Not What I Wanted, But It's What I've Got

Friday night's callback went fairly well, I thought. I read for an older woman's role, complete with French accent. The dance portion of the audition kicked my butt from here to Nova Scotia, but the choreographer said that even when I was offstep or on the wrong foot, I still had very fluid, clean lines. Uh...yeah. Whatever.

The call came early this morning -- no speaking role, but a voice role in the chorus. It was a sop to my singing....we liked you enough to have you associated with the show, just not enough to give you a major part. Ah, well. At least I got a notification this time, and it's a foot back in the door. Community theater here (and most likely everywhere else, too...) is so insular and incestuous that it's hard to get into the inner circle, so this is a good way to transition back into more work. I'm slightly disappointed, but it's better by miles than not hearing anything at all. And, if this doesn't sound too terrible of me, someone could always drop out. I know that sounds positively awful, but the one thing about working as an unpaid volunteer is that people sometimes do drop out, and the role needs to be filled.

So, first run-through is a week from today. The two co-workers that I auditioned with are both cast as well. The female co-worker got a voice role, much like I did, and the male co-worker got a small older gentleman's role. I'm happy to be in the chorus, if nothing else.

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We went to dinner tonight in a "famous" local bar and grill. We were seated near the game room, and there was a large party next to us that had about four children in tow. The parents were what I call the "yacht" set -- very Land's End/L.L. Bean yuppie types who care more for appearances than actual substance. There was an older girl who was about Offspring's age, a boy of about seven, a girl of about nine, and a toddler.

The kids started off in the game room, which had the swinging "saloon-style" doors. They were pretty noisy in there, but it wasn't so bad because it was, after all, a separate room. The doors did little to mitigate the noise, however.

After a while, the kids began running in and out of the game room, yelling and generally being rambunctious. We looked around several times, hoping the looks would get the parents to quiet them, but no dice. The parents were completely oblivious, sitting there eating their appetizers, drinking their little cocktails, and having a conversation.

Juggling Freak made a loud comment that the kids were being very loud, but this too, went unheeded. The kids proceeded to start turning flips over the brass railing that was next to the table behind us. The parents still do nothing to quiet the children down, or to get them to behave.

Then the kids start shouting as they flip over the bannister, and Juggling Freak has had enough. Usually, it's me that has had enough by this point, and I was on the verge of saying something out loud when JF lets loose. He says something about "why can't you little yard apes sit down and be f*#@ing quiet?!"

Well, of course, NOW the parents speed into action. The father puffs up like a little bantam rooster, and gets in JF's face saying NO ONE speaks to his kids that way; the mother stands there, stammering and red-faced that someone has *dared* speak to her precious babies; and the grandmother looks as if someone has smeared dung under her nose and told her that Martha Stewart really began her life as a streetwalker in Hoboken.

The grandmother gets all hot under the collar, saying that they come there every week, and that if we're so offended, we should move -- they *are* children after all. I calmly tell her that yes, they are children, but that we're dining with OUR child, and she has yet to vault over the brass railing like these children were doing. She reiterates that we're sitting next to the game room! Juggling Freak says, yeah -- it's a GAME room, not a Jungle Gym.

Snooty Grandmother acts as if we're just the most horrible people on the planet, and imperiously tells the others at their table to go get the manager to "deal with us." What makes me the maddest is that she acted like we were totally out of line, and she was perfectly within her rights to have us moved out of the way, as if WE were the people making the disturbance. Things eventually settle down, and everyone goes back to their meals. The wait staff look uncomfortable as they whisk away our dishes. The young man at the table behind us, however, gives Juggling Freak a thumbs-up as we leave the restaurant a few minutes later.

Some News

Well, I didn't have to wait too long -- I got a call yesterday morning, and they want to see me again for a second audition tonight! Wish me luck!

If I hear more, I'll keep you posted!

Back On The Horse

After my last disastrous audition, I thought I would more than likely not try to get back into the local community theater scene. The endless waiting and the ominous silence were pretty disheartening, so I thought -- eh. Why put myself through that? I had pretty much made up my mind that I wasn't going to audition anymore.

Then a co-worker lured me back in with one word: musical. I love to sing. I often embarrass Offspring by singing at the drop of a hat, and with very little prompting to boot. My co-worker had news of an upcoming audition, and wanted me to go along to try out with him. We were standing in main hallway at school the other day, discussing whether we were both planning on auditioning or not, when yet another co-worker heard us. We managed to rope her into auditioning as well!

So, the auditions were tonight. I did a blind vocal performance, meaning that I did not prepare anything ahead of time to sing, just went along and had the pianist teach me a bit of a song from the show. I was one of about seven people who just sang the show number, and I was a little nervous. I practiced outside with several of the other auditionees until I thought that I had the song down.

I thought it ended up fairly well. Several other people gave me compliments on my voice and I got a few "thumbs up" from the people who were still waiting their turn.

Now comes the part I hate.....the waiting.

A Rant, Sort of About Fat

My school system, like most, went on a crusade not too long ago about finding ways to combat childhood obesity. The nutrition program did away totally with white bread -- all the rolls they serve are wheat, and even the crust on pizza is wheat. They stopped serving "junk" food as often, like pizza and hot dogs, and started branching out with more spices and flavorings. So far the change has been positive, for the most part.

Quite a lot of our students get school lunch, but since a lot of them are economically disadvantaged, we have a fair number who get their meals either at a greatly reduced rate, or for free altogether. We also have a breakfast program that makes sure the kids have a hot breakfast in the morning to get their systems going. Most of our students eat everything you put in front of them. Grits, eggs, toast, pizza, vegetables, salisbury steak, whatever.

My one gripe is that the cafeteria has these little frozen dessert cups, kind of like Italian ices. They SELL these on the side. This is the one thing that they really make money on, so they push them pretty hard. At fifty cents each, they don't sound like much, but when a "discounted lunch" student can get an entire lunch for less than that, that's pretty hefty.

We have kids who'll go through the lunch line and get a slice of pizza (or whatever that day's entree is) and nothing else, and two of these stupid icee cups. They then proceed to eat nothing but the icee, and leave the pizza untouched. Now, you and I both know that these icees no nutritional value whatsoever, but these kids don't care about that. They want the sweet stuff, and they don't care if they're supposed to eat their lunch first or not.

What burns me up the most about it is not that the kid is eating sweets -- they're KIDS! They're going to do that! What really frosts my noonies is that if you were to take it away from them, you'd have a parent in your face so fast that your head would spin! I actually had a parent tell me one time that he didn't care if his kid ate only ice cream, because he'd be getting *some* nutrition. My thought was, "That's what the LUNCH you're getting for ***FREE*** is for!" Explain that to me! Explain why you think that the balanced lunch that you get for free (which is subsidized by our local taxes, by the way) is not nearly as healthful as a cup of lime sherbet?

Another kick in the pants is that our cafeteria knows that students only eating ice cups instead of lunch is a problem, yet they won't stop selling them because it makes them money. Yeah, that's really helping prevent childhood obesity.

Seriously Bummed

I just found out that my favorite singer, Fish, has some US gig dates planned. This is big news because the cost of touring in the US is astronomical for a small, independent artist like him, and the travels to this side of the world are few and far between.

The *bad* news is that he won't be coming any nearer to my location than Washington, DC. He has gigs planned this June for San Francisco; LA; Boulder; Milwaukee; Chicago; Cleveland; NYC; Bethlehem, PA; Philadelphia; DC; New Haven, CT; and Boston. Nothing even *remotely* in the South.

The one and only time that I've been lucky enough to see him perform was in Atlanta in 2000. I was hoping that he'd come up with an Atlanta show this go-round, but so far, no. I truly wish I'd be able to make it to the DC show, but it doesn't look promising. The ticket price will probably be nominal, but I can't justify the hellacious drive for only a concert. And, then you'd have to throw in hotel costs and fuel.... Oy.

I can only urge all my bloggy friends to listen to his music, and go see him live if you can. He truly has a great stage presence, and is a hell of a nice guy to boot. You can visit his MySpace page here and listen to clips from the newest album, 13th Star, or you can follow the link above to his official site and peruse there.

Still Winner And Champeen!

22

22? Psh! That's *breakfast!* I take on five year olds every day! Now, my number might go down if we were talking fifth graders -- those kids can get pretty darn big!

I had to laugh when I saw this at Amy's site, and knew that I'd rock this quiz. I also laughed further when one of the questions asked if I would feel bad were I to use a child as a weapon -- heck, no! The ankle biters are out for blood, don't you know? Get your licks in where you can, people! If they smell blood, you're toast!

Quite Possibly The Weirdest Thing I've Said All Month

Offspring wanted to go to the toy store the other night, so we planned to head to the local Toys Ain't Cheap to find the item that she wanted.  I warned her that we weren't going to stay all night.

KLee: "We can't stay all night."

Offspring: "Yes, ma'am."

KLee: "We have to get home.  I promised your father that I'd shave his back."

Porpoise Man lives!

Ponderables

I read a book recently that dealt with some issues that made me think quite a bit. In the story, a young woman is trying very had to get pregnant, and is not succeeding. She and her husband have gone through several rounds of fertility drugs and IUI, but still no baby. One night, her husband gets a phone call that his high school/early college girlfriend has died, leaving behind a ten year old son whom he never even knew about. The child is in the care of Child Services, and there's all kinds of testing to be done to make sure that child is his, and then easing himself into the boy's life slowly.

First off, the infertility. I was blessed to become pregnant with Offspring very quickly. We had decided that we wanted a child, and I had discontinued any kind of contraception in hopes that we'd become pregnant within a short time span. I was actually surprised when barely three months after starting, I discovered that I was 5 weeks pregnant. (Killer heartburn was the tipoff. A friend who'd recently delivered urged me to do a home pregnancy test based on HER heartburn during her pregnancy. Turns out that she was right.) I know how lucky I was to get pregnant, right off the bat. I, thank God, did not have to endure all kinds of probings and testings and medical indignities in order to have my baby. I feel a lot of empathy for those who DO have to go this route. My best friend endured years of infertility treatments, and suffered several miscarriages in the process.

The woman in the story felt very inadequate because she felt that her body could not do what it was designed to do -- that women for centuries had been getting pregnant at the drop of a hat, and she couldn't. While I don't have that particular experience, I do often feel betrayed by my own body when I can't get it to do what I want it to do. So, I do feel a sort of empathy, though I obviously do not know the pain of infertility. I can also imagine a woman wanting so desperately to be pregnant that she has a deep, visceral longing for a baby every time she sees one in public. I remember feeling so envious of every pregnant woman I saw when I was contemplating quitting my birth control, so I can only imagine how torturous it would be for a woman who is unable to conceive.

I'm also very grateful that I was disgustingly healthy while pregnant. I lost weight, for the first time in my life; I ate better, and I got more rest and exercise; and I didn't even need to take the prenatal vitamins that the doctor prescribed.

As for the child, I have a hard time thinking that someone would not tell the other parent of the existence of a child. To just not tell someone that they have created a life? I know that there are lots of men out there who propagate with abandon, and who would have no intention of taking care of any child that they sired, but to just NOT tell someone at all? It's one thing if you don't make an effort to stay in contact with a deadbeat parent, or if they want nothing to do with the child at all to begin with, but to never notify them that you're pregnant? I have a hard time with this. Of course, I would like to think that I have ethics. Not all people are saddled with them.

Once the wife discovers the existence of the child, she withdraws both emotionally and physically from the husband. She puts her husband and his son on the back burner, as well as her hopes for a child of her own, and goes back to work. Once there, she meets a colleague that she becomes very attracted to, very quickly. She begins spending a lot of time with the man, and begins investing all of her pent-up emotions into this man, and very nearly has an affair with him before she comes to her senses.

So, infidelity. That's one of my personal cardinal rule-breakers. JF and I discussed this while we were dating, and we both felt that making vows was a forever thing. The vows we made were to cleave only unto each other, and we felt that if we could get up in front of God and promise that, we should bloody well keep that promise. Now, I try not to judge other people, and while I wouldn't condemn anyone who was unfaithful to their spouse or partner, it's not for me. Granted, I can understand how people can turn to other partners when they're married to an awful person -- I have a friend in this situation. I just would feel betrayed.

Sorry for the long, rambling post, but these were things that were on my mind today. What about you all? How do you feel about the three issues here: infertility, infidelity, and telling the other party involved when becoming pregnant?

Juggling Freak: 38 Special

Dear Juggling Freak:

Happy Birthday! You turn 38 today, and I just wanted to take a minute to tell you how much I love you, and how glad I am that you belong to Offspring and me. That you are special, and funny, and a good husband and father.

A few days ago, you did a favor for a friend, and then that person told you that you truly are "a nice guy -- everyone thinks so!" I don't *think* so, I KNOW so. I hope you take heed of those words, because they ring true. You ARE a good guy. You are your own worst critic (as most of us are) and you often do not give yourself credit where you deserve it. I think you do deserve it, and you are too harsh in your judgment of yourself. Don't sell yourself short.

I hope your birthday was a good one. I'm sorry that there wasn't more fuss made over you, but you are worth a whole lot of fuss, in our opinion.

I love you.

Random iTunes

Since I'm one of those people who are right there on top of all those trends (*snort*), I thought I'd post a selection of my recent iTunes purchases.

This is what's really keeping me from more thoughtful and incisive posting -- well, that and the 36 pounds worth of craft stuff that came in last weekend's mail. (Whoever in the back was that muttered, "And because you're boring, and have no life...", you can bloody well stuff it.) Now, before you all freak right out, over half of that 36 pounds was for other people. So, I'm only HALF as obsessed as you originally thought. I'll post pics later of all the new craft projects, btw. Eventually. Some day.

Anyway, I listen to the iTunes stuff while I work in the craft room. These are my recent faves:

1.) Give Myself To You -- Train
2.) Crystal Ball -- Keane
3.) Lovesong -- Cure
4.) Get Back Together -- Everything But The Girl
5.) Pain -- Three Days Grace
6.) Time Stood Still -- Bad English
7.) The Downeaster "Alexa" -- Billy Joel
8.) Fix You -- Coldplay
9.) Breathe Me -- Sia
10.) Sunrise -- Simply Red

Yes, it's a rather odd mixture, but those of you who actually listen to me prattle on about my music selections will be relieved to see that there are no tracks by Marillion, Fish, or u2. Life may cease to exist as we know it.

Mad props (and curmudgeonly curses) to Karyn for turning me onto Coldplay. You'd think those Limeys were onto something, huh?

Good News/Bad News

Part of the bad news is that I can't seem to find the time for blogging lately. All of the cookie booths, meetings, and other assorted things are getting in the way of quality blog time! :)

The rest of the bad news is that I guess I didn't get a part in the musical. I say, "I guess" because I hear through the grapevine that it's been cast, yet I've gotten no kind of notification about a part one way or the other, so I assume that means I wasn't on the short list. The most frustrating part about this was not the actual fact of not getting the part, but the endless waiting, only to hear about the end result through a non-involved third party.

The good news is that the conference that I'm going to in April looks like a go, if I can only find a decent flight to DC for a reasonable amount. Also, given the fact that I haven't been on a plane since 1989, I'm not looking forward to a long flight, or one with lots of delays and/or transfers. The transfer part seems pretty unavoidable though, considering that hardly anyone flies on the East Cost without being routed through Atlanta at least once.

The district is going to pay all costs for the conference and hotel up front, and reimburse us for the flight, and give us a per diem eating allowance. Pretty cool. My principal has also authorized me to take professional leave for it, so I don't have to use my remaining "vacation" day. Not a bad deal, if you ask me.

Any bloggers in the near-enough vicinity of the DC Hyatt Regency in late April -- we on for dinner, or something?

Bullets of Random Stuff

I've been scarce around here lately, but there's so much going on.  All I have time for right now is bullets.  So, here you go!

* I still owe you all a post about last weekend's fun meetup with Marni.  It's on deck, as soon as I download the pics from my digital camera.  I haven't even had time to do that yet.

* Got a whole shipment of new crafty stuff in, so most of this weekend is devoted to getting that all put away, and sneaking in a little craft time.  

* Offspring took a school trip to Atlanta yesterday complete with a visit to the zoo and the aquarium.  She had a great time, but it wasn't so great that JF had to roll out of bed at 4am to get her up and ready to be at school at 5:45 for the hellaciously long bus trip.  Needless to say, we all bottomed out fairly early last night.

* I've been sick this week, even staying home from school on Wednesday.  I did nothing at all but sleep all day.  I got up to go to the bathroom twice, but otherwise didn't leave the bed.  You know you're feeling bad when your sinuses are so clogged with goo that it feels like your brain is spasming.  Odd, disconcerting feeling.

* I may have a chance to be up in the Washington, DC area for a school conference at the end of April.  It all depends on how much the trip will cost, and how much the district might kick in towards the fees and plane fares.  If it comes to fruition, I'd love to meet up with anyone in the area who's close enough for a lunch or dinner.  I'll keep you all posted.

* That musical I auditioned for back at the beginning of February?  Still no notification.  I got another email from the director back about 10 days ago, saying there were still a few people trying to audition, but that they would be finished by Feb 25th.  No word since then.  A look at the theater's website shows that he's decided to flip-flop the run dates of this show with the one that was supposed to be the next on the playbill.  Instead, THAT show will premiere first, and rehearsals for the show *I* auditioned for won't begin until the end of March.  

* I'm so tired of Girl Scout cookies.  Yes, they're yummy, but I'm tired of seeing them, tired of selling them, and tired of being responsible for all of the money that it encompasses.  Offspring has another cookie sale out in the public tomorrow, and hopefully that means she's done for the year.  Then, we'll have another year before we have to worry about it again.

Sorry for the silence here.... I hope to get back into the swing of things now that I'm not coughing up my lungs every other minute.  Until next time!

Juvenile Humor Alert

Offspring was busy doing a Mythology crossword puzzle for a homework assignment. She sat on the couch muttering to herself and checking facts in her Mythology book. The following conversation ensued:

Offspring: "Dad, who was the second husband of Mother Earth?"

Juggling Freak: "Dunno. Maybe Cronus?"

KLee: (playing solitaire on the computer and throwing in a comment wildly) "Cronus! The Master of all Time!"

(We frequently pepper our conversations with snatches of "Simpsons", "Futurama", or "The Tick" dialogue. Pay us no heed.)

Offspring: "Well, the book says that Uranus was her *first* husband, but it doesn't say anything about her second.... I don't think that "Uranus" is the right answer."

KLee: "Well, see if Uranus fits!" (Meaning, see if it fits into the crossword puzzle.)

Juggling Freak: "Hehehe....you shoulda heard what you just said!"

Yes, we're all fart-joke making middle-schoolers at heart.

Afterward, Offspring says, "Yeah! Uranus *does* fit! Wait. That still sounds so wrong."

Juggling Freak: "Yeah, but pronouncing it "Ur-uh-nus" doesn't make it any better, now does it?"

Is It Friday Yet?

I'm looking desperately forward to the weekend, if for no other reason that I can have a few hours in which I do not have sick kindergartners all over me. That would probably be a good thing for my immune system, I think.

Also looking forward to it because Marni is heading my way! We have plans for a meet-up, possibly for lunch, so that will be fun! Unfortunately, the weather isn't going to be spectacular while Marni and her lovely husband, Carl are here, so we'll have to make up for it in other fun ways. I'll keep you all posted, and make sure that we get some pics together!

Proud Of Myself, Sort Of

Offspring and I got into a discussion yesterday about body images. While we were shopping, she asked me if she could have a box of the Girl Scout sugar-free Chocolate Chip cookies. I jokingly asked her why she wanted to bother with sugar-free. She mistook what I was saying, interpreting my comment as me calling her fat. I told her, right there and then that I was NOT trying to convey that to her AT ALL! What I was meaning with my remark is that a lot of people, me included, feel like if you're going to buy a box of Girl Scout cookies, you might as well buy the high-octane stuff! There's no sense in going easy with those babies! They're a once-a-year treat, and you shouldn't feel badly about having an extravagance every now and again.

I told Offspring all about how I promised myself a loooong time ago that I would never call her fat, however tacitly, and that I would do everything in my power to never harp on her or chide her about her weight. I spoke of how I've been made to feel less than beautiful, less than normal, just LESS in general because of my size. About how I never wanted that for her and about how I was made to feel so bad all my life that I could never do that to her. We talked for quite a bit about it, and then I tried to move on before "talk" turned into "lecture." It's a fine line I walk, that talk/lecture thing.... We went on about our day.

Then earlier today, I called my mother. She asked, as she always does, after Offspring, and how she's doing. I mentioned that she seems to be growing taller every day. Mom mentioned that the last time she saw Offspring that she'd gotten taller and lost a good bit of weight as well. I asked Mom not to belabor this too much to Offspring , and began to tell her about Offspring's mistaken assumption about my comment the day before. I told her that I knew what it felt like to be harped on all of your life about your weight. Mom took exception to that, saying that she never harped on me about my weight. I quietly said, "Yes, Mom. You did. Every time you told me that I would be "so pretty" if I'd just lose some weight." She stammered that she didn't mean it like that -- didn't I know what she meant? I told her that I knew she never meant to be hurtful, but that it was like telling me that I *wasn't* pretty. A lot. She got very quiet. We got off the phone shortly afterward.

I don't know what will happen now and if there'll be any fallout, but at least I finally told her how much it bothers me. If nothing else, I can be proud that I finally got that off my chest.

Spock Takes On The Culture Of Fat

I was watching "The Colbert Report" last night, and the featured guest was Leonard Nimoy, known to most people as "Spock" from Star Trek. What a lot of people don't care to know is that Nimoy has also written a number of books, including poetry and photography.

Colbert had him on to promote his new book, called "The Full Body Project." This is a coffee-table style book that showcases women of all sizes. In the interview, Nimoy stated that his reason for making this book was that there is a generation of women, both young and old, who hold themselves up to the standards of conventional beauty. That we, as women, are being sold a bill of goods by society -- that we are not normal, and those models who can fit into those skimpy bits of cloth held together by bubblegum *are.* That they are right, and we are wrong.

I always liked Nimoy -- I thought he had a fairly good sense of humor, and didn't take himself too seriously but he has gone up several levels in my estimation. I am glad that he had the courage to not only turn out beautiful photographs, but to explain to the public that these women ARE beautiful. And the women who posed for the photos in the book? They are far braver than I could ever be, and I applaud them.

Still Waiting

....and it's still killing me. Not much else to report here. School, Girl Scout Cookie Time, and trying not to get sick. Woke up this morning with a sore throat due to nasal drainage. Hopefully, I can chalk that up to the extreme fluctuations in weather here.

Trying to exercise more, and still waiting waiting waiting.

Paitence Is A Virtue

...and one I do not possess. I've always had a hard time waiting for things, especially for *good* things coming my way. Christmas was always hard for me as a child because I simply! could! not! wait! I learned that Juggling Freak was even more impatient than I as a child -- he was one of those super sneaky kids who would unwrap all his gifts before Christmas, look them over, and rewrap them! And his mother, bless her heart, never had a clue. My own mother was far too wily for that one. I would have been lucky not to get my butt blistered if I had tried that trick!

What's making me anxious these days? I had an audition this weekend. It's for a musical with one of the local community theaters, and I'm not being very patient, waiting for casting news. I have been wanting to get back into theater for a while, and now that Offspring is older, I can. I'm no longer so overbooked with Girl Scout functions, and I have some time to devote to another passion.

The director has some more auditions this coming weekend, but has promised that we should have emails, letting us know who made the cut by 11pm on Saturday evening. I REALLY want a part. (I want a specific part, but I'd be happy with anything at this point.) There were nine women that audition for three parts, so I know that some people are going to walk away disappointed. I just hope that I'm not one of them.

A Conundrum

You know -- I love my job, I really do. I occasionally am less than thrilled with various aspects of my job, but the kids make it all worthwhile. I *love* seeing their faces light up when something they've been struggling with suddenly clicks for them. I love knowing that I helped make that happen.

My administrators have been full of good things to say about me lately, which makes me feel very good. It's always good to know that you're appreciated and that people think you're good at your job.

However, I have a sticky little problem that's niggling at me. A few days ago, my administrators offered me a chance to take on a job next year that would be ... hm ... how to say this .... um ... more challenging, but also a job that no one else wants. Now, the reason that they offered me the position was because they wanted a strong person in that capacity, and they thought I was the right person for the job. That's a nice gesture, but I'm afraid that the cons outweigh the positive here. The *bad* things about the position are that I would start off the year with a deficit -- I would have a lot more responsibility for no more pay or recognition. (Not that I'm only out for the accolades, but you know what I mean.) Also, I would have to work with another individual who is less than fond of me, and who would, most likely, treat me as a subordinate even though I'd be doing the lion's share of the work. Now, I'm not afraid of hard work, but I don't want this to be a set-up for me being dumped on for an entire year.

I told the admins that if they really need me to do that job for the next school year, I will but if I have any say in the matter, it would not be my first choice. Or second. In fact, it's last on my list. I just don't think I want to subject myself to it, but I have a very bad habit of second-guessing myself. Now, I'm wondering if my initial, knee-jerk reaction was the right one.

You Asked For It....

With Valentine's Day coming up, I thought I had better get myself in gear....



A photo album, featuring pictures of the family, but mostly of Offspring. :)

This is a fruit cocktail can that has been recycled -- you open the bottom of the can with a side-open opener, and clean it out. Then, once it's dry and the label has been removed, you can place a small gift inside and hot glue the bottom back on. Then, decorate however you like. I use these as door prizes at workshops -- there's a sweet little surprise inside!


This card was part of a card swap that I did with some other crafters in our area, and this was my entry. I really love this pomegranate color.


I have lots of other pictures as well, and I'll continue to post them every once in a while, so I don't overload you with crafts stuff all the time. Let me know what you think!

More Proof That I Am Indeed, A Flower Child

My mother and stepfather visited this morning. It's the first time we've seen them since Christmas, firstly because they live at the complete other end of town from us, and we all have lives; but also because they were on a cruise for last seven days. They went to St. Thomas, Turks and Caicos, Dominican Republic, and Puerto Rico.

Mom didn't have any pictures to share, but she did bring me back a rather unique souvenir. She said that there was a 50s and 60s revival show on board, and one of the performers was a person near and dear to my heart: Davy Jones, of the Monkees. Mom approached him, and apologized for interrupting his leisure time, but asked if she could get an autograph for her daughter who adores the Monkees. He agreed, and I am now the proud possessor of a personalized autograph from Davy (ahem -- excuse me, *David*) Jones.

Time For Another Blog, Maybe?

I've not been paying much attention to this blog lately. It's not that I don't love my friends here, but I'm trying to moderate Wednesday Whining as often as possible, and working crafting time into that as well. I have so many nice craft projects, both those that I've created, and those I've copied from others that I'm thinking of maybe making another blog, for craft purposes only. What do you think? If I put one up, would you visit? Or should I just post the pics here?

Not All That Surprised

You Belong in 1967

You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too.

What Year Do You Belong In?

Drugs? Moi? Nah. Though, I will admit to the "free spirit" part quite readily. You think they somehow heard of my not-so-secret addiction to the Monkees?

Seen at CCW's.

Horrible Mother Abandons Family

Juggling Freak and Offspring know I have this almost unhealthy obsession with crafting, and for the most part, they tolerate it pretty well. Usually at the holidays, and my birthday, they cross the line from "toleration" into "enabling" by buying me all kinds of craft items. (I would also hazard a guess that they're not all too torn up about my crafting proclivities when they need a quick greeting card for whatever reason....)

At any rate, I got up what one would euphemistically call "early" this morning because I have a crafting session that I have to go to this afternoon. JF said that he knew I wouldn't get up early for THEM, but I would for crafting. They ribbed me quite a bit about abandoning the family in order to go play.

I'm a horrible mother. And quite unrepentant about it, really. :)

Blog For Choice Day 2008

Today is Blog For Choice Day. I chose, last year, to blog my personal story about why I am pro-choice. This year, I want to focus on the governmental role in this debate.

Who, exactly, is our government to impose their morality on us? By and large, this government, and those of most of the Western world, are run by affluent white guys. Men can never understand the fear of pregnancy, and unwanted pregnancy at that, so why should they legislate what they do not understand? How can they codify something so basic and personal? This isn't making the hippies of the sixties cut their hair before they can enter Disneyland -- this is the forced bearing of, and care for another human being for at least 18 years! And why are so many fundamentalists okay with this? You would never see Congress debating forced sterilization laws -- why should it be the woman's reproductive rights that are curtailed? Amazing as it may seem in what is supposed to be an enlightened age, there are still men who feel that the decision needs to be taken away from women because they too often tempt men -- the whole "Eve got us cast out of the Garden of Eden, so it is woman's lot to bear the shame, and the children" argument. As Cro-Magnon as it is, there are still men in power who want to take the whole decision away from women because, poor things, they get all hysterical when the difficult topics are raised. Must be their time of the month.

Hasn't the United States power structure over the last few decades proven to the general public that they are not immune to making mistakes? That they will even lie to us? That they, like everyone else, have biases and prejudices that lead them to make bad decisions, even sometimes hasty decisions?

My dissatisfaction with choice being a political platform is that "They" make having an opinion a bad thing. Either you believe just what they believe, or you are wrong, and often even *worse* than wrong -- immoral, indecent, and damned to hell. And surely, since you can't think rationally, we have to take the decision-making process out of your hands!

What I believe in may not necessarily be what YOU believe in, but does that give you the right to stop me? Does that give you the right to take away my ability to think and decide for myself? The knee-jerk response of the politicos is to say that they abhor the idea of abortion because it concerns (and cuts short) human life -- well, yeah. It does. But, what you often gloss over is the woman it also affects. I know plenty of people who are not what I'd call "mother material." They choose to remain childless because they realize this about themselves. Rather than doing a bad job, and screwing up the life of a child, they've actually been fairly responsible enough to say, "You know...I'd rather not put a child through that." I would rather someone choose NOT to bring a life into this world that they know they are unequipped to deal with than to see a woman bear child after child that she cannot care for, and even worse, resents.

I have a big problem with men being the driving force behind all of the pro-life rhetoric. While I think that they are allowed their opinion, I do not think it should carry as much weight at a woman's, simply because they are bystanders in the issue. Sure, it takes a man (or a product of man, the sperm) to get a woman pregnant, so his opinion should not be completely discounted. But, all of the real decision making should lie with the woman -- the woman who has to bear the child. The woman who could be endangering her own health, both physically and mentally, by bearing a child that she may not want, or does not have the means to care for.

Don't mistake me -- I'm neither a man-hater nor a child-hater. I'm a straight, white, married, middle-class mother of one. I love my life, and I'm proud of both my husband and my child. But -- there are people out there who are not as fortunate as I am right now. I myself, was once not so fortunate, but had I not had a choice, what I am today could be radically different from what I could have been. I'm lucky in that I was affluent enough to be able to make the choices I did. I could not imagine the heartache of being one of those disenfranchised ladies who are faced with an unwanted pregnancy, and no other option.

I do not think that the government has any right to dictate my reproductive rights to me. I resent wealthy white men coming over all bombastic and rigid over abortion rights when they can never experience it for themselves. When they often don't care enough to use birth control in the first place or take care of their unborn child once it has been created. Isn't it enough the government pokes their nose into my rights plenty as it is? My life is pretty much an open book -- what you see is what you get -- but do I have to sacrifice even my body upon the altar of their morality? The answer is "no." And, in my opinion, "no" it shall remain.

How Sad Am I?!?

How sad, and vaguely pathetic, is it that I compulsively check Post Secret for weeks and then feel disappointed every week that the postcard I sent in isn't there?

I guess it's just a bit depressing because I feel like if my secret is out there, someone else will see it and not feel so alone. And, I could almost deal with my hurt a little better, knowing that there was someone else out there who felt like me.

I really need a life. Or a better secret.

Hello, Cleveland!

As seen at Marni's place, here's a creative meme that lets your inner headbanger rock and roll all night long and party ever-ry day. Let's Make a Band, where you create your own album cover! The rules are as follows:

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:RandomThe first article title on the page is the name of your band.

2. http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.(you might have to click new random quotes at the bottom)

3. http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

You then take the pic and add your band name and the album title to it, then post your pic. The above is mine, and tickets are on sale now!

Luck Was With Me

I have a designated parking space at school, and I often get very frustrated to arrive at school and discover that someone is parked in my space.

It happened again this morning -- the fourth time in about seven school days -- and I was hoppin' mad. One time is bad enough but *four* times? When I walked into the front office, I told our secretary that someone was parked in my space, AGAIN, and I made no bones about the fact that I was miffed. I let the secretary know that for three days, it was a gold colored Mitsubishi, and today, it was a white Taurus, in case she knew to whom those cars belonged.

I had guessed that they belonged to parents or substitutes, since most staff know not to park in the assigned spaces.

Around nine-thirty in the morning, the owner of the white Taurus is paged to the office. I only half-listened to the announcement, since I was busy with my morning routine.

Later in the morning, I ran up to the teacher's workroom to make some copies, and popped into the front office to grab some scotch tape. The secretary then informed me that I had better count my blessings because a parent had lost control of her car earlier, backed right into the car that was parked in my space, and there was a fair amount of damage done.

I don't think I'll complain too loudly that people are parked in my space anymore. Karma can be a real bitch.

Twelve

Dear Baby --

You may no longer qualify as my "baby", but you will always be so to me. No matter how old you grow, no matter how big you get. You will always be the person that grew underneath my heart; a part of me.

Today you turn twelve. Twelve years ago, your father and I cried with joy as you were born. Your grandparents all fought to be the first to hold you. We stared into your big blue eyes, and we all fell in love. Even though you're not a baby any more, we love you just as much today as we did back then. You are growing up so fast, right before my eyes, and I want to bottle you so that I can remember each day, each different you.

Even though you sometimes scoff at me as if to say, "Mom! Stop treating me like a little kid!," I try to give you room for hugs if you need them. I'll tell you a little secret -- I need them, too. I miss my little girl who used to crawl up on my lap for snuggles, but I really like the grown-up girl who wants me to teach her to cook, too.

This Christmas and birthday were hard for your dad and I. You're in that in-between phase, where you still like toys, but you're also growing out of them, too. You're a study in contrasts: the girl who asks for dolls AND high-heeled shoes. I know your parents seem like the uncoolest people, ever! but, cut us some slack. We've never had a 12-year old before, and babies don't come with owner's manuals. All you need to know is that we *do* love you, despite what you may think sometimes. And, no -- we don't wish you were a baby again. We love you just the way you are. And, we wouldn't change you for the world.

Happy birthday, baby. We love you.

Mama

Resolution-Free Zone

I have decided that I will not be making any resolutions this year. I usually try and make one or two, and when I flame out spectacularly on them, I usually feel like a failure. I have good intentions, but I think I set very unrealistic goals for myself. Say, for example, expecting to lose 100 pounds before the summer. That's admirable, but I'd have to lop off at least one arm and one leg to make that a feasible goal. Losing weight is a good idea, but I want too much, too fast.

So, rather than set myself up for what seems like pre-scheduled self loathing and torture, I decided that I would just not make any resolutions. I will still try and do the things like I would normally resolve to do, but I won't set myself sky-high goals or limits.

So, instead of saying: "I will lose fifty pounds or more," I will just try to eat better, and get more exercise without quantifying it.

Instead of saying, "My house will be utterly spic and span," I will just keep trying to get rid of excess stuff, and organize those things I do have. My recent near-obsession with storage cabinets and bins and the like is already helping in this area.

I'm just tired of disappointing myself. Maybe if I try a low-key approach, I will be more successful.

We Put The "Fun" in "Dysfunction"

Ah, my family. If they were any odder, "Cops" would camp out on our lawns.

JF, Offspring, and I traveled for the last few days to CityOfMyBirth to see my grandmother, father, and uncle. My grandmother, who is 88, is looking better than the last time I saw her. She is looking visibly older, but for Pete's sake, she's 88! The last time we visited, she'd had a heart attack not too long before, and had fallen, breaking her leg and damaging her hip. At the time, she was feeling very fragile, and was depressed with her medical state. This trip, she was much more her feisty self, and spent a lot of the time sniping back and forth with my father. (Just as an aside, can I add here that I *love* seeing my father be on the receiving end of that conflict? I'm used to having all the invective and barbed comments flying in my direction, and it's refreshing to see that he gets smacked down by his own mother every once in a while.)

My father tooled us around town, taking Offspring and JF to ride go-karts and play Laser Tag. He would have taken us to the Zoo, but their hours at this time of the year are very short, and we didn't want to have to rush, rush, rush. Plus, the weather was grey, with the chance of dropping lots of rain at a moment's notice.

Some things I learned about other members of my family over this holiday season:

*That cousin of mine that got married back in October -- three months ago? Already in marriage counseling. Yeah, that was my reaction, too. Apparently, their counselor said that they're the "smartest couple she'd ever seen" because they were getting help early. No -- if they were the smartest couple she'd ever seen, they would not have needed her services.

*Another cousin of mine missed the Thanksgiving part of the holiday because he was in jail. He and his (now ex-) wife were splitting, and she had a restraining order out on hi, which he violated. Therefore, he was a guest of the county for a while.

*My father couldn't let the holiday season go by without making at least one disparaging comment on my weight, though my mother actually managed to say encouraging things this year, rather than hurtful ones!

Other happenings:

*I made little gift bags for all of my coworkers, and passed them out the day we got out for the holidays. Inside was a hand-decorated glass ornament, and a decorated bag of candies. Most everyone oohed and ahhed over them, and I was told several times that I was "sickening", and that my crafting habits are "scary" and even "unholy."

*Juggling Freak's chemical burn is nastily red still, and is being very slow to heal. We finally doctored him with some ointment and gauze pads, and at least he can now walk around without his hand permanently on his hip, or without his side adhering to his shirt, necessitating opening the wound every time he takes off his shirt.

*I have to go back to school on Wednesday, and I really don't want to. Having all this time off makes me lazy. Well, lazier than normal. I just want to hole up in the warm bed and read all my new books! Or, go into my craft room, and play with all my new stuff!

*I totally suck as a pen pal/online friend these days. CCW felt sorry for me because we could never get my cookie swap idea off the ground, so she made me this nice big box of delicious goodies, and while I made her one batch of Crunch Bars that first weekend, I haven't gotten anything further done towards sending her a box back. Like I said, I suck. Maybe I can get my crap together tomorrow and do some baking.

*In addition to that, I also owe boxes to two other online friends, and I've yet to get off my duff about either of those. Sorry, guys. All I can say is, I suck!

Enormous Fish and Mutant Children

It's a family in-joke that my Mother-in-law can't cook. JF joked when we met that he learned how to cook so well early on because it was either learn or starve. Whenever we have a big meal, like Thanksgiving or Easter, I will typically make her a plate, and take it to her at a later time.

It has become a tradition to spend Christmas Eve at my mother's house, and the afternoon of Christmas day at M-I-L's house. Since we usually spend quite a bit of time at both places, there's usually a meal involved. (We have to keep up our strength after all that hard unwrapping!) My mom has gotten in the habit in the last few years of planning for steaks on the grill and baked potatoes. This saves her from having to make two humongous meals in a relatively short time span, and is both easy to prepare for and to clean up from.

Mother-in-law, however, posed a problem. She's can't cook for love nor money, and most businesses are closed for Christmas. About eight or so years ago, we happened to notice that a small little Japanese place right around the corner from her house was open on Christmas Day, and a new family tradition was instituted that very night. After unwrapping gifts, off we go to the little Japanese place, where JF usually grosses his mother out completely by ordering the nastiest-looking sushi he can find. (Yet another holiday tradition...)

Early this evening, we went for a late lunch/early dinner to Little Japanese Place. We got worried for a second when we drove up and there was a large sign on the door, but it just turned out to be a notice that they WERE planning on being open. So, we go in, and we're the only people in the place, other than the wait staff. We sat down and ordered, and made small talk while we were waiting for our salads. Right behind M-I-L and Offspring is a large fish tank with these gigantic fish. Seriously, the fish are so big that there's very little room for them all to maneuver in the tank together.

About fifteen minutes after we arrive, another family arrives. There's two small boys with their parents, and they also are instantly drawn to the fish. They remain, noses pressed to glass, while their parents are seated directly behind us. The parents place their orders while the children shout and yell at the fish. After a few minutes of this, I expect the parents to call the children over, and continue on with their meal. Silly me. The children continue to shout at the fish at top volume, so much so that the conversation at our table grinds to a halt because we cannot be heard over their noise. Their parents sit and talk, and ignore the kids completely.

The larger of the two kids begins running his hands along the top of the tank, trying to get his fingers into the water. When he's unable to dabble his fingers in fish water, he pulls his body into a chin-up on the fish tank! Astoundingly, the parents still do nothing. These kids are yelling their heads off, and attempting to scale the fish tank like they're making an assault against Mount Everest, and the parents do not do a single thing about it.

I worried that the tank would fall over on Offspring and M-I-L, who were seated right behind it. The child was small enough that he'd manage to escape, because he'd fit into the space between the high back of our booth and the large stand the tank was on. Offspring and M-I-L would get whacked with the tank AND soaked.

When their food arrives, they manage to coax the older boy into sitting down and eating, but the younger still stood right next to our booth, trying to talk to (or more accurately, shout at) us. Normally, whenever I encounter kids in public, I try to engage them in conversation, or at least smile at them. Not these demon spawn. If I had my way, I'da chucked 'em into the tank and hoped the fish were piranha.

What killed me was not that the kids were acting like kids do -- but the parents! They did nothing! In fact, the only time that I heard the mother tell the kids to actively DO something was when she said, "Joey, *please* stop kicking me!" The younger whined that he didn't want this, and he didn't want that, and kicked the back of the booth repeatedly. The parents had no regard for their poor kids at all!

I place all my anger at the parents' doorstep on this one, however. Sure, the kids were little monsters, but they're that way because the parents haven't taught them any better. I'm not a person who believes that children should be seen and not heard, but you can bet your bottom dollar when Offspring acted up when she was small, we did something about it. And, you don't have to beat your child to get them to behave, though you wouldn't believe how many ass-whuppin's I've seen in Wal-Mart, Target, etc. All you have to do is instill in them that there's a certain time and place for things, and make sure they know what is and is not appropriate behavior in public. And, if they act up, be prepared to chuck 'em to the piranhas.

Because Stealing Just Screams "Christmas"

While perusing the blogosphere this morning, I ran across this cute Christmas meme that Marni had up. And, being that it's the Christmas season, I figured I'd steal it. Because, as we all know, stealing just screams "Christmas", right?

Here we go!

1. Eggnog or Hot Chocolate?
Hot chocolate! Eggnog is evil! It's like saying, "I want to get a *little* drunk, but I also want some pancakes."

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just put them under the tree?
Santa will occasionally be sneaky, and put something under the tree, but mostly, he leaves Offspring's presents set up beside the tree. I think this is a total racket, because JF and I never get anything.

3. Colored lights on tree/house or white?
Colored, and the more the better! We used to do a whole lot more decorating, but we just haven't done all of that this year. JF complains that I like what he terms "a frickin' glow tree", but I figure once your tree looks like it has enough lights, add two more strands, and then you're good to go.

4. Do you hang mistletoe?
No. It's probably full of nargles.

5. When do you put your decorations up?
As soon as my Grinchy husband will let me. He absolutely REFUSES to put up decorations/tree until it is actually December, so we often have a colossal begging/whining session when the first weekend after Thanksgiving falls in November, and not December. That's prime decorating time!

6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)?
I don't think I really have a favorite. Most everything is so good at this time of year, I can't pick a particular favorite, and EVERYTHING is hard to resist. Those people who deep-fry a turkey are always welcome to drop by my house. With the turkey.

7. Favorite Holiday memory as a child:
We had a large leather strap that had jingle bells attached to it, and this was always hung on our front door with a wreath. Every Christmas Eve, when my brother and I were waging our yearly battle to stay up as long as possible, my dad would sneak out of the house, and shake the jingle bells. My mom would tell us that it was Santa, and we had to get in bed and be asleep as soon as possible, or he'd pass us by. It always worked.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?
What truth about Santa?!?! Do you know something I don't? Has he been stepping out on Mrs. Claus?

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?
When I was little, we used to beg to do that, but now that I'm an adult and we have so many family to see over the holidays, it seems like we're opening gifts for about a week, so it doesn't really matter. For example, tomorrow night, we'll go to my mother's house and open gifts there. On Christmas Day, we'll go to my M-I-L's house, and do gifts there. Then, we may be making a trip to CityOfMyBirth on or around the 27th, so we'll have to do gifts with my Dad at some point. Then, whenever we get a chance, we'll do gifts with JF's dad. (They're not exactly a priority since they forgot both their own son's birthday this year, but also their granddaughter's. I've got a serious case of the humbugs as far as they're concerned.)

10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree?
With lots of lights (when I'm allowed) and all those special little ornaments that we've collected over the years. We used to do a whole family decorating thing, but for the last couple of years, JF has put the tree together and strung the lights, and Offspring and I have done most of the decorating. JF will place his few special ornaments on the tree, but he mostly watches while we have "A Charlie Brown Christmas" playing in the background.

11. Snow! Love it or Dread it?
Don't get it down here. Too warm. It snows, on average, once every seven years here. The only time in my life that it snowed and actually STUCK, I was in college, and I scraped enough snow together to make a six inch high snowman on the hood of my car. 'Course, it was dirty snow, full of twigs and leaves, but I had a snowman, by God! The local wags called that the "Blizzard of '89." I think I'd like a lot of snow for about three hours. After that, I think I'd hate it.

12. Can you ice skate?
Only if falling down a lot and ending up with a frozen butt can be considered "skating." Then, sure! My parents once took us skiing in the mountains of North Carolina when I was about 10 or so. I was an absolutely abysmal skiier, so I spent most of my time ice skating. I got pretty good by the end of our trip, but that was 25 years ago, and since I've been ice skating a total of two times since then, I'd say I'm a wee bit rusty.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift?

My favorite gift is my family. I know that sounds totally sappy, but it really is the truth.

14. What's the most important thing about the Holidays for you?
I really love making stuff for people, and I love seeing the looks on their faces when they realize that I've spent all that time, making something specifically FOR them. I think I like giving things more than I like getting them. I mean, the getting of gifts is nice and all, but I really enjoy the reaction of OTHER people who open a gift I've gotten for them.

15. What is your favorite Holiday Dessert?
My praline cookies. I usually make about a hundred batches of those every Christmas, but I haven't yet this holiday. I did discover a similar recipe that uses walnuts instead of pecans, and also has chocolate. Anything can be made better by the addition of chocolate!

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition?
I love them all. Christmas is my favorite holiday, and I love darn near everything about it.

17. What tops your tree?
We're Disney freaks, so our tree topper is a Cinderella Castle that encircles the uppermost branches, and then we have a Cinderella "angel" over that. (Offspring used to be a slavish devotee of Cinderella in her younger days, but now she's outgrown the princess fascination.)

18. What are your favorite Christmas songs?
"Breath of Heaven (Mary's Song)" by Amy Grant
"The Holly and the Ivy" by Bing Crosby
"Coventry Carol" by Alison Moyet

19. Real tree or artificial?
If I had a choice, I'd pick real every time because I love the way they smell. But, an artificial tree is much more practical, and you don't have the added expense of purchasing a dead tree every year.

20. Candy Canes! Yuck or yum?
A little of both. Candy canes I have to take in small doses. I can get tired of them REAL quick, so I limit myself to only a few every holiday. That way, I don't max out on peppermint.


If anyone else is interested in playing along, let me know, and I'll link back to you!

Working With Kids Is Never Boring

The kids are all aflutter, what with Christmas holidays coming up. They're most excited about tomorrow, because it's our last day at school until after the new year. This is typically a day where no actual work gets done. Kindergarten does a lot of coloring, we make holiday-themed ornaments, and we generally goof off. We're planning to show up to school in our jammies, and watch The Polar Express while drinking hot chocolate.

The older kids also have a variety of fun activities planned. As a group of fourth and fifth graders were leaving the building this afternoon, I overheard them discussing their plans for tomorrow:

"We're gonna play Ghetto Chess!"

"Ghetto Chess?" How you play dat?"

"Man, ain't you know? In Ghetto Chess, *black* goes first!"

Now *That's* More Like It!

The heatwave here in HumidityLikeABrickWall has finally broken. We woke up Sunday to clear, but rapidly cooling weather. It went down to 37 last night, which might not sound like a whole lot to all of you who are currently snowbound...BUT -- considering that the day before, it was in the eighties, 37 is a drastic change.

Saturday night, JF and I were so warm that we turned on our ceiling fan, and only had a sheet and a light blanket on our bed. Sunday night, we had to break out our little space heater, and I had to put a comforter and a quilt on our bed.

Now, *that's* more like Christmas weather!

Just Not Right

Things are odd here in HumidityLikeABrickWall. It's all topsy-turvy. We've gone Bizarro World.

I got sent home early from school today because the nurse caught me vomiting in the bathroom. I had a migraine that would just not! go! away!, and it was exacerbated by all six of our kindergarten classes loudly practicing their holiday songs together for next week's PTA meeting. I tried to explain to her that I would be a little better now that I'd vomited (for some strange reason, it does help with the pain somewhat...) and I was going to wash my face. She insisted that I had to go home, and even sent another teacher to my room for my school bag. Oy. So, I drove home very carefully, and slept from 2pm to 6:30pm. I still feel very disconnected and fuzzy, but no longer within the throes of the almighty pounding.

I have several Christmas-themed sweaters and sweater vests, and I like to wear them to school for the holidays. The kids always get a big kick out of them, and they help me be in a more Christmas-spirited mood. I decided to wear one of my favorite vests this morning -- it's navy blue, and depicts Santa in his sleigh, flying over the night sky to deliver presents to the houses far below. It was slightly chilly this morning, but not enough so that I needed a jacket, since I had a white t-shirt on under the vest. When we left the classroom for lunch, our thermometer said 81 degrees! 81 freaking degrees! My headache was probably not helped much by the fact that I was DYING OF HEATSTROKE!

It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit when you're sweating like a construction worker, is all I'm saying.

Mommed All Over It

We have a saying in our family, one that was gleaned from a snippet of conversation from a Simpsons episode. In an effort to become closer to Bart, Marge begins to play an online game that Bart and his friends like. Of course, she over-mothers Bart, even in the game. She turns Bart's "EverQuest"-like cottage into a small girl's dream with pink curtains and Hello Kitty decorations everywhere the eye can see. Bart complains to Marge that his game (and his life) were just fine until she went and "mommed all over it."

I pulled a Marge this weekend. While Offspring was at Girl Scout camp, I took the opportunity to do a great deal of her Christmas shopping. I stayed up late Saturday night, wrapping the presents, and putting them under the tree. As I bent over to place one of the last few packages under the tree, I heard an ominous "crrraaaaack!" The tree tipped over, poking me, hard, in several places on the way down. (We have an artificial tree. We got the fake one after the year when the cat tried playing in the tree and a toddler Offspring attempted to climb it, and we've had a fake tree ever since.) That wire isn't exactly soft, you know.

So, I'm yelling for help, and pissed off as all get-out that I've mommed all over the tree. All my precious ornaments that I've collected over the years....the mess... JF comes running to help, and we discover that the stand of the tree is cracked into an un-salvageable mess. As it's late, there's nothing to do but lean the tree in the corner until the morning. We clean up the mess, and I throw away the one (miracle of miracles, only ONE!) broken ornament, and finish the wrapping.

On Sunday, I keep a lookout for a new tree, but they're all pretty tacky. I was mainly focused on gift shopping, not tree shopping. When I arrive home, JF has good news -- his mother has given us her artificial tree! She no longer has any use for it since she can't maneuver well enough on her own, and has given it to us. It's smaller than our old tree, but I'm just grateful that we don't have to lean the tree in the corner anymore.

JF insists that the now-broken tree was older than them thar hills, and that I did not break it, but if coincidence is running that high, I'd better hie my happy behind out to the local Qwik-E-Mart for a lottery ticket.

Sorry So Quiet

I've got a million things going on -- sorry I haven't been around much lately. You know how this time of year gets. I spent most of this last weekend at Girl Scout camp, so I didn't get much done on the home front.

I hope to be back with a lengthier post later today, or maybe tomorrow. If I can manage to get myself together by then....

I Need to Get Me Some Of That!

While working on a craft project the other night, I had the TV on as background noise. I wasn't really paying attention to it, but my brain halfway registered something odd, and I had to grab the TV remote to backtrack to make sure that I'd heard what I thought I'd heard.

Seems that there's this drug out there for Restless Legs Syndrome (trade name M!rapex) that is getting heavy rotation during late evening broadcasts. The commercial touts this "wonder drug" as THE thing that will help RLS sufferers, but there are a few weensy drawbacks. You can become drowsy when taking it, and even experience dizziness and fainting when standing too quickly. Some patients experience nausea. But the symptoms to watch out for are the increased gambling and sexual urges.

What?!?!

You know how some of those erectile dysfunction medication commercials mention "certain sexual side effects" yet never mention what exactly those side effects are?

So, if you take this drug, don't head for Vegas. That might be a bad choice.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

It is now officially December, and I will readily admit that this is my very favorite part of the year. I love the festive atmosphere of the holidays, and all of the things we do together as a family. Some (though not all, by any means) people tend to be nicer to deal with during the holidays, and have a cheerier outlook. Juggling Freak *absolutely refuses* to put the tree up before December 1st, but once that first day rolls around, I can usually cajole him out of his curmudgeonly anti-Christmas mood.

I love to sit in our darkened living room and just bask in the glow of the lighted Christmas tree. The lights twinkling merrily just give me a feeling of calm and happiness. The house is warm, and smelling of good things to eat; my family is tucked into their beds, and my cat dozes contentedly on the bright quilt laid over the sofa.

I got up this morning to clean out the corner area where our tree will go. We'll put up the tree tomorrow, carefully hanging our favorite ornaments in places of pride upon its' green boughs. JF will put the tree together, and string the lights. Offspring will find all those infinitely precious things she made in kindergarten and first grade, making sure they're on the front of the tree, where we can see them at once. I will find all the penguin ornaments, and my favorite brass Queen Elizabeth I, and find them their own special areas. We'll joke as we work, maybe even playing Christmas carols if I can convince Juggling Freak to overcome his aversion to them. Maybe we'll play a Christmas-themed movie on the TV as we work. Afterward, we'll place the presents that are already purchased and wrapped under the tree, on top of the felt penguin tree skirt I made a few years ago and step back to admire our handiwork.

5,475

I nervously gathered my dress together, and climbed up into the carriage. The driver made clicking noises at the horse with her teeth, and the beribboned animal started forward into traffic. The two young women riding with me were watching the journey over their shoulders, faces alight with anticipation.

As the carriage lurched to a halt, I looked first for you, standing in the shadow of the gazebo. You were so handsome in your back tails, and you scanned the crowds, looking for me. Your eyes found me, and your face seemed to brighten.

I walked slowly up the bricked path to your side, and we began our journey. We married 5,475 days ago. Fifteen years. It seems both so long ago and just like yesterday.

I love you more now than I did then, in so many ways. We've grown, started a family, been blessed, and managed to hang on to all that makes us what we are. I do not know who I would be today if you had not stepped into the breach all those many days ago and showed me that love and care were possible for me. That I was still worthy of them.

When that carriage lurched into the hurrying stream of cars, I was glad to be riding towards you, happy to be starting a new part of our lives together. I could not have hoped for better than what we've had together. I dreamed, of course, but the reality has been so much better than dreams.

We argue, we sometimes get so mad at each other, and sometimes we say things to deliberately wound each other; ours is not a perfect marriage. But, I told you long ago that I am not a perfect woman, and not to confuse or mistake me for one. Our flaws are what make us human. In the end, we forgive each other and we move past what is troubling us; move on to the next phase, the next challenge. It's never boring, and there is always love to get us through.

You joke that every man who has been married for 15 years or more no longer has opinions of his own. I say you do. (And by your own joke, you now HAVE to agree with me!) I think you feel very strongly about things. I know that I can see the passion in you -- 15 years of marriage to me haven't totally crushed your spirit. And, I don't want a colorless, sycophantic yes-man as a husband. I want you, with your loving heart, your quirky sense of humor, and your deep, abiding love for our daughter and me. I could not ask for better.

I love you, honey. Happy Fifteenth Anniversary.

Argh!

Going back to school after 5 days off.... Bleah! I guess I should go to bed at a decent hour tonight.

Hope everyone had a good holiday, and has a good week. Pop over to Wednesday Whine this week, where I will be hosting.

Annual Mass Gluttony Holiday Now Officially Over!

I hope all the Americans out there had a great Thanksgiving holiday, now that it's all over except the leftovers. To our Canadian readers, I hope you had a lovely day, and didn't get too bored, hearing all of us prate on endlessly about food.

My mother hosted this year's Thanksgiving festivities, as she does most years. 85% of my family live in CityOfMyBirth, such as my father, my paternal grandmother, my paternal uncle, and all but one of my mother's four siblings, and most of their assorted families. So, usually, Thanksgiving is done here in HumidityLikeABrickWall, at my mother's house. There are assorted people who put in a cameo appearance occasionally, like friends of the family, or family who no longer live close, but are in town for whatever reason.

This year, the crowd consisted of JF, Offspring, myself, my mother and stepfather, my brother and his girlfriend, my stepfather's niece and her husband, and two lovely visitors from the U.K. The U.K. visitors were most welcome, and I hope enjoyed themselves. They were a lot of fun to talk to, and as they're both employed in the forensic field, a source of endless fascinating stories.

My brother brought his two golden retrievers, and with my mother's Westie, there was a lot of doggie drama over who actually was the alpha dog, and who'd get the lion's share of attention and "accidentally" dropped tidbits. Now, the Westie is the size of a toaster oven, compared to the goldens' size of small boats, so it was an interesting spectacle to watch. My brother, the total sap, made each of his boys their very own Thanksgiving plate, complete with mac and cheese, turkey, and mashed potatoes. The dogs yummed it up so fast that I was worried they were going to lick holes into the Tupperware. I doubt my brother will be so happy with them later when they get gassy tummies from all the table food.

It was good to see my brother, whom I don't see nearly often enough. His girlfriend is a really nice person -- very smart, and it's clear that she really cares about my brother. What's not to like about that? Offspring likes her because she's nice and doesn't talk down to her -- Girlfriend has a way of talking to you as if she's interested in nothing more that what you have to say, and Offspring doesn't have enough of that from some of the adults in her life.

The visitors from the U.K. are helping my mother trace our family lineage, and brought my mother a rather thick folder with genealogical information on my mother's antecedents. We talked a bit about forensics, including things like the Madeline McCann case, and the Natalee Holloway case. They were amazed at the food my mother laid out -- if there's one thing we do real well, it's eat.

The good news is that things went very well, and there were no personal fireworks. There was no arguing -- most people seemed really happy to be where they were, and with the people gathered there. The food was cooked with lots of help, and the cleanup was spearheaded by my brother, which was a rare, and very special, treat. (I'm usually the one who gets stuck with KP duty, since people usually pass out directly after dinner.)

It was a good meal, with good friends, both old and new. That's what Thanksgiving is all about.

Poor Guy

Juggling Freak is allergic to pork. I am allergic to seafood. Between our two allergies, we eat a LOT of beef and chicken. When we go out to dinner, he will often order shrimp, while I order stuff with bacon. He and Offspring adore Mexican and Italian food, but I can't handle all the spicy sauces and tomato products. There's something about tomatoes that really do me in. They cause me untold heartburn, and if I eat either Mexican/Italian or tomatoes too often, I suffer for days.

JF and Offspring are usually pretty good about not demanding either Mexican or spaghetti too often, in deference to me. Tonight, I ran to the the grocery store after work to pick up a few last things for the upcoming Thanksgiving meal. While there, I thought I'd do a Nice Thing and pick up a frozen lasagna for dinner. It ain't haute cuisine, but it satisfies their tomato-y urge for a bit. My mind on my shopping, I just picked up the familiar red boxed lasagna, and paid for my purchases.

When JF got home, he was excited to hear that lasagna was tonight's menu, and was looking forward to dinner. Almost two hours later (those stupid things take so freaking long to cook!), he was hungrily awaiting his meal. As I dished it up and took my first bite, I thought I tasted sausage, but I knew that couldn't be right -- we'd had this lasagna many times before, and it was always beef! JF checked the fine print on the back of the box, and sure enough.... made with beef AND pork. I had, apparently, chosen the wrong one. It was labeled as "with meat sauce", but it didn't specify beef only.

He ate it anyway, and put a brave face on it, but about thirty minutes after dinner, he went to go change a light bulb in my craft room for me while I did the dishes and shortly after, I heard him tossing his cookies in the bathroom.

My poor boo! I feel terrible! I didn't pay attention to the box, and now my poor husband is suffering for it. He emerged from the bathroom, shaky and clammy, and went straight to bed. Add "husband poisoner" to the list of my failings. Luckily, his allergy is not as serious as mine, and pork will only make him vomit. Still, it's no picnic enjoying lasagna twice. I hope he feels better in the morning.

Pissed Beyond Words

Offspring called me at school at 3:00pm yesterday. I was in the middle of dismissal, which is always a hectic time, so I had no real time to talk. The main point was that she didn't feel well. I made arrangements to pick up some medicine and juice on the way home from school.

When I get home from school, Offspring was piled up in my bed, asleep over her math homework. I gently woke her, and she informs me that she had gone to the nurse that morning because she felt hot and nauseous. I asked her what the nurse did for her. The answer was a maddening "nothing." I asked what she meant by nothing, and she tells me that the nurse let her rest on a cot in her office, and that was the extent of the care she got. I laid my hand on her to check her temperature, and she was burning hot through her clothing. I took her temperature, and it was 101.8. Offspring says that the nurse never took her temperature; never called either of us, her parents; and never sent an infirmary slip home that she'd been seen in the nurse's office. It is probably an understatement that I was hopping mad.

I dosed Offspring with Motrin and Tylenol, and she felt so worn down that she even went to bed early. This morning, she seemed to be acting all right according to JF, so he medicated her and sent her on to school. I called her school's office, intent on talking to the principal, only to find that she was off-site for the day. I asked to speak to one of the assistant principals, but neither of them was available. I told the secretary that I was very unhappy with the situation, and she gave me the nurse's name and extension.

When I called the nurse and identified myself, she got immediately defensive. She said that Offspring reported to her office because she felt "flushed and nauseous." She asked Offspring if she wanted to lie down for a while and rest. Offspring did, and ended up sleeping for an hour. At no point in there did the nurse think to put her hand on Offspring's forehead to see if she was warm or not. A normally energetic 11-year-old who'd rather skip lunch to *nap*? Does this seem right to you? In any case, I asked why she never had her temp taken -- the nurse's response was that she "didn't look like she had a fever." Well, my thought on that is that "flushed" generally means "hot", and "hot" means fever. Wouldn't you think that you would at least TOUCH the child to see if she's hot, especially if she comes to you saying that she feels flushed?

I straightened her out about several things, and asked her to pull Offspring out of class and check her temperature. She said she would, and would call me back. Five minutes later, the phone rings, and she tells me that Offspring has a 101.4 temp, and I have to come get her. I stopped by the store on the way there, and picked up some Motrin and Tylenol for the nurse to keep with a standing order to dose her as needed.

While on the drive to pick up Offspring, I phone the doctor's, hoping I can get her squeezed in for an appointment. They agree to see her at 3:00 today. Once in the office, she has a fever of ***103.7*** and they whisk her right into an exam room. I've NEVER been seen that fast by the doctor before. The doctor takes a swab of her throat, suspecting possible Strep Throat (and triggering O's extremely sensitive gag reflex in the process...) and orders a shot of steroids to help the swelling of the throat go down. We also get a prescription for Amoxicillin, to help combat the fever. She's also given a school excuse, and told to stay home until Monday.

You can bet your bottom dollar that by the time I'm done with that nurse tomorrow, she will neither be able to sit properly after having her ass chewed, nor will she ever see my child without taking her temperature and advising me every step of the way.

Back in Black

Offspring recently decided that she was tired of her old look, and wanted to dye her hair. Now, some people might think that "almost 12" is a little too young to be heading for the dye bottle, but I figure that it's *her* hair, and hair will grow out, eventually. Plus, I would much rather her ask for assistance and come out with a good result, rather than her doing it in secret and coming out with straw for hair.

But, typical of my daughter, she did not want to go half-assed into this project, no, no. She wanted the FULL experience. She wanted to dye her hair black. The blackest black that the store offered. Blacker than deepest space. Blacker than George Bush's evil heart.



So, she went from honey blond to inky black. What a difference, huh?

...And A Bottle Of Excedrin Migraine Later....

I have totally screwed myself up, people. I strained very hard somehow on Saturday night, and gave myself the worst headache I have ever had. I seriously thought I was going to have to go and wake JF up so he could take me to the hospital. Praying that my head would not roll off of my shoulders in the 30-odd steps it takes to get from the bathroom to the the bedroom, I very gingerly wound my way to the bed, stopping ever-so-briefly in the kitchen for three Excedrin Migraine, a bottle of water, and three Naproxen Sodium.

Most of Sunday was spent in bed, sleeping off this monster headache, and praying I did not get the awful nausea that *usually* accompanies such a headache. JF postulates that I strained a neck muscle, based on the fact that he did something similar a few months ago weightlifting. He was kind enough to let me sleep, and even offered to bring me anything, should I need it. I awoke in the early afternoon, feeling fuzzy and still slightly sore. I've been making sure to not move to quickly, and to not do too much that would cause re-injury.

Now all I have to worry about is my stomach rotting away from within from all the medications I've taken in the last few days to keep my head from exploding like a science experiment gone very, very wrong. Think happy thoughts, right?

Now Is The Winter of Our Discontent

Cold weather has come to our local, mostly temperate area. Or, maybe not. See, the problem with living in the warmer parts of the country is that we typically have two seasons: "hot" and "not."

Lately, it seems that Mother Nature can't seem to make up her mind about which season she wants us to enjoy. One day it is warm, and the next it's cold. I wore short sleeves on Monday, and a thick, bulky sweater on Thursday. I knew that Friday, our school was planning to head outside for a disaster drill run-through, and I did not want to be cold during the event. I figured that I would wear something warm, and then I would be comfortable for the drill. Mother Nature, however, had other plans.

Wednesday here in HumidityLikeABrickWall was cool. It wasn't hot, and it wasn't cold. Thursday was COLD by our standards. The kids all arrived in parkas, like they were expecting the Abominable Snowman to show up for snack and recess. Between Thursday evening and Friday morning when the alarm went off, I had to get up and put some socks on -- I was that cold. (And that's saying something, because I usually sleep with one foot poked out of the covers as my "temperature gauge." It helps keep my body regulated. I'm odd, I know. You don't have to keep mentioning that -- I get it.) Anyhow, so...socks, right?! I woke up to another brisk morning on Friday. I had no heavyweight fabric pants in my arsenal, since normally we wear clothing as light as possible (and without breaking any indecency laws...) here.

I caved in, and wore the pleather pants. I even called Juggling Freak, who'd had a couple of really bad days at work, to tell him I was wearing the pleather pants, hoping it might cheer him up. It didn't do much for him, because he wasn't there to enjoy them. He groused that I'd have them off before he got home and could even see me in them, so I promised that I would keep them on until he got home.

The weather was still nippy when I left for school, but by the time we got done with our disaster drill, I was roasting in those flipping pants. I went to the bathroom after we got back in the classroom, and damn near slid right off the toilet because my lower half was drenched with sweat! I *knew* there was a reason that those pants struck fear in me! They're uncomfortable and sweaty! Still, true to my word, I kept the pants on until Juggling Freak got home so he could see. Once he'd gotten an eyeful, I took those bad babies off and flung them as far as I could. That was a bit of a task since they now weighed twice what they had that morning. Being sopping wet with sweat will do that to you, I guess.

I have very few doubts that I won't be wearing the pants again any time soon. I did learn a few things, though. People don't think of me as a leather wearing kind of person. Those pants did inspire a few odd looks. I learned that Elmer's Glue will roll right off of imitation leather. And, most importantly, I learned to go with my initial instinct when involving outerwear. (Though I'm sure this applies to under-wear as well.) And, last but not least, I learned that Mother Nature's a fickle bitch.

The *Original* Version of "Mommie Dearest"

The scene: Our living room
The date: Earlier this evening
The players: Offspring, on the phone with her best buddy; Juggling Freak, in the neighboring bedroom: and KLee, cooking dinner in the kitchen.

----------------------

Offspring is talking on the phone with NiceGuy, her best friend. She's sitting in front of the desktop computer in the living room, cruising through a bunch of stuff she has downloaded from YouTube, playing selected audio clips for NiceGuy, and they're happily chattering away about the different musical selections.

Juggling Freak is making kissy noises at Offspring from the bedroom, trying to embarrass her in front of NiceGuy. Offspring is valiantly ignoring JF's attempt to bait her.

All of a sudden, JF thunders from the bedroom into the living room, shouting, "What *is* that crap?! Bon Jovi? There will be NO BON JOVI in this house, ever!"

She can dress in as much camouflage and black as she likes, and he's even liberal enough to applaud her if she wants to express her creativity by dying her hair some odd shade, but let her have questionable taste in music? *That's* just bad parenting, in his book.

Empty Nest, at Least Temporarily

Offspring is spending the weekend at camp with her new Girl Scout troop, and JF and I are wandering the house like lost little puppies. We had a nice dinner out together last night, and it felt very odd to be asking the hostess for a table for two instead of for three. My fingers had even formed themselves into "three" before I fully realized that they had a life of their own.

JF let me sleep very late, which was a nice luxury. I normally sleep as long as they'll let me on the weekends, but this was crossing the border from "lazy weekend" into "slothful and hedonistic." It felt wonderful.

We've puttered around the house, him playing "Call of Duty" on the Xbox, and taunting the youngsters with his sharp-shooting prowess, and myself making Christmas cards in the craft room, and digging on some songs I downloaded from iTunes with a gift card leftover from my birthday. Eventually, JF got so bored that he decided to mow the grass. In order to pull ourselves from the mire of childless lassitude, we have the high-time party plans to go get some Mexican food for dinner and then to go grocery shopping. It's a hot time in the city tonight, people! Stop us before we do something truly dangerous!