey, first time for everything. I'm doing it for St. Pattie's Day. I, every once in a while, decide to try doing the whole brisket and cabbage thing. And every year, it blows. But hey, I'm nothing if not persistent...

Husbandly whine:
Him: I want to play my X-box.
Her: You can't. (not because i'm the big meanie, thank you)
Him: I waaaant to.
Her: You said you can't do family game night *we haven't actually STARTED this yet, we're trying to* because you had too much homework. *He's getting a degree, shhhh, most people at his work thinks he already has one...
Him: I can play tonight and suffer tomorrow.
Her: No, because I'm not going to mom's night out so you can do your work because you're so overloaded, PLUS we're supposed to do game night
Him: WAAAHHHH
Her: Life sucks, oh we're having lamb...

peace and quiet

I finally have it.
I don't know what to do with it.
It's strange, a distant memory relived, a moment when there is peace, and quiet, the children, sick with some ailment are asleep in their beds, the husband, sick with ailment passed on from the children, asleep in the bed, the daughter, suffering from not having the ailment and therefore not being paid attention to, huffed and puffed and dramatized her way to sleep in her bed. The mom, well, we all know mom's can't get sick, and if they do for some strange reason, get sick, it must be put off until a convenient time, like the weekend, during the children's nap... so mom is going to hope a new brit show is on, so she may enjoy the peace and quiet downstairs, with a cup of tea, a blanket, a good show, and ahh, peace and quiet...

..... until about 3 a.m. when one of the said children wakes up to yakk on her.

Spring cleaning

I told my daughter today that if people didn't spring clean, it would rain til summer.

She didn't believe me.

I did spring cleaning. I cleaned everything except the garage which just needs a nice big trip to the dump, and the bedroom, which is filled with laundry and paperwork moved in from all the other rooms. That's a week-long project, not a Sunday Spring Cleaning Fling...thing...

Okay so I have people coming over tomorrow. The first time ever that I'll have real people over my house. Hubbies friend D. and E. don't count, because um, okay because I don't think they like me, so it doesn't matter ha ha. W. and S. don't count as real people because they know the real me. People who know the real me don't count, and if they 'get' me, or understand how my mind works, well, that pretty much places them out of the realm of reality. Sorry guys, sorry El.

The batteries in my wireless mouse are critically low. I must replace the batteries to ensure the mouse works properly.

We all know when I will actually replace the mouse batteries.

So, as usual, during one of my 'must clean it all' modes, I choose a weekend when I'm swamped. I had a 'research reference project' to do, my allergies kicked in without warning, Hubby was in a mood because it's the first week of his new job and he's sort of experiencing the backlash of all that emotional hooplah the past couple of months, the boys were clingy cranky snot-bubbling red-cheeked whiny cling-ons and the only person not on my 'you are driving me crazy' list bailed to her friend's. I got a hold of her tonight though muahahahaa. Tomorrow I promised her an hour of mommy and daughter watching a brit com. Ahh, I love that kid. But it means that it's now 11:25. Again, I have to get up at 5:20 a.m. but I wont' hit the sheets til midnight because I'm actually washing the slipcovers on my couch. The final four are in the dryer. If you saw the way my boys smooshed their snot into those babies, you'd wash them too.

Something about spring cleaning and allergies though. For some reason, I always pick a weekend when my allergies are awful. It's like, aaahchoo, headache, sore throat, aaah, it must be spring... time to clean... I took clariton last night, but it takes a couple of days to kick in. Oh but, inhaling all those cleaners cleared my sinus' right up. Gave me a killer headache, but solved the sinus issue for a while. There are people who really can't be trusted around cleaners. I'm one of them. I overbleach. I use one cleaner on one surface, run out of it, rince it, and toss another one on it. I use windex, 409 and pine sol interchangeabley. I use comet on everything in the bathroom except mirrors. I can't be trusted. But hey! My house smells clean! Oh and I aired it out. During the major allergy weekend. I want to be sure we all suffer. But the house needs fresh air. I want a pollen remover gidget :)

Well, it's time to finish up and try to get some sleep before my way-too-early workout tomorrow. *I'm going to drink coffee before I go to the gym this time :)

The boy

This blog is short because someone is howling and apparently will be cuddling with mom and dad all night....

Early blog

This is an early blog because I am shutting the computer off early tonight. I'm going to enjoy my coffee, maye a book, and um, okay I admit it, I'm torn between cleaning and lounging. Who wants to bet I lounge?

My crocus' are in bloom, bright, big purple blossoms... sooo pretty. It's affirmed my belief in my gardening abilities. I'm not a complete nature hacker after all. We've got daffodils too. I think I've mentioned that. I don't think I planted them, so I can't take credit, but hey, I will anyhow.

My sons are still sleeping. It's 5:20. They will never go to bed tonight. The good news is, they will sleep long tomorrow. Tomorrow is just Lauren's ballet, so I will take the boys in the yard while I start Spring by geting rid of dead stuff.

My daughter is 20 minutes late. She has absolutely no concept of time.

Spring...sorta

For some reason I have it in my head that spring starts in March. I expect the weather to instantly become warm, the sun to shine, and my tulips that are almost halfway out of the ground to bloom miraculously. Really, I think I've got daffodils. Not even ones I planted. At least, I don't remember ordering daffodils. But never mind that, that's not the plot of my blog. It's a three parter, each part exceptionally short.

Part 1: I don't know what those yellow flowers that bloomed under my tree where I planted bluebells are, except that they are not bluebells. I am not even sure I planted them. My crocus' came up early, and therefore, did not blossom. I"m hoping next year I'll actually get flowers out of them. Right now, I've got green leaves. So here's hoping the tulips sprout up. They might, my neighbors tulips are about the same height, and like, she seems to know what she's doing in the gardening area.

Part II. I'm annoyed with this guy: http://lifestyle.msn.com/men/article.aspx?cp-documentid=259927 I mean yeah okay fine, he's a stay at home dad, but you know what, whenever he says this shit, people think it's cute. When talks about 'balancing work with being a stay at home dad' people think it's a 'real struggle that he pulls off well' and give him kudos, what a guy, horrah. When I say shit like that, people think I'm just not nurturing, because all nurturing good moms think NOTHING about the total grossness of wiping kids' asses... and man, they assume that as a stay at home mom, any work I may be trying to balance is involved with stuff you sell at parties. Okay, so my main work right now is totally not paid, and I'm thinking of turning it into a romance piece which is just another stereotype, but that's what happens when you leave a story to long. This week's goal is to finish chapter ten no matter what. But I wanted to share my annoyance. What he writes about, in the average day of a stay at home mom, is soooo not worth writing about.

Part III. So, when one is pudgy, say, one doesn't really notice in any great detail those 'pockets' of say, stuff, that lingers around the outer thigh area. One may assume that it's just one big pocket of stuff because it seems to look like one big pocket, and it certainly is everywhere there is thigh... but then, so one starts working out, and all of a sudden, one sees that really, there are more than one pocket of this stuff hanging there. And some of the pockets are gone, making it easier to define the remaining um, stuff, as pockets, versus one giant pocket. Pockets is more inspiring. One could say, 'ooh one pocket down, two to go' or something. Either that or the one big pocket shrunk to a small pocket. I suppose all that really matters, is I look almost good in jeans again. This MAY be enough to motivate me to get up early tomorrow and do some actual outside cardio, since I don't think I'm making it to the gym. But probably not. I've discovered its' best if I limit my gym/workouts to no less than 3 but no more than 4 workouts. Less than 3, no results. More than 4, I get tired of it. But at least I'm seeing enough to be motivated.

A Slight Huff

Well, I didn't lose a size in clothing however, oddly, I lost a shoe size... ookay... that is weird...

Now, I discovered this buying a pair of shoes last night. I bought two pairs of cool shoes for summer, because if I wait til Summer, there will only be winter shoes on sale. I'm going to relay the conversation I had with the cashier relating to the coupon I used when buying these two pairs of shoes... buy one, get one-half price off the other... with of course, comments.

Go to cashier feeling moderately pleased with self for actually using two coupons...
Coupon one: Buy two Russell Athletic T-Shirts, get one free
Coupon two: Buy one pair of shoes, get one pair half price

"Hi" *paraphrasing*
"Hi"
"Find everything okay"
"yeah"
*medium sized pause while everything is rung up... watching screen...
"Um, did the shoe coupon go through?"
"Yes it should be on the screen"
"I see one coupon I don't see the other one"
*Not getting what I'm saying she finishes the order, assures me it went through and I pay so I can get my hands on the receipt
"Okay, I don't see the other coupon on here"
"See, it's right there..." She points to the -12 dollars for the first coupon.
"I see that coupon, I mean the shoe coupon isn't on here... buy one get 1/2 price off"
*This is where it gets good.
She goes through her coupon envelope, and picks out another buy two shirts get one off coupon. "You gave me two coupons for these, you can only use one."
"I gave you one for the shirts. That's not the second coupon though, I gave you a coupon for shoes, buy one get one 1/2 price."
"No you didn't give me that coupon you only gave me one, see, I don't have it. There's no other coupon."
*Now, up until now, I think I have been very patient, but now she's telling me that I am lying. Instead of helping resolve the issue, she tells me I didn't give her a second coupon for shoes. So I look over her shoulder and point to the shoe coupon.
"That coupon, I gave you that coupon too, buy one get 1/2 price off, I didn't get half price off my shoes."
*I am about to take my shoes back, I'm getting aggravated.
*She calls for the manager who is on the floor. I explain the SAME thing to him.
"It's right here, -12 dollars for the shirts." *silent scream to whoever's listening up there
"Right, that coupon, but not theother coupon for the shoes"
"You can only use one coupon" *now I pretend to be baffled, i can only use one store coupon per purchase, even if they are for different items?
"Oh, I"m sorry, where does it say that, I must have missed it, I thought I could use two different coupons if it was different products..." *Because it DOESN'T say that, it says you can only use one coupon per purchase for that product....
"Here, you have to buy two shirts and you get a third free... you can't use two coupons with these shirts." *Apparently, the way I say shoes sounds just like shirts.
"Okay, right, but what about my coupon for the shoes? Buy one get one half price?"
A small light dawns.
"Shoes?"
"Right, this coupon here, buy one shoes get 1/2 price off second pair of shoes?"
"Go over there, he'll take care of you."
FINALLY I get the smart guy.
"Hmm" he says "We've never had a problem with shoes before." SHOES he says, SHOES... he so gets me.
Now, I'm going to tell you something, I knew what happened. She didn't ring the damn coupon in. But I couldn't SAY you didn't ring it in, because they were too busy telling me she rang the shirt coupon in. They didn't want to acknowledge the shoe coupon.
He says...
"She didn't ring it in, that was the problem."
Me...
"Oh, really? Was that all?"

AAAAHHHHH

But I didn't yell, fuss, scream, holler, insult, call names or ANYTHING. SO go me.

A Good Night

Tonight was a very good night.

And most people won't know why til next week....

Husbandly redemption

I'm getting an Ipod Shuffle nano thingie gadget in white, with a blue armband for working out, that can download more songs than I have ever heard of. Husbando outo el dog houso.

He was in it for a bit for Valentine's Day. OKAY he was stressed that day, we had stuff going on, but COME ON. But the Ipod thing, I can forgive him. I am writing Valentine's Day off as a holiday for me. They usually suck. I'm creating a new day. It's going to be called 'Lisa Day' and on that day, my husband can buy me flowers, a present, and take me to dinner or cook me a nice meal. I just need to think of a good day. That way, we can skip the whole freakin' Valentine Day thing *it turns out, he didn't buy me chocolate because he didn't want to sabotage my work-out-get-fit plan, because when he bought twinkies, he got yelled at.... and he wasn't up to eating at Applebees.... grrr. So I think I'll pick a day in like, June, after our anniversary, before our birthdays and not in holiday season.... it'll be Be Nice to Wife and Appreciate Her and Buy Her Stuff day, but it should work, because it'll cancel out Valentine's Day...

In other non-exciting news, I lost an inch. Go me. Been to the gym four days this week. Go me again. Going tomorrow. Really, go me. That'll be five days in a row. I don't do weekends. Unfortunately, the only time slot my trainer and I can do is 6 a.m. Mondays and Wednesdays, and soon to be Mondays and Thursdays. But yikes. 6 a.m.? Well, at least I don't have to drag the kids. I tried enjoying the early morning wake up thing by stopping for a coffee after, but then I realized the very thought of coffee after working out was pukifying. Maybe it was just that one day, because I drank two glasses of wine? Maybe my trainer was grumpy because I was 10 minutes late? I mean, come on, 6 a.m. takes some getting used to... Maybe I was just off that day. Anyhow, tomorrow I need to do weights, but I am not particularly excited about it. I'm still not sure of what weights to do in what order, so I do my shmorgasboard thing, because something has got to be better than nothing. Oh, and I have a card, apparently ha ha ha, that the trainer fills out so I know what to do when they aren't around. I suspect my trainer hasn't filled mine out yet. I will ask him about that on Monday. Since I do weights with him he probably hasn't bothered. I'm only doing weights tomorrow because on Monday I suspect he will play on the whole 'lack of tricep' thing and really, have you ever had sore triceps? Honestly, have you ever actually FELT anything in your triceps? Think about it... Oh and the bit under your armpits, toward the back. I mean, really...

The girls at the gym are so nice. They remind me of me at 18 and 19. We had a riveting conversation about the last five hair colors they had... ahh, youth.

Night...

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day sucks.

Disconnect

I am sooo not the traveling/visiting kinda gal. I am soo not connecting with any of the mom's at the mom's club. Maybe the book club I am starting *in a desperate attempt to find people that actually can enjoy the things I enjoy* will help. I used to connect to people. Now I'm this disconnected entity just roaming aimlessly out in the Northwest trying to find some conduit that doesn't go 'bzzzt' and frazzle out when it comes into contact with me.

In fact, I think I'm just aimless. I'm like, free data just floating out there... not attatched or connected, just roaming around, floating, aimlessly, purposelessly...

bleah.

Little Things Some People Should Think About

When you go crying to your spouse that you have sooo much stuff to do, two mid-terms and your regular homework, and she says, 'Okay dear, well, I think if I wake up early and go straight to the computer, I can get all my stuff done by 3 or 4, and cram, just so you can have some more time to do your stuff tonight, while I watch the kids' then your response should be, 'Great, thank you honey,' which is what the response was, that's great.

But, the worst thing to do, and the one thing that will guarantee that I have too much homework to ever do this for you again, is, while I am cramming away, sans break, eating lunch at the computer and waking up a half an hour early, not even taking a coffee break, is, WHILE i'm doing this, WHILE I'm doing my case study, my essay and my module, not having a coffee or tea break, the thing to NOT do is be taking a nap, snoring, SNORING right behind me...

For those who are dense, it's because if you have time to take a nap, I do not need to be working double-time to give you more time, sacrificing the ONLY time I have!

Ya think one would think....

Goodnight

Good night Everyone.

A Day

I started my Master's program. I don't know what I'm going to do with it when I'm done. It's not the field of my dreams. It's just the field that offers the program that I can actually do, that's related to my original, and as it turns out, one of the few, fields I'm suited for. Anyhow, if I waited a couple of years, I could get the masters in education, but in a couple of years, I won't get G.I. bill money, it'll run out.... so I'd rather have the GI bil and a masters in management, and then go figure what to do with the rest of my life if my first 'rest of life' plans don't work out. My first 'rest of life' plans are my favorites, but we should all have back ups to our dreams.

Tonight, for my sanity, I'm in my room, and I will not leave until my daughter is in bed. I love her, I really do, but some nights, it's best if we are separated. She's only 9. When she's 13 I'm moving her to the basement room, and when she's 16, I'll probably rarely see her. When she's 21, she is so moving out. I can hear her banging things in the kitchen. She can not do anything quietly. She doesn't know how. Ah well. Tomorrow I am going to be working in my room all morning and my husband gets to deal with all the children... go him. I'm patiently waiting til 9 p.m. when I put her to bed and munch on cheese and bread with dipping oil... mmmmm.

So my wonderful Thursday and Friday.

On Thursday I get panic emails. Turns out my group, a total of five of us, in our class all misread the syllabus. I use misread inaccurately. We read the syllabus correctly. The instructor organized it poorly. The result being that on Thursday, we all found out our project, which wasn't supposed to be due til next wednesday by our reckonings, was a day late. We sent a brief 'we're sorry but wow we all were sure it said next wednesday' email to our instructor and then proceeded to do whatever it took to get it done and posted early this morning. Of course, two of the five, me included, didn't have the case study. One because she was out of town, the other, being me, because I assumed it was all downloadable. It was all downloadable, except for ours. No problem, we have FAXES! So Thursday night we had a great windstorm, the kind that you toss and turn through because it's noisy, but not quite noisy enough to wake you, only noisy enough to permeate your dreams and make you uneasy. The power went out a few tims throughout the night. Then, at 4:30 a.m. my husband and I were woken fully by the crackling sounds of a fax coming through. Thirty nine loud pages later, I was almost about to declare myself awake and make coffee. Then the wind blew out the power, thankfully after the last page came through, and I regained my sanity, and went back to bed. I woke up an hour and a half later. I stumbled through the morning, even managing to go to the gym for a pathetic 30 minute cardio workout, and then breezed through the case study, lobbed together some coherent thoughts, sent it off, and took a nap. I was done. That night I got on and chatted with the one classmate that is constantly wired, she compiled everything, we reviewed it, and oula, Saturday morning, it was posted, and the instructor declared that the discussion wouldn't need to be extended. I'm hoping he doesn't take points off since we, once we discovered it was actually due on Wednesday, got it together so fast. And it was his bizarre syllabus outline that messed us up. Whatever. HA HA

So that was my day of hell, oh and I had to drive huband to and from work, pick up our car where I accidentally got trapped in a long conversation with the mechanic dude with an accent I kept trying to place, but couldn't, so lets just call it slightly Australian, but probably lightly Canadian, and some nice eyes... but I'm a chick and I really didn't think he'd actually EXPLAIN everything to me until he was sure I understood it... *I can now explain what clogged injectors look like and the effect they have on your engine. I can explain the purpose of callipers, and I can tell you absolutely what part the sensors played in stalling my engine... learn something new every day.... AND to top off the day,

THEY KILLED BILLY THE BASTARDS

How could they?

I mean, seriously, how could they? He was the future. He was the golden child. He was the idealist that would carry them them through. He was the only non-contaminated soul.

But no, they kill him.

GRRRR cuz he tried to protect a woman who's probably a cylon who was hoping to get it on with the Admiral's son... so that's what you get...


And that, my friends, is A Day.

bad call after bad call...

I agree with this:

http://msn.foxsports.com/nfl/story/5310192

I'm happy for the Steelers, but these referees were an embarassment. They called the worst game in history. It's like, riding the wave of Steeler fans, they did whatever they could to call against Seattle.

Maybe that's why I was so numb. The Seahawks just got bad call after bad call after bad call... oh and Roth SO did not get that touchdown.

SuperNumb

I think this was the most underwhelming superbowl for me. Yeah it was Seattle's first appearance, and personally, I think there were some dumb calls that went against them, and some that shouldn't have gone to Pittsburgh, but all in all, I think they both played decently. I just didn't care who won. I tried to. I like both teams, but I tried to rouse optimism for Seattle, since I live here. I'm a Pats fan by the fact I grew up there, and I went through a phase where I loved the Steelers, but I'm not as big a Steelers fan as I was when I was 10, and I've been rooting for the Seahawks most of this season. I watched the game, but I just couldn't get into it. Maybe the calls ruined the momentum for me. Maybe the toddlers rampaging in front of the television did it. Maybe my husband's rantings at the referees did it. Whatever it was, I just gave up watching the game for minutes at a time. I missed the entire first quarter. I left the televison during the fourth. It just wasn't rousing. Somewhere between the second and third quarter, I just didnt' care who won. So what happened between the second and third quarter? Oh yes, Mick Jagger, a Brit, singing a lackluster 'Start You Up.' Or maybe it was the completely boring superbowl ads. Maybe it was the lack of a singular scandalous moment. I don't know what it was. But it made me not care.

So the Steelers won, and I KNOW there is an entire population of Steelers fans out there rejoicing to their hearts content, while those disheartened Seahawks fans savor the fact they were at least there... But either way, it's finally over.

2nd week

Down 4 lbs.

WOOT.


Incentive to attempt taking my clinging monkey son to the babysitting room at the gym again.

HE WILL NOT SABOTAGE MY GET FIT PLAN...

Toddlers.... gotta love em.

I just hate being 'that' mom, you know, the one who's kid sits there and cries while his mean mom ignores him, happily working on the machines, secretly dreading the moment when "WILL MEMBER WHO"S KID IS REDDER THAN A TOMATO PLEASE RETURN TO THE BABYSITTING ROOM. HIS TEARS HAVE FLOODED THE PLAY AREA" comes over the loudspeaker.

It's embarassing when your well known at the gym as the mom with that kid.... I know no one's name, the 10 a.m. crowd all know mine...

Today

I wish I just took another history degree.
I could enjoy taking history classes.

But no, I set my sights on a master's. My ambition isn't practical to my dreams. What else is new? I think sometimes my problem is I want two lives, when what I really should do is just focus on the one I really want, the one that matters. But maybe the master's will help, maybe the forced firing of brain cells that have been sleeping, will wake up some latent creativity.

Or maybe I'll end up writing more while I procrastinate my assignments for this class.

I have an essay to write tomorrow. I actually need to use and quote references properly.

I am so not looking forward to it. At the same time, I want a good grade. Some childhood things just stay with us.

Oh, not that I always got good grades, but I always did want them...

Ah, Taxes

The dreaded taxes.

This year, for the first year, well, ever, we are doing them, early. As in tomorrow. February 1st. We are motivated by the desire to get the scratch ticket that will double our tax return at H&R.

Truthfully, we are just, for once, emotionally and paperworkly prepared, to do the taxes early. I say emotionally because for the longest time we did it ourselves, and it was always dramatic. Our little booklet with its attached forms, our combined W-2s and education, bank, and childcare statements, referring from line H to page 28 to figure out what we're supposed to put on line H... and the inevitable, where'd you put this form, didn't you keep them together, did you lose the W-2... how could you lose a W-2... I didn't, you did... you see what I mean. Once, we had the finance office do it for us, when we were in the military. Then, we used Turbo Tax. One year we actually owed money. We were mortified. That was the year we realized we couldn't just keep renting. Then, after we bought and sold a house in an 18 month period, and moved across country, things got confusing, and we dreaded our taxes. So we went to H&R Block, April 15th. In my defense, at least we had an appointment... After we realized how easy it was to fork over some money to have someone else handle this crap, and not screw it up, we made a promise. We'd never again do taxes ourselves. Now, I'm not advocating H&R Block over any other accounting firm or tax places. It's just convenient, recognizable, and perfectly fine for people like us who don't really have a lot of investments beyond the normal house gig.

This year, I am proud to say, come Feb. 2nd, our refund, no matter how paltry it is, will be on its way to the bank! And my husband, his proud moment? For once, he can claim Head of Household, instead of jointly. This has been a long-time wish of his, to be able to call himself in some way or another, head of household, and to him, if it's on a tax form, it's official, and he can officially call himself, Head of Household. Ah, the little things...

Gym Apparell

I have gym apparell issues. I'm not going to lose sleep over it, but it is an issue. I'm short. Gym clothing tends to run long, for some reason. Maybe working out makes you an inch taller. Anyhow, I have to order my gym clothes online through the one store I've found that makes reasonably affordable petite gymwear that actually fits right. Target is institutionally against short people. I don't even go into the women's departments unless I'm looking for shorts.

Which brings me to the next gym problem. Shorts. Now, I recognize that there is a small segment of the population buying these gym shorts, and actually looking good in them. But, for the majority of people, well, we're going to the gym for a reason, and these short shorts do not help. Why do they need to be so short? Have the makers of these shorts seen these machines, and the odd sorts of ways you need to position yourself to do the workout properly? Have they tried doing squats in these shorts? Leg presses? I am afraid that gym shorts should not actually be worn by the majority of people, myself included, to the gym until oh, well, until they get to the point they don't need to go to the gym. So, capris.

Capris are the bestest gym apparell ever. They aren't full leggings, and they aren't shorts. Full length pants are great for winter, but it's spring soon dang it, I want to feel springy, plus it gets hot in the gym. The only problem with capris, they aren't necessarily flattering to short, squat stocky dwarvish folk like me. So what to do? I'm stuck with capris until someone makes a flattering short that hides the extra bit of booty that just sort of lags behind the rest of the booty, the slacker booty, the unmotivated hanger-on booty, the bad-influence booty, the booty you wish the rest of your booty would stop keeping company with, when they make a short that hides that, that would be nice.

And to think, before trying on these shorts, I was going to buy a motivational 'dream' bathing suit to hang on my closet as my 'goal'. HA HA HA.

Toddleritis

I have discovered that going out once a day in the morning is good for the boys and myself. It gets them out, playing, usually with other toddlers, and tires them out, even if it's just the back yard. Well, you can't take sick children out, okay you can, but there are degrees of sickness, and they are at the 'if it's more than a quick run to the store, don't do it' sickness. We endured a hellatious hour of my daughter's ballet because they were suffering from that overexcited, hyperenergized, unnatural energy I call Toddleritis. It only occurs when they are sick. They will run around in a frenzied, manic bout of play, running way below the amount of fuel in their energy tank. They need to pay for it later, from somewhere, and eventually, there will be a mega crash session, and Mom will rejoice. You would think, logically, that crash session would be that night. No, apparently there was still something left in the reserve tanks, the Toddleritis was back. They went to bed at an amazing 6:45 p.m., til a major coughing sniffling fit around 9 woke up one. I deposited him on the couch with his father, who was in the second hour of his 'cat nap,' and prepared for another night of no sleep. By 10, my husband finally woke up from his cat nap and went to bed, bringing Toddler A with him. By midnight it was clear Toddler A was not going to actually go back to sleep. Finally I took Toddler A and put him back in his bed, where I discovered Toddler B still sleeping. For five more minutes. When I heard joint giggling. At 1 a.m. I found Toddler A standing in the now-empty toy box shaking Toddler B's headboard while jumping up and down yelling gleefully while Toddler B was sitting giggling at him. 1:30 a.m. Toddler A and B pushed the toy box to the gate and were stuck in it. 2 a.m. I found them still playing and finally just shut the door. 2:40 a.m. the sound of silence. So, you'd think this morning they'd sleep in. Ha! 7:30 wake up. Two hours later, and I'm enjoying the company of the crankiest, moodiest, runny-nosed phglem-wielding duo that can be found west of the Missisippi, wondering how evil it would be if I just slipped them into the playland at the local store, hoping that the crash that must surely come will come oh, say, by 10.

For those interested in my whole new 'fitness gym going to get hot' gig, I lost a pound and a half this first week, go me, and managed to, despite not falling asleep til 2:41 a.m., get my butt out of bed and to the gym at 6:15, since obviously, I can't take them their today, in their current state.

Ah, blessed Tylenol, work your magic for the mommy.

Ed

I blog, therefore I am.

Happy?

Motherhood

In the short time it took me to write today's first entry, less than ten minutes, my son managed to pull off his pants, take off half his crap-laden diaper, pulling the other half, and the crap laden in it, down his leg, and somehow managed to smear it all over the carpet, his blanket, and his hand. Luckily, I had a carpet 'crap stain' remover on hand.

There is NOTHING like motherhood.

8 pages

Eight pages is my goal today.

I'm just starting out with a blog entry until my sons get tired of playing and fall asleep. It IS their nap time, after all. I can't write with the little gleeful cheers and angry howls that occurs when they play in their room. Playing quietly doesn't happen much with them.

I could turn on the game, NFC championship, but then I won't write. Besides, the boy's won't nap long enough for me to write any more than 8 pages. I can finish the game when I'm done. I'm hoping it's going to be the Seahawks that win it, but as for the AFC championship, I'm not sure. I like the Steelers, I think they are a gritty team, but I also like Denver. Not only that, my sons have cute little Bronco hats and shirts courtesy of their grandparents, who I don't even know really care about football, I think they just wanted them to have baseball caps, BUT now the boys have Denver in their heads. The orange and blue colors will be ingrained as one of their earliest memories. They will probably be Broncos fans because of the hats. We shall see.

Time to place them back in their beds. And write. Weee me.

Head Ploding

My head is ploding, whether it's imploding or exploding, I can't be sure. I don't have the luxury of just crawling into bead until this bout of sinus-plosion passes. I know I know most people don't, but to those who do, grrr you. My nose is runny, but not just runny, the kind of runny that stings in the sinus passages. I also have no allergy medicine in the house. Not that it ever does much. I used to pop sudafed like red hots. One after the other. Only red hots did more. Now I pop a clariton with my multivitamin, to much the same effect. It's only quarter til nine and I'm hitting the sack, in my nice, hubby I love you but don't touch me, flannels. Last night I dreamt I survived a russian winter, around the russian yuletide, but the entire journey I was parched. Surrounded by snow, and I couldn't get enough water... throat...so... dry.... cuz duh, I woke up, dry throat, and I chugged water.

I am going to my gym tomorrow. I am trying to find a way to blame the gym for my sudden cold/allergy/both problem, but really, I should look no further than my feverish son and the weather. Oh his fever passed. It was one of those freak, lasts a day til he works it out, fevers. Now he's just got a leaky nose and is a bit clingy.

I am so tired, I almost fell asleep on the laptop. I'm suffering guilt from not working on chapter nine. My goal was to write every day, at least three pages. I am failing this week.

Alright, time to go steal my pillow back from the bed hog. W. goes on and on about his king sized bed. I say, for the sake of familiarity and cozy cuddleness, we are just fine with a big queen, but on nights like this, I could use a whole king, to myself. Hey, I mean, our couch is perfectly comfortable....

Monkeys

Being stuck in a jungle doesn't give you permission to act like a monkey.

An Hour of Cardio a Day

Where am I supposed to get this hour?

Anyhow, I'm committed to the gym three times a week, for an hour. I can do this. I have it in my schedule, there was room once I wiggled things around. But, unless I manage to do that which I have never managed to do, and get up at 6 a.m. and run to the gym on the days it's not scheduled, than I am not going to be able to do this hour of cardio on tues and thursdays and saturdays.

It doesnt' take a rocket scientist to figure out that if you do manage to do an hour of cardio six times a week, you will lose a lot of weight. I probably need a professional life scheduler to help me fit that hour in though.

I mean, it's 9 p.m. and I'm just starting my writing. Do I want to be doing this? No, this was supposed be done this afternoon. I had time, I had the TIME to sit and write. So what happened? My furnace of a son woke up in cling fest mode radiating more heat than my gas fireplace, or alternately, a small sun, small, but very close, as in contact-close. Instead of my three to four pages goal for today, *which I just made up now, I really just wanted to sit and write til the boys woke up* I laid in my bed holding the miniature space heater, than, when he THOUGHT he was going to be awake, we went to the living room, where he discovered that he wasn't really ready for wakefulness, and I ended up holding him under our blankies on the couch.

Do I expect to sleep tonight? No. The furnace will overheat again, I'm sure. Probably around midnight or 2 a.m.

Speaking of 2 a.m. some nit-witted teenagerish-sounding girl called my house looking, I'm assuming, for her guy. Kept calling and calling til I picked up the phone. Hello, chick, don't call again. I'll do the parental "do you know what time it is" and then, to be annoying, because if anything, if you are calling me at 2 a.m. I sure as hell have the right to be annoying, "if you are looking for him at 2 a.m., you should probably just dump him." I would have said these things, and more, if I weren't so tired. Instead I said 'you have the wrong number.' Boy, that was harsh.

Tuesday

I made the worst stroganoff. It was awful. Nobody really ate much of it. I think I added the sour cream in to the pan when the pan was too hot. I ended up mainly eating my new favorite snack, popcorn riddled with chocolate chips... you know, the kind you use in tollhouse cookies? Those little chocolate morsels. Toss a small handful into your popcorn, shake, and you have your fill of both chocolate and a filling popcorn snack.

I was going to write tonight, but husband's first day at new job, so he wanted to gab for two hours. Then I had errands to do online, so instead, I'm going to get everything set up for tomorrow. I have the gym, playtime pals, and hopefully, writing chapter nine. It sucks that writing a novel isn't considered work unless you have already written a novel and are under contract for another one. I mean, I see the logic, obviously, but still. For those of us unpublished writers, it is a major balancing act, isnt' it.

I was going to write this afternoon but ended up napping. Mainly for my muscles. My body hasn't had to work at anything in so long, that one day at the gym about did it in. Yikes. And tomorrow I'm going again, though mainly for cardio, but still. I am going to see a trainer for five sessions, to see if it does any good. Hopefully, it will.

Chapter

I wrote a chapter tonight. It feels good, to write full chapters. My biggest annoyance is that school starts the end of this month, and I already have so much that gets in the way that I just don't know how school will play out. Ususally, school helps me write, simply because while my mind is plowing away with case studies and essays and discussions, another part is writing, and when I'm done my class, still sitting at the computer, I start writing. Or, when I'm supposed to be doing class, and don't feel like it, I start writing. Other times, it helps just because of the deadline factor. It organizes my day. Usually what happens is I end up staying up way too late and being tired the next day because I do both class work and writing. As it so happens, I no longer am burdened with having to look presentable in the mornings, and can occasionally take an afternoon nap, so maybe this time around, it will be better. The last time I pulled this stunt, I was in the military, going to class at night, and writing short stories for one of my classes as well as my own benefit. That C in biology I got was more exhaustion than lack of comprehension. I mean, when one half your grade is based on the research paper you started writing at 11 p.m. the night before its due date, that was based purely on a book you hadn't read that talked more about evolution in society than actual biology, a C is pretty good.

Now, I am learning how to write while successfully ignoring my toddling toddlers as they toddle about my room, pulling books off my bookshelf and trying to run off with my mouse. My hope is that they will eventually get bored with the nice little toy with the shiny red light that mommy moves around on the cool flimsy pad thing, or trying to scurry into mommy's lap while she plays with all those nice clicky buttons, or discovering the secret treasure chest that is mommy's jewelry box, ooh the shinies... and so on and so forth. We must, however, thank one of the toddling geniuses, for finding the 'favorite's key' button, which mommy never actually knew existed. Now, with one key, I can open up an entire folder, rather than go through the whole 'click five times cuz you're too lazy to make a shortcut' routine to get to my work.

Go me.

A Haiku

Three ducks on a pond
Along came our cat Coco
And then there were none

This is like a haiku I wrote in 7th grade. I think it's almost exact. I got an A on it. I only bring it up because my mother, for years, accused me of plagiarism. She was helping me write haikus, you see, and was having fun. Between the two of us, we wrote a bunch. She said that this one was hers. I said it was mine. She loved ducks, and our cat Coco. I could care less about ducks. The slight humor is more her style. She may be right, I may, at the age of 12, have stolen her poem, and the A may rightfully be hers. Luckily, she doesn't read my blog. I'd never hear the end of it. Come to think of it, I haven't. For years, she's reminded me of my grand poetry theft.

There is no blog

There is no blog tonight. I want to blog, but I am angry, and one of my resolutions is not to rant, complain or express large amounts of frustration, anger and great annoyance on this website. I have friends for that. Okay, a friend. Maybe two. And instant messenger, making them the unwitting recipient of my emotions, with no warning whatsoever. I love instant messenger. So, since I have nothing nice to say, there is no blog.

Instead of blogging, I played EQ 2 all night. I have a pet dragon. His name is Friend. He loves me very much, and when I feed him, he coos. I have a nice room I rent, with pretty paintings and a big statue, and a mirror even. I'm going to move in permanently.

I am more than the sum of my laundry

Some mom at my son's pre-preschool playtime class said that to me. I liked her instantly. The problem is, I've been defeated by my laundry. I haven't surrendered, not completely, yet, it comes close. They have infiltrated every room of the house, socks, shirts, even jeans occasionally, can be found everywhere. My novel is not yet written, because my jeans are not hung neatly in the closet. In fact, nothing is hung neatly in the closet except clothes my husband and I haven't worn in years. Chapter 8 has been halted, because my sons don't wear shoes in their playtime class, eliminating the simple solution of not matching socks when dressing them.
But there are even more horrific ramifications of laundry. Some of the greatest philosophical questions in the world will never be asked, because our next Socrates had to stop and sniff his underwear. The next Einstein, on the verge of questioning, and finding the answer to, the key of our evolution, will pause, just for a moment, looking at the socks on the floor, and the answer, gone. Replaced instead with something momentarily more imperative. Are they clean? Are they dirty? Which pile is the clean one? Is it okay to wear one clean sock and one of questionable orientation, or would it be better to wear two mismatched socks? When faced with the mornings first rays, an unknown doctor researching cures for the common cold will suddenly understand the role asparagus plays on the immune system, and reaching for the answer, smiling, will be thwarted, because his shirt, clearly in the clean pile, has a stain on it. What does this mean for the clothes underneath? Have they been mis-piled? These are the dangers we face when dealing with laundry, and yet, there is no solution. So evolotuion, the common cold, and the explanation of our very existence, of why we are here, along with my novel, remain left, unfinished, undone, unanswered. Still, we do not take laundry seriously. We chuckle and laugh, convinced somewhere there is a home with laundry neatly done, knowing deep in our hearts that is only a myth, for no human can defeat laundry.

I'm sure I could do great things, if it weren't for the laundry.

The End of the World

I watched the history channel. Three different shows, three different prophets, but one date. 2012. The world is going to end. Again. I think it ended in 1997 or 99. And before that. According to one of the shows, several cultures believe this is the fourth world, and that it will end for the fourth time, and then we'll be in the fifth world. So imagine Noah's ark, only five times. My mother was raised strict Catholic, and she was assured in her childhood that God promised to never destroy the earth by water again. That leaves fire, earth, air, atomic annihilation, poison, hostile alien take-overs, wars, massive meteor showers, and self-annihilation, and the return of the dinosaurs, to name just a few. So really, it's not a very encouraging promise. It's sort of like saying, "I'm going to destroy your world, but I won't sink it, so you don't need to worry about building an ark or anything."

Just think, only six more years before they need to come up with a new 'the world will end' date! But really, if we want to be honest, the world ends every day, and is reborn every day, just in stages. A typhoon here, hurricane there, little shift of the pole, change in the weather pattern, a big flood... It's constant. Catastraphoes of natural and man-made origin happen all the time on any given day in different parts of the world, and all those areas are changed forever. Their world ends violently and after a period of hardship and suffering over a period of years, their world is transformed to something else.

So what they REALLY mean when they predict the end of the world, is the end of our world, the Western world, the modern world, the world that includes the nations caught up in technology and economy, and they usually pin the cause of the end of this world as a result of a conflict between the mid-east and the rest of the net-surfing world. Oh there's a surprise.

I wonder what they will say the end of the world is going to be in 2063? Maybe dolphins will take over the world. Maybe there is an entire race of dolphins with opposable thumbs miles underneath the ocean that live in a big shiny city, called Dolphinville, and while we sit here on the net, thinking we are alone on the planet, they are browsing our net, learning our ways, and hacking into our computer systems until the year 2063, when they crash our servers, turn all the fresh-water lakes into salt, and kill us all, so they can move onto the surface, justified in their extermination of most of humanity because we've been selfish about the whole evolutionary process and have stalled, creating a back-log of creatures on earth that haven't evolved properly. The dolphins are getting fed up with waiting.

Anyone ever read Ishmael? Same principle, only with apes.

Ballet

Usually, you like to meet your child's teacher. Smile. Say hi. All that. Not in ballet class, not when you have only one hour a week to teach a bunch of nutcracker princess wanna-be's.

My daughter's ballet class:

Every child, a girl. Every outfit the same pale pink Target leotard with variations only in ruffle or no ruffle, long sleeve or short sleeve. Every child in a pink frilly tutu. Pale pink leotards varying only in footless or footed. Ballet shoes, three-quarters the Target terry cloth 'i'm not sure my kid will go through with this' pair, the rest, the nice proper ones. The two stand-out girls in the class? One girl who DARED don black ballet shoes. How brave. And the other, a red-head who DARED wear a bright fuschia leotard. Yes, you could call it a member of the pink family, but really, that's a brave color for the soft pastel world of ballet. I liked her. My daughter? Pale pink leotard with a heart embroidered in silver beads. Pale pink footless tights. Pale pink frilly tutu. Pale pink Target ballet shoes. She complained about the ballet shoes. She wants the proper kind. I told her if she sticks through the first ten weeks of weekly ballet classes, she can get the proper slippers.

My sons?

Terrors. I was glared out of the parent observation class. They ran in both directions. One made a dash into the class until I ran in, other boy tucked under my arm like a football, his feet dangling, and pulled the other boy out by dragging him. One hour of ballet for my daughter, one hour of aerobics for me.

Next week, I am bringing toys.

7:30 a.m.

That is a good time to wake up. Lets rethink the whole '6 a.m. to midnight' day. It's not possible. Now, 7:30 a.m. to 11:30 p.m., that's a day I can handle without taking a nap, though naps are still optional if the opportunity presents itself.

I joined a gym today. They promised they wouldn't bulk me up like Gold's. That was the gym I was a member of that made my alter-ego name itself Helga the Bootyful. I have two personal training sessions with some guy named Mike.

Let me tell you about Mike. I haven't met him yet, but I already know him. At a fairly young age, he realized that chicks liked guys who worked out. So he did. Then, he realized he enjoyed it. Me man, me lift heavy things, me dress in underwearless-sweats and sneakers. The next step is graduation, high school or college, where he said, 'I don't want a real job.' Now, maybe he knew he didn't want a real job, or maybe he thought this was a real job. Whether or not he deluded himself isn't the point. He is smarter than most people probably give him credit for. He decided to work in the place he loves to hang out in. The gym. What does he do all day? Walk around in underwearless-sweats, or 'professionally mandated' active-wear and sneakers, training the poor slobs who walk through those doors desperately hanging on to the magazine article/doctors' advice that said REALLY they can lose weight and get some seriously shaped booty and some perkies with major stand-up-all-alone power, if they just show up and play on these nice, pretty machines. Now, Mike is in shape, clever enough to avoid a real job, but not clever enough to have managed to snag a higher-end clientelle. He has a girl/boyfriend who works out and is aspiring to be a model/actress/dancer. Lets hear it for Mike.

He's going to try to sell me a personal trainer package. $60 an hour for a personal trainer to lie to me about my efforts or $12.99 for a subscription to Shape magazine that will guilt me into the gym.... hmmm..... Sorry, I'm not rich or famous enough for Mike to be my lying angel...

Today also marks the day of my daughter's ballet debut. Never mind that we did ballet when she was 5 and she loved it so much she refused to get out of bed to attend class. Three months of ballet, lets see how she handles it. I did try to suggest jazz. Irish softshoe. American contemporary. Nope. She saw Barbie Nutcracker. Her second choice to me was Contemporary Japanese Dance. I agreed to ballet. She also saw the princess ice skating movie, so we have ice skating dreams as well. I have more hope for those.

Oh and for those who think I"m overscheduling her, please. She has ballet on Thursday and skating on Saturday and has been begging me for classes for months. Ahh, how I wish she'd just stick with tae kwan do. And this, my friends, is how moms become taxi drivers. I mean, at what age can I smile at her and say 'get your own ride'?

Day

What a day.

After a night of my son's yak fest and my other son's insomnia due to first son's yak fest (yak as in puke, barf, vomit, projectile-style) I woke up to a morning of diapers that needed to be changed in the bathtub under running water. I ran out with sick toddlers in tow, in the rain, of course, to buy B.R.A.T. supplies, and pedialyte. At 11 a.m. they still hadn't had breakfast, so in the truck I gave them a bananna each. One was barfed up. I just washed the stains off the coat now. After we got home, I fed them a very mild grilled cheese and copious amounts of grape pedialyte, spent a half an hour coaxing them to sleep, and to my shock, fell asleep myself. Now, they took a three hour nap. During the first hour of their nap I did a few things, gave my older daughter some chores to do, but then, I thought, I have one hour left, I'll lay down for a few minutes, have some coffee, and go do some work, as in laundry, cleaning, filing, etc. Instead, I crash for two hours, until my older daughter woke me up. I think I had told her I was working. Ha ha ha. Working. Yeah, on recuperating my energy, by napping. I finally got up, made the coffee while she VOLUNTARILY unloaded the dishwasher. Now, isn't that nice? Keep in mind, we are on a point system here, and she had none, so was she being nice, or trying to earn points? Does it matter? I didn't have to do it. I gave her the points. Then it was time to make dinner, hubby came home and crashed on the couch because surprise surprise, the vomit-party pooped him out too... ha ha get it, vomit party pooped him out... ahh.. anyhow the boys went to bed fairly close to their normal bedtime so hopefully all will be back to normal tomorrow. BUT, even though I took a nice nap, I'm still exhausted! It doesn't add up. Why should the fact my sons are sick and miserable exhaust me? Ah well.

What a day.

To the Gym, goeth I

It's the New Year. I can count how many times I've started exercise programs in January. Along with an actual resolution aimed at getting up two hours earlier. I am convinced this year I can do it. The exercise isn't really a problem. I like exercising. And this place has a daycare, eliminating the primary reason I haven't exercised.

This time, I'm not going to make the mistake I made last time. I spent so much time on weights, that I bulked up to a nice muscular, but chubby looking, pudgy chipmunk. I think I need to avoid to many weights. Some people can bulk up. Some people get lean. Me? I got thuggish chumpy. I was a bit disappointed. I don't know what happened. Was it the weights? The bicycle? Eating the apples and grapes right after? I will have to watch myself this time. Thuggish Chump is not a look I want to sport again.

I didn't do any resolutions this year aside from getting up two hours earlier. What's the point? The goals I have today are the same ones I had last month, including the getting up two hours earlier goal. I turned that into a resolution to give myself an extra month of not getting up two hours earlier.

I am looking forward to this year, though. There are things about it that make me think it will be a good year. Last year was just too turbulent, too many changes in too short a time, and it was just not possible to really enjoy much of it. Even our holidays were scattered and hectic. So here's to a nice, calm, stable, New Year.

Realization

I tried dropping hints, you know, leaving presents in obvious places, like the closet. Hiding some under the bathroom sink, fully expecting a certain 9 year old to snoop. Nope. I mean, I refuse to flat out tell her, HEY, there's no Santa. It's a lie we've told you since you were born so you could have nine years of magic in your life. But secretly I believe that nine is a good year to figure it out.

Now, we're not going to get started on whether or not you should let your kids believe in Santa and then reveal that it's all been a lie you've started, because Santa isn't really a lie. He's a mythical figure, a cultural icon and he's been around for centuries in different forms, so he is real. No, the magic is real, it's just, the big jolly man with the red cheeks in the red suit happens to be daddy and mommy or holiday workers. So here is the evolution of realization. I'm thinking the same thought process can explain how man became self-aware.

Christmas morning, 3:30 a..m....

"Maamaa maammaa Saanntta came, maama maamma...."
Looking at clock in disbelief, I mean, 3:30 a.m? I never did that... "I don't care who came, it's 3:30 in the freakin' morning go back to bed."
"I can't sleep!"
"Then just lay there til morning."

Christmas morning....
Mad present opening festivities. There is a feeling of unease in said nine-year old's being as she asks if this present is from mom or from Santa, but I do not detect it. She is gleefully ripping open presents seeming a true Santa believer.

Dinner, Christmas Day....
Eating mashed potatoes peacefully after giving up trying to get toddlers to not wander with mashed potatoes into the living room. The sofa's slipcovered, it can be washed.... All of a sudden....literally, no warning. Self realization seldom comes with warnings, apparently.
"Are you trying to tell me that you and Santa use the same cards?" *Note, I wasn't trying to tell her anything, I was peacefully eating mashed potatoes. "It's not like Santa would say, 'hey, can I borrow some cards?'" *She'd apparently given this some thought, tossing a scenario or two around in her head that would explain these inconsistencies... "Are you pretending to be Santa? Don't lie to me on Christmas Day. Nobody should lie on Christmas Day. Are you telling me there's NO Santa, that you're Santa?"
"Umm."
And then Daddy came up with the whole, "Yes, we're Santa, but the magic of Christmas is real, and Santa is the spirit of giving and family and love, and that's the magic, and that's what Santa is, so in a way, Santa is real, every year we play Santa, because it's all magical." Go Daddy.

So just like that, out of the blue, during an uninteresting bite of mashed potatoes, my nine year old discovered the secret behind Santa, yet still managed to retain a belief in the Christmas magic.

Now isn't that something.

We figured Santa was a crock and that was pretty much it for the magic, too...

There are no sugar cookies

Because I burnt them. Anyhow, I also ix nayed the no-bakes for my husband's workplace. Grinch that I am, but hey, I've done a gazillion things already, enough is enough!

My one gripe of the holiday season: ...call doctor's office... "Hi, I need a prescription filled for my daughter, she needs it buy Dec. 22" Response... "No problem, we'll call you when it's done." I wait one day, no call. Next day, I must call them. I call them. "Hi, this office is closed Dec. 22nd, yes that was the day we expected to have your prescription to you, but not now." ARGH. If said person had informed me they were CLOSING that day....

But that is a rant, and this is most definitely not a rant board, it's a thought board.

My thoughts today are happy ones... they run like this...

MUAHHAAAA I am done all my shopping and there is no way, no how that I am leaving my driveway until Dec. 28th MUAHAHAHAHA you last minute Christmas Commuters and Shoppers shall suffer angry holiday revelers trying desperately to buy last minute presents for Great Aunt Greta who is still alive, after all, and nieces and nephews of the boyfriend you think you might one day perhaps marry, but not if you don't act like part of the family now, and those dear dear husbands for whom Christmas doesn't hit the radar til they have 12 shopping hours left between "I Love You" and "Go Sleep on the Couch you Thoughtless, Procrastinating Ass, Good Thing I Already Bought My Christmas Present, After Last Year's Fiasco..."

See?

Happy thoughts :)

Merry Christmas

Crazy Cookie Baking Madness

Today is bake cookies day. I do this every once in a while. I get it in my head to make cookies, some recipes I know, like the one on the back of the nestle chocolate chips bag, some new ones, like the ones my grandmother used to make, and of course, the obligatory, whatever-the-occasion-is cookies. This year, it's no-bakes for my husband, which are no-brainers,I really need to try hard to mess those up, along with sugar cookies, of two varieties:, the first variety, the pillsbury ready-made-just-cut-and-bake, and the second, home made sugar cookie dough to be rolled out and cut into cutesie Christmas shapes. I am not taking bets on which will come out tasting the best. Then, my grandmother's recipe.

This is a lot of cookies. I'm going to be honest here. I shouldn't be doing this. I'm going to be up til midnight, and half the batches will be ruined because of my misguided determination in baking all these cookies.

So why, then, am I doing this, knowing that it will end badly, my daughter deserting me halfway through the night, me crankily tossing cookie sheets in the oven, frosting every cookie the same too-pale-shade of red, known as pepto, every dish dirtied and in the sink? Why am I doing this, knowing that it will end with burnt sugar cookies, dried-out no-bakes and a paltry imitation of my grandmother's totos? ***not the dog, people, this is an Italian cookie with a funky Italian name that for years I've mutilated by calling it variations like 'the doughs' or 'theodores' with a slight fake Italian roll.

I'm doing it for optimism, and hope, for tradition's sake, and to bond with my daughter, who, this year, will not leave me stranded alone at midnight with a glass of baileys.... I'm doing it because secretly, I enjoy making cookies. I'm doing it so my daughter will have memories of making those perfect cookies with her mom, and I believe that is what I'm doing. No, the cookies aren't perfect, but she's nine. By the time she's 25, she will, I am sure, have forgotten about the burnt ones. My optimism allows me this. She will have fond memories of warm toasty nights indoors baking cookies the holiday season, safe from the chilly winter rain pouring outside.

So only half come out edible, that's what the no-bakes and cut-and-bakes are for, they are the fall-back cookies. And yes, the dishes will take three days to do, and somehow, because I've baked cookies the rest of the house will fall apart, but dang it, we will have cookies, three varieties of yummy, half-dozen-batches of cookies, and we will be finished by nine p.m. with time to clean the kitchen.

It will be a glorious mother-daughter-cookie-baking-bonding evening. This year will be the year that cookie baking at my house resembles cookie baking on TV. Yes, it is for hope, optimism, and the promise of what could be, that I am doing this.

And, when the reality hits, tomorrow, when I'm standing at a sink towering high with flour-crusted frosting-sticky bowls and spoons and every other dish has been contaminated with chocolate-covered oatmeal, I will still not be deterred, my resolution will not shake. After all, there will be a redeeming gingerbread-house to make and decorate in February, from scratch, using my stoneware gingerbread pattern molding pan...

Christmas Nausea

It hit early this year, the nausea that comes yearly, slowly tugging at my conscious in late October, becoming a fair-sized notion that all is not cheery at Thanksgiving, and, usually, I'm able to stave off the full feeling of the emotional version of day-after-Thanksgiving-ate-too-much-pie illness until the day before Christmas Eve. This year, though, it hit early, and hard. I had a full-blown case of 'the holiday season is just too much' before Thanksgiving hit. Oh I did the day fine, turkey for the family, football game, that was fine. It was BLACK FRIDAY that did me in. The talk about the day, and what it meant to retailers, to retailers? What about Grandma? But this is what Christmas is about, appeasing our gods, the old traditional ones like Sears Roebuck and Macy's as well as the newer, more powerful ones of Amazon.com and Best Buy. These retailers, our priests and priestesses, the apostles of American Consumerism, were getting a little concerned that their worshippers weren't giving their all to their gods. Oh the punishment they threaten us casually, if we do not comply! We must show our gods we are loyal consumers else, convinced of our straying hearts, they will increase our heating costs, raise our interest rates, make homes even less affordable to the average working American and forbid this, take jobs away. All unless we do our godly duty, and shop.

Don't be fooled, either, by the distracting arguments of Merry Christmas vs. Happy Holidays. It has nothing to do with Religion. No, it's all about 'How do we get more people to shop.' If you say, Merry Christmas, you leave out all the non-Christian denominations. They are less likely to be swayed into excessive consumerism by a holiday they care nothing about. No, our gods are open-minded. If you say Happy Holidays, well, then, EVERYONE spends, regardless of denominations. It's a smaller, more subtle version of how the Romans successfully conquered so many cultures, for a while. They said 'worship who you want, but pay your taxes to us.' I do believe America is the reincarnation of that Roman Empire, for do we not say, 'worship who you want, but shop here' and where they conquered with armies, we conquer with economics, and 'stuff.'

Well, I'm a heathen, partly, for it's impossible to muster the willpower needed to fully resist American Consumerism. I only worship with half a heart, though, for I didn't buy as much as I normally do, mainly due to a feeling of disgust with how a holiday season about family and friends and giving has become nothing more than a two month shopping event. My toddlers got a couple of toys each, because after nine years experience with their elder sister, I know all too well how little they care about a lot of toys. I bought them four toys in all, quality toys, a set of nice wooden alphabet blocks because they love building, a wooden stacking toy, and two little people sets. Hubby Man is going to buy them a few stocking stuffers. That's it. They are two. Best not start them off greedy.

My daughter? Well, we got her illustory, so she can 'write her own book,' an art set consisting of an art pad, paints and colored pencils since thats her new 'thing', four soft-covered books since we desperately want her to read more ha ha, a fleece blanket that is more a need, but it's Christmas so hey, why not wrap it, a high chair for her doll, and a movie, classic, National Velvet. Her stocking stuffers are a cd and some jewelry, and aside from a few presents from three sets of grandparents *divorce extends families as well as divides* and a bead set left over from her birthday presents *I forgot I didn't give it to her on her birthday, it's in November* that is it, and it's more than enough, and sadly, more than most kids get.

For the kids that don't get anything? One night at Bunco, we were talking about how Toys for Tots was very short this year. Exceptionally short. They didn't have enough to go around. I, feeling righteously nauseated at all the excessive commercialism prompting everyone to buy good tidings of comfort and joy with gift cards, the 'hot' gifts can we say X-box, and so on and so forth at the never-ending sales, realized that for all my nausea, for all my 'what about the others,' I'd done nothing for the others. Remembering a Christmas as a child where all I got was a coat, and a VCR for the whole family, and a reminder from my parents that as little as we had, we needed to treasue it, because there were those with less, I took myself back to the store and purchased a few toys for Toys for Joy, something similar to Toys for Tots. Tomorrow, I am packing my nine year old daughter in the truck and we're going to drive to the fire station, where she is going to take the toys and place them in the Toys for Joy drop-off bag, as I explain exactly why we are giving these toys away to strangers rather than to her and her brothers.

I am already forming a New Year's Resolution based loosely on the idea that it is no longer enough to be glad that I have the things I most cherished as a child, because I didn't have them: a house, a real house with stairs even! in a nice neighborhood! With clothes that aren't hand-me-downs or from the 70s equivalent of Walmart! I saw the lives on television as a dream I wanted desperately in on, but could never have. I, as a child, cherished my family the most, because they were the only thing I could be sure of. Everything else was material and material was fickle, sometimes, we had things, and oftentimes, we did not, and we just dreamt of them, or forgot we didn't have them But family was always there, and being kind, and giving, and caring and making do with what we had, was ingrained in us. I think it is time to work on passing those values on and drifting away from the mall-cult. But I want it to go beyond Christmas.

Everyone can be charitable around the holidays. My resolution is to work on the rest of the year, and try to show my daughter that there is another side to our world, another darker place where little girls and little boys see this magical time of Christmas as a dream. Do people really live like that? Do they really have such big homes and such happy, large families, and everything is so wonderful? Yes, our gods lie, people really live like that, happiness every day, joy in buckets, but you not for you, you aren't faithful enough, you haven't made enough, because you have angered us.

Our gods lie to us, it is their way. They mock our lives. They show us when we approach the alters placed reverantly in so many rooms of our homes what we could have if only we lived by their code. No matter how little or how much we have, we can have more and we can buy happiness and sunshine and those buckets of joy. But the American gods have no time for those who do not prostrate themselves before retailers, for those who do not spend themselves into a fury trying for the heaven of the American Dream. If we do not keep up we are swept away and just try to sell a home with laminate counters.

So we worshippers try harder, as we take holy latte, grande or venti please? the ambrosia the gods so kindly share with their faithful, and drag our progeny into the temples, showing them the secrets of our faith. What though, are they promising?

And that is what I am nauseous about. It is not real. We know it, we all do, it's not real, it's an illusion, the heaven they show us. Most of us today say we buy too much, we shop too much, we own too much, but when do we say it? When we are shopping. We condemn excessive consumerism even as we partake in it. It is the trap of our lives, and there seems to be no escape, try as we might, too many of us are too weak to just stop. There are truly things of value, yes, but so much of it is just plain excess. And honestly, I don't think I'd be so nauseated, I don't think I'd mind so much, if so many people didn't have to go without, if there weren't inner cities teeming with poverty and resentment that can only be contained so long, if there wasn't an entire state, one full state of the union, dislocated and barely remembered a mere month after it's tragic fall, if there wasn't a nation where voting was one of the bravest things you could do in your life, if an entire people wasn't being eradicated before the world's very eyes with no intervention, and so much more.... If the world was such a place that the only thing to truly worry about was parking? Well then, I wouldn't really mind.

Tis the Season.

Perhaps the next year will be better for America, better for the world. Perhaps not. But hey, what can we do? We have Christmas cards to relatives we haven't seen in decades to mail...

Wuthering Heights

There is a large list of books that every reader has, it's the "List of Books I Must Get Around to Reading" and every list is different. Most have the 'should reads' and the 'want to reads but it's soooo long' and the 'heard it was good don't have time' and of course, the 'classics.' I have a bunch of classics that I must read, and Wuthering Heights is one of them. The idea of the story appeals to me, dark brooding Heathcliff, true, desperate moody love on the moors, very emotional and passionate in a dark, honest, human way. She even talks about how Heathcliff is darkness, and not joy. Anyhow, the book was published in 1847, a time when television and instant communication hadn't shortened our attention span for information and conversation, and the style of writing tended toward lengthy. The characters tend to have conversations that go on for days, and the meaning, while probably clear in 1847, is hard to come by reading it in 2006. I've read a few paragraphs a few times just to clarify the meaning, and the language is fairly difficult not because the words are hard, but because they don't mean the same thing anymore. Oh, Heathcliff and Catherine are both passionate and wild and full of broody, moorish sulking, but to get to the core of the book, you have to navigate the English language of 1847. My favorite passage, the one that exemplifies how you can get a 'feel' for what is being said but not quite understand its literal translation is the following:

I perceive that people in these regions acquire over people in towns the value that a spider in a dungeon does over a spider in a cottage, to their various occupants; and yet the deepened attraction is not entirely owing to the situation of the looker-on. They do live more in earnest, more in themselves, and less in surface change, and frivolous external things.

Now, my take on this, is something like the following: People in the harsher regions of Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange live a harder life and due to the harshness and isolation of the regions, don't bother putting on airs, masks, or do the silly little things people in town do, like wear powdered wigs and learn the proper way to wave a fan and worry about proper stations and such. They are what they appear to be, and that's that. They value life more and live life harder, and any outsider looking in can see that, and views it that way.

My problem is the spider. Does the spider in the dungeon live more in earnest than the spider in a cottage? Wouldn't it be easier for a spider in a dungeon vs. a cottage? Especially a clean one. Why would a spider in a dungeon share the same values as people in the harsher regions? Why would an onlooker think that a spider in a dungeon lived more earnestly? As an onlooker, I would think a spider in a dungeon with all sorts of creepy crawlies to munch on would be as happy if not happier than a spider in a cottage. Especially, again, a clean, well-swept one. But, really, as long, I suppose, as I get the 'understanding' and 'feel' I shouldn't spend so much time dwelling on the bizarre analogy. I just wish I knew why she felt spiders in dungeons had something over spiders in cottages.

What do I do all day?

Todays entry is all about what I do all day, since people often wonder, what do moms who stay home do all day? The best way to explain it for those who don't have kids, or who don't stay home, is to compare it to a series of meetings, it's imperative you attend the meetings, they are mandatory, your boss reminds you several times about the meetings, and so you go, coffee in hand, but after the meetings are done and gone, you realize, not only have you accomplished nothing on your list of things you wanted to, but you are now three days behind on things you have to do but don't want to do.

This morning, I was roused too early by two fleece jammies squealing 'daah daah daaah' and giggling with joy at being awake. Ahhh, to have that optimism again, the kind that can only come from getting enough sleep. Then, then what? Free time? Accomplish something? Yes, I accomplished something. I accomplished ironing my husbands wrinkle-resistant, no-need-to-iron-ever twill shirt because he got up too late to do it himself. Then I played chase the third grader out the door to school. That took a good hour. Ah, 9 a.m. Feed the Toddler time. Milk is a great adhesive, by the way. Let it sit for ten minutes, and you'll never get those cheerios off the table and floor. I'm thinking of using milk to repair my husband's ceramic eagle that flew off his bookshelf to a bad end.

After a half hour of trying to escape with cheerios into the living room, the children were fed, the bowls removed and we read a book. To keep you awake, I will refrain from posting it from memory. I bumbled around for another 45 minutes trying to finish things and start other things while simultaneously picking up the cheerios that made it into the living room and redecorating the Christmas tree, until I had what amounts to free donuts in the break room.

Now, replace the donuts with a fire and the co-workers with people that are crazy about you. My sons insisted, yes, they did, they really pointed and nagged til I sat with them in front of the fire going 'oooh' 'hoot' 'oooh' and then fighting for hugs, before they decided to amaze me with their great atheltic feets of jumping up and sideways somersaults. Sooo going to the olympics. So what next? There's lunch, herd the toddlers to nap time, a good half hour of repetitive go to sleep, then the actual nap, deal with the washing machine repair man, homework assistance for the reluctant third grader, dinner, and BUNCO muahahaha. But in between all of that, I need to hang curtains, go through the children's old toys so Santa won't overfill their toy boxes too much, clean a bathroom, write, send out the Christmas Cards that didn't have complete addresses and somehow, hopefully, I will have actually done something.

For those perceptive enough to realize that not one of those things, aside from writing and possibly christmas cards, require any sort of intellecutal effort, well, neither do most jobs, that's what books are for.

So, if anyone asks me what I do all day, from now on, I'm just going to say, "I dunno. Stuff."