Confessions of Notorious Dieter

Yes, I am one of them. You know, one of those New Year's Resolution Dieters. Every year I start out with the best of intentions and I seem to end every year in the same spot I was in at the beginning of the year and in some cases, such as this particular year, I am ending it significantly heavier than the when I began.

I could type up a laundry list of excuses as to what occurred this year and blame my weight gain on all of them and then some, but I would rather not dredge up my inconsistencies and my personal failures and commiserate with you all concerning them. No, let's just let the past lie in the past and learn from our mistakes and make new goals and determine to work on them in the present. That's my plan.

As of January 2nd (I choose that date because January 1st is when you clean everything out and go vegetable shopping), I am going to give The South Beach Diet a whirl. I have tried other diets in the past and have met with a measure of success, but at this juncture I really feel I need to abstain from carbohydrates. Oh I have come to see that I am a massive carb junkie, as much as I hate to admit, I most certainly recognize it and I know that I do much better on lean proteins and vegetables. So, that's what the South Beach Diet is and it lays out weekly eating plans with daily menus and recipes which set up as a first step to cleanse one of the carb addiction. I need structure. This gives it to me.

So, that's Phase 1. That and exercise. I've got that covered, too. We have a Wii fit and I have a slew of exercise videos and I will not sit down to put my hand to a thing until I have gotten in my alloted exercise for the day. I would exercise in the morning, but that just won't happen as I don't see myself getting out of bed any earlier than I already do. Furthermore, fitting it in when the children are awake would be ridiculously futile as even during nap times I am jumping up every ten minutes to put them BACK into nap time. So there it is.

And in spite of my optimism that I conjure every year, the thoughts in my head, "The best laid plans of mice and men..."

And my counter thought, "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail."

So, here's hoping my planning pans out for the best.

That's all for now.

Christmas Complaints...

The season is far too short, for one. I mean really! How on earth is one supposed to accomplish all the baking, decorating, shopping, wrapping, festive events, dinners parties, and appreciate all the fun movies and fun times of this time of year all within twenty-five, give or take, days?!!! I can only speak for myself, but I like to sleep. Coffee can only take me so far before I start to get cranky and irritable and let's face it, I need to save my crankiness and irritability for my diet plans for the New Year.

Oh and I had no idea about all the more work is takes when one has children. In my mind, I had the idea, "Kids make the season great and magical and bring back the wonder of it all." Little did I know, while all that may be the case, there are friends and classmates and teachers and class parties and that means more things to prepare for more people. Who knew??!

Every year I think I am making head way. Every year I have plans to get things done and done ahead of time. Somehow my plans never pan out. I don't know why that is. Maybe I am just lazy and like the song goes, "Girls just want to have fun" and I make my fun and forget everything else. If that be the case, then so be it. If it isn't fun, then forget it!

If the wrapping is bit wrinkled and the bow askew, my apologies. If the cookies look crumbly, but taste great, then I have succeeded. If my children are covered in chocolate and are still bouncing off the walls at 9 p.m. then, great. January will come soon enough and there will be no candy, sadly, in sight. Let's determine to enjoy the season while it lasts. It is SUPER short! When I was a child, it felt like it lasted forever until Christmas came and now, as an adult, I have been making my lists and checking them twice since Thanksgiving and this morning, on our little Santa board, I wrote the number five. Five days until Christmas! Whoosh! It goes fast. So, in this short time, I am doing my best to not get overwhelmed and keep enjoying the short moments! So, if my only complaint is that it goes too fast because we are having too much fun, then that's not half bad, is it?

Things That Make One Say, "Hm?"

Braille at the drive up bank tellers.

Signing a receipt and being asked to sign un-signed check card, doing so in front of cashier who proceeds to match the signatures.

Going into the library where no one is in the stacks or in any of the chairs reading books, but everyone in the entire place is sitting in front of a computer.

Toys, puppets and games in the children's room at the library where librarian gets upset and annoyed when children actually play and have a good time there.

Children's room at library where librarian gets upset when children pull books down from the shelves. Do we NOT want to foster a love of Literature?

Being twenty minutes late to a movie and paying an extra fee for a 3D moment that we have already missed in being twenty minutes late.

Children insisting on sitting on your lap and eating the food off of your plate and not on theirs sitting in their own seat even when they have the EXACT SAME THING as you do.

When you try to eat the food off of their plate while they devour what is on yours, they further insist that you do not, as that is THEIRS.

Any idiot can have a child, yet everything that has to be assembled for said child needs an advanced degree in engineering to figure out.

Paying full price for a movie when you can download it for free.

Medical professionals insist on a healthy, low fat lifestyle, but eating healthy costs more than eating junk.

You can gain five pounds in two days, but to lose it takes over two weeks.

That's all for now...

Another Episode of "The Things Kids Say"

Actual prayer said by my daughter when she was sick: "Dear God, thank you for this wonderful day of tv and movies. Amen." I guess her stuffy nose and temperature were worth it.

A pilot colleague of my husband stopped by to speak to him and as he was inquiring to my daughter about her name and age, she pipes in, "Check yourself before you wreck yourself." I wonder where she picked up that phrase...

After crazy bum waggling dance that could cause nothing else but laughter, once the laughter stops, the dancing stops and my daughter turns to me with pointed finger yelling, "You! Laugh!"

Riding in the car in silence. I hear someone pass gas very noisily then, "Momma! I fart!" Always present tense.



Words that my son now says:

"Ay ay" translation: all done

Stinky

Cheese

Please

Bird

Mommeeeeee

Daddeeeeeee

I am sure that he will star in his own episode of "The Things Kids Say" soon enough...

That's all for now.

The Boat and the Thimble

Ever get the feeling that you are making absolutely no dent whatsoever in your ever growing "To Do" list? I always get that feeling. Because it forever seems to be the case. Just when I think, "Ok. I am doing good. I am confident that I can handle everything that the world is throwing at me today. And hey, even if I can't, no big deal," everything starts to crumble at the seams and Life itself points it's harrowing finger at me, laughing and mocking. We are all given twenty-four stinking hours, so why do I seem to be the only one with nothing crossed off on my list...ever?!

I am embarrassed to say, that things are piling up. Literally. My husband pointed to the corner where we had two square laundry baskets AND one very large rectangular laundry basket filled far beyond the brim to the point of overflowing, where you couldn't even make out the white of the plastic on the basket, and notified me that they had been, in fact, sitting in the corner for eleven days. I guess he was counting. The fact that the clothes were clean made no difference because I was simply sifting through them frantically every morning for clean clothes and simply creating a FOURTH dirty laundry pile sans basket in the laundry room.

I have since, with my husband's gracious help, folded and put away the three piles of laundry, but even so, I have a sinking feeling, the dirty will once rise again. And even if I do get those clothes cleaned, even the clean will rise again. And this is why, I believe, that I have come to sigh so much these days.

Yes, I have noticed it. I sigh. A lot. I think it's because, not that it is ever appropriate to throw a tantrum or to yell, scream, and/or curse, it is ever so very much not appropriate to do any of those sorts of things all the while attempting to teach two little ones to NOT act that way, so I have come to sigh. And cue the sigh,*Sigh*

And the holidays are upon us. The list is growing. The boat is sinking and all I hold in my wet, shaking hands is a lone, teeny, tiny thimble and I hear frantic screaming in my head, "Bail!!! For the love of God, Woman, bail!!" So, I shall hang on and bail as much water as I can out of the boat. Every little bit counts, right?

Of course, I exaggerate. But I am sure we all know the feeling. There is simply so much that needs to be done and add that to all those things that make life simply that much more enjoyable, all the wonderful fun things that I want to do and some days, there really is nothing that can be done, but hang on and make it through the crazy ride.

So, instead of starting on dinner or working on the things that I have planned for the evening, I choose to ignore them and blog. Perhaps I have found the root of the problem...

That's all for now.

Marriage Myths

I was a very young bride. I was married on November 2, 2002, just nine days shy of my 22nd birthday. I wouldn't have changed the teeniest thing for the world on a string. Being young and getting married can be a tricky and sometimes treacherous path to walk in life, but we have managed it, I believe with love, grace, and humor these past seven years. There has been much more laughter than tears in our life together, I am happy to report, but also lessons learned. Most of them quite humorous, most embarrassingly so, but, again, this makes for good laughs and happy memories and I wouldn't have it any other way...

I can't speak for anyone but myself, but I had concocted a few myths and had ideals about what my marriage would be like. Oh yes, I listened and absorbed most advice from an observational perspective, "That is nice to know and I am glad it worked for THEM, but we will see what works for US..." While that can be true, some things are universal and some lessons come to some of us more stubborn folks a little harder...

1) I will never, EVER leave the bathroom stinky and/or fart in front of my husband.

Unless you share separate bathrooms or have some condition that leaves your poop and/or farts odorless and silent (lucky you!) this has proven to be a complete impossibility. My mother will attest to the fact that I swore this up and down for years. I still remember this oath to myself and God knows I try to live up to my end of the bargain, but we have never lived in a home over 1000 square feet with more than one bathroom. As I say, this is an impossibility and my husband still finds this all quite hilarious and me utterly mortified.

2) I will never "let myself go" ie: gain weight, let my roots grow out, leave my legs unshaven, and other uncomely, unsightly manners of lesser wives who have become mothers and can't seem to hold it together.

Oh how young and stupid I was. Weight gain was inevitable because the starvation diet that I had myself on so as not to be a "fat bride" could not have lasted much longer or I would have killed and eaten someone. Three years after the wedding let's add some stress and two, more or less, back to back pregnancies and well, there you go, an extra thirty pounds that just won't go away! As for the hair, when I was on my own and paying for my own things or even when people gifted me with hair cuts at the salon, I never gave it a second thought. Then in marriage, when money started getting tight and at home hair dying proved unsuccessful (oh I have so many funny stories!!), and then when children came about, not only was the time not there like it used to be, as I do not have a nanny or the extra money for a babysitter, etc., some things just slip quietly away and six months later one wakes up and realizes the state of things... That goes for the legs and any other unsightly issue as well.

3) I would not be his servant ie: fold his underwear, clean up after him, cater meals, etc. This is the twenty first century and we are going to be a twenty first century couple! Equals. Fair share!

Let's face it, men are men and women are women. There are aberrations, but generally speaking, married men don't tend to be the best when it comes to household management chores. Underwear ends up shoved into drawers, things that have been "cleaned up" according to his standards are really just not clean at all whatsoever, meals become "meals" a general idea of what it might have been, but something utterly unappetizing and sometimes indistinguishable as a palatable food item. So, for the sake of one and all, especially after children arrived, it became, like good old Frank Sinatra sang, My Way.

4) I wouldn't be whiny and needy or take it personally if my husband wants to hang out with his friends instead of me.

Guys need their friends and need to do their crazy male bonding, shooting each other with paint ball guns, sleeping out in the cold on the ground, eating dried fruit and hot dogs cooked on a stick, for whatever reason. I have gotten annoyed in the past (and probably will in the future, even though I will try my hardest not to), but I do consciously recognize and attempt to understand that men need to play, just like women need to chat. There was one time that I gave my husband the cold shoulder for an entire weekend because he went camping when I didn't want him to and while I had my reasons, it still wasn't very nice of me and again, another one of my myths, busted.

5) It was going to be a long, long time before we had kids, if at all.

When we first got married, I wasn't sure that I had wanted children. I was young and didn't even want to think about it. In all honesty, I think that I thought I would be an awful mother anyway and I didn't even want to try because that wouldn't be something I could just quit, if I sucked at it. Lo and behold, two and half years into our life together, I caught the baby bug and had the realization that children would just add to the "US" that we had become and I couldn't imagine a more beautiful thing which leads me to my sixth myth that has more to do with procreating than marriage itself...

6) I really didn't think that we would ACTUALLY get pregnant.

Okay, I am not THAT stupid that I didn't know how it all works. I did. It was just that idea of it actually happening to us, that and the idea of having something happen within us entirely in and also so completely out of our control, just seemed so absurd. I mean, God in his infinite wisdom wouldn't let the two of US be solely responsible for a human being. It was beyond absurd. A part of me was testing fate. Does this ACTUALLY happen? Um, yes. It does, and it did. To us. Almost immediately. So one of my first thoughts? "I guess our stuff actually works" or something of that nature. It's hard to relate the actual thoughts I may have had as I was in a complete electric state of shock for about three days. I think Andrew was, too.

7) Not my myths, but common ones: Life isn't all fun and games. Real life isn't a fairy tale.

Oh yes it is!! If you make it that way. I truly believe so many things that so many people see as a drudgery in life are not meant to be so. If it becomes that way, then maybe it has something to do with the person. Our life together has not been a fairy tale, but it is made of the same stuff that fairy tales are made of and my glass slipper always seems to fit because I make it fit. My husband will always and forever be, no matter what, my very own Prince Charming. My kids? Sugar and spice and everything nice. No matter where we live, it's an enchanted castle. Every night can be Date Night, even if it's just a quick snack together, planning our schedule.

We aren't perfect and we don't always or have ever really had perfect circumstances, but they ARE perfect to us because it is OUR life. I have learned a lot of lessons in the past seven years and I am thrilled to keep learning new lessons for the next seventy-seven. I could not have dreamed up a better life even with all of our problems and ridiculous ideas and crazy quirks (mostly mine!), it is still practically perfect to me.

I love you, Andrew.

CheeseFake & Chocolate Fudge Pudding Pie

You know I love my chocolate desserts and wandering down the baking aisle in the supermarket doesn't help sometimes, but this was born from that detour and with my husband's encouragement that, no, I shouldn't buy bags of sugar and chocolate just because it was cold and I felt like baking, instead he suggested non fat pudding as we stood next to the pre made pie crusts and *BAM* I heard trumpets and wanted a pudding pie!

My mother in law also gets kudos for this because she is the one who told me that if you take non fat ricotta cheese and mix it with the instant no fat and no sugar cheesecake pudding, you get a cheesecake fake (Thanks Barbara!!). The taste and texture are slightly different, but it worked for this!

I grabbed a chocolate pie crust which isn't too bad calorie and fat wise because either way, one does need a scant amount of butter to create a crust, a box of instant fat free cheesecake pudding, fat free chocolate fudge pudding, non fat ricotta and low fat whipped topping and lastly, you need skim milk to mix up the chocolate pudding.

Mixed the ricotta and cheesecake pudding and put it in the pie crust and after I mixed up the chocolate pudding with the milk per the packaging instructions, I put that on top and then once the pudding had set in the fridge, I slathered on the whipped topping.

And there you go... Doesn't hold a candle to chocolate cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory or anything like that and yes, there is a slight chemical after taste from the non fat pudding, in my opinion, but it isn't half bad when you want something sugary and chocolatey without making yourself feel like fitting into your pants the next day is tantamount to climbing Everest...
Just don't eat the whole thing. One slice'll do!

Fat Pants

Getting healthy and losing weight are hard feats. They must be or there wouldn't be so many overweight and unhealthy people around. I have been on the band wagon and subsequently fallen off enough times to know how hard it is. I don't like talking about my issues publicly (who does?!) or telling people that I might be having a hard time dealing with changes, but I don't have to verbalize any of the details, really. Anyone can see it on my plump, pink face. I gain weight and I gain it fast. Why? Because I eat! Eating in and of itself is necessary in life, but I have had to come to the realization that what may be permissible for others in their body chemistry is just not permissible in mine. Does it suck? Yes. Is it fair? Of course not, but we are always told how unfair life can be and this is one of those unfair things that I defy and end up only injuring myself ie: weight gain. Dairy does not agree with me. Neither does bread. Chocolate is a ridiculous craving of mine. Also, I am a huge fan of the late night date night dinner and snack fetes with my husband that add up to a whole lot more of munching and crunching and sitting around than I need. Furthermore, I love to cook. I like to concoct new and tasty treats to make my friends and family and that takes a lot of trials and tastings to get things right. All this adds up. Dump on top of that the busyness of life and kids and events that never end and health has appeared to taken a back seat and one day you see a recent picture of yourself and are absolutely and completely utterly embarrassed and equally horrified about the state of things. Do I like admitting this in a blog? Not really, but like I said. It's not really a secret. It's more than apparent and in efforts of my early resolutions and living authentically and without regrets this is one of those things that I always end up regretting about myself. My lack of foresight and self control where it matters most in the long run, my health. It affects my entire family and, frankly, I have been more than selfish and indulgent where it shouldn't matter, food.
I am not writing this for anyone but myself, really. If it helps someone, great, but I need to write it and post it for me because I will feel more responsible and held accountable to hold myself at a higher standard than I have been. I have done well in the past, but I always seem to find myself back in this position and there are reasons but they are inconsequential. The point is, I am going to be 29 in less than a month and this is not at all where I pictured myself to be in any capacity personally.
The weird thing is that despite the weight and the whole gallbladder issue this past year, I have been given an overall clean bill of health. I have perfect levels for all the things that seem to count. Everything is great. Furthermore, in spite of the weight, I can still jog up and downstairs, run around in circles after my kids, pick up our massive hunk of a stroller, drag in groceries by the bagfuls, but none of that seems to count so much when you have to suck in as though your life depended on it and pray that your jeans button once you've finally gotten the zipper up. Even once that feat is accomplished, there is still that awful muffin top to attempt cover and the rest of the day to pray as you are out and about that no one notices too much. Oh well. These things happen and I can't be too embarrassed because I know I am not the only one. Most women deal with these same issues in their own ways. Some are better about controlling it than others or hiding it than others and some are just obsessive about their weight loss regime as others are about their weight gain and covering it up. So, whatever side of the spectrum one falls, there are scads of women (and even men) who are struggling. So this is my struggle. I am human and this is me. I make no apology, but to myself.

Again, I hate laying myself so bare, but I have to face the facts that I am really not, as it is more than apparent and it would be ignorant for me to ignore the elephant in the room (ha ha!). Hopefully this will be just another big kick in the seat of my "fat pants" that helps me along. I am already starting to feel motivated and better about things.... Thanks for listening.

Resolved

This year has escaped me. I am not sure if anyone else feels that way, but I remember that "just trying to make it through" in 2008, that I was so relieved to see 2009 and had ideas and projects and grand hopes and POOF!! I woke up five minutes ago and it's almost mid October and holiday planning is underway and we all know how fast this season goes and looking back, I don't think I really achieved one thing I had planned this year. Oh yes, a ton of changes occurred and events, well, happened, but nothing went as planned and nothing I wanted to do, got done.

It's not that I didn't try anything new or just sat around twiddling my thumbs all year, because I didn't. I was super busy just trying to stay afloat in each situation. Which is really no way to live. If there is anything I have learned this year, it is this: we cannot let our circumstances dictate how we are going to live our lives. I feel as though this past year swallowed me up and is just now spitting me out. Frankly, I don't care for that and if I can help it at all, I refuse to let it happen again.

Lessons learned and maybe it's just that this happens sometimes in life where time just kinda eats itself and we find ourselves elsewhere picking up the pieces, but I don't want this to snow ball and to wake up at seventy-five and sigh. So, in efforts to take control and make me a better me and 2010 a better year, I am resolved.

I am resolved not to let petty disappointments ruin my ambitions.

I am resolved to live as I intend to live, not how I think that others think I should be living.

I am resolved to be myself and not some version of myself that I think others want me to be.

I am resolved to live without regret.

I am resolved to find peace and joy in every situation I find myself in regardless of surrounding circumstances.

I resolve to be a better example to my children in all things; in health and patience and kindness and love.

Yes, I am resolved, about three months early, but it seems they way things are going, getting a handle on things way too early seems to be much better than learning a hard lesson way too late...

Mastercard Commercial

Number of meals and/or snacks made during the day: 6

Loads of laundry: at least one

Number of times I've had to put the same shoe back on the same foot that it has been kicked off from: 6

Times any given poopy bum has needed wiping: 6

Times noses have needed wiping: 4

Number of dishwasher loads: 2

Hours spent driving back and forth from errands and preschool with two rambunctious kids strapped in back: at least 1

Number of times saying "No!" or "Stop" or some instructional directive of the like: 98 (I could be exaggerating or just erring on the generous side, but it seems about right)

Number of hours awake in comparison to the number of hours slept: 18/6

Number of changes of clothing due to dirt and/or grass stains, throw up, pee, etc.: 4

Number of manicures/ pedicures/ hair cuts in the past three months (for me): 0

Number of child programming theme songs that I can sing backwards and forwards: 16

I could go on, but...

Knowing my children are taken care of and will (hopefully) retain memories of a happy childhood where Mommy was always there and loved them unconditionally: priceless

Ode to Chicken and Rice

Cooking is therapeutic. Not only therapeutic, but creative and exciting. There is nothing more fun than to search through seemingly empty cabinets and bare, cold refrigerators and somehow, out of nowhere, magically concoct some delicious masterpiece of a meal. My go-to magical fare that seems to have come from nothing seems to almost always consist of what? Yes, you guessed it! Chicken and rice. There is no other meal so basic than that, but so versatile, that using the same basic ingredients, one can procure fantastically different results each and every attempt.
Have a frozen whole chicken? Defrost it, make an herb rub with some softened butter, massage it under the skin and roast away to perfection all the while using stock and herbs and maybe even some frozen veggies with the rice and you have a delightfully delicious comfort food! Voila!

Chicken and rice tortilla soup
Stuffed chicken breast with basil rice
Chicken picatta with risotto balls
Chicken enchiladas with spanish rice

Should I go on?

Chicken divan
Cheesy chicken and rice casserole (a la Campbell's Soup- Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it!)
Chicken cacciatore and rice with peppers and onions
Classic arroz con pollo
Chicken curry with jasmine rice

Chicken and rice are the easiest ingredients to manipulate into a delicious anything, in my opinion. With the weather getting cooler and with the onset of the fall season, it's easy to get busy and frazzled with the demands of the coming holidays and then the demand for comfort foods increase. Chicken and rice is mine and when there is nothing else left, or so it seems, and the next trip to the store is days away, I know I can pull out the ten pound bag of Uncle Ben's and the frozen bag of Tyson skinless boneless chicken breasts and whip up something new, and creative and comforting for my family. Give it a try. I dare you!

If you need any rice cooking tips or new ideas for chicken, just let me know. My mother can attest to the fact that after her third trip to the supermarket in as many days and still saying there was nothing in her kitchen to cook, I have gone in there and made two or three meals out of her "nothing." It saves money on food and gas and keeps you creative! Don't be afraid to pull out the dusty old cookbooks or check out epicurious.com or foodnetwork.com. And most importantly, don't be afraid to fudge (haha) with ingredients. If you are eating it, then cook what you want!

Ground chicken browned with sesame oil and chinese vegetables with sticky white rice
Spicy chicken with wild rice
Chicken jambalaya with rice
Teriyaki chicken with ginger cilantro and lime rice

I could go on, but I will leave you with that. Enjoy!

Welcome Fall

There is a road between towns here in northern Massachusetts, I think it's route 125. It passes from WIlmington, North Reading, Andover, into North Andover. If you have never had an opportunity to drive along this road, you are missing one of the most beautiful roads in New England. You actually feel the season when you pass along that road. I know this sounds ridiculous, but it is just beautiful. It's just a two lane winding road that cuts through the small town New England Americana. The whole way is lined with trees that in many areas have curved and almost have grown together high above the road and when the seasons change, it overtakes you. The season flashes by around your car.

I have the absolute pleasure of driving this road frequently and almost every time I am on that road, I truly cannot but help to enjoy my journey. Today was such the case as a drive to drop my husband off at the hangar and a play date brought us once again through there. The trees are starting to become patchy with color. Mostly a light pale yellow, but it's just a promise of the changes to come when the world will become awash with a chill that brings the bright yellows and deep reds and every shade of orange that you couldn't possibly imagine any other colors could ever be that vibrant. It has started. The changing of the seasons. Welcome Fall!

Welcome chilly air and knit sweaters, the earthy smell of fallen leaves and the crackle that lingers in the air as you shuffle through them. Welcome school and yellow pencils and buses. Welcome apple picking and spiced treats simmering on the stove and baking in the over, permeating the homes with the sweet scents of the season that seems to have been birthed in this very place. Welcome holidays and the thrill and excitement that it brings and the hopes of the new year to come. Yes, it is that time again, where we welcome change. Welcome Fall!

Recovery and Other Things

The whole recovery process is not great. It seems to me that it just the whole affair being dragged on and on and on, which is not what I expected. I thought they just would just suck out my gallbladder, throw some band-aids over the holes and off I would go on my merry, healthy way (Yes, Mrs. E, it is a day surgery and done with four incisions using probes and what not! How sci fi, huh?!). I don't think I could have been much more naively optimistic about it had I tried. I am doing fantastic, mind you, it's just the little things. I am still not supposed to pick up my children or exercise, especially the stomach muscles, and let's face it, most of my days, these days, consist of me picking up and putting down my children in various settings which uses what else, but the stomach muscles! Oh well. The doctor did remove my bandages, however, and I am healing nicely, and I went home and promptly re-covered the sites with much more colorful bandages, my daughter's Hello Kitty band-aids. Ah, that's much better!

In other news, I can't seem to find a fun read this summer. Everything I have read, has turned out to be the opposite of the fun summer reads I had been so looking forward to. Right now, I am reading Anywhere But Here by Mona Simpson. I have seen the movie before and it seemed interesting enough and so I assumed the book would be good. You know what is said about making assumptions. The entire back cover is blurbs from raves about the book from somewhat reputable review sources. What a crock, if you will excuse me for saying. I am not even half-way yet, so maybe I shouldn't be making a judgement so soon, but am almost to the point of abandoning anything but the tried and true classics. It's amazing how many truly crappy books get published these days. Maybe the book gets better and I am proved wrong, I hope so...

Coffee and Vicodin

This past Monday, I had to have my gallbladder removed. It was making stones. I don't know why or exactly how that happens, but there you have it.

For years I have had pain that I attributed to gastro-intestinal issues. I would chew down half an industrial size bottle of Tums without any relief and would rock back and forth just praying for the burning to end. It would subside eventually and then I would move on. Recently, I have been thinking that perhaps before I get any older and it becomes too late for things that have gotten too far gone, perhaps I should go see a doctor and have all the little things I have been ignoring for so many years, checked out. This was one of those things. The pain in my abdomen was my gallbladder and in it the stones that had accumulated. Lovely.

I had gone to The General Practitioner who suggested I have an ultrasound to make sure it was what she thought it was (gallstones). It was. She sent me to The Surgeon to see if it warranted removal. The Surgeon did. Just great. Let the complete and utter panic begin. The Surgeon sent me along saying her office would call with all the information. They did. They wanted to fit me in shortly thereafter where someone else had cancelled. I refused. We were just about to leave for our two week road trip and I was, in short, panicked. I needed time to let this sink in. I was going to have surgery. Some person in a white lab coat was going to slice me up and fiddle about in my abdominal cavity and pluck out what had been thus far an essential organ. Fun. I explained our schedule, they settled on the Monday after our return. Okay.

They called me the Thursday before with instructions. I was on the phone listening to the nurse when I started to get dizzy and had to put my head between my knees while saying, "Uh huh." to everything she was saying...
She said, "No jewelry." Of course, I think, "Oh my God, if I die I won't be wearing my wedding ring!" She said I wasn't to wear make-up or powders or scented lotions or use strong scented soaps before arriving bright and early. Okay. So again, if I died, I would be stinky and ugly with nothing identifiable to me or my personality. And I would be cut up sans gallbladder.

Monday morning comes along and I followed instructions for the most part, I did use deodorant, though and I had to at least do my hair to compensate for the lack of make-up and so on and so forth. I arrived and approached the woman at the desk who asks me to fill out forms and I don't recall what she said exactly, but it had something to do with something about me staying at the hospital overnight to which I replied in a slightly loud, panicky voice stating, "I was under the impression, because THE DOCTOR did say, that MOST of her patients are able to go home the DAY of their surgery so I don't want to stay in the hospital over night..." I think she was just asking a routine question to which I may have overreacted. Oh well.

I fill out forms. I wait in a jittery panic along with others listening to Matt Lauer and Meredith Viera drone on and on about absolutely nothing. A comfortingly matronly nurse calls my name. Finally. She ushers me beyond the big double doors that open with a swish over to a curtained cubicle to a hospitalized version of an easy chair. She asks me to sit, she goes through some things with me, gives me more instructions that I only half hear through the rapid beating of my heart, she walks away and returns with a pile of clothes. She was so super sweet and I know she gave me the proper information, but of course, I could not tell you much of what she told me. She walked away and closed the curtains behind her and so of course, I deduce, I am to put on this pile of hospital garb in exchange for my comfy sweats and hoodie that I carefully planned to wear, on purpose. I managed to get on the many different layers of one gown with another gown along with scrub like pants and grippy socks. And then she comes back. As she comes back in and I am sitting there bedecked in my blue, it occurs to me that perhaps I should have paid better attention. I think this because I realize that I, in a subconscious attempt to retain some semblance of ME with me, I left on my under garments.
"Was I supposed to have taken off my underwear, too?!"
She paused a beat too long. It was all the answer I needed.
"Um, I need another moment...."
She graciously gave me a few more moments to get properly attired.
She comes back and gives me a shot in the belly to ensure that I don't get blood clots. Great. Now, I am put in another waiting room with people dressed just like me and now we are watching Regis and Kelly but instead of Regis we get Ashton Kutcher. Sometime people wonder what hell could be like... We are all sitting there biting our fingernails with jiggling legs, one crossed over the other jibber jabbering over the inane chit chat on the television until someone calls my name. Now, if you are at all like me and have ever wondered if your life is just really a huge joke that someone is playing on you, then this moment will make sense. I seem to have a lot of these moments... It was not just someone who called my name, no, it was an insanely handsome man with dazzling white teeth, bright blue eyes and perfect hair. He must have been six feet tall. I was mortified.I must already be dead, because this is NOT my life. This is just too ridiculous. I almost laughed out loud. He was standing there waiting so what else was I supposed to do, but stand up and go to him. He introduced himself. I can't tell you what his name was as I was much too amused. He stuck out his hand with the clipboard of what I am assuming to be all my embarrassing information on it in the other. Etiquette dictates that I take the offered hand. Mine must have felt clammy and possibly wet because I believe it was the right hand fingernails that I had previously been chewing in my nervousness. He began to walk so, again, I assumed I was to follow and I could have sworn he mentioned something about being in the operating room to which in my head, I shrieked, "NOOOOO, DEAR GOD, NOOOO!!!" He brought me to a row of curtained beds to where those who were going in to be operated upon were to be chained and drugged. He left. I saw him walk by once or twice, but I do think my prayers were answered because I was awake when they wheeled me in the operating room and I did NOT see him. WHEW!
So once The Adonis left me at my bed, a slew of people came and went to tell me what was to happen. The Surgeon came and saw how nervous I was and instructed a nurse or whoever to give me a bucket of whatever it is which I am assuming was to calm me down. I don't think they did because when they wheeled me in to the operating room, I will wide awake and coherent. I was making the stupid nervous comments that I do, like, "Wow, so this is what a real operating room looks like." They must have thought that I was already drugged. They moved me over to the table and as I laid back down, there were two huge lights like flying saucers over my head and I may have made another stupid comment about alien abductions and X Files. Wow. I think I may have been drugged and wasn't aware.

Then I woke up in recovery coughing and sputtering saying I couldn't breathe and I needed to spit and that I didn't feel well. I heard what I blindly interpreted as a mocking voice saying, "You just came out of surgery, how do you expect to feel?" So that just annoyed me and I forced myself to wake up and I am aware that I was babbling in a drugged stupor about how just exactly unwell I was feeling. The next few hours are a jumble of mumbled answers to questions and I am fully convinced that I fell asleep mid answer upon the numerous people who were probably assigned to attend to me. I don't know how, but at one point I was brought back to that curtained off cubicle where the first kind woman brought me when I had first arrived. I kept saying that I just wanted to go home. Before they could send me home, they wanted me to eat a cracker and drink some water and they wanted me to pee. I eventually accomplished all of these monumental tasks along with a vomiting episode. Good job, Jenn. They finally helped me pull on my own clothes, scooted me into a wheelchair and rolled me to my mother's car and had me on my way. And I left behind my gallbladder.

So, thanks to The Good Surgeon who saved me from the evils of the organ that turned on me. Thanks to my ever long suffering Mother who was by my side the whole time and can attest to the Greek God-like nurse who first came to get me and also, (and I should NOT be disclosing this) snapped a picture of me per my request before they took me in to the operating room. Who knew they handed out pretty puffy blue party hats to the patients?! Thanks to my Dad for keeping me in the ice cream since my surgery. Thanks finally to my wonderful husband who took care of our children while I was having fun at Winchester Hospital, who walked around with me at all hours of the night this past week when it hurt too much to be flat on the bed and who is just too kind and sweet and wonderful for words. Thanks to my dear, sweet friend who made me one of my favorite meals and one of her specialty desserts. Yes, it takes a lot for one person to have their gallbladder taken out.

So now? Now, I am doing great with my coffee and vicodin...

Insanity Tour: Book Bag

Because it is summer and I am going on an insanely long car journey, I must have books. Well, regardless of when it is or what I am doing, I MUST have BOOKS, but these are the fun summer-y reads I am bringing along. One for Andrew, too. The kids will have Curious George and car toys, of course!

These are what I have landed upon, as of today. My husband thinks it is too many for two weeks. I am always nervous that for some reason, it won't be enough...

Scarlett by Alexandra Ripley
Why I Write by George Orwell
Anywhere But Here by Mona Simpron
Runaway Jury by John Grisham
Life of Pi by Yann Martel

And for Andrew, Airframe by Michael Crichton

This list is not set in stone and is likely to change before we actually leave. If so, my goodreads profile will reflect the change. Is anyone really that interested that they will want to know if I changed my mind about what books I bring on my trip?

Insanity Tour 2009: Preparation

We've successfully rented out and moved out of our condo and are in the midst of getting settled in my oh-so-gracious parents' home until we can successfully purchase an adequate home for our growing family! Next on the agenda: Our first family vacation (cross country road trip that I have dubbed, Insanity Tour 2009).

This week is full prep mode. My husband has training in Florida for his work until Thursday and crazy early on Friday morning, we are off on the road to begin our two week whirlwind tour...

I will do my best to post blogs from the craziness of the road, but until then, I am on packing duty. I really can't even say what I think will pan out on this trip, which is in and of itself an exciting, albeit slightly daunting,experience when you have two kids in the mix, but overall, I am getting excited.

Get ready for the insanity, as it is all that is left to ensue...

A Quickie

My husband came home from an afternoon flight in the wee hours last night and announced the plane had broken. This is not good news, but for me, it's great news. Every single time the plane has an issue, he is in East Middle of Nowhere, OK or God Forsaken, ND or some such place like that. I always asked myself, "Why can't the plane break when he is home and be stuck here with us?!" Well, for the mean time, he is! Hooray! We have a lot going on in these summer months so it really couldn't be better timing. This is all very selfish, I know, but I think I am allowed to be a tad selfish, don't you think?

We are packing and moving out of our condo this month and planning our first ever family vacation road trip and cue song from National Lampoon Family Vacation. I hear that in my head every time we sit down and plan the route out, no not on a map like the old days, but sitting in front of our massive flat screen using Google Maps. No more books on tape, either. We are loading up the ipod with Dr. Seuss and Beatrix Potter. Pack up a cooler, put some books and toys in the back and fill up the gas tank! Needless to say, this trip is going to be massively insane, but it seems to be almost a rite of passage to do a family road trip, so that's what we shall do. We are young, the kids are small, so bring on the red bull! We are loading up Frank and off we go!

Well, not that fast. We are still in the planning stages, but it will be toward the end of the month. And I thought I was a bad mother for failing to plan up the summer for the kids. Things to do just seem to find us these days...

Keeping the peace, but not quite...

This past month has been a particularly rough month work-wise. My husband has literally been home maybe a week in the past four or five and those seven or so days have not been consecutive. I am sure it is difficult on him to be out on the road dealing with what he has to deal with and not being home with his wife and children on a consistent basis. It isn’t easy for myself either dealing with the inane things that I deal with over and over again without much reprieve. As terrible as it sounds, and all mothers have been there, but there are days where I am literally on my knees begging for the night to come so that I can have a few short hours of peace. Some nights are not so great and I have to put the kids to bed maybe a dozen or so times a night before it sticks. Needless to say, I will do anything and everything to keep my kids asleep. Sleep on the couch if I have to separate them from their shared bedroom, if one or the other feels the need to keep the other up? Sure. I’ve been on the couch a number of times. Wake up at 4am to bring the oldest into bed with me so she doesn’t wake up her little brother? Yup. Been close to smothering the dog because he hears a stray leaf blow down the sidewalk and feels the need to go ballistic, barking like mad? No, but I will spray him with water to shush him up if I have to! You get the point. I am a protective Mama Bear of my own quiet time and for the dear sweet quietness of rest for my darling children. I do what I need to do as most mothers do. Even if it means stepping out of what we call a “comfort zone.”



One particular evening, it’s after 9pm and the kids have had their typical day and sadly typical evening and I was in no mood to have them awoken yet again after the dust settled and peace sprang like a river, so I was very on edge when I kept hearing noise from the neighbor who lives in the condo above ours. I am used to noise. We live on a busy street and I have two kids and a dog. I am aware of the general noises of our neighbors and typically hear Mister Upstairs walking about and what not, but on this night it was beyond ridiculous. The air conditioning unit in our condo was on full blast and it’s an old one so it rattles loudly AND I was watching a movie on my computer with my ear buds in and I could STILL hear all the crazy thumping, bumping, and thwacking that was occurring above. I swear that if it continued, I would have been sitting amongst the rubble of what would have been formerly my ceiling. I swear. This type of noise has occurred before. Last year. When Mister Upstairs had what I am assuming to be his grandchildren come for a visit. Last year, I tolerated it a bit better. This year, I am older, wiser and have less patience. Maybe I am just braver and fully embracing Mama Bear status? Who knows. After maybe ten or fifteen minutes of continued rabble rousing, or so it seemed, I began to hear my children stir. Oh unh unnnn!

I grabbed my ever ferocious protector, Sebastian, mostly so he wouldn’t be left behind to bark and add to the rumpus, and I marched right up to Mister Upstairs’ door and knocked. I had to knock thrice. Yes, it was that loud. When he answered he looked annoyed at me. Really? You are going to be annoyed at me?!

“Umm, I am so sorry to bother you, but you are being kind of loud and my kids are trying to sleep….” And I believe I said it with a slightly terrified grimace.

Mister Upstairs merely stared at me with a look of defiant annoyance. Maybe it is something that elderly gentlemen master so as not to have to deal with young women?

So again, I apologize. (!!!!)

“My kids are up from New Jersey to visit,” he stated. He then just continued to stare at me with the door merely ajar so that only his menacingly large frame peeked at me from inside. And was I to merely accept this as the only information needed so that I could proceed with a relatively quieter evening? He seemed satisfied with his response. I was confused and starting to stutter.

“Oh, I am so sorry. I don’t mean to be that kind of person, you know, but, um, it’s just really loud…”

Aaaaaand nothing.

So, I turned and started to make my way back down the stairs with a mumbled, “Thanks…??” thrown over my shoulder.

Could my life be more awkward?

Oh and there’s more.

The very next day (and I was desperately hoping to avoid this), as I am walking out of the building with my kids, who is walking into the building, but Mister Upstairs. I look up and give a sheepish, shy smile and was about to choke out a “hello” when he kept his head down stiff and brushed right past me. So, I guess that would make Mister Upstairs, now, Enemy #1. To make matters worse, Mister Upstairs (aka: Enemy #1) is buddy buddy with his next door neighbor and they like to stand on the landing and chat.

The night following my terrifying confrontation, I hear Mister Upstairs’ neighbor come home and I hear him come out and they proceed to talk. So of course, being the nosy neighbor that I apparently am, I mute the television so I can hear if he mentions me. He does. And while I only heard a muffled version and an irritated tone, I am fairly certain that what I did to him (?) has upset him to the equivalent of me murdering some dear pet of his. As far as I recall, I did not harm any children or animals in said event. So now, I think he hates me and wants to slash my tires.

I am probably over-reacting. At least I hope so.

But come to think of it, Mister Upstairs (aka: Enemy #1) might actually be Enemy #2 because if Mister Downstairs saw me last Christmas put down the baked goods I left for him and then saw or heard me come back to take them back because I wasn’t sure if he was home or not and interpreted that as me being intentionally rude and mean, then that would make sense as to why he doesn’t ever say hello or look me in the face when I attempt to be neighborly with him and he would be, for all intents and purposes, Enemy #1. Oh my.

Yes, I have reached crazy Mama Bear overload. Come, Andrew, home quickly.

Book Block

I have a penchant for reading and books. Every change of the seasons brings with it for me a new tone, if you will; a new feeling in the air and thus a craving for certain types of books. Fall has a somber and ominous tone and I love reading dark stories or mysteries and especially around Halloween, I usually cave and grab for anything Edgar Allen Poe or Stephen King. Winter time is clean and bright and Dickensian almost, spring has a fresh coming of age tint to it and summer....ahhhh, summer. Summer is light and fluffy and beachy, and ridden with sunny guilty pleasures.

I have to admit, though, of late, I have not kept up with my reading. I get almost mad at myself and when I don't have a stack in order sitting right next to my bed, I almost panic. I feel slightly lost. I think I have wandered into that strange no-man's land yet again.

I've been reading up on cleanses and detoxification, but man cannot subsist on non-fiction alone and so I randomly picked up a Mitch Albom novel at the library a few weeks ago. I read it. I liked it after a while. Kind of depressing, a little preachy, interesting style and in the end, it leaves you with some happy food for thought. I picked up another one. Not the best idea for me. I tend to get a little annoyed with a writer's style if I read a number of their novels back to back. I have read the first five pages of For One More Day three times. And it is not a long book, so what is the problem? I am also reading what I thought was going to be an inspiring story of one woman overcoming a childhood and young adulthood of obsession with her weight and learning to love herself as she is and her quest for health, not size. Thin is the New Happy is not that book. Hm. Also have been reading that book for some time. I am not in any hurry to pick up either too quickly and so now what?

My husband pokes fun at me because I have a booklist online with the library. I think I have about eighty books on there that I am interested in reading. Furthermore, I have random stacks of books floating about our bedroom of books that I have bought (all on sale from the library at $3 per ginormous bag!!) and they are collecting dust. So?

The problem seems to be this: I have gone overboard. I have never been, but I can only imagine those all-you-can-eat buffets in Vegas where they have every food and dessert imaginable under the sun. I would believe that it would be almost crippling to eat there. Not only for your health, but to decide on a few small items that one could conceivably consume in one meal and then to sit and enjoy them wondering the whole time of you picked the best and most delicious combinations of foods that you could be wanting at that particular point in time. Should there be seconds? Where to start? Where to end? Too many choices! Yes, I have created too many choices.

Oh and we can't forget the rules. If you don't already know how deep the crazy is in my rabbit hole, then this will probably clue you in. I have to read a book in it's entirety ie: if I have a scholastic publication of a certain novel, I must and will read all the commentary and notes even down to copyright info ad infinitum. I feel like I gain more understanding of the author and the frame of the book that way. Maybe that's just me or maybe that's literati everywhere. I really don't know, but that's the way of it with me. This may or may not include an independent search of the author and/or events surrounding a certain novel. It all really depends. So that's that. Maybe I am getting too bogged down by all of this. Maybe it's just that carefree summer-ness which just indicates that a fluffy sunny read is necessary to clear out and calm down the madness?

Yes, I think that's just what it might be. Okay, I am starting to feel better already. Vacuum and swiffer? Nah. Dishes? Pooh! Sort and stack up top ten fluffy summer reads? OKAY! I love the smell of paper in the afternoon!

The Magic Maker

Five minutes ago, I was twelve, in junior high school and had big, big plans. I woke up this morning and I am twenty-eight years old and my life is pretty much set in stone; some portions of it anyway. Ah well, life is a crazy funny tornado of time, isn't it?

My son started walking a few days ago.

My daughter finished her first year of pre-school last week.

The kids are getting older which means more fun than ever and more work than ever. It also means, we are getting older, too, but I try not to focus on that part! One revelation I've come to within the past few years and another hat I believe that mothers wear is that of Magic Maker. We create the magic. We make the good times roll. It doesn't just happen, you know?! Summer fun? Gotta create the magic! Christmas? The presents do not wrap themselves, nor have I found self baking cookies! Vacations? No one plans those for us! We have to do it ourselves?!!! I know all this may seem self evident, but if your mom and/or dad were truly wonderful Magic Makers, then I don't think you should have noticed the seems of life until now. So, this is really a compliment to my parents, my own personal Magic Makers. I had no idea, but now I do and it's just a new side of the fun, this behind the scenes Magic Making.

Summer Fun Magic Making has commenced. Big, big plans of beach trips, walking to the park, Treadwell's ice cream over at Smolak Farms, and who knows what else. We have always talked of taking a real live family vacation... oh my! The possibilities! So now, I am twenty-eight years old and I have big, big plans. They just have taken a slight twist. I think I kinda like my Magic Maker Hat...

Me Time

In efforts to not get into a deeply stinky funk over the fact that I really only see my husband a few shorts days a month, I thought up a few perks of being a married, wife of a pilot yet "single" gal (with two kids and dog).

- I don't have to share the remote.
- I can watch cheesy girly movies to my hearts content and don't have to fight tooth and nail and face the mocking afterwards (granted the children stay asleep, of course)
- I don't have to share the bathroom.
-Not many parenting conflicts. I am the only one here so my daughter (who is the only one using actual words of late) can't run and boohoo to Daddy or ask him for a second opinion and disregard the first. What I say, goes. This is also not a perk as well, but we are looking at the bright side here!
-If passengers don't eat their catering, Andrew brings it home for us. Cheese platter, anyone? (On his LAST leg! No, he does not save food and travel around with it for a week! That's just gross.)
-Along the same lines, he brings home Splenda packets from hotels. We are super penny savers!!
-Hotel points. The past three anniversaries we have had, we were able to go away for two nights each time all using hotel points.
-We have periodic access to airplanes. No, we do not OWN a plane so we can't just load up and fly out whenever. Many, many little conditions need to be right, but we have been able to fly to Nantucket, Martha's Vineyard, New Jersey (to go to the Central Park Zoo in NYC...so fun!), and once we drove down to CT thinking we were going to be able to fly back home, but we ended up back in the car... Oh well.
-I can sit and eat popcorn for dinner.
-I can go wherever I want (with kids in tow, of course) and I don't have to run it by anyone.
-I can turn the light out and go to sleep (I need it dark and quiet to sleep, so if Andrew is home and up or in bed with the light on, I have to wait because I won't be able to sleep).
-I can pop over to my parents' house anytime I want.

There are a lot more non-perks, but this short list made me somewhat less sorry for myself.

Things That Fly Out of Our Mouths

“Do nice! Niceness! Niceness to each other!”

“Aim down so you don’t pee on your pants!” And yes, that IS directed at my female child. Go figure.

“Stop sticking things up your nose!”

“Use words or I cannot help you!”

“We don’t eat the toothpaste.”

“Mommy doesn’t like to have [insert play dough, paper towel, slice of cheese, etc. here] in her coffee.” Yes, I drank an entire cup of interesting tasting coffee only to discover a hunk of green play dough soaking on the bottom. Yum.

“Hands don’t belong down our pants.”

“Poop goes in the potty.”

“You still working on that poop?”

“We do NOT poop in the bath tub!” Yes, I have noticed it, too. So much of my daily conversations now concern base bodily functions. Exciting.

“Library books are not used to make confetti!”

“Our feet like to stay UNDER the table during dinner!”



Things that fly out of my daughter’s mouth on a daily basis:


“Where is pumpkin? Where is pumpkin? Here I am…”

“I am going to bring my pajamas into the space ship.” Yeah, that one was totally out of left field.

“That’s Alizée’s car. Want Alizée to drive? Yeah? Okay!”

“Oliver wants to sleep in my bed!”

“Whatchyoosay?!”

Recent conversation between Alizée and Uncle Matt:

A- “Now you stay right here in the bathroom and I am turning off the light and closing the door. You stay right here and do NOT open the door and do NOT call for Alizée. I am right here and you are in here because you are yelling.”
M- Completely confused and standing in a dark bathroom being scolded by a three
year old.


Come into the kitchen as breakfast is being eaten and Alizée says, “All the monkeys are eating!”

“Jesus rose again on the spaceship!” …I think we may have another cult leader on our hands!

“No, that’s my piracy!” She means privacy.

“Jus a spoonful of shoo heps the messin go down…a lox a scree, it’s very clee to see...” I used to like Mary Poppins very much until the last bout of ear infections. We have been singing it ever since.

“Oliver wants (insert whatever Alizée currently wants here)!”

“I wanna get outta here!” Yeah, well you know what? Sometimes I do too!!

Content in my "Nothingness"

I have been living under a self-imposed misapprehension for most of my adult life.

Hi. My name is Jennifer. And I believed the lie that I have to “Be Somebody” or “Do Something” in order to live a purposeful and productive life. I am now removing myself from underneath this rock that I have inadvertently placed upon myself. It’s taking some time, but I am worth it.

In Alcoholics Anonymous, they have their Twelve Steps; admitting they have a problem, submitting to a Higher Power, making amends or apologies. I guess, this could be one of my steps in telling myself that I need not apologize for who I am and who I am not. I am me and that is quite beyond good enough.

I don’t know when it began or why, as that seems to be the way with most things in life, but I have always strived towards some unknown or undiscovered goal to “Be Somebody” in this world. We always hear these statements about “making your mark” and “leaving a legacy” and while there is absolutely nothing wrong with these ideals intrinsically, they are all wonderfully exemplary, I may have taken them to a level beyond. Conversely I thought, if I did not leave my indelible mark upon this earth for people or if I have not left some massive legacy behind for my children, family, friends and anyone else than I would have been a waste of space, breathe, time and resources upon this planet. A burden. With every day that passed that I was not the best at something, anything, then I was a complete and utter failure. At absolutely everything.

I would see a person that I may have labeled “smart” reading a certain book and so I would make a mental note to read it, too. Even now, I see people doing wonderful things and being fabulously creative and for the most part, I admire it, but in all honesty, I try very hard to not become slightly jealous, not necessarily of the person, but of what they could do and are doing.

I take things too personally. It seems as though everyone around me has these wonderful talents and abilities and uses their time to hone their skills and practice or create these wonderful things and these amazing lives they seem to be living and even in light of being happy for and proud of them, I think, “What the heck is wrong with ME that I can’t do SOMETHING? ANYTHING?”

Well, I have come to a conclusion. Are you ready for this complete and utter shocker of an epiphany? This revelation? There is nothing wrong with me. I am not a waste of time or space. I am simply and wholly and completely JUST ME. No apologies. I strive to do my best and to be the best me I can be, but that is really the only thing I can do in life. The only thing any of us can do.

I love to cook, but I will probably never be a chef or The Next Food Network Star.
I love to read and write and will continue to do so. Will I ever be able to sit down and complete a novel worthy of popular publication? I do hope so.
I love my kids and my family. Will I ever get a TLC show out of it? In light of the Jon & Kate Plus 8 media storm, good God, I hope not!
I am particularly fabulous at any one thing in particular? Not that I can think of, but that is okay. I am okay.

This is not a manifesto or apology for mediocrity or laziness in the least and I hope it is not coming across as such, and even if it does, then perhaps, I am not as clear a writer as I had hoped to be at the moment, but I am still working on it. And that is entirely the point. All I can ever do is be me and enjoy my journey. I am tired of all of my own hang ups and taking upon myself the things that I think that others think I should or could be doing and/or not doing. This is all I have. This moment. And I am going to be me in it with everything I can and that is good enough.

My “nothing” seems to be a whole lot of somethings. I am living. If this is being “nothing” and doing “nothing,” then so be it. I seem to be busy enough with my “nothingness” and I am content. And this is more than good enough for me.

Spoonfuls of Sugar

SCALE
If I could only see the scale,
I'm sure that it would state
That I've lost ounces... maybe pounds
Or even tons of weight.
"You'd better eat some pancakes--
You're skinny as a rail."
I'm sure that's what the scale would say...
If I could see the scale.

From,
Falling Up
Copyright 1996 by Shel Silverstein
HarperCollins Publishers

Because It's Been Awhile

I don't know if anyone misses me when I don't write for some time so I figured I would jot a short note for the two or three people who may have felt pangs of sadness in my absence. Or not, but I felt I should say something...

We've been busy.

My son is "cruising" and into just about everything and when we tell him, "No!" to things he just smiles like he's in on our silly little game and he goes right ahead and does whatever we have tried to stop him from doing. Usually when our hands are full or our daughter has also just gotten into something. Her game is a bit more complex. She does what she knows we don't want her to do because she is an observer. She likes to push our proverbial parental buttons and see what transpires. So, yeah, busy.

My husband's schedule has been completely nutso, to say the least, lately. I cannot get over how one slight ring from his phone and every muscle in my entire body tightens. I automatically get ready to spring because every call could be dispatch and if it is, he grabs his bags and sprints out the door. Stressful? Slightly. Just a tad. I look at the calendar on the computer three dozen times a day planning every day should he be here, not be here, and should I have to move something around for whatever reason, is that at all possible? I always try to make it so. No complaints, though. I am not ranting in the least, just explaining my sabbatical from blog world for the past ten days. We have a good life and my husband loves what he does and we just do what we have to do. I think in the past few days my husband has driven back and forth from Connecticut half a dozen times. Mix ups and changes in plans and mechanics with the plane. This is precisely why those who work and the families of those who work in the travel industry rarely travel.

That and a bunch of other things and swirl the daily daily-ness of life on top of it all and there you have it. Was this a boring read? I apologize. I will be sharper and wittier and more banter friendly for the next one...

"A World of Pure Imagination"

I like to make up words:

Nastified

Stinktastic

Actually you can add the ending –tastic to almost anything. Poo-tastic, Fart-tastic, Crack-tastic, Stank-tastic, etc. It’s most funny when paired with an overabundance of a bodily function. I don’t know why.

Craxy –that was actually a typo that just got added to our everyday vernacular. Particularly crazy = craxy

Sometimes I lovingly refer to our dog, the furry baby, as Turd Muffin.

Adding –o at the end of a word is also fun.
Retard-o, Awesome-o… Those may be the only two…

If you watched late night television in the ‘90’s then you may be familiar with that SNL sketch with Rob Schneider as the copy guy who added -meister to the end of words and other such nonsense. We may have gotten adding –ster to the endings of certain words from that. Sebastian is also referred to as “The Seb-ster” or if anyone is particularly cranky, they have become a “Crank-ster” (refer to the next one and “Uber Crankster” may be applicable), etc.

One can add “uber” in front of anything other than “super” or “very.” I tend to do that a lot. Uber tired, uber nutty, uber good, uber awesome, etc.

That’s all for now…

The Backward Pajama Brigade: A Poo-tastrophe

If you ask a parent what their favorite sounds are, I am fairly confident that their child’s laughter along with the sweet serenity of silence are on the top of that list.

If you ask a parent what sounds fill them with terror of impending doom, these same items would also top the list.

If we lived on a farm, my children would be waking up the roosters. It always seems to be on the mornings where inexplicably the clock creeps past seven and perhaps even later, that the worst episodes with my children occur. First there is laughter at the crack of dawn and I am relieved that I am not waking up to screaming. Then it gets quiet. Too quiet. Quiet like it was before the arrival of the little house monkeys and so the drifting back into sleep is inevitable. Then before you know it, it’s past eight in the morning and it’s still quiet. This is when the catapult out of bed occurs and the mindless, insane dash into the children’s room happens, only to be met by a site that takes the ticks of ten to twenty seconds before the magnitude of the situation truly sinks in.

What could have occurred, you ask, that makes me fear the laughter and silence of my children? A poo-tastrophe.

If you have never experienced one, then count yourself among the blessed, fortunate, and to be envied for they are ridiculously hideously tedious and stressful and can take hours of cleaning and bleaching to return a room back to normal with only the faint smell of human excrement left behind. Forgive me if this is a tad gross, but it happens and it happens a lot, especially to us, so I am going to tell my story…

When my daughter turned two, she was still in her crib and still napped on a somewhat consistent basis, but something very disturbing began to occur. Perhaps I broached the potty training too soon. Maybe I reacted in such a way in the first instance to cause this to become a “thing” with her, but there it is and it began; she began to remove her pajamas in the mornings and at nap times and along with it, her diaper. Needless to say, the poo-tastrophe was born. When it became too consistent for my sanity, I started looking around for solutions. I read sites online and was relieved to find out that my child was not the only one indelibly and completely obsessed by their bowel movements. Yes, it is normal. But the kicker is this: One cannot reason with a two year old, one cannot fully explain the utter disgustingness of the situation, nor can one demonstrate what it takes to un-contaminate from such an episode. Thus we are left with the one lesson I have learned and have had learned the hard way: There are some things in parenting we cannot do anything about. In other words, you have just got to deal! Which is what I began to do.

I talked to other moms who dealt with similar issues and received a slew of advice and encouragement. I could not in good conscience duct tape a diaper to my child. Sleeping with her in her room or sitting with her until she slept simply did not work at all. Even when it kept occurring, I tried many different responses: the shock and clean up along with lots of “No, no!!!” and “We don’t throw poo! It’s yucky” with stern looks, the shut out with clean up and ignoring the proud looks and “See, it’s poop!” and even the time outs and removing of toys to discourage it. None to any avail. Then I started putting on pajamas backward. Stretch and twist the footsies to the front and zip it and button it up the back! She would still poop during bedtimes and naptimes but at least it remained contained and much easier to dispose! The poo-tastrophes were over.

My daughter has since been more or less potty trained and the fiascos have been more or less becoming minimal and we have almost forgotten the strain and tension that came along with sleep times in our home…until recently…

My son is just over one year old and he shares a room with my daughter. There have been a few incidents, as she enjoys climbing into his crib and keeping him entertained. This entertainment has taken a turn for the worst.

In all attempts to be the best that I can be and to prevent as much as I can, I get the bright idea, yet again, to put my second child’s pajamas backwards. If he gets out of them, then I know of a little girl who might have possibly (most definitely) “helped” in the situation.

This was last night.

8 a.m. this cloudy morning. Silence, then slight giggles. Catapult out of bed. Rush through kids’ bedroom door and the horror has begun yet again.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...”

The Doctor is Out

Healthcare in this country is a complete travesty. It truly has become an oxymoron. There is not much about “care” or “health” left, but more of a bureaucratic exercise in herding the masses through a dizzying maze of red tape and flaming hoops to get us absolutely nowhere with no care whatsoever. This has been my experience, unfortunately. There is so much injustice in this world and I feel blessed to live in a country where there are hospitals in every town and the plague, polio, tuberculosis and other ailments of the past have become eradicated, more or less, but the ridiculousness of getting in to see a doctor for a mere “well visit” has become an event resulting in futility. It seems that the only way I can get to a doctor is to become so very ill that it is absolutely necessary for me to have emergency care, where it is against the law for them to turn me away. Of course, I then receive a sizeable bill in the mail weeks later when insurance denies coverage of the visit. All of it is wrong. All wrong. On all levels. Wrong, wrong, wrong. In the definition of the word “insurance” are the words, “guarantee of compensation” and “provision of protection,” but frankly, all I get is a bunch of dropped calls, astronomical bills, letters of mumbo jumbo and when the moment of truth comes, where all seems to be settled, I am so close to seeing the doctor that I can smell the antiseptic, the crinkly white paper gets pulled right out from underneath my lily white …well, you know. Can life be more comical? Really?

If I hear the words, “You are no longer eligible” from one more insurance phone operator Gestapo one more time, I think I may go completely postal and become one of those ranting, raving people who show up at a call center demanding rights and compensation, only to be thrown in a padded wagon by the men in the white jackets. Hey, but in that case, at least I would get to see a doctor! How can I no longer be eligible when absolutely NOTHING has changed since when they said I was, in fact, eligible? Why this keeps occurring over and over and over and over again astounds me utterly.

I don’t pretend to know everything about the politics that surround nationalized or socialized care versus private care or if those are even the proper terms. In fact, I know very little. I do understand that there are abuses to the system and health care providers, doctors, nurses, technicians, and all the rest deserve the highest salaries for the services they render. My mother was a nurse for twenty some odd years. I have friends who are nurses and I have acquaintances with a doctor or two. They work hard and do not deserve to have their services belittled, their knowledge taken for granted, and they should be given their due for their work. Should the system be so difficult, however? Should it be so ridiculously expensive? Accidents happen to the best of us, more often than not, we are paying insurance, yet still, somehow unprepared. What middle-class American has $60,000 stashed away in the event that they need their appendix out? Or gallbladder? Or worse? More often than not, the insurance companies that we pay to protect us in these cases, end up as more of a hindrance, giving us headaches on top of it all refusing to pay for any reason under the sun. I am not asking for a tutorial in healthcare and insurance so if you see errors in my logic (which I am sure most will), please refrain from enlightening me. Bottom line? Every hard working American citizen especially those of us who sacrifice to stay home and take care of our husbands and children should not be penalized and given second rate (or what seems like fifth or sixth rate) handouts masked as “care.” My response to all of this? Those immortal words, “It’s just not fair!”
Well, I was always told that life isn’t fair. Let the battle rage on.

Your Turn

I have two sets of children- the ones I have to deal with alone and the ones they become when their father is home.

The children I deal with on a daily basis can be cute and sweet, but let’s face reality. Kids are kids and they aren’t going to be perfect all the time. Sometimes it seems I get the less than perfect children when I am alone with them. I know they love me and their acting up with me just shows that they know I love them unconditionally and they are comfortable with me, their mother. That is as it should be, but sometimes, I want to be to the unfamiliar one that they run to all excited because they haven’t seen me in days. I want to be the one for whom they are scrupulously well behaved. I want to be the fun parent and I do try to be, but when I am home alone with a one year old and a three year old for days and days on end without break excepting the hours between midnight and four in the morning, give or take, it starts to wear on a mother’s nerves! Things that crack up any other outside observer become increasingly annoying. The cute little comments that come out of my daughter’s mouth at nine at night when she is supposed to be in bed are no longer funny. My son’s screeching that sounds to me what I can only imagine a pterodactyl might have sounded, is no lounger amusing, but penetratingly shrill and needs to cease before it begins!

We are running into the tenth day of Daddy’s Trip. He was home briefly last night and has a day trip today, but should be home tonight to stay for six days and it’s a good thing. I am getting worn down and I need to see the other set of children. My husband’s set of children. They are funny and sweet and crack me up. Why? Because when Daddy is home and they act up, he gets to deal with it!

Here’s to holding my breathe until nightfall…

Does a Rose WITHOUT a Name Smell as Sweet?

Naming a character for a novel, or play, or short story, or anything for that matter, seems to me to be quite difficult as names mean so many things and carry a lot with them. What about a book where the characters are left unnamed? Is that possible? Sure. It would be wordy as the characters would have to be identified somehow, but with no true name given.... hmmm.

So many iconic figures in literature are unnamed and it fascinates me:

The Man with the Yellow Hat... Curious George
Frankenstein's Creation... Frankenstein
The Woman at the Well... The Holy Bible
Sam's Friend... Green Eggs and Ham

Can anyone think of any others?

The Juggler

It’s a dreary, drizzly Saturday morning and I have refused to let the children get out of bed with an, “It’s too early to be up! See, the sun isn’t even out yet,” knowing full well that it’s raining and, no, the sun does not come out on rainy days. They don’t know that and they need sleep. The oldest is in and out of bed until past nine on even a good day and the youngest likes to wake up at four. Needless to say, no one is heeding what they seem to take as my unsolicited advice and I am taking a much-needed early morning Mommy Needs Peace and Coffee Moment. So, let it be.

In our house when anyone gets up, sometimes even before, even if it is go to the bathroom at four or five in the morning, Sebastian assumes it is time for breakfast and his potty break outside. He wanders around and around and whimpers until he is fed and taken out. Since, it’s just me while Andrew is gone, obviously I have a system. Sebastian comes first in the morning routine while the kids are in bed. I took him out in the grey wet morning air this morning. The fresh cool air is nice in the morning and it’s so quiet outside and I had a thought. Motherhood is all about juggling. We are jugglers and damage control coordinators.

I know other mothers and the story is as old as sliced bread: Husband comes home from work, takes a look around and asks the dreaded question that is likely to set anyone who has had little sleep, dealt with little people all day long who have very little command of the English language and respond in opposite ways than is usually appropriate to any given direction, situation, etc. He asks, “What have you been doing all day?”
Every mother is full aware when the kids are still in pajamas at five o’clock, the sink is full of dishes, hair is still uncombed and perhaps even teeth have been left unbrushed. Why, he asks… Why? Because mothers need to juggle and handle damage control. Sometimes, all the time, maybe less often when the children get older? At least, this is how I feel on any given day. Juggler and Damage Control Coordinator to the rescue!

My husband travels and is gone for sometimes a week or more at any given time and he knows better than to ask anything even remotely sounding like that sort of question. I am sure that when he opens the door when he comes home he is probably fully prepared to walk into any kind of crazy situation that might be occurring. Especially because of his erratic travel schedule, we juggle and there always seems to be damage control. I can even hear my mother’s voice in my head at times saying, “This is only a season.” Logically, I know that, but when you are in the thick of it, it’s tough. Any mother out there has been there and will agree.

Maybe I say all this because it’s Easter weekend and it’s a “Family Time” and one major component of our nuclear family is absent and so I am feeling, full force, The Juggler taking over. Today we do our Easter Fun and instead of dying eggs this year, my mother in law gave us a cake pan with bunny shaped craters for the batter, so we will make and decorate little bunny cakes. Very cute! Tomorrow afternoon? Easter egg hunt along with baskets. I am preparing for sugar filled days, which means I will have to scrape my daughter down from the ceiling. So until the festivities begin and The Juggler swings into action, I sit in the dim morning light and type this, sipping my creamy coffee basking in the brief, but very necessary serenity before it all begins…

The American Way

We have been treading water lately. There is so much going on and so little time to do it all in, but that is always how the story of life seems to go. 

We have a lot of swirling changes and we seem to find ourselves exiting and entering perpetually revolving doors, but again, such is the spice of life, or so "they" say. Who "they" are, I have not figured out as of yet, but don't worry. When I do find out, I will definitely let everyone in on the little secret. 

We have a new addition, two of them, actually. No, there are no wee ones incubating. We have treated ourselves to a new media cabinet and a new fifty inch television. It really was past due. For our entire life together, my husband and I, and now our family have had the same television that I had gotten for my college dorm room. We affectionally referred to it as "the Euro t.v." as it was petite and not fashionably new and super-sized as most American things tend to be. Goodbye, our teeny tiny t.v. You have served us well! Sometime between now and Friday (Isn't that always the way when things are being delivered?), our new television shall arrive and be settled in to serve us in our entertainment ventures upon our new media stand that we rushed out to purchase and had strapped to the roof of Frank the Tank just as it started to rain. As we drove out of the parking lot with the rhythmic thumping of a stray cord flapping on the roof along with the tapping of the rain, I couldn't help but mention to my husband that perhaps he should double check his tie job as I could just envision us standing on the side of the highway with a brand new piece of obliterated furniture being driven over in the rain by trucks on Route 95. I have a very vivid imagination and can be slightly paranoid. He gave his assurances and we made it home, furniture in tact in time to set up and see rain delay the opening Red Sox game. It's all fine and dandy to me. Maybe the new t.v. will be here in time for the re-scheduled game tomorrow. My husband deserves it. He works very hard and it's high time he got his new toys. I am sure not upset about seeing Ina up close and personal making her raspberry pavlova. Nor will my daughter be sorry to see Curious George life size. Yes, we all win with this one. 

Here's to super-sizing! It's the American way! 

Mental Health Moment

It seems to me, that children spend a great deal of time wanting to grow up and do what they want and when grown, most adults wish they were children again, or at least act like they are younger than they are and do everything they can to stay young. America is an increasingly youth driven society. Crazed by it. Fifty years ago, were women lining up around the corner at the "Good Doctor's" office for botox, butt implants, boob lift, lipo, and whatever else they do now? I wonder, but I really don't think it was a focus. I am all for self improvement and if I had the money, I would probably be one of the first in line waiting for any number of improvements on my problem areas. Conversely, shouldn't we embrace what is ours and just enjoy the moment for what it is? I know, I know, I can say this now because I am 28 years old, but is being young really all that great? I can't help but think that people look down upon the young and yet they want to be one of them. We look up to the elderly for their wisdom and yet fear becoming them. We live in this crazy catch-22 of our minds and in society. Will it never end? I am the biggest culprit, so I am not pointing any fingers. I need to hear this to make myself feel better, in the least which is why I am writing it.
Embrace the moment and what is in front of you. This moment is only here now and then, truly in a breathe, it is gone. What are you living for? What is it that you have always wanted to do and haven't done yet? Live. Do it. As my looks start to go (and don't get on my case, I know I have a baby face and porcelain skin, but I see my flaws facing me in the mirror every day just like everyone else does), and my eyes start to strain, and the weight doesn't want to come off like it used to, what else do I have? A lot! Being young isn't everything. It's what you do with the life you have. It seems best to stop getting hung up in the little things that snag on us on a daily basis and focus on and enjoy, even if they are small and few and brief, those moments that give our life it's meaning.

One of my favorite quotes is from Ralph Waldo Emerson- "Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."
US essayist & poet (1803 - 1882)

Let us ignore our blunders and absurdities. Do what my mother taught me and "Celebrate the moment!" Young, old, in between, whatever, don't let the nonsense get you down.

And I leave you with a catchy little song that helps me along...

Cast On, Cast Off

I learned to knit, yes I did say knit, when I was a child. One of my mother’s friends taught me. I cannot remember who this was or how it all came about, but there it is. Some lady gave me some yarn and needles and taught me to knit. If only I could remember who that was I would search her out and thank her to the point of embarrassment. Okay, so maybe not that far, but I would love to thank her. So whoever you are, wherever, little Jenn Veillette says, “Thank you. So much!”

As of late, I have realized that there is a wonderfully wide world of yarn and knitting and all kinds of creativity of that sort out there. I do say as of late because it really just occurred to me. Truly. How stupid must I be that I never gave it much thought? I know I am not a dumb person, per se, but I really feel like one of the rounder crayons in the box over this one. Knitting was knitting and you made scarves. That was that. I knew how to do a simple knit stitch on the needles that I had, and you started and you knitted and you stopped and there you had it- a scarf. What else was there? Well, there is a lot more than that, my friends!

There are many occasions in my life where if I could, I would do almost anything it took to go back in time and walk right up to myself to just smack myself in the face if it would assist in my figuring out a few things just a tad faster than it actually took me. Over this, this is one of those things

A dear and very crafty friend of mine who crochets lovely, lovely things mentioned that she was going to sell her wares online (http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=6783596)
and that was my 60 watt moment; a revelation, sadly enough. A light flooded a dark, damp room in my mind, “I can make things! I can knit! Why haven’t I ever done that before?” Short of the odd knitted scarf here and there, why had it never occurred to me that booties, socks, finger puppets, hats and so on and so forth forever and ever amen, were literally at the ends of my pink aluminum needles? Now, I have learned since that spark of creativity hit that just because I can knit two, purl one, does not mean I will just automatically start churning out crazy creations worth actual money. I still, obviously, have much, much more to learn and I am working on a few things and challenging myself, but in the past few months I have made three scarves (I know, I know, more scarves, but I was practicing different stitches and patterns on something familiar first!) and a hat for my son which turned out to be a tad too big and I didn’t finish it properly so there were holes left at the top, but the point is, I did it! And I am going to keep on doing it.

Maybe I will put up some pictures when I start making impressive things, so stay tuned until then! Oh, and Ms. Knitting Lady who taught Little Jenn V. to become all she could be with her sticks, I would love to knit you a pretty little throw and kick my heels up and say, “Look what I can do!” a la Stewart.

So, if there are days when you don’t hear from me or see me online, don’t freak out. I am either with my kids and keeping them healthy, fed and clean, or I am on www.purlsoho.com (Again, props to Dana!) racking up a bill of yarn and tidbits for my husband to pay and getting my knit on.

Tedious Reading

I have been reading Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness since sometime last year and I just cannot get into it. I thought that it might have something to do with it being “boy” literature. I had the same problem with Melville’s Moby Dick. I can appreciate certain works as classic and give them their due for their arching scope, but there are some books that I hate reading. I can hear the gasps.

I thought that maybe I just like “girl” literature because, well, I AM a girl and grew up reading Little House on the Prairie and Little Women, one of my absolute favorites of all time, but I love Orwell’s 1984 and Heller’s Catch 22 and Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. If those would need to be classified as well, they would be either/or if not “boy” literature. So that cannot be it.

Perhaps, it isn’t male versus female types of literature. Reading can be subjective. Not completely, however, because I am a firm believer that certain works should be read and have value whether one has the passing whim to like it or not. While one may or may not like a work, as long as they understand and can appreciate the weight of a piece, then consuming it was not for naught.

This is where I am with Conrad. Here’s hoping it starts to hit me…

My Apologies to the Neighbors

It’s been almost three years since we first moved into our first some-what permanent home, our little condo. A lot has changed since first signing those papers and moving in. One thing is that we now have neighbors. Down stair neighbors.

When my little family moved into our current little condo in the summer of 2006, we were just that, a little family. My daughter was just six months old and our pug, Sebastian was a year and a half. We had been actively looking for a place to call home for some time and weren’t quite able to make the financial stretch it would take to purchase a house, so we settled on a cute little condo that we felt would suit us comfortably for three to five years even in the event of another little arrival. Two bedrooms, gleaming hardwood floors, access to washer and dryer in the building, balcony perfect for a little grill and planters for flowers and a teeny herb garden. And it’s on the second floor. Since a condo was the direction we had decided to go, I wanted something off the ground floor for security purposes because Andrew traveled so frequently. Both condos downstairs were vacant. We, of course, thought nothing of it, as it was no concern to us.

Fast forward to today. We are now a burgeoning family of four with the dog making five. And we now have neighbors who live in the condo below us. I just hope that they bought that home with the knowledge of our existence. Perhaps they were showed the place in the dead of night. God only knows. All I know now is this: we are loud and they aren’t deaf.

From the hours of six in the morning to, at times, well past the hour of nine, they are privy to the crazy cacophonous symphony of stamp, crash, bang, smash that has become our daily lives. Let’s face facts- three year olds and one year olds are not quiet and neither are dogs. Well, ours at least. He likes to alert us of all the non-existent dangers to which we are apparently exposing ourselves such as the vacuum woman who cleans the vestibule and the elderly man, Mr. W, who lives in the unit above. Should he have gotten used to all this “noise” by now? Probably. Has he? No. Now, I know the neighbors can hear us. I am certain of it. How do I know this? Because I can hear them. Especially in the bathroom. Nothing gross, but a particularly loud and well-timed sneeze, cough, or bark of their dogs resonates well in that portion of our home. I can only imagine what they must be thinking at times. What appears to the naked eye, I am sure, is not at all how it must sound at any given time to the errant bathroom listener. Picture this: a young mother such as myself (or maybe exactly like me) bringing her little daughter to the potty, getting ready to get her settled down to business, and there is a minor struggle of wills until the child eventually does what she needs to do to move on with the day. Now, with the volume turned up, one might hear a completely different and invariably skewed version to the story. Block the picture and the sound goes something like this:

Mom: It’s time to go potty.

Child: I don’t want to.

Mom: It’s time to go potty.

Child: I DON’T WANT TO!

Mom: We are going to go potty before we do anything else. Sit down, right now!

Child: I DON’T WANT IT! IT HURTS ME! I DON’T WANT IT!

Ad infinitum. And I am pretty sure that the “Mom” part is not heard over the healthy young lungs of the child. So erase that part and you really get an interesting ear full. One that I pray doesn’t ever bring the police along with Child Protective Services to my door.

We know a change will be beyond necessary very, very soon, if not, yesterday. So until then, my sincerest apologies to the wonderfully patient and longsuffering couple that lives below. May God grant all your wildest wishes for putting up with our racket and sweet silence and peace upon our departure.

For a long time I have thought that posting a blog for purposes other than updating family and friends on major life events was and is slightly, if not blatantly, narcissistic. Even reading blogs and especially reading them and not commenting or letting the reader know you read their blog is voyeuristic. Stalker-ish even, maybe? Mea culpa, but I digress and that is another story. My husband has been on my back for a long, long time trying to get me to set up a blog. In fact, he did this for me. Thanks, by the way, Andrew. I have balked it for a long time mostly because I am a private person and have never been one for “tooting my own horn” or making a display of myself. The web log, “blog,” is the Internet Age’s way of screaming, “Look at me! I am a person just like you, but I MUST be so much more interesting than you are because I am writing online and I have gotten people to read it.” Comments equal love and popularity. You are one of the “cool kids” if you blog. Slightly distasteful, in my meager opinion. I still hold these opinions, but here I am, anyway. Look at me! Read me! I am important, too! There. Happy? On to “tooting”…

 

Since my childhood days of learning the alphabet, I have had a love affair with the written word. At the age of nine, I had these little notebooks and I would jot down little tidbits and simple little poems about nature and time. I started journaling in earnest at the age of eleven. I started my first novel at the age of twelve on a little electric typewriter. Clack, clack, clack; clack, clack. I loved how important that noise sounded. At fourteen my absolute favorite Christmas present that year was my Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language. I have grown up being a reader. I recall a fourth grade field trip walk to the library and frozen yogurt shop that went awry and the library visit was cut and we went directly to the yogurt shop. I may have been the only one totally disappointed to get a frozen yogurt sans book. I majored and earned my B.A. in English because I wanted to go to college, but all I really wanted to do there was read and dissect novels and writing. I brought three books on my two-week honeymoon and after the first week I was finished with them all and searching for anything not in Spanish at the resort in Cancun. I brought books with me to the hospital for the births of both of my children, just in case I had any spare time to read. It’s a life long story. All that to say this: Any idiot can blog, but if there were qualifications, I would have them.

 

It is not in my personality to do things like this, but perhaps it’s about time I checked that portion of my personality. Maybe I do have something to say and it’s worth something and perhaps someone does want to read it. I have wasted so much time worrying about what others might think of me, how things reflect upon me. I have held myself to these lofty ideals. “Blog? Nah. It seems so narcissistic, don’t you think? ”

 

Behold yet another Narcissus. And we all fall down.