Conversations with Cats

I am home during the week while my family is all either at work or school. Aside from my one evening and one day per week of volunteering, I haven't been up to much. Oh, I've gotten some things accomplished. I've done a little yard work, worked out everyday, managed a three day juice fast...in other words, yeah, not much.

Today, I found myself in the kitchen singing "Sweet Caroline" to one of my cats. It's a song I often sing to them, except I change the lyrics to "Sweet Kitty Cats". I'm pretty sure that I could beat out that annoying "Friday" girl if anyone every taped me. So, I'm singing and emptying a container of Popeye's Red Beans and Rice into a microwave - safe bowl when I drop said container.

I turned to my cat, who immediately started eating some rice and said "Why do I always drop things after I've cleaned the floor? And why are you trying to eat rice? Are you a Japanese cat? I hear cats in Japan eat rice all the time. I think that's pretty fucked up, but, whatever." She just looked at me and ran when I brought out the broom (as if I've ever beaten her with a broom!) and I was left pondering the mess and trying not to think about the possibility that there may be some lard in Popeye's Red Beans and Rice. If there is, I'm pretty sure I don't want to know about it, because Popeye's Red Beans and Rice is the Holy Grail of fast food for me; and as a loud mouthed vegan, it would make me look really bad if I was eating lard. For now, I am pleading ignorance, though I am pretty sure a few clicks of the mouse and I would have my answer.

Darned Google! And darn my inability to un-know things!!! Sigh... they are not vegan. Pork fat is in the ingredient list amongst some other not so unprocessed or healthy things. Goodbye, Popeyes!

I feel ill now.

Back to my crazy flow...

I recently deactivated my Facebook account. It was a long time coming and had to be done. There were several factors that led to me finally cutting the virtual life cord, not the least of which was that my gorgeous and wonderful husband deactivated his and I missed him. Then, I found myself saying so in my status and then airing some dirty laundry that if he HAD been on there would have royally pissed him off. I realized this after a moment or two and deleted my comment. But, I felt like Pandora's box had been opened already. It wasn't such a big deal, really. In fact, I'll say it here with no problem; it was just in that forum, it was inappropriate. But, all I said was that I missed him, but was kind of glad he had deactivated since so many old "friends" (female) had been showing up on there lately. I guess I was getting a bit jealous.

Scratch that, I was totally getting more than a bit jealous; not in a worried way, mind you. I wasn't in fear of my husband running off with some bimbo he had "befriended" in 1989. Actually, it made me remember some things that 18 years together had made blurry. That my husband is crazy hot, for one. That he had a life before me, for another. That one kind of stings. But seriously, he was 27 when we met. He had travelled around the world with the Marines and several bands by that time. But, I kind of conveniently forgot that there may have several dozen women in that "Before Me" picture.

And thank God there were! I mean, we would not be together today if he had been a 27 year old virgin. No. Not a chance. Half the reason I fell for him was because of certain abilities that I will say no more about... :) 'scuse me while I reel my brain back to the present... thank you.

Anyway, I was glad for the realization. I have a living, breathing, smoking hot husband! I need to spend time with him; not just virtually liking his virtual stuff!

FaceFight

Ahh, the age of Facebook.

It certainly has it's merits; catching up with old friends, staying close with those who are far away, learning about people from all over the world, etc. And, it has it's drawbacks. Someone printed a list of 100 reasons they hated Facebook and I'm pretty sure I agreed with 97 of them, including "I hate people who comment on everything" right on top of "I hate people who never comment". :)

I have issues with people having a conversation that has nothing to do with what I've typed or asking "what does that mean?" when I've posted a clever movie quote. IT'S A MOVIE!!! I want to scream. Or, GANDHI SAID THAT, DUMBASS!!! Though, I'm sure Gandhi never called anyone dumbass.

I think it's safe to say that I have a love/hate relationship with the social network.

Recently, I've been trying to follow the protests that are happening around the country over state budgets. I am incensed that the mainstream media is not covering it in any real way. Some news programs have mentioned the protests (now in week 4!!!) but, none have shown video. Egypt protests for a few weeks and it's all over the news. Wisconsin protests and it's on Egypt's news, but not ours. There is something very wrong with this.

Anyway, this post is not about that; not really.

I was following a story on the MoveOn page on Facebook, commenting and liking here and there, when the thread was completely hijacked by trolls (trolls that, by the way, were all Facebook friends, I checked). I was still trying to be civil, when one of them said "I wonder why I haven't been kicked off of here yet?" and another replied something about how Liberals are slow and we probably didn't notice. So I said, calmly "Maybe we are just trying to have a rational discussion; silly us". And left it at that. At that point, I was pretty much done with the thread, because nothing productive was coming out of it, just these idiots getting their jollies by ripping us "stupid liberals".

But, of course I had to check back later, because I obsess about minutae and someone had commented "Hey, (commenter), (commenter) and Amy, why don't you act like real Christians?"

And I was like, WHAT? When did I ever profess to being a Christian? Ummm, NEVER?!?!!! And this is what I hate about religion, especially holier than thou born again and evangelical Christianity. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, CALLING ME A CHRISTIAN, LADY?!?!?!!! IF I WANTED TO BE A CHRISTIAN, YOU'D BETTER BELIEVE I'D BE A HELL OF A SIGHT BETTER THAN YOU AT IT!!!! WHY DON'T YOU PUT UP SOME BILLBOARDS OF ABORTED FETUSES OR ONES TELLING US THAT THE WORLD IS GOING TO END IN MAY????!!!! DON'T YOU HAVE SOME GAYS TO HATE OR SOMETHING??!?!?!???

I'd been called names in my life, but I had never been so insulted in all my life as when some numbskull called me a Christian!

" I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ" ~ Gandhi

Oh, Where to Begin?

There are really great things about a warmup in February. Opening windows that have been shut for four months is nice. Driving with the window down, even a crack; wonderful. There are some bad things about it too. The Mulsh (that is mud/slush) and the worst part: The TEASE. You walk outside in a sweatshirt and no hat for the first time in what seems like years and your brain goes SPRING!!! WHOOO HOO! I'VE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!! Then you realize it's only halfway through February. It's not fair.

I want my Spring to arrive and stay, thanks! And in the Midwest you can't plan on this actually happening until about May 5th. Oh sure, it'll hit 70 a few times before that, maybe even kiss 80; but it will snow in April. That is as close to a sure bet as you can get. It will snow in April and you will get the flu right after you spend a few days walking around in the mulsh and smiling at the sun and looking for crocuses.

I think I live here just so I'll have something to complain about.

I've always said that I am a "grass is always greener" person. I always think that "if only I lived in Florida, I'd be so happy" or "if only I lost 20 pounds" or "If only I had enough money for x or y or z; that would really make me happy". And it does. For awhile, anyway. Okay, maybe for a few days. But, then what? Then, I start thinking of the next sure cure for the grass is greener syndrome.

I'm not saying that I shouldn't move someplace warmer. I'd probably love it. I'm not saying that I shouldn't lose 20 pounds; I really should. And more money would help.

I'm saying I need to get off my ass and make the happy happen, because it sure isn't going to come up and bite me while I whine on the computer. And, it won't make my stomach any smaller.

I need to get up and get going. I need to find the happy.

I'm Not THAT Crazy; Am I?

I have to do a little bit of soul searching with this one. I mean, clearly, clearly there are a lot of issues going on here; crazy household, anger issues, a child that needs a bit more attention than most, how to effectively discipline your child... like I said, a lot going on.

I don't pretend to have all the answers. If I did, my life would be so, so much easier. What I do know is when something doesn't feel right. And this does not feel right.

Let's take it bit by bit: Small child comes home after a rough day at school and the first thing he experiences is this woman yelling in his face. My younger kids have a similiar system at school with cards and colors, etc. Most of the time, unless you get a call from the principal, "flipping your card" is for minor offenses. So, this kid had a few minor infractions during the day and was too scared to tell his mom (Gee, I wonder why?), so he lies and says he didn't get in trouble.

Let's stop here. If you KNOW your kid is lying about something, why make them repeat it? Why not just say, "Hey, I know you are lying because of XYZ evidence" and move on? It's just going to make you madder to hear the kid repeat the lie over and over.

And, I'm not sure what the history of this child is, but, I guess he's a handful. I do know that the kid was adopted from Russia. Huge red flag. If this kid came from a Russian orphanage, he's bound to have more issues than most and she should have been well aware of this going in. But, I realize that knowing something and living with it are two very different things. I would just think that she would have a bit more sympathy for a child that had already had a rough start. It breaks my heart to think of children born into a place with no love, no attachment, no kind of a real life. It's wonderful that this woman wanted to rescue this child, but what kind of rescue is this?

So, back to what's going on in the video. She continues berating and screaming before the kid can even take off his jacket. She pours hotsauce into his mouth, then glares at him while he holds it and warns him not to spit it out.

A couple of things about this stand out to me more than others: Why does she keep the hotsauce in the bathroom? Does she use it so often this way that it can't be kept in the kitchen? And, why does she seem to take so much pleasure in having him suffer in front of her? She also makes him tell her the rules as she stands over him. He knows the rules, but, it's pretty hard to follow the rules all day, everyday. Sometimes, people make mistakes. She screams "We don't lie in this house!!!" But, is she perfect? Does she never slip up? And when she does, does someone greet her at the door with hotsauce and a cold shower? I don't think so.

What a way to come home! I feel so sad for this boy. School must be tough for him, but, to not even be able to feel safe at home after a hard day must be so much worse. Imagine not having a soft place to land, ever. Tragic.

So, I watched the video and got angry and sad and judgy and then, I had to step back and think about it. Hadn't I lost my shit occasionally with my children? Oh, yes. So, I did a little more soul searching.

My oldest at about the same age as this boy was more than a handful. He was a spitting, kicking, angry whirling dervish. There were times I used the cold shower treatment when he was in the midst of one of his rages. It worked in the way that rebooting a computer works. Sometimes, when all else fails, you've got to restart the system. I don't relish the thought of these moments. I do realize that maybe I could have done something differently, but 5-10 seconds under cold water was, at the time, the one thing that made him snap out of it. Then, he could calm down and we could talk.

I hate the way this woman screams in the little boy's face. But, hadn't I occasionally screamed? You bet I had. But, I can also remember what it feels like to be on the receiving end. That usually is enough to nip it in the bud for me.

My kids do not have perfect behavior. They screw up. They make mistakes. But, home for them is a soft place to land. The world is a scary place. If they can't feel safe and loved at home, where will they?

I hold my kids accountable for their behavior. Good behavior earns rewards, bad behavior gets the fun stuff taken away. It's not a perfect system and sometimes, they push me to the brink. But, those kids know that I love them. I wonder if the little boy in the video feels that kind of love?

Nancy Kerrigan and Me

Does anyone remember her?

She was the skater that got her kneecaps bludgeoned by Tonya Harding's hit man so that she would be unable to compete against her. Crazy, soap opera crap.

At the time, you thought... "Oh my! That poor girl! This is the worst thing to happen to women's figure skating since Peggy Fleming started hawking feminine hygiene products!"

And it was. Totally spiteful. Just a bad, bad thing.

And then, you saw the tape of her reaction...

"Why, why, why?!?!?!" she whined and cried.

"WHY?!?!??!?!"

and you thought, "why couldn't they have hit her in the mouth?"

Just for a second.

Not that you thought she deserved it, because no one deserves to be hurt like that...but, you just wished she'd been a bit more graceful about the whole thing.

Anyway...

I didn't get the stupid job. I wanted it, I thought. Now, 22 hours later, I am realizing it was for the best. Though, I could really use the money...really, really use the money...it would have been a strain in so many other ways.

But, for a few hours, I could feel Nancy Kerrigan's pain.

"Why? Why? Why didn't they want me? What's wrong with ME?!?!?", I cried.

Then, I realized. It wasn't meant to be. And I don't mean that in some kind of mystical way. Just in the way that somewhere, down inside, I knew that it wasn't the right thing and it showed somehow.

I can blame shortsighted leadership; for they are that. But, really when it comes down to it, I just didn't wow them like I should have.

It's okay.

There will be other things. BETTER THINGS. And I will be able to see them because I will be open.

The whining ends here.

Uncle Billy

A six year old girl, sweaty hair falling out of her blond ponytails, plays in front of her grandparent's house. She is alone, not unusual for an only child, but this only child was usually surrounded by a half dozen or so cousins, aunts and uncles, who were all close to her age. Across the street, a man sits in a car. If asked to describe the car, the girl could not; cars are of no interest to her. She doesn't look up until the sun catches the driver’s door window as it opens. A man is getting out and this piques her interest just enough that she continues to stare instead of looking back down at the ants she had been watching. The man is looking at her too and there is something about his gaze that says he is there to see her. She stands up and puts her hand over her eyebrows to get a better look at the man who is now crossing the street. There is no fear in her, just curiosity. As he gets closer, the girl says " I know you! " and points at the big bear of a man. His face, his strangely familiar face breaks into a wide smile and he laughs " I know you too! "

At the same time, the girl's mother is walking up the long driveway. She stops a few feet away from where the girl and the man stand. " Time for supper! " she says. Her voice is louder than it needs to be and sounds angry for reasons the girl can only think have to do with her.

She grabs the man by the hand and says " Mom, Uncle Billy's here! " The mother tells her to go in and wash up and that she needs to speak to Uncle Billy. Her tone makes it clear that she is not to be questioned about this, so the girl reluctantly walks towards the house. As she turns the handle of the door, she looks back and sees her mother's arms flying out at her sides and hears her angry voice. The girl feels sad and ashamed, though she isn't sure why.

The girl sits at the table, after kissing her grandfather on the cheek. " Hiya, Pretty! " He says. This usually makes her feel happy, but at the moment, she is thinking of her mom and Uncle Billy outside. She suddenly gets up and runs to the window… in time to see the car ( it was blue ) drive up the hill and away from the house. She sees her mom walking back to the front door, her face seething.
The girl sits down next to her grandpa again. He strokes her hair and gives her a smile. He takes her hand in his and gives it a squeeze. As she looks up at him with teary eyes, her mom comes in and hands her a gift.

"it's from Uncle Billy " she says and walks into the kitchen to help Grandma with the food.

Gifts are meant to be happy things but the girl felt very unhappy as she opened this one. It was a tea set. She was a tom boy, but swore through her tears that it was the best present ever.
Her grandmother came in then with her milk and the bread and butter. She was starving a half hour ago, but now the thought of eating made her feel sick. She wanted to lay down and cry instead of eating her grandma's good meatloaf .
Her mom put some carrots and corn on her plate as her grandma handed around the meatloaf. She stared at it, then at her mom. She knew she'd have to eat it all. What's more, she knew that there would be no more conversation about Uncle Billy today. What she couldn't know was that she wouldn't see him for 11 more years.

Somewhere along the line, Uncle Billy became the bad guy. He was to blame for any sadness in her, any feeling of difference. After all, he hadn't called or written or tried to find her out in front of her grandparents house again.

But, he was there, she found out much later - too late. He was there at her softball games, just far enough away that she wouldn't recognize him. He was there when she finally rebelled and reached out and then cursed him for leaving her. He was always there, in little ways and especially in the gaze she saw looking back from her mirror. Always, always there.

Uncle Billy died much too young. Too young to hear her call him Dad again, like she had when she was small, so small she couldn't remember. Before he learned that she had forgiven him, that she knew, finally, that it wasn't all his fault, that he had tried and failed and tried and failed again.
Parents are fallible.

Death to October

I always get depressed around K’s birthday and deathday.
I guess this time of year doesn’t help matters. I HATE November, which is closing in fast. I like Thanksgiving, but that is it. I would prefer to be in a coma for the rest of the month.

Here is a blog I wrote about K last year around this time:

My favorite song to listen to when I am depressed is "Smoke" by Ben Folds Five. You can feel his despair in the way he bangs the piano keys and in the catch of his voice.

But, the lyrics...therein lies the magic.
"Here's a secret...no one will ever know the reasons for the tears"

That line says it all.

It's hard to lose someone that you love, but I've found that it's the sadness no one understands that is the hardest to deal with.

For example: If your cat/dog/significant other dies, everyone knows why you are sad. If your high school boyfriend that you hadn't seen in three years dies, people are sympathetic, but only to a point. When it's been a year and you are still talking about it, people wonder what is wrong with you. When it's been almost 20, they just think you are crazy.

"They were broken up!" They say to themselves. They think they know the whole story. But, they don't.

They don't know about the stolen moments that the two of you shared. They don't know about the soul connection that you still have. They definitely don't know that you dream about him at least once or twice a month and that you still wake up in tears when you realize that it was just a dream.

In the dreams you are as young and beautiful as he is. Perpetually twenty, full of energy and youth. You are still his girl, the one that despite the obstacles, like, oh…death, he still needs to be near.

No one thinks that the one they love will die young. They think that they will have forever.

When we last parted, it was as enemies. My beautiful man did not need to see me with a new guy. He really didn't need it on his turf, especially. The pissing contest ensued and I left in tears. It was ugly.

A few months later, I was packing to move three thousand miles away from my birthplace, thinking about him; wondering if I should call...wanting to make up before I left.

But, no, we would have time. We would have plenty of time to have another “drink” together. We'd laugh at that stupid fight, because we knew that no matter how much time went by, or who we were with, we would always wind up back together. We always had. It was how it was meant to be.

This is the lesson I am meant to learn. I need to cherish those I have now and leave little room in my life for regrets. My regret carrying case is now full, thank you! No more!

Four of the Five Stages of Grief

This kid is impossible. He is. He is maddeningly cute and funny and maddeningly destructive and disruptive.

Yesterday, I got another call from the school nurse. This was the fourth time in five school days that I had received such a call. To say that I was beyond weary of them is a gross understatement. The story was the same: "Hem, hem... (if you've ever read Harry Potter, this nurse reminds me of Professor Umbridge in a big, big way) Mrs. Hernandez, this is M, the nurse at (Your kid's) School". As if, by now, I didn't recognize the phone number on the caller id or her wanna be six year old voice.

"Charles fell down in lunch again today" Silence on my end...

"He fell backwards off the bench" Silence...

"There was no one around; no one pushed him, he just fell" Crickets...

"Mrs. Hernandez?"

Me: "Is he hurt? Is he bleeding? Does he have any bumps?"

Hesitation... "No"

"But, Mrs. Hernandez, I can't just let this go!"

Ummm, why?

Let's pause for a moment, shall we?

She has already established that he is not hurt, so why is this a medical issue? Shouldn't it now be a disciplinary issue? He is being disruptive. He is doing something that could cause injury to himself. Where is the medical issue? AND WHY THE HELL DO YOU KEEP CALLING ME????

Back to the conversation:

Crazy, evil nurse:

"Mrs. Hernandez, have you ever considered a helmet for C?"

Maniacal laughter on my end, followed by an uncomfortably long pause...

Me: "Um, NO!"

Crazy, about to get fired for being an idiot nurse: "Well, do you have any suggestions?"

Oh...I had a few...

How about:

take some people skills classes

take some social skills classes

read about Down Syndrome

look at the calender; it's 2010, not 1950

stop giving it so much attention

take a flying leap

have you looked into muzzles for yourself?

and...breathe...

The only one I could suggest was the one about not giving it so much attention. I mean, she is doing exactly what he wants; she is paying attention to his acting, she is letting him lie down with an icepack, she is giving him time away from class, she is bringing up the possibility that maybe I need to come and get him... I mean, what kid doesn't want these things? Who hasn't wanted to get out of class/work/jury duty/phone calls with people who complain the whole time from time to time?

He is working the system!!!!

Don't you get it?!?!?!?!

No. She doesn't.

And then, I had to go to work.

Once I got there, I began the Five Stages of Grief.

Actually, by the time I got there, I was up to number three; Bargaining.

Numbers One (Denial) and Two (Anger) were pretty much covered by the time I parked my car and walked into the building.

Denial: A HELMET?!?!?!? YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS THAT YOU ARE SUGGESTING THIS?!?!?!? Charles is fine, he's just acting out, being silly, etc., etc...

Anger: I vented to my Facebook friends and to a close friend who totally "gets it". I wished all manner of terrible, terrible things to befall this ridiculously clueless woman. And, then I vented again.

So, we were up to Bargaining. "If I could just get him to listen! What consequence will he care about?" This was a tough one, because, what could I say? I had everything to lose and nothing to gain from this. Charles holds most of the cards in this situation. The only lousy card I have is "T.V. and Wii restriction"...Big Whoop.

On to Depression. This could take a while...

"Why?" "Why does he do these things?" "Why do I have to be called out and embarrassed on an almost daily basis?" "Why is he giving this stupid woman any power?" "Why am I?" "Can't he just go to school, have a good day, come home, THE END?" "WHY DO SOME PEOPLE JUST NOT GET IT???!?!?!?!?!?????!?!?!?"

So, I'm here looking at Acceptance. I've accepted my kid. I accepted him before he was even born. I accepted him with all of the faults that we could see on the ultrasound (the major heart defect that would need two surgeries and of course, the Down Syndrome.) I accepted these "bad" things because I wanted to learn all the good things about this kid. This kid has shown me love, empathy, laughter in the face of obstacles, a whole new world of friendship, understanding, belief in the human race... so, so much.

I'll be DAMNED if this person won't accept him as she would any other kid.

So, I accept my kid, with all his faults and misdeeds and quirks and sillyness.

I DO NOT ACCEPT THIS WOMAN. I don't accept that she "doesn't get it". I don't accept that she would have made the "helmet" comment to a parent of a "normal" child.

I accept that it is my responsibility to see that C stops this behavior.

I accept that I need to go to school and talk about all of this.

I accept that I need to be part of the solution.

I do not accept this woman's ignorance.

I accept that I must teach her what it means to have the privilege of working with my son.

Orgasmic Chicken Breasts

I've been reading Jennier Weiner's new book "Fly Away Home". I like her stuff, usually. I really liked "Good in Bed" and"In Her Shoes" and liked the latter movie almost as much.

But, here is what I hate: I hate that being conscious is somehow always written as a character flaw instead of what it is; being conscientious. For example, in this latest book there must have been a reference to "organic chicken breast" at least twenty times. That in itself is a joke, which I will get into later, but, it would have been fine if it had not been the uptight, holier than thou sister who kept buying this literary organic chicken breast.

Why are people who are concerned about putting added hormones into their bodies portrayed as uptight? Again, chicken breast in any form is not health food, but, I'll get to that, I promise. I mean does a character have to fit into the stereotype of "cheeseburger eating American" to be a protagonist? Are people not deeper than their shopping lists?

Of course, this organic chicken breast mother also limits her son's screen time. "Screen time" is even in quotes and the good, cheeseburger and milkshake (and beautiful) sister laughs about it with her hunky, meat eating boyfriend. HEAVEN FORBID!!! I MEAN, WHAT WILL A SIX YEAR OLD HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IF HE HASN'T SEEN THE LATEST EPISODE OF GABBA GABBACKYARDIGANS?!?!?!?!? Seriously?!

Why is normal seen as being lazy and tuned in to garbage on the t.v. and abnormal seen as sweat producing exercise?

Sweating and exercise are good for you! Sweating rids the body of toxins! Exercise releases endorphins and helps you sleep! Why is it seen as weird?

Why is food that has been shown to cause Cancer in study after study, like cow's milk, good and virtuous and soymilk elitist and somehow evil?

Aren't authors smarter than most of us? I mean, Jennier Weiner is successful, she graduated from Princeton, she is presumably well - read; how is it that she can still uphold such ridiculous cliches?

I'm not saying that Jennifer Weiner is worse than those doctors prescribing Viagra instead of telling their patients that they have early stage heart disease; maybe eat some plants. No. Of course not. She is a ditsy writer, writing ditsy novels for ditzes like me. She has no obligation to create believable, upstanding, witty and lovable vegan characters. But, I wish she would.

Doctors, on the other hand, should not be treating impotence with a pill. They do have a serious obligation to sit down with these men WHO TRUST THEM and tell them that they need to change their lifestyles. It would be infinitely cheaper, safer and let's face it, WAY SEXIER in the end than taking that stupid pill so you can have a hard on tucked under your bloated belly. Oh, and maybe you won't die from a heart attack either; that's a plus.

I work at Whole Foods, which was, of course, mentioned in the book a few times as the place for buying organic chicken breast.

Are some customers snobs? Sure. Do some seem more interested in impressing their friends with their purchases than pursuing actual better health? Yes. But, contrary to popular belief, there are many, many customers who go there because they've received some kind of diagnosis, or their child has, or their spouse. They are there because they truly want to be healthier and live more vital lives.

Sometimes, they are misled, like in the case of organic chicken. Is organic chicken better than regular chicken? Maybe it makes them feel better. Maybe it makes them feel better to realize that they aren't adding anymore hormones to their bodies, but, no. Chicken is not health food, in any shape or form.

Chicken is an animal product that has animal fat and cholesterol (as much as beef) and animal products are not health food. They will not prolong your life. Eaten in quantity (10% or more of your calories) and it will probably shorten your life and give you less quality of life. You'll likely die of the number one killer in the Western world, which is heart disease.

Morbid, I know. Not sexy at all.

But, what if it were? What if some Supervegan (starring Scarlet Johansson) in red tights and a blue cape swooped in and switched everyone's organic or otherwise chicken breast for a lentil burger? Or that fat laden chocolate milkshake with a kale and raw cacao smoothie? And people began feeling good? and they got more done? and the turned off the t.v. to play with their kids? and they had more sex? WHAT IF THE SUPERVEGAN PUT VIAGRA OUT OF BUSINESS??? Wouldn't that be a story worth telling?

Dogs, Laundry and What's Goin' On?

My Lily Girl with her buddy, Dr. Seuss. RIP, sweet girl!

I am trying to eat a giant plate of red potatoes, grilled portabella mushrooms, peas and a Cluckphrey patty covered in a delicious marinara sauce while I write. It's next to impossible.

Ok, done eating.

It was really good.

Down to business.

I worked last night (during what I hope to be the worst Bears' game of the season) and it was one of those nights. One of those nights where everyone who walked through the door was crazy. C R A Z Y.

I thought I was going to have to call the police at one point, fo' rizzle.

I spent forty-five minutes trying to avoid a screaming baby and his impossibly louder, crazy mother. I spent much of the night trying to love humanity instead of wishing for the fire or ice. I survived. Barely.

Yesterday, before work I watched a bit of Sunday football pregame. I stayed tuned in for a while, because they were interviewing Michael Vick. You remember him, right? Good quarterback; Bad person. He couldn't be happy living in a big house, playing a sport he loves for a living, making tons of money. Noooo. He had be all gansta and have a pitbull fighting ring housed right on his own million dollar property. He scores the most points in the "Stupid Idea" column.

I've never heard him say he is sorry for the dogs he killed and maimed. All I've ever heard is he's sorry for "things he did". What things? How about naming them? How about taking some ownership? Now he's a spokesperson for the ASPCA. Really? As much as I would like to think that he has changed in his heart and soul, I can't help but think his agent made him do it. That it is all for show. And it's sad.

I want to think that people can change. I know I want to believe it for myself.

This reminds me of the guy I saw walking down the street today. I was sitting at the light after dropping off the kids and there he was. He was wearing shorts and looked pretty ordinary, maybe a little disheveled, a little dirty, but, otherwise, pretty ordinary. What was not ordinary was the HUGE gash on his calf. I mean HUGE. It was at least six inches long and two inches wide and it looked deep. It looked like he had been surfing with Great White sharks. Um, bandage? Stiches? Something??? I was totally grossing out. I almost pulled over to ask if he was alright, it looked so bad. But, as I gazed at it (I couldn't take my eyes off of it!) I realized it had to be old. It wasn't bleeding or anything, it was just gruesome! Weird. What is going on with that?

Forgive my crazy brain as it bounces from one subject to the next like a pinball with less obvious direction...

I believe the act of doing laundry is not over until the clothes are IN THE DRAWERS. Someone very close to me, who shall remain nameless, does lots of laundry up until this point and then assumes that it magically appears in the correct drawers later on. This person is really smart in almost every other way. How folded clothes actually get into the drawers continues to elude him, however.

Have a nice day!

I'm Thinking About Raul Julia

What an actor! Smoldering, funny and that voice! Mmm, don't get me started! Have I ever mentioned my love of the Spanish language? Yeah. I like it. A lot. Raul Julia. Gone too soon. Too many cigars and a weak heart, but, a fine (and I do mean FINE) actor.


He's on my mind because we watched Addams Family Values for the umpteenth time this past weekend and he makes the movie for me. I love watching movies with the kids that we can all enjoy. A movie with The Rock? Yes, please! What's the story? I don't care! Just don't interrupt me during the part where he takes off his shirt!!! Whose idea was it to get Dwayne Johnson to do Disney movies? I want to kiss them on the mouth.


I'm also thinking about my friends at the Engine 2 Immersion (part two!) in Austin this week. I feel incredibly lucky that I was able to have that experience last March at the inaugural immersion. It has truly changed my life and I've made friends that I will cherish forever. I wish them well!

I'm eating a homemade lentil burger (with way too many onions in it...no one will be speaking ANY language in my ear today; my ear is too close to my mouth!) and already thinking about the giant salad that I want to eat next. It's amazing how in just six months, my mindset is completely different when it comes to food. Except, that maybe it's not. I still crave things like crazy; only now they are things like vegan pesto and artichoke hearts. The really crazy thing is that I am cooking...like, A LOT. I have to if I want to eat plant strong (trademark :) ), because my sweet husband still cooks around the meat. It's okay. He's a grownup and he is entitled to eat what he wants and cook what he wants. Thankfully, I am mostly happy with large salads containing things I can either slice or dump from a can and toasted sprouted grain bread covered with either hummus or refried beans. I'm easy that way. But, when I get sick of that, I need to cook. I was proud of myself yesterday for making a double batch of cauliflower soup and those ridiculously onion - filled lentil burgers for everyone's dinner...even though I had to go to work and couldn't enjoy them with the family.

I'm getting there. It takes time.

Sugar is next to go, especially cookies. Like some men I've known, they are delicious, but dangerous and addicting(and they don't even speak Spanish!). I really need to break it off for good. I've banished Newman's (vegan) chocolate, chocolate sandwich cookies from my life as well as regular Oreo's. I still have coconut ice (not)cream in the freezer, but, I'll let the kids finish that. Ice cream is not as much of a trigger for me. It takes too much effort. By the time I pry the lid off the frozen treat and manage to scoop out a serving, I could have eaten six cookies. Damned efficiency!!!

So, yes. Cookies, you are gone! Candy: meh. Don't really care. The thing that is holding me back is that I know I will have to give up the coconut creamer for my coffee. And, I'm not sure if I can truly break my addiction (and oh yes, it IS and addiction) and keep that in my life. It's sweet, delicious, it makes me happy...and probably that is the problem. It makes me too happy and then I crash or want something else sweet, or a salt bagel, etc., etc.

I'm screwed.

The rational part of me knows that if I just stay strong for three days, then a week and then two weeks, it will be over. Cravings gone, I will be happy to eat my salads and veggies and oniony lentil burgers sans sucre. But, the fat devil on my shoulder is eating a vegan doughnut and shouting things like "You deserve it!" "You need that creamer!" "Why are you torturing yourself?" and spitting crumbs all over me. I hate that guy.

I read an article about Drew Carey, in the Parade magazine over the weekend, about how he lost all this weight and blah, blah, blah...but, the thing that stuck out at me was when he talked about celebrating. And one day he ate some pizza and cake and the next day he did the same thing and it made him feel like crap. He realized that it wasn't a reward; it was a punishment. Those were his words. It's true. That momentary pleasure of taste on tongue leads to weight gain, diabetes, heart disease, low energy...on and on. Is it worth it? No, of course not.

Why do we see sugar and fat as a reward when it hurts us? Because it's what we learned from infancy. Breast milk is basically sugar and fat. When we went to grandma's did she give us candy or kale? Did we have to finish our desserts? Nope, but we sure had to eat our vegetables under threat of violence or never leaving the table: ever ... no wonder we hated those things! We've got so much misplaced value on things that are terrible for us. Something to consider for the next blog post...

'til then, don't come too close. I really reek of onions.

I'm Back!

Check back soon for more blog posts. I've been writing in other places and not keeping up with this...But, Oh, I'm back in a big way!

Octomom Gets a Bikini Bod

That is the last straw!



I am home, sick, watching bad t.v., feeling sorry for myself and trying to write something halfway interesting and this is the headline I see! Or, actually, it was " Octomom Shows Off Bikini Bod".



Really.



The universe has a really twisted sense of humor.



First of all: Octomom. I don't even want to spend more time than I already have thinking and or writing about her, but if this is the sacrifice I need to make for my art, then, so be it (ha).



Second: I find it fascinating that people are actually interested in crap like that! Why is she famous? How do you get famous for being stupid? I'm pretty sure she is going to have her own talk and / or reality show any day now. "No, of course I never had plastic surgery! My lips have always looked like half a can of Spam cut in the shape of giant lips and it's perfectly normal for your abdomen to stretch to the size of Manhatten and bounce right back! Right? Am I right?" *** Applause, Applause *** you pathetic sheep.



Third: Jersey Shore. There is not much that can be said about this that has not already been said. It is the television equivalent of eating Pop Rocks and drinking Coke; everyone needs to try it once, but it leaves you feeling nauseated and stupid afterwards. Has anyone but me seen the movie "Idiocracy"? We are there. WE ARE THERE!!! Does anyone else see it???



Fourth: I am pretty sure I am going to quit my job. I have been home sick for the last several days and it has dawned on me that I don't want to go back; ever! I have been toying with the idea of taking the summer off. How do I make it until then? I am not the kind of person who plans things. I make a decision and I act on it. The idea of making a plan like this makes me ill, but, I would like the option of someday returning to work there, but, the idea doing what I am doing now for 4 1/2 or 5 more months feels like returning to prison after escaping for a few days. I also feel like if I don't do it soon, I will be blogging about working there on my 50th birthday. How many summers are my kids going to want to spend time with me?

Fifth: I have this dream of taking my husband and kids out west to see Area 51, the desert, cave paintings and fun things we have never seen as a family. In the dream, of course, we are all smiling and happy and the weather is great and no one is worried about running out of money before we get home or how to pay the mortgage after we return. We are just there; living in the moment, enjoying each other's company and making lifelong memories. The reality of this is, that if we want to take that trip, I need to keep working, at least until the summer. And, I will probably need to go back in the fall.

But, what if my husband starts making crazy money (which is a slight possibility)? What if I start writing weird poetry for some magazine (maybe) ? Or, I finally sit down and write that screenplay (stranger things have happened, though, not to me )?

I have good ideas! I have some of the necessary skills (though, they need perfecting, for sure)! I also have so much fear! Fear of the loss of a steady paycheck, fear of becoming a crazy house-bound woman, fear of losing the friends I have made at work, fear of not knowing who I am. Now, I can say I work at so and so and that kind of has become who I am, but what if I just became whatever I said I was going to be?

I am going to be a wise cracking, piano playing stand up comedian! I will write my own material and get booed often and maybe, just maybe, I'll get paid!

Who knows how to play the accordion?

That's Enough, Bret Michaels!

I was home watching bad television today. I should have been writing or working out or working on any number of un-finished projects that I have got going on, but, the past few weeks have just kicked my ass and I felt I deserved a little mental break.

So, I started watching Behind the Music: Pink, which was actually entertaining. She is pretty cool. I love her badassedness and would love to be as ballsy as she is. I'd also like to have her abs, but hey! I'm working on it! Then, Bret Michaels came on and that was my cue to be done!

Sooo, new year...

Had a crazy cross country drive to be with family for Christmas, fun, but, Thank God it is only once a year! Between snowstorms and annoying siblings, a week was plenty!

Now, it's time to think Spring! Start planning my birthday trip! Warm sun! Culture!

I hear Greece calling my name...at least, I think it's my name, since I don't actually speak Greek, but, oh, Greece...sand, sun, foreign words, art, architecture, food, NO CHILDREN! I mean, children, but not mine! My husband and I could use a week or two of rolling around in an exotic locale! Sigh...

This is the year it has to happen! I am turning forty, damnit! I need to start on this long life list of mine! I haven't crossed anything off since 2005!

Yes! 2010 will be the year of sculptures and sculptured abs...I can feel it!

1...Day

It is one today.

One as in...degrees.

On a scale of one to ten, however, this day would get a nine for looks; it's just dazzling out there! Bright, sunny, cloudless.

But, as far as temperature goes...well, lets just say if it was a blind date and this day showed up, I'd have excused myself to use the bathroom before the drinks arrived.

But, it has a wonderful sense of humor!

I realized this when I turned on my windshield wipers at 5:55 a.m. to get the dirty salt off the window and they made a move like they were going to start wiping and then gave up. Stuck to the windshield! It's only freakin December 10th!

But the sun, just gorgeous. My cats think it's July.

I had a partial day off today, so I spent it indoors watching Julie and Julia.

Sigh. Love, drama, comedy, life; Paris and New York, my two favorite cities. It was wonderful. I'm not sure it was supposed to make me cry, but it did as I am a huge sap and crying is a kind of sport for me. I cried because Julia Child is dead. I cried because she was so tall that it made it hard for her to find a husband, but when she did, he was so was sweet and wonderful like my own. I cried because I want to live in Paris in the 1950's! I cried because I want to write a book and I am too chicken shit to actually do it.

It made me want to marry Stanley Tucci and cook Bouef Bourginogne.
It is ironic that I have once again given up meat and dairy and virtually all things that make French cooking so wonderful, but there you have it.

I have not given up wine though. No!!! Not yet anyway.

So, instead of the delicious looking roast beef that is sitting in my fridge, I made myself a kind of veggie stew with leftover rice, roasted peppers and sundried tomatoes. It isn't half bad, but it isn't exactly what I was looking for.

I wanted to be ahead on my leaf turning this year; December, rather than January. After all, once January comes there is no denying that my forties loom large on the horizon. The 10's or the teens (what the heck will we call them?) is my decade to be 40-something and I intend to be fitter in this one than I was for those crazy, child-bearing 2000's.

So. Many, many veggies are on my plate and I have purchased the old lady facial set (at top dollar) to ward off those not so invisible lines on my face. I will not, however, be dying my hair. I've EARNED this gray, damn it! It is not going anywhere!

The Pink, The Petty and Dora the Explorer

I was watching cartoons with the kids this morning and it occurred to me that every toy (doll, game, etc) that is marketed towards girls is about how well said doll or virtual doll is dressed.

Since when did 5 and 6 year olds become obsessed with fashion?

Since the marketing machine decided they would, that's when.

Not having girls, I am not entirely sure if it has worked. I have overheard one parent of a young girl talking about how their four year old won't wear certain things to preschool anymore, since some other girls made fun of her.

Ummm, excuse me for a moment while I thank my lucky stars that I have all boys. Mmm...okay.

Now. They are four!!!

To be fair, the girl in my example is the precocious type, dramatic and all that. But, seriously... "Mom, I can't wear the Mary Janes anymore, they make my ankles look fat...and pink, well, that's just for babies"???

At four???

The worst was a commercial for Dora the Explorer. Apparently, Dora has grown into quite the hot little number who now can change her eye color and handbag with just the click of a mouse!

Wait, what???!!!

Dora was never into fashion!!! Dora was an explorer!!! She got dirty! She had a sensible tomboy haircut!!!

Now it's "Oooh, Boots, should I wear the green contacts or the blue? and does this backpack clash with my nailpolish?"

Why do we want little girls to be tiny, bubble headed, plastic whores?

I read a stat somewhere that said only 3% of women polled considered shopping to be fun and relaxing.

I apparently fall into the 3% on the other end that would rather get my teeth drilled while listening to cats mate or Ted Nugent talk about bow hunting.

The rest of us probably fall into the middle. We like to hang out with friends, will occasionally window shop, but mostly, we just shop when we have something in mind.

I wonder, then, why advertisers don't get it. Wouldn't they want to portray women the way they actually are? I mean, for the most part, they've got men down to a tee...

big trucks and erectile dysfunction.

Isn't that what men are all about?

Oh, and beer.

I'm kidding, of course.

Men also like boobs.

Seriously, does this stuff actually work? I think that I am more unlikely to shop somewhere / buy that product / drink that beer when their advertisers talk to me like a Barbie doll.

Or maybe, most people don't think about it as much as I do.

I tend to overanalyze things.

One more thing and I'll wrap it up.

This has nothing to do with advertising, but, it does have to do with one very large boob.

A guy comes knocking on our door the other day to tell us, and I quote "I'm not here to make any trouble, but your son just scratched my car".

Now, any sentence starting with " I'm not here to make any trouble" means the exact opposite of that. You desperately want to make trouble. You love making mountains out of molehills and, deep down inside you feel helplessly inadequate.

Oh, and you have a small penis.

You have such a small penis, in fact that you will start a fight over...drumroll...

Gasp! A superficial scratch on your 2001 Chrysler LeBaron that may or may not have been there when you left the house this morning, douchebag.

This guy had the nerve to get in my face about it.

He says that while looking through my neighbors window, he clearly saw my son scratch his fender with his bike as he went by.

The scratch is on the opposite side of the car from the window, so clearly, this DB has x-ray vision.

When my wonderfully patient and former Marine husband came to the door, he wasn't buying any of it, but, he calmly explained to DB Smallpenis that, in looking at my son's bike there didn't seem to be any paint that didn't belong there. Oh and also, go take a hike.

DB was back for round two today.

This time, my beautiful husband said "Sue me, you petty asshole".

And there you have it.

Now, if I had seen my son do this, or even suspected that he did, I would have walked over there, apologized and offered to fix it. I am not trying to get over on anyone.

But, don't come at me accusing my kid of something that at worst was a little accident and at best never even happened!

That is my rant for the day.

Is This Funny or is it Not?

My husband enrolled us in a new gas delivery service ( that sounds really funny, I know ). What that means is he signed us up for a service that buys their energy from renewable sources...yay!

Seemed like a no-brainer, until...

Today I get a letter in the mail saying that we don't qualify for this service due to our credit score.

Are you freaking kidding me?

Aren't we already paying for natural gas service and is it not currently on???

How good does your credit have to be to fight global warming?

And how bad is my credit that I can't even GET GAS (hee hee)???

This is one of those aha moments, as Oprah would call it, I know.

Aha! Our credit sucks! Aha! What losers we are! Aha! This would make a good blog!

It kills me that we want a more environmentally friendly house, but can't afford to make it so. We want better windows, but the $10,000 price tag is a bit of a drawback. Would love to install solar panels; same deal. Get our gas supplied by a company that promotes wind and solar? Get a life, your credit sucks.

How does anyone really do it? I can see the point some people have that the environmental movement is an elitist one.

Take the polar bears off the Endangered Species list and drill baby, drill! I need cheap gas for the next ten years so I can continue to live my extravagant lifestyle!

Just kidding...

The Down Side

My middle son has Down Syndrome.

My two other boys know no different and treat him as they should; like the brother/ pest / menace that he is.

The other day, Middle Son swiped Oldest Son's PSP. That in itself would not have been too bad, but, he decided that after playing it, he would see if it could float in the sink.

It didn't.

I did, however, become waterlogged and stop working.

$200.00 down the drain and an extremely angry kid to boot.

I must admit that I sometimes favor Middle Son. The kid has been through so much in his life that it is hard not to. The fact that he comes through with a smile no matter what makes him even more endearing.

So, when Oldest Son found out about the game and freaked out and said he wished he had a normal brother ( as if there is such a thing. I have one and if that is normal then we are all in trouble!) and he hated him and wished he were dead, or at least that he had a lock on his door and he would never, ever, EVER let Middle Son in his room again!!! I took it to heart. It hurt me to hear that stuff, though, if it had been my sibling who had done it when I was younger they would have been lucky to have survived the experience.

So, I thought about it from my Oldest Son's perspective. I let him rant and rave and say terrible things until he was done. Then, I calmly explained to him that I was frustrated too and that sometimes dealing with a kid like MS is really difficult. That even I didn't know what to do sometimes.

Then, I told him his dad and I would make it right. We punished MS for destroying the PSP, we ordered a new one for OS and promised to find a good hiding place for the new one.

After all of this, maybe 1/2 an hour later, OS sought out MS and gave him a hug and apologized for saying mean things about him. He said he loved him and wouldn't want a different brother.

I was so proud of him for not holding a grudge, for seeing that sometimes you just have to let it go and forgive, for seeing that his brother had some challenges, one being that he is an incurable destroyer of electronics.

I love those boys.

Gratitude

Yes, I can be a smarmy bitch. I am sarcastic and blunt and I complain WAY TOO MUCH. WAY.

A fellow blogger posted something about being happy with your life, regardless of your circumstances and it reminded me that I have so much to be happy about. (Thanks, Whit!)

Here is my list:

A boy with a sense of humor that rivals mine at age 13.
A boy that makes me remember that there is no such thing as perfect and WHO CARES?
A boy that has the heart of a poet.
A husband who knows that beneath all of this weight, age, stress lies the hottie he fell in love with; and all he sees is her.
Friends who love me.
Family who loves me.
Realizing that no one has the perfect life.
Time to have fun.
Good Coffee.
Warm socks.
Heat.
Kitty cats.
The ability to laugh at the absurdity of life.
I was born a Yankee fan :)
Bill Murray.
Music that makes me smile.
Music that makes me dance.
Music so awesome that it makes me learn to play the piano.
Two hands to write with.
Two feet to get my ass on the treadmill.
Coworkers that make work fun.
Delicious smelling hand lotion.

I guess that's a good start.

How about you?

Gimmie, Gimmie, Gimmie, I Need, I Need!

I watched "What About Bob?" today with two of my boys who are home sick. They are getting over it and will go to school tomorrow, but what a week!

These are the times when it is hardest to be a working mom.

Why do I have to be the one to juggle things and make sure that I can be home at a moment's notice when they get sick? Why is my job not as important?

Of course, there is the obvious: My husband makes triple what I make, so it makes more sense that he go to work and I stay home. But, I can't help but feel that even if I made more money, I would still always feel that it needs to be me.

Don't get me wrong. My sweet husband does a great job with the kids; and he did stay home one day this week to be with them so I could work.

But, this is what gets me: I feel guilty about it. I feel guilty about missing work, because I have that obligation. I feel guilty about working because the kids need me. I feel guilty asking my husband to stay home because he makes the big bucks and doesn't get paid if he isn't there.

And it really pisses me off! The fact that I am so grateful that my husband is willing to do it, to sacrifice a day of pay to watch the boys makes me angry, because when I do it, it's expected. When he does it, it's a sacrifice and what an awesome dad he is!!! Gag.

He is an awesome dad for doing what I do all the time and I am only an adequate mother for doing the same! Where is the equity?

He is an awesome dad, but only because so many dads really suck at it. The Great Dad Bar is set pretty low so he clears it by five feet, but still. Can we start having some (gasp!) expectations???!!! Why do I need to pole vault when he can Fosbury Flop? I suck at pole vaulting!!! And since I gained fifteen pounds with each kid, the extra is not helping get my ass off the ground.

I should be grateful. I should thank my lucky stars that he is the way he is. I should be happy that I have a job I care enough about to warrant my guilt.

Along these lines, I am thinking of interviewing for a higher position at work. I am pretty sure I will get it and though it is more responsibility, the hours will actually be more flexible for me. So, during weeks like this past one, I will have less trouble juggling things.

I know it's my job to juggle; but no one asked me before I got pregnant if I was any good at it!