capicola

Tires and soaps and doctors

2012-02-06T13:44:00.013-05:00

I went to get new tires for my van on Friday and ended up spending close to five hours in the auto shop. It turns out there were many more things wrong with my van than it just needing new tires. What kinds of things? I have no idea, because when the nice man came over to sit down and tell me the bad news, all I heard was blah, blah,blah, blah, blah, blah. I tried hard to look interested and like I knew what he was saying, but while he was rambling on and on, I was only thinking, "I really wish you would stop talking so I could tell you to call my husband. You aren't making any sense to me, but I bet you would never guess that by the concerned look on my face."

Being there for as long as I was proved to delightful. I got to catch up on my daytime soaps, which I haven't watched in more than two decades. Rest assured, people are still sleeping with people they shouldn't be sleeping with and babies are still being born to mothers who have kept the pregnancy hidden from even the closest of friends, and no one is really sure who the father is, but it certainly is not the man living with the mother of the baby. Unfortunately no one came back to life while I was watching. That was sad for me as I always love to see a person come back to life after having died in something like a fiery plane crash. It gives me hope that if I ever die like that I may somehow come back to life.

On top of watching disturbingly good looking people overact, I got to watch the Dr. Oz show. Do you know who he is? He's that overly hairy doctor Oprah forced on us several years ago. He likes to talk about bowel movements. Not only does he like to talk about them, he encourages you to go look at yours and discuss it with your doctor. It's all so interesting and educational. He also does programs in which he lovingly spreads fear into our lives by stating, with one hundred percent accuracy, that apple juice contains dangerous levels of arsenic. Hearing that kind of news doesn't bother me though, as I only allow my kids to drink beverages containing alcohol.

On Friday, Dr.Oz was talking about how to lose weight successfully and keep it off. It was almost like I was destined to have something horrible happen to my car, just so I could be present to see this show. Dr. Oz conducted an experiment on this particular episode in which he allowed three women who were on diets the luxury of cheating for one day. They actually received, at their front door, a box in which Dr Oz left a note telling them he was allowing them to cheat. (Knowing his love of all things poop I really was worried that when they opened the box it would contain fecal matter.) Anyway, as you can imagine, getting permission from the one and only Dr. Oz to go ahead and cheat on their diets was thrilling for the women.

The next segment showed said ladies indulging in levels of gluttony that proved to be so disgusting that I promised myself whenever I was about to be a glutton, which is typically everyday around noon and five PM, I would think of these women. The only thing worse than seeing them eat like this was that Dr Oz. kept calling their cheat day, "Faturday." He assured them that they would be allowed to cheat once a week ( that's where his clever name of Faturday came from) , but he was going to show them how to do it properly. See, he really does have all the answers! He used the word Faturday so much and I was so repulsed by it that I am thinking of crossing out all the days of the week on my calendar and calling everyday Faturday, as I truly believe it may make me want to spot eating forever.

Long story short I was so bored and annoyed with Dr. Oz that I went outside and walked up and down Route 19 for several minutes and contemplated throwing myself into traffic just so I would never again have to hear or see the hairy beast that is Dr. Oz. Then I reminded myself that life is not a soap opera and if I did get struck by a car and die I may truly be dead forever so I went back in and sat down and read The Orlando Sentinel. That just made me want to go run back out into traffic again. Really, how hard can it be to publish a well written and interesting newspaper? Apparently very hard. I am much too tired to complain any further so I'm just going to shut up for now. Happy Faturday!

Life. As simple as I want it.

2012-01-25T08:16:00.010-05:00

My fans have requested a new post. Okay, it was only my sister, but she holds a lot of power over me so I caved in and will try to come up with something.

The truth is that my life is humming along a rather boring pace and I have nothing much to blog about. Before you feel sorry for me and my dull life, realize that I work hard to keep things as calm and simple as possible. When I say boring and dull I don't mean that we are doing nothing, I just mean that nothing we are doing is interesting to other people. We wake, we pray, we eat, we do school, we talk, we have lunch, we do a little more school. I take kids to the library or to friend's houses or downtown or wherever. Neighborhood kids come over, ask if we have any snacks, I make something, listen for the thanks, rest on the couch, get up. Make dinner and eat dinner and walk the dog and go to bed.

In between, children leave scooters in the driveway, I run them over, ( the scooter, not the kids), ruin my bumper, empty threats are made, apologies are given and accepted. Laundry piles up, laundry gets done, dishes pile up, dishes get done, I ride my bike, buy some songs on itunes, go to the beach, read to Maggie, clean toilets, pull hair from drains and throw it at the wall and laugh. Wonder if I should leave it there. Who will notice? Only me. I clean it up.

Go to church, leave feeling refreshed. Ten minutes later we are all arguing in the car and I'm asking if anyone listened to anything. Silence, but only for a minute. We go for family bike rides and forget Maggie's helmet and shoes and Greg takes care of it, again. We're off on our way. We go to the park and the beach and for walks. We talk. We laugh. We eat. We yell. We say we're sorry.

I check in bedrooms and see piles of messes and am told to stop saying we belong on Hoarders. But we do belong there. I empty the fridge, I clean the fridge, I wonder why no one throws out empty containers and I leave some in there just for fun, just so I can say "see, how do you like it?" And they never like it.

Friends come over for lunch, children play, cry when they have to leave, we assure the little one she will see her friends again and very soon. I take a walk with a close friend. We laugh till we can't breath. We talk about our kids and school and life. I get in my car and am happy. Realize it's late and dark and I may run out of gas on the way home. Panic. Make it to the station, promise I will never do that again. But I will.

Think about my sister. Miss my sister. Send my sister an email telling her I will buy a new phone this week so I can call her. I said this last week, too. And the week before. Assure her I have nothing exciting to tell her anyway.( Write this post to prove my point. )

Take Buster for a walk at night. Warm and quiet and peaceful. Almost start to cry over the embarrassment of riches that is my life. Try to remind myself not to take it for granted. Dull, boring, quiet, whatever you want to call it, I'll take it as long as I'm given it. I've been blessed and I know it.

Random thoughts

2012-01-11T07:59:00.003-05:00

Greg put the kibosh on my bike trip to Ormond Beach. He said it was too dangerous, that I was nuts and there was no way, no how, this was happening. Jane felt bad for me and said, "I believe in you mommy!" to which Greg said, "what do you believe in? Her ability to get murdered in Ocala National Forest?" And then after I started thinking about it I realized it was probably pretty dangerous and foolish and I was kind of relieved, because at the end of the year, when I look at the list of things I wanted to do, I can blame Greg ( instead of my own laziness) for this one not happening.

Maggie and me were having lunch together yesterday and she told me she is going to have three daughters. And here is exactly how she put it ... '"the left one is going to be named Agnes, the middle one will be Mary and the right one will be Margaret." I mean is that the cutest thing ever? Left, right and middle. Oh it is just too much. Go ahead and admit that I have the cutest child ever. She also told me that when she grows up and has babies she is going to call me and tell me she isn't " feeling so well" and can I take her kids to the beach. So although she is a cute four year old, she is already planning on how to be a manipulative adult who talks me into doing things for her. She really is quite brilliant!

I decided to stop drinking diet coke. This has nothing to do with my health. It has to do with the fact that I really think I was becoming addicted to it and that feeling was bugging me. It's been two days and I'm dying. Really. I'm pretty sure that in all the world no one has ever suffered the way I'm now suffering. Is there anything so sweet sounding as the crack of a diet coke opening and being poured over ice? Admit it, you know the sound and it's pretty great. I was drinking probably four or five or fifteen cans a day and I needed to stop. This reminds me of the time Greg and I went away for our 10th wedding anniversary and my parents came and watched the kids. I bought two twelve packs of caffeine free diet coke, as my father likes it and I am wonderful daughter who strives to accommodate her parents. We were gone for about twenty four hours and in that time my dad managed to drink twenty four cans of soda. I wasn't completely shocked, as it's really not that hard to do. Anyway, as I'm telling this story I realize, yet again, that all of my problems with self control can be traced back to someone other than myself.

I've already posted about this on facebook, but too bad, it's so distressing I must write about it here, too. My children ate two jars of Nutella in a matter of hours. (Yes, the self control issues have been passed along, not my fault though). The best part is that everyone is claiming to have had only one spoonful. My best friend used to make jokes about how her mom would tell her and her siblings that she didn't buy a lot of food because they would just eat it. And Sue and I would laugh and laugh about how foolish that sounded. I mean the point of food is to eat it, right? But then I had kids and this line of thought became completely sane to me. I do this all the time. I walk around the store and remove things from my cart because I think, nah, they're just going to eat this, it's not worth it. I end up buying things I know they won't eat. I come home with hundred of dollars worth of food each month and my kids haul in the groceries and they look in the bags and the first they say is, "there's nothing to eat." And then I know I've done my job well and that makes me happy.

And so ends my random thoughts for the day. Have a nice one!

On being humble

2012-01-03T13:22:00.003-05:00

Several months ago I was reading an article about Mary, about how she "kept all these things in her heart," much preferring to ponder things, rather than talking about them endlessly and with everyone she came into contact with. The article was encouraging the bizarre notion of quiet contemplation. I cringed a little, as I am one for telling my close friends just about every thought that comes into my mind. Pondering things is strange and difficult. How will everyone know how I've been wronged if I can't tell them? How will everyone know how wonderful my life is if I don't talk about it? How will people always have me on their minds if I am not constantly inserting myself into their thoughts?

After I read the article I decided I may need to work on humility, on keeping things a little more to myself, on not making things about me all the time, maybe even pray and contemplate things before going to people first. It was all a very novel idea for me and quite difficult to manage. My friend Terri can attest to this, as she is often the recipient of hundreds of my text messages and emails each week. Yes, most of what I have to say is vitally important, but every once in a while, one or two messages slips through that are perhaps not critical.

The reason I'm writing about this now is because I was thinking about my Nana last night. I think about her as much now as I ever have. I walk in the evenings and when I look up at the stars in the sky I know she is up there, cheering me on and that never, ever fails to make me smile. Last night I was thinking about how on the surface my Nana didn't always seem like a humble woman who kept things to herself.

My Nana was not shy about telling you how beautiful she was, or how lovely people always told her she looked, or how when she went to people's houses they were always amazed at the small amount of food she required..."and they said, but Barbara, is that really all you're going to eat? My granddaughter, they couldn't believe it!" The truth is, my Nana was beautiful and she honestly never overindulged in food, so she knew herself quite well and you can't really call that bragging, can you?

Last night I was thinking of the time we somehow got on the topic of abortion. Current events were not typically discussed between me and my Nana. Her stories were much more captivating than anything I could have read in a paper or heard on the news, but for some reason this discussion came up and I wanted to hear what my Nana had to say. Along with being beautiful and having a small appetite, she was brilliant ( which she would also freely tell you) and I loved hearing her insight. She looked at me and then she looked down. She was shaking her head and she had one of her hands propped on her cheek, a gesture she often took when she was about to say something full of thought. "Ann Marie, you can't imagine years ago what girls used to do when the got pregnant. You can't imagine. Oh those poor girls!" She looked like she may cry. And then she said, "I don't know, I don't know. You pray, my granddaughter, you pray!" No judgement, no harsh words, nothing more than compassion and sorrow for other people's suffering and an awareness that even when you know the correct answer, sometimes you have to leave it up to God and prayer. True humility. On the big things, my Nana was indeed humble, just like Mary, whom she happened to be extremely devoted to.

I've read this post through and I realize it isn't particularly well written or cohesive - it's sort of all over the map but these thoughts were going to escape me if I didn't get them down and I can't let that happen and I don't have time right now to write well. Sorry about that.

Some things I want to do in 2012

2011-12-29T12:57:00.008-05:00

I've gotten lazy with my writing so I think I'll do another list as this seems like the only way I'm going to manage getting thoughts down. Here's a list of some things I want to happen in 2012. This may go beyond being a list and end up being a rambling mess of thoughts.

I want to avoid all serious political talk, news and opinions. For those living under a rock, or the less informed people reading my blog, 2012 happens to be an election year, which means that many people will feel ready to share their feelings on all things related to our country and everyone who doesn't agree with them, whether they be on the left or right, will be deemed evil, unpatriotic, moronic, going to hell. Politics brings out the side of people I have no interest in seeing. Talking about politics is like talking about sex. There simply is no dignified way to do it and it must be avoided at all costs. Trust me, no one can talk seriously about politics without getting someone's panties in a bunch. Life is too short for such foolishness. Oh, notice I said serious political talk. Of course I'll be watching John Stewart and Stephen Colbert and Saturday Night Live, because if you are going to talk about politics, it should only be done with a huge dose of humor. Precautions will be taken when visiting Facebook, where people love sharing opinions (which are sometimes accidentally presented as truths. )

I want to write more, but I must be honest and say the chances of this happening are slim to none, but I really WANT to. I just need to think of things to write about. Lately my mind has been a vast expanse of nothingness when it comes to writing. Everything seems boring and silly and a waste of time to write about. Maybe I am depressed! No, I kid, I just said that because Anthony keeps using that line in order to get out of doing anything related to things that might not qualify as fun. Taking the garbage out and picking up his room and doing all of his schoolwork - all of these things have lost the abundant joy they used to hold for him and his only response is that he must be depressed. And so I say, "well Anthony, when exactly did taking the garbage out lose it's joy, when was the last time you skipped to the curb, happily doing that chore? If we could just narrow it down we could solve this mystery." But he just gets more depressed and storms off telling me I'm not funny to which I can only say, "well, I'm a little funny." This is the thing about ads on TV and in magazines and on the radio that you must watch for. Crafty children are always on the lookout for ways to get out of doing what they should be doing, but don't want to be doing. I give Anthony points for creativity, as he is the first of my children to try and pull off the, "it's so weird, I'm too depressed to clean my room" routine.

I want to ride my bike to Ormond Beach. Not ON Ormond Beach, but TO Ormond beach. Right now my husband, otherwise known as "the dream killer" is reading this ( and pretending he's not) and thinking what a stupid idea this is. But the ride there is mostly back country and I think it would be fun. I love my bike and I love the beach, why not combine them? Have I planned any of it out, do I even know how many miles it is or how long it would take? No, and so that is why this will most likely not happen and why this list is called Things I WANT and not things I WILL do. I'm not stupid enough to say I'm going to do something! I know myself very well. I stopped pretending I was going to do anything years ago.

An old and much loved family friend sent me a Christmas card and inside she wrote, "dare to be average in 2012." This friend also told me one time, as I was lamenting getting sucked into doing things I didn't want to do, "No is a sentence." She has some pretty good phrases. Anyway, average is good. I like it. It's do-able. I'm well versed in average. I want 2012 to be the year of average.

list

2011-12-23T14:43:00.003-05:00

I used to make lists, but I never accomplished anything that was written on the lists, so I stopped making them. Today, because I happened to be sitting near a piece of paper and a pencil (it happens sometimes when you homeschool your kids, but only sometimes) I thought to myself hey, why not make a list. I got bored pretty quickly so the only thing I wrote down was pick Anthony up from basketball camp at 2:30. As it turns out, Anthony was meant to get picked up at 2:00, so the list turned out to be an epic fail.

Now tell me, if I were to begin writing more posts, would the previous story be the kind of thing you would be looking for? I mean that is some pretty hardcore writing right there. The truth is, I can't seem to get on the computer and write about much of anything but I saw that I had only written one post this month so I decided to try and fix that.

How about a list to wrap up 2011! This will be a fun list.

Favorite books I read this year... The Liar's Club and lit, both memoirs and both by Mary Karr, and Surrender! by Fr. Larry Richards. I like to do one of three things when I read...laugh, cry or think about things more deeply. If a book does all three it's a bonus and these books did that for me.

Favorite new habit of the year...taking Buster for a daily walk in the evening. Just ninety minutes with me and Buster and an ipod filled with favorite songs makes me happy. If you need a way to unwind in the evenings and you have a dog living in your house, take the dog for a walk. Dogs don't talk, they don't ask for anything and they happily go wherever you lead them. It's a real treat! Plus, if you do have a dog and you find him mildly irritating, he will become much less so when you being walking with him every night. Your dog will suddenly love you more than he loves the rest of the people living in your house, and if you happen to be slightly insecure and pathetic, that simple truth will make you happy.

Favorite new song...Fake Empire by The National. This song makes no sense to me. I'm not intellectual and so I'm sure there is some deep meaning behind it, but since I am not a hipster doofus, it's all lost on me. Regardless, the tempo that slowly builds up throughout the song, and the lead singer's voice make me love it. If you aren't real keen on strangely deep voices (think Leonard Cohen) and lyrics that are nearly impossible to make out, skip it. I live with a fifteen year old child who mumbles her way through life, so the fact that I have to strain to make out the words of this song doesn't bother me too much. Here are some of the inane lyrics..."stay out super late pickin' apples, makin' pies, put a little something in our lemonades and take it with us. We're half awake in our fake empire." HUH!? Please share if you have any idea what in the helk he is talking about. Is he putting booze in his lemonade so he can make it through this half arsed life here on earth? What about the apple picking super late? Who picks apples late at night? Well, who can explain why certain things bring us joy. This song does makes me happy, so I shouldn't get too wrapped up in the meaning.

Most fun thing I did this year...went on a trip with my husband and kids to Georgia. I had to check my pulse a few times because I was so relaxed that I wasn't sure I was even still breathing. I hoped to get on here and show pictures and write about our vacation, but all I can tell you is, it was wonderful and the thought of going back every year makes me happy.

People I'm most grateful to this year...my brother in law and my sister who generously gave us plane tickets so me and the kids could go to my Nana's funeral. My sister thought it was no big deal, my brother in law thought it was no big deal. Everyone gives away plane tickets, right? This is how my sister and brother in law live. They are generous - not just to me, but to everyone in our family and not just with material things. If you want to feel welcome somewhere, go to my sister's house. You know the best part of being with my sister? We Hacics go into her house and create chaos and confusion and she just laughs and says how much fun it is. And she says it so convincingly that I actually believe her! Anyway, if there is ever a time to be with family, to celebrate life, to tell stories and enjoy each other, it's when a loved one has passed on to the next life. My Nana would have been quite pleased knowing that my sister made it happen for me and the kids.

This list barely touches on my past year, but I am tired and getting bored with myself and my house is a mess and I'm having people over tomorrow evening after Christmas Eve Mass and if I don't want them to lose their appetites I must go clean! Hey, because of this list here, I just realized I had a pretty fabulous 2011. Hope you did , too. And Merry, merry Christmas!

Leaving for another trip away

2011-12-01T19:30:00.011-05:00

Whenever I make Maggie something to eat, no matter what it is, she looks up at me and asks, "mama, is there love in this?" She thinks love is an actual ingredient because I always say, "I made this with love so you better like it." I feel it best to threaten your kids into liking all you make and so far so good. My kids think I'm a fantastic cook and regularly praise me. The best is when they praise me in front of other people - double points for that one. And when they say nothing, I stew. Wouldn't it be nice if I were humble enough to not care if they complimented and thanked me, if I was merely cooking to serve them and in turn God. But I'm not that humble and not nearly that mature, plus, the last time I checked I wasn't God so I don't need to be perfect. I'm not afraid to admit that I enjoy, relish, thrive on compliments when I make dinner or lunch or anything else edible.

Greg chalks this up to my being my Nana's granddaughter. When my Nana cooked she poured her entire heart and soul into it and she expected something in return. A kiss, a hug, a compliment, anything letting her know that you appreciated her efforts. I was just telling my kids the other day that every time she made anything she did it as though Jesus and Mary were coming to join her. There was love in my Nana's cooking and you could taste it.

She came to stay with us for a couple of weeks when we lived in North Carolina and Jane was a baby. Greg invited a friend over for dinner and my Nana made pork chops and homemade bread and various other things. Greg's friend ate like a pig but said nothing. I remember sweating a little as the night wore on and he continued to make no mention of how delicious everything was. I wanted to kick him under the table,but I didn't know him too well so he wouldn't have understood my glances and nods toward my Nana. I could see the look of disgust on her face, as though this person had been raised by wolves and now she was being forced to share a meal with him.

As soon as he left my Nana stood up and said under her breath, "don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out." I shook my head at her and told her there was no accounting for some people. For the next ten years, every single time I saw her she would bring up Greg's mannerless friend. Greg is still amused by this. Whenever someone gets up from my table without saying anything, I give a look and Greg says, "easy Nana!" And we laugh and I thank God that there is some small part of her that she passed along to me.

For as long as I can remember, my Nana was cooking for me and my siblings and anyone and everyone who she came into contact with. It gave her joy and happiness and a sense of purpose and until I grew up and had a family of my own I didn't fully understand it. Now I do and I'm grateful I was able to share so many good meals with her. She lived a few doors down from us and from the time I was a baby until the time I went away to college she ate dinner with us practically every night. She and my mom would talk each morning so they could start planing the menu for that night's meal.

It wasn't just the food at the dinner table that would make me happy. It was the conversation, the laughter, the yelling and heated discussions, the one hour that would settle into three hours. At some point my Nana would get up and start doing the dishes and my mother would say, "Ma, stop it, we'll do them later." My Nana would insist on continuing and then my mother would flare her nostrils at us, which meant, "get off your ass and help her." And we did, because we were obedient children who also happened to be mildly afraid of my mom's flared nostrils.

My Nana passed away yesterday afternoon at the age of 101. She was with three of her five children. A priest came in at some point before she passed and my mother told me my Nana made the sign of the cross and said a Hail Mary. Fitting, considering every time I went to see her she was sitting in her chair saying her rosary. She never needed to say much about religion or faith or the gospel, mostly because she spent her entire life actually living it. I know I'm blessed beyond measure to have witnessed and shared in it.

Tomorrow me and my kids head to New York for the week, to go and celebrate her life. I can't wait. There will be time spent around the table. Food and conversation and laughter and yelling will be plenty and in those moments I will feel her most.

Quote to keep in mind as I teach my kids

2011-11-15T10:12:00.005-05:00

"There are some who desire knowledge for its own sake; and that is shameful curiosity. And there are others who desire to know, in order that they may themselves be known, and that is vanity, disgraceful too. Others again desire knowledge in order to acquire money or preferment by it; that too is a discreditable quest. But there are also some who desire knowledge, that they may build up the souls of others with it; and that is charity. Others, again, desire it that they may themselves be built up thereby; and that is prudence. Of all these types, only the last two put knowledge to the right use." (St. Bernard, Sermon on the Canticle of Canticles)

I just read this on American Catholic and thought some other moms would find it as encouraging as I did. What else could possibly be said about how to educate a child?

Vacation

2011-11-05T17:02:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow we're headed out of town for the week, to the mountains of Blue Ridge, Georgia. I haven't started packing yet because I'm not the packing sort. I'm more of a wake the morning of the trip, grab whatever is in my drawer, shove it all into plastic bags and run out the door sort. If we're staying at a hotel, I class it up a little and replace the plastic bags with those fancy paper ones you get at stores like Macy's. And if I'm getting on a plane I go all out and use my mesh backpack.

This kind of haphazard packing usually means that I end up in my destination with about five less pair of underwear than I need. Speaking of underwear, you know what word makes me cringe? Panties. It's gross. Everyone in my house knows not to use that word. Use the word underwear or undergarments, but never panties. I consider it vial and pornographic and if you use that word you may need some kind of professional counseling, after which point you may be as well adjusted as yours truly. Anyway, I have no plans to change my packing style anytime soon, so hopefully there will be a store close by if I do forget anything.

Would you like to hear an interesting story about packing? I know what you're thinking - could there really be a story about packing that would qualify as interesting? This one comes pretty close. When we went to NY a couple of summers ago I thought I may have forgotten to pack my glasses, which I desperately need when I'm not wearing my contacts. We were only about thirty seconds from our house when I had this realization and I was forced to say something to Greg. In somewhat dramatic fashion ( because the sixty seconds it took to drive back down our street was going to cut into our twenty hour car ride) my husband turned the car around and I ran inside and saw that the glasses weren't on my shelf, so I came back out and said that they must be somewhere and no worries, they would turn up in some bag, at some point.

Greg shook his head at me in that, "oh, you are so disorganized and scattered," sort of way to which I smiled sweetly said, "shut up," and we went on our way. When we made it to our first stop that night (North Carolina I think it was) we were all getting ready for bed when I noticed Greg furiously looking for something. Being the concerned wife, I asked if he was missing anything and, as it turns out, Greg had forgotten his glasses back in Florida. I felt very bad for him and made sure not to say anything obnoxious. It's not my style. But that was one interesting story about packing, wasn't it?

So, we leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow and I have decided that in order to completely enjoy this trip I will have no expectations. This is not the same as having low expectations. Having low expectations is cynical and mean spirited, while having zero expectations ensures that no matter what happens on this trip, I can say at the end, well, it certainly exceeded all my expectations. I had to explain all of this expectation stuff to Greg the other night because even after knowing me for twenty one years, he still doesn't always understand my way of thinking.

Perhaps I will have a picture post when I get back. Everyone I've told that we're going to Blue Ridge, Georgia has told me how beautiful it is there ( and I wish they would stop because it's hurting my no expectations thing), so I may get some pictures of mountains and streams and pretty trees, but please don't get your hopes up.

Have a good week everyone! I've heard the weather here in Florida is going to continue to be gorgeous for the next several days. Enjoy!

Various thoughts on various things.

2011-10-23T17:15:00.004-04:00

I've taken care of my facebook situation. I simply unfriended the person who kept posting things that were getting me riled up. Problem solved, except for I felt horrible unfriending her and hope she never notices. I knew this person many years ago and never see her and she has approximately three thousand friends (not really) and how she would ever notice I'm not sure, although I am pretty important, so I know that people probably do regular inventory making sure I haven't unfriended them. And as long as you don't write horrendously divisive and hateful things about your fellow human beings, I won't unfriend you. Mildly divisive is fine.

I was in the store on Friday and saw a friend who I haven't seen in a few months. She's older than me ( 58 is her current age). I always considered this person wise and look to her for advice that only someone older can give. She has four kids and homeschooled them way back in the day before anyone else was doing it. I initially met her through something I was involved with in my church, and when she was introduced to me for the first time she told me I had a nice glow about me. This is the basis of all my friendships. You must b.s. me in some way, typically over something shallow like my glowing skin. I'm approaching fifty (only eight years away) so I'm doing everything to grasp at any possible remnants of not being completely disgusting and I relish all compliments that have to do with my appearance. This is where I used to say, "just kidding," but another friend told me to stop doing that because people weren't stupid and they knew when I was joking, but just in case you are stupid (just kidding) I am just kidding.

Anyway, this friend of mine lost 27 pounds in eight weeks, so I spent an hour talking to her about her diet and promptly decided to give it a go. The diet has a name, which I'm not going to tell you because then you may look it up online and make fun of me, but anyway, when you type in the name of the diet you answer some basic questions about yourself and find out all sorts of interesting things. I found out I am "small boned" ( this was a shocking revelation and I'm pretty sure this isn't true) and that my ideal weight is 125 ( that was not at all shocking). If I follow this particular diet I will hit my goal by next July. July 12 to be exact. Isn't that appealing? That's all I have to do is fore go all the food I love and typically consume on a regular basis, and in nine short months I'll weigh what I weighed right before I got pregnant with Maggie. In hindsight it would have been smarter to just show some self control when I was pregnant, but then I wouldn't ever had the chance to find out I was small boned. I'm on day two of the diet and all I can think about is refined sugar and carbs and how satisfying they are. This has success written all over it. The good thing is that I have a partner in this diet. His name is Greg. Together we are going to be miserable and tired, but we will look fabulous in nine short months. He'll look fabulous quicker than me. He's a man and men lose weight easily. This will make me hate him, but only until next July when I, too, will look amazing.

The weather has been perfect for bike riding and I've been taking full advantage of it. Someone told me recently that bike riding is so easy they could do it all day long and never get tired. The word easy was used to describe riding a bike at least fifty times by this person. This was after I described it as my favorite form of exercise, so I started to get insulted and later when I left the person I thought to myself, "well, if she thinks riding a bike is so easy that she can do it all day, then she must not be doing it right." I'm currently plotting out ways I can bump into her and casually bring up bike riding so I can tell her how hard it is. Now that I am on a strict diet of eating things that taste like paper and contain zero carbs it will be even harder. That's how you know a diet is right for you. If everything you cherish doing suddenly becomes impossible, you can bet it's a winner.

Please forgive the stupidity of this post. I am doing everything possible to stay away from the kitchen and the computer is far enough away from that location.

Oh facebook, why must you torture me so!

2011-10-20T12:42:00.001-04:00

For reasons I'm still not aware of, I got back on facebook a couple of weeks ago. I must have been bored. I know - it's rather shocking that a homeschooling mother of four would find herself in a state of boredom, but I'm so organized and on top of things that there are periods in my life when I simply don't have anything left to do but waste time on the computer.

Facebook always reminds me how easily I get annoyed. Sometimes people use facebook to express their thoughts on various matters, and despite what we are led to believe, expressing yourself is rather foolish and should be stopped at all costs (unless it's on a blog, in which case it's perfectly fine and acceptable to say whatever you want). When I'm on facebook I sometimes wonder whatever happened to keeping it all inside and suffering through endless stomach pains, so as not to offend anyone with all the bottled up thoughts and opinions you have inside.

When people post their feelings, and I happen upon it and don't agree with what they are saying, I occassionally yell out things like,"could you be any more of an idiot?" Hey, at least I don't say it right to their face; I say it to their facebook face. I mean I do have some manners and everyone knows, if you are going to say something mean about someone you should only do it behind their back, in front of their facebook face. Sometimes I don't say anything at all. Sometimes I just roll my eyes so far into of my head that I need one of the kids to come over and slap them back into place.

The point is, it has become abundantly clear to me that I focus on the negative and ignore the positive. For every nasty post someone puts up, there are a hundred nice ones, but I overlook all of those, maybe because the nice ones don't make me feel superior, a feeling I realize I enjoy and cherish above all others.

And so, yet again, because I am a weak woman who also happens to be abundantly aware of all my shortcomings, I need to remove myself from facebook. I have not properly detached myself from my own opinions. I have not reached that level of being where I can look at something I don't agree with and not react in a harsh and cruel manner, even if it's only in the confines of my own mind and living room.

I know what you're thinking. Why must I make mountains out of molehills? Why not just go on facebook every once in a while and not care what people say - that's what everyone else in the world does, how hard can it be? Very hard. I have a knack for turning everyday life events into a saga. And just admit that you enjoy my idiocy. In the end it makes you feel better about yourself. And for that you are most welcome!

If you think I'm tortured over facebook you should hear my thoughts on whether or not Christians should truly spend time saving for their retirement (and not because I think the world is going to end soon, because I don't, but because aren't we kind of supposed to not worry about ourselves like that. But then again, are we meant to be burdens on our families when we are older. Yet, why would we think of the elderly as a burden in the first place.)Really people, thank me for keeping it light over here because you have no idea what really consumes my mind and all various ways I could torment you.

Foolishness and a little brilliance

2011-10-14T13:26:00.007-04:00

So back in June I bought this cute pair of flip flops and two days after my purchase they ripped while I was wearing them. Lucky for me I was in the parking lot of Publix when it happened, so when I ran in to get my groceries, I picked up some super glue to repair the shoes (because that's what normal people do when their shoes fall apart).

My only concern with the super glue was not how foolish it made my flip flops look ( trust me, some cob jobs can't be hidden), but how I would conceal the glue from my children. I was pretty sure that if Anthony was aware I purchased it, he would find a way to glue his hand to his face (by accident, of course) and so I kept it hidden under lock and key, knowing that if it was ever revealed I bought it, there would be a mad rush to find it. I can't really explain why this is the case, but it's my reality and I've come to terms with it. For four and half months I have been moving this super glue around from drawer to drawer, cabinet to cabinet, just to ensure it is never found and I'm proud to say, I've been successful.

On Saturday afternoon I was getting ready to take my two oldest children somewhere, and as I was putting on my pants, wouldn't you know, the button popped off. I know right now people are asking themselves if perhaps this may be a good time for me to contemplate heading over the Weight Watchers, but trust me when I say, the button falling off has more to do with the fact that these pants were bought for five dollars at a really cheesy outlet store, than anything having to do with my weight.

Although the button falling off may have been cause for alarm for some people, for me it was nothing more than a chance to get out my super glue and work my magic. I didn't feel like removing the pants entirely, so I carefully took the super glue, fastened the button to its proper place and waited a few seconds for it to stick. And it did. Problem solved. Pants were on, hair was done, kids were ready and we were off.

I was quite happy with this quick fix, until we arrived at our destination and I had to go to the bathroom and suddenly realized that I had super glued my pants shut. At first I thought it was funny, because it kind of is, but as I kept struggling to get the pants open I got sweaty and started panicking and had no idea what to do. I truly did have to go the bathroom and there seemed to be no hope in sight. I thought for sure I would have to make a run for my car and look for the knife that Greg keeps in there for me, and then I would have to shred my pants and how exactly would I explain this to people at church, which was where I happened to be at the time. But see,this is where going to church comes in handy. God shines his light on us church people, (and only us) and lo and behold, the pants came loose. I'm pretty sure I heard angels singing.

I had an epiphany as I was relaying what happened to a friend - and moms, you can thank me later. When my daughters reach that age where they have gentlemen callers, I'm bringing out the super glue and fastening the girls pants shut before they leave the house. It'll be like a chastity belt, but much less cumbersome and way more comfortable. And yes, because I was kind enough to share my brilliant idea with you, I'm charging two bucks for this post.

Mess

2011-10-07T15:15:00.005-04:00

I was on the computer this morning trying to order something for school, so I was ignoring my four year old and as four year olds are prone to do when being ignored, she managed to leave a path of destruction wherever she went.

My house is small. There never seems to be a point where I'm more than three feet from someone, despite my best efforts to have this not be the case. I sometimes joke that I can stretch out my arms and reach from one end of my living to the other. It's an exaggeration, but not much of one. Yet, even in this little tiny space and with such a short distance between me and Maggie, I was so enveloped in my schooling matters that I lost all track of her. When I looked up there was a pile of napkins shredded and thrown over every inch of the living room.

We don't even use napkins. I find them annoying and useless. There's nothing a napkin can do that a Bounty paper towel can't do better. I guess I bought them when I had company at some point. People are always wondering why I don't use napkins and I must have wanted to fend off irritating questions and caved in and bought some. And you could tell by the fact that nearly all 500 of them were now scattered on my living room floor this morning that as soon as whoever it was I bought them for left, I tucked them into the far recesses of a cabinet hoping to never see them again, only to have Maggie discover them while I was busy ignoring her. (That previous sentence is in need of a vast amount of grammatical correction, but I can't even figure out where to begin.)

When I walked into the kitchen I noticed that she also decided to pull a chair over the sink and use the spray faucet to water down every surface in that room. And she had done other things, too, like use a dirty sponge to "clean" all the windows. Instead of yelling at her, which is what I wanted to do, I got quiet and resigned myself to the fact that I needed to mop up the water all over the kitchen floor before someone got injured. We have ceramic floors and whenever they're wet people slip and slide. It's only a matter of time before someone ends up with a concussion.

My calm reaction took Anthony by such surprise that he came in the room and offered to help pick up and then told me he felt bad for me that I had to deal with such a child as Maggie. Since he is a complete angel he found her behavior totally unacceptable. Anyway, it hit me that instead of raising my voice when I'm upset ( which is hardly ever!) I am going to start pretending to be devastated and almost at the point of tears. It scares my kids into action. Yelling does nothing. They ignore me when I yell, or raise their eyes, or say something obnoxious like, "didn't you say you were going to stop yelling?" Even Maggie felt bad. She apologized and then ran around the living room picking up the shredded napkins and she kept telling me she would never do it again but really, isn't four a little old to be pulling stuff like this anyway?

Should she have done it to begin with? Should I have been ignoring her? Should I be homeschooling? Should I start drinking when I wake-up? Should I write stupid posts about life with kids? Hasn't everything there is to say about parenting already been said? Hasn't every story that can be told about all the wacky stuff "those darn kids" do already been told? Why am I asking all these questions? I have no idea. I guess I'm tired and as I was writing this I lost focus and now I want this post to end.

Adventures with various people who might be slightly dimwitted

2011-09-20T20:00:00.006-04:00

Yesterday I called Anthony's insulin pump supplier to re-order some infusion sets and cartridges. The customer service rep snickered at me when I wondered aloud if any problems would arise due to our new insurance carrier. I asked her gently, (because I am always gentle) "did you just snicker at me?" Well, it turns out she wasn't snickering, she was merely stretching in her chair and it must have sounded like snickering. So anyway, even with all the snickering and lying going on, the phone call only took about five minutes.

This morning, around 7 AM, Greg called me on his way to work, telling me had gotten a message saying a problem had arisen with our new insurance company and the pump supplier wouldn't be shipping out the order. And then I spent the next three hours in a rotating series of calls between the pump supplier and the insurance company and medical device companies, trying to get someone to help me and reminding anyone who would listen that I had been snickered at the day before over expressing my thoughts that this very thing may happen.

On top of talking to the insurance people and the pump people and the medical device people, I was forced to make threatening faces and hand motions to my children all morning in an attempt to get them to start on their schoolwork. But they know they have me right where they want me when I'm on the phone trying to take care of anything related to Anthony's diabetes care. It was an exhausting morning.

Here's the basic gist of what happened. The pump supplier doesn't take our insurance, so our insurance company was requesting we get our supplies locally through a medical device distributor, except for that all of the companies they led me to didn't carry the supplies I needed.

I kept calling the insurance company back and we kept expanding our search out further and further, until finally I found a company in Orlando who said, "yes, we can help you." I excitedly said, "so, you have the supplies there in your warehouse?" And the woman said, "well, no, we don't have the supplies here, we call your insulin pump supplier and we tell them what you need and then they send it to you." And I said, "oh, so you do what I did yesterday morning, except for you charge the pump supplier for your time, whereas I was doing it for free, plus I got to hear someone snicker at me when I wondered aloud if I would have any problems with this whole thing." No, I didn't say that. But I thought it. And that's just as good, right?

But the best and most wonderful part of the day is that Anthony's pump supplies are still not ordered. When I called the distributor ( who isn't technically distributing anything more than a phone call) later in the day to make sure she had ordered the supplies she told me she hadn't, even though earlier in the day she told me she was marking this as "urgent." It did sound as though I had woken her up from her nap when I called her at 4 PM, so at least she was well rested and that made me feel better.

She made up a story about how she hadn't placed the order because she needed my doctor's phone number, which I had given her earlier in the morning, but I suppose maybe when she fell asleep at her desk it had rubbed off on her cheek or something. Hey, I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. I gave her the number again, and she said, "okay, I'll call your doctor right now and tell them I need proof of Anthony's diabetes and then as soon as I get that I'll send the order. But you may want to call your doctor , too , because sometimes they don't answer my requests right away." Oh, good thinking, I thought. Wow, this woman was on top of it!

I later found out I was wrong about that, but I simply can't go on. I'm too tired. But look whose snickering now pump supply lady. Turns out I was right to worry. Feels pretty good to be right, even if it means I didn't actually get those supplies Anthony needs to stay healthy. But really, why obsess over a silly thing like that?

A very short thing about ten year old boys

2011-09-17T19:07:00.006-04:00

If the following scenarios involved an adult male, the humor in them would most definitely be lost, but coming from a ten year old, it's just plain funny.

- Only a ten year old boy can sit in a doctor's office, excrete gas (loudly) several times and have someone, let alone the proper and polite nutritionist, find it highly amusing and "cute" (her word, not mine).

- And only a ten year old boy can say, in complete seriousness and sincerity, "mom, this candle smells just like apple pie. It actually smells like an apple pie just farted in my face. It's awesome!"

Random, oh so random

2011-09-02T22:22:00.000-04:00

So many things to say and so little time to do it, so here goes a long random thoughts post.

- School is in full swing. I'm learning! Me, learning - so exciting. I haven't learned anything new and exciting in years, probably decades. (And yes, it took a huge amount of effort to keep myself that dumb.) Among other things, the girls are doing an ancient history/lit. study for the year, so I broke out my old Norton Anthology and took out a couple of history books from the library and now I have to stay up late at night and read and take notes and try and remember information so I can pass my vast knowledge onto my daughters. I'm exhausted and thinking about demanding a raise. Teaching high school is much different than teaching middle school, but I must say, I'm loving it. Oh, the girls...yes, they're loving it too.

- Anthony is a different child now that he's homeschooling - more relaxed, happier. More than one person has commented to me that Anthony is indeed calmer, so it's not just me with my mom blinders on. I prayed for a long time about him and homeschooling and at some point I decided that whatever was best for him would manifest itself in some way and whatever way that was I would be able to accept it. And then Greg told me he wanted Anthony home for school. Of course, when I finally got what I wanted for so long I began to panic and doubt if this was the right thing. I spent a large part (by which I mean all) of the summer having a mid-life crisis/nervous breakdown and then school began and I realized we are doing the best thing ever for Anthony. I couldn't be happier, but check back in a few weeks because I'm sure by that point I'll be thrown into the depths of despair. It's who I am.

- Some of life's disappointments are almost too hard to bare and this summer I got a full dose of that reality. Whatever I thought the new M&M pretzel candies were going to offer me, I was sadly mistaken when I had my first taste of one back in July and suddenly came face to face with what can only be described as the biggest letdown of my life.

- Speaking of disappointment, I went shopping for some new skirts that past week. I worked hard to try on clothes while not looking in the mirror, but was only mildly successful in my attempts. I kept accidentally catching glimpses of myself. Does anyone enjoy looking in the mirror? If you say yes you really do risk coming across as completely vain and full of yourself. Please, just be disgusted with yourself. It's the right thing to do. It's what God would want for you. He doesn't like vanity.

- Greg and I are taking the kids on an actual family vacation in November. We're not really vacation type people. We're day trip kind of people. I like the day trip. First of all, I am an old fart and like being in my own bed at night and secondly, I get grossed out over everything, so being away is never that fun for me and I make sure it's not fun for anyone else, so we hardly ever go away for extended periods. I'm the kind of person who goes to a hotel and takes all of my clothes out of my bag and lays them down on the bed before I get on it, so that my body doesn't have to touch other people's filth, but then I realize all of those same clothes are going to have to be worn by me the next day and I get hyper and crabby and I lay in the bed with my flip flops on and don't move. As charming as this sounds, my husband doesn't find it even slightly interesting anymore. Anyway, this time it's going to be different. We're going to a nice cabin up on the Georgia, Tenn. border and the place looks more than do-able. It's quite nice. I will have fun!

- I will have fun, but I will also be overtaken by the romantic notion that life in the Blue Ridge Mountains is so quaint and peaceful and perfect and maybe we should just move there. I have prepared Greg for this and he said he knows and is completely okay with the knowledge that I will hound him for several weeks about moving.

- Have a fun weekend all!

school at home

2011-08-25T09:50:00.003-04:00

Oh my. I started this post last Friday night. Then I quit. Then I started it again on Saturday and quit. And on Sunday and Monday and Tuesday and quit, quit, quit. This can mean only one thing to my readers. You are in for one boring post because if I, the writer, cannot maintain an interest in what I am saying, how in the helk will you? (Helk is the way my sister and me write hell when we are sending emails back and forth. It's one of those typos that ended up sticking.) Anyway, this started out as an end of the summer post and now is turning into a beginning of school post. Enjoy and prepare to be dazzled!

Summer is coming to a close. I brought the kids and a couple of their friends to the beach on Friday for a last hurray. Many pictures were taken but of course none of them will go on this blog because I like to keep things here as boring and visually unappetizing as I possible and also, I'm a little lazy. But trust me, we did go. It was relaxing and beautiful and the water temperature was perfect (and so were the rip currents. Seriously, who doesn't love getting pummeled by waves and gagging on salt water. I'm not kidding. You try doing it without laughing your butt off. It's impossible). Of course I didn't want to leave and come home because being home means thinking about school and chores and the end of summer vacation and then I just get the dry heaves. I'm not afraid to admit that I really only like the side of life that provides for relaxation and entertainment.

Since I've become the person in charge of educating my children, I hang onto summer for as long as I can. We live in a state that has 80 degree heat well into November, sometimes even December, and I've often thought about making our summer vacation last for eight months of the year, but I'm always afraid one of my kids will rat me out. They've somehow turned into responsible people who like learning. A couple of weeks ago they began happily inquiring about school starting back up, and lately my empty threats of printing out math work if they didn't find something productive to do have been met with, "oh, cool! Math work!"

(So here we are, several days after I originally started writing this carp ( another typo that stuck) and school has begun, which is good because now I have something to write about. )

This is our first year home schooling Anthony. (Will someone please tell me if it is homeschooling or home schooling. Public schooling is two words, so why would homeschooling be one word. I never understood this, but I was an English major so really, why would this be easy for me to figure out?) I was worried about bringing Anthony home for school ( see how I got around that), but I can declare after only three days of doing this - TOTAL SUCCESS! Okay, I may be jumping the gun and setting myself up for disaster, but things seem to be going well. Anthony is much more relaxed about participating in school. He's gotten up everyday and requested work and appears to be enjoying himself.

I'm not going to lie. He's still Anthony, which means he has created a touch of chaos to our once quiet days. He made jello on Monday and before it had totally set he dumped it on a big plate. He did this so that it could maintain as much of its jigglyness and still be somewhat molded. Then he put it back in the fridge until he could decide what to do with it. I mentioned maybe he could just eat it, as I think that's what people do with jello, but he said no, jello could be used for so much more than eating. I had no idea!

He kept taking it out of the fridge so that he could walk around with his plate if jiggly jello wowing everyone in his path. Except for not everyone was as fascinated as he was. Like me. I was not at all fascinated. Instead I was nervous. Anthony and a plate of jiggly jello couldn't possibly end well. When I pointed this out to him he said, "mom, I'm not a baby. I can walk around with this and nothing is going to happen." Except for as he was saying that the jello slid off the plate and plopped onto my kitchen floor where it splattered into every corner and then he ran out of the room.

The terrific thing was that I only had two sheets of Bounty left and I figured if I could pick up this mess with two sheets of Bounty I could finally justify my insistence on purchasing these expensive paper towels. Greg has tried, with no success, to get me to buy cheaper paper towels, but he isn't usually the one picking up poop and pee and vomit and jello, so he has no idea the power of the Bounty paper towel. And guess what? Two Bounty paper towels did the trick in this case. (Hey Bounty people - are you catching this? If you are you can fore go the dollar it's costing you to read my post and just send me a year's worth of paper towels.)

Other than the jello incident, it's been a calm week with Anthony. He spent some time talking to Maggie about Greek mythology, wherein he told her, "Now Maggie, the Greeks believed in MANY gods, but we only believe in ONE god. Okay, so don't get messed up. Don't go around telling people you believe in lots of gods, because you don't. We're CATHOLIC Maggie. Can you say that. Say your Catholic and you only believe in one God. Say it. Say it, Maggie, say you're Catholic and you only believe in one god." This went on until Maggie started crying and I had to end the Greek mythology vs. Roman Catholic theology session, but it was cute and it made me smile, which is never a bad thing when you're homeschooling your kids. As a matter of fact, it's half the battle.

I must end this now. I have things to do and children to teach and I'm sure there's a mess somewhere with Anthony's name on it. A mess only Bounty can pick up.

What I've been up to

2011-08-11T11:13:00.004-04:00

My summer has been filled with big, exciting, life altering changes. Here's the biggest one (and get ready, because it's huge!) - I started doing laundry at the laundromat. We had a weekend away back at the beginning of July and when we arrived home we realized it was going to take three days to catch up on the laundry situation (and any chore that requires using the word situation to decribe it has gotten out of control). I kindly offered to take the clothes to the laundromat, so as to get it done in the quickest possible way.

I came home an hour and a half later with five loads of clean, folded laundry. Then I walked around like a drill sergeant telling everyone that if they didn't put their clothes away immediately it was all going in the garbage. My children know this threat is not to be taken lightly. I've found that tossing things in the garbage is about the easiest way there is to keep a clean house. Sure, you throw things away you end up needing later on and then you go out for coffee with a friend only to have your husband call asking about the whereabouts of those things. You panic a little and decide maybe it's not the best way to keep a clean house, but then the mess piles up again and you think, no, it truly is easier dealing with an inquiring husband than it is picking up the mess and putting things back where they belong. So anyway, the kids listened to my threats and I went and took a nap because after doing five loads of laundry I deserved a snooze.

At some point the next day I happened to walk by the washing machine and noticed that the most horrifying thing had occurred. There was more laundry. The pile of clothes that had completely disappeared the day before seemed to have grown in the middle of the night while we were all asleep. It never, ever stops growing. There almost isn't a point to doing laundry as it just piles up immediately and reminds you daily how useless certain chores are.

I was coming close to despair over the whole situation (which is not hard for me to do as I come close to despair over just about everything. It's a gift.) when I suddenly began thinking about how nice and quiet and relaxing it was at the laundromat. While I was there I managed to finish a book I was reading, drink an ice cold diet coke from the store next door, call a friend, listen to my ipod and read highly out of date magazines (we're talking 2003) and also some rather dubious ones. On top of it being relaxing and entertaining, there was the very practical matter of getting five loads of laundry done in ninety minutes. So now it was obvious that the solution to my problem was to just start taking my laundry to the laundromat.

I go twice a week, no more, no less. Every Tuesday and every Friday. The rest of the week I don't even think about the laundry. And Greg doesn't either. If something is dirty and it isn't laundry day, guess what? Too bad for you. It really is a treat for me and has provided me with a kind of freedom I've come to cherish. And as much as Greg has tried to reassure me over the years that he doesn't mind doing laundry, I think he loves never having to think about it now.

Will it last? Probably not. I get sick of everything. People, places and things that I once adored and loved, and swore I would never get sick of, always end up on my list of, "never be bothered with this person, place or thing again."Oh, I kid. I hardly ever do that with people, but the places and things one I do all the time. So this time next year I will probably be repulsed by the site of the laundromat, but for now it works and I'm enjoying it. Plus, it provides me with three full hours of child-free down time a week, because no matter how many times I've asked the kids if they want to join me, no one ever takes me up on the offer.

Now onto other matters, sort of. The laundry thing is costing me many quarters a week, so I'm thinking about getting a part time job, but I do have rules. It can't be at night or during the day and it has to pay at least 20 bucks an hour and involve no physical labor and nothing that would strain my mental faculties, as I teach my children and I need to save my brain cells for them.

After I started thinking about it I realized I've set my sights high in the employment department, so I came up with another way to make money. I'm going to start charging people a dollar a post for reading this here blog. We're going on the honor system. If you just read this post you owe me a dollar. I know hundreds and hundreds of people( possibly thousands) are reading this blog and I am so excited that very soon I will be rich. On top of using my money to fund my laundromat excurions I will be using the rest to feed the hungry and promote world peace, so you see, you really can feel good knowing this is going for a worthy cause. I'm doing God's work and in essence, by giving me your money, you will be doing God's work. None of the money will be used to fund my raw cookie dough or Chuckles addiction.

Thank you for your time today. I hope it was worth your dollar. At the very least, I hope it was worth a comment - those are free.

Quickly - so I don't forget

2011-08-05T09:47:00.003-04:00

I walked out of my bedroom to find a rather large chunk of dark hair on the living room floor. Maggie was standing close by with a pair of scissors - and her hair looked slightly changed. Some would say it had a madwoman look to it.

Me- Maggie, did you cut your own hair?

Maggie - No.

Me - I'm going to ask you again. Did you cut your own hair?

Maggie - Yes, Mama.

Me- Don't ever cut your hair again or I'll take Fuzzy(her beloved blanket) away for a long, long time and don't lie when I ask you something. I'm glad you fessed up, but you shouldn't have said no the first time. Do you understand me?

Maggie - Yes, Mama. And I accept your apology.

Hum. That didn't go as planned.

Can you feel the love?

2011-07-31T15:19:00.004-04:00

Kate is home from camp. I got a phone call yesterday at 11:30 am asking when I was going to pick her up to which I responded, "oh, I'll be there around 9ish tomorrow morning, right before Mass. Is that okay?" Whoever I was speaking to kindly pointed out that, "um, well, camp actually is over today and the girls were meant to be picked up on Saturday morning, not Sunday, but it's okay, get here when you can."

The one minute it took to grab Maggie, get her dressed and throw her into the van was quite exciting. I never knew how many lively words spouses could fit into sixty seconds when they are each desperately trying to shove off the blame on the other for being the irresponsible parent who overlooked the pick up time and day. It was fun. He he, ho ho, ha ha, oh marriage is just always so sweet and lovely.

A few weeks ago we were sitting in church and a couple was called up to the alter for a renewal of their vows. They had been married for fifty years and Father Blase pointed out how happy and in love they still were and I thought to myself, this really isn't inspirational. What we need is two people who at times don't like each other much, yet in spite of it, they stick it out. So I raised my hand and asked if Greg and I could come up there instead.

Relax. I kid. I kid because it's fun and also because it happens to be a little true. Greg and I love each other, but honestly, after eighteen years of marriage we don't always approach one another with grace and kindness, especially in moments of stress and confusion. Some people blow sunshine up your behind and tell you they never get upset with their spouse, to which I can only respond that if marriage was always easy there would be no need to counter every positive marital vow with a negative one. It's a nice little reminder when you're standing on the altar completely in love that you aren't always going to feel this happy, things aren't always going to be this good.

If nothing else, the sometimes irritating aspects of marriage do provide me with quick blog fodder and thank goodness, because honestly I think I have officially run out of things to write about. So thank you Greg, thank you for being such a jerk yesterday. If not for you, I would have had nothing to write about today. Again, I kid - my husband has a sense of humor so he wouldn't be offended by my statement(plus he doesn't read this blog so I can say whatever I want about him and he'll never know).

Of camp and heat and sweat

2011-07-24T11:00:00.007-04:00

Kate left for "nun" camp last night. We call it that because it happens to be run by a religious order of Sisters, but every time I say it I feel odd and want to clarify that Kate is not going away to become a nun. Or maybe she is. I really can't say. It certainly wouldn't be something I would discourage. Last time the girls went to this camp Jane came home and told me the Sisters were the most calm, peaceful, happy people she had ever met, so I certainly wouldn't be disappointed if one of them wanted to follow that path. You know what I was disappointed with? Jane not including me on her list of most calm, peaceful, happy people she's ever met.

Jane is in a different age group this year and so she leaves for her camp next Sunday morning. Kate won't be back home until that afternoon so they'll be away from each other for two whole weeks. This prompted them to stay up until the wee hours of the morning talking endlessly about who knows what. At some point, Jane passed out and Kate continued on, talking louder and louder in the hopes of waking Jane up. This is a nightly occurrence with Kate. She refuses to stop talking until either Jane (or me) yells for her to please stop.

Now here is where I must digress from all this talk of sleeping habits, and nun camp, and Kate being away and mention a little something about Florida heat. Some people who don't live here make fun of our extremely hot weather and talk about how unbearable it must be to live through such insufferable temperatures. Usually these people are from colder areas and making fun of our weather makes them feel better about their own. I know because I used to be one of those people. Now that I live here I make fun of the New England winters. Isn't this what life is all about anyway - mocking everything that is different from our own current experience? If you've thought of a better way to get through life, please share.

I used to believe the Florida heat caused people to dropped like flies on a regular basis. Then we moved here and I realized that, unless you're a meteorologist, weather isn't something you think about too much, other than to remember to bring a sweater with you when you go out because every church, store, library, and any other public place you happen to visit keeps the air conditioning set at frigid temperatures. This is all done to ensure that no one ever sweats, because sweating is gross and makes people smell bad, and how would we end up falling in love and having babies if we were all grossing each other out. The air conditioning is set like that to ensure the world goes on and we should be grateful and never complain about it.

Occasionally, though, we are forced to reckon with Mother Nature and her heat. Yesterday was one of those days. Kate's camp is in the forest and I suppose in order to keep things as quaint and lovely as possible this particular place is not equipped with air conditioning. This is a foolish idea.

After being there for a short time people began to sweat, and stink, and get red in the face. It wasn't pretty. I ran and hid in Greg's air conditioned truck, until Jane came and told me I was acting like a child. I reminded her that I get body odor and didn't think it was nice to inflict that on the others, but at some point I was forced to get out of the truck and be of service. That's what we're called to do as good Catholics, and trust me when I tell you I am one of the best out there. At the very least I like for others to think I am, so I sweetly asked around about making myself useful and decided to just accept the fact that no matter how much I begged God to make me stop sweating, it wasn't going to happen, not even for a good Catholic like myself.

After everyone was properly drenched and done helping the sisters set up, it was time for Mass, which was held in the hall - the hall with no air conditioning because like I said, this camp doesn't have it. People looked weak and tired, but happy, because it's nearly impossible to not be happy in Mass, even for someone like myself who spends quite a bit of her life being angry about something or other.

Mass started, the sisters sang and the priest gave an amazing homily(which I later learned none of my kids heard because they were busy wondering when the black dots they were seeing would disappear). And then it was time to give one another the sign of peace. I turned to Kate and she looked glassy and not at all excited about being there, which annoyed me, so I said, "excuse me Kate, I'm peacing you, please look happy," but she just passed out, literally. Thankfully Greg and I were there to catch her.

I'm happy to report it was nothing more serious than her getting hot and having low blood sugar. She sat for a while and ate something and promised me she would drink plenty of water and eat even if she wasn't hungry. The sisters reassured me they would look after the girls and keep them hydrated, but how can a mother not worry? I barely slept last night thinking about Kate and her cute little face and her constant, "I'm fine, don't worry about me," refrain we hear all the time, but I'm sure she is okay, since no news is good news, right?

Despite the heat and the sweat and the passing out it was a lovely day. And we filled our weekly quota for suffering. It's good to get that in at the beginning of the week.

Have a good week - and keep cool. Trust me when I say, no one wants to see you sweat.

Overheard

2011-07-12T15:41:00.001-04:00

Boy - What's herpes?

Mother - What? How did you hear about herpes?

Boy - There was an ad on TV about herpes medicine. What's herpes?

Mother - A disease.

Boy - What kind of disease?

Mother - I don't know.

Boy - Do you really not know or are you just saying that because you don't feel like telling me.

Mother - You don't really need to know what herpes is right now in your life.

Boy - I'll just ask the girls.

Mother - No you won't. Herpes is a disease you get from having sex with the wrong people.

Boy - You can get diseases from having sex?

Mother - Yeah, but only if you have sex before you're married and don't ever forget that.

Wise older sister - Well, what if you get married to someone who had pre-marital sex, but you didn't know it when you got married and they had herpes, then you can get it, too, right? How will I know if I can trust someone when they tell me they haven't had pre-marital sex?

Mother - Are you kidding me? Are you going to start this now? Can you leave the room because you're of no help at all.

Boy - Why would you have sex before you're married?

Mother - Well, YOU wouldn't have sex before your married so it really doesn't matter and we can stop talking about this.

Boy - Well, what happens to you when you get herpes.

Mother - Stuff.

Boy - What stuff?

Mother - Gross stuff.

Boy - Like what.

Mother - Well, since you won't give up talking about this - your penis falls off.

Boy - (Makes gasping sound indicating how horrible he thinks that is) If a guy's penis falls off does that mean a girl's vagina would fall off if she got it?

Mother - (excuses herself so she can go say a quick prayer asking God if perhaps she has not handled this in the best way and also, she has to laugh a little because she was not expecting that last question.)

Mother - (returns to room.) Okay, I made up the thing about your penis falling off.

Boy - Oh, good because that was really scary.

Mother - Scary enough to make you never want to engage in premarital sex.

Boy - Yes!

Mother - Then maybe that is what happens to you. I can't say for sure.

Boy - Are you just saying that to scare me?

Mother - Yes, and also I'm a horrible mother who can't handle these conversations anymore so you need to start asking your father all of this stuff otherwise I'm going to start drinking and never come out of my bedroom.

When you tell your children there is nothing that they can't come to you about, that they should only ask you and your husband certain things, they will take you seriously, especially if you have a pattern of actually engaging them in lively conversation. The tricky part is that at first the conversations are simple and sweet and you don't mind answering questions and concerns truthfully, but over time the questions become complicated and annoying and you will be left coming up with answers that are based on lies meant to make your kids scared to leave the house, because if your kids are scared to leave the house then you never have to worry about them getting into trouble and as a parent that is all you want. You want your kids to be safe forever and to never get hurt and to never have to face the world's problems.

But then you go look in the mirror and you realize that actually, it may be you who the kids need to be shielded from. You'll throw your hands up in the air and ask God why exactly he saw fit to give you four children. You'll also realize that TV is evil and this whole conversation most likely never would have happened if you didn't have a TV to begin with, at which point you decide the TV is off limits for quite some time. You may even consider telling your son that not only does herpes make your penis fall off, but so does watching Spongebob Squarepants.

note: In the interest of honesty I must admit something. I posted this this afternoon and took it down a few hours later, fearing I looked like an awful parent and that some people who don't knwo me well would misunderstand and possibly judge the interaction that takes place between me and my children. Then I realized that I was being judgemental in assuming that other people would be judgemental when reading this - or even care about it enough to form an opinion, or even that anyone would be reading this to begin with. I need to remember I am just not that important. To Deb and mom and dad...the thoughts of you guys never seeing this post made me a little sad, so here it is again. And thanks Terri!

Many thoughts on many things

2011-06-24T21:57:00.002-04:00

I can't seem to post much anymore, so here are a bunch of thoughts all scrunched up together.

I quit facebook last weekend. Someone told me my page is still up, but the person who told me that is not all together with it, so I think she may be mistaken. I quit I because I found myself wasting at least twenty minutes a day looking at what other people were up to and twenty minutes of my life adds up to a lot. I'm a mom and a wife and a friend and a sister and a neighbor and many other things. I have important tasks to tend to and I just don't think I need to be reading what other people, most of whom I never even see or talk to, have to say about all manner of things. (Ironically this is exactly what I hope people will do whenever I write a blog post - waste twenty minutes of their day coming on here to see what I have to say about all manner of things.)

For me (and only me - this isn't a sweeping condemnation of facebook) it became mindless and not entirely purposeful. I wouldn't even realize how long I was looking at things. It's like picking my lips. I cannot tell you how many times I've senselessly picked away until I'm in utter pain and left to scour my house in search of one of the hundreds of chap sticks strewn all over the place. Usually I end up finding a tube under the bed and it's all scooped out so I have to get some sort of utensil and dig out any last remnants. The whole scene is slightly unattractive. Greg usually comes in the room and pulls out a ridiculously large lip balm he found at some drugstore. The sheer size of it makes him think of me, not because he thinks I'm large, but because he knows how much I pick my lips and how I'm always looking for my "lip stuff." All that to say, facebook was as useful to me as picking my lips. I don't have time to do both, so the facebook went.

Greg brought home an elliptical trainer a month or two ago. It's just like the ones from the gyms. At first I thought it was foolish to have this gigantic thing in our already overflowing garage, but I got on and realized I love it. It's a good change of pace when I either can't do the bike or need a break from it. Alas, a new problem has now entered my life. I do the elliptical for an hour and end up hungry so I go inside and eat... and eat and eat. And then I feel bad so I go out and do the elliptical for a while longer. I'm doing the elliptical so I can eat and I'm eating because I know I'll just go out and do the elliptical.

The observant person who has been reading my blog for any length of time will realize I have an issue with self control. Sane people would just do the workout and then NOT go inside and engage in gluttony. In my defense, this machine produces a hunger in me the likes of which I have never felt. According to the workout summary I deplete over 600 calories while on it. Now I know this is not accurate so no need to leave comments to that affect, but truly it is a hard workout. No matter how you slice it though, I have a discipline problem, but not nearly as bad as I used to, which brings me to my next thought.

I love going to confession. Some people who don't understand this sacrament think it's just an excuse for people to go out and sin because they know they can go tell a priest everything and all is forgiven. That's a crude understanding of course. The truth is, the more consistently you go to confession, the less likely you are to even want to engage in sinful behavior. Of course you still will, but you'll find yourself doing less of the most spiritually harmful things and when you do engage in them, you'll recognize the old sick patterns immediately. Regularly confessing your sins to another human being can't help but make you aware of how you are living.

It's no coincidence that over the past two years I have completely lost all desire to go and spend money I don't have. I don't get a rush going into Target. I spend days thinking over whether or not I really need something or whether I want it. I wear the same clothes over and over again. I haven't purchased a single decorative lampshade or pillow since spring of 2009. Spending money no longer gives me a sick high. I'm more content than I ever was two years ago when I was in the midst of living a destructive lie that included hiding outrageously high credit card receipts from my husband. The major difference in my life between now and then is that I make use of the Sacrament of Reconciliation on a pretty regular basis. I could never have changed without the graces I receive after leaving the confessional. I think I just got preachy, but I kind of don't care.

I'll end with this quote which I found amusing and has nothing to do with anything...I am not sure where it came from, but it made me smile. Whoever said it was referring to David Sedaris and his writing (have I ever mentioned I love him) - "Easy listening for the self satisfied liberal."

This post is vulgar, but sometimes so is life and I refuse to edit.

2011-05-31T14:00:00.002-04:00

After spending a few relaxing nights away camping, we came home to find a big pile of dog poop in Anthony's room. I suppose I need to be honest; it was several piles of dog poop (of the loose variety). The bonus was that Anthony's room was already strewn with papers and pencils and Legos and clothes, the result of me telling him for the past three months that I wasn't going to pick up his mess and then him sweetly telling me back that it didn't bother him at all to live in a state of utter chaos, and then me saying fine with me, I couldn't care less how messy it gets in there, but then really going into my room and screaming into a pillow.

You would think seeing his toys covered in dog excrement would upset him, but I think he was secretly thinking how well this worked out for him since now I had no choice but to pick up his room. There's something quite humbling and completely insane about a grown woman crawling around on her knees with a breathing mask on, cleaning up after a dog, a creature that I'm pretty sure was never meant to live in-doors in the first place.

Thankfully I've been a mom for nearly fifteen years, so I'm well acquainted with crap in all its forms, both human and non, and no job is too tough for me. I've had so much experience in all of this that I made up a little diddy a while back that helps me get through the whole process of picking up the kinds of things that would have been better left in a toilet or dumpster, rather than on floors and walls and underwear. Admittedly, the song is heavy on the words piss and shit and it goes something like this...Piss and shit, piss and shit, I'm gonna clean me some piss and shit, piss and shit in the morning! The word morning can be changed to evening, depending on what time of day it is. I just repeat it over and over in my mind until I start laughing, which only takes a couple of seconds.

Of course my intention on Sunday morning was to get home from camping, take a shower and get myself to Mass. I kept looking at the clock in Greg's truck thinking about the spectacular time we were making. But you know what they say about the best laid plans. As I was telling Jane all of this while she watched me pick up Buster's poop (and really, is there anything better than having someone watch you pick up dog poop while you nearly gag to the point of puking, all the while the person repeating to you, "I wonder when he did it, I wonder how long it's been there for, do you think it's been there long mommy?") she said to me, "That's okay mommy, God knew you had good intentions of getting to church today. He won't be mad." To which I could only smile and say thanks. As a mother I've learned to find God wherever I have to, including on my hands and knees picking up dog do do while listening to me sweet daughter reassure me things are just fine with me and my maker.

And in case you're wondering, yes, I ended up having a spectacular day, despite its beginnings.

lunch conversation

2011-05-26T21:00:00.000-04:00

Jane - Did you know a survey showed 97 percent of people in Florida think Casey Anthony is guilty.

Me - No, I didn't know that.

Kate - (yelling from the other room) Yeah, the other 3 percent weren't present for the survey.

Me - hahahahahaha ( that's not really what I sound like when I laugh my ass off, but you get the idea)

Pretty funny kid.

Weekend thoughts

2011-05-09T20:45:00.002-04:00

I love my husband and kids. I suspected this for some time but it was confirmed while I was away and felt myself missing and thinking about them quite a bit. I even missed them after getting numerous calls referencing things like the cable account, i pod chargers and inquiries about why exactly I had to go away in the first place.

I'm done going away by myself for a few years. I got it out of my system and have no desire to be a thousand miles away from Greg or the kids for a long time. At first this revelation caused me to feel shame because I figured it made me some kind of loser who is too attached to her role as wife and mother, but then I realized that I am just like any other professional who goes away and thinks about work obsessively. Those kinds of people are mostly venerated and thought of as being ambitious and hard working type A people who make the world go round, but I'm here to tell you something you probably already know - it's mothers who make the world go round so if you happen to be one, find a way to make the people in your life venerate you instead of those idiotic type A fools. Going away for fours day helps this process along.

Having said all that, I had a terrific time both at the wedding, and hanging out with my sister and her family. There was much laughter going on all weekend and that's never to be missed if it can be helped. I would have felt awful if I skipped out due to my intense fear of flying, which by the way was not at all eased for one second while I was on the plane, but more on that later. The wedding was beautiful and fun. The highlight was dancing while screaming/singing along to Bruce with my siblings. The low light was the much too small piece of delicious wedding cake we were served. I almost laughed when I saw it sitting there on my plate. It was as thin as a piece of American cheese. I'm convinced the caterers were trying to steal the cake. They approached my brother's wife after they had served everyone and asked her if she would like to bring home two big pieces and she said no, she would like to bring home the entire rest of the cake. So I don't really need to know anything else about this person my brother has married. She appreciates cake and that really is the most important thing there is to know about someone.

Now about the plane. Two friends gave me books to read to keep me calm on the trip. I thought this was a good idea and was excited about reading both of them. I took out the first one shortly after takeoff and after ten pages I realized I had not technically read any of the book. I was turning pages mindlessly. It's like when you realize you've arrived at your destination and you have no idea how it happened. I put the book down and decided to try and calm down and go back to it later, but I never calmed down. I stared out the window and realized that if we crashed I was dead meat. There was no chance of survival. I looked at all the little plots of land and felt envious of the people below who lived there and were safely on the ground. At that point I should have shut my shade and tried to sleep but I must have been getting some sick pleasure out of being so morbid because I just kept looking out the window and shaking my leg. Then I looked around the plane and wondered if I should tell everyone else about the dead meat thing. It seems that there are people on planes who are completely at ease and not at all worried about this and I don't like other people being calm while I'm not. I decided not to say anything though. I was reassured when the plane landed but only until I remembered I would be getting on a plane to go back home.

My sister brought me to the airport on Sunday morning and asked if I was glad I had come and I told her I wouldn't be able to answer that question until I was back in Orlando. If the plane crashed I would most definitely not be happy I went. But here I am in one piece sitting at the computer so yes, I'm glad I went. The only thing I'm mad about is that I would have had even more fun if I hadn't wasted time all weekend worrying about whether I would make it back home. I also would have had more fun if I got a bigger piece of cake.

Marriage

2011-05-01T13:59:00.002-04:00

Me - Why do all the pictures keep falling off the walls?

Him - Maybe because you're hanging them with packing tape?

Me - What else would I hang them with?

Him - Nails.

Me - Seriously?

We've been married for close to eighteen years and Greg still believes that at some point I'll start doing things the right way. It's nice to live with someone so hopeful. It's probably the reason I married him. I must have sensed he'd never give up on me.

Flying high - unfortunately

2011-04-05T16:00:00.001-04:00

I've been very busy over here having a slight nervous breakdown about flying up to NY for my brother's wedding in May. I hate to fly. I love the airport and all the excitement and hubbub and sense of adventure I feel whenever I go inside, but really, beyond the gift shops and coffee shops and people running toward loved ones or hugging people goodbye and sobbing, the thrill of air travel is lost on me. I get that it is a quick and convenient way to get to far flung places but there is something unsettling about being that high up in the sky and not being a bird - or God.

I spent part of yesterday torturing a friend and some of my family with my panic laced emails about the impending trip. This was brought on by the news that the airline I am taking to get to Albany recently had one of its planes blow a hole in its ceiling. As I said to my mother, this doesn't inspire a feeling of calm in me.

The fact that Greg hasn't forbidden me from going is irritating. First, he must not love me that much if he isn't spending all of his time worrying that my plane may go down, and secondly, if he forbid me to go I could use him as my excuse for bailing out of this trip. I would much rather him look like the jerk than me. He doesn't seem to care if people think he is a jerk as much as I do. Honestly, sometimes he appears to relish it.

After I calmed down I started to think about the truth, which is that I am more likely to die in a bike accident than a plane crash, and then I felt even worse. Now I'm afraid to get on a plane and my bike. No, not really - I'm still only afraid of the plane thing, but I did decide to put the thought of flying out of my head for now and not let fear rule. If, however, another planes rips open at the seams in the next few weeks I will go back to living in fear and will never fly again.

The strangest thing about this is that the people being interviewed at the airport were not at all upset about the hole. They were upset that their flights we delayed or cancelled. Am I really the only person alive who finds it odd and unsettling that a plane flying at 36,000 feet altitude would suddenly have part of its roof open up? Am I that much of a wimp or are other people that stupid? I'm going with the latter answer on that one.

I have almost five weeks before I have to go. As I told my sister yesterday, if I do make it on the plane it will be a miracle, one helped along by some drugs or alcohol. No, I kid. I'm taking an early flight out and would never drink before noon, and thanks to my mom's detailed talks on illicit drug use when I was growing up I never got into that whole scene. See mom, I did listen to something you said. I will be bringing my rosary and prayer books along and I will break out into spontaneous, loud and desperate prayer if I suspect anything strange. It shoud be fun for all.

A very long tale of riding

2011-04-02T18:55:00.001-04:00

I've been riding my bike again lately. Riding it obsessively, because that's just what I do. If I like something I get obsessed and can't think of much else except what it is I am obsessed with. It happened with veggie burgers, TCBY, Lays baked chips, green tea, white tea, chai tea, coffee, espresso, hummus, Bruce Springsteen, Mumford and Sons, David Sedaris. The list goes on and as you can see it mostly all has to do with food, beverages, musicians and hilarious writers. Trust me, there are much worse things to be obsessed with than the previous list.

Riding a bike is the one thing in my life that I mastered on the first try. I think this is the reason I like it so much. I was five years old and spotted a bike on our front dirt. I can't call it a front lawn as we were the sort of children who played hard and didn't allow grass to grow. Anyway, I saw the bike and noticed that no one was around, and because I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of anyone else I figured I would take the opportunity to get on and see what happened. I rode all the way over to my Nana's apartment without falling. It was completely exhilarating and I was hooked. And then I was mad that there were no witnesses.

I grew up in an age where parents were smart enough to not sign their children up for any activity that wasn't close enough to walk or ride our bikes to and so those were just about the only ways I knew to get myself around. When I was in high school I managed to become friends with people who had cars and this was quite helpful, but still, I loved riding my bike.

When I got my first job that paid over eight bucks an hour I saved up and bought myself an expensive Trek mountain bike. I rode all over the place, mostly on deserted country roads that were definitely not the kinds of places a twenty one year old girl should be riding alone. This made my mom nervous which I think was the reason I did it. And yes, I am sure I will be paid back in kind by my own children.

I dreamed about going cross country on my Trek. Like most of my dreams, I had no real plan and sort of just hoped this would happen on its own and when it didn't I forgot about it and went about my life. I got married, moved a lot, had children and the only bike I rode for a while was a stationary bike that I loved for the sole reason that riding it everyday for an hour helped me lose every bit of the weight I gained when I had gotten pregnant.

It wasn't the same though and when we moved to Burlington I started riding outside again - that is until I took an awful spill and almost landed head first directly into a tree. I was shaken and for quite some time I didn't ride and when I did, it was only with Greg and the kids.

Once we moved here, a place where the weather is almost always nice enough to ride outside, I got back into it and remembered how much I loved it. The problem of course is that because I am somewhat obsessive I am not happy enough to just ride for an hour. I have to ride for ninety minutes which leads to two hours which leads to two and a half hours which leads to a very sore arse and bizarre tan lines.

At the very least, all of my obsessive riding has taught me some important things and I will share them with you now. Bring enough water or risk hallucinating, wear sun block or risk getting an awful burn, turn around after an hour because if you don't you will just want to keep going and chances are you have people waiting for you at home who love you and may even miss you if you don't come back (unless you were in a really bad mood when you departed and in that case, stay out as long as possible). When your butt gets sore, you are better off just sitting through it because if you stand up and then sit back down on your bike seat it will hurt approximately one hundred times more than it originally did.

Another thing I learned. Lake County is gorgeous. There are hundreds of bikes routes to ride and you will be unable to stay in a foul mood if you happened to have been in one when you left, not that I would know anything about foul moods as I am mostly a sunshiny type person. Truthfully, whatever I am feeling when I leave for my rides I couldn't really tell you because by the time I get home I am completely exhausted in the best possible way. And every time I go out I am convinced at some point in that ride that during this lifetime I will make my way across the country on my bike. That's what riding does for me. It make me crazy and delusional and happy and completely thankful to be alive.

Two decades worth

2011-01-19T10:00:00.004-05:00

Sometimes high school friends "friend" me on facebook and ask what I've been up to for the past 20 years, so I've come up with a form letter to let everyone in on the excitement that has been my life over the past two decades.

Dear so and so,

It's so good to hear from you. Due to my laziness, the chances of me sending you a friend request were slim to none, so thank you for taking the initiative.

As far as what I have been up to for the last twenty years, well, I will try to distill everything down to the nitty gritty, truly important stuff.

After graduating from high school in 1987, I went onto to college, graduating from Suny Albany in the winter of '92, with a degree in the "liberal arts." It was well worth it; I am still liberal and artistic. I'll save you the trouble of doing the math and just tell you that yes, it took me longer than four years to graduate. I was busy doing important and productive things during that time, things not related to my studies, hence the delay.

I met my husband (although he wasn't my husband when I met him) in the summer of '90 and married him in the summer of '93. His name is Greg and he grew up in Buffalo, NY. I can't really describe him to you, as it wouldn't do him justice, suffice it to say that he has a twisted sense of humor, talks minimally, and doesn't care what anyone but me thinks of him. Sometimes this fact makes me nervous, but most of the time I find it refreshing. Oh, and he does laundry on a regular basis, and adores me and our children, so I bagged me a good one.

Greg and I spent the first years of our marriage moving around to various places like Rochester, NY, West Kill NY, North Carolina and Vermont. There was also a short stint in Maine that I prefer not to think about.

In the fall of 2001 we decided we should take the three children that we now had (two girls, one boy) and move closer to extended family, so we moved back to Albany, NY, where we remained for about four years, until we decided that we should move again, this time to someplace warm and brimming with job possibilities for my husband - he works in construction as a project manager. He's pretty bossy so he has done quite well in this position.

Anyway, in the fall of 2005 we packed up and moved to central Florida, knowing that the state was bursting with building projects and Greg would never be out of a job, and so far he hasn't been, although things got dicey last year, but I think we're okay for now. I don't worry too much about this stuff.

At first I hated central Florida, as it was the exact opposite of everything I had ever known. I especially hated the palm trees. They seemed so empty and soulless and I spent many hours wondering if we had made a huge mistake moving to a place where the only trees were ones that provided no shade, but then we found this great little town called Mount Dora, Florida, located in beautiful Lake County, and I decided I didn't hate it all. There were huge oak trees with Spanish moss dripping off of them, and lakes, and hills, and friendly people and my kids said it reminded them of their Fisher Price village, so we decided to buy a house and settled in.

Right around this time I had another baby. She was a total surprise. At first I was annoyed that I was pregnant because I was a perfect size 6 and I didn't want to get fat, as I am stay at home mom and dreaded becoming the stereotypical, dumpy mom, but the second Maggie was born I told everyone to pretend I had never said some of the things I did while I was pregnant. I certainly didn't want her to get a complex and think that keeping my figure was more important to me than bringing a new life into the world. As it turns out, she is doted on like no other child has been and will probably go on to do something incredible and amazing, like curing diabetes. But even if she doesn't I won't care. None of us can imagine life without her. She's pretty great.

As far as the details of our lives right now, I homeschool my fourteen and twelve year old daughters, but my son, who is ten, goes to public school. My kids are funny and cute and love to read and were once described as "little spark plugs." That's really all you need to know about them.

I spend most of my days reading, painting my walls over and over again, moving furniture around, walking around our town and enjoying the beautiful weather (unless it dips below 50 degrees and then I refuse to go outside.) And of course I have met some wonderful friends. In fact, I think the friends I have met here may be some of the nicest people on the planet.

I guess my life keeps me busy because I fall into bed every night completely exhausted. And yes, I know it all sounds so simple and quaint, but when I was a little girl I had no aspirations to lead a glamorous life filled with wealth and fame; I only wanted to grow up to be a mom and wife, so I guess you could call me a success story.

I hope this fills you in on some of the finer points of my life. Please let me know what you have been up to for the past twenty years.

whammy

2011-01-04T13:10:00.008-05:00

One of my greatest joys as a child was visiting my grandparent's house. It was not a house filled with many rules. The only ones in place mostly had to do with food. We couldn't freely dip into my grandfather's beloved Twinkies, hot dogs, or liver worst; permission must first be sought. The other rule was that we definitely were not allowed to touch the thermostat, although we didn't know about that rule until my Uncle John, the youngest of my dad's eleven siblings, dared to touch the heat one day and chaos ensued.

I guess my grandfather was highly attuned to temperature settings and sensed that something was amiss. He went and checked the thermostat and when his suspicions were confirmed he started carrying on in a manner that was somewhat amusing. My grandfather wasn't prone to speaking, let alone yelling, and he wasn't even prone to moving out of his chair, so to see him running through the hall, flailing his arms and opening his mouth to scream was too much for my ten year old self to comprehend. My siblings and I ran upstairs, caught between nervous laughter and my Uncle John, who was trying quickly to remove himself from the scene.

At some point the crisis was diffused and we went back to doing things like making prank phone calls. My grandparent's house was a hotbed of prank phone call making. I think the fact that my grandfather was always reading and my grandmother was always working on puzzles meant we could get away with this for several minutes at a time without anyone becoming suspicious. When we were home in our tiny apartment, with a mother who had an uncanny knack for overhearing everything, we never even bothered trying.

My children started asking me questions about my grandparents yesterday, which started me down this path of reminiscing. One of my happiest memories is something I think about quite a bit, specifically every year when October rolls around.

The particulars are fuzzy, but it was fall, I was probably not more than ten or eleven and there was a baseball game on t.v. It was an important game, probably a play-off series, and the Yankees, who my brothers loved, and some other team, maybe the Red Sox, who my brothers hated, were playing. It may not have been the Red Sox, but my disdain for them makes telling this story more enjoyable.

Honestly, it doesn't matter that much who was playing. What matters is that my grandfather, who never watched sports, who never engaged anyone in conversation, who never got excited over anything other than people screwing with thermostat settings, started watching the game. The game grew more interesting and my grandfather moved up to the edge of his chair, which was quite shocking, and then he got excited and started pointing and wiggling his fingers at the t.v. and yelling out "WHAMMY!" whenever the pitcher threw the ball, and just like magic, each time he yelled that, a strike was called.

At first I think we may have thought he was losing his mind. A man doesn't go from never speaking to yelling out whammy without people thinking something is wrong, but the more he did it, the more we screamed and encouraged him to keep going and he did, right on through to the end of the game, which the Yankees won. Even now, as a forty one year old woman who should know better, I believe the reason the Yankees won that game was due solely to my grandfather's special powers.

If not for that small incident many years ago I may simply remember my grandfather as someone who never wore anything other than a black suit(I think he even wore it while he was sleeping) and someone who was obsessed with the air temperature of the house. I guess that's not a horrible way to remember someone, but telling my kids those things wouldn't have captured their attention the way the baseball story did. (Although a man who never,ever wears anything but a black suit, even on the weekends, even on vacation, even in the heat of muggy summers, is suddenly becoming more interesting for me to think about.)

update - After I wrote this my dad emailed me and let me know it was the Kansas City Royals, not the Red Sox, who the Yankees beat. I knew either my brothers or my dad would remember this seemingly minor detail -minor only to women. Julie, I hope this makes you feel a little better.

hopes

2011-01-02T11:41:00.001-05:00

In light of my previous post, in which I admitted I busied myself last year by getting into a fight with a fourteen year old girl, and leaving and then returning to the scene of a fender bender, it appears I may be ripe for some resolutions, but I'm not going to go that route because history has shown that resolutions don't work. Plus, to resolve to do something sounds difficult and implies a certain amount of hard work is involved. Instead I am going to have some New Year's hopes. The word hope is much sweeter sounding than resolve. If you hope for something you merely have to sit back and wait for it to happen and it will.

Here are some of my New Year's hopes. I hope to get back into shape. I hope to become more organized. I hope to think before speaking. I hope to keep my house clean on a regular basis. I hope to not lay in the sun, something I can barely resist doing when the weather turns warm, even though I know it is giving me wrinkles and moles and my doctor told me to stop doing it. I hope to take my contacts out every night before going to bed, and to remove my makeup at that time. I hope to stop speaking in excessively loud tones to my children, although that one went out the window already when one of my kids lolly gagged while getting ready this morning.

I do have some deeper hopes, but I feel weird putting them on here because they involve my faith and I find it increasingly more difficult to talk about my faith. I want to guard it with everything I have. I don't know what I am guarding it from - probably from neighbors who are trying to convince me my faith is not true. Nothing drives me further into my faith than when people do this, so I guess I am thankful for the recent annoyance. I'm pretty quiet about my beliefs and expect people to behave in kind. I'm surprised when that doesn't happen.

I hope to send a letter to David Sedaris begging him to come to central Florida for a speaking engagement. I guess our area is not deemed worthy of his presence, but I think I may be able to woo him with some of my lofty praise. I'm pretty charming when needed. Last week I was at the store and a friend who I haven't spoken to in some time was behind me at the deli. I'm not quite sure what happened to the friendship - most likely a lack of effort on my part. Things kind of just fizzled out and I could tell when I saw her that she was going to look down or pretend to get a phone call so as to avoid any discomfort, but I turned around and said " HI So and So, ( I called her by her name as I find this helps people feel better), how have you been?" And all was well again, due to my dazzling and irresistible personality. Right now you should be envisioning me smiling (with sparklingly teeth, of course) and the "ding" sound should be going off in your head. Please hope along with me that David Sedaris will come here.

I hope more people will leave comments on here. It makes writing more fun knowing people are reading. Terri and Julie, you are much appreciated!

2010 - a quick wrap up of some things I did,said, thought

2010-12-30T19:28:00.000-05:00

Got in a fight with a 14 year old girl

Got in a fight with 14 year old girl's mother

Berated myself for being a hot head - spent a good portion of the year working on this. I made great strides, trust me, I did.

Cracked my front bumper on the tire of another car and left the scene in a panic ( I did a similar thing in the winter of '09 with the back bumper, except for that involved a mailbox. Oh, and children who did not belong to me were in the car -oops!)

Went back to the scene and waited for the driver of the other car (which was not damaged) to come out of store. Driver didn't care and didn't even feel bad for parking like a jerk, which is the whole reason I cracked my bumper in the first place (nothing is ever my fault, obviously) - left the scene in a furious rage but didn't yell at anyone

Promised Greg I would stop hitting things with my car and leaving the scene.

Made it through the rest of the year without hitting anything. I feel I may be due.

Lost and gained the same five pounds at least five or six time

Did not lose all of my baby weight

Laid in bed for several hours (over the course of 12 months) and wondered why God was punishing me by keeping me fat.

Painted my kitchen cabinets, but only once this year, which is an improvement over past years.

Rearranged my living room at least eight times - and after each time told Greg, "that's it, I finally like it, no really."

Read a lot. Some good, some bad. Highlight - rereading Pride and Prejudice after not reading it since I was pregnant with Jane. Lowlight - reading a dreadful book called How to Change your Husband in which I realized the book was really about how everything bad that ever happened in the history of the world (and my life) is the fault of women (and me) and I was the one who needed to change. I'm not a big fan of trick titles.

Told Greg only twice that we should move. This is the least amount of time I have spent on this topic in years. Decided I like it here - I like it a lot

Volunteered at a local food storage facility that sends the food to local food pantries. We did this so that we could get free tickets to Disney. We almost used the tickets a few weeks ago but had last minute change of plans and never ended up going. When my kids complained about this I reminded them that this made us better people than all the other people who volunteered just for free tickets. An older child was quick to point out that this was the exact reason we volunteered in the first place. The important thing is we sorted boxes upon boxes of unhealthy food and learned that all that junk food that doesn't get eaten in stores goes to poor people which ended up making us sad. Realized that we should only volunteer at places that made us feel happy.

Spent countless hours in Starbucks talking with good friends and laughing until it hurt and suddenly understood why my mother used to spend so much time doing the same thing with her friends.

Enjoyed every last minute of my trip to NY and Philly. I'll leave Vermont out of that equation. Still scarred by the filth - and some other things.

You may not be able to tell after reading this particular post, but I have had a fabulous year. Here's to hoping 2011 is just as swell - for me and for you.

Advent Season

2010-12-02T08:25:00.002-05:00

Here's what the beginning of the season looks like for us...

We get really excited about the wreath, go to look for it in the attic and realize it's lost again. Someone (it could be me) complains that our house is a mess and disorganized, and threatens to throw out everything in the attic. Someone else walks in with the Advent wreath and says,"were you looking for this?" I look for candles and can't find any. I run to the store hoping that, against all odds, I will be able to find pink and purple candles. I believe this is the year the store will have stocked enough of these. But alas, there are no pink or purple candles to be found within a 20 mile radius of the town where I live. I make a mental note to not wait until the first day of Advent to buy candles next year. I get white candles instead and tell the kids it really doesn't matter and Jesus would not be upset, but this doesn't make anyone feel better and there is still the belief that Jesus would be upset, at which point I get upset and beg my children to go with the flow a little more because I am their mom and if they don't learn to do that while living with me they are going to be miserable. I get super crafty and tie pink and purple ribbon around the candles and then someone starts to worry that the ribbon is going to catch fire. I look through my Advent schedule and get out the appropriate readings, at which point all of my children who read descend on me and start arguing about doing the readings. I say something reassuring like, "See, this is actually something Jesus would be upset with." Then I read the readings and tell them I will continue doing that all through Advent if they all scream like that again. We finish and I ask if anyone has anything they want to say. We all look at each other like a bunch of mutes and I start to wish we were one of those families that felt free and easy talking about their thoughts on God. Then I think, "nah, this stuff is way too personal and I like talking to God in the privacy of my own room." Then we end with an "Our Father" and "Hail Mary" and I almost start to cry because nothing sounds sweeter to me than the sound of my kids saying these two prayers together. And the fact that Maggie can almost recite them on her own this year just about breaks my heart in two, in the best kind of way of course.

I have set my standards low this year for the Advent Season. I simply want to light the wreath every night, read our meditations, have a few minutes of quiet and not argue about who gets to blow the candle out, and really should anyone else but the 3 year old be allowed to do this? Should there even be the slightest argument? I also want to drill into my childrens' heads that Christmas season actually begins on Christmas Day and that in much the same way their father and I did not celebrate their birth until the day they were born, they are to try and remain full of hopeful anticipation for Christmas and not rush through the season, there will be plenty of time for celebration, let's just enjoy the waiting. Inevitably one of my kids will call me a Grinch for telling them this and then I will just ask if they want to go make some Christmas cookies and all wil be well again.

I have found that one of the toughest parts of celebrating Christmas with children is finding the balance between having them understand what it truly is about, while not coming across as a grouchy, unfun, party pooper mom. I hope I'm not doing anything to them that will kill the joy they truly have in their hearts for this season.

Thankful, thank you, thanksgiving, just all arounds thanks

2010-11-21T16:02:00.001-05:00

As many of you may already know, Thanksgiving is this week. I love Thanksgiving and in honor of that holiday I would like to say what I am thankful for.

First off, I am thankful that I just convinced my son not to make me homemade body lotion. I have no idea what it was going to entail, but I have a sneaking suspicion I would have broken out into hives if forced to wear it.

Honestly though, what I am really thankful for is everything. Really, all of it - for the good, the bad, the regrettable, the messy, the humorous, the ugly, the beautiful, the bitter and the sweet. I know you find this hard to believe because my blog consists mostly of tales in which I complain and lament and make sarcastic remarks about people and events and places, and where I don't seem to take anything seriously, but this blog is a only tiny little morsel of my life. I use it as an escape and a therapy, in lieu of smoking crack or drinking large quantities of booze and what I say here should never be taken as a pure and complete representation of the kind of person I am, unless of course this blog has left you with the notion that I am incredible. Then by all means, go ahead and continue believing that. Truly though, I am thankful for everything and I hope I remember to say that at least once a day, but preferably a little more.

"If thank you is the only prayer you ever say, it will have been enough." 13th century mystic, Meister Eckhart -

WARNING - This post could be a waste of your time

2010-11-18T08:22:00.002-05:00

There was a very interesting article in the New York Post last week. Honestly, all the articles in the New York Post are interesting, even the ones that are true. Anyway, a college professor somewhere out in the middle of the country conducted an experiment in which he ate nothing but things like chips and Twinkies and donuts for a full thirty days. He kept his calorie count to 1800 calories a day and lost twenty pounds. His good cholesterol improved, his bad went down, and he feels great. I don't think I really need to waste my time reading or researching anything more on the subject to persuade me that this diet regimen is tailor made for me.

I do think I need to print the article out and laminate it, so that I can pull it out when people start talking to me about health and nutrition. I get really bored when people discuss those things, so bored in fact that I usually become agitated, and the agitation leads to me wanting to locate the closest fast food restaurant and stuff my face with fatty foods and sugary beverages. Do you think this is a sign of immaturity?

It's not the topic of health that I find dull, it's the unsolicited relaying of it to me, as though I'm some sort of moron who can't find these things out on my own. I sound bitter, don't I? I know. I'm trying hard to work on this. The truth is, I am quite a pleasant person and hardly ever snap at anyone when I am annoyed with them (unless I can be absolutely sure of never seeing them again.) I usually just smile and nod my head and then call my trusted, loyal husband and tell him of my irritations. His sage advice is always the same - "Cut 'em outta your life, you don't need that nonsense." I don't follow this advice, of course, as it would lead to having no friends, but it is refreshing and makes me glad that I married a man and not a woman. Men are very to the point and direct. None of the nonsense of worrying and wondering about other's feelings and definitely no ruminating over whether people are mad at you. Just do what you have to do and move on.

Speaking of marrying men, I was talking to someone last week and you know how people sometimes say they married their best friend? Well, I've never said that. My best friend happens to be a woman named Sue and since neither one of us is a lesbian I could not, in good conscience, marry her. By the way, I have nothing against lesbians. They really don't bother me unless they hit on me, but I wouldn't get anymore annoyed with that than I would if a man hit on me (unless the man was Jon Hamm - yum, hamm - Jon Hamm!)

Relax, I'm joking and merely trying to amuse myself. I'm sure writing a post wherein I spend time trying to amuse myself by talking about how I lust after a certain man constitutes some sort of sin, but I'm covered there as I plan on going to Reconciliation over the weekend. By the way, I much prefer calling it Confession, but that is another topic for another post.

I guess the best friend thing is just a matter of semantics for me. My husband is my husband and my best friend is my best friend and I never thought much about it until the matter was brought up. I do think Greg deserves the title of best friend as he is the person who has most patiently endured living with me and all of my little irritations, plus he happens to know when I've had enough of something/somebody and always comes to my rescue just when I need it most. By rescue I mean he starts making jokes about the matter that no one else but me would find amusing. Isn't that is how you know someone is your best friend?

Now onto two very important matters, because frankly this post is starting to bore me, so I can only imagine what it is doing to my readers. Happy Birthday to my non-spousal best friend, Sue. And also, Happy 45th Anniversary to my parents, who never referred to one another as best friends, but who definitely continue to patiently endure each other.

How to have fun while talking about politics

2010-10-31T21:59:00.016-04:00

Bill Clinton called me today. I was so excited. Well, it wasn't so much Bill Clinton as it was a recording of Bill Clinton in which he told me to vote for certain people. I am going to do just as he told me because if a former president of the US of A went out of his way to call me and tell me what to do, I am sure as heck going to do it. It's called respect people. I am nothing if not respectful. And try not to be too jealous of the fact that he didn't call you. I'm told he has a preference for girls with dark hair. And yes, I still think of myself as a girl.

The whole thing reminded of the time President Barack Obama called me, except for he wasn't the president yet and again it was just a recording, which was a real shame because I wanted to ask him if he truly was a socialist. I wasn't even sure what the word meant, but I knew a lot of people were telling me he was one and they seemed pretty upset about it and I was wondering if I should be upset about it too. I thought I could pin him down and have him tell me once and for all if this description of him was accurate, but he just rambled on and then he hung up on me. It almost made me not want to vote for him. Almost. But I thought he was cuter than the other guy so I really had no choice. Then I saw a picture of him with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth and I wanted to vote for him even more. I think the picture was meant to detract people from liking him, but it had the opposite effect on me. I've always been a sucker for a bad ass and he looked like one in that photo. I figured he was just the guy to keep us safe from all the evils of the world.

By the way, I'm still not completely sure what a socialist is, but I think it may it have something to do with being able to have fun at a party, like, "My best friend Sue is such a good socialist. Whenever we go out she is the life of the party!" If I am correct about this meaning, and I think I am, then I cannot figure out why people are having a problem with the whole thing. After all, we are constantly reading articles and hearing things on TV about how important it is to socialize and a have a big network of friends. People who are socialist live longer, happier lives, they are healthier than their unsocialist counterparts, and yet we have half the country upset about a socialist being in office and now they're going to send a message. Everyone who supported this socialist is going to be run out of office, so I guess we are going to have one miserable country on our hands. Well, if you are against having a good time, go ahead and vote for those fuddy duddies, but not me. I like socialistizing and having fun and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Now after clicking on spellcheck I realize that socialistizing is not a word (although it should be) and I fear I may be confused about this whole thing, but the elections are just two days away, certainly not enough time to figure things out on my own, so I am going to just go ahead and stick to my original plan of voting for who Bill Clinton told me to vote for. Fingers crossed people. If the country goes to hell in a hand basket, don't blame me. I voted for the fun people.

Know thyself

2010-10-23T16:00:00.005-04:00

I decided to do a health and wellness experiment this week to see if sugar really is as bad for you as all the "experts" claim, and I only decided to call it an experiment after it was all over, because that made me feel better than just admitting I'm a pig with no self control, which is closer to the truth.

I bought seven boxes of Black Crows last week and proceeded to eat two entire boxes within a matter of about twenty minutes. After consuming somewhere close to 2000 calories of pure sugar, I mysteriously got a throbbing headache and crushing stomach pains. I ended up spending a good portion of the afternoon alternating between running to the bathroom, laying on my bed sweating, lamenting my gluttony, and figuring out ways to keep my husband from knowing why I was feeling so lousy. I must have done something right because he was convinced it was my "allergies." Before it was all over a good twelve hours of my life had been wasted due to my overindulgence.

By the way, if you're wondering why I only bought seven boxes of Black Crows, it's because that's all that was left in the store. They were in the sale bin and were marked down to sixty four cents and the sign on them said, "last chance." I wasn't really sure if "last chance" meant that they would never be sold for that low, low price again (as opposed to the normal and much higher price of one dollar and forty nine cents), or if "last chance" meant they were no longer going to be sold at all. I feared the later may have been the case, as I'm quite sure I'm the only person alive who eats these little licorice flavored gum drops, and so I felt compelled to buy every available box. Before you judge me too harshly I do have a perfectly valid reason for behaving like this and once you hear it you'll understand my predicament.

Years ago, my little brother, who had just turned 25 and was not so little, was extremely sick and in the hospital. It was early November and so of course all the Christmas candy was out on the store shelfs. There was a CVS right across the street from the hospital, so every time I went to see Christopher I first made my way to CVS to pick up treats for myself. I really felt I deserved it as there is nothing quite so boring as sitting in a hospital room waiting for someone who is deathly ill to get better. I kid. My brother's room was actually quite a happening spot.

A particular candy company put out one of the best tasting treats ever that Christmas. They were a jellied candy with the perfect combination of vanilla and marshmallow flavoring and were softer and fresher than any other jellied candy I had ever tasted. Oh, and they didn't even get stuck in my teeth. During this particular holiday season, my sister (who appreciates sugar even more than me) and I snacked on this until we made ourselves sick, but back then my stomach was much stronger so even after making myself sick I could go back for more.

After several weeks, my brother got better, Christmas came and went, and so too did the marshmallow flavored jellied concoction. My sister and I had now gotten as attached to the candy as we would a person, so we were of course crushed about the season ending. We pined away and every once in awhile one of us would go to the store hoping to find a forgotten bag stuffed in back of the shelf. We finally resigned ourselves to the fact that we would have to wait for several months before indulging in these tasty treats again.

This story has a sad ending. The following Christmas came and went with no sign of the candy. We were crushed. There was talk of writing the company to find out what happened and even now, fifteen years since we last tasted them, we still mention them affectionately when talking about candy, which we do quite a bit. I'm sure someone is reading this and thinking I am exaggerating our obsession with this particular treat and candy in general, but that would only serve to prove that you don't know me or my sister too well.

When I saw those last seven boxes of Black Crows this past week, with the words "last chance" written on them, I panicked and thought back to that other candy that never was heard from again. I knew I was obligated to buy every box I could, just in case. I'm not sure I needed to eat two full boxes in a matter of minutes, but I have been known to be powerless in the face of temptation. Plus, I admit that I never really was fully on board with the whole, "sugar is evil," bandwagon that's been going around for the past couple of years. That's just other people's say so and I've always been the sort of girl who needs to learn things on her own. Now I can say with certainty, through my own experience and no one else's, that sugar is definitely brought to you by the devil.

I threw away the other five boxes of Black Crows that were stashed under my car seat, because honestly, as lousy as they made me feel, I know myself and there was no way I wasn't going to repeat the whole episode again if given the chance. And thankfully the garbage men came and took away the bin so there is no way I will rummage through the garbage can to pick them out, which I also know am not above.

Life lessons

2010-10-12T08:00:00.003-04:00

In other disturbing news (I know that isn't a great way to begin a story in which there hasn't been any other news, disturbing or otherwise, but who cares - I got your attention, right?) Our neighbor, who is only eight, and her mother, who is more than eight but one year less than forty, asked Jack to buy a rooster, which he did. He immediately showed the rooster to Maggie and Maggie immediately loved the rooster. She named him Tom, although Lenny would have been more appropriate.

She woke up the past couple of days and couldn't wait to go feed Tom some grass. She talked about Tom quite a bit and I think she may have even dreamed about Tom. Then Jack, after witnessing the sweetness of this relationship, got really nervous and confessed to me that he got himself into a jam and didn't know what to do. The jam was that our neighbor and her daughter only wanted Jack to get the rooster so he could kill it and they could fry it because they thought it would be fun.

Now this posed a couple of problems. One was that Maggie had become attached to the rooster, even though Jack only had it for three days. The other problem was that I began to think my neighbors were sick freaks and I truly don't like thinking things like this, even though it makes me feel superior. We live two miles from Publix. My thought was that it would have been somewhat simpler, and much less disgusting, to drive the 3 miles to Publix and buy a chicken that had already been properly slaughtered.

Another issue that was brought up was that whenever my children kill lubbers, this little girl tells my children tht they are horrible for killing one of God's little creatures. So there was a little bit of hypocrisy going on. Kate immediately picked up on this, said something about it, and the reply was, "well, God put us in charge of animals and chickens are for eating" and then Kate said to me, "this is why people can't stand Christians. They make no sense." To which I agreed. It should be noted that there are many people I can't stand. I don't stop at Christians.

Anyway, we went off to church on Sunday (that's what good Christians do)and while we were there, the other Christians stayed home, killed the chicken and then hid all remnants of it so that Maggie wouldn't know what had happened. When we got home Maggie ran over to see Tom and they all lied and told her that they brought Tom back to the farm because he missed his mommy. Maggie cried for several minutes.

Now things were getting ridiculous and the humor in all of this had reached a new level of stupidity. I wanted to say, "Oh so while I was receiving the body of Christ, you were all butchering an innocent chicken," but I have found that sometimes people really don't appreciate my sense of humor, especially when it concerns religious matters, so I let that one go, but I did say, "well, you wouldn't have to lie if you believed in what you did." And they all looked down shamefully and my mission was accomplished.

Then I decided to turn the whole thing into a life lesson, because if there is one thing I know for sure it is that my children love when I turn everything into a life lesson. Trust me - they adore me for this. Go ahead and try it on your own kids and you'll see what I mean.

Anyway - Life lesson? My life is somewhat boring and I'm glad I have sick freaks for neighbors or I would have nothing to write about. Maybe if I'm lucky one of them will want some fresh beef real soon.

Friday thoughts

2010-10-01T10:03:00.004-04:00

I've fallen back into my caffeine addiction. I did so well for months, and then a few weeks ago I went nuts and had a whole pot of iced coffee. I blame it on the weather. It was cool and crisp and I felt obligated to have a drink containing something with the flavor of pumpkin in it. Even though it left me feeling horrible and jittery I decided to do it again the next day, because that's the kind of person I am. If I'm going to do something unhealthy I'm going to do it big. What's the point of moderation? I mean you might as well not be doing it at all. I tried to make myself feel better by drinking a huge glass of water after each cup of iced coffee, but I was spending inordinate amounts of time in the bathroom so I cut some of the water out. Yesterday I only had two iced coffees and today I am hoping to cut it down to one and just be done with it.

After complaining about homeschooling yesterday I feel obliged to say that we are having good day so far. I'm always torn about whether or not I should even express any negative feelings I am having about homeschooling, or anything at all for that matter. Sometimes I think if you go through life pretending everything is perfect you actual start believing it, so I may try that for a while. And honestly, my life is pretty cushy. I mean here I am sitting in front of a computer being completely self-absorbed. Does it get any better?

Greg took Jane bathing suit shopping last night. I'm happy that my husband releases me from this horrendous experience. I hate shopping. I especially hate shopping with 14 year old girls. I bond with Jane over many things, but shopping is not one of them. Shopping brings out the worst in me, so not only do we not bond, but I am pretty sure that I have damaged her beyond repair during some of our shopping experiences. Anyway, they were gone for two hours, but couldn't find anything. This would have sent me into a rage, but Greg just came home and said something about going out again some other time. He wasn't the least bit annoyed about wasting two hours of his life. Are you waiting for me to tell you my guy is the best? I'm not going. I hate when people say their hubby is the best. I always want to say, "You mean the best for YOU, make sure you say he's the best for YOU, not for every other woman." I actually stopped reading Pioneer Woman because she was always writing in a way that made me think she almost wants everyone to covet her husband and his butt, which really is not that hot. Sometimes all the ways you adore your husband should just be kept to yourself, especially if it includes the way you think he has such a great butt. I'm sorry, but I speak the truth. Women should not want other women lusting after their hubby. It's gross.

Wow. That second cup of iced coffee I wasn't going to have, but just finished, is really working it's charms on me! I bet you all just love my previous rant. Whatever - I'm not taking it out. I'm sick of worrying that someone may be offended by something I say, or that someone may think I'm insane for making such observations.

There must be a bad accident somewhere because I've been hearing sirens for awhile. Every time Maggie hears sirens she says, "Oh no, someone hit a bag of puppies!" I have no idea where this is coming from. We reassure her that's not what just happened, but she keeps saying it.

My girls are done with their assignments so I need to go finish up the rest of our work. I want to be done early today because this is the best weather day ever and who wants to be wasting it inside? And tonight is going to be even better. I love a nice cool evening - there's something so romantic about it. Maybe me and my fab and luscious hubby will take a midnight stroll!! And I'll tell you all about how wonderfully romantic it was in my next post.

bookcases

2010-09-10T22:19:00.001-04:00

I read this book over the summer called Bird by Bird, written by Anne Lemott. I'm not a big fan of her, which is why as soon as I saw the book sitting on my sister's table I picked it up and decided to read it. I figured it would give me something to complain about. The last time I read something by her I spent most of my time trying hard not to throw the book across my bedroom. But alas, Anne surprised me this time because once I started reading Bird by Bird I realized I loved it. In fact, I couldn't put it down and went about ignoring everyone for a full day just so I could get through it.

The book was about writing and all the reasons we should write as much as we can. I was inspired to come home and write everyday, but obviously not that inspired because I've barely managed to get out one blog post a week since I read that book.

Since the truth is that there is no chance of me writing everyday, or even once a week, I decided to write a really long post about everything that has been going on over here. Back when I was writing daily I would have taken each one of these things and stretched them out into their own little post, thereby boring you on a daily basis (and really, who is "you"? Does anyone read blogs anymore? They seem so passe, don't they?), but now I have done you the favor of reducing it all down into one long post. This saves everyone time. Here goes.

I finally bought some bookcases. They were cheap and not at all easy to put together. I had been wanting to get some for quite a while, as our books were just stacked precariously all over the place. Maggie spent everyday kicking and throwing them around and I spent everyday picking them up, until finally one day a couple of weeks ago I just decided not to pick them up and they were left all over the living room floor for everyone to trip over, and there they sat, not seeming to bother anyone. I kept telling my children that we should apply for a spot on Hoarders, that's how bad it looked in here. If my Nana Devito was reading this right now she would be shaking her head disapprovingly and yelling out, "she's a Loatman." (Loatman is my dad's surname.)

When I opened the bookcase boxes I found that there were close to one million screws and nails and other things that need to be put into the bookcases in order for them to stand upright. It was very disappointing. The first one took over two hours to put together. I wisely sent the kids over to a neighbor's house because I sensed I may drop one or two f bombs in the whole process. I was dripping with sweat and maybe even some tears, but when I finally saw the first one put together I was so proud of myself that I forgot all the bad stuff that transpired beforehand. It was just like childbirth. Caught in the emotion of it all I wanted to rush into opening that second box.

And then I looked at the one I had just put together and realized that part of it was put on backwards. It's hard to describe but the unfinished parts of the wood were facing out. I was reminded of the motto I made up for myself months and months ago - "Ann Marie - doing things half-assed since 1969." Thankfully I buy paint on an almost daily basis, due to my love of painting and repainting everything in my house every other week, perhaps in an effort to get high off of paint fumes. I found some black paint and hurried up and painted the area that needed it and hoped Greg wouldn't notice, which he didn't.

The second one was put together much quicker and with much less sweat and tears. Jane was even allowed inside to help me, but three minutes into it she claimed to be very ill and ran in her room, only to come out when the phone rang and saw it was a friend of hers. I reminded her that she probably shouldn't talk on the phone, what with her feeling so ill, but she told me it just turned out to be gas. I know I shouldn't tell everyone that embarrassing tidbit about her, but in this case I think she deserves it. I'm vindictive and proudly so. If my Nana Devito was reading this right now she would smile and say, "She's a Michele." (her maiden name)

Now my house is lovely and organized and I just know it will stay that way forever, because if there is one thing I know about my family it's that when I work hard at doing something around here they completely respect me and do their best to keep things tidy. Well, maybe not their best, but they will talk about how nice the house looked for that one week when we decided to be organized.

My plan to recap all the events of my recent days into one post has proved futile. No matter how you slice it, I have a knack for taking what could have been a two sentence remark and turning into a long winded, pointless post so now I am forced to finish this post and not relay any of the other things I was going to tell you about.

Please endure the picture post.

2010-07-16T19:00:00.003-04:00

Pedro say, "Please stop." How could I resist taking a picture of the South of the Border theme park. I don't know what the theme is - something like "Hi, our mascot is a short, fat, buck toothed Mexican, but hopefully no one will notice that it's slightly offensive, what with our awesome fireworks store."

Greg's brother, Paul, and Maggie in Philadelphia. This was our first stop. Paul doesn't have children, but he was mighty impressed that we do. He thinks we deserve medals for raising children (actually he thinks mostly I do, forget about Greg). Try to surround yourself with people like this. It does wonders for the self esteem.

Greg and Jane eating at some restaurant in Philadelphia. Could you just die over her happy expression? She was nervous because she wanted a Po' Boy sandwich but couldn't pronounce it and was worried we were going to make her try and tell the waiter what she wanted.

St. Bridget Roman Catholic Church in Philly. I should have taken a picture of the inside. It was gorgeous and my kids were in awe. We don't really have anything like that here where we are now.

Greg's mom. She scored points when I heard her tell Paul ,"I didn't realize that was Greg's wife, she looks like one of the kids." Come on, like I could let that one go untold. But really, don't I look divine in that dress?

New York State now. Route 23, on the way up to the Catskills for the day. According to some people you can see five states from this view. I'm really bad at geography, so I am not sure what those states would be, but I'm pretty sure one of them is New York.

Windham, New York - a lovely little town.

The Post Office next to the house where we lived when I was pregnant with Jane*. I used to go in everyday and talked with the woman working there. She stills works there. We went in to say hi and told her we lived next door 14 years ago and she said, "Oh, I remember you, you were really pregnant." I really was huge. People would routinely ask ,"Are you having twins?" It never bothered me because I'm not at all concerned about what people think of me. Totally secure.

The view when you stepped out our front door of the house we lived in, the one where I was obesely pregnant.

Another view, just down the street from where we lived. Talk about life in the boonies. Is there any wonder I got pregnant? And obese?

Again, about a mile down our street. Gorgeous. We were blessed to have lived there. Seriously - although at the time I thought it was awful.

Another blessing - my Nana who is 100. The girls are laughing because she had just asked them, "So, are you girls married?" And when they said no she said, "GOOD!" She was happy that day.

In Burlington now, Anthony with huge fish he caught.

I know, she really belongs in a magazine. I mean look at that hair! Trust me, she blended in Burlington where people are so concerned about the environment they've taken to not showering so as to conserve water. Sorry Burlington, you deserve that. Please, go take a collective bath. Please?

Sunset over Lake Champlain. Nope, as pretty as it is, I still haven't recovered from the general lack of cleanliness we saw there. We lived there for four years. I have no idea how I got used to it.

Token shot of Vermont and cows. This is what we saw when we woke everyday.

Back to see my family one last time. My sister's kids and mine.

Eighteen days of fun and I just realized that I didn't take any pictures of my sister, brothers, mother, father, best friend. That's a good thing. I was too busy laughing, eating, having fun, not cooking a single meal, not washing a single dish,not shopping for single ounce of food, not driving a single child to a single activity.What more could a mom ask for? It was good times, trust me.

* I had to go back and edit this. I originally wrote that I was pregnant with Maggie, but had to correct and say I was pregnant with Jane. What can I say, I've lost my mind. It happens.

Anthony and the grasshopper - and the window

2010-07-13T07:12:00.003-04:00

I know, I'm always writing about Anthony. It's obnoxious, isn't it? It's just that he's so darn full of material and I know if I don't jot it all down it will get lost in my mind, and someday I won't be able to regale Anthony's own kids with stories about what a nice mom I was for putting up with him. Here is a close approximation of the events that took place on one recent spring afternoon.

Nurse Gail : "Hi Ann Marie, it's Gail. I have your son in here. He just ate a grasshopper."

Me: "Nope, that doesn't sound anything like Anthony. Are you sure it's him?"

Gail : "Yes, it looks like Anthony."

Me : waiting for her to tell me why she called me over this, I finally decide to say -"So, what's the deal, why are you calling?"

Gail : " We think you should pick him up. He may get sick."

Me: (What I wanted to say, but elected not to )- "Are you kidding me? It's noon. Me and the girls are eating lunch and then we're going to finish our math work and then we're going to relax and read, and if I have to pick up Anthony none of those things will happen. And I mean really, it was a grasshopper. He'll live, trust me. Have you ever seen Man vs. Wild, because Anthony has, he watches every chance he gets and I'm pretty sure this is where he got the idea from. That guy eats grasshoppers all the time and he's still alive. "

Me: what I really said - "Okay, that's probably a good idea, I'll be over in a minute."

Then I called Greg and told him Anthony ate a grasshopper and I had to go pick him up. He asked why and I told him they thought he would get sick and Greg said " You gotta be kidding me? I guess they never saw Man vs. Wild." I tell you, that show is a big hit in this house.

When I walked into the nurse's office to get Anthony I noticed he had been crying. I asked him what was wrong. That was when Nurse Gail informed me she told him how bad it was to eat a grasshopper, it could have been poisonous, and it was so wrong to kill an innocent animal. I have no idea when grasshoppers turned into animals, but anyway, it was at this point that I realized the school actually thought this was pretty serious and if I wanted to get out of there alive I was going to have to put on my fake face and pretend I thought it was serious, too. Many times I have a hard time being fake and I sensed this was going to be one of those times, so I said a quick prayer and tried to be as compliant as I could. And guess who walked in just after I said my prayer? His teacher and then the vice principle.

They were also flabbergasted over the fact that a nine year old boy ate a grasshopper and let's be fair, the kid didn't eat it, he bit it's head off and spit it out because it didn't taste very good. They asked him what was next, they told him killing innocent grasshoppers was wrong and mean, and then they asked my most favorite question of all - "why did you do this, what is going on in your life that would make you do something like this?" I think they were hoping this is when Anthony would turn on me and finally tell them all about the ritualistic killing we do on various insects in our backyard, but I train my kids well and he just looked at them with his gigantic, brown, tear filled eyes and said, "I did it because I'm a boy and boys do stuff like this."

I wanted to go over and do that whole fist pump thing and give him a big hug, but instead I stepped in and said, "well, I think it's time to go home, we don't want him getting sick right here in the office, that wouldn't be good", even though I was secretly thinking it would be a little good, considering they were making him feel like a sh*t heel over biting the head off a grasshopper.

We got in the car and Anthony was quite nervous. He thought he was in big trouble. He asked what his punishment was going to be. This is where parenting can sometimes be tricky. I teach my kids to respect authority, to do what adults tell them, to not answer back. I didn't want Anthony to know that I thought the school handled this wrong. Yes, it was foolish to eat a grasshopper, but some of the things they said to Anthony were even more foolish than what he did. I knew if I let him know I disagreed with the school it would lead down a slippery slope, one he would promptly tell his teacher about the next day. So I looked at him and asked him what he thought his punishment should be. He thought about it and said, "No computer for the week?" which I thought was perfect. Really, they did me a favor and I should have run back in and thanked them.

I wrote this post last night but never posted it. I got busy and forgot to hit publish. I turned the computer off and went into the kitchen to get Maggie something. I heard a smash, a sound like glass breaking. I turned around and looked out my kitchen window and there was Anthony, peering inside, looking at me with an expression that led me to believe he may have been the person responsible for that noise. And then I saw a golf club on the front lawn. Yes, he hit a golf ball through his bedroom window and he must have hit it pretty hard judging from the size of the hole that is now there. Well, there isn't a hole there now, there is a large amount of packing tape covering the hole, a lovely reminder that Anthony does always provide us with excitement and laughs galore.

Day before the trip

2010-06-17T08:47:00.008-04:00

We're leaving tomorrow for our big summer adventure. As you can tell from this picture, Maggie started her big summer adventure a few weeks ago. Despite spending the entire week getting ready, nothing seems to have gotten done. In an effort to keep the house clean I thought about forcing my kids to eat over the kitchen sink, free of utensils, and dishes, and glasses. It's the way I eat on many days and it really does reduce the mess, but I wasn't sure they would go for it, so in the end I've just been trying to convince them they really don't need to eat more than once a day. I really want to come home to clean house and am willing to do just about anything to make it happen.

Yesterday the kids and I drove to Lakeland to drop our beloved dog, Buster, at our friend's house. I typically don't call Buster my "beloved" dog, but he did get hit by a car last week and so I feel the need to at least pretend I care about him. The car that hit him was going about 25 and slammed right into him. It was not the driver's fault. It was Buster's fault. Well, honestly it was Buster's owner's fault, and by Buster's owner I mean Greg. He's the one who agreed to get this dog one week after I gave birth to my last child. Have I ever mentioned that? Probably just once or twice.

Buster is a runner. That's the reason his old owners pawned him off on us, but we didn't know it at the time. He runs whenever he gets the chance and last week he got yet another chance. It was Anthony's last day of school and there was some chaos going on at the front door and Buster took advantage of it by plowing through Maggie and running like the wind. Then a car hit him and pretty much ended that fun. It was horrible to witness and unfortunately Anthony was with me and saw the whole thing. He cried pretty hard. I don't have any desire to ever hear one of my kids cry that cry again.

But immediately he calmed himself down and asked St. Francis to intercede and lo and behold, Buster was out of the vet's office by 4 pm that afternoon. It should be noted that the vet told us he sees this happen all the time; a dog comes in after being hit, looks okay and then dies within hours. But not Buster. He lives on, so all's well that ends well.

On top of dropping the dog off yesterday, my beloved husband,Greg, gave me a list of other tasks he wanted completed before we leave town. I typically don't call Greg my "beloved husband," but I enjoyed running around doing last minute things all week, so now I am feeling the love for him like never before.

We're headed to North Carolina tomorrow, to spend the night, and then on to Philly for two days to see Greg's brother and mother, then to Albany to see my family for a week, then on to Vermont to see some close friends and then we head back here. It should be fun. We have some big expectations and they better all be met, or I'll have to resort to writing all about it right here on the blog.

See you when we get back!

end of the school year

2010-06-15T19:20:00.002-04:00

Anthony finished school last week. He had an awards ceremony on Tuesday, which he forgot to tell me about until the night before. That sums up Anthony's life. He forgets things. He forgets where he put his shoes, his backpack, his lunchbox, his meter, his pump, his clothes, his homework, his library books. He forgets what he did yesterday, or this morning, or ten minutes ago. Most delightfully of all, he forgets everything his dad and me tell him. He takes the phrase "live in the moment" quite literally.

Even though I had many things going on that day, I made sure to squeeze in the awards ceremony, because honestly, there are some things Anthony won't forget, and me missing that would be on the top of the list.The ceremony was interesting. There was a slide show, which was cute, and then the children read poems, which was not as cute as you would expect, because it turns out that 3rd graders do a lot of mumbling and much of what was said couldn't be heard. Anthony's poem was about bacon. If the slide show didn't stir up emotion in everyone then surely Anthony's tribute to the fattiest food on the planet did the trick. I'm sure I saw people wiping tears away when he was done.

What was most interesting about the ceremony was when the teacher, microphone in hand, announced that she would be singing a song to the children. I immediately grew uncomfortable and wanted to shout out, "wait, I didn't bring a blanket, what am I going to hide under when I cringe uncontrollably?" No offense to the teacher, but I can't help it, I'm a cringer. And the classroom was small and crowded and there was just nowhere to turn if things went bad. The one blessing was that my husband wasn't there to witness any of this. The teacher said she would be singing a song called, "I hope you Dance," by Leann Womack. I've heard this song many times. It is sappy in all the right places and perfect for an end of the year celebration.

She turned on the music and started singing and I decided to do the best thing possible, which was to stare at my son, who was sitting in front of me , so all I could really see was his profile, and what appeared to be much blinking. Excessive blinking is what Anthony does when he is either trying to fend off tears, or make someone disappear. I could tell the blinking was of the first kind. I thought to myself , oh my goodness, how is it possible that two of the most emotionally immature people have managed to raise a young man who is touched by his teacher's singing. Case closed, nature takes it over nurture everyday of the week.

After the singing, which I admit was not that bad, we moved onto the awards ceremony. Because this is 3rd grade they have to pretend life is fair, so all the children received one. Anthony got an award for creative writing because of his exceptionally good writing skills. In an attempt to kiss my butt, the teacher prefaced all of this by saying he got his writing skills from his mother. Remember that note I wrote to her way back about the beer cap? Turns out she must have liked it! Anyhow, the butt kissing worked. Who doesn't like to be bragged on in front of a bunch of other parents?

The ceremony ended, I checked Anthony out of school, and when we got in the car I asked him if he was bit choked up at the singing. He said he was, and that his teacher did an awesome job, and he was really proud of her because that must have been hard for her to do. Sometimes Anthony brings me to the brink of madness. This wasn't one of those times. This was one of those times when I just wanted to stop the clock and enjoy him in all his cuteness.

But alas, life does not stop, and since that perfect moment over a week ago, there have been hundreds of others that have left me near the brink. But thankfully blogging is here and helps me remember all the good stuff.

it's over - finally

2010-06-07T13:00:00.001-04:00

Kate's baseball season is over. Finally. Truly. It's over.

Thursday's game was set to be played in Orange City, which is about forty minutes away. Greg came home after work and we all left and were about as cranky as you can expect after getting little sleep. Anthony was especially lovely. He begged not to go to Thursday's game. He ranted on about hoping that Kate's team would lose. He told Kate that softball was the most boring sport ever and he didn't even watch her play while he was at the games, so why should he even bother going. He seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in telling her all of this. It's time like these that my heart melts and I know I'm doing a fabulous job of raising my kids. The one thing he had going for him was that I was too exhausted to make empty threats about all the ways I was going to punish him.

We got to Orange City and it was thundering and lightening. By the time it stopped, the field was soaked, so we sat there and waited and waited and around 7:30 it was determined that since it hadn't rained in Mount Dora we should move the game there. So we got in the car and drove forty minutes back to where we started. I was so tired that none of this seemed insane. The game got under way around 8:30. Kate's team won by a landslide. I wanted to cry great big tears of sorrow over the fact that we had another day of this, but twenty years from now, when I'm gathered around my kitchen table having Thanksgiving dinner with my kids and their kids, I didn't want to have to listen to Kate tell the story of me being hysterically angry over her winning her playoff game, so I decided to go right along pretending that this was all extremely exciting.

Friday night we drove to DeBary and shockingly enough, it rained. And the field was soak and we sat there and waited and waited and I tried not to have a meltdown. Greg looked at me at one point and said, "we're going to feel like idiots in six months when Kate decides she hates softball and never wants to play again." And I said to him, "really, is it really going to take you six months to feel like an idiot over this, because I kind of felt that way on Tuesday when I was driving home at mid-night."

The game finally started at 8:30. And we didn't even have to drive all the way back home to play. The umpire, or as Anthony calls him, the empire, made some atrocious calls which brought a certain amount of excitement to the game.There was absolutely no telling what he was going to call a strike. This fact made Kate actually swing at a ball after it had already landed in the catcher's mitt. If you aren't familiar with the rules of softball, I'll just say that you should swing while the ball is still in the air. Once it's in the mitt, there is pretty much no way you're going to hit it. Greg and I looked at each other in disbelief and then I realized I just needed to be thankful that we were one out closer to a full night's sleep. The girls tried their best but ended up losing 11 to 6, which wasn't bad considering that they were running on fumes and the officiating was the worst I've ever seen. I admit it, for all the insanity of this week, and for all my near breakdowns, I was sad they lost. Kate loves playing and loves being on a team and since I love her, I enjoy watching her do something she takes such pleasure in.

She was ready for it to be over though. On Saturday morning when she woke up, Greg was watching a college softball series and she said "ugh, get it off, I don't want to see another softball game until the fall." And Anthony, who was in the bathroom, but never misses an opportunity to be obnoxious yelled out, "I don't want to see another softball game, ever! And I'm not kidding!" Like any of us thought he was kidding.

softball

2010-06-03T08:22:00.004-04:00

Kate's team won their first game on Tuesday, but lost last night and boy did they lose big. The game was in Debary, but due to a potential storm there was a delay 3 innings in, so we all sat around the parking lot and waited for hours and hours for something to happen. Okay, it wasn't hours, but it was a long time. Maggie rolled around in the dirt and yelled, "I'm a whittle piggy, come on mama, you be a whittle piggy, too," over and over, and Anthony begged and pleaded for candy and I tried to pretend I didn't know either of them, but no luck, everyone knows those two belong to me.

Finally at around 9:30, just when I thought I was going to pass out, the officials decided it would be a terrific idea to move the game to Orange City, which is "just down the street" from Debary. There weren't any storms in Orange City and if we got at least 4 innings in, the game would count as an official game and blah,blah, blah, and I could not believe that I was the only person who thought this was a pathetic idea, but apparently I was, so I kept my mouth shut and pretended like I was cool with the idea. I hate to cause a scene.

Greg is working down at Cape Canaveral now and so he met us at the game, which meant that I had driven to the game in my car and unless I wanted to sleep in it, I was going to have to drive my car home. This was making me very nervous. I've been known to nap at stop lights when I'm tired. I go to bed at 9 every night. I no longer drink caffeine. I was so confused and tired that I started to think that rolling around in the dirt with Maggie may not be such a bad idea. At least the dirt in my underwear would keep me awake.

I followed everyone over to Orange City and tried to keep myself from crying. When we got to the field, we sat for another thirty minutes, waiting for lights to come on, at which point the officials gave us the happy and exciting news that the rule book states that the girls could play until 11:30 pm. YEAH! By this point delusion set in and everything anyone said was making me laugh uncontrollably and Jane kept saying, "My mom is really tired, that's why she's laughing like that, she goes to bed at 8 every night," which is a huge lie. I go in my room at 8 every night, I don't fall asleep until 9.

The girls were all visibly tired, dropping balls left and right and swinging at balls that never should have been swung at and they fell apart. Plus, the other team looked like they may have been born at least ten years before our girls. I'm pretty sure some of them had children they needed to get home and tuck into bed. They were hitting everything that got pitched to them and killing the ball. Our girls didn't stand a chance. I knew it was bad when one of the parents said, in a very honest and sincere way, "oh, it's only 14 to 1?"

We got in my car to leave around 11:45 and didn't make it back here until round 12:20. The ride home made my evening complete though. Kate sat up front with me so she could talk about the game. I love talking to Kate because it's like talking to an adult. She is rational and calm and cuts to the chase, but about 5 minutes from home I remembered that she is still only 11. She looked at me and said in the most serious way, "If I'm in the shower for more than six minutes, please come and check on me because I think there's a chance I might fall asleep in there." It's 9 am and she's still sound asleep (in her bed- not the shower).

Tonight we do it all over again, in Orange City. If they lose they are done, if they win they go on. Still not sure which one I want more.

a few things

2010-06-01T09:44:00.005-04:00

I had a lovely birthday weekend. Someone on Kate's softball team invited us to an end of the year softball party at their home. I said we would go but as soon as I said that I started to panic and try and back out of it because I really don't know anyone on the team and I do horrible at parties where I don't know people. I do horrible at parties where I do know people. I'm mostly a homebody, antisocial misfit who likes to talk to as few people as possible, so the whole party scene doesn't always work well. Unless I am getting drunk and causing a scene and then things work out fantastically.

I really didn't want to spend an afternoon picking my lips in front of a bunch of strangers, but Kate wanted to go and so I pretended I wanted to go, too , because I'm kind like that, and as it turns out, it was a lively, eclectic group of people and we ended up staying for several hours and I didn't even get drunk, but I did drink 3 diet cokes, which made me feel drunk, seeing as I never have caffeine anymore. Boy is diet coke just not any good, but even as sickening as it tastes I could not resist going back for more, because once I start doing something, no matter how bad it is for me, I can't stop. I would make a terrific meth head. Anyway, the kids had a blast, I chatted it up with a bunch of very entertaining and pleasant people and the food was terrific (and free). Not a bad way to spend the day.

Sunday was Greg's birthday so we went to the beach and had another fun day. I mentioned to someone that we had gone to the beach and the person said "enjoy it while you can." Now are people really believing we won't be able to enjoy the beach soon? Please. Things are never as bad as they seem. Or maybe they are, but I'm a master of denial, so in my mind, I'm not too worried about an oil slick heading to Ormond Beach. Feel free to laugh at me if Florida is soon declared a hazard, but until then, I'm going to the beach and enjoying myself. I'm not downplaying the sadness of the situation, but I truly can do nothing about it. The people who are supposed to be doing something about it can't seem to do anything about it, so why add to the negativity?

I rode my bike yesterday afternoon and foolishly didn't bring enough water and at one point I was tempted to just go knock on someones door and ask if I could fill up my water bottle. I may have been able to get away with it, because I think I was starting to hallucinate and foam at the mouth and I am sure someone would have felt sorry for me. I rode for two hours and the last 30 minutes were spent with me trying to fend off tears and mumbling things to myself about my sore ass and my lack of water. It was a sorry, sad, pathetic scene. I've fully recovered, so don't be too worried about me. I hope to get another ride in today, because yesterday's was so tantalizing that I can't help myself.

Kate's team made the playoffs so her season continues on for one more week. She was moved up to the Majors last month and it was an adjustment at first, but she is doing quite well and loving it. I hope her team does well. I'm not competitive with my own things, but when it comes to my kids, I'm out for blood.

Seventeen more day until the trip that could end my marriage starts. Two weeks, four kids, one van, one husband, a thousand miles there and a thousand miles back... oh and a wife who never keeps all the ways she's annoyed to herself. It's got happy memories written all over it!

While I'm on the subject of Anthony

2010-04-15T14:26:00.006-04:00

I don't know if I should post this, because it makes me look like a mean, sarcastic person who potentially causes her kids undue stress, but I'm sort of frustrated and annoyed and so hey, why not show my bad side. I've certainly done it before.

My husband drinks a beer every evening. Just one and really not an entire one. He pours a good amount of tomato juice in a beer glass and then fills the rest of the glass up with beer. Usually there is beer left in the bottle and I dump it down the drain, or add it to my food, depending on what I am cooking. You would be surprised at the wonderful flavor a good beer will leave in certain stews.

Greg used to drink a glass of wine every night but read that this new concoction was better for you and since he cares about his health he decided to go for it with the beer and tomato juice combo.

So the night before last he left his beer cap on the counter and usually this drives me nuts and I immediately pick it up and throw it away, but this time I didn't pick it up. Anthony did though. He saw it at some point and stuck it in his pocket and took it to school where he decided to take it out and show someone. Or as he put it, "well, I forgot it was there and then I was like Hey, what's this in my pocket,and I pulled it out and the teacher saw me and took it away. I'll go get my agenda."

His agenda is where he keeps his assignments and where the teacher writes notes when she has something nice to tell me about Anthony. Or something not nice, depending on what he's done. So right there in his agenda was the bottle cap, taped heavily onto the page, with a note written by his teacher and it said - Anthony said he took this off of your kitchen counter and took it to school. I explained to him that he can't show other children these sorts of things."

She didn't have to tape it to his agenda, did she? She could have thrown it away and simply sent a note home telling me what he had done. She could have written an amusing note in which she gently teased me about it, making me feel as though she understood she doesn't think I'm a drunk. She could have brought humor to the situation, because nothing makes me feel more at ease than when someone makes me laugh and lets me know they are not judging me. But something about the bottle cap being taped (and taped with several layers of tape, too) to his agenda made it seem so mean spirited and obnoxious.

So I figured if she wasn't going to bring levity to the situation, I would. I left the bottle cap taped to the agenda, because honestly, it would have taken a lot of work to remove it, and I wrote my own little note back... Mrs. X (not her real name) this must be the bottle cap from the beer me and Anthony split for breakfast in the morning. Kindly, A.M. Hacic.

And then I called Greg and we laughed, because Greg and I like to laugh together and we almost always find the same immature things amusing, which isn't always good. His laughing made me think it was a good idea to go ahead and send the note in, so I did. But as soon as I dropped Anthony off at school this morning, I wanted to go chase him down and tackle him and rip the page out of his agenda, because if there is one thing I have learned about his teacher over the past few months, it is that she has absolutely no sense of humor and she will perhaps take her annoyance out on Anthony.

Between this and the non-stop, loud farting my boy is a marked man. I am now sitting and waiting for him to get home so I can open the agenda and see if she wrote anything back. I only hope that at some point today she grew a sense of humor and found it slightly amusing.

Sunday Adventures with Anthony

2010-04-12T16:30:00.002-04:00

Went to the 7:30 a.m. Mass, just me and him, because he was an alter server . It was his first time and he clearly had no idea what he was doing, as evidenced by his deer in the headlights look through the entire Mass.

He begged me to take him to McDonald's afterward, because he thought he had done such a bang up job (of standing at the alter and looking petrified)and said he deserved a treat. We sat staring at the drive thru menu screen for a couple of minutes while Anthony repeated the words, "um, I'm still deciding," over and over again, until he finally told me he didn't actually want anything now, but by lunchtime he would want something and so I could take him back then.

When we got home, Greg left with Kate and Jane for the 9:30 Mass and I was glad to be home in relative quiet, until I heard Anthony screaming and carrying on in a manner that led me to believe he was nearing death, and then I wasn't so glad to be home. His Nintendo ds broke and he just got it for Christmas and the world was ending and oh my goodness, how would he survive, I mean how was he going to go to the bathroom without his ds, which was where he happened to be when he found that it wasn't working.

I went in my room and laid on my bed and wondered. I'm not going to say what I wondered about. I just did a lot of wondering. I laid there while Anthony sobbed and screamed and I just figured the best thing to do was not say a word and let him deal with it by himself, which he did finally do.

I heard him pick up the phone and call a number and press a couple of other numbers, until he got the right person, and then I heard him say, "Hi, um, my ds isn't working but when I plug it in it goes on, but the screen is blank and I want to know why it's doing that. I just got it for Christmas. Why is it doing that?" And then he said a couple of other things and finally, "well, I don't have an email number, but my mom has an email number, do you want hers because she is home and I can ask her for her email number. Do you want it now? Hello? You want her email number now? Now?" I couldn't take it anymore and yelled out "address, email address, not email number," and then I got up and grabbed the phone and gave the Nintendo guy my email number and it turns out they are going to fix the thing for free.

Anthony had gotten the number for Nintendo off of the back of his ds. He was pretty proud of himself. It's amazing how resourceful he can be under certain circumstances. This a kid who consistently forgets to wash his hair when he is in the shower, but whatever, it's all about priorities.

After all of that excitement it was finally time to head back to McDonald's where he happily ate like a pig and consumed enough calories to start pestering me to bring him to the pool, which I agreed to do, because I guess when all is said and done, I can just never get enough time with Anthony.

No one else in the family wanted to go with us, so we headed off and after swimming for exactly two minutes he told me he was thirsty and if he didn't get something to drink he wouldn't be able to swim and we would have to go home. But I was relaxing and didn't want to go home, so I ignored him. I figured maybe he would be resourceful again and find a way to get himself a drink, which he did. It involved finding a glass behind the outdoor bar at the pool, (an outdoor bar that most likely hasn't been used in the past decade) going to the bathroom and rinsing it out with hand soap and filling it up with bathroom water. Hey, it's been several hours and he still isn't sick.

The water pleased him enough that we managed to stay a while longer and then we came home and had dinner and at seven p.m. he told me he had a book report due. Oops. He's been on vacation for the past week and half and he thought that was the perfect time to tell me about it. I told him he must be mistaken because I had checked his book bag last week and there was nothing in it indicating he had any homework. And he said "oh, well, I guess I left the assignment at school."

I had done a fair job all day of letting him solve his own problems so I decided to run with it and I said, "well, you're going to have to figure out what to tell the teacher, because I think you may have purposely left your assignment at school and I am not getting you out of this one." To which he said, "oh, I'll just go ask Hunter what we were supposed to do, he did his last week."

He headed down to the Hunter's house and asked him exactly what he was supposed to do for the report and came home and did his work and said, "see, no problem, my teacher will never know I almost didn't do it," but I'm guessing she might because it's almost as much of a bang up job as his first attempt at alter serving.

Anthony, I really love you, but you wear me out in so many little ways. My hope for you is that you grow up and get married and have a son just like you, because only then will you realize how exhausting you are. But really, I do love you...even when I got that phone call today from the nurse telling me you had gotten in trouble for farting really loud, over and over and over again, I still love you, maybe even a little more than I did yesterday.

day fifty five

2009-09-24T15:30:00.000-04:00

This has nothing to do with my riding, but I'm sad and must speak of this horrid event...the passing of my beautiful red car. Yes, it's true, my lovely red car is going away. My car has been hissing and howling and causing my husband much stress lately. I think she is a perfect representation of me. Anyway, Greg decided to get me another car, but don't worry, he's Buffalo born and bred and so his standards for everything are real low, thank God, and he made sure to keep the budget for my "new" car in the hundreds, which means I'm getting another piece of crap. But this new car is not nearly as interesting as my old car. I mean yes, it's ugly and all but it's nondescript in it's ugliness. It's grey. That's the only thing I can think to say about it. I'm not even sure there is a single thing about it that is appealing or noteworthy.

I think my bike is worth more than my old car. We are selling her for the low, low price of 450.00, so yes, my bike is definitely worth more than the car. The car has no redeeming qualities. It makes various noises and produces all kinds of leaky spots in the drive-way. The c.d. player broke awhile ago and there is a film covering the windows that makes driving at night give new meaning to the term "white knuckling." It's truly death defying driving that car in the dark - or the rain - or any kind of weather that requires clear windows. It shakes when you drive over 60, and it's so loud inside the car when you are driving that fast that it's not worth even trying to speak. Kate actually believes the car is going to disintegrate at some point and she really wanted to keep it so she could see it happen. Every time we are in it she says, "doesn't it seem like the tires and doors are going to fall off whenever we hit a bump?" Having said all this, I'm now wondering why I'm sad that we are getting rid of her.

I think this is the reason - I was on my way somewhere today and a car pulled out in front of me. The driver of that car ended up pulling into the same place as I did. She got out and I realized I knew her and she smiled and yelled over to me, "I saw the car and knew it was you, so I knew I could pull out in front." See, this car has an identity. People know this car by sight. There is never any second guessing about whether or not it's my car. People just know.

Well, I guess I'm left with no choice - I must bang up the new car. I'm up for the task. I'm good at leaving identify marks on cars. We had a nice car once. It was the car I drove when I was a paper carrier back in Albany. It was a popular make of car with nothing to separate it from the thousands of others just like it on the road. But I made sure to swipe plenty of mailboxes while I was delivering my papers and darn if you couldn't start to spot that car in all the parking lots. I'll make my peace with all of this soon, but really I am going to miss annoying my neighbors with the hissing noise.

day thirty nine

2009-09-08T11:39:00.002-04:00

I usually don't ride through downtown on my bike ride, but this morning I thought, hey Ann Marie, live on the edge, go through a different part of town! And all I can say is DE-PRESS-ING! I go downtown quite a bit but there are usually people there barricading me from reality. This morning no one was out because of the early hour. It seems that every other storefront in town is closed for business, permanently. Maggie's Attic, Hart's Store, The Irish Corner, all gone. And there are several others too and it made me question why I told the Gallop person who called with a list of endless questions last week that this town was doing better now than when I moved here three years ago. I mean for obvious reasons it is doing better in one sense - I'm here. I'm important and vital and exciting and wherever I go things truly are better but in other ways it most definitely is not better.

I feel sort of bad for telling the Gallop guy what I told him about my town. Maybe I can call him back. It was a fun phone call. They ask you all sorts of things about your health and your kids and your access to things like parks and medicine. And do you work, have you worked for pay in the past day, week, month or year. Finally, after saying no, no, no and no I started laughing and said, "I take care of my kids, please tell me there is a question that justifies me saying I haven't worked for pay in the last day, week, month or year because I have to be honest, I'm sounding pathetic." And there was a question about that. They even ask your weight and height and my husband heard me say 5' 4" and yelled out "okay, okay, who the hell are you on the phone with, hang up the phone, who the hell wants to know your height and weight." And so I mouth the words "Gallup poll" but I think he thinks I'm saying "@#$hole" and he keeps yelling to hang up the phone and finally I just say "IT'S A GALLOP POLL PERSON!" I mean this really was the most exciting thing to happen to me in a long time and there was no way I was going to hang up the phone.

There must have been a hundred questions and I answered them all, except for the one about my weight because seriously, how does that relate to anything? All of the questions are leading up to what they ultimately want to know which is, do you think as a country we are set for better days. To which I say yes, of course we are, because I honestly believe that to be the case. I still love my town, maybe even a little more than I did three years ago when we moved here and there wasn't a closed down store to be found, but I'll probably just skip riding through town tomorrow. Oh, and when you see the results of those polls keep in mind that people like me have answered them, clueless people willing to answer many inane questions all in an attempt to avoid having to deal with screaming kids who don't stop screaming for the entire ten minutes the poll takes place.

day thirty one

2009-08-31T22:46:00.001-04:00

I have nothing to say, but it's day 31 and the first month of my massive weight loss attempt is over so I thought I would give a brief overview of my exciting progress. I can report now that I did not lose eight pounds this month. I lost four pounds which, after doing some counting on my fingers, I realized is four less than I hoped for, but as my daughter pointed out, at least I didn't gain four pounds.

I did manage to ride every single day this month with the exception of Sundays, so that was twenty eight days of riding at ninety minutes per day which equals a total of many minutes, probably close to 30,000 minutes or something like that. Wait...okay, I just did the math and actually it is 2520 minutes of riding. I was close though. 2520 minutes or 42 hours. Any way you slice it, it was a lot of work with very little results, which makes getting up at 5:30 everyday more enticing than ever.

Seeing as I am not a quitter, except when I am bad at things and then it's okay to quit, I will continue on in my quest to lose my weight. I figure four pounds over the course of the next six months will put me at 132 pounds, a weight which I can handle. I'm okay with that. And six months is nothing. It takes me right up to my daughter's third birthday, which means that by the time she turns three I will have lost most of the weight I gained when I got pregnant with her.

Here's are some highlights of my riding this month.....

I can't think of anything. I just know that I love riding and I'm glad I live in a place that has nice enough weather that allows me to ride every single day of the year. Also, my town is finally putting in a bike path. I know all the details because I am a concerned citizen and when I found out there was going to be a meeting on this topic I did what we all should do...I sent my husband and my kids to that meeting and had them report back to me. So if you live where I live know that some exciting happenings will be coming your way soon, unless the two cantankerous men from Tangerine get their wish, in which case you will never see a bike path here.

Day twenty four

2009-08-24T14:53:00.003-04:00

Today was Anthony's first day back after summer break, on top of which the girls and I were set to start up with our homeschooling again so I was slightly nervous about getting out on my daily ride. I knew that if I didn't plan things down to the minute everything would be ruined and my exceedingly precise morning schedule would combust, leaving me in my drive-way sobbing and screaming over the fact that that's all I want to do is take a freaking bike ride and why, oh why don't things ever work out for me, I mean really now is it too much to ask that I get to take a simple bike ride, is it, and do you all want me to be fat for the rest of my life, is that what you want family of mine?

I have no idea if people know how dramatic I am. I try to keep it under raps. It takes a huge amount of effort though and it can be exhausting. The fact that I have four inconsistently disciplined children, a poorly behaved dog who escapes almost daily, and a husband who has an uncanny knack for tuning me out provides me with constant opportunity to try and resist losing my cool. It's good for the soul to live in such a state.

Anyway, the most upsetting thing about this morning was that my bike was waiting to be taken into the shop for some minor fixes and so I had to take Jane's Trek out for my ride. I'm not a fan of any bike but my own. On top of being dramatic I'm quiet inflexible and resistant to change. I think I'm turning into a crotchety old fart. The seat on my bike is adjusted perfectly, the handle bars are exactly as I like them, the gears slide in and out smoothly and quickly, the lights are in proper places, the chain never, ever falls off. Everything just feels right and good when I'm on my bike. Riding Jane's bike is like playing some sort of bicycle Russian Roulette. You don't know when the chain will fall off, but you can bet it will and probably when you are in darkest section of town, farthest from home and most likely when you are going up or down a steep hill. So I was just a bundle of nerves when I left my house this morning.

Of course because I anticipated the worst I ended up having a great ride. I'm programmed to expect the worst. If things go mildly crappy it's like winning the lottery. Several years ago I was stupid enough to doubt this way of thinking but I must say, it's not a half bad way to go about life. Well, it might be a little bad but today it worked out well for me and I was thrilled with my ride.

Oh and I actually learned something interesting on my bike today. I learned that bike riders must follow the same traffic rules as car drivers in regards to stop signs. I won't tell you how I came to this information. I'll just say that I now know if you are on a bike and you come to a four way stop sign, or any stop sign for that matter, you're supposed to stop and if you don't and an officer sees you,the officer can give you a ticket. If you act stupid, smile nervously and claim ignorance, the officer will be nice and let it go, but he'll tell you if he sees you doing it again he'll be well within his rights to write you up a ticket. And if you are like me you'll wonder where that officer was last week when your tire popped in the same exact location, forcing you to walk over an hour to get back home. Anyway, the learning never stops around here, not for the kids and not for me so I am grateful to him for that.

day fourteen

2009-08-14T17:04:00.000-04:00

My back bike tire popped today. It was loud. It was also painful, but only for the reason that I was all the way down by Lake Gertrude and it was late enough that I knew Greg had already left for work, which meant I was screwed and I would have to walk all the way home looking like a big sweaty loser. I hoped someone would be nice and pull over and ask me if I wanted help but it seems as though when you are sweaty and look like you just crawled out of a recycling bin no one cares about you. People are shallow and cruel. It took almost exactly one hour to get back but it was early enough that it wasn't hot and the sun wasn't fully out yet.

I was happy about that because I didn't have my sunglasses with me. There are many things in life I will never fully comprehend, but one of the things that boggles my mind more than it probably should is the fact that many people don't wear sunglasses. I don't understand the appeal of squinting, I just don't and when I see someone not wearing sunglasses I go nuts. It's like looking at someone with eye snot, or food on their face, or something in their teeth. It annoys me and I really can't keep quiet about it any longer. I can't live in a world where people think it's okay to squint into the sun when all you have to do is go to the local 7Eleven and buy some Foster Grant sunglasses.

Well, other than the popped tire all was well with my riding this week, but I have opted to not weigh myself over the weekend. I will be skipping and just waiting until next weekend. I had a bad week on the diet. I know I didn't gain, but I know I didn't lose. There was way too much picking going on, what with David and Bailey visiting, plus I have been highly irritated with certain people in my life and I am still immature enough that I have allowed this irritation to seep into my veins and get the best of me. When I am annoyed I eat. Who does that? It could be worse, I could drink. Maybe I should. Maybe I should do nothing but drink. It would be fun. People would talk about me and say how foolish I am and then they would see me walking with my bike and it's flat tire and they would think wow, she really has taken a turn for the worse.

Well, I have managed to amuse myself so that's something and now I feel just chipper and Greg will be home and he is not irritating me so that's something else. Two things to keep me going.

day eleven

2009-08-11T14:35:00.001-04:00

I saw a fox and a raccoon wandering around Lake Gertrude together this morning. It was quite odd. They looked menacing running with each other in the early morning hours. I had no idea the two animals mixed like that. They seemed to be friendly and at ease with one another. Let that be a lesson for all of us. If a fox and raccoon can get along then why can't we, as humans, do better? Now can you imagine if I was serious when I said that? That would be amusing. I can picture the type of person who would say this though, and expect to be taken seriously. It would definitely be someone from my old neighborhood in Vermont. Gotta love Vermont. I do miss it there. Now that is a place to ride a bike; all hills, all wide open trails. There is the problem of nine months of rotten, soul sucking, mind numbing, bone crushing cold and darkness, but the three months I could ride there would be perfect.

If you want to get to know a town, riding a bike around is a good way to do it. You can be quick enough to be nosey without being noticed. I love riding by houses and looking in the windows and if you're on a bike you just whiz by and no one pays attention, but if you're walking slowly by, people definitely notice and they think your a bit of stalker. I know because people never seem to like when I walk by their house and stop to stare and point and yell out to Greg what I do and do not like about the particular home I'm critiquing. Greg finds it extremely embarrassing which makes me want to do it more.

Anyway, since I started riding I've grown to love Lake Gertrude. I want to move there. First I have to find a way to get rich though because I think it's somewhat pricey. Consider yourselves warned residence of Lake Gertrude, I have my sights set on you. You'll know we've arrived by the toys thrown in the front yard and all the dying potted plants that are laying around, the ones Greg thoughtfully brings home after finding at Lowe's for only 99 cents. He's good that way, always getting a bargain and never giving up hope that I'll actually get around to planting them. Ah, who am I kidding, we'll never move there. We would never fit in. We're right where we belong, but I do enjoy my rides there and I love watching the sun come up over the lake. It's a good way to start the day.

And on to the most exciting news of all which is that I did lose the first two of the fifteen pounds. Greg seems to think this plan is overly-ambitious. I wasn't even going to breath a word of the whole thing to him, but he had just come out of the pantry with a bag of chips and cold beer in his hands and it felt like the right time to tell him about my weight loss goals. He said, "two pounds a week? Hum, that's gonna to be hard." And then I wanted to bash him over the head with the pan I was holding, but I'm trying to be kind and loving these days, and I thought maybe that wouldn't be nice so I let it go, but I will prove him wrong.

Of course as soon as I saw the scale had gone down my first impulse was to run to the pantry to find something to eat, but I did resist the temptation by saying to myself "stop stuffing your face with food you glutton." Some people would say that is a cruel thing to say to yourself, but like a friend always tells me, "name it and claim it" and that's what I was doing and it felt good because in the end the truth always feels good.

slippery - and day 6 of 2 pounds a week!

2009-08-06T16:14:00.004-04:00

I had something stuck on my sneaker this morning, something sort of slippery, and my foot kept slipping off my pedal and it was annoying me. By the way, this is the sort of scintillating information I'll be writing about now. It simply doesn't get any better than that. Instead of reading some fine piece of literature, or doing something productive, I am wasting my time writing about the bottom of my shoe.

I did a lot of reading today though and it put me in the mood to write, as reading always does, so yeah, what else can I say? My sneakers were slippery. And then I had some water to drink. And then I noticed my ass was asleep and I still had several more minutes left to ride and I started to wonder right then and there what I would do if I ever got hemorrhoids. How would I ride my bike then? It would be brutally painful and it would screw up my routine and I like my routine, I get obsessed with my routine. Oh there has just got to be something better to write about.

I guess I could write about the fact that I am ashamed of myself for looking so unlike a real bike rider. I don't wear those unflattering bikes shorts and bright neon shirts and I only just recently started wearing a helmet. I thought it interfered with the cool image I try to portray and then I remembered who I was and I realized a bike helmet wasn't the only thing keeping me from being cool so I relented and started wearing one.

Not only is my apparel giving me shame, I just found out I don't even ride a road bike, I ride a mountain bike. I didn't know what a road bike was until the guy who walks his dogs everyday stopped me to ask me about my riding. He wanted to know how many miles I did and I thought to myself, wouldn't that require me to get some sort of device to figure that out? So I said, "I don't know, I go for 90 minutes, how many ever miles that is." And then he told me that he goes riding every day, but he has a road bike and I said "ooooh" like I knew what he meant. For the rest of my ride I wondered what a road bike was, and what kind of bike I was riding, and then my extremely knowledgeable husband told me the difference between a mountain bike and a road bike. A road bike is the kind of bike Lance Armstrong rides.

So I said to Greg, "well, do I look like some sort of fool riding this mountain bike thing all over town, should I be on a mountain somewhere instead?" Again, I was very worried about my image. He said no, but the bleach marks all over my cut off sweat shorts and the stains on my old tank top made me look like I was leaving a crime scene and he wanted to know if maybe I wanted to go buy some nicer things to wear while riding my bike, which I did not because ever since I told him about the enormous credit card debt I got us into, which we are now totally out of thanks to my amazingly nice husband, I have been living frugally and so spending money, especially on things that are going to get sweaty and stinky anyway, has lost all appeal.

But see, I knew I was going somewhere with the sneaker thing. Most riders who are serious and fit and committed to riding use these little straps on their pedals and they wear special riding sneakers, and so their foot would never slip off their pedal for half of their bike ride, driving them crazy and putting them in a bad mood. But like I said, I don't have all that fancy equipment so I ride on in all my shame with the whole world laughing at me. Maybe not the whole world, maybe just the rabid animals who are up at 5:30 everyday rummaging through the garbage before the rest of the world wakes.

At any rate, I persevered and finished my ride with my slippery sneaker and I feel terrific now and am trying with all of my might to stay away from the scale. I have two more days before I will allow myself to weigh in and I am busting because I just know I've had a good week so far and if I get on that scale on Saturday and it hasn't budged my family is not going to have a fun weekend and I really want them to have a fun weekend.