The Hub - so funny - looks at my head and grabs a couple hairs and says, "hmmm."
"What!" I grab a mirror and then hear, "Made you look."
Then Little Miss comes up to me a few sec. later and says, "Mommy has gray hair."
I send her back to The Hub armed with, "You have a jerk bone."
To think, we had to talk to EACH OTHER before kids.

Yes, I can finally say that - 7 more lbs. just melted off. I'm sure the 5-day stomach bug and only eating a piece of toast and/or some crackers a day helped, but. Best diet ever - only for the reason I wasn't "hungry" and chanting to myself, "Lets wait 5 min. and see how I feel." 2 min. later: "Ok, wait one more minute." This on my way up to the vending machine, refrigerator, cupboard, etc. OK, perhaps a bit compulsive - I'm working on it.

My vacuum came during this time and I was determined to enjoy it through the green-gilledness of it all. It was luxe. It was glory. It was not chasing tiny cat balls of fur all over with a dusty broom. It was finally getting the sidewalk chalk, cheerios and cous cous dust out and off the cushion of the window seat. It was a telescoping wand with mini-turbine head that powered through the layer of mohair-ala-cat without using a nasty damp rag or sticky brush. It was a one-trigger bottom dropping bagless dirt bin. I was so beside myself with glee that I had to go throw up.

Then the 2 3/4 Little Miss painted pictures of it and it's purpleness because, "It's not a really awful noisy vacuum . . . it's just a little noisy vacuum."

This is some of the sickest, most depraved behavior I have ever seen people given the moniker of "parent" do. "Family" is not a word befitting this group. Keeper and torturer come to mind. Rebecca Riley's story is sad - the only good is that her brother and sister will be removed from their parents' care to hopefully have a better childhood than the one they've been dealt thus far. Having had most of it taken away or been forced to walk, for years, in a twitching fog . . . let's hope their next days are better, kinder, gentler and more compassionate.

To argue the point that - she was a FUCKING 2 YEAR OLD, when she was diagnosed with ADHD, and bipolar disorder seem futile. No. 1: how can a well-educated professional do that, with an entire family? No. 2: How can a parent accept that readily? Were no other options discussed? Or why didn't the psych say, "She's a FUCKING 2, 3, 4 YEAR OLD!" They have moods swings, they are irrational, the have ups and downs in mere minutes. Get on the pill, tie your tubes, get a vasectomy if you don't want to deal with your children.

I'm going to go vomit now.

Please tell me that I'm not the only one who's been at such a sleep deficit that they a) forget things in 15 sec., b) Lose things in 5 min., c) see things that aren't there in their peripheral vision several times a day (yes, I have been known to jump on occasion).

Ok, I know I'm not the only one. The buzz from it was fun for a while and then I actually caught myself giggling uncontrollably (like I was 16 and stoned in the parking lot of Kmart trying to pull it together enough to get some munchies) last night over nothing, NOT A THING. So I slowly reigned in the maniacal laughter and went home (that's right, I was at work).

whoopty doo, right?

http://luckycandice.blogspot.com/2007/03/day-to-blog-about-war.html
http://www.secretevilblog.com/

I work at the local paper - I get to see all the pictures that come across the AP Wire under the heading: IraqViolence. How does one see these and still truly believe something good can come from this? How does one send our brave babies over their to be slaughtered. They are proud and do as "we" ask them and don't have the time to entertain radical ideas like, "why are we here - really?"

Undermining ourselves to an entire world is not a good place to keep. Being too proud to admit any wrongdoing, any ill-conceived actions, any inkling that this ISN'T working. Seriously, you don't throw water on an oil fire. And those pictures - of the thousands of words they speak - read only death, destruction and sorrow.

At 2 3/4-years-old my daughter has had little to do with larger groups of kids. The Hub and I work opposite shifts so that we may selfishly keep all the delightful and god-awful things that Little Miss and Little Man do, to ourselves. Yes, we have playdates on occasion and there have been swimming lessons, plus we live across the street from a park so they aren't completely devoid of juvenile delinquent interaction.

Recently, Little Miss and I enrolled in a Mommy & Me class. She's spent most of the 4 classes we've attended, watching the other children, sliding across the floor on her stomach, making faces at the mirrored wall and shimmying on her knees around the perimeter of the room. I'm not embarassed in the least as some parents seem to be - we all take our turns exiting the room with an overly frustrated or excited child under our arm. It's almost like they have a schedule amongst them: "Ok, this week is Maya's turn to fling herself on the floor, Theo, good job last week using the hula hoop as a projectile."

This last time Little Miss was 1/2-heartedly doing the circle dance as we all held hands and then broke into a very shallow Hokey Pokey. Finally she happened to glance behind her and see a chair to which she went over and piled her unimpressed little body on. All the while I'm dancing the best vertical "Pokey" in my life while trying to encourage her back onto the floor. The little girl next to us sees Little Miss sitting with an open chair beside her and she plops herself down too. Her mother begs and nearly pulls her off the chair and I snicker, "Sorry my anti-social child has corrupted yours." A forced weak smile is shot my way.

I haven't exactly done the best over the last few weeks with the working out, eating better thing. But I still have one hand on the wagon. The gym visits have widdled down to twice a week but I'll make every effort to increase the frequency. There are many reasons I'll not let myself slip completely. I have my lovely and brilliant friend who has the brilliant idea that her children need a pool party at the local Y. After having bowed out of swimming on a myriad of other pool parties, I've decided: enough already, suck it up for your kids, besides, I used to love swimming. It's just fear of the suit.

This is why my kids' birthday parties will involve sitting in our sweltering backyard and eating melted cake and running through sprinklers- no swimsuits required.

The next reason(s)

1, 2, 3 weddings!
1 10-yr class reunion
oh, yeah, for myself - that whole energy and pride thing

I'm breaking down, It will be mine, yeah! taxes, yeah! children, yeah! tax breaks so I can afford to sufficiently and efficiently clean up after my tax-breaking children.

And this is what I've been dreaming of - night and day - for months and months. This is what I've been confessing love for week after week. This is what I've been telling everyone that I will be making out with once it appears and I can grasp it's cool, sucking, throbbing, bagless, plastic Hepafied body.

Like I'm sure many parents do, The Hub and I always label our kids' characteristics "His" or "Mine." The face she gives when she's trying to be cute even though she's doing something wrong – His. The face she gives when she's totally annoyed and gives a big eye roll — "Mine."

So, today we are in the bookstore The Hub assistant manages and I'm in the front by the counter and Little Miss and The Hub are 20' back where the kids' section is. I hear, very audibly, a rumble of sorts and look in their direction, he's trying not to laugh as he draws out her name in that, "I can't believe you . . . " way (even though he's secretly beaming of pride for his tiny flatullating offspring). He looks at me and says, "She's your child."

"No, oh no. If her crack is hanging out of her pants, that's all me, but this is you buddy, totally you."

A while ago everyone at our house was sick. Booger backup galore. Coughing, hacking fits of phlegm (keep a count how many times I use phlegm - I just love how it's spelled). We drag ourselves to the Doc's with only 20 mini meltdowns from Little Miss.

Our Doc is fab: unassuming, attentive, jovial - almost in the Simpsons' Dr. Hibert way where everything ends in a laugh. He's very much into home remedies for things, less of a pusher for the hard drugs (which does suck in its own way). This is good that we don't have an overzealous snake oil panderer, we don't have to waste our money on the next designer drug, etc. His favorite thing to push, anytime we complain of sinus anything, is "nasal irrigation." Sounds fun, don't it.

Nasal irrigation involves some very benign items: water, salt, nose bulb (one of those things you torture babies with to suck out their boogies). Boil the water and salt, suck it up in the bulb and breath in as you squeeze the bulb. Cough, spatter, choke. I think I nearly lost an eye the first time. The next time we had seen him he mentioned an entire kit - so I'm talking to the pharmy and asking where the kit is, he points. I read aloud the words right on the front of the package, "SOOTHING". The pharmy snickers and adds, "people who use it, swear by it." Yeah, soothing in the way I love to be hung upside down in a waterfall as the water makes it's way up my nose and out my hair follicles. I could see it being the new rage after cutting fades a bit.

Ok, I've used it several times, I've nearly drown several times as well. Once I dislodged something and was able to breath a bit better, so maybe it takes some practice. Right now it does sound potentially soothing as my head feels 37 lbs - and I don't think all these genius thoughts could really weigh that much.

I'm a giant spaz when it comes to my birthday. I still take the entire day off, I still need parties, or at least get togethers, there still must be cake and candy, and flowers are good too. We even had a pizza party - yes, I'm now 28 - don't judge me. The pizza was fantastic, the Zodiac movie filled me with suspense and the liquor and 4 lbs. of sugar I had are battling it out in my head. But, seriously folks who wouldn't love having birthdays if you received this on them?


Yes, that is a crafty flower made from nursing pads, glitter glue and random shiny bits!! Thanks Neno!

I am from dreams realized and not.

I am from plans that change.

I am from riches of the heart.

I am from pockets with burned holes.

I am from books not yet opened.

I am from a cynic so I question sincerity.

I am from a professional successful space cadet which gives me hope for myself.

I am from love with and without conditions.

I am from giggles started by silly faces, breaking the anger.

I am from a stinky compost made into an abundant garden that feeds into the next spring.

I am from friends who know the worst of me and still claim me.

I am Yang from my sister of Ying and together we keep each other whole.

I am from justifications that make sense to her, and her and her.

I am from (dis)organized clutter.

I am the dawdling fish from the river of my thoughts.


Thanks Neno

Over last week our area of swamp land received approx. 1 foot of snow - the winds picked up at times leaving waist-high drifts in town. The Hubby shoveled nearly ten times a day - pretty good at keeping up when it's a very productive reason to smoke cigs.

Yesterday, finally warm enough to take my almost-healthy children out, we ventured to the park. Though there were many, "It's pretty far and I'm not carrying you back." warnings to the 2 1/2 yr old, she kept with the begging, "To the park, I want to go down the twistily slide, the PARK!!" We made it the 100 yrds or so which felt like 10000000 yrds and the snow was up to my knees - her waist and I carried the unimpressed 7 mo. old babe. We rested a few times and finally made it. C was full of glee - gobbling up the snow, "That tastes like snow, mama." and navigating the drifts on the park equipment. "Whee!" Thud! into the white piles that snaked 1/2 way up each slide.

Then, the way back, "Picky up?!" The lessons of cause and effect were bittersweet as we now had to trudge back and our house wasn't nearly as sparkly and magical in the distance as was the play equipment that gave the energy to keep trudging. Q had by now fallen asleep and was even more dead weight than usual on the trek home. The nearby church had let out and I even received a shout out of, "Ya need any help!" We must have really looked like we were struggling, but we made it - and the best part: 2 itty bitty tired kiddos that napped for 2 WHOLE HOURS AT THE SAME TIME! So worth the wet socks, stares and sweat. Oh, the photo-ops weren't 1/2 bad either.

As lovely daffodils sit on my desk - given to me by a friend for my birthday, no I don't have cancer. I ponder - just how does one give back, when they have nothing to give? When I live paycheck to paycheck with a family of 4 and enough debt to choke, well, me - what can I do? The guilt hits as it seems the season of walks, flowers, fund raisers, hunts, and direct from paycheck deposits litter my emails and desk.

So, for now I've started giving blood, regularly. The small canon they shove up your arm is a negligent sacrifice to the, upwards of 3 people one pint can help. The supply is grossly short, not just for blood, but for any of the thousands of good causes out there. So, even if you're broke, there is always something to give or volunteer.